Rift Between Lands (The Trida Series Book 1)

by J. Gertori

  TRIDA LIST OF BANNED MAGIC

  Authorized: Department of Misused Magic, Lekly Manor, Second Floor

  Enforced: Grand Station, Lekly Manor, First Floor

  Luck/Wish Fulfillment

  Love/Lust Enhancers

  Mobility Restraints/Paralysis

  Reanimation of the Dead

  Mental Hijacking

  Invisibility

  Unsanctioned Rifting

  “This is a ton of banned magic,” Sam said. “What’s ‘Rifting?’”

  “It’s our form of teleportation. You rifted here with Rowen’s dad,” muttered Dara.

  “Then how is that banned?”

  “The committees are flexible with certain spells. Yer allowed to rift if ya use designated grounds,” said Rowen.

  Dara mumbled, “They ‘banned’ rifting because local businesses were going under. Why settle for something close, when you can go anywhere else?”

  Sam flipped through the pages of faded writing. “Hmm, this list is longer than the others.”

  “They’re updated with every volume. Which magic type got banned?”

  “Transformations: species to species, species to object, object to species. There goes spending my weekend as a cactus,” Sam said, switching the book for another volume.

  “Hah, transformation. That, if you ask me, should be removed from the Linking Port entirely,” Crissa said. She noticed Sam’s curious stare. “Unless it’s your Artifec skill, transformations are far from a clean swap. A wizard turned himself into a shark for reasons I’d credit to testosterone driven idiocy.”

  “Read ’bout that,” said Rowen. “His blood went green, and his brain turned to mush durin’ the switch. Looked even worse after the reverse potion.” He must’ve caught Sam’s bewildered expression as well. “Looked like a naked mole rat. What’ya expect? It’s turnin’ a shark into a person fer cryin’ out loud, never mind he started as one.”

  “Might have something here,” said Dara. “Found it!” The group condensed beside her. “Stricken Stingray. For immobilization of beasts. A quarter cup of ground Polly root, a quarter cup of purple rain, mix with a tablespoon of lasso stingray secretion.”

  “Mighty old if it’s used on animals,” Rowen said.

  “There’s more. Add a tablespoon of secretion for beasts who exceed Okra sizing chart. Important: continuous monitoring of stingray is essential, no fewer than five days before extraction. If Ree coral is digested, an alternate lasso stingray must be substituted. Failure to do so will lead to dehydration then death.”

  “Ding ding ding, attacker found, case closed,” said Sam to the dancing hudger.

  “It’s damning evidence, I’ll admit, but we don’t have a motive,” said Crissa.

  “So Mr. Mack wasn’t trying to kill me. He accidentally made a curse with a rotten stingray,” muttered Dara.

  Crissa took the book and flipped through the neighboring pages. “He might’ve used the bad stingray on purpose, Dee. Even if he didn’t mean to curse you, he left you for dead.”

  “Ya lookin’ fer motive, right? Walk around this place. This guard’s a killer, and most animals in here are frem Okra,” said Rowen.

  Continuing the line of thinking, Sam said, “Mack could’ve escalated. Going from small animals to Big-game, and then finally advanced to people.”

  The scrutor looked impressed, but, once again, humbled the group. “I’ll look into it. Let’s not forget Mack is dead. He may have cursed Dara, but someone killed him, and they’re running loose.” Crissa stacked the dusty spellbooks. “It’s time for you all to leave. Dee, lead them to the coast.”

  “Why there? After the mages find Mr. Mack, they’ll stall the gates. Pacts will have a hard time getting through. I should go back to the manor and help. It’s also safe.”

  “It might be what the killer is expecting. Until we have more answers, Lekly Manor, your home, and the station, are all dangerous.”

  “Isn’t it possible Mack did this to himself? I mean, he’s tampering with banned magic,” said Dara.

  “I thought about that, and whoever did this wanted it to look that way, but there are inconsistencies.” Crissa pointed at the front entrance. “There’s a layer of gold dust on the stairs and the walls near the door; the same residue left after a rift.”

  “Someone rifted here?” said Rowen.

  “This place is a cramped mess; you’d have to be certain there’s nothing in the way. I suspect Mack knew the person and let them in, and they rifted away after the deed.” She pointed at the deceased man. “Look at the discoloration around his Adam’s apple.”

  Sam and Dara crouched to gawk at Mack.

  “It’s bruised,” said Dara, with a look of concern.

  “Black and blue with thick lashes. What spell would achieve this?” said the sleuth.

  “Attono, the stun spell, fired right at his throat,” said her sister.

  “Good, but only mage and scrutor wands can use that spell, and I have a hard time believing one of ours would leave a scene this sloppy.”

  “Looks like a good old-fashioned strangling,” Sam said.

  “There’d be ligature marks elsewhere on his neck.”

  “No spell can do this,” said Rowen. “If there were, the committee would’ve removed it frem the Linkin’ Port.”

  “My thoughts, exactly. The killer used something much more wicked. In fact, the wound reminds me of a curse I’ve seen. Which brings me to this.” Crissa crouched near the entranceway. “Look at this pile of embers. The breeze brushed it over, perhaps, but your standard wand doesn’t burn this fast. The killer has a rogue wand.”

  Rowen pointed at the flickering red light in Crissa’s hand. “Yer gettin’ a call.”

  “Sam, stand over there,” she said, gliding her wand past the desk toward the others.

  As she did this, letters on the blank paper appeared then faded away. Sam thought of Dara’s near death, Rowen’s dad in custody, and Crissa’s scaly midsection. What’s the worse that could happen to me? The fleshling thought. He pressed against the table and slipped the paper into his back pocket before joining Rowen and Dara.

  “Accept,” Crissa said. The wand’s tip shifted into a bold green. An image ballooned to the scrutor’s front of a tan woman who wore black lipstick that matched her messy mane.

  “Hey, partner,” said the ghostly projection.

  “Hey. Any news?”

  “We referenced the picture you sent us. Raske Olimpi confirmed it’s his accomplice—bonus points for guessing he’s a fleshling. What tipped you off?”

  Crissa cocked her jaw and glared at Sam through the projection of her colleague. “The idiot wore a helmet in ninety-degree weather.”

  “But aren’t you wearing my long, black dres—”

  “Okay, Evie—” Crissa clenched her teeth.

  “Well, he’s our guy. Bring him in ASAP.”

  Again, Crissa locked eyes with Sam, but her expression softened. “That might be a problem. He got away.” Evie looked baffled and struggled to reply, though Crissa didn’t give her much chance. “It’s my fault. I think he slipped into Lekly Metro.”

  “If I were you, I’d find him. Those mages are still searching, and I’m obligated to tell them where to look. It would be a shame if they got the glory. In other news, Raske Olimpi hasn’t claimed responsibility for the attack. Ms. Ward had us mix a truth serum, which failed. As expected, he’s got bewitchment nullifiers—who doesn’t these days?”

  Rowen stomped, but Dara and Sam pulled him aside.

  “We crossed the curse profile from Middleton Medical against the new Incantation Index. Get this—the closest match is a spell previously used by—”

  “—Sir Gaspare,” Crissa said.

  “What? Wait, how did you . . .? I know you’re good but damn.”

  “I heard some stories and made the link.”

  “Well, he’s also the Artifec who banned it.”

  Crissa sneered. “Leave it to rookie scrutors to pin this
on an Artifec. We’ve any idea of Sir Gaspare’s whereabouts or the other missing Artifecs?”

  “Yes and no. We finished that Backtrace Spell on gate movement during closing hours and got hits of Remeo Brew.”

  “That’s a given, Evie. Raske Olimpi was at Sir Gaspare’s to heal. It’s not surprising that he’d use Sir Gaspare’s Remeo—”

  “No, no, I said hits—plural.”

  “Another Artifec came in?”

  “We found a trace from the Eastern United States and Northern Norway. To be sure, Ms. Ward had us run the spell again with a stronger mixture. We confirmed it’s Sir Gaspare’s Remeo Brew. But his was also used after hours two nights before your sister’s attack. And no, there weren’t any return trips between the two rifts.”

  Dara lifted the calendar. She caught Crissa’s attention and pointing at the first circled date.

  Crissa waved her off and said, “So, Sir Gaspare returned days ago. That means the trace of Remeo Brew from Norway belongs to Lady Oxnora or Lady Abifa.”

  “You’d think, except Lady Abifa is still in exile, and Lady Oxnora returned from India this morning. The brew used didn’t belong to either—it was Sir Molting’s. I know Ms. Ward took you off the case, but I could use your help. A few cities have deployed their mages to find Sir Gaspare, and Ms. Ward is sending Pike and me to question Sir Molting.”

  “I’ll try. Maybe if I go to the manor and—”

  “I’d stay away from here for the night. We’ve got a lot of angry pacts in the building. It’s Transport Department’s problem. Extra mages from Fulvus and Middleton are here in case things escalate.” Evie lost her train of thought, and her eyes darted to a figure beside her.

  “Evie, what’s going on?”

  “Crissa, I gotta go. We got a tip of a disturbance at Ned Mack’s house in Chalker.”

  Crissa’s eyes went wide and darted through the room. “I’m nearby. Give me the address.”

  “You sure that’s a good ide—”

  “Do it, Evie.”

  “Fine. I’ll mark your map. We’ll get there in a few minutes on our speeders. See ya soon.”

  Crissa flipped her wand shut. “They’re coming—go!”

  NINE

  The Clubhouse

  The cold air rocked Sam into a shiver. Across the mighty ocean, an endless array of sparkling lights enveloped the colossal gears of the Linking Port. Sam stood on the farthermost edge of Lekly, atop boulders so shiny they reflected the stars. A drop from this height and he’d flatten, though he wondered how fast these wizards could heal him.

  On their way to this secluded stretch, Dara kept to herself. So it surprised Sam and Rowen when she stopped to enter one of Chalker’s many convenience stores: Brazen Ferret. There were a decent amount of customers inside, but they weren’t afraid of getting recognized. Dara had laced them with disguises, which seemed necessary as they fled from Mack’s home with a fugitive fleshling. Sam and Rowen were both equipped with glasses that sagged their features, and while Dara perused for necessities, they partook in samples of DinoSour Wafers and a dense green soda that sent them sprinting through the aisles, pulling foot-long coupons from dispensers.

  Dara granted them each one treat. For Rowen, Face Freezers did the trick. He threatened to shove the candy into Sam’s mouth the next time the fleshling yawned. Sam chose Nitty’s Peppermint Covered Pickles, despite the warnings from Dara and the check-out clerk.

  If there was a silver lining to growing up penniless, it was that Sam had developed an armor for distasteful foods. However, he wouldn’t place this treat in that category; he finished it before they’d returned to the road.

  They headed toward the water, twisting and turning for miles before reaching their destination: a decrepit lot with tall weeds to one side, a killer drop on the other, and a roofless cabin above mangled planks at the center. It didn’t smell half bad on account of the ashes from Dara’s wand, which gave off a lavender aroma.

  “Bring any twigs you can find,” shouted Dara, from within the elevated shack.

  Sam scavenged the area and returned with a collection of bark, dead weeds, and berries. He released the latter when they sprouted legs and crawled onto his forearm.

  Dara uttered, “Exsolvo,” and a makeshift roof of palm leaves freed from her grasp, encapsulating the small clubhouse. The moon projected a bright rectangle inside, but the aged walls hid in the shadows. Dara scooted into the moonlight and emptied her bag between her outstretched legs. She sifted through the pile of who-knows-whats and stabbed her fist in the air.

  The lid of the container popped open, and from it, poked a bright red feather. Dara placed it onto Sam’s assorted scraps, which she bunched together like an alter. “This is a Cinder feather. Boil it in a cauldron with carrots to make the spiciest hot sauce on Trida. But set the feather on fire . . .” Dara uttered an incantation that popped a blue flame from her wand. But instead of the feather igniting, it absorbed the fire like a burning coal. More alluring were the three tiny birds of ash that formed from its barbs and flew around its warmth. “. . . It’ll keep us warm all night.”

  “Wish I hadn’t finished those pickles so quick. I’d settle for that monster sesame seed right about now,” said Sam.

  “Oh, right, you were asleep during the wagon ride. Crissa ordered us pumpkin burgers.”

  “Of course that heartless woman didn’t order me one.”

  “Hey! Watch yourself. Intense, yes, and patronizing at times, but Crissa is a gem.” Dara squeezed her wand. “I’m the weak link in the family. Crissa’s three years older and already so accomplished—just like our dad when he was her age; he helped alter the old magic at the Linking Port, making it easier for pacts, or in your case, law breaking fleshlings, to enter Lekly Gates.”

  Sam’s belly gurgled for a prolonged period and ended with a twisting ache. “Well, thanks, daddy-o. Wish he made a spell that turned rocks into tacos.”

  Dara scoffed. “What’s with pact’s obsession with wanting to make food or money appear out of thin air? Wands can’t just conjure anything. They have to come from someplace. But I’d be surprised if my dad didn’t try the rocks-to-food thing. Anything you could imagine, he could probably make. That’s how we found this place. He worked right there.” She pointed outside.

  “The cliff?”

  “Beyond. He found a way to levitate land itself. Even had a little drawbridge. And no need for a moat—he had the Pacific Ocean.”

  “Where’d it go?”

  Dara got quiet and cocked her jaw to the side.

  Sam, sensing the tragedy, rested on the window. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sure he’s always watching over you.”

  “That would be weird since he’s not dead—jerk,” she said, laughing. “His levitation spell had a shelf life. The whole office toppled, but nobody got hurt. It’s all water under the bridge. He’s doing research in Spain now, and he’s eligible for a committee spot on Wulf next year.”

  Sam let her finish cheering before he said, “Must’ve been a great clubhouse back in the day. Everything’s simple when you’re a kid. Stacks of wood can turn into a fortress. You could be running around all day and think nothing of it. And parents didn’t make any sense. They were always in the wrong. Then you grow up, and it all makes sense, but you can’t do anything right.”

  The wizard brushed her hand over the tattered floorboards. “We’d spend the entire day here while Dad worked. Eventually, we brought friends.” She pointed at the rear wall. “That’s Crissa’s side. She’d pretend it was a mage office, and she’d solve kid’s problems for a few chubs.” Dara pointed to Sam’s wall. “That side’s mine. We had a laboratory and kickass tools. We were gonna find a way to get potions out of Lekly and into the rest of the world. But mostly spent our time changing the color of worms.”

  They shared a laugh. “Did you make this place huge like a castle? I’m assuming you could, like inside the camper.”

  “You kidding me? Everything’s larger than life when you�
��re a kid. Adding rooms, towers, and sweet hidden passageways—none of that would’ve made it any more fun.”

  “Banned magic?”

  “Totally banned,” she mumbled. “It’s a government spell used for transport and waste. But also housing units and storage.”

  “What’s with that? You can only do certain spells—the rest are off-limits? Kinda stunts innovation if you ask me.”

  Dara expression stiffened. “Well, I didn’t. You can be creative and stay within the rules. I like to walk the fine line.” She revealed her treat from Brazen Ferret: popcorn marshmallows.

  “Pass me three of those twigs.” She must’ve caught sight of the drool accumulating on Sam’s lip. “Can’t let you subject yourself to eating jellyprawns; Rowen told me.”

  “Roaarrrrr!” screamed Rowen, appearing at the top of the steps.

  “You’re in high spirits,” said Dara. Upon entering, the hudger’s eyes widened like a child admiring their gifts on Christmas Eve.

  “Got good news and bad news,” he said.

  “Good news,” Sam and Dara said in unison. Dara smoothed the twigs into skewers and placed four marshmallows on each.

  Rowen settled around the flame and slipped his wand into his pocket. “Took several tries and singed my hair, but I got hold of my mom and told her I’m safe with a friend ’til this blows over. She’s worried ’bout Dad but knows he ain’t done any wron’. Only, it seemed like she hadn’t talked to him since before we left Mack’s.”

  “And the bad news?”

  “Mom works in the ward next to Middleton Medical. Said the elixir nurses talked ’bout a disturbance in room seventeen.”

  “Yeah, thanks to the two of you,” said Dara, chuckling.

  “No, I mean after. They’re sayin’ the person threw a fit when they found the room empty. But nothin’ else except they wore a robe.”

  Dara drifted onto her back and covered her face. “That could’ve been during the wagon ride. I don’t suppose they were there to wish me a speedy recovery.” She exhaled into a long groan. “Why is Sir Gaspare after me?”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. We don’t know if it’s Mr. Gaspare or—”