***
"Explain what you mean when you said, 'he changed'," Tovira asked Halivik.
He took a sip of cider before trying to describe it. "Sten looked bigger, stronger." He shifted in his chair and glanced at his wife, who gestured for him to continue. Halivik then stared off, remembering. "He roared like a beast and fought like one, too. He tossed those curs around like they were pups." He looked back at Tovira. "My boy is eight - only eight summers along, and for a moment I was... afraid of him."
There was a short time of thoughtful silence between the three of them. Then Tovira said, "Hal, perhaps it only appeared that way. Your mind was racked with worry for Sten while you fought the wood curs. They got the better of you, almost fatally. You were ravaged and quickly going cold from blood loss. As you said, you were on the ground, watching from an odd angle. I've no doubt your son acted with a hero's heart, but it might be that your thoughts were addled and it let your eyes be deceived."
His lips pressed together as he took a deep breath through his nose. Tovira wasn't sure how she offended Halivik until he let the breath out and calmly replied, "As a huntsman, I hold worth only by my wits and senses. I may go without other good traits, but I will never lose grip of those two things. I saw what I saw, Tovira; there was no mistake."
"I was not trying to wound your pride. I'm simply trying to think of a sensible explanation for the strange scene you described."
"But Tovi," Baraide interjected as she leaned forward, "haven't you come across odd sights in your years as a named Maker?"
"A few times, yes."
"Then why is what happened to my Sten so out of reach for you?"
Tovira sighed. "Because I've never -" She stopped herself, set her drink on the table, and then sat back with legs crossed in ladylike fashion. "Something remarkable happened to your Sten out in the woods, and you take them as signs of him being a potential Maker, yes?"
"Yes," Halivik answered. "That's why we need your wisdom and advice. I'm told that before you left their ranks, you were a Maker for many years. I don't know of what sort, but it doesn't matter to us. We just need some answers. Please, Tovira, he's a good boy."
She saw the worry in his and Baraide's eyes, and suddenly noticed how tired they both looked. "Hal, Bara," she began, "I'm not holding back from you. I've simply never heard of the power manifesting so boldly before, and Sten is between the ages of signs."
Baraide glanced at her husband and then back to her friend. "We don't understand, Tovi."
"I'll start fresh, then. In whatever form," she explained, "the art of Making is simply a different way of thinking. The years-long training is called the Road of Clarity; it helps to map and define a new pattern of thought up to a point. If someone with enough understanding makes it through the training, they continue to follow the path of their own making. It usually takes the form of what shaped early memories." She stopped when Halivik lowered his head and slowly shook it. "What? I'm trying to explain."
He lifted his head enough to look at her. "Not to be blunt, Tovira, but it sounds like you're reading from a book. I'm a simple man."
"If it's not too much to ask," Baraide said, "maybe you could just tell us what it was like for you, what you did when you first thought you were a Maker."
"Ha! I didn't think I was!" Tovira replied with a grin. "I thought I was a normal girl, growing up on the family farm outside of Raudeen - just a short walk down the wagon path from your father's land, Bara. I didn't think my curiosities were out of the ordinary, just a child's. I suppose most young ones would wonder why the sky is blue, or where all the snow comes from. I, on the other hand, thought of the land that I helped plow and sow. I remember my mind being filled with a child's wild wanderings almost constantly, but only things like what the moons are made of or how deep I could dig a hole. Sounds odd, doesn't it?"
"I don't remember anything odd being said about you," Baraide said. "I know it was long ago, and I wasn't even born yet when you were chosen. But I remember my parents mentioning your name a time or two; from their tone, they never thought you were a strange girl."
"I didn't either, not until my mother noticed my eyes." Tovira paused to let them quickly inspect her seemingly normal brown eyes, as she expected they would after those words. "After a day outside, thinking my earthen thoughts, I would be called in for a meal. Depending on what part of the property I was on, my eyes would reflect it. I was told that after a day in the field, my eyes would be nearly black. And if I was digging in the harder clay up near the house, they'd change to a dull orange. It didn't take long for my mother to spot the sign that I was different."
"I saw a change in Sten's eyes as well," Halivik muttered miserably. "It was part of the change I took note of when he fought the curs. They looked a different color than normal. I'm not sure which, but they were lighter, like the sun was in them. It was a cloudy morning."
"But those other changes you mentioned," Tovira commented, "they're beyond the signs that are to be watched for; far beyond, truth be told. With most children, it is a subtle thing: a small outward change or trick, a quick understanding of any common lesson, or a different view on matters that most folk don't see. Those are the hints a Maker would expect to find, but only one of those might be enough for the child to be chosen."
"You mean taken," Halivik retorted venomously.
Tovira reluctantly nodded her agreement. "I was younger than your Iri when I was chosen. My parents, like many of those whose child has the rare calling, were so proud. I suppose many parents will make sacrifices so their child can have a better life. Mine knew I would be well looked after, given the best education, and to one day have wealth, respect, and a Maker's title. It's the law anyway; I think they just looked for the best in it."
Baraide woefully shook her head. "To be torn from your family when so young... I remember being told that one day you were just gone. You must have been so scared and confused."
"I was, and for a long while after. But I think that it was easier at my age than for those few who were accepted later. The signs are usually noticed somewhere around the time when lessons begin - between four or five years old, when a child's mind is open to any possibility. A few of the chosen's signs aren't evident until their adult changes begin, around eleven or twelve. For them, it can be a tougher transition."
"Sten is between those ages, though," Baraide pointed out.
"Yes, I mentioned that a moment ago. I've never heard of that happening." Tovira's thin brows furrowed in deeper thought. "What's more, your story makes it sound as if he impulsively reacted to live stimulus." She saw Baraide's frown and so explained in simpler terms, "Stenhelt acted like an animal, began to take the traits of an animal. I've never come across that before. Every Maker I know - myself included - draws from the inanimate. For me, it's earth; others manipulate the essence of water or fire or some such. Quite an intriguing mystery..."
Halivik leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and gripping his hands tightly together in front of him. "Tovira," he began with restrained emotion, "tell us what to do. I know my Sten, and he won't want to go. And we don't want him to, either. I know he's young but he doesn't care about book learning or titles, and that's fine with Bara and me - we couldn't be more proud of him than as he is. The boy loves to explore, to hunt, to be out in the wild with nothing but his wits and his freedom. He dreams of it; he's told us so."
Tovira smiled at the thought. "Taking after his father, I see."
Ignoring the compliment, Halivik continued. "If he has a Maker's ability, so be it, but forcing him to sit in some cold stone room and read dusty books for years would be torture. And torture for us, too. Please, there must be another way."
"Well, it's not all study, but I take your meaning." Tovira took in Bara's tired, worried eyes and Hal's haunted expression. She had no good answers for them. For their friendship, though, she had to be honest. "I see three options, and you won't like any of them."
"Go on," Baraide said hesitantly, and then
took a deep breath.
"The first is that you tell the village bailiff that Sten has shown signs of Clarity and you wish him to be tested. Another choice is to do nothing; sooner or later, someone else will see the signs in him. Word will get back to the bailiff. Sten will be chosen and you'll both more than likely be thrown in the dungeons of Troven tower, or to the west in the pits of the Breskallin fortress."
Baraide looked at her husband despairingly; he gazed back at her with the same expression. She turned back to Tovira and quietly asked, "What is the third choice?"
Letting out a deep breath, she answered, "Again, you could do nothing, except to keep Stenhelt away from Bruvaal - or any other place - as much as you can. There is a small chance that he'll live out his life normally. The much greater chance is that the signs - the physical changes, the dreams - will eat away at his stability. I've heard a few stories of those who eluded being chosen, avoided the Road of Clarity. One eventually stole a fishing boat out of Derralin harbor, sailed out of Falcon Bay into the ocean and was never heard from again. He may have been unhinged, but no one can say for sure. All of the others ended in evident madness."
Halivik looked over to his wife, whose face was buried in her hands. He rested his right hand on Baraide's knee, if only to let her know that she wasn't alone. The huntsman couldn't look at Tovira just then, but managed to say, "Thank you for making it plain."
"It may be no consolation," she said to them, "but there are benefits. The parents are given a sizeable sum of coin every year on the day they're allowed to visit their child."
"We don't care about coin, Tovira," Halivik muttered.
"I understand," she replied, "but the chosen also receives a full education. And, should the child become a Maker, their social rank would equal a noble's. Of course, that Maker could become quite skilled in a form and earn a comfortable living while honing those skills. I, for example, was an earthen Maker. I have wrought the soils of this estate to grow what crops I wanted. My vineyard is unmatched because I give the grapes the best soil; Oma-Krin wine is served at the King's banquet tables." She paused, reflecting on her own experiences. "Your Sten could have a very prosperous life."
"But not the life he would choose," Baraide said through her fingers. She sat back, wiping the tears from her red-rimmed eyes. "There's little choice, Hal." She gripped the hand on her knee, knowing her husband was just as crushed as she was, if not more so. They looked into each other's eyes, both hoping to find strength and solace.
And then Tovira said one little word. "Or..."
They slowly turned their eyes to her. "Or - or what?" Halivik asked.
An idea had suddenly come to her. "Or I could train him," Tovira answered nonchalantly, and then picked up her cup of cider for another sip to hide her subtle smile.
"You could? You would?" Halivik asked in a rush, his words hurried together by renewed hope.
"Wait, Tovi," Baraide said hesitantly, "is it allowed for you to do that? I know after you turned away from the Order of Makers, there were some lines you couldn't cross anymore, yes?"
"Oh yes, and 'lines not to be crossed' is putting it mildly," she answered, still with a mellow composure. "In over two hundred years since the Order was formed, only four Makers have chosen to renounce their title. The first two were a husband and wife nearly seventy years ago who wanted to travel beyond our borders freely. That resulted in the battle of Scarlet Falls."
"We've heard the telling of it from entertainers visiting the inn," Baraide said.
"The other two were a talented Maker named Gann Fog-caller, and me. We disagreed with the indulgence of certain teaching methods by some unscrupulous Makers, and of questionable political maneuverings. The ruling council of the Order didn't want another mess like Scarlet Falls, so laws were set in place. Gann and I blemish their reputation, as they see it."
"Surely not all Makers are such hard brutes as you describe," Halivik commented. "The older, bald man who is titled 'Winter-hand' - the Maker who refreezes our meat cellar for a fair price in the early summers, you know the one? He always seemed a friendly sort."
Tovira nodded. "Frimgar, you mean. Yes, he is affable and generous, and always has been. There are others of the same temperament. There are also some within the small number of Makers who have ambition or common greed. And a handful of them are fanatics. They may say their passionate devotion is for the kingdom's strength, or for the glory of the Order of Makers, or even for the selfless enlightenment of the common man... whether he wants it or not. What they really want is power, and an excuse to unleash their abilities with impunity."
Easily noticing that Tovira's words were becoming heated, Baraide wanted to change the subject. She was going to ask why her friend walked away from such prestige, but she now had enough of an answer without bringing it up herself. "Tovi, your offer humbles us, and we would forever be in your debt, but... We can't ask you to break laws. What's worse, you'd be putting yourself in real danger."
"Not if everyone was cautious and discreet," she answered casually. "If I was to train Stenhelt, it wouldn't be in the pressured manner of the Road of Clarity. I would give just enough instruction to keep his sanity intact. However, he most likely will never be a true Maker."
"We don't care about that!" Halivik exclaimed. "By the Triad, that's the least of our worries!"
"Tovi, why would you put yourself in harm's way?" Baraide asked.
"I have a number of reasons, Bara, and all of them are worthy in their own right. One of those is that I get the chance to potentially save a child's life. Another is that I'm able to perform a rare service for friends in dire need." She smiled then with warmth that deepened the wrinkles around her eyes. "I get to do something nobler with my ability than to turn dirt into clay for my potters, or into fine sand for my glass-blowers. And I get the personal satisfaction of snubbing the Order out of warping another student into a tool for their machinations."
Allowing a moment to let her words of conviction sink in, Halivik then hesitantly said, "We - we don't have much to offer you for this."
"Hal, doing this is its own reward. I don't see a debt."
"But I do. You're saving our son, and putting yourself at some risk in the doing. What we own is paltry compared to all of your fineries, but our belongings are yours for the asking." Seeing that Tovira was about to decline, however kindly, Halivik added, "And I know that you have no huntsman for your estate. Why else would your workers continue to buy wild meats and leather from us? While I will still offer my goods to the public, I will ensure that your pantry will never be bare nor your people cold in the winters. You offer your abilities, so I offer my skill." He glanced at his wounded hand and leg. "For all that it's worth now."
Rather than argue with the proud man, Tovira diverted the topic. "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement when the time arises. For now, we all need to agree on a simple alibi to begin with. Stenhelt's training will be sporadic, and therefore will continue for a number of years until I'm satisfied of his mental safety. If ever questioned of any odd circumstance, I'd rather we base our explanations in truths. I'll not lie if I can avoid it, although the only people I wouldn't mind deceiving are those who would take your boy away from you."