The Last Wizard

by Jane M. R.

  I look at the stretching shadows thrown down by the clock tower and beyond that to the church yard where center of it kneels a weeping stone angel on a raised foundation. The clock is ticking down from all the time I’m losing by not coming up with a plan to escape on a horse for a three hour ride to find what Durain left for me. And so when Jaicom finally strolls across the square toward us my plan falls into place like a knight’s visor slamming shut before he lunges into battle.

  Jaicom approaches the café and I stand, aware all parents are aptly watching the display. Wondering if Jaicom’s interest in me the day of the funeral or the calling cards he left during my four weeks of mourning still have a heartbeat worries me very little. I’ll feed it back to life if need be and not even feel sick with faking something this sensitive to another human. Discovering Durain’s secret as soon as possible is far more important than Jaicom’s emotions.

  Jaicom looks up as if shocked to see me and then his glance slides to his father. “You are lovely, Miss Frondaren,” he says.

  I don’t realize my stomach is clenched until it relaxes upon hearing Jaicom’s gentle voice which is at odds with his hard eyes. Just like his father who owns the most lucrative lumber business in Valemorren – the only lumber business – I suppose it is impossible for someone to be easy going and aggressively successful at the same time.

  “Thank you. Will you please sit with me?”

  Jaicom’s thick eyebrows lift in what I can’t translate. Since he showed interest in me the day of the funeral, is he glad I’m showing interest back? I can’t tell. Really odd. No matter. That’s not what I’m after.

  I sit down and he joins me. A stiff breeze lifts the overhang of the tent we’re under and tosses my hair in my face despite the bonnet.

  “I might curse the wind otherwise,” I say as I mindlessly curl a loose slip of hair around my finger, aware my parents are only half listening to Aklen as they try to hone in on what I might say in the company of Jaicom, “but I’ve been stuck indoors most of the day for dresses and shoes and this breeze feels like freedom.” I shift my shoulders, wondering if I’m even coming close to my desired effect, but flaunting one’s self flirtatiously was lost to me the first time I put on trousers. “Too bad such a beautiful day has been wasted indoors.” I pause. Snicking open my tortoise shell fan, I hold it with my left hand in front of my face.

  If I’m even half as lovely as that stranger in my looking glass revealed this morning, a bachelor would be a fool to turn down a subtle invite from an unmarried woman.

  But he does. He averts his eyes politely from my flirtatious cue with my fan. I try another one, closing the fan and touching my right eye. Jaicom isn’t looking. But I know he saw because he shifts uncomfortably, pretending to be enthralled with the pigeons pecking the trash on the street.

  Why then, I wonder, would he jump the first steps to courting and go right to unchaperoned rides and leave calling cards but still decline visits and then refuse to acknowledge my advances in public?

  I absolutely have to go to The Boulder. And fan flirting isn’t working without getting right to the “I love you” which I’m not going to do.

  “Mr. Whaerin,” I say loudly, “I desire a ride this evening. Might I indulge in your presence?”

  The three adults cease talking, as if they’d been waiting for this.

  Jaicom is slow to look at me, drumming his fingers on the table top, but when he does, he has a smile which looks, for all honesty, real. “I’d be pleased, Miss Frondaren. I’ll call on you at three o’clock?”

  It worked. I don’t even feel bad about using him so absolutely.

  I watch my father fight so hard to keep a casual smile. I half expected my mother to start clapping. Varseena does a good job pretending she’s not there. Silence from Aklen.

  Due to the approaching evening now revolving around me, my father concludes his conversation with Aklen and escorts all three of us down the street to the coach yard.

  Back at home, my mother invites herself into my room as Varseena unties me and then ties me back again into my riding dress, gushing the whole time about how romantic an evening it is going to be and, “Brinella, you are so lucky. Soon, you will be a Whaerin,” and on and on and all the while I smile and agree with her despite every fiber of my being screaming that I am most definitely not going to marry Jaicom. I’m not going to marry at all, if I can help it. But I can’t have that discussion with my mother.

  A knock on my door. My mother answers it.

  “Jaicom is here,” my mother beams as she brings his calling card over to me. The top left corner of the card is bent over a picture of three trees surrounding the word Jaicom Whaerin in elaborate green inked calligraphy.

  Why do I feel like Jaicom is playing a game on me like I’m playing a game on him? He is throwing off way too many “I am not interested in you” cues for me not to see that something is up. Maybe he is courting a girl beneath his status just to defy his father? Aklen appears to be the kind of man who would force his son to marry a girl who could get Jaicom the biggest dowry. My dowry would be sufficient with my father owning a third of the silver mine but it still would not compare to a girl from London, or even Bristol. Girls from there are prettier too, with status matching the Whaerins.

  Whatever. I just need him long enough to go to The Boulder.

  Jaicom stands when I enter the drawing room, kneading his fedora in his hands like a cook might do with dough. He leads me outside where the stable hand is holding the reins to my horse with a side saddle I only know how to ride because of my mother insisting I not forget my “lady skills” while I ran around with my cousin in trousers.

  I settle myself in the saddle and look over at Jaicom as he swings his leg over the back of his own horse.

  Jaicom is handsome. And rich and single and maybe a little burn does spark in my chest about how nice it would be to marry him, since ultimately that is what courting me implies. But the wind tousles my dress and caresses summer fingers through my hair and I can’t let go of all that I would be losing. Soon I will be that mare harnessed to the coach that takes us into town, beautiful, and in its usefulness, assisting my husband on his way to status, all of my property being transferred over to him upon marriage.

  There has to be more to life than being owned by someone else.

  “There is a place I would love to visit,” I hint as our horses troll out of the yard. “It has a most handsome view of the valley.”

  His response is a curt nod. I feel in that moment that it is my duty as a female to inquire about where exactly he stands on his interest in me since he has shown signs of both but really, I don’t care. I just need him for today and then he can take his oddness out of my life.

  Aside from giving him directions, there is no other conversation between us all the way to The Boulder.

  The rugged mountain peak bristles with sharp edges of stone, like a thorn in the world with almost no dirt to soften the harshness.

  “Stop here,” I say.

  Jaicom does so and dismounts, tying the reins around an aspen tree so the horse still has a little room to graze. I swing a leg off just as Jaicom turns to help me, the small heel of my boots sinking into the soft dirt as I land. His eyes narrow darkly but I’m able to play off that my rude dismount was because of my excitement.

  “Come on!” Clutching my skirt in both hands, I run on my toes up a deer trail Durain and I use to reach the top of The Boulder. In truth, I’m hoping to get to the top before Jaicom does so I can go to the spot where I fell and find whatever it is Durain left for me.

  I duck under branches stretching across my way and at most times I have to use my hands to climb the steepest parts; a task that becomes irritating because of the fabric prison banging around my legs.

  The dress slows me down and Jaicom catches up. “Brinella, you are ruining your dress.”

  Irritation spikes through me. I wish I was wearing all my dresses so I could ruin them.

  The skirt of s
oft earth and vegetation at the mountain’s base harden into shale, turning into a narrow trail mountain goats frequent. Feces of their recent travel scatter only hours old throughout the path.

  My skirt is seriously making me angry and I’m about to rip it off. Far gone from the iron fist of society some sixteen years ago, I bunch the chrysalis of a dress into my arms and lift the entire mess above my knees. Technically, I am now immodest but the white bloomers beneath cover my legs to my knees where my black stockings cover the rest. I take note of Jaicom trying to keep an eye on me while trying not to shame himself by looking at my undergarments. I don’t care. The higher I climb the more liberated I felt. Even Jaicom’s calm grumbling can’t dissuade me. He works his father’s lands with lumber so something of this nature should not bother him, except that I’m not supposed to be the one leading him up here.

  Heat gathers against my skin and I have to pause, letting the wind shift around my half-bare legs and down the bodice of my dress. I feel my cheeks flush with heat and freedom and even my crushing boots can’t dim the fire within me. We are almost to the top but I can already see the fields falling away beneath me.

  Jaicom climbs beside me. It’s hard to tell if he is simply tolerating my wildness or if he is trying to show he won’t lose his head to fantasy ideals. “How much farther?” he asks, lifting his fedora where I see sweaty blond hair plastered to his forehead.

  In answer, I start to move again. Another steep climb dumps us onto a broad shelf of rock smoothed by wind and rain and where protrudes The Boulder.

  I can’t see my house under the sea of trees but the clock tower reaching center of town is clustered about with tiny buildings looking like salt cubs at this distance. Thirty miles opposite me is another mountain range of lush jade. A silver ribbon slithers across the valley alongside the railroad track leading to Bristol in the west.

  Taken by the sight, I momentarily forget why I wanted to be up here in the first place. Coming out of my trance, I looked askance at Jaicom who seems interested by the fresh view but is otherwise detached from it. He almost appears nervous as well, casting glances at the wall of rock butted against the mountain behind us. Is he afraid of heights? I know so little about him.

  “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” I say to scramble the silence.

  He sighs. “Yes, of course. But we should go now.”

  I pull my feet out of my tight boots.

  “Miss Frondaren…”

  “Just one more minute.” I pick up my boots and walk to the lumps of uneven stone near the front edge of The Boulder to the place I landed when I slipped.

  I hid the first where The Boulder caught her slip.

  My heart drops in my chest when I see nothing there. Had someone else taken it?

  No. I spot it. A glint of something metal hidden under three rocks. I sit next to it and begin yanking my sweaty boots back, unobtrusively digging beneath the rocks where I grip the metal piece and shove it down my corset. I can’t afford to investigate it right now.

  Both boots now enthusiastic on, I stand and uselessly dust myself, looking about to make sure I indeed have what Durain left for me. The rest of The Boulder is barren so I go to Jaicom who is impatiently beckoning. The metal is cold and misshapen against my breast and I hope it doesn’t protrude where it would be obvious.

  I allow Jaicom to help me on the decent, even if I can get down easier by myself. I don’t want him believing I am completely without my manners.

  The hem of my dress and boots are thoroughly soiled by the time we reach the horses. The cooling air is refreshing on my sweaty skin and I breathe it in as if it could sustain me.

  Jaicom keeps his horse at a brisk canter all the way to my house. I can’t place his anxiety but as soon as he helps me dismount, he calms. He stares at me for an odd second and I feel massively uncomfortable.

  “Miss Frondaren,” he begins, and his tone settles like salt in my blood, “consider parting ways with your spirited promiscuity for the outdoors. Most men will not forgive you as easily as I do.”

  I bit back the words society has told me I cannot say. Heat curls up my back. I got what I needed out of Jaicom. He can go now. Forever.

  With a courtesy, I stomp into the house. My father catches me in the foyer before I can go to my room to see what Durain had left me.

  “Why sweetheart!” He spreads his hands in front of him. “You’ve ruined your dress!”

  With great effort, I don’t roll my eyes. “I took him up the mountain to see the valley. He didn’t enjoy himself.” I don’t say more because if I do, Jaicom’s last words to me will slip out and I’m half afraid my father will agree with Jaicom and I can’t hear that from the one person I trust to protect my “promiscuous” interests.

  “Well, you have to admit that gentlemen don’t favor ladies who do that kind of thing.” I look at him and he has the decency to look away. “He is just so astute at wanting to work hard to be a man and provide for himself and a wife,” he amends. “Are you not happy he’s looking to wed you?”

  His sharp question stabs me. “He only started courting me four weeks ago. It’s wrong to accuse him of marriage at this point. By the way, don’t you think it odd that he showed up out of the blue to escort me to the parish and sit with me? Especially a girl beneath his status?”

  “I’m not going to question. And we are not that far behind the Whaerin status. He’s the best man in Valemorren to marry and he’s picked you when he’s got all of England to consider.” His smile does not reassure me. “But in the highly unlikely event he changes his mind, you need to start preparing yourself for marriage, anyway. But I believe I asked you a question.”

  This is certainly not the conversation I want to have standing on the front porch. I rock back and forth on the short heels of my boots. This is my father asking, not my mother. He understands most things I say where my mother would lose her mind. “I feel that any marriage would tie me down.” It slipped out, really, but I’m so anxious for someone to believe me that I didn’t try very hard to rein it in.

  “Oh? Because you had plans for other things?”

  I shrug.

  “Having a financially stable husband to support you is vital for survival.”

  “Can’t I support myself?”

  This statement goes beyond the need to be understood and toes the line of social blasphemy. I can talk to my father, but even he has his limits. “I – I’m sorry.” I can’t meet his eye anymore. “Marriage is still strange to me and I miss Durain.” My uses for using Durain as a crutch are limited. I chance a look at his face but it is unreadable. I curtsy politely and make my escape to my room. Something in me is breaking and I’m afraid my parents are noticing. I can’t worry about that right now. I have to see what Durain hid on The Boulder. Varseena will be in at any moment to free me from the strangling grip the red sea urchin of a dress has on me. It’s eaten me, but I haven’t quit metabolized in its swollen belly yet.

  I dig the metal thing out of my corset. It maintains my interest despite I have no idea what it is.

  About three inches long and made from copper, it looks like a handle to something, except it’s wider on one end where there is a piece cut out, looking for all the world like a puzzle where another piece might connect to it. On the opposite end is a red ruby chiseled into the shape of a thorn and affixed to the underside of the device.

  The second can be found with not her uncle… the third is vaulted…

  Jaicom’s family has the only vault Durain and I ever knew of.

  Durain, I mouth, catching the light from the gas lamp on the copper device. The ruby swallows the light and magnifies it into a bloody glow. What secret was worth your life?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BRINELLA

  Since the discovery of… whatever this thing was that Durain left for me on The Boulder, I have a hard time not looking like I’m thinking too hard on something illegal the whole time Varseena ties me into my riding dress.

  I might eventuall
y feel bad about using Crisy just so I can get closer to her father, but that’s not even going to come close to happening until after I’ve pieced together this secret Durain left me.

  The day is warm but, blessedly, my riding dress today is a thin baby blue cotton minus about twenty layers of petticoats. I arrive at Crisy’s house and knock on the door. It’s opened by Crisy’s macramist.

  “Greetings, Miss Frondaren,” the macramist says, accepting my mother’s calling card; a black rectangle of paper with “Janella Frondaren” scripted elaborately in silver to represent my father’s ownership on the silver mine.

  “I would like to take Miss Garfair for a ride,” I say, because I can’t say, “I want to take a good look at her father to see if he has a long copper metal thing somewhere on his body.”

  The macramist nods and I am seated in the drawing room, hoping Not Uncle Brocen will stick his head inside and say hello. He never does. Crisy arrives twenty minutes later in her riding habit, glowing like a candle in her canary yellow tiable cotton dress and gold hair spilling down under a pale red hat. She is beaming.

  “I was hoping to say hello to your father as well,” I say. “Is he here?”

  “My father is working in the fields today. I am very sorry.”

  Angry irritation swells in my gut like a sponge. How many rides do I have to take Crisy on before I can finally see if Brocen has Durain’s secret on him?

  “Well,” I force a smile, “the day is wasting. Let’s be off.”

  Crisy’s small middle-class household comprises of the macramist who also takes care of all the details inside the house and the stable hand who duels as every function that needs attendance outside the house. Even poor families, when they have to choose, will choose a macramist. Though their training and skills revolve around tying and untying dresses, most of them understand that with a little extra pay they will also work most of the rest of the house too.