Brinley’s mother smiled. “It is healing you.”
“And what if I don’t want to be healed?” she sputtered. The corners of her mouth were twitching weakly as if some strange emotion was about to come bursting out of her.
“Few people do. Thank you for coming. I expect you made some sort of binding agreement with my daughter?”
Habis nodded. “I will help you if I can.” She shook her head, trying to free herself from the goodness that was plaguing her. “Let’s see it then, Lewilyn,” she said.
Brinley’s ears perked up. “Lewilyn?” she asked. “Is that your name?”
Her mother smiled. “Yes,” she said, “I forgot to tell you. Few people ever use it.”
Habis went bright red. “I’m sorry, Magemother,” she said, biting her lip as the apology slipped out. “Your name just slipped out.”
“No matter,” Lewilyn said. She moved so that Habis could see the dark, red wound in her chest.
Habis paled. “Where did you get this? It was Lux, I assume.”
Lewilyn nodded. “He stabbed me with a shard of bark from a druciduous tree.”
Habis’s hand shot back from the wound. “A twistwood tree?” she demanded. “From the Wizard’s Ire? Which one? There are four. Tell me! Which one did the bark come from?”
Lewilyn laid a calming hand on Habis’s shoulder. “The smallest of the four.”
“You are certain?”
“Yes.”
Habis looked relieved. She spoke to Brinley. “I’m afraid you were right. She is going to die. Luckily, that is all that will happen. It could have been much worse.”
Brinley felt a pang of anger. “What could be worse than that? What do you mean there’s no hope? You said almost anything can be mended if you know how.”
“But I do not know how,” Habis said. “And even if I did, it would probably take all of the mages to do it, as you said. And we do not have all of the mages.”
“I can find them!” Brinley insisted. We can learn how to save her! We just need time. Please, help me!” Brinley was on the brink of tears again. It was so unfair. After all this time she was going to lose her mother, and Habis didn’t understand how important it was to save her. Or maybe she did.
Tears were rolling out of Habis’s eyes, and she was wiping them away angrily. “What is wrong with me? Don’t worry, you may be right. Hope may not be lost. We should try the naptrap, as you suggested.” She turned back to the Magemother, holding up one of her bottles. “This bottle will suspend time for you, and keep you safe until Brinley can find a solution, but it was not designed for people. You need to be smaller. I once heard rumor that you could take the shape of a magpie, is that true?”
Lewilyn nodded.
“Excellent,” the witch said. “It should be able to suspend you for a very long time then.”
Lewilyn looked down at the little bottle that Habis had produced. She nodded silently, and took it. “Thank you, Habis. We will use your naptrap. Please leave me alone with my daughter now.”
Habis nodded. To Brinley, she said, “We’re even now. That’s it.”
As she was about to step back through the light, Lewilyn caught hold of her shoulder. “Whether you admit it yet or not, this will change you—being in this place. You have been flirting with goodness for too long now for it not to. Do not fight it.”
Habis turned, and to Brinley’s surprise, smiled weakly. “I was afraid of that,” she said. Then she stepped backwards and was gone from view.
Lewilyn moved her hand to Brinley’s shoulder. “We should do it now,” she said.
“Now?” Brinley was taken aback. “I thought that we could do it later,” she paused. “You know, after you put things right, and teach me what to do, and we’re ready.”
Lewilyn laughed. “I’m afraid it won’t be that easy,” she said. The hand on Brinley’s shoulder suddenly got heavier as Lewilyn leaned on her for support.
“But I don’t know what to do!” Brinley protested. “I’m not ready yet!”
Lewilyn smiled weakly. “Welcome to motherhood,” she said. “We all feel that way in the beginning, but you will find that you know more than you think.” She stopped, cringing. “Help me to the floor.”
Brinley gave her both hands and helped her sit down slowly. Then she sat next to her in the middle of the lightfall.
“There are three things that you need to know,” Lewilyn said, wincing. “First, you need to become the Magemother.”
“When does that happen?”
“Right now. It is a small thing, an easy thing. It will only hurt a little.”
“What?” Brinley shifted uncomfortably. This is not what she had expected.
Lewilyn raised her eyebrows. “There is no fanfare in this, Brinley. That comes later. Now, hold still.” She leaned over and tugged at the neck of Brinley’s shirt to reveal the skin over her heart. Then she took a little crystal knife from the sash at her waist and with one swift motion made a long, shallow cut.
“Owww!”
“Shh,” her mother soothed. “Bear the pain with honor. This is an ancient ceremony. There is blood and pain, but great joy as well. If we had time, the full ceremony is very beautiful. Maybe someday.” Her eyes rolled suddenly against the pain, and Brinley thought her mother was going to pass out.
“Okay,” she said, composing herself. “Hurry. Let’s get this done. You will not feel the effects until you leave the lightfall. When that happens, my mantle will pass to you, so to speak.”
Brinley nodded.
“You need to find a herald. Someone to accompany you, protect you, as Peridot did for me.”
“Why can’t I just have Peridot?”
“She will not follow you. She was my herald.” Lewilyn coughed, doubling over. “When you confront Tennebris,” she said, changing the subject, “you must take away his power. There are specific words that you must say. Listen carefully.”
She pulled Brinley close and whispered the words in her ear, repeating it once to make sure that Brinley heard. She squeezed her mother’s arm. “I have it,” she said. “I won’t forget.”
Lewilyn nodded. “The power of the mages is yours to give and take from them. Few people know this, and you should keep it that way.”
“But—”
“Let me finish,” Lewilyn said, wincing. Brinley looked down and saw that the blood was flowing out freely now. It had begun to pool on the floor. “You cannot revoke one child’s power without taking it away from them all.”
“Why?”
“You must treat them all equally. That’s how it works. In this case, you couldn’t do it differently if you tried. When you take their power back, it will rest on you. You will feel all of it weighing on you alone—don’t look so afraid. It will overwhelm you at first, but don’t panic. The first thing you need to do is give Animus his power back. Just touch him, and tell him, and he will receive it. He will help you.” She was speaking so quickly now that Brinley had to strain to remember all of it.
“After you take Tennebris’s power, his body will die. He has become dependent on the darkness for his survival, and you will be cutting him off from it. The elements of light and dark will leave him. You need to rescue the light. It will not last long without a mage to care for it. You must find a new mage quickly.”
“And the darkness?”
“It cannot take a new body without your permission, but it will try anyway. Eventually, when you choose the next Mage of Light and Darkness, it will find him, and then he will have to learn to deal with it. Choose someone with a pure heart. Do not wait too long.
“Trust your heart to guide you with the other mages as well,” Lewilyn continued. “That is the third thing: you must find them now. Remember, Brinley, when you take the power from Tennebris, you will take it from them all, wherever they are, in whatever form they may be in. They will be trapped until you find them. They should survive the loss of their power, but it will be terrible for them. They will be shocked, weakened. The
ir power will be gone, but they are still the mages. They will need you. They may not be able to come out of hiding without their powers.”
Brinley nodded. She struggled to hold her mother upright now.
“Take this,” Lewilyn said, handing her the little crystal knife. “Use it for no other purpose than the one I showed you. Above all, follow your instincts. Follow your heart—”
“I love you!” Brinley said, as she held up the naptrap. Her mother’s head lulled. The flow of blood was beginning to slow. “Wake up!” she said, shaking her. “You have to change!”
Lewilyn opened her eyes weakly, and smiled. Then she was gone. A magpie limped across the palm of her hand. Brinley opened the bottle, and the naptrap swallowed the bird. She shut the bottle carefully, staring at it blankly. Her mother was inside.
She put the bottle in her pocket. As easily as that, her mother was gone. So close, but so far away. Standing there in the lightfall, Brinley realized she was alone again.
It was all up to her now.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and strode out of the light.
Chapter Thirty
In which Brinley feels the weight of the world
When Hugo heard Brinley’s voice, he couldn’t believe his good luck. He was going to be rescued! A second later, he berated himself. Surely this was a trap. The Kutha was out hunting, and he hadn’t heard anything from Tennebris for a few minutes now, but he knew they were probably still out there. He tried to warn them. They had to leave! Brinley couldn’t be caught like he was. There was no reason for Tennebris to keep her alive.
Then Peridot was freeing him from the bag. “Climb on my back!” she hissed. The moment he complied, she lurched into the air. Brinley was running for the wind-wall and the Kutha was after her. Hugo could see a magpie bobbing through the air, cradled in invisible arms. They weren’t going to make it!
Then Peridot gave an extra burst of speed and he was sent tumbling backward onto the magpie-strewn floor. By the time he righted himself, Brinley was gone and Peridot was tumbling across the floor, locked talon and tooth with the hissing owl.
“Help me!” Peridot snarled in frustration, and Hugo, looking around, realized she must be talking to him. He searched the floor desperately and found what he was looking for. The twisted short sword lay discarded on the floor. The great owl turned its head to watch him—turned just its head, its body still busy wrestling with Peridot, trying to pin her against the wall.
The cold, heart-shaped face looked spooky twisted around like that. Hugo swallowed the fear that was telling him to turn around and run, and lunged toward the Kutha instead, bending to scoop up the sword as he went.
Maybe the Kutha thought he would run, or maybe it just hadn’t expected him to be much of a threat. Whatever the reason, it reacted slowly. It watched, eyes widening, as he ran forward and buried the sword deep into its back. It screamed and slipped in its grappling with Peridot.
The Laurel’s great lion’s teeth silenced it.
Hugo’s sword slipped free from the Kutha and he stared in shock at the blood-stained blade in his hands. He looked up. Peridot was looking at him in surprise.
“Thank you,” she said at last, her expression changing. She was looking at him the way people looked at his father. But no one had ever looked at him that way.
They were interrupted by the sound of slow clapping. Tennebris was walking out of the shadows, and they strangely seemed to follow him wherever he went.
“Well done, Peridot. Well done, Hugo.”
“What now, Tennebris?” Peridot said, crouching defensively, ready to spring. She sounded more curious than afraid, Hugo noticed, so he tried not to be afraid either, despite the fact that they might be about to die.
“We wait,” Tennebris said. “You cannot harm me, and I have little use for killing you just now.” He looked up at the wall of wind. “Animus is nearly out of strength. Soon the Magemother will no longer be able to hide.
“Animus is too strong for you,” Hugo blurted.
Tennebris considered him thoughtfully. “True,” he said at last. He put his fingers cautiously into the wind-wall as if testing it. “We wage war, he and I, though you cannot see it. I cannot overpower him when he is like this, but he can barely breathe now, or move, or think. He will not last much longer.”
Hugo felt the weight of the sword in his hand; he wanted to use it again. Maybe, if he could just move fast enough…
“Do not try it,” Tennebris said dismissively.
“Or what?” Hugo asked, caught off guard. “You’ll kill me?” He didn’t know what was making him so bold, but it was terrible just standing by while Animus protected the Magemother, knowing all the while that he would fail in the end.
Tennebris flicked a look in his direction and Hugo doubled over, blind. It was as if some invisible bully had put him in a head lock and everything had gone dark.
An empty voice whispered against his ear; he could feel the sick breath of it. “No,” it said, “I will not kill you. I’ll whisper and watch as you try to resist me. I’ll put thoughts inside you—terrible, maddening thoughts. You will want to cut them out, but you won’t be able to. You’ll fillet yourself with your own sword like a fish trying to cut them out, and I will look on with dim curiosity to see what you drown in first—thoughts? Tears? Blood?”
“Enough!” Peridot had taken Hugo under one wing, jerking him off his feet. “Do not look at him, Hugo,” she ordered. “Let him be.”
“Yes, don’t look at me,” Tennebris mocked.
Hugo looked anyway. Tennebris was still standing on the other side of the room with his fingers in the wind. Dark streaks were spreading out from his fingers now and spiraling into the wind. Several of them snagged on Animus’s robes. They caught at his arms and legs and beard, pulling at him.
“Yes,” Tennebris said darkly. “Give in, old man. You’re too old, too tired to carry on like this. It’s too hard. Give up…”
With a bang, the wind-wall ripped apart at the edges, dancing wildly as it spun to a stop. The old mage fell out of it and sprawled across the floor, exhausted. Tennebris gave a shout of triumph, but Hugo was looking beyond the mage at what the wall had been hiding—a thing like a waterfall of light. A young woman had stepped out of it. She was very beautiful, Hugo thought. He knew that he knew her, but he couldn’t think how.
“Hello, Mother,” Tennebris said coldly.
“Hello, Tennebris,” she returned softly.
“There will be no more running now,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. “Not for me.”
“But what has happened to you?” he asked, faltering slightly. “You’re so young. You’re…different.”
Brinley regarded him silently. Her heart was pounding. She tried to remember everything her mother had said. She might only get one chance.
A look of comprehension crossed Tennebris’s face. “You’re not her,” he said. “You’re the daughter.” He smiled, nodding to himself. “The one she hid from me so many years ago. So,” he said coldly. “It has happened, then. She’s dead? You are the new Magemother.”
An idea struck Brinley. There was no reason anyone had to know her mother was still alive. It might be safer this way. “Yes,” she said, her confidence growing. It was strange, but somehow it boosted her confidence that Tennebris recognized her as the Magemother. She didn’t feel any different yet herself.
“You will die then, as she did,” Tennebris spat, and leapt at her.
“No,” Brinley said softly. She had shut her eyes against the sight of him. She had to focus. She had to remember the words. “I release you from your duty as the Mage of Light and Darkness.”
“You cannot!”
She opened her eyes. Tennebris was standing stock-still inches from her, hands outstretched to take her, but unable.
“You cannot do it! You cannot take power from one mage and not the others!”
Brinley’s knees were sha
king hard. What if it didn’t work? What if her mother was wrong? What if the mages didn’t survive the loss of their powers? What if she couldn’t bear the weight of it?
“Lux Tennebris,” Brinley said formally, forcing her fears away.
He froze.
“I remove your power and your calling as a mage, as shall be for all my children.”
Tennebris stared at her blankly. He had the look of a man surprised to find himself on the brink of death. Then his face twisted in a horrible expression of pain, like someone had ripped his heart out through his mouth. He crumpled to the floor so quickly it was as if his bones had turned to water.
For a moment, all was quiet. Brinley looked at Hugo, who was staring at him, transfixed. “Look,” he said, pointing to the empty body that had been Tennebris.
Brinley watched as what looked like a tiny golden star rose silently from his chest, then flickered and tumbled to the floor.
Brinley heard her mother’s voice in her head. The elements of light and dark will leave him then. You need to rescue the light. She ran to it. It burned as she picked it up. She gasped. It was soft, delicate, the size of a tennis ball, but light as air. It was stringy, like a ball of pumpkin pulp made of light and flowing glass. She handled it gently, afraid that she might break it. As she held it, it began to cool. The glass-like light pooled and solidified into a protective shell around a glowing center.
Brinley backed away as something much darker began to emerge from the body. Two black hands, dusty and burnt, broke upward in a cloud of smoke. Strong arms followed, then a head. The darkness placed its hands on the floor and lifted the rest of its shadowy form out of Tennebris’s body.
“You haven’t killed me,” it said shortly. “You can’t kill me.” He stomped on Tennebris’s body with a smoky foot. “You will need another mage to hold the balance, and when you find him, I will own him, just as I owned this one.”
Brinley shuddered. She wanted to run away. She wanted to be invisible again. She wanted to do anything other than confront this being. Then she caught site of Animus’s broken body lying on the floor and something stirred inside her; a hard, ironlike something she had never felt before. “We’ll see,” she said.
The Mage and the Magpie Page 21