by T J Muir
“Sure for what?”
“Do you know nothing? Because it's a lot easier to do magic when it’s flowing.”
Alarms went off in Diya's head. “You aren't going to try something, are you?” She had sudden visions of dragons coming out of the mist or giant globes of light exploding.
“What?” he demanded, shaking his head. “No. Jeeesh. Don't be stupid.”
She gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, good.” She didn't want to have to explain how she had stood right there while a disaster had been conjured into being.
“You are.”
Silence. Did I hear right? She blinked, sure she must be mistaken. “What?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Umm.. because I don't know anything about it,” but then part of her brain niggled. Curious. She could turn the lights on and off. That wasn’t really doing magic, was it? Her mouth pursed and she chewed her lip, considering. Could she? Was it possible? She looked back at Pasha who watched, looking amused. Was this just a joke at her expense? Ha! Diya wasn't going to let him have the better of her. Besides— could she do it? “How would I?”
Head back, Pasha cackled. Had he known she wouldn't be able to resist? “Okay,” he shrugged. “Just a beginner spell. A teaching spell. Okay?”
Diya nodded. Hooked now, she was wary that she wouldn't be able to do it, but she was determined to succeed.
“Dosha hani anuya rai.” As she watched, a little ball of light appeared in Pasha's hand.
“Oooo,” she exclaimed, excited now.
“You try. Listen to the inflection, and it can help to imagine it happening as well, like a focus.”
“Dosha hani anuya rai.” Diya repeated the words exactly the way Pasha had said them. Nothing happened. She felt a stab of disappointment.
Pasha repeated the spell, his inflection just a bit different from her try, encouraging Diya to copy it. They went through it several times. Each time Pasha slowed down, enunciating clearer for her to hear and sense each tone and pitch.
Again and again Diya tried, becoming convinced that either Pasha was playing a joke on her, or she just had no ability for magic.
Then, a ball of light erupted into life in her hand. It happened so quickly that she jumped, her hand shaking violently as though she’d just touched a hot stove. The light winked out instantly as though it had never been.
Pasha laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, the look on your face! You looked like you thought you were going to burst into flames.”
It was scary! Even seeing Pasha do it, she hadn’t been prepared, but she didn’t say that to him.
Triumph and disappointment surged through her. I did it! Magic! She’d never imagined anything like this before.
It took several tries before Diya got it again. It felt a little easier the second time, and she managed to hold onto the spell this time.
Pasha just nodded, the way he did when he supervised Tilly doing something. Then she saw a flicker of turquoise out of the corner of her eye and spun around to try and see what was going on. At first she thought it was the flow of magic since the coloring felt similar, but this wasn’t up high in the sky. She saw the eerie glowing light through the trees. It was coming from the far side of the village.
“What’s that?” she asked, alarmed and fascinated. “Is that magic? It looks like the dyajan but much brighter.”
Pasha came up beside her and nodded. “That’s coming from Bajan’s workshop. Old man must be crafting something tonight.”
“Crafting?”
“He’s a Magickan. He made the dyajan in the hallways.”
More magic? How incredible! She wanted to go over there, right now, in the middle of the night and see what the man was doing. Then she felt Pasha hit her arm.
“What?” she asked, annoyed as she turned to look at him.
“I said that you’re still holding your magic.”
Diya blinked. “Oh.” She noticed that the little ball of light was still hovering above her hand, glowing brighter than it had been before. That’s strange. She stood there, frozen, as time seemed to stand still, just her and the glowing ball of light. She felt the wind blow but didn’t notice the chill. She just stared at the ball of light, mesmerized.
She repeated the spell several times, becoming more comfortable with each successful cast. The ball was definitely brighter than when she had started. She would have stayed out all night but she could see that the novelty for Pasha had worn off. She released the magic. “Come on, we should get inside. Get you to bed,” she said. Then she shivered, realizing how cold she was. She grinned at Pasha, her wicked-plan smile. “But I bet we could probably slip downstairs and brew up some hot cocoa before we get you back up to bed.”
CHAPTER Fifteen
The next morning Diya headed outside, eager to bask in her pocket of warm sunshine. A few birds chirped and she could see more signs of spring. The mud and dead grasses were being overtaken by tiny green shoots. It felt good to have a quiet moment alone. She didn’t realize how tired she was from her midnight escapade. Maybe learning magic was draining? She stretched and yawned, closing her eyes as she felt the sun’s warmth through her clothes until she dozed off on the veranda.
She jolted awake to the sound of sharp banging. Her immediate panic subsided, hearing the rhythmic pounding. The twins hadn't destroyed anything and it didn't sound like a brawl.
Better go investigate.
She was fairly sure it was coming from Pasha's little farm which was actually an impressive collection of creatures that he had rescued over time--from a little possum to the otter, a rat that he kept over everyone's protests and a small hawk.
The sun was bright and strong, feeling almost as warm as the coldest days back home. She hoisted herself out of her sun-warmed pocket of coziness and headed across the lawns.
Coming around the corner of the converted storage shed, she saw a red head bent over a pile of wood. With long hair, it must be Esha.
“What in the name of all that is holy are you doing, making such a racket?”
Esha looked up, mildly annoyed, but she smiled. It was her half-pleased but half-annoyed look, as though the answer were obvious. Diya knew the look and the attitude from her own teen years, and she decided to ignore it.
“I'm fixing the otter's cage. Here, hold this,” Esha said, waving Diya over to where she was holding up two boards.
“What?”
“Are you afraid you'll get your hands dirty?”
Casting a guilty look down at her hands, Diya braced herself. “No. No, I wasn't.” She decided to prove Esha wrong. She knew the girl thought Diya was fairly useless. “What do I do?”
“Here. Hold this steady so I can hammer this board in place.”
“Okay,” she said. That sounded easy enough. Diya watched as Esha pounded three nails into place.
“Okay, you can let go now, and hand me that board, behind you. Yes, that one. Put it up here, and hold it steady.”
Without even thinking, Diya picked up the board. She was so intrigued by what Esha was doing, she didn't think to argue. Back home, she would have instructed a servant to send for one of the workers. No one she knew would ever take this work upon themselves. Her family would be shocked to see her but she imagined her father would also be secretly proud. She imagined Jedda would pitch in right alongside of her.
“How did you learn to do this?” She asked, impressed.
Esha turned to look over her shoulder, giving Diya one of her looks. “My father is a master builder.” Her tone implied the connection between the two should be obvious to anyone with a brain.
“Do you hear from your father at all?” Diya asked, trying to sound casual. She was worried that asking about Ashok might break the truce she had formed with Esha.
“Sometimes,” Esha said, as she stretched the wire mesh up on the side of the cage. She spoke over her shoulder while she worked, her focus on the project, but Diya could tell that Esha was trying not to show her emotions. “Right now
he’s in Isha Kor.”
“Oh, I know where that is,” Diya exclaimed, surprised. “That’s a very pretty little area.” She had gone to school with so’har Sheesan who was the second daughter of a prestigious family. Diya wondered what her old friend was doing. “Has he been there long?” Diya asked. Her real question was when he might be coming home but she knew better than to ask.
Esha shrugged and continued to work. “A week or so? I’m not sure.”
“Do you build a lot of things with your father?” she asked, retreating to safer ground.
“He always lets us help whenever he was home. He gave us our own sets of tools when we were ten. I think Pasha lost most of his though.” Esha shook her head and snorted. “I still have all of mine though. He lets me do a lot of repairs as long as I ask first and make sure that an adult is nearby.”
Diya nodded to herself. Was that the reason Esha was tolerating her? So she could tell her father that she had been supervised? For a moment, Diya wondered if Esha was drawn to the company of another girl, but just one look at Esha’s braids, which were hastily tied and coming undone, and her brother’s shirt, which was only half tucked in, told her that Esha wasn’t looking to Diya as a role model. Esha was her own person, strong willed and independent.
Hearing Esha talk about something she shared with her father made Diya think about her own father. She missed Tatak Rhe but now she was wondering what she had learned from her own parents.
“So, you built all of these?” Diya looked around at the impressive collection of cages and pens that made up Pasha's little menagerie.
“Well, I've done the more recent ones. Some, I made with my Dad but most of them I did on my own. Those ones over there, the Beddo built, but I helped with them.”
“The Beddo?”
“Yeah. The Beddo come by every year, spring and fall.”
“They come here? To the manor?”
Esha rolled her eyes. “You act like you've never met one.”
Whatever argument Diya might have made got squashed by that simple statement. Diya thought back but couldn't remember when she had ever met any of the Beddo. Why would she? They never hired them to work on the so’harat. Her family had plenty of workers, good Chanmyrans who worked hard and were reliable.
Esha scoffed. “I didn't think so. You ought to, before you start judging them. They're hard workers, really handy, and they're fun.”
That didn't mesh with Diya's long held opinions of the Beddo as being shifty, dishonest and inclined to theft.
As she spoke, Esha started to staple up the wire mesh she had been setting up between the boards. Without thinking, Diya held the mesh steady for her. Once that was done, Esha took a branch and fastened it inside for the otter to climb on. They added some ramps, platforms and a small ‘pool’ for it to play in. By the time they were done, there was a little playground inside to keep the otter busy.
Esha retrieved the otter from another cage and introduced it to its new home. The two of them watched as the energetic otter explored and investigated every corner. Diya laughed as it splashed and swam around in its pool. It made a chittering noise, expressing its satisfaction, and swam the few feet across its pool, ducking under the water and then turning around to look at them.
“I think that’s good,” Esha said, wiping her hands on her pants.
“Is that it?” Diya asked, a little disappointed. It felt good to see how happy they had made the otter. “Is there anything else that needs fixing?”
Esha cocked her head, looking at Diya, and then shrugged. “If you want to help, sure. The rat chewed through the side of its cage. I hate that thing but Pasha won't kill it or get rid of it.”
Diya wrinkled her nose. “Rats?”
Esha laughed, with the same distaste for it that Diya had. “Well, actually it's a possum which is kind of the same thing. Let's make sure the thing stays put.”
“That is an excellent idea.” Diya imagined waking up with a rat, or a possum, in her room.
CHAPTER Sixteen
The next day after breakfast, Tilly vanished to spend time with Jinna. The sun felt warm, and the sky looked clear although Diya had learned how quickly rain could appear from behind the western ridge. Now that the weather had turned warmer, she began to feel restless. She grabbed her jacket and let Korina know she was going out for a walk, asking if she wanted anything from the village.
While she walked across the bridge, she realized how good it felt to have a worry-free moment. She leaned over the parapet, and she watched the water flowing slowly by underneath, wondering what river this was and where it went. It was so clear she could make out the stones on the bottom in vivid detail, rounded smooth from years in the water, deep reds, like the slate she saw on many of the houses, including the manor. Others were deep green and grey, with a speckling of white that looked like quartz.
After a while, Diya remembered the candies from the baker. She had long since exhausted her small supply of candies, especially the soft ginger candy. So she left the path along the river and headed towards the baker’s shop.
“Good Morning,” Diya said, walking into the shop which still smelled like the morning bread. At first, Diya thought the baker was busy serving the three people standing by the counter, but she seemed like she was just listening to them grousing.
“See that magic surge? Whole herd broke loose during the night. Trampled Willit's fields. Whatsa So'har and Da'har doin bout that? Nothing, that's what. Third time already this year.”
One of the men turned, noticing Diya and nudged his friends aside. They nodded politely and then left.
“Good morning,” Diya said, repeating herself now that she had the Baker's attention. “What is that wonderful smell?”
“Sweet bread stuffed with hard cheese, butter, rosemary, and garlic.”
“Is there any left?” Diya asked.
The baker smiled and bent down for a moment. When she stood up, she handed a wrapped roll across the counter. Diya felt the slightly warm bread, soft in her hand, and immediately broke a piece off and popped it into her mouth. “This is exquisite!” she exclaimed. “But don't tell Korina I said that.”
“What can I get for you today?”
“Some more of these breakfast rolls if you have any? And the ginger candies, please. No maple candies or I think Korina might throw me out of the kitchens for good. Oh, and some of the ones for each of the children. And whatever it was that they got for their mother, also.” While the baker was putting together the candies, Diya browsed through the selection. “Is that a sausage roll?” she asked, feeling a twinge of excitement seeing the roll of bread with sausage and cheese baked into it.
“Last one,” came the reply from under the counter.
“I will definitely take it.” That brought back memories of all the times Trey had dragged them out in search of country food, as he liked to call it. They had all laughed at his provincial tastes then, but right now that looked like the best thing in the world. She wondered if she could convince Korina to make potato wedges with melted cheese.
Diya left the shop, biting into the sausage roll, juice dripping from her fingers. She thought about stopping in to see the widow Rualla and turned toward the village green. As she got closer, she could hear a commotion coming from outside of the tavern which was closed.
Four men were standing in a cluster with a fifth man seated on the steps of the tavern. That was the source of the commotion. The voice had a certain familiarity to it. Curious, she wandered closer.
Zaylin. Diya rolled her eyes and turned to leave, but it was not soon enough.
“Oh look! It's the uppity southern bitch.”
Diya turned back around, facing Zaylin. “Is something wrong?” she asked the obviously drunk man.
That got him to his feet, and his listeners muttered. “C'mon Zaylin, let's go grab some breakfast, okay?'
Zaylin shook an arm off, lurching down the steps towards Diya. “Uppity sprit got my little cousin in trouble, she
did! Benny bein such a good fella and didna deserve the trouble this one brought. Am I right?”
Diya hadn’t meant to get Ben into trouble and she didn’t think the boy was angry at her. Listening to Zaylin though, it sounded like Diya had gotten Ben whipped and fired.
Another one of the group eyed Diya, disapproval clear from his expression. Most likely, a twisted version of the story had gone around the village.
“I did not get Ben into trouble,” she said, getting angry. “If anything, it was you showing up at the house dead drunk and screaming that caused the problem.” Two of the men shifted where they stood, rethinking the situation now. From the looks of things, this was not unusual behaviour for Zaylin.
“No! Everthin was fine afore you showed up! All you uppity southerners, thinking you can treat us like doucha.”
He lunged toward Diya now, having worked himself up into a froth. Just then, a man rode up on a horse, coming between them. Diya jumped back, taking advantage of the distraction. She watched as the man, with the dark red hair that was so common here, climbed down from a flashy black horse that had four white stockinged legs. The man was equally well turned out, nothing fancy or flashy, but even with a quick glance, Diya could see the quality of material and attention to detail--double-stitched, polished boots, silver chasing and buckles.
“Come now, Zaylin.” the voice had an easy authority, and from the sound of things, this wasn't the first time they had had this conversation.
“It's na right! It's na fair! Sayin send soldiers, help us out, then tossen em out like garbage. Like we was nothin! Like we was worse n the beddo!”
Zaylin’s outburst was becoming a meltdown, shifting between anger and distress. The newcomer tossed his reins to one of the men and stepped into the fray, walking up to Zaylin and putting an arm around the man’s shoulders. “You’re right,” the man said. “It isn’t right. It isn’t fair.”
Zaylin nodded, pushing his hair back angrily.
“I’ve been out all day and haven’t eaten,” the stranger said. “What say you to a mug of ale and some hot stew?”