“Remember, distill one packet in water, and take it at least twice a day.”

“Yes, Abbot Callum.”

“Also, when your hair becomes light gray, you must find shelter. You mustn’t allow yourself to be exposed when the symptoms come.”

“Yes, Father Abbot.”

“… I thought I said you needn’t call me ‘Father Abbot,’” said the monk. “I’m still officially ‘Brother.’”

“But the other monks call you ‘Father Abbot,’” said Eibhlin.

Callum sighed. Mel said, “You should just resign yourself to your promotion, boy.”

Callum’s forehead scrunched. “I never thought, at my age, that I would be called a ‘boy’ again.”

“To me, all you humans are hatchlings. There are even some grown elves that are mere chicks to my lifetime. Respect your elders, boy.”

Addressing Eibhlin, the monk asked, “Did I do something to anger Melaioni?”

She grinned. “Someone apparently called it a ‘lyre’ while you were in the apothecary.”

“Hmph!” said Mel. “A lyre? Me? To be called such an uncouth, ignoble little instrument! Why, it is almost as bad as being called the other kind of liar! I am a kithara! A noble and elegant instrument. I have played before kings, both mortal and immortal, and witnessed the acts of great heroes. I know the epics and legends and histories of the world throughout all centuries and to all peoples. I am the Messenger of History. To be called a lyre, a mere shepherd’s harp, how insulting! I do not carry such a title as alludes to deception!”

The instrument continued to fume as the three traveled through the small mountain town. Eibhlin had used the compass to find the general direction she needed and then locked it so as to travel more inconspicuously through the town. That is, if a girl with gray hair and a badly scarred hand walking with a temporary Father Abbot and carrying an enchanted instrument on her back could be inconspicuous. Still, the presence of a glowing compass might have made their passage even slower. As it was, morning had already passed, and the group had already eaten a light lunch back in town. Now, as afternoon began, Eibhlin felt the urge to continue her journey ever strengthening.

She had all three keys. All that remained was to find the next door and hope the other side of it held some clue to find the final door, the door to Mealla’s home. Then she just needed to return the purse, get back the hammer, and that would be the end. All the trials, all the dangers, it was all for this last step.

Abbot Callum parted from them at the edge of town, giving them his blessing. In the forest, early afternoon sunlight played with leaf and shadow. The breeze carried birdsongs through the valley, and warmth seeped into Eibhlin’s new clothes. One of the village women had hemmed up one of her own dresses for Eibhlin to replace the girl’s ragged clothing. Even her shoes were different, and while they were a style new to her, she had already grown to appreciate the leather boots on account of their being more suited for hiking down mountains than her old shoes.

She wasn’t wearing them now, however, as she followed a stream by wading through its shallows. When she had placed the third key into the compass and summoned the light again, it had immediately veered from the path into the woods. She soon came across the stream, saw that the needle followed it, took off the warm boots, and stepped into the cool, clear water. Mud squelched beneath her toes, and the water curled gently around her ankles. The smell of clean air, trees, and sunlight lifted her spirits.

After a while, she thought aloud, “It’s so different.”

“What is, Milady?”

Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Have you cooled down?”

“No. I am absorbing sunlight that is making my surface give off its own heat waves. Now would you enlighten me as to your statement?”

“You don’t have to try to be lighthearted and silly for my sake, Mel. I’m feeling fine,” she said.

“I am doing no such thing. Now please tell me what is ‘different’.”

“You must have been trying, ever since yesterday. Even your indignation earlier, it was a bit too much. I can understand you being upset, but don’t exaggerate your emotions. You are, in fact, a terrible liar,” replied Eibhlin. Then, touching the burn scars discoloring her hand, she said, “As for what’s different, everything is. The water, the trees, the air, everything is so different from the Witch’s place. Even the grass. It smells different, as if the grass around her house was fake, made of magic rather than full of it. In fact, everything feels like that, like all the enchantments and magic were… I don’t know… false, or something like that.”

“That is because the magic there, the magic subservient to that Moon, is only a twisted imitation of true magic, true enchantment,” responded the kithara. “But do not let yourself be fooled. It is still dangerous. Underestimating it is one of the fastest ways to be ensnared by it. It is still sorcery; it is just less true. It is less true, less natural, than even the magic in the Mortal Realm, let alone the true magic of the Fae. On that note, let me make something clear: I am not pretending to be upset. I truly feel insulted by being labeled as a lesser instrument, and for it to be a lyre, why, it is almost enough to make my strings snap. To be mistaken for that clumsy, common-place, amateurish instrument, how many millennia more will I have to stand for this?”

Eibhlin laughed as she listened to Mel’s inflated indignation. It was the first time she had really laughed in many days, so the not-lyre continued its complaints for a short while longer.