Klair shoved the vine back into the mat and rolled his shoulders. "I need more practice." He shrugged. "Even after a six-day, this is the best I can do."
"You're learning quickly," Nallock said. "Keep at it."
As the days progressed, Klair learned the craft of willow weaving. Nallock and Klair were constant companions. He appreciated the partnership, for the weaver loved talking and Klair liked listening.
Early each morning, they canvassed the river banks to harvest new willow. During the day, they sat at market. They wove mats while selling them. In the evenings, they rode the wagon out into the countryside to sleep under the stars. If it rained, they made beds under the wagon and slept on thick mats that kept them away from the water. Klair learned another advantage for the willow mats. They made good camp cushions. They were thicker than the thrushes used in the north.
The day of their first harvest, Nallock had asked for his help to load the pile of willows to the bed wagon.
"Let me try by myself," Klair offered.
His mentor stepped back and permitted Klair to thrust his hands into the willows and with a grunt lifted the majority of them into the wagon. This is a great way to exercise, in place of chopping wood.
Nallock nodded approvingly.
Each morning and evening, Klair helped Gram set up her seasoning stand and afterwards returned to Nallock. He enjoyed tapping into his blossoming physical strength by a variety of tasks. Klair's hands were swollen and blistered from his new occupation. Resting them in a bucket of herb water helped the healing.
After days of no magic, his senses had finally returned to normal.
Accepted as a Norm, rather than Spawn, Klair sat contentedly on the sideboard of Nallock's wagon, legs swinging over the backboard.
On the fourth day of Klair's apprenticeship, a red-haired fellow arrived at their wagon during market. The scowl on his face matched the hair and clothes in disarray. He approached the weaver's wagon and leaned against it.
"What ails you, Cowan," Nallock offered. The two appeared to know each other well. Regardless of their prior interactions, the man visited today to vent.
"Half of last year's crop ruined by magic."
Klair twitched but did not look at the man, keeping his attentions on his hands as he wove his mat.
Nallock offered his water skin and the man took a drink. "Your grain... what happened?"
"Holes in my shed. They were good walls and protected my harvest for years. I discovered the damage after a good storm." He jabbed a hand toward his wagon. "Found my grain saturated and molding. Salvaged half."
His Cowan's voice rose. "Who's going to pay my higher prices?"
"I suspected my neighbor, but his fence also got destroyed. He accused me until he saw my shed." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "I think it's some Seiun wizard puppets as there are no signs of stone or catapult."
The nation of Fist doesn't have magic users, Klair thought. The Seiun priests of the North were the leadership that persisted in enslaving their population and wanted to expand their borders to include Anvil. But he instantly knew what the man meant. Had the Seiun priests gotten access to some Kapawn wizards to help them in the war? Maybe those rumored to still roam Hurrisic pass?
Cowan looked at Klair who kept his eyes on his mat. "You're new."
"He's from Logan. He's been good to have." Nallock said.
YOU ARE READING
Pursued - Entire book
FantasíaKlair is a teenage wizard who HATES magic. He was born as a result of a wizard's one night stand with his other when she worked as a prostitute. Now over a decade later they live in Merrsain, a city located an area of the country that hates wizards...
