Jennia reached into the purse by the bed and pulled out a silver piece. "Thank you, boy, and thank Tassie for me. Now go have a lie-down and buy yourself breakfast in the morning before you go home. Don't worry about Mister Antony, I'll take care of him." The boy gave an astonished, big-toothed smile, tucked the silver in his pocket and ran away.
Taking care of Antony was, in fact, her first priority, though not in the way the boy thought she meant. As soon as the child was off the porch she closed the door's window and got dressed in the dark. From her apron pocket she took the three sex charms and left them carefully centered on the bed. She then took her share of the money in the purse--he'd never have cause to complain as he did about Magda--and climbed down from the wagon.
Antony had lost so much already, he couldn't go to jail for the sake of a girl he only wished to be rid of. She loved him enough to leave before the Guilds caught them together, though leaving him might break her heart. With luck, she'd find Starret first. If not, it was six more months of apprenticeship under an angry master and then a lifetime of marriage to Willet. She started down the road in the moonlight, heading west away from her pursuers and her heart. Antony would forget her, and she'd do her best to forget him though her best was nowhere good enough.
Antony was up early the next day; he'd never been a late riser, and he had work to do today. He had to get the tent up, make the rounds to drum up interest, and cast the enchantments for the various charms he'd sell tonight. Jennia could ask after her soldier while he worked. First he'd bespeak breakfast for them at the post house. But when he came into the taproom scratching his head, his bedroll under his arm, the owner's wife cried, "Oh, Mister Antony, I thought you'd gone last night!"
"What? Gone where?" He ran to the door; Dolf and the wagon were still there. "Where am I supposed to have gone?"
"Why, the boy was sent to tell you to run! Did he not give you the message? Ernie!" The woman stomped into the kitchen; there was a loud squeak and a protesting voice Antony recognized as one of Rabny Ford's post boys insisting that the message had been delivered and please to let go of his ear! The owner's wife stomped back in; her fingers were clamped on Ernie's ear, and she dragged him along in her wake. "You rascal, he says he ain't heard nothing about a message!"
"I told it to miss at the wagon when I got here, I swear it!" whimpered the boy.
"Softly, softly, goodwife, now let him go," said Antony. When the boy stopped sniffing, Antony said, "Tell me all about it, Ernie. What's happened?"
The boy recounted Tassie's message again. "I'm sorry, sir, she said she'd take care of you and I just figgered she told you. I figgered you were in there yourself!"
"Damn that girl," muttered Antony. He pulled a silver piece from behind each of the boy's ears. "For you, son, with miss's and my compliments, and here's another to buy Miss Tassie and the taproom a round when you get home. Take some of that for his breakfast," he said to the owner's wife.
"Pay for Ernie's breakfast? Why, he's my cousin's boy, I wouldn't take a copper!" he heard over his shoulder as he sprinted toward the wagon.
Antony had a fair idea he'd find it empty, and he was right. "Dammit, Dolf, you were supposed to look after her!" he shouted as he wrestled the big horse into harness. Dolf eyed him reproachfully. "I know, how were you to stop her. Well, we've got to go get her. There's no way she can outrun the Guilds--they've got to be right on our heels!"
Jennia looked around for somewhere to rest. She'd been walking since the boy had woken her in the night, and she hadn't gotten much sleep beforehand. The next town was further away than she'd thought, and she was hungry. She'd thought about stopping at a farm house and buying something to eat--she had money--but she didn't want to get anyone else in trouble or to answer any questions. She'd just have to wait till she got to wherever she was going. She'd never been this far west.
Something drew her eyes to a small path into a thicket of trees, standing like a great leafy island in the midst of the fields lining the road. Perhaps there were some berry bushes in there. If nothing else, she might rest in the shade. She couldn't stay long; the Guildmasters couldn't be far behind. She was on foot, and they were bound to be on horseback. At least Antony hadn't come after her. Did that comfort her or pain her?
At the end of the path she found not berry bushes but a shrine. She couldn't imagine anyone even knowing it was here; the path through the thicket looked as if no one had come down it in some time, but the shrine itself was well-tended. She approached it cautiously. Ghosts haunted such places.
"You look tired," said a soft voice. Jennia jumped with a shriek. To one side of the shrine stood a white-haired old priestess. Her skin was smooth as paper and looked just as fragile; her voice was gentle, and her smile amused. "I won't hurt you, child. Come. No one will find you here." She turned and walked further down the path.
Not knowing what else to do, Jennia began to follow. She hesitated at the shrine. It was to the Wood God. A figure of a laughing, bearded man with a great, jutting phallus had been carved out of a tree root silvered with age. His hand cupped a pile of coins before him, tarnished almost black. She reached into her purse. She could leave a copper, for in her pride she hadn't taken much from Antony at all and needed what she had, but something told her to leave a silver instead. It winked in a sudden tiny shaft of light, and the little god's smile seemed broader.
Around a curve in the path stood a little one-room house; the priestess beckoned to her from the doorway. "Come in. Rest. You're safe here--I offer you sanctuary. No one can touch you here." Jennia entered the house, ducking to get through the doorway. The room was bare, but clean and comforting all the same. Two bowls of soup sat on a low table before a couch that doubled as the priestess's bed.
"Oh, you're expecting company," Jennia faltered.
"Yes, and it's just arrived," the priestess smiled. "Perhaps you can help me. Do you know anything about weaving?"
Jennia blinked. "Yes, I'm a weaver's apprentice."
"How fortunate!" said the priestess. "Can you untangle this for me?"
In the corner, Jennia saw a tapestry loom leaning against the wall. The work on it was the finest she'd ever seen, a warp of linen in a fine dent and a weft of the most exquisitely dyed fine silk. The silks were hopelessly tangled. Were it work of hers, Jennia would have cut them, cried a few tears and gone on, but this was not her work. "I'll do my best, Lady, but I can't guarantee I'll succeed."
"Just try," said the priestess.
Jennia's nimble fingers went to work. She could see each thread and where it led in and out of the great tangle more clearly than she ever had. Though she never broke the threads she cried a few tears of her own as she struggled. After what seemed like hours, her fingers cramped and stiff, Jennia sat back. She expected it to be dark already, but the sun appeared to be in the same place as it was when she'd entered the hut. She had done it. The silken threads lay neatly along the tapestry, awaiting their weaver. "What is it going to be, Lady?" she said.
"You will see," smiled the priestess.
A faint jingle of harness bells sifted through the green leaves. Jennia leaped up. "I'm sorry, I must go, I can't let him find me!"
"He has found you, and that's as it should be," said the serene priestess. She took Jennia by the arm in a much stronger grip than the girl would have thought possible and pulled her down onto the couch.
Antony's footsteps crunched up the path, and before Jennia could compose herself he barged into the little house. "You," he panted, "are in big trouble, missy! Do you know how hard I've been looking for you? They're right on your heels, they'll be on us in less than an hour!"
"You didn't have to come," she said. "You've probably brought them down on me!"
"There's only one road west, Jennia, and everyone knows that's where you're headed."
"Well, now you've found me, but why you've come I don't know. There's no reason you should be punished for helping me. But I suppose if they find us both here," she said, nodding
at the priestess, "you could offer him deniability, Lady Priestess?"
"They know we've been traveling together," said Antony. "It wouldn't matter what the Lady said."
"You could say I lied to you about being a runaway."
"They wouldn't believe me."
"Oh, why did you come after me?" cried Jennia. "Saving you from all this is why I did it in the first place!"
"I told you I'd get you to Starfish if you worked for me. You worked, and now I'm getting you to Starfish!"
The priestess raised her head. "They're almost here. I have a proposal for you, children. A solution to your troubles, for now." She knelt down beside the couch, graceful despite her age, and pulled out a small writing desk. She opened it to reveal brushes, ink and a familiar set of legal documents. "Marriage."
"Marriage!" the two said at the same time.
"I can marry you both right now. Neither Guild can touch you." Jennia was so distraught she never thought to ask how the priestess knew who was chasing them.
"But I'm betrothed to someone else," said Jennia in an uncertain voice.
"And I don't want to marry anyone," added Antony.
"Just for now," said the priestess as she dipped her brush in the inkwell. "When the Guilds are satisfied, you can burn the contracts and go your separate ways as if you'd never met. Really, I think it's for the best, don't you? Why don't you tell me your names." All the while the priestess filled out the certificates as if they'd already told her.
Despite his demurrals, when the priestess presented him with the brush Antony signed his name on both copies with no hesitation. Jennia held the brush over the inkwell and stared at his bold, sprawling signature. She wanted to marry Starret, didn't she? No, she wanted to marry Antony, but he didn't want to marry her. What should have been sweet, her heart found bitter.
Shouts pierced the canopy of leaves. "They're almost here," murmured the priestess. Jennia dipped the brush, signed her name to both contracts and sat back against the couch's wooden frame, trembling. Which was worse: the Guilds about to descend on them, or this farce of a marriage?
"Jennia? Jennia!" shouted Willet.
"C'mon, let's get this over with," said Antony, pulling her to her feet. The priestess assured them the ink was dry; they each took their copy of the marriage contract and went out hand in hand to face their pursuers.
First was Willet, running willy nilly down the path. He skidded to a stop. "Jennia! We didn't know what had happened to you, we've been so worried! Why did you run away?"
"Why? You know very well why!" She stomped her foot. "Always pinching and pawing me--I tell you to stop and you just ignore me!"
"I thought you liked it," Willet blinked. "We're going to be married, what's the harm? I thought you were just being coy."
"I'll never marry you, Willet Jomnel, not even if you blackballed me from the Weavers Guild as you said you would."
By now, Guildmistress Hamblin and a stocky man Jennia assumed was the Mages Guild representative had caught up with Willet. "What's this about blackballing?" said the Guildmistress.
"He said if I didn't marry him he'd blackball me."
Guildmistress Hamblin glared at Willet, her brow blackening by the minute. "We'll take this up later, Mister Jomnel." To Jennia she added, "Why didn't you bring your complaint to the Guildhall? And why would Master Romnel agree to such a scheme?"
"I'm a better weaver. They didn't want me setting up shop and competing with them," said Jennia. "Master Romnel would have said anything. You wouldn't believe me over my master for a minute."
The Guildmistress bit her lip. "Be that as it may, the fact remains you ran away. We're here to fetch you back. This adds six months to your apprenticeship and a black mark against you, but if you perform well--"
"It doesn't matter," said Antony.
"You're in trouble yourself for harboring a fugitive, Mister Onyx," boomed the Mages Guildmaster.
"Beg pardon, Master Herbit," Antony said, "but I'm not harboring a fugitive. I'm harboring my wife."
"Your wife?" cried Willet. "I thought you said you were betrothed to a soldier! Er--" He winced, and Guildmistress Hamblin stared at him.
"I lied," said Jennia.
"Let me see those," said Guildmaster Herbit. Antony and Jennia gave over the contracts; the mage peered at them, muttered a cantrip and studied the glowing results on the page. "They're real," he said, handing them back. "Signed five days ago." Jennia started, but Antony squeezed her hand and she stayed facing forward. Five days ago? How could that be? Had Antony used some of his precious store of magic to alter the contracts?
"You realize this bars you from Weavers Guild membership forever, Mistress Wick?" said Guildmistress Hamblin. Jennia nodded. "Well," sighed the woman, "on your head be it, then. You can still ply your trade but only in towns smaller than 300 people, and none of your work may be sold on your behalf outside that area. Count on it--the Guild will discover any transgression and will prosecute you to the full extent of the law. Is it understood?"
Jennia fought a quaver in her voice. "Yes, Guildmistress."
The Guildmistress softened. "You must love him very much to sacrifice five years of hard work, Jennia."
"Yes, Guildmistress," she whispered. Antony lifted her hand and squeezed it again, as if to add credibility to what he thought was a lie.
"You've led me on a fool's errand, Willet, and I intend to investigate this blackballing business thoroughly," snapped Guildmistress Hamblin. "Your father will not be allowed female apprentices after this." She stalked back down the path, Willet stumbling after her in entreaty.
"Give you joy of your marriage, Antony," said the Mages Guildmaster. He took Antony's free hand and shook it. "Never thought I'd see the day, after..." He cleared his throat. "Well, give you joy. Your friends will be glad to hear it, and I'm glad I don't have to haul your sorry carcass back to the Nuttalston jail after all."
Jennia and Antony stood before the little house, still holding hands, until the three erstwhile pursuers rode out of sight. Antony dropped her hand as if it burned him; her hand felt cold without his. "When did you back-date the contracts?" she said. "I wish you hadn't spent magic on it. Did it cost you very much?"
"It didn't cost me a thing--I didn't do it," he replied. "Seems we owe the Wood God's priestess quite a bit. We have to see if there's something we can do to repay her."
But when they re-entered the priestess's tiny hut, it was deserted. Where the couch had been there was only a pile of bracken and leaves. On the floor, where the table had been, were two bowls of soup. Against the wall, the completed tapestry gleamed. The priestess herself was nowhere to be seen. Jennia's hair prickled on the back of her neck. "We should go."
"We should drink this soup," he answered in a shaky voice. "That was the Wood God's Wife, and she's made us a gift--several gifts. Rejecting anything from her hands would be a dangerous, dangerous thing."
Jennia walked to the corner and picked up the tapestry; it had been cut from its frame. The completed image took her breath away. It was the finest weaving she'd ever seen, unbelievably detailed. Against a riot of leaves stood a man and a woman, arms around one another. His eyes and hair were nearly black, and his body was lean muscle; her hair shone a dark russet, and her eyes shifted between green and brown as the light played on the silk. Three glowing spheres lay at his feet, at hers a basket of shuttles and bobbins.
Jennia put her free hand to her mouth; tears sprung to her eyes. Here in silk was the future she would never have. She wanted to leave it on the floor, but the Wood God's Wife had left it for her. After all the Lady's kindess, why would She be so cruel? Jennia quickly rolled the feather-light tapestry and slipped it into her skirt's deepest pocket before Antony could see it.
Antony handed her a bowl of soup; a single gnarled mushroom floated in a clear broth. "I've never tasted anything like it. Drink up."
Jennia took a sip. Instantly her heart filled with the cubs and little ones of spring, the fruits of summer,
the nuts of fall, the sleeping animals of winter with their tails curled round pregnant bellies waiting for spring to come again: the fecundity of the forest. "Never turn away from the world, never turn away from love, for they are the same," a voice like the rustling of branches said in her mind.
She emptied the bowl in a single draught, ate the mushroom and placed the bowl back on the floor with Antony's. The world seemed brighter, her heart lighter, and she smiled up at him; his eyes sparkled down at her. He took her in his arms. "A wedding day kiss. Grant me just one."
"Yes," she whispered.
Antony kissed her, gently at first but growing in intensity until their bodies pressed close together. Was it one kiss or many? It all blurred together; their lips never left one another. His hardness pressed against her; she'd made up her mind to pull him down onto the bed of bracken when he broke from her. "Thank you," he muttered. "It's just tradition, that's all. Mages, we're all about tradition. We should keep looking for Starret. He shouldn't be far now."
The life of the forest filling her heart died. "Starret. Yes. It's best we find him soon. Then you can be on your way, find another model. It's best," she repeated.
They walked back to the wagon, hands no longer clasped.
Chapter Six: A Soldier
On the road to Deep Well, Jennia stayed in the back of the wagon while Antony sat in the front door holding Dolf's reins in listless hands. The Wood God's Wife had given him a moment of pure possibility, a moment when keeping Jennia as his own wife seemed right--inevitable--as real as the girl he held in his arms. Then it was gone. He saw things as they really were, not as some magic mushroom might lead him to see it.
Jennia belonged with Starret, not someone as damaged as he was. If they didn't find the man in Deep Well, he wasn't sure what he'd do. Probably just leave her with the certificates. It'd give her protection from any random Weavers Guild officials who might be on the lookout for her while she searched for Starret. When she didn't need them any more she could just burn them, and the sham marriage would be over.
The Mage's Toy (Aria Afton Presents) Page 5