Mages
Despite my determination to show Atlanta my seiðr as part of my repayment, it is still terribly hard to actually do that. We have finished our morning meals of “waffles” with various accompaniments, and now Atlanta wishes us to explore not just the library but the nearest library – there are many libraries in this city alone, she said! – while I am still dithering.
In the end, inspired by the many varieties of books that she promises to be available in the library, I show her a small, simplified reenactment of a scene from the first book of “the Lord of the Rings series,” the only book from the set that I have read thus far, before we leave the house. I illusion myself as Gandalf the old mage, complete with an elderly man’s I-am-much-wiser-than-you-are voice and tone and ambience, although she can most likely only notice the ambience, then make small, faux fireworks leap out of my “staff.”
And she stands still, mesmerised. Not with my audacity to do seiðrwork in her home without permission, at that, nor with shock and scorn of my womanly ability, as far as I can tell – and I notice a lot.
What a gift!