Parental Controls

Dawn stared down at the paper on which the woman had translated the passage. "May I?" She said.

The woman turned, nodded, and returned to her work at the shelf.

Dawn flipped over the paper, took up the quill, dipped the nib, and began mapping out the series of casts her mind had been organizing since the moment she understood the woman's gift of knowledge. By the time the woman returned to the table, holding a glass again filled with liquid of deep purple, the page was covered with a complex diagram in which each symbol represented a cast, some brief, some complex, and several never before combined in the way Dawn had now planned. The woman placed the glass next to the paper, not yet offering it to Dawn. She stared long at the diagram, eyes narrowed. Finally, she placed her pointer first on one symbol, then jumped to another, then another and another and another.

Dawn nodded. "Yes, those are the five you taught me." Dawn looked over the plan. Those five were key, but they were surrounded by a sea of additional casts, all of which had to work as planned for her to recover.

The woman studied the paper further. She frowned and pointed at the first symbol in the arrangement.

"That is a meliá—," Dawn saw the woman stiffen, but the woman's expression otherwise remained impassive, "—it will allow me to prepare all of these spells," she ran her fingers over the subsequent sequence of casts, "but hold them unspent until I am ready for them to be put into effect." She pointed to the final symbol, a bookend to the first.

The woman tapped her finger on a symbol that occurred only once, shortly before the first of the spells she had taught Dawn.

"That…that is complicated. Another meliá. You see, I cannot be fully…present if the changes I intend are to be successful. This…it won't grant me sleep, or unconsciousness, exactly. It will suspend many of the activities of my being so that the problems I suffer can safely be healed. That is part of the reason I need this," she pointed to the first symbol, "because I will no longer be able to act. I am a surgeon who needs to prepare every step of her own surgery before lying down on the bench and hoping that her work is without flaw. I will cast, then I will be… nowhere…and if all goes well, I will return, healthy. And if it doesn't, well…"

Bolstering herself for the trial, Dawn reached for the glass the woman had prepared. The woman's hand again caught her wrist. After a moment, she released Dawn and raised a finger, nodding her head toward the draft.

"I should wait."

The woman nodded. She then pointed to the paper and then to herself.

Dawn looked at her and slowly shook her head. "I will not experiment on you."

The woman nodded and rested her hand on her frail chest.

"But, if I make a mistake, or if any of my theory," Dawn gestured to the paper, "is wrong, you would never return from dreamless sleep."

The woman looked tired, and the creases around her eyes pinched more than usual. She turned and hobbled to the cot, her feet pushing aside knick-knacks as she went. She sat slowly and then eased herself down to lie on her side. After a few seconds of letting her body relax into the new position, she rolled onto her back.

Dawn rose and stepped carefully around the objects on the floor. She sat on the edge of the cot. "We people of this world, we die. We have never shown the capacity to return from death in the way adventurers passing through our world do. For us, death is relentless. It will be waiting if I make a mistake. Why do this?"

The woman looked at Dawn for a while and then rolled her head to the side. Her hand slid off the side of the cot, and she pointed at one of the objects lying on the floor.

Dawn bent and retrieved the small, unadorned hourglass. She rolled it in the palm of her hand. Almost all of the sand lay in one bulb. She looked at the woman, who offered her cupped palm. Dawn let the hourglass roll into the woman's hand.

The woman examined it for a long time as it lay on its side in her hand. Eventually, she took a shallow breath, met Dawn's eyes, and raised the hourglass to the vertical, the nearly empty bulb on top. They both watched the scant grains of sand drain into the other bulb.

The woman inverted the hourglass and, as sand began pouring once more from top to bottom, placed it back in Dawn's hand.

"Very well," Dawn said quietly. She slipped the hourglass into a pocket of her armor, one she had not magically modified. "But before that is your final choice, you must know that the corruption that wastes me…it was my own doing." She watched the woman but saw no change in the expression on the worn face. "As with the mishap with my pocket…," she paused long enough to draw something from her pocket, look down to find that it was a live mouse, return it to her pocket, and shake her head, "…I tried to change something before I fully understood their workings or the meliá needed to modify them. And so, I have a pocket that runneth over and a lifespring that will soon run dry."

The woman's lips twisted slightly, and she patted Dawn's hand.

Dawn smiled and gave a small laugh. "Very well then, indeed." She went to the table to get her diagram, sat back on the edge of the cot, and laid the sheet of paper in her lap. She took a few minutes to review every stroke of every cast, and then she looked at the woman.

Her eyes were closed.

"Shall I begin?" Dawn said.

The woman nodded.

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Dawn began the cast. She could have performed each component individually on the woman, which would have helped her isolate the failure point if one were to exist, but more important to her was ensuring that the entire sequence could be cast uninterrupted before the effects began and that the woman would awaken afterward. If she didn't, Dawn might still be able to save her, which would not be the case if Dawn cast a faulty spell on herself and lay unconscious for eternity.

Eyes on the diagram, Dawn's hands were as agile as ever, but she could feel herself weakening by the minute. Beginning the last component, Dawn's gaze shifted to the woman. She was watching Dawn, her face as relaxed as her wrinkles would allow. Dawn nodded and directed the entire series of casts toward the woman's chest, and the woman began to close her eyes.

But her eyes never fully shut. Her expression instead froze, eyes mere slits, entire body rigid, not with the stillness of sleep but the stillness of death. Of inanimation.

"Best wishes for a peaceful voyage and a safe return," Dawn said. She squeezed the woman's hand where it lay. It was as hard as rock.

The room was quiet but for the peacock's solitary parade. Not wanting to count the seconds until her work might be proven a failure, and a tragic one for both of them, Dawn rose and went to the table. The simple action of navigating the littered floor left her feeling tired and slightly unsteady. She sat in the chair. The purple liquid seemed to swim in its small glass. How long should she wait? She thought. The longer she could hold out, the closer it would be to when she would need to cast what might be her final cast. But, if she waited too long, became too weak, and the woman did not awake…they and the peacock would be a somber discovery for someone come spring.

Time passed. The fowl circled. The rest of the cabin stood still. She raised the glass and downed the liquid. The feeling of well-being it brought would have raised her spirits if not for the cruel knowledge that it would leave her so soon. She closed her eyes and listened to the weak crackle of the fire, the scraping of the peacock's feet on the wooden floor, and the creak of the cot.

When she opened her eyes, the woman was standing next to the table, and Dawn started, her hand knocking the glass to its side.

The woman's eyes pinched, close to a smile, though her lips gave away little. She laid her hand on Dawn's shoulder and squeezed it. She was still limited by the very structure of her body, but the pressure seemed strong to Dawn. Stronger than she would have expected a few minutes earlier.

"Do you feel…"

The woman nodded.

"You're sure?"

She nodded again.

Dawn slumped slightly in the chair as tension she'd not recognized left her.

The woman straightened the glass and tilted her head to the cot.

Dawn picked up the piece of paper, rose, and went to the cot and lay down. The woman sat next to her on the edge of the cot as Dawn had, their positions but not their roles reversed.

"If this does not go as I plan…," she said.

The woman watched her.

"You will find outside your cabin, somewhere nearby, a large cat." Dawn considered her choice of words and rocked her head on the pillow. "A very large cat. If you give her this," Dawn tugged at a braided leather bracelet around her left wrist, "she will take it and depart to my sister."

The woman nodded.

"Dispose of this form," Dawn gestured down her body, "in whatever way you can that will draw the least attention from the other members of your hamlet."

The woman frowned but nodded.

"And, thank you."

The woman nodded.

"Would you?" Dawn held out the paper.

The woman took it and held it up so that Dawn could easily see it from where she lay. Dawn took a few deep breaths, closed her eyes, and did what she could to clear her mind of distractions, the foremost being that if she made any mistakes in her execution of the absurdly complex cast, she would have no opportunity to correct them.

She opened her eyes and began. Time moved slowly, her concentration seeming to bleach every motion of the cast with its intensity. At the same time, parts of her brain flitted nervously to the woman, the peacock, and other trivial elements of the room, as though driven there by how afraid she was of losing focus.

Beginning the final component for the second time that hour, she dared not look at anything but her swirling hands and the paper. Finishing the final gesture, she paused for a moment, hands still, and risked a final glance at the woman.

The woman lowered the paper and patted Dawn on the thigh.

Dawn closed her eyes and turned the spell into her chest.

Warmth washed over her, and a honk followed by a loud cawing sound caused her to start and sit partially upright. The male peacock was right next to the cot, its back to Dawn, producing the sounds. A clucking came from across the room, and Dawn turned to find a peahen with chicks. "What is happening?" She said. Her voice struck her as oddly loud.

The old woman walked toward the cot from the direction of the hearth. She wore a finer dress than she had a moment ago.

Dawn blinked her eyes and looked at the peachicks. Then the peahen.

The woman sat next to her.

Dawn pointed at the hen and chicks, her thoughts jumbled. "Where did they come from? That is not how peacocks work."

The woman patted Dawn on the stomach.

"I'm OK." She looked at the woman. "Am I OK? What happened to my cast?"

The woman gestured down the length of Dawn's body.

Dawn lay back and focused on how she felt. She felt warm. She felt good. She felt nothing out of the ordinary.

"Did it perform as intended?" She said, without raising her head.

The woman pursed her lips and tilted her head.

"And why are there more fowl?"

The woman patted her again on the stomach.

"They…it…you pulled them from my pocket?"

The woman held up one finger.

"The mate. You found the peacock a mate."

The woman nodded.

"How in the heavens did you control what the pocket offered up?"

The woman leaned her head back slightly, and Dawn looked to the corner of the cabin behind the woman, where random objects lay in a pile that nearly touched the lowest rafter.

"Then…how long was I inanimate?"

The woman looked across the room to a small window to the right of the chimney. Bright light poured in. Dawn looked around the cabin. It was still chill, but not the cold of a moment ago. The pocket. The birds. Chicks. She must have been under the spell for weeks if not months. She thought of Reeve's disappearance at the River Deiluyne and wondered if Reeve or her father would ever return to this world as suddenly as Dawn apparently had.

"You must have thought me dead."

The woman shook her head, reached across Dawn's body, and gently pulled at the leather bracelet.

"My companion remains nearby?"

The woman's eyes widened, and she nodded, looking slightly concerned.

Dawn smiled. "I think my effort may have borne fruit."

The woman looked almost amused.

"To know, I must test myself, which…" Dawn's face fell, and she was surprised by the disappointment she felt in what she knew she would next voice, "…means I must leave."

The woman nodded and rose.

Dawn swung her legs off the cot and stood. The motion was easy. She felt…strong. Whole.

Dawn smiled, and the woman thought the smile lit the room like her own son's smile once had. She looked at the girl standing before her, sorry that she would be losing her company. But, she gave no sign of her thoughts, as it was clear the girl's path led elsewhere.

"Listen," Dawn said, "if I am truly whole again, I can return here."

The woman shook her head.

"I promise. And, perhaps, you would once again partake of my magic, but this time, for your benefit rather than mine."