Seventeen Stones (2 page)

Emma
came up behind her.  “Did Hannah pick up the soap?”  Mia nodded as she
rearranged the herbs one side of the table.  “Good girl.  Once you leave I’ll
be back to arguing with them about it.”  Steven Jacobs was limping over from
his produce booth.  He’d mustered out of the City guard and retired to
Forestreach years before Mia had been born.  He was universally known as the
‘new man’ in the village.  Mia knew how he felt.  She felt more comfortable
with him in some ways than with others in the village.  He never made her feel
like she didn’t belong.  Emma smiled.  “Ah good, I’ll bet he wants more of that
hair growth serum.  We’ll have fresh eggs for a week!”  Mia whispered “Try to
get some of his wife’s strawberry preserves too.” and Emma walked away.

Emma
disappeared with Steven around a corner to discuss the price of her potion, and
a group of young men started Mia’s way.  They’d been loitering under the oak at
the center of town.  Martin sauntered over to the booth.  He was the epitome of
old blood breeding: black hair, blue eyes, and white skin.  His hair was cut
short to accentuate the fine bones, stubborn chin, and long lashes in a handsome
face.  “Girl.” he said (as if he didn’t know her name).  “I find myself in need
of some herbs”.  Mia ruthlessly suppressed the urge to tell him that herbs
wouldn’t fix what was wrong with him.  Emma expected
her
behavior to be
impeccable, at least when she was minding the booth.  If she didn’t use the
good manners the healer had pounded into her head, someone would mention it to
Emma, and then she would be the one in trouble.  She had a subtle sort of revenge
in ignoring his manners and answering with an impersonal “What can I help you
with?” 

He looked
up at her tone, suspicious of its blandness, and then smirked.  “As I’m sure
you are aware, some of us” he waved a hand to include the boys behind him “will
be going to the college in a few weeks time.  With that in mind, I have decided
to purchase some smoking herbs as a gift for my father upon my acceptance. 
Some of the ruby red herb, if you please.”  He waited. 

She
took a deep breath, her response was ingrained.  “Emma doesn’t sell smoking
herbs to anyone under sixteen.  She might make an exception, but you’ll have to
speak with her.”  There was a nasty look on his face when he said “I’m not
speaking to her, I’m speaking to you.  I assure you, I’m not accustomed to
hearing ‘no’ from little assistant shop keepers.”  Even with the table between
them he was far too close.  Thankfully, Emma’s voice interrupted the exchange. 
“What’s going on here Mia?” 

Martin
quickly resumed his air of bored indifference.  “I was just explaining to
your…girl here, I intend to send my father a pouch of fine pipe herb to
celebrate my admittance to the college.  He sometimes complains of the quality
and freshness available in the City.”  His confident tone faltered a bit under
Emma’s hard stare.  Mia wondered if Martin remembered that most of the smoking
herb sold in the City came from Forestreach. 

Emma
held his eye long enough for him to start fidgeting, and then seemed to come to
a decision.  To Mia’s shock, the healer launched into her best sales spiel; she
offered Martin a leather pouch for the herb and the most expensive blend. 
After the money changed hands…  “…and another silver for the pouch to be delivered
directly to your father.  That way we avoid any awkward questions about why I
sold smoking herbs to someone under sixteen.  What would you like to put on the
card?”   

Martin
left a few minutes later; irritated, angry, and much lighter in the pocket. 
“Served him right,” muttered Emma.  “As if I haven’t heard that one before.” 
She tossed Mia the pouch of herbs. 

“Take
this to the messenger service.  And while you’re at it, you can have a peek
about the stalls, take a break.  I’ll mind the booth for a bit.  Anyone who
wants to talk about their ills can do it here or wait.  I think everyone with a
major problem has already been by.”

Mia
dropped the pouch with the messenger, and then she went to the other booths,
spending her copper on a slice of fruit at one shop and a peppermint stick at
the dry-goods store.  She was at the used book-seller’s booth looking at a
tattered stack of books when Martin walked up behind her.  “I hope you aren’t
wasting your coin preparing for the testing.  Everyone knows you won’t be
going.  You’ll be lucky to ever leave this little village.  You’ll be selling
herbs with that old hag until you’re an old hag.”

Mia’s
temper boiled over.  She spoke rapidly, without thinking “I’d rather be selling
herbs here than be anywhere near you.  How do you think your parents will take
having you home?  Will they spend most of their time in the country to get away
from you or do you think one of them might take a more permanent exit?”  His
face contorted like he was choking on a pickled herring and she ran back to
Emma’s booth before he could catch her.  It wasn’t every day that she managed
to provoke Martin.  Thinking rationally on it, she realized it might not be the
best idea.  He was three inches taller than she was, and since mid-winter last
year, more muscular.  That was without considering his magical abilities, which
were as strong as anyone she’d ever seen (as much as she hated to admit it).        

Mia
spent the rest of the market day under her guardian’s watchful eye.  She wasn’t
giving Martin the opportunity to think up some sort of revenge.  That meant she
had to give up her plan to browse the booths, but she decided it was a small
price to pay to avoid him. 

She
was grateful that they’d had rain three days before.  She’d spent most of this
summer keeping dust from settling on the bottles and bundles of herbs and
trying not to choke as carts rumbled in and out of the square.  Dust was bad;
rain was worse.  There was little that was more miserable than a rainy market
day: Emma’s booth was under a heavy canvas tarp which kept off the sun and the
rain (necessary when dealing with herbs and potions), but that meant that they
could stay at the market under any but the heaviest downpours.  There were many
summer days in her past where she had spent the afternoon huddled in her seat,
with the smell of wet goats and sheep permeating the area.          

Almost
everyone in the village stopped by Emma’s booth a few times during the summer
to buy a potion or philter they couldn’t make for themselves.  Others stocked
up on winter remedies after they sold their produce, before the winter set in. 
Some of the outlying farms only made it into the village a few times a year, so
they bought what they needed when they were in town.  Most of those families
hadn’t shown up for their autumn trip to town yet.  They’d come in the week of
the testing.  Even if they didn’t have children, the celebration after the
testing wasn’t something anyone would want to miss.   

Mia
had long ago found the places where she spent her copper: the bakery, the
dry-goods store, buying the occasional pretty dress at the seamstresses’.  She
had a stipend from her mother’s estate so she had as much spending money as any
of the home children.  She rarely went a week without picking up something at
the used bookseller’s booth.  They didn’t keep a large stock, but even a boring
book on mathematical equations was better than nothing at all to read. 

According to Emma, as long as she was wanded, she
would inherit her mother’s estate at the age of sixteen.  If she wasn’t wanded,
she could still inherit by marrying a wand wielder.  The great estates were not
overseen by wandless commoners.  Mia’s entire future depended on attending the
college.  She’d been as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking
chairs all summer.

Mia
gazed around nervously as she and Emma made their way to the village square. 
Today was the day.  The fog held in patches, but they were well within the City’s
protections; there was nothing to fear from a little fog.  Mia was too worried
about the testing to fret about anything else.  The pancakes she’d choked down
were swimming oddly in her belly, uncertain that they wanted to stay down
there. 

As
they entered the village, she smiled at all the familiar sights:  the butcher
hanging up a goose, the blacksmith pounding away at a horseshoe, the baker
pulling bread out of the oven while his wife was kneading the second batch.  “Good
luck today!”  Tim’s mother was facing the road as she pounded the dough.  Her
dark hair was tied up in a cloth to keep it out of the bread.  Flour puffed
around her when she moved, her dress was nearly white with it.  Mia grinned
back and waved a bit. 

A
slightly shabby tent had been erected in the village square.  It was patched
and darned in places but the red fabric was as bright as it had ever been, and
it would be until the cloth literally fell to pieces.  That was wanded magic. 
Natural magic was instinctive and easy to use, as simple learning to use your
hands and legs.  Wanded magic was like learning to use a knife.  Or that was
what Mia had read anyway…there were hundreds of books about brave little
wandless boys testing into the college.  Those had always been her favorites.

The products
from the City were smooth and perfect, not formed by human hands.  The butcher
paid a hefty sum to have a small room charmed to stay cold all year long.  The
best fabrics came from the City, as did the magical machinery that could be
used to plow the fields and harvest the crops…for a price.  Wanded magic wasn’t
cheap.  Some wanded spent their entire lives tinkering with magical machinery,
inventing tools and mechanicals.  Mia didn’t know for certain, but she supposed
that they made a pretty good living off of it.

The
goods from the village were also easy to recognize:  the blacksmith dealt in
horseshoes, nails, and a little bit of pot mending and harness work.  The
cobbler made shoes, saddles, and other tack.  He had an artistic streak (unlike
the blacksmith) and the tooled leather pouches and shoes he made during the
slow winter months fetched a good price when he took them into the City during
the spring.  He did the noisome part of the tanning process in a little shed
away from the village, so his shop on the square smelled like cured leather and
wood smoke. 

The
dry goods store held items that the villagers couldn’t make themselves: cotton
from the southern part of the City bounds, pots, needles, maple syrup from the
northern latitudes, honey and candles from the shopkeeper’s bees.  Mrs. Meecham
owned the store and it stood as one of the only real buildings around the town
square…most of the other ‘shops’ were actually temporary tents or booths that
only stood on rest days, when the market was open by general agreement. 

Mrs.
Meecham was at the front counter of the shop, directing her children around the
store as Emma and Mia passed.  Mia glanced in hopefully, trying to catch sight
of Lydia, but only two older brothers were evident.  One was stocking a shelf
with homemade preserves, and the other was arranging a section of leather
goods.  The store carried a few items from the City, like silk and pattern dyed
wool, magical mechanicals like clocks, water finders, and fire starters.  There
were a few really expensive items: boxes with stasis spells placed on them, and
the slightly less expensive cold box (which only kept food placed inside cool
as opposed to stopping spoilage entirely).      

Mia
stared up at the tent as she hesitated outside.  Tim walked over from his
father’s shop.  He had a smear of flour on his forehead and was still wearing
his apron.  Emma swiped at his head as he passed and managed to knock most of
the flour onto his shirt.  He grinned at them as he went in, nary a care in the
world.  For him, today was a foregone conclusion.  He’d test, be informed he
was not eligible for the College, and then go enjoy the festive atmosphere
outside.  His father would do a lot of business today.  Everyone bought a bit
of fried dough or sweet bread on a testing day as a treat.  Mia’s stomach did a
few back flips.  Humming with tension, she turned to Emma.

She
was suddenly enveloped in a tight hug.  “Ah, child!  I will miss you.”  The old
healer dabbed tears from her eyes and managed to smear a little flour on her
own nose.  “Now just go in and wait for a bit.  Mind your manners, and relax. 
You’re going to be fine.  There hasn’t been a person with your talent in this
village since your own mother was here!”  Emma gave her a little push toward
the tent, and Mia walked in to the sound of her guardian loudly blowing her
nose behind her.

Long
wooden benches ran along either side of the waiting area, leaving a wide center
aisle between them.  Mia took a seat near Tim and Lydia.  She wondered how long
the other girl had been waiting in the tent.  Mia would have liked to have
talked, but Lydia was white lipped and holding the edge of the seat.  The girl
spent most of her time helping in the family business.   She was the third of
five children, and while the rest of the family was a noisy, friendly bunch,
Lydia had always been quieter.  She offered Mia a small smile and went back to
quietly digging grooves in the bench with her fingernails.  Mia would have liked
to talk to someone to get her mind off her nerves but Tim was the only other
person in the tent and he was of the breed that never felt the need for
conversation when a nod and a grunt might do.  The three of them sat silently
as the rest trickled in. 

Steven
and Sybil, twins from one of the outer farmsteads came in next, huddled close
to each other.  Anthony, the blacksmith’s nephew (his parents were shopkeepers
in the City and they boarded the boy with his uncle) came in and sat by Tim. 
The home children entered last.  With a quiet rustle of City-made boots and
tunics made of spelled silk, the smell of the home followed them:  slightly
antiseptic, somehow chilly, covered by a fresh lemony scent.  Mia breathed in
the rose scent from her own hair and sighed contentedly.  The children from the
home sat as one on the empty bench on the other side of the tent.  There were
seven testing this year; six were boys.  Mia had heard that the home did a
private test on the children before they were sent to the official testing. 

Martin
Ainsley sat smirking at the rest of them, but was mercifully silent.  A
pleasant voice that seemed to radiate from the tent itself called him in almost
as soon as he sat down.  Mia was grateful.  The last thing she needed today was
to listen to Martin.  Three of the home boys went next and then Tim was
called.  Lydia whispered to Mia “How many do they take?”  Mia shook her head. 
“I don’t think there’s a number; I think it’s about potential.” 

One
of the boys across the way made a rude noise.  Lydia spat out “Bernard Simms,
you won’t be going if it’s about power.  You couldn’t levitate a teacup!” 
Bernard opened his mouth, but his name was called before the first insult was
uttered.  Sybil, then Steven, and then Lydia went through the door.  Mia was
called, leaving only Anthony and the two home children, a boy and a blond girl
named Sarah sitting on the long bench.

Sarah
gave Mia a small smile as she walked toward the door.  Mia tried to return it,
but she wasn’t sure how successful she was.  She walked through the door to
find a slight man behind a table.   He was setting up colored gem stones.  He
looked up at Mia and gave her a kindly smile and indicated the chair.  “Hello my
dear.  My name is Sir Lutwidge.  If you’ll just sit down; no need to be
nervous, now.  I’d like you to try to raise as many of these stones as you can. 
Now don’t worry…”  But he stopped talking and stared as all seventeen stones
floated over the table, their multi-colored lights dancing on the walls and top
of the tent. 

Sir
Lutwidge smiled and said “Excellent!  Allison!  Allison, could you come in here
for a moment?”  A regal woman in sparkling white robes and a pile of honey-colored
hair walked through the door.  “Yes Virgil?” she asked, ignoring the colored
lights that Mia was still suspending.  “What do you need?” 

He
indicated the stones.  “Count them!”  She turned her elegant head to the stones,
and appeared to count several times.  “Interesting.”  She turned to Mia.  “Very
well Virgil, I suppose you’ll need a witness for your report?”  He nodded as he
scribbled onto a pile of parchment.  “It would be helpful.” 

The
woman called Allison nodded and waived a careless hand to Mia.  “Let the stones
drop, please, and follow me.”  Mia lowered the stones to their former positions
on the table and received a happy smile from Sir Lutwidge. 

Mia
followed her through the door she’d entered and into another room with thick
carpets and a long table piled with interesting objects.  The tall woman didn’t
seem to notice.  She simply walked to the table and said “I am Seer Allison
Dupree.  I would like for you to touch the object I hand you and tell me your
impressions.” 

Her
hand strayed over three items before she made up her mind. She handed Mia a
delicate golden cup.  It was unlike anything that she had ever seen before;
about the size of a teacup, with filigree handles on either side.  It was much
more ornate than the current style: the tiny roses on one side were perfectly
molded, with every leaf and thorn visible. 

Mia
twirled it in her fingers, and said “Someone made this when they were happy,
maybe a gift for a baby?”  It wasn’t the current custom to give anything this
valuable to a baby, but she’d read enough history to know that customs did
change occasionally.  Seer Dupree nodded and took the cup back as if worried
that it might break if dropped.  She handed Mia a small, plain dagger, no more
than two inches long.  Mia shook her head.  Her only impression was that it
wasn’t an eating knife.  A leather-bound book elicited nothing but interest. 
Then she was given a golden locket.  Mia smiled.  “It’s a gift, for her
daughter.  The lady who wore this left it for her daughter when she died.”  Mia
blinked a few times and wondered how she’d known
that
. 

The
seer nodded.  “Very good.”  She noted the reactions down on a small pad of
paper on the table and gave Mia a warm smile that transformed her features. 
She pointed at the door.  “Go into the next room please.”  Somewhat taken
aback, Mia exited the door she’d entered only to find that nothing was the same
on the other side.

As Mia
walked through the door she saw a short, rather plump woman with a cap of
copper curls sitting next to a gaily bubbling cauldron.  “Hello!  Come in now,
sit down and we’ll begin.  I’m Professor Ambrose, from the College.  We’ll be
checking your standard for Alchemy!”  For the next half hour Mia identified
herbs and fungi, and rattled off their uses in potion making.  She’d harvested
many of these with Emma, either in their frequent trips into forest, or from
her extensive herb garden.  She had no problem identifying any of the local
herbs, and managed most of the exotics by what she’d read in Emma’s herbals.

“Excellent.” 
The professor picked up the notepad at her elbow and started writing something. 
“Just go back through that door, and I’ll see you in two weeks!”  Vaguely
comforted by that statement, but still unsure that they
really
meant it,
Mia walked through the door and into another room. 

This
one was tiny in comparison to the last three.  A black haired man with pale
skin and piercing blue eyes sat behind a cramped desk with piles of sticks,
metal rods, and bones on it.   He looked up at her as she entered.  “Pull up a
chair, if you can manage to move it in here.”  He looked put out about
something, most likely the size of his office.    

“I
am Lord Timmons.  I am here to determine what sort of wand you will wield.  Please
extend your hand.”  He glanced at the lines on her palm and mumbled to himself
for a second.  Then, without warning, he grabbed one finger firmly and jabbed
it with a sharp needle, catching the blood on a white piece of cloth.  He
muttered a spell and the cut healed, but it still hurt.  “Sorry.”  As he didn’t
look up and the comment sounded automatic, Mia decided she was perfectly
justified in not forgiving him.  He was doing something with the red drops he’d
collected and it drew her interest in spite of her throbbing finger.

The
white gauze floated high in the air, spinning.  The red droplets floated away
from the material and landed on a thick sheet of parchment.  It was covered in
numbers and mathematical symbols, so Mia couldn’t make any sense of it. 
Apparently Lord Timmons had better luck.   

He
smiled slightly as he pulled out a pen from his pocket and extracted a notebook
from a cluttered corner of his desk.  “Gold, ivory, and applewood, a unique
combination.  Always nice to see a triple wand come through.”  He looked up,
favoring her with momentary eye contact and a tiny smile.  “Please go through
the door.”  Mia walked through the door once again.