So what's going on and some writing. (Patreon)

So kidneys are back up to 100%.  Homelands chapter 12 is 85% done, with final revisions this week end.  I'll send out a sneak peek later today for people that want to see sausage.  I'm back on the job hunt, and back on the anti-depressants.  We'll have to see what affect they have on my writing.

This was an idea that came from a chat in Discord.  Better to write something than feel stupid from anti-sadness pills.

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All my life I wanted to be a wizard rather than a turnip farmer, or a turnip farmer's wife.  Granted, I'm only twelve, but in my village you generally have the options of turnips, pigs, or being one of those special people that runs things.  Now there's nothing wrong with being a turnip farmer!  It's good work, if a little dirty.  My parents and siblings work hard from sun up to sun down and our turnips,  fine caramean yellows, are some of the finest you'll ever see.  Problem is I've seen magic, and once you see it, you'll never want to do anything else.

It was a carriage from the capitol, all fancy black enamel with the wizard's seven pointed star in gold on the side.  At first I didn't thing anything of it.  Carriages get stuck in the mud all the time.  Father can get a good coin or two using our ox to get them free.  We were walking across to the north field when he appeared.

He couldn't have been older than thirty, all black oiled curls and a thin mustache.  Powdered face like fancy gentlemen wear.  He steps out in all black satin and leather with his golden wizard's rod.  The others just walked on, but I wanted to see what he was upto.  And what does he do but give it a little wave and plucked the carriage right out of the mud!  Neat as pulling a blackberry off a bramble!

Course, he left the four wheels still stuck in the mud up to their axles.  He and the driver had words and I was called to get the weeds out, but I'll never forget the sight of that rod raised up and the carriage lifting out just because he wanted it.  I spent the whole day imagining that I could just lift a shovel and woosh!  Up would go all the weeds, into a basket!  I even tried a few times standing imperiously, glaring down at them, and waving the shovel around.  It was passing fancy, but I imagined the weeds rustling in the breeze was me magicing them.

Now, any child has a passing dream or too of either doing magic or being a hero or marrying a prince.  It comes.  It goes.  Sooner or later you settle on your lot and make the best of it.  But me, I couldn't shake it.  I'd talk about it, round about like, to prevent Mum or Da from giving my ears a box or my siblings a good laugh.  Wouldn't you like to do magic?  What's a wizard's life like?

Took a month before my da gave me the talk.  Sure, maybe anyone can learn magic, but magic's a rich man's fancy.  Not for turnip farmers.  Not for girls.  Certainly not for both.  And soon after, Mum began to talk about marrying me sooner than my older sister.  "You're such a flightly girl, Stel.  You need an honest man to tie you down."  But I didn't want a man, unless he could teach me how to wave a rod and make thinks dance around because I wished it.

One day, when there was a nice full moon, I got the weeding done before dawn and had a whole morning to myself, picked up my basket, and went into town.  It's a fine town.  Cussot-On-The-Wirre.  Much better than Cussot-On-The-Sea or Cussot-On-The-Bueflow.  Least, that's what Da says.  The River cuts right through town, but we have a ferry.  There's even talk of a bridge, some day.  The two or three dozen houses cluster around the green, all important people doing things I couldn't imagine.  And soon, I made my questions:  How did one do magic?  Where was it learnt?  Did anyone know someone who could teach me?

More fool I.  Da came before noon, boxed my ears, reddened my backside, tossed me across the back of our ox like a sack of his finest golden carameans.  I was hauled home whole the whole village got a good laugh.

Da gave me another talking to.  Magic wasn't for the likes of I.  It was expensive, done in far away places that were dangerous.  Every one knew it.  A turnip farmer had as much chance of becoming a wizard as turning king.  And a girl had less chance than that.  There weren't girl wizards.  Didn't happen.  Oh, there were wicked witches and evil sorceresses, but I wasn't a bad and wicked girl, was I?

That night, I cried harder than ever.  Harder than when Gran passed on.  She would have understood, I told myself.  Gran didn't let anyone tell her what's what.  After that, Mum and Da kept a close eye on me.  The siblings were told I'd been touched and to tattle if I did anything funny.  Touched!  Pig shit!  Mum got even more serious about the marrying.  She'd have to find me someone from out of town after that display.

Maybe I was touched, but I wanted it more than ever the more others said I couldn't have it.  There's no shame in farming turnips.  It's good, honest work.  But the more I thought of it as my life, the more twisted my guts became.  And being a wife, well I knew that was my lot, but for the first time that twisted in me too.  I wanted to go somewhere and be something.  Was that so wrong?

Da wasn't going to help, but I had family in the Capitol, an uncle.  I'd only met him once at a wedding.  All grim faced and scowls, but in his fine leather boots and jacket.  Surely he'd be more fair about it than Da.  At the very least, get me tested and see if I had talent for magic or not!  Surely they tested girls.  Right?

I had to wait till a market day, not saying two words about magic and wanting to learn.  Da and the older brothers all left, while Mum was busy with the little ones doing the washing.  I packed a blanket and waited.  Soon enough,  Mum sent me to put the wash on the line.  I hung the cotton on the line, and then before I could change my mind, I was off, making for the same road that wizard had gotten stuck in months back.  The busted carriage was gone, but one of the four wheels still remains, sticking out of the mud like an old, fat pig too content to leave.  With my sack across my shoulders, I made my way down the road.  I had no idea how far the capitol was, but I reckoned that I could just ask around for Ansel Goodman.

By sundown, I was farther from home than I'd ever known.  These were the fields of Goodmarsh-on-the-Tule, and everyone knew Tulers would rob you blind and charge you for the trouble.  I wasn't keen on being robbed, so I kept to the middle of the road as I was able, and found myself a nice hedge to sleep under.  By the next morning I was in Goodmarsh.  It might have been a bit larger, and it had a wooden bridge crossing the Tule river, but Cussot's homes trimmed their houses in red paint, so there!

I got some looks, but didn't stop or talk to anyone.  Some boys followed me as far as the bridge, grinning mischief I knew all too well from my brothers.  I knew just how to deal with it too.  I found a nice big stick, turned, and gave them a few swings.  That set most aback, and when one thought to press forward, I gave him a good hard wack with it.  Like my brothers, they thought up better sport than I.  If I were a wizard, I'd have the stick wack them!  Or turn them into frogs.  Not forever, mind.  Just for a day.  Some of em would probably enjoy it!

I had no knowledge of what lay beyond Goodmarsh.  Only that somewhere this way would be the Capitol and an uncle I'd seen once.  I'd no idea how far it was.  I had a fine selection of Caramean golds that would keep a while, so I foraged a bit.  Blackberries were in season, and I ate till my stomach gurgled.  I was right pleased at my progress.  Of course, Mum and Da must be worried furious.  I'd have to send word with someone going the way I came to tell them their daughter was alright.

By the third day, I had no idea where I was.  I'd reached a town called Dunsend where the road split in fours.  I'd never seen a town with more houses than I could count.  At first, I'd thought it was the Captiol, but was quickly corrected.  When I asked the way to the capitol, everyone looked at me like I was a fool.  No one has time for a fool.  Worse, it was raining.  A hedge is no good for keeping the rain off.  I'd no money for an inn, so I decided to lodge with the horses.

I eased the door open and slipped inside, out of the hissing rain.  The horses didn't seem to mind, but I spotted three men sitting around a small heap of coals in a curious metal stove.  A kettle bubbled away on top.  They were sitting around it, passing a mug about.

"If you're going to get out of the rain, come sit by the fire," the eldest of the three instructed, a man as old as my Granda before he passed.  "Don't be skulking in the shadows like a robber."  The pair chuckled at that.  Both were the same age as my Da, with black hair and darker skin.  Darker than I'd ever seen in Cussot-On-The-Wirre.

"Me Da taught me to stay out of reach of strange men," I replied warily.  All boys, really.

"Well, I'm Ebenzer Grey and this is my stable.  This is Harram Zelkir and Kelvin Bhrant," the old man said as he made introductions.  "Who are you, girl?"

It was rude not to give your name when others gave theirs, so I clenched I jaw a moment before spitting out.  "Stel."  Then I balked; I hadn't been wed so I had no surname to give.  A moment later I added, "Chaste."  That got a laugh from the two younger men.

"Aye.  Well, Stel Chaste, now we're not strangers so come sit by the fire and warm yourself.  Or didn't your mum teach you wet and cold lead to an early grave?" Ebenzer asked as he refilled the mug.  Mum had taught me exactly that, so I moved closer and took a seat by the stove, holding my hands out towards the hot metal.

"So, Miss Chaste, what brings you to my stable on this cold night.  Not often I see a girl travelling alone.  You plying trade?" he asked with a frown.

"I don't know what you mean, sir.  I'm travelling to my uncle in the Capitol.  Is it far?" I asked with hope for some direction.

Instead, I received an uneasy look.  "Which capitol, girl?" Kelvin asked, furrowing his brows as he regarded me.  "There's more than a few."

My mouth suddenly dry, I wracked my brains.  Yet, it was always 'the capitol' where our lord resided.  I'd heard Da and others complain about it all the time.  "The capitol of the Middlelands," I stated, straining my confidence to the limit.

Kelvin broke into a laugh.  "You mean the middens?  They must have five or six.  Or more, depending on which shit lord you're referring to."

Shit lord?  I shrank back from him.

"Curb that soldier's tongue," Ebenzer snapped, and Kelvin cut his laughter with a cough, but not his meriment.  "Where are you from?" he asked, gently.

"Cussot-On-The-Wirre." 

"The Wirre?  Then you're likely thinking of the Earl of Sulrik's manor.  It's south of Cussot by three days or four.  Unless your thinking of Sulrik's liege lord.  Then it's Amadam or Culril, but neither are to the north, girl.  You left the Middleland the moment you crossed the Tule."  I had?  I felt smaller by the second.

"Middenland," Kelvin supplied.

"We can't all be from Talbion, good sir," Harram said, his voice low.

"Ah, but so many can dream," the soldier answered with a grin.

"Is there something wrong with my home?" I asked, my eyes darting from one stranger to the next.  I hadn't thought of land or country.  My land was Da's farm.  Or whomever I married farm.  I knew we paid tax to some lord or king or someone, but I didn't know how it worked.

Harram raised a hand to Kelvin as the latter started to answer, then answered, "The middlelands are a bit... disorganized.  You've no king, no royal family, and half your lands are owned by nobles of every other land.  Every few years they get shuffled around.  I'm honestly not that surprised you don't know.  I don't either, and I make my money knowing such things."

I felt a touch mollified at that.  "Where are you from, sir?" I asked.

"Ah.  Genna, to the west, on the sea.  I'm with a merchant house," he raised his hand and panned it before him as he recited, "'The-most-holy-trade-house-of-wine-cinnamon-nutmeg-and-cheese.'  That's our official name, I might add," he said with a grin that I shared.  "I'm on my way home."

"You're a merchant?  Do you have wares?  Why are you staying in a stable?" I asked.  Weren't merchants supposed to have all the money?  My question set off more laughter form Kelvin.

"Ah.  I work in a house with merchants.  My task is travelling all over the world, finding people with things to sell that we might wish to by.  I get an agreement on paper.  More important merchants than I have the more profitable duty of transporting and selling wares." Harram spread his hands wide with an easy smile.  "I receive a small stipend for my troubles, and if I stay in the stable, I have more of it to keep.  Some day my superiors will pass on, and I may be elevated." 

"In other word, Gennans are cheap.  And Gennan merchants are the cheapest of cheapest," Kelvin replied.

"And what about Talbions?" Ebnezer asked the younger man.  "Ah, yes.  We're the best and if you disagree, we'll invade and kill you."

"Indeed," Kelvin replied with a grin.  "We're a little light on wars at the moment, though.  That's why I'm on my way to Nabel.  Good pay and easy work keeping an eye out for pirates."

"I am certain they will flee in terror soon as they learn you're present," Harram replied dryly.

Kelvin regarded me.  "You know we conqured the Middenlands a century ago?  Took us twenty years but we did, mostly due to the mud.  Your people just rolled over, or ran.  But everything fell apart and it wasn't worth fighting over, so we left."  Was I supposed to be insulted or impressed?  He seemed quite pleased with this either way.

"Don't Talbions have the best manners?" Harram asked me with a soft smile.  "Such humility."  Ebnezer gave a snort and poured something amber from the

"I've never heard of Talbion either," I admitted.

"That's surprising.  I would have thought that even shit farmers would know us.  We're the strongest kingdom in all the South.  It the world, actually.  Never defeated."

"Lysse," said Ebnezer.

"You didn't defeat us!  That was a white truce!  We weren't beaten.  We both agreed to stop fighting," Kelvin said, his sneer being replaced by a scowl.  Then he gave a dismissive wave.  "Anyway, that was thirty years ago.  You couldn't repel us again today."

"That's what Talbion said thirty years ago," Ebnezer said as he refilled his cup with an blueish drink.  Everyone drank teelweed.  It grew wild, and when boiled in water, roused the spirits.  You could chew it raw too, but it'd turn your teeth blue.

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That's all I can manage now.  Hope it was interesting.  Homelands out next weekend.  ::Crossing fingers for luck::