Soul of the Fire

The woman laughed as she patted his back. It was a soft, lilting laugh of pleasure, not a laugh like she was laughing at him. Fitch didn't think he'd ever heard an Ander who was talking to him laugh in quite that way.

"Good for you." She gestured her emphasis with a finger. "I had a wizard tell me as much once, a very long time ago."

"A wizard! That must have been frightening. To meet a wizard, I mean."

She shrugged. "Not really. He was a nice man. I was a very little girl at the time. I was born gifted, you see. He told me to always remember that magic was no substitute for people truly caring about you for who you were yourself."

"I never knew there were wizards around."

"Not here," she said. She flicked a hand out into the night. "Back in Aydindril."

His ears perked up. "Aydindril? To the northeast?"

"My, but aren't you a bright one. Yes. To the northeast. At the Wizard's Keep." She held out a hand. "I'm Franca. And you?"

Fitch took her hand and held it lightly as he dipped to a knee in a deep bow. "I'm Fitch, ma'am."

"Franca."

"Ma'am?"

"Franca. That's my name. I told you my name, Fitch, so you could call me by my name."

"Sorry, ma'am — I mean Franca."

She let out her little laugh again. "Well, Fitch, it was nice to meet you. I must be headed back to the estate. I suppose you will be off to get drunk. That seems to be what boys your age like to do."

Fitch had to admit the idea of getting drunk sounded very good to him. The possibility of hearing about the Wizard's Keep sounded intriguing, though.

"I think I'd best be getting back to the estate myself. If you wouldn't mind having a Haken walk with you, I'd be well pleased to go along. Franca," he added in afterthought.

She studied his face again in that way that made him fidget.

"I'm gifted, Fitch. That means I'm different than most people, and so most all people, Ander and Haken both, think of me the way most Ander people think of you because you're Haken."

"They do? But you're Ander."

"Being Ander is not enough to overcome the stigma of having magic. I know what it feels like to have people dislike you without them knowing anything about you.

"I'd be well pleased to have you walk along with me, Fitch.”

Fitch smiled, partly in the shock of realizing he was having a conversation with an Ander woman, a real conversation, and partly in shock that Anders would dislike her-another Ander-because she had magic.

"But don't they respect you because you have magic?"

"They fear me. Fear can be good, and bad. Good, because then even though people don't like you, they at least treat you well. Bad, because people often try to strike out at what they fear."

"I never looked at it that way before."

He thought about how good it had made him feel when Claudine Winthrop called him "sir." She only did because she was afraid, he knew, but it still made him feel good. He didn't understand the other part of what Franca said, though.

"You're very wise. Does magic do that? Make a person wise?"

She let out the breathy laugh again, as if she found him as amusing as a fish with legs.

"If it did, then they would call it the Wise Man's Keep, instead of the Wizard's Keep. Some people would be wiser, perhaps, had they not been born with the buttress of magic."

He'd never met anyone who'd been to Aydindril, much less the Wizard's Keep. He could hardly believe a person with magic would talk to him. To an extent, he was worried because he didn't know anything about magic and he figured that if she got angry she might do him harm.

He thought her fascinating, though, even if she was old.

They started out down the road toward the estate in silence. Sometimes silence made him nervous. He wondered if she could tell what he thought with her magic.

Fitch looked over at her. She didn't look like she was paying any attention to his thoughts. He pointed at her throat.

"Mind if I ask what sort of thing that is, Franca? That band you wear at your throat? I've never seen anyone wear anything like it before. Is it something to do with magic?"

She laughed aloud. "Do you know, Fitch, that you are the first person in a great many years to ask me about this? Even if it is because you don't know enough to fear asking a sorceress such a personal question."

"Sorry, Franca. I didn't mean to say nothing offensive."

He began to worry he had stupidly said something to make her angry. He surely didn't want an Ander woman, and one with magic besides, angry with him. She was silent for a time as they walked on down the road. Fitch stuck his sweating hands back in his pockets.

At last she spoke again. "It isn't that, Fitch. Offensive,! mean. It just brings up bad memories."

"I'm sorry, Franca. I shouldn't have said it. Sometimes I say stupid things. I'm sorry."

He was wishing he had gone to get drunk, instead.

After a few more strides, she stopped and turned to him. "No, Fitch, it wasn't stupid. Here."