Okay let me just give a little bit of the setting to you before the story actually begins. think of a time before doctors, where healers that practiced understanding plants and their powers were your best chance of surviving if you ever got ill. Of course, many people knew that there was money to be made in this profession, but half of job takes skill, and long,patient hours of standing before fire, waiting for the different herbs to be soaked or dried to their fullest potency. the other half was knowing the attributes of the potions and dried or fresh herbs and how much to give to one with an illness.
Well, the little town of Kamri was lucky for the most part. The healer they had was more of a bargaining gardener that would rather see those who are ill live before her own prosperity ever came into view. She was considered to be one of the wisest in her skill, having been learning it ever since she was a child. And never did she mind letting people who were too poor to stay anywhere else rest in her own home, or allowing some people to have a few things from her garden as long as they asked first. But, all good and kind things must come to an end, often in a sad way, like a funeral.
So this story begins with a song, a slightly disturbing song, but nevertheless, a song.
This hadn’t been the first time Maghita had heard the Song of the Weir. In fact, her mother had always sung it to her every night as a lullaby. And on special occasions the tune could be heard on pipes all over the town of Kamri. Even traders from far away cities and villages knew of it. But, this was the last time the old herbalist would sing it for Maghita.
Satir lay in bed as she glided through the words of the song and smiled calmly at the ten-year-old who stood beside her. Her own aged blue eyes met with those bright hazel ones of the child. As she finished the last word of the song, her eyes closed rapidly and her breathing became short and raspy.
Neither really panicked, it always happened to her right after she sang the Song of the Weir. It was what Satir thought of as the enchantment of the song being lifted.
“Tell your mother that all the medicines have been put by the fire pit so she doesn’t have to go looking for them when she takes my place.” She coughed a few times, her whole body shaking with the effort.
Maghita’s face wrinkled with concern and thought. “I’d rather tell your mother she’s going to have to wait a little longer because mine hasn’t learned everything yet.” Tears were beginning to well up on the lids of her eyes. She didn’t want her old friend to die.
Satir laughed at the comment. “Still, she knows more than I did when I first began to practice by myself. Besides, you come here so often, you could probably teach her what the rest of the herbs are for.” The child quietly mumbled her agreement and sniffled. “Now then, Maghita, listen closely. If you have a secret, you must try by all means to keep it from the Weir.” Her face had become dark and her eyes were cloudy, just like when she wasn’t sure whether someone would survive an illness or not.
“But, but-,” Maghita’s eyes widened at this information. Maybe if what Satir had said hadn’t coincided with what Maghita knew, she wouldn’t have been so frightened.
“Be quiet, child! He returns!” Satir’s words seemed to be filled with terror.
“Returns? Satir, who’s returning?” Maghita knelt beside the bed and took hold of the old woman’s right hand, which was now colder than ice.
The herbalist shuddered from the girl’s touch and pulled her hand away. “Please, it would not be wise for you to stay, my dear. He has not yet seen you!” Satir’s gaze moved toward the ceiling and paused for a moment, then, her eyes closed.
Maghita knew better than to just claim Satir dead without checking for a pulse and to see if she was still breathing. But, the ten-year-old was shaking too much to tell whose heartbeat she was sensing, and she could only hear her own breathing above her racing thoughts.
“Satir? Satir! Wake up! Please wake up!” two tears flowed down both corners of her eyes.
Maghita had always thought of the herbalist more like a grandmother that everyone trusted rather than just her mother’s mentor on medicines. Now her mother would have to work harder to learn what to prescribe to whom for what reasons and be able to recognize the symptoms of each illness. Fortunately, Satir had been right about Maghita knowing all the herbs and potions, what they’re used for, and even how to use them. But, she was afraid now that nobody was there to guide her, just in case.
The girl softly wiped her tears away, her actions were now more calm, leaving the rest of the room silent. Except, for someone else’s breathing.
Maghita turned to the sound which originated from next to the doorway by the head of Satir’s bed. Her friend had always been poor, with only four rooms in her home, and her garden was twice the size of her house. There was her room, connected to the other three from the middle of the back, the front room was also connected to everything as it was the place she did business in most often. Then there was the healing room to the left of Satir’s, and then the guest room to the right. Which was exactly where the noise came from.
It wasn’t odd for people to ask to stay a night or two for free in her guest room, as long as they didn’t disturb her work. But, the only people to usually do that were the poorest of traders from out of town. Even then, the traders and merchants only visited during early spring, and this was late summer.
As it were, the young girl was still expecting someone normal. What she saw standing by the guest room door, however, was slightly larger than any man Maghita had ever seen, and was also more animal-like. The person, if it could be called a person, had dark blue leathery skin enveloping well-toned muscles, with sharp, black claws protruding from its fingers where regular nails should have been.
It wore a rough black leather v-neck vest that had a sharp collar, and stopped at the end of the shoulders and just above the waist. The pants were made of the same material, and were long enough that it hit the floor behind the creature’s feet in tattered ends.
Maghita’s mind froze from the shock of what her eyes found. But, as soon as she realized that she was staring without acquiring any information, her brain went to work.
‘Okay, from the look of it, it must be a male, and why is it even here? Wait a minute, could it be?’ she thought to herself calmly. His soft amber eyes turned toward her with a blank expression and his arms were crossed.
She took a shallow breath and asked, “Are you the-,”
He held up his right hand and cut her off. “I am a weir, but not the one you speak of.” His voice was deep and powerful almost to the point of bone-chilling. But even though the weir spoke with authority, there was still a sense of kindness, or at least gracefulness. His arms went limply to his sides making him look even less threatening.
If the girl had had any time to be amazed, she would have been gawking for a few minutes. However, she saw from the corner of her eye Satir take a gasping breath. The weir sounded a low growl, something blue flashed across the floor to under the bed, and a stake pierced through Satir’s midsection from below. Automatically Maghita became cold from the newfound fright of the weir.
The weir looked from the bleeding woman back to the child. “Come.”
Well, the little town of Kamri was lucky for the most part. The healer they had was more of a bargaining gardener that would rather see those who are ill live before her own prosperity ever came into view. She was considered to be one of the wisest in her skill, having been learning it ever since she was a child. And never did she mind letting people who were too poor to stay anywhere else rest in her own home, or allowing some people to have a few things from her garden as long as they asked first. But, all good and kind things must come to an end, often in a sad way, like a funeral.
So this story begins with a song, a slightly disturbing song, but nevertheless, a song.
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
Hush, can’t you hear?
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
It’s the cry of the Weir.
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
Hush, and go to bed
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
Never lie or you’ll be dead
If you lie then you shall die by his hand
And if it’s hiding your emotions you’re used to
The he shall abuse you
And take you from your land
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
Can’t you tell he’s near?
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
We are ruled by the Weir.
Hush, can’t you hear?
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
It’s the cry of the Weir.
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
Hush, and go to bed
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
Never lie or you’ll be dead
If you lie then you shall die by his hand
And if it’s hiding your emotions you’re used to
The he shall abuse you
And take you from your land
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
Can’t you tell he’s near?
Hush, my darling, don’t cry my darling
We are ruled by the Weir.
This hadn’t been the first time Maghita had heard the Song of the Weir. In fact, her mother had always sung it to her every night as a lullaby. And on special occasions the tune could be heard on pipes all over the town of Kamri. Even traders from far away cities and villages knew of it. But, this was the last time the old herbalist would sing it for Maghita.
Satir lay in bed as she glided through the words of the song and smiled calmly at the ten-year-old who stood beside her. Her own aged blue eyes met with those bright hazel ones of the child. As she finished the last word of the song, her eyes closed rapidly and her breathing became short and raspy.
Neither really panicked, it always happened to her right after she sang the Song of the Weir. It was what Satir thought of as the enchantment of the song being lifted.
“Tell your mother that all the medicines have been put by the fire pit so she doesn’t have to go looking for them when she takes my place.” She coughed a few times, her whole body shaking with the effort.
Maghita’s face wrinkled with concern and thought. “I’d rather tell your mother she’s going to have to wait a little longer because mine hasn’t learned everything yet.” Tears were beginning to well up on the lids of her eyes. She didn’t want her old friend to die.
Satir laughed at the comment. “Still, she knows more than I did when I first began to practice by myself. Besides, you come here so often, you could probably teach her what the rest of the herbs are for.” The child quietly mumbled her agreement and sniffled. “Now then, Maghita, listen closely. If you have a secret, you must try by all means to keep it from the Weir.” Her face had become dark and her eyes were cloudy, just like when she wasn’t sure whether someone would survive an illness or not.
“But, but-,” Maghita’s eyes widened at this information. Maybe if what Satir had said hadn’t coincided with what Maghita knew, she wouldn’t have been so frightened.
“Be quiet, child! He returns!” Satir’s words seemed to be filled with terror.
“Returns? Satir, who’s returning?” Maghita knelt beside the bed and took hold of the old woman’s right hand, which was now colder than ice.
The herbalist shuddered from the girl’s touch and pulled her hand away. “Please, it would not be wise for you to stay, my dear. He has not yet seen you!” Satir’s gaze moved toward the ceiling and paused for a moment, then, her eyes closed.
Maghita knew better than to just claim Satir dead without checking for a pulse and to see if she was still breathing. But, the ten-year-old was shaking too much to tell whose heartbeat she was sensing, and she could only hear her own breathing above her racing thoughts.
“Satir? Satir! Wake up! Please wake up!” two tears flowed down both corners of her eyes.
Maghita had always thought of the herbalist more like a grandmother that everyone trusted rather than just her mother’s mentor on medicines. Now her mother would have to work harder to learn what to prescribe to whom for what reasons and be able to recognize the symptoms of each illness. Fortunately, Satir had been right about Maghita knowing all the herbs and potions, what they’re used for, and even how to use them. But, she was afraid now that nobody was there to guide her, just in case.
The girl softly wiped her tears away, her actions were now more calm, leaving the rest of the room silent. Except, for someone else’s breathing.
Maghita turned to the sound which originated from next to the doorway by the head of Satir’s bed. Her friend had always been poor, with only four rooms in her home, and her garden was twice the size of her house. There was her room, connected to the other three from the middle of the back, the front room was also connected to everything as it was the place she did business in most often. Then there was the healing room to the left of Satir’s, and then the guest room to the right. Which was exactly where the noise came from.
It wasn’t odd for people to ask to stay a night or two for free in her guest room, as long as they didn’t disturb her work. But, the only people to usually do that were the poorest of traders from out of town. Even then, the traders and merchants only visited during early spring, and this was late summer.
As it were, the young girl was still expecting someone normal. What she saw standing by the guest room door, however, was slightly larger than any man Maghita had ever seen, and was also more animal-like. The person, if it could be called a person, had dark blue leathery skin enveloping well-toned muscles, with sharp, black claws protruding from its fingers where regular nails should have been.
It wore a rough black leather v-neck vest that had a sharp collar, and stopped at the end of the shoulders and just above the waist. The pants were made of the same material, and were long enough that it hit the floor behind the creature’s feet in tattered ends.
Maghita’s mind froze from the shock of what her eyes found. But, as soon as she realized that she was staring without acquiring any information, her brain went to work.
‘Okay, from the look of it, it must be a male, and why is it even here? Wait a minute, could it be?’ she thought to herself calmly. His soft amber eyes turned toward her with a blank expression and his arms were crossed.
She took a shallow breath and asked, “Are you the-,”
He held up his right hand and cut her off. “I am a weir, but not the one you speak of.” His voice was deep and powerful almost to the point of bone-chilling. But even though the weir spoke with authority, there was still a sense of kindness, or at least gracefulness. His arms went limply to his sides making him look even less threatening.
If the girl had had any time to be amazed, she would have been gawking for a few minutes. However, she saw from the corner of her eye Satir take a gasping breath. The weir sounded a low growl, something blue flashed across the floor to under the bed, and a stake pierced through Satir’s midsection from below. Automatically Maghita became cold from the newfound fright of the weir.
The weir looked from the bleeding woman back to the child. “Come.”