Magemother: The Complete Series (A Fantasy Adventure Book Series for Kids of All Ages)

by Austin J. Bailey

  The young mage wore the look of someone who had been slapped without warning, surprised and betrayed.

  “His eyes frightened me,” her mother whispered. “He was always respectful to me‌—‌good days or bad, but I didn’t know what he would do to you.”

  She turned to face her daughter and tears were in her eyes again.

  “I was so scared then. I was afraid of him‌—‌afraid for you. I brought you here,” she hurried on, pointing back to the scene that was changing beneath them.

  Brinley saw her mother carrying her into the lightfall. She gave Brinley to the man and the woman‌—‌the gods who had been with her in the beginning. Brinley stared at the baby version of herself. She was wrapped in a bundle of blankets inside a basket. She was so small‌—‌too young to know that she was losing her mother. It would take years for that to sink in, and then it would hurt. Brinley closed her eyes, wishing she could change what was happening, wishing she could stop it. But this wasn’t really happening, she knew. It was a vision‌—‌a memory. She could no more reach out and stop it than change the course of a movie while it played out. She watched as the woman lifted her out of the basket and held her. Her mother handed the man a tiny silver bell. What did that mean?

  “I asked them to hide you,” her mother was saying. She was struggling to control her voice. She paused, sighing as if she had made it past the worst part of the story. “But they brought you back to me,” she said. “They brought you back.”

  “What about the other children? The other mages?” Brinley wanted to know. She had forgotten about the bell now. The scene before them had changed again.

  “I hid them,” her mother said. “Not all of them. Animus was old enough. He has always been strong, but I was worried about the others. I hid them, even from myself, and then told everyone that I did not know where they were. I pretended to look for them. But I have been watching Lux‌—‌looking for a way to save him.”

  Brinley was confused. “But I met Cassis and Belterras,” she said. “They aren’t hidden.”

  Her mother nodded. “They came forward when they were ready.”

  “But where are the others?”

  “I do not know now,” her mother said. “I hid them, but I chose to forget. To keep them safe.”

  “You did what?” Brinley said, appalled. “How?”

  Her mother smiled. “You will find that you are capable of almost anything when you are protecting the ones you love.”

  Brinley nodded. “What happened to Lux?” she asked.

  Her mother blinked. “That’s the strange part,” she said. “Everything seemed to get better after that. The evil things got better. They didn’t go away‌—‌but they got better.” She squinted, as if struggling to remember something. “But Lux wasn’t right. Whenever I was with him‌—‌even when he was good‌—‌he didn’t seem right. He was hiding things from me. One night, not long ago, I followed him to an evil place.”

  Brinley watched as Lux crossed a high bridge like the one she had flown over on Peridot. He was dressed like the night itself‌—‌invisible to the guards that would have blocked his way.

  “He entered the forest,” her mother narrated the scene before them, “and woke things that should have been left to sleep. I thought I could talk sense into him‌—‌change his mind. His anger was terrible.”

  Brinley watched as her mother confronted Lux. All the goodness was gone from him now. He broke a piece of sharp black bark from an evil-looking tree and plunged it into her heart.

  “But he didn’t kill you!” Brinley said desperately. The thought of losing her mother right when she had found her was unthinkable.

  The Magemother gave her a sad smile. “No,” she said, “not yet.”

  “Not ever,” Brinley insisted.

  “I am strong, Brinley,” her mother said, “but even I am not immortal. Maybe if it had been someone else I could survive it, but my own son? No, that is too much for a mother’s heart…I will die, slowly.”

  “But he’s not your son!” Brinley cried desperately. “Not really.” She hoped that if she could just see it, just get her mother to see it her way, that somehow it would change things.

  “But he is.” The Magemother knelt down and looked up into her face. “He is my son because I chose to be his mother. You must understand this. It’s what being the Magemother is all about.”

  “But I don’t understand it.”

  “You will,” she said kindly, “you will.”

  Brinley was shaking her head against what was coming next. She knew it must come‌—‌could see the need‌—‌but she didn’t want to hear it.

  “You will understand,” her mother said at last, “because you are the new Magemother.”

  She thought she was going to scream when she heard it‌—‌at the size of it, and the unfairness of it all‌—‌but she didn’t. She didn’t feel anything. It sounded absurd, fake, like a friend asking her to play house forever and ever; it meant nothing.

  Then she saw it.

  The dream world was spinning again, showing her glimpses of the future. She saw herself, the same age, then older and older‌—‌not just one future, but many. In one she grew old all alone. In another she died young. In another she found love. In another she lost her way and destroyed the world. In every future, every life, kings and wizards came to her for advice. Weeping mothers and broken fathers came to her for comfort and council. She was important. She was powerful.

  She was visible.

  “Do I even get a choice?” she cried, terrified. All she wanted to do was hide, find a way out.

  “Of course you do,” her mother began, and there it was beside them, growing out of the dream world: the doors of the old church at Morley.

  She didn’t wait to hear the rest, she just ran.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  In which Brinley grows up

  She burst through the doors of the church and into her father’s arms. She didn’t think to wonder how he had known to be there right at that moment. If she had, she might have looked around and noticed that it was still dark out and that her father’s four-wheeler was parked beside her own. She would have realized that he had followed her when she had run out in the middle of the night and that very little time had passed here while she was away.

  “Dad!” she cried, and gripped him so tightly it hurt.

  “Dad, I went to Caraway and there were mages and there was a magpie and Flitlitter was my mother and she’s dying! And she wants me to be Magemother!”

  “What? Calm down, Brinley. What are you talking about?” He was brushing back her hair in a soothing way and looking around for possible sources of her discomfort.

  How could she tell him? How could she make him understand about her mother?

  At the thought of her mother, she turned around and looked back the way that she had come, hoping to find her just beyond the doors, standing under the light. If he could just see her‌—‌if she could just show him…but there was nothing. Just the empty belly of an old church.

  “Oh no,” she said in horror. What had she done? She had abandoned her mother. What had she been thinking? She had chosen, and she knew that she had chosen wrong.

  She felt sick. What would happen to them? All the people she had met? Her mother would die, and Peridot and Hugo and probably Tabitha too, and Tennebris would get control of everything.

  She looked around madly, wanting to disappear, wanting to take it all back‌—‌it was like that moment when something terrible is happening and you wish you could turn back the clock just a few seconds and do things differently.

  And then, everything stopped.

  Her father’s face had frozen. The sounds of the forest were gone. A bee hung motionless above a flower.

  “Brinley.”

  She turned. The two shining people, the gods, as her mother called them, were there. The woman was beautiful. She was smiling. The man looked serious.

  “Brinley,” he said agai
n, “what are you doing here?”

  She winced. “I ran away,” she said in a rush. She knew she couldn’t lie to them, and anyway she wasn’t the type of person that lied. “She showed me what I would have to do if I stayed and I ran away! I’m so sorry!”

  The man’s face softened. He looked at his wife (for she was obviously his wife, the way he looked at her).

  She spoke next. “You do not have to go,” she said kindly. “If you wish, you may remain here in this world. Your father loves you, and you are safe here.” She was smiling, but Brinley felt sick at her words. “You will not be safe in your mother’s world, not always, but there is great joy there for you, if you choose it.”

  Brinley shut her eyes. What kind of friend would she be to leave Tabitha behind like that? What kind of daughter? She looked at her father then, with his face frozen in worry and confusion. “I have to go back,” she said slowly, “I want to go back.” She tried to say it forcefully, hoping the sound of her own voice would help convince herself, but she sounded small.

  She had an idea. “Can I just have one thing?” she asked hastily, turning to the woman and her husband.

  The man cocked his head and the woman gave a small nod of encouragement.

  She took hold of her father’s arms. “Can you help him understand? Can you show him? Please?”

  The man was smiling now too. He reached out with one finger and touched her father in the middle of his forehead. A little light shone on her father’s head for a moment after he withdrew his finger. Then the world was moving again.

  Her father was taking her in his arms and tears were beginning to stream down his face. He was hugging her as if he was afraid he never would again.

  “I’m so proud of you, Brinley, so proud,” he said. “You have to go back, you must! You have to be who you were born to be.”

  “Come with me!” she pleaded.

  He looked at the man standing with his wife. “Is it possible?” he asked.

  The man looked solemn. “Yes,” he said. “However, the journey would be different for you than for your daughter. You are not from that world.”

  Her father nodded. “I understand.”

  “No, you do not,” the woman said gently. She looked almost sad. “Still, if you go, go with our blessing.”

  He nodded, turning to Brinley. “Let’s go,” he said. “Before I think better of this.”

  Brinley’s heart leapt. He was coming with her! She would not have to be alone after all!

  They walked into the church arm in arm, facing the darkness together.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  In which there is a very reluctant witch

  When Brinley emerged on the other side, she was alone. “Where did he go?” she said, reaching back through the doorway. He had been right behind her, but now only her mother stood beside her in the lightfall.

  “Who?” her mother asked.

  “My father.”

  “Your father?” she asked, startled.

  “They said he could come with me. He was right beside me, but now he’s gone.” She was growing desperate. Something was not right.

  “He may make it yet,” her mother said. “Have patience. It is a long way between our worlds, and he may not be able to travel through the void as easily as you. Now is not the time to worry about him.”

  Brinley took a deep breath.

  “You have decided to stay?”

  “Yes,” Brinley said quietly. “I’ll do it. I’ll be the Magemother, on one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You have to try to live.”

  “Brinley.”

  “You have to try!” Brinley exclaimed. “I just found you! Won’t you even try?” She felt herself starting to cry again.

  Her mother wiped tears from her own eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” she said. “If I step out of this lightfall, I will die in minutes. That is the reason I have been a magpie. Belterras taught me that shape long ago. It is the only form besides my own that I have ever been able to master. A smaller body was easier to keep alive…but no longer. These past hours have taken a lot out of me. I cannot leave the lightfall again‌—‌in any shape.” She touched the wound over her heart. It was bleeding faster now.

  “Isn’t there any way to save you?” Brinley asked. “Any way at all? If I become the Magemother, can you stay alive and just be my mother?”

  Her mother considered her. She was thinking carefully. “No,” she said at last. “No…Perhaps, if we had all the mages with us, there might be a chance, but‌—‌Brinley!”

  But Brinley had already turned to leave. “Stay there!” she called back to her mother. “I’ll be back in a second. I have an idea.” It was a ridiculous idea for sure. It probably wouldn’t work, but then again, it just might. As soon as she was out of the lightfall she took the little marble out of her pocket. Raising it into the air, she hoped upon hope that this wouldn’t end badly. Then she threw it as hard as she could and it shattered with a loud crack against the floor. Immediately, the splintered glass caught fire, glowing with a bright light. The shards burned hotter and hotter and started smoking, and then Habis stepped out of the smoke.

  “What in blazing death‌—‌oh, it’s you. Where have you brought me? Oh, no! You didn’t. Tell me I’m not where I think I am! Curse your smoldering bones, child, I‌—‌”

  “I’ve thought of what I want,” Brinley said loudly, trying to take control of the situation. “You did say I could summon you at any time, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” the witch said uneasily.

  “Well, I need you now.”

  “Very well,” the witch growled. “I shall see to your request then, and try not to think about where I am. It is forbidden for me to be here.” She sniffed and pointed her nose up. “Even if it weren’t, this is not my kind of place.”

  Brinley had to agree with her. Habis, with her spidery hair and her clothes of skin, looked out of place in the clean beauty of the palace.

  “I see you are visible now,” Habis said, looking her over. “How did you accomplish that, may I ask? Did your mother put you right?”

  “What?” Brinley looked down at herself. “Am I?”

  “Quite.”

  “I don’t know! It must have happened when I came out of the lightfall.”

  “Ah,” Habis said, looking at the light suspiciously. “Very well. Best not to dwell on such dark things. Now what do you want?” She was tapping her foot impatiently now.

  “My mother is dying,” Brinley blurted.

  Habis stopped tapping her foot. “Is she now?” Her face was blank. “Then I was right. More’s the pity, but the time comes for each of us. I shall leave you to mourn her.”

  “Wait!” Brinley said. “You have to help me save her. You promised you would. It’s what I want, and it helps you because it’s bad for your sister, and you gave witch’s honor, and‌—‌”

  “Enough! Enough girl!” Habis was waving her arms in protest. “Where is she? Let’s fix her up.”

  “I don’t think you can,” Brinley said. “No offense,” she added hurriedly at the look on Habis’s face. “She says nobody can help her but all the mages together. I was hoping you could give me one of your naptraps to keep her in until‌—‌”

  “Ha!” the witch cut her off. “Put the Magemother in one of my naptraps? Unthinkable. They were not designed to hold people. That would be far too complex. The cat was pushing the limits.”

  Brinley’s heart sank.

  “Never mind,” Habis said dismissively. “At any rate, I’ll make my own diagnosis, thank you very much, and the sooner the better. I don’t want to be in this place one minute longer than I have to. Where is she?”

  Brinley led her to the lightfall, but the witch stopped just short of following her in. “What devilry is this?” she mumbled to herself, and reached her finger out to touch it delicately. The light fanned out and cascaded around her finger like water, and she jumped back. “Oooh no,” she s
aid. “I’m not going in there. You tell her to come out here.”

  “But she can’t come out,” Brinley said. “She’ll die if she does. If you want to see her yourself you have to come in. It’s not bad,” she said reassuringly. “I promise. It’s really wonderful.”

  Habis mumbled something to herself, then took a half step forward. “Blast. I’m going to regret this. Maybe there’s something else. Some other favor I could do for you?” she said, an almost panicked look on her face.

  Brinley shook her head. She didn’t understand what the big deal was.

  The witch was beside herself now, bouncing on the balls of her feet nervously. “You’re getting the better part of the bargain, you little brat!” she spat. She looked down at the ring on her hand. “This wasn’t worth it.” She took another step towards the light. She was close enough to touch it now, and her eyes flew open so wide that she looked crazy (crazier than usual). Brinley was reminded of a child working up the courage to jump into an ice cold pool. “Fine! Fine! Ooh, fine!” Habis shouted, lifting her arms and dipping her fingers in the light again. She walked forward at a slow but steady pace, cringing. When the light got halfway to her elbows she paused and started to panic, then she glared at the light and started moving again. She was cursing darkly now through clenched teeth, so that she spit a little with each forced word. “Ooh! Ouch! Black spike-piking spite-spitting die-lying sly-frying filch-pilching‌—‌AHHHH!”

  With a final, piercing scream, she forced herself through the light. Brinley followed her in, totally perplexed. She paid extra attention as she passed through it, but it didn’t hurt at all. She just felt the same comfortable warmth that she had the first time.

  “Habis? This is unexpected,” her mother was saying. Habis was standing across from her, ringing her hands. Tears were trickling down her cheeks, and her panicked breathing was coming in great heaving gasps now, so that she gave the impression of someone in great pain.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Brinley asked her mother.

  “Shh,” she said gently. “She just needs a minute. She’s a fish out of water in this much light. This is your plan? I can’t believe you got her to come in here.”