“I know exactly what you mean. Being forced to live a new life without being able to say goodbye to the one you lived before. Not knowing which one is right. Feeling helpless as others control your life in a way that makes you feel helpless. Being blown away as easily as a leaf in the wind, without the chance of turning back. Is that what you feel? Because it is what fills my heart.”
He looked at me with a pained expression and nodded slowly. “Of course you know, I’m sorry. You’re probably the only one in this place who can understand. Still, I should not have said what I did. I enjoy being given the chance to help people in a way that I would never have been able to do as a chandler. I did not see it this way when I was brought here, and I suffered for my disobedience…”
His voice trailed away. I sensed a tale here that would make any poet’s heart beat faster. Yet I knew that he would not tell me his story today. Maybe someday in the future, once we had gotten to know each other a little better.
We looked each other in the eyes and understanding passed between us. No sense to stir up old wounds. Let’s focus on the present.
“The wax should be warm enough now. Yes, see how it slowly drips from the spoon? This is how it has to be. I’m going to stir it one last time to make sure that the herbs have dispersed properly. Now, take the wick hanging from the stick. The stick is going to be your marker, once it touches the pot, that’s as deep as you can dip it. Are you ready? Then slowly, very slowly, dip the wick into the wax. Now leave it for a second, then pull it up again. Slowly. That’s it. Now leave it outside for a moment to solidify, otherwise it will not stick. Here, using beeswax is an advantage as it cools much quicker than tallow. Still, it’s always better to wait a bit longer than necessary.”
He came over and stood next to me. With one hand, he reached to the wick I was holding and felt it between his thumb and index finger. “Feel this? Still soft, but it has a fairly solid feel to it. Just perfect. Now you can dip it in again.”
Over and over, I repeated the dipping, and slowly I could watch the candle grow in size. Colourful spots were shining through the yellow wax, the particles of the herbs that would burn once the candle was lit. It took a long time, but when the candle was finished and I felt its smooth surface on my skin, I was proud. My first candle. I silently vowed that it would not be my last.
Healer Reaving gave me a shy pat on the back. I turned to him, looking deep into his emerald eyes. He smiled, as did I.
“Thank you,” I said softly. He grinned at me. “My pleasure, you’ve been the first person to actually show an interest in what I do.”
While we were cleaning up his workplace, he suddenly coughed uncomfortably and half said, half whispered: “By the way, my name is Jon.”
There was a knock on my door, waking me from my sleep. I had been with Healer Reaving - Jon - until deep into the night, discussing the uses of herbs in infusions and teas. Now that he had opened my mind to the multitude of possibilities that his craft offered, I hungrily drank any sip of knowledge he offered me. Never before had I seen this burning passion for learning in me. Even though I had enjoyed doing acrobatics in the Ghorres’ evening shows, rehearsing old and new tricks had not been as satisfying as the information Jon offered me.
They knocked again. Expecting the servant bringing my breakfast, I called for them to come in. Instead, a tiny woman entered the room. She seemed about my age, yet she was at least two heads shorter than myself. Her silky ginger hair hung down to her waist, bound together into a long ponytail by a simple silver clasp. Freckles covered her button nose and cheeks, moving as she gave me a wide smile. She was carrying a small notebook in one hand and a pile of cloth tucked under the other. Despite her size, she filled the room with her presence.
I jumped out of bed, embarrassed that a stranger would find me so.
“No, don’t bother getting dressed, I need you just like you are,” she said with a clear voice that reminded me of the chime of little bells. I must have looked at her in a strange way, because she began to laugh loudly, her ginger hair flowing over her small back.
“I’m Nia, the seamstress, sweetie, here to measure you for some new clothes. Tell me, what’s your favourite colour?”
Still slightly embarrassed at this unexpected visit, I shrugged. “Green, I suppose, or red. I’ve always preferred strong colours; I wouldn’t want anything in pastel shades or white.” I didn’t say that it looked ridiculous if I wore my white hair over clothes of the same colour. Then I remembered that my hair was dyed black, even though I was sure its natural colour shone through at the roots. The last time I had covered my silver-white hair with black dye had been two or three weeks before that fateful night in Ashenfields. I hadn’t seen my hair in its natural colour for fifteen odd years. Ever since I had joined the Ghorres family, Mara had helped me hide the striking white colour. I was born like that, and when I had still lived with my gran, it hadn’t mattered. There was no one around to think it strange, yet once I had entered civilisation after her death, I had resented all the curious and taunting looks my hair had attracted. During the last few years, I had resented having to dye it so regularly, but Luca and Mara had convinced me that it was for the best. A child with colourless, white hair was something that was not natural, not normal, and people’s suspiciousness could quickly turn into violence.
Nia made me stretch out my arms and began to take my measurements. For the length of my arms and the width of my shoulders, she had to climb onto a chair to reach high enough. And all there while, she was babbling away. I liked her gaily manner, her unconcerned way of talking. She told me that she had only just succeeded her former mistress, under which she had apprenticed for several years, but now that the older woman was suffering from a stiffness of the joints, she had taken over her position as head seamstress at the keep.
“When I was younger, I never thought that I would one day occupy such a position. My father left our family just after I was born, he accused Ma of witchcraft and that it was her fault that I was born too small and half-dead. Yet my mother nursed me back to health and raised me just like she would any normal child. And when I was thirteen, a rider from Gynt’s Keep came and told me that I had been chosen to work as an apprentice seamstress at court. It came so sudden, I had to pack my things and leave for the keep within a day, yet I was so overjoyed that I couldn’t wait to start my apprenticeship. I had always loved knitting and handicrafts, and making this passion my profession was something I had only dreamed of before. I would not have been able to get an apprenticeship with anybody else due to my size. Yet King Gynt does not care about size, looks or origin, the only thing that matters to him is skill. People are right to call him a wise king. But I’m babbling. Tell me something about yourself while I write down your measurements.”
I had to smile, I couldn’t help it. Her bubbly and friendly way lifted my spirits.
“First, I have a question for you. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean that you were chosen by King Gynt? Another person used exactly the same expression, but I don’t know what is meant by it.”
“You’re not from Fer, are you?”
I shook my head. “I don’t really have a place where I’m from. I’ve been living with a travelling family ever since I was a child. And even though I’ve been to many places far away, we’ve never traversed the bridge over to Fer. That’s why I’m a stranger to its customs.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll soon have learned all you need to know. I don’t think Fer is very different from other countries. Except that we are lucky to have Lord Lassadar as an advisor to King Gynt. He is blessed with the skill to find people who have potential in specific crafts. I don’t know how he does it, but somehow he chooses the right person for every vocation, even though sometimes the people he chooses have never tried out their hands in that craft.”
“But what if the person he chooses doesn’t want to become what Lassadar wants? What if they don’t want to come to Gynt’s Keep?” I had spoken without think
ing. The look she gave me confirmed my uneasiness.
“Now that is a question I don’t have an answer to, and believe me when I say that this doesn’t happen often.” Suddenly, her tone of voice had gone cool and distant. It was as if the sun had disappeared behind dark brooding clouds.
While she packed up her things, I was left alone, searching for words that would make her smile at me again, but I found none. Without saying goodbye, she left, pulling closed the door behind her.
Why had I destroyed the comforting flow of conversation between us with that ugly question? Wasn’t Lassadar helping by choosing a vocation for you if you were talented? Would letting all that talent go to waste not be much worse than being given the opportunity of a good education and a job at court afterwards, with the only cost being to live away from where you had been brought up? Many people came to Gynt’s Keep in the hope of finding work here, of bettering their circumstances.
Even while I was looking for excuses for Lassadar’s choosing, there was a nagging feeling deep inside me that told me that I was deceiving myself if I only chose to see the good sides of the king’s advisor.
8
Elvedritsch
An elvedritsch is a birdlike creature found in the woodlands and highlands of the Lonely Forest, nestled in between the Plains in the north and Nythea in the south. It is sometimes described as a chicken with antlers, but it is often ignored that instead of feathers, its skin is scaled and that its beak is longer and more curved than that of a chicken. Their wings are short and render them unable to fly over long distances or to great heights. They build nests, preferably in the crowns of willow trees. Their origin is shrouded in mystery, yet rumours say that elvedritsch originate from crossbreeding chicken or geese with captured forest spirits. They are sterile, and cannot produce live offspring.
- Labando’s Mythical Beasts
I had not seen Lassadar for more than two weeks and was beginning to wonder why he had not called me to see him when a servant asked me to follow him up the tower. I had spent the past few days with reading and accompanying Jon to the gardens or his laboratory. After watching him make his candles with both the dripping and the dipping method, I had begun to make my own. They were rarely as straight and smooth-surfaced as his, but he assured me that they would still suit the purpose. More and more nobles now requested his healing candles for their ailments as an alternative to ill-tasting remedies, which had the unwanted effect that the amount of beeswax the beekeeper could provide was never enough for making all the needed candles. We now had to resort to a mixture of beeswax and tallow made from cow or sheep fat. These candles had the disadvantage of smelling unpleasant, which we tried to counter by adding more pleasant smelling herbs and flowers to the mixture. By the end of the week, I had the feeling that I was actually helping ease Jon’s workload. While I made candles, he could focus on creating potions and other remedies, as well as tending his herb garden.
I enjoyed spending time with him in his laboratory. He was quick-witted and easy to talk to, and would laugh and joke around as often as he would ponder seriously over how to treat a patient in the best possible way. I had not had any contact with his patients, whom he visited twice a day, leaving a nurse in charge during the rest of the time. He described the small infirmary wing to me as a calm and bright place, where the patients were tended to by a nurse and her assistants. There was a small artificial waterfall flowing from a pipe on the ceiling down over a large salt stone, disappearing beneath several flower pots. Jon swore by the refreshing properties of salt stone; he said it not only made the air more humid but also had a calming effect on his patients’ tempers. The infirmary was only for the keep’s staff, members of the King’s court were treated in their own chambers unless they were so sick they had to be tended to around the clock.
While Jon made his calls to his patients, I spent the time practising my magic control in my own room. As Lassadar had ordered me to do, I tried to enter the time syrup without any help from a plant’s energy. At first, it was a strange feeling to not rely on a flower as I had all these years, it felt as if I was missing a step in my usual routine. Instead of making myself small and enter the rose to sap its energy, I now tried to centre myself within my own body, using my own resources. At the beginning, I wasn’t sure how exactly to find these reserves, but after reading the books Lassadar had given me, I became better at it. I imagined a deep blue lake surrounded by high mountains, their reflection shimmering on the cold water. It was a beautiful sight, and I enjoyed seeing it again and again. To use this reservoir within me, I pictured a tiny stream running away from the lake, leading straight into the labyrinth of my mind. I simply had to open the locks that were preventing the lake’s water from running into me uncontrolled, and afterwards close them carefully. The main difficulty was to estimate how much energy I would need for the task at hand, and then only take that much, because once energy was taken from its usual place, it could only be expended, not returned to its previous state. The first time I tried to slow down time, I took too much energy, yet it was still not enough to stay in the time syrup for more than a second or two. Afterwards, I sank into a deep sleep, only waking up the next day, still lying on the floor where I had sunk down. When I wanted to access my power later that day, the lake only contained about half as much water as it had the day before. After this event, I proceeded more cautiously. The more I practised, the better I got and the deeper the dark blue lake became. By the time Lassadar called me to him, I could slow down time for about three minutes without feeling too exhausted afterwards, half as much as I could do with a rose. What a pity that Lassadar had not taught me years ago when I had first discovered my powers. I could have trained using my own energy for years, not days.
I was wearing the new clothes Nia had made for me. They were made up of a simple green skirt and a black silk blouse, yet of better quality than anything I had ever possessed before coming to Gynt’s Keep. Nia had brought them up to my room, unusually tight-lipped and distant. There was a light bruise on her cheek. When I had thanked her for her troubles, she had given me a short smile and left. Now I was wearing her creation while sitting in Lassadar’s study. He was not here, but I had been told to wait inside this time.
While I was waiting, I was looking at the elvedritsch, whose egg was now so big that she only leant on it from one side. Last time, she had still managed to sit on it, but that was no longer possible. When she noticed me, she gave off a bright chuckle, then once more looked at the bright bars of her cage. It was not clear whether she saw them with her inherent curiosity of whether she was aware that she was a prisoner behind those metal poles. The first time I had looked upon her egg, it had been of a light orange colour, but now it shone in a dark red. Its shell had grown thick and was no longer semi-translucent. It was almost half as high as the elvedritsch mother herself. Now I understood why it grew after having been laid, otherwise the hen would not have been able to cope with something that size within her. How much bigger could this egg get?
“I think it looks like it might hatch soon”.
Lassadar had entered the room without me noticing. I stood up from my kneeling position in front of the cage and turned to greet him. He was dressed in a colourful fabric so sumptuous that it took my breath away. His shirt was a bright emerald green, yet the wide sleeves shimmered green and yellow like a reptilian’s skin after rain. His long black trousers only made the green more spectacular. On his head, a golden circlet that would befit a prince resided over his black hair, and from one ear dangled a long golden earring shaped as an loosely plaited ball. Jon had explained to me once that only the most trusted loyal subjects were given such an earring to wear before the king. He had known of only one other person to have been given this piece of jewellery by the monarch: the king’s late wife.
“I’m coming straight from the King, he’s been giving out land charters to some of his favourite nobles all morning. Not that they need any more property, but it’s just another way to keep
them happy. Tell me, have you trained your control as I’ve asked you to?”
While I told him of my progress, he disappeared behind a folding screen in a corner of the room. When he stepped back into my view, he was clad all in black once more, the fancy clothes discarded behind the screen.
When I had finished, he stood up from his armchair and motioned me to do the same. “I told you last time that I am particularly intrigued by your ability to slow down time. To be perfectly honest, this was the reason why I invited you to the keep, in order to learn how you do this.” I swallowed hard at his wording; I had certainly not been ‘invited’ by Lor. Yet I knew he did not mean it, with his kind smile and his attentive nature.
“Can you only enter the ‘time syrup’, as you called it, alone, or can you take someone with you?” It was clear that he was the ‘someone’ mentioned.
“I have tried it with some people from my travelling group, yet it did not work. Actually, I couldn’t slow down time while someone was touching me, it was as if they were somehow grounding me to the normal time stream. Yet I have never tried it with someone who also possesses magical power.”
“Then let’s try it now, to satisfy both our curiosity.” With a conspiratorial grin, he offered me his arm, and I took it. Concentrating, I closed my eyes and felt my way through my body until I reached the cool lake. Opening the locks ever so slightly, I reached for the steady stream of energy that was now flowing away from the reservoir. Once I had established this link, I imagined a great clock, it’s heavy bronze hands moving slowly over the face of the clock. I stretched out my arm and took hold of the smaller hand, stopping it in its path. Yet when I tried to lay it in shackles, as I always did, it broke free of my grip and continued to tick. Again I tried, and again I failed. I did not get a proper grip on the hands, and time continued to flow. I opened my eyes. Lassadar look held a mixture of fascination and disappointment.
Heart of Time (Ruined Heart Series Book 1) Page 10