Chapter 3 - Chapter II

Meg woke with a start, her head and body aching like she had just been rampaged by a herd of centaurs.
Groaning, she sat up and looked around. Now, where was she?
She was in a tent, lying on a pallet bed, much better than her own, she knew that much.
The flap of the tent opened and a girl of her own age, dark brown hair honey skin and hazel eyes came in holding a tray laden with food, an apron over her green and gold coloured dress adding a motherly, yet wonderful effect to the whole ensemble.
“Oh wonderful, you’re finally awake!” she exclaimed, her face breaking into a smile. After putting the try down of a wooden table, the girl stuck her head out of the flap. “Hasim, Hawk! She’s awake!” Coming back inside she knelt beside Meg and began to examine her. Meg noticed the girl’s fingers where glimmering with green fire.
Soon after, two others entered; an old man with long plaited white hair and an indigo robe who she took for Hasim, and a young man wearing plain white shirt, tan breeches and boots and long black hair that had been tied back from his honey skinned face, who she took for Hawk.
“Now my dear,” Hasim said, his storm grey eyes kindly. “After four days of sleeping, I am sure you have many questions, but before then, you must eat and clean yourself. I shall leave you in the care of Hawk and Marietta.” He inclined his head, then left. Meg looked uncertainly at the two. They looked so much alike, that they could very easily be siblings, which she guessed they were.
The food that the girl Marietta had brought was wonderful and hot, sweetened with honey that Hawk had proudly said he had collected himself. After the food, Marietta showed Meg a place where she could bathe, and after seeing herself in the beryl glass she had borrowed from Marietta –and after getting over the amazement of seeing her reflection-, Meg agreed that she needed to wash thoroughly. Scrubbing the muck from her body took ages, but her hair took longer. It was tangled, knotted and had accumulated thick layers of mud and dried blood. The finishing effect certainly was better than it had first been.
Her hair, Meg discovered, was a fiery red colour, slightly wavy and waist length, though the red was interwoven with a collection of fine, gold-coloured streaks, rather unusual. Her skin, which she had admitted to have dusted with grounded rock, was now three shades lighter, and lightly tanned. Meg’s eyes however, unlike the rest of her, remained the same sparkling emerald green colour as before. The mark on her forehead she found out, when touched, stood out as a silver quarter moon with a star in its curve, before fading into her skin again. It was this, Hasim had said to Meg, which set her apart from those in the Caravan.
After bathing, Meg went back Hawk’s wrapped in a loose woollen tunic, and found Hasim sitting on the pallet, waiting for her.
“Now, I think you have some questions?” he asked her, and when she nodded, he said, “Good, as I do too. Now, what would you like to ask?”
Meg’s hand went automatically to the mark on her forehead, making it stand out again, pulsing steadily under her fingertips.
“Ah yes, I though you might want to know. That mark is the sign of a sorceress. I do hope you know that you are a sorceress?” Meg nodded and Hasim continued. “Yes, well, all sorceresses and sorcerers, unlike mages who bare no mark of their power, are born with one, in many different places, though some never reveal themselves. You see, when a sorceress or sorcerer is born, they have only a limited part of their power, but when the mark is touched, it will unlock its hidden magic, and return it to the them. Now, take Marietta for example; she a sorceress, though it is very rare that one with magical power and non-magical parents to be born, which is the reason we believe she doesn’t have a mark, anywhere, so she has only a very limited magic type, the type to heal. You seem to already know a great deal of magic, I can sense it, and I think, that now the mark has been discovered, that you will have a great deal more power.”
This seemed rather strange to Meg. She had known about being a sorceress, but no one had ever told her about the mark. Had they wanted to make sure she never got her full power?
“But how can I have a mark and not know anything of it? How can it have not been touched before?” she wanted to ask, but Hasim was now asking his own question.
“Can you tell me how you came about to be chased by the Armsmen of the People and the Gathering?”
Meg’s insides clenched. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been expecting the question, no, she had know all along that it would eventually be asked, but she didn’t count on it being so soon. And how did she know she could trust these people? Why should she tell her secret, and the secret of these who’s lives were in danger?
She was being stupid, she knew. These Gypsies had taken her in out of their goodness. They had healed her, clothed her and fed her. Meg sighed and began her tale.
“Well, you know about the Rulers and everything, and how most of the villages have accepted their laws and kill those who possess magic. Well, there a few tiny villages who resist the rulers, and we have created a few full magic villages, places where we can practice and be safe. Many times, we have disguised ourselves and gone out to the other villages and searched for people with signs of magic, and we sort of abduct them before the Gathering can burn them. I was unlucky enough to come across a village that was currently being searched, by both the Gathering and the People, and, well, some are specially trained to sort of sniff out magic, and they found it in me, and I fled, and… ended up with an arrow in me,” she ended, looking around her with eyes that were blank. The memories she had buried in the back of her mind resurfaced, teeming though her mind as she remembered back to when she had lived in the resisting village. “I’ll have to go back at some point.”
Hashin thanked her and left, his brow creased in thought.
I’ll have to go back at some point...

***

Marietta came in some time later, her arms holding some of her own spare clothing, which she said should roughly fit her. “Come on, some of the others put a tent up for you next to mine,” she said, leading Meg to a tent, which was indeed, right next to hers.
“Thank you Marietta,” Meg said softly, taking the clothes and smiling timidly at the girl.
Marietta pulled a face, and then returned the smile. “Please, call me Mari, everyone does. Except Hasim.” She giggled before leaving.
Meg changed into the clothes and looked at herself a larger beryl glass in Mari’s tent. The red shirt –embroidered with gold by Mari and Hawk’s mother, Shira- was open sleeved and a bit long, reaching her thighs, but the tan breeches and black boots fitted perfectly. She used her own black cloak which had been expertly restored by Shira as well, and now sported an oval gold clasp which held a smooth opal stone, believed to be a stone of power. She had acquired a beaded gypsy belt, a quiver with matching longbow and arrows, though Meg had yet to learn how to use them, and new riding gloves. Her daggers had been sharpened and tucked into her thigh-sheathes. Meg stared at herself, unable to believe that the reflection was her.
She looked so much like a true gypsy, apart from her skin and her hair, but that would tan in time, and there was nothing to do about the red colour, unless she somehow coloured it.
Exiting the tent, she stopped to pet Mari’s sandy mare, Sunny, when a memory forced itself to surface; Stealth!
Meg half ran half walked to Hawk’s tent, where she found him whittling a staff.
“Do you like it?” he asked, then grinned at her attire. “Well, well, well! You scrubbed up nicely,” he said, looking up and down. “Hang on, I made something for you.”
He began to rummage around in a trunk in the corner, and then came back over, holding out a redwood box with the same mark on her forehead carved into the lid. Aral ran her hand over it, and, to her greatest embarrassment, a tear ran down her cheek. “Thank you, it’s beautiful,” she said.
“Open it,” he encouraged, blushing a little.
Her hands shaking slightly, Aral opened the box carefully, and gazed at the objects within; five feathers lay on the smooth bottom of the box, wrapped in oilskin. On top of the feathers was a leather pouch; finely beaded like her belt, and when Rune upended the pouch, a few beautifully carved and coloured beads tumbled onto her palm.
“They’re gorgeous Hawk,” Meg said, staring at the beads in her hand with awe. “Did you make them yourself?”
“Yes,” he replied, his blush deepening. “They’re a Naming Gift.”
“Naming gift?”
“Oh yes, sorry, I forgot to tell you about the Ceremony. It feels like you’ve been here a lifetime, a true Gypsy.” He looked at Meg for a moment, then began o speak again.
“On the first day of every winter, all the Gypsies who have already turned sixteen go through a Naming Ceremony to complete their rank as a newly made adult. We call these special names Soul names, and our ones we were given at birth Form names. I can’t tell you what happens, as that is strictly forbidden, but I can tell you where the tradition came from.” He paused, looked at Meg’s encouraging face, and continued.
“The tradition came from a very, very old legend that has been carried in all Gypsy Caravan’s for who-knows-how-long. The legend tells us that after we die, our soul leaves our body, taking the form of a living thing from earth, where they remain immortal until they choose to journey into true death. The naming ceremony, preformed by Hasim, is a sort of inner quest to you heart to see what fire burns bright in you. Like mother, her soul is a Ring-Tailed Possum, which explains why she is so shy and dainty. Hasim’s wife, Maple, is a Maple Tree, which is a symbolic sign of wisdom, and Hasim himself is rumoured to be an Oak Tree, and everyone knows they are the wisest and oldest living things on the face of the earth. Do you understand?”
Meg nodded slowly nodded. “So, is Hawk your Soul name, or your Form name?”
“Soul,” Hawk confessed. “My Form name is Jed, so you can see why I prefer my Soul name.”
Meg held back a giggle. “Has anyone else kept their Soul name?”
“Oh yes, all the Caravan elders, a few of my friends and my twin brother, Lynx.”
“So, why the gift?” she asked absently, mulling over the idea that Hawk and Mari had another sibling.
“Well, it’s traditional to give the people who are going through the Naming Ceremony a sort of ‘welcome to adulthood’ gift, like a prize for getting through life o far.” Meg must have looked alarmed at the prospect of giving gifts, because Hawk added, “Don’t worry, it’s only you and Mari this time. And besides, you still have a seven-moon until we leave for the glaciers and you have to give her your gift. I couldn’t wait until then.”
Turning her attention back to the gift, Meg examined the feathers. “Are they hawk feathers?”
Hawk grinned. “Oh, I wonder how you guessed,” he said in mock sarcasm. “Now, what was the occasion that you came to visit me in the first place?”
“Oh yes! I nearly forgot! Have you seen my horse by any chance? He’s a huge black stallion who thinks himself to be superior-“
“You mean Stealth? No offence, but your horse is a pain in the neck. I think he’s talking to my gelding, Blitzen, out near where the wagons are kept. He’s become rather tetchy and won’t let me near him since I refused him entrance into my tent when you were sleeping during those first four days.”
“Stealth has been talking to you?” Meg asked in amazement.
“Not since I brought you here, no.”
“Well, he’s never talked to anyone before, other that horses and the usual animals you see in the country-side. Are you a Mind-Speaker?”
Hawk laughed, “Me? Communing with beasts? No way, that was the first time I ever had a convocation with an animal, though I do like to talk to Blitzen on long rides. Lynx though it was rather funny when I was arguing with Stealth outside my tent that first day. Anyway, your horse is near the wagons, as I said. Tell you what, grab your bow and I’ll teach you how to shoot an arrow straight!”
Meg brightened. “Alright then, I’ll just grab my bow and fill my quiver. Meet you there!”
She ran back to her tent, collecting her longbow and her arrows, slinging the quiver on her shoulder, winced as it bumped on the arrow wound, and started to walk in the direction Hawk had gone.

***

No sooner had Aral taken three steps, a voice spoke behind her.
“Well, if it’s not the sorceress Meg! Hawk and Mari have told me a lot about you.”
Meg turned and found herself face-to-face with a tall dark someone who was unmistakably Lynx. For one thing, he definitely looked the part; short, coal black hair that fell over his eyes, which were the same hazel colour as Mari and Hawk, though his skin was slightly darker, and he had the beginnings of black stubble on his face, and his attire, breeches, boots and a shirt and cloak, where all black.
“You must be Lynx then,” Aral said, holding out her hand to shake.
Instead, Lynx kissed her fingertips lightly, smiling. “A pleasure to meet you Meg. May I ask where you are going?”
“Hawk is going to teach me archery. I can’t say that I don’t need it either,” Meg replied, grinning sheepishly. She touched her fingers where they tingled from the kiss.
“Oh, wonderful, archery. You don’t mind if I tag along do you?”
“No, not at all,” she said. He was quite nice, this Lynx person.
As they walked, Lynx told her of the life that most Gypsies led, and how they would leave for the glaciers the next day, and arrive there in a seven-moon, just in time to prepare for the Naming Ceremony.
“Hawk mentioned the glaciers, and I’ve heard of them before, though in my travels I’ve never actually seen them.”
“It’s in honour of the Naming Ceremony,” Lynx explained.
“Yes, I thought as much. And, just so I’m sure, are glaciers are large bodies of ice moving slowly down a slope or valley and spreading outwards on a land surface?”
Lynx laughed, making Meg blush as dark as her hair. “You sound as if you’ve swallowed a scroll on the subject! Spot on!” In what little time they had spent walking together, Meg had grown accustomed to Lynx’s presence.
Finally, Hawk came in sight, but when he saw Lynx, he scowled. Meg raised and eyebrow and glanced at Lynx, but his face remained calm.
“Hello brother,” he said casually, leaning on a makeshift fence. “I’ve just been filling Meg in on some of the finer points of Gypsy life, which I believe you must have forgotten to do.”
Hawk’s scowl deepened, and Meg frowned at Lynx. “That’s a bit harsh Lynx-“ she started to say, but Hawk cut her off.
“Come on, I found Stealth and another clearing where I set up a target for us to practice on.”
Meg followed Hawk, Lynx tailing behind, as he led them to the same clearing in which Meg had fallen from her horse after being shot. She shivered despite the warm breeze, but neither men saw.
Stealth trotted over, swishing his black tail.
-I am glad/happy to see that you are healthy/well/healed Meg/FlameSoul,- the horse sent, licking Meg’s hand.
-I am glad/happy to see you too Stealth/MoonRider.-
The stallion went over to stand opposite Lynx, who had slung himself in the low branches of the target tree.
“Alright,” Hawk started, helping Meg notch an arrow and guiding her hands on the bow. “All you have to do is try and aim the head of the arrow at the middle of the target, on that black dot.”
Taking as best aim as she could, she let the arrow loose and watched as it flew over Lynx’s head, narrowly missing him.
Startled, Lynx cried out in surprise and tumbled out of a tree, where he landed promptly in a pile at the base.
Both Hawk and Meg doubled up, laughing, and by the time they could stand up again, tears were streaming down their cheeks.
“Try not to try and hit me next time,” Lynx growled, brushing the dirt off his dirt-smudged clothing.
“Try not to choose a tree which I am supposed to be aiming at, since this is my first time at using a bow and arrow,” Meg retorted, wiping her eyes and trying to stifle her giggles.
Lynx scowled and slung himself behind them, just above Stealth, who, in Meg’s mind, and in Hawk’s by the look of his face, was having trouble not laughing as well.
-The dark one is very amusing/funny- the horse laughed, or rather, neighed. Neither Hawk nor Meg commented at the name, but continued with the lesson.
By the time the sun had begun to set, Meg had hit the centre of the target eight times in a row.
“Come on then, let’s match your skills with the might hunter of Gypsies Forest!” Hawk said, tossing an arrow and Meg’s bow over to Lynx who caught them, and nodded, taking his place twenty paces away from the target. He aimed and let the arrow loose, smirking as it hit dead centre. Meg gulped. How would she beat that?
Wiping her sweating palms on her breeches, she walked twenty paces and notched her arrow, staring at the target for a moment before pulling the bowstring taught.
The arrow whizzed through the air, and Meg closed her eyes, expecting to hear the dull thud any moment. But it didn’t come. Instead, there was a cracking sound, and when she looked, she whooped and jumped with glee; her arrow had split Lynx’s straight down the middle, including the stone head.
“Nice shot sorceress,” Lynx said, forcing a lopsided smile.
“Come one you two, dinner should be ready now! I suppose I should warn you Meg. Mother will insist you have at least five servings of every dish, and we have a lot of dishes.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. From experience, my stomach can hold twice the normal capacity that’s normal,” she said, patting her stomach, which growled, and set the brothers laughing.
“Goddess Tansin, my legs! I think my muscles have all seized up!”
-Hop/jump aboard then Meg/FlameSoul,- Stealth sent, and when Meg had mounted, bareback, they cantered back towards the bonfire and the smell of roasting venison.
“Hey! Wait for us!” Hawk called, running after the horse and rider.
Lynx remained behind, walking slowly, his eyes, now suddenly cold and emotionless, fixed on Meg. His mouth twisted into a sneer. “I shall see you in the morning, Meg.”

***

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