Chapter 6

Today I walk through the doors of the society that I made my own. My sisters and I were busy back in the early days. Rosmerta gathered those with the old knowledge, what was there before the Troubles and the Sundering, how to live like one of the children of the Lifegiver. She chose to preserve the old paths, and teach others to pass the knowledge down. She picked an alderbranch as her symbol. Knowledge is like a river. We will sit by that river and drink well of its waters, like an alder, she would say to those who asked. We will grow thickly and protect the source, and thus the Alder Branches was founded. Airmed was a healer; she gathered those who could heal as well, or could make medicines, care for the needy. She chose Willow as her symbol because it was flexible, useful, able to bend, and her acolytes became the Willow Leaves.

My sister Belisama of all my sisters sought how things should work. She would take the ideas of others and shape them, turn them into useful. For her magic was a tool, not a study or a wonder, a miracle, but as good as a knife. Above all, she was a maker. Those who felt that way, too, gravitated to her. She chose the goose quill pen for her symbol; if it wasn’t as useful as a pen, to made and use and preserve, and as practical, she just wasn’t as interested. Those of like mind flocked to her and became the Goosequills. Close in heart was Nantosuelta, who loved fire and deep earth, and the power of making from the hidden things of earth. She chose the flame for her symbol, for its light that shed on how things could be made, and for it’s power of transformation, and her followers founded the Fireburners – metallurgy and engineering their field. And then there was Litaui, who all things growing, the earth and the waters were a special interest. She rescued so much after the Sundering, and chose the emblem of a pine tree. Her followers called themselves the Greenfellows.

My final sister worked closely with me trying to protect what we have salvaged. Brigant of the shining spear, people called her. Those who chose the defense or attack found a place with her. It was to her I entrusted the rearing of Hawk and Bear and Birch, and it was I who those who wished to learn the deeper magics of defense and protection came. Sister chose the Red Spear for her sigil; her followers became the Red Sticks. I moving though the ways of all my sisters chose no sign. My followers, though, chose the circle. My followers became the Magic Guard, and from them, came the White Circle.

Memories of a Long Life, by Sulis, Oldest of the White Circle.

It was always hard when the Oldest wanted to do anything except be Oldest. Like at this moment, when she walked through the streets of Greenholt, the largest city on the White Isle. Instead of walking through the streets like all the other people who lived here, stopping and talking to friends, eating a bite from one of the street vendors, glancing at all the things for sale, she had to wrap herself in a web of invisibility to keep from gathering a crowd or disrupting business.

And it was a lovely city to wander in. The streets of the city center were lined with gracious, large structures belonging to many of the major schools based on the island, if not necessarily their main or mother houses. The Alder Branches had the largest building, made of white marble and ashlar stone with a deep porch at the street. Inside it went on for several blocks, housing library and study rooms, an auditorium for public meetings, offices, gardens and classrooms. Not far from it was the Goosequill School, not as large, nor as awe-inspiring. Its front was a well made brick structure. Like the Alder Branches, it had spaces for study, classes, lectures, an excellent library and a garden. It also had a row of laboratory buildings at the far back. Scattered between them and further along the road were shops, offices, and even some dwellings. The White Circle had a small, rather inconspicuous building, because its main training campus was located outside of the city. The Fireburners had their workshops at the very edge of town; people often complained about the noise and smell that emitted from their researches. The same with the Greenfellows. The Willow Leaves had a large teaching hospital on the opposite end of town. The Redsticks had a training gymnasium next to the city council’s offices, separate from their chapterhouse further down the road. Just in case of emergency, they said.

At the center of town, where all these other buildings radiated out from, was the simple shrine of the Lifegiver, a single stone reaching up to heaven, surrounded by a tranquil, if small garden. A few people were gathered in the gardens. It was a favored place to relax. Some locals claimed they could feel her essence if they sat there quietly for a time. Others said they could feel her judgment and avoided that gardens altogether.

The Oldest continued her walk. It was, most of all, a town given over to learning, and supporting those who studied in its borders. Bookshops, herbalists, purveyors of useful equipment for all the arts, mechanical, physical, magical, dominated the shops. That, and tea shops where people gathered to discuss the latest lecture or class.

Contemplating the nature of the city that had grown up from the place that she and her sisters had set up to deal with the disasters after the Sundering, the small wooden shacks and first dormitories to house the needy and displaced, she once again felt the tug of amazement at what had grown out of their refugee camp.

“If the Sundering had to happen, at least this good came of it,” she muttered quietly.

Finally, the Oldest reached her destination and dropped her invisibility spell. There were a few gasps from passersby, but before anything could come of it, she stepped through the doors of the Redstick compound. Like all of their centers, there was a foyer, with a receptionist dressed in a crisp black and red uniform. Beyond that was a double door that led to an open exercise yard, surrounded by a colonnade. Off the colonnade would be offices and meeting rooms, supplies.

The receptionist, a young Daoine woman with sharp features and severely styled black hair as befitting a woman in a military order,looked up as the door to the compound closed, then snapped to attention at seeing who had walked in.She was obviously experienced in receiving important visitors, and without any sign of nervousness, calmly stood up and bowed. “Oldest, you honor us. How may I help you today?”

The Oldest walked to the desk. “Century Rothlin, is it? They still have you working reception?”

The woman straightened up and smiled. “Yes, when it’s my rotation. I’m impressed, Oldest, that you remembered.”

“I always remember good workers who I can rely on,” she said. “As to why I have come. Master Tovin sent a message for me. Alas, the message got to me a bit later than I think he expected. He is still here, is he not?”

“Yes, Oldest. I’ll...”

Before she could say what she was going to do, a door behind her desk opened up, and a serious-faced Daoine man stepped out, a look of sternness that was intensified by the neatly groomed goatee he had. He wore a diadem with a single red spear insignia on it. His eyes, almost as probing as the Oldest’s, met hers blue to blue. “Ah, Oldest. You might have thought you were late, but you actually arrived quicker than I expected. Please, come. We’ll sit in the garden room.”

She nodded, and followed him down the colonnade to a sunny room that overlooked a pleasant garden. In its center was a plinth; it was a memorial to all of the Redsticks who had died in the service of An Lar. A young soldier in the red uniform of all the military cadets was there as honor guard; one was always stationed there to remind all the students how far the call to duty could go. The guard was changed every four hours, to maximize the students’ awareness. Every cadet who trained at the chapterhouse had their turn at this duty.

Tovin pointed to a bench at a corner of the garden, and the Oldest took a seat at on it, and looked up at her companion. “You sent word, I came. I take it something important came to your attention.”

“It did, and I thank you, Oldest.” He settled down on the seat next to her, keeping a respectful space between them.

As if on cue, a woman wearing Cadet robes entered the space, rolling a tea service on a cart. She bowed first to her commander, and then to the oldest, then left, without a word being spoken.

Tovin poured cups for his guest and himself.

The oldest accepted the cup. “I take it that you discovered something through your channels that you feel the White Circle needs to know?”

“Something I think will interest you.” Leaving his teacup untouched on the service tray, he reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out a slab of stone with a metal frame. “You remember Gweir Blackthorne?”

“An intense young man, with some ambition. He very much wanted to be a member of the White Circle during his studies, but didn’t have the right group of talents. He might have made a passing member of the Magic Guard, but I could sense his talents were more in your line. He had the potential to be a good leader, though.”

“So many of our cadets wish to make the White Circle, so few have the right gifts, but still make important tools in the protection of the land,” Tovin said, nodding. There is a need for sword as well as magic.”

“That is what my sister Brigant always said. We are all important; we all have our talents. We can all contribute,” the Oldest said.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Quoting from the training manual, are you?” Tovin said, amused.

“It is as true today as when I wrote it,” she said, sipping her tea.

“Agreed,” he said, picking up the stone. “And Gweir Blackthorn has been making his, with quite a bit of success. Recently, he has been sent as Post Commander to Gresholt’s Keep at the Boundary.”

“Ah, I had heard that. His sister-in-law Arriane Allyns is one of my students. Also an excellent young person.” She took another sip of her tea, and watched the young cadet walk his ceremonial path around the plinth. Twice the distance of the monument one direction, a sharp 90 degree turn, another walk, and turn again until he made a complete circuit. Finally, reaching the end, he unsheathed his sword, saluted the memorial stone, resheathed his blade, then began his circuit again.

“Does all that marching really drive home the point?” she asked.

“We like to think so,” Tovin said.

“And how is Gweir coping with Jared Redbeard? He always seemed to be the type to not have patience with that type of person.”

“Well enough not to cause an incident yet. And in fact, he just managed to make a major capture of a smuggling outfit that had gotten on the wrong side of Redbeard. That’s where this comes from.” He handed her the stone slab he had been holding in his hand.

“They’re smuggling in jump stones now?” The Oldest frowned. “I thought we had an agreement with B&F to keep better control of the stones than that.”

“So we do. But look at this one. Look at it carefully.”

She took it from Tovin’s hand and looked at it carefully, turned it over and over in her hands, and briefly raised it to her forehead. “It’s not been initialized, for one thing. The magic hasn’t been invoked.”

“What else?

There’s no B&F mark on it.” She handed it back. “Is that meaningful? Would B&F want their watermark on it if it were going to the black market?”

Tovin shook his head. “I was told that the watermark was part of the magic infusion process that they use to prepare them for work.”

“Could someone have stolen them before they were finished?” the Oldest asked. “Or perhaps the smugglers thought they could sell one of the Shadow Lords shoddy merchandise.”

“That is possible. The stones came with a device that supposedly could activate it. It too had no B&F mark on it. Experts with the Fireburners and the Goosequills are examining it now.”

“That must be an interesting experience, to get two of their masters to work on the same project.”

“King’s orders have a rather magical effect to keep the rivalries under control.” He allowed himself a small smile. “Besides, it’s Greystrand of the Fireburners and Maia of the Goosequills. They are...rather fond of each other.”

“A good choice for teamwork.” She handed the device back to him.

“Another thing we have to come to consider. With the jump stone devices spreading, we have to consider the boundary. We’re going to have a lot more smuggling and breakouts happening with this. We need to make the whole zone a no jump zone. Is that possible?”

The Oldest rubbed her forehead. “The Boundary lands are a large expanse, and it was set up not with our magic, but the Lifebringer’s. Can we modify it? I do not know.”

“If we can’t, say hello to the Dark Queen for me,” Master of the Redsticks said. “Maybe the White Wave can offer the high chief of the Dogheads tea and cakes at Ynys Afel. Perhaps the Lady off the Wild Hunt would be interested in the latest trinkets produced by the Goosequills. The Boundary that so many bled to put into place will mean nothing.”

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A week after Gan had sent off her letter to Allynswood, her friend Elaine had sent her a long, chatty letter with round trip tickets, insisting that she come and tell her everything.

Elaine, considerate as usual, had bought them for a week after that, giving her time to make arrangements and so here Gan was, not standing in the message line, but being escorted into a first class Dragon Web carriage.

Gan clasped her travel bag closely as she entered it, to discover she was the first passenger. A young dragonkin male took her ticket, and gave her a stub.

“This carriage is going to Waterford on Glint,” he said, reading her itinerary written on the ticket. “You’ll get transferred there to Goblin Market.” he said crisply.

“Not a non-stop?” she asked.

He shook his head. His scales were pale red, and his eyes were a deep mahogany, heavy lidded. “Goblin Market evidently doesn’t get a lot of traffic. Your trip there will be handled by Borson Transports instead of Briarwood and Flysch.”

“I haven’t heard of them,” Gan said, pulling her shawl a bit closer.

“Oh, they handle small runs for B and F all over An Lar. Very reputable. They’re nothing like that Torsun Mobile that had such an awful accident last year, if you were worried.”

“Worried?” Gan shook her head. “No. I just haven’t traveled much there.”

He gave her a smile. It was quite toothy. “Travel is good for the spirit, and there’s no travel better than B and F. You’ll be to Goblin Market before you know it. Nothing beats the Dragon Web for getting people and their things there!”

He led her to a seat along one wall. Soon the carriage filled up with several other travelers – a couple of Bauchan men who were dressed like well-to-do merchants, proof that Bauchans could be more than laborers or servants. Next came a tall, willowy Daoine woman dressed in flowing silks who was being escorted by a older Bauchan woman wearing servant livery, dark grey serge with a sensible cloak. She carried a large basket that emitted food odors of a rather delicious type, and held onto a small Daoine girl. They sat in the seats nearest to Gan. Across from them were an old, almost ancient, human and a young man.

“Are you sure this thing is safe?” the old man said to his companion.

“Absolutely, Da,” his companion said. “I take one at least once a month to check up on our shop in Waterford. Best way to go, ever. Better than any coach.”

The Dragonkin man stepped into the room, followed by a porter who loaded one corner with a number of boxes, each with a bright, clear address label.

“Will we be leaving soon?” the Daoine woman asked.

“Oh yes, Lady Hollin. Soon as we get this bit of express freight loaded. He turned and looked at the Spriggan porter, who was stacking the boxes as neatly as possible.

The old human nudged his son. “Is that usual, putting freight in with the people?”

“Sometimes,” the younger man said. “Costs a lot, though. Some folks have more money than time.”

The old man just shook his head. All this was outside his back country experience. “Never see things like this at Whitecross.”

“Never see much besides cows and dairy maids up there. But the world’s a lot bigger than that, Da.”

The old human grumbled something and fell silent.

Soon the freight was stacked, and the Spriggan left. The Dragonkin followed, but paused at the door, and turned to the passengers.

“I’ll be leaving you now. Have a lovely time at Waterford by Glint. If you’re transferring to another destination, the clerk there will see you to the right location.”

He stepped outside. The ancient human turned to his companion. “Now what?”

“Watch, Da.”

It sounded like the door was being latched from the outside. There were a few more bangs, as they closed the luggage compartments. Then there was complete silence. Suddenly Gan felt a rush of energy that was best described as the sensation of having your hand plunged into icy water.

The little girl, startled, looked up at her mother, who gave her hand a squeeze. The lamps in the carriage flickered briefly.

As suddenly as it had come, the sensation passed, and the lamps steadied. They could hear sounds from outside again. Things banged, clanked. Someone outside of the carriage shouted something unintelligible.

The door was unlatched from the outside.

The younger human stood up.

“Why’d you do that?” the old man asked.

“Because we’re here, Da.”

“You’re trying to fool me, aren’t you, Artie? Calm an old man down? We couldn’t be here already. We barely sat down.”

Just then, the door was opened. A different Dragonkin person walked into the carriage, followed by a burst of fresh air. It smelled vaguely of pine trees, scents that did not smell like Comrie. This time the clerk was a woman, her scales a pale brown, and her eyes emerald green. The ruff around her head was almost the same color of her scales, a very calm person.

“Welcome to Waterford by Glint. The weather is mildly warm; you may find your coats a little heavy. It’s sunny, with a mild breeze. If you come this way, I’ll show you to the luggage counter or the transfer station. Thank you for traveling with Briarwood and Flysch.”

And with that, they all got up.

“See Titiana, I told you we’d get here before your cookies got cold,” the Bauchan woman said to the little girl. She patted her basket. “Your father will be impressed.”

Chuckling, Gan got up and headed out of the carriage.

The rest of her journey was just as uneventful. The next carriage was a little smaller, the seats covered with cloth and not leather. There were only two other passengers, a Bauchan woman with frizzy red hair wearing a bright pink dress who was busy reading a book, and a bent-over goblin woman focused on her spinning. It made Gan dizzy watching her twirl it, so she tried to look away. There was more freight on this run, big crates and small, and one had the unmistakable smell of raw wool. Luckily, the journey took no more time to get to Goblin Market than it took to go from Comrie to Waterford by Glint, and after about 10 minutes Gan was free of the smell and the Goblin woman who was chanting some sort of spell into her spinning.

She picked up her bag from the counter, walked through the smaller Dragon Web station, and headed for the outside. There, waiting for her like Elaine had promised, was a young man holding up a sign that read “Gan Thistleberry.”

Taking a deep breath, the little fay woman walked up to the youngster. She gave him her best teacher “Welcome to the Class”smile, watching carefully how he reacted. “Well, hello there, young man. I’m Gan Thistleberry. Have you been waiting long?”

The young Bauchan did as she suspected and looked at her, rather surprised.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

He blushed. “No, ma’am, no. I was...I was...”

“Just surprised?”

“Yes ma’am.” He took her bag and put it in the wagon.

Gan chuckled. “Let me guess. Most of Elaine’s guests are high level Daoine – people from the Court, all fancied out with a troop of servants and luggage up to here.” She lifted her hand up to her nose. “And then I come by, a wee, plump big eared wisp of a woman in a plain wool dress.”

“Uh,” the driver said, scuffing his toe in the dirt. Gan had guessed correctly. Almost as if it could sense his embarrassment, his horse neighed.

“Well, you know what they say,” Gan said, “Good things come in small packages. So, now that I’ve made you uncomfortable without meaning to, let’s start again. Hello, I’m Gan Thistleberry. Have you been waiting long? And by the way, what’s your name?”

The driver looked up at her, chewing on his bottom lip, still not sure of what to make of his passenger. He brushed a strand of sandy hair out of his eyes, adjusted his broad brimmed brown felt hat that didn’t quite cover up his big pointed Bauchan ears. As it was he was dressed in a warm looking red jacket and had a large blue scarf wrapped around his neck, good Bauchan farmer clothes, not the livery of a high born lady’s driver himself, and had really been expecting complaints about that instead.

Suddenly, he smiled, and held out his hand. “Uh, I’m Rob, Rob Woodway, ma’am.”

“Well, then we both know who is other is now,” Gan said, nodding. “Do you drive for Lady Elaine often?”

“Not usually, ma’am,” the young man said, throwing a tarp over Gan’s bag. “Usually, I work in the gardens.”

“A much better occupation than taking stuffy folk from the Dragon Web office and Allynswood, eh?” Gan walked around to the passenger side of the wagon and hopped up the step.

Rob glanced up at her, a tiny grin on his face. “I wasn’t going to say anything...”

Gan spread her skirt comfortably on the seat. “So, can you tell me why this town is called Goblin Market? I’ve always wondered that.”

“Ah, that’s a story in itself, Ma’am.” He got into the wagon. “Let’s go, Nell,” he said to the horse. “I wish I could get my grandda to tell you. He does it best of all. But evidently there was the Goblin who sold meat pies...”

And with that, they headed off to Allynswood.