Elemental Magic: All-New Tales of the Elemental Masters (12 page)

Thaddeus flushed. “I’m no Master, Miss . . .”

“Clara.”

“Miss Clara. Just a poor fool magician in the wrong place at the right time.”

Clara laughed. “So you say. But only a powerful Master could have defeated the lord of this place.”

“I did not defeat him, Miss Clara. I only aided in his defeat,” replied Thaddeus. He quickly recounted the events of the night before with the bull and the stag.

Tears formed in Clara’s eyes. “My brother is dead? I’m truly alone now.”

Thaddeus couldn’t help himself and wiped away the tears. “The stag, the other Master . . . he was your brother?”

Clara nodded and answered. “Yes, he was. My family has lived here for many generations. When our parents died, my brother and I shared the estate. But he loved me and would grant me full control of it upon my marriage.

“Not long after, a stranger appeared on the grounds one night. His name was Marco, and he was the Master who controlled this place. He wanted my hand and asked my brother for it, but was refused. My brother could sense something dark within him, and wanted to protect me. Marco would not be denied. He came to me himself, begging me to let him prove his worth. But I would hear none of it, having already been warned by my brother.

“That night, as I slept, Marco came to me as if in a dream, leading a white stag. He told me that I had until morning to change my mind, otherwise I and everything that was mine would be his regardless. Still I refused, calling out for my brother. Marco laughed and pointed at the stag, saying that my brother had already refused.

“I tried to scream for help, but my voice would not come out. Marco chanted more words of magic, and I fell into sleep again and dreamed that he had taken the entire estate, help and all, shrunk it to a crystal miniature and sealed it away in his great hall under the mountain.”

Thaddeus held Clara in his arms and said, “Now you find that none of it was a dream. Oh, Clara, I wish there was something I could do.”

“There is,” answered Clara. “I saw much in my dreams. Marco had taken the miniature estate from the dais and placed the souls of all the people into these crystals. Perhaps if you were to reverse his actions . . .”

Thaddeus beamed. “Yes, it might be possible. I’ll try at least, for you.”

Working quickly but carefully, Thaddeus freed the crystal model from it’s chest and placed it on the dais. He took a step back and with Marco’s focus firmly in hand, reached out his quartz sense to the giant crystals. When he had them all in his mind, Thaddeus began a very simple spell to break rock. It normally wouldn’t affect quartz crystal, but with his sense amplified by the focus, the vibrations that crumbled rock were altered. The crystals began to shake and, after a moment that left Thaddeus sweating slightly, shattered in their alcoves.

There was a rush of released energy that flowed towards the dais. The crystal miniature absorbed it all and lifted itself up off the dais, up the hole and vanished in a flash of light. Shaking and panting, Thaddeus turned back to see Clara smiling even brighter. He could see by her face that he had succeeded. He returned to her side and took her outstretched hand.

“My dear Thaddeus,” said Clara, “You’ve done what no other magician could, not even a true Master. You’ve returned me and all that was my family’s to the world. And if you would have them, I would gladly give them both to you. You would never be a poor magician again.”

Thaddeus laughed and led Clara to the dais to begin making their way home. “And I would be a fool to turn you down, my beautiful Clara. And that would leave me as simply a magician.”

As they returned to the surface and were greeted by the morning sun, Thaddeus could see nothing wrong with that.

*   *   *

The saloon doors creaked open, followed by heavy footsteps. The bartender glanced up from his washing, slowly dried the glass in his hand, and picked up another before saying, “Quite the tremor last night. Don’t get many in these parts.”

The sheriff stopped a few feet from the bartender, close enough to speak low and still be heard. “That was a mighty big gamble you took, Ephram. You’re lucky it paid off.”

“Had to be done, Silas,” replied Ephram as he reached under the bar and brought up an old bottle. Uncorking it, he filled two shot glasses. “Marco made sure that no one of the family line could break his curse. Thaddeus Wohltat was the only other magician for miles around. It had to be him.”

Silas picked up a shot glass and Ephram did the same. After a silent toast, Ephram added, “For what it’s worth, I did hate to put a nice young man like him into such hardship. An underskilled magician against a Master . . . Just not right, Silas. Though I’m curious, how did you get him to head north?”

“That was my own gamble,” answered Silas. “Luck—and just a little bit of magic to steer him in the right direction.”

Ephram smirked and nodded. “So I take it the estate has also been restored?”

Silas put down his glass and refilled both his and Ephram’s. “In all its former glory. We can go home now, if you want. And the bloodline will go on. Clara has taken quite a liking to young Thaddeus. That’s good, because that’s something neither of us—nor her brother, God rest him—could rightly do, either.”

Ephram tossed back his drink and fixed Silas with a steady gaze. “Does this mean we’ll be bringing Mr. Wohltat into our Lodge?”

Silas picked up his shot glass and raised it in a general toast. “That’s up to him. We’ll watch over him, regardless. Clara is happy with Thaddeus just the way he is. That’s more important than making sure he becomes a proper Master right now.”

The sheriff drained his glass and set it on the bar. “It all comes down to what kind of man he wants to be. Can’t say what that’ll be, but I do know this: He’ll do right by us no matter what, because that’s the kind of man he already is.”

To Ride The River-Horse

Dayle A. Dermatis

Myfanwy leaned out the window as far as she dared, balanced on the precarious knife-edge between yearning desire and abject fear.

She didn’t like heights, not one bit. Even now, with her hands firmly against either side of the wooden frame that lined the opening in the stone, her stomach tilted and rolled.

Far below, the broad expanse of the River Taff—the object of her longing—glinted in the rare Welsh sunlight.

Her tightly controlled terror of high places wasn’t the only thing that contributed to Myfanwy’s unease. The fact that Aunt Siwan could come through the door at any moment and catch her was frightening enough on its own.

Siwan wasn’t really Myfanwy’s aunt. Myfanwy was reasonably sure that they weren’t even related and, indeed, that “Myfanwy” wasn’t her own real name. Myfanwy didn’t look a smidgeon Welsh; she didn’t have the pale blue eyes or jet-black hair or slight stature of those who surrounded her. Instead, her eyes were liquid brown and her hair was a lush gold that seemed to have a radiance of its own.

Not to mention, she had an extraordinary abundance of it.

When it wasn’t braided and coiled around her head, it fell in thick waves to her feet. Siwan had cut it several times, lopping off the braid at the nape of Myfanwy’s neck, but it always grew back. Instead of selling them for wigs, Siwan placed the heavy hanks of hair into a trunk; a curiously nostalgic gesture that had seemed out of character for Myfanwy’s aunt.

Myfanwy didn’t know why Siwan wanted to keep her hair, anymore than she knew why Siwan kept her confined to this tower unless she was closely supervised. She didn’t entirely know why Siwan wanted to train her in the arts of Water magic but not let her practice by herself.

Not let her communicate with the undines and naiads and river-horses that she could see playing way down there in the wide River Taff, or even sometimes see in a cup of water or in her bath.

Myfanwy wasn’t allowed alone with a cup of water or her bath, or any other water, for that matter.

Siwan was a Fire Master, someone who could summon the Elementals of Fire. She wasn’t, Myfanwy mused, the best person to teach a person with an aptitude for Water—yet another thing Myfanwy wasn’t allowed to know.

All she knew, right that moment, was that she wanted nothing more than to raise an undine out of that glittering ribbon of water. But if Siwan found out, she’d be punished severely.

Even that didn’t stop her from reaching out a hand to the distant river . . .

She was so intent that when a clear, strong male voice called out from below, “
Bore da!
” she lost her balance.

For a split second of terror, she wasn’t sure which way she’d go . . . but then, despite the heave of her stomach, she hauled herself backward and fell into the tower.

When she recovered, she leaned out the window again—this time not nearly as far, with her feet firmly planted on the floor—and looked down at the young man. As near as she could tell from this height, he seemed completely unconcerned that he’d nearly caused her untimely demise.

“
Bore da,
” she replied. Not being a native Welsh speaker, she knew her tongue fumbled around the greeting of “good morning,” but it was decipherable enough. Here in south Wales, near the border to England, most people spoke at least a smattering of both languages.

“You must be new here,” he called up to her, switching to English. “My name’s Glyn.”

“Oh, I’m not new,” Myfanwy said. “I’ve been here for years.”

Glyn was silent for a moment. “You mean, in Cardiff?”

“No,” Myfanwy said. “Here in Castell Coch. My aunt Siwan is cousin to the Marquess of Butte.”

The Marquess, whose father had been the founder of modern Cardiff, had never visited the small, charming castle he’d built in the hills above Cardiff, so he allowed Siwan to live there. Myfanwy never understood why he’d built a holiday home pretty much within sight of Cardiff Castle, which he’d also built over the ruins of a Roman fort, and where he lived. Or why he’d spent so much money for William Burges, who’d painted the bright, fanciful medievalesque interior of Cardiff Castle, to also decorate Castell Coch in the same manner.

Myfanwy’s own room was a blaze of bright blues, rich reds, vibrant greens, and glimmering golds. Stars seemed to gleam with a life of their own in the deep blue of the ceiling between the crimson arches. There were birds, butterflies, vines, pomegranates, and all manner of allegorical creatures painted on, well, just about every surface that could be painted.

“How very odd that we’ve never met,” Glyn said. “I’ve had more than one meeting with your aunt here.”

“I don’t get out much,” Myfanwy said, suddenly nervous. “It’s probably best you don’t tell Siwan that I talked to you.”

Then she ducked back inside, surprised to find herself trembling more than she had when she’d almost toppled out of the window.

*   *   *

A bird twittered at the window.

Myfanwy humphed in annoyance, rolled over, and pulled her pillow over her head. What bird in its right mind was singing now? And why did it have to be so close to her bed?

The pillow didn’t help. Finally, with a groan, Myfanwy sat up, lit a candle, and headed to the window to close the shutters.

Before she could, the bird flew into the room. But it wasn’t really a bird.

Fully awake now, Myfanwy stepped back, her mouth open as she watched the sinuous, pale blue creature dart forward and float in front of her.

To her further astonishment, she heard it somehow
speak
.

“Myfanwy of Castell Coch
,” she heard in her mind, “
If you can understand me, please indicate so
.”

Myfanwy jerkily nodded her head.

“It is very important that Glyn speak with you. It is best that no one else knows. Is there a way you can let him in? Or have you a rope?”

Myfanwy peered out the window. Below, she saw the flame of a lamp, barely illuminating a person she guessed was Glyn.

Her door was barred from the outside, so she couldn’t sneak down and unlatch the front gate. She didn’t have a rope—and really, could anyone climb that high? She shuddered at the thought.

As she pondered the dilemma, she also questioned whether she should do anything at all. Her maid, Rhian, said men were trouble. But she often said it with a grin and a twinkle in her eye.

Glyn said it was important. He’d come back to see her. Nobody saw her, spoke to her, except Siwan and Rhian and the cook and the stable hand.

Rhian slept in a room nearby—if Myfanwy shouted, Rhian would come.

Myfanwy suspected that Rhian also wouldn’t give her away if she discovered Glyn in Myfanwy’s room. Rhian held a fierce dislike for Siwan but stayed, she swore to Myfanwy, for Myfanwy’s sake.

The thing that tipped Myfanwy’s decision in Glyn’s favor was the thing hovering in the air before her.

It was, if she correctly remembered, a sylph—an Air Elemental.

Which meant Glyn was a Magician or possibly even a Master of Air.

Myfanwy hadn’t met any magic users other than Siwan; hadn’t learned magic from anyone but Siwan or from the books Siwan provided her. Her thirst for knowledge and her curiosity about the Element of Air practically made the choice for her.

The sylph had said no one else should know, so she couldn’t ask Rhian to open the front door for Glyn.

So what to do about the lack of rope?

She paced the room, staring at everything. The bed sheets would work, but she might not be able to get the knots out afterwards.

Then her eyes alighted on the trunk, painted with a unicorn-in-the-forest scene, which held her shorn hanks of hair, each one nearly as tall as she.

“Tell him to wait,” she told the sylph, who darted away, leaping joyously out the window before plummeting out of sight in a way that made Myfanwy’s stomach lurch.

Myfanwy swiftly found her embroidery kit and sewed the braids together into one long strip. At the window, she affixed one end to the shutter latch and carefully lowered the makeshift rope down.

She nearly wept when she saw that it wasn’t long enough, the end dangling out of Glyn’s reach.

But then Glyn stepped back, took a running leap . . . and seemed to float upward, as if lifted by something Myfanwy couldn’t see. Even as he climbed her hair, hand over hand, he went faster than she would have thought possible.

After he clambered through the window—it almost wasn’t wide enough for his shoulders—he explained how he’d done it.

He explained many things that night, and on subsequent nights.

He was indeed an Air Master, and was able to manipulate the air and wind. He couldn’t
fly
per se, but he’d gathered an air current to boost him up so he could reach her rope of hair, and used it to make him a little more buoyant on his journey up.

He’d guessed that she was a Magician, so he’d sent the sylph to see if she was able to perceive it. Even though it wasn’t an Elemental of her talent, her affinity for magic made it visible to her—and she couldn’t control it, other than asking it to do what Glyn himself wanted.

“I suspected you had talent when we first met—but when I asked my colleagues, none had ever heard of you. Have you always been kept in the tower?” His face was grave.

Myfanwy nodded. “I’m not allowed anywhere in the castle or the grounds without supervision,” she said.

“Do you know what your aunt is?” he asked cautiously.

“She’s a Fire Master,” Myfanwy said promptly. “I have an affinity for Water, though. She’s training me—which seems silly because Fire and Water don’t mix.”

He blinked. He had the loveliest blue eyes, Myfanwy thought, and a strong chin with a cleft in it, and a ready smile. Now, though, he looked puzzled.

“Do you know why she’s training you?”

“She needs help with her cousin’s canals.”

Wales was riddled with veins of coal; indeed, coal mining was its biggest industry. To transport the coal, there were trains—which were expensive to maintain—and canals.

Siwan (Myfanwy explained to Glyn) wanted Myfanwy strong enough to assist with the upkeep of the canals.

“If the Water Elementals are happy, then the canals will run smoothly,” Myfanwy finished. Her brow furrowed. “Except she won’t let me communicate with any of them yet. I don’t think that’s very fair.”

“It’s not fair,” Glyn agreed, “and it’s certainly not the best way to train you. There’s a great deal Siwan hasn’t told you, or taught you.” He shook his head. “You’re correct: Your training should properly come from a Water Master. The fact that she’s kept you away from the Council . . . I don’t understand it.”

“Does that mean she can’t train me—or that you can’t, either?” Myfanwy was crestfallen.

“We can both teach you the fundamentals,” Glyn said. “Basic communication with Elementals works the same for all Elemental Masters. But to show you exactly how, a Water Master would make more sense.”

Myfanwy felt an uncomfortable twist in her stomach. “But Siwan says she’ll begin training me soon to control the Water Elementals.”

Glyn shook his head again. “You don’t control them, Myfanwy. You learn to work with them. They’ll do your bidding if they respect you, if you’ve befriended them. The only people who try to control them are those who practice the dark arts.”

Myfanwy bit her lip. “Perhaps I misunderstood, then.”

Glyn hesitated for a long moment. Finally, he seemed to make a decision.

“I don’t think you did misunderstand,” he said. “The Council has had questions about Siwan’s use of magic. They asked me to keep an eye on her in my spare time—”

“Spare time?”

He explained that he worked for the mining companies, purifying the air in the mines from the poisonous gases that collected underground. All the Marquess knew was that Glyn went down to test the mines; he thought Glyn’s tests always showed the air was clean.

“Do you think . . .” Glyn paused thoughtfully. “Do you think you would be willing to find more out about her plans?”

Myfanwy pondered this. “If you’ll teach me,” she said finally, firmly. For knowledge, she would take the chance. And the words he said had rung true for her. Siwan wasn’t really her aunt, and although she hadn’t been outright cruel, Myfanwy had always felt uncomfortable around her; had always suspected, deep down, that something wasn’t right.

And so Myfanwy’s life changed. During the day she was taught by Siwan, and at night, Glyn came and taught her his own methods. Soon she learned to control water—move it, mold it—thanks in part to Rhian’s assistance, as the maid brought bowls of water for her to work with, and once snuck both Myfanwy and Glyn down to the kitchen so Myfanwy could work with an entire tub of water.

She also learned to work with the undines and minor nymphs, although the naiads and river-horses were beyond her reach. Water Elementals could appear anywhere there was a place of their Element for them to manifest in. Even a bathing tub of water wasn’t big enough for a river-horse.

When Siwan finally decreed it was time for Myfanwy to work with the Water Elementals, Myfanwy had already established a rapport with them, and they knew how to act when Myfanwy “commanded” them.

She didn’t dare whisper a thank you out loud to them, but she hoped they could hear her thoughts—for the magic Siwan urged her to use felt oily and dark, and left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Then came the day when she heard the heels of Siwan’s boots tap-tapping up the wooden stairs, echoing in the round tower, and then Siwan opened the door and said, “I think it’s time we go to the river.”

Myfanwy nearly squeaked with excitement, but she managed to stifle it. Siwan frowned upon anything that wasn’t proper and ladylike.

Siwan herself was proper—and properly imposing. She was tall for a woman, and austerely thin, with white hair braided tightly around her head. Her eyes might have been blue, but they glimmered with the flames of her talent. She rarely smiled, and when she did, it never seemed quite . . . pleasant.

The afternoon was overcast, a brief respite in the rain showers that had lasted for weeks and would no doubt continue (Myfanwy had some sense of the weather when it came to rain, and wondered if that was something else she was scheduled to learn). Despite the gloom beneath the trees and the muddy path, Myfanwy savored the rare outing. Plus she could barely contain her elation. Finally!