The next morning Glim woke early. The cold stone floor had seeped its chill through his bedroll, and stray bits of straw had stuck in his hair, but Glim didn’t care. He felt giddy and ran up the stairs.

Still there.

The pea pot perched on the windowsill felt cold to his touch. Remembering he needed to keep it warm, Glim fetched a blanket and wrapped it around the pot, tucking it in so it would protect the clay from the cold. He peeked over the rim, hoping to see the first leaves emerging, but saw only dirt.

He walked to breakfast with a spring in his step. The idea of growing something filled him with pride. Maybe those mages who’d written the scroll did know a thing or two.

The mush in his bowl caught his attention. Seeing it with new eyes, he wondered where the grains had come from. Or the berries on top. He’d never really considered the effort that went into providing breakfast every morning.

Each new day, Glim would run upstairs and check the pot. But he saw only dirt. After breakfast he’d return and study the scroll. But nothing stood out to him as a particularly good idea.

Eventually, boredom goaded him into trying something new. The next morning, he pretended that he didn’t notice Pyri and Gyda. He hummed and served himself a helping of porridge while they made faces at him and whispered to each other, which he studiously ignored.

Pyri walked over in a huff.

“Good morning, Pyri,” Glim said before she could speak. “I’ve thought it over. I think I’d like to take you up on your offer.”

Pyri stopped, surprised. “What offer?”

“Last week you said that you’d like your mother to cut my hair sometime. I’d like that.”

Pyri snorted and looked at Glim like he was crazy. “I only said that because Captain Jarl was with you. You think I’d let a freak like you come over to my house?”

Glim felt stung by her words. The heat of embarrassment flushed his face.

Gyda shook her head in agreement. “Why would we spend our time cleaning you up? You’d mess it up right away.”

They snickered and walked out. Glim felt his ears burning and the joy of his morning vanished like mist under a midday sun.

He’d tried. He’d really tried. But positive experiences eluded him. He had to face Master Willow and tell the man the truth.

By the time he reached the tower, Glim had worked himself into a righteously foul mood. He’d woken up happy and energized, but the merchants’ daughters had doused his good cheer.

Master Willow opened the door. Inspired by Glim’s frown, he frowned, too. “I hope you’ve found some positive experiences to accumulate?”

“I did, Master Willow.”

“Why so gloomy, then?”

“I also accumulated some not-so-good experiences.”

Master Willow sighed. “Spit it out. I can’t have you grumping about for this next lesson. You must focus. What is it?”

Glim told the Mage-at-Arms how he’d been treated by Gyda and Pyri. As he talked, Master Willow became more and more irritated.

“I loathe melodrama. Let me ask: have you done anything to them?”

Glim didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“Do they have any reason to despise you?”

Glim pointed at his silver eye. “You mean besides this?

“Precisely my point. Superficial nonsense. Ask yourself this: if you haven’t done anything to provoke them, then why do they despise you so much?”

Glim considered his question, but had no answer to it. Things had always been this way.

“Perhaps they’re jealous of you?” Master Willow asked.

Glim stared at his tutor in surprise. “Jealous? What of?”

Master Willow straightened up with a touch of resentment. “I am one of the most influential people in Phyria. Mages of my skill are a rare commodity, especially for a town as small as this one. It grants me status. Which merchants would certainly find interesting. That would pass to the daughters as well.”

“Pyri hates plyers.”

“These girls lack the gift that you do. Thus they resent the time I spend with you even more. They tear you down to lift themselves up.”

Master Willow had a glint of ire in his eye. Not towards him, Glim thought, but some memory that had stirred. He realized that perhaps Master Willow had suffered the same treatment. He felt a quick pang of empathy for the man.

“Listen well. Their pettiness matters not a smidgen. You exist on a higher plane than they. Than anyone in this town, in fact, aside from myself. These are not games we play. Ribbons and fancy tunics are a sideshow. One that is far beneath you.”

He shut the tower door and paced the walkway.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“As your power grows, such slights will only become more and more frequent. People will mock you, and they will resent you. Because they fear you. And well they should. You must get accustomed to it. It’s never going to go away, as long as you draw breath.”

“I can’t help it if it hurts my feelings!” Glim retorted, with more indignation that he typically dared. It had simply slipped out. He waited, expecting a rebuttal, but his tutor let it pass.

“I know it is hard, and I can’t help you very much. All I can say is, hold your head high. Walk with confidence, even when you don’t feel it. Especially when you don’t feel it. Practicing that will give you confidence in time.”

Master Willow stopped pacing and fixed Glim in an iron gaze.

“Above all, realize this truth: every harsh word they throw at you comes from a place of insecurity. It is, believe it or not, a sign of your own power. They are powerless, so they seek the only thing they have left, which is spite.”

Glim thought about this and a small smile tugged at his lips. For the first time, he understood that Pyri and Gyda considered themselves inferior to Glim. He didn’t fully understand it all, but at least that small piece made sense.

Glim straightened himself up and said “Thank you, Master Willow. I will try to remember that.”

“You’ll do more than try. I need your focus so you must overcome this hurdle. Turn right around, head back, and show these girls that you are not intimidated by their small words.”

“But… I am.”

“Of course you are! Did you not hear me? Walk with confidence, even when you don’t feel it. Right now. You need practice, and this is a perfect opportunity. Avoid avoiding. Always seize the moment.”

Glim felt sick. His stomach fluttered with anxiety. He took a shuddering breath and started walking back down the pathway.

“Hold it. That won’t do at all. You look like you’re going to your own funeral.” Master Willow walked several paces and turned. “Now then. Come towards me. Push your shoulders back and tilt your chin up. No, don’t point it at the clouds, you clod. Just a touch.”

Glim forced himself to walk straight. He thought of Pyri’s haughty expression and tried to mimic it.

“That’s better. Now what was your positive experience?”

“I got a—”

Master Willow covered his ears. “Ack! Don’t tell me! I don’t want to hear it. I want you to think it. Picture the feeling it gave you.”

Glim thought of the pot on his windowsill that would soon sprout purple leaves. The vines would grow so large they’d cover the tower. Children from all over town would come to him, begging for snacks. But he’d simply smile, chomp a pea or two, and wave from his window.

“That’s right. Good. Do you want these girls to take that joy from you? Are you going to let them steal your happiness so easily?”

“They already did.”

“And now you’ll take it back. This town belongs to you. No measure of petty coin or fancy cloth is worth more than plying essentiæ. Now march right back in there and show them you’ll not be cowed.”

“What do cows have to do with this?’

“Cowed, you whit! Intimidated. Affected by their words. Like when you stare at the ground all slumped over. Showing them they’ve won.”

Glim breathed like he’d been taught by his father. In, hold. Out. Hold. He straightened himself again, pointed his chin up — but not too much— and walked back down the path. He analyzed every step, which made it harder to walk than usual. His thoughts distracted him so much that he walked right past Gyda, not even noticing the girl.

Glim felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Gyda staring at him with wavering eyes.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier. That was mean. I’m sure my mom would be happy to cut your hair.”

Glim hadn’t even needed the act. Gyda seemed truly contrite.

“I’ll talk with her about it. Then you can come by this evening.” Gyda shifted uncomfortably. “But maybe keep this between you and me? Merchants must keep up appearances.”

So things hadn’t changed all that much after all. But they’d started to, at least. Gyda turned and ran to join Pyri.

Later, after dinner in the tower, Glim rinsed his bowl quickly, tucked it away, and headed out the door.

“Where are you off to?” his father asked.

“Gotta do an assignment for Master Willow.”

Glim snuck around the base of the tower, slinking in the shadows. Remembering his tutor’s words, Glim stepped into the light, tucked his shoulders back, and walked with purpose.

The merchant homes sat apart from the others, further inside the wall near a market square. Each a neat box, with neat hedges, and fancy symbols painted on the doors. Warm light shone from the windows. Inside, Glim saw well-dressed men and women sitting at tables. Their bowls held the same stew as Glim had just eaten, but the bowls were fancier and the spoons glinted silver in the light of the lamps.

A door opened further down the lane. Gyda met him in front of a large stone home with white shutters. A banner fluttered from the roof.

“Perfect timing. We’ve just finished eating.”

Glim followed her inside, stomach churning. But he remembered to straighten himself and tilt his chin. Gyda’s mother stood from the table with a smile.

“Not every day the captain’s son favors one with a visit.” She evaluated Glim in the span of a moment, narrowing her eyes. The smile returned, but Glim had seen the look. It had been pity. Pity for the motherless wretch who’d walked into her home.

“We’ve already drawn the bath,” Gyda said.

“Bath? What bath?’

Gyda and her mother laughed at Glim’s flustered reaction. “You need to wash your hair first.”

They took him to a bathroom that featured much more than a hole in the floor with a wooden door, as Glim had become accustomed to. This one had a weird kind of chair with a water jug next to it. And a wooden chest of drawers with a flat top, filled with bottles, scraps of cloth, and hairbrushes. A bathtub made of wooden planks bound together by brass bands.

And a mirror.

Glim turned away from it in embarrassment. Gyda’s mother plucked straw from his hair, clucking to herself like a hen. “It’s as if you sleep on the floor.”

Of course he did. Where did they sleep? On the walls?

“Well, wash up, dear. Then we’ll see about untangling this.”

By the end of the evening, Glim had many things he had not arrived with. A soft gray tunic. A trader’s necklace with beads. Hair that seemed to have a particular direction in mind. A tin of some paste made with beet juice and wax, which Gyda had dabbed onto his lips with a tiny brush. “To help with the windburn,” she’d told him. “Your lips are so cracked.”

Walking home, Glim slipped the chain of the necklace through his fingers and felt the beads. A sign of status. A mark of the merchant’s favor.

In the light of a lamp in his study, Glim wrote another line on the scroll he’d been given. His second positive experience.

#2: Borrowing a mother for the evening.