“Show me the rune for
tree.
”
Pen poised in the air, Tildi looked around for an inkwell and paper. Olen blew out the corners of his mustache. “No—you must know how to draw the runes without using ink. The line is enough.”
Tildi stretched her memory backward. Teldo had taught her lessons in scribing while he was learning it, with the aid of a book he had purchased
and the leaf their mother had given them with the runes upon it that glowed.
Tree
was a rune she had seen with many variations since she had set out from the Quarters, but Olen would be satisfied only with the classic. Really, if she thought closely she should be able to recall it. She thought she must be hesitating far too long, but Olen sat patiently, not hurrying her at all.
The root of
tree
was the same from which the rune that opened the sky came from. In the books about the origins of the world it shared characteristics with the underlying reality of … reality. In fact, it wasn’t that different from the word for
real.
But where to start? She hardly knew which stroke to try. All the words she knew jumbled together in an incomprehensible mass in her mind’s eye.
Behind Olen, on the wall, a silvery rune shimmered into existence. It said
tree,
or rather, Silvertree. Was the house deliberately displaying it for her to see now, to jog her memory? The tree must be a thinking being, like a human or smallfolk. Tildi could not take the time to reflect upon that concept, not unless she wanted to tell Olen his own house was helping her cheat on his little test. With a grin she raised the pen and touched it to the air as if writing on a piece of paper suspended there. A silver line followed the point as she drew it down.
Tree
could be written in a single stroke. Tildi bit the end of her tongue as she did her best to follow all the loops and turns that described the roots and leaves, the water it drank, and how it tied the earth to the sky. It felt right as she drew it, and to her delight she knew just where to stop.
Olen’s large eyebrows had been drawn down, too, but they began to rise like clouds. “Not too badly done. But that is a specific tree, isn’t it? I recognize Silvertree’s name there. I want just the essence of the species itself. Reach more deeply into your knowledge and see if you can separate what is specific to Silvertree and what is general about trees.”
“I’m not sure if I can. If I could only look in my book—” Tildi started toward her bag.
“Why? It’s a simple word. You’ve seen it in storybooks. You went to school, you said so in your letters. Drag it up from your memory, by force, if necessary.” The look of mild amusement in the green eyes took some of the sting out of the sharp direction. “Don’t be afraid of me, girl. I’m the safest thing you will face in your career as a wizard. If the first lesson scares you, then you have chosen the wrong calling. Go on. Go back to your earliest days and think.” Tildi closed her eyes.
She was hesitant about calling up any memories of home, as if they
would bring the horrors of her last day to her. It was best to follow Master Olen’s instructions, and think forcefully, ignoring that which she did not want to see. In her mind she called up the picture of the slate in the village classroom, and the schoolmaster’s hand as he wrote upon it in white pencil. He drew the picture of a tree, then next to it a word. Yes, there it was. Why did she ever think it was hard to recall?
Tildi mimicked the symbol in the air. It looked rather like a very young schoolgirl had drawn it, but it was accurate.
“Now, draw beside it only the details that make Silvertree’s different. Only those details, mind you!”
That was much harder. It was like picturing embroidery without the garment inside it, with all the crossed threads that usually remained hidden. When she finished there was a tangle of lines in the air. She blushed to look at them, but Olen seemed pleased.
“That’s good, girl. You’re teachable.”
“Thank you, master,” Tildi said, clutching the pen. “I’ll do anything I can for you, sir. I am a very good—”
Olen chuckled and interupted, “I appreciate your eagerness, lass. Ah, here you are.”
O
len turned and gestured toward the door. A plump woman with silvering brown hair done up in a braided bun on top of her head stood in the doorway. Her complexion was fresh pink and white, she had a pretty, pointed nose above plump, pink lips, and she had the lightest blue eyes Tildi had ever seen.
“This is Tildi Summerbee, my new apprentice,” he told the woman. He peered down at Tildi. “Liana is my housekeeper. She will show you to your room, if she would be so good.” He looked Tildi up and down again. “Perhaps we will take the legs off the bed for you.”
“A pair of steps might be easier, Master Olen,” Liana said with gentle patience. “It’s a nice bed the way it is.”
“Hmm?” Olen gave a dismissive wave. “Whatever you will. I’m not
in charge of housekeeping. I have other matters I must attend to for now. Go ahead and see if you like your room.”
Tildi put the pen down and hoisted her rucksack, which now felt to her as if it weighed no more than a feather. “I am sure I will, sir. You won’t regret it, sir.”
Olen was already engrossed in a closely written scroll. “I’m sure I won’t.”
“Thank you, master!”
Liana laid a large, pink hand on Tildi’s shoulder and guided her toward the door. “Come on, child. He’s not hearing a word you say. Tildi, is it? That’s a pretty name. I’m sure Master Olen told me something different when you first arrived here, but he does not always tell me things clearly so I can understand them.”
Tildi didn’t say anything, but followed the housekeeper up yet another winding flight to the next level of the gigantic house. Her cheeks were red with shame, realizing that perhaps no one at all had been fooled by her disguise! Why had the people at the Rushet inn not said anything, instead of letting her carry on like a strolling player and making a fool of herself?
Because they were kindly folks, and they let her say what she wanted. Perhaps they thought she was a runaway apprentice looking for a better life. Or any one of a hundred stories she could think of. Could be they were talking about it among themselves at that moment, over a glass of Mistress Cake’s excellent beer, trying to guess the fate the little smallfolk girl was running from. They must have been able to sense that beneath the bravado she was frightened to death of traveling alone in a strange land, and saw fit to smooth the way as they could. If she wanted them to think she was a boy, then they felt it was only kind to let her think they believed it. It did no harm. In fact, now that she was getting over the shame, it had made her feel more confident, and let her continue her journey without fear. The favor they had done her was immeasurable in its value. If in the future she could do the folks at the Groaning Table a good turn, she would.
“
H
ere we are, Mistress Tildi,” Liana said, stepping aside so the smallfolk could step over the nut-brown threshold. “All yours.”
It was indeed a nice bed, with a chestnut-colored counterpane, surrounded by pure white gauze curtains, in a beautiful room that would
have done credit to the wealthiest family in the Quarters. Tildi forgot about the heavy pack she was carrying as she wandered in the chamber, hardly daring to breathe. The ceiling was a high dome, a rounded triangle in shape. Around the top of the walls, a pattern had been painted of green vines that tumbled down in each corner in a riot of leaves and small, perfect pink roses. The room was alive with the scent of them. Tildi touched one with her hand, and the petals yielded to her fingers, releasing more of their luxurious perfume. They were growing right out of the walls!
The rest of the space was crowded with furniture: a writing desk underneath the high clerestory window, a wardrobe of a rich, dark wood she did not recognize, a couple of chests, a washstand with a looking glass, and a pair of narrow tables flanking the bed. Candlesticks sat on the tables and the writing desk, and a large brass sconce with a crystal chimney loomed over her head near the door.
“It’s a bit small to live in,” Liana said, “but since you’re a smallfolk it must feel big enough to you.”
“It’s … regal,” Tildi whispered, trying to find a rich enough word. The housekeeper laughed. “Well, then we all live like kings and queens here. This is one of the very smallest bedrooms, but it’s traditional to keep the apprentice in here. The last one was a lad bigger than the master, and I would swear that his head hit one wall and his boots hit the door.” She raised the gold watch to look at it. “It’s five o’clock. There is bread, cheese, and some fruit on the tray there on the desk. Have yourself a little snack and a rest. Dinner’s at eight. You’ll dine with Master Olen.”
Tildi looked at the generous tray and back at the housekeeper with puzzlement on her face. “But you didn’t know for certain that he would accept me as his student.”
Liana smiled down at her. “If Silvertree lets you in, then you’d almost be certain to be accepted. He takes her recommendation. She’s a good judge of people.”
Tildi stroked the silvery wall. “It’s a she, then?”
Liana looked up at the high ceiling. “I suppose not, as we count things, though she bears seeds and fruit, so I think of her as a her. She’s got her feelings, you’ll come to find. I had a lot of things to accept when I came to work for a wizard. I’m sure your house is full of wonders, as well, you being a student of the infinite arts.”
Tildi shook her head. “Not at all, and never anything like this. My
home is so different than the way you live. My people don’t like magic.”
Or girl wizards,
she thought to herself. “Everything I’ve seen since I left home is different. I like some of it very much, but a lot of it makes me uncomfortable.”
“I think that defines Master Olen’s household,” Liana agreed. “You may never know the meaning of what’s going on, but you can’t let that haunt your mind a bit. Dinner at eight. You’ve no clock, but you’ll know. Take some time for yourself. Your bathing room is just to the right. You don’t have to share with anyone. The tub is big, so take care climbing into it. Take your time. It’s a lot to absorb all at once, I know. There’s a wardrobe for you. Linens are inside it. Leave your laundry in the covered basket. It will be gathered up with the rest of the household’s. If you need anything, ask for it. Welcome, Tildi.”
She sent a kindly smile over her shoulder as she departed.
Tildi’s meager belongings filled only two shallow drawers at the bottom of the grand wooden wardrobe and two hooks in the cabinet. It was just as well, because she would have needed a ladder to reach the hanging bar. There was room to store a hundred garments. Her clothing, which had seemed respectable enough in the Quarters, seemed ragged and faded in the gorgeous bedchamber. She took out what few items were still clean and unworn, and bundled the rest into the woven basket. Everything in her pack smelled of the road, especially her. She ought to take advantage of her own bathtub before dinner, and put on her best clothes to honor her master. She hoped he would like her.
With the greatest of care, she stowed her books and papers in a small chest clearly intended for that purpose that stood beside the writing desk. Soft light shone through the window above it. Tildi glanced up, bemused. Something had changed in the last few moments. She was sure that the window had been higher off the floor. Now she could look comfortably over the sill into the gardens below.
Tildi patted the soft-colored wall. “You are aware, aren’t you? You can change your insides as you please. Thank you. I’ve met some very fine trees since I left home, but you are the most amazing of them all.”
The smooth wood warmed under her touch. Tildi almost imagined that it bulged out slightly to accept her touch like a cat arching its back.
At the bottom of her dusty pack were her brothers’ token possessions. Tildi lifted them out and sat on the floor with them in her lap. Tears pricked at her eyes as she turned them over. They were precious to her, almost the only reminders that she had from home, and the only ones
she really wanted. Beside them was another small white parcel. Tildi unwrapped it. It was her cap and the braid she had shorn off. Automatically she smoothed out the white linen and started to put it on, to regain a seemly appearance.
No,
she thought firmly, setting it aside. She could never go back to the way things were. It felt as if it had been a lifetime since she had left the Quarters, not a mere ten days. So short a time had passed to encompass so many changes. In that time she had been stripped of family, home, name, even gender, and taken on an identity and a dream that were not her own. Should she throw away the cap and braid?
She made as if to drop them in the basket, but hesitated. It was too soon to make such a final choice. Tildi rolled up the cap with the hair inside it and stuffed it into the back of the drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. Her brothers’ possessions she put into the drawer of one of the night tables, to keep those memories near at hand.
A
chiming like distant birdsong made Tildi drop her comb on her night-stand in surprise. That must be the dinner bell. She followed the sound out of her room and down the long, curving stairs to the ground floor. Now that daylight had fled, the interior of Silvertree was illuminated by sconces that shed a soft, golden light.
A luxurious, hot bath had done much to soothe her nerves, which felt rubbed almost as skinless as her feet and shoulders. By the time she had returned to the room, others had been at work, ensuring further comforts. A pair of steps had been placed to make it easier for her to climb into the tall bed without a scramble. The night tables had been pushed much closer to it, and a soft rug now covered much of the floor. Other furnishings, including a tilting mirror, had been placed where she could use them. The writing desk had been replaced with one more suited to someone of her height, and her clothes were neatly folded upon a low chair. Lacking a single dress among her hastily assembled travel wardrobe, she was forced to don the neatest shirt and trousers she had, and hoped that they would be suitable for dining with a wizard.
Panting, she fetched up in the grand corridor. There seemed to be dozens of rooms, but she could see no one to ask for directions. As if in answer to her thought, a sconce light flickered at the post of one on her right. Delicious smells wafted through the cracked door. Timidly, Tildi peeked inside. Floods of light gleamed from a dozen hanging lamps off
a tablecloth whiter than snow. There must have been a hundred chairs set at the huge table, Tildi noted as she entered. Olen, seated alone at its head, waved her over.
“Sit down, young Tildi,” he said. The corners of his long mustache lifted in a smile. Tildi climbed into the chair he indicated to his right. A large pillow had been placed in it to bring her up to the level of the table, but leaving room for her to rest her heels on the seat.
“Where are all the other people?” Tildi asked, nodding at the forest of chairs.
“Elsewhere,” Olen said vaguely, with a wave of his fingers. “It will just be the two of us this evening. We will talk a little about your duties and your education.”
Mostly he told stories.
Tildi found herself held rapt at Olen’s description of dire battles between wizards and unbelievable monsters, coronations of great kings and queens, the birth of phoenixes and the flight of dragons. A stream of servants in pale gray and green slipped in and out of the room silently, offering food from priceless, gold-trimmed dishes, and departing without a word, but Tildi paid little attention to what she ate except to note that all of it tasted wonderful. Gosto could have taken lessons from Olen, and had enormous fun swapping tales over a glass of his excellent wine.
The wizard was an excellent host. He made sure that she had anything she needed, and her glass was never empty throughout the long meal. There must have been magic at work, for though she drank many glasses, she was as awake and aware as if she had had a long, restful night’s sleep. Many of his stories were humorous. Tildi laughed at them, and he seemed to share her pleasure, but she sensed a watchfulness in him. That was to be expected, since she was a newcomer, but there was more to the mood than that. When he was not launched upon one of his anecdotes he had a careworn expression that made his face look aged, like a shriveled apple. Something terrible was troubling him. A man with his many responsibilities couldn’t help but feel their burden, but this seemed to be a deep-felt problem on his mind all the time. She had seen that look on her father’s face the year that drought almost destroyed their crops.
“Master Olen,” she began, and blushed when he raised his great eyebrows at her. “You seem preoccupied. May I help in any way?” she asked.
“You will be doing enough,” Olen assured her. “But thank you for your consideration. Your empathy does you credit. I am sure your family must be ruing your loss.”
She smiled sadly. If only they were.
He flicked his long fingers, and servants seemed to rush from everywhere to clear the table. Tildi started to gather up her own plates, but a large man in a formal coat appeared at her side and gently but firmly took them out of her hands.
“But, I want to help,” she said.
“You’re an apprentice,” Olen said. “Let my servants do their job, and you do yours.” He rose. Tildi stood up to climb down from her perch, but a gentle force surrounded her, and before she could do more than gasp her feet were touching the ground. She gaped up at her master. “I’ll teach you that in no time, if you study hard. Shall we begin early tomorrow morning?”