Illusion's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 1)

by D J Salisbury

  How long did this hallway go? The rooms behind the doors must be enormous. They’d been walking forever.

  Trevor finally paused before a door, smiled, and waved at it like a magician beginning his show. “The only way this door can be opened is by sheer will. You must open it with your mind. Try it. Will it open.”

  ‘Will’ it open? What did that mean? The sneaky expression on Trevor’s face hinted he was supposed to figure it out for himself.

  With his mind, the old man said. He needed to talk inside his head. How did he talk to a door? He’d given doors orders in the past, but they’d never obeyed him. Well, one did slam itself shut when he was too lazy to get up and close it, but the house was drafty. It was probably just a gust of wind.

  Make it open on purpose? Was that what it meant to be a sorcerer?

  Viper leaned his hands against the door, shut his eyes, and concentrated on telling it to open in the same way he’d ordered the other door to close.

  All he felt was his eyes crossing.

  That wasn’t working. He mentally ordered, shouted, screamed. Open, open, OPEN!

  Nothing happened.

  He lowered his head and launched a mental assault on the door, prepared to battle to the death. His mind beat on the door, hammered at it fiercely. He threw an image of his body at the door.

  It didn’t budge.

  He pulled his thoughts back, puffed his spirit up until it was bigger than the tallest Setoyan warrior, and sprang at it like a hunting bahtdor.

  The door quivered. A tiny, almost unnoticeable, halfhearted shiver.

  Exhaustion poured over him like a mountain of sand. His knees buckled. He sank to the floor, too weak to hold himself up. His skull throbbed as if he’d pounded his head against the wood.

  Trevor sat down beside him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders.

  “I failed.” And failed miserably. Some sorcerer he’d make.

  “Sing to the Weaver. No, you did not fail.” Trevor sounded surprised. “I didn’t manage to get the beast to respond in any way for a full lunar. You did it the first time. I must say, there’s more to you than I bargained for.”

  More than he expected? He wasn’t disappointed?

  He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I want to see what’s inside.” He pushed away and wobbled to his feet.

  Trevor nodded, stood, and placed both hands on the door. Slowly, silently, smoothly, it swung open. The sorcerer took Viper’s arm and guided him in as if he were a shaman visiting the chief warrior’s tent. Under its own power, the door swung shut behind them.

  Trevor spread his arms wide. “My Lab.”

  Truly, this was what he’d hoped for in a sorcerer’s lair. Books in bewildering colors and sizes crowded hundreds of shelves, books so tiny they could be held on a finger, some so large they couldn’t possibly be lifted. So many books he wasn’t certain there was a wall behind the layers.

  Maps lay spread over tables and spilled across the floor. Bottles filled with wondrous and uneasy substances crammed every available niche. Jars holding tiny animals were stacked in untidy pyramids on little tables. A coppery, hand-sized dragonet sprawled on the open pages of a book bigger than his chest.

  Not a finger width of space was unused. The clutter and color of the room dizzied him. How did the old man find anything?

  “Wonderful, isn’t it?” Trevor guided him along a winding path through the chaos to what might be the far wall. He prodded gently at a stack of papers that might be hiding a chair, tilted his head, and shrugged. “We’ll clear a space for you later. It’s time we started your formal apprenticeship.”

  Viper stood up straighter. They were finally getting to the important stuff. He’d clean the whole Lab later.

  “First I must teach you how to read a map, and you can study all of the maps I own. All sorcerers need a strong grounding in the geography of Menajr.”

  Thunderer’s dice. What was a Menajr?

  “Second, you must learn the names of the elements. There are sixty three, did you know? You must learn their properties.”

  Sixty three elements? No, there weren’t! The shaman told him there were exactly seven, like the seven points of sky and wind.

  “Third, you’ll learn the names of all the cities, river, and regions on this continent. Certainly you should start learning Old Tongue, never too young to begin in that, and after that we’ll start on–”

  Viper’s thoughts spun away into dizzy clouds long before Trevor stopped talking. Most of the words didn’t make sense.

  But if those strange words led him to magic, he’d study them all. He’d conquer them all. And he’d ask for more.

  Chapter 19.

  Birds were making all sorts of noise when Lorel stopped on the third trail inside the forest and waited for the slowpoke to catch up. Pink light faded into blue. She swatted her handful of willow switches against her palm.

  Weaver’s blood, the kid dawdled along like they had all day. He’d already made her stop and pick all these fraying twigs. While it was still dark, even. Was what the point to that?

  She was stripping tiny leaves from her switches when he finally plodded into view. Her fingers smelled green. Were green, now that she could see them. Blood in the Weave. If that didn’t wash off, Mom would ask where she’d been.

  Wheezing like a violin with loose strings, the kid trudged to the trailhead and leaned against a boulder. Pale dawn light revealed dark circles around his eyes.

  “You look awful.” Worse than awful. She’d never seen him half dead before, and looking even smaller than usual inside his oversized coat.

  “Thanks a lot.” The kid rubbed his fingers through his shaggy blond hair. “Spend six days with your head in a book and see how you look.”

  “No, I mean it. You was too skinny to start out with, and now you’re worse. You look like the Deathsinger rode you from here to Shi, and took the long way back. Don’t he let you sleep?”

  “Lay off or else, pine tree.” He brandished his willow switches at her.

  Lorel dropped her twigs and grabbed him by the waist. She hoisted him over her head. “Else what, kid?”

  “Else I won’t teach you how to use that sword.” The kid kicked at air and squeaked. “Put me down.”

  “Twerp.” She perched him on a boulder. “How far out of town do we gotta go?” Like she didn’t know. She’d picked out and prepared a place ages ago.

  The kid waved his willow twigs at the forest. “Far enough that nobody will find us.” He scampered to the far side of the boulder and jumped off.

  She grabbed up her twigs and trotted a couple of paces behind him.

  He sprinted ahead as fast as he could before risking a glimpse over his shoulder.

  Did the frayed thread really think those short scrawny legs could outrun her? Uphill?

  He sighed like some overworked ox at the shipyard and slowed to a walk. “Find a large empty clearing.”

  And now he’s giving orders? Noodle brain. She swatted his butt with her switches and turned off the trail into thick, evergreen brush that towered above her head.

  Directly behind her, the kid stumbled through the bushes making enough noise to call the Nashidran Guard down on them if they’d been closer to town.

  A ring of tall oaks marked the edge of their new practice ground. She aimed toward the trunk of the tallest and pushed through a hundred feet of Sedala broom. This place would be pretty in a few days, when the yellow flowers bloomed.

  The kid nearly fell on his nose when the thick brush ended. Didn’t he ever pay attention to his feet?

  She’d chosen the clearing carefully, though she’d never tell him. It was large and flat, and completely surrounded by tall oak trees with a thick screen of undergrowth. Nobody would find it unless they climbed a tree. She’d even brushed the dead leaves away so she didn’t need to worry about stepping into a hole or knocking him down on a rock.

  The kid had the nerve to frown at their practice ground. “This wou
ld be ideal if it weren’t so close to the trail.”

  “Quit complaining, Loom lint. Show me some sword work.”

  He pulled off his coat and laid it on top of a big rock at the edge of the clearing. “Have you been doing the exercises?” He grabbed a stick off the ground, strutted to the middle of the practice ground, and drew a three-foot circle in the dirt.

  “What, making little loops with the end of a silly stick? Waste of time.”

  The kid pitched the stick into the bushes and planted his fists on his hips. “Is that so?”

  “Yup.” Lorel tossed her cloak over a bush, flopped down, and spread herself out on the ground. Hey, little daisies had sprouted since she’d cleaned the place.

  “And the others I told you to do?”

  “I run every day.” She plucked a handful of thumbnail-sized daisies by the roots and began to weave a chain. A little whitewing butterfly landed on the back of her hand. “But my arms get tired holding them dumb rocks. Besides, how come I gotta hold two rocks? I’m right-handed, so only my right arm needs to be strong.”

  “The true warrior can use either hand. If your arms aren’t strong and quick you’re going to pay during the lessons. Besides, you have two swords, lard lizard.”

  “Weaver’s purple chamberpot.” She stood up in a single fluid motion, and pulled it off this time. A lunar’s worth of practice actually paid off.

  The kid glared at her. “If only I’d been born in your body. Still in your clumsy years and you move like that. I wonder what I’d be like if the viper hadn’t bitten me. If only–” He snorted. “If I wish long enough I’ll be emperor of the seven moons, too.”

  “Now you sound like some fraying Nashidran.” She settled the daisy chain around her neck. “Tell me why we brought them switches. We gonna swat each other to death?”

  “Sort of.” He took several pieces of fine cord out of his coat pocket and picked out a handful of twigs. He bound one end of the bundle into a handle, loosely wound the remaining length with the cord, and tied it tightly at the other end.

  What was the noodle brain doing?

  He chose a few longer switches and made a second bundle.

  “These are what my people call First Swords.” He held the longer bundle out to her. “One can get badly bruised by a First Sword, but nothing gets broken. The first few lessons are always with these. Later we’ll use wooden swords.”

  He gotta be kidding. “Let’s start with wooden swords. None of this baby stuff.” She rolled up her sleeve cuffs. “I can find a couple pieces of straight pine real quick. Here, look at these.”

  “Forget it, bahtdor bait.”

  Lorel laughed and chucked the branches at him one by one.

  He looked them over, frowned, and tossed one away. “The wood is warped, and the grain goes the wrong way. It’ll break under pressure.”

  Really? She grabbed the castoff branch and checked it over. The grain was kinda wonky. She’d never use it to make a musical instrument. But wasn’t it good enough for a play sword?

  The kid snorted. “Try to break it across your knee.”

  “You want to cripple me?” But she grabbed the ends and brought it down over her leg.

  Wood shattered into a hundred pieces. How’d the fraying kid know that would happen?

  “Just think what a disaster a broken sword would be in the middle of a fight.” He tossed the other branch away and held up the willow switches. “Let’s get started.”

  Get started, would he? Bossy little kid. She’d show him ‘started.’ “Weaver pee on you.” She yanked a twig bundle out of his hand. “So teach me something.”

  “Hold it like this. No, higher. Better. Get both wrists above the hilt. Good.”

  Lorel hefted the fake sword and wrinkled her nose. “It feels weird.” And it smelled like plant blood. Mom would know she’d been in the forest for sure. She’d have to go help old Chorette with her garden to explain the stains.

  “It will seem strange at first, but it’ll get better. Try a practice swing. Yes. Now turn at the waist and put your left foot forward. That’s good.”

  “Wait.” If she was gonna waste time on this, she might as well get it right. She repeated the maneuver several times, swinging the willow sword until it moved smoothly in both directions. “Got it. Now what?”

  “Always watch your opponent’s breasts.”

  She giggled, fought down a fit of the cackles. Didn’t the frayed thread know how that sounded?

  The kid frowned. “No, I’m not joking. Don’t laugh at me, turybird. The eyes will tell you a little, the feet can tell you a lot, but the breastbone never lies. A good swordsman can lie with feet and eyes, but not with the chest.”

  “Got it.” Lorel bounced on her toes and grinned. This was gonna be so easy. “Now what?”

  The kid lifted his toy sword. “Now I’m going to see how many bruises I can give you, and you’re going to try and protect yourself. I’ll attack and you’ll parry. No, don’t move so much. You can turn around, but you have to stay inside that circle. Sword up. Defend yourself!”

  “Why?”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  “I mean, why like this?”

  “Because this is how I was taught.” The kid’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know any other way. Do you want to quit?”

  “Not me, kid.” Like she’d quit before she even got started. “Swat away, teacher. Just watch out, or I may give you a few bruises.”

  He stepped forward and swatted her forearm so hard she dropped her twigs.

  How’d he do that? The kid was so little she shouldn’t have even noticed the blow. But welts were rising on her skin.

  The kid looked as stunned as she felt. “You’re supposed to defend yourself, pine tree.”

  She felt as dumb as a pine tree. “Got it.” She picked up the sword and lifted it the way he’d shown her. “You get the first point.”

  He grinned like she’d handed him a present. “So we’re keeping score?”

  “You bet.” He wouldn’t catch her sleeping twice.

  “Get your sword up higher.” He walked around the edge of her circle, just out of reach.

  Or what he thought was beyond her reach. She poked her twigs at him.

  He spun, swatted her sword arm, half turned, and brought his bundle of twigs down on her shoulder. “Two and three.”

  Her sword dropped to the dirt before the pain smashed through her. “Blood in the Weave!” More stinging welts rose on her arm. Her shoulder burned like he’d hit it with a firebrand.

  “Maybe we should stop until you’ve done all the exercises for a while?”

  “No way, kid.” She wasn’t stopping until she’d thumped him at least three times. Four. At least.

  “Concentrate on keeping me from hitting you.”

  Duh. She scooped up her twigs and swung them at him.

  “Use the maneuver I showed you.” The kid shook his head and strolled around her dirt circle.

  The fraying circle was beginning to feel like a cage. She shifted her weight.

  The kid skittered back. “If you leave the circle, you lose twenty points.” He grinned up at her. “And you don’t get any points for hitting me unless both your feet are inside it.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Of course not. That’s why it’s called war.”

  War? What was he talking about?

  “Get your sword up, pine tree.” He swatted her left arm. Hard. “Four.”

  Green stripes stained her shirt sleeve. Pain throbbed up both arms. Them little twigs shouldn’t hurt so much. “What do you mean, it’s called war?”

  “War isn’t fair.” The kid stepped back and grinned at her, but his eyes were sad. “Real fights aren’t fair. You need to assume you’ll be handicapped in some fashion, and plan to fight around it.”

  That sorta made sense. More sense than the kid usually made.

  “Defend yourself.” He darted forward and smacked her knuckles. With his bony little fist. �
��Five.” He darted out of her circle before she could lift a hand.

  Seven thousand bees stung her fingers. Her twig sword dropped to the dirt. “That’s cheating.”

  The kid sighed.

  “Never mind.” She scooped up her weapon and bounced on her toes. “Show me that defense again.”

  ˜™

  At one hundred points, the kid said he’d had enough. One hundred points to zero. She’d never been so humiliated in her life. Or so sore, not even after Kraken slugged her.

  It was noon when they started limping back toward the city. Lorel trudged a few paces behind the kid. He was favoring his left leg, probably from falling the one time she’d almost thumped him.

  The kid deserved a shipload of praise from his slithery namesake. Quick. Weaver’s cold toes, he moved fast as a viper. Now he was tired and staggering, but she hadn’t managed to swat him even once.

  Next time. Watch out next time. She wouldn’t lose control again.

  She’d have a terrible time hiding all the welts and bruises from her mother. Could she claim she’d fallen into Chorette’s flowerbed? Blood in the Weave, she still had to go mess in the old woman’s garden if she was gonna use that as an excuse. Maybe she better just admit she went into the forest, and claim to have fallen down a hill.

  She tripped over a rock in the center of the trail, fell to one knee. “Weaver’s chamberpot.” So many bruises, and now new ones on her toes and leg. She slunk to her feet before the kid had time to notice. But that reminded her. “Hey, kid?”

  He stopped and leaned against an oak tree, half facing her. “Yeah?”

  “That stuff about watching the breastbone? Are you sure that’s right?”

  He stared at her for a few heartbeats, but sighed. “No. No, but that’s what I was taught.” He started to push away from the tree.

  “Hey, kid?”

  He relaxed back against the oak. “What?”

  “I’m glad we stuck with willow switches.”

  The kid’s lips twisted into a quirky smile. He nodded and resumed his painful hobble toward the city.

  Lorel stumbled along behind him. It was gonna take forever to master a willow sword. She’d never be able to use a real sword.