Quest (OLD: the new version MIGHT be posted shortly)

Chapter 17-Sage

The sun was starting to set when the village came into view. It was gated, like the werewolf village, but with simple wooden walls and an iron gate. The gate was spread wide open and the sound of life was getting clearer and clearer as we approached.

“Do you think they’re friendly?” Jae asked. I shrugged and pulled out my legend.

Beyond the bay you are safe to rest until you decide to soldier on again. Keep going and you will find a village, where the food and drink are safe to have. The residents may not take kindly to strangers, however.        

“I think we have to risk it,” I said, closing the journal. I made sure my wand was ready and walked forward, keeping my eyes peeled. We got to the gate without trouble, but that’s when the villagers noticed us. I looked around at them and my heart skipped a beat.

They were gypsies.

They all wore traditional clothes. The women were in brightly colored, long, layered skirts and tight, short tops. The men wore colorful vests and loose trousers and shirts. They had henna tattoos of runes and charms on their skin. The women all had long, thick, dark hair, the little girls running around with theirs braided. Charms and bangles and jewelry could be seen everywhere. The entire city felt  ancient, like a lost form of pure gypsy culture.

An aged, stout gypsy approached us. His eyes were dark and magic nearly crackled off of him.

“Who are you?” he asked us.

“I am Sage and we are on a Quest,” I stated.

“You are Muntian,” the man said. Munt was the old land of the Dark Mages. The man reached out for my hand and drew blood with his nail. He tested the blood. “You are pure Muntian.” He smiled widely. “Anyone of pure blood is allowed to come here. You are given a safe haven.”

“May my friends as well?” I asked. “We need only pass through. We don’t mean any trouble.”

“Nonsense! We will have a festival. One of our own has returned,” he stated. “I am the bandolier of this village, they call me Keywood. Come in and please, rest. Set your things down. Have a festival ready by sundown! Willow, see to it that young Sage comes and wears proper attire.” Willow, a younger gypsy with many charms tied to her blouse, came forward.

“We have had many visitors,” Willow told me as she led me away. “None have been pure-blooded before.” Something felt wrong; I was not pure-blooded. My father was just a quarter-gypsy. “Your name is Sage? There is a wise woman of our village with that name.” She took me to a small hut that must have been hers. She pulled out skirts and blouses and handed them to me.

“You are very hospitable,” I noted. She beamed at me.

"For one of our own, we are nothing else,” she said before leaving.

~*~*~*~

The gypsies knew how to throw a party. Once the sun was down there was a roaring bonfire and tables laden with food and drink. Sage had come back dressed in traditional gypsy garb, a long, heavy purple skirt and a cropped, low blouse. Charms and talismans hung off the bodice and her hair hung in her face, catching the light of the fire; the cleaning charm pierced to her belly button was showing to everyone. Her face was set and a wide smile as she looked around. Her dark eyes set on the fire, its image dancing in them. She looked beautiful.

“Well, this was easy,” Pete said, taking a bite of garlic-smelling meat. “Not bad,” he said.

“Do you smell coffee?” Heather asked. My nose perked up and turned to see Sage walking over with clay cups. “You are amazing,” Heather gushed, taking one. She handed the rest out and I took a sip. It was strong and woke me up instantly.