The knife turned too much, or not enough part of the time, and then it clattered to the ground. In those instances, Hannah played a mental game where she died. On the first day, she died once for every two times the imaginary evil Treeman she fought died. The knife spun, and the craftsmanship caused it to strike properly two out of three times. That meant if she defended herself three times she would survive two. She had already used up one of those lives. The bark showed the number of times she’d defeated the Treeman.
Hannah decided five for five would be her next goal. Then she would take another step back and find a second distance to throw, just like the blacksmith told her. She would learn to throw five for five from there.
Tired, she entered the tree again and explored as she ate an apple. She looked but didn’t touch. Some items held writing, but she couldn’t read. Others were obvious. Rows of bottles with wooden stoppers lined a shelf, many of them filled with liquids of all colors and consistencies. Closed jars held plants, ground into shavings. A bowl held tiny white rocks, or what looked like rocks, but might be anything or nothing. She wanted to touch them but restrained herself.
On one table she found a quill, ink, and blank paper. A tall stool sat beside it, just the right height for writing. Evelyn had said to touch nothing, but that couldn’t apply to writing. She unstopped a bottle of dark blue ink and checked the nib on the quill. Soon she had printed an entire page of A’s, each row neater and more precise than the one above.
She had learned A’s from William at the King’s Palace in her father’s workshop. It was the only letter she knew. The first letter on the bottle containing the ink was new to her. I. A simple down stroke. She made one, thinking that writing may be easier than she expected.
The line grew too long. She made another, too short. The next wavered and bent. Hannah shifted the quill to her other hand and shook her right. Then she tried again, making one slash after another. They became reasonably straight, but when she sat back to observe her work, the entire line slanted downward instead of flowing straight across the page.
She changed dresses because she could. The green dress caught the light just right. Maybe green would become her new favorite color. The stack of firewood drew her attention. To one side kindling had been split, and flint and iron lay beside it. The sorceress had thought of everything. She built a small fire, not for warmth, but for the company. The smoke rose in the middle of the tree and filtered out above the curtain.
She still had enough light in the day to practice with her knife, and she had already killed her imaginary opponent with throw after throw. Each time she missed she analyzed why and made minute corrections. Then she went back inside and sat to work on her penmanship again.
The page was blank. She sorted through the pages, searched her bed, and anywhere else, but she was certain she had left the full page of A’s and the I’s right on top. Not wishing to waste valuable paper, she nevertheless started printing at the top of a clean sheet. She made a row of A’s and another of I’s, then learned to make the next letter on the bottle, N. When satisfied, and her hand cramping, she placed the bottle on top of the paper and cleaned the nib of the quill.
She followed the pink dots to their source, a small metal vat of a foul smelling liquid. Inside the rim of the cauldron floated thousands of pink dots, a few rising high enough to escape over the lip and float free. Hannah gave the smallest sniff and found herself dizzy. Do not touch OR sniff the sorceress’ things.
Looking at the position of the sun, she realized the day was almost over, and Evelyn wouldn’t arrive today. Perhaps not the following day either. The message from her had sounded faintly ominous. Still, she would sleep warm, safe, and cleaner than in days. She put wood on a small fire and went back to practice writing again and solved the mystery of her previous attempt. The writing had dried and faded, still faintly visible on the paper, even as she watched it disappear. Soon it would be gone.
Quill in hand, Hannah practiced drawing the next letter on the bottle, the letter K. She could only pronounce and repeat the sounds of A, but printing them would make the learning easier. She made a row of K symbols, keeping it straight and the letters the same size, although, they tended to get larger at the end of the line.
When darkness fell, she sat and ate a handful of berries and gnawed on hard bread sprinkled with odd spices. She carried a strip of jerky to her sleeping mat and used her blanket to cover her. There were ample candles, but Hannah had learned to sleep early and rise before the sun. Candles were for rich people.
The following day she again practiced throwing the knife at Treeman, as well as pulling it from the scabbard and throwing. She hit him four times in a row, but never five. She washed in the pool again around mid-day with a bar of heavy soap and wore the brown dress after drying off. The brown looked good on her and maybe it should become her new favorite color instead of green. Or Blue. A deer had wandered close, and she stood still, trying to draw it closer, but it bolted and left her laughing at the expression it wore when it spotted her.
The day passed slowly. After all the excitement of the last days, she wished for more to do. The third day passed slowly. The letters on the paper with the disappearing ink faded away in half a day or less. So did the ink. The quill now touched the bottom of the well with every dip. The nib had been cut so many times that the quill grew so short it barely fit her hand.
On the fourth day the sorceress, Evelyn, entered just before dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Child, I am so glad to see you again,” Evelyn said as she swirled into the room.
“I thought you would never get here.”
The sorceress carried a sack of food and supplies. She placed it on a work table and said, “Indeed, that is truer than not. The kingdom is in turmoil. Members of the Royal family have been killed, and others try to usurp the King. Several young mages have banded together to serve new masters, and all the while the whole world searches for a new princess, half to crown her and the other half to see her dead.”
“It is me they are after.”
Evelyn threw her hands to her mouth and feigned surprise. “You are the reason that they search each home in every town and village? Because of you, there are guards at every crossroad? And you are worth a fistful of gold coins to the person who delivers you, or your head, to certain mages?”
“I don’t understand half of what is happening.”
“Nor should you,” Evelyn said. “You are a just child in need of help.”
Hannah sat and looked away before deciding to trust Evelyn even more than she had. “Not just a child. I am a princess in line for the throne, and I’m the daughter of a mage.”
“Mage is something learned. Unless you feel a calling, you will know nothing of the magic arts, and even then you would have to study for years to learn the basics of being a sorceress.”
“I have that calling.”
While unpacking and talking had distracted her, Evelyn now turned and said simply, “I know.”
“You can tell?”
“The pink dots. Women without our powers cannot see them. Not even a mage can see them. Only us, a sisterhood of women who try to help others with what we learn, and that is how I knew you were more than a helpless child.”