found the pieces of flint
where they lay on the table, but before she could strike a spark
every oil lamp in the room burst into light and the fuel piled
inside the furnace flared with joyful, dancing flames. A kettle
with water in it that she had left atop the furnace began to bubble
and boil. Hugh stood beside the furnace, clad in the same plain,
dark robe he had worn to the meal in the great hall.
In his hand was the staff that had caused
concern to the watchman, Mauger, at the outer castle gate. Mirielle
remembered how Hugh had made a point of unfastening the staff along
with the saddlebags. The staff was at least five feet long. It was
crooked in places, as if it had been made from a sapling that had
branches growing out of it. The branches had been cut off, the bark
had been stripped, and the wood cured by a process that made it
hard as metal and turned it to a dark reddish-brown. The staff was
highly polished, but it was undecorated.
“I knew you at once for a mage,” Mirielle
said.
“As I knew you, Mirielle. I believe we have
much to teach each other.”
“Will you show me your true face, Master
Hugh?”
“I will, if you will tell me why you greeted
my friend and me with a face not your own.”
“You are very like Cerra. She always required
an equal exchange for everything she taught me.”
“In nature a balance must always be
maintained.” Hugh paused, awaiting her explanation.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Mirielle said. “These are
dangerous times. I hide my face from strangers because it is the
safest course. The disguise prevents problems from arising.”
“Great beauty can be a curse.” Hugh nodded
his understanding.
“Those who know me here at Wroxley see me as
I am,” Mirielle said. She raised her left hand in the gesture so
familiar to her. “This affects only strangers.
“Now, Master Hugh, I have fulfilled my part.
Show me your face.”
“See it, Mirielle.” Hugh stood very still,
his left hand wrapped around his staff.
His face changed as though a veil was slowly
being drawn aside, allowing Mirielle to see skin of a hue similar
to vellum that had become slightly yellowed with age. Hugh’s
cheekbones were high and wide, his eyes almond shaped and dark. His
hair remained black and straight. Hugh’s chin was round and his
mouth bore a humorous quirk to which Mirielle responded with a
lifting of the corners of her own lips. She could not tell his age.
Hugh was both old and young at the same time.
“It is a pleasant face,” she said, “but I
perceive that you come from some distant land, for it is a face
unlike any I have ever seen before.”
“It is the face of a friend.”
“I know that. Hugh, I saw a vision of you and
Sir Giles before you reached our gates.” She explained about the
crystal globe and the scene in it. “All of my previous visions have
foretold important changes in my life. Thus, I believe that you and
Sir Giles will be the agents of the next change. What have you come
here to do?”
“You will want to know something about my
homeland.”
“I am curious about it,” Mirielle admitted,
willing for the moment to let him avoid a direct answer to her
question. She would learn what she could from him and then ask
again.
“If you will draw some of the boiling water
from the kettle on the furnace,” Hugh said, “I will prepare a
beverage which we can drink while we talk.”
Using her long-handled dipper Mirielle filled
two wooden cups with the hot water and set the cups on the table.
Hugh reached inside his robe to pull out a metal box engraved with
a winged dragon. He opened the hinged lid, revealing a supply of
dried leaves. A scent she did not know wafted toward Mirielle’s
nose. Hugh put a few of the leaves into each cup and instructed
Mirielle to stir the water for a moment.
“To be certain the tcha is moistened,” he
said. “Now, let it steep for a while. In my land, we drink tcha
after a large meal, to aid the digestive process.”
They sat
where they lay on the table, but before she could strike a spark
every oil lamp in the room burst into light and the fuel piled
inside the furnace flared with joyful, dancing flames. A kettle
with water in it that she had left atop the furnace began to bubble
and boil. Hugh stood beside the furnace, clad in the same plain,
dark robe he had worn to the meal in the great hall.
In his hand was the staff that had caused
concern to the watchman, Mauger, at the outer castle gate. Mirielle
remembered how Hugh had made a point of unfastening the staff along
with the saddlebags. The staff was at least five feet long. It was
crooked in places, as if it had been made from a sapling that had
branches growing out of it. The branches had been cut off, the bark
had been stripped, and the wood cured by a process that made it
hard as metal and turned it to a dark reddish-brown. The staff was
highly polished, but it was undecorated.
“I knew you at once for a mage,” Mirielle
said.
“As I knew you, Mirielle. I believe we have
much to teach each other.”
“Will you show me your true face, Master
Hugh?”
“I will, if you will tell me why you greeted
my friend and me with a face not your own.”
“You are very like Cerra. She always required
an equal exchange for everything she taught me.”
“In nature a balance must always be
maintained.” Hugh paused, awaiting her explanation.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Mirielle said. “These are
dangerous times. I hide my face from strangers because it is the
safest course. The disguise prevents problems from arising.”
“Great beauty can be a curse.” Hugh nodded
his understanding.
“Those who know me here at Wroxley see me as
I am,” Mirielle said. She raised her left hand in the gesture so
familiar to her. “This affects only strangers.
“Now, Master Hugh, I have fulfilled my part.
Show me your face.”
“See it, Mirielle.” Hugh stood very still,
his left hand wrapped around his staff.
His face changed as though a veil was slowly
being drawn aside, allowing Mirielle to see skin of a hue similar
to vellum that had become slightly yellowed with age. Hugh’s
cheekbones were high and wide, his eyes almond shaped and dark. His
hair remained black and straight. Hugh’s chin was round and his
mouth bore a humorous quirk to which Mirielle responded with a
lifting of the corners of her own lips. She could not tell his age.
Hugh was both old and young at the same time.
“It is a pleasant face,” she said, “but I
perceive that you come from some distant land, for it is a face
unlike any I have ever seen before.”
“It is the face of a friend.”
“I know that. Hugh, I saw a vision of you and
Sir Giles before you reached our gates.” She explained about the
crystal globe and the scene in it. “All of my previous visions have
foretold important changes in my life. Thus, I believe that you and
Sir Giles will be the agents of the next change. What have you come
here to do?”
“You will want to know something about my
homeland.”
“I am curious about it,” Mirielle admitted,
willing for the moment to let him avoid a direct answer to her
question. She would learn what she could from him and then ask
again.
“If you will draw some of the boiling water
from the kettle on the furnace,” Hugh said, “I will prepare a
beverage which we can drink while we talk.”
Using her long-handled dipper Mirielle filled
two wooden cups with the hot water and set the cups on the table.
Hugh reached inside his robe to pull out a metal box engraved with
a winged dragon. He opened the hinged lid, revealing a supply of
dried leaves. A scent she did not know wafted toward Mirielle’s
nose. Hugh put a few of the leaves into each cup and instructed
Mirielle to stir the water for a moment.
“To be certain the tcha is moistened,” he
said. “Now, let it steep for a while. In my land, we drink tcha
after a large meal, to aid the digestive process.”
They sat
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