Untitled Story II (2)

They both ate, with security, with intention to make it a short meeting. It was all done and served when Carraba sat down in front of them.
– Uhm, Baron, mind me to explain how’ve you found me this time? –
– I’m not sure I found you before. If that’s what you mean. –

– But I think we’ll find each other in the future, Baron. Something calls it to me. That we will find what we seek, don’t you feel that too? – Asked Carraba with a gentle smile.
– No. I don’t plan to find you, I’ll explain. I’m not a baron, you can call me Qüas, and she is Nasilv. We are both witch and watcher. –

– Uhm! I see that already! No one without the guidance could’ve found me if not you two, Baron. – There was a certain tone of unfriendliness coming from both of them, they both were measuring the other, tacking and poking with sticks from afar, in the form of formality and politeness, they were eating each other. Nasilv could tell that Carraba wasn’t in position of the book

– We are looking for a book, red, silvery thread on the spine. no title, only author’s name, nothing of interest past it. Maybe you have it. –

Carraba looked at Nasilv for a moment, contemplating inside his mind.
– Uhm, sounds interesting. Maybe I have it, I cannot answer you that Baroness. – 

– I have plenty of books, all of which come from sacred and cursed origins as well as everyone who comes in here, be that a pray or a curse, all of my books are forbidden. I fear… – 

– Forbidden you say? –

There was a moment of silence, a moment of recalcitrant silence in between the two, there was a second of drinking fangs and of salivating impulses, clenched fists and tendrils at the verge of breaking only to be dismissed at the hearing of the booming voice again.

– Uhm, forbidden by me. Of course, I cannot read any of these. –
– Wait, can’t you read them? – Asked umpromptly Qüas, interrupting the open fanged host. 

– I am afraid that it is the case, yes. But I hold the emphasis of hoarding them, even as a collection of rocks, things that differ from one another, who contain different things and yet, they all form part of a whole… Can you understand that? Baron? –

Nasilv glimpsed at Qüas, who was both annoyed at the feeling of overpowering that Carraba displayed. Unsure of him knowing if Qüas was a Watcher of Crystals from the sacred lands or if he was that keen by nature and Qüas glimpsed at Carraba trying to figure out the same thing that Nasilv had been wondering.
There were moments again, only interrupted by a loud piece of metal pint filled with a red juice coming from the monstrous hand of the lion headed master. 

– Uhm! Can I get your answer frankly Baron? –
– What is your question, I’ll answer with that being known. –
– Are you a student? – 

Qüas was certainly displaced by this abruptly, not only has he ignored Nasilv questions completely, but took care and designation into the origins of him, there was a disgust in this behavior that seemed almost gutting to the ego, nothing could be said. There was no power to emerge, nothing to do but to respond.

– I am not one anymore, no, I am not a student of any kind. –
– So you are a witch I presume, is that right? Baron? – 

– I am the witch. –

She jumped into the conversation, with fierce voices, with glowing eyes, with a fist on the table and without any problem revealing herself, after all she was a witch, and she had an honor of being one. One that couldn’t forgive people mistaking what she took so much on to be. A witch.  

She lifted herself from the table, she was now taller, slightly so than the sitting Carraba who at first had to ignore her to continue the formality with Qüas whose eyes were closed at the moment she lifted. Halfly expecting something to happen, halfly not wanting to be there anymore. 

– Can you tone yourself down… Barone- No – She interrupted, – I cannot tone myself down now. You were talking to me. And I still want to talk with you. – 

The air paused, it was cold, almost as that night before. The lights deemed and the shivering breeze could be heard in the slight entrance of the firespot, Carraba looked at her. And there was nothing more to do, she didn’t backed down and he didn’t liked the attitude, yet he remained tame and formal, and she remained demanding with her eyes, her temper was now fully explosion, her clothes were free from any ash or dust, and Carraba only told her one thing. One thing to remember.

– Please, I’ll come back to you, once I get myself in order. Could you do me that favor? Baroness. –

Nasilv's glimpse into him was now the worst ever, there was no strand of sympathy nor there was any short of water in his or her eyes, there was no other feeling now than belittlement, and that wasn’t something she took granted nor freely. 

She sat down again, only to lift up again properly, giving a smile to both Qüas and Carraba. Only to top it off with half a spin and a march to the door. She took her own stead by foot to wherever she pleased, and she pleased to find where the books might be, she was furious, not only the one she had been looking for but also more, multiple ones, and all of them for nothing, nothing but decoration! She thought of how many witches and watchers might have been helped or supported in their working and workouts with these, all of these pillars of knowledge that even with her horrid repulsion and hatred towards them she knew the importance and the power that carried them around, not only that which comes linked to the fillings of the book but the potential manifested or not manifested on it. They were dangerous materials that weren’t meant to live as something to behold, something to be taken, something to be robbed or worse, something to be free to anyone who had eyes and knew how to use them, what worried her the most was not the book contents, it was the titles. The book of blue hue, the one in top of her bedroom, she remembers its title as bright as the storm “Night time stories of the thunderous birds” A manual of evocations and invocations, raptors, scavengers, raiders and more things lied ahead and she knew, and yet she always feared that book.
Her parents made her hate them, she thought to herself, who would put a book about magic invocation of devilish curses in front of the bed of her daughter, in the deserts of the west, there were no walls nor formidable tents, there was only sand, rock and heat. And yet, her father wanted his daughter to learn to control the weather, to make water, he didn’t know how to read nor write, and yet he saw the clouds and thought of rain. And he sold all for a book of hope and opportunity, all of which drew to bloody hands in the face of deceptive and obvious ransacking. Leaving her without a guide, a north, a south, a family, a house, a father, a mother or a place to be.

Only fools carry books, only the morons buy them, only the mad steal them, only the sick would read a page out of one. The books were magnets to her, magnets of evils, foes, adversaries and problems. For her at least.