The Family Shame

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “You look reasonably healthy, for a girl your age,” Ira said. I barely heard him. Something was pounding in my head. I sank to my knees, my hair falling out of its braid and spilling around me. “You should probably eat more in the mornings, but otherwise you’re actually coming along nicely.”

  “Thanks,” I managed. My body felt so heavy that I couldn’t move. I was being pulled to the ground by an invisible force. “Are you …”

  The force snapped out of existence. “You can stand up now,” Uncle Ira said. A faint aroma of burning reached my nostrils. The etchings on the ground were smoking slightly. “Your magic handled it very well.”

  I choked as I stumbled over the lines, careful not to touch them. It hadn’t been anything like so bad the last time I’d been subjected to a full body scan. I had aches and pains everywhere, as well as an overpowering urge to just lie down on the floor and go to sleep until I felt better. It was hard, so hard, to merely lean against the wall.

  My voice sounded raspy, even to me. “What … what did you do?”

  “Probably one of the most detailed magical resonance scans in the world,” Uncle Ira said, absently. He was holding a crystal in one hand, studying an image of my innards with apparent fascination. I’d seen something like it before, back when I’d been given a handful of lessons in healing, but Uncle Ira had produced a far sharper image. “You’re fit and healthy, for your age; you shouldn’t have any trouble growing into adulthood.”

  I leaned against the wall and wished the room would stop shaking. “Can I … can I study magic? Magic like that?”

  “Probably,” Uncle Ira said. He reached into his pocket and produced a small vial, uncapping it with a simple spell. “Drink this.”

  I put it to my lips and drank. It tasted unpleasant, as always, but I rapidly found my strength returning. I pushed myself away from the wall, forcing myself to stand on my own two feet. My skin felt as though it should be covered with needle marks, but what little I could see of it was pale and clear. It had just been an illusion, although a painful one. My magic probably hadn’t known how to interpret the sensations surrounding it.

  “Thank you,” I managed.

  Uncle Ira favoured me with a rare smile. “Go back to lunch and eat as much as you can,” he ordered. “And then you can read the books. I’ll discuss your progress on Friday.”

  I bobbled a curtsey, scooped up one of the books and hurried down the corridor before he could call me back. The book felt fresh and new in my hands, practically glowing with preservation and protective charms that would keep it clean and dry, even if I dropped it in the bath. I was grinning from ear to ear, again, as I practically ran into the dining room and sat down in front of the stew. I was so ravenous that I would have eaten anything, even something I normally would have disdained. Thankfully, Morag had cooked something I actually liked. I was surprised she hadn’t already cleared the table before I had a chance to return.

  That was odd, I thought, as I practically inhaled a bowl of stew. Mother would have sent me to my room without supper for such poor table manners. I didn’t feel so drained when they gave me the full health check before I went to Jude’s.

  I puzzled over it as I ate a second bowl, with slightly more decorum. Uncle Ira had scanned me thoroughly, so completely thoroughly he probably knew what I’d had for breakfast. I didn’t think there was any need to go so far, not if he wanted to gauge my magic. He’d already done that when he’d had me casting spells for him. Unless … he’d wanted a rough idea of just how much magic I could actually produce. Casting one high-magic spell might be harder than casting a multitude of relatively simple spells.

  Putting the thought aside, I opened the book and scanned the first chapter. The writer was practically a genius, compared to some of the other writers; he actually understood that he was writing for kids! Every step was clearly outlined, with explanations of the reasoning behind every instruction detailed so thoroughly that even I could understand it. I made a mental note to show Callam the basic book on charms. It wasn’t quite A Beginners Guide to Charms, but it should help him to master the basics.

  I finished my pudding and looked up. There was no sign of Morag, which meant … I hesitated, then started to load the plates and pots onto the tray. It was heavy, when I’d finished, but I managed to carry it down to the kitchen and place it on the sideboard without incident. I wasn’t sure what to do with the remainder of the stew, so I put it under a preservation spell while I washed the plates in the sink. It was, again, a droll reminder of just how much work the servants had to do every day. And Morag did most of it on her own.

  I’ll have to help her more, I told myself. It wasn’t as if I was expected to spend all of my time in the workrooms. And she can teach me how to cook.

  “Very good,” Morag said, from behind me. “You’re learning.”

  I tried, hard, not to jump. It didn’t work. My heart pounded as I slowly turned to face her. I still didn’t know how she kept sneaking up on me. If this continued, I was going to accidentally spill something crunchy on the floor behind me and see if she still managed to take me by surprise.

  “Thank you, Senior,” I managed. I wasn’t quite as lonely as I’d been a day ago, but still … I was wary of angering her for nothing. “What should I do with the stew?”

  Morag glanced at my work and nodded. “If you want to eat it today, make sure you use a spell to heat it thoroughly,” she said. “If not, put it in a container tonight and shove it into the cupboard. You or I can eat it later.”

  “Yes, Senior,” I said.

  I found myself grinning. “He bought some books for me!”

  “I trust that will lower the volume of your complaints to a dull roar,” Morag said. I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. “The Master does expect you to work hard, you know.”

  “At what?” My tone was plaintive. “Will I spend the rest of my life here?”

  Morag snorted. “If you get a degree, even one from an independent tutor, you can simply change your name and move to another country. You may have to sit an exam there, to prove the degree isn’t completely worthless, but you’d be able to work afterwards. Or you could simply set up on your own, somewhere in the countryside. A decent magician could make a good living far from Shallot.”

  I blinked. “Why would anyone want to live away from Shallot?”

  “The world is so much bigger than you realise,” Morag said. “Why do you think the king doesn’t live in Shallot?”

  “I honestly never thought about it,” I said. It had taken five days to travel from Shallot to Kirkhaven. How far was I from home? A couple of hundred miles? Or more? “Shallot always seemed the place to live.”

  Morag laughed, gently. It made her look much younger. “You’ll be surprised to hear that there are people in Tintagel, young lady, who say that the only good thing that comes out of Shallot is the road to Tintagel. And there are people in Shallot who say the same about Tintagel. There are other places, you know. You could set up a small business in Caithness and no one would care, as long as you pleased your customers.”

  “Caithness?”

  “The nearest city,” Morag said. She waved vaguely towards the wall. “Somewhere in that direction, I believe.”

  “Oh,” I said. Things were starting to look a little more hopeful. Maybe I could tough it out for five years, gain a degree or two, then simply vanish. It would mean never seeing my family again, but I suspected that the Arbiters would ensure I never saw my parents or brother again anyway. “I suppose it beats marrying the pig-boy.”

  “Yes,” Morag agreed. “I suppose it does.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’ll finish here, if you don’t mind. Go study your books, then brew an absolutely fantastic potion. You do not want to disappoint the Master.”

  The warning in her voice was very clear. I understood, even though I didn’t really want to admit it. Uncle Ira might have argued with the Arbiters when he’d ordered the books - or, perhaps, somehow manag
ed to slip the order around them. Either way, he’d probably put more effort into obtaining the books for me than he’d admitted. I definitely didn’t want to let him down.

  “I will, Senior,” I said. I’d have to devise a charm for Callam too. “And thank you.”

  Morag met my eyes, her expression much darker. “I mean it,” she said, sharply. Her voice was very cold. “Do not disappoint him.”

  I shivered. “Yes, Senior.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  If I was forced to be honest, Callam was not the type of person I would have befriended at Jude’s.

  It wasn’t something I could deny. Callam didn’t have the family connections to face me as an equal, allowing us to be actual friends, or the talent for me to take him as a client. He was smart and good with his hands, but he lacked the training and experience to learn magic or practice wood and metal work. His family, as far as I could gather, was neither prominent in the nearby community nor tied into any guilds that might have provided assistance when it came to finding a new placement. He was not the sort of person I would have been expected to spend any time with at Jude’s.

  And yet, over the next two weeks, we became friends.

  It was odd, yet somehow liberating. No girl could befriend a boy at Jude’s without the Grande Dames of both genders eventually starting to babble about possible marriage alliances. No girl could befriend another girl without people talking about patrons and clients and what it would mean for future alliances. But Callam had nothing to offer me and I had little to offer him and … we could be friends. He showed me where he’d hidden his tools and how to work wood, slowly expanding the treehouse without benefit of magic; I tried to teach him how to use a little magic himself. If I hadn’t met him, someone fairly close to my own age, I think I would have gone mad.

  Father wouldn’t approve, I thought, as I sat cross-legged on the rug and centred myself. But Father is a very long way away.

  Callam sat down facing me. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  “It should,” I said, trying to hide my doubts. Callam really should have started a great deal younger. Magic was a muscle, I’d been told. The earlier one started to practice, the easier it was to build one’s reserves - and control. “Cup your hands, like this” - I demonstrated - “and close your eyes, concentrating on the magic.”

  It was an old exercise, one I hadn’t needed for nearly five years. Power flowered through my fingertips, surging into the cup. I opened my eyes and saw light flaring over my hands, the magic slowly taking on shape and form. It wasn’t doing anything in particular - shaping the magic into spells came later - but it was a simple way to learn how to channel and extrude magic. I looked at his hands and frowned. No magic danced over his fingertips.

  “Nothing,” Callam said, disgustedly. “It isn’t doing anything.”

  “Don’t get frustrated,” I said, remembering when my father had given me the exact same lecture. “Concentrate on your heartbeats … and the power that flows through them.”

  I watched him for a long moment as he slowed his breathing, taking long breaths as he focused his mind. Someone had clearly taught him how to meditate at one point, probably his father. A wandering teacher would know the basics, even if they’d be unlikely to know the theory that had been drummed into my head since the day I could walk. They’d certainly be able to point a prospective sorcerer at someone who could give him more attention, perhaps even a scholarship to Jude’s. I was morbidly sure that someone had found Rose not too far away. She’d probably been noticeable even as a young girl.

  Someone would probably have taken her away and adopted her if Jude’s hadn’t found her first, I thought. Rose would hardly be the first talented commoner to be adopted by a Great House. I wonder what her parents would have thought of that?

  Callam opened his eyes. “It isn’t working,” he said. “I’m not producing any magic.”

  I nodded, slowly. I should have been able to sense something, even if he hadn’t managed to produce light. Instead … perhaps his power was so low he’d need help to fan the spark into a flame. I thought about it for a long moment, considering options. A focus would probably help - I’d used them myself as a child - but I didn’t think there were any in the hall. Morag and Uncle Ira would certainly ask a great many questions if I tried to order one.

  They’d know I wouldn’t need it, I thought. And then they’d start wondering why I wanted it.

  “I’ll have to think about it,” I conceded. Akin could probably have forged a focus, but I doubted I could. There was a workshop in the hall, and plenty of supplies, yet forging had never been my speciality. I made a mental note to look up the instructions anyway. It might be possible to craft one with a little effort. “Does your father have a spell focus?”

  Callam looked blank. “What’s a spell focus?”

  “A device to help children channel magic,” I told him. A multitude of emotions crossed his face, moving so quickly that they were gone before I could identify them. “Your father might have used one in his work.”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Callam said, stiffly. “What would it look like?”

  “Depends on the design,” I said. I forced myself to think back to childhood. “Mine - ah, the one I used when I was six - looked like a stick with a star on top.”

  A thought struck me. I probably couldn’t find a focus, but I could find a spellcaster. There were a number of uncharged spellcasters in the workshop. I could prime one to draw magic out of Callam, shaping it into a very basic spell. It would teach him the basics without having to either order or forge a focus myself.

  “A magic wand, you mean,” Callam said. “I don’t think Dad has one.”

  “They’re not wands,” I said. My Father had been very insistent on that, for reasons I had never really understood. Wands were legendary Objects of Power, spellcasters were … just spellcasters. “They’re spellcasters.”

  “Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” Callam said. He sat back on his haunches. “Shall we find something else to do?”

  I frowned. I’d been taught to keep practicing magic until I’d mastered it, but Callam … didn’t seem inclined to practice. I wondered, sourly, if it was too late for him. There were mature students who sometimes tried to study magic after a lifetime doing menial work, but never managed to master their powers. Callam might have been stunted through a lack of training when he was a child. Or maybe he just didn’t want to practice. I had cousins who’d preferred kicking a ball around the grounds to studying magic. They’d regretted it after they went to school and discovered that they didn’t know as much as they should.

  “Why not?” I glanced at the sun, carefully calculating the time. It was slowly moving towards evening. “We should have at least another hour before I have to sneak back into the hall.”

  Callam glanced at me, concerned. “Are you alright there? I mean … you’re alone.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, touched by his concern. “It’s a little boring, but … it could be worse.”

  “I suppose,” Callam said. He stood, brushing dirt off his trousers. “Shall we go for a wander?”

  I grinned and followed him deeper into the woods. The ground felt oddly bumpy under my feet, as if the endless rainfall had worn down the soil and washed much of it into the river. A handful of broken fences were clearly visible, completely drained of magic. We passed through them without hesitation, then found a path that led up to a grassy field that might - once upon a time - have been a golf course. It was so badly overgrown that I doubted anyone had played golf for years, perhaps decades.

  “Can’t catch me,” Callam called. He winked, then ran. “Bet you can’t!”

  I followed him, silently thanking the ancients that Morag hadn’t made a fuss about me wearing trousers. Callam could run like the wind, but I wasn’t that slow myself. I chased him, enjoying myself more than I cared to admit. If I’d played a chasing game back home, it would have involved magic and nearly everyone en
ding up frozen or transfigured. Here … there was something oddly pleasant in the simplicity.

  Callam tripped over a rock and fell to the ground. I ran up behind him and caught him before he had a chance to get up, giggling like a loon. He rolled over and over, trying to get away, but it was too late. I’d caught him.

  “That was fun,” he said. “Did you put that thing” - he waved a hand at the rock - “in my path?”

  I shook my head, hastily. “No,” I said. “I didn’t want to use magic.”

  Callam nodded. “Could you do it, though? I mean … could you have put something in my way to trip me up?”

  “Probably not,” I said. I knew a dozen spells that would have slowed him down long enough for me to catch him - or simply frozen him in place - but putting a rock in his path was beyond me. I didn’t think even Father could cast such spells with impunity. I’d heard of curses that were designed to give their victim bad luck, but they were supposed to be very difficult to cast and quite easy to counter if you knew what you were doing. “I would have done something simpler.”

  “Oh,” Callam said. There was something in his voice that nagged at me. “Does magic make life easier?”

  “Yes,” I said, flatly. I’d never understood just how much magic made life easier until I’d had to live without it for five days. I definitely understood how Cat had felt for most of her life now. “But it can be quite hard too.”