Ok. Super hard.

Next Chapter of Last Night

Can't
Rosethorn set her elbows on the table and rested her head in her palms; she didn't care if it was impolite. The ceremonial dinner had lasted longer than the new dedicate had hoped, and she hadn't even talked to her family yet, not really. She closed her eyes. I can listen with my eyes shut, just fine. A moment later, it seemed, her elbow slipped and her cheekbone collided painfully with her plate. Rosethorn sighed and sat up again. No one had really appeared to notice, so she took her napkin and swiped chocolate pudding from her face. She glanced around again and saw Crane smiling at her, eyes dancing. She stuck her tongue out at him and jumped as the other dedicates began clapping the last speaker. Finally it's over!

She hopped to her feet, exhaustion forgotten, and looked around for her family. A crush of dedicates blocked her view, so, scorning any manners she had ever learned, Rosethorn climbed onto her chair, then the table to see clearly.

A young man near the back wall caught her eye, jumping and waving at her. Rosethorn grinned, jumped down, and began to shove her way over to him.

He caught her up in his arms and hugged her tightly, lifting her feet right off the ground. "It's good to see you, lass. I was thinking of you every day."

Another man, a few years younger, playfully punched Rosethorn's arm. She shoved him back and they laughed. "You still hit like a girl, sis; did you forget how I told you to fight?"

"No, Dai! It's just that most of the temple people don't like getting dirty, so I couldn't practice fighting. I introduced a few noses to the ground and ended up washing dishes for weeks. I hate washing dishes. " She grinned, showing no regret.

Rosethorn's brothers began to tell her about Anderran, what had been happening on the farm; with Sami and Lise; how a caravan of Traders had come through. The wheat crop had been good, the Larsons' had a spectacular cherry crop, Hannah and Ellis were growing new apple trees. Evan had just began to describe Lewis' daughter Enna ( She's got this long almost white hair, Rosie, and she had these great blue eyes- It sounds like you like her. No! No! Of course not!) when Rosethorn's father walked up behind her. He hugged her tightly, then held her away and examined her closely.

"I hear you've done well. First credentials at Lightsbridge, now this. Congratulations, Niva-girl."

She smiled weakly. "Yes, Papa. It's pretty good."

Her brothers crowded around, hugged her and said their goodbyes before melting into the masses of dedicates.

"So what are you going to do next? Do you have to stay here, or can you. . . travel abroad?"

Rosethorn sighed. "Papa, I'm not coming home. I took vows for the temple here, so this is where I stay. Besides, I think everyone's probably happier that I'm here."

"Niva, just because you-"

"Papa, before I came here, I had a lot of screw-ups. The barley crop-"

"You didn't even know you had magic."

"The roses? The cherry trees?"

"Those were-"

"'Accidents!' I know! The vines, the thorn bushes, the fennel- What about Hannah's apple trees? And Lise's potato patch? Evan's pumpkin plant! Were those all 'accidents'? Papa, I've been learning here. How to control my magic and things like that."

He sighed. This was a much repeated argument, and they both knew it. "Niva-girl. I'll agree you've been learning here, but it's time to come home. Thyme Circle in Anderran is perfectly fine for you. I still don't know why you insisted on coming here."

Rosethorn stuck her chin out mulishly. "Winding Circle better meets the needs of mages with unusual magic. My magic is unusual. Thyme Circle told you that."

"Unusual? You have green magic, girl. People on all sides of the Pebbled Sea have green magic."

"But their's isn't like mine! They can't feel like I do or make the plants move around for them. Papa, Froststar said I might be a great mage someday! I have to stay here if I want that to happen." As she closed her mouth, Rosethorn realized she had said the wrong thing.

"In that case you must come home. Don't you feel any loyalty to your country? Your family? Your gods cursed plants? You could make Anderran a great country, chief crop exporter for this whole region."

Rosethorn bit her lip. "Papa, I love Anderran. It's where I grew up and where almost everyone I know lives. It's just that... Anderran doesn't love me. Everyone may be polite on the outside, but they haven't forgotten what happened. They still remember all my 'accidents' and the pirate attack-"

Rosethorn's father seized her tightly by the shoulders. "The pirate attack wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. And what happened to that pirate was self-defense. No one can blame you."

Thorns ripping up through the ground, not stopping when they hit pirate flesh. It had taken her father and two other men to cut the thicket of thorns down after the attack. Even when she left for Lightsbridge, there had been rough stumps in the yard outside the door.

"But they remember, Papa. They don't think of it the same way you do. I think it's best if I stay here, for everyone's sake." Tears suddenly threatened to spill down her cheeks. "I love you Papa, and Dai, and Even, and Lars. I want you to be happy and live normal lives, not be worring about a mage-child running around and ruining crops and killing pirates." Rosethorn shut her mouth and looked away, hoping her father couldn't see the tears.

He sighed. "If that's the way it must be, Niva-girl, then so it is. I expect you to write home and visit once in a while." He turned to join his sons, then paused. "I also expect you to come to Lars' wedding in the Gorse Moon." He was silent a moment longer, then quickly said "I love you too."


Next Chapter
Eight Years Later

Rosethorn sat at the counter of an Air workroom, a tray of human essence before her, watching as the rain turned everything outside to mud. She sighed and looked back down at her tray. She was helping several other Air and Water dedicates create a cure for the dragon pox that ravaged the Mire each spring. It was incredibly boring. All they did was add a drip of this and a spoonful of that to the little wells of essence. There was no excitement.

She added marshmallow and valerian to the last row of wells, then corked her bottles and carried the tray to the cabinet where it was stored overnight. There wasn't really enough time to start another tray, but Rosethorn picked up a new set of wells anyways. People were dying and the least she could do was spend some time trying to help. She set the tray on her table and began unstoppering little vials of oils and herbs.

This should be exciting. I mean, no one's ever done this before and it's going to save hundreds of people. Rosethorn sighed. But this is going to drive me insane. Locked up in a little room. I'd be more useful with my plants, doing somthing...else. Like tea.

The door banged open and Crane strode in, hands hanging elegantly out of his sleeves, the black stripe along the bottom of his yellow habit perfectly clean. "All right, time to clean up. There's nothing more to be done tonight." He began to circulate through the tables, nodding approval or sighing deeply.

Rosethorn sat stiffly, hands frozen on her bottles. "Whatever do you mean, 'nothing more to be done'? There's always something we can do."

Crane came to stand by her shoulder. "We can't save everyone, my dear. We'll save more if we're rested and ready to use magic."

She bolted up. "If we use every drop of magic we have, every day, we'll save more. There are people dying right now!"

Her words echoed through the silent room. The other dedicates stared at her in surprise. Talking back was one thing. Talking back to a dedicate initiate was another.

The remembrance of the black stripe sent hot anger through Rosethorn's veins. "People are dying. Maybe if we worked through the night we could have save them. But we won't. Because we never do!" She screamed loudly.

"We do what we can." Crane's voice was ice cold.

"'What we can' seems to be different depending on who's being helped." She lowered her voice and made a guess. "I'm not stupid. I know you and the other initiates work overtime to try and figure out what's wrong with Froststar."

Crane went stiff. "Where did you hear that?"

Rosethorn glared at him and lied. "Isn't it obvious? Everyone knows. She's sick, and Mila strike me if any of you know what's wrong." It wasn't that obvious. Froststar didn't walk through the temple like she used to and she didn't do flashy magic, but she was old, and busy training a successor. Crane and most of the initiates were late to breakfast and left dinner early, but that could mean any number of things. But Rosethorn wasn't about to admit that.

Crane was pale, with fear or fury Rosethorn couldn't tell. "I'd appreciate if you would keep this to yourself, whether or not it's 'obvious,' as you put it," he hissed. "We are doing everything we can for everyone, the people in the... Mire... included."

Rosethorn glared at him. They weren't doing enough. And Crane didn't care.

She didn't even think as she reached out and slapped Crane across the face with a tremendous crack. An emotion (Fear? Surprise? Hurt?) flitted across his eyes before cold steel settled on his face. Rosethorn gritted her teeth and lunged at Crane, knocking him to the floor. She swung at him with everything Lars, Evan, and Dai taught her before he managed to shove her away. She fell backwards into her chair, which crashed down upon the two of them. Then the other dedicates were there, trying to pull her away. A tall man wrapped his arms about her, and she tried to kick his shins. He didn't let go, so she released a flood of magic into the floor.

Crane froze as long-thorned roses broke out of the floorboards and began to wrap around him. They snaked up his body and stopped at his shoulders. One threw a fine tendril around his neck. The vines blossomed suddenly, the buds along their lengths opening up into plate-sized, pale pink flowers.

The tall dedicate was distracted just long enough for Rosethorn to break away. She turned and ran, thowing open the door and bursting into the pounding rain. Someone called after her, but she ran faster, mud sucking her feet and spashing her habit. She had just passed the last Air workroom when she stepped into a deep puddle. She lost her balance and fell, face first into the mud. It soaked her habit and caked her bare skin.

Rosethorn swore and ripped her sandals from her feet. She could run better barefoot. The habit was ground into the mud next to the sandals. Skirts were useless.

Voices began to clamor behind her, and she could her slapping feet. Suddenly, she had an idea. Rosethorn lay back in the mud and smeared across her gleaming white underrobe and ivory skin. When she was thoroughly brown, she leapt up and dodged behind the nearest tree.

The tall dedicate who had held her was at the lead, and he paused to look at her habit and shoes. He rose and scanned the ground for footprints. Rosethorn swore silently, turned and scrambled over the fence behind her. She landed in someone's backyard when the dedicates realized where she had gone. She ran across the yard, climbed the next fence and began tearing across the temple. She followed the roads when she met them and ran through yards when the roads stopped. The dedicates' calls began to fade away, but Rosethorn kept running.  It was one thing to yell at a dedicate initiate, it was another matter entirely to hit one and then use magic against him. She winced at the memory and tripped, falling face-down in someone's garden.

Breath...tbc