Fitting In
Disclaimer: Emelan, Summersea, the Mire, Winding Circle, Lark, Rosethorn, Willowwater and Moosntream are all the property of Tamora Pierce. The plot and wording of this story are my own. Written for Seanfhocal Circle Challenge 7.
The circle's winding road was level, and well paved. Normally, Lark had no problems negotiating it. But today was different; a large, unsteady building in the Mire had collapsed in the recent earth-tremor, and the Water Temple had committed its healers to treating the thirty-odd injured. As a result, the loom-houses had to step up their work, weaving bandages. Lark, a new dedicate, had been charged with the delivery of the completed rolls of bandaging.
She'd been up and down that stretch of road all day. Now she faced it again, toting a large, ungainly wicker basket full of linen rolls. Half-way to the healers' wing, her pace began to slow dramatically. She could not keep up the diligent trot that the urgent voices of her supervisors conveyed. She slowed, and then her feet began to drag. No, she told herself, trying her best to ignore her ragged breathing, pounding head and stabs in the chest.
There was no helping it, though: Lark only just managed to scoot into a niche between two gardens and set her basket down before her breath gave entirely. Bracing her hands on her thighs, she abandoned all thoughts of bandages or healers and concentrated on getting enough air into her lungs. It was moments later that the worst possible thing happened -- she was seen.
The girl hesitated, unsure whether to fetch a healer, do something herself or just leave well enough alone. Finally she opted for a compromise of sorts: unhooking the bottle of cold water that hung at her waist, she pattered over to the older woman and offered it to her, murmuring, "Would you like me to call a healer?"
Lark looked up at the figure looming over her. Mutely she accepted the bottle, drank a bit gaspingly, then used it to order her breath. Her head cleared up a little, and she shook it swiftly: no healer. "I'll manage," she wheezed and went back to breathing into the bottle.
The girl looked doubtful. Well, why ask if you don't care for my opinion about my own health? Thought Lark crossly.
But the girl didn't go for a healer. Instead, she gathered her green habit, revealing pale, mud-coated calves, and sat down next to Lark. "I've seen you at temple gatherings," she remarked. Lark nodded; she'd seen the other girl, too.
"My name is Rosethorn," said the girl.
Lark loosened her grip on the bottle, her breathing still audible, but calmer. She hesitates, but answered, "Lark."
Rosethorn smiled crookedly. "You're new, aren't you?"
"I've only been a dedicate for a month," she confessed to the younger woman. The girl nodded sagely and Lark had to smile.
"Do you work here?" Lark asked, looking at the vines that surrounded a nearby garden.
Rosethorn shook her head, and her reddish brown hair caught the sunlight. "No, I was just helping Skyleaf and Anemone with their grapevines," she explained. "I have a garden down the road, a little past the Earth Temple. It's near where I live."
"Oh." Feeling the awkwardness grow, Lark was anxious to keep the conversation going. "How long have you been a dedicate?" she asked, genuinely interested.
"Four or so years," answered Rosethorn. Rose. Rosie. Inwardly, Lark shook her head in frustrated dismay. "But I've been at Winding Circle since I was sixteen. You work in the loom-houses?"
"Yes," confirmed Lark, pulling the abandoned wicker basket to her guiltily. "I should really get these bandages to Willowwater," she said, starting to get up. "They're needed."
Rosethorn, too, rose to her feet, hooked her water bottle back in place and offered Lark a warm hand. "I should also get back to work," she agreed.
"Come by the loom-houses sometime," offered Lark impulsively.
Rosethorn flashed a bright smile that warmed her brown eyes. "I'd love to," she said earnestly.
Lark reached the healers' wing a few moments later, walking in measured pace and whistling.
"You've no mind meddling in Earth Temple business, Moonstream," said Silklily, tight-lipped.
"I've a mind to give you a piece of, regarding Lark," replied Moonstream evenly. "Remember, she is my patient."
"You're not Dedicate Superior yet," cautioned Cypress.
"It's got nothing to do with that." The healer was unfazed. "What you're doing with Lark is bad, bad for her as well as for the temple. Lark is a very gifted mage. The fact that she hasn't been in Winding Circle long is no reason to give her more errand-running than weaving work." Her voice was very firm.
"What do you know about how the loom-houses are run?" demanded Cypress.
Moonstream's usually pleasant face snapped into a frown. "I know that all this running around you've had the girl doing is detrimental to her health," she said coolly, "and thread work sooths her soul."
"Oh, spare me that Water Temple nonsense!" Silklily half-spat.
Cypress laid a restraining hand on her shoulder, but his face was doubtful.
"Lark is not an ordinary dedicate," said Moonstream, her voice clipped. "Her past and her magic set her apart -- "
"Oh, come," Cypress cut in. "We have other ambient mages, here. Lark is not that unique."
"But the circumstances are!" insisted the healer. "She came here late, following a powerful physical and emotional trauma. Her life has changed drastically from everything she once knew. She needs time to cope with this change, to accept it and grow into it."
"She's been here for nearly three years," Cypress said reasonably. "How much more time would you have us give her?"
"As long as she needs," answered Moonstream, "or you risk losing a most powerful mage. Take this recent crisis in the Mire, for instance… "
"It's hard, but I can handle it." Lark was sitting in Moonstream's workroom, on a cushion on the floor, among the jars and vials of medicines and bundles if healing herbs.
"What about your roommates?" asked Moonstream.
"We…" Lark hesitated. "We get along alright."
"Before you came here, you lived alone, didn't you?"
Lark nodded, not wanting to call to mind the rats, and the beggars, and the smell of sewage.
"Hmm." She wrote something down.
"I met someone new," Lark said abruptly.
Moonstream smiled. "A dedicate?"
Lark nodded. "A plant mage."
"It's good that you're making new friends, even after having been with us for so long," remarked Moonstream. "Don't you think?"
"Yes," murmured Lark, her face obscure and distracted.
"Who is it?"
"Hmm?" The words startled the weaver from deep thoughts.
"Your new friend," reminded her Moonstream gently. "Who is it?"
"Oh," said Lark inanely, feeling quite embarrassed at having misplaced her attention span. "Ro -- Rosethorn."
Moonstream frowned slightly, not quite recognizing the name.
"She's… different… from other people I know." Lark's eyes were distant. Entertainers were usually laid-back, even-tempered folk, and she hadn't consorted much with her neighbors in Summersea.
Watching her charge's face as she spoke, and snapping to a realization of who Dedicate Rosethorn was, Moonstream came to a decision. By the time the session was over, she knew exactly what she thought should be done, and resolved unshakably to see it through.
Two weeks later, Lark was sweeping sawdust out of a hastily erected but sound wooden frame of a room. The framework shed had only one solid wood wall, with a door and a window in it. Opposite that wall were the wooden frames of two more windows, facing vegetable gardens, the Earth Temple and, beyond those, Winding Circle's curtain wall. The ceiling was water-sound oiled cloth, overlaid with charms to keep off pelting rain. Soon there would be walls, too, made of fine cotton, to let in as much air and light as possible. It would be the perfect workroom, when it was done.
Finishing her sweeping, Lark entered the cottage by way of the door from her shed. It led into the small bedroom that would be hers. The room was set up and ready with the few amenities she needed. A brief few years of poverty had broken her of her old habits of excess; cleanliness and health were the only luxurshe sought, now. Perhaps just one more, whispered a treacherous voice in her mind wickedly when her new roommate stuck her head in the door.
"I brought us lunch from the hub," said Rosethorn with a smile.
"I'll be there in just a moment," replied Lark.
Perhaps living across from this woman's bedroom was not the best thing, she thought. No matter how convenient it would be sleeping just meters from her favorite loom, she considered making her room up in the large, empty, unused attic. Then she shook her head at her own folly. She was a woman grown. She could control herself. There was no reason why Rosethorn should ever be troubled by a situation unwelcome to her. Feeling much encouraged she went to eat a very welcome meal.
When they'd finished eating and cleaning up, Moonstream showed up. Just to visit, she said. Lark showed her her bedroom and workroom, and Moostream seemed pleased. "I think you'll do well, here," she said with a smile.
Lark smiled back. "I do, to," she admitted. "I get along much better with Rosethorn than with my previous roommates."
The healer quirked an eyebrow. "I had thought you were holding back," she said reprovingly.
Lark shrugged. "I didn't want to make a fuss," she explained.
"Well, now you're here with me, and not with those silly fusspots up at the Temple," said Rosethorn, joining the two older women, "and everything will be fine."
Moonstream got up from the table, then. "Well, I'll leave you two to your work. I must say, it's good to see Discipline occupied again."
"Discipline?" asked the dedicates in unison.
"That's the name of this cottage," answered Moonstream with a smile. "This little old building has quite the history. Back when I was a novice, old Oakheart lived and worked here. They would bring him the troublesome youngsters, students and novices, so he could straighten them out and teach them something at the same time."
"Then are we expected to teach, now that we live here?" wondered Lark.
"I hope not," Rosethorn said, shuddering.
"Come to think of it, I do, too," Lark replied gravely. "You'd make a terrible teacher."
Rosethorn made a face at her, and Lark laughed. Dedicate Moonstream left them to it, quietly, returning to her other patients with the satisfaction of a job well done.