It was another eight-day; the only day I could actually practice with letters. Sim and Helan sat at a table in the party area of the brothel, as I tried to read what was on the parchment.
“M-m ‘I’ nahm eh is. ‘Ed',” I stared down at the parchment. Learning my letters was more difficult than I had expected. Memorizing all 32 letters and their sounds was difficult. Even worse, the rules for Falacian were not consistent for all words. Some letters made different sounds depending on the usage. The true irritants were combination sounds and silent letters. After nearly four months of work, I could barely read and write.
Numbers, though, came easily to me. Once I learned the symbology, adding, multiplication, and division were all relatively straightforward. My only difficulties came from thought problems. A twenty-pound bag of beans loses two in ten of its weight every second due to a hole; how long would it take for the bag to lose three-quarters of its weight?
That question took me an entire day to figure out. But like most things, the more I practiced, the better I became. It wasn't long before I started formulating my own problems. I even practiced proper speaking, sitting, and eating. It was a skill a few of the whores had. They thought I was getting ready to find a husband, and I had no interest in disillusioning them. I wasn't anywhere near a noblewoman, but I had made strides. Not that I had any interest in being a noble; I just doubted a Magus would take an ill-mannered country bumpkin as an apprentice.
“My name is Edith,” I said after another few seconds of contemplation. Sim and Helan nodded.
“This is difficult,” I complained.
Helan nodded, “Considering that you only started a few months ago, this is fast progress.”
“Aye. I never learned that fast, and me ma' taught me every day,” Sim added.
I shrugged, “I have reason to learn.”
“That time is approaching,” Helan said sagely.
I was fine with letting her believe whatever she wanted. Sim sat on the bench, eyeing me oddly.
‘He wants to say something.’
“I think that's enough studyin’ for today. How about we get some fresh air, Sim?” I asked.
Sim grinned, flashing his surprisingly straight white teeth. He looked guilty for some reason. I wasn't sure why, but I'd find out as soon as we found some privacy.
~
A few minutes later, we were in the Garued forest close enough to the village proper that we weren't in any danger.
“What is it, Sim? You look upset?” I inquired.
“The recruiters should be ‘ere in the morrow. It's not conscription, so I don't have to go.” He said, giving me that same guilty look he had been wearing for the last several days.
“What is it then? Second thoughts?”
He looked me in the eye, bit his lips, and said, “You're different; they say you stopped causing trouble. I know you enough, you're not the type to just bend over cause you got a bad lashing. It’s like Helan said, your time's runnin’ out. You know they’ll marry you off to some bastard out of spite,”
I shrugged helplessly, “Maybe it's time I stop fightin’ and just accept the world as it is.”
A spike of anger flitted across Sim’s brow, “Don't lie, Edith. You’re not good at it.”
Sim must have been quite concerned since he was using my full name. I could tell him the truth, but decided against it, “You’re not some diviner of truth, Sim. I can't anymore, that last lashin’ took the fight out of me. So long as my husband isn't too bad, I'll not complain,”
Sim wasn't the quiet type. He would run his mouth to someone. The more everyone believed I was truly docile, the less they expected my flight. I would commit to the lie until the very last moment.
Confusion turned to anger as Sim stomped off towards the village.
No doubt, to complain to his mother. Sim and his mother were also outcasts in Farway, simply because she wasn't born here. It would take another generation or two for the rest of the village to accept them. His mother didn't want him to associate with me too much.
It was stupid, in my opinion, but Sim didn't seem to care what people thought. His mother’s advice was even less useful. Devoting oneself to the temple of Anier as a maiden was a plan I discarded immediately. The oath was for life, and I would sooner die than devote myself to a goddess whose teachings helped justify their cruelty.
I turned north, heading deeper into the forest. After a few minutes of walking, I found my familiar tree. Opening my box, I grinned. 84 bits saved. By the time of my naming day, I would have an entire silver. Dropping in four more bits, I headed back.
~
The next day, I was at work in Grelleth's shop, washing linens as usual. The recruiters had arrived in the morning. The large train of carriages carried boys as young as twelve and as old as twenty. Some looked to be on the verge of tears, while others looked determined. I didn't know who from the village was joining, nor did I care beyond Sim.
I would have liked to see him off, but I couldn't exactly leave my work. At the sound of hurried steps, I smiled. As soon as I looked up, I saw Sim. He was wearing a thick cotton shirt and pants with a heavy brown cloak.
“I’m leaving,” he said after a few moments of awkward silence.
“I know. I wish you the best, Sim.” I said, offering him a smile.
“Can I give you something?” He asked.
“Yes,” he looked surprised. I never accepted charity, but I was different now and wouldn't drop my new mask.
He motioned for me to come over to the fence, so I dropped my brush. As I reached him, my eyes nearly fell out of my head.
“How did you get this?” I asked.
He smiled mischievously and unsheathed the dagger. Revealing a double-edged blade that ended in a sharp tip. The blade was a foot long with a burnished wooden hilt and metal cross guard. I didn't know much about weapons, but I knew for sure this wasn't cheap.
I hesitated, “Why?” I asked.
He chuckled, “Thirty-three lashes and you never screamed. Then all of a sudden, you're as pliant as a lamb. I don't believe it, Ed. You got a plan, don't you?”
Before I could lie, he continued, “You don't need to tell me, I know. It's a dangerous world out there, and you'll need protection.”
‘This is certainly better than the spike of pig iron I intend to carry.’
“Thank you, Simon,” I said, taking the blade and sheath. I noted that there was a loop on the sheath to attach the blade to a belt.
In my entire life, this blade was unquestionably the greatest gift I had ever received. I didn't have anything to give him in return. Then a thought popped into my head.
I sighed and steeled myself. Turning to face him, I ordered, “Don't move.”
He looked confused. I placed the blade near my feet, then grabbed both sides of his head and slowly brought it towards my face.
Confusion turned to terror before he closed his eyes, leaned in, and let it happen. Our lips met; I held him there for a handful of seconds before I pulled back. He followed, not wanting our lips to part.
Opening his eyes, he looked at me as if it were the first time he had ever seen me.
“Uhhhh,” was all that came out of his mouth.
“A maiden’s first kiss is said to bring good luck upon the recipient. A fair trade. No?” I asked as I picked up the dagger.
He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head, “Y’yes.”
“If I get past the training, there’s a good chance I'll get stationed at the Capitol. So, wherever your plan takes you. You'll find me there. Maybe.”
I smiled and nodded, “I’ll keep it in mind. Good luck, Sim.”
With a deep breath, he turned on his heels and said, “I have all the luck I need now.”
As he walked away, I wondered how long, if ever, I would see him again. I picked up the blade and shivered, remembering the feeling of his lips on mine. I didn't expect kissing a boy for the first time would be so unpleasant.
~
Work continued for long hours until sundown. Grelleth gave me an extra two bits, which I immediately threw into my box, along with the dagger.
Not bothering to enter the house, I headed to the backyard to wash more clothes. Before I could start, Dariah yelled. “Edith, inside. This moment,”
I searched my mind for what I had done wrong, but found nothing. Entering the house, I found the bastard twins and my witch sister sitting at the table, eating supper. I found the smiles on their faces at my entrance disconcerting.
My mother was standing near the hearth, though she didn't seem angry, just stern.
“Your fourteenth naming day will be in a few more months. You know what this means.”
‘Ah, now I understand. The only question was, what scum did you have in mind for me to marry?’
My face remained placid and unconcerned.
“Yes, mother,” I responded.
“We found an appropriate husband, though he is not of this village; he is a decently successful butcher from Gentry.”
From what I knew, Gentry was over three days on foot. A giggle from Aalis nearly made my mask slip, but at this point, maintaining it was second nature.
“I will do as you wish, mother,” I said, as calm as a tepid lake.
Dariah paused as if expecting something else. Her green eyes pierced mine, searching. All she would find was the mask. The true Edith lay buried for now.
“He will visit in the coming weeks. It will not do for him to find his prospective wife in cheap homespun. Grelleth can do without you for a day. Tomorrow, we find a dress for you.”
I bowed my head, imagining how good it would feel to open her throat with my dagger. It brought a smile to my face.
She nodded to the backyard and ordered, “Get to your chores.”
“I thank you, Mother, for finding me a husband,” I said pleasantly, then left through the front door.
~
Hours later, I finally finished, and on my way back to the house from the stream, I ran into Aalis. She looked as stunning as ever, wearing her usual cruel smirk. She walked over as I struggled with the basket of clothing.
“So, Horse Face is getting married, aren't you lucky?” she said as she followed along.
“Mother and Bren are very kind to find someone who would marry someone like me,” I said. I knew I wasn't pretty. My eyes were too sharp, my nose too large, and my mouth a bit too wide. At least my teeth were straight.
She giggled under her breath, “I know who he is, would you like to know?”
I nodded, “I would take it as a kindness.”
Her grin became malicious, “His name is Greg, apparently, he’s as old as Father and as big and ugly as an ox. His last wife died after three miscarriages, and he wants to keep trying. I hear he offered Father a decent bride price. Not nearly as much as mine, of course.”
A fat, ugly husband whose last wife had already died from miscarriages. Any other girl would run for the hills in despair, cry, and beg the Anier to spare her from her horrible fate. But marriage was never going to happen. My choices were becoming a magus or death. I would consider no other alternatives.
With that assurance, I smiled serenely, “I will pray that Anier will embrace her soul. And hope that I will safely deliver a child for my husband.”
Aalis looked flabbergasted. Nothing she could say or do would phase me. I walked away, hiding a chuckle as she huffed in disappointment.
Two weeks later.
Wearing a dress was odd. The dark blue linen hugged at my waist, and the shift and petticoat, worn beneath, made for a significant amount of cloth. It was constricting and heavy.
Dariah and I stood outside the house waiting for Bren. Her daughter and bastard sons were nowhere to be seen. Over the two weeks, I ate better than ever since I couldn't look too gaunt for my prospective husband.
A few minutes later, Bren approached in mid-conversation with a building of a man. He was as tall as Bren and barrel-shaped. He wore a rough brown tunic of cotton, had mahogany brown hair with a streak of gray, and a well-trimmed beard.
He couldn't mask his disappointment when he met my eyes. “Good day, Lady,” he said to Dariah.
“Greeting, Sir Greg, I present to you Edith, my daughter.”
It sounded like she forced herself to say, ‘My daughter.’
He stopped a few feet in front of me, looking me up and down like a piece of meat.
“Not the best looking; a bit too skinny.”
Bren shrugged, “Perhaps, but she’s young, fertile. And has many years to bear children. Let us head inside and share a meal.”
I remained quiet as expected.
~
Sitting by the table, the four of us shared a stew rich with meat and even a side of fresh honeyed bread. Greg ate like a pig, shoveling the stew and bread into his gaping maw as if he were on the brink of starvation.
“I wonder if he would squeal if I gut him?”
Greg started talking with a mouth full of half-chewed pork. “She’s quiet, good. I'm sure she knows her duties.”
Bren spoke, “Yes, both for the marital bed and how to manage a house, cooking, and cleaning. She knows her role.”
“Ten,” Greg said suddenly.
“We already agreed on the price,” Bren said.
“I didn't see 'er face, she ain't a wife worth fifteen.” Greg countered.
It was impressive how they spoke while I was in the room. To communicate so candidly about my lack of beauty was disrespectful. But neither Bren nor Dariah seemed to care. Though I couldn't bring myself to look into my mother’s eyes. There was a chance I would show my anger. Bren, as the man of the house, by law, had the right to decide who I should marry. Neither I nor Mother had a say.
The numbers went back and forth until they settled on twelve silvers. To say it was insulting would be an understatement. Regardless, it didn't matter. I had the equivalent of a full silver after nearly two years of work. From my research, I knew I could buy myself around a week in a passable Inn, and most served food. That left me roughly eight days to find work and more permanent lodgings.
I would abandon this village and its people, and at that moment, I decided to abandon my very name.
Edith was the one sitting at the table. Edith was the one betrothed to a walking ox. In a few more months, Edith would die.
~
The meal lasted less than half an hour, and the entire time, I didn't speak. Greg barely acknowledged my existence, even though he decided to take me as his wife. It was as if he saw me as nothing more than a womb with legs.
I decided to burn Gentry to the ground for this insult and gut him like the pig he was. Though my thoughts were violent and I had the will, I didn't have the power to enact them. Of course, I could get my dagger, sneak into their room at night, and kill them while they slept, but what then? The hangman's noose was what awaited me.
I took a deep breath and exhaled, letting the raging fire within me cool. Now wasn't the time to let it out.
“Edith, you and Greg should speak; Dariah and I will be in the other room,” Bren said.
I nodded, and then they left the kitchen and entered their bedroom, leaving me alone with the pig. I wasn't worried about my chastity; the shame that would fall on them if he tried or succeeded in raping me while the man of the house was present would be enough for them to be driven out of town.
What exactly was I supposed to discuss with this man? I didn't know.
“Do you anythin’ beyond just cookin’ and cleanin’, girl?” Greg asked.
I shrugged, “I’m decent with numbers, and I can work my way through letters. I’m still learning.” I had to at least pretend to be willing.
He grunted, pulled out a parchment from a breast pocket, and tossed it onto the table.
“Read that to me,” he ordered.
____________________________________________________________________________
Dear Greg of Gendry,
I hear you have a need for a wife, after the passing of your last bride. Farway has several prospects. A friend of mine has offered his daughter for the price of 15 silvers. She is thirteen summers old, fair-faced, freshly blooded, and unspoiled. If you are interested, you are free to send your acceptance with this runner. I have already paid for the convenience.
Sincerely, Ruben of Farway
____________________________________________________________________________
It took considerable effort to read the headman’s short letter, but I managed.
After I finished, he asked, “A pig eats two pounds of feed a day. I have seven pigs. How much feed should I buy to last a week?”
It was simple maths, “112 pounds.”
He nodded. I wasn't surprised he knew numbers; most tradesmen and businessmen had to have at least a cursory understanding.
“Good–better than the other one at least.”
‘
No remorse for your dead wife? I will make you squeal someday, pig.
’
The questions went on for a few minutes. Mostly about how much I knew about cooking, cleaning, and rearing children.
“It is my honor, Sir Greg,” I said, trying not to vomit at my own words.
He grunted, “Just Greg. I guess I'll have to get you a bridal band and the customary gifts. You'll do.”
“I shall try to be a good wife, Greg.”
‘I will enjoy the sounds of your screams, Greg.’
~
I walked hand in hand with Greg through the many stalls and shops. My mind was a whirlwind of murderous rage. The humiliation of walking with this man was driving me insane. Everywhere, people snickered at our passing. Either the man didn't notice or didn't care.
The open laughter of Aalis and her cohorts, from the Farway Inn as we passed, was almost enough to break me.
Still, it was customary to purchase the bride gifts. It seemed he wanted to get the formality over with. Not even Dariah could take them away, at least.
Greg, it seemed, made decent money as a butcher since, to my surprise, he bought me a silver bridal band. Bren followed us as a chaperone on our outing. Usually, several gifts would be given over months, but they were rushing to the marriage. At least three were expected: the marriage band, an article of clothing, and a final gift to demonstrate love.
I heard of one king who gifted his betrothed ten thousand horses since she loved the beasts.
I begged any god that would listen to end my suffering. Lashing was a lesser torture. A familiar man caught my eye. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest as I saw the decrepit man. Unconsciously, I tightened my grip on Greg’s hand.
“Something you want from the old man. Doesn't look like he has much.” He said, following my gaze. I slipped up; I never expected to see him again. Though he looked even closer to death.
“You never know if they have something interesting?” I said, trying to be casual.
He shrugged, “Fine, but it's the last one. Got to leave before sundown,”
We walked over to the old man, and I didn't know what to say.
“Good day, customers, what can I do for you?”
He didn't have anything of note. Pots, pans, knives, random sacks of herbs, all strewn about on a canvas mat, halfheartedly.
“I never heard the end of your story.”
His eyes widened with recognition. He focused on me, then on the shiny band around my wrist, then on Greg.
“Ah, I see, congratulations on your marriage, girl.”
“A marriage needs a gift of love, yes?”
My heart started thundering in my ears. “Yes, it does. Have anything good?” Greg asked.
His eyes rested on me. They were completely grey now, but somehow, I felt like he could see me.
“Are you still going to learn, girl?" he asked.
This wasn't a simple question; he was asking me if I was still planning to become a magus. I threw a quick glance at Greg to see that he was barely paying attention. I removed my mask, letting the fire breathe. With all my will and desire, my rage and hate, despair, and determination, I stated, “Hear me, old man. I. Will. Learn. Nothing has changed.”
He smiled, revealing that his last three teeth were gone. “One moment,” he said, then went into his decrepit cart. After a minute or two of searching, he came out, holding a dark oak box. It was a little over a foot long and three inches tall on all sides.
“All great writers use them,” he said, then opened the box.
Inside was a beautiful quill with an ornate steel tip. The feather was as black as ink, around six inches long. The steel tip, of the same length, had many strange symbols along its ornate curves. There was also a glass ink pot with a tarnished brass stopper. Since I was sure he meant Magus, not Writer, I had to have the quill. The quill looked like it was meticulously maintained since it showed no sign of tarnishing.
“Fancy quill. How much?” Greg asked.
“One bit,” the old man said.
I smiled, remembering that was the price of the rest of the story.
“Well,” Greg asked.
“I love it,” I said, offering him my first genuine smile.
Greg shrugged and handed the man a bit. After taking the box from the old man, I asked, “What is your name?”
“Emyr,” The old man said.
“I will remember you, Emyr,”
Emyr didn't respond, just nodded. He seemed to have reached a kind of catharsis. He didn't have long for the world, a few weeks at best, but I would remember him.
We left Emyr, and this time, I knew I would never see him again. Never have I prayed with any true faith. But if Anier did exist, I hoped she would embrace his soul.
“You want to write?” Greg asked. He didn't seem terribly interested, just filling the empty air with words.
“Yes, it's a passion of mine, I mentioned it to him the last time he was in town,”
Greg, with even less enthusiasm, asked, “What kind of stories?”
I kept my head forward, my broad smile more a sign of my slipping sanity than happiness. With my whole heart, as if my words could bring me the death and despair that enflamed my mind, I answered, “Tragedy.”