The Catalyst

Chapter 6

The sun was nearing its peak when Noah got to the Bayou, a small town built on marshlands. The clouds moved fast, pushed by a strong northern wind. The Gods' Wrath, inland people called it. Noah found he didn't mind wearing Jaden's uniform scarf after all.

He slowed Shadow to a walk as they approached low-eaved houses raised on stilts. Some of the houses had an abandoned air, vines and wild grass taking over, with sometimes a broken wagon left behind on the front yard.

A family in fleece coats stood by a heavily loaded ox-cart, everything covered up in roped canvas, ready to take their leave, staring back at him and his stallion with guarded looks. Noah had heard that poverty was forcing some small town folks to leave their homes and try to make it in the big city. Now he saw there was truth to the rumor.

Plodding along in silence, he soon reached what could be called the town center, which included a squared building bigger and bearing fresher paint than the others—the temple—and a few shops.

Noah halted and dismounted, having found the herbalist's shop. But something seemed off. The sign clung to only one nail and banged loudly against the door in the wind. Noah approached to take a closer look, grimacing as his boots sank in mud, but he couldn't see much through the dirt-stained windows.

Master Arthur, one of the oldest members of his cult, was the owner of this shop. Noah had never been here before. Everything he knew of this town and its people, he knew from old Arthur.

He knocked at the door, but got no answer.

Noah had come to the Bayou hoping to visit the old man – one more tiny detour couldn't hurt – and maybe purchase some medicinal herbs or some such. The real reason was that he wanted to help him out. He knew Arthur struggled, and Noah happened to have some gold he could spare.

He pushed the door, wincing as it creaked loudly, and peered inside. The shop had been ransacked. The shelves were empty, and whatever was left had been thrown to the floor; jars and glass canisters broken in shards among dried-up puddles of what had surely been Arthur's potions. Atop a little desk were a long-stemmed pipe with spilled tobacco, a velvet hat, and an open book gathering dust.

"Anyone in there?" No answer. He was about to try his luck inside when he heard a little girl's voice.

"The wizard is gone."

Noah turned, facing a blonde girl of about ten years. Her hair was tangled by the wind, her fleece coat too big for her and her little boots muddier than Noah's. She held a yellow oak leaf in her hand.

"The wizard?" Noah asked.

She nodded, big blue eyes staring from Noah to his horse in wonder.

"That's what my father calls him. But he's gone now. I liked him," she said, her eyes still going to Shadow.

"You can pet him if you want."

Carefully Noah led her closer to the stallion, guiding her hand to pat his shoulder, as far up as she could reach. Shadow tolerated it, as long as Noah stayed close. She smiled.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"Shadow. And I'm Noah. What's yours?"

"Fey," she said.

"That's a pretty name. So, Fey, do you know what happened to Arthur? To the wizard?" he clarified when she gave him a puzzled look.

"They took him," she said, whirling the oak leaf by twisting its stem between her delicate fingers.

Noah's smile faded. "Do you know who took him?"

Before she could answer, a sturdy man strode across the yard calling for her.