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This particular collection of caravans called themselves Atta Anar.
It was a bit on the nose to be named after the very celestial bodies that defined their solar system, but cleverness was not a marked characteristic amongst this lot.
They were too disjointed to be a circus. More a meandering collection of executants, all moving in the same direction. Those who walked sported brightly colored attire—hats with bells and jewelry that sparkled. The vehicles were also all highly decorated, featuring the signage of whatever tradesman had joined their party during the calm, traveling season. They were definitely among the better bands to join: No thieves or rogues to be seen, and the route they were taking was a well-guarded one.
Davenport had paid good coin to ride with them. He hadn’t given himself much opportunity to travel. Real, on the ground traveling. The other board members of the Institute had forced him to go on vacation. At the time, he insisted he didn’t need it. They had yet to make a breakthrough with their research, and he didn’t want any discoveries to be made without his supervision. He had grumbled about it from the moment he took passage on one of the wagons in the middle of the train.
But the occasional ringing of bells or piping flutes took him out of his stupor. The forest they rode through smelled fresh and full of life. There was always conversation to be had with the traders. Whenever they would pass an open clearing, a flock of birds would dart overhead. He didn’t want to admit it, but the caravans did manage to take his mind off of the expansive cosmos and what lies beyond. This was a nice journey. He assumed that once they stopped in the next large town, he could take a train back home with a settled mind.
It was early evening when Atta Anar stopped near the outskirts of a nearby village. People got out and stretched their legs. Animals were unharnessed. Laundry was hung. Benches and tables were set up around a large open field in a circular fashion. Some people from the village came to talk trade with the travelers. It was a large group gathered around.
Three pits were set up around the open clearing to allow illumination. Large cauldrons were set above them, and soon the air was filled with the smell of stew and beer. Smaller pits were made for people to shove the scraps of their food. As the older people sat down to rest their legs, many of the younger people milled about with bowls and mugs to serve them.
“Entertainment!” Someone shouted from the crowd. One by one, more and more voices demanded some form of entertainment. And the caravan members did their best, though there wasn’t much beyond well-worn ballads or sonnets. There followed much shouting and booing. For a while it appeared that the entertainment would come more from the hecklers than the actual performers. Davenport felt like this experience had put a damper on his peaceful evening, and he nearly resigned himself to tuck in early.
Finally someone shouted, “All right, enough of this dribble. We got respectable people in our midst. Don’t want them to think we’re a bunch of back-valley goobers. Taako! Lup! Give em a show!”
At that, two servers—a male and female elf—stopped in their tracks. Neither of them seemed very striking, at least not at first. Both had thick, golden hair, and tan skin, which looked bronzed against the firelight. It was clear that they were related, at least. They both wore the rough, mismatching attire of nomads, accessorized with flashy jewelry and patterned scarves.
Davenport was hardly one to rely on fate to guide his decision process, but—two sun elves, in a caravan named “Two suns”—What a coincidence. As the people once again began to shout, the pair of elves set down the trays of food they had been going around with, and entered the clearing.
A drum beat began, and the twins positioned themselves on opposite ends of the circle. The crowd began to clap their hands to the beat. The bell and flute players from earlier picked up their instruments had began to play a tune. Something bouncy and a little haunting.
The elves charged at each other. In a beautiful, synchronized motion, one flipped high into the air, and the other rolled across the circle. The one who had leaped, landed beside one of the pyres, and the flames shot upwards, and whipped back towards the other. The second elf spun into a kick and the flames broke back, raining into a shower of harmless sparks.
Davenport half believed these two were sorcerers, with the way they handled magic with such surety. One would grab at a nearby glass of water, knocking it into the air with a foot, sending the liquid flying. The other would point at the water and immediately sent it bursting into powdery, sparkling snow. The former would grab at the glass, after having flipped it delicately in the air. From within it, a crack of lightning would erupt.
Between their constant flipping about, he could see their lips moving. They murmured the words to spells—inaudible above the riotous shouting and clapping of the crowd. Even the most accomplished spellcaster would need to say a standard spell at conversational volume. Their wrists flickered in the motions of symbols and sigils, carefully choreographed into the music. They were using everyday objects as components, hidden in their deep pockets.
They were wizards, clear and through. And these two were learned, incredibly learned. Even more so, they made it so you’d never know.
An undiscerning eye would miss it all, but Davenport was very discerning.
He found them again, later that evening. It was much quieter, everyone else had either tucked into bed, or went to the village to have more fun. The Elves were near the back of the caravan, washing dishes. There were large stacks of dirty bowls on a table just outside the wagon, and two big tubs of soapy water. The pair were talking to each other when Davenport approached.
He waved to get their attention, and they both immediately stopped to stare at him.
Davenport had worked with many elves before, so he had gained some weariness when it came to gauging elven ages. And these two seemed much younger than he had initially scoped out. There was a worldliness that rested on their shoulders. Their eyes were bright against the glow of the inside light. They had seen much of the world, but there was more that those eyes wanted to see.
“I am Captain Davenport” He said. “I had the fortune to travel with your company today, and the continued luck of witnessing your earlier performance.”
“We’re not interested in joining a circus,” The male elf said bluntly. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh, No!” Davenport said, putting up his hands. “I merely admired your arcane knowledge. May I ask where you both studied?”
“Studied?” They asked simultaneously. They looked confused.
“Yes, what academy did you attend?” He clarified. “Or maybe you were privately tutored?”
“The academy of life, my dude,” the male elf said. “You learn a lot on the road if you know who to talk to.”
“My brother won’t admit he’s a nerd,” The female elf said, waving a hand towel in front of his face. Of course they were siblings. “We’ve been to a handful of libraries in the towns we’ve stopped at. Maybe swiped a few old books. Doesn’t hurt to learn a thing or two when you can.”
“If you’re in the library that makes you a nerd too,” The boy argued, swatting the towel away with annoyance.
“You didn’t go to school at all?” Davenport asked, half in disbelief, and half to keep them from going off on each other. They both shook their heads. They looked oddly sincere. A brother and sister, having made wizards of themselves with nothing but street knowledge. It was uncanny. Davenport shook his head. “Well, you’re wasting your talents here.”
“We don’t have much talent outside of cooking,” The girl said. “And dishwashing.”
“And gambling,” the boy noted. “We’re very good at that.”
Davenport shook his head once more. “Have either of you heard of the IPRE?”
“The Institute of Planar Research and Exploration,” They both said, clear as day. “Who hasn’t heard of it?”
“We have a research project in development,” Davenport said, with severity. “I’m heading the aerospace division. Won’t be flight-able for some time but—”
“You’re a member of the IPRE?” The girl asked. “Are...are you trying to recruit us?”
“I am,” Davenport said. “If I recall, your names are Taako and Lup, correct?”
“I’m Taako,” the male elf said quickly. “She’s Lup. You can’t be fucking serious.”
“Holy shit,” Lup murmured. “You’re joking.”
“Well, I can’t promise you seats on the ship—” Davenport started.
He hated to lie. He knew very little about wizarding, but what he did know in his life (and what he had seen from the recruits already present at the institute) was that these two were leagues above and beyond what he could ever procure through the system. Give them a decade or two, some discipline to buffer their rough edges, a secure environment to level their heads, and he might have two prime mages on his hands.
“—But I can offer the chance at a more interesting, and dare I say it, fulfilling life.”
The two glanced at each other, then at him.
“We’re not going anywhere without each other,” Lup said.
“Not even the ends of the world,” Taako added.
Davenport nodded. “Believe me. With two individuals possessing as much potential as yourselves, we wouldn’t dream of splitting you apart.”
The next morning, Davenport procured an express pass for himself and for two others. A direct route to the IPRE campus. The twins, as he learned them to be, spent the whole day marveling the vast richness of the train car. They practically bounced around every inch, munching off the food cart, and peering out the large windows. He may have averted his eyes when one of them slipped the silver utensils into one of the few bags that they carried with them.
He made good to purchase some books for them to get a start on their new, rigorous studies. Once they would reach the academy, the initiation exam would be relentless. The twins took the tomes with wide, sparkling eyes, and a gingerness that surprised him. For all their reckless abandon when it came to the train, they treated the books like they were the most valued treasures in the world. The rest of the ride was spent in concentrated study, with the occasional earnest question. The twins sat, curled up against each other, like two halves of a whole.
Davenport could feel a fondness growing for these two. He didn’t want to play favorites—he could not foresee just how often they would end up in his office to be reprimanded, and how many different pardons he could conjure up at a moment’s notice—But he knew that there was something special about them. So he'd look after them as best he could.
He had no illusions about that.