Ch1-
Tisha wound through the cobbled streets of Ocavill, her new green dress flapping around her, the snapping sound making Starlight's ears twitch.Tisha gave her a comforting pat on the neck, the wind was much chillier than she thought it would be, it was summer, though late in the season, and she would definitely have to go back to the castle to retrieve her cloak if she was going to continue this excursion. A glance at the sky told her that her hopes were in vain, and the day in town was likely to be over.
Broken clouds raced past the island, bumping into one another and merging, threatening the change of season. With a storm brewing, it was definitely the time to bring in livestock Tisha noted, pausing, and struggling to think like her father. Alant was a business man to the core, and it would not do to soak the livestock. She could almost hear his gruff voice saying so. The pasture where she knew the shepherd boy would be was almost a furlong away. Better get going, she thought to herself as she turned Starlight and set off at a canter. The air was heavy with the impending storm, the late-summer sun illuminating the trees starkly against the blackening clouds. Thunder would start soon; Tisha had seen it enough times to know. The rainy season always came up hastily, this was the way of things, first the rain and then autumn would follow, it was certain. In Ocavill, autumn was a short affair, green turned to brown, skipping the beautiful fiery colors that the leaves took on in the more clement capital, Kalrem. As the wind picked up, bringing in more inky-black storm clouds, the sea surrounding the island of Great Rock became uneasy, throwing itself in great plumes, as if to escape to the jagged rocks that dominated the eastern coast.
She needn't have worried, as she came up to the pasture she saw the shepherd boy was already leading the flock of sheep towards Castle Tyralr's stable. She sighed a little relief, and followed them in, slightly disappointed that her day out wasn't going to end in the cloth shop like she had planned. Marianne, the proprietor of the cloth shop had sent her a note, promising something special for her birthday. That had been two weeks ago, Tisha hoped Marianne hadn’t gotten impatient. Oh well, it wasn't as if she had any coin to spend anyway, her planned day in the Ocavill would have to wait until after this storm.
As she rode through the first portcullis, she brushed back an unruly handful of dark hair that had escaped the confines of her little green linen cap. Gregory offered his work-calloused hand to help her down off Starlight, her mother's chestnut mare. Tisha ignored Gregory's hand with an effort and swung down to the ground, landing harder than she thought she would. She scowled up at Gregory, "Just because I am in a dress doesn't mean I can’t dismount!" she said, sounding both louder and more petulant than she had intended. She felt herself blush profusely at her own tone. Gregory's bushy eyebrows rose, "Well, lady, old habits you know. They tend to die hard." he gave her a nod and set off to the barracks. The first rain drops began to splatter into the dusty yard. By mid afternoon, she thought, the expansive courtyard would be a mire of gooey mud.
With Starlight safely brushed down and in the stable, she followed the stable hands across the already-muddy yard. The light grey stones that made up the inner wall of the castle were already stained dark by the deluge, and the walk across the yard left them all soaked to the bone. Tisha dashed through the open door, stamping her feet to free off the mud caked up to her ankles, her mother would not be pleased. Tisha had gone out dressed for summer, in a grass-green linen gown, accented with yellow glass beads winding around the wide, scooped neckline. The beautiful leather shoes that Lady Eileen had gifted her appeared to be thoroughly ruined. She mumbled a curse, stamping again, trying to free more mud from the shoes in the vain hope they could be salvaged. "Curses and hells!" she exclaimed, followed by several choice words she was not supposed to know, as quietly as her frustration would let her. Tisha heard a muffled chuckle behind her, and turned to see Adrian stepping from the shadows. He was a good hand taller than she expected him to be, clad in a dyed leather jerkin with worn out leggings that clearly weren't keeping up with his growth, and she found herself craning her neck to meet his eye. "Better not let Mr. Artapos hear you cursing like that, Tish" he regarded with a smirk.
"Six Hells!" she whirled away from Adrian, walking at an ever increasing pace to her chambers. She hastily changed from her ruined but beautiful summer dress and into her more usual attire, leggings and a tunic. It became apparent she had not tried on her old tunic in some time. It gaped obscenely at the laces. This would not do. She scanned her wardrobe for something, anything else, but it was futile. They all fit the same, tight as a sausage casing across her chest, and unseemly short. "This day is just going from bad to worse" she huffed to herself, squeezing into her largest tunic, and doing her best to lace it tightly. She dashed off to see what her mother could do about this sad state of wardrobe.
She steeled herself as she knocked at the door. "Come in dear!" Ferma called from the other side of the oaken slab. Tisha sidestepped into the room and cleared her throat. Ferma turned leisurely to look at Tisha and her eyes widened. “Goodness gracious dear, what are you wearing? You're spilling out of that tunic like an overfull cup Tish! Where is the seamstress! Patrice!" She rang the large bell hung above the mantle and hollered for Patrice, the seamstress. It was a matter of seconds before Patrice whirled in, in a flurry of fabric swatches and trailing knot-string. Patrice's watery blue eyes, which were already set widely in her pinched face, grew to saucers when she saw Tisha. "Good heavens child! It looks as if you have grown a cable since you wore that tunic. The leggings must also go. Those pants have you well prepared for the fall rains I suppose!" she tittered and babbled, giggling as she measured every imaginable part of Tisha, draping swatches of fabrics around her face to the point that Tisha felt like baby in swaddling clothes. Ferma kept a commentary of what fabrics made Tisha look like a corpse, and which made her look like a "spring flower". Patrice and Ferma were in agreement that blue was "Tisha's color" even Tisha couldn't deny that it set off her inky black hair and grey eyes quite nicely.
Tisha nervously fidgeted as they discussed what clothing articles and in what quantity she would need. Sensing her opportunity, and with both of them occupied, she slipped out the door and made her escape to the high tower.
Taper in hand she ascended the tower she aptly called "the high tower", and she was certain it had a less literal name, probably derived from the old tongue, all full of R's and Y's. The tower itself commanded an incredible view; it had a twin on the western side, which was much more used, as it overlooked the shipping lane. Tisha's favorite part about this tower was the very fact that it was under-used, and therefore made a great place to practice the fencing that Ferma and Eileen dubbed "unworthy" of her time. She did a round of the tower, admiring the view from each angle, despite the rain she still had a good view of the courtyard and activities below. She stretched expansively and unabashedly, and then bent to retrieve her blunted rapier, smuggled from the armory almost two years ago. Hidden as it was, getting to it was a chore. There was a lose stone overlapping a board she had pulled up, the rapier itself was wrapped in burlap and shoved underneath the floor as far as she could reach. Obstacle overcome and rapier in hand she dashed and whirled around the circular room, feinting and parrying an imagined opponent. Thoroughly exercised, she carefully hid her rapier once more and descended the huge staircase.
With a rueful glance at the time-taper she was holding, with almost a half-mark left until her lesson she went to assail Magda and Marta in the kitchen. She rounded the bend of the servant's passage to the kitchen, to a mass of people in various stages of preparation. There was a whole boar roasting on a spit in the huge fireplace one side of the kitchen, and seemly endless trays of petite and delicate pastries. It suddenly struck Tisha that it was a feast night tomorrow and she had completely forgotten. Oh well, she hoped Patrice had taken into account that her new green dress was all but ruined. She snatched up a double handful of pastries, wrapped them in a napkin and fled the kitchen just as Marta noticed the missing savory tartlets.
Less than a quarter mark to Mr. Artapos' lesson, Tisha was cursing the stairs. And cursing the builders of the castle, there was just no direct route to Mr. Artapos' quarters; they were set at the end of a long corridor, at the base of the high tower. Tisha had to climb seemingly endless steps, and then descend via their mirror image in order to reach his rooms. Finally at her destination, she burst breathlessly into the lesson a good quarter-mark late and covered in pastry crumbs. Mr. Artapos regarded her with disapproval. Adrian, who was lounging in the front row, turned to watch her entrance, was obviously stifling a chuckle. On the other hand Adrian often appeared that he was enjoying his very own inside joke. Kent, the only other student this day, grinned at her. From just a glance, Tisha could tell he had just arrived himself and he was obviously pleased to have someone later than himself. Well, let him be amused. She was certain their roles could be reversed tomorrow, or the next day.
She flushed and quickly grabbed her quill & ink from her cubby in the wall, mumbling an apology to Mr. Artapos. He was determined to have them fluent in the old tongue by springtime and had stated as much. The lesson seemed arduous to Tisha. Mr. Artapos waved her over once the class was finished. Fearing a lecture on timekeeping she meekly obeyed. In fact what he wanted was to offer her additional, mandatory tutelage. "You are special, gifted as it were." he said, "I think it is very important that you learn what I have to teach". Tisha nodded, trying not to focus on his voluminous and curled mustache as he was speaking. He went on, "Your new class will be at nightfall, in the eastern high tower. You will start tonight. Bring a time taper, which should be all you need." He turned, as if the matter was closed, and went back to his desk and his own zealous studies.
Tisha edged her way out the door, closing it as quietly as possible. For the second time in one day, Adrian caught her by surprise. "Tsk tsk Tish, Mr. Artapos hardly ever keeps us behind. It must be serious." he said gravely. "Oh come off it, Adrian. He just wanted to tell me I am gifted, and he’s giving me extra studies so I can prove him right." Tisha replied, inclining her head haughtily. To his credit, Adrian looked only slightly surprised. Tisha favored him with a grin, "It’s a feast day tomorrow, would you like to come to the kitchens with me?” Adrian grinned back, "I’ve already been there and back milady, though I will accompany you. No telling what nefarious dangers may bar your way" he said with a wink. Tisha chuckled along with him this time. They set off for the kitchens.
The kitchens were in chaos, as they usually are prior to a feast day. Magda looked up from the dough she was diligently kneading, scowling slightly at Tisha and Adrian. Addressing Adrian, Magda wagged a dough-covered finger at him "Back for more? Don’t think I didn't see you take 3 berry tarts and well over a full portion of meat stew. That was for the guardsmen!" Adrian bowed, as if he was a nobleman addressing a dignitary, "Why Magda, I never thought you would be the one to begrudge a growing boy some dinner." He feigned disappointment, and motioned behind his back for Tisha to steal the food while Magda was occupied. She hastily grabbed a roll of crusty bread, and filled it with a dollop of meat stew and wrapped 2 berry tarts in a napkin, and stuffed that in her pocket. She made her exit through the servant's passage. In the distance, she could hear Adrian extracting himself from Magda's conversation. "Always a pleasure, Magda I promise I won’t tell Marta a word about the tarts if you don't" he murmured as he was leaving.
She and Adrian made their way to the great hall, mostly ready for the feast tomorrow. They sat in front of the cold hearth nibbling and chatting idly about their class, and Tisha's earlier bout of cursing. "You know, Tish, you really should watch your mouth. Good thing I've got your back, and Gregory didn't hear you". Tisha was suddenly aware of exactly how much he could incriminate her if he wished to. "Well," she retorted, "Good thing I've got your back and won’t tell him how you've been sneaking around in the shadows." His eyebrows made a dash for his hairline, she nodded slowly. "I know you're up to something, Adrian, just not what yet. Don't worry I won’t tell if you don't" she claimed, in an echo of his words to Magda. With autumn almost here she was still unused to the days growing shorter instead of longer, they both became aware of the advancing hour. She snatched a time-taper from one of the numerous candelabra's around the cavernous great hall and made a dash for the eastern high tower.
Mr. Artapos was standing in the middle of the empty and dusty room, floor adorned with flurries of girl-sized footprints. Tisha bit her lip, hoping she wasn't late, and that the connection between the footprints and her wouldn't be made. Mr. Artapos addressed her, "Welcome child, be at ease. You are not late". Tisha still felt like a caught fugitive. He took her time-taper from her and placed it in the sconce near the door, sending shadows dancing crazily in the dim.
The old man cleared his throat, "Tisha, as I told you earlier, I believe you are special. Gifted. I do not exaggerate" his accent was thick, and Tisha found him even more intimidating than usual, with dark shadows mimicking his bushy eyebrows and mustache. He continued," I want you to sit, cross legged, as close to the center of the room as you can. I am going to see what you can do." She obeyed, curiosity overriding nerves. Her thoughts ran riotously, her heart was pounding. Mr. Artapos gently placed his lean fingered hand on her head, "Close your eyes, try to think of nothing". Failing to see what this would gain, she tried to empty her thoughts, and failed miserably. The old man nodded, "you only fail because you think you will fail. Try again, empty your thoughts, and close your eyes". Tisha tried again, starting with thinking of the ocean, the waves at the top and the lazy sway of current underneath. Dancing in her mind’s eye was a forest of kelp, dark in the depths; she plunged into the deepest part. Turtles swam past, dodging the hull of a large ship that has come in to port. A whale swam above her, and she felt a pang of pity for it, he shouldn't be this far north yet. With a jolt she was back in the tower. She must have been daydreaming. She hoped she hadn’t missed anything Mr. Artapos had said.
He was looking at her, eyebrows elevated, lips pursed in thought. She looked down at her fists, clenched in her lap. Suddenly self-conscious she piped up, "I'm sorry Mr. Artapos, I tried, I really did. I thought I could clear my thoughts by thinking of...” he raised his hand in a sign of interruption. His other hand was gripping his temple. "Tisha, you have done well. Your thoughts were in the right, and you have taken a soul-journey, and brought me along with you. I was right about your Gift" He yawned expansively and waved her towards the door. "Tomorrow evening, after the feast, come here again and I will show you something special." His smile was genuine, though his slightly-browned mustache as well as his cracked and chipped teeth made it a slightly gruesome thing. Tisha smiled back, halfheartedly, wondering if the old man was simply humoring her.
CH2-
Tisha awoke with the headache of the century. The sun beamed cheerfully in the window, a stark contrast to the deluge that had sodden the previous day. At length, Tisha became aware that her mother, Ferma was in the room, working her needlepoint next to the hearth. Ferma tittered as Tisha stirred, "I'm awake, mother, no need to make such a racket" she mumbled crankily and kicked her blankets off. It appeared that Patrice wasted little time; there was already a stack of clothing on top of the chest at the foot of her bed. She rifled through it, selecting a long tunic of blue and brown leather leggings. She dropped into the seat next to Ferma and noted with relief that breakfast was already provided. She sipped at the strong tea and regarded her mother through half-squinted eyes, “Good morning mother, my head feels like it has been trodden upon this morning, apologies for my mood". Ferma looked more concerned than anything and started to quiz Tisha about what she had to eat and drink last night. Finally her diagnosis was given: Tisha was suffering from bad luck for stealing Magda and Marta's tarts last night. The solution, Ferma spelled out, was to apologize and offer service to the pair of sisters."I think it is a fair solution, Tish. You should make amends as soon as you can, lest your headache get worse" Tisha grumbled, heaved herself up, and set off for the kitchens.
If the kitchens were busy yesterday, they were riotous today. There was simply no way Tisha could physically get into the room to apologize to Magda and Marta, let alone help them work. She would just be in their way, thus earning her another required apology. A vicious cycle to be sure. With a sigh, Tisha backtracked along the servant's passage, her favored route to the kitchens. She took the winging corridor that would lead back to the passageway her chambers were in, if she could remember the way. The dark and damp bothered her not at all, nor the cobwebs and ominous sounds. These corridors were well explored when she was a child. She absently wandered, up ladders and down long sloping sections, through parts that were crusted with dust that hadn't been touched in generations. Abruptly, the passage ended, a tumble of stone blocked her way. Clutching her head, she retraced her steps for the second time this morning. With a hand on the wall and a hand on her head, she set off the way she came, through the near-complete darkness. She heard a shuffle in front of her and thrust a hand out "Who's there? What are you doing here? Did you follow me?" The questions spilled out of her. The inky darkness wouldn't yield any answers, except the sound of hurried footfalls disappearing into the black.
Shaken by the mysterious shadower, she stumbled back along the narrow passageway. Grasping at the latch that would let her into the back of her parlor, she slipped and spilled into her room head over heels. Ferma and Eileen were playing tiles in the room quietly, when Tisha tumbled in. She stood up; bushing cobwebs and dust off her new tunic, hoping her mother wouldn't note just how dusty and cobwebby it was. Ferma and Eileen both rushed her, babbling questions. Tisha to her horror, burst into tears. Eileen cooed and stroked her hair, trying to determine exactly how Tisha had ended up falling through paneling and into their tiles game. Ferma rang the servant’s bell, summoning a group of maids to fetch a bowl of soap and a bucket of hot water. They watched over Tisha as she changed and washed, leaving the dusty clothes for the maids to repair.
With an assurance that she was, in fact, okay and a promise not to wander about the servants passages again, Tisha set off to find Mr.Artapos. She felt very muddled about their encounter last evening, she was torn. On the one hand, she felt that what had happened was important, but she also felt like the old man was humoring her; trying to make her feel more important than she was. Add to that, the imaginary pursuer she had just fled from and the stabbing pain behind her eyes, she was feeling downright muddled. Huffing & puffing at the top of the stairs near Mr. Artapos' study, Tisha stopped to catch her breath. Adrian cleared his throat behind her, and Tisha jumped nearly out of her skin, reflexively dropping into her fencing stand and punching him in the arm. Adrian could not have looked more surprised if Tisha had turned into a flying swine. He rubbed his arm, "Wow Tish, someone's jumpy. You didn't have to hit me, I was just going to greet you, but now I am not so sure!" Tisha flinched, frustrated, she couldn't bite her tongue."Maybe if you weren't always sneaking around so much, you wouldn't get hit. Maybe you should put on some real boots like the rest of us Adrian." She gestured at his home-made, leather, laced-together footwear. They appeared to be little more substantial than sandals, though fully covering his feet. He shrugged at her, looking at his feet. "They're really very comfortable, I recommend them. They’re very quiet too, in case you didn’t notice. Great for exploring the high towers, and servants passages" he grinned. Tisha gave him a halfhearted shove, frustrated by the pace of castle gossip, and set off in her intended direction. Not for the first time, she wished Adrian would find someone more interesting to spy on.
She shoved open the oaken door that identified Mr. Artapos' study. He had his forehead cradled in one hand, hunched over a massive volume, each page packed with spidery-fine penned old tongue. In his other hand he held a steaming cup of bitter-smelling tea. He didn't look up from his page as she entered, “Please have a cup of tea. Sit." he said, clearly not offering her a choice to refuse either. Obediently, she collected a cup of tea and sank gratefully into the soft chair. The tea tasted twice as bitter as it smelled, and she nearly gagged on the flavor though it seemed to numb her tongue and throat after a few sips. They sat silently for a time, he read as if life's mysteries would be found at the bottom of the page, and she took the time to examine his study. The room faced the entrance to the courtyard, with a large casement window. The other walls were occupied by massive bookshelves, even wrapping around the doorway, every nook and cranny that didn't have a bound volume in it was occupied by scrolls. His desk was piled with precarious stacks of parchments, three candelabra's perched along with the parchments, offering cheerful light to supplement the sun beaming through the window. The hearth had a strange set of hooks dangling from it, as if Mr. Artapos had been unsure how large his teapot was. From one hung a tiny cauldron that was bubbling merrily and emitting a sweet smelling steam. She sipped at her tea, her headache was thankfully retreating."Mr. Artapos, I wanted to ask...” she paused, self conscious. His eyebrows rose but he didn't look up, “Of course I meant it, Tisha. You did very well last night. You have the gift, and what you did was not imagined. Do not forget your assignment; you left it on your desk. Your lesson is in a mark and a half" He waved towards the door. "Take another cup of tea, you need it. Return the cup at the lesson" Tisha murmured a goodbye and took her leave.
Feeling more puzzled than before, she wound her way back to her chambers. Upstairs she climbed, and back down, around a corner and back up, down a corridor and up some more. She was hoping the designer of this castle got walled in somewhere. The corridors were endless, winding things. To go down and left one must first go up and right. She did a full turn before entering her chambers, checking for Adrian. He seemed to be ten steps behind her lately, no matter where she went. With her assignments safely collected, she departed back to Mr. Artapos' lesson room. Her headache had completely eased, evidently helped by the bitter tea Mr.Artapos had insisted she partake in. She eyed the time-taper, with a quarter-mark remaining until class, Adrian and Kent arrived together. Adrian sat down next to her, his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. He linked his fingers behind his head and stretched out arrogantly. Kent sat on the other side of Tisha, nervously folding and refolding his handkerchief. Tisha watched Kent out of the corner of his eye, imagining what his thoughts were about. She thought of him missing his absentee mother, dead these past five years, and imagined him dreading the volume of work that the stable required and the hope that reading writing and languages could improve his lot. She shook her head, banishing the idle fancies. Kent was probably just counting horses in his head. Adrian stifled another laugh to himself, breaking the silence, and startling Tisha and Kent. Mr.Artapos entered in a flurry of parchments and ostentatiously dyed robes.
Tisha yawned, the class dragged on, though Mr. Artapos had kind words for her assignment, she felt like the lesson was unending. Her mind was racing with images of what she had seen last night; Mr. Artapos’ assurances that it was “real” did little to calm her mind. It raised more questions than it answered. Was this magic? What else was possible? She shuddered, imagining the ravaged lands that lay past the Black wood and beyond the Dread Pass. Only vague stories made it as far as Ocavill, usually passed down through three or four hands before falling on the ears of these remote residents. The Black wood, she knew, was not much more dangerous than most woodlands. Mostly ringed by mountains trade caravans made their way through, seasonally, this was the only land route to the capital, Kalrem. Tisha imagined the road, winding out of the castle as a dusty, rutted trail, turning to smooth cobbles as it wound through Ocavill and along the islands. She counted the five of them in her head, visualizing the causeway winding over each one, as Mr. Artapos lectured on about the importance of the old tongue, in his strange accent. “Languages must be nurtured, as speakers this is our duty.” He concluded the lesson, closing his massive tome with a thump and waving them all away crankily. “No assignment tonight, it is feast night” He dismissed them.
Tisha found herself back at her quarters, unsure how she had arrived. Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, she called on the maids and set them to work getting her ready for the feast. Grateful for Patrice’s foresight, she donned the dark blue damask gown. The neckline scooped dangerously low, Tisha felt at once very grown up and very nervous. The dress was perfectly tailored, the long sleeves fitting narrowly down to the wrist. The cut was simple but fit very well, hugging her curves down to the hips and then flowing loosely to just brush the top of her feet. Etta, Tisha’s waiting maid, coiled up her hair into an intricate knot, fastening it with glittering quartz pins. A necklace of silver chain with dark gemstones echoed the neckline. It was time to greet the visitors; usually it was a barely concealed attempt to betroth Tisha to the richest Baron, a necessary evil. Ferma and Eileen were waiting for her, in their proper places.
The first family through the door was the Ardang family, her mother ushered their eldest son over. The boy, if he could be called that, was at least 10 years Tisha’s senior and outweighed her by about five stones. He bowed and made his obsequious compliments to her appearance. He eyed her lecherously as she returned the bow, and moved on to the next family. The most interesting and wealthy family arrived last. She decided it was a calculated move, the Lerus family was known for being particularly shrewd. Her mother presented her to Josef Lerus, and made it clear that he was her most promising suitor, though not if Tisha had anything to say about it. Josef was nice to her, but cruel to his animals, servants and peasants. He had wispy red hair and his eyebrows were nigh indiscernible from his freckles. He bowed deeply, clearly impressed by her décolletage. She bowed politely as he moved on.
The great hall was arranged with long tables forming a rectangle around the center arena, where hired minstrels merrily played ballads. The table closest to the hearth was where Tisha was sat, nearly at the end of the bench, with Ferma on one side and naught but air on the other. The tables were dressed with linen cloths, and fresh reeds cushioned the floor. The entertainment was much better than it had a right to be, this far from Kalrem, the musicians were skilled and beautiful. Tisha blushed when the lute player’s eye met hers, a fall of chestnut hair occluding his vision. He blew it out of the way with a huff, just as Ferma’s elbow met her ribs. “Tisha! Remember your propriety!” Tisha sunk lower in her seat, wishing she could simply disappear. As if the thought triggered him, Adrian locked her gaze. He grinned widely and winked at her, triggering another suffusion of blush to filter uncomfortably across her face. Afraid her mother would notice, she sipped at her watered-down wine, nibbling at the portions of various fancies sparingly. “You know, that Josef really is a catch” Ferma stated, gesturing at the table to their right. “He could do much good for our estate; you know Duke Setch will not live forever. You must plan carefully to ensure we retain all that is ours.” Ferma nodded, as if agreeing with herself. Tisha was unconvinced, “Mother, he is a tyrant. I would do better even with Benjamin Ardang, and I fear he is three times the person I am” Tisha said, tossing a pheasant bone onto the reeds. ”In fact” Tisha added dangerously, “I think even Adrian would be a better match. No, I will not entertain Josef as a suitor.” Hopefully that would be clear enough that Ferma wouldn’t bring it up again.