As I take one last look at the window and then move back to my desk. Love potion really is too strong of a term. I would never think of trying to change Boron’s mind. He likes me. I’m sure he likes me. If I didn’t already have some encouragement from him, then I wouldn’t have thought of it. I just think that a little bit of help getting him to make up his mind is in order. After all, he would be marrying lower--only slightly lower--down.
And I’m running out of time.
It’s all based on the idea that perception is one of the five functions of magic. We never learn about it at the Educational Institute. It’s not really useful. At least, my teachers say that it’s not really useful. My grandmother says otherwise.
I don’t bring up my grandmother at lot at when I’m at EI. Greenwomen are not exactly respected by the academic world. But they still have their own magic. My teachers think that charms and spells are...silly. They don’t say silly, but they certainly don’t take them seriously.
But I do. The problem is that greenwomen don’t use crystals. They use bone and bits of fur or maybe sticks and beetles. So I don’t know how to apply greenwoman magic to a crystal, or even if it’s possible.
The crystal lies in my hand, the facets reflecting the light. Of course, I haven’t tried it the other way around yet. If greenwomen can use a bone to do magic, then a bone would have to hold magic, wouldn’t it? Bones, beetles, sticks...they were all from living matter. They are made of cells. Can cells hold magic?
I look around my room. What do I have? Not much. There aren’t any plants in my room, because I’d forget to water them. And a quick search of the room, holding my lumicube like a candle to peer in the dark corners, shows that there isn’t a spider or a moth around when I need one. The idea of moths reminds me that I have some wool things in my closet. I could cut off a string--though I have no idea how to put magic into a piece of wool yarn. But I bet that my grandmother could do it, so there must be a way.
When I open the door, I stare for into the gloom. Besides wool, there is something else in my closet that used to be alive. Several of those wool sweaters have buttons on them. I’ve never thought before about what buttons are made of. Glass? Wood? Bone?
in just a few minutes, I have a sweater that is now buttonless and four plain wooden buttons lie in the palm of my hand. Each one has a grain that I trace with my finger tips. After setting the others down, I sit at my desk with one in my palm. I press a finger to the center of the button and listen.
Crystals are much louder. Loud isn’t exactly the right word, but it’s kind of like a noise. There is something there, and crystals have a lot more of it. That doesn’t mean that wood is silent, though.
This one whispers in a crinkly pattern that reminds me of ferns. There is order if you know how to look for it, but it’s not as obvious as the straight lines of crystals. Of course I don’t hear noises, but it’s like hearing; it’s like paying attention. I think that this could work.
Filters are advanced and not really what this is. It’s not hard to take a crystal and put a little twist to the magic so that when the energy is released, it comes out as light or heat. Motion is a harder, but good engineers can use magic to power machines--machines that we use all the time.
I think that this is the same thing. It’s just that no one I know would agree with me. When Boron puts his hand on the crystal, or button, or whatever it ends up being, then the magic will alter his perception.
Only a little. Just enough.
If I were beautiful, then I wouldn’t need it. My hair is brown, not chestnut. I’m sort of an average height, average build. I’m not willowy, I’m not sporty. I’m just me.
But he likes me enough to smile at me when we are studying, enough that my heart beats faster when we’re alone for a few minutes. He’s even walked me home a few times when he ran into me on the way back from town. Once, I was sure that he was about to kiss me, except that the housekeeper bustled in to ask him about guests who were coming.
A kiss isn’t quite the same thing as a proposal, but it’s getting close.
I saw his mother’s ring once. I was young when she died, but once there was a midsummer party. She wore lace and jewels--and I could tell that they were real ones, not made by magic. They were beautiful. I had been playing badminton, and I was hot and sweating. She floated over like rose petals on a stream. She smiled at me and called me a pretty child. She would never wash dishes--and certainly she would never break a plate if she did. She would never reach under a hen to grab an egg and find something squishy on the shell. Someday I will be Boron’s wife and be graceful and kind and never sweaty or dirty.
But first I have to figure out how to get enough magic out of a thin slice of wood that it can power a perception long enough for him to get up the nerve to propose. After that, I can quit worrying about magic and focus on my wardrobe.
Just then, I hear a clatter on my window like tiny horse hooves on cobbles. I run to the window to look and raise the glass just in time to get a face full of gravel. “What?” I demand, shaking tiny pebbles out of my hair.
“Kestrel!” says a voice that can’t decide if it’s whispering or yelling. “Kestrel, you have to come down here.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s me.” The voice sounds impatient. “Barry. Barium Hawkins? Come on, I’m in your 10 o’clock class for ancient texts?”
“Yes, I know who you are, Barry. The question is what are you doing here?”
“Can you come down, please? I can’t keep shouting up at your window. I’m going to wake your parents up.”
I consider, but then I shut my window. After all, I’m dressed. I’ll never get to sleep if I’m wondering what he wanted. I head downstairs grabbing my boots and coat as I go. It’s still cold out, in spite of the spring thaw. The kitchen door is locked. I grab a lumilamp, switch it on, and open the door.
“What is it?” I hiss as I step on the porch. I quickly shove a foot into my boot because the flagstone step is cold on my bare feet.
“You have to come with me,” he says.
I don’t know what that sounds like he’s asking, but whatever it is, it’s not good. I turn back to the door. “Oh, come on, Barry,” I say. “It’s late. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “No, Kestrel,” he says, his voice all quiet and serious. “Really. You have to come with me now. My friend is in the woods; he’s been hurt. I think he’s dying.”
(105)
1) “Dying?” I demand. “Who?” His voice sounds urgent, and I find myself hopping again as I shove my other foot into a boot. The handle of the lamp gets shoved between my teeth so that I can put my arms through my coat sleeves as I follow him across the yard and into the north pasture. “Barry,” I say once I’ve done the buttons and the lumilamp is swinging, the shadows it casts dances on the ground across the shadows that his lumilamp throws. “What is this all about? Who’s dying? What does that have to do with me?” My eyes narrow. “If I find out that this is just some kind of prank or...” My imagination doesn’t want to go any farther about what else he could be leading me toward in the middle of the night. “...something,” I finish lamely. “I’ll kill you myself, I really will.”
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/04/new-chapter-1bb.html
(104)
2) I stop and look at him more carefully. “Okay, Barry, this isn’t a joke. Tell me what’s really going on.” I try to imagine what he could possibly say that will convince me that his story is true because I don’t think that there is any way he could get me to run off into the woods with him in the middle of the night.
http://kestrelbook.blogspot.com/2012/04/new-chapter-1ba.html
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