Kemet, near Abdju, 3440 BC

Wadjet woke, consciousness pulling her forward even as she wished she could surrender back to the dark. She groaned into the night; she hurt - not just her muscles, but her bones, her eyes, even her skin. She felt raw, like she'd suffered another of the many, many sunburns she'd experienced when she'd first arrived in Egypt… or Kemet, as the people of the current time called it.

She could feel every pebble, every tiny grain of sand stabbing into her as she lay sprawled upon the ground. Nor was the rawness limited to her body… her thoughts scattered like smoke as she tried to grasp them, leaving behind only emotion. Memories flashed through her mind with no cause or pattern. She remembered her pride in her students, the thrill and fear of battle, instants of love and loss. She'd avoided thinking about Hogwarts for most of her life, yet the castle rose unbidden in her mind… the thrill of magic and friends she'd loved so much, never telling them until it was too late.

Rage; delight; sorrow; affection; the roiling seas of her heart exhausted her. She fell asleep, laughing and crying at the same time.

It was still night when she woke again. The cold of the night had deepened, and the earth beneath her rubbed against her flesh like sandpaper. She could have lay there for minutes or days, but eventually discomfort caused her to lever herself to a kneeling position. A colossal effort... she felt weaker than a newborn kitten. The ground seemed to crack underneath her, and beneath the hypersensitive tips of her fingers parts felt oddly smooth.

The darkness was welcome as she opened her eyes. The world was nothing but shades of black… the charm that corrected her vision in lieu of her long-lost eyeglasses had fallen away. The moon was nothing more than a fuzzy splinter, and her pitiful natural eyesight couldn't resolve the tiny points of the stars. A cool breeze sweeping down the river played across her bare skin and set her to shivering, and she realized she was nude.

How long had she lay there? What had happened?

After a moment another fear shook her: where was her wand?

"Lum-" She coughed, the painful hacking feeling like she was swallowing shards of pottery. Had she been screaming? Had she been hit with a Cruciatus? Impossible… as far as she knew, she was the only person in the world who knew that particular curse. She hadn't taught it to anyone, and she certainly wasn't going to cast it on herself! She forced herself to swallow, ignoring the pain, rubbing her tongue against the roof of her mouth to generate some saliva.

She was parched, but to do anything about that she needed to figure out where she was. "Lumos," she croaked. The night remained stubbornly black - no magic would respond to such a pitiful summons. "Lumos!" she repeated more forcefully.

A small light appeared above her palm. It wasn't even a tenth the brightness she could manage if she'd had her wand… but the mere fact that she could cast wandlessly at all was cause for awe amongst her few students. They always forgot that every wizard or witch began with accidental magic - which was, at its essence, wandless magic.

The cool blue-white light couldn't reach far, not that it mattered with her nearsightedness. But what it illuminated was grim: the ground around her was blackened, the very earth charred, parts smooth like melted glass. A long piece of thick wood in front of her had been reduced to little more than brittle charcoal... she recognized it as one of the long handles of the litter she rode in during her journeys, carried upon the shoulders of the strong men who were her servants.

She hated the litter. She felt ridiculous being carried in it, like a pampered cat. But the king insisted, saying having his right-hand and advisor walking everywhere like a peasant weakened her authority, and thus his by extension. Even trying to sneak out of it behind his back only ended up panicking the men assigned to carry her - they feared the king would punish them, or worse, that she was testing them for proper subservience. Far from easing their burdens, she frightened them. So she shut up and played her role.

Now the litter was ash. But where were the men?

They'd been travelling between Nekhun and Abdju. Quite unlike his father, Makheru was a weak and nervous king, and often sent Wadjet as emissary to project strength… his `big stick' on display. It annoyed her… she didn't like being an object of intimidation, and the trips were exhausting and robbed her of time with her students. But the alternative was the surrounding lands, most little more than roaming tribes, thinking they could prey on Makheru's subjects. She'd learned the hard way that being frightening up front could save being deadly later, so she grudgingly played along, smiling and growling as needed.

Her small procession of carriers and a half-dozen guards armed with spears had been following the Nile, travelling at an easy pace. Her servants may have been made nervous by her attempts to be friends with them, but they were still happy that she wasn't the type to drive them onwards impatiently. In fact, Khetperra had even smiled at her… the dark-skinned young man was tall and strong, and very easy on the eyes. The fact that he was able to meet her gaze long enough to share a shy smile spoke well of him. With careful grooming and time she could see herself calling him a friend, perhaps even a lover.

The banks of the great river were lush and green, covered in tall grasses and dotted with date trees, their long, fan-like leaves barely shading them as they walked. They might have made better time had they kept walking through noon, but that was where she put her foot down - high sun was spent hidden under a woven tarp spread for shade, with cooling charms and summoned water. She could act delicate and imperious and the men could roll their eyes where she pretended not to see, assuring her they could continue all day… but if it was her wish to pause (purely for her own comfort, of course!) then they would obey. Then she'd smile where they couldn't see, and everyone could act their parts and be happy about it. After the rest they'd set off again, hoping to reach Abdju before midnight. The men were refreshed and made good time, and there was almost a jovial atmosphere as they traveled.

It was then that they'd been attacked.

Brigands or assassins? She didn't know. She knew that they'd cunningly hidden in the reeds among the river, two of them for every one of her party. Even that shouldn't have been enough… she was Wadjet, the name given to her by the people, the Sorceress-Protector of Kemet. Her wand was in her hand, and two flicks sent a pair of the attacking men hurling backwards over their brethren to splash into the river, giving her own protectors time to get a proper grip on their spears.

Makheru never believed her when she said she fought better alone. Had she been walking, she'd have been able to cast more than simple banishing or levitation charms; she dared not cast anything more deadly as her carriers hurried to lower her to the ground without spilling her out. Had she been alone, she would have called her fires - fire magic came so easily to her, and she didn't know why - and the fight would have been over in seconds. Or if she was truly pressed, she could have simply apparated away… it was the technique she kept hidden from everyone, her ace in the hole. Instead, she was hampered by her place of "honour" and the proximity of those meant to protect her; men who would instead need protection from her if she were to use her abilities to their fullest.

Even the enemy could be clever and brave. She'd been casting as best she could, on the verge of ordering the carriers to just bloody drop her, damnit, when the second group of men surged over a small rise on the other side of them. It had been Khetperra who had shouted the alarm… she'd seen them, and her eyes had gone wide, and she'd brought her arm around even as the five men in front had hurled their spears.

They were very skilled. All five lengths of wood, tipped with deadly stone points, had arced in at her with the accuracy of a lifetime of practice.

She should have disapparated; instead, she tried to shield the men closest to her. A wide banishing charm caught two spears and knocked them off course. A transfiguration turned another into a frightened bird that flapped away. Her hasty shield deflected a fourth even as it cut the fifth in half.

Half was more than enough to do the job.

She was tumbling from the litter even before she felt the stone point in her flesh. She remembered the crack of bone as her ribs gave way, the agony and chill as her breath was suddenly halted in her chest. A terrified Khetperra rolled her onto her back so they could both stare at the wooden shaft that protruded from her chest above her heart. The white linen robes around the hole were turning deep red.

She'd tried to tell him to run… for them all to run. There was no reason for them to sacrifice themselves protecting a corpse. But she couldn't draw the breath to form the words. Her hands and feet felt like they were made of ice - ice to counter the burning from the wound that had killed her. And despite the pain and cold she felt peaceful and lazy.

She was dying… and oddly, that didn't bother her. She knew she was old… she had no idea how old, as north Africa had no seasons as far as her English-raised sensibilities could identify, only unending heat and the periodic flooding of the Nile. But she'd seen seven generations of kings born since she'd left the tiny village that had taken her in after the strange magical trap had thrown her into the distant past. Even with the relatively short lives of ancient muggles, that was a long time.

Now it was over. She'd had a good run… certainly more than Voldemort or even Dumbledore had planned for her! She had no idea why she'd remained youthful-looking, but that wasn't really something to complain about, was it? Her only regret was that she'd never been able to add her own child to the world, no matter the potions she'd tried or the men she'd selected. It had been a disappointment but not a surprise… she barely remembered her teenage years, but she remembered that her monthlies had always been rare, halting during the War and never returning.

A shame… she would have liked to have tried with Khetperra.

He looked so sad as he shielded her with his own body. She couldn't tell him that it wasn't his fault, that she wasn't afraid. Run, she'd managed to mouth to him, unsure whether she'd spoken Kemetic or her long-neglected English - her breath hissed in her ears. She had a moment to be puzzled by the sound of beautiful birdsong… then darkness claimed her.

Until she'd woken, an unknown period of time later, surrounded by destruction.

A high-pitched wail came from her throat as she remembered the act of dying, the sensation of being killed. The werelight winked out as she lost her concentration; she doubled-over and retched, but she vomited nothing but a tiny amount of spit, her belly lacking anything to release. She lay there, kneeling with her head pressed against the burnt earth, quivering as fresh terror and remembered pain blended.

Eventually she managed to think a coherent thought: what had happened to Khetperra? To the others? She clutched to the thought like a raft in the middle of the Nile; she always preferred thinking of others' problems over her own. Had the men managed to get away, or had they been cut down after she'd been - don't think it! - … disabled?

She managed to re-summon her light, but she was unable to stand. Her legs were jelly underneath her, and she stumbled back to the ground, scraping the skin of her knees painfully. She looked herself over and found that she was painfully thin. It was difficult to keep her weight up - especially in a time and place where food was so difficult to come by - but being the right-hand of the king had its advantages, and she'd slowly, over decades, managed to put on a pound or two. Now they were gone, and even her skin seemed to have lost what little tan she had. She'd always been paler than the light and dark browns of the people around her, and had always needed to be especially careful to shield herself from the sun - thus the hooded robes she often wore. Time and careful exposure had given her skin a pleasant bronzed tone, but now that was wiped away, and she was as pale as a ghost.

-No, no, not a ghost- She pushed away distant memories of someone else who'd come back from the dead, pale and profane.

She needed her wand. She could renew her vision charm, cast a brighter werelight... maybe even apparate home. She could do something.

Her wand would have landed on the ground near the litter. It had to have escaped the fire… she dared not think otherwise. She crawled, searching, as slowly and as weakly as the kitten she'd thought of earlier, bracing herself with one hand as the other held the light in front of her. The ash upon the ground turned her hand and legs black, and despite how carefully she moved her skin, still so sensitive, protested against the rough ground.

Her hand found a long, thick shape in the darkness... but it wasn't a wand, no. It was bone: a human femur, the flesh scoured away by flame. She swallowed a cry as she jerked her hand away, nearly falling over. Reluctant examination found a few more pieces - a humerus, a tiny piece of what had to be skull - but little else. The rest had been consumed, turned to ash and dust.

Had this been one of her men, perishing valiantly while protecting her? Who could unleash such fires? It was beyond muggle means… had the attackers brought a wizard with them? Wadjet wasn't the only magical who knew how to summon fiendfyre, but she was the only one she knew of with any real control of the magical flames… anyone else was as likely to kill themselves as they were their target.

She needed her wand!

She crawled past the bones, searching as best she could. She already had a chilling suspicion of what she would find, but desperation and denial drove her on until she spotted a faint wisp of red and orange, nearly glowing in the deep of the night.

"Oh… oh no," she rasped as she scooped up the charred remains of what had been her faithful holly and phoenix feather wand. The wood was reduced to little more than charcoal, crumbling in her hand and still carrying a bit of the heat which had consumed it. The phoenix feather inside was utterly untouched, spilling out to rest in her palm. She stared at it for a long moment, shock overwhelming even the turbulence of her emotions. She clenched her hand, pressing her fist against her lips as she curled her knees against her chest. Once again she burst into tears.

She didn't know how long she sat there weeping, letting the cold of the night seep into her bones and setting her shivering. It wasn't until some soothing notes were chirped from above her that she raised her head. Looking up, she saw a large bird perched in the scorched tree beside her, its long red and gold feathers so bright that they seemed to glow in the moonlight. Even reduced to little more than a blur by her eyes, even after having never seen such a creature since even before she'd been banished so long ago, the shape was unmistakable.

Phoenix and human stared at each other. The bird's head twisted and tilted, regarding her with interest; she could do little more than stare blankly in return. The phoenix saw the way she trembled from the cold and trilled a series of chirps.

She started, surprised, as the notes somehow gained meaning: Seek warmth.

She blinked. "I… I can't." More chirps. "I can't! My wand… it's gone." She held out her hand to the phoenix, showing the palm stained with ash, and the single lonely feather. "Please," she begged, "I don't know what happened! We… we were attacked. The people with me… I-I think they're… they're..."

Fresh tears slid down her cheeks. It occurred to her that she should have been cried out by now - she wouldn't think there were tears left to shed! She was hundreds of years old at the least - a veteran of bloody magical and muggle battles, advisor to kings! Why was she acting so… childish?

The phoenix trilled sympathetic… words? Ash to ash. Ends, new beginnings. It - he - seemed to regard the remains of the wand in her hand, then chirped again. Wait here. Then he leaped into the air and flapped away.

Though he'd asked her to wait, she suddenly felt intensely lonely and abandoned. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. She didn't didn't know how long she sat there like that… she'd never had a good sense of time. She'd started to worry that the phoenix had left her for good when a chirp made her look up.

Enormous relief swept through her as the red and orange bird flapped gently toward her, carrying a thick branch in its claws. She would have wondered how such a delicate creature could carry something so large if she hadn't already known how powerful a phoenix could be. He set the branch in front of her, and now that it was close enough to both her myopic sight and her meagre light, she could make out details: it was a piece of a persea tree, marvellously straight, as thick as her forearm and as long as she was tall. It may not even have been merely a branch, but perhaps the trunk of a young tree - pecked and snapped by the incredibly sharp and strong beak of the phoenix.

Releasing her light she picked it up, the wood heavy in her weakened arms and the bark rough against her sensitive skin. She gave him a confused look. "I… I don't understand…"

Staff.

She blinked again, and the bird watched her patiently. It made sense - all her students used staves. They were very hard to master but easy to make. She'd yet to puzzle out the process for making the smaller, more elegant wands - she'd had but the one example, and it was - … it had been far too precious to sacrifice for experimentation.

She looked down at the feather still held in her hand; despite the ash it still seemed to softly glow. It was the very last piece of what she'd had from her old life… her clothes had worn through, her glasses had eventually broken, and even her original name was used by no one, not even herself; she'd set it aside long ago, trying to forge on with her new life.

"Thank you," she said, barely holding back tears of gratitude, still confused by how out of control her emotions were. "But… I don't have the tools…"

Come. Fly. He turned, presenting his tailfeathers, and she just barely remembered flying through the air as she clutched the feathers of a similar bird. Transferring the branch to her other hand, she gingerly reached out and took hold of a feather between two fingers.

He flapped his wings and rose into the air, Wadjet trailing behind him as if she weighed no more than the feather in her hand. Terror and elation warred briefly in her heart, the elation winning out as she remembered: I love flying!

The thrill helped her ignore the colder air hundreds of yards above the ground. Fortunately and unfortunately it was a short trip… a journey that would have taken a day carried in her litter was but minutes beneath the wings of a phoenix. The ground below was a black mass, and with the weightlessness provided by the phoenix's magic she could almost pretend she floated among the stars.

Soon a few lights resolved below her, and she knew they were the torches of Abdju. Suddenly she was glad that they were invisible in the night sky - though nudity was hardly rare among the people of Kemet, nor was it terribly sexualized, even after hundreds of years she was shy in a way that confused many. She could hardly explain it was the remains of her English prudery… England didn't even exist yet!

The houses of the town - some made of mud brick, others little more than reeds - passed below her feet as the phoenix unerringly winged toward the home of the king. Hardly a castle, it was merely a two-level keep, though its construction was remarkably superior to those outside its walls. Guards armed with spears stood watch outside the wooden gates, but they didn't look up as she passed above them.

In moments, the phoenix was lowering her to what served as a balcony to her "apartment". Her legs managed to hold her upright with the assistance of the wall as he let her down, then flapped over to settle on a wooden stool nearby. Enough light leaked up from the torches of the guards that she was just barely able to make out his shape, a dim red and orange shape against the black of night. The heavy piece of persea clattered to the timbers that made up the floor, rolling a few steps away.

She let her forehead rest against the cool brick of the keep for a moment, ignoring the way her body continued to shiver. Her head still hurt. None of the torches in her room were lit - no surprise, neither the servants nor her students would have expected her. She'd call them in a moment. She shuddered to think how they'd react to her appearance. At least young Idut's staff worked minimally for her… she'd be able to recast her vision charm, if nothing else.

She turned, wobbling slightly, and squinted at the phoenix as it sat on the chair. "Thank you," she whispered. "I don't know what happened to me… but if you hadn't come along…"

Tomorrow always comes, he trilled. Ash to ash. He tilted his head as he regarded her, in particular the feather still clutched in her hand. After a moment he lifted a wing and plucked at it; she blinked as the gift of a new feather fluttered to the ground. New beginnings, he explained. Rest, Fledgling. Become new.

Her jaw dropped as he spread his wings and leapt into the air. "Wait!" She lurched forward, but only succeeded in stumbling to the floor, banging her knees and elbow and sending fresh pain rippling up her bones. "Wait! Please! I have to ask you… I have to ask you why I'm not dead!" If the phoenix heard her, it gave no sign, winging away beyond the range of her vision and tortured voice. "Please, you can't leave me! Why am I not dead!? I'm supposed to be dead!"

Indus Valley, 2720 BC

Most people simply called it "the city".

A vague term, but for most of the people who lived in it or around it there was little reason to distinguish it from any other city. Few people would bother making the journey to distant Harappa, and there were few other locations that would approach the city's size and importance. Eventually it would be lost and forgotten, with new habitats built on top of its bones, and new ones built on top of those, and so on. In the very distant future, a great city named Lahore would rest upon the site, suspecting but unsure of what lay beneath. For the citizens of the time, however, "the city" may as well have been the center of the world.

It was patterned on what was proving to be wise design in Harappa: a rectangular and grid-like layout, with mud-brick walls to keep out dangerous animals and strong gates made of timber to secure the city at night. Men in ox-drawn carts would pass through those gates, travelling down the broad main street to bring their wares - wheat, pottery, metals and jewels - to the market square. One- and two-level houses made of fire-dried brick lined the streets, sheltering the craftsmen and administrators who made the city possible.

Like the tiny village to the south that would eventually grow and be named "Mohenjo-Daro" by those of the distant future, the city's true name was long lost to time. Those who named the other may have been tempted to use the name Karmanapura: "City of Spells". Because while most of the city's fifteen thousand residents were of ordinary muggle nature, Karmanapura was notable for housing a sizable group of scholars… all of whom were wizards. Or, as they were called: the godstouched.

A few hundred wizards of varying ages was not an impressive number to the magical societies which would follow, but in the time and age of Karmanapura, it was a fantastical concentration of power. The non-magical folk who lived in the city rested easily knowing that whatever the walls couldn't keep out the godstouched could deal with easily. They tended to be well-educated and wealthy besides, so putting up with their arrogance and superiority was a small price to pay in exchange. Few crossed the line into outright maliciousness... like most godstouched, they simply wanted to be left alone to study magic in peace.

All times and all civilizations, modern or ancient, magical or mundane, had to suffer one common problem, however: indolent youth. It could be said the problem among the godstouched was rather more severe, because a family that wielded magic simply had an easier time in all things compared to the mundane. There was little need to tend cattle, raise chickens, or labour for hours in the fields raising wheat when a little spellwork took care of most problems. A muggle family that didn't work didn't eat, and muggle families were not shy about applying beatings to lazy children. In comparison, a godstouched teenager often had little to worry about beyond cleaning his room and attending his spellcasting lessons. After that, his time was free.

And as any parent will tell you, a bored teenager is a troublesome teenager.

Asam, Nava, and Guruta were three bored teenagers. They were apprenticed to two of the prominent godstouched of the city, Master Avinoda and Mistress Razmi. In the normal scheme of things, they would be spending the day practicing their charms (and earning not a few stinging hexes for their laziness).

In fact, they'd been assigned such practice while their Masters were off in the mountains hunting dragon eggs… but the couple wasn't due to return for another three nights, and there was plenty of time for practice tomorrow, right? So instead the trio spent many days outside Karmanapura - lazing on the banks of the Ravi river, taunting some of the nearby herds of cattle, play-dueling in the fields, and being truant.

It was a warm, sunny day, late in the afternoon, and the three were enjoying an unexpected bounty in the form of a jug of rice wine fermented with honey, bullied from a passing muggle tradesman headed to market who had no desire to endure the maliciousness of three godstouched boys. The three friends lazed in the shade of a large banyan tree, dipping small wooden cups into the ceramic jar. Nava was lounging on a large, thick branch that stretched out from the tree at waist height. Guruta had originally claimed the spot, but too much surā had made him fall off and Nava had quickly seized the prize over the other boy's slurred protests. Guruta petulantly took Nava's former spot resting against the trunk of the tree next to Asam, who was dozing lightly with his reed hat pulled low over his eyes.

"Ay, whozzat?" Guruta grunted. Nava was glad their masters were away - there would be no words to describe the hexing they'd receive were they to come home in such a state, and it really wouldn't matter who was carrying who. He twisted on his branch, pushing himself up to see what had caught his friend's attention.

Twin winding ruts cut their way through the grasses in front of their lounging tree, a narrow path cut over years by the rough-hewn wheels of carts making the ten-day trip to Harappa in the southwest. The path roughly followed the path of the Ravi, the river hidden behind a line of trees and brush, the sound of its waters hidden underneath the gentle sway of the leaves and wind. The air above the dusty trail rippled in the summer heat, and through the watery shimmering a lone form could be seen approaching - slender and tall, clad in hooded robes of white linen or cotton.

She seemed to appear out of the hot air like a spirit or mirage. And it was a she, he knew… a slender arm extended from her voluminous sleeves to hold a staff of polished wood, its top carved into a shape he couldn't identify from the distance. Its end marked her pace with a steady, resolute gait.

"Asam. Asam!" He nudged his friend with his foot, knocking the reed hat eskew. The other boy caught it before it fell off, scowling at him before looking in the direction Nava indicated with his chin. Asam grinned as he caught site of the approaching figure.

Scrambling to his feet, their erstwhile leader pushed back his hat; the traveller was closing the distance, her gender more obvious. She was slender but obviously female, her features hidden beneath her white linen hood. The carving on her staff was that of a snake, a cobra with its hood flared but mouth closed. Nava climbed off his branch, intrigued; he made sure his dhoti was well-tucked, brushing off grass and dust. Asam stroked the moustache and beard he was so proud of, though up until a few weeks ago it could have easily have been mistaken for lack of face-washing. Guruta simply stared stupidly.

"Greetings, Traveller!" Asam exclaimed with a bow as soon as she was in earshot. "A hot day for walking, isn't it? We have some lovely shade here we'd be glad to share. Come rest a moment!"

She didn't respond, though Nava thought perhaps he saw her lips draw up into a smirk within the shadow of her hood. Asam was undeterred. "Are you new to these lands? We would be glad to tell you of our home, of Karmanapura!"

The woman, who had looked as if she planned to pass by them with barely a glance, paused in her steps. Her head turned toward them, and Asam grinned.

Reaching up, she pulled down her hood, giving them their first unobstructed view of her face. Her skin was fair - bronzed by the sun, but far lighter than any native of the valleys surrounding the river. She brought to mind the herdsmen of the north, who very rarely would make the journey across the mountains to visit the southern lands for trade. Her hair was dark, tinged in the sunlight with the barest hint of red, and her features were delicate and porcelain-smooth, her lips full and enticing. Most remarkable of all was her eyes - a deep shade of green, like the youngest leaves of their shading tree.

"Guh," commented Guruta.

"You know Karmanapura?" she asked. Her voice was smooth but heavily accented, and she paused when speaking in a way that told Nava she was translating and thinking of the right words to use.

A distant traveller indeed… one that hadn't yet grasped the local language, but was still picking it up as she moved. Had she come from the north? If so, it was by a roundabout path, since the trail she followed lead to distant Harappa. It didn't escape his notice that she was travelling alone but showed no fear of the three young men.

"Of course, Mistress," Asam said, bowing again. He spoke carefully, apparently noticing her careful speech as well. "It's our home, in fact."

"Good. You send-... you can tell me direction to go to get there, yes?"

"Of course! But why are you in such a hurry? Are you visiting the market? Come, tell us what you seek and perhaps we can help you."

She regarded them through narrowed eyes… especially Guruta, who wavered slightly on his feet. "I wish speak with Priest-King for important matter."

"Priest-King?" Asam repeated, surprised. "You mean the First? First Rahn?"

"First? First is leader? Then yes. You can direct to Karmanapura?"

"Of course we can!" Nava didn't like the sly look Asam shot him over his shoulder. "In fact, we can do better… we can introduce you to the First! We're very important, you know," he bragged. "Very important in Karmanapura."

"Oh, really?"

"Of course! But we must be careful, you know. He is our master, and we don't want him bothered with silly things. You must prove you are worthy of his time."

Nava shuffled nervously, thinking the other boy was taking a foolish risk - falsely claiming one master over another was a sure way to be cursed by both. It was said that some masters would even hunt and kill those who tried to leech on their reputation.

Even through her heavy accent the woman's scorn and amusement was plain. "And how prove I am worthy?"

"It's easy! We just have to get to know you! Come, sit… we have wine! You must be thirsty from all that walking-" Thinking he was being suave, Asam reached out to place a hand on the small of her back.

Instead his wrist was caught in a firm grip. "I think no," she said.

Asam scowled. "You are not being very friendly," he said as he jerked his arm away from her. "I think you're a very rude person. I don't think the First is going to want to talk to you at all." He pulled out his wand from his tunic.

Usually the appearance of a wand was enough to cow a person; the woman spared a glance of interest, but that was all. "My speaking is poor, but I am not stupid. You do not know the… First. You are no use for me."

The lead boy's face darkened. "We are godstouched, you know."

"Meaning magic, yes? I know. Not care."

Asam's wand twitched as he cast one of his favourite charms, summoning a small gust of wind. He was known for being fond of blowing up the robes of the muggle women in the market - for all their rage and embarrassment, they couldn't prove it was him and couldn't do anything about it even if they did - and he tried the same trick with the strange woman in front of them, curious whether everywhere was as strangely coloured as the rest of her.

Her robes had barely flapped to the level of her knees when she thrust a palm down, and Asam's wind was itself dashed against the ground, causing a ring of dust to billow lightly outward in a circle. Nava realized that the woman was godstouched as well, even though she carried no wand.

"Stupid and child," she snapped, no longer even the slightest bit amused. Her staff lifted an inch and then thumped against the soil, and in answer a column of earth thrust up under Asam's robes with the force of a kick. His hat fell off as the young man doubled over with an agonized squeak, his wand falling from his hand. He tipped backward off the pillar of dirt to curl up into a ball, gasping for breath. The other two boys hunched in instinctive male empathy.

Nava balked, but Guruta possessed liquid courage. Mistress Razmi was actually quite fond of dueling, and the eldest of their group was probably the best of the three at combat magic. Nava wasn't sure his friend would have been able to do much even were he completely sober - the white-robed woman actually had time to sigh before the red light of a stunner licked out at her. The spell splashed uselessly against her staff, which spun and thrust, sending out a banishing charm that seemed to ripple the air like the heat. Guruta was thrown backwards, landing on his back and tumbling another half-dozen steps across the grass.

Feeling like he was sticking his head into the mouth of a tiger, Nava snapped his wand up and tried for a disarming charm… escalating the confrontation was something he definitely did not want to do! The white bolt bounced off the shield that appeared around her, reflected straight back at him, and he found himself knocked onto his backside by his own spell. His wand flew off to disappear into the grasses.

Asam had managed to climb to his knees with agonized slowness, but the woman didn't even bother to let him cast. Whatever spell she put on him was invisible, but its effects were not… Nava watched with shock as Asam's nose lengthened, as did his ears, and fur sprouted across his face. The spell the boy had been trying for was lost as his incantation became a wordless haw!

"If act like donkeys, it is good you look like one!" the witch declared.

Asam felt his new donkey-shaped head and brayed with terror, dropping his wand and running as fast as he could despite his bruised groin. The wordless noise faded as he fled up the path. Guruta had rolled over and was retching his midday meal onto the ground.

Nava tried to crawl backwards, but the white-clad woman simply stepped forward and planted a sandaled foot on his chest, shoving him down. She gestured, and his wand flew up from wherever it had landed to be easily plucked from the air by a slender hand. She leaned over him, her strange green eyes cold. The snake carving on her staff pointed at his head, and he quaked with fear as she twirled his wand among the fingers of her other hand, taunting him with it.

"I want you to learn," she said in her broken speech, "that if this my homeland, those who attack me die." His quivering became worse. "But this is not my homeland… and I am good guest. I not hurt you forever. This time. You understanding?"

His head nodded desperately. "Yes, Mistress! We're sorry!"

"Good. Is good you are sorry. Many have not had a chance to feel sorry they fought me," she replied, and he believed her completely. "Now, answer question: city Karmanapura is here, yes?"

"Y-Yes, Mistress," he answered. Flat on his back, he gestured with a shaking hand. "Follow the path… on the other side of the trees there is a river, and there is a bridge. Karmanapura is on the other side." He winced, realizing he was sending her along the same path Asam had fled… hopefully his friend was still running.

"Good. Is good to be helpful, causing less trouble for you." She took her foot off his chest, letting his wand plop down in its place. He knew better than to grab for it.

She was a few paces away, her back to him as if daring him to try something - a dare he wouldn't take! - when she paused. He had slowly pushed himself to a kneeling position, and taken hold of his wand... though in a reversed grip, the tip pointed carefully away from her. She wasn't looking at him, nor was she interested in Guruta, who remained lying on the grass, moaning and rubbing his belly. Instead, she seemed to be regarding the flowering, twining shrubs between the trees.

She gestured with a finger, causing a few flowers to break free and float over to her. When Nava caught up to Asam, he was going to give those long ears a good hard yank - picking a fight with a witch who could do wandless magic!

She studied the flowers for a few moments, then looked back at him. "One more question," she said. "What is word for this?"

He looked at the white, five-petaled blossom between her fingers. The sweet scent of the plants filled the air… they were popular among godstouched and muggles alike for their perfume, and Master Avinoda had shown him how to use them in salves to treat infection. The flowers were hardly rare, and he didn't understand why they'd interest her. "Ah… we call those mallika, Mistress."

"Mallika," she repeated. She examined the blossoms for another moment, then let them fall to the ground. Then she simply nodded her head. "Thank you." She turned, slender fingers reaching up to pull her hood back over her head. Nava watched her go, waiting patiently until she disappeared around the bend in the path that lead to the city.

"Is she gone?" Guruta moaned.

"Yes," the other boy replied. "Let's find your wand and then Asam. I think I'd rather stay home and practice from now on."

Rahn was so terribly bored.

He sat in his chair in the main hall of the citadel of Karmanapura, trying not to look bored. Certainly a little bit of detachment was okay, sometimes even helpful, but there were limits. He tried not to slouch too much in his chair, even though the cushion underneath him was doing little to make him more comfortable. At least when he tugged on his beard, which was just long enough to each his sternum, it looked thoughtful rather than fidgety.

He tried to make sure he at least looked the part when he was performing his duties. His long, salt-and-pepper hair was bound into a ponytail at the back of his head, and his dark brown linen robes sat comfortably on his wiry frame. He didn't care much for fashion himself… he wore no rings, no bangles or necklaces. If he had his own way, he'd likely dress little better than his son - plain robes, fit for running around outside the city, for hunting doxies and splashing in the river. When it was time to head to the main hall of the citadel, however, he'd let the memory of his wife guide his choice in clothing. The merchants and diplomats didn't need to know that the First dressed for her spirit, not them.

The title of "First" sounded far more impressive than the role actually was; he was merely a member of a ruling council which made decisions together. His word carried a great deal of weight, yes, and his spellcasting skill marked him as one favoured by the gods and thus worthy of respect by both godstouched and muggles alike, despite the fact that his knowledge of divination was middling at best. But he couldn't impose his will on the council outright… not unless he was willing to duel someone to make it happen.

As the "face" of the council, though, he was the one who the people approached when they had a proposal or (more often) a complaint. If the river merchants thought the port fees should be lowered (and they always did) Rahn heard it first. If a fisherman was caught sabotaging the nets of another, Rahn was the one who sent others out to investigate and punish. If a merchant was caught selling bags of wheat that were spoiled an inch below the top, it was Rahn who decided the fine.

It was so very boring. And worse, he was good at it… at least if he had been incompetent people would prefer to go around him, to deal with their problems on their own! But he was good with numbers, good with planning, and good at ferreting truth from fiction. The honesty instilled by his father prevented him from faking ineptitude. That riverboat had sailed years ago anyway… no one would be fooled now.

Although, as he got older perhaps he'd have another chance. He fantasized briefly about pretending his mind was failing, and the kind of mischief he could get up to. Maybe then he could have more time for his own studies, his own magic! His great-grandfather, who had lived to the incredible age of one hundred and three, had begun to lose his faculties near the end of his life… though Rahn strongly suspected the old man had simply delighted in having an excuse to say what he liked to whoever he liked. There had been plenty of awkwardness near the end of Vidatha's life, but he'd died with an amused smile.

Remembering his impish great-grandfather helped him put an honest smile on his face as he bid farewell to the merchant who had asked to speak with him. Not too much of a smile, of course, else it'd be interpreted as mockery; as it was the man was sent away disappointed, as Rahn had refused to ease up on the portion of grain the city took to stock the emergency stores kept in the granaries next to the citadel. The First was sure it was a struggle that would last as long as the human species: those who chafed against the product of their labours being confiscated versus those acting to buffer against disasters that may or may not occur.

Leaning back in his large stone chair, Rahn gestured at the spear-carrying guard near the entrance to the large hall, hoping the next petitioner would have a more simple problem - or at least a more interesting one. The late noon sun was slanting through the windows which circled the room high near the timbered roof. A light breeze flowed in with it, refreshing the air and carrying away the thin smoke from the braziers that lined the path between Rahn's chair and the front of the room. The braziers were set into channels of pebbles, which were then filled with water as a safeguard against sparks. Rahn found it soothing to look at the braziers and the water as it rippled slightly from the air or nearby footsteps.

He was hypnotized by the ripples enough that he didn't notice the new petitioner until she'd walked halfway up to his seat. While most people in the city walked barefoot, she wore leather sandals, softening her footsteps on the brick floor. It was the tap of her staff that made him glance up, and he raised his eyebrows at the white-robed woman who approached.

Her colouring marked her as foreign; though darkened by the sun, she was far lighter than nearly any of the citizens of the city, and Rahn couldn't remember ever having met anyone possessing eyes as vividly green as the ones that almost seemed to glow as they caught a beam of sun. Her robes were linen, white but tinged with dust, concealing a slender figure. Her hood had been pushed back, and her hair was braided, taming locks as dark as Rahn's own - well, as dark as his was before age began turning some of it grey. A smaller braid dangled from the side of her head, and a number of colourful beads had been woven into the hair, glinting in the soft light. Intrigued, he straightened.

She walked with confidence, and when she came to a stop a few paces away she met his gaze with one that showed she wasn't intimidated in the slightest. Still, she bowed her head respectfully. "Greetings, First of Karmanapura." He was not surprised by how heavily accented her words were.

"Greetings, traveller," he replied, smiling broadly. When he'd wished for something interesting, he hadn't expected the gods to act so quickly! "I can tell you have come from a distant land, and I'm pleased that you are visiting our city. Are you an explorer, or is there a purpose to your visit with which I can assist?"

He spoke carefully, enunciating clearly so she could understand more easily. She seemed to recognize the effort, as well as the fact that he wasn't patronizing her; her head dipped again in thanks. "I come with purpose, First of Karmanapura."

"Please, call me Rahn."

She blinked, obviously surprised by the lack of formality; good, he liked it that way. "Very well… Rahn. Call me... Mallika."

Interesting; obviously a pseudonym. Was her own name difficult to pronounce in his tongue? Or was she hiding from her past? Better and better! "I'm pleased to meet you, Mallika. Tell me of your purpose - it must be important for you to travel so far."

His good mood must have been more obvious than he intended, as she seemed a bit baffled. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"You are more… happy-natured than I expect."

"I think the word you want is 'jovial'," he advised.

"Jovial," she repeated, not taking offence. "Leaders are usually more… serious?"

"I can be," he answered honestly, "and I will be, if someone thinks to play me for a fool. But why start with that? I like meeting new people, and you are an interesting interruption in a day full of boring duty. Tell me, Mallika, how can I help you?"

She straightened, squaring her shoulders. "I come from far away, from great kingdom of Kemet. I come because of stories… stories that say of a wizard of Karmanapura. A wizard who is also a… a..." She fumbled for the appropriate word, "Man who thinks?"

"A philosopher?"

"Yes! A philosopher. A philosopher of mind, of memory. Is said that this man is king of Karmanapura, of city north and east of Harappa. Are you this king?"

Rahn's brow rose. He'd figured she sought the leader of the city, but he hadn't expected that she was specifically looking for him. "I am First, which is not quite the same as a king," he explained. "I do not rule alone - there are six others. I am simply the one chosen to be the face of the council. I can act alone when it comes to matters of established law, but the larger workings of the city are decided among all of us." He shrugged. "Still, even when I began my apprenticeship learning magic, the workings of the mind have fascinated me. I'm surprised word of my favoured area of study has reached so far… especially Kemet!"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Tell me, why do you seek me specifically?"

"I seek… help." She was visibly uncomfortable as she said this, and Rahn got the impression that she was not a person who asked for assistance lightly. "I have… problem. Problem with memory. One that takes me long to notice. So I travel far, that I might speak to one who knows, who may be able to help."

"Really? What kind of problem?"

"I forget. I forget times, places. I do not remembering being child. I do not remembering growing up, learning magic, and yet I know spells." Her hands were squeezing the staff as she held it leaning against her shoulder. "And the forgetting grows. I make notes long ago, notes to myself, and now I read them and do not remember people or places I speak of. The beginning of my life… is gone."

Rahn sat straighter, concerned. "I can see how that would be upsetting. You have suffered no injuries? No sickness?"

She shook her head. "No. I am strong, I am healthy. The forgetting… it grows as do I. Not faster, not slower, but always. It… consumes earliest memories, never later, so it takes me long time to notice. Some memories I perhaps not miss, but others, I think I miss much."

"That… is very interesting," Rahn replied quietly. His fingers tugged on his beard, this time honestly thoughtful. Shortly after he'd finished his apprenticeship he'd delved deep into his long desire to investigate the workings of the human mind, the path had lead him into learning both philosophy and healing.

Even as a boy he'd wondered and pestered the elders: what made a man a man, and not a beast? He'd asked the question so often as a child and through his apprenticeship that the adults had started calling him the `Little Philosopher'. His father had patted him on the head and encouraged him to ask his questions and seek answers (although perhaps he should concentrate a little more on his studies). He'd grown, and he'd spent as much time thinking about how a person thought as why, and exploring how the body could affect the mind as much as the mind affected the body.

He'd encountered men and women who had suffered damage to their memories during those decades of study. Almost always the harm could be traced back to injuries or disease, be it a blow to the head or a raging fever. Once, he'd encountered a young woman who had been strangled slowly by a jealous suitor and rescued at the edge of death by her brother. The attacker had been killed - Rahn was a pacifist, but could not fault the young man's fury in defending his sister - and the bruises around the woman's throat had healed, but ever after that day she had difficulty remembering anything even for the length of time it took to walk from one room to another. Never before had he heard of someone losing memory without a notable cause… especially in one so young!

"I can see why you would seek help for this," he remarked. "But why travel so far? Even here, we have heard of the great sorceress of the Kemetic kings, the witch known as Wadjet. Could you not go to her for help?"

The woman's lips pursed. "I do not think Wadjet can help me."

"Why not?"

"Because… in land of Kemet, I am Wadjet."

Rahn leaned back, surprised… and a little alarmed, as if she'd stripped off her robe and revealed a tiger underneath. There was no sign of deception in her expression. He knew his reaction was foolish - she was here as a pilgrim, not a conqueror. There was no army at her back.

Although, if the tales had any basis in truth at all, Wadjet was an army unto herself.

She noticed his reaction and frowned, the muscles of her jaw bunching. "I am not here for trouble. I am… sick. I seek help."

The guards near the front of the room were out of earshot of their conversation, but they had seen his startled motion. He held up a hand, waving them back from where they'd started to approach out of concern.

He turned back to Mallika - Wadjet - with an apologetic look. "Of course. I'm sorry… you just caught me by surprise. I can understand why you'd choose another name while you're here. It does change what help I can offer you, however."

"How?"

"Let me ask you this - the tales of Wadjet are very old. I learned that name when I was a child, and my great-grandfather said he knew of it when he was a child. You are still learning my language, so I don't wish for any confusion: is Wadjet a title? Like First, or King? Does it pass from person to person?"

She shook her head. "No. I am Wadjet… I have always been Wadjet."

"Then… how old are you?"

"I do not remember."

"How far back do you remember?"

She closed her eyes, delving inside herself. "I remember current king, Wadjenes, born. I remember his father born, and his grandfather. I remember…" She went silent, her lips moving as she moved backwards in memory, counting the names. She was visibly struggling by the end; when she gave up, she opened her eyes and stared at him with frustration. "I remember… um… five and ten kings and leaders. After that is only… cloud."

Fifteen generations. Unless the people of Kemet regularly murdered their leaders, that was a timespan likely in excess of three hundred years, assuming a Kemetic king lasted as long the typical First. And beyond that was even more that she simply couldn't remember… yet the woman in front of him looked the same age as his wife when they'd first started courting!

A stunned silence filled the room. It didn't seem to surprise her in the least as she waited for him to speak, a hint of tension in her shoulders. Briefly, he wondered how often she'd had deal with the same reaction he was giving her now; it couldn't be something she would admit easily or often, especially in a foreign land surrounded by strangers.

And yet… And yet, she'd journeyed alone, across nearly the entirety of the known world, to admit it to a person she'd just met. If nothing else, it spoke to her seriousness, her desperation.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Then these memories you are losing… they are from hundreds of years ago! You realize that I've never attempted to treat - or even research - a problem like this before?"

"Yes."

"And that in order to help at all, we'd need to investigate - to map and explore - the memories you have left? You would be baring yourself to me as your healer. Not your flesh, but your mind and memories… which can be far more intimate."

Her hand tightened around her staff. "Yes."

Rahn leaned back, tugging at his beard. The more cynical of his council would be worried about having so powerful a witch in his company so often; others would be pointing out how valuable it would be to have the Witch of Kemet in his debt. But Rahn wasn't the kind of man to threaten or feel threatened, and he was glad the others weren't present. Already he was pondering the problem in his own head! It raised so many interesting questions… was there a limit to how much memory a human (he assumed she was human…) could possess? Was she losing memories of her past to make room for the memories she was creating now? Would experiencing more cause her to lose more?

"I can make only one promise: that I will do what I can," he said finally. "I don't know how long it will take to help you, or if I can do so at all."

Wadjet stood straight, and though she had poise to match the coldest merchants of Karmanapura he could see the quiet relief in her shoulders. "I… have time."

He blinked, then laughed quietly. "Yes, you do, don't you?"

"Come now, Rahji… we don't have all day. Remember: swish and flick."

Rahji stared at the feather sitting on the rough wooden table. His instructor, Master Sakah, waited as he watched the boy as he held his newly-crafted wand in front of him. The two sat cross-legged on opposite sides of a low table, cushioned from the mud brick floor by a large, woven flax rug while the late sun streamed over their heads through wide wooden shutters that were propped open to allow light and a cooling breeze through the building. Soon it would be dark, and the godstouched servants who had quarters within the First's home would be making the rounds, lighting the torches that lit the house during the night with little more than a tap and a mutter… one of the many spells that Rahji had yet to learn.

Sakah looked on from his side of the table, his dhoti pooled around his thin legs, occasionally scratching at his bare chest. He was old, wrinkled by decades of sun, his long black hair and beard long since bleached white. His dark skin almost seemed meant for someone a size larger, hung over a thin frame so that the elder man seemed little more than skin over bone. Despite this, Sakah was very powerful magically (it was said he'd once knocked a tiger out of the air mid-pounce!) and an apt teacher. Since Sakah and Rahji's father were good friends, and it was considered inappropriate to apprentice your own children, there was no-one else Rahn would turn to to teach his son.

As was traditional, his magical education had begun over a year previously, helping Sakah with basic potions. The old Master had complimented him on his ability, both for the quality of the potions he made and his careful brewing technique. Rahji had enjoyed it immensely - he liked making cures, salves, and other treatments for the sick and injured. His father was a well-known healer in addition to being First for the city, and Rahji wanted to follow in his footsteps. And, like his father, he didn't simply want to know how something was done, but why it was done that way in the first place. It was a good attitude to have when it came to potion-brewing, he was told, it would just be better if he could contain his… enthusiasm.

Not a week beforehand his father had taken him to the city wandcrafter to have a wand made. Rahji had held the precious stick in his hand, feeling the bond with it, and he finally understood why godstouched were so protective of their little sticks. He felt right just grasping it, the power and potential inside aching to be released. And Master Sakah had said he was ready to cast his first spell.

Unfortunately, his curious nature was getting a little bit in the way.

"Why?"

Sakah blinked. "Why what?"

"Why is it 'wingardium leviosa'? Why those words? Why not something easier to remember, like `Feather Fly' or something like that?"

"Well… well, those were the words that were found to have the proper magical effect."

"Found? How did someone find that? Do people just walk around speaking gibberish to make magic happen? How are spells made, anyway? And why do we need incantations? Accidental magic doesn't. Shouldn't we just be able to-"

"Rahji," Sakah said with a tone of suffering. His long, wispy hair, long since turned the colour of rainclouds, slipped over his bare, thin shoulders as he pinched his nose. "You would understand better if you would do."

"Oh. Right." He turned his attention back to the feather. Taking a breath, he swished the wand and flicked. "Wingardium leviosa." The feather did not move.

"Good wand motion, proper grip, and the incantation is adequate. Focus your will. The feather will float not just because you command it, but because it must."

"Wingardium levioSA. Wingardium LEViosa?"

"Now you're playing with the incantation. That isn't necessary, you had it right the first time."

"WINGardium leviosa!" The feather remained stubbornly unmoved. "WinGARdium leviosa!"

"Rahji, slow down and think about the movements-"

His wand was cutting through the air in a manner that was less "swish" and more "annoyed flap". "Wingardium levIOsa!" A crack split the room, and suddenly Rahji was left blinking… his face coated in soot. Of the feather, there was no sign.

Sakah sighed. "Well, the feather is… off the table. So there's that."

Rahji wasn't discouraged in the least. "Why did that happen? I didn't mean to do that! Was it the way I was speaking the incantation? Did I accidentally discover a new spell? Do you have another feather? I want to try that again!"

"Rahji-" Sakah moaned. He stopped as a giggle echoed from the hallway, easily heard through the thin cloth divider that served as a door. The old man sighed. "Ayati, come in here."

A young girl of the same age as Rahji stepped into the room. She was thin to the point of frail, but still very pretty as her long, dark hair fell in smooth waves over her shoulder. Despite the summer heat she was was wrapped in thick linens dyed a vibrant turmeric yellow, and her light mocha skin darkened at being caught, matching Rahji's own blush as he looked down shyly, scrubbing the soot off his face with one arm.

"What are you doing out of bed, little one?" Sakah asked. "You're supposed to be resting."

"I know, Grandfather, but being in bed was making me tired," she explained in a soft voice. "If being in bed was making me tired, and you wanted me to rest, then I thought I should get up."

"Ah, Ayati... You're as bad as he is." The old man tossed his head toward his student, who blushed even deeper. The girl giggled again. "Very well, come here."

He gestured, and she stepped over to kneel on the rug beside him. He gave her a quick hug before reaching into a small satchel that lay beside him. He pulled out another feather, this one white with black edging, and laid it on the table in front of Rahji.

"All right, Rahji, try again. Remember: swish, flick, and focus."

Rahji looked down at the feather, his face still hot. It had been one thing to play around when it was just him and Sakah, but now… he could feel Ayati's wide, dark eyes on him, and didn't need to look at her to see her soft, expectant smile. The orphan girl had no magic, unlike her parents or her grandfather, but she was always thrilled to see it practiced. He didn't want to mess up in front of her! He stared at the feather, trying not to glare at it. This feather hadn't embarrassed him, he told himself. This one would float properly. It liked him. They were partners… brothers, even! Rahji and the feather, floating toward glory!

Carefully, he moved his wand in the motions Sakah had demonstrated. "Wingardium leviosa!"

At first the feather didn't move, like it needed a moment to think it over. Then, gently, it lifted. It could have easily have just been a gust of air, but then it settled and floated at roughly the height of Rahji's eyes, and the boy let out a relieved breath.

"Well done, Rahji," Sakah said with a nod.

"Yay!" cheered Ayati, making his cheeks flush again.

"Yes, well done, Rahji," a new voice added. Rahji's head snapped up to see his father step into the room, trailed by a white-robed woman with a staff. His father looked down at the trio where they sat on the rug, his expression pleased. "Your first real spell! I'm glad I arrived in time to see it."

He gave a sly look to Sakah. "How many questions preceded it?"

"Eh… no more than usual," the old man replied. "I see your day is over, Rahn. Who is your visitor?"

Rahn stepped aside to present the woman with him. Rahji was fascinated by how much lighter her skin was compared to the others in the room… and were her eyes green? She nodded politely at the trio, giving the children a small smile.

"Everyone, this is Mallika. She is a visitor to our city from distant Kemet, far, far to the west… beyond Uruk and the lands of the Sumer. She will be staying in our city for a while, but she only just arrived, so she hasn't had time to arrange lodging. I've offered to let her stay here until she does." He turned to her and gestured, indicating each of the others in turn. "Mallika, this is Master Sakah, and his granddaughter, Ayati. And this is Sakah's student and my son, Rahji."

She nodded politely to each of them as introductions were made. Her emerald gaze landed on the feather which continued to hang in the air in front of Rahji. "Good spell, good control," she complimented, her words heavily accented. "Your first casting, yes?"

"Yes," he answered shyly. "It isn't great magic, not like Father or Master Sakah can cast."

"River comes from streams," she said. "Build house from bottom, not top. Great magic will come, but it comes from little magic."

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, blushing yet again.

"Oh, sure," Sakah grumbled. "For me, it's questions, questions, questions. She says the same thing and it's `Yes, Mistress'. Am I not pretty enough?" Rahn chuckled, and Rahji didn't even bother trying to stammer out a denial… instead just grinning ruefully as Ayati laughed.

"Well, I can promise that your face won't put me off my food," his father said. "Assuming you want to stay and eat with us, Sakah. And Ayati too, of course."

Sakah laboured to his feet with a groan, stretching his back as he did. "I appreciate the offer, Rahn, but she and I should be getting home."

"Aww, Grandfather…"

"None of that, now. Besides, we were going to make date-stuffed fish… are you saying you don't want any now?"

The roll of her eyes showed that she was ready to start her teenage years, but she wasn't quite there yet and she scrambled to her feet obediently. She wasn't upright for long; she paled as she stood, wavering and nearly collapsing against Mallika. The foreign woman reacted instantly, letting her staff fall to catch the girl by the shoulders.

"Aya!" Rahji cried in alarm.

"'m fine, 'm fine," she said, though her words slurred.

Mallika held her steady as Rahn kneeled down, taking one of the thin girl's hands in his own. "Deep breath, Ayati. Come now… deep breath." After a moment she obeyed, inhaling deeply. "Hold it… little longer… and now out. In again…"

After a few repetitions the colour of her face was much improved, and she was steady on her feet. Mallika released her grasp on her, stepping back and picking up her staff. Meanwhile Sakah had laid a hand on his granddaughter's shoulder, both to comfort her and hold her steady if she stumbled. Rahji had scrambled to his feet, looking on with worry.

"How do you feel?" Sakah asked.

Ayati looked up at him, her skin returned to its normal chestnut hue, though darker circles remained under her eyes. "I'm fine, I just stood up too fast. I'm sorry, Grandfather."

He patted her on the shoulder. "You did nothing wrong, we just worry. Come now, let's get you home and back to bed." Ayati groaned. "None of that. Do you want me to carry you?"

She huffed, blowing away a lock of hair that was as dark as the night sky. "I'm twelve, Grandfather! I'm too big for you to carry. I can walk."

The old man made a show of looking the diminutive girl up and down. "Too big? Or maybe you think I'm too old, eh?"

"I help with that," Mallika said. Before anyone could ask what she meant, she tapped Ayati lightly on the shoulder with her staff.

The girl blinked, then her eyes went wide. "Whoooooa!"

"What? What did she do?" Rahji asked.

"Pick me up!" she crowed, turning to him, her earlier weakness forgotten.

He obeyed, gently grasping her around the waist, and nearly stumbled when he hefted her as easily as he might lift a cloth bag. "You're so light!" He swung her around as she giggled in his grip.

"Gently, Rahji, don't make her dizzy," Rahn cautioned, holding out a hand. The boy looked sheepish, carefully setting her down.

She hopped over to Sakah and grinned up at him. "You can carry me now, Grandfather!"

Sakah raised a white eyebrow and lifted her, one brow rising in surprise as he shifted her onto his back. "Well now, that's an innovative use of magic."

"Was that the Levitation charm?" Rahji asked eagerly.

"Not quite," Mallika said. "Levitation charm lifts… this spell makes light, so easy to lift. Similar, but different. What name this?" she asked, pointing at the feather - which still stubbornly hung in the air.

"A feather?"

"Yes! Feather. Feather-light charm. Ayati will be light until reaches her bed."

"That's a very useful spell, especially for one my age," Sakah remarked. He bounced his granddaughter on his back a little, marvelling at the ease of it. "And obvious, now that I see it. A bit embarrassing that I never thought of it before… maybe we just think too much about getting magic to do all the work. Could I trouble you to show it to me, Mallika?"

"Of course. Easy spell."

Rahji was tempted to ask that she teach him too, but to do so - especially right in front of his proper Master - would be rude beyond belief. Instead he gave Sakah a begging look.

"Yes, then I can teach it to you too, Rahji," the old man said. "Later, though, after you've properly grasped the Hovering charm. For now, let's get home and feed you, Ayati." He bounced the girl on his back again, making her giggle. "I haven't done this since you barely reached my knee. Thank you, Mallika."

"Thank you, Mallika!" Ayati echoed. "Good night, Rahji. Good night, Master Rahn." The others echoed the farewells, even Mallika in her hesitant speech.

After a moment, Rahn turned to look at the pair who remained. "Well, something to eat sounds like a good idea. Do you like melon, Mallika?"

She bowed slightly. "I thank for any you give."

"It's my pleasure. Come, Rahji." The two adults filed out of the room, and Rahji made to follow.

As he reached the cloth hanging he paused and turned, looking at his feather - which still hung, stubbornly, in the air above the table. "Um… how do I make it stop?"

It wasn't the first time Rahn had had a guest in his home, nor even the first time he'd offered shelter for someone to whom he was acting as healer. However, he couldn't claim to have housed a person with such an… established reputation as Wadjet.

He took it as a good sign that she preferred to travel under and be introduced as her new pseudonym. It meant that she wanted to be treated as any other witch, not burdened with any expectations that may or may not be based in reality. So that meant he'd treat her like any other guest, like any other person he'd do magical research with, like any other patient.

Even if that meant waking her up at the crack of dawn.

"Mallika?" His head poked in through the curtain that separated her room from the others. He'd offered her a bed in the same room as he and Rahji, but the witch had simply said that she preferred to sleep alone. When sticking his head into the guest room he'd realized why, feeling the wards she'd erected play lightly across his skin. Nothing hostile - she was not so rude as to cast offensive wards in another's home - only simple notification charms.

For all the good they did. Despite the wards and despite his calling to her, the only reaction he received was sleepy grumbling from under the linen blankets. In the dim morning light he saw a mass of wild black hair shift.

"Mallika." That brought a reaction; she jerked upward, and her staff flew across the room into her hands. She said something in a language Rahn didn't recognize, blinking wearily in the dark.

He gave her a moment to gather her wits - not coming inside, but not retreating, either. My goodness, her hair was a fright in the morning. He gave her a cheerful smile. "Good morning."

She simply blinked at him. "Rahn?" She looked down at the staff in her hands, confused, then glanced at where the barest hints of daylight were beginning to seep through the slotted wooden shutters over the windows. "What-... what time is?"

"It's time to get up! Come, Rahji and I will wait for you in the courtyard."

"Court-... what?"

"Courtyard. It's the open space in the middle," he replied, deliberately misunderstanding. "Come now, you wished to start our work together as early as possible, right?"

"Early?" she nearly screeched.

"Yes! Come, meet us outside. And if you can, wear something easy to move in."

"Rahn, what-" But he had already pulled his head out of the room. He heard the bed groan as she flopped backwards, snarling something in what he assumed was Kemetic. He grinned to himself and walked away.

He and Rahji were already out in the courtyard, stretching upon the thin grasses, when she finally joined them. The light was dim but brightening, the air cool and pleasant, as he helped Rahji stretch his shoulders. Around them the city was all but silent; the only sounds to be heard were the odd bird and the morning breeze brushing gently over top the flat roofs of the surround buildings. As befitted his station, Rahn's home had a large courtyard, with the well situated in one corner and the rest of the area scraped flat. It was the perfect place to practice the exercises he'd designed himself as part of his studies after he'd finished training under his Master.

The mere concept of "exercise" was a strange one to others, muggle and godstouched alike. For muggles, who had to work every single day just to have food and warmth, the entire idea of adding more, pointless work was ridiculous. The godstouched firmly believed that their magic was a gift from the gods meant to spare them from such labours. Rahn was well familiar with the odd looks his practices earned, but for him, it was never about work. It was time with his son, who had eagerly joined him every morning since he was four. It was memories of Sumati, of slowly falling in love with her as he helped her recover from the vicious fever that nearly took her life.

The exercises were about aligning the mind, body, and spirit. They were about facing the day with strength, but not strength that had anything to do with muscles. It was about connecting with the body in order to deepen the connection with the soul. It was the natural place to start with a problem as unusual as Mallika's… not that she might realize that right away; she walked toward them, staff in hand, wearing her robes from the day before and an utterly confused expression on her face.

"You have no other clothes?" Rahn remarked. "It's understandable, but I should warn you, those robes will get dusty."

"What…" She looked at the pair of them, baffled; Rahn briefly wondered how often someone so old encountered something strange and new. "What is this?"

"It's stretching… exercise," he explained, gesturing towards Rahji. The boy had one leg extended in front of him while the other curled behind, and was leaning forward, touching his chest to his thigh. Although his son was likely to grow up with a stockier frame like his mother, he was flexible enough that even his father was envious.

Stating the obvious did nothing to ease his guest's confusion. She stared blankly at him. "Why?"

"To stay fit. To stay flexible. To keep the body healthy," Rahn replied. "Godstouched… we use magic, and perhaps we use magic too much. It makes us strong in one way, but weaker in others. Look at muggles: they use their muscles, and their bodies become strong, and they always have them. We godstouched, we are stronger… until we lose our wands, then we become weaker than any muggle. We do this so our bodies don't become weak."

He left Rahji to his own stretching, then sat down cross-legged on the ground, rotating his own shoulders. He gestured to a patch of grass in front of him. "Come, Mallika… join us. This is part of the help I promised you."

She stared at him, aghast. "This… this serves no purpose!"

"It serves many purposes. Come and try it. It will help, I promise."

"But… this is nothing with mind. Nothing with memory! Why waste time?" she snapped, thumping her staff against the ground in irritation.

He fixed her with a glare. "Mallika, you came to me for help," he said sternly. "This is part of the help I offer. There is a purpose to it, but I will not force you to participate. If you judge my methods useless, then it means you think you know better than me. And if that's the case, why do you need me at all?"

Her eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped a little. He kept his gaze steady; she likely wasn't used to anyone speaking to her in such a manner. He had no doubt that she was the authority in Kemet… her reputation would demand it, even if she didn't. But here, in Karmanapura, it was different. She had to trust him - not just to keep her secrets, but to trust that he knew what he was doing.

He watched her struggle with her own pride for a moment. Then, finally, she wilted just a little. She sat down without a word, setting her staff on the ground behind her. Rahn didn't claim victory, or thank her for agreeing, or even indicate she'd argued at all. He didn't comment on how her robes were likely to pick up dust and grass stains. Instead, he simply helped her warm up and stretch, teaching her the stretches and poses, trying not to think about how he'd just reprimanded a woman old enough to have witnessed his great-great-grandmother being born.

To her credit, she took the lessons quietly, and put some real effort into applying them; he had to remind her not to overexert and hurt herself. She was stiff, but not ridiculously so - no more so than any other godstouched, anyway. It made the contrast between her apparent age and her actual age all the more shocking. No matter how ridiculous some of the poses - and he would admit, some of them looked pretty silly - she did them all, as best she could, without complaint.

When the day had truly begun and he heard the city around them begin to wake, he pronounced that what they'd done was good enough for her first time. Rahji, gifted with the endless energy and bottomless appetite of adolescence, dashed into the house to fetch something to eat before Sakah arrived to begin his magical lessons. Standing up, Rahn envied the boy as he stretched his back, loosening the last of his kinks; unlike his son (and Mallika), age was starting to catch up with him.

He looked down at the witch, who still sat in a crumpled heap on the ground. She hadn't had time to brush and braid her hair that morning, and it stuck out in all directions like a thousand black tendrils. He tried not to smirk as he squatted down next to her. "How do you feel?"

"I feel tired," she groaned, giving him a disgruntled glance. "More tired than before sleep! And… little hurts?"

"Sore?" he offered.

"Yes, sore. Tired and sore," she grumbled. "What purpose this? How it helps?"

"Lay back," he instructed. She gave him a look, and he simply gestured. Hesitantly, she obeyed, stretching out on the ground. As he expected, the position she took was one better suited for burial than relaxing, her ankles pressed together and her hands gripping each other tightly. "No, not like that. Lay back, relax. Let your arms and legs be limp." After giving him another quizzical glance, she did so, letting her arms slide onto the ground. She wasn't completely relaxed, but it was a start.

"Now, close your eyes." That earned him a truly suspicious glance, but she did. "Think only of breathing. Like with Ayati last night: take a breath, hold it… and then let it out. And again: in, hold, and out." He let his voice become soft, almost droning. "Think of wind. It breezes gently, and the trees sway, and the leaves rustle. Then the wind stops, and the trees relax. Then again. Back and forth… in and out."

Her face had gone slack, and he could see her muscles had gone loose. Her hair was a raven-coloured fan on the thin grasses around her, and she was likely near falling asleep. "Now," he said, his voice in its more normal tone, "what are you thinking of right now?"

Her eyes jerked open, and she gave him a puzzled look. "I think of… I think of wind. Like you said."

"Yes," he replied with a pleased smile. "You thought of wind. Not of being sore, or being hungry, or how annoyed you are with me. You didn't think of spells, or of getting a house here in the city, or of what you left behind in Kemet. Just wind."

He tapped the side of his head. "The mind is like a river: it is easier to cross when it is gentle. But the body wants to move, it wants to do things, and it asks the mind to think of things to do! This makes rapids in the mind. So we tire the body… and for a little while it stops making demands, and the mind becomes gentle. Easier to cross. Do you understand?"

She was quiet a moment… possibly translating his words in her head. He knew when she grasped the concept when her eyes widened just a bit. "Yes. I… understand. Thank you."

He nodded and stood up from his crouch. "Good. Now, would you like to come have some melon and dates with me?"

She groaned from her spot on the ground. "No, I am still sore. And tired. I wish to sleep."

"Then sleep. I'll tell Rahji and the servants to leave you alone."

"No, no. I will come. Ah… in a moment." He nodded, grinning. He turned to go inside, pausing when she called to him from her spot on the ground. "Rahn?"

"Yes?"

She fidgeted as she lay on the ground. "I am sorry for my words. It was not proper. It is bad of me to question your ways."

"Questions are fine, Mallika," he said. Her head turned, and she looked at him with a small frown. "Always question… but give the questions a chance to be answered. That is how progress is made." She paused, thinking; then she nodded. He smiled at her and then turned and entered the house.

Despite her protests, the witch ended up falling asleep where she lay in the courtyard. Rahn took Rahji and the few servants of the household aside and warned them not to disturb her… in fact, they should probably stay out of the courtyard entirely, judging from her reaction when he'd first woken her. She ended up sleeping just until the sun began poking over the flat, reed-and-plaster roof of the house and down into the courtyard, but by then Rahn had left to go to the citadel and deal with the normal duties of being First.

It was the normal run of a day: merchants and taxes, broken up by the slightly more interesting cases of a diplomat from Harappa and a village leader from the north. The Harappan man wanted to work together with Karmanapura to condition the roads between the two cities for easier cart travel, while the villager had come to ask for help dealing with a dragon had come down from the mountains and was eating livestock. Rahn promised the diplomat that smoothing the roads sounded like a worthwhile investment, and tasked the head of the city guard with putting together a group to hunt the dragon, granting him full authority to recruit as many muggle spearmen and godstouched casters as he felt was necessary.

It was difficult not to volunteer himself. He hadn't seen a dragon in person in years.

The summer sun was just starting to dip toward the city walls when Rahn arrived back home. Sakah was still present, having just finished the day's lessons with Rahji. Ayati had joined them again, and Rahn was pleased to see her - the sickly girl was a ray of sunshine who spread cheer everywhere she went, even affecting dour and serious Mallika. Rahji was eager to show them all the Featherlight charm that Sakah had taught him, the old master having learned it from Mallika just that morning.

"She went out a bit after noon," his son answered when Rahn asked where their guest had gone. "Will she be coming back? You're going to work on magic with her, right?"

"It's a bit more complex than that, but I think so, yes. She has a problem she needs my help solving, but it's not my place to tell of it."

"You'll help her," Rahji said with such utter faith that Rahn couldn't hide a pleased smile. "Then she'll have time to teach us more new magic!" his son added eagerly. Rahn rolled his eyes, but he was rather hoping for that outcome as well.

Sakah and his granddaughter agreed to stay for dinner that night, a delicious combination of spiced mutton and lentils cooked by Vida, the woman who had run the household since Rahn himself was a boy. The four had just sat down to eat, a fifth copper plate and wooden spoon sitting at one end of the table, when Mallika entered the room, setting her staff into a corner. She looked down at the four of them, an accomplished expression on her face.

"I have purchased house," she announced as she sat down to the meal. She scooped a spoonful of lentils into her mouth and made a pleased sound.

"Really?" Rahn said, surprised. "That was quick. Where is it?"

"In high city, at inside wall. South? Yes, south side."

"Ah, I know the home you speak of. It's on the fifth alley… it belonged to a wealthy merchant who died several years ago. It's lain empty ever since. It'll be good to have someone resident there again." Rahn frowned. "That must have cost you a fortune. His brother had set the price a bit high, in my opinion."

She shrugged. "I argue, get better price. And I bring… eh, bright metal?"

"Arguing for a better price is called haggling. And bright metal… do you mean silver?"

"Silver is grey, yes? No, I mean…" She fumbled for the word, then looked around the room for an object she could use as an example. Not finding what she needed, she finally shrugged.

As they watched, she reached up and untied the small braid on the side of her head, removing one of the beads and placing it on the table. When she tapped it with a finger it shifted form, turning into a small gold brick the length of Rahn's palm and half as wide. The children breathed in awe, and even Sakah's eyes were huge.

"Gold," Rahn said, a little bit awed himself. "Well, no wonder he sold it to you, if you waved one of those under his nose."

"Mallika, are you able to transfigure beads into gold?" Sakah asked disbelievingly.

She shook her hair, and the small braid that still had several beads on it waved back and forth. Rahn didn't call attention to it, to the ridiculous fortune he now knew his guest was carrying in her hair. "No, no. Magic making… gold, not possible. Not magic I know. But… take gold, turn into bead, easier to carry. When needed, turn back. That is possible."

"I knew Kemet possessed powerful magics, but people mostly speak of their wards," the old man said, shaking his head. "I hadn't realized transfiguration was so advanced there."

"It… is not, in whole," Mallika answered carefully. "I know more than many."

Sensing that Sakah would eventually start asking questions about Mallika's talent relative to other Kemetic godstouched - which would force her to either lie, or risk revealing herself - Rahn decided to head it off. "Mallika is an extremely talented witch. It's one of the reasons why I'm glad to host her," he said honestly. Sakah nodded.

The adults chatted, often about matters of magic, while the children looked on with interest. Ayati was fascinated by all things magical, even if she couldn't cast herself. She was thrilled when Mallika picked up her staff to transfigure the gold brick back into a bead - a jade bead, even.

"Why do you use a staff instead of a wand?" the girl asked curiously.

"All wizards and witches in Kemet use staff," Mallika replied. "We do not have wands. Truly, I would like to get wand for me. Can you give directions for going to maker of wands?"

She was looking to Rahn, but it was Sakah who spoke. "I don't think it would be too much trouble for us to show you the way tomorrow. Consider it thanks for showing me that Featherlight charm."

She nodded her head in thanks. "I would very appreciate, thank you."

Mallika slept late, largely because she'd been up deep into the night warding her new home. Kemet was known for its wards, after all, and she wasn't going to put anything less than her best effort into her home-away-from-home, no matter whether she was acting under a new identity or not.

It was… nice, to leave Wadjet behind, even if only for a little while. It was difficult to make friends in her homeland - Wadjet was simply too old, too powerful… too strange. `Mallika' was strange, of course, but she was also young, new. She had no reputation. She wasn't surrounded by whispers, of speculation that she may be neteru - a spirit or god - a theory that was surprisingly hard to disprove, no matter how she knew it wasn't true! The children weren't frightened of her, the men weren't intimidated. She'd been surprised and even a little bit pleased by the crude flirting of the boys she'd met outside the city… at least until the idiots thought they could touch her without permission.

Even Rahn had passed her little test, when she'd complained about his physical exercises and he'd properly called her out on it. It was as important for him to claim his expertise to her as it was for her to recognize it, and he had. Granted, being woken so early was irritating, so her indignation wasn't completely feigned; it was all the worse because she knew it was something she was going to have to get used to, if she was going to follow his regimen. And she was - despite her tiredness, she'd gotten up at the break of dawn that morning and dragged herself over to his home to exercise with the First and his son. Then she'd shuffled back to her new home and collapsed onto her mattress to sleep some more.

She slept very well, she'd give him that.

They hadn't even really begun, and she was already feeling good about Karmanapura, about her decision to travel so far. Rahn, who knew the truth, could look at her and not be blinded by Wadjet. He was every bit as pensive and wise as his reputation said. Because of that, she had hope that he could help her find out who she'd been before… the woman she'd been and lost, buried in the mists of time.

Until then she was happy simply being Mallika. So it was Mallika, not Wadjet, who opened the door to her home to greet the elderly Sakah and the two grinning children near noon.

They stood in the alleyway that stretched perpendicular to the wider main roads that stretched across the length of the wealthier part of Karmanapura. Windows and doors would face the small alleys so as to collect less dust as oxen and carts rolled up and down the wider thoroughfares, which were usually wide enough that two carts could pass each other without difficulty. Most of the larger streets were even covered in brick, covering the sewage drains which ran throughout the city.

Karmanapura was sophisticated in ways that astonished even the ancient witch. She was actually very impressed by the city and its layout, which had an order and logic to it. The white walls from which Inbu-Hedj took its name would always hold a special place in her heart, of course, but Karmanapura felt efficient and adventurous… like it was a place where things happened.

"Good morning, Mallika," Sakah greeted. He was wearing a trefoil drape dyed a deep red, a colour she liked. Ayati's sari was a vibrant yellow, wrapped carefully around her and topped with a shawl around her shoulders, a strange arrangement for such a warm day. Rahji looked quite comfortable in his simple red dhoti. Their colourful garb reminded her that she needed to think about purchasing some clothing along with her other needs; she was likely to be resident for quite a while, and her new home was all but empty.

"Good morning, Master Sakah," she echoed. She wasn't sure if calling him Master was appropriate, but he was the elder as far as he knew, and being too polite was better than being too crude. Her long journey to Karmanapura via Harappa had offered her the chance to learn the basics of the local tongue, but there were still plenty of holes in her grammar and vocabulary, and one was never entirely sure of the local customs until exposed to them.

"Ah, just Sakah, Mallika. You may be younger, but you are a witch who stands on her own. We are equals… and friends, I hope."

She smiled after translating his words in her head. "I would like that, Sakah. And Ayati, and Rahji!" Rahji smiled politely, but the young girl grinned unreservedly.

"Did you sleep well the first night in your new house?"

"I did. However it is still very empty, and I need many things."

"Well, he wandmaker's house is not far from the market - perhaps we can stop by and you can inspect the wares of the merchants there. I know my granddaughter certainly likes searching for treasures there." He gently squeezed Ayati's shoulder as she rolled her eyes.

"That is good," Mallika said. She smiled down at the girl. "She speaks better than I, she can haggling for me!"

"Haggle," Ayati corrected. "Haggling is while doing."

"Now, Ayati…" Sakah began sternly.

"No, no," Mallika stopped him. "She say to help me, not mock me. Is what friends do! Thank you, Ayati." The girl looked down, her cheeks turning darker as she blushed with the praise. "We go now, yes? Give moment."

She ducked inside just long enough to grab her staff and her small cloth purse, trying the latter around her waist. Inside was a single one of her gold bars; it wouldn't do to release the transfiguration which held the others as simple beads in front of a merchant, particularly a muggle one… they might wonder whether they were being tricked. She wasn't particularly worried about her purse being stolen - anyone who tried was in for a nasty surprise - but it was simply easier to carry her valuables as light beads woven into her hair. It looked better, too.

The three natives escorted the newcomer through the streets of Karmanapura. It was almost noon, and the city was as alive as any living thing, filled with people moving about, carts full of goods rolling from the high city to the low and back. They passed women carrying seed or grain in terracotta pots on their heads, men carefully driving ox-pulled carts up the wide main streets, and wealthy merchants gesturing broadly as they argued some point of business. At one point the four had to hug a wall to let a herd of goats pass, driven along by a handful of young boys.

A gentle breeze blew, carrying away the scents of the animals and sweat and the sewage that flowed through the channel hidden beneath the street. The city was cooler than distant Kemet, but she'd learned not to take chances; she pulled up her hood, shielding her skin from the high sun. Avoiding sunburn was something she'd simply always done, long into her forgotten past; not for the first time she envied the sepia skin tones of the others, letting them bear the brightness far more comfortably.

Near the horizon dark clouds gathered, and Sakah eyed them suspiciously. "Looks like we can expect rain later in the day. Come, let's not dawdle." He waved the children on with a gesture not unlike the boys who had been herding the goats, and Mallika resisted a laugh as he visibly stopped himself before doing the same to her. Instead she gave him a smirk (causing the old man to blush slightly) and hooked his arm with her own.

He eventually lead them to a house closer to the citadel which had the unmistakable shape of a wand carved into the brick above the door. Sakah knocked confidently on the wooden door, and after a moment it swung inward to reveal a dark-skinned woman, only slightly younger than the wizard himself, her light gray hair bundled into a bun at the base of her neck. Wrinkles radiated around her eyes, the result of many hours squinting as she delicately crafted the essentials of any wizard's existence.

She squinted. "Master Sakah… and young Rahji! I didn't expect to see you again so soon… is something wrong with your apprentice's wand? Reed and unicorn hair should have worked for him-"

"Oh, no no, Catanya. Rahji's wand works quite well. In fact, he's already grasped the Levitation charm! No, we're here seeking a new wand for my companion." He gestured toward the white-clad witch. "This is Mallika… a visitor from Kemet, believe it or not. She's working together with Rahn, and she'll likely be staying in the city for a while. She's expressed interest in obtaining a wand while she's here."

The wandmaker raised her eyebrows as she looked at the younger-seeming woman with interest. "Ah, Kemet? Then that would be your staff, then?"

Mallika bowed her head briefly as she lifted her staff. "Yes, Mistress."

"Handy, but bulky. I can see why you'd like a wand. Come in, come in." She stepped aside, letting the four inside.

The house had two floors, and the bottom floor was obviously devoted to the wandcrafter's vocation. Terracotta pots filled with components lined the walls, while reed baskets were filled with prepared wand shafts. A pile of pillows over a blanket were set in one corner, a comfortable place for Catanya to sit while she worked her craft. Off to the group's right were stairs reaching up into the upper floor, where the wandcrafter had her living space. She lead them over to the work area, gesturing widely at the wooden shafts and magical ingredients.

"Now, all my wands are custom-made, Mistress Mallika," she began. "Normally I have to test and establish the best core and shaft for the wielder, but in this case we can consider simply downscaling your staff. May I see it?" Mallika hesitated only slightly before handing the long wooden focus over. Catanya took hold of it with the respect and care expected as if it was her own; she ran her hands down the worn and polished shaft, holding it in front of her as she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again it was to reveal a surprised look. "This is a strong focus," she commented. "It sings of life, and has channeled powerful magic. I do not recognize the wood, and I can't view the core without damaging it. May I ask who crafted this for you? What are the components?"

"Is... persea and phoenix feather. I think I make myself," she replied uncomfortably. Catanya gave her an odd look, and she grudgingly added, "Is why I come to Rahn… I forget things, he will help me remember."

Catanya blinked at the admission, as did the others. "Oh. I apologize." Realizing that Mallika wasn't keen to elaborate, she turned back to the staff. "I have heard of persea, but never held it… I'm afraid I won't be able to duplicate that, but hopefully one of the other woods will like you well enough. As for the phoenix feather, that is unusual, too… I'll need to check-"

"That, I have," Mallika said. She reached into her cloth bag and pulled out a single feather; it was the length of her hand and seemed to glow scarlet-gold in the reflected light from the windows as if it had been plucked from the bird only moments before. Ayati made a soft oooh at the sight of it.

"Oh, very convenient." Catanya took the proffered feather.

As she held it, she paused, looking back and forth between the staff and the feather. She frowned, and looked up at Mallika. "I… There is a witch of Kemet… she is said to wield a staff of persea and phoenix-"

"I know of her," Mallika interrupted firmly.

Catanya blinked again. "Oh. Of course you would." She didn't press further, but Mallika didn't miss the suspicious look the wandcrafter gave her.

She sighed internally. "Which wand wood you thinking best?"

Though she was familiar with crafting staves, she'd never made a wand before, and so she paid careful attention as Catanya set about determining what wand wood suited her. Because she'd provided the proper core already, it proved to be a ridiculously easy process: Catanya would simply insert the feather into one of the prepared wand blanks and let Mallika wave it experimentally.

Most produced no effect at all, or a mere smattering of blue sparks. One turned Ayati's hair white and fluffy like the coat of a sheep, and the girl groaned with disappointment when her grandfather dispelled the effect with a tap of his wand. The combination of jujube wood and phoenix feather resulted in the house being filled with quacking, like a thousand ducks had settled in to roost; the nonplussed witch was forced to reclaim her staff to dispel the cacophony when both Catanya and Sakah proved unable.

Finally she was handed one more wand, and the very instant her skin touched wood she knew. Warmth flowed up her arm all the way to her shoulder, and very distantly she heard phoenix song, song that she knew meant happy greetings - greetings to a friend long parted. The wand felt of warmth… and familiarity, though she couldn't remember ever having held a wand before that day. She let out a slow, shaky breath.

"This one," she whispered. She waved the wand, and golden sparks dripped like water to the floor.

"Holly," Catanya said, "the wand of a protector." Mallika glanced up at her, and from the look alone she knew that the wandcrafter was certain who she was. But she was being circumspect about it, and Mallika felt gratitude.

"This is wand for me?" she asked, respect and thanks in her voice.

Catanya smiled. "Not quite yet. First we must make sure it's the right length."

Rather than reaching for the measuring string, the wandcrafter instead had her roll up the sleeve of her robe, and pl