Gypsy

Gypsy of a strange and distant time Traveling in panic, all direction blind Aching for the warmth of a burning sun Freezing in the emptiness of where he'd come from Oh, left without a hope of coming home.  ~Moody Blues, "Gypsy"

Mikin Wood: Shade Oak Forest 


 * A small spring gurgles next to a cluster of shardwood and shade oak trees. Chitters can be heard trilling and capering about in the higher branches. Smaller animals rustle through the shrubbery.

Uriel leans against an orange tree, using a small paring knife to slowly peel an orange.

Taran rides under the trees, slow and sedate, singing softly as he goes. Nothing loud, the words hard to pick out, the melody rather slow and flowing to the ear.

Uriel hmms thoughtfully as he carves for a moment, his lips curving into a grin. He then wordlessly carves off an irregular plate-shaped piece of orange peel, and chucks it like a flying disk in Taran and the horse's direction.

Prestissimo nickers as the peel whooshes by her; Taran pauses his singing to pat her neck, and looks toward the source. "Ah," he says quietly. "Of course, it would be you. Good evening, master Faeyd. I would not think you would wish to be so near Night's Edge."

"Why? The idiots need protecting even more now that they've decided not to heed my warnings," Uriel grumbles, stuffing a wedge of orange into his mouth. "Nwow I hweah the skiwny uhn..." He chews and swallows. "There was some kind of brawl last night amidst members of her own camp?"

Taran shrugs. "If between Kael and Griedan...it was over a woman, and mended as far as I can tell. Unless you mean another brawl." With another pat, Taran slips from Prestissimo's back to stand, with his staff in his hands.

"That's the one. My man saw the Wolfsbane, the skinny one, the stonemason, and Master Firelight all in some kind of brawl. For a woman. Wonderful. How is that weak-willed thing holding up under all the attention?" Uriel asks casually, stuffing another wedge into his mouth and chewing, spitting the seeds out between his lips.

"...Your man?" Taran echoes. "Temple, would it be?" He shrugs. "She learns. She is a quick enough study, overall. I am surprised that it interests you."

"She has potential to blossom into a very fine gift, of course I'm interested. If I wasn't interested for that reason, then I'd be interested in that she seems to be part of the core of the little Mage group Master Firelight seems to want to build." Uriel says. "And you don't know my sentry, don't worry. He's very good at what he does."

Taran smiles slightly. "I do not worry overmuch," he says. "Kael wishes to build something new...for a while he wanted me to lead it. Because I have the words, he said...but what I do not have is the interest. The proper title for a group of mages, I feel, is 'argument'."

Uriel laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Power does funny things to a man," he says simply. "How are you holding up?"

"Better, thank you," Taran nods. "I have been exploring this perception...is it quite usual to feel a bit displaced in time?"

"I'm the wrong one to ask, child," Uriel chuckles, shimmying up the tree until he's standing. "Oh! You mean with the anticipation. Yes, that's a part of my advanced class," he says with a wink.

Taran laughs quietly, watching this. "Ah," he says. "Well...I will continue practicing. I imagine I will have many chances to do so in the shadow district. And perhaps I will find out which side of the good Duke is the true one."

Uriel smiles wanly. "He is an excellent politician," the magi says, running his hand through his buzzed hair. "Good luck in the Shadow District. There are many with much poorer senses of self-preservation."

"Not, in the main, for very long," Taran replies. "For one reason or another." Shaking his head, he says, "A school for mages, a public place for mages to learn something of what it is...it is a laudable notion, and part of why I would support Celeste until her monastery falls. But in the Nillu's hands...no, I do not trust it. Not yet, perhaps never. Politicians can never stop playing games."

Uriel nods gravely. "I simply don't trust a school for mages in an untouched's hands. You simply cannot run something you fundamentally can never understand. Celeste's monastary will fall not because of this, or because of politics, but because it attempts to play to both sides, and that is when you risk both sides collapsing on you."

"I suggested she divide its governance," Taran replies. "She cannot teach mages when she is herself Sunkissed, and newly aware of it at that. She is just beginning to learn her own power; leave the darker side to those better familiar with its temptations. I believe Meian is her choice for now."

Uriel shakes his head, making a 'tsch' noise. "They're all children. Children leading children. Light, I hope they're all not following you to the Shadow District? We can scarce keep track of them here."

"Aye, children leading children," Taran says. "But their elders have tried too many times to trade knowledge for loyalty...and as the knowledge is often 'practice until you get it right', there is little incentive to follow that path. I cannot blame them for wanting to try things alone; as you have noted, power does odd things to people." He shrugs. "Perhaps one will go with me, but that is all I will guess to for the time being."

"What's wrong with loyalty? Integrity often blossoms from loyalty's bud. It is when you're loyal to nothing that the dark side of the magic appeals most. I tried forging off alone. I have pain every day of my life from those scars," Uriel says, looking down at his markedly unscarred form. "One. Alright, I can work with that."

"It helps to know what one is being loyal *to*," Taran points out quietly. "Only a fool would give such a thing lightly or blindly."

Uriel nods slowly. "I suppose it would. Sometimes I forget that I am not simply trustworthy by reputation anymore."

Taran laughs at that - quietly, but it's honest laughter. "Oh, aye? When your former students warn against you, that the price for your teaching will be too high? Loyalty given to a powerful unknown?" He shakes his head, still smiling. "Trustworthy by reputation...I should be quite interested in knowing what circles those are, for they are not the ones I have moved in."

The older man waves a hand. "Many years ago. Before the likes of Sahna Nillu, Duhnen Seamel, and Aylora Zahir. At least eighty years ago. The Luminary meant something. People's entire families travelled with it, before. We had generations working together. I hated the problems and logistics of children then, but nowadays, I realize how blessed I was to have those sorts of problems. Now I have problems with former students telling my life story to whoever will listen," he says with a healthy helping of bitterness. "I gave her the crown and the sceptre."

Taran shakes his head. "And...I don't know what those are," he says. "I saw a ...thing... at the first place that you brought me to, but Sahna warned that I should not touch it. Your students do not say you are evil, but that they do not know you and that you will want loyalty for your teaching. Which...is fair." He shrugs. "I have not advised them to trust you - that would be foolish, as I do not know you myself. But I did advise them to stop this...paranoiac reaction and listen. It is the only way to intelligently decide for themselves."

"I have asked them for nothing, and they have given less than nothing in return," Uriel says with a sick sort of smile. "And I certainly don't expect them to stop being paranoid. If paranoia helps them to have a little healthy fear, then I certainly don't mind being the catalyst. It's much better than having to destroy them."

"...If you would...kill two birds with one stone, as it were," says Taran carefully, "Tell them of some of the things in the dark. Tell them some of the reasons to be wary. I know of shadow wraiths and acarits - but only *of* them. Is there a thing I might do that would call one to me? Could I fight it?" He shrugs. "I do not know, and in that ignorance I lose little sleep." He waves a hand in the direction of the monastery. "They know even less. They are not stupid, nor entirely insensible to danger...but when you warn them, they have nothing to...use to understand you. And so they dismiss you." He smiles slightly. "I have...*perhaps*...seen enough to be somewhat careful, but I would not remotely wish to call myself 'informed'. So I must in truth label myself as being among the blissfully ignorant. In the free offer, asking nothing...*these* people may hear you differently."

Uriel shakes his head. "I am not yet ready to reward their childishness with presents. Perhaps in time, I will be less petulant myself. But I am not yet there."

Taran laughs quietly at that. "At least you know it for what it is. They, after all, are children. It is in the nature of children to want to change the world - it is time, and maturity, that are required to realize that this was also the thought of every generation before you."

"And I should probably let them have their bumps like children. Let those that would destroy them have at them. Those that survive might be a bit smarter," Uriel says wryly.

"Ah, well, 'bumps' are not usually lethal," Taran points out. "The dead learn nothing, after all. But of course, you cannot *make* anyone heed you - or if you could, it wouldn't help with the problem that you face." He shrugs. "I do not ...know that I can be much help, truly. I do not seem to be much trusted, either."

Uriel shrugs his shoulders. "It is late, and my mind is getting more malevolent the more sleep-deprived it becomes. It is best I end this conversation before I threaten something more irrational, or worse, carry it out." He yawns. "Ah, for the simpler days, when it it was simply us and them," he mutters. "Now there's no us, and several thems."

Taran nods. "Rest well, Faeyd. I think...perhaps...I know the feeling, even without any power to do any particular harm thereby."

Uriel bows his head. "You will have power soon enough. Enjoy your freedom while you have it."

Taran blinks. "...I shall, then," he says, somewhat surprised.

"There are responsibilities that come with power," Uriel says flatly, and the sound of bees buzzing surrounds him once more. In a moment, he is gone.

Return to Season 6 (2007)