The Villager's Tale

The mage and Tamsin did not meet until his second moon at our village had passed. Some young brutes from the next village over had come to Alain's drinking house, and were making royal asses of themselves. Alain took me aside, and quietly told me to take the drunken fools out of doors. I did so, flinching at the stench of their beer-laced breath, and knew that they must have been to other alehouses before in the eve. As I well suspected, Jerym the mage was outside, sitting on his bench as usual, sipping his blood-tear tea. I ignored him, and, trying not to lose temper, began to reason with the belligerent young drunks. Just as my patience was wearing thin, the sots suddenly stopped their squabbling, and stared at something behind me. I turned in annoyance to see what they were gawking at. It was Tamsin. She looked weary, as she always did in the light of the moon; weary, but not unlovely. And the inebriates were not slow to see that. They rushed toward Tamsin before I could react and stop them, so eager were they to take advantage of the sweet maiden. But, strangely enough, as they neared her, I caught a glance of her sweet visage, and it was not one frozen in maidenly terror; rather, she seemed annoyed. But before I could rub my eyes and look at her once more, it happened. The young men were running at her in one moment, and in the next, a bolt of lightening shot from the mage's hands, and the poor drunken fools fell to the ground as ashes. The mage watched with detached interest, rose to his feet, and walked towards Tamsin. He grasped her wrist with his long, thin fingers. Tamsin looked alarmed, as did I. What plan had he for her? But the mage merely pulled her to her feet. "You should take better care of yourself, my lady," said he, and kissed the back of her hand. Tamsin snatched her hand from his grasp, as if burned, and ran off into the night, leaving Jerym and myself alone in the darkened square. Then the mage smiled to himself, as if satisfied with the results, and walked back to his room in the inn, in all probability to retire for the eve. The next day, the rumors began. Some said that Tamsin was exiled royalty. Others said that she was a prentice witch. Still others claimed that she had been trothed to the mage at birth, and that he had come at last, to claim his bride. Ye may laugh, friend, but in those times, we were willin' to believe anything. To treat a foundling with courtesy was bizarre. To call one a Lady was unheard of. And yet the mage did both, abandoning his customary bench to follow Tamsin about the village, and to talk to her at length about many worldly matters. And one day, Eric the shoesmith's boy overheard the following conversation: Jerym: "Good day, my lady." Tamsin: "I wish not to speak with you." Jerym: "I have searched for you at quite some expense, and I do not wish it to be wasted. Money doesn't grow on trees." Tamsin: (bitterly) "It does for you." Jerym: "I am warning you, you will come to me, whether you wish it so or not. It is your.... our destiny." From that day on, it was settled. Rumor and truth are bloodsisters among our people, and as far as we were concerned, Jerym and Tamsin were estranged lovers. All that we could do was wait, and hope to be invited to the wedding feast. Turn the Page Back to the Blueberry Fields index page

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Page design, layout, and contents by Clockwork Penguin Productions. Backgrounds and flower plates courtesy of System F. Penguin Kao Ani Smilies courtesy of Miwa's Farm

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