Guild Mage: Apprentice

Warning: This Chapter touches on some of the realities of female adolescence. There’s nothing graphic or sexual, but I thought people should have a heads up.

Liv felt stupid, standing by the funeral pyre, lined up with all the others. Master Cushing had been looking older and more fragile for years now, but it had still taken her utterly by surprise when he’d died in the night. The old chirurgeon was supposed to keep everyone else healthy: how could he be the one to go away first?

Baron Henry was the only one seated: two of the castle guards had carried him over and set their lord in a chair before the funeral began. Lady Julianne stood at his left, and Matthew at his right. Matthew, Liv noticed, was nearly as tall as his mother, now. Master Grenfell stood with the family. Liv, on the other hand, had chosen to stand with her mother and Gretta.

Osric Fletcher, the priest of the Trinity, rarely had cause to visit Castle Whitehill; normally, Baron Henry or Lady Julianne led the family and the servants in their prayers. For a death, however, only a priest would do.

All morning, the men of the castle - a group which for the first time admitted Matthew to their work - had built the pyre. They kept plenty of dried firewood on hand in the wood-cellar, and they’d formed a line to pass it up and out into the courtyard. The footmen, the castle guards, and even Master Grenfell had all got their hands dirty.

The women, in the meanwhile, had gathered herbs and flowers. "One thing no one likes to talk about," Gretta had told Liv, quietly. "The smell. A human body burning smells foul. Go get more of the dried sage." Once the men had built a frame of carefully laid wood, Liv helped stuff it with sage, lavender, rosemary, rose petals, and chamomile. Archie poured a liberal helping of lamp oil over the whole thing.

"The last thing anyone wants is to struggle to light it," the first footman had told her, when he’d noticed Liv watching. "Remember this when it comes to be my turn. Get it done quick and proper, no mistakes." Liv had nodded, and walked back to the kitchen with him.

"-for what is death, but another change?" Osric Fletcher asked the assembled, rousing Liv from her muddled thoughts. "After a life wracked by storms, a life of striving to live up to our potential, Sitia welcomes us into her arms. Like any other change, death is frightening - but it comes to all of us. Remember, the Lady lends us strength. You who remain, send this man on his way with your love, and take comfort in each other. Aldo Cushing, we give your body to the fire, so that your mortal blood may not feed the wicked. May your soul be free at last."

When the priest stepped back, Kazimir Grenfell stepped forward. The mage knelt by the side of the pyre, extended his hand, and invoked the word of his family. Liv only rarely witnessed her teacher using Æter, the word of fire, but today it lit the dry wood and lamp oil immediately. Grenfell stood, bowed his head for a moment, and then backed away.

Liv couldn’t pull her eyes from Master Cushing’s familiar profile, even as his features were picked out in silhouette against the rising flames. White spirals of smoke drifted up from the pyre: the sage had caught. "He’s the first person I’ve ever known who died," Liv said, and her mother pulled her into a hug.

"He was a good man," Mama said, brushing at her eyes with her other hand. "Despite all his moaning and complaining, he was always there to help anyone who needed it."

"Before his hip got so bad," Liv recalled, "he always used to take me into town. He had me practice on everyone’s cuts and bruises."

"And he was handsome when he was younger," Gretta said. "I remember the first day he came to the castle. Had all us girls giggling over him."

Something sharp stabbed at Liv’s heart. She would have rather not thought about the fact that Gretta and Master Cushing were near the same age. And Archibald wasn’t much younger.

The priest joined them in the great hall, after the pyre had burned low, for the funeral feast. That was tradition, too: it would have been ungrateful to send him on his way without thanking the man with a meal. Before dessert was served, Lady Julianne rose from her seat.

"It will take at least a ten-day for the Order of Chirurgeons to send us a Court Chirurgeon," she said, raising her voice to address the entire assembly. "In Master Cushing’s absence, I have asked Rhea, the midwife, to come up from Fairford and stay at the castle. She will be here to treat anyone who needs it until a chirurgeon arrives."

Liv frowned at the thought of someone replacing Master Cushing. He wasn’t an old shield or a chipped plate, to be discarded and never thought of again. At least the midwife was someone she’d met before, though it had been a dozen years since the eruption. The footmen came out with the dessert platters, pulling her out of her thoughts.

☙

It was on the third night after the funeral that Liv woke up to a sore belly. She winced, curling around herself, and tried to go back to sleep. When that didn’t seem like it was going to work, she groped across her bedside table for the candle she kept there.

"Ghelet Legaem," Liv murmured, and the wick caught, casting a warm glow around her bedchamber. If she wasn’t going to be able to sleep, perhaps she could get some spellwork done. She kicked her blankets aside and walked over to her desk, where she lit the oil lamp with the candle. The sudden light pushed back the darkness of night, and Liv saw that her shift was stained with something dark, halfway between red and brown. She looked back to her bed, and saw a spot of darkness in the sheets, as well.

"Blood and shadows," Liv cursed. Mama had warned her about this, and Emma had told her more. It was one more thing to worry about. She would have preferred it didn’t come in the middle of the night, while she was asleep, however. It was obvious no work was going to be done, now. Liv walked back over to the bed and pulled the rope, which would ring a bell down in the kitchen. She would have just gotten a washbowl and hot water herself, but she didn’t want to creep around in the middle of the night in a stained shift. It seemed safer to stay in her room, even if that did mean disturbing someone else’s sleep.

By the time Joan had brought her hot water, rags to scrub with, and soap, Liv had bundled up the ruined sheets and stripped the mattress. There was a smell to it, when you got right up close, and it all made her feel dirty. She handed those and the stained shift out, in exchange for the washing things, and then closed and locked the door behind the maid. It was astounding she didn’t fall over and die right then from the embarrassment. Then, she focused on getting herself cleaned up and dressed in clean clothes, before heading for Master Cushing’s old rooms. Perhaps it was a good thing Lady Julianne had asked the midwife to come to the castle, after all.

The morning sun was just coming through the windows by the time Rhea of Fairford had finished examining Liv. "You’re perfectly healthy," the old midwife assured her. "Nothing different than any other girl. Have some tea to settle your stomach; if you want to spend the day in bed, I’ll tell everyone else you’re not feeling well. They won’t argue with me."

"Are you certain, though?" Liv asked. She was perched on the examination table, wearing just her shift and stockings. "Have you ever examined one of the Eld before? Could there be something different?"

"No, I’ve never treated an Eldish woman," Rhea admitted, glowering at Liv. "And given your history, I can see why you’d be afraid. But this is simple. So far as anything related to babies goes, we all basically work the same way."

"But how do you know that?" Liv pressed. Maybe she was being unreasonable, but then, everyone had assumed that she could just eat human food for the first half of her life, and look how that had turned out.

"Because the old gods made both humans and Eld to be able to reproduce with themselves," Rhea said. "The fact we’re compatible with each other is an afterthought, but I suppose you should be thankful for it. Your mother teach you the Maiden’s Charm, yet?" she asked.

Liv shook her head.

"Learn it," Rhea ordered her. "And use it. Lady Sitia gave it to us, and we’re thankful. But even that is no guarantee."

"I’m not going to need that anytime soon," Liv said, her cheeks burning red. Even the tips of her ears were warm. She was going to college, and had no intention of ending up like her mother.

"Learn it anyway."

"I’ll ask my friend," Liv promised. It would be less embarrassing to talk to Emma than Mama. That would only lead to another talk about avoiding boys.

"Alright, then, off with you," Rhea ordered her. "Gods forbid someone actually needs my help, and you’re still lazing about in here."

☙

Liv didn’t spend the day in bed, though she was beginning to think that had been a mistake. She had gone to see Emma after breakfast, taking the carriage down to the Lower Banks to visit her friend. As she’d thought, Emma was more than happy to teach Liv the Maiden’s Charm.

The little girl that Liv had saved from drowning in the river was seventeen, now, and nearly as skilled a hunter as her father. She’d also become a dark-haired beauty who wore men’s buckskin hunting trousers, scandalizing all the old women of Whitehill. Liv tried not to think about the fact that her friend was not only taller than her, but looked so much older than her, as well.

Master Forester had served them two plates of sausages, once the girls had emerged from Emma’s room, and the morning had quickly gotten away from them. By the time Liv had gotten back to the castle, it was coming up on time for her afternoon lessons with Matthew and Master Grenfell.

Matthew preferred working in the common room of the Old Oak to the master mage’s chambers, and so the occasional treat had turned into their regular meeting place. Liv spent as much time helping the young lord with his Vædic as she did working on her own spells, while Master Grenfell enjoyed a glass of brandy.

"It’s good for you," the older mage insisted. "Teaching something helps you to truly master it."

Liv figured that meant she would be practically an archmage by the time they were done, because as talented as Matthew was with a sword, he was a nightmare at grammar.

"No, you need to account for the gender of the noun," Liv reminded him, for what must have been the fifth time.

"It doesn’t even make sense," Matthew complained. "Why is a sword male, while water is female? I understand when it comes to animals, they breed just like we do," he said. "But there’s no baby swords running around after their mothers."

"That’s just how it works," Liv told him. "I didn’t make this up, the old gods did. It must have made sense to them."

"If they weren’t already dead, I’d kill them again just for having such a stupid language," Matthew grumbled. Then, he leaned forward and lowered his voice, keeping one eye on where Master Grenfell stood at the bar. "James told me there’s a travelling storyteller at the Sign of the Terrapin, or at least there was last night. We should go tonight."

Liv checked on their teacher: he was waiting for the innkeeper to open the bottle of brandy and pour. "Your mother will string you up by your toenails if you get caught. And there’s no way you won’t get caught - it’s too far away."

"Just at the south pass," Matthew said, dismissing her worries. "It’s not far past Fairford. We can get there easily enough on Boulder."

"I still can’t believe that’s the name you chose for your horse," Liv teased him. "I don’t have a horse, though, Matthew."

He shrugged. "Ride in front of me. Come on, it’ll be an adventure."

"The trouble with you is that you’ve never had a real adventure," Liv said. "Try having a stone-bat or two fly at your face, and see how fun you think it is."

"There won’t be any stone-bats," Matthew said. "We’re going south, not north. And father says there won’t be another eruption for at least ten years."

"If I don’t go with you, you’re just going to do it alone, aren’t you," Liv guessed. Matthew answered her question with a cocky grin. "Fine," she said. "Now back to your nouns. He’s coming back with his brandy."

☙

After the evening meal, that night, Liv didn’t go to sleep with the rest of the castle. Instead, she waited until the tenth bell, fetched the lighter of her two cloaks from the clothes chest in her room, and then spent a moment considering her staff. Matthew was right; they were riding away from the rift, down a well kept road.

Though she’d never actually been there, Liv knew that the Sign of the Terrapin was located in the southern pass that led out of the Aspen River Valley. The castle guards went there sometimes, when they were feeling adventurous or bored with the usual three inns. Merchants stayed there, as well, on their way into the valley, and Liv had never heard any of them say that it was dangerous.

Plus, it was a pain to hold the staff while she was riding double with Matthew. She’d gotten riding lessons with him: the past few years, Lady Julianne must have decided it was easier to just have them both taught the same things. But while Matthew had been given a young warhorse for his twelfth birthday, Liv took her lessons on Lady Julianne’s palfrey, and there was no way she was going to steal Snowflake for the night.

Her decision made, Liv leaned the staff in the corner of her room, adjusted her cloak, and slipped out of her room. She met Matthew in the stables, where he already had Boulder saddled. He’d even wrapped the horse’s hooves in rags, to muffle the sound of his iron shoes striking cobblestones. She also noticed he was wearing an arming sword at his belt.

"Here," he said, cupping his hands together and offering Liv a place to put her boot. She put a hand on his shoulder and one on the saddle, pushed herself up with her left leg, and got herself settled. Lady Julianne had taught her to ride sidesaddle, and Liv managed to get her skirt arranged so that it didn’t show her ankles. Then, Matthew clambered up behind her, and they were off.

He must have arranged with one of the guards for the castle gates to be open, but the gate out of the Lower Banks was a different matter. The town guards stopped them, and Liv found herself being peered at by lamplight.

"I can’t let you out of town at night, m’lord," the guard said. His whiskers were trimmed so that they stuck out of his cheeks like a bush, but his chin was shaved clean.

"We’re just taking in a bit of fresh air," Matthew said, slipping a silver coin to the guard. "The ring is beautiful tonight, isn’t it? We’ll be back in a bell."

The whiskered guard scowled, but pocketed the coin. "Don’t get yourselves lost out there," he said, and stomped over to the winch. As the men cranked the gate halfway open, Liv saw one of them elbow another, nod in her direction, and say something. The second guard laughed, and she pulled her hood up to cover her face.

Once they were through the gate, Matthew urged Boulder to a canter. Though it was not yet harvest time, the nights had begun to cool, and Liv was grateful she could lean into her friend’s body for warmth.

"You alright in there?" Matthew asked her, as Boulder took them south, his hooves eating up the road.

"Just a little chilly," Liv admitted.

"There’ll be a warm fire at the inn," Matthew said. But he also wrapped an arm around her, holding the reins in just his right hand. A few years ago, it might have frightened her; but he was undeniably a good horseman, now.

In fact, Liv felt quite safe. And the ring was pretty, like the guard had said. She looked up at the stars and the moon, and the great shining line that split the sky in half. Away from the lights of Whitehill, everything seemed brighter.

At Fairford, Boulder thumped over the bridge without any interruption, and then they were away south on an open road under the starry sky. "This is the furthest from home I’ve ever been," Liv admitted.

"Me too," Matthew said, and she could imagine his grin even if she couldn’t see it. He was fearless, and always had been, from the time he’d been a baby. The ride lulled her half to sleep, until Boulder’s gait changed.

Liv stirred within Matthew’s arms, and opened her eyes as the horse came to halt. The building was three stories, built in the shape of a square with one side missing. The missing side faced the road, and was filled by a cobblestone courtyard. Light spilled out from the paned windows of the common room, along with voices and fragments of music. Over the door hung a painted wooden sign with a turtle on it.

Matthew helped Liv down, and she waited while he tied Boulder up at the post. Then, like the gentleman his mother had trained him to be, he opened the door for her, and Liv stepped into the Sign of the Terrapin.