Authors: Janeal Falor
Chapter Five
I’
m not certain where we’re going, but it’s farther from town and farther from the law officers. Night grows dark as we travel. A ways from town, we enter the woods. The trees are close together, thick, almost like walls in a house. He guides me through them, keeping a tight hold of my hand and helping me over fallen logs and around bushes.
Finally, he stops. It’s a nice quiet place, the land creeping upward next to us to form a wall where no one else exists. Or at least I could believe they don’t. The area is like Father’s, but wilder. The flowers free and twisting, the vines creeping without restraint, and no pattern to where the trees grow. Despite less order, I like it. Or perhaps I like it because there’s less order. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of air, doing nothing but listening to the calm sound of the birds and tiny animals around us. No matron’s shrill voice. No punishment. And definitely no stench of Nigel.
“We can talk safely now,” the tarnished says.
Likely. Doesn’t mean I’m ready to talk, though.
“
Why were you alone in public? Who and where don’t you want to be taken back to?”
Especially when he asks that. Yet what else is he supposed to ask? It’s not as if girls show up wherever they want, whenever they want. We aren’t even supposed to have wants. Something I should have thought of, but I was only trying to escape. I must be smarter. Except I don’t know if that means talking with him or not. He’s given me no reason to doubt so far.
“Why did you intervene for me when the law officer came?”
His lip twitches, almost like he’s trying to smile. I haven’t seen a tarnished smile since Tilda.
“It would be helpful to know why you assisted me,” I add.
With that, he does smile, and I’m not sure I like how quickly it lowers my defenses. “It’s what I do.”
“You often come across girls alone being accosted by a law officer then?”
“
No. That was most definitely a first.” He quirks an eyebrow at me. “I meant, I try to help.”
“
Help.” The word sounds foreign despite knowing what it means. But everything feels in line with what mother said. I should have talked to him at that house instead of having to deal with the law officer and the consequences of being seen by him. “Help how?”
“
I’ve never had a girl ask so many questions.”
He’s right. I am asking too many questions, but I want answers.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. How am I looking at him? “It’s not a bad thing. Just uncommon without coaxing. I usually spend at least a month being nice before they relax.”
“
Why do you spend time with so many girls?”
“
Simply trying to help.”
Again with the help. “
Why?”
“
Because the way women and tarnished are treated is wrong.”
Can he truly believe that? Mother was right to send me to him. Yet I still narrow my eyes at him. There’s no reason yet to let him know how much relief this brings. “How are you going to help?”
At this he shakes his head and gives a chuckle. “I’m with a group of tarnished who work with people who need assistance.”
Even though my mother had said as much, to hear it from an actual tarnished sounds nice. Unrealistic, but nice. “What type of assistance?”
“Whatever they need that we can help with.”
“
You’re being very vague.”
“
I don’t know if I can trust you enough yet to be more specific.”
Not the answer I would like, but valid. I haven’t given him any reason to trust me, a woman who was where she shouldn’t be, asking questions she shouldn’t. He rubs his chest where the law officer hit him. Already he’s proven much. I say, “I don’t want to be owned anymore.”
He gently rests his hand on my arm. “That’s exactly the sort of thing we help with.”
A sense of peace seems to spread from where we’re connected all the way through me, stilling the last of my suspicions. Perhaps he can assist me. Perhaps that glimmer of hope can grow a tiny bit more.
He turns, picks up a large bush off the side of the mountain, and moves it aside. At first, the action seems strange, but then I spot a small wooden door behind where the bush used to be. A hidden doorway built into the rock of the mountain. When my mother said there are tarnished who can help, I never thought she meant this. Just who is this tarnished and the others he’s working with?
He opens the door and gestures me in. It’s dark.
“What’s down there?”
“
One of our hideouts.”
One? Meaning there’s more? And what’s in these hideouts? My leg still aches from where the law officer struck me. “It doesn’t look very inviting.”
“It’s not so terrible once you’re in. You came to us for help. Let us do that. We’ll find you some food and water as well.”
Too tempting to pass up, except I wonder, “Who is this 'we' you keep speaking of?”
He motions toward the door again. Further answers don’t matter at this point. Taking one more chance isn’t going to change whatever fate is waiting for me down there. I step into a small entryway. He quickly joins me, pulling the bush back in place before closing the door.
“
This way.”
I follow him through a hall that leads to a large room lit by candles and full of tarnished. They’re all ages and genders. All staring at me.
“What are you doing with one of them down here?” one of the women asks.
He made it sound as if he conversed with girls often, but she makes it sound as if I'm a bad thing. A very bad thing.
“Helping.”
“
Helping get us all caught, you mean.”
What does she mean by caught? Are they in trouble too? If so, is hiding with them putting me at more or less risk? What happens when my owner realizes I’m gone and comes looking for me? Will it endanger them? Doesn’t matter the risk. On my own, I was going to end up back with Nigel. Besides, I thought the male tarnished and mother said that is what they did: help.
“We aren’t only helping a few chosen people, Helen. You’ve got to understand this,” the male tarnished says. “Other people besides just you need us.”
Any remaining doubts about him flee. Though I don’t understand his reasoning or purpose, I know he’s trustworthy. The tarnished girl questioning him, though, her I’m not certain about. I can understand not wanting to help me, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to trust her. Or any of the others.
As he leads me past those gathered, I get a better look at her. She’s a little taller than me and older, with slight curves hiding behind her dark purple skirt and maroon blouse. Her nose is thin, made sharper with the ink on her cheeks. She glares at me. At least the rest of them have the decency to leave me be.
The male grabs us a candle from a table, lights it, and takes us down a hall tunneled out of the mountain. I peer at the ceiling above us, the craggy rocks formed at a slant. How much mountain are we under? More importantly, what is keeping it up?
It weighs on me, making the way seem longer until he turns into a room. It's a good change, though. Perhaps there’s still rock overhead, but at least it's completely covered with wooden beams and is bigger. I only have to pretend I’m in a windowless room. Not pleasant memories of being punished but better than Katherine-crushing rock. There’s a desk with nothing on it and several rickety chairs. Other than the furniture, the whole place reminds me too much of being locked in a dark closet.
“
This should do. Feel free to get settled. I’ll return shortly and we can talk more. Please make yourself comfortable.”
He’s gone before I’ve decided if I’m fine with this arrangement or not. At least he left the candle on the desk. There’s nothing else. In all likelihood the roof is about to collapse on me, and so far I’ve only seen other tarnished here. Not ideal. But preferable to Nigel.
Still not willing to let go of my pack, even if the danger seems to have lessened, I keep it on my back as I ease into the chair. It’s a heavy reminder of the little I have to help me escape. After walking around for so long, my feet pulse and ache. The bruise on my leg isn’t fairing any better. The last time I felt this horrid was when the class matron caught me sleeping during her lecture on our hair, how it can never be cut and must always be in a tight bun. Enough to put anyone to sleep.
The minutes tick by as my worries increase. What is to become of me? Am I to go hungry? Where is the water closet? Am I allowed to leave this room if I wish? Or am I more a prisoner here than I was at Father’s? Even if I am a prisoner, at least it smells damp and musty instead of like rotten things.
My head nods, but the action reminds me of Nigel, and I jerk awake. Though I’m exhausted from such a wearing day and night, I can’t let my guard down enough to sleep.
Sometime later, it’s hard to guess how long with the worries distracting me, the male tarnished returns with an older woman. The tattooed slashes across her face are creased with age, but in a much more stately way than Nigel’s wrinkles. She looks wise and temperate, instead of baggy and worn. Not who I would have expected the male tarnished would return with. I was sure it'd be another male.
The whole thing is made even stranger by the clothes she’s wearing. A two piece, which is what they wear, but the colors stand out. A dark orange blouse and dusty pink skirt. I don’t know if I like the combination, but something about the way the woman wears them, the way she carries herself, makes them look good. Really good.
“
You didn’t relax,” the male says.
He seems to be waiting for a reply so I admit, “I couldn’t.”
After sighing, he motions the older woman to another chair.
She sits there across from me. “Why don’t you tell me your story, dear? I’d very much like to know why you are here.”
Why am I here? I’m not certain I know.
“
Why don’t you start with your owner? Who is he?”
Nigel flashes through my mind, his smell and age invading my space. I could give lies. They come easily, but the reminder of him mixed with their treatment of me so far makes me want to be honest. “No one I want to return to.”
At this, the tarnished woman smiles and places her hand on mine. “I think, my dear, that you have found just the right place.”
Chapter Six
“I’
m Mary, and this is Charles.”
This means I should offer my name as well, but I’m not ready to divulge. It’s nice to know the name of the tarnished helping me. Charles. It’s a name I’ve always liked. He scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor but watches me closely out of the corner of his eyes. I quickly look away, a flush of heat spreading through me.
“You don’t have to tell us your name if you’re not ready,” Mary says. “Now how did you happen upon us?”
“
My mother spoke of you.” It’s hard not to let emotion color my words. “There was a tarnished who was our friend. She decided to run, and mother said she was coming to you for help.”
“
What is your friend's name?”
“
Tilda.” My heart gives a sad pang.
“
You’re Tilda’s little one? Or were. You’re not so little anymore.”
“
She spoke of me?”
“
Who is she?” Charles asks Mary.
She shakes her head at him and says to me, “Whenever we saw each other, she did speak of you. She was the best of women.”
“She was.”
Charles’s lips thin, sadness etching his features.
After a moment, Mary asks, “Who is your owner? Is he going to come looking for you?”
Is he? I hope not. “I was sold to Nigel Crowell this week. He seems pretty desperate for a breeder with a lot of magic in her blood. Which happens to be me. I doubt he’ll let me go easily.”
The lines in her face deepen as her muscles tighten. “Did you bring all of your possessions with you or did you leave something behind?”
“
I don’t know.” I think back to my room, to the things I grabbed. I had such little time to pack and prepare. Everything was thrown in. I don’t have much. It shouldn’t be hard, yet I can’t be certain.
“
This is important.” Her voice is still kind but strained now.
Doesn’t matter if it is important. It's no easier to remember. Besides, why could it possibly be so important? “Just a moment.”
If only there had been more time to gather my things. I rummage through my pack, mentally taking note. A spare dress, underthings, face paint, brush, hairpins, the stolen sewing kit. It’s all here except— “My ribbon is still at Father’s.”
“
Just a ribbon? Or does it have more value?”
The pack slips from my hands. How could I have forgotten it? How? “Tilda gave it to me.”
Her lips shrink into a pinched line.
“
Is that bad?” Why could it be? For them at least, for me I will miss the only item I had to remind me of her.
“
We can’t be certain as of yet, but it bears checking into,” she says. “Charles, show her to the kitchens. I’m going to have someone keep an extra eye on things around here and send a scout to town and see if there’s news of her.”
“
Sorry,” Charles says, “I didn’t know.”
Why is he apologizing? Is it because he brought me here?
“I’ll take care of it.” He winces at her words but recovers before she hurries from the room.
“
What is she talking about? Why is she sending scouts out?”
“
It’s hopefully nothing. We just want to be certain your owner isn’t going to be able to find you.” But he’s not looking at me as he’s speaks. It may be normal for most tarnished not to look at whom they are speaking with, but for him it seems… off. So far, he has always looked at me.
“
What is it? Please tell me.”
“
They could be tracking you,” Charles whispers to me.
“
What?” My mouth goes dry. “With my ribbon?”
“
There's a spell they can use with objects that will lead them to the person, but only if that person has an attachment to the item,” Charles says.
“
I didn't know they could track me through it. I didn't know.” My chest seems to be caving in, piercing my heart. “They're going to find me and doing so will lead them here. How could I have left it behind?” I wrap my arms around myself.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. They keep things from girls on purpose. I should have done a better job making sure you were clear of spells.”
Maybe, but I still should have remembered it. Whether or not I knew of the spell, it was important to me. It shouldn't have been left.
“
Are you hungry?”
Starving. “Yes.”
“Let’s get something to eat then. With all the running about we sometimes do, there’s always something to eat.”
My guilt doesn't leave, but the thought of food does help distract me. “If you live underground, where do you get your food?”
“We have some crops around outside. Plus we sell items we make so we can purchase some of what we need. Really, we’re not much different from other tarnished who don’t live in a warlock’s house. Only we try to stay hidden and not let the warlocks know we’ve gathered into groups.”
My body protests my standing, the pack heavy on my shoulders as we return through the hall. The cramped and rocky-ceiling presses in on me. There has to be something else to focus on. The only other thing is the back of Charles's head, so I focus that. What color of hair would he have if he hadn’t been tarnished? What would he be like if he hadn’t been tarnished? Would he still have developed the need to help people like me, or would he have become cruel like most other warlocks? Is it the magic that makes the difference, or is it something else?
He leads me into another room with several tables and lots of chairs. The scent of fresh bread permeates the room. Suddenly, I’m ravenous instead of sleepy. He motions for me to sit at one of the tables. While I pick a seat, I keep my head lowered but watch as he dishes some food from off a counter next to the stove. He comes over and places a slab of cheese, a loaf of bread, a cup of water, and a bowl of small tomatoes on the table before sitting across from me. Those arms can certainly carry a lot.
He slices the bread and cheese, then hands them to me before making himself a plate.
Before biting into the bread I ask, “Have you always lived here?”
“
What, underground?”
I nod, mouth full of soft, chewy bread.
“No. We’ve been here a little while, about two years now. There are places like this all over Chardonia, places where we can hide. We use them as needed and abandon them when needed.”
“
Abandon because warlocks discover them?” I take a bite of cheese. It's creamier than I’m used to, smooth.
“
Yes. Mostly law officers, though they aren’t the real problem.”
“
Why not?”
“
Law officers tend to be warlocks who have enough magic to be in a good position, but just barely. They don’t usually know enough magic to be more trouble than we can handle.”
And yet, I’ve always been so frightened of them. “Who does bring more trouble?”
His eyes grow distant as if remembering something. “Warlocks with money and power, who don’t have to work, who don’t do anything except boss women and tarnished around. They bring grief to us. Money, power, and boredom are a dangerous combination. But the biggest threat is warlocks who are on the council and the Grand Chancellor.”
I know very little about the council except they rule over everyone, even the men. But I do know men of power and money. They would come into Father’s shop and order me about. Men like my brother wants to be. Men like Nigel. I want to push the last of the bread away but force myself to finish. It sticks in my throat and takes the whole cup of water to wash it down. Even after it’s gone, my throat still feels closed.
“It’s hard when you leave them,” Charles says.
“
What?” I croak out.
“
You’ve been owned your entire life. It's hard to change from that even if it’s what you want.”
There’s a burning behind my eyes that grows and spills onto my cheeks. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me. After I take it, his hand lingers on mine. It’s soft. Not his skin, though. His skin is rough with callouses, but the way he touches me. Gentle, so unlike the way other men grab and pinch and slap.
“It’s clean.” His words startle me from my thoughts.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to the handkerchief. I dab my tears and laugh. “I didn’t know tarnished carried handkerchiefs. I thought you weren’t allowed anything except your clothes and materials you need for whatever job you are assigned.”
He smiles, warming me. “One thing about tarnished. Always be prepared.”
“
All tarnished or just you?” I offer the handkerchief but he waves me away.
“
Keep it. You need it more than I do.”
I fold the handkerchief and tuck it carefully in my pack. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he replies. “Probably not all tarnished are prepared. I’m sure there are exceptions, but in general, tarnished are ready for most things. I haven’t had a usual tarnished life, living under the council’s rules, but I have to be prepared to act like a regular tarnished. We have to be prepared. We're asked to do everything, whether assigned to a job or not.”
I remember Tilda, all the things she and the other tarnished did for Father. The things they did for mother and me, whether we asked or not. I may have helped Father at the shop and taken care of things at home, but the tarnished, they truly did everything. They washed and cleaned and served and scrubbed Father’s feet and prepared for guests and took care of the water closet and so very much more. They truly did everything. Everything except gaining freedom, that is.
“There was a tarnished when I was young who was different from the rest. Tilda, the woman Mary knew. She was a friend, not something less than a shadow. She used to read me stories when Father was punishing mother for some perceived misdeed. When my mother’s screams would fill the house, Tilda would softly sing in my ear and hold me. There was no one else that took care of me like she did.” The memories prick at me, begging me to do something, but of course there’s nothing to be done. Her fate was determined long ago.
“
What happened to her?”
I’m afraid I may need his handkerchief again. “Father discovered how close we’d become, how she hadn’t just grown into a person, but a friend. As punishment to us both, Father hexed me to scream as loud as I could whenever I saw or heard her. After she would hurry from my sight, my throat would be raw, sore and aching, but it was nothing compared to the torment in my chest.
“Mother said Tilda couldn’t handle being the cause of my pain so she tried to run. Only she was caught, and Father wasn’t going to let someone so disobedient live.” And he made every single one of us watch her die.
“
I’m sorry.” He takes my hand, folds it in his own. “Words don’t fix things, but I still wish it wouldn’t have happened to both of you.”
I look down at our hands linked together. “Thank you. Not only for listening, but for helping.”
“Of course.”
I take a shaky breath. “My name is Katherine.”
“I'm glad to have met you, Katherine.”
The room grows silent, a silence that’s filled with healing and comfort and a little bit of something I don’t understand. Something I want to know more of.