The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  “On the contrary,” Lilliane said. “Why would he leave directions coded into his Steele at all, unless he wanted this knowledge found? He made it difficult to ensure a level of security, surely, but the only reason to make a fucking riddle is the hope that someone will one day answer it.”

  “Do the other inscriptions mention anything about the Nar’doroc, or hint at its origins?” Dormael asked.

  “Not on the surface,” Lilliane replied. “Only the one which is believed to refer to Orm says anything about a ‘hammer of the gods.’”

  “So we go to the old, haunted temple, and look for a door that only the armlet can open,” Shawna said. “How sure are you that this inscription refers to a secret room under the temple? How many people supported the theory?”

  “The veracity of any philosophical theory is not dependent upon its popularity,” Lacelle said.

  “Regardless,” Shawna said, locking eyes with the lithe scholar. “How many?”

  “The Mekai, for one,” Lilliane said. “Myself. There are all sorts of clues in the use of language, and the dialect in widespread use at the time of the inscription. Jev could go on for hours about it, if he were here. He was our language expert. A few others believe it, but it’s not a popular theory. You can’t judge based on that, though—the damned Cabal of the Epitaph isn’t a popular group, anyway. We don’t go about shouting our beliefs to the fucking clouds, you know.”

  “So you are a secret society,” Allen said. Lilliane gave him another withering look, but he only smiled in reply.

  “So we’re going based on a thin hope,” Shawna said. “If we’re wrong, it could have dire consequences.”

  “You’re free to pursue any path open to you,” Lacelle said, shrugging her thin shoulders. “But since no one else sitting around this fire is an expert in history besides Lilliane and myself, I strongly suggest that you heed our advice.”

  “Point taken,” Shawna said, giving Lacelle a nod. The Philosopher acknowledged it with a nod of her own.

  “Going to Orm is our only option at this point, unless anyone cares to run,” Dormael said. No one spoke up—not that he had thought they would—and Dormael nodded. “Good.”

  “I’ve an idea about how we can get there,” Allen said. “A way we can travel in secret.”

  “I’m open to ideas,” Dormael said. He was getting tired, and he could feel the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. He welcomed anything his friends could do to help.

  “There’s a town on the river a few days north of here,” Allen said. “It’s a hub for river trade heading north from Ishamael, the last stop-off point for ships heading into the bogs.”

  “The bogs?” Shawna asked.

  “A vast swath of wetlands that encompasses the breadth of southern Farra-Jerra,” Lacelle said. “They’re a maze for anyone who doesn’t know the way through, notorious for being a haven for banditry.”

  “The town is called Billingshold,” Allen went on. “Some of the ships that run sea trade up the river offload their cargoes in Billingshold because their keels are too deep to navigate the bogs. Since the bogs are so full of bandits, there’s a huge market in Billingshold for mercenaries looking to make a few marks for the trip. There are companies that ride north to Jerrantis, then catch a boat coming back to the south, and get paid in both directions.”

  “Go on,” Dormael said, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

  “I figured that anyone looking would expect us to try and buy passage on a boat through the bogs—it’s the only way through, of course, unless you were planning on spending weeks going around them,” Allen said. “But instead, we could sell our passage through the bogs.”

  “You want to masquerade as a group of sell-swords?” Shawna asked.

  “I want to actually sell our swords,” Allen said. “It’s not a masquerade if you get paid, and we can fight off a group of mud-sucking river pirates with our eyes closed. The lady Lacelle can also hire her own group to take her all the way to Minsdurim, and she can catch a ship to Alderak from there. It’s not exactly hiding, I know, but it gives us a cover story if we pass anyone on the road. We’re the lady’s personal guards, hired for the trip to Billingshold, where she will hire another company of fighting men to see her safely north.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Dormael said. “The deacon can say she’s a wealthy merchant, the head of a guild, or something.” Dormael turned to Lacelle, and noted the pale color of her hair. “We’ll need to wrap your head in a shawl, I think.”

  “There are lots of blond women in the Sevenlands, Dormael,” Lacelle said.

  “Aye, but when they’re looking for a blonde, it’s best not to show them something they’ll expect,” he said. “You can’t go around using an illusion, though—there might be Warlocks listening for that sort of thing.”

  “I’ve got a remedy for this little problem,” Shawna said. She rose from her seat and went to her saddlebags, rummaging through their contents. After a few moments, she came back with a jar full of what looked like dark tea leaves. She smiled, and handed it over to Lacelle.

  “What is it?” the slender woman asked.

  “Riverroot,” Shawna said. “You mix it into a pulp, and wash it into your hair. It turns it black as pitch.”

  “You’ve still got that?” Dormael asked, a smile coming unbidden to his face. Nan, Alton’s chamberlain, had given the substance to Shawn back in Ferolan. She had used it to change the color of her own hair during their flight through Cambrell, when they were escaping the Red Swords at the beginning of winter.

  So much has happened in such a short period of time, Dormael thought.

  “I thought of tossing it out when we reached Ishamael, but there was so much happening that it completely slipped my mind,” Shawna said. “I suppose it’s a good thing that I’ve held on to it.”

  “I suppose that it is,” Lacelle said, taking the jar from Shawna. “Could you show me how to use it in the morning?”

  “Of course,” Shawna replied.

  “On that note, I’m off to bed,” Allen said, rising from his seat. “I’m going to enjoy my dream about the two of you bathing together.”

  Shawna picked up a stone and threw it at him, hitting him in the shoulder.

  “We did not say we would bathe together, Allen Harlun,” she snapped. The smile on her lips, though, softened the indignation in her voice. Lacelle looked mortified.

  “You didn’t have to say it, I understood what you meant,” Allen replied with a smile. Shawna shook her head as he walked away, then turned an angry look on Dormael.

  “Are you just going to let him talk that way?” she asked.

  Dormael smiled. “Well, in his defense, I’m not sure how else you could demonstrate properly unless—”

  “You’re despicable,” Shawna clipped. “You’re both despicable.” She turned a look on Lacelle, and laid a comforting hand on her forearm. “Don’t listen to a word they say. They weren’t raised by wolves, believe it or not. They just decided to start acting like them.”

  Lacelle returned Shawna’s smile, and Dormael let their conversation drift to the corners of his hearing. The night was quiet around them, stars twinkling in the darkness of the Void. He realized that he was clutching the bronze mark in his palm once again, and spared a moment to listen to it. A hum returned to his senses, still pulsing somewhere to the east. In the morning they would have to move again, and that hum would grow more distant. The next day would see that distance increase yet again.

  I hope you’re still alive, coz, Dormael thought, and that the gods grant you favor.

  A Mouthful of Poison

  “Is it true that wizards are all immortal?” Berbin asked, hushed voice echoing over the gurgling river. “Little Jilly’s ma told her that wizards never die because your magic sucks all the oldness right out of your blood. Slurp!—just like that.”

  “Untrue,” D’Jenn said. “Wizards do live longer than normal people, though.”

&nbs
p; “Why?”

  “Why do you think, kid? If you want to be a wizard, you’ve got to learn to think.”

  Berbin scrunched his forehead and stared out at the darkness over the water.

  “Well, it’s got to be the magic, doesn’t it?” he finally said. “That’s got to be it.”

  “Obviously, you dolt,” Torbi said, grunting as he rowed the canoe through the water. “You’re such an idiot.”

  “Do wizards get sick?” Berbin asked, ignoring his brother.

  “Not often,” D’Jenn said. “If you take a wound, it can fester. Wizards get infections like anyone else, can die from them like anyone else. But I’ve never known a wizard to catch a disease.”

  “You know what the girls at the East Market told me?” Torbi asked. “They said that wizards are the dirtiest men in the city, that their Blessing makes them crazy for it. One of them told me that she spent a whole season seeing this one wizard from the Conclave, and she gave birth to a two-headed snake! The other girls call her the Oracle.”

  “Kid, you need to stay out of the East Market,” D’Jenn said, unable to keep from smiling.

  “Is it true, though?” Torbi asked, ignoring D’Jenn’s admonishment.

  “No,” D’Jenn laughed.

  “Then why would she say that—about the two-headed snake, and being paramour to a wizard?”

  “Because it’s fun to have a story sometimes,” D’Jenn said. “It makes her more exotic, more interesting. The men can tell their friends that they slept with a woman touched by magic. It’s a game, kid.”

  “Oh,” Torbi replied, face downcast as he went back to rowing. D’Jenn almost laughed at the disappointment on the boy’s face, but chose not to embarrass him.

  “Ma told him that if she catches him with the whores again, she’ll beat him through the streets,” Berbin said.

  “You be quiet, Berbin,” Torbi grumbled.

  “My mother hit me with a broom handle once,” D’Jenn said. Both pairs of eyes turned to him, expressions mystified. “She caught me in the hay barn with a drover’s daughter. She’d warned me for three seasons to stay away from that girl, she said she was trouble, that she didn’t have any morals.”

  “Did she?” Torbi asked.

  “What?”

  “Have any morals.”

  D’Jenn laughed. “She was a wonderful girl. Funny, too pretty for her own good, and mine. By the time my mother had warned me about her, we’d been sneaking off for an entire season. Every time her father came in for a cartload, she and I would sneak away and…well, you know.”

  “I do,” Torbi said, giving his brother a smug look. “Berbin doesn’t, though.”

  “I do, too! They were kissing.”

  “Pull off here, kid,” D’Jenn said, gesturing to the riverbank. “This is as far as I need you to take me.”

  Torbi nodded and started rowing for the shore. They had been floating through dense tree cover for some time, and D’Jenn didn’t want to get too far to the north. There was a town somewhere along the river, and he was hoping his pursuer would spend some time there looking for him. If they wasted a day looking for ghosts and peering into hoods, D’Jenn would have time to put that much more distance between himself and whoever was looking for him.

  He hopped out of the boat and helped the boys tow it up onto the bank, though his muscles protested every movement. His legs were still unsteady, and the burn still ached, but he could feel the strength returning to his body. His stomach growled as his feet found land, as if standing up had kicked his guts into working again.

  Once the canoe was hauled up onto the muddy bank, Torbi trudged into the wood line and started readying a campsite. D’Jenn started to object, but stopped himself. It was dark, after all, and he was loathe to send the boys back down the river at night. He figured that he had at least a day before anyone would get close to finding him, so he could probably spare a few hours.

  Besides—the boys looked as tired as he felt.

  Torbi and Berbin arranged the campsite, so D’Jenn set to work in finding some food. His magic needed to be exercised anyway, so he did a few simple tricks with pebbles to bring in a trio of hares. The boys sighed with awe when he started the fire with his Kai, and then watched as D’Jenn showed them a quick way to skin the carcasses. By the time the moon was high, he and the two gutter rats from Ishamael sat chewing on roasted hare.

  It was the best meat that D’Jenn had ever eaten. He scarfed it down in silence, then picked the bones clean as best he could. He was full, though a small part of him wished for a hunk of cheese and a warm loaf of bread. He could feel his body trying to recuperate.

  “You have to tell us the secret,” Berbin said after the meal was done. “The secret to becoming a wizard, I mean.”

  “The secret to becoming a wizard,” D’Jenn repeated, shifting his weight so that he could lie back against a fallen pine log. “Alright kid, I’ll tell you. Are you ready to listen? I won’t repeat myself.”

  Both boys sat up and leaned forward.

  “Ready,” they said in unison.

  D’Jenn almost laughed, but stopped himself again.

  “The first thing you need to know about becoming a wizard is that it’s not easy,” he said. “You have to be studious, attentive. You have to show dedication. Do you know what I mean by that?”

  The boys nodded.

  “Good. Once you decide you want to be a wizard, you have to go on a quest.”

  The boys leaned closer.

  “Go around the Conclave Grounds, to the north side of the Green. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  “The big park with all the grass and the funny trees?” Torbi asked.

  “That’s it,” D’Jenn said. “There’s an old gate leading onto the Green on the north side of the campus, it’s got an iron serpent worked into the archway.”

  “I’ve seen that one!” Torbi said. “It’s near the place where Ma likes to get her fabric. We’ve passed it plenty of times.”

  “I remember,” Berbin smiled. “Ma likes that one, says the serpent is a good omen. It means…it means…”

  “Rebirth, you idiot,” Torbi sighed.

  “Right—and I’m not an idiot.”

  “Regardless,” D’Jenn said, riding over the argument before it could get started, “if you really want to be a wizard, listen to what I’m about to tell you. It’s important, alright?”

  The boys nodded.

  “On a warm day, head through that gate and follow the wall along the river,” D’Jenn said. “You’ll come to a place where a big oak tree shades a bench, and on that bench, you’ll find an old woman named Merry. Give her one of those silver marks for each of you, and tell her you wish to learn how to listen. Tell her that it will be a favor to the Pike boy.”

  “Who’s the old woman?” Torbi asked.

  “A wizard, of course,” D’Jenn said. “Do you think you can learn to use magic from a seamstress?”

  “You’re an idiot, Torbi,” Berbin laughed, vindictive satisfaction coloring his tone.

  “No! A wizard is what she is—I asked who she is,” Torbi replied, a wide smile cracking his features.

  “Well he already said her name is Merry, so you’re still an idiot,” Berbin said.

  “And you mean to tell me that an old woman named Merry is going teach us how to use magic?” Torbi snorted.

  “No,” D’Jenn said, holding up a finger for silence. “As I said before, she’ll teach you to listen. That’s one of the most important skills for a wizard to learn. Got it?”

  “Got it,” the boys said in unison.

  “Good,” D’Jenn sighed. He shifted around until he found a comfortable position, and closed his eyes. “You two should practice listening.”

  “How?” one of them asked. D’Jenn couldn’t tell which.

  “For the rest of the night, keep your mouths shut and listen to the woods around us,” D’Jenn said. “Do it all night, until you fall asleep.”

  There was a blessed
short moment of silence, then whispering erupted from the two boys.

  “If you can’t stay quiet for one short night, I don’t know if you’ll make it as wizards.”

  D’Jenn could feel energy coming off the boys like heat from a fire, but he didn’t open his eyes to look at them. They stayed quiet, as if the challenge he’d given them were some sort of rite they had to observe. The determination from them was palpable, and D’Jenn almost told them that it wasn’t so serious.

  He would have, had the silence been any less pleasant.

  ***

  The sunrise brought a world of discomfort. D’Jenn’s legs had conspired to stiffen into what he could only guess was some form of knotted wood, and moving them was an ordeal. The burn on his arm was humming with pain. He opened his eyes and began to stir from his slumber, clawing forth like a bear from hibernation.

  “Blessed?”

  D’Jenn paused, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and peering at the two kids. Torbi and Berbin had risen before him, and had packed their things back into the canoe. They stood near it, watching him with wary eyes. D’Jenn sighed and climbed to his feet, his muscles protesting his movement.

  “What do you need, kid?”

  “Well,” Torbi said, glancing in the direction of Ishamael, “it’s just that our Ma will be worried, right? We’ve been gone a full day.”

  “She probably thinks we’re dead,” Berbin said. A smile bloomed on his face. “She’s gonna faint when we show up, and then faint again when we show her all the money.”

  “And tell her we’re gonna be wizards now,” Torbi added.

  “You have all your gear together?” D’Jenn asked. “You’ve got the silver?”

  “Aye, we’re ready,” Torbi said.

  “Good,” D’Jenn replied. “Off with you, then—and don’t forget to save a silver mark each for Merry.”

  “And tell her the Pike sent us,” Berbin added.

  “What’s the Pike, anyway?” Torbi asked.

  “I said the Pike boy—and that’s me,” D’Jenn smiled. “Pike is my family name.”

  “You’re not a boy, you’re a man,” Torbi said, giving him a suspicious look.