It was the last day of Winter.
Acamar sat on the step outside. He looked at the stars and traced the path that reminded him of home. He could draw it. He could recite it. But nothing meant more than seeing it in unpolluted skies. It made him feel closer to his destiny. Closer to his future.
Those who scorned the stars for revealing fates had never held possibility in their hands. They’d never believed in more than reality.
He felt sorry for them.
He felt jealous of them.
His longing was interrupted by the clip-clatter of teacups. Titling his head, she pushed a steaming brew under his nose. It almost scolded him.
“Take it. Take it. It’s the last day of Winter, did your mother teach you nothing?”
Acamar sipped the potion. It burnt his tongue; a strange mix of salty and sour, it stretched in his stomach. He peered into the watery concoction to see it spitting back at him, alive from within.
“Are you poisoning me?”
“You?” she scoffed, eyeing him with a slanted stare. “Never you. I don’t want” – she pointed to the sky – “her after me. Drink up, I said. Drink up.”
He glanced from her to the sky. She obviously saw something else in the stars, something more than nature.
“I heard you follow the Old Ways,” he whispered, regretfully taking another sip.
She scrunched her nose and flapped her hand, batting away his words. “Old ways? New ways, old ways, ancient, modern, primitive, experimental – they don’t matter. There is only the way. Call it what you want.” She wiped a hand over her face and held both hands around her cup, finishing it in one gulp. “I gave you a Spring Brew. Rejuvenates. The drink of rebirth. Prepares for Spring. Hopefully will help your blue condition. You know what that colour means.”
Acamar stared at the blue skin on the back of his hands. The colour hadn’t faded. “Maybe I’ll have some more of your potion, then.”
“One,” she said. “One is all you need.”
Then, she stood up, lifted her arm and threw the cup into the wilderness. It landed somewhere in the thistles. “Gone,” she promised. “Spring clean. Clean break. Drink and throw. Your problems – away. Some creature in the forest will make more use of it than you or I.”
Smiling, Acamar downed the last dregs. He held the mug in his right hand and flung it into the forest. He had to admit, there was something satisfying about it. For the first time in what felt like years, he laughed. She laughed with him. They sat down together, on the step of her cottage, laughing at nothing, disrupting the cooing owls in the trees.
“You,” she said, pointing at him. “I’m glad I found you. I was expecting you. I thought you’d be late.”
“No,” he assured, sober once more. “I’m glad I found you, Scalar.”
Of course, like him, Scalar wasn’t her real name. She was hidden too. They had names too dangerous to be spoken, too impossible for the universe to catch up. She knew him; she knew everything about him. He knew a fraction about her. Their pasts didn’t matter. They were lifetimes apart.
“Where are we?” she asked, looking again to the stars. “What is next?”
Acamar licked his lips. It had only just begun.
“Ah!” Scalar proclaimed. She wagged a finger. “The scab must be picked. You know the Brutus, as do I.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Then you must help her,” said Scalar. “Help her pick the scab. She faired on her own this time, Theta, but now is the time for your intervention.”
This was why he needed her. This was he travelled far and wide for Scalar.
“When?”
She shook her head. “You can’t get it wrong. Lead her. She doesn’t take directions. Lead her.”
He looked down to see her knobbly hands clasp his own. Her gaunt face was lined, her black hair matted to her waist. But her eyes – her eyes held the stars and their stories. He could see his path home in them, he could see his possibilities. She wasn’t just a witch. Scalar didn’t study magic. She was magic.
Any echo of doubt faded away. Acamar grasped her hand and held it tight.
He knew what he needed to do.
Et tu, Brute?
I know you.
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