Seventeen Stones

by Vanessa Wells

  The seer nodded. “Very good.” She noted the reactions down on a small pad of paper on the table and gave Mia a warm smile that transformed her features. She pointed at the door. “Go into the next room please.” Somewhat taken aback, Mia exited the door she’d entered only to find that nothing was the same on the other side.

  As Mia walked through the door she saw a short, rather plump woman with a cap of copper curls sitting next to a gaily bubbling cauldron. “Hello! Come in now, sit down and we’ll begin. I’m Professor Ambrose, from the College. We’ll be checking your standard for Alchemy!” For the next half hour Mia identified herbs and fungi, and rattled off their uses in potion making. She’d harvested many of these with Emma, either in their frequent trips into forest, or from her extensive herb garden. She had no problem identifying any of the local herbs, and managed most of the exotics by what she’d read in Emma’s herbals.

  “Excellent.” The professor picked up the notepad at her elbow and started writing something. “Just go back through that door, and I’ll see you in two weeks!” Vaguely comforted by that statement, but still unsure that they really meant it, Mia walked through the door and into another room.

  This one was tiny in comparison to the last three. A black haired man with pale skin and piercing blue eyes sat behind a cramped desk with piles of sticks, metal rods, and bones on it. He looked up at her as she entered. “Pull up a chair, if you can manage to move it in here.” He looked put out about something, most likely the size of his office.

  “I am Lord Timmons. I am here to determine what sort of wand you will wield. Please extend your hand.” He glanced at the lines on her palm and mumbled to himself for a second. Then, without warning, he grabbed one finger firmly and jabbed it with a sharp needle, catching the blood on a white piece of cloth. He muttered a spell and the cut healed, but it still hurt. “Sorry.” As he didn’t look up and the comment sounded automatic, Mia decided she was perfectly justified in not forgiving him. He was doing something with the red drops he’d collected and it drew her interest in spite of her throbbing finger.

  The white gauze floated high in the air, spinning. The red droplets floated away from the material and landed on a thick sheet of parchment. It was covered in numbers and mathematical symbols, so Mia couldn’t make any sense of it. Apparently Lord Timmons had better luck.

  He smiled slightly as he pulled out a pen from his pocket and extracted a notebook from a cluttered corner of his desk. “Gold, ivory, and applewood, a unique combination. Always nice to see a triple wand come through.” He looked up, favoring her with momentary eye contact and a tiny smile. “Please go through the door.” Mia walked through the door once again.

  A man sat at a large desk on the other side of the door this time. His long silver hair was tied securely away from his face in the style that was popular almost half a century before. Even in a chair he looked tall. His pale skin was like stone. His features were all sharp lines and planes, reminding her of a statue she’d seen in a book once. He glanced down at his note pad with ice blue eyes: words were appearing in a slanted, near unreadable script. “Ah. According to our records you are Amelia Minerva Rusticov, and your mother was a registered wand wielder ranked as Greatlady. Is that correct?” Mia nodded reluctantly. She hated her full name. It was worse when anyone but Emma used it.

  He radiated approval, though she didn’t see his face move an inch. Perhaps it couldn’t. Everyone knew that wand wielders became stiff as they aged. He was still flipping through the pages in his book, examining writing that was scribbling itself on each page. He looked up as the final words disappeared from the sheet.

  “I am pleased to inform you that we will be welcoming you to the college in two weeks time. Initial testing indicates a high native ability in several useful areas, as well as some ability in the area of Sight. Your wand will be custom made in…” He absently flipped to another page in his notebook, “Applewood, ivory and gold.” He glanced at the page again, paused, shook his head lightly, and continued “Records indicate that your mother’s estate will cover the expense of schooling, so the bills will be sent to your solicitor’s office in the City. We will of course contact your guardian with further details. If you will exit the door over there, you’ll find that it leads outside.”

  Mia nodded and stepped through the door. It was no surprise that she did indeed find herself exiting the tent. She’d read about spells like that, but hadn’t encountered one before. It made her feel very much like a country cousin. It drove home to her how different it must be in the City.

  Emma was waiting. “Well?” she asked in a breathless voice. Mia grinned “I’m in!” Emma looked at her and huffed “I knew that child! I wanted to know how you did on your Alchemy exam.”

  ***

  She dug into a shepherd’s pie while Emma watched with a smile on her face. “It won’t sprout legs and run away, chew your food!” Mia glanced up. Her cheeks were so full she looked like a squirrel. “What type of wand will you be wielding?” Emma waited while Mia took a huge gulp of milk to wash down the pie. “Applewood, ivory and gold.”

  “A triple wand? That’s wonderful! Even your mother only had a double. I remember when she tested. Her wand was made of Chimera horn and ebony.” Emma pushed away from the bench, groaning with effort after her meal. Mia was still hungry; the scent from the roasting pits in the town square had her mouth watering. The real feast wouldn’t even begin until supper. Then there would be all sorts of good things: pies and roasted goat, smoked turkey and fish. Mia couldn’t wait.

  Emma brushed off the seat of her skirt (the benches inevitably collected seed pods and other debris this time of year) “I need to see Mary. She might be able to cover the births while I’m gone. There’s only Millie Peterson due in the next few weeks, and she didn’t have a problem with either of the others.” As Emma left the table Mia called out: “But Emma, where are you going?”

  Emma spun around. “Don’t be silly, I’m going with you. You’ll have a lot of shopping to do once you get to the City: books and school uniforms and supplies. We’ll need to meet with the solicitor as well.” She walked off muttering to herself. Mia felt a pang. Emma had agreed to raise her until she went to college, or came of age at sixteen, whichever came first. Mia was certain that a shopping trip to the City hadn’t been included in the contractual obligations. Emma had done a lot for her that wasn’t covered in any contract. She was just a good woman that way. A good mentor, a good friend. Mia used her fist to wipe away the tears that had suddenly appeared in her eyes.

  “Awww. Look, she’s crying because she didn’t get into the College. Told you though, didn’t I? You should have listened.” Mia looked into Martin’s gloating face. He was flanked by Bernard Simms and a boy with old blood coloring that she didn’t know. They seemed to be in a good mood. She stuck out her chin and said “Take a look at the ranking board when they post them. I expect the results will surprise you.” Martin’s sneer never left his face as he moved away. He’d see when he went to get his own scores. She didn’t doubt that he’d get into the College, but she’d bet next month’s allowance that he didn’t raise all seventeen stones.

  The rankings, along with the newly appointed wand wielder’s wand types were posted before dinner was served. To Mia’s elation she ranked first in the testing; to her disappointment Martin Ainsley wasn’t far behind. He’d raised fifteen stones. Lydia was going to a special school for those with Sight, a precursor for joining the Oracle if Mrs. Meecham’s slightly breathless declarations were to be believed. All the home children who had tested were going to the College, even the pale Sarah. That was to be expected. Steven Forney from the village was going, but his sister had to remain on the farmstead. Martin Ainsley had a single wand of Griffin bone; Steven a wooden wand of yew. Sarah’s wand was a double, unicorn horn and rowan.

  The village as a whole was delighted. If one or two parents were secretly a little disappointed with the results, they hid it well. They had once again produced wa
nd wielders from their ranks. The community was granted a tithe break for every gifted child who came from their area. One expected the Home children to be, but Steven was a surprise and Mia was something that none of them had ever really counted on. After all, if she was going to be wanded, why hadn’t her mother sent her to a home, or a more genteel setting than an old healer’s hut? The home children had dutifully returned after the testing, but Mia, Lydia, and Steven were treated like minor celebrities for the evening. Mia grinned as she gobbled down a third slice of cake at the urging of the smith’s wife: that stuffy Martin Ainsley didn’t know what he was missing.

  Chapter Three

  The next day, Mia spent a quiet hour looking over her collection of books. She stopped when she came across a dusty copy of Sir Arnold Yammering’s The City at a Glance. The title was so promising! And yet the school system had been torturing students with the gentleman’s meandering style of prose for over forty years. She chuckled as she remembered why she’d kept it: it was a wonderful cure for insomnia, better than a simple sleeping draft. She sneezed as she opened the book.

  “The City was constructed to give wand wielders a place to perform magic away from the rest of the population, so that the well documented side-effects of wanded magic could be contained. That said, perhaps it is incumbent on me to make certain a future scholar understands the underlying need for wand wielders: without the protective barriers they weave, our society, indeed, most human life...

  It dithered on and on for twenty-three pages in the introduction. She shook her head and closed the book. There was absolutely no reason to take Yammering to college with her…unless she expected bouts of insomnia. She made two piles, one to take and a smaller pile to leave or give away. She owned a lot of books, so it took all morning. Her clothing was simpler to pack; she only had three dresses that were fit for the City, the rest of her old clothing would stay in Forestreach.

  Emma and Mia left the next day. The City was a two day trip by carriage. They stopped overnight at a posting inn. Inns like it existed for the sole purpose of supplying the coach with a place to stop and change horses and (incidentally) to rest and feed the people. The food was plain brown bread and vegetables, the rooms were bare but clean. Emma had brought bedding for the two of them: it was a precaution that any wise traveler took.

  The trip in was deadly dull, packed into a carriage meant for six with seven people beside herself. They were lucky: the weather stayed fine. It was a few degrees cooler, though it couldn’t be termed cool just yet. The open window of the carriage allowed a brisk breeze to blow in during the morning hours; it held a hint of fresh mown hay as they passed farmers working in their fields. Emma managed to sleep most of the trip, but Mia was too excited. The books she’d brought held no interest for her and she spent the better part of two days staring at the bit of open sky she could see from around the other passengers.

  As they entered the City gates, Mia craned her head to get a better look at the fearsome dragons guarding them, their golden collars shining in the sun. There were two perched on the City wall, high above their heads. One was mostly the color of blue forget-me-nots until you reached his tail: those scales ranged from iridescent blues and purple to bright green. The other was scarlet with what looked like shimmering gold dusting the scales of her neck. The two dragons watched the carriage as it passed with interest, sniffing the air slightly. She wondered nervously if a dragon had ever decided to snack on a carriage full of travelers before. Mia reminded herself not to be silly: she’d grown up on dragon tales. She knew what they were like. They were just so much more intimidating than she’d imagined.

  Mia stared about in wide-eyed wonder. Buildings loomed over the wide paved streets, a thousand years of architecture spread out in front of her. Some were made of the same natural gray stone as the City walls, others were covered in marble or granite; in the distance, a tall, tall tower looked like it was made entirely of clear crystal.

  There were marketplaces aplenty. More shopkeepers than Mia imagined existed had signs out for goods and services. Entire streets were devoted to guild Cobblers or bonded seamstresses. Fascinating machines with wheels and gears were sold in one shop; another might have specialty ingredients for potion making, or deal exclusively in enchanted knitting needles. A little old man in a leather apron was fiddling with some sort of clock as she passed. The little bird popped out of the clock and set his eyebrows on fire as the carriage rolled by. He yelled and dunked his head in a nearby bucket. Mia craned her neck to the back window (much to the consternation of the other passengers) and was relieved to see the now soggy old fellow smear on a liberal handful of yellow ointment before he faded out of sight of the carriage.

  The hired carriage dropped them off at a medium-sized bed and breakfast typical of its sort: a three story white wooden house with a small green lawn and a neatly painted sign. Emma arranged for a room and hot water to be sent up, while Mia levitated the bags. The landlady, a woman of middle years and indifferent hair color, led the pair to a small room. It was furnished simply, with oak floors, a colorful rag rug, and a nice china wash basin in the corner. Two brass beds stood at either end of the room, covered in white down comforters with little blue bows sewn on to make them pretty. The curtain was blue and white, slightly faded from constant exposure to the sun. As they began to unpack, a steaming pitcher of water floated in.

  The lady who ran the establishment was named Mrs. Sullivan. That evening they dined at the boarding house. Breakfast was part of the price of the room, but Mrs. Sullivan provided other meals at a reasonable rate. Most of her boarders chose to dine at her table in the evenings at least. Emma had indicated when they rented the room that she intended to take all their meals there. She set a fine table that night, with mutton stew, crusty fresh bread, soft cheese to spread on it, and an apple tart for desert. Mia ate hugely, and then settled herself on one of the twin beds with her formerly despised book. Emma seemed content to sit with the landlady for a good gossip by the fire.

  As they readied themselves for bed, Emma looked at her charge. Mia was wearing one of her old nightgowns. It hit her about mid-calf. Emma clacked her tongue “I remember when we bought that, it drug the ground. You’re going to need all new nightgowns too. Better put that on the list.”

  The next day Mia put on her nicest dress, a blue muslin that she’d had made up that spring. The dress was a bit chilly for the day, so she added a thick, soft shawl that Emma had given her last mid-winter. The two of them walked a mile and a half to the solicitor’s office in the business district. The white marble building was six stories tall, and had little brass plates for each of the businessmen who had offices in it. After a minute or so, Emma found the name she was looking for. With a hitch to her olive green shawl and a rustle of brown homespun skirts, she led the way up the marble staircase to the second floor offices of Mr. Smith.

  A respectable-looking woman served as receptionist for all the gentlemen on the floor. She eyed their country clothes but made no comment. She merely inquired about their direction and pressed a brass button on the panel on her desk. “Miss Amelia Rusticov and Ms. Emma Faithling are here to see you Mr. Smith.” To Mia’s amazement a male voice answered “Send them in Miss Daws.” Miss Daws showed them to a tall dark door and indicated they should enter.

  Mr. Smith smiled when they walked in. It showed the sun crinkles around his face and mouth, so if he was wanded, he didn’t use it much. His muddy brown hair showed wide streaks of silver and he stood and offered his hand as they came closer. “Miss Rusticov, Ms. Faithling. It’s a pleasure. Mr. Adrian Smith, at your service.” He took a moment for the customary inquiries about their journey, direction, and general state of health. The tea service was offered and politely declined. Then he added “I can’t tell you, Miss Amelia, how pleased I am that you scored so well on your exams. As I’m sure you are aware, your mother’s will left several provisions should you be accepted into the college.” Mia, who had never given the matter a moment’s tho
ught until that instant, kept her face politely blank.

  He pulled out a thick stack of parchment and handed it to Emma, and a thinner stack was placed in Mia’s hands. “All of your expenses books, dorm, fees and so forth will be covered by the estate. You will also receive a larger quarterly allowance, and of course, certain privileges, like the use of the stables and library at the estate for the next year and five months before you can legally inherit. You will be required to spend no less than eight hours a month either at the manor or in this office learning estate management.” Mr. Smith smiled again, and his face crinkled in a reassuring way. “Your mother felt strongly that a person shouldn’t be given control of an estate without some education in running one, though she did understand that a person attending the college would have limited time.”

  He pulled out a plain oak wand and pointed it at his desk. The smooth wood parted. An old-fashioned iron safety box was revealed. His brow contracted as he tapped a rapid pattern on oddly raised shapes on the lid of the box. It was black with age, but it popped open with a sudden motion that startled Mia. Mr. Smith seemed totally unconcerned. He took out a ledger and poured a great deal of gold and silver coin into a pouch. “This is your quarterly income. Books and other supplies come out of a second fund, and should be charged to this account.” He handed her a thick card with a number inscribed in gold. “Clothing, shoes, hats, and all that should also be paid out of this fund. Notify me immediately if you lose it. Every shop in the City will charge goods to this account.” Mia clutched it in her hand, a bit dumbfounded. The weight of the coin in the bag as he handed it to her brought the reality of her situation home to her as nothing else had. It was difficult to really think of yourself as an heiress when you slept in a little cottage and milked a goat twice a day.