Safe enough away from where curious ears could hear them, the Counsel finally let go of the Warlock's arm. Had he not been drinking so heavily, his friend would not have been so easily led from the fight he was itching to start.

"What you saw," the Counsel told him, "It was nothing. Ursa, he just gets like that when he's drunk. Come the morning he'll have forgotten all about it."

"What about you?" asked the Warlock, "Will you forget? Or are you the only one that has to live with the consequences of his actions?"

"He is young."

"No Min, he's not. Not anymore. He's enough of a man to know when to keep his fucking hands to himself! Yet he dares to treat you like the whores he kept company with?!"

The Counsel averted his eyes. "You know?" He understood at last. "Ursa's behavior when last he was with us... I thought I kept it well hidden."

"You have cared for him in Rel's stead, protected him as much as you were able; but the truth was always known to me. All but this. This I did not know. Min, how often has this happened that it has failed to shock you to the core as it has done me?"

Min's eyes were shimmering with shameful tears. Not for how he'd been treated, but how he'd failed to conceal it.

"Do not blame him! You know what he has suffered. The comforts he demands of me are only to lessen the pain he feels."

"Fuck, Min! He is not the only one who's suffered!" raged the Warlock, "Have you and I not had our lives ripped to pieces? Forced to claw our way up to where we now stand?! Ursa is still the same spoiled child, making messes for Rel to clean up, only now it has fallen to you. Was it not sufficient that you cast yourself in the role of parent and brother? He now demands you play the part of his lover?!"

"It's only when he's drunk," defended Min, "He acts without thinking. And there was a time before all this when you cared as much as Rel what happened to Ursa. You were his hero..." A sob escaped from his mouth. "Pike, when did it all change so much? Why did it have to become so twisted? At what point do we have to accept that the damage continued long after the Protectorate fell?"

"Counsel." The Warlock's authoritative tone crushed the rising emotions, shifting them back to the cold, unfeeling world they'd forced themselves to reside in.

The Counsel bowed his head. "When your energy returns, Ursa will be sent as planned to Grunterbad. He will not drink another drop of liquor on the Madning Isle. I assure you, Warlock. It will be under control." 

"Crafting the portal to Grunterbad will delay the world's expulsion from the land of the living," the Warlock conceded, "But, for your sake, for Rel's... we will spare his brother from sharing our own cursed fate."

The Counsel failed to understand him. Why would the world need to end when the witch did not die? Ah, he remembered, the Warlock would still not accept it. He still would not trust what his greatest ally had seen with his own two eyes.

"You will change your mind," he told the Warlock, "When you see him... you will not be so quick to condemn us."

"Min. The witch's child may resemble him well; as much as to cloud your senses. And I grant you, not even I can fathom why that should be, for the two bear no relation by blood. I have read the journals... and I know of the life the witch has lived. A hundred years passed; a fleeting moment in our world, but an entire lifetime in theirs. My bride is dead."

"After all these years. You cannot trust me?"

The Warlock touched his hand to the Counsel's frail shoulder. Beneath the volume of his cloak, it had been hard to tell how much his frame had shrunk. He felt a pang a guilt for failing to recognize it sooner, just how broken Min had become in the time his back had been turned.

"I trust you believe what you saw, for I know you would not lie. And yet, I can assure you; the Maddening Witch is dead. He is dead, Min! And what hurts me even more than knowing he's gone, is realizing from the words of his I've read, that I may have never even known him! That all this; everything I've done, and all that I lived for, was for a love enitrely of my own creation."

The Warlock's shoulders slumped, his wine-weakened body swaying as it stood. "Maybe they were right about him..."

"Is that what you're really afraid of?" asked the Counsel, "That if he is alive, your illusion of him will be shattered? Decades spent dreaming, only for the harshness of reality to wake you. The ones we love do not always meet our expectations, but no matter the pain they inflict, we cannot shake free from the hope that they will."

Countless times, Ursa's thoughtless actions had pushed him to the brink of despair; played with and forgotten in turn. Each kiss a torment he could not escape from.

"You would rather believe the Divine was dead, than to accept the inferiority of your living, breathing bride."

"You speak nonsense," said the Warlock, "I have no bride. Whoever he might have been, he is gone now."

The Counsel could no longer bear the constant corrections he was forced to make to Pike's misguided statements. He closed his eyes and steadied his breath, prepared to wait for the witch's appearance to credit him.

"We should head back," he said.

The Warlock dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I will follow," he said, "As soon as the moon stops spinning."

In the dim light of dusk, the Counsel turned on his heel and left his friend to sober up. He wanted to dampen a cloth and soothe Ursa's bruised face, to tighten his restraints and hold him as he slept away his stupor. Soon he would be safe in the other world, and Min would be alone again.

"Piglet! Hurry and untie me!" cried Ursa, sobered by the sudden reunion with his travel companion. "Quickly, loosen these ropes while they're gone!"

The Hermit's liquor had drawn the attention of the revelers, and in finding Ursa unattended in the carriage, Delph had dared to sneak closer. No one had stopped him, and none took much of an interest in anything but the drink on offer. Only a child left playing alone seemed to be watching him.

"What of her?!" whispered Delph.

Ursa followed his gaze and could only despair at Delph's caution.

"Look, I'll give her a coin alright? Lest she threaten you. But Piglet, please, hurry and get me out of here!"

Delph struggled with the knots, tightening the restraints before he was able to loosen them. In the end, Ursa finished his work for him; wrestling free and wriggling out before he was ready to run. Delph did not move.

"The coin," he reminded.

"Did she frighten you while my back was turned?!" asked Ursa.

"She might have need of it," reasoned Delph.

"Fine!" Ursa begrudgingly reached into the pocket of his great coat, pulling out a coin and tossing it in the girl's direction.

"You're so pretty," the girl told Delph, blessed with the Divine's enchanting smile in return for the compliment.

"Come!" cried Ursa, grabbing hold of Delph's arm, "Quickly!"

Delph resisted. "This way," he said, leaning towards the mountain.

"The road's that way, Piglet," Ursa argued.

"But my friends are this way. Trust me, they have the power to help us."

"Apart for a day and you're already making friends without me," laughed Ursa, following to the far side of the lake with unsteady steps, "You're quite resourceful, you know? Even without your brother to help you."

Delphin's brother was in no position to help anyone. Fiepet Strahl had found himself abducted, a vicious dog blocking his escape.

"You! Were you not the woman we saw today in the forest? And this," he said,motioning to the larger cloaked figure beside him, "Is this your husband?"

Ramun and Cuttle both grimaced at the prospect.

"Oh Master Strahl, my performance was so great that you have failed to recognize the actor beneath. It is I, Cuttle!" The wig worn in disguise was removed. "Your Sirrup House star and ally in the arts. We have been awaiting an opportunity that we might speak with you."

"Ramun," greeted Ramun, "We met but briefly at my house in Relmund." 

A closer inspection of what lay beneath the bearded man's cloak, and Fiepet took notice of the feminine clothing adorning his body. He'd unknowingly fallen in with unsavory characters; the large black dog impeding his retreat.

"What grounds have you to keep me?! There is nothing you could say that would have warranted my seizure!"

"It is about your brother..." Cuttle offered.

"What have you done with him?!"

The little actor was hurt by the sudden accusation. Since leaving the theater he had tried his best to assist in finding Delphin Strahl. Even though they had not been successful, he still believed he could be of help in explaining what he knew to his brother. Why he'd be suspected of doing anything untoward, he did not understand.

Ramun rolled his eyes. "You're making him cry," he told Fie.

"Where is Delph?"

"How much do you know about your brother?" asked Ramun, "That you would think we'd have reason to harm him? Anyone on the Madning Isle that dared to hurt the witch would be punished accordingly. We only meant to allay your worry and let you know that he is safe. Cuttle here was concerned about you."

"In Grunterbad they call him a woman, and here they call him a witch! If you know where he is then tell me and be done about it; I have no desire to tarry further with men that play as women, and I refuse to let my brother fall victim to your perversions."

Fiepet's tongue had been loosened by the liquor, words of vitriol pouring out to mask his own discomfort. Ramun's gown wrapping tightly around his muscular build, Cuttle's face still daubed with rouge. The validation of the stagelight was not there to lend credence to their feminine appearance. This was not a play, but a public demonstration of their proclivities.

It was making him uncomfortable.

"With everything Cuttle told me about you, I thought you some kind of hero," said Ramun, "But you're clearly just some pissy little coward. Cuttle, tell him whatever you wanted to. I'm growing tired of his company."

Hopeless eyes peered out from beneath Cuttle's brows; a shameful hand wiped at the make up remaining on his tear-stained cheeks. Fiepet began to regret the harshness of his words.

"I last picked up your brother's signal at the western edge of the Witling Forest... our friends went in search of him, and since then, the three have disappeared altogether. I think it likely they're using magic to hide themselves. Lyre and Mistress Hen will protect him if they run into danger. They are not... playing as women... if that helps to better your opinion of them."

A sniff of Cuttle's upturned nose, and Fiepet's was struck dumb with guilt. He was clearly trying to help him.

"I think all has been said that needed to be," Ramun declared, the black guard dog vanishing with the flick of his finger. 

If only to stop Cuttle running over to share this vital intelligence in front of the Warlock, Ramun had relented, allowing him to meet with Fiepet covertly. Seeing Cuttle's pained expression, even he felt sorry it had turned out so badly.

"I hope that you find him," said Cuttle, his voice much smaller than either man had previously heard it, "I am sorry to have bothered you."

He made a short bow before running off, his face hidden beneath the cuffs of his coat. Ramun sneered, opening his cloak wide and grabbing the skirt of his gown to curtsey.

"Wait!" cried Fiepet, looking beyond him to Cuttle's vanishing form.

"If you're lucky," Ramun told him cryptically, "You'll find your brother before the Warlock does. If not, I'm afraid you'll have a hard time accepting his fate from here on out."

Fiepet looked back towards the noisy crowd still drinking at the lake. In the time he'd spent in the company of the Warlock, he had nearly forgotten, that Delph was still lost. As strange as they were, Ramun and Cuttle had at least shown an interest in finding him.

"The Warlock means to send us back."

"You, maybe," laughed Ramun.

The Counsel had been the only one to suspect that Delph was the witch. One look at his brother and the Warlock would know with certainty that the suspicion had been wrong; and they would both be returned home as planned. That was what he believed. And yet Ramun's knowing smirk continued to unnerve him.

"Let us hope that you are right. I'd hate for you to find yourself outfoxed by a man in a dress. However would your ego recover?"

Cuttle called out from the distance, begging him to hurry his goodbyes.

"Ah, now there's a bruised ego that must be attended to," said Ramun, "What was it he told me, before I advised the wig and make up? 'I do not care who may recognize me, only that I might help him.' Good night Master Strahl. It was a pleasure, getting to know the real you..."