"I… I don't see anything," said Wōden, following Oleandra's gaze. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"
"But it's right there," Oleandra insisted, jabbing her finger towards the ocean. "Don't you see?"
Wōden shook his head.
No matter how hard he squinted, he could see nothing more than the rolling morning fog, a few fishermen on their boats out at sea, and the indistinct silhouette of the far bank on the other side of the estuary. Perhaps he might have spotted something if he'd inherited the Mystic Eyes of the Hawk that sometimes surfaced at random in the Aesir clan's bloodline, but sadly, he hadn't been born with that trait himself.
"So, that's why everybody's heard of the Isle of Apples, but nobody has any clue where it is," Wōden realised. "It's invisible to humans!"
He turned to Oleandra, who was gingerly tipping the tip of her big toe in the water.
"So, how do we get there?" he asked eagerly.
Oleandra quickly withdrew her foot from the icy waters of the Atlantic.
Just as she had expected, her Authority of the Lake did not extend to the ocean, since it was salt water. Her control reached only as far as fresh water— lakes and, at a stretch, rivers. This meant that, for all intents and purposes, the ocean was no different for her than for anyone else: she could drown in it or succumb to hypothermia if she remained submerged for too long.
"I could fly there by myself, but you're too heavy for me to carry," Oleandra replied, her brow furrowing in thought. "I suppose we'll just have to borrow a boat…"
The alternative was to Bewitch an object with a Hover Charm and have Wōden hold on to it while she pushed, but he would be in for a forced bath if her magic faded before they reached their destination.
Oleandra gave a little giggle picturing her companion clinging desperately to a rock over the water while she pushed them along.
"What's so funny?" asked Wōden impatiently. "Anyway, don't you have a spell for everything? Can't you make us a boat, or persuade one of those Muggles to lend us theirs?"
He nodded towards a group of men farther along the shore, struggling to untangle a fishing net.
"There ought to be one, but I don't know the incantation," said Oleandra, chewing her lip. "As for the other option, that's Dark magic, so I'd rather not, unless I have absolutely no choice."
Even though Oleandra was quite gifted at Transfiguration, spells that converted things into other things were quite specific, and as such often required the correct incantation… which Oleandra needed to have memorised beforehand.
Each conversion had its own incantation and wand movement, like the Hedgehog-to-Pincushion Spell, which only worked on hedgehogs and only made pincushions. This was one of the many reasons why the discipline of Transfiguration was so difficult, and why Conjuration— the magic of creating objects out of thin air— was by far the most versatile of its many branches.
"Dark magic?" echoed Wōden.
"Just know that I won't use it," Oleandra grumbled.
It was bad enough that she'd been forced to use it against Jowan's father, Bertram. Speaking of which, she wondered how the young lad was doing. Hopefully, Jowan would find a way to make his magical talents blossom without her help…
Since Wōden wouldn't be of any help, seeing as his magic was only limited to fighting and causing harm, Oleandra decided to take the civilised route: the far more enlightened scammer's approach, which in her opinion was far better than outright highway robbery.
She picked up a few flat stones from the beach and cast a Glamour over them by scratching the Perthro rune onto their surfaces, making them look like silver coins. With her currency in hand, she approached the fishermen struggling with their net and offered them some silver to rent their boat for the day.
…
A few minutes later, after pretending to haggle a bit to make her performance more realistic, the negotiations were over, and Oleandra was regretfully forced to part with no fewer than five of her stones, leaving her with the impression that she had been the one to get scammed instead!
Nevertheless, Oleandra felt slightly bad about wasting the fishermen's time, even though the illusion would never fade as long as the runes remained intact. So, before she left, she discreetly cast the Geminio Charm on the men's fish basket, doubling their morning catch as a small token for their trouble, before stealing their memories of her face with Fairy Magic.
"Come on and help me with this!" Oleandra called out to Wōden, as the fishermen contentedly returned to their homes. "Adventure awaits!"
Wōden came running to help her push their new rowboat into the water, and they both jumped aboard. Oleandra took a seat at the bow, while Wōden grabbed the oars and began paddling. It was high tide and the ocean was calm, if a little foggy, so before long, the shore was far behind them.
"We're off course," said Oleandra, eyeing the misty island in the distance. "Hard to port."
Despite his young age, Wōden was quite the adept sailor, as the Aesir were known throughout Scandinavia for their seafaring ways. Even without the stars in the sky to guide his hand, it was easy enough for him to follow nautical directions.
…
Wōden breathed in a deep lungful of the invigorating sea air. Even he could already detect faint fruity notes in the gentle breeze now, a sure sign that they were finally on the cusp of reaching their destination…
And suddenly, the fog parted. Wōden shifted in his seat and craned his neck, looking over his shoulder and taking in the view with Oleandra.
Before them stretched a breathtaking beach of white sand, shimmering in the morning sunlight. To Oleandra and Wōden, it was as if they had been blind their entire lives and were only now seeing the world in all its splendour. Every hue seemed a shade more vibrant— the sky was bluer than blue, the sun was golden, and the fruit trees farther up were awash with emerald leaves, dazzlingly white blossoms and brilliantly red, plump fruits.
And that's not to mention the smells!
No wonder this place had so many names: the Isle of Apples, Ynys Afallach; Avalon, Fairyland; Paradise Island, the Otherworld. For unwashed peasant children, accustomed to a life of farming in dirt, herding sheep or hawking fish past their due date, suddenly finding themselves here, they would surely believe they had died and reached paradise!