Page 23 of I Will Always Find You
As he pondered the prospect of revealing a fragment of his innermost self, a warm excitement began to blossom. It had been an eternity since he had any semblance of genuine conversation with Aeneas, particularly one that touched upon his own feelings and experiences, if not his memories of the two of them.
After the events in Éire centuries ago, he was now meticulously prepared for whenever he first encountered the stranger who was essentially his Aeneas.
The Romani witch would never forget what happened just past the boundary of the Curragh in a small, dark forest; love and longing had rendered him weak and vulnerable, leading him to make a grave mistake. He fully understood that a witch who lost control over a spell or an enchantment, even for the most fleeting moment, inevitably unleashed chaos, even tragedy.
Strength of mind, will, and, as the Romani witch had learned the hard way back then,heart, was fundamental to a mystic’s power. He would never again be the cause of Aeneas’ pain, let alone his death.
If he could not share memorieswithhis beloved, he could do so with othersabouthis beloved. And so he decided to do just that.
Something the Romani witch had never divulged to anyone was how he and Aeneas met. That was a grand story.
He realized he could not use their actual names due to the era in which his story was set, as well as the fact that he had given Anastasios that name when the two shook hands. The Romani witch always used his true name, casting off each new life’s identity as soon as his full memories and personality reemerged.
He knew it was cruel to the Romani families that birthed and raised him in each new life, and he hated doing it, abandoning them every time, but at the moment his true self was restored, hewas no longer their child or sibling.That person ceased to exist the second the ancient witch surfaced
Regarding truth and identity, the Romani witch wanted to preserve a piece of his and Aeneas’ origin story for himself. So, false names would be used; he was okay with a bit of subterfuge. After all, this story would be presented as fiction. It was enough that he knew it was true.
“Actually, Anastasios, I believe I do have a tale to tell.”
The Romani witch rose from the table and walked to the far corner of the tavern, toward the wall opposite the inn’s entrance. There, a space had been set aside for orators and musicians to entertain the patrons.
Nicholas pulled out a chair and settled next to his spouse at the table where Anastasios had just been sharing intriguing conversations with the enigmatic traveller. Anticipation hung in the air as both men leaned in, eager to hear the tale that was about to unfold.
“Good evening,” the Romani witch said in a strong, clear voice. “I know I am a stranger here, but on our pushy—I mean, convivial innkeeper’s behest—”
The crowd laughed uproariously, everyone in on the joke: Anastasios’ propensity for never taking no for an answer.
“As I was saying, I have been persuaded to entertain you all with a tale, and I can only hope it lives up to your standards of fine storytelling. Like the one good Nicholas told, this will also be a story from ancient times, when magic and monsters roamed the land.”
The highly inebriated, though no less amiable, crowd erupted in cheers, rallying around the stranger among them; their encouragement lifted his spirits and spurred him on.
“I shall tell you a story set in ancient Pompeii, not long before the great mountain erupted, about two lonely boys, each craving companionship. Fate would intervene, leading them to becomethe best of friends. But lurking in the darkness was a foul, hairy beast, driven by an insatiable hunger, a need to claim the youths as prey.”
A hushed silence descended upon the room. From the maudlin drunkards to the jolliest of the inebriated to the most boisterous sots, all quieted down to show both respect for the traveller and genuine anticipation of the story to come.
While the Romani witch appreciated the crowd’s earnest interest, he nevertheless felt anxious. He wanted to deliver a strong performance, hoping to bring honour to his and Aeneas’ origin story, a tale steeped in friendship, affection, and bravery, even if only a truncated version.
He was keenly aware that in each life, regardless of the new body Aeneas’ soul assumed, his beloved playfully teased him about being stiff and uptight, which, to be fair, he was and always had been. Aeneas was the mellow, playful one, the one who trusted.
“In the final years of ancient Pompeii,” the Romani witch began, his voice clear and resounding, remembering how Nicholas had orated, “before great Vesuvius erupted, a Romani boy named Cassander lived a relatively peaceful life among his people, a nomadic clan. The Roma believed that constantly travelling was the best way to stay one step ahead of bad luck, misfortune, and the persecution that inevitably befell them if they overstayed their tepid welcome in lands where they were perpetual outsiders. Forced displacement was ever a concern for the Roma.
“When Cassander was no more than ten summers old, his parents announced their decision to remain outside Pompeii,where the Romani caravan had settled several weeks back but was now preparing to move on.
“The Romani elders believed the boy’s family was simply tired of their ever-wandering ways, a crisis of faith that reared its head now and then among their people but one that always sorted itself out. No one had ever left their tight, nomadic community.” The Romani witch paused for dramatic effect. “Until now. Cassander’s parentsrefusedto pack up and go.
“The elders warned that abandoning the path of constant travel was a mistake. Lingering in any one place too long was not their way. It was widely believed that any Roma who thought to live among strangers was inviting a dark fate into their lives.
“Cassander’s grandmother, a revered woman, gifted with divine foresight, came and stood before her people. She told the caravan that Fortuna, the goddess of luck and fortune, had visited her in a dream. The goddess proclaimed that providence would come to one of her descendants and would arrive within the embrace of Pompeii. If they wished to avoid upsetting the Wheel of Destiny, they needed to remain, if not in the city itself, then nearby.
“It was an enigmatic portent, indeed, but the grandmother’s power and prophecies were never questioned.
“And so, with a heaviness in their hearts, the Romani caravan departed, three dozen wooden wheels crunching on the dusty road that led out of the city. Cassander’s family stayed behind with Pompeii’s scrutinizing, mistrustful gaze upon them, from the modest fruit vendor to the members of the Senatorial Elite.
“Weeks after the caravan left, while Cassander was roaming the streets of the city alone, for he had no siblings and no child in Pompeii had yet extended the hand of friendship to him, he came across a red-haired boy with distinctly Egyptian features; he appeared to be about Cassander’s age.
“A group of bullies were mocking him for his exotic looks. Cassander could tell by their fine linen garments dyed blue and saffron-yellow, accented with gaudy silk sashes and brooches of gold, that these rotters were the arrogant sons of wealthy merchants, used to picking on those they deemed different or inferior.
“Cassander could not help but be taken in by the red-haired boy’s striking green eyes. They glinted like jade in Apollo’s light. They were bewitching, as if they revealed a hint of divinity and a secret power resonating within a mortal shell of youthful flesh and blood. Cassander believed the boy could have been a demigod, though he was quick to dismiss that as fanciful thinking.
