Drifter Mage

by PMF Johnson

  The whirligigs hovered, shadows in the air as the evening deepened, as though confident their attack had accomplished what they wanted. Deeb wondered if they were singular creatures, or if some central intelligence guided them. An unsettling thought. How did the Wilderlanders deal with them?

  With a sudden ferocity, he wished he had Arch's skill with war magic, to blast the flyers with fireballs one after the other. Kill them all.

  The moment of rage left him shaking.

  "Deeb?" Mara said. "The mules aren't eating."

  It was true. The mules were so tired they couldn't lower their heads to eat. He brought his thinking back to the current moment.

  "We'll have to give them a chance to recover," he said. "We'll stay here a couple days. It will give Galle a chance to heal as well."

  "Won't those men catch up to us?"

  "They'd catch us anyway, if they're coming. We can't move quickly. How is Galle?"

  "He's resting. His skin is pure silver now. Deeb, I'm afraid they poisoned him."

  "He ate a little tonight. That's a good sign."

  Deeb took his bow and went to stand guard in the night. A tree had taken root on a low hillock beside the ravine long years past, grown and finally fallen to form a natural blind he could use to hide in, while standing guard. The campfire in the ravine below flickered as the last sticks burned down.

  He wondered if the whirligigs flew throughout the night or found somewhere to rest. The rising moon turned the prairie to silver -- as though the whirligigs had infected the very landscape, or had arisen from it.

  They belonged out here, as he and his family did not, it seemed. Had he been a fool to lead his family into the Wilderlands?

  He shook his head -- after the slaughter of his brothers, the rival families in Thehar would have seen butchering him, and his wife and son, as a mere clean-up task. His little family wouldn't have lasted a week. Nor would they be safe in fleeing to any other city along the roads that spanned from Angin in the far north to Ekhander on the southern continent of Meriges.

  The Thehar crime families had alliances and relatives throughout the civilized world. West lay the empty ocean, and to the east war raged across the continent of Hazhe. So he had headed in an unexpected direction, knowing of a row of beautiful, small valleys that lay deep in the Wilderlands, nestled between the Magic and the northern mountains, inaccessible to the wider world.

  His grandfather took his brothers and him there once as children, on a far journey along a caravan route that circled around the Magic, far to the west of here. That road was closed to him now, the area since occupied by his family's enemies, but the town they had summered in lay far beyond the lands of his enemies, in a beautiful vale surrounded by other small valleys, an area generally unknown, mostly uninhabited back then and probably ever since.

  His grandfather had mentioned those valleys as a place he would love to farm or ranch in, someday. Surely he had foreseen this possibility, knowing the dangers that daily beset their family, that one of his grandchildren someday might need a place to hide. Was that the purpose of that journey years ago, to show them a haven? His grandfather had been a wise man, and kind to him.

  The only way there now lay through the heart of the Magic, a dangerous and difficult way few would choose, and unlikely to be considered by the enemies of his family. Still, difficult did not mean impossible: they had to make their way through, that was all. They must press on.

  When Mara took over watch, clouds had begun to cover the moon. Deeb showed her his watch stand cloaked by the tree, then went down to sleep by their son. She settled in.

  The wind brushing the grass and stirring branches of the bracken in the ravine made the only sound. Or the only sound she could hear.

  The nostalgia had affected her as well. Back home, the night watch would be patrolling the lamp-lit streets. The children would all be a-bed by now, the adults conversing in low tones, or gone to bed themselves. She wondered how her sister was doing, whether the baby had come easily.

  Would she ever know? She dared no letter, lest her husband's enemies find them once again. She was truly exiled.

  How her friends might look down on her now, a poor woman with a vagabond family. But her friends were not here, her child was, and her husband as well. And he was worth the lot of them. Challenging as this life might prove, she would not trade places with any of her friends -- her man was a worthy man, and she was proud of him.

  Below, a shadow flitted past the last coals of their fire. She could see nothing clearly down there. Was Deeb up, checking on Galle? He needed his rest.

  "Not much stirring."

  Her panic surged at the voice breaking the silence. She lifted her bow, drawing back the string, but a hand covered hers, pushing the bow back down gently, and at the same time she recognized the timbre of Arch Compher's voice.

  He chuckled. "Good reactions. Thought I'd come visit you out here, help keep you awake."

  "How...where did you come from?"

  He laughed, quietly. "Startled you, did I? That's good. Never want to be too certain of yourself in the Wilderlands. Relax out here, and you die."

  She worked to recompose herself. "You've been gone. I'm surprised to see you again. I...we...were worried."

  "For me? That's right considerate. I been out and about, lookin' and learnin'. Figured you'd be needing me, though. Anyways, I kept thinkin' about how good your fried rizzi was, so I came back and had a couple pieces."

  "In camp? Just now? You made bacon?"

  "Yes'm. Didn't wake no one, though. They're pretty tired."

  "Oh, oh, Mr. Compher, the whirligigs got to Galle. They were all over him. We drove them off, but he's sick now."

  He was all attention. "But he's alive?"

  "Yes, but we're afraid he's growing worse, sicker. Can you do anything for him?"

  "He's gone silver?"

  "That's right."

  "They must have took a notion to him, then. They do that sometimes. It's rare, though. Mostly they'll just kill a person right off. Drink his life. Same as drinking magic, to them."

  "Is there any way to heal him?"

  "Mara, if they didn't kill him right away, he's got a chance to survive. If he does, he'll be different, mind. Farther away. He'll be part of the Wilderlands forever, and it'll be part of him."

  "I don't want that for him. I want him to live a good life."

  "He can have a good life. But if you mean a life in a city, all eddicated and dressed up like a fop, well, that chance is gone, Mara. Your boy has a different life ahead, now. You got to allow for that or it will kill him."

  "So there's no way to help him?"

  "Sleep's as good a bet as any."

  "What do you mean, allow for that?" Something in what he said alarmed her.

  "Just that he's part of the land, now. He can't leave for long."

  "Ever again?"

  "It's a beautiful land, Mara. Look around you."

  "Mr. Compher, there's a reason you came back to us. I want to know what it is."

  He chuckled again. "You folks are gonna be meetin' some of the natives. Just thought I'd watch and learn how you do with 'em."

  "You mean a fight?"

  "A fight? Might be. They do like a fight, but it sort of depends on you folks, how you size up in their eyes, I'd say."

  "When will they arrive?"

  "They like to come in about dawn, see if you're paying attention."

  "That's an ambush."

  "Not if you're ready, it ain't."

  "I have to wake Deeb."

  "Mara? Keep Galle near you. They'll see him. They prob'ly know about him already. Might be why they came, even. Hard to tell how their magic works, but they're part of this land, and they know things. Uncanny, sometimes."

  "Will they try to take my son from me?" Her voice in the dark was suddenly that of a mother bear worrying about her cub.

  "That might be the best thing could happen to him, Mara. But keep him near, so if that's what th
ey're thinkin', they have to ask you for him. Else they just might grab him and run. They do that, and you'll never see him again."

  Chapter Six

  The pale gold of dawn spread slowly across the sky. Only the occasional downscale trill of a lark pierced the air -- the rest was a beautiful hush.

  Vague images stirred in the clouds at the horizon -- one could mistake them for the faces that children find in clouds, except they retained coherence longer, and interacted with each other. Mostly they ignored the doings of the ant-like mortals creeping across their domain.

  Today they had turned towards the small human family on their wagon in the prairie. A sense of import, of consequences spreading out beyond knowledge in every direction accompanied this -- a side effect of the Magic?

  "Get your things inside the wagon," Arch said. "Don't leave nothing loose. These folks share when they got extra, so you'll be sharing with them."

  "We barely have sufficient for our journey," Mara said.

  "They share with their friends, they take from their enemies. Which do you want to be?" Arch said. He nodded, seeing he had gotten his point across. "Ten weight of sugar, ten weight of flour, enough to show the gifts are serious but not so much you seem afraid of them. Make up some packets for those. And another with a fistful of raw magic."

  "We have no raw magic," Deeb admitted. "Conjurations can be cast without any, and I didn't feel we could afford it."

  Arch contemplated him for a moment. "Then you best give them your tobacco, or cloth. They like bolts of cloth. You brought some items to trade?"

  "We didn't. We didn't think of it. We brought some money."

  "Money would insult them. Their enemies use it."

  "We do have three bolts of cloth," Mara said. "Different materials."

  "Choose one to give to them. Now don't be handing over any of this as though you're fearful of them. They honor courage above all. Act like you're scared of them, they'll kill you out of hand. If you were brave enough to come out here into the Magic, you're brave enough to face them. Once you show you won't knuckle, then you give them your gifts. An' pray it's not an insult, people as wealthy as you giving so little. No raw magic."

  "Raw magic means so much out here?" Deeb asked.

  "Diff'rence 'twixt life and death often enough. But we'll see how they react to your son's condition. Mara, you get up there on the wagon seat beside him. I'll be holt of the stock."

  "And me?" Deeb asked.

  Arch grinned. "You’re the leader of our bunch. How good are you at a flashy show with that imp of yours?"

  "You mean like the tricks we used to do when I was young?"

  "These folks, they like some flash, something a bit different. Do it like you're communicatin' with the Goddess."

  On the wagon seat, Mara looked around, frowning. "I don't see anyone."

  "They don't want you to."

  Light struck them as the disk of the sun showed above the horizon.

  "This is foolish," Deeb said. "There's no one out--"

  "Your life is at stake," Arch said. "They will be coming at you any moment. When they do, whatever you do, don't flinch, don't show fear. You are upright, powerful, praying to the Goddess, Who listens to you. You got a Book?"

  "A book?" Deeb asked, confused. "Any book?"

  "You mean the Book of Vos?" Mara asked. She reached under the wagon seat, drew forth a leather bound volume.

  "Give it to your husband. Deeb, you get that imp visible now, and start reading. You just became the godawfullest preacher ever walked the earth. Understand?"

  "But I--"

  "Preach."

  And preach Deeb did, a little tentatively at first.

  "Bigger!"

  Deeb remembered the strut and rolling tones of the preacher at the temple he attended as a boy, and he began to mimic that man. If there was one thing a gangster cleric could be, it was showy.

  "Hear us, oh Vos! We, your faithful people in this land of desperation. Hear us and have mercy, God of Making, turn aside your wrath."

  He straightened his clothes, set back his shoulders and began marching up and down the prairie, gesticulating to the sky. Arch removed his hat. The imp began to flicker and glow, a brighter and brighter yellow, then gold, swirling like a beacon. Lok had always been inclined to show off; now the imp darted and spun like a crazy thing, entering fully into the charade.

  Out in the grass, someone screamed, a terrifying sound. Deeb flinched, almost stopped, realizing at that awful moment this was real, this was serious, Arch had been right.

  The thunder of men running approached.

  Desperately, he continued to read. "They gathered around him, though that land was desolation. The rivers had failed, the soil was but rocks and dust."

  He glanced up, and saw his wife blanch. The natives swept around them, and the shadow of a spear fell across the page. He raised his voice, and preached to them all. "Yet he spoke to them of a new land, a place of hope, and this was Sinnesemota, kingdom of justice. So they gathered their children and their stores and set off, following him."

  As calmly as he could, he turned to the newcomers. "Will you be a part of our prayers?"

  A band of orcen barbarians surrounded them, reptilian of face and body, hairless, with tails whipping behind them. Their grey skin was mottled, tattoos on their fierce faces, bearing spears and shields. Bones adorned their buckskin clothes, and the strange symbols that decorated their knife scabbards strained the eye. Their expressions were harsh.

  The orcen near Deeb waved his spear side to side in denial. "We are not join. Give us food."

  Mara stirred. "Deeb, should--"

  But Arch interrupted. "We will not give you food. You Red Bear Ruskiya are mighty on the hunt. Find ibi, find buse. They are here in these rich lands." His staff was in his hands, not pointed at anyone exactly, but ready.

  The imp Lok slowly lowered until it floated directly over Deeb's head. It turned a vivid scarlet in warning.

  "We hunt," said the Ruskiya leader. "We find. Sa. We have what you have." He was a flat-nosed orcen, his skin a pale grey, his tail slender, almost gaunt.

  "We have little," Arch said. "Many of your people must die to have that. If you wish a fight, we will fight." His staff had swung to cover the man as he spoke. The tension was high. "But we do not seek battle. Our goods are not enough to last to our destination, and none are better at catching game than the Ruskiya. Is there not game in this land?"

  The Ruskiya's eyes narrowed. "The Murkung drive off the game. They are not hunt. They kill the buse, they are leave carcasses for the ghost wolves. There is nothing to hunt. Our children are hungry. They are cold."

  "You have children with you?" Arch asked. "What number?"

  The orcen man raised seven fingers. "It is seven?" he asked, hesitantly.

  Arch nodded. "Mara, bring out a sack of flour, one of sugar, and a bolt of cloth."

  She went to do so, and quickly laid out the goods on the ground between them.

  "The Ruskiya are mighty in the hunt," Arch said, "but we will not see your little ones go without, and be cold and hungry in the night. This we give you, and walk in the spirit of Lacrima Ferae."

  "May the Goddess watch over you," Deeb spoke up, suddenly. "The hunting will improve."

  Almost, almost they turned to depart in peace, but at that moment, one orcen stepped forward. "There is another."

  Deeb suddenly realized this was a woman, standing in line with the orcen men, dressed as fiercely as any.

  "The boy is come into our world." She pointed at Galle, sitting on the wagon seat. His silvered skin glittered in the sun, his eyes looked dreamily into the distance. "We take him with us."

  Shocked, Deeb stepped towards the wagon. "He is my son. I will not let him go."

  "The boy walks in silver," Arch said. "Seizing him in battle will bring a curse on any clan that takes him. The Red Bear know this."

  The orcen men greeted this with silence.

  The woman only shrugged in
impatience. "Such a one is rare. Not for waste. If we do not take him, he dies."

  "He dies?" Mara asked, alarmed.

  Deeb stepped forward. "I am Deeb. This is my wife and child. He has been injured by the whirligigs. How can we heal him?"

  "This is no injury, civilized man," she answered.

  "Is it true?" Mara appealed to Arch. "Will he die?"

  "He might. They see these things well."

  Decisive, she turned to the woman. "You will save my son's life?"

  "His life is in the hands of the Goddess of Tears. We teach him and he carries his burden."

  "Then I will go with you."

  "Nay. You cannot go, human, where the boy and I go," she said impatiently. She raised her arm, and showed a spot where her skin glowed silver in the light. "It is with me as your child. If you waste his life in fear, nothing more is can be said."

  "I don't want him to die."

  "In no memory of our clan do the People of the Wind choose a human. There is much learn for us, as for you. Sa. But you are not travel with us, and the boy must, for his life."

  Mara stood there. She could show no weakness before these people, or they would kill her family. But how could she simply give up her only child? Not know what was happening with him? How he was doing?

  She still thought of him as her baby. But if she did not give him up, her boy would die. Something in her gut told her that was the truth.

  She should discuss this decision with her ancestors, maybe, but she had no intention of showing these barbarians what secrets they were carrying. They would try to take everything. She felt an almost unreasoning rage, but could see no alternative.

  "Then once you have taught him, you must return him to me," Mara said.

  "Sa. This I do, by the Faces in the Sky."

  "Your name?"

  The orcen woman recoiled. "Your man is a Holder of Souls." She pointed to Lok, still hovering in the air.

  "He will not get your name from me," Mara said, fiercely. "And I will give you my name in return."

  The orcen woman stared at her. Then the orcen men murmured in amazement as the woman stepped forward, and murmured in Mara's ear. "My voice name is Dunortha Layanava. My quiet name is Bul'hunte."