A Thorne in Time

by Lorel Clayton

  “She still looks Solhan to me.” Juliette used Solhan as an expletive. Did she forget Ilsa was too? Ilsa had a way of making people forget, of course, of charming anyone she wanted. I’d seen her lies in action before and been amazed. My sister never showed me that side, so I always marveled at how easily-fooled people were. It was my turn to ignore Juliette.

  “Glad you’re here to keep me company,” I told Karo. Her father paid tribute to my uncle, the lines on Saturday often long to see him, so all us children had played together. We were old friends. “This trip will go by in no time.”

  I was being facetious. It was, of course, long and horrible.

  Ten days over bumpy mountain roads, stopping in dodgy inns to eat or rest, our group of soon-to-be-ladies clustered together for protection from the locals.

  We were in dwarf lands, so there were lots of lonely men. Very lonely men, as there was a dozen for every female. The coach driver had to use his whip to keep them at bay at one point. Not that they were dangerous or impolite. They all had flowers and gifts on offer, and they deferred to the women matriarchs who ruled them, but unattached females were such a rare sight in those towns we caused quite a furor.

  It was a relief when we arrived in Gernwold. Not a relief from the cold, however. If anything it was colder than the depths of winter in Highcrowne, which was hard to imagine. Perhaps it was the lack of warm bodies all pressed together, or the vast squares of stone monuments, stone benches and even stone carriages that made the place colder than it should be.

  We were on an artificial plateau, cut from the side of the mountain, so it was strange to encounter such a flat city when jagged mountains loomed all around. It was too cold for fresh snow. What there was had been trampled into the stone streets or clung to shadowy corners away from the stomp of sturdy, dwarvish feet. Everything was hard and ancient and unyielding, like the dwarf who opened the carriage door, jammed suitcases into our hands and left us to find our own way. The coachman pointed at a castle-like structure within the castle that was the city, and that was all we had to navigate by.

  It wasn’t as grand a city as Highcrowne, no ornate gates, exotic wares and tradesmen from foreign lands, but it lacked anything like the Outskirts, so it was a lot cleaner. It was somewhat cosmopolitan, with a few humans, elves and goblins about, but it was predominantly dwarf. I thought there were a lot of dwarves in Highcrowne, but here they teemed.

  Dwarves manned the cranes unloading huge, horse-drawn trucks full of ore that carried the tang of rust and the acridness of sulfur. Cargos of ore were replaced by food and steel tools bound for the famous mines that riddled the mountains. Huge forges with bellows as tall as a house wheezed and clanked, the dwarf smiths turning ore into tools in an endless cycle. The food stalls we passed smelled of earth and mold, when were lucky, manure when we were unfortunate to get a whiff, as the odor clung to clothes and lingered in nostrils some time afterward.

  Mushrooms of every type, size and color were on offer, one advertised as ‘nutty’ and another ‘as sweet as your dear mum’s smile’. With so little arable land but so much cavernous space below ground, mushrooms were the prime food supply, that and sightless cattle who dwelled in darkness all their lives. I’d read about it in a story called ‘The Mystery of the Missing Cow’ where it turned out a cave troll had moved in to harass a dwarf farmer, but he was under the employ of a rival House, so there was a lot more to it than a hungry troll. The grall natives got involved too, angered by incursions into their native territory.

  That was the extent of my dwarvish knowledge, really: books and the occasional merchant my uncle might have dealings with. Dwarves outnumbered everyone in Highcrowne, but there was a separation between them and us—and between elves and everyone else, of course—all in our own sections, overlapping at trade or work in the day, but all nicely categorized in our beds come nightfall. Now, I would be living among dwarves every day and every night, and I didn’t know the first thing about them. Not really.

  I did know their seats were uncomfortable. I sat on a stone bench while the other girls from the coach stopped to browse the market, and it felt like my bum was being frozen, turned into stone as well. Were dwarf bums somehow immune to cold? The seat was too short, my knees in my face, so I decided to sit on my suitcase instead.

  I hated mushrooms, so I was hoping to spot something else edible on the food stalls. Uncle promised to send me a stipend every few months. I’d have to stock up on those swamp melons imported from the goblin lands, which smelled of honey. I wished I could buy some of the sweet tubers trucked in from elvish farms, but the teachers probably wouldn’t let me roast them in my room. Such imported foods were expensive, though, so it would have to be blind beef most of the time.

  “You could try a mushroom for once.” Karolyne giggled when she waved the bag beneath my nose and I retched.

  “I’m not eating anything that grows in manure and rot and is half animal. It’s strange.” I felt I was stating the obvious.

  “Everything grows in manure and rot, even animals,” she countered.

  “It’s the half animal, half plant nature of mushrooms that frightens me. How can I be sure it’s dead before I eat it? I’m not into live food.”

  “Did you see that?” Karo wasn’t listening to me by now. She pointed to a small dwarf figure—they were all small, of course, which made it easier for someone lanky and long-legged like me to see over their heads and take in everything—who was wearing a head-to-toe golden veil. It looked to be constructed of gold threads woven together and encrusted with the odd diamond or other gem. “A tidy fortune walking around there.”

  “It’s a Matriarch. One of the ruling class of dwarves. There are a few other dwarf women about too.”

  Most women had swarms of children clustered around them begging for treats from the market. They looked a lot like the men, only beardless, for the most part, and with far more striking eyes. All dwarfs had plain, muddy-looking skin and hair, but their eyes were like gems plucked from the mountains: sapphire, polished ocher, topaz.... The females’ versions glowed with inner light. I wondered if a Matriarch’s eyes were different still?

  “How do you know about Matriarchs?”

  I sat straighter and tried to sound superior. “I read.”

  “You mean all those trash mysteries and romances and the like?”

  I glared. She was my only friend, so I put up with it, but sometimes....

  The migration of school girls organically moved on, and we eventually reached a tall building with spires and turrets, where we hoped the school was. It looked closer when we started out, but the press of dwarfs made navigation difficult and slow, not to mention all the luggage we dragged around, and the stopping to browse. It was a defense mechanism against all the strangeness around us. Shopping was familiar and comforting, when we all felt extremely uncomfortable. Our gaggle of six human girls towered over everyone and drew more stares than the Matriarch did.

  We finally reached the gates and were waved through by dwarves in the school colors of maroon and steel: Maroon tabards and steel weapons. Looked like they needed to display a bit of force to keep the ladies safe, and it worked, as the crowds outside kept a wide berth.

  Juliette was gasping, as though our walk had been a marathon. When she regained her breath, she waved a kerchief at the guards. “I hope our uniforms are not the same dreadful shade. No one looks good in maroon.”

  It was the shade I’d been going for when I dyed my hair. I couldn’t help saying, “Don’t you know anything? Of course our uniforms will be the same color.”

  Oh, no. I’d spoken to her directly. That put a target on my chest, which I realized the moment she smiled, cat-like.

  “What I do know is that Solhans are no more welcome here than they are anywhere else.”

  I was about to say something clever, biting and unforgettable, at least pretty sure it would have been good, when a commotion outside the school gate drew my attention. A dark-haired Solhan girl pounded o
n the bars until the guards let her through. She was dressed in maroon, the school crest on her gloves and cloak.

  “Wonderful. Another one. Father should ask for my tuition back and send me someplace respectable, like Faellion, or Archon in the south, where you can find real humans.” Juliette huffed and walked inside.

  I went to the Solhan, same white skin as me, and touched her trembling shoulder. She jumped.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  When she looked at me, I realized she must be only half-Solhan, for her features were clearly elf: large, almond eyes, sharp chin and cheekbones, and the points of ears peeking out of her limp hair. Half-elven anything was a rarity to see. Let alone Solhan. We were the despised.

  “What happened? What are you frightened of?” I didn’t mean to interrogate her, but the questions, instead of rattling her more, calmed her.

  She said, “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You touched me. Most people are afraid the taint is catching. My family sent me here, across the kingdoms, so they’d never have to see me or touch me again.”

  I felt a pang for her. I knew what it was like to be different from everyone around you. “Why were you running just now?”

  “Someone was following me. They’re gone now. Never mind. I get...confused. See things that aren’t really there. I try to ignore them, as everyone says it’s in my mind, but it’s hard sometimes.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Hazel.”

  “I’m Eva...Thorne.” I hesitated to say my last name, as it marked me, like her half-breed ‘taint’ marked her. Everyone knew who my uncle was. Hazel didn’t blink, though, and I realized then I was not in Highcrowne anymore. No one knew my family. I could be anybody.

  “It’s good to meet you,” I said. “Can you show me around?”

  She nodded and her eyes widened, either from amazement at my unexpected friendliness or because of something else terrifying only she could see. I wasn’t frightened off by her; it was the odd people who tended to draw me in, as they were so much more interesting than everyone else.

  A matron arrived to bark orders, and we all went inside, still dragging our own luggage across the bumpy cobbles. We were assigned rooms, me with Karo at least, but it got busy and the elf girl wandered away quietly before giving me a tour. I’d have to find her later.

  I tossed my things into the stone chest beside my stone bed and sat down with a sigh. There was a mattress on the stone at least. Karolyne began carefully unpacking and sorting her garments. I hadn’t opened my bags. The chest, more like a sarcophagus, was big enough to hold them all.

  “I think I’m going to like it here.” I leaned back on my pillow. Even sitting up, my feet hung off the edge of the bed. It was dwarf length.

  “Because there are Solhans, or because we’re taller than everyone?” Karo asked.

  A glared at her. “No. Because it’s not Highcrowne. I could tell people I’m a lost Darrub princess.”

  “No one would believe it.”

  “Let me dream a little.”

  “We’re not here to dream. We’re here to learn how to dance, sing, serve tea, and be generally appealing to men, so we can get married to a rich one and live happily ever after.”

  I glared some more. “This school was originally built to educate Matriarchs. There’s classes on language, diplomacy, governorship....”

  “You think they’ll let a human into those classes? Oh, right, I’ve got to stop deflating your dreams. Go, sign up. Have fun.”

  I put the pillow over my head and curled into a fetal position to fit on the small mattress. I was so tired and so glad to be off that bumpy stagecoach I think I fell asleep. Not for long, as someone slapped the back of my hand, and I was up like a shot, ready to fight.

  Ilsa and I had had a few fights in the early years before we turned to not speaking to one another. I was ready to have at her, or whoever—I was a bit groggy—but then I noticed it was a teacher. She wore the floppy hat and velvet mantle, but I didn’t think the riding crop she carried around was regulation. Then again, had I read anything about school disciplinary policy? I couldn’t remember. My hand was red and stinging.

  “What was that for?” I left off the names I wanted to call her.

  Morgan and Nanny had warned me many times in the last weeks to behave myself at school. ‘Stay low and your time will go faster,’ Morgan had advised, like it was prison, and Nanny had said, ‘Please speak to them as you speak to us, and they’ll whip you so quick you’ll think I charmed you into horse form.’ Whenever Nanny said ‘please’ you had to worry, and I didn’t know if she could do a charm like that, but I suspected she could. Evidently, she’d known about the whip.

  “You girls were expected yesterday.” The teacher’s ruby eyes had a fiery light I found disturbing. I wanted to explain about the coach’s broken axle, which had been the main delay, but she didn’t give me a chance to speak. “No lazing about now, ladies. If you can call yourselves that yet. Unkempt, clothes rumpled....” Karo was immaculate, but the teacher was looking at me. “Time for deportment lessons in the auditorium. Go. Don’t keep everyone waiting any longer.”

  “Yes, Missus...?” Karolyne was such a kiss up.

  “Madam Hale if you please, Miss Frost. Do remember that all dwarf women are Miss or Madam, unless they are a Lady, Baroness, Duchess or...not that you’ll ever be gracious enough to meet one...a Matriarch. We have too many husbands to be anyone’s ‘missus’, although you savage humans readily apply the term to any grown woman, in the assumption we all share your ways. You are in Gernwold now, and if your mothers had not begged and bribed your way into this school, you would not be here.”

  “I don’t have a mother,” I said for some reason.

  “I know exactly how you gained entry, Miss Thorne.” She tsked in a way that made it clear she did not approve, before turning on her heel and marching out, expecting us to follow.

  Karolyne jumped to immediately, but I hesitated. I didn’t think I was going to like it here after all.

  None of the other girls in the auditorium looked very happy either, and not because we were late. It seemed a dour expression was required for deportment.

  What kept throwing me off, as we waited in line for our chance to balance a book on our heads, was a mud-colored dwarf girl who kept smiling and waving at me. I looked behind me, but there was no one. I was the end of the line.

  I waved back and got my hand slapped again. Was Madam Hale only watching me? The dwarf girl winced in sympathy. After class, which went on an interminable time—how much walking around with a straight spine can you manage without getting bored—the girl sought me out.

  “Hi there.”

  “Do I know you?” I asked, puzzled.

  “No, of course not. But I’ve seen your photograph. You recall having it taken when you applied?”

  “My uncle applied for me.” I remembered Morgan dragging me to the photography parlor. I should have realized something was up.

  “Well, I’ve been assigned to be your orientation buddy. Welcome! I’ve been here two years and love it. Simply love it. Ask me anything?”

  “You’re still taking deportment two years in?”

  “Yes, indeed. My favorite class. How hard is it to walk around for an hour? To sit and stand? I wish they were all like this.”

  “It gets worse?”

  “You bet. Diplomacy, ugh. Elvish poetry, double ugh ugh. The only class better is fencing.”

  “Oh, please sign me up to that!” I said, excited by the thought of showing Madam Hale my foil next time she showed me her whip.

  “Not sure they allow foreigners arms. I’ll check. It would be great if we could have all our classes together. I could tell you everything about everything. I’m Gypsum, by the way.”

  “Eva.”

  “I knew that, silly. And you’re Solhan. How amazing. Tell me all about it.”

  “What’s to tell? We brought on the end o
f the world, ran for our lives, and now we live wherever we can. I live in Highcrowne. The Outskirts anyway.”

  “I want to live there!” Gypsum didn’t seem to know anything but excited.

  “I don’t think you’d like the Outskirts.”

  “No, silly. Highcrowne. The Central City. The Matriarchs live there and help rule all the Kingdoms. I want to be one so much, but my older sister gets the title. She’s a Baroness. While me, a mere decade younger, get nothing. Nada. Madam Gypsum for me. A few husbands lined up, the expected hordes of children. No, thank you.”

  “What can you do about it? Kill her to get the title?” It’s what a Solhan would do, so it occurred to me right away. She looked shocked.

  “I could never kill my own sister. No, there are other ways to get a title. Marriage for example, if you’re human. If you’re dwarf, there is pleasing your husband’s Matriarch, and if she has no daughters.... Well, there’s lots of opportunity for those willing to work for it. Come along now. We have sewing next. I’ll show you where to get the best patterns.”

  Sewing? Ugh. Or as the dwarf girl said, double ugh. I asked if Gypsum had set my class schedule, but it was already assigned to me, and she was taking time away from some of her usual classes to show me around. Karolyne had an orientation buddy too, another dwarf who lacked Gypsum’s enthusiasm for things. Karo drifted closer to us to be in on all the excitement.

  “This is Karolyne,” I told Gypsum, letting them strike up a conversation. They hit it off right away, for which I was glad. Gypsum’s heart seemed to be in the right place, but I couldn’t care less about what we were studying. At lunch, I left Gypsum and Karo chatting, while I slipped away to the library. I hoped it had books on something interesting.

  By the time I found the place, lunch was nearly over, so I had little time to search. I had no idea how the shelves were organized. They were stone, of course, and elaborately carved, like everything in Gernwold. Only, instead of the standard scrollwork and decorative knots, these had symbols of fish, wolves and other creatures that somehow meant something to whoever organized the place. The library was a lot smaller than I hoped and had a disproportionate number of cookbooks, which in dwarvish cuisine amounted to many different ways of boiling or barbecuing everything to death.