She considered slipping into the village to see for herself if it was the same mage, but that was kind of thing a child would do. She pictured herself asking Sir James if she should sneak into the village. He would demand to know if what little she gained in knowledge was worth risking her capture and even death.
It was too quiet while sitting at the workbench. On impulse, she printed an H and said, “H, ah.”
“Huh,” the crow shouted back at her.
“Bee,” she mimicked incorrectly, her wicked eyes watching the crow.
“Huh,” it said again, twisting and turning its head as it watched her like it thought her stupid.
“Huh, does that make you happy?”
The crow tilted its head but didn’t reply or correct her this time. She made a small evening meal by cooking a cross between hard bread and flatbread. It was not intentional, but she had never made it, and the result could not properly be called either, but she liked it. At least she told herself she did as she forced another bite into her mouth and washed it down with fresh water from the brook.
The light still filtered down through the trees when she passed Treeman. At three and a half steps she never even paused or hesitated in her walk. The knife found its way into her hand, and her arm whipped forward. The knife struck parallel to the ground, chest high, as usual.
“How often am I ever going to get that close?” Three and a half small steps. She knew the distance perfectly, but from there a man could almost leap forward and grab her before she threw.
She moved back to five steps and threw. The knife clattered to the ground. She backed a half step and missed again, but it had almost turned over to strike point first. She went back another half step. The knife stuck into the tree. Six steps instead of three and a half.
She marked the ground by drawing her foot across the needles in the dirt. Six steps, a much safer distance. But as she threw, it felt awkward and wrong, even though the knife managed to hit Treeman a little high, but still stuck. Her small arm couldn’t provide the speed the knife needed to cross the increased space and strike hard enough to penetrate.
She’d seen boys throw rocks, and they used their whole bodies. She imitated their movement awkwardly and missed the tree. After locating her knife and returning to her spot she tried again, making the move without throwing and chasing.
“Take a big step and keep low as you throw.” She told herself as she practiced a few more times, then tried with the knife. It struck Treeman with a resounding whack, very near the center of his chest. The middle of the tree below the face she’d made gleamed yellow, the bark worn off long ago from the repeated strikes of her blade. Darker vertical marks showed where the knife had struck before, so many that the whole area looked like some strange monster had chewed it.
The following morning, just after sunup, a young woman dressed in green pants and shirt that matched the color of the forest stood outside and called her name. Then she waited until Hannah pulled the curtain aside and walked out.
Seeing her, Hannah said nothing, but moved a few steps closer until she stood exactly six steps away, her perfect distance for the knife on her back itching to be in her hand. “Who are you?”
“Sage. Evelyn sent me.”
“She’s in the village.”
“I know. The mage is still there. It’s the same mage who served the Earl, one of those opposing the King, so he knows you by sight.”
While she spoke, Hannah took inventory of the girl. Taller than Hannah by half a head, she wore her long straight black hair tied with a green ribbon to keep it out of her face. She carried a bow, a quiver of arrows at her hip, a leather bag slung over her shoulder, but not the one carrying the bow. She kept that one clear of encumbrance. Hannah decided she was near twenty, but couldn’t guess on which side.
“You were in the village?” Hannah asked, expecting to find she had been.
She laughed, “Of course not. That mage is looking for anything out of the ordinary that might point him to you. She sent me an owl with a lengthy message and told me to come and teach you what I can, but to stress you are not to leave this tree for any reason. He is watching and waiting.”
“Are you a hunter? I have never heard of a woman hunter.”
“Hunter? No, I’m the same as you. A sorceress, just a little older than you.”
It was the first time anyone had called Hannah a sorceress. She found she liked it. “What can you teach me?”
“Reading, to start with. A few small spells to entertain you, but nothing that will attract the mage. Evelyn said you are studying your letters but have never attended training or school.”
“I think I know them all. I can print them, too. And I can say their sounds.”
“What spells do you know?”
“None. I just found out who I am,” Hannah told that part of the truth, and would hide the rest until she knew for sure what else to tell. For now, she wouldn’t even tell a sorceress too much.
Sage’s eyes went to Treeman.
Hannah said, “Meet Treeman, my target.”
“What have you been shooting at him?”
Hannah spun, and while turning, reached over her shoulder and pulled the black knife and threw. It struck dead center.
“A spell?” Sage asked, not appearing impressed.
“Skill,” Hannah said, puffing out her chest.
“Why?”
“So I can protect myself,” Hannah said, proud to explain.
Sage looked off into the distance, pulled an arrow and said, “Do you see that white spot on that tree way over there?”
Hannah looked. Not only could no arrow fly that far, but no archer could hit such a small target. “I see it.”
In a flash of motion, Sage brought the arrow to the string, pulled, aimed, and released. Her head turned to face Hannah long before the arrow found its mark. “Not skill. My arrows are enchanted to strike what I aim at. Why would I waste hours and hours learning to shoot half as good?”
The arrow struck the center of the white blaze. Hannah realized she had just learned her first lesson—and it was a good one. She didn’t know what or how, but she understood that a sorceress’ did things differently. It would be good to have company and someone to teach her. “Would you like to come inside?”
“Yes, I’ve never been here and using a hollow tree is a wonderful way to . . .” She paused as Hannah drew back the curtain. “Why, this is amazing. Look how large it is. And her supplies! It must have taken a lifetime to gather all this. How old is Evelyn?”
Hannah didn’t know. She shrugged. Sage began exploring, looking but not touching, Hannah noticed. Sage kept her hands to her sides or clasped behind her. Now and then she squealed in excitement, but no matter what, she never reached for anything on any table.
After eating some of Hannah’s bread, Sage told her to add more salt and perhaps onion or garlic to give it flavor. “And you might want to use a spoonful of oats, rye, and finely chopped nuts to add texture. Now, let me see your writing.”
Hannah almost snorted, realizing that a few days ago, she couldn’t produce it because of the disappearing ink, but the blue ink she used now filled several pages. Sage took her time examining them, pointing out a few small problems, and ways to make a few letters easier, but for the most part she approved.
Hannah dutifully sounded out each letter, and Sage only had one correction. Then Sage said, “Now the easy stuff is over. We’re going to put these letters together into words.”