In a day's travel, she made it to two towns. She was beginning to think maybe the gods did care which temple you prayed in. she obviously angered someone. Her luck changed by the third. A two day plan to descend from the gate and find a rural town turned into a five day journey. The forest it let her out in was denser than she had realized. The mage had already waited two months. If he was even alive, perhaps a few days wouldn’t make much of a difference.
She stayed at an inn with the southern coin supplied to her. Again, the owners seemed to have no curiosity or care about who she was. One patron casually asked if she was from the western islands when she took her evening meal. She gave a sort of vague yes, and he chattered about seafood shipments for five minutes before roaming off. She stabbed into the strange steaming dumpling they gave her. She spent about ten seconds attempting to chew through the leaf it was wrapped in before noticing the bemused looks from the other guests, and gently placed it to the side. The remaining mass was filled with meat and covered in a red sauce. It was divine.
The next morning the owners pointed her in the direction of the town healer. The home was made of wood, handsomely built and polished with black ash and white plaster. A vine of yellow roses and honeysuckle wrapped up the left side of the door and hung over the entrance. It smelled sweet as she entered.
“Have a seat, I’ll be just a moment” a voice called out from behind the far wall. Some kind of hallway seemed to wrap around it, she heard washing sounds like it was a kitchen. The entrance didn’t seem to look that different from the other healer’s huts. Dried bundles of things were hanging at the windows, one shelf was lined with jars. The desk had two handsome apothecary’s cabinets set on either side- lined with tiny drawers labeled with miniscule, elegant script. The woman stepped out. She was small and mousey, with a round face that didn’t quite seem to match her bony body.
“Did you see the stars last night?”
“I did,” she sighed, wiping her hands with a towel at her waist, “The Serpent was in a favorable position.”
“Oh thank god,” Marhawet’s whole body heaved with relief.
“You certainly took your time.”
“I got lost.”
“You should have asked for directions.”
“I didn’t want anyone to get suspicious.”
The woman smirked. “It's not Waracan. No one cares about outsiders here.”
Marhawet peered out the window at the market down the road, “I gathered.”
“Well,” the woman tossed the towel on the desk, “as you are not a patient, you may as well come on back.”
The woman pulled out a loud wooden chair and sat her down at the kitchen table- a heavy oak thing with a dropped square in the center filled with ash and a few small black coals. She hovered her hand over to find it still giving off a bit of warmth.
“Great in winter,” she woman commented, setting the teapot down in the center of it and taking a seat across from her, “fill it up and it warms the whole kitchen, even your feet under the table.”
“I can’t imagine this place ever getting cold.”
“Oh, it does,” she smiled, “the winds are bitter. Just a moment, let me get some things.” She stood, poured two clay cups full of a pale brown liquid, and scurried around the corner. “You can call me Kesta,” she called out. “Help yourself, I’ll get some food going in a bit. Make yourself comfortable. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
Marhawet was getting a feeling eerily similar to when her parents forced her to visit her grandmother. She looked down at her cup, not a single guess as to the contents. At least it was cold. She still took a polite sip and immediately shuddered at the abrasive flavor..
“How is it? I’m sorry I don't have any of the sweeter Waracan fare.” The woman sat back down with what appeared to be some papers and legers.
“No it…” she coughed, “It seems...healthy.”
Kesta laughed, “it's tamarind.”
“Why is it also salty?”
She turned back around to the counter to fetch something. “People tend to like sour flavors here. The heat, I guess.” She turned back with a sugar jar.
“Yeah, sure. Who can think about one sense when you’re brutally attacking another?”
She laughed again. An easy laugh apparently. Didn’t seem like a great quality for a spy. She watched as the woman reached out and sprinkled a teaspoon over her cup. She made a few movements with her fingers. As she muttered some words, Marhawet watched the sandy brown contents swirl into the liquid.
“That better?”
“You’re a mage?” Marhawet remarked.
Kesta tapped the side of her nose coyly, “Witch.” Marhawet took a sip of the cup.
“Right, sure, witch,” Marhawet snorted, “except you can actually do magic.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate them,” the woman smirked, “I have met some powerful witches in my time here.”
“Low landers don’t study magic.”
“True, but you know how it is, some people just have a natural inclination.”
She let out a terse laugh, “Oh yeah? I guess that would make them highborns.”
Kesta gave a noncommittal shrug and took a long drink from her own cup.
She laughed again, more out of discomfort and humor. “There aren’t highborns in Tanetzlan,” she added, trying to put a definitive pin in her own joke.
“Not by title, I suppose.”
“By title? The only people who can do magic without training are the bloodline of the gods. Waracan gods.” She kept waiting for the woman to pull a smirk, let some kind of hint that she was in on the bit. But it appeared she was standing by her words in earnest.
Kesta didn’t respond at first. She felt her cheeks redden at the realization of how childish she must seem.
“I imagine,” Kesta began diplomatically, “the people outside of Waracan may come as a surprise to you, Captain-”
“Oh, wipe that self satisfied look off your face,” Marhawet shot sardonically, unable to mask the defensiveness in her tone, “Listen, I’m not some wet behind the ears cadet who’s never been out of the clouds, okay? I’ve just been on a mission in the Western Isles. I’ve been to Corvai, and Cahokia several times.”
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“Of course, of course.” She set her own cup on the table. Her expression became furtive as a thought seemed to cross her mind, “...But never Tanetzlan?”
“No, but thats-”
“Don’t the Enzalli have experts in the area?”
“Of course, I’m sure there are some-”
“Then why not send them?”
Marhwet placed her cup back down on the table with indignant resolve, “I can assure you I’m more than capable,” she felt any semblance of a joking tone drop, but did not attempt to hide it, “Frankly miss, this whole line of questioning is entirely inappropriate, I am a Captain in the King’s service and you are a civilian aide.”
Kesta seemed to visibly shrink at her words. She felt a pang of guilt pulling rank on the older woman, whose concern seemed genuine. But she was also not unused to dealing with those who questioned her competence.
“Of course, I don't mean to cast doubt,” Kesta responded with a reconciliatory bow, “It's just… I have written to the council several times about…the somewhat odd circumstances here.” She watched as Kesta began to twist her cup nervously on the table, “I just hoped to speak with someone who, understanding the context, might help clarify...what exactly I’m looking out for here.”
Marhawet raised an eyebrow, “to be clear, I am here for an extraction. Not a debrief.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So I’m not sure what needs to be clarified.”
“Right,” she sighed, “I’m sure the councilor can handle all of that once he’s back in safe hands.” She began to lift the collection of papers by her side and arrange them on the table. “We should get to work,” Kesta stated.
Her job as appointed by the council was to appraise Marhawet of the situation at the city, which she did with aplomb. She had maps and charts. In just a few weeks she had gathered a startling amount of intelligence. She debriefed her on the prison ranks, weapons, personnel, notable leaders and figures. She was perfectly professional, but still Marhawet felt the weight of her disappointment. She reviewed the initial intelligence that brought Marhawet there as she recounted the projected journey the councilor took.
“It happened not far from here, in a village just on the outskirts of the city. It sounds like it was some kind of ambush. I went out there, the place was totally laid to waste.” As Marhawet studied the maps given to her, Kesta laid a plate of food on the table. Not a meal, but some bland popped snack Marhawet had no interest in. She sat back down across from her, “Whatever happened, Patsik certainly put up a fight. Powerful magework there. I have a feeling the rest of his delegation didn’t survive.'' She pulled out another diagram to hand the soldier, “Anyways, I got word Patsik was dragged away from there by authorities. They have one fortified cell at the Red House for powerful magic users, and it just so happens someone has recently taken residence there.”
“And you’re sure it's him?”
“They say the guards are scared of him. They deal with typical witches all the time, the only thing that scares soldiers is Waracan magic.”
“Hell yeah,” Marhawet snorted. The woman pursed her lips in a kind of swallowing of expression. Marhawet cleared her throat, refocusing on the task, “So it's a prison, attached to some kind of intelligence facility?”
Kesta seemed surprised by the question, “as far as I know, it’s just a public prison.”
“Well…if he’s been captured he wouldn't just be held there, right? He’d be somewhere hidden, put to use.” She tapped with confidence on the prison blueprints, “There must be some kind of underground facility attached.”
Kesta pulled back the blueprints with a furrowed brow, “Well first of all, I’m not entirely convinced he has been captured.”
"You think he's just having a nice visit at the prison?" Marhawet snorted.
“I think it's entirely possible that it's a misunderstanding. They may not even know he’s Waracan.”
“You must be joking. Lowlanders may be back-water hicks but they're not that dense. You think he’s baited out and stranded in a foreign nation, and they happen to pick him up for littering?”
Kesta sighed, “Listen, I'm not saying nothing fishy happened, because it clearly did, but from what I gathered it sounds like a pretty cut and dry case: something happened, the authorities were called, and the nearest witch was apprehended. That’s…how things tend to be handled here.”
“Yikes.”
Kesta winced, “Yeah it's…not great.”
Marhawet considered this a moment.
“I mean, I trust your appraisal of the situation as you see it…but that still leaves the whole Tanetzlan half of this. They couldn’t have planned a meeting and conveniently not told local authorities about it and just let him rot in…witch jail.”
Kesta sighed, “I know, I know. The government isn’t saying anything about this, they’ve responded to no Waracan imperatives, but…”
“So clearly an act of aggression.”
She clasped her now empty cup, rolling it between her palms, “but kidnapping Patsik… it doesn’t make sense.”
Marhawet raised an eyebrow “How’s that?”
Kesta gathered her papers in a neat pile and straightened her back. She folded her hands gently over them, clearly preparing for a statement she had rehearsed in preparation for a meeting with a much more significant player than Marhawet.
“I know Tanetzlan. The people and the government. The Empire is…stretched thin right now. They’re having trouble with the unrest in Tlacon, they’re in active dispute with Cahokia over the Western Isles. I just can’t see any reason they would pick a fight with Waracan now. Tanetzlan is strong for a reason, this doesn’t make tactical sense.”
“Well,” Marhawet shrugged, “all the more reason for a desperate power grab, I suppose.”
Kesta shook her head. “They would never condone that kind of action.”
Marhawet gave an indignant snort. “I didn’t realize the colonizing empire was so moral.”
“That’s not what…” Kesta sighed, “it's not a matter of morality, it's a matter of culture.”
Marhawet leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. She gave a short gesture for the woman to continue, feeling it best to just let her get her little speech out in its entirety.
“Respectfully,” she began, “no one here wants Waracan magic.”
She smirked smugly, but stopped herself from interrupting.
“The people here are distrusting of magic,” she continued, “they believe it's the domain of the gods and shouldn’t be trifled with by mortals. There are witches here, sure. But if you are gifted with magic, you mostly just...keep it to yourself.”
“Or get thrown in witch jail?” she remarked glibly.
“Not every witch gets thrown in jail,” she shot back. Marhawet wasn't sure how to interpret the woman’s defensiveness. She wasn’t from Tanetzlan, Marhawet thought, why was she reacting as if it was a personal slight? “People know about them, it's just… most people can’t control it, and so it's considered gauche to monetize it. Some become healers. It's accepted because it's a sort of…penance. But everyone else just lives normal lives,” she pointed out the small window behind the table, “the butcher down the street is a witch. He can only do a silly little trick with a lead ball. And I’ve seen some kids around town…”
She paused. Her tone shifted as she moved from talking about the government to more local matters. Softer; clearly straying from her prepared statement. She seemed lost in her own head as she gazed out the window.
“God, what a waste,” Marhawet remarked after a pause, sensing the woman had finished saying her peace.
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” she shifted her attention back to the soldier at her table, looking somewhat lighter than when discussing politics. She reached for the clay carafe on the kitchen counter and walked over to refill Marhawet’s drink. “People can be happy without magic, you know.”
Marhawet snorted, “trust me lady I know that better than anyone. But I’m not a mage. They have to hide their nature.”
“In some cases, maybe. But is it any better to be bound by it?'' She refilled her own drink and sat back down.
“Meaning?”
“Well, highborns in Waracan don’t have much choice do they? They’re scooped up and sequestered as children.” She took a careful sip. Her posture stiffened. “Given away by their own families.”
Marhawet felt for the first time uncomfortable. She wasn’t a mage, and she certainly wasn’t a highborn. She felt neither qualified to defend nor criticize a lifestyle that had nothing to do with her. The woman was clearly expecting a certain kind of answer from her, but at that moment she couldn’t deduce what she wanted her to say.
“You know, I met him before all this.”
“Patsik?” Marhawet clamored in response, sounding a bit too relieved to be given an out.
She nodded, “He contacted me before moving on to his rendezvous. It wasn’t far from here. He’s a real piece of work,” her voice was surprisingly harsh towards someone likely locked up and tortured for the last two months, “No one that young has reason to be that grim.” She shrugged, “Maybe he wanted to be…a painter,” she gestured out the window, “a butcher.”
“He has one of the highest positions in our kingdom,” Marhawet responded with a smirk, “I’m sure he’s perfectly pleased with his lot in life.”
Kesta shrugged. “Less pleased at this moment, likely,” she muttered into her cup in response.
