by CJ Brightley
“You could have refused.”
Genn looked away. “I sort of wish I had.”
I felt a little bit indignant at that. If he’d refused, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we? He certainly wouldn’t be courting me.
“Oh! Not that!” Genn said, seeming to catch my expression. “It’s not you! It’s just — it’s everything. This was a burden I wasn’t looking for. And vassals have a lot more freedom than landowners do.”
Since when? “Vassals almost never leave their land,” I shot back. “Unless they’re vagrants, anyway. Landowners have far more freedom of movement.”
“Are you sure?” Genn retorted. “A vassal can pick up and go forever. A landowner can’t. Once you’re tied to the land, that’s it.”
Okay, he had a point there.
“But who would leave their family forever, anyway?” I said sensibly. “And almost no vassals own carriages. They’re just too expensive to fuel and upkeep. So travel would be impractical.”
“Did you see some of the artists at the exhibition?” Genn retorted. “There was one who had walked all over the Rulership. All the way to the rim!”
“But not without a cost,” I pursued. “That would take a lifetime of walking. She had no family with her. She probably never stays anywhere longer than a season.”
“I didn’t say without cost. I just said vassals have more freedom.”
I fell silent. I digested that. “Genn,” I said slowly, “was that what you were planning to do?”
“What?” he asked. He looked taken aback. “No . . . no . . .” He let go of my hands and waved his in limp circles. “It’s just — there are so many other things, too. Like vassals don’t have to go to places like this regularly.”
He jerked his head around the magically-expanded and bare-minimum-token-grudgingly decorated room. I had to admit, if this was his first landowner gathering, it was not a very good representative of them.
“Vassals can renounce status, or marry people who have,” Genn continued. “They don’t have to bear the cost of upkeep for their homes. They just have to do their share. That’s simple.”
“But vassals can’t control who their landowners are! They can’t decide what crops they’re growing, either! Their personal skill directly influences how much they have to eat. Okay, maybe they can leave whenever conditions are undesirable, but that would require leaving their entire community behind. Who wants to do that?”
“Plenty of people,” Genn said. “It happens all the time.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Sure. It’s not most of the population, or anything, but there’s usually some shifting around before and after every cold season.”
Wow. I’d had no idea.
The dance music ended, and we broke apart. I was relieved. After our heated discussion, I was afraid to cast around for another topic of conversation. I had the feeling we might end up fighting again. I sat down at an empty table with Genn, uncomfortable in the awkward silence.
I looked up at the high seats to see what the musicians were doing next. One of them seemed to be arguing with the host over something. He jabbed his fingers at the chair behind him and around in the air for emphasis. The host, an older man with a beard, folded his arms. The musician waved his arms around, pointing at the exit insistently. Finally, the host snatched a blowhorn from the ground, shoved it in the musician’s hands, and pushed him into a chair.
The musician glowered upwards with an ugly look on his face. Then he blew loudly, piercingly, a high squeak.
The host turned and walked down from the high seats. The group of musicians conferred in their chairs for a moment. An aura of resentment seemed to hover over some of them.
“Do you want to dance?” a giggling girl’s voice said.
I looked over and found someone Yaika’s age talking to Genn. She wore a vivid, bright green bodice that reminded me of Yaika’s stinksap. I was tempted to ask what sort of dye she’d used.
“No,” Genn said.
I closed my eyes. Great, Genn. Thanks.
The girl’s eyes widened. She looked around, frightened with uncertainty. A poorly-sewn piece of lace by her collarbone shook loose.
“My escort is fatigued,” I broke in. “Try asking him again later this evening.”
The girl brightened up. “Oh! Okay!” She ran away, giggling, white outer skirts swishing to reveal greying underskirts beneath.
“Genn,” I said quietly, “that was rude.”
“She shouldn’t have asked me,” he said. “I’m here with you.”
I sighed. “One of the points of events like these is to help heirs meet other heirs. So people don’t wind up just getting married to the people they live next to, by default.”
Genn tugged his earlobe. “But I’m taken.”
“She doesn’t know that. Besides, you’re not. The same rules apply even when you’re engaged. It’s not until you’re married that dancing with other people is off limits.”
“And then I can stop dancing altogether, right?” he asked hopefully.
“Wrong,” I said.
He looked glum.
The opening notes of a new song lurched across the room. I glanced over at the high seats. The musicians were clearly in a bad mood, because the music they were improvising was some sort of dirge.
Genn perked up. “Let’s dance to this one.”
“What?” I said. “Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s slow,” he said. “I bet I could avoid stepping on you.”
“Look at how few people stayed on the dance floor,” I retorted. About the only ones still out there were married, probably newlyweds who wanted to spend every dance together. “Do you want to want to be the center of attention while the rest of the room is in a state of irritation because the music’s so bad?”
Genn winced. “Maybe I’ll wait.”
The dirge trailed on . . . and on . . . and on . . . with no apparent intention of stopping. I shifted in my seat, and watched others do the same. This was ridiculous.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s check the message board.”
“What message board?” Genn asked.
“The one that’s always around at social events,” I said, scanning the room. I pointed near the entrance. “There.”
“There isn’t always one,” Genn said. “I didn’t put one up at the art exhibition.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. I know.
We kept to the edges of the room as we walked to the entrance, but we almost didn’t need to. What dancers there were were either too wrapped up in each other to notice anyone else, or congregating around the high seats to ding the musicians in not-so-subtle protests.
The board hung on the wall by the entrance, where it should be.
“What about this?” Genn asked, putting his finger on one of the papers on the message board. His finger sank into the squishwood. “We could go to this next.”
I pulled myself away from the sight of the musician whose drooping head was about to collide with her neighbor’s thumpstick, and glanced over at the paper he was jabbing. “Um,” I said. “I think that’s a children’s party.”
“What?” he said, baffled. “No, it isn’t. It says Fun! Educational! Learn all about different ways of cultivating stinksap! That sounds useful, doesn’t it?”
“Older siblings are welcome, too!” I answered, pointing at the bottom.
He looked down. “Oh.”
I heard a huge thump and clatter. Then the sound of shouting. I spun my head around to see a woman with a thumpstick had fallen asleep against a man with a lapstrum, tangling her instrument inside his. They were jabbing their fingers at each other and arguing incoherently over the actually-rather-improved-now music.
“Okay, how about this one?” Genn asked, squishing his finger next to a paper pinned near the top.
“Spend an evening without the kids!” I said, pointing at the middle. “It’s for married people.”
“Aren�
�t there any things for people our age?”
“Sure,” I said. “This one. This one. This one.”
Genn scrutinized the papers. “They all say dancing,” he complained.
The grumpy-looking gathering of musicians gathered their instruments and got down from the high seats. Another group of musicians shuffled up. One was carrying a heavy slabstring, and he bumped it backwards up the stairs after him. Whump. Whump. Whump. Whump.
“You know, I should probably leave a message myself,” I said, turning back to the squishwood board. It was tall and skinny, so the top was level with my head, and the squishwood wobbled as I pushed it to the side to look behind it.
I found a few sheets of paper squashed near the floor, so I crouched down to reach them. I picked the smallest one, which was the least wrinkled, and smoothed it out. Then I pulled the small jar of ink out from behind the board, and two pens: one with a thick nib, one thin. I chose the thin one and uncorked the jar of black ink.
“What are you doing?” Genn asked me.
“Writing an invitation to Yaika’s oath,” I said. “She’s going to want as many people there as possible next week.”
“Why?” he said.
“Because it’s her twelfth birthday.”
“But why does she want strangers there?”
“Because she’ll be the center of attention.”
He still looked baffled.
“Because she likes attention.”
“Oh.”
Disgruntled, I threw the thin-nibbed pen back behind the board. The tip was way too scratchy. I dunked the thick-nibbed pen into the ink. It came out dripping, and I carefully wiped the excess back into the jar on the edge.
* * *
Yaika’s Oath Ceremony!
* * *
daughter of the Freshgrown family
will be held on the premises of the Freshgrown land
starting at midday, one Blue Day from next
* * *
strangers welcome
refreshments will be provided
there will be dancing
* * *
Genn looked over my shoulder. “Dancing?”
“Yes. And you’ll be participating,” I said, tapping the pen on the edge of the ink jar to splash off the excess ink.
Genn rubbed his fingers on his arm. “I pretty much figured that out.”
“Well, you can’t not go,” I said. “It’s my sister’s oath of childhood.”
“Well, we’re not engaged yet,” he pointed out. “Technically, I’m not obligated.”
“Try telling that to my family,” I retorted. “If we get married, and you didn’t go to Yaika’s oath ceremony, she’ll never let you hear the end of it.”
Genn rubbed his ear. “It’s not that I mind going. But . . .”
“But what?”
“But do I have to dance?”
I sighed. This is going to be a persistent problem, isn’t it?
As if to show up the last musicians, the new group launched into a complicated rhythm with a super-fast beat. People leapt off their chairs, and the floor flooded with dancers.
“They’re probably thinking, ‘Just one more dance, and then we can go home,’” I observed.
Genn jumped up. “Let’s dance,” he said immediately.
I got up, putting the ink away. We took a step forward, and he tripped over the message board. It flew off to the side, whacked against the entrance door, and lay there, quivering.
“Let’s wait for an easier song,” I said, laughing.
9
My sister was out of her mind with fury when I woke up the next morning.
“You bleached it!” she screamed at Hurik. “You bleached it?!”
Uh oh, I thought, throwing my yellow-gold sheets off of me. This didn’t bode well.
I ran downstairs. Hurik was standing in the kitchen, holding a soaked purple skirt. He looked both ashamed and offended.
“I was just trying to help!” he protested. “You were so upset about spilling that juice, so I thought I’d wash it for you —”
“With bleach?”
“What’s going on here?” I asked, panting.
Yaika spun around and grabbed the skirt from Hurik. “This!” she shouted. “Look at this!”
Ugh . . . I winced. There was a big, faded splotch right in the middle of a rather intricate design that ran along the bottom. Yaika must have spent hours on it.
“Grandfather always uses that stuff,” Hurik protested. “He says it’s the best way to get rid of stains. How was I supposed to know?”
“It’s only the best for whites! I’m not a mathematician! I wear color!” Yaika squeezed the dress, looking near tears.
“Hang on, hang on,” I said hastily. “Can’t Lala fix it? You only need a little magic to enhance the colors . . .”
“I already asked,” Hurik muttered.
“She says it wouldn’t take a little magic,” Yaika sobbed. “It would take a lot of magic. Look at all these different colors! She’d have to do them all separately! And I was going to wear this for my first dance after my oath ceremony! It’s ruined!”
Hurik’s eyes shifted longingly toward the stairs.
“Give it to me. I can try to fix it,” I said.
“Ha!” Yaika cried. “That’s not even possible!”
“I might be better at painting than you think,” I said.
She clutched the skirt possessively.
“What have you got to lose?” I asked. “You already said it’s ruined.”
“I could try to fix it myself,” Yaika sniffed. She clutched the damp skirt closer to her chest, leaving splotches all over her bodice.
“You’re upset,” I said. “You might make it worse. And you already have a lot to do for your oath ceremony. Let me do this. Please?”
“No!” Yaika backed further up the stairs, her foot flailed wildly on the landing, and she stumbled. She sprawled on her bottom.
“Let me fix it,” Hurik said. “I’ll take it to all the magicians in the neighborhood. I’ll ask them if they’ll fix one small part of it —”
“Ha!” Yaika said.
“Yaika,” I said, starting to get impatient. “It’s a piece of clothing. I realize you spent a lot of work on it, but we’re trying to help you. Would you let us?”
Yaika flung the skirt down at us and scrambled up the rest of the stairs, nearly tripping over her hems in furious haste. I heard a whump whump whump whump SLAM! above us, as she reached her bedroom door.
I looked over at Hurik, then looked up at the sodden skirt, sprawled across the stairs like a wet tripping hazard.
“You really didn’t know what bleach would do?” I asked.
“You think I’d do it on purpose?” Hurik asked, offended.
“I guess not.” I walked up the stairs, picked up the skirt from just below the landing, and made a face. The wet fabric felt clammy. “You realize this is going to take all day.”
“Yeah,” Hurik said glumly.
“I hope Father will let us use the carriage,” I said under my breath as we mounted the stairs to go see if our parents were awake.
“I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you with that,” the old, tottering man out on the Woodcraft family’s land said. “We’re nearly at harvest season, and I’m going to need all of the magic I have for that.”
I sighed. This was the third magician to turn us down. At least he was being nice about it. The last one hadn’t been. “Don’t you have a little you can spare? One magician was willing to help us. You could do the pink or the blue, which only need a little . . .”
“I’m sorry,” the old man said firmly. He scratched his grey beard, looking regretful. “If you’d asked me as a young man, I wouldn’t hesitate. But now, I just don’t have the magic to waste on such things.”
“Because you’re old?” Hurik asked.
“Hurik!” I hissed.
“No, no.” The old man chuckled. “Because magic is dying.”
> I stared at him. “What?”
I glanced over at Hurik, who looked as startled as I did.
“You didn’t realize?” he asked, rubbing his beard. “I thought everyone had noticed by now. It takes more magic every year to do the same things. Soon, it’ll stop working altogether. Probably within your lifetime. Might even be within mine.”
My jaw gaped. He said that so matter-of-factly.
“But that’s impossible!” Hurik burst out. “Magic can’t die! It’s a natural force, like status!”
“Oh, well.” The old man rubbed his beard. The wind picked up behind him, blowing gusts of lef chaff our way. I shivered. “What do I know about anything? I just notice what I notice.”
Hurik and I stared at each other, wide-eyed and shivering. We rubbed our arms as we looked at each other.
“Do you think he’s right about that?” I whispered.
“Don’t know,” Hurik said, hunching his shoulders and shivering. His teeth chattered as he talked. “Y-you’d think someb-body would’ve mentioned it b-before, w-wouldn’t you?”
“Looks like rain!” a young woman called from across the field, pointing up at the sky as she ran down one of the paths. “Better get home before it worsens, Darl!”
“I’m off,” the old man called, waving at his friend. He plucked a lef grain from a stalk and started chewing on it. “Best wishes to you two and your sister and all.” Then he ambled off down the field.
I looked up at the sky and blanched. Dark clouds were moving in fast. It had been bright and sunny when we left, so I’d worn short sleeves and a soft, fluffy underskirt. Now the breeze picked up and blew chilly air all the way up my legs, making me break out in goosebumps all over.
“C-come on,” I said, grabbing Hurik’s collar and turning it up to protect his neck. I could see goosebumps all down his back. “Let’s h-hurry.”
“Why’d G-Grandfather have to take the carriage?” Hurik moaned as we reached the road and started running. “We r-really could’ve used it today-y-y.”
A gust of wind howled past us, carrying dirt and dead leaves. I threw Yaika’s skirt over my shoulders, burying my bare arms in it. It still felt clammy, but it was better than nothing.