Between Luck and Magic (Chanmyr Chronicles Book 3)

by TJ Muir

  “You fly?” the man asked.

  “Only once or twice,” Jedda said, choosing not to oversell himself. Flying was one thing in particular he didn’t want anyone calling his bluff on. Thousands of feet above the earth was a bad place to admit you were in over your head.

  “But you got the bug,” the man said, glancing sideways towards Jedda.

  “A little bit. How could anyone not?”

  The man laughed. “Name’s Flint,” he said, extending his hand.

  Jedda paused, caught in a moment of indecision. “Jedda,” he said, as he clasped hands. He worried about giving his real name even though Hak’kar had never known him as Jedda. He knew he had already broken his promise to stay completely invisible. “You been flying long?”

  Flint shrugged. “A few years. Still learning. It’s more of a hobby for me.”

  Jedda nodded. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “There a lot of fliers up here?”

  Flint looked at him curiously. Jedda cringed. He had just given himself away as being from somewhere other than Treyu. It wouldn’t matter to Flint, unless someone was already looking for outsiders. “There’s a few. It’s a good place for flying, currents coming down from the plateau up above, and some gentler currents above the river. A good beginner slope down below, too.”

  That caught Jedda’s interest. He had flown a few times, but always as a second passenger with an experienced pilot. “You mean where a beginner could fly solo?”

  “Yeah. Not a long flight, but can do some simple gliding and steering across the lower meadow.”

  “Who might teach, or let a student fly there?”

  Flint scratched his beard and brushed a fly away from his pony’s face. “There might be a few, as might be willing to give a lesson.”

  Jedda gasped. “How do I know if a teacher is qualified? I do have some coins, but I wouldn’t want to get hurt because someone just wanted to make a few silver.”

  Flint laughed. “You won’t find too many shady fliers. But Dirk, and Hawk, they’s both guild. No one in the guild would do you wrong. They take that very serious, personal like.”

  “Well that’s good to know,” Jedda said. Bullseye. He had taken a risk, but it had paid off. “Are either of them around here?”

  “Dirk? He lives on the river, just above the city. Hawk, he’s got a place in town, but he’s mostly up on the ridge, or in his workshop south of the city, below the wharves. Think I saw Hawk’s colors up in the sky earlier, so up on the ridge might be the best place to look for him.”

  As they walked, Jedda plied Flint with questions about flying. The older man was happy to regale him with stories and to answer his questions about lessons.

  The lane made a slow, curving arc around the mountain, growing steadily more inclined the higher they went. Around midday, they reached the top where the lane crested over the rear ridge, and came out into the open. The view was more spectacular than from the fliers ridge outside of Tatak Rhe. The mountains stretched northwest, looming large across the western horizon. The top of the ridge was actually an open meadow on one side, with a launching ramp just below the meadow. There were a handful of fliers and mini-camps scattered about as people assembled and repaired individual contraptions.

  Flint cried out, waving, “Gherant! Got the new silk yesterday.”

  Jedda saw a man about his own age look up and wave back. Flint headed that way and Jedda followed, feeling awkward.

  “New recruit?” Gherant asked, nodding at Jedda.

  Flint shrugged. “Just a stray I found on my way up the hill.”

  “You’ve got to stop feeding them-- that’s why they follow you everywhere.” Gherant laughed.

  “Poor sot’s been bit by the bug,” Flint said, turning back to Jedda. “Jedda, this is Gherant. Don’t be fooled by his young looks. He’s crashed more fliers than I’ve been in. And never trust him at cards, either.”

  Gherant wiped his hands on a cloth before extending one to Jedda. Jedda smiled, shaking Gherant’s hand. “Don’t believe him about the cards, he’s just a terrible player,” Gherant said, laughing.

  Something about the man, or boy, reminded him of Trey. Carefree and easy, and quick to laugh. He spoke well-- better than Flint’s casual street speech. But whereas Trey was fair and sandy colored, Gherant was more like Kirrin, auburn hair, ruddy skin, and a splattering of freckles.

  “You have your own flier?” Gherant asked.

  “What? Oh, no. Not even close. I’ve only flown a few times. Flint was saying I might find someone-- Dirk or Hawk?-- who might give me some lessons.”

  Gherant nodded. “Haven’t seen Dirk in days. Think he’s on a distance flight. But Hawk’s around… somewhere… Oh, there. Purple sail, white stripe.”

  Jedda looked where Gherant indicated and saw the purple sail. Flint was asking Gherant something, but Jedda was focused on Hawk now. “Ummm… I’ll be right back. Nice meeting you both. And thanks.”

  Jedda had considered asking Flint to make an introduction, but then reconsidered, preferring privacy. He walked up to the flier, a burly fellow with black hair, with a wrench in his hand. “Hawk?”

  “Who’s askin?” He asked, without looking up.

  “Sorry. Over here,” Jedda said. “Gherant and Flint said you were a guild flier.”

  Hawk’s eyes narrowed as he turned, looking Jedda up and down. He nodded, and spit, before putting down the wrench.

  Jedda met the man's gaze. He knew Hawk was trying to get a read on him, some young fop wanting to flaunt his position. But then Jedda remembered he was dressed in Faenyr clothes. He stepped forward before Hawk could speak. “Do you know Marrick? A flier from Tatak Rhe,” he asked, jumping right to the point before he ended up on the wrong side of Hawk’s attitude.

  Hawk tilted his head, reassessing Jedda now, or maybe the situation. Jedda might still be a fop in trouble, but he had just dropped a name. The man considered, wiping his hands deliberately on the rag. “Aye.” He nodded. “I know the man. A right good flier, one of the best.”

  “He told me I could trust the fliers. Yours was one of the names he gave me,” Jedda said. “He told me no flier would ever breach confidence and I could trust one to get a message to him.”

  Hawk spat. “No guilded flier, that be,” he said, correcting Jedda.

  Jedda nodded, chastened. “Right, no guilded flier.”

  “He still flying for those hoity toities down south way?”

  Jedda smiled, a crooked half-smile, hearing his friends from Tatak Rhe described that way. Clearly, not everyone in Chanmyr was in awe of the rulers of Tatak Rhe. “He is. When I left there, he told me I could get a message to him directly, and trust it would go through no other hands, and be seen by no other eyes, if I found a flier to deliver it to him.” He spoke the words with a casual manner, but deliberately slowed down certain words so Hawk would know the importance of the situation, and his high regard for his discretion. And he did respect that kind of code, especially coming from Tatak Rhe, where almost everyone was for sale.

  “You’ve got a message for Marrick then?”

  Jedda nodded. Technically it was for Diya, but he didn’t think it was a good time to get caught up in semantics.

  “Five silver, and that’s just cause it’s to Marrick,” he said. The tone in his voice was firm. The price was not a negotiating point.

  Jedda shuddered to think what a full rate might cost, but he would have gladly paid twice that, and thanks to Trey’s generosity, he had the coins to do it. That amount would have kept him fed for two weeks. Jedda shrugged to himself. Loyalty might not be for sale, exactly, but it didn’t come cheaply, either.

  Jedda handed over the coins, along with the letter. “Thank you,” he said, meaning it. “Oh, also, said I was coming over here to ask about flying lessons. So you know.”

  Hawk nodded, understanding. “Tell em I said I couldn’t do a lesson because I had a distance flight to make. Now, I have a flier to prepare. This one isn’t one I’d take for
a long trek. I got things to do, so if you don’t know how to prep a flier, then get.”

  Jedda nodded, appreciating the brusk manner. Hawk was now on an assignment, and social time was over. “When you see him, tell him I am here. I’ll wait nearby until I hear a response.”

  Hawk looked him over. “Three to four days,” he said, then turned his attention back to breaking down the flier he had been working on. “And if you aren’t too worried about breaking your neck, Gherant’d teach you a thing or two about flying.”

  Jedda left the man to get on with his work. The sooner he left, the sooner he would hear back from Diya. He wandered back over to Gherant and Flint, who were happily bickering about some design idea.

  “It’ll work,” Gherant said, cocksure. It reminded him of Trey, before Trey became Da’har.

  Flint shook his head, snorting his disbelief. “That’s what you said right before your last idea failed.”

  Gherant looked up and saw Jedda. “How’d it go?”

  “Oh, yeah, he said he’d…” and then stopped himself.

  “He’d what?” Gherant asked, waiting.

  “Oh. He said he’d be willing to do some lessons, but he has a distance flight.”

  Gherant looked at Flint.

  “First I heard of it,” Flint said.

  Gherant shrugged, looking over at Hawk.

  Jedda spoke up before Gherant could get curious. “He said you might be willing to do a few lessons, in the meantime.”

  That distracted Gherant and Jedda sighed, relieved.

  “I suppose I could find some time to do a few lessons. Two silver,” he said, nodding toward the flier. “Each lesson.”

  Jedda’s eyes went a little wide, but he wasn’t too surprised. In fact, compared to the amount of coins he was used to spending in Tatak Rhe, two silver was a bargain. He was glad now that he'd held some of his allowance money back for emergencies. And he was a little excited about flying again. He trusted Hawk wouldn’t send him to a teacher who wasn’t safe, even if Gherant looked awful young for a flier.

  “I built my first flier when I was twelve,” Gherant said, as though he read Jedda’s mind. “I taught myself, from scratch.”

  “Oh, I didn’t doubt your ability.”

  “Liar,” Gherant said, laughing. “I get that a lot. I’m used to it. I had two obsessions as a kid. The other was magic. I think my parents were relieved when I discovered flying.”

  “Yeah, until you crash landed on the neighbor’s house,” Flint said from the other side of the flier. “But at least he wasn't setting his house, or his brother, on fire. I’da got paddled good for both them things.”

  Jedda only half heard what they had said. His ears had come to a halt at the word magic. “Did you say you learned magic?”

  “Huh?” Gherant asked, caught off guard. “Yeah- Flint, hand me that wrench-- yeah. I learned some magic as a kid.”

  Jedda tilted his head. Gherant looked like full Chanem from what he could tell.

  “Have I got something crawling on my head?” he asked.

  “Oh, sorry. No. I was just wondering how you learned magic.”

  “Well, I have a cousin, she’s Shendahal, "Gherant said. "And no, I’m full Chanmyr-- but she tried to teach me some of their magic.” He shrugged. “Mixed results. Their, your, magic, just doesn’t come readily. But then I did learn some Chanmyr magic. Easier to learn, but different. Very different.”

  “Different how?”

  “Like the difference between this wrench, and that tree.”

  “But you can’t compare those two things.”

  “Exactly,” Gherant said, with a laugh. “Now you understand.”

  “How did you learn it? I mean, who taught you?”

  Gherant looked at Jedda, eyes narrowing. “Sounds like more than a curiosity-question.”

  Jedda shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Gherant stared silently at him.

  Jedda sighed. “I’d like to find someone who could teach me Chanem magic.”

  “Anything else on that wishlist?” Gherant asked, the dry humor not getting lost on Jedda. “A beautiful girl, perhaps?”

  Jedda blushed, thinking of Diya, and looked away, feeling guilty.

  “There’s a story there, I’ll wager. Ale at the Brass Monkey. I’ll buy.”

  Flint looked up. “Don’t do it.” He laughed. “You’ll spill every dark secret you didn’t know you were keeping.”

  “Bahhhh,” Gherant growled, laughing at Flint. “Do you know the Brass Monkey?” He asked Jedda.

  "Afraid not."

  Gherant looked him up and down. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” But it didn’t sound like a question.

  “Actually, no,” Jedda admitted, deciding it was better to tell as much of the truth as possible.

  “Got a place to stay?” he asked.

  Jedda chewed his lip. He knew Destryn was planning to stay in town, and even though the invitation was extended to Jedda, he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. He had planned to try to skirt back through the border and find a cabin they had passed. He just wasn’t sure if he would be able to manage the border on his own. Finally, he shrugged. “Not sure,” he said, remaining noncommittal. “I was with a friend, but he’s… well… there’s a girl involved…”

  Gherant threw back his head, laughing.

  Flint gave Jedda a look of commiseration. “I feel your pain.” He glanced sideways towards Gherant. “Some of us just can’t help but chase after a pretty face.”

  “There’s a loft in my workshop if you want a place to sleep. It isn’t much, but it is free,” Gherant said.

  Jedda smiled, surprised by the generosity to a complete stranger.

  “Or you might find lodging at the B’ashan,” Flint said, giving Jedda another option.

  “B’ashan? I thought that was a Faenyr thing,” Jedda said.

  Both Gherant and Flint gave Jedda a funny look. “Where did you say you were from?” Gherant asked.

  “The south,” Jedda said, not wanting to reveal anything personal to two complete strangers. No matter how nice and friendly they seemed, years of living on the streets had taught him not to leave tracks and traces behind.

  Gherant just nodded. “Shoulda known from that accent,” he said, cocking his head.

  “What accent? I don’t have an accent.”

  Both Gherant and Flint burst out laughing when Jedda said that.

  “Yeah,” Flint said. “You do.”

  “No,” Jedda insisted. “You two have a western accent.”

  “Everyone has an accent, their own way of speaking,” Gherant said. “You don’t hear your own because most of the people around you sound just the same.”

  “There is no one pure way of speaking. So don’t be measuring everyone and everything against your own,” Flint said, nodding decisively.

  Jedda paused, chewing his lip as he considered this. Mostly, he was worried he might have upset the only potential allies he might have at the moment. “So what do I sound like to you?”

  “Stiff.”

  “Clipped.”

  Jedda thought about this. A cold dose of reality hit him like a bucket of icy water. He was going to stand out wherever he went. People would recognize where he was from just by the way he spoke. If they didn’t know specifically he was from Tatak Rhe, then they would know the region-- just by his speech. Wasn’t that one of the first lessons he had learned, working for Hak’kar? He was taught how to talk better than a street urchin. But now he realized it was more than that. He was being taught how to blend in.

  He realized if he wanted to stay alive, he had better start putting those same skills to work again. He thought back on the few conversations he'd had in Treyu, including the one taking place. How did people stand, how did they interact? What had struck him as odd or funny or different? All of those things that he didn’t do marked him as a dead man.

  “Hey,” Gherant said, “we didn’t mean any harm.”

  Jedda
looked up, his attention brought back to the other two. “Huh? What? Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking about what you said.”

  But now when he spoke, he was paying a little more attention to himself. He stood a little more casually, and let his words flow. He noticed Gherant spoke with a little more of a lilt than Flint did. Gherant’s speech was a bit sing-songy. It reminded him of the Faenyr, but not quite.

  “Done,” Flint said from his side of the flier. He checked the tension on the rope and cable to be sure. Gherant looked at it and nodded.

  “Who wants to take her up? You want to do it?” Gherant asked Flint.

  Flint looked at the flier and then back at Gherant. “That change should really smooth out the turns now. Be nice to give her a try.”

  “She’s all yours,” Gherant said. “Hey, give us a hand? What was your name, anyway? Jedda?”

  Jedda nodded.

  “Grab the far…”

  But Jedda was already moving. He knew the far wing would need more support since it had been resting on the ground. One person could lift it, but it was better with two. Flint took the middle, and they carried the flier over to the launch platform. Within a few minutes, Flint was strapped in, safety check done, and he plunged off the edge and caught the wind-- just like a bird, angling upward and soaring.

  The two of them stood there for a few minutes. Gherant was assessing the performance of his craft, nodding to himself and occasionally commenting on his observations.

  “Come on,” he said after a while. “He’ll land in the lower meadow, but he may be up there for a while. It isn’t too cold or too windy. Good weather to enjoy the view.”

  The two of them talked about fliers and designs while they walked back down the hill. Gherant did most of the talking, with Jedda listening, and nodding, and asking questions. Gherant led the pony down the hill, toward the backside of the ridge where Flint had landed in the meadow. They packed up the flier and loaded it back into the cart, then headed to Gherant’s workshop.

  Stepping into Gherant’s workshop, Jedda was in awe. There were fliers, and silk, and canvas everywhere, as well as parts and tools scattered about.

  “Loft is over there,” Gherant said, nodding toward the back of the workshop.