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

by Austin J. Bailey

  She nodded, not looking at him. “I’ll just leave you to rest, then,” she said, turning to leave. At the door, she stopped and came back, taking something from her pocket. “I have something for you,” she said, holding it up. It was a smooth stone. Hugo noticed that it felt oddly warm when she dropped it in his hand. “Animus told me about Molad. I can only imagine what you have been going through.”

  Hugo stared at the stone, not meeting her eyes. So she had known all along. She had no doubt guessed that his success with the dragon was due to Molad. She had just been giving him an opportunity to come clean.

  “Hugo,” she said, drawing his gaze. “You don’t have to tell me everything, you know. I’m just here to help when you need it. That’s what friends do.”

  He glanced down again. “What’s the rock for?”

  “It’s something I made. Cassis taught me how to put things inside of stones. Memories, feelings.”

  “What’s in it?” Hugo asked, holding it up to his ear and shaking it.

  Brinley laughed. “Peace,” she said, and turned for the door again.

  He tried to think of something to say. A way to say thank you, or to make her understand, but the door had shut behind her before he could.

  ***

  Several hours after Brinley had left him alone to think, Molad woke Hugo. It was the dead of night, and a mirror image of himself darker than death or night was staring at Hugo from behind his own eyes.

  “What?” Hugo said out loud.

  The time has come for you to repay your debt.

  What are you talking about? Hugo asked. Leave me alone. We need to sleep. Can’t you feel it? We’re injured.

  Your debt, Molad said. My ten minutes of freedom. The time has come.

  Hugo felt his neck prickle as Molad’s words from early that morning came back to him.

  Not now, he said. Any time but now. He was thinking of Brinley. She could be staying in the room next door for all he knew. And Tabitha and Cannon and Animus were there too. He couldn’t let Molad loose in the middle of all of his friends. He wouldn’t do it.

  You don’t have a choice, Molad said.

  I always have a choice.

  You made a deal, Molad insisted.

  You mean you can take control of me just because I made you a deal? Hugo asked. I won’t let you free. You can’t have control, not here, not now.

  Don’t you trust me, Hugo? Molad simpered. I’m just you, after all. You and me, we’re the same.

  No, Hugo said, ignoring the rest of the question. I don’t trust you.

  Don’t make me force you, Hugo. Let me out.

  You can’t make me, Hugo said defiantly, and for a moment he thought that Molad had given up. His mind felt like his own again, his body felt strangely vacant, like he had the place all to his own again after sharing it for so long. Then something hit him with the force of a brick wall. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. He tried to run, but his muscles wouldn’t move. This was the battle, he realized, this was the struggle for control. His sense of awareness faded, then returned. It was like being in an arm-wrestling match with someone just a bit stronger than he was, except that it wasn’t just his pride on the line, it was his mind and body.

  After a moment, it became clear he would lose. Molad was simply stronger than he was. It surprised him, in a way. He had secretly been hoping that when this moment finally came he would prove the stronger, that this would be the answer for how to control the darkness. But he wasn’t stronger. Brute force was not going to work. He felt control slipping away from him before he had finished the thought, and then it was completely gone.

  Hugo found himself confined to a small, dark chamber inside what he would previously have called “himself.” Now, however, that self was in the control of Molad. Molad’s thoughts flowed before him like a glowing river running by the window to his little prison. He could see them, but he couldn’t influence them. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. That didn’t make any sense. Molad had been able to speak with him. Why couldn’t he do the same now that they had traded places? Maybe Molad was more adept at this inside world than he was.

  Something flashed in the darkness outside his window and it took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. It was the world. The world through Molad’s eyes. He was seeing again. He could see the little room that he had been lying in. He watched as Molad got out of the bed and got dressed. He saw himself cross the room to the little wash basin and splash water on his face. Something uncomfortable bit at the tension in Molad’s mind. It was coming from his pocket. That was odd. Molad took out the stone that Brinley had given him and tossed it onto the bed with a look of disgust, and Hugo realized that it must truly have a sort of peace inside, to bother Molad like that. Then Molad looked into the mirror and smiled. There was something different behind the eyes, Hugo thought, but otherwise it looked just like him. It was the same body after all. Only the body’s master had changed.

  “Good-bye, Hugo,” Molad said, and everything went dark again.

  Molad was free.

  ***

  It did not take Molad long to find what he was looking for. The Magemother slept in the room next to his, and he located her bag quickly. She stirred when he opened it. He froze. It would not do to wake her just now. It would be easier, faster, if he went undetected. When the steady breathing resumed, he took the small crystal vial out of the bag and put it in his pocket. Then he moved to the open window. He reached out across the night, feeling for the city of Ninebridge. He would make the journey in a single step.

  “Hugo, what are you doing?”

  The soft, curious voice made him turn. It was Tabitha. Of course. That fumbling idiot child that “protected” the Magemother. How had he forgotten her? He considered whether he should answer her at all or just step out of the window and into Ninebridge.

  Tabitha started when she saw his face clearly in the moonlight from the window, letting out a little squawk and rising briskly from the chair where she had been sitting. The chair clattered to the ground, making more noise than he would have liked, but the look of terror on her face was satisfying, and he decided to admire it for a while. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge himself for just a moment. He had ten minutes to get to the Ire before Hugo would find the strength to return. That had been their agreement. Ten whole, glorious minutes.

  “Hugo,” Tabitha gasped, “what’s happened to you? Your face, it’s…wrong.”

  Molad smiled. It felt good to be recognized. The door creaked open and a young man poked his head through the opening. It was that annoying apprentice of the Wind Mage, Cannon.

  “Everything all right in here?” he asked. “I heard—” He broke off, catching sight of Molad. “Hugo!” he said in surprise. “Up and about already? What are you—” He stopped short again, no doubt seeing Molad clearly, as Tabitha had.

  “That’s not Hugo,” a voice said. Molad turned. The Magemother was sitting up in bed, watching him warily.

  “Not Hugo?” Tabitha asked.

  Molad frowned. He had stayed too long. He was just wasting time now. He reached out again to the night, feeling for his destination. He leaned farther out the window, ready to step.

  “Oh,” Cannon said quietly. “Mr. Poopy Pants.”

  Molad eyed him sharply. “What?”

  Cannon shrugged. “It’s what I call you. Don’t feel bad. Hugo doesn’t approve.”

  Molad’s eyes narrowed.

  “Speaking of Hugo,” Cannon went on, taking a step into the room. “I don’t think it’s quite fair, you kidnapping him like this, taking his body wherever you want. Where are you going, anyway?”

  Molad smiled and moved to step to Ninebridge. Before he was out the window, however, he felt a hand grab him from behind. A split second later, at the other end of his step, Cannon toppled onto the stones beside him, at the top of the bridge to the Wizard’s Ire.

  “Ouch.” The mage’s apprentice was holding his head. “How far did we come?” He got
to his feet, glancing at the lights of the city around them. It was just light enough to make out the shadows of the large stone bridges rising out of the city beneath them. “Ninebridge?” he said in disbelief. “Ugh.” He was pulling on his ears now. “So far, so fast. I think I left part of my brain back in Tourilia. Let’s not do that again, okay, Mr. Poopy Pants?”

  Molad punched him hard in the jaw as he turned, lifting him off his feet and sending him crashing to the stones with a satisfying thump. He didn’t get up.

  There, Molad thought. That’s better. He turned and walked to the top of the bridge.

  When he reached the apex of the bridge, he slowed. He was close enough to see the line of gold bricks that marked the midpoint of the bridge. All he had to do was cross that, and he would be on his way to the Ire.

  “And just what do you think you are doing, Hugo?”

  Molad turned to see Cassis stepping out of solid stone. “I came to see you,” he said quickly.

  “Unlikely,” Cassis said. The mage’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion, and Molad guessed that the other man was already drawing the correct conclusion. “You’re not Hugo.”

  Molad shrugged. “Yes and no.”

  Cassis nodded. “So, the dark one has come out to play…What have you done with Hugo?”

  Molad cocked his head. “He will be back shortly. He…owed me a favor…ten minutes’ worth.”

  Cassis gave him a dark glare. “I suppose you want to go into the Wizard’s Ire?”

  Molad smiled. “And you have the key, Cassis. Don’t you? I would, if I were in your position.”

  Cassis laughed. “You don’t think I’m foolish enough to carry it with me.”

  “I do.” His hand darted into Cassis’s robes with lightning speed and emerged with the medallion.

  “Don’t!” Cassis cried, catching Molad’s wrist in an iron grip. His grip literally became iron, an immovable vice that held Hugo in place. Then his arm turned to metal as well, and his leg. The whole left side of his body turned hard, rooted to the bridge.

  “You can’t hold me forever,” Molad sneered, holding the medallion out of Cassis’s reach.

  “I only need to hold you for ten minutes,” Cassis said. “Less now, I’ll wager.”

  “Let me go,” Molad ordered.

  “No.”

  “Very well,” Molad said darkly, “but Hugo won’t like it when he finds out what I had to do to you.” He reached out and grabbed the other mage by the throat, his own hand turning black as night. The darkness spread from his fingers to the other mage’s skin as they tightened around his throat.

  Cassis clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck bulging against Molad’s grip. He clenched his free hand into a rock hard fist and clubbed Molad in the head, but it was not enough. The boy’s grip remained tight. He could feel the blackness that was spreading from Molad’s skin to his own. Finally, he cursed and released Molad’s wrist. He folded his arms tightly across his chest, wincing as the darkness spread to his face. Then, with a groan, he turned to stone. The stone began to glow a second later, faintly at first, then more strongly, and then he was a solid metal statue. The soldiers below were sure to see the light and come to investigate. It was time for Molad to be going.

  “That’s right,” Molad whispered before turning to leave. “You go ahead and heal yourself. I have what I came for.”

  Flashing a smile that no one could see, Molad put the medallion in his pocket and strode to the golden line of warding.

  “Hey!” someone shouted. Molad turned to see Cannon hurtling at him. The apprentice hit him before he could react, bent over double, shoulder connecting with Molad’s gut.

  And together, they tumbled across the line.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In which Cannon falls into a bog

  Hugo woke to a strange stinging sensation: his head was rocking back and forth, back and forth, and someone was slapping him.

  “Hugo!” a voice shouted. He received another slap. “Hugo!”

  Where was he? He tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy. He felt sluggish all over, unwieldy. His body felt like a foreign place. How long had he been gone from it?

  Another slap hit him and his face stung sharply, and his eyes snapped open on their own.

  “Oh,” Cannon said, stepping back from him. “There you are. Finally. You won’t believe what you did, Hugo. Or do you know already?”

  Hugo pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his leg. “Know what?” he asked blearily. He rubbed his eyes. What had happened? He had been talking with Brinley. No. He had been talking with Molad. Molad…

  “Oh, no,” he said. The memory came back to him with sudden clarity, and he struggled to his feet, grabbing at Cannon. “What did he do?”

  “See for yourself,” Cannon said, taking him by the shoulders and spinning him around. A vast forest of dark trees stretched beneath him; the bridge at his feet descended into the heart of it. The night was darker here, as if a curtain had been drawn over the face of the moon. Dark. Too dark. A darkness he could feel was emanating from the forest, diluting the natural light of the night. He felt a chill run down his spine. Somewhere inside himself he felt Molad shiver with anticipation.

  “Uh oh.”

  “Yep,” Cannon said gravely, sticking his fingers in his belt. “The Wizard’s Ire.” He gave Hugo a sidelong glance. “I sure do hope we have a good reason for being here.”

  “Well,” Hugo said, “there are certainly things to do, if we want to stay a while. Like getting Gadjihalt’s sword, for example.”

  “Just the two of us?” Cannon said. “Wonderful.”

  Hugo turned to look at Cannon, his sore head filling with questions. “Why did you follow me here? How did you follow me here? What happened? Agh!” He winced. He had been feeling the side of his head and his hand came away bloody. He gave Cannon an accusatory look.

  Cannon held up his hands. “That wasn’t me,” he said. “That was Cassis. He clocked you right in the face when you were stealing the medallion from him. I came to just in time to see it.”

  “Came to?”

  “Yes. Came to,” Cannon said icily. “After you knocked me out.”

  “Oh,” Hugo said. “I, uh…Sorry.” Hugo was rubbing his stomach now. It was tender to the touch, and he thought a couple ribs might be bruised. “Did I fall or something?”

  Cannon grinned. “That was me.” Cannon glanced around uneasily. “Can you contact the Magemother?”

  Hugo reached out with his mind, searching for Brinley. Brinley? BRINLEY! But there was no response. “No. It’s like I’m being blocked out.”

  “It must be the Ire,” Cannon said, as if he had expected it. “Well, let’s get out of here.”

  “Fine,” Hugo said. “Um, do you have that medallion, or do I have it?” He tapped his pockets, looking for a bulge.

  “I don’t have it,” Cannon said. “And you don’t either.” He jammed a finger into the air, indicating the edge of the bridge. “Mr. Poopy Pants threw it over the side the second we got through. I tried to stop you, but you were too quick.”

  “You’re joking,” Hugo said. He limped to the edge, grimacing at the pain in his leg. It was several hundred feet down, with a river at the bottom. Hugo cursed softly, and Cannon patted him on the back.

  “Yep,” Cannon said. “I guess he wanted us to stay. We’re definitely not going back the way we came.”

  “Then how?” Hugo said. “Do we wait here for someone to come get us? Are there more medallions?”

  Cannon shrugged. “How should I know?” He glanced around them, then down at the forest. “I, for one, don’t like the idea of just standing here.”

  Hugo shivered. He was right, of course. They were way too exposed here. “Hey,” he said. “People have been getting through this portal, right? So there must be a way through.”

  “No doubt,” Cannon said, sticking his boot into the mist. His foot touched something solid. “But it’s obviously not as simple
as just walking through.” He eyed the forest below them warily. “I guess we’ll have to go in before we get out.”

  “Right,” Hugo said nervously. There was a prolonged silence, during which they both waited for the other to come up with a better plan.

  “Well,” Cannon said, starting down the bridge, “there is a bright side, I suppose.”

  “What?” Hugo said, pulling alongside him.

  Cannon winked conspiratorially. “Stories, Hugo. Stories.”

  Minutes later, Hugo trembled as something new poured into his consciousness from Molad. Urges, strong and desperate, spilled out of him. He wanted to leave the tiny path he and Cannon were on and run into the forest, screaming at the top of his lungs to announce his presence. He wanted to melt into the darkness that surrounded him, explore the depths of it and never return. He was hungry too, terribly hungry. He needed to devour something, cover it in his darkness until it became a part of him. He felt his mind tipping, sliding away from his control and into Molad’s hands.

  “Look at this,” Cannon said, stooping down.

  Hugo shook himself, maintaining control somehow. He scratched at his chest, digging through his shirt with his fingernails, until the pain of it brought clarity back to him. “What is it?” he asked.

  “A footprint. See?”

  Hugo squinted down at it. “Bear?” He glanced around them, searching the trees. “Shouldn’t bother us, right?”

  Cannon raised his eyebrows. “Maybe. Maybe not. Depends.”

  Hugo sighed. “Depends on what?”

  Cannon lifted a leaf, sniffed it, and dropped it back to the earth. Then he started down the path again. Hugo followed him. He was still limping, but he noticed that the pain had lessened somewhat since their journey began. That old gnome’s magic medicine still seemed to be working on him.

  “Do you know the four terrors of the Wizard’s Ire?” Cannon asked.

  “Obviously,” Hugo said, racking his brain. They were the four most deadly things in the Ire. The things that you really didn’t want to find, should you have the misfortune of getting into the Ire at all. He coughed awkwardly. “I mean, I don’t know if I could name all of them.”