Seventeen Stones

by Vanessa Wells

  Seventeen Stones

  by

  Vanessa Wells

  Text Copyright © Vanessa Wells 2013

  All Rights Reserved

  To my wonderful, supportive family: Without you, none of this would be possible, and if it was, it wouldn’t mean a thing anyway.

  Prologue:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Prologue:

  “Push!” The woman on the bed pushed again, her black hair dripping with sweat. The midwife encouraged her. “I can see the head, Alexandria, just a few more contractions…” She pushed but she was near delirious with pain and sleep deprivation: she’d been in labor for two days.

  Alexandria Rusticov’s blue eyes flitted to the corner of the specially designed birthing room. The spells protecting this room made it safe…it was ridiculous to feel naked without her wand. And yet…was it her imagination, or had the shadow in the corner changed slightly?

  Another contraction gripped her body, focused her mind on the tearing pain. She couldn’t push again; but she did. A pale hand pushed a sweaty lock of hair out of her face. She gripped her husband’s hand as he whispered soft words to her…then another contraction bowed her spine. A few excruciating seconds later she was rewarded by a healthy cry as the final contractions removed the placenta from her womb. She lay, panting and exhausted, as the midwife cleaned the child.

  The woman beamed at the couple. “You have a daughter! A strong, healthy girl.” Alexandra smiled up at her husband. He’d insisted that the baby would be a girl. He grinned down at her and then leaned close to kiss her moist forehead. “What do you want to call her?” She didn’t have to think about it. “I’d like to call her Amelia for my mother, Minerva for yours.” His brow contracted, he didn’t like that for some reason. Minerva was a bit old fashioned…

  It went unsaid that the baby would have Alexandra’s maiden name, at least for now. The couple had married in secret because his enemies would see Alexandra as a target. As a full-fledged Greatlady, Alexandria was absolutely lethal if the need presented itself: yet the Oracle warned that her life was in terrible danger as the birth approached. Thus the warded, guarded birthing room.

  Those thoughts had preoccupied Alexandria for months, but they didn’t intrude as she looked down at her daughter’s perfect face. When Alexandra would have waved off the blood replenishing potion, she was given a stern look from both her husband and the midwife. She reluctantly drank it while the woman piled pillows around her. The warm weight of her daughter made the Greatlady smile. She cooed at the child and held her close; eventually, she dozed. The midwife gently removed the sleeping infant from her arms and took the baby to a nurse down the hall. The Greatlady’s husband smiled at his sleeping wife, tenderly kissed her lips, and left her sleeping.

  ***

  The shadow had been waiting. The child was perfect; exactly what had been foretold. The woman was no longer necessary, and she was becoming tiresome. She would be more so as the child aged. Better to remove her now, with the excuse of a long and exhausting labor.

  It took on the physical form and dispatched the woman. It was, by necessity, quick and quiet…but she saw the end coming. The shadow could not resist. The surprise on Alexandra’s panicked face was too delicious. The shadow flitted past the protections without a whisper from the supposedly impenetrable spell.

  ***

  Seconds later the midwife returned with fresh towels. She didn’t notice Alexandra’s still form at first. As she moved the toweling, the midwife noticed that the blood wasn’t flowing as before, and noted how cool the lady’s flesh felt… Her muffled cry alerted the Greatlady’s husband…the Midwife didn’t even think his name to herself. He brought the rest of the wand wielders when he came.

  He howled with rage as he looked at his dead wife. “What happened?” The midwife stuttered. “I…I don’t know! She was fine. I went to get more toweling, and she passed on…The blood replenishing potion must have been faulty.” He roared and pulled out his wand. She trembled when she saw the mad look in his eyes. She fell when a bright light hit her in the face. The wand wielders behind him were rendered unconscious a moment later.

  He walked over to Alexandra’s body. Her face was ghostly pale, haggard from the long labor. Without her spirit the features looked unfinished, as if without the fire of her soul lighting them, she had never been beautiful to begin with. He took a ragged breath. With difficulty, he reminded himself: It wasn’t the midwife’s fault. This was his fault. His enemies must have found out somehow. He might as well have killed his wife with his own hands. He kissed her cool skin. The midwife was sitting up, waking from the memory spell. Letting go of Alexandria’s body was like plunging a knife into his own chest; but if the child was to be protected, he had to act quickly.

  He looked into the midwife’s mud-brown eyes. “The Greatlady is dead. You need to see to the child, call the solicitor, and contact the guardian the Greatlady chose.” Funny, he hadn’t approved of her choice…but he would see that her wishes were followed to the letter. “I was not here; you have no idea who the father of this child was.” The midwife’s eyes were still glazed over, but she nodded. He quickly told the guards what they would remember, and then he walked away. His wife was dead. He had never held the child. His enemies would pay. He would never rest until they did.

  Chapter One

  “Amelia Minerva Rusticov!!!!” She knew she was in trouble when her guardian used her full name…normally, she was just Mia…

  Emma Faithling puffed out a heavy breath as she tied the bundle of herbs on her hip with her shawl. “Mia!” Her tone was hushed. The two of them were deep in the forest, away from the City protections, but even hushed it was unmistakable. “Do you realize how far you wandered?” Mia looked around and picked up her own sack of roots.

  “All the young roots were gone from the clearing…I didn’t go very far…”

  Emma’s brows touched her hairline. “Yes you did. It took my birds twenty minutes to find you. Look at the sun!”

  Mia’s eyes widened as she tried to see the position of the sun through the canopy of trees. It was much later than she’d thought. She hefted the sack of roots on her shoulder and she and Emma began to ghost through the trees, not quite running, but moving quickly along the game trails, stopping once or twice as Emma’s faithful birds warned of unseen menaces on the trail. It was dangerous to be in the forest during the day. Being in the forest at night was suicidal.

  They were lucky. There was only one close call. An Ursa Major was moving down the same trail that Mia and Emma had been using…they dove into the surrounding brush, flattening themselves to an ancient tree. Thankfully, the great bear was not hunting. It was moving as rapidly as it could to its own home; even with paws the size of dinner plates it was as leery as Emma and Mia of the larger predators that would wake as the sun set. Emma relaxed her grip on Mia’s arm as the bear passed. She looked up to the trees and nodded as her birds chirped the all clear, and they broke out of the deep forest and into the woods that surrounded Emma’s cottage before the sun had set.

  Mia shivered as she heard a ruckus in the trees as they moved away from the invisible barrier that protected the village from the terrible predators in th
e forest. Something had been lurking, shadowing them, and it had been much too close.

  Sunset was coloring the western sky as they walked up to the cottage. Mia took Emma’s bundle. Her guardian, the local healer, nodded wearily and went inside without a word. Mia was wracked with guilt. Only a fool went into the forest distracted. She knew that…but she’d let her mind wander while she was digging roots.

  She quickly tied the herbs in bundles and hung them upside down to dry. The roots would keep until tomorrow when one of them found time to stew them into an anti-arthritis potion. They were best used fresh.

  Mia entered the cottage. “Emma…”

  The old healer just shrugged. “All’s well that ends well…though I must say, you’ve been mightily distracted this past week….is there anything weighing on your mind?”

  “Emma, are you sure I’ll be accepted to the College?” The old woman turned, drying her hands on a rag that had once been her market-day skirt. Her young charge looked at her uncertainly.

  Emma tossed the rag back to its place and stationed both fists on her ample hips. “You show all the signs. And who, may I ask, has been putting doubts into your head?” Mia perched on the battered oak stool while she stared fixedly at the table. This was her home: a three room cottage where she’d lived with Emma since she was a baby. After a moment of contemplating the familiar scrapes on the tabletop, the words burst out of her. “Martin Ainsley says that there isn’t a chance I’ll be chosen. He says that I don’t have the same hair and eyes as the home children and girls don’t go often anyway…” He’d said much more than that, but she wasn’t repeating it.

  Emma busied herself cutting slices of cheese off a wheel sitting on the table. “Martin Ainsley’s parents kept him too long in the City when he was born. It must have addled his brain. Either that or he’s been spoiled rotten his entire life. Your mother, may she rest in peace, was one of the most powerful wand wielders in the entire City before she died. Your magic is as developed as any of those brats from the home. A month from now you’ll be leaving for the College.” Her tone changed. “Now, enough of this; we’ll have no dinner at all if we keep on this way!” Emma reached into the oven and pulled the cornbread out with her bare hand. Mia envied that gift. She loved to cook, but she didn’t have much of a gift for flames: she could light a fire if she concentrated very hard, but she couldn’t control the temperature or keep from burning herself. She had the scars on her hands to prove it.

  Emma had finished slicing the cheese and was arranging it on a plate. “I think that some fresh goat’s milk would go nicely with this, don’t you?” That was her cue. Mia hopped off the stool and rushed out the door. The light of sunset was fading quickly. Emma called after her. “See if there are any ripe tomatoes left in the garden!” As she passed by the garden, she glanced at the neat rows of vegetables and vaulted nimbly over the goat’s fence.

  Nanny bleated a greeting. At least Mia thought it was a greeting. She didn’t have the gift for animal speech. The goat could be saying insulting things about her hygiene as far as she knew. She did use her magic to calm the contrary creature. A tiny bit of magic convinced Nanny that she actually wanted to sit still, and more importantly, that she didn’t want to bite. Mia sent out other tendrils of magic as she milked. The day’s droppings floated out of the pen and onto the compost pile. The dust from the goat’s coat obediently puffed away over the fence. Food and water floated into the pen. The crickets were serenading her as she finished.

  Mia carefully carried the bucket of milk over the fence while two ripe tomatoes floated up from the vegetable garden and bounced dutifully behind her. As she re-entered the cottage she saw Emma standing at the window, haloed in the light from the cottage. The old woman shook her head. “And after all that you’re worried about going to the college? You do more without a wand than some do with one.” She paused for a second. “Have any of those children from the home seen how much magic you can do?” Mia shook her head as she washed her hands in the basin of water on the table. Except for market days, she rarely went to the village, and stayed as far away from the home children in general (and Martin Ainsley in particular) as she could.

  She had never been to the City. Children weren’t allowed inside the stone walls. Those few born inside the City gates were sent away for their own protection. It wasn’t safe. The magic from the wand work could warp things, especially young growing things like small animals and children.

  Later that evening Emma chided her toward the table for an evening snack. “You did a lot of magic today. That wears a body out. You need protein and sugar so you will have something to run on.” Emma poured a cup of cider and placed a bowl of nuts at her young charge’s side. “You have to promise me that you’ll remember that when you go to college.” Mia beamed at her guardian for the vote of confidence and started cracking the nuts by hand. She wasn’t really hungry, but she enjoyed the bite of the tart cider.

  As she picked the nutmeats out of the shells and bitters she considered her possible future. Emma had the strongest natural magic in the village. She could grow herbs, calm the sick, speak with birds, and as the midwife and herbalist she brewed every potion in a ten mile radius, everything from a treatment for gout to the common soap that they washed the laundry with. But Emma was not a wand wielder, had never been to the college, and only rarely traveled the distance to the City.

  The only time Mia remembered Emma specifically mentioned going to the City was when she was called to the bedside of a Greatlady. Alexandra Rusticov had grown up in the local home and had once been enough of a friend to the old healer that Emma rushed to her side when she was told that she’d given birth early to a little girl. The Greatlady died before Emma arrived.

  Before her death, Greatlady Rusticov had arranged to foster her child with Emma rather than sending her to a home for wanded offspring. Alexandra Rusticov had no living relatives, and those with Great status were not allowed to leave the City often enough to be of any use in raising a child. Emma and the trustees saw no reason to change the original plan just because Alexandria was gone.

  Mia’s young life had been wonderful, exciting. She spent her days playing under the healer’s watchful eye while Emma brewed potions. Mia’s games usually involved mixing her own ‘potions’: pounding random seeds and berries into mush, shredding grass and leaves, (and throwing in some dirt for good measure) in an old bucket and trying to feed the resulting concoctions to her friend Tim. Tim had always had better sense that to try any of her ‘potions’. Then again, Mia hadn’t eaten any of his mud pies either. She attended the village school two days a week, quickly gained the minimal education required by City regulations, and then began her real education at Emma’s knee. She learned to grow, nurture, and harvest medicinal herbs, brew potions, and patch up the various scrapes and bruises that the villagers brought to Emma to heal. She and Emma went into the forest in search of those herbs they couldn’t grow in a garden.

  Fourteen years had passed since her birth. Mia grew up, not in the sterile environment of a home for the children of wanded parents; but tending garden and gathering wild herbs and yes, milking the goat. She’d never envied those pale, quiet children she’d seen as she helped tend Emma’s booth. But as the time of the testing neared, she found herself wondering if she would have a better chance of going to the college if her mother had arranged a more conventional home for her before she died…

  Emma chided her to bed after she finished her nuts and cider. “An’ don’t stay up half the night reading either! We’ve a mess of potions to brew tomorrow!”

  Mia dunked a cloth in the plain crockery washbasin in her room and washed the day’s dust from her face. She’d wash her hair in the little creek behind the cottage tomorrow; the water was still running well from the spring rains. In two months she’d have to haul water from the well to bathe in…if she wasn’t in the City attending the college by that time. She firmly suppressed a wiggly wave of mixed anticipation and dread. She was fairly used
to it at this point.

  Mia pulled the sheets back from her bed, and plunked her head down in the down pillow that Emma had made for her last year. It smelled like lavender and herbs, and the covering was so thick that she didn’t get jabbed by every sharp feather as she settled into bed. As she looked out her single window into the leafy darkness, she searched for the stars, and wondered what the college would be like.

  Every child she knew (from the ones like Martin who were almost assured a place, to the children like Tim who didn’t stand a chance of going) all of them talked about the college in tones of awed wonder. That was where they came from: the wand wielders who placed the protective spells over the villages, who mined the ore with a flick of their wands, and created magical machines and charmed merchandise. All of them graduated from the college.

  They didn’t see wand wielders much in the village. They passed through sometimes, on their way to their estates, or visiting the home where their children lived until they started college or off on mysterious business for the City itself. The drove in carriages with spells on the paint to keep the road dust off, with horses whose feet barely touched the ground. Even their boots had spells on them to repel mud. The sheer amount of magic they used every day was amazing. Of course, there was no guarantee that the wand wielders would be decent human beings. She pictured a City full of people like Martin Ainsley and shuddered. If they were like that, she’d really rather stay in the village.