Cel's Ascention ch. 3 & 4

Chapter 3 Cel's New Dress
Thinking of Rila made Cel look west into the hills where she lived, and she lost her breath upon recognizing the flash of red among the rocks. The Dwarf, he appeared to be watching her, and when they locked gazes he seemed as shocked as she was and quickly faded out of sight. How did he do that, who was he, why was he watching her... and was it a coincidence he appeared again in the western hills of town? So many questions were rudely interrupted by a loud “Hurrah” over at the bridge where the mayor had jumped upon a stump and was discussing his latest plan for civic improvement. I didn't go unnoticed by Cel that behind the crowd someone had tapped a keg of Oden's cheapest to soften the crowd up for the eventual cost of the next batch of pavers. She glances back up at the hill line and the sun touches the trees, but no dwarf, no crazy dreaming witch... Ohh the sunset!

Which brought her back to reality, pavers almost got her killed, she almost got crushed by a horse on her way to meet Gayne, she didn't have time for such adventures. She was surely already missed back at the Inn. So she set off at a quicker pace down past the bridge and the “town meeting” hoping she could at least make it there by sunset. Sure enough, within the hour she was hailing the pretty seamstress's daughter through an open window. The Seamstress's shop was far enough off the main street to afford them an cool fresh breeze through their windows from the river. Much better than the Inn's muddy street outside the always open front door, or kitchen at the back.

The seamstress also dried flowers and herbs for delightful scents and sachet's that sold in the larger towns. Cel hoped her latest offerings were not to humble for the good seamstress's sidecraft. Sometimes the good lady made specific requests and Cel and the boys could earn an extra coin. Today she was imposing by bringing unrequested herbs in lieu of her very real debt for skill and thread.

Cel felt guilty and shamed but had spent her entire years savings on the cloth alone. The boys were growing fast. The clothing Gayne and her had talked about would cover their growing limbs for a few seasons if they didn't destroy it mucking stables and fighting. A new suit for each, one for the coming cold season, and another for the warmer weather. She wondered as she stepped into the cottage if the madness would overtake her by then, or if she would still have the strength to fight the visions that forced themselves on her. She was already getting the look when she had some of her strongest sensations. Maybe everyone would just think her slow.

Jayne the Seamstress welcomed warmly her as she came in the open door, “Hello Cel, we have been expecting you all day.” Cel looked puzzled and said “I uh, had just stopped by to see Gayne, if she's here.” she lied. It was supposed to be a secret according to Gayne, her mother didn't like her wasting good fabric on silly “fashionable” clothing when her mother and “Journeyman” had perfectly good designs she had yet to master.

“Yes, yes, I pulled the truth from Gayne weeks ago about the cloth you ordered and she was chopping up. And good thing I did too, there was enough material there for most of this additional suit here.” She turned to another table and simultaneously lifted and unfolded a beautiful blue dress, unlike anything Cel had ever seen. No pockets or straps for adjustment, and made of the same rugged blue material she had ordered for the boys, and more. Scraps of cloth of various colors from the shop made up the waist spiraling out to the top piece , and a too white bodice piece fluffed out to fill the front out. She had seen it before. “Well, don't just stand there with your mouth open, its very unladylike. Come here, lets see if I have the size about right”

Before Cel could fall over Gayne came down stairs.”Isn't it beautiful Cel?” The seamstress's daughter was quite oblivious to anything short of beauty, it always mystified Cel that someone as beautiful as Gayne would even speak to someone so plain, so humble. But Gayne never seemed to notice... she just prattled on about things Cel had no knowledge of or cared nothing about, knights and cities and such. Tales from her mother Cel guessed, and Cel being the only only other girl near her age in town she felt obliged to listen so long as Gayne treated her kindly.

Gayne brought wrapped packages with her and set them on the table as Cel set her bundle of herbs down, and something hit the table with a thunk. Both Jayne and Gayne looked at the bundle and then to Cel as if expecting an answer as to why the frail girl would carry a large rock into their shop. Of course Cel had no idea what made the sound. She had not toted a rock all this way, she hadn't even noticed any additional weight, just herbs. But upon unwrapping the herbs everyone was quite amazed to see an extraordinary rock the size of her fist. It seemed to have a dull sheen to it, but otherwise it was a rock.

The seamstress was the first to reach out, probably just to move the ugly rock from the fresh herbs she saw there that intrigued her... and let out a surprised “Ohh my” when she lifted the stone. She hefted it with surprising ease for one so slender and casually tossed the air and caught it once or twice before spinning it in the direction of Cel. Fully expecting a rock weighing more like a ham she reached out and caught it and exclaimed an “ohh” of her own. The stone was bigger than her hand, and weighed less than her hair. “I can't imagine where this came from.” Cel tried to explain, but as if the stone ceased to exist, Jayne began for the kitchen with the herbs instructing her to try on the dress.

Gayne was one step ahead of her mother in this venture and was already holding the dress up behind Cel commenting under her breath, “how does she do that? She fit you perfectly without a single measurement.” Cel turned with words of polite refusal on her breath, which were taken away from her when she turned around. Somehow she failed to notice the mirror before, but as she turned to find Gayne holding the dress before her, she recognized it immediately. It was the dress she was wearing when she stood before the living flame in her dream. In her vision, in the mirror she sees herself step forward toward the flame, voices call out behind her begging her to stop, but if she doesn't proceed more will be lost, and as she takes another step the flames touch her hand kindly, caressing her fingertips... a moment of pain, and then the flames consume her.

Next her eyes flutter open, and Gayne is patting her cheek gently, telling her mother “I don't know, the poor dear may have never seen herself in a mirror before. Look here, she's coming around, are you ok Cel?” As she sat up she stammered” Yes, yes, I... its been a long day, almost trampled... the dress... it was just too much.” Her nursemaids were all shocked to hear of the excitement, and quickly whisked her to a seat at the table and demanded the full story. Just as she was trying to decide how to introduce the Dwarf into the story, the teakettle went off in the kitchen and Jayne seemed almost startled and jumped up saying something about getting the tea. Cel had noticed her reaction upon mentioning the Sergeant.

Gayne pressed in closer and asked about the dark hair rider as something occurred to Cel. The Dwarf and the stone must be connected. Inserting a few colorful ad libs about the dark haired riders features she recalled from Gayne's stories more than her recollection of the rider she made some reply that more than satisfied her. They probably fueled fires she was better off not knowing about, but couldn't resist playing on poor Gayne's romantic nature.

As Jayne returned with the tea and cups, Gayne stared dreamily out the window and Cel's gaze followed and made a mental note of the shadows of the trees. It would be nightfall before she made it back to the inn, and busy. She could slip in without notice and resume her duties without Oden having a chance to scold her. If the till worked out well, the ale in his belly would help him forget her brief absence .

Jayne brought up the herbs, “It was as if you read my mind Cel, I was dreading going out to see ol' Rila to get the last bit of rose hips and am completely out of Catnip. Your package there was very timely indeed.” Knowing the dress was fate decreeing itself on her, and unable to imagine how she would compensate the fair seamstress, she was glad to hear the herbs well received. “I am still a few coin shy to repay your daughter for the thread and labor she has performed, and am shamed but need more still to afford the dress.” Jayne seemed to consider for a moment, then said,” If thread and skill are worth something to you we are friends indeed. Most see nothing more than something to cover their hairy bottoms. If you would make a delivery for me, I will take that and the herbs to cover the difference and call us even.”

Cel could not believe her fortune and agreed quickly before the seamstress could change her mind. Jayne smiled and said, “You might not be quite as agreeable when you hear the rest.” Cel could not imagine what would reduce the good fortune just bestowed upon her, but youth can be optimistic like that. “Rila ordered a pair of cloaks, I guess the witch is stocking up her wardrobe for her endtimes. Tomorrow will be fine, or, your almost there now.” The last bit Jayne raised her eyebrows in a questioning way. While it wasn't dangerous this close to town, this close to the festival, with so many people, it was still a wilderness, and things lurked in the dark. The madness was said to call out to things in the dark.

Cel agreed tomorrow would be best. She had traveled these roads many times, and here fortune had bestowed upon her an easy task with great reward. She quickly agreed again, and thanked the seamstress endlessly, or at least until they were both embarrassed, and agreed to model the dress before leaving. Having no modesty she stripped right there in the dining room, mother and daughter looked at each other disapprovingly but said nothing.

The Dress fit like a glove, with the middle section made of colorful scraps from other projects in the shop, a flexible cloth that felt good against her skin. The breeches were made to match the dress and defend lower regions from drafts in the cooler months, and Gayne disappeared into her room while Cel fit on her cloak. The Cloak, as she pulled it tight around her shoulders she reflected on its previous owner, and wondered why she couldn't remember anything before crashing on the riverbank during a raging storm here wearing this cloak which is still too large for her. Cradling two crying boys, repeating over and over to them according to Oden “Its ok, I'm still here and Cel will protect you.” So far she had made good on that promise.

She looked in the mirror and was near tears when Gayne returned with an old pair of riding boots. “I never, ever, never want to wear these again, but they really do go well with the blue here,” and she held them out. Cel reached out just to be polite but she was stunned. Surely she was receiving the wardrobe for her endtimes, and could barely mumble a “thank you” as the two fashion hens clucked about her. They were satisfying their own urge to decorate, but to her, it was finery, it was the best she would ever wear. Something seemed to click into place, a completion, and Cel felt the time weigh on her.

As the girls said their goodbye's, Cel tied her four packages into one bundle to sling over her shoulder. The rock lay there on the table and drew her attention without thinking about it she picked it up and slipped it into her cloak pocket. The Seamstress and her daughter were now trying to devise a logical plan to go into town the next day to pick up something or another, but Cel knew it was to get a peek a the troop before they left town.”Women” she sighed inwardly and was secretly, morbidly glad she would retain her innocence if it did this to otherwise fine folks. With a last wave she was out the door and headed up the path to town trying to shake the feeling she was on a path set for her.

Chapter 4 Cel makes new friends

Like the trail of crumbs the boys used to catch small game from time to time. Destiny some call it, Fortunes when it favors you, curses when it doesn't. She was given little snatches of the future in her dreams, but always out of context, out of order. Why couldn't “visions” all be like the night Keala staggered in. Raging storm outside had kept customers away, not like the ran a bustling business yearlong anyway. Oden had ordered the doors locked and barred for the night, but she had dreams of tall man, dying in the storm, hounds of hell on his heels, of coming to our door and it was locked. She didn't tell Oden about the dream, she didn't lie to him and tell him she had locked it either. To this day she remembers the door exploding open and the soggy thin frame almost flung inside. Her mind points out the glowing eyes that logic says couldn't have been outside that door, or the mysterious wind that slammed the door shut just in time for Oden to reach it with the bar. The first words Keala ever spoke to her were “Thank you”. But a sound not unlike heavy bodies hitting the door drowned them out.

“Seems the least ye could do to watch where yer goin after yer close call today with tramplin.” the voice that startled her back to the present said, and she heeded it by taking two steps back, quickly. And as if he faded in from air the dwarf was stepping forward with both hands outstretched, “Easy girlie, I mean ya no harm, I'm just thinking some of my possessions got confused with yours today is all.” As she stopped backing up, he stopped advancing and her hand curled inside her cloak pocket on the rock she believed he was referring to. “I don't know what your talking about sir, and while I thank you for saving me today, I am not at all comfortable in the presence of cannibals, murders, or worse, such as dwarves.” she practically spat out the last part, and the short but stout fellow seemed to flinch, then smile.

“I see you've heard tha worst of us,” he said and proceeded to hop upon a fallen log near about his shoulder height and sit back. “I've heard brutal and bloody stories aplenty, but I'll not fear you!” she retorted and was really getting worked up, to do what she had not a clue, but she wasn't going to reveal her fear. “Good” he said, and produced a pipe pouch that seemed small in his hands and proceeded to pack the bowl. “Since yer not scared, perhaps your willin to do a little haggling then?” and without so much as a blink he snapped his finger and setting his thumb ablaze and proceeded to puff his pipe to life. This stunned her, and she abruptly sat down, upon the tower of linen she had been toting over her shoulder, so it seemed an almost graceful maneuver.

Seeing he had her attention, and his pipe well lit, he continued, “Yer actually in possession of two things I'm interested in, one of them is the stone in yer pocket, the other is a bit more involved”. This last statement was punctuated by a large cloud of smoke. She was forced to admit, if he meant her harm, she would have been harmed. If he knew the stone was in her pocket, he could have taken it by force, and so far he really seemed less threatening than Oden. “I'll not haggle with a stranger.” she said bluntly, and he grunted with a smile.

“Fair enough, its a good rule. I be Dorne HammerHand, of the clan HammerHand, well, not exactly...” and proceeded to puff on the pipe and ponder something. She briefly wondered what it was about a pipe that made someone, even dwarves apparently, look thoughtful, then resigned her defense. ”Ohh, well, I guess your not going to eat me so lets get on with this so I can get back to the inn. What is this second thing you need from me?”

“Haa Hah, I knew you to be a clever lass, cutting right to the chase, but you neglected to mention your name, and it was part of the deal, after all.” The stout little man bellowed smoke like a forge as he laughed. “So I did, and my apologies, I am Cel.” she replied. Dorne seemed to consider that then puffed his pipe. “Ya humans should take more pride in your lineage and adopt surnames. At the rate yer spreading across the land, ye'll run out of letters to string together fer names.” This thought seemed to amuse him and he chuckled for a bit. Then looking into his pipe bowl studiously he phrased his words carefully, “ I am using a magical device that alters my appearance to that of a human. If anyone walked upon us now, they would see you speaking with a human likeness of me.” He let that fib slide and continued truthfully, “You for some reason see me as my true self, and I'm curious as to how ye can do that.” Snapping his fingers again he relit his pipe and awaited a reply.

She scoffed at first, silly notion magic. Would he next expect her to believe in fairies and Wolven? Not too distant a wolf bayed, seemingly in response to her thought. Dorne's forehead wrinkled and his brows came together in a fiery tangle. She suddenly had the feeling of being hunted, and she heard the scuttle in the underbrush of small nocturnal animals seeking cover. Dorne heard it too and hopped down from the log, “Girlie, tell me yer not a Dreamer.” and he fixed a baleful glare on her as on hand returned the pipe pouch to its unknown location and fumbled for something else in his jacket.

She stammered as she started to her feet, “I don't know what, I mean how dare you accuse me...” but before she could finish the statement a cloud covered the new moon drenching them both in the shadow of the night. Her words faltered not wanting to disturb the unearthly silence that descended upon them both there on that path. She WAS a dreamer, and it WAS said the madness called out to things in the dark. Suddenly the words didn't seem as hollow, or a tale to spook willful children. Suddenly it seemed real. “That might explain a bit”. Dorne said, and he was about to say something else, when a crashing noise to the left of them set them both still as stone. Something was bounding through the woods towards them, and Cel took an involuntary step towards the brawn of the dwarf. He reached forward and gently took her arm as the disturbance grew near. Both of their eyes locked onto the location the sound came from and out leaps a magnificent buck who wasted no time heading down the path away from the seamstress's shop.

The arrival of the deer jarred the frightened Cel into action, she hefted her bundle of linen and started forward, only to be surprised by the tightening grip on her arm. Just as she was about to protest a figure noiselessly emerged for the path beaten down by the fleeing deer. It was tall, even by human standards, but lean. Even as she was noting its height it dropped to all fours and began a pattern of sniffing about on the ground. Her fingers tightened around Dorne's rock in her pocket and she briefly wondered why it hadn't seen them yet. The moment was so quiet you could hear dirt moving as the creature whooshed large amounts of air across its sensitive olfactory organ. It moved right towards them never looking up.

Her terror had increased one hundred fold for every inch it came closer. Her hand tightened around the rock with such force one must surely break, and then a Silvered mace parted the air right beside her, and impacted on the skull of the creature just behind the eyes and between the ears on its dog shaped head. It never saw the blow that killed it, nor did Cel. A sickening crunch seemed to follow an eternity later, with a meaty thud and a last whoosh of air from the creature as it hit the ground.

She wanted to scream, cry out with relief, take off moving as quickly as she could towards Aryn, but all she managed was to sit awkwardly back on her bundle of linen. “Good thing I got that with me or my backside would be bruised for a month” she mused. Odd how the mind works with near death experiences. As Dorne stepped forward to examine the kill, the bulk of it dissolved into wisps of fog and evaporated, leaving a scrawny wolf with a crushed skull.

“That answers that.” Dorne said as he grasped the hind legs of the kill and began dragging it off the road. Sitting down cross legged near her he wiped his hands in the dirt and vigorously rubbed them together. Extracted the pipe pouch again and took a moment to let the girl compose herself. When he snapped his fingers to light his pipe she return to the moment. “Was that coming to kill Me?” Cel said when her mind and mouth returned to the same moment. “No, but it was hunting the one who called it into life, and if that person did not master it, it would have killed them and anyone who disagreed with it.” the dwarf said after a luxurious exhale. Then added, “ Your big on askin questions, not as good at answerin them. I understand several things, yer young and its wise not to be trustin strange ones, short strange ones even less I suppose. But yer about to visit doom upon yourself, yer loved ones, and probably the whole damn town if'n I'm measuring you right. You Humans often don't live long enough to get a grasp of the Potential, and don't listen to the few that do.”

“Potential?” Cel inquired. “By God's beard, yer dead in its grips and haven't a clue do ya, you poor child.” Dorne was growing genuinely fond of the little human, but humanity was digging deeper and deeper under his skin. Perhaps the council was right in declaring their extermination, but he just couldn't bring himself to exercise that duty. Most of them were just plain stupid, but for the most part hard working folk like the dwarves. Others were barely worth wiping the blood from your mace, corrupt with hate and malice, like more than a few dwarves he knew. “Potential is simple.” He snapped his fingers and held up his flaming thumb as an example. “In my mind I know tha Potential exists to serve me. Its a gift from Tera. I must only imagine how I desire tha Potential to be used, and it responds to my call. Some can control great amounts of Potential, most can't control enough to make a spark. They claim Potential... or magic if you like, doesn't exist. They try to make a thumb lighter like this and don't get a sweater's worth of spark for the trouble and denounce it.”

“What has this got to do with the dreams?” Cel needed to know how this applied to her.”Ahh, good question, but I can't answer each question directly. Each answer will ask two more questions in yer hungry lil mind. Listen and I will give ye more information to answer some, but be thinking on this. Ye need a friend... one who understands yer situation. Potential builds as yer body an mind do. Over time it will explode forth if not trained and released properly. You Humans seem to have an extraordinary talent fer Potential, placing ye high on most races list of dangerous neighbors. Yer Dreaming as ye call it is yer potential bursting forth. Ye must have had a though about Lycanths that transformed that wolf mutt into one. True Lycanths are no where near human lands. My potential wouldn't scare a rabbit unless I was starting a cook fire. Yer's... well, I'll just kindly ask ye not to be thinkin bout dragons until after we part company.”

That bit of dry humor seemed to break the grip of terror and fear on the topic and let them both have a laugh. The more Cel thought about it, the less silly the notion of magic seemed, and that seemed to take a little bit of the sting out of the dreams. Dare she hope she could delay the madness long enough to get her brothers through another summer or two? Or did this spell certain doom as she called endless phantoms upon her village in her nightmares. She wanted to avoid imagining the worst, because if she understood Dorne correctly, her imagination had just became her worst enemy. Her hand still wrapped around the rock she pulled it from her cloak pocket. “Is this your stone Sir Dorne?” and she tossed it to him. He caught it deftly and hefted it without looking at it, “ I do believe it is, very generous of ya lass.”


“So what do I do now, how long before the potential destroys me?” Cel asked the air as much as the dwarf. But the dwarf snorted, “Death and destruction are comin fer us all, no one can call the time or day with certainty, even the truest seers. Where are you headed tonight, and I'll see ya as far as I can.”
“Back to the inn, I'm late as I am,” she realised with a start and struggled to get up from an unstable pile of folded but abused linen. He watched her struggle and said, “Is there anyone ya know who can help you with yer Dreamfits?”

“I was to deliver these packages to Rila tomorrow, and hoped to ask her help. She is reported to have survived the madness.” And while that was true, she felt more than ever the witch held more secrets that Cel needed to know to survive. “I can walk ye to Rila's if'n yer talkin bout the witch on the other side of the hills here. She's somewhat a cohort of mine, and perhaps the very one ye be needin to talk to.” As he spoke Dorne stood and offered his stout hand to help her up, even though sitting on her linen bundle she was as tall as he. It was a symbolic offer, a gesture, take his hand and accept his help. It was the right choice, she felt that even as she took it, but couldn't put her finger on the nagging suspicions in her mind. Where was this trail of bread crumbs leading her, and what would become of the boys.

As they headed back towards town she became very aware of his presence, the feeling of security. She had been a field mouse all of her life that she could remember. It suddenly made her self conscious and before they rounded the last bit of hills back into town she begged his leave, citing her honor, and being seen consorting with strange men after dark. He understood and extracted an agreement to meet here “half-past” (which means sun halfway to sunset after lunch) on the next day and see her safely to Rila's.