The second morning of Alvah’s visit proceeded without incident. It was actually Itxaro that woke him when she brought breakfast. He slept the deep slumber of one in recovery. She left quickly after collecting his dinner plate without encountering Desdomena.

However, the day did not remain so simple. Shortly after giving them breakfast, she spotted the two walking out of the hut, Desdomena carried Alvah while he leaned on his walking stick.

Itxaro had to wait a moment before heading out to stop them. If she rushed to their side, it would be unquestionable that she was spying on them. She needed an excuse to be there or risk validating the concerns of the already seemingly paranoid aberration.

She grabbed a bucket and made herself ready to draw water from the village well. She stepped out from the door and took a few steps before hailing them. They turned and hailed her back and she took that opportunity to approach them.

“What is it that has you wandering about?” she asked them.

Alvah pulled at his collar for emphasis. “I need to wash my clothes.”

“We can wash those for you and provide you a fresh set while yours dry.”

“A fresh set would be appreciated but I can not have you doing everything for me. You should not expect me to stay quietly here while you treat me to food and shelter. Doing nothing is little better than being dead,”

“Letting yourself heal is something,” she countered. “You are injured sir, not dead.”

“As eager as I am to continue our destinationless journey,” Desdomena chimed in. “I would not mind waiting a little while more if it means you will be able to join for a dance when it is all over. Seeing new places is interesting but it would indeed be even better without having to worry you might fall.”

The aberration’s words tamed him instantly. He seemed ready to resist Itxaro but such resistance was quelled by his companion.

“Why don’t we set an arrangement?” Itxaro offered. “If you can take three steps without moving that injured leg of yours, I will say you are capable enough to walk about as you please. If not, you have to accept our aide in this until you can.”

He scowled not at her but at the situation, already aware of the outcome. “Sounds fair to me,” Desdomena accepted in his place.

Itxaro struggled not to frown. From the amount of sway the aberration had over him, she should have stopped him from ever stepping out. Itxaro imagined Desdomena might have even encouraged him to step out until that moment.

He did not even make it past one step before his leg trembled in its brace. He was not healed enough yet.

“Unless you can find something to hold your leg still, you are not allowed to leave your quarters,” Itxaro stated adamantly.

“Oh, now you are telling us what we are allowed and not allowed to do,” Desdomena noted. “It is one thing to help us but restricting us is different.”

“Consider it a healer’s instruction. If you want him to get better, it would be best you took heed. That brace is too loose.”

“If only we were on the western shore,” Alvah bemoaned, looking at his brace. “There were trees there that were known for providing latex used for this very purpose.”

Itxaro did not bother questioning him. Normally latex was rubbery but the quality and even color varied based on what tree the sap came from so a rigid latex did not seem beyond the realm of possibility.

“Let us worry about such matters later,” Itxaro decided, herding them back to their chambers. “You were right to want some clean clothes, cleanliness is important. I will acquire you a clean set and you can pass your old ones to me.”

“You need to figure out how to remaster your healing spells,” Desdomena commented to Alvah as they slowly walked back. “With that, you would be restored in a day.”

“I am trying,” he replied.

“Remaster?” Itxaro quoted in curiosity.

“My spellcraft as of now is incomplete,” he answered bluntly but without further explanation.

The greatest cure was simply bedrest. He needed to restrain from activity and wait to heal. If they had the means to set his bones in place, he could do what he was trying to do, maybe if he used some spell. Magic was perhaps the origin of this problem, him thinking in terms of magic and science from an age that had passed.

Alvah smiled as he turned his head to Itxaro. "I only need something that is set in place? Where I am from we used gypsum alabaster for our indoor sculptures.”

"What is that?"

"Something that once prepared had to be shaped quickly. Artists often used it for how quickly it could be worked and it allowed them to test their ideas."

"What would you propose with that?"

"Cover my leg in it. I would not be able to move it for three days while it dried but afterward it would be as if my leg was encased in stone."

That piqued Itxaro's interest if only to see the material for herself. She kept the possibility in mind even as she gathered attire for him and traded Desdomena them for the unclean garments. She shared the idea with her grandmother after she washed everything and was preparing to return them.

*****

“I know what he speaks of,” Itxaro's grandmother began. “We did not live there but there was quite a gypsum deposit in a neighboring land, used for art as he described. It was popular in many places.”

“So, what he proposes can be done,” Itxaro concluded.

“Indeed, but you would need to cover every inch in waterproof linen beforehand. Quite a bit of trouble for someone we do not intend to keep.”

“He should at least see that we tried.”

“You are a good soul, dear. He would find some if he went to a lagoon, likely the same distant one we use to collect salt. We could have one of the men bring some back with them when they next go to harvest salt.”

“I will tell him that.”

Itxaro did that very thing when she returned to their guests with fresh food and cleaned clothes. It was a late lunch and his response to the offer of collecting material for a leg covering was interest but he rejected it, claiming not to want to be any more of a burden. His borrowed clothes did not entirely fit him, he was too broad, the swelling of bandages on his chest all the more apparent from the garments pressing against his form.

He sat with the cone in his lap while holding a stone with a glyph in a forming outline of the cone. He would put the stone away to assess the cone and add detail to the stone. The incomplete symbol glowed green.

“It does not like that,” she commented aloud as she passed him his food.

“What does?” the man inquired.

“The cone.”

Alvah’s right eye turned blue as he examined it. The green light faded. “You can speak to plants?” he asked for an explanation.

“I can’t speak to them, well any differently from anyone else. I guess I can speak to them, they do not listen,” she explained as she contemplated her own limits. “I just happen to be able to hear them.”

“Can everyone here hear such things?”

“It is just me and the other youngsters,” she clarified. “My grandmother is aware of it and says the plants here are particularly lively. That was why our people chose to settle here.”

“It must be because you were born here,” he concluded. “Can you hear all plants?”

“My grandmother believes it is just the local flora,” Itxaro remembered. “She says those away from this place might be too quiet for me to notice. I have not ventured far enough away to find out.”

“But to be clear, it does not like magic? Give me a moment.” He pulled a stone with the outline of a sun drawn upon it and held it close to the plant. “Like this?” The symbol began to glow red.

The cone let out a signal of discomfort. It was not pain but anticipation and fear. Itxaro winced as she listened intently to the response. “Yes.”

“I did not know that,” he noted as he put the stone away. “I had a garden myself and it always did seem better when I planted the seeds with my bare hands. I just thought it was the extra sweat that brought out the flavor. Do you know why plants do not like my work?”

“They,” Itxaro had to assume this applied to most plants. “are treating it as if it is an axe bared at them.”

“I see. Magic is something created by humans so they treat it as some tool exclusive to us.”

He put the cone directly in front of himself, just beyond his reach. He held out the glyph towards it and the outline glowed.

"Is this better?" he asked.

Itxaro cleared her mind to listen. "Yes."

"Good."

"It is just a plant," she reminded him. "No need for such trouble."

"Normally, I would agree. I would not think twice of cutting down a tree for shelter or partake of fruit but for this I would rather know my muse was comfortable."

He rubbed his chin contemplatively. “How do they treat your grandmother’s spellcraft?”

“I barely see her use spells but they don’t like hers either but not quite as much they dislike yours. I don’t know if it is the magic itself or the fact it uses branches and fruits as components.”

“Your grandmother’s is more naturalistic and rooted even somewhat in the sciences, using poisons to affect the mind. Hers is likely lesser noticeable than mine.”

“These plants are petty then,” Desdomena declared, slowly coming out of his eye to sit beside him. “Is there anything they pay no mind to?”

“They do not care if we use dead wood,” Itxaro specified. “It can decay and nourish them or it can catch ablaze and spread.”

“You do not seem to treat plants any differently than the others,” Alvah noticed. “You know their uses and you still seem to use them.”

“My people eat rabbits even though they can hear their cries,” Itxaro replied. “If I paused to eat every berry, I would starve.”

“Truer words will be difficult to find,” Desdomena agreed.

“But there is a difference between your magic and my grandmother’s?” Itxaro recalled. “You mentioned hers were more rooted in the sciences. So yours is not?”

“Every approach to magic is as unique as the one that practices it.”

“And Alvah is very unique indeed,” laughed Desdomena cheerfully with a normal sounding laugh.

“Can you teach me a bit of your ways?” Itxaro slowly and quietly asked, already expecting him to decline. “There has to be a few things you know that my grandmother does not…”

She wanted to mention something along the lines of how knowledge was important. She needed to learn his ways so she could tell her grandmother. Still, her grandmother was going to teach her all she knew so this was an opportunity to gain something unique.

“Knowing how plants react to my work, you are interested?” he inquired.

“Even if the world is scared of it, it is just another tool, right?” Itxaro asked for clarification.

“Magic is power derived from art. The sciences treat all practitioners equally but mages are unique from each other. If everyone had a knife, even if they were in danger from each other, they would be equally armed but if one had a spear or axe while the others had nothing, then imbalance is nigh inevitable,” he explained. “It is a tool but one only you can use. In most cases, at least. It is a selfish craft.”

Itxaro paused. She did not have a ready response. He made it seem both undesirable and desirable in that she would be missing something in its absence. Either way, she had to have him open to her.

“You make it sound like a weapon. I do not want a weapon, I want something like the magic you said the other day reset your bones. Something that can help others.”

“It does not have to be a weapon but it can be one. We have a habit of turning everything into weapons but your approach is not unheard of. There were many mages that healed,” Alvah stated. “Allow me to ask you a question. My craft, when whole, is quite versatile. I can both harm or heal others as I please. I spent years mastering both aspects. Would it be worse for me to abuse my ability to harm or to refuse to heal others”

“Can I have a moment to think about that?”

“Think all you want. A swift answer is usually not the best answer.”

“Mind if I sit down?”

“Please do.”

Itxaro sat and pondered. At first, it seemed obvious the former was the worse, harming others was worse than doing nothing. She tried imagining herself doing such things and judged herself.

She removed the intent. She could not think of why she might go out hurting another or refusing others treatment. She imagined accidentally hurting her grandmother or failing to give proper medicine for one of her patients. Even though they were both accidents, someone could still die.

“Are they not one and the same?” she asked.

Desdomena eyed her. “You must have cheated…” the aberration said begrudgingly in a childish manner.

“Why?”

“That was my answer,” Alvah informed her. “So with that in mind, what is your solution to the dilemma of abuse vs negligence? If they are equal, what should be done?”

“Diligence,” she quickly answered. That had been one of her own reigning virtues until then and it had not led her astray. “I would abandon my ability to do harm and help anyone who needs aid.”

Alvah was not satisfied. “But what if you encountered a criminal, a murderer-“

“Someone like me,” Desdomena interjected.

Alvah stared at Desdomena and hesitated before saying what came next, “Would you still treat them knowing they would kill again?”

Itxaro caught her breath. She had made a similar choice many times but as she gave her answer she felt as if she was lying. “I would let the murderer die.”

Oddly, it was Desdomena that showed approval. “I think that would be a good choice. Less deaths in the long term.”

“Though you see now without me having to say anymore why the ability to harm is justified as well,” Alvah observed. “As for my solution, I believe if there is justice, it would be right to use what powers we have with moderation but we must make a new judgement with each decision.”

She understood by her confession of letting a murderer die that by her own logic, she would kill a killer.

“But I am satisfied,” Alvah declared. “I am willing to teach you a few tricks before I leave if you are willing to listen.”

Itxaro bowed her head slightly. “Thank you.”

“Now what should I teach you,” he wondered aloud. “Your grandmother is the one teaching you? Hers seems to come from tradition. I imagine her style will be of an older variety. I do not want to teach you something your grandmother will likely cover in greater detail. Desdomena, you met other mages, did you learn any modern practices from them?”

Desdomena grinned before baring her teeth. “Everything is modern compared to your approach.”

“Please share any ideas you might have.”

Desdomena retreated into his left eye and he went silent, engrossed in their private discussion. After some time, he finally spoke.

“We have something for you. I will need you to bring…” He paused as he counted with his fingers and held out his result to her. “Let us settle for five for now. Bring five candles here tomorrow. They need to be as similar to each other as possible. You should not be able to distinguish one from another. Is that possible for you?”

“I believe so,” answered Itxaro.

“Good.”

The vapor that marked Desdomena slipping back into existence entered the world but settled within his Alvah’s shadow rather than take form. Itxaro took her leave and made her way home.

Something felt off. Itxaro stopped and listened. The grass around her were particularly disturbed. To be more specific the grass to her right were that way. She was facing her home so her shadow leaned to the east that way.

She stared at her own shadow for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, Desdomena’s head peaked out from the darkness like a swimmer coming to the surface of a pool while the rest of her body remained submerged.

“Noticed me, huh?” Desdomena acknowledged with a smile.

“Why are you following me?”

“He had many questions left,” Desdomena stated, possibly ignoring her question. “Let me ask the question he will never ask. If you could save a stranger with your magic but it could cost your own life, would you do it?”

Itxaro bit her tongue.

“You do not have to tell me,” Desdomena informed her. “Silence is a sufficient answer.”

Itxaro would not do it, not under normal circumstances. Maybe if there was more than one life on the line but she knew the value of her own life and did not know that of the stranger’s. She could go on to save others but what would the stranger do?

“See you tomorrow,” the aberration ended their one-sided conversation as she went back into the shadow. Itxaro watched and noticed a stream of darkness slither away like a serpent and disappeared into the larger shadow cast by the birthing chamber.

Itxaro set about to her errand. The candles the village had were made from tallow. They were varying shades of offwhite with spots so they were easy to tell apart from that alone but some did not even come out straight and had curves to them.

Evening came before the candles could be ready. She apologized but he told her, “They are not needed until tomorrow. Better to start early tomorrow than to begin late and forget to rest.” He then looked at the entryway. “And we do not want your family to worry about you.”

Was he referring to her mother and grandmother or was he aware of Zorion outside? It did not matter. They parted ways and she took what candles she could home and cut them into similar length and form then coated them in red pigment.