Abner walked out from the gate and began the trek around the fortress’s wall. With a willow rod in hand, he took large steps over the soft shoreline, careful not to let his feet sink in too much before making the next step. The water smelled earthy and full of life, and its stench reached his nose in spite of the cold air. Against the high black walls of Willow’s Nest, the Magi cut a lonely figure.

  As he went, he would occasionally stop and place a hand upon the wall to feel the sandy stone, or peer into the fog to catch a glimpse of a duck swimming towards him. Each time this happened, he would take a deep breath, and lean heavily upon the staff, with a smile upon his face. The memories of his adventures within and about the fortress of his master fluttered through his mind, and brought to him as much joy as it did sorrow.

  Near the northern end of the island, he found a section of land near the shore with a large log laid across it. A common fishing spot for many of the inhabitants of the place, but for Abner it would only be used as a place to sit and think. So, once more, he did. He watched as the water lapped at his feet, and thought of the words his sister had said to him. He imagined himself perhaps having never left that night to visit Mountcrane. That he could have chosen to ignore the message sent from Thomas, and instead left it to other men of younger standing. The idea, at first, gave him some comfort. After all, she was not wrong. He had already done so much for Northguard, and Tovoran for that matter. He looked down at his hand, and noticed the lack of animation within its skin when he tried to rub his other thumb against it. He had done and given much indeed.

  “No, that is a foolish line of thought.” He shook his head and frowned. “Can’t start thinking like that. Do your work and nothing less.” He looked out into the fog. The high sun reflected through the cloud’s moisture and radiated a yellow glow all about where he looked. Resting his chin within his palms, he observed the fog wisping and curling about upon the dark water, looking to him like a dance of spirits. He smiled again, and forgot about his sister’s words. Instead, he pulled forth from his side bag the book he had carried with him for so long.

  “Time to try again.” He mumbled, and then opened the first page. The binding was old, but decorated such that it was clearly once to be considered a tome for a grand collection. The pages, yellowed and tattered along the edges, gave a musty scent when unfolded, and crackled with each flip.

  Not since the outlander scribe had sold it to him had he let the text leave his sight. It had been sold at a great price, and given the title of the last surviving tome from the tower of Vonin. A place Abner knew to host a great library, though he had never been there himself. Outlander cities had been difficult for him to travel to in his youth, and since the start of his mission, he had been given little time. Now, with his weakened state, there would be no great travel of such a sort, and he had long given up the hope to take any pilgrimage. So, when Mika had come forth and brought him tales of his scribal adventures, the Magi was more than happy to host him at his King’s fortress. The two spoke for hours on end of the happenings beyond the mountain pass, and the different peoples and places Mika had been blessed to see. To which, Mika had presented him with his traveling trunk and all of the books he had collected along his travels.

  “Y-yeos.” Abner stammered the word out, trailing his finger along the text. He shook his head. “No, that can’t be it. Perhaps the first letter is from its own language and the remainder is simply derivative of the outlander speech.” He flipped a few more pages in and found an illustration. The sketching had been long faded, and the surrounding words now faded. The text and faded image implied that this was a diagram of sorts, used to instruct, similar to books on carpentry or construction.

  Since getting the book, the Magi had often turned to this page, intent on studying its long forgotten instructions. From what he could tell, the image depicted a man. He was nondescript and could be anyone from any kingdom. Abner understood this to be the case for many tomes of instruction, and accepted it. The man was shown to be pointing a hand to the sky, as implied by the stars and moon above him. With the other, he pointed next to him, at something. Where the man and the stars had faded over time, the figure he gestured toward had seemingly been scratched out. Not by time, but by some scraping tool. However, next to where the second figure once was, a title stood above it as it did the man.

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  The letters above the scratching were of a different sort than he had ever seen, and could not be read. However, he did pick up that it seemed to share one of the letters as the title of the other figure’s illustration and nothing more. From this, he understood that it would likely have been some different species other than human. Time and time again, he pondered over the lettering, trying to find ways of deciphering its possible meanings. Not since his first moments with the tome had he made any progress.

  “Well, it would seem my position has been taken from me.” Abner turned his head around to see the bent old figure shuffling toward him.

  “Oh, hello Berren.” He waved, and observed a long slender fishing rod in the gatekeeper’s free hand. In his other was the staff with the iron lantern swinging about with each stride. “I did not mean to take your place. I’ll leave.”

  “No, no. The log is big enough for a whole family. Stay.” Abner still scooted over to give the man enough room to sit in comfort. Berren planted himself firmly within a grove upon the log. He stabbed the walking stick firmly into the soft ground, and then cast his line into the dark waters beyond. The gatekeeper let out a sigh of contentment as he sunk into his hobby. “What’s that?”

  “Hmm? Oh, it’s a book.”

  “Well, I can see that. I’m just old, not blind.” Abner resisted the urge to as the old man how many fingers he was holding up, and instead closed the book and handed it to the gatekeeper.

  “It is an outlander tome of magic.” Berren handed his rod to Abner and the two swapped items. He ran his wrinkled long fingers along the cover.

  “Tome of magic, eh? Why would you need something like that? Thought you already learned enough magic for ten of your kind.” Abner held the long rod awkwardly in his hands.

  “Isn’t that like saying that a fisherman has simply caught too many for one lifetime?”

  “If I were to catch a few more fish, I am quite confident that I wouldn’t start coughing up blood.” Abner looked sideways at the old man, who was gazing out into the bright fog.

  “It would appear my sister has been talking.”

  “No. But, some months ago, I happened to notice you practicing a spell out on the moor. Ugly sight to behold.” Abner took a deep breath.

  “Indeed.”

  “Then, why risk it with this tome here?”

  “Because, according to the man who sold it to me, there is something different about its powers.” Berren looked at the book again doubtfully.

  “How so? Is magic not magic all around the world?”

  “Not exactly. This-” The fishing line went taut and the Magi nearly let the rod slide from his grasp. His whole body tensed up as he began to fight with the fish. Abner looked to his companion, who merely looked tiredly out to where the water began splashing.

  “Don’t fight him too much.” Was all the gatekeeper would say. Abner tried, but understood exactly what this actually meant, and eventually brought the line to snapping away. He fell backwards off of the log. Berren sat silently for a moment before placing the book where the Magi had been sitting.

  “Suppose you still haven’t learned, in all those books, how to catch a clever little fish.”

  “I suppose not.” He remained on the ground while Berren stood up, uprooted his staff, and began walking back up the shore.

  “You better fix my rod before you leave this place again. You hear me?”

  “Aye, I hear you.” Into the fog the gatekeeper went, and Abner was once again alone. He lay there, looking up to the sky as wet ground began soaking its way up his back. “Do they really need to be caught?” He asked himself. Then, the Magi sat himself up once more and picked up the book. He rubbed his hand over the cover and sighed. After a moment, he placed the book back into his side bag, and continued his way around the Island, towards the cluster of willows, where the sound of wood striking wood and shouts of men could be heard.