Quintspinner (8 page)

Until today, Tess had been outside the confines of her home only in the accompaniment of her father when they had been en route to a patient’s home. She marveled at the crowds of people in the marketplace, pushing and jostling amid the cries of the vendors as they competed to sell their wares. It all mingled into unintelligible babel.

“Stay close!” Cassie commanded. Tess clung to her sister-servant’s arm and trotted alongside her, her own feet sliding and tripping over the cobblestones which were slickened to various degrees with dumped wash water, sputum, and manure. Within the hour, she and Cassie had their supplies purchased–writing paper and inks for Dr. Willoughby’s study, that day’s catch of fish, as well as greens and turnips for the evening meal, a supply of salt, and more flour and eggs for the breakfast loaves. Tess had also made a spontaneous purchase–a bouquet of fresh flowers for her mother’s bedroom. Maybe their fresh sweet scents and bright colors would bring a smile to her mother’s face. It had been so long since Tess had seen her mother smile.

The girls’ arms were thus fully laden when they turned down an alleyway as a shortcut back to their house. Licks of dark shadows on the stone walls stretched up on either side, while the smells of the rotting food from the marketplace mingled with the sharp stench of urine and feces. Heavy footfalls behind the girls echoed off the sides of the buildings. As the cadence increased, a chill ran down Tess’s spine.

“Eh, me pretties!” a hoarse voice called. “Whacha’ got wigglin’ there under all them petticoats?”

Tess glanced at Cassie out of the corner of her eye. Cassie was hugging her parcels to her chest, her mouth drawn tight in a thin line of determination. Eyes straight ahead, Cassie quickened her pace.

Is this what Cassie has to endure every time she goes to the market?

“Don’t be shy now! Slow it down a bit and fer a penny or two we can all have a good time!”

How dare he speak to us like that!
Tess trembled with a mixture of anger and fear.
If he knew what my father would do–Suddenly
Tess felt the sting of a sharp slap on her buttocks. Stunned and indignant, she whirled around, catching her shoe in the crevasse between the street cobbles. In the blink of an eye, she lay sprawled on her back, her eggs and flowers instantly crushed beneath her.

A burly body landed on top of her with a heavy thud that knocked the air out of her. At once one of his hands groped and roughly kneaded her breast while the other hiked her skirts up and pushed between her legs. Struggling to breathe, Tess started to scream, but the sound was squelched when he lowered his face to hers in a spittle drenched, mead–smelling kiss. Gagging, she gasped for even a small breath.

You bastard!
A white hot rage surged through her, burning away her fear. For a few heartbeats, she was filled with a murderous desire made stronger by her inability to move. Pinned to the ground, she struggled, helpless under the weight of the man, when a more familiar voice filled her thoughts.

Who would want her?
Her father’s question burst into her mind.

And her own voice responded:
I won’t give in! Not to this man! Not here like this! I deserve better!

Her rage at this stranger and the shame of somehow being undeserving in her father’s eyes exploded inside of her. Unable to move her arms or legs beneath the man’s crushing weight, Tess used what was left to her.

She bit.

With all of the strength that she could muster, she bit, chomping her teeth into the disgusting tongue he had shoved into her mouth; she felt the crunch of it as it tore. The stranger wrenched backward with a howl, and clambered to his feet, disappearing into the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered. Suddenly aware of the attack, two men in gentlemen’s apparel bolted forth, jerking Tess to her feet before pursuing her attacker. She spat the bloodied lump of flesh out onto the street, then bent over and vomited.

“Cassie!” she gasped in between heaves.

A wrinkled hand shoved a small piece of rag into Tess’s face. “She was chased down the alleyway, Miss.” The voice, belonging to an older person, was low but clear. “Good men followed to see to her rescue. Stay here with me. It’s not safe for ye alone.” The wrinkled hand gently tucked an escaped wisp of hair behind Tess’s ear as she crouched forward and retched again. The knarled fingers froze over her exposed birthmark. The voice gasped.

“Quintspinner!” The exclamation was soft but accusatory.

Tess wiped her mouth with the rag and straightened up. She stared at the humped beggar standing beside her. No, not a beggar ….

“What?” Tess asked. The fingertips still lightly touched her neck. Tess’s gaze followed the arm back to the source of the voice. Hairs on her arms stood erect, their gooseflesh announcing her shock. Intense eyes as green as her own shone back at her from within the depth of a heavy brown hood pulled far forward.

“The Gods be heard, it’s true then. A Quintspinner lives,” the Crone quietly announced to no one but herself.

The Crone’s fingertips remained in light contact, feathering over the skin of Tess’s birthmark. Her touch seemed to produce a soft buzz on Tess’s neck. Pulsating warmth, not unpleasant, spread down her neck but still Tess shrank from the woman’s touch.

“Aye,” the seer clucked to herself, “Her Soul knows the Touch, it does.” Again the green eyes shone from the dark recess of the hood as though powered from a source within. She peered closer at the birthmark.

“Aye, a Spinner ye be, yet truly… a Quintspinner,” she exhaled in an awed whisper.

“A what?” Tess once again felt the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand up.

“Lass, ye bear the mark of the Source. A silhouette of the acorn, seed of the most powerful tree and lasting life form of this land in which ye were born. And it trails five seedlings below it.” She held Tess in her stare. “Five spinners will seek ye in your lifetime. May ye live to harness their power.” She grasped Tess’s hand in her own.

“You’re crazy, old woman! Let me go!” Tess pulled her hand back but the woman held fast. Her grip was surprisingly strong and Tess’s hand remained locked between the deformed digits.

A glint of gold shone from one of the twisted fingers.

That ring! That’s the one that Cassie saw!

Tess stared at the ring, mesmerized. It was a wide golden band, with a centre band of silver. The silver band, in turn, was braided with strips of gold and inlaid with blue gems, each set into delicate swirls of miniature silver and gold waves. It glowed more brightly than the old woman’s eyes.

The blue gems seem lit from within! That ring must be worth a fortune! How would she have come into possession of such a thing?
Not even among any of her father’s wealthy friends and acquaintances had Tess seen anyone who wore such a fine piece. Tess’s thoughts reeled in her head.

“Where did you get this ring? Are you a common thief? Let go, or I’ll yell for help!” Tess struggled to free her hand from the Crone’s grip.

“I am no thief, but a Spinner, like yourself!” the Crone retorted, letting go of Tess’s hand. “Ye’ve much to learn and–”

The old woman gasped and stopped in mid sentence to glance up above Tess’s head. Tess turned and looked, seeing nothing. The Crone continued to stare into the air, cocking her head at an odd angle as though listening for something.

“Not much time,” she shook her head, and continued, “and ye must be taught! Quickly! Follow me! We cannot stay here.”

Something in the urgent tone of the old woman’s command made Tess fearful but obedient.

“But what about Cassie?”

“She comes back, even as we speak. Ye must come now. Follow!”

“But–”

“Tess!” Cassie’s voice rang out. “Tess! Are you alright?” Cassie ran out of an adjoining alleyway and embraced Tess in a fierce hug.

“I’m fine. Cassie! What happened to you?” Tess looked at the tear stained face of her sister-servant.

“I never should have brought you along! This is all my fault!” Cassie wailed.

The Crone reached for Cassie and wiped the tears away with another bit of rag. “Fault? Child, it was as it was expected to be. Now come. Both of ye. Hurry!”

Tess nervously cradled the hot cup of fragrant tea between her hands, finding the warmth of it in her palms soothing. Her eyes swept over the dark room’s contents and came back to rest on the tiny woman perched across the wooden table from her. Cassie, too, sat at Tess’s side, staring wide-eyed at their strange hostess. The woman seemed lost within her tunic’s folds. Scrawny from malnutrition perhaps, yet her overall structure was diminutive, child-like. Even so, there was a quiet sense of power about her.

“Ye’ve no idea, do you lass?” the woman quietly asked Tess.

“About what?” Tess had dozens of questions of her own to ask and she hadn’t the faintest understanding of the woman’s question or where to start with her own.

“Do ye even know about the Source and the power of the Spinners for ones like us?” The Crone leaned forward until her nose nearly touched Tess’s. Tess felt helplessly caught in the woman’s gaze. “D’ye ever have thoughts that are not your own? Voices inside?” She tapped her own shrouded head and her blazing eyes searched Tess’s face. “Ye’ve not paid attention to them, but ye will and ye’ll be given what ye need to hear for the moment,” she murmured.

“I–I don’t know what you are talking about,” Tess stammered. “What’s a Spinner? Do you mean like a weaver woman? And that name you called me back in the market? How did you know those men would bring Cassie back here anyway and who were they–”

“A Spinner!” The Crone’s voice boomed with authority and her hand shot out in front of the girls’ faces, her fingers curling into a fist and presenting the ring on her fourth finger. Only the arthritic enlargement of the knuckle prevented it from slipping off her skeletal digit.

Cassie gasped. “That’s the ring I saw before!”

Even in the shadowy darkness of the tiny room, the ring caught the faint candlelight and appeared to glow along its outer golden bands, while the inner silver one sparkled intermittently with the bluish glow of its imbedded gems.

The Crone stroked her ring with the fingers of her other hand and after rubbing it and warming it between her fingertips, slowly twisted the inner band. The braided band spun around her finger within the golden track, and Tess thought that she could hear a high pitched hum. It made a slight tickle in her ears.

“Do ye hear it, lass?” the woman asked and studied Tess’s face. “Ye can, can’t ye?” She cackled and nodded. “This be a spinner ring. And one who can learn its power be a Spinner. Not anyone who wears a spinner has the power right off, but the power can be learned, can be harnessed.”

The tickle in Tess’s ears was becoming uncomfortable. “What has this to do with us?” she demanded.

“The mark. The one ye carry on the left side of your neck. Tis your destiny. A spinner ring strengthens the wearer’s intentions, be they good or bad, and when worn alongside another spinner ring by one who has practiced, the power grows.

“What others? What power?” The tickle inside her ears had become an annoying itch.

“A Spinner comes to know things, senses ‘em before they happen. The power can be used to make healing happen, and it can be used to manifest desires. But some are born more apt than others. As ye have been. As I have been.”