The Keepers of Eternity

XXXIX

Abreigelle had a certain appreciation for the smell of mud. Back home, there was always a fresh coating of it in the servants' courtyard, and it would get everywhere--on shoes, the hems of dresses, and even splashed in ones hair if you were unfortunate enough. During the most intense bout of sun after a rainstorm the smell would be the strongest, a sign of a fresh start, of renewed earth and budding life.

But the smell of mud here was completely different. It was always uncomfortably moist on Meerwood Farm, somewhere in the forests of central-east Rvyn. One of these days, Abreigelle was sure she was going to sprout mushrooms like the ones covering the growing-logs. Hardly any direct sunlight reached the forest floor here, and the dense trees blocked the wind, leaving the air stagnant.

Days passed after Blaise had awakened for the first time. Abreigelle had dropped off his food portions in the drying barn, quickly did her chores there, and left immediately. There was no use talking sense back into that man anymore. Do what you have to, then leave. She told herself. According to Blaise, they were only a few days ride from their destination, and the biggest fight of Abreigelle's life.

That was, if these people Blaise was talking about were actually as formidable as he described. Abreigelle had her doubts, but Blaise wasn't taking any risks seeing as he wanted to make a solid recovery before starting out again.

Abreigelle cranked her attic window closed, and then slipped on some long black socks and a sturdy pair of boots. Hastily, she gathered up some supplies she had laying around: a half-eaten loaf of bread, canteen of water, some bandages, and a small book on disc operation. She slipped them all in her satchel and then fastened the Passion Breastplate around her torso by clipping and cinching the leather straps on the sides. In the mirror, the disc housing looked obscenely flashy in polished gold, not to mention it was about five sizes too large. To compensate, she slipped on a baggy-looking poncho which hid the bulk of the breastplate from sight. To pull this off, she would have to not only tolerate the excess weight, but also the heat of the layered garments.

Abreigelle had been hesitant to wear the breastplate at first, but eventually figured it was the only way to truly hide it from Jamir, who was the old man who had so kindly taken them in, and worked the farm by himself. Widowed, Jamir lived on this farm alone for the past twenty years, doing everything from the watering, to the preparing of the soil and drying of the mushrooms. He'd explained to her that the only time he went into town was at the end of the season after the last harvest. There was no way he would know what happened in Alraia, but at the same time, Abreigelle was sure he might be suspicious if he saw the breastplate in her possession.

Despite losing all of her discs, Abreigelle had found a way to obtain two new ones from Jamir. She was genuinely fascinated by the way he used them to mist the stacks of grow-logs every morning, and had asked him personally if she could help, in exchange for food and lodging. Grateful for the company and assistance, Jamir provided his spare copies of isia, the mist-maker, and emaris. Abreigelle was to perform her chores each morning, and she would get to practice her disc technique, though she'd cleverly placed the glass discs in the Passion Breastplate instead of the satchel Jamir intended her to use.

After closing the door to the attic, Abreigelle made her way downstairs and out the front door of the cabin, passing Jamir himself who was asleep in a chair on the veranda. The old man smelled of soap and cigar smoke. A workaholic though he seemed, Abreigelle was beginning to think he was enjoyed all of his newfound free time.

The rounds for today were done with relative ease now that she'd internalized the new set of disc patterns. She first summoned a cloud of fog and monitored it as it hung over the newly inoculated mycelium logs. When she determined they were sufficiently damp, she moved on to the budding fungi, and then the nearly-ripened ones. After she finished, Abreigelle walked to the other end of the farm, where the drying barn sat nestled in a copse of birch trees.