NB: I don't own 'em…I do, however, own Niec, he's all mine and you can't have him copy-writers!!
Chapter 2 – Closer Than You Think
If Niec of Til Amon wasn't a Bard, the people of Til Amon had decided, then he was very nearly one. He was a carpenter, born of a simple family with too many children and not enough money. He had shown his remarkable talent for carpentry at an early age and had been apprenticed to the best carpenter in Til Amon to the enormous cost of his parents, which he was now paying back to them. He had soon bested his teacher, and within ten years had his own workshop and reputation to uphold. At the age of only twenty-five he was reputed as the best in Til Amon.
But despite this fame, Niec was the most modest man in the city, and, everyone agreed, the nicest. He was one of those rare people who was unknowingly generous, who gave without noting how selfless he was. He was shamelessly interested in everyone and everything – he cared, he simply cared, without any ulterior motives. He treated everyone he met with the same compassion and brightness, and he never stereotyped – which is something that almost everyone does, whether they realise it or not. He reminded all he met of sunbeams and summer days. Everyone loved him because he was so good and hated him for exactly the same thing – he showed them the weaknesses in themselves without meaning to, by being just who he was. All of Til Amon both violently worshipped and violently hated him. And he just spent his days in his workshop in the Ninth Circle, carving out doors, window frames, chairs, tables – the list was endless – utterly unaware just how good a person he was.
Maerad had met him at a Meet, to which he had been invited by the First Bard Élan, thanks to some first class work he had done for him earlier that week. They were introduced to each other by Soron, and got on immediately – Maerad liked him because he treated her as a person, not as the One or some symbol of hope, and he liked her because he liked everyone. Eventually, when she showed an interest in his work, he invited her to visit the workshop, and it was this invitation that she was taking him up on now.
The Ninth Circle of Til Amon was the outmost circle of the city, where mostly workmen like Niec and traders lived, so as to have easy access to the gates of the city, where they sold their wares and bought materials to and from other towns or Schools. Each Circle was separated by a low wall, but only the first four were guarded and Maerad passed through them with no trouble. There were two main roads in the Ninth Circle, and a main square just near the gates where Niec's workshop was situated. It was a small stone house, with his workshop on the ground floor open to the outside and his living quarters upstairs. He had two huge wooden doors that he locked across his workshop at night, but threw open in the morning so that anyone could stroll in for a visit whilst he was working. They were open now, and Maerad could see and hear him sawing at a large plank as soon as she entered the square. She called his name and he looked up and waved brightly. He was quite a handsome man, with gold-bronze hair that flopped elegantly over his eyes and a smile that could light up everything close to him. He wore his usual brown tunic and slacks with an apron over them, and had gentle hands, if large and calloused from his work.
"Mistress Maerad!" he chirruped at her in his voice like molten gold as she got nearer. "A nice surprise!"
His infectious cheeriness filled Maerad, and she smiled back.
"I've been released from my hard labour for the morning," she said. "So I thought I would take you up on that offer of a look around."
"Fantastic!" It was his Word of the Week, as he called it, and he would use it constantly until either everyone got annoyed with him or he got bored of it and moved onto another word. He put his saw down, wiped his sawdust-covered hands on his apron and beckoned her into the workshop. Maerad entered, looking around with interest. The bright white winter sunlight illuminated the workshop, adding a silvery sheen to the different shades of smoothed wood and making Niec's tools glimmer brightly.
Everything that Niec made was beautiful, whether it was a bowl for the First Bard or a high chair for a peasant child. All had purity of line and delicate designs, all was at the height of perfection. It was that which made the neighbours all wonder if Niec was some kind of Bard after all – to be able to create such beauty meant he had to have a bit of magic inside him somewhere. Perhaps he was a Bard of carpentry…
Maerad's eye quickly fell on a door made of a dark wood that she did not know the name of and covered with creative and fanciful carvings – creatures with mismatched heads, people clothed in fire or ice, roses and lilies and oak trees with roots where branches should be and branches were roots should be…She walked to the door, running her fingers distractedly over the designs, feeling the smoothness of the wood under her touch.
"What wood is this?" she asked.
"Ripewood," Niec informed her brightly, polishing one of his saws and sitting himself on the workbench. "My favourite wood to work with. Rare, but a beautiful shade, soft and pliable, yet strong in its core. You can almost hear it singing when you sculpt it."
"They are lovely designs," Maerad said musingly.
"I made the door for a writer Bard in the Second Circle. He leant me some of his books so that I could incorporate some of his characters into the wood. They are fantastic creations, you should read his works."
He finished polishing the saw and laid it aside, jumping off the bench and stretching.
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving! Fancy some early lunch?"
Maerad turned from the door, smiling, her mouth open to answer – and then a petrified scream rent the air, cutting any reply dead in her throat.
Maerad Niec both jumped and wheeled around to the square outside where the scream had originated from. Maerad could see a woman kneeling in the centre of the square, under a tall, silver-barked tree, her auburn locks tangled and tightly gripped with harsh, white hands, her mouth twisted in pain, her voice wailing out around the square.
"Mihella," Niec murmured, and then was rushing out to the square and the despairing woman, Maerad on his heels. Once he reached the woman, he dropped to his own knees and took her bunched fists in his large, gentle hands.
"Mihella," he repeated softly. Obviously this was the woman's name. "Mihella, what has happened?"
His calm, quiet voice seemed to dispel her franticness and she blinked up at him, her fists loosening slightly.
"Oh Niec," she murmured. "'Tis awful." She screwed up her face like a child and let out a little whimper, but seemed unable to scream anymore. Maerad glanced around to see more than a few people running towards them, and others watching out of open windows with round, concerned eyes. She looked back to see that the woman was now weeping silently, and Niec was steadily wiping her tears away with his large fingers as they slid down her cheeks.
"Mihella, please tell me," he said, keeping his tone gentle. "I must know. What has happened?"
"It's Leela," she whispered, her voice hoarse, her eyes downcast.
"Your daughter," Niec said, which she confirmed with a nod. He really did know everyone, Maerad thought in wonder. Mihella hesitated a little, then murmured,
"She has the Sickness."
The group of people who had gathered around let out sharp cries or mumbles of consternation, and Niec's face went white. Maerad felt a sudden unease swamp her previous happiness with hardly any effort, like a wave swamps a rowing boat in a storm.
"Do you mean," she said, her voice a little shaky, "The White Sickness?"
Mihella nodded again, her face once more crumpling like soft sand down a steep bank. The crowd murmured again, some stepping a little away from the weeping woman as if it was she who had the illness.
"Are you sure?" Niec asked, his voice a little sharper. Mihella sniffed.
"Yes, Niec," she whispered. "Her eyes are – are so white." Her voice shook. "And such a fever, Niec, like you've never seen. 'Tis the White Sickness all right."
"Have you called for a Healer?" Maerad asked, and was shot a look of utter sarcasm.
"As soon as her eyes went silver," Mihella snapped. "An' the healer said he wasn't sure, that I shouldn't say nothing unless it wasn't the Sickness – didn't want to get people worried over nothing, y'know. But the fever got worse and today he confirmed it and Niec – " She stared wide-eyed at Niec, her hands clutching his shoulders tightly. "They're putting the Ninth Circle under quarantine," she said.
The crowd burst out into cries of alarm and fear – Maerad's safety, her security, her feeling of protection, it all trickled as easily as water instantly from her mind. She felt a familiar heaviness settle there instead.
"Are you sure?" mumbled Niec, his face pale with strain. Mihella nodded nervously.
"They're sending soldiers right now."
Panic rippled through the crowd, snagging and catching at Maerad's nerves, and whirling them into a spiral of tempestuous, dark fear. She couldn't be quarantined here – she couldn't stay here – she was the One – she had things to do –
"But I don't understand," she said, trying to keep the worry from sounding in her voice. "The only episodes have been in villages leagues from here."
Mihella gave her another sharp glance with haunted eyes.
"Obviously," she said coldly. "It's closer than you think."
Maerad eyed her, unnerved, and Niec looked quickly at her and stood up.
"You should go," he said hastily. "You can't be trapped here – "
"Too late," wailed a person in the crowd, and Mihella pointed with a trembling finger just behind them. Maerad and Niec turned as one to see a phalanx of soldiers and Bards marching towards them, faces intent.
"Closer than you think," Maerad half-whispered to herself.
Niec took her hand.
End of chapter 2! Did you like it? Please review! I want to know what you think of Niec and Mihella, and whether their characters are believable and likeable (esp. Niec, since he plays a big part in the future) Anywho…please review and I'll have chapter 3 up soon!