The noise of people leave a room descended down the all, a pleasant chatter of people who had not had a bad meeting. As we neared I recognized five or six faces. All twenty or so recognized me.
Julius was at the forefront.
“Lady Feraline Swift. A pleasure.”
Julius wore flowing trousers and a draping robe held shut by a gold chain belt. He was a hawkish, sinewy man with long limbs and keen bright eyes. Everything about him fit perfectly with his phoenix second form.
Valerin said, “She has come on business, I'm afraid. Have you time to spare?”
Julius opened his arms and gestured towards an office. We pushed through a curtain covering the doorway, entering a spacious room with a fainting couch, chairs, and a desk. He sat at a chair, poured us drinks from a clear pitcher, and said, “Tell me why you are here.”
I started with Railey's note. Julius was good about not asking questions and better at silencing Valerin with a slight shake of his head. I showed him the Cyrillic spell, but Julius wasn’t interested in it. When we finally got to the part where Death named the rite, Julius angled his head in plain curiousity. I explained that I hadn't seen any trace of it.
“Do you know of the rite?”
Julius eased deep into his chair, a thoughtful frown on his lips. “It sounds familiar, but I do not recall it offhand. A great many spells were intended to be forgotten, I believe that was one of them.”
“Why? How did this spell earn its place as an Unwritten?”
“It was frequently misused to prolong lives of people who were not capable of enduring the changes it caused them. People are and were free to make poor decisions; that isn't what banned it. In order to clean up people's mistakes, well, that was very public and attracted attention that would be problematic for attempts to hide magic and its users.”
“Right, so it wasn't a bad spell, I just caused a big mess.”
“Correct, and this 'mess' is one thing you need to plan on cleaning up should you attempt or succeed in performing the rite.”
“Fantastic. Any chance the First Order can at the very least give me some pointers?”
“Given the circumstances, I believe, yes. They will.”
I felt relieved. “And the rite itself? Do you know how to do it?”
“Not offhand. If I can’t give you the rite, is there another way I can help you? Perhaps we can predict your opponents plans and outmaneuver them. What were Cole’s previous projects before doing this to Death?”
“The first one gathered souls and turned the result into an Immortal.” I delved into everything in a muddle of detail. When I finally came out of the explanation, Julius was frowning.
“It is an odd combination,” Julius said. “I wonder why he chose those. It is concerning, though, given the way he is making the best use of them possible.”
“Any suggestions?”
“If he were going in a familiar trend, I would happily say yes, but under the circumstances, I think the best you can do is focus on protections.”
It was my turn to frown now. “You don’t think I should look into the Unwrittens themselves?”
“No. Who knows what may happen, what unintended consequences you could unleash. You should focus on protections.” His eyes lit on the pin that Death had left for me. “I see you already have started.”
“What?”
“The pin with the feathers. People used to keep a black hen to peck and scratch away any hexes, jinxes, or other malicious spells, but recently it has proven enough to carry their feathers instead. The pin itself has been enchanted, but delicately so. At first even I did not notice its craftsmanship. Whoever did this was very talented.” He considered something. “I can think of a few protections to teach you, but you must keep them secret to yourself—and one day, to a student. Valerin, will you do the honors?”
Valerin stepped forward, eager to show me what Julius had in mind.
Chapter Seventeen
Footsteps tapped up the few short stairs to where I was working in a drizzly rainstorm in the pergola in Kragdomen’s gardens. A slow leak dropped into a mug in the center of the table, causing tiny droplets to flick on the grouping of candles. I paused, holding my hand over the page of Skills as if to hide it from whoever was intruding. I had spent the last few hours alternating between reading and writing.
“Fera!”
It was Denise.
I removed my hand from hiding Skills, noting that I was shaking from holding a pen too long.
“What are you doing?” she asked, skidding to a halt by my side
“I’m preparing some protection spells. Are you familiar with any of these ingredients?”
Denise examined the polished surface of the table littered with the desaturated husks of dried herbs. She pointed to each in turn. “Lavender stems, pennyroyale leaves, mugwort, mint. Umm.”
I finished the list for her. “Harmel and snakehead.”
“The snakehead root is to carry with you, in a pocket or in an amulet, but you have to keep the mother plant alive or else the spell won’t work,” Denise said confidently. “The snake is cousin to our dragon body, so you see dragons and snakes sharing symbolism as guardians. The Chinese think dragons are generous, but Europeans think they are evil hoarders.”
She clearly appreciated the idea of being so well-regarded. I couldn’t help but smile.
“What other animals are guardians?”
“Easy. Anything fierce and scary or poisonous. Crocodile, spider, scorpion, poisonous frogs, owls, eagles.”
“What about a bull?”
She made a face. “A bull is a fertility symbol. Livestock generally are.”
I clucked my tongue. “Heckity, peckity.”
Denise scowled. “Aw, shuckalotz. Chickens. I forgot.”
I laughed. “Shuckalotz?”
“That’s what you say when you do something stupid.”
“You know, your lingo is starting to make me feel old.”
“You are old. You’re an adult.”
Funny how some of the adults disagreed with her. I scooted the snakehead root off to the side. “Now what about the rest of these? What are they for?”
Denise hesitated. “You said mint was for courage once.”
“If you brew it and drink it, it is calming, but it provides energy as well. That refreshment bestows courage. It also eases a nauseated stomach. Go on.”
Denise picked up a narrow stem with purple flowers. “Lavender. It’s calming, too. And it’s used in a love potion, with rosemary and honey or sugar. Or white wine. It’s used in the birthing chambers to keep the mother safe.”
“What do you know about its botanical properties?”
“It is good to bathe in? They have lots of lavender oil at the baths.”
“Yes, it is excellent when used on the skin with a carrier oil. It is tonic, and perhaps antiseptic as well. What else?”
She surveyed the rest of the table with a wary expression. “Nest hasn’t taught me the rest yet.”
I rolled a leaf into a small tube, explaining, “Mugwort is a recovery herb to stimulate hunger and aid digestion when the leaves are used in an infusion. There is also a spell to use to ward off infection. Pennyroyale was historically used as an abortive, but it is also used to create peace within a home. The important symbol behind this plant is that it was hung on the bridge between life and death. An infusion is used to wash a deceased person to ease their transition onto the other world. Mugwort was known to the Anglo-Saxons to amplify magical talent thanks to this transitional property.”
“It gives you a boost of strength?”
“I haven’t tried it, but yes, that is the story.”
She grinned wickedly. “And if that doesn’t work, then you’re washed in it to go across the bridge to the dead.”
“Basically, yes.” I could always count on her to see things in this light. I continued, “Allegedly, wormwood can be burned to speak to the souls of the dead.”
“So if you
have tried mugwort, it failed, and now you’re dead, someone can still talk to you.”
“A pleasant thought, isn’t it? But there is more to wormwood. The liquor is dangerous, it damages the central nervous system if you take too much for too long. It does have properties. Anti-fever and antiseptic. It is a last-ditch effort. Historically it was prized by Hippocrates and it was named after Artemis.”
“Goddess of the hunt?”
“Yes. Now this is kelp, a type of seaweed. We take all these different plants and wrap them up in the kelp like so, then leave it to dry.” I finished a rather unsightly bundle and hung it from a hook attached to the rafters. “When it is ready, the packets are to be nailed over the entryway for protection. If the worst happens, you open them up and use what you need. The iron nail is to be boiled with all infusions, it gives nutrients. Granted, the nail shouldn't be rusty. Rusty iron is not good.”
Denise nodded, suddenly deep in thought. She asked, “How about Tiw’s Courage?”
I hadn’t heard about it before. “Would you tell me?”
“Tiw was the Anglo-Saxon Lord of Courage. Tiw’s-day, you know? This is his symbol. You wear it.” Denise drew an angle pointed at an upwards-right angle.
“I can’t see how it would hurt,” I said with a shrug.
Her eyes widened. “Ohh, what is this?” She thumped a heavy tome onto my bunch of lavender. “A beastiary! Awesome. Are we in it?” She opened it up immediately, not even noticing that it had words of warning on the front pages. I resisted the urge to scold her; despite her harsh treatment of my herbs, she was handling the book pages kindly. Almost reverently.
She stopped turning the pages. “Oh, what’s this? A Phoenix Transformation Spell. Does it—no, it’s a frankincense potion to become ‘your true self.’”
“May I see that?”
There wasn’t much to add to what she said, unfortunately, Aethel had simply recorded the name, also called Aulurah Transformation, and purpose of the spell as well as a mention of frankincense being difficult to obtain and the potion taking ever so long to mature. I jotted down the notes in Skills, which soon undertook the query.
Denise found a passage about Caledin, the old king of the Dinnune Wair Drakes who was at war when the Veil fell, cutting magic folk off from ordinary people.
I was surprised that Mordren, that heroic champion of the Dinnune Wair, did not go to the battle of Magnis Vale nor to Lavera, but instead remained with us in Venilis for the purpose of observing the rivalry between the Princes. To me such work seemed strange, but I had not then known his true purpose.
Keeping the rivalry in check was but a mere excuse, and a flimsy one which all others seemed to know before I did. Remaining in civilization, close to the Princes, was the best method for him to remain close to the object of his interest without pledging his intentions to the world which surely would have resulted in his immediate eviction. Evening after evening he saw me upon ensuring the Princes did not fulfill their mutual vows of hatred, and he would speak with me until my guards were too far in their cups so he would take me for my sunset walk. He was quite gay about it.
‘Your father does not care for you as he does his sons,’ Mordren told me one night as we walked along the riverbank shrunken from a summer’s heat. He spoke heatedly of the human king. ‘Do not come to his defense, I beg of you. It rubs me raw when he speaks of you the way his herdsmen do of their mares.’
He inspected the surroundings. We were crossing into a dense, sheltered woodland alongside a glittering clear stream at the base of a steep hill, where a crisp breeze blew the scent of blooming wild flowers. Far off to the west, where the hill ended in a steep river cliff upon which my father’s hall was situated complete with its guards, I could hear the horn sound the warning hour before the gates were to close. The gates were no small matter to a stranger attempting to enter late, but to me they were simple to bypass by a loose spot in the posts.
‘I must speak with you,’ said Mordren.
‘Then do.’
‘I must know if it would please you were I to kiss you,’ he said, then took hold of me by my shoulders and stared steadfastly into my face as if he could read the answer there. For me to hear those words took me entirely unawares, for though I was pretty I could never achieve a greater status than that. For me, who had so long admired Mordren, to comprehend that he had been paying me attention out of personal interest rather than mere courtesy, made me feel faint. Words did not come to my lips, but his did. Little did I know how vehemently Caledon would disapprove of our love.
Denise looked up from the beastiary pages. “This is a recording of her life, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It is an old book.”
“I know.” Denise hesitated, then continued, “About Callie. Our Callie.”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you like him? He likes you and you haven’t said anything nice about him.”
My stomach sank. “I think it is time to talk—not about me, and not about him. When you meet someone, you need to try to find out what it is they want, what they are willing to do to get it, and most importantly, why. If you can listen to them well enough, if you can examine what they’ve done in the past and compare it to what they are actually saying—that is when you know them. I won’t tell you what to think, but you need to truly think about people for yourself.”
Denise considered me, then she said, “He does that thing where he insults you and then gives a compliment.”
“I suppose he does.”
“Why? If he means to be nice, why does he insult?”
Footsteps silenced her, and the low murmur of voices approached.
“Find out,” I said. “Meanwhile, let’s get this cleaned up.”
Denise took care of the books by closing them and stacking the Beastiary on top of the far-smaller Skills of the Thaumaturge. My expression must have spoken volumes. Without even a sigh, she picked up both books and carted them to my bag resting on a chair in the corner.
Mordon, Nest, and Druidan gathered around the table, each one moving slowly as if in deep thought. Druidan picked up a stray mugwort leaf inquisitively, as if he had not seen one in years.
“Can you manage a practice mating flight?” Mordon asked without preamble.
The abrupt question left me feeling a little adrift, particularly after the conversation I’d been having with Denise. I said, “I can. When?”
Druidan said, “Now.”
I paused, a strip of kelp in my hand. “Why don’t the three of you explain matters to me as I finish up here?”
Mordon frowned. “But Caledon is distracted right now.”
His tone indicated that Caledon was ‘distracted’ with something, or rather someone, scandalous. With the strange standards for scandals here, I wanted to know what it was even though I told myself that I didn’t care. I realized Mordon was nervous, but why? Gently, I said, “Mordon, I have never even seen a mating flight before this. Heard mention of, yes, but I don’t truly know anything. Can you teach me?”
That question was a calculated move. Mordon enjoyed his part in maintaining the heritage and history of the colony by teaching the youngsters. The last thing he would want would be a mate who did not have a connection to the culture. Mordon’s eyes brightened, his forehead lost its wrinkles, and he hauled a pair of chairs for the two of us to sit in.
“To explain the mating flight, we must go to dragon lore. Dragons are older than we are, and the first dragon eggs were lain by the mother of all creation. While dragons are old now, then they were the first of their kind amongst other races. There were sphinxes, phoenixes, hell hounds, and a whole host of creatures who have either died or morphed beyond recognition. Amongst those were the ruhks, the groms, the sirap, the grebandsh, and others. It happened a clutch of gryphons were lain the day after the dragon eggs, but the gryphons hatched first. They were playful, and when they found the dragon eggs they thought it was another clutch of gryphons. Each kit took an egg to care for until it hat
ched, and each kit went their own way for one reason or another, and so they and the dragon eggs spread out over the world. It takes dragon eggs a long time to hatch.
“Dragon, and drake, eggs change sex depending on the incubation temperature. Gryphons prefer hot, humid climates, so that is where most of the eggs went. One gryphon was exiled into the cool mountains in the north. When the eggs hatched and the hatchlings grew into adults there were seven males and one female. The males had one another for company, but they each held their own territories. The female realized that to find a mate, she would have to travel to find him.
“She flew weeks to the south, and presently came upon the first male. She was intrigued by him and flew with him, but she would not stop until she had met the others. The male pursued her because he did not want one of his competitors to take her away. The second male they found was a friend to the first, and once again the female flew with him then insisted she keep flying. And so on with the third male, and the fourth.
“Come the fifth and sixth, though, there became conflict amongst the males. They formed teams to see their opponents removed from the flight. When the seventh male joined, there was a terrible fight. They formed alliances, the first three with the second three. The seventh was a trickster, and he joined with one team only to betray them. Then he set the remaining three males against one another. The female watched all of this, of course. When there were only the first, the second, and the seventh remaining, the female selected the second male and flew away with him to her mountain. Eventually, their daughters flew south and held their own mating flights, and thus began the era of the dragon.”
I said, “And the drakes continued this tradition?”
A brush of color touched his cheeks. Mordon glanced at his hands before he dared to look back up at me. “It is very satisfying.”
Seeing him flustered was a rare treat. “An orgy in the sky probably is.”
Druidan laughed at that. “Do I hear a moral objection?”
“Do mated people participate?”
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