Firebrand

Circling Stars

If Malday was Martel’s least favourite, Solday might be his preferred. No classes with condescending students or a sneering teacher. Only some tasks in the workshop with the artificer, who might even teach him a new skill or two. After eating a hefty breakfast, like he did every morning, Martel made his way to the workshop even before the bell rang.

"Good morning, Master Jerome!"

"I see my little – or should I say tall – hammer is ready for work," the artificer laughed.

"Yes, master."

"Well, we are still short in the washery, so I can use you there. I know it’s not interesting work, but we have plenty of Soldays ahead for that."

"Whatever you need, master."

~

Two hours of washing and wringing passed by with ease. Even before the bell had rung, Master Jerome sought out Martel while waving a letter about in his hand. "Martel," he called out, gaining the boy’s attention. "I need a courier again today if – what is that?"

Martel followed the artificer’s gaze, landing on the bruises on his arms. He dropped the clothes in his hands and pulled his sleeves down. "I have combat lessons on Maldays."

Master Jerome's eyes darkened. "You’re a novice. You shouldn’t be learning combat."

"I have advanced classes, to help me finish school faster."

The artificer crossed his arms. "None mentioned to me that you’d be requiring armour for your lessons."

"Armour?"

"Of course! Some hardened leather will take the brunt of those beatings." Master Jerome’s face darkened. "I will have words with that teacher of yours who let this happen."

Martel’s instinct was to dissuade Master Jerome, avoiding conflict, but he stopped himself; he saw no reason to say anything in aid of Master Reynard.

"You needed a courier?"

"First things first," the artificer said. "Follow me."

They left the washery, returning to the central room of the workshop full of tools and equipment. The artificer dug through a box until he pulled out a ribbon, filled with numbers.

"Stand here. Stretch out your arms."

Confused but compliant, Martel obeyed. Quickly, Master Jerome measured the length of his limbs and most of his body. With a knife, he scratched down a few numbers down on a piece of bark.

"You have combat lessons on Maldays, you said?"

"Aye, master."

"That should be time enough. Alright, on to my original business."

"What is it, master?"

The artificer grabbed the letter from before. "As you must have guessed, I’ve commissioned Master Farhad to make one of his Khivan time pieces for us."

Finally, Martel understood. A watch was a timekeeper, apparently some special kind from Khiva. That explained the sundial over his workshop. The word still made no sense, except maybe if someone obsessively watched the time, but at least he knew now. "Oh yes, I figured."

"I’ve been arranging things with him through letter. His daughter, pretty little thing, brought me one the other day."

Martel remembered when Shadi had come to visit. That had been his favourite day so far at the Lyceum.

"She asked that my most handsome student deliver the next one. But since you already know where Master Farhad lives, I figured it was simpler to ask you again." Master Jerome’s eye twinkled until Martel understood it was a jest. "You’ll be paid for your troubles, of course."

"I’ll bear the burden," the novice accepted with a wry smile of his own. In fact, he would have offered to do it without payment until he remembered that last time, Shadi bought him food. It was only right he returned the favour, yet he spent nearly all his few coins sending a letter to his mother. "Master Jerome, could I be paid in advance?"

The artificer frowned. "Have you an urgent need for coin?"

"Well, last time, Shadi – that's Master Farhad's daughter – paid for my lunch. I would like to return the favour."

A grin spread across Master Jerome's face. "Who am I to stand in the way of such admirable goals? Wait one moment."

While Martel did so, the artificer disappeared into an inner room. He emerged soon after and let copper coins drop into Martel's hand, one by one, until they counted eight.

"A little extra given your particular need," he spoke, still with a smile. "But I expect prompt delivery!"

"At once, master!"

~

This time, Martel had no need to steer by the harbour to find the Khivan enclave. Having walked home to the Lyceum from that particular destination, he simply retraced his steps. After an hour's walking or so, he noticed the change from great insulae built in stone to simpler houses, sometimes little more than hovels, made from wood. The Khivan tongue was spoken as frequently as Asterian on the street, and the people wore a mixture of clothing.

Soon, the sign with the sundial beckoned him. He found the door open and stepped inside after knocking. A strange ticking sound reached his ears, coming from elsewhere. A middle-aged man sat by a workbench, wearing a strange device in front of his eye. He sat with a thin tool in one hand and a tiny nail between the fingertips of the other. A wealth of mechanical gears and weights lay before him. Martel knew such were used in machinery; once, a caravan had passed through Engby carrying a few of these items for repairs.

Martel had to cough, and the sound sent a start through the craftsman. He dropped his tool and nail with a Khivan exclamation, which the boy imagined to be a swearword. He whipped his head to look at Martel, showing that the strange thing in front of his eye appeared as little circles of glass. "Who are you?" He spoke Asterian with a thick accent, but understandable regardless.

"I'm – I'm Martel, Master Farhad. I have a letter from the Lyceum."

"Knock when next time, boy," the man grumbled in his strong accent, adding a few more Khivan curses. "Bloody nail, I'll never find you," he added, bending down below his workbench to let his hands search the floor.

"Martel!" From the stairs, Shadi descended. "Here with another letter?"

"Aye," he replied. He extended the item in question towards Farhad, which helped little, as the latter's eyes and knees were on the floor. "I did knock," Martel mumbled in his own defence.

"I'll take it since dad is busy kissing the ground." Shadi grabbed the letter. "I'll remind him of it later. Hey, want to go outside?"

"Shouldn't we help?" Martel felt guilty watching the man fumble around for his lost nail.

"Hardly room for more of us under that bench," Shadi pointed out.

"But we don't need to look." The room was cold in winter; they had no source of heat in the room. Martel could feel Shadi and her father's warmth, and little else except a tiny piece of metal, heated up by being held between fingertips. It had jumped quite a distance. Guided by the sense of warmth, Martel bent down and picked it up.

"Dad, look." Shadi's request caused no change. "Dad. Dad!"

Finally, Farhad raised his head. "Do not trouble me, daughter! You know what the smith charges to make nail? Outrageous when little metal spent."

"Dad, Martel found your splinter." Shadi pointed at the nail lying in Martel's hand.

"I suppose that makes up for scaring living fire out of me," Farhad grumbled. "Good eye, boy, I admit." He picked it up carefully from Martel's palm.

"Oh, I could feel the heat on it from your fingertips, master. I'm – I'm good with fire, and heat is nothing but a residue of elemental fire. According to Master Alastair," Martel added a little awkwardly.

Farhad stared underneath bushy, black eyebrows without comprehension.

"Dad, this is Martel, he's a novice at the Lyceum. He brought you a letter." Shadi placed the parchment in her father's hand.

Farhad gave Martel another glance turned discerning. "You are mage."

"Training to be, yes, master."

"You like my daughter?"

Martel's cheeks, untouched by the frost outside, turned red. "Well – she's – I mean."

"Dad, he's my friend, don't scare him away. We're going to get something hot to eat," Shadi said.

"Yes, go. Not to disturb my labour. Go, go." Farhad made a shooing motion with his hand before returning to his place at the workbench. Grinning, Shadi grabbed Martel's sleeve and pulled him along with her.

~

This time, they got bread with cheese, seasoned by herbs Martel had never heard about before. Regardless, the taste was great. "So that's your dad," he remarked between bites as they walked down the street.

"Yeah. He's a bit brusque, also because he doesn't speak Asterian so well. So he doesn't always know how to be polite."

"I did disturb his work, I guess. But I knocked, I swear."

"He always gets so absorbed, he wouldn't notice if the house fell down around him." Shadi laughed.

"Is it just you and him?"

"Yeah. My parents came here from Khiva shortly before I was born. They didn't have kids before me, and my mum died giving birth to me."

"Stars, I'm sorry!"

She shrugged. "I never knew her. Sometimes I might feel sad, thinking about it, but when it's all you've known, you're used to it."

"What made your parents come to Morcaster?"

"Well, the way my dad tells it, Khiva has lots of good watchmakers, Aster had none." She shrugged again. "Mechanical clocks, that is. He just went where he figured people would buy his work."

"Well, since the Lyceum is buying from him, he must have been right."

"We do alright. Got enough money for food, clothes, and rent. That's all you can ask for, sometimes."

"You rent?"

"Yeah, of course. We can't own land."

Martel halted in his tracks, sending her a disturbed look. "Why not?"

She gave a little frown in return. "We're not citizens, Martel. Nobody in the enclave is. We all have to rent our homes."

"I had no idea. Though I guess lots of tenants living on the noble estates don't own their homes either, but that's because they're too poor."

"What about your family?"

"My dad was a smith. My brother has his forge now. I got plenty of siblings though, both older and younger."

"Your mum?"

"She's also back home. I'll be going back when I'm done," Martel explained. "Be a weathermage for Nordmark. Some of it, anyway. It's too big for one mage to handle all of it."

"Hey, show me some magic!"

"Uh, sure." Martel's bag of tricks remained pitiful, but he did have something new to show. He stopped in front of a house with vines growing up the wall. The small leaves had inklings of frost remaining. "Stretch out your palm."

With an expectant smile, Shadi extended her open hand.

Reaching out, Martel pulled at all the little droplets on the vine. Not all heeded his call, and he felt almost out of breath, but his focus did not break. Across the air they travelled, joining together to form a drop the size of a thumb nail. It floated over to land on Shadi's palm. She looked from the water to Martel, her eyes as glowing as her smile.

~

Martel made sure to return in time for supper at the Lyceum; he had tried going to bed hungry more than once and did not care to repeat the experience. Afterwards, he knew he had to put some work into his studies; he had spent the entire day so far without doing anything related to magic. The thought of creating the star chart for astronomy class hung around his neck like a millstone, which was all the more reason to work on it rather than delay.

Moving up the tower, he found it like yesterday, already occupied by Eleanor. He had not seen her since their argument yesterday, the thought of which now embarrassed him. He already knew the noblebloods looked down on him for his ancestry and ambition, both fitting that of a peasant; he had only given her more stones to throw by revealing the state of his family and his private grief.

Their eyes briefly met as she raised her gaze to see who entered. Both turned theirs aside and pointedly avoided words or further looks. Martel collected his items and chose the writing desk furthest from hers. He unfurled his star chart, which at present only deserved that title as intention; it barely held any of the celestial objects and circles that it should.

With a little sigh, Martel trotted over to collect the great tome containing the arithmetic. His mind absent, distracted by the thought of impending equations, he forgot the battered state of his arms. Pulling down the book from the shelf, he underestimated its weight and dropped it with a loud slam to the ground.

"Clumsy fool!" Eleanor exclaimed, hurrying over.

With his ears burning with embarrassment, not to mention the fear that he had damaged an item worth more than a lifetime of menial labour, Martel did not need her reproach. "It's fine," he declared, hoping it to be true. "It landed on the side. It didn't tear or anything." He bent down to quickly pick it up, his arms protesting at the demand made upon them.

"Let me handle it," Eleanor said sharply. As she grabbed the book from his hands, her movements suddenly became arrested. His sleeves had fallen up, and she stared at the heavy bruising along his arms, painting all of his skin either black, blue, purple, or yellow, according to age.

If his ears had been red before, his whole face now felt like an open flame. Even worse to see Eleanor handle the great tome with ease; he realised she was using her magic to help her lift the burden. A magical skill he had yet to learn.

She did not speak, and he did not look to see her expression. "I'll come back later," he mumbled.

"No, it is fine. Resume your work. I have made good progress already." She placed the book on his desk and cleared her own without further words before leaving him alone.