Glasswrights' Master (24 page)

Rani had not seen her friend since their encounter in the glade, since Rani had confessed to her role in Laranifarso's death. The guards about the camp reported nothing, no sign of the Touched woman. Rani was surprised; she could not believe that Mair would abandon her entirely, not after all their years together, not after all the battles they had fought. Nevertheless, she felt a thrill of fear as she imagined Mair watching over her at night. Surely the Touched woman would not harm her as she slept. Mair would not seek direct revenge for Lar's death.

And yet, Rani had to admit that she could not be completely certain. She did not know the woman that Mair had become, the madwoman, the crazed mother. And so, with every step down the path, Rani tried to convince herself that she could see her friend, stepping from the shadows into the light, ready to leave off lurking in the forest, ready to rejoin the civilized world.

But Mair was nowhere to be found.

Arriving at Kella's clearing, Rani felt relief. She emerged from the gloom of the forest canopy and turned her face toward a brilliant noon sun. The cottage sparkled in the light. Its thatched roof looked comfortable and hearty, like an overstuffed pallet. The mullioned windows glinted, as if they concealed some amusing tale. A pathway led to the door, each round stone brushed clean of dirt. Along the way, herbs perfumed the air, their heads grown heavy with flowers of late summer. Lavender and rosemary baked in the sun.

Rani stopped short and filled her lungs, letting the beauty soothe her. She only moved to the door when a crow's murderous screech cut through the cheery sunlight.

Still, she hesitated on the threshold. What if Kella had learned that she was sought by the Sisters? What if the coven
had
come to her, secretly, without sharing their actions with the Morenian camp? What if, even now, Kella knew that the Morenians intended to use her, knew that they meant to reach the Fellowship through her?

Nonsense. The Sisters had been outraged by Kella's behavior. Rani and Hal had compared their memories after their strange night in the Blue Rose. While their drugged perceptions had been completely different, they had both known that the herb witches were furious with Kella, enraged that one of their own would threaten a handsel.

A handsel. One bound by contract. Rani's merchant heart understood that bond, understood the outrage that an herb witch might harm a customer after swearing otherwise. Wondering again why the Sisters had stayed their hand, Rani knocked on Kella's door.

Silence.

She rapped again, surprised at how hard the wood was beneath her knuckles. There was a curious rustle inside the cottage, and then nothing else. Rani waited several breaths, and then she knocked a third time. Before her hand fell back to her side, the door was flung open. “What?” Kella demanded bluntly.

Rani leaped into her masquerade, determined not to let the witch gain the upper hand from the beginning. “Do you remember me? I'm Rani Trader. I came here when you were helping Father Siritalanu.”

“I remember you.” The herb witch squinted in suspicion, edging forward half a step as if she wanted to keep Rani from looking into her cottage. Rani thought she glimpsed a quick emotion beneath the suspicion. Fear? Guilt? Something quick and furtive, anyway.

“I've come to learn from you,” Rani said, as if demanding instruction from herb witches was the most natural thing in the world. “I'm here for you to teach me all your herb lore.”

At first, Rani thought that the old woman would laugh out loud. The witch's surprise was quickly replaced by a closed expression, though, a grim tightness about her lips. Her fingers clenched on the edge of her door, and she cast a furtive glance toward the woods.

Who did she look for? Did the Fellowship watch them even now?

Before Rani could reconsider her rash plan, Kella seemed to remember something, or at least she appeared to settle on some decision. She took a step back and turned her head to one side, looking for all the world like a crow studying a shiny treasure. “And why should I teach you?”

“Because I'll pay you.” Rani jangled the purse at her waist.

Rani feared that Kella would refuse. Caution twitched across the witch's face, as if she were a coney scenting danger on the wind. The witch must not back away. She must not retreat into her cottage. Rani must get inside, must get Kella talking. Rani must negotiate the bargain of a lifetime, learn about the Fellowship, about Kella's contacts. The witch was the last bridge to Crestman and the others, and Rani would do whatever was necessary to gain the knowledge she required.

“What will you pay me?” Kella asked at last, and Rani almost smiled. She recognized the tone of a bargain begun, a negotiation that would have a mutually satisfying conclusion.

“One copper penny for every herb you explain to me.”

“Twenty. Every herb is its own reward.”

“Seven. With a silver Flower to teach me techniques for drying, and grinding, and the other work you do.”

“Fifteen for each herb. And a silver for every skill, separately.”

Rani shook her head. “Do you think that I'm the queen of all Morenia?” She peered at the herb witch as she made her protest, saw the faint smile that curved the women's lips. No. Kella had learned the identity of Morenia's queen. Kella knew Mareka's power, her prestige. The knowledge was perfectly clear on her face.

“Queen or no, I must support myself.” Kella shrugged. “I'm an old woman, and all alone. Winter comes soon, and I must buy a new blanket against the cold.”

“Ten coppers for every herb, then. And three Flowers for all the skills combined.”

Kella studied Rani's face, then let her eyes dart to the leather pouch at the glasswright's waist. “The silver paid now.”

“The silver paid now,” Rani agreed, and out of habit, she half-turned away as she dug in her pouch. She let the coins clank against each other, though, not minding if she sparked more greed in the witch. Let Kella have incentive to teach her. Let the old woman fight to keep Rani in the cottage, talking, listening, learning more.

The three Flowers glinted in the afternoon sunlight for only a heartbeat before the herb witch stored them away, deep in the pocket of her apron. “Come along, then. I was grinding up alton bark. You might as well learn about that.”

Rani took a deep breath before she entered the cottage. It was dark inside. There was a pallet in the corner, stretched so that it took advantage of heat emanating from the hearth. Rani's nose twitched; herbs scented the air like heavy fog. “Lavender?” she asked, speculating on the first that she could identify.

“Ten coppers.”

Rani grimaced, but she counted out the coins. Kella nodded over each one, studying the edge of the last piece closely, as if she suspected Rani of shaving off a bit for her own advantage. When she had the coins safely in own apron pocket, Kella shrugged and said, “Lavender. It smells nice.”

Rani's anger was immediate. She wanted to snatch back her coins, to rip them from the selfish old woman's pocket. Instead, she reminded herself to think of the coppers as an investment, as a payment made toward future knowledge. She would remember Kella's craftiness, though. She would apply the lessons learned here for all her days to come.

“Very well, goodwife.” She chose the Amanthian title of respect. Kella reminded her of another old woman she had met, years ago in the soldiers' camps of the north. Rani did not have time to concentrate on the past, though. Not with so many problems in the present. “Very well,” she repeated. “Show me the alton bark.”

Kella held out her hands for more coins, and Rani bit back angry words. She settled for a more tradesman-like, “Let us run an account. Here.” She dug in her leather pouch, pulled out a handful of coins. “You can see that I am good for my debt. Let us keep a tally. Those sticks of kindling. Set one on the edge of the table. It will count for the bark.”

She thought that Kella would protest, that she would demand money across her palm before she would share anything with Rani. In the end, though, the old woman only nodded, her eyes narrow. Certainly she was plotting her lessons, planning all that she could milk from this willing customer.

“Alton bark,” she said at last. “I scrape it from the sapling trees at sunrise on the first morning after the moon is full. It comes off in sheets, flexible, like parchment.”

“And if you do it any other time?” Rani asked the question without thinking. Her main purpose might be to reach the Fellowship, but she could not let herself miss the opportunity to gain a bit of herb lore. There was no telling when she might need it in another trade.

“Then the bark's power is lost.” Kella's words were short, as if the question were offensive. “Listen to me, girl. All the things I do, I do for a reason. It would be easiest for me to stroll through the forest, gathering flowers and roots as the fancy takes me. That would never work, though. That would never seal the power. There are rules for all these things. If you think you'll learn my herb craft, you'll listen to the details.”

Rani let the old woman's rant wash over her. She had suffered through enough angry instructors to last a lifetime. First, her mother, intent on teaching her how best to display trade goods in the family's tidy shop. Then, the glasswright masters, who had shown her the basics of her craft. Mair, who had taught her the ways of the Touched; Shea, who had guided her through life as a child soldier.… Even Berylina, who had modeled her lessons with grace and patience, teaching Rani how to walk among the Thousand Gods.

Without thinking, Rani brushed her fingertips against the scabs on her arms. Yor. As she expected, she felt the prickle of nettles. This touch was a gentle reminder, though, not the overwhelming pain that she had felt in Riadelle. She looked up to see Kella eyeing her strangely. “All right,” Rani said. “I'll listen to the details.”

And details she heard. Alton bark was gathered at sunrise after the first full moon. The wood was pressed flat between smooth rocks. After four days of drying, the bark was crumbled into a reed basket, and the container was suspended in the smoke from a fire layered with willow, ash, and rowan. The bark took on the color and aroma of the smoke, turning completely black. Then, it was allowed to cool beside running water. Only when it had been stirred by noon-time breezes on three consecutive days was it ready to be ground.

“A mortar,” Kella explained, raising the tool, “and a pestle.”

Rani nodded at the familiar implements. She had mastered grinding out pigments–first in Morenia's glasswrights' hall, then in Brianta's. She looked more closely at the tools that Kella showed her. “What are those?” She pointed with a steady finger.

“Ah… Your eyes are sharp, then.” The herb witch ran her palm over the edge of her grinding bowl. “Those are symbols of the gods. We southerners don't hold much with the Thousand, but there are some who watch over the preparation of our herbs.”

“Who?” Rani asked, and she braced herself for the responses.

“Mart.” The god of earth. Rani was surprised by the sound of clucking chickens filling her ears, but she knew better than to look around the cottage for the source. “Mip.” The god of water drowned out the chickens with his nightingale song. “Gir.” The god of fire flashed across Rani's vision, his gold and white raiment brilliant in the cottage. “And Ralt.” The god of air coated Rani's tongue with the flavor of new-pressed olive oil.

Kella appeared not to not notice her pupil's reactions; she settled her hand on the edge of the mortar. “This tool is very old. Many hands have gripped its edges and worn down the signs, but they still offer their protection and their blessing.”

Rani nodded. “And when the alton bark is ground?”

“Then it can be sprinkled onto food. It tastes mostly of the smoke in its preparation, so it is hidden best on meats.”

“And its effect?”

“If a woman takes it every day, swallowing a portion the size of the nail on her little finger, she'll conceive a boy child by the next moon.”

Rani wondered if Mareka had heard of alton bark. Was that how Marekanoran had been
conceived? Was that how Hal's living heir had finally made his way into the world? “And what do you
charge for the bark?”

Kella's eyes glinted, and she might have been any shrewd merchant in Moren's marketplace. “One gold coin. The price is not negotiable.” The herb witch turned her head to the side. “Are you hoping for a boy, then? Are you trying to give your man a son?”

Rani blushed, and then she cursed herself for the reaction. “No. No son. I trade in knowledge, not in children.”

Rani knew that she must begin to drive this negotiation toward her own destination. After all, as fascinating as she found the herb craft, she'd come to the cottage for another reason. She must find the way to the Fellowship. Attempting to keep her voice casual, Rani said, “There are many men afoot in the forest. An unsuspecting maid could find herself surprised by one of them.”

Kella raised an eyebrow. “But there are no unsuspecting maids here, are there?”

Rani shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “None at all.” She waited for Kella to elaborate on the strangers in her forest. When the herb witch was not forthcoming, Rani thrust down an inner grimace and said, “Tell me about another element of your craft, then. What are those roots over there?”

Kella peered into the corner, squinting at the earth-crusted balls. She nodded to herself as she stood, and Rani could hear her counting out the coins in her own mind. The witch took a stick of kindling and added it to the one already on the table. Twenty copper pennies. A fair enough price to reach the Fellowship. “You have a sharp eye,” Kella said at last. “Those are demons' teeth.”

“Demons' teeth?” Rani had never heard of them.

“Aye. They grow deep in the forest, beside running water where a rowan tree has rotted into the river bank.” The old woman returned to the table, holding three of the dirty globes by their withered stalks. She set them in front of Rani with a small grunt and pulled up a bench to sit on.