I need to go
Where no man has ventured before
To search for the key to the door
That will end all this tragic
And senseless decay
But how to go?
I need to know. . .
~Leslie Bricusse, Jekyll & Hyde, "I Need to Know"
| JOURNAL |
Exactly one month has passed since I was freed of my apprenticeship. I can scarce believe it, even now. Free! At last, I am my own person, able to make my own choices and do as I please. Within reason, of course; I am not without responsibilities. But it is worth the burden to at last call myself "the herbalist Adirelle," rather than "the apprentice, Adirelle." There is so much I can do! A lifetime of healing ahead of me. . . .
I've packed everything, and tomorrow I shall move to Brylan, as they have no herbalist there. My own home! A place where I shall belong, secure in my niche. And I shall have the freedom to do as I please. . . .
It has been ten years since I first gained my interest in alchemy. A mere ten years! It seems more like a lifetime. Relle, the apprentice girl, becomes fascinated by the idea of creating a medicine to cure every ill. And it was not the glory that fascinated me, but the good I could do.
Tomorrow, my new life begins. And finally, I can pursue my longing to find that cure.
For it was my dream
To create a perfect world
From this cold, imperfect world
Once upon a dream.
~Leslie Bricusses, Jekyll & Hyde, "Once Upon a Dream"
|ADIRELLE|
I ride into Brylan on the seat of a worn wagon belonging to a dusty young farmer who seemed quite happy to five me a ride. He seems a pleasant boy, with an open, cheery face dusted lightly with freckles, and innocent hazel eyes. He looks all golden, all warmth, one of those people you can't help but like. When we rattle into town at last, I thank him as I climb down from the uncomfortably lofty seat. A bright smile, and he is on his way.
Briefly, I wonder if I shall see him again. There are so many things that I won't.
Brylan is mostly a farming village, much like the one I came from, but large enough to warrant a quite a few craftsfolk, as well as an herbalist. The inn and shops are arranged around a wide green, on which some children play. The scents of new-cut grass and woodsmoke prevail. The villagers' faces are friendly, and I receive several affable nods and curious glances as I stand, looking anxiously about. I feel a bit lost. Only a bit, I tell myself. I remain in one place for some time, holding tightly to my satchels, one containing my clothes, the other holding my herbs. At the very moment I decide to ask for help, a feel a touch on my shoulder.
The woman behind me smiles. Her face is wrinkled and kindly. Her dress is plain and blue, and her grey-streaked brown hair is pulled back in a simple braid. "Miss?" she says, in a questioning way. "Are you the new herbalist?"
Her easy manner fills me with relief. Relief for what, I don't know. I straighten, trying to look older than my scant twenty years. "I. . .um. Yes. My name is Adirelle."
"Cena Aniar," she replies, her absent tone contrasting with her suddenly sharp gaze. "A bit young, aren't you?" I draw in breath for a reply, but she continues. "I was watching for you, to show you your place."
"Thank you," I murmur, adding ruefully, "I was feeling rather bewildered."
She nods. "Miss, your house is just behind the seamstress there." She points, and I shift my bags slightly as I follow with my eyes. "There's a garden. And the door is unlatched. Do you mind if I just let you look it over on your own?"
"Not at all," I assure her, and she is already too far away to hear me when I add, "And my name is Adirelle. . . ." With a not quite suppressed sigh, I take a firmer grip on my bags and make my way toward the house.
It's a pretty place, and larger than I'd dared to hope. Made of stone and wood, it has been gently worn by wind and weather. A large herb garden lies surrounded by a low stone wall. The wooden gate swings open easily when I push against it to set foot on the path to the door. Upon seeing sections of the garden overrun by weeds, I nearly sigh again, but the pleasing reminder that I shall be able to set my garden to rights as soon as I want banishes the disapproval. With a somewhat lighter heart, I follow the path up to the door, and, setting one of my satchels down, open it and step inside. With a smile of satisfaction, I look over the room. "Well," I announce to the dust and furniture, "I'm home."
Come the tides
We hear tell of the mortal season
Fed rife with rhyme and reason
Tainted with despair. . .
~Faith and the Muse, "The Hand of Man"
|TERION|
"Leanan sidhe, I've something for thee!" The voice is merry, yet mocking, and definitely quite familiar. Opening one eye, I cast a brief glance up the path. A farm cart of human make trundles along. Ugly cart, at that. Pulling it is a creature closely resembling a horse, yet the proportions are slightly off: legs a bit too long, neck slightly too slender, eyes far too crafty. Perched atop the wagon seat is a slender being with chin-length golden hair, dressed all in pale yellow. Even the eyes are amber.
"Isari," I say in greeting, as she halts the wagon. Up close, it's easier to see the Fir Darrig is female. Too damned hard to tell the difference between genders with that odd race. "That cart of yours is surpassingly ugly."
She stands, sweeping an elaborate bow as she switches to the flowery court language. "Most dreadfully sorry it does not meet your aesthetic standards, my esteemed Lord Sarun," she banters, "but in a place of farmboys and shepherds, in seemed most appropriate." She grins, golden eyes glinting as she shifts back to Faerie common. "And it served its purpose well, so no complaints, eh?"
"Oh, did it?" I counter, raising in eybrow. "So you even have what I asked for?" There shall never come a day in which Isari doesn't find a chance to turn every word spoken into a jest.
She turns her eyes heavenward and sighs with feigned sorrow, lifting her hands with equally feigned helplessness. "Ever does he doubt. Lack of faith is certainly Terion Sarun's greatest fault. And certainly not his only." She slants her gaze back toward me, dropping her hands. "I shouldn't give it to you now. For a race known for its charm, you have certainly been very rude."
"Now why would I expend time and effort employing that charm on one as tasteless as you?" I ask of her, with an affected air of pragmatism. "Be sensible! Do you have it?"
With a wounded sniff, Isari removes a carefully folded square of white cloth from a pocket. "Of course I have it, you faithless leanan sidhe." She holds it carelessly in the palm of her outstretched hand. "Come get it before I throw it at you for your impudence."
"You're simply too lazy to get down from there and give it to me."
"And you, Terion, are too lazy to come and get it from me." She smiles slyly. "I sense a stalemate."
"Hold your tongue and your hand, insolent wretch," I retort, failing to hold back a faint smile. In her most mischievous moods, Isari is far more stubborn than I. "I am moving." She begins to open her mouth, and I add, "With no need of your impertinence to spur me on." She giggles, but refrains from further comment, actually bending down to hand me the folded cloth. "Thank you, Isari. Your generosity, as ever, is boundless." She sits down again, and I remind her, "Return that cart to the poor fool you stole it from. In the same condition you found it in."
She stifles a grin that threatens her carefully indignant expression. "You doubt me yet again." Sadly. "I am doomed to be mistrusted forever."
"Hardly," I reply, drily. "You won't live that long. Off with you, now." With a toss of her head, she calls out to her beast, and the cart slowly rumbles down the narrow road. Isari's not the bad sort, and she is very clever, but I wouldn't trust her or any other member of her troublemaking race with what I will do. Holding back a sigh - I am sickened by this, always - I unwrap the scrap of cloth, carefully, as so not to lose the contents: three strands of pale gold, from the hair of the new herbalist of Brylan.
And truth holds a dozen doors
One thrown open wide shall yield one more. . .
~Faith and the Muse, "The Silver Circle"
|JOURNAL|
One week has passed since I arrived here, and already I feel I could stay here for years. The people of Brylan have welcomed me warmly, and I feel so very comfortable here. I dare to think that things will go well here.
In this first week, I've already cleaned up the house and begun work upon the overgrown areas of the garden, clearing weeds and planting what seeds I had with me. I realize now that I was unprepared, but I had not expected the garden to be in such a state. I hope I will be able to find most of what I need; if not, I suppose one of the many peddlers that pass though here can perhaps purchase some for me and deliver them swiftly.
Speaking of plants and finding, there seems to be something odd about the forest here, although you wouldn't guess by looking at it. However, few of the people venture into it, and those few scarcely past the fringe. I asked several people the reason for this behavior, but only one responded, saying the forest was cursed. He then corrected himself, saying it was not meant for mortal folk, and those who enter it are cursed. He refused to say any more on the matter. I can only assume he means the forest is inhabited by the Faerie kind. . . but it seems odd that these practical, no-nonsense folk would fear so strongly those who are supposedly nothing more than legend. . . .
Sink into dream: these enchanted depths
The realm of muted wisdom
Slowly descend; tust ignites the darkness
And bliss is this drowning moment. . .
~Faith and the Muse, "Annwyn, Beneath the Waves"
|TERION|
Three weeks have passed since the herbalist came to Brylan. I had to allow time to pass, to let her settle, before I begin my work. I. . . I feel wrong for doing this, and I hope the feeling will pass.
I do only what must be done.
Being leanan sidhe, I should be accustomed to this: distracting those who are too curious and too close to discovery from the dangerous paths they may take. This herbalist and her sought-after panacea are dangerous because she has the skill and determination to find her cure. And it must not be found.
I am to draw her from her path, with spells and charm. . . by seducing the poor girl. And if she still does not stray? Then she must be killed.
It is a hard, cruel world she lives in.
Today, Isari tells me, the girl will be coming into the woods seeking herbs, despite the warnings of the townsfolk. It is the perfect time and place to meet her, to see this girl who is so determined to take away all the pain of her world. Isari told me, with uncharacteristic pity, "She's a good-hearted little thing, Terion. A shame her good heart chose the path it did." She seemed to wish it her otherwise.
I do, too.
The three strands of hair, stolen by Isari, went into the making of a simple spell to draw her near. It'd like to say it is for practical reasons, but I am simply too lazy to try following her. They are wrapped around a small piece of crystal, which I hold in one hand. As she draws nearer, it darkens in color. Now, it is almost black. I tuck it into my pocket, and wait. Not much longer, now.
A few moments later, she steps into the clearing, drawn. She does not notice me, sitting under a shadowed oak, watching her. The clearing is small, not more than twelve feet across, and she stands in the center, in a narrow shaft of sunlight. As she looks about, mostly at the ground, I study her. Judge her.
She is on the smaller end of average height, slender, wearing a dull-colored shirt and trousers. Practical choice. Pale hair is pulled back in a tidy braid, but warward curls have escaped to frame her face. Delicate features, with large green eyes that hold a quiet expression. Not the quiet of timidity, though. That quietness holds an air of peace and self-assurance. To my sorrow, there are no signs of greed or extreme pride. To my sorrow, because such faults would make this task easier. . . I am suddenly worried about this one.
She steps to the side and kneels, examining a leafy plant with fingers dirty from digging. After a moment, she sighs, shaking her head, and rises, adjusting the satchel over her shoulder. She appears uncertain as to what she should do next - still held by a force she does not recognize, yet wanting to leave.
"Good day, lady."
She starts, turning swiftly, her eyes wide and slightly frightened. So. She's heard the stories about the forest. She finds me quickly, although se shadow of the tree provided fine concealment.
"Who are you?" she whispers. Already, though, she is recovering her poise, calming down.
I smile faintly, rising to my feet. She backs away a step. "No one, lady."
Her gaze turns thoughtful, then suspicious. "Are you. . . ah. Do you live here?" One hand betrays her anxiety, tucking a stray lock behind her ear.
Her careful change of words is amusing. "At times. When the mood takes me." She considers this silently. "And who, lady, are you?"
"No lady," she answers, with the barest hint of a smile. The fear nearly gone. She thinks me a Fae, from looks and words, and rightly so. "Simply the herbalist of Brylan."
I smile warmly at her. "Well, Lady Herbalist," I surreptitiously put a hand in my pocket and slip the stone free of its bindings, disabling the spell. "Good day." Her look, as I step sideways into the Middle Kingdom and out of sight, is abruptly bewildered. And she is suddenly alone in the small clearing, eyes wide, light haloing her pale hair.