Raven Mail (30 May 2002) A raven has a message for Tom.

In the daytime, Caer Sidi was cold, windswept, and dry, but at night, the chill turns bitingly icy. There is a hint of moistness to the air, a slight slickness to the underside of the trapdoor to the roof of Oberia's home, hooked in place.

The trapdoor opens from the ceiling in the hall that runs between the bedrooms on the second floor, and accordingly, there are stacks of thick knitted afghans on the linen closet next to the ladder. This proves a fortunate turn for Thomas, who is prowling the corridor, unable to sleep for the thoughts that swarm his mind. Sir Lefallon snores slightly, a faint rustling of the door of his bedroom. Oberia has retired to the master bedroom long since, and her majordomo, Hassan, slumbers in a bedroom next to the kitchen below.

So, wrapped with an afghan cloak-like against the night chill, Thomas unpins the leather and clambers up the ladder to greet the night, where Caer Sidi sprawls beneath his gaze.

The Grand Bazaar is still lit but the trading has turned furtive from what he can see, torches moving back and forth slowly, the occasional brazier burning before some merchant's exhibit of wares that cannot or dare not to be shown in broad daylight. Few buildings in Caer Sidi are taller than the two stories of Oberia's own home, though the stained glass windows of a church shine like faint gems some distance away, perhaps with some sort of evening service.

Oberia's Home, Rooftop
Though much of the clay-tiled roof slopes, part of it has been built into a balcony that runs the length of the house, fenced with a rail of iron. An old trapdoor leads back into the warmth of the home, away from the biting chill of the night, and not far away is a tiny chimney. Thin metal plates have been strung along a gutter, gathering dew slowly. All around is Caer Sidi by night, dark and mysterious, and above is the sky, with a full moon surrounded by a flock of stars.

As Thomas's eyes adjust to the darkness, he becomes aware there is someone else on the roof, who has not yet noticed his emergence. A thick woolen blanket swathes her, but her face is left unconcealed by its folds, smooth porcelain skin gone even paler in the cold, black hair swirling down over her shoulders in looping curves gathered by the way she sits, separated from darkness only by the way that it catches the moonlight.

"It's a bit cold to be out here at night, don't you think?" Thomas says quietly as he walks across the rooftop. "Still, I suppose the stars are more than worth seeing on a winter's night. They always seem brighter, somehow."

The girl on the rooftop shifts at the words, a loop of hair pulling free from the afghan as she turns her head to look. She relaxes on seeing Thomas, and gives a little nod. "They do. As if they glow more the longer it is until daylight." Rachel faces the city again, her face half-hidden by loose hair. "You couldn't sleep, either?" she asks, more quietly.

Thomas reaches the railing and lightly rests a gloved hand upon it. His fingers curl slightly around the railing as he turns some to face Rachel. "Never can before a possibly dangerous outing," Thomas admits. "I end up laying in the darkness, running through what might happen the following day and trying to decide on strategy." He then turns to look out over the city, then asks, "You seemed ... pensive when I first got up here. May I ask what is concerning you?"

Rachel lifts her shoulders beneath the blanket, circling her arms around her knees as she sits on the sloping tiles, back from the flat balcony. "Maybe it would be quicker to say what isn't," she quips, with a small smile. "Thomas -- do you ever think about Ainigton?"

Thomas nods. "I do, yes," Thomas replies. "Why do you ask?"

"It seems so far away now, as if it were just a dream I once had. I was thinking about Mrs. Travison. Trying to remember what her iced sugar cookies tasted like," Rachel answers.

"Sweet and light. They tended to crumble when bitten," Thomas says, then lets out a slow breath. "I sometimes miss Ainigton. Things were much -- simpler there," he then adds, leaning back some and looking up at the cold winter sky. "I'm not sure if I'll see it again, after all this. Is something similar weighing on you too?"

"They were very nice people," the faerie says, her voice still low. "Both of them. Kind, respectful. A little bewildered by me, I think. But they wanted me to feel at home and welcome. They talked about their daughter a great deal. I just ... " She shakes her head. "When I was little, I thought that it would be terrible to live in the mortal world, without magic, surrounded by dumb animals and simple things. But when I was there, I found it wasn't ordinary or boring at all. It was ... " She trails off, struggling for words. "So peaceful."

"Well, not always peaceful, but I understand what you mean," Thomas says, smiling lightly. "It's not a horrible place, just different; it's full of many amazing things too, if you think about it. In a way, it has its own kind of magic."

"It does. Though all the iron and steel ... " She shivers, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "What was magical to me, I think, was the way everyone seemed so friendly, so open, so trusting. No one was ever watching me, wondering what my motives were. Trying to find out who I worked for. Trying to find out how to use me to their best advantage." She ducks her head, suddenly embarrassed.

Thomas squats down, balancing himself on his toe-tips. "That's how things are there, for the most part. You were a guest and that was that. Why would someone suspect otherwise?" Thomas asks. "And why does it embarrass you so? Because you were watching us?"

She nods, then adds, "And because it makes Mirari sounds so bad. We're not all schemers and plotters, surely? Are we?" Rachel rests her chin on her knees, watching Tom.

Thomas smiles wanly and answers, "No, not all are. There are good, there are bad. It's one of the reasons I like traveling -- to see all sides of the world and its people. For example, I don't think you're a schemer. I think you did what you did to try and help your world. That's not wrong, Rachel."

The faerie girl returns his smile, hesitantly. "That is what I told myself. And it is true. Mirari needs you. I am sure of it."

"Me? It may need me, but I'm not sure it wants me," Thomas admits and looks down at the rooftop. "I'm ... tired, Rachel. I think what happened all those Years to me has left a deep wound still. Being dismissed when everything was back to 'normal' hurt. Not being believed hurt. I'm too -- loud for many nobles to accept, I think. I think I pointed out things in themselves they preferred not to see. I point out that even once the immediate dangers have passed, there was still much healing our world needed to do -- and much to learn." He then looks up and adds, "So, I continued on, and tried to uncover the truth. To find an end to one of the problems our land faced. Even now, tired I may be, I continue on. It's all I can do."

Rachel hugs her knees to her chest, silent for a moment. Then, in her soft voice, she says, "Lord November believes you."

"Believes me, yes," Thomas says, finally sitting down and crossing his legs. "That doesn't mean he welcomes my return to this land. I wonder if he fears what ripples I may cause in House November now that I'm back. Look at it from his view; how would you deal with someone whom was probably the most famous of the House -- and whom would not swear total loyalty to it? Someone that is willing to stand against his home and his family, if it was for the good of all? I put him in an awkward position, I think."

The black-haired woman gazes at the Lord Explorer. "Mirari has made you cynical, my lord," she says, softly. "Or were you always this way, and I had not noticed before?" Her dark eyes have a faraway look in them.

"I would say the court may have made me cynical over the Years, perhaps," Thomas says, looking down. "But, it's more that I've come back to a land that is dying; to see a place I once loved slowly fading. It's ... I'm angry," Thomas says, searching for the words. "Do I really seem so bitter?"

She nods, sad. "Yes, my lord." One hand slips from beneath the blanket, and Rachel's pale fingers touch his cheek, briefly. "I am sorry we did not take better care of the land in your absence. Truly, it has not been through indifference that we have come to this pass."

Thomas looks up at the touch, his own gloved hand coming up a bit later to touch her hand. "It's not your fault. I don't know if it's anyone in particular's fault. I keep thinking that: what if I would have stayed? What if I wouldn't have stubbornly gone off after Jack? Would things have turned out differently? But, the world if full of 'what ifs' and in the end what matters is what is, not what could have been." He smiles sadly and then takes in a breath. "I'm afraid. More than I think I've ever been, Rachel."

The other Hawk shivers, and as if from the cold she clutches her blanket closer about her. She starts to draw back her hand, but at Thomas's touch, leaves it there. "I did not think you were afraid of anything, Thomas," she offers. "Is that not silly of me?"

His gloved fingers curls around hers gently. "Well, it's what I try to get people to believe. To be a support when people need it -- someone to look to," Thomas answers. "But, there are things that scare me. Failing when it matters most. Letting down those who believe in me. No one in this world is truly fearless, it's not possible to be so. But, even afraid, I go on. It's all I can do."

Rachel leans forward a little, nodding. Her fingers curl over his thumb, then she looks to the West, where the moon is slowly setting. "Do you think we'll find ... him?"

"I do," Thomas answers, following her gaze westward. "And that will be the day we stop this. One way or another," he adds, sounding resolute. "That will be the day Mirari will be reborn."

The faerie girl sets her jaw, then smiles. "I wonder if he is afraid, too. I should think ... he has more to worry over than us, does he not? For fifty-two Years he has been failing, and Mirari has always won."

"I'm certain of it. Look at how much effort and planning he's putting into this attempt. Look at him sending an old friend to demoralize us. He's pulling out all his tricks this time. And he should be afraid -- what with people like you and Simon in this world, those willing to risk everything to go to another world and seek answers, hm?" Thomas says, smiling. "Sooner or later, he will grow more careless and tip his hand, all we have to do is keep pushing."

"And we will win. Just as Mirari always has before." Her smile grows. "Tales say it was even in the Rules."

"Only this time we rewrite those Rules: he doesn't come back," Thomas adds. "We find a way to end the Rule of a Year -- to let a King rule to the natural end of his days. Perhaps even to help bring some unity to the Houses. Remember what the prophecy said: we have the power to rewrite them. We have the power create a new beginning for us all."

Rachel tilts her head down. Black hair falls over her face, hiding the glitter of fear briefly glimpsed in them. "You have the power," she whispers. Her fingers tremble in Tom's hand.

Thomas' hand tightens some to steady Rachel's fingers. "We have the power," Thomas says, firmly. "Just believe in yourself."

"It is easier for you." She doesn't meet his eyes, instead looking west again. "The Rules ... I cannot imagine changing them. They have always been, eternal, unchanging. You have been a long time away, and it is not the same, not in Ainigton. You and your friends, you can change them. But not me."

"Hey, if you can believe in me, I can believe in you," Thomas says, then stops suddenly, dropping into thought.

Rachel doesn't answer, her eyes still downcast. She starts to pull her hand free, then pauses. Instead, she draws their linked hands down together, and flops some of her blanket over them to keep warm, as the wind picks up.

Thomas remains looking off into the distance. "You know, I always assumed that fourteen Years ago, I somehow failed and walked into a trap. I wonder ... I wonder if that wasn't it at all," Thomas says slowly. He turns to look at Rachel, brow furrowed, then says, "What you said may be the answer to it. For you, this has always been, but for me, someone who is now part of the mortal world, it isn't. What if all those Years ago I discovered to ultimately save Mirari, I had to leave it? I had to become part of the mortal world to uncover the way to change things here?"

At this, the raven-haired girl finally looks at him, a light in her eyes. "Maybe," she breathes out. "You surely cannot have failed, for in thirteen Years since we had heard no word of Jack or Destroyer. You -- or at least, something -- must have hurt him."

"Something must have. Something major must have happened all those Years ago. Perhaps Redmane was there too. Perhaps we united against him ... and imprisoned him so we could find a true solution to Mirari's problems. One that would allow us change things here. Maybe that's how Redmane ended up in Ainigton too," Thomas says. "It would certainly explain how we both ended up there."

"But it doesn't explain Angel." Pensive, Rachel runs her thumb lightly over Tom's knuckles. "I thought I would learn the answers, when I first came to Ainigton. But it seems as though, with everything I have learned since then, the only thing I know is how little I know."

"Same here. Unfortunately, the answers aren't going to be in a book in a library. They're out there, somewhere," Thomas says, nodding towards the skyline. "And it's our job to uncover them. The Golden Hawks' creed: 'Into the Unknown.'"

Rachel nods again. "Into the Unknown." She pauses, then adds, "But first, to Galon Annwn. What do you hope to find there, my lord?"

"The simple answer: Water," Thomas replies. "The more complex one: clues as to what exactly is going on here. Who stopped the flow of water, and such things. I wonder if it wasn't the result of some ritual of the Dark Witch on her trip to the Golden Woods. She did say she was trying to extend the realm of her master. It was a long time ago that the water stopped, but if the curse breaking items we uncovered from the witch's lair can undo whatever it is, it may provide a clue. It may not. We'll have to see, won't we?" he says, bringing his free hand down to rest atop the blanket and their hands underneath. "If all else fails, we'll at least know we need to call upon someone more knowledgeable about magic than us. I'll probably see about sending a letter to Nymuae, should we be unable to do anything."

Disentangling her hands and pulling back the blanket, Rachel reveals the book she took from the Witch's lair. "I was looking at it earlier ... though, admittedly, moon and starlight aren't the best to read by." She looks wry. "One of the things it notes is that a lot of curses are imbued on an object, which is then hidden at the home or place you want to curse. So, to remove the curse, you find the object first."

"Makes sense," Thomas says with a nod. "We'll have to comb the area pretty well for anything that doesn't look like it belongs there -- or looks newer than the surroundings. If there're any caves near the place, I figure that would be the best place to hide something like that, wouldn't you? The water obviously came from some underground spring. Did the book suggest a method for identifying cursed objects?"

"The most common item is a doll, something shaped to look like the person being cursed. But when the curse is on a thing -- there's a bit about cursing a farmer's field -- then the item is symbolic of that. The cursed item at the farm was a bag of dry soil mixed with salt, and a seed with its heart eaten out by a worm," Rachel answers. "And you'd look for an item near the home, or the heart, of the target. So the cursed bag for the farm, for example, would be near the 'heart' of the fields -- probably bear their river, or where the farmer kept fertilizer, for example."

Thomas nods, reaching up to rub his neck while he thinks. "So, for a cursed water source, we should probably look for a water gourd, or other such container of water," he muses.

The faerie girl nods, her expression serious. "Yes, that would be likely. A flask with problems to it -- holes in the skin, for example. Or filled with sand." She strokes the cover of the book. "Finding it is said to be the hardest part. These things are small, and carefully hidden by the maker. I wonder if there's any other shape it might take? Something that symbolizes an absence of water...."

"A dry riverbed picture? A large block of salt -- it's used to dry food out, after all," Thomas offers. "Even a cactus, for that matter. What if someone planted one there and cursed it? Hidden in plain view."

Rachel chews on her lip. She opens the book, leafing through it and squinting as she tilts the pages to catch moonlight. "I don't think it would be an ordinary thing. The fetish objects the book describes are all distinctive. They're crafted and shaped by the witch.... It isn't a matter of simply speaking the words of a spell, or sprinkling an unguent over something."

Thomas taps his chin and muses, "What symbolizes lack of water?" His voice drops to a mutter. "If I wanted to be gruesome, it could be a skeleton dragging itself to a long dry oasis, or a small model thereof."

Rachel makes a face at Thomas's morbidity. "I don't know. I think your first suggestion may be the best one. But I feel like we're missing something obvious. What's the opposite of water?"

"Heat of some sort. Causing it to evaporate away," Thomas says, brow furrowing again. "Mirrors, lenses, perhaps. Sunlight can be focused to produce intense heat. Doesn't this city have an abundance of mirrors? Perhaps some sort of unusual optical device was crafted and hidden at Galon Annwn to be the focal point -- pardon the pun." He then gets back to his feet and says, "And as much as I would like to stay up with you, I think we'd both better get to sleep. We'll need our wits about us to discover what the object is -- and deal with the black robes after we undo it. I fear a battle looms. We'd better be ready."

Morning greets the travelers in the form of Hassan cooking a breakfast of fried bread with a white, strong-smelling cheese that he identifies as "camel." To drink, there is a beverage he calls "chocolate," but which is bitter and must be sweetened with milk and sugar before it becomes palatable. Already sitting on the table is a pot of mint tea, and a tray of pastries bought from the merchants in the market.

Oberia nibbles delicately on a piece of bread, while Simon sits opposite her at the table, when Thomas and Rachel come down to join them. "Good morning," she bids her young friends. "Hassan brought news as well as pastries from the market this morning, my Lord Explorer. It seems someone has a message for you."

Thomas stretches and yawns. "Good morning to you too, Oberia," Thomas replies with a smile. "You've been an incredible hostess. Thank you. What's this about a message? Who even knows I'm here?"

Sir Lefallon devours a pastry messily, then pauses to lick crumbs off his fingers before he can respond. "Well, we do," he points out, somewhat obviously.

The old woman shrugs. "'Knows' might be an overstatement. There is a crow in the marketplace, asking after you -- well, as best a crow can ask after anyone. Ryland of Avarre, was his name?" She looks to Hassan, who nods. "I shouldn't think he knows you are here, or he'd be at my door. But he must suspect you've come this way."

Rachel takes a seat at the table, looking curiously at Oberia. She makes a face at Simon's words, and throws a berry at him.

Thomas coughs. "Ryland? Yes, I do know that name," he says and grabs a pastry before sitting down. "Well, am I supposed to meet him alone? If so, I can just go now and let you two eat."

The young knight grins and pretends to cringe before the berry, then looks up at Tom. "I'd as soon come with you, m'lord; I wouldn't fear the crow, but you should have someone to watch your back in case there're others there."

"All right, then we'll go together," Thomas replies and starts eating the pastry. After swallowing a mouthful he says, "Let's try to eat quickly. I'm worried Ryland will fly off again, if we don't get there quickly."

"I don't think the crow is intent on secrecy, else he wouldn't be asking for you in the marketplace. Hassan didn't know -- nor I, for that matter -- if you would be intent on keeping your whereabouts a secret," Oberia remarks. "By all means, go meet with him."

"Presence, no. Location, yes," Thomas says with a nod to Oberia. "We'll come back here after meeting with him to prep for our trip to Galon Annwn if that is okay with you? I don't want to impose on you too much, dear friend."

The old woman pshaws. "You're not an imposition, and if you were, I'd bear it gladly. As it is, 'tis you who are doing me a favor. Now, go on, and hurry back. I'll be waiting."

hr

Caer Sidi
A wide square surrounding an old and very dry well, positioned before a gate that opens into a marketplace that is loud with the cries of hawkers and the brays and other noises of wild animals -- many of which would be hard to identify for even a skilled explorer like Thomas.

The three young travelers make their way back to the market with little difficulty, Thomas leading the way. The array of sights is less distracting today than on the previous evening, when it was all unfamiliar to them, and the group keeps careful watch for the messenger. "Ryland!" Rachel whispers, almost forgetting herself, moments before Thomas spots the bird. "It is him!"

The crow preens himself by the rim of the well, head cocked, eyes darting this way and that, but he hasn't yet spotted them.

Sir Lefallon glances about. "I'll keep an eye on your back for you," he assures Thomas in a soft voice. "At that, I doubt we have anything to fear in a public place, in broad daylight."

Thomas nods to Lefallon and mutters, "Except from assassins, archers, sneak-thieves...." He then grins and elbows Lefallon and says, "Kidding."

"Oof!" Sir Lefallon grins anyway.

Thomas looks to the bird, then thinking back to the first time they met -- a lifetime ago in a cave. "You look well, Ryland," Thomas says and approaches the bird. "I hear you're looking for me."

"Me?" The crow flaps his wings, startled, then straightens. He reveals a scroll case, secured to his left leg by leather straps with tiny brass buckles.

"Who sent you, Ryland?" Rachel asks the bird, her voice low. "Who sent you?"

Thomas reaches out slowly to the bird, interested to hear the answer to Rachel's question as well.

Ryland stands perfectly still while Tom disengages the message. He answers her question, "Your little blond friend, first, but I met the redheaded one before I came to you, and she added to the letter."

"Heh, probably lots of insults added by Redmane," Thomas comments with a grin and starts undoing the clasp on the scroll case and slips the letter out. "Did Redmane seem well when you saw her? Alice too?"

"Too?" The crow echoes, querulously.

Rachel repeats Tom's questions, word for word, and Ryland answers, "They were in good health. Alice gave me a cookie before I left. Redmane only had a biscuit, but it wasn't bad."

"Why do you never answer my questions, Ryland?" Thomas asks, then unfolds the message and starts to read.

Rachel laughs. "Why do you never answer his questions, Ryland?" she parrots.

The bird caws, "Because I'm a crow, and you only ever ask them once!"

"What does that have to do with it?" Thomas asks, then asks the same question again.

"Crows cannot answer a question the first time it is asked," Ryland explains. "It's our Rule."

On the front of the parchment is a detailed, formal message, written in Alice's careful hand. On the back, there's more writing scribbled in a hasty, unfamiliar hand:

Thomas, we are proceeding with caer towards a rendezvous with you, although our path will soon become more perilous. Please, do not enter into the jaws of danger before we join you, as your resources will be sparse before we arrive.

Will be bringing an old friend and a new one whom you will be familiar with. I look forward to seeing you once more in good health. Your friend, Redmane.

"Oh my God," Thomas mutters, reading over the letter. "Could that be it? That would explain what Oberia saw. Lefallon, Rachel, I think things just got a good deal more interesting." He then hands the letter to Rachel to read. "Think on what Oberia told us about the prisoner she saw -- then on the comment about Lord April."

"I think our foe isn't here, or where we head -- but back at the Court. Near Alice," Thomas says grimly. "I'm a fool; I should have realized."

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This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.