The Mages of Bennamore

by Pauline M. Ross

  With creeping dread I remembered what he’d said about Ish. Hadn’t Mal told me he’d thought Ish was lying to me? I’d never really believed him. I’d assumed he was just jealous, or had some slight training in recognising deception, as I had myself, and saw or imagined something suspicious. When I mentioned it later, though, he’d been very cagey about it.

  Did he really know? Or just suspect? Maybe my conscience was leading me to misinterpret his reaction.

  I don’t like secrets. Not in other people, anyway. I keep my own, for very good reason, but I resent it when anybody else hides things from me. This was something I needed to lay to rest, for my own peace of mind. I had to find out whether Mal was upset because of what I’d done, or whether it was nothing to do with me.

  One night I stopped Mal as he passed silently through my room on his way to bed.

  “Mal, I think we should talk, don’t you?”

  He sighed loudly, and slowly turned to face me. “No! Just leave me alone.”

  Anger bubbled up inside me, but I pushed it down. “Look, Mal… you really can’t go on like this. It’s unhealthy. You have to get over this business, forget about it.”

  His rolled his eyes, and pulled a disbelieving face.

  Dragon’s balls, he was making this difficult. Time for some grovelling. “If I’ve done something to offend you, I’m sorry.” Silence again. “Say something, by the Goddess.”

  Still no response. He stood unmoving, his eyes fixed on a point above my head, his expression unreadable.

  “Please…” I said stiffly. “What can I do to make things better?”

  He turned then and glared at me. “Nothing! There’s nothing you can do. Now fuck off and leave me alone.”

  He spun round and swept into his room, banging the door behind him.

  All my anger collapsed in an instant, leaving me weak and shaking. I stumbled across the room, curled up on the window seat and buried my face in my knees.

  Mal’s door crashed open again. I jumped in alarm. He stormed across the room towards me, his face rigid with rage.

  “How can you even ask what you’ve done to offend me? You know what you’ve done, and then you lied about it, to my face. Fuck it, Fen, how stupid do you think I am? Pulling tricks like that right under my nose, and thinking I’d never work it out. How you must have laughed at me, the ignorant peasant who’ll never, ever guess what innocent little you is up to.”

  He paced back and forth, too angry to stay still.

  “Mal, I—”

  “No, don’t say a word. No more lies!” For a few moments he paced, incapable of framing the words. “How could you, Fen? How can I ever trust you again?”

  I shook with fear. I was very practised in deceit, yet I hadn’t deceived Mal.

  He knew.

  My whole body trembled, I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. It felt like hours we stood there, immobile, Mal exuding contempt from every pore, me quivering like a leaf in a gale.

  Then he stormed out of the room. I hurled myself into the cushions and wept for hours.

  15: Kelter Fever

  For days I crept round the house, terrified that I would be summoned and accused of theft. My fear was a solid lump in my stomach, heavy and impossible to ignore. The penalty for theft was not severe in itself – the loss of just one finger for a first offence – but for me it would change my whole life. How could I be a recorder without all my fingers? I could learn to write again, in time, but it would mean retaking all the endless tests to regain my badge of office.

  That was what had brought me to thievery in the first place, all those years ago. I’d brought money with me from Shannamar, naturally, but I’d travelled to Carrinshar by road on the public wagons, knowing that my father’s men would watch all the ships leaving the port. That had taken quarter moons longer than I’d expected. Then I’d had to pay for accommodation, and all my books and writing materials while I qualified. Two years, they’d told me at first. Two years! I’d have been dead from starvation by then, or spreading my legs in a harbour-side brothel. I took every test in a little over half a year, and by the end of it I was living on nothing but watery soup and the stale bread sold cheap at the bakery just before they closed. Many days I ate nothing at all.

  Was it any surprise I never wanted to be so desperate again? I thought it would be easier once I was working, but that first quarter before my salary was paid almost finished me. My first employer was a very elderly man who made few transactions and hardly needed a recorder at all. I earned virtually nothing beyond my salary, and I still had to dance attendance on him, and listen to his constant whining and smile nicely. I even had to beg for permission to leave the house. It was humiliating.

  But the man scattered his coins all over the house, little heaps on tables and shelves and in drawers, and, poor as I was, it was such a temptation. I saw the kitchen boy pocket a couple of bits one day, just sliding his hand over the pile as he passed. A couple of heartbeats and it was done. So why shouldn’t I do the same?

  The next morning, I lifted a bit – just a single bit, nothing extravagant – from a different pile. I was so exhilarated, I couldn’t believe it. It perked me up for days, knowing that I could put one over on my stupid employer. I hated being servile with these people, merchants and shop owners and jumped-up woodworkers, who think themselves so much better than me, when they have no thoughts beyond their businesses. Most of them can’t even read.

  After that, it became a matter of pride to steal from everyone I worked for. Nothing large enough to attract attention, just a couple of bits here and there, or a round if there were enough kept in the house. I was very cautious, taking my time to work out where the money was kept and devising opportunities to go there alone. Always in the daytime – nothing is more suspicious than creeping round the house at night.

  I’d never been caught before. Even now, I wasn’t quite sure what Mal really knew, or whether he just guessed that it was me, because I was often in Losh’s study alone, where the coins were kept. I spent hours there each afternoon, dealing with requests for appointments and the like.

  After a few days, I began to calm down and consider things rationally. After all, many people passed through the study every day, so I was not the only one with the opportunity. Then there was the little problem that the coins were locked away and Kael had the only key. When the missing coins were discovered, the box was locked, as usual, and Kael still had the key. So how could anyone have stolen anything? There was no proof, nothing to connect me directly.

  Even if Mal thought I’d stolen the coins, he could have no idea how it was done. Did he imagine I carried round a set of lock-picking tools? I caught him searching my room one day, so perhaps he was looking for such things. Not that he would have found any.

  The days went by, and the quarter moons, and the theft receded into the past, just another little mystery that would never be solved. Most of the household assumed that Kael had made a mistake but was too proud to admit it. It was less important, surely, than other, greater mysteries, like Hestaria’s disappearance. The missing coins were forgotten.

  Mal, however, did not forget. His bad temper gradually eroded and he became more like his usual self, at least with the others. Towards me, his resentment never faded. There was a vast gulf between us and I didn’t know what to do to make things better. In public, he treated me with an icy politeness that drew curious stares from Losh and Lenya. In private, he never spoke to me at all.

  I didn’t sleep, could barely eat. I tried to be angry at his treatment of me, but I didn’t have the heart for it. It surprised me how much I grieved for the loss of his friendship. If he’d wanted to come to my bed now, I would have been glad to agree. Sometimes at night when I was miserably lonely, I’d creep into his room when I was sure he was asleep and slip into his bed. I’d curl up beside him for an hour or two just to feel the warmth of his body alongside mine. He never woke up.

  Once, though, he rolled over and caught me in hi
s arms before I could move out of reach. He mumbled something in his sleep, and pulled me closer. Then to my astonishment, he began to pull up my nightgown. He wasn’t awake, I was sure of that, but still his hands explored and stroked, he murmured something over and over – “Lacey”, it sounded like. Still largely unconscious, he grasped me firmly by the buttocks and pushed into me. Afterwards he rolled away from me again, snoring softly.

  He had warned me that he was capable of something like that, but still it was a surprise. Not a particularly pleasant surprise, because there’s not much satisfaction in coupling with a man who isn’t even aware of what he’s doing and doesn’t remember it afterwards. It was dispiriting, too, to be called by another woman’s name. I wondered who she was, this Lacey.

  But it brought home to me as nothing else could that my marriage was an empty shell. It had never had much going for it, apart from his easy-going good nature, which he applied equally to all the women he met. I had to put it behind me and move on. I was good at leaving the past behind. I’d had plenty of practice.

  ~~~~~

  There was one small advantage of Mal’s continued avoidance of me. It gave me the opportunity at last to investigate the large box screwed to the floor in his room. I’d developed the habit of tidying his room as well as mine, a wifely gesture that had amused him, without arousing any suspicion. Before we went down to table each morning, I wandered round both bedrooms folding clothes, pairing discarded boots and hanging his leather gear neatly. That way he never got a chance to pile things randomly on top of the box. But I’d never been able to get a good look at it. My daytime hours were well regulated, and he was usually around in the evenings.

  Now, however, he often disappeared after evening table and I took the first chance to sneak into his room. I still had to move a heavy wooden shield and a quiver off the lid, but after that, there it was. I set my lamp on a wooden chair nearby and set to work.

  The lock was complicated, but with concentration it yielded to my fingers. The lid was heavy, solid oak, and I had to heave to raise it. Then it shot back against the wall, fortunately coming to rest on a wall hanging. I peered inside – and was at once deflated. There was nothing there but his strange belt.

  Almost at once, I realised my mistake. This was a different belt, thicker, heavier, and missing the green stones, just empty pockets where they should be. I lifted it up and found two more belts below it, and beneath that a flat box, large enough for a short sword, perhaps. It wasn’t locked. Inside lay a whole array of green stones ready to be fitted into belt pockets. Tossed into a corner, I found my jade pendant. I picked it up, feeling the familiar buzz, a warmth like the sun coming out. The jade stones had the same feel. There were two other pendants, one ivory and one an odd amber stone I didn’t recognise. They too tingled with warmth. With magic.

  My husband, I discovered, was using magic.

  What was the penalty for that, if the mages found out?

  ~~~~~

  Summer rolled in with unusual heat, and with it came kelter fever. It was so named because it coincided with the arrival of the kelter swarms, the little green fish which poured up the river in uncountable numbers to breed in the pools high in the grasslands. The poor people of the black town poured into the shallow water to net them, and then hung them on the roofs of their hovels to dry. Kelter were too tough and sour for the wealthier folk in the white town, but they were a winter staple for those less picky.

  Most years the fever passed over Dristomar without much loss of life, but this year it was unusually virulent. The occupants of the white town stayed in their houses with the windows shut, burning aromatic leaves to ward off the sickness. In the black town, the collectors’ carts rumbled through the narrow alleys long after dark, their torches flickering as they went from house to house, stopping again and again until the bodies were piled high.

  “Can’t you do anything?” I raged at Losh. “You have all this magic in your hands, you can heal people, why do you just sit here?”

  We were at evening table, and the others all avoided my eye, embarrassed.

  Losh sighed. “I wish we could, Fen. But the rules…”

  “Goddess, the rules! People are dying over there, whole families are dying. How can you bear to do nothing to help?”

  He picked up his wineglass, then set it down again. “Our clients have to pay,” he said firmly. “That is the rule. We cannot break it.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  “Both. Look at it rationally, Fen. There are only two of us here with magic power, and that power is limited. We could not begin to save everyone with the fever, and if we are unable to save everyone, then how can we possibly choose? It is not for us to say who lives and who dies. There is not enough magic in the world to give everyone what they deserve, still less what they want. We have also found that mages who overuse their power become drained, exhausted. Their magic fades away. So we ration it as best we can. We never make judgements ourselves about who should or should not receive help. Instead we have a very simple rule: those who have the silver get the spells they want, but they have to take their turn. We are only allowed a certain number of clients per day. Do you see?”

  I did. I saw that the rich and powerful could have whatever their little minds desired, while the poor lived and died in pain and suffering. I saw that it was easy to deal only with respectful, well-bred clients, who brought their vaguely defined aches and malaises, and left fancying themselves much improved. Much harder to go out amongst the jostling masses, with their malformed limbs and warts and pale, undernourished bodies and try to convince salt-toughened coastal families that magic had cured them. I still wasn’t convinced myself, after moons of watching the mages at work. I would love to see Losh wave his hands and chant over some of the beggars who hung around outside the harbour-side soup houses. Then we would see just how effective this Bennamore magic was.

  We skulked in the house like everyone else while the fever raged. Inevitably, it crossed the river and we were kept busy curing the slightly unwell on our side of it, while in the black town the death toll rose inexorably.

  Then the fever came to me.

  The first day was no more than aching bones, a lassitude and a lack of appetite. I picked at my plate at evening table and went to bed early. The second day I didn’t get up at all, curled up under the covers trying to get warm, or hurling them aside as I sweated. Mal brought me endless mugs of brew and bowls of steaming broth, all of which I rejected. I don’t remember the third day at all.

  I remember the dreams, though. At least, I supposed they were dreams, although they were so vivid, so real. Wolves running through a forest, breathing fire, and I was one of them. Walking under a waterfall halfway up a cliff, being knocked down over and over by the force of it, consumed with fear that I’d be swept over the edge and fall. And then I was falling, no, I was flying, I was a dragon, wheeling exultantly through the air, diving into the sea. There was a whole colony of them underwater, a great city.

  More often I saw things moving in the room. A mass of beetles making a dark shape on the wall. Vines creeping over the pillow, trying to smother me. Ish was there at one point, not smiling, nothing but coldness in his eyes. But only the head was Ish’s, the body was Mal’s. Then there was a spider in the room, taller than Mal, its face peering down at me. I was talking to it, I’m sure. Or it was talking to me. A spider with Losh’s face, saying, “Does she know? She must know.”

  There was a warmth on my head, and blessed energy flowing into me. It was beautiful, golden and sparkling, like tiny raindrops lit by the sun. It trickled from my head into my body and then outwards into my limbs and eventually even my fingers and toes felt warm, suffused with this glorious energy. All my pain and confusion and miserable feverish dreams were gone. My eyes grew heavy and I slept.

  16: Confessions

  When I woke, the first thing I saw was Mal’s face, a ghostly shadow half-lit by night lamps, all dark hollows and cragginess. He was in the h
eavy leather armchair, which normally sat by the fire, but he must have dragged it across the room to be closer to the bed. He was fast asleep, head lolling, mouth open.

  I crept out of bed and tiptoed to the bathing room to relieve myself. There were jugs of hot water on burners, so I washed and then found myself a clean nightgown. Mal hadn’t stirred when I got back to the bedroom, but as soon as I climbed into bed again, the frame creaked and he jolted awake instantly, not at all like his usual slow rousing.

  “Fen? Fen! Thank all the Gods. Are you all right?”

  He jumped up and plumped the pillows so that I could sit up comfortably.

  “I’m fine. The fever must have broken. I feel fine.”

  Better than fine, in fact. Better than normal. Considering I’d just woken from several days of intense illness, I felt curiously alive, calm and yet brimming with energy at the same time. Mal just smiled and tipped his head to one side, watching me.

  Then I realised.

  “Losh was here, wasn’t he? That was magic?”

  He nodded, smiling a little wider.

  “He cured me?” I narrowed my eyes. “Who paid the silver?”

  “No one paid. The mages are allowed to heal anyone from the household.”

  “Has any one else has been affected? The mages? Lenya?”

  “One of the kitchen girls got it mildly, and there was a stable hand, too, but you were the worst. Everyone else is well.”

  “You too?”

  His smile broadened. “Me too. So do you believe in magic now?”

  I raised my hands in acquiescence. It was hard to deny what I’d experienced. “But why call in Losh? You could have healed me.”

  His smile slipped, and I remembered too late that I only knew about his ability to use magic because I’d sneaked a look into his box. The magic was still humming inside me, making me over-relaxed, I suppose. My brain wasn’t as sharp as usual.

  But he didn’t challenge me on it. “You were bound to work that out, I suppose,” he said gloomily. “Just don’t tell anyone else. Well, Lenya knows. She wears a vessel belt too.”