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(Four) ◀◀◀◀◀ Chapter Five ▶▶▶▶▶ (Six)
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Now, on the subject of Ancient History (though the two involved may take umbrage with our usage of this specific term), years and years ago, the much-beloved Gwenllian Gwalch'gaeaf and husband Iolo FitzOwen once felt that ineffable Compulsion that eventually strikes all married couples in Britannia, when the frantic designs of youth at last settle down into a reclining chair for a lovely Cuigday afternoon doze, when spouse & spouse suddenly develop strange and occasionally alarming interests in things like birdbaths and elbow patch cardigans and seasonal scented candles. In Iolo and Gwenno's case, the Compulsion manifested itself as an autumn vacation along the seashore on New Magincia, for a spot of peace and quiet and boutique shopping—a taste of the quaint and picturesque, its air laced with a charmingly fetid melange of sea salt and sheep. Ambiance aside, the trip was so uneventful that Gwenno could not recall a single specific moment from it now, save one: When she was sunbathing along an outcropping of ocean rocks, observing a pair of limpets while they painstakingly peeled their nigh-sessile bodies out their homescars ahead of the encroaching high tide.
She could not account for the resurgence of such a peculiar memory here and now—or perhaps she (being a kind and generous soul) would not account for it, as to spare the dignity of the two boys whom she just witnessed peeling themselves off the parlor sofa in a remarkably similar fashion, grumbling the whole way down.
But why…? Why the apathy, why the dismay? Why shouldn't Andrio and Freli be scintillating like little isotopes, their abecedarian eyes aglow at Gwenno's proposition to resume their historical survey of the Isle of Beyond? Were they not bored to the point of self-destruction? Were they not starved for attention, for guidance and supervision, for someone to take the time to care for them? And yet, from the way the two lads moaned and groaned when she heralded the words "resumption" and "of" and "studies", one would've thought they were being ordered to go scrub the public latrines as an exercise in civic futility.
"Come now, quickly. Up up up! Now brush yourselves off, school is officially back in session!" she proceeded, infusing each clap of her hand with the hope that her enthusiasm could be as contagious as Andrio's brazen yawn.
"Ach, Mrs. Gwenno!" he complained, mid-gape. "What're you getting at? The Magister got turned into stone and none of us know how to fix him."
"I know that," she said. "I am going to be the Magister for today."
Freli raised his eyebrows. "But you—! No offense, Mrs. Gwenno, you're not an adept."
"I know that, dear. I know."
"Then what—"
"What, does one need to be a magical adept to share one's knowledge of ancient history? I may not be a mage to you and yours, but I happen to be a very experienced scholar just the same. That is why I came to the Isles, after all!"
"Yeah, but does all that mean you can actually teach?" questioned Freli.
"And what about our magical studies?" Andrio joined the interrogation. "I was working on mastering the sixth circle before all this happened. You know anything about Mist Breathing?"
"Obviously, I won't be able to help much with that aspect of your schooling—and I am sorry for that, I truly am." Gwenno kept her brave face, even while she moved to straighten the lads' school jackets and brush off the last of the stray crumbs. "But certainly there's much more to life than Mist Breathing, eh? Come on, chin up."
The little chorus of groans and mutters did little to ballast her flagging confidence but her good cheer remained undaunted. "Mercy me! I simply thought I would treat you to a little fun while we're waiting for the Avatar to return!" she went on. "Of course, if you'd rather laze the day away loafing on Stefano's sofa, be my guest. I certainly can't force you to come with me, but I really do think this will be a unique opportunity to learn more about these lands, for me and for you both. Besides, it might come in handy some day, should you two ever plan to strike out on an adventure of your own."
"Well, I suppose that sounds sort of fun," said Freli. "I suppose."
"Beats a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, any road," Andrio (probably) agreed, with roughly as much eagerness as his friend. "But who's that? Some sort of tramp?"
The that in question couldn't be ignored, despite his apparent efforts to blend in with the luxurious, if disheveled trappings of Stefano's parlor. After being led into the room, Sethys took point beside a similarly tall and skinny bridge lamp and stood very still, saying nothing until this point.
Alas, to his mild horror, Gwenno grabbed his hand and yanked him forward. "This is, ah…" she mused, "…ah, this is Sethys—uh—Seth! His name is Seth, just Seth. And he's a cousin of, uh, Mortegro's! Yes, he's Mortegro's cousin."
Sethys nodded politely, secretly impressed with her quick wit. "Hello there. Pleased to meet you," he said, trying to smile.
"Now, Seth here is a Xenkan scholar-monk from an obscure cloister who's never been off the mainland before, so it's likely you've never seen nor heard of him," Gwenno added for good measure.
Of course Sethys had no idea what she meant by any of that, but he ignored his growing unease and continued to bob his head in agreement.
"Aw, hell's bells, Mortegro's cousin?" Freli swore. "You're not another one of our lousy uncles too, are you?"
Sethys appeared startled by the suggestion. "N-No, I should think not?"
"Old Morty's got a cousin, eh?" Andrio quirked an eyebrow. "He never said nothing about a cousin before."
"Yeah, but it's not like we know if any of the other adepts got cousins either," said Freli. "But how come he's never come to Moonshade?"
"Well, up 'til now he's been living the austere life of a Xenkan, cloistering himself within the beauty of nature, far from the temptations of secular society—and with several of those years spent under a vow of total silence! Isn't that right, Seth?"
He nodded again. "Sure!"
"But over the course of his travels, he has absorbed an incredible amount of knowledge of the history and secrets of the Ophidians," Gwenno pressed on. "He can read their writings as easily as we can read modern tomes. That's why for today's lesson, I've asked him to help us as my teacher's assistant."
Freli and Andrio started snickering amongst themselves; today's educational agenda was rapidly degenerating from mildly disheartening to downright unpromising.
"Oh, so he's not an uncle, he's a teacher's assistant," Freli uttered between snorts.
"Poor bastard," said Andrio. "Blimey, hope he turns out better than the last one."
Sethys craned his head and dared to ask: "The last one?"
"Yeah. The last guy who tried to help the Magister with teaching us," said Freli. "He was alright at first, but it only took a few weeks before he started going around the twist."
"The Magister said he was pinching Stoneheart from the school reagent cabinet, and he took so much that it started eating holes in his brain," Andrio recalled. "Then he got arrested and chucked into Freedom and we never saw him again."
Freli leaned in, his grin skewed towards pure adolescent malice. "Yeah. You know about Freedom, Mr. Seth?"
"You mean the philosophical concept, or…?"
"Really now! Don't try to scare off my assistant with your horror stories!" Gwenno warned the duo. "Talk about holes in the brain!"
"But it's true, Mrs. Gwenno! His name was Teldrono, I think."
"Yeah, Andrio's right! Ask Stefano! I bet he saw him, still scrabbling around Freedom, trying to avoid becoming dragon food or whatever—that's the name of our local dungeon, by the way," Freli added: "Freedom."
Sethys nodded, grateful for the clarification. "I see. So you have a local dungeon? Is that common these days? In my time, we simply put our criminals in something we called a gaol. Not the sort of place one would want to end up, for sure, but hardly a dungeon."
"Your time…?" Andrio ventured.
"Uhh, yes! Yes dear, you really must forgive any such unusual remarks or questions coming from my assistant. As well-learned as he may be, he's still a little unpracticed with certain, uh, practical conventions of the worldly world. Like the way we phrase things, and so on and so forth." Gwenno shot Sethys a furtive wink. "Hopefully our excursion will be just as educational for him as well."
"I certainly hope so," he said, warily eying his surroundings—a natural reaction for those unfamiliar with the idiosyncrasies of a Moonshadian parlor. "From what I've seen so far, this city strikes me as a curious place."
"Maybe, but it was a lot better before everyone carked it," Freli noted, dourly.
"Now now. I really would prefer we try not to dwell on such things. We've all got our own sorrows to muddle through, and believe me those sorrows will still be there at the end of the day, awaiting our bathtub ruminations. Sethys—er," Gwenno stuttered, "S-Seth, I mean. Seth! Seth?"
"I think so, yes?"
"No, I mean—why don't you kick off today's lesson by telling us a little bit about this place?"
"This place, miss?" He directed his attention towards the floor. "Oh. Uh. Perhaps you'd rather ask Stefano. I think these are his stockings strewn about."
"I don't mean this manor specifically, but this place! This island! Tell them about Moonshade," Gwenno prodded. "Tell the lads something interesting and fun about it, as it was known in ancient times!"
"Fun! Oh yes, yes! I can! I will! I do remember fun! I think. Well, let me see..." Sethys tapped his cheek. "See, first you'll have to forgive my asking—what in the world is a Moonshade?"
Freli and Andrio exchanged their most dubious glances yet, their own little signal to Magistrix Gwenno that things were about to take a hard swerve from the downright unpromising to the altogether ridiculous.
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