Fia leaned back into the cushions and averted her head shyly from the other passengers coming and going on this run. She would be here for a long time, and as the hours dragged by her thoughts ran circles, rehearsing recent events.

The man in the hood! She felt sure she had seen him before.

But where? She’d spent all her life in the small world of her father’s foothills region, and mostly, on Scelane Tilth, the Provost’s estate.

Then she remembered.

The rider at the inn.

Her intuition sparked. He must have been on a secret mission that night. With the days that had passed since he was in Scelane, by now he would have had enough time to have traveled quite a ways beyond the castle and still come back again.

That was the same evening that the messenger had arrived with the invitation to court. She remembered it as if she were there again.

The way he moved as he swung down, the tone of voice as he addressed the innkeeper. The boots, the hood… it was all of a parcel. He had been on secret business, so secret that even his description was information that the Chancellor would go to utmost lengths to protect.

How thrilling that would be! For a moment her imagination ran away with her. To be a keen-eyed spy, or a stealthy secret messenger. Perhaps a high-ranking member of Othira’s struggling loyalists! Always on the brink of danger, ferreting out vital information or bringing crucial treaties to be signed… What a life of adventure!

Of course, all that adventure must be rather bleak on cold, stormy nights when he had to gallop his horse over dark roads to evade…

She shivered. It was not that glamorous after all. Perhaps the better part of the glamour was to be had in simply sighting him and being shipped off to who knows where, equipped with a letter of introduction to the premiere jeweler in the kingdoms.

Though that felt entirely too much like uncomfortable adventure, too.

What a pity. Why couldn’t adventures ever be the way they seemed in the stories, while everyone sat comfortably around a fire and popped chestnuts?

Now, in the cheery sunlight, she hitched her collar closer to her face, and scooted over to let still another passenger find a place on the common-coach.

Fia spent the night upon the road, the passengers beside her coming and going as the stops were reached, and she sometimes climbed out of the coach along with them to walk about as the hitches were changed.

She knew she was to meet the jeweler at a small inn at the town of Holrin. She remembered it from their journey down not many days ago.

The sun was well up before they reached it, and as Fia alighted there, the town bell chimed the beginning of the market hours.

Holrin was not a large town, but decently proportioned, and was often used as a traveler’s resting place for those going up the Mountain Road. The inn was a smallish one, looking prosperous enough, with many window boxes flaunting “summer-long” flowers in cheerful yellow, orange, and rusty red. With roughened foliage and nearly indestructible petals they were hardly the most beautiful of blossoms, but their hardiness and long-blooming season made them roadside favorites in many inns.

The dusty courtyard seemed at first to be full of mules, which was surely an illusion for there were no more than twelve; but their complaints echoed against the inn’s whitewashed walls. Fia stood and watched the goings-on for a moment, and gradually discovered that really only one of the creatures was making all of the racket, and he was displeased with his neighbor. As soon as that neighbor let fly with his heels and thumped the offender in the ribs silence was surprisingly restored.

“Fia Brithin?” questioned a sprightly voice at her elbow, and she turned to see a kind-faced, silver-haired lady, with round cheeks and sparkling blue eyes.

“…Yes…” she replied uncertainly.

“Good,” the woman said. “I’m glad to see you, dear. Is that your baggage up top?”

The coachman leaned over from his seat. “The maid Fia is to meet a certain party here, ma’am. Beggin’ your pardon, but who might you be?”

“I’m who’s supposed to be meeting her, coachman,” the lady replied. “Calima Olayin, and would you be so kind as to get her baggage down?”

“Of course, ma’am,” the coachman said quickly and scrambled atop. There was something in the sprightly jeweler’s tone that made you feel ashamed you hadn’t recognized her.

“Andro’s getting everything ready, and we’ll be off in a jiffy.” Andro, Fia learned, was Calima’s son, a man of more than forty years and his mother’s chief escort on her rare journeys. There were others to the party, but the Olayins were merely traveling with them for convenience.

“Have you eaten breakfast?” the jeweler asked. “No? Well, then, we’ll get your baggage and then go in and get you a bite.” The coachman jumped down and carted the baggage over to the mules.

“Thank you coachman, you’re a true credit to the line,” Calima said, and then led Fia inside.

The inn was busy with the morning trade; a group of dwarves on a rare journey down from the mountains cleaned their bowls at a corner table, while the muleteer’s passengers waited at the door for the morning’s start.

“Bring out the bowl, she’s here!” Calima called out to the kitchen, and in a minute the innkeeper’s daughter ran out with Fia’s breakfast.

“You had them saving some for me?” Fia asked.

“Well, I thought you might not have gotten a chance to eat yet.” She smiled, and then was gone out the door in a trice.

When she’d said they’d be off in a jiffy she meant it; no sooner had Fia swallowed the last bite than she was whisked out again into the sunshine.

“Here’s your mule, dear.” The jeweler deposited her in front of a bored-looking long-ears. “And mount up, the others are anxious to start.”

Fia put out her hand to the steady fellow and carefully rubbed his neck. The mule swung one rabbit-like ear in her direction and blinked his big, brown eye at her. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, slipped her foot into the stirrup, and jumped into the saddle.

The mule didn’t move a hair, and Fia breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good boy.” She patted his neck, below the stubby mane. “Good, good boy.”

He was a mild-mannered fellow, and they soon became very fond of each other. Which was good, for Fia found herself quite in his company for many long days as they slowly traversed the rising terrain towards the Gerardels. They pushed on through the foothills, and then into the mountains themselves, climbing higher than Fia had ever been before, ridge on ridge, each one looking down upon the other.

The air was clear as creek water as it fell away beneath the trail, reveling in every detail on the many faces of the lower ridges, and the tiny dots of white that formed equally tiny houses in the village far below.

They passed a herd of goats grazing on the slope above the trail; the shepherd leaned contentedly on his staff and gave a nod to them as he watched the travelers pass below, the dangers of mountain life far away for now. There was nothing wrong this day, as the sun shone bright as a daisy’s yellow center amid a cloudless blue.

Fia smiled at a little girl kneeling not far above in the mountain grasses, one arm wrapped around the neck of her favorite doe as the goat calmly chewed its cud. Both child and goat watched the passing party with blinking eyes, the little girl’s curls floating a little on the mountain air as her chubby fingers tugged at a reluctant flower stem.

The other goats of the herd lifted their heads to watch the passers-by as well from where they were scattered all above the trail, with half-grown kid goats scampering among them, sure-footed on the slope. Someone started a fight, and the small group of rambunctious kids butted and jumped halfway through the herd before one of their elders pinned ears at them and made them knock it off.

Fia forgot her reluctance for adventures amid the fresh excitement and she watched the goat herd until a turn in the path hid them from her.All the way Calima Olayin was as charming and personable as if she’d known Fia her entire life. She never mentioned the hurried letter from the Chancellor. In fact, Fia found herself treated as if she were the apprentice of the jeweler’s own choosing, or even one of the family.

From the way the company was traveling straight for it Fia at length thought that they might be going all the way to Crystal Mountain, but her hostess informed her it was the mountainside next to it that was their final destination. They would, however, pass through Gemtown, the village at the base of Crystal Mountain, where all sorts of precious things were offered for sale. The mines beneath the mountain there were some of the finest in the world.

That was one of the reasons the Olayins had built near it in the first place: the ready supply of fine jewels and materials made it easier to produce the best pieces in seven kingdoms.

When they reached the mining village the mules were returned from whence they had been hired, and the jeweler’s party transferred to sturdy mountain cobs; those large ponies (or small horses) that always keep their footing, can live on tree bark if the situation demanded, and can still carry as much or more than a full-sized courser. On the backs of these dependable animals they threaded their way up the last stretch of the mountainside and Fia first saw her new home.

Sturdily proportioned Olayin House slept beneath the shadow of the pines that towered around it. It was heavily roofed, with the faced timbers easily seen beneath the jutting eaves. Crisscrossed windowpanes glinted with the slanting sun that struck them, and Fia felt as if she had stepped back into some tale or legend. Those old forest houses had often been built centuries ago, and although Fia knew of their unusual construction from artwork in books, she had never seen one before.

A delighted smile lit her eyes as she tilted her head for a better look the closer they came. Her gaze wandered eagerly over every detailed carving tucked here and there, decorating the construction. How many years these owls, bears, and other forest creatures had looked out upon the mountains was impossible to say; but they had only mellowed in color with age.

A flurry of dogs came bouncing out to meet them, protective barking turning into wagging tails and smiling tongues as Andro spoke to each one in greeting. The party dismounted at the end of a flagstone walkway, and as the cobs followed Andro to the barns, Calima led the new apprentice up the path to the house and through the heavy timbers that framed the door. Fia expected the interior to be dark… or at least shadowy, but it was not even a trifle dim, beautifully lit by lofty windows. Everything seemed to have been constructed on the very spot, made from the forest trees long ago, when the house was young.

“We will put you in one of the bedrooms near the kitchen,” her hostess explained as Fia followed her along the main hall. “It is more convenient there and we all have taken to those rooms nowadays, there aren’t many of us, and we have so few guests anymore. The times we used to have when I was a girl…” She shook her head and chuckled to herself. “But that’s another tale altogether… and here’s where you’ll be staying.”

She swung open a massive wooden door and ushered Fia inside.

“There’s the washstand,” she said and gestured to the fine piece of pine furnishing, richly carved and detailed. “And the window is a bit hard to open, but you won’t be needing it until it gets to be truly summertime again; here in the mountains we don’t have the heat problem you lowlanders do.” She quirked a smile at Fia and her eye twinkled. The girl acknowledged her wit with a smile and a tip of her head. Fia’s family were foothills folk, and the term lowlander would have only applied to those who lived along the concourse of rivers in the lower land to the east. But compared to this elevation, the foothills were lowlands.

“When it comes summertime we’ll have that window fixed, and there’s a right decent breeze that comes down the slope there.” She paused, and stood looking out the window. “There’s nothing quite like a mountain breeze in the summertime. Something different to it somehow.”

“There’s a breeze for every meadow…” Fia began to quote a poet.

“…And they’re never just the same,” Calima ended for her. “Aye, how true it is, in every part of life.”

“Well, I’ll show you around the important rooms.” She led the way back into the main hall again. “And then your things will be here and you’ll want to put them in order. And we’ll need to get you coverlets; I think I have just the counterpane that would do for you.”

She opened a small door in the wall and began to sort through patchwork counterpanes, neatly folded.

“Here it is!” She pulled it out and put it in the girl’s waiting arms, white and yellow and blue in reckless profusion.  “And by the time you’re all settled it will be time for supper, and you’ll meet the others then.”

After Fia and her hostess spread the counterpane across the bed, Calima acquainted her with the main parts of the house, the kitchen, pantry, and storerooms, and the supply and work rooms where the famous Olayin jewelry had been crafted for generations. Then they walked through the gardens near to the house, and she showed her the barns and poultry houses. Fia took a drink of clear cold water at the hand pump, and then they returned indoors; Calima to her duties and Fia to her room.

Her baggage had been brought in and stood at the foot of the four-poster bed, every post carved in clever detail with almost lifelike caricatures of rabbits and squirrels, owls and raccoons stacked one on top of the other, with a fox at each bottom and a fat-cheeked chipmunk perched at the tops.

She opened the chest and stood for a moment considering the contents, and then got busy unpacking. It didn’t take very long; soon she had removed everything from the trunks and put them on the bed.

Then she stood by the bed and considered the wardrobe which she had laid across the cheery counterpane.

Estha’s pale blue gown was a little too light for winter wear. Fia lifted it from the counterpane and folded it neatly. She would wear it sometime, sometime special. At least after she began to feel less like a little lost creature and more like Estha’s calm, bold sister that she was supposed to be being. When she had finished putting everything away in its new place, she turned and left the room.

As soon as she shut the pine door of her bedroom behind her the light and cheerful sounds of a happy kitchen were unmistakable and magnetic. She went quietly towards them and peered in. The kitchen’s double doors that might have closed it off were open; permanently, it seemed, and there was a very small gathering around the table, between it and the stove. She softly stole in to stand in the doorway and take in the scene, hoping no one would notice her before she had had a chance to look things over.

But there was no such luck for her that night. Calima’s quick eye spotted her apprentice without even taking her attention from the loaf she was slicing.

“There you are, dear! Supper’s not ready yet for a few minutes, but then we were going to send for you. Come in, sit down. Or perhaps, yes, there’s a pitcher on the trencher board, bring it over why don’t you. Yes, that’s the one.” She turned to her son. “Andro, what do you think of that roast? I think it’s one of the best we’ve had this year, from the way it’s carving.”

“You’re probably quite right, Mother,” he replied steadily, seemingly with hidden amusement.

She smiled at him and patted his shoulder with one hand as she went by, carrying the sliced loaf in the other. “Ilido, is the wine drawn? Excellent! Then as soon as Cook can join us…” She sent a glance at the round, elderly woman in a white apron who was scowling at a pot, from which she repeatedly dipped a ladleful of new stew, sniffed it, shook her head angrily, and returned it to the kettle.

Cook, as Calima had termed her, shoved the ladle into the pot for the final time and turned her back on it, muttering something Fia couldn’t catch. She took her seat at the table, and all the others seemed to have found chairs, too, so Fia slid into one herself.

“I just don’t know if it will come out right, C’lima,” ‘Cook’ said and shook her head dourly.

“Of course it will, Larna,” their hostess assured.

“You’ve been gone so long; I wanted it to be especially good.”

“Oh, Larna, everything you make is especially good!” She laughed softly and slapped playfully at her old friend’s hand. “You know it always seems a little off to begin with. Did you put in any collards?”

“No,” said the cook.

“Good,” replied the lady of the house. “If there aren’t any collards, nothing can go seriously wrong. It will be quite different in the morning.”

She arranged the platters in front of her, and then straightened in her chair with a deep breath.

“It’s good to be back.” Her smile twinkled over every one of her household members, including her newest one. “And before we begin, I want to acquaint you all with Fia Brithin, our new apprentice. Fia, this is Larna, Mistress of the Kitchen, this is Arethmay, Lady of All Things, and her son, Ilido, our Irreplaceable Lad… I don’t know how we ever got along without him.” She smiled at each in turn as she introduced them. “We are lucky to have these two, Fia, although they are unfortunate in their need to be here, for they are fled from the sore troubles in Othira.” Her eyes met those of the woman she called Arethmay, and looked straight into her heart.

“May those you love dwell in peace,” she said and inclined her head. Arethmay did the same, a movement as graceful as any queen.

“And may it return upon the wisher,” Arethmay replied.



That evening was a merry meal, Calima recounting the sights she had seen on her journey. Her manner was so lively and her words so quick, everyone at table could not help but be caught up into her tales and forget whatever troubled them; Fia her sudden parting from her home and family, Arethmay and her son the loss of their homeland and whatever else they had.

Ilido was a lad about her own age, Fia supposed, though probably a few years her elder. He had his mother’s refined features and dark eyes; a wisp of the same dark brown hair fell across the smooth brow. He was a little stronger along the jaw-line than she, but the resemblance was amazingly alike.

Although he was young, there was something in his face that reminded Fia of a man grown much older than his limbs bespoke. But when he laughed the difference vanished, just as the shadow that sat behind his mother’s eyes slipped away as Calima wove her thoughts and heart and love into her un-paralleled recounting of what she had seen, or heard, or thought while she’d been away.

She did not often travel away from her home; and lately she had been even less inclined than usual to do so. But there were many noble houses across the land with Olayin pieces they wanted repaired, or a new jewel set in an Olayin design, till at length the master jeweler had found it necessary to make the journey.

So Fia found herself in the high mountains in less time than she had originally expected to be home again at Scelane Tilth.

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