

### The Sharded Boy

Standing Stone Series ~ Book 1

By

L. Darby Gibbs

### The Sharded Boy

By L. Darby Gibbs

Published by Inkabout Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 L. Darby Gibbs

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover art by rynkatryn.com

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. However, you may temporarily engage in daydreaming that they are real for your own enjoyment.

Discover other titles by L. Darby Gibbs

Map of the An Faire Lands
**Table of Contents**

Map of An Faire Lands

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

To My Readers

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Other Books by L. Darby Gibbs

Excerpt from The Shifter Shard, Book 2 in the Standing Stone series

### Chapter One

Map of the An Faire Lands

Jahl Pratter dropped his last coin into the rental box mounted on the pine wall and prepared to pick out a standing stone. The usual stack of flat stones by the mercantile's door was gone, so the young magic wielder had had to head in and search the stock at the back. The cramped space where the slabs were stored made it hard for the sixteen year old to crouch down with his crippled leg stuck out to one side. Kohen Tommlar, the Warder of Stones and the shop owner, was busy with customers. Jahl peeked around a stack to estimate how much longer he had to get his stone and get out before he fell under the eye of the easily aggravated Tommlar. The man took great pleasure in embarrassing him.

Jahl twisted about, pressing a lean hip against one of the expensive stacks he always ignored when he had to search the back area of the store. He needed a cheap well-used, but still viable standing stone. He ran his fingers down the hard flinty edges of a short stack that he could afford to choose from. They looked thinner too, which he liked to think would make one easier to carry.

The third edge his fingers came in contact with sparked against Jahl's fingertips and made them tingle. It was the strongest response he'd ever felt from a used stone. Thankful it was near the top of the stack, Jahl took a decisive breath. They were heavy, but moving two out of the way to get to the one would leave him still strong enough to carry the third out front to one of the complementary booths. They were just four-foot-square spaces of dirt left of the front door, but the booths were the only opportunity that made it possible for Jahl to be available to clientele looking for a quick spell. If he could build up a regular set of customers, he would buy a used but magic-rich stone and be able to have his clients come to his home for his services. But until then, renting a standing stone and waiting in the appointed space by the front of the store would have to do. So far, he'd only managed to earn enough each day to rent another stone the next morning.

He ran his fingers over the surface of the top stone, flakes bouncing off as his fingers moved over the chisel marks. A vague vibration trembled against his hand. Assured it was not a good stone, Jahl gripped it and lifted with a grunt, turned and heaved it onto a taller stack. His shoulder muscles cramped with the effort, and he marveled at its weight and lack of even a trace of magic. Tommlar must be hoping to take advantage of a poor, low-talent wielder. He pivoted on the one foot supporting his weight and grasped the second stone. At his touch, it gave off a vaporous stink, and he hurried to move it aside so he could remove his hands from the remains of what must have been dark usage. Wielders that practiced curses and poisoning magic tended to rent stones rather than use their own.

Jahl wished yet again for a job worthy enough to earn him the coin needed to buy his own standing stone. Tommlar's gruff voice reminded him he should not dally at the back long. The shop owner would find some reason to berate him, even if it was just for daydreaming.

_Grab the good one and get out before you draw Tommlar's attention_ , he told himself. He dug his fingers under the edge of his selected stone. _Bloods Bees!_ How was he going to pull the stone to his chest, and rise up on his good leg in this cramped space? He turned yet again, grating his right shoulder and hip against a tall stack of high-end magic stones. The contact drew arcs of brilliant color and drifting dust particles like tiny stars. Jahl looked toward the owner of the Mercantile at the front of the store and was happy to see he was still with a customer. Tommlar would accuse him of testing the merchandise if he caught him drawing arcs and magic debris from the expensive stones. He might even think Jahl had been passing magic into the rental he was touching.

Jahl shifted his weight to the side and into the cloud of drifting essence. He felt the tingle against his skin as he soaked it up. With that simple gesture, the response faded, and Tommlar was still too busy to notice. Jahl adjusted his position again and rested a moment while he judged the space between stacks that might offer a better stance for him. He stuck his right leg into the space between the two standing stone columns and settled his weight on the ball of his left foot. Jahl pulled his shoulders in and yanked the stone's far edge up, and then he yanked again and pulled it to his chest. Leaning forward and using his crippled leg as a lever, he stood up, holding his breath as he strained.

Jahl rocked with the effort to remain upright against the tug of the stone in his arms and only one strong leg to stand on. To counterbalance, he leaned back farther than he should and tapped a stack behind him. Jahl felt it shift. Tommlar was still busy, thankfully, and Jahl closed his eyes and pulled at the stack behind him until he felt it find its balance. His fingers tingled with the strain of drawing the majority of the magic into his shoulders rather than through his whole body when he stood on a stone and felt the power rise up. He shuffled right, limping in a strangely graceful, yet awkward manner out from the stacks. Every step caused him pain that ran from his twisted heel up through his stiff knee to a hip that almost creaked with the cramps running up his thigh and buttocks. Little puffs of air rushed past his lips, and he held back his moaning response to the pain. Allowing his body to lean to the side and rest his shoulder against the store wall, Jahl paused, hidden between two display racks, to wait out the discomfort. He stepped out and sighed as he peered ahead to the sun-drenched open double doors of the mercantile.

The morning sun glaring through the door was eclipsed, and everyone in the store glanced at the entrance. Bragg Moln stood in the doorway squinting into the shadows. Jahl stood still and felt the blood rising to his cheeks in anticipation of what the man would do. It was hard to accept help at the same time he was trying to earn the respect a magic wielder needed for customers to have confidence. As much as it was a strain to carry the stone, it forced people to recognize him for what he was. But he knew Moln saw the situation differently.

The big man scanned the store before lighting his gaze on Jahl. "Young Pratter, no helpful clerk about to carry that for you? I'll give you a hand." A couple of customers deliberately leaned closer to the stock in front of them, suddenly intensely interested in flatware and curtain material. They snuck glimpses first at Pratter then at Tommlar anticipating a snide remark that would entertain them.

Jahl clutched tighter at the stone. "No, I got it. No need to trouble yourself, Master Moln."

Tommlar faced Jahl's direction. The young wielder's heart raced, anticipating trouble. The shop owner's eyes squinted, but he seemed to find the moment amusing and simply watched.

"Give it here, boy," Moln said. He stomped forward, and Tommlar snorted but turned away to write up a purchase. The customers returned to their purchases no longer interested. Bragg reached for the stone. "I'll not let your mom say I allowed you to struggle when I was here to help."

Jahl let him take the burden from him and carry it the rest of the way to the door. Bragg had once hoped to marry Jahl's mother. Some men might have acted like they'd never known Mahre Donnel in their youth and would not acknowledge her children from another man, but Bragg was always there, kind, willing to help no matter what it looked like to others. The big man carried the stone like it was a stack of towels. He waited for Jahl to shuffle to the porch.

"Where you want it, lad?"

"The far corner spot at the end, Master Moln." This is how it had always been with Moln, and Jahl groaned internally. He'd tried explaining to the man that he needed to do it himself, to push himself, but Moln would always grow awkward and nervous, leaving Jahl feeling guilty for not appreciating the help. In the end, considering most people avoided even looking at him, Jahl figured help he didn't want was much better than the suspicion and open hostility that other wielders showed him.

"I keep telling you to call me Bragg." The older man set the stone lightly on the ground.

"And I'll keep trying, Master Moln. It will come out someday." Jahl stepped on the stone and smiled a thank you at Bragg. He always felt comfortable with the man, even if he did help him more than Jahl wanted.

"See that it does." He patted Jahl's shoulder. "Got my shopping to do. If you're finished when I am, I'll drag that thing back in for you."

"I plan to be here all day. I'll manage later. I'm always stronger after working magic."

"Are you now?" The man eyed him. "Let me see." He searched his clothes until he found an object in his vest pocket. "Can you fix this?"

Jahl sighed, but he took the item from him and held it in his palm. It was a tiny teacup, covered in dirt. Jahl suspected Bragg had found it in the road on the way into town and had perhaps decided to keep it and give it to his daughter. Jahl wiped a finger at the crusted grime, sensing, more than seeing, a crack and a chip in the miniature piece. He could have turned it upside down on his pinky like a porcelain hat it was so small. "Are you sure you want me to fix this? It's hardly worth it."

"Hmm. What's your price?"

"A half copper."

Bragg jangled coins in his money pouch and pulled out a small coin. "Fix it up."

Jahl tugged at the power in the standing stone. He felt it ease up his legs in a tingling itchy way until it filled the spaces between what was Jahl Pratter and what was magic receptacle. The warmth drew out the constant ache in his bad leg and gave strength to his twisted hip. The image of the cup grew in his mind, dirt dripping off it like sand from a cupped hand. The shiny white of the porcelain glowed clean, the cracks sealing themselves, the chip backfilling. He imagined posies, a clump of three on opposing sides of the cup and one in the inside bottom. He eased the undercoating of white pigment about until the posies revealed themselves in fine pink bisque through a single layer of clear glaze. Jahl squeezed his hand tighter around the tiny cup and pulled at the magic until he felt that what he imagined and what lay nestled in his hand were the same. He opened his eyes and tipped his hand over Bragg's. The tiny white cup and its posy pattern dropped into the man's palm. The two wielders smiled down at it.

"Very much worth a full copper," said Bragg placing the coin into Jahl's hand. "And you feel stronger, too?"

Jahl stood a little straighter. "Yes. But I did say a half copper, sir."

"And I said a full. My little Ioane is going to love this pretty thing." He tipped his head as he peered at it. "Don't believe I noticed those flowers on it."

"It was awfully dirty, Master Moln."

"Aye, must have been, young Jahl the magic wielder." Bragg dropped the cup into his breast pocket and turned on his heel, stepped onto the porch and clumped his loud steps into the store. He waved a hand just as he entered the doorway. "Tell your mom hello."

### ~~~~~~~

Jahl slumped against the post of the mercantile porch. It had been a long day. He'd had two customers and had earned two more coppers for his efforts. The shop would be closing soon, and he had to return the stone. Fortunately, Tommlar never expected one to carry the stone further than the stack by the door. Not all the rentals had been taken for just the day, so Jahl felt he'd have no trouble stacking the stone. Limping with less pain than he'd had that morning, Jahl went to the standing stone and crouched down to pick it up. He assumed his usual position: balanced on the one foot, the crippled leg out front like a supporting stick with little strength for actual leverage. He grunted and rose with a deep intake of breath.

A hand clapped him tight on the shoulder, bearing weight down on him, nearly sending him back down to his awkward crouch. The hand gripped tighter and pulled him back into balance before a deep, cultured voice apologized. "Pardon me, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm looking for a magic wielder. Are you one?"

The hand released him and Jahl turned to face the speaker. He nodded, taking in the expensive clothes of the older man. He wore a black cape over his dark red, fine linen shirt. The man's breeches were well fitted and his belt shone with leather polish.

"You're a young one." He eyed Jahl with a raised brown brow. "When did you come of age for working magic?"

Jahl's gaze drifted to the ground. There was no way to make his short time as a wielder sound impressive. He took a breath and lifted his chin. "I've been serving for three months. My family's been brandishing magic for generations."

The man held a hand to his chin. "Hmm. Let's see what you can do."

Jahl was familiar with this point of negotiation and had learned to avoid it. Still, he spoke softly, rubbing his hip. "I don't do samples. What do you need?"

The man lifted his other eyebrow, but he didn't seem annoyed. Still, the gentleman eyed the young wielder up and down taking in his clothes, neat but well-worn, the green of his hose more grey than the weave had once promised. The shirt Jahl wore was oversized on his thin frame having been a hand-me-down from his much larger half-brother Cam. Jahl resisted straightening it better on his shoulders. The collar always drifted back, gaping behind his neck.

"Can you repair a walking stick?"

"Sure." He nodded, hoping for at least a couple of coppers to add to his purse. "Let me see it."

The man shook his head and an apologetic smile graced his face. "I don't have it with me. I'm staying at the Widow Cawsworth's lodging house. Come by in the morning about seven and ask for me, Pol Beauraman. I'll give you a half gold if you can repair it to my satisfaction. Do you accept the job?"

_A half gold!_ Jahl gulped before he could catch himself. "Yes, sir. I can indeed, Honorable Beauraman."

"Tradesman, not one of the gentry," he corrected him. "I'll see you then." The man pivoted on his heel and walked across the porch and down the street.

Jahl grinned, thrilled with the chance to earn high coin for his skill. Then his smile faded. How would he get the standing stone to his client? And he would have to pay another day's rental as well. He countered his concern with the opportunity: it was worth doing a strong spell. The weight of the stone in his arms drew him back from his concerns. He shuffled to the doorway. He called into the darkened space, "Master Tommlar, I'll be renting this stone another day."

"Put your coin in the box," the owner ground past a clenched jaw and continued to go about closing up the shop.

Jahl knew if he set the stone on the counter, Tommlar would grumble and threaten to toss the thing in the back for his troubles. And likely, he'd do it, too. But if Jahl didn't set it down and had to limp to the back, juggle the stone about until he could get a coin from his pocket, deposit the rental, limp back to the doorway and out, he'd have to rest before he could begin his trip home. Jahl ground his teeth. "I'll leave payment on your counter, and I'll bring the stone back tomorrow afternoon." Tommlar's last customer passed Jahl, knocking him stiffly in the shoulder though there had been plenty of room to pass, and headed out the door. Jahl grew red in the face as he struggled to keep his balance. He forced himself to shrug off the ire and deal with Tommlar.

The shop owner closed his money box with a bang and bustled around the counter to face Jahl. Before he could begin his harangue, the boy gripped the stone with one arm, pressing a sharp edge with an elbow, and reached into his pocket. By the time Tommlar faced him, Jahl had the copper coin out. It slipped from his nervous fingers as he reached out, dropping from his hand. The merchant had to hurry to catch it before it hit the floor. Jahl eyes grew big, but he nodded his thank you, turned with as much speed as he could out the doorway and limped off the porch. Tommlar banged the store's door shut, making the young wielder's shoulders jerk into a hunch. He straightened his back, telling himself he'd won the battle and would make it at least a block before he would need to rest.

The young wielder made his stiff way back, keeping his eyes on the ground ahead of him to watch for stones, patches of deep gravel and unexpected dips that might trip him up. The excuse of watching the walkway ahead of him gave him confidence that no one would expect eye contact with him. Occasionally, he would watch to see if anyone might give him a friendly look. Often it was the girls his age he peered at, hope flaring and falling depending on the shift of their lips toward what he was certain was a grimace or a grin. Most of the time, he did not give them time to decide.

_Why would any girl look at a scrawny, jolting boy?_ His brother's recent comment about the muscles of his arms replayed in his mind. After three months of hefting standing stones, he'd gained a bit of definition on his forearms and shoulders. _I should have pulled up my sleeves. Cam always catches the girls' eyes when he has his shirtsleeves up._ He shook his head. It would be silly for him to stop now, put down his stone and expose his forearms. Tomorrow when he headed out, they'd be out for display.

His gaze rose from the ground. _There was sure to be a girl._ Now and then, a particularly bright set of blue eyes or the swish of a colorful skirt would hold his gaze longer, and he would speculate, even daydream a moment that this girl could be one who would look past his crippled leg. Maybe she was here right now. He looked up, wondering if there could be a girl about who would have gawked at his muscles. A quick glance brought him such a moment. The girl was with two others who smirked at his hopeful look, but the third, a maiden with flashing brown eyes turned her face to look directly at him, and he came to a stop unable to pull his intended brief peek from her gaze.

Though the sound did not carry to him, her lips formed what he was certain was "Hi." Before she could raise her full lips into a smile, her friends grabbed her and pulled her forward passing him, their unfriendly giggles filling the air so much that he could not tell if she joined in or disagreed.

Jahl pulled his shoulders up about his chin, feeling the fatigue in his muscles and despondency clinging to his heart. Even if a girl would really see him, her friends and her family would drag her away. With so few wielders left in town, one would think more families would encourage a connection, but then there was his disfiguring limp and his thinness. He returned to his tired pace for home, watching the ground before him and refusing to look at any more faces.

The walkway was crowded, and he had to careen out of the way of those unwilling to share the portion of the path he needed to take his lurching steps. One of the immigrant wielders hoping to fill the empty niche left by the loss of so many wielder families in Chussan Faire managed to knock him off his feet. Jahl nearly lost his grip on the stone when he twisted around to land on his left side after the wielder from Carolan Faire, his mouth in a snide twist, shouldered him off the gravel walkway. Even with the flash of the bright yellow vest common to travelers from the city up the trade road, Jahl had only had a moment to prepare for the impact, being so engrossed in maintaining his awkward gait and ignoring those around him. He had to rest for several minutes after the effort it took to get back up. The embarrassment hadn't helped him pass the time waiting for the cramps to settle after seeing several bystanders just watch, not even a look of sympathy on their faces. Had they been sympathetic, Jahl still would have avoided their sliding appraisal of the situation. Those passing by in wagons as well as the strolling and striding citizens were potential customers. It was more important for them to see him as determined rather than looking for compassion.

It was long dark before Jahl came upon the rundown manor his family lived in. Even with the multi-storied house in sight, he had to rest, sitting on a large boulder and clutching the stone in his cramping arms. The manor had been the Donnel residence for generations and contained numerous untidy rooms. Since his mother was the only surviving member of the Donnels, the poverty-stricken Pratter clan benefited from moving into it when Mahre Donnel married the widowed Jom Pratter.

The place was in disrepair, too big for Mahre to keep neat with her limited funds for wielding, and the Pratters were not a wielder family to make magical improvements nor did they have wealth to keep up what wore down. Jahl could not make repairs without a strong standing stone, and Cam, a talented woodworker and farmer, took after the rest of the Pratters, unable to wield magic. Mahre's clan stone had long since been drained of even a spark of magic essence. The house was all that was left of her inheritance since the Wielder Wane epidemic that had reduced the town's wielder families to just a few individuals, so she hadn't money to spare to purchase a new standing stone. Life with the Pratters had left her lean, short-tempered and brusque.

Jahl shouldered the unlatched door open and stood in the entryway of the shadowed room. Mahre worked in the kitchen at the back of the main room washing potatoes while his father Jom whittled at a stick. The windows allowed filtered light in past slatted wood awnings. Jahl judged his father's whittling was just to make a mess as the pile of shavings on the floor and the lack of shape in the stick offered no purpose to the effort, a sure sign that there were troubles with the crops. What good was it to have a magic-welding son when that same son could not use the magic to help his own family? One more reason for Jahl to feel the Pratters would do better without him. He clutched the stone tighter. If he could succeed with magic even a little, at least they would not feel the need to wish for something better and yet have to give up that hope in the same breath.

He felt his father's glance on him, and the sound of the sharp edge on wood ceased. Jahl knew not to look his way. Jom was protective and distant by turns as though he could not figure out what would be best for his crippled son. Jahl avoided eye contact preferring to give his father an excuse to ignore him. After a moment, the rasp of the knife resumed. Jahl often wondered if his father compared his two sons to each other. Jom was some five years older than Mahre and had lost his first wife to a carriage accident not long after Cam had been born. The two had married when his son was three years old and not long after learned Mahre was pregnant. Whether Jom did compare them or not, Jahl measured the vitality obvious in his brother's strong body against his own.

Cam snored in his chair in the corner by the stone fireplace. At nineteen, he carried their best hopes of faring well in the future, not Jahl. Cam's snores stumbled as he shifted position, exposing a tear in his sweat-stained shirt that revealed a lengthy welt along his broad back. Jahl considered a moment going to him and using the stone to heal the welt away. The half gold coin came to mind and he swallowed guilt past a tight throat. He needed to make sure he had enough essence for the job he'd agreed to.

He soothed his conscience reminding himself that Cam wouldn't have let him heal it anyway. Even though Uncle Tran had tried time and again to convince those who wielded that using magic did not cause the Wane, everyone still believed it an invitation to reigniting the plague. No, Cam would never endanger Jahl. According to their father, Cam was soft-hearted like his deceased mother. _Unlike my mom who seems to have an essenceless stone for a heart most of the time._ Guilt rose in his chest, making him peer in the distance at his mother in the kitchen _._ His eyes flicked back to Cam sleeping and the red welt. He shook his head in weariness and glowered.

Jahl leaned on the door jamb gathering strength to carry the stone to his room. Mahre squinted at what he clutched tight to his chest and glared, but she said nothing. Jahl straightened up and trudged with one foot and dragged the other toward the left where a hall led to the first story of the bedroom wing. No one spoke. No one rose to help him with his burden. The health of the magic-wielding of the day was long gone, and his body ached with the struggle of bringing the standing stone home.

Along with the effort it had taken, he had the added ache in knowing that he would have to carry it just as far to get the stone to the Widow Cawsworth's and then further to return it to the mercantile. But he had a plan. Jahl would return in stages, stopping at strategic spots and hawk small spells and repairs while he rested. With any luck, he might earn a few coins on top of the half gold. The image of Cam's back reminded him that he could not take on more than the smallest of jobs. Healing someone drew more essence than simple repairs.

He dropped the stone on his bed. Jahl intended to sleep with it. He'd find it much easier to pick it up from the height of his mattress in the morning than lugging it up from the floor. He touched the stone, closed his eyes and imagined his room clear of dust and musty smells. The cobwebs disintegrated with a thought, his bedding became fresh and clean, and Jahl succumbed to the temptation of giving one shirt and hose a sharpening up. At least tomorrow, nothing would hang on him advertising he wasn't its first owner.

The cramps eased up in his shoulders and a bit of the ache left his leg. Too bad he could not have set the stone down to stand on it. The magic would have left him feeling that much better. But picking it up would have taken much of the healing away in the exertion, and he would be feeling about the same as he did now. It would be a waste of essence anyway. But if he could... for a moment, he considered standing on his bed upon the stone and snorted. One fall and he'd be using all the stone's magic for a healing. Better to be safe.

Dinner and then straight to bed, he thought. He would have to rise before the sun if he had any hope of getting to the widow's boardinghouse on time.

He shuffled from his room, down the hall and to the back of the main living space where his mother still scrubbed at the potatoes.

She spoke, looking down at her work. "Your dinner is under the cloth on the counter, cold, but it will still spare your hunger."

Jahl went to the counter and uncovered his meal. She'd arranged on the plate a chunk of stringy lamb, a roll, some boiled potatoes and half a peach starting to turn. It was a generous meal. He took a fork from the canister on the counter and ate standing. After the second mouth full, he said, "Master Moln was in the mercantile today. He said to say hello to you."

She made no verbal response, but Jahl saw that she paused in her scrubbing of the early potatoes. It was only a temporary hesitation and then she was back to work. Jahl ate the rest of his meal in silence, listening to the water in the bowl dance with her effort, the thud of a spud dropping to the bottom and the plunge of the next into the bowl. In the front portion of the spacious room, Cam snored and his father worked at his stick. When he finished his meal, Jahl scraped the dish and set it and the fork by where she worked. He mumbled a good night to his father, returned to his room and settled in for an achy night and an early rising. His heart fluttered with the thought of a gold coin. Even that excitement was not enough to keep him awake. He slept so deeply no dream disturbed him.

In the grey light of early morning, Jahl rolled over to crush his face into the down pillow beneath his head. His kneecap jarred into the rental stone he'd left on the bed last night. He grabbed his leg, and the pain brought him sharply awake to the initial moments of dawn. He rubbed at the bump forming. Today was to be a half-gold day he reminded himself, more than reason enough to rise and get ready.

In the shadows, he groped for the clothing he set out the night before on the stool at a low wobbly table. He'd chosen a dark blue shirt over chocolate brown breeches and hose. The shirt was one of the nicest he owned. Jom had suffered a growth spurt before he could wear it out properly. A wide-rimmed white bowl and matching chipped pitcher glinted on the tabletop, and he dipped his fingers in to test for water. His mother must have brought it into his room late after he'd fallen asleep. Mahre had no doubt guessed the reason for dragging a rental stone home. The kindness was a rare event, and it was all she had room for, but Jahl appreciated the proof that she thought it possible for him to make a living as a magic wielder. Cam would manage anywhere, but Jahl had always been viewed as a likely candidate for permanent dependence upon his parents.

Jahl poured the water into the bowl and washed up. He pressed his damp brown hair back from his forehead and shrugged into his shirt. The chilled drips off the dark straight lengths of hair sent shivers down his back. Taking up the breeches, he sat on the wobbly stool and leaned down to insert each leg. Jahl always started with the crippled leg first stretching out his arms with the waist tie loose so he would not have to bend his knee. He gathered the length of the woolen cloth about his twisted ankle and calf and then bent the other leg to slip it in next. A leap up on the one strong leg and he was soon covered. Socks tucked above the calf tie of his breeches and his dull but serviceable brown boots, the best of his footwear, finished him off. He judged the sole of the right boot would need his father's best effort as unskilled cobbler soon if he couldn't afford to repair it himself with some magic. Returning a spent stone meant an additional week's rental fee and no standing stone to use unless he could pay for a new rental that day. No wielder in the financial state he was in wasted magic even if it was a benefit; the cost wasn't worth it. But after today, perhaps he could afford some additional tailoring to his wardrobe and the most needed improvements on the manor house.

But that was for considering later. Today he must hurry with dawn already on the rise and an arduous trip ahead of him. The dawn was just breaking as his headed out in the moist air. Even with the coolness, it wasn't long before he was overly warm. But Jahl was pleased with his progress. Nearing the last half mile of his trek, he began to lose energy and grow concerned that maybe he should have left earlier. The main trade road into the town center seemed to have lengthened as he drew closer to his destination. He was still two blocks from the crossroad which would take him to the Cawsworth's rooming house. Jahl paused a moment to gauge his endurance.

Two hands grabbed his shoulders and dragged him back a step before whipping him around to face his assailant. Jahl tried to draw away and stared up at the delighted sneer of a Carolan Faire citizen. The bright burnt orange of his tunic under the yellow vest glared as strongly as the eyes beneath the man's dark brows.

"Look what ah caught," he said with an accent marked by a thickness that seemed as though the fellow was talking with a mouth full of pebbles, "a baby wielder."

### Chapter Two

Behind Jahl came an amused snort followed by the same thick-mouthed accent. "Be gentle wit'him, Skut. No need t'make him cry."

Jahl felt a tightening in his throat and feared a moment that he would indeed cry. The thought made him clamp his jaws tight and clutch the stone against his chest, a corner digging into his armpit, aggravated by the pressure of the man's squeezing grip on his shoulders. "Let me go," he ground through his teeth.

"Oh, he's a fierce one, Skut. Be careful he don't nip ya."

The brawny man examined him, twisting Jahl back and forth as he looked him over. Jahl felt himself stumble over his awkward footing, and the man pretended surprise. He released one shoulder and clutched the material covering Jahl's twisted knee. His grip swung the leg back and forth. "Aw, poor thing. It's broken."

"I'm not broken," said Jahl who tried to keep his lower leg from swinging, but his muscles could not fight against the strength of his oversized assailant.

The Carolanian released his leggings. "Seems a bit scrawny." He tapped the stone in the center with a knuckle. "What's this?" He pretended to peer uncertainly. "I do believe he's got a standin' stone."

"Let me see. Ah didn't know they let the little on's play with magic. Do you think he knows what he has?" The second man came around from behind him and into view. He was shorter than his rude companion but still taller than Jahl. They were both grown men, and the young wielder squinted at them in frustration.

"He's not said." The man leaned down, his face a few inches from Jahl's. The Carolanian searched his face and his grin grew wider. The pebble-filled speech deepened, "A brave tyke he is to not e'en give out a whimper."

The traffic was picking up on the thoroughfare beside them. They were drawing attention, but so far none of the local farmers and delivery drivers had made comment.

Embarrassed and angry at the lack of assistance, Jahl felt his blood rise and color his face. He wanted to wipe the man's smirk off with a blast of essence, and he could feel the tingle penetrating his arms and seeping into his chest. Knowing he could not afford to waste magic even on these oafs, he considered dropping the stone as the likelihood of it falling square on the man's feet was high with them standing so close together. Jahl's own feet twitched above the gravel pathway with the man's grip holding him up, so he supposed they would be safe. He shook his head and gripped it tighter, knowing that dropping the stone could damage it and ruin his opportunity to earn the half gold. He stuffed the trickling essence back into the stone.

The leering face grinned bigger. "He says he don't know any magics, right little broken boy?"

Jahl glanced over his shoulder wishing he had made it the last half mile before the two men had happened along. "I know magic." He bit his teeth tight together stopping his next words from exiting his mouth. _Want to feel some_?

The rasping call of "Hee," brought a wagon to a halt close to the soft curb. "Leave off the boy," called a rough voice.

Jahl was deposited back on the ground, but not released as the larger man looked to see who was speaking. He cocked his head as he assessed the intruder. "Who are you?"

Jahl already knew the answer, recognizing the deep tones of Bragg Moln. He didn't know if he was happy the man had come along or displeased that he was yet again going to be treated to Moln's protection. Would he never get his chance to prove he was grown up enough to take care of himself? _'Cause I was doing so well here,_ he thought with bitter sarcasm. He should have zapped the idiot as soon as he was grabbed. Jahl gave the man an angled glare and considered sending him a tight shock anyway. But then Master Moln spoke again.

"I wouldn't be much of a friend of the family if I let some thickster bullies shake him about like a rag in a pup's mouth." He'd recognized right away they were from Carolan. Their pattern of articulation causing Chussan Faire citizens to call them thicksters: Thickster Mullen, Thickster Cragger rather than the appellations master, trader or honorable.

Jahl sighed. This was going even worse than he expected.

The man named Skut barked a laugh, and Jahl closed his eyes and shook his head.

"You showed great restraint, young wielder Pratter," said Moln. "I'd have blasted him naked as a plucked chicken. Maybe you still should."

Skut examined Jahl for intent, and Jahl returned the scrutiny with half-lidded eyes that he thought would give the man reason to consider him capable of retaliatory magic. He released the boy with a jerk.

Moln leaned forward on his wagon seat. "Don't underestimate a Chussan Faire wielder. There may be few of us, but that doesn't mean we'll put up with being mauled."

The pair stepped closer together, sizing up the combination of Moln and Jahl. The wielder turned carpenter had set one foot down hard on the foot bracing as though stomping on a standing stone, and the two men tried to stand taller in order to take a look over the lip of the footboard.

Bragg Moln stood up, his already broad shoulders looking twice as menacing as they had when he was seated. Even if he were just a carpenter, few would want to tangle with the man. The two men scuttled onto the road and crossed to the other side, glancing back only once to be sure Moln had remained in his wagon.

Moln twitched the reins and his mules stepped forward a few feet bringing Jahl and the carpenter in line. In the wagon bed was propped and tied a sturdy six-drawer dresser. Moln nodded at it and said, "I have a delivery to make and you seemed to be heading into town. Hope they didn't slow you down too much."

"Just a bit, sir. Just a bit."

"I wouldn't have stepped in, Jahl, but those blokes would have needed a strong sting from you, and I'd rather you didn't have to use your magic that way."

"I thank you for giving them a reason to consider me capable of giving them a bite."

"Oh, I saw your expression, Jahl. You were planning more than a bite," he said with a chuckle. "Best you not let your frustration get the best of you. Using the essence for revenge doesn't just taint the stone." The man stared down the street a moment then looked back at Jahl. "Sorry, I'm not heading into town. I promised I'd have this to the Jardans early and have a pickup to make even further out of town. But I'm sure you'll manage."

"I'll be fine, especially now that I've had a rest," Jahl said with a smile.

Moln twitched at his reins and the heavy draft mules drew back into the lean morning traffic. He waved at Jahl and rattled away, the dresser in back wiggling against its rag-wrapped ropes.

Jahl watched him go, pleased for at the way Moln had handled Jahl being bullied. _Maybe he does understand it's time to let me grow up._ Jahl straightened his shoulders with a shrug and continued down the sidewalk.

A rest stop later, Jahl could see around the trunk of a tree the Widow Cawsworth's three-story boardinghouse. He'd earned only a single copper on the way, but the trip back to the mercantile might garner more when he had a better sense of what magic was left in the stone after he wielded Tradesman Beauraman's walking stick.

The Cawsworth house was an elegant establishment that catered to wealthy clientele. The stable alone could hold twenty horses and room for a carriage or two. Most boarders were upper-class families traveling a distance, and Jahl realized there was an opportunity for more work if he could wrangle a way to be in view of the other temporary residents. This was a front door enterprise, and he intended to call upon the gentleman just as any requested tradesman would. He had time to continue resting another minute before he approached the house, so Jahl leaned against the tree until he felt fresh enough for the final trudge.

The steps up to the door were the usual trial, but he took them slowly arriving at the double doors only slightly out of breath. Jahl shifted the stone so he could reach for the bell chain and gave it a hearty tug. Even with his forceful effort, it rang dully. Jahl closed his eyes and gripped the chain applying just enough pressure to feel the tug on the pulley buried in the doorframe. He drew a bit of magic from the stone until the image of the obstructing brace which had moved out of place appeared in his mind. _Ah._ He gave it a nudge and saw the misplaced board lose contact with the mechanism.

A smile formed on his face. Cam would be pleased. His older brother once told him if an opportunity for a small good deed arrives, take it. It provides greater dividends then a grand gesture meant to earn appreciation because a quiet kindness can be overlooked but never forgotten once noted.

He opened his eyes to find them staring into those of the houseman. Knowing a bow was unnecessary and would topple him over anyway, Jahl nodded his greeting and asked to see a guest who had requested his services. "Tradesman Beauraman is waiting on me. I am Jahl Pratter, magic wielder of Chussan Faire."

"Please wait here," the houseman said. The mature and finely uniformed man pressed the door shut. Jahl took a breath and turned to take in the landscape when the door opened again, dragging back his attention. "If I should be pulled away from my duties a few moments, please feel you have good reason to pull the bell again."

Jahl nodded and then realized the opportunity the man was giving him. "Thank you. I will be patient, but should it be necessary, I will pull the bell again."

The standing stone tugged at his shoulder joints, but there was nothing to lean the weight on, and even if there had been, Jahl would have feared being seen as weak in such a pose, however true the opinion would have been. He waited until the cramps appeared to be breeding cramps. He could wield magic and take the strain off or pull the chain. Jahl shunted the stone and freed up his hand again. He managed one resounding ring before the door sprang open wide, and he darted his arm back to support the stone. The houseman stood to the side giving Jahl a view of the long wide hall that ran clear to the back of the house. A tall, stately woman of middle age strode from a room to the right. She said, "Wasely, who repaired the bell? It hasn't sounded like that in months."

"Ma'am, this is Jahl Pratter, magic wielder, here to see Tradesman Beauraman." He then turned to Jahl. "Please pardon my delay in returning to you."

The Widow Cawsworth marched stolidly toward them. She directed a hard look at Jahl. "Did you repair the doorbell?"

Jahl knew a bow was in order, and he would have to manage one. He shoved his weak leg forward for balance and bent the stronger left leg in the best semblance of a respectful bow he could manage. "Indeed, I did. I could not ignore the need."

Her prominent square chin rose as though directly connected to her lifted brow. "Do you intend to charge me for the unrequested repair?"

"No," he yelped. "That would be presumptuous. I came here at Tradesman Beauraman's request." He slowed his words and deepened his voice. "Please consider the repair a sample of my workmanship. Perhaps another day you will have need of a wielder and will consider my services."

A deep voice from behind the door said, "I thought you didn't give samples." Beauraman stepped into view, a faint grin on his lips.

Jahl hesitated and asked himself what Cam would say in such a situation. His brother would find some way to complement the woman without insulting the man, but Jahl did not have much practice and had about reached his limit of polite repartee. He settled on pointing out the difference between the two conditions. "Never upon request."

Beauraman snorted and asked Jahl to join him in his rooms. The man pivoted on his heel and marched away. Jahl held back a sigh. Staying in his customer's good graces had been advantageous, but entering his rooms would mean no one would see the repair of the cane which would be a better demonstration of his skill than the bell. Wasely gestured for Jahl to follow him and the young wielder stumbled forward into the front hall.

The widow watched him make his graceful lurching way along the house's central hall. "Tradesman Beauraman, I am considering hiring this young wielder for his services. I would like to see this repair if you don't mind. Perhaps you could use the front parlor?"

Beauraman turned in time to see Jahl continue to lurch forward. He pondered the shape of Jahl's right leg, then he said, "Of course, Mrs. Cawsworth. Wasely, if you could show Wielder Pratter to the parlor, I will retrieve my walking stick and join him there."

Inside Jahl's chest, he felt a tingle of excitement. The widow would get to see him wield. She nodded to the houseman who waited for her to enter the room ahead of them. She turned about exiting the hall with the erect posture of a stern matron, her mature middle-aged figure well-gusseted in a muted grey gown. A pale blue shawl draped her shoulders.

The houseman nodded and directed Jahl to the room the widow had earlier exited to join them in the hall at the sound of the bell. The widow had seated herself on one of a pair of upholstered floral chairs with delicately curved legs. Jahl decided to take only a few steps into the bright well-furnished room and then lowered himself until he could set the standing stone down. Letting go of the weight made him feel light enough to rise completely off the floor. He stepped onto the stone and waited on Tradesman Beauraman's return. The stone's essence stirred his senses.

The well-dressed man entered, a long, finely carved wooden box under his arm. He opened it on a davenport table against the wall. For a moment, the gentleman peered down at it then turned to glance at Jahl. "I think you need to work on it over here, Wielder Pratter," Beauraman said.

Jahl hesitated, rubbing his stiff hip, then stepped off his stone and approached the slender side table. Beauraman moved out of the way, and Jahl looked down at the velvet lined case and its cradled cane. The young wielder's heart fell. The cane was a beautiful piece, black walnut with an engraved silver handle and a shiny silver tip on the other end. Between was a shambles of breaks and splinters. There appeared to be intricate carvings, and it took several moments for Jahl to make out the pattern and ascertain if it repeated or was original from start to finish. This would be the hardest repair he had ever done. He wasn't even sure he had the potential for the kind of craft it demanded, never mind the actual experience with such high-level workmanship. He peered closer hoping the damage was not as severe as he believed. _Sinister Sisters, it looks worse._ But there was no way to rescind his agreement to repair it. Why hadn't the man stated the degree of damage the piece had suffered, never mind the quality of the item? And why did he ask such a young wielder? Surely he knew an inexperienced wielder could damage an item beyond the repair of a master wielder to counter. And Jahl had come with a rented standing stone!

Jahl's heart thumped in fear of how to escape the failure that either refusing or trying would create.

"Shouldn't you be standing on your stone?" asked Beauraman.

Jahl nodded slowly. "I always examine the piece first." He looked at the used standing stone he'd brought with him. The young wielder regretted every pull of magic he had made with it, even the two small jobs he had taken on his way to the lodge. Would it even have enough left to diagnose the damage? _Don't be ridiculous; it's a strong stone, even if used_.

Wasely still stood in the room. "Might I bring it to you, Wielder Pratter?"

Jahl looked to the houseman, his kindly eyes offering him courage. "It is quite heavy, Wasely."

"I will handle it with care, sir." The elder man crouched and squeezed his fingers under the edges. With a grunt of effort, he stood with it, his eyes enlarged with an appreciation for Jahl's ability to cart it into the house. Even so, he carried it with far greater ease than Jahl could have. The young wielder moved back so Wasely could set it down where he had been standing. When it was in place, Jahl stepped on it and placed his hands just above the shattered stick. He closed his eyes and pulled power up from the stone. The tingle enveloped his lower legs first and like a snake swirled up, the power surging in waves, becoming denser, pressing deeply into his muscles and bones. It rose further seeping so intensely into his tissue, he could no longer tell the difference between himself and the magic he continued to draw in. It was time to focus on the object he was to repair.

In his mind, Jahl saw the deep blue velvet cushioning the cane and tried to recall the details of its design. The handle was easiest as it suffered no damage. From that clear impression, he followed the black walnut wood to the first break. The pieces, all jagged shapes and sizes, glowed in the image he held in his mind as he rolled the cane before his mind's eye checking for missing bits, ill-fitting edges. The cane hummed against his palms. Jahl gasped realizing that the cane must contain a shard of enhanced Fallon stone and with the realization came a rush of power from the cane. It supplemented the standing stone, and Jahl wielded the unexpected addition of magic with close attention, fitting bit by bit into place, following the intricate curve of a master cut, matching the design flawlessly. His hands moved down the shaft closer to the embedded shard. The cane practically demanded repair, the shard offering itself to Jahl's inexperienced but talented skill. But it was an interminable effort and Jahl felt faint, yet the power that ran through him supported him, supplanting any need for rest or sustenance.

An essence induced memory shattered his hold on the image for an instant, and Jahl pulled back against the shard's insistence and turned the memory aside for fear examining it would halt his repair to the cane, and he would not have the strength to resume. Even though it had occupied his mind only a moment, Jahl recalled the fleeting image of his mother, young, pregnant and struggling to save Jahl, her unborn son, during the epidemic that took nearly all her family. _Whose memory is this?_ The essence pulled at him and the cane twisted beneath his fingers. Thrusting the memory out of his vision had seemed an insult to Mahre Pratter's sacrifice, but he had to finish the work, not just for his client but because the shard would not release him until it was done.

The cane's image built up in his mind again, his hands vibrating and sending the jarring tremor up through his shoulders and down his body to the standing stone. The two energies wrapped around and through him as he continued to reconstruct the cane. Finally, he felt the shard's power draining back through his body and down into the cane. He released his hold on the standing stone's essence and pulled his hands away from the box before he fell unconscious to the floor.

Jahl awoke propped against a wall his legs stretched out in front of him. He opened his eyes and concluded he was still in the parlor. Someone's hand lay flat against his chest, ensuring he stayed upright. By his ear, he heard a body shift in a chair.

"Wielder Pratter, you have awakened," said the houseman. Jahl looked to the side to find Wasely on a straight-backed chair beside him. "We feared putting you in a seat or on the couch, concerned that you might fall off with your jerking about. You've been still for about twenty minutes. Are you feeling well enough to stand and take a seat now?"

"How long have I been unconscious?" Jahl pulled one knee up to prepare for standing.

Wasely was quick to assist him. "About an hour, sir." He gripped Jahl's extended hand and helped him rise. The houseman released the grip immediately and turned away acting as if Jahl hadn't needed any help at all.

"And how long did the repair take?" Jahl brushed at his clothes, his hands shaking with both the weakness and the seizures from the strong wield as much as the realization that he had completed such a difficult task. His trembling hands gripped the worn material of his breeches as he struggled to keep his voice from breaking. "I am rarely aware of the passage of time when I am working." He looked down to hide the lie he had just told. He had never been so involved in his wielding nor passed out during a repair before.

"It was at least two hours, Wielder Pratter."

Startled, he looked up, his eyes growing big. "And how was the repair?" Jahl said. "Did Tradesman Beauraman say?"

Wasely's voice took on an excited tone. "It was amazing to see you work. The pieces just — just came together like they were alive and were greeting old friends." The houseman grinned and Jahl blushed at the praise.

"Then Tradesman Beauraman was pleased?"

"Indeed, sir." Wasely pulled an envelope from his jacket inside pocket. "I believe he took the box and the walking stick to his room. Tradesman Beauraman wasn't sure when he would return from a meeting he had to attend, so he left this with me to give to you once you had awakened. He assured Mrs. Cawsworth that you would be well and did not need a physician."

"You were right to take his advice and leave me to recover on my own." A wave of nausea made Jahl wobble on his feet.

Wasely stepped forward catching Jahl's elbow and held him steady. "Do take a seat. I have been told to supply you with a meal before you leave." Wasely guided Jahl to a chair and set the envelope on the side table within reach. "I will return shortly."

"There is no need." Jahl calculated his time: he had arrived just before seven, used at least two hours to complete the repair and another hour unconscious. It must be after ten, and it would take at least two hours to return to the mercantile. And that was if he didn't take any work along the way, not that he felt he had the energy to do any further wielding. At least, the cramps that had wracked his shoulders and legs prior to the wielding were a memory.

"I must follow my orders. You can choose to not eat what I bring, but I will bring you something. Please rest a bit longer."

Wasely left and Jahl pondered the events of the morning. So he had repaired the cane or walking stick as they persisted in calling the lovely thing. One could just as easily call it a wielding stick for surely it belonged to a master wielder to be embedded with a Fallon shard. And the memory it pulled from his past. Not a memory he experienced but of someone who had visited his mother before he was born. Jahl knew he had been born during the Wielder Wane epidemic, and that it had almost cost him his life, but he had not known the extent of his mother's efforts to keep her unborn child. There had been distress on his mother's face in the memory the contact had given him. The cane must have at one time belonged to a Chussan Faire wielder who had been part of the effort to save her and her unborn child from the sickness that took so many.

He shook his head to clear the wielding fog from his thoughts. The power his mother had funneled to keep him alive must have cost her everything. Only three members of the Donnel clan had survived: Mahre, Jahl and his great-uncle Tran Donnel. And Uncle Tran had died over a year ago. Jahl ran his hand along his right thigh, rubbing at the tingling muscle. With all that his mother had done, it had still not been enough to protect him from the crippling disease. Tran had suffered as well, left near childlike, just able to cook for himself, keep his home relatively clean and perform minor wieldings to pay for food and clothing. Jahl had been like the cane being repaired by his mother, while Tran, a famously skilled wielder, was the cane smashed practically beyond repair, though he did remember in more recent years his uncle much recovered. Jahl heard Wasely's step at the door.

The houseman entered with a tray which he set on the table, placing the unopened envelope next to the plate of plain fare that smelled heavenly to Jahl.

The wielder's mouth watered, and he held himself steady wanting to appear well in control of his desire to tear into the food. He hadn't yet the courage to open the note Beauraman had left for him.

"Mrs. Cawsworth also provided something for you." Wasely set a half silver coin atop the sealed note. "For the bell repair. She hopes to make use of your services soon. I believe she has some china recently damaged. She had not been aware there was a wielder of your skill in the town."

Jahl calculated his resources. It would cost him a half silver to rent just for one day a high wield, used standing stone. Would he need that much power? He wasn't sure. Renting such a stone could end up a waste if he didn't need access to that much magic essence. But he was certain her china did not have a Fallon shard hidden in it to assist him. However, if he came with a used stone like the one he brought today, would he have enough to repair her china? He didn't even know how much power remained in the stone he had rented.

His worried musings were interrupted by Wasely. "Please eat, Wielder Pratter. You still look quite pale."

Jahl reached for a honeyed roll and watched his hand shake as he picked it up. It tasted unlike anything he'd had in his life. Once his father had brought home a basket of bread he'd received in payment for a half day's work on a neighboring farm. That had been the best bread Jahl had eaten until today. The roll dissolved in his mouth with a fine texture and lightly sweet taste. A small, glistening half breast of some small fowl was easy to pull each bite from with a twist of his fork. Strawberries and pink melon lay in brilliant slices of color. For a few minutes, Jahl forgot Wasely was standing nearby. The last sliver of sweet strawberry went into his mouth just as he looked up to see the houseman smiling nervously down at him.

Jahl sat back. "Pardon me, Wasely. I hadn't realized I was so hungry." The man shifted anxiously on his feet. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, sir. I was wondering if you could do a minor repair. You were badly overdrawn with the work for Tradesman Beauraman, so perhaps it is too soon, but it is a trifling thing, and it could be awhile before you return here again."

Jahl's heart skipped a bit and he paused in disappointment. "You don't think I'll be asked to do any work for the Widow Cawsworth?"

The servant's face was puzzled. "Isn't it customary for the client to come to you?"

"Yes," he nodded. Jahl took a confident breath. "As long as the item can be carried."

"I rarely leave here," said Wasely. "When I am free, I care for my wife who is bedridden. I dislike leaving her for long. I check on her throughout the day."

Jahl nodded his understanding. "I think I could do a small repair. Can you bring the item to me?"

"Yes sir, and I'll bring your stone to you as well. I'll be back shortly."

Jahl leaned back and rested his head on the chair back. His body tingled with the work he had done. Though he wasn't trembling anymore, he could still feel twitches in his hands and feet. Relaxing even further into the chair, he stretched out his legs in front of him. Surprise caused Jahl to sit up, and he stared down at his weak leg. He applied pressure to his twisted ankle and marveled at the minimal discomfort he felt. There was still stiffness and soreness but not at the level he had come to consider his routine degree of pain. The other joints in his leg also felt less achy. Small wieldings had always reduced his discomfort, so of course, the tremendous power he had wielded should have provided a greater reprieve from pain, however temporary. Already he felt stronger, though not yet himself after eating the light meal.

Wasely returned. "It is a small thing. A brooch, a favorite of my wife's. The clasp is broken, and it's a bit bent as well."

Jahl sat forward, pulling in his feet. "May I," said Jahl, putting out his hand to take it.

Excited, Wasely handed it over and said, "I'll get your stone."

Jahl examined the piece of jewelry. It was a simple piece but well made. The slender pin was bent into a curve, and the clasp was pulled back from the perpendicular as though the item had been rent from the clothing it had been attached to.

The houseman set the stone down in front of Jahl so that all he had to do was stand and step forward onto it. "An urchin tried to steal it and yanked it from her cape. I managed to catch hold of the miscreant and retrieve the pin."

"Well, let's give this a shot." Jahl gathered his weight onto his good leg and using the chair arm for support, stood up. His hip showed little sign of a cramp, just a twinge that ran down his leg and up. He clenched his hand around the pin and stepped onto the standing stone, calling to the essence stored within it.

He expected at least a trickle of power and was surprised by the vague vibrating response he received. The shard had bolstered the standing stone during the repair but had left little essence of magic in the stone. Jahl only needed a dribble to adjust the clasp and pin. The magic suffused his body with a light touch. He pulled the image of the brooch to mind and adjusted the mechanism to meet correctly. With a gentle wipe of a thought, he buffed the gold pin to a shine careful not to remove any other damage, as he had learned sometimes a scratch held an important story the owner would not want to be erased. When he opened his hand, the pin shown in the light from the window behind him.

The houseman leaned in to look, pleased with the result. "Wielder Pratter, I forgot to ask how much for the repair."

Jahl gulped at the cost of returning a spent stone, but he recalled the many kindnesses the houseman had done him. First ensuring that the widow would learn that Jahl had repaired the bell, then shifting the stone so that Jahl would not have to crouch to lift it and carry it awkwardly over to the box on the davenport. Wasely had even sat for an hour keeping him safe while he recovered from the difficult wielding and brought him food. "Had you remembered, I would have said that it would cost nothing. You paid in advance. I'll not forget all that you did to help me today, not knowing who I was nor the quality of my work."

"There is much to be said for doing the right thing because it is the right thing to do. So many of us could be rich in goodness if we all did these simple acts." The man fingered the brooch he cupped in his hand. "My wife will smile for days, perhaps weeks over this pin. Thank you, Master Wielder."

"I'm not yet a master, Wasely."

"After today, I think you are, sir."

Jahl could not find a reason to argue and stepped off his standing stone, prepared to pick it up.

"One last kindness, if you will allow me." Wasely picked up the stone and set it in Jahl's arms. "And you have not taken Tradesman Beauraman's note and Widow Cawsworth's payment either." The houseman took the stone back so Jahl could put away the two items.

The heaviness of the envelope was reassuring. A half gold coin was a tenth the purchase price of a new, high wield stone, but half that of a used high wielder. The half silver would cover the week's charge for the spent stone. Jahl's goal would be to save the half gold until he could earn enough to purchase his own standing stone. A difficult day, but not a bad one. Though carrying a worthless stone and not being able to do more than the most minor of repairs should he meet a client along the way was disheartening. He had five coppers in his pocket and perhaps a half copper or two.

His rental stone cradled in his arms again, Jahl headed for the door.

"Have a good day, Wielder Pratter."

"I have already, Wasely." Jahl smiled his goodbye and made his way off the steps and to the roadside to begin his journey to the Tommlar Mercantile. The door clicked shut behind him. As he limped along, he ran his fingers along the edge of the stone, but its strongest response was a faint hum.

The day had gained considerable warmth, and Jahl had to stop several times to cool down and gain strength, but he felt better than he had on his first morning walk and hoped to conserve energy. The mountains rose behind the town proper, with Fallon Mountain standing out larger and separate from the range whose foothills straddled the small city. The three Sinister Sisters, the closest mountains in the An Faire range besides Fallon, lay to the north and were dark with hickory and spruce. He trudged out of the residential area and was passing the more trafficked lanes of the downtown.

The Loeban and Naigan trade routes met in the middle of town, and coming in from the north was the Carolan trade route. Jahl had never been out of Chussan Faire, though both his father and Cam had delivered goods to Loeban a couple of times in the past year. Before he'd gained the right to wield, Jahl would watch the wagons rolling in and identify each by their design and colors. The local carts were bland in color but the shape of the wagons showed a high sense for straight lines and practicality. Loeban wagons tended to have high beds and the necessity for a dropping back gate. Naigan Faire to the southeast produced wagons that came in two colors, burnt red or umber. Their driver's seats were high, making them look to be glancing down their noses at everyone they passed. The leather stock from that far city was favored over all others for its suppleness. Carolan Faire was due north and a visiting stranger from there was getting more common as it was believed they had a glut of wielders out of work.

He limped back on the gravel walkway. What a pleasure it would be to return home less cramped than he had started the day! Each time he stopped to rest, he continued to hold the heavy stone. Setting it down would have been an advertisement for work. With so little magic to draw from, there were few jobs Jahl could take, and he would rather not give the impression he could do little by refusing more complex work.

Halfway to the mercantile, Jahl saw his great uncle's house, untenanted but still in good condition beneath the overgrown plants and flaking paint. It would not take much to bring the home up to snuff. Though it had not been of the size and glory of the main clan house that the Pratters now resided in, it had always been recognized as a master wielder's domicile.

Perhaps Jahl's mother would allow Jahl to take up residence now that he had a start on his reputation as a wielder. It would save him the agony of traversing the back and forth from the mercantile and make a great statement when his clients came to him with work. The Pratter house could hardly add brilliance to his skills as a magic wielder in the condition it was in now. It would take more magic than he had to bring it back to its original glory, but his great uncle's home, with some ordinary muscle and paint and a bit of magic, was another tale.

Jahl mused along about how he could set up housekeeping in the small clan house. More resting and more limping finally brought him to Tommlar's. The store was full of customers and Jahl knew he had to wait until the owner was free to complete the return of the stone so he waited on the porch. Jahl deposited the heavy slab beside the door then sat on the porch, his back against the storefront, and dangled his good leg over the porch side while laying the weak one out in front of him.

It had been awhile since he had this view of the town. Not since he had come to the shop with his father had he simply sat on the porch with nothing to do. Chussan Faire was prospering without its wielder gentry after a sixteen-year recovery. But if Jahl could raise himself to be recognized as a high wielder, his abilities would advertise the small city to a greater market. Now that Jahl knew he could handle considerably more magic essence than he had been managing, he could be more confident of his skill. Relishing the repair of the cane, Jahl pulled out the envelope Wasely had given him and opened it with a quick pull on the wax stamp sealing the point of the flap. A full gold coin dropped into his palm, and he brought his open hand up to his face, examining the coin as if he could have been mistaken. Confirming it was indeed a full gold coin, he tried to pick it up with trembling fingers and dropped the coin. It rolled in a wobbly rattle along a porch plank with him reaching after it and missing it once before his hand snapped it up. Jahl shoved it in his money pouch which he then stuck back under his waistband. He sat a moment calming his heart and peering around to ensure no one had noted his clumsiness or the gold coin rolling before he snatched it out of sight. The envelope lay on the wood where he had abandoned it in his elation over the coin, the creamy paper rumpled by his nervous grip.

The envelope had a note within and Jahl pulled it out. It was much longer than he expected. Pol Beauraman wished to apologize for deliberately exposing Jahl to a shard unprepared. The gentleman had expected and had been quite willing to accept the cane being returned to one whole piece by an untrained wielder rather than a complete repair. And taking the walking stick to a master wielder would have resulted in troubles he had not been willing to deal with. A young, financially-in-need wielder with much to learn would just be happy for a job that paid a half gold. Jahl had seemed a perfect choice. The shard would ensure the repair was made and likely a simple wielder would not have been willing to admit that he or she had not been responsible for the results in its entirety. But to produce the quality of repair Jahl had made to the shattered cane proved that Jahl was far more than expected. The work was worth more than a full gold, but that was all his employer had been willing to pay. Beauraman promised to pass the Pratter name along to high paying jobs to make up the difference.

Jahl leaned his back against the store wall behind him a bit dazed with the possibilities the coin offered. With the gold coin, he could purchase a good used standing stone and set up at his uncle's. The cane must not belong to a wielder since they could have repaired it themselves. Perhaps Beauraman's employer was hoping to sell it. Dealing with a mature wielder would have created trouble. Enchanted chards of Fallon were pursued by many and found by few. Jahl was fortunate he had been the one Beauraman had come across first. He glanced again at the line of shops across the street. The world looked great from this vantage.

"Pratter, you brought me back a spent stone!" The shopkeeper's voice startled Jahl from his reverie. "How do you expect to pay for this? Your work is barely worth a copper." Tommlar knelt at the store entrance, one hand on the stone Jahl had left by the door. Jahl rolled onto his side and then stood up.

"Yes, Master Tommlar, I had a productive day today." He dug in his pouch for the half silver from the Widow Cawsworth and tossed it to Tommlar. The shop owner caught it and squinted in uncertainty at it. "So I'll be by in a day or two to pick up another standing stone. Have a good evening."

Let him chew on that, thought Jahl, and he limped in a near skip down the road. Not carrying the stone was enough to cause him glee, but a gold coin in his pouch and the purchase of a good stone tomorrow gave his life a promise it had never had before. He planned to be picky. Buying the stone meant he could test every single one until he found a standing stone that satisfied him.

Jahl limped along unaware of the passage of time and the distance he covered. He rubbed his hands in glee and stopped to imagine the moment he'd lay his coin on the counter. Tommlar's face was clear in his mind, shocked, mouth dropping open. His very own standing stone! He could set it out in front of his home each morning and fetch it in each evening. His uncle's place would be his home. Jahl could put up a sign: Wielder Pratter, master in magic. No repair too small or too complex. But he would refuse to do dark work.

He let his image of the master wielder's clan house dissipate. Before him was his great uncle's house, real, overgrown and in need of immediate attention. The second story had a high peaked roof on it; the shingles that made up the siding were curved and made the house look like a cake decorator had designed it. The shutters had once been a dark green and stood out from the pale cream of the remaining paint.

Jahl walked up to the door and touched the wood jamb. First chance he got he would talk to his mom about it. He tested the doorknob, turning it, and the door opened with a squeal. The shutters had been pulled closed on all the windows so only the light from the doorway illuminated the entry and a room to the right. The furnishings were covered in a year's worth of dust and cobwebs. Some mice had made merry, but little looked beyond repair. The rest of the house was dark, and Jahl felt even more desire to get home and make arrangements to take over the place.

Cam could look forward to one day having the main clan house, so it wasn't as if he would expect to receive this place. Jahl limped from room to room of the first floor and imagined what it would look like with a wielder cleanse and some manual labor. The front parlor would be his first task, followed by the private parlor, kitchen and dining room at the back. The last room downstairs he would tackle was the library, tantalizing as it was. Bringing the house back from disuse would be the first thing he'd use his new stone for. "I'll have this place tomorrow. Learning what I did today, my parents can't say no."

Even with a limp, Jahl managed to a skip now and then on his strong leg as he continued home. His daydreaming helped to pass the time. He paused at the gate to look up at the clan manor house. Jahl wanted to walk in strong, his head high. He rested against the stone support to one side of the entry. The rusted metal gate leaned precariously, the lowest end dug into the ground, permanently open. It was a long time since the ornate wrought-iron gate had been closed. But maybe each week he could do one repair to the house as his clientele visited and told others about the wonderfully skilled Wielder Pratter.

Jahl headed up the walkway and entered the house. Jom and Mahre were standing close together in the kitchen. His mother leaned her head against his father's shoulder. Even with the depth of the long room running between them, Jahl could tell she was crying. Jom patted her back and whispered to her. Jahl stopped in the doorway, his brother nowhere in sight.

"What is wrong? Is Cam alright?" he said.

Mahre pulled away from her husband and wiped her eyes with her rough apron.

Jom gestured at the table for the three to sit. "Let's talk a bit."

Jahl walked to the scuffed table and arrived in time to hold a seat out for his mother. He stood behind her, his hands resting on her thin shoulders.

Jom sat down and took one of her hands in his. "Jahl, you've known we've had worries about the crop, right?"

Jahl nodded, the image of his father wresting bits of wood from the stick without purpose the night before came to mind. He had suspected trouble.

"I had hoped to increase our harvest, so I bought extra seed on credit. But the blight set in early, at the first show. I've lost it all. We can't meet the loan and keep the house. We're to lose everything."

Mahre pulled her hand from her husband's and turned in her seat to take hold of Jahl's. She stared up at him pleading for him to understand. "We need to ask something of you. And it's an awful lot to ask. But the whole family is affected and will be turned out. Think of them and us."

He felt a sympathy for her he rarely had. Mahre's eyes had never looked so uncertain to her son. "I don't know how I can help, Mom, but I'll do anything you need."

"Your great uncle's house, he gave it to you in his will. It's yours. But we could use it to pay the loan. If you let us. Then we wouldn't lose our home and could start again."

Jahl stepped back, pulling his hand from his mother's. He rubbed at his temples and tried to pull the threads of saving the situation from disaster. _It was already mine! And now they are asking me to give up!_ It would save the main clan house, but lose him his independence. Jahl scoured the room for a solution, his gazing raking unseeing along the solid dusty shelves, the few old chairs on the bare wood floor. Little came to him. He let his gaze fall back to his parents. They sat waiting for him to come to the same conclusion. He forced himself to consider his choices. Should he give up his uncle's house?

He took a couple deep breaths. He could still buy a good stone, and over time, he'd earn enough to buy a place of his own, he supposed. He had proved he had the talent. Give up the house, buy the stone tomorrow, and build his name? Or, he thought rapidly. Give them the gold coin to pay the loan; they keep their house, he gets his, and he's back to square one with a rental stone. They would be too, but with Cam and his father taking work elsewhere.... Jahl did have promises of better work.

A tightness clenched at his throat. His parents assumed he had nothing more valuable than an inheritance he hadn't even known he had. But he had much more to offer. Giving them the gold coin would give them time to recover, and it would set him back, but not for long. He'd proven himself. He knew what he was capable of now, and others did, too.

"Jahl, we all need a home, this home," Jom said. "And you need us — to help you. You couldn't use that old house anyway."

Jahl fished in his pouch searching by feel for the one gold coin.

"Jahl," said Mahre Pratter, "someday you'll be strong enough. Someday you are going to be a wielder." Her hands reached out to him. "You've time. You've only just started."

Jahl caught up the coin and drew it from the pouch. He slapped it on the table. "Take this. I earned it today from a high wield, a high wield!" His voice came out piercing and childish, and he tripped, clumsy with moving backward on his twisted leg but caught himself as he backed away. He settled his shoulders to loosen the muscles at his throat and make his words have the command he wanted. "I give it to you. It will cover a portion of the loan, I'm sure." His voice cracked. "You can keep this house. But I'm taking Tran's house. I'm going there tomorrow!"

Both his parents stared down at the coin as though unable to believe it was real. Jom was cautious about picking it up, tapping it as though testing for illusion. The two stared at the solid coin in his hand. His parents' eyes met, incredulous, and they turned to look at their son in confusion. Jom's surprised perusal was the first to change, a speculative pride lighting his eyes. Mahre's seemed more fearful, and Jahl wondered if it was for him or for the house that she worried.

Jahl limped back another step. What else could he say? He was taking whatever part of his dream was still available. At the doorway to the sleeping wing, he said, "I'm already strong, already a wielder." He'd whispered the words, but their expressions showed they'd heard him.

Jom and Mahre stared thoughtfully at each other. Jom looked back at the coin held up between his fingertips, slowly nodding his head. He shrugged a shoulder as though thinking it could be the solution. Jahl took it as such and stumbled to his room.

He entered his bedroom still stiff with anger, slamming his hand down on his wobbly dresser. It bounced against the wall before slumping back forward on uneven length legs. He wouldn't be buying a strong stone tomorrow. He'd have to rent another nearly used up one again. He wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to imagine who would come to him first for a repair. Maybe Mrs. Cawsworth would come. He had five coppers which meant he had five days of rentals and then he'd have nothing. Tomorrow he'd go to the house and begin the cleaning. Then he'd rent a stone and take a space in front of the mercantile and increase his clientele. It's not like he wasn't prepared to do that for a while before yesterday. It's only his daydream that was gone, not the reality of what he was.

He stripped and got into his nightshirt. Grabbing the bedcovers, he jerked them free of the bed and wrapped them around himself then lay down. Minutes passed before Jahl felt calm enough to think about what he had to do tomorrow. He went to sleep reminding himself to drop by the Cawsworth lodge and tell Wasely where he lived so his new clients could find him.

### Chapter Three

The house was a mess in every room. Jahl started his cleaning in the front parlor. He dragged all the furniture to one side so he could sweep the hardwood floor clean and swat at the cobwebs in the corners. The windows were stuck shut, and Jahl could not get any leverage to pry them open. He took rags from about the house and used them to wipe the window glass clean, shaking out the gauzy curtains and pulling them aside for access. At least there would be light in the room. He had already waged war with the shutters and only lost three battles, so light came in hazy in most rooms, but the parlor was bright with three clean windows, two facing to the front and one on the wall on the left.

Just running the broom over the walls had improved the look dramatically. Beneath the dust, a pattern of tiny blue flowers appeared on the beige wallpaper. The furniture needed to be taken out back and beaten unless he wanted to sit in a cloud of dust every time he took a rest. Jahl waved at the mote revolving around him and pondered his earlier plans. Why take his standing stone out front? He'd bring his clients inside for their services just as he had done at the lodge for Tradesman Beauraman. If the item couldn't be brought inside, then he would take the stone from the house.

By midmorning, Jahl was pleased but tired and decided to rest on the front steps and blow the year's old dust out of his nose. A loud knock came from the front door before he had even prepared to exit the room. Please be the Widow Cawsworth. Wasely had promised to let her know where she could find him. But the tall figure seen in the distorted, smoky glass window of the door was Cam who was waiting on the steps when Jahl opened it.

"Little brother, you look like a human dust ball." Cam ruffled Jahl's hair to shake out the layer of grime that had taken over the dark brown strands."

"Aw, leave off, Cam." Jahl swiped a hand at his brother's arm. "What brings you here? Keeping me clean has never been your calling before."

Cam pushed past him and into the house. "Tell me what you need me to do, Jahl. You've got me for the day. And every day after until I can get work elsewhere that actually pays."

Jahl's jaw dropped until he realized this was Cam; this was what his brother did. He always offered a person what they needed most. Jahl stood a moment in thought then began to list. "Get the rest of the shutters open, and pull up at least one window in every room, take the furniture out back and beat as much dust off them as you can, the rugs, too."

"What's that leave you?" Cam twisted his face into a façade of annoyance Jahl knew was just acting.

"Sorting. I have to decide what stays and what goes."

"And when I get that all done?"

"There's an upstairs too, you know."

Cam looked down the hall seeing the bottom step at the start of the rearward kitchen. "So there is."

"Start in the parlor."

"Yes, sir, Master Wielder, sir." Cam started with a front window. After a few twists left and then right, he heaved the window sash up.

"Don't break anything, Cam." Jahl grinned at his older brother as dust disturbed by his effort fell from the top rail of the window frame onto his dark brown curls, eyebrows, and lashes.

Cam offered a lopsided smile. "Why not? You can just fix it." In the light streaming in, Cam's high cheekbones stood prominent, pushing his eyes into a happy squint.

"Not for a while yet. I have to earn some money first."

Cam looked down at the floor, sighed and stared out the window. He turned his gaze to Jahl standing in the hall. "You did the right thing."

Jahl knew what Cam was talking about: giving the gold coin to their parents. He stood silent a moment, realizing that standing in his uncle's house making it his own made the loss easier to accept. "Well, if it works out as well as my previous right thing did, I have nothing to worry about." That gave him hope. Fixing the bell _had_ worked out well for him.

"You took care of the family. I know it cost you a lot, and I don't mean the coin, but it must have felt good, too."

"After I got over not buying a high wield stone, I felt a tiny bit better." Jahl held up his thumb and forefinger. He pressed them together. "About that much."

Cam walked up to Jahl and pulled his young brother's face against his chest. "I'm proud of you." He let him go and stepped past. "Another room, another window." He paced to the back of the house.

Cam was right. It did feel good to help his family. Jahl had never been able to and never been expected to, and yet he was the one that saved the house. And he saved it by wielding strong magic. Jahl held up his finger and thumb again and pulled them an inch apart. He twisted his mouth and squeezed them closer together. "About that much better."

Jahl stepped to the mantle over the fireplace. It was cluttered with little carvings. Why would his uncle have these? He picked one up and held it close to examine the skill. The carving was vaguely animal-shaped, but Jahl could not figure out what it was meant to be. There were six others, each just as unclearly something. At the far end of the mantle were two more. One was definitely a squirrel while the other looked sort of like a young woman picking up a pail. That is, he thought it might be a young woman, and that might be a pail. It was a better carving than the other seven and not as good as the squirrel. But what were they for? Even the squirrel was not fine work, more intermediate level. Neither of them would bring any money.

On the floor close to the brick surround was a box. Inside were nine empty holes. The other eleven indents held rough cut oval blocks of wood of the same light tight grain. Jahl decided to set them aside and figure out their value later. He placed the other pieces in the box and moved it to a clear corner. "Stuff that stays goes in this corner," he told the pale papered wall.

Also on the mantle was a sooty palm-sized book. Jahl flipped through it and found it contained numerous line drawings of various figures. He recognized the squirrel and the young girl. The drawings were first rate and detailed. Jahl wiped the book cover against his breeches and reopened the box. He found a slot for the book and dropped it in. Jahl stared at the items secured inside and pondered what they were for. After shrugging his shoulders, he closed the case and grabbed a rag from the pile he had brought in earlier. He ran one over the mantle and decided he needed some beeswax to polish the woodwork in the house. Just wiping the mantle down did nothing for removing the dullness.

In fact, he hadn't wiped down the box of carvings either. If it goes in the to-be-saved corner, it needs to be clean. He returned to the box and wiped off the layer of dust that his hands had disturbed earlier. The wood was of particularly good quality and well stained and varnished. A metal plaque revealed itself on the center of the lid. Jahl scrubbed at it to clean out the inscription enough to read. "Twai'wa Von." Jahl sat back on one heel. Well, that didn't clear up anything. But the book inside might. He took it out of the box and flipped through the first pages. "Twai'wa" was a common word in the introductory pages, but not a single word of it was common language. A mystery for another time, and probably one of many.

Cam came tromping down the stairs. "Jahl, I got all your windows open except in one room upstairs. I couldn't get inside the room at all. Hinges need oiling perhaps or maybe a sledgehammer. I'll bring one of each tomorrow."

"Which room?"

Cam grabbed an upholstered chair from the corner and carried it to the front door. "The one with the plaque."

"A plaque? I haven't been upstairs yet. What's it say?"

"Got me." Cam shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know the words. Twaiwalor?"

"Just that one word."

"Not one word, two. Twaiwa Lor."

"Twai'wa?" Jahl looked back at the book in his hand and decided to head upstairs. "I'm going to take a look. Do you think you can go get that hinge oil now instead of bringing it tomorrow?"

"Can't leave a mystery alone? You just learned of it today. Surely it can wait one more day."

Jahl stood on the second step and pondered. He can't run from room to room after answers he didn't even know were worth chasing. "It can wait."

Cam headed outside, tapping the legs of the chair against the jamb as he turned and twisted it until he could get it through the doorway.

"I said don't break anything," called Jahl from the stairs.

"I'm not breaking it."

Jahl slipped past Cam and the chair to get into the parlor and slid the book in the slot and closed the case. With the rag in hand, he started on the table near where the chair had been. "No scratches or nicks either," he called over his shoulder.

Cam shut the door behind him for a reply.

Jahl listed the items as he picked them up off the small table. "One empty oil lamp, doily, reading glasses." He removed the doily from beneath the lamp. "Sorry Uncle, I don't like doilies." Jahl looked for an empty corner for throwaways and tossed the crocheted lace to the one opposite the keeper's pile. "No doilies." He looked through the reading glasses and yanked them off his face. "Sinister Sisters, these will make a person blind. To the throwaway pile with you." He pulled his arm back to throw the glasses and stopped when he glimpsed an inscription on the ear bar. "Twai'wa Glin." Jahl shook his head. "Maybe I should read the doily. He stepped toward the corner he'd tossed it to, then stopped. "It's just a doily."

Jahl put the glasses on the carvings case and shook his head. "What is Twai'wa?" He went back to the table and lifted the lamp. He looked everywhere on it but found no inscriptions other than the crafter's mark one would expect. "Well, I'm keeping the lamp anyway."

Jahl continued to sort items and found no further objects with the curious inscription. He had built up two good-sized piles in opposing corners when he decided to sort through a stack of newspapers he found easier to leave in place when he'd swept the room earlier. They weren't recent papers, most were dated the year of the Wielder Wane epidemic sixteen years previous. It was a neat stack, and he hesitated as he sorted. Jahl decided to restack them in the keep pile. They were already organized by month, so he rifled through each set so he was moving them a month at a time.

Outside, he could hear Cam working away at a window shutter. He must have remembered Jahl's list. There was a horrific squeal followed by a bang. Two shutters to go on the first floor.

Lifting up the last month's issues he found a square of stone. "What in Fallon is this?" Jahl squatted down, shifting his crippled leg out to the side. He ran his hand over the square. Excitement burbled in his chest. "Uncle Tran's standing stone? Could it be?" He leaned forward and pulled up on one edge. He lifted the light-weight square and huffed disappointment. "A fake." Jahl let it drop and he sat down on the floor.

He tapped his chin. Some wielders did keep fake stones to cart around with them as an advertisement that they were wielders. Then they would book their client for a visit where their real stone would be. He gave the fake stone a tap. Perhaps Uncle Tran used this stone for advertising. Jahl shook his head. Everyone in town knew he was a master wielder, one of the best. Before the Wane destroyed him. He didn't need to advertise.

For now, he thought, a carrying stone would not be useful, but it sure would make it easier to travel about town. He could hold it under his arm with ease. "Wait. My great uncle was a high master. If he had a fake stone, then he had an enchanted shard. He could carry the required stone," Jahl tapped the fake again, "but still be able to work magic. Set the stone down, stand upon it and wield using the shard embedded in an everyday object, just like Beauraman's walking stick." Jahl scanned the room. What object would carry a shard? They usually ran about six inches and about a finger's width which is what made the cane ideal. What had he handled in this room that could contain a shard and be carried about with a person regularly? He was going to have to search his throwaway pile.

Jahl steadied himself over his strong leg and stood up using his crippled leg for balance. He limped over to the castoff pile and began lifting items up and pulling at them with his wielder sense. Nothing responded. "Okay, I'll check the keepers now."

This second stack also did not respond to any attempt to wield magic. He studied the contents of the room again. "Two ladder back chairs, the twin to the upholstered chair Cam took outside, a settee, two tables, an umbrella stand, two oil lamps, and two candle sconces without candles, a rug, framed pictures, a mirror, and fireplace tools. Nothing one would carry out the door on a daily basis. An umbrella, but there isn't one." He paused. "Not in this room there isn't." The broom? Jahl grasped it in his hand. No response. "It sure would have been nice." He brandished the broom. "Sweep this room. Then put yourself away in the broom closet." Uncle Tran would have looked pretty silly with it heading downtown.

He turned about perusing the room. "Well, I am done in here, so a search for an umbrella or even a cane would not be out of order. Off we go, young wielder boy."

Jahl stopped, glancing back at the fake stone. Until he knew more about why his uncle had one, he thought he had better keep it to himself. Jahl picked it up and took it to his keep pile. He grabbed three months' worth of newspapers and put them on top.

Jahl searched the lower level but did not find any item that held an enchanted Fallon shard. He did find two more inscribed Twai'wa objects and set them with the others in the front parlor. One had some essence but not enough to be useful for anything greater than removing a minor scratch from a piece of furniture. He'd heard Cam come in and leave the house several times in Jahl's hunt through the lower level. He tapped his right cheekbone. Besides continuing the search, he had another reason to go upstairs. If he was spending the night, he would need to prepare one of the bedrooms.

It took a few minutes to negotiate the stairs, stopping once to rest on a landing at the turn to the final four steps, but finally, he stood at the top and turned right into a hallway that ran along the stair wall. To the left was a bedroom. Jahl continued down the short hall to an open space large enough to be a nice den. At the end of the stair wall were an attic stair and two doors. One led to the water closet; the other door bore the plaque Cam had described. The master bedroom door was on one wall of the open den space. It was that room, Jahl decided to look over first. Cam had left the door open to increase air circulation, and Jahl stood at the threshold to take in the room. It was deep, running from the back of the house to the front with more than six windows, two to each wall. Cam had opened one each on the short walls at back and front. A nice breeze flowed through the room. Dark wood furniture filled the space, and light colored wallpaper covered the walls above the wainscoting.

"Jahl?" came Cam's voice from the bottom of the stair.

"I'm up here."

Cam proceeded up the stairs and came to stand behind Jahl to peer over his shoulder. "It's in pretty good shape, not as much to clean," said Cam. "Nice bedframe, but no mattress. I'll bring your mattress over tomorrow, but there's a complete bed in the spare room you can use tonight."

"Wish I had a stone to put it through a magic cleanse."

"It's just dust. I'll help you shake the sheets and beat the mattress before I leave."

"I need beeswax for all this furniture and woodwork, that mattress, and you need a ladder. How are you going to bring all that over?"

"Well, not on my back, little brother. I'll bring the wagon, so tell me what else you want from your room."

"Pillows and there's a couple of boxes that I filled last night sitting on the floor. I'd like those, too."

"You haven't anything to eat; fortunately, I brought you items to hold you for a couple days. I'm hungry right now." He rubbed his stomach and leaned against the door jamb. "I checked the well, and Uncle Tran had a nice hand pump installed in the kitchen. Sitting idle for a year hasn't hurt it any. I've already run it clean."

"Tomorrow I'm going to have to work at the mercantile," said Jahl sidling into the room. He pulled open a dresser drawer and gazed inside. "I need to keep a larder, something I wasn't thinking of when I decided to move in here today." It looked like he would have plenty of clothing to alter once he could be free with his magic. Jahl ran his hand through the clean linens folded in the drawer.

"You'll manage. I'll pass the word that you're up to some heavy work. Was afraid to before, but it looks like you can handle it." Cam had followed Jahl in and gripped him by the neck and shook him lightly. "You actually earned a full gold! What did you do?"

Jahl realized he couldn't tell Cam about the enchanted shard in the cane, but he could tell enough for Cam to realize he'd earned the gold with strong wielding. He started with the damage to the walking stick and finished with the client paying him more than the agreed upon amount because of the quality of the work.

Cam couldn't think of a word to say. He stood staring at Jahl, his arms waving in the air until he finally grabbed Jahl into a hug. "That's amazing!"

"And I took your advice, too." Jahl pulled himself away and grinned at his brother.

"My advice? Since when have I had any advice for a wielder?"

"No, small good deeds. I fixed the door ringer. It wasn't working right, and the houseman caught me at it when he opened the door. He made sure the Widow Cawsworth knew what I'd done." Jahl unconsciously rubbed his thigh muscle. "She paid me a half silver, but I had to give that to Tommlar since, after the work I did, the standing stone I rented was spent." Jahl sighed. "I didn't care about paying the half silver since I had the gold and could buy a good, used stone."

"And then you came home and had to give your gold coin to mom and dad to save the house." Cam sympathized. "You do have enough to rent another stone, right." His brother began tapping his pockets.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I just need to get my name out more, now that I can prove I have wielding skills."

"I'll do what I can to help you with that." Cam was turning away to head back downstairs when he stopped and spun back. "Jahl, mom said you carted the stone home, did you?"

Jahl nodded, uncertain about why Cam looked concerned.

"Then you hauled it to the widow's, right?"

Jahl nodded again.

"And from there you had to take it to the mercantile?"

"Yeah, I did all that." Jahl shrugged. "That's what a wielder does."

"But Jahl those stones are heavy. I know because I helped Tommlar stack a bunch at the back. How did you carry it all that distance, never mind walk all the way?"

Jahl remembered the pain of the entire journey, but that gold coin in his pocket had gone a long way toward keeping it from being unbearable. But he didn't want to talk about that. "Next time don't stack them so close together. It was tough picking one out and bringing it to the front."

Cam let out a groan of exasperation. "Take from the stack by the door, you Fallon fool."

"They were all rented! I didn't have any choice."

Cam turned all the way around to face Jahl. "Doesn't anyone help you?"

"Sometimes, but I don't like it. I won't appear a high wielder if I can't carry my own standing stone."

"Hmm. Well, neither of us are going to appear much at cleaning house if we don't get back to work."

"I thought you were hungry?"

"Are you inviting me to lunch?"

"Sure, lunch with whatever you brought, and then I put you back to work."

### ~~~~~~~

Jahl limped home having earned only a half copper for a quick adjustment to enlarge a pair of shoes to fit a child's growing feet. He had stood on the stone all day long, endeavoring to hold as strong an appearance as he could muster. Still, only one job had come along, and he had been the one to suggest it to the mother as her daughter cried going down the stairs in the pinching new shoes. If it wasn't for the daughter pleading, he would not have gotten the work.

Tommlar had been away on a buy, and his son was running the store, for which Jahl was thankful. He didn't have to face the senior Tommlar after the rude way he'd had to deal with the shop owner. Tommlar had always had a chip on his shoulder, but Jahl's father had kept things polite, and until Jahl had a gold coin in his pocket, he'd done the same. Tommlar wouldn't be back for another two days, and by then perhaps they could work with each other on the same level as before: quiet rudeness versus silent durability.

Jahl had purchased some food and the bag weighed heavy on his shoulder. Even as it wore on him, he was quick to remind himself that the weight was nothing like carrying a standing stone. For the first time since he had headed into town to begin wielding for a living, Jahl let himself look in store windows and imagine stepping in to buy a small trinket for himself or a gift for Cam in thanks for his help. A metal smith's shop came into view, and Jahl thought of all the tools his father and Cam often wished they had. The dark interior beckoned him to walk through and pick out what would be the first he would buy. Jahl pulled back from the temptation, reminding himself it would be sometime before he would be buying anything that was not a necessity.

The last block to the in-town Donnel clan house took two breaks. Jahl wanted to take the walk up to the property and the short steps to the door in a sturdy wielder's stroll. He pulled himself up from leaning on an old oak and pulled his shoulders back, his back ramrod straight. Wielder Pratter was coming home. As he turned to begin his way up the stone walk to the house, Jahl could not hold the semblance of good health and strength any longer. His head lowered and his footsteps jolted him along, each step slower and more crippled than the next.

Jahl staggered up the three steps wishing there was a side rail to use for balance and pull himself up to the door. After dragging himself over the threshold and into the house, he closed the door behind him with a thud and stood rocking with fatigue.

The candle sconces in the parlor were lit and the curtains drawn shut for the evening. The room had been cleaned again better than Jahl had done; the woodwork shone. Except for his "keep" pile, the parlor had been turned into a neat little sitting room. The two ladder back chairs with their thin leather cushions had been set beside the window on the far wall with a barrel table separating them. The square rug in the center of the polished hardwood floor had been beaten, making the bright colors depicting a jungle full of exotic birds stand out. The cream-colored settee and the red upholstered wing chairs rested on the rug in a logical grouping for friendly visits. The round table that had held the lamp and glasses sat next to the settee. A long skinny table was against the hall stub wall. He saw the room in a blur and let the bag slide down to the floor in the hallway until it slipped right out of his fingers.

Jahl trudged to the first chair he could reach and sat down. He leaned back and closed his eyes when his head came in contact with the chair back. Jahl gulped and then felt his breath catch, a cry beating up through his chest. He shook his head as though that would forestall it and hit his thigh with a fist. On the third hit to the cramped muscle, a calloused hand took hold of his arm and stopped it in midair, brushing it aside.

"Let me help you," came his brother's gruff voice.

Jahl squeezed his eyes shut as he heard his brother move the matching chair closer and take Jahl's foot into his lap. The two remained silent as Cam worked at the knots in the ankle. The firm, considerate hands worked their way up to his calf, and Jahl did everything he could not to cry out which would have made Cam stop at once. It had been some time since Cam had worked at Jahl's cramped muscles.

The young wielder remembered in their childhood Cam pressing his knuckles into the contracted muscles. Their mother would tell Cam, "Let him cry and don't let up. After you're done and he feels so much better, Jahl will thank you for this torture." He never did. How could he thank his brother for causing him such pain? An hour later it would be back, so for what was the torture?

Cam finally refused to continue in the manner his mother said was best. He took to warming the muscles between his hands before pulling at the bones involved in slow, progressive efforts to straighten the ankle, knee or hip joint he was working on. The warmth would make the muscles release, and the straightening would take away the stress on the tissue that had brought on the cramping. It was still painful, but not like it had been, and Jahl could pull himself deep into his imagination to ignore the spasms until they faded away.

While Cam massaged Jahl's leg, he spoke soothingly about what they had been working on while Jahl was out. "We've all been washing, wiping, and beating everything. Dad found an old chicken coop and installed it in your backyard. He made some repairs while I whittled away at that long list you left me. We brought you two chickens and a rooster the Martels were about to strangle and throw in the stew pot since it kept breaking the eggs. He's a young one, and if he's the only rooster, chances are he'll leave the eggs alone. You'll need to keep him out of the coop if he doesn't quit the habit. Mom suggests you let at least six hatch and increase your flock. Then you can have chicken now and then. Bring your extra eggs to us and we'll take them to market with ours and share the proceeds between us."

Jahl nodded as Cam talked in gentle tones. "Dad's finishing up, and I think mom has left a bowl of stew for you in the kitchen. She's been working in there all day."

There was a sound of cushions shifting, and Cam's hands pulled away from just above Jahl's knee. But soon they returned and continued to rub and pull. Jahl rolled his head to one side and turned to accommodate the massaging hands. The front door opened and closed.

"Cam?"

"It's not Cam," said his mother's voice. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but she shook her head and told him to lay back again.

### Chapter Four

He couldn't close his eyes, so he kept his head turned and noted that the Twai'wa items had been moved to the table along the parlor side of the hall wall. He was thankful she was using Cam's technique on his leg.

"You hope to study Lal," said his mother still working on his upper thigh muscles.

When Jahl looked confused, she gestured at the box and the other items that had been moved.

"I found them in your keep stack. You know, your great uncle wasn't just a master wielder, but a scholar and teacher of Wa."

"Wa, as in Twai'wa?"

"That is the old language of wielding, Wa. Uncle Tran could read it, but I've not met anyone else who can. He taught me a bit." She stopped massaging his leg and got up and walked to the table. Mahre picked up the thin stick Jahl had found. She read the inscription, "Twai'wa Mu. It is a wielder training tool for children who do not yet know they can call the essence, the Lal, from a Fallon stone. All of these are training tools." She held out the thin stick. "This one is for making bubbles."

"Bubbles," said Jahl disbelieving. "Why would it need to make bubbles?"

She answered but with her usual droning tone. "They're easy, don't last long and every child knows what a bubble looks like. It can be used by young children. Tran would give it to a student and have the child put it down in a glass of water, and he'd say, 'Blow bubbles.'"

"But how would that prove anything? Wait, that one contains a chip of Fallon stone, right? And I don't remember seeing a hole running down the length of its center."

His mother smiled, her voice softened. "It has an indent at each end, but you're right it does not run through it. But to a child, they would expect to blow through it. The chip has just enough for a wielder child to form a bubble. Of course, he always had them standing on a Fallon stone either here or at home where they could use their family's clan stone."

"But if it has a shard why bother with a standing stone?"

"You know a wielder must always mount a standing stone to wield. And the child was not told about the shard."

Jahl could not get over how soft her voice had become. He wondered at how talkative she was and how approachable. Why did being in her uncle's house change her? "You never believed I would learn to wield," said Jahl.

"That's not true." She shook her head. "I thought it would take time."

"You knew about these tools. You could have had me use them when I was much younger."

Mahre stared at her son. "What would I have used to supply you with power? The clan stone has been spent since you were born."

"The Twai'wa Mu has its own power. You could have let me use that."

"Then what, nothing else?" She bowed her head. "It would not have mattered if I'd had the essence to spare. Tran told me to wait until he said it was safe."

"When did he tell you it was safe?" Jahl rose from his seat. "How long have you made me wait to practice my skills?"

"He died before he could say."

"So as much as a year ago, it was unsafe for me to practice wielding."

"Yes."

"So why did you let me?"

"Could I have stopped you?"

"No," he growled then shook his head and more softly said, "No." He sat back down and rubbed his brow. _Why didn't she tell me all this before? And why tell me now?_

Mahre strode across the vibrant, woven rug. She touched the newspaper stack, her fingertips lingering on the corner of the top sheet. "Your uncle was determined to find out who loosed the Wielder Wane. He saved every paper printed that year and read them over and over. Each sheet has been enchanted so it won't age. Notice how bright and supple the pages are, just as they were when printed."

"What made him think the answer was there?"

She kept her back to Jahl. "I don't know. But before he died, he said, 'Sometimes the truth lies in what is not said. I'm looking for what did not get into the paper.' So I don't know, but I think he did find out."

"What do you mean? Uncle knew how the Wane started, where it came from?"

She turned, "Who it came from."

"Who? He told you?!"

"He died before he could tell me." Mahre wrung her hands. The gesture surprised him. Nothing ever pulled his mother emotionally. She always had the same level of despondency all the time, combined with the same flinty hardness. Here she stood wringing her hands. If he hadn't known her eyes were always watery, small rivers slipping out and roughly wiped away, he'd think she was near to crying. She took a hesitant step twice before coming up to stand before Jahl. When she came to a stop, her voice carried its usual disinterested tone. "I believe Tran was killed by whoever loosed the Wane because he or she found out he knew."

Jahl sat forward. "You believe that person wants me dead, too. Why?"

"How many of the wielders from before you were born are alive today?"

Jahl knew the names instantly. His mother Mahre, Bragg Moln and his cousin Lorents Moln, Costa and Revin Keal: all told seven wielders and of course, the Deln, but they all left before the Wane except Costa Deln who married Revin. And he did not count Tommlar clan as they could not wield, only recognize the quality of Lal in a wielding stone, and there were twelve in that clan. "About seven of the original and seven surviving children."

"How many practice wielding for a living?"

"Me." He waited for her to scoff.

Mahre said, "The wielders that have come into town are average, no high wielders that I know of among them."

Jahl imagined Chussan Faire had become a wielder vacuum and even the outsiders could not fill it. "Were any of those surviving high wielders?" said Jahl.

"Lorentz was a high wielder. Bragg and I were still training."

Jahl shook his head. Bragg didn't wield to his knowledge; perhaps in his home, he did. "But you almost never wield."

"Tran said it was dangerous to you, and whoever was the target, if not all the Chussan Faire wielders."

Jahl nodded. "So everyone that wielded became sick, and most died."

"He believed the Donnel clan may have been the target, but the Wane went out of control consuming all the wielders of Lal." Mahre wiped a bit of dust off the mantel. "I can't stop you, Jahl. But take my warning: Keep your use of magic low. So far you've been safe because your work has been minimal. But you are, your uncle believed, capable of high mastery, higher even than he was, and Tran was among the greatest."

Jahl chose to ignore the comment on his potential. He didn't think his mother believed it anyway. "Why would the Donnel clan be the target?"

Mahre turned from the mantel. "That was at the end. Maybe he always thought it, but it wasn't until a couple weeks before his death that he told me our clan was the main focus of the Wane."

"Did he give you any proof?"

Mahre still held the Twai'wa Mu in her hand. She strode to the table where the other wielder tools were and set it down. "It's time for me to go, Jahl. I left a bowl of stew on the counter for you."

"But I want to know about the rest of the tools and more about Uncle and what he knew about the Wane. You can't leave yet." He stood up to stop her.

Mahre was already heading for the door and had passed through the wide entrance from the parlor. She did not turn until she was about to pass from view behind the entry wall. "I can come back tomorrow."

"But I must seek work again tomorrow."

His mother squinted her eyes as though what he said had made her remember something. "Cam says don't go into work until Rouen Marson comes by. He has a job for you, but remember Jahl, keep to low magic."

"Cam said that?"

"I say keep it low. He said wait till Rouen comes by before you leave." Mahre wiped at her dripping eyes. "And Cam left you something in the hallway. You probably missed seeing it coming in. He stayed up all night working on it. Cam wanted to stay and show you how it works, but you'll figure it out."

"Don't leave yet. Tell me about the Twai'wa Lor." Jahl lurched forward. "How do I get in?"

"Keep it low, Jahl. Sleep well." The door closed behind her.

He clenched his fist and leaned his head against the wall. He felt so tired and rubbed his eyes while taking a deep breath. That was his mother: never providing all that Jahl needed; why should she be different now? But she had been different for a little while anyway, and he didn't know why. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes again. _Leave it for now_.

_So what did Cam bring me?_ Jahl searched the hall now in shadows with the sun going down. His own sack of food still slumped by the door, but further down the hall in the dark was another lump of something. Near the door of his uncle's library, Jahl could see what looked like a child's wagon, a small, low rolling platform. For a moment, he thought Cam had brought the wagon from their childhood, one Cam had pulled Jahl about in when he wanted to keep playing around the yard but was too cramped up to continue. Drawing nearer he realized it couldn't be a wagon; the dimensions were off.

A long handle rose from the flat, square body that stood on four small wheels. Other jointed mechanisms hung near each wheel. Jahl grabbed the handle, prepared to pull it into the parlor so he could scrutinize it in the light. But the handle, though jointed to slip forward on a horizontal dowel, would not budge. He leaned down using the wall for support. A borehole in the block locked the bottom of the handle in place a few inches below the dowel it should be pivoting on.

Cam would not make this complicated; that was his hallmark: simplify everything. Jahl pulled up on the handle, and it rose out of the lock and dropped down, just like a child's wagon pull. He gave it a light tug, expecting it to roll smoothly on the wheels. It skidded on the waxed wood floors a smidgeon, the wheels failing to move at all. "Cam, what is this?"

Jahl used the wall to brace himself until he was down on his good knee then bent his crippled leg enough to put weight on the side of his shin. What light remained shining through the window in the door and pouring in from the parlor entrance behind, he avoided blocking as he leaned further down to examine what might be obstructing the wheels. On the outside of each was an articulated angle which was set tight against the wheel and the floor like a doorstop. Jahl pulled up on the one closest to him, and it pulled out and folded back on itself atop the base. He repeated the action with each wheel and found the wagon now rolled without a hitch.

Jahl pulled it into the parlor. In the light of the sconces, he could see his brother's skilled work. Along with using fine hardwood, Cam had smoothed all the edges and carved a fine twisting line, the mark of a wielder, on both sides of the platform. Cam had rubbed it down with wood oil, giving it a satin sheen. The locking mechanism used to make the handle stand upright was simple and elegant. A slot ran through the handle.

When the handle was pulled, it slid to the end of the slot and pivoted on the dowel, but when not in use, Jahl could stand the handle upright, drop it into the slot and the base would glide into the bore in the block beneath, thus turning the handle into a support. Jahl could use it when he tired or even when getting up from kneeling by the carrier after placing or removing a standing stone, for that was the use for which it was designed.

Jahl cocked his head to one side. A bead of raised wood ran all along the outer edge of the wagon's flat top.

"I wonder." Jahl set the handle upright in its bracing block and went to the stack of newspapers he had placed atop the fake standing stone. He removed the papers, setting on the floor. Jahl began to crouch to pick up the stone to carry it to the wagon but thought, why not test his theory out. He went back for the wagon and rolled it to the stone.

Again he set the handle standing up. He dropped all four breaking wedges down against the wheels and used the handle to brace himself as he crouched down. Picking up the stone was easy since it was so light, and he only had to lift it a few inches to settle it into place. The stone slipped inside the beaded edge which only rose halfway up the side of the standing stone making it easy for Jahl to remove the stone later.

He caressed the wood. Cam had never seen Jahl carry a stone nor wield magic. The two had worked far from each other: Cam at their farm or someone else's, and Jahl always at Tommlar's Mercantile. All Cam had known was that Jahl struggled to lift a stone and could have to carry it to his customers until he could purchase his own, and even that on occasion would need to be brought to the client. Yet Cam had produced the perfect tool for Jahl. The young wielder stood, stepped back and then examined the wagon from different angles. Cam had not just made a hauler, but a platform as well. With the stone set in place, the wheels locked, and the handle secured, Jahl could feel confident wielding magic while standing on the wagon itself: a mobile standing stone!

Excited, he released the wheel stops, pulled the handle and wheeled the wagon around the room. Even though the fake stone was lighter than a real standing stone, Jahl felt it would easily carry one up and down the streets of Chussan Faire. Jahl rolled the wagon to the table displaying the Twai'wa tools. He set the wedges in place and stood on the wagon. It was as stable as he expected.

The space under the table seemed an excellent place to keep the fake standing stone and the newspapers he intended to read for clues just as his great uncle had done. In the meantime, they could still be used to camouflage Uncle Tran's false stone. Jahl knelt down and removed the lightweight square, placing it beneath the table. The paintwork mimicking stone was good but not enough to fool anyone who looked closely. The top was wood. The grain showed through throwing off the impression of chiseled rock even though the uneven surface was well recreated with varieties of grey tones. Maybe it was a demonstration stone for his students to practice on with a tool that carried its own enchanted shard within. Jahl rolled the wagon back to the newspapers and stacked the entire pile onto it. He grinned with pleasure. The wagon had a variety of uses. In a short amount of time, he had the newspapers stashed beneath the table, and his wagon parked beside it.

His stomach growled and Jahl headed for the kitchen, his sack of food hung over his shoulder and his stomach looking forward to the waiting bowl of stew. He gulped down the food. Fatigue battled with him over rinsing the bowl and spoon, but he left the kitchen with the bowl overturned on the butcher block counter to dry with the spoon beside it.

Jahl trudged in lurching steps upstairs after glancing one last time at the wagon and throwing the bolt on his front door and putting out the wall sconces. The last thought that rattled through Jahl's mind before sleep overtook him was what would Rouen Marson need from him?

Jahl awoke to the sound of someone pounding on his front door. Groggy with sleep, he struggled from his bed and dragged his breeches on under his nightshirt. Negotiating the hall and the stairs in the semi-darkness of the morning was enough to awaken him fully by the time he got down to the door.

Rouen Marson stood on the stoop, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair cropped close to his scalp. Rouen, a silver smith's son and an old schoolmate, though they hadn't spoken to each other since they were nine years old, glanced both left and right down the road. He nearly trod on Jahl's feet in his hurry to get inside and close the door behind him. Jahl stumbled in his effort to get out of Rouen's way, his weight falling to his crippled leg which balked and threatened to collapse beneath him. With the combined aid of the wall and Rouen's clutching hand, Jahl regained his balance.

"Bloods bees! I'm sorry, Jahl. I'm not supposed to be here, and I was afraid someone would see me. What took you so long to answer the door?"

"Sleep, stairs, darkness," said Jahl with a grin. "What brought you so early? Even the morning watch isn't up yet."

"I had to come early. I have to set up shop and be ready for customers." Rouen looked toward the dark parlor.

Jahl waved him in, the gesture seen only by the dull glow coming through the door's frosted window. But the parlor was in shadows, and Jahl felt his way to the mantel to find a match and light the sconces. He tugged the wicks straight and got each one lit. When he turned, Jahl found Rouen staring about him.

"Is this all yours?"

"My great uncle left it to me. My family has been helping me clean it up. This room and the kitchen are the cleanest and most definitely the neatest. The rest is pretty cluttered. My uncle wasn't well for a long time and didn't keep the place up." Jahl pointed at one of the plush wingback chairs on the rug.

"Please sit down, and tell me what you need this early in the day.

Rouen turned about seeming to not want to sit on the plush chair. He noted the ladder back chairs against the wall with their thin utilitarian cushioning and took hold of one and brought it to set before the fireplace. He sat prim and uncomfortable, his hands clenched in his lap. Jahl turned a more comfortable chair around to face him, sat and waited for the smith to explain.

Rouen wiped his hands on his pants. "My pop has been unwell. He was injured when he fell while roofing our shed. It could be a while before he can be working again."

"I'm sorry." Jahl couldn't see what that had to do with him. He wasn't aware that he had any healing skill, at least not yet. His uncle had been an accomplished healer and his mother was known to heal in some fashion in the past.

"But no one can know that," said Rouen. "We'll lose all our business. I'm good for preparing rough work for my father and simple, less challenging forms, but I don't have my father's skill yet."

Jahl began to get an idea for what Rouen might want. "How can I help you?" he said.

"Cam said you can do pretty complex work. If I do what I can, even try the more delicate work following my father's instructions, then you can fix the parts I fail at."

Jahl sat in thought. He was confident he could do what Rouen needed if he had a good vision of the desired result, but Rouen had said nothing of payment. His delay in responding made Rouen squirm in his seat.

"I know it isn't fair to do work that you won't get acknowledgment for, but we'll pay you well. If you do half the work, you'll get half our payment, more if I really screw it up." Rouen shrugged a shoulder at Jahl in hopes of getting a response. "I know that's not equal to what you would normally get, but it's all we can do."

Jahl tried to imagine how he would work on the type of items the Marsons tended to do. It would mean Jahl would have to take a stone in most cases to their shop which would either take away time that he could be earning from proper clientele or he would have to rent a stone an additional day if he was taking it for the evening.

Rouen hung his head. His exhaled breath filled the silent morning. "I'm sorry for never sticking up for you. I should have. We were best friends and I did nothing."

Jahl hadn't wanted to think back to those days. The two boys had been best friends. But it had been more than that. Until Jahl was nine he had been friends with all the children. And then one day a new kid in town had pointed out Jahl's crippled leg and his slowness in play. Crimlo had made fun of him until the children were rolling on the ground giggling, gleeful over the creativity of the barbs Crimlo had flung. No day after was ever like the days before that child had come to town. Rouen and Jahl never spoke again.

He could still feel the anger, like a dull toothache, but he'd found so many other things to be angry about in the last eight years. Did he actually want to drag that one up and shake it in front of Rouen? He could swallow it down so they could work together. It felt like a pretty big lump in his throat; maybe it wouldn't go down so easy after all. Jahl didn't know what to say, and he looked at Rouen standing there both hopeful and uncertain. He pushed his anger down, imagined crushing it into a small ball he hoped he could throw out later. He needed this work more than he needed to tell Ro how much it had hurt to be abandoned. "Forget it. Why can't anyone know?"

Rouen looked relieved that Jahl had not wanted to talk about their days as children. But his answer to Jahl's questions made him grimace. "What if my father never returns to work? People will stop coming to us and we'll lose our livelihood. Please, Jahl, do this for us. I wasn't the best friend I should have been, but you have always been a good person. We know we can trust you not to tell anyone. Say you'll do it. I have a week's worth of work backed up. I'll never get it done. And new work is coming in every day. I've not turned anyone away."

"I'll do it," said Jahl certain it was worth it to set aside the anger to earn money that could get him a loaded power stone. "But I'll need a full copper to cover my rental of a stone to bring by your shop."

Rouen jumped off the chair. "I'll bring everything I can here. I'll bring it in the back door." He stuttered a moment. "The big stuff you'll have to do at night at our shop. The back entrance will be left open for you, and I'll be waiting inside. I'm sorry about all the sneaking about, but we can't lose our business. It's all we have."

"Will you need me to come by tonight or will you come here? Either way, I need that copper. I have only a couple to my name." He patted his breeches as though he could have hidden a copper or two in them. Then Jahl smiled, and Rouen visibly relaxed.

The young smith dug into his money bag and pulled out a copper coin. He held it out to Jahl. "Here's to our being business partners and one day, good friends again."

"We were kids." Jahl pushed at his imagined ball of anger. "It's done."

"I've been old enough to apologize for it for quite a while. I'll be a better friend this time."

His sincerity helped, and Jahl felt his chest ease. "I don't walk any better, but I can wield." Jahl remembered his mother's warning about high wielding and realized this arrangement would work well. He would get to practice his skills, and Rouen would get the secrecy he wanted and Jahl needed.

They shook hands and both young men stood. Jahl walked Rouen to the door. "Wait, you want to go out the back?"

Rouen nodded his relief and they headed down the hall to the back door. Rouen slipped out, and Jahl stood at the back door contemplating his day. Rouen would be by that evening, so Jahl planned to head home from Tommlar's early and practice with the Twai'wa tools if he could get his mother to tell him more. He was too excited about the day ahead of him to go back to bed, so Jahl decided to use his extra time by searching the upstairs for the possible disguised Fallon shard. He found neither shard nor any further Twai'wa training tools. A stop at the door with the plaque was also unsuccessful. The door was stuck fast.

Breakfast finished and items put away, Jahl dressed and set his room to rights. Though his walk down the stairway was slow, he was soon out the door pulling the wielder wagon behind him. The stone paved road he walked along was just beginning to build traffic. A few citizens glanced at the small wagon trailing behind him. Most gave it a brief perusal, but a couple individuals stared for a bit trying to figure out what its purpose was. For the three months, he had been practicing his skills, he had jerked along just focused on getting to the mercantile in time to be able to pick from the door-side stack. Few if any people passing had been aware of him or his effort to become a wielder with steady work. He had only once carted a stone along with him, looking all done in by the effort he imagined, hardly worth hiring for any work. He daydreamed as he walked, thinking that with a change of clothes, a standing stone mounted on the wagon and a budding reputation, he could soon be recognized and greeted as he moved about town. As long as the new wielders in town didn't decide to make things more difficult, he reminded himself.

In a few weeks' time, the house could be much improved and would increase his chance of gaining clients, especially those willing to bring their work to his home and save him lugging a stone through town to the client's worksite; though, having the wagon Cam built made even that option seem acceptable.

The mercantile was already open when he arrived, and Jahl was quick to lift the wagon up onto the porch. The store was almost cheerful with the elder Tommlar away. Jahl selected a stone halfway down the stack by the door. He began to lift the top stones down one at a time. After the first two, Tommlar's son Pike moved away from a customer and came to help lift the remaining stones up and away.

"Why this stone and not one of the others?" said the shop owner's son.

The question surprised Jahl. "I wish to rent one with the most essence among the available stones."

"My father says only Tommlar wielders can tell the quality and the level of essence in a standing stone." Pike Tommlar wasn't angry; he seemed surprised but not unwilling to believe Jahl. "But you can do this also?"

Jahl was uncertain how he should answer. To his knowledge, every wielder can determine if a wielding stone has the essence to meet the need of a specific spell. He said, "A wielder must know his stone. He or she must be certain the work can be done." Perhaps, he thought, wielders usually do this test while standing on the stone. All Jahl needed to do was run his finger along the edges. The level of response the stone gave to his touch indicated the strength of its essence.

"But you chose between nearly alike stones. I measured each one to make sure they were appropriate for this stack. The one you chose was a stone I almost put in a higher value stack."

Jahl reviewed his limited knowledge. Was it unusual for a wielder to be able to discern between stones their separate levels and qualities? He didn't know. Was this yet another example of his own abilities? The stone he had chosen did have different patches of light grey the other stones did not have. He remembered his mother's cautioning words and covered his comments with a vague excuse. He scrutinized the store, noting a man sifting through a rack of pre-made cloaks. The customer had his head angled toward them, perhaps listening in. Jahl shrugged confidentially. "I have a preference for light grey stones, but if it is of better wielding capacity, I'll not complain."

Jahl took the stone from the store owner and knelt to set it into the wagon. The weight made it impossible for him to grasp the stone and the handle to give him stability. Practice for the last three months picking up and setting down allowed him to manage. The handle was useful for getting back upright, and for that he was thankful. Jahl turned from his wagon to make his way back to the rental payment box, but Pike stood ready to take the coin. Jahl dropped it into his hand.

"Is it possible I could pay now for an overnight rental and return tomorrow noon? I intend to work this evening as well."

"Of course," he said. "Isn't that how my pop does it?"

Jahl hesitated, then shrugged. "No." He fished out another coin and dropped it into Pike Tommlar's hand next to the first.

The young Tommlar closed his fingers around the coins. "If I am here, please feel free to pay me directly."

Jahl considered the young man's kind expression, so like and so different from his father's. "Your father dislikes me."

Pike deliberated a moment before responding. "He believes that the Donnels caused the Wane in an attempt to take full control over all wielding, including controlling Fallon Mountain mining."

"That's absurd!"

"I agree, but my pop won't be convinced otherwise." Young Tommlar looked about the store. "I have other customers. Do you need anything else?" Pike seemed to take note of the man still working his way around the rack of cloaks. The customer's own cloak, draped liberally down to his calves, looked nearly new.

"No, thank you."

The absurdity of the elder Tommlar's belief continued to plague him as Jahl exited the store, stepped off the porch, and lifted the wagon and its stone up and then down onto the hard-packed earth. He pulled the wagon to his favorite spot furthest from the mercantile and set it up for a stable platform. The Donnel clan had been reduced to three members: one a crippled baby, its greatest wielder barely able to blow bubbles and Mahre Donnel in possession of a clan stone bereft of any essence of magic, and the Donnels caused the Wane? Jahl shook his head. At least Pike didn't share his father's opinion.

He stepped up on the stone and its wagon platform. The morning looked to be another barren set of painful hours. Fortunately, a boy came to him with a broken porcelain carafe and a half copper. The boy begged Jahl not to tell anyone he had repaired it, and Jahl raised his eyebrow at the request then agreed. He thought he might become the secret wielder of Chussan Faire if these hush-hush wieldings continued. Considering how often important items get broken by carelessness, he thought that perhaps this was more common with clients of wielders than he had realized.

Though he did several wields, they brought meager payment. He earned a total of three coppers, all in half coppers sales. Jahl headed home hoping to find his mother there as talkative as she had been the evening before, but no one was home. Someone had trimmed the pink bell-flowered hedges back, and the bushes on either side of the stoop looked neat, giving the house a degree of respectability it hadn't had with the plants all overgrown. Since Jahl had been too weary when he came home the night before and too elated when he left this morning to notice the look of the landscaping, he didn't know if Cam had taken care of it yesterday or while Jahl was gone that day.

After carting the wagon and its load up the step to the door, he entered the house leaving the wagon in the hall as he went first to the kitchen. His bowl and spoon still sat on the counter and all else seemed unchanged. Cam and his father must have worked all day at the Martel's. Perhaps his mother planned to come in the evening. It was still early. Jahl headed back to his wagon and rolled it into the parlor.

He parked it by the table and leafed through the booklet of drawings. Jahl propped his right foot on the standing stone and flipped the pages back to the introductory section. He leaped back in surprise. For just a moment, he could read the words as though written in his own common language and with it came tremendous understanding. He must have been mistaken, fooling himself. _But I did understand the words, for just a moment. But how?_

Jahl sat in the chair Rouen had moved before the fireplace that morning. The words on the pages were definitely unfamiliar, except for the repeated presence of Twai'wa. Jahl rubbed at his thigh, sore from the jolt he had given it when he had jumped off the standing stone. He looked at his hand on his thigh and then at the wagon with its single standing stone. Could standing on the stone have caused the words to be readable? Jahl went back to the table and stood with both feet upon the stone. He opened the book a smidgen and peeked at a page, half expecting it to shoot sparks at him. The words were clearly printed, and he could read them. Each page he turned was understandable and enlightening beyond the actual words. Jahl flipped to the front of the book and commenced to read.

The introduction wasn't long and explained the use of the book and the oval wooden blanks. Jahl moved the wagon so that the stone was where he could set his feet while sitting down on a comfortable chair. He lay the book on the red plush seat and went to lift and bring the box back. He sat down, his feet upon the stone, the box open beside the chair. In one hand he held the book open to the squirrel. Jahl stared at the picture of the animal seated with its tail curled up over its back and a cracked nut in its small hands. The drawing was intricate and different degrees of shading gave it depth. A smaller image in each corner supplied back, side and overhead views. Jahl scrutinized them all. He set the book down beside him and clasped a rough oval of close grain light wood in both hands.

Jahl pulled at the essence of the stone and felt it rush up his legs joining the fiber of his muscle and bone. Closing his eyes, he redrew the images in his mind and then applied it to the wood gripped in his fingers. He focused on the fine details and the depth of the carving needed to duplicate the image. It wasn't strenuous but it took concentration. Jahl reviewed all the details, sketching them over and over in his mind. The wood form in his hand took on a new shape and texture. His fingers alone told him he had changed the simple, rough oval into the figure of a squirrel.

Jahl opened his eyes and beheld the sculpture in his hands. He shook his head in surprise. It was perfect, exactly as drawn only now it was warm with the appearance of life and thought. The book had explained that the practice of forming the wood into the images in the book would increase skill in performing repairs and creating esthetic qualities in a work. He wanted to do another and reached for the book. Jahl stopped himself, realizing he now could understand the meaning of the other tools. He didn't need this practice, but perhaps the other items would add to his skill. He returned the squirrel and the book to their slots, then closed the box. Standing with a foot on the stone before the table, he looked at each tool. Reading the inscription on the earpiece of the Twai'wa Glin told him with inspired understanding that it was the tool for forming an image in the mind because it blocked the image before the eyes. A high wielder could force the glasses to clear and could see the object in their hands. The wooden square, wrapped on four sides with thin iron and engraved with the name Twai'wa Twee, was for practicing repairs of seams or design lines. It, like the Twai'wa Mu, was for the youngest wielders.

Of the tools he had found in the house, the Twai'wa Glin was the one he needed to practice with. But it would not be long before Rouen arrived, and Jahl had not yet eaten his evening meal. Since the smith would be coming to the back door, Jahl pulled the wagon and its stone down the hall to the kitchen and leaned it against the hall wall upon entering.

Jahl had cheese and bread along with an apple planned for this meal. He pulled out a cutting board, well used but solid, and placed it on the wood counter. The bread crunched as he sliced through it, spraying crumbs about. Using the same knife, he whittled through the heavy pale cheese, leaving a murky residue on the shiny blade. But the apple, a spring fruit from one of the two season apple trees in his backyard was crisp and accepted the knife in precise thin slivers of green-edged, cream-colored fruit. He cut each sliver and tossed the core in a bowl for composting. He slid them all onto a dull metal plate and set them on the table along with a cup of water.

The bread was dry and the cheese hard, but the slivers of apple he had laid over the cheese made it quite palatable. Jahl finished his meal, thinking over how much more skilled with magic he was than he had thought. So many years wasted, a quarter the wielder he should be, not even worth his struggling limp. He recalled that his mother said that Uncle Tran believed Jahl could be a greater wielder than Tran had been. He snorted at the thought. It would be sometime before he was half as good if he had to teach himself everything.

The house felt so empty and he wondered if he wanted to live here alone. Rouen came because his family was in trouble. Moln would probably drop by. But there wasn't anyone else. Had they avoided him or had he avoided taking a chance on making friends _? I don't care. I have magic to learn._ He rubbed at his leg as he paced the room. _Cam could come live here. They could be bachelors together._ He shook his head. He'd be the only bachelor in this establishment. Cam would have no problem finding a girl. _There was always some girl making eyes at him._ When was the last time a girl had batted her eyes at Jahl? _That girl on the walkway was about to until her friend pulled her away._ Or did he just hope that she was?

Jahl drove the thoughts away. He had work to do, but he wasn't sure of Rouen's arrival time or needs. Jahl examined the table which was quite long, able to seat at least ten people, but it was just a simple pine table without special design or finish though stout. Even so, he thought he should lay out some paper to protect the surface. He didn't know what Rouen would be bringing for him to work on. They did a lot of silver work as well as common metal plates for the general public. What else did they make? _I'll learn soon enough._ He got up without putting away his dishes to survey the other end of the table.

With no butcher paper at hand, Jahl settled for a rough brown tablecloth he found in a cabinet in the kitchen. He had no more raised it in the air to flurry out in front of him and land wrinkled but flat on the light surface of one half of the table when a soft tap on the back door sounded.

The knock came again. And a voice called softly, "Jahl, it's Rouen. Let me in, please."

Jahl opened the door, keeping the door between them in case Rouen was in a hurry to get inside. The young smith strode in hastily, carrying two slat-sided boxes, one atop the other.

"Put them on the table, Ro, where I placed the cloth." He joined Rouen as the smith leaned over one box and considered what to remove first. "What do you have for me?"

"Oh, let's start with this," said Rouen holding out a pewter carafe. "Can you remove a dent? Don't worry about polishing. I can do that."

"What about scratches?" Jahl took the carafe taking note immediately of the large indent in the normally well-rounded side.

"I'll buff any out."

Jahl pulled his standing stone from the wall where he had left the wagon and set the brakes and secured the handle. He stepped up and laid his hand upon the caved in metal.

"That's a nifty cart. Never seen one of those before."

"Cam made it for me so I don't have to carry my stone."

Rouen walked around to the back of Jahl and examined the woodwork. "You'd think all the wielders would have one."

Jahl considered the cart and shrugged. "Maybe they did years ago. Maybe in the big city, these are common. Or maybe the idea is so simple that no one else thought of it. Now let me concentrate a bit."

Rouen stood back and crossed his muscular arms to wait. Jahl was still, his eyes closed, and his childhood friend grew restive. He began pulling more items from the boxes. Jahl sighed into his work, ignoring Rouen's clinking and clanking. The image in his head grew, forming the metal carafe as symmetrically round. Beneath his hand, he felt the concave impression and began to pull the energy from the stone and draw the metal up against his skin. What he saw in his head, he felt rise in cool metal against his hand. Jahl thought through the precision of the image and gave the container a last caress of magic essence and set it down.

Rouen was lining up three items on the table top. One intrigued Jahl and he it picked up. It was an old hand mirror. The reflecting glass was still in good shape, but the silver handle was smoothed by use. Its intricate design, once a delicate filigree, was worn so much that in spots the silver stretched like threads around the cut-in pattern.

"You know, Ro, I can't create metal? I can only use what is already present in the object."

"That's why I brought you these." Ro held out bits of silver. "Can you add to one piece by pulling from another source of metal?"

Jahl thought about the process of putting broken pieces back together. One could view the mirror frame as broken from the pieces Rouen held out. In that sense, he certainly should be able to bring them together in the pattern that was still apparent however worn down. He nodded and reached for the bits of silver. A sharp knock at Jahl's front door jarred them both and the silver pieces fell pattering to the floor. The young smith looked frightened and ready to bolt out the back door.

"Just stay in the kitchen out of sight, Ro. If it was one of my family, they would just walk in, and Cam and my mom already know you're here." Jahl set the mirror on the table and waved his hand at Rouen to encourage him to back further out of sight at the rear of the dining room. "I'll keep the visitor at the door."

### Chapter Five

Jahl headed toward the hall, and Rouen bent to pick up the small pieces of silver, the sleeves of his shirt pulling up and revealing strong sinewy wrists. After a few steps, Jahl scanned his view of the kitchen and saw that neither the boxes nor Rouen were in sight. Just the head of the table and the chair where Jahl had sat were visible. He continued to limp his way to the door, arriving just as a second sharp knock came. A tall broad figure could be seen through the frosted glass of the door. He turned the knob and pulled it open to find Bragg Moln about to knock a third time.

"Well, hello young Pratter." The big man grinned with pleasure. "You took a bit to come to answer."

"Hello, Master Moln. I was in the kitchen, and you know it takes time for me to get anywhere," Jahl said pleased to see the friendly wielder turned carpenter. Still, he needed to keep him from coming in, and Jahl pondered how he might do that without being rude.

"I heard you were settling in here." Bragg surveyed the clean hallway and the polished floors. "Surprised me. The rumor is that your parents suffered the blight."

Jahl kept his hand on the door and leaned against it. He looked down remembering his mother crying and his father's dejected face. "It took the grain at the first show of green." He shook his head. "Everything was lost."

"Odd that it would come so quickly," said Bragg. "Usually if the blight hits, it comes just before the grain is fully ripe." He tipped his chin at the space around them. "Yet here you are. Did your family have so much saved that they could accept such a loss?"

Jahl knew he was not to reveal that he could do high magic, but he did not like lying to Bragg. Still, his mother had been so insistent. He rubbed his leg over the dilemma, the action more a habit than a response to discomfort. The recent wielding had relieved much of his cramping. Jahl said, "Together we were able to make payments on the loan and save the house. But we're all strapped and finding work wherever we can. There's not a whole lot I can do to help." Jahl tapped his hand against the door. "But my uncle left me the house, so I'm hoping I can increase my clients, and they'll come here, saving me from having to go to the mercantile or carry a stone to them."

"Add to your clients?" Bragg was excited. "Have you a set of regulars?"

Jahl looked sheepish. "No, but I'm working on it."

"You do look stronger than usual." Bragg examined Jahl's easy stance and stared into the young wielder's eyes. "But you need to wield high magic to bring in a wage to keep a house and yourself." He pursed his lips as though considering the possibilities. "I imagine you're up for it."

Jahl looked down the hall to the kitchen, and Bragg raised his gaze to take in the kitchen table still bearing Jahl's dinner dishes. "I've interrupted your meal."

"Oh, it wasn't much, and I'm near done," Jahl said. "Like I said, we're making do." He studied Bragg. "Master Moln, why don't you wield anymore? You came out of the Wane well."

Bragg shifted his feet before he answered. "Not so well. I couldn't save anyone. I tried to help your mom when she thought she was going to lose you, but no one could hold back the Wane." He took a step into the hall, but Jahl stayed by the door holding it open, his arm blocking the way.

"But you can still wield, right? You were a wielder once."

"So was your uncle, but he never got his power back." The big man wiped his face with a calloused hand.

Jahl was still rubbing his twisted thigh and thought about the last time he saw his uncle. Uncle Tran was dressed in simple clothes, disheveled but clean. He walked crouched as though carrying a heavy load and mumbled to himself. In the more than sixteen years since the Wielder Wane, the man had not gotten back all his powers. However, his mother had taken his uncle's advice as though the elder wielder were still as powerful as he once was, so perhaps he wasn't as decrepit as Jahl remembered. There had been little contact between them. Jahl had not felt comfortable with his uncle. The elderly man had always stared at him with displeased eyes, making Jahl feel inadequate. "No," Jahl agreed, "he never gained back all that he lost. I don't think he was fully aware of his condition or even what he once was."

"Nobody came out of it unaffected. Don't know which of you faired worst, you or your uncle." The man folded his arms across his chest then let them hang by his sides as if he just didn't know what to do with them. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Ona loved the cup you repaired. She said pink posies are her favorite flowers. It's been hard without her mom. Little things like that make a difference."

Jahl nodded in sympathy.

"How is your mother, Jahl?"

Jahl wasn't sure how to answer. Mahre Pratter was both strong and weak, rough and easy to break. What could he say about a woman he wasn't sure even loved him. "Mom always manages to get by. She finds a way. She came by here with my pop to help deal with the clutter and accumulated grime." Bragg looked away, embarrassed Jahl supposed. Perhaps he didn't like hearing that the woman he once loved led such a sad life. "But they didn't stay long after I got back from my time in town." Jahl switched subjects. "I earned a copper yesterday. Not enough to keep a house. But I'm going to keep trying."

Bragg put his hand on Jahl's shoulder and squeezed. "You do that, Jahl. Just don't overdo it. You're not as strong as you wish you were." He patted the young wielder, took his hand away and backed up until he stood on the stoop. "I'll leave you be. I have to get back to Ioane. I just wanted to check on you. You were such a small baby, in such pain." He shook his head and trotted down the steps. "Have a good night, young wielder Pratter."

"Good night, Master Moln."

"Bragg. Do I have to keep telling you?"

"Yes," Jahl said and laughed, "keep telling me and I'll get it right one of these days." He closed his door after returning Bragg's cheery wave. He looked down his lit hallway to his kitchen and was glad the plates had been a good excuse for Bragg to be on his way. Jahl imagined how the clean, polished floors and wiped down walls must have looked to Master Moln. Uncle Tran may not have been well and able to care for his house, but he also had not done anything to damage the place. Being untenanted for a year had not reduced the house to a rickety shack. If anything, it was in better shape than the Donnel Manor Jahl had been raised in. For a moment, Jahl saw himself as a spoiled sixteen year old. What youngster has a house like this at his age? But Tran had left it to him and he intended to keep it up himself. Having his parents and Cam help in the cleaning was a temporary thing and simply the normal behavior of a family. And better yet, in his kitchen was a job fit for a wielder living on his own. A thrill ran down his back at the thought he had a wielding to do that could set him up for an exciting future.

Jahl returned to the kitchen and found it empty. The boxes were gone as was Rouen; even the rough tablecloth just moments before rumpled but covering the pine surface was missing. His little cart was parked against the wall out of sight. There was no way Rouen could have left without being seen; the front door and back were in direct line with each other. Jahl looked under the table and turned around to peruse his empty kitchen. The stair ran inside the shared dining room wall just off and perpendicular to the central hall, and there were cubbies and cabinets built into the space beneath it. One cabinet was a large broom closet. Jahl tipped his head in speculation and limped around the table and up to the below-stairs cabinet. He tapped the door. "Rouen, you in there?" He thought he heard a rustle. Jahl pulled it open to find the apprentice smith crammed up against a mop and broom, his boxes in his arms, and the cloth crushed atop the lot, an end dangling from one corner.

"Is he gone?" he whispered.

"Come out. I told you I would not let him in."

"He's not one to be directed, that Master Moln," said Rouen. "Help me get out of here. It was a bear holding these boxes and getting the door closed without a sound."

Jahl grabbed the boxes and staggered aside while Rouen squirmed out of the cramped space. "Maybe when I've time, I'll make some adjustments to enlarge the closet so you can be more comfortable when you come to visit."

"Give me those boxes." Rouen yanked them from Jahl's arms.

Jahl teased, "Don't go thinking I was going to carry them to the table. I've enough difficulty getting myself about without carrying heavy loads of broken metal."

"Yeah, your strength lay in carrying heavy slabs of stone. I've seen you prancing down the road, wielder."

They chuckled and grinned at each other, Rouen standing with the boxes in his arms and Jahl still holding the cabinet door open. Jahl pulled the rusty brown cloth from the top box. He missed having a friend.

In a moment the wrinkled cloth was again covering the table end, and the boxes were set side by side. Rouen reached in for the mirror and the bits of replacement silver Jahl needed to make the repair.

The hand mirror turned out to be the most complex repair of the night. The rest of the items required mostly bending, smoothing and mending cracks and welds. Since the demand was so low, the level of the magic essence in the rented standing stone was barely tapped though it had been a long night.

"I'll be coming back tomorrow if that is okay with you?"

"Will it be more of the same?"

"This set was just to get me caught up. I'm still behind, but not nearly as far as I was." Rouen grinned and finished setting the items back in the two boxes. "Tomorrow, I'll be bringing items that I have done as much as I can with my father giving me directions. But I'm to the point now that he would normally take over, but he can't do the work, and I just don't have the skill."

"That is where I will be the most valuable to you, I suppose." Jahl rubbed at his chin. "Will you be bringing me examples of what you need? Some of the items will be new designs, right?"

"I'll bring sketches and explain what is required. Or else it will be like the hand mirror, and you'll be able to see what needs to be brought back from overuse and wear."

"This was a test, wasn't it, Ro?"

Rouen's face colored up, revealing embarrassment. "My pop didn't know if you could really do the work. Cam said you could, but we've only seen you fit shoes and mend a broom handle. And you struggle so when you walk."

"You gave me a chance." The two stood stiffly a moment. Jahl stuck out his hand and Rouen clasped it. "We can trust each other."

"I should have defended you, been a friend long ago."

Jahl's throat tightened. "You didn't and that is past. I struggle enough to go forward; I can't waste my time going backward," he said, almost as much for himself as the young smith. Jahl limped to the back door and Rouen followed him. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

Jahl opened the door and they both looked out into the dark. The wind rustled the apple trees and the sky was dark and clear, stars crisp against the deep blue. Jahl noted a splash of white moving in the shadows along an old shed off to one side of the chicken coop. "What's that?"

"Your goat," said Rouen.

"I don't have a goat." The white splash bleated in disagreement.

"Sure you do, a nanny goat."

"Is that my payment?"

"Shoot, I forgot to pay you. The goat was here when I arrived. Here, hold these."

Jahl caught the boxes that Rouen shoved into his arms. The handle of the door caught him under the ribs as he staggered back. "I see you're working hard on the friendship plan," he grouched.

"Sorry. Here's the half silver. It'll be more tomorrow." Rouen saw he could not hand Jahl the coin while he struggled to hold the boxes. He went into the house and put the coin on the table. "I'll take those now."

"I forgot the chickens!"

"But not the goat," said Rouen dryly.

"I didn't have a goat this morning. But I have chickens."

"What do you need done?"

"I need to get the chickens back in the coop for the night. And I have to check after the rooster."

"He's that special?"

"He's known to crack eggs. I need to check and make sure he hasn't gotten the half dozen I want to leave to increase the flock."

"How many chickens you got? I can help you get them into the coop."

"Two."

"Two? You have just two chickens?"

"Try and imagine me chasing chickens, Ro, and in the dark," Jahl said deadpan.

Rouen set his two boxes down beside the steps. "I'll get the chickens in the coop; you go milk that goat."

"In this light?"

Rouen dashed down the stone steps and was already grabbing for the first chicken. "You can't let her go all night like that. I saw her when I came before the sun went down. She needs milking."

"Why do I have a goat?"

"Somebody loves you is my guess." Rouen had one chicken by the feet and was swiping his hand down to catch the second. "Gotcha." Clutching the hen tight to his side, he stomped toward the coop barely discernable in the gathering dark, and Jahl had yet to step down into the yard.

Jahl shook his head and sighed. "Guess I'm milking a goat." He looked about for a box or stump to use for a stool. He remembered a large bucket near the shack and went into the house to grab a high-sided bowl with a wide, flat bottom.

Rouen met him heading back out the door. "Okay, your chickens are in right and tight, and the eggs look good, rooster present and accounted for. I'm heading home. I'll see you tomorrow after you've dealt with your chickens and goats."

"Goat, one goat, two chickens, and the goat's not staying."

Rouen hoisted his boxes into his arms. "See you tomorrow, Jahl."

"Sure, Ro." He turned his attention to the goat and limped over to where it was tied. "Alright, Miss Nanny." He settled into milking, his crippled leg sprawled out beneath her belly. In the dark, he ran his hand down her bulging side and underneath to the udder and grasped a teat. "Wonder if there's a magic way to do this." Jahl lay his forehead against the goat's ribs and closed his eyes. The milk rang against the bowl side as it squirted out.

### ~~~~~~~~

The morning sun glowed through the back door glass, casting a wedge of light on the bottom steps of the stairs Jahl clomped down. He had organized his plans for the day intending to take the goat back to his parents and then head into town to pay for his continued use of the standing stone. With Rouen coming by close to six in the evening, Jahl hoped to have several hours to figure out how to get into his uncle's magic study. The downstairs library had already proved useful, but it was all geared toward town history, with a few leather-bound classics, as well as books of natural science, husbandry and the Donnel family texts and documents here and there. But the real treasure, he was sure, was in the Twai'wa Lor upstairs.

However, the need for breakfast was taking over his interest in getting into the room. Just as his foot touched the hall floor, a light tap on the front door halted him before he made his turn to enter the kitchen, and he adjusted his step to face the front door instead. The silhouette through the frosted glass was that of a woman, and Jahl's eyebrows rose as he considered who it might be. His mother would not knock, at least not so lightly, maybe a single knock and then the door would open or several strong bangs and a baleful eye if she decided she should wait to be let in.

Jahl pulled the door open and was pleased to see the imposing Widow Cawsworth standing on the stoop.

"Wielder Pratter," she said greeting him warmly.

"Widow Cawsworth, please come in. What can I do for you?" Jahl guided her into his parlor and gestured for her to sit down. Thankful he was dressed for the day, he followed her in. His chest quivered with excitement. After she was comfortable, he sat down across from her in the matching red chair.

"I asked Wasely where precisely you lived, and he gave me this address. I expected to see a sign before your residence, but you have none." She shook her head in displeasure, and Jahl felt he had broken an important rule governing tradesmen.

Talk to Cam about a sign, he added to his mental list. "I moved in just a few days ago and have not ordered my sign yet," Jahl said. "But I will move that to the top of my list."

"See that you do," the widow said. "I can't be arriving at unknown residences willy-nilly, you know. It would be unseemly." She rested back in her seat and looked around the room. "You have a presentable home."

"Yes, ma'am and thank you."

"I have some broken china. The servant bringing it into the house when it was delivered tripped on the front stairs and dropped it. He said a cat got in his way, but that is neither here nor there. The china is damaged."

"What is the degree of damage? A few chips, a crack or two?"

"I did not allow them to examine the box more than just to open it. The top plates are practically shattered. Who knows what shape those below are in? I felt it best not to disturb them further."

"A good practice considering the damage you were able to see. Keeping all the pieces together is important."

"Can you repair china?" Jahl started to assert that he could, but before he could answer she said. "What a ridiculous question! I saw you repair that cane. Of course, you can manage my new china." She stood up clutching her purse to her stomach and checking the lay of her shawl. Jahl jumped to his feet. She settled her shoulders back and said, "I will send the box today. By means of a competent servant, of course. How soon do you suppose you could complete the job?"

Jahl considered how best to estimate the time it would take. He was uncertain if it would take moments or hours. Cam had always told him to estimate the time needed based on a conservative guess then multiply by two. But he had no idea. The cane had taken two hours, but he'd had an enchanted shard to draw from. Cam said with the added time, tradesmen would be able to supply the item requested early, everyone is pleased, and if problems occur, it is likely the additional time will ensure the work is still done on time. Jahl struggled to make an intelligent estimate. "Since I do not know the extent of the damage, ma'am, I suggest you expect it no sooner than three days. I'll look it over as soon as it arrives. If I think it will take longer, I will notify you through Wasely sometime tomorrow."

"That will do quite nicely." She nodded and stood and waited. "I'll send someone to pick it up in three days' time if I don't hear from you."

Jahl stood a moment unsure what she needed and then stumbled over his words, "Let me show you to the door."

She inclined her head to one side. "It is always good to offer a visitor tea even if they do not intend to stay long enough to enjoy it."

Jahl nodded and caught the twinkle in her eye confiding to him that she knew he was unfamiliar with appropriate etiquette. She shifted her arm away from her body, and Jahl stepped to her side and faced toward the door offering her his elbow for support. "I will have tea prepared next time just in case you are able to stay longer. And I will take the advice in making the offer when my next guest arrives." He guided her to the door. "I hope you will continue to make suggestions about how I can be a better businessman."

"We are both in the services, young man. Our rules of business are quite similar. I will be pleased to offer you my assistance." Jahl opened the door and she stepped outside and onto the stoop. "Wielder Pratter, I intend to go into town, so I won't be sending the china until later. Will you be home to receive it at two this afternoon?"

"Yes, ma'am, I will."

"Very good. It is always good to be specific about times." She paused and winked. "No one should expect a skilled craftsman to wait. Have a nice day." She proceeded down the three steps and along the walkway to the gate. Her driver waited by her carriage. Jahl wished her good day and stood at the open door watching until she was in the carriage and on her way.

That went well, he thought. _Who knew there was so much to running a business?_ He chuckled. Well, he wasn't going to make tea for Ro.

He thought a moment as he closed the door behind him. He had tasks planned for this afternoon. Jahl headed for the kitchen. There was plenty of time for him to return the goat, talk to Cam and be back when Widow Cawsworth's china arrived as well as attempt to get past the door of his uncle's magic room. But first, he needed to do something about his rumbling stomach.

Breakfast was easy and consisted of milk toast and eggs. He had to laugh that he had purchased all three items only to come home and find he was now the proud owner of a chicken coop. Gathering eggs he could manage. They weren't difficult to carry and if he needed to, he could gather them in two runs. He glanced out the window as he took his dishes to the sink and watched the goat cropping the grass in a jaw-rolling mosey. But milking a goat. As kind as the gift was, milking was not a task he could manage comfortably. And carrying a pail of milk into the house troubled him. He eyeballed the goat. That particular one was among their best producers, and his parents still had more to pay on the loan. He would have to take it back.

But getting the goat to the front walk was not as easy a task as the decision had been. It took some wheedling to get the stubborn animal through the fence gate to the front of the house. Two carrots and a spring apple later, the two were heading to Donnel Manor.

Jahl arrived at the manor tired from tugging the uncooperative goat and dragging his less-than-supportive leg. He stopped at the crooked gate and rested. The goat munched grass and daisies growing below the full-height rock wall bordering the front of the manor property. The warm sun helped relieve some of the crampings, and Jahl closed his eyes and soaked in the relaxation it brought. The heat of the stone behind his shoulders made him sleepy. He heard a dull, familiar pounding in the distance. He recalled lying in his bed mornings and hearing his father chopping wood. Sometimes it would lull him back to sleep.

Today it gave a strange sense of nostalgia to his visit to his family's house. He was coming as an independent wielder returning a costly gift. Jahl wasn't looking forward to facing his father. Their relationship had always been an awkward one. Jom never quite knew what to say to his youngest son. Cam was always strong, quick to figure things out, responsible and friendly. But Jahl was weak, painful to watch and even more painful to be. As a boy, he was never considered responsible because for so long there was nothing he could do to contribute to the family besides little jobs that didn't tax his limited strength.

For years Jahl had been shy and uncertain around people until one day when he was five he was playing in the mercantile while his father shopped, and Jahl touched a standing stone sending sparks flying about him like miniature fireflies. Cam had grabbed him and carried him outside before anyone could notice and told him to never do that in public again. Jahl had avoided the stones after that. It was months before he had the courage to ask Cam what had made him angry and what he had done that was so bad. He hoped that Cam would explain the fireflies to him as well and Cam did explain, telling him how all three were related. Cam hadn't been angry; he had been scared. Mahre had made him promise to keep Jahl away from anything magic because it could kill him. But his brother also told him tales of magic that the Donnels could and had done and about the Wielder Wane that had almost destroyed his little brother before he was even born.

Jahl had felt inadequate before, but with this new understanding, he felt even more fragile though excited, too. If he could learn to wield magic, perhaps he could even cure himself. Maybe he could even make his mother smile when she looked at him, he smirked. But he did not have access to a standing stone until he turned sixteen and by wielder rights, was allowed to rent one.

Now he was Wielder Pratter, the boy who should not be brandishing magic if his mother could be believed. Jahl looked at the goat, daisies dangling from her chomping teeth. Why had his father dropped it off? Did he think that Jahl would starve without chickens and a milk goat? Were both his parents disappointed in him? Selling his uncle's house would have given them far more than a single gold coin. He'd already asked a lot of them taking possession of his uncle's house. Jahl grabbed the rope and jerked the animal forward. "Come on, you old nanny." He pulled her along, and she was willing to trot ahead of him now that she could see familiar grounds. The two rounded the manor, and Jahl could see his father in the distant meadow setting another round on the chopping block and getting ready to hoist the ax and swing its weight down on the cut end of the short log. Jahl rubbed his leg as he watched his father.

"Thunk."

He dragged the goat's head up and he pointed. "Look you're home." The goat lunged out of his hands. "Blackened shards! It's just a little further." After a few awkward paces forward, Jahl tied the goat off at the fence surrounding the family's small goat herd. He called out, "Pop, take a break."

Jom glanced over his shoulder and on seeing Jahl, let the heavy ax handle slide through his fingers and land the ax head on the ground with a thump. He turned and nodded hello at Jahl. After leaning the handle against the block, he joined Jahl at the fence.

"I brought the goat back, Pop. I don't need it."

"Everyone needs a goat."

"Everyone with a family. What am I going to do with all that milk?"

"Sell it."

"I haven't the time."

Jom looked at his son. "You can't be that busy; you've only just moved in."

"You'd be surprised." Jahl hung his arms over the top fence rail and rested his chin on the frayed wood. "I know you want to help, Pop, but I am going to manage on my own. And you need this goat. I'll come by for a pint every couple of days or so."

Jom turned away and avoided looking at his son, instead staring off into the fields of brown shoots, murky with the blight. They remained silent for a few minutes. Jahl watched the young kids bouncing about the fenced field of cropped grass and wished he could chuckle at their antics rather than feel bad that he had refused the goat. He said, "I'm letting the chickens raise a half-dozen chicks. The rest of what they produce is still more than I need, and once the first brood hatches, I'll have an abundance of unnecessary eggs. So I'll bring those by, and Mom can take them to market with her own." Jom grunted what Jahl took for agreement. "Have you found some steady work to carry you through to the second planting?"

Jom shook his head no and still did not look at his son. His eyes scanned the field before them. "Bit jobs here and there. Cam's doing better."

Jahl picked at the silvered wood of the rail. "I think I'll have enough to buy a used stone soon. After that, I'll be able to add to your savings."

Jom shook his head.

"And I was thinking. When you set down the second seeding, I'll see what I can do to hold off the blight until after harvest."

"No, Jahl. We don't know if it's safe for you to wield." The older man rubbed his face with both hands. "Your mother couldn't go through losing you again. Nor could I."

"She didn't lose me. You didn't lose me. I'm right here. And the Wane is over with."

"That's only because no one's wielding anymore."

"I'm wielding. Strong magic, too, Pop."

"Jahl, you got to stop. It's not safe." He spun and took Jahl by both shoulders. "Listen to me, son. I know it's always seemed like I had no expectations for you." The man pulled Jahl into a tight hug. "We fear everything when it comes to you. Mahre almost lost you five, six times during the pregnancy. Every Donnel tried to help, and each one fell ill and died, except Tran. I don't know how he survived." He let Jahl pull back until he could see his son's eyes. "We held on to you because we had to. You were all Mahre had left of the Donnels, all her family lies in you." He saw Jahl start to speak. "I know she has Cam and me, but it's not the same."

"No, it's not, Pop. I don't know why you think I'm something special to Mom. She can't even look at me for more than an instant."

Jom released his son and stared intently at him. "She's ashamed, Jahl. Tran said healing you could be done, but he would not explain how until he knew it was safe. He knew if he told your mother how she could heal you, nothing would stop her."

Jahl backed away and put distance between his father and himself. "She's ashamed, alright. Here's Cam, her step-son and look how strong and able he is. Then there's me. The only Donnel left, weak, miserable, skinny me."

"Jahl!"

"I'll be back in a few days with some eggs and to pick up milk. I got to go talk to Cam. Bye, Pop. Wish I could help you chop wood, but it's just not within my power." Jahl waved his hands at his twisted leg, limped jerkily away and wiped at a tear he'd been unable to keep at bay.

"Jahl, come back and talk with me. You don't understand," Jom called.

Jahl waved over his shoulder and headed to the woodshop where Cam usually could be found if he wasn't working on someone else's property. He thought he heard his father following, but when he looked back, he was alone, and the dull thud of the ax head sounded. Cam was not in the woodshed, and Jahl didn't want to wander all over the manor lands looking for him. His brother was likely working at one of the local farmers, someone who hadn't suffered the blight. Jahl snorted: that would be everybody but the Pratters. "We get nothing but bad luck."

Jahl stomped his strong leg as he stumbled along home. After he had worn himself out going faster than he should, he stopped and took a breath and squeezed the bridge of his nose trying to reduce the pounding in his head and ignore the cramps in his hip and leg. Jahl leaned up against a tree on the grass separation between the walk and the road to rest and take stock. He admitted to himself he wasn't being reasonable. He'd earned a gold coin just when his family most needed it. He had a job that will challenge and prove his skill, a house that is far better than he should expect. Sure they had bad luck, but the Pratters were good at getting around it when it hit. _But_ Pop didn't have steady work to keep money coming in.

Still, _it's not fair._ Just when his wielding was going right. He twisted around to face the tree and hide the anger rising on his face. He reminded himself that he had given back the goat, unwilling to take more from his parents than he needed. Jahl tried to stretch the cramp out of his calves. His life was just like his legs. One took all the hits, and the other one tried to make up for it, so both ended up letting him down.

He slapped the tree with the flat of his hand. It smarted, and he stared at his palm with a wry grimace. He should split whatever he received from Ro with his parents to make sure they were doing well enough to manage and save enough to put in a second season crop. If he waited until he had a stone, they might miss the second season planting. Jahl sighed.

Getting a standing stone would have to wait. He kicked the tree he was leaning on, pulling back before he actually made contact. What was mom's saying, "Don't spite your nose for your face"? _No, that's not it. Doesn't matter. I have to help them._ He stood up straight and looked around.

The town was busy with wagons on the road and pedestrians on the walkways. Jahl felt grimy and sweaty from the effort of pulling and pushing the goat. One side of his shirt hung over his belt. He tucked it in and brushed his hair with his fingers, finding a blade of straw stuck in it. So that was what his pop was viewing as Jahl tried to convince him of how capable he was. _Bloods bees_.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder. "Jahl, Pop said you needed to talk to me."

Cam stood beside him, his toolbox strap over his shoulder and the heavy box leaning against his hip; one hand held it steady so it wouldn't sway when he walked. Standing so close, Jahl couldn't help notice how tall and broad Cam was. Just nineteen and he looked like a grown man. He even had a beard coming in. Well, at least Jahl had pulled himself together before Cam found him.

"I need a sign," Jahl said. Cam cocked his head and raised a brow. "Something simple by my front door with Wielder Pratter or Pratter, practicing wielder. Could you make me one? I can pay you."

Cam thought a moment. He stepped off the walkway and joined Jahl on the grassy lane between the crushed stone and the cobblestone. "So you want to start simple, but what do you say I leave room for later embellishment when your name starts being bandied about as the best wielder in the town?"

Jahl felt the joy rise up in him. Cam always believed in him.

"That would be great! How soon could you have it ready?"

"Soon as you give Mom and Pop a chance."

That was Cam, too. He never held back. Jahl put his hands on his hips and kicked his twisted right foot against a clump of clover. "They don't believe in me, Cam."

"They're afraid for you, Jahl. They see danger where you see greatness. They fear what will happen if you prosper. Remember, the Wane started with the Donnels and spread, but the Donnels suffered first. Some believed that your clan did something to bring on the Wane."

Jahl remembered what Pike Tommlar had said about his father believing the Wielder Wane was created by the Donnels to steal control of the stones and Fallon Mountain.

"That's crazy."

"Sure, but that doesn't mean that those who believe it won't decide to hurt you. Take it slow." Cam stepped closer. "Did Rouen come by with work?"

"Yeah, and so did the Widow Cawsworth."

"Can you keep her from telling anyone? Or is it simple wielding that no one would care about?"

Jahl winced. "I think it's going to be pretty complex work. I haven't seen it yet. I will today, but from her description, I think there's a lot of breakages to repair."

"She's bound to say something."

"She sort of doesn't know the degree of damage. The china's still in the box, packed, too. She's seen the top pieces and they are pretty broken up." He rubbed his jaw. "I suppose I could say there was no further damage."

"But then you won't be paid fairly for your work. Can't you get her to stay silent?"

"I'll try. I think I could explain that I have enough customers and don't want any more. She likes me, and I think she'd keep silent if I asked her to." Jahl smirked and gave Cam a saucy look. "Of course, I'd promise to always take work from her."

"Whatever it takes, just be convincing." He slapped Jahl on the shoulder. "I have to go to another job. You visit with Mom and Pop again and give them a chance, and I'll bring a sign by and install it by the end of the week. Deal?"

Jahl thought a minute, remembering he'd promised to come by with eggs and pick up milk. He'd have a payment or two he could split and give to them to add to their crop savings. "I'll be dropping by the manor house in a couple of days. I'll talk to them then, so deal."

"Good. Don't be so hard on them. You don't have the whole story."

"And you do?"

"More than you, but not all of it. But I was three when they married and a little older when the Wane hit. I remember some. Just give them a chance. Quit running away just when one of them is ready to tell you something important."

Jahl looked unconvinced, rolling his eyes. "Was Pop going to tell me something important?"

Cam leaned over Jahl, taking some of the spite out of the teen's stance. "Maybe. Maybe it's important to him. Sometimes you have to listen to what people are saying even if it makes no difference to you. It often makes a difference to them."

Jahl stepped back a few inches so he didn't have to look straight up at his brother. "I said I would. I will. Go to work, Cam. I still have a few errands to run before I have to get home to take delivery of the widow's china."

"Then I'm off. Take care, little brother."

Jahl headed to the mercantile to pay for a week's rental of the stone he had at home. That way he could work on the two jobs he had and set out in front of his house ready to work. Though he wouldn't get as many potential customers as at the mercantile, it would save him from the long walk, and he wouldn't be standing wasting energy during the lulls. Today was the last day Pike would be running the shop before his father returned from his buying trip. Might as well put off seeing the elder owner for a week. And maybe the next time he saw Tommlar, Jahl would be purchasing a stone of his own.

He made it home with an hour to spare and sat in the parlor resting and drinking a cup of cider. It was tasty, but he winced every time he took a sip, suspecting his mother had supplied it and feeling guilty he had yet to thank her for all the work she had done cleaning the kitchen and polishing the woodwork in the house. He looked about the room assuming she had decided where all the furniture would go, too. He shook his head as though disappointed in himself but certain also that she probably did it so he would feel bad for leaving home. _Or,_ he shrugged, _maybe not_.

Jahl got up and opened the doors to the back parlor. The front and back parlors were actually one large room that could be closed off into two. The fireplace made up the wall between them. But on either side of the fireplace were two wide doors that opened up against the walls making the parlor seem much larger. Uncle Tran had never used them that way. The back parlor had been his workroom when he was considered one of the prime wielders of Chussan Faire. Jahl and Cam had dusted and mopped it as it had been the one room that Tran had kept neater than the rest of the house. There was a large work table in the center and cabinets, shelving and counter space on two inside walls for customers' items and material for use in making repairs or otherwise wielding into fine products. Much of the shelves and cabinets were empty, but some materials were still present, and Jahl planned to use them until he had to supply himself with his own income.

Against the wall shared with the kitchen was a built-in desk. When they had been cleaning the room, Jahl had found a leather-bound accounts book on it. He had leafed through it noting the last entry had been made weeks before his uncle's death. It lay in one of the empty drawers. One cabinet still contained receipts and customer records.

Jahl pulled back the drapes and the room brightened. He glanced about pleased with the look of the workroom. It had a large chandelier hanging over the table still laden with candles. Depending on how long it took to repair the china, Jahl thought he might be climbing on the table to light the room up tonight. A quick rummage through one of the cabinets netted him an oil lamp which he placed on the work table. He stepped away from the table ready to prepare for the arrival of Widow Cawsworth's china and spied behind a cabinet corner a metal extension for lighting the chandelier and sigh his relief. So no climbing tonight, in any case, should the lamp not provide enough light.

Jahl headed back to the front parlor and stopped, wondering if he should have tea ready to offer the servant bringing the china. Better to be friendly than to offend. In the kitchen, he filled the kettle with water, placed it on the trivet and rolled his stone over to the counter. A light touch to the metal and Jahl heated up the water until bubbles started to rise in the image in his mind.

A knock sounded from the front door, and Jahl hurried, hopping down the hall on his good leg, to open it. Two young men about his age stood at the door holding the wooden crate between them. Jahl was not surprised that one servant had dropped the box and damaged the contents. It was an awkward size and looked heavy enough to cause one to trip cat or no cat.

"Please come in and set that down in my workroom." He directed them through his front parlor and past the fireplace wall to the table. "Set it here." The men lifted it gingerly onto the table, not wanting to cause any further breakage. "Can I offer either of you some tea?"

Both men declined. One nodded encouragingly at the other, who shook his head nervously.

"Can I help you with anything?" Jahl said suspecting one of them had a request.

"Ask him," the nodder said.

The nervous young man pulled out a small bag and opened it. He set an old gold wedding band on the table and stepped back.

"Do you wish a repair?"

He nodded as did the other young man. "He's going to ask his girl to marry him. That ring was his grandma's and it needs a bit of care. To make it nice, you know, for his girl."

Jahl picked up the ring and peered at it. It was a gold ring, warped in shape, a bit scratched and gouged and by Jahl's eye oversized for the average girl. "Did you want it polished and resized perhaps?"

"Yes."

"And. Tell him the rest, Fram."

"Could you make it pretty?"

Jahl looked at the ring, pretty it was not. He could reshape it bringing some of the metal to form a distinct top. "Some delicate designs, say some swirls around a simple flower detail." The smaller the ring size the more material he would have to work with. "Let's start with size. That will be a half copper. If it's to be a small ring, I'll have more to work with. I can work in a design on the top, but I won't know until I have a sense of the amount of gold I have left."

The young man put out his hand and took the ring. He slid it onto his smallest finger and pushed it up to his first knuckle. "If it fits me here, it will fit her finger."

Jahl nodded. He had already rolled his standing stone into the room and had it close by. "Keep the ring there. I'll use your hand to help size it." He rolled the cart up beside the young man and stepped upon it. Then Jahl took the young man's hand and the ring in his own and held the ring in place. The two young men leaned in close, curiosity brightening their eyes. Jahl closed his eyes, drew on the essence embedded in the stone and felt the gold warming under his fingers. He concentrated and formed the image of the current condition in his mind then tugged more essence from the stone. The magic rolled up the center of his legs and through his entire being, and the image blossomed as Jahl manipulate the metal, feeling it adjust against his fingertips. After it seemed properly snug against Fram's finger, Jahl adjusted the gauge to a more delicate thickness and pressed the excess to form a thicker section over the top of Fram's finger. At that point, he stopped.

"Look at it. Is that what you had in mind? At this point, you are up to a full copper in payment."

The young man looked at it, his eyes bright with pleasure. Twice he looked at Jahl and back down at the ring. "How much to make it pretty? The swirls and a flower in the center."

Jahl slid the ring off the young man's hand and worked a design out in his mind. Crafting from scratch was something he had not done often. It would be good practice and good advertising. He needed to provide a fair price, but he wanted to do something special. "Three coppers total."

The young man smiled and pulled out the coins from his pouch. He set them on the table and nodded eagerly at Jahl. The wielder closed his fingers over the ring and applied the design he had imagined. The gold flowed into a higher plumpness along the midline of the band. On top of this, he formed the swirls and flattened the top just enough to create space for the rose he wished to press into the gold. Jahl went over the design crafting it with care until he felt it was well shaped on the ring. He held out his hand, the delicate piece of jewelry shining on his palm.

Fram reached for it and hesitated before picking it up with his forefinger and thumb. "Oh."

"She'll say yes just to have the ring whether she loves you or not," said the nodder. The young men grinned at each other.

Fram was about to drop it back into the bag with his coins, but Jahl put out his hand. "Wait," Jahl reached for the ring. "Do you want to scratch it before she even gets to see it?" He softened his voice and tried to sound professional. "Let's wrap it in something first, so it looks nice when you show it to her." Jahl pulled open a drawer that contained squares of soft cloth. He took one out and placed the ring in the center, then pulled a bit of soft twine off a spool in the same drawer. With the twine, he made a bag for the ring and handed it to the young man. "Now you can put it in your pouch. But don't bang it about or drop it." Jahl guided them back to the door and the two stepped out. The one with the ring shuffled along, now fearful of damaging the ring.

Jahl closed the door behind them. "That was fun." Joy brightened his outlook and he looked around as though ready to take on another repair. He faced the entrance to the parlor and his shoulders dropped and he sighed. "Now for the hard work." He picked up the three coins on the work table and added them to his small stash of coins. With the addition, he had eight half coppers and three full coppers. The half silver had gone to renting the stone for the week. He'd started the week with two coppers, making his total profit for two days five coppers. Enough to rent a stone a day for five days. But that wasn't necessary because he had the stone for the full week. Rouen was coming tonight and the china was here for repair.

It was still early. He had time to try to get into his uncle's Twai'wa Lor. But first, he had to get the stone upstairs. Jahl rolled the cart to the stairs using the rear entrance from the back parlor to the kitchen. Setting the cart next to the dining room wall and dropping the breaks into place against the wheels, he crouched and pried the standing stone from the cart and bobbled upright, the stone clutched to his chest. It was a slow stumble for the few feet to the stairs.

Standing before the narrow stairway, he looked up to the landing. There were ten steps he would have to manage to reach the landing. Then he could rest before taking the turn up the final four stairs. "One step at a time," he said under his breath. He leaned forward in preparation for his hop to lift the left leg to the step. He took each stair tread with care, alighting first on his strong foot then jumping up to bring his mangled right foot up and set it down squarely in the middle of the tread beside it. Not far from the landing, he breathed through the beginnings of a cramp and felt it fade, but the fatigue was building up.

Jahl saw he had just two steps to go to get to the landing. He leaned into the next jump and dragged up his right leg with a grimace. He set it down just as he felt the thigh muscle bulge and tighten into a knot. Jahl twisted on his warped heel pressing all his weight on the weak muscles of his right leg. With his arms wrapped around the stone, instinct sent the demand for balance to both legs, but only one was able to respond. Jahl felt his balance go, and he turned mid-fall hoping to take the impact on his back and rump. His hands released the stone in panic though his arms remained wrapped around it, and he forced himself to take hold again. The weight at his chest dragged him down before he could turn around. The fragile leg cracked beneath him, his full weight pressing the frail bones against the sharp angles of two steps. Even the double crack which punctuated the pain was pathetic, like thin twigs giving way beneath a rock.

Jahl bellowed and black spots filled his vision while nausea raised a burning bitterness to the back of his throat. He tried to curl around his pain, but that caused more agony as the wooden steps braced against his broken bones, and he drew in deep breaths to pull back the veil of darkness he felt descending. He sobbed, calling upon the strength of years of dealing with pain to pull calmness into his mind. A part of Jahl kept repeating with each physical gulp to keep from retching, "Don't lose the stone. Don't lose the stone," and he clung to the stone like it were a floating log in a flooded river. He felt the landing beneath his head, and the small island of calmness he was working with argued with him to contain the pain and pull himself up the two steps where he could give way to the cries dragging their way up his throat, tight muscle by tight muscle. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he concentrated on forcing them open. Maybe if he could control just one set of muscles, open his eyes a fraction, he could get the pain under control, but all he could do was wipe his tears against a hunched shoulder and moan.

He made himself breathe and expand the tiny vision of calm he was clinging to. It took five minutes to debate the value of reaching the landing. Would it do more damage, could he stay conscious, what if he collapsed further and fell down the stairs, what more damage would that do? The questions fought with his calmness: just get to the landing, then figure things out. That became his mantra: _just get to the landing; just get to the landing; just get to the landing_.

Somehow he did, grunting cries escaping his throat, but he reached the landing where he let the stone drop from his arms and settle with a thud to the wooden planks. He lay there panting, pleading for his eyes to open and look at his leg. Jahl rested on his back, his left leg bent at the knee so one foot was flat on a step below. Pushing up onto his elbows, he opened his eyes and looked down. His crippled leg had taken on two more bends and hung like a green branch someone had attempted to break and left tenuously attached at the twisted points. He feared his hose alone held the parts together. He lay back down and cried, gasps of fear and pain alternating their pulls at his attention.

The sobs finally diminished and Jahl lay with one arm over his eyes. His left shoulder lay raised upon the corner of the stone he had dropped to the landing. He felt the tingle of the Lal, and he pulled at the essence like a drowning man. It flowed into his shoulder to his neck and spread to his chest, working its way down his torso, and as it moved, it gave him the peace and sense of control he had been striving for only minutes before but was unable to achieve. A hope rose in his mind and with it came a vision of his broken leg. He grimaced as the image gained detail, and he saw the deformity further marred by the twisting breaks at thigh and shin. He wanted to squash the image away. He was not a healer, was he? Could he be? Could he heal himself? But how could he? What did he know about where bones, muscles, and tendons should fit together? His breathing came in great gasps as he felt fear and frustration fill him. He forced his lungs to inhale and exhale slowly. Wait! He had a template; his other leg showed the muscle and bone as they should be. He took deep breaths and turned his attention to the undamaged leg.

Concentrating, Jahl assembled a vision of his left leg. The essence seeped with pain-relieving warmth into his tissue, and with it came an image of bone and muscle that astounded him. He grimaced at this vision so far from what he had, so straight and strong looking. Just the breaks, he would focus on repairing the breaks. So he concentrated on the bones, how they stretched out from hip to knee, from knee to ankle. Then he turned to his damaged leg and called to the magic in the stone at his shoulder. The task of pulling against the twist of muscle cramping down and holding the two pieces of thigh bone against each other, the two ends not just separate but overlapping, was overwhelming. He grasped with both hands his lower thigh and pulled the bones away from each other until he could bring them in line and begin to mend the break.

Nausea rose with the combined view of the breaks and the pain of pulling at them. The black shadows clouded his internal vision as much as it did his actual sight. Jahl groaned and grunted with the strain of fighting the pain, the cramp of muscles and the gruesome image in his mind. The two bones grew toward each other, sharp splinters drawing themselves from the muscle and seeking union with the other half. Jahl reviewed the lines of his healthy leg and tugged harder at his twisted knee. The essence which had seemed like a warm liquid filling in the tiny spaces of his flesh and bone blossomed, spiking with energy, a heat filling his right hip near to burning. And like his experience with the cane, the leg wanted to heal and drove Jahl to rearrange tendon placement and turn his knee to face front like his right; the shin bones so brittle and thin, thickened and stretched, fusing together straighter, denser. As the essence released him, Jahl collapsed and blacked out.

### Chapter Six

The covers seemed heavy against Jahl's chest and his arms lay straight at his sides, pinning the blanket down. Jahl opened his eyelids in alarm. This isn't right.

Rouen Marson stood up and came to the bed to rest his hand on Jahl's shoulder. "Found you sleeping on the landing at the top of the stairs. Odd place to take a nap. I couldn't rouse you, so we carried you into here and put you to bed."

"Very considerate of you." Jahl pulled a good-humored smirk to his face while his thoughts raced to catch up with finding himself in bed, his childhood friend leaning over him.

"I waited at the door first and knocked, but you didn't answer. So I waited and knocked some more, and you didn't come. I figured you just didn't want to mess with the chickens again, so I went ahead and put them in the coop. The goat's not out there, so you must have taken her back?"

Jahl nodded, glancing about his room. He wanted to reach down and feel his leg, but Rouen's presence held him back.

"I came on in and found you. What happened, Jahl?"

He chewed on his lip. "I fell on the stairs."

"Must have knocked yourself out." Rouen ran his hand over Jahl's head looking for a bump or contusion to explain his earlier unconsciousness. "Still nothing," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Okay. I think I'd like to get out of bed."

"Just lie there a bit." Rouen sat down in the chair he'd pulled up to the bed. "I didn't get a healer 'cause I couldn't find anything wrong except that I couldn't wake you up. So check yourself over. Anything hurt?"

Jahl lay assessing himself for injury. He felt bruised and sore, but no new pain. He was still clothed, but he could tell Rouen had removed his shoes. "No, I feel alright. Some bumps and bruises, but okay. I'd like to get up."

A series of thumps sounded downstairs. Jahl stiffened. "Ro?"

"That's Donya. She helped me carry you up." Rouen got up from the chair and headed for the door.

"You went home to get her?" Jahl remembered Donya. She was Rouen's sister and she was a year older than they were. Most of her schooling had been done at home until she was ten. Which meant she arrived the same year as Crimlo Krow, the newcomer who had changed Jahl's world. Donya had found Crim to be just the person she needed to help her express all the anger she carried around with her. Between the two of them, Jahl hadn't been left with many directions to turn. He wasn't pleased to have her in his house.

"I brought your standing stone up here, but you're going to need it downstairs to get any work done, right?"

"Ro?"

"You are feeling up to working. I need to get ahead and customers are coming by."

"Ro!"

His friend sighed. "She just wanted to look in your library. Donya heard your uncle always let his students study there."

"I'm not my uncle, and she's not my student." Jahl wanted to tell him to throw her out, but that kind of rudeness wasn't in him. However, he thought if she said one word to him, he might find it an easier request to make.

Rouen was picking up the standing stone where he'd left it in the den area outside Jahl's bedroom. And Jahl pulled off the covers revealing his breeches-clad legs beneath. His right leg looked longer and straighter. Rouen turned back to face the entrance to Jahl's bedroom and Jahl pulled the covers back over to hide the shape of his right leg.

"After I carry this downstairs, I'll come back and help you go down."

"No, I'll be fine. Just go and tell Donya not to knock any more books off the shelves." Jahl uncovered his legs when Rouen headed toward the stairs. He gaped at them and slid around so he could sit up and get on his feet. Jahl wanted to know just how much had changed. He took a deep breath and stood up. He felt wobbly and awkward and grabbed at the bed to keep his balance. He took a step just as Rouen took the first stair tread down and turned.

"Hey, you don't look that steady," he said. "Stay put I'll be right back."

"No, I'm just sore. I have to work out the cramps myself." Jahl waved at him. "Just go on down." Jahl's stomach growled long and low. It couldn't have been that long since he'd had lunch, he thought.

Rouen stood at the head of the stairs still, looking like he was deciding what the best choice to do was.

"Go. I've been fighting this all my life and manage to get out of bed without you every day."

"I'll see you downstairs." Rouen shook his head and muttered, "You sound just like Donya. Cranky."

That got Jahl moving. He growled and took several steps before the soreness and uneven gait forced him to stop and regather his balance. Having a straighter leg was making him walk even more unevenly than before. He scratched at his forehead trying to understand why. Sure his foot was still malformed, but shouldn't the straighter leg make things easier? He looked down at his deformed muscles and realized the issue. His muscles had been shaped for the bends in the bones and twisted placement of his knee. Now both were lined up and his muscles didn't know what to do. It was like he was a baby learning to walk again. One side had the knack of it, but the other side was starting out for the first time. Two more steps would get him to the doorway. A few steps after that and he would be able to use the wall along the stairway, then the same while on the stairs. Jahl leaned his weight forward and let the momentum take him to the threshold of his room. He grasped the doorframe and paused to steady himself. Maybe he could magically build up the muscles a little each day until they could handle the new shape and extension of his leg.

He stopped midstride and imagined what his mother would say. If someone was out to get him when he was a baby and crippled him to keep him weak, then finding him walking better and stronger would be an invitation to trouble.

"Hey, you want me up there to help?" came Rouen's call from downstairs.

"No, I'm coming!" Jahl shook his head side to side. Well, it'll be sometime before he would be able to walk with these legs better than he had before. Jahl headed for the wall and soon was leaning on it. Using the wall for stability, he tugged his leg along with him until he reached the stair. Getting to the landing didn't look difficult, but the rest of the way down concerned him. One step at a time, he told himself, then chuckled skeptically because he had said something similar on the way up earlier.

The turn at the landing went smoothly, and he was feeling more confident until he gazed down the ten steps. Rouen was as the bottom and the two young men's eyes met. The silversmith raised a brow and headed up.

Jahl put out his palm. "I can do it. I've been doing it."

"How many tumbles have you taken on these stairs? One a day?"

"Today only."

"Then today only, I will stand in front of you. You can even place a hand on my shoulder if you want. I'm just going to take up space being a cushion for you if you slip. How do you think I get my pop to the.... He's not a chamber pot kind of man. Doesn't have much patience either." When Rouen reached the step beneath the landing, he turned around to face the hall below and dropped down one tread, listening for Jahl to step behind him. With each contact of Jahl's foot with another stair, Rouen moved down. Jahl gripped the rail on each side and took each descent as a controlled stumble. In that manner, they both reached the bottom.

Rouen turned into the hallway to the right and leaned in the library doorway. Jahl propped himself on the right wall of the stairway and peeked around the corner. The woodwork around the library door was polished and ornate with deep fluted channels running vertically. Even the rosettes at the corners of the molding had been dusted. Being bent over on one side always kept Jahl looking down to see where his feet were going. He hadn't noticed the fine work around the doorways before, other than to perceive that they provided good handholds when he was less than stable after being on his feet all day.

He altered his stance, leaning to his right to avoid his straighter posture being noticed by Rouen or his sister. He glanced off down the long hall to the front door pretending interest elsewhere. The library beyond the well-carved doorway ran the entire forward right corner of the house opposite the front and back parlor. Jahl hadn't spent much time in the room other than bringing in thick books, one by one, and curled documents that he found about the house. It was probably one of those stacks he'd built on a table near the entrance that Donya had toppled to the floor.

Jahl could hear the smith murmuring something to his sister, but he couldn't make out the words. Probably, don't trip him today. Jahl recalled an afternoon in school when she had made a point of hooking his ankle and sending him to the ground, and then she had run off to hide in the bushes along the playground edge. Jahl had known right where she was hiding. He always knew where his tormentors were: the only way he could keep avoiding them. But that day she had managed to surprise him and knock him down to the amusement of many. _Yeah, don't trip me today, Donya Marson. Wait until I'm not expecting it_.

Jahl took the last step down and moved in beside Rouen to look into the library. Donya was sitting at the library desk to the back of the room, her feet up on the top. Jahl scowled at the careless attitude the position presented. Her hair was dark and wavy like Rouen's and hung past her shoulders, but her eyes shown blue to his brown. _She'd be pretty if her perpetual frown could be lifted. And her personality altered, and maybe her voice softened. And if she would not tip her head so high like she was trying to look down on everyone. Of course, anyone with a soft voice, pleasant expression, kind behavior who looked you in the eye with consideration rather than challenge could be viewed as pretty._ Jahl harrumphed his displeasure at her whole demeanor.

Donya swung her feet to the floor and stood up. She was surly about it, so Jahl suspected what Rouen had murmured involved getting her feet off the desk. She grabbed the unbuttoned front of her jacket and pulled it tight around her, overlapping the material and her arms. It seemed a protective gesture which surprised Jahl as she'd always appeared to him someone who feared nothing.

"I want you to teach me how to wield," she said, her disdainful eyes meeting his. Her chin rose a fraction higher than her usual challenging pose.

"Well, I don't want to waste my time." Jahl turned away to head into the kitchen. "Come on, Ro, we have work to do."

She came storming out of the library past Rouen and knocked Jahl to the side. He grabbed the handle of his stone cart and caught himself before he lost his balance. _He definitely didn't tell her not to knock me down today_. Donya kept going, banging out the back door, leaving it chattering in its frame. _I should have had my shirt sleeves up_. Jahl stood still. _Why would I want her admiring my muscles?_

Rouen came up beside Jahl. "I should have told you why she was here."

"So not for the library?" Jahl grumbled.

"She _was_ here for the library but also for you to take her on as an apprentice."

Jahl huffed. "I'm just learning my trade. And she is not even from a guild family. She doesn't have the wielding in her. Is the girl right in the head?"

"That's the other thing I should have told you," said Rouen, looking up at the ceiling and blowing a puff of air past his lips.

"Not right in the head either, huh?" Jahl leaned on the cart handle and contemplated how he was going to reach the table without Rouen thinking _he_ was confused in the head.

"She is a wielder."

Jahl turned to stare at his friend. "She's your sister, a Marson on your father's side, a Truit on your mother's, both non-wielder families. I can't turn her into something she's not."

"She's not a Marson or a Truit."

Jahl raised an eyebrow.

"Deln."

Jahl decided he needed to sit down, and he swung his right leg forward first with as long a stride as he could manage and with a hop sat down at the table. A wood slat box rested on the tidy surface. It reminded him that he wanted them to work in his uncle's wielding room now that it was sorted out and organized. "I have a workroom. Let's go on in there, and you can explain how Donya Marson is actually Donya Deln." Jahl grabbed his stone cart's handle and leaned toward the back doorway to the room. He wondered how long it would take him to get his walking based on moving one foot ahead of the other rather than a controlled fall in his direction of choice. He grasped the door frame and redirected his momentum to get him to the stout work table within.

"You are definitely not walking like you used to."

"You call this walking? You're trying hard to be a friend." Jahl joked as his hands jarred against the table edge forcing his strange forward motion to an abrupt stop and the cart to clatter against his foot. So this was what happens after repairing the leg bones. He rolled his eyes. If this is how his extensive wielding turns out, he should hope no one uses the shard-imbedded cane for actual strolling support.

"Hmm, you look better standing, but you need to give some attention to how you're getting from place to place. You seem to not know what you're doing."

"Put the box on the table. The evening is getting away from us."

"Kind of like your feet."

Jahl peered at Rouen's grin. He could remember when jokes like these hurt him. He thought back over the things Crimlo had said. No not jokes like these. Rouen was never part of the banter. Rouen's grin had fallen, perhaps worried that he had pushed too far. Jahl pulled up one corner of his lips with a forgiving smile. "So Deln, you say. No one has ever said Donya was a wielder, and you have always called her your sister."

The smith smiled back. "When I felt willing to admit the surly cuss was part of my family, sure," he joked. "But that was before you began wielding. We've been protecting her from the Wane."

"The Wane probably needs protection from her," Jahl mumbled. "Pull out what you want me to start with and tell me what I need to know. Then you can explain the mysterious Deln you've been harboring."

Rouen unpacked the box, laying out a series of intricate drawings that matched the various iron and silver items he pulled from the crate. Jahl could see where Rouen's skills faltered in the more demanding delicate curves and designs of the pieces that made up fine silver plate, tea sets, and knives and ladles. Each piece was wrapped in thick soft cloth. Jahl selected an item to work on and grabbed a stool from beneath a counter nearby and sat down, resting his feet on the stone. The quick responding tingle to his calling of the essence calmed his concerns about overusing the stone when he had treated his broken leg. He settled into work.

Rouen answered his questions about what he needed to be done and then began telling Donya's story. Everybody knew that just before the Wane hit Chussan Faire, the Deln clan went on their trek over the Fallon Mountains to Martan's Ferry for their annual gathering. What Jahl hadn't known was that Pinna Deln was Rouen's mother's best friend. When their little girl Alriane, just a year old, fell ill and could not travel, Larty Marson offered to care for the child so Pinna could go and not worry.

Jahl finished with the first piece and said, "I heard that none of the Deln ever returned. Hard to believe this Pinna Deln would leave her baby and never come back."

"They came back."

Jahl looked up from a silver tea kettle he was repairing so it would sit straight rather than lean back as though refusing to pour. The stubborn thing reminded him of Donya. "What do you mean they came back?" His stomach growled and sparked an ache he worked to ignore. He felt dizzy a moment and blinked until his head cleared.

"Pinna and Dessel Deln came back one night to fetch Donya, about two months into the Wane. They knew about the epidemic the wielders had, and though the family in Martan's Ferry tried to stop them, the two returned to Chussan Faire for Donya before she was next. They came to our house and then hid out at their parcel and planned to head back to Martan's Ferry after they had gathered supplies and rested a bit." Rouen paused.

"And?"

"Your uncle found them dead of the Wielder Wane in their home. Donya was in her room almost dead herself near to starving." Rouen had wandered around the room to stand in front of the one of the curtain covered windows, his back to Jahl. "I actually had a sister a couple months older than Donya, but she didn't live past her first year." Rouen swung at the curtain and watched it rebound back and forth until it stilled. He turned to face Jahl. "Master Tran came by with the baby and asked my parents to hide her. How could my mom say no? My parents had just lost their firstborn, and she was a few months pregnant with me. So they took the baby Alriane and renamed her Donya and let everyone think she was ours, sickly and unable to leave the house. My baby sister, the real Donya, is buried with Pinna and Dessel in our family plot."

"But Donya knows she's not your sister?"

"My mom and pop told her when she turned eight."

Jahl realized that was more than two years after he started school.

Rouen continued. "They kept her out of school until she was ten. I showed her each night what I had learned and she did the same assignment. Then when my parents were sure you were safe at school, they sent her along with me. That's why she was a year behind in schooling and was ten when she joined us."

"So why does she hate me so much?" Jahl brushed at an engraving, smoothing its awkward edges.

"I think she believed you were the reason she couldn't do what every other child was allowed to do. My little brother and I could attend school, go into town, and run about as we pleased, but she couldn't. And when you were allowed to do something, she always had to wait a year or more before my parents would let her."

"I started school with everyone else, age six. She didn't show until we were nine."

"My parents loved her like their own. And they didn't want the Wane to attack her. As long as you were unhurt," he waved a hand at Jahl's leg, "well, not any more hurt by it, then she was safe. But Tran said to be cautious. There wasn't much he could do that he hadn't already done to keep you safe, but protecting her meant keeping Donya out of sight and no one knowing she was actually a Deln." Rouen tapped the kettle Jahl had repaired. "Everyone who would have known about Pinna and Dessel Deln was dead. That left Tran, my family, and maybe a few others. But who keeps track of babies when so many people are dying?"

"Can she wield?"

"We don't know. Pop wouldn't let her try, and mom keeps her close so she never comes near a standing stone. Plus you know Tommlar's won't rent a stone to non-wielders. We couldn't exactly test her. Master Tran was holed up in this house for years after you were born." Rouen grimaced. "I thought when we found you on the landing lying on the stone, she would drop you and pick up the stone instead. I think it was a moment of real indecision for her, but she helped me lift you up and carry you to your bed. I went back for the stone and put it in the upstairs den so I could keep an eye on it while you lay in bed. I told her to wait in the library since that is why she begged me to let her come along anyway."

Jahl reached for another silver piece to work on as he gathered his thoughts. Could he actually train someone, especially someone who hated him and probably he hated back just as fiercely? He shrugged away the questions and put his attention to the platter and its fine engraving which had suffered from an unsteady hand. Jahl turned the matching design on the paper to line them up. He studied it and pulled the complicated details into an accurate image to impress on the metal.

Jahl finished three pieces and paused to rest his mind. He enjoyed the quiet of this house. It wasn't like the Donnel Manor with Jom's family living in the other wings and stomping about in the rooms overhead when they grew bored. You'd think with so many adults and children about, plenty of work would get done and no one would feel alone. But everything seemed to fall on Jom and Mahre Pratter, and then Cam when he grew old enough. And not one of the Pratter clan had been inclined to recognize Jahl as part of the family.

Rouen startled him out of his thoughtful meanderings. "So, will you."

Jahl figured he had missed some prior statement of Ro's. "What?"

"Teach her to wield."

"Tell her she can use the library, but only when I'm here and we've planned ahead for her to be here."

"But what about wielding?"

"Let me get my own skill polished a bit more." He didn't want to work with Donya; he didn't want to help her at all. "I've only been wielding a few months now."

From the doorway came Donya's angry voice. "So I have to wait after you some more. How many years, two, three, ten? I don't need your lousy library."

Jahl tottered to the doorway she had darted away from. She stood by the back door her arms crossed and tense.

Her stance and the mulish look on her face reminded him of when she had arrived at the school. Every day she had a new nasty look to give him as if he were responsible for whatever was bothering her. And then Crimlo had arrived. His anger rose. He owed her nothing. Jahl pulled himself up straight. "Every wielder starts somewhere. Your start is in the library. When you figure out how to be a human being, then I'll help you figure out how to be a wielder. And if it takes ten years for you to do that, you can count yourself responsible for the delay."

She stomped from the back door up to Jahl and stood near nose-to-nose with him. She was poised to say something, but her eyes revealed she was battling with herself to figure out how to give a retort and not support his belief that she needed to change her attitude. He could see by the rising color in her face that nothing had come to mind. She turned her back on him and returned to the back door. Stopping to stare outside, she said over her shoulder, "I'll be back tomorrow, early."

"You'll be invited in when Ro arrives with more work and no sooner."

"Fine," she said and charged out the door, her brown wavy hair whipping against the door frame in her haste.

Jahl turned to face Rouen worried how he might have taken the exchange between them. The young man just raised an eyebrow and shook his head. Jahl felt safe to say, "I still don't like her."

Rouen looked at the back door. "She'll grow on you."

"How long did it take for her to grow on you?"

He grinned. "I think it happened sometime last week when she found out I was going to ask you to help keep the business afloat until Pop mended."

Jahl leaned on the table relieved they could still joke and finally accepted that he needed some food if he was going to get this work done. "Ro, go get me something to eat. I'm starving." He leaned against the table. "I'll take bites while I work."

Rouen nodded and headed for the kitchen. He said as he passed, "You know she's just jealous. She wants to learn to wield, and you're the only one we can trust." After opening a few cabinets and slapping them closed, he called from the kitchen, "You don't have much to work with."

The story _of my life._ "Just bring me some flatbread and a cup of water."

Ro returned in moments setting the cup and plate down within easy reach, and Jahl stretched an arm out mechanically to take a drink or a bite as he worked.

After completing the last of the silver work, Jahl placed his earnings in the money box in the workroom, intending to later separate the amount into two bags, one for his parents and one for his own plans.

The two stood at the back door and made arrangements for the next day.

"I expect to come earlier tomorrow but not until afternoon. I have some work to take care of first. Can I bring Donya?"

Jahl wanted to put off having her in the house as long as possible, but the sooner he determined whether she had wielder in her the better. After all, she had not been affected by the Wane while with her parents nor during the years since. Maybe she hadn't any magic ability at all, which was probably best if his uncle and mother were right about the likelihood that the Wane was intentional.

"You can bring her, but tell her she'll be limited to the library until I say different."

"I think you're enjoying being able to tell her what to do."

"Maybe." He shrugged and thought he should offer something kinder. "Maybe she'll find controlling her attitude has unexpected benefits."

"Like getting a chance to wield?"

Jahl griped, "Like not feeling angry all the time. If one of us has the right to carry a boulder of frustration around, I think I win the privilege, not her. I'm the one bent over from the weight of it."

"Not as much as you were before," Rouen said giving Jahl a skeptical appraisal.

Jahl leaned against the door jamb and debated explaining what happened, but decided it was much too early in their new friendship to be sharing a rebuilt leg. "I've been practicing standing straighter. It seems to be helping a bit."

"Really? I'd say you managed better when you were tipped off to the right more."

"But I get to be taller."

"What's the point of being taller if you're going to spend most of the time picking yourself off the floor?"

"I fell once," Jahl grumbled.

"You look like you're going to fall every time you...walk."

He stood up straighter, pulling away from the door frame. "I just need more practice. I only just started."

Rouen shifted the box in his hands. "I'll tell Donya what you said. About the library, I mean. I think it best I leave out the rest."

Jahl smirked. "Add that she is not allowed to just walk in and out of my house as she pleases. She had no right to be eavesdropping while we were working."

"We were talking about her."

"But she didn't know that until she walked in uninvited."

"No walking into the house uninvited and stay in the library. I'll tell her."

"If she runs out again, she can't come back in without the invite."

"So we can talk about her if she runs out," said Rouen.

Jahl choked back a laugh. "I would actually like to stop talking about her altogether. Could we?"

"Yeah. This box gets heavy after a while. I'll see you tomorrow, about one." Rouen stepped out the door into the dark, and Jahl nodded goodbye before closing it behind him.

He pulled it open again and called out, "Hey, thanks for putting the chickens up."

Rouen laughed hidden by the deep shade of the apple trees. "I can't imagine how you would have caught them. Though maybe you could fall on them and catch them that way."

"Go home, Ro." Jahl shut the door again and looked out the back. His eyes played over the lighter silhouette of the chicken coop. The two apple trees in the yard were in need of trimming. The spring apple tree was the only one of its type that he knew of in all Chussan Faire. It bloomed before the last snow melt every year and had apples by May. The other tree fruited in autumn. What had uncle done to make a tree start so early? The garden was equally curious, producing vegetables in odd seasons; however, this year, it hadn't been planted, and nothing was growing in the weedy soil.

Jahl scanned the yard and finally lighted on the rock wall at the far end of his property quite a distance from his back door. A shadow stirred and for a moment it looked as though a person were resting his elbows on the wall and glaring back toward Jahl's house. He felt a chill crawl up his spine. Jahl yanked the door open and peered harder at the distant wall. A wind rustled the leaves and rolled through the yard in a whispering shush. Then the bushes along the wall waved forward in the breeze, overlapping the stacked stone and the shadow was no longer in view. When they pulled back, released by a stillness in the air, Jahl scrutinized the shadows. The figure, if that was what it was, was gone. He shook off the unexplained anxiety it had caused him. Mix darkness with shadows and one could create a variety of dubious imaginings, he thought.

Jahl's stomach growled, and he stepped back in and closed the door. Turning to head into the kitchen, he saw through the workroom doorway the box of china sitting on the far end of the table. He shook his head. He hadn't even given that work a thought. And he still hadn't tried to get in the Twai'wa Lor room. Dinner first, china, then some legwork. The Twai'wa Lor would have to wait until he could get a standing stone upstairs. Sinister Sisters, he still had to get _himself_ up the stairs.

After retrieving his cup and plate, Jahl stumbled about the kitchen getting his dinner together. It wasn't much and he had little food left. He shook his head over his bread, cheese and the slices of apple that sat beside them. He ate and ruminated over his situation. He was sure he couldn't make it into town in a lurching fall, never mind carry his food home. Wait, the cart could hold a box and a box could hold food and he could pull the cart. Oh, Cam, you're a genius. But that would have to be for tomorrow. Tonight he still had work to do. He set his plate on the counter and headed for the workroom and Widow Cawsworth's china.

Jahl stood in front of the table deciding how to approach the repair of the set of dishes. They were still wrapped in layers of heavy paper in the packing crate. According to the information imparted by the Twai'wa Glin when he had stood on the stone, an experienced wielder can envision the condition of things even if he has never seen them. Well, he had certainly done that with his leg. For a moment, Jahl wondered at his ability to do so much. He hadn't been trained, he hadn't started wielding until he turned sixteen and could rent a standing stone according to guild law, and up until recently, he had done only the most basic of wields. Yet he could envision things he had never seen, control immense levels of power and even heal himself, of course, not without cost. Twice he had fallen unconscious after completing complex wields. Maybe if he took it in stages, he could complete the repair over time. So what's the first step?

Jahl placed his hands on the crate and closed his eyes. The standing stone was under his feet and he had already tested its level. It was far from depleted which was surprising but fortunate. He couldn't afford to have to pay for a depleted stone and rent another for a week every few days, not if he hoped to add to his parents' finances.

His hands pressed tight against the wooden sides, and Jahl concentrated on seeing the china within. He didn't want to do any repairs yet, just get a sense of the damage. It was like seeing the cane again only in layers deep and a great deal wider. One whole bottom corner was nothing but shattered porcelain. Jahl decided that this evening, he would work only on the damaged items with cracks, full breaks, and chips, but the overall piece was a plate, cup or saucer. He directed his attention to the first plate and drew the tingling essence up from the stone along his legs, body and out his hands. In his mind, he enticed the pieces together, forming an active attraction from each major section to the fragments that would complete it. Plate after plate and cup after broken cup reformed until he had a good third of the damaged china nestled in each paper sheath. Jahl released the essence and felt it recede back to the stone.

He sat down with a sense of relief. He wasn't tired, just feeling wobbly and like he couldn't concentrate on another plate for a few hours at least. And this wasn't the time to dive into working on his leg either. He sat resting a bit, dozing on the stool. Jahl's eyes snapped open. _Donya was going to be here tomorrow, so he'd better put a few things away_. There was a lockable cabinet in the workroom, and Jahl had found the key earlier. He headed lurching to the front parlor and made his way to the narrow table against the wall. Jahl picked up the Twai'wa Glin, Sot and Mu and tumble-walked his way to the locking cabinet on the back workroom wall and placed them inside. Then he was back to the parlor to carry the Von box, breaking his momentum on walls, the doorway, the table and finally the cabinet. "This is ridiculous _. I feel like I'm running downhill all the time._

Jahl slid the box of carving blocks into the cabinet, sealed the door shut and locked it, putting the key on a leather tie to wear around his neck. _Now for the newspapers and the fake stone._ Jahl leaned back against the counter. He'd planned on putting the newspapers in the library but with Donya spending time in there, he feared she might damage them or put them out of order. If only he could get into the Lor, he could keep the important things in there. But that would mean carrying them upstairs, and right now that was out of the question. Jahl headed around the table and caught up the handle to the cart and jerked to a stop when the wagon failed to budge. He'd forgotten to lift the break blocks away from the wheels. Leaning on the table, he bent down and flipped them up and out of the way. He started again for the parlor and the cart rolled solidly along behind him.

Jahl reached the table again and locked the handle upright and set the breaks. He used the handle as a brace until he was kneeling. He remained unmoving in that position marveling at the fact that he was actually kneeling on both knees, his shin bones against the wood plank floor. The grin on his face felt like it was going to tear free at the back of his teeth soon. Other than the slight sway he had trouble controlling, he felt secure. He gripped the table edge with one hand for leverage and turned the cart so he could shift the newspapers onto the flat stone with the handle facing out rather than up against the table.

If he took the stack from the stone first, then he would end up putting the stack back in the same order that his uncle had it. So he started there. Jahl decided to take the papers in three trips since he would be able to move at a faster pace than he had the first time he moved them. He looked forward to the happy medium of stepping along not so slow that people felt the need to hold his elbow or so fast that they like Ro would think he was taking a header any moment, a nice smooth walk like everybody else does without even thinking about it. He had a third of the stack set on the cart while he dreamed of walking like everybody else. He stood up pulling his weight up with one hand braced on the table and the other on the cart's handle. Both his legs straightened and his grin grew again.

Jahl turned about and after a restart due to forgetting to flip the breaks back up, he was headed again to the workroom. Soon he had the papers stashed in monthly order on several shelves of a wide upper cabinet. He went back for the fake stone and set it on the counter where it looked more like a cutting board than a standing stone. He set a large pot on it. The corners of the fake stone peeked out around the base. "You're not a fake stone at all; you're a trivet. Makes the place look cozy." _If only the real stone could be so_ lightweight. Jahl found another smaller vase and set it farther along the counter. With all the reorganizing, he felt ready to do some personal repairs, and he decided to sit down on the floor and prop his leg atop the stone-laden cart. With the initial pull of magic essence, Jahl lay down remembering that he had passed out earlier after all the exertion it had taken to mend the breaks and shift the muscles and tendons about.

Jahl relaxed his whole body and concentrated on building an image of his good leg. When it was clear in his mind, he examined his right leg and compared them. The bone structure at the thigh, knee, and shin were mirror images, but the ankles and feet bore little resemblance to each other. Though he had planned to work on the muscles, he realized there was no point as long as his ankle twisted off the way it did and his foot was folded inward at the sole.

The ankle bones were fused into a mass that held the front of his foot pointing upward and to the left so that when he stood only his heal made contact with the floor. He debated whether it would be best to start by unfolding the front of the foot so it lay flat rather than closed in on itself with the two toes at either end of a normal foot facing each other or rebuild the ankle so the foot could be raised or lowered at will rather than stuck in the one upward position.

Jahl shook his head. Why not treat it like the plate and just repair the whole thing? This is the pattern — he thought of his left normal foot — so follow it. But if he passed out, he could be laying on the floor into the night. Though based on the other two experiences, chances were good that he would only be out at most two hours.

Jahl shrugged. Did he have a choice? He wanted his leg and foot to be normal. He could do that now or later. But he was going to do it. The image built up in his mind of the left foot, ankle included, and he buried deep into the bone just as he would for a carriage wheel or water pump. His heart pounded with excitement, and he took a deep breath and held it a moment. As the air dribbled from his mouth, the essence rose from the stone and infused the leg, toe to hip. Jahl dug into the bone mass at the ankle with magic fingers prying into the seams of the welded joint. Just as he applied the reversed template image from the good foot and employed his demand that it alter to match, his hip sent a wave of high magic storming down his leg to merge with the rising essence from the standing stone.

Jahl felt again as if the leg and foot were directing the alterations and he was just a cog in the mechanics of the repair. Overwhelmed and not ready for the draw on his skills, Jahl tried to pull back but there was no retreating release from the magic, and he found his attention riveted to the changes occurring. The foot spread out flat in a fog of bright magic, and the ankle floated apart becoming a floating mass of tiny bones which then flew together, turning the foot down and straight out from the ankle. The magic he was pulling blossomed yet again, and Jahl felt he was drowning in it. All he could do was maintain the image of the left foot he was trying to mirror his design from, but the process seemed to be a case of dominoes. He'd flicked the first tiny bone and the rest tumbled along to fulfill the demand. The two images of his feet were looking more and more like a matched set. A great joy thrilled his extremities. But with the thrill of watching his foot rebuild itself also came a mounting sense of weakness.

Hunger pulled at his attention and he felt nauseous and dizzy. He just had dinner he reminded himself, but it made no difference. With every second that passed, his body pleaded for food and water. He could feel the blackout coming and was not surprised when the roar in his ears overran his wish to see the repair through. When he awoke, he vomited bile and choked on the bitter stream burbling out of his mouth and nose as he turned on his side. Racking coughs yanked at his ribs.

Hands pushed Jahl's hair from his face and dragged him away from the cart. A rag brushed roughly across his lips pulling at the string of mucus and bile still dribbling from his mouth. A second rough wipe drew a curse from him, and he swung a weak hand at this would-be helper. His hearing was still fighting against a roar, but he thought he heard a voice ask him what needed to be done. He squeaked a request for food and water past his burning throat. The voice seemed to laugh, and Jahl felt the pounding of retreating steps through the floorboards against his ear as they receded from the room.

### Chapter Seven

Again hands pulled at him and he was leaning somewhat upright against a cabinet. A cup was placed in his hand and guided up to his lips. The bitterness fought against the fresh water pouring into his mouth. He gulped it and the hands that had been holding his hands in place left him. His strength gave out even as he leaned his face forward to pull more fluid from the cup. But it dropped to his lap, his fingers still attempting to hold tight around the cup. He hadn't the strength to make it rise again. Jahl opened his eyes and gazed forward from where his head leaned. The table blocked most of his view of the room, but he was faced somewhat toward the back entrance. No one was with him, and if his savior was in the kitchen, he couldn't see him or her. Slowly his senses cleared, and he could hear someone moving about in the kitchen. His arm seemed to have gathered some strength, and he was able to pull the cup to his mouth and finish off the water that hadn't spilled out.

His hand trembled, clattering the tin against his teeth and he dropped his hand and the cup back to his lap. Jahl closed his eyes and took a deep breath to dispel the tremendous hunger he felt. It must be morning he thought for him to feel so much in need of food and water. A voice again sounded near his ear.

"Here, eat."

He felt the touch of a fork by his lips and the aroma of scrambled eggs. Jahl opened his mouth without looking and chewed, eager to swallow.

"Slow down. There is plenty here and I'm not going to take it away."

Between mouthfuls, Jahl asked. "Who?"

"Open your eyes. I'm not invisible."

Jahl sighed and opened his eyelids. _Donya Marson._ "Why are you here?"

"Lucky for you I am." She put another forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Eat. Then you can ask me questions. You look like you've been starving for days."

Jahl wondered if he had been out for days. Maybe he had underestimated the effect of what he was demanding his body do. He didn't know how long he had been out before Ro found him on the stairs. It might have been several hours. He looked down at his hands, surprised to see how boney they looked, his skin dehydrated. Another forkful bumped his lips and he automatically opened for it. He grimaced at the thought of Donya feeding him like a baby. They remained silent while she kept giving him mouthful after mouthful.

With the last of the eggs placed in Jahl's mouth, she said, "You've been healing your leg. You must be a gifted wielder to be able to do that at your age and with so little training." There was a sudden intake of breath and she shouted, "Your mother's been training you!" Donya rose to tower over him. "I thought you were having to do it all yourself, but she's been training you, hasn't she," she accused him.

Jahl stared at her nonplussed. He whispered over a rasping throat, "Right, Donya, that's why I'm lying here looking like a skeleton because I'm so well trained. And of course, my mother would just leave me here like this." He shook his head. "Nobody has been training me. My mother doesn't want me to do any wielding at all. Everyone else thinks I can't do anything. Or maybe now you think my uncle is coming back from the grave and training me. And he thought it was a great idea for me to do this to myself so I could die of starvation and lack of water." He started coughing and could not stop.

Donya grabbed the cup from his lap and poured more water into it from a pitcher on the worktable. She held it to his lips and shushed him. "Take little sips. Don't get so angry."

Jahl pulled away from the cup after drinking a mouthful. "Don't take everything as if it's deliberately arranged to make you suffer." He coughed more and she made him take another gulp.

"I'm sorry. I've waited so long," Donya said.

"Yeah, I haven't been waiting at all." Jahl felt bitter and without patience for the girl who could run and stick her leg out to trip those weaker than herself. "Maybe I should stand up so you can feel better by knocking me over. Isn't that what you've been missing?"

"That's why I came over."

Jahl stared up at her. Could she have really come over to trip him? He said that out of spite, not really thinking that of her. Even when they both went to advanced school, she had made no attempt to come near him. Most of the other kids ended their education at twelve years old, but wielders and the wealthy children always went on for further schooling. The Marsons had worked hard to put Donya in the school. Wielders went free but other citizens had to pay tuition. Since the Marsons could not reveal she was a wielder, they would have had to pay the full amount.

Donya had walked away and was standing with her back to him her hands pressed to the table top. "I meant to apologize earlier, but then you said it would be a waste of time to train me and I got angry." Her long dark hair swung side to side as she shook her head. "I get mad a lot."

"Well, I haven't seen much of you, so I didn't know you were so touchy."

"Yes, you did. You said what you said because you finally had a chance to hit back." She challenged then paused. "I don't blame you," she said. "Because I did, of course, blame you. I was stupid and I guess it's a habit now to get angry."

Jahl felt his stomach tremble with hunger. "Can I have more eggs? I'm starving."

"Let's get you to the table. While I'm scrambling another set for you, we can talk." She squatted down and put her arm behind him and gripped him to her side. They rose together with Jahl relying on her to hold him up and steady him. His legs felt wobbly and ready to give out underneath him. "Do you think you can support some of your own weight because I don't think I can carry you?"

Jahl gripped hand over hand along the countertop as they headed toward the kitchen at the back. When they came to the end of the cabinetry, he teetered to the doorway grabbing hold of the doorframe with Donya heaving him along. They reached the kitchen table in a sort of mad falling dash with Donya shifting a chair about for him to drop into. From behind him, she struggled to turn the chair so he could lean his weight on the table and not fall out of the seat.

"Promise you'll stay there and not fall?" she said, her hands still lingering on his ribcage and holding him upright.

Jahl hesitated, wanting to both pull away from her securing hands out of pride and wanting to lean into them because of the pleasant tremble that flowed from his chest to the skin over his entire body. He shrugged and pulled away from her. "For food, I'll promise to hang from the ceiling right now." _And I probably could_. Then he clenched his hands feeling their lack of strength. _Or maybe not._ He jiggled his shoulders to clear the sensation she created.

"That won't be necessary," she said with a laugh. "Just stay in your seat." Donya reached for the chair at the head of the table and brought it around to act as a fence against him falling to his right and then went around him and did the same with the chair on that side. Either way, he had a piece of furniture up against him forming a crib. "There, now I can get you some food, though you don't have much to work with. I'm down to your last two eggs and a dram of milk."

"Don't talk about the food; cook it up for me."

"You're rather demanding." She teased.

Jahl looked tightly at her and wondered why it was so easy to talk to this girl. What made her different? "I get this way when I'm starving." She has pretty blue eyes, he reminded himself. "And thirsty. Can I have another drink?"

"On my way, Master Wielder."

He watched her exit, trying to see her as more than his childhood tormentor or Rouen's sister. Could she be more, would she want to, would he want her to be? For once, he noted her movements were calm, graceful even, and more than that, she seemed to be enjoying herself. _She's enjoying being with me. Look at me, weak as a pup, and I'm making her smile._

Donya returned to the kitchen with the cup and pitcher he'd last seen in the workroom. "Manage with this a few minutes." Donya poured him a glass. Soon she was knocking the eggs against a pan and whipping in the milk as the mixture crackled and steamed.

"How'd you get the fire going so fast?"

"Fast? You were not good company when I first found you. You kept passing out." Donya turned the eggs out on his plate. "I had plenty of time to get the fire in the stove going since you insisted on falling asleep every time I turned my back."

"What time is it?"

"After ten."

"When did you get here?"

"About nine. I did knock, but you didn't answer. Your lights were still up, and I could see you must be in your workroom so I finally just walked in." She set the plate in front of him and handed him the fork for which Jahl was grateful even though it took twice as long to get the food to his mouth. Donya pulled another chair over and sat down with him. "You are feeling better, right?"

She even sounded worried. Jahl nodded and continued to chew. "These are good."

"You had a bit of cheese left and I threw that in, too, along with some salt. I'm going to step outside and get you a fresh apple. Do you feel full yet?"

"I may never feel full again. Can you get me some of the flatbread I left on the counter?"

Donya veered off from the back door and searched for the flatbread, finding it in a breadbox. She returned with a piece to add to his plate and then headed back outside, only to return almost immediately with an apple. While he chewed on the eggs he loaded on each bite of bread, she cut and cored the apple bringing over the pieces just in time to supply him with more food.

"There isn't anything an apple can't help. Your uncle always sent me home with apples when I was little."

"You've been here when Uncle Tran was here?"

"Oh, lots of times. My pop would bring me. I played around the house or sat with a book in the library while they talked in the workroom."

"Do you know what they talked about or why your pop was here?"

Donya sat back in the chair and crossed her arms.

Jahl let the hand about to put a slice of apple in his mouth drop back down to the table. He waited, and she seemed to come to a decision. "The last time we were here was the day your uncle died. We saw him in the morning and by evening he was dead."

"What do you remember?" Jahl thought about when he had last been in the house to see his uncle. "I stopped coming here more than a year before he died."

"You know he wasn't as feeble as he let on, right?" she said. Jahl nodded, but he hadn't known that at all. She scooped crumbs off the table and into her hand. "You knew he was working on finding out who was responsible." That had been what his mother told him, so he nodded again. "He was close to figuring things out. Pop and Master Tran closed the doors to the workroom, and Pop told me I was to stay in the library."

"You didn't, did you?"

"I thought they were talking about me, about when I could start training. I was sixteen! By guild rules, I should have been free to wield and gain clientele, but I'd had no training. I thought they were planning my training. But I heard them talking and it wasn't about me. I couldn't hear what Master Tran said, but Pop was trying to talk him out of it."

"Out of what? Did you hear what my uncle was going to do?"

"No. And I've been afraid to ask my pop. I didn't want him to know I was listening at the door."

Jahl sat back thinking. Maybe they should just ask the elder smith about that day.

"Pop doesn't know how much work Ro's brought here. I don't think he'd be happy about it. He told me I wasn't allowed to come near you."

Jahl leaned back and toyed with the slice of apple in his hand. "Did my uncle test you?"

"Pop wouldn't let him, not until you were officially wielding."

"But that didn't happen until after my uncle died."

"Don't I know it? I've been crazy waiting for my pop to say I could come and ask you to test me. You do know how?"

"I have an idea. I'll test you tomorrow. I'm exhausted right now and I want to do it right." Jahl tried to push back his chair, without result.

"Let me help you get up." Donya stood up, reached for the chair and changed her mind. "And I'll come tomorrow early to help you down the stairs and cook up some breakfast for you."

"You don't have to do that." The thought made him both nervous and excited.

"I do if I want you around to test and train me. You'll never get down the stairs without help, and you won't have the strength to cook your own breakfast, never mind go out and get the eggs from the henhouse." She shook her head and gave him a crooked grin. "I could come later with Ro and find you all broken at the bottom of the stairs and no standing stone and no meat on you to repair yourself with. And if you did get lucky and drag yourself to your stone, you'd be nothing but a skeleton when I got here." She took up his plate leaving him with the last apple slice in his hand. "Let me help you upstairs now. It's late and I'm going to be walking in the dark and climbing up the tree to get into my bedroom as it is."

Donya stood by his chair having removed the one to his right that had been acting as a barrier to him falling out. "Come on, Jahl, let me get you upstairs." Jahl turned and was about to work up the strength to rise when she stepped back. "Wait. I need to go shopping for you first. You need food. I'll have nothing but a few eggs to cook with and you need a more solid meal or everyone is going to wonder what you've been up to, and you're going to have to tell Ro, 'cause he's going to know something is up when he sees you."

Jahl just wanted to put his head down and sleep, but he knew she was right. "There's a money box in the workroom. It looks like a drawer in this row of lower cabinets." He gestured at the wall of cabinets he had used as support on their way to the kitchen. Donya headed into the workroom and began pulling at the drawers until one came out looking like a box rather than an open-topped drawer.

"I found it," she called and came rushing back to set it on the table.

Jahl pulled out the key from around his neck and unlocked the box. He lifted the lid and pulled out the two bags he had prepared earlier. "I need you to do something else, too."

Donya tipped her head encouraging him to go ahead and explain. "My family can't see me like this either, but I promised I would come by with my extra eggs, pick up some milk and drop by some money for their second season planting. I need you to give them this bag of coins. Can you go by early while Cam or my pop is there?"

"Sure. I can do that. But after tonight, there won't be any extra eggs." She nodded and reached for the bag.

"Take the jar for the milk and my pop'll fill it up. Give him the bag. And I need you to do one more thing." He handed the tidy sack to her. From the second pouch, Jahl pulled out a half silver and put it on the table in front of her. "For shopping. But before that, go by the Widow Cawsworth and tell her houseman Wasely the china will be ready by tomorrow evening, but no earlier."

"Okay, drop off money, pick up milk, leave a message with houseman about tomorrow evening and then go shopping, come back here, cook, help you out of bed and then I become the greatest wielder ever to have lived in Chussan Faire."

"Yeah, and in that order."

The two laughed, though Jahl's was weak, and it ended in him feeling like he was going to fall from the chair.

Donya tapped her lip in consternation. "Where to put you to bed. It was one thing to cart you up four steps from the landing and help Rouen carry you to your bed, but just me helping you....

When she trailed off, Jahl realized it was less about how she might not have the strength to get him up there and more about the embarrassment of doing so. He felt his own face redden. "I could sleep on the floor."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're sick and weak and will catch your death of cold. The nights are still chill. You don't even have wood stacked by your fireplace or your stove. I had to go out to the woodshed earlier."

She continued to tap her lips. Jahl watched her finger: tap, tap, tap. "Any better ideas?" she asked.

He shook his head and pulled his gaze from her face. Jahl reached out his hands and used his arms as levers to raise himself to his feet and press the chair away from him with the back of his legs. He stood unsteadily under her appraising view.

"The parlor couch is small, and you could fall out of it." She glanced about the kitchen, her gaze settling on the table and then pulling away with a shake of her head. She poked her head in the workroom and sighed.

"There's a chair in the library," he offered remembering he used to sleep in it when he was bored during his mother's efforts to keep his uncle's home clean and his uncle fed.

His legs trembled and he sat propped on the chair. She pursed her lips. "You need to be in a bed." She scratched her head and strode up to him. "Up we go, Wielder Pratter." Donya lifted Jahl's hands up to her shoulders and pulled his arms around her neck. Then she grasped him by the waist and said, "Up with everything you've got." Jahl rose weakly but with determination. "Do you know how to dance? We're going to shuffle around, and I'll walk backward to the stair. Ready, and dance."

Jahl felt foolish, and she looked embarrassed but determined. Her plan proved to be a good one. Soon they were shuffling to the stairs, and his legs seemed better suited now for the walking gait he was expecting his right leg to mimic.

They reached the base of the stairs. Donya talked and Jahl felt certain she did it to keep them both focused on the effort instead of the embarrassment. "Maybe after breakfast, we'll practice walking if you're strong enough." Donya directed one of Jahl's hands to the stair rail mounted on the right wall. "Here you hold that and I'm going to move behind you. Then we'll get your other arm on the other rail. I'll stay behind you to make sure you keep going up and not down the stairs. Ready?"

Jahl gripped the rail and closed his eyes to concentrate. "Yes, ma'am. You push, I'll pull."

Donya ducked under his arm and then confirmed he had a firm hold on the rails. Her fingers rested on his, squeezing his hand against the wood rail. "On one. One." They both stepped up, and Jahl was surprised by how pain-free the movement was, though he struggled with each step to raise his knees up to get the foot high enough for the next tread, the toes of his shoes hitting the rounded stub at the edge of each step. "Time to turn. Let me help." She shifted under his left shoulder and helped him make the turn on the landing. "Just four more steps and then we get to dance again."

He felt nauseous and focused on maintaining the glib chatter. "The wielder shuffle. You're a great dancer, Donya."

"You could be a better partner." She grunted with her effort to keep him steady.

"I'll work on it."

"Let's get you up these last four steps." It took less time than either expected to get him to his room and seated on his bed. "What can I get for you, because I'll tell you right now I'm not going to help you with your clothes? I've broken enough of my dad's rules for one day and Ro would kill you tomorrow."

"No doubt, I could fall on you, but I haven't the strength to cause you more trouble than that."

"Oh, you think it would be easy to get you standing after you took a fall?"

Jahl let himself drop back onto the pillows behind him. "Donya, in that top drawer is a nightshirt. Just bring it over here and I'll take it from there." Actually, he was almost certain if she left right now all he would do is pull the covers over himself and sleep in his clothes.

She deposited the shirt in his outstretched hands. "I'll pull your socks off."

"I thought you were done with me?"

"I'm going to get you started." She pulled him by his hands to a sitting position and then bent down and pulled off each sock. He gripped his nightshirt in hesitation then set it aside to remove his shirt, too focused on ignoring her presence at his feet to realize he was undressing in front of her. Jahl had it off with only a few curses by the time she was done. Her sudden intake of breath when she stood up embarrassed him, but when he looked down at his feet he forgot all about being shirtless with his ribs showing prominently under his skin. His feet were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Jahl and Donya both stood staring down at them. "Did your right foot always look like that?" she said startled by the lack of any flaw in its shape.

"No. Not at all," he said. "I used to hate to look at it." He continued to stare, comparing the two and not finding anything to fault. He wiggled his toes and curled each foot alternately.

She jerked her head up. "Well, it is a foot. Now let's get this nightshirt on you." She pulled the opening over his head and helped him get his arms through. "And now I am done. I will see you tomorrow." Donya hurried out of the room and was down the stairs so fast, Jahl had to yell, "Thank you! Good night!" to be sure she heard him. The door below slammed shut and he knew he was alone. Jahl fell back on the bed and pulled his covers over. He promised himself if he woke in the night, he would remove his breeches.

Jahl awoke to metal clangs and the smell of bacon and eggs. The sun was pouring in his open drapes and he squinted at the bright sunlight. He rolled his eyes as he brought himself up to date on his physical condition. _Hungry, yes, but not famished. Sore, no. Able to shift legs and arms, yes. Still tired, no._ Jahl sat up and slid his legs over the side of the bed. He shook his head at the sight of his breeches all twisted about his legs and his nightshirt rumpled and crammed up around his waist. He rubbed his head and added to the knots and tangles already occupying his unruly hair.

"Don't make me come up there and wake you, Jahl," Donya yelled up the stairs. "I've already been up for hours."

"Five minutes; otherwise, you'll be breaking a bunch of your pop's rules!"

"I haven't had breakfast yet, and I'm not waiting for you!"

"You're an ungrateful girl," Jahl muttered good-naturedly and rose from the bed then teetered on his weak ankles. He reached back and gripped the covers for stability. Feeling his balance finding a point of steadiness, he took the three cautious, wobbling steps that brought him to the tallboy dresser, and he pulled out a change of clothes. Using the narrow dresser for an anchor, he stripped and dressed. Jahl pulled on a pair of loose stockings and tied them up at the knee before he realized he would not be able to wear his shoes, at least not the right one. He tucked in his shirt, also a bit oversized and laced up his breeches. Nothing fit properly. But nothing hurts either, he reminded himself, and that was a lot better than fitted clothing.

He heard Donya's heavy foot on the bottom step. "Jahl!"

"I'm coming."

"Need help?"

Jahl staggered to the doorway and caught himself. "I'll meet you at the stairs."

"Bottom or top?"

"Landing."

"The high middle. On my way."

He could hear her ascending the stairs, and he turned it into a race. He tottered largely on his toes and caught himself at the wall that blocked the stairway to the second floor and also enclosed the attic stairs. But what most held his attention was the door just to his left: the Twai'wa Lor. "I haven't forgotten you." He shook his finger at it. _I just need to take care of a few things yet. Breakfast first, then_ china _, then test Donya._

"Jahl?"

"Almost there."

"We don't have all morning."

"Yes, we do."

"No, we don't. You slept until nine, haven't had breakfast yet, and Ro will be here at one. And I'll probably have to make you lunch. So not all morning."

Jahl continued stumbling to the stairhead. "Do you always complain this much?"

When he finally reached the top of the stairs, Donya was standing on the landing looking up with a cheerful smile on her face. S _he's beautiful_.

"I want to wield," she said, breaking the illusion.

"I want to eat. Guess who gets to go first?" He reached out for her shoulder, and she stepped forward to help him take the four steps to the landing. At the turn to head downstairs, he said. "You step in front and I'll follow behind. I need to strengthen my muscles by doing."

In that manner, they went down the stairs, and she tried to make it look like he was doing most of the work to get him to the chair she had pulled out for him. The table was already set with dishes and silverware. A bowl sat turned upside down covering his breakfast to hold in the heat.

"There, now eat." She headed for the workroom. "Do you want me to unpack the china so you can work on it or leave it in the box?"

"Sinister Sisters, don't touch it! They're smashed to smithereens in the bottom. It will take twice as long to pull the right pieces together if you go messing with them."

"I'm trying to help." Donya returned to the kitchen and stood at the doorway between the two rooms.

Jahl took in her annoyed stance. He turned back to his breakfast so he wouldn't notice how bright and pretty her eyes looked. _Too late. I saw them._ Jahl talked around a mouthful of eggs. "Scared me with the thought that you might have done it without asking."

"But I did ask." She crossed her arms and stood rather militantly surveying him eating.

He chewed, thoughtful, then said, "But what if you hadn't?

"I would have noticed if they were a bunch of pieces."

Jahl tried to keep the grin off his face but did not succeed. "But would you have realized you needed to stop?"

"You're trying to get my goat and after all I've done for you this morning." There was a lilt in her voice and a tingling thrill ran up Jahl's back.

Jahl patted the table. "Come sit with me. It's hard to eat and talk to you with you standing behind my back."

"I'm going to clean the kitchen. We should be done about the same time." She started for the sink. "Oh, I forgot your oatmeal." She brought him a bowl and set it down on the table. "I wasn't sure if you would still be hungry. You sure are still skinny. Eat everything."

He grinned and shoved another mouthful of eggs in. Donya went back to the kitchen, and he watched her clean the pans in the sink and rinse them in the pail of water on the counter.

After breakfast, he shuffled to the workroom and the two stood before the crate of china. Donya wheeled his standing stone from where she had rolled it the night before up to the table, and Jahl stepped upon it and steadied himself with one hand on the handle and one on the table while she dropped the brakes against the wheels.

"Should I hold you steady? You have to touch it, right?"

"That's a good question. Let me try without putting my hands on it." Jahl closed his eyes and thought about the box, reaching with his mind to envision the plates on the top, now whole and the much greater portion of its contents in various states of breakage. It took longer, but soon he had the image clear in his mind. Perhaps with practice, he could get better. His hands gripped the handle and table tighter as he concentrated and began to one by one call the pieces together for each bowl, plate and cup. His sense of time grew uncertain, but Donya was not hurrying him so he felt he could do a quick once-over as soon as he felt the repairs were complete. He gave each plate a light tap of magic and found them all to ring true. "Done."

"Are you hungry? Do you feel dizzy?" Donya said.

"I feel great. I think it's only when I work on myself that I get so weak." _Or when I make contact with an enchanted shard like the cane had_ embedded _in it_. Something niggled at the back of his mind. Something about the cane and working on his foot.

Donya interrupted his thoughts. "Then you're not tired, thirsty or need to relax a bit?"

"No, I'm great. Wielding has always made me feel better."

"But last night..."

"I think I have it figured out." Jahl waved a finger in the air. "When I worked on a silver mirror for Ro, I needed him to provide additional material. I can't, wielders can't, create out of nothing. We have to have the materials to build with. We can stretch things over, thin it out, but we can't add to the object."

Donya nodded understanding his point. "You were building bone and muscle."

"Right. So my body must have made use of what was available: the food already in my system, maybe even bone and muscle throughout my body."

"That would mean you were sort of digesting yourself."

"Gruesome thought, huh?" Jahl pretended to tremble.

"It is kind of gruesome, but also good to know that you can heal an injury."

"But it costs you." Jahl stepped off the cart and walked around the table using it for support as he took each step. "I want to practice walking first."

"You are going to have to practice two kinds of walking."

Jahl stopped and turned to face Donya still standing by the crate of china. "What do you mean? Because I have two working feet?"

"You can't suddenly start walking around with two straight legs. You need to know how to be crooked _and_ walk with your new leg and foot. Your Uncle Tran was certain you were the target of the Wane. You don't want to draw their attention again?"

Jahl shook his head, disagreeing with her assertion that his physical damage was the intended result of the Wane. "Nobody deliberately hurts an unborn child."

"Your Uncle Tran believed that was exactly the intention."

Jahl deflected her argument. "Ro's going to notice."

Her nostrils flared. "You trust him, don't you?"

"Of course." _More than I do you, I think. Did you, no do you. I shouldn't trust you yet, right?_

"Well, he can help make sure you walk like you're supposed to because it has to be the same once you leave this house again. Which you can't do until you aren't looking so thin."

"Or I can be sickly." Jahl winked at her. "I was ill and lost weight due to pushing myself so hard."

She tipped her chin at the box of china. "But what about Widow Cawsworth? You don't want her thinking you can't do the repairs because it will make you sick. She won't give you more work." She lay her hand on the box. "My dad has done plenty of work for her over the years. She cares about people and won't want to cause you an injury for her gain."

"I've been trying to figure that out. How can I be struggling _and_ getting high wielder jobs at the same time?"

Donya changed the topic catching Jahl off guard. "Have you been keeping accounts?"

"What?" Jahl backed up as he caught up with her question.

"Master Tran kept an accounts book for all his work. You need to also. That way you know what work you have done, what's in process and what's coming in. And you can keep track of your money, how much you charge and how much time different wieldings take."

"Hmm." He pretended to give her concerns thought. Keeping track of what little money was coming in, besides the Marson's, seemed pointless. He had only two customers. _If I don't count the delivery boy and his girl's ring, and the business at Tommlar's._ He bit his lip.

"Your uncle kept his book on the table in the parlor," she prodded.

The annoyance in her voice grated on Jahl. "Haven't seen it. There's one from a few weeks before I was born. I put it in a drawer of the desk. But I've not seen anything recent. Or rather didn't know it if I did."

"You didn't throw it away, did you?" Donya demanded.

"I haven't thrown anything away that wasn't obviously trash," said Jahl. He lay his hand on his heart and snapped, "I promise. It's no big deal. The book'll be around here somewhere."

"It is a big deal. He noted every visitor in it. We'll know who he saw last. He wrote down when I broke my toe jumping off the rock wall in his yard. He fixed it and charged my pop a half copper."

Jahl backed down, realizing she had a point. He considered all that he could gain from looking at his uncle's ledger: charges for different types of repairs, even the repairs themselves would tell him what his own potential was. He recalled his mother had said that Tran believed Jahl would be a greater wielder than he was, though Jahl still couldn't understand how his uncle would think that when he looked at the broken child that his niece would bring here occasionally. What Donya said finally clicked. Jahl grew excited and knocked his knuckles on the table as he thought. He'd have a ready list of possible suspects for his uncle's murder. His mother said she remembered Tran saying he knew who had started the Wane. Maybe the mystery wielder had actually met with him. He did need the ledgers.

Donya grabbed his arm and shook him out of his muse. "It's just about twelve. You have to test me."

Jahl grinned and gave her a sidelong glance. "Can you blow bubbles?"

Donya's face showed her confusion. "Bubbles?"

"Go in the library. I'll be right there and we'll do the test. Even if Ro comes, you can keep taking the test."

Donya headed for the door of the room, but she kept looking over her shoulder as if she wanted to ask him to explain more.

"Trust me."

That stopped her in her tracks. She glared back at Jahl.

"I'll be right there. Find a comfortable seat and wait for me."

Donya left the room shaking her head, and Jahl heard her enter the library and close the door. He hobbled to the locked cabinet and brought out the Twai'wa Mu. The dark wood was polished with years of handling by small fingers straining to make a bubble. Jahl could feel the slightest tingle that indicated it contained an enchanted splinter, just enough to make a bubble come out of the end. The mouthpiece was larger than the bubble end and both extremities were concave perhaps a half inch deep, enough to fool a small child into believing the Mu was a hollow tube.

Jahl entered the library, thinking through each step he took. In one hand, he held the Mu and in the other a slopping glass of water. He looked up from watching his feet to find Donya seated at the large double-sided desk at the back of the room. This time rather than sitting with her feet on the desktop as he had first seen her, she was parked on the edge of the chair, shoulders rounded, hands clasped tight enough to make her knuckles white. She was biting her lip, and Jahl smiled at her and nodded confidently.

Donya looked up at him, her blue eyes hooded by her eyelids as if she expected to find something flying at her any moment.

"Donya, take this and try to blow a bubble out the end," he said coming up to the desk. He set the tin cup in front of her. "Put the end of the Mu in the water and blow a bubble. It's an easy test. You could do it in your sleep."

"If I have wielder in me," she said, reaching for the dark stick of wood. Taking it in her hand she turned it about. "Which end is the mouthpiece?"

"The wider end."

Donya put the end up to her eye and closed one lid. "Jahl, it's solid in the middle."

"What would be the point if it was hollow? You need to wield a bubble, not blow it," Jahl teased. "Little kids don't notice it's not hollow so they blow and expect a bubble. Those with wielder in them actually create one. Those less capable need some encouragement and those without, well, they can't wield."

Donya looked at the dark length of wood and made no move to bring it to her lips. Then a crease formed between her brows. "Shouldn't I be standing on your stone? How can I do this without one? You're setting me up to fail. Do you think that's funny?" She stood up and threw the Mu stick to the floor.

Jahl leaped to catch it, his leg muscles unable to give him more than a small hop, not nearly enough to get close to seizing the Mu from the air. It landed and bounced on the tapestried rug that ran under the desk and covered most of the center of the room.

"Sinister Sisters, what are you getting angry for? This is Uncle Tran's testing tool. It's real, not something I created to make you feel foolish." He limped and bobbed over to it and picked it up off the woven carpet. He turned back and headed to the desk. "Now put it in your mouth and make a damn bubble." Jahl shoved it back at Donya who was now standing defiantly behind the desk.

"How am I going to blow a bubble out of it without standing on a wielding stone?"

"Sit down!"

Donya sat.

"Take this!"

She grabbed the stick out of his hand.

"Listen to me and do exactly what I say." Jahl leaned against the desk his legs shaking. "Close your eyes." Donya still glared at him. "Do it." She closed her eyes and his voice softened. "Imagine a bubble in your mind. See it. Add details, the glistening of light bouncing off the curving edges, the mirroring of nearby objects on the surface. Try to see its dimensions, like a ball floating in the air. Give it color and depth. Imagine everything you can about this bubble. Watch it grow in size."

Jahl stared at the end of the Twai'wa Mu held in her fist. At the end of it, he saw the bright roundness of a tiny bubble forming. "Put the Twai'wa Mu to your lips."

"The what?" She opened her eyes and the tiny bubble disappeared.

"That's what it is called. Twai'wa Mu, a training stick, the first training every wielder experiences, well except me. Now put it to your lips and close your eyes." He tapped her hand and nodded.

Donya took a haughty breath and closed her eyes. She brought the stick to her lips.

"Imagine the bubble again with all its details. Hold that image in your mind. When it is as precise as you can make it, imagine it coming out of the Mu. When you can see it in your mind growing from the end of the Mu, open your eyes."

Jahl stared first at Donya and then at the end of the stick. He kept switching his attention from one to the other. Finally, the beginnings of a bubble formed. Jahl didn't know if he should encourage her or remain silent and not distract her. Soon the bubble was more than an inch in diameter. He whispered as he could, "Donya, keep the image and don't move the Mu. Open your eyes."

Donya lifted her lids, her blue eyes cross-eyed as she attempted to stare down the length of the stick to the bubble at its end. "Oh." The stick left her lips, the image left her mind and the bubble disappeared. "That was a bubble! I did it. Jahl, I made a bubble!"

She came running around the desk and wrapped her arms around Jahl. He stiffened in surprise and she backed away. "You didn't do that, right? I did it, didn't I?"

Her pulling away unsettled him. He'd been about to hug her back after his initial startled response. _So I'm not one to be hugged._ It hurt to realize that he was okay for a teacher, okay to be her brother's friend, even okay to be her patient, but not for hugging. He lashed out. "How could _I_ do it? I'm not standing on a wielding stone, and I wasn't touching the Mu. How _could_ I have done it?" His frustration grew. "You know, maybe you're not any different. Maybe you're still the angry, frustrated, selfish girl you always were."

He hurried out of the room as fast as his awkward steps could take him. "It's almost one o'clock. Your brother should be here soon. You should leave. And you can set the Mu, gently please, on the desk." Jahl continued on to the kitchen where he then looked around uncertain about what he should do next and turned to go into the workroom.

Donya was standing in the hall outside the library, still holding the Mu in her hand.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry...."

Jahl strode to her and grabbed the Mu from her hand. "I said leave it on the desk! You won't do anything I ask, will you? I'm still the boy you want to kick to the ground. Get out, and don't come back today."

He went into the workroom, slamming the door behind him, and put the Mu stick back in the cabinet, his hands shaking with anger, and locked it shut. In the silence, he heard the back door latch snap into place.

Standing before the work table leaning on his fists atop the flat surface, Jahl took several calming breaths. _Grow up, Jahl. Face the truth. You're going to be a great wielder one day, but you're not going to have a_ girlfriend _or a wife_. His chest tightened around his heart and he took more deep breaths. Maybe he didn't have what it takes to train Donya or she didn't have what it takes to be trained. _No, she has the ability to manipulate the essence_. He thought about how he could have handled it differently. The two of them had a lot of past to get over. Maybe that was what they needed to do, get over it. Maybe he was the permanently broken one. He dashed unexpected tears from his eyes and forced his mind clear. _I don't want to be broken forever._ He bit at his lips and rubbed his hip though it held neither stiffness nor pain.

"I have things to do. Where could that ledger be?" He searched the room, opening cabinets and searching at the back of shelves, forcing his thoughts away from why he had been so angry with Donya. A few minutes later, he heard a knock at the back door. He closed the cabinet he'd been searching and went to sit at the kitchen table where he could face the back door. He could see the young silver smith's figure through the window in the door. "Come in," he called.

"Just a minute," Rouen called through the door.

Jahl could hear his friend still talking, but he could not make out what Rouen was saying. "Come in, Ro," he said again.

Jahl turned his head to hear what Rouen was saying. The smith was talking to someone at the back door, and they seemed to be arguing. Jahl rose up to get the door. He had hoped to not have to face Ro right away with his rearranged leg, but it looked like he would have to. The door swung open just as Jahl was standing up, and he sat back down on seeing Donya holding the door open and Ro coming up the short steps and into the house.

"What is it with you, Donya?" snapped Rouen. "One day, you're demanding to be here, and now when it's all agreed, you stand there arguing with me about whether or not Jahl said it's okay." He turned to Jahl as he headed for the workroom. "Set her straight. We talked this all out last night, right? She can be here."

Jahl and Donya's shared a look, both looking away embarrassed. "She can go in the library," Jahl said and then looked back at Donya. "Could you look for the ledgers in there?"

Her flushed face pulled at his sympathy and he crushed it down. "When you find it, can you bring it into the workroom?"

Donya nodded and walked past him, careful not to make any contact.

"I'm going to explain everything to Ro," he said.

Donya paused at the library doorway and then went in, closing the door with a soft tug. Jahl faced his friend.

"Ro," he said. "I've something to tell you. Come and sit down at the table with me."

The young smith set the box on the worktable and then came back to the kitchen. "You're not changing your mind about Donya, are you?"

"I have to tell you about last night, what happened before you found me on the stairs."

"Okay." Rouen sat across from Jahl and leaned his chin on his hands, his elbows spread wide on the table.

Jahl started by telling him how he had been trying to take the standing stone up to the locked room upstairs. He thought it might be held shut with magic since he and Cam had been unable to find any ordinary way it might be locked. Ro nodded understanding the possibility of Master Tran locking the room up with magic.

"But I tripped just before coming to the landing and broke my bad leg in two places."

Rouen's eyes widened but he did not speak, so Jahl continued. He described how he had decided he had to try to repair the leg himself and how he used the standing stone where his shoulder made contact to draw the essence into him. Ro seemed to gather the implications of his choice, his face becoming expressionless as Jahl went into detail about his efforts to make the repair and how he ended up passing out on the stairs to later be found by Rouen.

"That's why you stand differently and why I thought you looked taller. You fixed your leg."

"Not completely. I repaired the breaks and I straightened the bones and strengthened them. I even moved a few tendons about. But my foot and ankle were still deformed." Jahl paused deciding how much he should explain to Rouen, for there were some things he had still not told Donya. "When you found me, I was weak and ravenous, but I thought it was just due to the effort of wielding on myself and missing lunch.

"But last night after you left, I decided that I would try to repair the rest."

"Really? Wow, stand up. Let me see."

Jahl couldn't help but grin. He used the table for support and rose to his feet, pushing the chair away from him with his legs.

"Bloods Bees, look at you. You're almost as tall as I am." Ro backed up and looked Jahl up and down. "Woah, you're skinny! Is that from wielding? Will that happen to Donya?"

"Donya and I think it's from wielding on myself. My uncle did high wields and never seemed physically altered." Jahl sat back down, followed by Rouen. "Remember when I had to repair the mirror, I needed extra silver to restore metal lost through wear on the handle? It works the same way on a body. I can't create bone and muscle from the air."

"You pulled from your own body." Rouen's face showed his sudden concern. "That can't be safe," he whispered.

Jahl snorted. "You couldn't be more right. I passed out from it." He paused a moment knowing he was going to have to reveal Donya's part in his recovery. "Donya came back last night and found me. She took care of me, getting me food and water, helping me stand and then getting me up to bed. She left after that but promised to come back in the morning to feed me and help me come down the stairs if I needed it. I was able to make it on my own, but she did walk down ahead of me like you did."

"Donya came back last night?"

"If she hadn't, I might be dead," said Jahl, "so don't get angry at her."

Ro got up and paced about the kitchen and dining room, gathering his thoughts. "Sometimes Donya does the right thing even when she does the wrong thing. So what was she doing outside waiting for me?"

"We had a bit of a tiff just before you got here. I told her to leave and not come back today."

"That's Donya. She's good and then she's not so good." Ro stopped pacing. "So what did she do?"

"We sort of created the situation together. I guess we're both still, under the surface, touchy about the past." Jahl realized with a start what had been behind Donya's distrust. "I think she was scared she wasn't a wielder." He paused, feeling awful about yelling at her. "Anyway, I tested her for the ability to wield. She made a bubble, which proved she can wield." Jahl stopped a moment realizing there was a lot he didn't want to share with Rouen. "And then she accused me of creating it, but that was after she said I was making fun of her by asking her to make a bubble." He recalled her hug and how she pulled away. "The whole thing was stupid."

Rouen's jaw dropped and he stood there a moment shaking his head in amazement. "She can wield? She's a wielder?"

"She can pull essence and make a tiny bubble. She can learn to wield; she's not a wielder. My uncle would have called her Twai, an apprentice wielder. Twai Marson."

"Does this mean she's your apprentice, and she can come here to be trained?"

Jahl took a deep breath and scratched his head. He let his hand drop as though giving up. "Yes, and she can stay each day until I tell her to get out. She lasted three hours today."

"But you let her back in?" The young smith grinned.

"I need to find those ledgers; plus, she's a good cook."

Rouen laughed. "So do we need to feed you first or can we start working now?"

"I should eat. After we finish the work, I need you to help me learn to walk correctly _and_ like my old self, too."

Rouen looked as his old friend and shook his head. "I'm going to teach you how to walk. You know, we don't have an ordinary friendship, do we? I mean, I sneak to your house with a box of silver and metal plates and such, I have a sister who's not my sister, that you are going to train to wield, and I'm going to teach you how to walk normally, and as if that is not odd enough at our age, I'm also going to teach you how to limp and shamble."

"Be glad I didn't ask you to teach me how to dance. Then you would have something to complain about. Now let's have some lunch."

Rouen put together a quick meal making use of the food his sister had brought that morning.

Jahl was taking his last bite of a piece of dried beef when Rouen said, "It's awfully quiet in there. Do you think she's still looking for your uncle's ledger?"

"She's probably reading it. Let's get to work. I don't want to have to argue with her."

"I'm going to put out some food for Donya. I'll go tell her and she can eat while we're working."

Jahl nodded and stood up. He slid the chair back and focused on walking to his work table while Rouen went to the library door. By the time he reached the table, Rouen was already striding in to join him.

"Let me get it all laid out for you. Easy stuff first to get you warmed up?"

"Sure." Jahl traveled around the table until he reached his stone and cart on the opposite side. He'd left it where the Widow's box of china was still waiting for pickup. Deftly, he set it for rolling and made his return to where Rouen was laying out the day's work on the aged but smooth surface.

"So how does a bubble prove she can wield?" Rouen said as he set out a large platter that had been bent in half. He laughed when he saw the face Jahl made upon seeing the twisted serving dish. "The customer's husband was releasing a bit of tension, I believe she said." He grinned. "Now, a bubble?"

"When testing a small child, my uncle would give them this stick that appears to be hollow. Well, it does to a small child. He would ask them to blow a bubble into a glass of water." He shrugged his shoulders. "Sounds simple, right? The stick has an enchanted chip in it, but he would have the child stand on a stone anyway. I didn't have Donya stand on a stone which is only one of the things we found to argue about. Anyway, she made a small bubble come out the end."

"So not in the glass of water?" said Rouen.

"Not even blowing," grumbled Jahl. "Which I suppose does show she has a strong level of wielding. But she has had no training."

"Yeah, we could have done a better job with her."

Jahl snorted and nodded, his humor returning. "Let's get to work."

After two hours, they both decided to call the wielding done. Rouen still had a couple more pieces, but he wanted to give reworking them himself a try now that he had some free time in his schedule to practice his craft instead of scrambling to get caught up.

"How's your pop," said Jahl while Rouen packed up the larger pieces first. Some he wrapped in strips of thin hide, while others he wedged in between wrapped items. Jahl stepped off the cart and sat down on a tall wooden stool.

Rouen thought a moment. "Be a least two more weeks before he's out of bed. Longer before he'll be able to work for any worthwhile time in the shop."

"Maybe I could heal him?"

"Don't think I haven't brought that up already," Rouen said with a huff. "He's only a little okay with what you are already doing. I thought he was going to clout me when I mentioned that maybe you could try healing him." He shook his head at the memory.

"Oh." Jahl felt another nick at his view of himself. _Even her pop doesn't want me close_. "Is your brother Beon helping?"

He resumed packing. "Some. He still has school yet, but he handles the kiln when he can, some of the wax working, but his real talent is in design, especially embellishments." Rouen gathered the sheets of paper with notes and sketches on them. "Some of these drawings are his." He rolled them up and crammed them into the packed box.

Jahl surveyed the front of the workroom. Donya had come in the hour before and sat down clutching in her lap what looked like the ledger. She remained silent, but not sullen, more speculative, and he wondered what she may have found in the bound sheets.

"That it?" he asked her.

"This one and there's five more I found on a shelf, but this book has the last entry."

Jahl walked around the table and gestured for her to open it. Donya shook her head. "You need to practice walking first."

"True," he nodded, "but I also need to figure out how much to charge for all that china work. Maybe I can get an idea by looking at my uncle's charges."

"You practice walking, and I'll look for some work that's similar."

Jahl had come all the way around the table and stood before Donya still seated and clutching the book. "Did you find something in there?" he said.

"Let me be your bookkeeper, and you can train me. I'll keep the place up, organize the library, and —"

"I'm going to train you," he said and reached for the book.

Donya stood up, holding the book tighter to her chest, her eyes flashing. "I've waited a long time. And I won't give you any trouble." She twisted around prepared to dash from the room. "I'm a year older than you, and I'm so behind!"

Jahl felt his frustration rise ready to argue and realized they were on the same side of the discussion. He leaned in. "I said I'm going to train you."

"And you're lousy at cleaning anyway, Don," said her brother. "Now give the man some peace, and hand him the book. Not every day is a day that you have to fight for something."

Donya stood staring from one boy to the other. A laughing grin formed on her lips and she tipped her head as though asking for forgiveness.

"We gotta have a truce, Donya," said Jahl.

Rouen shook his head. "No, you two have to get out what has you two so easy to fight. Jahl, you said you can't forget the past and that Donya can't either." He held out his hand palm up shifting it first to point at Donya one and then Jahl. "Tell each other what went wrong way back, like you and I did, Jahl. We got things cleared up."

Immediately, the memory of her tripping him to the ground, the trio of boys nearby laughing, and Jahl trying to get his strong leg underneath him so he could stand up came to mind. He could still feel the grit of the dirt that had hit him in the mouth when he had not been able to catch himself and his face skidded on the ground, a scrape that left skinned flesh on his chin burning. The memory was so sharp that true anger rose like bile in his throat.

"Maybe you didn't do it on purpose."

Donya was red-faced as though she saw the moment play out in her mind and was embarrassed by it. Their eyes met, and Donya shook her head back and forth, her eyes damp with instant sympathy. "I did do it on purpose. But afterward, I wanted it to be an accident, and I felt so bad all I could do was run and hide in the bushes and hope you hadn't known it was me. But I realized when you looked my way that you did know. It was like you saw through the twigs and leaves I had hoped to hide behind. There was no escape. I'm sorry, Jahl. I blamed you for everything."

Jahl's memory was just as clear that she had avoided him from then on. Even after early school ended when he'd turned twelve, and they had both gone on to the academy, she had kept her distance, never made eye contact, and always kept herself on the opposite side of any activity or room they shared. But he had made her miserable then. Acting like she didn't exist, and when he did acknowledge her, he'd looked down at her from his lofty wielder heights. Knowing now that she was from a wielder clan, he realized that must have hurt. _But even if she'd hadn't been wielder, I had no right to treat her that way. Wielding doesn't make one better, just different._

"I'd finally figured out that none of it was your fault," she said.

He shook his head. Some of it had been his fault. _We were kids. Aren't we old enough now to get over it?_

Jahl wanted to forget those days just as he had set his anger aside for Rouen when their friendship had been lost that first day the new boy had come to school. He shook his head to clear away the anger and hurt. He thought about what would diffuse the anger and restart their relationship on better footing. The metaphor made him grin. Better footing was exactly what he needed. "So does this mean you won't keep the books, or clear up or organize the library?"

Jahl saw the hope rise in her eyes. Maybe they could be friends. _But nothing more_. He tried to keep the awkward smile on his face.

"Oh, I've seen your scrawl, I better keep the books. But you're no cripple now and can help clean this place."

Jahl raised a finger. "After Ro teaches me to walk."

Donya lifted the book up to him. They shared a stare. Her blue eyes still moist looked up at him. He hadn't reached for the book. Jahl just stood there feeling the hurt of feeling forever alone and the pleasure of maybe having another friend.

"Ha, the book can wait." Rouen backed up to put the entire length of the room between them. "Okay, little Jahl. Come to best friend Ro." He squatted and patted his knees. His eyes sparked with humor. "Come to me, little Jahl."

Donya burst out laughing and Jahl rolled his eyes and turned to face Rouen who crooked his finger and taunted him again, "Come on, little Jahl."

Jahl used the table for support as he worked at hurrying his legs to get to Rouen.

Rouen teased him on. "Is that your normal walk or an attempt to walk like you used to. I can't tell which you're going for." He eyed Jahl's movements with a critical eye. "Let's go for the old style. Crouch a bit more and sorta lean off to your right like you're going downhill."

A sharp rap on the front door froze them all in place. Jahl and Ro's eyes met. Rouen shrugged. Jahl turned his head to glance at Donya. She appeared just as uncertain. He pointed at himself and whispered. "Me?"

Rouen nodded vigorously. Donya pointed at herself and turned her head toward the door to the parlor, "Me?"

Rouen and Jahl both shook their heads no. The rap came again and Jahl turned about. He wrestled his feet around and shuffled in the direction of the front of the house. Donya caught him at the door of the parlor and let him lean on her until they reached the front door, then she retreated to the workroom and pulled the door that separated the two rooms open a crack.

Glancing back, Jahl confirmed they were out of sight. The rap sounded again against the smooth wood. In the etched window, he made out a short figure standing on the stoop. Ro's words about crouching and leaning came to mind and he rearranged himself into his old stance and opened the door.

### Chapter Eight

A boy stood in clean breeches, a white shirt collar peeking above a blue livery jacket. He straightened up his shoulders and said, "Are you Wielder Pratter?"

"I am."

"The Widow Cawsworth said to give you this." He held up a note folded and sealed with red imprinted wax.

Jahl opened the note and read the widow's elegant hand. It introduced the boy as a member of her household and trustworthy. He carried payment and would explain her urgent request.

Jahl stepped back from the door, holding it open for the boy to pass into the house. "Take a seat in the parlor. I will be back with the bill for the china." He closed the front door and tread, leaning and lurching to the door of the workroom. The boy sat gingerly on a chair and looked around. "I'll be a moment," said Jahl. Then he opened the door of the room just enough to step in and latch it behind him.

Donya was flipping through the pages of the ledger. She gestured him over and whispered. "Here your uncle Tran noted a repair of a set of ten shattered crystal glasses. His charge was a half gold. It's not as complex as the china you did. And you also worked on a lot more pieces."

"So a full gold?" Jahl said.

"I think a gold and a half," she said.

"Really?"

Rouen put a hand on Jahl's shoulder to get his attention. "I agree. To replace a whole set? An eighteen-piece place setting with serving dishes and all would be well over three full golds. You saved her money, and it wasn't an easy repair. Donya told me."

Donya was already pulling stationery out of the desktop cubby at the back of the room. She wrote out a bill with the charge of a gold and a half. This she walked over to Jahl, handed him the quill and the note and pushed him back to the door. "Mark it paid if he pays you and sign it."

Jahl returned to the parlor to find the boy still seated and passing a straight twig between, behind and over his fingers, back and forth with easy dexterity. He stood up when Jahl entered, shoving the polished stick in his coat's breast pocket. Jahl showed him the bill, and the boy reached into a pouch hanging from his waist and pulled out four half gold coins and a few coppers.

"The widow guessed at the amount." The boy picked out three half golds and handed them to Jahl, who stepped to the side table against the wall and signed the bill as paid in full.

As Jahl handed the receipt over to the boy, he said, "And what about the widow's urgent request?"

"She knows it's not as was planned, but she needs you to deliver it tonight. That's why I'm here early. She needs it at six just like you said it would be done. I brought extra payment to cover the delivery." The boy held out six coppers.

Jahl was disconcerted. How was he going to get it delivered? It took two men to carry it in and they had brought it in a wagon.

"Can you do it? The widow's having a big party tonight and hasn't anyone to spare but me."

Rouen's voice came in from behind the door. "Got the delivery done, Wielder Pratter. Anything more I can do before I head home?"

Jahl nodded at the boy and worked hard not to grin. "I can have the crated china delivered by six. See that someone is there to unload it." He accepted the six coppers and limped to the door to let the boy out. At the latch of the front door, Donya and Rouen joined him in the parlor.

They all shook their heads and grinned. Jahl held out his hand and the three gripped hands. Rouen slapped Jahl on the shoulder and they sat down on the chairs and settee in the center of the bright room.

Jahl's happy expression fell to one of concern. "But if you deliver it, someone might connect us, and that wouldn't be good."

"Donya has it all worked out," said Rouen.

"Beon will deliver it," she explained. "I'm going to run home. He has a delivery to make later this afternoon. He can come round the back and pick up the work you did today and the china. Then he heads out on his deliveries and drops off our work and yours. It won't look suspicious to anyone. And if someone does make the connection, you were close friends once so, of course, you would turn to Beon to be your delivery person on short notice, but I don't think it's going to be a concern. We've delivered to the Cawsworth house before. We often deliver to a tradesman who stays there each month, a Pol Beauraman. And we can use Beon for pickup and delivery from now on."

"You know Tradesman Beauraman?" Jahl had thought of Beauraman as just passing through Chussan Faire on the way to a larger city, but he realized now the man frequented the area. That still didn't explain why he had a wielder's cane though. Jahl pushed the mystery out of his mind. He had a delivery to plan.

"He's a friend of Pop's," said Rouen. "It started out as a business association. Beauraman trades largely in metals, both raw and finished works. But over the years they've become good friends." He shrugged. "So we make deliveries to the Widow Cawsworth regularly."

It seemed like the perfect plan. Jahl agreed to it immediately. "But you have to give this to Beon if I'm hiring him for the job." He held out the six coppers. "This was for the cost of the delivery."

"He gets a sixty percent cut on deliveries made if they're not for us," said Rouen. "He'll turn in the difference to Pop. Which reminds me, I still have to pay you."

Donya headed out of the room, calling out over her shoulder as she strode to the library, "Wait, we need to fill out a ledger on this work. There are some empty ledger sheets already bound on the shelf with the others. I'll get it and start your accounting." Soon she was seated at the workroom desk preparing the first sheet for filling out.

"Come, Jahl, and tell me everything you have done this week. We'll make this the true start of your wielder business, and it will give me practice for when I start wielding."

Her excitement was contagious, and the smith and wielder stood behind her figuring out the work she needed to add to the ledger before she wrote in today's efforts.

"If it weren't for keeping our customers unaware of pop's injury, all this sneaking around would seem silly," said Rouen. "In a few weeks, are you going to openly train Donya?"

"We still don't know if it's safe," said Jahl. In many ways, it made no sense after all these years to still fear the Wane. And why did his uncle think a wielder had been responsible rather than just an illness like any other that happened to affect only a certain population?

"Even the Deln who never returned don't want it known that I'm a wielder," said Donya. "They made Mom and Pop promise to keep it a secret who was supplying the tuition for my schooling."

"You said my Uncle Tran also warned your father not to tell anyone, right?"

Donya nodded, but Rouen still seemed uncertain.

Jahl stared at the upper cupboards and remembered the stacks of still new looking newspapers. "My mom said it might be in the newspapers. No, wait she said that Tran said it was what wasn't in the newspapers that told him."

"Newspapers?" the Marson siblings said together.

"I have a stack of newspapers from the year of the Wane. My uncle saved them." Jahl pointed to the cupboard he had stacked them in. "We can read them and see what we find."

Donya headed around the table and passed by the crate of Widow Cawsworth's china drawing her brother's attention to the crate. "Donya, you need to get that message to Beon about picking up some deliveries here."

She rolled her eyes. "But I want to look at the newspapers, too. All three of us should look. You might miss something."

Rouen shook his head. "We'll practice walking while you're gone. By the time you're back, Jahl will be plenty tired and we'll need to sit. Then we can read together." He waved his arm toward the back of the house. "Get going girl. You're the apprentice, so apprentice."

She ground one heel into the floor and bit her lip, but after a moment she headed for the back door. Passing her brother, she punched him in the arm and shook her hand immediately afterward in the air to jiggle out the unexpected discomfort.

"Come work in the shop if you want to be able to box me, sis," he called after her as she swept out the door in a huff. "Buildup some muscles first."

"Leave your sister be. Come help _me_ build up some muscles."

"I figured we read the newspapers while she was gone," said the still laughing silversmith.

"Your sister and I are supposed to be putting down the hatchet, not sharpening it up." Jahl moved into the more open area of the workroom along the wall with exterior windows.

"Alright. Let's get a look at your old crooked walk."

### ~~~~~~~

As the china crate and the Marson's repairs rolled away on Beon's wagon headed for delivery, the three prepared to examine the newspapers Tran Donnel had saved. Each set down a month's stack on the cleared table of the workroom. The friends, too noisy with laughter and teasing, failed to notice the front door opening and Mahre Pratter entering the workroom until she gasped her son's name. Her hands clutched at her chest as though seeing him standing upright and stepping with straight though awkward steps were more than her heart could take. She staggered back to the door and grabbed the molding for support.

"Mom! What are you doing here?" Jahl turned at the gasp to see his mother pale and terrified.

"What have you done?" she said oblivious to Jahl's shock at seeing her.

Donya moved the quickest, grabbing the chair behind her and rushing it to the woman still clutching the doorframe. "Please sit, Mrs. Pratter. Nothing has happened to Jahl. He's just a little thin is all."

Mahre's hands swiped at the girl as though she were a distraction, but she sat in the chair. "Your leg," she said. "What have you done to your leg? How?"

"Donya, we should leave," said Rouen.

Suddenly, Mahre Pratter was aware that the Marsons were there. "Don't tell anyone about his legs. Please don't tell a soul."

"Not a word, Mrs. Pratter, we promise." Rouen waved again at Donya. "Come on. We'll check back with you later, Jahl." He backed out of the room into the kitchen, and Donya joined him. They left practically on tiptoe; Jahl stunned by her reaction stood and stared at his mother.

Rivulets of tears ran down her face. She seemed oblivious to them. Her brown blouse was blotted with darkening stains as the tears dripped unheeded from either side of her chin. "Come here," she said. It was an order, though it was whispered and struggled to exit her lips.

Jahl walked, making every effort to make his steps smooth and confident. They weren't, but he knew he was moving better than he had that morning, or all the days prior he reminded himself. He raised his chin. "I repaired my leg myself."

When he stood in front of her, she leaned forward and reached out to touch his once crooked knee but stopped short of actually making contact. "Did it hurt?" she said. Mahre looked up at her son, and he saw for the first time a bewilderment in her eyes as if she believed she was dreaming or imagining his legs straight and well-formed. He crouched down and she took his hands in her own. "I didn't dare hope," she said.

For the second time today a rap at the door startled Jahl. "I'm a popular fellow this afternoon." He began to rise to stand, but his mother gripped his hands and kept him from standing.

"Don't answer it. Nobody must see you like this."

"It's okay. I've practiced my crooked walk."

"No, I'll answer it. I'll say you're resting, overworked."

The knock was much firmer as though the person at the door suspected Jahl hadn't heard the first rapping.

"Mom, I'm fine. Just a bit thin from the wielding." He pulled away from her and headed for the door and entered the parlor, but she was right behind him and grabbed his arm, and he was unwilling to fight her as Mahre forced him to sit in one of the red chairs in the center of the room. She rushed a glance about the parlor until she found a lap blanket hung over the back of the settee and grabbed it. She draped it over his legs and wedged his right leg behind the other. Mahre stood and surveyed the appearance it created. "Just stay seated." She yanked the door to the workroom shut as she passed it.

"Mom," said Jahl, but he did not get up.

Mahre Pratter wiped her eyes and shook her head as though preparing to face trouble and went to the door. Jahl could just see her as she leaned forward and opened it.

"Who is it, Mom?"

"He's not been well, Bragg," Jahl heard her say. "And is still weak."

"It's nice to see you, Mahre. I hadn't expected you to be here with so much to do at home." There was just the slightest sourness to his tone. Jahl saw his mother stiffen. Moln stepped further into the hall and leaned forward close to Mahre. Jahl heard him whisper, "Mahre, it's not safe for him to wield the essence." His worry softened her expression.

Jahl called from the parlor. "Is that you, Master Moln? Come in and visit a moment or two."

The large man strode into the hall and around the short separating wall. He stopped when he saw Jahl. "Little man, you looked stripped of your muscles. Have you been sick?"

"I overdid my work on the house a bit and have been in bed for a couple of days."

Bragg examined the parlor, his gaze traversing the room. "You've done a good job."

"Sit down with me." Jahl felt guilty pretending when Bragg had always been kind to him. Mahre Pratter was still standing in the hall, brittle and unfriendly. "Cam and my mom did a lot of it last week, but Rouen Marson has been here a few times to help out."

"I imagine you needed the help," the big man said and entered the room, but he did not sit down.

"They think I'm looking a bit thin. What brings you by this way? Are you keeping an eye on me?"

"I have always looked forward to seeing you at the mercantile. When I didn't spy you out front, as usual, I worried. What happened? A couple of day's illness wouldn't do this." He gestured at Jahl's thinness.

"I tripped on the stairs and was knocked unconscious. Rouen found me. By then I had caught a chest cold and been without food a couple of days, and then I couldn't eat what with being sick. Today is my first good day." Jahl wondered if he had lain that on a bit thick and if perhaps Bragg had seen him answer the door earlier. But that would have been okay. Mom wasn't here being a mother hen yet. "Actually, Mom is just being a bit overzealous. I was moving about the house earlier. But she doesn't believe me."

"Loving mothers are like that."

Jahl caught the sourness again in Bragg's tone and wondered if the man had been aware of his mom's rough mothering. "I suppose." Jahl attempted to put the same degree of dissatisfaction in his voice. Over the big man's shoulder, he saw his mother wince.

"Overzealous or not, it is best not to overdo." He surveyed the room again. "Take it slow getting this old house together. You have time." He grinned. "But I, though willing to come to your rescue, which I am happy to see is not needed, am rather short of time. Ioane is home preparing supper and wondering where I am, so I'll be off." Bragg laid his hand on Jahl's shoulder and squeezed the thinness. "Mahre, feed this boy. Get some meat on his bones before he shrivels away. And, young man, conserve your strength. You've not been strong, and overexerting yourself will only pull you down further."

"I'll take things easier, which I am sure will make you both happy," he said eyeing his mother and pulling his mouth into an exasperated grin.

Bragg pointed to the closed door of the workroom. "Perhaps you should turn one of these rooms into a bedroom so you don't have to go upstairs at all. Your room at home was downstairs, wasn't."

"True, but I won't get stronger if I don't push myself."

"But you have limitations that can't be altered." Bragg turned to address Jahl's mother in the hall. "Right, Mahre? He shouldn't go beyond what his body can take, should he?"

She started to answer, her mouth in a tight press, but Jahl interrupted her. "She's already lectured me on not pushing myself. Mom would have me tied to this chair given the chance."

"As it should be, as it should be." Bragg squeezed Jahl's shoulder once again before releasing it. "I'd best be on my way," he said, his eyes soft with kindness as he bent his tall frame to hold Jahl's gaze for emphasis. He pulled himself straight and strode to the door. "I'm glad you're here to watch over your son, Mahre. He could be hurt by his own exuberance."

The door was already open; Jahl's mother had moved aside, opened it and now gripped the brass nob tight in her hand.

"Good day, Pratters," he called as he exited.

"Good day, Master Moln," Jahl called for them both. At the closing of the door, Jahl threw back the cover. "When did you two get so stiff with each other?"

Mahre Pratter tapped her fingers to her lips, gesturing him to hush and in a few steps was in front of her son and tucking the blanket back around his legs. She sat down and waited in silence watching the sunshine glimmer through the sheer lace curtains. Jahl remained in his seat, partially raised off the chair and waiting for her to tell him when he could rise and go about his business.

He followed her gaze and saw as she did the shadow that indicated someone leaving his front steps and heading down the walkway. Moln had taken a bit longer than seemed reasonable to leave Jahl's front stoop. He cocked his head in inquiry at her.

"He was listening."

"To what?" said Jahl. "Bragg Moln has always been nothing but kind to me. You know, he was probably trying to hide the shock at seeing me so thin." Jahl threw off the blanket and stood. "And I think he's still in love with you. I'm sure he was standing there pulling himself together. He must be lonely since his wife died."

She shook her head and twisted her hands in her lap. Strangely, her eyes were dry.

"I've heard the gossip," Jahl said. "How you two were expected to marry, but you ran off with my father. Bragg's been wonderful to me. It's you who've been regretful and revengeful over your own choices. I'm sure the two of you would have produced fine, strapping lads. Must have galled you to end up with me."

Mahre looked as if he'd slapped her, her head pulled up and turned away as though she were recovering from the impact and preparing for another.

Jahl was immediately repentant. "Mom, I'm sorry." Jahl stared at the floor. "I always feel that you are disappointed. In me, in life,...in your choices." He rubbed at his temples and stepped toward her.

She stood as well and wrapped her arms around herself, bringing him to a halt. "After more than sixteen years, I'm sure the stories are quite changed. You said 'gossip.' The perfect word to describe those stories." She picked up the blanket from the chair and folded it. "Yes, Bragg loved me, but it was one-sided. We went about together a few weeks, and I realized he wasn't the man for me. Yes, kind, considerate, ready to claim me as his own. But you'll find Jahl that whom you love does not always love you back."

Jahl cringed inside and worked to keep it from showing. _But I don't' love Donya. I just thought maybe._

"Just because someone is good doesn't mean that you belong together. I met Jom weeks later during an end-of-school picnic, my last year in the advanced academy. He and his sister delivered the baked goods to the picnic. I was in charge of laying out the board and told Jom and Petri where to put the bread, cookies, and pies. We got to talking." She stopped and sat musing for a few moments.

Jahl stood surprised yet again to find her talkative. Her eyes met his gaze and allowed a smile to grace her face. He was reminded of how pretty his mother could be when she wasn't being stoic and how it would not be surprising that two men might be attracted to her, but only one win her heart.

And then the smile fell away. "But what do you care of the first moments of your parents' meeting? It is now that is important and what you remember rather than what I know." She lay the cover over the settee and turned to face him. "But I loved your father, have loved him all these years and not regretted it even once." She retreated to the hallway, and said, "Bragg got over us not being together. He even helped to save you before you were born and I was attacked by the Wane. He married and they had Ioane." She stopped and pressed her hands down the front of her dress, the gesture seeming to remove all further discussion about Bragg and her relationship long ago. "But he's right that you need to eat. I will make a hearty soup for you that you can have over several days. I'll see what Donya Marson brought for you."

Jahl heard what she didn't say. _So having me was a disappointment._ He said, "She shopped for me. I gave her the money."

"How sweet." Her tone was not kind.

Jahl felt again the sting of disapproval. "I couldn't very well stumble down the street in a near coma and do it myself." Jahl followed his mother to the kitchen. "Without her, I would have starved." When she bent to take a large cooking pot from the cabinet below, he noted her eyes were watery again. "Did you get the money she took to the manor for me?" Jahl wondered for a moment if his mother's dislike for Donya was inspired by his own anger at the girl. He'd never told anyone, but he knew mothers tended to be aware of such things, even though it had always seemed his mother hadn't.

"Yes." She clanged the pot on the cast iron stovetop. "It won't be long before we've paid off the loan, thanks to you. Your father thinks we'll be able to purchase some seed for the second planting season." She talked with a casual tone as though discussing things automatically, as she gathered what she needed to make the soup she had proposed. "Now if we can just keep the blight from ruining the crop."

Jahl rubbed at his right hip. What could he do to make her proud of him? "Bragg said it isn't normal for the blight to set in so early."

She paused before setting a cutting board on the counter. Her manner of speaking was again engaged with the topic. "We seem to be a target again."

"You think it was intentional?"

She stood still another moment, then set her shoulders as though a decision had been made. "Your uncle felt you should remain unnoticed. But you've moved far from that. The Marsons are here each day, and Moln is keeping an eye out for you. There are those who are not so kindly disposed toward the Pratters. There have been several wielders from the other trader cities of An Faire along the trade way coming into Chussan."

Jahl recalled his recent interactions with those encroaching wielders. He nodded.

"Who else has visited here?"

"Besides family?"

She turned to face him a small red tomato in her hand as well as a vegetable knife. "Besides Jom, Cam and myself, yes."

"The Widow Cawsworth commissioned me to repair some china. Two of her servants dropped off the crate and a boy in her service brought payment. That's everyone I assume you didn't know about. Are you going to tell me I can't take any jobs wielding?"

"No, I've accepted that you are a wielder and on your own. Just be careful who you wield for and what you wield. This china, some simple chips and cracks?" She turned back to the counter and began slicing the tomato.

He stared at her lean back and pursed his lips as he considered what he should say. He nodded. "Yeah, a lot of simple chips and cracks." Jahl left the kitchen and sat down on the stool he had pulled up to the table earlier. He didn't want to get into yet another argument with her if he described the degree of the repair he had done. She hadn't answered his question and he refused to ask it again. If the blight had been intentional, then there was reason for concern. He didn't want to have to hide his wielding or stop in order to get the attention to dwindle away.

Jahl sat and pretended to read the first paper on the stack. He hated that they could not talk without arguing with each other. He could not recall a time when he felt his mother was soft or approachable. Communicating with her was always a momentary truce on the verge of falling into open war. He reread for the fourth time the first paragraph of an article about another wielder family found in the throes of the Wane, near death and beyond hope of recovery. He made a note of the family name on a sheet of paper along with the date of the assumed contraction of the disease, more than two months after the first case of a Donnel succumbing to the deadly plague.

After a few minutes, his mother came in and set a plate down before him with cut apples, cheese, and thick slices of heavy bread. "It will be quite a while before the soup is ready," she said. He watched her leave the workroom. Instantly curious, he called out to her, "Why did Uncle Tran believe I would one day be a greater wielder than he was?"

Mahre Pratter turned just before she would have been out of sight upon entering the kitchen proper. "No one could have survived the amount of Lal that was being flushed into your body day after day without already having the ability to wield it. Perhaps it was your own defensive necessity to survive, but it should have killed you. We made a decision. The Wane could be left to kill you or we could do it ourselves in our attempt to save you."

"But I still was born a cripple."

"Tran could see the Wane twisting you, causing you such agony." Her eyes watered and she ignored them. "He and I and every member of my family took turns flushing power into you to hold back the Wane. Even Bragg helped, though he had such a fright one day when his arms cramped viciously that he never offered again. The Wane terrified him. As it did everyone." Mahre Pratter retied the apron she had put on as though she were trying to use the simple action to drive away the memories. "Tran believed that wielding was the answer, where others believed that wielding was what caused the Wane to attack." She was silent a moment. "Sometimes it would surge up as though striking at us with purpose. That's how your Uncle Brue died. He was so focused on turning back the damage, he didn't have time to defend himself." Mahre stood paralyzed by the memory of her brother's death. She wiped her eyes of their perpetual dampness. The pause ran on and Jahl stared at the wood grain of the floor to give her time. "After that, we tried to always have another wielder present to protect the one protecting you." She walked into the kitchen, out of sight, unwilling or unable to talk further.

Cam had told Jahl that the Donnel clan had united around Mahre when she became ill shortly after learning she was pregnant. Cam would sneak into the darkened room where she lay and watch Uncle Tran, Brue, Destry, each of the Donnel family members sitting by his new mother. They would whisper to each other and sometimes Cam would catch a word or two. The words would frighten him, and he would often slink from the room and hide, but he would always sneak in again afraid if he stayed away too long, he would lose this mother who had made life so much sweeter. He remembered her kindness, the little candies she would bring him or how she would take him out on the swing and push him until the glee bubbled from him like a spring brook. He told Jahl of the times he would run to his father when the two were just newly promised to each other to show a skinned knee or elbow and how she would take the scraped limb in a tender hand and heal it with a thought and a kiss. But Jahl had no memories like Cam did of his mother. She had not been the same tender mother his half-brother recalled.

Cam told Jahl of the day of his birth. How only a few Donnel members were left and many other clans were bereft of their wielder children and adults. Jahl's birth was a welcomed but not a joyous occasion. Cam had gone into the bedroom to find Uncle Tran exhausted and sleeping in a chair, Jahl's mother clutching her baby son in her arms, tears running down her face. She kept trying to smooth the baby blanket down over his legs, but the twisted bones of its limbs, the ringing cries and writhing of the baby would tighten and stress the blanket into a distorted bunch. She kept repeating, "I'm sorry," over the whimpering of the child in her arms.

Jahl joined his mother in the kitchen wondering if he could get her to talk about those days. She was adding stock to the pot, the stovetop already scorching, and the liquid rolling into a boil. Jahl looked back into the workroom where the paper he'd been reading still lay open. Even with his thoughts interrupting his understanding of the article, he hadn't been at it more than twenty minutes and that was not long enough for the stove to be hot enough to boil the thick broth. He felt the heat emanating from the cast iron.

"How did the stove get hot so fast?"

Mahre Pratter looked over her shoulder, the first grin he had seen in a long time marking her face. "Surely you can guess."

Jahl looked about and could find no sign of a standing stone. His was still in the workroom. "Do you have an enchanted shard?"

" _I_ don't," she teased.

Jahl's brow creased and he tried to make sense of her statement. Who did if someone other than his mother had an enchanted shard in this room? "Do I have one?"

"She turned back to stir the broth and drop various chopped ingredients into it. "Where would it be if you did?"

Jahl approached the stove, reaching his hand out to touch it. She slapped it away.

"Do you want to burn yourself? Check without touching."

He moved in close but kept his distance as she stepped aside to give him space but still be able to stir. Jahl closed his eyes and reached out mentally to the narrow castiron stove. A twinge of essence responded and as he extended his range, he felt the sure signs of a shard embedded in the firebox. "So you use a shard to heat the stove. I don't have to stoke it."

"The icebox works the same," she said. "One activation lasts about two weeks before it starts to wear off."

"I don't have to buy ice or wood."

"Don't be silly. Of course, you do."

"Huh?" His mouth dropped open.

"If you don't buy ice and wood, someone will figure out that you're using essence that you shouldn't have access to. Your uncle used to serve a lot of cold drinks. And he always bought wood that was high quality and kept it in his storage in the backyard to supplement his materials."

"Where in the backyard?" Jahl pondered where his uncle could have stored fine woods. Though, he thought, perhaps that stock was long gone.

"The shed," she said and upended a bowl full of chopped early potatoes into the stew pot.

"I thought that was full of tools for the garden and such."

"It has a few for appearance's sake. You haven't been inside, have you?" Jahl shook his head confirming her statement. "You will find it full of all sorts of useful items."

"Are there other shards in the house?"

"Ehhm."

"Will you show me?"

"I will show you one, but you will have to find the others."

"You think this is funny."

She turned to face him and looked puzzled. "I know of two others. I suspect there are more. But the one I will show you could be the one you need the most."

"Show me now. Both of them."

"After I get the soup started. I can't stay long, so I want to get it ready to simmer and then leave it for you to finish." She saw the frustration in his eyes, his unwillingness to wait. "It won't be long, and I won't leave until I've shown it to you."

"Both."

"The important one. After that, you should have no trouble locating the others."

"Why?"

"Because the important one made you forget. Now go away for a few minutes and let me finish this."

Jahl wandered into the workroom supposing it was a likely place to find an embedded shard. He ran his palms along the whole table then stood with his hands flat on its smooth surface and tried to sense any essence in it. Nothing. He moved on about the room stopping to check a counter and the cabinets within reach. Still, he found no trace of a shard or a tingle to show he was near one. He kept his senses up and searching as he ran his fingers over everything. The decorative pot he had placed on the fake stone gave him a shock when his hands grazed it, and he lifted it excitedly and ran his senses through it. Nothing. He set it back down. Static electricity. Jahl moved on running his fingers over the surfaces, his eyes half closed to avoid distraction.

"What are you doing?" Mahre said having entered the room from the kitchen.

"I'm searching for shards."

"I don't know of any in here, except for the fireplace, but that one is accessible on the other side."

Jahl glanced at the two-sided fireplace that divided and served both the parlor and the workroom. "Why are there matches on the mantle if there is a shard to light it?"

"The shard is for those who can light it that way, but for others who cannot wield, there are matches. Tran was always a considerate host."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"You knew your uncle."

"That's not what I meant."

"This is my second time here, Jahl, since you moved in. When did I have the opportunity to show you around your house?"

He crossed his arms and leaned stiffly against the counter beneath the cabinet with the rest of the newspapers stacked in it. "Is the shard you were talking about in here?"

"Let's go in the library. Do you remember visiting your uncle?"

"It wasn't that long ago," he snapped. "Of course, I remember. Is the shard in there?"

Mahre ignored him and turned around to exit the room. Jahl could hear her open the door across the hall, so he hurried to enter the library with her. Probably the ladder that rolled along a track all the way around the room actually had a shard, and he could just ride it around as he searched for books. The thought brought an amused smile to his face. That would actually be kind of fun. He imagined Donya would get a kick out of it, too. He was at the door before he finished the thought just in time to register how quickly he had traversed the room, crossed the hall and entered. With his crippled leg, it would have taken him three times as long, and the agony of the effort to rush would have left him gasping at the door when he did arrive. His smile turned into a full-sized grin.

Mahre was still walking toward a study table when he crossed the threshold. She pivoted on her heel to face him and leaned on the table.

"Jahl, you'll never fool anyone into believing your leg is the same if you go around walking like that."

He could tell she was trying to sound angry, but even his mother marveled at how well he was walking now. "Makes you want to say, 'Blackened shards,' doesn't it?"

"No," she said deadpan. She pointed at the only fully upholstered chair in the room. It was Jahl's favorite chair in the whole house. He remembered as a kid curling up in it and going to sleep almost every time they came to visit. Sometimes he made a nuisance of himself just to hear his uncle and mother jointly yell, "Go to the library and stay there."

"Sit down."

Jahl sat, resigned to her taking her time to show him the shard. Maybe she had all evening. One consolation was he got to sit in his favorite chair.

"Put your hands flat on the arms and tell me what you _feel_."

Jahl experienced some trepidation for a moment and skimmed his hands along the long padded armrests until his arms lay flat from palm to elbow. He felt the coolness of the blue stained leather and the slow warming that was occurring as his body heat transferred to the distressed leather that was stretched over the arms. His fingers rubbed against the nubs of the wide nail heads that bordered the rolled seam just behind the knobby bear heads that graced both of the chair arms. It had been a couple years since he'd sat in the chair and found that it was more fitted to him proportionally than when he was fourteen years old. His arms used to feel raised too high at his shoulders, but now they were the perfect height. The high cushioned back supported him well at the low curve of his spine, and his feet rested flat on the floor. He loved this chair even more. He sat deeper into the cushions and lay his head against the chair back. "I feel great."

"Oh, you are such a contrary boy. Feel the chair, feel for the shard."

Jahl stiffened, no longer relaxed. His favorite chair held a shard? Was this the one that she said "made you forget"? He reached out for the prickle of essence. Sure enough, there it was tingling at the fingertips of both hands, so there were two shards both quite deep so they had to be called to respond. No wonder he never noted them. He pulled at them at first tentatively and then more aggressively. The magic swarmed up his arms and filled him till he almost felt he was expanding with the essence that filled the bits between what made him flesh and bone. The room seemed to recede away from him, and he feared he was actually leaving the substantial world of the library.

His mother's voice called him back enough that he felt anchored. "Jahl, do you hear me?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Can you hang close so we can talk or should you pull away from the power of the shards? You need to understand what I am going to tell you."

"What should I do, Mom?" He almost felt afraid, but there was so much comfort attached to the emersion that he couldn't believe there was any harm in it.

"Uncle Tran would have you sit in this chair. He would give you wielding lessons. Do you remember?"

Jahl felt a flush of memories rush through him at such a pace he worried he could not keep up with them, but they were instantly familiar, so fundamentally part of him that he found he needed no effort to select one out of the multitude. It took only seconds to recall the experience that had birthed them so that he pulled and discarded in rapid succession.

He'd rode upon his uncle's shoulders often as the two hiked the woods behind the wielder's house. His fingers had gripped the man's beard only to be pried off and established on the thick cowl of his uncle's cloak. Another memory had the two on the floor playing Find the Horse with a set of tiny wooden slabs small enough for a six-year-old's hands. "Light the candle, Jahl." And the bit of melted wax and its sooty wick flamed.

"Mom, why didn't I remember them before?" He reasoned at first he had thought the words, but in seconds his mother was answering.

"Tran knew you needed to be trained, but we couldn't have it known. So each time he taught you something new and rushed you into mastering it, he made you forget. But each time you sat in the chair, he would have you call to the memories so you two could start right where you had left off."

A great welling of anger and sadness boiled up in Jahl. He wailed, "Why didn't he heal me? Why did you let me struggle so?" Mahre's hand touch his arm and wrenched away from the contact with the magic flowing through him, but it was long enough for Jahl to feel the deep sorrow, guilt and pain his mother felt for him going so long unhealed. With the emersion of the essence so filling him, Jahl could not hold on to his own painful desire to blame her. And her words rang true and heartfelt when she answered.

"We had to protect you at any cost. There was no pain that you felt that I didn't weep over daily."

Jahl saw years of images of the watery eyes his mother battled day in and day out. Not an illness, not a weariness, but a daily guilt over her pain-riddled son who had to suffer to be kept safe.

"Mom!" he wailed this time with forgiveness rather than demand and blame. Jahl yanked himself from the essence and launched himself from the chair and into his mother's arms. They gripped each other tightly and breathed past tight chest muscles until they both were weak with the catharsis of what they had shared.

Mahre turned her son to face the chair. She wiped her eyes and straightened her shoulders. "It is not like a standing stone. It's an enhancer, a training tool. You still have to place your feet on a stone or have a functioning shard to manipulate essence for other purposes. The shards in this chair are powerful but for only one purpose, just as the shards in the stove and icebox are."

"You said it made me forget. So if I sit in it, I can remember things Tran taught or told me?"

"Don't assume he left you messages or told you secrets. You were a child then and even now are not fully grown. But if he provided you with knowledge about this house and what's in it, this is where you will remember it."

She stood close to him, their shoulders touching, and Jahl felt a certain wonder at the connection he felt. For so long she had been distant, but he understood much of it now. His perspective was different. All her actions and words took on a different light, and he could not but feel guilty at how much anger and disrespect he had projected toward her in and out of her company. "Mom," he whispered.

Her arm slid over his shoulder. "I always understood, always."

Jahl sighed and tried to find a way to keep this new way of talking with his mother in motion. "Then I'll ask a question. Do you know how to get into Uncle's Lor room?"

She smirked at his switch of topic and nodded her approval. "He always just opened the door and we went in. Sit in the chair again and see what you can remember. I am going to check on your soup." His mother walked out of the room with a light step, and Jahl considered following her to talk further, but the chair beckoned. The first time he had called to the shards he had not been in control. He wanted to try again and moderate the flow of Lal. His two experiences with shards had been rather overwhelming. He chuckled thinking what would happen when he tried to start his cast iron stove. His experience indicated he might burn the house down. Both times the power had been a near drowning in magic that seemed to be in charge of events more than he was. Jahl thought about the cane again and wondered who owned it and if they were a wielder. And why Beauraman had been the one to arrange its repair.

Jahl touched his fingertips to the pliant leather and felt the tingle of the shards within. He pulled at the essence, sensing the power of the shards latent within the pale blue armchair. From the kitchen, he could hear his mother humming. He returned his attention to the call of the essence and decided to sit in it once again and keep the shards under control. Just a tingle to start with. The chair cushions felt like a memory in themselves. So many naps, though perhaps they weren't naps, just lost moments of wielder training. He shook his head at his uncle's secrets. From the kitchen he heard words and wondered if his mother was singing; the humming had been out of place enough.

Donya came striding into the room. "Your mother said I'd find you in here."

"She is determined to have another crack at making bubbles," said Rouen just behind her.

Mahre joined them just as Donya said, "Oh, that was my favorite chair. I took naps in it every time my dad brought me here."

Jahl and his mother shared eyebrow lifts, and Jahl realized Mahre Pratter knew Donya was not a Marson.

Mahre said, "I told Donya how much longer the soup needs to simmer and be stirred. She will add the last ingredients as well. I'm going home, Jahl, but I'll be back," she said giving him a pointed look.

Donya stopped her with a hand on Mahre's arm. "You noticed his leg. But when he walks his old way, it's not quite right. But I have an idea. That's why we came early." Mahre waited as though expecting to hear more. "You know how he walked before better than we do. Are you sure you can't stay and make sure we do it right."

"There are tasks yet to do at the manor, and I accomplished what I most wanted to do here today." She nodded at Jahl's pleased grin. "But I'll come back tomorrow evening and give you my opinion." She turned to leave then twisted back. "If Cam is home and free for the evening, I'll send him along."

Rouen had moved aside earlier so she could enter the room ahead of him, and he stepped out of her way so she could pass by him to leave. After she exited the room, he said, "I'll go get the materials we're going to need."

Jahl followed his mother out and walked her to the door. "I'm glad you came. I have a better understanding about," he shrugged his shoulders not sure how to describe it, "what happened." He finished lamely.

Mahre lay her hand on the back of her son's neck and pulled his head down so she could press her lips to his forehead. She stepped back and reached for the door latch. "Stay out of view when I open the door. I'll be back tomorrow and we'll talk more." Though her voice had its usual hard rasp to it, the momentary watery look to her eyes pulled at Jahl emotionally far differently than it had in the past. They shared uncertain nods.

Jahl watched her leave noting how she was careful to open the door only as much as she needed it and used her body to block any view of him in the hall. As the closing door crossed his view of her, she gave a light wave around it before latching it shut.

### Chapter Nine

Rouen's heavy tread in the parlor announced his return by way of the workroom. "Jahl, Donya has a great idea here. We'll need your stone so we're setting up in the workroom. Can't have you being seen looking like an Adonis after all these years of hunkering."

Donya was already waiting for them by the long table. "I got this idea when I was trimming our grapevine back for the new spring growth. The trunk of a vine is trained to grow and thicken, but even so, they get all twisty and angled. Made me think of your leg."

Rouen reached below the table with both hands and laid a twisted length of grapevine on the smooth surface.

Jahl looked at it. _That made her think of my leg?_ The thick trunk was grey as ash, almost hairy with it rough bark-like outer skin and knobby where shoots had been trimmed off. "What are we going to do with it, exactly?"

"You are going to train it to wrap around your leg and create the same bumps and twists your leg once had," said Rouen.

Donya pulled the thick vine to her and set it standing on the butchered base of one end. "See, you can wield it into shape, wrapping it around your leg to hold the twist and recreate the crippled look."

"You're talking about me putting that under my clothes, right? Isn't that going to be itchy?"

"Change it. Make it smooth. Do whatever, but it will remind you to stay in position and make it consistent," said Donya. She looked irritated that he didn't seem to like the idea.

Jahl looked the vine over skeptically. It wasn't a _bad_ idea. _Why don't I want to do this?_

"I know it's going to work, Jahl," said Rouen. "Give it a try. Maybe the vine isn't the right material, but it's a good sample to work with. We'll consider other options when we know what it needs to look like and how it needs to fit." Rouen took the vine from his sister and handed it to Jahl. "Give it a try at least."

The vine trunk felt light in his hands, not as heavy as he expected it to be, and the roughness of the outer skin would be easy to smooth. He stepped onto his stone and pulled up the image of how his leg once twisted. With the shake of his head and a resigned sigh, Jahl placed the vine against him, pressing it tight against his right leg. Realizing his boot would be in the way, he handed the vine back to the smith and squatted down to remove both boots. Standing in his stocking feet, the cold of the stone seeping through the thin weave, Jahl took the vine back, placing it upside his leg again.

The two stepped closer and Jahl felt pressured. "Okay. Give me a moment to set the image in my mind and call up the essence."

"You should crouch a bit like you used to," said Rouen.

Jahl crouched down and the vine stood up past his hip. Donya bit her lip. "Don't worry," he said, "I'll need that extra material for all the crookedness I have to create." He gave her a quick grin. "It's so much better knowing it won't be for real, even if it looks real."

Rouen tapped a hand on the tabletop. "So wield. I want to see this."

"Alright already." Jahl closed his eyes, pulling up the stone's essence, and imagined the root twisting around his leg, mimicking the shape it once held. He could feel the vine start to writhe and curve about his knee. He heard a choral intake of breath from Rouen and his sister. Glee flushed his legs making him feel weak, and he pulled his concentration back to what he was doing. The essence rose in a thicker wave up his legs, and he saw in his mind it fill both his own being as well as the vine he was shaping. He remembered to tilt his foot up and twist it inward to recreate the folded foot and upward twist that had forced him to walk ungainly on the heel. The vine slipped beneath, and he smoothed it tight to his arch so it would act as a support and alleviate the need for him to keep the foot and ankle muscles tense. Now the curve of his shin was required, and he built the bulk up to impersonate the once warped calf bones. Up he worked until his leg was propped and appeared to be twisted into its former shape.

Jahl opened his eyes to see Rouen and Donya sitting together like spectators at a circus show. Their mouths were open in surprise and their gazes fixed on his leg. Donya caught his laughing look. She sat up from her intent forward crouch, embarrassed, and said, "You're going to have to practice keeping your eyes open when you wield."

Jahl laughed. "I've got a training tool for that." He looked down at the vine wrapped around his leg and realized he hadn't smoothed the roughness away from the woody trunk yet.

Rouen shook his head. "It's all well and good to have it work over your clothes, but you need to put this beneath and walk around with it."

"Let me walk around with it as it is. If it works, then I'll loosen it and reset it under my breeches." Jahl took a tentative step. Even with the support he had forced the vine trunk to supply, it was still awkward and somewhat uncomfortable. "I wouldn't want to walk like this much." He continued around the table trying to reassert his old rhythmic rise and fall.

"You always took a lot of breaks, and I imagine you were never comfortable before," said his friend. "So it will be in keeping for you to stop often to rest."

"Just two days, and I forget how often I had to stop. I couldn't go a block without pausing at least twice to catch my breath from the cramping and the fatigue." Jahl shook his head. Though the position he was holding wasn't comfortable, it was far better than he had endured for so many years.

All three sniffed the air. Donya yelled, "The soup! Your mother would be furious if I ruined it. I have to add the carrots and such." She ran to the kitchen.

"It smells great, so don't worry," Rouen called as he went to the room's back door. "While you're taking care of that, Jahl will try this crooked contraption under his clothes. So knock before you come in." He swung it closed. They heard her agreement just before it clicked shut.

Jahl returned to the standing stone and loosened the hold of the vine to his leg and gave it a thorough smoothing before unhitching his breeches. He lay the vine on the table. It looked almost like a work of art, smoothed down to the reddish woody core, twisted and bulging in shapely contours. "My leg never looked that good." When his breeches were off one leg and half down on the other, Jahl refitted the vine support to his leg and eased the stocking up over it.

"Good thing you lost that weight. You've plenty of room for this to fit beneath."

"Ro, you were ever the optimist." Jahl finished adjusting his clothes and the two looked at his leg pleased with the results. They heard a knock at the door to the kitchen and Rouen took a few steps to reach and open it. Donya strode in.

"I have reason to be optimistic. I've my best friend back, the business is not going to go under, and Donya is actually pleasant to be around." He gave his sister a pat on the arm. "People are going to think you're sweet on someone or someone is sweet on you."

Jahl and Donya took a swift glance at each other then looked away. Jahl wondered when exactly he started seeing Donya as a girl instead of an enemy. Had it only been a day since she joined them? Someone could take a liking to her, and that worried him.

Donya recovered first. "Are you sure you're not talking about yourself? You've been a smiling fellow these days since Missy Farnum started looking your way," she quipped.

Rouen blushed and then smirked. "She has been taking an interest."

Jahl snuck another look at Donya and reminded himself all he was going to have with her was friendship; at least, she was his apprentice. But she would never be more. He said brightly, "What do you say, I walk around a bit, and you two can coach me on walking my old way. We haven't any time for love chatter right now."

Donya's teasing grin dropped some which made Jahl feel even more uncomfortable. "You two should spend the night," he said and found himself as shocked at the statement as the Marsons were. They stood gaping at him. Jahl backed through his thoughts to figure out how he had come to think he was offering a good idea. "What I mean is we've lots to do, and it will likely take the entire night. I have a spare bedroom Donya can use, and my bed is big enough for both you and me, Ro, as long as you're not a sprawler." The siblings still shared confused looks. "I plan on doing some training with Donya, and I have to practice walking in this getup."

Rouen started to nod, thought a moment and nodded in agreement. "I'll let my parents know we'll be staying. You know, Jahl, I think we three need to be seen together." He peered at his sister. "We need to establish that we're friends. It will throw off suspicion that you might be wielding if you're hanging around non-wielders. "You and Donya could be sweethearts and I can chaperone." Jahl shook his head while Rouen thought a moment. "Donya reminded me about the pathway that leads through the woods to your uncle's back property. There's a little gate. That's the way we came today so that no one saw us."

Distracted for a moment, Jahl stood staring toward the back door. What was it about the gate? He should remember. But Rouen was still talking and Jahl made himself pay attention. "We can stay tonight to get a head start on planning and training. It's not like there's any real chance you two would ever end up together. You're like fire and ice." He took a deep breath. "And there's good soup cooking right now."

"So true," said Donya, but Jahl wasn't sure which she was agreeing with. She seemed to be less assured than her brother. Donya peeked again at Jahl, and he found he could not take his eyes from hers. "You're going to train me some tonight?" she said.

"Yeah," he said. "You had a great idea about this vine. I think it's going to work." Jahl paused as his gaze roved the room as though he were searching for more to say. "My mom gave me an idea and I want to try it out on you." He turned to open the door that Rouen had closed to the parlor when Jahl had been putting on the leg brace he'd made. His hand brushed the jamb before making contact with latch handle. A tingle rushed at his fingertips and seemed to linger even after he'd pulled them away to grip the thumb latch. Jahl paused and reached his senses out. There! He felt the shard embedded in the jamb. Now _what do you do_? He pulled at the essence to see what it would reveal. He felt a firmness take hold of the door and cocked his head in sudden wonder. Jahl's hand tightened on the latch and he pressed his thumb down to release the bolt. But it would not respond. The door was locked tight and not just at the latch site. It was secured around the entire frame.

"What?" said Rouen. "Twist your leg and your hands don't work? Is the door not opening for you?" said Rouen teasing and coming up behind Jahl.

Jahl let go of the latch and turned to grin at the two staring at him, curious at his delay in exiting the room since he had seemed at first to be in such a hurry. "You try and open the door, Ro."

The smith cocked his head and step forward. He reached for the handle and pressed the thumb down without result. Rouen tugged at the door and then ran his hands along the jamb. He stepped back in consternation. "What did you do?"

"I locked it." Jahl gave Donya a conspiratorial wink. She joined them and Rouen made room for her to try the door.

"Why won't it open," she said after giving it a try.

"There's a shard embedded in the jamb. I activated it and it locked the door shut." Jahl limped to the other door and felt the jamb for the same telltale sign of a shard. He shut the door and locked it with a pull at the essence. "This is a secure room." He grinned at his friends. "It appears my uncle liked things to be convenient. He embedded shards about the house to speed things up. There's one in the icebox for cooling purposes, one in the stove for heating, one in the fireplace for lighting the fire — either firebox — and in these doors it appears. There's probably more, one for sure that I want to show you, Donya."

"Do you think they're in every door?" said Donya.

"Maybe." Jahl stiffened and turned to unlock the kitchen access door. He fumbled and then the latch gave and he dodged through the door, forgetting he had the vine brace on. Jahl grabbed the hall wall to steady himself so he could turn and mount the stairs. He grasped each rail along the staircase and lifted his right leg so he could hop up each step. Donya and Rouen ran behind him and followed him up the stairs.

"What's going on, Jahl?" said Rouen.

Donya called from behind, "Why are you in such a hurry? What's upstairs?"

"The Twai'wa Lor room! That's how the door is locked. He used a shard! There's not even a handle. You can't go in the room if you don't know how to open the door."

"What's he talking about, Donya?"

"Master Tran's wielder room upstairs. Jahl hasn't been able to get in."

The three scrambled up and around the curve in the stairs to the top.

Jahl arrived at the door ahead of them and began running his hands along the door jamb. He murmured under his breath, "Where are you, where are you?" Jahl felt the tingle and concentrated on pulling the essence. The door remained shut. He willed it to open, but nothing happened. Jahl feared it would only allow his uncle to enter. There wasn't even a latch to thumb nor knob to turn and the hinges where inaccessible. _It's Jahl; let me in._ The essence rushed into him, rolling up his body and then rolling back down and away. He took a startled breath as the door swung open. The three peeked in.

Unlike the library below, it was not neat. It appeared that his uncle had been busy on a project and had closed the door on it. _Perhaps to answer a murderer calling_ , thought Jahl. The room was the same size and shape as the library and had polished mahogany shelving along three walls. Whereas in the room below, the shelves contained books lined up and ordered logically, these shelves were loaded with a variety of items, from books to loose papers, to rocks and figurines. One niche held several ceramic, kidney-shaped flutes. Stacks of thin squares of wood filled one bookshelf. Only two actual shelves were neat, one above the other on the farthest wall from the door. The shelf below held several objects tidily spaced. Jahl assumed they were more training tools. The shelf above held a row of neatly bound books, though it was clear they had not been bound by a professional binder. But they were secure enough. Jahl ran his fingers along the stitched spines and felt a vague tingle. They were wielded in some way. The wall to the right had a window and beneath it was a table, about four feet by three feet, and tall enough that one would stand at it much like the workroom table. Donya had migrated to it and was examining the papers strewn there, and in an effort to not disturb them was holding her hands behind her back.

"Jahl, you should look at these," she said. "They're all about the wielder family deaths."

"He should look at everything, Donya."

Jahl shook his head in amazement as he continued to inspect the room. "How did he make so many shards, with dedicated uses? Enchanted shards are supposed to be rare and difficult to manipulate. There's an old wielder's tale that a master wielder with high control of essence can create enchanted shards, but I don't remember my uncle ever talking about doing that himself." Jahl looked at Donya and whispered to himself, "I have to sit in the chair again and try to remember."

Donya had shifted over to a bookshelf crammed with scribbled papers and ledgers. "I recall the stories about such wielders, but I never thought your uncle could make them."

"Wouldn't that be something a wielder would keep a secret?" said Rouen sifting through a pile of notes spiked by a metal spine.

"Yeah," said Jahl looking bewildered as he turned in a circle in the center of the room. "I don't know where to start. There is so much here."

"I think the notes on the table over there are important," said Donya.

"So are the newspapers down below," said Jahl. _And seeing if putting Donya in the blue chair downstairs will bring anything to her memory,_ he added to himself _._

"And these books, he must have bound them himself." Rouen was looking through one of the rows of books Jahl had noticed earlier. "I can't read what it says, so it must be important."

Jahl joined him at the shelf and reached his hand out for the book. "Can I look at that? It might be in the language of Wa, old wielder script."

Rouen handed it over and Jahl flipped to the front page. The pull of wielder essence tingled against his hand, and he could read the now familiar script. "It's a diary."

The smith started counting. "Sixteen books, all diaries, you think?"

Jahl looked up at Rouen before looking back down at the page. "This one's dated last year. Grab one of those at the other end while I read a bit." Rouen reached for the last one and brought it over to Jahl. Donya grabbed a stool and sat at the table. She looked over each sheet, keeping them in the same place and order, lifting overlapping corners as needed to read a sheet half covered by another. Jahl confirmed at a glance that the last was a diary as well and dated months before he was born.

"We could stay in here days just figuring out what order to look at things and their connections to each other," said Donya.

"That's what these diaries may offer us: a sense of how he was organizing his thoughts and coming across clues," said Jahl, looking about for a place to sit down. In one corner he saw a mass of bed sheets. He handed the diary he was looking at to Rouen who still held the first one in the row. The odd shape caught his eye, and he hoped there might be a stool hiding beneath. Jahl grabbed hold of the sheets that were at the top of the pile. It took two hands to get a good grip and he pulled, balancing as best he could on his good leg. "Drat this brace. I should take it off." He tugged harder on the sheets and felt his balance start to give. He propped his right leg behind him, depending on the strength of his repaired leg surrounded by the brace and the brace itself to give him support.

The sheets issued a ripping sound and the double handful came flying at him, his own strength working against him and pivoting him back over his unforgiving right leg. Rouen caught him from behind and the two gaped at the light blue leather armchair now exposed from beneath the layer of disheveled linen. It wasn't a pile at all, just a few sheets thrown atop the twin of the blue chair downstairs in the library. The light gleamed in the shiny lacquer of the bear heads at the end of each upholstered arm. Rouen pushed Jahl upright. "One of the sheets must have been used to cover the chair and gotten caught under a leg," Jahl said. A glance beneath revealed a bit of white sheet, ragged-edged pinned under the chair.

"You're getting stronger every day. First your leg, now you magically reveal leather upholstered armchairs."

"Uncle must have used sheets to cover this room up and when he decided to use it again, he dumped all the covers on this one seat." Jahl dropped the linen from his arms and limped to the chair. He ran his fingers over the leather and mentally pulled for any sign of a shard. The tingle nibbled at his fingertips. _There you are._ Now, _can you call memories back if you're not the chair I sat in when I was made to forget them?_ He sat down, his braced leg sticking out in front of him, and tugged at the essence. It tumbled over and into him with greater ferocity than its twin below, and Jahl had to press it away to keep from being dragged into a trance as the one below had nearly done when his mother was with him.

The room had receded as though he moved a distance away, but he could see both Donya and Rouen bending over him. Jahl pulled further from the essence and said, "This is a wielder chair. Don't touch it, Donya. I don't know what it would do if a Twai wielder made contact. If I lose the ability to pull away, you must get my mother to come here. Don't try to break the contact yourself."

"Jahl, perhaps you should wait until she's here then," said Donya. Rouen nodded beside her.

But Jahl had already allowed the essence to flow back into him. He thought about his uncle and watched memory after memory unfolds around him, like a deck of cards strewn on a table. He reached for one then another and watched them fill in his memory. A Twai'wa Mu block turned into a three-dimensional waterfall. The Glin glasses followed and carving after carving decorated pristine surfaces of thin sheets of wood. Silver bracelets took shape in his hands. And then he was standing in a wooded area, night enveloping him with only the hand of his uncle's on his shoulder to assure him he wasn't alone.

They stood in a glade surrounded by trees as a tremendous boulder, a bone of the mountain, rose out of the ground before them. They both rested a hand against the cold, granular stone face. Tran handed Jahl an object that glinted in the broken moonlight to hold in his other hand. It felt grainy like the boulder, cold as well. It was slender and easy to grip. In the moonlight, he could tell it extended a few inches beyond his clenched fingers. Tran let go of his shoulder, but he was leaning so close, Jahl could hear him breathing. His uncle held in his now free hand a similar shard of stone. "Jahl," his uncle whispered, "pull in all the essence you can and pack it into the stone just like we practiced last night." The words pulled Jahl out of the memory of the wooded glade and the boulder. He now sat in the blue leather chair in the library, a slim shard of stone in both hands. One was filled to the brim with essence, the other empty of any wielding magic. Jahl was moving Lal completely from one shard to the other, back and forth, back and forth like sparkling water running from one hand to the other.

A jarring series of thumps came from below. Jahl swam up from the essence and saw Rouen heading for the door. He yanked himself from the chair and stared down at it in wonder. He could feel that his face was stretched in a wide grin as though he'd found the secret to the whole room.

"Is that inside or outside?" said Rouen leaning out to listen better. The pounding began again. "Outside. I don't think anyone's at the front door, but someone is banging on your house, Jahl."

Jahl wiped the grin off his face. "You want to check into it?"

"Oh, yes, I volunteer to find out what large creature is hammering on your house." Rouen stomped out of the room and soon could be heard stomping down the stairs.

Donya giggled. "He does that every time I ask him to help me off with my boots or bring in some wood to get the cook stove going." She approached the chair. "You were sort of gone there for a couple minutes. What happened?" She stopped a few feet from it remembering his warning.

"I can't explain yet." Jahl stared at Donya who eyed the chair, her expression suspicious. "You've never been in this room, have you, Donya?"

"No. You?"

"I'd never even been upstairs until I moved in this week."

"It's kinda like snooping, isn't it?"

"I think my uncle wanted me in here."

Donya stepped closer to the chair but still kept some distance. She seemed to be trying to form an important question, but she said instead, "What makes you say that?"

Jahl considered what he should share. "The door wouldn't open. Then I thought, 'It's Jahl, let me in,' and it did."

Donya deliberated on the implications of the door being set to let Jahl in. "We should see if I can get in simply by saying my name."

"Okay, let's step out." They both left the room and Jahl pulled at the door making it swing shut. They both pushed it, but the door would not swing back open. "Now try to open it. Feel the tingle of essence. Once you have that, tell it who you are and see if it will open."

Donya ran her fingers over the jamb. "I don't feel anything."

"You're not familiar with sensing essence?" She shook her head. "It's a light tingle, almost a tickling burning sensation. It's hard to describe." Inspired, he said, "But I remember the first time I felt essence in a stone respond to me: I felt an itch at the back of my neck and it ran down my spine." He stepped forward and reached around Donya, running his fingers along the jamb. The itch was still there. It was just overrun by the tingle in his fingertips. "Put your hand here and call to the essence. Think about opening the door. Imagine it swinging away from you."

Donya placed her hand where Jahl's had been. She closed her eyes and concentrated. After a moment her eyes jerked open. "I felt it. I felt the tingle. Right here." She ran the fingers of one hand along the palm of the other. "It was sort of sinking in like it was becoming part of me."

Jahl grinned. "That is what it is supposed to feel like. Now find it again. Only this time don't pull away. And tell it your name and tell it to open.

Donya skipped forward practically laying against the door and set her hand again on the jamb. Closing her eyes, she tried again to call the essence up.

"Do you feel it?"

She nodded.

"Keep pulling at it and try to open the door."

Donya stepped back. "I can feel the essence, and I'm saying my name and telling it to open, but it doesn't. You try again." She stepped aside.

Jahl lay his hand again on the jamb and felt the magic seep up his arm. "I am Jahl. Let me in." Again the essence rushed up and down his body and the door popped open. Jahl sighed relief. He had feared it would not work again.

Donya sounded both disappointed and accepting when she said, "Maybe it's best that you're the only one who can get in."

"It might just be that you need training. But we're going to start that at once." He swung the door shut again. "Let's go down and see what Ro found outside my house."

"Shouldn't we examine more of what's in the Lor room? I mean, don't you think that's important?"

"I do. But it is just as important that I know how much my uncle wanted you trained, and that I can find out downstairs in the library. But first, let's see what's holding up your brother. He's been down there long enough to learn something."

They headed down the stairs, this time with Jahl bringing up the rear. Without the excitement of suspecting the way to get into the Twai'wa Lor was by means of a shard, Jahl felt the discomfort of his leg being held in a shape it no longer was built for. He took each step gingerly. Donya was at the bottom and heading to the front door before he had negotiated half the stairway.

Donya opened the door and leaned out. She grinned back at Jahl as he stepped down into the hall. "It's Cam. You have to come see what he's doing."

Jahl limped down the hall and considered the three spots he was going to have to pad where the vine was rubbing or applying excessive pressure. By the time he reached the front door, he was wincing. But he wanted to see what his brother was doing. Donya was already on the bottom step, and Rouen was standing on the crushed stone path that ran parallel to the street, and he was smiling back at the house. Jahl made his way down the steps, wishing again he had railings. Donya took his hand for the last step, and he leaned on her a moment to ease the weight off his leg. They stood together, her warm hand in his, and if what his brother was doing hadn't amazed him, Donya's hand gripping his would have. He looked down at their fingers entwined and looked away at once hoping she wouldn't notice. Jahl concentrated on his brother and tried to ignore the warmth of her fingers against his.

Cam was on a ladder leaning against the house beside the front stoop. He was hammering the last nail into an oval sign he had mounted. In bold square lettering surrounded by a raised border was the title Wielder. Beneath it, Jahl read his name in a smaller font. The letters stood out against the dark stain of the background. Cam grinned down at him. "It's official. You're the wielder in this neighborhood." He climbed down from the ladder and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Like it?"

"It's great, Cam." Jahl stared up at the sign, pride filling his chest until it ached.

A wagon pulled up on the street and stopped. The four turned to see whose attention they may have drawn. Bragg Moln was standing up, one foot propped up on the running board of his delivery wagon. He was shaking his head. "You do fine work, Cam. But I hope it does not generate many customers. Look at your brother. He's thin as a rail and ready to topple over."

Cam glanced down at Jahl's leg and looked confused. He nodded understanding at both his brother and Master Moln. "Jahl's always been a fighter, but you're right. We should head in the house and celebrate. Has everyone gotten a good look?"

Jahl couldn't keep his eyes off the sign and barely registered the discussion going on. Donya's hand was still in his, and he hazarded a glance at it again then returned his gaze to the sign.

Bragg sat back down and shook his lines to get his mules moving along. "Maybe I'll stop by in a few days. I have an item or two that could use some repair." He rolled back into the light traffic and waved goodbye, his eyes focused on Jahl, his head shaking in amusement, and his mule team taking the lead to smooth them into the flow.

Cam waved a hand before his brother's face. "Jahl, let's go inside. Mom told me a story, and I want to know why the facts aren't matching up."

Jahl blinked. "It's great, Cam, really great."

"I can see that." Cam gripped Jahl's arm to help him up the stairs, and Jahl had to release Donya's hand. "Come on, little brother, it appears you've been out in the sun too long and haven't been eating enough."

Donya and Rouen followed them in and closed the door. The four headed for the kitchen where they could sit down and answer Cam's questions which they began to realize had to do with Jahl's leg, for Cam stared at his brother swaying and skidding along the hall.

Jahl took a seat and seemed to melt into comfort, his shoulders slumping and his eyes closing.

"Jahl," Cam said with uneasiness. "Mom said your leg was healed. Did she mean pain-free, though that seems unlikely by the look of you? I was expecting you to be striding around, head up, chest out, and well, you're not."

Jahl scratched at his neck and tried to hold a serious look on his face. "Not everything is permanent."

Cam's voice faltered. "You fixed it and it didn't last?"

Rouen and Donya rolled their eyes and looked away. But neither could ignore Cam's concern for long. They both looked back at Jahl as though telling him to explain himself. Cam caught the look and creased his brows in suspicion.

Donya leaned in and gave Jahl an exasperated look. "Cam, he did fix his leg. It's perfect. But your mom was insistent that he maintain his old limp, so we manufactured, well Jahl modified, a grapevine trunk to recreate the shape of his twisted leg. But it does make Jahl somewhat uncomfortable, and he can't walk on it long, which is actually good, don't you think?"

Cam started to speak and then closed his mouth. He tried again and stopped again. "I must look at this." He got up from his chair and came around the table. "Stand up or turn in that chair.

Jahl stood up keeping one hand on the table for balance. He kept his weight on his left leg.

Cam dropped down on one knee and ran his hands along his brother's calf. "I can feel it. So it's like a brace to make you limp instead of one to help you not limp. It sure makes your leg look just like it always has." Cam returned to his seat. "I'd like to see you walk around without it. Can I?"

"Sure." Jahl jumped to remove the brace. "I'll take it off in the workroom and come back." Jahl left, closing the door behind him. He rushed through removing his breeches and taking the brace off. He could hear them talking in the other room and rushed into his clothes. Jahl pulled the door open a crack and paused when he heard his brother say, "Since when do you and my brother get along?"

Jahl peered out through the crack. The three were focused on each other and hadn't noticed the door unlatch. He pulled the door open and stepped out.

Donya crossed her arms over her chest, her nervous fingers tapping against her sleeves while she leaned back in her chair. Her gaze went to Rouen who encouraged her with a quick raising and lowering of his chin. "We talked out our problems," she began to explain. "And Jahl and Ro are getting along, too," she said and bit her lip and looked down at her lap. Cam gaped at her. "He says he's going to train me."

Cam shook his head in confusion. "Jahl can't turn you into a wielder. You have to have the ability to start with." He regarded his brother then scrutinized Donya. "Maybe you misheard him. Jahl wouldn't promise something he couldn't do. He's not like that."

Jahl said, "I am going to train her."

"I am a wielder." She turned her gaze on Jahl's brother and faced his challenging gaze. "I'm a Deln. The Marsons took me in when my parents died, and we told no one. They were afraid the Wane would find me. Your Uncle Tran said it was necessary." She sat straight up. "Jahl and I are friends now. I apologized and he forgave me." She sat up and folded her hands on the table.

Jahl strode up beside Cam and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "You don't have to protect me from Donya."

His older brother turned in his seat to look at Jahl. "It's my job to make sure you're okay. I didn't do a good job when we were in school." Cam glared at Donya.

"You did fine and I don't need you to protect me from my friends. According to Mom and Donya, I have enemies enough to worry about." Jahl lifted the straightened brace. "Taking this off feels so much better." He looked to Donya. "We have to figure out how to pad this thing. It's wearing holes in me." He glanced back at Cam. "Donya came up with the idea of a brace and using a trunk the Marsons trimmed from their grapevine. Brilliant, isn't it?"

"So you and Donya are friends?"

"Yeah," Jahl said and then he nodded. "We worked all that out. We were actually going through the same things, just seeing it differently." He strode back and forth in front of Cam. "But hey, what do you think? And I wouldn't have survived the repair if Donya hadn't been here, and Rouen, too."

"I picked up the pieces," Rouen said.

"And I fed them."

Cam waved his hands in acceptance. "And Donya's a wielder?"

"Oh yeah." Jahl sat down excited and lay the brace on the table. "She was able to feel the tingle of essence. She couldn't open the door. But that's because she needs training. I probably couldn't have when I first started either."

Cam tried to follow his brother's excited ramblings, but Rouen's obvious confusion made him speak. "What are you talking about?" Cam said.

"I'm a bit lost, too," said Rouen and leaned his elbows on the table.

"Uncle Tran's Twai'wa Lor room upstairs? We got it open. And I had Donya try to see if she could open it, but she couldn't. We don't know if that's because she's had no training or if it will only open for me."

Cam was still shaking his head. "How _did_ you get it open?"

"There's an enchanted shard that seals the door. But it opened for me. We decided Donya should try, but she couldn't get it open. She's had no training, so maybe that's the reason. But I have an idea." He looked at Donya. "You up for another test?" The excitement over the sign on his door still ran in shivers up his arms. Jahl knew he was nattering on and just grinned back at Cam shaking his head at him.

"Sure," she said, but she didn't sound confident.

"Come into the library with me. I think I know a quick way to find out where you are in your training."

Jahl jumped to his feet and strode to the library. Cam stayed in the chair as he watched his brother walk like any person with two properly shaped legs, though he still had an odd stiffness as though the muscles were still working out the fine points of forward motion. "Amazing." Cam rose from the chair and was the last to enter the library. Jahl was standing before the blue leather armchair set off in front of a bookcase of leather bound and gold leaf embossed books on wielder ancestry.

Jahl said, "Donya, you said you used to sleep in this chair. Was it your idea or my uncle's?"

She thought his question over and shrugged. "He might have suggested it once. But I always loved snuggling into this chair with one of the natural history books. You know the ones with the beautiful drawings of birds. There's one with imaginative beasts that are too incredible to believe."

"And what would happen when you sat in it."

"Happen? I read, grew tired and napped and read some more."

Her brother set his hand on the blue leather chair arm. "What was supposed to happen?"

"It's not just a chair, Jahl, is it?" said Cam.

"It's a wielder chair."

"You said that upstairs. What do you mean?" said Donya. "And if it's like the one upstairs why did you warn me not to touch it and now you want me to sit in this one?"

"It's not that I have heard of them before. But when I sat in this one, memories came back to me of wielding." He looked at Cam. "But Mom was here and she kept me from getting pulled in beyond my ability. But I began remembering things. The one upstairs is even stronger. It made me remember things I don't recall at all. I went places with Uncle Tran and did things I didn't think were possible." Jahl took Donya's hand. "Donya, don't be frightened. You've been in this one before and have memories of it."

Donya looked at the chair with some suspicion and pulled her hand from his. "What if my memories of it are not real? Master Tran may have made me think I read and napped in this chair."

Rouen laughed. "But instead he had you flying on a broomstick all around town chasing cats and setting haystacks afire."

Donya punched her brother. "Jahl is remembering things he didn't know he did. Maybe Master Tran could make up memories, too."

"What are your memories, Jahl? I wouldn't jump into a chair that could control what I know about myself," said Cam. "What have you learned since you sat in the chair today?"

Donya looked relieved to have someone understand her concern. She nodded and stepped a bit further from the chair.

"Uncle Tran would train me in this chair. He would help me learn how to wield, to practice my skills. So I had the ability when I needed it. Okay, after I remembered it. But don't you see, Donya? You could have training that is hidden from you. You could be already knowledgeable. Don't you want to find out?"

Her face revealed that she was warring with herself against her desire to gain skills and her fears of the chair having greater control of her thoughts than she had. "How do I know you can pull me out of the essence? Maybe your mom should be here."

"This one is much weaker than the one upstairs, maybe from being used more. I don't know. Mainly, I didn't want you to touch the chair in the Lor room because when my mother touched me while I sat in this one I could feel her emotions. I didn't want...," Jahl thought about what she might feel from him and warned himself not to touch the chair while she was in it. He rephrased what he was about to say, "...that to happen to you." Her blue eyes questioned him. _Yeah, those right there. You'd find out how much I like those blue eyes._ "You'll be fine."

Rouen placed his hand on his sister's arm. "I'll _yank_ you out of that chair if you need me to, pest. You won't even have to ask."

Donya smiled and knocked Rouen with her shoulder. "You're such a great brother."

Jahl grabbed a stool to set in front of the chair. "So, shall we?"

Donya stepped cautiously up to the chair and turned to face the three young men. All were focused and leaned with their hands held out toward her as though ready to save her from an upholstered chair disguising evil intent. It made her smile and the three relaxed some. She sat down in the chair, still leaning forward, and held her breath. Nothing happened.

"Well," said Rouen.

She exhaled and shrugged her shoulders.

"Why don't you lean back," suggested Jahl. "And grip the arms and call on the essence. I forgot I did that."

Donya leaned back, even glancing over her shoulder to see how close she was to the chair back before she touched it.

"Anything?" said Cam.

She shook her head.

"Are you seeking the essence of the shards?"

"There's shards in this chair?" Donya stared at her hands gripping the padded leather of the chair arms.

"You know they don't bite," said Jahl. "You felt the one in the door jamb upstairs, right? Relax and pull the essence into you. But pull softly, gently, like you're petting a kitten."

Donya grimaced at Jahl and rolled her eyes. Then she concentrated, and they watched her face relax and smile.

"Do you feel it?" said Rouen.

She nodded.

"Are there memories coming to you?" asked Jahl. "Take them one at a time."

"I blew magnificent bubbles."

"Just bubbles?" Jahl was disappointed. He'd hoped her training had progressed much farther.

"These are huge and are bouncing all over the room. I set one atop your uncle's head and he clapped for me. I was four years old."

"How about later? Last year maybe."

"I don't want to skip over any."

"Then take them faster, pull a little harder, but not too hard."

"Like petting a dog," said her brother.

"Or a horse," added Cam.

Donya kicked out her foot and made contact with Rouen's shin. "Stay out of my training, boys. I'm trying to get used to it," she said. "I'll go a little faster. But without your clumsy help, thank you very much."

Rouen backed away and rubbed his shin.

Jahl was getting antsy. The idea of waiting for her to comb through several years of training was an unpleasant thought. "What type of wielding are you remembering? Maybe if we can classify, we can figure out your strengths."

"I did a lot of practicing on things with scratches, breaks, and chips. They got more and more complex until I was repairing glass windows and shattered tiles. Nothing as extensive as your boxed china. Oh, he brought me a baby squirrel that had been mauled by a dog. The poor thing, and I was able to heal it!"

"Did Uncle Tran have you healing animals after that?"

Donya was quiet for a minute or two, long enough for all three men to start shuffling their feet.

Rouen stepped closer to her again. "Come on, Donya, this is like watching someone peek into a cave where there's only room for one to look and not tell us what they're seeing."

"There are no bears."

The boys looked at each other, none of them found her statement funny or enlightening.

Jahl swept his hands before him as though signaling a group of musicians to cease playing. "There are four of us and only one of us is actually doing anything. Ro, come with me upstairs and we'll resume our examination of the room. Cam, you work with the newspapers in the workroom. Read them and think about what is not getting into the news."

Cam gave him a confused look. "Huh."

"Mom said that Uncle Tran said it wasn't what was in the newspaper that was interesting. It was what wasn't. I want you to figure out what news wasn't being covered that should have been."

Finished giving Cam directions, he turned to Rouen. You head upstairs and search the room for any notes on the newspapers. And I'm going to skim the diaries we found. Donya, keep a running list of what you're being trained to do. We're coming back in an hour for a report from you and to give you a report of our findings. Deal?"

"Wait. There's someone at the door and Master Tran is telling me to stay put and that he is locking the library door." She paused, her head tipped as though she were trying to listen to things going on in another room. "I think they're going to the parlor. Master Tran is angry. He's telling someone not to waste his time. I can't hear what the person is saying, but the visitor is a man. Now Master Tran's ending the session."

"Uncle Tran came back?" said Cam. She nodded.

"When was this, Donya?" asked Jahl.

"A couple of years ago. He was training me to cut ordinary stone like they are gems. But some of them are long, about seven inches and maybe an inch in diameter. They're pointed at both ends, but he doesn't care if they're pretty, just quickly made, though he did have me make seven matching stones for a vest. And I polished them and set them in metal sleeves with a tiny hoop in the outside center so they could be sewn on like a button."

"Did you do anything else with the stones?"

Donya opened her eyes and leaned forward. "No. I think I'd like to take a rest. So many memories and much of it is just one lesson after another. But it's overwhelming how many and how swiftly I can run through them. I'll make a list."

Rouen suggested they carry the newspapers upstairs and all work in the Lor room which everyone heartily agreed to. Within minutes they were each settled into a different part of the room, none of them sitting in the blue leather chair in the corner. Two stools from the workroom and a footstool from Jahl's bedroom were relocated to provide them all with a more mobile seat. While Ro headed home to let his parents know they needed to spend the night, Donya went to the kitchen to make finger food for dinner and came up with serving platters and mugs of cider. The evening trundled by. Cam found nothing missing from the news that he could imagine was important. Donya managed to get to know every ancestral drift of the five main wielder families of Chussan Faire, finding out she and Jahl were fourth generation cousins on a half-aunt's side, six times removed. Ro had cataloged every household in the room. Jahl was reading his way through a second diary which was near gobbly gook. Jahl suspected much of the book would prove worthless as it was the year his uncle was attacked by the Wane shortly after Jahl's first birthday.

Jahl lay the diary down and rolled his neck and shoulders. He was certain his memories would be helpful in making sense of the notations, but the skill offered little. His uncle wrote for himself and used short references Jahl could not identify, almost a code. Without the dictionary for it, Jahl found himself lost. _What the heck could a_ joss _do in a well, and why would he want to_ brunnel _it?_ "Let's call it a night. Donya can take the guest room across the hall. Cam and Ro will bunk with me. I think I remember seeing a camp bed in the closet, and I'm sure we can locate an extra pillow and blanket around here somewhere."

The three nodded agreement and in various lazy shuffles stretched and limped along to their designated sleeping areas.

Rouen leaned in toward his sister as she turned to head to the spare room to the left and whispered loud enough for all to hear. "Mom says Cam would be a great catch."

Donya jerked away from her brother but not before she punched him in the arm. "She did not."

Jahl sent a quick glance to Cam who shook his head, grinned and lay his arm over Jahl's shoulder guiding him toward his own room. "Don't worry. I've got my eye on someone else. Of course, maybe you should also."

Jahl blushed and pulled away to enter his bedroom ahead of Cam and Rouen.

"Ah," Cam pulled up a corner of his mouth and clucked, "too late for that."

### Chapter Ten

Jahl sat up with a start awakened by the rush of essence bellowing through his body like a hurricane through trees. The sensation ceased as quickly as it appeared, and Jahl listened intently to the house's normal night creaks. _Nothing._ He lay down, punching his pillow and trying to ignore his heart racing and his repaired leg tingling. After a few minutes, he felt sleep edging its way behind his eyes.

Then Jahl smelled the smoke. He gagged on the acrid burn in his throat, started coughing and came awake with a start. His blanket flying to the center of the bed, he ran to his door and pulled it ajar. The sitting room beyond was filled with smoke. His lungs tightened and he clutched at the doorjamb and crouched down to what he hoped would be cleaner air. Slamming the door shut, he took a deep breath and called out to Cam and Rouen. His hand gripped tighter on the jamb as he turned to search the darkness for his brother and friend who had not responded. A tingle ran up his fingers like a warning as if the house were telling him he needed to take action immediately. He staggered to the bed and felt for his brother, running his hands all over the foot of the bed expecting to find Cam's big feet hanging off the edge, but there was no sign of him until he came around to his brother's side of the bed and found him curled up tight, his face smashed against a bundle of covers as if even in his sleep he were attempting to get smokeless air into his lungs. Jahl swallowed trying to moisten his throat. "Cam. Cam. Wake up. The house is on fire."

"What's going on?" his brother muttered. Then he took a breath and coughed. "Jahl, there's smoke."

Assured his brother understood, Jahl yelled toward the other end of his room where his friend was sleeping. But his throat burned with the effort. Jahl coughed and hacked at the strain of clenching chest muscle around struggling lungs. "Ro, you have to wake up." Between the dark and the smoke, he couldn't find the cot. Jahl put out his arms and shuffled his feet. "Where in Sinister Sisters are you, Ro?" His barefoot hit a wooden leg of the cot, and Jahl reached down to jounce his friend awake."

"What do you want?" Rouen grumbled grabbing Jahl's hands and shoving them off him.

"Fire!" he growled in a roughened voice. "The house is on fire. We have to get out. We have to get Donya!"

Rouen and Cam staggered out of bed and the three guided each other to the doorway and out. Jahl and Rouen coughed and hacked as they pounded on the guestroom door.

Cam shoved them aside. He rasped, "This is not the time to be polite. Drag her out of bed and let's get out of here." He tugged the door open, and they found her standing in a white shift beside the bed and heading toward them confused by the grey smoke and coughing as much as they were.

"Is that a fire?" she said choking, her eyes tearing from the smoke. Jahl leaned on the door and another tingle ran up his arms, insistent, demanding he come to the aid of the house. He left the three at Donya's door and scrambled down the stairs. With each step, the tingle sputtered into his feet and ran up his legs in demanding pulls that threatened to tumble him down the stairs. Behind him, he heard their stumbling steps.

The smoke was wispy as though it were leaking in rather than actually inside the house. A deep crackling sound raced about the outside of the foundation stones, sounding alive and desiring to get into the building. Jahl arrived at the bottom of the stairs and reached out to the wall opposite. He pressed a hand against the pale wallpaper. The three behind him raced down the last steps, and he waved them to the front door. "Go, go. I'll be right there."

Rouen ran down the hall pushing his sister out the door, Cam tumbling down the stoop after them. Jahl felt a surge of essence jolt his hand even more dramatically than it had upstairs. Running his fingers along the wall, he made it to the door and tripped by the rhythmic jar of the magic, grabbed both sides of the door jamb. He spread his feet so they both wedged into the corners of the threshold, and spread-eagled, coughing and drawing the fresher air streaming in from outside, he was transfixed by magic thrumming into his hands and feet.

It flowed into him with a force that tightened every muscle in his body. Every door and cabinet in the house slammed shut. Even the front door smacked against his shoulder, hip, and heel closest to the hinged side of the door, and he had to physically press it away from him. He felt as though he would be ripped apart if he did not take control of the flow, and that he instinctively did, allowing Lal to surge both through him from the house and back into the house. In the process, he learned that the fire eating away at his uncle's home was wielded, and whoever had started it was still wielding pockets of flame along the perimeter. The crackling sound grew even more ominous.

Someone wanted to burn down his house with him and his friends in it. Jahl searched for the source but could find only pockets of intense fiery attack. He drove his control of the essence at the hot points of dark wield that splashed about the image of the house that he held in his mind. _Bloods Bees!_ And for once the saying had causal meaning. The dark essence sent a taunting finger through his limbs, stinging like bees were coursing through his veins. Jahl called to the essence and roared out into the night his anger. The shards in the house supplied all they could and when that wasn't enough, a torrent of burning, itching power raced from his right hip to join in the effort to put out the wielded flames and search out the dark wielder who had set his home ablaze.

Outside, the building glowed with essence. A haze of tiny lights, like miniature fireflies, winking in and out, rose up from the stone foundation and enveloped the entire house. Jahl located each enchanted shard his uncle had charged the house with. More than one sizeable blaze of essence was in the workroom, but Jahl ignored them as he manipulated the tremendous flow of essence that he channeled through him and back into the house resolving and extinguishing each new spot of flame. But as he attacked a blaze set by the dark wielder, another would rise. Jahl felt the sting of a burn on his hands and soles of his feet every time the dark wield fought back. _This can't go on. I'll never put the fire out if I fight each attack singly._ None of his training memories offered any options. _Uncle Tran, why didn't you talk to me about how to counter an attack?_ He would have to take control of the dark magic and pull its essence from the wielder somewhere hiding in the night beyond the reach of the flames brightening the street and the yards most near his. Jahl could only think to reverse the flow. He would have to burn the wielder out.

Jahl strained to draw all the essence into a condensed bubble around him, hauling at the smoldering attacks, crushing each one until they became a solid mass held inside the bubble and then he tossed the fiery wield back at the hidden wielder somewhere out among the people who had gathered in a mesmerized crowd around his home. The ball of darkness blocked his view and then it spun away and out of sight before he could tell its direction. He sagged in the doorway and stared out at his neighbors.

A bucket brigade had formed and was dousing the house. To his amazement, he saw ash covered people, many of them Pratters, joining those swinging buckets along. Neighbors and onlookers formed two more lines. The small portion of the fire that was actually affected by water succumbed to the concentrated community effort once Jahl had halted the attack. Several citizens sat on his trampled lawn cradling their burned hands and patting at their clothing where embers had ignited the cloth. Two townsmen came from around the house, out of the night shadows, supporting Bragg Moln between them, his hands much worse than those sitting in the grass.

"We found him," the shorter of the two men panted as others turned to watch with dazed eyes, "sprawled at the back door." A third fellow hurried to them and directed them to the cart where those injured were being loaded to be taken to a local healer.

As they passed before Jahl, Moln mumbled, "Have to get to Jahl."

Struggling to hold Moln upright, the shorter man eyeballed Jahl where he sagged in his doorway and said, "Bragg's been saying that over and over. He wanted to get into the house to get you away from the fire." The three men continued past.

They jostled Moln as they shared his weight between them, bringing the injured man to a foggy consciousness. Though his words were garbled, Jahl made out, "get him away." They hoisted him into the cart.

Jahl took it all in through the haze of essence still blanketing the house. His mother was tending to the less injured. The last burning swell of fire dissolved into nothing, and Jahl released his hold on the essence. As it dissipated, much disappeared into the air. What remained found its original source, including the one that had sprung from his hip, what he now knew to be an enchanted shard embedded in the muscle where his right thigh and pelvis meet. He rubbed at his hip, attempting to feel for the shard, but it seemed dormant. If he hadn't felt its power, Jahl was certain he would think he was mistaken. He stood shaking his head. _There's a Fallon shard in my hip. Why? How?_ He gripped the doorjamb and stumbled into his house.

Jahl used the wall to support himself and entered the parlor to seat himself in a chair. His gaze took in the undamaged walls of the room, but he felt drained and too confused to notice the fire had not entered the house. He sat with his head resting on his hands, occasional coughs still wracking his lungs. _The cane had a shard in it. My leg does, too. Both demanded repair when I accessed enough power to make it happen. I am sharded._ Someone had attempted to take his life and destroy his home and his friends. A wielder of Chussan Faire had been waiting to attack again, patient as an earthquake gathering pressure. He could no longer deny that he was the target.

Outside Jahl could hear people shouting to bring some order to the sudden end of the fire. Two men who must have been standing just in front of the parlor windows talked about how they had been unable to break the glass. The essence had protected the house from any attacks penetrating.

Mahre and Jom Pratter hurried through the door and found him still slumped in the chair and trying to fathom _how_ he had protected his home so thoroughly. Mahre stretched her hand to the wall and its embedded shard to light the sconces; a spark jumped, but it wasn't enough. She turned to stare at Jahl who chose to ignore his parents. Jom reached for the matches, and Jahl shook his head at the irony.

His mother sat across from him. "He'll be back."

"He?"

"Or she. You need to prepare. The house is now unprotected."

"Tell me about the shard in my hip?" He leaned forward, the knuckles of his right hand pressed against the once crippled thigh muscle. The action had become an embedded response to stress in his life and happened without thought.

"Bragg's being tended to. They've already taken him to a healer, but because it is a wielder burn, little will be able to be done. He and others will be brought here for you to heal. Bragg was trying to get in the back door to get you out and burned his hands. You owe him a proper healing."

"How is it I have a shard in my hip, Mom?" he repeated, a reddening complexion adding to his glare.

She ignored him and turned to her husband. "Jom, help me get Jahl into the workroom. He needs to get his brace on before someone sees him."

"I was standing at the door." Jahl rose from his chair. "Everyone saw me! Why do you persist in keeping me a cripple?"

Jom drew up beside Jahl pressing him back into his seat. "No, Jahl. Nothing could be seen through all the smoke and flames."

" _I_ barely saw you what with the Lal rising up to fill in any gaps that might have made you visible," said his mother. She grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.

"The two men who carried Moln saw me well enough."

A wave of worry passed over Mahre's face. "Enough," she said. "Now get in there. Bragg will be brought in anytime as well as the others. You'll need to be ready to help them." She pulled him forward and his father grasped his other arm. Together they hustled him into the workroom. Mahre shut the door leaving Jom to help his son don the brace.

"You are in my house! I have some say here."

Jom regarded his son, raising an eyebrow to encourage the boy to consider who he was talking to. Satisfied by Jahl's sudden paleness, he said, "Your mother believes this is necessary. That's why we were the first to enter. Now sit." His father looked about for the wielded vine. "Where is it?"

Jahl stomped two steps to the stool his father pointed at before feeling the deep enervation of his muscles and finished the last few steps with a lurching gait. "The kitchen table," he grumbled as he eased onto its flat seat.

Jom left to retrieve it, came back and pulled Jahl's nightshirt up.

The young wielder took a breath and forced himself to focus on the essentials. As much as Jahl wanted to persist in getting the information from his mother about the shard in his hip, if his pop thought it was important for him to put on his brace, then fine. But he promised himself he would get his answers. Who attacked him was important, too, and his thoughts, still not easy to hold on to, wandered back to the issue of who it could be.

Jom stood, waiting with the vine in hand. He tapped Jahl's shin with the tip.

A tired grin flashed on Jahl's face. Focused on the task at hand, he said, "I'll need my standing stone to fit it, Pop."

Jom handed the brace to Jahl. The young wielder's thought shifted back to his questions. _I am the target. Those two Carolan Faire wielders, could they have done this?_ He rubbed his face. _Could it be that the dark wizard who was after all wielders of Chussan Faire was actually from one of the other trader towns along the trade route?_ He looked at the ceiling, thinking about the Lal room where he, Cam and his friends had been working. _The newspapers never mentioned the Wane could have come from another town. Was that what Master Tran meant by what wasn't said?_

Jom tapped his shoulder. "Put on the brace, Jahl." Jom searched for the stone, finding it just the other side of the table and brought it back to set the stone down by Jahl's feet.

Jahl positioned his right leg on the wielder stone and began calling for the essence to shape the vine. The stone provided little, but the thimble of essence that remained was just enough to tighten the vine. It was just snug enough that it did not have to be secured by other means. The nightshirt was short and could not hide the portion of dark curving shape wrapped below his knee and down about his ankle and foot.

Jom stood up. "Your breeches upstairs?"

"On the chair by the bed."

Jom nodded and hurried out of the room, exiting into the kitchen and galloping up the stairs. Jahl had just enough time to start feeling a little less weakened by his experience fighting to save his house when his father reappeared holding not just his breeches, but a shirt as well.

"Let's get you dressed up and looking like a respectable wielder."

Jahl proceeded to get dressed, but he shook his head. "Pop, I won't be able to treat anyone. My stone is depleted, the shards in the house are drained." He tied his breeches in place. "I have nothing to call essence from."

Mahre entered the room just as he finished the statement. "Then we had better find your uncle's stone." She began opening cupboards. "It should be here, but I couldn't find it the first time I searched days ago. I've looked for it numerous times."

"Uncle had a stone?"

"A very special standing stone. It has to be here somewhere. You must protect the house and yourself." She sounded desperate, and Jahl watched her reopen cabinets and look more than once in each for what she sought.

Jahl shook his head. "I've explored this house. I've even been in the Lor room. There is no standing stone other than the one I rented from Tommlar's."

Mahre slumped against the cupboards, one hand resting on the counter. "It's not a normal standing stone. Are you sure? You might have even thought it was a piece of tile of a similar size."

Jahl nodded his certainty. There was no other standing stone in the house. Then he looked at his mother's hand curled into a tense fist as though she were holding her fears gripped in her hands. Inches from her whitened knuckles was the fake stone he had set the pot upon. "Mom?"

"You won't be able to help Bragg or the others." She slumped and her voice cracked.

"Mom, did Uncle Tran have a fake standing stone?"

Mahre had been holding a hand against her eyes, and she withdrew it to look at her son. "No, he did not have a fake stone. Why?"

"Because I found one, and it's right there, by your hand."

Mahre glanced to her right and stared at the square of tile peaking from beneath the pot, the corners sticking out only an inch beyond the pot's base. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Jahl, that is your uncle's stone. Take it off the counter and set it on the floor."

"Mom, it's a fake. It has no essence. I tested it."

"Take it off the counter, Jahl, and turn it over."

"Look at it, Mom, you can see the wood grain beneath the lousy paint job."

She took the pot off the trivet and set it to the side. "Take the stone, Jahl, turn it over and set it down on the floor."

Jahl shook his head. Why did she never listen to him?

"Do as your mother says," said his father.

Jahl stared at them both. His parents returned his stare and their looks reminded him that he was only sixteen. He stepped to the counter, lifted the fake stone and flipped it over as he set it down atop the spent stone in front of him. His hand touched the surface now revealed, and he realized the side of the square now showing was faced with stone.

"Step on it," she said.

Jahl stood up and mounted the stone. It tingled immediately against the soles of his feet.

"It is meant to look fake on one side," said Mahre. "It has to be turned with this side facing up to respond to a call for essence. It is embedded with shards, a true Fallon stone."

Jahl gaped at it and gave a mental tug. The stone responded with a surge up his legs. He released it and felt the power drop back down to a tingle. This stone was one of the heavy bursts of magic he had seen in the workroom. He had known one was his rental stone but assumed there was a powerful shard in one of the cupboards, and he had other things to think about when the house was being attacked. But everything had been drained of essence. "Why isn't it drained like the other shards in the house?"

"Shards grab at any power available to keep themselves full," Mahre said. "What power remained after you fought off the attack would be pulled by the most powerful shards. This stone and the shard in your leg are the strongest receptacles in the house. Besides, Tran would not have imbued the other shards with the requirement to stay high wielding. They aren't that important."

The front door swung open hard, bouncing against the wall. Cam and Rouen came into the house supporting Bragg Moln between them, and Mahre shook her head at her son, her tense eyes telling him to wait for a better time to talk further. She leaned close to him. "Work with a trickle. Bragg would never give you away, but if he talks about this healing, he may expose that you are not as without power as you should be. Struggle, Jahl, struggle, but heal him."

Jom grabbed a chair from the parlor, taking it into the workroom and had his son and Rouen settle Bragg in the seat.

Bragg sat leaning to one side as though he hadn't the strength to reposition himself. He licked his lips slowly, painfully. "Hello, Wielder Pratter. It appears I need your services earlier than planned. Do you think you could help me with this trifling repair?" he said, leaning back in the chair, his blackened hands laying in his lap, palms up and shaking with deep red splits through the flesh.

"Master Moln," Jahl looked at his mother, "I've little essence left, but I'll use everything I have to heal you. But I've never done this before."

"I've faith in you, Jahl." Bragg closed his eyes and seemed to grow small as he untightened his hold on appearing well. "I tried to tell them an herb and tonic healer would never do, but they persisted in making me drink a concoction. I think it's finally taking effect." He slumped further, a large man sinking into himself.

Cam stepped forward. "We were surveying the damage when the wagon pulled up with him. The outside of the house looks as chard and scorched as poor Master Moln's hands." His brother stared around himself at the undamaged interior. The young smith was doing the same.

"Forget the house for now," said Jahl. He stood on the stone set before Bragg and lay his hands on the man's forearms. He pulled up a trickle of essence. The flurry rose up from his feet, a thin cloud of magic, and through Jahl until he sent it seeping out his fingers and up along the man's arms to his hands. The wielder burn was not easy to turn back into healthy flesh, and Jahl wanted to pull a greater level of essence to speed up the process, but one look at his mother warned him not to. And as she had reminded him, Bragg would be furious if healing him had revealed his talents or ability to protect himself to his enemy. Jahl was startled by the thought, _enemy,_ for he did indeed have a formidable and determined enemy. But Bragg needed his help, and he concentrated to perform the task. Behind him, he heard more voices and realized there would be more people to heal.

With the essence filling in space between their own substance, Jahl worked to envision healed skin and flesh, peeling back the injury he saw in his mind and healing layer by layer. Only the fact that Master Moln appeared unconscious having succumbed to the earlier healer's tonic kept Jahl from sneaking a stronger pull under his mother's watchful eye. The burns were deep and involved bone as well. Recent experience told Jahl he would be using Braggs own flesh to rebuild the hands. He sought out the man's surplus weight.

Jahl began to direct the essence to the source to feed into the repairs being made and found it was not so easy to choose where the resource came from. Maybe there was a lesson available in the chair, but he didn't have access to that now, he reminded himself. He let the essence choose its own resource and hoped it didn't take indiscriminately from the heart or spine.

Jahl realized how reckless he had been healing himself. He remembered the shard had taken over the process as though Jahl was merely the source for the template his leg should be patterned after. He pulled back and tried to observe the magic healing Bragg's hands. With that approach, he could see the pull of the essence in streams from throughout the man's body. Like Jahl, he would suffer from an overall feeling of weakness and hunger, but he would have hands that worked and certain survival.

Jahl could control the amount of essence working on Bragg, and he focused on that, keeping it a thin flow and providing a template for the hands. He had no trouble remembering the look of the big man's hands. They had so often caught him in mid-trip or lifted a standing stone into his arms, or ruffled his hair, and when he was a small boy, they held out a sugared lemon ball just purchased from the mercantile. Bragg's hands were well known to him, and he kept the image sharp and revolving before his mind's eye.

Finally pulling back and releasing the essence back to his uncle's stone, Jahl realized how crowded the workroom was. Mahre and Jom stood quite close, and Cam was leaning on his elbows upon the table and watching, while Rouen observed from behind Master Moln and his chair.

"I think I'm done."

"And Master Moln needs to be taken home. Cam, go get the wagon," said Jom. His eldest son marched out through the kitchen with only a nod to indicate he was doing as his father ordered.

Another man was brought in. Jahl thought he was a neighbor from across the street. His burns were many but small, ugly red welts wherever an ember had lighted. After him came another man and then a young woman who stared over his shoulder unwilling to watch as he treated each burn. There were tears running down her face, and she giggled nervously when it was all done. Finally, the parlor was empty.

Mahre touched Jahl's arm and with a cock of her head, encouraged him to step into the parlor. She closed the door behind her. She whispered, "Jahl, you must go to Tommlar's and rent another stone."

"But I have a stone, Uncle Tran's." Though Jahl whispered back, he stressed each word.

"Whoever did this knows your stone should be completely depleted. You need to return it and rent another stone. Your uncle's sharded stone must remain a secret."

Jahl stood frustrated. "So I have to limp downtown, deal with Tommlar, return my stone, rent another one and pull it back home just for appearance's sake?"

"No, Jahl, for safeties sake." Mahre Pratter put her fists on her hips. "Someone just tried to burn your house down. You, your brother and your friends could have died. What I am asking is a small request if it means keeping you four safe."

"What I need to do is find a way to replenish the essence in the shards of the house. They were what warned me the house was under attack. Now they are all spent and can offer no protection."

"Go to Tommlar's. We'll get things sorted out later."

Jahl paced about the room, the brace ensuring he limped in awkward, uncomfortable steps. He marched close up to his mother and demanded in low tones, "And what about this shard in my hip. How and _why_ did that happen?"

"Jahl, we can't talk about that now."

"When then?" Jahl knew she was right about maintaining the impression that he was still a beginning wielder, though he doubted that a beginner could have fended off the attack. "Surely he now knows I am better than anticipated if I could grab his wield and throw it back at him."

"Is that what you did?" Mahre bit her lip. "The sun will be up soon. You should rest, then get up and go to Tommlar's."

Jahl watched her turn away, her shoulders not so set with authority. "You're concerned now, more than before."

"No one will attack you in broad daylight. You're safe going to Tommlar's."

"So I am going to have an extra standing stone."

This time, his mother turned to face him with a smile. "No dear, I am going to take the stone home. It's time I started wielding again. And if you learn how your uncle supplied your shards with essence, then you are more than welcome to reestablish the Donnel stone at the manor."

Jahl felt somewhat better with the thought he would not be alone. "Then there will be three wielders from the old clans to rise in Chussan Faire."

"Three? Bragg won't wield anymore. He refuses."

"No, I wasn't even thinking of Bragg. Donya, you and me."

"Donya?" She shook her head discounting the young woman.

"She's a Deln. The Marsons adopted her when their baby girl died and the Delns, Donya's parents, came back to get her, but they succumbed to the Wane." He could see this was not news to her, so he stopped trying to defend his statement. "Which reminds me, where is she? I haven't seen her since she left the house during the attack."

"Rouen sent her home before anyone realized she had exited your house in nothing but an underdress. Jahl, she should not have been here. Deln or not."

At that moment Rouen opened the workroom door. "They just took the last of the healed home. I'm going to go upstairs and get dressed."

"No, Ro, go back to bed," said Jahl, realizing his mother was right about him having to learn how his uncle moved the essence. Actually, he thought, what he needed to know was probably accessible if he could get one of the sharded chairs to activate more of his memories. But for now, all the shards were spent. "That's what I am going to do. We all need to rest."

Ro opened his mouth ready to disagree with the idea of sleeping after the attack, but Mahre interrupted him. "I will stay and keep watch while you two sleep. There will be more trouble to come later, though it will come soon enough. You should be ready for it, not falling for lack of rest because you're afraid to close your eyes."

"You need to sleep too, Mom."

"And I will after you're rested. For now, I and your father will stand watch."

It wasn't easy for Jahl to close his eyes. He kept returning to the image of the stone rising from the ground and he and his uncle drawing essence into the shards they held. He needed to know where that glade was. It must be near Fallon Mountain, but that left miles of area to search, an impossibility. But it could not be far if he traversed the distance with his uncle when he was a small boy. It would have taken too long with him becoming fatigued every few hundred yards. Even if they rode a horse, Jahl would not have been able to ride for long. So it's on the Chussan Faire side of the mountain. Still, more than enough land to search. He needed to access his memories of how they got there. So he reviewed the memory, all that he had recalled in that short stint in the Lor room, but there was nothing he saw that gave away where it was. Finally, he slept.

His mother shook him awake. "Jahl, get ready and go into town. I'm setting a breakfast on the table for you and Ro. Go in and wake him up."

Jahl rolled over, his eyes open but not focused on anything specific. "Sure, Mom."

"Jahl," she drawled his name out, reminding him of days at home when he wanted to stay in bed. It brought a smile to his face and when he looked at her standing at the door glaring mischievously back at him, he knew she must be recalling those same early mornings. "Don't dawdle. You're a master wielder with important things to do today."

"If I'm a master, then why is my mother coming to wake me up?"

"What? Do you think wielders are born out of the air? Besides, you can't get rid of me yet; you're still just sixteen."

"So when I'm seventeen in eight months, I can assume you won't be hanging about my house to wake me up after a night of hard wielding?" Jahl grinned, nestled deeper into his bed and raised his eyebrows.

"You could be so lucky." She shook her finger at him. "Now stop procrastinating. Get out of bed and wake Ro," Mahre said as she shut the door behind her.

Jahl pulled the covers up to his chin, an unfamiliar happiness filling his chest. _When did she change? Or was it both of us?_

Jahl flipped the covers aside and left his bed, cleaned himself up, woke Rouen and got himself dressed. They tramped down the stairs, both still marveling over the undamaged interior of the house. They'd been exhausted and failed to notice it last night. Soon the young men were at the kitchen table scarfing scrambled eggs on toast as fast as Mahre Pratter could slide them onto their plates. There had been a slight delay caused by Mahre who had required Jahl to don his brace before she would let him take a single bite of his steaming breakfast.

"We have to act as we would in public. It's the only way to keep our enemy underestimating you."

Jahl's stomach growled. "You're lucky my hunger is on your side." It didn't take long for him to catch up to Rouen on helpings.

The house was dim inside for a morning well beyond sunup, the windows seeming shaded by trees. Between mouthfuls, Jahl said, "Tell me about my personal shard, Mom."

She glared a response and tossed a glance at Rouen shoveling a large forkful of egg and toast into his mouth disinterested in the conversation between them.

"He can—."

"Not now, Jahl."

Jahl shoved a mound of eggs in his mouth and ground his teeth on the food. _Ro was trustworthy. Why shouldn't he know about the shard Jahl had in his hip?_

Mahre ignored his noisy protest and slipped more eggs on his plate. "That's the last of it. Eat and be on your way."

Jahl ate. Then limping, he headed into the workroom and set the Fallon stone on the counter. He placed the pot back on it and then wrestled the spent stone onto the cart Cam had built for him. A quick trip to his money drawer and he had two half silvers, one to pay off the store for a spent stone and the second for another stone for the week. He poked his head through the doorway of the workroom. "I'm leaving now. Ro, have you checked that Donya made it home safely?"

"Did last night. She's fine and I told my pop what happened so he would know why I was in a nightshirt, out of bed in the middle of the night and heading back to your place." Rouen shoveled the last of his eggs into his mouth and carried his plate to the counter. "Thanks, Master Wielder Pratter."

She turned to speak, but Jahl interrupted. "Quit buttering my mother up. Are you staying here or going home?"

Mahre laughed. "You're welcome, Rouen. It's about time someone tried to butter me up." She scraped at the iron skillet and quirked a mocking eye at him. "But it's Master Donnel. I'm head of the clan."

Rouen grinned and said, "Yes, ma'am, Master Donnel." He turned his attention to Jahl. "Home. There is plenty of work for me at the shop." He headed for the back door. "Can I bring some items for repair tonight?"

"Yeah, there's no reason to set you back again. And bring Donya; she needs training. Good-bye, Mom." He turned to leave and then looked back at his mother at the sink cleaning the pans. "You'll be here when I get back, won't you?"

She turned enough to see him in the workroom doorway. "Of course. Who else is going to do the cleaning?"

Jahl looked about the kitchen. _What's to clean?_ Then he hurried through the room pulling the standing stone cart and calling over his shoulder, "Nice having you visit, Mom. Don't know what I would do without you." The wheels rattled over the floorboards.

"Starve by the looks of you," she called as he opened the front door.

"Oh, he's looked much worse, Master Donnel," said Rouen around the closing edge of the backdoor.

Jahl rolled his eyes as he latched the door shut behind him. Maybe it was a good idea he hadn't told Ro about the shard in his leg. The smith couldn't keep his mouth shut. Jahl limped down the steps, leaving the cart on the stoop. Then he hobbled about to get close to the top step and lift off the standing stone cart. He stopped mid-reach. The house claimed his whole attention. He backed up and stood shocked by the appearance of the place that he now considered home. The shutters were gone, mere bits of charred wood clinging to the warped metal hinges. The siding bore flame-shaped burns that rose like fingers from the foundation, some as tall as six feet. The windows were blackened with soot explaining why his house was still dark inside. Larger bursts of fire-damaged wood were every few feet along the base of the house as though scorching cannonballs had been thrown at it. Nothing of the damage he beheld showed on the inside. Still, there was much to repair. He sighed realizing that his home may look like this awhile. Getting the protective shards and stones essence-filled was a priority as was figuring out who his nemesis was.

Jahl reached again for his cart and got it to the ground. He set off for Tommlar's with jolting determination. Once he was back in the house, he planned to do plenty of work and research. But he hadn't gotten far before the brace began to chafe, and the effort to limp along left him in need of a break. He stepped off the stone pathway and leaned against a tree, his cart braked, the handle upright beside him.

After last night and the mounting of his wielder sign, Jahl was not so unknown now. The fame he'd earned was not a positive one. His house was a wreck at least from the outside and hardly looked like the home of a prosperous wielder. Some passersby actually looked at him with curiosity. A few seemed sympathetic. But at least two whom he knew were out-of-town wielders from the south, going by their subdued tan clothing, sneered as they passed. He peered at them, wondering if they may be the source of the attack. Wielders from Carolan only days passed had harassed him and now two more from Loeban Faire to the south walking by the house and smirking. They held his gaze, challenging him to give them a reason to stop. Jahl broke the stare and got back on his way, not pleased with any of the results of the night. He jerked at the cart and glared at the spent stone.

Two rests and one near jostling off the walkway by a bulky man with a thick standing stone under his arm, and Jahl found himself stepping up on the porch before Tommlar's. He set the stone by the door and rolled his empty cart in behind him. The bright sun outside left him blinking at the entrance, but he didn't stand there long unnoticed.

Pike Tommlar met him at the door. "My father's at the back, inside. How can I help you, Wielder Pratter?"

"I'm returning a spent stone and need to rent a new one."

Pike glanced out the door and saw the stone off to the side. "You had a rough night last night, I heard."

"Yes, I've run a bit short of magic as a result."

Jahl fingered the two coins in his hand.

Pike put out his hand for them. "I'll search for a strong used stone for you. Why don't you step inside, get cooled off for a bit."

The suggestion was a good one. Jahl was worn out and hot. Summer was coming on. "How far to the back is Master Tommlar?"

"He's working on inventory. Stay close to the front and you'll be fine."

Jahl nodded his thanks, parked his cart by the door and stepped in. Seeing the premade shirts and breeches folded on shelves reminded him he still needed to alter his uncle's clothes to fit. If he was going to bring in more clientele, he needed to look the part. Jahl perused the shop looking at each of the customers in view. Any of them could be his enemy. He realized he'd thought of them all as either enemy or potential customer. A few frowned at him, others gave a curious glance his way, but most went about their business unconcerned with his presence.

A display on the main counter caught his eye, and he turned to examine a pair of brooches, a simple silver filigree with a pin on the back. They reminded him of the brooch he had repaired for the houseman Wasely. He hadn't given his mother a gift in ages. They needed every cent for paying off their loan and planting a new crop, but Jahl was tempted to consider the purchase. He touched the brooch, the more delicate of the two.

His hand flinched away with a sudden roar from the elder Tommlar. He reminded himself the man was at the back, no reason to be nervous. And then someone gripped his arm and wrenched him about.

"Young Pratter, you're finally back. Put your copper in the box. You can pick up your stone on the way out after we've had a little talk." Tommlar kept his meaty hand gripped around the young wielder's arm.

Pike was about to set a stone on Jahl's cart, and he said, "He's already paid his half silver for a week's rental."

Tommlar released Jahl, stormed to the front and grabbed the stone from his son. The merchant felt the level of the essence in the stone and shook his head. "This isn't a low-level rental stone. We can't afford a soft heart giving every gimpy fellow more than his coin is worth. He dumped the stone on a high-level rental stack.

"Pop, I measured that stone. It's below the level for that stack."

Tommlar stormed in close to his son's face. Several patrons stepped behind displays as though shrapnel would fly with his next blast. "Are you telling me how to run my store? Get back to the one in the north side, and I'll be by to check your accounts to make sure you're not giving our stock away."

Pike was no small man, nor was he afraid of his father. He didn't stand back nor slacken his posture. "The stone is correctly measured."

"Pick him out another one." Tommlar looked out the door, seeing the stone by the threshold. "You brought back a spent stone!"

"Pop, Jahl's house was attacked last night. He had to defend himself. Of course, the stone would be spent."

Tommlar stomped back to Jahl and commenced to drag him toward the back. "That talk, young Pratter, will be had in the backroom."

"Pop!" called Pike Tommlar. The customers in the store stood staring.

"We're just having a little chat, man to man, Pike. Watch the front. We won't be long."

Jahl struggled, but his weight was nothing to the store owner, and he had yet to gain enough muscle to take on anyone with determination and size behind him. He prepared to reach out to the stack of extra stone stock which they would be passing shortly. Tommlar was going to get a shock. Just as they came within reach, the shop owner hauled Jahl to the left and the stacks were out of range.

Jahl worked to keep himself upright and to appear undaunted by the likelihood of an unpleasant experience about to happen in the backroom of the mercantile. These were his potential customers, too. He couldn't afford to look any weaker than he did being dragged like a misbehaving child.

### Chapter Eleven

Tommlar shoved him through the door and shut it behind them. Jahl was lifted like a straw man and placed on a chair at a desk just right of the jamb.

"You okay, son? Sorry about that show, but I can't be too careful."

Jahl sat back in the chair and stopped mid-straightening of his shirt. "Huh?"

Tommlar pulled up a stool and sat down. "Lockdown the room."

"What?" Jahl said, still gathering himself together.

"Lockdown the room. Feel around and you'll find the stones. Lockdown the room so we have privacy."

Jahl's eyes roved the room. He wasn't at all sure he wanted any privacy with Tommlar. He did, however, sense that there were stones at all corners of the room. Jahl tentatively tapped at their essence. One snapped into a shield. He tapped another cornerstone. Snap. Up went another shield.

"Pratter, don't take all day at it." The shop owner leaned in close and whispered. "We need to talk. Speed it up, boy."

Jahl took a breath, his shoulders rising high and tapped the last stones as he exhaled and cringed.

Tommlar huffed and grinned. "Wasn't sure when we would need to have this talk, but your uncle told me that one day it would be necessary. Sorry, I've had to be such a bully with you. It seemed the best way to make sure no one would expect you'd receive any support from our clan." He reached out his hand to Jahl who pulled a bit away and then held himself still. Tommlar's hand made contact with Jahl's arm with a brisk slap.

"What?" Jahl couldn't make sense of it. His elbow had bumped a stack of sacked flour during the rush through the store, and the man was dusting it off in sweeping pats on Jahl's arm.

"Sorry about that. But better soft flour than a stack of stones, right?"

"Sure, Master Tommlar. Sure, much better." Prepared to set the crazy man off again, Jahl angled his face away and squinted his eyes. "Why are we back here?"

"There are things you need to know, young Pratter. I guess I'm the one that needs to tell you."

The door jiggled. Tommlar stood up and jerked it open. Pike looked in. "Pop." He paused taking in the two. "Everything okay back here?"

Tommlar roared, "Didn't I tell you to watch the front. What are you doing poking your head into things none of your business? Close the door!" The door shut.

Tommlar shook his head, sat back down and planted his hands flat on each massive knee. "That boy will be the death of me. Takes after me, he does; not a mean bone in his body."

Jahl couldn't help but laugh though he tried to catch it in his throat before it escaped. It came out a like a small dog's quick bark.

Tommlar grinned. "Course that doesn't show on the outside." He settled himself more comfortably on the stool. "Now let's get to points. I need to tell you about the Fallon Shard."

Jahl's face went blank. Could Tommlar know about Tran's sharded Fallon stone?

"Tran and I had an understanding. What with him being the high master wielder of Chussan Faire after his brother's death, he had certain rights, and it was something I did not dicker about. Now you are taking over his role. You've much yet to learn, but he trained you all he could. Trouble is on its way, and I have to make sure you're armed for battle."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Master Tommlar. Could we back up a bit?"

The man grinned, something Jahl had never seen him do before. It made him look a bit toothy for Jahl's taste, but perhaps it was just not something Jahl was used to seeing. He almost winced when Tommlar reached out and knocked him on the shoulder. "Always liked your gumption, young Pratter." He settled his muscular arms across his chest. "You want me to set down some background, do you? We don't have much time, so I'll give a summary. Your uncle and I used to chat quite a bit. He told me about how he was training you and that he didn't think he would be around when you reached the age to wield. He was doing his best, but it was likely you would not be aware of all the training he had given you. So first off: have you sat in the chair in the Lor room or the library?"

Jahl debated how to respond. He decided on a half-truth. "Been on the one in the library."

"And what happened?"

"Is that the end of the summary?"

Tommlar laughed. "That's fair. I am the one that knows I can trust you, but you don't have the same opinion of me." He rubbed his bristly chin. "You should have access to the memories your uncle hid from you of your training and experience with him when you sit in those chairs. The one in the Lor room is much stronger and will pull memories from both farther back and more deeply hidden by your uncle. That's the one you need to sit in now. For training stuff the library is good, but for information about making shards and finding the Great Shard, you need to sit on the leather chair in the Lor room."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"All your shards in the house are spent, right?"

Jahl took a chance. He nodded.

"I'm the only one left that knows about the Fallon Shard. About the same as what happened to Tran when Destry died. You see each generation tells the next leader the secret. I know about the great shard and give permission to the High Wielder to use it, and the High Wielder knows where it is located but can't use it without permission of the Tommlar clan. With Tran gone, and you the designated heir, I give you permission to use the Fallon Shard.

"Enough said about that. You need to fill a charger with essence and return home and load all of your shards up." The large man got up from his stool and trudged to the back of the room. From a locked cabinet he removed a shard three times as large as Jahl had ever imagined one could be. He returned to his seat and held the stone in a meaty grip. "This is a charger. You need to find the Fallon Shard. I can't tell you where it is, but your uncle knew. And I think you know, too."

"But the shards in the house are all depleted. So how do I charge it so I can find out the information so I can charge my house?"

"Does sound a bit of a conundrum." But the man grinned as if he knew Jahl would figure it all out.

They stared at each other. Jahl said, "Is there any more you can tell me?"

"The Fallon Shard is a rock located near the mountain." There was no confusion as to which mountain he was referring to. There was only one the Tommlar clan controlled, the same one that supplied standing stones. "It is hidden and must be pulled from the ground." Jahl nodded his understanding, recalling the memory of the rising stone in the glade. "Can you pull more than one standing stone on that cart?"

Jahl nodded.

"I'll put two on it. One for you to charge just the chair in the Lor room. The other for whatever purpose you need it for. I ask just a few favors in return."

Jahl nodded again, less certain.

"Don't give away that we are anything other than economic adversaries. That's number one. The next is you keep the same bargain with me your uncle did." Jahl gave him a concerned glance. "My whole family has full treatment and repairs at no charge, just as your uncle had full access to Fallon Mountain and the Shard." Jahl nodded, feeling more comfortable with the bargain. "And no one else learns of the Fallon Shard." Jahl nodded again with greater alacrity. "Shove this someplace about your person." He handed the shard to Jahl, who held it in both hands.

Rather than supply a tingle of essence, the thing seemed to want to pull essence from Jahl. It made him nervous to hold it close. The shard in his hip burned in response to the charger's pull. How was he going to get it home if he couldn't hide it under his clothes? "Come now, shove it inside your shirt."

It was clear Tommlar didn't know about everything.

Jahl took in the roughly hewn surface of the stone. He could feel the sharpness bite into his palms. "I'd like to wrap it in something. I don't need to be all scratched up by the time I get home. It's hard enough to walk as is. Besides, I'll look like I've got some sort of growth."

Tommlar nodded his head and gave Jahl's twisted leg an intent look. "You should repair that the first chance you get. And put some meat on your bones." He got up and searched about his inventory. Finally, under a bunch of rags, he found an old over-the-shoulder leather sack. Tommlar put the oversized shard inside. "This should do." He handed it to Jahl who hung it immediately across his chest.

The pull was still there where it lay against his ribs, but Jahl thought he could hold it away by the strap when he was heading back home. Without the physical contact, it would require Jahl to reach out mentally for it to create any flow, and Jahl had not had much practice with non-contact flow. He concentrated on keeping his shard from responding to the pull.

"It's unlikely any customers noticed you weren't wearing that when you came in what with our little ruckus. Best you release the stones privacy screen."

Jahl swept his hand through the air and felt all the stones snap into quiescence.

"Time to head back and get you out of here. Stand up and I'll grab you by the arm and haul you out to the front. If you grip my shirt in back, you should be able to stay upright and keep your arm attached." The man laughed, causing Jahl to wonder how kind-hearted he really was. He seemed to enjoy the whole game of being opponents.

Tommlar reached for the door. "Ready?"

Jahl shrugged and then nodded. How does one get ready to be thrown out of a store? The weight of the stone jounced against him as he stood.

The door swung open and Tommlar started forward, Jahl with no option but to scramble to keep up. He had to give the big man credit. He managed to drag Jahl to the front without leaving him any bruises. In fact, he turned him once in a circle to keep him from ramming into the back counter when Jahl tripped while trying to maintain his balance.

"Klutz," Tommlar grumbled. They came to the front door and the burly shopkeeper grabbed a standing stone off the stack and slapped it on the cart. "You're ready, now get out of my store and don't bring back any spent stones. You understand me now, young Pratter?" He spat on the stone on the cart.

Pike stepped forward. "Pop, I already—."

"You're still here? Get to work if you've no mind to leave. Now get out of my way."

"But Pop, I already—."

Tommlar shoved his son back. "Go finish the inventory before you and I have to have a talk in the backroom." Tommlar glared at a grinning customer who shifted his attention over to the wall and the cheap shoes on display. Pike caught Jahl's eye from behind his father and nodded at the cart and grinned. Tommlar stalked up to a sniggering customer, and Jahl used the opportunity to head out the door. His leg ached, and he struggled to lift the doubled weighted cart to the ground while the charger in its shoulder bag bounced against him. Once the cart was on the ground, Jahl pulled it with one hand and grasped the leather straps of the bag away from his body to keep a few inches between him and the charger. In moments he was limping along, taking breaks every block and grumbling about adding padding to the brace first chance he got. Coming to terms with Tommlar being an aid to his uncle and supplying him with knowledge of the Great Shard of Fallon Mountain kept him more than occupied.

The charger walloped him in the ribs and Jahl muttered, "Dragged through the store twice and not a bruise on me. But I'm going to get home black and blue, skinned and chafed."

He looked up from his cogitations to find an elderly man raising his eyebrows. "Talking to yourself won't help, boy. Try looking on the bright side."

Jahl limped forward refusing to respond. _Tommlar's helping me._ Pike has _his kind heart? Everybody's got a secret these days._

He adjusted his hold on the strap, feeling his arm start to shake with the tension of elevating the charger away from his body. _How am I going to charge this thing so I can charge the house? Or do I flood essence into the chair first?_

Between the increasing discomfort in his arm holding the charger out and his leg cramping with each step from being contorted by the brace, Jahl was worn out by the time he finally came up the walk toward his house. There was the sound of a hammer hitting a wall and when the house came into view, Jahl stood still. He'd only been gone a couple hours, yet Cam had removed all the damaged wood and already applied replacement shutters and was working on the base of the house. Jahl knew his brother was a fine woodworker, but looking at what he had done made him wonder what his brother had in mind. It was a patchwork of wood fitted oddly together as though he'd had to work with scraps. Jahl didn't know what to say. He wondered if he should just approach with his head down, climb the stairs after hefting the stones and cart onto the stoop, and enter the house as if he had not even noticed the work through sheer weariness.

But Cam turned and saw Jahl. His brother grinned pleased with himself and held his arms out showcasing his work. "Behold," Cam said. "Pop is working on the back. He's going to head right and I am going around the house on this corner. When I reach the back we should both be done. Are you pleased?"

Jahl was speechless. What could he say? It looked ridiculous. Nothing matched, nor was anything cut straight or even. He stared a moment longer then said, "Cam, you shouldn't have rushed. You should have given it a few days so you could take your time."

Cam looked at the house, confused by the remark, and back at Jahl. "I thought all you needed was material to work with. You mean it has to be well fitted, too? Mom said you would have no difficulty shaping it. Then all we would have to do is paint."

Jahl was ready to yell he had no power to wield with. But he had a double stack of wielding stones on the cart and a charger shard in a sack hanging from his shoulder and held out somewhat to keep it from contacting his body. It was just that all three were already earmarked for other uses. At least when the house was wrapped in charred wood and smoke damage, people passing by would realize there had been a fire. But now, what would they think: a ten year old with time and scraps on hand had decided to make his house a patchwork quilt? Or would they imagine that this was the level of Wielder Pratter's skill? Jahl stood there gaping. _This makeshift patching could kill my business._

"Well, Jahl, is Mom wrong?"

"No," Jahl said. "All I need is material and a standing stone."

"Material is already here and you just fetched a standing stone home, right?"

"Cam," Jahl said, shaking his head, "this is not the time to make my house pretty again. There are more important things for me to do."

"Then why did Mom have me do this?"

Jahl didn't get a chance to answer. Mahre Pratter stood in the doorway. She said, "Because it is important we stop hiding. We arm the house, we get you back your training, and we challenge whoever is out there. And we cannot do that with this house looking like a burnt match."

Jahl had never seen his mother stand so tall nor so proud. But didn't she say just last night that he had to maintain the illusion of being an untrained wielder if they were going to remain safe? What made her changed her mind?

"Cam, help your brother and his cart into the house. We have much to do."

Cam grinning like a pleased tomcat dropped his hammer and strode to Jahl. "I'll get the cart up the steps and then you can use my shoulder to lean on."

Jahl stood firm at the bottom of the steps. "Where's my mother?" He let go of the cart handle and pointed at his leg. "You know, the one that made me walk all the way into town with my leg twisted like an old dog's tail."

"Are you complaining?" she teased. "You now have the means to cure that little hurt. Going into town like that and having Cam work on the house gave us all time to work on some details and give the appearance that we are focused on small stuff." She stepped back into the house and beckoned to the two of them.

Cam reached for the handle and Jahl stopped him with a grip on his arm. "Wait." Holding the bagged shard away from his ribs, he stepped one foot on the cart, the sole of his shoe flat on the standing stones. With a mental pull at the stone, Jahl relaxed the grapevine trunk around his leg and closed his eyes in relief. It didn't take away the cramping or the sore spots, but there was a lot less torque on his bones and muscles, and that was worthy of a long sigh. He breathed in deep, expanding his ribcage and sighed with pleasure. Then Jahl tugged on essence in the stone and wiped away the cramps and sore spots with a tingling rush and stood up straight. He took long strides to his front door and when he stood on the stoop, he turned to Cam, and said, "But you can still bring in my cart. I already hauled it here."

Cam set the cart down, closed the door and said, "What next?"

Mahre raised an eyebrow. "You complete the outside of the house while Jahl works on the inside." Cam nodded and jaunted out of the house after mock punching his little brother in the arm.

Jahl rolled the cart into the workroom and stood a moment staring at the double stack of stones. He shook his head. Tommlar deliberately stacked the second stone on the cart, and his son thinking his father didn't realize the mistake deliberately let Jahl leave with them. Time to see what he had. Releasing his imposed grip on the shoulder bag's straps, Jahl stooped down and lifted the first mottled, grey stone off the cart. The shard swung free as he bent down. His fingers tingled with the power in the standing stone. Jahl knew at once it was the same stone Pike had first planned to give him. It was a low yield source at the highest point before it would have to be placed in a used high-yield stack. He set it down where he most often worked at the table.

The second stone was just as mottled, with light rusty slash-like markings across its surface. He lay his hand upon it and felt for the essence. Jahl sat back on his heels, yanking his hand from the stone. _Bloods Bees!_ _Full yield, a full yield stone!_ True he had a Fallon Stone that was far more packed with power than this one, but he had been wanting to buy his own full yield stone ever since he had learned he could wield, and Tommlar had given him one. Okay, Pike had given him one, but Tommlar knew he left with two stones.

Mahre walked into the room and looked at him with curiosity. "What is it, Jahl?"

"See this pretty grey stone I set here on the floor. It is yours, Mom." He grinned and patted the one still on the cart. "This one that's all rusty and muddy looking is mine. Excuse me while I put it to some use." Jahl pried it out of the raised edge gripping its sides and lifted it up as he rose. He left his mother standing before the stone, her hand clasped to the table top as she stared down at her first wieldable standing stone, loaded with magic essence, in fifteen years.

"Jahl." She stopped him at the entrance to the kitchen. "Pull lightly. Only draw what you need. Don't waste the essence just so you can feel the flow. Pull lightly, pull subtly, like a true master wielder."

Jahl nodded. Perhaps that had been why each time he had worked with a shard of high yield, he had been overwhelmed. Too much essence running through his body and no control. He'd been wasting the essence, letting it run wild within him. He pulled the stone tight to his body and took to the stairs. The shard in the shoulder bag walloped him in the side at his first incautious step. He felt the zing as it pulled at the stone in his arms so much closer than the shard in his hip. Jahl concentrated on not letting the thing pull so much as a spark from either magic source as he trod the stairs up to the Twai'wa Lor room and its memory-calling chair.

Jahl stared at the door and settled his plan for locating the Great Shard of Fallon Mountain that Tommlar had told him about and his uncle had taken him to. He squatted and set the stone on the floor in front of it, letting the charger containing bag swing loose in the air. In the pause, as he prepared to load the shard, Jahl could hear his father and brother hammering on the house. He shook his head and grabbed the strap before standing up so he would not have to think about the demanding shard while he was transferring essence and stepped on the stone. Placing his other hand on the jamb, he pulled at the essence, lightly as his mother had cautioned him and drew the image of the embedded shard into his mind. Then he began to fill the shard with the level of essence his uncle had designed it to hold.

The splinter of Fallon Mountain, no more than the size of his smallest finger filled with tiny sparks before his inner eye. He released his pull on the stone's reserve. Jahl raised the index finger of the hand on the jamb and let it drop against the wood frame, thinking his demand that the door unseal. It clicked open revealing the room just as he had left it. Great satisfaction thrummed through Jahl as he recognized that with this small transference of essence he had taken magical possession of the house. He was responsible for it and capable of keeping it strong and vital as both his home and his protection. He pulled a sliver of Lal and made the grapevine brace flow like a snake from his breeches. When it lay on the floor, he stiffened it and leaned it against the wall.

To his right was a coat rack, and an old woolen sweater of his uncle's still hung from it. Jahl lifted the strap off his shoulder and hung the shard on the curving arms of the rack so the charger could make no contact with any part of the house or himself. He didn't know if it would pull the power from any shards or stones in the residence if it touched a surface directly, but he didn't want to find out. He knew the charger could pull at his shard through the leather material of the bag if it lay against his ribs and that was through a tunic and shirt. He wanted to take no chances with two common standing stones and one Fallon stone sitting on the various surfaces of the house.

No longer concerned with the charger, Jahl picked up the stone and carried it to the chair. He intended to stand on it and feed the shard's essence into the chair as cautiously as he had the one embedded in the door jamb. Jahl trod on the stone and leaned forward, placing his hands on each arm of the blue leather chair.

Jahl reached first for the trickle of essence and then sought out the empty shard. Easing the magic along a tight path, he funneled the needed power into the source of the wingchair's ability to provide access to his buried memories. As his mother had warned him, this shard was much stronger than the one downstairs and required a large allotment of essence. He seemed to be streaming the essence for quite some time before it finally slowed down.

Jahl stepped back and knelt down to slide the stone off to the side. It was as he was turning that he became aware his mother was standing at the door.

"When you are going under the power of a strong shard, it is important to have an experienced wielder there to help you pull out if you have trouble. I'll sit here and watch over you."

"Since you're here, how about you tell me about my magical hip?"

"There are more important memories to review."

"My memories aren't going anywhere. Tell me about the shard in my hip." Jahl saw her wince.

"I had hoped you would hold off a bit longer. It's not a pleasant memory for me, and mine have never left." She sat down on Donya's stool by the tall desk.

Jahl almost sat down, and they both grinned at his sudden straightening. He crossed his arms over his chest.

Mahre slumped against the desk behind her, resigned to the fact that she could no longer hold Jahl off. In the background, the hammers were pounding like they were an auditory representation of his mother's heartbeat. "You were a year old, and we had been fighting the Wane in you over and over, pressing it down. We were running out of stones and money as we invested everything in protecting the family and you. The Wane in a single attack would drain a high yield stone in hours. When your uncle wasn't with me, he was running experiments to figure out how to make wieldable shards.

"Sometimes we were so exhausted that we would fall asleep, one of us with you in our arms. We would awaken to find Jom holding you and Cam dancing or juggling blocks trying to take your mind off the pain wracking your body. The Wane would have moved far up into your hips by then, and it would take both Tran and me to drive it back down into one leg. Tran had said we could not destroy it. We hadn't enough essence for that, but he believed we could bundle it into one wielded containment and seal it off with the Lal."

Jahl thought of how he had crushed the wielder flame into a tight bubble and sealed it with the essence of his house before tossing it back at the wielder. They had nowhere to toss the Wielder Wane. "So he embedded a shard in my hip to hold off the Wane."

Mahre nodded. "We thought it might kill you. But we _knew_ the Wane would."

"Why didn't he use the shards he made or the Fallon Stone to fight the Wane more directly?"

"Those came much later. As I said, you were about one year old when he showed up with an essence-filled shard. His first created shard."

She looked down at her hands in her lap. They were both surprised to see how tightly they gripped each other. When she relaxed her hold, the blood returned turning them red under the skin. There would be bruises later. Jahl wondered why the memory was so difficult for her when it saved him.

"It is time for you to recall what Tran taught you and find a way to defend yourself. Sit down. I will watch over you for as long as you need me."

Jahl lowered himself into the chair. He felt the tingle at once and sought to hold it off, to show his control to both his mother and himself.

"Do not let the shard and its purpose control you. Create a flow that will let you choose the memories you need."

Jahl leaned back in the comfortable cushioning and lay his arms on the padded leather rests. He took a deep breath and allowed the tingle of essence rustling against his skin to enter his body. The images before his mind's eye made him think of playing cards, all laid out in long rows. He thought of his mother watching over him and her bruised hands gripped in her lap. An image flew forward from the straight lines of memories arrayed before him. He felt himself fill with the moment.

He was laying on his back in his mother's lap. Looking up into her face through vision blurred as though awash with liquid, he saw that her dark brown eyes were sunken with fatigue, her mouth a straight line trying to bend into a smile for him. She stared down at him, the tendons of her neck standing out as though she were holding in a desire to scream out her despair. Jahl's body was torn with pain that seemed to have a life of its own and an intention to take more and more of the territory of his body. He felt it rising into his belly and causing his stomach to spasm and cramp. Bile rushed into his throat and if he weren't already wailing with fright, the burning in his throat would have brought on a shriek of fear and pain. Tears dropped from his mother's eyes and splashed on his bare chest. He kicked out his legs, small chubby, crooked things that rose into his view with each kick. His small fingers tugged at a wisp of hair that dangled from his mother's low bun at the back of her neck.

Into his vision leaned his Uncle Tran, younger and more confident than he remembered him. Tran and Mahre splayed a hand each on his stomach, and Jahl could feel them pressing a warm and saturating flow of magic into him. When it came in contact with the fingers of pain rising up his torso, he sensed a border of first a tingling and then an electrical charge like the static of dry thunder. It ran like a bolt along his waistline, and at each pulse of the essence from their hands, the combined Lal pushed the struggling boundary line down.

Mahre took hold of his left foot and pulsed the essence adding a new line of attack against the Wane. The cramped muscles of the one leg released, creating a constant contrast to the muscles still under its twisting domination. He heard himself wail out in excruciating pain as bones in his right foot seemed to grind against each other like they were made of sandpaper. But the pain was in retreat, growing stronger by the moment in one leg but lessening throughout the rest of his body. Mahre's hands were at his left hip, Tran had one hand on his right hip, both shepherding the disease down toward his right. One bone snapped in his calf while the long thigh bone above the crippled knee twisted with the stress. He shrieked, the harshness burning his throat and making his mother shake and whimper.

He felt his body flipped on its left side on his mother's lap followed by a sharp driving pain into his right hip. An explosive flash ran up his body, rebounded at his extremities and flooded back to stop at the juncture of his hip and thigh. The last flush of essence drove with fierce abandon down his leg to the suddenly folding sole of his foot. As the flush enveloped his leg with essence, the bones healed in place and the pain dropped to a dull throb.

The drop in intensity of the memory gave Jahl a chance to push it away. The image drifted back to the rows floating in his mind. Stunned by the physical sensations and emotions it had submerged him in, Jahl hung floating, filled with essence and out of breath. He again remembered his mother's warning to control the flow. Jahl had thought only of wanting to know about the shard in his hip, and the chair had responded to his lack of attention to its power. He pressed back against the shard, so much stronger than its counterpart in the chair downstairs. When he had the magic held to a trickle, he summoned a memory of his first time going to the glade of the Great Shard. The rows of memories shuffled and one shot forward.

The sensations of forward motion were immediate, and he recognized that he was a small boy riding on the hip of his uncle as the high wielder hiked among the tall evergreens of Fallon Forest, mostly red spruces. Their heavy green branches made triangles of them to his toddler experience. Jahl tried to observe the path his uncle was taking, but his vision was blocked on one side by Tran's shoulder, and often the child looked at the ground or a squirrel dashing among the trees, or birds flitting through the dense green branches. Jahl grew frustrated that he could not control where the younger version of himself put his attention. His child self was sleepy and dozed frequently. When they entered the glade the child grew more alert, and Jahl paid attention to the details as his vision passed over the dimensions of the glade. Tran set him down and stepped to the center.

Jahl supposed the clearing was about thirty feet in diameter and was surrounded by spruce. The mountain itself was lost among the high treetops. Overhead was a blue sky broken by white cumulus clouds. Squirrels chattered and birds called. Tran had been silent much of the hike, but now he grinned over his shoulder at young Jahl. "Watch," he said. His uncle knelt and placed his hands flat on the brown needles littering the floor of the glade. Jahl limped to his side and rested his hand on his uncle's shoulder. The man concentrated, staring at the center of the clearing before them, and Jahl scanned the area as well but saw no change. A light thrumming vibrated against the bottoms of Jahl's feet. He bounced on his unmatched legs, gleeful as if the juddering ground tickled him. Tran smiled wider and put a finger to his lips then returned his hand to the thrumming ground. Tingling began to run up Jahl's legs, and the boy dropped to the ground uncertain about what would come next. Then Tran stood, catching Jahl up in his arms, and backed up to the edge of the glade. Still the thrumming rose in tempo and intensity. A great gravelly stone rose from the ground, rising higher with each thrum until its bulk challenged the very heights of the trees that ringed the clearing.

Tran lifted off a bag that hung across his chest and over a shoulder. He removed several small shards from the bag and handed one to the young Jahl. Jahl felt the rough texture of the stone on his palm and watched his uncle place one hand against the Great Shard. Jahl copied his actions. He felt nothing different about the stone he held. It continued to feel cold and coarse inside his fist. His uncle exchanged shards with others from the bag. Jahl, bored with watching, lay down on the ground and dozed. After an hour, he watched his uncle reach for the shard still held in his hand. His uncle held it several minutes, his other hand still on the massive grey stone in the clearing; then it joined the others already placed in the bag. Young Jahl closed his eyes and did not open them again until they were approaching the house.

Jahl released the memory disappointed he remembered nothing about the location of the Great Shard. He looked for a memory of him older and more likely to pay attention to the details. But the only one he found was the one in the darkness with him standing before the stone transferring essence into the shard as his uncle did the same beside him. He sped through the memory waiting for some change or unique knowledge. At the end, when they were packing up, Jahl looked up to the sky revealed in the space not blocked by the trees and saw the stars. The North Star was off to his right just above the trees, one lone evergreen, an elder among younger versions pointed at it like an arrow. Jahl's conscious thought at the time was that the mountain lay behind him. That was all he could gain from the two memories: a clearing in a spruce surrounded glade, the North Star pointed out by a massive tree and the mountain hidden from view directly behind him.

Jahl was about to pull from the moment still playing out in his mind when his uncle grabbed his young self's arm and guided him beneath the cover of low-hanging branches. They crouched beneath, and Tran pressed his hands against the ground causing a great shuttering to twist the soil as the stone seemed to drop straight down into the earth. The tree branches above them shook with the ripple running out from the center caused by the clearing adjusting to the sudden return of the stone below.

Jahl studied his uncle for a reason for his behavior. Tran raised a hand to his lips then pointed to the other side of the clearing, his other hand still flat on the ground. At first, there was nothing to see. Then a movement in the shadows among the thick trunks drew Jahl's eye. A dark figure was advancing through the trees. It paused at the edge of the clearing, the moonlight revealing all was peaceful and quiet now. Jahl held his breath and gawked at the hooded figure. It continued on, passing out of sight among the trunks of the spruce forest, the heavy needled branches pushed aside by the bulk of the moving figure. They remained poised, unmoving, for several more minutes.

Then Tran gestured for them to head home. He lifted the strap of the sack of shards over his head and led them home in silence. They moved among the spruce for some time before they came upon a faint path where the trees transitioned to hickories, the common mockernut. Jahl followed along, looking down at the path most of the time and giving Jahl in the Lor chair nothing to add to his list of hints as to where the glade lay. But the path continued to be smooth and clear of overgrowth. They crossed to another well-trodden path and after further trudging, Jahl noted that it ended at the back of his uncle's property where they entered a gate and continued on to the house. He recognized it as the path Donya had shown her brother Ro. Jahl released this memory and watched it flutter back to the array.

He sat up and wondered if he had enough clues to find the Great Shard of Fallon Mountain. His mother looked up from perusing the high desk and its pages of wielder ancestry. He held his hand up to forestall any question she might be ready to ask. To his left was the shelf containing the diaries his uncle had recorded each year since the arrival of the Wane. The first memory was when he was close to four years old, the second he suspected was when he was twelve or thirteen. He looked first for the book near the end of the first year, the time period in which his uncle had created his first shard. Jahl pulled the diary from the shelf.

### Chapter Twelve

The first time he had scanned the diary, the notes had been cryptic. He hoped upon finding reference to the glade he might recognize further clues to its location. But even as he read, Jahl began to think the diaries were a ruse, something to keep one busy if his enemy ever gained entrance to the room of Lor. Not only could he find no reference to the glade at a time when his uncle must have been there, must have been loading shards for use in his house and perhaps for other purposes, but he wrote nothing of the standing stone full of shards or the chairs. He did mention his collection of newspapers, but not that he was focusing on what they failed to cover. Instead, he listed the many wielders who had died of the Wane, noting the dates of their deaths and the length of time that passed if the onset was known until the death. But Tran drew no conclusions.

Jahl traded the early diary for one written in the fourth year. It too mentioned nothing of the glade nor the shards. The training he was giving Jahl went unnoted. Rather, his uncle wrote in a much-broken scrawl about his retraining. Jahl turned to his mother who sat waiting for him.

"Mom, was Uncle Tran sick for a time?"

"After he implanted the shard in your hip, he fell ill. The Wane attacked with a vengeance, but somehow he prevailed. He sat in this house or he wandered from room to room, except in here. He was locked out. All the training tools that he used with his students were still about the house, but everything else was in this room. We closed his school. Even his standing stone was lost. He was like a child, barely able to wield, but he kept using the tools. I came here every day to see that he ate, to wash his clothes and clean his house. You came with me at first, but it was hard to raise two children and one a grown man." Mahre got up from the stool and paced. "But he was right. It is wielding that cures and drives away the Wane. All the wielders who stopped practicing their craft died within weeks. Those few who continued to wield survived: Uncle Tran, me, you and Bragg. Because we wielded to save you, we were able to fight the Wane."

"But you said Uncle suffered from the Wane and Bragg refused to wield."

"Bragg was at the house when you suffered a terrible attack. You were about three months old and I was alone except for Jom. Bragg did everything he could to fight the Wane back, but it kept gaining. Tran showed up just in time and together they managed to press it back. After that day, Bragg refused to wield again. He felt so defeated. But he helped in other ways, bringing food by, helping with the farm, training Cam to be a woodworker." She wiped her eyes. "But Tran and I were so overjoyed to be pushing the Wane down your body, and Tran was set to drive the shard into you. We just weren't prepared for the last assault it made in the final moment.

"He was weak, exhausted when he left Donnel Manor after embedding your shard. He stumbled home and Bragg found him. He feared to leave him here alone and took him home with him. It was two days before I went in search of my uncle. By then he was almost dead. Jom and I brought him here and he began to recover. It took years, but he did recover."

"But he has diaries here for each year. How did he keep this record if he was not in this room?"

Mahre stopped pacing and walked to the shelf Jahl was pointing at. She ran her finger down the spine of one. "I remember him writing and binding these. I didn't know they were diaries. He must have brought them up later."

"Why did he keep them when he put nothing of value in them?"

Mahre looked at Jahl and thought a moment. Her eyes came to focus on the chair. "Perhaps they were for another purpose. He still had the chair in the library, where his real memories lay."

Jahl turned to look at the chair. Could he access his uncle's experience? Jahl strode back to the blue leather upholstered chair, but his mother hurried to stop him and caught him by the arm. "What you are meant to know are already in your memories. Seek your training and leave what was his to your uncle."

Jahl jerked his arm out of her grasp.

Mahre stepped in close and held his gaze. "Are you determined to lose yourself to a vault of memories? You won't know who you are: Tran or Jahl."

"So it can be done?"

"I don't know." The honesty in her eyes told him she was telling the truth. "But there is much that you are capable of. You are a sharded boy."

Jahl stared at the sharded chair and considered if he could find the Great Shard. If he followed the paths until he reached the point where he would have to pace among the spruce, the mountain at his back, the North Star before him, would that be enough? "I think I understand now what Uncle Tran wanted me to know. If I pursue forward, I must face the wielder who sent the Wane against an unborn child and his family. I face an enemy with no conscience."

"Then you must recover _your_ training."

Jahl nodded and sat back down in the chair this time in search of wielding.

The lessons came to him in a haphazard fashion. Sometimes he was a teenager sometimes a small boy, but the gap in his training grew smaller with each memory no matter the odd order of presentation. Some curiosity would spark a thought and specific training would come to answer it. Feeling that he had reached a point of satiation, Jahl pulled back lightly on the essence. From the still lined up experiences hovered a tiny memory, and Jahl let it come to him.

They had just finished a lesson and Tran was seated in front of five-year-old Jahl. He removed his hands from the armrests and sat back, folding his arms over his chest. "You did well, Jahl. One day you will be a master wielder."

Jahl squirmed in the sharded chair. "Uncle Tran, why do I always forget we're friends?"

Tran grimaced at the question. "I'm glad you brought that up, Twai Pratter." He leaned forward resting his forearms on his thighs so they could look at each other eye to eye. "Your safety is important to me, just as important as that you are trained. But it isn't safe for you and me to be friends. So I growl, scowl and even threaten you when you first come. You remember those moments but not these when we talk and you learn more about wielding."

"But why can't we be friends the rest of the time? I won't tell anyone."

"I don't know who we shouldn't tell. What if someone I thought was a friend was the enemy who hurt you and so many others? I must treat everyone as an enemy."

"Except Mommy, and Poppa and Cam."

"True, but even your Poppa and Cam don't know that we are friends."

Jahl leaned back trying to understand why his father and brother could not know the truth. "But they would never tell."

"Of course, they wouldn't. They would never purposely put you in danger. But what if you acted happy to see me and our enemy saw or if Cam said to someone how much you love visiting me because you learn so much, then our enemy would guess that I am training you, and more harm would come to us."

The memory slid away and another took its place. Jahl was fourteen, and Tran was seated at his desk putting away one of the training tools. "Uncle Tran, I was in the mercantile today with Poppa, and Master Tommlar called me a crippled monster. Why does he hate me? All I did was touch one of the standing stones."

Tran paused before answering. "Master Tommlar believes the Donnels brought on the Wielder Wane."

"That's ridiculous. Why would we do that? It killed our entire family."

"Fear can confuse people. They need an answer and one they can live with. It is safer to believe the Donnel clan is responsible because we are nearly all gone. Your mother does not wield, most believe I am a doddering old man, and you a crippled boy untrained in wielding."

"They're wrong about everything."

"But it easier to believe those things than to believe someone caused all those people to die, and they are still out there waiting for a reason to do it again. We Donnels appear weak and are believed incapable of causing anymore injury, so we are ignored; to think otherwise is to have much to fear."

"But then they are not prepared when the real enemy returns."

"Which is why we must be. Now pull substance from the air and form a ball of fire."

This was the first lesson that seemed capable of being used in battle. Jahl paid close attention and was surprised how easy it was. All the materials needed were at hand. Essence and air, and he had a spinning ball of fire hovering over his palms. "Uncle, we can cause harm and we can defend ourselves?"

"Every wield, even of healing, for all wielding is a form of change, has its opposite. When we heal a bone that is broken, it is no different than breaking a bone. When we stop someone from bleeding, it is the opposite of starting the bleeding, a mere shift in priorities and details."

"Have you ever turned your healing to harm?"

"No. I hope I never have to. But I expect you will have to make such a choice. How will you manage, Jahl?"

His younger self struggled to answer. Jahl let the memory go. He still had no answer to his uncle's question, but he suspected he would have to find one soon now that the dark wielder had taken notice of him. Perhaps Jahl already had caused injury when he threw the fire wield back at its source. If Master Moln could be harmed just trying to open his door when Jahl was fighting the fire wields attacking his house, then he may have harmed the dark wielder.

"Jahl," his mother interrupted his thoughts. "The sun descends. You should eat and prepare for the evening."

Jahl opened his eyes and rose out of the chair. Tonight he would search for the Great Shard. He must recharge his house before he was attacked again. "I will begin now," he said, reaching for the standing stone he had shoved aside before sitting in the chair. When his fingers made contact his expectations were confirmed. Though it had been a full, high-yield stone when he started the transfer of power to the chair, it showed minimal now. Perhaps he had enough to charge the stove and icebox, but that would be all. "I'll begin in the kitchen," he said, trying to sound confident that he had all he needed to reestablish the protective shards. "You should head home and rest."

"Are you certain you can be alone tonight?" Mahre rested her hand on his arm and kissed his forehead, a gesture both awkward and appropriate for them both.

"Once the shards are at full strength I'll be as safe as I was before or as safe as Uncle Tran could make this house," said Jahl. "But you are a target too, Mom. You need to protect the manor and keep the Pratter family, and Pop and Cam safe as well. No one has forgotten that you are a Donnel."

Out of the chair, Jahl felt conflicting emotions about his uncle. The memories showed that they had been close: teacher and student, uncle and nephew, even friends who told jokes and teased each other. But he remembered just as clearly the snide air about his uncle and the unkind remarks and glares that made Jahl feel unwelcome in the house. Those were the reasons he stopped coming here when he was fourteen. For a moment, he looked back at the chair. Was there a memory of the two of them deciding it was time for Jahl to not return, to pretend a great rift was between them, and they made it real?

Jahl hefted the stone in his arms and exited the room. He turned to make sure his mother closed the door before he proceeded to the stairs and made his way to the kitchen. The stove and icebox transfer was quick and there was just enough left in the stone to charge the fireplace shard. His mother left before Jahl finished. He felt pleased to watch her leave with the used standing stone in her arms. He had hoped the rental stone he was keeping would have at least a minimal charge to it so he could let Donya practice with it, but if all went well tonight, he would be able to charge it when he completed bringing all the house shards back on duty.

He had a frugal dinner and prepared for his evening trek into the Fallon woods. Jahl started his preparations off by heading upstairs to his bedroom to search through his uncle's clothes. He sorted through the drawers for breeches with thick material to protect him from the undergrowth when he left the frequented trails for the dense spruce elevations until he reached the glade of the Great Shard. He chose a dark brown pair knowing from experience it would blend into the shadows better than black. The image of the stranger coming through the woods to the glade and his uncle pulling Jahl into the shadows of the trees made Jahl think about not to being seen and not leaving any hints about his identity to bring on a new attack. He stood in his room before the open drawer of his dresser and shook his head. He had gotten as cautious as his mother wanted him to be. He grabbed another dark article of clothing. The heavy linen tunic he pulled on was forest green and large for his frame. He tied it at the throat and added a lightweight brown jerkin over it and tightened a wide leather belt at his waist. He felt like a woodsman who'd borrowed a giant's clothes.

Boots were his next concern. His own showed heavy wear, as well as the leather sole being wedged right to left to support his twisted heal, now properly parallel with the floor. He set them next to a larger sturdy pair that had been his uncle's. The larger pair rose up to mid-calf and lacked wear, the leather only moderately broken in. He shook his head unable to come up with debatable points in support of using his own boots. He grabbed them both and took them downstairs to the workroom. He would do his modifications there using the sharded stone and make his decision.

The image in his mind called for well-fitted clothes, and he twitched and stretched his arms overhead to ensure he would be comfortable as he modified them. He pulled on his old boots and considered how he could adjust them to his new foot and straight stride. There just wasn't enough material to work with, and he mulled over searching for replacement leather. Before he went rummaging for additional supplies, he decided to put on his uncle's boots and modify them. Larger than he needed, there was material aplenty, so he worked on fitting them. Satisfied he had altered them and softened the leather to fit his own movement from squatting to raising up on his toes, Jahl knew which pair would be the best choice for his adventure tonight. He set his old boots behind the door. Hands flat on the table, he leaned over the worn surface and thought through his plans for the evening.

The charging shard still hung in the Lor room. Jahl paused from his meditations to head out of the workroom and look out the kitchen window. It was near twilight, and it would take more than one hour for the evening to progress late enough for him to go. Maybe another few minutes in the chair would be a good use of his time. He took the stairs two steps at a time, reveling in being able to stretch out his legs and feel the strength in them after so many years of struggling and avoiding stairs. But he had only reached the halfway mark to the landing where the stairs turned when there came a knock at the back door. Jahl remembered immediately that Rouen was to come by with some repairs. He turned resignedly around and clumped down the stairs.

He opened the door to find the young smith leaning against the stair rail and straining to hold up a crate. "Where is Donya," said Jahl.

Rouen entered saying, "I thought she was already here." He continued lugging the crate through to the workroom and swung it onto the table. "She'll wander in soon, I suppose. Ready to work?" he said while he rolled his shoulders loose of their tightness.

"What did you bring?" Jahl walked over and looked into the crate.

"Plates." Rouen set one down and pointed at the delicate scrollwork running around the lip of the silver dinnerware. I need them all to look like this. Pop was only able to sit up long enough to work on this one."

Jahl leaned over the work and admired the precision and level of engraving skill. "He did this in one sitting?"

"A week. Longer than it would take, but he can't meet the deadline on this. He gets uncomfortable and tires easily."

"He should let me heal him." Jahl knew he would miss having Rouen coming by with work, not to mention the money it brought, but he shouldn't want Tradesman Marson to continue in pain when Jahl could mend him.

Rouen laughed. "I've already tried to talk him into to letting you come by." Jahl mimicked his father's voice, "I'll have none of that." He shrugged. "I actually thought this last time I brought it up he was going to relent. But my pop is nothing but determined to heal on his own. I don't think he likes that we've been depending on you, and he's even less pleased that Donya's been here."

Jahl shrugged, not letting it show that it hurt knowing Trades Master Marson didn't want Jahl near Donya or himself. He gestured for Rouen to lay out the rest on the table. "Then let's get started."

After the first two plates, Jahl had no trouble holding the intricate design in his mind. Each piece took several minutes. He peered at Rouen sitting on a stool and cleaning his fingernails with a small pocket knife. His friend's hands were rough and scarred from working with hot metal and sharp tools. "Ro?"

Rouen looked up and wiped his knife on his tan breeches. "Yeah."

"Do you think much about when this is all done: your pop well, Donya able to wield, you not struggling to catch up, and me known as a reliable and experienced wielder?" Jahl didn't leave Rouen time to respond. His real question tumbled out too quickly for the smith to marshal an answer. "Will we still be friends? You know, we'll be in competition, some of the same customers."

"Pop and I have already talked about all that. There was a time when wielders and smiths and common healers and shoemakers and weavers, haberdashers, clothiers all worked in town with the same customers. We didn't often produce refined items. We crafters stuck to the basics, and the wielders added the fine touches or repaired the broken." Rouen paused gathering his thoughts, seeming to want to sum up all that he and his father had discussed. "When the Wielder Wane killed off so many of the wielders, we crafts families had to raise our skills to fill the hole in services that were left. We have become highly skilled. No one is going to go back, but I think, we think, that there is room still for wielders and the high craft of those of us that work with our hands instead of wielder essence." Ro nodded his certainty in a firm chin drop, and in a confident tone said," We'll still be friends. There's room for us both in Chussan Faire."

Jahl reached out his hand and the two clasped wrists. "That pleases me. I only just got you and Donya, and I don't want to lose either of you."

"Which makes me wonder where Donya is," said Rouen. "Last night she was determined to get back here and gain more of her memories so you wouldn't have to fight on your own." He shook his head and grinned. "She didn't like me sending her home."

"Oh, I can hear her now." Jahl imagined Donya stomping her feet and refusing to leave and he laughed. Older than Rouen, she would expect to give him orders, not the other way around. "How did you get her to go?"

"Once she realized she was standing outside in her shift, it wasn't all that hard. Convincing her she had to stay home: That was the argument. But Donya couldn't stay and fight with me on it or else she would be seen. So she headed home, and I got there in plenty of time to talk to Pop before she could get dressed and head back here. I might not be able to order her around, but Pop has no problem with it."

Jahl gripped the last plate on the table and concentrated on the engraving. The impression of swirls and curlicues, tiny flowers and pinhole-rimmed leaves on double embossed stems became distinct on the bright metal. After a few minutes and a quick polish, he said. "Last one." He handed it to Rouen, who wrapped it and added the plate to the crate with the others. Jahl stepped off the standing stone. While Rouen was busy with the crate, ensuring each piece was safe for him to transport home, Jahl lifted the stone off the floor and placed it back on the counter and under the pot. The depleted stone was still on the floor having been underneath the sharded one, and Jahl hoped Rouen had not noticed him make the shift. "You should take that crate home while there's still some light left."

"Not much light out there." Rouen glanced out the windows revealing the coming night.

"All the more reason for you to head back."

"Are you trying to get rid of me? What are your plans for this evening? There has to be work you're planning to do. You have some crazy wielder after you."

"I do have a few things to take care of tonight, but I'm going to bed early. I expect our one day reprieve will end tomorrow."

Rouen's head cocked at the suspicion Jahl voiced. "You have reason to believe you'll be attacked again tomorrow?"

"Just being cautious. It's best to be rested. I'll see you tomorrow." Jahl guided Rouen to the door and ignored his friend's questioning glance over the weighty crate.

"Are you sure? I can spend the night. No one is going to care if I run outside in my nightshirt."

"I might be up late. Go home, get some sleep in your own comfy bed."

"You're going to bed early and you might be up late? What are you planning, Jahl?"

"I'm planning on sleeping, evidenced by my obviously sleepy mind. I can't even think straight."

"Well, you _have_ had a demanding day of wielding if you count last night." He shrugged. "Okay, I'm going. But I'm coming back in the morning to check on you."

"Fine, be my governess tomorrow."

With the door closed behind Rouen, Jahl shook his head and took a deep breath. He stepped back to the sharded stone in the workroom and placed both hands on the corners just noticeable beyond the base of the pot and pulled at the essence. He pulled, sending the essence out to the repairs on his house. As his mother had said, if the material's there, he can pull the patchwork together and rebuild his house. The various shards in the house reached out to the power he coursed into the building, but Jahl kept them subdued while he bound the wood together and shaped it to match the lap siding of the exterior. The strips of wood outlining his windows took the form as proper molding, and the poorly cut boards mounted on the new shutter hinges surged into stout rectangular frames surrounding narrow horizontal slats. He polished up any smoke stained metals and removed the last of the singed scaring on the house. In the morning his neighbors and his nemesis would see his handy work.

"I better get ready for trouble." Jahl thought a moment about what he might need on a hike to the glade. He remembered his uncle always carried a staff to keep him steady, especially since he was always either carrying young Jahl or keeping the awkward boy upright. He searched the house, even the closet that Rouen had hidden in their first night working together, but all he could find was a long broom handle which he left in the closet when he continued his search. Standing again in the kitchen, he thought about the broomstick and realized that though it was longer than he needed, that meant there was plenty of material to turn into a thick staff the right height for him. Recalling his uncle's staff, Jahl worked the form into a gnarled, slightly twisted rod that felt right in his hand. He took a determined step to the door and stopped, realizing the charger was still upstairs. Jahl deposited the staff against the wall beside the door and ran up the stairs.

The Lor room opened at his quick request and the oversized shard in the leather bag was dangling from his hand and swinging with his rush down the stairs in moments. He stopped at the back door and found he was grinning, his heart thumping with nervousness and excitement. He took the staff in one hand and gripping both the door handle and the leather strapping in the other opened his door. The oil light from his kitchen and workroom flowed out the open door and illuminated the steps to the yard. Jahl looked into his backyard and realized yet again someone else had taken care of his two chickens and the rooster who were clucking in the dark chicken coop. It had to have been Ro.

He thanked the Sinister Sisters he didn't have the goat and set off down the stairs toward the back gate and the path toward Fallon Mountain. Once clear of the light from his and other homes in town, Jahl was surrounded by shadows, only the slight reflective difference in color gave away the lighter pathway from the denser ground cover. He was expecting a quarter moon, but it wasn't currently visible overhead where the treetops didn't quite form a canopy over the path. The air around him was still warm from the pleasant spring day, but the thick smell of pine, a bit acidic in his nostrils, was almost a tangible grit in the air, and he felt the need to swallow to loosen the tightness in his throat. Beneath his feet, the last year's dry needles shushed. The crickets were in chorus making the idea of being out at night alone with none aware of his activities feel like a lark rather than a clandestine effort to acquire the essence needed to secure his home from a wielder intent on killing him.

The thought made him pause and listen past the normal forest sounds. He thought about how his uncle had known someone was coming. Even when the cloaked figure had been just across the glade, Jahl had still not heard a sound to prove he wasn't a figment of a young boy's imagination. Jahl smirked; his own heartbeat was loud enough for him to hear. Standing on the path and straining, Jahl could hear the crickets just fine, oddly in tune with the beating of his heart.

He shook his head and continued. It wasn't much farther when he began to feel the rise in the terrain that showed he was heading out of the foothills and into the mountain incline. The staff proved its usefulness as he hiked along, his ankles taking the abuse of the slope that just days ago would have been impossible for him to traverse. Even so, having the bones in the proper shape and placement did not promise his muscles were up for the task. He had been building strength with his activities of late, but not enough to make this journey ascending to the location of the glade easy. It seemed a half an hour had passed before he thought he should come upon the side path he and his uncle had stepped from to follow this main one to the house. Jahl peered in the dark to his right with each step, looking for that same lighter difference that would indicate an offshoot from the pathway. Ahead a movement caught his attention and two glowing eyes glinted at him before turning away. Lynx perhaps, he thought given the slink to its exit from the trail.

When he reached where the animal had delayed a moment to stare at him, he discerned a more slender track. The steeper slant of Fallon Mountain was off to his left and if he took this trail the fell would shift to his back. That seemed correct and Jahl took the leaner pathway. He traveled further into the spruce forest, time seeping by in a dreamy way. Much later, he gauged the time to be close to midnight. No clearing in the trees appeared, so on he trekked on the more level trail. With the long walk, his excitement had abated and his heart had slowed to a steady thump, enough to keep up with the stride he'd fallen into as he warmed to the hike. The shadows had become less confusing. Tree trunks stood out, the low undergrowth and layered pine needles all part of the scenery of his dreamy walk through Fallon Forest. Ahead, he thought he could discern a thinning of the spruces. The tall, triangular evergreens created circular no man's lands he had been winding through, but ahead they seemed much farther apart and soon he was certain the glade was a short walk forward.

He stepped out into the soft moonlight, just a slight lightening of the woods due to the quarter moon now curving overhead in the open sky of the glade. A few more steps took him into the shadow of a tall spruce and looked about the open clearing. If this was the path he and his uncle had taken, then the North Star and its spruce arrow should be, he thought a moment and turned his head as he perused the perimeter of the clearing, there. And there it was indeed.

Jahl let out a deep breath unaware until then that he had been holding it as he'd searched for the landmark. He'd grown used to the forest sounds, and they continued unabated and that was comforting. He paced to the center of the glade and kneeled down, noticing for the first time how stiff his hand felt after clutching the straps of the leather bag toting the charger. He let go of both the staff and the bag, allowing them to fall with light thuds to the ground, and clenched and unclenched his hand several times. Again he listened, but the forest seemed unaware of his presence or anyone else's.

Jahl leaned forward and put his hands on the ground just as he had seen Uncle Tran do in his chair memories. The needles jabbed at his palms and then he felt a tingling as well, like the itch he stopped noticing at the back of his neck when in contact with essence. The tingle slithered up his spine and prickled at his neck muscles. He shivered and pulled hard at the tingle in his palms, thinking he had a whole boulder to pull out of the ground. A brightness that blinded his inner eye was flung at his face, and he squinted which helped not at all. The ground shook like a horse would to send the flies rising to buzz in the air. Only he appeared to be the metaphorical fly. The ground beneath his hands puckered and bucked until Jahl found the presence of mind to rein in his call to a murmured thought. The glade settled down to a mild trembling just felt in his fingertips. He began to feel a brightness rising. It welled in his mind and simultaneously the ground welled as well. Then the gravelly stone protruded, and needles and humus fell away as the great shard rose until it blocked out the trees in front of him.

The charger in its bag rustled. Jahl reached for it and hefted it from the sack, the size of it difficult to grip with one hand. Fingertips curved, he balanced it before him. Jahl placed the palm of his free hand against the stone and yelped when it flooded up his arm and then down to the shard in his hip. Only seconds passed before the flow slowed to a trickle. Then the charger pulled without any encouragement from Jahl, and the flow reasserted itself, only this time taking the shortest route by way of his chest, along his shoulder and down to his other hand and the shard it gripped. Starved of magic, the charger pulled at the Great Shard's endless stores of Lal, and Jahl hung on appalled, amazed and overwhelmed with the unessential part he played in the process.

After some time, Jahl realized there was no more transference of essence, yet the flow remained undimmed like a stream halting in mid-run but not lessening within the channel. A trembling began again only this time it was Jahl's hand that trembled not the charger. The ragged oblong stone was being pulled by the towering rock and Jahl watched transfixed as he fought to hold the stone in one hand and keep it from touching the Great Shard. He yanked his other hand from the Fallon Shard and grabbed the charger in two hands pulling with all his might until he flew backward tumbling nearly head over heels. The shard in his hands quieted. The Great Shard glowed enough to make his eyes squint and then went dull in the thin moonlight.

Jahl scraped a foot along the ground until the toe of his boot caught the leather strapping of the tote he dropped next to the Great Shard. He pulled it to him and stuffed the filled charger into the bag. Then he scrambled backward crablike until a spruce trunk met his shivering shoulders. The staff still lay near the grey mass. He looked from the Great Shard to the staff and then to the bag in his lap. He shook his head and crouched. _Great, now I have to put it back._ He put the sack aside, pinning the straps under his knee in case the charger had further plans in its essence filled innards and laid his palms against the needle-blanketed forest floor. He thought about how he would get the stone to return to the underground and shook his head. _Goodbye_ , he thought. _All done_ , he tried. _You can go back now._ It stood out grey and gritty in the moonlight.

Jahl closed his eyes and imagined the stone descending back into the earth. No trembling, no burst of blinding power, no plummeting like a monolith into the ground. He imagined instead a gentle swish as if it were sinking in fine mud. When he opened his eyes, the tip of the shard sliding into a liquid-like patch of needles, and the glade looked just as it had before.

_That's right. Mom said to_ be _subtle, have a light touch. Bloods Bees, I need to remember that._ Jahl stood up and draped the bag, the charger now quiescent, over his shoulder. There was no pull at the essence in his leg. The thing was more than satiated. And his own personal shard now recharged as well. He raised his eyebrows. He hadn't even thought about the shard having lost any essence in the battle with the fire wielder.

It seemed safe to retrieve his staff now that the Great Shard had returned to ground. Jahl crept forward and took up the walking stick. He turned back to the path ready to head home. His uncle had still had his hands on the ground when he'd dragged Jahl to the trees before the stranger had shown up, so Jahl kneeled down, released the staff and place his palms on the upon the needled forest floor. He didn't call to the essence but did pull together a vision of the surrounding woods and searched for any figures striding among the trees. Two deer glowed in his vision, bedded down under a spruce. A fox trotted a hundred feet further north of the glade. Numerous birds rested in the treetops. He searched no more. Only the animal folk of Fallon Forest seemed to be about.

Jahl rose again and headed for home, the charger riding companionably against his ribs, the slight incline of the small path feeling in his lassitude like it was slapping at his feet with each step.

### Chapter Thirteen

The return was equally taxing as the slow hike had been going up the mountainside. He was happy when the woods became mixed with mockernut hickories and other varieties common to the lower elevations and indicated he wasn't far from his home. The wind had picked up, sending a chill down from the heights, but the rambling incline and effort to press on with tired limbs continued to keep him from shivering. The main path was leading straight down and that too confirmed he hadn't much farther to go. Jahl was confident he would make it back still able to get in perhaps six hours of sleep before the sun would be streaming in his bedroom to wake him up.

He came upon the stone wall, hidden from view by a wild grapevine and followed the trail along it for several paces. The gate at the rear of his yard opened with well-oiled ease, and Jahl saw the light in his kitchen was still burning, but the oil lamp in the workroom already near empty when he left was out. His neighbors still sleeping, and the town quiet, he plodded to his back door and entered. More than ready to rest, Jahl sat at the head of the kitchen table, his staff still gripped in hand was finally released to lean against a chair. He lifted the shoulder bag off and set it on the table. Folding his arms, he lay his head down.

His forearms afforded little cushioning, and Jahl shifted to make himself more comfortable. His elbow made contact with the charger through the leather sending a tingle into the contact point. He ignored it. His fatigue seemed to swallow him whole, and his last thought was that he would just rest a moment and then would trudge up to bed. But the tingle grew stronger. He fought against letting it rouse him, but it rose to a cold burning sensation that he expected to run up his arms soon and require some response from him.

But it was a brightness that finally called his attention. He opened his eyes, one partially blocked by the sleeve of his green tunic. The bulge of the shoulder bag and its oversized shard was glowing, and the moment his gaze fell upon it, as though that gave the charger permission to act, the power within the shard flashed blindingly and struck like lightning in bolts about the room. Some shot off toward and through the ceiling, others to walls and floor. Jahl sat, his gaze up following each bolt of essence, and recognized the destinations being sought by the magic or perhaps pulled to each location. He dug into the flow and confirmed that the charger was fulfilling its assigned purpose: to charge shards. In his mind, he could see the masses of glowing essence first drawing power from the charger and then linking like a spider web throughout the house. Included in the web of syncing power, were the sharded stone and the rental stone in the workroom. Shards that hadn't participated in the earlier protection of the house thrummed and thus unknown to him were asserting their newly fueled existence. Jahl had had no idea how well shielded the house was. Some other event had drained these additional defenses his uncle had provided. He shook his head in amazement. The building was a fortress against magical attack.

Jahl rose from his chair and felt shocked and excited by the magical array. He released the image, awake and curious about the many secrets his uncle held. Movement drew Jahl's attention to the dining room window. The light in the room, though only a single oil lamp turned down to a low flame, made the backyard difficult to see through the windows that looked out over the small chicken coop, shed and the distant gate. Still, Jahl thought he saw a figure standing not far from that distant grapevine-enfolded property line. He went to the door and, cupping his hands around his eyes to block the light, pressed his forehead against the glass and peered out. There certainly was a figure, tall, broad and by the shape, covered head to foot in a hooded cloak. Jahl went to the table and turned the oil lamp key until the small flame dropped and disappeared. Again at the back door, he saw the figure turn, slip through the gate and fade into the hickories.

His hand went to the door latch. But for all his essence filled shards, Jahl had no weapon for when he left his house. Should he cart the sharded stone under his arm and pursue the figure? Would his walking stick be any use against a mad wielder out to destroy him? The question stopped his impromptu rant. What could the shadow wielder use for power?

Jahl reached out to the shoulder bag and pulled it to the edge of the table. He removed the charger and checked its level. Though far from full after charging every holder of essence in the house, it still contained power. Uncertain of how to gauge the level, he considered if it might be enough to create a weapon. He would need a shard, but as far as he knew every single one in the house already held a purpose. And he didn't know how to make a shard so that it served a specific use. Nor did he know how much time he had before that figure in the shadows of his backyard returned. A friend seeing him at the door would have approached. An enemy would attack or leave. Whoever it was, if indeed a wielder, he would have seen the web of magic securing the house.

Jahl stared at his hands clutching the leather bag. The hands of a sixteen-year-old kid just coming into his wielding powers. Sure he had gained much of his memories of wielding, but none of it had been defensive, never mind meant to be used for striking back. Unless one counted the brief practice in fireball making and some philosophical chatter. Jahl released the bag and set his hands on his hips. He forced himself to step back and think the situation through a moment. He and his uncle had discussed the use of magic as a force of harm. Uncle Tran had stated there was an opposite use for every healing or repairing application. Jahl reminded himself he had made fire sit on his palm. He had drawn a huge boulder out of the ground; he had even taken an attack and turned it on its owner.

He sat back down and continued to catalog his available defenses. _If I have a shard or standing stone to employ, I can create a shield of wind, fire, stone or even water if I have contact with them._ He paused, twisting and biting his lips in reconsideration. _But Uncle said that isn't a requirement; it is needful for beginners to have tactile contact with the item they are repairing, but not trained_ wielders _. When the charger was filling the empty house shards, the essence had shot off to each without direct contact from the charger or me._

Jahl went to the workroom lit partially by the moonlight coming in the window and strode to the hidden sharded stone. He placed a hand on the exposed corner and put out his other hand. The sharded stone crackled with vigor, even stronger than it had been before. Staring at his palm, he imagined a ball of flame hanging in the air above it. In seconds, a flaming ball the size of an orange floated inches above his palm.

Jahl imagined it growing taller and wider without gaining depth. It responded growing to the size of a sheet of paper standing vertically. He enlarged it yet again to the size of a square buckler. Waving his arm and keeping his palm flat, he found he could move the shield in front and to the side of him as quickly or slowly as he wished. Soon he was dancing about the room pretending arrows were being shot at him, each sizzling into ash as it passed into but not through the flaming shield.

Jahl snapped his fingers together and the flames disappeared. That's when he realized he was no longer in contact with the stone. He stood on the other side of the table staring across the flat expanse of the concealed stone under its pot. His other hand drifted to his hip, pressing against it as though that would increase his ability to understand the intricacies of wielding. Was he able to pull essence from the shard implanted there? Had that fueled his fire shield when he had removed his hand from the stone?

He put out his palm again and imagined the flaming shield hovering above it. Nothing happened. He pulled at the essence secured in his sharded hip to build the buckler, but there was no response. Jahl returned to the counter and touched the stone's corner, formed the image and instantly a square shield of flames appeared. He stepped back, removing the contact, and the flames remained just as he had formed them. So once made, it was permanent for as long as there was fuel. Jahl snapped his fingers again to douse the wielded fire.

He needed a mobile shard or stone. Jahl headed for the staircase. If there were unassigned shards in the house, they had to be in the Twai'wa Lor. The staircase was in shadow, only the bottom two steps receiving any illumination from the bit of moonlight coming at a slant through the kitchen windows. The last time he headed up the stairs Rouen had arrived at his backdoor with work to do. The thought reminded him he hadn't sent the most recent split of his profits to his parents. There had been three separate repairs made, each for considerable amounts. Just two weeks ago he didn't know where his next copper was coming from and now he was almost awash in silver and gold coins. Surely the wheel of fortune was turning in his favor. Jahl was tempted to return to the workroom and prepare the money bag for his parents. Donya could take it there tomorrow, but he wanted to find memories that would help him prepare a shard or learn how to acquire one, at least.

He had no more than made his decision and clumped up two treads when the floor above creaked and a door opened. Jahl froze in place and listened.

"Jahl," said his brother Cam from above, "you finally home?"

"What are you doing here?" He continued up the stairs and upon reaching the landing saw the dark figure of Cam standing in his nightshirt at the door of the spare room.

As Jahl turned up the remaining steps, Cam explained. "Mom didn't want you home alone. But when I got here, you were out, so I went to bed."

Jahl reached the top of the stairs.

"You should go to bed, too. It's late," said Cam scratching his toes along the back of his calf.

Determination and his long-developed stubbornness made Jahl step into the hall and move past his brother. "I will. I just need to check on something in the Lor room. Then I'll go to bed."

"When was the last time you slept? Those few hours before the attack? Whatever it is, you can do it in the morning."

"Cam, someone was watching me from the back gate. I need to make some sort of weapon or wielding tool, and I can't know how to do that without looking at my memories in the chair."

His brother contemplated his brother's concerns a few seconds then said, "You need to open all the memories at once. Not pick them up one at a time. He made you forget them, but I bet they're still inside you. At the rate you've been picking them up, it will take years to get them."

"They don't come to me with the same passage of time; it's more like they are suddenly present and I remember them in detail." A realization came to Jahl. Cam wasn't far from right based on his experience with the chair. They are remembered, not returned to his memory. Maybe he _could_ just grab them all at once. "I think you might be right. I'll take them in one sitting."

"Then bed?"

Jahl grinned his agreement. His brother nodded back and turned to reenter the bedroom. Both were about to go about their intended business: sleep and remembering, when someone pounded on the back door.

The two stared wide-eyed; then Cam bolted into his bedroom and came out a moment later his breeches on but untied and his boots in his hand. The pounding was repeated and the two hurried down the stairs. Cam huffed out as he tried to tuck in his shirt one-handed, "Go to the workroom and get on your stone. Be prepared to come up with some defensive tactics. I'll get the door."

Jahl landed in the hall with a thump and tore toward the front of the house, into the parlor and then into the workroom where he jumped upon the rented stone. Cam walked in a forced calm through the gloomy kitchen to the back door and was just reaching for the handle when Jahl realized none of the security shards had so much as twigged at him of trouble. When the pounding came again, Rouen was visible behind the shadowed glass, his face a picture of worry.

Cam opened the door and Rouen dashed in.

"I was afraid you weren't home," Rouen said out of breath. "Donya's missing!"

"What?" both Pratters said in unison.

"Where would she be at this time of night?" Jahl sputtered.

"Look at you, dressed for the outside. Were you with her?" said Rouen.

Jahl looked down at his clothes picked for his journey up the mountain trail. "No. I was taking care of the house. Why would I be with Donya?"

Rouen scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Being with you was a lot better than being missing." Having run all the way from home, his chest was still heaving for breath and pressing against a strap running across his chest. "So she isn't here?"

"No. Did you just figure out she was missing? It's late."

"I wanted to get in some time at work, so I got up early. It's only an hour till sunrise. Donya's door was open. She's a stickler for privacy and wouldn't leave her room open. I figured she was in the kitchen or reading, but I couldn't find her anywhere." Rouen looked past Jahl into the workroom as though hoping Jahl had not noticed her sitting in a corner. "I hoped she came here early to make you breakfast. She hates to cook at home, but she's cooked for you, what three or more times?"

"She's not here, Ro," said Jahl. "I wish she was so you wouldn't have to worry."

"You'll help me find her?" Rouen said, but before either Cam or Jahl could answer, he was pulling on the strap that crossed his chest until a tubular case came into view. "My father said to give this to you." Rouen pried off the lid and turned the case over. Out slipped a dark wooden rod. Rouen grasped the end and held it out to Jahl who immediately recognized the silver engraved handle of the cane he had repaired weeks earlier for Tradesman Beauraman.

Cam headed to the kitchen table intent on lighting the oil lamp. The house clamped down in urgent tingling against Jahl's skin. He felt more than heard every door in the house close and secure itself. The very walls seemed to bulk up and menace the outside. "Leave that, Cam. Away from the windows, someone's out there." Jahl grabbed Cam and Rouen's arms and pulled them into the darkness of the hall.

Rouen shoved the walking stick against Jahl's chest. "Take it. Pop says it was your uncle's, and he wanted you to have it when the time came. I guess Pop decided Donya missing is the right time."

All three young men were peering from the hallway back and forth to the two doors and rear windows to see what or who was outside. Cam stood closest to the end of the hall to the kitchen.

Jahl clutched the cane and felt along its length. The embedded shard responded with a recognizable tingle. "But how did he get it?" he whispered to Rouen in front of him.

"Pop said he arrived after your uncle suffered an attack. Master Tran told Pop to take it and hold it for you until the time was right."

"But when I saw it a few weeks ago, it was shattered. How did your pop get it into the case?" Jahl noted the tube Rouen had brought it in. "I don't mean that case either. It was a padded box that held it."

"This is the first I've seen of the cane, but Pop said...." He paused when he saw that Jahl wasn't listening.

Jahl was peering over his friend's shoulder and past Cam. The bag containing the charger was still sitting on the table. "Cam, I need that bag on the table. Get it as quickly as you can." His brother peered back at him, his eyebrows in a bunch. Jahl said, "It's important, Cam."

In the dimness, he watched Cam crouch down and creep toward the table. Soon he was fishing his arm over the tabletop and snaking it toward the end where the bag slumped. He snagged it and dragged it toward him. Clutching it to his chest, Cam crept back and shoved past Rouen to get closer to Jahl. "What do you need it for?"

"It's a charger and this cane is a source of essence I can use without a standing stone. But I don't think it is fully charged. Hopefully, there's enough in this charging shard to complete it. I just don't know how to gauge the capacity of this stone, but I suspect even the small amount it is showing is more than any standing stone would contain. I'm hoping just to top off the cane as it already charged itself off a rented stone."

"My pop said Master Tran smashed it to keep anyone else from using it and had enough strength to assemble the pieces in a case before he died. Pop's been waiting for you to be ready to repair it."

"I did repair it, more than a week ago. But no one told me it was my uncle's."

"Pop said he would explain later, that you needed it now if you were going to save Donya and go against this mad wielder and the Wane."

"Your pop knows a lot more than I would expect," said Jahl.

Rouen nodded. "Yeah, he's got a tendency to know stuff I don't anticipate."

Cam said, "What do we do next?"

"Get the charger out of that bag and hand it to me. I don't know how much time we have."

Cam tipped the bag over and the huge shard tumbled into his waiting hand. He held it out to Jahl.

"Just hold it there," Jahl said and set the cane tip against the shard and felt the essence flow between them. He pulled the image of the transfer to mind and explored the cane. Deep within the center was the source of power, and it glowed with potency, growing stronger and more capable with every spark of power it absorbed. The cane vibrated against his grip, and Jahl felt he had found his weapon. The house jangled for his attention. Jahl pulled at all his magic force and looked mentally out into the night. Not far from his property, he felt an anger so great it spilled into and tainted his vision. He jerked back from the image. "Whoever is out there, he's waiting for me."

"For us."

"For me and it's personal." He looked at his brother and his friend, "Neither of you can wield. I don't know how you could help."

Cam and Rouen exchanged looks. They nodded some unspoken agreement and both turned to face Jahl. Cam said, "There is much a person can do with a sword and a pitchfork. Remember the Wane killed wielders, not us ordinary folk."

"If he can create a disease that attacks wielders, he can make one attack non-wielders."

"I bet that takes time and can't be whipped up in a moment."

Jahl shook his head and Cam's expression took on a mulish cast.

"A fireball can," said Jahl, "and you're not fireproof."

"Well, while you shield us from fireballs, we'll get Donya to safety. You can't do everything."

Jahl didn't really want to go alone anyway, but he also didn't want his brother and friend harmed because of his own fears of failure.

Cam turned the topic to something less discomforting. "Guess you're not going to get any sleep after all."

Jahl pursed his lips, feeling the fatigue from his efforts today along with the long hike he had taken. His legs felt a bit wobbly, but mostly he desired a few hours of sleep. Jahl resigned himself to managing with what energy he had in reserve. "I have one thing to do first, and then we leave to find Donya and face this monster."

"Wait. I'll get Mom. That will give us a little more advantage," said Cam. He set the bag and charging stone against the baseboard in the hall.

Rouen's face gave away his struggle with the delay. Then he seemed to settle on a decision. "I'll get Master Moln," he said. "He may not be recovered, but he wouldn't want you to take on this battle alone."

Jahl hated to let them leave the safety of the house, which now fully charged, he was certain would keep out any attack, but he realized they would have to leave to find Donya, especially if the wielder awaiting them in the woods had her in his control. He nodded agreement and signaled the house to release the lock on the front door. A pointing finger passed the knowledge of the available exit to the two men. They clasped Jahl's shoulders before heading out together. The door shut and locked behind them, and Jahl raced up the stairs, the sharded walking stick in hand.

The twisted grapevine was still leaning against the wall beside the door into the room of Lor and Jahl ignored it. A quick touch to the jamb and the door swung open. He strode in, hung the walking stick by its silver handle from the coatrack and went straight to the chair and sat. His hands on the armrest and a tug for the essence was all it took to bring on the internal view of the card-like memories in rows that fanned out around him. Rather than narrow the arrangement to a single idea or set of memories, Jahl leaned back as though about to be overrun and called them all to him. Like bees from a number of different hives, they flew toward him, a mass blathering of experiences, a drowning in memory he braced himself for.

After the blur of massed memory subsided, he felt more himself, more a result of his existence than he had ever felt before. The comparison was bland vs seasoning. He'd been a sixteen-year-old boy half aware of the world around him searching for what had always been there and calling it learning to be a wielder. He was still sixteen, still a boy, still learning to be a wielder, but now he had the upbringing that made his potential valid. His uncle had not shared everything, but he had trained him. Jahl didn't know who his enemy was any more than before, but he had the means to identify him and tools to fight him. So many memories demanded his review, but one kept pushing the others back, one brought him surprise each time it slid forward and commanded his attention.

The shard in his leg was more than a dam to hold the Wane from taking over the rest of his body. It was to pull the disease in and encase it in essence. Over time the shard had been bleeding out the Lal, losing its hold, which explained how rather than strengthening with each hobble into town to rent and wield at Tommlar's Mercantile, Jahl had grown in pain and weakness, each night more twisted and cramped. Since his self-healing of the deformed limb, Jahl had assumed the Wane was gone from his life. But now he knew it was still much with him, trapped in the shard. The transfer at the Great Shard had recharged his weakening protection encasing the Wane. That knowledge was encouraging as it confirmed that the tiredness he felt was normal and not a result of the disease he had lived with for so long reestablishing itself. But that fact didn't reduce the fatigue a bit. Jahl also understood that he could not pull power from the shard in his hip. It needed every bit of Lal to imprison the Wane.

He remembered his mother had said his uncle had found a way to hold the wielded infection from further destroying his nephew and any other wielder, but in the process had been infused with the disease and lost nearly all the abilities of a wielder. Now his own memories verified her explanation. By the time Jahl was four, Tran had regained all his skill and much of his strength back. However, he had continued to live a spare existence, appearing impoverished in an effort to protect Jahl until he was strong enough to face his enemy.

Jahl had had plenty of brief run-ins with out-of-town wielders willing to gamble the Wielder Wane was no longer active. They bumped and jostled him whenever they came close enough. They smirked at Tommlar's castigating of Jahl and added to the angry ambiance of his attempts to be a wielder. Jahl had often thought some outsider had been the source of the disease, but his mother believed, and now he knew his uncle shared the view, that Jahl had been the initial target, the rest of the town wielders just caught in the overflow of out-of-control magic.

Who would target an unborn child? He'd always believed he knew better than his mother or Tran. For children are always the weakest and quickest to show illness. So what that he had been the first. Nearly the entire adult population of magic-capable people died, but Jahl survived. Alright, he had been the focus of the protection of all his family, and the greatest wielder in town had fixated his effort and protection on Jahl.

Jahl shook his head as though to rattle his thoughts and clear them out. Enough of this review of the obvious. He released the chair's essence and rose. The house jangled his nerves: Someone was at the front door. He strode across the room and with his hand on the jamb, Jahl called the essence to show him who was there. The figures, though shadowed, were recognizable as Cam and their parents. Jahl examined the rest of his domain through the protective properties of the house shards. His neighbors slept, and no one else intruded on his land. He grabbed the cane and the grapevine, headed for the stairs and was soon at the front door greeting them and hurrying his family inside.

Mahre was dressed in a navy blue split skirt, leather breeches snug on her legs and knee-high black boots encased her calves. She wore a man's red jerkin under a dark cloak. "Jahl, Cam told us that Donya is missing and you saw a strange figure out near the gate," said Mahre.

"And the house armed itself. I told them that, too," added Cam, thrusting his cloak open to show the old sword he wore strapped to his right hip. His father was similarly equipped.

Jahl looked to his mother again and saw that she had a knife stuck in a leather sheath at her waist. Her shoulders seemed awfully broad. He peered at the contours of her shape as she turned her back on him to grasp her husband's arm. Jahl saw immediately she had her standing stone bound to her back and hidden to a less discerning eye by the cloak.

"Jom, you're sure you won't stay here?" she said.

Jahl knew his father's view on arguing: He didn't do it. "Do not leave the arguer any words to get purchase on, and they will run out of ways to turn you from your decision" had always been his advice.

Mahre waited another moment than squeezed his arm before releasing it. She turned back to Jahl. "What is your plan?"

"Twice he has called for my attention and then not made a move. He wants me to pursue him. So I will."

"That's not a plan. That's letting him take the lead." She glared at her son. "Where will you pursue him to?"

"Fallon Forest. He stood at my back gate and turned into the woods."

"That's a vast area," said Jom. "Is there more to that plan?"

"I remember Uncle Tran using the essence beneath the forest floor to look for animals and people. I'll use that to search for this wielder." Jahl led them to the kitchen. "This way." He felt like a parade leader and wondered how they would take him raising the cane up and down with each step. Probably remember he was only sixteen. They reached the back door, and Jahl noted in the dark the lighter reflection of the staff still leaning against the door molding. He remembered his reason for bringing the vine down with him. Whoever his adversary was, he must believe Jahl still a cripple. As unpleasant as it was to wear the brace, Jahl realized he needed every edge available. He used the cane to adjust his breeches to fit looser to allow for the brace and the twist it would give to his leg. The limp would be enough. From a distance it would not be obvious he was walking on normally shaped feet. Jahl unbelted his breeches and threaded the vine down his pant leg. With a tug of essence, Jahl tightened the brace and felt the pinch of it shifting his stance. The lower portion usually set to lift up his foot to recreate his original reliance on a twisted heel for support gripped his boot-clad ankle, securing the vine in place. He adjusted his clothes for comfort.

Jahl took the staff in hand and held it against the cane. More camouflage was called for. Using the staff as a pattern and material resource, Jahl reshaped and lengthened the cane until it took on the gnarly form of a polished branch just the right height for a hiking stick, its top decked out with ornate silver, the intricate engraving now present along the length of the dark wooden staff. The original wooden staff was reduced in size, and Jahl reshaped it, narrowing the base and creating a knotted grip at the top. He handed it to his mother who smiled acceptance, finding it fit for her smaller stature.

"Rouen is not back yet; should we wait for him?" said Cam.

Jahl stared out the window seeing no sign of the mysterious figure and no Rouen either. "He wouldn't want us to delay our search for Donya." He took a step closer to the door. "I wish I knew when he last saw her. Maybe she's just visiting a friend or helping a neighbor."

"Even their father is concerned, so they must have good reason to believe she's at risk," said Cam.

Jahl admitted to himself that what he wanted was for Donya to be visiting some friend and not in any danger. If this wielder was willing to kill children of wielder families then Donya wasn't safe at all. "Yeah, I know."

Mahre marveled at the remodeled cane in Jahl's hand and said, "I wonder how Trades Master Marson ended up with the cane."

"Donya said her father came often to see Uncle Tran, and she did say he was the one who found my uncle dead." Jahl remembered how Beauraman had seemed to choose Jahl randomly for the repair. "If Master Marson had the cane, then he must have sent Beauraman to have me repair it to see if I was ready," said Jahl, voicing his thoughts as he tried to figure out how all these pieces of coincidence fit together.

His mother touched the new staff in his hand. "Is this how you earned that gold coin when we told you of the blight?"

Jahl nodded, only half listening to his mother. How many more coincidences had he overlooked? Did he know his enemy? Twice that brawny wielder from out of town had knocked him to the ground. There were a couple of younger ones too that had given him regular problems at Tommlar's complementary dirt stalls in front of the store. He pondered who else to put on his short list of suspects.

Cam was standing at the door and peering out into the yard just beginning to turn shadow into grey detail.

His mother turned to follow Cam's gaze. "Ro's still not here, Jahl. We should head out before we lose any element of surprise we might have," Mahre said.

"He's expecting me, there's no surprise." The edges of the backyard were showing the early illumination of sunrise. A red glow tinged the near side of the shed and the fences that ran perpendicular to the house. Though the pickets were covered in vines of dull green leaves, they housed glistening dew that reflected the rising sun in multiples of tiny golden orbs. Jahl's young rooster crowed vociferously, if not a well-practiced morning acknowledgment.

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and glanced back; his father stood close. "You have your family at your back, you always have," his deep voice intoned.

Jahl saw the understanding in his father's eyes. He knew his son didn't want to go alone and face this danger. Protected for so long, Jahl didn't know how to handle being the champion for his family, the Marsons and the Delns. He took a deep breath. He'd been fighting the Wane all his life, and now he would fight the man who had created the disease that had killed so many. Donya needed him and Ro as well. This is what it meant to be a wielder.

"Mom?"

She stepped up to his other shoulder and lay her hand where he gripped the disguised cane. "He has set the situation up, so we must answer now," she said. "Before it became evident that you had wielding talents that could challenge him, we could choose when to display our abilities, but that choice is gone."

Jahl placed his hand on the door jamb, released the magic lock and lifted the latch. The four Pratters stepped out. Cam at the rear closed the door and Jahl secured his house with a tap of the staff on the last stone step. Realizing that the wielder had always attacked from a distance or through a means that didn't identify him, Jahl felt certain that his opponent wanted them away from the town and an audience. Jahl thought about what his mother had said, that they could not choose when to display their abilities. Maybe they did not have that choice, but Jahl could choose the place if they hurried.

They traversed the backyard and exited the vine engulfed gate. The main path twisted off to the right before heading up toward Fallon Mountain. The Pratters followed it, Jahl in the lead setting the pace. Already tired from his previous hike and lack of sleep, he chose a limping stride he thought he could maintain for much of their journey up the mountain. He wanted to find a section of the forested highland that was more sparsely treed, still providing them with cover but open enough for visual examination. Once on the elevated terrain, he would have access to the essence at the heart of the mountain and could use it to check for any presence.

They had not traversed far before an idea came to mind. "Mom, can you use the essence to check for any presence besides our own in the forest?"

Mahre was behind Jahl, so she whispered. "I can, though I was never as good at it as Tran. It takes particularly good manipulation of the essence. I can locate an individual if I've confirmed the recognition at a prior time. But I wouldn't know someone I've never tracked that way before. And I haven't done it for a long time."

Jahl continued walking along the wide path and thought. "Who could you track?"

"Your father, Cam, and Tran. Everyone one else is dead or left town years ago."

"Could you recognize Ro or Donya?"

Mahre took several steps with the staff as she thought the idea through. "I don't know. I suppose size would help me identify the difference between Cam and Donya. Or if I knew who was nearby, I imagine I would feel more confident with the identification."

Both Cam and Jom had remained silent while the two had talked about wielding. But Cam was curious. "Wouldn't it be similar to looking into a body you don't know? Jahl says he pulls details through the essence and creates an image. He doesn't have to know ahead of time what he is going to see. Mom, when you heal someone, you don't always know what to expect the injury to look like from inside, right?"

"It seems like it would be the same, but the level and direct contact make a difference. I can't draw enough essence from the mountain to give me that clear of an image. Jahl, can you?"

"I know what type of animal it is if it's close by, but the further away, the less certainty I have." Jahl guided the group to a tall spruce with thick branches scraping the ground. They shouldered their way in, and in under the protection of the ample limbs, Jahl said, "Let's look about right now. Maybe with two of us, we can identify anyone we find by sharing the details."

She nodded and knelt down, and Jahl pulled the essence through his staff. Jom and Cam waited just to the side watching the two concentrate. Jahl felt the Lal, a bit thin, rise up to him and flow from his hand into his body. Animals stood out and as he found each one, he whispered what he identified and where it was in relation to their location. Mahre would follow the line and agree with a soft tap on his arm. A family of possums left her confused until Jahl described the separations between the larger member and the smaller ones following. He had better perception but felt using a sharded cane gave him an advantage. The last time he had reached with only hand contact, he'd been in the glade where the Great Shard was, a far greater advantage than either her stone or his cane. Neither found a human within their range. But if this venue was chosen by his enemy, then it was likely he knew how to hide in it. Jahl had no such knowledge, no memory offered a means to make an illusion they could hide behind.

"We should continue," said Mahre. "We have reached the beginnings of the incline."

Jahl's leg was already sore from hiking earlier, but at least then he was using two good legs. With the brace in place, he was uncomfortable, clumsy and tired. He could do nothing about the tiredness, but he routinely zipped a bit of essence along the cane and down to his leg to relieve tender spots and cramping. After each relief of the discomfort of wearing the brace, the silence of their walk would make him drowsy, and he caught himself more than once falling into a trance. Only tripping over roots or half-buried rocks brought him back to awareness. Each time this happened, he admonished himself and tried to maintain alertness to his surroundings.

Another stumble that just about knocked him to the ground when he found he needed his right leg to provide enhanced stability and the brace interfered with the effort, brought him to his senses. Cam grabbed his arm belatedly, and Jahl stepped back aware they were well into Fallon Mountain's higher elevations. The spruce had thinned out and Jahl peered about. He squatted down, his long habit of stretching his braced leg out happening automatically, and placed a hand flat on the ground. The thrum of the essence buried in the foundation stone of the mountain rattled against his palm. The only one of the four not wearing a cloak, Jahl noted for the first time the coolness of the air. The short spruce needles littering the ground poked at his skin. He pressed harder and called to the essence. The three behind him were the first living beings he noticed. He blocked them from his perception and searched farther afield. Animals dotted the landscape, but no humans appeared to be near.

Jahl looked to his family, each surveying a different part of the forest. Mahre had flipped her cloak back over each shoulder and Cam's cape was hung over an arm. Jom seemed unaware of the sweat beading up on his forehead and upper lip, though after a moment, he began to shiver and pulled his cloak closer. Worry creased his father's brow. The thrum of the essence took on a cadence, and Jahl realized he was sensing someone running. He put his attention to the trail behind them and followed it down. As Mahre had said, familiarity and size could aid in identification. Ro still ten minutes at least behind them was sprinting up the path, and he was alone.

Jahl tugged at Cam and stepped forward. The spruces were thinner up to the right of the trail which encouraged Jahl to think he might find a clearing ahead. "Do you know this area, Cam?" he whispered.

"Sure, I've hunted up here," came the quiet response.

"Do you know of a clearing nearby? I want to prepare an area for us."

"Not far ahead is a small burn area where lightning struck. It has had some new growth, but mostly it's clear. The deer like the new shoots."

"Direct me."

Cam signaled for the others to follow. "Move along the trail a bit more, and I'll tell you when to step off."

Jahl patted his brother's arm in assent and started forward at a faster pace. When Cam signaled him to step off the trail, Jahl said, "Cam, when we get there, I am going to send you down the trail. Ro is running up this way. I want you to lead him here. Be careful on the return that you do not lead anyone but Ro to us."

Cam squeezed Jahl's shoulder in agreement and then added pressure to turn Jahl more rightward to the site he knew of. Off the trail, they were repeatedly hit by branches, though Jahl tried to catch what he could and let them not swing back to swat those behind unaware. A few minutes later the new growth clearing came into view. Jahl nudged his brother off, and Cam sprinted out of line and headed back to the main trail. Dawn had long since risen and the less filtered light from above filled the area. Jahl squatted again and check their surroundings. Cam was racing down the trail and further back at a slower rate than before Rouen Marson was rushing up. Jahl searched up ahead and found nothing of concern. The further he reached, the thinner his perception of what shared the woods with them became.

Jahl turned to his father, "Pop, I want you and mom to head into the outer circle of trees where they are thicker and can provide cover."

"What are your plans?"

"I don't have any, Pop," said Jahl. He shrugged. "I wouldn't want to throw fireballs around in a forest, but I can't hide in my house either. I shouldn't have let you and Mom come along. Not any of you."

"Is that why you sent Cam away?"

Mahre interrupted. "It's Ro running up the trail behind us, isn't, Jahl." He nodded in response. "Cam is going to guide him to us." She leaned around her husband. "But we didn't come all this way for you to hide in the trees."

"You're my backup. If things get difficult...." Jahl saw his mother raise a brow and grinned at her. "Which I know it will, then you two can come running up and save the day." His face grew grim. "I'd rather you be my ace in the hole than be distracted with trying to protect you. The attack has always been focused on me, but others get caught in the crossfire. Please let me send you out of the way."

His father put a hand on Jahl's shoulder, "Whoever it is will know we're out there, Jahl."

"But he won't know Mom came prepared to wield." Jahl tipped his head at her shoulders, acknowledging the standing stone mounted there. "I think whoever this person is, he has underestimated us many times."

"It took all we had to save you years ago," Mahre Pratter said. "I'll not let someone take you from me now." Her hands had returned to their old habit of clenching each other near to bruising, her eyes moist with emotion. Her staff between her hands shook with the intensity of her grip.

Jom pressed her hands into relaxation around the slender wood. "Neither of us will let that happen."

Jahl prodded them. "Do it from the safety of the trees. And go now! I feel a presence." Jahl saw his mother's hands pull from her husband's. "Go now, Mom, Pop, go now!"

### Chapter Fourteen

They turned, hesitating, and Jahl pushed at them. They ran low into the trees until he could no longer see them. With the last glimpse of his parents, Jahl could hear the heavy footfalls of someone rushing toward him. It couldn't be Ro or Cam. That would be too soon and this person was running perpendicular to the rise of the mountain. Jahl stood tall and gripped the staff out in front of him. The essence boiled up against his skin and ran in rivulets up his arm. His pounding heartbeat thundered against his ribs. A trickle of sweat meandered down Jahl's arm to his elbow, and he squelched the desire to wipe it on his shirt.

Between the trees, a bulky figured twisted and dodged until it reached the edge of the clearing. Jahl shook his head in surprise. "Master Moln?"

"Bragg, you ninny. What are you doing out here alone?" Bragg hadn't slowed his momentum. He would reach Jahl in another few paces.

Jahl grinned at their old battle in such an innocuous place. "I'm not alone. I just sent Cam down the trail to meet Ro, and —"

"Yeah, I know. I just spoke to him." A pace away, Bragg reached out and grabbed hold of Jahl's staff. It jerked Jahl forward onto his braced right leg leaving him in a precarious stance with nothing to grab for support but the bulk of the man before him. He flung out an arm to grab hold, but Bragg backed up a step, taking the staff with him. Jahl fell forward landing face down on the needle littered ground.

"I guess I've gotten used to you catching me," said Jahl, and he put his hands beneath him to push himself up.

"Get over it, Pratter brat!" A foot came down on Jahl's shoulders pinning him to the ground, his arms caught beneath him.

"What?" Jahl said and tried to press himself up from the ground, but Bragg's weight held him down.

Bragg bellowed, "Where are you, Mahre Donnel? I know you're not far from your precious wielder boy. No doubt your worthless Pratter husband's with you. Come on out and watch me finish the destruction of the wielders of Chussan Faire!"

Jahl struggled to get out from under Bragg's weight. "Master Moln, what's going on?"

Bragg's heel came down harder between Jahl's shoulder blades. Jahl tightened his muscles along his spine to strain against the force coming near to breaking his back. The pain made him catch his breath in small snatches.

"I was the better man. I was a wielder and she chose him!" spat out Bragg Moln.

The anger in his voice was startling. Jahl squirmed to look up at the wielder, but the pressure kept him tight to the ground. Where had this hatred come from? Bragg had always seemed to accept his mother's decision to marry Jom. The man had even married a few years later. Jahl saw the tip of the staff stamp down within his reach. If he could get his arm out from under him, he might be able to grab it and channel some essence. He set about turning over in hopes of either dislodging Bragg's foot or freeing his arm. He let his right arm crumple underneath him as he pushed with more force with his left to raise himself. He felt his body tip, and Bragg's foot slid along his back as his tunic and jerkin slipped against his skin. If he could just reach the staff, he could send a pulse up it and disable Bragg at least for a moment. The left arm popped free and he reached out, fingertips already brushing against the dark smooth wood a tingle grazing his skin. The tip flew out of reach, and moments later the back of his head exploded in pain as the knob was swung round in Bragg's hand.

In the murk of near unconsciousness, Jahl heard his mother scream. She screamed again and Jahl swam for his senses, determined to find a way to help her. A new explosion blossomed in his chest and he lost all air. He couldn't draw a breath, his body spasmodically pulling him into a fetal position, his right leg straining against the brace that held it twisted sideways and stretched out in front of him.

Something grabbed at the back of his jerkin and he was dragged several feet. At first, Jahl thought it might be Cam or his father hauling him to safety, but the lack of care in avoiding knocking him against trees and towing him through underbrush convinced him that it was Bragg who was pulling him along the ground. Still, his chest was cramped up, and he could not draw a breath although his mouth was wide with the effort to get oxygen. Black spots formed before his eyes, filling his mind with darkness. His ears thrummed making it impossible for him to hear what was going on around him. The dragging returned and Jahl's knee hit hard on the stone beneath him. Finally, as he came to a stop atop sharp rocks, he dragged in a painful breath.

His arms were wrapped around his ribcage, one hand pinned beneath him and scraped by the rocks. Jahl pulled a memory forward of his uncle guiding him to an outcropping of stone on Fallon Mountain. Long exposed stone had little essence in it, but there was always some that could be bundled together, and if the rock was in contact with the deeper, more essence-rich stone, a stream could be coaxed into flowing up. Jahl concentrated as he pulled deeper breaths in. A trickle of essence played against his knuckles and he followed it down, digging deep for a stronger source. _There it is._ A ripple ran through him as the flow charged up through the broken stone and into Jahl. His muscles unclenched and the cuts and bruises healed. Jahl loosened the brace around his leg, giving him freedom of movement.

There was a momentary stillness around him, save for heavy breathing perhaps a foot away and above him. Bragg was close. Jahl opened his eyes to slits and tried to get a glimpse of his surroundings. A boot encased foot was not far from his face, and it blocked a good portion of his view. Above the stiff boot, he could make out a tree trunk, which left him only a few inches of actual forest to examine. Jahl pulled at the essence and searched for his family. Bragg was the owner of the boot. Jahl searched farther. Not far away and behind Bragg was Cam crouching behind a tree. Ro was off to the left nursing a broken arm and hiding in the high bracken. Jahl broadened his attention and found an outcropping of stone in contact with Rouen's foot. He pulsed essence along the contact point. Rouen startled but settled down when he felt his bones shifting and knitting together. Jahl shifted his attention back to Cam. His brother had a lump on the back of his head but was otherwise healthy.

Jahl took a broader view of the area. Farther out, back toward where the small clearing was, he found his father prone on the ground and unmoving. His sword stood up from his body as though driven through the man's chest. Panicked, he rushed the magic flow along the vein deep below and dodged from pocket of exposed stone to pocket, finding no place where he could make contact with his father. He pulled at the image and tried to discern if Jom was breathing at all. _Where's Mom!_ He burrowed deeper and widened his view further to get a greater survey of the area. A form was draped over a branch of a spruce outside the circle of the clearing. Jahl pulled details into the image and confirmed the stone was still strapped to his mother's back.

Master wielders can pull Lal from a distance. Jahl knew his uncle could reach a standing stone from this distance, but Jahl had never done it. He followed the essence-filled bedrock right up to the roots of the tree. Jahl directed his internal vision outward, imagining his essence-supported reach coming closer to his mother's body until he could feel contact with the stone beneath her cloak. He tugged at the essence and drenched his mother in it. He felt her take a ragged breath, and he believed there was hope for them.

Bragg grabbed Jahl by the neck and pulled him up, breaking his concentration. Please, _Mom, be okay and help Pop._ Jahl clutched at the hands choking him as the man yanked him up until only his toes touched the ground. Bragg's face came in close and he said, "I've been patient. I've waited for this moment when I had every last member of what was left of the five clans. Once your ragtag little group is gone, I'll be finished."

"Why?" Jahl choked out. This wasn't the Bragg Moln he'd known and trusted, the man who had always protected him and helped him when he needed it. "When—did you start—to hate me?"

"Start! I've hated you all since the day she married Pratter. I've hated _you_ since I heard she was pregnant with you!"

Jahl forced air passed Bragg's tightening fingers, "Why?"

Bragg's expression up till then had been infused with anger and hatred, but it altered to something else. _Guilt?_ "I set the Wane on you, to kill you before you were born. They weren't supposed to be able to stop it, but they did and then it went everywhere." Bragg shook Jahl like a rag doll, and the boy struggled to pull the wielder's taut fingers from his throat just to get another breath and ask another question.

"You wanted me dead, not everyone else?" he choked out, determined to keep the wielder talking.

Bragg looked away, as though remembering. "I couldn't stand her carrying his child. You were supposed to disappear, crumple up and be gone, but it spread, and people kept dying." The man's voice broke. Jahl could see along with the anger was something else, definitely guilt. If he could pull at that guilt, perhaps he could stop Bragg. He struggled to speak again. "You didn't mean it." Bragg's eyes seemed to stare off seeing something other than the forest of spruce they stood in. His features pulled into a frightened and painful sadness. Jahl pulled hard to get a lungful to speak again. "Master Moln..."

Bragg lifted Jahl up further, and Jahl's feet dangled and twitched for purchase on anything. He felt a tree trunk behind him and searched for a way to brace his feet against it and provide some relief.

"But all she wanted was to save you. You!" yelled Bragg, spit flying from his mouth. He banged Jahl against the tree, green needles cascading down upon them. "You survived! I would have let you live if you hadn't started wielding. But you had to prove a _Pratter_ could wield."

Jahl kept pushing at the tree with his feet feeling them catch then slip, his vision growing black at the corners, narrowing until just a tunnel of light held Bragg's furious face at the center. He scraped at the man's tightening hand at his throat and didn't think he could go another moment without air. Then the world tilted and Jahl fell to his hands and knees. He gasped and groaned trying to pull air in before he passed out. His fists ground dry needles into his palms. Beside him. Bragg was wrestling with someone. Jahl looked up just as a person clad in a brown leather jerkin was swung into view. Cam had his arms wrapped around Bragg's body and was pinning one arm to the bulky man. The two were rolling about on the ground, Cam keeping his head tight against the man's back as much as possible to avoid Bragg's attempts at pummeling him with his one free arm. The meaty fist was landing on his brother's back, but the angle limited the strength of the blows.

Jahl couldn't move yet, his breathing so ragged he wondered if his lungs were in ribbons. The two on the ground lurched to one side. Rouen was holding back the arm Bragg was hitting at Cam with. Both young men fought to keep Bragg down. But the wielder was maniacal in his fury to tear the two off. He tore away Cam's empty scabbard in his rage. The older man roared and jerked Roen back and forth. But the young smith refused to release his hold.

Jahl struggled to his feet and peered through blurry vision for his staff. It was pinned beneath the three struggling men. His thoughts finally moved in a progressive pattern, and he reached for the handle of the staff not far from where he stood bent over and breathing in rasps. All he needed was contact, and he could send a jolt through Bragg Moln that would take all the fight out of him. Then Rouen and his brother would be able to control the wild man. Jahl kneeled down and crawled forward, his fingers about to touch the silver wrapped handle. Bragg kicked out and caught Jahl in the chest sending him flying back to the ground. The boy's groan made Cam turn to look, and Bragg broke free and then flung Rouen away. Cam staggered back to avoid a swing of Bragg's fist.

From behind Bragg, Jahl could see his mother standing, her hands held out, her face a mask of concentration. Before the swing at Cam was completed, a tremendous concussion rent the air. Jahl could see the ripples as it drove forward smacking Bragg all along his backside and sending the huge man flying at Jahl who could not get his feet and elbows to back him away fast enough. In Jahl's peripheral vision he saw a female figure running toward them. _Donya? How did she get here?_ Jahl managed to wonder in the split second before Bragg hit and they both went down.

Jahl whimpered a laugh. How many times would the air be knocked from his chest? Bragg stirred above him, his weight crushing down on Jahl. He seemed not to know he had Jahl pinned beneath him, for he turned, wedging an elbow in Jahl's stomach to prop himself up.

The big man laughed with confidence. "Donya, get the staff and hand it to me."

Jahl stared at Donya standing a few feet away looking like she was in no need of rescue. She shrugged at Jahl, picked up the staff and put it in Bragg's outstretched hand.

Bragg glanced down at Jahl making it clear he did know he had Jahl trapped beneath him. "Twice you've reached for this stick. I suspect it is more than just a support for your stumbling shamble. What would happen if I pointed it at, say, your mom?" The staff end swung in the air to be directed at Mahre now held in check by Jahl's proximity to the wild man. Cam also remained still where he crouched on the ground among brambles.

Rouen, unaware of the alteration of the walking stick into the staff, looked confused. He sat propped up on his elbows, his legs stretched out in front of him. "Donya, what are you doing?" Rouen said, hardly believing his sister was helping the man trying to kill them.

She turned to her brother, her expression changing to one of pride. "Master Moln is going to make me a great wielder. Jahl was never going to train me."

No one responded to her statement. Mahre Pratter looked disgusted while Jahl, Cam and Rouen stuttered in confusion. Jahl was struggling to push against Bragg's weight, and he fought to raise himself, but Bragg just shunted his arm up so it crossed Jahl's chest and pressed harder to still him. The weight bearing down upon his ribcage left him gasping just to keep the pain from turning him into a writhing mess. He dug his fingers in the ground in search exposed stone. Beneath him, the duff was too thick. His hands came away damp. The forest was quiet, a faint mist of rain falling that Jahl only just noticed. He felt pinioned like a bug to the ground.

"Like I said, I have all of you here. It won't be long before it is over," said Bragg. "You, Mahre Donnel, chose a man who cannot see the essence in the world. So I am going to remove all who can. You made your choice and caused all this." He waved the tip of the staff around, encompassing the area the six of them took up. He refocused it on Jahl's mother.

"My name is Mahre Pratter," she snarled, "and I never considered marrying you." She spat on the ground. "You've never been Jom's equal."

Jahl could feel the man trembling with rage. She had a stone, but he could tell she was fearful to use it with her son in the target area. Bragg didn't need the staff if he even realized it was sharded; he had his own power somewhere, perhaps a shard in his pocket. The misting rain continued to fall, making his hands slip where they gripped Bragg's arm. If his clothes were damp enough, perhaps he could slip beneath Bragg's arm and push him off balance. He attempted to budge, but the man's cloak was shielding them both too well for that hope to be fulfilled. He braced his hands on Bragg's arm and pushed to lift some of the pressure off him without success.

Jahl tried talking to Bragg again. There had to be a way to get to him. "It doesn't have to be this way. Think of Ioane. She wouldn't want you to do this."

Bragg stiffened and Jahl had a moment of hope. "Think about your daughter." Jahl could see Donya shaking her head.

"Shut up about that brat."

Jahl slumped into the ground. Everything he thought he'd known about Bragg Moln was a contradiction. It made no sense. And then there was Donya. He tried to fathom why she would support Bragg's actions.

The girl stood with her hands on her hips and her feet spread beneath the split skirt that revealed stout boots. Then Jahl saw it. Something glistened near her foot. A shard was poking out from beneath the rounded toe. He looked up at her face and saw that she knew he had seen it. It didn't make sense to him. She had handed the staff to Bragg and had stepped forward to do it, landing a foot on the dropped shard. What did she know, what were her intentions? The standoff remained, and Jahl tried to find a way to tip the balance.

Bragg seemed to be focused on pulling essence from the staff. He shook it as though the Lal could be jarred loose. Bragg's head turned until he was staring directly at Donya. She looked back with an expression of determination and satisfaction. Her hand came up, Bragg lined up with her fingers, and Jahl knew she was pulling essence from the shard beneath her foot. A fireball formed in her palm. "That's right, it won't work for you. You killed my parents and left me for dead." The fireball grew as her anger rose. Tears filled her eyes, almost unnoticeable with the increasing rain and her damp hair starting to lay flat upon her head, water forming rivulets on her face. Donya's breath caught, straining her next words. Jahl feared her lack of experience and emotions would interfere with her concentration. "These are my friends and I won't let you harm them any further." Her voice broke. Before she could release the fireball at Bragg, he swung the staff, ripping her legs out from under her. Donya's arms pin wheeled, the fireball spun itself out of existence, her hold on the essence not practiced enough to maintain its form and down she went.

Jahl flattened his hands against his hips as though his desire to reach out and catch her before she hit the ground was being held back physically. A tingle flashed against his right hand. A thrill ran through his muscles right down to his toes as he realized he had one opportunity. He stayed still, afraid of giving away his last possible weapon. Bragg was reaching for the shard on the ground. Jahl strained to pull at the shard in his hip. He'd yet to be able to pull essence from it, but that didn't mean he couldn't move it. He felt it shift deep in his muscle and closed his eyes to help him imagine the shard resting in his flesh.

With the image perfect, he pulled at the shard, tugged with all his might and felt a horrible ripping in the muscle as the shard tore through to land bloody and flesh smeared on his palm. The pain was overwhelming and Jahl tried to crush the agony down as he manipulated the essence within the shard. Bragg had only inches to go before he would have power he could call on. Jahl pulled back his arm and swung it forward, the sharp end of the shard protruding far out from his fist. He drove it deep into Bragg's side, and sheering away the protective magical layer that had been encasing the infection, he released the Wielder Wane into Bragg.

The change was instantaneous. The man's arm jerked toward his chest and he convulsed atop Jahl, his muscles cramping in great tearing knots that bulged in every limb. His bones snapped with every contraction loud enough for each of them to hear and cringe. He screamed as each muscle ripped from its moorings. Jahl dragged himself out from under the tormented wielder. It was horrible to watch but none of them could pull their gaze away. The man did not suffer much longer. His heart gripped and burst, and he collapsed in a twisted ball.

From behind, Jahl felt hands grip him under the arms and raise him up to standing. When he turned, his father stood before him, his eyes bright with fear turned into pride. He pulled his son into his arms and held him, his body shaking with emotion.

"Pop!" Jahl clutched at his father. "You're okay!"

Jom released his son and put his hands on each side of Jahl's head. He said, "I thought I was going to lose you. I thought there was nothing we could do to stop that man."

"But how are you okay?" said Jahl grasping his father's shoulders and looking him up and down, his father's tunic bloodied and ripped in the front.

"Your mother took care of me, thanks to you." Jom grinned.

Mahre joined them patting her husband's shoulder and laughing. "Jom, look at the boy standing there bleeding and you just going on about your own health." She lay her hand against Jahl's torn and bloodied hip.

Her mention of the injury returned Jahl's awareness to the pain and he stumbled, but his father caught him, holding him upright. "I need my staff, Mom," he said through gritted teeth.

"No, let me. There have been so few times when I could be the one to care for you." Her hand warmed against his torn skin, the essence soothing his discomfort. The sensation was different than when Jahl had applied untutored healing magic. A tingling infused itself into the flesh, knitting the tear from within until finally the cloth itself was mended. Mahre kissed her son's cheek and turned away.

"Now who else needs my attention to their wounds? Cam, let me see that lump on your head. I am certain it wasn't there this morning." She stepped away, to Jahl's now trained eye, using action to cover her emotions.

Jom squeezed his son's shoulder and nodded at Donya still sprawled on the ground and just beginning to raise herself up. "Miss, could I be of service?"

Jahl slapped him on the arm and leaned down, extending his hand to help her up. "No, let me help the young lady."

"Oh, you're a funny lot." She clasped his hand and let him pull her to her feet.

Jahl did not release his grip, asking sternly, "What were you doing with Bragg? Did you know who he was?"

"Not until last night," Donya said. She tugged her hand from his and rubbed her back, closing her eyes as she assessed her body for damage, her hands sliding along her spine and shoulders.

"What happened last night?" Jahl said.

Looking assured only her pride was damaged, she said, "I went to Master Moln's house to bring him food. I thought Ioane might be frightened by her father's mending and not know how to care for him. You know we've all believed she's been an ill child since she was about eight years old, and I knew from helping you that with that much healing, he would be needing several meals."

"And," Jahl prompted her and noted Roen and Cam were stepping closer to hear her explanation.

"He was up ranting, pacing like a madman through the house. I hid in the bushes by a window. Listening to him, I realized it just didn't fit."

Cam came closer and was joined by Roen and Mahre. "What didn't fit?" Cam said.

"He's always spoken so lovingly about her," said Donya. "You know, he seemed so devoted to Ioane."

Jahl remembered the ceramic cup Bragg had asked him to repair for her. Jahl had created the blossom on the inside bottom to please both him and her, knowing how attentive he was to his daughter. He couldn't think of a time when Bragg hadn't talked of Ioane with fatherly affection. "Maybe he was in pain. People aren't themselves when they're under stress." All five of them turned to stare down at the broken figure that had been Master Bragg Moln and reminded themselves he wasn't what they had believed he was.

Donya continued. "He sat down to eat and sent her to her room. He left for a while and I snuck in to talk to Ioane. She was so fearful he would catch me there." Donya explained, "She hadn't any friends. Ioane told me that ever since she had fixed a butterfly's wing in Tommlar's mercantile (she'd touched a standing stone left outside on the store porch) her father wouldn't let her attend school or leave the house. We were all told she had been ill and never recovered. But that wasn't true."

Mahre recalled, "He married Rianne about five years after the Wane. We'd all thought his cousin Lorentz and Rianne were promised to each other. But Lorentz left Chussan Faire and Rianne and Bragg married. Poor woman, she didn't live long after that, dying in childbirth when Ioane was born."

"Lorentz didn't leave," said Donya. "At least not according to Master Tran's wielder family records. Bragg's cousin died a week before the wedding."

They stood silently taking in the implications of what had been believed and what Master Tran's information countered.

Jahl caught sight of his staff lying on the ground. "Why did you give Master Moln my staff? How did he even know you were here and would give it to him?"

"He returned before I could get off the property. I still had the soup I had brought him, so I told him I was coming to check on him and was pleased to see him up and about." Donya glanced at each member of their group, her eyes pleading for them to believe her. "But I had to make sure he trusted me." She looked embarrassed, a blush rising on her cheeks. "I thought he knew I was a Deln; he had been so close to Master Tran. I always saw him visiting, so I mentioned you were going to train me, Jahl."

Donya turned to Cam. "Remember you were looking in the newspapers for information that wasn't there? Master Tran had said it was what wasn't in the news that supplied the answer." Cam nodded his head, though his face was angled away from her as though he didn't trust the motivations behind her question. She wiped at the water dripping from her bangs into her eyes. "I figured it out, late, but I figured it out. There were no Moln clan deaths from the Wane announced in the paper. There couldn't have been. On the Moln family tree, Master Tran had only noted accidents and natural causes. Not one Moln clan member died of the Wane. It had been a small clan anyway and most left the area when the Wane hit. But nobody was noticing their activities then."

Mahre leaned in ready to question her, so Donya turned to her. "By then it was too late. He knew who I was, and the only thing I could think of was to start complaining about Jahl and how he wasn't really going to train me, that it was taking forever, and my father would never let me actually become a wielder. I begged him to train me, and he seemed to believe me." She clenched her hands and wedged them beneath her chin, looking as if she were praying for forgiveness. "He told me to lock Ioane in her room and follow him up Fallon Mountain when the sun rose, that by then he would have everyone in place. I was to follow his every direction and then he would train me to be the great wielder I wanted to be. I let him believe that that was what I wanted. I have been such a rude, angry girl for so long, he didn't find it that hard to believe." She shook her head over the man's twisted remains.

Again they all stared at the body of the wielder, now seeming to blend into the matted needles damp with the rain.

Jahl still didn't understand why she had given Bragg the staff. Surely she had known if it was Jahl's, it would have essence. He wondered if she had felt it when she picked it up. "How could you give Bragg a sharded staff?"

"I recognized the design in the wood and the silver top. I understood you had wielded it into a staff, but I don't think Moln realized that." She saw their confusion and continued to explain, "I found the cane at our house yesterday in my father's workroom and recognized it. You had told me that you repaired a cane. I realized at that moment it was your uncle's. There could only be one reason my father would have it. Tran left it for you." She paused and shook her head as though what she had said was not the point she was trying to make. "I felt nothing. I could discern no essence. So either your uncle made it respond only to him or only Donnel's or only you and him. I don't know, but I could not feel anything. I took a chance that he couldn't pull the essence either. I hoped it would give you and me time."

"And you saw him drop his shard," Jahl said.

"Lucky thing that." She grinned now holding the shard in her hand. Then she looked at the dead man and grew pensive. "We must do something with him."

"This is going to be a confusing thing to explain," said Rouen. "And what about Ioane. She's an orphan now."

Mahre said, "I think she may have been an orphan a long time." Jom seemed to understand her point and looked off down the trail worrying his lip.

Donya said, "I took her to your house, Jahl. She's in the dormitory."

Jahl was staring down at Bragg Moln and wondering what would be the best handling of the situation. He blinked at the water running into his eyes and began to shiver. "The what?"

Mahre Pratter clipped him on the back of the head gently, "Why didn't you wear a cloak? On the third floor, the attic is a dormitory for wielders in training. Tran used to have as many as six students living at the house, though most were at the manor before the Wane. I suppose it's still set up that way."

"It is," said Donya. "I used to play up there, pretending I was an apprentice and practicing my wielding." The memory made her smile and then her face saddened. "I didn't want her to be there when Moln got back. I thought hiding her in the dormitory would keep her safe."

Jahl nodded his understanding, then grew still. "How did you get into the house? I locked it down."

"Oh, Master Tran set it so my dad and I could come in anytime, locked or not." She realized Jahl might not appreciate that. "I won't do it anymore. But this was an emergency."

Mahre put a hand on Jahl's shoulder and said to Donya, "He understands. You did the right thing taking Ioane someplace safe." She glanced at Jahl and saw his speculative look. "We'll hold a dormitory at Donnel Manor until you're an adult or can have a proper chaperone living on the premises. At sixteen running a school for Twai wielders is not appropriate."

"We have bigger problems to deal with than dormitories," said Jom Pratter no longer staring off into the distance. "Bragg Moln was a respected man, well known in the community. How are we going to explain this?"

The Marsons and Pratters stood mulling it over. Jahl thought the best thing was to return the shard and the body to the earth right where he had fallen. But explaining Moln's treachery and his daughter at Jahl's home would create too much trouble without a body. He shook his head and tried to come up with a better solution.

"And all our injuries are healed," added Cam. Silence draped them as each tried to come up with a solution.

Rouen said, "We could take his body back to his house and leave it there." He looked expectantly at the others. When no one agreed, he shrugged.

Donya glanced at her brother and said, "I could say I came by to check on him and found him like that. That would explain why I took Ioane away," said Donya.

"But what do we tell Ioane?"

"In the past, the Wielder Clans would meet over this and the Highest Wielders would judge," Mahre said.

Jom scratched his head. "That will hardly work in this situation."

"I can get them notified in a few days. I'll represent the Donnel Clan, High Master Tommlar is still alive, a Deln representative can be sent for, and though Master Keal is quite old, he is still sharp. That leaves locating a Moln to complete the Guild."

Cam wiped the water dripping from his nose with the back of his hand. "In the meantime, we either hide what happened or explain it. Which is best for Ioane and everybody involved?"

Jom stepped around the group and headed down the trail. "We came looking for him when Donya told us he left Ioane alone and afraid. She left Ioane at the house and we searched the mountain for Moln. We found him here and have no explanation for what happened to him." He took a few steps and turned when no one followed. "Ro and Cam, stay here with Master Moln's body. Mahre, Jahl, let's head into town to let the magistrate know. Donya, you go stay with Ioane." They each seemed to be considering his idea. "It's for the best. He retains the respect of the community and will be assumed to have been taken by the Wane. No one is going to blame us; we've been fighting it for years. Now come along. There is much to do before we can rest." Jom turned to Mahre. "That should leave you time to gather the clan leaders or their representatives."

"Wait," Jahl said. He picked up his staff and pulled at the essence. Then he reached out to the shard embedded in the twisted body. It was spent. Jahl tugged with the Lal until the shard fell, landing in the churned up needles. Then he forced the shard down into the ground and kept prodding it until it scraped bedrock.

### Epilogue

The mercantile was bright with the sun streaming through the open double doors and the front display windows of Tommlar's Mercantile. Jahl pulled his cart in and headed to the stack of stones he knew to be high yielding but used. He'd grown several inches in the two years since his battle with Bragg Moln and put on some muscle as well. His stride was confident and smooth. Running his hand down the stack, the second and third stones responded, sparking against his fingertips and a soft rainbow of dust puffed out that he immediately squelched. The fourth stone didn't impress him, but the one beneath seemed a solid find. He swung the first aside and grabbed up the next two with graceful agility and stacked them on his cart. Setting the fourth on another like stack, he nipped up the next stone and added it to the first two selected.

Tommlar behind the main counter near the door finished with a customer's bill and bellowed, "Wielder Pratter, how are you this fine day?"

"As well as yourself, though a bit less loud."

The store owner eyed the stack on Jahl's cart, and lowered his voice to a playful whisper, "The school growing?"

Jahl rested his hand on the locked handle of his cart and answered in a conspiratorial undertone, "Three Deln boys arrived yesterday." He peered about the store for eavesdroppers. "Thought I should stock up."

Tommlar shook his head. "Oh, you're a sly one. Remind me not to tease you." He pulled over his receipt book. "Buying or renting?"

"The school is going well, so I will be buying the lot."

The storekeeper scribbled on the pad and handed it over for Jahl to approve. He stepped forward and set his mark to complete the bill, and Tommlar initialed the sum at the bottom. Jahl's pouch jangled as he pulled out the gold coins and set them in Tommlar's hand.

Tommlar grasped the money and leaned his elbows on the counter and said, "How's my grandson doing?"

"Proving to have a strong personality."

"Stubborn, you say. I noted that about him myself. Send him back if you think he might need a chat in the backroom."

Jahl laughed remembering his last backroom chat.

Tommlar nodded at his own son, Pike assisting a customer. "I've raised enough boys to know the difference between a chat and a chat. I'll make it clear to him that if he wants training, he needs to have the right attitude."

"I think he's making progress actually. Lonny had a tough time with the beds for a few nights. He kept selecting a different location in the dorm."

"Hmm," Tommlar said and crossed his arms. "I remember him forcing his brothers out of their beds just because he was bigger than them. I found having to sleep on the floor a few nights cured him of those shenanigans."

Jahl smile and then shook his head in mock sympathy. "For some reason, the beds just never worked out for him. He kept sliding out of them. Made a great thump on the floor every time. But I convinced him to try the one I'd assigned; there were no more disturbances."

Tommlar stifled a guffaw, glancing around the store to make sure he hadn't caught the attention of any of his customers.

Jahl leaned in close and lowered his voice. "I suspect it was something in how the legs were fitted together."

Tommlar yanked a handkerchief out of his back pocket and blew his nose and in a stuttering snort.

Jahl grabbed the handle and raised it to unlock the base for pulling his purchases home. "He's sleeping much better now, and I think he's only been dumped out once since. Hmm, maybe twice."

Tommlar harrumphed, tossed the coins in his register and snapped it shut. He walked Jahl to the door, ushering him out brusquely. "The out-of-town wielders are starting to trickle in again after that mass exodus following the Wane attack on Moln. I expect they're a bit more respectful of the native wielders now."

Jahl nodded. "We haven't had any trouble with them. They're registering with the guild these days and fitting in nicely."

Tommlar slapped his hand against the doorjamb. "My pop's been enjoying the monthly guild meeting since the families have reestablished in Chussan Faire. Any more Delns moving back to your knowledge?"

"Most appear to be satisfied with where they are, so other than the new High Master Deln and his family moving into Deln Manor earlier this year, I think the small group I have will be the first of the Deln wielders in town." Jahl nodded at his cart. "Best I head back."

The storekeeper agreed. "And I back to my selling." He patted Jahl's shoulder as he headed back toward the counter. "Enjoy your walk home."

"Always do." Jahl strode out the door, the cart rolling with a pleasant hum along behind him. He whistled a gay tune as he proceeded and greeted a few of his customers that he met along the way. In the midafternoon, the streets were free of traffic, though a few delivery wagons plodded along. Several carriages were parked along his block, and Jahl raised an eyebrow in thought as to who was holding a gathering of wealthy individuals. Parked in front of his walkway was a black carriage with familiar equipage. It seemed the Widow Cawsworth had come for a visit.

He turned down his walkway and enjoyed the clean look of his home. Cam and his father had painted the house in its original dark green shutters and trim with the main body of the house in a creamy beige. The hedges were in bloom. Jahl's favorite improvement though was the modification his wielder sign. Beneath it, on two hooks, hung a narrow, elegant plaque: _Wielder Boys School_ with the twisting line beneath it denoting the practice of wielding essence. Mahre Pratter was holding a school for wielder girls at the Donnel Manor, now as nicely spruced up as Uncle Tran's old place.

Jahl lifted his cart onto the top step of his stoop and trotted up to the door. He and his cart were inside in a moment. The Widow Cawsworth's voice murmured in the parlor. He intended to roll the cart to the kitchen entrance to the workroom and deposit the stones, but Donya's voice halted him.

"Jahl, come have tea with us. Your mother is using the workroom for a meeting with High Master Deln from Martan's Ferry." Jahl turned the corner past the stub of wall and greeted them both with a smile. Donya continued, "The students are out back in the garden, so join us."

The cart rolled to a stop and Jahl adjusted his ideas to the information. He set his shoulders and headed into the parlor. "My two favorite ladies, I most certainly will." Jahl parked the laden cart next to the table by the entry and took the first open chair. Donya handed him a cup of tea already prepared the way he preferred.

The widow turned in her seat to include him. "I've brought something for repair. It should be a good challenge for you."

Jahl nodded not paying attention and stared at the door currently closed between the adjoining rooms. The last time the high wielder from Martan's Ferry was here, Jahl's friends and family were testifying about Bragg Moln's creation of the Wane and their actions in ending the near seventeen-year-long illness. He recalled Donya was sitting on the same side of the settee during that meeting. The image of Ioane Moln clutching a handkerchief in one hand, Donya's reassuring hand in the other was clear in his memory. Rouen and Cam had taken the stiff chairs against the wall while Jahl had leaned on the table where his cart was currently parked. Pop wandered around the room picking things up and setting them down. Master Tradesman Beauraman had already left after sending in Master Smith Marson to begin his testimony.

It was during his own testimony in the meeting that Jahl finally learned the reason for the condition of his uncle's cane. To keep it out of the hands of the creator of the Wane, Tran had shattered the cane inside its case. His dying words had been to Marson to safeguard the sharded cane until Jahl was ready to fight the dark wielder. Marson had not known it was Moln, for Tran had never said who attacked him. Master Smith Marson had thought it best to have the Tradesman Beauraman be the one to contact Jahl so that there would be no knowledge connecting Jahl or Tran to the piece.

It had been awhile since Jahl last thought about those long days following the battle with Moln. Jahl wondered what could be the reason for the Martan's Ferry master visiting now. He thought about the carriages parked along his block and pondered who else might be in the workroom.

"Jahl!" Donya's raised voice startled him from his reverie.

Jahl fashioned a pleased smile on his face and turned his attention to the widow. "You said you had an item for repair."

"Yes, I did, three times, but I am pleased the fact finally registered with you." The stout woman settled herself back in her seat. Certain she had Jahl's attention, she continued. "It is a painting of my father that I found in the attic. It has suffered some damage which I would like you to restore."

Jahl noted the flat rectangular box leaning against the wall near the closest door to the workroom. "As soon as my workroom is cleared of its visitors, I will examine the painting and send you word of when it will be ready."

"Very good." She stood up and then bending down took Donya's outstretched hand. "I had a lovely chat with you, Miss Marson." Donya murmured her pleasure. The widow handed the young woman her teacup.

Jahl stepped forward. "Allow me to walk you to your carriage." He nodded at Donya. "Miss Marson, thank you for arranging tea for Widow Cawsworth and keeping her company until my return." He put out his arm for the widow to grasp and guided her to the door. The two continued into the hall and out the front door, Jahl murmuring his apologies for not being there when she arrived. She rapped him on the knuckles with her gloves and admonished him for his lack of attention.

Jahl teased, "One can hardly blame me for my slack-jawed response with two lovely ladies in the room."

"Oh, you've been working a bit of magic on your silver tongue, I see. You were a bit tongue-tied not so long ago."

"I've been taking your advice on being a better businessman." He assisted her into the carriage. A liveried boy shut the door.

The widow leaned out. "Don't you be putting your silly flirting at my door and don't waste it on me either. Now that young lady in your parlor, I'm sure she can appreciate your effort at being a gentleman. Though I must say she is smart and won't fall for any silken words. Best you be direct with her and treat her well."

Jahl looked back at the house with some consideration before turning back to his best customer. "As always, I find your advice inspiring."

She wrapped his knuckles again with her gloves making him pull his hand away from the carriage door in mock injury. As she pulled on the gloves so recently a tool of reprimand, Jahl nodded at the driver, and the carriage lurched forward. She waved in a stately fashion out the window before drawing the curtain to keep out the dust.

Jahl turned and headed back into his house to wait out the results of the meeting.

### ###

To My Readers

Thank you for reading _The Sharded Boy_ which begins the Standing Stone series, and book two and three are published as well. If you liked this book, or even if you didn't, please leave a review at the site where you purchased it, any reader review site you frequent (such as _Goodreads_ ), and anywhere else you wish. All reviews help the author. We learn from them as do our readers.

The Standing Stone series continues in _The Shifter Shard_. Jahl, Donya and Rouen learn that myth and reality always bear something in common. The dangers of digging out the truth could tear them apart just as they are making their wielder school a success in the An Faire lands. Read the excerpt at the end of this book for a preview of Jahl's next adventure. The third book, _The Heart of Lal_ is also available. Follow me on _Facebook_ , _Goodreads_ , my blog and _Smashwords_ or join my newsletter by clicking the link below to stay informed.

Perhaps you would like to know more about this series and my other books. If so, sign up for my newsletter by clicking the link below. You'll be opting in to receive my newsletter once a month. More often would mean I'm not writing books, and working at my day job and spending time with my family, so once a month it is. Signing up includes access to my book guide which has a list of all my fiction books and contains additional items, such as the maps for my world and the first page of each book. It is available via a link in the newsletter for download in eBook form.

L. Darby Gibbs Newsletter subscription

Continue reading to find out where I hangout social media wise, to sample an excerpt from the next book and to learn a bit about me.

### About the Author

L. Darby (Elldee) Gibbs, a long-time fan of science fiction, made her debut writing in 2011 with the novel _In Times Passed_ , the first novel in the time travel series Students of Jump. Since then she has added to the series and started two fantasy series, Standing Stone and Solstice Dragon World.

As a full-time high school English teacher and part-time English professor, she spends her time teaching, perfecting her craft, reading, writing and taking family adventures with her husband and two dogs.

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**Acknowledgements** :

Many thanks to L. A. Hilden my outstanding beta reader and writer friend. Great appreciation to Nate at WASD20 Yahoo tutorials on map making. Undying love to my daughter who always makes time to brainstorm with me my next novel, next conflict, new names, and cover ideas. And to my forever friend and husband, you're just plain wonderful.

### Other Books by L. Darby Gibbs

**Science Fiction: Time Travel**

STUDENTS OF JUMP SERIES

_In Times Passed_ , Book 1

_No-Time like the Present_ , Book 2

_Next Time We Meet_ , Book 3

_A Jump in Time Makes Three_ : Box set of Books 1-3, Students of Jump series

_That's the Trouble with Time_ , Book 4

_At Any Given Time_ , Book 5

Fantasy

STANDING STONE SERIES

_The Sharded Boy_ , Book 1

_The Shifter Shard_ , Book 2

_The Heart of Lal_ , Book 3

_The Sand Wielders_ , Book 4 (Summer 2019)

SOLSTICE DRAGON WORLD

The Dragon Question

Dragon Bone Ridge

Dira's Dragon

Non-fiction: a writer's resource book

The Little Handbook of Narrative Frameworks

### Excerpt from The Shifter Shard

**Chapter One**

It was hot out, but the breeze streamed through the open doors of Tommlar's Mercantile, ruffling Jahl Pratter's brown hair and cooling his back where the sweat stuck his shirt to the skin. Still, the walk into the business district of the small city had been enjoyable though dusty with the wagons rolling by on dirty cobble roads that hadn't seen a shower in days. He tugged at the hem of his jerkin of thin green broadcloth that contrasted with his dun-colored shirt. The sweat had penetrated to the underarms turning the lightweight material of the jerkin a darker green. The coolness in the store made him shiver. His fingers ran down the double run of buttons that held the garment fitted to Jahl's slim ribcage as though fearing they may not still be secured in place. He gave a light pulled at the essence embedded in the second stone button and made his clothing dry and comfortable against his skin. As the fingers slid to the next button, his gaze swept the length of the store searching for the shop owner who had sent his youngest grandson to Pratter's wielder school requesting he come by at his earliest opportunity. The brawny older man was working with a customer at the back. His head had turned at the break in the stream of sunshine in the front of the store. Whatever was being said by the customer was lost to the shop owner as his gaze caught Jahl's, and a grimace pulled his nostrils wide as though Jahl's arrival had sent a malodorous smell through the store. _Bloods Bees, it's going to be one of those visits._ Jahl backed up a step. _I should have guessed he wouldn't call me here for iced cider._

Tommlar strode through his store to the front, shouldering past displays and suddenly timid customers. The man he'd been assisting squelched a complaint as Tommlar scowled over his shoulder. The customer gestured with a wave his willingness to wait.

Jahl looked back toward the door hoping someone else had drawn the annoyance from Tommlar. The emptiness behind him forced a resigned sigh, and he turned back to find the broad-shouldered man towering over him. "Is this going to be a backroom discussion?" Jahl said before pulling his lips into a hopeful grin.

"Buck up, young Wielder Pratter," the muscular older man said, looking Jahl up and down, "you've put on some height and weight." He spat the words out, loud enough for even those at the far back to hear. "Surely, you don't fear I could actually hurt you?"

_It's been six months since we last had this dance._ Jahl considered the possibility of a manhandling. Their previous chat in the backroom had resulted in the first Tommlar clan child to ever enter wielder training. Jahl moved a step closer, his face turned upward and whispered, "Shall I prepare myself to be dragged through the shop?"

Tommlar's eyes twinkled a brief moment before his scowl deepened. A meaty hand grasped Jahl's bicep. Jahl grabbed the man's thick wrist to stabilize what he knew was going to be a rough run and found himself yanked around and propelled backward down the same narrow path Tommlar had just traversed through the store.

Jahl's feet quickstepped to keep upright. He pried at Tommlar's fingers without making any headway. They were facing each other, so Jahl thought they could converse. "Master Tommlar is there a problem with Lonny's recent activities at the school?"

The creases around Kohen Tommlar's eyes deepened. Their rush through the store continued.

"Perhaps I've been renting too much wielder stock of late?" _At least I get to remain up on my feet these days. Unlike the near rag_ doll, _I was the first time Tommlar dragged me to the infamous backroom._ "My students have been busy practicing the wielder trade and go through the magic essence rather fast." Jahl shook his head both for affect as much as to clear his mind of that first terrifying scramble through the store the day his home was nearly burned to the ground and all his essence-filled shards and stones had been sucked dry by his efforts to repel the attack. _That was three years ago_ he reminded himself. _I've grown a few inches and walk a lot taller than I did in those days._

The door of the back stockroom bounced against Jahl's shoulders. Just before the two crossed over the threshold, Jahl saw Tommlar's son Pike straighten up from restacking some standing stones at their secondary display. The two shared a look. Pike swung a six-deep stack of heavy standing stones a foot square and on average an inch thick onto a low stack. Free of the load, he raised his hands just as confused as Jahl.

The door jittered shut and they were alone. Tommlar released him and grinned. "You have put on some muscle. My fingers only overlapped an inch around your arm."

Jahl glanced about to make sure they were alone. He flexed his arm, giving it an appraising look. _There's more muscle than_ _that._ He snorted. Jahl gave the stones embedded in the corners of the room his quick attention and felt them all snap into shielding the room so none would hear their discussion. "This is when you turn into the kindly proprietor. There aren't any customers watching or listening. You can compliment me on how I have grown into a fine young man." He took the desk chair while the storekeeper tugged his customary wrought-iron stool over.

Tommlar chuckled then grew serious again. "You have a problem."

Jahl ran through his list of current troubles. _Donya is angry and quiet by turns. The boys at the school are more mischievous than usual._ He scratched his neck as he pondered. _Mom's been using my workroom to hold meetings with the clan heads instead of her own roomy Donnel Manor._ Troublesome, but not really trouble, and nothing Tommlar could help him with. "Not really." He shook his head.

"You just don't know about it yet."

Jahl huffed. "You know about my newest trouble? Can I check in with you regularly so I can prepare in advance?"

Tommlar ginned wryly and sat back as if he was a lucky fellow to have been given this opportunity. "I've no crystal ball. I'm bringing this one to you." He placed a hand on either massive knee and leaned forward. "You have to go to Carolan Faire."

"Why?" Jahl, all of nineteen years old, had never been to the small city north of town. He had met a number of wielders and visitors who headed down the trade route speaking in their mumble-mouth way and wearing the garish colors common to those who lived there, but it'd been nearly two years since he had any run-ins with the surly wielders. He expected the citizens of Carolan Faire were generally good people and that those he'd run into were likely the ones driven out of town, their grumpy accents withstanding.

"As the wielder of the Great Shard of Fallon, you're the only one who can."

Jahl's eyebrows creased. The only one who knew that he had access to the Great Shard was Tommlar, so how would that mean he had some duty to Carolan Faire. "Lots of people take the trade route north. Heck, even my brother Cam's been there a time or two. So why me?"

The storekeeper continued. "High Master Clepp died."

Jahl knew only by name the head of the Clepp wielder clan of the city west of Chussan Faire. Leon Clepp was the town's top wielder. Jahl held the same title for Chussan Faire, but considering he was named to the position when there were only five actual native wielders to choose from, he knew it didn't say much for his skill. He considered the loss of Master Clepp to the northern city quite a blow. Jahl's own mother was clan leader for the Donnels, and that put him in contact with quite a few of the clan heads in all the four-city area. Still, he had little use for the trader road that ran through three of the four small cities this side of the An Faire Mountains. Why Clepp's death was a problem for Jahl was a mystery. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there a funeral I need to attend or can I just send my condolences? And why doesn't the clan head respond to this?"

"Because you are the wielder of the Great Shard of Fallon."

"But nobody knows that, right?"

"Clepp was the wielder of the Sinister Sister's Great Shard."

"Bloods Bees," Jahl murmured under his breath. "Should you be telling me this?"

"You're the only one we can tell." Tommlar leaned back and folded his muscular arms across his chest. Loading and unloading stock had kept the older man strong for all his fifty-eight years and near-famous snarling character.

"We?"

"Stod Cassem is the Warder of Stones for Carolan Faire. He's the only one who knows who Master Clepp named heir to the Great Shard."

Jahl shook his head and sighed heavily. "I'm certain you are not supposed to be telling me this." _No one knows the other jobs of a stone warder or that there even is a Great Shard._ Jahl scrutinized the stone warder of Chussen. _Why would Tommlar tell me who has access to it?_

Tommlar scratched an ear. "You're the only one we can tell."

"Yeah, you already said that. But why?"

The merchant stood up and paced twice through the aisle, between the ordered crates and storage racks of the backroom before answering. A grimy window behind him glared with sun and put the man's face in shadow. He stopped before Jahl making him have to look up at a tight angle. "Someone is using Master Clepp's shard."

Jahl considered what he could mean. "His Great Shard?" he said.

Tommlar nodded.

"Why isn't this a problem left to his heir to deal with?"

"You have to go find out who it is." The big man sat back down. "You see, the heir is twelve years old and can't be the one who's using it."

"How do you know?"

Tommlar's disappointed look was enough to prod Jahl's memory. No wielder could legally take up wielding until he was sixteen. Master Clepp's heir was twelve. Jahl shook his head. At least Clepp had named an heir. Unlike Jahl's grandfather, once the high wielder of Chussan Faire who had not, leaving it to Tommlar to choose Jahl's Uncle Tran.

Normally the heir would not know about the Great Shard until he or she was a mature wielder with years of experience. Jahl was fifteen when High Master Tran Donnel died. Still inexperienced, he had learned about the Great Shard of Fallon by way of Master Tommlar when he became the only practicing wielder in Chussan Faire. Tran Donnel had suspected he might die unexpectedly and had prepared by telling Tommlar he had named Jahl Pratter his heir.

Even so, Jahl had had to search his hidden memories for clues in the chair his uncle had imbued with essence and a shard designed to recall Jahl's memories to him when he sat in it. Before that, he'd needed Master Tommlar to tell him about the Great Shard and to give him permission to access it. If Master Clepp died, it was left to Stod Cassem, warder of the wielding stones of the Sinister Sisters' mountains, to inform the new heir of his inheritance and help him locate it. Jahl knew from his own experience this was not an easy task. Tran had at least left Jahl clues. What if this boy had no clues? It wouldn't matter if Cassem told him of the Great Shard's existence, the location would remain a mystery. Jahl shook his head still questioning the need for him to go to Carolan. "Did Master Clepp leave any information for the boy?"

Tommlar grimaced and squinted an eye at Jahl. He seemed to debate a moment and then shook his head. "The death was unexpected. You need to go to Carolan and see Cassem. He'll explain everything to you and then you'll need to take charge of Clepp's young apprentice."

"Bring him back to the school?"

"Ultimately, yes. But for now you need to ensure the kid's safety, find out who is using the shard and stop him or her."

Jahl rested his chin on a balled fist. "Do I look like a bodyguard, a magistrate, or a soldier?" He waved his hands about. "I'm a schoolmaster."

"You're the High Master Wielder of Chussan Faire."

Exasperated, Jahl said, "And why is that? Why isn't my mother High Master Wielder. She's clan leader, why not high master?"

Tommlar's expression grew oddly sympathetic. His eyebrows jumped a moment as though he were about to explain something, but he shrugged instead. "Remember, she along with all the other wielders in town had stopped practicing the craft due to the Wielder Wane. Two years ago she was only a might more versed in the craft than you. But you have more...," he slowed a moment, " _potential_ than any other wielder in the four-city area."

Jahl eyed the merchant. _Sure, I can run massive amounts of essence through my body without being overwhelmed, but I haven't really found that to be anything that makes me better than any other wielder my age._ He had more control than most, but anyone could learn that given the time, and his mother's harping at him. It must be worse than Tommlar was saying. "I've more troubles than you've told me."

Tommlar slapped his hands hard on his thighs and stood up. "You'll probably want to take a friend or two with you. Bring that young Deln wielder you have helping at the school and someone else you can trust. Of course, you won't be able to tell them exactly why you're going, but you'll think of something."

"Master Tommlar, what else is going on?"

The man waved a calloused and unworried hand in the air. "Oh, life's full of troubles and celebrations. You'll learn of them in plenty of time." He headed for the door. "Prepare yourself. It's time to go."

Jahl planted his feet by the desk chair. "No. Tell me the rest now."

Tommlar smirked, snapped the door open with the bump of a fist and grabbed Jahl's arm before he could pull back. "Off we go. And drop that shield."

With a modest flip of a hand, he returned the stones of the room to their resting state and prepared to resist Tommlar, but he knew it was a waste of time. Were his brother Cam about to be dragged the length of the store, Tommlar wouldn't have moved him three inches, but Jahl skidded through the doorway before he could grab at the jamb. He pried for a moment at the storeowner's grip, grinned and reached for the buttons on his jerkin then thought better of it and chose to at least walk alongside the merchant. Tommlar relaxed his grip on Jahl's arm though he still propelled him forward as he headed to the storefront, Jahl automatically hurrying alongside him.

The man kept his voice low, just for Jahl to hear as their pace slowed for a few feet. "Don't come here without your staff. Everyone that matters knows is sharded, and you can't appear to accept these dressing downs from me anymore. Gripping the staff would show you are merely holding your temper rather than submitting."

Jahl's hand reached to one of the buttons on his jerkin. _Maybe I should rattle him with some essence._ Tommlar caught his elbow and shook it, stopping Jahl's motion. "Chin up, lad. Walk proud beside me and act like you gave as good as you got."

Jahl turned a jaundiced eye to Tommlar and jerked his arm out of his grip. The two turned together to stride to the right and avoid customers hurrying to the left.

Tommlar gave Jahl his sudden attention but didn't reassert his hold. "I hope I've made my position perfectly clear, Pratter." They sped along the wider aisle on the right side of the store. "I don't care if you are High Master Wielder Pratter of the Boys School of Wielding in Chussan Faire." He ground the title through near-spitting lips. They twisted along a narrowed aisle, Jahl jammed up against Tommlar's chest for a moment as though the two were challenging each other. But they separated as they pushed through and proceeded side by side through the store. "You're nothing but a snot-nosed kid with a knack for repairs. You haven't the gifts of Master Donnel nor the brains of his seventh toe." Tommlar spun a rack out of their way and took hold of Jahl at the elbow.

"Seems he gave me enough to deal with troublesome shopkeepers. Next time you need a bit of remodeling, make an appointment."

Tommlar's visage darkened, and Jahl raised an eyebrow to test if he had struck a real nerve. The fingers on his elbow twitched, and Jahl took it for escaped laughter. "My need for repairs was not limited to the backroom, as you well know," grumbled Tommlar.

As they came up on the front of the store, Jahl recalled that when Tran's older brother died of the Wane, it was unexpected. It had taken Uncle Tran four years to find the Great Shard of Fallon. He shook his head. How was he going to find out who was using the Sinister Sisters' Shard when he didn't know where on the three linked mountains it might be hidden? The boy Clepp named heir likely didn't know.

"Good day, Pratter." Tommlar shoved him onto the bright porch.

The sunlight made Jahl squint, and he stood blinking, rubbing his hip roughly with consternation. He jerked his arm away, reminding himself there was no discomfort there to relieve. He'd been trying to break the habit for months. Donya had been kind enough to point it out. Yet all it took was a challenge, and his hand dropped to his hip as if his troubles lay embedded in the joint.

"I don't want to see you in this store again until you rectify the situation," the store owner said before he stomped back inside.

The heat of the thick air brought instant beads of sweat to Jahl's temples. He lifted his hair off his collar with a lazy hand.

Pike Tommlar joined him on the porch. The two stood together watching the people cross from store to store and wagons and carts build traffic on the cobbled road.

"I thought you and my pop buried the hatchet years ago."

Jahl shrugged. "He digs it up every few months."

"Huh." Pike shook his head in sympathy.

Jahl turned to face Pike. Tommlar's son was older than Jahl by at least ten years, married and had a couple kids, but the two had grown to be friends over the last two years. He was as tall as his father, but not quite as broad in the chest. He stood rubbing the lobe of one ear.

"Ever been to Carolan Faire?" said Jahl.

"Yup, lots. You going there?"

Jahl nodded. "Have you met Stod Cassem, the standing stone merchant there?"

Pike's hand dropped from his ear. He turned to face Jahl. "You giving up on working with my pop? Cassem is meaner than a polecat on fire. Best keep your business here in Chussan. Pop'll get over whatever bees in his blood before you have to go traveling as far as Carolan Faire."

"So Cassem's sweeter than your pop?" Jahl joked.

"He makes Pop look like old lady Keal."

Jahl looked to Pike to make sure he wasn't joking, but the man's face was as serious as his voice.

"If you decide to stay out of Pop's store, we have another on the north side my mom and sister run."

Jahl watched a garish wagon pull past. The colors gave away its origin: Carolan Faire. "I'm picking up a student for the school. Cassem's supposed to tell me where the boy is. I'm guessing he hasn't any family to bring him here."

"Pop tell you that?"

"He passed the message on, between the other issues he hammered me with. I'm lucky I remember that bit of the discussion." Jahl rubbed his hip again before sliding his hands under his jerkin and into the pockets of his breeches. "Actually, it's the only bit I plan on giving any attention for now. I imagine the rest will play itself out with time." He patted Pike's arm. "I'll be seeing you. Perhaps I'll check out that north side store on my way to Carolan."

Pike nodded and headed into the shop. "Take care, Master Pratter."

####

