Conerica River

night

Nish and I have been performing together these past four days. Mostly it’s been for the other travelers in the evenings, but we’ve also played a couple of taverns when the caravan stopped in towns along the way to take on more lading. I am a little stunned by how much money we’ve pulled in doing this, though I am pretty sure that most of that is on her. Still, I am not going to complain. She is letting me keep half of the takings, which is ridiculously generous and most appreciated.

I thought about asking her why she’s being so kind to me, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer. Iskaryn is confident that we won’t be living off handouts for much longer, but right now? I just don’t see an end to it.

Thilo has finally warmed up to me. Much of that is due to Iskaryn, who seems to have successfully smoothed things over with him (which is only fitting, since that was a mess she made). She takes her scouting role seriously and has even offered to get her direction straight from him instead of going through me. But I also can’t completely ignore that I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Nish, and Nish is, as I said, quite stunning. I mean, I am not inclined in that direction myself, but Maghd, I am not blind; I can’t help but look. Thilo sure isn’t blind to her, either.

I had the idea to start learning more about where we’re headed, so I started inquiring about Breachill in the towns we’ve been passing through (I considered asking my fellow travelers, too, but Iskaryn seemed to think that was a bad idea, as it would invite questions that I am not comfortable answering and unable to escape).

I spoke to just over a half-dozen people, and just about every response started with: “It’s weird.”

If you don’t think that “it’s weird” provides sufficient detail about my destination, then you would be correct. So I pressed for details, and this is the picture that emerged: Sometime around 200 years ago, a bunch of pioneers settled in northeast Isger, in the foothills of the Five Kings Mountains, where they border Druma. Shortly afterwards, some insert-unexplained-phenomenon-here occurred, and they all lost not only their memories, but their ability to survive.

There was a lot of disagreement on what, exactly, is meant by “ability to survive”. Did they lose their resources, their life skills, or both? I never got a consistent answer, but one thing all the stories agreed on was that they surely would have died over the winter if not for the intervention of an altruistic, powerful, and apparently quite unencumbered wizard, whose surname was Breachton. He saved their lives and helped them build their future, hence the name of the town.

That all sounds pretty fantastical to me, especially the part about anyone associated with Isger being described as “altruistic”. But then again, I am traveling the road with a custodial, talking bird, which I summoned deep in a fey forest, sometime between nearly being killed along with the rest of my friends by a fey horror, and being visited by three towering figures of fate in the service of Magdh, who handed me a Harrow card with my own image on it. So who am I to judge what’s real?

One other point all the stories agree on is that Breachill, as a community, is fairly open and welcoming, in the way most settlements in Isger want to be, but can’t quite achieve because of the influence of old Cheliax or the scars from the goblin wars. It formed and grew somewhat disconnected from the country around it, and that has stuck. I can’t help but be reminded of Macridi, and while there is certainly some amount of wishful thinking on my part there, it does make me feel more at ease about where I am headed.

I pulled my Harrow card out after I was sure Nish was asleep, or at least pretending to be. I’ve seen these cards for sale here and there, almost always from fortune-tellers that are heavy on spectacle and light on substance. I haven’t been brave enough (or foolish enough, if I take Iskaryn’s opinion) to show mine to any of them. But I met a man in town today, a seer who, for whatever reason, felt earnest somehow. I asked him what the card meant.

He said it speaks to loss. Palpable loss, not the abstract kind. The ghostly figure—more pronounced in his deck than in the card I carry—represents those who are gone but never leave us. He was quick to point out that it doesn’t have to mean death: people fall out of our lives in different ways. Regardless, they leave lessons behind, and it is up to us whether we listen.

And, as with most Harrow cards, there is also the predictive meaning: a revelation or discovery from something ancient or distant. But he put less stock in that, saying a reading usually describes who you are, and the predictive is but one possible future. That, and the cards aren’t read in isolation, anyway; the tapestry is considered as a whole.

I don’t know how to square it. I wasn’t given a whole reading, just the single card I’m carrying. So maybe it isn’t about fate. Maybe it’s just a reflection of the decisions that brought me here. Maybe I’ll be faced with a choice in Breachill, and the card is reminding me that we make our decisions through the lens of our experiences.

Or perhaps Breachill is just where the next phase of my life begins, and it’s saying, where I take it is up to me.

When I look at this card, am I seeing my past, my future…or just myself?