Crucible Read online

  Oh, no! She had never made a single person fall asleep, let alone a hall full of listeners. What now?

  She sent a panicked glance to Master Tangeli, and he waved his hand in a circle, motioning her to play more. Shandara drew in a deep breath of understanding. Much as she wanted to creep off the stage and leave everyone slumbering through the night, it was not an option. Her music had made them sleep, and so her music must rouse them.

  No matter how embarrassed she would be when they awoke. Imagine—putting the entire Collegium and court to sleep. She would never live it down.

  So then, she would play something lively. A jig. Cautiously, she raised her right hand, just high enough to reach the strings. Her shoulder did not complain as she plucked out the melody. As long as she confined her motion to one small area, she could manage.

  The lilting tune floated over the audience, and Shandara added her left hand in a percussive bass line. The candle flames danced, and the crowd began to stir. Feet thumped in rhythm, and then a few people started to clap. Soon, the room was awake again, nearly everyone clapping along. Luckily, the Bards had good rhythm, and were able to keep even the most random members of the audience in time.

  Shandara brought the tune to a close, and the rhythmic clapping diffused into true applause. From his seat among the Master Bards, Master Tangeli nodded at her. She could not meet his gaze.

  “Thank you all for attending the Midwinter Recital,” Master Vivaca called, striding onto the stage. “What a night of entertainment! Please join the Bards for refreshment in the Common Room.”

  Shandara clumsily picked up her harp and hurried offstage. Her shoulder ached, her temples throbbed, and her throat felt rough and scratchy. Above the heads of the milling audience, she saw Ryk searching for her. She could not stand his sympathy—not now, when he’d ended the evening in triumph, and she’d fumbled so badly.

  Head down, she wrapped up her harp and hurried into the quiet halls. No one stopped her as she left the palace. The cold night air grabbed her breath, and she slowed down as she traversed the icy stones of the courtyard. Overhead, the stars were hard and brilliant, a scornful light that cared not for human fears and foibles.

  The lamps flickered as she stepped inside the Bardic Collegium, and the air was hushed. Letting the solitude wrap around her like a blanket, she slowly went up the stairs to the shelter of her room. Exhaustion crashed over her like a wave. She lay down and a moment later was asleep.

  Through her dreaming, she was dimly aware of Ryk cracking her door open and holding up a light.

  “Yes, she’s here,” he said to someone behind him in the hall.

  The door closed again, leaving her in the solace of the dark once more.

  • • •

  When Shandara finally woke, sunlight filtered through the homespun curtains to form a wide band of bright light across the wooden floor. She took a deep breath and sat up, relieved to find her aches much abated. She swallowed, and realized she was parched.

  And ravenous.

  “Shandara?” Ryk tapped softly on her door. “Are you up?”

  There was a happy note in his voice that told her he had cause to rejoice, and for a cowardly moment she almost didn’t answer. But that was selfish—of course she would help him celebrate the fact that he’d gained his Scarlets.

  “One moment,” she called, her voice still raspy but not the croak of the day before. Hastily, she pulled on her clothing, then ran a brush through her hair. Feeling marginally presentable, she called for Ryk to enter.

  He burst in, a wide grin on his face. As she had suspected, he was wearing bright red—his customary leather vest now worked in scarlet, his breeches colorful and bright.

  “Look at you!” Careful of her still-mending shoulder, Shandara hugged him, then stepped back. She smiled, rejoicing in her friend’s promotion, and pushed down the prick of envy in her heart. “Congratulations—I knew you could do it.”

  “I still don’t quite believe it,” he said, grinning bright enough to rival the sunlight. “Oh, I brought you some breakfast.”

  “You did?” The pang in her heart returned. Havens, she would miss him when he left.

  Nodding, he stepped into the hall, and returned with a tray holding oatmeal, tea, and a fresh-baked scone. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation.

  “Tell me,” she said, accepting the tray and sitting on the bed, “when did you get your Scarlets? After the concert?” She took a bite of scone, the pastry still warm in the middle, despite being carried across the courtyard.

  “Yes,” Ryk said. “Master Tangeli presented them to me. He was looking for you, too, but you’d disappeared.”

  “I wasn’t feeling well.” No doubt he had something to say to her about how poorly she’d controlled her gift.

  “You’re better now, though?” Ryk still looked concerned. “Make sure to finish your oatmeal. Using the Gift takes a lot of energy, you know.”

  “Using it as awkwardly as a raw beginner, you mean.” Shandara sighed. “I put the entire Collegium to sleep.”

  “Indeed.” Master Tangeli spoke from the open doorway, a bundle tucked beneath his arm. “May I come in?”

  “Please do.” Inwardly, she cringed.

  She’d avoided her scolding last night, but it was time for the reckoning. And why Ryk sat there with his smile broadening, she could not imagine.

  “As you might expect,” her instructor said, “I am here to deliver a lecture—and some words of advice. But before I do, I have something else to give you.”

  “Stand up, Shan,” Ryk said, grabbing her tray and setting it aside.

  A thin flicker of hope started up in Shandara’s chest. Oh, but surely not . . .

  “Shandara Tem,” Master Tangeli said, his tone official, “it gives me great pleasure to present you with these.”

  He held out the bundle he’d been carrying. She took it, with effort keeping her hands steady, and slowly unwrapped the brown cloth covering. At the first glimpse of bright red silk, tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Truly?” she whispered, pulling out the colorful shirt. It seemed she had earned her Scarlets after all.

  “Welcome to the ranks of the full Bards, Shandara,” her instructor said.

  “Despite everything,” she said, her voice catching on the words.

  Master Tangeli’s gray brows rose. “Despite? Or perhaps because of it. Having your immense musical skill dampened was quite likely the best thing that could have happened. It forced you to stop relying solely on your ability and play from the heart.”

  “It seems so . . . contrary,” she whispered.

  “The Gift has its own rules,” her instructor said. “Now, you must learn to play by them.”

  • • •

  Two days later, Shandara was almost too nervous to eat a bite at breakfast—which was ridiculous. She was not the one leaving the Collegium. She took a sip of tea, and glanced across the table at Ryk.

  “Do you have everything?” she asked. “Did the kitchens pack you some food? What about extra strings?”

  He laughed at her, his brown eyes bright. The new scarlet shirt he wore complemented his coloring, although it was not silk like her own, but the rougher, homespun fabric he preferred.

  “Shan, Lord Wendin’s house is only across the city. It’s not like I’m going far away. For once, you sound like me. Stop worrying.”

  She made a face at him, suddenly shy. “I know. It’s just—I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll come visit every week. But are you certain you’ll be happy here?” He gestured to the Common Room full of Trainees and Bards.

  Shandara turned her head, looking at the tables filled with students, hearing the laughter and discontent, the rustling murmurs of the melodies of each life.

  “Yes. I’m glad to be staying.” She smiled.

  She had thought her
dream was to earn her Scarlets, then leave Haven, or at least the Collegium. She had thought her future was playing for some Lord’s household while she composed, or perhaps traveling for a time, chronicling the adventures of the Heralds and their Companions.

  But Master Tangeli had offered her a place as his assistant teacher. To everyone’s surprise—including her own—she had accepted.

  “It just feels right,” she said. “I need the time and quiet to work on refining my Gift. And I think I can help other students find their own.”

  Ryk smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I have no doubt of it, Bard Shandara. No doubt at all.”

  Healing Home

  Kerrie L. Hughes

  Jorie Felwynn stared down at her father’s fresh grave and did not shed a single tear. There was no marker yet, just a stick with a piece of cloth tied to it with his name, Jaxson Felwynn, written in charcoal, which would likely wash away with the next rain.

  Jorie sighed. She wasn’t looking forward to returning to the tiny village of Wintervale, and she definitely wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the rest of her family.

  Truth be told, it had been the best day of her life when her father had given her an old horse and enough money to ride to Haven and apply to the Healer’s Collegium. He had been a stern man, often given to excessive drinking once the work was done, but he’d been looking out for her when he sent her away.

  “Probably won’t be good enough to get in,” he’d told her the day she had left. “But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t give you the chance to get out of here and live a life you choose.” A warm tear slid down her cheek as that thought erased all the black ones she’d had about him.

  “We should probably get going,” the kindly voice of Herald Tobin said behind her.

  Jorie wiped the tear away and turned to him. He was a good man, twenty years her senior, with blue-gray eyes and dark gray hair.

  “The sun’s beginning to drop, and I still need to meet my contact,” he added.

  She fidgeted with the leather ties on the vest of her Healer’s Greens, “Or we could just camp here. I’ve said my goodbyes, maybe I could just ride away while I still have the chance?”

  Tobin gave her a chiding look, “Now, you know the sooner we get there, the sooner you can get back to Haven, and Gaela’s getting restless.”

  His Companion stood twenty strides behind them, making sure Jorie’s horse, a dark brown gelding, didn’t wander away. Not that Rowan would; he was in awe of the Companion and followed her around like a lovesick boy. Gaela was probably sick of the attention after seven days on the road.

  “If being around your family gets too stressful, you could come to the mines with me. I’m sure some of the miners will need a Healer, if they don’t already have one.”

  “I just might take you up on that. Especially if it goes the way it did last time.”

  “Are you referring to the drunken brawl at your brother’s wedding, or when the mother of the bride accused you of witchcraft?”

  “Yes and yes,” Jorie answered with a chuckle. “Thanks for listening to all my griping, by the way.” In many ways she felt closer to him than to her own family, in a big brother sort of manner.

  “We should head straight for the inn, I think,” Jorie said as she found her courage and pulled herself up onto Rowan.

  • • •

  The sun was setting as they cleared the tree line and rode into town.

  “What’s wrong?” Tobin asked.

  “The town is much closer to the forest now, and there seems to be three times as many people.”

  “Mining strikes will do that.”

  Tobin was referring to the gold vein that had been found in the hills along the creek skirting Wintervale. His primary function was to inspect the mining records, make sure children weren’t employed or enslaved there, and to look into some reports about missing miners.

  “I suppose so. Seems strange though, this many people in a place mainly known for being cold and isolated. My family’s inn was the only one in this area for leagues. They made their money from trappers and farmers didn’t want to risk being trapped when the heavy snows fell and travelers trying to get from Riverbend to Bridger Pass without getting stuck in the mountains.”

  They continued past several new wooden buildings, most of them rooming houses and taverns that seemed to have been assembled quickly. A few new stores displayed signs advertising mining supplies and camping provisions. Each one was noisy, with people coming and going as the sun set. Some were well on their way to inebriation, and most looked downright unhealthy.

  :Some of these people are ill,: Jorie Mindspoke to Tobin. It was a skill that only worked with him because his gift was Mindspeech, and even then she could only communicate with him that way when he was near Gaela. It was as though the Companion relayed the message, even though Tobin could Mindspeak to her without Gaela nearby.

  Jorie was actually glad she didn’t have the skill to Mindspeak to everyone, especially her family. It’d be too tempting to tell them exactly what she thought of them.

  :Contagious?: he asked.

  :No fever. Probably not.:

  :Should we stop and investigate?:

  :No, I’ll check tomorrow, maybe come out here and do a walk around, see if anyone needs a Healer. Might just be bad food or lack of sleep.:

  As Jorie and Tobin passed by, the people stared and whispered. It was beginning to make her nervous.

  Tobin smiled. :Don’t be alarmed, this is normal when Heralds show up.:

  :It’s disconcerting. Reminds me of when people found out I had the Healing Gift.: She gestured ahead with her chin. “There’s the inn.”

  The first floor of her family’s building was made of stone, with timber for the second floor where the guests slept, and then ended in a pitched attic. To the right was a stable, and on the left a two-story stone house connected to the inn through the kitchen.

  When she left, it had been home to her parents, three siblings, and one grandmother. She often wondered if all the bickering was because they lived and worked so closely together.

  “Looks nice,” Tobin said. “Want me to take Rowan and Gaela to the stable while you see your family?”

  “I’d rather you see them while I go to the stables.”

  The Herald rewarded her jest with a smile.

  Jorie got off her horse and took her medical kit out of the saddlebags. It was a leather cross-body bag that rested on her hip. She had designed it herself to hold the tools of her trade without being too bulky. “I’ll see you inside.”

  Just as she reached for the handle of the main door, someone stepped out of the nearby kitchen door and smiled at her. The woman looked remarkably like her mother, only older, and much more frail.

  “Jorie! I knew you were here,” she said as she ambled down the two steps.

  “. . . Mom?”

  “Of course Mom, who’d you expect?” She hugged her daughter and then stepped back to give her the motherly head to toe inspection.

  Jorie was surprised at how much older her mother looked; it was as if she had aged ten years in the five since she had last seen her. “It’s nice to see you, Mom. You look . . . good.”

  “Nonsense, I look old. Now come in, your sister’s cooking and the dinner crowd is calming down. I was expecting you yesterday, but I knew when I woke up you weren’t near enough to make the funeral,” she said as she turned and went back up the stairs, slowly but surely.

  Jorie followed her mother, who always seemed to know where she was and which of her family was nearby. The woman undoubtedly had a touch of Empathy herself.

  Entering the kitchen was like stepping back in time. The big stone fireplace and oven took up half the wall that was shared with the family home. A door next to the oven led to the sitting room of the house and was left open most of
the time. The dishwashing area was along the back wall, next to another door that led outside to the garden, bathhouse, and privies.

  The dining room was on the right, through a set of half doors topped with a shelf just wide enough to hold platters. This was where her sister Jillie was handing off two plates of meat and vegetables to a waitress through the opening. She turned, wiped her hands on her apron, and looked surprised when she realized who was watching her.

  Jillie and Jorie were five years apart and looked similar, except Jillie had light hair and green eyes like their mother, and Jorie had brown hair and brown eyes like their father. The main thing that separated them now, though, was that her older sister wore bitterness on her face like a mask. It had been plastered there since her husband had left her shortly after she gave birth to their only child, Jessa.

  “I see you finally arrived,” Jillie said as she came close enough for a hug, but instead crossed to the pantry on Jorie’s right. Taking out a small sack of sugar and a large mixing bowl, she brushed by again to place them on the big kitchen table.

  Their mother went over to the oven and busied herself taking a pie off the heat with a wooden paddle and pushing it over to the cooling area.

  “Aren’t you going to give me a hug, Jillie?”

  Jillie stopped and looked at Jorie. “If you insist.” She came over, embraced her with one arm, and walked away before Jorie could hug her back. “Some of us have work to do.”

  “You girls were always so jealous of each other,” said their mother as she pulled another pie from the oven.

  Jillie harrumphed as she went to the first pie with a flour sack towel and picked it up. “Ouch!” she exclaimed as she quickly put it back down.

  Jorie rushed over. Her sister had carelessly touched the pie plate with her bare hand when she meant to use the towel. There was a red mark on her hand, but it wasn’t bad. She reached down to touch her sister’s hand and push some healing into the area. Her Empathy was always a bit open when she used her gift, and when she made contact with Jillie’s hand, she was surprised at how truly angry her sister was.