Seventeen Stones

by Vanessa Wells

  Not that she’d have any say in it. If you tested out for the college you went. If not, you made your own way in the world, taking whatever apprenticeship that your natural magic was suited to. A lot of people stayed in the same village they were born in until the day they died. A vision of goats danced in her head and she rolled over and tried to get some sleep.

  ***

  The next market day she was working at the booth handing the local villagers their orders, and taking payment. Emma sat close by in the shade, sipping cider and having a nice chat with Mrs. Emit about arthritis medication. Mia handed Hannah the rose soap the girl had ordered the week before. She grinned when she tried to pay for it. “Emma said it was a gift for the wedding.” Hannah was going to marry Bobby Newman next week. The girl stuttered for a moment but Mia cut across her. “If you want to argue with Emma, be my guest. She told me that I wasn’t supposed to accept a bit of payment from you. I’m not going to cross her over it.” Mia held Hannah’s eye for a minute. The shy girl nodded and hurried away, sniffing the fragrant bars as she left.

  Emma came up behind her. “Did Hannah pick up the soap?” Mia nodded as she rearranged the herbs one side of the table. “Good girl. Once you leave I’ll be back to arguing with them about it.” Steven Jacobs was limping over from his produce booth. He’d mustered out of the City guard and retired to Forestreach years before Mia had been born. He was universally known as the ‘new man’ in the village. Mia knew how he felt. She felt more comfortable with him in some ways than with others in the village. He never made her feel like she didn’t belong. Emma smiled. “Ah good, I’ll bet he wants more of that hair growth serum. We’ll have fresh eggs for a week!” Mia whispered “Try to get some of his wife’s strawberry preserves too.” and Emma walked away.

  Emma disappeared with Steven around a corner to discuss the price of her potion, and a group of young men started Mia’s way. They’d been loitering under the oak at the center of town. Martin sauntered over to the booth. He was the epitome of old blood breeding: black hair, blue eyes, and white skin. His hair was cut short to accentuate the fine bones, stubborn chin, and long lashes in a handsome face. “Girl.” he said (as if he didn’t know her name). “I find myself in need of some herbs”. Mia ruthlessly suppressed the urge to tell him that herbs wouldn’t fix what was wrong with him. Emma expected her behavior to be impeccable, at least when she was minding the booth. If she didn’t use the good manners the healer had pounded into her head, someone would mention it to Emma, and then she would be the one in trouble. She had a subtle sort of revenge in ignoring his manners and answering with an impersonal “What can I help you with?”

  He looked up at her tone, suspicious of its blandness, and then smirked. “As I’m sure you are aware, some of us” he waved a hand to include the boys behind him “will be going to the college in a few weeks time. With that in mind, I have decided to purchase some smoking herbs as a gift for my father upon my acceptance. Some of the ruby red herb, if you please.” He waited.

  She took a deep breath, her response was ingrained. “Emma doesn’t sell smoking herbs to anyone under sixteen. She might make an exception, but you’ll have to speak with her.” There was a nasty look on his face when he said “I’m not speaking to her, I’m speaking to you. I assure you, I’m not accustomed to hearing ‘no’ from little assistant shop keepers.” Even with the table between them he was far too close. Thankfully, Emma’s voice interrupted the exchange. “What’s going on here Mia?”

  Martin quickly resumed his air of bored indifference. “I was just explaining to your…girl here, I intend to send my father a pouch of fine pipe herb to celebrate my admittance to the college. He sometimes complains of the quality and freshness available in the City.” His confident tone faltered a bit under Emma’s hard stare. Mia wondered if Martin remembered that most of the smoking herb sold in the City came from Forestreach.

  Emma held his eye long enough for him to start fidgeting, and then seemed to come to a decision. To Mia’s shock, the healer launched into her best sales spiel; she offered Martin a leather pouch for the herb and the most expensive blend. After the money changed hands… “…and another silver for the pouch to be delivered directly to your father. That way we avoid any awkward questions about why I sold smoking herbs to someone under sixteen. What would you like to put on the card?”

  Martin left a few minutes later; irritated, angry, and much lighter in the pocket. “Served him right,” muttered Emma. “As if I haven’t heard that one before.” She tossed Mia the pouch of herbs.

  “Take this to the messenger service. And while you’re at it, you can have a peek about the stalls, take a break. I’ll mind the booth for a bit. Anyone who wants to talk about their ills can do it here or wait. I think everyone with a major problem has already been by.”

  Mia dropped the pouch with the messenger, and then she went to the other booths, spending her copper on a slice of fruit at one shop and a peppermint stick at the dry-goods store. She was at the used book-seller’s booth looking at a tattered stack of books when Martin walked up behind her. “I hope you aren’t wasting your coin preparing for the testing. Everyone knows you won’t be going. You’ll be lucky to ever leave this little village. You’ll be selling herbs with that old hag until you’re an old hag.”

  Mia’s temper boiled over. She spoke rapidly, without thinking “I’d rather be selling herbs here than be anywhere near you. How do you think your parents will take having you home? Will they spend most of their time in the country to get away from you or do you think one of them might take a more permanent exit?” His face contorted like he was choking on a pickled herring and she ran back to Emma’s booth before he could catch her. It wasn’t every day that she managed to provoke Martin. Thinking rationally on it, she realized it might not be the best idea. He was three inches taller than she was, and since mid-winter last year, more muscular. That was without considering his magical abilities, which were as strong as anyone she’d ever seen (as much as she hated to admit it).

  Mia spent the rest of the market day under her guardian’s watchful eye. She wasn’t giving Martin the opportunity to think up some sort of revenge. That meant she had to give up her plan to browse the booths, but she decided it was a small price to pay to avoid him.

  She was grateful that they’d had rain three days before. She’d spent most of this summer keeping dust from settling on the bottles and bundles of herbs and trying not to choke as carts rumbled in and out of the square. Dust was bad; rain was worse. There was little that was more miserable than a rainy market day: Emma’s booth was under a heavy canvas tarp which kept off the sun and the rain (necessary when dealing with herbs and potions), but that meant that they could stay at the market under any but the heaviest downpours. There were many summer days in her past where she had spent the afternoon huddled in her seat, with the smell of wet goats and sheep permeating the area.

  Almost everyone in the village stopped by Emma’s booth a few times during the summer to buy a potion or philter they couldn’t make for themselves. Others stocked up on winter remedies after they sold their produce, before the winter set in. Some of the outlying farms only made it into the village a few times a year, so they bought what they needed when they were in town. Most of those families hadn’t shown up for their autumn trip to town yet. They’d come in the week of the testing. Even if they didn’t have children, the celebration after the testing wasn’t something anyone would want to miss.

  Mia had long ago found the places where she spent her copper: the bakery, the dry-goods store, buying the occasional pretty dress at the seamstresses’. She had a stipend from her mother’s estate so she had as much spending money as any of the home children. She rarely went a week without picking up something at the used bookseller’s booth. They didn’t keep a large stock, but even a boring book on mathematical equations was better than nothing at all to read.

  According to Emma, as long as she was wanded, she would inherit her mother’s estate a
t the age of sixteen. If she wasn’t wanded, she could still inherit by marrying a wand wielder. The great estates were not overseen by wandless commoners. Mia’s entire future depended on attending the college. She’d been as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs all summer.

  Chapter Two

  Mia gazed around nervously as she and Emma made their way to the village square. Today was the day. The fog held in patches, but they were well within the City’s protections; there was nothing to fear from a little fog. Mia was too worried about the testing to fret about anything else. The pancakes she’d choked down were swimming oddly in her belly, uncertain that they wanted to stay down there.

  As they entered the village, she smiled at all the familiar sights: the butcher hanging up a goose, the blacksmith pounding away at a horseshoe, the baker pulling bread out of the oven while his wife was kneading the second batch. “Good luck today!” Tim’s mother was facing the road as she pounded the dough. Her dark hair was tied up in a cloth to keep it out of the bread. Flour puffed around her when she moved, her dress was nearly white with it. Mia grinned back and waved a bit.

  A slightly shabby tent had been erected in the village square. It was patched and darned in places but the red fabric was as bright as it had ever been, and it would be until the cloth literally fell to pieces. That was wanded magic. Natural magic was instinctive and easy to use, as simple learning to use your hands and legs. Wanded magic was like learning to use a knife. Or that was what Mia had read anyway…there were hundreds of books about brave little wandless boys testing into the college. Those had always been her favorites.

  The products from the City were smooth and perfect, not formed by human hands. The butcher paid a hefty sum to have a small room charmed to stay cold all year long. The best fabrics came from the City, as did the magical machinery that could be used to plow the fields and harvest the crops…for a price. Wanded magic wasn’t cheap. Some wanded spent their entire lives tinkering with magical machinery, inventing tools and mechanicals. Mia didn’t know for certain, but she supposed that they made a pretty good living off of it.

  The goods from the village were also easy to recognize: the blacksmith dealt in horseshoes, nails, and a little bit of pot mending and harness work. The cobbler made shoes, saddles, and other tack. He had an artistic streak (unlike the blacksmith) and the tooled leather pouches and shoes he made during the slow winter months fetched a good price when he took them into the City during the spring. He did the noisome part of the tanning process in a little shed away from the village, so his shop on the square smelled like cured leather and wood smoke.

  The dry goods store held items that the villagers couldn’t make themselves: cotton from the southern part of the City bounds, pots, needles, maple syrup from the northern latitudes, honey and candles from the shopkeeper’s bees. Mrs. Meecham owned the store and it stood as one of the only real buildings around the town square…most of the other ‘shops’ were actually temporary tents or booths that only stood on rest days, when the market was open by general agreement.

  Mrs. Meecham was at the front counter of the shop, directing her children around the store as Emma and Mia passed. Mia glanced in hopefully, trying to catch sight of Lydia, but only two older brothers were evident. One was stocking a shelf with homemade preserves, and the other was arranging a section of leather goods. The store carried a few items from the City, like silk and pattern dyed wool, magical mechanicals like clocks, water finders, and fire starters. There were a few really expensive items: boxes with stasis spells placed on them, and the slightly less expensive cold box (which only kept food placed inside cool as opposed to stopping spoilage entirely).

  Mia stared up at the tent as she hesitated outside. Tim walked over from his father’s shop. He had a smear of flour on his forehead and was still wearing his apron. Emma swiped at his head as he passed and managed to knock most of the flour onto his shirt. He grinned at them as he went in, nary a care in the world. For him, today was a foregone conclusion. He’d test, be informed he was not eligible for the College, and then go enjoy the festive atmosphere outside. His father would do a lot of business today. Everyone bought a bit of fried dough or sweet bread on a testing day as a treat. Mia’s stomach did a few back flips. Humming with tension, she turned to Emma.

  She was suddenly enveloped in a tight hug. “Ah, child! I will miss you.” The old healer dabbed tears from her eyes and managed to smear a little flour on her own nose. “Now just go in and wait for a bit. Mind your manners, and relax. You’re going to be fine. There hasn’t been a person with your talent in this village since your own mother was here!” Emma gave her a little push toward the tent, and Mia walked in to the sound of her guardian loudly blowing her nose behind her.

  Long wooden benches ran along either side of the waiting area, leaving a wide center aisle between them. Mia took a seat near Tim and Lydia. She wondered how long the other girl had been waiting in the tent. Mia would have liked to have talked, but Lydia was white lipped and holding the edge of the seat. The girl spent most of her time helping in the family business. She was the third of five children, and while the rest of the family was a noisy, friendly bunch, Lydia had always been quieter. She offered Mia a small smile and went back to quietly digging grooves in the bench with her fingernails. Mia would have liked to talk to someone to get her mind off her nerves but Tim was the only other person in the tent and he was of the breed that never felt the need for conversation when a nod and a grunt might do. The three of them sat silently as the rest trickled in.

  Steven and Sybil, twins from one of the outer farmsteads came in next, huddled close to each other. Anthony, the blacksmith’s nephew (his parents were shopkeepers in the City and they boarded the boy with his uncle) came in and sat by Tim. The home children entered last. With a quiet rustle of City-made boots and tunics made of spelled silk, the smell of the home followed them: slightly antiseptic, somehow chilly, covered by a fresh lemony scent. Mia breathed in the rose scent from her own hair and sighed contentedly. The children from the home sat as one on the empty bench on the other side of the tent. There were seven testing this year; six were boys. Mia had heard that the home did a private test on the children before they were sent to the official testing.

  Martin Ainsley sat smirking at the rest of them, but was mercifully silent. A pleasant voice that seemed to radiate from the tent itself called him in almost as soon as he sat down. Mia was grateful. The last thing she needed today was to listen to Martin. Three of the home boys went next and then Tim was called. Lydia whispered to Mia “How many do they take?” Mia shook her head. “I don’t think there’s a number; I think it’s about potential.”

  One of the boys across the way made a rude noise. Lydia spat out “Bernard Simms, you won’t be going if it’s about power. You couldn’t levitate a teacup!” Bernard opened his mouth, but his name was called before the first insult was uttered. Sybil, then Steven, and then Lydia went through the door. Mia was called, leaving only Anthony and the two home children, a boy and a blond girl named Sarah sitting on the long bench.

  Sarah gave Mia a small smile as she walked toward the door. Mia tried to return it, but she wasn’t sure how successful she was. She walked through the door to find a slight man behind a table. He was setting up colored gem stones. He looked up at Mia and gave her a kindly smile and indicated the chair. “Hello my dear. My name is Sir Lutwidge. If you’ll just sit down; no need to be nervous, now. I’d like you to try to raise as many of these stones as you can. Now don’t worry…” But he stopped talking and stared as all seventeen stones floated over the table, their multi-colored lights dancing on the walls and top of the tent.

  Sir Lutwidge smiled and said “Excellent! Allison! Allison, could you come in here for a moment?” A regal woman in sparkling white robes and a pile of honey-colored hair walked through the door. “Yes Virgil?” she asked, ignoring the colored lights that Mia was still suspending. “What do you need?”

  He indicate
d the stones. “Count them!” She turned her elegant head to the stones, and appeared to count several times. “Interesting.” She turned to Mia. “Very well Virgil, I suppose you’ll need a witness for your report?” He nodded as he scribbled onto a pile of parchment. “It would be helpful.”

  The woman called Allison nodded and waived a careless hand to Mia. “Let the stones drop, please, and follow me.” Mia lowered the stones to their former positions on the table and received a happy smile from Sir Lutwidge.

  Mia followed her through the door she’d entered and into another room with thick carpets and a long table piled with interesting objects. The tall woman didn’t seem to notice. She simply walked to the table and said “I am Seer Allison Dupree. I would like for you to touch the object I hand you and tell me your impressions.”

  Her hand strayed over three items before she made up her mind. She handed Mia a delicate golden cup. It was unlike anything that she had ever seen before; about the size of a teacup, with filigree handles on either side. It was much more ornate than the current style: the tiny roses on one side were perfectly molded, with every leaf and thorn visible.

  Mia twirled it in her fingers, and said “Someone made this when they were happy, maybe a gift for a baby?” It wasn’t the current custom to give anything this valuable to a baby, but she’d read enough history to know that customs did change occasionally. Seer Dupree nodded and took the cup back as if worried that it might break if dropped. She handed Mia a small, plain dagger, no more than two inches long. Mia shook her head. Her only impression was that it wasn’t an eating knife. A leather-bound book elicited nothing but interest. Then she was given a golden locket. Mia smiled. “It’s a gift, for her daughter. The lady who wore this left it for her daughter when she died.” Mia blinked a few times and wondered how she’d known that.