A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1) (18 page)

In the next moment she saw the two boys clutch onto one another in fright.

In the moment after that, she saw them vanish.

The arboretum fell silent.

Ennalen, stunned, looked left, right, up and back, though she knew with immediate certainty that Willam and Geral had not simply run off. As much from her habit for thoroughness as her amazement, she approached where they’d been standing.

Neither the partitions nor grass on either side of the footpath had been disturbed. The boys had not somehow managed to rush past her and flee, nor could they have reached the far end of the darkening corridor in so short a time. No, she had spent years cultivating confidence in her powers of observation, and even in the tumult of that instant, Ennalen had seen quite plainly what had happened.

You should have never been here at all.

And in the blink of an eye, they were not there. At all.

The boys were gone.

A hundred possibilities converged and collided in Ennalen’s mind.

Obviously, the greatest unknown at hand and hence the most feasible explanation behind what had just taken place was her cantle. Some elder magicians studied for decades to perfect the disciplines related to telekinesis and teleportation. While certainly far, far from mastery, she seemed to have achieved a real grasp on that very thing, despite however momentary and inadvertent, after mere weeks of effort.

Where had the boys gone? She smiled broadly at the terror undoubtedly racing through their scrawny frames. That they might relay their story caused her no concern—who would believe them? Also, such a ludicrous tale as young Magistrate Ennalen magically heaving children from the arboretum to gods-knew-where? The reputation she’d garnered would only benefit.

Then her smile fell away.

No, she could not allow giddy jubilation to muddle her affairs. Not now. Rumors of such a feat would certainly be enough to warrant scrutiny. The boys would have be found and dealt with. Which, of course, would fall to Rass, who was due back at her workshop that evening.

Ennalen turned and raced for home, slowing to a walk each time she came in sight of others making their way to wherever they needed to be for the night.

The cold, brittle air of the open campus scoured her cheeks. She drew up her hood, which allowed her to smile again without anyone noticing.

Above, the ashen skies of early winter finally made good on their lingering threat of snow.

21

Niel rubbed his head, then groaned in the darkness as sickening surges of pain throbbed through his forehead, face and shoulders. The spot where he’d been struck hurt so badly he stifled a retch when he touched it.

Deciding it might be best to wait before sitting up, Niel rolled onto his back against the hard wooden floor of—

The fog surrounding his senses thinned a bit.

—of the wagon.

Yes, of course. He’d been placed inside a wagon; even before becoming fully awake he had been aware of movement. He stretched out his arms and patted along his cramped confines, which felt more like a small, enclosed cart than an actual wagon. He became thankful he hadn’t tried sitting up; he likely would have cracked his head on the low ceiling barely an arm’s length above, and even more likely that would have done him in.

Niel realized he heard no creak of turning wheels, and that the swaying in the pit of his stomach suggested being carried. He did his best to banish the notion—the less cognizant of the rocking he became, the better the chances would be of not spending the remainder of his time inside the cart sliding about in his own vomit.

Slats in the ceiling allowed moonlight to slip through, though he could barely make out his hand against the smooth wood. Wherever he was, it wasn’t in the Forest. Satisfied he wouldn’t be escaping on his own—not that he would have known where to go if he did—Niel rolled back onto his side, carefully pillowed his aching head onto his arm, and set himself to piecing together what had happened.

Dread seized him again as he imagined the fate of Arwin and the others; he could be all alone and at the mercy of whoever had taken him prisoner.

He closed his eyes and began a simple meditation. Biddleby always said an elixir of stillness and reason made the best antidote for fear.

And Niel needed as much as he could stir together.

***

He had drifted off again, lightly dreaming of being aboard the
Alodis,
of his body moving effortlessly with the rhythm of the deck as the ship pitched nimbly through the rolling sea…

But the instant Niel realized he had stopped moving, he became very much awake.

Ignoring the achy protest of his muscles, Niel pushed himself up and placed his ear against the narrow openings at the top of the crate. At first he heard nothing beyond the pounding of his own heart. Then came a few muffled voices and a muted clang of metal, followed by a violent jolt that sent his senses jangling as he and his container crashed to the ground.

His face hit the ceiling, then his back slammed into the unforgiving floor, knocking the wind from him. Colorful sparkles danced behind his eyes.

The lid creaked open on thick wooden hinges then banged against the side of the cart. Cool night air caressed his sweaty face and neck, helping him to catch his breath.

For that small moment, he felt better.

Niel struggled stiffly to his feet. He noticed the Dagger constellation twinkling brilliantly above the nearby trees. Odd, he thought, the details one notices sometimes—the stars, the elegant din of crickets, the smell of wood smoke.

Niel turned around, only to jerk backward at the unexpected nearness of his liberator.

Long, fine dark hair; pale brown eyes that shone fiercely in the glow of the torchlight, and a narrow face of olive complexion covered on one side with rows of angular dark tattoos resembling some sort of script. The person’s features were smooth like a child’s, and he stood no taller than Niel, but the face staring at him was clearly an adult.

An adult
Galiiantha
.

The ground went wobbly.

“Easy,
Apprentice.”

The familiar voice rescued Niel from collapse. Over his shoulder he saw Arwin, hands bound with rope. By the look of him, he put up considerably more of a struggle than Niel had managed. A finger-length cut and shiny, violet-green bruises branded Arwin’s left cheek. Blood crusting his nostrils, mustache, and lips undermined his reassuring smile.

Nonetheless, immeasurably relieved to see him, Niel smiled back.

As his vision adjusted, Niel noticed Cally and Jharal behind Arwin. Cally, too, bore similar signs of resistance, but neither she nor Arwin looked as maltreated as Jharal, who sat atop a crate to Cally’s right, torn and bloodied hands bound like the others. Jharal’s shoulders slumped, his head hung wearily by his knees. Niel couldn’t see his face, but knew the dark wetness on his clothes was not sweat.

Out from the shadows beyond the torches, behind the several stern-faced Galiiantha who stood watching, clamored forth a single rider mounted on what Niel first mistook as the largest horse he had ever seen. When the creature’s great breadth of antlers caught the flickering light, he understood the creature snorting and stomping before him to be a magnificent stag.

Mouth open, Niel watched the savage-looking woman astride the animal yank it to a standstill and vault from its unsaddled back. She landed a hand’s breadth from him, the disgust in her expression beyond doubt.

“Ghesalt,”
Niel managed.

Those observing at a distance stirred, rustling like trees in wind. A reproachful glare from the woman silenced them. She cast another sharp look at Arwin and the others, then eyed Niel up and down with contempt.

“They follow you?” she asked with a deep, melodic accent. The words were awkward, but that made them no less hostile.

Niel shook his head and gestured at Arwin. “Actually—”

“—yes,” Arwin interrupted, “we do.” He looked intently at Niel. “I speak for him.”

Niel stood petrified with disbelief as the woman considered them with suspicion. Why would Arwin make so ridiculous a claim? Anyone with eyes, Galiiantha or not, could see he was no leader.

“After,” she said, glaring at Niel. “Now, you come.”

She made a bird-like warble in her throat, and two men appeared from the shadows. Each grabbed Niel by an arm, and three more Galiiantha strode forward. They turned to lead him away, following behind the woman.

“Hey…”

The small procession stopped as Jharal labored to his feet. Niel repressed a grin when Jharal’s guards each took a step backward.

“Harm that boy,” the huge man said, voice like gravel, “and it will be the end of you.”

The woman at the lead cocked her head.

“Jhar,” Cally whispered, “I don’t think she understands.”

Jharal didn’t blink as he scowled at the Galiiantha. “She understands me fine,” he said, a cruel smile spreading. “Don’t you?”

An impassive expression was the woman’s only reply. She motioned for the two holding Niel to continue behind her, and they marched into the darkness.

***

The night swallowed them, robbing Niel of any sense of direction or distance. He barely remained on his own feet, having to lean on one escort or the other to keep himself upright. At least the pain in his skull had subsided.

He damned Peck for leaving him in the tunnel, then damned him even more for putting in his head the asinine-yet-abiding notion of the Galiiantha’s fondness for human flesh.

None of the Galiiantha spoke. The surrounding woods seemed equally soundless, save for the scuffle of Niel’s boots as he tripped along. He wanted to know what would be done with his companions, and about the one who had attacked him in the tunnels, but quelled the urge to ask anything—he’d learned his lesson about being the first to ruin a silence, which made him damn Peck yet again.

After what felt like hours the woman in charge whispered a command and the others came to an obedient halt. Then, she lifted her face and sang out into the night.

Like a waterfall of stars pouring through a rip in the sky, distant points of light high above winked into place and seemed to rain to the ground. When the glowing specks reached the forest floor, enough of the blue-white light had gathered for Niel to recognize that before him towered an entire city—a city in the trees.

At once he understood how humankind had long ago gazed into the starry heavens and seen the celestial palaces of the gods.

“Is this where you live?” he whispered, wonderment defeating his pledge of silence.

The woman turned to him, her hand white-knuckled around the hilt of the dagger strapped across her chest. Her stare was nothing shy of deadly, and for a few terrifying seconds Niel watched her struggle against what his every intuition told him was her desire to open his throat then and there.

Instead, she spun away and strode in the direction of the lights.

***

Beneath the colossal trees that formed the foundation of the city, Niel stared into the eerie half-night above, delighted, as if his travels had brought him to the mythical place where giants bore the world upon their backs. He tried to conceive the heights the treetops reached, but the only lucid assessment he managed was that they were much, much taller than the trees at which he had marveled in the Forest earlier.

He and the Galiiantha stood in a mossy valley between a pair of mountainous roots that spread out like great, gnarled fingers. The woman reached into a deep crag of bark, and a doorless entryway appeared where the two roots met. A large wedge of white light tinted with gold spilled out to reveal the brilliant green of the grass beneath their feet. She motioned with her head, and the Galiiantha nearest Niel shoved him through the portal.

Impossibly, the tree’s interior seemed ten times more enormous than its outside. The sweet, pleasant aroma of raw wood pulp hung in the air; Niel breathed it deeply. A narrow staircase cut into the round, smooth walls spiraled upward and out of sight. The stairs had no banister which struck him as odd, but more curious than that Niel noted along its bottom an engraved ocean motif of dolphins and mermaids similar to the one back at the Ragged Rascal.

One of the Galiiantha pushed Niel toward the stairs. Niel hung his head with a loud sigh of resignation and began his ascent, wondering if he would make it to the top, assuming that was where they were going. Still woozy, Niel feared he would pass out again, which meant either he would have to be carried, or he would fall to his death. And given the vengeance with which the pain in his head had returned, the latter sounded not all that bad.

As he climbed, Niel discovered the walls of the great tree were not smooth at all. Tiny carved symbols crowded the inner surface like a vast, living book intended to take a lifetime to read. Despite everything, he had to bite his lip to keep from asking his captors everything he could about the symbols.

Even more extraordinary than the carvings, though, was Niel’s amazed realization that in an absurdly small amount of time and with an absurdly small amount of effort they had reached the top of the stairs.

He stood at a landing immediately preceding two tall doors identical to the many others they’d passed on their way up—vertical planks stained in rich, reddish tones and bound by horizontal studs, all displaying carved symbols similar to those along the walls. Niel wondered whether the doors led to rooms, or to passageways within the very branches of the tree.

The woman in charge pushed past from the rear to stand beside Niel. The doors parted with a dull click and swung gracefully inward. Beyond them, a void of perfect black.

The woman pointed inside. Rather than waiting to be shoved again, despite this disconcerting notion of simply walking into the apparent oblivion that awaited inside the room, Niel crossed the threshold. The woman followed, and the doors closed and latched behind, separating them from the others.

Within the blackness Niel saw neither walls, nor furniture, nor even the outline of the doors through which they had just come. He did see himself, though, and the Galiiantha woman as clearly as if they stood in the bright light of noon.

The woman gestured for Niel to walk. Reluctantly, he did. Not being able to see the floor upset his equilibrium further, forcing him to close his eyes a few steps at a time or risk losing his balance and falling over.

From the dark distance emerged a small shape glowing deep, foreboding amethyst—the unmistakable shine of something magical, but nothing like Niel had ever seen. He stopped, but the object continued to grow and sharpen into focus as if he still moved forward.

A stomach-high pillar coalesced, bearing the rich, banded appearance of burnished wood. Niel quickly discerned arms, legs, even a stylized face—not a pillar, but a sculpture of some sort. Beneath anguished, distorted eyes gaped a wide, misshapen mouth. The longer he studied the form, the more distinguishable and disturbing it became: the rendering of a man, kneeling with one arm thrust out in a mute plea. In the open palm, casting off rays of violet, spun an ebony sphere the size of a walnut. It didn’t actually spin in the figure’s palm, though, but rather a few thumbwidths above it.

“What is this place?” Niel whispered.

“For you, it is a place of beginning,” came the reply, but not from the woman beside him.

Beyond the statue a pale figure drifted toward them. In the same manner the statue had seemed both far away and close by, the ghostly image made Niel’s senses teeter. In the blink of an eye the shape solidified into an elderly male Galiiantha, a head taller than Niel.