Tallow Read online

  She softened her tone. 'It's your choice. Let her distil into the candles. It will be subtle; it will be refined. I'll make sure of it. And if we continue to be careful as you have been, then no-one, not the soldiers, not the padres – not even your God – need ever know.'

  This time Pillar began to object. Katina held up her hand.

  'Let me finish by painting a picture of what could be for you. Imagine lighting a candle in a room full of unhappiness only to find that as the wick burnt and the wax melted, the unhappiness disappeared. Imagine burning a candle where there was anger only to replace it with calm. What about turning hate into love? But in such an indefinite way that no-one knows what caused the change. Is that bad? Is that –' she paused for dramatic effect and looked straight at Quinn, '– really evil?' She didn't wait for a response but ploughed on, saving her most irresistible proposition for last. 'What if everyone suddenly desired to burn your candles and only your candles? What if they never wanted to buy from anybody else?'

  Pillar's eyes lit up. 'You can do that?'

  'No. But Tallow can. At least, she could if you allow her. It's up to you.' Katina nodded towards Pillar and then Quinn. 'Both of you.'

  'It's wrong,' insisted Quinn. 'I don't care what you say, I'll always believe anything to do with the Estrattore is evil. The Church forbids it. They kill his kind.'

  'That's true – now,' said Katina. 'Once, a few hundred years ago, when you worshipped different gods, that type of gift was respected.'

  'It's against the law,' insisted Quinn.

  'So are a lot of things – like wilfully hiding an Estrattore. But unlike that sin, this will make you a lot of money.'

  Quinn sat still for a moment then she began rubbing her chin, sitting on the edge of her seat. Pillar fingered his hidden carving, his mind racing.

  'A lot of money,' reminded Katina softly and rose to hang the kettle back over the fire.

  Quinn drained her mug and then looked at Tallow carefully. Katina turned slowly and waited. Tallow held her breath.

  'It would, wouldn't it?' said Quinn finally. She rocked back and forth in her chair. 'Are you sure people would only want our candles?'

  'Yes.'

  'And they wouldn't know why? They'd just buy them?'

  'If we're careful.'

  After what seemed like a very long time, Quinn held her mug out to Katina. 'I'm tired of this. Got any more in that container of yours?'

  Katina grinned and, opening her flask, poured a generous amount into Quinn's mug. Quinn raised it to her. 'I think I might like you after all, Bond Rider. I think I might like you after all.'

  Pillar had a dazed look on his face and Katina knew he was trying to picture the future she'd presented. Finally, he nodded. 'All right, if that's what Mamma wants.' His tone was uncertain.

  The tension slowly left Katina's body. She'd done it. She'd convinced them to at least try her way. But she'd kept her mouth shut on her reservations. Tallow's powers were such that not only were they beyond Katina's limited realm of experience, they were nothing like she'd been warned to expect, either. She'd never seen or heard of talent like it. At least by encouraging Tallow to distil into the candles she could buy them both some time. She would return to the Limen as soon as she could to seek advice from the Elders, those who had known and studied Estrattore first-hand.

  Most importantly, however, she'd given Tallow time to hone her skills and develop self-confidence. She was going to need both if she was ever going to be able to do what was required, let alone protect herself from the dark forces that sought to claim her.

  Tallow was still standing in front of the fire, only this time she was staring into the flickering flames. Not she, Katina reminded herself. He ... If she were to be safe, it had to be he, even in her thoughts.

  Tallow's face, silver eyes hidden behind the spectacles, was inscrutable. Katina still could not believe that she'd found her – the child who was the stuff of legends. But looking at her ... him now – his thin arms and legs, his peculiar angular face, tumbling dark curls, his soft mouth and little white teeth – who would believe that such a diminutive person could hold so much power? Who could credit that within that tiny frame rested the hope of a new future? Katina knew she couldn't tell Tallow what else the legend said about him, what the Bond Riders wanted of him – not yet. She had to give the boy time to grow into his new identity and learn to feel comfortable with what was burgeoning inside him.

  Pillar and Quinn didn't understand who it was they'd raised. And, thank the gods, Tallow didn't understand either. For if he knew, Katina had no doubt the pressure would cripple him. She lifted her hand and held it in front of her. Good. The telltale trembles hadn't started yet. Her life-force was still intact. Yes, she'd bought some time – something they all needed. Katina pushed her thoughts aside as Pillar began to talk to her in earnest.

  WHILE PILLAR AND KATINA DISCUSSED the finer points of candlemaking, Tallow watched the crackling flames. With only half an ear on their conversation, she tried to think about what had just happened. She was being given permission to openly manipulate people. Wasn't that what got the Estrattore into trouble in the first place – the very thing that signed their death sentence?

  But Katina had talked about turning hate into love, anger into calm, evil into good. That couldn't be wrong, could it? No matter what the Church said or the old Doge and Patriarch did all those hundreds of years ago. Not if you made people happy. And it did mean that Tallow could keep practising and perfecting the craft she'd grown to love.

  Watching Pillar, Katina and Quinn join each other in a toast, she pushed aside her reservations. Why, even Quinn had stopped her moaning; a crooked smile had replaced the usual smirk.

  Maybe, thought Tallow, this was what she'd been born to do – combine her abilities with her candlemaking skills and change people's minds about the Estrattore. For now she had the chance to become what she'd always wanted to be. The best the sestiere – and even Serenissima – had ever seen.

  She would be the candlemaker's apprentice.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The candlemaker's

  apprentice

  THE MOMENT I BEGAN DELIBERATELY distilling into the candles, everything changed. I remember it as though it were yesterday.

  While Quinn remained upstairs, Pillar, Katina and I went to the workshop. Making sure all the doors were locked and the shutters closed, we lit some rush lights. Katina told me to pretend for the moment that she wasn't there; she wanted to observe me. That was difficult. Her presence was unsettling, but I donned my apron and stoked the fire beneath the cauldron, as I always did.

  Pillar began to melt more tallow, stirring it gently and holding the sieve to scoop out any of the more obvious impurities before the proper straining. With the fire blazing, I went to the other side of the workshop and began attaching plaited wicks to one of the broaches. When the tallow was ready, I carried the broach over and, standing on a small stool next to the vat, dipped the wicks repeatedly. After a few generous coats were applied, I suspended the broach over one of the troughs in the middle of the room to drain away the excess fat. While the first broach dried, I prepared another, and so on until we had more than sixty candles hanging from five broaches. By the time I'd finished, the first dozen wicks were ready to be dipped again. As I returned the first broach to the cauldron, Katina stopped me.

  'How many times do the wicks get dipped?'

  'Numerous times. Depends on how thick we want the candle or taper. Why?'

  'What do you feel when you touch the wax, Tallow? No, don't tell me yet. I'm thinking that if the candles get dipped repeatedly, then you'd be better to distil in the early stages, now, before the candle reaches its final shape. That way, if there's untouched tallow to cover what's been adjusted, it will decrease the candle's overall potency. I think it may be a way of controlling the depth of the distillation. Do you know what I mean?'

  'Yes, I think I do.' I was excited. This made a strange kind of sense to me. The
n a thought crossed my mind. 'But what about as the candle burns? Whatever I've placed within it will be released and it will be strong.'

  Katina shook her head and gently touched the broach I was holding. 'I'm not convinced of that. Let's call this one an experiment.' She looked to Pillar for permission. He nodded. 'Do what I have taught you to do. Really feel the essence of what you are handling. Extract the goodness from it and, when you're ready, separate it. Suppress anything negative, control what remains, enhance it, and then put it back in.'

  'Are you sure?'

  Katina laughed. 'No, but until we try, none of us will know.'

  I didn't argue. Instead, I filled a metal jug with the melted tallow and brought it over to where the first broach was suspended.

  'I'm not going to dip this time,' I explained to Pillar and Katina. 'I think I'll pour. I think I'll be able to control what I'm doing better.'

  Pillar grunted in approval. Basic tapers could be made by either dipping or pouring tallow onto the wicks. Dipping was quicker, but, until I was better trained in the art of an Estrattore, I wanted to control what I was doing. Through the jug's handle, I could feel the hot liquid tallow. Opening my mind to it, I could sense the agony of the animals, the sheep and cattle that had been slaughtered for food, clothing and this fat so that one day candles might light human homes. I threw myself into their torment, collected it, tasted it and almost gagged.

  The sickly-sweet tang of copper filled my mouth, but I concentrated even harder. These candles would not reflect the animals' pain. I pushed those feelings aside and then plunged deeper, further into the tallow, searching for something positive to latch on to. Images flooded my mind. I saw fields of rich green grass, oats and water aplenty. Sunshine and rain and the soft nuzzling of calves and lambs. I witnessed them gambolling about hillsides and nestled together in a dark barn once night fell. Contentment and pleasure washed over me.

  'That's it, Tallow,' whispered Katina. Her long fingers rested gently on my shoulder. 'What else do you see, do you feel? Capture its very essence as I have taught you and let it flow.'

  I concentrated harder, narrowing my vision, forcing myself to extract the most potent of positive emotions from the experience. The grazing animals fed, birds swooped and sang, and butterflies flittered between flowers. It was missing only one thing ...

  All at once, a shaggy, chocolate-coloured dog, curled up beneath the long grass under a tree, raised his head and allowed his tongue to loll out. I smiled and extended my will, capturing the moment. 'Happiness,' I answered. 'And safety. I feel safe.'

  Before I could become lost in this pastoral pleasure, Katina spoke in a husky voice. 'Tallow, release what you sense now.'

  I gathered all that I felt and saw and, with a slight push of my will, allowed the emotions to pour into the tallow. As if they were another additive, I mentally measured the amounts and fed them in equal portions, balancing the outcome against the flow. Finally, I tipped the jug and watched as the tallow coiled over the thickened wicks. The liquid warmth glowed, each layer richer than the last, ripened with life's simple pleasures.

  Finished, I put the jug down and watched as the excess fat pooled in the trough. Instead of its usual grey, the tallow was a soft creamy colour. I inhaled. The foul smell of the fat had been replaced by the fresh scent of dew-spangled grass. I sighed and smiled at Katina and Pillar.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. Their eyes were glassy and their cheeks flushed. They stared at the broach.

  It was Katina who composed herself first. 'Whoever lights these candles and breathes their scent will experience the delights of a world and time too quickly snatched away.' She tentatively placed a finger in the cooling fat, staring at the small cream dot that stuck to the end of her finger. 'A time before knowledge.'

  Pillar looked from me to the candles and back again, his eyes wide with respect and fear. 'I envy them already.'

  AFTER THAT, I NOT ONLY made candles and tapers, but I was allowed to create rush lights, and, for the first time for sale in the shop, the thick moulded pillar candles from which Pillar earned his nickname. In the meantime, I continued to extract the essence of the tallow and its history and, if necessary, change it. Gradually, the first vat was replaced by another and then another as Pillar and I made candle after candle.

  It didn't take long for word to get out that Pillar was selling pale creamy candles with the most marvellous scents for the same price as tallow candles. Locals came in droves. Their surprise when they found out these waxy candles with their high sheen and pleasant odours were actually made from tallow was most amusing. Some refused to believe it, but they didn't quibble too hard in case Quinn charged them extra. Over the next few days, customers returned for more and brought friends with them. For the first time in my memory, the shop was crowded.

  Even the chandlers who had provided the tallow and their competitors came to set eyes on what they'd heard but could not believe. Candles made from tallow always smelt terrible, and generally looked grey and distasteful; but not Pillar's candles. It didn't take long for the other candlemakers to become first curious and later jealous of Pillar's success. Spies were hired to discover our trade secrets. But we always knew who they were – even if I hadn't been able to tell immediately. They weren't very discreet and Katina had a knack for fossicking out nosy people.

  Coins were exchanged, shelves emptied and I was kept very busy. Everyone who burnt our candles complimented us on the smell and how, for the duration of the burn, a general ambience of contentment would descend on even the most fraught of houses and businesses. One customer said that he felt as though the sun had chosen to rise and set in his house; another said that she was reminded of her childhood in the mountains, which always made her feel at peace with herself and the world.

  Whereas bee and bayberry waxes had once been a luxury, I was now using them with regularity, relishing the sweet scents, their perfection. I continued to extract and distil, ridding the wax of any negativity and infusing it with a magnified version of its own wholesomeness. Often, especially when working with beeswax, I didn't need to discard or even magnify anything. Bees lived uncomplicated and fruitful lives; likewise, bayberries grew on bushes, secluded and long-living. The essence of these waxes was inevitably one of harmony and peace. It was a pleasure to extract this and hide it deep within my candles.

  And that was the way I spent my days. Working with the materials I so loved and learning to become an Estrattore. Katina was an odd teacher. She didn't so much show me what to do as make suggestions and allow me to find my own way. I soon overcame my concern that I might fail her and began asking my own questions. Sometimes she couldn't answer, but she assured me that she would find the solution.

  Over the weeks, Katina's promise to Quinn finally came true. In less than a month, our paltry sales had more than doubled. With the onset of winter, and shorter days, we had back-orders waiting for me to fill. I loved making the candles and the love that I poured into my craft also went into the candles. The customers felt it; we all did.

  Only once or twice did I accidentally take a negative emotion and place it in the candles. Usually after Quinn had drunk too much and made dark threats. But it didn't happen very often.

  Gradually, Pillar and Quinn's fears that I would be discovered lessened and with my spectacles firmly clamped to my face, I was allowed to venture further into the quartiere than I'd ever been before. I was able to explore my island, meet the people that lived beyond my calle and even be greeted by those that recognised the boy in the large hat with the golden glasses. 'That's Pillar's apprentice,' I would hear them say as I passed. 'That's the boy who helps Pillar make those wonderful candles.' I would hide my smile and return their greeting.

  I was so caught up in the joy of my new life that I missed what was happening right under my nose.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  What Tallow heard

  AS AUTUMN SEGUED INTO WINTER, and the nights grew longer and the days bitter and short, busine
ss boomed. What had once been for Quinn a lonely vigil in an over-stocked shop frequented more through charity for Pillar than need was now a fraught, customer-filled day.