The Voyage to Magical North (3 page)

Brine leaned over to look. The front half of the shell had snapped in two. The back, where Peter's heel had hit, was crushed almost to powder, and the bits were already turning dull gray, too small to hold any magic. Peter shook the useless fragments over the side of the boat and wrapped up the two larger pieces. He looked like he was trying not to cry.

Brine shut her eyes tight. There was no point going to Penn Turbill's island now. Even if they cast a spell on him, it wouldn't make any difference. They couldn't go back to Magus's house, not yet. Maybe not ever.

A sudden, irrational longing for home came over her—a home she couldn't even remember. Ever since she'd arrived at Tallis Magus's house, she'd dreamed of leaving. Then she'd discovered the magician's library and Boswell's books, and she'd known straightaway that she was going to be an explorer, too, and see the whole world. Now, however, with the ocean before her, she felt like she was a small child again. Huddled in a boat with no food, no water, nobody to hear her crying or to care whether she lived or died.

“At least we've got the boat,” said Peter. “And we've got two pieces of starshell now, where we only had one before.”

Brine opened her eyes. “We've got two much smaller pieces of starshell, thanks to you. And thanks for blaming me, by the way.”

“Well, it
was
your idea to steal the starshell.”

“I didn't notice you objecting.”

“That's because you never listen to a word I say.”

The boat swung in a lazy circle. Peter didn't offer to help as Brine took up the oars again. The constellation of Orion hung above them, the three bright stars that made up the mast pointing the way north. She turned the boat in that direction, feeling it pick up speed as the waves swept them farther from Minutes. She lost track of time, letting the sea carry them, resting for long minutes between each oar stroke.

A long while later, she noticed a rosy pink creeping across the sky from the east. She sat up straight and looked around.

“Uh, Peter,” she said, “I think we might be lost.”

 

C
HAPTER
3

The island cluster of Minutes lies in the northwest of the Atlas Ocean. It consists of more than twenty islands, many of which are so close together that you may sail between them in a matter of minutes. Beware, however, the sudden currents around the Minutes Islands—they can sweep an unwary boat onto the rocks or straight out to sea.

(
From
ALDEBRAN
BOSWELL
'
S
BOOK
OF
THE
WORLD)

Peter followed Brine's gaze full-circle around the empty gray waves. A speckle of dots to the east might have been Minutes or just a result of staring at the rising sun. He sat back rubbing his eyes. Great—now he was stuck in a boat with Brine for company and they had no idea where they were.

“This is your fault,” he said. “You've rowed us in the wrong direction.”

“Really? Feel free to take a turn if you're so good at it.”

Peter gave her his magician's sneer, though he didn't know why he bothered—Brine never took any notice. He had put the starshell pieces in his pocket for want of anywhere better. He slid them out and folded back the layers of wool. His palms prickled with sweat.

The first time Peter had ever touched starshell, he'd been six years old. The youngest in a family of eight children, his main memory of that time was of his parents yelling at him for getting in the way. Then Tallis Magus had come around to the villages, looking for an apprentice, and Peter was shoved into line to meet him. He'd been scared stiff of the big magician, but when Magus had grabbed his hand and forced it onto the starshell, Peter had felt the magic swarming inside. He hadn't known how rare a talent it was. All he knew was that after less than a minute's discussion, his mother handed him over to Magus, his father slapped him round the head and told him to behave, and that was the last time Peter had seen either of them.

“What are you doing?” asked Brine.

“Finding out where we are. Be quiet, can't you?” He tried to ignore her—easier said than done when she was watching him from right across the boat—and started to draw magic out of the starshell. He'd never cast a spell without Tallis Magus standing over him before, but he wasn't about to let Brine see how nervous he was. The magic came out in an uneven strand, but it came.

The finding spell was one of the first spellshapes Magus had ever taught him, because Magus kept losing things, Peter guessed. Many people thought it was one of the easiest spellshapes to form—a simple circle—but anyone who thought that should try drawing a perfect circle in the air with nothing to guide them and see how they got on.

“Did you know,” said Brine, watching Peter try, “that the world was once made entirely of ocean, before the mariner Orion stole fire from the stars and drove back the waves to make the islands?”

Peter grunted. “Pity he didn't get rid of the oceans altogether, then we wouldn't be in this mess.” The circle spellshape was slightly flat on one side. He tried again.

“Why don't you hold your wrist still and just turn your hand?” suggested Brine.

“Because…” Peter tried it and found to his annoyance that it worked. The magic formed a little ring in front of him and, gazing through it, he pictured Minutes. All the islands, the houses with stones on the roofs. Magus's house, cold all year except for the kitchen, where Brine always kept a fire burning. He released the spell and watched as a blob of light the size of his hand leaped high in the air and shot off southeast. Several seconds passed before he felt it connect.

“Well?” asked Brine.

“Minutes is that way. A long way that way.” His stomach twisted as he said it.

Brine shrugged. “It's not like we can go back there, anyway. Can you find us another island?”

Peter shook his head. To find something, he needed a mental image of it, and he couldn't form an image of something he wasn't already familiar with. He knew he didn't have the imagination for it. He wrapped the starshell pieces back up. “We have to save magic. If we use it all now, it'll take days for these pieces to recharge, and then we'll really be stuck. If we row for long enough, we're bound to find another island, or a ship. Or something.”

“If who rows for long enough?” asked Brine pointedly.

Peter sighed and took the oars.

Rowing was harder than it looked. The oars kept slipping, and every time he missed the sea with one of them, Brine rolled her eyes and groaned.

“Is this why your parents gave you away to Magus?” she asked. “Because you couldn't row to save your life?”

Peter accidentally cracked himself across the knuckles. “At least my parents knew where I was going. Your parents stuck you in a boat and pushed you out to sea. You must have been a horrible child.”

A flash of hurt on Brine's face told him he'd gone too far. He bit his lip. Brine looked away from him. Peter bent his head and kept rowing.

Brine heaved a sigh. “You'd think I'd remember being lost at sea, wouldn't you? It's not the kind of thing most people would forget.”

“I'm certainly not going to forget this in a hurry,” Peter agreed. He shifted his grip on the oars again, and one of them flew out of his hand altogether.

Brine retrieved it and grabbed the other one from him. “You just keep watch. Shout if you see land.”

Peter tried to hide his relief. He sat, rubbing the blisters on his palms, and watched the sea for any sign they were not alone.

It couldn't have been more than ten minutes later when he spotted a dark smudge on the horizon. It might have been an island, except that Peter was sure there hadn't been an island there a few minutes ago. Also, islands didn't usually appear to be heading straight toward you. A rhythmic thudding reached his ears, something like the beating of a giant heart. Peter wondered what it was, then he knew: the sound of sails.

“Brine.” It came out as a croak.

A ship. They were saved. Peter scrambled to his knees and waved both arms. “Ahoy!” A ship! He could even forgive Brine for getting them into this mess. A ship could take them back to Minutes—or anywhere else, for that matter. They could work for passage. Brine was good at cleaning, and he … he'd think of something.

He lowered his arms. “You won't tell them I'm a magician, will you?”

Ships and magicians didn't mix, Tallis Magus always said. On the one hand, magicians were so useful to have around that some ships, especially pirate ships, had been known to kidnap them and force them to work on board forever. On the other hand, sailors were notoriously superstitious and hated anything they couldn't understand—which was most things, but especially magic. So magicians found themselves both wanted and not wanted, sought after and hated.

Brine pulled a face at him. “Maybe I'll blackmail you. Knowledge is money, hmm?”

“Don't be stupid.”

“You started it.” She went back to rowing the boat. “Don't worry. I won't tell them you're a magician, because you're not a magician. You're an apprentice, and you're not a very good one.”

Peter sighed and turned his back on her to watch the ship approach. It was close enough now to make out the four masts and the sails that bowed in the wind. And also close enough to see the black-and-white flag that streamed out from the tallest mast.

A black skull and bones on a white background. Pirates.

A moment of pure terror froze Peter's voice. All he could do was point.

Brine's eyes widened as she looked. She dug both oars into the sea, hauled the boat round, and began to row in the opposite direction. She was far too slow. The thrum of sails pursued them, growing louder with every second. Peter gripped the sides of the boat. Brine rowed hard, but the pirate ship sliced through the water behind them like a knife through … well, like a knife through water.

Brine's face shone with sweat. The boat creaked with every smack of the oars. Bells clanged on the pirate ship, the sound echoing across the smash of waves and the sudden howling in Peter's ears.

“Do something!” shouted Brine. “Use magic.”

“I can't!” Peter's chest felt tight. Almost every spellshape he'd ever learned had fled from his mind. “All I can do is find things and pull them.”

“Then pull Minutes!”

She'd gone mad. “Brine, Minutes is all islands.”

“I know.” She plunged the oars back into the water. “Boswell's third law of motion. Every action has an opposite reaction.”

Which meant if he tried to pull Minutes, it would pull them closer instead. Peter's heart leaped. But Minutes was too far away; he couldn't do it. Could he?

It was either try or be captured by pirates. Forced to cast spells for them forever. Or they'd discover that he was only an apprentice magician, and not very good, and they'd throw him overboard. Peter took the starshell pieces out of his pocket and drew out enough magic to make the spellshape. It was only a simple downward arrow, but he let it go too soon and the pieces flared, jerking him forward.

Brine hauled him back up by the collar. “They're gaining on us. Try again.”

Peter rubbed his forehead where he'd banged it. A wave broke right over him, and he gasped and spat out salt water, his ears ringing with the thunderous roar of waves and sails. This wasn't working. He needed quiet to work magic: quiet and calm and plenty of time. He had none of those.

Brine kicked him.

In a burst of painful clarity, Peter saw Minutes—not only saw the islands but felt them. They settled into his thoughts, heavier than a thousand anchors. He braced his feet on either side of the boat, drew a new arrow in the air, and heaved.

The boat picked up speed. Peter kept pulling. He had no idea how much magic the starshells had left or how long it would last at this rate. He didn't dare think about it.

The pirate ship thundered down on them as they fled. The ringing of bells grew louder, mingled with voices yelling at them to stop. The boat skimmed faster across the waves with every second, until it felt like they were flying. Peter felt like laughing. He was doing this—he was actually doing it!

Brine screamed. Peter's eyes flew open.

The pirate ship had changed direction. Now, instead of following them, it cut across the sea behind them. A surge of water lifted the rowing boat high and slapped it back down with a jolt that snapped Peter's teeth together. Brine dropped one of the oars, and the boat swung wildly as the starshell pieces let out a final blaze of light and turned gray, their magic exhausted.

Brine leaned out and grabbed the floating oar, her face red with effort and fury. “This is not fair!” she shouted. Whether this was at Peter, the pirates, or the universe in general, he didn't know.

Together they stared up at the approaching ship. Dark planks gave way to a lighter patchwork, scoured to the color of old bones by the sea winds. High on the prow, in faded paint, Peter could just make out letters. Half an
O,
an
I,
the bottom strokes of an
N.

The bells on board the ship slowed, then stopped. The silence was worse than anything—it meant they'd lost. Lost their chance to escape, lost their lives, probably. Peter found the paper he'd drawn the mind-control spellshape on. He looked at it one last time, trying to memorize it, then he crumpled the paper and dropped it overboard. If the pirates found it, they'd know what it was, then they'd know what
he
was, and after that, it would be kidnapping or death. He ought to throw the starshell into the sea as well, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He tucked the pieces into his pocket with numb fingers. Whatever happened, he wouldn't let the pirates have them.