Disclaimer: still working on that World domination. Anyhoo I'm not selling this so I don't see why anyone should be bothered that the old characters etc belong to Tamora Pierce and the dancing is borrowed from David Edding's Nadraks.
Hey to:
Sorceress shadowrain: Glad you liked it!
Zerrin of the wind: Here it is! Next update! Glad you liked it!
NativeWildMage: Hey girl! I am very proud of my OR ELSE thing! Glad you liked it (I seem to be saying that a lot!)! By the way, I have volume TWO of the Evil Plots and Tortures books, so there (pokes out tongue)!
Tessadragon: She is, ent she! That's what I love about Rosethorn! Here it is, don't hurt me! Lol!
Okay, just so you know, girls are in the pretty italics, and boys are in the plain. The letter at the top tells you who talking/thinking/listening (B is for Briar, R for Rosethorn etc.).
Also in some of the names the ch is pronounced at the back of the throat, like when you're trying to clear it (yes Yaely, I am learning Hebrew now!)
Two
"A Mage?"
S
I wake. It is still dark, but there is much to do on the farm, and I am the one to do it. Father tries to tell me to stop, to make my own way in the world, to let him work the farm. As if I'd let him. He is too old, and he has a problem with his heart. Even now I can hear its unsteady beating, as he snores loudly in his rickety old bed next to me. I get up and bundle my blankets in the corner. Father tries to make me sleep in the bed, but I can be very persuasive when I want to be. It is an art to get someone to do what you want them to without much fuss. It is an art I must constantly practise on Father. He cares about me more than is good for him.
I swiftly dress, this time in simple working smock and plain cotton skirt, for it is Moonsday, and a day for hard work. I softly leave our tumble down home, and head across to the small old barn in the bottom of our field to do the milking. I take out our skinny, old cow, Violet, set up my milking stool, and pull gently but firmly on her udders. A thin trickle of milk flows into the bucket. I sigh. Violet is drying up. I squeeze what milk I can out of my placid childhood friend, then return her to her stall.
I put away the milking stool, and pick up our rusty, iron hoe. I go out into the field and pull weeds fiercely from the earth. I hate this work, but it must be done, or we will not eat come winter. I hack viciously at the weeds, as the sky turns from inky black to a deep shade of indigo. I cease my work. I always stop for dawn. It is the most beautiful time of day. Its only rival is the sunset. The horizon slowly becomes a pale shade of violet. The sunrise sings to me. Its song is a dusty melody, a soft concerto, a hundred cellos, and a thousand flutes. Its pale pink is like the sound of a harp, gracefully picking out its notes, while the dusty azure is the sound of a single flute. Its song cascades around me. I never tire of the sunrise. Its beauty is always similar, yet always different. Changing, yet continuous. I love the dawn.
I stand looking to the East until the sky is its usual pale blue dotted with clouds, then I sigh and return to my work. I daydream as I work. I always do. It is a habit of mine, along with absentmindedly breaking into song. Coupled these two can have very embarrassing results. I once started humming a happy jig as I thought about my birthday, which was the next day. Unfortunately I started my tune just as a funeral procession plodded past us. If looks could kill, I'd be a lot deader than the bloke they were burying.
My mind wanders. I think about the day I will become a professional singer. Or composer. Or musician.or…NO! I sharply reprimand myself. I have to look after Father! Still, I know, in my heart of hearts, that one day…
I give myself a shake. Honestly Shadi! That won't happen for a long time yet, so don't depress yourself for no reason! I return my attention to the weeds, but it is not long before my shifty mind slips away again…
I think of that youth in the market. The one with the green eyes. He looked so nice…
I give myself another shake. It's not like you'll ever see him again anyway. He's obviously a tourist. No one here has green eyes. I sigh, and return to my work. I hear the door slam open, and turn to see my Father march unsteadily out of the house.
"SHADIYAH ZILLAH MARTICHA!" He calls to me, his curly grey beard bristling in exasperation, his bald brow wrinkled in frustration. He stomps carefully towards me. "HOW many times must I tell you to wake me up at dawn! I ent goin' to let you do all the Niva cursed workin' on this 'ere farm!"
"Oh yes you will father! You are not fit to work and you know it! If you come out here and start hoeing, and ploughing under that blazing hot sun, you're going to have a heart attack, and then where would I be? I'd have no father!" he looks at me helplessly, wanting to argue but not knowing what to say. His bald forehead wrinkles in frustration as he tries to find some way to counter my attack. His expression changes suddenly. His wise black eyes grow shrewd.
"All right Shadi, if ye want to work, I'll go to the farmer's conference at noon." I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up his hand" Don' try to tell me I'm not fit to go, a'cause it was yer idea that you do the farm work, and someone 'as to go see what this commotion's all about." He smirks, thinking he has me caught.
"I wasn't going to argue, Father. I just wanted to say that you'd better hurry up. It's been five hours since dawn."
"WHAT!" he races back inside the shack surprisingly fast for a weathered old man of 50 (okay, no offence to all youse wot have 50 year old dads and mums, but for THEM it's old, and he's been working all his life). He emerges shortly afterward with a clean smock on and the crooked cane he uses to walk long distances. I watch him go, wondering what the conference is about, then I sigh, shake my head, and return to my work. I still have another 180 square meters of ground to deweed. Oh joy…
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B
I watch as the small hall slowly fills up with farmers, some old and wizened, others young and fit, some dressed in rich silk finery, others in their best cotton smocks, some tall, some short. All puzzled. Eventually the flow of these brown men of the East slows, and then stops. Rosethorn waits a few moments, then rises to address the crowd.
"Farmers of Girchat," she begins, surveying them with her powerful gaze. They fall quiet at once, hushing each other. So they do have sense! "I am dedicate Rosethorn of the Winding Circle Temple in Emelan, and this is my student, Briar Moss. We are plant mages."
She pauses, letting that sink in. The farmers nod to each other, murmering indistinctly. Now they understand. Their reactions are interesting to watch. Some look happy and pompous, while some just shake their heads and sigh, or frown in thought.
Rosethorn continues, "We have come to help you with your crops, those of you who wish it. if you come here we will sign you to our lists, one for my student and one for me, and we will work our way your farms two by two." She raises her eyebrows "Any questions?"
There is silence for a few minutes, then---"'Ow much'll it cost?" asks a bald old farmer with a curly beard. He has said the question which had been on everybody's mind, and everyone looks intently at my teacher.
"We will charge only what can be given. We will help your crops, and then judge our price on what you can afford." There is a general murmmer of assent, and the farmers begin to move toward us. Not surprisingly, most of the farmers head for Rosethorn. The old man who had asked about the price, however comes towards me. He grins cheerfully at me, exposing approximately five teeth.
"Reckon I'll sign up with ye, lad. Don' reckon we'll ever get our farm looked at if'n I don'!"
I grin back at him. "Good choice! I'll probably do your farm today, since you're the first on me list. Just put your name and where your farm is, and then you can go."
He fills in my form, but doesn't leave. "Reckon I'll wait for ye. Me daughter worries 'bout me too much, so mebbe she won't scold s'bad if'n I got company!" He grins broardly at me again, then goes to stand over by the door.
Rosethorn has run out of room on her list. "So sorry gentlemen, but you'll have to sign up with Briar." There is a hint of steel in her voice, and even these burly giants know much better than to argue with her. Silently they file over to me. Rosethoen watches them for a second, an amused smile hovering arund her lips. I sigh. Someday I'll have to get her to teach me that trick.
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A WEE BIT LATER
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B
The friendly old farmer's name is Telleran. He loves farming, cider, his late wife, Marti (the most beautiful, kind, loving, intelligent woman in all the world), and his seventeen year old daughter, Shadiyah (the second most beautiful, kind, loving, intelligent woman in all the world). He hates "dang rabbits wot eat everythin' ", Taxes, winter, and "darn swindlin' merchant middlemen". Now we are chatting about the crops he has.
"We don't grow much. We can't, not with the amount of space we've got. We got's a bitta corn. It gets us bread, though I don't know wot ah'd do witout my smart li'l cha." He'd named the Casserian word for daughter. They use it in their last names. A girl is named for her mother with cha at the end, and a boy for his father, with the word choll. I wonder what the talented dancer's name was. I can't get her out of my head…
Teleran is speaking again. "…and she's dang good at it too. She does singin' an' storytellin' as well, and she's real professional. She kin wrap 'em roun 'er finger." He shake his head, grinning hugely. " She kin also…oh look, ere we is." We have arrived at the farm. In the field a young woman works with her back to us, hoeing. She has brown skin, and her long chestnut hair is in a thick plait which reaches down to her thighs. She is slim, but not skinny, with subtle curves, and an unconscious grace, even when she's weeding.
"WHO'S THAT YOU GOT WITH YOU?" She yells without turning around. I jump. I didn't think she could hear us, we're so far away. As she turns and comes nearer, suddenly see a faint flicker round her ears. MAGIC! Then I notice something even more startling, and choke back a cry of surprise. She has black eyes, long lashes, bushy eyebrows, thick, red lips, an ordinary nose and a roundish face. I know that face. It is her.
She shows no sign that she recognizes me, but her eyes brighten slightly. She knows. Oh help.
"This 'ere be Briar Moss. 'e's a plant mage wot's come to 'elp us wi'th crops."
"A mage?" she asks looking calmly, yet speculatively at me. Oh helphelphelp. What do I do now? She's pretending she don't know you, so pretend you don't know her. This seems sensible.
Why didn't I think of that?
I did.
Oh yeah…that was me, wasn't it?
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S
He knows who I am. Good. There is something strange about him. A strange music is coming from him that makes me want to itch. It is a tingling, tinkling sort of noise, like a small, silver bell. I have never heard this before.
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SOMETIME LATER
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B
I have seen to the crops. We are sitting in their their small hut. Shadiyah has not taken her eyes off me all the while I was working. She is starting to make me nervous. Telleran seems nervous too, but I think it is for a different reason.
"You wanna drink?"
I shake my head. He nods absently. He sighs, and leans forward slightly.
"Oright……...'ow much?"
"Three copper dirjav." It is a very small amount, but father and daughter look at each other, troubled. Telleran sighs, nods, stands, and retrieves a rough earthenware vase, with daisies painted on it. The daisies look as though they were painted by a very small hand. He up-ends the vase onto the rough wooden table. Five small copper coins fall out. He sighs again, and slowly pushes three of the coins towards me. Suddenly Shadiyah puts he hand on to of his, stopping him.
She looks at me, her fierce, dark eyes stubborn. "You owe me, mage." I can see silver flicking out as she speaks. So you have sound magic! I think excitedly.
She looks at me, startled. And you can hear my thoughts! I realise, amazed. She is staring at me openly now, her self control thrown out the window. I decide to test her. If you can hear this, raise your eyebrows, and then I'll scratch my nose. I think at her.
No sign……………………………………………………………oh well, maybe I was wro--HA! Her eyebrows are higher than I've ever seen anyone's go, including Rosethorn and that's no mean feat! She can hear me! I quickly scratch my nose, to show her that she isn't going mad, then push the copper back to Telleran.
"She's right, I do owe her. Here. Free of charge." I look at Shadiyah. Her eyes are wide. "By th'way, if you wants to find me, I'se stayin' at th'Disporn in th'city." My grammar always slips when I'm nervous or excited.
She nods. Her father looks at her, startled. Maybe he expected her to argue or something.
"Bye"
"G'bye, lad, an' thankee kindly."
"Goodbye, Mage."
I grin at her, and leave.
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S
A MAGE! I AM A MAGE!
I lie on the floor, under my blankets. It is late, but I cannot sleep. My mind is buzzing. Eventually I sigh. There is nothing to be done now. Next market day I will go to see this Briar. The kind young man with the green eyes.
So wadaya think? Review or the next chapter will be an exerpt from "Ode To A Small Lump Of Green Putty I Found In My Armpit One Midsummer Morning"!
I'd appreciate it if any of youse wot know the days of the week/months of the year in that universe would tell me.
I am apologising in advance, because it will probably be a while before I can get the next chappie out coz I'm going to some internet-free islands in Thailand. So by for now from Yazzi!