AutumnQuest

Woodbury, Minnesota

AutumnQuest © 2006 by Terie Garrison.

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First e-book edition © 2010

E-book ISBN: 9780738724553

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In Loving Memory

Mark Edward Garrison

1963–1987

little brother, great friend

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to the members of the South Manchester Writers’ Workshop, who have been instrumental in making me the writer I’ve become.

And to Sarah and Sarah, my test readers, for their invaluable comments on the manuscript.

And most especially to Sally, for midwifing the whole story over endless cups of tea.

At the beginning was thought. From thought sprang order. From order sprang life. From life sprang chaos. From chaos sprang thought. Meditate on this, that you might bridge the chaos with thought and bring order to life.

~from The Book of Wisdom

When my brother told me it was a dragon egg, naturally I didn’t believe him. I might be three years younger than he, but at fifteen, I was long past the age when I’d fall for every practical joke he wanted to play on his little sister. Besides, having a dragon egg was high treason.

Still, I decided to play along with his prank. If nothing else, it might be fun to see how far he’d take it.

Really? I asked, widening my eyes.

’Tis, he said with a satisfied nod.

Can I touch?

He considered, then shrugged. Guess so. Don’t see what harm you could do.

I reached out a finger and gingerly caressed the foot-long, blue egg mottled with tiny pink dots.

A strong vibration pulsed through me for an instant and, surprised, I snatched my hand away.

What? Breyard asked, watching me through narrowed eyes.

Um, nothing, I said, pulling my hand into the sleeve of my novice’s robe so I could rub the tip of my finger secretly. Just don’t want to hurt it or anything.

Sure. Breyard was suspicious, so I looked him straight in the eye, hoping I wouldn’t give myself away. Fortunately, he looked away first so that he could admire the egg-shaped thing, whatever it was.

As I headed back to my cell to prepare for midafternoon meditation, I pondered just that: what was it? Breyard had always been good at making things. As a matter of fact, if he hadn’t been invited to attend Roylinn Academy, he’d have been apprenticed to a craftsman and probably worked his way up to journeyman by now.

But even though he was three years ahead of me in his studies, I knew he couldn’t have learned enough yet to make magic objects. Only masters could do that. And the egg-thing was definitely a magic object.

As I walked down the corridor, lost in thought, I felt Marileesa’s excitement before I heard her footsteps racing towards me. I paused. How could I possibly know it was Marileesa, my best friend? True, I’d always been sensitive to the moods of people around me, but lately I’d found that it seemed to be developing into something stronger, almost as if I could feel people’s very thoughts. I shook my head to try to clear the feeling and resumed walking.

Donavah! Marileesa’s voice brought me to a halt, and a moment later, she herself came running up behind me. Donavah, you’re never going to believe it! She practically crashed into me as she skidded to a stop.

Go ahead and try me, I said with a smile. What could possibly have stirred her up? Calm and cool all the time, she never shouted. Or ran.

She said yes! Master Kellery said I can play ensemble!

I let out a whoop that rang down the corridor, bouncing off the stone walls. Congratulations! I knew she would. You’re too good a musician to miss out.

I will officially be the youngest novice from Roylinn ever to play at Summer Solstice.

And one of the best, too. I grabbed her hands and started to twirl around with her. We spun faster and faster, laughing as we stumbled over our own feet.

Then the warning bell rang. We stopped, grinned at each other, and made a run for it, with barely enough time to get to our cells before meditation began.

I closed my door just as the signal bell sounded. I’d made it. Well, strictly speaking I hadn’t, because I was supposed to have been starting to meditate, not panting and trying to catch my breath. I hadn’t even lit my candles yet.

Taking deep breaths and willing my heart to stop pounding, I reached into my top desk drawer and took out two tapers, not paying attention to which ones they were. I shoved them into a pair of silver candlesticks, sat down on the woven meditation mat, lit the candles, and began the routine as a pleasant, summery fragrance of oranges filled the air.

Clear my thoughts.

—A large blue and pink egg that—

Stop. Clear my thoughts.

—Marileesa would play at Summer—

Stop. Clear my thoughts.

—Vibrating at the core of my being—

Stop. Clear my thoughts.

Useless. It was one of my worst meditation sessions ever. When the signal bell rang out an hour later, I still hadn’t gotten past the first step. I snuffed the candles, then sucked in my breath. They were the wrong ones! I looked at the calendar, as if it would show I was mistaken. But no, today really was the fourth day of clarity week, and I’d somehow managed to pick up the creativity candles. Two and a half weeks early. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that I should’ve been smelling thyme, not oranges?

I sighed out a breath. All right, so that would explain why I couldn’t clear. But meditating with the wrong candles could lead to, well, unexpected events. That’s what all the masters said. One of the first things we learned at the academy was the meditation cycle: the twelve weeks of meditation, their significance, and their candles. I’d never once gotten it wrong before. A sense of apprehension settled on me as I wondered what would happen now.

Supper was, as usual, plain but plentiful fare. Whole-grain bread with cheese, soup thick with vegetables and herbs from the academy gardens, followed by fruit from the orchards. I’d heard of some places where they practically starved the novices, and I couldn’t figure out what the point was of that. My studies were hard enough without adding the burden of hunger.

While Marileesa told the other girls in our circle her good news, I tried to see what Breyard was doing. Even though the egg-shaped thing was rather large, I thought he might still be carrying it around under his robe. I more than half-expected him to be trying out his joke on his mates. But there he was slurping up his soup and shovelling bread and cheese into his mouth just as he had for as long as I could remember. I scowled.

What’s wrong, Donavah? I brought my attention back to my friends to find them all looking at me in curiosity.

Nothing. I smiled at them. Just checking up on that fool brother of mine.

Loreen’s eyes went dreamy. So did her voice. What’s he up to now?

No good, as usual. I didn’t want to mention the egg to anyone yet, not even to Marileesa. After all, if it really was a joke, I didn’t want Breyard to find out he’d fooled me. Just being his typical brotherly self.

Loreen glanced over at him, but ducked down a bit and blushed when she found him looking over towards us. If I considered him objectively, I could sort of understand what Loreen saw in Breyard. He had long, straight, light brown hair that he usually let flow down his back, a thin nose, bright hazel eyes, and a quick smile. But people also said I looked just like him, except for having Papa’s dark brown eyes, so I didn’t think of him as being handsome.

He caught my gaze and gave me half a wink. What did that mean? Was he trying to drive me crazy, or just succeeding?

After supper, I went back to my cell. It was my chore group’s week off, and I decided to use the extra time to translate more lines of the epic poem, Galina’s Travels, from the ancient language Zahrainian.

I loved sitting alone in my cell studying. It was a luxury I’d never been able to enjoy at home. Before coming to Roylinn, I’d gone to the village magician to learn reading, writing, sums, and even a few spells. But studying in a busy farmhouse, even a small one like ours, meant constant interruptions. By comparison, my cell was almost like having my own private study hall.

It was a small, spare room, exactly the same as every other novice had. It had a cot with a reasonably comfortable pad and bedding appropriate to the season—thankfully no freezing nights in Winter. There was a sturdy, well-used desk with an accumulation of old ink blotches and messages carved into the wood by past residents. Black wall sconces held fat, double-wicked candles and an oil lamp on the desk provided extra reading light. A high window let in light during the day but didn’t allow a view that might distract when one should be studying. Other than a shelf above the desk to hold books, the pinkish stone walls were bare. Nothing fancy. But my very own, all the same.

I lit the lamp, since the shortening days of early Autumn left the room too dark for studying. Then I pulled the lexicon off the shelf and settled down with the text of the poem and my writing implements. Time escaped me as I tried to unravel the knotty translation.

I’d barely finished the assignment for tomorrow’s class when the night tocsin rang out. Where had the time gone? I blotted the paper, wiped my quill pen clean, and placed the books back on the shelf.

The washroom, to my surprise, was empty, giving me a chance to take more time than usual to get ready for bed. After washing my face and cleaning my teeth, I brushed my hair and braided it. It was really getting long now, down to my waist, and beginning to darken for the Winter.

Then back to my cell, where I changed into a flannel night-shirt of nondescript grey, put out all the lights, and got into bed. The down comforter was perfect for snuggling into on a brisk Autumn night, and I curled up under it.

A quiet rap on my door interrupted my drowsing off. I pulled the comforter away from my head and listened, hoping it had been my imagination. Then I heard Breyard whisper my name.

I threw back the covers and took the three steps to the door. Unlatching it, I started to formulate a scathing reply, but then I saw his face.

C’mon, he said, reaching out with a trembling hand and taking my arm, pulling me gently.

What? I poked my head out the door and looked up and down the corridor. You’re not supposed to be here. And it’s past curfew, too.

I need your help. Hurry.

I was tempted to shut the door on him. But then, much like the scent of Summer flowers on a breeze, a sense of his distress wafted over me. The hair on my arms felt as if it were standing up. I tried to shake the feeling off.

Wait a second, I said. He made an impatient noise but waited while I pulled a robe over my nightshirt and slipped on a pair of sandals.

He held my hand as we sped through the dimly lit corridors. No one was around, not even teachers, so it had to be even later than I’d thought. But we could still run into night staff, and then we’d be in big trouble. Breyard knew that, so this really had to be an emergency.

My heart leapt to my