The Dollmage

One day, when Rerioa was still young, I forced her to make a one-handed beggar doll for Kopper Looseniggle. Kopper had borrowed a hammer from his neighbor and now claimed he had lost it. Now, here is a problem. Had Kopper truly lost the hammer? Or was he breaking his promise not to steal? If Kopper was innocent, the doll would help him find the hammer. If he was guilty, he would become just like the doll with only one hand. He would never know when it would happen, but someday, somehow, Kopper would lose his hand. Renoa was intrigued by the thought of making the doll, but refused to do so until I agreed to leave her alone to do it. I left and she made a fine doll indeed.

Renoa gave Kopper the doll and then followed him around for days, waiting and watching. The doll worked. He found the hammer.

Renoa was disappointed, bored, and lost interest in dollmaking just when I was about to name her as the new Dollmage. “When I am older, Dollmage,” she said as she ran away to play in the forests of the mountains like a wild thing.

I let her go, for I had seen my husband’s ghost lurking at the outskirts of the village. When he came to me that evening, I said, “Another year, and then she will be ready.”

After that I went home and made a ghost doll. I named it after my husband and put it deep into the forest where it would be hard for him to find his way out again. I loved my husband, but I was not ready to die.

Renoa grew strong and fearless. The people liked her, not only because one day she would be their Dollmage, but also because of her easy way with them. They thought she was familiar with them because she liked them. In truth, she was at her ease because she cared not a whit for their opinion. She had a way with animals as well.The orneriest cow would give milk for her. The dogs of the village became still for her, followed her about when she let them, as if she were their owner. Always she smelled of green herbs, sweet-scented. Often she did not return home from the mountain wood until late, ravenous and moon-glad. I loved her as the child I did not have, and so I was patient. I would let her have her childhood as I did not have mine.

From my earliest memories my grandmother made me study and practice the art of dollmaking, until my soft little fingers bled and became calloused. While other children played, I studied and worked, collected materials and sorted them. I made doll after doll, only-to have my grandmother throw them away and instruct me to begin again.

My grandmother taught me that a Dollmage must have both gift and skill.The gift I had, but the skill came only with tears and much rapping of knuckles. Renoa, it seemed, would be like me. I would give her another year. Or two.

It had become easy for me to continue as Dollmage as soon as Renoa was born. I was able to borrow upon her powers, and I supposed I would until the day came when she was formally named Dollmage.

Annakey, as soon as she was able, was required to go into the fields to watch the sheep. In this way she earned mutton and wool for her mother. Though she could not spend her days playing with the other girls, still Annakey smiled.

Mostly I forgot about her, until one day I saw her by the river collecting stones that looked like animals or faces of people she knew.

“Have you not enough work to do?” I asked her. She dropped the stones into the water and ran away. How well I remembered my own passion for the miniature, the copy, and it concerned me to see what might be the beginnings of it in Annakey.

I asked Grandmother Keepmoney to observe her, to see if she worked worthy of the hire.

“She does,” said Grandmother Keepmoney.

“Then why does she smile so, seeing she must work?” I asked my friend.

“Herding sheep is light enough work. She plays with the boys, with Areth and Manal and the others. They are happy in the fields because there are no adults to restrict them.”

“And what do they play at?” I asked.

“They play at being adults. They pretend marrying and babies and cooking and milking cows. They pretend storms and bears and raids from robber people. The boys love Annakey.”

“So,” I said. “They run away from their parents’ world only to build a make-believe world just like it.”

“Has it not always been so, Hobblefoot?” Grandmother Keepmoney said. “When you and I were young, did you not make cookies and babydolls of clay? Even in your play you were Dollmage.”

What she said was true. Thinking about what she had said made me uneasy about Annakey. What if she was growing Dollmage powers right under my chin? I decided to spy on her.

Annakey was a monster in my eyes — given the eyes of a Dollmage only because she was born on the promised day. She must never be allowed to practice any art she might have. It would cause confusion, disharmony, turmoil. It would split the valley, and the wild all around would creep in. She was a weed allowed to thrive in a garden.