Truth in a Cloth of Riddles

He sat at the small round table and waiting for the woman to become settled. The room smelt of heavy floral musk and dried spices. It was ensconced in sheer, soft gauze that moved and flowed with each draft. A delicate lace was draped across the surface and a largish cup was sat in front of him. It had leaves and dried bark at the bottom, a loose tea. He watched with interest as the woman lit candle after candle while humming a soft tune. Each candle seemed to dance in time with the airy notes as she completed this task.

Before she sat down, she paused at a small credenza with drawers. Her dainty hands caressed the smooth wood as if looking for blemishes on the surface. Slowly, her hands brushed the different compartments as if listening or being drawn to ones in particular. Each time her hand stopped, she reached in and withdrew a stone. After a few moments, she held her bounty and gently added them to the kettle of hot water while she murmured under her breath. Soon after, she gently grabbed the pot and sat it on a small, stone trivet in the center of the table.

“Wee stranger, May I have ye proper calling?” Her speaking voice was airy but firm; like a fresh autumn breeze. It carried strength that her slight frame didn't belay. He looked at her clover green eyes but something gripped him. He looked at her eyes again and noticed a slight sinister glint that seemed to make her eyes glow. Give not your true name to one who knows the pact. A shapely wheat- blonde brow quirked at the lack of response and still he struggled to answer her. The inner voice was sharp and powerful. It reminded him of Granna Laurel. It was the tree he sheltered in while out hiding from his mam. He could feel it call to him and he always could hear the voice like a guiding push. In all his years, she was never incorrect and this time he was certain she was right again.

“Ah, a strange ye be. What is the calling ye wish to be received?” the delicate lips curved in an enthused smirk. She calmly regarded him while she poured the hot water in the cups before them. He stared into the cup as he considered what to call himself. He thought and the flash of waist length hair stole past his vision. The tinkering laugh of a mischievous girl invaded his ears and the smell of charcoal and plums caught his nose.

“Rin. I am called Rin.” His voice was small and soft as the woman made for his soul was elusive yet again. That time, she was reborn into the visage of a young, mountain girl in a distant land called Japan.

He had traveled to the land in order to get away from the wet stench of bodies that seemed to travel just as he had. Each little country was almost the same; nobility full of regal air and pompous shite and the underhanded tactics to gain land and properties. It all was very tiresome and his situation of finding his soul had left him wearisome. And there she had had been; a slim waif of a woman. Skin the color of sun-bleached bones and lips the shade of berries, she was beautiful to him and yet; lost to him still.

As Rin felt the memory fade, the woman sipped her tea and watched him with interest. Setting the cup down, she saw him hesitate to take a drink.

“Ah. Good Rin, ye know ways of the Fair Ones, aye?” Rin considered his answer as he looked back at her. He nodded and looked back down at his cup. He thought back to his answer and felt it was a safe response.

“Aye, kind Cassia. For tales were told how if ye ate or drank the treats of the Fair, mere mortal dish will never sate. While ye are beauty and grace, t'would be no grave misdeed to stay and look to gain ye affection, but the person I seek was called by the gods. I have been asked to search for this soul and quite evasive it has been.”

Cassia looked around at the lit candles. She began a soft hum and watched as the flames swayed to and fro as if bewitched. Her hum seemed to continue as he heard the voice ask “What is my return, Good Rin?” He closed his eyes as if to consider and slowly reached for his sack. He reached in and extracted a simple jar with a golden, viscous substance inside and two small rounds of bread that were still slightly warm. He presented them and spoke what it was.

“Fair Cassia, no cloth I have is fine enough for ye alabaster skin. Ye have no use of my currency and I wish not to offend. I wish to give fresh honey gathered by my own hand and warm sweet bread I traded for.” Her eyes brightened at the thought of the delicacy in the jar and she smiled at the thought of the sweet bread with golden brown tops. Cassia nodded and motioned to Rin's cup; she had accepted his trade. He lifted it to his lips and closed his eyes focusing on her words as he worked to drain his cup.

“Clear ye thoughts and let needs be first. Keep in mind only the one ye be seeking. Keep only them in ye mind.”

Rin thought of the times he encountered the soul so far. Once, it was a sickly girl with delicate sensibilities. Another time, it was a lovely princess of an exotic land. She had thick coils of hair the color of midnight and eyes that shown bronze in the midday sun. She was a stout lass with curves that goddesses would envy.

Bridgette was a nobleman's kitchen wench that helped gather produce. He thought of how each meeting led to him meandering off with unusual fruits and tasty meats never tried. She had spoiled him. He had left for business that would give him direct line to her and when he had returned. She had been killed. Put to death because of the food she had squirreled away for him. And he hadn't the chance to defend her. He had left the country and set off to get help.

His most recent encounter was in Japan. His time in the land was met with the soul in a small village. She was fair complected like polished moon beams with eyes as deep as kohl. Where her rosy cheeks were smudged with soot and her hands were worn with arduous work, she moved with grace that could compare with the land’s courtesans. He still recalled how her hair swayed like the fronds of the wisteria tree while her voice called the chants with the chime of the ancients.

He noticed that the cup felt lighter than he realized and he felt more leaves brush his lips. He slowly moved the cup from his lips and looked at Cassia.

“Place the cup in ye main hand and swirl it three times. Hand it to me.” Cassia's voice was soft and guided his motions like a warm hand. She reached to the offered cup and looked at it intensely. He waited patiently as her eyes seemed to cloud over. She stood and grabbed a tome from off a shelf and sat it down reverently beside the cup. She turned several pages and kept looking between the book and the cup. Cassia sat still with eyes closed and head bowed and Rin took the time to look at his surroundings.

The cabin was small and had no rooms to hideaway in. There was a hearth for warmth and cooking with two rocking chairs in front. Each chair was wood and tight vines to hold and secure each piece. There were two bookshelves that held various writings and cloths. On the wall with the opening, was a small bed stuffed of feathers, wool and soft moss. Around the room were various candles of various colors and sizes. Some had symbols wrote in them and some had shiny stones pressed in.

When his eyes settled back on her face, he took in her appearance. Cassia seemed youthful but sharp with aged wisdom. Her hair was the color of sun-kissed wheat and fell into a lush rope down her back. Her skin was pale compared to his ruddy tanned flesh. Her pallor was that of the moon and nobility; she had the color of a woman that knew nothing of hard labor. Cassia's eyes were a crystalline green that held amber flecks in their depths. They shone bright in response to her moods and belied the sharp intelligence bellow their surface.

From what Rin could see of her frame, she was considerably shorter than he. Small and dainty hands with fine lines and marks moved with grace and care of each action taken. Her petite frame looked to have be a graceful tangle of limbs and round hips. The form was covered in what looked to be soft linens and a smock the color of the sea fair sky. There were small shiny bobbles and crystals affixed to the hems that softly clattered about when she moved like soft chimes in the Eastern wind.

“Ye be a man with plenty of discord in yer line. Ye spirit is quite the runner. We be here, Good Rin.” Cassia pointed at the handle and continued her explanation. “Ye love has been less than ye struggles. So many changes and yer soul is in all. So many travels have come, ye path is long and untraveled. Ye shall meet a companion that will guide yer course; strong and true like the path of Mother Luna. Ye be strong in spirit, Good Rin. It may prove to be yer undoing. So many busy times await ye.” She pointed at the leaves and traced the rim with a non-disruptive touch. As she spoke, her voice was like the winds of Maiden Rock; it was strong enough to send waves crashing about or send torn letters to the corners of the world. There was an undertone that was jagged like a crude hunting spear. It seemed like a poisoned treat; it seemed sweet and hearty but would leave you in a fresh grave if let be. Her voice cut thru his analysis of her.

“So many. Ye mulish self will prove to be ye own destroyer. So busy ye will be becoming like ones ye detest, ye only grace twil be the bairn of time. Learn this, Good Rin; Ye challenge need be met with wisdom and patience as are mortal virtues hard to gain.”

Cassia's eyes seemed to gleam a silvery- jade as they bore into his own blues. He felt that same grip of trepidation as he contemplated her words. He knew she spoke the truth but he knew the Fair Ones. Their truth could wind like an untamed forest and while it may be true, it was always met with malice. He nodded to her as he lifted his pack from the floor and started toward the rickety, wood door.

“Where be ye thanks, Good Rin? Surely ye think I have done a boon?” The sinister glint in her eyes returned. Rin paused to consider his words carefully before responding.

“Fair Cassia, some may thank ye for their fortune. It would be uncultured to thank ye for doing what one is so masterful at. Ye gift has received the thanks of the Gods as ye aid in their wishes. I give praise and tribute to one so artful, not thanks.” He gave her a smile and once more nodded and left.

Cassia stood and looked out the one window as he walked along the worn path. She shook her head and went back to the sweet bread and honey and made way to the rocking chair.

“Tis ye own undoing and stout, bairn of Bragi.”