Guild Mage: Apprentice

26. Harvest

As flood season passed, the snow melted away. First, from the Aspen River valley, and later from even the mountain sloped shaded by the trees. Only the highest peaks of the surrounding mountains retained their white caps, which they would wear for the entirety of the year.

The people of Whitehill gathered the droppings left behind by the stonebats, and used the guano to fertilize their fields. Liv understood it was back breaking labor, but since she didn’t actually do any of it herself, she was more impressed by the results. As flood season passed into the beginning of harvest season, the crops surrounding the town grew faster, taller, and more vibrant than in any year that she could remember.

She saw more of the fields than she had in other years, because Master Grenfell, Master Forester, and James, one of the castle guards, took her out into the countryside regularly. The training James gave her was the simplest: it required little to no thought at all, but the physical effort left her exhausted. One day, he might set her to hike a trail halfway up Deer Peak, west of the town. By the time she’d gone up and down again, Liv’s calves and thighs felt like limp, uncooked rolls of pie dough. When the river was no longer dangerously high, he made her swim or tread water until she could hardly stay afloat. Other times, he simply made her run around the walls of Whitehill, starting on the bank of the Aspen River to the north of the castle, then circling around the town until she returned to the river south of where she’d begun.

It should have been some comfort that the physical exertion became easier over time. James was sparse with praise or encouragement, but he did give it occasionally, and even Liv could tell that she was building stamina over time. But the truth was, she didn’t care about becoming physically fit. It was hard to see it as anything but a distraction from developing her magic.

Master Forester’s training, on the other hand, had immediate and enjoyable benefits. Emma had turned six years old during the hottest part of the year, and the three of them would venture out into the forest north of the city, making for the silhouette of Bald Peak looming high above. The culling had cleared out anything dangerous, and the overflow of raw mana had subsided, but that just meant the rift had returned to its normal level of activity.

Emma’s father would bring down a rabbit, or perhaps a quail, with an arrow from his bow. Then, he would show the girls how to dress the kill. By the time harvest season was approaching, he had the two of them skinning the small mana beasts under his careful observation. Kale Forester was a quiet man, most of the time, but he was also patient, and always willing to answer any question that Liv asked, or demonstrate to the girls once again how to make a particular cut. With his guidance, Liv had even purchased a set of hunting knives of her own, using coins the girls had earned from selling dressed game to Master Grenfell. What they didn’t sell, they cooked, often around a freshly dug fire.

Liv had helped her mother and Gretta in the castle kitchen for as long as she could remember, but there was something both fascinating and primitive about cooking an animal she’d dressed, on skewers over a fire she’d lit. Master Forester showed them wild herbs that could be used to flavor the meat, as well. The only thing that dampened her enthusiasm slightly was that neither Emma nor her father would eat the game they cooked with her.

"It isn’t safe," the hunter had explained, shaking his head firmly. Liv was fascinated by the way his bushy beard moved. "For a mage like you, eating mana-infused meat helps to restore the magic you use when you cast spells. Don’t look so surprised," Master Forester told her with a grin. "I’ve been culling enough times with Master Grenfell to see how it works. When he’s nearly exhausted himself, that’s when I pull out a bit of jerky to set him right again. Which reminds me, I need to show you girls how to make a smoker. But anyway, for Emma and I, it would just be dangerous. Like as not to cause mana sickness."

Liv nodded; that made sense. She’d seen the bandages on Kale Forester’s arms in the weeks following the return of the culling team. "That just means I have to eat it all, then," she decided, with a grin.

The change in her diet was living up to Master Cushing’s hopes, if not her own. Liv hadn’t had another month of growing half an inch, like the first, but the old Chirurgeon considered a quarter inch a month to be progress enough. By the time harvest approached, she’d gained two whole inches.

"I thought it would be more," Liv complained, after Master Cushing had taken her measurements.

"Two inches and seven pounds is good growth," the old man assured her. "Don’t let your hopes run away with you, Miss Brodbeck. It’s good enough that we’ve found the food you need to eat, now. If the Eld had been a bit less secretive, we might have saved you a lot of trouble, but it’s too late for that now. You’ve missed a dozen years of proper growth. Be thankful for whatever you gain, now, but don’t expect to ever be a giant walking among us. There’s simply too much ground for you to make up."

It was disappointing, but on the other hand, Master Cushing had loosened his restrictions on her activities somewhat. She would be permitted to skate on the ice when winter returned, and the first time she took a tumble while running laps around the town, it was an exhilarating feeling of relief when Liv realized that she hadn’t broken a bone. The only thing that remained off the table entirely was combat training in the courtyard, but Liv hadn’t wanted to do that anyway - not after seeing how badly the castle guards beat each other up.

She and Master Cushing regularly attended the morning sparring sessions, so that Liv could practice what the old man was teaching her. She was forced to identify every injury, and if either of the two charms Rhea the Midwife had placed in her spellbook could be used, Liv practiced them. Small cuts were easy enough, and she could soothe bruises, but anything worse was the province of Master Cushing and one of his several enchanted wands. For the worst wounds, Liv often found herself numbing the pain while the chirurgeon worked.

"This is disgusting," Liv said one morning, trying not to look at the way Piers’ finger had burst like an overstuffed sausage. A wooden practice sword had caught the man’s first finger against the hilt of his own weapon, in a sharp blow. There was blood everywhere.

"You do the charm for pain well, at least," Piers said. His face was pale, and he refused to look at his finger either. "I can’t feel anything, any more."

"No practice for at least a week," Cushing pronounced, when he was done. "And see Liv daily to change the bandages."

"Me?" Liv protested. "Not you?"

"You can wrap a linen bandage without my help," the chirurgeon shot back. "And it’s good practice for you. Come along, now, let’s see whether anyone in town needs us."

When the courtyard sparring sessions didn’t provide enough practice to meet Aldo Cushing’s requirements, he would summon a carriage and take Liv down from the hill into The Lower Banks. Every time she entered the neighborhood, Liv found herself keeping one eye out for Jo, but she never saw the girl.

There were plenty of other children who had the same half-starved look, however, and they often sported all manner of minor injuries that had never been properly treated. Liv learned how to treat not only fractured fingers or toes, but how to drain blisters or pull rotten teeth. None of it was pleasant work, and her own magic was nearly entirely useless for it. The only thing she managed to use her word of power for was targeted chilling, to bring down swelling.

"If you ever decide to license that to the Order of Chirurgeons," Cushing told her on several occasions, "We would pay for it. Physicians all over the kingdom could be using wands enchanted with your power, Liv."

"I’m not certain that I can," she admitted. Later, during her lessons with Lady Julianne, she asked the question directly.

"It falls into something of a legal gray area," the baron’s wife explained, passing little Matthew over to Liv so that she could stand up. Julianne’s sitting room had long since been repaired of the damage caused by the stonebats, and she selected a single volume out of a set of one dozen, removing it from her bookshelf and carrying it back over. Liv, in the meanwhile, bounced Matthew on her knee, while the little boy giggled.

"Cel is not a word of power legally registered to any noble family in the kingdom," Julianne explained, thumbing through pages to find what she wanted. "In fact, given that the original criteria for elevation to the aristocracy was proof of sole possession of a word of power, under the old laws you could claim a title yourself."

"That can’t be right," Liv said, frowning. "No one would actually ever treat a bastard scullion like a baroness." Matthew wrapped his small fingers around her thumb, gripping with surprising strength.

"You’d be surprised how much power will change the way people behave," Julianne remarked. "But no, I said that was the original criteria. Those laws have long since been changed. What is much more likely, nowadays, is that a young nobleman would seek to bring your magic into his family with a proposal of marriage. But that doesn’t answer your question. The only precedent on record regarding your word of power is the license held by the Drovers’ guild, from the House of Syvä. That agreement recognizes that, under the laws of the Kingdom of Lucania, the right to license Cel is exclusive to that particular Elden family. So no, you could not do what Master Cushing is suggesting - not unless you were legally recognized as a member of that house."

"But I can use my magic, at least," Liv said. The fear that the sheriff would arrest her for her magic had never entirely gone away, though she hadn’t dwelt on it for months.

"That is clear cut. Unlike our aristocracy, the Eld have never made any effort to outlaw use of their words of power." Julianne closed the book, and set it aside. "In fact, as far as I can tell, they’ve gone out of their way to do the opposite. Privately, I suspect they are much more free about exchanging magic than we are."

Liv wrinkled her nose. "Someone needs to be changed," she remarked, and that ended the discussion.

While it was enjoyable to eat the food she brought in with Master Forester, and somewhat satisfying to note her own growth and increased physical stamina, the only part of her lessons that Liv viewed as truly fun were the afternoons, when she was allowed to push her magic with Master Grenfell.

As the master mage had promised, weeks of careful experimentation, measurement, and note taking had resulted in precise measurements of how much mana Liv’s spells used. As a result, her spell book now had notes incorporated into each entry:

Frozen Shards

Celent’he (number) Scelim’o’Mae

Number: Dvo, Trei, Cetve, Encve, Svec…

Dvo: 3 rings of mana (2 with staff)

Trei or Cetve: 4 rings of mana (3 with staff)

Encve or Svec: 5 rings of mana (4 with staff)

Ice Chute

Celet Aimac Belia o’Mae

5 or more rings of mana

Icewall

Celevet Aen Kveis

4 rings of mana (3 with staff)

Liv, in the meanwhile, had now been measured at being able to hold thirteen rings of mana.

"It is no surprise," Master Grenfell had explained. "You are only just beginning to explore your magic; the first few years are a time of rapid growth, and I would not expect you to hit a plateau for some time yet. All the more reason that your training be rigorous and deliberate."

In this case, ’rigorous and deliberate’ meant that Liv was looking down from the peak of Deer Peak, a thousand feet above the valley, with all the fields surrounding Whitehill and the town itself laid out below. James and Master Forester had lugged half a dozen of the old, round wooden shields up to the heights with them, while Emma bounced on the tips of her toes in anticipation.

"I’m not certain I can make it all the way to the bottom," Liv warned them. At the beginning of flood season, she wouldn’t have been able to make it all the way up the mountain without stopping to rest. Now, she was a bit winded, but thought she would only need a few moments to catch her breath. In the meanwhile, she was grateful for her staff to lean on.

"You have your staff, and your ring, to assist you," Master Grenfell reminded her. "We are testing your limits. Do not be concerned about holding anything back; you won’t be walking down, in any event." The grin on the older mage’s face was less comforting than Liv might have hoped for: he looked more like a giddy boy with a new toy than an experienced scholar.

"Please, Liv!" Emma begged. "You have to do it. This is going to be the best thing ever!"

"I don’t know," her father muttered. "It is quite a way down. If you don’t feel up to it, Liv, you don’t need to do this."

Liv took a deep breath, practicing the calming exercises Master Grenfell had taught her months ago. "Celet Aimac Belia o’Mae," she said, pronouncing the words with a confidence that was still new to her. She extended her staff, pouring mana through it and then down onto the ground. One after the other, the silver sigils in the length of aspen-wood lit, glowing bright enough to shine even beneath the afternoon sun.

The ice built slowly at first, as if the warmth of the day resisted the cold, and then broke forward all at once, flashing down the mountain away from Liv’s feet. The chute cut across the slope at an angle, then curved around to come back the other way. This was going to be a dangerous ride, no matter what she did, but Liv wouldn’t allow it to kill anyone. The curves should do to bleed off speed, and she built the outer edges of the turns up high, adding extra layers of ice.

By the time the track had been laid all the way down the slope, Liv had indeed needed to draw from her ring until it was empty. In the end, there had been just enough mana to create a bowl at the bottom of the mountain, a place for the ride to end.

"There," she gasped. "There it is. Who’s going first?"

"I suppose one of us should try it," Piers muttered. "To make sure it’s safe. We should have had Master Cushing waiting at the bottom."

Before he could lift a shield, however, Emma snatched the top one out from beneath him with a squeal of glee. She dashed over to the top of the shoot and flung herself down on her belly, shield first, and shot off before anyone could do anything to stop her. The little girl’s peals of laughter and shrieks of joy echoed off the mountains surrounding the valley as she sped out of sight.

"Emma!" Kale Forester called after her, then cursed. He lifted the next shield, set it at the top of the chute, and clambered on gingerly. "How do I start it -" he muttered, and then his voice rose in a panicked scream as he picked up speed, heading for the first turn.

Liv looked at Master Grenfell for a long moment, and then together they burst out laughing. "I’m next!" the older mage called, and ran over to grab his own shield. Liv waited for him to be off, then motioned the two castle guards to go next.

"I’ll go last," she said. She wanted just a moment to enjoy watching everyone else speed down the mountain, to listen to their shouts and laughs. All of the measurements, all of the careful study and work, even the terrifying moments when the stonebat came through the door and leapt at her: they were enough to make her forget that her magic could be fun.

Liv turned about the top of the mountain. In every direction, she could see the world spread out around her, falling away down to the tiny homes and farms below. On impulse she reached her hand up. Here, it almost seemed possible to reach out and touch the sky.

Then, Liv lifted the last shield, set it down in the chute, and pushed off to follow the others down.

When they finally made it back to Castle Whitehill that evening, it was to find a guest had arrived in advance of the coming harvest. The kitchen was bustling, and even the guards on duty were talking in hushed tones.

"Who is it?" Liv asked, setting her staff against the wall of the armory, as Piers and James carried the scuffed shields inside to be stored.

"A merchant from Al’Fenthia, come for the harvest," one of the older guards told her.

Liv felt as if the air had gone out of her lungs. After so many years, the Eld had once again come to Whitehill.