Chapter 2 #3
In the morning, she roused in alarm, certain she would be discovered by someone, certain that she needed to be vigilant about something, certain that she would outstay her welcome if she slept any longer.
She gathered her hair and braided it, scanning the room and finding nothing out of place.
Her dinner platter and goblet, although still present where she had left them the night before, now served different food and drink.
She could not remember the last time she had been privileged enough to eat two meals in a row and though she wanted to take advantage of this offering yet again, her appetite had not yet caught up to the Magic’s generosity.
“Good morning,” she called out, feeling bolder with a meal and a night’s sleep.
She drank from the goblet, delighted to discover chilled juice instead of spiced cider this morning.
The bread, warm in the center, melted on her tongue and she nibbled the egg that steamed in the fortress draft.
The fire burned low and no longer produced the same heat, but she would revive it later when she needed it.
Right now, she had all she could desire in food and drink, and the fortress did not seem lonely or unwelcoming.
Her explorations, after eating and inspecting her clothing, led her back to the kitchens.
With the larder empty, she tried the door to the buttery with no success.
Today, however, better fed and not in danger of being prey to the elements, she mustered the energy and courage to explore what existed outside the kitchen door.
A well-worn path, wider and more distinct than a deer path, but not cobbled or graveled, stretched through overgrown gardens and faded out into tall grasses beyond.
She wandered out and began rooting through the growth.
It was an effort, but she found herbs drowning in the branches of weeds.
She cataloged what she found, not taking any yet but planning for her eventual departure.
Herbs and spices fetched pretty sums and she would need all the coin she could get for a new horse.
Although she would not take the candles because they were part of the house, these herbs, outside and unvalued, were fair game.
She did not wander too far from the kitchen.
It would not serve her if she trusted in the stillness and let herself be pounced upon by a forest creature looking for a meal.
With something more than a shard of glass for protection, perhaps she would have been more willing to try her luck, but nearly defenseless, she followed a course of caution.
With her curiosity satisfied about the presence of herbs, she returned her attention to the fortress interior. She promised whatever magical entity that fed her that she would clean and to that end, she started on the kitchen and larder, grateful to find a functional well lever inside the kitchen.
Perhaps there was no need to clean. Perhaps the Magic did not care.
But she had offered so that she would not find herself owing more than she could give.
And if she did not fulfill her promise, she suspected something untoward could happen even if it was benign magic that directed the fortress.
General magic, to the best of her understanding, often followed literal pathways but never leaned toward good or ill.
In this case, the food was beneficial, but she was also disinclined to believe in the benevolent kind of magic.
She had only heard tales that required reciprocation and that warned of dire consequences without it.
She ensured the kitchens and larder shone.
She settled herself down on the bench beside the work table and wiped hair and perspiration from her face.
The fading evening light coming through the clean glazed window panes dappled the room in rainbow colors.
That was a bit of magic that needed no wielder.
Just how many years had the light come in that way?
How many years had there never been anyone to appreciate it?
In this fortress, she could find her own magic, her own magical experiences, no autonomous food-laden tray necessary.
“Well, Magic,” she said, trying to address what she only suspected was the cause of such unusual happenings, “I have cleaned as promised. If You grant me another night and day of Your hospitality, I will continue to work. As You can see,” she said, pointing to the glazed windows of the kitchen, “I have been fortunate enough to bring more magic to Your quiet residence.”
“Those,” she said to no one, pointing at a daunting accumulation of ashes in the hearth, “are my next task — tomorrow. I will clean the whole surround so that if anyone does need to use it, You can maintain it like everything else and it will be ready for them.” Maybe some Rivan caravan, tired of traveling, would start a family here, feeling drawn to the Magic that existed.
Maybe that’s why she had been called away from her vyardin.
She had never demonstrated the magic that came from her Rivan lineage, but that was no reason to think that it did not manifest in unknown ways.
“This would make a fine home,” she complimented the fortress as she rose from her seat, the fading light leaving the room in shadow.
Her meal awaited her arrival in the solar.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to be respectful to the unknown entity that provided for her.
The most demonstrative gesture of her gratitude came in the hearty way she set into the food, appreciative of every bite and every sip.
She complimented the cooking and the temperature of the meal.
She complimented the freshness and expressed her gratitude yet again at being treated so hospitably. She made her offering to the fire.
She did not repeat any of the exercises of the bailey by pretending to be mistress.
If the Magic could be that aware, she dared not give it reason to thwart her.
If the Magic could choose a silver platter and goblet by which to deliver food, maybe it could determine the class and quality of the person too.
Although, as the Magic supplied silver platters and goblets, it had not made an accurate appraisal of her.
If she would have been received by such a household, she would be working in the kitchens or laboring in the fields, somewhere out of sight.
“Magic,” she said when she finished her meal, “if I promise to work extra hard tomorrow, may I have a hairbrush in the morning?”
She sighed in relief when no one answered.
She did not think herself the jumpy sort, but in a place this wild and strange, she did not think terror would be an overreaction.
With her energy reserves restored by food and sleep, she might perhaps have the emotional resources to throw a fit if required.
She disdained indulging in such ill behavior, but if the situation merited it, then she would rise to the occasion.
“I do not know what the limitations are to Your hospitality,” she began as she contemplated her destroyed clothing, “but if I could have a new set of clothes since mine are much mended, I will stay a day or so longer that I may attend to several more cleaning necessities here. I do not know if there is anything You need, but I hope You will make it known to me if I should attend to something first.”
Silence.
When she settled herself in to sleep, she heaved a sigh, wondering what the future might hold once she left. She did not want to think of that now.
“Good night, Magic. Thank you for looking out for me.” In the quiet, something rhythmic, like hard objects striking each other, retreated from the solar. She dared not investigate.
In the morning, a hairbrush lay beside the platter.
Her disappointment over not finding a new skirt or blouse discomfited her with the extent of her ingratitude.
She was being fed and sheltered already.
Maybe the Magic did not know how to make clothes.
That theory shattered, however, when she discovered a frilly concoction of sewing principles that she guessed might be a dress.
Pampered ladies of luxury might wear such a thing, but with fussy laces, scratchy fabrics, and a bodice that would not let her move, she would never wear it.
“Thank you, Magic,” she said, determined to be polite through her dismay. “I appreciate your efforts, but I plan on cleaning today and I would despair if I should soil or damage such...” She managed not to say, an overdone monstrosity, but only just. “Such a display of quality.”
“My underskirts will serve,” she assured the Magic, lest it think it needed to try again.
She also did not repeat her request. The Magic probably only provided quality and she did not want to burden the Magic with trying to explain.
Her already mangled clothing would serve for the cleaning she intended to do.
A few hours later, ash covered her from head to foot and she was glad that she had not wasted time on new clothing.
She would be finding ash on her for the next year.
Even though she bound her hair in a scarf, nothing could protect against the disturbed particles that obscured the room.
The open doors and windows helped, but not enough.
“You could probably clean the hearth Yourself if I asked for it to happen,” she told the Magic, “so perhaps this is a pointless exercise, but You’ve been good to me.”
She took a seat on the kitchen bench and surveyed her work, disappointed that her efforts did not produce the visual accomplishment she desired.