Nessy still screamed about her loss of control of the craft.
She turned to me and saw me, a look of focus on my face, my hands outstretched. And she knew.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
“We’ll be killed if we try to go further,” I shouted back through the rain. “The storm is too strong, or the airship is too weak!”
Her expression turned from surprise to anger. “You—you can’t do Magic! You can? You can! How long have you hidden it from me? How long? Release the airship at once!”
“Nessy, we have to go back! We’ll wait for a calmer day!”
“No!” she screamed. “Release the craft, or I’ll take it myself!”
I felt her Magic press against mine, trying to overpower it. I resisted, surprised at my own strength.
She stared at me, mouth open in surprise, eyes wide. “You’re like him,” she said.
I heard a crack and felt the wooden seat under me shatter. I fell, a sickening feeling overtaking my stomach. Above me, I saw the airship break apart like a pile of twigs.
Chapter 8
Temet
Three days later, Aesath arrived from his day’s lessons looking grim, a rolled-up paper in his hand. Temet was alone in the Orphan House. His own lessons would not start until next week, to give him time to recover fully from his sickness.
He felt fully recovered already and had spent the better part of the day tearing apart pillows and re-assembling them perfectly with Magic, just to practice. He would impress the Order and their Ten Ring; he would terrify them with his Halfway Magic. Then he would make them give him a ship so he could search for his family, no matter how long it took.
Aesath stood in front of him, holding the paper out to him. “I was told to circulate this among the Orphan House, just in case it was someone anyone knew. One of the Order’s boats found a body this morning.”
Temet laughed. “Small chance of that from me. I’m almost alone in the world.”
Aesath looked at Temet, face serious. Temet realized Aesath was staring at the top of his head. His hair. Ice blond. Could it be…?
Temet tore open the scroll.
Rendered perfectly by some wizard’s near-perfect Imaging Talent was a picture of Nessy.
Her hair and dress lay wet and lank about her. There was not a single scratch or drop of blood on her body. She must have died by drowning, he realized. Her face was paler than ever before, still and calm in death, the old smile he remembered gone.
Temet felt tears in his eyes. “She’s dead? How?” he whispered.
“They found her amid the wreckage of a craft. Lashed to pieces of it were two bags, filled with clothing and personal belongings. One of the bags... contained child’s clothing. A girl child’s clothing.”
The tears spilled over. “Cemagna was with her, then. They were—they were trying to find me.”
“Perhaps,” said Aesath gently.
“Why?” he cried. The tears were flowing freely down his face.
Aesath picked up the scroll and rolled it back up.
“Nessy… and Cemagna!” he sobbed. “This was all because of me! I’ll never see them again.”
He stood up. If another wizard could use Imaging, he probably could, too. He wiped his nose and focused.
He formed her just as he had remembered her. His sister Cemagna, with the same ice blond hair and a dimple on her cheek when she smiled. He could do that easily. He could even make her move.
She stood in front of him, but it wasn’t her, even though her hands grabbed bunches of her skirt the same way they did when she was excited. It was only light and air rearranging themselves in an imitation, a shadow of the real thing.
But it deceived him for a few moments and his arms, of their own accord, reached forward to embrace her.
Loss.
Temet felt only air and lost his balance, falling to land facedown, tears flowing freely, wetting the floor under his head.
Her Image stood there still, smiling, unfeeling as a dead thing.
Temet let it dissolve back into the air, drawing his feet up under him. He lay there, curled on the floor. “Good-bye, Cemagna and Nessy,” he whispered.
TEN YEARS LATER
Chapter 9
Cemagna
I remembered that day, ten years ago, when Nessy died. I remembered hitting the water, fighting to get breaths of air, swimming for home, not knowing how I made it there, collapsing on the sand. Maybe I made the water move, the way Temet could. The memories, I knew, would always be foggy.
Perhaps they were intentionally foggy. Perhaps I hadn’t wanted to think about the truth: that I had done Magic, the way Temet had, to bring myself home. We had been far out to sea, but somehow my ten-year-old self had made the swim home. Magic. That had to have been it.
I knew three things. The first was that Nessy was dead. Why hadn’t she saved herself as I had? Had she given up, overwhelmed by it all? I tried not to remember the strange madness that had taken her right before she died, when we were in the airship. The second thing was that I would never be able to leave my home again; I didn’t know how. I was alone. The third was that the spell was broken.
I could do Magic, same as Temet could. But my abilities were fitful, at times tied to emotion. I ransacked the library at home for information on Magic and Talent to read every last bit I could find. I began practicing to see what I could do with Magic, but my abilities remained fitful and unstable. But they were there. And they had saved my life.
I crouched beside the topmost spire of what had long become my home. Mine only. I had given up hope of the men ever coming to get me as they had Temet. Though I knew I was angry with the men, I kept wanting them to come so I could be reunited with Temet. But now I had given up hope.
I shivered. It was cold up here at the topmost spire of the house that only I now lived in. Reaching out from under the fur-lined cloak I wore, I grasped the studded spire and shivered again, my motion knocking the season’s first snow from the spire.
Yes, that was why I was up on the top spire. Snow. Everything was much quieter when it snowed as it had last night. It seemed as if the world would break into thousands of shards if I made the slightest noise.
I didn’t like the quiet. It meant I could think more clearly, which was something I didn’t want to do right now. So I had climbed all the way up here, as I often did, because when I was cold, it was harder to think.
I shivered again, but this time it wasn’t because of the cold. I remembered last night, sleeping in Nessy’s bed where I’d slept every day since Temet had left. I closed my eyes and remembered, clenching a fistful of snow.
I blinked and saw the image from my dream again. The water had glistened by the light of the moon, a melted dark pearl, the faintest breeze rippling the iridescent surface. Too iridescent, I mused. Since when did water glow like that?
A slippery figure glided upwards from the water, its beautiful body undulating. Somehow, it filled me with disquiet. I didn’t want to think of it or any of the dream, which was why I was up here in the cold. But evidently it wasn’t working.
Sighing, I slid down from the spire, smiling at how nimble I’d become. I could climb anything with ease, now that my legs had grown long enough. There had been many scrapes on my elbows before I’d been able to reach the highest spire.
Blinking, I saw the image again.
Jumping to the ground, I went back into the house and to the library. The library was the one room where I felt whole. Nessy had collected so many books. She had had taught Temet and me to read and write here—a skill I still knew. I had read every single book in the library. These had taught me all about the outside world, a world I had still, at the age of twenty, never seen.
The shining water from my other dream. A fountain. A woman, her hair ice-blond like mine, lying on the cobblestones in the dark by the fountain. The side of her head was bleeding, and she didn’t move. I couldn’t see her face to tell if she was conscious.
&
nbsp; Faceless shapes surrounded her, dragged her away, her body as limp as a strand of wet hair.
I started awake, my body covered in sweat. I really hated dreams that seem so real. Getting to my feet shakily, I paced Nessy’s bedroom, my feet making shuffling sounds on the smooth crimson carpet.
Don’t think about it. Don’t let it stay in your mind, I told myself. Maybe a trip to the library would help.
A soft, metallic clink from outside stopped me in my tracks. I bounded up to the window and stared out at the early morning fog all around, making the sea look like a dirty mirror. The snow of the other day had melted. Far down on the ground near the orchards stood something I had never seen before—a small, wheeled object with cloth covering it.
I raced down the flights of the stairs to the parlor room, where there was a window which would afford me a better look. I saw that it was a covered wagon, something I recognized from drawings in my books. Four horses were hitched to it and a man stood next to it. Who was he? What was a covered wagon doing here? How did he get here? Turning, I raced up the stairs to the library. Where was that book, that one which told me about travelers? Frantically I scanned the shelves, tapping my bare feet in impatience at myself. Where was it?
Ah! I grabbed the child’s book off the shelf, flipping the pages. So many, many pictures! The picture book had hundreds, so many, and where was the—
I found myself staring at a bright picture of the covered wagon. Next to it on the page was a picture of a little man, smiling out at me, waving his hand happily.
Have you seen me? Do you know what I am? I might have come to your town sometime. I’m a peddler! I travel around, collecting wonderful things from everywhere to sell to towns like yours. Your mother or father might have bought something from me sometime. So when you see me, come say hi and I’ll show you all the nice things in my wagon!
Leaving the book on a table, I ran from the library down to the parlor room, hoping the peddler man hadn’t left. When I reached the parlor window again, he was still there, to my delight. He had left his cart and was moving about in the orchard, my orchard, staring at the winter-ripe fruit hanging from the trees. He reached out to touch one of the moonfruits, then, to my horror, he pulled it from the stem and took a big bite.
That was mine! He stole something of mine!
As I watched him chewing the fruit with obvious delight, not sure what to do, a plan formed in my mind. He had a cart, a means of transportation.
Biting my lip, I turned away from the window. If I could hope to discover anything about Temet and Nessy’s secrets, I couldn’t do it here. I’d already explored the house from top to bottom. I knew the only choice left to me and I knew what I had to do.
Once more I ran up the stairs, this time to the room where I slept. Grabbing a leather satchel that I’d found in a closet somewhere, I looked around for supplies. Food. Anything. I grabbed the remainder of moonfruit bread I’d baked and wrapped it in a cloth, then threw it in the bag. Pack. I had to pack. Fast.
I tossed a pad of paper into the satchel. If the peddler wouldn’t take me with him, then at least I could write a message for him to take to Temet.
How did he get here? I thought our house was unreachable! He must have discovered a path!
I looked down at myself. Though my clothes, ones I had gotten from Nessy’s wardrobe, were in reasonably good shape, I decided to bring a second set anyway. But… which ones? Of all of the clothes in the house, I found myself most drawn to the deep red robes Nessy used to wear. Hurriedly, I stuffed one of these in the satchel, then paused to peer out a window.
The peddler had begun to load his covered wagon full of basket after basket of fresh fruit. My fresh fruit. Hah, I thought. He’ll pay the price for his stealing… and I won’t have to worry about running out of food on my journey.
The peddler was still picking my fruit when I snuck into his wagon and hid among the baskets piled high with rose-smelling fruit. There, I waited. And fell asleep.
Clip, clip.
I awoke to the sound of trotting horses. The air around me smelled like dampness and rosy fruit. I wasn’t in bed. Something was moving.
Oh, right. I was in the peddler’s cart, traveling ever farther from home. Wondering how far I’d gone, I lifted my head and peered over the piles of fruit—the peddler had probably stripped every tree—out the back of the cart towards home.
I had never seen home from so far away before. I saw it there, on the top of that cliff, harsh and jagged-edged itself. In the pale light of morning, the cliff and the house blended darkly together, looking like someone had torn the sky. Yet that was my home, and always would be. I would return there. With Temet.
I turned my face away from it, feeling tears springing to my eyes, and looked forward into the fog, into the world that lay beyond.
Chapter 10
Cemagna
“What are you doing here? Who are you?”
I opened my eyes to find a man standing over me—the peddler. I had been discovered.
“I said, ‘Who are you?’” His eyes narrowed. “Listen, I’m not giving you a ride for free. Now tell me who you are!”
I stood up, pursing my lips, grateful that my habit of singing to myself for the past ten years had kept my ability to speak in working order. “You have stolen my fruit, so pay the price. You must carry me where I wish to go. Otherwise, before you can stop me, I will destroy all of this fruit. It’s mine, not yours. If you want it, you must give me a ride.”
“I thought that house was abandoned!”
“Well, it wasn’t. You’ve taken much of my food for this winter, so pay the price.” Determined, I slammed a fist downward into the nearest basket of fruit, feeling the sticky ooze covering my hand as I broke the moonfruit’s skins.
“Stop!” cried the peddler. “Don’t destroy it! It’s worth money.”
I shot him a look.
“Very well,” he said. “You won’t take up much room anyway. I’m going to the seaport, to sell these in the city. I’ll give you a ride as far as there. It’s not far, I guess, and those fruits will fetch large prices.” He held out a hand. “I’m Meck von Gelm.”
I wiped my fruit-covered hand on a cloth in the cart, then extended my hand. “I am Cemagna.”
He nodded, shook my hand, and climbed back into the driver’s seat of the cart.
“How did you get to my house?” I asked as the cart started to move again.
I had always thought my home was on a peninsula, but so choked with rocks on the land side that it was entirely inaccessible by land.
Meck von Gelm proved me wrong. He had evidently located a clever path through the rocks and jagged cliffs, one that confused me with its twists and turns. As we traveled the path, sometimes I looked back only to see sheer cliff drops behind us that the path had narrowly avoided. I shivered.
After days of this we came to a wide grassy plain, which we traveled for more days until I could see the outline of a strange collection of buildings on the horizon. Meck von Gelm called this a city. It grew steadily larger in our view as the day wore on. I had hoped to reach it before night, but night fell first. To my surprise, the city ahead of us stayed illuminated, lit by many lights from within. I stared at it from the wagon, mystified, deep into the night until sleep took me.
The first thing I remember upon waking was the noise—a deafening babble of voices, all speaking together, one on top of another. It was a harsh and alien sound to me, who had grown up in near-silence. How could anyone hear each other when they were all speaking over each other like that?
Meck von Gelm and my moonfruit were gone.
Grabbing my satchel, I stepped out of the wagon, the babble of voices around me instantly growing louder. Colors—so many colors, on so many people all at once. All around me. I was in the middle of the city.
Well-dressed women leisurely strode past, paying no attention to anyone but themselves. Children scampered about, yelling and laughing. Men talked together, some staring
openly at every passing woman. A weather-beaten old man sat in the shade of a house, gazing benevolently over the whole scene. People yelled down from windows to people in the street. Vendors with booths lined the street on both sides, the colorful canopies above them sheltering them as they called out to passers-by.
I forced my feet to walk, feeling as though I was forcing myself against a thick current with every step.
The strange sensation of straw under my feet brought a nervous tickle to the back of my throat. As ladies in lace-covered skirts swept by me, the sounds of street musicians sitting under canopies and the eaves of shops filled my ears.
In front of me was a group of tightly-packed people standing around a crowded booth where a man was showing how to make hair grow on someone’s head. My back flat against the wall of a shop building, I tried to edge around the group. One of their number backed up abruptly as the man did something that caused the crowd to gasp. I felt an elbow hit me hard in the stomach. Stars swam in my eyes as someone mumbled an apology in my ear.
Fighting my way past the rest of the throng, I found myself in a more open area where more canopies and tents were set up, in even brighter colors. Equally colorfully-clad people tended cookpots and meat roasting on spits.
The sun bounced off the cobblestones, hurting my eyes. I quickened my pace as a woman nearby with a gold ring in her ear looked up from a roast pig she was tending, an unfriendly expression on her face. I pulled my shawl closer around me.
Smoke from the cooking fires billowed around me, and I fought the urge to cough at the sudden dryness of it. Snatches of conversations from the constant babble of voices reached my ears.
“And then I told him I didn’t understand it, either—”
“You want bird? You can buy bird, only five coin. Only five! Four?”
“Come back here, boy!”
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