“I’m in,” he muttered under his breath, heading for the kitchen with his load of onions. He kept his head down in case he ran into any of the apprentices, who might recognize him. “Still in the study?”
Yes.
“Ileera still gone?”
Yes.
That was good. Mithris hurried to the kitchen. There were a handful of apprentices there, but they were hard at work scrubbing pots. Mithris found a store-room and left the basket of onions on the floor just inside. Then he hurried back out of the kitchens. He had to reach the fourth floor.
Mithris found some stairs and hurried up them. As he rounded the second-floor landing, he heard voices from above growing closer. He darted out into the corridor and searched for some place to hide. In a nearby alcove, he found a life-size statue in ivory. It was Ileera herself. The voices neared the landing. Mithris could not fit in the alcove with the statue. He dropped to his knees and pretended to polish the short plinth holding the ivory likeness.
“Who are you? I haven’t seen you before.”
Mithris looked up, fighting to keep his face calm. He smiled weakly at the two older boys who stood over him. He had not met them before, at least.
“My name is Gregor,” he said, glad that he had taken a few minutes to concoct a clever cover story before he tried infiltrating the tower. “I’m new here. Mistress Ileera just took me on after my former Master sent me away. His name was Eaganar.”
“I heard her mention this Eaganar yesterday,” murmured one of the apprentices. The other one, who had spoken first, nodded.
“Well,” that one said. He spoke imperiously, as if he were the Master here. “You make sure to polish that statue well, Gregor. The Mistress likes a tidy tower.”
“You bet,” said Mithris, bobbing his head in a subservient nod. The two apprentices moved on. When they rounded the next corner, Mithris breathed out in relief.
You’re becoming quite adept at lying, observed the crystal.
“I ought to be,” muttered Mithris, rising and dashing back to the stairs. He met no one else on his quick trip to the top, and soon he slipped into Ileera’s private study. He spied the two foundation crystals, sitting side by side amidst the books piled on her desk. He ran to the desk, grabbing them up one in each hand.
“Got you,” he crowed. “Now let’s get out of here.”
That would be a good idea, yes.
Mithris spun around, ready to go. As he took his first step toward the door, he saw the handle turn and froze in place. Groaning, Mithris looked over to the window…No, it was too high up for jumping. He was trapped. He looked back to the door…
“By all the foundations!” Ileera roared when she saw him. Striding forward, she slammed the door behind her and drew out a fat wand of black ashwood. Her face was set in a scowl of fury. Muttering a few words of magic, she swiped the wand across in front of her.
An invisible blow struck Mithris like a giant’s backhand. Lifted off his feet, Mithris tumbled over backward. He hit the floor hard, Depths bouncing out of his hand. Ileera hissed two more arcane words and the blue-green crystal shot off the floor and flew straight to her outstretched hand.
Mithris pushed himself up, holding the other foundation crystal tightly in his hand. He met Ileera’s eyes across the room. They regarded one another, each clutching a foundation crystal and each determined how to retrieve the other one.
Ileera raised her wand and crystal, holding them out to either side. She began an sonorous incantation. Mithris drew his own wand and started to speak one of his dueling cantrips.
Use a ward for once!
Mithris, concentration broken, started to argue. He saw Ileera nearing the end of her chant. Without thinking, he wove his wand through the air and cast a ward between them. Fireballs appeared in midair, hurling themselves at Mithris. They struck his ward in the instant the spell resolved, exploding harmlessly but battering his ward out of existence.
Mithris had already cast his cantrip, the same one he’d already been preparing. He stabbed his wand toward Ileera, and a bolt of lightning shot from its tip. Laughing, Ileera waved her wand and spoke two words. The lightning bolt veered away from her, shattering one of the windows in a deafening crash.
Ileera cast another attack. As she spoke, Mithris threw up another ward. As a volley of summoned ice spikes melted against his ward, he cast a second ward that enclosed the entire room. Now Ileera could not break off her attack and escape. He began to weave a third ward inside the first one, but her next attack—a swarm of enraged hornets summoned from somewhere—passed easily through the first and he had to summon firebursts to destroy them. He did it rapidly, casting the same cantrip again and again. It was the spell used for lighting candles. He lit sixty candles, and the crispy hornets fell dead to the floor.
Are you hoping she’ll run out of spells, or are you going to take the offensive at some point?
“You’re the one who said to cast wards!” snapped Mithris, twirling his wand and launching into a spell to make Ileera’s body heavier. That should slow her down a little.
“It’s speaking to you now?” screeched Ileera, enraged. She spoke one long, impossible word and stamped her foot. The crystal in Mithris’ hand twitched but he tightened his grip and spoke the cantrip that would break her spell.
“It always speaks to me,” shouted Mithris. “It says neither of them likes you one bit!”
Ileera howled in wordless fury, and summoned a whirlwind. Mithris thought it was the same spell he’d used on those omnitors all those weeks ago. It built in speed and power, whistling through the room as it grew into a confined gale. Papers snapped and rippled and launched into the spinning wind, flapping about the room. Books and other small objects rose ponderously up, then began circling about on the wind.
Mithris could not remember the incantation that would cancel the whirlwind. He had read it, thought it committed to memory, but he could not summon the words.
“Little help?” he asked the crystal hopefully.
“Stop!” screamed Ileera. She glared at the crystal. “I command you to cease helping him!”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Mithris told her. “It doesn’t belong to you!”
That was true, but it meant little. The crystal had not answered his plea. Mithris had hardly expected it to. The wind pulled at his robes. He set his feet far apart against the wind, but he felt himself buffeted by it. He couldn’t hold out much longer and the crystal could not cast the spell if Mithris didn’t know it.
It’s the one that starts with Dynarith, said the crystal. The word sounded familiar. Suddenly, it came to him. Mithris all but screamed the incantation, and the whirlwind died.
But Ileera stabbed at him with jets of fire alternating with spears of ice. Mithris danced, dodging the attacks and batting aside those he could with defensive cantrips. He dove and rolled across the floor, flinging a net of binding energy at the sorceress. She cut the spell apart effortlessly, without ever breaking off her continuous attack.
“Fool boy!” she cried. “I’ve studied the magical arts for seven centuries! You’re no match for me!”
Unfortunately, Mithris knew that was true.
Chapter 24
Vapor
Mistress Ileera sent a final wave of firebursts at Mithris, then lifted her foundation crystal high overhead. She cast a lengthy and complicated spell. Mithris dealt with the fire, then began an attack spell. The words died on his lips when he saw what Ileera had set in motion.
The blue-green swirls of the Depths crystal expanded, tendrils of energy reaching out beyond the physical limits of the crystal. The energy extended, seeking out every corner of the room.
“This,” said Ileera, indicating her crystal, “is called Depths. Like the endless waters its appearance evokes, Depths embodies mutability and change. Just as the oceans shape the sands, so too does Depths shape the reality of the foundations.” She smiled sweetly, but her eyes remained cold. “It’s positively astonishing wha
t one can do when one can change reality itself.”
Mithris stared in horror as Mistress Ileera’s study began to warp, the stone walls folding and twisting, the ceiling leaning crazily and forcing upward into a sharp peak. Below his feet, the floor tilted sharply toward the windows behind him and he lost his balance, falling against the inside of his stationary wards. The wizardess hovered a few feet off the floor, watching her study’s transformation with satisfaction.
Reality bent and warped and curved around itself. Mithris felt himself twisting painfully, but he realized something much worse. He felt himself falling toward the new Down, and that new gravity would pull him straight out the window where he would fall four floors to his death.
An idea struck him, a desperate thought. He lifted his own foundation crystal and shouted, “What Is Your Name?”
I am Vapor, came the proud reply. I am the wind and the clouds and the fog and the smoke and the very air you breathe. I am the endless sky and I encompass all things. You feel my touch when the cool breeze blows, but know that I am always present and always holding you. I am Vapor.
After hearing Vapor’s name, something stirred in Mithris’ mind. It was as if a cloud had parted and for the first time he could see how the serpentine language of magic wove within itself to create action. Racking his brain for every air-elemental spell he had ever studied, Mithris decided to try something. It was probably the most foolish idea he’d ever had, but time was short and he had no other options. Picking a word or two from each of the spells—with only the vaguest idea what each component word added to the incantation—Mithris assembled a new spell all his own. It was the sort of thing experienced wizards experimented with all the time. In the inexperienced hands of an apprentice, it would most likely end in disaster.
But Mithris accepted the danger, and began to speak the words. Dropping his wand, he clasped both hands around Vapor and spoke directly to the foundation crystal as he crafted his spell.
Ileera’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she raised her wand but did not cast a spell. Mithris heard a sound in his mind. It sounded as though Vapor had gasped in astonishment.
Around the dueling magicians, the tower vanished. Walls, windows, floors—everything simply faded out of existence. So too did the small city of Avington. Mithris felt a wind rushing over his face. He looked down. The countryside sped past below them. And then they passed over a rocky shore. Finally, their flight ended. He looked back to Ileera. The wizardess hung in the air ten paces from him. They were both suspended, forty paces above the churning surface of a deep ocean.
“What have you done?” she shrieked in alarm. She stared at him, her blue eyes wide in complete astonishment.
Mithris didn’t know. In fact, he was still doing it. His air spell hadn’t killed them both, but he wasn’t finished yet. He launched into a new incantation. It was incredibly foolhardy. He’d survived one experimental spell, why press his luck with another? But Ileera had given him the idea and he could almost see how it all fit together. Depths. Endless waters…
He drew on every water spell he knew, again picking and choosing phrases of magic that carried the same pattern to achieve an action. There was no way the trick would work a second time. And yet…
In Ileera’s hand, Depths pulsed and glowed. A deep, throbbing sound split the air. It sounded like a gong heard underwater. Far below, the sea grew turbulent with white-tipped waves. Burbling music rose to their ears.
“What is this?” demanded Ileera.
“I have no idea,” admitted Mithris.
I do, said Vapor, sounding worried. I think you’d better cover your ears.
The burbling sound—it was singing. Below them, six pale-haired heads broke the surface of the waves. They had pasty skin with the texture of scales, and long seagrass-green hair hung wetly and clung to their heads. They had enormous eyes of no color, and they fixed them upward at the floating wizards above them. They lifted their too-long, slender arms in supplication and raised heavenly voices in song.
The mermaids sang:
Come to us and join our song
Surrender to our loving embrace
Come with us and join our song
And sink with us to our place
Among the waves we dance along
Join your feet to our steps
And join us in the watery Depths.
Mithris stuffed Vapor into his pocket, clamping his hands over his ears as the song rose and repeated. He could feel the words, a distinct pressure pulling him down. Opening his mouth, he sang wordlessly to block out the sound.
Ileera’s eyes widened further and she screamed in disbelief. Then she fell from the sky, straight to the groping sea-devils below. They wrapped her in their arms, pulling her below the water. She screamed until the water filled her mouth and she sank out of sight. Two of the mermaids cast longing glances up at Mithris, but he shut his eyes and shouted louder.
You can open your eyes now.
Mithris opened his eyes. He still hung high over the ocean. Ileera was gone. The waters were calm again. Mithris heard a tiny splash and something hurtled up out of the sea and flew to Mithris’ hand.
It was Depths. He had done it.
With the twin foundation crystals safely in his pocket, Mithris turned and flew back toward shore. As soon as the coastline was in sight, his head began to ache and with each second, he had more and more difficulty remembering the patterns of magic that kept him in the air. In fact, he was having trouble remembering how he had performed any of the spells he’d used against Ileera.
Ileera. All he could see was the panic in her eyes as she’d been pulled under. Mithris began to falter in the air, tumbling dozens of feet in the air before regaining his composure.
And then, in alarm, Mithris forgot how to fly. As he futilely waved his arms, he struck the ocean’s surface and a lungful of water rushed in through his nose and mouth.
Mithris kicked and coughed and tore at the water until he broke the surface. Somehow in the fall, he had kept an iron-clad grip on the two crystals.
“What happened?” Mithris screamed, “Why did I fall? Why can’t I remember?” Tears mixed with the ocean as he awkwardly swam to the nearby coast.
It was your sleeping mind, Mithris. For a brief moment it stirred, and you understood. But your sleeping mind doesn’t like to be woken from its slumber, and so you are left with the chestnut that is your waking mind.
“Hey! I’ll have you know that my chestnut brain has served me well so far,” Mithris said as he pulled himself up out of the water and onto the sandy shore. “But what you said makes no sense. Why would I have two minds?”
This is a very complicated concept to explain in your words, but rest assured, if your sleeping mind could be stirred awake once, it can be coaxed into waking again.
Mithris slowly stood to his feet, his soaked and torn robes clinging to his small frame. “I’m not sure if I’d want that.”
Mithris was expecting a smart retort but instead there was silence for a time.
Let’s see if we can find a nearby farm or inn to recuperate from such an eventful day, Vapor said calmly.
Head still swimming, Mithris merely nodded and began trudging toward a fisherman’s trail he’d spotted down the coast.
Chapter 25
Honest Work
Mithris scrubbed his red-stained hands in the wash basin, but it wasn’t doing much good. His palms and the undersides of his fingers stubbornly remained crimson. The mop-headed seventeen-year-old, formerly apprenticed to a centuries-old wizard, kept scrubbing.
You look like you’ve murdered someone.
Mithris froze in the act of washing his hands, turning his head to peer all about the room. His eyes lingered on the door for a long moment. He had learned to be very careful when he spoke to Vapor. The opalescent foundation crystal lay on the table behind him, next to its turquoise near-twin Depths. Vapor could speak to Mithris, silently, in his thoughts. If anyone saw or heard Mithris answer,
they’d think he was mad.
He couldn’t blame them. His hair had been a mess, he hadn’t had a bath in a fortnight, and he talked to two rocks he kept in his pocket.
People thinking they had a mad wizard in their midst, that sort of thing could be unhealthy. Mithris had learned that a few weeks ago when they passed through—quickly passed through—the small fishing village of Lee’s Crossing. The village folk had chased Mithris several leagues down the road, waving torches and carrying pitchforks.
He had tried to keep a lower profile since then.
And bloodstained hands really help a man avoid notice, said Vapor. The foundation crystal could not read his mind, not exactly. But the crystal could sense his mood and the gist of his thoughts, which often enough amounted to the same thing.
“It’s from the beets,” said Mithris, exasperated. While Vapor could sense some of his thoughts, it was always better for him to speak aloud when talking to the crystal. It would be able to hear him clearly from the other side of the world, even if he whispered.
Don’t be silly. No one who met you would ever believe you were a farmer.
So there it was. Mithris groaned. He should have seen that one coming. Vapor was frequently sarcastic and always smugly superior. Sometimes, the crystal liked to make its points in roundabout but rarely subtle ways.
“All I said,” he told the crystal, turning around to glare at it, “was that I could get used to this. It’s good, honest work.”
Mithris had spent the day digging beets with Goodwife Cowan’s two sons, Davam and Cryst. Goodman Cowan had died two seasons back, and the farmer’s widow made a habit of housing travelers in exchange for a day’s work.
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