(669 A.C.)
“We have to do something, Nick,” Leric insisted, shifting his weight forward to lean his elbows on his knees. The barrel he sat on looked far from comfortable, but comfort was a luxury for people just trying to survive.
Nicholas grunted, resting his back against the wooden support behind him and stroking that wild beard of his. Harriet crossed her arms and looked between the two of them, Leric staring imploringly at Nicholas and Nicholas deep in thought.
Harriet agreed--they needed to do something about all the Empire’s lackeys in their home, not to mention the rest of their country. She had her own opinions on what they should do, which involved threats that could become something more. The Empire had gotten rid of that awful general that led the assault on Fris, after all, and besides--better to die in the fight than accepting scraps like dirty Vert fish.
That started with the small, easy to win battles. Like getting rid of the churches sprouting around their land like weeds. And Harriet had some idea of how to deal with them that wasn’t all too dissimilar to weeds either.
That wasn’t her place, though. Nicholas was the leader here, not her. Whatever he suggested, whatever his plan was, as his second-in-command, Harriet would just make sure to see it through.
Finally, Nicholas peered up from under the cliffs of his busy brows. “What do you suggest?” he asked Leric.
“You’re the town blacksmith. You’d have an easier time than anyone else,” Leric replied earnestly. “I say you gather up all the men and and women--children even, if they’re willing to fight--give them whatever weapons--”
“Short-sighted,” Nicholas interrupted. “Can you keep a fire alive for weeks or months by throwing all your wood on it at once? If we start a fight now, we’ll be wiped out. It’s one thing to hold protests at the church. It’s another to bring war back to our broken country.”
“It doesn’t have to go that far,” Harriet murmured. “We can start here, with just our people. Do you think the Empire cares about one city close to the border?”
Nicholas turned his dark eyes on her, his face pinching in what was probably frustration. It was an old argument between the two of them--violence or passivity. Peace never changed anything, Harriet thought bitterly. Why couldn’t Nicholas understand that?
“I think the Empire will accept no rebellion of any sort,” he said. “We’re too fragile right now. The war is over, and we lost. If we want to take our country back from the greedy hands of the Empire, we must bide our time.”
“For what?” Harriet snapped. She knew her temper was getting the better of her, that Leric was gaping at her, and that Nicholas’s own ire was rising if the way he bristled was any indication. “There’s no cavalry coming--no other country gave two shits when the Empire laid siege to Fris. If we want to take our country back, we need to rise up.”
Nicholas grunted. He gestured as he spoke, small, tight motions at first that gradually became more explosive. “And who will follow you? The starving fathers who can barely provide for their families? The mothers that were raped and beaten if not killed outright? The children who can barely lift a spear straight in front of them?” Nicholas shook his head. “I know you want to fight, both of you,” he looked between the two of them, his gaze heavy, “but I don’t see a way we win like that. Not yet.
“The Empire is here. It will be here for the foreseeable future, taking its pound of blood from our people. Right now, we can’t afford to focus on how to drive them out--we’re not strong enough for that yet. No, right now, the fire in the people’s spirits is low, barely embers. If we ever want to rise up again, we must stoke that fire with a careful hand. We must remind the people of our country that they are proud Frisians who don’t need to eat the Empire’s shit. And we can’t allow them to grow passive in the face of the Empire’s rule. They will try to sedate us with their religion that totes peace and love all while they destroy everything we cherish, everything we stand for. We cannot allow this.”
He made some good points, Harriet could concede that much. But he also didn’t answer how they would stop that insipid priestess from trying to infect them with her naive, pretentious scriptures.
“So what do we do?” Harriet demanded, tired of the way Nicholas often meandered his way toward the heart of whatever point he was trying to make. She knew she shouldn't be so harsh so quick--knew that Nicholas was being practical rather than impulsive--but she was tired of waiting. She wanted to see their blood.
The same way they had taken blood from her.
“That priestess is weak,” Nicholas said, stroking his beard again. “Of will and of strength. We keep staging protests, and I’m sure she’ll leave before long. Then it is just a matter of doing so in other villages, towns, and cities.” Nicholas sighed, sounding entirely too weary for Harriet’s liking. “We’re talking about rebellion here,” he said, giving the two of them weighted looks once more. “We cannot afford to overstep ourselves. We will take an inch at a time and see it as the victory it is. One day, those inches will become a mile.”
Leric thinned his lips but merely nodded. Nicholas turned his gaze back on Harriet, but she could only bring herself to look away. She trusted Nicholas, she really did. They had been friends for years, had helped each other survive the war as best as anyone could spare a thought for another in such times. Nicholas was the one that had the respect of the townsfolk more than Harriet herself--where he went, she followed. Maybe with a helping of irritation and a bleeding tongue from all the bites she gave it, but she followed nonetheless.
Knocking came from the door leading into the basement, four rapid strikes followed by one final thump. The Empire soldiers in town would just barge in--that meant that it was the innkeeper, Stevan, coming to interrupt them. He wouldn't do so if it wasn't important, and besides, at that point Harriet would gladly welcome an escape from this conversation.
The door creaked open, letting in a sliver of sunlight from the morning sun pouring through the windows upstairs, which was blocked a moment later when Stevan poked his head into the room. “Harriet?” he called, squinting in the relative darkness of the basement.
It came as a surprise--Harriet had been certain that whatever matter Stevan came to talk about, it would have concerned Nicholas. It always did, after all.
“Yes?” Harriet answered, stepping over to the base of the worn stone stairs leading up to the door. “Is something wrong, Stevan?”
Stevan blinked and finally focused his gaze on her. “Just heard from Murin,” he said, and Harriet knew he was referring to the young orphan boy he kept around to run his errands and tend to the inn. “That priestess is going around with some foreign girl, asking where they can find you.”
Harriet arched an eyebrow. Unless the priestess was coming to apologize for her existence and announce her return to her country, Harriet wasn't interested in listening to whatever she had to say. The fact she was dragging a stranger along behind her was mildly intriguing, though.
“What do we know about this girl?” Harriet asked as she climbed the stairs. She offered Nicholas and Leric a wave in farewell, receiving a nod and a salute in return, respectively.
When she reached the door at the top, Stevan opened it wider to allow her to pass, and she walked out into the light bustle of the inn’s kitchen. Murin, the black-headed young lad sporting as many freckles as there were blades of grass in a meadow, had an armful of sacks as he hurried into the kitchen from the back door. He gave Harriet a nod as he passed, heading over to Grenia, Stevan’s wife, who ran about the kitchen covered in white streaks of flour as she prepared for the dinner crowd that would come to the inn once the sun began to set. Grenia barely glanced at Harriet, her mouth in a thin line as she wordlessly directed Murin where to set the sacks. Harriet wasn’t sure what she’d done to make Grenia dislike her, but she didn’t particularly care. It probably had to do with Grenia’s distaste for any type of revolutionary practices, but Stevan was steadfast in his support of Nicholas and Harriet. Maybe that was it.
“She’s not Empire,” Stevan said, walking just behind Harriet as she strode into the main room of the inn.
Only a couple of patrons sat at one of the tables, both of them older folks that Harriet knew from around town. They were the kind to keep to themselves--a good and bad thing in a lot of ways. Right now, it meant that they wouldn’t tell the priestess they’d seen Harriet pass, but they probably didn’t know anything about the whole ordeal either.
“Well, she might not be Empire,” Stevan amended. “Her eyes are gold.”
Harriet nodded. She moved to one of the windows looking out at the road in front of the inn, observing the people passing by for a moment. “Nanshee?”
“Only place I know of that gives you that little trait,” Stevan drawled,
Harriet looked at him sharply, and Stevan cleared his throat. Before he could say anything else, Harriet returned her gaze to the window. She didn’t spot the priestess, but then, if she was asking around, it was probably in the city’s main square a street over from the inn’s location. “What do they want?”
“As far as I know,” Steven said, sounding sufficiently contrite, “the Nanshee girl wants a magic teacher.”
Harriet frowned. The priestess only had blonde hair, a clear indicator that she knew a bare amount of new magic at most, so it made sense that she couldn’t just teach the girl herself. Surely they were aware that Harriet only knew old magic though, right? What type of person--a Nansheen at that--would want to learn old magic? It was frowned upon in most parts of the world, considered a risky art with little practicality anymore. All nonsense of course, but Harriet knew that was the kind of rhetoric spread among the Empire and its allies. Nanshee wasn’t officially under the flag, but they might as well have been.
“And she wants me?” Harriet said slowly.
Stevan splayed his hands in front of him, shrugging. “Looks like it.”
And the priestess thought that--what? That Harriet would just be oh-so-glad to spend her free time mentoring some random, snot-nosed mongrel? She had bigger things to worry about right now.
But then again... if this girl’s family was wealthy enough to come to Fris looking for a magic teacher, maybe they could come to an agreement. It was, after all, difficult to make anything happen in this world without a little compensation.
“How old is this girl? Do we know where her parents are?” Harriet asked, moving to rest her back against the wall next to the window.
Her mind was already moving through the possibilities. How much money would Harriet ask for? What could she do with it? How many shipments of goods or bribes could she stretch the payment out over? She knew that many of the soldiers in town weren’t from the Empire proper--much more affordable to bring on mercenaries in this continent than ship over all their prized fighters and mages. How many of those could she convince to join her fight rather than protecting the Empire’s interests?
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“Girl is fairly young--can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen.” Stevan crossed his arms. “Only room I have rented out right now is to some Iten lass. Can tell by those tattoos of theirs.”
“So if they’re in town, they’re not staying here,” Harriet said. Stevan nodded. “Who then?”
“Can’t say,” Stevan said. “You could go ask Murin if he knows anymore, but I’ve told you all he told me.”
Harriet grunted. She could go ask Murin, but the lad seemed busy enough. Besides, she would have to subject herself to Grenia’s ire and scrutiny again, which didn’t sound appealing. No, if she wanted to know, she’d get the information right from the source.
“Does Murin have any more errands to run today?” Harriet asked.
Stevan nodded. “Have some deliveries I need him to make after he brings in the rest of the flour from our latest shipment. Why?”
“Spread the word,” Harriet said. “I’ll be waiting for the girl at my home. But I don’t want to see even a hair of that priestess.”
Stevan nodded again. “I’ll let Murin know, and if anyone else comes in about it, I’ll tell them, too. Heading out then?”
Harriet sighed. “I guess I better. Let’s see if I can make anything come of this, eh?”
Stevan gave a light chuckle, more of a huff than anything. “Wouldn’t that be something.”
Harriet bid him farewell and left the inn behind, slipping through the front door, flicking up her hood, and keeping her head down as she navigated the streets back to her home. It rankled her even after all this time that she had to act small and submissive under the gazes of the soldiers patrolling the city. That she had to conceal her face as best she could so that they didn’t recognize her as one of the community leaders or meet any of their eyes lest they start getting any ideas. It might have been broad daylight, but that hadn’t stopped them in the past.
Her house wasn’t far from the inn, thankfully. She liked it that way--when she needed to be surrounded by her community, her countrymen, it was just a short walk along the cobbled roads. It was a small place. An eaved roof, two windows framing the front door, and inside, only three rooms--one downstairs and two upstairs.
Gazing at it from outside, her thoughts strayed to how it used to feel so much smaller and yet be so impossibly large. Days spent with her siblings, her parents, her grandparents, all of them crammed together under the single roof, and all of them loud, brash, and driven. Traits that did not do well in a brutal war.
Harriet mercilessly stamped out those thoughts, locking them far into the recesses of her mind. She had no time for grief. If she wanted to avenge them, she had to keep moving forward. Tears would only slow her down.
She headed inside, hating the silence clinging to every inch of the main room. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t dealt with before, though, and she busied herself with filling a cup with some water from the pot hanging above the fireplace along the back wall. She had intended to make herself some breakfast this morning, but then Nicholas had stopped by and asked her to come with him to the inn, and the rest was history. Now, she would settle for some tea to sip while she waited for her curious guest to arrive.
It was simple enough to toss in a few tea leaves into the cold water. She set the cup on the wooden table shoved into the corner--she didn’t like to eat at it anymore, the thing too big for just one person--and focused on the water inside. It was as simple as breathing at that point. With each passing second, she harnessed her magic, letting it trickle into the water in the form of heat. In no time at all, steam began to waft from the surface of the water, and once it was hot enough, she left it to steep for a few minutes.
In the meantime, she sat at the chair next to the fireplace and, with barely more than a thought, poured enough magic into the wood to light it on fire. The warmth was nice, if a bit smothering, and she closed her eyes, listening to the crackling and imagining that it wasn’t the only other thing keeping her company in this gods-forsaken house.
She settled in to wait. She fetched her tea from the table and simply held it in her hands for a while. Eventually, though, she swished the water around to get the contents moving, and once the leaves were already in motion, she tugged on them with her magic to get them to spill over the lip of the cup into her waiting hand. She tossed the leaves into the fire, the sound of them sizzling and popping strangely satisfying, before finally taking a sip.
Her grandfather--the one on her mother’s side, her paternal grandfather had died before she was born--used to make the best tea. He said there was a ceremony to it, an art as sacred as the gods themselves. He had been the one to start teaching Harriet her first bit of magic, having her focus on heating the water. She remembered so many days spent crying because she wanted to be playing in the streets with her brothers and sister, not sitting inside and staring at a cup of cold water for hours on end.
Her grandfather would always click his tongue at her and lightly tug on her strands of blonde hair--back when it still had been only blonde. She can still hear him, his voice colored with mirth in the face of her tears and snot, saying, Such beautiful blonde hair. Don’t you want to do something with it?
And so many times she’d said no, because she didn’t care about learning magic when she could be doing anything else. How she wished she could go back and thank her grandfather for his patient lessons. He’d died before the siege, but not before he saw his daughter fall in combat. Harriet’s mother, a mage like him and like Harriet herself during a time when mages were in high demand. And had high mortality.
A knock at the door broke Harriet from her sour reflections on matters better left in the past. She got up and set the teacup aside to be washed later before moving to open the door, bracing herself for whatever was about to come. Hopefully, she could spin this situation into something that could benefit her and her fellows.
Harriet opened the door. Beyond, just as Stevan had heard from Murin, was a teenage girl, silver hair shining like fine chains in the sunlight. She was a small thing, skinny and a little short, looking more like the malnourished orphans running around Fris than the child of wealthy world travelers. Which--she was alone as well. No parents in sight, and thankfully no priestess trailing after her. Harriet still poked her head out and cast a look up and down the street just to confirm she was truly by herself.
“Dahlia’s not with me, if that’s who you’re looking for,” the girl said, shuffling back a step so that Harriet wasn’t so close to her.
Harriet grunted. The name was dimly familiar, and it didn’t take much to figure out that the girl was talking about the priestess. She looked down at the young woman, cataloging her bright, golden eyes Harriet had placed so much hope in but the way her cheeks bowed in slightly. She’d known many days of hunger, that much was obvious.
What were the chances Harriet was going to see so much as one note from this girl or her parents?
“What’s your name then, girl?” Harriet asked.
“Wanily,” she said.
“Are you from Nanshee, Wanily?”
Wanily pursed her lips, her gaze skittering away from Harriet’s. “I mean, I don’t know if I’m not from Nanshee. My eyes are gold, which I guess is important. But anyway, I don’t see how where I’m from matters.” Harriet snorted, but Wanily merely continued, “All I want is an old magic teacher, and I was told that you might be able to help me with that.”
Harriet arched an eyebrow at her. “Where you’re from matters,” Harriet said firmly. “Are you from the Empire, then?”
Wanily gave a very put-upon sigh for what was a fair question. “Look, I don’t know where I’m from, okay? I’m someone who wanders around a lot--but I’m not with the Wandering People either,” she quickly added. “But none of that matters because I want to learn magic, and that’s something for everyone, right?”
Harriet frowned. “What?”
“Humans are magical creatures,” Wanily said. “It’s natural for us to use magic. It’s what we’re supposed to do. And I want to learn it so that one day I can become the Archmage and help lots of people!”
Her words only made Harriet’s frown deepen. The Archmage had turned a blind eye to the atrocities committed in Fris, granting only token appearances to heal children and prisoners of war. He didn’t come to restore their fields after they’d been burned or lend his power in aid to Fris, and he didn’t once condemn the Empire for what they were doing. Archmage Vertrix could jump off a cliff for all Harriet cared. Those fish he made that could get rid of Necroalgae were pretty useful though, she mused.
Back to the matter at hand. Was there a way Harriet could gain anything from this? “So you’re here alone,” she said. It wasn’t a question
“Yes,” Wanily said anyway, sounding exasperated.
“Then you must be staying at the church,” she said slowly. “You don’t look like the type to have enough money to afford anything else.”
Wanily frowned, but if she took offense, it wasn’t otherwise apparent. “That’s right.”
Wanily wasn’t Empire. But she did, apparently, have their blessing if the priestess was letting her stay at that church. Harriet didn’t think she could expect any type of payment, but then, information could always be more useful. Wanily might be able to at least provide that.
Harriet wanted that priestess gone. If Wanily could grant some insight into how to make that happen, why shouldn't she take the girl on? She seemed to already know some magic based on her hair color, but whether she knew old or new magic remained to be seen.
It wouldn’t be a very intensive process, either. The girl would either be able to understand and apply what Harriet told her, or she wouldn’t. It wasn’t like magic was easy to use--old magic at least, Harriet had no idea what new magic really entailed--so she didn’t expect Wanily to be able to do the magic right away. But as Harriet had learned in her own studies of magic, it was an art that a person either came to understand, or they didn’t. No outside influence or person would be able to change that.
“You know what, why not?” Harriet said, leaning against her door frame and crossing her arms. “You want to learn old magic? I can teach you what I know.”
Wanily blinked up at her a couple times before her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Really?”
“Do you want to learn magic or not?”
“Well, duh,” Wanily said. She pursed her lips. “I just didn’t think that you would actually agree. You’re not a criminal, right?”
Harriet bristled. What was that supposed to mean? “No, I’m not a criminal. I think I should be asking you that if anything.” Wanily was the penniless wanderer here, after all. Harriet would be shocked to learn that she hadn’t picked someone’s pocket at least once.
Wanily’s expression eased. “Alright then. When do we start?”
That was a good question. It wasn’t like Harriet had much else to do in the day, but she also wanted to at least prepare something for the girl to do. Some type of lesson to get her started. She should also probably try to figure out what Wanily already knew.
She had business to attend to tomorrow with Nicholas and some clients to deal with the day after. Then it would be Fifthday, the most sacred day of the week in Fris, and Harriet did not want to spend it teaching a foreigner how to use magic. “Come on Sixthday during Reesh,” she decided. “We’ll see what you already know and go from there.”
Even if Wanily didn’t know how to harness her magic to tell the time, one of the stars of the ninth daystellation, Reesh, was visible during the morning light. She should be able to make it from the Amera church to Harriet’s house in that time.
Wanily beamed at her. “Okay! I’ll be there. Er, here. I’ll be here on Sixthday at Reesh.”
Harriet, despite herself, cracked a wry smile. “I’ll see you then, Wanily.”
Wanily bid her farewell, and Harriet closed the door. She listened to Wanily give a delighted squeal, the sound easily piercing through the wooden door, before her footsteps sounded, heavy and quick, and Harriet could just imagine her running down the street back to the church.
She let out a sigh and returned to her chair. Wanily seemed like a little ball of energy, and Harriet wasn’t sure how well she’d be able to deal with it. That shouldn’t be a problem though--Wanily was the one coming to her to learn magic, she could deal with Harriet’s terseness.
She supposed she should start preparing something to teach her. Depending on what she already could do, Harriet would probably just start with how she started--transferring magic into heat and applying it to an object or substance. It wasn’t easy, but nothing concerning old magic was. Still, it was easier than most things, so that was what Harriet would start with. And if she already knew how to do that, maybe Harriet would pivot toward teaching her some time magic. That could be significantly harder to do as there wasn’t usually a physical object to focus on, but if Wanily could already harness old magic to some extent, it might be right in line with her skill level.
During her lessons, Harriet would ask her what she knew about the priestess and the soldiers and anything else she might know about the Empire that Harriet wasn’t privy to. She would be as subtle as possible--she doubted Wanily would willingly work against the person giving her free lodging--but she would get something from all this.
Tomorrow, she would tell Nicholas her plan. He’d probably bunch his eyebrows and give her that infuriating look of his, but she would not be dissuaded. She wanted the church gone from her country, and Wanily would help her accomplish that whether she knew it or not.