Borr sighed and rubbed his temples. Before he spoke, Óraithe came forward and put a hand on his shoulder.
“It is nothing so terrible. Have him placed in one of the carts with room and find another driver.”
“Yes, Mistress. You are kinder than he deserves.”
Óraithe simply nodded and Borr dragged the man by his collar and walked off to deal with finding a new body capable of driving the wagon. It ought to be easy enough, Óraithe told herself. It was the wagon itself that seemed to have attracted the bulk of the attention. A younger man stood at the head of the wagon, shaking his head and speaking with a few others who had come to see what help they could be.
“…nothing for it. S’buckled under.” He noticed Scaa and Óraithe approaching. He turned and bowed deep. “I am sorry for my father. He’s a drunk, much as he likes to pretend otherwise. We have caused the whole train trouble.”
He must have been three times Óraithe’s age but apologized sincerely. It would have been unthinkable in her wildest imaginations with the typical love of elders among her people.
“Things happen,” Óraithe said with her polite smile and her slight bow. “What is the state of the wagon?”
She thought to ask about the horses that drew it, but a few were unhitched and being attended just off the road.
The younger man groaned and walked around toward the rut, motioning for them to follow. He nodded at the damage when they came around the far side. He stood silent and Óraithe could see why. It was not simply a thrown wheel. The edge of the axle had been snapped and the wheel was wedged beneath the leading edge of the wagon itself. It would need to be lifted and set to be mended.
“We’ve got axles and, near as I can see, the wheel’s in fine shape somehow. But there’s barrels on barrels in the back. Unloading it’ll take a few hours.”
Scaa bristled. Óraithe could hear the complaining now. And fair complaining it would be. Hours lost to a drunk hardly seemed worth it. Óraithe stepped forward.
“Where will you place the lifts when it is unloaded?”
The man considered the wagon’s front corner for a moment and pointed out a pair of places that were reinforced enough to handle the strain.
“Would they hold if you could lift the wagon with the casks still inside?”
“Sure, they hold with a wheel on, so I can’t think why they wouldn’t.”
Óraithe considered the wagon and then moved to it, inspecting the edge. The wood was all in good condition. She turned to the man and the onlookers who had gathered to be near her.
“Please clear away from the wagon if you would.”
They all stared blankly a moment and then took a few steps back. Scaa looked to them and back to Óraithe before coming close.
“You mean to lift it?” She whispered the words to Óraithe.
“I do.”
“This is how you will reveal your Gift?”
“I can think of no better way. In service of a man who caused trouble.”
Scaa seemed to search her mind a moment for a complaint, but in the end offered nothing. She took her place away from the wagon with the rest.
Óraithe turned her attention to the wagon and focused on the ground beneath her. She compressed the dirt and rock beneath the edge of the wagon as tightly as she could manage and began to pull it up. It was heavier than she had expected and the burn she had nearly forgotten came back to her brain. She kept her breathing steady, trying to look as placid as she could that the display could look as impressive as she needed it to.
The first creak of wood brought murmurs from the audience and when the wagon came up on a series of thin pillars of rock, the murmurs turned to gasps and prayers. The burn in her mind kept steady enough, but her muscles felt the strain. She had not practiced such uses of the Gift and it felt as though the ground were leaching the strength from her body. The wagon came to a height where it sat even and she hardened the pillars into place. As soon as she let her control fall away, she dropped to her knees. The wagon stood, at least.
Scaa rushed to her and the audience came close.
“Is this some act, for them?” She whispered as best she could, but Scaa’s voice was near frantic.
Óraithe coughed softly, her breathing rapid. “No. But there is no need to worry. Help me stand.”
Scaa stood her up slowly and Óraithe looked out at the small group of faces, all somewhere between concern and awe. She forced a smile.
“Please see to the repairs as best you can.”
The crowd was silent. Scaa helped keep Óraithe steady as they left the wagon behind and returned to their barouche. When they were half the distance back, Óraithe felt well enough to move on her own power, though she required Scaa to help her into their transport. When they had settled Scaa scolded her.
“You should not do something so dangerous.”
“Were you worried for me?” Óraithe laughed, stroking Scaa’s cheek playfully.
Scaa looked away, bashful and trying to keep her anger fresh. “I was. Am. And you should not be so ready to wound yourself for sake of some idea about courting your followers.”
“It is not so dangerous as it looks. It is more… tiring. As though I’d done a day’s work in half a moment.”
“I fail to see how that is not dangerous.” Scaa sighed. “But so long as you are mindful of your limits. I do not know them, so I can only say so much to you.”
“Well, I know now that I am not suited for lifting wagons.” Óraithe leaned her head back and closed her
