Title: aqua vitae
Summary: Daine is a wild-mage, a half-god living in the human realm. Everyone thought she was one of a kind, until Thom of Pirate's Swoop finds a girl one winter, something stranger even than Daine.
Notes: My first dabble in the Tamora Pierce fandom; I apologise if I've spelt something wrong or gotten my social classes muddled - the detail in the novels is astounding and it's entirely possible that I've missed something or contradicted something she wrote. For that, I apologise profusely and hope it doesn't bother you too much when you read ;)
---
One
The wind whipped around the mountains, screaming its fury and lashing out with icy fingers at anything not safely tucked out of its path. In a small cave tucked out of sight between two large boulders a knight, a squire and their two horses tried valiantly to get out of the wind. They shivered as a gust tumbled through the cave entrance and raced around their temporary shelter, the horses flicking their tails and shifting their weight anxiously.
A small fleck of white ice, carried by the wind, settled on the knight's right cheek. The knight raised a gloved hand to his skin and brushed the flake away.
"Sir?" Squire Leon of Jesslaw asked cautiously.
"Snow, Leon," the young knight said. "Winter is early this year."
"After too short a summer," Leon agreed.
The knight, Thom, rolled his shoulders and climbed easily to his feet. "I hate to ask this of you, Leon, but if we don't leave now the Northern Pass might close over, and as much as I imagine Lady Maura won't object to us wintering in Fief Dunlath…"
"Let me just clean the cups and we can leave, sir," Leon agreed.
Thom felt a thankful smile tug at his lips, and he nodded. "Thank you, Leon."
"You do not need to thank me, sir," Leon said as he carefully tucked the utensils back into their packs and led the two horses toward the cave entrance.
Flambo, Thom's mount, shook his head irritably when Thom mounted, snorting at the small flakes of snow clinging to his long eyelashes.
"Easy boy," Thom said calmly, stroking the horse's neck with his gloved hand. "You ready, Leon?"
"Ready, sir."
"Then let's go."
The horses, used to travelling in poor weather over uneven ground, picked their way carefully along the mountain track while delicate snowflakes whirled around them and the wind shrieked its delight with the foolish travellers.
Thom, flinching as the wind bit through his cloaks, pulled his leather jerkin around him tightly and dug his chin beneath his clothing so it was better protected against the cold. Beside him, Leon imitated his movements rather than teasing his knight master for his bitter dislike of the cold.
"We can stop at Imdram to rest the horses and warm ourselves for a while," Thom decided as the trail steepened and the horses slowed their pace.
"Hopefully the Great Road North is not the Great Mud North yet," Leon said hopefully.
Thom grinned despite the cold. "I doubt you'll be lucky, Leon. The snows here mean the winter rains have started falling. I imagine it's been raining for weeks already."
"You are a pessimist, sir," Leon accused as the wind lessened for a few minutes.
"No, I'm just a realist," Thom disagreed.
"Begging your pardon, sir, I don't believe there's a difference."
Thom chuckled at his squire, until the wind picked up again as though punishing them for enjoying their travel.
Several marks later the trail evened out and the wind settled down. Heavy grey clouds still hung low in the sky, threatening rain and allowing only a miserable watery sunlight to banish the darkness of the night. The horses' hooves clipped steadily on the narrow road, small clouds of dust puffing up where they walked.
"No mud!" Leon said gleefully after some time, breaking the silence between the riders.
Thom looked around thoughtfully, frowning. "No mud," he agreed.
"I told you that you were a pessimist. Sir."
"It appears as though it hasn't rained here for several weeks," Thom said.
Leon shrugged. "Dust is easier to work with than mud."
"Dust doesn't grow crops as well as watered soil," Thom returned calmly. "I didn't realise there was a drought."
"There can't be a drought," Leon said. "We would have been told if there was a drought."
Though the words Leon spoke were true, Thom looked around uneasily at the dryness of the landscape. "There hasn't been a drought in Tortall since the drought after King Jonathan took the throne."
"We can probably ask at Imdram," Leon pointed out as they reached the crest of a small hill and looked down over the small town.
Thom nodded agreement. "And while we're asking I'm going to have a long, hot wash."
"While we're asking?" Leon asked innocently.
Thom rolled his eyes. "I'm beginning to wonder why I agreed to take a squire, much more why I took you."
"But sir," Leon said blandly, "if you didn't have a squire to look after your mother would want you to have a wife to look after."
Thom glanced at his squire. "I'm beginning to think a wife would be less trouble than you."
Leon grinned. "Even Lady Elenine of Greenrise?"
Thom blanched, and then clutched at his saddlehorn when Flambo skipped sideways to avoid a small stone on the trail.
"Not a word, Squire," Thom threatened as he regained his seat righted himself in the saddle. "Not one blessed word."
"I wouldn't dream of it, sir."
---
The Golden Galleon was emptier than Thom had ever seen it on his journeys to the North and back. Finch, the keeper who had once given Thom and his siblings a delicately spun sugar creation as a treat when their mother wasn't looking, was cleaning tables when Thom and Leon entered the tavern.
"Well if it i'n't Sir Thom!" the man exclaimed after he looked up and saw the newcomers. "Bless m'soul, laddie, I havena seen ye since ye wen' away ter the City o' the Gods!"
Thom grinned at the old man. "That was less than two seasons ago, Master Finch."
Finch waved his hands as though it was nothing more than a technicality to be ignored. "Wha' can I get ye, laddie?"
"Some soup for myself and my squire would be appreciated, and if one of your boys would give our mounts a rub and a feed I'll pay him a copper."
The soup, when it came, was as thick and rich as Thom remembered Finch's soups being. The man himself continued his work while Thom and Leon ate, but once they'd finished he brought them some juice and settled himself at their table with a jug of mead. "Ye headin' home for the winter, lad?"
"Yes, sir," Thom nodded. "We received word from my mother that the Baron Myles of Olau has taken ill."
"Baron Myles, he's a fine man," Finch commented, taking a drink of his own mead. "Not many nobles as ye can say that of. Beggin' yer pardon o' course, laddie."
Thom looked around the empty tavern. "I don't remember you ever having this much time to natter, Master Finch."
Finch smiled crookedly. "There's been no rain, laddie, an' the farmers havena got two coppers to rub toge'er, much less wi' which to buy mead."
"So it is a drought then?"
Finch hesitated. "Only in Imdram, it appears."
Thom narrowed his eyes. "How do mean only in Imdram?"
"All o' the towns aroun' us are gettin' winter rains – have been for weeks. Imdram hasna had none."
"Is it natural?" Leon asked.
"If by natural, sir Squire, yeh mean nature mote it so, I don' think it be natural."
"Magic?"
"If it is, even the King's Mage couldna see the spells."
"What do you think it is?" Thom asked.
"Them immortals," Finch said firmly. "Things been goin' funny since they turned up. But Master Salmalin says it's not the way of immortals to control the weather."
"It's not," Thom said, eyeing the squat man once again taking a drink of his mead.
"Who's to say they canna?" Finch demanded, wiping his mouth.
"What are you scared to tell Master Salmalin, Finch?" Thomas asked dryly.
The man hesitated, his eyes flitting from Thom to Leon. "Ye were always sharper than most knew, laddie," Finch said finally.
"Well?"
"Master Glavestock went North to Scanra jus' afore ye went to the City o' the Gods," Finch said. "It hasna rained since he come back."
"Finch, I hardly think-"
"He brought summat wi' 'im. Summat what I don' know, but he's bin 'ere drinkin' my mead an' droppin' sly comments as what he knows summat 'bout the weather."
"And you didn't tell Master Salmalin this?"
Finch scowled. "Mages is all the same, laddie, they nivver listens to wha' ye tell 'em."
"I'm a Mage," Thom pointed out.
"But ye're also a knight, laddie, and ye're mother'd knock ye flat if ye didn' listen."
Thom grinned at the words, lifting his juice to his lips.
"I know, young Thom, I know Master Glavestock is doin' summat bad, and I know the King's people are busy with the immortals. I'm asking ye to look, is all, while ye horses rest."
Thom put his mug down and sighed, looking across at Leon. "Better get our cloaks and weapons."
Leon bobbed his head and disappeared out of the tavern.
"Thank ye, Thom, ye're a good lad."
Thom didn't bother telling Finch he wasn't a lad anymore; the man still called his mother a 'lass' and it was unlikely he was going to change.
---
The same heavy clouds which had been hanging in the sky all day were still rolling darkly through the sky. Thom studied them as he walked with Leon through the dusty streets of Imdram towards Master Glavestock's home.
"They look like they'll open up and rain down on everything any minute now," Leon commented.
A white crack of lightening danced through the clouds, followed by a ringing peal of thunder. The air crackled uneasily, causing Thom's hair to stand on end.
"I don't like the look of those clouds," Thom replied. "I can't detect any sign of magic at all, but something doesn't feel right."
"If Master Numair couldn't detect the spells there probably aren't any," Leon pointed out.
"Probably. It's also possible Numair was busy with something more interesting and didn't pay attention to Finch, or Numair decided Finch was just another drunk Taverner spinning a tale." And given the mage in question's ability to ignore things when he was busy with a spell or a research of his own, Thom didn't doubt the Mage hadn't paid attention to Finch.
Glavestock, Thom realised as they stopped in front of a small house, was a small time mage. The broken down appearance of the house and stillness of the yard suggested that the man hardly made ends meet, let alone lived off a profit. The few protective spells, and spells for prosperity which Thom detected with his own Gift were flimsy and almost pitiful; hardly enough power in them to qualify as spells.
"A mage lives here?" Leon questioned.
"Apparently," Thom said shortly, "let's see if he's home."
Glavestock wasn't home, but the front door opened easily enough with some magical encouragement.
"Sir," Leon said uneasily, "are you certain-"
"I remember there was a page who spent almost six weeks-"
"That was a dare!" Leon interrupted hotly.
Thom smiled in satisfaction. "Let's go look inside; we're not going to steal anything."
Inside was as shabby as out, Thom thought with distaste. It was dirty and dark, cramped with broken furniture and ratty linens. The mage's workroom was just as cluttered and dusty; Thom decided it was no wonder the mage accomplished nothing, as messy and disorganised as he was.
He had called Leon to leave, when something caught his eye.
"Well look here."
"A lock," Leon murmured when Thom pointed it out.
"What do you make of that, squire?"
"It's a very expensive lock, in a very broken house. Either our mage has something of great value…"
"Or?"
"He's hiding something."
"Excellent, Squire Leon. See, this is an educational experience after all."
"Am I going to learn how to pick locks too?" Leon questioned dryly.
"No," Thom smiled, "the lock is spelled. This is my work."
Thom's Gift, white and clear, burned brightly inside him. It was easy to take a small tendril and examine the lock, watching the spells flare under his power.
"Can you open it?"
The soft click of the lock opening was Thom's answer. "Basic lock spells," the knight said. "My Da had me fooling with those before I could reach the door knobs."
Leon grinned. "I should have known."
With the lock open, Leon and Thom could raise the small wooden door in the floor easily, propping it open a blunt knife Leon found on a nearby bench top.
"Keep watch," Thom ordered his squire.
Leon, too well trained to argue, nodded and stepped back, allowing Thom to carefully climb through the small opening onto the stairs. A second later a small globe of white fire formed in front of Thom who grinned and shrugged. "It's dark," he said, "I don't want to break my neck. Imagine explaining that to my mother."
With his globe of light in front of him, Tom moved slowly down the rickety stairs into the dark cellar below. The room was small, as though a hollow had simply been carved out of the house rather than built as part of the foundations. As though to confirm his architectural musings, Thom saw the floor was dirt rather than stone, and that there were very few supports.
Reaching the dirt floor, Thom looked around the room cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. There was a small pile of cloths – deerskins, Thom thought – lying in one corner, a broken crate, and a pail which Thom decided smelt very much like a bed pan. He was about to call up to Leon, when he heard a rustle of movement behind him. Thom turned around to investigate the sound, but before he could see or do anything something attacked him. It snarled and hissed, nails raking at his face and teeth biting his arms deeply as he tried to fend it off.
"Sir Thom?" Leon called down anxiously.
Thom grunted, managed to get his hand around the thing's mouth and pushed it away from himself. It was heavy and fought like a wild animal; its legs tangled with his and he fell over backwards, landing with a jolt on the hard-packed ground. Two heartbeats later he had rolled over and pinned the creature beneath his weight; it took a few more beats to escape its nail bearing limbs, and the sharp teeth.
"I'm okay, Leon," Thom called up breathlessly.
During his scuffle, he'd forgotten about his light and let it fade. Now he called it up again, bathing his captive with a soft white light. In the glow it struggled away from him, as though the light hurt it. Dirty fur, resembling a woman's white-blond hair was wrapped around the creature's face and upper limbs.
Thom frowned.
He pinned both its forelegs with one hand above the creatures head, and used his freehand to touch the fur. By the light of his Gift it appeared and felt like hair under the thick caking of mud and filth,. He pushed the fur out of the way, and gasped.
It wasn't fur, and his captive wasn't an animal.
"My Lady," he gasped, stunned, "I apologise, I did not realise…"
The woman he was pinning to the ground was pale under the dirt clinging to her skin and the rags of her clothing. "I'm going to get off you now, my Lady," he said gently, though she showed no signs of understanding him.
When he climbed off her, she lay on the ground, unmoving, watching him with eyes that were so pale they appeared colourless under his white Gift. He held out his hand to her to help her to her feet, but she didn't move, only watched him with her pale eyes. Her gaze was steady; he could not interpret it, but it made him uncomfortable so he cleared his throat and fluttered his fingers as though to convince her to grab his hand.
Slowly, warily, she sat up and raised a hand, not to grab his but as though she was reaching toward something. The globe of light, Thom realised, and slowly lowered it for her.
She brushed his Gift with her fingers, and he felt it in his soul as though someone had tightened something and tested it. His legs quivered and buckled beneath him, and he slid to a graceless heap on the floor. He briefly thought he was grateful that Leon was not visible to witness him collapsing like a weak-willed female. Thom tried to swallow but his mouth was strangely dry.
The girl – or was she a grown woman? – was still touching his globe of light. Slowly, watching her steadily, he reached out his own hand and let his fingers touch it too. She lowered her hand, and his Gift came back to him. He felt warm and full again, as though he was in control of his limbs once more.
"Sir, what's happening?"
"I'll be right there," Thom called, but his voice croaked in his throat and he felt like he'd just fought a great battle and lost. "My Lady?"
She didn't answer. "I am Sir Thom of Pirates Swoop, my Lady," he told her, studying her. "Who may you be? Or do you not speak?"
The girl didn't move or speak as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He held his hand out to her again. She paused for a moment, and then lifted her hand, resting her dirty fingers in his palm.
"It's okay," he told her quietly, closing his fingers around hers. "You're safe now."
As he helped her climb to her feet and led her up the stairs, he heard the thunder outside and the small house shook beneath the fury of the breaking storm.
"I told you it would rain- Oh, sir…" Leon stuttered, his jaw working but no sound coming out.
"Find us a cloak please, Leon," Thom said.
The girl clung to his hand, almost hiding herself behind his back as Leon tried to look at her. Thom felt a fierce surge of protectiveness, humbled that she appeared to trust him, and squeezed her hand lightly. This, he thought, is why he didn't mind being a knight some days. The gratitude and trust from people whom had he helped reminded him why it was worth killing men who threatened their safety.
"It's okay," he told her, as Leon rummaged through a closet for a cloak, "Leon is my squire. He won't hurt you either."
"Here," Leon said, bearing a dusty old cloak. "This is all I found."
Thom took it, trying not to sneeze, and offered it to the girl. "It's raining outside," he said gently, "you should put this on."
She stared at the cloak, not releasing Thom's hand nor moving toward the garment.
"Come on," Thom pressed. "You'll get cold, wet and sick if you don't wear it. I don't like the cold myself, Leon hates the wet and mud, and the gods know that it's not a good idea to get sick."
"Maybe she doesn't know how to put it on," Leon suggested.
Thom raised his eyebrows. "Leon, I sometimes wonder how you made it past the academic requirements of being a page."
Leon shrugged. "They liked my wholesome personality."
Rolling his eyes, Thom offered the cloak to the girl again.
She hissed at him, baring her teeth and shaking her head in refusal, just like a horse.
Leon raised his eyebrows. "Begging your pardon, Sir Knight, but I'll say it again – maybe she doesn't know how to put it on or what it's for."
Thom sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "I don't need this right now," he mumbled to himself. "I need to get to Corus."
"Let's take her to the local magistrate," Leon suggested calmly. "He'd know if there are any local girls missing, and where she'd belong."
"What if she's not a local girl?" Thom asked. "What if she's from Scanra? Mithros knows she looks as though she's from the North with her fair colouring."
Leon shrugged. "Maybe Master Finch knows, sir." The squire grinned. "After all, he's the one who suggest we come have a look here."
Thom offered the girl the cloak again; she refused to touch it. "Let's go back to the Golden Galleon," he decided, "and if Finch doesn't know who she is or where she's from, he'll probably know where I can find a horse and some supplies for her."
"We're taking her with us?" Leon asked, raising his eyebrows.
"We don't know who she is, Leon, and she doesn't seem to be talking. I'm not about to just abandon her with a local magistrate – Mithros knows where she'd end up, and I'd rather not have that logged against my name."
The girl's fingers tightened against his, and she stepped closer to him. Thom valiantly ignored the rich scent of filth hanging around her and let her stand close.
"Maybe Finch will have a bathing tub," Leon said mildly.
"Hopefully he has more than one," Thom muttered.
---
Master Finch did have several bathing tubs, knew where to find a good horse for sale, and where they could obtain several sets of clothing and necessities for a young woman. What Thom had not bargained on when deciding to take the young girl to the Golden Galleon, was Finch's reaction when he saw the girl.
"I'll not have her in my tavern!" Finch yelled, his face pale and lips tight – Thom wasn't sure if it was fear or anger.
"Master Finch!" Thom said sharply, frowning. Not normally one to place a lot of importance on station and the way in which different classes associated, Thom was not above arguing with commoners. He was, however, tired and ill at ease, worried about his Grandda and slightly uneasy around the girl. He did not need a commoner to argue with him, much less refuse his requests.
Finch's eyes flashed but he shut his mouth. "Begging yer pardon, sir, but I'll no have immortals in my tavern."
Thom's mouth dropped open. "A what!"
"Immortal," Finch said stubbornly. "That wench is immortal. Can ye not see it?"
If Thom were feeling like his normal self he probably would have laughed, or at least made a jest with Finch. As it was, his head hurt and he wanted nothing more than a hot bath before he mounted Flambo again and made for Corus.
"The young lady," Thom said sharply, "is no more immortal than you or I. She's human, Finch. I don't see silver claws or beaks or scales or anything unusual about her."
"She's immortal, laddie, ye mark my words. I can' tell, jus' like I see ye Gift in ye," Finch argued. "She controls the weather. She's wha' Glavestock brung back from Scanra. Look at her, Master Thom! You can' tell me she is a common wench."
No, Thom thought bleakly, she wasn't a common wench at all.
"Even if she were an immortal, Master Finch, she is here as my guest and I'd appreciate her being seen to as such."
The girl in question, bedraggled and streaked with mud from walking through the storm without a cloak, stood quietly next to Thom, her hand still holding his tightly and her face unchanging as the men argued. Whether she understood the spoken language or not, Thom couldn't tell; her face remained as impassive and expressionless as it was when he found her.
The only person that he knew who was almost as good at holding her emotions and thoughts in check, was Keladry of Mindelan who had grown up amongst Yamani. This girl, he thought bleakly, would make the Yamani seem outgoing and full of expression.
"She can use a tub in a backroom," Finch relented finally, his bearing stiff as he spoke.
"And an assistant?"
"Old Yenna will help," Finch said reluctantly. "Yenna'll clothe 'er too."
"Thank you," Thom said.
Finch's lips were tightly pressed together when he nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Ye tubs're in the bathin' rooms. Water shoul' astill be hot."
---
Thom and his squire were ready to leave the Golden Galleon less than a candlemark later. Clean, warm and dry, Thom felt more relaxed than he had since he'd first received his mother's summons to return to Corus. In the stable, he ran his hands over the pretty little mare Leon had acquired on his behalf for his mysterious damsel in distress. As he checked the bay's legs and teeth, his thoughts turned to the girl.
The scowl settled on his face without him realising it, as he remembered the fuss the girl had made when he'd pried her hand from his. She'd hissed and scrabbled and raked his skin with her ragged nails as she fought to keep hold of him; that behaviour alone had almost convinced him Finch was right – normal girls didn't hiss and scratch people. However, he mused, she must have been through a lot, so it was excusable.
What exactly was it that she had been through, he wondered? Who was she, where was she from, and what on earth had she been doing in Glavestock's cellar? His mouth tightened – he'd informed the magistrate about Glavestock, but the errant mage was not to be found anywhere in Imdram – Thom hoped to Mithros the mage would return before long, because if he didn't and Thom hadn't found the girl, doubtless she would have starved to death.
"I thought she was a good mare," Leon commented.
"She's fine," Thom answered. "Nice lines, sweet temperament – I'm surprised you found one like this here."
"You were glaring so fiercely I thought I'd made a mistake," Leon confessed easily, leaning on the stall door.
"I was considering what would have happened to the girl if we hadn't found her," Thom admitted.
"We did find her though," Leon pointed out. "Old Yenna says she's almost ready."
"Good," Thom said abruptly. "We've wasted enough time. Let's saddle the horses so we can leave as soon as she's done. And we need to name the mare," he added, patting the animals rump gently.
"I'd be more concerned about the girl's name," Leon pointed out, but went to get the saddles as instructed.
Not long after, Thom heard movement at the stable door. The old woman Yenna was there, along with a girl he almost didn't recognise.
"Mithros," he whispered, drawing the Sign on his chest.
She was younger than he'd thought. Much younger. He'd thought her around twenty, perhaps even as much twenty two. Clean and clothed, however, she looked even younger than Leon's sixteen years. The white-blond hair, which he'd initially mistaken for fur, fell straight past her shoulders to almost halfway down her back. Her skin, cleaned of mud and filth, was as pale as a Yamani's face covered with rice powder. Even her eyes were pale, almost colourless.
"She's ready to go, Sir Thom," Yenna said simply. "An' old Finch is right – she's immortal."
And now, Thom sighed, he'd have to agree with Finch. Free of filth, Thom could see the pale hair had a strange blue sheen to it, which reminded him of the time his sister Aly had dyed her hair blue, much to his mother's disgust. The girl's skin, if he stared at it closely, looked as though it too might have hints of blue in it.
An immortal. How did he end up with an immortal child to look after? Things like this weren't supposed to happen to him – they happened to his mother, Daine, Sir Keladry and even Aly. They didn't happen to him.
"Unless you're really looking at her," Leon said eventually, "you probably wouldn't notice the blue. It's really only a very small hint."
Thom privately agreed, but he also thought that given how pretty the immortal was, most people probably would look at her.
He sighed. "Immortal or not, we can't just leave her."
"Can she ride?" Leon asked.
Thom shrugged. "She'll learn."
It was still raining by the time the girl was mounted on her mare. Thom thought longingly of his rooms in the City of the Gods, and how warm they'd be with the fire burning merrily in his hearth. He thought of Pirates Swoop and how it didn't snow there, even in the winter. He even thought of the Great Southern Desert, and wondered if it was at all possible that he couldn't just keep out of the rain and stay warm.
He hated the cold, and riding in a rainstorm was cold, wet and muddy. He sighed, and mounted his horse under the shelter of a canvas cover. Turning Flambo's head toward the road, he made sure he had hold of the lead rope to guide the immortal's horse, and gently nudged his gelding forward. He checked to make sure the mare followed and that the immortal was still seated on her, and then settled himself in his saddle for a long, miserable ride.
The rain was cold and wet, and even though his oilskin protected him for the time being, Thom had ridden in the rain enough times to know it was only a matter of time before the water found ways under his robe.
---
Any and all comments would be much appreciated; as I said, this is my first Tortall fic, and I would love some constructive criticism.
Cheers,
Sil