Catastrophe Jones

Medowin awoke from strange slumbers to find herself wrapped gently in soft linens, her limbs warm, her head confused with dreams. Nine Trees sat on the edge of the bed, dozing, and she reached for him, and he turned and smiled to her, pulling her into his arms and stroking her hair.

She roused herself and dressed, feeling refreshed and stronger from the struggle to pull herself out from under the weight of her latest realizations.

She called for Laila, and when the pie-woman came in, smudged with flour, it was then that Medowin realized she’d been returned to Laila’s home, some distance in the east. “My things–” she began, looking alarmed, for her harp had been in the rooms of the inn, as had many books and scrolls.

“If you please, mistress,” Laila gently interrupted. “I went and got them, while Nine Trees bore you back here.” She looked slightly nervous as she went on, however, and her speech began to come faster, as one anxious in telling a tale, “I’m afraid I had to use three of your shining pennies to fix the lock on the inn’s door that I broke in retrieving them, but I’ve replaced them with my own,” she explains. “Not nearly as shining, but I’ve scrubbed them a bit, and they do look newer, I like to think, and–”

“Hush, please, dear child,” Medowin whispered, staring at Laila, looking pained.

“Forgive me,” Laila mumbled, looking down at her hands, her face blushing furiously.

“No, no, it is only that you needn’t fear me,” Medowin murmured. “I am not some great sorceress come to devour you, I–”

“Aren’t you?” Laila said, lifting her eyes to the music-woman. “Aren’t you, surely? I thought I saw the greatest of wonders, a gold sovereign in my hands, the lot of my wares sellin out before evening time, and I met a kind, funny man, and then he tells me my whole life and all I know’s got to change, because you know a song that holds a part for me,” the woman says, sounding strained. “My life was simple, and you’ve come to take it all away.”

“Well aren’t you the selfish one,” Medowin snapped. “I’m terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but without you, the song isn’t whole, and that will take away from everyone’s life, simple or not,” she answered sharply. “You may resent that I have come to change things, but I don’t believe that resentment will change what I must do, one way or another.”

“Hadn’t expected it to,” Laila said dully, standing up and dropping a quick curtsy. “By your leave.” And with that, the woman ducked out, shutting the door behind her quite roughly.

Nine Trees, who had not left the room but watched the whole exchange with some measure of trepidation, finally took a breath. “If you are weary, Medowin, rest again,” he murmured. “She’ll come ’round.”

“And you’re now the far-seer, my Nine Trees?” she sighed, laying back in her pillows, troubled. “You’re so sure of this?”

With the stubborn persistence that had been the trait of the boy she’d taken from his mother so long ago, Nine Trees stood, tucking his guardian in, and said, “I shall make sure of it.”

He was gone, shutting the door more quietly, and Medowin curled herself into the blankets, a satisfied smile playing over her ageless features as she said to herself, “And I have made sure of that.”

Medowin was no goddess made to affix her own patterns to the world, but had been created to observe and record. It is the way of some, however, that when they see something beautiful for so long, their hearts become hardened to its freedom, and they desire it for their own. For now, Medowin settled herself to rest, certain that Nine Trees would hold Laila to her purpose, and since Laila herself would be ultimately tied to Medowin, Nine Trees would be unable to leave her by chance or error.

Part One — Part Two — Part Three — Part Four — Part Five — Part Six — Part Seven — Part Eight — Part Nine — Part Ten — Part Eleven

It was not quite a mile from the town proper where Nine Trees spied the woman running toward them, her hair unbound and flying out behind her, her boots muddied and her cloak flapping about her ankles as she reached out her hands, almost laughing.

Dismounting, he signalled to Laila that she should wait for him, but once his feet touched the ground, he knew well that it was Medowin, and ran to meet her, to gather her into his arms and hold her tightly. “You’re trembling,” he murmurs. “And have you run all this way simply to greet me?” he wonders, almost laughing, but at the look upon her face, his own expression was grave, and he moved to put her upon his horse.

“Who is your companion?” she wondered of him, eyeing Laila with bewilderment. She had not expected Nine Trees to be travelling with anyone, and it rankled her that this stranger was witness to their dealings.

“She is the one you have sought, Medowin,” Nine Trees said with no small amount of pride.

“…she?” Medowin began, laughter in her voice and something very akin to mocking scorn in her eyes, but it was extinguished as she saw the look in Nine Tree’s gaze, and for a moment, Medowin, mother of song, was actually silent.

“She, yes,” Nine Trees whispered. “This is Laila, and what I tell you is Truth, Medowin. She is rightly the one that will usher in the next age.”

At Nine Trees’ words, Medowin felt a horrible crawling chill reach up from the pit of her belly, and she heard again the words of the wretched old woman on the street. Witchwoman. Thief. May you lose him, and may you be unable to forget. “That cannot be,” she heard herself say, though she never quite remembered forming the words. “It cannot be, my Nine Trees. I am so sorry, but you must be mistaken.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Laila laughed, and it was music.

The sound of it brought agony and ecstasy to Medowin’s ears. She knew, at once, that her search was over, but that such loss was coming as she had never known. Still in Nine Tree’s arms, she all but fainted, her legs buckling.

Nine Trees held her and lifted her to his horse, crawling back upon the beast. He looked to Laila with bewilderment and fear, and then back to Medowin with a growing unease.

She trembled, closing her eyes, and resigned herself to the Truth. In that knowledge came an unutterable heartache: Medowin knew not how she would be robbed, she only knew she would be.

Part One — Part Two — Part Three — Part Four — Part Five — Part Six — Part Seven — Part Eight — Part Nine — Part Ten — Part Eleven

Medowin was afraid and lonely in the many hours before Nine Trees was able to arrive with his new charge. She heard over and over again the wrathful words of the woman she had visited twoscore and ten years before. Thief. Thief. Thief. Locked in her innroom, she wept bitter tears at the thought that Nine Trees would know of his heritage and deem her thief as well. Liar. Witchwoman.

She had not known the woman would remember, had not known that she could have held within her heart the memory of the boy that was taken so long ago. It kindled in her a worry and a jealousy — what if Nine Trees remembered his mother? What if he longed for that family that was aging and would pass without heir, poor estate divided, daughters bought by older men who would provide while the girls bred them strong sons and daughters. What if he knew Medowin had but stolen him? Thief.

When at last Nine Trees had not arrived but her grief was too great to wait longer, she pulled into her lap her harp and began to play, weaving an old melody and singing quietly her lament.

The dawn comes, yet night holds fast;
A bitter morning comes to pass.
All that comes, all foretold,
songs before, through ages old,
This night, this night, this night now ends.
The dawn of morning’s light has come.
War and heart and silence breaking;
This night now ends, and day has come.

The dawn comes, night is no more.
Dreams are sundered, peace is war.
What once held true now lays unmended;
The dawn of war, all peace is ended.
This night, this night, this night now ends.
The dawn of morning’s light has come.
My heart breaking, my love waking;
He goes, he goes, he goes… to war.

Those who sat in the common room below could only barely hear the strains of her music, but it set them into uneasy spirits; those who had come to laugh and talk and drink with friends found excuses to go back home to their families, to hold tightly to their wives and children, and talk nothing of their fear, but think much on what they stood to lose, if for no other reason than they had thought not of it before.

“I am no thief,” she told herself, wary in her heart of the woman who was too near, who might yet see her son and put to death the plans Medowin had so carefully arranged.

Putting away her harp, Medowin laid in her bed and called again to Nine Trees, and was much relieved to hear his answer clearly and close, and instead of resting, she put her cloak about her shoulders and all but flew down the stairs, running out into the fading sun to meet with him upon the road, wherever he might be.

Those who saw her thought of a young girl running to meet her heart’s desire, and all who managed to remember her face could not agree upon her features, but claimed her as the most beautiful creature they had ever seen, and counted lucky (some with jealous hearts, and some with tenderness) the man she must have gone to greet.

Part One — Part Two — Part Three — Part Four — Part Five — Part Six — Part Seven — Part Eight — Part Nine — Part Ten — Part Eleven