“Of course.” Fibor and Tersira helped them with the harness.
When Sar was ready, Elkan shouldered his pack. Josiah picked up his own and slung it on his back. Elkan looked at Fibor. “Give Sairna my love, and Hanan, and Mother. Tell Father… No, never mind.”
Elkan embraced his brother and set off down the dark road.
They set up their tent a few miles down the road. Josiah crawled between the blankets and tried to sleep, but Elkan sat by the fire. Sar lay down next to him and Elkan put his arms around the donkey’s neck. Josiah kept waking from a fitful slumber to see the two of them still there, unmoved.
Soon after dawn Fibor came with the news that Bethiav had died. Elkan thanked him but said little else. He watched silently as his brother walked back towards his home. When Fibor had vanished over a low rise, Elkan beckoned to Josiah, and they wordlessly broke camp and set off in the opposite direction.
Twenty-Five
The waiting couple were older than the usual new parents who brought their babies to Elkan with minor complaints, needing mostly reassurance and comfort. By the time they were on their third or fourth child, most parents had learned to tell the difference between little things that would heal on their own and serious problems that needed a wizard’s attention. So Josiah would have been willing to move them to the front of the line, but the woman shook her head, preferring to wait her turn. The baby slept peacefully in its carrying cloth. They gave their names as Masters Gavili Fisherkin Carpenter and Etan Herderkin Fisher. Josiah carefully inscribed their names in Elkan’s record book, along with the baby’s, Emeli Carpenterkin.
The book was nearly full, the thick stack of filled pages testament to the many varied patients Elkan and Sar had tended during their journey. Josiah flipped through the few blank pages remaining. They still had a month or so left until they reached Elathir. If they ran out of room they’d have to find a papermaker and purchase supplemental sheets.
Josiah had finished checking in the waiting patients by the time Elkan was ready to see the baby. He turned his chair to watch unobtrusively. He liked to see if he could figure out the problem from what a patient said, before Elkan and Sar went in with the Mother’s power and confirmed a diagnosis. He was getting quite good at the game.
Master Gavili had a low, worried voice. “It’s not just the way she looks. She doesn’t nurse well, and she’s not growing like she should. She seems weak, not like the others did at this age, and she’s getting weaker every day. She’s nearly a month old, but she’s barely bigger than when she was born.”
Elkan saw plenty of babies with nursing difficulties or slow growth, and was usually able to correct the problem easily. But the comment about the baby’s looks piqued Josiah’s curiosity. He scooted around to get a better view as Gavili removed Emeli from the carry cloth and displayed her to Elkan.
Josiah saw immediately what she meant. The baby had odd, blunt features, with a strange fold at the inner corners of her eyelids. Her skin had a wan, grayish tone. She whimpered, her sleep disturbed, then settled back in her mother’s arms. As Josiah looked at her, he got a feeling of déjà vu. Could he have seen features like that before somewhere?
Elkan paused, then touched the little girl’s eyes. He lifted her hand, and opened it to reveal a single deep crease across the palm. He was calm and professional when he spoke. “We’ll check with the Mother’s power, of course. But these signs are typical of a fairly common pattern of development. People born this way tend to have a cluster of common traits and disabilities. Heart problems—I suspect that’s why Emeli isn’t growing properly. That can be repaired. But I’m afraid nothing can be done about the other effects.”
Master Etan looked taken aback. “What other effects?”
Elkan’s voice was unemotional. “Primarily, slow mental development. She’ll most likely have a child’s mind her whole life.”
Gavili gasped. “What? Will she not be able to apprentice, learn a craft?”
Elkan shook his head. “Possibly, but usually people with this condition remain wards of their kinguild. Although they can often do some work, and find satisfaction in contributing, even if not able to fully support themselves.”
That triggered Josiah’s memory. There had been a man, back in Korisan, who’d helped out at one of his friends’ father’s stone yard, carrying the heavy paving stones, loading and unloading the wagons. He’d been a ward of the Stonemasons’ Guild, still bearing only his kin-name, even though he was old enough to be a journeyman. By his features, he could have been this girl’s brother. While Josiah understood the parents’ distress, he didn’t think the man had such a bad life. He’d seemed very happy.
Etan leaned toward Elkan, his eyes troubled. “The Mother’s power can’t heal her?”
“I’m sorry. It’s not a disease or disfunction; it’s written into the pattern of her being. It’s part of who she is. The Mother’s power can’t change that.”
Josiah frowned at Elkan. The words were the same as he might ever have used, but his tone was so flat and detached. As if he didn’t care. As if it didn’t bother him that he was helpless in the face of this baby’s affliction.
This had always been the sort of thing that troubled Elkan the most. If Elkan had encountered Emeli a few months ago, Josiah would have expected him to spend an extra-long session brushing Sar that night, and to be subdued for a day or two. But since their stay with his family and Bethiav’s death, Elkan had been different. Quieter, less likely to either tease and laugh or scold and lecture. But on the occasions when he did become angry at Josiah, his temper was hotter and his words more blunt, sometimes hurtful.
Josiah was worried about the wizard. He got the feeling Sar was, too. The donkey stuck even closer than was his habit to Elkan’s side, hardly ever leaving him alone. But Elkan turned away from Sar’s touch, refusing his offered support.
At least he had to touch the donkey to do their work. Josiah hoped he took some comfort from that. His hand was on Sar’s back now, the golden light enveloping the child in his lap. “Yes, as I suspected, there’s a opening in the wall between the chambers of her heart. Please wait quietly; this will take some time to heal.”
Solita’s tiny Mother’s Hall was quiet. The small fire in the fireplace crackled, fighting off the late winter cold. The snick and scrape of a knife came from a woodcarver whittling as he waited his turn. Gavili and Etan huddled together, watching, occasionally murmuring words of comfort to each other.
In the radiance of the Mother’s light, Emeli’s skin lost its grayish cast and flushed pink. Elkan and Sar let the light fade. Emeli woke and reached for her mother, crying. Elkan passed her back. “Her heart is fixed. That should solve most of the problems with her growth. Her muscles were weak, as well; we’ve done what we could to strengthen them. That should help her nurse better. You might try and see if it helps.”
Gavili pushed her tunic aside. Emeli’s cries fell silent as she found her mother’s breast. “Oh, yes, I can tell her sucking is much stronger.” Her face glowed as she beamed down at the nursing baby. “Thank you so much!”
“Yes, thank you.” Etan clasped Elkan’s hand. “No matter what her future holds, at least she’s got a future, now.”
Elkan nodded. “My joy is in the service.” But there was no joy in his voice. The words were a rote formula empty of meaning.
They finished with the last patient by midafternoon and left the village, wanting to get a few miles down the road toward their next destination before nightfall. They walked through fields of tall brown grass dusted with snow. Josiah couldn’t get little Emeli off his mind. Questions which had troubled him for a long time clamored loud in his heart, no matter how he tried to distract himself. It was so bad that after supper, as they lingered around the fire, he dared break into Elkan’s brooding silence.
“Elkan…” Josiah poked at the fire with a long stick, sending a shower of orange sparks up into the darkness. “I’ve been thinking…”
“Should I
be worried?” Elkan asked, with a fair approximation of his former easy humor.
Heartened, Josiah glanced at him. “I don’t think so. I mean, I was just wondering… The Mother’s power lets you do so much. Why are there things you can’t do? Like that baby today…”
“You heard what I told her parents.” Elkan looked into the fire. “When a problem is part of a child from the beginning—”
“Yes, I understand that. It’s just, why would the Mother make it so you can’t change those things? Or why would she make a baby with a problem like that at all? Can’t she make things the way she wants? So why’s there so much that seems like it’s made wrong, flawed or broken or messed up? Couldn’t she make it all perfect? Or even if she couldn’t, couldn’t she give wizards the power to make it right? Everything, not just some things…” He broke off, aware of how heretical he sounded.
Elkan took a deep breath, not looking at him. “I can tell you what it says in the Law. The Mother gave people free will, the ability to make our own choices, and sometimes those choices are wrong and evil comes of it.”
“That makes sense when it’s people hurting each other, like when they fight, or like Ozor and Tereid killing people, or Kabos hurting Nirel. Or even accidents, I guess, like when the mine collapsed, that happened because of choices you and Meira and Master Noadiah made, even though you didn’t know that’s what would happen. But that’s not what I’m talking about. So much seems to just go wrong by itself, naturally. What did anyone ever do to make Emeli be born that way, or make your grandmother get sick, or—or anyone else? It seems like if the Mother loves us as much as you’re always saying, she could stop that kind of thing from happening.”
Elkan started to speak, then stopped. He got up, fetched a piece of wood, and added it to the fire. He was quiet for a long time, until Josiah feared he wouldn’t answer at all. But eventually he sighed and began to speak.
“I don’t know why, Josiah. I’m not sure anyone does. I used to think I understood. You should talk to my master when we get to Elathir; she explains things better than anyone. I need to speak with her myself, when we get back. I need her to help me understand again… to believe again…”
He fell silent. Josiah swallowed and stared into the fire.
He was startled when Elkan said, with forced cheerfulness, “Since we’re discussing weighty matters, have you given any thought to what you’re going to do when our journey is over? I can take you back to Korisan, if that’s what you want. But I promised to help you find a new craft, if you chose not to return to fulling. So, have you decided? Do you want to go back to the fulling mill?”
Josiah had pondered that question on and off for the whole year, never able to reach any decision. Now, in the dark and the cold, with the dancing flames of the fire before his eyes, all his musings crystallized into a decision. “No. I don’t want to be a fuller any more.”
Elkan nodded. “What do you want to be?”
I want to be a wizard, Josiah would have said not long before. Now, though… Even if it were possible, would he really want the same burden that weighed so heavily on Elkan and had cost him so much? Elkan had given up family, and love, and control over his own life, all to wield a power that often proved inadequate to the demands placed on him, even when it drained him to the point of exhaustion. The boring routine of the fulling mill seemed a safe haven compared to that. “No. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Keep thinking about it, then. It’s only a month. Whatever you choose, I can use the influence of the Wizards’ Guild to find you a good master, and maybe even get you instated as a third-year apprentice, or at least second, so you don’t have to start completely from scratch. Some master will be very lucky to get you, Josiah, and I’ll make sure they know it.”
Josiah flushed warm with the unexpected praise. “Thank you, sir.”
Elkan smiled briefly in response, but his eyes were still shadowed. “Now let’s get some sleep so we can get an early start in the morning.”
Twenty-Six
There was no good place to camp in the broad, empty expanse of coarse grass cut by sandy channels of salt water. The moon was nearly full, so they traveled late into the night. Near the mouth of the small river marked on Elkan’s map they crossed the bridge to Jianolan. It was a town of tall, narrow buildings huddled together on an island of dry land among the marshes. Wooden docks extended into the water, lined with fishing boats.
A watcher peered at them suspiciously, raising a lantern that shone blindingly in their faces. He put a hand to the spear strapped to his back when he spotted Tobi, but relaxed and nodded as he saw Elkan’s cloak. Instead of the excitement that usually greeted the wizard’s arrival, Josiah read only relieved grimness in his face. “Thank the Mother you’ve finally come, wizard. Master Hyrna is head of our town council; I’ll take you to her home. She’ll be glad to see you. It’s been a hard few weeks, waiting for you. We’re ready to put this matter behind us.”
Elkan cocked his head and frowned. “What’s the problem?”
But the watcher shook his head. “I’ve said too much. It’s rightfully Master Hyrna’s place to tell you.” He refused to say anything more.
Hyrna and her husband were basketweavers. Their home was over their shop, where a light still burned. Hyrna met them at the door and thanked the watcher. She showed Sar to a small fenced yard behind the building and led the others through the shop to a narrow staircase.
Tobi padded at Josiah’s heels. The shop was piled high with dozens of baskets made in a style unfamiliar to Josiah, ropy coils of yellow and brown wrapped around and sewn together. A spray of long straw-like stems protruded from an unfinished basket left on a chair next to a bucket where more stems soaked.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d do a little work,” Hyrna explained. “But now you’re here… I’m just glad this business will soon be finished.”
With what Josiah thought was admirable restraint, Elkan asked, “What is it you’re all so concerned about?”
Hyrna glanced at Josiah, frowning, as she busied herself lifting blankets and pillows from a storage chest and spreading them on the floor in front of the fire. “I don’t know if I should say in front of the boy. But you’re bound to hear rumors; the news is all over town. I guess it’s just as well you get the true tale. I’m sorry I don’t have a spare room. I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the floor?”
Elkan assured her the floor would be fine, while Josiah writhed with impatient curiosity. When Hyrna remained silent for several minutes, Elkan prompted, “You were going to tell us…?”
“Oh. Yes.” She fussed with the fire. “It all started about a year ago. A man—his name’s Nedon, he’s a tailor—was caught… harming children. In… unspeakable ways.” She looked significantly at Josiah, clearly not wanting to be more specific in front of him. Elkan’s eyes widened in understanding, and he nodded at Hyrna to continue.
“He was held until the wizard arrived. Master Hadara, you must know her? She opened a window and showed the council… proof of his guilt.” She pressed her lips together and swallowed. “She examined him and said he suffered from a disorder of the mind that led to his behavior. She said the Mother’s power could heal it. She spent a long time working on him. We all hoped it would solve the problem.”
“Mind-healing is often effective in such cases.” Elkan kept his voice neutral. “The offender can make reparations and be reintegrated into the community once they’re no longer a danger. Or somewhere else, if the feelings are too strong against them.”
“That’s what Master Hadara said. There was a lot of anger. People were hostile to the idea of him still living among us, but Jianolan is so small, and he didn’t want to start over elsewhere. She was sure the healing had put him right, though, so the council agreed he would be released. With generous payments to the affected families, of course.”
She was silent for a time. Just before Josiah was going to say something, Elkan asked, “But that wasn’t the end of
the matter?”
Hyrna sighed. “No. We watched him, of course. He was supervised at all times for months. He seemed to be fine, truly remorseful for what he’d done, careful never to let himself be put in any situation that might be considered suspicious. He voluntarily restricted his business to only adults. After six months we relaxed, stopped being so careful…”
She looked bleakly at them. “Three weeks ago a child made an accusation against him. No one else witnessed the alleged act. The child’s parents were among the most vocal calling for his punishment at his first trial; another child in the family was one of those known to have been abused. The child’s story seems credible, but Nedon swears he didn’t do it. There’s speculation the child’s parents might have prompted a false accusation. Though how they would have hoped to get away with that, with another wizard on the way to show us the truth, I don’t know. Perhaps they thought they could stir up violence against him from those unwilling to wait for the Mother’s verdict. Someone did throw a torch onto the roof of his home. Luckily the watchers caught it and put the fire out before it could spread.” She shuddered. “Nedon has been in custody in the jail ever since.”
Josiah sat cross-legged on his pallet, arms around Tobi, who purred in his ear. Hyrna looked at Elkan with the first real smile he’d seen from her. “Now that you’re here, we can settle it once and for all. We can know what really happened. If the child is lying, that can be dealt with. And if Nedon is still—” She gulped. “Well, that can be dealt with, too.”
She and Elkan shared a grim look Josiah didn’t understand. He waited until after Hyrna went to her bedroom. Elkan extinguished the lantern. Before he could go to sleep Josiah rolled over and peered past Tobi’s warm bulk. “Elkan, what did she mean? If it turns out Nedon really did it, what will they do to him?”
The Fuller's Apprentice (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 1) Page 36
