Page 46 of Beyond The Maples
I shake my head. "No idea. We have executions at home, but they aren't like that. That felt like a presentation."
We pass an old woman on the side of the road. She's almost crippled with age, hunched over in a beige dress that looks about four sizes too big. She struggles to get her bag of laundry back over her shoulder, and I cross the street to help her lift it.
"Here, let me help. This thing weighs a ton." I smile down at her as I lift the bag, and I'm met with a cheeky grin from the old woman.
"Oh, thanks dear. I was honestly playing up my brittleness a little, hoping that handsome friend of yours would take pity on me." She winks and gives a bigger smile, one showing her mess of teeth.
Leo and Farra cross towards us and must have caught what she said, because Leo's face lights up, and Farra rolls her eyes playfully. I lift the bag onto the porch as Leo gives the old woman his arm, helping her to her door. She turns, facing us, noting our uniforms.
"You three be careful out there. Everything's made to kill ya these days."
I nod towards the church a few streets over. "Does that happen often?"
The old woman sighs. "More and more. It's disrespectful to leave the dead up like that, if you ask me. Bound to piss off one god or another." She whispers the last bit. "Come in for some tea? I haven't had company in a dark age."
I look at my friends in question, but Leo is already pushing past us towards the door, making the choice for us. We help the old woman inside. All three of us are wide-eyed at the state of her house. It's small, smaller than our home back at the hovel, but it's the smell that throws me off. It smells like spices. I'm hit with a familiar feeling, a memory just out of reach, triggered by whatever musky scent is flowing through the space, and my brain pinches in response.
"Tea anyone?"
The woman hobbles into the tiny kitchen, turning the stove on. Mismatched mugs line the shelves and I find myself unable to stop my snoopingas I wander the little den. It's been so long since I've seen a home like this, full. There are shelves with clay pots, decorative weapons hanging on the walls, strange glass containers that contain a variety of odd contents. Everywhere you look, there's something that seems like it belongs in another world.
Farra is the first to point out the obvious. "Aren't you worried about getting in trouble with all this stuff in here?"
The old woman waves her hand in dismissal and makes a pssh sound.
"Hey! I remember these!" Leo picks up and fumbles a small toy animal.
The little creature is made of glass, almost see through, but it has a gem at its core. Its legs are hinged with metal gears, allowing movement. I remember them too, my dad used to say wielders could use their affinities to charge the gems in the middle so they'd come to life for short periods of time. The perfect blend of magic and engineering, he'd say. A relic of what could have been.
Farra scolds Leo for being clumsy, which causes the old woman to bark a laugh.
I am vaguely aware of their chatter, but my attention is pulled to the tapestry hanging behind the door. It looks ancient, our country's sacred compass. But what catches my eye is the slight differences from the ones found all over the city, and in the churches throughout the country. Have I seen this before?
The intricate compass has eight points on the outside, four longer ones representing direction and four smaller ones between representing the seasons. Each thick orienting arrow has lines and dots within its spire. At one point, I'm sure they meant something important. Inside the large circle is what represents the dial, a smaller more symmetrical version of the direction arrows sits between the names of our four Gods. On the real ones, the inner dial would turn with the seasons and times. Once, I suppose, magic did it automatically, and then humans took up the job. The differences are subtle between this depiction and the ones that sit in the churches. The markings among the inner prongs that symbolize the Gods’ affinities are there, but instead of a hollow middle, there are more symbols.
I squint my eyes. What are those?
"Do you like it?" I yelp, nearly jumping out of my skin at the old woman's sudden nearness. She looks at me with that same mischievous grin from earlier.
"I do like it, it’s different from the ones I've seen at the temples," I say cautiously, still studying it.
"But you have seen this one before," she hums, not a question.
I begin to respond, but again I hesitate, a pit growing in my stomach I can't place. The old woman just nods.
"I thought so," she seems to say to herself.
"I'm Maple, by the way. I don't think we got your name?"
We lock eyes for a moment, and the old woman's features soften.
"I'm Sibylla, but my friends call me Sibs."
Sibylla sits down in one of the dust-covered chairs with some difficulty.
"Well Sibs," Leo starts, "Aren't you alittlenervous about having all this... contraband in your house?" He holds up the figurine he's scooped from the shelf. Sibs shrugs and stares at her untouched tea.
"No one bothers an old woman like me anymore. I do what I want. If it's my time, it's my time." She seems so casual about everything, but the more I look around, the more uncertain I become. Where did she get all this stuff? Surely someone in the community would have told on her by this point, especially if she allows strangers in so freely.
