The People of Magic

8

They had their things packed, "I'm not sure of this," said Stephen, "with the demons tracking you is it wise to go to other Ancienthomes and compromise them?"

"A sound concern," she stated and strapped her staff to her back. "We don't know what this spell works like and time is running out..."

He nodded and watched her take her pack, he hesitated and from his pocket he extracted the ring, "Do you want this with you?" he asked.

She looked at it and shook her head, "Not yet..." she saw his expression soften, "... I know how it seems... and I'm not running from it – I don't feel I deserve it."

"You do, she would have wanted you to have it..."

"And she entrusted it to you," she added. She looked at the blue stone, "almost as if..."

"She were trusting me to care for you," he said.

That was an odd sentiment to have but it was strangely accurate, "Yes," she confirmed. Freyja and Bran soon joined them.

"Ready, Fai?" she asked and held the spellbook in her arm.

"Yes," she responded.

"Be safe," Stephen told them.

"Don't worry I'll bring her back so you can have your chance to woo her," said Freyja.

"You know that was directed at both of you," he countered.

"I know," she held her hand out to Fairouza who grasped her hand and together they activated the spell by stomping their left feet.

They both gasped as they appeared in the desired location, they both doubled over to catch their breath, "This needs to become smoother," said Freyja.

Fairouza nodded but then her gaze fell upon the bottom of the gate, she'd never seen turquoise this blue before, she looked up at the gate and let out a soft gasp. She'd seen illustrations of the Ishtar Gate of ancient Babylon, a mere artist's rendering of a once magnificent gate now dwarfed by the gates she beheld before her. Both wider and taller than anything she had ever seen made of the bluest of turquoise she knew was popular in the area and highly decorated with golden images of great craftsmanship – she had no doubt that the people beyond this gate were a great people.

"... Freyja," she said, "I don't speak Babylonian..."

"Fret not, dear cousin, all Ancienthomes have spells of communication, when Ancients speak all kinds of languages it is often difficult to decide on which one..."

"Why?"

"Well no one wants to compromise to speak any one language..."

"... Of course."

"Plus, the people of this Ancienthome predate languages," she gestured to the gates, "This spell also protects the Original Language from ordinary ears..."

She continued to stare at the images, a tower struck by some force, gardens full of trees and fruit, people harmonious – people at war, and people in libraries reading and practicing magic.

She would have been content with doing nothing but sit and stare at the craftsmanship; she hadn't even noticed a small door open up and out walked a guard in bronze armor with a deep red cape on her shoulders. "Princess," she had a deep throaty voice.

"Ettu," said Freyja with a smile. "We are here to see Amytis..."

"Message of your departure from the Valley has just arrived, how did you travel so quickly?" she demanded, "are you truly Freyja? And who is this Mutt that stands beside you?"