Mind of the Magic (Arhel Book 3) Read online

  She felt terrible. Mortified by her momentary callousness, she carried him through the gate and inside, down the long breezeway to her large guest room, really the main bedroom of the house, which had once belonged to Medwind Song, barbarian mage and ex-headhunter, and her tenth husband, Nokar Feldosonne, one-time librarian of Faulea University and a powerful old saje.

  Faia wiggled the door latch awkwardly with the tips of her fingers, trying to keep from hitting her guest’s head on the wall, and shoved the door open with a hip. Musty, dust-laden air blew into the breezeway, and she stifled a sneeze. She hurriedly placed her guest on the bed, and threw open the windows; light streamed into the dark room and illuminated the dust motes that swirled and spiraled upward with every step she took. The bookshelves were cobwebbed and grey with dust, the corners of the round rug she’d made while she was pregnant with Kirtha appeared to have been gnawed by rodents, and spider silk hung in long trails from the beams overhead.

  She winced. The room had been long vacant and long neglected.

  She closed her eyes for an instant, picturing everything as it should have been—fresh sheets on the bed, fresh flowers at the bedside, the room clean, the air sweet-smelling. The task took her no time and little energy. She opened her eyes to a bright, welcoming room.

  “Better,” she said to herself as she began undressing the little man. “It’s a start, at least.” She needed cool water and wet towels to bring his fever down quickly, she needed to start a healing broth simmering over the fire and to pick some fresh herbs for restorative simples. She would have to put thought into remembering the training her mother had given her for focusing wellness into the sick.

  Perhaps Kirtha can gather the vigonia for me, she thought. She needs some tasks that must be done by hand, and with care. A little responsibility will be good for her.

  Suddenly finding herself with much to do, Faia covered her guest with a sheet and hurried out of the room and down the breezeway. Not until much later did she realize she was singing as she worked.

  Chapter 2

  MUCH to her amazement, her guest lived. First he managed to open his eyes and watch as Faia and Kirtha worked in his room, then to sip broth through a reed; and one morning he rolled over on his own while they were bathing him. He gained weight at a prodigious rate, never as fat, but as muscle; that was a trick Faia pondered over in her off hours.

  The little man’s presence was as good for Kirtha as it was for Faia, too. Kirtha proved attentive, and each day delighted in pointing out “her” patient’s improvement. Faia, once again honestly tired from hard work when nights came, felt happier than she had since Arhel’s magic changed. Her careful spell-working was the best she had ever managed.

  And at last the day arrived that the little man spoke.

  Faia and Kirtha were tucking fresh bedclothes over him, thinking he was asleep, when suddenly his eyes opened and he smiled at both of them.

  “You are too kind, fair ladies,” he whispered, “too kind indeed, to come to the rescue of a helpless wretch like me.”

  “Mama!” Kirtha squealed. “He can talk!”

  Faia grinned, as delighted as her daughter. “Indeed he can.”

  He struggled to sit up, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, with the sheet wrapped around him. He gave a shaky bow. “I’m Witte,” he told them both. “Witte A’Winde. Sometimes known as Witte the Mocker.” He staggered a little, and his next bow nearly landed him facedown on the floor. “At your service.”

  Faia and Kirtha steadied him and helped him back into bed, while Faia noticed for the first time how very much he’d changed since she’d found him on her doorstep. Though he was still no taller than Kirtha, he’d become as wide as he was tall, and muscled like a bull. Thick cords of veins ran over the backs of his huge hands, and broad, flat muscles made his neck thicker than most men’s thighs. His eyes, no longer sunken-in and hollow, were the bright and impossible green of spring leaves; his hair, that had been so dirty and matted, was the pale yellow of butter. It stood out from his head in a wild, shrubby mass at the front, though the back—which Kirtha had braided with great delight—reached nearly to the ground.

  “You’re going to hurt yourself,” Kirtha scolded, perfectly mimicking what her mother had said to her on more than one occasion. Faia, looking at her daughter, realized Kirtha even had her hands on her hips, the way Faia invariably did when saying the same thing.

  The two of them helped Witte back into the bed and Faia nodded. “Kirtha’s right. You aren’t ready to get up yet.”

  “Kirtha. What a pretty name.” He flopped back, weak and obviously worn out from his few moments of standing. “For a lovely little girl.”

  Kirtha preened.

  “And, lovely lady, who are you?”

  “Faia. Rissedote.”

  “Faia, you are as beautiful as you are kind.” He closed his eyes. “But you are, I think, correct. This has been too much for me.”

  After that first day up, he recovered even more quickly. Less than a week later, Faia came into her guest’s room to find Witte up and sitting on the side of the bed, dressed except for one boot, which he was polishing. He tugged on the boot and jumped to the floor as she came in, and again bowed, this time with a quick, bobbing, almost birdlike motion. He wore an odd, short-skirted robe of gorgeous red silk with the front of the skirts tucked up into his sword-belt—and his sword, she thought, would have made her a serviceable carving knife. His red silk pantaloons, piped in gold along the seams, bloused over the tops of black boots that reflected the room around them like twin mirrors.

  He looked hilarious—and Faia could just imagine her daughter’s response as soon as she saw Witte’s outfit. Kirtha was going to want one just like it.

  Faia managed to keep a straight face in spite of her amusement, and bowed back.

  “I think I am ready to be up and on my way,” he told her. “I was on important business when I was taken ill, and now I must conclude it. Did I get as far as Omwimmee Trade, or have I still a distance to go?”

  “This is Omwimmee Trade.”

  He smiled. “Ah. How wonderful. Then, perhaps you could tell me how I can repay you. Whatever I can do, dear lady, I will do.”

  “I’ve enjoyed… feeling useful again,” she told him. “You owe me nothing.”

  “Nonsense—but I can see in your eyes you’re stubborn as well as beautiful. I’ll repay you in my own way if you won’t tell me what you’d like.”

  Faia smiled. He was looking up at her, so sincere. “I have my repayment. You’re well.”

  He smiled. “You are kindness personified. Then if you can do me one further good turn, I’ll be on my way. Do you by chance know how I would get to the home of Nokar Feldosonne, the saje master? I’ve come far to see him, and with important news.”

  “You’re a friend of Nokar’s—” Oh, no, she thought. This is too cruel.

  “I am an old friend—come to see him from the other end of the land, all the way from the cold and the dark of South Point Bay, and come to meet his lovely wife.”

  Faia took a deep breath. She felt sick. “This… well, you found the right house… Ah—when was the last time you and Nokar visited?”

  “This is Nokar’s house? Then you must be his wife—and beautiful as he described. When did I visit him last?” He looked at his feet, and sighed. “He was still Librarian at Faulea—it’s been that long. Sad, isn’t it, how old friends lose touch? However, I got a letter from him, oh, I guess almost three years ago—he was working on something fascinating. I haven’t heard from him since. I’ve had a breakthrough in my own research that may give him some of the pieces to his First Folk puzzle, so I thought I’d take time off and visit him.” Witte looked around. “Is he out?”

  Faia shook her head slowly. “I’m not his wife. Her name is Medwind Song. And… maybe you should sit down. This was his house. His and Medwind’s.”

  The little man frowned and hopped back up onto the bed. “Was?”
>
  Faia breathed out slowly. “Oh, I am so sorry to have to tell you this. He died—just more than two years ago.”

  Witte’s face fell. “Died? Oh, no!” His eyes filled with tears, and one ran down his cheek. “How terrible. And I’ve come so far to see him and his wife—and with such important news, too.” He looked up at Faia, his expression suddenly thoughtful. The tears stopped as if his eyes were pump-wells and he’d just stopped pumping. “Now that I think about it, he mentioned a Faia in his letter as well as his wife—though I simply did not connect the names. You’re the young woman who made such a mess in Ariss, aren’t you?”

  Faia felt herself blush. “Well—”

  Witte waved a hand as if to brush away his remark. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed, dear girl. At least it was an interesting mess.” He hopped down and paced, thumbs hooked into his belt. “On, dear. Nokar dead. That is terrible—simply terrible, and for more than one reason. The last letter I got from him indicated that he’d discovered an interesting First Folk artifact, and had a lead on more. Do you know if that came to anything?”

  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 g
round 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.”