by PMF Johnson
He drew his staff closer, murmured the preparatory word to ready a spell. He was in no shape for a fight. The Magic shifted, faintly visible in the gloaming as swirling patterns in the air, a faint luminescence -- he could hear the distant crackle of the Magic like the sound of the Northern Lights on a clear night far to the north.
Something came close. He would cast no spell until he knew what it was, but what if this foe simply cast a spell from the darkness, not giving him any opportunity to see who was there? Allowed him no way to defend himself?
Again, he heard a stirring across the ground -- was the rider approaching? Studying the Ruskiya defenses? Why didn't the camp curs react? Why didn't the Ruskiya?
A fire burned down to coals gave only a little light. Could the rider be Deeb or someone from his family?
Arch heard the quiet step of a hoof out in the brush.
He eased out of his bed, used his staff to leverage himself up, leaned on it for support. The spell was gone, but the skin of his leg still seemed deadened. He heard the horse whicker, inquiringly.
He knew that sound.
He gave a low, welcoming whistle. The horse stepped forward, and then one of the Ruskiya men was behind him, bow ready. The horse stepped into view, nervous, ready to shy, ears up, snuffling.
"Good boy," Arch said. "You're such a good boy. You know me."
Silvio, his horse, had returned. After all that time and distance, despite the Ruskiya camps and the ruffians, Silvio had tracked him.
The gelding stepped up and Arch put his hand on its shoulder, comfortingly. He caught the reins, knotted them to a tree, right close. The Ruskiya went back to his watch post, but Arch hesitated before returning to bed.
"I'm glad you're back," he told his horse. "Never realized before, but you're kind of like home to me. Or anyway, all the home I've ever had."
Chapter Eleven
Deeb headed his outfit due north as day passed day. They were in the deepest Heart of the Magic, and the sky coruscated slowly above them like an immense kaleidoscope. Faces, or clouds like faces, appeared in one facet of the kaleidoscope then vanished, perhaps to reemerge in another quarter. Mostly the sky appeared different shades of blue, facets glinting like panes of glass. The days were warm.
Far to the northwest was the port city of Hyntaria. Somewhere beyond the eastern horizon lay caravan routes that angled away to Ghulago, but here there was no road, here the Wilderlands were complete. It was a dangerous route, but danger lay behind them as well so they continued onward.
The huge storm left behind enough water to replenish the small basins and creeks of the region, and the waters were surprisingly quiescent, clear of magical energy. The morning sun they kept behind their right shoulder, the evening sun behind their left. Traveling into the night, they headed straight for the Pole Star.
Without the weight of Mara's ancestral magic, the wagon jounced along more swiftly, and their journey seemed to grow easier. Using Lok as a scout, Deeb brought down a crippled ibi with his bow, and then a couple days later, a small wild pig in a copse of trees by a creek.
The imp seemed to grow more calm, having some useful role to play. He hung close to his humans after the struggles of recent days as though ashamed he could not do more to protect them. Deeb felt a rush of gratitude for his companion and made sure to feed Lok from his life essence each morning, in thanks.
The constantly shifting magic made the horizon hard to see, but Deeb thought that perhaps helped to conceal them from anyone looking far across the country. They were slowly climbing, rising out of the vast bowl that made up the Heart of the Magic. He kept Lok on patrol out at a distance, on watch for any magical creatures.
This deep in the Magic, the imp was much easier to see -- his eyes appeared a strange, penetrating blue high up in the pale egg that comprised his corporal presence in this world. Or perhaps that signaled Deeb's own growing strength -- he was stronger mentally and physically after their journey, and that revealed itself in the greater ability of the imp to affect things in this world, to offer them greater protection against physical dangers from people or animals.
Lok fed more deeply on Deeb these days, but Deeb was less weakened each time. And they felt gladdened in each other's presence, a sense of belonging. It was a strange, complex relationship between conjuror and imp.
They found comfort in Lok's presence in this lonely place. As the land rose it became more dry, the creeks petered out and their water grew low.
"If we cut east or west, we would likely find creeks or small rivers working their way downhill," Deeb said.
A huge flight of whirligigs approached from the east. Galle watched them calmly, and Deeb and Mara took their cues from him. He was so much a part of the land, now.
"I can find water when we need it," Galle told them. "But where there is water there is life, and we may encounter people."
"And be in for a fight." Deeb nodded. "We'll keep on north, then, for a while."
The whirligigs hovered over them, like nothing so much as a herd of half-spooked wild horses examining something strange.
"I hope Mr. Arch escapes them," Mara said. "I'm concerned about what happened back there."
Deeb nodded. "I as well. I thought about going back for him."
They were silent a while. The whirligigs moved on in a pattern of stops and starts. Feeding on something, Deeb supposed.
"He never said he would meet us anywhere," Mara said.
"He was pretty footloose," Deeb said. "This land suited him."
"But it made him unpredictable," she said, and he had to agree.
The land did not rise evenly, but had broad swales and plateaus, and in one of these depressions they came across a meandering creek and a plot of trees. It looked so inviting Mara said, "Let's rest here. Quit a little ahead of schedule, today."
Deeb agreed, and they found a spot sheltered from the wind where they might camp. They found the water pure, crystal-like, and saw schools of fish that, when tested, never seemed to have known a hook. The wind rustled in the cottonwoods, and the evening was warm and pleasant as they broiled fish. Wood was plentiful, the meadow around them verdant and lush, and Deeb killed a deer that came down to drink.
"Food, shelter, wood," he said, taking it all in with a sigh.
"This place will stay with me when we go," Mara agreed. "But we're still in the Magic."
"Yes, but mostly out of it, thank Vos," Deeb said. "We'll go until we find that valley. I worry about Galle."
"He's down at the creek, building a little toy mill."
"Sounds like a boy to me."
She shook her head. "He was using the whirligigs to gather magic to bind it all together." She bit her lip. "I told him I was proud of him, Deeb, and I am. I don't want him to worry that even his parents think he's different."
"He'll need that skill with magic out here," Deeb said. "Anyway, we'll be living outside the Magic, where it shouldn't be a problem."
"But very close to the Magic, if what you've said is true."
Reluctantly, Deeb nodded. "Maybe we should stay here," he offered. "This place has what we wanted. And the boy could learn his magic here, learn to protect himself."
"I want us to live outside the Magic, Deeb."
Deeb understood that her mother's instincts were speaking, and they would not be denied. He simply nodded.
They rolled out early the next day, just as dawn was fading from gold to plain day. But the effects of the Magic were less this morning and they could see straight to the horizon, where the purple shoulders of mountains rose in the morning air.
"That's where we're headed," Deeb said.
"Is there a city there?" Galle asked, "or a town or something?"
"We're going to find some land of our own," Deeb said. "That means we'll be out by ourselves a ways, but in the next valley over, or maybe the one beyond that, there's the town where I spent time as a child. Plover, it is called. You'll like our new home, Galle. Lot for a boy to do in these hills."
>
"Will I have my whirligigs?"
"I never saw them when I lived there. The mountain valleys are a bit outside the Magic. But they'll likely be close by, since the Magic won't be too far away."
"I'd feel blind without them," Galle said. "I'd be more scared."
Deeb pondered that remark for some time, after. He had known so little, when they set out. He still felt almost like a boy himself, sometimes. So much had happened. He had thought the cruelty of men related to his family and their rivals, but now believed it to be a fact of life found wherever they went.
Were those ruffians continuing to trail them? He thought not, or there would have been some indication. The storm should have washed out their tracks, and it had changed things somehow. Shifted reality, he would have said if pressed, though he could not have explained how exactly.
He felt more powerful as a conjuror these days, with a deeper connection to Lok. Sometimes he could almost see through Lok's eyes in the way Galle seemed to do with the whirligigs.
Without the weight of Mara's family magic, they were traveling lighter. No, that should be one worry they had passed. Galle could be heard humming down by the creek. Mara had a gleam in her eye. He was happy now.
#
It was mid-afternoon, and even the horses were tired in the heat when Rock stopped to rest. The others were grateful for the halt, but soon got to talking.
"They're digging raw magic out of the ground by the ton in Okesh," the Preacher said. "We could get in on that."
"Or in Holy Sa," said Kin Re. "Lot of row and ruckus there, make it easy in the confusion to skim off some easy top cream."
"Don't matter where," said the Preacher. "We got the skills to get our way. You can smell raw magic just about, if you've been around it enough. We'll find it, or those who got it."
"They had some in that wagon," said Ulf. "The pilgrims did."
"I don't see how they got away," said the Preacher. "Used magic themselves, I'm guessing. Some kind of trick. And how about that human you got a spell on, Owl? Thought you could always track a man by your magic once you hit him square like that."
Ulf leaned forward, hoping to hear a hint on how elven magic worked, but the Owl did not respond to the Preacher's question.
"Bet the wagon used a conceal spell," Kin Re said. "I heard about spells like that. Fool the whiskers off a squirrel. They got away. Rock missed out with that human gal."
"Tttt. They didn't get away," said Dunshil, her mandibles tapping out some emotion none of the rest of them could interpret. She eyed Rock. "But is it worth traveling all over creation for what pilgrims have in their wagon? A few rusty shovels, a sack or two of moldy grain. Ttt."
"A'course they got away," the Preacher said. "Even my cats couldn't find them, roving the whole region. Why would you say any different?"
Dunshil removed from her pouch a small bundle of twigs -- shaped in the form of a mill.
"Ttt. A spell on it," she said, with a hiss almost like a sneer. "Stupid, human thing to do."
"That's just some weird result of the Magic." Shef dismissed it at a glance.
"T. It's a toy," Dunshil said. "My imp spotted it on the water. T, t. A little bubble of magic. Spell like that wouldn't last more'n a week before it absorbed back into the Magic. That child of theirs had Magic on him. No Ruskiya child would waste magic like that and who else would be out here, making civilized things like a toy mill? Ttt. Humans. I bet it floated down the stream to here. Follow this water, we'll find out where they crossed and be right on them."
Hearing this, Rock flipped his pack together, strapped it on his horse, and mounted.
Kin Re shook his head. "I'm with Dunshil. I can't see them hanging onto anything but women's stuff."
Ulf grinned, slow-like. His eye twitched, once. "They got stock, anyway. That guy's horse? That was a good horse."
They searched along the stream, taking their time, in no hurry. But on the hardscrabble flat of the plateau, as afternoon deepened to evening, they nearly missed the trail. Only the Owl noticed a stone scarred. The others gathered around.
"Tracks ain't so deep, cuz the ground is hard," Ulf said. He fancied himself a good scout. "And they went by here a while ago."
"Not hauling as much," said the Owl.
"Not as much?" asked Kin Re. "You mean the wagon?"
The Owl nodded.
The Preacher whined, "How can that be?"
"Ttt. They threw much away," said Dunshil, "so they could move more easily."
"Nobody throws away raw magic," said Ulf. "You think they tried hiding it someplace? That's crazy. Someone'll find it."
Shef said, "What raw magic? We never saw any. Just made it up in our heads. I'm thinking they had household goods, a dresser, chairs or whatever and it got too heavy and they dumped it all. Seen the same thing from other pilgrims. You ever traveled the caravan routes? They're littered with stuff like that people dumped on the way. Pilgrims are dumb, they'll haul anything. Never was any magic."
"I sensed magic," Ulf argued.
"Maybe it wasn't raw," Shef answered back. "Worked magic, notions, or whatever. You'd sense it the same, but it ain't nowheres near the value. Can't reuse it for a spell or anything."
"'Pends on what it was worked to do," said the Preacher.
"Why haul raw magic out here?" Shef said. "This is where folks go to FIND raw magic. You sell it in civilization. Nowhere to do that out here."
"Well, they still got that stock. Their valuables."
"Valuables?" Shef shook his head in dismissal. "Folks like that got nothing valuable except to themselves. Hoes, rakes. They're pilgrims. Footloose. Stick nowhere. Seen a million of them making their way along the Routes, going who knows where. This crew just got lost, headed straight out into the Magic."
"T,t,t. Let's simply find them and see," said Dunshil. "Rock here is looking to catch up to that woman, at least. When the woman meets him, she will fall in love with him."
"You think that's how love works?" Shef asked Rock, in an innocent voice.
Rock's wings spread wide. "I am elven, she a simple mortal. I will give her children superior to anyone. It will be impossible for her not to love me, once I prove my strength by killing her husband and that other man courting her."
"Now there's a sweet dream," Shef said.
Rock shifted around to face him. He did not look certain as to what Shef was implying, but he knew the answer to any uncertainty: deadliness. "Got a problem with that?"
Their eyes met. Rock smiled, an expression that never reached his eyes, as he murmured under his breath -- the preparatory phrase for casting elven magic, to lock Shef in place with his will alone. The sense of cold amusement pervaded the clearing, a feeling that edged into mockery -- the emotions of planar magic.
Would Shef try him? Could he outmuscle Rock's will long enough to get a fireball off? How strong was Rock? Was it worth it?
Shef's shoulder raised, a negligent motion. "Fine by me. Everyone's got to have a dream, I guess."
The casual turn of phrase belied how focused he remained on Rock. His staff was in hand.
The others waited, ready for it.
Rock let his focus ease. He shifted his body away, his eyes last, as he turned back to the trail. "Come on," he told the others, and they followed him. But the phrase had been spoken, the magic was ready to be cast, at any moment.
#
Deeb and his family came out of the Magic to face the mountains ahead, seeming tremendously close, but surely many days journey away -- distances were deceptive in the high, dry air. There was a clear demarcation to the magic here, where the sort of shimmer in the air abruptly ended and the sense of powerful presences constantly watching from a distance cut off. A subtle difference, but obvious after having spent so much time inside the Magic.
On seeing how close they were to the end of their journey, their spirits lifted. The journey was almost over. This whole idea might be possible after all. Before them half a dozen mountains rose east to w
est, side by side. They could just see, behind this first wall of stone, a long range of mountains stretching off to the north, dividing the continent of Hazhe. The color of the mountains shifted in the sunlight: golden, red, green, grey, even black, as clouds drifting through the sky sent their shadows racing across the slopes. It was a beauty to take the breath away as they marched forward with rising hope.
The next day they came up to a dusty track running east to west, cutting straight across their track.
"Caravan route." Deeb identified it. "Passing between the mountains and the Magic, between Hyntaria to our west and the nations of the East. I don't know how often the caravans pass in this area. A few times a year? Probably more than that, the road is pretty substantial."
"Or the route might just be very old," Mara said. "The brush here might not grow back very quickly once it's trampled down."
"I'm afraid that's true," Deeb answered. "We don't know enough about this land. But I'm thinking this must be the road we followed when I came out here as a child."
The route stretched as far east and west as the eye could see, over the rocky, barren land. Nothing traveled on it. Not even any distant dust was visible. Spaces lay between the chamisa and pinon pine, and the soil between the bushes was a golden-red clay, with wisps of bunchgrass here and there.
The sun beat down as they crossed the road. Somehow the act seemed momentous, though Deeb could not have said why. Just for meeting up with evidence of civilization, however distant, after so much time in raw wilderness?
When they had traveled some distance past the caravan track, Deeb rode back and spent time wiping out their tracks as carefully as he could, using chamisa branches and letting dust drift from his hand. Perhaps he was too cautious, but he felt better for having done so. He did not intend to make things too easy for any who might follow them or anyone riding along the road.
Three days later, they discovered a narrow opening between the arms of the mountain ahead. It slowly opened into the entrance to a small valley nestled between the two ridges, in the middle of the half dozen mountains that rose from east to west. Deeb rode ahead of the wagon up a slow rise. The valley ahead looked to be green grassland, mixed with pine and aspen. A breeze off the mountains ahead cooled their faces, bringing with it the scent of spruce and pines and the rustling of aspen. A small river chuckled along to their right.