Wind Magic

by Nicolette Jinks

  A sweet scent cloyed the air around my body, so thick it felt as if I breathed through cotton balls, so heady an ache pressed behind my eyes and a drum started against my temple. It hit as suddenly as a skunk’s spray, and with it came a hot spot on my arm. I clutched it to my chest, wriggling away from Cole, and realized what the burning spot was:

  The roses that Nest had pressed into my arm.

  She’d said they would help when I’d long forgotten about them. Aside from their overwhelming smell and the slight heat on my skin, they didn’t seem to be doing anything of use.

  Cole lunged, leading the way with his mouth gaping open. If I kicked, I might damage a few teeth. If I didn’t, I’d be shredded. Part out of intent, part out of instinct, I blocked him with my forearm.

  A sap-green mist filled his mouth and splattered his face. His teeth didn’t even close about my body. The wendigo screamed, high-pitched and wounded, as the sap created smoke and burrowed through his skin as if it were molten metal. He withdrew, scratching at his eyes. Shrieking louder. He’d spread the corrosive material, not removed it.

  Outraged, he swung for me again. Apparently he’d decided that, face burning or not, he was going to tear me limb from limb. I clenched my fists, felt a brief stirring of the wind and the brood-ring thrashing on my finger.

  “Repello!”

  A pale blue bolt slammed into Cole from the side, lifting him off his feet and tossing him violently into a red-and-white striped tent. It collapsed around his unmoving form. I scrambled to get my feet underneath me, to face whoever had butted into our fight.

  Leif knelt beside me. Alarmed, I jerked away from him.

  “What do you want?”

  “You alive.” He heaved on my arms and soon I was wobbling beside him as pins and needles filled my numb legs. Leif continued, “I don’t have time. Keep that smell up. If it wasn’t for that and you blinding him, I wouldn’t be able to pull this off.”

  “What?”

  “I need to appear to be in his pocket,” Leif said. “That means I need to appear as if I’m completely loyal. It isn’t easy, he could turn on me at any moment. You have to listen to what I’ve found out. First, you have to make sure Caledon doesn’t talk, or that his information is out of date. They found him at Mermaid's Tale. Get a few drinks into him, and any half-decent manipulator can weasel the truth out.”

  “What?”

  “He’ll talk about anything—the number of guards at night, the layout of the tunnels in the cliffs, who is predisposed to help anyone who might oppose Mordon.” Leif shook his head. “Barnes was going to talk to Mordon about it, which brings me to the second bit. Cole’s son in the warehouse. It’s him, yes. And I think the important thing is this. He’ll do anything, absolutely anything, to speak to his son again.”

  “What’s it have to do with the Commandancy?”

  “A man often pursues multiple ambitions, Fera. But I think, if you can find his son, Cole will surrender everything he has to talk to him.”

  “But...” But his son is gone, not even Death knows where, I wanted to say.

  “That’s his weakness, Fera. And his strength. So long as he lives, he’ll expand his powers and hope to find his son along the way. You can stop him, if you find the boy first.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Death has ideas.”

  That was when we both went still.

  With Cole still unmoving beneath the tent, I realized I’d forgotten all about Death who was the cause for all this fuss.

  “Death.”

  We bolted through the flashes of bright spells.

  I scrambled for the man in the center who was curled up into the fetal position. Leif was pale, his face a mirror of what I was thinking: Death’s dead.

  He can’t be.

  Leif reached for him, then froze with his fingers just over Death’s shoulder. Neither one of us wanted to touch him and confirm our fears. I did anyway.

  Death’s robes crinkled at my touch, as stiff and fragile as a scrap of burnt parchment. I didn’t dare to touch flesh charred into a crust, bright pink flesh glistening through cracks in the shell. There was no way he could be anything but dead. The poor man had been in the center of the spell burn.

  He moaned.

  My heart skittered, I jerked back. Even Leif’s eyes bulged, he raised his wand at Death. Then we both realized what this meant: Death lived.

  I hoped he would hold on.

  “Leif?”

  He whistled. It was a strange, coded whistle. A cloaked figure broke off from fighting and hastened to join us, followed closely by another in his shadow. They smelled of coffee and dew-filled clouds.

  “Julius? Valerin?”

  “Not too loud,” Julius warned softly.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Leif called on us. He did not grant us much time, unfortunately.” Julius turned his head to speak to Leif. “Did you get it?”

  “No.”

  Julius stiffened, then went lax in a defeated way.

  “Get what?” I asked.

  “The gryphon’s transmutation spell from human to animal.”

  “What gryphon? Griff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you need it?”

  “This spell, the Aulurah Transformation, was phoenix magic originally. Or, it was at one point. During the pre-Veil war between King Caledin and Lanval Cardan, the phoenixes created created a spell which would harm everyone except us. This is a derivative of that spell, and it should do the same.”

  “Your plan is to transform Death into a phoenix?”

  Julius shook his head. “Not a phoenix. I can’t do that. For one thing, none of us have a feather to shed, and for another, we can’t add another phoenix to our population. It’s impossible. No, we were going to change him into another bird.”

  I understood.

  “I remember it. It’s missing a few details. Namely, what the person should be transformed into,” I said, and hurried to draw it. When they saw me scrabbling to etch into the ground with the back end of a pencil. Valerin handed me a can that rattled with every movement. It was a spray paint, the kind meant to be used upside-down. I happily started to use that instead.

  Julius ignored my question, motioning that I should make the spell large enough to have Death in the middle. I complied. Julius asked, “How do you know that is it?”

  “Good visual memory.”

  That seemed to appease him. Julius said, “Valerin, the eagle feather.”

  Valerin reached into his pocket and withdrew an empty hand. Quickly he checked his other pockets. Nothing. He was very pale now, and everyone else was watching in mute horror.

  Death moaned again.

  “Is there another feather around? A pigeon? Anything?”

  There wasn’t.

  “Not even a bird foot?”

  For some reason, the bird foot made me think of the grouse foot pins that Mordon sometimes had in stock, and that made me remember what I had on me. “I have the pin.” I unclasped the thimble-pin Death had given me. “Three feathers are in it, but they won’t come out.”

  “It will have to do. Valerin, crow marks. Here, here, here.”

  I watched them fill in the blanks. They put the feathers complete with pin into one area. Then we stepped aside. I motioned Mordon to approach. Cole had gone, I wasn’t sure where or how. Mordon took no notice of what the spell was, just saw that we were all taking up our places in each point of the star, and took his place across from me.

  The four of us and Mordon activated the spell.

  Dimly, I heard Death as he tried to speak. I reached into the wind and connected to him, listening closely. He said, “After … I need … The Lady … Wildwoods. Heal.”

  I felt the power hum through the air as the spell began. It vibrated through my lungs, built in strength, and with a single command, it snapped into action like a drum roll giving way to a flute solo. A pure, clear intent wound its way around Death and held him up m
idair. Brilliant light shot outward. I hid my face, peered at him from between the gaps of my fingers.

  Death’s human body transformed. It shrunk smaller and smaller until it was at last a feathered crow. It was a large crow, more the size of a raven, but he was certainly no longer a human.

  Gingerly, I picked him up in my hands. His eyes squeezed shut in evident pain and he spoke quietly. I turned to the others. “He said he had to go heal in the Wildwoods.”

  I knew that the drakes wouldn’t be welcomed into the Wildwoods, not while they were foreigners. Mordon was certainly on tepid relations with them. He seemed to have that effect on people. Leif’s elven heritage wouldn’t go over well, and Julius was too important to possibly be lost in the Wildwoods’s time morphing.

  Mordon's brow furrowed as he knew my plan, and the risks involved. “Are you sure?”

  Julius closed my hand around Death’s small body. “It will take time for him to heal, and it is time that the world cannot do without him. When he goes to the Wildwoods, he will be able to leave mere minutes after he enters, and he will be healed.”

  I nodded. “Let’s do it. I don’t think he has long. That was a bad burn.”

  Mordon hesitated. “Does it have to be you that leaves?”

  “If my brother was hanging around, I’d send him. Or my parents. But do you see anyone else who has a relationship with the Wildwoods?”

  Julius said, “Drake Lord Meadows, we are short on time. The Lady Fera will be safe when others may not be.”

  Mordon nodded but was eerily quiet.

  They made a portal.

  Mordon caught my arm. “Return quickly, my love.”

  I touched his face, cupping his cheek with affection. “I will.”

  I entered the whirling winds of the portal, felt it pick up and caress my body as we were taken away to a new place where the winds smelled of compost and tree sap. The forest was one of perpetual change, a land as awake and as aware as the creatures within it.

  My eyes were clouded from all the spells I’d witnessed, and the blindness was as temporary as waiting for them to adjust to a different light. For now, I felt the crow in my palm and the grass under my feet. Tall grass, the kind that wrapped around ankles and made it easy to trip. There came a breeze and the scent of fresh creek water.

  When I next saw my surroundings, they were the wide open edge of the woods. I stood in a meadow with a quiet creek cutting through it, beside me a single large tree which was a match to the huge trees deeper within the forest. The tree’s bark bore dark, dusty soot from a massive fire, but the wildlife and the greenery showed no harm. It had been and still was a miracle that the woods had recovered the way they had.

  Cradling the crow in my arms, I wondered if the woods would heal him the way it had healed itself. What was the unseen cost of this magic? Who paid its toll? In the Wildwoods, it was impossible to know. Its magic was as interwoven into its ecology as every bee and every branch with leaves, its people nestled inside, contributing little pieces of themselves for every breath they took. But was Death part of this network? Who paid the price for him? And where was I to take him?

  I felt as if I were no longer alone.

  A woman appeared beside me in an instant, seemingly made of thin mists and the tease of a breeze. “What has brought you here?”

  I held out my hands. “This is Death. He’s been injured. We did what we could to save him, but he needs time that he doesn’t have.”

  “I see.” The woman blinked, her face a calm mask without any discernible concern. “We can’t have my brother incapacitated, can we?”

  “Brother?”

  “Oh, yes. We are all related, the elements of this world. Hope is purgatory, my sister. Death is the ferryman, my brother. I am nature. We can heal him and displace time so the world is not without him too long. However, there is a price, and this you must knowingly pay.”

  “What price?” I asked, knowing they wouldn’t be talking about money. It would be something far, far more dear and utterly irreplaceable.

  “You must lose the time he has gained.”

  “How much time?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  I wondered what that would be like. Would I be trapped here, as if in prison? How did someone go about losing time? Unless it was as easy as setting the clocks forward and losing an hour. What choice did I have?

  “Agreed, but someone has to tell Mordon.”

  “Death shall. Show him to me. Time and I will take care of him.”

  Her fingernail scraped down the crow’s beak. A spark jumped between them.

  Death writhed in my hands, pecked at my thumb, working his beak around my nail so that I worried he would truly bite hard. I cupped him in open palms, watched as he climbed to his feet. He shivered, clearly ruffled from his experiences. Big, black eyes blinked once at me, then focused on the trees in the distance. He launched from my hands into the forest.

  I watched him go. With every beat of his wings, the wind breathed healing into him. Dry, brittle feathers became glossy and pliant. Stiff, rigid muscles transformed into limber movements. The jagged, taut flight melted into a steady glide heading straight for the dewy fog rolling into the meadow.

  I watched Death until I’d lost sight of his body. What else was there to do? I didn’t see the Lady anywhere, and I had the feeling that I wasn’t going to. I turned around, constructed a portal, and decided to return to King’s Ransom.

  Should anyone think to follow me, I didn’t want to lead them straight to the colony. Mordon’s shop was a neutral place. Once I was there, I could find my way back to Kragdomen. And I couldn’t be arrested unless I set foot into the Market, anyway.

  The winds picked up and swept me away.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  For once, I got a portal which didn't make me feel off-balance at the other end. Usually they rocked or gave a sea-motion pressing about my skin, but this time it was smooth, as smooth as the first time I'd stepped into Mordon's shop. While before it had been light enough to see, the place I exited was dark. I wobbled, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

  The scent of old book, then the faint outline of an old biplane against the skylights. Even though it was silly to do in the dark, I closed my eyes to focus on feeling my magic, a slowly stirring breeze which emerged from the far corners of the shop. Through it I could feel the smooth glaze of an antique vase, the roughened edge of a sarcophagus. That it was King's Ransom, Mordon's shop, I knew without doubt. And yet, something felt different.

  Something felt wrong as my magic finished its maze and swirled about my body in a lazy dust devil or silt and pocket lint. The rows of books had been reorganized, slimmed down to accommodate rows of wands, staves, and focus rings. An errant bit of magic snared a newspaper and I caught it before it drifted too far over my head.

  The headline read,

  ALL-HALLOWS EVE TO TAKE PLACE ON GROUND FLOOR OF MERLYN'S TOMORROW

  This would not have been a monumental event for me if not for a couple simple facts. I'd been to the Midsummer Festival not too long before leaving for the Wildwoods, and the Midsummer Festival was, held during the summer solstice—which meant sometime in June. All-Hallows Eve should be the very last day of October, unless I truly had my dates mixed up. Or, I considered as an alternative, Commandant Cole had decided to celebrate his favorite ghoulish holiday a bit prematurely.

  The Tribune's date said it was October 30.

  I'd been in the Wildwoods for three months.

  I felt it like a physical blow to the stomach, but I couldn't say that I hadn't been warned about the Wildwoods and time. People had lost their entire lives for a single trip, and the last time I'd been to the Wildwoods, I'd come back with only a few hours gone even though it should have been weeks. Was this intentional, or was it some twist of wild magic which was utterly uncontrollable?

  The wisest course of action would have been to read the papers, together what I could from their headlines, but I turned to the shop in
stead. At the first lift of my foot, a green flame flickered in between the floorboards. That was one of the warding spells Mordon had put on the place. Even now I caught a trace of nutmeg and black pepper lingering in the air, growing stronger.

  Despite the less-than-dusted appearance of the place, it had seen spell-casting recently. Too many scents mingled together, far more than what was customary for an average day of shopping. No, this shop was being used for something else.

  Timidly, I extended a hand to touch one of the shop's support pillars. Heat seared my fingertip, a flash of burning pain which I could not withdraw from. It was as if I'd touched a red-hot electrical wire. My muscles seized from finger to toe, my heart pounded, and it just plain hurt.

  I was released and I jumped away from the post, knocking over a short waste bin which hadn't been there three months ago. While my heart thudded and I tried to settle my breathing, I eyed the shop with a measure of dread.

  The shop had never, ever harmed me before. I'd always thought that it was fond of me, the way it filled my mind with happy purring and would respond to my coaxing. A slow creak ran through the shop, moving towards me, caused by nothing in particular. The noise stopped just before me, drawing my gaze downward.

  Dust played in the faint light, formless. At least at first, The biplane above swayed, but once again there was nothing to have moved it. Ghosts did happen to haunt this shop from time to time, a side-effect of Mordon selling magical antiquities. Storage ghosts, boggarts, and whatever random curses tended to appear alongside magically-imbued items.

  “Maiow,” said a black cat at my feet. Its eyes shone a light all their own, red and green and blue, the result of prolonged spells being cast around it. How the shop had acquired a cat, I couldn't guess. Mordon had never indicated that he wanted a pet. It twitched a sleek tail and arched its back under my scrutiny. “Maiow?”

  “Here, kitty-kitty.” I curled a finger to beckon it. It twitched its tail, gave a short purr and padded towards me. The instant my hand touched its neck, the cat vanished. I was left half-bent over, scratching at air and feeling a ghostly chill.

  The purring filled the whole shop, vibrating through the floorboards, raising the temperature of the environment noticeably. Buildings which were old enough did obtain their own characters, but physical manifestations? Father had theorized the idea before, saying it explained why certain ghosts couldn't be gotten rid of no matter what was tried. Another thought occurred: the cat's eyes. Had someone deliberately tried to give the shop a physical form?