Crucible (28 page)

“It seems so . . . contrary,” she whispered.

“The Gift has its own rules,” her instructor said. “Now, you must learn to play by them.”

• • •

Two days later, Shandara was almost too nervous to eat a bite at breakfast—which was ridiculous. She was not the one leaving the Collegium. She took a sip of tea, and glanced across the table at Ryk.

“Do you have everything?” she asked. “Did the kitchens pack you some food? What about extra strings?”

He laughed at her, his brown eyes bright. The new scarlet shirt he wore complemented his coloring, although it was not silk like her own, but the rougher, homespun fabric he preferred.

“Shan, Lord Wendin's house is only across the city. It's not like I'm going far away. For once, you sound like me. Stop worrying.”

She made a face at him, suddenly shy. “I know. It's just—I'll miss you.”

“I'll come visit every week. But are you certain you'll be happy here?” He gestured to the Common Room full of Trainees and Bards.

Shandara turned her head, looking at the tables filled with students, hearing the laughter and discontent, the rustling murmurs of the melodies of each life.

“Yes. I'm glad to be staying.” She smiled.

She had thought her dream was to earn her Scarlets, then leave Haven, or at least the Collegium. She had thought her future was playing for some Lord's household while she composed, or perhaps traveling for a time,
chronicling the adventures of the Heralds and their Companions.

But Master Tangeli had offered her a place as his assistant teacher. To everyone's surprise—including her own—she had accepted.

“It just feels right,” she said. “I need the time and quiet to work on refining my Gift. And I think I can help other students find their own.”

Ryk smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I have no doubt of it, Bard Shandara. No doubt at all.”

Jorie Felwynn stared down at her father's fresh grave and did not shed a single tear. There was no marker yet, just a stick with a piece of cloth tied to it with his name,
Jaxson Felwynn
, written in charcoal, which would likely wash away with the next rain.

Jorie sighed. She wasn't looking forward to returning to the tiny village of Wintervale, and she definitely wasn't looking forward to dealing with the rest of her family.

Truth be told, it had been the best day of her life when her father had given her an old horse and enough money to ride to Haven and apply to the Healer's Collegium. He had been a stern man, often given to excessive drinking once the work was done, but he'd been looking out for her when he sent her away.

“Probably won't be good enough to get in,”
he'd told her the day she had left.
“But I couldn't live with myself if I didn't give you the chance to get out of here and live a life you choose.”
A warm tear slid down her cheek as that thought erased all the black ones she'd had about him.

“We should probably get going,” the kindly voice of Herald Tobin said behind her.

Jorie wiped the tear away and turned to him. He was a good man, twenty years her senior, with blue-gray eyes and dark gray hair.

“The sun's beginning to drop, and I still need to meet my contact,” he added.

She fidgeted with the leather ties on the vest of her Healer's Greens, “Or we could just camp here. I've said my goodbyes, maybe I could just ride away while I still have the chance?”

Tobin gave her a chiding look, “Now, you know the sooner we get there, the sooner you can get back to Haven, and Gaela's getting restless.”

His Companion stood twenty strides behind them, making sure Jorie's horse, a dark brown gelding, didn't wander away. Not that Rowan would; he was in awe of the Companion and followed her around like a lovesick boy. Gaela was probably sick of the attention after seven days on the road.

“If being around your family gets too stressful, you could come to the mines with me. I'm sure some of the miners will need a Healer, if they don't already have one.”

“I just might take you up on that. Especially if it goes the way it did last time.”

“Are you referring to the drunken brawl at your brother's wedding, or when the mother of the bride accused you of witchcraft?”

“Yes and yes,” Jorie answered with a chuckle. “Thanks for listening to all my griping, by the way.” In many ways she felt closer to him than to her own family, in a big brother sort of manner.

“We should head straight for the inn, I think,” Jorie said as she found her courage and pulled herself up onto Rowan.

• • •

The sun was setting as they cleared the tree line and rode into town.

“What's wrong?” Tobin asked.

“The town is much closer to the forest now, and there seems to be three times as many people.”

“Mining strikes will do that.”

Tobin was referring to the gold vein that had been found in the hills along the creek skirting Wintervale. His primary function was to inspect the mining records, make sure children weren't employed or enslaved there, and to look into some reports about missing miners.

“I suppose so. Seems strange though, this many people in a place mainly known for being cold and isolated. My family's inn was the only one in this area for leagues. They made their money from trappers and farmers didn't want to risk being trapped when the heavy snows fell and travelers trying to get from Riverbend to Bridger Pass without getting stuck in the mountains.”

They continued past several new wooden buildings, most of them rooming houses and taverns that seemed to have been assembled quickly. A few new stores displayed signs advertising mining supplies and camping provisions. Each one was noisy, with people coming and going as the sun set. Some were well on their way to inebriation, and most looked downright unhealthy.

:Some of these people are ill,:
Jorie Mindspoke to Tobin. It was a skill that only worked with him because his gift was Mindspeech, and even then she could only communicate with him that way when he was near Gaela. It was as though the Companion relayed the message, even though Tobin could Mindspeak to her without Gaela nearby.

Jorie was actually glad she didn't have the skill to Mindspeak to everyone, especially her family. It'd be too tempting to tell them exactly what she thought of them.

:Contagious?:
he asked.

:No fever. Probably not.:

:Should we stop and investigate?:

:No, I'll check tomorrow, maybe come out here and do a walk around, see if anyone needs a Healer. Might just be bad food or lack of sleep.:

As Jorie and Tobin passed by, the people stared and whispered. It was beginning to make her nervous.

Tobin smiled.
:Don't be alarmed, this is normal when Heralds show up.:

:It's disconcerting. Reminds me of when people found out I had the Healing Gift.:
She gestured ahead with her chin. “There's the inn.”

The first floor of her family's building was made of stone, with timber for the second floor where the guests slept, and then ended in a pitched attic. To the right was a stable, and on the left a two-story stone house connected to the inn through the kitchen.

When she left, it had been home to her parents, three siblings, and one grandmother. She often wondered if all the bickering was because they lived and worked so closely together.

“Looks nice,” Tobin said. “Want me to take Rowan and Gaela to the stable while you see your family?”

“I'd rather you see them while I go to the stables.”

The Herald rewarded her jest with a smile.

Jorie got off her horse and took her medical kit out of the saddlebags. It was a leather cross-body bag that rested on her hip. She had designed it herself to hold the tools of her trade without being too bulky. “I'll see you inside.”

Just as she reached for the handle of the main door, someone stepped out of the nearby kitchen door and smiled at her. The woman looked remarkably like her mother, only older, and much more frail.

“Jorie! I knew you were here,” she said as she ambled down the two steps.

“. . . Mom?”

“Of course Mom, who'd you expect?” She hugged her daughter and then stepped back to give her the motherly head to toe inspection.

Jorie was surprised at how much older her mother looked; it was as if she had aged ten years in the five since she had last seen her. “It's nice to see you, Mom. You look . . . good.”

“Nonsense, I look old. Now come in, your sister's cooking and the dinner crowd is calming down. I was expecting you yesterday, but I knew when I woke up you weren't near enough to make the funeral,” she said as she turned and went back up the stairs, slowly but surely.

Jorie followed her mother, who always seemed to know where she was and which of her family was nearby. The woman undoubtedly had a touch of Empathy herself.

Entering the kitchen was like stepping back in time. The big stone fireplace and oven took up half the wall that was shared with the family home. A door next to the oven led to the sitting room of the house and was left open most of the time. The dishwashing area was along the back wall, next to another door that led outside to the garden, bathhouse, and privies.

The dining room was on the right, through a set of half doors topped with a shelf just wide enough to hold platters. This was where her sister Jillie was handing off two plates of meat and vegetables to a waitress through the opening. She turned, wiped her hands on her apron, and looked surprised when she realized who was watching her.

Jillie and Jorie were five years apart and looked similar, except Jillie had light hair and green eyes like their mother, and Jorie had brown hair and brown eyes like their father. The main thing that separated them now, though, was that her older sister wore bitterness on her face like a mask. It had been plastered there since her husband had left her shortly after she gave birth to their only child, Jessa.

“I see you finally arrived,” Jillie said as she came close enough for a hug, but instead crossed to the pantry on Jorie's right. Taking out a small sack of sugar and a large mixing bowl, she brushed by again to place them on the big kitchen table.

Their mother went over to the oven and busied herself taking a pie off the heat with a wooden paddle and pushing it over to the cooling area.

“Aren't you going to give me a hug, Jillie?”

Jillie stopped and looked at Jorie. “If you insist.” She came over, embraced her with one arm, and walked away before Jorie could hug her back. “Some of us have work to do.”

“You girls were always so jealous of each other,” said their mother as she pulled another pie from the oven.

Jillie harrumphed as she went to the first pie with a flour sack towel and picked it up. “Ouch!” she exclaimed as she quickly put it back down.

Jorie rushed over. Her sister had carelessly touched the pie plate with her bare hand when she meant to use the towel. There was a red mark on her hand, but it wasn't bad. She reached down to touch her sister's hand and push some healing into the area. Her Empathy was always a bit open when she used her gift, and when she made contact with Jillie's hand, she was surprised at how truly angry her sister was.

Jillie pulled her hand away as if it were being burned again. “I don't need your witchcraft!”

“You two be nice, you're sisters.”

Jorie almost retorted that she wasn't the one being a brat, but she took a deep breath instead, then said as calmly as she could, “At least run some cold water over the burn area.”

Jillie went to the butter dish, took a pinch, and rubbed it on her hand. “I know how to take care of myself, thank you,” she huffed as she stormed out through the back door.

“She's been taking the death of your father rather hard,” Mom explained as she sat at a chair at the table and began measuring out sugar into the bowl.

“She was always his favorite,” Jorie found herself saying, even though she knew it was childish.

“Now, you don't know that.”

Jorie was fairly certain she did know but then realized it didn't really matter. She was here to pay her respects,
assist Tobin if needed, and make herself available to anyone who needed healing.

“Are you hungry?” her mother finally asked as she finished measuring.

“Very. Do you mind if I make up two plates and feed Tobin before we talk?”

“Tobin?”

Jillie came back inside. Her apron was wet, and Jorie realized that her sister had probably used the outside pump to cool her burn. Typical.

“Herald Tobin is with me, remember, Mom?”

Her mother seemed to look confused for a few moments. “Oh, dear, I completely forgot a Herald was coming with you.”

“He'll have to sleep in the stable or somewhere else—he isn't staying in the house, and there isn't any room at the inn,” Jillie snapped.

“She's right, we're full up—” her mother started to say.

Jorie interrupted, “He can share my room then.”

Her mother looked a bit shocked.

“I've put you in the attic room, sweetheart. There are quite a few boxes inside, mostly filled with your and your sisters' old things, and it's a rather small bed.”

“He doesn't mind a bedroll on the floor; in fact he prefers it, and we've been sharing a room all the way up here.”

“Well, isn't that just like you,” Jillie said haughtily.

“Excuse me?”

“You're unmarried and shacking up with one of the almighty Heralds. The rules never apply to you, do they?”

Jorie was about to launch into a full-blown sister fight, but she heeded the advice of one of her Collegium teachers instead by taking another deep breath, shielding her emotions, and assessing the situation.

And then she saw it all, as mundanely as the writing in a book. Her sister was upset because she still felt abandoned by her husband, then by Jorie, and finally, by
their father. Jillie was in pain, and she didn't want anyone else leaving her, like her only daughter. Something about Jessa was bothering Jillie.

“How's Jessa?”

“None of your business.”

“You never did like change,” Jorie found herself saying. Not what a Healer should necessarily say, but the thing an angry sister who knew more about a situation because she had more power would say if she was being petty.

Tears started to slip out of Jillie's eyes.

“Girls, be nice.”

“I'm going to check on my horse,” Jorie said, and she left the kitchen.

She stomped into the dining room, angry with herself for being the same stupid girl she'd been when she was fifteen instead of the smart woman she was now. Then she realized she hadn't closed off her Empathy. From the crowded dining room, she sensed that familiar feeling of contentment that came with a belly full of good food and the lazy beginnings of drunkenness from those who'd skipped the pie and gone straight for the beer. There was also a black vein of greed and lust coming from the far corner.

At the bar nearest that corner, her younger sister Jemma was filling tankards and handing them to the barmaids as quickly as possible. She had a tipsy smile on her face, and Jorie assessed that her sister was tipping back the beer as freely as she served it—just as their father had.

She didn't want to think about that right now, so she returned her attention to the pocket of greed and lust and traced it to the owner, or owners as it were, because at the table nearest the bar was a circle of men dressed as merchants.

The loudest man there had a lovely red-haired woman sitting next to him. Just as Jorie realized who it was, the woman's gaze found her, and then looked away in shame.
It was Evie, her best friend from childhood, and she was radiating that same illness Jorie had sensed earlier.