"Oh but of course," said Pike, the heavy tone of sarcasm thickly coating his words, "However could you do any magic without the aid of a cup? The supreme power of Min's woodcarving is the perfect conduit for a mighty witch such as yourself."

"Your name is Min?" asked the witch.

"No," said Pike, "It's not."

"Well, nameless warden, it's as you said. Without a cup I never could have shown you what I'm capable of. Could you place it in reach of my fingers?"

Pike gingerly felt around on the wooden bench, careful not spill the magical vessel as he manoeuvred it closer to the witch. A handsbreadth away, he stopped.

"What danger are you planning, witch?" he asked.

"As much danger as can be done with a cup of water I suppose," came the reply, "I wanted to show you something... but I understand your hesitance."

"Why should I hesitate?" asked Pike, thrusting the cup into the witch's chained hand, "Even if you kill me there's still an army left to conquer. At least if you spare me you'll have someone who'll bother to feed you."

"I told you before, my magic does not harm others."

The witch plunged his fingers into the cup, a quiet incantation floating on his breath as he drew the symbols beneath the surface of the water. A shimmering line appeared and slowly split apart, a light shining through the gap and illuminating the carriage interior.

It was then that Pike first clearly saw the witch.

His delicate nose and large eyes were easy to mistake as feminine in the dark, but the long eyelashes and the smatter of stubble that framed his jaw exuded a subtle masculinity that hardened his appeal. As he smiled into the light, Pike realized he'd never before seen a man so soft, or a woman that could have matched him in looks.

"You made a light in the water?" he asked, "What of it? There are plenty of glowing enchantments the traveling men can conjure for the cost of a meal. Why you couldn't have made the flagon glow instead I don't quite comprehend."

"It isn't glowing," said the witch, "Try putting your fingers inside it; feel the warmth of it..."

The witch removed his hand to make way for Pike, who carefully touched the tip of his pointer to the surface of the water. A strange sense of curiosity pressed him to take it deeper. He knew this sensation, the feel of it was unmistakable.

"It's the sun," said Pike, "Like the sun is shining its rays on the sea. My hand is warm! How are you doing this..? It feels more real than it has any right to."

"It is real," smiled the witch, "A little patch of ocean in another world. Another world where the sun is still shining, and where your fingers have suddenly emerged, just beneath the water in that precious space where it's difficult to discern what's merely a trick of the light."

Pike touched his finger to the tip of his tongue. He could taste the salt.

"How do you do it?" he asked, "Can you teach me?"

The witch regarded him strangely.

"You don't seem the type to be interested in magic. Besides, hasn't the Protector outlawed the practice of such within the Cimbran borders? You're surrounded by an army that would make you a criminal."

"The traveling men don't seem to care; I'd say that no one outside of Velmund gives a shit what people do for entertainment. Whether magic or bloodsports... so long as they pay their dues it's of little concern. I've seen a man stop a deer in its tracks and a little girl turn rocks into glass, but I've never seen another world appear before my eyes."

There was something beautiful about the witch's magic; it wasn't just for show, it held a quiet power that seemed significantly more meaningful.

"Can you show me?" Pike asked again.

The witch stared into the earnest eyes of his warden. He didn't have the heart to explain the years it had taken him to master even finding the seam within the water. To open it was an even greater ordeal. All he could do was start at the very beginning. In the way that it was taught to him.

"Have you ever touched velvet?" asked the witch.

"Velmund..?" Pike shook his head. "This will be my first time going."

"Not the city you... warden," said the witch, "The fabric." He was quick to determine it was better to take a different tack. "Or have you ever touched a shrew? A mole perhaps? And felt the texture of their fur?"

"We have a cat at home," Pike replied, "Something like that?"

It was as close as the witch could begin.

"Similar," he said, "But denser. If they hadn't stripped me of my velvet cloak, perhaps I could have better explained. There's a feeling... a resistance. It's similar to that. When you move your finger in the water, what do you feel?"

"Water," Pike replied simply, "Wetness? I don't know. Am I supposed to feel anything at all? My finger just moves smoothly... unless there's something in it. Many a time as a child, my feet were tangled in seaweed."

"The first step," said the witch, clasping Pike's fingers with his own and returning them to the narrow mouth of the cup, "Is to find that resistance. To feel yourself tangled. Not in seaweed, but in the velvet water... in the pockets that we learn to open. Very slowly... very carefully... because we do not know what awaits us on the other side."

"You mean... you could make a door in the water and a jellyfish might swim through?"

"A jellyfish... a shark... or something much more dangerous... Time does not always follow the rules of the earth on which we stand. You could swim to another world, and lose a hundred years before returning, should the rift close behind you. The water pays no heed to the hour glass... it is an immortal being through which we mortals dare to trespass."

"All I feel is water," said Pike.

"It takes time to shift the velvet water," confessed the witch, "Longer than I'll have to teach you..."

"We're still days from the capital, though," said Pike, "It wouldn't hurt to try."

The witch smiled sadly. "Sure," he said, "Why not..? Just be sure not to tell the others about it."

"You're worried I'll share your secrets?" asked Pike, "I can be trusted when it counts."

"I worry they'll think you're conspiring with the enemy. Don't forget that I'm a prisoner here. If they see you as my ally, you may face punishment yourself."

The heavy chains as the witch's wrists were a stark reminder. Pike began to notice the red marks where the metal rubbed the witch's skin. Without thinking, he grabbed for a rag, rinsed it in the cup and dabbed at the witch's wounds.

"Ah! Ahh! Stop, stop!" cried the witch, "Saltwater! Saltwater..!"

"What do I do?" begged Pike.

The witch winced, and tried to steady his breath. With only a flagon of urine to hand, it was better to wait for the pain to pass than to try and rinse the salt away. Pike squeezed the witch's fingers to try and soothe him.

"I'm sorry..." he said.

"You're not much better," noted the witch, Pike's chafed skin laid bare in the cup's light.

In an act of solidarity, and utter stupidity, Pike dipped the rag once more into the water and pressed it against the open sores that lined where his armor met his neck. The witch's mouth fell open at his warden's cries, and all memory of the stinging at his wrists was forgotten.

"Do you enjoy pain...?" he asked.

Pike smiled and shook his head in the face of the witch's confusion.

"I thought it would buy me back some good will," he said, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"But you meant to hurt yourself," said the witch, "and it doesn't make me happier that you did. Why should we both suffer? I'm the prisoner here... let me suffer alone."

"Because you did something wrong..?" asked Pike, "Do you wish to atone for it?"

"What I did wrong-," the witch began, before a sudden banging on the carriage door.

The portal within the confines of the cup was closed, and all at once the carriage was in darkness. Pike could no longer make out the witch's face; he regretted not taking the time to look closer while he had the chance.

"I'm almost done!" cried Pike, hastily grabbing for the food and delivering what he could into the witch's mouth.

"Stay where you are!" called the guard from outside, "There are unknowns at the boundary line; we're bracing for attack. Keep your eyes on the witch and don't let it lift a finger!"

Pike felt for Min's wooden cup and took it from the witch's hand.

"Don't worry," he told him, "I'll protect you."

The witch could not contain his amiable laughter.

"You understand, if there were someone attacking the soldiers, I'd probably be the one to gain an advantage, right?" he asked his panicked warden.

"Could it be... your husband..?" ventured Pike.

"What husband?" asked the witch, "I haven't even a family to speak of. Do you really think someone's come to rescue me? If it were any kind of threat, I'd hazard a guess at ruffians. But it's more likely to be a caravan of traders passing through, oblivious to who I am."

"You don't have a husband then..?"

"I thought I made it clear enough that I am a man," said the witch, "Do you need to feel around my breeches again to remind yourself that I am not a woman?" 

"It's not unheard of..." whispered Pike.

"There is no rescue, there is no husband, or wife for that matter... I am alone in the world. I never would have suspected that this was all my life would amount to; shackled and on my way to be paraded before those that deem my existence a blight against their own. Have you ever been hated?"

"Hated? No. It's difficult to hate someone you barely give a thought to. There are those that seem to like me better than the rest, but the only 'enemy' I ever knew left Hofingrad before he reached manhood. It didn't affect me all that much when he was there, he only threw sticks to pass the time."

Pike remembered the little shit. After his father disappeared, and his mother was forced to find whatever local work she could take, the house fell into disrepair. The step was no longer swept, and the overgrown garden was frequented by the neighborhood cats in need of relief. He was outside sitting in the sun one day when a branch was launched in his direction.

The culprit laughed and ran to share the news with his friends; that he'd frightened the poor boy that lived in the ramshackle house by the harbor. There was no man there to scold him, no consequence for whatever his action. The bully was emboldened, frequently stopping by to hurl sticks whenever Pike made an appearance.

Little did he realize, it was all set aside as kindling for the fire, and gladly welcomed by the cunning little victim. So long as the wood was launched at himself, rather than his mother, Pike didn't care all that much. When the bully moved away he was almost sad that the stockpile was quickly depleted.

"I may not know all that much, what they say of me," said the witch, "But there came a time when I stopped correcting them. I know too well that I am only the villain in their story... the monster that they stand united against. If not me, then there would be another."

"What are your crimes, witch?" asked Pike.

"I wish I could tell you. But I don't really know. Sometimes it's hard to understand the hatred of others; all you can do is feel it."

The words were stuck in Pike's mouth. The somber witch before him seemed so pitiful, but it made no sense that an innocent soul would find himself in chains. Whatever questions he asked, there was no guarantee that the truth would be told to him. Besides.

"What of the soldiers you killed?" he asked, "The ones that tried to catch you in Hofingrad? If there's no husband that came to your defense, then surely their deaths are laid at your feet."

"I can only tell you again," said the witch, "My magic has never harmed another. Whether you choose to believe me... I don't expect that you would. The others didn't. I have come to terms with my fate."

"Your fate?"

"That of the monster. I'll tell you in advance, that it doesn't end well."