Tethered by Blood

by Jane Beckstead

  The words set my teeth on edge.

  Wendyn gestured at the sheaf of papers he’d set on the desk. “Matt was good enough to bring me your record. I must say it’s...disappointing.”

  I flushed.

  “You took the first trial three times, and every trial after that at least twice.”

  “But I’m a hard worker. I don’t give up.” I hated that it felt like I was begging.

  “Stubborn, you mean. I’ve seen that already. That’s not always a good thing.”

  “And I love learning,” I went on, as though he hadn’t spoken. “I read every book I could get my hands on at Larkspur House. Most of them twice.”

  Master Wendyn shook his head. “Whether you can learn is not the issue. The question is whether you have an aptitude for magic.”

  I blinked and stared, stiffening. You don’t have the skill required, Mullins. The words Hapthwaite spoke hours ago. Since I was a child, I’d known I was meant to do magic. But why was it so hard for me? I rubbed at my eyes and wished I knew the answer.

  “God’s ghost,” Wendyn said, watching me. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

  “Of course not,” I said hotly, without thinking. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t?” he repeated. “Can’t cry? Explain.”

  I hadn’t meant to say that. But he was watching me, and if there ever was a bad time to lie to him, it was when I was trying to convince him I would make a reliable and trustworthy apprentice.

  “I cast a spell a few years back. Accidentally. And I...don’t know how to undo it.” I hurried on, “To be fair, I haven’t tried much. Master Hapthwaite took away the book I got the spell out of, so I never learned how to remove it.”

  His brow furrowed. “What spell was it?”

  “It’s called Dry as Desert. I found it in a book—”

  Master Wendyn was on his feet, looming over me. “You cast a desert spell on yourself?” His voice climbed. “And Hapthwaite did nothing about it?”

  “I—didn’t tell him.” My voice faltered. Why was he angry? “It was stupid, I know—”

  “Stupid doesn’t even begin to describe it,” he said, shoving a hand into his hair and shaking his head in clear disbelief. “Stupid is too kind. Colossally idiotic is more like it. Do you know what kind of spell that is?”

  “Of course,” I said with surprise. “It’s a liquid-stopping spell.”

  “It’s a killing spell. You’re lucky you only dried up your tears. That spell is meant to suck the moisture out of an entire body. To leave a desiccated husk of flesh.”

  My mouth opened and closed as I tried to form words. “But...but...”

  “And Hapthwaite just left this book lying around for you to find? What other spells were in it?”

  I was too stunned to lie and make myself, or Hapthwaite, look better. “Advanced magic. Defense spells. Killing spells. Shape-shifting.”

  He shook his head. “The carelessness of the man is shocking. He’s a menace. I don’t know how he’s still a wizard.”

  But I couldn’t let Hapthwaite take all the blame. “He warned me not to read the book. I...disobeyed him.”

  Wendyn sat back in his chair, massaging his temple, jaw ticking in frustration. “God’s ghost,” he muttered. “I don’t know what to do with you. You’re lucky you didn't kill yourself. You should never use a spell without understanding its full power! Didn't that baboon ever teach you that?”

  I kept my mouth shut. It seemed prudent in this situation.

  The man wasn’t done talking, anyway. “On the one hand, you’re a dreadful underwizard, but on the other, you’re good enough to at least cast a partial desert spell. That’s advanced magic, very advanced. If you’re not trained further, you may be a menace to Faronna.”

  Not the most flattering words ever spoken about me. “So...can you remove the spell?”

  The annoyance faded from his face. “I’ll need to research. Probably. Maybe. But I don’t know the incantation.” He closed his eyes, breathed deep, and then opened them to stare at me with those deep, dark eyes. “I suppose it’s not your fault you ended up with Hapthwaite for a master. You couldn’t have known any better.” He drummed his fingers. “Pity Uphammer already has an apprentice.”

  “Who?”

  “My master. The best there is.” More drumming of his fingers. “God’s ghost. I can’t believe I’m even considering this. But left to your own devices, who knows what you’ll do with those advanced spells? For your own protection and the safety of Faronna, something has to be done.”

  I watched him. I might even have been holding my breath.

  He fiddled with the sheaf of papers. “Underwizard,” he said, “I—I offer...”

  Would he choke on the words?

  “I offer myself as your master. I wish for you to be my apprentice.” He pushed the words out with effort.

  I breathed in, long and slow. He wasn’t the man I would have chosen for a master, but at least it meant I still had a chance of becoming a master wizard. And wasn’t that what mattered? “I accept.”

  We swore the oath much the same as the last time, laying hands on the parchment and speaking words that left magic crackling and twining around our fingers.

  “There. That’s done,” he said, tucking the parchment into a drawer of his desk. “Now I’d like to test you. If you could endeavor to be brilliant, that would prevent me from regretting what I’ve just done.”

  I nodded and murmured, “I’ll do my best.”

  “Superb.”

  We launched into the tests. First, I showed holding fire, although I only made something the size of a flickering candle in my palm. Next, it was on to reparations, and I repaired a broken vase—or tried to. I put two pieces back together which held, but the rest of the vase remained shattered where it lay on the floor.

  After that, he told me to make the plant on his desk grow, the third trial. I made a new leaf pop out on one side—a brittle, undersized new leaf, but a new leaf nonetheless. And then it was on to water magic, and I created a swampy area in the center of his study floor, although I meant for it to be a babbling spring, not muddy quicksand. At last it was time for hearing magic, and I told him what Oscar was doing and saying in a room several doors down, though I had to guess at some of it.

  Overall it was a pathetic showing, and I knew it. If it weren’t for all the times I had successfully performed magic, I’d almost doubt my abilities. But I remembered too vividly the first time I uttered the words to the unknotting spell and how the rope unfolded before me. I remembered when I realized for the first time that if I concentrated hard enough, I could see lines of woven spells invisible to others, or that the sparking glow of unclaimed magic was almost always around me, touching my skin or hovering in the spaces of any room. Gavin had been so jealous that I could see magic and he couldn’t. I’d since learned it was a skill few wizards had.

  I remembered performing a warming spell after I got stuck in a winter storm on the way to Montaine, where I’d heard of available work after Gavin died. I could almost feel the heat rushing through me now as it did then, surprising me in its intensity, filling me with wonder at the knowledge that I’d done that. My magic.

  But I still didn’t know how to control my magic fully. Sometimes it behaved as I expected, but more often it didn’t.

  Master Wendyn walked to the window, staring out at the hot afternoon.

  I felt as though I should say something more, give more explanation, but the angry set of his back convinced me that words wouldn’t help. I stood silently, waiting.

  He spoke to the window. “There is no choice left, underwizard. You haven’t completed a single task to my satisfaction. Therefore, I’m stripping you of all levels and starting you over from the beginning.” A ripple of magic ran through the room. “If you are able to regain them within three months, then I will consider keeping you on as my apprentice.”

  “Stripping me—” I sputtered.

  “—of all levels,�
� he confirmed and turned from the window to face me. “And don’t bother arguing with me. It’s done.”

  “You’re giving me three months?” Friar’s bones. It took three years to get to where I was, years of study, hard work, and, far too often, disappointment. Some of those trials I almost didn’t pass. And now he wanted me to do it all over again? And in just three months?

  “If you have the abilities, that should be enough time to show it. We’ll start your studies in the morning after breakfast. For now, you’re dismissed.”

  I opened my mouth. “You can’t just—but that’s not fair!”

  “You may leave.”

  He sat down at his desk and pulled out a pen which he dipped in an inkwell and scratched across a piece of paper. It was as though I wasn’t even there. I stood there stupidly for a minute or two, trying to think of something to say. But at last I realized it was no use and stumbled out of the room to stand outside the door. My mouth opened and shut. I was so bewildered I couldn’t even think what to say or do.

  Three years of hard work, gone. I was a first level underwizard again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was after midnight, and I stood in front of my open window, dressed in a tunic and trousers and looking down on the meadow. I would have put a dress on if I owned one any longer. My belongings lay next to me on the ground, stuffed into a knapsack.

  I’d reached my limit.

  The feeling took me back to the night my brother died. I was wrung out with emotion, teetering on the edge of despair. But I was resolved to take charge of the only thing I could still control: my future.

  What would I do? I couldn’t decide. Should I go back to sewing or washing or—no, not thieving. It broke Mama’s heart when she discovered it before. I couldn’t do that to her memory.

  I’d become a street magician, an illusionist maybe. But I wouldn’t stay here to have further humiliation showered on me.

  It was too bad I had to leave Ivan in the care of this loon, but I didn’t even know if I’d be able to provide for myself, let alone a helpless boy. At least here he’d have food and clothing. His existence couldn’t be any worse than it was in Bramford, could it?

  I couldn’t worry about him anymore.

  There were no words to my fury. I took three years to pass those levels, and Wendyn discarded all my progress in the space of less than three minutes. That man was not a rational human being. He was as crazy as his grandfather.

  I wished I’d gotten him to remove the desert spell from me before I left. Although it was no matter. I’d find a copy of the spell somewhere and learn how to reverse it.

  It was quick work to tie the knapsack across my chest so it wouldn’t flop about on my back as I shimmied down the side of the building. I could have left via the front door, except I watched Mrs. Pitts lock the door and stick the key in her apron pocket. Besides, leaving out the window struck me as so much more defiant. It made me feel as though I was thumbing my nose at Master Wendyn, doing things my way. And that pleased me very much.

  The activity of climbing down the exterior of the building felt good. It had been a long time since I scaled anything.

  I was halfway down when a noise drew my notice. It seemed to be coming from Ivan’s window. As I squinted through the darkness, I realized it was open. A leg appeared over the side of the sill.

  “Get back inside,” I hissed. If he heard me, he didn’t show it. The other leg appeared, and then Ivan slid out over the side onto his belly. He glanced down at me.

  What was he doing? Had he lost his mind?

  That was a stupid question.

  My fingers dug into the stone, holding on tight with one hand, while I gestured at the window with my other. “Go inside!” I hissed again in as loud a voice as I dared under the circumstances. I was making so much noise, I might as well have left through the front door of the house after shouting I was leaving.

  Ivan didn’t go back. Instead, he scooted out further until he was holding onto the sill with just his forearms.

  If he let go now, he’d fall two stories and land in the bushes. Perhaps he’d break bones. Perhaps he’d be fine.

  Or perhaps he’d be dead.

  He pushed himself further, fingers gripping the ledge of the window. He was moments from falling.

  I couldn’t decide which way to go. Down, where I could try to catch him? But what good would that do? He’d kill us both.

  Or up?

  I was already climbing. “Don’t move. I’m coming. Stay where you are.” I climbed diagonally, angling myself toward him. He could fall at any moment, but I wouldn’t think about that.

  When I looked again, he was in the same place, gripping the sill with his face turned toward me. I couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, and I wished I could. It was the only way to know if he was listening.

  “Don’t move,” I told him again. I was even with his feet now. I found a handhold in the stone and pulled myself up. Another handhold and I pulled myself up until I was next to him, the window sill above us both. I climbed onto it, and he wriggled, trying to crawl up. I hauled him in the window. He was trembling like a frightened animal.

  I was ready to yell at him, but now I stood close enough to see his face through the darkness. His skin had transformed into splotchy patches of red, and tears trickled down in a steady stream.

  “Are you hurt?” I looked him over to make sure, but I couldn’t find any injuries. He was just scared. I gave him a shake, hoping to snap him out of it. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand and then reached out for me.

  “Whoa now.” I backed off a few steps, as he seemed to be trying to embrace me. I couldn’t very well hug him; my chest wasn’t bound. At this moment, I was supposed to be starting down the road in whatever direction appealed to me, reclaiming my life as a girl. He advanced on me again, reaching arms and hands out.

  “None of that.” I sidestepped him again.

  But he was still reaching, so finally I looked down at myself and realized he was trying to grab the knot of the knapsack tied on the front of my chest.

  Did he understand? Did he know I was leaving?

  I unknotted the knapsack and let it fall to the floor with a clank of belongings. “You have got to stop climbing out windows, you. What happens when I’m not here? You'll die, that’s what. Or is that what you want? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  A hiccup reverberated through him, and more tears trickled down his cheeks.

  “You’ll make yourself sick,” I told him. I was trying to sound angry but with little success. My voice sounded soft to my own ears. My eyes ached, and I rubbed my nose.

  Had he grown so attached? If so, this was terrible. I couldn’t afford to have him tagging after me. I couldn’t take care of him; I was leaving.

  But I didn’t leave. I walked him over to his bed and made him lie down. He’d only do that once I showed I was going nowhere, by pulling up a chair and sitting next to him. He continued to clutch my hand.

  To fill the charged silence, I talked, my voice far more tender than it should be. I told stories, the ones my parents told me when I was a child, Faronnish folktales: The Lonely Mouse, Fairfax and the Fourteen Figs, and Miss Violet Goes to Market. Eventually he fell asleep.

  Even after that, I stayed, brushed the hair off his forehead, and tucked the quilt around him.

  I couldn’t help but feel we'd turned a corner. But I didn’t know what the corner meant or where we were.

  ***

  I awoke still in the chair, my top half leaned over on the bed. Ivan was still asleep, and my neck was sore. Even worse, a dull thumping had settled in at the top of my head, a sign it would be one of those days. A headache day.

  The sun peeked in the open window. It had cooled off overnight, and the room had a chill. I rose to close and latch the window. The dingy white of my makeshift knapsack, made of a stolen bedsheet from my room, reminded me how I ended up here. The sheet wasn’t dirty when I started out with it last night. I
scooped it up and considered the thing.

  I had lost my chance to slip away unnoticed.

  In the cold light of day, my decision to give up master wizardry seemed rash and ill-advised. I had almost given up everything I’d worked for, on a whim of anger. A sick feeling formed in the pit of my stomach when I considered all I would have lost.

  I had promised myself. I had promised my brother.

  If I was meant to be a master wizard—and I felt I was—then this small setback was just that, a setback. I would overcome this.

  Besides, I could only think of one reason Master Wendyn would have forced me to begin again as a level one underwizard. The man wanted me to quit. He never wanted me for his apprentice to begin with. Nothing would make him happier than if I were to give up and run away.

  A firm resolved entered me, and I was suddenly glad Ivan had distracted me from leaving last night. I would not turn and run as the master expected. Proving him and Hapthwaite wrong would be so much more satisfying. I’d regain my levels, and since Master Wendyn didn’t want me around, I’d torture him with my presence every day until I became a master wizard.

  ***

  “Come along, Mullins.” Master Wendyn jerked on the back of my robes, pulling me off balance. I stumbled backwards before righting myself and then hurried to catch up to him. We were at the Conclave, headquarters of the Wizard’s Council, to file the parchmentwork that would make our apprenticeship of record. Master Wendyn’s long stride was impossible to match, and I had to take several smaller steps to keep pace with him.

  “Is it necessary we rush through this place at a gallop? The Secretary of Apprenticeships will still be there if we arrive five minutes later.”

  “Yes, but filing this paperwork is delaying your studies,” he tossed over his shoulder. “You have a lot of work to do.”

  If I had work to do, it was his fault for stripping me of my levels. I opened my mouth to tell him so, when I realized we’d gained a follower, even in our mad rushing through the hallways.

  “Ex—excuse—me,” puffed a girl, struggling to keep up. A girl, here in an enclave of men. I stuttered to a halt as I stared at her and then realized it was just the librarian’s daughter. She was always poking around in the library. I’d even spoken to her before. What was her name? Oh, yes—Orly.