All eyes glanced his way and saw he stood before a fine mirror, a prop from one of the other wagons. His hands were tracing the shape of his face, which in the mirror reflected horribly burned and scarred, the fur melted entirely away.
Aeturnis took one look at him and knew, knew why her mother had forbidden her ever to sing in company. She had done this to him. It was all her fault.
She took one look at the audience and then turned on her heel and fled into the darkness.
All fear of the horrid Deadlands and all terror of the skittering beasts had fallen away forgotten, in fear of herself and what she had done. So lost was she in her own despair, that she found herself standing in the desolate, barren wasteland before she knew it. Small clumps of Blackemarr, too wispy to collect, glowed faintly from their perches on the rock. She had never realised before how beautiful the fungi, the source of all magick, was. In the darkness it was luminescent, covering a whole spectrum of colours from white to ultraviolet. She remembered something her mother had once told her - Blackemarr fed on the radioactive air and the colours it assumed were linked to the levels of radiation and growth. For a moment she merely stood there, gazing in wonderment. Then she heard a strange noise. It sounded like two bits of metal being rubbed together - almost like a blade being sharpened. She froze, eyes darting madly about seeking the source of the noise, and alighting on a large rock. Over which appeared two spiny legs, closely followed by two bulbous eyes and a pair of spindly antennae, twitching alertly.
Aeturnis and the giant cockroach stared at one another. The sword-sharpening began again and she saw now it was rubbing its front legs together. They were equipped with wicked spines, not unlike daggers. It spread its wings and sprang at her.
She stumbled and fell with surprise, rolling away just as it struck the ground, where she had been standing only moments before. The light from the blackemarr reflected off its multi-faceted eyes and the glinting blades on its legs. Recovering quickly, it stalked towards her. She fumbled about, seeking anything that could be used as a weapon and her hands locked about a fist-sized rock. It wasn't much - but it had to be better then nothing.
The cockroach, and it had to be a skrittling, fanned its wings again in preparation for another pounce. As it sprang, she threw the rock. Her aim flew wide and the stone bounced off one of its forelegs. It was enough to disrupt its aim, and it tumbled to the ground, a mass of legs and antennae, quickly leaping back onto its feet. Aeturnis backed up, finding herself pressed up against the blackemarr. She shuddered at its touch. It was blackemarr that had been responsible for the death of her mother.
That thought sent a new fear racing in on her - she was standing in the Deadlands! Was she too doomed to get the wasting sickness and die? Such dire thoughts were pushed from her mind as the cockroach lunged again. In a last desperate act, she grasped a clump of blackemarr from the rock and flung it at the roach.
It swept through the air, a fiery orange missile, and this time her aim was true. It struck the skrittling in the snout and exploded across its eyes with a vivid white flare. Spots danced across her vision and she was almost blinded herself. The roach crashed to the ground, working with its forelegs to clean the gook from its eyes.
Aeturnis took the only route available to her, and ran.
But she felt different somehow. Her hand where she had touched the fungi felt … odd. There was no other way to explain it - it did not hurt at all, the skin just tingled. She wondered if it was the radiation beginning to take effect. She could hear the "skritch-skritch" of the giant roach stalking her and fear gave her feet wings. A moment later she crashed off the Deadlands and found herself on the outskirts of the camping ground.
Two fears collided. The roach was hunting her and would not hesitate to follow her out of the Deadlands, but would be reluctant to enter the camp, so close to fire. Yet if she returned to the camp, she would be returning to the scene of the crime and her latest disgrace.
Eventually she rolled under one of the caravans and lay there, staring into the gloom. The skrittling did not follow. Maybe she had hurt it enough to dissuade it from further pursuit. In the dirt she lay, her hand tingling and her clothes torn and dirtied and she began to cry. Once the tears started, they proved impossible to halt and she lay there, sobbing and whimpering, pathetic and weak.
"Lass?" Came a voice and she turned her reddened eyes to see the concerned face of Johann, crouching beside the caravan. "Lass, is that you?"
Embarrassed she tried to wipe the tears away, but succeeded only in smearing dirt across her face. When she brought her magick-tingling hand to her face, she felt a small flicker pass through, as though stabbed by a slight magictrical shock. "Yes." She managed. "Leave me alone."
But Johann was not so easily put-off. "Lass, come out," he reached out to her.
"I, I can't."
"Sure you can, just take my hand and crawl out."
"No, I can't. Not after ... not after Fately."
"That was my fault," the Coyote explained, "I could feel the talent latent within you and I wanted to see if it was true. It was just illusion. Fately's fine - just a little startled." He chuckled, "I should have thought to warn him. Strange things happen when you play with an untrained lyrical mage."
Aeturnis's forehead creased. "Huh?" She asked, somewhat stupidly.
"You've got the talent," Johann explained. "And the potential to be a mage."
The Aardwolf was speechless. She could do nothing but stare at the Coyote with wide eyes.
He smiled, proffering his hand once more. "Come out from under there. You know, you really belong in Tirra-Inle. You're a mage, child, and as such you need to be trained. Such power in the hands of a novice can lead to…" he faltered, "accidents."
Finally she found her voice again. "But I can't go to Tirra-Inle," she said. "I must find my father. He's all I have left."
Johann shook his head sadly. "I wish you would consider it," he replied. "Fately and I will be dropping in there in the next two days. If you wish to join us, the offer is there."
"Thank you." Aeturnis replied, knowing she would not. Her a mage? No, it had to be some sort of strange joke. She was nothing, noone and she certainly had no latent magickal talent. What had happened to Fately had been an accident, one she dared not repeat. No, she would never sing again - then everything would be just fine. She accepted the Coyote's hand and he drew her from beneath the wagon.
"Another thing," he said. "Keep an eye on that Meerkat fellow. I know he seems a nice chap and everything but," he shook his head, "there is something hidden about him, something dark. You would do well to leave his company as soon as possible." He was speaking in a low whisper, and just as well, because at that moment a voice piped up from the shadows behind him.
"Ah, there you are my dear - I was starting to fret." Deryk stepped into view, almost, but not quite, hiding the look of direst malice that he flashed at the Coyote musician, if only for a second. "Come along child, you must rest there is much ground to be covered tomorrow." He reached out and took her hand in his, flashing another glare at Johann as the two of them departed.
Aeturnis was shaken and allowed herself to be lead back to the spot Deryk had chosen for them.
"I would not put too much thought into the words of those travelling minstrels," Deryk said, flinging a blanket at her. "They are known to be most unreliable. We'll be in Eriwyn in a couple of days, if we make good time. Then we can find your father. What did you say his name was again?"
She hadn't, but there seemed no harm in lying and she did not want to be evasive. "Julius Lowe," she said.
"Oh my," Deryk whistled between his teeth. "You sure you are not making that up, my dear? 'Tis many people would love to be known as Mr Aeternity's spawn."
"My mother told me, and she named me after his band." Of this, at least, Aeturnis was sure. Almost. Her mother would not lie to her, after all.
"For sure," the Meerkat smiled, "it is only that I do not wish you to be hurt. There are rather more then a few people who would willing lay the accusation of paternity to an unrelated party for kitlings born out of wedlock."
He spoke verbosely, but Aeturnis could still see what he implied. "My mother would never lie to me," she whispered, but the seeds of doubt had been planted. Was Julius really her father? Surely! Her mother would never lie to her about such a thing - certainly not on her deathbed. But, what if she had. What if she did not even know the identity of the man she had mated with? What if Julius was, really, a convenient scapegoat? And even if he were not, even if he were indeed her father - would he care? He was a musician and probably had kits all over the world.
"Do not worry, if he does not wish to take responsibility then you would be welcome to join with me," Deryk offered, "we could have many fine adventures as we fulfil my Quest and then you can return to Kalimere with me. My father may not welcome me with open arms, but I am sure he would welcome you."
"Thanks," she replied, unsure. Johann's words, and that look in Deryk's eyes, still lingered in her mind. It had not been pleasant expression. Could she trust him? Or would he betray her as Madame Zufraia had? She sighed. "I'm tired," she said, "I need to sleep now. We can talk further in the morning." And with that she wrapped herself in her blanket, rested her head on a handy tree root and hugged her memory book close.
Her adventures, combined with the large amount of footwork, had worn her out and she fell deep into dreamless sleep.