The Fuller's Apprentice (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 1)

by Angela Holder

  Elkan conferred with Sar, who put his head up and swiveled his long ears forward. “Sar thinks it’s a single traveler. Probably harmless. Although it’s odd for someone to be traveling alone out here.”

  Josiah gripped a fold of skin at the nape of Tobi’s neck. “Stay by me, girl. We don’t want to frighten whoever it is more than we have to.”

  Elkan and Sar went cautiously ahead. “Hello?

  Josiah exchanged anxious glances with Meira and followed. Rounding a tight turn around a rocky outcropping, Josiah spotted the traveler.

  He was an older man, with thick gray hair bound into a long tail that trailed down his back. He was dressed in layers of wool and leather in shades of brown and green that blended into the forest. He turned around and walked toward them with a springy step that belied the seamed lines of his weatherbeaten face.

  “Greetings, travelers,” he said, showing no surprise at their unlikely combination of people and animals.

  “Our greetings to you, also,” Elkan replied. Josiah breathed a little easier. It was clear the man was friendly. “We seem to be heading the same direction. We’d welcome your company, or we’ll pass and leave you to make your own way if you prefer.”

  The man inclined his head. “Thank you for the invitation. I’d be pleased to share the road with you.” His voice was soft and musical. “My name is Master Norlan Weaverkin Waulker.”

  Elkan introduced the members of their party. Master Norlan eyed Josiah with skeptical humor. “Fuller, eh? You’re far from any mill. I suppose you share your craft’s disdain for those of us who cling to the old ways?”

  Josiah stammered, at a loss for how to respond. Master Sef had once briefly mentioned waulking as part of the history of the fuller’s craft, but that was all he knew about it. Elkan intervened smoothly. “Josiah’s taking a year away from the fulling mill to assist me on my journey. I’m sure he’ll welcome the opportunity to learn from you.”

  Josiah nodded vigorously. “It’s not like there’s anywhere you could build a fulling mill up here anyway. Not with the weavers so spread out.” That didn’t come out quite the way he meant it. Might Master Norlan interpret it as an insult? “I mean, just because waulking is old fashioned doesn’t mean there aren’t places where it’s still needed…” He trailed off.

  Master Norlan regarded Josiah, his face as stern as if carved from stone,. Then it relaxed into a wry smile. “True enough, apprentice. If your road leads to Bachiolami, you can join in the waulking I’ll be leading there. It might give you a deeper understanding of your own craft as well as mine.”

  “Yes, sir. I’d like that.” Josiah busied himself scratching Tobi’s ears.

  “In fact, that’s where we’re headed. You’re familiar with this road, I take it? Do you know how much further we have to go?” Elkan gestured, and Master Norlan fell in beside him as he set off.

  “Just a few hours’ walk. We should be there well before sunset.”

  “That’s what I hoped, but my maps aren’t always exact. You haven’t come from Ezlith, also, have you? I’d have thought we’d have met each other on the road before now, if so.”

  “No, from Dotnida, further north. The paths joined a few miles back. Any news from the towns to the east? I’ve been traveling the backside of beyond for months now.”

  “Nothing lately, but have you heard about the bandits in Tathorlith a couple months ago? We were involved in that.” Elkan described the events in Tathorlith as Master Norlan listened with avid interest.

  When Elkan came to the part about Tobi, Master Norlan looked back at the mountain cat and Josiah, nodding. “Ah, so that’s how she came to be a part of your company. I’ve met a fair number of wizards and familiars through the years, but none of her sort.”

  “I’m not sure there’s ever been a Mother-touched mountain cat before,” Elkan admitted. “Certainly none that I’m aware of. I’ll have to check the records when we get back to Elathir. Some apprentice next spring will be excited to be paired with her.”

  A rush of jealousy surprised Josiah. He shoved it aside. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known all along he was only a temporary caretaker for Tobi. Of course she must bond with a wizard. He’d just have to make sure to have a long talk with whoever became her bondmate, so he could pass on everything he’d learned about her personality, abilities, and needs. He stroked the soft fur of her back possessively.

  As Master Norlan had promised, the sun was still high when they crested the last steep section of trail and entered Bachiolami’s small valley. A dozen cottages were scattered along the shore of a little lake cupped in a hollow of the mountains.

  Elkan wiped sweat from his forehead and grimaced as he dug in a pack on Sar’s back for the cloak that marked him as a wizard. Since the weather had warmed he seldom wore it except when they entered a new village. He draped the heavy wool around his shoulders. Josiah knew he’d remove it at the first possible moment, and it would disappear into Sar’s pack, not to come out again until it was needed to lend Elkan the dignity and authority of his guild.

  Josiah was familiar now with the process of arriving at a new village. Someone spotted them—this time it was a man who looked up from harvesting beans growing in a small terraced field—and word quickly spread. Children spilled from houses and appeared from the surrounding woods and fields, closely followed by their elders. The excitement was even more pronounced this time than usual, as the villagers realized that both the waulker and the wizard had arrived.

  The village elder introduced herself as Master Jarah Weaverkin Weaver. She immediately fell into discussion with Norlan, telling him of the amount and types of fabric waiting to be waulked, and planning when the villagers would be able to put aside their other work for the necessary time. Her son, Sansom, a journeyman spinner, and his wife Rahel, a journeyman weaver, took Elkan and Josiah into their home, while Meira and Ravid were quickly swept up by the village smith.

  Once settled, they all gathered outside Jarah’s house for the customary impromptu feast. Bachiolami was too small to have a Mother’s Hall, but the weather was fair, the cool of evening welcome after the hot summer day. Tables, chairs, stools, and benches were brought out to accommodate the celebration.

  Josiah was used to the young people of the village mobbing him, excited by the presence of a traveler near their own age, eager to hear his story, the bolder ones hoping he might allow them to pet Tobi. He enjoyed the attention, and he’d polished his tale over many tellings. He especially liked to relate his first encounter with Tobi. The girls always gasped in horror and admiration when he told how he’d thrown himself between the mountain cat and the watchers’ arrows. He couldn’t help but exaggerate his own heroism a little bit. Maybe he hadn’t really been in danger of bleeding to death, but they were still suitably impressed when he pushed up his sleeve to show off the faint white line where the arrow had hit him. He almost wished Elkan had left more of a scar.

  Tonight, though, none of the apprentices or older children gave him more than a quick greeting. They clustered around Master Norlan, hanging on his every word, clamoring for their favorite song or story every time he paused to eat a few mouthfuls. The adults, too, though more discreet, were clearly torn between their duty to make Elkan and Meira welcome and their desire to give their attention to the master waulker.

  Curious, Josiah drifted over. He understood the attraction as soon as Master Norlan finished eating and gave in to the requests for a song. A hush fell as his soft, unaccompanied voice wove a haunting tune, the lyrics a tragic tale of love and loss. Josiah strained to hear every word. When the song was over, there was a long silence before the listeners broke into applause and murmurs of appreciation. Master Norlan accepted their accolades calmly. He launched into a much livelier, slightly bawdy song that soon had everyone singing along on the chorus.

  Between songs, Master Norlan told several long, convoluted stories. Whether accounts of his adventures on the road or tales of days long past, they were just as captivatin
g as his music. Eventually, though far sooner than his listeners would have liked, he led them all in a final rousing chorus and, pleading age and weariness, retired for the night.

  Jarah announced that the waulking was set for Restday eve, three days hence. That would give the weavers time to finish the cloth on their looms and prepare it. In the meantime, Elkan would be available to take care of people’s needs.

  Josiah eagerly looked forward to the waulking. When Master Norlan had invited him, he hadn’t been sure he wanted to participate, but now that he’d had a taste of the waulker’s gifts, he couldn’t wait. It would be a welcome change of pace after three days of hard work.

  * * *

  At Master Norlan’s direction, Josiah and a handful of villagers lifted yards of heavy wet cloth from a wooden tub. A surge of homesickness hit him at the familiar sensation of soggy fabric in his arms. He struggled with the unexpected emotion as he worked with the others to squeeze out the excess soapy water. He seldom thought about his year at the fulling mill. But now the soft rough wetness on his skin, the squishy slap as they dropped the cloth on the waiting table, the musky animal smell of wet wool mixed with the clean tang of soap, brought it all back. He could almost believe he was back under Master Sef’s tutelage, eager to finish the week’s work, looking forward to spending Restday at home with his family. He swallowed and shook his head, forcing his attention back to the present. He was many miles and months away from his family now, and it would do no good to let wistful memory distract him from the experience of the moment.

  Lengths of cloth from several weaver’s looms were sewn together to form a long strip, then joined into a loop. They laid it on a row of tables set up end-to-end in the clear area between the houses. At Norlan’s direction, they arranged the long, narrow oval so it traveled down one side of the tables and back up the other.

  Eager villagers grabbed spots on the chairs and benches. Jarah gestured for Elkan, as their guest, to take one of the coveted spots next to Norlan at the table’s head. Josiah squeezed in next to him. He grinned at Meira across the table.

  Sar wandered up and poked his nose over Elkan’s shoulder, snorted at the proceedings, and drifted off again to graze by the shore of the lake. Josiah glanced over at Tobi, fast asleep in her favorite spot along the lakeshore. The sheep and goats that usually wandered among the houses were all clustered far away from her, around the curve of the lake.

  Norlan cleared his throat. Immediately everyone around the table grew quiet, turning expectant faces to the waulker. After a dramatic pause, he began a rhythmic chant.

  Lift the cloth and cast it down,

  To your neighbor pass it round.

  He matched actions to words, lifting the bunched fabric in front of him and throwing it down on the table, shifting it a bit to his left. Everyone followed his lead. Josiah watched carefully to make sure he did it right, but it was simple enough. The wool smacked into the table with a spray of droplets. Over and over, in rhythm with Master Norlan’s chant, they lifted and passed the cloth. His song kept them in time with each other, but soon the percussive slap of the cloth drove the pace of the song.

  Many strands in one yarn bind,

  Close around the spindle wind.

  Lift the cloth and cast it down,

  To your neighbor pass it round.

  Lift, slap. Lift, slap. Alone the task would have swiftly become monotonous, but the company of fellow workers and the accompaniment of the song transformed it into a kind of dance or game. Josiah joined in singing the repeated chorus.

  Many yarns in one cloth find,

  Warp and weft lay intertwined.

  Lift the cloth and cast it down,

  To your neighbor pass it round.

  The endless loop circled the table, passing from hand to hand, down one side of the table to Jarah at the foot, doubling back and traveling all the way up the other side, until Norlan turned it back. Round and round it went, carried along by the music.

  Many threads one cloth become,

  Waulking makes the many one.

  Lift the cloth and cast it down,

  To your neighbor pass it round.

  It was the same principle as the fulling mill, Josiah knew. Hands and table took the place of stocks. In both cases, beating the cloth locked the individual fibers together, until a smooth, unified fabric remained.

  Master Norlan brought the first song to a close, but the regular beat of the cloth went on. He launched into another tune, this one slightly faster. Josiah and the others quickened their pace. Verse by verse a tragic love story played out. Interspersed between the verses was a chorus of nonsense syllables, quick and easy to learn, giving everyone a chance to join in the singing, and lengthening the song to give the cloth plenty of time to full under their hands.

  By the time the second song finished, Josiah was tiring. His arms felt heavy, he was thirsty, and the constant pounding in his ears was getting annoying. He tried to examine the cloth as it passed through his hands, but he couldn’t tell how far the fulling had progressed.

  Master Norlan looked around the table and smiled to himself. He began a new song, at yet a quicker tempo, bouncy and lively. Josiah groaned inwardly as he obediently quickened his pace, but soon was caught up in the cheerful tune.

  Oh, I will wed no other

  But my own love, my true love.

  And we’ll both stand up together

  On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

  Master Norlan’s eyes twinkled with mischief. He raised his voice so all along the table would be sure to hear.

  Oh, would you wed a weaver

  On a sunny Restday morning?

  Oh, would you wed a weaver

  On a morning in the spring?

  No, I would not wed a weaver,

  Lest one day I wake to find

  She’d unraveled all my clothing

  For yarn to warp her loom

  And left me cold and naked

  On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

  The weavers around the table exclaimed in mock horror, while the rest laughed heartily. Josiah grinned, forgetting for the moment his tiredness. No one let the rhythm of the waulking falter; the steady beat of the cloth continued uninterrupted through the merriment.

  For I will wed no other

  But my own love, my true love.

  And we’ll both stand up together

  On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

  Norlan let a few beats go by, as everyone wondered which guild would take the brunt of his wit next.

  Oh, would you wed a spinner

  On a sunny Restday morning?

  Oh, would you wed a spinner

  On a morning in the spring?

  No, I would not wed a spinner,

  Lest one day I wake to find

  She’d cut off my hair and whiskers

  And spun it on her spindle

  And left me bald and beardless

  On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

  Titters swept around the table. Norlan spun verse after verse, enumerating the reasons farmers, brewers, herders, smiths, basketweavers, and every other craft represented around the table would make most unsuitable spouses.

  Josiah didn’t understand why so many glances of curious anticipation were being aimed at the head of the table, until Norlan began the next verse, and he realized it was the guests’ turn to be skewered in song.

  Oh, would you wed a fuller

  On a sunny Restday morning?

  Oh, would you wed a fuller

  On a morning in the spring?

  No, I would not wed a fuller,

  Lest one day I wake to find

  She’d mistook me for a bolt of cloth

  And thrown me in the mill

  And left the stocks to beat me

  On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

  Josiah ducked his head, blushing, but he couldn’t help laughing also, as the chorus swept all up in song. Glad his turn was over, he waited to see
who would be next.

  Oh, would you wed a miner

  On a sunny Restday morning?

  Oh, would you wed a miner

  On a morning in the spring?

  No, I would not wed a miner,

  Lest one day I wake to find

  She’d run out of oats for porridge

  And cooked up ore instead

  And left me to break my teeth on rocks

  On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

  It was Meira’s turn to blush and shake her head. Josiah burst into laughter. He’d often eaten Meira’s cooking on the road, and while not rocks, it was only competent, not nearly as tasty as what Elkan or even Josiah himself could produce. He wondered if Norlan had found out about her reputation for poor cooking, or if he’d just gotten lucky in his choice of joke. He turned to Elkan to share his amusement. But Elkan wasn’t laughing. He wore a strange, wry smile and looked off into the distance, careful not to meet Meira’s eyes.

  Again Norlan let a few beats pass after the chorus was complete. Josiah looked at him expectantly. There was only one guild represented at the table that hadn’t yet featured in a verse. Elkan shrugged, and grinned, and looked down at the cloth in front of him, feigning serious concentration on his work.

  Oh, would you wed a wizard

  On a sunny Restday morning?

  Oh, would you wed a wizard

  On a morning in the spring?

  No, I would not wed a wizard,

  Lest one day I wake to find

  Her familiar had gotten lonely

  And come to seek her side

  And left me in bed with a donkey

  On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

  The table exploded in merriment. Josiah laughed so hard he could barely see for the tears that came to his eyes. Elkan ruefully shook his head, shoulders heaving until he surrendered to helpless chuckles. Across the table, Meira was breathless, her face flushed. She looked past Elkan to where Sar grazed by the lake shore, oblivious, and dissolved in laughter again.