CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
※ GALA ※
“Did you hear? They said she was shooting fire out of her eyes, and her hair was as white as snow, streaming behind her for a solid five yards.” The pot-bellied man sitting at the corner table burped, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“Really?” The man’s skinny friend leaned forward. “I heard men were blinded when they looked at her, and then she healed them by waving her hand.”
“Blinded? I didn’t hear that. But they say she brought back the dead. The thief got her head chopped off and then the whole thing regrew.”
The skinny man picked up a tankard of ale. “She wasn’t one of the Council either. Nobody knew where she came from. They say she wore rags, but her beauty was such that her skin glowed.”
Sweeping the floor around the table, Gala listened to the men’s conversation with amusement and disbelief. How had they made up all these stories about her? Nobody at the inn had even been at the market—a fact that helped protect her identity nearly as much as the rough shawl Esther insisted she wear when doing her chores at the inn.
Cleaning the inn turned out to be less fun than Gala had expected. She’d volunteered to help around the inn as a way to get out of the room and experience more of life. Although she had enjoyed knitting and sewing—two activities that Maya and Esther had occupied her with after the market fiasco—she had wanted to do something more active. Of course, Maya and Esther had been less than receptive to the idea of her leaving the room. Their biggest fear was that Gala would be recognized.
Gala had doubted that anyone would recognize her, particularly in the disguise she wore around the inn, and she was right. All day long, she had been cleaning, scrubbing pots in the kitchen, and washing windows, and nobody had paid the least bit of attention to a poorly dressed peasant girl with a thick woolen shawl wrapped around her head. To be extra safe, Maya had even smeared some soot on Gala’s face—a look that Gala didn’t particularly like, but accepted as a necessity in light of what had occurred at the market.
Now, after a full day of physical labor, her back was aching and her hands were beginning to blister from gripping the rough broom handle. Although her injuries healed quickly, she still disliked the feeling of pain. Cleaning was really not fun at all, Gala decided, determined to finish this particular task and then rest. She couldn’t imagine how most common women worked like this day in and day out.
A few times she had tried to do magic again, emboldened by her tremendous success at the market. However, to her unending frustration, it seemed like she still had no control over her abilities. She couldn’t even cast a simple spell to get a pot clean; instead, she’d nearly rubbed her palms raw scrubbing it with all her strength.
“Gala, are you still cleaning?” Esther’s voice interrupted Gala’s thoughts. The old woman had managed to approach Gala without her noticing.
“Almost done,” Gala said wearily. She was exhausted and all she wanted to do was collapse into her bed upstairs.
“Oh, good.” Esther gave her a wide smile. “Are you ready to help prepare dinner?”
Gala felt a trickle of excitement that battled with her exhaustion. She had never cooked before, and was dying to try it. “Of course,” she said, ignoring the way her muscles protested every movement.
“Then come, child, let me introduce you to the cook.”
* * *
By the time Gala got back to the room, she could barely walk. Pausing to wash some of the sweat and grime off her hands and face, she collapsed on her bed.
“So did you enjoy cooking dinner?” Maya was sitting on the cot in the corner, calmly knitting another shawl. “Did you find it as fun and educational as you hoped?”
Staring at the ceiling, Gala considered her question for a minute. “To be honest with you, no,” she admitted. “I was cutting up an onion, and my eyes began tearing up. Then they brought in the dead birds, and I couldn’t look at them. They were plucking out their feathers, and the whole thing was utterly horrible. And then carrying around all those heavy pots and pans . . . I really don’t know how those women in the kitchen do it every day. I don’t think I would be happy doing that my entire life.”
“Most peasants don’t have a choice,” Maya said. “If a woman is pretty, like you, then she has more options. She can find a wealthy man to take care of her. But if she doesn’t have the looks—or the aptitude for sorcery—then life is hard. Maybe not always as hard as cooking dinner at a public inn, but it’s not fun and pleasant. Childbirth alone is brutal. I’m glad I never had to go through that.”
“Do men have it easier?”
“In some ways,” Maya said as Esther entered the room. “In other ways, it’s more difficult. Most commoners have to work very hard to grow their crops, plow their fields, and take care of their livestock. If a job is too difficult for a woman to do, then she can ask her husband to help her. A man, however, can only rely on himself.”
Gala nodded, feeling her eyelids getting heavy. Maya’s words began to blend together, and she felt a familiar lassitude sweeping over her body. She knew it meant she was falling asleep, and she welcomed the relaxing darkness.
* * *
Gala’s mind awakened. Or, more precisely, she became self-aware for the first time.
‘I can think’ was her first fully coherent thought. ‘Where is this?’ was the second one.
She somehow knew that places were supposed to be different from where she found herself. She vaguely recalled visions of a place with colors, shapes, tastes, smells, and other fleeting sensations—sensations that were absent in here. There were other things here, however—things she didn’t have names for. The world around her didn’t seem to match her mind’s expectations. The closest she could describe it was as darkness permeated by bright flashes of light and color. Except it wasn’t light and color; it was something else, something she had no equivalent name for.
There were also thoughts out there. Some belonging to her, some to other things—things that were nothing like her. Only one stream of thought was vaguely similar to her own.
She wasn’t sure, but it seemed like that stream of thought was seeking her, trying to reach out to her.
Waking up with a gasp, Gala sat up in bed, looking around the dark room.
“What happened, child?” Esther asked, putting down the book she had been reading by candle light. “Did you have a bad dream?”
“I don’t think so,” Gala said slowly. “I think I was dreaming of a time right before my birth.”
Esther gave her a strange look and returned to her book.
Gala lay back down and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. This was the first time she had dreamed at all—and she wished Blaise was there, so she could talk to him about it. He would find this dream fascinating, since it had been about the Spell Realm.
Closing her eyes, she drifted off again, hoping her next dream would be about Blaise.