“I’m not exactly sure, but I bet it can be done,” Quinn said, studying his body language. “Not around here though. This place hasn’t any magic at all. It’s just as dry as a biscuit, perhaps worse.”
The people of Woolbury were instructed to be careful when it came to information from the outside world, particularly during the hunt. Lies could very easily infect the mind. But now, here Abbott was with magic. He’d seen it with his own eyes. There was no doubting it. “Could you show me more?” Abbott asked. He needed to be absolutely positive what Quinn was describing was not the work of dishonesty. There was a seriousness he found in shades of Quinn’s eyes. As easy as it was to write off what she was saying as fiction, a part of him wanted to place his trust in her. He needed it to be real. For the sake of his father's life.
5
Quinn’s illustration brought back a memory of when Abbott was younger. Blind eyes, he said to himself. There was a frail woman, many festivals ago, who wanted to trade for healthy livestock, but all she had to offer in return was a stone. Young and dimwitted, he had accepted the trade without his father's permission and landed the polished grey stone. When Abbott confessed to his father what he'd done the very next day, it sparked an intense argument. And full of guilt, he cast the stone into the drawer of his bedside table, never to be reviewed again.
“I’ll be right back,” Abbott said breathlessly. “There’s something I want to show you. Don’t move an itch!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Quinn rolled her eyes as she plucked a stone from the glass.
Seeing the marking on the arrows reminded him of the stone, but he hardly knew why.
Abbott ran straight home to find the lost stone. He knocked on the door to see if their guests were inside. There was no answer. Abbott jarred the door open and saw his bed piled high with sacks of clothing and bags of food. He dove for the table, and in the far back of the drawer, sat the stone from his memory. A thin layer of web encased the hard surface. His narrow fingers traced the backside, removing the grime, and sure enough, carved with an identical marking as the arrow, there was a circle with an x running over it. His eyes widened in wonder as a million different possibilities entered. Did the stone contain magic? And if so, what could it do? Could this stone be the very solution to healing his father?
Abbott held it delicately as if he was holding a lump of gold. There was a weight behind it that felt like a fortune.
“Back already?” his father shouted.
“Just grabbing something,” Abbott said as he opened the door to his father’s room. “I have just seen the most astonishing thing tonight. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning! Things may finally be in our favor!” He kissed his father on the forehead, who remained in a state of disorientation from his slumber. Once his son departed, Edmund rejoined the dream world to search for something he’d lost long ago as well.
Abbott raced back to his newly made acquaintance. He could hardly think straight. He leaped over fires and dodged sailing children.
Quinn leaned impatiently against the wheel of her caravan. She was tossing pebbles repeatedly at the black crows that were stalking in the trees. One by one, she either spooked them away or watched as their black bodies fell limp to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Abbott asked bewildered. Another crow fell, dead.
“Scaring them off,” Quinn explained. “Where I’m from, these black devils mess everything up. Spying on people and listening to their conversations. Their very presence makes my skin crawl.”
“They’re hardly an issue here, but there's never that many at once.”
“That’s what they want you to think–– anyways, did you find what you made me wait here for?” Quinn said, throwing another rock. PHHHF! A crow fell unconscious. She chapped her hands in delight.
“Yeah, right where I left it." Abbott withdrew the stone from his pocket and handed it to Quinn. She studied it with grave detail, smelling it and paying careful attention to its marking. “It’s been there for years.”
“Surprising, considering what it is,” Quinn said as she observed the backside. “What'd you say you traded it for?”
“A sheep,” Abbott said nervously. “That’s all she wanted for it.”
“Could have fetched an entire flock for this,” Quinn admitted. “I would have.”
“Well, if memory serves me correct, she was desperate,” he said, trying to remember the encounter.
“That’s what she wanted you to think,” Quinn said as she pulled the tubular object holstered on the cord around her midsection.
“What's that?”
“Oh, this? It’s just a stella––– magnifying glass,” Quinn corrected, but that was hardly at all what it was. What Quinn was looking down was the barrel of an invention all her own. An object known as the stellascope, it was a device Quinn invented to detect magical enchantments. While she looked down the tube, her face lit up. The stone was a clever little item. As ordinary, as it appeared, there was something more extraordinary about it, but Quinn had not seen this type of magic. And the stone did not want its secrets revealed, at least under her possession. There was, yet, someone who might know what it was, her father, Martin.
“And?” Abbott said as he drummed away on the tops of his thighs. “What is it telling you?”
“Mmhmm,” Quinn said, still in deep thought. The markings were etched in a pattern far different than the arrows. That was what puzzled Quinn.
Abbott’s eagerness sprouted from the silence. “What did you find? What magic––”
“It’s a dud,” Quinn said harshly, acting as if the stone was nothing but a paperweight.
“But you said—”
“I was wrong.” Any evidence of Quinn's curiosity melted away as she spoke these words.
The news was a disappointment to Abbott. What hope he found in the stone, was misplaced. How was he going to help his father now? “So, that’s it?” he asked.
Quinn could not help herself from touching the stone. It was as if she was a cat playing with a ball of yarn. He could see that the stone fascinated her. She'd barely taken a minute to look up at Abbott as he spoke to her. Something was capturing her attention.
“Mind if I keep it?” she asked openly. “As a souvenir. I can pay you for it.”
“An entire flock of sheep will do," he said. Quinn was hiding something. He was determined to find out. “I'll let you have it under one condition,” he countered, “You let me look underneath your magnifying glass.”
Quinn considered the offer for a moment, but even she knew it was far too dangerous to let him see the truth. She had already revealed the secret to her father’s performance, a move that may not have been in her best interest to make. “I can’t,” she said.
“And why’s that?”
“You wouldn’t be able to read it anyway,” Quinn lied. Her eyes dodged Abbott. “It’s not—-in English.”
“What language is it in?”
Quinn’s tongue-tied itself so tight in a knot, she could barely speak. What other languages were there other than English, she did not know. Her native language wasn’t spoken here.
As she fell deeper and deeper under his scrutiny, a tabby old barn owl swooped in and snatched the stone from her hands. The owl’s talons just nearly missed the soft flesh of Quinn’s hand, but she didn’t seem to be frightened. “Oh no,” she exclaimed, “It’s taken it from my hand!”
Abbott had seen that owl before. It was the same one that landed on the wheel during Martin’s performance. “Wait a minute,” his teeth bared. “That’s your pet isn’t it?”
“I haven’t a clue as to what—” But the owl landed within the eyesight of Quinn and hooted.
Abbott planted his boot into the dirt. “I saw him earlier. You’re lying to me— about the stone!”
“Why would I do that? I told you it was dud and I meant it. Look if you’d like me to show you more magi—”
“What’re you hiding?” There was a sternness i
n his voice that frightened Quinn.
She was lying to Abbott, but not because it would best suit her interest, but more or less protect his well-being. The stone was not something to toy with, nor was it something to leave in a bedside drawer in the village of Woolbury.
Nervous and trapped, Quinn hooted in response, and the owl took off from where it perched. Quinn dashed into the thicket like a spooked animal. Abbott lost within a second. Just as much a trickster as her father. Abbott did not bother chasing after her. She could have magical instruments on her side.
She disappeared into the forest behind her owl.
She wouldn’t stay there for long. He knew where she’d return, and there he would wait to collect what was taken from him.
“We will remain together for the search,” a man said with a long black coat and a high collar shielding half of his face. "Do not engage with any sort of activities. We don’t want to keep her waiting, you know how she handles impatience.”
His accomplice winced and rubbed the scar that ran like a valley down his temple. He, too, dressed in a slick black coat that fell to the forest's floor. “And blending in?” he asked, looking at his appearance.
The other nodded in acceptance. “Do what you must not to stick out. Let me do the talking. I can't have you spook anyone, not this time.”
They cut their way out from the woods, sticking to the shadows where fewer people congregated. The festival was in full spin. Stands were up for trading, and that's where the majority of crowds funneled. But then others circled the Three Legged Hare like vultures waiting for their smooth pint of ale. That place caught their attention. It had been a terrible journey, and a drink sounded rewarding.
“Head there.”
They agreed.
The pub offered a desired base of operations where traffic flowed in and out like the vessels of a heart. If they were going to locate their subject, this may offer the best odds.
“Greetings there, travelers,” chipped the bartender. “What can I do yah for?”
In a state of disgust, the shadows quietly said, “Ale,” and not another word.
“Right away, right away.”
When the bartender returned, there were a pair of over poured cups in each hand. “Where’ve yah come from?”
The one who seemed to be in charge gazed directly into the tender's eyes. What he saw was a kind-hearted man, one without corruption. “We’ve journeyed from the depths of hell,” he sneered sinisterly. “And if you don’t stop talking with us, I’ll drag you back.”
As if his horrid words weren’t enough to put the man in a coma where he stood, he pulled a short dagger and slid it across his own throat. The bartender hurried away at once and did not bother them the remaining time they sat there.
“Thought you said not to stick out,” his companion said.
“Couldn’t stand to hear him speak another word.”
The two snickered and returned to their ale.
The night was young. They had time to spare.
6
Billy's wildest dreams were finally resembling some kind of truth, and it didn't require him finding a magical mushroom. Abbott’s advice for wooing Violet had done its duty. “A Waxy Cap won’t grant you the victory. Only mutual affection will seal the deal with Violet .” He kept telling himself and mutual affection it was. She clung gleefully to the arm of her champion as others passed by and tipped their hats in congratulations.
The adrenaline caused such a rush in Violet, that their hands interlock as to not let the others swarming about get to him.
Together, they ventured through Woolbury staring lazily at the spectacles. The hunt wouldn’t commence until the following night, but that didn’t halt the festivities. A stand with ladies sold delicious baked goods pressed into the shapes of moons by the basket full. Woolbury's champion was gifted one free of charge. Billy bit into it, and an explosion of wild berries burst onto his palette.
"It's fantastic," he said before chewing his bite.
"And me?" Violet giggled.
Billy placed the remainder of the baked moon in her mouth so she could share the sensation.
There was dancing from lost and forgotten parts of the known world that included a toad and a piece of carrot cake with nine children. Billy heard the children call it, Tongula. The toad sat in the middle next to the slice of cake while the nine children danced. A bystander explained to Billy the goal was to have the toad jump towards the child with the most excellent dancing style.
As the continued, sword combat raged on in the stables. The display summoned the attention of the manliest of men. Billy thought this was the most prestigious event of the night and was offered the champion's seat in the front row. Men and women alike lined up to see steel versus steel, shield versus shield, strength versus strength. With each strike, the crowd gasped in horror.
“There’s a lot you can learn by watching a man fight,” Billy said deeply, trying to impress Violet. He really had no idea of anything about swords or fighting, unless clashing branches counted. Nevertheless, Violet nodded her head dreamily, proceeding to listen. “If you look closely when that man there,” he pointed to a darker-skinned man in the lefthand corner, “...attempts to make his move, his opponent,” he lifted his hand toward a furry man with locks to his waist, “...will shield the strike, and go for the open spot on his left side.” And just like a fortune teller, the events unfolded the way he prophesied.
Violet clapped her delicate little hands in wonder, “Ahha! You are really really good at this, would you be able to teach me? You know… a lady has to defend herself.”
“Why, I— I could yes,” Billy said rising to the challenge. “But sword fighting isn’t for the faint of heart. It takes a strong person to win. Are you up for the challenge?”
Violet’s brow furrowed dubiously. “Do you say that because I’m a woman?” she said letting go of Billy’s hand.
“No, no, not at all,” A nervous sweat ran down Billy’s neck. His cheeks turned blotchy. “I wouldn’t doubt your abilities. Woman or not.”
“Good. I do not like a man who downplays my intelligence. I’m far more intelligent than most, even if I don’t let off about it.” Violet’s rosy cheeks happily returned and Billy proceeded to explain the art of combat brushing over proper grip or the best way to sharpen a blade. He just made it up as he went. There was no harm in doing that, he thought. Even if it sounded odd to say, there was no way that she would know what was right and what was wrong. And through their dialogue, Violet was absolutely captivated. His play by play account of the sword match was exhilarating. She leaned closer into Billy’s arms like she was being lured in by a siren's song.
Abbott trudged the way back to where Martin and Quinn’s caravan was, but it had disappeared.
“Looking for someone?” a passerby said, it was the large-chested and curled mustache man of Mr. Dunham, Violet's father. He was dressed in his finest grey wool jacket and wore an ebony-colored top hap.
“No, no, I’ve just misplaced something. It fell from my pocket while—” Abbott searched for any signs pointing to where the caravan departed.
“Sword fighting has started in the Blackwood’s stable,” Mr. Dunham chuckled as he took a quick peek at his pocket watch. “That’s where I’m headed now. If you’d care to—”
“You wouldn’t have happened to see where the man camped here went? The one with the show from earlier?” Abbott inquired, interrupting Mr. Dunham’s invitation.
“Not at all,” he said with a sigh, tucking his brass watch into his pocket. “But I did hear someone say he started a nasty run-in with some of the locals over placing bets for tomorrow. I expect he’ll have found a more desirable spot to hide out from his newly made competitors.”
“Thanks,” Abbott said briskly. “Do you know where Violet is at?”
“She with that fellow, Billy at Blackwood’s. They're calling him the Woolbury Champion. I’m going to join them there now— just ran home to grab some betting c
oins. Have a feeling that I’ll make a fortune tonight. I can feel it in the air. Heavens know, I don’t need anymore.” Mr. Dunham departed with a cheeky chuckle and skipped to the stables.
The campsite was deserted. Not as much as a wheel mark was left to be examined, and the horse pulling the caravan left no traces either. Cheats, Abbott thought to himself. He did not believe they were actually gone. The hunt had yet to start. He could not imagine traveling from God-knows-where just to leave after stealing a magic stone and upsetting a few over gambling. No. They were here somewhere, perhaps under the aid of magic, but how would he find them? He had no way to detect it.
A series of scenarios played out in Abbott’s head. If he were a magician, he could just locate them, but he wasn't, and it hardly mattered. Words had power, not people. Markings were the true magic. No, in fact, he didn’t know anyone who would be able to help him now. But there was something that could. Up until this point, Billy’s success was something he hadn't any interest in retaining. The thought of Violet wrapped around his friend made him nauseous. There was, however, one thing he did remember, the arrow. Billy snatched an arrow from Martin. Like a little thief, he took the very item that made him victorious. The answer presented itself.
Abbott sat on the neighboring bench to the crime scene, pondering. If he could recreate what Quinn showed him— use the arrow to find the caravan— he could locate her. At the end of the day, like Quinn said, magic was bound to their markings. Tureen em viola, the locator enchantment. He could simply command it to find Quinn’s caravan, no matter where the real location was, hidden or not. But it may prove risky. He didn't know what he was meddling with. Nonetheless, it warranted a try. He needed to discover what the stone did, and if Quinn wasn't going to tell him, he would find out for himself.
The barn owl rifled through the vaulted ink of darkness, soaring over the tops of evergreen trees, and underbrush as she followed her running red fox. Quinn weaved between forest vegetation, passing fallen trees and wet grass before she paused to catch her breath. Running was not her strong suit. She was terribly unaccustomed to the chase, as she said. Good thing she had her owl.
The Shadow of Our Stars: The Tales of Evinar Page 4