Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Murder Isle - Part Three - by Mack the Knife

   The next morning was shocking in its differences, as much as in the
weather, which had turned cool.  "Get up," said Phillip as he banged back
the doors of the wardrobe.

   Siska, before thinking, slid out from beneath the warm coverlet and
stood, blinking at him.

   He turned and regarded her slender, nude form, and she saw a hint of
annoyance in his eyes.  "As fine as you look, girl, we start your training
this day, and I'll not be swayed by a well turned leg," he growled, tossing
her powder blue robe to her.  The soft silk felt like steel the way he
threw it, the coolness in his voice.

   "Why are you being so mean of a sudden?" she asked.

   Phillip sighed, then glowered.  "We will be toying with the very fabric
of reality this morning," he said.  "I told you that you were powerful. 
This is both good and bad.  You will be able to channel vast amounts of
energy, true, but you also have no control whatsoever, and you're starting
later than most to learn that control."

   "And you're being mean why?" she asked, pulling on the robe and nearly
crying.

   "Because, I cannot have you messing up, even once, until you have some
of that control," he said.  "You must do what I say, when I say do it,
without fail or fear."

   "I will, Phillip, I've been obeying people my whole life without
question," she said.  "You don't have to treat me badly for me to follow
instructions."

   Phillip had not thought of that, and blinked.  "I suppose you have,
Siska," he said quieting his tone and some of the hardness draining from
his eyes.  She thought she could see a thin film of fear leave him as well.
"Training a novice is dangerous, at best," he said.  "They often do harm to
themselves.  Most are only powerful enough to mark themselves, as I am
marked.  You, however, are powerful enough to kill yourself outright, or
possibly me.  Believe me when I say I take not pleasure being stern with
you."

   "I do," she said, understanding his need for complete obedience and
trust better, as well.  She giggled a little.  "You free me only to chain
me again," she observed.

   "It does seem it, doesn't it?" he asked.  "But I promise, these chains
will make you stronger."

   He escorted her down the stairs and out into the back courtyard of the
house.  There was a bare stone circle there, sitting higher than the thick
grasses.  The cold breeze made her skin goosebump through the thin silk of
her robe.  \ "Remember when I lifted you the first night?" he asked.  Siska
gave him a stare.  "As if I could forget being hoisted by magic and having
my clothes torn from me," she said blandly.

   "Good," he observed.  "Now, I want you to contact that part of yourself
that tore my magic from you."

   "I don't kno. . ." she started to say.

   "And that is exactly what the hell I meant!" he jumped, raising his
voice to nearly a yell.  "Just do as I say, try at the least!"

   Siska flinched back.  One day as a freewoman, and I question the
simplest of commands, she thought, perhaps he should have kept me a slave.

   She walked onto the stone circle and closed her eyes.  She had felt the
power well up from inside herself, the one that had ripped the strands of
ghostly white magical force that had held her.  Could she summon that power
again, without something to impel her to do so?

   Phillip watched impassively, not saying anything.

   Nothing happened.

   For almost half an hour she focused her mind and Phillip sat back,
finding a stone bench and reclined against a tree and continued watching
her.

   "I cannot," she said, opening her eyes and staring at the harsh light of
the day, from a sun with no warmth to share.

   "Keep trying," he said.  "We can do this all day and into the night if
needs be."

   "You could help me," she said.

   "No, it won't work that way, not again," he said.  "You feared me then,
you know now I won't hurt you, not like that." He raised an eyebrow.  "Do
you think being colder than you are now would help?"

   "No, mentor," she said through clenched teeth.  He had told her she
could choose to not call him by his formal title to her, but it seemed
appropriate in this situation.

   Clouds had rolled in and the seemingly heatless sun blotted out.  It
seems that it was giving some feeble warmth, and now that offering was
removed.  Siska started to shiver.

   Siska wondered if this could be any more pointless then it started to
rain.  "Mentor, I cannot do this thing," she said, her voice rising into a
whine.  "Please, let's stop and go inside.  Her blue robe was plastered to
her body now, and all but transparent, as was Phillip's.

   He shook his head, though.  "No," he said.  "You will channel the energy
before we leave this place, or you'll pass out on that rock from
exhaustion." He waved his hand at the stone.  "Try again, remember the
power you felt."

   Crying she looked into herself.  "Why?" she cried out.  "Why can you not
help me?  Make me angry, do something!"

   "How can I do this without you telling me what I am doing?" begged
Siska. Her eyes were puffy, though the rain washed any shed tears away. 
The saddening sight of her brought a lump to Phillip's throat.

   "You must learn to find the power yourself," he said, his voice
softening only a little.  "It is within you, the conduit, the gate,
whatever you wish to call it.  You've touched it before, whether you knew
it or not, and you must find it now consciously and calmly."

   She tried to look inside herself, and examine that which she sensed.  My
skin I can sense through the cold and the wet, and I can mark that known.
My eyes see, they see Phillip, worried, and they see the dull gray sky, and
it is marked.  My nose smells the wet, and the smell of smokes in the air
from fireplaces, and, faintly, the stink of sewers overfull, and I mark
that.  My ears hear the rainfall, distant thunder, and Phillip's voice,
calling to me, and I know that marked.  I can taste my own dry mouth, the
bitter taste of failure, and I mark that known.  What is left?

   She could feel something else, something she had not seen for the other
senses masking it.  Now that they were known and discounted, marked to be
known and not important, she saw the remaining thing, or felt it, or tasted
it.  The way she could sense it was not any of these things, it was more
like, smelling light, or seeing a feather's touch.  If it were seen, it was
a coruscating light, flashing through the spectrum of colors before her.

   Siska had seen a prism, the mistress had owned a large one that stood in
the garden.  It had, when the sun shone through it, shattered the light
into colorful bands that the younger children played in.  This light had
that quality, but was all colors at once, as well.  Not that it was truly
colors either, so much as flickering tastes, or touches, or sounds.

   "I can see it," she murmured and Phillip raised his head hopefully.  "It
flickers and flashes."

   "Yes, YES!" called Phillip, "touch it, take some of it."

   "It's tiny," she said.  "I don't think I can just take some."

   "You can," promised the wizard.  "Even you cannot take it all, take
some."

   She felt her hands moving out to touch the thing.  It felt spicy and
sounded bright to her hands.  This was the best she could think of it, but
she took some of it.

   Phillip beamed as he saw the power suffuse her body.  Suddenly, she was
no longer getting wetter.  Steam was rising from her robes and hair, and
her skin was already dry.  Siska felt some of the cold leaving her, and
wished it to leave her completely.

   She heard a sizzling sound and looked down to see the raindrops barely
touching her skin before flashing into steam around her, then it did not
even touch her.  She looked worriedly to Phillip, who now wore a wide
smile. "You've found it," he said.  "One's blessing, you know where the
source is."

   A giggle escaped her as she held out her hands and the rain hissed and
steamed about her.  She could feel it inside her, and it felt like, well,
awakening.

   She widened her eyes as Phillip took on the power, too, and she saw a
halo envelop him and the rain flashing to steam, as she was now.  His robes
were dry in seconds.  "I wondered if you would wait until we both had
pneumonia before finding it," he said.

   Again, Siska giggled and looked up.  She could see the raindrops coming
for her but they could not touch her and it was funny, most things were
funny.

   "You're giddy with it, aren't you," said Phillip, still smiling.  "It
can be that way.  Just remember, the power can turn on you."

   Siska nodded, and thought a moment.  "Why is it not burning me?" she
asked.  "My skin is warm enough to make rainfall into steam, but I don't
feel warm?"

   Phillip shrugged.  "It's magic," he said, grinning.  "Who knows.  Oh,
there are theorems and there are studies, formulas and rotes.  However,
none of this is carven in stone and you will find that the rituals and the
incantations are there for you.  The power is what you are toying with,
always, weaving it, stroking it, changing it.  Ultimately, it is just you
and the power, your will and the very energy that drives the world."

   "That sounds scary," said Siska.  Her voice was distant, as if
distracted, which, in truth, she was, a large portion of her mind was
dedicated to maintaining that contact with the power.

   "But spells. . ." he had spoken of them yesterday.  How certain spells
create given, predictable results.

   "Rituals to channel your mind, nothing else," he said.  "All wizards use
them, for ease, and for reliability.  But they are not what you truly do.
You are lettered.  When you read, do you actually look and study each
character as you do so?"

   "No, I read each word," she said.  "Sometimes maybe even several at a
time, if they are small."

   "Exactly," he said.  "The power is like that, only a thousandfold more
complex.  Most spells are like reading words one letter at a time."

   "But I cast no spell, said no incantation to do this," she held up her
hands and looked at them, watching the rain not hitting her.

   "Think of this as the word 'a'," said Phillip.  "A short, simple word,
but a word nonetheless, rather than a character."

   "Do you know whole words?" asked Siska.  "Bigger words?"

   "I know some, though none terribly big," he replied.  "Mostly, I have to
spell words out, the same as most wizards."

   Siska looked a bit crestfallen.  "I'm sorry that it took me so long,"
she said.

   Phillip laughed uproariously, ending up with his hands on his knees and
bent double.  "Took so long?" he said, grinning still once he had
controlled the laugh.  "I passed out on my feet three times before managing
only to find a trickle of the power, much less say a short word.  We've
only been at this three hours, and you've done more than I did in four
days."

   Siska blinked in astonishment, so much so that the flow slipped from her
and she felt her robes growing wet again.  "But you. . ."

   "I wanted to get you to do what you could," he said.  "And I knew you
could do this thing, Siska.  Come, let's get out of this rain and get
something to eat.  You've done exceedingly well."

   She pulled off the soaked robes as soon as they entered the house and
Phillip provided a blanket for her.  "You really should learn a bit of
modesty," he said.  "You've a lovely body, and should make men pay a dear
price to see it, whether by coin or effort."

   She was busy trying to scrub the wet from tangled hair, but looked at
him.  "You paid a high price, by either account," she said and gave him a
smile that caused his jaded heart to skip.

   "I'll be damned if knowing you can touch the power doesn't make you
lovelier still," he said in a sigh.

   She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and flipped part over her
head to form a hood.  "Wait until I know some spells, then the men of the
world need to fear for their very hearts and souls," she said, in what she
hoped was a menacing voice.

   Phillip smiled, but it was weak.  "That they might should do," he said.
"You would be a danger to any man's heart, with the power or without.

   Siska blinked at him.  "I only spoke in jest," she said, her expression
turning worried.

   The tall wizard nodded.  "I know it, Siska," he said.  "I have grown too
attracted to you, I fear, and need to keep my mind about me while teaching
you enough to not char yourself to a cinder."

   She pulled the blanket tighter, ensuring no part of her showed below her
clutching hands.  "I'm sorry, I'll try to be more careful," she said.  "I
made light of you seeing me unclad, as it was not the first time."

   He gave her another smile, this one with a bit more life behind it.  "I
could see you unclad a thousand times, I fear, and still find it a fresh
sight," he said.  "You lived in a very protected place, Siska.  You would
surely have made that brothel madam wealthy in mere months."

   Siska began to wonder if she truly were that lovely.  What of it if she
were?  Beauty would only carry her so far, would it not?  Power, like that
Phillip offered to teach her, would bear her anywhere she cared to go.

   "I only seek to learn, mentor," she said.  "I'll not ply you with my
body to win favor." It sounded properly respectable, yet humble.

   Held up her robes, dry again, from a simple wave of his hand.  "Here, go
start lunch, and then cleaning the kitchen, as your first apprentice's
duty."

   She took the robe and shuffled out of the dining room, past the mounds
of books and scrolls and up to her room to change.

   The task he had set for her, of cleaning the kitchen, was no light one.
There had been a bachelor living in this house for, as it seemed, years. 
She found three full sets of cooking gear, pots, pans, a massive cauldron,
and numerous smaller cooking dishes for the oven.  Some of these she had
little idea of how to use, but would learn them, if needs be.  She often
had worked in the kitchens in the madams house.  The madam was fabulously
wealthy, but still did not have so many slaves that each only had one
chore.

   She managed to prepare them a lunch of cheese, bread, and wine-braised
fish, by the simple expedient of frying some fish in wine.  That he had
fish, still fresh and wholesome, in that rat's warren of a kitchen, had
amazed her.

   She looked at the box in which she had found the fish.  It was
smooth-sided, built well, for a simple crate.  Inside was also a bottle of
milk, stoutly stoppered with a waxen seal, and several oranges from
Niliwan, in a small burlap sack.  The box, itself, was two feet on a side,
and almost a cube.

   Phillip had been passing through, whistling and carrying a thick tome.
"Phillip?" she had asked.  "Why is this food in this box?"

   "It's a preserver box," he had said, simply.  In the face of her blank
look, he said.  "It keeps food fresh that's stored within - it's a magical
thing."

   She looked at the box.  "You have such talent?" she asked, impressed.

   "Well - not me, really.  Though I could, if I liked and wished to take
the time," he said.  "Those are made in Ghant, in Vilders, I believe, by a
circle of magi that do that, and only that."

   "They do nothing else?" she asked, incredulous.

   "Well, I'm sure each has their own pursuits, but they meet almost daily
to make a dozen or so of those boxes, which they then sell to merchants who
bring them around Feldare to sell to others and to carry delicate goods,"
said Phillip.  His voice had changed a bit, and Siska realized he sounded
like old Marril, the head slave of the household, when he wished to lecture
the children on something of importance.  She covered her mouth to stifle a
grin.

   "I see," she said, looking at the box with less than pleased eyes.  She
was not sure she trusted her food to be exposed to magic.  Then she caught
herself.  She would soon be a wizard, herself, and magic was not going to
be her enemy, was it?"

   After they ate their lunch, she launched into the kitchen again. 
Phillip was impressed with her progress and how hard she seemed to work. 
Several times, he interrupted her, pulling her back, almost physically, for
her to take a short break, and sit.  Even then, she fussed with things on
the table and within reach of the chair he had planted her in.

   "It is traditional," he explained, "for apprentices to try to not do
their chores, while the mentor stalks around attempting to catch them
slacking on them."

   Siska stared at him, but said, "I don't understand.  Is it like a
ritual?"

   "I know," he replied and smiled generously.  "I can see you have much to
learn.  But, yes, it is almost as traditional as a ritual."

   "Then I will try, though you may have to remind me," she replied.  Her
face was earnest, but he thought he detected a glint of mischievousness in
her eyes.

   By dark, she had the kitchen looking as well-ordered as a captain's
quarters on a ship.  When Phillip had come in and dirtied a mug, she
brandished a massive wooden spoon he had not known he owned and warned him
to place it in the proper place for dirty dishes.

   The smells that had mingled in the kitchen, some of which he had not
even been positive as to their origins, were gone, replaced by the scent of
spices and of something in the oven, which smelled good, a roast.

   "You found a roast?" he asked.

   "A lad came to the door peddling meats," she said.  "I told him you
would pay at the end of the week." She looked at him levelly.  "I did
rightly?"

   "You did fine," he said, opening the oven door, despite her glare, and
sniffing at it.  "That was Keth, and I would have thought he had given up
by now."

   "Why is that?" she asked.

   He smiled.  "He had to chase me for a month to pay him once," he said.
"He chased me about the market yelling 'two marks' for over an hour when he
caught sight of me on the street."

   Siska gave him a measured nod.  "Then I need the moneys now, so I can
pay him promptly, as you forget such things," she said.  "Surely, you are
simply distracted by great ponderings."

   "Yes, that's it," he said, grinning and closing the oven door. 
"Ponderings." Still, he fished out a handful of coin and handed it to her.
She looked at it, twelve silver marks, almost a score of pennies, and two
gold marks.  She blinked and jerked her head back in surprise.

   "You're certain?" she asked, holding up one of the golden coins.

   "Yes," he said, folding her fingers over the coins.  "You will manage
the kitchen, and come to me when you need more."

   Siska nodded.  She had held responsibility, of sorts, before, but never
moneys.  She understood, from the older slaves, some of whom did the
shopping for the household, how it worked, and its worth, in general terms.
A penny could buy a dozen eggs, a mark of silver would purchase a baby
goat, and a gold mark was almost enough for a riding horse.

   Her mother had sold for only a hundred silver marks, five horses.  Bile
rose in her throat at the thought that she held enough moneys in her hand
to half purchase her own mother.

   "Mentor," she said, thinking something which could not be asked of
Phillip, "what do you think of slavery?"

   "I feel it is an abomination before the One," said Phillip, his face
twisting into a scowl.  "I would not allow it, were it my choice, and I
will never own another human."

   Deep inside, she smiled, though her face remained placid.  "Thank you,"
she murmured and turned to stir the pot of boiling potatoes while
sprinkling in some herbs between thumb and forefinger.

   Phillip sniffed the air of the kitchen appreciatively, looking something
like a hound trying to find a scent.  "I've been meaning to ask, aren't you
tired?" he asked.

   Siska raised an eyebrow at him.  "Why?" she asked.

   "After I first channeled the power, I slept for two days," he said.

   The slender woman in the apron, worn over her robes, looked at him. 
"I'm not tired," she said.  "If anything, I am rather - well - rather
agitated."

   The wizard thought about that and murmured an incantation under his
breath, he did not think she saw him do it.  If she did, she did not let
on.

   He saw a faint aura around her, very faint.  He peered closer, enough so
that Siska could not help but note his intrusion into her personal space.
"Is something wrong, mentor?" she asked.

   Phillip pulled back, more quickly, rather startled, than he had
intended. "Um, no, nothing, sorry." He watched the shimmer from arm's
length now, even as she stirred the pot of potatoes.  Potato stew, he saw
now.  She was still channeling the power.  He knew some wizards could do
that, channel a tiny flow to power themselves, like a water wheel steadily
powers a grist mill.  He had never seen it done, and had not even heard of
it being done unconsciously.  "You're still channeling, you know that?" he
asked.

   "Hmm?" she asked, turning to him as if he had said something trivial. 
"Oh, yes," she added, smiling.  "Aren't I supposed to be?"

   He looked at her.  "I don't know about supposed to be, but you shouldn't
be able to," he said.  "Not like that, like you're doing nothing."

   "I am doing something," she said.  "I'm making potato soup and a very
nice marinated roast."

   Phillip laughed.  "That's not what I meant," he said.  "You're not even
thinking about keeping that flow up, are you?"

   "Oh, that, well, no," she looked embarrassed.  "I rather got tired of
fiddling with it, so I just set a portion of myself to doing it for me."

   He gaped at her.  "How, exactly?" he asked.

   "One can hum a lullaby while knitting or darning a sock.  Your hands
know what to do, and your lips know their role," she said, as if explaining
walking to someone who was walking alongside her.

   "Do you have any idea how difficult that should be?" he asked.

   Siska put down the wooden spoon, reached for a pair of thick, insulated
oven mitts and turned to him.  "Not nearly so difficult as talking to a man
while trying to cook," she said.

   Phillip let it drop, allowing her to tend to the cooking.  As amazed as
he was by her ability to channel and tap that channeled energy without
thought, he was even more impressed by the smell coming from the roast.  It
sat in a tray of some thick gravy, and it seemed dried apples floated amid
the gravy.  He licked his lips and took her advice, leaving her to the
cooking.

   While they ate, he saw her fading a bit, and her head actually nodded
once, as if falling asleep.  "Are you okay?"

   "I am tired, suddenly," she said.  "I stopped touching the power, as you
said it might be dangerous."

   He nodded.  "That would be all that channeling catching up to you,
then," he replied.  "You should probably go to bed after you eat."

   Siska gave him a glum nod in return.  As soon as she finished, and sat
her dishes in the washbasin, she made her way up the stairs.  Her very
bones were tired, and she had to force herself the last half of the climb.
She had not avoided paying the price in exhaustion from touching the power
for the first time, simply put it off, and now the price would be higher,
or so thought Phillip.

   Two hours later, he crept into the room and watched her sleep for a few
moments.  He reached out with his own powers and examined her, but saw no
touch of channeling in her.  Normally, he would not have looked, but Siska
was not simply any apprentice, and it behooved him to keep an eye on her.

   - -

   Siska awoke, but something was not right about the room around her.  It
should be dark, she felt, but was only somewhat.  Everything had colors,
not the stark black and gray of a moonlit room, but faded colors, like they
were being seen through something, a smoky window or such.

   Music floated up from downstairs, soft and low, a waltz.  She slipped
from the bed and walked toward her wardrobe, until she realized she was
clad already in a fine gown of powder blue.  It was tight at the waist, but
loose and pleated below, with inset panels of purest white.  She should not
be able to see the difference between white and powder blue in the
moonlight, she thought, but there were candles burning on her dresser and
one on her night stand.

   A dream?  she wondered and smiled.  It had been a long while since she
remembered one this vivid, though she remembered few of them, at all. 
Siska wished to find the source of that music.  She moved to the door,
opening it and peering downstairs.

   Phillip owned no dulcimer, she knew that, and the music was such, the
mistress had owned one, and several of the servants knew how to play it. 
Between her collection of instruments, and the various slaves who played
one or another, they could gather a respectable quartet for their festive
events.  The mistress had been kind, and often let the slaves gather for
birthdays and such.  She even attended when the slave in question was one
she knew well.

   Siska thought about that.  She remembered the mistress with fondness,
but she had owned slaves, had she not?  This soured her memory of her a
bit, but she still thought her the kindest of possible owners, if one must
have an owner.

   She half expected to find a group of people milling about the living
room and she had a momentary pang of shame, thinking they found the house
she planned to care for in such a filthy state.  However, the house
appeared to have been cleaned and she found no people there.  Only herself,
and one other.

   He was a handsome man, tall with hugely broad shoulders.  She could
tell, even though he wore a tunic, that he was well-muscled beneath.  Very
well muscled.  He stood almost a head taller than she, and she was no
slight woman.

   As she stared at him, he turned to look at her with light blue eyes,
mirth danced in those eyes though he only smiled slightly.  He had long
pale gold hair that fell to his shoulders in waves.  It was pretty hair,
almost too pretty, and his face was almost too handsome.  It frightened her
a bit, how handsome he seemed.  Surely no man should be so blessed in body
and face.

   "Siska," he said in a soft, deep voice.  The dulcimer, unseen, played
on, quietly, though it was now in the background of her mind, just backdrop
for this man's voice, as the walls had become a backdrop for his image.  "I
am happy that I could speak to you, so soon after your awakening," he said.

   The incongruity of his saying something about her awakening during a
dream made her smile, but she watched him a moment.  He seemed to have no
jewelry on, despite the fine cut of his clothes, and the cotton linen,
which marked him as well-moneyed.  However, there was a ring on his finger,
of blackest jet.  Her eyes fastened on the ring, it shimmered.

   It did not glitter like a faceted gem, or like gold with etching, it
shimmered, like water on a lake reflecting the sun.  He saw the direction
of her gaze.  "You like my ring?" he asked, still smiling.  "I can get you
one, though they are dear."

   "Why?" she asked, suddenly finding her voice.  "Why would you give me
such a gift, and who are you?"

   "My name is Tarviel," he replied.  "I would give a gift to a beautiful
woman, just for her beauty, alone.  But no, in your case it is not, and I
won't lie about that, I would give it as an offering of friendship to you,
who would be a Power."

   She could hear the title in the word 'power', rather than the simple
word.  "A Power?" she asked.

   "One who would become a mover of the world, a force to be reckoned with
- you," he explained.

   "I am not such, I am just a girl trying to learn some of the art," she
said.

   "Phillip tells you half the truth," he said.  "He did say you would be
powerful, but he did not say just how powerful."

   "He did, he said one of the most powerful," said Siska, defensive of her
mentor already.

   "Yes," replied Tarviel, giving her a smile that quickened her heart. 
"He did say that much, at the least, but did he say the most powerful in,
perhaps, a thousand years?"

   She blinked at him.  "I'm just an apprentice right now," she said.

   "You could be more, very, very soon," he replied.  "You will be years
learning the arts here, with this man, who will keep you in his service for
as long as he can."

   A note of cynicism crept into Siska's voice.  "And you would give me an
easier path?" she asked.

   "Yes," he replied simply, raising an eyebrow.  "I would give you a path
to power that is much the shorter, and leads to more freedom, besides."

   "More freedom, how?" she asked.

   "Oh, Phillip is a fine mage, make no mistake of it, I have seen his
works," said Tarviel.  "But he operates under - strictures - that give him
weaknesses, that you need not share."

   "Nothing is free, even I know that," she said.  "What is the price? 
Will I serve under you instead?"

   He saw the distrust in her eyes and smiled to banish it.  "No," he said
with an edge of vehemence in his voice.  "You will serve none but the One,
once elevated."

   "Elevated?" asked Siska, raising an eyebrow.  "What is that?"

   "The one needs those of power, in his service, to rid the world of the
taint of evil," said the man, suddenly showing passion in his eyes.  "You
yourself know of that evil, having been a slave."

   She grimaced.  despite only two days out of yoke, she rather did not
like being reminded by others she had been chattel for sale so recently. 
"I know it," she said.

   "Let me teach you something, I can do so, even now, and I will ask
nothing in return, not even promises," he said.

   She sat down in one of the comfortable chairs in the common.  A fire was
blazing in the hearth, warming the room nicely, though she had not noticed
it before.

   Tarviel sat opposite her, in a matching chair.  "He held out a hand and
a tiny image of herself appeared there, standing in her palm.  It was
perfect, miniature, but perfect.  It even moved as she would, standing
idly, shifting her weight from foot to foot and looking about.  It paused
to scratch her head and smiled slightly.

   "It's cute, but of little use," said Siska, eying her tiny simulacrum.

   "Well, I cannot show you the great secrets on first meeting, my dear,"
said the tall, powerful man, with another heart wrenching smile.  "But this
is far from useless, take her."

   He held out his hand and Siska held her own out.  The little copy of
herself jumped into her hand.  She felt a tiny bit of weight, maybe a
quarter pound, on her hand.  It was solid, not just an illusion.  The
little feet dimpled in her palm a little where she stood.  Siska was a bit
surprised and pulled back.

   The miniature shifted her weight and crouched low in her palm trying to
keep her balance.  The little copy glared up at her in miniature,
good-humored annoyance.  "Can she speak?" asked Siska.

   The tiny Siska shook her head and smiled again, as if apologizing.  "I
crafted her to be usable by you, at your level of learning," said Tarviel.
"As you grow more accomplished, she will gain in abilities."

   The music swelled from the dulcimer and the little Siska began to dance
in her palm.  Standing only six inches high did not seem to hamper her
grace, and Siska wondered if she were as pretty as the little version of
herself.  Little Siska smiled at her, stopping her dance, and nodded.

   "She understands my thoughts?" asked Siska.

   "If you wish her to, yes," said Tarviel, nodding.  "She does what you
wish her to do, and can do things for you, at will."

   "How much can a six inch woman do?" asked Siska.

   "She can look at things, she can go places, she will see things, and she
is good company, I am sure," said Tarviel.  "You would be, and she is of
you."

   "How did you make something of me?" asked the young apprentice.

   Tarviel laughed, a cool laugh, but heartfelt, for all that.  "I made
nothing, dear, beautiful, Siska, you made her.  I am just visiting you in
this dream," he said.  "You crafted her from the information I have given
you, did I not say I would teach you something?"

   She thought about it and the little Siska disappeared.  A moment later,
she reappeared, standing, as she had before, in the palm of her hand.  This
miniature had not clothes on, though, where the other had been wearing the
same dress she wore now.  A thought later, the tiny version of herself
blinked out and reappeared in a slave's gray tunic.

   The little Siska looked at the tunic and immediately slouched, as if
broken and sad.  Siska winked it away and summoned another, with the simple
blue robes she wore earlier that day.  "Very good," said Tarviel.  "You can
already change her clothing and appearance."

   Siska blinked at him and smiled.  "How did you teach me by just putting
it into my mind?" she asked.

   "You allowed it, else I could not have done it," he replied.  "You might
should guard your mind a bit better, but still, it is helpful for
learning."

   She nodded.  "I will have Phillip show me how to guard my mind," she
said.  "Your pardon if I don't quite trust you fully, just yet." She gave
him a timid smile.  He was very handsome, and would not mind speaking to
him, anyway.

   Something flashed in his features, but she was unsure what it was, then
he smiled again.  "Yes, a good idea," he agreed.  "Phillip will teach you
slowly, and in his limited fashion, but in his own way, he is a good man,
if a bit cautious and misguided."

   She was unsure she liked hearing Phillip, whom she saw as a great man,
belittled, even if given some grudging respect and apparently that feeling
showed on her face.

   "I mean no disrespect toward him, he is a great wizard, and could teach
you much, given time enough," he said.  "But you will outstrip his powers
in short order, I fear, and his ability to teach you, as well."

   "That won't be for some time yet, if ever," said Siska, once again
wishing to defend the man who had been good to her.

   "Surely," said Tarviel, nodding and running a hand over his golden hair.
"You prove yourself more the admirable person with each defense of him, you
do know that?"

   She blushed under the praise.  "I only try to correct wrongful
impressions of my mentor," she said.

   "We will speak again, Siska," said Tarviel, "sleep well." The room faded
and she found herself awake, standing in the cluttered living room by the
dim moonlight peeking in through the window curtains.  The miniature of
herself stood, still, in her palm, smiling up at her.  She sat herself
down, and the miniature made a feeble attempt to shift a book from under
the chair.  It was far too heavy for the tiny creature, but she bent to
look at it.  Without a word, she picked up the book, the little Siska
clapping her hands and jumping excitedly.

   Siska concentrated a moment, and the little Siska disappeared in a puff,
like smoke.

   When Phillip awoke, he walked down the stairs in only a dressing robe,
yawning and stretching.  He wondered if Siska would sleep for more than a
full day, as he had, now that she slept.  He stopped, a stunned look on his
face.  The entire house was clean.  His books were all gone, and the
scrolls, and the scattered quills, ink pots and hundreds of small items
that he had left scattered over the house.

   He blinked about himself in stark amazement, his jaw hanging open.  The
faint scent of baking came to his nose and he stuck his head into the
gleaming kitchen.  A large tray of muffins was cooling on the table.  They
were still warm and he juggled one from one hand to the other, determined
to eat it, as soon as he could cool it enough.

   He found his books and other research material, in the library, where it
belonged, naturally.  The books were all shelved, every one of them, save
one thick tome that would not fit on the shelves.  It stood on a wooden
book stand, open to a middle page.  He looked down at the page and saw it
was the same page he had left it last.  "You've been a busy girl," he said
quietly.  "You're beginning to frighten your mentor."

   His scrolls were stacked neatly at the head of a massive desk which he
had not seen in two years, it's top as shiny as a mirror's surface. 
Others, hundreds of them, were packed in scroll cases and put in another
pile, like cord wood, near the desk, as well.  "Even if you didn't sleep,
you didn't have time for this," he murmured as a shiver ran down his spine.

   The muffin was cool enough to eat now, but he just held it.  The books
on the shelf were organized by author's surname, where an author had one,
by name alone if not.  Those books which accredited no author were at the
tail end, by title and the few with neither were organized by their first
words of their first page.

   He shook his head and decided he must ask many questions when he found
Siska.  He looked for her, and she was not there.  Her robe was gone, as
were her shoes.  He peered out the window in agitation.

   - -

   Siska stared about herself.  She had thought to simply go outside and
buy a few things for the larders, and having finished a batch of wheat
muffins with blueberries in them, she went forth.

   It was not like the first time, with Phillip.  She could feel her palms
sweating and her breath catching in her throat.  I am just another
freewoman, doing my morning shopping, she told herself as she faced the
street from the edge of Phillip's property.  Only a few people gave her, or
her robes a second glance, most simply passed on by, nodding in a polite
little bob of the head, a hint of a bow.

   Gathering her courage, Siska stepped into the flow of the people and
toward the market square, a quarter mile away.  She was walking behind
three girls her own age, though dressed in fine embroidered dresses with
colorful sashes about the waist, one in blue, one in orange, and the last
in bright green.  The embroidery, of many colored threads, also had gold
worked into the flower-like patterns, though she could not recognize what
sort of flowers.

   One of the girls, a tall blond girl with big green eyes, noted her
violet gaze and turned.  "Hello," she said, causing the other two to turn.

   "Keeley, if you've started with another boy. . ." said another of the
trio, this one a brunette, who had a button of a nose.  She turned as well
to see what had caught the blond girl's eyes.  She stopped speaking when
she saw Siska.

   The last of the three walked three paces before stopping to see what her
friends had stopped for.

   "Good morrow," said Siska, unable to meet the level stares of the blond
and brunette.  She saw that their hair was plaited in long rows, wrapped
with colorful strips of fine cloth, with glass beads at the ends.  The
beads caught the morning sunlight and glittered.  Only the forelocks, those
framing their faces, gained such treatment, but she found it an attractive
decoration.

   After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Siska began walking again,
making for the market.

   "Wait, please," said the brunette, touching her arm.

   Siska pulled away and half cowered.  She had only been beaten as a slave
a few times, but such things were not eagerly sought after and left one
with quick reflexes.  When she caught herself, she turned to the girl and
tried to stand upright.  Both the girls were shocked by her, in their eyes,
extreme reaction, but they held up their hands placatingly, as if avoiding
blows themselves.

   "I meant no disrespect, blue sister," said the brunette, bowing her
head, in a real bow this time.  The blond hastily gave her own bow, though
her eyes, looking a bit frightened, stayed on Siska's own.

   Siska blinked at them as the other girl, also brown haired, returned and
fell into a quick bow upon seeing Siska well, herself.

   "I took none," said Siska, finding her voice.

   The brunette smiled at her.  "I'm glad for that, I was just curious
about you, you seem no older than I, most blue sisters, or brothers, are
much older."

   "I am an apprentice," said Siska, thinking that 'blue sister' must be a
woman of Phillip's order.

   The girls looked at her a moment.  "A student, then?" asked the newcomer
brunette.  "Not a full sister?"

   "No," said Siska, unsure what a full sister might even be.  She decided
that it must be one who was fully a wizard.

   The look of fear did not lessen much in the two nearer girls, though. 
"I should not have touched you without asking," said the brunette.  "It was
presumptuous of me."

   Siska shook her head.  "No, I overreacted," she said.  "I was lost in
thought, and you just startled me, is all."

   "Oh, good," said the blond, placing a hand over her heart.  "I hear
upsetting even a novice is unwise."

   A, hopefully, disarming smile came to Siska's lips.  "I don't even know
I'm qualified to be a novice, even, I can barely channel the power."

   The three stared at her with wide eyes, and blank incomprehension.  "You
can cast spells?" asked the brunette behind the other two.  "Can we see
one?"

   Siska gave them a nervous smile, but thought of her miniature self.  She
held out her hand and concentrated a moment and the tiny duplicate of
herself appeared, wearing a fancy dress, like the girls' themselves wore,
with a yellow sash and cloth braided hair.  The tiny version of Siska waved
and smiled at the girls.

   The three of them giggled and cooed over the little copy, declaring it
everything from cute to amazing.  Siska held her hand forth and the
brunette who had touched her held her own out, the little Siska climbed
onto the other hand and sat down.  She then reclined down the length of the
girl's hand.

   "It's not an illusion," said the girl.  "Not like the showmen use, I can
feel her touch."

   The little Siska prodded the palm of the girl with her elbow and smiled.

   "Do you control her?" she asked Siska.

   "I think partially, though I'm not quite sure how much," replied Siska.
The tiny duplicate of her held out a hand, flatly and waggled it back and
forth as if to say so-so.  She might not could speak, but she could
definitely communicate.

   The blonde held out her cupped hands, and the little Siska moved into
the bowl her fingers formed.  "You dressed her like us," she said.  "Though
you wear the robes of a sister."

   "I thought your clothes pretty," said Siska.

   The girl in the back looked thoughtful for a moment.  "They are nice, I
suppose, but I would gladly trade all I own for the blue silk you wear,"
she said.

   "Is silk so dear?" asked Siska.

   The three giggled and the blond recovered first.  "Not really, though
it's far from cheap.  Your robes will make you beyond wealthy one day," she
said.

   "I hear that's not so, necessarily," said the other brunette, the one
behind the other two.  "I hear magi have to try to earn money, as does
anyone else.  Many don't bother, only providing for their needs and
engrossed in their arts."

   Siska thought of Phillip.  He certainly was not poor, but he seemed to
not have, exactly, limitless moneys, either.  "I think the truth is
probably between those ends," she said.

   The blond gasped.  "One's blessing, you're that girl!" she said, her
voice rising with excitement and causing the other two to look at her
oddly, as well as Siska.

   "You're the slave girl who the wizard bought for so much money it was
deemed insanity," she said.

   Siska felt a blush rise in her cheeks, and a bit of anger.

   The two brunettes looked at her a moment, and one gasped.  "Violet eyes,
yes," she said.  "I heard about her eyes."

   "Please," said Siska, almost stammering.  "I would rather not speak of
that time."

   "But a slave cannot be a sister," said one of the brunettes.  Siska felt
tears forming, though none yet fell.

   "I was emancipated the next day," said Siska, fighting back
embarrassment and trying to force it into pride.

   "One blind you, Leetha," said the newcomer brunette.  "I doubt she
wishes to speak of that business, would you?"

   Siska looked at her gratefully, and tried to smile.

   "Of course," said Leetha, blushing a bit.  "It is probably an ugly
business, I beg forgiveness."

   "It's forgotten," said Siska.  "I should be going, really, I have chores
to tend, even as an apprentice."

   The second brunette chased after her.  "Wait, please," she said.  The
tiny Siska looked afraid, peering over the hands of the blond girl, who
still cradled her.  Siska gave it a moment thought and the little copy
vanished, startling the blond girl.  "May I walk with you?"

   Siska thought about that a moment, hardly turning.  "I must say I am yet
uncomfortable with large groups," said Siska.

   "Then you and I can walk alone," she said, turning to face her two
friends.  "You two can go on without me, I'll catch up later."

   The blond and the first brunette stared at her a moment, but nodded and
walked toward the market.  Surely, she would pass on anything of interest
to them.

   Siska gave the girl a weak smile.  "I am called Siska, what is our name,
as we are walking together."

   "Mist," said the girl, giving her a staring look.  "Mist Rivethorn," she
said, giving her full name.  "Do you have a surname?"

   "Slaves don't have surnames, and I've yet to take one as a freewoman,"
said Siska.

   "We didn't mean to embarrass you back there," said Mist as they walked
toward the market.  "I doubt you wish to be reminded of being a slave, it
must have been horrible."

   Siska shrugged.  "Most of my life it was not so bad," she said.  "We had
a kind owner."

   "Lucky, then," said Mist, nodding.  "I hear there are many who are harsh
to their slaves."

   Siska nodded.  "So have I," she replied.  "I was very lucky to have been
found by Phillip."

   "So it was brother Phillip that bought your freedom," said Mist.  "I had
heard that, but only half believed it, three thousands marks, a king's
sum."

   Every time Siska thought on that vast amount of money, she was stunned
that he had gladly handed it over for her and then freed her the next day,
as if it were nothing.  Perhaps Phillip was wealthier than she suspected.

   Siska wished, though, to change the subject, as this was just reminding
her of what almost happened to her, and did happen to her friends.

   "Your hair, it's very pretty," said Siska.  "Could you show me how to
braid the cloths into it and the beads?" She reached out a tentative hand
to the girl, who did not flinch away, and let her stroke one of the
tight-weaved plaits.

   "Surely," said Mist.  "It's not against any rules?"

   "Not that I have heard," said Siska.  "And if it is, I'll remove them,
once I'm told."

   The girl began rummaging in her pouch, pulling forth a bit of green
cloth, a long, narrow strip.  It matched the color of her sash.  "Here,"
she said, smiling and holding out her hands to Siska.

   She leaned toward Mist and the girl began braiding three strands of hair
and weaving the yellow cloth into the plait.  "From me," she said.  "You
carry the plaits of all your friends, and your own, of course." Siska noted
the girl had three plaits, one green, one orange, and one blue, the three
colors the girls wore about their waists.

   The girl fumbled with her pouch again, pulling out a glass bead, as she,
herself wore.  Siska idly wondered how much stuff was crammed into the
girl's pouch.  The bead she slid up onto the fine tips of Siska's hairs and
it seemed to attach itself there, holding the braid and decorating it at
the same time.  "Your color?" she asked, looking a the yellow entwined
braid amid her blond hair.  "A family color?"

   "No," said Mist, grinning.  "The color says something about you." She
eyed Siska's robes.  "Though I suppose your color would be obvious," she
said, tugging gently on the sleeve of the robe.  "Each color has a
meaning."

   "Yellow?" asked Siska.

   Mist giggled then lifted Siska's yellow-twined braid.  "It means
'thoughtful', or at least tries to be."

   "I see," said Siska.  "And your friend's colors?  Green and Blue?"

   "Green means strong willed and blue clever," said the girl.

   "And you choose these yourselves?" asked Siska.

   "No, no, they're given by the vendor, an old Lebois woman who sells them
in the market.  She looks at you and gives you a color," she said.  "She
won't sell you any but your own color, though." Her voice fell to a
whisper. "Some girls try to make their own, but you can tell, and others
will think them either foolish or deceitful."

   Siska regarded the young woman for a long moment.  "It sounds rather
important," she said.

   "No," said Mist, giggling.  "It's just something us girls do, really
just silly, I guess."

   "I would like to see this woman, is she in this market?" asked Siska,
peering around the crowded, bustling square.

   "Over there," said Mist, pointing.  Siska followed the finger to see a
gaudy stall with many colored rags flying over it.  "Come, lets see what
color she would give you."

   Siska smiled as the girl took her arm and gently urged her through the
crowd.  It felt good to have someone who was being a friend, even if only
for a while.  They pressed through many people and even forced a
horse-drawn wagon to stop for their eager passage.

   At the little stall, there was a woman wearing a long, flowing gown that
seemed just on the verge of being transparent, without ever quite being so.
She had deep brown skin, almost the color of mahogany, but startling pale
gray eyes.

   Two girls were leaving the stall and giggling, several years Siska's and
Mist's junior.  They walked up and the woman regarded her with large eyes.
"As'vurdin, densha," said the woman speaking an oddly guttural tongue that
Siska had never heard before.  She bowed low, her teeth flashing white
against the dark backdrop of her skin.  She had long black hair that hung
in a silken cascade to her backside, gleaming blue in the daylight with a
liquid sheen.  "You honor my humble business, great one," she said, her
accented Windy Islander giving her an exotic air.

   "Great one?" asked Siska, giggling.

   "You are a wielder of the power, densha," said the woman, bowing again.

   "She means you're a mage," said Mist, smiling at her.  "The Lebois are
led by their magicians, those that the Abian's aren't trying to conquer."

   "The learned girl speaks truthfully, densha," said the woman, giving her
another glittering smile.

   "Please, ma'am, stop bowing, it makes me nervous," said Siska.

   "As you would have it, densha," said the woman.  She was pretty, in a
angular, powerful way.  "You have come for me to humbly color?" she asked,
sounding hopeful.  "It is not often that one of the art seeks a color, but
I would be happy to try to seek yours."

   "Please," said Siska at Mist's eager look.

   The woman looked at her hard, walking from behind her little table of
colored cloths and strips to look at Siska from all angles.  She walked
back over to the display and picked up a long, slender strip of cloth,
seemingly at random from amid the heap.  She held it up to regard it beside
Siska then shook her head.  She tossed the violet cloth aside and Mist
sighed a relieved-sounding sigh.

   "Violet means lusty," said Mist.  "Boys would never leave you be wearing
that color." She giggled a bit.  "Though that might not be a terrible
burden."

   The woman stopped and snapped her fingers, as if coming to a decision
and scampered behind the stall and dug around beneath the table top, coming
up with a piece of cloth that shimmered as if it were woven of silver
threads.  It must not have been metal, though, as it flexed and flowed like
silk, though Siska wondered how such a color could be dyed into cloth. 
"The cloth of your color is rare, densha," said the Lebois woman, "It is
normally expensive, very much so.  Dwarves must be found to make it, and
they are not wont to do so for outsiders."

   Siska's eyes widened and her face fell slightly.  "I'm afraid I don't
have much money of my own," she said, meekly.

   "I said normally, densha," said the woman, her almost white eyes
glittering with mischief or humor.  "I refuse to sell cloth to one such as
you, though."

   Siska's heart fell further.  She would not even sell to a wizard?  Were
her people so suspicious of them?  But what of the supposed respectful
behavior?

   The woman knelt on one knee before Siska, holding up a long piece of the
cloth and a dozen of the slender strips, like were used in hair.  "I would
never insult you by demanding moneys of you, densha."

   The apprentice blinked.  "I cannot just take it, if it be so dear to
you," she said.  She fished out a silver mark, she could replace it from
her own money hidden in the kitchen.  A smile ran across her pretty face a
the very thought of her money.

   The woman seemed to not wish to take the money, but finally accepted it,
slipping it into a pocket in her sheer dress, not amid the other moneys in
a coin box on the table.  "If you seek more, for some reason, please, do
not hesitate, though it will take time for me to acquire it."

   Siska nodded.  "I am grateful for the wonderful cloth," she said.  "And
for the coloring." She bowed to the woman who returned the bow with a broad
smile and the two girls blended back into the crowd.  As the went, Mist
poked Siska in the side.

   "You never asked the meaning of silver," she said, giggling at the blank
look on Siska's face.

   Siska ran back, but a wagon, barreling unconcernedly for the safety of
people afoot, separated them.  "I forgot to ask what my color means," she
said to the woman, who was organizing her colors.

   The woman looked concerned for a moment, then said.  "It means 'walker
of the sword's edge'," she said.  "One who must decide to side with good or
evil, but may serve either." She did not look happy telling Siska this, and
looked away quickly, her expression a forced neutrality.

   Mist ran up, "Damn nobles," she cursed, then asked, "Well, what does it
mean?" she asked.

   The Lebois woman looked at her, and contrived a smile.  "It means
powerful," she said and fixed Siska with a knowing pair of eyes.  "One
should tread lightly around one such as her."

   Siska blinked at her another moment, then turned to walk away with Mist
giggling and speaking of her color as if it were a wondrous thing.

   It took Siska many minutes to finally remember to give Mist a strip of
the thin cloth.  The shorter girl wove it into her hair immediately,
pulling the plait out and looking at it happily.  "One's blessing, that is
a lovely color cloth," she said.  "You should put on your sash."

   With fingers almost distant, Siska tied the larger piece of cloth about
her waist and looked at herself in the reflection of a shop window. 
Despite the tiny panes breaking her up into smaller pieces, she got a
general impression of it's look and Mist raved about it, saying that it was
the prettiest color she had ever seen a sash, and that Siska was luckier
than lucky.

   Mist took another of the silver strands and wove it into Siska's own
hair, giving her two braids woven with a cloth strip.  "Manda and Rayenne
will be terribly jealous," she said.

   "I will give them one if they like," said Siska, holding out two more of
the silver strips.

   "No, you have to give them to the two of them yourself, or it's bad
luck, or so the Lebois woman says," she said, pushing Siska's hand back. 
"You can give them to them when you see them again.  Didn't you say that
you had to do some kitchen shopping?"

   "Yes," agreed Siska and the two moved toward the food quarter of the
market.  After filling a large wicker basket with goods, Mist said.  "Can I
walk home with you, to know where you live?" she asked and Siska nodded.

   On their way back to Phillip's home, Mist looked toward Siska.  "May I
ask you a personal question?"

   "Yes," said Siska, feeling sure what it would be about - her being a
former slave.

   "I know you probably hate to talk of it, but do slaves get, well,
abused, you know, in a personal way?" asked the girl.  Her face was marked
by curiosity and some pity.

   Siska nodded.  "I was never done so, but it does happen," she said. 
"Two girls I was brought up with were sold to brothels when I was
auctioned."

   Mist looked horrified.  "How terrible," she said.  "I'm glad you're free
now."

   "As am I," said Siska, giving her a weak smile.

   They had come to the end of the long walk to Phillip's home.  "You don't
live too far from me, would you mind me coming by after my chores?" asked
Mist.

   "I wouldn't," said Siska, "though you may have to wait for me to finish
mine."

   "I don't mind, good day, Siska, and One smile upon you," she said,
starting toward a cross street two doors down from Phillip's property.

   "And upon you," said Mist, smiling brightly.

   When Siska walked into the house, she saw Phillip sitting in the common
room, reading a small book which looked too tiny for his hands.  "I was a
bit worried," he said, without looking up.  "I would say you skipped your
chores, but it seems everything's been done, and to a fine point, at that."

   Siska smiled.  "I'm sorry, but we needed foods," she said.

   Phillip looked up, smiling.  "And that includes buying fine cloth
sashes?" he asked, eyeing the sash tied about her waist, then her braids.

   "It might, at that," said Siska, grinning with mischief.

   "Silver is a nice color against the blue," said Phillip, setting down
the tiny folio and standing.

   "There is no rule against adornment, is there?" she asked, suddenly
worried that he wore none, save a bronze belt buckle on his thin leather
belt.

   "None at all, Siska," he said, nodding.

   "I do, however worry about you doing independent research just yet," he
said, stepping over to lift the book she had taken to her room from a
desktop.  "And this is no light subject, additionally.  Homonculi are a
very advanced bit of spellwork.  I could not produce one properly more
often than two times in three."

   Siska grinned at him, holding out her hands, cupped together.  She spoke
a single word, muttered it under her breath.  The tiny Siska appeared in
her hands, smiling and bouncing with excitement.

   To Phillip's credit he only showed pleased surprise, though pleasure was
far from what he felt.  An icicle had just pierced his chest.