Sword and Sorceress XXVII (27 page)

Azure thought of the tears that would
pour if she returned to her mother, if only her mother still lived. Lady
Sirocco was not even smiling.

Her tone was brighter than normal,
though, when she addressed Coil and Azure. “You have pleased me beyond my
expectations. Your debt is paid. In addition, you may name a reward.”

Azure was caught off guard by the
generosity. Coil, fortunately, was quicker witted. He held up the carpet.

Oh! Now wouldn’t that make their quest
... possible.

Lady Sirocco frowned. “I will never make
another like it. I haven’t the years to devote to it. Are you sure you will not
take gold or jewels?”

“We’ve had gold and jewels before,” Coil
said. So true, thought Azure. And somehow each time ended up with empty purses
a fortnight later.

“Very well. I am a woman of my word. In
the spirit of gratitude, I should warn you it will only fly three more times,
no matter who owns it.”

That was unfortunate, Azure thought, but
magic always had its flaws. “How far will it take us per trip?”

“As near or as far as you request. But
have a care not to fall asleep, or it may take you to lands our sun has never
shone upon.”

The woman shifted her gaze to the dark
horizon. Her focus was beyond it. Azure knew she had taken such a journey. So—there
was something that could unnerve the Witch of Storms, after all.

“We will take it anyway,” Coil said.
Azure nodded.

#

They did not linger by the river. Lady
Sirocco gifted them with a pack camel and supplies and they set out, letting
the river channel serve as their marker. Their water and feed would easily get
them to the next oasis.

They could have used the carpet, of
course, but they had no particular place to go. They agreed it was better to
save it for journeys that required its contribution.

They did not press hard. They’d had enough
of grueling marches lately. But neither did they lag, because both wanted to
put some distance between them and Lady Sirocco’s camp. They waited until
midnight before pausing at a bend in the river where driftwood had piled high—enough
wood for a cookfire, as the circles of stone and charcoal of previous visitors
amply demonstrated.

Hot porridge struck them as a dose of
normalcy they’d not had in many meals. They’d not had hot food in days, not
having wanted anything that would make them feel warmer than they already were.
They made the fire, brought water to a boil, waited for the grain to soften. It
felt so familiar Coil almost was able to speak. But he did not, nor did Azure
say anything more than a clipped “Here,” or “Thank you,” or “More?”

After the second helping was in his
belly, he thought maybe he could try. But no. Instead, he lay back on the sand
and stared at the stars. To the south they were occluded, but to the north they
were undimmed.

He stood up suddenly, almost before he
knew why he was sitting up.

Azure stood as well. “What is it?”

“A camel.”

The sound of two-toed feet on sand was
now unmistakable.

Too late to smother the fire. Whoever
was out there had seen the light source. They palmed their knives and waited.

It was Zephyr. Her garments altered her
appearance, but even in the moonlight—and then, the firelight—Azure recognized
the scintillant black hair, the supple spine.

She was alone.

The girl pulled her mount to a halt in
front of them. They helped her down. She was sweating and shaking, a display of
jitters wholly unlike the calm fugitive who had fled with them from the tower.

“Take me with you!” she blurted.

“But...your mother,” Coil said.

“I can’t stay with
her
.”

Now this was a road of quicksand, Azure
thought. They had seen very well what sort of thing Lady Sirocco did to people
who kidnapped her daughter. Not that she and Coil were kidnappers, but Lady
Sirocco would make no distinction.

They would be on the run forever.

“Stay with us,” Azure found herself
saying. “Stay with
us
.”

She turned to Coil. He looked as though
the camel had just eaten his thumb.

“Please?” she said.

“Please?” repeated Zephyr.

He filled his lungs. Azure knew his
answer when he did not shout, but let the breath go in one long sigh.

He strode to the pack camel and freed it
from its hobbles. He swatted it on the rump to send it on its way. The girl’s
stolen camel clumped off in tandem.

Next he went to the pile of supplies he
would under other circumstances have been loading onto the beast he’d
dismissed. He pulled out the carpet, unfurled it, and let it settle to the
ground.

“Death is certain, sooner or later,” he
said. “Why have a dull life along the way?”

Azure took Zephyr by the hand. They sat
on the carpet. Coil knelt beside them. He touched the embroidered roc over the
dunes and whispered a destination that only he—and the carpet—could hear. Azure
wondered where he had chosen.

The carpet obeyed. Away they went.

Strength, Wisdom, and Compassion

by
Julia H. West

One of the great
things about Julia’s stories is her talent for coming up with new types of
magic from simple things. Her story “Soul Walls” in SWORD & SORCERESS 24
used painting, along with Hopi (Native America) culture. In this story she’s
using baths, something most of us probably don’t consider magical. Of course,
baptism can be regarded as a magical ritual—I’m an Episcopalian, living in the
Diocese of California, so I can say that with fearing that my bishop will want
to have a long talk with me. But we baptize by sprinkling water over a baby’s forehead
(or an adult’s, if the adult was not baptised as a baby). Julia comes from a
church that uses full immersion for baptism, which may possibly have
contributed to the idea.

Julia
H. West is most often found covered with cats, which makes it very difficult
for her to use her keyboard. During the rare occasions she manages to evade the
felines, she writes science fiction and fantasy stories, which have been
published in such magazines as
Realms of Fantasy
and
Spider
,
and the anthologies ENCHANTED FORESTS and THE SHIMMERING DOOR, as well as two
earlier volumes of SWORD & SORCERESS. Most of her previously-published
stories, including the tale of a Micronesian navigating a starship through
interstellar danger that won her the Grand Prize for Writers of the Future XI,
are available from Callihoo Publishing. You can discover more about her writing
on her website at http://juliahwest.com.

****

Scented steam rose from the enameled tub
in the bathhouse behind the witch Hyacinth’s cottage. “Renata,” Hyacinth said
as Queen Renata disrobed, neatly folding her clothing on a bench, “I beg of
you. Reconsider now, before it’s too late.”

The queen turned a serene face to the
witch. “Hyacinth, I’ve made my decision. Everyone in Orthefell suffered when
Terzo killed my husband and declared himself king. When he decided to seal that
kingship by marrying me, this became necessary.”

Hyacinth lowered her voice. “This is
likely to be more dangerous to the child growing within you than to you, at
this stage. This child is all you have left of Bhaltair.”

“Both he and I will need strength to
survive under Terzo’s rule,” Renata said, voice rough. She stepped onto the
stool beside the tub and let herself down into the orange-tinged water. It rose
along her body as she slid down, until she sat nearly neck deep. She ran her
fingers through her long chestnut hair, unraveling its braids, letting it float
on the water’s surface.

Hyacinth, a plain woman who looked no
more than twenty years old but was much older, sighed. It was done, and she could
not call back her actions now. The queen had chosen her path.

Renata took a deep breath and slid
completely beneath the water, hair slowly sinking to stick in thick clumps on
her shoulders. After a long time she surfaced. Water droplets, now bereft of color
and scent, ran down her pale face.

“Is it done?” she asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hyacinth said.

“Don’t call me ‘Your Majesty’. You were
my nurse long before I was Bhaltair’s wife. Long before Terzo coveted our
kingdom. To you, I will always be simply Renata.”

Hyacinth sighed again. She shouldn’t
make a habit of that; people didn’t like their witch sounding like a lovesick
girl. “Yes, Renata. You can come out now.” She steadied the queen as she
stepped out of the tub, then handed her a towel so she could dry herself.

Once the queen’s body was dry, Hyacinth
wrapped her still-damp hair in the towel and helped her into her shift. Renata
stood barefoot on the bathhouse’s warm tiles while Hyacinth combed her hair and
braided it expertly into all its tiny plaits, then coiled it atop Renata’s
head. She helped the queen into her bridal splendor—gown of gold silk and
pearls, overgown of cream silk and diamonds, robe of midnight blue adorned with
cream lace at throat and cuffs. Last of all, Hyacinth pinned the crown into the
coil of braids so that it would not slip.

Silently, Hyacinth held the queen’s
train as she took the stone-paved path to the road where her carriage, her
armed escort, and her attendants waited. Before Renata ascended into the
carriage, Hyacinth kissed her on the cheek. “Be well, love,” she said, and
turned away quickly, hurrying into her house. She didn’t want Renata to see the
tears brimming in her eyes.

#

Hyacinth stayed in her cottage the rest
of the day, mixing spells and ignoring the sounds of celebration—trumpets,
drums, muskets firing into the air. Her little Renata, who had been so happy
with King Bhaltair, was now married to the usurper Terzo.

Hyacinth didn’t see Renata again for a
month. People came to her for spells—a woman who wanted beauty, a man who
craved virility, the merchant who wished for luck, the poet who desired a muse.
She explained the price of each spell—both in coin and in the spell’s toll on
each of them. “Is not your own native talent enough?” she asked the poet. “No
one can know what toll the spell will take on you. What if you lose your
eyesight in payment? Or perhaps the use of your hands?”

“I’ll take the risk,” he answered. “When
I compose poems that bewitch the ladies, that make the nobles weep and shower
gold on me—what will it matter? For then I will be wealthy, and can hire a
scribe to write out the gems I speak.”

Thus it had been throughout Hyacinth’s
life. Each person who wanted a spell was determined. What matter the future? They
were concerned only with the now. So, because she was a witch, and that was her
talent and destiny, she mixed the ingredients, heated the water, and prepared
the bath.

The merchant took his spell packet home,
to use in his own bath, but those who didn’t want it known they’d purchased a spell,
or had no bath at home, used Hyacinth’s bathhouse. She only knew what toll the
spell had taken when her eyesight became sharper, her hair more luxurious, or
her face in the mirror younger.

Queen Renata summoned Hyacinth to the
palace on the first day of the Month of Blooming. The witch dressed in her
best, and set out on the long walk to the palace.

The changes that had taken place in the
city since last she had walked this way disturbed Hyacinth. Once-prosperous
shops had closed, armed and uniformed men stood on nearly every corner, and
citizens walked quickly, peering nervously over their shoulders.

When she arrived at the palace and was
escorted by four well-armed men to the queen’s rooms, she felt shabby and out
of place. Renata was surrounded by beautiful women in gowns of lace and jewels,
who gossiped with high fluting voices and chirped their artificial laughter. It
had not been so when Renata had been married to Bhaltair. She had worn simple
wool except for state occasions, and ridden through the city on her own horse,
and when she laughed, it had been a hearty guffaw. She had surrounded herself
with capable and intelligent companions.

“Wise Woman Hyacinth,” Renata said, and
the witch was glad to hear that the Queen’s voice had not suddenly shot up an
octave. “I am with child. In eight months, I will require someone to care for
the new prince or princess, and I thought naturally of my old nurse.”

Hyacinth took a deep breath. So the
child had survived the spell bath, and Renata had let the doctors examine her
and discover her pregnancy. “Surely, Your Majesty, there are more suitable
nurses,” her gaze traveled over the twittering beauties surrounding the queen, “than
I.”

“None of my ladies has children of her
own,” Renata said. She met Hyacinth’s gaze and wrinkled her nose. The witch
knew they had chosen to remain childless for the sake of beauty spells. “They
know nothing of child care. But you raised me. None would wish to deprive me of
your expertise.”

“In that case, Your Majesty, I accept,
and thank you for your regard.”

“I will have rooms prepared for you as I
lay out the nursery. When they are complete, I’m sure you’d like to go over
them, to see they are to your satisfaction. I’ll send for you then.” Briskly,
Renata waved the lace fan she held.

Hyacinth wished she could talk to Renata
without her twittering retinue. The queen had always been energetic. She had
excelled at riding and hunting, and spent much of every day out of doors. But
now, she had a restless energy that seemed too great for the room she occupied.
Others might think it her joy in her pregnancy that put the bloom in her
cheeks. Hyacinth knew better. The spell bath she had taken on the day of her
marriage had not been for beauty, as her husband-to-be had been told, but for
strength. If only she could know what its toll had been on the queen—and on the
child she carried.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Hyacinth
curtsied and kissed the Queen’s hand. As she stood, she realized Renata had
slipped a scrap of paper into her hand. She didn’t acknowledge it, merely left
the room with her armed escort.

#

Hyacinth waited until she was in her own
snug cottage to look at the note Renata had given her. “Wisdom! She wants a
spell for wisdom!” Her cat, Pot Pie, raised his head from where he’d been napping
in the sunshine warming her work table, thinking she was talking to him. “She
knows as well as I do that the great abstracts are the hardest spells. Wisdom!”

She slumped into one of the sturdy
wooden chairs and put her head in her arms on the table. “Wisdom,” she said,
through the tears that soaked into the sleeves of her best gown. “Oh, Renata.”

A long time later, Hyacinth got up,
shooed Pot Pie off her table, and began pulling books from the shelves, looking
for the spell she needed. She had never prepared the spell for wisdom, and didn’t
know anyone else who had, either. She was certain there was one, but she was
also certain the cost was immense. Could she substitute another spell—common
sense, for instance? Of a certainty, a ruler could use common sense.

She found the spell in the old grimoire
she’d inherited from the witch who had raised her. Poppy had written it in red
ink—a sure sign that it was difficult and dangerous. Hyacinth copied it out. She
didn’t know how long it would take Renata to have rooms prepared for her in the
palace, but she must start this spell now if she wished to have it complete by
the time Renata called for her.

#

A month later, Hyacinth shooed Pot Pie
away from the table where she was grinding more ingredients for the wisdom spell
in her marble mortar. A vase nearby held fresh cut iris and lilies; she
breathed their heady scent, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She was
grateful she was preparing this spell in spring, when the flowers were in
bloom. Fresh flowers were so much more potent than dried ones.

She had been gathering ingredients, and
brewing different parts of the spell bath, ever since the day Renata had
requested it. The spell was nearly complete, and none too soon. Hyacinth had
been summoned to the palace two days hence.

The flasks and tubing were purified and
ready for use. She dropped flower petals and minced aloe leaves into a jar of
pure almond oil, and heated them together over a flame. To the pale-green oil
that dripped from the tubing she added exact amounts of four different powders—those
which she had been preparing for a month—and heated it again. As the contents
of the flask turned a glorious clear purple, Hyacinth removed it from the flame
and carried it to the cool room.

When Hyacinth returned to the palace,
she had the spell in her pocket in a bottle carved of alabaster. She hoped
there would be some way to slip the bottle to Renata without anyone seeing it. Terzo
would certainly not let his new wife take a spell bath while she was pregnant. Spell
baths were more casually used in Vezienn, his homeland, so Hyacinth was sure
Terzo knew the basics about spells and their effects. A spell bath taken by a
pregnant woman endowed both mother and child with the desired quality; but both
mother and child paid for the spell—and in different ways. Everyone had heard
tales of deformed monsters born to women who had taken spell baths during
pregnancy.

Renata had already used the spell for
strength. There had been a good chance at the time that the spell would kill
the barely formed child. But both mother and child were strong and healthy. Hyacinth
wondered, for the thousandth time, what toll the spell had taken on them both.

As Hyacinth walked beside Renata, going
through the rooms that would be hers in the palace, she glanced sideways often.
Renata’s restless energy enhanced her natural beauty. That must please Terzo. More’s
the pity. Renata did stumble often, and once she ran into a doorjamb. It was
rather too early in her pregnancy for it to affect her balance. Was Renata’s
clumsiness caused by the spell bath?

Renata opened the door to a small room,
and as they passed through Hyacinth slipped the bottle into her hand, out of
sight of the bored ladies following them. “You’ll have to get rid of your
companions somehow,” she whispered to the queen. “This is a rather obvious
purple, and has a strong—though very pleasant—odor. Anyone would guess what it
is.”

Renata nodded. “I’ll do it if I have to
get up in the darkest hour of the night and bathe in a bucket. Terzo will never
know. He’s too busy bedding those twittering beauties.”