The Trial at Litus Albus: Prelude

Tharv marveled at how fast his life had become.

In the past four days, since Berta had convinced him to spy for her — something he regretted only as an act of coercion on her part — he had gone from one of the least watched people on the street to a panel set to judge Weard Darflaem, accused of trickery in his use of magic. Tharv knew which way he would vote no matter what Weard did. Tharv had an unburnt candle that Weard had lit.

Suddenly the long moments between events felt like all the years of his life played over and over again. After he had left Weard's house the first night, his mind reeling with the concepts of magic and people hunting for it, instead of waiting for it, his restless night had not leant itself well to the morning's toils. And the day dragged on like an eternity after he had been told to show up at Weard's before the meeting of the Oper.

After the candle incident, the crowd had surged forward, engulfing Weard. The candle fell and was trampled. Tharv fell as well, and only escaped being trampled because Aussie hauled him to his feet. The mapmaker fixed him with a look that hammered him to the spot, and before he felt he could move again, the crowd had moved on.

The candle had snapped in two, the wick covered in soot. Tharv picked it up and dusted it off. It was then that he noticed the wick wasn't covered in soot. Just dirt. The wax had not melted. The wick was untouched. And he knew that what he had seen was magic.

Now, standing at the entrance to his house, watching the sun set behind the trees, the sky bathed in brilliant orange light and the water in the fields glowing, he felt ashamed. His shoulders hunched in and he scuffed his foot against the dirt in the doorway. If only he had pressed forward, had pushed into the room where Geflo and Hugrit had confronted Weard. They would have seen the candle. They would have known it was magic, and this trial would never happen.

"Tharv Haggart! Why isn't this hearth cleared?" Berta's voice snapped him from his reverie. "I have to prepare bread in the morning and you haven't cleaned up!"

He winced and went inside, taking the short broom and pail from beside the door. His wife glared at him, fists on her hips, always a bad sign.

Berta had trampled people just as much as everyone else to touch Weard, to try to get some of his miracle to rub off on her. Afterward, she had joined the growing number of people who labeled it a farce. Her husband's involvement in it disgusted her. Sophi's songs of praise about Tharv didn't help matters, especially when Berta's sister heard them. Sophi knew Berta's sister would tell Berta. Sophi probably thought she was being nice, Tharv thought.

To make things even worse, their son, Ulof, had joined the flock of believers who camped out in front of Weard's house in the continuing hope they would be among the first to learn magic from him. Tharv knew Sophi, Aussie, Rin and Yarpelt had closeted themselves in with Weard. Tharv was not allowed near them, by orders from Geflo and Lauf. As members of the panel to judge Weard's claim to have received the gift of magic, they could not associated with him until after the hearing. Tharv could only assume Schafft was under the same orders.

Litus Albus was divided like Tharv's family, into people who powerfully believed, people who believed in hopes that it was true, and people who disbelieved, period. The message was spreading, as well, up and down the coast. The closest towns had already sent delegates, and Tharv had heard the reason the trial's date kept moving farther and farther away was because Schafft, of all people, insisted the more towns that could see the truth, or learn the lie, as he judiciously put it, the better for all involved.

Tharv scooped the ashes from the hearth desultorily. Three days had passed. The town was tensed up to its gills.

"Tharv, by all the gods, what is your problem?"

He found himself standing, the bucket in one hand, the broom in the other, ashes trailed across the floor behind him.

Why am I like this? he had time to think before the pounding feet came up to the door and knocked on it.

Berta opened the door to admit Schafft, scraping away at his boots with the guest thunga, a broad grin on his face.

"What is it?" Tharv blurted, earning a dirty look from his wife.

"Come out here, come out here," Schafft said, grin vanishing under Berta's glare. "Secret internal panel communications, Berta. I apologize for spiriting your husband away." He gestured violently at Tharv to get outside. "This will only take a moment."

Before Berta could say anything, Tharv was outside and Schafft had pushed the door shut. Schafft leaned in close to Tharv, who waved for silence and motioned to his work area. Schafft nodded.

The door creaked open behind them. "You better come back and finish this hearth!"

"A wonderful woman, your wife," Schafft said with feeling. "Amazing powers of observation and so forth."

"What is it?" Tharv said, when they were in his shed.

"I talked to Weard and them," Schafft said. "I thought you'd like to know that they're more than prepared to go."

"You sneaked in to talk to them?"

Schafft's hands played with a chamfer tool. "Yes, yes. Weard hasn't learned anything new yet, but he can regularly make the cold fire now. We decided that was a better example than him setting himself on fire."

"Yes, I would agree with that."

Schafft beamed at him. "Look, we all know they town's getting itself all riled up over nothing. Once the evidence is presented, not even Seruvus himself could deny the truth."

Tharv produced the candle from his pocket. It was no longer the white piece it had been before it snapped. "This was the candle he lit."

"May I see it? ... Hmm, yes, yes, the wick wasn't lit! And no melting of the wax! So there was no heat, or maybe just faint heat. I wonder why this would be? Is there a difference? It looked like a flame. What was Weard thinking?" Schafft handed the candle back. "I am confused that a person can set himself on fire, but not something else. I even asked Weard to try to set me ablaze ..."

"Has anyone else learned to use magic?" Tharv interrupted, sure that if he hadn't, Schafft would keep talking.

"What? Oh, no no." Schafft seemed to recall something else. "We want this delay, see. I would have pushed for a week if I had been thinking."

"More time and the town would eat itself," Tharv said sullenly. "Berta's already disowned our son."

Schafft's eyebrows raised. "Sounds dramatic! No, we don't have more time. We haven't heard if any towns are sending representatives! I wish I could go myself."

"Why do you want that?"

"So word could spread! People need to know." Schafft looked over Tharv's shoulder, and he turned around. Berta was striding toward them. "Fine, look, good luck. I'll see you tomorrow." And he walked away.

"Well?" Berta said. "What plot are you involved in now?"

"There's no plot, wife," Tharv said, brushing past her on his way back to the house. He felt his heart hardening. Why did she need to be so difficult? "No more than Geflo and his friends have."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The panel will be three to six in favor of Geflo, but none of that matters, Berta," Tharv said, standing in the doorway and looking down at her. "All Weard has to do is light the candle again."

"He could do his trick again."

"It never was a trick." Tharv's heart softened a bit. "I wish you'd believe that."

Tharv fingered the broken candle in his pocket and watched as the last of the sun's rays vanished over the trees, and not even Berta's grumblings could remove his suddenly tranquil thoughts.

*******

Inside Weard's house, nothing at all was getting done.

Aussie and Rin guarded the door from the crowd forming out there. Yarpelt liased with his sons to get news from Lauf and the outside world. Sophi bustled around, keeping the men working. And Weard himself pondered the weakness he felt against the magic, and what cost teaching this to the Mar would bring. No one seemed surprised that Schafft had sneaked back in.

Yarpelt brought news that the town was truly divided. There were three main factions: the zealots outside, the disbelievers like Geflo and Hugrit, and what Yarpelt's son who brought the information called the mudrakers, who debated all the arguments from either side, never moving anything anywhere.

"They are by far the largest group, which is the best news," Yarpelt said. "Lauf says because most of the zealots are camped outside your door, Weard, and most of the disbelievers are closeted at Hugrit's, where Geflo preaches Esgil's mission hour after hour to keep them faithful, the town has not quite yet ground to a halt." He nodded and relit his pipe. "The most interesting news, though, is that word has spread. Calumn and Faiprogh have sent representatives for the trial."

"To be on the panel?" Schafft shot to his feet from a momentary rest. He stared down at Yarpelt as if to pounce. "It was already agreed who would be on the panel."

"Not to be on the panel," Yarpelt finished calmly, his hands waving Schafft away so he could see Weard again. "To watch. The significance of this is big to our neighbors."

"Farther away, they won't care so much," Aussie said from his position by the door.

Weard nodded. "Farther away, it might be a novelty."

"We should wait for word to spread anyway," Schafft said. "When the Calumn and Faiprogh guests see the truth, they will go home and tell others. Word will spread. The novelty talk will spread like a primer paint, and then the rumors of it being real will show up like a first coat. Finally, Weard's arrival to show them it's real will be a finished coat."

Weard shook his head. "I don't know that I agree with you about a tour," he said. "Once any of you learn, you can teach people. I'm not going to hoard the knowledge."

"None of us understands what you're doing yet, father," Sophi said gently. "In three days of trying, none of us can get it to work."

Weard nodded sympathetically. He doubted very much that magic was something only a few people could learn. The stories said every Kalkorae could use it, every person in the Hundred Tribes. Nothing suggested that some Mar would never gain the ability. But he could see that there would be levels to one's ability. Without thinking himself immodest, he was certain he had a high aptitude for magic in the first place. After all, how was he able to discover it then?

Of course, he could only create fire that would burn on something attached to him. Strangely, he couldn't get a candle to burn. Only the cold fire would appear if he made it appear by a candle or some tinder, or even Schafft, who had insisted the herbalist try to light the agriculturalist's beard.

"That is another reason we should wait," Schafft said. "How could they dispute Weard if more than one of us created fire for them?"

"Try again, Schafft," Weard instructed. The agriculuralist had the least patience to sit still long enough to guide the motes. He got too distracted, asking questions about the significance of green versus red, and trying to name the other colors. But he was always willing to try after the many failures, where Aussie's frustrations only seemed to mount and Sophi had some level of resignation that it would never work for her.

As Schafft sat down and grimaced at the tea, his whole body wired to catch fire for a hundred other reasons, Weard found himself missing Tharv. The man's strange reluctance to put himself forward could be somewhat reassuring, and his simpleness was helpful. Certainly, the appearance of the candle had been exactly what Weard needed. The cooper's strangely brilliant insights could be very useful right now.

He sighed and began the slow process of getting Schafft focused on the task at hand, and hoped this prelude would lead to peace for everyone.

Copyright 2005-2007 Eric Zawadzki and Matthew Schick. All Rights Reserved.
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