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Ollo yawned and swung his feet out of bed. The chill of winter had long gone, but the mornings in Hreyn were still cold this early in the spring, so he quickly dressed and went to light a fire in the hearth. His small stone cottage had only one room, and in it was everything he had ever owned. A tattered cloak hung by the door - he had bought it second hand for a handful of coppers. He pulled it on as he waited for the fire to come to life.
It was still dark outside, but Ollo could afford to sleep no longer. The mill started at first light, and that was where he worked. If he ever wanted to have enough coin to buy a ring for Sweda, he'd need to keep his head down and work extra hard. His boss, Sgott, had a distaste for him that Ollo felt was mostly unfair. Mostly, not entirely. He did seem to be terribly forgetful for someone of his age - a thing which his parents never failed to remind him of.
It wasn't just his memory, Ollo realized. He didn't seem to entirely fit in at the mill. While everyone else seemed pleased hoisting logs and stacking planks, Ollo was always losing himself in daydreams and fantasies. At one point, it had nearly cost him a hand, as he'd not been paying attention and nearly passed it through the saw. That was half the reason he wanted to ask Sweda to marry him. If he could settle down and maybe start a family of his own, he might just be able to get things in order.
Whistling, he boiled the kettle and brewed a cup of strong tea. He ate the usual breakfast and, as usual, drank half of his tea before realizing he didn't have time to finish it and ran out the door for work.
Smallwater was a small village, ruled by a small house whose fortune came from milling and logging. Positioned between the draining end of Lake Onthwa and the Venn - the great forest - it was a prime location for sawing and shipping wood of all shapes and sizes. One of the greatest things to see was the driving of unprocessed logs down the Onthwa River, when the water dancers balanced and skipped from log to log with their long poles in hand, riding the harvest downstream to Kelvale by the sea. Ollo had always wished to become a water dancer as a child, but his balance had never been good enough, and had to settle for a job at the mill itself.
He lived a comfortable life, regardless of its simplicity. He was payed a copper a week - more than a young fellow living alone needs - and never wanted for food. His cottage, though small, was clean and only slightly drafty, and had once been his grandparents. He had friends in town, and a budding romance with Sweda, who was very beautiful indeed. He had everything a self-respecting young Hreynish man could ask for. Despite all of this, his head was forever stuck in the clouds.
Work at the mill dragged by, with many shouts and barking threats from Sgott. The logs came in, the planks went out. The workers worked and the water ran and - despite one newcomer losing a fingertip - everything moved on like any other day. By the time the lunch bell was struck, Ollo had to keep shaking his head to stop from dozing off from boredom.
He thought about visiting Sweda or dropping by the market, but in the end decided to spend his lunch at the lakeside and sat with his feet in the water. It was one of his favorite places - a calm retreat for when the daily ins and outs made him feel slightly mad. He was partway through his crusty bread and goat's cheese, watching little lake trout nibble on his toes, when a mule-drawn carriage came noisily down the lakeside road. Most of the noise seemed to be caused by the fact that the carriage was laden with strange pieces of metalwork and crates of bizarre instruments of various shapes and sizes. Another reason was that the mule driver was humming and mumbling to himself from behind a large map. Whoever it was had the chart held up in front of his face and was driving blindly, veering ever so slightly toward the lake.
"Hello?" Ollo said, looking to the mule driver.
The fellow on the cart looked up with a start and quickly stopped the mule. "Easy, easy," he said, setting down the reigns. His blonde hair and beard were grizzled and shaggy, and he looked as though he hadn't had a good night's rest in quite some time. He jumped down from the cart and walked over. "Good day, young master," he said in a slightly awkward voice.
"Good day." Ollo didn't know what else to say. "Can I help you?"
"Help me? Yes, yeah. Ah..." he scratched his neck and glanced around. "Is this Stonepool?"
"No, Smallwater," Ollo said. "Stonepool's a way up the road. About a two-day ride from here."
"Damn," the stranger swore, glancing toward the town. "Say, would there happen to be a master of binding in town? Might you know of the trade?"
Ollo took a step back. "No, gods no," he sputtered. He'd heard of the bizarre magics before, in hushed yarns at the tavern, or in the fayre stories he'd been told as a child. There were two kinds of people who practiced the mystic arts - those few who were trained in the noble fields of healing and metalworking, and those who meddled in powers that were best left alone. "You're not a..." he lowered his voice slightly "a warlock or something?"
The stranger's expression went into what looked like a series of spasms. At first, he seemed shocked, then offended, then thoughtful, and finally he was overcome by a fit of snorting laughter. "A warlock?" he managed, through gasping breaths, "Gods, fellow, no. I've studied at the academy in Ghendorral. I'm a lanterner."
Ollo scratched his head. "Like a... a wicker or something?" he asked, eyeing the cart and its odd assortment of artefacts.
"No, no... I study binding, runes, metalworking... mostly I just tinker with things. A lightkeeper in training, if you will. Although I'm on a bit of an assignment at the moment."
"Oh?" Ollo said, feeling slightly reassured but still maintaining a respectable distance. He had heard of the order of lightkeepers before, and it seemed an honorable trade. "Anything I could help you with? I've lived in these parts all my life. Did you say you're looking for Stonepool?"
The stranger nodded eagerly, his yellow beard shaking. "Yeah, that's right. A farmer down the road told me I might be able to sell some of my works there. Told me they have a market and that I should fetch a fair price from the locals. I'm aiming to sell some lamps and other bits. Wayfinders and such."
"Wayfinders?"
"Yeah. Little pointing devices- oh bugger it... one second." He jumped up onto the cart and started rummaging around in one of the crates. "I'm Ryeth, by the way. Healer, scribe and prentice binder," he jumped back down, clutching a small metal object, "at your service."
"Ollo," Ollo said, holding out a hand. This lanterner fellow didn't seem to be so bad after all. "Pleased to meet you."
Ryeth shook his hand. "So this here's a wayfinder," he said, passing the little device to Ollo. It looked like a pair of flat grey metal discs, separated by a gap the thickness of a coin. From the gap, a small copper needle protruded which pointed vaguely eastward. "I'm a little surprised you haven't seen one before, honestly. They're quite common on ships. Hold it flat, between your thumb and finger - there, like that. That way you don't block the needle. Now, turn around."
Ollo did so, feeling slightly awkward, and watched the wayfinder. To his amazement, the needle remained pointing in exactly the same direction, only wobbling a little to either side. "This is incredible!" Ollo said, looking up to see Ryeth's smug grin. "How-"
"Does it work?" Ryeth finished for him, still grinning widely. "Simple. The needle there is attached to a sort of axle in the middle and oiled - that way it can spin freely. The needle's bound to a big block of copper back at the Academy. It's a long way off - hundreds of miles - so I've had to add some minor runes to hold the bond... If we were closer, it wouldn't wobble as much, but hey - what can you do?"
Ollo handed the wayfinder back. He struggled to think of something to say in response. Half of what Ryeth just told him sounded like absolute gibberish. "So, do all of them point to the same place, then?"
Ryeth shook his head, then nodded. "Well, all of mine, yes. You need a pretty hefty block of copper to make a binding that holds over long distances, so unless you've got some pretty deep pockets, your needle isn't going to hold true for very far." He shrugged. "But, as long as you're in Hreyn, mine should give you a reading of roughly northeast to east by northeast."
"Handy in fog or a cloudy day," Ollo said, impressed. "You're planning on selling these at Stonepool? I imagine you'd fetch a higher price here, to be honest. Woodcutters or hunters would find those mighty useful. Stonepool's only about half the size of Smallwater."
Ryeth frowned. "That farmer chap didn't even mention this place, and it was only last night that I passed him."
Ollo supressed a grin - a sudden thought had occurred to him. "I think I understand."
"What do you mean?" Ryeth asked.
"Well... I really don't want to offend or anything. You seem like a good man, but..." he paused to think.
"But?"
Ollo shook his head. "Well, people aren't that trusting of magics around these parts. We're far away from the nearest lightkeeper, and the Venn has a bit of a scary reputation - old fayre stories and such. The most people see of that stuff is the occasional red lamp or folded steel. I feel like that farmer might have just wanted to send you far away as soon as possible. Magics is a bit of a dirty word here." Ryeth looked slightly taken aback. "Again, no offense."
The lanterner rubbed the back of his neck and sighed deeply. "Yeah, I guess I should have seen that." He chuckled dryly. "It's strange to hear you call it magics - the Fellows at the Academy roll their eyes at the newcomers who call it that. It's not like you're born into it or anything - if that was the case we'd have some kind of witch monarchy." He chuckled, but then stopped and shook his head. "D'you think I'll even be able to sell this stuff? The materials alone cost me quite a bit."
Ollo shrugged. "I'd think so. But if you want to be sure, I'd call myself a trader, not a binder." He smiled kindly. "Just to be on the safe side. You know... superstitious folk can be a bit jumpy."
"And you?" Ryeth asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ollo felt his face redden. "I'd be lying if I said you didn't startle me a little. Listen - if I introduce you to a few of the locals, that might help a bit. People will trust you more quickly if they see that one of their own can vouch for you."
The lanterner nodded, smiling. "That would be fantastic! If it's not too much trouble, of course."
"No trouble at all! I've still got..." he stopped then, feeling a cold sweat prickle on his forehead. Had the lunch bell rung yet? Was he late? Not again, oh gods, please not again... he thought desperately.
"I gotta go!" Ollo shouted suddenly, making Ryeth jump. He ran off toward the mill as quickly as his feet could carry him, slipping here and there on the greening spring grass.
*
"Five times," Sgott yelled, sending spittle flying into Ollo's face. "Five times you've been late this last season alone. Twice this week." His face looked like an overripe, bearded tomato. "What did you have for lunch today, master Ollo?" he asked, suddenly sounding calm and polite.
"Ah... some bread, sir. Some cheese." He couldn't keep his voice from shaking.
"Was the bread stale?"
Ollo didn't understand. "Ah... no sir. It was fre-"
"Then why did it take you two hours to chew?" Sgott bellowed at him. The older, muscular man was so angry, Ollo feared he might explode. "It's unacceptable, boy. Unacceptable." Sgott always called him boy, despite the fact that he would soon be celebrating his twenty-third year.
"Sir, it won't happen again," he said, pathetically.
"It won't?" Sgott asked, tilting his head to one side in a mocking gesture.
"It won't." Ollo tried to sound confident.
"You're damned right it won't, boy. You're damned right." The bull of a man leaned on the edge of a nearby workbench. He rubbed his eyes. "Gods, if those folks didn't pay me so well..." he trailed off, shaking his head.
"You're fired," he said finally. "I can't keep a lad like you around here. One o' these days you're gonna saw somebody in half and you know whose fault it'll be then?" He stared at Ollo, looking very tired all of a sudden.
"Yours," Ollo said weakly.
"Mine. That's right." Sgott stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "I just don't get it, boy. You're not stupid, are ye?"
"No sir?"
"Hmph," Sgott replied. "Nah, that's not it. I dunno, lad. But this is the thing - ye can't work here anymore. So... that's that." He got up to leave. "You've got to go now, boy."
"Right, yeah," Ollo said, turning to walk out.
"And boy," Sgott called, "figure yourself out. Aye?"
"Aye," he said, and walked out into the daylight.
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