Chapter Twenty-One #2
They’d come to a side door to the barn, the wood warped and cracked.
It creaked open, scraping against the wooden floor to reveal a long room, lined with benches, worktables piled with broken things, and shelves covered in old tools.
Halithe wrinkled her nose at the smell of rust and oil and animals, and lifted her hands to keep cobwebs off her face.
Aramal whistled as he stepped in, placing the chair on one of the tables. “Impressive.”
Halithe grimaced. “It’s a mess,” she said. “Everything is all rusted and broken.”
“Well,” Aramal said, giving her a serious look, “it is a workshop.” His face split into a grin and his eyes danced. “Plenty of work here for someone like me.”
Despite herself, Halithe laughed. He looked so at ease, so comfortable. “You can fix all this?” she asked.
Aramal shrugged, his modest demeanor returning. “Most of it,” he said, lifting a pair of rusted sickles from one of the benches. “There’s good work that needs doing here.”
“If they let us stay,” Halithe grumbled. She tested a stool, then plopped down on it when it proved sound. “Why should they trust me? Trust us?”
“That would be the thinking part,” Aramal said as he started to poke around on the benches. “There should be a bit of glue here somewhere.” he added absently. “This was a large operation at one time.”
“How do you know that?” Halithe asked.
Aramal gave her a look. “Open your eyes,” he chided, and then jerked his head to the far wall.
Halithe stared, finally seeing the racks of shovels, rakes and hoes, rusted, yes, but neatly hung in rows. “Oh,” she said.
“Plows over there,” Aramal said, gesturing to the far corner. “There’s probably a separate forge somewhere.” He smiled. “You don’t put that next to a barn.”
“So there’s fields that need working,” Halithe said.
“And a need for hands to work them,” Aramal said. “Best let them figure it out. In the meantime, there is a kind of magic in fixing things.” He handed her a small pot, filled with dried and cracked glue.
Halithe gave it and him a dubious look.
Aramal smiled. “Let me show you.”
He did just that, showing her how to take the chair apart and scrape old glue from the joints. “Go easy now,” he said. “Just the glue, don’t bite into the wood.” He gave her a knife and let her work on a leg as he dug old glue out of the holes in the seat, humming softly.
Which would have normally irritated Halithe, but it felt comfortable and right. Maybe because he seemed so content. Once in a while, he’d look over at her work and give a nod of approval. The quiet, the work, it felt good. The knot between Halithe’s shoulders eased.
Finally, Aramal reached for the pot of dried glue. “This hide glue just needs some heat,” he mused. “Think they’re done talking?”
“I could check.” Halithe rose, brushing bits of wood and dried glue from her lap.
The sound of footsteps came from outside and the door was flung open. Ritathan strode in like a storm, his frown dark and foreboding. He paused in the doorway, dramatically.
“Well?” Aramal broke the silence.
“We can stay,” Ritathan’s scowl became even more impressive. “On sufferance.”
Aramal exchanged a glance with Halithe. “That’s good, right?”
“It’s fine,” Ritathan snapped, looking around with a sniff. “They are not particularly pleased to see us. They do not particularly trust us.” He glared over his shoulder at the door. “They have secrets they are not telling.”
“To be expected,” Aramal stared at him. “How are you offended by that?”
“She thinks you are more valuable than I am,” Ritathan bit off the words.
Halithe managed to turn her snicker into a cough.
“Ah,” Aramal said.
“You expected that,” Ritathan accused.
Aramal shrugged. “You have to figure out what they need, and fill the need, that’s all. Clear to me, they’ve a need that I can fill.” He gave Ritathan a side-look.
“And they say I am manipulative,” Ritathan grumbled.
“Like sees like.” Aramal said. “The Lady High Baroness needs skilled hands.” He held out the glue pot. “Heat this up a bit, would you?”
Ritathan rolled his eyes, taking the pot. “I have skills.” There was a clear pout in his voice.
“You destroy, you don’t create.” Aramal said.
“I create.” Ritathan protested as flames began to lick around his fingers and the pot.
Halithe and Aramal both stared at him.
“Fine,” Ritathan huffed. He looked down at the pot and swirled it a bit as the glue started to melt.
“Why didn’t you burn them, those men?” Halithe asked, watching the heat pool around his fingers. “At the portal, when they threatened us?”
“Well, we did come seeking sanctuary,” Ritathan said. “Not a good first impression, melting every man in sight.”
Aramal snorted.
“I shielded us, of course, but the ones outside my line-of-sight could have taken me down. I might still have received several bolts to the chest, which could kill me. I am not impervious or immortal. Not to mention that you both would have been targets as well.
Ritathan straightened. “And there is this, apprentice. The battle magics are forbidden. I still wear those chains even if you don’t see them, and am still bound by our Guild rules and my contract. As are you,” he gave a nod to her bracelet. “Here,” he said, holding out the jar. “Good enough?”
Aramal nodded, taking the jar carefully by the lip.
“So, I am a simple scribe from the Royal library.” Ritathan focused on Halithe. “You are my daughter, and my apprentice. You’ll need a new name—”
“Leeda,” Halithe said impulsively. An old nickname, from the nursery.
“Aramal is fine with his name, seeing as he is known. I am going to use ‘Rye.’” Ritathan folded his arms across his chest defensively.
Aramal just stared at him. “Rye?” His voice cracked on the word.
Halithe waited, darting glances at each of the men as they stared at one another.
Ritathan spun on his heel and walked out.
Men. Honestly!
Aramal sighed. “Well, let me show you how to glue-”
Running footsteps sounded, then Yfin appeared in the doorway, breathing hard.
“Oh, hey,” he said, flipping his hair out of his eyes. “I forgot a knife to sharpen our wooden hooks,” he blurted out. “And I thought maybe we could use some bent nails—”
“Bent nails?” Aramal frowned. “Oh no, too much work in them for you to use fishing.” He rooted around on the cluttered table. “Here’s a knife,” he said. “In the future, I’ll teach ya forge work, and you can make your own.”
“That’d be good.” Yfin darted a glance between the two of them. “You staying?”
“Yes,” Aramal said. He took the glue from Halithe. “Why don’t you take Leeda here fishing?”
“Sure.” Yfin grinned.
Halithe gave Aramal a doubtful glance. She wasn’t sure what she was getting into.
“Go on,” Aramal said.
“Come on, Leeda!” Yfin headed out the door, knife in hand. “A free afternoon is a rare treat, and we’ll teach ya!”
Halithe stood before the Lady High Baroness, drenched, covered in mud, her hair in tangles, filled with leaves and twigs, clutching her torn tunic together.
Yfin, standing beside her, wasn’t in much better shape.
The Lady High Baroness had one eyebrow arched and her mouth quirked. Halithe really hoped she was fighting the urge to laugh. It wasn’t her fault that—
“It’s not Leeda’s fault, A’mum,” Yfin blurted out before she could open her mouth.
“See, we were fishing, but the eels kept stealing our bait and not taking the hooks, and then Cirda heard a honey bee and we went looking for a colony, but Graily got stung and jumped in the river and Moreta said to put mud on it, and he threw mud at her and well, that started it, and well…” He shrugged and wiped more mud off his face.
“I see,” the Lady said. To Halithe’s relief, there was laughter in her voice. “Did the others head off to their homes?”
“Yes’m,” Yfin said with a grin.
“Well, you’d best go get cleaned up. I’ll see to Leeda. You’ve time before supper.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Yfin bobbed his head and raced off.
“Come, Leeda,” the Lady said and gestured for her to follow. “Take off those shoes and set them to dry by the hearth. I’ll show you where you can wash up and where you will be sleeping.”
Halithe hastened to obey, leaving shoes and socks by the kitchen hearth. “My tunic tore,” she admitted.
“Nothing that can’t be mended, by you, of course.” The Lady smiled and led the way, out a door and down a corridor to back stairs.
Halithe followed. “I’m not very good with fine needlework.”
“Embroidery, you mean?” The Lady shook her head. “I don’t understand the Xyian obsession for stitching flowers on everything. You can probably sew a seam well enough. Come along.”
At the top of the stairs, the Lady turned right, walked down another hall, opened a door, and stepped in.
Halithe followed, into a wide room, with bed, desk, and chair, and a shuttered window. Halithe’s saddlebags and pack were on the floor by the bed.
“This should serve, yes?” The Lady went to the window and opened the shutters, revealing a view of the fields beyond. “The bathing chambers are down the hall. The cisterns are full and the water sun-warmed. Your Aramal thinks he can fix the heating system, but I have my doubts.”
“Like what they have in the Palace?” Halithe asked.
“Supposedly.” The Lady opened a clothes press.
“Here are towels and soap. Mind, we have no servants, so clean up after yourself and if you don’t know how, just ask.
” She frowned at Halithe’s small bags. “You’ll need more tunics and trous,” she mused.
“We’ve cloth enough, I think; if you haven’t the skill, you can take a turn at the dishes instead.
Rosalind is quite good at sewing, probably from working on tapestries, and would be willing to trade duties.
” She gave Halithe a kind look. “You had fun, this afternoon?”
Halithe grinned. “Oh, Lady, I’d never fished before, and it’s hard and worms are disgusting. The others teased me, and then each other, ’cause no one caught anything, and then the bees—” Halithe took a breath as the Lady’s smile grew wider.
“We tried to chase bees,” Halithe exclaimed in a rush, trying to explain the craziness of that idea, and now the Lady did laugh, a warm and happy sound, with no mockery.
“Get cleaned up and come down for supper.” The Lady said, heading out the door. “This is the women’s hall, just you and Rosalind have rooms here, so you will have privacy.” She cast a look back before closing the door behind her. “We’ll see to the tunic after you have washed and dried it.”
The door closed and Halithe blinked in shock.
It had a bolt.
The door, it had a bolt. She could close out the world, be private, for the first time in her life.
She took a deep breath. She was worn out and tired from laughing and running and her face hurt from smiling so very much. She had bruises and scrapes, and she was pretty sure she had mud where mud had no place being.
It was all so very good.
Something squelched in her breastband—her keepsake—and for a moment she feared she had lost it in the fun. But it was there, wet but safe. She took care to wrap the hair in a fresh, dry cloth and set it aside, as well as the spoon in her pocket. They’d be safe in her pack.
Her skin itched from the drying mud and suddenly warm water sounded like the perfect thing. She dug out fresh clothes and took towels and soap and headed out. Best not to be late for food!
She returned to her room after supper, her head filled with plans for the next day.
There were chores, certainly, but also lessons with Ritathan, and with the Lord High Baron, and Captain Roth.
And none of it involved manners or deportment.
She was to learn history, and magic, and how to protect herself, and help with the babes and the meals, and it all sounded so different, and so wonderful.
She was clean and warm and fed and her bed looked so comfortable. The moon was rising, soft light streaming through the window.
Impulsively, she bolted the door, stripped, flung her clothes about, and jumped on the bed naked. She rolled about, chortling.
This would be the best summer ever.
Her pack was by the bed, and she lunged over the side of the bed, and dug out her spoon. With that in hand, she flung herself back on her pillows.
The silver of the spoon glowed in the moonlight.
Halithe propped herself up, angling the bowl of the spoon so that the light hit it just right. She breathed on the bowl, watched her breath dry, then took a deep breath and focused her mind.
“Show me,” she whispered, thinking of Caris, of her auburn hair gleaming in this same light. “Show me,” she commanded, pressure building in her chest as her breasts heaved with her breathing.
Something flickered in the silver bowl.
Halithe jerked up, and the image vanished, but she’d seen it, oh she’d seen it! Lovely auburn hair and warm brown eyes, and—
She hugged the spoon to her chest, feeling stupid and elated all at the same time. The cooler air from the open window tickled her skin. She shivered with pleasure and quickly burrowed under the blankets.
A yawn cracked her jaw then, and she settled deep into the bed on her side, her pillow bunched up under her head, one hand still clasping the spoon.
She closed her eyes and felt sleep claim her, still seeing that brief, fleeting glimpse of…joy.