“If she had stayed but a few minutes longer, and if she hadn’t distracted me with her accusations, I would now know what it was about her . . .”
Hissing in a breath of disdain, the old crone limped over to the front door of her store, melting into the younger version of herself before cracking it open. The girl was gone, along with her companion. She checked up and down the street several times before she was sure no one else was around. After flipping the sign outside to indicate she was closed for services, she glared up at the bird perched upon the corner of her upstairs flowerbox.
“Geffin!” she hissed. “Accursed bird, you know better than to cling about my store in the open as if to call down all manner of trouble. Today your presence has caused us great peril. We may even have to flee the city.”
The korehv fluffed his feathers and grumbled. Stretching his neck in a flamboyant yawn, he hopped from his perch and glided through the door of the Mystic’s store.
Once inside, the old woman spoke to the bird, “Now, I’ll let you back out, but there will be no more lazing about. I need you to be on the lookout for another woman like me. A Mystic.”
Geffin fluffed his feathers again and turned up a sharp eye as the woman spoke.
“About this tall,” she held a hand up to the level of her chin, “with brilliant red hair and eyes like mine. Her name is Archedenaeh, but often goes by Denaeh.”
Sahrielle took a shuddering breath and allowed her eyes to drift towards the fire, now a generous pile of embers. After all these years she still had a vivid image of Archedenaeh in her mind. She seemed to sink into herself for the space of several moments; her eyes lost some of their fire and her rigid stance melted.
“It cannot be,” she whispered, finally comprehending all that she was contemplating, all that she had surmised from what the strange girl had told her.
The korehv released a rolling grumble. The Mystic jumped and regained her composure.
She cleared her throat. “This other Mystic, she would be traveling with a korehv like you, though hers is darker. If you see anyone who even remotely matches this description, you must immediately return to me.”
She took a breath then said to no one in particular, “If the Mystic Archedenaeh still lives then we are all in very grave danger.”
Torrell heaved a great sigh of relief when she and Jahrra finally stepped from the park and back onto the familiar street on the other side of Tynne Alley.
“I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll be avoiding the Witching District from now on. That fortune teller was creepy!”
Torrell shivered but Jahrra paid her no attention. In fact, she had hardly paid much attention to anything save their strange encounter during their return to the jeweler’s.
“You’re not thinking of going back there, are you?” Torrell asked, her eyes wide in surprise.
Jahrra cast a glance at her friend. She had every intention of returning to that strange lane and its dark buildings. She wanted to know exactly who this Mystic was and she wanted to know why the woman feared Denaeh. Hroombra and Jaax had warned her away, in so many words, from seeking the Mystic’s company, but they never explained exactly why. Jahrra wanted to ask Jaax but coming up with the right words would be difficult. He may now be her guardian and he might be more open to her questions than he had been in the past, but she knew the Mystic was a sore subject with him, one he didn’t like to discuss.
Perhaps she should, once again, try to solve this mystery on her own. But don’t forget, Jahrra, the little voice inside her said, you are now very much embroiled in all of this so you do have a right to know what is going on in the world. Jahrra sighed. Perhaps she would ask him after Solsticetide. If he was going to revert to his harsh, cranky self, they could at least enjoy the holiday first.
Jahrra turned to her friend and shrugged as she answered her earlier question, “I might come back, and I might not. But if I do it won’t be right away.”
No, I have to go home and think this over and decide what I know and what I want to know, she added to herself as an afterthought.
Torrell crossed her arms and gaped in slight outrage.
“You would consider going back there?!”
Jahrra nodded then grinned. “You’ve been there before, I haven’t. And I didn’t get to see all the shops. I’ll just stay away from the fortune teller.”
“It’s your skin,” Torrell said, clearly giving up. “So, we still have about an hour or so before your spirit stone is ready, what should we do?”
Jahrra suggested they browse the other stores in the magical alley. Torrell nodded her agreement and the two of them zigzagged from one unusual store to the next. Jahrra found Senton’s dagger in one of the smaller shops and even allowed Torrell to pick out a bracelet.
“But you don’t get it until Solsticetide,” she said as the store manager wrapped it for her.
They wandered away from the alley for a while and Jahrra found a dressmaker’s shop with a bonnet that she thought would go well with Neira’s dress.
“Now I just need something for Dathian,” she mused as they eyed the row of buildings down the next block.
Jahrra couldn’t tell Torrell she wanted to get Dathian something specific, something from Dhonoara, because of the secret she swore to him. But when she saw a sign that read Provincial Imports, she grabbed Torrell’s hand and dragged her through the door.
“Um, I’m supposed to be shopping too,” Torrell said as she glanced around at the hundreds of exotic items crammed on the shelves.
Jahrra leapt at the opportunity. “Okay, meet you outside in half an hour?”
Torrell grinned. “Deal.”
Immediately, Jahrra waved down a clerk. “Do you have anything imported from Dhonoara?” she whispered.
The young Nesnan man nodded and regained his arm from Jahrra before leading her down a rather stuffy aisle. He pointed out the section and Jahrra started nosing around. She found small statues carved from wood and prints said to be the genuine creations of the elves of Dhonoara, but none of those appealed to her.
Finally, her eyes fell upon something that made her breath catch in her throat. It was nothing more than a simple inkwell, larger than usual, but polished and carved from what Jahrra recognized as the famous stone from Dhonoara Canyon. If she didn’t know any better she would have sworn it had been taken from Yaraa and Viornen’s table.
Pleased with her find, Jahrra picked it up and brought it to the front of the store to pay for it. Once it was wrapped and stored snuggly in her bag next to the dagger, bonnet and bracelet, she walked outside to wait for Torrell.
A few minutes later Torrell emerged with a huge grin on her face. Jahrra gave her a wary look.
“Found the perfect gift for you,” she said.
Jahrra smiled. “I managed to finish all my shopping too.”
“So what did you get Dathian then?”
Jahrra pulled out the inkwell. There was nothing on it to mark where it was from and it didn’t matter if Torrell knew now or not. Jahrra just couldn’t risk her hearing her earlier, asking for something specifically from Dhonoara. With Torrell’s sharp mind she might remember her friend’s rocky encounter with the elf and the confusion over his book.
“An inkwell!” she exclaimed. “Oh, perfect! You know, I think all he does is study and make notes for Anthar when he isn’t with us. He’ll love it.”