From my earliest memories my grandmother made me study and practice the art of dollmaking, until my soft little fingers bled and became calloused. While other children played, I studied and worked, collected materials and sorted them. I made doll after doll, only-to have my grandmother throw them away and instruct me to begin again.
My grandmother taught me that a Dollmage must have both gift and skill.The gift I had, but the skill came only with tears and much rapping of knuckles. Renoa, it seemed, would be like me. I would give her another year. Or two.
It had become easy for me to continue as Dollmage as soon as Renoa was born. I was able to borrow upon her powers, and I supposed I would until the day came when she was formally named Dollmage.
Annakey, as soon as she was able, was required to go into the fields to watch the sheep. In this way she earned mutton and wool for her mother. Though she could not spend her days playing with the other girls, still Annakey smiled.
Mostly I forgot about her, until one day I saw her by the river collecting stones that looked like animals or faces of people she knew.
“Have you not enough work to do?” I asked her. She dropped the stones into the water and ran away. How well I remembered my own passion for the miniature, the copy, and it concerned me to see what might be the beginnings of it in Annakey.
I asked Grandmother Keepmoney to observe her, to see if she worked worthy of the hire.
“She does,” said Grandmother Keepmoney.
“Then why does she smile so, seeing she must work?” I asked my friend.
“Herding sheep is light enough work. She plays with the boys, with Areth and Manal and the others. They are happy in the fields because there are no adults to restrict them.”
“And what do they play at?” I asked.
“They play at being adults. They pretend marrying and babies and cooking and milking cows. They pretend storms and bears and raids from robber people. The boys love Annakey.”
“So,” I said. “They run away from their parents’ world only to build a make-believe world just like it.”
“Has it not always been so, Hobblefoot?” Grandmother Keepmoney said. “When you and I were young, did you not make cookies and babydolls of clay? Even in your play you were Dollmage.”
What she said was true. Thinking about what she had said made me uneasy about Annakey. What if she was growing Dollmage powers right under my chin? I decided to spy on her.
Annakey was a monster in my eyes — given the eyes of a Dollmage only because she was born on the promised day. She must never be allowed to practice any art she might have. It would cause confusion, disharmony, turmoil. It would split the valley, and the wild all around would creep in. She was a weed allowed to thrive in a garden.
I found the children in a little grove of trees in the west field. Most of the sheep were tended in the summer meadow high on the mountain, but some, lambs born too early or rams and ewes that were too old, stayed in the valley. Young children, field size, kept them. It was lazy work. They had only to keep the stock away from the drifts of bracken that marked the edge of the forest. Bears and wolves rarely came here, but there were foxes, and bogs to fall into.
As it was, only Manal was at his post with the sheep. The others were in a small grove of trees, seated around a tree stump that served as a table. There were seven boys: Areth Lowmeadow, Miller Gravepost, Nikko Nailsmith, Surry Wistnot, Dantu Three, Nid Maybenot, and Tawm Herdson. One girclass="underline" Annakey Rainsayer. They were all looking at her with adoration. Oblivious to their love, she was serving them, solemnly and with tender pats to their heads, wild berries in dried mud bowls.
The bowls were small, but perfectly made. In the center of the stump was a graceful clay vase and in that, a flower. In Annakey’s arms was a baby made of bark and branches and grass and leaves, all tied and knotted in clever ways so that it was easy to see it was a baby. She cradled the baby in one arm and poured water from a little clay pitcher into little clay cups for the boys.
“Am I not the best of all your children?” Surry asked quietly as Annakey poured him water.
“If she says yes, I shall black your eye later,” said Nid mildly and with a ferocious smile.
“I am the one who gathered the berries. She loves me best,” said Miller in his sweetest voice, as if he had just given the boys a generous compliment.
“Dullwits,” said Dantu gently and graciously. “It is easy to see why you love me best, Annakey, since they are all so lump-brained”
Annakey stopped pouring water. “Did I not speak to all of you about quarreling?” she said.
“You told us to speak in kindly tones,” Areth said, grinning. “Their tones sound kindly to me.”
The boys laughed, and then the laughter faded under Annakey’s stern gaze.
“All of you go play,” said Areth to the others. He was a head taller than the rest of them.
“I do not want to go,” said Dantu.
“Yes, we do not want to go, too.”
“You must go. Gather deadfall for the supper fire,” Areth said.
“Why must we always go?” Tawm protested.
“Because,” said Areth, “you are the children and I am the father. Now go. I want to speak to your mother alone for a moment.”
One by one, the other boys tumbled out of the grove and ran to the field where the sheep slept like lumps of wool in the deep grass. As soon as they were alone, Areth took Annakey’s hand.
“Annakey,” he said, “promise me you will be my wife.”
“I am already your wife,” Annakey said.
“I mean for real. When we grow up.”
Annakey drew her hand away and laughed. “Areth, what if I grow up to be nagging and ugly?” The child seemed a little afraid, as if she understood at a level beyond her years the nature of such a promise.
Just then Manal entered the grove.
Annakey held up a bowl of berries for him. “Areth wants me to promise to be his wife,” she said.
Manal said nothing. His manner was gentle and quiet. Areth lay down in the grass to sulk. Annakey watched as Manal ate the berries, looking into his bowl.
They talked quietly Manal told Annakey how Papa Naplong’s hog, wandering the fringes of the forest for worms and mice, had come upon a newborn lamb to eat it. Manal had had to chase him away with a stick.
“That is good, Manal,” Annakey said.
Manal shrugged. “It is my work, to care for the sheep.”
“Manal, why do you work with the sheep while the rest of us play?” she asked.
“You play at womens work,” Manal said.
“It makes me happy to do so,” Annakey said, after a moments thought.
Manal glanced at her and almost smiled. “Work makes me . . . happy.” He ate in silence for a time and then said, “These bowls are good, Annakey. They make the food taste better.”
I almost gasped aloud.
Annakey picked one up and inspected it closely to hide her blushes. She shook her head.
“And the babydoll is as good as one of Dollmage’s.”
That part was not true.
“If I were Dollmage,” Annakey said, “I would use my power to make my father come home.”
Manal stood. “By now the others are fighting amongst themselves and have forgotten the sheep.” He began to walk away but stopped before Areth. “Dollmage teaches that we are born into enough promises,” he said to him.Then he was gone.