“Small magic?” Silas asked.
“There are many kinds of magic. For example, as a shaman I am practiced in small magic – a form of nature magic.”
“What other forms of magic are there?”
“High magic, which your Scholars of the Mage’s Guild call quintessence, dark magic, blood magic, to list a few.”
“Do you know which kind it is?” Aloisia asked.
Inari shook his head. “I can try to make sense of it. I may not get an exact representation, but maybe enough to understand it. All magic is the same in essence if not in practice.”
Silas retrieved some sheets of parchment, a quill, and ink. “Perhaps it would help to make notes as you work.”
“Thank you.”
Inari set about working through the markings. Aloisia paced the room, unable to remain still. Her hand clenched into a fist, her nails digging into the skin. She peered over his shoulder at intervals and was unsurprised his notations were in a different language.
Oda perched in a window seat, drawing a book from a nearby shelf to pass the time. Silas hovered nearby to Inari, concern alight on his face, though his curiosity seemed to win out. Tristan remained still as a statue, stood beside a set of bookshelves, his gaze on Inari the entire time.
The hours passed by slowly, and Inari continued to make progress. Aloisia felt hopeful that they may have enough to help Fynn at the trial the following day. She paced back to the marble table, watching Inari work.
“Anything ground-breaking yet?” she asked.
He breathed a laugh. “Not ground-breaking, but certainly some things of interest. The main pattern seems to be a map.”
“A map?” Whilst it wasn’t what she had expected, it was better than nothing.
Inari nodded. “I am not sure to where. It starts here.” He pointed to the marking on Brighde’s left palm, raising a brow. “It must be connected to the spell upon her.”
Aloisia trailed her fingers across her bandaged hand. “It starts there?”
“Indeed.”
“Could it be a map to the one who cast it?” Her voice croaked, her throat drying out.
“Perhaps. Again, I am not sure. There are markings here and there.” He pointed to rune-like patterns amid the swirling pattern Aloisia assumed was the map. “They are indicators of the spell. But I do not know what they mean.”
Oda scoffed. “So, we have a map to nowhere and a spell no one can translate?”
Inari ignored the guard’s comments. “Then there is this.” He lifted the sheet across Brighde’s chest, enough to show the marking of a hawk upon her heart whilst still maintaining her dignity.
Aloisia’s eyes widened in alarm. Though she couldn’t be sure, it looked awfully similar to the one on Inari’s chest. Only the marking on Brighde’s chest was upside down. She met the shaman’s gaze. There was a fear in his hazel eyes, willing her to remain silent. The same fear in her own.
“What does it mean?” she asked, her words a double-edged blade.
“A hawk is a symbol of a messenger or guide of sorts, usually representative of some change in one’s path.”
It was not the answer she had hoped for, but if the worry on his face was any indication, he did not want the others to know the similarity of the markings. Just as she did not want them to learn of hers.
Tristan moved from the shelves, crossing his arms as he made his way to the table. “Don’t you have a hawk on your chest as well, shaman?”
Inari’s brows raised in shock, and he glanced between the priest and the huntress.
Aloisia’s cheeks burned. It had been something she had told Tristan before their argument. Before she had come to trust Inari, if only a little. Before the shaman had offered to help.
Inari regarded Tristan, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I do. So do many people, I am sure. It is not uncommon.”
Tristan stood his ground under the watchful gaze of the shaman. “I would not say many people here, in Littlewatch, do. Such a strange coincidence.”
