The activity in the fishing village of Oja-Ibo ground to a halt with the suddenness of a snapped line.
Fishermen, poised to cast their nets, paused mid-throw, their woven traps dangling forgotten.
A frantic game of tag among a group of children faltered, their laughter dying as they stopped to stare, their eyes wide with unified astonishment.
Vendors, who had been loudly hawking the morning's catch, ceased their calls, their voices replaced by a ripple of stunned, questioning silence.
All eyes, it seemed, were fixed on the enormous, gently spinning lily pad and its three very unusual, very damp passengers.
A grizzled fisherman with a face as weathered as sun-bleached driftwood and a heavy net slung over his shoulder was the first to break the spell.
He jabbed a calloused, questioning finger at their leafy vessel and bellowed to his companion nearby,
"By the orisha! What in the name of the Yemoja is that?"
His companion, a stout woman with powerful arms like braided rope, shielded her eyes with her hand, her head tilted.
"Looks like a giant water lily, Bahari!" she exclaimed, her voice booming across the water. She squinted, her gaze lingering on Low.
"And it's got people on it!"
A group of younger villagers started to giggle, their initial shock giving way to open amusement.
One boy pointed at Leonotis' damp and slightly bedraggled appearance and called out,
"Look, Mama! It's a swamp knight on a leaf!"
An older woman, her face a beautiful, intricate map of wrinkles, approached the edge of the dock, her expression a mixture of deep curiosity and cautious suspicion.
"Where in the deep currents did you three come from," she asked, her voice raspy but kind, "riding such a peculiar… boat?"
Leonotis, his face flushing with embarrassment at all the sudden attention, offered a sheepish, apologetic grin.
"Well, good people of… uh… wherever this wonderful village is! We had a slight… navigational mishap. You see, our original transport was a tad… less buoyant."
He gestured vaguely upstream, hoping the explanation sounded plausible.
"And the river, it seemed to have other plans for us today."
Low, still looking slightly grumpy and clutching the werebear fur she had fashioned into a makeshift tunic, muttered under her breath,
"More like the river had a personal vendetta against us."
Jacqueline, despite their undignified arrival, managed a polite, almost regal nod to the onlookers, her innate grace unshaken.
"We apologize for the unexpected intrusion. We were hoping to reach the Capital, but… the current proved to be rather strong."
The villagers continued to stare, their initial shock slowly morphing into a lively hubbub of curiosity and bewildered amusement.
The giant lily pad, bobbing gently in their harbor like a misplaced piece of a god's garden, was undoubtedly the most unusual sight they had seen in a long time.
Their unexpected arrival had certainly made a splash in the quiet, predictable rhythm of their riverside life.
The grizzled fisherman, Bahari, narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the three sodden travelers.
"The Capital, you say? You should have gotten off the river a good day's walk upstream, by the Stone Giants. Even without a giant leaf for a boat, the rapids past that bend are treacherous this time of year. What were you thinking, traveling on… that?"
"Well," Leonotis began, wringing a considerable amount of water from the hem of his toga, "we had a… unique situation involving some rather aggressive, oversized fish that suddenly increased the river's enthusiasm for downstream travel."
The stout woman chuckled, a booming, infectious sound that echoed across the water.
"Enthusiastic river, eh? Sounds like you've had yourselves a proper adventure. Name's Mansa, by the way, and this old grump is Bahari."
Bahari grunted in acknowledgement, though his suspicion had not entirely abated.
"Adventure usually doesn't involve giant flora as your primary mode of transport."
A new voice, dry and sharp as cracking ice, cut through the murmurs of the crowd.
"The Capital, you say? And you were traveling by lily pad?"
Standing at the edge of the dock, having appeared as if from the shadows themselves, was an elderly woman.
Her back was ramrod straight despite her age, lending her an imposing presence.
She was dressed in deep, rich violet robes that seemed to absorb the sunlight, and a multitude of intricate silver rings adorned her long, bony fingers.
Her eyes, though ancient, held a sharp, unsettlingly intense gleam that seemed to peel back layers and see the truths beneath.
Perched silently on her shoulder, its intelligent black eyes missing nothing, was a silver-plumed raven.
"That's Widow Eno," Mansa whispered to Leonotis, her voice dropping with a hint of awe and perhaps a touch of apprehension.
"Keeps to herself mostly, up on the hill. Some say she… knows things. Things others have forgotten."
Widow Eno's gaze bypassed Leonotis and Jacqueline, fixing instead on Low with an unnerving focus, her head tilted slightly.
"You have the air of someone seeking knowledge. The library is indeed vast. But your methods of travel are… unconventional."
Leonotis, ever the optimist, brightened.
"Widow Eno! A pleasure to meet you. We seemed to have missed our turn. Any chance you know of a quick way back upstream?"
Widow Eno's thin lips curved into a smile that held no warmth, only a predatory sort of amusement.
"Quick ways often have their own treacherous currents, young man. Backtracking on this river against those rapids would be foolish, even for one with… certain newfound abilities."
Her gaze flickered meaningfully towards Low, who shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though the old woman could see the werebear golden fur still clinging to her soul.
"So, we're stuck here?" Low grumbled, crossing her arms. "Just great."
"Not necessarily stuck," Widow Eno said, her voice a low, melodious hum that sent a shiver down Leonotis's spine.
"Merely… delayed. The village of Oja-Ibo offers simple lodgings. You look weary. Rest for the night. Perhaps, in the morning, a solution will present itself."
Her gaze lingered on Low again, sharp and piercing.
"Tell me, what is it you truly seek in the Capital?"
Low hesitated for a moment, a flicker of unease and defiance crossing her face under the widow's intense stare.
"Information… regarding a… a condition. An unwanted inheritance."
Widow Eno nodded slowly, as if she already knew the answer and found it moderately interesting.
"Conditions can be… persistent. Sometimes, the answers lie not in grand libraries filled with the words of men, but in the quiet whispers of the earth itself."
She turned, her violet robes swirling around her ankles.
"Near the graveyard on the hill there is a peaceful place to rest. The earth there is old. It… remembers many things."
With that cryptic pronouncement, she glided away, melting back into the village crowd as silently as she had appeared, the silver raven on her shoulder remaining perfectly, unnaturally still.
Leonotis looked at Low and Jacqueline, a shiver tracing its way down his spine despite the warm afternoon sun.
"Well," he said, forcing a cheerful tone he didn't feel, "that was… certainly an introduction. A black mage, you think?"
Mansa, who had been watching Widow Eno's departure with a thoughtful, respectful expression, nodded slowly.
"Some say she dabbled in things best left forgotten, long ago. Powerful, though. And… sometimes helpful, in her own strange, roundabout way. Her advice is never simple, but it's rarely wrong."
"A graveyard, huh?" Low said, a familiar grumble returning to her voice.
"Just what I wanted after a delightful river monster encounter. More dead things."
Despite Low's protests, the idea of a quiet, undisturbed place to rest after their chaotic, harrowing journey held a certain, undeniable appeal.
The villagers, their initial curiosity sated, seemed willing to offer them a night's respite, their wariness tempered by the children's obvious exhaustion.
"Alright," Leonotis said, a weary sigh escaping his lips as he looked towards the hill Widow Eno had indicated.
"A night in the graveyard it is. Hopefully, the earth will whisper some good advice in our sleep, and not just ghost stories."
The path ahead remained uncertain, shrouded in the cryptic words of the eccentric widow and the lingering threat of whatever awaited them at the King's Citadel.
For now, however, rest was paramount.