by Chanda Hahn
“Now that bottle right there will make you feel like you’re in love,” spoke a gravelly voice over my shoulder. I jumped and had to steady a few bottles that I almost knocked over.
A cackling laugh erupted from an elderly, gray haired lady whose face was covered in laugh wrinkles. Her sun-lined face showed that she probably spent most of her times outdoors, and her skin had a hint of sparkles.“Don’t worry; it doesn’t make anyone fall in love with you. It just gives you a feeling as though you are in love. You wouldn’t believe how many married women wish for the feeling of being young and in love again,” she winked at me.
I looked at the bottle closer.
“It’s my best seller. I’m a Weaver. I weave feelings into my perfumes so that women can feel confident or beautiful while they wear them.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in. Weavers was the nickname given to the Denai with weaving abilities. They were able to make a pot that would never boil over or silverware that would never tarnish by weaving power into their items during construction. I had seen some of the items first hand in the Citadel’s kitchen.
“Do you ever weave hate or fear into them?” I asked cautiously.
Her eyes darkened angrily, “That would be abusing the gifts that God gave me and I would never do that.” Her voice became louder, almost a shout as she ranted, “I only weave light, not darkness! Never darkness! The dark does not like to be ignored, and its call is sweet like honey, but it will devour you whole and spit you out.” Her anger rose and then quickly dissipated when she saw my obvious distress at her tone. Her voice lowered and she seemed to regain clarity and looked around warily. “Not saying someone else couldn’t do it, but I won’t do it. And no one can make me.” She seemed as if she knew from experience and which may have brought on her moment of insanity.
“Please don’t take offense.” I held my hand out to her, palms up as if I was soothing a frightened animal. “I should have known better than to question your methods. Your work is beautiful and I would never wish to insult you, but my curiosity at the wonder of what you can do made me speak without thinking.” I put every ounce of comfort into my voice, trying to soothe the woman who seemed so close the edge of reason.
The women visibly softened.
“Ah child; don't let old Ruzaa's bark worry you. I do get a little irrational about my gift sometimes. Once, long ago, a terrible man thought I could weave a potion to force people do his bidding.” She looked tired and worn out as she went on, “I was even been beaten as he tried to force my hand to work dark and evil things into potion form.” She held up her hands and I could see the white mangled tissue of faded burn marks around her hands. “I wouldn’t do it. That would be compromising my values. To give in, to take something that was meant for good and use it to do evil is a sin. And I refused. They could’ve killed me for all I cared.” Her gaze turned steely in determination before flicking to a movement over my shoulder. She dropped her hands and hid them behind her apron. I turned but saw nothing.
My heart lurched with a feeling of empathy. Here was a survivor, a kindred heart, someone who had lived through unbearable circumstances and arose to live on. I had more in common with this unstable female than anyone I had met in Calandry.
“Ruzaa, stay strong, never change who you are for anyone.” I reached for her hand under her apron and held it in such a way as to expose my own scars. Ruzaa’s eyes widened with understanding, and she looked up at me as tears sparkled in both of our eyes. A bond between two survivors formed; one old, one young.
Avina, not understanding the exchange, finally spoke up with her childish exuberance. “What about getting a boy to kiss you? I could really use something like that!” Ruzaa laughed out loud and I smiled at the excited look on Avina’s freckled face, when my gaze was drawn to the flowers that were drying and hung around posts from the booth. An idea struck me.
“Ruzaa. What about dyes? Can any of your flowers be used for dyes? I’m looking for a gift for the Citadel’s head seamstress, Berry. I would love to give her something to experiment with and get a color that no one else has?”
Her aged eyes grew thoughtful as she pulled a plant that resembled holly and was a rich deep blue. She put it in a small cinch sack. “Try this. I would say she could get a wonderful deep blue and some indigo. But here is a secret.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Whatever garment she makes with this dye, the wearer will always have feelings of hope.” She winked at me. I couldn’t help myself. I hugged her with delight, almost knocking her over. Ruzaa’s surprised laughter stayed with me as I carried my small prize with me down the street. She had even given me a wonderful deal on my present. Avina, who was very patient during this exchange, was now buzzing with excitement.
“You know she’s crazy right?” Avina whispered in a hushed voice, hoping that Ruzaa wouldn’t overhear.
“Aren’t we all?” I answered back.
“Come on.” Avina pulled me toward the mercantile districts and their brightly painted yellow shops. “We have to get you some material for a new outfit for the Founding Celebration. Oh, and a mask!”
“Founding Celebration?”
Avina rolled her eyes at me. “You know, the Founding Celebration, the midwinter celebration in honor of the founding of Calandry. Are you going with anyone?”
My mind immediately went to Joss but then a picture of him and Syrani flashed in my mind. “Um no, I didn’t know that you had to go with someone, I thought you could go as a group?”
“Of course you can go as a group. But on the final night of the Celebration, the Palace holds a masked event... It’s the one night of the year when everyone in the Citadel is equal, and of course there is dancing and contests. But the best part is when the Faeries pass out matching dance tokens to the male and female guests; you are supposed to find your match to redeem your dance,” she rushed out almost in one breath. Her eyes got a dreamy look before finishing. “And then at midnight, when the bell tolls midnight, whoever kisses you is meant to be your true love.” I was getting lost in her babble of love, fairies and tokens.
“That seems unlikely. It sounds like the drivel a bunch of desperate girls would make up,” I chuckled.
“But, Thalia!” Avina whined, eyes opening wide, “I am a desperate girl. And it's not drivel. I didn't make it up. It's tradition.”
“It's a stupid tradition.” I could see that my comment hurt her as her shoulders slumped dejectedly. Leaning over I nudged her. “So are you going with anyone?”
“No, I wish though.”
“Well I’m not going with anyone either, so I don’t see the point of getting all dressed up especially when no one knows who you are.”
“I see your point Thalia, but still…” Avina’s words drifted off as she pretended to dance with an invisible dance partner. Doing a curtsey and bowing in acceptance, she spun around and around until she accidentally bumped into a man. Then Avina tripped and went flying into a crate full of passionfruit.
“Now look here!” A stern vendor with a full beard yelled at us while his upset wife came rushing out into the street to try and save the fruit. She grabbed the closest crate and attempted to put the passionfruit in them while Avina followed the fruit rolling into the street, nabbing them and putting them in her apron.
“Sorry! I’m so, so, sorry,” Avina cried. A wagon drawn by two horses came rushing down the street, and the driver didn’t slow down as the bounty of fruit was crushed beneath the hooves and wagon wheels.
“NOOOOO! Oh, this is terrible. What am I to do?” she cried.
By this time the merchant was furious and the wife was crying into her apron. He wagged his finger at Avina, demanding payment for their very expensive fruit that they shipped in from a southern province. A baby began to wail in the back of the store and the wife rushed in to calm the crying baby. She returned red faced and teary eyed, the same emotions mirrored on her baby’s face.
“Oh, please, how much was that crate of fruit?” Avina aske
d, opening up her small coin purse, getting ready to dump it all into the merchant’s hands if need be. When he stated the cost of the fruit, she paled and her hands began to shake. “I don’t have that much.” She looked at me in despair. I looked at my coins, and even if I gave her all of my money, we wouldn’t come up with a quarter of the cost that the merchant was demanding.
“Oh, come now,” a cultured voice interjected. Looking up, I was surprised to see Adept Cirrus, his white blonde hair no longer pulled back in a ponytail. He was dressed in non-formal attire, but the attention to detailing on his clothes still drew attention to his prestige and obvious wealth. Not to mention his grace and demeanor called for respect. “Even if you got them fresh off of a caravan yesterday, I know for a fact they wouldn’t be worth that much. And I can tell by the slightly acidic smell, thanks to the horses no doubt for smashing them, that they have gone a bit ripe.”
“Adept Cirrus!” the vendor balked and his wife hastily took the baby into the house. Regaining his composure, the merchant put on his best smile and jumped head first into the negotiations of the price of his fruit, knowing that this is what he did best.
“They were not going bad, I assure you. You must be smelling something else.” His voice had an unmistakable accent now that he was no longer yelling at us.
“Are you calling me a liar, Jeron? I just happened to purchase this fruit yesterday from a vendor across the district and his fruit was beautiful and sweet and cost four coppers less per piece than what you are obviously charging these ladies for your spoiled fruit.” He waved his hand dramatically across the way, drawing attention to his lambskin gloves. He pulled them closer in front of the vendor and looked him in the eye.
“I’m right, aren’t I, Jeron? Because I know you’re lying. Are you forgetting that I’m a Denai and I can tell when you lie?” The vendor’s eyes looked at the ground in shame.
“Now I think you must be mistaken in your calculation of how much your fruit is worth, or how many fruit you had spoiled in total.” Glancing around at the damage and what was salvaged he turned back to the vendor. “I will pay you four silver pieces for the whole lot and we will call it done.”
“I can’t take less than seven, Sir.” He began to draw his eyes to the floor and the tone of his voice turned pleading. “You see, your Honor; I’ve got a family to feed and a young one on the way.” I started at how easily the vendor could change his tune from raging bull to a poor meek vendor.
“Five silvers and I will forget you ever lied to me and I won’t report you to the merchant’s guild.”
“Done!” the vendor’s eyes gleamed greedily. Avina and I started to count out our money when Adept Cirrus held up his hand to stop us. “Don’t waste your valuable, hard-earned money greasing this one’s pocket on what was obviously an accident.” He pulled out his money pouch and withdrew five silver pieces and laid them in the palm of the vendor who quickly took the money and ducked into a back room.
“So young one,” he placed his hand on Avina’s braided head smiling. “I take it we have learned our lesson and will hold off on dancing in the streets for a while?”
“Yes, Adept Cirrus!” she squeaked. “I mean, no, Adept Cirrus, Sir.” She looked upon Cirrus in awe and followed behind him like a puppy who had found a good and kind master. I could understand her eagerness to please, because despite his age he was still pleasing to the eye and generous. He walked with us a ways.
“I’m sorry, Thalia, that we have not gotten anywhere with finding out more about what happened to you.” Cirrus slowed his pace and let Avina walk ahead of him until she stopped at a vendor that was selling pretty glass trinkets. “The Queen has sent guards looking for signs of the Septori but without more information we don’t know where to start looking. They haven't made themselves known before now.”
He seemed generally frustrated at their lack of ability to find the Septori.
“Adept Cirrus, you have been so kind and understanding and if I remember anything else of importance you will be the first to know.” I stopped walking completely and faced him.
Cirrus let out a sigh and looked over my shoulder in defeat. “That’s all I ask, Thalia. All I ask is that I be the first to know.” Looking back at me, he forced a smile onto his face and waved Avina over to us. “Well, don’t let this old man keep you from your shopping; I’m sure you have much more to buy today! And for being good sports and letting an old man enjoy the company of two beautiful women, I feel I must bestow a gift upon you.” He pulled two gold coins out of his pouch and handed one to each of us.
Avina’s green eyes lit up in excitement as she defended Cirrus’ statement. “You’re not that old.”
Cirrus laughed in merriment. “My young lady, I am old enough to be your father.”
“NO! She balked, “my father is really old. He is thirty five winters!”
“Well, I am thirty eight winters. So therefore I am older than your father and must be considered ancient, and by that note I am halfway to the grave already,” he chuckled.
“Avina! Let it go.” I smiled as I saw her brain working on a comeback to bring her out of the hole she kept digging herself into.
“Adept Cirrus, thank you for handling the vendor and paying for the fruit, but I really don’t think we can accept this.” I held the gold coin back to him feeling the weight of it in my hand along with a feeling of guilt.
“Nonsense, Thalia,” he interjected. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when the Adepts first met with you and this is my own way of apologizing that you have to work as a servant at the Citadel. It’s not the future I would have chosen for you.”
He curled my fingers around the gold coin in my hand, the feel of it burning in implications. “It’s guilt money, plain and simple. Mostly because of our lack of results in resolving this horrible conflict with the Septori. We are trying, believe me, we just aren’t getting very far.”
“You know that isn’t necessary.” I held the coin back up to him, feeling that if I took it I would somehow be indebted to him. And I did not want the feeling of being indebted to anyone; it caused a sense of helplessness. Similar to how I feel toward Joss and Darren, as though I owed them for saving my life. Cirrus stepped back away from my hand, tipped his head in farewell and disappeared into the crowd of people.
“I didn’t thank Cirrus for his gift,” Avina said, sticking her small bottom lip out pretending to look hurt. But recovering in record time, she grabbed my arm and pulled me down the street toward more shops. “Come on, I want you to meet Pim.” Racing down the street, she dragged me through numerous twists and turns until we ended up in a dead end alley where we found Pim playing a game with wooden sticks and stones.
Pim turned out to be a young boy of about eight or nine years, wearing brown britches that were too big for him and had been rolled up at the hems in an effort to fit him better. His blue shirt and yellow vest was speckled with colorful patches, and his bare feet were covered in calluses and dirt.
But despite his appearance and obvious lack of wealth it didn’t affect his demeanor; for this young boy’s smile was contagious. Avina handed him a pastry that she had saved from earlier for him and promptly plopped herself down on a wooden crate.
“Sorry it’s all squished,” she grimaced. “I had an incident earlier today.”
“Mmfffittsss fokay,” he said through a mouth full of food. When he had swallowed his mouthful, he carefully split his pastry in two and set it aside to save it. Looking at me wearily he asked, “So, who’s your friend?”
“Pim this is Thalia, Thalia – Pim,” she said making the introductions while perched on her crate, legs swinging in contentment. Looking around she asked, “Where’s Jury?”
“Right HEEERRRREEE!” someone shouted, and I heard a small giggle as a little tow headed girl dropped down from what appeared to be an attic door in a side building of the alley to land in a wheelbarrow of straw. The crates we were sitting on were stacked so they could easily access the door and pull it
closed behind them.
Rolling out of the straw, Jury was a little thing wearing a dress in about the same shape as Pim’s clothes. With pieces of straw sticking out of her hair and clothes every which way, she resembled a moving scarecrow as she ran over and grabbed the other half of Pim’s pastry; eating it in two bites.
“Do you live here?” I asked in the kindest way I could.
“Yeah,” Pim stated nonchalantly. “It beats being put in a workhouse or orphanage. There would be a good chance Jury and I would be split up if we went there.” So that explained it; they were orphans.
Avina leaned over to me and whispered, “Jury is a Denai and neither one wants to be separated from each other yet. So no matter what I do, I can’t convince either one to come back with me to the Citadel.”
I didn’t want to ask them how they survived, because it would seem like I didn’t think they could, so I asked something less intrusive. “So how do you get along out here?”
“Oh, Pim works odd jobs doing deliveries,” Jury piped up.
I was just about to ask more questions when I heard a low growl from behind us. Looking over my shoulder I froze in mid-sentence as five of the largest dogs I have ever seen approached us, teeth baring. Each dog looked like it outweighed me by at least 50 pounds and blocked the exit out of the alley.
Never in my life had I seen a mixed breed like these; they were size of a Dane, the build of a Doberman and the jaw of a Bulldog. I moved across the alley to stand in front of Pim and Jury protectively. The dogs growled threateningly at my movement, the biggest one moved away from the pack and shadowed my movements.
“Avina! I whispered urgently. “Get them up the crates and into the attic, NOW!”
As soon as she moved to help Jury climb, the dogs charged. I grabbed a broken piece of crate, the splinters digging in my palms and swung at the lead dog as it leaped for Jury’s leg hitting him squarely on the nose.
