Washing Tar-Dek's rich, red robe was the worst part of being Apprenticed, particularly the Root Hairs. It was a chore to be loathed. Hegum plunged the reeking garment into the earth-stained water and scrubbed the robe against the barrel. His arms would be burned by the time the chore was done, but he didn't have the gloves that were supposed to offer protection. Well I do have them, Hegum reflected, they are just unavailable right now. Tar-Dek, in a moment of uncharacteristic uncharitably, took them away. Earlier, Hegum damaged one of them-only slightly-but it was enough to earn the Spinner's ire. "You won't wear them for a week while you clean my Robe. This will teach you to respect the material of your future profession." The line had been delivered simply and without anger.
Hegum felt grumpy about it. Like bitter flowers, the sores from washing the Robe glove-less would blossom open and sting for over a month. Still, Hegum knew he was lucky. Other Wheel Masters would have released their apprentices for lesser offenses. Tar-Dek was one of the more generous Spinners. This Hegum surmised from Tar-Dek's Wheel being attached to a tree in a part of the forest far away from the Maze Road, that meandering path that (usually) lead travelers safe through the Mist Wood. It was so far away knights and lovers and monsters rarely came for a spin of Tar-Dek's wheel. This was to be lamented, for Hegum knew Tar-Dek's wheel was one of the better ones. The roots of its tree ran deep, the farthest root tips kissing an underground sea, Tar-Dek claimed, water older than the world itself. Other Wheel Masters claimed trees closer to the Maze Road to attract more customers. "Those trees contain no real fortune," Tar-Dek often told Hegum. "They are too close to people. A good wheel is located far away from the events of man." Tar-Dek was kinder because money wasn't the thirst in his profession. He respected the art of his Spinning, but it also meant people rarely came.
And so it was. There hadn't been a visitor for over two months. The last had been a maiden desperate for love, an easy Spin, Tar-Dek almost let Hegum do it. The maiden had left satisfied, and Hegum hoped she would be able to find the Maze Road again. Some never made it back, he was sure. Hegum was also certain some intending to come to Tar-Dek's Wheel of Fortune probably never arrived, but suffered one of the many unpleasant ends lurking in the Mist Woods.
"Are you the Apprentice?"
Startled, Hegum looked up from his washing. A man on horseback stood in front of him. The horse shifted uneasily and had wild eyes. The man looked weary. Clearly, the Mist Wood had not been kind to them. Hegum removed his hands from the bucket and dried them on a rag. His hands stung in the cold wind. "Yes," he replied, "I will get my master. You would like Tar-Dek to spin the wheel for you?"
"Yes, boy. And no. No. Do not call him. But yes, I am looking for a wheel spin. I have learned Tar-Dek's is one of the finest."
"It is. It's the finest in the Mist Woods." Hegum said eagerly. Hegum was suddenly ashamed because he saw the man frown. The traveler recognized Hegum's accent. The accent always betrayed him. Tar-Dek was always trying to coach Hegum to speak without it.
"Escape from the Pits, boy?" the traveller asked unkindly.
"No, sir. I am the fourth generation. The Pits are not my home."
"But it was your father's home, and your father's father's home, and your father's father's father's home." The horse danced about in the autumn wind, unsettled. "And they are letting a Four become a Wheel Master? Come. What did your ancestor do?"
"Please," said Hegum, "Let me get Tar-Dek. He will spin for you."
The man spat. "I am tired. I am hungry. My horse is weary. I come for a Spin to change my Fate. I entrust myself to the fickleness of the Maze Road, I leave it for the dangers of the raw Mist Wood, I suffer, I fear, I weep, and I arrive to a Four doing laundry. Bah. This Wheel is not for me."
"The roots of our tree run deep," Hegum stammered. "I will get Tar-Dek."
"I see no need for that." said a voice.
The horse, the man, and Hegum turned. There stood Tar-Dek, so frail and withered without his robe. "I will spin for you, Traveler, as soon as my apprentice is done with my robe. Though it may be some time. It will need to dry by the fire before I can spin."
"Can it not be done sooner?"
"The robe is my protection, Traveler. It will need to be dry." Tar-Dek nodded towards Hegum. Hegum plunged his hands into the water and scrubbed the tingling fabric quickly.
"It will be done shortly," Hegum offered. "Please wait a while. I'm sure my master can make you comfortable."
The man calmed his dancing horse again. Animals were usually uneasy this far off the path in the Misty Wood. Of course, anxious animals often fed off the fear of anxious masters. The traveler frowned. "I have no trust in a Four being able to complete anything promised. But I shall wait." The man dismounted and walked towards Tar-Dek, who was smiling quietly. The old Wheel Master stretched out his hand.
"I will take your horse. Come. We will sit beside my fire and discuss what it is you wish my Spin to accomplish."
"It is much," the Traveler said gravely. "I am Or-Thet, coming far from the Blood Plains. I have much on my mind, and much I wish to discard."
"It shall be done, good traveler," Tar-Dek said gently guiding the horse. The too men slipped inside of Tar-Dek slanting hovel, half buried into a small earthen mound. Tar-Dek tied up the horse on a rotting stump near the door. He guided Or-Thet inside, nodded gently to Hegum, and shut the door.
The wind blew colder around Hegum's body. He scrubbed furiously. Most travelers were uncomfortable with a Fourth, but few voiced their displeasure. This Or-Thet had done so twice. It was true that most Fourths brought little. to offer civilized society. There was talk from the High Roads that the practice of releasing members of the Fourth generation from the Pits should stop, and they should consider punishing seed to the Fifth or even the Sixth generation from the offender. Hegum's great grandfather had been a horse thief, or so he was told. Accurate records were rarely kept in the pits. The sentence didn't particularly matter, anyway. Once inside the scatter towns inside the Pits, your brand was your contract. Trick, the horse thief, had been apprehended as a young father and was branded into the Pits with the number one in the Ancient Script. His son, a boy of seven, had been taken with him and given the brand of two. The next was branded at his birth with the number 3, and Hegum on his with the number 4, and was released at the start of his tenth year. Such was the punishing of families. Thirty two years had passed since Trick's arrest. Trick was till alive, living somewhere. And Hegum had been apprenticed to be a Wheel Master when the Elders came to the Pits looking for Fourth boys to hire.
The robe was completed now, and Hegum stirred the fire and hung the robe to dry. Autumn leaves stirred in the wind and clung to the trying robe. In the dying landscape of baring trees, the bright, red fabric offered the senses a shock of color. Hegum hastened as swept the area around the wheel with a half plucked broom. In time, Tar-Dek and Or-Thet emerged from the hovel, both of them looking somber.
"My apprentice," Tar-Dek said softly, "This Spinning is weighted indeed. It may take sometime. Is my robe prepared?"
"Yes, master." Hegum removed the robe from the tree branches over the fire. It was wonderfully dry. He handed it to Tar-Dek, who put it on solemnly.
"Where do I stand?" Or-Thet asked.
"You don't stand, you lay," Tar-Dek replied. He motioned to a wooden bench near the wheel. "Is the wheel-bed prepared?"
Damn. Hegum scrambled to the reclining bench and brushed the leaves off it's splintered surface. He entered the hovel and came back with a bright, white cloth to lay on top of it with a small pillow. Tar-Dek watched patiently.
"Ready," Hegum replied motioning to the table.
Or-Thet mumbled something under his breath about Fourths and climbed onto the wheel-bed. Tar-Tek instructed how the traveler was to lay with his head on the pillow and the Wheel near his head. Tar-Dek approached the wheel. "Is there anything else you wish for me to know before I spin?"
Or-Thet took a breath. "No."
"Very well." And Tar-Dek, from the safety of his robe, slowly began turning the wheel. The process could take hours, Hegum knew, sometimes even days. He watched as Or-Thet slowly fell asleep as the wheel performed its peculiar duties.
By morning, Or-Thet was gone, and Hegum was washing the robe once more.