Pointedly ignoring the second lapse in Arabella’s cold and indifferent exterior – the admittance that she would follow Wynn anywhere was startling and comforting and Wynn did not wish to ruin it by dwelling on it – she relaxed deeply, allowing the magic to run from its source into the palms of her hands. Arabella subtly turned her hands palm upwards and Wynn knew she was ready to protect them should Wynn’s magic go awry. Wynn took another breath and focused entirely on her magic. She sent it far to the corners of the swamp, following what her impulses told her. This time, with a single minded determination she called stones, rocks, boulders, anything that would help make a bridge across the decaying water. They came hurtling through the air stopping inches from her outstretched palms, then slowly writhed into position forming stepping-stones right up to The Widow’s house.
Arabella raised her eyebrows, her face blank and walked over to Braelyn, who was still unconscious and snoring gently, shaking her gently until she slowly opened her eyes.
“Come,” she said sternly and helped Braelyn to rise. Wynn, feeling Braelyn’s emotions wash over her as she became conscious, took a deep breath, then hesitantly stepped onto the magic-made stones. They shook as though about to give way, but held fast under Wynn’s insistent magic. As she walked she felt the tiny sparks of life of slimy creature’s inches below the surface and shivered. The swamp was vaster than it had seemed back in the trees, and Wynn found herself wishing to turn back, but could not turn around on the precarious stepping stones, and so forced herself onwards. Beneath them the black and thick water bubbled menacingly. The travellers followed behind Wynn, stepping only where she stood, tense with fear.
Eventually they stepped onto the boards that held the house high above the swamp, it felt like years had passed to Wynn, but it could only have been a few minutes. Once they had all stepped off the stones and onto the boards they peered through the holes into the house. It was a mess of jars, pots and pans, old discarded clothes and dead creatures nailed to the walls. Behind the house darkness reigned, the sky and swamp merging together in the blackness.
“I must assume, as one does, that you do not mean to stand on my threshold and peer into my home,” a voice said from the darkness and the travellers jumped guiltily and spun to see an old, dishevelled woman standing at the doorway. Her face was lined with a thousand wrinkles, her eyes almost lost in the folds of skin, her hair fell over her face and she brushed it away at that moment with irritation. The golden light from inside framed her and at that moment Wynn had never seen a more impressive person. She commanded a level of respect unknown to Wynn, a respect born of kindness and power, not fear and cruelty. She felt her knees buckle to curtsey but caught herself in time; she no longer had to curtsy to anyone, unless she deemed it fit, and the woman that stood before her did not seem the kind of person to demand such a show of respect.
Wynn wanted to glance at Arabella to see her reaction but her emotions told her all she needed to know. Arabella too was overwhelmed and humbled by the raw power that emanated from this woman. Wynn swallowed nervously and joined the travellers as they bowed their heads in apology. The woman indicated for them to enter and they followed her inside. The house was one large room, sections cordoned off by large wooden screens and the beams holding the roof up. From the ceiling dead animals and hides hung by hooks. Jars of eyeballs and other unmentionable body parts littered the floor. Seats of various materials and sizes were placed
haphazardly
around the room
, most placed around an unlit log fire. The only light came from candles placed all around the room; so that the whole room had an orange tint. The dark wood the house was made from was almost completely concealed by tapestries and painted artwork. Overall it seemed a cluttered and confusing way to live.
The woman mumbled to herself, hunched over, as she cleared a mess of wool, old clothes and endless bits and bobs off of a small round table in the middle of the room by the wall. She sat behind it on an old stool and huffed a sigh. The travellers stood before her, arranged awkwardly in a line and waited as she unashamedly examined them. The woman’s eyes darted from face to face, resting on them for a few seconds then moving to the next. The silence stretched uncomfortably as the woman stared.
“You are The Widow?” Griffin asked hesitantly after a long while, breaking the silence. The woman twitched at the use of the name, her expression ambivalent.
“I am called that by some, yes,” she said huskily, “but that is not my name. A name holds so many things, so many identities, a name ties one down. So you are right that I have been called The Widow but my dear boy it was not the name I was born with.”
“Then, ma’am, I beg your pardon but what is your name?”
“Medea my dear boy, a name I rarely liked as a child but feel I have grown into, but come now, my name is not important, I know why you all have come for you have all come for a reason. All end up here eventually; even though they think it by chance... there is no chance.”
She smiled, showing her straight white teeth. Wynn had never met anyone like her; she spoke quickly, her accent strange, her eyes bright with – with what? It looked like amusement, like everything was one huge joke. Medea closed her eyes then and sat completely still. The travellers shuffled uncomfortably, afraid to breathe or move and interrupt the strange woman. The silence was complete and the candles flickered as though a breeze blew. Wynn had the strange thought that they were quivering because of The Widow.
When Medea finally opened her eyes, after almost five minutes they rested solely on Wynn. Wynn gazed back at the woman, determined to appear confident but something was confusing her. She could feel nothing from Medea, no emotions, no urges, no thoughts, nothing that she had accustomed to feeling from a person. It was not like the Fallen, who were devoid of human sensations due to their unnatural, magical given life. Or even like Procel and his jurors who were made of the shadows and darkness and so never had human emotions, it was something different entirely. Medea was alive, Wynn could feel that much, the very essence that made Medea human was there, but it was as though her thoughts and feelings were shielded. The flame of the gifted even was hidden, though Medea had a static energy around her that not even magic could conceal.
Wynn wondered privately at the silence, she had never met another, in the small space of time that she had acquired her gift, who had the ability to hide their emotions. Wynn opened her mouth to enquire further, but before she could utter a single sound she felt Medea’s presence on the corner of her mind. She wondered briefly if Medea wished to converse mentally but the thought was pierced suddenly and painfully by a flow of magic from Medea. She was forcing a lifetime of memories flood into Wynn, giving her no other option than to watch the loss of Medea’s husband three centuries ago, the slow and painful corruption of the lands and its people, all the battles, all the losses, every memory, every hurt, every gut wrenching moment of loneliness. It wracked Wynn’s frame, centuries of hurt flooded into her mind and heart, and the compulsion to watch, listen and feel, made Wynn fall to her knees.
Wynn suffered on and on, lost in an endless sea of pain. She felt nauseas and her head swam with Medea’s emotions. Combined with her own agony it was completely overwhelming. Nothing in life existed save pain. She lost track of time and it was only when tears streamed down her face and sobs wracked her frame that she choked out, “Enough!” It was somewhere between a strangled scream and a plea. Braelyn rushed forward and helped her to her feet.
“You have not known suffering,” Medea said in a monotone, “you feel alone but look who stands beside you, you think you are weak but look what you have accomplished. My girl it is time you grew up. I have no time for a child, this day you must become a woman.”
Wynn swallowed, unsure how to feel. Medea had caused her such undeniable, inescapable pain, but she did not seem sadistic or – now that Wynn really looked at her, having centuries of memories to gain an insight into her character – in the least bit frightening. Medea spoke the truth, with a wisdom she could only have gleaned from years of pain. Wynn held onto Braelyn tightly whilst she regained her balance.
“I have dreamt of you Wynn,” Medea whispered, “every dream you are running, your black hair fanning out behind you, your emerald eyes glinting in the darkness, your necklace golden on your chest.”
The words stung Wynn unexpectedly, like someone had captured the essence of her life, of her past and future and thrown it in her face. All she had done all her life was run, from the vile soldiers of Woodstone, from the Master, and now from the Fallen and Aerona.
“What do you know of my necklace?” Wynn asked softly, her hand reaching up to touch it protectively. It was warm to the touch and Wynn stroked the star pendant lovingly.
“Your mother gave it to you,” Medea replied, “your mother was a fine and powerful woman. The most beautiful person, inside and out.”
Wynn stiffened, “You knew my mother?”
Medea sighed sadly, “Many years ago, far before your time, magic was taught by supreme Mages and Magus throughout the Nations. Your mother was a pupil of mine, a talented and loving woman, she was one of my proudest achievements and I loved to hear how she had built a life for herself in Inlo, this was before the army began to control The Wall so stringently, once inside she could not leave and our communications ceased. I was saddened to hear of her murder. It is one of my many pains, and now I am all alone in this home, I have no students to teach. Fifty summers ago the only Seminary in the Inner Nation was destroyed by the King’s order. The current King’s father.”
“Seminary?” Jareth interrupted.
“A place of learning,” Medea explained to the travellers, realising none of them would have attended such a thing as a place of education. Wynn digested what Medea had told her. Medea had known her mother, loved her mother dearly it seemed, and had taught her how to use her gift. She felt new tendrils of respect grow for the woman before her, anyone who her mother had loved and been loved by was someone she too could admire. Cook had said the same thing too, that her mother had been beautiful, inside and out.
“Why would the King’s father do that?” Griffin interjected, breaking Wynn’s musings. Wynn found herself too wondering. Magic had been forbidden for as long as she could remember but it seemed that only fifty summers ago it was legal, practised, normal even. In her mother’s lifetime she had gone from renowned Magus to completely outlawed, a thing feared.
“For the very same reason Aerona after him tried, and succeeded, to destroy every trace of magic from the history books; fear. He feared those with magic would rebel and take control over the lands. His fears were unfounded, only a small percent wished for domination, and they were kept in line by those who wished for peace. But still he destroyed it, and every record of magic, and those with magic were cast out. They spread out across the lands.”
Arabella’s eyes widened as she realised the possibilities, “You mean there are more Magus and Mages in the lands... alive?”
Medea nodded slowly, “They are waiting for the final battle to destroy Aerona and all those who support her. They have known for many years that her corrupted magic would be stopped by the hands of one.”
Wynn swallowed. Here it was again, the Foreseeing. It was one thing hearing it from Arabella, who Wynn could feel was not lying, and who she knew truly believed that Wynn was the one who was Seen, but hearing Medea say it brought a new clarity to her life. Now it was not just a hunch that Arabella had had; now it was real. She could not dispute this woman, who spoke too quickly and had a strange tone to her voice and accent to her words. The power and knowledge that radiated from her could still the haughtiest of kings.