“They’re nasty little things, no soul at all,” Olen said. “It’s a fragment of a natural consuming force, and as such is attracted to certain kinds of destructive power. How did it come to follow you, of all people?”
“It appeared in the forest above the Arown when I made a fire. By magic. To make tea,” she added, as the wizard’s thick eyebrows rose.
“A most practical enterprise,” he said gravely. “Did you draw wards before you cast your spell? Create a protected space for yourself?”
“Er … no. I didn’t know I needed to do that.” Tildi felt her cheeks burn fiercely. That was a bad answer. It struck her Teldo probably did know to draw wards, and how to do it. “I was just making tea. I poured water on the beast, and it went out. I thought I killed it.”
“Ah. It takes a bit more to kill a heuren.” Olen closed his fingers and the fire-demon winked out like a snuffed candle. “As thus. But you could have avoided it altogether, you know. You must always remember to draw wards. You know the basic spells, I presume?”
“Er … they’re in my lesson book.” It was an equivocation, less believable than asserting she was a boy since it was delivered with no kind of conviction that she had actually read the lessons, but Olen accepted it. Tildi was relieved.
“Of course. In the meanwhile, I will draw wards. Watch me.”
Olen raised one of his long hands and pointed toward the wall of the window. “Crotegh mai ni eng.” The pale sunlight seemed to dim slightly. He repeated the gesture toward each of the walls of the room, the chant varying slightly with every direction. Tildi promptly forgot the words, and hoped that Olen would not be angry if she asked him to repeat them later. The runes were very like the ones she had seen in the gates of Rushet, and in Master Wim Cake’s peacemaking charm. No wonder the heuren had not dared follow her there.
“Very well, that will shield us from most magical invasion,” the wizard said, nodding to her. “Show me this fire.”
Tildi had never been more nervous in her life, nor had anything hung upon her performance as at this moment. She had danced and sung before people, she had demonstrated embroidery, weaving, metalwork, cooking, all without embarrassment or fear of failure, but making magic had so long been a private thing between her and Teldo that it was difficult to open the circle to one more person, and that person held the key to her future. This should have been Teldo’s apprenticeship. He should be the one standing in Olen’s study, performing with much more confidence than she felt. She was there under false pretenses. Yet, if the thraik had not come, she would have been content to stay at home with her other brothers, and wished Teldo all the success in the world. Still, from beyond, he had given her one last gift, an opportunity. That she must work to make it come true on her own.
This is for Teldo, she thought. Boldly, she held out her hand, palm up. Olen watched her from under his curling eyebrows. Tildi felt panic in the pit of her stomach. What if the magic wouldn’t come? Her fears were only that, fears. Ano chnetegh tal! As she thought the ancient words, the green flame flared up in the middle of her palm. She was pleased to see that it was larger and brighter than her earlier efforts. All that practice had done her some good. She looked up at Olen. He looked pleased.
“I see. Very curious that it is green. Say aloud to me the words that you used.”
Carefully, Tildi recited the spell. Olen nodded. “Again, please. I want to listen.” He closed his eyes and put his chin in his hand, stroking his mustache thoughtfully with thumb and forefinger. He had her repeat the phrase again and again. Every time she said it the flame grew larger than her palm and threatened to pour off it like a handful of pancake batter. She tried to catch it in her other hand, but to her non-spell flesh it was just as hot as real fire.
“Master Olen,” Tildi began, as a gout of it dripped down between her fingers, lambent honey about to drip to the floor.
“Say it again,” the wizard said, waving his fingers. “There is something in your pronunciation. I wonder if it’s the product of how you were taught to speak, or just the shape of your palate. It should not be coming out green.”
The blob of flame dipped down, stretched into a filament. Any moment it would let go.
“Master Olen!”
Olen opened his eyes at last. “Oh, look at that,” he said. “Tal cretegh!”
The flames went out just before they reached the rug. Tildi let out a sigh of relief.
“A most interesting phenomenon, and one that I will look forward to studying with you, Teldo.”
Tildi flinched. She could not see herself going through the next several years being called by the name of her dead brother. She held up a finger. The green eyes fixed upon her.
“Well?”
“Um, it’s Tildi, not Teldo.”
“Not Teldo?” the wizard echoed, sounding puzzled. “I was sure I could read your language. I thought I was corresponding with a Teldo Summerbee. Ah, these old eyes.” Olen peered at the letter of invitation and turned the sigil this way and that to make sure. Tildi knew that the rune was formed correctly, and hoped the wizard couldn’t read her mind. Her personal tragedy was something she would keep to herself. “Ah, well, but smallfolk culture is not my primary study. There are a finite number of wizards in the universe, powerful and connected to the infinite, and we have many matters that consume our valuable time.”
“I won’t take up more time than you are willing to give, sir,” Tildi said, alarmed. “I will be grateful for anything you will teach me. I have come so far. I can’t go back. Please, sir, I will cook and clean for my place. I know you must be disappointed to discover I am only a girl … .”
Olen seemed genuinely taken aback. “No! What a silly idea. Where did you get it?”
“Well, the men in the Quarters do all the important jobs, and wizardry is certainly one of the most important occupations I know of, but I thought, I have … some aptitude for magic. Perhaps it is like brewing or gardening, that if I have the talent I can do it. I will do my best for you.”
Now Olen was amused.
“I’ve never heard wizardry compared with gardening; brewing, now there’s an apt simile. I shall have to share that with my correspondents. Hm. I don’t mind a girl as an apprentice, Tildi—Teldo. Your assumption is correct: if you can do magic, then you are meant to do it. Your sex does not matter. The talent is present in so few we must nurture it where and when we can. You have an exceptional natural ability. You were right to come.” He held out his long hand. Tildi extended hers, which was swallowed up in the warm, dry clasp. “Very well, I accept the terms of your apprenticeship as offered. Welcome, Tildi. You will not find me a bad master.”
Tildi was overwhelmed with joy. “Thank you! Oh, thank you! I will do whatever you wish!”
Olen shook his head. “You will learn to do what is right. That is far more important. You will learn to make the distinction. There may come a time when you may contradict me.”
“I would never do that, sir,” Tildi said nervously. Contradict a master wizard on a subject of magic? It was not at all like telling off one of her brothers when he tracked mud into the house. “But I shall try, sir, I promise!”
“Hmmph, yes. Save your energy for your lessons. Perhaps we will start at once. I presume you can read human runes.”
“Yes, sir. A little. A little dwarvish, a little elvish. Not much else.”
The eyebrows rose again. They had a life of their own, Tildi decided, like the globe and its revolving spheres. “Hmmph. I thought you were better educated than that, from your letter. Still … show me.”
He reached around to a small writing table that sat beside the crystals and retrieved a sharpened quill for her.
“Show me the rune for tree.”
Pen poised in the air, Tildi looked around for an inkwell and paper. Olen blew out the corners of his mustache. “No—you must know how to draw the runes without using ink. The line is enough.”
Tildi stretched her memory backward. Teldo had taught
her lessons in scribing while he was learning it, with the aid of a book he had purchased and the leaf their mother had given them with the runes upon it that glowed. Tree was a rune she had seen with many variations since she had set out from the Quarters, but Olen would be satisfied only with the classic. Really, if she thought closely she should be able to recall it. She thought she must be hesitating far too long, but Olen sat patiently, not hurrying her at all.
The root of tree was the same from which the rune that opened the sky came from. In the books about the origins of the world it shared characteristics with the underlying reality of … reality. In fact, it wasn’t that different from the word for real. But where to start? She hardly knew which stroke to try. All the words she knew jumbled together in an incomprehensible mass in her mind’s eye.
Behind Olen, on the wall, a silvery rune shimmered into existence. It said tree, or rather, Silvertree. Was the house deliberately displaying it for her to see now, to jog her memory? The tree must be a thinking being, like a human or smallfolk. Tildi could not take the time to reflect upon that concept, not unless she wanted to tell Olen his own house was helping her cheat on his little test. With a grin she raised the pen and touched it to the air as if writing on a piece of paper suspended there. A silver line followed the point as she drew it down. Tree could be written in a single stroke. Tildi bit the end of her tongue as she did her best to follow all the loops and turns that described the roots and leaves, the water it drank, and how it tied the earth to the sky. It felt right as she drew it, and to her delight she knew just where to stop.
Olen’s large eyebrows had been drawn down, too, but they began to rise like clouds. “Not too badly done. But that is a specific tree, isn’t it? I recognize Silvertree’s name there. I want just the essence of the species itself. Reach more deeply into your knowledge and see if you can separate what is specific to Silvertree and what is general about trees.”
“I’m not sure if I can. If I could only look in my book—” Tildi started toward her bag.
“Why? It’s a simple word. You’ve seen it in storybooks. You went to school, you said so in your letters. Drag it up from your memory, by force, if necessary.” The look of mild amusement in the green eyes took some of the sting out of the sharp direction. “Don’t be afraid of me, girl. I’m the safest thing you will face in your career as a wizard. If the first lesson scares you, then you have chosen the wrong calling. Go on. Go back to your earliest days and think.” Tildi closed her eyes.
She was hesitant about calling up any memories of home, as if they would bring the horrors of her last day to her. It was best to follow Master Olen’s instructions, and think forcefully, ignoring that which she did not want to see. In her mind she called up the picture of the slate in the village classroom, and the schoolmaster’s hand as he wrote upon it in white pencil. He drew the picture of a tree, then next to it a word. Yes, there it was. Why did she ever think it was hard to recall?
Tildi mimicked the symbol in the air. It looked rather like a very young schoolgirl had drawn it, but it was accurate.
“Now, draw beside it only the details that make Silvertree’s different. Only those details, mind you!”
That was much harder. It was like picturing embroidery without the garment inside it, with all the crossed threads that usually remained hidden. When she finished there was a tangle of lines in the air. She blushed to look at them, but Olen seemed pleased.
“That’s good, girl. You’re teachable.”
“Thank you, master,” Tildi said, clutching the pen. “I’ll do anything I can for you, sir. I am a very good—”
Olen chuckled and interupted, “I appreciate your eagerness, lass. Ah, here you are.”
Chapter Ten
Olen turned and gestured toward the door. A plump woman with silvering brown hair done up in a braided bun on top of her head stood in the doorway. Her complexion was fresh pink and white, she had a pretty, pointed nose above plump, pink lips, and she had the lightest blue eyes Tildi had ever seen.
“This is Tildi Summerbee, my new apprentice,” he told the woman. He peered down at Tildi. “Liana is my housekeeper. She will show you to your room, if she would be so good.” He looked Tildi up and down again. “Perhaps we will take the legs off the bed for you.”
“A pair of steps might be easier, Master Olen,” Liana said with gentle patience. “It’s a nice bed the way it is.”
“Hmm?” Olen gave a dismissive wave. “Whatever you will. I’m not in charge of housekeeping. I have other matters I must attend to for now. Go ahead and see if you like your room.”
Tildi put the pen down and hoisted her rucksack, which now felt to her as if it weighed no more than a feather. “I am sure I will, sir. You won’t regret it, sir.”
Olen was already engrossed in a closely written scroll. “I’m sure I won’t.”
“Thank you, master!”
Liana laid a large, pink hand on Tildi’s shoulder and guided her toward the door. “Come on, child. He’s not hearing a word you say. Tildi, is it? That’s a pretty name. I’m sure Master Olen told me something different when you first arrived here, but he does not always tell me things clearly so I can understand them.”
Tildi didn’t say anything, but followed the housekeeper up yet another winding flight to the next level of the gigantic house. Her cheeks were red with shame, realizing that perhaps no one at all had been fooled by her disguise! Why had the people at the Rushet inn not said anything, instead of letting her carry on like a strolling player and making a fool of herself?
Because they were kindly folks, and they let her say what she wanted. Perhaps they thought she was a runaway apprentice looking for a better life. Or any one of a hundred stories she could think of. Could be they were talking about it among themselves at that moment, over a glass of Mistress Cake’s excellent beer, trying to guess the fate the little smallfolk girl was running from. They must have been able to sense that beneath the bravado she was frightened to death of traveling alone in a strange land, and saw fit to smooth the way as they could. If she wanted them to think she was a boy, then they felt it was only kind to let her think they believed it. It did no harm. In fact, now that she was getting over the shame, it had made her feel more confident, and let her continue her journey without fear. The favor they had done her was immeasurable in its value. If in the future she could do the folks at the Groaning Table a good turn, she would.
“Here we are, Mistress Tildi,” Liana said, stepping aside so the smallfolk could step over the nut-brown threshold. “All yours.”
It was indeed a nice bed, with a chestnut-colored counterpane, surrounded by pure white gauze curtains, in a beautiful room that would have done credit to the wealthiest family in the Quarters. Tildi forgot about the heavy pack she was carrying as she wandered in the chamber, hardly daring to breathe. The ceiling was a high dome, a rounded triangle in shape. Around the top of the walls, a pattern had been painted of green vines that tumbled down in each corner in a riot of leaves and small, perfect pink roses. The room was alive with the scent of them. Tildi touched one with her hand, and the petals yielded to her fingers, releasing more of their luxurious perfume. They were growing right out of the walls!
The rest of the space was crowded with furniture: a writing desk underneath the high clerestory window, a wardrobe of a rich, dark wood she did not recognize, a couple of chests, a washstand with a looking glass, and a pair of narrow tables flanking the bed. Candlesticks sat on the tables and the writing desk, and a large brass sconce with a crystal chimney loomed over her head near the door.
“It’s a bit small to live in,” Liana said, “but since you’re a smallfolk it must feel big enough to you.”
“It’s … regal,” Tildi whispered, trying to find a rich enough word. The housekeeper laughed. “Well, then we all live like kings and queens here. This is one of the very smallest bedrooms, but it’s traditional to keep the apprentice in here. The last one was a lad bigger than the master, and I would
swear that his head hit one wall and his boots hit the door.” She raised the gold watch to look at it. “It’s five o’clock. There is bread, cheese, and some fruit on the tray there on the desk. Have yourself a little snack and a rest. Dinner’s at eight. You’ll dine with Master Olen.”
Tildi looked at the generous tray and back at the housekeeper with puzzlement on her face. “But you didn’t know for certain that he would accept me as his student.”
Liana smiled down at her. “If Silvertree lets you in, then you’d almost be certain to be accepted. He takes her recommendation. She’s a good judge of people.”
Tildi stroked the silvery wall. “It’s a she, then?”
Liana looked up at the high ceiling. “I suppose not, as we count things, though she bears seeds and fruit, so I think of her as a her. She’s got her feelings, you’ll come to find. I had a lot of things to accept when I came to work for a wizard. I’m sure your house is full of wonders, as well, you being a student of the infinite arts.”
Tildi shook her head. “Not at all, and never anything like this. My home is so different than the way you live. My people don’t like magic.” Or girl wizards, she thought to herself. “Everything I’ve seen since I left home is different. I like some of it very much, but a lot of it makes me uncomfortable.”
“I think that defines Master Olen’s household,” Liana agreed. “You may never know the meaning of what’s going on, but you can’t let that haunt your mind a bit. Dinner at eight. You’ve no clock, but you’ll know. Take some time for yourself. Your bathing room is just to the right. You don’t have to share with anyone. The tub is big, so take care climbing into it. Take your time. It’s a lot to absorb all at once, I know. There’s a wardrobe for you. Linens are inside it. Leave your laundry in the covered basket. It will be gathered up with the rest of the household’s. If you need anything, ask for it. Welcome, Tildi.”
An Unexpected Apprentice Page 12
