bloodyrosemccoy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bloodyrosemccoy) wrote2013-02-09 06:08 pm
bloodyrosemccoy) wrote2013-02-09 06:08 pm
Entry tags:
Scatterstone - Part 3
Part 1 - With Index
All right, I think I got this set up right. I've been looking forward to this bit, so getting it formatted right wasn't too terrible. Menace is always fun to write!
It's a bit shorter this time. But hey, Nolly finally gets to see some magic, so that should be interesting ...
---
Nolly employed another ancient technique to improve her spirits: a good night's sleep. Daylight, even filtered through gathering cloud cover, made short work of her homesickness. And when they arrived at the fairgrounds outside Wellen's Cross, things became far too busy for her to listen to her own worries.
Carnival Time was nigh.
On the evening of their arrival, the last couple days' steady cloud cover finally built itself to bursting. From the cover of the wagon's awning, she watched as the motley group of vehicles she'd been traveling with was transformed into the garden of wonders she'd looked forward to each year.
She'd never thought about how the fair got there. In her experience, the wheeled booths, tents, and stages sprang up like fairy rings in the night. She'd never given a second thought to how much pulling and pounding and folding and lifting went into it.
She considered offering to help them, tired as she was. It seemed wrong to let her hosts do all the work--there was Ivan out in the downpour, rain sliding down his face as he lifted tent poles. But stepping into the midst of that intricate work would go about as well as blindly tramping into the middle of the women's nightly dance. This was too tightly coordinated.
"Fascinating, isn't it?"
Yeleni appeared out of the rain. Setting her walking cane against the sideboard, she lowered herself onto the wagon's tiny stoop.
"Fell a few months ago putting up a stage," she explained, indicating her bad leg. Nolly had indeed noticed that Yeleni stayed among the musicians when the others danced. "I'm sitting it out until it heals."
Nolly nodded. Following the older woman's lead, she took out her own pipe to fill. She felt a surge of pride in her homeland to see Yeleni enjoying the pipeweed so much.
"I suppose it gives you a chance to enjoy a pipe, at least," she grinned.
"Ah, but only one. She'll have much to do soon enough."
Nolly jumped. It wasn't easy to tell with the dark sky, but she was fairly certain it was near sundown. And this voice belonged to a man!
Yeleni saw her shock and grinned. "Carnival Time, my dear. Different rules."
"Oh--of course." She was surprised at herself. Back in Alricshire she'd have never thought twice about such things. With the Fyan, though--she was starting to internalize their rules.
Yeleni stood and briefly bowed as the speaker ducked under the awning and pulled back his hood.
"And Carnival Time," he said, " means a great deal of work for all of us."
Nolly stared at him, rather tongue-tied. Knowing the Alricshire hobbits' distaste for magic, Vazyo had kept a fairly low profile at the fair in Birchdale. But a "low profile" meant different things to different people--and for Vazyo, a "low profile" had an awful lot of glitter on it. Even out in Real Time he wore rings on each finger--and several more climbing up each ear--and regardless of the weather he always sported midnight-blue cape embroidered with complicated symbols in silver thread. Unlike most Fyan he wore a beard, as glossy black as his hair, trimmed to a neat point.
So far Nolly hadn't spoken to him. She'd heard enough stories from folk like Sirthaus Elliwell to be suspicious of Vazyo's kind.
But it was hard to remember that when he favored her with a graceful bow. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced yet, Miss Fine. I am Vazyo, the Blue Star mage. I hope one of the worthy folk of Alricshire won't hold that against me." He regarded her with bright black eyes.
"Oh, I--no, it's all right," Nolly stammered, blushing. Then, because she couldn't think of anything else to say, "I--I thought you'd be helping with the setup. Making things fly or keeping the rain off or something?"
As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn't. Who was she to tell him his own business? But Vazyo smiled.
"A fair assumption," he said. "But I have another job. I have to wait for them to finish setting up, and then my work begins."
"He makes the protective circle around the entire fair," Yeleni said. "Keeps the thieves and brawlers to a dull roar."
"Oh. All around the fair? That's quite a hike."
Vazyo nodded. "Indeed. But we've time yet before I must start. I've sent Zeia and Zorna into the forest for a few extra ingredients for the spell. Time for a bit of sleep for me." He gave Yeleni a pointed look. "And best you do the same, my dear. You'll be up early, too."
Yeleni grinned and blew a smoke ring into his face.
"But you're right," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "Busted up legs don't mean I can't work on the makeup and the costumes. And paint and spangles take a lot of energy."
"I look forward to seeing the results," Nolly said. And she did. Now that she knew that Zam the juggler doted on his pet canary, that Bilyurza the fire-eater was sweet on Ubazu the clown, that Neberr the fortuneteller had once been the best in the tumbling troupe--now that she knew all that and much more, she was terribly curious to see them in their colorful sequins again. She suspected it would never look the same as it had before.
And--"I am wanting to see some real magic," she admitted.
Vazyo smiled. "Well, we shall be sure not to disappoint." With a last half-bow, he offered Yeleni his arm. "Good night, Miss Fine."
Nolly waved them off. But her mind was already jumping ahead. Now here was something she could help with. She'd go find Zeia and Zorna in the woods nearby and help them gather the things Vazyo needed. The pleasant shiver she got from the thought of helping with sorcery was all for the better.
"And maybe I can find a few new things to season my suppers with, too," she told herself.
She ducked into the wagon to put away her little stool. She considered taking the lamp, but it was far too big for her. She had her match tin with her if light was needed.
A moment later a small figure in a purple cloak slipped out of Ivan and Zeia's wagon, making for the woods at the edge of the fairground.
#
Largo had always thought it would be a fine thing to live in a cave. A nice big one, filled with twisty rock formations, those what-do-you-call-ems that hung from the ceiling or jutted out of the ground, the crinkly bits on the sides, or the knobbly stuff that grew like lichen on the walls. Hobbit holes were cozy enough, dug out of the hills like a rabbit warren. But in a cave was where he felt truly at home.
He'd found the first cave when he was only five years old, when he'd gone wayward while berry-picking. It was no more than a little cleft, but from that moment on, he felt complete.
He drove his mother to distraction, returning every chance he could. Who could resist? The Wild Mountain foothills had a whole great network of caves and hollows eaten into them. Some were joined together by long echoless tunnels, dark and welcoming. He acquired a lantern--the Oakleys down the lane never did miss it--and delved into the mountain's roots.
Nobody else seemed quite as fascinated by these caves, which suited Largo just fine. He found one free of animal tenants and furnished it with a few odds, ends, scraps, and treasures. He had a ragged old rug for the floor, a small blanket over a stone shelf for napping on, a carefully stashed bundle of snacks, and assorted treasures. These last were mostly rocks--riverstones with stripes, colorful pebbles, lumpy little unassuming stones that cracked open to reveal scintillating crystals, and one truly wonderful rock shaped like some sort of snail shell. He often gazed at its spiral thoughtfully, wondering how such a thing had occurred. Sometimes he fancied he could hear something--a background murmur, the sound of being underwater-- while holding it.
Only Nolly had ever been here. No one else could find this cave. He could come here to think.
Tonight he was staying late. He had a lot of thinking to do. All the warnings everyone was trading about how the trolls were back in the foothills guaranteed he wouldn't be found.
But his thinking was jagged today. He couldn't concentrate. He'd tried a few more arrangements with his little stones, but they seemed to dance before him, making less sense than usual. Finally he put them away, wrapped the old blanket around his shoulders, and listened to the falling rain.
It had been two days since the searchers had gone off troll-hunting. They must be cold and wet out there tonight.
Was Nolly cold and wet, too?
He yawned and leaned back. "Curse you, Nolly Fine," he mumbled without much conviction. "Curse you for taking off like that. Making us all worry."
He could imagine what she'd say to that: Then quit worrying! I can take care of myself, you know.
"So you can," he agreed.
He closed his eyes. If he believed that, why did he keep having to tell himself?
#
"Dear me, how far into the woods do magic ingredients hide?"
Nolly had kept to the path, knowing better than to stray off it into unfamiliar woods at night. She'd expected to find her friends a short way into the forest. But she'd been walking for some time, and there was no sign of them.
"I suppose magic isn't going to sit out in plain sight," she said. "Probably Vazyo needed something rare and strange. They'll be scouring the place for eye of newt or wing of bat, or rooster's eggs or snake's toes or--"
She paused. To the left of the path, she'd just seen a glimmer of light.
A fire? Was it her friends?
Nolly gathered her cloak around her. No sense barging blindly up to a fire in the woods. It could be Zeia--or it could very well be thieves and murderers.
Fortunately, like all hobbits, she could be quite stealthy--when she wasn't talking to herself. Quieter than the raindrops around her, she crept toward the light.
She heard the voices first. One was Zorna's--but with a strange cadence. She was speaking the jagged language of the Fyan--chanting it, really. The words seemed to join together at angles, like the silver zigzags on Vazyo's cape. But the second voice was a man's, and it spoke Arcadian.
"So the riddle of Fyan magic is revealed," it said.
Nolly slid closer. Now she could see Zorna. The old woman sat over a cauldron set on a small fire. Colored steam wreathed her face. Her eyes were rolled upward; in her trance she took no notice of the conversation nearby.
Zeia faced a scruffy-looking huntsman. Her arms were folded. "This is a spell for finding lost things," she said shortly. "Go to our mage and you can buy one, too."
"Oh, I've found your mage," the huntsman said. He smiled. "I've suspected for years. And this year, you got careless in the rain. Didn't think anyone would be out tonight to catch you, huh?"
"Catch me doing what?" Zeia demanded acidly.
"Oh, don't worry. I won't share. Provided ..." He spread his hands.
A curious look--reluctance? resignation?--flitted across Zeia's face. She unfolded her arms; one hand absently toyed with the practice batons in her belt. "What do you want?" Her words seemed to be chanted, too, fitting themselves around Zorna's speech.
"See? Not so hard, is it?" His eyes glittered. "I want gold. I know you folk have it. I want enough to fill that cauldron there." He pointed at Zorna.
But then he turned back to the younger woman with a more immediate greed. "Gold and ... an hour."
Why, that dirty brute! Nolly thought, indignant. I'll thank him to quit leering at my friend like that! Slowly she unfastened the sling from her belt. Keeping her eyes on the scene before her, she crouched to feel the ground for a suitable rock.
Zeia sighed. "I thought so." She stepped toward him. "Come. Not where Zorna can see." She took his arm.
Nolly didn't quite see what happened next. For a moment it seemed that Zeia had launched into one of the complex moves from the women's dance, only now she had a partner in the huntsman. There was a hiss like a soft sigh, a flash of metal, and the sound of tearing leather, and then the Fyan woman twirled away from him.
The huntsman swayed for a moment. One hand clutched at his throat. The other had clamped vainly over the inside of his thigh. Blood poured over both of them.
He gave Zeia a look of wounded dignity.
Then he crumpled to the ground and went still.
Zeia stared at him, pale and shaking. Then, with great deliberation, she stooped over and vomited.
When she straightened again, she shifted what was in her hand. The light from Zorna's fire caught on two slim, dripping knives with cord-wrapped hilts.
Had Nolly held herself still at that moment, history might have been quite different. But the sudden red flash on the knives undid her. She could not hold back a squeak of shock.
And where the threat of a looming stranger had failed, that tiny noise aroused Zorna.
"You!" the woman cried.
The strange colors swirled around her, like demons trying to take form.
"I'm sorry," Nolly said frantically.
"You have seen what is forbidden!" The old woman's eyes blazed.
"I didn't mean--"
"You have betrayed us!"
"But--"
"Outsider!" The colors whirled into a cyclone. "OUTSIDER!"
Zorna burst into flame.
Nolly shrieked and fell backward. The flames--blue and red and green--were fully-formed now. They surged forward, mouths open, teeth of flame and eyes of shadow.
Nolly scrambled to her feet. Half-blinded by the sudden blaze, she turned and fled.
#
Miles away, in a vast vaulted hall lit only by the fire in its gigantic hearth, the Lady Manjusha opened her eyes.
What was that sound?
Though "sound" was not quite the correct word. She'd sensed it not with her ears, but with the other sort of sense common to sorcerers. Somewhere in the distance, something magical had happened.
Something magical and loud.
A growl started deep in her chest, rumbling like a restless volcano as she thought. A sound like that could be heard over quite a distance. A few hundred miles, perhaps. When the most subtle of mages rarely made a ripple in the world's magic, it would be embarrassing for a trained sorcerer to make such a blunder. But for an untrained, unconscious mage--
That would have to be taken care of.
And it was in her vicinity. She would have to take care of it.
But she'd been too deep into her doze to notice just where it had come from. She would have to search the countryside, hoping to blindly stumble across the magic user.
Unless it happened again.
Well. If that was the case, she would be ready for it. Growl rising in pitch, Lady Manjusha rose. Sleep would have to wait. She had to have her traveling spell ready quickly, in case this happened again.
And then she would take care of it.
#
On to Part 4!
All right, I think I got this set up right. I've been looking forward to this bit, so getting it formatted right wasn't too terrible. Menace is always fun to write!
It's a bit shorter this time. But hey, Nolly finally gets to see some magic, so that should be interesting ...
---
Nolly employed another ancient technique to improve her spirits: a good night's sleep. Daylight, even filtered through gathering cloud cover, made short work of her homesickness. And when they arrived at the fairgrounds outside Wellen's Cross, things became far too busy for her to listen to her own worries.
Carnival Time was nigh.
On the evening of their arrival, the last couple days' steady cloud cover finally built itself to bursting. From the cover of the wagon's awning, she watched as the motley group of vehicles she'd been traveling with was transformed into the garden of wonders she'd looked forward to each year.
She'd never thought about how the fair got there. In her experience, the wheeled booths, tents, and stages sprang up like fairy rings in the night. She'd never given a second thought to how much pulling and pounding and folding and lifting went into it.
She considered offering to help them, tired as she was. It seemed wrong to let her hosts do all the work--there was Ivan out in the downpour, rain sliding down his face as he lifted tent poles. But stepping into the midst of that intricate work would go about as well as blindly tramping into the middle of the women's nightly dance. This was too tightly coordinated.
"Fascinating, isn't it?"
Yeleni appeared out of the rain. Setting her walking cane against the sideboard, she lowered herself onto the wagon's tiny stoop.
"Fell a few months ago putting up a stage," she explained, indicating her bad leg. Nolly had indeed noticed that Yeleni stayed among the musicians when the others danced. "I'm sitting it out until it heals."
Nolly nodded. Following the older woman's lead, she took out her own pipe to fill. She felt a surge of pride in her homeland to see Yeleni enjoying the pipeweed so much.
"I suppose it gives you a chance to enjoy a pipe, at least," she grinned.
"Ah, but only one. She'll have much to do soon enough."
Nolly jumped. It wasn't easy to tell with the dark sky, but she was fairly certain it was near sundown. And this voice belonged to a man!
Yeleni saw her shock and grinned. "Carnival Time, my dear. Different rules."
"Oh--of course." She was surprised at herself. Back in Alricshire she'd have never thought twice about such things. With the Fyan, though--she was starting to internalize their rules.
Yeleni stood and briefly bowed as the speaker ducked under the awning and pulled back his hood.
"And Carnival Time," he said, " means a great deal of work for all of us."
Nolly stared at him, rather tongue-tied. Knowing the Alricshire hobbits' distaste for magic, Vazyo had kept a fairly low profile at the fair in Birchdale. But a "low profile" meant different things to different people--and for Vazyo, a "low profile" had an awful lot of glitter on it. Even out in Real Time he wore rings on each finger--and several more climbing up each ear--and regardless of the weather he always sported midnight-blue cape embroidered with complicated symbols in silver thread. Unlike most Fyan he wore a beard, as glossy black as his hair, trimmed to a neat point.
So far Nolly hadn't spoken to him. She'd heard enough stories from folk like Sirthaus Elliwell to be suspicious of Vazyo's kind.
But it was hard to remember that when he favored her with a graceful bow. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced yet, Miss Fine. I am Vazyo, the Blue Star mage. I hope one of the worthy folk of Alricshire won't hold that against me." He regarded her with bright black eyes.
"Oh, I--no, it's all right," Nolly stammered, blushing. Then, because she couldn't think of anything else to say, "I--I thought you'd be helping with the setup. Making things fly or keeping the rain off or something?"
As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn't. Who was she to tell him his own business? But Vazyo smiled.
"A fair assumption," he said. "But I have another job. I have to wait for them to finish setting up, and then my work begins."
"He makes the protective circle around the entire fair," Yeleni said. "Keeps the thieves and brawlers to a dull roar."
"Oh. All around the fair? That's quite a hike."
Vazyo nodded. "Indeed. But we've time yet before I must start. I've sent Zeia and Zorna into the forest for a few extra ingredients for the spell. Time for a bit of sleep for me." He gave Yeleni a pointed look. "And best you do the same, my dear. You'll be up early, too."
Yeleni grinned and blew a smoke ring into his face.
"But you're right," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "Busted up legs don't mean I can't work on the makeup and the costumes. And paint and spangles take a lot of energy."
"I look forward to seeing the results," Nolly said. And she did. Now that she knew that Zam the juggler doted on his pet canary, that Bilyurza the fire-eater was sweet on Ubazu the clown, that Neberr the fortuneteller had once been the best in the tumbling troupe--now that she knew all that and much more, she was terribly curious to see them in their colorful sequins again. She suspected it would never look the same as it had before.
And--"I am wanting to see some real magic," she admitted.
Vazyo smiled. "Well, we shall be sure not to disappoint." With a last half-bow, he offered Yeleni his arm. "Good night, Miss Fine."
Nolly waved them off. But her mind was already jumping ahead. Now here was something she could help with. She'd go find Zeia and Zorna in the woods nearby and help them gather the things Vazyo needed. The pleasant shiver she got from the thought of helping with sorcery was all for the better.
"And maybe I can find a few new things to season my suppers with, too," she told herself.
She ducked into the wagon to put away her little stool. She considered taking the lamp, but it was far too big for her. She had her match tin with her if light was needed.
A moment later a small figure in a purple cloak slipped out of Ivan and Zeia's wagon, making for the woods at the edge of the fairground.
#
Largo had always thought it would be a fine thing to live in a cave. A nice big one, filled with twisty rock formations, those what-do-you-call-ems that hung from the ceiling or jutted out of the ground, the crinkly bits on the sides, or the knobbly stuff that grew like lichen on the walls. Hobbit holes were cozy enough, dug out of the hills like a rabbit warren. But in a cave was where he felt truly at home.
He'd found the first cave when he was only five years old, when he'd gone wayward while berry-picking. It was no more than a little cleft, but from that moment on, he felt complete.
He drove his mother to distraction, returning every chance he could. Who could resist? The Wild Mountain foothills had a whole great network of caves and hollows eaten into them. Some were joined together by long echoless tunnels, dark and welcoming. He acquired a lantern--the Oakleys down the lane never did miss it--and delved into the mountain's roots.
Nobody else seemed quite as fascinated by these caves, which suited Largo just fine. He found one free of animal tenants and furnished it with a few odds, ends, scraps, and treasures. He had a ragged old rug for the floor, a small blanket over a stone shelf for napping on, a carefully stashed bundle of snacks, and assorted treasures. These last were mostly rocks--riverstones with stripes, colorful pebbles, lumpy little unassuming stones that cracked open to reveal scintillating crystals, and one truly wonderful rock shaped like some sort of snail shell. He often gazed at its spiral thoughtfully, wondering how such a thing had occurred. Sometimes he fancied he could hear something--a background murmur, the sound of being underwater-- while holding it.
Only Nolly had ever been here. No one else could find this cave. He could come here to think.
Tonight he was staying late. He had a lot of thinking to do. All the warnings everyone was trading about how the trolls were back in the foothills guaranteed he wouldn't be found.
But his thinking was jagged today. He couldn't concentrate. He'd tried a few more arrangements with his little stones, but they seemed to dance before him, making less sense than usual. Finally he put them away, wrapped the old blanket around his shoulders, and listened to the falling rain.
It had been two days since the searchers had gone off troll-hunting. They must be cold and wet out there tonight.
Was Nolly cold and wet, too?
He yawned and leaned back. "Curse you, Nolly Fine," he mumbled without much conviction. "Curse you for taking off like that. Making us all worry."
He could imagine what she'd say to that: Then quit worrying! I can take care of myself, you know.
"So you can," he agreed.
He closed his eyes. If he believed that, why did he keep having to tell himself?
#
"Dear me, how far into the woods do magic ingredients hide?"
Nolly had kept to the path, knowing better than to stray off it into unfamiliar woods at night. She'd expected to find her friends a short way into the forest. But she'd been walking for some time, and there was no sign of them.
"I suppose magic isn't going to sit out in plain sight," she said. "Probably Vazyo needed something rare and strange. They'll be scouring the place for eye of newt or wing of bat, or rooster's eggs or snake's toes or--"
She paused. To the left of the path, she'd just seen a glimmer of light.
A fire? Was it her friends?
Nolly gathered her cloak around her. No sense barging blindly up to a fire in the woods. It could be Zeia--or it could very well be thieves and murderers.
Fortunately, like all hobbits, she could be quite stealthy--when she wasn't talking to herself. Quieter than the raindrops around her, she crept toward the light.
She heard the voices first. One was Zorna's--but with a strange cadence. She was speaking the jagged language of the Fyan--chanting it, really. The words seemed to join together at angles, like the silver zigzags on Vazyo's cape. But the second voice was a man's, and it spoke Arcadian.
"So the riddle of Fyan magic is revealed," it said.
Nolly slid closer. Now she could see Zorna. The old woman sat over a cauldron set on a small fire. Colored steam wreathed her face. Her eyes were rolled upward; in her trance she took no notice of the conversation nearby.
Zeia faced a scruffy-looking huntsman. Her arms were folded. "This is a spell for finding lost things," she said shortly. "Go to our mage and you can buy one, too."
"Oh, I've found your mage," the huntsman said. He smiled. "I've suspected for years. And this year, you got careless in the rain. Didn't think anyone would be out tonight to catch you, huh?"
"Catch me doing what?" Zeia demanded acidly.
"Oh, don't worry. I won't share. Provided ..." He spread his hands.
A curious look--reluctance? resignation?--flitted across Zeia's face. She unfolded her arms; one hand absently toyed with the practice batons in her belt. "What do you want?" Her words seemed to be chanted, too, fitting themselves around Zorna's speech.
"See? Not so hard, is it?" His eyes glittered. "I want gold. I know you folk have it. I want enough to fill that cauldron there." He pointed at Zorna.
But then he turned back to the younger woman with a more immediate greed. "Gold and ... an hour."
Why, that dirty brute! Nolly thought, indignant. I'll thank him to quit leering at my friend like that! Slowly she unfastened the sling from her belt. Keeping her eyes on the scene before her, she crouched to feel the ground for a suitable rock.
Zeia sighed. "I thought so." She stepped toward him. "Come. Not where Zorna can see." She took his arm.
Nolly didn't quite see what happened next. For a moment it seemed that Zeia had launched into one of the complex moves from the women's dance, only now she had a partner in the huntsman. There was a hiss like a soft sigh, a flash of metal, and the sound of tearing leather, and then the Fyan woman twirled away from him.
The huntsman swayed for a moment. One hand clutched at his throat. The other had clamped vainly over the inside of his thigh. Blood poured over both of them.
He gave Zeia a look of wounded dignity.
Then he crumpled to the ground and went still.
Zeia stared at him, pale and shaking. Then, with great deliberation, she stooped over and vomited.
When she straightened again, she shifted what was in her hand. The light from Zorna's fire caught on two slim, dripping knives with cord-wrapped hilts.
Had Nolly held herself still at that moment, history might have been quite different. But the sudden red flash on the knives undid her. She could not hold back a squeak of shock.
And where the threat of a looming stranger had failed, that tiny noise aroused Zorna.
"You!" the woman cried.
The strange colors swirled around her, like demons trying to take form.
"I'm sorry," Nolly said frantically.
"You have seen what is forbidden!" The old woman's eyes blazed.
"I didn't mean--"
"You have betrayed us!"
"But--"
"Outsider!" The colors whirled into a cyclone. "OUTSIDER!"
Zorna burst into flame.
Nolly shrieked and fell backward. The flames--blue and red and green--were fully-formed now. They surged forward, mouths open, teeth of flame and eyes of shadow.
Nolly scrambled to her feet. Half-blinded by the sudden blaze, she turned and fled.
#
Miles away, in a vast vaulted hall lit only by the fire in its gigantic hearth, the Lady Manjusha opened her eyes.
What was that sound?
Though "sound" was not quite the correct word. She'd sensed it not with her ears, but with the other sort of sense common to sorcerers. Somewhere in the distance, something magical had happened.
Something magical and loud.
A growl started deep in her chest, rumbling like a restless volcano as she thought. A sound like that could be heard over quite a distance. A few hundred miles, perhaps. When the most subtle of mages rarely made a ripple in the world's magic, it would be embarrassing for a trained sorcerer to make such a blunder. But for an untrained, unconscious mage--
That would have to be taken care of.
And it was in her vicinity. She would have to take care of it.
But she'd been too deep into her doze to notice just where it had come from. She would have to search the countryside, hoping to blindly stumble across the magic user.
Unless it happened again.
Well. If that was the case, she would be ready for it. Growl rising in pitch, Lady Manjusha rose. Sleep would have to wait. She had to have her traveling spell ready quickly, in case this happened again.
And then she would take care of it.
#
On to Part 4!