“Hello again, Jo.”
“Hey, there’s something I wanted to ask you. . . can I come in for just a second?”
“Oh, of course.” For the second time in a day, Samson moved aside for her to enter. However, this time, Jo closed the door behind her. “What is it?”
Jo looked to her right, to the door that led to his bedroom. In there was a smaller worktable and on that worktable was a series of feathers, wood, and metal arrow tips. His name, he had told her once, was Samson Fletcher. Fletcher, for his past profession.
If anyone would know about the arrow,andthe Age of Magic, it would be him.
“I was reading a book Eslar gave me.”
“You were reading a book?” She didn't know if the confusion on his face was because of the fact that she was supposed to be working on the wish, or because she was reading a book. Either way, Jo decided to cover her bases.
“Yeah, I know, it's not like me, but this wish has got me really hung up, and I was looking for a distraction for just a minute to clear my head. I tried to go to Eslar himself—” no point in hiding it, she figured “—but he didn't seem to really want to talk.”
“He hasn't been very talkative since. . .” Samson couldn't bring himself to say Nico's name. But it hung heavy enough that she had no illusions as to what was unsaid.
“Yeah, well, after that failed, I picked up the book he gave me. Have you ever read it?”
“Which one?”
Jo felt instantly silly. Eslar had hundreds of books, no doubt, and Samson had had a lot of time with the elf over the years. “It’s a book about a hunter and an arrow. . . It was the arrow that got me thinking, actually. Thinking about you.”
“What about me?”
“Oh, I don't know. . .” She stalled, hoping he would just happen to blurt out the information she needed. He didn't. “I know you were a fletcher before, right?”
“I was.”
“Do you know the story then?”
“I do. I think.” Samson walked over to his worktable. He kept his head down and began tinkering away as he spoke. His words started out strong, but they grew fainter and fainter. “It’s the one about bringing down the goddess, right? Most people from the Age of Magic knew that one.”
“So it was a common story?” Jo asked, eagerly trying to keep the conversation going.
“I guess you could say that.” Samson paused, clearly giving it some thought for the first time. “Most people knew it, at least.”
“Do you know where it came from? Was there any truth to it?”
He looked up, startled.
“No I-I don't, I’m sorry.”
“No, Sam, it’s fine. . . Like I said, I’m a little bit work crazy, I think.” Jo forced a laugh. “Nothing I say is making sense, just ignore me.”
“It's all right.”
“Anyway, I should go back to it.”
“Did you need my help for anything else? Because I. . .” The way his words reached a sudden halt and the long pause had Jo's mind immediately filling in the blank. She remembered what he had said about his magic earlier and the way it wasn't working right.
“No, you’re great, Samson—” She emphasizedgreat. “I should go.”
Once again, she was leaving Samson’s room as abruptly as she came. He wore confusion on his face, but at the very least he didn’t look offended. It seemed like they were all willing to forgive certain lapses in etiquette lately, for the sake of having their privacy.
Jo folded her arms as she started back for the recreation room, thinking over the information Eslar and Samson had given her. There were the pillars worlds were supported on, and the Elvish rituals used to feed them; there was a magical arrow, and the unknown hero destined to wield it . . .
Jo’s mind was so busy processing her conversation with Samson, picking apart every possible conclusion, that she didn't even notice she was on a collision course until it was too late.
