The Magelands Box Set

by Christopher Mitchell

  As she was debating whether or not she should intervene, she saw Karalyn’s vision rise clear of the mansion. It was dragging another consciousness with it, like a hen leading a chick.

  Killop, she said.

  Am I dreaming? he asked. Where are we?

  Take a look around, she said. Slateford.

  I don’t understand, he said. How is this happening?

  Karalyn’s presence wound round them, pushing their minds closer together.

  Daphne laughed. Our daughter, but I’ve no idea how she’s doing it.

  Is this what you do? he asked, gazing around. Is this how you use your vision powers to see things?

  Kalayne taught me this. Before, I could only do it when I was awake, but he showed me how to control my dreams. He said that Karalyn would be doing it, and I needed to learn if I was going to keep up with her.

  Killop paused. So what do we do now?

  Let’s see what’s happening in town, she said. Come on.

  She pushed her powers towards the north, her vision flying over the dark land. Karalyn followed, pulling Killop along, keeping his consciousness close to hers. Daphne paused over the town, watching the people on the streets. Drunks staggered, while new arrivals looked lost. Bored militia chatted by the roadside in the light cast from the open windows of taverns. Hot-food stalls served late night customers bacon rolls and ale, and even from high above, she could sense the life of the place pulse.

  I’ve hardly been into town, she said. Looks like fun.

  As she gazed at the streets, she felt a powerful pull from above, and a spasm of fear rippled through Karalyn.

  Daphne, Killop cried, something’s wrong. Something’s got a hold of us.

  Daphne turned. Karalyn’s mind was being pulled upwards, Killop’s intertwined. The sky seemed to open a hole to an even deeper darkness, a void.

  It’s taking us, Killop yelled, as he and Karalyn spiralled upwards.

  For a second Daphne watched in horror, then sped after them, reaching them and gathering them close.

  I need to wake us, she said.

  What’s happening?

  I don’t know.

  Their speed increased, until they were hurtling through the air, then everything went black, and Daphne could see, hear and feel nothing. She felt a twinge of panic. Where were Killop and Karalyn? She centred her thoughts. She needed to wake up.

  Before she could do anything, she realised that she was in someone else’s mind. Not the mind of an ordinary mortal, but a being whose knowledge and power made her feel like a speck of dust caught in a beam of light, tiny and conspicuous.

  The being was gazing down on the world, and Daphne could see the whole continent. It looked nothing like a star, she thought. The five points weren’t the same size or shape at all. She relaxed a little as she noticed that the being had not felt her presence.

  She closed her eyes, breathed, and woke herself.

  She shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, panting. She leaned over the side of the bed and vomited onto the floor, retching up the ale she had drunk during the evening. She wiped her mouth and picked up a jug of water. She turned, and threw half over Killop, and the rest over Karalyn.

  The baby screamed, and Killop fell out of bed, crashing onto the floor. Daphne rushed to soothe Karalyn, picking her up and hugging her as she heard Killop cough and grunt. She staggered to the table and turned up the oil lamp, sending a low light through their bedroom. Killop clambered up onto his knees, grasping on to the side of the mattress, his face and hair drenched in sweat and flung water.

  Karalyn settled, and Daphne realised that she was asleep in her arms. She smiled, and lowered her back into the cot, replacing her soaking blanket with a dry one. A headache was pounding behind her temples, and she knelt on the ground, mopping up the sick with the wet cover.

  She heard Killop get onto the bed.

  ‘You all right?’ she asked.

  He said nothing, but she could hear his ragged breathing. She picked up the vomit-stained cover and dumped it into the laundry tub. She yanked off her nightdress, and threw it in as well.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ said Killop, his voice hoarse.

  She pulled a dry nightshirt from a drawer and pulled it on. She saw Killop watching her. She sat on the mattress and took a stick of keenweed from her pouch by the bed.

  ‘The Creator,’ she said, lighting it.

  Killop’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.

  ‘Kalayne warned me,’ she said. ‘He told me that sometimes he could see inside the creator’s mind when he was dreaming. He said it was bound to happen to Karalyn sooner or later.’

  Killop shook his head.

  ‘I’m aching all over,’ he said, ‘like I’ve been in a battle.’

  ‘Have some of this,’ she said, offering him the weedstick. ‘Helps after using vision.’

  He propped himself up onto an elbow, looking at the smokestick.

  ‘I don’t want to become addicted.’

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, taking a draw, ‘I am. I’ve taken to it like you lot have taken to drink. It’s made me a better mage. But Killop, one puff won’t make you addicted.’

  He paused, then reached out his hand, taking the keenweed. He held it to his lips and inhaled.

  ‘By the way,’ she smiled. ‘Happy birthday.’

  ‘He’s been a right grumpy bastard all morning,’ Bridget said to her as they stood by the edge of the courtyard, watching as tables, chairs, and an outside kitchen were set up.

  ‘He didn’t sleep well,’ Daphne said.

  The opposite was true. Within a minute of smoking the weedstick, Killop had passed out, and slept the rest of the night, while Daphne had lain awake, reliving every detail of their intrusion into the mind of the Creator. Kalayne had assured her that the Creator had never once noticed whenever he had looked in upon his thoughts, but a worry persisted that they had been seen.

  She sighed, wishing the mad old Kell was with them in Slateford.

  ‘You all right?’ Bridget said. ‘Draewyn been getting on at you?’

  Daphne shrugged. ‘No more than usual, but I don’t listen to what she says so I’m not sure.’

  ‘That drives her crazy, you know,’ Bridget laughed. ‘That you don’t give a shit.’

  ‘You’ve done a great job getting the party ready.’

  Bridget frowned. ‘I’ve been meaning to say sorry for pushing your wedding back. It’s just that I thought it would be a better idea to have the chief’s birthday first. The clan need to see him, they need to know that he’s fine, and then, in a couple of thirds, you can get married.’

  ‘This is horseshit.’

  ‘I know it is,’ Bridget said, ‘but at the same time it’s not. Killop’s the chief of the fucking clan. Him getting hitched is a big thing to Slateford. With all the crap going on outside, we need folk to feel they’re safe here, that we really are a clan. The chief’s wedding, with you all dolled up, and Karalyn decked out as a flower girl, it’ll be braw. I’ll organise a party even bigger than this one. Half the clan will be there…’

  ‘This is not what I wanted.’

  ‘As your friend I agree, and feel angry on your behalf,’ Bridget said, ‘but as the Herald of the Severed Clan, I couldn’t give a shit. The moment you accepted the chief’s proposal, all the wedding plans are in my hands.’

  ‘I proposed to him.’

  ‘Same difference.’

  ‘So I’m going to be served up for the whole clan to stare at?’

  ‘He belongs to them as much as he’ll belong to you,’ Bridget said. ‘If you don’t like it, don’t marry him.’

  Daphne sighed and bowed her head.

  ‘But the wedding won’t be the end of it, will it?’ she said. ‘I’ll be the wife of the chief. I’ll be kissing babies and judging the best marrow competitions at village fairs.’

  Bridget laughed.

  ‘Back in Brig,’
she said, ‘our old chief’s wife was commander of the Brig army. She was as wide as an ox, and couldn’t run for shit, but by fuck she could swing an axe. I don’t think she ever judged any village fairs.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ Daphne said. ‘I was thinking of my mother, the wife of a Holder. A proper lady. She didn’t think much of me for going into the army. She would rather I’d worn dresses and learned embroidery, fit to be married off to the younger son from some second rate Holding.’

  ‘Well, you got out of that,’ Bridget laughed, ‘only to find yourself marrying the chief of a barbarian tribe.’

  Daphne smiled. ‘As a noblewoman of the Realm of the Holdings, I was trained for this. I know my duty. I was brought up to expect to be a bride in an arranged wedding, at least here I’m choosing the man. I’ll do it, Bridget. I’ll behave. I’ll play the role of the chief’s wife.’

  Bridget nodded. ‘Thanks. Even though you’re not married yet, you’ll be starting today, at Killop’s birthday party.’

  Daphne lit a cigarette.

  ‘And none of that,’ Bridget said, ‘at least not at the table when folk are eating. You know how Draewyn goes on about it.’

  ‘I’ll try not to punch her.’

  ‘Not today at any rate.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Bridget, I won’t spoil the party.’

  Daphne wore what Bridget suggested, and put on her mask of calm confidence as she sat through lunch. She was seated at a long table with the leadership of the clan, to Killop’s left, while Bridget sat on his right. For over two hours a queue of clansfolk filed past the table, giving the chief their birthday greetings.

  She spoke only when asked something, which wasn’t often, while she could tell Killop was forcing himself to be genial, trying to smile at each person who came forward. He hadn’t said a word while they had got ready, a silence she blamed on the night before. She found it easy to slip into her old familiar role of a noblewoman, and realised that meeting the public made Killop uncomfortable.

  After lunch, the high table watched as locals put on acts for them. Children danced and sang, and old men and women chanted long Kellach legends.

  Daphne smiled and clapped at the end of one recitation.

  ‘How you doing?’ she whispered to Killop.

  ‘Fine.’

  Daphne nodded.

  She turned to Karalyn, who was perched on a cushion upon a chair. Daphne shook her head. The girl should be in a highchair at her age, yet there she was, sitting at the table like a two year old, instead of not having yet reached the age of one.

  ‘Mama eat?’

  ‘Yes, Kara-bear,’ Daphne said. ‘Mummy’s eating.’

  Bridget leaned over.

  ‘That’s the acts finished for now. We can all take a break for half an hour, and get out of everyone’s way while they re-arrange the tables.’

  Killop nodded, the relief on his face obvious.

  Daphne picked Karalyn up off the chair, and followed Killop down from the podium.

  ‘I need to get some air,’ he said, walking towards the path that led to the river.

  ‘All right,’ said Daphne, watching him go.

  ‘What’s up with him?’ Bedig said. ‘He’s not usually this bad-tempered.’

  ‘Could you hold Karalyn for a few minutes?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She passed him the child.

  ‘Thanks.’

  She headed off after Killop, smiling at the clansfolk she passed. There was a little path that branched off from the main road, that followed the riverbank up the valley towards the waterfalls. She and Killop had taken Karalyn there many times, and she knew it was his favourite place.

  As snow started to fall she wished she had taken a thicker coat. Rahain must be the coldest place in the world, though from the way the Kellach talked, it was even colder where they were from.

  She spotted Killop ahead on the path, and slowed her pace.

  He was leaning against a fallen tree limb, gazing down at the fast-moving stream. The waters were wide but shallow, and tumbled over the rocks. She stood next to him.

  After a long silence, she nudged him.

  ‘I’m freezing up here,’ she said. ‘Do you want to talk?’

  He turned to her, his eyes dark.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re so calm about it,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘How can you be so fucking calm?’

  ‘I don’t like it when you swear at me.’

  He blinked.

  ‘I’m calm,’ she said, ‘because I don’t see any point in panicking. I’m still trying to work out exactly what happened, but I’m pretty sure we’re not in any danger.’

  ‘In danger?’ he said. ‘Why would we be in danger?’

  ‘In case the Creator realised we were eavesdropping on his thoughts.’

  ‘Shit. That hadn’t even occurred to me.’

  ‘Then what are you getting worked up about?’

  ‘The Creator is fucking real, Daphne,’ he cried. ‘Sorry. The Creator is real.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I know you do,’ he said. ‘You’ve told me. Now, no matter how I say this it’s going to come out wrong, but when you said you’d spoken to the Creator, I believed that you believed it. I mean I didn’t think you were lying or making it up. But…’

  ‘You thought I was mad?’

  ‘Hallucinating, maybe.’

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘unless we had a shared hallucination last night, you believe it now?’

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘and it changes things. It’s not every day you get proof there’s a god.’

  ‘He’s not a god,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what he is, but he can’t do anything, except talk to a small handful of the best Holdings mages, and see what’s happening in the world. He has no real power.’

  ‘He felt powerful to me.’

  ‘But he seemed to be made of the same stuff as us,’ she said. ‘I mean his thoughts moved in the same way. He didn’t feel, I don’t know… divine.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t ever want to go through that again.’

  ‘That’s the first time I know of that Karalyn has seen the Creator’s thoughts. I don’t know how often it might happen.’

  ‘How could the wee lassie stand it?’

  ‘She was the only one who didn’t seem bothered by the experience,’ Daphne said. ‘We were both sick and achy, but she was fine. She only screamed because I threw half a jug of water over her, she went back to sleep straight away. Her mage powers must protect her somehow.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘So what now? Do we let the missionaries in? After all, they’re telling the truth.’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘Do we tell Bridget? Have you told her already?’

  ‘No,’ Daphne said. ‘I remember the reaction the last time I told people I’d met the Creator.’

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘this is one we should keep to ourselves.’

  ‘Another secret.’

  He nodded. ‘And the missionaries?’

  ‘The church are liars and the One True Path are fanatics. Kalayne told me that they were planning something. He didn’t know what, but he was trying to find out. And the church wanted me as far away as possible, they didn’t want me messing up their plans.’

  ‘They fear you.’

  She fell silent. Could there be anything that the church was planning that was more important than her life in Slateford, with Killop and Karalyn? Was she needed somewhere else?

  ‘So you think I should keep the missionaries off the estate?’ he said.

  ‘It’s your decision,’ she said, ‘but I can’t guarantee I’ll be calm if I happen to run into a deacon.’

  He smiled. ‘Me neither. I nearly lynched that Millar when I caught him.’

  They shared a glance.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, brushing the snow off her coat. ‘We’d better be getting back.’

  He took off his thick cloak and wrapped it round her shoulders.

  ‘
You need it more than I do,’ he said. ‘Soft northerner.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Do barbarians not feel the cold because they’re so hairy?’

  ‘We’re too savage to care about a bit of snow.’

  Daphne shook her head as they began walking down the path. ‘Winter in the Holdings would probably be too hot for you, and you’d melt in summer.’

  ‘I’d just have to walk around naked.’

  ‘My mother might have something to say about that.’

  ‘Something complimentary, I hope?’

  ‘Maybe after she’d stopped screaming.’

  He took her hand, and they kept going, the snow falling thicker around them.

  Bridget was frowning when they returned to the courtyard in front of the mansion, although Daphne wasn’t sure if it was due to the snow, or the fact that she and Killop were late. Lines of tables had been set out on the edges of the square, leaving a large open space in the centre. Fires had been built in each corner, and were roaring up into the snowy evening, the sky darkening overhead. Musicians were strumming and tuning their instruments, and ale was being served from a long bar next to the mansion.

  Bridget led them to the head table, where they were seated next to Bedig and Karalyn. At once, food was served.

  Unlike the luncheon, where alcohol consumption had been restrained, Daphne noticed that the Kellach were drinking copious amounts. Men and women were draining great mugs of golden ale, and the volume of conversation was drowning out the noise from the musicians.

  A serving boy asked Daphne what she wanted to drink.

  ‘Do you have any of that gin?’

  ‘Brodie’s gin?’ Killop grimaced. ‘You tasted it?’

  ‘I quite liked it,’ she said. ‘But on second thoughts, I did get very drunk…’ She looked at the boy.

  ‘An ale, please,’ she said. ‘A weak one.’

  The boy nodded and ran off to the bar.

  As the snow got heavier, canopies were erected over the tables, and Daphne was glad she had Killop’s cloak wrapped round her to keep out the cold. They ate, and drank, and the Kellach grew louder and more boisterous. The musicians started playing, and soon groups were up dancing and singing, while the snow fell around them.