The Arkanist

Chapter Eighteen: The Dangers of Asking

Chapter Eighteen: The Dangers of Asking

We walked for most of the morning. The rain never stopped.

There were times where it seemed it might. Times where we held our breath and looked to the sky, only to feel the drops continue to patter against our faces. The sky was low and brooding, the dark stormclouds heavy as lead above us, seemingly following our trail.

I walked beside Aryl along the stone path. At the off, the road was tight cobbles, easy to walk across, but the further we went, the farther we ventured from the city, the rougher the road became. There were fewer cobbles, more grass and dirt, and in the mud, it was a slushy business, and aching, the rogue blocks driving into your feet if you took a bad step.

We passed golden wheat-fields, gone grey in the wan light, and small towns of rickety buildings and thatched roofs, the kind of places that seemed as though a strong gust of wind would topple them to the floor. The farms spanned wide and far, into the blurry distance, a scattering of laborers hear and there, working their crops, earning their pay.

We even passed the woods where I had met the faey-prince, Elenvi, the day my father died, but I did not see the graveyard he was buried in. Only rolling grey-green hills and forest.

As we walked around thick wall of trees, the road curving somewhat, I wondered if he was still there, and in that moment, I suddenly felt the seed again, light as a feather in my wet cloak pocket. I put a hand to it and remembered what he'd said, wondering when I would ever need his assistance. It seemed a forgotten thing entirely.

By midday, the rain had slowed, but nevertheless, it was still there, lingering like a foul taste in the mouth. Viven called us to the side of the road to make camp. We'd walked far, and in wet clothes and damp skin. We needed the rest.

Just off the road, in a scattering of oak trees, a hasty camp was made. Under the trees, the ground was partly dry, or at least as dry as dry could be in those conditions. I was tasked with retrieving firewood, an altogether simple thing in the right conditions. These, of course, were near on the worst conditions. Everything was wet, every branch, every bramble, every blade of grass. Even when I cracked the twigs in half, their very piths were cold and damp. This is often the case when it has rained for a time, catch the wood in the early times of a storm, and you'll be lucky. I, of course, was not.

As I was searching, and failing to find anything close to acceptable tinder, I noticed there was a girl, and she was standing in front a birch tree. I hesitate to call her a woman, for she did not have the subtle awareness, the achieved air of maturity as of yet, however old she indeed was. I also hesitate to call her a lady, for she was simply nothing of the sort.

She was part of the company, I'd remembered seeing her in the Silver Hall, but since then, I hadn't glimpsed her. Truth is, I hadn't really even seen her then either. Mind you, there's a difference between seeing someone and simply observing someone. They are two different things entirely. They stand apart like oil in water.

When you observe someone, you comprehend their figure, the shape they take on, their physical semblance, vague outlines of their person. When you see someone, when you truly see someone, you see deeper than what their hair color is, but into their heart of being. You watch their quirks, their movements, how their face reacts to certain things, how their eyes speak without saying a word.

This, I did. In the wet, dark gathering of trees, this is what I did. In retrospect, it may sound a tad creepy, but in the moment, I was curious, and there was something about her that drew me to her. Not in a fierce, sexual way, no. I was too young for that. But my curiosity is a thing to marvel at in itself. It takes little to be tempted, and this girl was more than a temptation.