Robin McKinley - Fire - Tales of Elemental Spirits

She reached into her neckline and hauled out the chain that hung there. Like everyone in the city who could afford it, she wore a collection of amulets against enchantments. They wouldn’t have been much use against a professional magician, but it was still worth paying for protection against cottage-cursers, and the surprising number of people who lived wholly unaware of their abilities and used them by accident. Tib had never seen Aunt Ellila’s amulets, but thanks to the nature of her business, they would have been more effective than most. Now all that was left of the nine little symbols, tokens and figures that had dangled from the chain was a few splinters of bone, melted blobs and shreds of fabric.

ʺThat was to show me what he could do if I refused,ʺ she said. ʺHe was perfectly fair and open about it. He’s even given me a replacement which he says will be a lot more use—I’m not going to wear it till I’ve had Dr. Cacada take a look at it, of course. And he’s sticking to the ridiculous price he offered, but . . . oh, Tib, I didn’t see what else I could do!ʺ

ʺNo . . .ʺ said Tib slowly. ʺYou’ve done your best. You’ve done your best for me all along, really. I’ve been extremely lucky. I owe you a lot, and I’m not going to forget it.ʺ

She looked at him, shaking her head, again on the verge of tears.

ʺYou’re a good boy,ʺ she said. ʺI’d like to give you something to remember me by. I was keeping it for when . . . when you. . . . Come.ʺ

She led the way into the curtained lair behind the stall where she dozed off her lunchtime bhang. It seemed to contain nothing besides the roll of mattress and the head-pillow that Tib had ferried to and fro every day since he’d been strong enough to push the cart, but she knelt, unhooked a few fastenings at the side of the roll and pulled out several small linen and leather bags. She put one aside, hid the rest back in the mattress and rose with the chosen bag in her hand.

ʺI suppose I’ve really known all along it was meant for you,ʺ she said. ʺLong before. . . . Anyway, the day I came to look for a slave, there was a beggar outside the school selling trashy little trinkets. Of course I looked his stuff over, the way I do. There was nothing on his tray worth even a glance, except this. I knew at once it had powers, though I’d no idea what they were. Still haven’t. I bought it for a song and put it in my purse, but then . . . I hadn’t actually been meaning to buy a slave that day—just wanted to see what was on offer, then go home and think about it, but the moment I saw you. . . . Anyway, oh, months later, when I was sitting over my bhang one evening, and you’d cleared supper and curled up in your cot and gone to sleep, I was thinking about what a lucky choice I’d made when I found you and fiddling around inside my bag for one of my little combs I’d put in it, but it had slipped down behind the lining, and so had this. I’d completely forgotten about it. I suppose that was why I’d never put it on sale, because it would be a bit like selling a piece of you, and now . . . and now . . . I’m going to lose you anyway, so you may as well take it. . . . Aren’t you even going to look at it?ʺ

Still in his daze of shock and grief, Tib found she’d already put the bag in his hands. He fumbled the cord loose and groped inside. His fingers touched something soft and flexible—a ribbon, he thought, but when he drew it out he found a golden band, not gold thread, but too soft and flexible to be wire. Running it through his fingers, he came to a stiffer part and found himself being stared at by two small purple eyes—jewels of some kind—and now he could see the shape of the head woven into the mesh. The thing was a small golden lizard. A pair of stubby clawed legs dangled beside the body, with another pair beyond. By then the body had begun to narrow towards the tail, but before he came to the tip there was the head again, lying, he now saw, on the hinder end of the body, with the tail itself coiling neatly round the neck.

ʺI think it’s an arm-band,ʺ said Aunt Ellila, and then, as he slipped the band onto his wrist, ʺCareful! Take it off at once if . . .ʺ

The band dangled loose and harmless from Tib’s wrist, so he slipped it up to the thicker muscle above the elbow, where it seemed to fit snugly. The dangling legs spread themselves, and the feet, without actually gripping, seemed to adhere lightly to the skin, like those of a wall-climbing gecko. A faint shimmer ran through the mesh and, without any movement he could sense, it seemed to lose substance and fade until for a moment he could see his skin through it. Then it was gone, melted into the flesh of his upper arm.

Aunt Ellila put out a trembling hand and lightly touched the place, but instantly snatched it back with a cry of pain and sucked at the first three fingers. When she withdrew them from her mouth Tib saw that the fingertips were scorched white, as if she had laid them on a hot roasting pan. But when, gingerly, he held his palm over the place and then himself touched it, he could feel nothing but his own natural warmth.

At that point the magician returned with a clerk wearing the badge of the Slavemaster’s Guild on the shoulder of his long coat and carrying a writing-case and a small parchment roll. Aunt Ellila cleared a space on the counter and the clerk unrolled the parchment, weighting the corners with knick-knacks from the stall. He told Tib to take off his smock and compared the tattoo on his shoulder with the copy on the parchment. By now Aunt Ellila was weeping openly.

ʺIt’s not that uncommon for owners to become over-involved with a slave,ʺ the clerk said chattily, as if neither Aunt Ellila nor Tib was present. ʺWomen with younger men, especially. It’s less offensive the other way round, of course—we’d have broken this relationship if we’d known of it. Come now, madam. . . .ʺ

The magician turned and gazed coldly at him. The clerk doubled in pain, clutching his side. The magician nodded. The clerk straightened, pale and sweating.

ʺYou should see a leech for that problem, my friend,ʺ said the magician, still unsmiling. His glance flicked for a moment to Tib, as if to check that he had seen the episode and understood.

From then on the clerk went efficiently about his business, clearly anxious to get it over. He wrote three lines on a fresh sheet of parchment, which Aunt Ellila and the magician signed. He took Tib’s left hand, pressed the thumb onto an ink-pad and then onto the parchment below the signatures and compared the imprint to the much smaller one on the original deed of sale. As he did so, Tib was able to look briefly at this. His eye was caught by the one almost blank line on the crowded sheet—ʺParentage:ʺ and then, simply, a dash.

Lastly the clerk watched as the magician counted out the payment to Aunt Ellila, made a note of it on the new document and sealed that with the Guild seal and attached it to the original. He accepted his fee and left. Tib hadn’t been surprised to see that his own price was nothing out of the ordinary—the Guild had strict rules—but as soon as the clerk had gone the magician gestured towards the items he’d originally chosen from the stall and counted out more coins from his purse—six of them, gold, and larger than Tib’s thumbnail. Tib knew all Aunt Ellila’s asking prices, as well as what she’d happily settle for. If the coins had been only silver, they’d have bought half her wares. She picked them up as if in a dream, shaking her head and still barely mastering her tears. The magician seemed not to notice.

ʺYou’ll need a man to help you home with your goods,ʺ he said.

ʺI . . . I’ll find somebody,ʺ muttered Aunt Ellila.

The magician crooked a finger as if beckoning somebody from among the passers-by. A wizened little man squirmed his way through. His smile was so wide it seemed to split his face in half. His ears were upside down.