Stonewiser

by Dora Machado

  Twenty-four

  THE SIGUIRD WIDOW was a strong, lively woman with striking black eyes that shone like polished onyx. She wore her lustrous black hair loose over her shoulders and her dress tightly cinched around her body's prominent curves, demonstrating with the swing of her hips that she was very much still in contention. She manifested great pleasure in receiving Sariah once she understood that she was a Guild stonewiser. Sariah didn't contest the small detail about her Guild membership.

  “I'm honored to receive you in my house.” The widow's gaze scoured Sariah from head to toe. “Although, I must confess, I've never seen a stonewiser without the brooch and black robe.”

  “I've been traveling a lot. I find comfort in these clothes.”

  “They're strange.” She ran her hands over her long and proper Goodlander skirt. “But to each its own. Besides, no man or woman I know would want to pass themselves for a stonewiser—” She tittered. “Not that there's anything wrong with stonewiser blood, of course, that's not what I meant—”

  “Of course not.” Sariah knew all she risked by coming to see the widow. Granted, she couldn't call the beam right away, but she wondered, not for the first time, why the plight of people she didn't know kept sidetracking her.

  The widow served Sariah and Mara tea in her front parlor, but she left the Domainer kids standing by the open front door under a drizzle of rain. Sariah counted twelve boys and four girls wearing rags for mantles and mud for boots. Some of them showed cuts and bruises, and a few of them had some kind of rash around their mouths, on their necks and hands. They were a pathetic sight, thin, ragged, and huddling together under the rain like a pack of mangy mongrels waiting for scraps.

  “What brings a Guild wiser to our humble parts?” the widow asked when she finished tinkering with her prized tea set.

  “I understand there's a matter of property at stake,” Sariah said. “In deference to the Guild laws, I seek to formalize the agreement.”

  “I'm not sure I follow, stonewiser. What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn't.”

  “Oh.” The widow cleared her throat. “My husband has been dead a year now. The business of succession has been resolved to my name.”

  “These Domainers told me they purchased a parcel of land from you not a week ago.”

  Sariah had been to the so-called parcel of land before coming to see the widow, a steep, muddy hill by the river's sharp embankment where the youngsters had built a number of fragile lean-tos that threatened to slide down with the first hard rain. Sariah was no expert, but even she could see that the hill would flash flood easily and that not even a simple garden would grow in the thick mud.

  “You're here about the vermin's younglings?” The woman didn't bother hiding her surprise. “I didn't think the Guild cared about stuff like that.”

  “The law says that any trade should be documented by parchment, or preferably, by stone.”

  “A widow like me doesn't have the means to afford your services.”

  “Never mind. My services are offered without charge.”

  “Without charge?” The woman's mouth pursed in a perfect circle. “Forgive my trepidation. I've never met a Guild stonewiser who worked for free.”

  Neither had Sariah.

  “Well, you see, the thing is—” The woman squirmed. “I don't need your services after all.”

  “What do you mean? Didn't these youngsters pay you for the parcel?”

  “I don't want to get the poor bastards in trouble.” The widow lowered her voice. “I'm just letting them stay here out of the goodness of my heart.”

  “Out of the goodness of your heart?” Sariah repeated the words aloud. “So these youngsters are squatters in your land?”

  “We're not squatters.” Ginia stepped into the parlor. “We paid her all of our coin and more. That parcel is ours!”

  “Get out of my house, you snotty vermin. You're tracking mud on my floor.”

  “Ginia, stand back,” Sariah said. “You don't want to owe penalties to this woman.” She turned to the widow. “So these Domainers didn't pay to settle on your farm?”

  “Most decidedly not.”

  A gasp of indignation rose from the group outside. Even Mara, who had concentrated on her cup of tea to this point, flashed the widow a doubtful look. Sariah got up from her stool.

  “What about this collection of Domainer weaves you have here?” She fingered a pile of weaves stacked on the corner table. “Are they not part of the youngsters’ price?”

  “I've been collecting those for years. I keep them for the Shield. They have a standing order to confiscate all Domainer weaves. They think they provide some sort of protection against this or that.”

  “Those were our traveling weaves,” Ginia said. “If you look, they're marked with Panadan's weavers’ seal.”

  “Enough,” the widow said. “A Guild stonewiser won't take your word over mine.”

  The widow was right.

  “What about this coin?” Sariah picked up a single hexagonal copper she had spied half-sticking from under the widow's colorful rug.

  “Coin? I don't have any coin. Where did that come from?”

  “From the Domain, I'd say. It's minted with the coiled eel at the center. I can't help but wonder if there are other Domainer coppers about.”

  The widow didn't bat an eye. “There are a lot of Domainers wandering the border these days. They're always coming to the farm, asking for handouts. Maybe one of them children dropped a copper in my house.”

  “So these youngsters don't own any of your land?”

  “Not a lick.”

  Sariah whirled on the group. “You are all squatters. You're trespassing on the widow's land. You must leave.”

  “I'm not so uncharitable as to boot out this little herd on the spot.” The widow smiled sweetly. “The roads are dangerous. I don't mind if they stay under my protection for a while.”

  What did the witch want from the youngsters? Perhaps the Shield had offered a reward on Domainer heads. Perhaps she intended to use them as slaves on her farm. Whatever her purposes, Sariah had to extricate them from the widow's claws before it was too late. But why did she feel so strongly that she needed to help these wretched souls?

  Because they were Domainers and she had lived among their kind and benefited from their kindness? Maybe. But there was more. The stone truth meant nothing if not justice for the Blood. She wanted to help these kids for the same reason she had wanted to help Mara and her grandchildren on the road—because just as she served the stone truth, the stones were meant to serve these people and therefore, so was she.

  “Abetting Domainer refugees is a breach of the law.” Sariah wasn't sure, since no Domainer refugees wandered the Goodlands during her time at the keep, but she tried it anyway.

  “Abetting is a strong word,” the widow said. “In Meliahs’ spirit, I don't mind using my right of autonomy to protect these kids. Can we leave the poor souls to wander the Goodlands unaided?”

  “Why can't we stay if she says we can?” Ginia asked.

  Her guileless innocence seemed too much like stupidity at the moment. Would these hardy sons and daughters of the Domain relinquish their lives so easily?

  “Squatting is prohibited in the Goodlands,” Sariah said with a tone that barred all protests. “Get your stuff and meet me at the gate. Now.”

  “I can't understand your part in this, stonewiser,” the widow said. “You've come to my house for no profit, spewing the law like Meliahs’ prophetess and yet I wonder, why? You don't dress like any stonewiser I've seen and you don't act like any Guild wiser I know. Why must you interfere with my affairs when the Guild has no stake in this?”

  The woman was no fool. She was polite, but there was a calculated threat in her voice. Sariah knew she was treading in dead water, but she wasn't walking out of the farm without the Domainers. She had to prevail over the widow fast and conclusively. Her gaze returned to the youngsters’ faces. She saw th
em anew. What if…?

  “That's exquisite lace at your neck.” Sariah admired the woman's collar. “The best I've seen in a long time.”

  The observation surprised the widow, but the vain woman was delighted that Sariah noticed. “Imported from the sea people. Expensive too.” She lifted her hair from her shoulders so that Sariah could better appreciate the lace.

  And there it was. The key to the Panadanians’ freedom. And the main reason why the widow wanted to keep the Domainer children around. Sariah kicked herself for not seeing it before. At least her mind had made sense of it before it was too late.

  “The squatters are coming with me,” she said. “It's the best I can do for you.”

  “For me?” The woman's limp hand came to rest on her chest.

  “Don't make me bring charges against you.”

  She blinked stupidly. “Charges? Against me?”

  “The penalties are very harsh for those who break the Guild's tidiness laws,” Sariah said. “You'll return the weaves to the Domainers. They're marked with Panadan's weavers’ seal.”

  “I'll report you to the Shield.”

  “And I'll report you to the Guild. Expect confinement. Ruination. Death. For spreading disease.”

  The woman's porcelain face froze in horror.

  “What disease?” Ginia asked.

  “The rash on her neck,” Sariah said. “It's a sign of a common ailment among a certain kind of woman in the Goodlands. But I've never seen it in the Domain. It first appeared a few years ago among the Shield ranks. The Guild had to act and the Healer's Hall was hard-pressed to deliver a cure.”

  “I'm a reputable widow!” the woman said.

  “Who obviously cavorts with Shield soldiers,” Sariah said. “Look, Ginia. Some of your older friends have it on their faces and necks.” She grabbed the young woman's hand. “You have it on your arm. Do you know what causes this itchy rash on your skin?” Sariah pointed a straight finger at the widow. “She does.”

  “You look tired,” Malord said. “Perhaps we ought to finish this tomorrow.”

  “No, nay, now. We'll do it tonight.”

  Even if she couldn't call the beam tonight, Sariah meant to make good use of her time. She was determined to free Mia from the mysterious connection that plagued her. True, more than anything else, she wanted the child safe and back in Ars, freed from the bond that tied her to Sariah's dubious fate. But she also needed to expedite her search and accelerate her journey. If she was going to find the pure and the tale she sought, if she was going to save Ars from the executioners’ greed and save her own life before her time ran out, she was going to have to be faster, sharper, shrewder. Aye, Mia would be much safer back in Ars.

  She didn't look at her changing bracelet. She set aside the problem of the Panadanian youngsters camping out for the night in Mara's empty barn. She tried to forget the widow's blatant abuses and the rot lesions bubbling in Targamon's front field. She refused to think about Kael and the Shield. One problem at a time. One solution to find.

  “Mia.” Sariah called down the stairs. “Where is she?”

  “I bet you she's with the young Panadanian,” Malord said. “She's been following Rig like his shadow.”

  “I'm surprised he hasn't booted her heinie out of the way. That's boys for you at that age.”

  “This one seems fascinated by our little wiser.”

  Mia trotted up the stairs. “Did you call me, Auntie?”

  “Several times. Where were you?”

  “Playing cards with Rig in the kitchen.”

  “Isn't he kind of old to be playing with little girls?”

  “He's only fourteen and I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm almost thirteen.” She spoke rather firmly, in a tone completely new to Sariah. “He doesn't mind that I'm going to be a stonewiser. He's my friend. I need a friend.”

  “I don't mind if Rig is your friend. But you've only known him for—”

  “Did you call me for a reason, Auntie?”

  Was that irritation in the little girl's voice? “I told you we would have to wise tonight. Remember?”

  “I'm ready. Could we please do it quickly? I'm winning.”

  Mia, Malord and Sariah sat cross-legged on the floor of the bedroom Mara had offered to Sariah, a comfortable space furnished with a small fireplace that illuminated Mia and Malord's expectant faces. The three stones Sariah had painstakingly prepared for the occasion came from the river's bottom. They were light-colored, tight-linked granite, perfectly sized to fit in their palms, tumbled and polished to comfortable smoothness by the river flow's persuasive caress.

  Sariah laid the stones on the ground between the three of them. She had never tried this before, but during her time at the keep she had wised a couple of forbidden Guild stones that discussed the notion of amplifying stones. She just hoped she had remembered to imbue her river stones with all the necessary details. Otherwise, the exercise would be a waste of time.

  “These stones will help us look within ourselves,” Sariah said. “They're like a bright candle, like a magnifying glass. We want to take a thorough look at Mia's wiser mind and then travel my links to look at my mind. Be thorough and take your time.”

  Holding a stone in each hand, Sariah rested her hands on her knees, palms up. Mia's left hand and Malord's right one came to rest on top of Sariah's hands with the stones in between. Mia and Malord were similarly linked. They formed a perfect wising triangle, something the Guild forbade. The prohibition itself, combined with Sariah's experiences, led her to believe the triangle would increase their combined wising power.

  Sariah took a deep breath, closed her eyes, clasped the other wisers’ hands, and pressed the stones against her palms. They had tried looking into her and Mia's wiser cores several times before without success. Would the stones she had prepared make any difference?

  The amplifying stones’ effects were astounding. Her own wiser mind glowed like a sparkling mirror under the sun. The thickness of her links at the roots stunned Sariah, and the spiraling lengths of some of those links struck her as endlessly complex. The blackened stumps that stood lifeless and scorched between swaying filaments of light saddened her. The reckless mistakes she had made, the feebleness, the damage she had suffered wising the seven twin stones, Zeminaya's crippling blows—they had left terrible scars. They were the true measure of her losses, the final score of her service to the stones.

  Beside her, the little girl stirred. “I'm done.”

  “It's too soon, Mianina.” Sariah didn't bother releasing her trance. “Look carefully.”

  “But I'm done.”

  “I asked you to look into my links too.”

  “But I did. I even looked into Malord's. Didn't you feel me?”

  Now that she thought about it, Sariah did remember feeling a swift shadow running through her mind, like a quick stir of the summer breeze. “That was too fast. Do it again.”

  “But—”

  “I said do it again. A wiser's work is hard and tedious sometimes, but it must be done even if you want to go back and play cards with Rig.”

  Sariah returned to her wiser's mind. Almost immediately, she felt the shadow cross over her mind, the wind, this time blustery, blowing through. With a sigh, Sariah dropped her trance and opened her eyes.

  “If you don't want to do it, just tell—”

  “Auntie. I'm telling you. I already did it.”

  “You examined your links, and Malord's, and mine in such little time?”

  “Thrice.”

  “It's not possible.” Malord too had dropped his trance and was staring at Mia.

  A preview of adolescent rebellion flashed in Mia's blue and green eyes. “Maybe you're just slow.”

  “All right, let's say, for the sake of discussion, that you did review your links and ours,” Sariah said. “What did you find?”

  “My mind is much prettier than yours,” Mia said without a trace of modesty. “Newer is better, I think. I worked a little on my blemishes. I
don't like the way they look.”

  Wiser vanity and little blemishes? Sariah's stomach pitched when she remembered making the bulk of those little blemishes during Mia's breaking. They had not been easy to make, or small for that matter. And Mia had said that she had worked on those blemishes. A wiser couldn't repair sliced links and truncated connections. Could she?

  “Malord, some of your links look worse than Lou Ella's pox-marked face,” Mia said. “And Auntie, one would think bursting stones struck your links judging from the craters in there. You two ought to spend some time sprucing up.” Her tone was unmistakably maternal, as if she were her mother telling Thaddeus to wash behind his ears.

  Malord was choking on his spit and Sariah was not doing any better at getting the words unstuck from her throat. “Uh. Mia? Can you heal the blemishes in your links?”

  “Of course. You can't?”

  The child never ceased to amaze her.

  “I can't heal all of them, not all of the time,” Mia said. “And it makes me very tired, so I don't bother with everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “You know, the stuff you get when you're trying new tricks.”

  New tricks. Mia was experimenting on her own and there was nothing Sariah could do to stop that. But then again, if the child was healing herself, why should she be stopped?

  “Can you heal others?” Malord asked.

  “I healed Auntie once. When she was fighting Zemi.”

  “That was you?”

  “I thought you knew.”

  “Can I—we—watch you?” Malord stammered. “Healing?”

  “Sure. What do you want me to heal?”

  “Pick whatever you want.”

  Mia closed her eyes. Sariah grabbed the trance and followed her links through to Malord's mind. Her vision was enhanced by the amplifying stones. Malord wiser's mind was actually in good condition compared to others she had seen at the keep, but watching Mia's pristine links at the same time, she could see why the child would find Malord's mind—and hers, for that matter— lacking. The luminosity of Mia's links was blinding. The power coursing through those links was immense.