Anais of Brightshire

by Jamie Wilson

Anais of Brightshire

  Book One of The Blood Mage Chronicles

  Copyright 2012 Jamie Wilson

  In dedication to

  Madalyn Reese Duarte

  Cover Art by

  Beetiful Bookcovers (https://bookcovers.beetiful.com)

  Edited by

  Samantha and Behren Laisure-Pool &

  Amber Bungo (www.editingbyamber.com)

  Chapter 1

  This was my fifth trip to Brightshire with my Uncle Gil, and with each return trip home, my mother became more distressed that I would never be accepted into the Great House as a handmaiden. My mother had been a handmaiden before she married my father and thought she was doing me a great service by insisting I follow in her footsteps. At the age of eleven, I was no longer a child, and my mother had made it quite clear that I was expected to find work outside of our home. My own feelings on the matter were mixed. I wished to please my mother, but I didn’t think it was fair that I had to abandon my life to do so.

  “You alright back there, girlie?” Gil called from the front of the cart, where he led the mules along the bumpy road. “That was a nasty bit of wind.”

  I lowered the blanket from my face. “Mm, I’m okay.” I narrowed my eyes and imagined him as a walrus, which made me giggle. Gil had grown a long mustache that ended in a wide curl on each end. He was much larger than my father and brothers, who were as skinny as weeds and taut with muscles earned from the harsh life of fishermen. Gil’s grin stretched wide from ear to ear. Gil was always bursting with city gossip or a cheerful song. My mother often alleged that it was Gil’s ever-flowing supply of ale that caused him to find such pleasure in life. Gil was unlike my father in other ways too. He often suggested odd schemes to Dah, including a plan to dry fish in foreign spices. And once he told us a story of an inventor from a shire west of the Barrier Mountains who had built a box that would keep food cold indefinitely. Dah always scoffed at these plans, preferring to deal exclusively with smoking or boiling. Mah and Dah had no desire to foray into the unknown, whereas Gil was a dreamer.

  Dawn emerged on the eastern horizon, and I heard the blurred sounds of carts, horses, mules, and voices - city noises.

  Gil turned back and eyed me. “We’re almost to town. Today will be mighty busy. A lot of business to be had.” Gil whistled a tune as he led the mules around a sharp right turn.

  I peeked out of my blanket again and caught the thick smells of the market wafting toward me. Thick odors of people and animals blurred with the sweet and salty aromas of market food. Brightshire Bazaar stalls contained every imaginable food stock: the ripest plum-berries from north of Barriershire, the sweetest cream from the Moore Dairy, the moistest lamb from Blumstead Farms, the finest vintages of Brightshire wines, and - of course - the freshest fish to be had from the Bright River. My eyes glazed with excitement as the town clarified.

  A large brick archway signified our entrance into the city, and as we passed through, the dirt path transitioned into a cobbled stone. Two men, dressed in red jackets with gold plated buttons and crisp black pants sporting thin curved swords, nodded to Gil after he showed them his trader’s papers. A man dressed in a crimson robe spoke to Gil for a few minutes and looked over our cargo. He was a sniffer. Gil had told me on our first trip that the man in the robe was sniffing for artifacts carrying enchantments. Because magic was prohibited, if we were caught carrying contraband artifacts, we would likely be executed. Gil had promised that it was nothing to worry about since there was no magic left in the world, and the sniffers were all frauds.

  We worked our way from the city entrance toward the bazaar. A smile crept to my face. I felt like a small cog in the machine of commerce whenever we visited, and I liked that feeling of inclusion. I also liked to watch large sums of coin change hands. I sighed. It must be wonderful to have money. The surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins was hampered by the knowledge that when the stalls closed, Gil would bring me to the Great House again. Would they take me this time? I half hoped so. I didn’t want to see my mother’s face fall in disappointment once again, but the notion also scared me. I would be a stranger here. I would be alone.

  Gil pulled the mules to a stop next to a muddy square occupied by an empty wooden stall. Ambitious merchants had already filled the other stalls in the row with their goods, and I knew Gil would soon transform our space into the greatest fish stall in the entire Brightshire Bazaar. I dropped my blanket and hopped off the cart, landing softly on the cobbled stone floor. Gil took longer to pull his hefty frame to the ground. By the time he was off the cart, I stood in front of him with outstretched hands.

  “Here you go, girlie.” He dropped four copper coins into my small hands. “Sign us up.” I knew that Gil trusted me, and I felt full of pride as I took off in a fast tripping gait towards the Bazaar master. The Bazaar master’s name was Harry and the name fit, for he was covered from head to toe with coarse brown hair. Harry was also a dwarf, the only dwarf I had ever met. Gil had lectured me sharply that I shouldn’t stare or comment. I hesitated before I approached him.

  “You again, huh?” Harry asked as I reached the front of the line.

  “Yeah, I’m with Gil. We took stall nine on the main strip. It’ll be a fish stall.”

  Harry smiled. “Well that’ll be just fine - four coppers please - and you need to sign the registry.” I dropped the coins into his hand. Using a quill still felt daunting as I had only learned how to sign my name five weeks ago when Gil had taken me to Brightshire for the first time. My cheeks flushed hot and pink at the sight of my poorly formed letters.

  By the time I returned to our stall, Gil had everything organized. The biggest fish hung from broad iron hooks on the highest wooden plank, and assorted fish were artfully arranged in wooden bins. The majority of the fish stayed tightly wrapped to avoid spoiling in the heat the day would bring. Gil wrote a single word in bright red paint on a large plank of wood that spanned the front of our stall. I wanted to know what the word meant, but I felt too embarrassed to ask.

  Feeling anxious, I stood next to Gil while waiting for our first customer. My eyes drifted to our neighboring traders: a young man boasting dyed cloth, a wizened old woman with a huge variety of fresh spring vegetables, and a squirrelly looking man selling jewelry and foreign coins. The man selling cloth tempted market goers with long scarlet scarves gently floating from his hands. I wished I could have one. I had never seen anything so bright and perfect.

  Gil boomed in a deep voice that must have echoed through all of Brightshire, “Fresh fish! Get your fresh fish! Tastiest fish in all of the Seven Shires!”

  Our first customer was a young woman with three children in tow. The woman bought two large catfish that Gil claimed he was giving away at the bargain price of two coppers apiece. Though, I knew that two coppers was the standard price for a large catfish. Soon our stall was flooded with local townspeople and travelers. I sold a bag of shrimp, three large crabs, and two cod all on my own as Gil helped other customers.

  A tall gangly youth approached our stand, and let his long arms rest against a bin filled with shrimp. “Shyte, Gil it’s good to see you.”

  “You too, kiddo. Where have you been?”

  “Dah and I were out near the border towns for the last few weeks. The wheat crops just came in.” The boy swayed back and forth as if uncomfortable standing still.

  Gil frowned. “That’s late for the border towns.”

  “Yeah well, things have been strange near the border - all sorts of delays. You see, a few of the farmer’s kids disappeared. Just vanished.”

  “Runaways?”

  “Nah. One of the farmers said it was some sort of
monster. They found one of his kids tore up real bad, but still alive. And the kid told him that an - an animal, or monster,” the boy shuttered, “or maybe even a fury crawled out of the darkness and grabbed him and his two brothers right out of the barn in the dead of night.”

  “What happened to the kid’s brothers?” Gil’s eyes narrowed.

  The boy scratched his head. “Still gone. The border families held a service for them. I guess the farmers figure those kids ain’t never coming back.”

  “They believed the kid then? His story?”

  “Yeah. Guess so. There are other kids down there gone missing. Dah says we aren’t going back next season, or ever. Dah’s gonna move the family north, maybe even across the mountains to Courtshire. This might be our last market day in Brightshire.”

  “Really?” Gil's snorted. “Your Dah should know better. There’s no such thing as monsters and certainly no furies, just bad people. And there are bad people everywhere. I'll talk to your Dah. The kid was lying or just confused.”

  The boy smiled weakly. “Maybe you can talk him into staying. Mah is real upset. She doesn’t want to leave.” The boy paused, his eyes darting around nervously. “I don’t wanna leave either. There’s Mary, and if I go, I fear she’ll forget about me.”

  Gil nodded. “I’ll talk to him, kiddo. I promise.”

  Wordlessly, I watched this interchange play out. I didn’t like the idea of people disappearing. It made me think of the scary stories Mah would sometimes tell about monsters that would steal children in the dead of night. She also called them furies. She said that their skin was green-black and slick like a lizard. They had sharp hooked claws and a mouth so crammed full of teeth that there didn’t seem to be room for anything else. Otherwise, she said, they were shaped like men but stooped by the weight of evil deeds. She said they hadn’t been sighted in generations, but still it was always the reason she gave for us to stay inside once the sky turned dark. She would sing this awful song about them. I shuttered. I wondered if this boy’s family told the same stories. Despite my uncertainty, I took strength in Gil’s words that this too was just a story. Not real. There was something so certain in his assessment. He didn’t believe in monsters. So neither would I - at least I would try not to.

  After the boy left us, Gil told me he needed me to watch the stand, so that he could purchase goods for my family and our neighbors who also made their living from the Bright River and its easy access to the ocean. Gil had left me in charge for a short time on our previous trips, so I was prepared to run the stand in his absence. He had trained me in acceptable price ranges for all our goods.

  While Gil was absent, Fraenkle, an elderly trader whose white curly hair masked most of the features of his face, appeared and bought two small crabs and a haddock. Fraenkle was a regular who ran a small general goods shop south of the main strip. He doffed his cap, offered me a broad smile, and wiggled his thick white eyebrows. He must have done this to suggest that he was friendly and would therefore be an easy mark, but I knew he was a shrewd trader. Fraenkle bargained long and hard to get the best deal out of me.

  When Gil returned, he patted me gently on the head. I could tell that he appreciated the sales I made, and I felt proud. He dropped a warm copper into my palm. “Go on now, and enjoy yourself for a bit.” I beamed. This was my favorite part of the day. I maneuvered through the narrow lanes between stalls, which were teaming with country folk, a handful of wealthy squires, and even a few men in velvet suits and pluming white cravats, whom I imagined might be nobles from the Great House.

  In the crowd, a boy dressed in dirty coveralls shoved me, forcing me to drop my copper. Another boy snatched it from the ground and started running off into the distance. I hissed, wishing my mother hadn’t insisted I wear skirts today. Three underskirts of rough cotton billowed under my top skirt. I often wore my brothers’ old trousers when at home because they were so much more comfortable, but my mother would not tolerate my careless attitude towards my appearance during my journeys to Brightshire. I sighed, hiked up my skirts, and took off in a run after the boy who had stolen my coin. I wove through the crowd, keeping him in sight. Eventually he stopped running, and I slowed my gait to match his. He stopped in front of a group of brightly dressed jugglers who were passing knives to each other through the air. I chose the moment when he was clearly distracted to jump on his back and pummel him.

  “What - what’re you doing? You’re crazy!” The boy yelled as he tried to throw me off his back.

  “I want my copper back. You stole it.” I whacked him on the head as hard as I could. “Give it back!”

  The crowd parted a little, and I could feel the stares of those around us, but the stares were silent. No one interfered.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll give it back, if it means so much to you. Just stop hitting me,” the boy cried.

  I climbed off his back, hopped to the ground, and took the copper he reluctantly offered. “Thanks.” I smiled quickly, stuffed the copper down a pocket in my skirts, and bowed before running away from the boy.

  My nose led me to a pastry stall where I bought myself a peach tart. I found an untended wagon and climbed into it so that I could enjoy my purchase while spying on the crowd. Sweet gooeyness spilled out of the crusty edges of the tart and into my hands, and I sucked the juice from my fingers. I found myself staring at a young woman dressed in a delicate yellow gown, embroidered with a gold edging. I had often helped my mother sew clothes for our family out of coarse homespun cloth, but I had never seen anything like the sleek and shimmery material that draped the noblewoman’s slim frame. I could not help but think it must be close to heaven to wear something so fine.

  I pushed back strands of limp, black hair from my eyes with sticky fingers, so that my view of the woman would not be impaired. I watched the woman advance through the crowd while deftly controlling the flow of the panels of her skirts, which flirted with the cobbled stone floor. A deep surge of envy pulsed through my veins; in that moment, I wished I could trade places with the woman. I searched out her sparkling blue eyes, and the woman looked through me as if I were invisible. I hated thinking of myself as so utterly inconsequential. The young woman’s companion, an elegantly dressed young man, led her through the crowd until the two disappeared. I envied them, and a part of me hated them.

  As I walked back to our stall, I passed by a puddle and stared at my rippling reflection. Even my eyes were unimpressive, a dull ashy gray. I could not look more different from the noblewoman. Knowing the certainty of my own common birth and lack of beauty, I couldn’t help but feel empty. I closed my eyes and let the shifting cadence of the market break my heartache. This was a good place, and I needed to stop wishing for a life that was not mine.

  Lost in reverie, I bumped headlong into a large cage on wheels that a dwarf was pulling through the street.

  “Careful there, girlie,” he called out. “You don’t want to get too close.”

  I peered through the thick wooden bars, and saw a boy, maybe as old as my eldest brother. He was dressed in filthy rags and crouched in the corner. Thick metal bands were wrapped round his neck and round his wrists. His skin was thick with sweat, and his head lolled back and forth, his eyes fixed on the bottom of the cage. He looked so thin, so helpless.

  I gasped. “Why is he in there?”

  “He’s a fury, I swear it. I bought him from some outlaws near the border towns. They captured him.”

  “Shyte. He’s not a fury - he’s just a boy. Can’t you see that? You need to let him out right now. You can’t keep him trapped like this.”

  The man laughed at me. “You don’t know anything, girlie. Why don’t you take a good look at him, and you tell me if he’s normal? I’m going to take him to Barriershire and sell him.”

  I stared through the bars. “Look at me,” I whispered to him. “Please look at me. What’s your name?” I touched his hands, wh
ich grasped the bars so tight they had lost all of their color.

  “Azriel,” he croaked in hoarse whisper. His head turned slowly, and when his eyes met mine, I jumped back in revulsion. I couldn’t help it, my stomach tightened, and I suddenly wanted to flee. It wasn’t that he looked sickly or ugly. He was almost too handsome, with sharp hawkish features, that couldn’t be disguised by the layers of grime covering his face. But despite his prettiness, his eyes were not right; they were too large, and all black. I knew he wasn’t right, wasn’t human. How strange. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, steadying myself.

  “Told you, girlie. He’s a monster alright.” The dwarf started to pull the cage in his original direction.

  “Wait,” I whispered. The dwarf didn’t hear me, but in truth, I wouldn’t have known what else to say to him. There was nothing I could do to save the boy - and I wasn’t sure I wanted to save him.

  Gil looked up at the fading sun after I returned to our stall. “Only a few more hours until the sun goes to sleep for the night. We need to get you to the Great House before nightfall.” He smiled at me. “I just know they’ll take you this time.”