“But as private property, don't they have to abide by the same laws as the non-magical populace?”
“Show me a lawman who would be able to enforce it.” Then Mordon reconsidered his words. “The constables patrol the cities pretty well, as I understand it, but the outlying and back areas are mediated by sheriffs. Constables appear when there's a problem the local enforcement can't contain.”
We went quiet when we neared the docks, a large platform made of thick lumber like those used for railroad ties, where several other boats were tied. Rope ladders connected the docks to two walkways suspended between all the wagons. As I examined the paths from one carved wagon to the next, a shirtless boy whooped and jumped off the roof of his wagon into midair. I expected him to sprout wings, but instead he used his shirt to slide down a thick rope.
Within seconds he crossed the expanse of water in the center of the encampment, and he tucked his legs up to miss the railing on the walkway at the other end of the rope. He stood there in front of another wagon, victory crying to a clapping cluster of admiring children. Shortly, a woman came out to scold him.
“Children, they're the same everywhere,” Mordon grumbled, but his eyes were bright with merriment.
The woman finished with the boy, who appeared subdued for all of three seconds before racing away to his friends. Shaking her head, the woman stood at the edge of the walkway and looked down at us.
“Lyall? Who is that you bring with you?”
“This is Feraline of the Swift Clan, and the other is her companion.”
“Does he have a name?”
“In all likelihood, but I don't care to know what it is.”
The woman grunted.
I raised a brow at Mordon, who said, “It's for the best.”
“Since no one else seems to mind being rude, I'll just say this: what are we doing here?”
“It is another test, I'm sure,” Mordon said.
I crossed my arms. “What makes you say that?”
“Because the boats have sunk, and we're stranded.” Mordon tipped his head to where the boats had indeed disappeared, a faint shadow suggesting they were at a considerable depth.
I shivered despite the warm sun. This time, the test wasn't just if I would wake up. An image of Mordon and me drowning in the cold water intruded into my mind. Without letting myself think on it longer, I set foot on the ladder and climbed.
“Call me Daae,” the woman said as she helped me up the last rung.
Daae stood taller than Mordon and much taller than me, and she was far from frail. Matronly and capable described her well, but on a better day I would also have hazarded to add cheerful to that list. Today she looked disciplinarian as she gazed down at Mordon. “Hustle along. The weather's changing and it will do no good to be caught out in it.”
In this no-fuss way we were led to a floating pavilion with a central fire and an invisible warding shield which kept wind and rain out of the otherwise open sides. Soup of some sort simmered in a big cauldron and a stack of wooden bowls waited next to a checker-patterned covered basket which smelled of buttery bread. Various people milled around on small chairs or on blankets on the floor, talking quietly. An ancient man sat beneath layers of thick blankets, his eyes keen and studying as we entered the pavilion. I stopped, arrested by that stare.
“Grand Master.” Lyall greeted the man with a sweeping bow. “We are pleased to meet with you and your family.”
“Lyall Limber-Clan, it has been some time. Behind you, is that not Enaid's son?”
Lyall flinched as though he'd been burned and stepped to the side to give the Grand Master a clear view of Mordon. Mordon's expression piqued with interest and he said, “I am.”
The Grand Master smiled wistfully. “Time has passed us by. When I last saw your mother, she was soaring the skies and running her suitors ragged with pursuit. It was a glorious sight to behold. Who won, and what did they name you?”
“Aeron of Kragdomen, and they called me Mordon.”
“You are firstborn?”
“I am.”
“And now you pursue your own mate, though not on the wing. It is a different sort of courtship, yes, but it brings its rewards in ways that others of your kind cannot envision until the time comes. Who is it you have followed here? Step nearer, young lady, so I may better see your features.”
I did as he asked, studying him as he studied me. His eyelids were hooded, his face a map of wrinkles and loose skin. There was no sense of malice from him, but there was something off, something wrong…I'd sensed it before, and it was stronger now, but I had no better of an idea what it was than earlier.
“You bear a striking resemblance to the Swift Clan, one of Jerold and Linley's ilk…they would be your grandparents. They had girls, I believe; their boys are bachelors. Ferris, Maggie, and Linnia. Yes, that's right. You take after Linnia the most, blonde hair, the shape of your eyes, the height, but there's Maggie's influence, too, in the jawline. Both sisters looked similar. Your bone structure is heavy for a Swift, though, too heavy for pure fey blood. You strike me as Magnus' child which would make your mother Maggie. You have a brother, do you not?”
“Leazar.”
“Named after your father's brother. They named you after your mother's sisters, then. Is it Ferislynn, Ferinia, or Feraline?”
My jaw dropped in surprise.
“Feraline then, and they gave you your mother's surname, following the drake tradition. This was not as easy a divination as it was with the drake lord, but the noble lines are very distinctive while the common lines blend into each other more. So, Feraline Swift, what is it which has brought you to our doorstep? What do you seek?”
“I seek the Fey Council.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“In a gypsy camp on a lake?”
He laughed. “We were the first to settle the area. Come, and dine with us. We share food and stories while the storm rages outside.”
I felt much more welcomed just from his invitation, and asked, “How does the shield work to keep the weather out like glass?”
The Grand Master smiled. “Do you desire to know how to work it? Here, it is simple, but it takes a very long time to perfect. You know how to make a fey circle, one fed by the magic surrounding it? Good. Now, pay attention. I'm going to make one with you, but this circle will not need an offensive spell to act against it to keep it strong. This fey circle will absorb ambient magic in the nearby area. Think of it like roots drawing water. Here, give me a strand of your magic.”
I trusted him instantly, and eagerly brought a tiny drift of wind to brush against his hands. The Grand Master drew symbols on his blanket. I stared at the motion of his fingers, memorizing the symbols, feeling the way my magic built around us. He cast the circle on the outside of the existing one, the two spells working in harmony with one another. I felt the magic that ran through this camp then. It was old, ancient as the greatest oak tree I had ever seen, and it was supple and strong. The Grand Master spread out his fingers and I felt the weak circle mimic his motions, sending little bits of itself out over the water and down into it and up into the sky above. I felt the strain it put on my strength, the circle stretching so thin I thought it would break and take me with it. Then the first of the natural magic touched it, and the strain became bearable. I breathed easier.
Mordon nudged me with a bowl of soup. It was green with bits of fish in it, and I knew in an instant that it was watercress, nettle, and crawdad. I knew how it was made, and that the children had fished for the crawdad while their watchers gathered the watercress and nettle on the shore. I knew, too, that it was not a daily meal, but a ritualistic one.
Mordon did not look too thrilled to be eating something green and runny, nor was he overly excited about all the bread, but he ate without complaint. I ate with relish, falling into conversation with the Grand Master.
He told me about other variations I could do with the fey circle. Ways to trap someone within it, which I'd a
lready done, ways to disguise what lay within, ways to make the appearance of things outside the circle, ways to transform it into a portal, ways to make magic amplify itself within the circle. It was the way to keep safe, he said.
When he discovered my talent with illusion, he chatted too fast for me to comprehend all he said. What I remembered was the simple advice.
“You must first pick a mood for the illusion, then ask the other questions. What is the light? What setting best fits your mood? If you must make do within an inappropriate environment, imagine how you can alter it.”
He took my hand and demonstrated this illusion and that, how to make something thin and wispy, how to make it solid to the touch, how to make it dependent on its surroundings, or to draw its source from myself, or from someone else.
“Remember to go subtle. A single dewdrop on a bouquet, for instance. Use details just on the things closest to the viewer, and use shapes to suggest background. Employ their imagination to your benefit.”
The Grand Master described how to give a spirit or creature another appearance, and he demonstrated on a few flies the children brought in. One he changed to look like a butterfly, another a dragonfly, a third a wasp, and the last a glowing pink ball. Everything else was beyond me, but I changed the three first flies into glowing balls of different color, and the children spent the rest of the meal giggling and capturing them.
“One final thing,” he said. “People trust their other senses more than their sight, yet their other senses are easier to fool. It will take practice, but it is easy to make the brush of silk feel like water, and tastes and smells are nothing more than a hint in their minds. Use real things whenever you can. It will blur their ability to discern the real things from the tricks.”
My mind was spinning with everything he'd said, but I did my best to dedicate it to memory. One day, I'd be able to do as he said.
Then a young couple stood up, drawing attention. The girl held her chin high and said, “Grand Master, Nathaniel and I wish to marry. Do we have your blessings?”
He put his bowl down, the spoon clattering with his shaking hands. “What do your parents think of the match?”
Daae answered. “You remember we found the boy, Nathaniel, after he had run away from his home? While my mate and I tolerate and support Nathaniel living amongst us, I think my daughter would be better to find a man who she shares greater similarities with.”
“Mama!”
“Would the Grand Master please recite for her the tale of the Young Woman and the Traveler?” Daae asked.
The Grand Master sighed, and when the people had quieted, he spoke so softly I had to listen lean forward to hear it.
“A young woman married a man she'd met on her travels. He was a good enough man, and they lived with each other happily except for one thing: he liked to hunt. Sometimes he'd hunt for a whole week, and she complained of how frightened she was.
“Now around this same time there were wolf attacks happening up and down the villages. Usually it was just livestock or wildlife, but once it had been a man who had walked home drunk. The neighbors started to go on hunts for the wolf, but her husband refused to join them. He wouldn't say why.
“After a few months, there were still animal deaths, but no people had been hurt. So the neighbors stopped hunting the wolf every night. But her husband still went on his nightly hunts.
“Then one morning they found a man who had gone missing the other day. He had been brutally torn up by wolves, but they didn't know if he'd been killed by the wolves or if they'd found his corpse after. So they buried him, but that wasn't the end of it.
“It happened that the young woman's husband and another man argued.
“That same night the young woman was making a pearl necklace for her sister's wedding present. Well, she dropped a pearl and it rolled out of the wagon. She found it, and when she stood up she saw a terrible sight.
“It was her husband, passed out mere feet from the door. He was all bloody and his shoulder had been shot. She was very panicked, and she got her husband inside the wagon and went and got help.
“The poor doctor had already been out to see one man that night, who had been attacked by a wolf. He guessed that her husband had accidentally been shot during the chaos.
“But then they both saw it at the same time: the hand which had been hidden beneath her husband's body wasn't a hand at all, but a gigantic wolf's paw.”
There was a collective gasp and excited comments from the children. However, Daae's daughter flared her nostrils, whirled on her heels, and stomped outside. Her lover hesitated, then went after her. I frowned at Mordon. If this was to be the reception we could expect from my parents and the Fey Council…
Daae said, “That wasn't the tale I had in mind.”
“No,” said the Grand Master. “I know it wasn't. But it was a warning. Be content with it.”
The woman bit her lip, determined not to talk back, but fighting the urge.
In a creaking voice, the old man began to recite:
“Do you know what happens
to the lost souls
of Alarum
Alarum
oh Alarum
lake of blood and bone
lake of strife and grief
Do you know what happens
to the lost souls of a lost lake of a lost time
if you know what happens
then tell us
tell us so
tell us
now.”
They waited as if genuinely expecting an answer.
None came.
I felt something stir, but once I tried to find it, it had gone. There was something worrying at me, something which should be obvious yet wasn't. If I unfocused, I could catch glimpses and that was it. Then the feeling was gone, and Mordon's tap on my knee brought me back to the pavilion.
Shaking the feeling, I stood and trailed after someone who guided us outside. There was a chill bite to the wind until we were shown to a wagon where there was a spare bed. Inside the wagon, it was cramped and there was only place for one person to stand at a time without stepping on toes. There were various other beds, and it took people some minutes to find their beds and stop wrestling with blankets.
Settling in next to Mordon on a hard bed which worked as a seat during the day, I tried to calm my senses. Fear of the unknown snaked up and down my spine, a reminder of the husks we'd left behind. But not all was well here. I swallowed the temptation to feel a little sorry for myself. I would get out of here, alive and well, and I would have to show the Fey Council that I didn't care if they approved of Mordon or not.
I closed my eyes and let sleep come despite the howling of wind over the lake.
Chapter Thirteen
It was the wind which woke me sometime during the early morning hours. As I lay awake, nauseous with the pains of an empty stomach and trying to understand why I even was awake and supposing it was because I was hungry, I heard the howl of an actual wolf. I froze, the sound echoing through my body. Barnes had been right about the wolves, I supposed. My eyes started to close, but then came the screams.
“Mordon,” I hissed, pushing against his shoulder roughly. “Wake up.”
I waited for his response. Rain pounded on the roof of the wagon, dripping into pots and cups placed below the leaks, and flashes of lightning lit the wagon. All the beds were empty. In fact, it was as if they'd never been slept in. Why hadn't I heard people leave? I wasn't sure what it was precisely which filled me with terror, but there was a sensation creeping across my skin, one of shocked dread and the desire to knuckle down beneath the covers and hide. I shook Mordon again.
It took me a couple times before he stirred enough to grumble, “What?”
“Listen.”
Just then, a woman screamed outside our wagon.
All pretense of normality evaporated with that very definite human cry of pain. Mordon went tense, then bolted out of bed. I was fast on his heels. Mordon rammed his boo
ts on with haste. Something hit the wall outside, rocking the wagon, making us both gasp. I had one shoe one, one off. No more time was wasted.
We went to the door, one of us on each side, and peered out the windows. In the dim light of the stars, it seemed there was nothing that we could do, that there was nothing wrong. No one outside. No thing outside. I breathed in quiet, shaky breaths. Rain thudded on the windowpanes. Mordon unlocked the door with a whispered spell and I yanked the door open with the wind.
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