5. Like a Butterfly

5. Like A Butterfly

The breeze blew warm across the village, carrying with it the smells of a summer afternoon. The hard-packed main dirt road puffed dust up with each step of the townsfolk, mixing with the animal dung and fresh-cut hay. Few of the merchants bothered with hawking to draw business on a day like today; it was a day for sitting in the shade, trying to catch what little coolness there was.
Zarya turned her face into the breeze, ducking her head and arching her back, trying to get some of it on the back of her neck. It had been hours since she’d put her heavy curls up under her one piece of silk, a thin green kerchief, legacy of a different life. Sweat now dripped down her face, and pooled in the small of her back. Her green kerchief was dust-brown now, stained with sweat and trapping more heat on her head than it kept off of her neck.
She stopped for a moment, stepping off the road to lean in the shade of an aging elm. The tree had clearly seen better days- half of the trunk looked brown and dead. Split by lightning, perhaps? No way to tell, at this late date. Zarya hadn’t the skill with Divination to read that far into the past. Still, a few branches held life, leaves and, most importantly, shade. Master Sarutobi had done it for fun, the cranky old goat.
Zarya shook her head, hastily clearing it of all thoughts save her current goal- finding the Village Council and presenting herself. The grass was dry, browning and stubby, and felt like a velvet cushion when she sat down. Lords of magic, but she had been on her feet for far too long. Her studies had included little on daily village life. Where would the town’s important elders be? Surely, they would prefer to be out of the sun, and ought to have enough authority to not be out running errands. So, inside somewhere. And, in a town this small, the councilmen would almost certainly have other duties- a craft or trade- to be seeing to. So who would be the leaders, and how to find them?
“You have got to be kidding me!” Zarya flinched at the outburst, scooting sideways around to the back side of the tree on pure reflex. She peeked around the trunk, looking for the speaker. A young man in dusty forest garb, stood speaking to a pale-skinned woman with long black hair and a bodice cut low enough that Zarya unconsciously put up a hand to cover her own, fully-clothed bosom. “No way, they’d never buy a story like that, I don‘t care how much they‘ve had to drink,” the young man went on.
“Well, I don’t see how you intend to convince them of anything, looking the way you do,” the woman said. Her voice had a tone to it that suggested she was caught between terminal boredom and total exasperation.
The young man paused to pinch his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Loook, clearly, if we want to make the right impression, whatever that is, we need to find a place to clean up. I’m a little off rivers at the moment, but I doubt you’ve enough silver on you for a bath house, let alone a tavern. By the look of this place, I bet their idea of a tavern is a pub with a couple rooms for farmers who drank too much. Bath house…” His voice faded into something less challenging, and Zarya thought she heard something more creep into his voice. “Who am I kidding?”
He looked off to the side, and there was a long, awkward moment while the two of them just stood there, not-looking at each other. Something about the woman’s garb triggered a connection in Zarya’s mind. What was it? About pain, maybe? If the woman displayed that much skin that pale in this weather, she was certainly in for a painful rash…
“Fine, whatever,” the woman sighed.
The young man seemed to jerk himself out of some distant thought, and plastered one what had to be the cheekiest grin Zarya had ever seen. “Hey, I know you’re worried that if you saw me bathing, you couldn’t control yourself, and that’s fair. But I assure you… well, no, you’re probably right. Blindfold?”
“Only to keep myself from gagging,” the woman shot back.
“You know you want this,” the young man said, tossing back sandy brown hair.
The pair of the burst into laughter, and she chased him off into the woods, smacking at his head and shoulders.
“Philox,” Zarya murmured, and a shimmering, translucent butterfly landed on her finger. “I need to find a place to bathe, and…” What had the lad said? “A place to buy drink.” She blew gently on her little seeker, and it floated off on the breeze to do her bidding. Zarya smiled. This day was starting to look up.

***********

Tam and Winnow sat sweating on their bench before the councilmen, waiting while a young woman who claimed to be a sorceress made her appeal. She might have some magical talent, but ‘Zarya,’ if that was even her real name, was certainly not the master she claimed to be. No master magician would bother with such a little village, nor would she… fidget.
“And so, um, your Council…ness…es,” she stammered, “I am able to find your lost animals, or people, to determine whether someone has spoken truth or falsehood, forecast the weather, and tell you what crops will do well, and place protective wards around your town, fields, or domiciles.” The councilmen just stared at her, expressionless and silent. “All for especially reasonable rates, I assure you,” she said, clearly trying to find the magic phrase that would unlock the council’s approval.
Tam resisted the temptation to sigh and shake his head. The council’s reaction was every bit as unpleasant as he had expected, though he thought the butcher threatening to send her off to a Magistrate was a bit much. The girl kept her composure, though only barely. “Please,” she begged, “let me demonstrate-”
“Out!” the butcher roared, “Out before we have you brought up before a real sorcerer!”
“Great,” Tam murmured to Winnow as the woman fled the tavern’s common room. “Now they’re all riled up.” Winnow was seated next to him, occupying her portion of bench with a sort of bored, casual grace. Had ’Zarya’ had half that degree of self-possession and dignity, Tam doubted the council would have given her such short shrift.
“Next,” the mayor drawled. Since the girl claiming to be a sorceress had been the only other petitioner, Tam wasn’t sure if the mayor’s attitude was an attempt at an imitation of a big-city Magistrate, or a deliberate insult. In Higgins’ court, at least, he would have been sure of the matter.
Tam stood and bowed slightly from the waist. Not too much, no need to be obsequious, but the councilmen would expect the respect. “Mayor, Councilmen,” He bowed again, not quite so deeply. “I am honored to have this opportunity to come before you today. My name is-”
“Cut the crap, boy.” The speaker was the butcher again, a squat bald man in a blood-stained apron. He leaned forward. “What do you want?”
Tam’s nostrils flared. This yokel had no right- but of course he did. It was his job to cut through the fat and get the meat from the bone. So, then.
“Work,” Tam snapped. He took a deep breath. “As I was starting to say, my name is Tam-”
“What kind of work? You’re not claiming to have magical powers too, are you?” The rest of the council chuckled into their tankards. One man, the blacksmith to judge from his shoulders, rapped his knuckles on the table in approval. Tam watched their faces closely, how each held himself laughing, who looked to which members of the council to draw them into the joke. The mayor held himself apart from the laughing, drinking from his beer but not engaging with the other councilmen. So the mayor really did hold the power of this council, good. The butcher was the hound, used to flush the fox from the trees. Tam addressed himself to the mayor.
“I write a clean hand, sir, and can prepare any documents you wish to present to a magistrate or lord. I-”
“How old are you, boy?” This butcher was starting to get seriously annoying. Calm…
“This past midsummer was my twentieth birthday,” he lied smoothly.
The butcher snorted. “Sure you are. And who’s the wench, the King’s long-lost-”
“Look, if you don’t believe that I can write, bring me pen and ink. If you doubt my knowledge, test me. If you can’t, or won’t, then fine. I’ve a good many miles left to walk.” He half-turned, taking a step toward Winnow, and the bench.
The butcher opened his mouth, starting to rise with one hand flat on the table and the other stabbing a sausage-thick finger at Tam.
“Enough, Arnold.” The mayor raised one hand. “You’ve had your fun with the boy.” The butcher lowered himself back into his chair, scowling. The mayor looked at Tam. “What’s your name, lad?”
“Tam, sir. Tam Norry.” Winnow stirred on the bench behind him, but Tam kept his eyes locked on the mayor’s.
“There’s little enough work for a scribe in a village this size, Tam Norry. What brings you to us, a scribe with no in, a scholar with no books? You’re not in trouble with your master for making off with his daughter, are you?”
Somehow, Tam managed to keep his face straight. “My father served as chief of clerks to Magistrate Higgins, in Moldell. I learned from him, through service, and served on his staff until I came of age, whereupon I transferred my service to Mayor-”
“That’s enough, lad. I don’t want your life’s story. What I want to know is, are you in some kind of trouble, and are you going to bring it down on my people?”
“The only trouble I bring with me, sir, is and empty purse and a poor track record in choosing innkeepers.”
Amazingly, the mayor and councilmen swallowed this entire packet of lies without comment. “So, what brings you looking for work to my little village, Tam Norry?”
Tam quickly weighed his options. His initial assumption had been that, like Sol, these yokels would be either impressed with the mannerisms and speech of court, or overwhelmed by the useage of words bigger than their village. Clearly, that had proven wrong. Zarya’s timidity had gotten her nowhere, so servility was not the course. Long-winded explanations that covered all details were of no use, either. Bold, and to-the-point, then. “My uncle, sir. He wrote me that he has need of a scribe to handle legal affairs for his company on the south coast.”
The mayor accepted this equally flagrant fabrication with the same credulity with which he had taken in Tam’s other lies. He turned to the other councilmen, and they began discussing quietly amongst themselves. Tam remained standing, concealing his impatience and anxiety behind the relaxed, confident pose he had learned serving Magistrate Higgins. He used shifting his weight as an excuse to half-glance over his shoulder. Winnow was watching the council with the cool dispassion of a queen. Only the occasional tap of her foot belied her anxiety.
Odd… Enara would have insisted on being the center of attention, disastrous though it would have been. Winnow was content to let Tam take the lead in this negotiation, though she had certainly been forceful in helping plan this presentation.
The council members seemed to have reached some sort of agreement. The mayor nodded, and turned back to Tam. “None of our villagers have any need of a scribe, but Master Gillam, in whose fine establishment we meet, reckons he has work for you in the kitchens. Scrubbing pots may not be the kind of work you are used to, but it will earn you a meal and a bed, and you need not fear the theft of your possessions. In the morning, it happens that several of the farmers are headed to the market at Riverhead. You can ride with them, and you should be able to find passage down the river from there to the coast. Ship captains, as I understand it, always have logs and journals and customs papers to prepare.”
“The council is most generous. I thank you. And, ah… Does Master Gillam have room in his kitchens for two?”
The mayor raised his eyebrows. “It was assumed by the council, boy, that you would not make your wife work when you could provide for her.” A gagging sound turned into a fit of coughing from Winnow. “Especially when she is in such a weakened state. Gill, why don’t you show these two to their room. Arnold, you can send Mildred over to check on the girl. Any more business?” The mayor rapped his knuckles once on the table. “Then I say we’re done here.”
The members of the village council finished their ale with a bottoms-up pull that looked as formal and practiced as a magistrate’s gavel rap. A fleshy, straw-haired man limped around the end of the table, and shook Tam’s hand. “Alpert Gillam, lad. Pleased to meet you. Most folks around here call me Gill. I’ve a spare room to let in the back; we’re nearly full up what with all the farm folk headed to market. Yes, this is always a busy time for us, even with the heat we’re having to sleep two to a bed some nights…” The man hardly seemed to need to breathe, keeping up a running commentary as he led the two of them to their room. He gestured expansively as he opened the door to a small room in the back of the inn. “Now, we’ll just get your lady wife settled in, here-”
As the innkeeper talked, all Tam could see was the bed. Layered with wool-stuffed ticks, and covered with a faded quilt, it looked like a lover’s embrace. A bed… A real bed, Tam thought.
The innkeeper noticed Tam’s longing stare. “Not yet, lad,” he said with a grandfatherly wink. “It’s the kitchens, then a bath for you.” Settling Winnow into the little room’s only chair, he guided Tam away, promising that one of his daughters would soon be along to take Winnow to the bath house.
In the kitchens, Mrs. Gillam handed Tam a crusty old scrub brush and a bucket of soapy water. The smell of roasting mutton made it hard to concentrate on what she was saying. A bed! And food! Life was finally starting to look up.

***********

Carter knelt next to the ashes of the fire. He inhaled carefully, then held his hand over the coals.
“And then this guy comes at me, like he totally forgot I had a sword in my other hand, right?” Diggs was leaning against a tree, gesturing with his hands while he talked. Re-enacting the fight, probably. Carter had long ago learned how to keep an eye on Diggs without really having to watch him. “And he’s shouting, this whole time, he’s shouting, ‘You’ll never take-’”
“Four hours. Maybe five.” Carter rose from the fire.
“Which way did she go? Into the woods, or back into town?” Diggs pushed off from the tree against which he was leaning, and scanned from side to side. One hand began to creep up towards his shoulder, and the sword hilt sticking up over it.
“It looks like they,” Carter barely emphasized the word, but it was enough to draw a sharp look from Diggs, “built the fire to dry their clothes, then headed into town.”
“Dry their-” Diggs’ face darkened as he worked through the implications of what that meant. “That son of a… Let’s go.” Diggs was ten strides into the woods before Carter had taken his first step.  Tam Foltz was going to have a very bad day.

*********

Tam dragged himself up the stairs in the back of the inn and into the little room. Mrs. Gillam looked the part of the kindly innkeeper’s wife, but she drove her staff with all the mercy of a Magistrate’s enforcer. Tam had nearly fallen asleep in his bowl of stew (admittedly, thick and filling), and then again during his bath. At least he was clean… The kitchens and bath house had been so hot that it almost felt like the air had cooled when he made it out, but the air in the little room was getting to be thick and stifling again, even with the window open.
Winnow sat cross-legged on the bed, skirts fanned neatly around her, reading a small wood-bound book. She looked up as he entered, closing the book on her finger to mark her place. “Dreadful,” she drawled. “Mildred…” She paused, and Tam was certain she was about to spit, “Is nothing more than a village goodwife who spouts the most senseless drivel and thinks herself educated.”
“Spotted you for a soak, did she?” Tam grinned, dropping into the chair. “The fearsome black-heart, come to steal away all the village children?”
“I was chased out of a village not unlike this, once,” she said seriously, “On no more than a whispered rumour. I doubt that she even really believes my kind exist, but just the fear of it was enough to put her on edge. I had to work very hard to make her laugh, and draw her in before she left, so she wouldn’t be tempted to carry the wrong tales.”
“How did you manage that? I’ve never yet met a goodwife who doesn’t cleave to the worst or most sensational tales.” As morose and morbid as Winnow looked and sounded, Tam could sooner imagine Winnow getting a laugh from a corpse.
Winnow’s bleak face lit for the briefest of moments with a faint smile. “Told her I hadn’t slept since I found out that I was pregnant.”
“You- What?” Tam spurted out of the chair. “How- Why- What… What the hell?”
Winnow had folded over on herself, shoulders shaking. It took Tam a moment to realize that she was laughing.
“Ooh… You…” Tam growled. He had just started to crawl up onto the bed when he noticed a pallet, neatly made up on the floor. “What’s that for?”
Winnow was trying to hold on her laughter, clutching her arms around herself. “It seems that Mildred,” she even managed to drip acid on the name while sniggering, “Believes women who are with child shouldn’t share their bed.”
Tam turned around to check the door for a lock on the inside. “Well, what she-”
“And since Mildred is best friends with Elsbet Gillam, she assured me that Elsbet would be checking in to make sure I ‘get the rest I need.’” Her face turned serious. “I don’t think we had better share a bed, either. It’s too…”
“Complicated,” Tam finished for her. He wasn’t entirely sure that he had been successful at keeping the bitter note from his voice. He backed carefully off of the bed, and lay down on the pallet. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use a good night’s rest. At least we don’t have to worry about bandits, here!” Tam forced himself to keep his voice light. He very much doubted that Winnow was gullible enough to be fooled by that, but it was easier than the truth.
It was too… complicated.

**********

Outside, thunder boomed, and a breeze stirred through the window, carrying the smell of rain.
“Menox,” Zarya murmured, and the shimmering butterfly winked out. So, the woman was a soak That certainly explained a great deal. And they weren’t man and wife, but she was with child? No, that was the false tale the Soak had told the goodwife.
Zarya leaned her head back against the trunk of her tree. She had thought at first that the two of them were man and wife, just by the way they acted, but the boy had taken to being rejected from the woman’s bed with no issue- clearly, there was no feeling there. Just traveling companions. The boy was cute, in a sandy-haired, loose and free sort of way. Zarya would at least have danced with him- if she knew how to dance…
Zarya’s little butterfly had listened in on their session with the Council, those miserable old crabs. If the farmers were willing to give two a ride to Riverhead, would they mind a third? She scrubbed the dirt from her cheeks, smudging the tracks her tears had cut through it earlier. The council had had no call to go calling her down like that…
Thunder boomed overhead, and Zarya pulled her cloak up over her hair. It was too hot for the cloak, but she had been unable to find better shelter than the elm tree just outside town. Pulling a small crystal from her pocket, she began to scratch lines in the dirt before her. Maybe she could find out a bit more about the tree. Was it lightning?
As the rain began to fall, Zarya’s glyph grew in depth and complexity. Gamph’s Third Conjunction overlaid with Benards’ Formula might reveal more about the atmospheric conditions at the time of the tree's demise…
Unnoticed by Zarya, the townsfolk, or the stars, the elm tree began to sprout small, green buds.