“An orphan then.”
“I suppose, sir.”
The old man nodded. “And your name?’
“Caspian.”
“You’ll find breakfast in the tower, Caspian.”
“Thank you, sir,” Caspian said gratefully. “I’ll not overstay my welcome, I promise. If there’s anything I can do to repay you, I will.”
Ignatius nodded and began to turn, only to pause, giving way to his curiosity. “What do you know of your parentage?”
Caspian shuffled at the unexpected inquiry. “I wish I could say, sir. But I never knew them.”
“I see,” he said with a nod. “Very well then. You may call me Ignatius. Come to the tower and you will have your meal.”
Then the old man disappeared in a blink and Caspian was left alone in the hayloft, dazed. His experience with magic was limited to stories, and a few fanciful tricks he’d witnessed at a travelling fair once when he was only small. Yet it seemed he’d just made the acquaintance of a wizard. Caspian slid down the ladder, not wanting to keep him waiting.
Outside, the ground was still sodden from the storm, but at least the sky was clear. Caspian took only a moment to gaze up at the lonely tower, four stories of stone rising out of the fields. Inside was a tidy living space. There were all the typical fixtures of a home, but amongst them were shelves of books ladened with thick old tomes and rolls of parchment, odd shaped bones and bottles of indeterminable liquids.
Hunger in time stole his attention to the table, which was already laid with steaming bowls of porridge, along with sausage and apples. His stomach growled at the scent, but his eyes were otherwise occupied.
Seated at the table was a girl, well more than agirl, but yet not a woman either. Her dark hair was coiled in a braid that stretched from her forehead down to rest on her shoulder. Her warm skin was well tanned from hours in the sun. She was dressed in a vibrant green tunic. Though there was an enormous book laid out in front of her, her green eyes were fixed on him. There was something bewitching about the shape of them, something wild. The look in them was intelligent and fierce, mesmerizing.
“You’re hurt,” she observed, “and very dirty.”
“I suppose I am,” Caspian said, looking down at the sorry state of himself.
“What’s your name?”
“It’s Caspian.”
“Your porridge will get cold, Caspian,” she said, before turning back to her book.
He took a seat across from her.
“So what’s yours?” he asked.
She peered up at him with those cat-like eyes. “Keira.” Then it was back to reading.
“You live here too?” Caspian asked.
“Yes,” Keira said, not bothering to look up this time.
Caspian leaned over, examining the page. There wasn’t much use in it, as he couldn’t read, but there were more than letters on the pages. She was studying a complex symbol of interlacing circles.
He was so enraptured that he didn’t notice their companion until it had hopped right next to him. It croaked loudly, and Caspian jumped in his seat as he caught sight of the largest toad he had ever seen.
“Thaddeus!” Keira rose from her seat and took the toad in both hands. She was shorter than he had imagined, easily a head below himself. “He is incorrigible,” she said scornfully and walked him over to a glass case on the other side of the room, placing him gently inside. “We aren’t used to having guests,” Keira apologized as she sat down.
“Your father said that I could join you for breakfast-”
“My what?” she snapped, gaping at him.
Caspian recoiled at his obvious misstep. “I’m sorry. I just thought…”
“Ignatius is not my father,” Keira said and then returned to her reading, now seeming to ignore him forcefully.
