Danae Okempi was apparently doing well enough to also spring for the fast service. It was barely two weeks later that Mazelton was looking at her portrait. Some manner of light etching? He didn’t recognize the method, but it was obviously a painfully detailed reproduction of her- fully clothed. The background appeared to be some sort of trees, short stubby things with wide branches. The orchard?

She looked like a young woman ought to. Strong arms, shoulders neither too broad nor too narrow, hair cropped decently short and cut to flatter the skull. Which, he was relieved to note, didn’t show signs of bone shaving. Always a bit creepy, that, but so many parents did it for their children’s future prospects. She looked like she could collect some heads at the Martial Games, though she lacked that killer’s aura he associated with true champions. The look in her eyes was more stubborn than ruthless. Nice eyes, though. There was something lively in them, like all the words trapped behind her teeth were trying to escape via the iris. She had one hand cocked on a hip, wrist bent, palm facing out. The other hand seemed to wave down and away, almost like a fencer making a mocking salute.

Mazelton could practically hear his parents agreeing about Okempi’s many defects, then staring at him, then sighing and agreeing it (she would never be a she, of course) was probably as good as he could hope for. He could never understand why his parents didn’t conceive more children if they were so dissatisfied with him. But they never did, and their standing in the clan suffered for it.

Oh Father Sun and Mother Moon, that’s not a fencer’s salute, she’s trying to be flirty without looking flirty. That’s adorable.

To The Man Mazelton- Greetings.

“Oh thank the Ælfflæd, she’s got no more idea how to start these letters than I do.”

I think we have enough in common to start a conversation. You aren’t bad looking, which helps, and you have a real trade, which helps more. Nearest core polisher to New Scandi (excluding the Sea Folk) is outside the territory, so you would have a big patch all to yourself.

The river has no agreed upon official name. Mostly we call it the Roaring River, because it comes down fast and hard from the mountains, and when it hits shallows or some falls, well, you can hear it yelling near ten kilometers away. Plot Twelve, if you can’t tell from the map, sits on the outside of a bend in the river, on the higher bank. It’s not exactly silent, but it’s not noisy either. It’s a nice sound, but I generally ignore it since I hear it all the time. Birdsong, and wind stirring the tree branches just after dawn. That’s what I hear right now. That and my rooster warming up to crow, the old devil.

“I can’t throw up, Father would be furious. I can’t throw up…”

On more substantial matters- I’m not opposed to children. I would quite like some, in fact. I come from a large family, and miss all the noise and life around me. But I also know the burden it puts on folk. Too much, far, far too much, to gamble on anything less than an open ended contract. We don’t know each other near well enough for that. We might not even after a year. I set the offer for a year because if we can’t make a year happy and prosperous, why try to force something longer?

But I do like your idea about Plot Twelve, and it makes me want to know more about you. Why would a polisher want a riverbank piece? Surely a plot in town makes more sense.

Because I like the idea of being able to run out the back door and float all the way to the sea, and looking at you, you could probably stop at least two if they came from the road.

I wonder- are you planning to merge our plots if we did marry and, someday, go open ended? Do you want to build a house, or your own gardens? Is there some sort of secret polisher thing that is improved by rivers? I somewhat suspect the latter, because that plot is a good bit hotter than is strictly comfortable. Frankly, I don’t go through there for just about any reason, and I keep my chickens well penned.

Eh? Bonus. Free rads!

Given all that, if you do get the land, I would likely be amiable to both an easement and a modest extension of the contract. Like you, stable sounds pretty appealing to me these days, as does someone who can provide a solid income. Fair warning to you, because we are at the end of the continent out here, everything costs more.

Your drawing is very good. It’s interesting- I feel like I have learned more about you because you drew yourself. Do you do any other kind of art? I can sing a bit, and keep a rhythm, but I’ve no wit for drawing, painting and the like. Can’t seem to make my hand draw what’s in my head. I do enjoy reading, though, traveling the world through the eyes of others.

Speaking of- Strictly clothed in the pictures, please. Most folk keep nudity for people they are really intimate with.

Because baths aren’t a thing? Oh Mother Moon, she’s one of those weirdos with body shame. Where do these people come from? And can we send them back?

I’ve wandered off the point, I think. The fruit trees are mostly apple and pear, with a small cluster of plums. Different varieties, of course, and supporting plants grow all around them. Right now I am selling the fruit locally, mostly in barter for other supplies but it brings in some money as well. When yields get high enough, which ought to be in the next year or two, I intend to start pressing most of the fruit and making hard cider, perry, and plum preserves. Costs less to ship and sells for more. It occurs to me that a steady supply of sanitizing cores would be a major help in achieving that.

I’ve attached a proposed list of goals for our first year together- land improvements, financial goals (though those are pretty speculative, at this point), and bonding as a couple. The usual things that go into a first year contract, plus what I think is a fair contribution given what you bring. I am open to negotiating that point in detail, because all my experience with polishers is buying cores and occasional recharges from peddlers and traveling merchants. I have set aside a good little budget for this negotiation, so if we go back and forth a few times, it’s no problem on my end. And I would like to hear more from you.

With hope and curiosity,

Danae Okempi

Mazelton took the letter to the Sacred Grove and read it over and over again, leaning against leafless trees and sitting on freezing rocks. Every now and again he would look up at the trees and try to understand why those elders planted what they did, where they did. Supporting plants? Surely she didn’t mean bracing- the trees were not braced in the picture. There was a system there that he wasn’t seeing.

She liked to sing, and could keep a rhythm. Would she like to sing as he danced? His favorite dances were for two or more people, but he could teach her to sing the Alekoisis, and he could dance that ancient choreography, keeping that bit of the Ma clan alive for another generation.

The “goals” attachment was no good. Too vague, too much “Develop the soil in Plot Twelve” and not enough “Do X, Y and Z at times A, B and C to develop the soil in Plot Twelve.” He would talk it over with the Humble. If he didn’t know that sort of thing, he surely knew people who did.

Okempi danced around specific numbers for what he would be contributing to the household finances- “Mazelton shall contribute goods, labor and rads equal to no less than forty percent of the household budget and not more than sixty percent, Okempi shall contribute the same in the same proportions.” A good way of thinking, a fair way- but kind of gibberish. What was her labor valued at? For that matter, since he would be setting the price for cores and polishing services in the territory, what was stopping him from valuing his service at wildly different rates?

Presumably this was why Okempi wanted a one year contract. He wouldn’t pull that nonsense, and neither would she, because ultimately they would both lose. What was it Mother said? Know the difference between a one time trade and a long term trade partner and act accordingly? Something like that.

Mazelton closed his eyes and tried to imagine it. He was listening to the birdsong, and hearing the wind stirring the branches. Okempi- would she prefer being called Danae? Okempi would be doing her morning chores, honing her blades, feeding chickens. He would ask if he could feed the chickens. Seemed the least he could do. Also someone had to cook breakfast and for all their sakes it had better not be him. Would they have indoor water? Probably not. He could draw the well water too.

He imagined his little cottage on Plot Twelve. One big window facing south, the rest thick walls and a stout, insulated roof to keep the heat in. The light would hit his polishing bench just so, and when he needed to rest his eyes, he would look out over a flower garden. All blooming wildflowers, and maybe a few fruit and nut trees. But all for beauty. And every time he scattered potash, he would whisper the names of his clan, those he could remember, and pray this helped their souls return to the earth.

It would be nothing like his room in the clan apartments in Old Radler, nor like his nest in the catacombs, or any of the little hidden garretts he so dearly loved. But it could be home. It would be home. Where nothing hurt, and everything was calm, and he was safe.

Mazelton didn’t notice he was crying until his cheeks started to get cold. But that was OK. He could see a home, and a person waiting at that home, and they were waiting for him. Okempi could have any damn terms she pleased.

Mazelton barked out a rough laugh. No, she would not have any terms she pleased. He would build this vision of his, and it would start in the very next letter.

To The Woman Danae Okempi, Greetings.

I will go straight to business to start, because I have so much to ask and write that is not business, the most important things might be lost. I have amended and expanded the goals list you sent. I thought it was pretty good, but I do better when things are written plainly. Let me know what you make of it. One area where I didn’t try to get more specific is anything to do with farming or gardening, as I don’t know enough on the subjects to even be ignorant. I am asking a lot of questions to the locals here, and am trying to learn fast.

I also included a number of other pictures and sketches of myself and the people I have met in Sky’s Echo. Funnily enough, while I do love art, drawing is not my best skill. I enjoy sculpting, am a middling painter, a capable tailor of clothes totally unsuitable for the frontier, and a rather good jeweler. I am far from the best polisher, but I can take pride in my other crafts. Even with all that, if you ask me what my favorite manner of art is, it is dance.

I love to dance, to feel every inch of myself under my control and moving to tell the stories I want to tell. To share the emotion I want to share. To become a living, moving piece of art. I love the new dances and the old. Is it something you enjoy?

I imagined myself dancing under falling apple blossoms, as you clapped the time and smiled. It was a pleasant dream.

As for the hot bend in the river, my reasons for choosing it were several, and the possible remnant heat was actually the least of them. I would want to be close to you, yes, and while I dislike boats and fish, I very much enjoy watching the water. As for the heat, well, that’s basically free rads to a polisher. Depending on how hot it is, and if there is a persistent source underground, we would have a small but very steady source of income.

As for your plans for cider, perry and jams, yes, I dare to guarantee that you will not see a speck of unwanted mold on your produce, along with a sudden decimation of the fly and tick population around the house, the purity of water shooting up and food will be preserved for longer without needing ice or pickling. The house and farmyard will be well lit, with light cores tuned to the color you like.

I can make some other things too, of course, but they are much less home improvements and more luxury goods. If you ever want a robe or gown that draws in the mist around you, then fills that mist with sparkling trails of blue fairy fire, just let me know. It just takes time, and good cloth.

I would very much like to make that time with you.

Eagerly waiting to hear from you once more,

Mazelton

PS. How do you prefer to be called? My name has neither prefix nor suffix, and while it is written as one word, it is actually three- Ma clan, Zel generation Ton given name. Where I grew up, calling someone by just their given name would be cataclysmicly rude. I am very happy being called, simply, Mazelton. On the other hand, I know that some people find referring to each other by a given name to be endearing, or something reserved for family. So how should I address you?

The wind wasn’t getting any warmer, and everyone was laughing about the “light dusting of snow” that came up over his knees. But Mazelton had a goal now- a reason to get through winter, and welcome in the spring.