The Show Must Go On

You can smell Clovis’s house before you can see it. 

Long shadows protrude from the house in the late noon sun and I can hear the gentle hum of unseen forces at play. 

Orville explained the plan to me again on the walk over, I don’t know whether it was meant to calm my nerves or his.

"Just be yourself, Shikara. Let your passion show through, I know you can put on a good performance. But Clovis respects genuine desire, and I'm sure she'll see that in you." 

I nod in agreement, but a part of me still feels like I am stepping into an audition without a script and we both know my improvisation skills leave room for improvement. 

Clovis is expecting me so at least my appearance won’t set off any alarm bells. Orville’s appearance however might be cause for concern.

We knock on her door but it swings open almost immediately.

There she is once again though her crimson eyes are alive with a spark that wasn’t there last night. 

"Hi Shikara, I've been waiting for you!" Clovis’s demeanour seems completely different from last night but she still immediately locks onto my ankle.

"Orville? I wasn't expecting you." She says with a lot less enthusiasm. 

"I have taken over Shikara’s residency whilst she is on the mend. And just wanted to make sure she got here safely." Orville says with a smile, but I can see the subtle shift in his posture. This is it. The plan is initiated.

"Hmph. Well, you’ve done your duty then," Clovis retorts, her brief flash of irritation vanishing as she turns her beaming smile back to me. "Come in, come in! Let’s not waste the daylight. Hop onto the cot, let me see how that bone is settling!"

She practically bounces on the balls of her feet, ushering me inside with an energy that is wildly different from the stoic healer I met previously. 

I settle down onto the low cot. Clovis’s enthusiasm is infectious, but it also sets my teeth on edge. The sudden shift in tone is throwing me off balance.

Orville stands by the door with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression a carefully constructed mask of paternal concern.

"Shikara has been telling me of her travels," he begins, his voice laced with a gentle, almost regretful tone. "it seems she’s grown weary of the nomadic life and wishes to settle down."

Clovis pauses with her hands hovering over my ankle. Her crimson eyes flicker towards Orville, a glint of suspicion momentarily eclipses her bright-eyed energy. "Is that so?" she says, her voice losing some of its bubbly quality. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"Well," Orville says, sighing dramatically, "as you know, our village resources are limited. We can’t simply take in every stray who wanders to our gate. As much as it pains me to say it, once her ankle is healed, she will have to move on."

That certainly sounds like a deliberate, calculated provocation. Orville’s feigned reluctance, and weary resignation. It’s all designed to press Clovis’s buttons, to appeal to what he believes is her innate belief in personal autonomy.

Clovis straightens up, her hands falling away from my ankle. The smile is gone, replaced by a fierce, protective fire. Her whole demeanor has shifted, the erratic energy coalesces into a focused intensity. 

"You can’t be serious, Orville!" she says, her voice low and dangerous. "You would turn her away? After everything she’s been through? She’s a survivor, not a burden. You’ve been spending too much time with Roach. That or you’re becoming senile in your old age."

"It is not a matter of what I want," Orville replies, his voice heavy with false regret. "It is a matter of what is practical."

This is my cue. I look up at Clovis, my eyes wide with a carefully practiced blend of hope and despair. 

"He’s right," I say, my voice trembling just enough. "I have nothing to offer. I… I’ve never been properly educated. My parents… they taught me what they could, but it was mostly stories, warnings." I slump my shoulders in a picture of shame and inadequacy.

Clovis’s attention snaps back to me, her expression softens with a fierce empathy. "A lack of formal education is not a measure of a person’s worth."she says, her voice ringing with conviction.

This is it. The moment of truth. I take a deep breath, letting a single, perfect tear trace a path down my cheek. "But it’s true." I whisper clad with emotion. 

"I don’t even… I don’t even know how to use magic. I’ve felt things of course. But I don’t understand it. I don’t know how to control it."

I’ve shamelessly exposed myself once again as a vulnerable, ignorant girl begging for a chance.

Clovis stares at me, her red eyes burning with an intensity that seems to peel back the layers of my performance, searching for the truth beneath. I try my best to not falter under her examination. 

Then, a slow, brilliant smile spreads across her face, transforming her features from fierce and protective to something else entirely. It’s a smile of pure, unadulterated delight. 

She turns to Orville, her eyes dancing with a triumphant, almost manic glee. 

"You see, Orville? This is perfect! She’s a blank slate! No one around here is interested in magic, and she is practically pleading for me to teach her."

She claps her hands together, a sharp, decisive sound that echoes in the quiet room. "I’ll do it!" she declares, her voice ringing with an unshakable, passionate resolve. 

"I’ll take her as my apprentice. I’ll teach her everything I know. We’ll show this village what a real survivor looks like." She points a finger to Orville despite Orville not actually giving much of a rebuttal to the idea. 

Orville’s mouth is agape. He stares at Clovis, then at me, then back at Clovis. This was not the reaction he predicted. He expected a begrudging acceptance, a reluctant agreement. He did not expect this passionate, almost possessive enthusiasm.

I can see him recalibrating, his mind racing to catch up with this unexpected turn of events. 

He’s lost control of the scene, and I, the humble, helpless girl, am suddenly at the center of a power struggle I didn’t even know was happening.

Clovis, however, is completely oblivious to the turmoil she’s caused. She’s already buzzing with a creative energy, her mind seems to be racing with lesson plans and magical theories. 

She turns back to me, her eyes shining with an almost predatory excitement.

"Forget your ankle for a moment," she says in a conspiratorial whisper. 

"That can wait. This is far more important." She leans in close, her gaze so intense it feels like a physical touch.

"Why don’t we have our first lesson now?"