The Sorcerer’s Wife

by Dolamore, Jaclyn

  The servants put Velsa’s old skeleton in the back seat of Parsons’ automobile, but Velsa and Parsons carried it upstairs themselves. Parsons dropped it in front of the door.

  “Did you want to come in for a bite?” Velsa said, trying to be polite. “Sorla made apple tarts this morning. Grau might be home.”

  “No,” Parsons said. “I have work to do. You were just one of the items on my list. Maybe I’ll see you at the next party. I’m sure Papa will want to see how you like the skeleton.”

  “Good night, then.”

  Parsons gave an absent salute and went down the stairs.

  Inside, Grau was home, poking around the kitchen. He was going to be pleasantly surprised. She bounded toward him. The one thing she did notice about this skeleton was that it wasn’t as soft and she really felt it when her heels hit the ground.

  “Notice anything different?” she asked him.

  “Um…”

  She stepped close to him and put her arms around his neck. “Pick me up.”

  He lifted her onto the counter. “Well! Now I am afraid I’d lose you on a blustery day.”

  “Parsons hasn’t blown away yet. But she said I’d lose about ten pounds with this skeleton. The joints are better too.”

  “Did Sorla go with you?”

  “No…isn’t she here?”

  He shook his head, a small worry line creasing his forehead.

  “Oh—I gave her a little money and told her to go out shopping,” Velsa said, trying to shake off a vague sense of anxiety. “I felt so bad leaving her behind while I went off to get a new skeleton. She was jealous of Parsons, I could tell. I was too, really. She’s not the nicest person, but…she does act like a flesh and blood girl.”

  “Did she perk up your hair, too?” Grau asked.

  “No…”

  “Really?”

  She laughed. “She didn’t do anything with my hair, Grau. Same hair, same style.”

  “Huh. I guess I just forget how your hair looks after a long day at work.”

  “Long? Not too long if you’re home now.”

  “Calban dismissed us early. We’ve been experimenting with reproducing weather conditions indoors—like I was talking about with Mr. Eksin at the party.”

  “Mm,” said Velsa vaguely, since she had paid no attention to that conversation.

  “Doralan accidentally blew out three windows with an artificial windstorm and he decided we’d had enough for the day.”

  “Are you liking the elemental work? I know you really wanted to do potions but you still seem in good spirits.”

  “I must confess, I feel most at home working with raw elements. When I was doing potions I was the new kid. Now everyone’s clapping on the back, all, ‘You’re amazing at this’—”

  “No wonder you’re in good spirits.” She grinned. “Can your amazing self carry my old skeleton in for me? We left it by the door. It’ll be for Sorla.”

  Sorla came home just moments later, with profuse apologies for staying out so late, although Velsa and Grau didn’t mind at all. Grau was making himself eggs for dinner, while Velsa ate nothing. It seemed too much to come home with a new skeleton and eat in front of Sorla. Velsa showed her the skeleton and the new face with real hair, that she would have as soon as they bought her.

  She grew very shy. “I don’t dare to think of it, until the day actually comes,” she said. “Something could happen in the meantime.” She added to Velsa, “The new skeleton must be splendid. You don’t move like a doll anymore at all.”

  “You never did,” Grau was quick to add.

  Velsa smiled crookedly.

  Sorla was starting to make her nervous. Nervous and guilty. But she wouldn’t send her away. They had formed a kind of family, although they didn’t stand together so much as each behind the other.

  More often than not, Velsa found herself taking walks in the nearby forest or reading in the library alone, so they didn’t have to spend quite as much time together.

  “Where does your servant girl go all the time?” their neighbor asked Velsa one day when they met in the stairwell.

  “She does the shopping,” Velsa said. “But she isn’t out that much, is she?”

  “It’s just that whenever you leave, I see her leave shortly thereafter, and she doesn’t usually come back with parcels.”

  “She likes taking walks,” Velsa said, but she could tell the woman didn’t think much of a servant who took walks all day, and Velsa wondered herself where Sorla could be going so often.

  Indeed, Sorla wasn’t home now.

  I might think she has a suitor…but she’s so young for that.

  Her thoughts went into more terrifying directions. Calban was interested in Velsa, Calban knew that Sorla was Velsa’s servant…

  The next time Sorla goes out, it might be a good idea to follow her.

  Chapter 7

  Their new apartment building was against the wall near the conservatory gardens, and beyond those gardens were miles of forests, where the great city abruptly ended just before the steep hills began.

  Sorla headed for the forest.

  Velsa followed her footsteps through the snow, staying a safe distance behind. Sorla would know someone had followed her, so Velsa would have to make sure she was gone before Sorla turned back.

  Velsa heard her up ahead. Her clumsy footsteps frequently blundered through brush, or she stumbled and fell and picked herself up again. Outside the city, the woods were full of overgrown ruins made from stacked stones. They were so crumbled that it was hard to tell what any of them might have been. Some were made of stone that had been smoothed and joined by elemental sorcerers, rather than individual rocks. These were usually perfectly round buildings with a few windows near the top of the building.

  Fate-houses… She had read about them in books, where ancient people brought the sick and the dead so their spirits could leave through the proper doors to the spirit world. The windows were placed strategically to align with the heavens.

  Long ago she guessed that small villages must have populated the forested hill country, but they had since been abandoned, probably as the city built up and drew people to its center. She walked a path that sloped gently uphill, following the remnants of an old mill race; culminating with the rotted ruin of paddles that had driven the mill, old stones and equipment half-buried in dead vines. She kept Sorla’s presence in her senses, out of sight but just ahead.

  She must have been a few miles deep into the forest when she heard a man’s voice make a sound of disgust.

  Sorla said something in a language Velsa didn’t understand. She sounded uncertain, like she didn’t understand it either. A code word?

  “All right, there you go,” he said. “But je-sus, I wish they wouldn’t send you creepy things.” He had a strange accent.

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Don’t apologize, that’s even worse. Just take that to Flynn and get out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sorla was running messages?

  A small twig cracked under Velsa’s boot, barely a sound worth noticing from a distance, but the man said, “Someone follow you?”

  “No,” Sorla said. “Not that I know of.”

  “Wait.”

  Footsteps started pounding the ground with alarming speed.

  Velsa ran for the path where she had come, but the strange man was on her so fast, she never had a chance. He struck her down into the snow with one powerful fist and then pinned her under his boot.

  “Another one!” He looked away like he couldn’t bear the sight of her. “Did Flynn send you too?”

  “I—”

  “What’s the password?”

  She tried to repeat the strange word she’d heard Sorla say.

  He barked a laugh. “Nice try. Who are you?”

  Sorla had managed to catch up enough that she was in sight. “It’s my mistress,” she said. “Velsa, did you follow me?”

  “I was worried about where
you keep going,” Velsa said. She tried to stand up and the man’s boot immediately shoved her back down into the snow, causing a brief flash of pain that made her gasp.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Sorla said, clutching her hands.

  “Who are you?” the man repeated. He had a very odd appearance. Pale skin, thick sandy colored hair, and round ears. In what part of the world did they shape-shift ears to be round?

  And he was much, much stronger than he should have been.

  “Sir…please, I don’t mean you any harm,” she said. “I’m Velsa Thanneau. A free Fanarlem, married to a sorcerer in Kalan Jherin’s employ.”

  “Free? I thought all you doll things were slaves.”

  “Not all…”

  He crouched next to her. “I don’t trust you.” He cursed in his own language and then pointed at Sorla. “You, get out of here. Take the message.”

  “Velsa?” Sorla hesitated.

  “What is this message—” She broke off with a cry as the man ground his foot into her ribcage and the ribs bent.

  He drew his foot back. “Ugh.”

  He had brute strength, and she didn’t pick up any of his emotions. His mind was shielded from casual intrusion. But she didn’t think he had actual telepathic power—she didn’t feel any return probing into her own mind.

  “Sorla, what is the message?” She spoke as forcefully as she could manage, while remaining still on the ground so the man wouldn’t be agitated any further.

  “I don’t know!” Sorla said. “It’s sealed! It’s for the rebellion!”

  “Rebellion?”

  The man seized Velsa by the front of her cloak and shook her. “I don’t even care about the rebellion, but I do care about intruders in my territory.”

  Velsa stirred up her power. A wave of telekinetic force knocked him back as she got to her feet again.

  The man was up again so fast it seemed to defy the laws of nature. He rushed at her with a growl. How did he move so quickly? A second wave of telekinesis pushed him toward a tree. Her head ached a little. It was true, telekinesis definitely was not her forte.

  But she held him there, even as he tried to fight her.

  Very carefully, she tried to extend her telepathy to him, to show him that she was honest.

  “No,” he said, straining to break free of her. “None of that, you—you witches!”

  Her power wouldn’t last much longer.

  “Can you calm down for a second and talk to me?” she said. “I’m not your enemy. Maybe I could even help your rebellion, or—” She remembered that he said he didn’t care about the rebellion. “Whatever it is you want—to go home?”

  “I don’t trust any of you people. I could snap you in two.”

  She brushed her mind against his again, just so he would feel it. “I doubt it,” she said. “Your body is strong, but I’d bet my mind is stronger. Besides that, my body can be replaced; I’m not sure you can say that about your mind. So you might want to calm your temper.”

  He looked ever-so-slightly surprised that she wasn’t terrified of him, and she was even a little surprised herself that she had spoken to him that way.

  She was afraid of many things: people shaming her, objectifying her, blocking her from their world and their society. But she realized that one thing she was not afraid of was a strange man with brute strength who lived in the woods. He had no power to hurt her.

  “Didn’t we both tell you to get the hell out of here?” he barked at Sorla.

  She finally dashed off.

  “Don’t talk to her like that either,” Velsa said. “She was doing you a favor, running messages for you.”

  “She’s not my usual messenger, and I don’t like strangers. I especially don’t like strangers whose husbands work for Kalan. I don’t know what to do with you. I can’t let you go.”

  “Listen to me,” Velsa said.“Kalan is not my leader. He doesn’t think Fanarlem are fit for anything but slavery.” Then she realized she had slipped up, in claiming her soul as a Fanarlem—but he probably wouldn’t even realize. “I’m trying to ask you who you are, what you’re doing, and what this rebellion is.”

  Her guard loosened as she spoke, hoping he would ease off.

  No luck. As soon as he could move, he did. His body flashed toward her, the movement as sudden as a wave striking rocks. She shoved him off her a mere second before his hands would have grabbed her.

  “Stop it!” Velsa snapped. Now she was getting genuinely worried that she might have to fight him before he would let her go, but her power responded better to desperate situations.

  She mentally struck the man again. She used telepathy to invade him, to frighten him. She needed to find those places in his mind that would betray him—stir up his own pain, until he was paralyzed.

  He was an easy target.

  She sensed confusion—terror—loss— So many faces, of people he had lost. Parents, siblings, friends…his entire world.

  He was very far from home.

  She dredged up flashes of memory, throwing them back at him. When she found one of him hugging an older woman, she knew she was getting deep enough to hurt him.

  Your mother? she thought at him. She could feel the kindness of the memory, and the ripping pain it caused him to see it again.

  He turned away. “Damn you,” he spat. “My mother is none of your business.”

  “Stop fighting me!” Velsa cried.

  “I’ll never trust you people. Don’t dig around in my brain.”

  “I have to!” Velsa cried. “What am I supposed to do, hit back? You’re as strong as a bull!”

  She sensed that this man had a dangerous capacity for violence.

  But it was curious…

  He almost reminded her of Irik, as if something animal lurked within his brain. He was very hungry for something.

  “Why do you want to talk to me, if you can just pick your way through my thoughts?” he asked.

  “I can’t see all your thoughts, or even most of them,” Velsa said. “I can grab snatches to fight you off, but I certainly don’t know much about you. I just know you’re hiding, and you’re scared, and you’ve lost people you loved.”

  “First, let me say this,” he said. “I’m not scared.”

  “If you say so. Why are you out here hiding in the woods?” Velsa asked.

  “I was with—Kalan’s people. They promised me a better life than the one I was living. Should’ve known it was too good to be true. I thought I’d be free here, and I’m worse off than before. Once I arrived, they poked at me, drew my blood, treated me like a zoo animal. I couldn’t leave my rooms, couldn’t talk to anyone…”

  “Where are you from?”

  He crossed his arms. “If you do work for Kalan and the rebellion goes to hell because of me, well…”

  “I don’t work for Kalan. I swear to you,” Velsa said, and there must have been just enough ferocity in her tone that he finally met her eyes for a moment.

  “All Kalan Jherin’s supposed new inventions have been coming from my world,” he said. “He’s stealing them, just like he stole me. I suppose next he’s going to kidnap the Follies and pretend he invented them too.”

  “Another world?” Velsa asked. “Like the Fallen Lands?” According to legend, long ago the Daramons and Miralem used to trade with another world that could be found inside of enchanted mirrors, until the people of that world turned on the Daramons and Miralem and tried to kill them.

  “Exactly. I’m pretty sure the place you call the Fallen Lands is my world. We don’t have magic there. At least—we definitely don’t have doll people.”

  “No magic at all?”

  “Well, a little. But most people don’t believe it. My grandmother was psychic, but just try and prove that.”

  “Then…what do you do for healing and saving crops in bad weather and that sort of thing?”

  “We come up with some clever solutions. Machines that are almost like magic. That’s what your leader is so intereste
d in.” The man was finally starting to seem relaxed enough that she didn’t think he’d hurt her anymore. “I don’t suppose you have a smoke?”

  “No.” She looked at him more closely. Although he seemed unnerved by her, she was fascinated by his appearance. He looked like the same race as the Daramons, except for his ears, but not of any country she knew. His clothes were quite shabby and in need of mending, but his hair was neatly cut and he was freshly shaved. He was deathly pale.

  “Usually the messenger brings me some smokes,” he muttered.

  “Aren’t you cold?” she asked.

  “I’m already dead.”

  “Already dead?” It was very rare to be undead; she didn’t know how he could survive in the forest alone without sustaining potions.

  “I’m a vampire,” he said. “I live on blood and I don’t age. That’s one kind of magic my world has, if you can call it that. More of a curse if you ask me. My family doesn’t even know vampires exist, nor do most other humans. If you are unlucky enough to become a vampire, you have to turn your back on everyone you knew. That’s why I was willing to leave my home to come to this crazy place.”

  “So you’re just planning on staying out in these woods forever?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not going back. That’s for damn sure. I don’t mind living out here.”

  “What did they want you for, exactly?”

  “I think they were trying to understand how vampirism works. They also asked a lot of questions about Earth. How to use our machines, and how they should act when they go there to steal things. I think he must have other human captives too—surely it’s not just me—but I never saw them. I never saw Kalan, for that matter.”

  “No one sees Kalan anymore. He spends all his time communing with the fates. Supposedly. I’m surprised their telepaths haven’t come to find you.”

  “They do, here and there, but they haven’t caught me. I seem to be able to shield against them to some extent.”

  He must not be that important, then. Not worth wasting a telepath on.