The entry to the mansion was a dim tunnel in the shape of the large red door’s straight sides and curved top, high overhead. Dahn wanted to turn around and run the other direction, but she heard the door slam behind her as the witch’s working women pushed it shut. Dahn jumped at the sound which echoed for several seconds.
“Calm down, Little Mouse,” Jayn said with equal amounts of laughter and kindness in her voice. Still holding Dahn’s hand, she raised it up and placed it to her cheek which felt warm and soft. “No one is going mistreat you here,” Jayn whispered compassionately. Dahn had a vague memory of Jayn doing that four years ago, when her mother had passed from the Sadness. Time and grief had almost wiped the experience from Dahn’s memory, but now it came back very strong, and she remembered how Jayn had nearly lived at their house during those terrible days. Her father had been impassive with grief, unable to provide the emotional bolstering his children had needed. And suddenly, Jayne was there, cooking, cleaning up their cabing, and holding her—just holding her—as often as she had needed it. Dahn’s stifled the tears that started to well up.
“You have nothing to fear,” Jayn continued softly. “Quite the contrary.”
Looking upwards, Dahn met the tall woman’s eyes and saw sincerity and also the tears in Jayn’s own eyes.
“’Little Mouse?’” Dawn asked, shyly, pushing the words past the lump in her throat.
“You jump at every noise and keep trying to scurry off,” Jayn said lightly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand while laughing softly. “What else should I call you?”
The entry tunnel was only a few feet long, but it seemed to Dahn as if they had walked miles by the time they entered the great hall … and suddenly, her world transformed. The hall was round and huge. The walls went up and up to a domed ceiling so far overhead Dahn could not quite make out what all the painted figures were. Paintings! Dahn gasped. The walls, the ceilings, every space was filled with pictures and words. There was so much she couldn’t take it all in. There was a colorful bird. No! A flock of them! And horses! And llamas! Over there was group of humans in white robes standing before a woman dressed in blue holding an enormous bright blue gemstone over her head. On the other side of the room, she could see a garden full of green plants amidst a large river of water, the likes of which Dahn had never beheld. And the light! Oh, how the bright sunlight coming through colored windows painted the walls with multihued light!
After nearly tripping over her own feet, Dahn realized she was spinning around, her head craned back as far it would go, trying to see all she could. She had also stopped breathing and found herself suddenly gasping for air. “Is … is this a cathedral?” Dahn managed to say between breaths.
Jayn laughed in pure joy. “No, Little Mouse. There has never been a navi offering religious services within these walls, as far as I know. But you might not be far off. Ekatern told me that her home had been a crystal temple for more than a thousand years. That was in a time when crystal lore was the focus of Hylan’s religion and not the Books of Maho’Ni and the Vessel.”
“A thousand years?” Dahn whispered, eyes wide. This place seemed to demand low voices. “Is this place really that old?”
“According to the old woman,” Jayn said with a nod, also in a whisper. “I believe her, too. This place can be overwhelming the first time you see it, but after a while, you start noticing the filth.”
“What?” Dahn was confused. Filth? This was like a palace!
“Look at the windows,” Jayn said, pointing upwards. “Stained glass. Very pretty. But did you notice panes are missing—replaced by wooden boards? And the casements are caked with dust. Then there is the condition of walls – the frescos and friezes are beautiful, but you can’t see all of them clearly because of years—maybe centuries—of Hylan’s fine dirt that’s blown through those broken windows. Not to mention the smell!”
Dahn’s eyes went wide as she began to see what Jayn was pointing out. She took a deep whiff and immediately regretted it. The place smelled mustier and more fetid than the llama stalls at her family’s farm.
“And, of course,” Jayn continued, “there are floors. But we’ll get to them in a few minutes.”
In a few steps, Jayn and Dahn caught up with the five young women who had preceded them in the great hall. She knew them all, of course—Hylan was not a large town. There was Syndi Cmyth—her cascade of dark, sweet-smelling hair spilling down her very tall, womanly figure—looking imposing next to Annah Bankok who was shorter than Dahn with curly ginger hair, an unusual color that made her stand out in any Hylan crowd. Geenah Shivadi would have been about Dahn’s height, she supposed, if she were not always hunching her shoulders and bowing her head so her short blond hair covered her eyes. Stout, dark hairedKitarian Dahjer—who everyone called “Kit”—twirled about like Dahn had, staring at the ceiling and walls with her bright green eyes. And of course, heading up the group, looking frustrated with her arms crossed below her chest, was Billah Helper—Wyll’s big sister. Her perfectly arranged long brown hair framed her perfectly portioned and smooth face, while her gray-green eyes stared daggers at Dahn and Jayn. Dahn supposed this was because Billah was frustrated by the fact that a lowly llama herder’s daughter was taking up her valuable time. Unlike Wyll, Billah did act superior to everyone else due to her father’s position as mayor of Hylan.
“Little Sisters,” Jayn said in a low voice to all of them, “our jobs will be to get the great hall ready for the Feast. The floors in here are polished stone and over the years have become covered with dust and dirt. Ekatern would like to them to shine. Each of us will be provided a dustmop and assigned a section to sweep. All dirt and debris will be pushed toward the red door, where others will gather it up and dispose of it. After the dusting, we will each get a bucket of water and a wet mop and once again clear our sections of the floor. We will do this until it shines.”
“We,” asked Dahn. “You’re doing it, too?”
“Of course, she it!” snapped Billah. “She’s a servant and this is servant work. Some of us are not servants, though, are we?” she said, looking directly at Jayn.
“Today, you are,” Jayn said calmly. “That is what your father agreed to when he sent you here.”
“Mother would never have allowed it!” Billah grumbled.
“I was the head servant who negotiated with Mayor Helper,” Jayn informed her. “Your mother was present and if I recall was very much in favor of this … activity.
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“Let’s get to work, shall we?” she said to everyone and pointed toward the walls where there was a collection of dustmops, wet mops, rags, and buckets. The young women, Jayn, and a few of the other servant women that Dahn did not know, each walked over to the wall, grabbed a dustmop and headed to the part of the floor Jayn pointed them toward.
As Dahn walked toward the wall to pick up her mop, she examined the floor. She honestly had not noticed it at all when she had arrived, being so enchanted with the walls and ceiling. It was made of large, regular, five-pointed gray stone tiles set together flawlessly level with no space between them. Dahn didn’t think she had ever seen a stone floor so completely level in her life. But Jayn had told them true: it was filthy. Through the dirt and dust, though, Dahn could see the stones were not just solid gray but had swirls of different colors mixed in: some white, black, and even flecks of gold. She wondered what kind of rock this was and how it was cut and laid so perfectly.
“A thousand years ago, too,” Dahn muttered to herself in wonder as she reached out to grab a mop. She heard a gasp beside her and looked up, startled. She had been lost in thought and had completely forgotten other people were around her. Dahn found herself staring at Kit Dahjer’s green eyes which were open wide in surprise … and maybe a bit of fear.
“What’s wrong, Kit?” Dahn asked.
The young woman didn’t say a word but simply raised a finger and pointed a Dahn. No, not at her … behind her. Feeling a strange tingling around her head, Dahn turned slowly, cautiously. Immediately, she saw what Kit was pointing at. Here, the wall paintings were very clear and were less dirty the in other placed. They also looked much larger than they had at the entrance. The cleaning suppliers were piled up near the picture of the woman holding the blue crystal. But here it was clear that part of that frieze was not painted at all—it was real blue crystal above the woman’s head.
And it was glowing. Brightly.
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Wyll was regretting his choice to wear his new boots today. His father had given them to him for his fourteenth birthday, just three days ago, and Wyll hadn’t worn anything else on his feet since. His mother had to coerce him into removing them when he went to bed at night. They were the only fancy clothes Wyll’s parents had ever given him, and he absolutely adored them. The boots were made of green water-dragon leather, rough to the touch, but as soft and supple as a baby's skin. They were more comfortable than any boots he’d ever worn, and they had molded to his feet after only a few hours. The problem with them was that the bottoms of the soles hadn't roughened up from use yet and they offered precious little purchase on the gravelly dirt road down which he and Xahn were trying to push their cart.
The food cart was much harder to handle than either Wyll or Xahn had first thought. Some of the larger boys, like Menten and Gibs (who were a year youngerthan Xann and Wyll) were running past them, pushing their carts with a ferocious vigor, making whooping sounds as they went. But the two thinner boys were plodding along with great difficulty. No matter how much effort they put into steering the wooden vehicle toward the center of the road, it went in the opposite direction.
Great, Wyll thought. I’m either going to at the bottom of the North Road or be humiliated by boys younger than me! Probably both!
“This is not working!” he shouted between heavy breaths. “I say we stop and just eat everything in the cart. That way it’ll weigh less, and we can get it home in no time!”
“Good idea,” breathed Xahn as he tried in vain to push one of the wagon’s handles while Wyll took the other. It was impossible to get a grip on the smooth wooden shafts and it didn’t help that his whose palms were slick with sweat. “Although it kind of defeats the purpose of taking the cart down the mountain, doesn’t it?”
Wyll made a rude noise.
“Alright,” Xahn said, stopping and resting his sweaty hands on his knees as he gasped for air. “How about you steer from behind,” he suggested after catching his breath. “I’ll steer from the front. Let’s just try to get this thing down the road a few feet at a time.”
“Sure, sure. No problem,” said the redhead, sounding enthusiastic, even though his shoulders slumped as he spoke. Wyll walked to the back of the cart, grabbed both of the wooden handles, and tried to shove the cart so it pointed at the center of the road. Xann moved to the font of the cart, backed into it so that he was facing forward and grabbed the wagon by its underside edge. He tried to lift as walked. As he started, Freed and Thoms Hynz, both younger boys from the village, zipped past them pushing the final cart.
At first, this method worked great. The gentle slope of the road near the witch’s house helped them get started. They had no problem steering the food cart to the center of the road and putting it on a straight course toward Clayton Field.
Then the slope got much steeper.
Suddenly, Xahn found himself pushing against the cart with his back, his legs straining with the effort of keeping the cart on course. Wyll was pulling against gravity with all the might his skinny arms could muster, straining to turn the cart so that it stayed on course. But his new boots kept slipping and he was getting splinters of wood in his palms. Without warning, his right foot slid down between the back wheel and the axle. It stuck there firmly.
“Xahn!” Wyll cried out in panic. “I’m stuck! I can’t control the cart! I can’t get loose!”
Xahn tried with all his might to slow the cart, but no matter how he lifted or pushed or shoved, the cart’s path was unchanged, and it began picking up speed. Xahn couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t even move. His feet were almost blurs, steeping as fast as possible just to keep up with the cart’s decent
If we can just keep it steady, we might be able to get it to the bottom of the road where it levels out and then slow down, Xahn thought—without much hope—when his shoe caught on a rock, he lost his footing and felt himself slipping beneath the wooden wagon.
Then, as suddenly as the cart had gotten out of control, it slowed, then stopped. Xahn found himself on his knees, his trousers torn and his legs bleeding. If the cart hadn’t stopped when it did, he could have died. But how, he wondered, had the wagon come to a stop so quickly?
Gulping air, trying to get back on his feet, Xahn felt a strong hand take him by the shoulder and gently raise him up to a standing position. He knew the feel of the hand before he saw the face.
“Father!” he cried with relief so powerful he almost burst into tears.
Karl was holding his son up with one hand and keeping the cart firmly in place with the other. Sometimes, Xahn forgot just how powerful his father was.
“How?” was all Xahn could croak out of his dry, exhausted throat.
“Never mind that,” said Karl, taking in gulps of air as he tried vainly to catch his breath. It was then that Xahn noticed his father’s face was bright red and his hair and clothing were soaked with sweat. “Where’s Wyll?” Karl managed to croak out.
“I’m back here, Mister Starai!” Wyll’s voice came weakly from behind the cart. “I think my foot’s broken. What’s worse, I think my boots are ruined!” At that last bit, Wyll started to softly sob.
“Xahn,” Karl asked, matter-of-factly between breaths, “can you walk?” Xahn nodded. “Hang on back there!” the Dashman called to Wyll, then directed Xahn to take one side of the wagon while Karl muscled the vehicle sideway. Working together, father and son moved the cart to the side of the road and ensured it would remain steadfast.
Once the wagon was secured, both Karl and Xahn moved quickly to the back of the cart to check on Wyll. That is, Karl moved quickly—Xahn tried to so but found himself limping badly.
“Alright,” said Karl, rubbing Wyll’s head and looking the boys over, “you’re both lucky to be alive. We need to get you back to the witch’s mansion. If you can make your way back up the hill, Xahn, I can carry Wyll.”
Xahn nodded and began the slow, plodding, irregular and painful walk upwards. He noticed that his father slowed his pace to match his son’s while carrying his friend like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. Wyll did not protest, he just moaned softly.
“There should be someone up there who can treat your injuries,” Karl said, softly. “I must go speak to the witch,” he said between gritted teeth. “She has a lot to answer for.”