Facing the Sun

by Carol Beth Anderson

  Sall had agreed with his brothers until his gift had awakened. That day he had learned in an instant that his mother’s melancholy was as real as the sagging mattress on which she lay and heavier than the full bathtub she rarely used.

  With an effort, Sall forced his gift to depart. He felt the customary shard of guilt—his mother was left suffering while he embraced relief.

  Sall placed his hand on his mother’s. She did not grip his hand, but neither did she pull away. He ventured, “I emptied the tub.” There was a pause of several seconds, before he said, “A bath. Good for you, Mother.” That felt awkward, but he didn’t expect a response, anyway. “I’d like to bring a healer here next week, to see you.”

  “No.”

  Just one word, but Sall knew it wouldn’t change, so he didn’t argue. “I’ll get you some food,” he said, and he left the room.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I tire of the monarchy. I have heard of ancient civilizations in which leaders were voted into office. Dare I hope we return to such a system? If everyone has a voice, surely the leaders they choose will be inclined to act rightly.

  -From Savala’s Collected Letters, Volume 1

  “I managed twelve.” Tavi narrowed her eyes at Tullen. “Good luck beating that.”

  Sall and Narre arrived, sitting on the blanket Tavi and Tullen had spread on the grass. “What’s the competition?” Narre asked.

  “I told Tullen that at the autumn festival, at least half the dishes contain squash,” Tavi explained. “He challenged me to see who could get the highest number of squash dishes on their plate.”

  Sall asked, “What does the winner get?”

  Tavi and Tullen looked at each other thoughtfully, and Tullen shrugged. “I guess the winner gets tired of squash.”

  Tavi laughed. “Count yours!”

  Tullen had used a napkin to cover his plate. With a flourish, he removed the cloth, and he was greeted with laughter. His whole plate was covered with tiny dollops of food, crammed together, a multicolored mishmash. Tavi groaned and waited as he counted. “Twenty-seven!” he concluded.

  “Are you sure those all contain squash?” Sall challenged.

  “I’ve never seen half these foods,” Tullen admitted. “I did a lot of guessing.”

  After a few minutes of careful analysis, including two heated arguments about whether foods contained pumpkin or sweet potato, the final count was twenty squash dishes on Tullen’s plate. He raised his fists in victory, and they all ate.

  This was the first time Tullen had come into town with his friends. Tavi had insisted he could not miss the autumn festival, and he had agreed. The two of them, along with Narre and Sall, had spent all morning marveling at the acts of magic on the street, and Tullen’s enthusiasm had not waned when the feast began. He had even offered to run and fetch some antlerfruit as his contribution, but the idea had been roundly vetoed by Tavi, Sall, and Narre.

  “I have news,” Tavi said when they had finished eating. She pulled a letter out of her pocket and handed it to Narre.

  Narre spent a moment scanning the letter, and her face brightened. “You’re coming back to school!”

  Tavi beamed. “After this week’s break! The headmaster met with Ellea, and they have deemed me an acceptable risk.”

  Tavi had never thought she would miss going to school, but her forced absence had dragged on for six weeks, and she was antsy. Training with Tullen was a useful distraction, but he wasn’t always in town. And Narre and Sall always seemed to have stories about their experiences at school. Tavi was ready to feel like part of the community again.

  Turning to Tullen, Tavi frowned. “I’ll miss our morning sessions,” she told him. “But it's still light out when I get home from midwife training. Can we train then?”

  “Absolutely.” Tullen smiled. “And, Tavi, Ellea is right. You’ve worked hard, and you’ve gained a great deal of control.”

  Tavi smiled. “Well, I’m no Narre, but I’m trying.”

  Something caught her eye, and Tavi squinted across the lawn. “Is that Mayor Nolin walking with my father?” she asked.

  “Appears to be,” Sall said.

  Tullen’s eyebrows raised. “Do you know the mayor, Tavi?”

  Tavi’s nose scrunched in disgust. “Sort of,” she said. “Remember his antics on my first day of training at the midwife house?”

  “And two years ago, he dragged Tavi in front of a crowd at this very festival,” Narre said.

  Mayor Nolin and Tavi’s father Jevva walked past the midwife house together, disappearing behind it. Tavi stared hard at the building. “I wish my magic allowed me to see through walls,” she said.

  “Why don’t you listen to them with your hearing gift?” Narre asked.

  Tavi’s eyes widened, and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it. “I should!” she said. “Except . . . I would have to start by activating all my gifts. I don’t want to make a scene.”

  Still watching the doors, Tavi said, “Tullen, do you think I should—”

  Tullen’s sharp “Shh!” cut her off, and when Tavi looked at him, she saw that his ears were glowing, and his face was full of the same concentration she saw when he was tracking an animal. Tavi grinned. She, Sall, and Narre stayed quiet, letting Tullen focus on listening to the conversation in the parish hall.

  After a couple of minutes, however, Tullen released his magic with a quick shake of his head. “I honed in on their voices,” he said, “but I couldn’t understand anything. My magic was blocked.”

  “ ‘Blocked’ is the Meadow term for ‘resistance,’ ” Tavi explained.

  Sall raised his eyebrows. “Apparently Sava respects privacy and wants us to do the same.”

  Gifts always met resistance when used unacceptably. This was a universal truth, though the line between “acceptable” and “unacceptable” was blurry and difficult to predict. At times, resistance seemed to be tied to the gifted person’s motives; in other instances, resistance prevented unintended negative consequences. And every sun-blessed individual accumulated stories of times their magic had encountered no resistance despite results that, on the surface, appeared undesirable—Tavi’s earthquake, for instance.

  Entire library shelves were covered in magical theory books attempting to quantify what constituted “unacceptable,” and who or what the power was behind these moral judgments. Other shelves were full of magical theology books claiming only Sava could explain the reasoning behind every instance of resistance and that it was folly for scholars to analyze it.

  Tavi’s father and the mayor reappeared after several minutes. In front of the midwife house, they shook hands, and then they both looked toward Tavi, smiling. Tavi shuddered as Mayor Nolin walked toward his waiting carriage.

  “I’m dying to know what they were talking about!” Narre said.

  Tavi shook her head. “The more I think about it, the happier I am I don’t know. I wish my father would stop speaking to the mayor at all.”

  They spent a few minutes speculating, but they reached no conclusions. Tavi assured her friends she would update them if she heard anything else. She was relieved when their focus shifted to the dessert tables.

  When the sun was low in the sky, the festival ended. Narre left in her family’s carriage, and Tavi walked home with her parents, siblings, and Tullen. Tavi’s family didn’t have a carriage—there were too many of them to fit in just one, and Oren was small enough that they could walk wherever they needed to go. Sall walked with them until they reached the turnoff to his house.

  Once home, Mey put on a tea kettle, and everyone gathered in the sitting room to enjoy the warmth of the fireplace. Tavi and Tullen claimed the settee and chatted about Tullen’s impressions of Oren’s residents.

  After just a few minutes, however, Jevva stood. “Tavi, I’d like to talk to you in my study,” he said.

  Tavi raised her eyebrows at Tullen. She wasn’t close to her father and almost never entered his study. She wanted to say no, but she
knew his invitation had been a polite demand rather than a request. Standing, she followed Jevva through the house and into his study.

  They both sat, Tavi on a couch and her father in an armchair.

  “I had a good conversation with Mayor Nolin today,” Jevva began. “He’s an exceptional man.”

  “I saw you with him,” Tavi acknowledged, choosing not to address her father’s second statement.

  “He thinks very highly of you,” Jevva said.

  Tavi frowned. “He doesn’t know me, Papa.”

  “The mayor has watched you grow into a fine, gifted young lady,” Jevva said with a smile. “He feels honored that our town is home to someone whom Sava has blessed with so many gifts.”

  “Well.” Tavi realized she had nothing more to say, and she looked down at her hands, wishing she had something to do with them.

  The reason Tavi had never connected with her father was simple. She felt that every time he looked at her, he saw only her gifts. Tavi tried her best not to care, but she couldn’t quite manage indifference.

  As a small child, Tavi had often been told by Jevva, “Sava has made you special, and you need to act like it.” Acting like it, Tavi had learned, meant not acting like a child. Her father had wanted her to be unfailingly polite, kind, and reverent—at age four.

  As Tavi grew older, each time she approached her father to complain about something, such as an injustice at school or a disagreement with a sibling, Jevva’s response was, “Sava has given you many gifts—be content.”

  And now that Tavi’s gifts had awakened, her father often asked her how training was going. If she didn’t seem enthusiastic enough or wasn’t progressing quickly enough, he admonished her, “Make sure you are being a wise manager of what Sava has given you.”

  So when Jevva told Tavi that the mayor approved of her due to her gifting, she wasn’t surprised. It was the only approval she got from her father too.

  Jevva leaned forward, and Tavi felt herself pressing further back into her seat in response. Her father switched to what his family called his “shepherd voice,” a warm tone coating his pedantic message.

  “When Sava gives us gifts,” Jevva pronounced, “magical or otherwise, he pairs each gift with the responsibility to serve him and others. Serving is our highest calling and our highest privilege.” He paused and waited for a response. Tavi nodded; she was hesitant to do so, but she didn’t disagree with anything her father was saying.

  Jevva smiled. “Tavi, Sava’s gifts to you have been generous indeed, and the time has come for you to take the next step by lending your assistance to someone else.” Tavi's gaze was wary, but her father’s smile did not falter as he continued. “Mayor Nolin gave me some very exciting news today. He desires to better serve the communities in our area, by becoming a member of the Cormina Council.”

  Again, a pause, and this time, Tavi ventured a question to which she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer. “What does that have to do with me?”

  Jevva continued with that warm voice Tavi didn’t trust, but now it was tinged with condescension. “I know you are still young,” he said, “and you may not realize how much influence you can have on the people around you due to the surfeit of gifts with which you have been entrusted. Mayor Nolin has asked for your assistance as he campaigns for the council.”

  “I don’t understand. How would I help him?”

  Tavi's father’s smile grew wider. “By going with him to his campaign events and telling the people you support him! The recommendation of an all-blessed young lady will carry great weight as the mayor seeks to gain the trust of the people. You can even demonstrate your gifts, to lend credence to your words.”

  Tavi looked at her father in horror. “You want me to travel around with the mayor and tell people to vote for him?”

  Jevva chuckled. “Well, not by yourself! We’ll send Misty with you, to avoid any hint of impropriety.”

  Arms crossed, Tavi shook her head firmly and said, “Papa, I wasn’t even thinking of the impropriety of it, though you’re right—it would be highly awkward. The biggest problem is that I can’t tell people they should vote for him when I wouldn’t vote for him myself, even if I was old enough to vote!”

  Any hint of a smile fled Jevva’s face. “Why would you say that?” he asked. “Mayor Nolin is our friend!”

  “He’s not my friend!” Tavi protested. “He stares at me, even more than most people do. And now I know why. He’s been planning for years to use me as a campaign prop!”

  “Don’t be absurd!” Jevva said. “Mayor Nolin provided plumbing to our family for free because he cares about us. You are not to be a stubborn little girl! We will support him in this. You will speak up for him!”

  Tavi fought to keep her temper down; if she let her father infuriate her, she would feel he had won. So she took a deep breath, clasped her hands together so tightly they hurt, and looked in her father’s eyes as she spoke. “Go ahead,” she said. “Send me to campaign events with him. Put me onstage. I won’t fight you on this. But once there, I will do what you have always told me to do. I will tell the truth. And I’m sure it won’t have the effect the mayor is hoping for.”

  Then Tavi did something she had never done before. Without waiting for her father’s dismissal, she stood, turned her back on him, and exited the room.

  Chapter Twenty

  Angry words can be cruel,

  But not as cruel as angry silence.

  -From Proverbs of Savala

  When Tavi left her father’s study, she didn’t go back to the sitting room. Instead she stopped at her bedroom to grab a blanket, then walked out the back door. It was dark, so she rounded the house and sat on the front steps, which were dimly lit by the lantern and firelight shining through the front window. She could hear chattering and laughter in the room, and she pulled the blanket over her ears like a hood, muting the cheerful sounds.

  Tavi was furious—not just with her father, but with herself. She wanted to brush off her father’s words. He had looked in her eyes and called her a “stubborn little girl.” And try as she might, she couldn’t not care about it.

  She was fourteen, and everyone called her a “young lady,” but when she sat in front of her father and saw, once again, that she could not please him, Tavi felt like a child. She wanted to lay on the ground and throw a tantrum, to scream and kick and cry.

  Her father. How could he? When he spoke, whether it was to his family at the dinner table or to parishioners at monthly meetings, he so often shared true wisdom. Despite her difficulties relating to him personally, Tavi had always been inspired by him. She wanted to live a life full of honesty and kindness and goodness, thanks to her father’s words. And tonight, this same man had told her to sell her integrity for the cost of plumbing pipes.

  Had she really spoken those defiant words—and then turned her back on him and left? Tavi covered her face with her hands and felt the warmth of shame on her cheeks. She had never before treated her father that way. Perhaps she should go back to him and apologize.

  Yes. Yes, that’s what she would do. Tavi stood, then promptly sat again. She knew what the result of an apology would be. Her father would reconcile with her—as long as she approached him with a true change of heart, which would mean agreeing to campaign for the mayor.

  As much as her refusal sickened her—for her stomach was sour and knotted now—Tavi could not take that step. She didn’t know where her current course of resistance would take her. She did know if she went along with her father’s demands, she would lose part of herself. So she continued to sit.

  The fire blazed, warming the entire sitting room. Jevva had returned alone several minutes earlier, and Tullen had assumed Tavi was getting tea or perhaps visiting the privy. But she still hadn’t come back, and he was relieved when Misty asked, “Where’s Tavi?”

  “I don’t know,” Jevva replied.

  Misty stood. “I’ll go check.”

  Jevva’s voice was loud and firm. “You will
do no such thing. I hope she is alone somewhere, allowing Sava to convict her of her rebellious spirit.”

  The other members of the family exchanged glances. Tullen looked around and, seeing that none of them were stirring, he stood. He would not ask Jevva’s permission. He avoided the man’s eyes and left the room, relieved when no one tried to stop him.

  Tullen checked the kitchen first, then knocked on Tavi’s bedroom door. Next he exited through the kitchen into the yard, walked around the house, and found Tavi on the front steps. When she saw him, she scooted over, and he sat beside her.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Tavi stared straight ahead. “Nothing.”

  Tullen almost laughed at the absurdity of that statement, but instead, he said, “Well, if you won’t talk, I will.” He told her about the confrontation between Jevva and Misty, and concluded, “So what happened?”

  Tavi sighed and related the conversation with her father. Tullen grew louder and louder in his responses as her story continued. “Campaign for him?” “Demonstrate your gifts?” “In exchange for plumbing?”

  On that last outburst, Tavi shushed him. “They’ll hear you!”

  “I don’t care if they hear me!” Tullen said, but he lowered his voice. “I can’t believe the hypocrisy! Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

  “Please don’t,” Tavi replied. “He’s very angry, and I’m afraid he’ll just send you home. That’s the last thing I need.”

  Tullen nodded. “I understand.” He did understand Tavi’s request, but he did not understand her father, and he was surprised by the ire that rose in him. He growled, “I think I’m just as angry as you are now, but I’ll hold my tongue so you can finish.”