The Finding (36 page)

The old woman drew her sleeve-draped arms behind her back and began to slowly pace in front of Jahrra before continuing, “There are many fortunetellers in this world, fewer Mystics, and unfortunately, only two of the five Oracles of Ethoes remain in existence.”

Jahrra was fascinated and completely enraptured with Denaeh’s explanation. Hroombra would never tell her this much if she ever asked him.

She took advantage of this woman’s willingness to answer her questions and asked a few more, “How does someone become a fortuneteller or a Mystic? And could you tell me more about the Oracles? Why are there only two left?”

Denaeh smiled again and released a small chuckle. “Fortunetellers are everyday people who require little training compared to Mystics. Mystics require extensive training and are changed significantly before they are qualified. Mystics also require a pre-existing gift toward the art of reading the future, and they must be magical.”

Jahrra moved her mouth to form a question, but the old woman held up a withered hand to stop her. “The Oracles were created by the goddess Ethoes and are considered highly sacred. Originally there were five, like I said, but two were killed during the rise and fall of the god Ciarrohn, and another was killed by the Crimson King, Cierryon. The Oracles are the supreme power when it comes to inquiries of the future, but Mystics have exceptional powers as well.”

Suddenly, a branch snapped in the distance and Jahrra instinctively glanced in the direction the sound came from. As soon as she returned her eyes to Archedenaeh, she gasped in shock and took a quick step back, almost tripping over a decaying log. Instead of the old, haggard elderly woman that had been telling her all about Mystics and Oracles, she was looking at a young, beautiful woman standing exactly in her spot.

When she grinned, Jahrra noticed she had the same smile (but with several more teeth), the same glittering topaz eyes, and the same vibrant red hair that the older woman had.

In a much younger and more melodic voice, she said, “We Mystics also have a special power. We have the ability to take on three stages of life; infancy, youth and old age, but I rarely find use for infancy.”

She said this as if instantaneously changing from an old woman to a young one were as natural as breathing. Her smile and eyes held laughter once again and before Jahrra’s very eyes she melted back into the old woman, once more taking on the hunched posture and weathered features of age.

“Will that do for now, Jahrra?”

Jahrra started, not at the rough change in Denaeh’s voice, but at the sound of her own name being spoken.

“You know my name.”

It was more a statement than a question.

“Oh, yes lass, I know much about you. You are twelve years of age, I believe, the tallest in your age group at school, and you are unlike all of the other children you know, in more ways than you think. But don’t bother to ask how or why I know these things, because now is not the time for you to know.”

Jahrra had a sudden image of Hroombra telling a portion of one of his stories, and she began to wonder why this Mystic, living in the middle of the Wreing Florenn isolated from all of civilization, could know so much about her. But if Denaeh was what she claimed, Jahrra guessed she could tell anything about anyone who wandered into her swamp.

This feels dangerous
, said a small voice in her head. Jahrra twitched and pushed the voice aside as she tried to think.
This is crazy!
the voice insisted.
You don’t know this woman! Make some excuse and get out of there!
But an overwhelming blanket of calm and safety muffled her blaring conscience. She suddenly felt at ease and was able to get back to her own thoughts.

Jahrra gazed into the mysterious, golden eyes of the old woman as she tried to determine her intentions.
She could definitely be an ally when it comes to the twins
, she thought shrewdly,
but is all this kindness just a façade? Could she really be evil and simply be waiting to gain my trust, like the witches in all the old stories?

Jahrra pondered these thoughts for a while, but in the end decided that the Mystic Archedenaeh wasn’t dangerous in the least.
She’s probably just glad to be talking to someone else after all her years of isolation.
Jahrra smiled once again, wondering if during all this time the woman had been reading her mind.

“Tell me about your garden,” Jahrra said cheerfully, trying to cover her conspiratorial thoughts.

“I thought you’d never ask!” Denaeh beamed, turning once again into her younger, more vibrant self and leading Jahrra through the patches of mushrooms and clumps of grasses and vines.

Once she’d completely done away with her lingering hesitance, Jahrra spoke freely and easily with Denaeh. She found it comforting to talk with the Mystic, and soon she was telling her own story about her life and her friends and school. Denaeh listened carefully, nodding in the right places and smiling when Jahrra’s story needed encouragement.

Although Denaeh seemed to be intrigued by Jahrra’s stories, the Mystic wasn’t paying particularly close attention to what the girl was saying. Not that she was insensitive to Jahrra’s troubles, however. Denaeh merely needed to assess the girl, to figure out what she was made of.
Yes
, the Mystic thought to herself as her eyes glittered, making Jahrra believe she was smiling in response to her description of Kiniahn Kroi,
you are special indeed . . .

“. . . and then he pulled me down from the face of the waterfall, just like that, and I fell almost thirty feet!”

Jahrra’s enthusiastic tale broke past Denaeh’s thoughts, and the Mystic realized that she would have to think about the future later. Right now she needed to befriend this young girl, gain her undying trust and loyalty, and make sure she had some kind of influence on her life from this point on.

Jahrra paused, giving the Mystic an odd look. After a few moments, she continued on with her story, forgetting that her new friend had seemed to lose focus for awhile.

“Anyhow, we went back to their house, and Gieaun, Scede and I were able to spend the whole evening in the kitchens with all of the cooks and maids. It was the best Solstice Eve I’ve ever had. And can you believe it? I didn’t even want to go!”

Archedenaeh grinned broadly over the small fire she had kindled beside her garden and added, “Yes, Jahrra, you’ll learn in life that many of the things you wish against turn out to be the best things that ever happen to you.”

Jahrra smiled at this. She liked this strange woman and at the same time wondered if Hroombra was aware of her presence in the forest. But her mentor would have told her by now, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t stress how dangerous the Wreing Florenn was if he knew about Denaeh. Jahrra sighed wistfully. The Mystic was so much easier to talk to than the other adults she knew, and was so much more willing to answer her endless questions.

While Jahrra was reflecting on her sudden good fortune, a strange, crackling call cut through the thick air and a big, dark bird flew out of the mist, swooping down onto Denaeh’s shoulder.

“Whoa!” Jahrra exclaimed, falling to the ground in surprise.

The strange bird grumbled and fluffed up his feathers while Denaeh laughed, absent-mindedly stroking its glossy wings. Jahrra quickly rolled back into a sitting position, gawking openly at the odd bird. It looked like a raven, but it was larger with shorter legs. She stood up slowly, brushing herself off for a second time and approached Denaeh cautiously. She let out a low sigh when she realized the bird wasn’t black but a deep, dark blue color with silky feathers all around its neck, legs and back. Its neck feathers were streaked with a creamy yellow color, and the feathers on its back and legs were the same.

The bird made another strange cawing noise and Jahrra noticed that it had some sort of seed or acorn lodged in its glossy beak.

“Very well, Milihn, plant it on the edge of the mushroom patch,” Denaeh said to the bird, smiling and smoothing its silky feathers.

The raven-like bird fluttered off of her shoulder and glided to the other side of the garden. It landed rather awkwardly, hopping to a stop, and quickly shoved the seed into the soil, using its beak to cover it back up with black soil.

“What on Ethoes was that?” Jahrra queried breathlessly.

“Ah,” Denaeh said, smiling broadly, “that is my bird, Milihn. He’s a korehv.”

“What’s a korehv?” Jahrra asked, still stunned, wondering if she could find it in any of Hroombra’s books.

“A korehv is a bird native to Felldreim similar to ravens and crows. They’re also highly intelligent and are prone to collecting seeds and other useful objects, so you can see why he and I are so compatible.”

Milihn croaked contentedly and flew back to his master’s shoulder. He fluffed up his feathers and shook, dropping one large wing feather as he did so. Denaeh reached out and plucked it from the air before it hit the ground. She turned the feather in her fingers, examining it. Then she held it out to Jahrra.

“A gift from the both of us, it will bring you luck.”

Jahrra took the feather speechlessly, as if she were being offered a rare gem. She looked at it for a while, the shimmering blue color none like she’d ever seen.

“Thank you,” she finally said, tucking it away safely into a pocket inside her vest.

“He keeps me company in this lonely place,” Denaeh continued calmly after a short silence.

Milihn was now cocking his head to the side, observing Jahrra with one black, glossy eye. He let out a low, grumbling noise, causing Jahrra to flinch.

“That means he approves of you,” the Mystic said, grinning and scratching behind the bird’s neck.

“Oh, well, I like him too,” Jahrra replied sheepishly.

Once the shock of Milihn’s arrival wore off, Jahrra and Denaeh spent most of half an hour admiring the Mystic’s exotic garden. Not only did she have every kind of mushroom that grew in Oescienne, but she grew many wild herbs and plants and spices as well, all useful in helping with different ailments.

“Now, this kind of mushroom,” she said, leaning down and pulling up a dark purple one, “is very good at curing headaches. And this herb,” she continued, plucking the leaves off of a green and white plant, “helps to ease the stomach.”

Jahrra got out her journal and sketched and listed all of the different plants and fungi that Denaeh had growing in her garden. While Jahrra drew, the Mystic weeded, pulling at tough and stubborn plants that seemed to bring the whole earth up with them when she finally loosened them.

“Ugh, awful things these weeds, if only my other plants were so determined to stay alive,” she said, and then to end the silence that had been emanating from the girl sketching next to her she added, “So, Jahrra, tell me more about yourself. What do you do with your friends other than get into trouble with your classmates?”

Denaeh flashed Jahrra a teasing grin, but the girl’s head had flown up and her eyes had grown as large as apples.

“Oh no!” she said suddenly, shutting her journal with violence.

“What is it?” Denaeh asked, afraid she’d said something to offend her guest.

Jahrra saw the worried look on Denaeh’s face and adjusted her tone. “No, nothing is wrong. It’s just that I forgot. My friends will be worried about me. They’re probably thinking I’m dead or captured! I’m sorry, but I have to go now.”

“Oh, is that all?” Denaeh said, grinning impishly as she dusted off her soil-stained hands.

Jahrra scrambled to her feet in her haste, but stopped before moving any farther. She put her hand to her forehead and groaned.

“What now?” Denaeh asked, looking puzzled.

“Nothing, it’s just . . .” Jahrra began.

Denaeh raised her eyebrows and Jahrra sighed. “Well, you know my classmates dared me to come here, but the thing is I have to prove that I came all the way to the Belloughs. But I have no idea how to prove something like that!”

Jahrra then told the Mystic everything, about the challenge, about her stupidity in falling for the twins’ ruse, and especially about Lake Ossar.

“You see, only if I bring back some proof will they stay away from Lake Ossar for good. It was the only place I could go to get away from them.”

Jahrra sighed deeply and slouched back to the ground, her legs crossed and her shoulders slumped. What was the point in going back if she had failed? She could bring back one of Denaeh’s mushrooms, if the Mystic would let her, but what would that prove? It was no use; she had nothing to show for her accomplishment. She almost wished now that Denaeh had been a witch intent on eating her.

Denaeh gazed down at Jahrra, her lips pursed in scrutiny. She drew one hand up to her chin and her young face took on a pensive look. Jahrra didn’t notice when the Mystic’s thoughtful stance relaxed, but when she finally looked up at the young woman, she was beaming brightly at her.

“What?” Jahrra asked, confused by the Mystic’s sudden joy.

“Jahrra, how good are you at acting?”

That was an odd question, considering the circumstances. But Jahrra simply shrugged. “I guess I’m alright at it, I’ve never really acted before. Why?”

“Well,” Denaeh grinned, her golden eyes sparking with mischief, “I have an idea . . .”