by Jane Glatt
The small cottage came into view when Brenna rounded a stand of fir trees. She stopped and took a quick look around, breathing in the piney scent of the trees and the smell of wood smoke that trailed from the chimney.
This would be a very pretty spot in the spring. She could imagine the wildflowers and herbs and tall grasses that would blanket the valley.
“Don’t just dawdle, girl. Get in here.”
Brenna turned towards the voice. A small figure wrapped in an enormous green cloak glared at her from the front door of the cottage. She stomped up the steps to the door and quickly ducked inside.
“Sorry, Mistress, I was just admiring your view,” Brenna said. She took off her pack and then her cloak, which she hung on a hook beside the door. Her boots went below her cloak, the snow quickly melting to puddle by the door. Pack in hand, Brenna carefully stepped around the small puddle as she followed the elderly woman into the main room of the house.
Though Mistress Utley’s cottage looked small from the outside the room was easily as large as the main room in Laurel’s house.
It was obvious that this was where the old woman spent most of her time. A fire crackled in large hearth - three iron pot hooks that could be swung over the flame were pushed up against the brick and a large basin with a hand pump sat underneath a window. Brenna looked dubiously from Mistress Utley to the pump, wondering how the tiny woman operated the heavy lever.
Immediately in front of the hearth sat a large padded bench and two wooden chairs and to the left, along the east wall, stood a huge table, littered with various books and papers and quills and jars. More books were on the floor beside the table, stacked almost even with the tabletop, which was covered with various jars and scrolls. The basin and pump lined the west wall, along with a dining table and two chairs. A large cupboard sat close to the front door.
Mistress Utley pulled her cloak tighter about her thin frame, walked over to the chair closest to the fire and gingerly sat down. Once she was seated, the woman turned to glare at her.
“Well, what are you waiting for,” she said sternly. “Do something.”
“Do what?” Brenna asked, puzzled by the older woman’s behavior.
“Do whatever you think needs doing first,” was the response.
Brenna frowned as Mistress Utley sank down into her cloak. After watching the older woman for a few seconds, she picked up her pack and headed for the basin. She rinsed the kettle and pumped fresh clean water into before setting it over the fire to boil.
Opening her pack, Brenna rummaged around until she found the two ingredients she wanted. She studied Mistress Utley, who seemed to be almost asleep, then pulled the old steel mortar and pestle from her pack. One hand briefly caressed the smooth metal and she cocked her head and listened to its song for a moment before carefully placing some leaves into it. With her knife, she shaved a bit of the root she held into the small bowl, carefully eyeing the quantity of shavings. With the mortar, she ground the herbs into a fine powder. The water was boiling when she pulled the kettle from the fire and Brenna filled a clean mug. One small measure of powder went into the mug and the rest she dumped into a small bowl she found in the cupboard. Mistress Utley could use this for another dose later if she needed.
“What are you doing, girl?” The voice was querulous, and stronger than Brenna had expected, given the woman’s obviously frail state.
“Just making you a tea.” Brenna grabbed the mug and walked over to her. “See, it’s something to help.”
“What’s in it?” Mistress Utley reached one shaky hand out and gripped the mug, bringing it closer as she sniffed.
“A little meadowsweet for your aches and pains and some ginger to ward off chills.”
“I can smell that, girl.” Mistress Utley’s eyes narrowed as she sniffed again at the tea. “I mean the magic. What spell did you use?”
“Spell? I didn’t use a spell.” She looked over her shoulder at the mortar and pestle sitting out on the table. Too late, she realized that she should have put them away. She turned back to see Mistress Utley’s eyes dart from the tabletop to her and back to her tools again.
“Sit down.” Mistress Utley motioned for Brenna to sit on one of the chairs opposite her.
Nervously, Brenna complied, settling onto the hard wood with a lump in her throat. She could still see the mortar and pestle, innocently sitting on the table across the room.
Brenna watched as Mistress Utley sipped her tea.
“I don’t think you’re trying to kill me, girl. I can’t detect anything amiss in this tea.” The elderly woman sighed as she took another sip. “It works wonderfully well, as a matter of fact.”
Brenna watched silently as Mistress Utley finished her tea and placed the mug on the bench beside her.
“Thank you my dear, that was very helpful.” Mistress Utley let the green cloak fall from her shoulders and she sat up straighter. “A most unusual beginning. I’ve never had this happen before.” She turned her dark eyes on Brenna. “I start all my students off the same way, Brenna, by letting them decide what needs to be done first. But you are the first one to feel that my well-being needed tending to first.” She smiled, her face wrinkling up around her yellowing teeth. “And the first to use magic on me. Don’t worry, I can tell you meant no harm. Likely you don’t even know what you did.”
Brenna nodded. She’d suspected that the old steel mortar and pestle somehow helped make her poultices and potions work better but she hadn’t been sure it was actual magic.
“I do want to know more about that magic,” the witch said. “Bring me that mortar and pestle.”
Reluctantly, Brenna stood and went back over to the table. She blew the last few particles of the tea from the bowl of the mortar. She could leave now, stuff everything back into her pack and simply walk away. But then she’d never get to learn magic, really learn it. And she had no doubt the witches of Aruntun would soon be on the lookout for her - a renegade witch with too much power and no control. She had to stay. Her shoulders slumped as she picked up the mortar and pestle and turned and walked back to Mistress Utley. Wordlessly, she handed them over to the papery grasp of the elderly woman.
“Well, well,” Mistress Utley muttered under her breath as she turned the objects over. She smoothed a hand along the mortar and Brenna felt a ghost of a shiver run down her spine. “Very interesting. Where did you find these, girl?” Black eyes bored into her.
“In Kingsreach,” Brenna said. She ducked her head as she sat back down in the chair. “They more or less found me.” The urge to snatch them out of the other woman’s hands was strong. She clenched her fists and reminded herself that even if taken far away and hidden, she’d always be able to find the mortar and pestle. She automatically reached for their song and on hearing it, relaxed.
“What did you do? Just now?” Mistress Utley looked from Brenna to the mortar and pestle she held. “They reacted magically to you in some way. What did you do?”
“I, um, I didn’t do anything, really,” Brenna stuttered. “I just reached out for them. Mentally.” She had a hard enough time describing it to Kane, who could at least feel something with his sword. “Like this.” She reached out again and Mistress Utley’s dark eyes widened in surprise.
“That’s the same magic I felt last fall, before you crossed the border. I felt it from here. So very strong, but a magic I don’t recognize. How do you do it?”
“I don’t really know,” Brenna said. “It’s because of what they’re made of. I have an affinity for the metal.” She watched as the old woman passed age-worn hands over the mortar and pestle. Mistress Utley closed her eyes and held both items close to her face, sniffing them.
“Hmm.” Mistress Utley opened her eyes. “I can’t feel any magic at all when you’re not triggering it. Do it again, Brenna.”
Once again, Brenna mentally reached for the mortar and pestle. This time she lingered and slightly dropped her controls until both items were glowing softly in the older woman
’s hands. Mistress Utley turned the mortar over in her hand and looked at it from all angles.
“That is remarkable,” Mistress Utley said. She held the items out to her. “I’m old enough that I believed I’d seen every type of magic there was but here you go and surprise me.”
Brenna took the mortar and pestle from Mistress Utley. She cradled both items to her chest and let them go dark. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Brenna said.
“Oh don’t be sorry, girl,” Mistress Utley said. “At my age any new discoveries are wonderful – they remind me why it’s good to be alive.” Her wrinkled face broke into a grin. “The first thing we need to teach you is how to contain your power. You’re scattering it all over when you do that. You have plenty of magic to spare,” Mistress Utley said with a frown. “But there might come a day when you don’t. Even though your magic is different, the principals of controlling it should be the same.”
Mistress Utley paused, lost in thought, her fingers drumming on the table top. Brenna waited silently. If she could control her power, she’d be able to contact Kane.
“Now then,” Mistress Utley said abruptly. “I need to know what your skills are. The ability to do magic is something one is born with but magic usually enhances other existing abilities.”
“Like healing?” Brenna asked.
“Exactly.” Mistress Utley nodded. “If you’re a healer, magic will enhance those skills, but you’re also a Seer. Seers often have the ability to piece information together to see the whole.”
That’s what she’d done with her network of informants, Brenna thought, seen the patterns among apparently unrelated pieces of information.
“What else are you good at?” Mistress Utley continued. “Are you a good cook? A fine seamstress? We have witches who are good at growing things and others who are good at building things.”
Brenna shook her head. She was a decent cook, but only because she knew herb lore - the only other thing she’d excelled at was what she’d started doing as a young girl in Thorold’s household - sneaking and thieving.
“I’m a very good thief,” Brenna blurted out. She clamped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t planned on telling anyone that.
“The gods must have heard me complain that life was boring,” Mistress Utley said. Her face crinkled up and she giggled.
The sight of the old woman giggling like a young girl made Brenna smile.
“I’m not even sure why I told you,” Brenna said. “I hadn’t planned to.”
“I know why,” Mistress Utley said. “You are the most unusual student I’ve ever had. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secret.”
“Truly?” Brenna sat up. Now that Mistress Utley knew about the mortar and pestle and her being a thief, Brenna felt exposed, vulnerable. But she needed the training so badly …
“Truly.” The older woman smiled at her. “You see, one of my abilities, one that’s enhanced by magic, is the ability to gain people’s trust. That’s why you told me something you’d rather not have people know. It helps make me a better teacher, knowing these other things, having you trust me, but I’m very conscious of keeping your trust once I have it. So no, I won’t tell anyone about you being a thief or the magic you have with the mortar and pestle.”
Over the next few weeks Brenna and Mistress Utley fell into a routine. Brenna arrived at the cottage shortly after sunrise every day and would make breakfast of porridge and a tea to help ease the older woman’s aches and pains. Then Brenna would sit down to her studies while Mistress Utley sat by the fire.
Brenna had been disappointed to find that she’d be spending long hours studying the old gods - she wanted learn how to control her power - but Mistress Utley insisted that the balance of the old gods was the basis of all magic, so she’d concentrated on the task.
Growing up in Duke Thorold’s estate, Brenna, like all members of the household, had been required to attend services for the One-God - but the church’s strict rules and disciplines had never inspired a child already confined by her circumstances.
Her mother had taken her to other ceremonies where the old gods had been worshipped. It was a very small group of people, rural folk mostly, tied to the ebb and flow of the land. For them, spring planting, healthy livestock and good weather were all due to the bounty of Ush. Brenna’s mother also prayed to Ush for aid in healing and Brenna had sometimes joined other indentured servants to pray to Jik for safety, but she knew little about the rest of the old gods.
With Mistress Utley, Brenna learned how the five gods governed all aspects of life.
Ush held authority over the physical world - the earth, the sun, the seas and all living creatures.
Jik was the god of safety and kept the balance between chaos and order. Brenna was surprised to learn that the god she had often prayed to while growing up held dominion over the unseen, which included her visions of the future.
Anu was the gentlest god - the god of families and belonging and love while Simi’s qualities were understanding and acceptance.
Finally there was Toru, the god the Collegium library was dedicated to. Toru was the god of knowledge but also of fulfilling your destiny – of finding your rightful place in the world.
Mistress Utley said that to find their destiny, a person must master the attributes of each of the other gods – Toru’s aspects could not be attained until all others were mastered.
All magically enhanced abilities were centered on the five gods, Mistress Utley explained. Brenna’s talents fell under the domains of Ush – for healing - and Jik – for Seeing. Mistress Utley’s own ability to gain trust was due to Simi and her teaching abilities were firmly in Toru’s realm.
When Mistress Utley was finally satisfied with Brenna’s grasp of the cycles of the old gods, she started to teach her how to handle her power.
“Imagine you are a weaver, Brenna, and all the separate strands are the pieces of your power. What you need to do is weave all those strands tightly together so that none escape. Not only will you have woven your power into a much stronger force, but you will not waste it.”
It was a sunny, early spring day - warm enough in the bright sun that they were sitting outside on Mistress Utley’s front step, each wrapped up tight in thick cloaks. Mistress Utley also had a long black scarf wrapped around her neck to keep the chill out.
“Try it again,” she said.
Brenna concentrated on her pack in front of her. She spoke the words of the concealment spell she’d learned from her mother, all the while trying to feel and collect her power. All of a sudden, she was surrounded by a mist. Everything but her cloak and her pack was hazy and dull.
“Let it go, Brenna,” Mistress Utley said to her. “Let the power go.”
Brenna relaxed and the porch and snow-covered fields and trees, along with Mistress Utley, came back into bright focus.
“Very good,” the older woman said. “Once you harnessed enough power you were able to become invisible yourself.”
“I was?” Brenna stuttered. “I was actually invisible?”
“Yes.” Mistress Utley nodded. “You did well, better than I expected, but be warned, it takes a great deal of power to stay invisible so if you think to play tricks on folk you’ll pay the price with an aching head.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Brenna agreed automatically. She was already thinking of ways she could use this new skill. Oh to be back in Kingsreach with a job from Eryl - there wouldn’t be anything she couldn’t steal. She would practice this spell as often as possible, headache or not. Besides, much as she didn’t like to think about her time with Feiren before she’d killed him, she had learned a lot about what caused the body pain. She hadn’t told Mistress Utley, but she’d been experimenting, using that knowledge to stop the crashing headaches she’d been experiencing after doing a lot of magic.
Brenna snuck a glance at the older woman. She’d grown fond of Mistress Utley but somehow she felt that her teacher would prefer that there be a price
for using magic, especially great amounts of magic. Brenna looked out across the front yard and with a tweak, manipulated the flow of her blood to stop the beginnings of a headache.
Brenna walked slowly back to Laurel’s house. As she had every day since she’d learned the spell, she was practicing staying invisible and trying desperately hard to keep her footsteps from crunching noisily on the snow. Just as she reached the main road to the small village of Lakeview, a rider swept past her, the horses hooves flinging clumps of snow behind it. The tail of the dark horse flicked as it turned onto a busier street, the navy blue cloak of its rider swinging in the cold March wind.
Brenna turned into the lane that led to Laurel’s house and paused. A horse was tied up outside, black as night against the white of the snow. Her heart jumped and she increased her pace. It wasn’t Runner but Kane could be riding a different horse? She reached the front door, only to have it open before she could grab the handle.
“Brenna,” Laurel said. “You have a visitor.”
Brenna edged past Laurel and stepped inside the small house. As she took off her warm cloak and slipped out of her boots, she curiously eyed the man standing by the hearth. Could Kane have sent him? Could he be a Brother?
“Hello,” Brenna said. She walked over to him. “I’m Brenna. Laurel said you’re here to see me?”
“Yes, I am, I was sent, er, that is, I’m Samuel Doyle, Mistress.” The man stuck one hand out and Brenna gripped it lightly.
“I’m happy to meet you, Samuel Doyle,” Brenna said. He’d been sent! By Kane? “Won’t you take off your coat?”
He was younger than she’d first thought, despite his height. Or was it his nervousness that made him seem younger? He was taller than Kane, and far lankier. His dark brown hair was curly and he had the most marvelous green eyes she’d ever seen, framed by lashes so thick and long they’d be the envy of every whore in Thieves Quarter. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of a chair.
