The idea of dreams held about as much notoriety in society as a favorable opinion of the Wordspinners--which is to say, any mention of them in polite circles was hushed, and one had to be very conscientious of admitting that the thoughts in one's head were in no way rooted in one's immediate experience. To put it bluntly, if one was having dreams, it was surely a sign of something deeply, fundamentally wrong with one's psyche.
As my father would say, “Dreaming is both unhealthy and unproductive, and those who dream amount to nothing.”
By the time I'd finished hemming and hawing about it, the ladies had moved on, anyway. I shrugged off the worthless thoughts and pulled open the gate guarding the path through the front yard to my door.
I opened and entered just as my mother was also heading toward the door with a guest.
"It was so good seeing you, Perla--thank you for stopping by," she was saying, following the recognized social protocol.
Perla finished placing her cap on her snowy-white head and pulling on her gloves. She smiled at my mother. "The same to you, Vena--and my!" She blinked in theatrical surprise--another common social practice when confronted with the children of one's neighbor. "Is this not your little Callista? What a fine young maiden she's become!"
I returned her smile with one of my own, but said nothing.
My mother accepted the praise on my behalf. It was mostly meant for her, anyways. "Yes, and she's become quite the accomplished and self-sufficient student--all set to graduate from the Academy as soon as she has somewhere to go!"
Perla gave a slight chuckle and patted me on the shoulder as she walked by. "Oh, have the lads been flocking around yet, missy? I dare say you must have your fair share of prospects knocking at your door already!" Her crooked fingers went for my cheek, but I stepped back, closer to my mother.
I hated this kind of talk, but it was true and everyone knew it: the Academy was loath to let go of its students, unless they had a compelling reason to leave. For most of us--girls, especially--those reasons would either be marriage, or gainful employment.
"Actually," I said quickly, "I am seriously considering the possibility of staying on after my graduation, and applying for a Tutoring position at the Academy."
Perla's brow lifted, and she caught my underlying meaning--I didn't have much that I was interested in, employment-wise, beyond the thick walls and vaulted ceilings of the Academy, and as of yet, no young man had come seeking after me, the way they gravitated toward other girls.
Mother cleared her throat. "See what I mean?" She interjected brightly, "Such an intelligent, motivated girl, is my Callista!" She had her hand on the door, politely ushering the older woman over the threshhold. "We shall chat again sometime. Good bye, Perla!"
"Good evening, Vena!" Perla nodded and waved as she traipsed down the path.
Once the door was closed, Mother turned right around and headed back toward the kitchen, at the back of the house.
"Your father will be home soon," she called over her shoulder, "and we talked longer than I intended. Do you mind helping me prepare supper?"
I slipped off my cape and left it on the handle of my bedroom door, where I would remember to bring it in with me and hang it up later. "Not at all," I responded following her.
"Thank you," Mother sighed. She pulled out the soup kettle and picked out the recipe card for tonight, while I retrieved the pre-sorted packet of ingredients.
Mother adjusted the fringes of her hair around her face, so it wouldn't fall into her eyes as she worked. I had no idea how long her hair was, because she always wore it up in a softly-gathered bun, but it was the same color as mine--with a scattering of silver streaks throughout. I would look at my mother and hope that my hair looked half as good as hers by the time I reached her age.
"So, how was your day at the Academy?" Mother asked, pouring in the broth and spices to simmer.
I chopped the root vegetables and onions, pausing to turn my face whenever the fumes overwhelmed my eyes.
"Classes were fine," I answered, choosing my words carefully. "A girl vomited in Science class, so the teacher dismissed us early." I shook my head and wiped my streaming eyes. "That was exciting."
It might have been alarming at first, but now I couldn't resist a small chuckle at the memory of Madame Hephreny's face when Sheranne lost her willpower so badly. Not everyone could stomach stuff so well as she could, yet time and again, the Madame displayed complete disregard for that fact.
"Oh dear!" Mother clicked her tongue in sympathy. "Oh, that must have been awful for you, being made to sit and wait for the next class period. I know how much you detest idle time."
"I wasn't idle today, though," I assured her as I added the vegetables to the pot. "I had permission this time to go to the library for a special assignment, so I used that time for study." And a good portion of the next class period, but I'm not going to mention that, I thought.
Just then, I heard the front door open and my father's heavy footsteps entering the house. I hadn't realized how extraordinary my comment sounded until my mother turned.
"The library? I thought the Scholars provide all the materials you need for each class. What do you mean by a special assignment?" she asked.
I balked as my father's footsteps approached the back of the house. To admit that I was given the assignment because I had been caught "dreaming" in class would lead to having to admit I had been dreaming in the first place, and I already knew just how my parents would respond to that. "I, um... I saw Terra in the hallway and she begged me for help with researching a history project. The Archivist requested that I accompany her." There! I winced as a rush of noise--the hubbub of a busy city street, and the giggling of children--arose in my ears, even though things were quiet and still in this house. I couldn't let on that there was anything out of the ordinary.
I finished speaking as Father entered the room. "What's this about you and Terra?" he asked with too much concern in his voice.
I glanced between my parents, acutely aware of how nervous they were. "Is it wrong?" I asked. "We had permission... Terra always needs help, it's not out of the ordinary for me to help her study."
Mother pressed her lips and gave Father a warning look.
"Rubin," she warned softly, "she doesn't know." To me, she said, "Don't worry, dearest--we know that you never wander anywhere in the Academy without permission. It's just..."
"Something wrong with Terra?" I guessed. "We've spent nearly all of our free time together for as long as we've known each other, and you've never once expressed any kind of issue! What don't I know? What are you not telling me?"
Father sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I've just been to the Council offices these last two days, finalizing and cataloguing evidence. Jon and Sadie Witter are under investigation for possession of illegal wares and substances. They couldn't produce any physical items that fell into the banned categories by the deadline given on the summons, so the Authorities have sent men around to clear the house of suspicious possessions and will hold everything for inspection until the infraction has been confirmed or disproven."
I felt my chest tighten at the thought of my best and closest friend getting into some kind of trouble because of a simple purchasing mistake. Would they end up sending the Witters out of Mirrorvale because of it? I glanced around the house, my mind quickly jumping to the conclusion that if a family like Terra's could accidentally bring something illegal and dangerous into their home--who among us would be next?
"What kind of items were they?" I asked. "Was it something in the furnishings? An heirloom from generations past, or decor?" Mother didn't usually buy any of the functionless decorative pieces sold in the Factory Housewares market--but maybe a certain kind of vase held some vast secret... What if that was the reason for my relentless fixation on Wordspinners?
"Callista," Mother murmured, "stop turning around, dear. You'll make yourself sick." She pursed her lips and set the lid on the soup pot to simmer for a while. "I spoke with some neighbors from their loop, and the conclusion seems to be that it's not just any kind of a certain item that has been banned, but whether or not it comes from the Factory that makes it illegal."
Father nodded. "That's right. Whatever it was, the evidence confirmed that the item--or items, we don't know how many--didn't come from any Factory Market, or even any Factory."
I frowned as the vision from that morning, of the small booth outside the Factory Market, replayed in my head, like a true memory this time. "But why?" I asked. "People can buy specialty items--that's why we have traveling merchants like Matthias' father, isn't it? The Factory Market isn't the only place to buy things!"
Again, my parents exchanged nervous glances.
"You're right, it's certainly not forbidden," Mother said with a wag of her head. "Sadie always did love to go bargain-hunting in the most back-corner places, to buy pretty, useless things!" She gave me a sorrowful look. "But don't you see? Such heedlessness of what one is bringing into the home puts the whole household at risk!"
"It has to do with the materials used to make the things--hazardous substances and the like," Father added, rubbing his chin. "In fact, there has been some talk among the Councillors, concerning the notion that only items from the Factory carry any kind of safety guarantee, and the use of non-toxic materials. There are no such regulations on artisanal items, so perhaps, in the interest of keeping citizens safe, and being able to guarantee the prevention of exposure to hazardous substances, there is talk of requiring that all materials, even those used by private crafters, must follow Factory regulations and guidelines."
I knew they were doing their best to explain things to me as clearly as possible, but I still had so many questions! "But what--"
"Dinner is ready!" Mother announced, pulling a stack of dishes from the cupboard for us. "Now, let's not discuss this any further. We wouldn't want to gossip."
We sat at the small, round table, just the three of us. Mother reached across and gave my hand a squeeze. "Don't you worry dear. I am sure this is all just a misunderstanding that will be cleared up within a week."
"All we're asking is that you avoid spending time around Terra too much, unless absolutely necessary, until all this blows over," Father concluded. "Do you think you can manage that? I know the two of you have a lot of classes together--but maybe if you chose a seat far enough away from her..."
"Yes, I can try my best," I nodded before he could offer any more suggestions. Avoid Terra? I didn't think our friendship would ever come to this! It wasn't going to be easy, I knew, especially if Terra's parents didn't think to have a similar conversation with her.
[...]
Wordspinners. Were they merely crafters or religious mystics? I'd settled on some benign combination of the two on paper, but at the same time, there was one thing both Senevere and Allius agreed on: they made things, and they held a peculiar power to affect the mind. What if the things that got Terra's parents into so much trouble--the things that had been surreptitiously banned, but never clearly defined--had actually been made by Wordspinners? How could one know the difference between a thing made by a normal crafter, and one made by a Wordspinner? Was it some artistic pattern they used, some special mark they shared?
I lay in my bed, and in the silence, the paranoia deepened: What if spending all that time with Terra, who had contact with a Wordspinner-made item, had affected my brain, and that was why I saw visions and suffered hallucinations and dreams? On the one hand, I genuinely enjoyed her friendship and fidelity--but on the other, what if I actually benefitted from avoiding her like my parents asked?
I shook my head to clear it of such confusing thoughts. I focused on the sounds of crickets outside my window, of the gentle Greyfrost breeze, and the feel of the blankets over me. Grounded and peaceful, I slipped into sleep.
I remembered a playdate with Terra, back when we were both small, only just old enough to go romping around town my ourselves. She and I clambered over rocks and through bushes in the woods behind the Council building where Father worked. At one point, Terra took a tumble, and her dress ripped, right in the front. I could clearly picture the gap in the yellow fabric of her skirt, and the muddy stain on the front of the bodice. I remembered thinking that we ought to go to the tailor's, or at least tell her mother so she could mend it--but Terra had other ideas. She seemed far too distraught for a mere tear, and I remember being confused when the things she was wailing about did not match the state of her clothes--she was talking about voices and other people and stories, not dresses and thread. Terra grabbed my hand and pulled me along behind her, down another path--and as I visualized it with my adult cognizance, I realized that the path we took was the same one that currently led straight into The Wall today--but back then, apparently, the road held no such barricade. Or perhaps we'd been playing somewhere else, and my memories had mixed the locations of our play and the place we ended up somehow. Surely The Wall had been a feature for much more of Mirrorvale's history, according to the sentiments of the first Explorers like Senevere, and not just a portion of my own lifetime.
I remembered waiting by a fence while Terra walked up the hill. She conferred with a woman I'd never seen before. Even in my mind's eye she held a vague shape, with clouded features that I couldn't quite distinguish, but at least I could see clearly her interactions with my friend.
The woman held Terra's hands as my friend poured out the entire nonsensical sob story, once again dithering about paths and someone's being in danger, rather than the fact that we'd been playing and she'd ripped her dress. I remember thinking how odd it was, that she seemed afraid of telling this adult that we'd been climbing--but why should she be ashamed of such a normal thing, compared to this other story she told? What happened next was still rather vague, as I'd been distracted with my own thoughts and surely missed something. One moment, Terra was speaking, then the woman spoke, asking her questions and explaining something very patiently and in much detail. The next moment, Terra skipped back to join me, all smiles--her dress is fresh and clean, like new. We scurried on our merry way.
I didn't look back toward the woman again, but I did wonder how she could have repaired the dress in such a short time. There wasn't even any stitching.
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