James the… Wise?
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Shortly after the conversation, Raven and Fae left their companions and entered the village by the main gate. Philothea and Zoe followed at a distance, and when they reached the wall, they pressed themselves against it, listening.
Shortly, they heard the sound of a commotion. A swarm of villagers must have been pressing around Raven; they heard things like:
“It’s Raven! Raven is back!”
And
“Raven, I have a job for you! I’ll pay you ten talents to make my fire hotter.”
“I’ll pay you sixteen to kill the locusts on my crops!”
“I’ll give you seven and a free lunch to find my missing pig!”
“She’s pretty popular for a woman who hates people,” Zoe whispered.
Philothea trembled slightly as she tried to hold in an avalanche of giggles. There was something legitimately amusing about hearing the swarm of desperate villagers surround Raven. If she had to guess, her fae friend was probably already using most of her magic to suppress her irritation.
Philothea had never known a fae to come to her temple or the nearby village, but she supposed if one did, the reaction might have been the same. Everyone would be desperate for a little magic to make their tedious jobs easier.
In Philothea’s experience, magic was difficult to control and exhausting, but she supposed the benefit of it was that she could always get work.
After a few moments, they heard Raven accept a job removing a mouse infestation. Philothea and Zoe waited until they heard the crowd disperse, then they made their way into the village, trying to act as naturally as possible.
The people of Cedar Valley made Zoe’s dad look like the chipper picture of health. They were a thin and sickly looking bunch.
“Do you think Zeno leaves them anything for themselves?” Zoe whispered.
Philothea felt a lump in her throat as she looked around. The rabble that had surrounded Raven was gone now, most of the people had returned to their work in the surrounding fields.
A few vendors sold from stalls in the streets, but their stock was hardly impressive. Stale bread, wilted lettuce, and a few stumpy carrots made up the best of their goods.
The girls continued past the stands and made their way through the western gate as Pouli suggested in his song. Just beyond, they saw grape vines going up and down the hillside in neat little rows.
Pouli’s head shot straight up at the sight. “Grapes!” he exclaimed before shooting off Zoe’s shoulder like an arrow.
“Wait! Pouli!” Philothea cried, but he was already gone.
“Don’t worry, He’ll be back once he’s done stuffing himself,” Zoe answered. “Besides, I think it’s pretty obvious where we need to go.”
Zoe was correct. On top of the hill, beyond the rows of grapes, was a little house that must have belonged to James the Red.
They followed the road across the valley and up through the line of grape vines. Philothea looked hungrily at the bunches that hung from the branches. Apparently, Zeno’s men hadn’t yet come to collect from James. His produce was abundant–the grapes that hung from the vines were plump and juicy. They were mostly a rich burgundy color, though some were green or purple or yellow. Pouli had probably lost himself somewhere among them and was eating himself to death.
“Welcome, strangers,” someone called.
Philothea tore her gaze from the grapes and looked up the road. A red-headed man, with a bushy beard and a straw hat, was coming toward them. He was, like the other villagers, gaunt. Unlike the other villagers, he seemed somewhat cheerful.
“Hello!” Philothea called. “Are you James?”
“I am called by two names,” the man answered, pleasantly. “There are some who call me James.”
Zoe raised one eyebrow slightly and glanced sideways at Philothea, who giggled nervously. What a strange answer…
“Oh,” Philothea replied. “Um… what’s your other name?”
“Jim,” James explained.
For a second, Philothea thought maybe he was trying to be funny, so of course she didn’t laugh at all. In fact, she didn’t even smile until a few eternally awkward seconds dragged by. Then she burst out laughing.
The man’s smile broadened.
“She who finds joy in all things can never be undone.”
Zoe’s eyebrows moved slightly higher up her forehead. Raven was right about James being odd. Maybe that was what Pouli meant about him being wise? Philothea couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of a test. If she went along with it and tried to understand him, her power would be unleashed, and she would become aware of his connection to her mother.
“Um, have you ever met a man named Pouli?” Philothea asked.
“I know many men, with many names,” James stated.
“Right… but…” Philothea didn’t want to give James too much information just yet. “You would know Pouli as a short, dark-haired man, in a black robe with silver patches. Do you remember anyone like that?”
“Outward appearance deceives. It is what’s within that counts.”
“Right, but outward appearance is what we are asking for right now,” Zoe helped. “So could you just let us know if you saw someone like that?”
“Zoe,” Philothea whispered. “Maybe he’s saying he knows about Pouli being a bi–”
Zoe silenced her with a scowl.
“All will be provided,” James stated. “When the tasks are complete.”
Philothea tried using a cough to mask a laugh, and the result was that she sputtered giggles.
James, meanwhile, turned toward his house and motioned for the two of them to follow.
“You can only get what you give, my child,” James answered. “I will help you with all that you seek once you have helped me.”
“If you are talking about some potentially lethal trials, we’ll skip it,” Zoe said. “We just want some information. Can you help us or not?”
“Many need help thanks to the Emperor. And help may yet be given.”
“I’m confused,” Zoe stated. “You are going to help us?”
By this time, they had come up to the house. Just outside it was a wooden chair and a basket of potatoes.
The man pointed to the chair. “Answers come with focus. Peel the potatoes.”
“Um, how about no,” Zoe replied. “At least not until you explain…”
“I think we should do it, Zoe,” Philothea whispered.
“We don’t even know if this is the right person,” Zoe cautioned. “I don’t think we should–”
“Look, I’ve got a really strong feeling about this,” Philothea hissed. “I just… feel it in my heart.”
And she did indeed, though nothing like any of the feelings that came with her magical abilities. This one was entirely human, a confident flutter like she had fallen in love or been uplifted in prayer.
“Pretty sure that’s heartburn,” Zoe grumbled.
“Zoe,” Philothea giggled.
Zoe sighed. “Fine. We’ll peel the potatoes.”
“You choose the path of wisdom,” James answered. “And wisdom will find you.”
Philothea and Zoe spent the better part of the afternoon sitting outside the man’s house, creating long spirals of potato skin with their knives.
James left them mysteriously after they began working. They soon discovered that he had quite an extended family on his vineyard, all of whom spoke in similar mysterious proverbs.
An older woman, presumably James’s mother, had them help her with the laundry when they finished the potatoes, saying that true righteousness comes with a clean heart and clean linens. Later, a pair of red-headed women came by asking for help minding their children. They left a small army of little brutes in Philothea’s care, saying patience is the door to all virtues.
On and on it went. James had a seemingly endless number of relatives who all spoke in the same way he did. Each one brought Philothea and Zoe new tasks, and the girls kept waiting for someone to give them some useful information, either about Philothea’s powers or about James’ connection to her mother.
It was late afternoon when Raven came up the hill and found them in front of the house, plucking the ends off green beans.
“There you are!” she said. “I see James put you to work. No surprises there.”
She had hardly spoken when the man, himself, emerged from his house.
“Ah, Raven,” he said. “It is good you are here. For pressing matters need resolving, and why labor for naught when magic is at hand?”
“You broke your wine press again,” Raven said dryly. “You know, I probably won’t be back here for a long time, so when I fix it, it better stay fixed.”
“Habits are hard to change, and what has once been mended may need mending again.”
Philothea thought that this was a very wise commentary on the human condition. Truly, this man was a philosopher and trying to teach her something important. What it had to do with her magic, she didn’t know.
Raven rolled her eyes. “I’m charging you double,” she said. “Because I am getting tired of this.”
It was at that very moment that Pouli returned in a particularly cheerful mood. He was about two sizes fatter and singing his heart out.
Pouli is a happy bird,
With a round and robust shape,
Pouli is a nourished boy,
Because he had a grape.
“I’d say you had more than one,” Zoe pointed out.
“He who steals the fruits of my labor must do my labor for his fruits,” James glared.
Philothea flinched nervously. She hadn’t thought that Pouli eating from the vineyard was stealing. After all, how many grapes could a little bird like Pouli eat? Looking at him, Philothea realized it was probably a lot.
“Who is this naughty boy?” Pouli asked, extending his neck to look at the farmer.
“This is James,” Philothea reminded. “Remember, my mom’s friend?”
All of Pouli’s feathers stood on end.
“No,” Pouli answered. “No! No! No! This is a bad man! He won’t share his grapes!”
“Ho, ho, ho, naughty little man,” Fae added from Raven’s shoulder.
“Give a bird a grape, and he will steal all his life,” James pointed out. “A man who kills a bird, eats his food in peace.”
“I’d say Philothea and Zoe have done more than enough work to pay for the grapes,” Raven scowled, putting her hands on her hips.
“The Emperor won’t see it that way,” James replied. “And I see as he does.”
“Zeno’s not going to notice one missing bunch of grapes,” Raven grumbled. “And–”
“Hold on,” Philothea interrupted, “Pouli, this is not my mother’s friend?”
“He is a bad, bad, bad boy!” Pouli answered.
“But did he help you with the baby?” Philothea pressed.
Pouli fluffed up indignantly. “No! He is a naughty thing!”
Philothea’s shoulders fell. So she had been laboring all day for… what? And if this wasn’t her mother’s friend, who was?
“Alright, James,” Raven stated as she tried to take control of the situation. “Once you pay the girls for all their work, I will fix your wine press, and we will be on our way.”
“Grapes have paid all their labors, but their labors have not paid for all the grapes,” James stated, crossing his arms.
“A few grapes are not adequate payment for an entire day’s labor,” Raven insisted.
James’ various family members were suddenly gathering behind him, holding scythes and pitchforks.
Raven, undeterred, continued pressing her point.
“I think Raven’s forgotten the ‘let’s not draw attention to ourselves’ thing we discussed earlier,” Zoe commented to Philothea.
Philothea realized she had a point. She glanced at James’ relatives, who were all standing tensely behind him, ready to jump to his defense. If they attacked, Raven could certainly use magic to defend herself, but then James’ relatives would discuss the incident with everyone in the village, and it would certainly get to Zeno.
“It’s all right, Raven,” Philothea stated.
“No it isn’t–” Raven started.
“It’s a favor,” Philothea insisted. She felt herself smiling, though she wasn’t remotely happy. Her tone was so serious, Raven closed her mouth and stood by looking at Philothea with a twisted frown.
“James, thank you for having us today!” Philothea stated. “And for all your good advice.”
Jame relaxed a little and again adopted his peaceful, carefree air. “Pleasure comes back to those who give it.”
Philothea giggled. Why was this man and his family so strange? “Yes, James, yes it does. Thank you! We’ve got to leave now.”
“What is broken has not yet been fixed,” James said, looking at Raven.
“Raven will fix it for you,” Philothea said.
“I will no–”
“You will,” Philothea insisted. “And then you will meet us at the temple.”
Philothea was slightly alarmed at her own boldness. All she knew for certain was that she was frustrated by her wasted time and wanted to pray.
Raven glared at her. “Fine, but as soon as I’ve finished with the wine press, we are leaving.”
Philothea nodded, and the little group parted ways.
The Fables of Para Sympan 