Chapter 4
The next morning Janol woke up late. Everyone else, including the still-sulking Greta, was breakfasting. Janol tucked into his porridge ignoring the stares from his sister.
After breakfast, his father took Janol aside. “Show Onnil around the farm,” he said. “She may be a help while she stays here.”
Janol was still on his week off and so not having to do any official work happily spent the day showing Onnil around the farm and the fields of crops.
“You grow only potatoes?” Onnil asked looking at field upon field of potatoes.
“Well, some carrots and yams. We used to grow sugar beet. This part of Wyive grows root crops, further west they grow grain and raise animals, then even further west, well southwest - they grow fruit, olives, and make wine. Don’t ask why it is like this, because I don’t know. That’s the way it is. It’s the way the land was allocated eons ago. Different regions grow different crops. That way the correct amount of each food is grown, supposedly. The weather and soil …” He realised that he was beginning to ramble. He should ask his father to explain it.
Onnil looked about.
“If the ground needs refreshed we get a farming mage to replenish the soil but they’re expensive. They’re not as common as they once were, apparently. Do you know about mages?”
Onnil nodded.
Janol and Onnil spent the afternoon repairing a section of broken fencing. Janol was surprised at how strong Onnil was. He then showed her the still that produced alcohol for the tractor from the vegetable waste produced by the farm. Any spare alcohol was bottled as whisky or sold to their neighbours, supposedly as fuel for their vehicles. Janol found a bottle of whisky and offered Onnil some. She stared at him and then downed half the bottle. He stared back open-mouthed as she continued as if nothing had happened. He had discovered something else remarkable about Onnil; it was impossible to get her drunk. She could drink anyone under the table.
Onnil could not stay in Greta’s room indefinitely so Janol used Onnil’s presence to clear out one of the spare rooms that had collected what seemed like generations of rubbish. Onnil helped him clean it while Janol took the opportunity to subtly interrogate her.
“So where do you come from?” he asked.
“I had travelled from Emchoo,” she replied, “then to Isemchoo and then to Wyive. I rested in the cave, there must have been a landslide and then the air had got thin. The next thing I knew was when Tusfern and you were standing over me.”
Janol nodded, although the story did not quite ring true. “I’ve never met anyone from Isemchoo or Emchoo before. So why did you travel to Wyive?”
“I had to. I’d rather not talk about it at the moment.”
Janol did not question her further but he suspected that he wasn’t being told the full truth. Onnil’s explanation did not answer why there appeared to be no sign of a cave-in. She might be from Emchoo but it could be worse, she could be from Zedix. He put that thought out of his mind immediately. Whatever she was, she was not a Zedixian. He did not pursue her origin any further. He did not mention that he knew that the inhabitants of Emchoo and Isemchoo aggressively chased off any ships that sailed too close.
After breakfast, his father took Janol aside. “Show Onnil around the farm,” he said. “She may be a help while she stays here.”
Janol was still on his week off and so not having to do any official work happily spent the day showing Onnil around the farm and the fields of crops.
“You grow only potatoes?” Onnil asked looking at field upon field of potatoes.
“Well, some carrots and yams. We used to grow sugar beet. This part of Wyive grows root crops, further west they grow grain and raise animals, then even further west, well southwest - they grow fruit, olives, and make wine. Don’t ask why it is like this, because I don’t know. That’s the way it is. It’s the way the land was allocated eons ago. Different regions grow different crops. That way the correct amount of each food is grown, supposedly. The weather and soil …” He realised that he was beginning to ramble. He should ask his father to explain it.
Onnil looked about.
“If the ground needs refreshed we get a farming mage to replenish the soil but they’re expensive. They’re not as common as they once were, apparently. Do you know about mages?”
Onnil nodded.
Janol and Onnil spent the afternoon repairing a section of broken fencing. Janol was surprised at how strong Onnil was. He then showed her the still that produced alcohol for the tractor from the vegetable waste produced by the farm. Any spare alcohol was bottled as whisky or sold to their neighbours, supposedly as fuel for their vehicles. Janol found a bottle of whisky and offered Onnil some. She stared at him and then downed half the bottle. He stared back open-mouthed as she continued as if nothing had happened. He had discovered something else remarkable about Onnil; it was impossible to get her drunk. She could drink anyone under the table.
Onnil could not stay in Greta’s room indefinitely so Janol used Onnil’s presence to clear out one of the spare rooms that had collected what seemed like generations of rubbish. Onnil helped him clean it while Janol took the opportunity to subtly interrogate her.
“So where do you come from?” he asked.
“I had travelled from Emchoo,” she replied, “then to Isemchoo and then to Wyive. I rested in the cave, there must have been a landslide and then the air had got thin. The next thing I knew was when Tusfern and you were standing over me.”
Janol nodded, although the story did not quite ring true. “I’ve never met anyone from Isemchoo or Emchoo before. So why did you travel to Wyive?”
“I had to. I’d rather not talk about it at the moment.”
Janol did not question her further but he suspected that he wasn’t being told the full truth. Onnil’s explanation did not answer why there appeared to be no sign of a cave-in. She might be from Emchoo but it could be worse, she could be from Zedix. He put that thought out of his mind immediately. Whatever she was, she was not a Zedixian. He did not pursue her origin any further. He did not mention that he knew that the inhabitants of Emchoo and Isemchoo aggressively chased off any ships that sailed too close.
As the days and weeks passed, Janol grew to like Onnil more and more. He was not sure what it was but she had a knack for making everybody like her. Even Greta warmed to her. He decided that she must be from Emchoo, though she did not appear to be in any hurry to return. Was she a criminal? No she couldn’t be. Would she take him to Emchoo one day? Was she a spy? No she wasn’t one of those either.
The days of summer and autumn passed quickly, and in some ways they were some of the happiest of Janol’s life, he and Onnil made a good team especially at harvest time doing the official jobs and then on Janol’s days off they would spend time together drinking whisky and doing the annoying little jobs that always needed doing.
Onnil infuriatingly avoided all attempts to answer questions regarding her past.
Every other Friveday there would be a dance in Gritol. Janol took Onnil as often as he could. She was a good dancer, once he managed to get her up on the dance floor. Her exotic looks meant that she would often get asked to dance by other single men. However, Janol also found that having such an unusual companion made him more interesting to the girls from the neighbouring farms and villages.
In other ways the days that passed were also the unhappiest. Janol’s father was getting more and more enraged over everything. Prayoir and Greta were not doing their jobs, the farm was making no money, the government were not doing anything about the problems. But the worst fight occurred when he mentioned that Janol would one day take over the running of the farm.
It was then that Janol announced that he did not want to be a farmer for the rest of his life and that he wanted to leave and do something different.
Janol’s father’s face went purple with rage. It was this time and this time only that his father blamed Onnil for the problems. Fortunately, she was not present at the time. The argument helped Janol make up his mind. He was going to leave; the farm would make a great dowry for Greta or Prayoir.
Onnil spent a lot of time reading. She would read everything and anything. Janol had never met anyone who could read as fast. She had soon exhausted Janol’s meagre supply of books. Every so often, he would take her into Gritol to borrow some books from the lending library. When asked how she learnt to read so fast, she explained that she was used to the alphabet and the letters sounded the same. Janol just accepted the explanation.
Onnil was interested in Janol’s collection of artefacts. One of them in particular seemed to fascinate her.
“Do you know what it is?” he asked her.
Onnil just shook her head in reply but there was something about her fascination that indicated she knew more than she was letting on.
The days of summer and autumn passed quickly, and in some ways they were some of the happiest of Janol’s life, he and Onnil made a good team especially at harvest time doing the official jobs and then on Janol’s days off they would spend time together drinking whisky and doing the annoying little jobs that always needed doing.
Onnil infuriatingly avoided all attempts to answer questions regarding her past.
Every other Friveday there would be a dance in Gritol. Janol took Onnil as often as he could. She was a good dancer, once he managed to get her up on the dance floor. Her exotic looks meant that she would often get asked to dance by other single men. However, Janol also found that having such an unusual companion made him more interesting to the girls from the neighbouring farms and villages.
In other ways the days that passed were also the unhappiest. Janol’s father was getting more and more enraged over everything. Prayoir and Greta were not doing their jobs, the farm was making no money, the government were not doing anything about the problems. But the worst fight occurred when he mentioned that Janol would one day take over the running of the farm.
It was then that Janol announced that he did not want to be a farmer for the rest of his life and that he wanted to leave and do something different.
Janol’s father’s face went purple with rage. It was this time and this time only that his father blamed Onnil for the problems. Fortunately, she was not present at the time. The argument helped Janol make up his mind. He was going to leave; the farm would make a great dowry for Greta or Prayoir.
Onnil spent a lot of time reading. She would read everything and anything. Janol had never met anyone who could read as fast. She had soon exhausted Janol’s meagre supply of books. Every so often, he would take her into Gritol to borrow some books from the lending library. When asked how she learnt to read so fast, she explained that she was used to the alphabet and the letters sounded the same. Janol just accepted the explanation.
Onnil was interested in Janol’s collection of artefacts. One of them in particular seemed to fascinate her.
“Do you know what it is?” he asked her.
Onnil just shook her head in reply but there was something about her fascination that indicated she knew more than she was letting on.
Just after the end of harvest time, Tusfern visited as promised. He also as promised, did some free landscaping, raising and flattening fields that needed more drainage and lowering unproductive land that had had to be left fallow to recover as tradition demanded.
Tusfern was pleased to see Onnil again and asked her all the questions that Janol had already asked and received exactly the same unsatisfying answers that Janol had. Tusfern stayed for a further few weeks doing landscaping for some of the neighbouring farms, charging a small fee, before returning home.
The free landscaping for Janol’s father had the added bonus that he stopped complaining for a couple of weeks but not long after Tusfern had left he was back to his normal complaining self.
Winter came and went, the year changed from the year of Maxwell to the year of Kenko, with it came the news from the oracle in Ulipol that the name of the following year would have the name Cannon.
The winter was colder than usual, the sun seemed to dim earlier in the afternoon and brighten later in the morning than normal. After mid-winter, as the days started to get longer, there was an influx of Zedixian refugees. They all told stories of the atrocities that were happening to those who did not submit to the rule of Gultipif.
Tusfern was pleased to see Onnil again and asked her all the questions that Janol had already asked and received exactly the same unsatisfying answers that Janol had. Tusfern stayed for a further few weeks doing landscaping for some of the neighbouring farms, charging a small fee, before returning home.
The free landscaping for Janol’s father had the added bonus that he stopped complaining for a couple of weeks but not long after Tusfern had left he was back to his normal complaining self.
Winter came and went, the year changed from the year of Maxwell to the year of Kenko, with it came the news from the oracle in Ulipol that the name of the following year would have the name Cannon.
The winter was colder than usual, the sun seemed to dim earlier in the afternoon and brighten later in the morning than normal. After mid-winter, as the days started to get longer, there was an influx of Zedixian refugees. They all told stories of the atrocities that were happening to those who did not submit to the rule of Gultipif.
Towards the end of the winter Prayoir broke her arm.
Janol was dispatched to Gritol to fetch the resident doctor. He wanted Onnil to accompany him but she insisted that she should stay behind. Janol drove the farm’s tractor to Gritol and picked up the healer. As they returned, Janol interrogated the doctor about all aspects of magic.
“How do you control the spells?” he asked.
“You just can. It is part of the training,” the doctor replied.
“So how long do you have to train for?”
“Well, I did a year for basic spells and healing. For the more specialist work in hospitals in the major cities it takes longer.”
“So what’s to stop a healer ‘healing’ someone when they weren’t ill?”
“It’s impossible. There are no spells to do that. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I heard a rumour of some of the stories coming from Zedix that say that healers aren’t healing.” Janol realised that it sounded stupid even as he said it.
“They can’t be healers. They must be some other sort of mage. In the past there were supposed to have been other types, perhaps they’re those.”
“Yes, must be,” Janol replied unconvinced.
When they reached the farm, they found that Onnil had bound up Prayoir’s arm in a splint. The healer was impressed.
“Are you a healing mage?” he asked.
Onnil shook her head. “I can’t do magic of any sort but I was shown emergency first aid when I was younger.”
The doctor nodded. “Well, it’s some of the best work I’ve ever seen.”
Janol assumed from Onnil’s reply, incorrectly as he was later to find out, that Onnil must have taken the magic aptitude test and shown no ability.
Janol was dispatched to Gritol to fetch the resident doctor. He wanted Onnil to accompany him but she insisted that she should stay behind. Janol drove the farm’s tractor to Gritol and picked up the healer. As they returned, Janol interrogated the doctor about all aspects of magic.
“How do you control the spells?” he asked.
“You just can. It is part of the training,” the doctor replied.
“So how long do you have to train for?”
“Well, I did a year for basic spells and healing. For the more specialist work in hospitals in the major cities it takes longer.”
“So what’s to stop a healer ‘healing’ someone when they weren’t ill?”
“It’s impossible. There are no spells to do that. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I heard a rumour of some of the stories coming from Zedix that say that healers aren’t healing.” Janol realised that it sounded stupid even as he said it.
“They can’t be healers. They must be some other sort of mage. In the past there were supposed to have been other types, perhaps they’re those.”
“Yes, must be,” Janol replied unconvinced.
When they reached the farm, they found that Onnil had bound up Prayoir’s arm in a splint. The healer was impressed.
“Are you a healing mage?” he asked.
Onnil shook her head. “I can’t do magic of any sort but I was shown emergency first aid when I was younger.”
The doctor nodded. “Well, it’s some of the best work I’ve ever seen.”
Janol assumed from Onnil’s reply, incorrectly as he was later to find out, that Onnil must have taken the magic aptitude test and shown no ability.
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