An Unexpected Apprentice (7 page)
Read An Unexpected Apprentice Online
Authors: Jody Lynn Nye
Tildi focused on the middle distance, trying not to mind the straps of her heavy pack cutting into her shoulders or how the boots slid around on her feet in spite of the double socks. The air a few feet before her seemed to twinkle. Tildi put it down to a shaft of sunlight peering through the leaves overhead. Then, into that very place dropped a spider the size of her palm. Tildi gasped and jumped back. It was as if the spider had sent a message ahead of its arrival, warning her to avoid walking into it. How extraordinary! She had never known that this forest was such a magical place. How selfish of Teldo not to have told her about it. Yet it explained why the smallfolk elders were so insistent that young people not come here alone. They disapproved of anything that smacked of sorcery. There must have been an unspoken pact not to pay attention to the enchantments they found in the great forest, seeing as how they had to pass through it to reach the rest of the continent.
What she had read in Teldo’s books said that a magician must always be honest in dealing with the unseen, or it could consume him. Tildi paused. What if she did something false in error? Would she have a chance to make it right again, or did fate come upon one in the next heartbeat?
Tildi let out a snort that echoed in the stillness. She had a long way to go, and if she kept scaring herself she may as well go back to the Quarters and accept whatever fate the elders had in mind for her. She had chosen this for herself, and no matter what came of it she had that comfort. If a real threat arose she would deal with it then. Her practical nature overrode her sense of loss and fear. Instead, it would be wise to concentrate upon her surroundings. All of this was new, as good as opening a birthday present every few feet. That ought to be enough for any respectable smallfolk to go on with.
Resolved, Tildi fixed her gaze on the farthest point of the road she could see, took a deep breath of the leaf-scented air, and marched onward.
I
f a fisherman should chance to look Nemeth’s way as he crawled out of the sea, he might think he was looking at a strange kind of huge fish with a gasping mouth and bulbous eyes all but staring out of his pale, domed head. But the shape of the blue-scaled body was all wrong. It was flat between the dorsal and ventral fins instead of from side to side. Where one would expect a tail fluke was a long ribbon of muscle like the belly of a snail, and one of the side fins appeared to be deformed with a long bulge. The gills behind the rudimentary ear holes spread open, the red membranes suffering as they strained to gather oxygen in this too-thin atmosphere. He lay still for a long time on the shore amid the other flotsam: decaying seaweed, weather-beaten chunks of timber, dead fish, and dying crabs. He, too, was dying.
f a fisherman should chance to look Nemeth’s way as he crawled out of the sea, he might think he was looking at a strange kind of huge fish with a gasping mouth and bulbous eyes all but staring out of his pale, domed head. But the shape of the blue-scaled body was all wrong. It was flat between the dorsal and ventral fins instead of from side to side. Where one would expect a tail fluke was a long ribbon of muscle like the belly of a snail, and one of the side fins appeared to be deformed with a long bulge. The gills behind the rudimentary ear holes spread open, the red membranes suffering as they strained to gather oxygen in this too-thin atmosphere. He lay still for a long time on the shore amid the other flotsam: decaying seaweed, weather-beaten chunks of timber, dead fish, and dying crabs. He, too, was dying.
Nemeth had lived a long time this way. To pass along the seafloor he
had exchanged lungs for gills and feet for a rippling pseudopod. It was necessary. He could not expose himself to potential attackers or thieves, but it had been a horrible existence. He had hated what he had done to his body. The changes affected his mind, reducing him from the thinking creature he had been to a monster from which he would have run away from on land. Anything with eyes would have. Yet it was the simplest form of which he could conceive that would suit his purpose. Necessity had set a whip to his back. He had outdistanced what pursuers remained, but he never thought he could outrun all of them. He did not have time or the imagination to form himself into something that would preserve his humanity intact yet allow him to do what he did, to live in near darkness in the twilit depths, breathe water, and survive upon the forage he could find near the seafloor. Now he did not know if he could turn back. His tongue still felt coated with the livers of the creatures he had eaten. He had killed with his own hands for food: pale white fish with bulging eyes, giant shrimps that were more bitter than the seawater he had breathed day in and day out, crabs like spiders whose long, spindly legs caught in his teeth like strands of corn silk.
had exchanged lungs for gills and feet for a rippling pseudopod. It was necessary. He could not expose himself to potential attackers or thieves, but it had been a horrible existence. He had hated what he had done to his body. The changes affected his mind, reducing him from the thinking creature he had been to a monster from which he would have run away from on land. Anything with eyes would have. Yet it was the simplest form of which he could conceive that would suit his purpose. Necessity had set a whip to his back. He had outdistanced what pursuers remained, but he never thought he could outrun all of them. He did not have time or the imagination to form himself into something that would preserve his humanity intact yet allow him to do what he did, to live in near darkness in the twilit depths, breathe water, and survive upon the forage he could find near the seafloor. Now he did not know if he could turn back. His tongue still felt coated with the livers of the creatures he had eaten. He had killed with his own hands for food: pale white fish with bulging eyes, giant shrimps that were more bitter than the seawater he had breathed day in and day out, crabs like spiders whose long, spindly legs caught in his teeth like strands of corn silk.
Corn.
It had been a long time since he had tasted corn.
Nemeth grasped for the memory of corn. Fish thoughts were good only for survival. He must get used to thinking like a human again. Yellow. Corn was yellow. The way it looked growing in a field was … pretty; the horizontal sweeps of green stalks with gold tassels waving in the wind. Its milky sweetness on the tongue was the next thing he recalled. It helped dispel the bitterness of the shrimps. He clawed back each vision, each sound, each taste. Clouds. Clouds rolled through the sky above his head. They were the same as the last time he had seen them—how long ago? The color of the sky beyond them was called … blue. His lidless eyes watched the white patterns change, but black crept up around the perimeter of his vision. He did not have much time.
Runes lay all around him, on every leaf, every grain of sand, each fish in the sea. Another wrapped him about like a cocoon, defining him in every way: his shape, his history, his future all expressed as one symbol. It was deformed. Nemeth hated the sight of it. He had been forced to see it every day since he began this journey. Now he must repair it before he suffocated on the hot beach. With difficulty, he called up the memory of the one rune he knew better than any other. For months he
had concentrated on every stroke, every detail, every nuance, in order to recall it without error. Now he must summon it or perish.
had concentrated on every stroke, every detail, every nuance, in order to recall it without error. Now he must summon it or perish.
The sigil appeared in his mind’s eye. He admired its perfection. This is how he ought to be. With an act of will he expanded it until it was large enough to surround him, glowing with such golden light that it washed out the pale sunlight. He could feel its hot power coursing through his body, as though the lines were connected to organs and blood vessels, a design more complicated than could be conceived by any ordinary mind. Where the living rune did not match the rune in his mind, he must make it match. A line here needed to be straightened out, a flourish lengthened. Other parts must be erased. As though he was scrubbing out a mistake on a document, he corrected the symbol. Around him, the pattern altered, and he felt himself altering in response.
The first part to grow back was his eyelids. Thankfully, after so many months of inescapable light, he was able to close his eyes. No matter. He did not need to see to complete the transformation.
Behind his ears he could feel the gasping slits close. Inside his chest lungs came into being and expanded, lifting his rib cage almost painfully. Nemeth gasped and coughed. The fins at his side grew slowly into arms, and the scales fell from them, littering the beach with their blue shimmer. He rolled over on one side in the coarse sand, feeling for the burden that he had carried all this time under the left arm. It was there, no longer a part of his physical body, but as close as his soul. He relaxed a little, patting the bundle as if it was a faithful dog. So all was well. He would soon be himself again.
Patiently, he endured the continuing pain. Soon he had legs, toes, fingers. His tongue marked the blunting of his teeth, and he nodded approval. One painful surge as his prominent nose, which had receded into his face, regrew all at once.
That nose had endured humiliation in his past, as had the rest of his person. Such disrespect would never again be his part. The bundle in his arm would ensure that his would always be a name to reckon with. He summoned clothes. It had been months since he had had shoes on, but they could not be more painful than walking the seafloor on his belly.
Nemeth waited until the transformation was complete, and crawled to his feet, careful not to drop his burden. How much he had suffered to gain it! How much privation and pain!
The reward would be worth all the trouble,
he thought, and a bitter smile bent his lips. The book was his. From the moment he held it in his hands, nothing could harm him or
deter him. It was rightly his, and its powers belonged to him. If any could guess his purpose, kings would send armies against him. Mages would call up the most powerful forces in existence. All their efforts would be useless. The power lay in his hands.
The reward would be worth all the trouble,
he thought, and a bitter smile bent his lips. The book was his. From the moment he held it in his hands, nothing could harm him or
deter him. It was rightly his, and its powers belonged to him. If any could guess his purpose, kings would send armies against him. Mages would call up the most powerful forces in existence. All their efforts would be useless. The power lay in his hands.
Eyes were upon him. Nemeth recalled the last time he had felt every being looking at him. They were laughing, laughing at him! Though it was so very long ago every detail remained fresh in his memory. They were the goads that drove him when the book’s guardians attacked him. They were the extra strength upon which he drew when his spells proved too weak to withstand theirs.
He would show those who had humiliated him that they could not treat him with such trifling disdain. He would cause destruction on the very site of his disgrace, and bring the world crashing down upon his tormentors. As long as he was assured of that, he did not care what became of him afterward. Since the very day he had learned about the book’s whereabouts, he had begun to make his plans. The preparations had cost him dearly—but he had already lost all. Gaining the book would restore to him all that and more. He had nothing to lose in the essay. That knowledge was a shield and a weapon against those who would stop him. But he had succeeded at drawing forth the book. How it had been kept hidden for so long he did not know.
Nemeth hugged the hide-wrapped parcel to him again, as though he was embracing a precious child. He felt a great urge to open it and enjoy its beauty, for it was a beautiful thing. He looked around. This was not a proper place. He must find somewhere more suitable. He could pause in his journey for a moment to refresh himself by turning through a few pages. Nemeth could see the entire book in his memory, every word. It unrolled through his dreams. The stories it told led him on nighttime journeys beyond the confines of his poor human brain, into the realms of other beings, living and never-living. It took joy in its own creation, and shared that joy with him. It was a part of him, or was he a part of it? Of that he was uncertain, though he felt it had preserved his sanity during the months it had taken to walk from Sheatovra to Niombra.
The sun beat down upon him. He had done without its scrutiny for a long while, and disliked it peering into his business now. He shook his fist at the sky, sending a curl of hate in the sun’s direction. His power had not risen to the level where he could snuff out the blazing orb, but it was only a matter of time. All creation would wither at his hand, if he chose. He smiled, and the movement hurt the newly grown skin of his
cheeks. He would decide later what would befall the sky and the rest of the world.
cheeks. He would decide later what would befall the sky and the rest of the world.
Behind him a bubbling growl attracted his attention. From the surf a pale tentacle as long as his body uncoiled. The claw at the end, dripping with blue poison, felt for him. Nemeth watched dispassionately. The creature hauled itself out of the surf, its cone-shaped body rearing up ten feet high, muscular tentacles digging into the sand. It was mud-colored except for the red fleshy lips drawn back to show endless rows of translucent, sharp white teeth, and the bright, flat, golden eyes each the size of Nemeth’s head. It turned one eye toward him, and the slitted pupil widened. A deeper growl issued from its throat, and the poisoned claws whipped around to point at him. The beast lurched up the sand, anger giving it the speed it would normally lack without the water’s support.
The ugly beasts had been following him for some time. He had killed many, but always another came to take its place. It was as if they did not care what had happened to the others. Perhaps they did not believe that the same fate would overtake them. Ah, well.
In no hurry at all, Nemeth sat down upon the sand and unwrapped the book. He did not have time to remark upon its beauty as he would like to have done. He unrolled it to the page upon which the beast appeared. The book always seemed to assist him in finding the right place, the complex runes almost glowing with joy that he wished to behold them.
The monster’s claws reached for his head. They were only feet away. Nemeth summoned a thread of magic, and set a stroke down through the monster’s rune that split it in two. He looked up.
The creature wailed, a terrible sound that echoed down the curved coastline. Before Nemeth’s eyes the reaching pseudopods fell away as the monster’s body parted neatly in two halves from snout to tail. The pupils in the flat eyes widened until the golden irises were a mere rim.
Yes,
Nemeth thought, as the twitching hulk poured guts, brains, and blood out upon the sand.
You all believe me an easy target, but I command the book’s power now.
Nemeth thought, as the twitching hulk poured guts, brains, and blood out upon the sand.
You all believe me an easy target, but I command the book’s power now.
Buoyed by triumph, he rolled up the book and wrapped it in the soft leather cover. He rose and stepped over the quivering claw. It would take some time to die, and he could not be bothered to watch it. Seagulls were already circling overhead, drawn by the smell of fresh flesh.
“Feast well, my friends,” Nemeth said, turning his back on his fallen prey. They were the first words he had spoken in over eight months. His voice sounded strange to him. “I must be on my way.”
A bit unsteadily at first, Nemeth set out northward. He had so much to do. So much time had passed in gaining his objective that his work was years behindhand. No matter. He would take care of everything.
Where he went, the grass changed, the trees burst into bloom or withered. A wraith flew overhead, but with a sign from the wizard, it fell from the sky, burning. He hated thraiks. Their very creation was an abomination against nature. When he reached his destination, he would wipe them out without regret.
Unsteadily, he rose to his feet and set out northward.
“D
oes this path only go up?” Tildi asked herself, shouldering the pack once more to conquer a particularly steep stretch. Here the hard-packed trail had been cut into terraced steps, each with a squared-off log at the edge to prevent the whole thing from disintegrating into a mass of mud when it rained. She was accustomed to hard work, but the endless slogging on foot was a new and not very pleasant experience. Pity the nomadic peddlers whose job it was to walk the continent day in and day out, no matter what the terrain and weather!
oes this path only go up?” Tildi asked herself, shouldering the pack once more to conquer a particularly steep stretch. Here the hard-packed trail had been cut into terraced steps, each with a squared-off log at the edge to prevent the whole thing from disintegrating into a mass of mud when it rained. She was accustomed to hard work, but the endless slogging on foot was a new and not very pleasant experience. Pity the nomadic peddlers whose job it was to walk the continent day in and day out, no matter what the terrain and weather!
After a climb that made the muscles of her thighs ache white-hot, she stopped at a ledge about the size of the farmhouse’s kitchen. She dropped the pack and let it fall in between the knobbly roots of her host, an oak tree whose branches stuck straight out over the path. Gratefully she flopped down beside it. Her heart was pounding. She undid the
cloak clasp so that the folds of cloth slithered down behind her back, giving her a pad against the rough bark. Tildi settled back with a sigh of relief. It was odd to feel the cool air at the back of her neck where her hair used to be, but it was an advantage in this hot weather. She pressed her palms to her cheeks to help cool them off.
cloak clasp so that the folds of cloth slithered down behind her back, giving her a pad against the rough bark. Tildi settled back with a sigh of relief. It was odd to feel the cool air at the back of her neck where her hair used to be, but it was an advantage in this hot weather. She pressed her palms to her cheeks to help cool them off.
She now regarded the big oaks and beeches as kindly elders instead of the sinister monsters she had thought them when she first entered their domain. It seemed like half a day since she had left her home, but by the twinkle of the sun through the treetops it could not have been more than two hours. She judged it to be late midmorning. The pain in her legs receded to a glow of healthy effort, but her feet in the too-large boots felt hot and sweaty. She took off the boots and both pairs of socks and examined her feet. They were pink from tip to heel, but there were no blisters yet, she noted with relief.
This burrow in the shelter of this tree was very comfortable indeed. How many of her neighbors and relatives had stopped in this very place for a snack? She undid the fastening of her pack and got a drink of water and a bite of bread and cheese from her provisions. Squirrels and chipmunks ran up and down the boles of the smaller trees to either side, angling to see if she was dropping anything they might like to eat. She brushed off her lap and flung the crumbs toward an empty piece of ground. The bolder squirrels dashed in to get them, and fled up the trees with their less courageous fellows in pursuit.
She stoppered the now-empty bottle and slung it on the outside of the pack. A faint trickling sound in the distance told her there was a stream nearby where she could refill it. She hadn’t yet passed over it, so it must still lie ahead. By her reckoning it would be the Grayling, a small stream that fed off from the Yellowtail, the river that divided the Morningside Quarter from the Nightside Quarter. The Yellowtail would still be far ahead. She wouldn’t see that until she was level with the Northern Tors.
Long before that she expected to have passed over the notch through the Eastern Hills and to have met up with the high river road. The way to Overhill lay along the Arown. That was the main route humans and others used to visit the Quarters. Teldo and Marco said it was an easy road, well maintained and well signposted. They had often discussed the benefits of this pub or that inn along the road, but Tildi had no real notion of how long it would take her on foot. Her brothers were often gone for a week or more on business, and were somewhat vague on how many days they spent in the towns they visited. The precise itinerary
was not important: they went; they returned. Tildi never expected a full travelogue, but at the moment it would have come in handy.
was not important: they went; they returned. Tildi never expected a full travelogue, but at the moment it would have come in handy.
This early in the day she did not expect to meet any other travelers coming into the Quarters, nor, she hoped, coming up behind her from the village. As much as she longed for sleep, she wanted to find a particular kind of stopping place, one that was on a level, with thick woods to either side of the path so she would not be seen. As she continued her walk, on a steadily increasing slope, she saw signs that others had rested here, even camped for the night, based upon the rings of head-sized stones with a residue of gray ash inside.
About midday she heard a heavy rhythmic sound coming toward her. A horse or pony, moving at a plodding walk, scraped the packed-earth road. Her keen ears told her it was ahead, not behind. The others were not coming to take her back, not yet. If it was one of the smallfolk traders returning from a journey she must hide at once; she couldn’t risk word of a lone traveler outbound from the Quarters at just the time Tildi Summerbee had gone missing. As quietly as she could, she stepped off the main path and retreated into the brush, letting the twigs swish back into place.
Within five minutes the other traveler appeared. It was a young human male. He had long hair tied at the nape of his neck with a leather cord. He rode a multicolored horse that was half again as tall as one of her brother’s plow animals. Strangely enough, nature had marked the mare’s master as oddly as it had herself. The human’s hair was a mix of colors, caramel and white streaks running through the dark tresses at the nape and one temple. Weatherworn packs were tied behind the saddle and behind both knees over the horse’s flanks. Tildi would have assumed that he was a peddler but for the soft leather case held to his back by a strap that crossed his chest. By its shape Tildi guessed it held a jitar. A minstrel, then. By tonight he would be in Clearbeck, and a meeting would be held to hear his news and dance to his songs. She sighed with regret.
The noise of her breath, tiny as it was, brought the man’s head up with a start. He pulled the horse to a halt. He scanned the area with keen, bright eyes the color of hazel leaves. Tildi held very still. Providing they weren’t caught out in the middle of a field her kind was good at hiding from predators. Smallfolk seemed to pull themselves into a hole in the air. It was reputed that not even their scent escaped. Only fear could make her reveal herself, and a traveling bard was nothing to be
afraid of. After an interval, the young man decided there was nothing to see. He flicked his reins, and the good horse began once again to make his way downhill, grunting as it trudged down each terraced step. Tildi waited until the pair was out of earshot before allowing herself to relax.
afraid of. After an interval, the young man decided there was nothing to see. He flicked his reins, and the good horse began once again to make his way downhill, grunting as it trudged down each terraced step. Tildi waited until the pair was out of earshot before allowing herself to relax.
She prepared to hoist her pack and go on, but her legs had finally decided they had had enough. She bent her knees underneath and tried to stand up.
She sat down. Her thighs were as wobbly as a new colt’s. Tildi braced her hands against the rucksack’s straps, and discovered her shoulders winced at the notion of taking the pack’s weight again.
Perhaps it was time for a rest after all. She glanced around and discovered that beyond the brush at her back was a tiny, grassy meadow shaped like the open palm of a hand. Sun dappled the raised northern edge, and a fire ring occupied the center. A few logs, green with moss, had been stacked up against the big, motherly-looking beech tree at the side. It looked so inviting that Tildi decided it was the very place she was looking for: well secluded from the road but close enough that she could hear travelers approaching. The only thing that gave her pause was the crescent-shaped slice of sky beyond the circle of the tree’s crown. The thraik could come back while she was asleep and carry her off. The thought chilled her soul, but her exhausted feet told her they just didn’t want to go looking for a better spot. She surveyed it and came to the conclusion that if she huddled just beneath its roots she would be invisible from above. Tildi carried her pack to the far edge of the clearing. She flattened out the flap end to use for a pillow.
Tildi hoped no wolves would come and sniff her out, nor wild dogs, nor any of the other things that the elders had always warned against—were they right to be so cautious?
Their mother had once taught her a protection charm. Teldo had laughed at it as having no magical power behind it, but Tildi had always found comfort in it.
Nature guard me while I sleep,
From all who fly or walk or creep,
Ward the earth and guard the sky,
May I wake safely by and by.
From all who fly or walk or creep,
Ward the earth and guard the sky,
May I wake safely by and by.
The drowsy rhyme went around and around in her mind, becoming less and less coherent. Tildi thought in the distance she heard a faint
shrieking of a hunting thraik. They could smell magic, she knew, but she felt too heavy to move. She tried to recapture the rhythm of the charm, and soon the noise receded. No night monsters would come now. She pretended the cloak above her head was the four walls and roof she had left behind at Daybreak Bank. The shrill, faraway whistle pursued her into her dreams.
shrieking of a hunting thraik. They could smell magic, she knew, but she felt too heavy to move. She tried to recapture the rhythm of the charm, and soon the noise receded. No night monsters would come now. She pretended the cloak above her head was the four walls and roof she had left behind at Daybreak Bank. The shrill, faraway whistle pursued her into her dreams.
T
he snap of a twig brought Tildi out of a sound sleep. She sat up and clawed the all-enveloping cloak away from her face. The light in the clearing had diminished by two-thirds, and Tildi could no longer see the sun peeping through the leaves overhead. Footsteps on the path now hidden from view receded, heading in the direction of the Quarters. It must be some lonely traveler seeking to find a bed in Morningside before night set in. Tildi realized she had better bestir herself if she didn’t want to spend the night in the clearing. She ought to have a few more hours of daylight. She was glad to know that her hiding place had been a good one.
he snap of a twig brought Tildi out of a sound sleep. She sat up and clawed the all-enveloping cloak away from her face. The light in the clearing had diminished by two-thirds, and Tildi could no longer see the sun peeping through the leaves overhead. Footsteps on the path now hidden from view receded, heading in the direction of the Quarters. It must be some lonely traveler seeking to find a bed in Morningside before night set in. Tildi realized she had better bestir herself if she didn’t want to spend the night in the clearing. She ought to have a few more hours of daylight. She was glad to know that her hiding place had been a good one.
It had been warm during the day, but the evening that high up on the hillside was considerably more chilly. A good meal would warm her up from within and give her the heart for a second hike. Tildi chose a meal for herself from her cold viands, cutting a slice of chicken pie and counting out a few pieces of dried fruit onto a flat rock that would serve well as a table. A cup of tea would taste very good with those, she decided. She poured some of her water into the small kettle and set it just inside the ring of stones that lay near the flat rock. Clearly some practical earlier traveler had decided to set his cooking fire near to his serving area.
In spite of the warm weather it was damp underneath the trees. Tildi had to forage to find the driest sticks, and an abandoned bird’s nest for tinder. Then she felt in her pack, working her hand carefully past the roll of Teldo’s papers to the small cache of tools at the bottom. Her heart sank. She had no flint and striker to make the fire.
In her mind’s eye she went back over how she had packed the rucksack, and hoped she was mistaken about the omission. But, no. The black square of flint and matching steel she used at home was still on the shelf above the hearth.
Cursing herself for a fool, Tildi looked around for a rough flint among the rubble that formed the surface of the road. With a few tries she was sure she could strike a spark using the blade of her knife. Unfortunately,
none of the stones in her vicinity looked like flint nodules. She wondered how far it was to travel back to the nearest smallfolk holding, then laughed bitterly at herself. She could hardly walk in and ask, “May I buy a flint block from you? I … er … lost mine somewhere.” She would be worrying the whole time whether the farmer, or more likely, his wife, would penetrate her disguise and send her back to Daybreak Bank in disgrace.
none of the stones in her vicinity looked like flint nodules. She wondered how far it was to travel back to the nearest smallfolk holding, then laughed bitterly at herself. She could hardly walk in and ask, “May I buy a flint block from you? I … er … lost mine somewhere.” She would be worrying the whole time whether the farmer, or more likely, his wife, would penetrate her disguise and send her back to Daybreak Bank in disgrace.
Annoyed, Tildi shoved the pack away from her with one bare foot. The heavy sack rolled over the root behind it and rustled to a halt, its contents shifting noisily. There was plenty of paper in there that would make good tinder, if she had a means of making a fire, but she would never burn any of Teldo’s lessons or books.
She grinned to herself, half sheepishly. She had the means to light a fire, if she could manage it. Fire was the simplest of the magics, Teldo had always told her, though it had never felt simple. To reach deep within herself to bring forth the spell always made Tildi feel like she had to turn herself inside out. She was ashamed that she had not been able to help Teldo in his ultimate need. Intellectually she knew how; she had even done it in practice several times, but the skill had deserted her while under pressure. The last time she had attempted to create a viable fire she had failed, and her brothers had died as a result. It was hard to summon up the confidence to try again. But Teldo had believed in her. She must try. Perhaps it would be easier now, when no one was looking. She held out her hand over the mound of tinder and concentrated.
She still felt held back. Should she be allowed to make magic for such a homely purpose, then? In the books she had read magic was only to be used for great purposes, to save lives or defeat great perils. Yet, Teldo often practiced his spells. Was it really permitted? She found she was waiting for someone to give her permission to proceed.
Well, there was no one left to ask. She had no family, and she had just cast away her claim to a place in decent society by cutting off her hair and running away in boys’ clothing. She had no intention of waiting until she got to her new master to ask him if she could make a cup of tea, please and thank you! Time and Nature knew he wouldn’t want to be bothered by such silly, minor questions, so she’d surely have to answer it herself. The absurdity made her laugh, and unlock the tight place inside from which she had to evoke the magical power. Even before she began to properly think the words, a green glow erupted from beneath her outstretched hand. The spark leaped from her palm to the leaves. A white
curl of smoke arose. She regarded it with pleased astonishment. It worked!
curl of smoke arose. She regarded it with pleased astonishment. It worked!
“I did that,” she said out loud, her voice a surprise in the quiet woods. “Oh, I wish Teldo could have seen!”
She sat beside it and watched. As the green flame consumed the pile of leaves and fluff it expanded and warmed in color to a more normal yellow-colored fire. Tildi warmed the pot and brewed the tea. It tasted better than any she had ever made. She sipped it appreciatively, holding the bowl up between her hands to warm her cool cheeks.
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