Sorcery's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 2)

by D J Salisbury

  Twenty seven different books. Copies, of course. Trevor had never touched them. But for some reason he no longer felt so alone.

  He tucked the first book on Trevor’s shelf inside his shirt and carried it to the reading area at the back of the room. He wondered, briefly, about the spell that lit the room. Was there a sorcerer on the library’s staff? Should he seek out that sorcerer and ask for an apprenticeship?

  If he became an apprentice, he’d lose all his free time. He might not be allowed to do extra reading. Would tying himself to a stranger be worth the price?

  He’d read all of Trevor’s books before he researched those questions.

  Viper set the book on the table next to his newly-purchased notebook and settled into the wooden chair with a sigh of– relief? Pleasure? He smirked at his own indecision.

  He stroked the cover of Trevor’s book and opened it reverently.

  An Examination of the Mathematical Models of Lunar Orbital Eccentricities.

  He stared at the title blankly. The words made sense individually, but put together they were pure nonsense. He paged through the first chapter and hissed with frustration. Drawings of circles within circles were labeled in a language he’d never seen before. Lines slashed here and there across the page. What was this book supposed to be about?

  He turned back to the table of contents. Circular orbits. Elliptical orbits. Retrograde motion. Parabolic trajectories.

  He closed the book gingerly.

  Perhaps he should read the other books first, and work up to this one. He hobbled back to Trevor’s shelf, slid the book into place, and picked up the next one.

  A Detailed Study of Human Anatomy. He opened it with trepidation.

  This book was filled with drawings. Beautiful, clear, labeled drawings of muscles and veins and bones. He’d forgotten what a talented artist Trevor had been.

  A grin stretched his face so wide his cheeks ached. He tucked the thick gray book inside his shirt and carried it to his table, getting there just before it slid free of his trousers’ waistband. He opened to the preface and read: ‘Someday I shall compile a tome of comparative anatomy, but for this work, with regret, I must specialize. This book deals only with human morphology.’

  Viper chuckled. This was just like hearing Trevor lecture, but with pictures. He settled in for a long, pleasurable read.

  An hour later, pain shot through his missing foot. He scooted back his chair and reached down to massage his stump. His hand froze.

  A ghostly foot extended beyond his ankle.

  How could that be? Could a dead foot have a ghost?

  He moved his leg. The pale blue, transparent foot followed his ankle as if it were still attached. He tried to bend his toes.

  They moved. They wiggled. As if his foot were still there.

  Was he hallucinating?

  Could it be his aura? He’d never gotten a good look at his own aura. His skin seemed to get in the way. But the in glimpses he’d had it appeared pale blue with floating silver spots.

  Fascinating. He needed to record the experience. He reached for his notebook and pencil.

  Henrikei strolled into the reading room.

  Viper hastily swung his leg back under the table. Pity was the last thing he needed. He’d seen too much of that lately. Surely his aura would show itself again. He’d write about it later.

  “I see you found your mentor’s books. Are we missing any?”

  “Just one.” The one he’d found under Trevor’s bed. “Magically Advantageous Flora of Menajr.”

  Henrikei’s eyes widened. “I don’t have as much as a record of that one. Are you sure it’s his?”

  Viper nodded. “It’s in his own handwriting.”

  “A first edition.” Henrikei slid into the chair next to his. “I’d happily pay twenty kinseni for a copy. Two hundred, if you’re willing to sell the original.”

  Two hundred gold coins for Trevor’s little book? No wonder the old sorcerer never worried about money. “I’m not ready to give up the original, but I’ll be happy to make a copy.”

  Henrikei reached out and slid his notebook across the table. “Your hand­writing is exquisite, and your illustrations are clear copies. A transcription in his apprentice’s hand qualifies as a second edition, if you sign it. I’ll pay you thirty kinseni. Would you be willing to transcribe other editions?”

  At those rates, he’d make several copies. He didn’t make that much selling Emil’s gems. “I’d be honored, sir.”

  “I’ll send a servant with writing materials.” Henrikei pushed the notebook back across the table, bowed, and left the room.

  Viper glanced down at A Detailed Study of Human Anatomy. He’d enjoy copying it. But the preface still haunted him. ‘Someday I shall compile a tome of comparative anatomy, but for this work, with regret, I must specialize.’

  Why did the words bother him? Perhaps because it was a chore left unfinished. A dream left unfulfilled.

  He hated the thought that Trevor’s dreams had perished with the old man’s body. He despised the fact that there was nothing he could do about it.

  Or wasn’t there?

  What would stop him from writing his own Comparative Anatomy? He could dedicate it to Trevor’s memory.

  It might take a few years.

  That was fine. He had too much time on his hands. He’d need to study hard, read a lot of books.

  He enjoyed studying. He adored reading.

  Nobody cared if a book’s author was a maimed cripple. No one would ever know anything about him. They’d only care about his words.

  On paper, he’d be as whole as everyone else.

  Chapter 30.

  After living in Sedra-Kei for half a year, he ought to be comfortable with so many people watching him. He’d gotten used to his stumpy leg, more or less, and he was getting used to the cotton-stuffed, padded boot, as long as he remembered not to put much weight on that leg.

  But Viper still felt like something unpleasant was staring at him. Something hungry.

  He hated feeling like a bowl of honeyed porridge held just out of a greedy child’s reach.

  It was watching him now as he crutched along the stone-paved street on his way to the library, whatever ‘it’ was. Pickpockets? Paduan slavers? Or something worse?

  He’d begun to suspect some sort of scrying spell was tracking him. But why would anyone bother? All of the local sorcerers had refused to talk to him – everyone knew Setoyans couldn’t do magic, they said. Why should they waste their time?

  Trevor never considered him a waste of time. Trevor had invested a lot of effort into his education. He refused to let the old man down.

  The prickling sensation was worse than lice in his hair. He had to do something about it.

  Maybe Henrikei could help. The old librarian knew all sorts of strange things. Too bad he wasn’t a sorcerer. Magical help would be more than welcome.

  He hobbled up the library’s front steps and pushed through the heavy doors into the gaudy reception room.

  Henrikei looked up from his ledger and smiled. “Good morning, Venomous Snake. I have a new book I’d like transcribed, Manipulating Metaphysical Defenses in Amplified Psychic Resistance. A professor brought it in this morning.”

  Probably Professor Banlediku, one of the sorcerers who refused to teach him anything. “I’ll be happy to copy it.” That way the snarky professor would pay him, instead of the other way around, and he’d still learn something.

  He hopped closer to the counter and opened the book. Hey, it was about shields, the last thing poor Trevor tried to teach him. He scanned the table of contents. Mental barriers. Layered shields. Shielding vortex. He still didn’t see the point of any of it, but he wanted to know what the fuss was about. Maybe he’d actually pass the second level of sorcery someday.

  Wait. Could shields stop the feeling of being stalked?

  He opened to the center of the book. The chapter title read: “Flaming Shields,” and below that, “Warning, use w
ith caution. Self-immolation is likely.” Now that was one spell he’d avoid.

  Where had he seen that warning before? Of course, in RedAdder’s grimoire. He’d compare the two versions after he’d finished copying this one.

  Which reminded him, he’d been meaning to make Henrikei a copy of the grimoire. He’d made three copies of Trevor’s The Magically Advantageous Flora of Menajr, and two of his own little book on gemstones, and one copy of all of his notebooks, and he’d been paid in gold for each of them. The list of Kresh swearwords, as used by Griffith, had made Henrikei laugh, even without half the definitions.

  But somehow he never got around to copying RedAdder’s work. He made a mental note to move it to the top of his list.

  He closed Manipulating Metaphysical Defenses and slipped it into his carry bag. “I’ll start on it right away. I think I need to learn how to shield.”

  Henrikei stopped writing and closed his ledger. “Why? The library has exceptionally strong shields.”

  “That explains why I never feel it here.” No wonder he always felt safest inside the library complex. He should have asked lunars ago. “Out in the city, I always feel like someone is watching me.”

  “Did it start when you entered the city?”

  “Yes. No. I’m not sure. It seems like I’ve felt it ever since Trevor died. Hey, could it be Trevor’s ghost?”

  “Not if it has worried you.”

  It scared him spitless some days. Like today. He felt safer at night, when he could feel the whole boathouse clan surrounding him.

  Henrikei nodded as if he’d spoken the thought aloud. “It could be a ghost. Have you killed anyone?”

  “No.” Lorel had killed Kraken, but he wasn’t even in town when that happened.

  “It could be a tracking or scrying spell. Have you offended a sorcerer?”

  “Only a weak one. And he’s more an herbalist than a true sorcerer.” Old Bahtdor Nose didn’t have the strength or knowledge to harvest his own mandrake roots. He surely couldn’t manage a complex spell.

  “A magician or a wizard?”

  “No.” He hadn’t seen a magician since he left the Setoyan Plains. The only wizard he’d ever met probably forgot him before he left the room.

  “That leaves us with a ghost, I think. Good shields ought to stop one.”

  “But why would a ghost bother with me?”

  “Perhaps it blames you for its death.” Henrikei reached across the counter and patted his shoulder. “According to necromancer Monsoon’s Treatise on the Behavior of Phantasms, the dead are unable to think clearly. They often take a single thought into the afterlife, and act on it irrationally. The book is several hundred years old, but I believe his work is trustworthy.”

  Maybe it was Kraken haunting him. The bully certainly knew he and Lorel were friends. Since it couldn’t affect Lorel, the ghost might have decided to chase him instead.

  “I’ll study Manipulating Metaphysical Defenses while I copy it.” He patted his carry bag and pulled his crutches closer. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll ask you for a book on discouraging ghosts.”

  Henrikei nodded and opened the door into the stacks. “Please finish Talismanic Configurations before you start transcribing Professor Banlediku’s book. I have three people asking for a copy. I can’t imagine why it’s become so popular lately.”

  “Yes, sir.” He hobbled down the long hall to the Seventh Reading Room and collected more paper and ink. His copy of Talismanic Configurations lacked only the summary, less than three pages. He could finish it in half an hour.

  He’d known that amulets and coins could be made into magical talismans, but who’d have guessed a wizard could use musical instruments, grimoires, or even peg legs? It seemed unfair to use a fellow’s false leg against him. Just losing a limb was curse enough.

  He stared down at the padded boot that hid his stump. Could he spell it into a talisman against pain? Talismans were only third level sorcery. It shouldn’t be all that hard. He’d look for a more detailed book after he finished transcribing Manipulating Metaphysical Defenses.

  But first he had something he must do right away. Was there anyone coming down the hall? He listened at the door, and heard only silence.

  He hustled the borrowed book out of his carry bag and laid it on the table. Asking to borrow it would have been smarter, and when he’d put it in his bag last night he’d really meant to, but while he was talking to Henrikei, a snarky student had come into the room and insulted him. By the time Henrikei threw them both out, he’d forgotten about taking it.

  He opened the blasted book and glared at the title page. He’d transcribed An Examination of the Mathematical Models of Lunar Orbital Eccentricities twice, and he still couldn’t make any sense out of it.

  Over the last few lunars, he’d studied math and trajectories. He’d read biographies by and about eccentrics. He’d poured over carved clay models of the moons in the Ninth Reading Room.

  Nothing had helped.

  He knew that Trevor was intelligent, but he had never dreamed the old man was brilliant. At least now he knew where Trevor’s money came from. Henrikei said libraries paid thousands of gold kinseni for books like this. The weirder and harder the book was to understand, the more they would pay.

  They must have paid the Weaver’s ransom for this one.

  Viper sighed and put An Examination of Mathematical Models back on the shelf. He’d start on A Cost-Benefit Analysis of Spirit Summons tomorrow, after he finished Manipulating Metaphysical Defenses. Both books looked a little easier.

  Chapter 31.

  Lorel slugged the snarky brat, shouldered past him, and raced down the gloomy hallway to her next lesson.

  She was so fed up with getting ambushed every time she walked down the hall. At least they never jumped her in the dorm. Weaver protect the dorm guardian’s thread.

  She never lived around nobody she couldn’t beat up easy before. It was kinda weird. But there were just too many of the cowards.

  Poor Tsai’dona had given up, quit school, and joined a caravan as a guard. Now all the girl’s dreams of being an elite bodyguard were ruined. And it was all her fault, just because she’d called Tsai’dona her friend.

  She swore she’d never tease the kid for being short and skinny, never ever again. Now she knew how he felt, having to fight just to walk free.

  It was worth it, though. She never dreamed there was more to fighting than just bashing. Course, she got high marks for bashing. Ain’t nobody in this fraying school better at hitting hard.

  But there’s so many ways to fight. So many ways to take a guy down. So thread-snipping many ways to parry. And to get bashed while she was trying to parry.

  She was gonna learn them all. She was gonna be the best they ever had walk out their door.

  She just had to live long enough to do it. And to get to class on time. The school would kick her out if she came in late again.

  Farouh glared at her when she dashed into the courtyard, but raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “Your shirt is torn again.”

  Fraying snarky brat musta ripped it. She tugged the cloth back over her shoulder. “I’ll sew it up tonight.” Somehow. No matter how well she hid it, her needle and thread kept disappearing.

  Snooty snitch Sui’todou snickered at her. “The swamp rat can’t keep her clothes on when a real man’s around.”

  Who was he calling a swamp rat? He was the rat, and Zedista never had no swamps. Couldn’t he think up a better insult? She glanced at Farouh, but the instructor had walked away. “You wouldn’t know–”

  His snaky grin got wider. The rotten toad. He was just looking for an excuse to rat on her.

  She turned her back on him and strolled to the weapons rack. Choosing a wooden sword calmed her a little. The best thing about being demon­stration bait these days was she got to swat her opponents when they got lazy. And she really needed to smack somebody today. Anybody would do.

  Farouh returned to the front of the class. “
Today you will practice fourth-level parry and strike combinations. Concentrate on protecting yourself while the demonstration student attacks.”

  Bless Farouh’s thread on the Shuttle! She got to hit everybody today. This’ll be the most fun she’d had since she rescued the kid from the whole Nashidran army.

  A little voice reminded her it’d only been one Guard patrol, and the kid had managed a thread-snipping diversion. She pushed the voice away. Hard. The whole army made a better story, and nobody’d ever believe the truth anyway. Where had the kid gotten a spider that big?

  Her first few opponents were easy. She attacked, they parried and tried to swung around for a strike. She eventually smacked the toy sword out of the brat’s hand, but she waited a couple of rounds so they wouldn’t look too bad. She still remembered the look on Lai’ishlan’s face when she won right off. Maybe that was why so many of the students hated her. She honestly hadn’t meant to make him look stupid.

  “Stop daydreaming, swamp rat.” Snooty Sui’todou smacked his wooden sword against his palm. “It’s my turn. And you know what that means.”

  Yeah. It meant she wasn’t allowed to hit him. Or even disarm him. It meant he planned to make her look stupider than a seawall ox tangled up in its traces while its workmates dragged it around in circles.

  Blood surged up her neck and threatened to burst out of the top of her head. That miswoven brat wasn’t half as good as he thought he was. The snitch was nothing but a fat, lazy toad.

  But he’d rat on her and get her kicked out if she didn’t make him look good. Staying in school was worth his crap. She’d just swat the next brat harder.

  She thumped her sword against his. He parried, swung his toy sword up, and banged it hard against her shoulder.

  Hey, that hurt. Didn’t he know it was cheating?

  He smirked at her.

  Farouh stalked between them. “You can do better than that, girl. You, boy. You used a second level attack. I specified fourth level.” She sniffed like she smelled fresh dog poop and turned away. “You shall stand guard in the West Tower for six hours this afternoon. You have significantly diminished your lineage.”