Sage Harper took a deep breath, enjoying the cool breeze and earthy, autumn aroma it brought all the way here, into the bustling town market. She finished neatly folding the instructional card and placed it into her customer’s bag along with a careful selection of dried herbs, tinctures, and oils meant to treat his daughter’s fever and his husband’s stiff joints. She smiled her practiced smile and silently handed the customer his bag, as her father continued to chat happily with the customer about the benefits of herbalism, and wished him a wonderful day and good health to his family. Sage had heard countless such conversations in the course of her daily assistance with the family herbalism stall, and had stopped paying attention to them long ago. She wondered how her father managed to maintain his enthusiasm if she was already tiring of the daily drudgery.
Market days were always the same: Wake up at sunrise, get dressed and tie her hair into a braid while half-asleep (which almost excused its messiness), have some bread and cheese, and then help her father (along with a few other siblings, if she was lucky) carry all his wares into town. Arrange everything into a welcoming display on the table and hang up the sign proclaiming “Harper’s Herbal Solutions - We’ve got the solution for all your ails!”. Her father, Gregor, was so proud when he finally came up with the name and “catchy” slogan that Sage didn’t have the heart to tell him how cheesy it was. She passed most of her time at the small market stall lost in daydreams, smiling wanly and packaging products as needed.
Today she was having trouble focusing on her usual daydreams, like what she would do if a dragon besieged the town or what decadent foods she would grow fat on if she were Empress. Something prickled at the base of her skull, and she felt that something was off today. Like there was something important she forgot to do; some new thought struggling to force its way into her consciousness. She found herself looking around the market, and for the first time it struck her that all of the merchants here were the same everyday. In the six years since she started helping her father work the market at age 14, the only faces that had changed were the customers. Or the odd merchant who had died of old age, in which case the familiar face of their child or apprentice would work the stall alone now. Would she simply replace her father when he died of old age? She looked at him, almost surprised to notice more wrinkles in his face than she remembered. Sage wasn’t sure if she was more worried about his aging, or the realization that it was slipping right by her everyday without notice. When did she last look at him - really look at him?
She searched through her memories for a while, watching her father call out to passersby, asking about their families and health. She admired the way he could talk to anyone like he was catching up with an old friend. She always felt awkward meeting people for the first time - like they might realize at any moment that she would rather be alone. It’s not that Sage disliked people, on the contrary she longed to have a group of friends to pass the time with; it’s just that she was constantly surrounded by people. She was either working in the market or at home, with both her parents, two older siblings, and three younger siblings. The constant social interactions left her feeling drained and overwhelmed. Gregor noticed his daughter’s staring.
“What’s wrong, Buttercup?”
Sage started, struck by the memory of the exact moment she had last memorized her father’s face. He was trying to teach her how to make a salve to treat an infected bite, but she burst into inconsolable tears when he was showing her how to prepare the dried salmon skin. He had said that then, too: “What’s wrong, Buttercup?” She didn’t hear the words so much as she felt them through the vibration of his voice through his chest into her ear. In the warmth and strength of his hug, eventually he coaxed out of her that some of the other children at school had made fun of her wide-set eyes, and had started calling her fish face. She repeated the worst part to him in a tremulous whisper, afraid she would make it true if she said it too loudly. Nobody likes a fish-face. She saw the same reassuring concern in his eyes then, when he told her that fish is delicious and he had never met anyone who disliked fish. She remembered the smile spreading across his face when she laughed. The echoes of that unrestrained and familiar smile now formed the wrinkles on his face. She was 13 then.
“Nothing, I’m just tired.” She lied. She felt a creeping sense of shame. How many of those smiles must she have missed? How many more were left? But still, as much as she regretted letting so much time pass by with her mind elsewhere, she longed for something more. She didn’t want to work in this same market surrounded by the same faces, watching as they were all replaced, one by one, with fresh young faces. She didn’t want to spend her life standing still.
“You’re frowning. Tell me what’s wrong.” The shame crept up to her stomach now, a nauseating, heavy stone pulling her down. She didn’t know how to explain that although she loved her family, she didn’t love her life here. She didn’t even know why she felt that way, or what she wanted to do instead. Instead of answering she hugged him tightly, and he rested his chin on top of her head. Gregor patted her back and stroked her hair. He loved all his children equally, but felt closest to Sage.
“Here,” he pulled out of the hug after a few moments to reach into his pocket, “why don’t you go and buy us a pastry or two?” He offered her a few coins and an opportunity. Sage’s hands hastily accepted but her voice said “Really!? Are you sure?”. She didn’t know all the details, but she knew her family wasn’t rich. She had started noticing last year that her parents always ate last, dividing between them the smallest portions from what was left.
Gregor smiled unreservedly and closed her hands around the coins. “Consider it your reward for being the only one to help your poor old father mind the stall on such a lovely day.” Sage couldn’t help but smile in return, despite the shame creeping now up to her chest, making each breath an effort. She resolved not to spend all of the money on sweets.
After purchasing two muffins and a large cookie to share with her father, Sage took the long way back to the stall. She walked slowly, window shopping and people-watching as she went. She tried to imagine herself living their lives like she imagined herself wearing the silken dress clothes displayed in shop windows. It just didn’t seem to fit quite right, even in her imagination. She watched a bookseller dusting books on display, but found herself too vividly imagining breathing in that stale, dusty air all day. She saw a baker pulling fresh-baked and still steaming bread out of the stone oven, but thought it would be such a loss to become accustomed to the smell of hot bread. She took a few moments to sit under a tree in a small park. A couple walked by, hand in hand, laughing with sheer delight in each others’ company. Sage looked thoughtfully at her own hands, and experimented with gently holding them together. Having someone else’s hand to hold would be nice. But what kind of someone did she want? Sage leaned her head heavily against the tree behind her, gazing up at the orange-red leaves. There had been a few people who had pursued her briefly, more as she aged and grew into her facial features, but she had never really felt anything for them. Even when Sven, who her school friends unanimously agreed was the most attractive boy in their class and the son of a successful Smithy, had invited her on a date in town all she could think was, Why? We’re already friends. She didn’t understand her friends when they talked about the adrenaline rush of attraction or their hushed tones when they talked about the touch of another. The cold familiarity of this confusion washed over Sage. What am I missing? Was the most frequent question she asked herself. Her friends and siblings all seemed to have a pretty clear idea of who they wanted to be and who they wanted to be with. She didn’t know how to begin answering those questions for herself.
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Sage stood, becoming aware that she was prone to the inertia of ruminating. She refocused on listing professions as she walked back to Harper’s Herbal Remedies. Baker, tailor, parent, cobbler, scribe, merchant, farmer, fisher, herbalist - her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice as she reached the edge of the market. Apiarist. Miriam Honeywell, Sage’s nearest neighbor and town Apiarist, was speaking uncharacteristically loudly with a customer. Sage had always suspected that Miriam had carefully chosen her last name; she had always known the woman to be preoccupied with appearances.
“I’m just so proud of my Colby - I had thought it was too late since he was going on 11 this year, but then when he started showing The Signs I was just overjoyed! I always knew he was a late-bloomer.” Miriam forced a laugh that lasted a little too long. The customer said something that Sage couldn’t hear.
“He had only been showing the Sign of Foresight for a few days, so we weren’t too sure if it was really a Sign or just coincidences. But of course it ended up showing yesterday while he was at school and his teacher recognized it, so they contacted the Seekers.” Miriam’s smile didn’t reach her red, puffy eyes. Sage felt butterflies in her stomach. She heard the customer say something and laugh politely. “Oh yes, they don’t waste any time! They came and picked him up after supper last night to whisk him off to The Citadel. Once we get word that he’s completed The Substantiation, we’ll be writing him every day.”
Goosebumps travelled down Sage’s arms and she hurried past Miriam’s stall. She focused on that word, once. Sage knew it should have been an if and suspected Miriam was trying to convince herself of the certainty of Colby’s survival. This explained the heartrending wailing they had heard from Miriam’s home all through last night, and Sage’s mother’s pale face when she returned from going to check on her. She glanced back at Miriam’s stall before she turned a corner, just in time to see Miriam’s strained smile drop as the customer turned their back to leave. She paused and considered going back to speak with Miriam, watching the woman’s chest breathing deeply, slowly, with great effort and control. But she didn’t know how to comfort a grieving mother; particularly not when she was struggling with her own confused feelings.
The only feeling Sage could identify was overwhelmed. She was worried about Colby, who was a sweet and quiet boy. He loved helping his mother care for her bees and Miriam and her husband absolutely adored their only child. In some ways she had been jealous of Colby getting all of the attention and focus of both his parents. She envied how quiet their home must have been. But now that comfortable quiet had turned to emptiness. Very few survived The Substantiation, and the odds worsened the older you were. She had never heard of anyone over the age of 12 surviving the process. As closely as The Wardens guarded the details of The Substantiation, it had become common knowledge that it was extremely dangerous. It was almost always fatal for those unlucky few who underwent it without showing any Signs - but they weren’t often talked about. Overcrowded orphanages, families with no resources and at their wits end, nobles hiding bastards they can’t stomach to have killed outright - these were usually the sources of the Unsigned children sent to The Citadel. Those who survived gained more than they ever could have otherwise - supernatural abilities and a home. At least there was some choice involved.
Children who had shown Signs were taken by The Seekers, a sect of the Wardens who existed solely to find and retrieve Signed children. No one was quite sure how they operated with such brutal efficiency, but even the wealthiest families seemed unable (or unwilling) to evade them. Signed children of course were more likely to survive The Substantiation, but the odds were still low.
Neither Sage nor any of her siblings had shown the slightest Sign. Typically the signs manifest by age 10. Some families didn’t even name their children until after age 10, just in case they showed Signs and were taken. Sage remembered her parents’ joy and relief at her and every one of her siblings’ tenth birthdays. She remembered her own guilty disappointment. The life of a Warden was hard, dangerous, and lonely. But it was also mysterious, exciting, and powerful. Although she knew how devastated her family would be if she were taken to The Citadel, and how unlikely she was to survive The Substantiation, she still dreamed about what abilities she wished to manifest. When she finally let go of those dreams, she never found what to put in their place.
As she handed her father his muffin she attempted to force herself not to pick those dreams back up. She bit into her muffin, eyes closed, focusing as intently as she could on the raspberry and honey flavor. Her favorite; she almost smiled remembering this delicious flavor appearing in her life at every birthday. She had tried it for the first time on her tenth birthday. She had cried silently all that night over the powers and adventures she would never have as the aftertaste of honey lingered on her tongue. Sage opened her eyes and bit her cheek, trying to remind herself it was much too late now. She refocused her attention on her father, watching him savor every last crumb of his muffin.
“On my way back, I heard Miriam saying Colby was taken by The Seekers last night.” Sage studied her father’s face, looking for a reaction. She saw only sincere worry.
“How did she seem? I’m surprised she came to market today.”
Sage shrugged. “She said she was overjoyed.” Gregor’s frown deepened.
“Maybe I should go check in on her. Would you mind the stall for a bit on your own?”
Sage nodded and her father turned to go. Sage reached for the cookie. “Wait, Dad!” He turned back, confused. “Take your half or I’ll eat it before you get back.” He laughed and waited patiently for his share of the cookie.
Sage gently tore the cookie in half and couldn’t help but think about the divide inside herself. Part of her desperately wanted to make peace with her mundane fate; part of her couldn’t let go of the grief for the person she wished to be. She stared at the two roughly equal cookie halves in each hand. Which part will I hold on to? She shook these thoughts out of her head and handed a half to her father. This is way too much brooding over a cookie. Sage returned her attention to the stall as her father disappeared into the crowd.
