| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by Della Buckland / Artwork by Holly Eddy |
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| The Truth |
“Pock on the morning.” Aoife muttered under her breath,
cursing at the beam of sunlight that broke through the
shutters of her tiny room. Aoife swung her feet off the
edge of the bed. Nothing stirred outside of her door at
the Lady on the Coin. Aoife moved quietly about her
room. She could hear faint snores from the rooms that
were next to her. She grimaced, rubbing sleep grit from
her eyes. She dressed quickly, donning a simple blue
linen skirt and matching bodice. Looking herself over in
the polished silver that hung beside her clothes chest,
she adjusted her bodice one last time. Dark red hair and
sleepy beryl green eyes stared back at her. She rubbed
the remaining grit away, nodded towards her reflection
and deemed herself presentable.
The house servants were just coming from their
quarters as Aoife descended the staircase. She smiled
and nodded a quiet morning greeting.
“Care for some tea, my lady?” A short stout woman
asked her as she tied on her apron.
“None this morning Lyna, I pulled the short straw.”
Lyna chuckled, “How many times must I be warning ya,
mistress always puts that straw four spots in.”
Aoife just smiled, “I know, but it’s never the same four.”
She headed towards the main room to get the market
basket. She entered into the room through a single
door. Wooden platters and silver mugs were still
scattered about on tables. Deep cushioned chairs and
couches of mismatched colors and fabrics took up most of the room though there was still room to
move about. Deep green walls brighten the light wooden floor, but darkened the mantled fireplace that
dominated the north wall. One a small table near the door sat a large woven basket. The handle drooped
from years of use. A slip of parchment was stuck inside. Aoife sighed, it was the market list and it looked
to be a long one. She cast a look over her shoulder towards her room before quietly shutting the front
door behind her, resisting the urge to slam it shut.
***
The sleepy little loch town of Morhall began to show signs of life. The dew glistened off emerald grass
hills catching the sun in a rainbow of light that played with the blooming heather. The pink blooms a
sharp contrast against the dark green. The green-blue river separating the town’s occupants flowed
quietly, carrying with it the fresh scent of saltwater and the tang of peat. The distant calls of cattle and
sheep drifted along the breeze from the hills that surrounded the town. Aoife breathed in deep the clean
morning air as she walked. Life in Morhall was quiet enough. People went about their business.
Shopkeepers opened their doors and pulled back coverings to reveal their goods. Travelers, those who
were in the market for a brief time, just cracked opened barrels and crates to reveal their exotic goods
from the wagons they drove. The scent of fresh bread baking mingled with the salty of sea and the
stench of animal waste. Aoife noticed children dressed in rags walked down the cobbled street on either
side of a small wooden wagon with shovels in hands. The cleaning crew. The town elder’s and his group
of advisors, assigned this as punishment for children who had been caught in the act of mischief making.
Aoife shuttered as she watched the cart and the children rumble by, remembering her own time on the
chit crew. She saw both poor and rich alike working side by side.
Aoife drew away from past memories and back to the shopkeepers and merchants. Brightly and multi-
colored awnings were now fully open and people mingled as she crossed a bridge into the marketplace
proper. The fountain that stood in the center bubbled and spewed forth water into the trough below.
Washer women bent over the water, scrubbing clothes and laughing amongst themselves ignoring those
that walked and milled around them.
“Well if it ain’t the wench from the eve.” A squeaky voice called out from behind her.
Aoife jumped at the sound to see a gang of men, all young, approach her. She waited for them to get
closer. A smiled forced its way to her lips. The thinnest man approached while the others lagged behind.
His garish color choices made him appear to be a street performer.
“Do ya remember me wench?” He asked. He was the one with the high voice.
Aoife studied him, “Aye, you are the one who could not raise his sword to salute.”
The other men laughed, but quieted down quickly when the thin man shot them an angry glance. He
turned back to Aoife and moved closer. She could smell cheap stale ale on his breath. His eyes were black
and bloodshot. He had a snarl plastered against his thin, pale lips.
“I’ll be havin’ no trouble now.” The thin man said and hiccupped as he reached for his breeches.
The words of the Coin’s mistress popped into her thoughts, “The night is your time.” Aoife just stood as
the thin man moved closer and fumbled with the ties to his breeches. The other men stood back, but
blocked any possible exit off the bridge. Her forced smiled now becoming harsh almost feral, “Cannot
perform alone? You have to bring your ragtag group to prove yourself?” She shook her head. “Such a
sad state.”
“You wench.”
Aoife said nothing and stood in her spot, holding the basket. She raised only an eyebrow. The thin man
bellowed and charged the last few remaining steps, his arms outstretched, hands ready to grasp her
throat.
They are all the same. Aoife thought as she side-stepped the man, flinging her basket below his knees
and watching as it connected.
The man squeaked, falling face first onto the road. He scrambled to turn over, but Aoife was quicker.
With strength that was will hidden, she grabbed his shoulder and rolled him over. She straddled him, her
skirt hiked to her knees. She grabbed the front of his dirty shirt and pulled him close, “Do not harass me
or any of the others. Mistress will be aware of this slight attempt for a free romp.” She hissed through
clenched teeth, pushing away roughly, smiling as she left.
The other men that had watched the scene moved out of her way, bowing in respect.
“Thank you boys.” Aoife smiled and continued on her way, entering boldly into the higher market.
Aoife entered the market proper. People milled about as criers called out a merchant’s wares. The noise
was loud to her ears. She continued on, ignoring most of the young men who tried to get her attention.
This was not her shopping ground. Fanciful foods and exotic treats were sold here for those who could
afford such items as peacock tongues or sugared roses. She has seen such items served at the Coin,
but did not partake in any of them even though they were offered to her by paying hand.
She turned away from these goods to look over the list Mistress Coin had left for her. Cheese, rough
barley flour for bread as well as refined wheat flour, lentils, and a form of meat. Aoife was grateful
Mistress Coin allowed those who had to do the day’s shopping to choose the meat. She decided she
would visit the port docks to see what the catch was for the day. Even though the girls of the Coin did
the shopping for their meals, the servants did the shopping for the guests. She saw a few of them
buying fancier baked goods and treats from other merchants and shopkeepers. She smiled and they
returned same as they went about their business.
The scent of the sea grew stronger as Aoife approached the dock. Ships, both large and small, bobbed
in the water against the docks. Men, deeply tanned and barrel-chested, unloaded goods from the ships.
A few smiled at Aoife. Others were caught by their captain leering at her. They soon returned to their
labors after a swat alongside their head. Aoife chuckled to herself and continued along the sea walk.
Tucked along a small bit of the dock was the one she was looking for, a stout older man with skin like
leather and bald as an egg. He was cracking open a barrel when she saw him. He turned and Aoife caught
his attention. He saw her and smiled. He wiped his hands on the apron stretched tight against his
stomach, and held them out in greeting. Aoife smiled clasping his hands with her own.
“Morning lass. How do ye fare?” He asked.
“Very well, monger. What do you have today?” Aoife replied. She watched as the fish splashed about in
wooden barrels of saltwater. She laughed as water sprayed her face and her clothing.
“My apologies, my lady.” The fishmonger mumbled as he reached for a clean rag to hand to her.
“No need. I’ll have the lively bunch here.”
“Good choice. Mackerel. I’ll clean for you.”
“My thanks.”
Aoife watched as the ships continue to bob against the docks. Sea birds played in the waves, fighting
when fish entrails hit the water. Their calls drowning out the voice of commands that were being shouted
about.
“Here ye are my lady.” Monger came back, holding the fish in a small basket, showing her they had been
cleaned and filleted before he covered them up with a damp cloth.
“Thank you. May I have the basket delivered? I will return same.”
“As always.” Monger handed her a smaller package wrapped in rough spun wool. He saw a puzzled look
cross Aoife’s face. “A small gift.” He answered her unasked question.
Aoife unwrapped the wool and found a thick albeit small chunk of white sugar tightly compressed. She
put her free hand over her heart in surprise, “I cannot accept this.” Her voice cracked.
“Aye, ye can child. A thank you gift ye can share with the rest of the ladies.” The monger moved on to
help another, leaving Aoife alone to continue about her errands. She carefully wrapped the sugar chunk
and slipped it into her basket. As she left the stall, she noticed the fishmonger’s young son. He smiled
shyly at her, pushing his blond bangs back from his forehead. Aoife gave him a smile and beckoned him
over.
“Yes, my lady?” His voice was quiet.
“Take this to your ma and have her fix you sweetmeat.” Aoife handed him the wrapped sugar along with
a small bundle of nuts.
The little boy’s smile grew wider as he clutched the packages closer and ran home. Aoife smiled and
continued on back to the marketplace.
Aoife fingered the hack silver necklace about her neck, deeming it more than enough to purchase what
was needed without much haggling. She continued about her shopping trip, noticing a few women looked
upon her with disgust while the men greeted her with a mixture of emotions ranging from longing and
lust to disgust when they were beside their wives. She flashed those who looked down upon her, her
best smile and tossed her long glossy bronze braid of hair over her shoulder. She curtsied her greeting,
showing her cleavage, before going back to her business. A smile of pleasure hidden when she turned
away. She recognized a few of the men who were with their wives, but decided it was not worth the
hassle of starting any argument. Aoife just wanted to complete her errand, go back to the Coin and get
some rest before the night’s business began anew.
With her basket full of the day’s purchases, she headed back towards The Lady on the Coin. All she
could think about was falling back into her feathered mattress and pulling linen sheets up to block out
the light. A small smile played along her lips as she thought of her private dreams.
The sound of a gathered crowd further up the river away from the marketplace captured Aoife’s
attention. She changed her course and headed towards the growing crowd. She continued forward and
before she realized how far she had entered the crowd, she had made her way to the front of the crowd.
“There is no truth in our world!” A voice bellowed above the growing chatter. Aoife craned her neck to
see who was speaking. An elderly man, his hair the color of new fallen snow stood upon a flat stone near
the river’s edge spoke again, “The world holds no truth.” His cheeks red from yelling, his eyes bright
from excitement or drink, Aoife could not tell. Aoife looked closer; runes that covered his robe were
unfamiliar to her. Gold and silver threads were stitched at harsh angles to one another. Aoife could see
only a portion of the great tree embroidered along his right side, its branches and leaves curving towards
the front of the robe. All of the threads glinted in the sunlight giving life to the work. The wrinkles about
his eyes were a map of wisdom. The crowd surged forward, carrying Aoife along with them as they
moved towards the old man.
Just another druid. Aoife thought as she tried to make her way towards the back of the crowd and away
from the scene. The crowd had other ideas, keeping her passageway blocked. The stink of rotting
vegetables and animal dung burned her eyes. She looked down at the hands of those around her. They
held the offending items. She turned her head back towards the rear of the crowd and saw more pick up
what they could get their hands on. Aoife now saw rocks from pebbles to full palm size stones being
tested for weight. Panic tightened her throat and fear clenched her stomach. She felt helpless. The crowd
would not let her free, despite her pushing. The crowd surged forward. Only a small space stood
between the crowd and the druid.
The druid noticed the garbage. He held up his hands to stall the crowd before they could attack, “If I am
wrong, then truth can part our river. Does anyone care to try?” He finished, gesturing towards the river.
The people in the crowd look at each other, but no one spoke a word. None of them sure how to
respond or react. Garbage and stones dropped at the crowd’s feet as a stunned hush fell over them.
Aoife glanced at the druid and saw a glint of relief flash in his eyes.
“Move out of my way, peasant.” A whiney voice called from the back of the crowd. A person yelped
jumping out of the way. The crowed parted, allowing a pompous middle-aged pudgy man to come
forward. He wore a red silk doublet that was in stark contrast to his flaming red hair. The golden rings on
his soft hands glittered in the morning sun as he brought one hand up to his nose holding a fine lace
trimmed handkerchief to keep away the stench he imagined.
“Of course, your world is in chaos. You know of no truth, only that of leaves and berries.” The man said,
waving the druid away from his place. Snickers drifted about the crowd at his remark.
“Please, then make your attempt, honorable noble.” The Druid stepped away from the river’s edge,
bowing and motioning the pompous man forward towards the river’s edge.
The noble looked down his nose at the druid. He turned his attention to the river. Several moments
passed, nothing happened. Only the sounds of a quiet cough broke the silence of the crowd. Aoife could
see beads of sweat on the noble’s forehead and trickling down his face. He turned away to throw a harsh
glare of hatred and contempt at the druid.
“Just a thought cannot part our river or any river.” The noble spat. He covered his failure and
embarrassment with the laced handkerchief once again under his nose.
“You are right. A thought cannot, but the truth can.” The druid answered. The druid turned back
towards the crowd as the noble stormed off, fading back into the crowd, “Anyone else care to try?”
The crowd did not pick up the garbage at their feet, but only looked at the person standing next to
them. They did not move nor did they speak. Aoife could see a few were intrigued by the druid though
they tried to cover it up with nervous shifting of their feet. She saw a few people shift to one side for a
brief moment before she saw a small man with thinning grey hair step forward. His rough spun robe
hung loosely on his slight frame. The robe was cinched about his waist with a thick rough rope. He
leaned heavily upon a walking stick as he made his way forward.
“Good sir druid, may I attempt?” The old man’s quiet voice rang over the silent crowd.
The druid looked at him, “Honorable monk, please make your attempt.” He smiled.
The monk stepped close to the river, bowing his head. A chanting of an archaic language used for
prayers tumbled from the old man’s lips in different pitches. His chant was quiet, but flowed through the
crowd of silent onlookers. The monk rocked back and forth gently on his heels, lost in the rhythm of the
chant. Nothing happened. The river continued to flow towards the sea. The monk slumped down, his
chant dying on his lips. The druid was quick to his side to help him stand. The monk turned away from
the river. Sadness filled the monk’s eyes as he looked up at the druid. A tear rolled down the monk’s
cheek. The river mocked him by gently lapping the shore at his feet.
“I have failed. Maybe you are correct.” The monk’s gentle voice said as he stared down at his worn
sandals.
The druid placed his hand gently on the monk’s shoulder, “Do not confuse faith and truth. Both are
strange beasts.”
As the monk faded into the crowd as the noble had done, the druid turned back to the crowd, “Anyone
else?” He asked. Murmurs raced through the group, but no one would step forward. Moments continue
to pass. Aoife saw fingers twitch beside her. Indecision clearly written on the faces she could see.
“Surely there is one among you who knows the truth.” The druid called out. The druid no longer feared
being pelted by refuse, “We all know truth for we live with it even if we do not admit it.”
“Move out of my way.” A deep voice called from somewhere in the crowd.
A man dressed in rough black leather and bits of armor strode forward, his gait confident. His visage
reminded Aoife of a hawk, angular and harsh. He looked at the crowd, briefly stopping at Aoife with lust
in his dark brown eyes and a leer before he turned towards the druid. He spoke not a word, but went
straight to the river’s edge. He tossed his cloak over his shoulder with a flourish, raising his arms over
his head. A clear showman and rogue. Aoife just shook her head in silent laughter. The man brought his
hands together causing an ear-shattering clap of thunder. The crowd covered their ears. The thunder
rolled pass the crowd as they uncovered their ears and watched the rogue at the river’s edge as he
stood motionless, only the rise and fall of his shoulders of his breathing breaking his stillness. Aoife
could see the side of his face as he glared at the river. The silence again stretched into several long
moments, until a small cough in the crowd caused the man to jump.
“Now it will never happen. I demand payment for my attempt. Say two and ten gold bits.” His voice deep
and demanding. He readjusted his cloak, awaiting payment.
“Sir rogue, no money was offered. You came to this of your own free will.”
“They why did a noble and a monk try to make the attempt?”
“For truth.”
The rogue stalked away in anger. Aoife had watched with interest as the three men made their attempt
and each failed. She could not help but giggle at the rogue’s display. The druid turned his eyes towards
her. Aoife’s laughter died on her lips.
“What do you do girl?” The druid asked her.
Aoife could not speak. She stared down into her basket, looking at the goods that needed to be
delivered back to the home, realizing for the first time she was not disgraced by what she did. Before
she could speak, a woman’s voice yelled from the back of the crowd, “She’s a harlot.”
“She sleeps with our men for our money,” another voice called out.
Aoife stood straighter as more insults came from the crowd.
“Do you care to try child?” The druid ignored the insults and taunts flung towards Aoife. She nodded.
The druid gave her a gentle smile and led her to the riverbank, taking her basket and sitting it beside
him. Aoife stared at the river, watching the river lapped at her feet, the wetness soaking the toes of her
sandals. The blue-green water followed as it always had done for eons. It came from the sea and went
back to the sea. The jeers stilled. Aoife only heard the lapping of water on rocks and her own breathing.
The breeze ruffled her hair, strands breaking away from her braid falling in her eyes. She tucked her hair
behind her ear. She thought of truth. Her truth.
Someone gasped behind her. Aoife’s gaze focused on the river. The water had stilled. A thin line
stretched towards the opposite bank. One side of the river continued to flow towards the sea while the
other flowed towards the mountain, the currents had separated. The line grew wider. Aoife felt the press
of the crowd as they moved closer. The river bottom came into view, stones and mud covered the river
bottom. Aoife, as well as the crowd, was surprised that now fish were stuck on the riverbed flopping
about, gasping for water and for life. Sunlight made their scales sparkle in a hue of rainbows in the
brown black river mud. The druid stood in the center of the river.
Aoife paid him no heed, her thoughts drawn inward. What is the real truth? she thought to herself. I do
not know. The others thought they knew. She smiled inwardly realizing her truth.
The druid gave the crowd a knowing smile as he stepped out of the riverbed. He placed his hand on
Aoife’s shoulder, causing her to jump. The river crashed together once more, the part gone and the river
flowed as it had always had. “My girl, truth is still in the world. What is the truth you follow?” he asked.
The others who had made their attempts moved forward, pushing and shoving their way to the front to
hear her words. Before Aoife could reply, the noble stepped before her and the druid, wanting his words
to be heard first.
“I follow the truth of nobility in that all are not created equal. There are very different classes. Each born
and to die in their class.” The noble hung his head, “Alas, a peasant of dubious calling has shown me
different, even if I do not care to admit it.” His eyes showed sadness of that realization. With his head
hung, he turned and departed, avoiding contact with the lower class, no longer carrying himself as he
had before.
The monk now stood in the noble’s place. “My truth is my faith. The gods above hold our fates in their
hands. I followed them blindly. Thank you child, for helping me realize what was wrong within me.” He
took Aoife’s hand in his own and touched his forehead to her hand. He smiled and departed into the
crowd. His step was a lighter. He was not leaning on the walking stick as heavy as he had when he first
appeared at the river’s edge.
The rogue stepped forward, his arrogance covering him like his cloak. He smiled slightly at Aoife. “Good
trick, girl. You would make it in the world of money.” He smoothed his cloak over his shoulders and
strode away. “Contact me if you wish to be rich.” He called out over his shoulder before disappearing
back into the crowd.
The druid shook his head. “Now we all know their views of truth, I want to hear yours.”
Aoife looked into the druid’s eyes, comforted by the gentle soul that smiled back at her. “My truth is
myself. You see, I know I am a courtesan, but every man who comes to me, may he be rich or poor, is
treated equally. The way my life is handled is done by my own hands and money has never been a part
of the truth, it is only a slight reward.” Aoife spoke simply. “The three before me are the opposite of how
I feel. More than likely everyone here,” she nodded towards the crowd, “is like that to some extent, but
the truth lives in each and how one handles what is given to them.”
The druid laughed heartily and began applauding. The crowd joined him in the applause. Aoife blushed
and started to walk away. The druid reached for her and stopped her, “My child, you are on the wrong
path in life. Come join me.” He handed her back her basket.
Aoife stepped away and bowed as she took the basket from his hands, “Thank you sir druid, but my
path is my own. It may not be what everyone desires or what I desire, but it feeds me and provides
shelter. Perhaps we may meet again when the time is deemed proper by the gods,” Aoife said. She
drifted back into the crowd as it dispersed.
“May your truth guide others,” the druid said as he turned away and headed towards his home in the
woods.
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