Mind of the Magic (Arhel Book 3) (3 page)

Faia leaned against the door and raised an eyebrow. “Yes. It came to quite a bit, in fact. I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”

Witte tipped his head. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Scholars have been studying the First Folk ruins Nokar discovered for over a year now—I would have thought everyone had at least gotten news that they’d been discovered.”

Witte stopped pacing, and his eyes went wide. “First Folk ruins? Someone found First Folk ruins? Really?” His excited smile lit up his face.

Faia remembered Nokar wearing the same expression when he arrived, at last and after great hardship, in the ancient ruins that had once been an enormous First Folk city. He’d lived to explore them briefly, and to find the great library of stone tablets that he felt sure would give the identities and history of the elusive Arhelan First Folk, but he had not lived long enough to discover the real wonders hidden deep within the catacombs beneath the library.

“You hadn’t heard?”

“Dear child, I haven’t heard
anything
since that last letter from Nokar. I’ve been doing research in the Fisher Province—there is no news there. The Fishers have only barely discovered fire—and they haven’t got the hang of that yet.” The disgusted face he made was so comical Faia couldn’t help but laugh.

He resumed pacing. “A First Folk ruin. I wonder…” He looked up at her. “Have the scholars found anything, ah… interesting in the ruins?”

The most interesting thing Faia could think that they’d discovered was that the First Folk weren’t human—or anything like human. She told him this.

He looked stunned. He sat himself back on the bed and leaned forward. “Not human?”

Faia nodded. “They were huge fliers. They looked a lot like giant, winged kellinks.”

“Oh, no. Everyone has always believed the First Folk were our ancestors.” Witte shook his head woefully. “You say this is not true? You’ve been to these ruins? You saw the First Folk, perhaps? You know this to be fact?”

“I saw the mummified remains of First Folk scholars. And the statues they made of themselves. They were huge and hideous, with scaly skin and sharp claws; they had enormous teeth. And wings,” she added. “I’m absolutely certain they weren’t human.”

“Then the information I got is impossible, and my trip was in vain.” He covered his face with his hands and groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Faia asked. She felt so sorry for him. He could not have looked more depressed if she’d told him the world was ending.

“I thought I’d found proof that the First Folk and the Delmuirie Barrier were related, and I just located what I would have thought was absolute confirmation of that; however, if the First Folk weren’t even human—”

“Delmuirie is
in
the First Folk city,” Faia blurted. Then she amended that. “At least, there was a Delmuirie scholar with us who found a man inside a pillar of magical light, and was certain that man was Edrouss Delmuirie. The rest of us couldn’t figure out who else he might be, so we assume the scholar was correct.”

The little man bounced to his feet, grinning. “That’s
him!
That’s
him!
That
must
be him. The records all point to Delmuirie being trapped in a ‘cage of light, bright as morning sun’! How tremendous! How exciting! And you say you know where he is? You’ve seen him?”

Faia shivered, remembering past terror—recalling the Delmuirie scholar, Thirk Huddsonne. He hadn’t simply found Edrouss Delmuirie. Once he’d found his idol’s trapped body, he’d assumed that the wizard from the past was still alive. He had attempted to sacrifice Kirtha to raise the magic he needed to break open the “cage of light” and free his hero. Only the intervention of his assistant, Roba Morgasdotte, had saved Kirtha’s life… and in saving Roba from the consequences of her heroism, Nokar Feldosonne died.

Faia turned her back on Witte A’Winde and closed her eyes. She could still see Thirk slicing into Kirtha’s tiny arms with his knife—and she could still see the bedamned worshipful expression on the madman’s face when he looked at the trapped Delmuirie.

“I saw Delmuirie,” she said at last; her voice grated harshly in her own ears. “A man almost killed my daughter because of him.”

Witte said, “I’m so very glad the madman failed. Kirtha is a wonderful child. It would be—have been, I mean—a shame for anything to happen to her.” The little man shook his head thoughtfully, then began to pace again. His braid bobbed when he did, so that to Faia he looked very much like a plump little perryfowl strutting. “You have seen Edrouss Delmuirie, though? You know he really exists?”

Faia nodded warily. “Yes.”

“Then you could take me to the ruins?”

“I won’t go back there.”

Witte’s expression became woeful. “You… you won’t?” He looked at her with eyes full of hope. “Dear lady, I pray that you don’t really mean that—”

“I do.”

“I—I see.” He hung his head. “Ah. Well.” He turned away from her and leaned against the windowsill; he stared out into the busy street. Faia, across the room, only barely managed to hear his next, whispered, words. “Alas, my old friend, Nokar—that which I could have done in your memory must now remain forever undone.”

Guilt settled on Faia’s shoulders. It wrenched at her heart and knotted her stomach. This was Nokar’s friend she had just turned down—Nokar’s friend, who had nearly died traveling to bring news he thought Nokar needed to hear, who had already been devastated… somewhat devastated, she amended… on discovering his beloved friend’s death.

“I will be on my way, then,” the little man said. He picked up his little pack, and sighed.

Faia’s mouth opened, and words poured out. “How would you get there?” she heard herself asking, even as her mind screamed,
Don’t volunteer
!

Witte looked up at her—the expression he wore at that instant was the same one her dogs had worn when they thought she might be coming to give them something, but were afraid she wasn’t. “I’d transport us,” he said. “You are, perhaps, familiar with traveling by saje transport—the blink of an eye, a puff of smoke, and you stand where you wish to be?”

Faia nodded slowly.

“If you—having once been there—would only take an hour; if you could just picture the place and lead me there the first time, that would be all I’d ask of you. I promise it would be no inconvenience.”

Faia stood in the old room, considering Witte’s offer. It was a good offer. Overland travel through the jungle had been deadly before, and by all accounts had become worse. Survivors staggering into Omwimmee Trade from the East Road told of giant trees that now lurked along the edge of the Wen Tribes Treaty Line and lumbered out when human prey moved within reach; the grasping, deadly trees devoured people and worked magic. Faia knew the travelers spoke of the Keyu, the Wen tree-gods. And the thought that the Keyu had come to control enough magic to pull their roots out of the ground and walk terrified her. Nor were the Keyu the only dangers of overland travel. Venomous flying snakes, the deadly six-legged kellinks that hunted in packs, poisonous plants that set traps and wrapped their tendrils around hapless victims drawn too near by the sweet scent of their flowers; all lurked in wait for even the wariest sojourner.

Air travel in the Arissonese airboxes offered other but equally deadly threats. The magic that kept them airborne in the civilized lands vanished in the airspaces over the jungle—so that passengers on a seemingly safe flight found themselves dragged into the villages of the bloodthirsty Wen, the north’s reclusive human inhabitants.

But to simply transport—that would eliminate all risk. Faia had returned from the First Folk city via the saje transport magic, blinking out of existence in one location and into existence in less than an instant.

She would have the chance to see her friends again, friends who were diligently studying the ruins and who had been out of touch for months. She would be able to let Kirtha visit with her father, Kirgen. She would get a chance to visit with her mentor, Medwind Song.

And she would get out of the house for a bit. She smiled at that last thought. Omwimmee Trade was becoming too confining for her. She yearned for distant places and new faces, for adventure—even if it was only adventure of a very small and not particularly noteworthy sort. Travel by saje transport would remove all the danger from the trip, but still end her up in an interesting location.

She smiled slowly. “I’ll take you.”

“Wondrous! Wondrous! Ah, how can I repay you, dear lady? How at all?” He bounded back into the garden, his face almost glowing with happiness. “Come, then, and—”

“Not now,” Faia said. “Not today. When I go, I’ll have to stay and visit with friends. I have to pack, and to get gifts ready, and find someone to watch my house for me while I’m gone—I’ll have to prepare supplies for an extended stay, and check my gear again…” Her smile grew broader. It would be good to be back in the mountains again, to smell the cold, crisp air and feel the tingle of excitement that seemed to be a very part of mountain air. Witte nodded. “Of course. Then perhaps tomorrow.” Faia chuckled. “Impatient man. I cannot possibly have everything ready by tomorrow. But soon—certainly in the next week. No more than two. Meanwhile, you’re welcome to stay here—keep us company. You can rest and rebuild your strength. Kirtha and I will be delighted to have you as a guest.”

At that moment a large grey tabby cat bounded onto the open windowsill, clutching something that gleamed dully of gold in one stubby, furry fist. He looked from Faia to Witte, clutched his booty tighter, and darted for the open door behind Faia, running three-legged so he would not drop his prize.

“Hrogner!” Faia yelled, and slammed the door in the cat’s face. Both man and cat jumped.

“Close the shutters,” Faia yelled as she dove for the cat.

Witte managed to pull them to before Hrogner escaped. Faia cornered him under the bed and dragged him out, protesting.

“Give,” she snarled.

He growled.

She pried the golden thing from his fingers while he yowled and glared at her, then held it up to show Witte—a gaudy gold ring, set with stones. “Belongs to one of the neighbors, of course—though I’ll have a time figuring out which one.” She dropped the cat to the floor and grumbled, “He steals things.”

“He has hands,” Witte murmured.

Faia opened the shutters and shooed the cat back outside. “Yes. He does. The Mottemage at the university I attended thought it would be useful if her cat could open doors for himself, so she gave him hands.” Faia watched Hrogner sulk through the tall grass, and turned back to her guest. “It was an incredibly stupid thing to do. The characteristic bred true—and the little monsters have all the bad characteristics of normal cats, and a few nasty quirks all their own. They strike quicklights they find lying around, and catch things on fire. They pick simple locks, and take things apart… but they never put them back together, of course…” She shook her head. “And they steal. Hrogner is a brilliant thief. My neighbors loathe him.”

“And you named him
Hrogner.”
The little man chuckled, and his eyes twinkled.

“Hrogner is the saje god of mischief. I thought the name appropriate.”

“No doubt it is. But have you never considered that if you run about calling that name aloud, more than the cat might answer?” He winked at her.

Faia snorted. “No worry about that. Hrogner never comes when called. He’s a cat, after all.”

“Nevertheless, you need equal measures of kindness and paranoia, dear girl. Otherwise, there’s no telling
what
might show up at your house someday.”

PREPARING
nondes
that evening, Faia found herself even more excited than she had been about getting away from Omwimmee Trade for a while. She ran over a list of all the gifts she would have to buy—it was extensive.

She pounded her fists into the bread dough and thought, while she listened with only the smallest part of her attention to Witte entertaining Kirtha in the garden. They both laughed merrily at intervals. She couldn’t make out the words they said, for both of them talked at full speed and at the same time.

Faia smiled. Witte was such a nice man—he’d told some wonderful stories about Nokar in the years before she knew him. She had never known that Nokar had once climbed into the tower room of his university’s chief administrator and replaced all of his grand robes with the simple robes of a first-year student, yet when she heard the story, she had no trouble imagining it. Nokar had been very much the sort of person who would delight in such a prank. The new stories brought him back to her, and made her miss him afresh.

Kirtha’s giggles drifted in from the garden. She was ordering Witte around again—giving orders was one of the things Kirtha did best. She considered the little man a cross between her patient and her slave; for his part, he’d been her willing and good-humored servant.

It was pleasant having Witte as healthy, happy company—and Faia realized, listening to him talking and laughing with Kirtha out in the garden, how she longed for the sound of a man’s voice in the house. Witte’s presence was comforting after her solitary years in Omwimmee Trade.

Rejected suitors notwithstanding, I’ve been alone too long. I need to find someone I can care about.

She slid the bread in the oven and began cleaning the fish, enjoying the simple physical pleasures of cooking and preparing a meal without magic. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t realize the garden had grown quiet until Kirtha’s screams shattered the silence—screams of pure terror.

Faia charged out of the kitchen, her heart in her throat to find Kirtha crouched behind the
b’dabba
, the Hoos plains hut that Medwind Song had left behind when she moved away, while in front of her, Witte fended off a tiny grey swallow that belched spurts of fire at him. The little man beat the air with his arms, but the bird refused to break off its attack. Already Witte’s hair and eyebrows were singed.

By the Lady! Faia thought. She had never seen such a bird.

Then Hrogner launched himself out of the garden tree to chase the swallow, sporting a brand-new pair of very functional wings.