Life Giver

by Lisa Lowell

  Without actually planning what he would do next, Yeolani carried Nevai back across the auction boards, back to where he stood when he froze time. He turned back so he faced Rashel once again. Across the room, she carefully schooled her features and nodded her preparation as well.

  Then Yeolani relaxed his grip on the magic. Since they had no clue they had been frozen in time, the auction house began where it had started, into the interrupted protests and demands for him to show his gold if he were going to make a credible offer. Yeolani couldn't answer all the calls, and Nevai was crying in the abrupt bedlam. As if she existed in her own serene bubble, Rashel reached out for the arm of the auctioneer and whispered a few words in his ear while Yeolani endured the tide of townsfolk questions and curiosity.

  Cooperatively, the auctioneer shouted down the crowd and got control back of his audience. "Gentlemen, come now. We've three offers on the table," he summarized. "All of them seem viable, except the stranger, until the gold has been witnessed. Best offer wins. We know Norton and Hodge’s offer, but we do not know you, sir. We will only hear you after you clear your offering."

  Yeolani sighed in relief that they would at least listen to his proposition, that superstition and distrust of the unknown would not force them to reject him out of hand. "How much is the cost of the debts against the farm?" he asked.

  The auctioneer looked over at a few of the men who had not participated in the bidding, got their approving nod, and then replied, "Three weight of gold to Norton for what he's done to keep the farm going and another six for the purchase of the farm itself, to be held in trust if you abandon the girl."

  "In coined or raw ore?" Yeolani asked as he tried to convert their measures into barrels of fish like he had learned as a boy.

  "Either," the auctioneer replied. "But we'll have to melt down raw ore for purity before. However, I'd pay off Norton in coin if you will." He gave the irritable bidder a sideways glance to be sure that the man would appreciate that effort."

  "Don't bother," Norton growled. "This young whelp doesn't have a sliver of silver, let alone gold. Why bother with the bid?"

  The auctioneer brushed aside the protest. "He's as much right as anyone else. Now, young man, where's your gold?"

  Yeolani smiled and then, greatly daring, walked over to Rashel and handed the baby to her. Then he reached into Nevai's pack and conjured a fistful of coins into a leather pouch at the bottom of the bag even as he put it down to 'search' inside. "This isn't all I've access to, but I didn't come to town today planning to buy a farm. The rest, I can get within a day," he explained as he brought out the pouch with enough heft to impress without seeming suspicious as stolen gold. No one carried around that kind of coin, but he wanted to appear like a legitimate merchant.

  The auctioneer and the town elders all gathered around as Yeolani set the purse down on a bale of hay, allowing them to open it up and test the quality of the coins he had conjured. Yeolani had seen coins at the various taverns and inns he encountered but never had coin himself, having always traded fish, furs, or other goods for what he needed. Now, he'd conjured flat, faceless gold, some thick and almost slabs, and then a few thin wafers of the stuff. He knew that deep under the ground, not far up the creek in which he spent the winter, pure, not conjured, gold waited to be discovered. If need be, he could bring someone up the valley to see his 'source'.

  "Does this satisfy the debt against the farm?" asked the auctioneer, looking toward Norton, and he plopped twelve fat coins in Norton's hand.

  The sour look on the bidder's face deepened, but he obediently inspected the coins, testing each one carefully in his teeth to be sure they weren't lead inside. He looked jealously over at Rashel who couldn’t care less about the negotiations. Instead, she was making delighted faces at the baby, caressing his soft head and reveling in every gurgle Nevai might give her. Norton would never be content with this upstart owning the farm and woman that he coveted.

  Norton reluctantly nodded. "The gold's good, but we can still choose differently. He's a stranger. He could be a thief. I've yet to hear how he came to have so much wealth. Stranger, what have you to say for yourself?"

  "Yes," agreed Hodge, the older bidder. "We've not heard of you. What's your reputation? Who will speak for you? How will we know that you won't abandon your babe and never return, leaving Rashel in the same predicament but with a child as well?"

  Yeolani didn't know quite how to answer. No one knew him truly except for Honiea and Vamilion. Having two Wise Ones come to witness for him would hardly help the situation. He also doubted his peers would approve of what he was doing right now. Honiea had already insisted that the baby could not be pawned off, and she might interpret this attempt to help Rashel as exactly that. Yeolani felt sure they would reject his implied relationship with the girl as well. Yeolani was about to ask the townsfolk what kind of proof they would believe when Rashel unexpectedly spoke up.

  "My brother, Arvid, he spoke very highly of him, didn't he, sir?"

  Yeolani's eyes bugged for a moment, but when he couldn't actually get his mouth to agree to the lie, he was able to master himself. He did manage to nod and smile, giving everyone the impression that he was saying yes. "I knew her brother, Arvid. We worked together on a lumber crew a few years back, and that's where I heard of Rashel." That much was honest so he could say the words.

  "And what's your name, sir?" one of the townsfolk finally asked.

  This time Yeolani stopped himself and seriously considered. Now, he knew he would have to decide: truly abandon his given name or hide the fact that it really was his name and that he was a magician. He took a careful breath and looked Rashel in the eye. She would be just as curious and giving anything but the truth to her seemed wrong. He made up his mind looking her in the blue and green eyes.

  "You may call me Yeolani."

  "Well, Master Yeolani," Norton ground the title in his mouth, mashing it with sarcasm, "how are we to know you won't abandon her.

  Yeolani glared at Norton before he spoke. "I would never leave my baby, and I won't leave Rashel…" but he paused as he sensed something changing on him. An oath? That's what he was doing, and if he finished the statement, he would put himself into the royal clothing of the King of the Plains. He cursed under his breath and felt the shifting stop, hopefully without anyone noticing. At least he hadn't lost the ability to cuss like a sailor along with his ability to lie. Another thing that hadn't come up in Honiea's two sides of a coin conversation.

  "And you'll marry her?" The auctioneer had just assumed he had finished his earlier sentence.

  In alarm at the suggestion, Yeolani stilled his mind a moment and thought through his situation. The people in the village would expect him to marry her, but Rashel already knew he had no intention of binding her that way. This was a business arrangement only, but Yeolani suspected the townsfolk would lynch him if he refused to marry her. He didn’t dare tell them blatantly that he would not marry her or the deal was off. On the other hand, with this sudden inability to lie, he couldn’t tell them he would marry her, for that would be either an oath or a lie. He had to somehow make them assume one thing without making an oath that would do the other.

  Then an idea came to him, an enlightened one, and he realized that Wise One magic would provide him answers if he waited long enough. “Sirs,” he said carefully, with a grieved look on his face. “My baby is only days old. He has no mother for a reason. I cannot think of giving him a mother so soon. Maybe one day…” and he left it at that.

  Let them assume that the baby’s mother, the love of his life, had died in childbirth. Of course, it would take a while for Yeolani to even consider marrying. He became the grieving widower in the villagers’ eyes, and no one protested. They would be gentlemen and not make any demands on him or Rashel, allowing him to mourn for a respectable time.

  “Very well,” called the auctioneer. “We have three viable options on the board. Rashel, any of these three meet our requirements, so you do have a v
oice in this, but you must choose one of them.”

  No one had any doubt about Rashel’s vote. She refused to look up, having eyes only for the baby, but she nodded her agreement and then said, “I choose Master Yeolani.”

  The converted hay barn erupted in cheers and groans, depending on which bidder they supported. Random people came up to Yeolani, shaking his hand and congratulating him with rough slaps on the back. Hodge hobbled over and awkwardly gave him his approval with a mix of relief and suspicion still lingering in his eyes. Yeolani did his best to reassure him, but he could not quite draw his attention from Rashel on the far side of the room, now surrounded by admiring women who also wanted to hold the baby. There were many types of magic, Yeolani realized, and some he just did not possess.

  Norton was not at all pleased and when he got his chance to speak to Yeolani, his handshake crushed and his growling voice threatened more than his words. “I know what you did there,” the man scowled. “If you so much as sneeze, get drunk, or miss a single day’s milking, I’m going to know, and I’ll be ready. You will not have her.”

  Yeolani stiffened at the awkward threat, and he didn’t hesitate to investigate Norton’s cryptic words. Yeolani plunged his mind into the widower’s and found he had a shield over his thoughts that, while not impossible to climb, would take more magic than he dared attempt in this public place. Instead, he gave back as good as he got.

  “And if you so much as sneeze, move a fence post, or lift a hand to another person, I will know, and I will act.” He then retrieved his aching hand and brushed rudely past the man toward Rashel and began packing up the baby’s things. He didn’t want to remain here any longer, and he desperately needed to think, plan, and understand what he had just done.

  11

  Farm Keeping

  It would take a day or two, but Yeolani felt he could fix the farm and set up a pattern of magic that would protect Rashel from suspicion. He had followed her to the farm just east of town, putting her up on the horse’s saddle, and they had talked, but not about their plans. Too many people might have a chance to overhear them on the well-traveled road. Instead, he had told her all he could remember of Arvid, including the crushing tree, and he didn’t hesitate to tell her of Honiea’s help.

  In turn, Rashel revealed to him all the struggles she had endured since her father died. The cows she could milk, for that had always been her responsibility since Arvid left, but she couldn’t move the hay or repair the roof and the crumbling well. In spring, when she would have to sow seed for fodder, she knew that would be beyond her abilities and her cattle would starve. Up till now, she had survived on the excess stores from earlier years, judiciously borrowing from Norton and the help of her neighbors bringing in the harvest her father had planted just before his death the spring before.

  “Do you miss him?” Yeolani asked, thinking of how he hadn’t long mourned his father, just the fact that he had been the means of removing him from the world.

  Rashel obviously felt reluctant to answer, and when she did, her voice was cold. “I miss the security he brought, but it’s hard to forgive him for what he did to drive Arvid away.”

  Were all father’s that difficult, Yeolani wondered? No, he could not imagine Vamilion being anything but patient and kind. And he had every intention of being a good father for Nevai even if he could not be there every step of the way. And as the farm finally came into view, with the sun setting beyond it, Yeolani recognized that he might have to be at the farm more than he should.

  The fences tilted, the roof slats rotted under a thick layer of moss, and the window glazing looked like it might pop every pane with the least puff of wind. He would have to repair the chimney, the fences, and the well. This he could tell before he even made it inside the tiny, little cabin that rivaled Gil’s in size but not in comfort. The barn was a little better, but its nearly empty hayloft spoke volumes, and he doubted nineteen cows could continue the winter on what was left, let alone make it until harvest.

  “What do you do with your milk?” Yeolani asked carefully, hopefully changing the subject away from wayward fathers.

  “If I’ve got the time, I sell it in town, but recently I’ve not been able to do that, so I make cheese and butter, which I don’t have to take to town daily,” Rashel explained. “With a baby, I’ll probably continue that. The income is about the same, and I don’t have to go into town so often. But with a horse…”

  “The horse goes with the farm,” he assured her, “but you probably won’t want to go to town regularly anyway. The more you avoid people asking questions about me, the better.”

  Once they’d arrived, without even planning it, they divided the chores; Yeolani took the horse to the barn and Rashel took the baby to the house. He made a survey of the necessary work as he fed the cows and recognized that they needed to be milked. He might as well set up a pattern of magic right now. He closed his eyes to concentrate and worked his skills to fill the waiting buckets. It took him only minutes, and then he had to consider how he could do this twice a day from a distance. He thought about the patterns of the days, and briefly, he felt the whole world spinning beneath his feet. He crafted a strand of time and tied a knot of magic in it at dusk and dawn. Rashel found him there sitting on a milking stool and didn’t disturb him. He came out of his trance a moment later and looked up to smile at her.

  “I’ve set up a milking schedule of sorts. If neither you nor I are able to be here for the milking, it will happen automatically, but you must have each cow in their pens when the sun rises or sets or it won’t happen. If not, then you’ll have to milk by hand. Also, the milk will be in these barrels, if that’s all right.”

  Rashel looked around the barn, at the fed cattle, the cooling milk, and smiled. “I’d better get it ready for the morning. There’s supper on the hearth; the baby’s fed and asleep. Go in and make yourself comfortable.”

  Inside Yeolani saw the simple cabin with two beds in the darker end of the room with a cradle in between them, both freshly laid out. On the hearth, she had set a bowl of soup and a hunk of her cheese, which Yeolani gathered up and ate as he surveyed the room’s common areas. A cupboard and a washboard, large table, and two benches filled up the entire area. He couldn’t imagine living here as a family now. His home at Simten or Gil’s had been cheerier, and his cave under the waterfall had more light. Without thinking about it he, conjured several more lamps and set one in each of the windows.

  He found the trap door down into the cellar and looked at the food stored there. He realized that Rashel must have gardened for her food. Potatoes, onions, and carrots constituted all the vegetables. There was no meat in the larder, just cheese and nuts supplemented that food. She didn’t even have flour to make bread. He looked through empty barrels and hoped she wouldn’t protest if he filled them with flour, rye, barley, and corn. Dried peas, beans, and lentils would help too. How had she survived so long?

  After he finished eating and adding to her stores, Yeolani went back out to the barn to talk with her and found her pressing the gathered milk through a cloth and then turning the thickened material left into molds. It only took him a moment to recognize how to do the process, and Yeolani joined in, pressing the liquid out, leaving the whey in the cloth that she’d lay over pots on the far side of the barn. He loved learning these kinds of things, for he never knew when some bit of knowledge would come in handy in his wanderings.

  “How long does it usually take you to do the nightly milking and the pressing for each evening?” he asked as they worked.

  “About two hours, but I can’t always do this kind of cheese. In the morning I do butter instead, and sometimes, if the milk amounts are low because I’ve had to cast off some, I make a different cheese which takes longer.”

  “And do you have any meat?”

  She looked up at him, her face sweaty, with her hair clinging to her smile. “If I could hunt, yes, but I cannot. No, I can sometimes trade cheese for a chicken or a bit of beef. But it ta
kes longer to cook, and I don’t have wood enough to cook the cheese, let alone my own food.”

  “Where’s your woodpile? Wood, that I can do,” he replied swiftly.

  She pointed toward a haphazardly stacked pile of what Yeolani had assumed was broken siding and other abandoned carpentry efforts. He clucked his tongue and conjured a heaping stack of neatly split wood. Rashel’s mouth dropped open, and she straightened up with her arms covered with milky residue.

  “How do you do that?” she asked simply. “I’ve heard of magic, but the fairies are the only thing I’ve actually seen of it…till you.”

  Yeolani spent the rest of the evening trying to explain the act of conjuring, and while she understood in principle, it didn’t make any sense to her until he tapped into her mind and found her interest in gardening.

  “Magic is like planting a garden. I want something, like a carrot, so I ask the earth to turn the minerals in the earth into the shape, texture, and essence of a carrot. Magic speeds up that process….and it works on more than living things too. I asked the earth for gold for the auction and essentially magic grew gold for me.”

  “Is ‘growing’ things like this all you can do?” she asked with sincere curiosity.

  By now they were back in the cabin, washing her milk pails and presses with water he conjured into her water barrel rather than running to the crumbling well that he would have to mend in the morning. With a finger, he traced the glazing in the window above the wash tub and the lead resealed around the glass pieces as he replied.

  “No, but it is the most impressive and helpful…flashy. I’m trying to not be flashy. I could have come into town on a grand charger, dressed like a king, but I’m simpler than that. Um, what else? I’ve called and used tornadoes. I can read minds and freeze time. Overall, I’ve not been a magician for very long, which is why I’ve not tried many things. It takes time to get adept at this magic, and I’ve messed up quite a bit.”