The Butterfly

The wind slapped him across the face as soon as he stepped outside, the rushing of the water accompanying the calls of some strange sea birds he did not recognize. He walked across the deck of the ship, greeting the few members of the crew who were there, and leaned out over the railings. They were cold and hard to the touch. The air was cool, enough to make his nostrils sting slightly when he took a deep breath in, eyes closed. The sun had risen a few hours ago, and was now shining behind a layer of towering clouds.

They had been travelling north for weeks, and only now did he realize how different the weather really was. It was the middle of summer, and back home he knew that the people would be hiding in the shade of the forest, avoiding the heat as best they could. But that was the south. That was Ifhelion. He was on his way to snow-fields and volcanoes, to the frost and the fire. “The Land of Fog and Rain” they called it, but to him it was the land of magic.

His stomach rumbled, and he turned to make his way back to the cabins, on the search for breakfast. He found it in the common room, along with Lenwai. She was wearing an emerald green coat, her auburn hair braided loosely behind her head. She was reading a newspaper, but as soon as he entered, her head shot up, and she smiled at him, laying it down. "Come, sit. I kept a portion for you." Her voice was delicate and melodious. He bowed slightly and sat down opposite her, where a plate of food was waiting for him. It had gone cold and it tasted of wet paper.

As he chewed, he glanced at the headline of the paper, written neatly by hand. The article was some sort of report on a faraway conference, nothing that interested him, but he still read it to avoid awkwardness.

"Well?" Lenwai asked him. He swallowed and nodded.

"I think it worked."

"You think?"

"Well... it doesn't look awfully flattering, but I think—" he trailed off as he held up his right hand. On it was a ring, carved from wood. The pattern it bore was unrecognizable, instead seeming simply to be adorned with entirely random lines and curves.

"It doesn't matter what it looks like, does it work?"

He didn't answer, but instead shut his eyes and muttered a few words under his breath, concentrating on the ring. He felt a breeze across his cheek, and when he opened them again, a butterfly, blue as the sky, was perched on the ring.

Lenwai clapped her hands together. "Well done! You're learning quickly, much quicker than I had anticipated." She waved her hand and the butterfly dissipated, like a wisp of cloud blown apart by a gust of wind. "When we arrive, I'll give you the next lesson."

She turned her attention back to the paper and he finished his food in silence. Every once in a while, he would glance at her, but never did she look back.

When he had told his parents that he was leaving with Lenwai, they hadn't really been surprised. All his life, his attention had not been directed at the food and drink in the Moon's Smile, but at the people. When he wasn't helping his parents with cooking, serving, or cleaning, he would pick the strangest-looking person in the inn and bombard them with questions. They would all be visitors in Ifhelion, traders travelling by road or water, only staying for the night before leaving again, often never to return.

Lenwai didn't seem very different at first glance, but when he talked to her, she told stories not about a violent tavern brawl she had been in, nor boring information on different types of metal, but instead about the people of the world. She talked about minor shifts in the culture, about the different food they would eat, their attitudes, their likes and dislikes, and then, she talked about her craft. 

The enchantment of mundane objects. Making the everyday into a miracle. It fascinated him, especially since his affinity for magic had simply been there since birth, with no explanation. In a way, he felt like one of those items, entirely normal and yet still different, and now he wanted to learn everything about them. 

A week later, his things were packed and he was ready to leave on her ship, prepared to go wherever she took him. He wanted to learn, and Lenwai gave him the opportunity.

With the last bite, he stood up and said goodbye to Lenwai, who nodded curtly, without looking up at him.

He reached his cabin, where he sat down at his desk and opened a book. It was about plants and how to communicate with each type in order not to insult them. He didn't understand most of it, but it helped him practice his Sylvan, and besides, maybe he'd eventually have to pour his heart out to a rose.

There was a loud ringing, followed by a booming horn. He was startled by the sudden noise, and rushed out on deck to see what was happening. It didn’t help, though, as it was foggy. Someone bumped into him, but he could barely see them.

"Oh, sorry about that," muttered an incorporeal voice.

"It's alright," he answered, "what's happening?"

"We're reaching the port. We'll be in Solasheim soon."

"But we can't even see each other, how can we tell when—" he looked to his right and gasped loudly. There, in the endless grey was a great flame, burning bright gold and purple, showing the way. The ship approached it, and suddenly, he could see the outlines of three towers, and, soon after, of houses. Then he began to make out their colours and suddenly they were clearly visible, the fog seemingly warded off in the area. They were approaching the port of a large town, illuminated by the strange flame at the top of one of the towers in its centre, its houses tall with shingled roofs and crooked bodies. 

There was something else, too. A tickle at the tips of his fingers, an itch behind his left ear. A constant presence, lingering in the air, unseen. Magic, he thought, pure, uncontrolled... wild. 

The voice, that now belonged to one of the deckhands, spoke up again as its owner smiled at him, clearly used to the sight.

"Welcome to The Beacon."