Color Mage (Book 1)

by Anne Marie Lutz

  “Can you tell what it will do?” Kirian asked Callo. He stood staring out at the rushing blackness as if the Black Tide were a personal challenge.

  Chiss answered. “They use it before a military attack. The Black Tide deadens everything in its path. Puts the enemy in a somnolent state of mind. They go to sleep, right where they are. Look at those fish.” He pointed at the few tumbling fish they could now see in the front of the low black wave. “They’re not dead. They’re stunned.”

  “Then they follow it up with force,” Kirian said.

  “They’ll come in after, to capture us while we can’t resist. Or they can simply let us drown.”

  “Not if I can help it,” Callo murmured.

  “You can’t,” she said. “What can one ku’an do, against this?”

  “Not a ku’an,” he said. He stood gripping the rail, braced against the heaving motion. The black wave rushed forward. He said “Damn them,” in an intense voice. He bent his head as if he were struggling with something.

  “Get inside! Get inside!” screamed Modjho. The captain abandoned the helm and raced toward the ladders that led below.

  “Callo! Come on!” Kirian yelled. The sea kicked up, and a wave crashed over the rail, drenching them. Chiss pulled at Callo’s arm, but the muscles corded in Callo’s arm as he resisted, refusing to move.

  “Don’t touch me,” he said.

  “My lord!” Chiss yelled. “You’ll be washed overboard when it hits!”

  “Just go!”

  Chiss put a hand on Callo’s shoulder and, in spite of all the other sickening motion around her, Kirian could see Callo shudder. “Don’t touch me!” His voice was low and hoarse.

  Kirian said, “I won’t go below without you.” His head snapped around when he heard her. “Go in, Kirian, get in there!”

  The black wave crashed over the deck.

  Kirian saw nothing for a moment but an intensity of dark that blotted out the brazen sunshine and the sea. All the glaring reflections vanished. She could see nothing, not even Callo or Chiss on the deck next to her, but she could feel Callo’s arm under her hand. She cried out, but could not hear her own voice. Then a massive peace descended on her, a heavy somnolence that made her loosen her grip on Callo’s arm. She took a deep breath and relaxed, then let go. There was nothing she cared about enough to make her move. She closed her eyes and felt her legs give out under her as she sank to the pitch-black deck.

  Silence ruled. Darkness, like that behind her eyelids on a sleepy, dark, winter morning, reigned. She felt only a heavy lassitude. Vaguely, she felt water rushing over her, sliding her over the deck. She must be lying down on the deck; it felt pleasant. The water rushing into her ears and mouth was warm, like a womb must be.

  Through her closed eyelids she saw an arrow of white light.

  It was only one of those things that happened behind your eyelids just after you closed them, she thought, and smiled. Then a starburst of multicolored light glared through her lids. The darkness retreated behind it, just for a second, before swarming in again.

  Kirian rested. The wool-soft Tide cushioned her. It became hard to draw a breath past all the sea water, but this was natural and it did not disturb her.

  Then, a wall of brilliance hit her. She awoke a little, squinted through tearing eyes, to see that something like the sun was burning through the darkness, a fireball of intense light of all colors, thrusting upward, chasing back the Black Tide, devouring darkness where it rested in layers on the deck.

  She looked away from the brilliance. It hurt her eyes. She began coughing up water from her lungs, rolling to one side as her body tried to expel the seawater she had swallowed. Then she saw Callo, standing there like Jashan himself, crashing glory flying away from him at the Black Tide. He stood with his eyes closed, braced against the deck railing. Light of all colors emanated from him like rays of sun through a gap in dark clouds.

  Kirian dragged herself to her feet. Water sloshed in her shoes. Her leggings and tunic clung to her skin. She whispered a prayer to the Unknown God. She remembered the Black Tide she had seen before, how the radiant barrier from the Watch tower had defeated the dark. Looking to the west, she saw something similar—a curtain of light, pushing back the Tide.

  She went to Callo and stood next to him, but dared not touch him. She saw Chiss getting to his feet, coughing. The manservant stared at his lord with an indescribable look. Then, without a sound, the energy vanished. The light was gone. No smudge of darkness remained on the western sea. The sun shone as if it had never been eclipsed, and the frothy sea slapped up and down at the rolling hull. Callo stood, shaking, on the slippery deck.

  Ha’star came running from below deck with an exultant whoop. “Ku’an’s teeth, man, what did you do? Was that color magery?” He gave Callo a congratulatory slap on the arm.

  Callo bit off, “Don’t touch me.”

  “My lord,” Chiss said. “Are you all right?” His face was pale.

  Callo walked a few steps away and turned away from them. Kirian saw his hands were shaking, as if with cold. The skin of his face and forearms was flushed. Violence clung to him; she could sense it. She and Chiss and Ha’star stood staring at him with no idea what to say or do.

  Captain Modjho came swaggering onto deck. “What the hell?” he said. “You some kind of mage?” Chiss shook his head in warning but the wiry captain seemed incapable of taking a mild hint. He brushed past them and dropped his weight against the deck rail, leaning next to Callo—too close, apparently. Callo made a muffled sound and jerked around. Then his hands were around Modjho’s neck as he slammed the captain up against the rail. Red light crawled over his hands. The rail creaked. Chiss said, “No, my lord!” and Kirian cried out, and Callo’s hands loosened, allowing Modjho to tear free and stagger away. The captain hacked over the rail, swearing.

  Callo turned away from them. His hands, gripping the rail again, were white. Chiss took Modjho’s arm and pulled him away. Kirian thought back to the last Black Tide. Lord Arias and Lord Mikati had required Healer’s care after defeating it. Mikati’s heart was injured by the strain. Lord Arias, as she recalled, had been full of reckless exhilaration, but shaking and weak none the less. Could this be some kind of shock?

  She approached Callo, very cautiously. “Lord Callo,” she said in a calm voice. “May I come and see how you are doing?” Ha’star’s hand gripped his sword hilt as if he would defend her against Callo should he attack her.

  He did not respond, so Kirian took that as a yes. She leaned near him at the rail and looked sideways at him. His amber eyes were unfocused; he stared at the waves without seeing. He still shook, and his breathing was fast, as if he had been running.

  “Please sit down,” she asked. “It is all over now.”

  “It’s not over,” he said. His voice was hoarse. There were gold sparks in his eyes—beautiful, she thought, but frightening. “Now I have to contain it again.”

  Chiss returned from his conversation with Modjho. “Perhaps there is something we could do to help, my lord.”

  There was a short silence. Kirian wondered how long Callo could hold the rock-hard tension before something snapped. Then Callo said, “My sword. Get me my sword.”

  Kirian glanced at him. He was not wearing his scabbard—why should he, on board? The weapon must be with their things, in the single shed that served as cabin and mess. Why would he want his sword?

  Chiss frowned and shook his head in what was, for him, a show of strong emotion. “No! You don’t need it, my lord. What would you do with it?”

  Kirian first looked at Callo, then back at Chiss. She said, “I’ll get it,” and walked away from the group at the rail towards the cabin. Ha’star caught her halfway, took her elbow to stop her. “If you give that man a sword right now, you’ll be killing him,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “He’ll kill himself. He’s a wreck. All that energy has destroyed him. A ku’an and a color mage—who would�
��a thought?”

  “I don’t think he’s a danger to himself.” She pulled her arm away and went to get Callo’s scabbard. It rested against the bulkhead, with their packs, set aside so Callo could access it easily if needed. She picked it up by scabbard and hilt and carried it out to deck. Ha’star walked beside her, grumbling but not stopping her. Even Chiss, who was speaking to his lord in a low voice when she arrived, did not stop her. He stepped back when she gave Callo the sword. She stepped away, and drew the others with her.

  “Gods aid he does not hurt himself,” Chiss said.

  “You know him so well. Do you really think he will?”

  “No. I hope not—Ah!” Chiss lost his worried frown as they saw Callo lift the sword to the sky in a ritual salute. Then, with only a shadow of his usual grace, he slid into the first position of the ritual form.

  “I remember this,” Ha’star said. “He did this in the ring in Las’ash. Often.”

  Callo lifted his face to the sky. Red fire ran along his arms, and traced the sword. He began the first passes of the form. Kirian took a deep breath and said, “Let’s leave him alone.” Ha’star bowed to her, an unexpected tribute that broke Kirian’s tension and made her smile; then he vanished up the deck to talk to Modjho. Chiss followed her into the mess.

  “You have my thanks,” he said.

  “I didn’t do anything. You are welcome anyway. May I ask, you’ve known him all his life, right? Where did that come from?”

  “There were early signs he had some sort of talent—ku’an magery, King Martan thought, not color magery. There were incidents. I doubt he remembers them—he was very young.”

  “But, color magery?”

  “It is in his heredity. His mother is the King’s sister, remember. And the King is the strongest color mage in Righar.”

  Kirian looked outside. Callo was completing the steps of his ritual form. His movements were smoother now. He looked stronger, and the color magery that had been sparking from his hands was no longer visible. “I know that color mages train for many years to learn how to control the energy. I assume Lord Callo has not had any of that training?”

  “No, Hon Kirian,” Chiss said. “He has not.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Callo lay back on his bedroll, spread on the deck in the cabin, and watched Ha’star and Chiss get themselves ready for sleep. His mind was numb.

  Kirian was in her private chamber, created by the strategic placement of a big blanket that Ha’star had hung from the ceiling with nails he found somewhere on board. She moved about, preparing for rest. He imagined her removing her tunic and her veil. He closed his eyes and pictured her wavy hair falling free. As for her naked shoulders and her soft breasts—he caught himself up short. Now was not the time to indulge in that sort of fantasy.

  Ha’star lay in his bedroll on the floor near Kirian’s little chamber. His knife, a big-hilted affair probably used for hunting, lay in its scabbard near his hand. He looked prepared to defend Kirian’s honor to the death. Just at that moment Ha’star said, “I’ll be here in case there’s any need at all, Hon Kirian.”

  A hand pulled back the curtain, and Kirian peered out, wrapped in a blanket. “Thank you, Hon Ha’star. I feel very safe.”

  Safe from me, Callo thought, disgruntled. He looked away and turned on his left side, away from them both. Not long after, his wounded arm began to protest this position against the hard deck, and he turned back. Kirian had vanished behind her curtain.

  Chiss brought a jug and some cups. Callo hoped whatever it was, was strong. He still felt shaken at the power of what had broken out of him. What had been locked inside him all this time. With Jashan’s help he had buried the color magic again, reinforced the wall that kept the psychic magery bound; but now he felt crippled and restrained as if a good half of his mind was beyond his reach.

  He slept deeply and dreamlessly, waking when the sunlight streamed into the little cabin to find that the other bedrolls were folded aside. Dust motes spun in an angle of light that looked like late day. The ship must be in calmer waters; it barely rocked. He looked around, feeling disgruntled and neglected. His throat was scratchy, and his shoulder ached. He rose and went about his preparations for the day, cursing Chiss for not being there when he was needed.

  The first person he saw when he set foot on deck was the crewman Thamsa, who bowed and scuttled out of his way as a mouse might run from a cat. Callo stared after him. Then he looked in the other direction and saw they had reached land.

  The boat rocked in a narrow bay surrounded by bare rock. The southern section of the inlet was green with trees, but the rest rose into a mountainous crag that reminded him very much of SeagardCastle. But there was no village in sight and definitely no Castle. He spun and climbed the ladder to the upper deck, looking for his other companions.

  He found Modjho. “Captain!” Callo said. “Where the hell are we?”

  “Righar, great lord,” Modjho said, with disingenuous respect.

  “Where in Righar?”

  Modjho shrugged. “Should be north o’ Two Merkhan. Not sure exactly where. The warrior went ashore to see.”

  Callo swore, then took a deep breath. He turned to look around, letting Modjho walk away. Returning to the lower deck, he found Chiss and Kirian, sitting near the stern. Kirian dangled her bare feet over the edge of the deck. Chiss, with characteristic propriety, sat a couple of feet away from her with needle and thread, mending a tunic.

  Kirian saw Callo first and stood, her face aglow. “There you are! Did you have a good sleep?”

  Callo’s face softened. She was flushed by the sun, and her bare feet looked soft on the wet deck. “I wondered where everyone was.”

  “It is almost dinnertime,” she said. “You slept all day.”

  “Jashan! Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You needed the rest, my lord,” Chiss said.

  “I take it we are somewhere near Two Merkhan?”

  “Ha’star is ashore. He will find out exactly where we are.”

  “He’s more likely to be imprisoned as a spy,” Callo said. He rubbed his temple, feeling a sense of oppression.

  “My lord, we didn’t know exactly what your plans were. There is no harm, is there?” Chiss set aside the mending and stood. Callo gritted his teeth, full of anger he could not explain. He saw Kirian look at him uncertainly, and cursed himself.

  “Are you all right, my lord?” Kirian asked. Her brow was wrinkled; her hair, almost brushing her shoulders now, shone in the sunlight. Her use of my lord grated on him.

  “Damn it, I’m fine.” He turned away. He heard an explosive exhalation of breath from Kirian—she was angry, then, and no wonder—but he ignored it. He stalked away toward the cabin, found his sword, and took it to an open area on deck. There, he lifted it and began the invocation to Jashan, lord of light. Sunlight glittered all around him, half-blinding him. He slid into the first stance, arms holding the sword in its ritual salute. It felt heavy; his feet felt leaden. His feet slid into the next stance, but he felt no balance, no fluidity; he almost stumbled, and the core of rage in his heart grew.

  “My lord?”

  Startled, he spun around. Chiss stood near the deck rail, watching him. Chiss had dared interrupt him, a thing he’d never done before. The sword dropped into his fighting grip, and he caught himself just before it leaped for Chiss’ throat.

  “My lord, I think you’d better stop,” Chiss said.

  “How—dare you?” Callo choked. Deep inside he raged at Chiss, at the world, at himself for threatening his liege man with violence. Before he could turn, he saw the red filaments of light tracing his hands. He froze.

  “You see,” Chiss said. “Something is wrong. My lord—Callo—please come inside with me.”

  Callo stared at Chiss. His hand would not move; his sword was a part of him, all violence and control, and he could not release it. Then Chiss came and took the hilt from him, and Callo took a ragged breath.

  “You will
not hurt me,” Chiss said. “Will you, my lord?”

  Callo shook his head. He followed Chiss to the cabin. Chiss sheathed Callo’s sword and placed it in a corner. He poured something into a cup and offered it to Callo.

  Callo almost sobbed with the tension of keeping the magery locked up. It wasn’t working; he could see sparks out of the corners of his eyes. The words burst out. “All the gods, Chiss, what am I?”

  “My lord, you are what you have always been. What they tried to make, I would surmise, all those years ago when the ku’an’an came to seduce Lady Sira Joah. There is nothing new, nothing you cannot handle.”

  “Gods damn it, nothing new!” Callo gulped the wine. “It won’t stay locked up anymore, Chiss, and I can’t keep it down. I’m going to go insane.”

  “You must come up with a better way to control the energy.” Chiss poured himself wine. Callo was surprised to see that the manservant’s hands were shaking.

  He gave a dry, shaky laugh. “You’re afraid of me too.”

  Chiss’ head lifted in surprise. “Never, my lord.” Callo could feel the sincerity in the reply. He calmed a little. “I am—afraid for you, rather. There has never been someone with both the color magery and the psychic magery.”

  Callo sipped more wine. A gentle fog was forming in his mind, dulling the intensity a little. “What might I do, with such magery? Be like Sharpeyes, who manipulates even his nephews to shore up his power? You know he tried to have little Ander killed—he hates the boy. Maybe I should aspire to be like Ar’ok, the warped little demon. Do you think so?”

  Chiss was silent, his eyes on Callo’s face.

  “Or maybe I’ll just go down in a blaze of self-destruction.” His head still hurt.

  “I pray not,” Chiss said.

  Callo began to pace. It took the edge off the pain.

  “The intensity should dull, with time. Things do, my lord.”

  There was a shadow in the door, followed by the bulk of Ha’star. He said, “Modjho told me you were in here.” He stopped short, looking at Callo. Callo wondered what he saw. The Ha’lasi warrior made an apologetic motion and backed out of the room.