[EARLY SUMMER-JUNE]
I find it hard to believe that it has been two cycles of the moon since I was placed at this cottage by the marshal of the Silver Tower. I have been busy and worked myself into near exhaustion nearly every day, and so did not write in this journal. However, from now on I shall discipline myself to reestablish my practice of writing each night.
After my trial, I fully expected to die. That they would spare me was a slight possibility—that they might actually parole me was not an outcome I had even considered. Nevertheless, after a month in the dungeon, I was offered the opportunity to relocate to this small village. I am not entirely certain how I feel about this. It is not that I wanted to die, particularly, but I am not sure what they expect of me and I find myself unsettled by the uncertainty.
While the cottage they have assigned to me—or assigned me to—was in need of a new roof, they supplied all the thatch I needed and even offered to secure labor for me. I have not, however, forgotten how to lay thatch. I fed myself for many a summer by fixing roofs. The relative luxury of The Scarlet Ossuary Keep did not dull my ability to work.
I did have to be careful not to burn in the sun as I worked, however. As a child I was always brown as a berry and never needed to worry. But my duties at the keep kept me indoors almost constantly. I think I am safe now, provided I do not spend an entire day outdoors without shade. Odd, I never realized that I missed the fresh air and sunshine.
Whoever procured my wardrobe not only got the right size, but provided some color as well—blue ,red and green mostly—instead of the drab natural colors. Strange, I had also forgotten the comfort of simple peasant's clothes—the wool trousers, tunic and cowl. The heavy satin and brocade robes of the Scarlet Ossuary were not the most comfortable things to wear, especially in the heat.
Once my cottage was properly roofed and cleaned, I attacked the overgrown garden. It was a pleasant surprise to find not only two active bee hives but also an artesian spring coming out of the stone, as pure and sweet as any water I have ever drank. The hard work of bringing this place back to livable condition has helped me to at least begin to adjust to the binding on my magic.
I suppose I should thank the wizard for his foresight in providing a sensation of warning before my binding actually activates the countermagic. That tingle has saved me from the cost of using my magic—a cost I have no desire to pay. Even so, I sometimes feel as though I will scream when that insidious warning crawls up my arms.
Fortunately, Sevaka also seems to consider alchemy as apart from magic. I had asked for alchemy equipment, not really expecting to receive it. To my surprise they supplied me with the entire apparatus in duplicate. (As a good system will last for several years, I am not sure what that means in terms of my probation.) They also supplied numerous seeds for an herbal garden, some of them being non-native species that are difficult to come by.
After clearing and tilling the beds, I planted the rarest of seeds first. I then fashioned a system to irrigate my garden from the spring. Today I planted a bed of arnica. It grows wild in this area, but I choose rather to use my gathering opportunities for roots and berries I cannot grow. It will take time to survey the area and discover where to find the plants I need. It would be easier if I could ask someone local, but it seems that the boy from the general store could not even muster up the courage to deliver my goods to my door, but left them at the foot of my lane for me to bring up myself. I doubt anyone else would be any friendlier.
The problem I find myself in now is that I am beset with restlessness. No, no, tell the truth Niall. I am BORED, BORED, BORED. That will likely remain an issue, unless I can find something to occupy my time. I did notice a large stand of peppermint behind my shed. I think that tomorrow I shall distill some menthol.
Niall lifted the silver pan from beneath the spout of the distillation coil, and sniffed the small puddle of liquid it contained. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth. Taking a clean bottle, already labeled, he poured the menthol into it, stoppered it and replace the pan under the spout. Another crystal drop was already forming. Lifting the lid, he stuffed more mint into the kettle and refastened the top securely.
The distant, slow clop of hooves came to his ears. It was his delivery from the General Store, most likely. As the day was fine and cool, he was in no hurry to fetch his supplies. They would be safe enough at the bottom of his lane till later in the day. He returned to his work, but was surprised when the hoof beats did not halt at the foot of his lane, but came on up the trail, eventually stopping by the kitchen door of the cottage.
Had the boy grown a spine, or been overcome with insatiable curiosity? Either way, Niall now had to leave his menthol distilling to deal with him and the supplies. Setting his face in a scowl, he went through the kitchen and out the door, bent on getting everything stowed as quickly as possible so he could get back to his alchemy.
But it was not the delivery boy who was descending from the pony cart. It was, in fact, not a boy at all, but a slim feminine figure wearing a blue hooded cloak trimmed with white fur. Tying the reins to the hitch, she turned and lowered the hood to reveal an oval face framed by an abundance of brown curls, large brown eyes fringed by dark lashes, a small, straight nose and a soft mouth a bit to wide for symmetry.
"Good Day, Master Niall," she said brightly. "I am Roisin, the cleric for the village of Heston."
"Indeed." Niall regarded her with narrowed eyes. His experience with adult women—at least since he became an adult himself—had been limited to the handful of female mages in the Scarlet Ossuary ranks. This woman had neither the haughty demeanor nor the calculating eyes of those females. Neither had those mages smelled of lilac and honeysuckle. Of clerics he had no experience at all, save a wizened old man that used to lecture him on the evils of theft as a child. Still, the last thing he needed was a nosy female underfoot. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Madame ..."
"Miss," she interjected.
"Excuse me?" said Niall.
"Miss Roisin," she explained. "I am not wed, sir."
"Ah, yes, of course." Niall cleared his throat. "Well then, Miss Roisin, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"
"I have been given to understand that you are an alchemist," said Roisin. "I am nearly out of devil's claw and I need it for the salves I give the old folks for their painful joints. If you have some plants to spare, that would be wonderful, but seeds would be sufficient."
"And what, pray tell," said Niall cooly, having irrationally decided to be difficult, "is my inducement to part with my supply?"
"Well, sir," she said, regarding him with a measuring look, "There is the satisfaction of helping a neighbor." Seeing the flash of irritation in his eyes, she went on. "But, as that seems beyond your capabilities at the moment, I have a goodly supply of roots of all kinds—including mandrake, cohosh, licorice, ginseng, valerian and ginger, as well as a barrel full of willow bark that I am willing to trade." She saw her tart observation scored a hit when his eyes widened slightly. The man was not expecting that, she decided.
"Roots?" he said shortly. So, she was not the mouse he had first taken her for.
"Yes, roots of every kind available here," she reiterated. "And a barrel of willow bark ..." She paused. "Well, not the whole barrel, precisely, but a goodly amount."
"I took your meaning," he said. What, he wondered, was this woman after? More importantly, could he turn it to his advantage? He needed roots for his alchemy, certainly.
"Oh," said Roisin, "and I also brought your supplies from Warton. Gerny did not mind my taking his delivery." She turned again to the cart and pulled a box from the back, handing it to Niall, then taking up another. "I will help you get this inside." She waited expectantly for him to lead the way. Now, she thought, would he capitulate or descend to rudeness?
Niall had taken the box without thinking. He could have refused to allow her in, but not without being utterly rude, which was not at all his usual character. So now he found himself unable to do anything except to take the box inside with Roisin following. Setting the boxes down, he followed as she went back for more, until all of his supplies were stowed. As she put away the last bundle, Roisin looked around his pantry and frowned.
"You have nothing but salted meat," she said. "Is this a dietary preference?"
"The butcher has sent none," replied Niall with an elegant shrug. "Perhaps an oversight on the marshal's part."
"Perhaps," she conceded. "Regardless, I shall see that you have fresh meat deliveries. It is not as though Arnett does not have enough boys to send—seven, in fact, and one adorable little girl."
"I will manage, Miss Roisin," assured Niall. The woman was a veritable busy body.
"No, this simply will not do. A man of your age and physical vigor must have fresh meat. Ah, I know!" Roisin turned and exited the pantry, leaving an astounded Niall staring after her. Before he could recover from his befuddlement, she returned, bearing two small paper wrapped parcels. "There is a chicken and some lovely chops for you," she said, placing the packages in his cool room. "I shall stop and replace them on my way home."
"That is not necessary .." Niall began. She was determined to put him in her debt, it seemed.
"Oh, it is no inconvenience, I assure you," insisted Roisin. "I go right by the shop on my way home." A small frown wrinkled her forehead. "I cannot imagine why you have had no deliveries."
"Likely the good butcher does not want his children near me," said Niall evenly. "I am the enemy, after all." How, he wondered, would she take that bit of truth?
"You should not call yourself such," said Roisin quietly. She had not missed the flash of anger in those blue, blue eyes and she recognized his statement for the challenge it was. "I do not believe that you are my enemy," she said calmly, "and the council would not have paroled you were you a danger."
"A danger?" Four times since her arrival, he had been forced to check his magic, and each warning had edged his nerves tighter. Now her quiet words sparked his temper. Niall shook back his sleeves to reveal black leather wrist bands studded with black stone. "These are set with magic bonds," Niall said harshly. "Very strong bonds. Sevaka the Wizard has seen to it that I am no danger!"
"That is prudence, Master Niall," Roisin replied evenly, hoping to defuse his wrath. She should have known he was magically bound, but she hadn't given it much thought. "The Council has a responsibility to the populace."
"Prudence?" He gave a bark of mirthless, mocking laughter. "It is punishment, Miss Cleric of Heston, make no mistake about it. The only danger I pose is a lapse of my sanity. I have had and used my magic in myriad ordinary ways all of my life and now I cannot." He threw up his hands. "A thousand, a hundred times a day I am reminded that I am shackled."
"I am so ..." Roisin began.
"Do not," he warned harshly. "Do not try to commiserate, or understand. You do not. You cannot." He took a deep breath and caught hold of his anger. "And I neither need or want your sympathy."
"Master Niall ..." Roisin began, only to be cut off by his abrupt exit from the room. She stood in place, uncertain of what to do.
Niall stalked over to his store of seed. Scooping a quantity of devil's claw seed into a paper, he folded it into a parcel and returned to the other room, where the cleric still stood.
"There," he said, shoving the packet into her hand. "You have your seed. Now go."
"Master Niall .." she began again.
"No," snapped Niall. "Enough. I also neither need or want your company. Go. Leave me alone." When she did not move, he raised both hands into the air. "GO!" he shouted.
She went, not because she feared what he would do, but because there was nothing to gain by further enraging the man. Unhitching the pony, she climbed into the seat and backed the cart down the lane.
Niall listened to the sounds of her departure, his chest heaving. Good riddance, he thought. But as his temper cooled, he was aware of an indefinable sense of loss.
~~~~~~~~
"Oh Frisky," moaned Roisin. The pony swiveled his ears back at the sound of his name. "What a bad start I have made. In my ignorance I have offended the man. What am I going to do?" Frisky bobbed his head, but no answer was forthcoming. As Frisky had nothing to add to the conversation, Roisin fell to pondering silently.
It seemed she had always wanted to be a cleric. She had followed the cleric of her own village from a young age, and eventually won an apprenticeship. Always strong spiritually, Roisin had swiftly learned to trust the prompting and knowledge she received through her close connection to the Maker. Her character had no taint of arrogance or conceit, indeed she remained always blissfully unaware of how exceptional she was. She had been ordained at twenty, a much younger age than was usual.
The village of Heston was her first post and she had been here for five years. It was not a prestigious posting, nor a glamorous one, but she loved the village and the people that lived there. There was something very attractive in the simple folk and quiet ways, and Roisin was very happy with her life. Other positions had been offered, but she had refused them all, having absolutely no desire to live anywhere else. Heston was home.
She had been surprised to receive the letter from Sevaka telling her of Niall, his probation, and the council's decision to place him in the old cottage up the mountain road. She had heard of the Scarlet Ossuary, but had known little about it. It was, she presumed, like most fanatical sects, built around the grandiosity and ego of a charismatic leader. And so it proved to be. Yet the council had chosen to give this man a chance to redeem himself. The background she had been given on the man intrigued her. So, when she stopped into the General Store as Niall's supplies were being gathered, she jumped at the chance to take them up and get her first look at the man.
Her first look has been revealing. Having been appraised of the power of his magic, she had not expected him to be so young. He was, she thought, not many years older than she. Nor had she expected him to be so handsome. That he was a formidable mage she was certain. That he was intelligent she was also certain. But it was neither of these things that impressed her upon first sight. What she sensed, instead, was pain, confusion, bewilderment and a deep sense of loss and aloneness. All of her nurturing instincts came to full alert.
But Niall, formerly of the Scarlet Ossuary, was no child to be cuddled. He was a man, moreover a man with a temper, and she could not entirely blame him. She knew little about the binding of magic, beyond the most basic terms. Such a thing was both a personal and private matter, and it was, quite simply, none of her business, unless Niall wanted to enlighten her. Moreover, he was right that she could not understand his dilemma. She could not even imagine being unable to use her cleric's gifts. That it could and likely would cause a great deal of tension was not difficult to surmise—it was just not a situation she had ever confronted before, and so was unprepared for it.
"Well, Frisky," she said as she turned the corner to the village, "how does one minister to a man who has told you to go away?" Once again Frisky gave her no answer. She considered carefully. The atmosphere Niall had lived in was likely rife with intrigue and manipulation as most cults were. He was already inclined to be suspicious, so the slightest inkling of guile on her part would set him even more on his guard. Therefore, her best course was her usual one. Straight ahead, with plain speaking and honesty.
Moreover, she would have to strive to remain calm and peaceful, no matter what Niall's reactions were. That might prove taxing, in the light of the man's temper. However, she had faith that if she persevered, she would eventually win him over. She was certain, also, that Niall's presence here was not a mere whim on Sevaka's part. That he had been placed here made his spiritual well being her responsibility. She would do whatever she could.
That decided, she was in a peaceful state of mind when she stopped in front of the butcher shop. The bells above the door that signaled her entry brought Arnett's wife, Leia, from the back.
"Miss Roisin!" she exclaimed. "Was there something amiss with your meats?"
"No, no," Roisin assured her. "I just returned from Master Niall's cottage." Her eyes did not miss the look of uneasiness on the woman's face. "It seems he has had no fresh meat since he arrived. I assured him it was an oversight."
"Umm," The noise Leia made was noncommittal, but the fact that she wouldn't look at Roisin was not. Roisin stifled a sigh. It pained her that Niall was right about the reasons for his lack of deliveries from Arnett.
"Well, no matter," said Roisin brightly. "I gave him my chicken and chops, so I will need them replaced, please."
"Right away Miss Roisin," said Leia, turning to the cold storage. "Is he very fearsome? "
"Fearsome?" The adjective puzzled Roisin.
"Aye, fearsome," Leia said with a slight shudder. "Horrible to look at and scary to be near."
"Oh, heavens no," replied Roisin with an exasperated shake of her head. "Master Niall is, in fact, quite handsome. He is also very intelligent. I will grant he is a bit moody, but I cannot say I would not be also, were I in his boots. But he is an alchemist, so he must be very disciplined."
"An alchemist?" Leia returned bearing a chicken, some chops and a horrified expression. "He brews poisons and such?" She began to wrap the meat.
"Potions and such," corrected Roisin, stifling another sigh. "Many medicines are dangerous in the wrong dosages, Leia. I remind you that I also practice alchemy."
"Oh, yes, Miss Roisin." Leia looked unconvinced as she finished the chicken and started on the chops. "You went up there ..." the lady paused, swallowed hard. "... alone?"
"Yes, I did," said Roisin, her frayed temper making her voice just a little sharp, "and I took no harm at all. Master Niall may be temperamental, but no more so than Master Alfbert."
"If you say so, Miss Roisin," said Leia, finishing wrapping and pushing the packages across the counter.
"I do," said Roisin, "and I will say so to anyone who asks. I hope our village will not fail to model the Maker's grace to a dispossessed stranger." She took the packages and gave Leia a stern look. "You will see that he gets his deliveries, Leia?"
"Yes, Miss Roisin," said Leia in a chastened tone, but the woman still looked afraid.
"Good." Outwardly calm, inwardly Roisin wanted to shake the woman. Niall might be misguided, but he was not the monster that the woman believed him to be, of that Roisin was certain. Leaving the shop, she determined that Niall would get his deliveries, if she had to make them herself. That thought brought a smile to her face. Yes, indeed, that was a fine idea. Give him a day or two to cool down and then try again to get past his guarded cynicism. It could be a long and difficult process, but she was sure it would be worth the effort, did she succeed. With the Maker's help, she would befriend the man.
And so it was that she came to her own cozy cottage and hummed a tune as she groomed Frisky. If she hurried, she could put her chicken on to cook and still get her devil's claw seeds into the ground before supper.