“A
wife.” Kren’s eyes went wide as he stared inward, rolling the thought around in
his mind. It had never seemed possible, and so he had always shut the idea down
in his head, especially when the Urge was on him in the spring and fall. It had
been too painful to think about. But now at the mere hint the impulse leapt out
of the darkness and washed away any lingering doubts he might have had.
“I’m
leaving in the morning,” he announced, almost angrily. “I may not go with you,
but I am leaving.”
Koppa
laughed out loud. It rang strangely in the darkened room.
“You
may have been raised among humans, but you’re a Morg through and through! Your
folk are nothing if not positive about you want.”
Kren
grinned.
“Then
I should fit in pretty well then.”
“If
not, I’ll bet you’ll make them fit around you soon enough.” The youth yawned
hugely, then looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to hit the hay, if I’m
to be out of town before the sun comes up. And if you’re leaving at the same
time, you should get some rest, too.”
“Yes.
Yes, of course.” Kren leapt to his feet. “I’ve got some packing to do first but
let me show you to bed.” He strode over to what appeared to be cabinet doors set
in the wall and pulled them open to reveal his own bed, hidden in the recess of
the wall. “I hope you’re not afraid of closed spaces.”
Koppa
got to his feet and moved sleepily towards the plain but comfortable-looking
blankets.
“Believe
me, I’ve slept in worse. Hmph.” He sat on the edge of the bed and paused before
settling back. “Oh. Before I forget. Do you have anything like a small towel or
a facecloth you could spare? Something clean and white would be best.”
“What?
Oh yes, of course. Just a minute.” Kren turned to a cubby nearby and after a
brief rummage came back with a linen napkin about two feet square in his claws.
“Need something to lay your head on, eh? Will this do?”
Koppa
accepted the cloth and held it up by its corners.
“Nothing
so dainty.” He smiled. “Now catch!”
With
a shake and a toss, the boy threw the cloth into the air with an impish smile.
To Kren’s surprise it flashed into flames at the top of its arc, and against
all common sense he flung out his paws to catch it before it could hit the
floor.
“Hey!”
he barked, but the fire was out before he could even clap his hands over it. It
was cold already, but he patted it automatically as if to extinguish any stray
sparks. “What was all that?”
Koppa
grinned.
“Open
it up and take a look.”
Kren
stared at the crumpled mass. There seemed to be scorch marks running all over
it. He grabbed it by the edges and unfolded it, then gasped.
There,
etched into the fabric, was a clear map, showing rivers, mountains, forests,
and, of course cities, marked plainly by names in neat but miniscule letters. The
space between Far Reach and Morg City seemed dauntingly wide when laid out so
plainly, but not unattainable. He looked up at Koppa in awe.
“That’s
for your journey, to help guide you on your way, as I won’t be with you. That
should be the first thing you pack.” Koppa yawned even wider. “And now I really
must sleep. It’s been a long day, and I think I’ve used more magic today than I
have in weeks. Don’t worry; I’ll wake up by myself when I need to. It’s a
little knack that I have. You pack, then get some sleep as well. You’ll need
it. I’ll get us up to start out on our journeys. And now, good night.”
The
young man drew his legs in and closed the cabinet doors himself, and Kren
suddenly found he was, for all intents and purposes, alone with himself, his
sudden purpose, and a magical map clutched in his hands. He sat stock still for
a moment for the sudden strangeness of it all. Then he slowly folded the map, put
it in his pocket, and began, almost in a trance, to gather his things in the
dim flickering light of the dying fire.
It
was if he had somehow been planning it all his life. Quietly, without
hesitation, he took out his largest leather tool bag and emptied it until it
held only the most basic and necessary instruments. Then he folded his two
warmest sets of clothes and tucked them in on top. The weather would be growing
colder from now on. He went to the jar of black water, emptied it, and dried
the coins inside. They seemed a pitiful handful now, but it would have to do.
He slipped the money into a leather bag and hid it away in the folds of his
jerkin along with the tinderbox he took from the table. He cleaned out his
cupboard and stowed the meager contents in with his clothes. He exhumed his shaggy
old, hooded fleece jacket from the back of the closet, climbed into its stiff baggy
folds, and grabbed his sturdy black walking stock from behind the door. He sank
down into his deep chair before the dying embers under the mantlepiece and folded
his paws together. Peering out of the hood, he felt like he was already in a
tent in front of a campfire. Only then did he feel himself thinking.
Tomorrow,
the town would wake up with no carpenter, their odd duck wandered from the
chicken yard. For a brief moment he thought of Old Mosshide and considered whether
he should leave some sort of note or testament, if only to say, “I quit.” Just
as quickly he dismissed the thought. He didn’t feel like he owed the begrudging
townspeople any explanations, and that the Hetman would have no problems
subsuming the little house into his own holdings. Let them patch their own
roofs and mend their own doors as best they could this coming winter. He was
leaving nothing behind that he wanted to return to.
Despite
his best efforts, he never did sleep, but wandered the dim pathways of his
thoughts until, in the grey hour before dawn, the young wizard arose without a
word. Kren silently offered him a harvest apple for breakfast. Before they
left, the Morg undid his trousers and pissed in the fireplace, dousing any live
embers that may have remained with a sighing hiss.
They
left the little house on the outskirts of town and were almost immediately
wandering into the untamed lands beyond its bounds, following a weedy, little-used
footpath. It was only when it joined the ancient broken highway a mile away
that the young wizard turned to speak to Kren.
“Well,
here we must part,” he said quietly, offering his hand. “You to the West, and I
to the East. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Kren
took his hand and shook it firmly. The boy grinned wryly.
“I
only hope I haven’t set you on a wild sort of quest.”
“If
you did, I’m walking into it open-eyed.” Kren grinned back at him. “Good luck
on your mission. Look me up when you return to Morg City.”
“I
will that,” Koppa replied. He paused. “You do know how to forage in the wild,
don’t you? Trapping, finding journey root, and all that?”
“Please,”
Kren laughed. “I’m a country boy.” He looked around at the wild grasslands
surrounding them, still shrouded in the morning fog. “Far Reach is only one
step up from all this.”
“It
is that.” Koppa smiled. “Well, fare well and good luck! May the Wanderer’s
Blessing be on you!”
“That
should mean a lot, I guess, coming for a wizard.”
Koppa
shrugged.
“Not
particularly. It’s all in Mog’s hands from now on, I suspect. May he guide your
steps.”
“Fare
well, Mr. Wizard. And thank you.”
Koppa
nodded in acknowledgement, turned, and in a moment was lost in the fog. There
was not even the sound of fading steps to suggest he had ever really been
there.
Kren
stared after him a moment, then hitched his bag over his shoulder, gripped his
walking stock, and headed resolutely out the other way. As he stumped along the
weathered, broken stones of the road, the sun slowly rose behind him, and his long
shadow went striding before him. The growing light burned off the fog and
showed fields glowing with late autumn gold, here and there dotted with clumps
or single trees rising in scarlet and bronze. The air was fresh and coldly
invigorating, and he felt, despite his lack of sleep, that he could go miles
before he needed to rest. After a while he began rumbling cheerfully in his throat,
a song that at last broke into words.
“Fiddle-dee,
fiddle-dah,
The
long road is beckoning
To
wander through lands
That
I never have seen.
Fiddle-dee,
fiddle dah,
I
leave without reckoning
To
return to a home
Where
I never have been.”
And
so he went singing into the new day.
First Draft finished 11:49 AM, 12/19/2022.
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