Sword and Sorceress 28

by Unknown

  “You could have let him kill me,” Shada said. “Then gone at him.”

  The vine princess held her gaze. “I’m not your enemy, Shada.”

  “You saved St. Navarre.” Shada could barely wrap her mind around it.

  A crescent of silver emerged from below the doppelganger’s ribs. She gasped and fell forwards.

  DeGroat stood behind her, the curved knife in his hand. “I don’t think there should be two of you.”

  Shada tried to stand. DeGroat drove his knife through her right thigh. She fell back on to the sand.

  “Unlike the wound I gave your friend, this isn’t fatal.” DeGroat reached for the scroll. “I need one Shada alive for tomorrow’s public executions.”

  Shada tried to get up, but DeGroat put a boot on her chest.

  “Have you ever seen someone drawn and quartered?” The envoy grinned. “You’re going to be quite the spectacle, Princess.”

  DeGroat began reading. Dark threads reappeared in the Moon Pool. Fractals of shadow flitted in and out of the moonlight, unbinding the pool’s magic. St. Navarre’s defenses were being destroyed and Shada could do nothing to stop it.

  “Envoy.” Behind deGroat, the vine princess rose like a revenant in the moonlight. “I’m not dead yet.”

  She could barely stand, but deGroat had to turn to face her, his foot slipping from Shada’s chest.

  Shada rolled on to one side, coiled up her remaining strength, and kicked out.

  The crack of deGroat’s kneecap breaking echoed across the cavern. His scream followed a heartbeat later. He tottered at the end of the ledge.

  Shada’s second kick sent him over. He fell into the shadow-streaked water, black threads coiling about him, unbinding the envoy and his scroll.

  Now deGroat really screamed.

  The unbinding collapsed, the shadow threads fading. The pool once again glittered with moonlight.

  The doppelganger collapsed beside Shada.

  Shada’s leg ached, but the bleeding was light. She drew herself up one knee.

  “I’m dying,” the vine princess whispered.

  “How can you die?” Dread uncoiled in Shada’s belly. “You’re made of vines.”

  “This close to the moon pool, I’m mortal.”

  The path back wound upward, studded with fissures and boulders. Shada felt as if her legs were made of rubber. She could barely stay conscious.

  But her double had saved St. Navarre.

  Every nerve in her leg screaming, Shada stood up. She wrapped an arm under the vine princess’ shoulder and dragged her to her feet.

  “Shada, I can’t walk. You can’t walk.”

  “Shut up.” Shada’s leg ached, but it worked.

  Every step was agony, but slowly Shada dragged her double back to the base of the Stairs.

  There she gasped. “You saved me?”

  “How do you feel?” Shada sat beside her.

  The doppelganger stared at her. “I feel like it’s worth it. After so much time in the darkness I have people to care for. To protect. It’s worth all the pain.” She laughed. “You must think I’m ridiculous.”

  Shada knew exactly what she meant.

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” the doppelganger said. “I’ll go. I see that I can’t take the place you’ve made.”

  Shada took her hand. “You have a place here. You won’t be me, but we’ll work something out.”

  The vine princess convulsed, spittle dribbling from her mouth.

  Shada grabbed her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “No.” The doppelganger’s entire body shook. “Please.”

  Shada heard a purposeful murmuring drifting down the Stairs. “Who’s there?”

  Gregory and robed mage appeared, the sorcerer making elaborate hand gestures.

  “Help us!” Shada called.

  The princess was suddenly light in her arms. Shada found that she held nothing but a bramble of dead vines and dried flowers.

  The mage dropped his hands. “The exorcism has succeeded.”

  ~o0o~

  Shada looked into the mirror. She wore her dress uniform, a taut tunic of silver and scarlet, blue ribbons dangling from the shoulder. Her hair had been cut short, colored and styled to obscure the missing bits.

  “Just got word.” Sienna appeared in the glass. “DeGroat’s army was a day’s march away. Our cavalry took them by surprise.”

  Sienna kept talking, but Shada couldn’t pay attention. The danger was past. That was all she needed to know.

  She stared into her green eyes. If not for the vine princess deGroat would now rule St. Navarre. She’d had the skill to wrangle Gregory, the soldiers, and even Aunt Vi. How strange it must be to have the ability to do that.

  “What was she?” Shada asked her sister. “Some kind of demon?”

  Sienna drew closer. “It turns out there are no demons in the Passages.”

  “A ghost?” Did it matter? Shada didn’t even know what she was asking.

  “There’s nothing in the Passages. Just some magical reflecting principle. Someone goes in; a doppelganger forms. It’s born with the urge to supplant its originator, but once it does so it’s pretty much just the person it replaced.”

  Shada shivered. That was ridiculous. The vine princess had appropriated her appearance and memories, but it had been nothing like her.

  “The mages say there might be doppelgangers living among us, right now.”

  Shada thought of the skeletons, hanging in the vines.

  “They might not even know,” Sienna continued, fascinated, “that they’re not the original person.”

  Shada thought of times before she’d dangled in the vines. Were those really her memories? It was hard to be sure. She felt a curious lightness at the thought.

  She straightened her tunic and fixed her hair. The new cut was stylish, but would be easy to maintain. She tried on a dazzling smile and offered her sister her arm. “Shall we go see Gregory?”

  Trading Gifts

  by Rabia Gale

  This story reminds me a bit of the folk tale “Stone Soup” where many individuals each contribute one small piece to the finished product. In this case, however, the product is something very different from soup.

  Rabia Gale writes about flawed protagonists who never give up, magical gifts that lead to trouble, and things that fly. A native of Pakistan, she now lives in Northern Virginia where she reads, writes, eats chocolate, avoids housework, and homeschools her children. Visit her online home at www.rabiagale.com.

  There was a checkpoint on the road to Serenai, on the narrow strip of land that tethered the almost-island to the continent. I looked down the road to the city, its tall white towers soaring skywards, red and gold banners flapping in the perpetual sea breeze. A green frill of flat land encircled the city, dropping to the sea in grey cliffs.

  The scent of brine filled my nose, and salt stung my lips.

  For the longest time, that had been the smell of homecoming.

  I stroked Suki’s nose. “What a great place for kite-flying.”

  The guards waved the farmer in front of me on. The wheels of his cart ground away, loose onions rolled around in the back.

  Suki and I took his place. A guard prodded the packs on Suki’s back.

  “I make kites,” I told him, as he rummaged through a stack of silk and paper shapes. “I’m here for the festival.”

  He grunted and pulled out a long bundle of bamboo strips.

  “Those are for the frames.”

  The guard thrust them back onto Suki. The bundles tilted, and spools of string and ribbon spilled into the sandy road.

  Silently I counted to five, then bent down to pick them up.

  “Thank you.” I flashed a smile at the guard who had done nothing to help.

  He shrugged, already turning to the juggler who was next in line.

  I urged Suki on, humming, trying to calm the fluttering of my heart.

  I’d passed the first obstacle.

&
nbsp; ~o0o~

  Most of the vendors and entertainers headed for the city gates and more checkpoints, but not me. I went down towards the sea, to where a tiny fishing village clung to grey rock and white sand. In a sheltered hollow, I relieved Suki of her burden, spreading out my materials in the short hardy grass.

  I weighed down bird and butterfly shapes with rocks, set out ribbons in rainbow colors. Then I got to work making frames, bending the strong, flexible rods.

  It wasn’t long before the children found me.

  They peeped out from behind rocks and scraggly bushes. I looked up and smiled, but my hands didn’t stop their work. Emboldened, they drew closer, watching me with solemn eyes.

  “Kites,” breathed a wisp of a girl, in a voice of awe most people usually reserved for the sight of massive jewels.

  “Indeed. Would you like one?”

  “She ha’nt got any money,” an older boy interjected, drawing the little girl back. Her face fell.

  “Oh, I take all kinds of payment, not just money.” I put out a wooden mug in front of me, as if I were a street performer. I looked at the little girl thoughtfully. “I bet you have a laugh like silver, a laugh like air. A laugh that makes other people happy to hear it. How about you pay me with a laugh?”

  The girl let out a merry peal, her eyes sparkling. I grinned back. “Pick out a shape—any shape. And a ribbon.”

  A scramble and a skip, and she was back with a butterfly and purple ribbon.

  “Now, who’s next?” I asked, as I fit the butterfly to a frame.

  “Me!” A boy pushed his way closer. He was a sturdy creature with square hands and bare feet. His pockets bulged.

  “You’re good at finding things, aren’t you? Small things, precious things, well-hidden things that most people overlook.”

  He grinned, showing a gap in his teeth. “Too good, says Ma!”

  “Then give me something you found and we’ll call it a deal.”

  A milky shell with an iridescent underside and soft curves went into the cup, and the boy picked out a beetle shape and green ribbon.

  The children pressed around, clamoring for my attention. I beckoned them forward, one by one.

  A girl with long brown hair lifting in the wind paid me in cartwheels and springs. A boy in much-mended clothes raced the others down to the beach and back, barely panting as he brought me an eagle for his kite. Two other girls gave me twirls and another boy gave me a spectacular leap.

  I looked at the first girl’s older brother. “I ha’nt good at nothing,” he told me, low and sullen.

  “Oh, yes, you are. You’re good at looking after your sister, aren’t you?”

  He thought about it, then nodded. “Saved her once from the sea,” he offered.

  “More than once,” interjected a curly-headed girl in a dress with shell buttons and embroidered fish at the hem.

  “Tip a measure of courage and compassion into my cup,” I said, “and pick a kite, boy.”

  “What about me?” asked the girl.

  “Did you embroider those fish?”

  She flushed with pleasure. “I did.”

  “Neat strong stitches. Lovely work. See that square of yellow fabric? And there’s needles and thread in the small pack. Hem it for me, and embroider something nice in the corner.”

  She plopped down next to me, a frown of concentration between her brows as she sewed.

  I asked a round-faced child to roar for me, and he filled the hollow with a din that would’ve put a lion to shame. Another boy boasted he was the best fire-maker in the village, and proceeded to demonstrate his skill.

  The hollow emptied of children as I finished one kite after another. They left, running and whooping, and soon the sky was full of swooping rainbow shapes.

  It made my heart glad to see it.

  Soon there were only two children left. One was a tall boy in big, old boots and the other an entirely forgettable-looking girl of average face, average color, average height.

  “You’re good with animals,” I told the tall boy, and produced a coin. “Could you take my mule and look after her for me? Will that be fine with your parents?”

  His eyes widened at the money—he had probably never handled a silver coin in his life. “It’s just me and my granddad, mem, but we’ll put her in the byre with the cow. She’ll be as snug as a rug!”

  He stroked Suki, and she showed her approval by slobbering all over him. He had gentle hands. Suki would be safe with him.

  Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked them away furiously. “Be a good girl, Suki,” I called as he led her away, his kite tucked under his arm.

  That left just the girl.

  She wouldn’t meet my eyes, but neither did she leave. I knew the struggle going on inside of her; I’d seen it manifest in a hundred other children before her. The longing to share warring with the need to stay hidden, stay safe, stay normal.

  “Look around,” I invited. “Which kite would you like?”

  Her gaze darted to a dragonfly, with a long iridescent body of green-blue silk and stiff translucent wings. “Will you take a pebble for it, mem?” She held out a dull grey stone, no different from the others that littered the clearing.

  “I could,” I told her, gravely. “But that’s not something that’s important to you, is it? It’s not a testament to your skill, nor an indication of your passion. See those kites up there?” We both looked up at where the goldfish leapt and the butterflies danced. “They ride high and strong because the children thought the kites were worth paying for with the best they could give.” She hung her head.

  “You have a gift,” I said gently. “A great, rare gift. If you choose to share it with me, I promise that it will remain between the two of us. Why do you think I sent all the rest away before talking to you?”

  “I can’t, mem,” she muttered. “It’s—unnatural.”

  “Unusual, I’ll bet, but not unnatural. Show me.”

  She wavered, then dropped to her heels. Her face was resolute and a clear light burned in her eyes. She wasn’t so forgettable now.

  My heart leapt at the familiarity of that look. I’d seen the same expression on the face of a yellow-haired foreign-born boy, not much older than her.

  She pulled a knife from her pocket, and a piece of wood. Her movements now were sure and confident, with none of her earlier hesitation. Her brown, work-roughened hands were covered in old cuts. “What shall I make for you, mem?”

  My mind went blank. Then, recklessly, I said, “Make me a key. Make me a key so strong that it will open a prison without locks.”

  She gave me a crisp nod, and set to work. I worked, too, on the dragonfly kite, sneaking a glance at her every now and then. Her entire being was focused on the whittling, on the chips of bark and curls of wood, and the shape she gave to both the wood and her power.

  Her power. It came to me with the scent of sap and green, oil and fresh-cut wood. I inhaled it, and thought, Yes. This one.

  The sun touched the edge of the hollow, spilling light like golden yolk along the horizon. The girl was in shades of dim, turned wraithlike. Power wove itself into the thing in her hands.

  I tied a last knot, and waited.

  The girl rose, and came to me. I held out my cupped hands and she dropped the key into it.

  It gleamed blackly. No longer wood, not quite metal, fluid and flickering with power. Tingles ran up my arms.

  The girl was just a girl now, looking tired and drained. I’d forgotten how quickly the young and powerful ones get used up.

  I almost regretted what I’d asked her to do. My fingers closed over the key, tucked it into my bodice, close to my heart.

  “Will that do, mem?” she asked, shy and uncertain again. My heart almost broke at her innocence. She didn’t know what a treasure she was, even living in Serenai’s shadow.

  “What’s your name, child?”

  “Pella.”

  “You must be very careful with your gift, Pella. Careful who you show it
to, especially when you’re young. Keep it hidden, until you’re a grown woman and you’ve learned wisdom.” She leaned forward, eager, like a sun-starved plant. How lonely her power had made her! “There will be those, even those who sit on the High Council, who will want to use you for their own ends. Don’t give them the chance, Pella.”

  She nodded, eagerly. “I know who you mean.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The Red Witch.”

  Oh, that hurt. I had only meant to help the children I’d sought out. But I’d failed them. Failed them all, not just Trell.

  I smiled through it, a bittersweet twist of my mouth. “Yes, dear heart. And also the grey ladies of Serenai, with their soft voices and hard eyes. The mages of Pajorah who read your shadow, and the blind bell-ringers who catch your thoughts with their nets of music. Watch out for headmen and minor councilors and petty nobles. Beware of them all. Promise me that.”

  “I promise.” Her eyes were wide.

  “Good luck, child.” I handed her the dragonfly kite. I’d wound silence and strength and patience into it. “Not even my kites last forever, but the ribbons will. Wear them in your hair. They will help protect you.”

  ~o0o~

  That night I sought my bed in a cave that I knew from long ago, its mouth facing the sea, hidden behind jagged rocks. I lay there, wide awake, listening to the rush and roar of water on the shore and the whistle of the wind above.

  And in that noise I caught the thread of a golden song sung by a golden voice. A voice pure and powerful, even as its owner slowly died.

  ~o0o~

  The next morning I spread out the red silk I’d used to bundle up all my other papers and cloth. I cut it into pieces with sharp silver scissors, then bent my last remaining bamboo strips into a frame. As I sewed and glued, I used the gifts the children had given me. Care and strength went into the kite’s construction, along with the little girl’s stitching. I gave it the leaping energy of the dancers, the endurance and swiftness of the runners. Even half-made, it writhed and skittered like a thing alive, impatient to be off.

  “Soon, soon,” I murmured to it as I sewed its yellow eyes and attached the milky-white shell above them to help it find its way. Its ribbons undulated, and its mouth opened in a soundless roar.