Exile
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Soon they had set up a simple campsite near the overlook, with a bright fire and a few uncomfortable boulders to sit on situated around it. It had fallen to Trevor to do most of the work, since Don and Tasha were rather worse off from their interactions with the trolls.
Michael had briefly murmured what Trevor recognized as a silencing enchantment, protecting them from the possibility of eavesdropping. Trevor found it alarming that there might be ears listening in the pine mould beyond the light of their fire.
“How do you know troll chants, Michael?” Don asked. His words sounded a bit like oatmeal, and he was holding a damp rag to the side of his very bruised face.
“Hmmm?” said Michael. He was sitting close to the fire and staring absently into the flames, despite the late afternoon sun. “Well, I suppose I know all the old songs. You pick them up if you live as long as I have.”
“Then how old are you?” said Don. Michael’s age was a matter of some interest in the village, and also one that Michael did not encourage speculation on. Trevor was surprised that Don had dared to ask. “I am older than the Hills, as they say.”
“But why didn’t you ever teach any of them?” asked Trevor. “It would be pretty useful to be able to move rocks and stuff.”
Michael sighed. “I teach the village’s songs. The Sidhe of the ocean do not need to know the songs of the mountain folk, or the other way round. There is only trouble when different tribes and villages share their magic.” At this he looked at Tasha and Trevor.
“What kind of trouble?”
“Across these hills I have heard rumors of a ghing that steals the secrets of surrounding lands, invading and conquering them. It is why the mountain folk are so suspicious of us. They are beset on one side by this growing onslaught, and on the other we come. Perhaps we see their weakness, they think, and they are caught in a vise.”
“Well, how do we know they won’t come down and attack us?” questioned Don. “They could hurl all kinds of rocks down on us! Maybe we should be guarding the heights.”
“The songs of the village and the threat of the Sea Dragon hold them at bay, as well as our minding our business. Be content. They shield you from the troubles across the mountains, which the village is ill equipped to handle. Do not meddle in the affairs of other people’s lands. They know them, and are the rightful masters.”
They sat in silence for a time, then Michael said, “Let’s have an early supper. You two must be hungry after your ordeal. Trevor, get some water boiling!”
After the meal, Michael questioned Tasha closely about her circumstances. She started by trying to write in the dirt, but Michael impatiently waved these efforts away, “Enough of that, girl. I hear what you mean. I see what you say.”
Trevor thought that he must be reading her lips as she silently mouthed the words, but he didn’t always seem to be looking at her as she was talking.
“She was banished, and her tail, gills and voice have been taken away,” Michael proclaimed to the others.
Trevor glanced over at Tasha. She stared into the fire, looking very forlorn. A patch of irritating gloom in the late afternoon light.
“For trying to thrall me?” asked Trevor, with an edge to his question.
“For risking war with the village, and exposing the sirens’ secrets to an outsider,” replied Michael. “The village wouldn’t look the other way if they stole an apprentice enchanter. Secrets would be transferred either way, upsetting the balance.”
“But neither of us would have betrayed our village.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think you would or wouldn’t have done. The possibility is enough. Probably the Sea Dragon would have had to intervene.”
This sobered Trevor. He had heard stories of the Sea Dragon’s interventions: Storms, disappearing boats, missing people. “I… didn’t realize.” Banishment seemed pretty severe for their visits. It didn’t seem to make sense. “Why didn’t I get in trouble though?”
“You did, you knucklehead,” was Michael’s reply. “Why do you think I asked you to come along? Two birds with one stone.”
Trevor’s head spun, “Wait, what?”
Michael gazed back at the siren sitting by the fire. “Perhaps three now…” he muttered.