The Magelands Box Set

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘Kill people?’

  Sami looked at the ground.

  ‘Fuck, I wish I could get drunk,’ Shella sighed. She noticed Sami’s expression. ‘What are you smiling at?’

  ‘You,’ he laughed. ‘After so many years of telling me off for swearing.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject,’ she scowled. ‘What were you doing in that camp? If you’re looking to get your stupid head kicked in, I’ll happily volunteer, no need to go all the way over to Willowbrook.’

  Sami looked away, his face dark in the shadow of the tent’s interior.

  ‘Well?’ she asked again.

  ‘I can’t say, Shella,’ Sami replied, holding up his hands.

  ‘Ohh, I see,’ she said, narrowing her eyes. ‘So you’re covering for that oaf Klebo? Should’ve known. Let me guess…. Okay, he’s in trouble, gambling, maybe? He owes someone nasty a lot of cash, and had gone to Willowbrook to pay up. No, that doesn’t sound right. He went there to offer them a deal, some off-the-books water to forgive his debt?’

  She looked at Sami. ‘Am I close?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Great,’ Shella smirked. ‘So now I have six more deaths on my conscience to add to the others. Obli said it was all for the greater good, that I wasn’t to worry, that by killing people I actually save lives.’

  ‘It’s true Shella,’ Sami said, looking up at her. ‘It’s horrible, but it’s true. You and the other flow mages have stopped many riots before they could get started, just by being there.’

  ‘The migration is turning us into monsters.’

  ‘You’re not a monster, Shella.’

  ‘Not yet, maybe,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know how much more I can take. Everyone stares at me with fear in their eyes. Fear and hatred. With a flick of my hand I can burst their brains with their own blood, or stop their hearts from pumping, or send fluid into their lungs and drown them, quickly or slowly. That sounds like a monster to me, Sami.’

  ‘But you’re second in command. Only Obli ranks above you,’ Sami said. ‘Couldn’t you get the other mages to do it instead?’

  ‘I already make them do it! But how could I ask them to do what I refused to? It’s taking its toll, though, some of them are close to cracking up. And they’re the decent ones. The mean ones are more of a worry, a few of them seem to enjoy it a little too much.’ She sighed. ‘If we make it across this wasteland, then they’ll be the ones we’ll have to watch out for.’

  ‘Have you mentioned any of this to Obli?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘She told me she’d take care of it, whatever that means. Anyway, that reminds me, Obli wants me in her tent. Meeting.’

  ‘We moving out soon?’

  She got to her feet. ‘Yeah, probably.’

  ‘See you later,’ Sami said.

  ‘Bye,’ she replied, leaving the tent, and stepping back outside into the harsh sunlight.

  She looked down the row of grimy tents, where most of her brothers and sisters slept. This part of the camp was guarded, to protect those closest to the leader, and she saw Jayki and Braga chatting to a couple of female militia, near Dannu’s tent.

  She whistled on them, and they trudged back towards her.

  ‘Miss?’ said Braga.

  ‘Command tent,’ she said. ‘Come on.’

  She led them through another ring of guards, into the inner circle. When she entered the crowded main tent, she saw that the meeting had started.

  Pavu was standing arguing with one of the supply bosses, while Obli sat impassively on a raised chair at the head of the room, dressed in a long white gown. Her flowers had long since died, and upon her brow sat a slender silver band, with a large diamond inset. The jewel had been created by the migration’s foremost clay mage, who had worked on it for many days. He had presented it to Obli, while on his knees, as if she were a queen, and he her humble subject.

  Obli saw her as she approached.

  ‘Mage Shella,’ she said, causing the room to fall silent, as all eyes turned to her.

  ‘Sister,’ Shella replied.

  ‘We were just discussing a date for our departure,’ Obli said. ‘What would you recommend, mage?’

  ‘We should leave tomorrow,’ Shella said without hesitation.

  ‘But, Shella,’ Tehna said, ‘the people are exhausted, they cannot walk without water. Should we not wait for rain?’

  ‘And while we wait,’ Shella said to her priestess sister, ‘the camps riot, and hundreds die each day from thirst. We have to keep moving.’

  ‘It will soon be autumn,’ Obli said. ‘The rains will come.’

  ‘And they will come sooner, the further south we get,’ Shella said.

  Obli nodded. ‘It is decreed, then. We leave tomorrow. Mage Shella, ensure the camps are informed.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Now,’ Obli went on, ‘our friend from the Holdings has performed a sighting for us.’ She looked over at a tall, dark-skinned man, standing close by. He had accompanied the migration as a representative of the Holdings, sent by their embassy in Arakhanah. Shella didn’t trust him, but the mage-priest had a useful skill, which allowed him to see things at great distances, though it made him quite poorly for hours afterwards.

  He stepped forward, looking ill and grey.

  ‘I scanned the way south,’ he said, in faultless Rakanese. ‘The basalt plain stretches out for at least another two hundred miles. I would estimate that we are not yet half way through.’

  The tent fell into silence.

  ‘Our water supplies will never last that long!’ one of the supply bosses said.

  ‘How can this be?’ Obli said. ‘I was told that we had adequate supplies for the entire journey across the desert.’

  ‘The people are squandering the supplies,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Obli cried, her face darkening in anger.

  ‘He’s right, sister,’ Shella said. ‘No matter how many rules we make, most camps break them, trying to take as much water as they can. We’ve put more guards on the wagons, but they’ve been overwhelmed by rioters on a few occasions. It’s been impossible to get the camps to stick to the rationing, and we haven’t got enough militia to enforce the orders.’

  ‘The mages must make more rain!’ Tehna said.

  ‘Then, sister dear, why don’t you pray for some clouds?’ Shella said. ‘Then the mages will be only too happy to oblige.’

  ‘Did you see anything else, Priest Rijon?’ Pavu asked the Holdings mage. ‘Rivers, trees?’

  ‘Nothing,’ the man replied. ‘The way south is desolate.’

  ‘Wasn’t it you who advised us to go this way?’ Shella asked.

  ‘That’s not how I remember it, madam mage,’ Rijon replied. ‘I recall trying to dissuade you from the entire enterprise, but, seeing that you had determined to leave, I merely pointed out the fact that the way south, although long and dangerous, was the only possible direction you could take.’

  ‘Just a coincidence, then,’ Shella said, ‘that south also happened to be in the opposite direction from the Holdings?’

  ‘But madam,’ he said, ‘our lands are already settled. Whereas the Rahain valleys and lowlands, where plentiful rivers run, are not. The Rahain prefer to build their cities within the hearts of their mountain ranges, and are not interested in the wet, empty lowlands.’

  ‘But…’ Shella began.

  ‘The way has long been decided, Mage Shella,’ Obli said. ‘There is no need to go over old arguments.’

  ‘Sister,’ Shella nodded, scowling at the Holdings priest.

  ‘Water must be conserved at all costs,’ Obli proclaimed. ‘Thieves, cheats, and anyone wasting water must be severely punished.’

  Shella shared a side glance with Pavu.

  ‘The migration will continue,’ Obli went on. ‘Must continue. When we began, we knew the way would be hard, and that there would be losses. If only half of us remain, once we have found our new home, I shall still count it a success.’

&
nbsp; The tent hushed as they listened. Shella noticed most people in the room looked up at Obli with awe, as if her every pronouncement was sacred, immutable and true. To Shella, Obli still seemed to be the same sister she had always known, a self-righteous attention-seeker, who had finally found the role of her life.

  There was a low rumble beneath Shella’s feet.

  She looked up, and saw from the apprehension on everyone’s faces that she hadn’t imagined it.

  Before anyone could speak, the ground lurched, throwing everyone to the ground amid cries of terror. The tent collapsed, its poles snapping, and the canvas fell down on top of them. Shella curled her body up, clutching her face, as she waited out the earthquake, her heart pounding with fear.

  The earth stopped shaking, and Shella began to crawl, trying to remember where the exit was. With the tent smothering them, she could see almost nothing as she struggled under the weight of the canvas. She saw a glow ahead of her, and made for it. A few guards were holding up the edge of the great tent, letting in the blinding sunlight, as they tried to look for those within.

  ‘Miss!’

  She saw Braga. He was gripping onto the canvas, holding it high.

  ‘This way!’ he cried.

  Shella scrambled to her feet, and ran the last few yards.

  ‘Get in there!’ she called to the guards. ‘Start propping up the tent. Find Obli!’

  Others were now crawling out, dazed and bleeding.

  The earth shook again. Braga grabbed Shella’s arm to stop her toppling over, and she braced her feet until it stopped.

  As soon as the earth steadied, Shella pushed through the crowd of guards, and climbed one of the large rocks that littered the basalt landscape.

  Crouching on its rough summit, she gazed up at the volcano, almost due west of where the camp stood.

  A thick pillar of dirty black and grey smoke was belching from the top of the mountain, towering up into the blue sky.

  Shella watched in fascinated horror as the tower of smoke billowed ever higher, to a background roar from the heart of the volcano. The sky darkened, as the ash blotted out the sun, casting the land below into shadow.

  The earth shook again, and Shella clung on to the top of the rock with all her strength. The screams and shouts from the camp around her grew louder. She stared up at the volcano as the smoke increased. Ash and small, red-hot stones started to land all around. The earth stilled, and Shella scrambled down from the high rock.

  At the front of the collapsed tent, she saw Obli and the others emerging from the darkness.

  ‘We must go!’ Shella yelled, as they looked up at the volcano in confusion. ‘Sound the alarm! Get everyone moving!’

  Obli staggered forward, blood trickling down her face from a wound on her forehead. Dannu and Tehna were supporting an arm on either side.

  Larger stones started to rain down, the size of river pebbles, but hot like burning coals. Shella saw a guard struck in the face with one, and other stones were setting tents alight throughout the camp.

  Shella took Obli’s hand.

  ‘Sister?’ she said, but Obli looked dazed.

  ‘She took a blow to the head,’ said Dannu.

  ‘You’re in charge,’ Tehna said. ‘For the moment.’

  Shella nodded, and turned to Pavu and his militia.

  ‘Order the departure!’ she shouted at the top of her lungs.

  Pavu looked stunned, but obeyed, taking a whistle out from beneath his tunic. He blew on it three times, harsh notes that cut through the air. Within seconds, other whistles were heard, three short blasts on each, as the message rippled outwards through the camp.

  ‘Get her on a stretcher,’ Shella shouted to Tehna, then turned back to Pavu. ‘Brother, take a company, and escort Obli. Lead the way south. I will make sure everyone follows.’

  ‘Okay, Shella,’ Pavu said, sounding relieved that someone had taken command.

  She gave out a series of rapid orders to the other militia officers to secure the remaining water-wagons, and ensure they were rigged up and on their way south as soon as possible. She sent some to pack up the tents, some to guard the supply caravans, and others to gather the rest of the mages and get them moving.

  Whistles were echoing from every part of the vast camp, and amid the ash-fall, Shella could see tents being pulled down, and people crowding around their district assembly points. She watched them, from the higher ground of the inner circle.

  Her people.

  Scattered, weary, and thirsty beyond imagining, they assembled, as fiery stones rained down upon them from the heavy, leaden skies. The air was thick with ash flakes, and growing hotter, and the low rumble beneath her feet was continuous.

  We might just manage this, she thought, as the camp migrants started moving south like a slow wave.

  There was a tumultuous roar as the volcano erupted, and Shella stared wide-eyed as lava belched from the broken summit, first a narrow bright stream then, with a pulsing heave, a burning flood of molten rock was vomited down the mountainside in their direction.

  The ash was falling faster, and the fiery rocks smashing into them were now the size of watermelons.

  ‘Miss,’ Jayki said. ‘We should go.’

  She ignored him, trying to estimate the path the lava was taking. It was rolling smoothly and slowly down the long slopes of the volcano, and she knew it would be a few hours before it reached their current position. The camp stretched for miles northwards however, and it would take all day for the rearmost camps to catch up. She coughed, her throat parched and burning. A man ran out in front of her, screaming, his hair on fire.

  ‘Miss!’ Jayki yelled.

  She took her eyes off the mountain for a moment and looked around. A full company of militia were assembled in the swirling ash, ready to leave, awaiting her command. Several wagons, piled up with the tents of the inner circle, stood by, their oxen lowing in fear. Shella wrapped a cloth over her face as it became difficult to breathe, the hot air filled with burning dust. She shook her head, sending ash flying.

  She glanced back at the camp. There was nothing more she could do. There was no point in waiting, or going back to warn them. The migrants at the northernmost end of the camp could see the danger as clearly as she, and would run all the way if it came to it. How many more would die that day?

  She turned away, and raised her hand. ‘Move out!’ she cried, and the guards in her company got underway, trudging southwards as ash buried the ground. Periodically, a rock would crash nearby, sometimes missing, sometimes smashing into the ranks of the militia in an explosion of fire and glowing shards.

  She nearly stumbled, the grey carpet covering the cracks and jagged stones on the ground. She shrank into herself, her head empty of all thoughts except keeping her feet moving.

  Chapter 11

  Double Down

  Rahain Capital, Rahain Republic – 30th Day, Last Third Summer 504

  ‘Whoever you’re working for,’ the old woman said, aiming her hand-sized crossbow at Daphne’s heart, ‘should have warned you that people have tried to kill me before.’

  Daphne, her eyes flowing with battle-vision, stared at the city councillor. She saw the Rahain’s finger about to tighten, and flung her left arm up over her chest as the old woman pulled the trigger. The bolt glanced off the armour that protected her crippled limb, and Daphne pounced. She pulled a knife from her boot as she sprang, directing it towards the old woman’s heart. The Rahain ducked at the last moment, and Daphne slammed the blade into the side of her head.

  She let go of the knife, and the old woman fell to the ground, three inches of steel in her brain.

  Daphne gazed at the dead Rahain at her feet. Myella, the second name on Douanna’s list. Lying on the floor, she didn’t look like someone who was capable of doing the kinds of things that Douanna had listed. Like a spider at the centre of a web, she had said. With her death, the network of those she had controlled, both in the City Council and High Senate, would weaken, and th
e alliance between the parties that made up the war coalition might start to fracture. And that would make war with the Holdings less likely, Daphne guessed, running through Douanna’s logic in her mind, trying to justify what she had done.

  Murder.

  Her mind turned to Killop, as she remembered seeing him two thirds before. While the threat of war against her homeland seemed remote and hard to imagine, her motivation for carrying out Douanna’s commissions felt viscerally real when she thought of the condition of the Kellach slaves. Eliminating some of those responsible felt like a better justification to her, and so revenge for what the Rahain had done to the Kellach Brigdomin had got her through her first assignment, a third before, and it would get her through this.

  She hoped.

  Daphne left the knife where it was, and crept to the door of the old woman’s office, four floors up in the City Council building. She knew the layout well, having sneaked around before, on her nocturnal wanderings through the city. Breaking into the mansions of the rich, and the more heavily guarded public buildings had become a habit for Daphne as she practised her skills. Prowling alone at night, and then sleeping and studying during the day, had become her routine since Douanna had left over a third before. The Rahain merchant had travelled back to Jade Falls, to put some distance between herself and the execution of her commissions.

  Crouching low, Daphne looked out through the keyhole.

  Bending her sight with line-vision, she scanned the corridor in both directions, finding it empty.

  She left the room and ran down the corridor, her feet making no noise on the thick carpet. She searched the wall at the end of the passageway, finding the concealed door leading to the servants’ stairwell. She heard voices approach from the left, crowing over some victory in the council, and she went through. She put her ear to the door as she shut it, listening as the voices came closer.

  ‘When you see your brother,’ a low voice said, ‘give him my hearty congratulations. I’m sure he’ll do a fine job bringing those recalcitrant savages to heel.’

  ‘I will, thank you,’ a younger voice replied, as they passed the door.