Saturday, September 1, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
219
219
As crazy as this day is turning out to be, what I really need is to put it behind me. I need to forget all about it for a little while and just put in a little bit more time preparing for my exam next week. I take down my book and notebook from the shelf. Then I place my box of crystals on the table and lift the lid. There is an experiment I want to do to make sure that I can accurately read my flow meter and figure out how much energy is in a crystal based on measuring the flow for a certain amount of time.
We’ve only done this a couple of times at EI, actually, just so that we knew what a flow meter was and sort of how to use one. But we didn’t have enough meters for everyone, and most of our work was figuring out how to work the calculations on paper anyway. Not many students have flow meters, but I have a good one.
Once, when I was about five, a man came to visit my mother. I didn’t know it then, but he was a philosopher. I remember that he had a very kind voice and fuzzy beard. When he came in, my mother tried to shoo me away, but he told her to let me stay. And he handed something to me from his pocket and said that I could play with it.
So while they talked, I held the meter and began to play with it. It’s made out of brass and has four round nobbs. When it’s near a magical flow of energy, the knobs spin around, and you can measure the rate that the magic is flowing at. Eventually, I crawled out from behind the philosopher’s chair and held the meter near the lights, the clock, anything magical that I could find. It didn’t spin very fast, because there wasn’t anything that needed a lot of magic, but then I got the great idea of taking it out to the kitchen and setting it on the steam kettle. It wasn’t long before my mother caught me and dragged me back in, but I still remember how thrilling it was that I had figured out a way to make it spin faster.
My mother insisted that I give it back right then. The philosopher just looked at me and asked, “Will you take good care of this and learn how to use it?” I did not look at my mother, because if I didn’t look, then she couldn’t tell me no, not with him right there. So I promised that I would.
The problem is that when I open the box, my flow meter is gone.
I stare at the crystals, each in its velvet-lined space. One compartment is empty.
Mallee.
When I’m upset, I’ve learned that it pays to stomp down the stairs as loudly as possible. Wren tries to be patient and reasonable, but I don’t think so. If I start by making it loud and obvious, then it saves time. “Mallee!” I shriek. “Where is it?”
I doubt that she actually knows which thing she’s in trouble for, but it’s not hard to convince her that she’s guilty of something because she screams and runs. I have the advantage because my bare feet stick to the floorboards, but as soon as Mallee comes off of a rug, her thick socks slide, and on only the second turn, she goes flying into a bookcase with enough force to knock a decorative plate off of its stand so that it smashes on the floor. Mallee’s wail of fear turns into a wail of pain--an exaggerated wail, I might add. But since there is real blood (though only about two drops of it), she gets all kinds of attention and even an apology from me.
However, I still consider the approach successful because Mallee hands over my meter before going off to the kitchen to help mom dress for Church. Since she is already dressed, that only means that Mallee will get to borrow a necklace and look ridiculously dressed up when they go.
I head triumphantly back upstairs, finally ready to study.
To my surprise, I am not the only one. “Did you forget something?” I say to Wren just as a way of asking her what’s going on.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” Wren says in a whisper. “I’ve been trying to get some time with you all day.”
“It’s been a busy day,” I admit.
“I’ll be late for Church, but I just can’t stand it anymore. Tomorrow will be just another day, and I need to tell someone.” The way she says it makes me feel like I would not be hearing this if there were any other choice. That’s probably not exactly what she means, but that’s what if sounds like.
I look at the book and box on my desk. I turn back to Wren. “Okay, what is it?”
“You can’t tell her,” Wren says. She’s even melodramatic enough to clutch at my arm as if she’s the heroine in a moving picture. I wonder if now it’s my job to tie her to a tree until the hero can get here to save her.
“You had a solicitation without Mom knowing? How did you manage that?”
“It’s not exactly official.”
“What?” If my parents knew that she had been talking to a boy without filing any paperwork, they would be furious.
“Promise you won’t tell on me?” Wren demands. I have to really think about it.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. I’m not sure exactly what I’m promising.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she insists, crossing her arms and looking stubborn. That worries me.
“What have you done?”
“You have to promise.”
“I’m not promising anything until you tell me.”
She shrugs and tries to look like she doesn’t care, but I can tell that she’s upset. As in, really mad.
“Okay fine. I promise.”
She loosens up a little. “Okay. Just remember that you promised.”
“Wren!” I’m about to kill her. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She still has her arms folded. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s feeling stubborn and pleased with herself, but also a little bit afraid. “I’m...We’re engaged.”
I stop my indulgently disapproving smile. “How old is he?”
“He’s in your year.”
“There’s only one problem.” Wren has decided to tell me everything, and now there is no stopping her. Sometimes I think it’s funny, but right now, I don’t. Of course, I don’t want her to keep quiet, not now that she started telling me. Only a part of me does. In fact, two parts of me want her to just shut up and never say anything again. The first one, what is more important to me, is the worry that she is only sixteen.
“Problem?”I ask.
“He’s not the oldest son. He needs a subsidy.”
“Oh,”I say. That is a problem. A farmer doesn’t always make enough to get proof of career, and without it, they can’t get married. A subsidy has to be paid back before“Doesn’t he want to get an apprenticeship? Then he could wait a year.”
“He knows how to farm. He offered to go into something else just for me--even though he’d hate doing anything else--but it’s no good. His grades aren’t good. He’s doubts that he’ll do well enough on the Exam to make up for it.”
I sit down and start fiddling with some loose buttons in my pocket. I wish that I had my sewing. It would calm me. But she’d be offended if I excuse myself now to go get it.
“He says he’ll think of something.” She tries to look hopeful. I can tell that she’s been crying about this before and will again.
“You haven’t even told me his name,” I remind her.
She shakes her head. “I’d better not. Of course I would tell you, but this way I’m keeping my word, and I’m the only one who could get in trouble.”
She hugs me, and she says thank you, and she goes off to be happy. I’m the one who has one more thing to worry about.
Continue on to Chapter 3
[300]
As crazy as this day is turning out to be, what I really need is to put it behind me. I need to forget all about it for a little while and just put in a little bit more time preparing for my exam next week. I take down my book and notebook from the shelf. Then I place my box of crystals on the table and lift the lid. There is an experiment I want to do to make sure that I can accurately read my flow meter and figure out how much energy is in a crystal based on measuring the flow for a certain amount of time.
We’ve only done this a couple of times at EI, actually, just so that we knew what a flow meter was and sort of how to use one. But we didn’t have enough meters for everyone, and most of our work was figuring out how to work the calculations on paper anyway. Not many students have flow meters, but I have a good one.
Once, when I was about five, a man came to visit my mother. I didn’t know it then, but he was a philosopher. I remember that he had a very kind voice and fuzzy beard. When he came in, my mother tried to shoo me away, but he told her to let me stay. And he handed something to me from his pocket and said that I could play with it.
So while they talked, I held the meter and began to play with it. It’s made out of brass and has four round nobbs. When it’s near a magical flow of energy, the knobs spin around, and you can measure the rate that the magic is flowing at. Eventually, I crawled out from behind the philosopher’s chair and held the meter near the lights, the clock, anything magical that I could find. It didn’t spin very fast, because there wasn’t anything that needed a lot of magic, but then I got the great idea of taking it out to the kitchen and setting it on the steam kettle. It wasn’t long before my mother caught me and dragged me back in, but I still remember how thrilling it was that I had figured out a way to make it spin faster.
My mother insisted that I give it back right then. The philosopher just looked at me and asked, “Will you take good care of this and learn how to use it?” I did not look at my mother, because if I didn’t look, then she couldn’t tell me no, not with him right there. So I promised that I would.
The problem is that when I open the box, my flow meter is gone.
I stare at the crystals, each in its velvet-lined space. One compartment is empty.
Mallee.
When I’m upset, I’ve learned that it pays to stomp down the stairs as loudly as possible. Wren tries to be patient and reasonable, but I don’t think so. If I start by making it loud and obvious, then it saves time. “Mallee!” I shriek. “Where is it?”
I doubt that she actually knows which thing she’s in trouble for, but it’s not hard to convince her that she’s guilty of something because she screams and runs. I have the advantage because my bare feet stick to the floorboards, but as soon as Mallee comes off of a rug, her thick socks slide, and on only the second turn, she goes flying into a bookcase with enough force to knock a decorative plate off of its stand so that it smashes on the floor. Mallee’s wail of fear turns into a wail of pain--an exaggerated wail, I might add. But since there is real blood (though only about two drops of it), she gets all kinds of attention and even an apology from me.
However, I still consider the approach successful because Mallee hands over my meter before going off to the kitchen to help mom dress for Church. Since she is already dressed, that only means that Mallee will get to borrow a necklace and look ridiculously dressed up when they go.
I head triumphantly back upstairs, finally ready to study.
To my surprise, I am not the only one. “Did you forget something?” I say to Wren just as a way of asking her what’s going on.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” Wren says in a whisper. “I’ve been trying to get some time with you all day.”
“It’s been a busy day,” I admit.
“I’ll be late for Church, but I just can’t stand it anymore. Tomorrow will be just another day, and I need to tell someone.” The way she says it makes me feel like I would not be hearing this if there were any other choice. That’s probably not exactly what she means, but that’s what if sounds like.
I look at the book and box on my desk. I turn back to Wren. “Okay, what is it?”
“I’ve met someone.” Wren tries not to grin, but she can’t help it. Her face twists in that way that says she is jumping up and down inside.
“No you haven’t,” I tell her. “There’s no way. You’re not even out of EI. And trust me, if you had any kind of solicitation, Mom would--”“You can’t tell her,” Wren says. She’s even melodramatic enough to clutch at my arm as if she’s the heroine in a moving picture. I wonder if now it’s my job to tie her to a tree until the hero can get here to save her.
“You had a solicitation without Mom knowing? How did you manage that?”
“It’s not exactly official.”
“What?” If my parents knew that she had been talking to a boy without filing any paperwork, they would be furious.
“Promise you won’t tell on me?” Wren demands. I have to really think about it.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. I’m not sure exactly what I’m promising.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she insists, crossing her arms and looking stubborn. That worries me.
“What have you done?”
“You have to promise.”
“I’m not promising anything until you tell me.”
She shrugs and tries to look like she doesn’t care, but I can tell that she’s upset. As in, really mad.
“Okay fine. I promise.”
She loosens up a little. “Okay. Just remember that you promised.”
“Wren!” I’m about to kill her. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She still has her arms folded. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s feeling stubborn and pleased with herself, but also a little bit afraid. “I’m...We’re engaged.”
I stop my indulgently disapproving smile. “How old is he?”
“He’s in your year.”
“You can’t be. He can’t get engaged until he has proof of career.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she insists, and then she sags. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,”she tells me quietly. “But it was a stormy day. I had stayed late for dance class, but it was cancelled that day. I got locked out. So did he.” She shrugs. “I was half in love with him before it occurred to me how strange it was that we seemed to be running into each other so often. By then I didn’t want him to stop.”
“Well, if you’re sensible and keep it quiet then I guess you’ll be okay,” I say. I can’t stay mad at her for very long. “One more year, and then you’ll be old enough to do the paperwork.”“There’s only one problem.” Wren has decided to tell me everything, and now there is no stopping her. Sometimes I think it’s funny, but right now, I don’t. Of course, I don’t want her to keep quiet, not now that she started telling me. Only a part of me does. In fact, two parts of me want her to just shut up and never say anything again. The first one, what is more important to me, is the worry that she is only sixteen.
“Problem?”I ask.
“He’s not the oldest son. He needs a subsidy.”
“Oh,”I say. That is a problem. A farmer doesn’t always make enough to get proof of career, and without it, they can’t get married. A subsidy has to be paid back before“Doesn’t he want to get an apprenticeship? Then he could wait a year.”
“He knows how to farm. He offered to go into something else just for me--even though he’d hate doing anything else--but it’s no good. His grades aren’t good. He’s doubts that he’ll do well enough on the Exam to make up for it.”
I sit down and start fiddling with some loose buttons in my pocket. I wish that I had my sewing. It would calm me. But she’d be offended if I excuse myself now to go get it.
“He says he’ll think of something.” She tries to look hopeful. I can tell that she’s been crying about this before and will again.
“You haven’t even told me his name,” I remind her.
She shakes her head. “I’d better not. Of course I would tell you, but this way I’m keeping my word, and I’m the only one who could get in trouble.”
She hugs me, and she says thank you, and she goes off to be happy. I’m the one who has one more thing to worry about.
Continue on to Chapter 3
[300]
Friday, August 24, 2012
217
[212] Goes home, gets coat. Gets in trouble? Goes up to her room.
[2 ] Goes in through the kitchen, meets up with Wren, then can either go to Church or can try to get out of Church. Then she has to get the coat.
204
[204]
“Mom, why do I have to do it? Can’t Kestrel? She’s the one who reads all the time.”
“Now Feldspar,it’s your turn this week, as you know very well. Kestrel did the forms last week.”
“That’s right,” I cut in, not wanting any chance that I’ll get stuck with the most boring chore in the world. “And besides, I have to study.”
“Study?” He counters. “It’s only one test, but she’s been studying forever. Mom, can’t you see that she’s just doing it to get out of work?”
I glare at him.
“Your turn will come,” she says, patting him on the head. “And when it does, I expect you to work as hard as Kestrel does.”
He sticks his tongue out at me. “The only problem,” he says, “is that by the time I’m that old, there won’t be anyone but Mallee to do all the rest of the chores. And she won’t be able to do them all, so guess who is stuck with them for life--me, that’s who.”
I pick up my mathmagics book and grin at him, “I’m sure it’s very good for you,” I offer. “I’m sure that you’ll be a better person because of it.”
He just glares and unscrews the lid of the fountain pen before filling it from the inkwell.
“Oh,and try not to blot too much,” Mom continues. “I’m nearly out of compost submission forms, and I don’t have time to go get more for a couple of days.”
“At least that’s one chore that I can’t do.” Feld gives an exaggerated sigh.
Normally I like Feld. He’ll find out soon enough what it’s like to have your entire future hanging over your head with one test. Especially since it’s not just my happiness that is hanging on it.
Mom scoops up Mallee to read her a bedtime story. She sits in the kitchen rocker tonight so that Feld can listen without admitting that he is listening.
Meanwhile I have work to do. I head upstairs. As much as she wants me to do well, my mom would send me to bed if I stay up too late. The only problem is that for the last eight months, and for the next week, I can’t afford to sleep much.
I settle down at the little desk in my room, book open, pencil sharpened, paper waiting. Tonight I’m working on resistance and energy loss of medium grade crystals in a magical system. I’ve done it before, but I can’t remember all of the deatails, so I want to work through some equations just in case they have a practical application question on the exam.
I turn to the practice section. Question 1: If a D418 crystal in a copper mesh transfer pouch pulls a load of 1.8 units for a period of 4,336 hours, how much magic is lost?
I adjust the lumilamp on my desk and put my pencil down to the paper. “Lets’ see,” I mutter to myself. “A D418 crystal at maximum capacity is...” And for the next several hours, I scribble, check, twist my hair out of my face with pencils, and read more questions. I don’t even notice the getting-ready-for-bed noises from the rest of the family until it suddenly hits me that it’s very late and very quiet.
219
205
“Mom, why do I have to do it? Can’t Kestrel? She’s the one who reads all the time.”
“Now Feldspar,it’s your turn this week, as you know very well. Kestrel did the forms last week.”
“That’s right,” I cut in, not wanting any chance that I’ll get stuck with the most boring chore in the world. “And besides, I have to study.”
“Study?” He counters. “It’s only one test, but she’s been studying forever. Mom, can’t you see that she’s just doing it to get out of work?”
I glare at him.
“Your turn will come,” she says, patting him on the head. “And when it does, I expect you to work as hard as Kestrel does.”
He sticks his tongue out at me. “The only problem,” he says, “is that by the time I’m that old, there won’t be anyone but Mallee to do all the rest of the chores. And she won’t be able to do them all, so guess who is stuck with them for life--me, that’s who.”
I pick up my mathmagics book and grin at him, “I’m sure it’s very good for you,” I offer. “I’m sure that you’ll be a better person because of it.”
He just glares and unscrews the lid of the fountain pen before filling it from the inkwell.
“Oh,and try not to blot too much,” Mom continues. “I’m nearly out of compost submission forms, and I don’t have time to go get more for a couple of days.”
“At least that’s one chore that I can’t do.” Feld gives an exaggerated sigh.
Normally I like Feld. He’ll find out soon enough what it’s like to have your entire future hanging over your head with one test. Especially since it’s not just my happiness that is hanging on it.
Mom scoops up Mallee to read her a bedtime story. She sits in the kitchen rocker tonight so that Feld can listen without admitting that he is listening.
Meanwhile I have work to do. I head upstairs. As much as she wants me to do well, my mom would send me to bed if I stay up too late. The only problem is that for the last eight months, and for the next week, I can’t afford to sleep much.
I settle down at the little desk in my room, book open, pencil sharpened, paper waiting. Tonight I’m working on resistance and energy loss of medium grade crystals in a magical system. I’ve done it before, but I can’t remember all of the deatails, so I want to work through some equations just in case they have a practical application question on the exam.
I turn to the practice section. Question 1: If a D418 crystal in a copper mesh transfer pouch pulls a load of 1.8 units for a period of 4,336 hours, how much magic is lost?
I adjust the lumilamp on my desk and put my pencil down to the paper. “Lets’ see,” I mutter to myself. “A D418 crystal at maximum capacity is...” And for the next several hours, I scribble, check, twist my hair out of my face with pencils, and read more questions. I don’t even notice the getting-ready-for-bed noises from the rest of the family until it suddenly hits me that it’s very late and very quiet.
219
205
210
Kestrel leaves to go visit Daisy.
Evil father
Should she tell Daisy or listen to Daisy.
(Daisy's Confession 203)
Evil father
Should she tell Daisy or listen to Daisy.
(Daisy's Confession 203)
213
[from 208]
My breath is shaky and doesn’t come quite like I plan for it too. I count to three, open my lips. Then I close them and count to three again. I can’t say anything. Perhaps I’ll stand like this until Anen is disgusted and leaves me. Will anyone find me if I stand here for days? Or will I die here, and whoever finds me will wonder about the skull and the knuckles.
“Effro.” It feels like someone else is saying it. If I could see what I feel, it would look like a thin wisp of smoke coming out of the skull. And then I am inside.
Sometimes when I dream or even when I read, I guess, I can be the person in the story and myself watching it happen at the same time that’s what it is like now. I am myself, incorporeal and watching from behind and a little to the left, but I am also a girl sitting on a hillside. As far as I can see is purple heather. It is like resting on a purple wave, next to me is a single rowan tree.
At first I am filled with just seeing, feeling the wind blow against me as it ruffles the heather around me, bringing its scent crashing into me like waves. And then I realize that there are things I know. I love this place. I have come here often. Today I am here to say goodbye. Emptiness stretches out farther than I can see. There are years, so many years ahead and I am only on the first day. How can I keep them from crushing my heart with the weight of all those empty years knowing that I will never see this place again?
“Kestrel. Kestrel.”
For a moment I am aware of myself again--the watcher behind the girl on the hill. And then I blink, and I see the creased face of my grandmother, waves of years ride the skin of her face like rolling land covered in heather.
“It was you,” I say, discovering it as I say it. I wipe at my wet cheeks. “Where was that place? How...” I hesitate, not wanting to be rude, but unable to stop my wonder and horror, “how old are you?”
Her hand grips tightly, fingers biting into my shoulder. The nails of her other hand rub against my palm as she scrapes the skull from me. “Once again,” she says, looking upset. “I counted the cost incorrectly. Apparently there are things I fail to learn regardless of all the years I have had in which to learn them. I did not think that you would be able to call up that much. Forgive me. I have trained more than one apprentice, and it always takes a lot of practice even to see the scene clearly. There is much that I don’t know about you, my granddaughter. Be careful of your gifts. Sometimes power that is too easily won is more of a curse than a blessing.”
“Tell me how you are connected to the Outliers. Tell me what they even are. All I know are stories about revolutionaries who hurt people in order to make a statement to the government. They were never anything I wanted to be a part of.”
Anen pulls out the wooden box and tucks the skull back among the cotton padding before latching the box and stowing it in her skirt pockets again along with the pig’s knuckles. It would seem that the lesson is over.
“There are men that run these worlds,” she says, and the bitterness in her voice slices into my ears, “who are evil. Nothing but evil. They coat their deeds with fine, embroidered words, but what they do is oppression, exploitation, and violence. Kestrel, I do not always want what the Outliers must do--I certainly don’t always condone it--but we must have change. The Archipelago must find freedom or everything will wither and die. I have foreseen it. If I could tell you what I have seen--”
“There you are!” Wren calls over to us from the lane. She walks and runs over to us. Then she stops and puts her hands on her legs, bending over to catch her breath. Of course, Wren is much too lady-like to sit on the grass without a blanket. She might get her dress dirty. That would be very well if she had a dress that was worth keeping clean. But I don’t see why I should worry about grass with a dress that I use to feed chickens and milk a cow.
“What is it?” I ask, as she gulps in air. “Are we in trouble because we won’t have a full hour to dress for dinner?” Anen looks at me sharply, but it’s true. We only dress for dinner when we have company, and when that company is a greenwoman, what’s the point?
Wren shakes her head. “Outliers,” she finally gasps. “Dad says to come home right now, to make sure that you’re safe.” She looks around as if expecting to be attacked any moment. “I didn’t think that I would have to come this far to find you,” she explains. “Otherwise he never would have let me come, but Feld is still helping with dinner.”
“Outliers?” Anen asks, calm and slightly concerned. “But there has been no Outlier activity here for over a year. Is he sure?”
“He’s sure,” Wren says, “Slade Carpenter found a camp in the woods.”
“Was there anyone there?” I ask, not sure if I was worried for Barry or for what Barry could have told about me.
“Something big happened there. He found burned trees and,” she pauses to give her words dramatic weight, “and there was a dead soldier.” She pulls on my hand to get me up, then she helps Anen.
The three of us start back for home without another word. I look at Anen, wondering if I should be running away from the Outliers or toward them.
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