The Baker's Wife--complete

by Amy Keeley

  But she couldn’t see it like the other spells. Only the rhythm pounded through the mechanism, thumping a slow, regular rhythm. Thump. Thump. Thump. She felt it getting closer. Let it, she thought. Fear made her heart beat faster as it approached. Let it. The thought became a chant as the rhythm spread over her arm, and with the rhythm came the ability to see the other spells.

  She pushed the rhythm back as it began to move through her chest toward her heart. She must have pushed too hard. The other spells faded. Shaking her head, she said, “I can’t see it.”

  “The initial spell?” Zhiv said, and yet he sounded far away.

  As if from a distance, she could hear Daegan saying something to Zhiv. Then Zhiv once more saying, “What is it you’re going through?”

  “Rhythm. That’s all.”

  There was a long pause, during which, she could feel herself weakening against the strength of the spell.

  “Goodwife?” Zhiv said.

  “Yes?”

  “Let it—let it take your heart. I’m right here.”

  She remembered his knowledge of the dagger and the risk he’d taken. Because she’d demanded. Trusting his knowledge of Ornic magic, she let the governing rhythm overtake her.

  The entire system now lay before her, the steady thump of the spell obliterating the rhythm that was once her heartbeat, making it difficult to think as well. “What triggers you?” she whispered, hoping talking to herself might help her focus on something other than the rhythm that beat in place of her heart.

  Confused, she thought back on the clock Hyaji had shown her in the clock tower. Thinking of that brought painful memories of the way she had broken his trust when she had last seen him. Did he still have those Ornic books?

  Focus. The rhythm hammered through her gap in concentration and she struggled to regain it. “Start at the beginning,” she whispered. How did the clock work?

  Weights provided the energy, didn’t they? After a bit of thinking, she remembered the pendulum and the escape wheel. That was what regulated the system and kept the rhythm.

  Looking over the spell, she saw the rhythm itself, thumping her chest. She focused on the rhythm, and then realized she had been so fascinated by the rest of the system, she had missed the fact that the spell only resided in the wheels. It’s where it was stored. The moment she touched it, the spell reached out beyond it. Toward her.

  She was the escape wheel. The rhythm, even though it obliterated her memory of her own heartbeat, followed the same tempo. And that tempo set the speed of the mechanism.

  Stay calm, she thought. I’ll tell Zhiv all of this and we’ll be full of thoughts on what this could mean.

  But how was she to let the rest of the system begin? Was that even her place? What was her place? Here? At home, sweeping out cobwebs?

  And then she thought of the Ornic lady and remembered how much she had wanted to get back to her home. “Daegan, every lock has a puzzle at its heart, correct?”

  She couldn’t hear the answer, though she knew he was talking. Finally, Zhiv said, “He says ‘yes’, goodwife.”

  She nodded. Keeping one hand on the wheel and hoping this guess was correct, she drew the most common housekeeping spell, the straightening spell, on the side of the wheel.

  There was a loud thunk, as if something had fallen into place, and Krysilla gasped as the rhythm strengthened. Is this how a timepiece feels? she thought as the connection also strengthened, holding her as surely as if she were tethered. It wasn’t just a matter of hearing the rhythm, or letting it live in her chest. Now, she could feel the fire in the pipes, so hot they seemed to freeze their surroundings, the immobility of the stone pipes that held it in check, and the water filled with spells that had become active and ready.

  Taking her hand from the wheel, the rhythm didn’t disappear. It still hammered in the place where her heart should be. I’m the escape wheel, she told herself. I keep order. The spell will remain with me until it’s complete, or we walk away.

  If we walk away.

  “Daegan,” she heard Zhiv say, and could see in her mind’s eye the wheels turn as she had expected. From the top, they looked like the Ornic sun.

  Another thunk, this one louder, and now she saw the spell for the door come to life.

  Zhiv spoke, though not to her. “Got the pipes? Good. Yes, I’m casting it now.” The pipes redirected the liquid fire, gates opening that hadn’t opened in at least a century and she could feel the weak spots in the stone and could feel something strengthening them (likely a spell by Daegan), the fire flowing through them through the water, heating it and creating steam, which was forced through pipes with clockwork in them to, as she now saw, increase the pressure. “Steady...Yes, I know about that crack...It’ll hold...” and so on, a constant back and forth with Daegan.

  She watched as the spell for the portal began. Thin tendrils stretched out from it, and the world on the other side of the door slipped away as they formed. They wove together, filling with starlight and a darkness so deep it seemed to not belong to this world. And then, beyond it, she caught a scent that made her think of salt, and the air before rain. And she thought she could hear in the darkness, the sound of birds crying.

  But then more tendrils spun out, and other scents swept through her consciousness: fresh tilled earth, a field of flowers, dust so real she sneezed.

  “Goodwife?”

  “I’m fine. Are you able to see anything?”

  “Neither of us have seen anything. We were hoping you would tell us when you saw the portal spell.”

  Terror swept through her. Was it too late now to stop the spells? “It’s forming. It’s been forming.” And this time she heard Daegan curse rather clearly.

  “How far is the spell?” Zhiv said. Daegan said something, but once again she couldn’t make it out.

  Quickly, she told Zhiv what she had smelled, heard, and felt as the spell had formed.

  “Stop it,” he demanded. “Pull it back now.”

  As she peered into the spell to see how to stop it, the rhythm began to take away her thoughts. “I don’t see how.”

  “What do you mean?”

  And then she heard Daegan, who must have been shouting, though he still sounded far away. “Reverse order, Zhiv!”

  One by one, she felt the spells stop. All except the portal spell. “It’s still forming.” Her words sounded as if she were speaking into a pillow.

  Now Zhiv was cursing in a language that sounded much like Ornic and yet not quite. It’s his native tongue, she realized. “I’ve got it!” he suddenly cried. And she could feel the portal spell slow in its formation.

  But it wasn’t stopping.

  The tendrils stayed where they were, lazily reaching out to each other, continuing to form. Daegan shouted, “We have to stop the whole thing!”

  Thought was becoming impossible. All that seemed to exist was the rhythm of the system and she found she wanted to start the process again, feel the click of each spell as it began in the sequence, and watch as the portal opened. The system can’t take it, she managed to remind herself. But focus was nearly impossible. Her body was one giant sound to her ears. Nothing existed beyond that.

  And then her ear was being pressed against Zhiv’s chest. His hands clutched her head, and she heard his voice in her other ear. “Goodwife,” she could hear the tension under the apparent calm, “do you hear that?”

  She shook her head and felt a spell wrap around her ears, amplifying the noise in the cavern, especially the noise around her head. Still, the sound against her ear, though familiar in a way she knew she should remember, seemed odd.

  “That pattern is yours as well. The speed may differ, the quality may differ, but it’s the same as yours. Claim it.”

  She focused on the sound, trying to remember what this sound was and how it related to her.

  “Can’t she just—”

  “Shush.” Zhiv’s voice made it clear he would not tolerate any distractions.

  This feel
s nice, she thought, being cradled like this against him. She thought of that rhythm against her ear, thought of the pattern, and thought of how her heart had beat fast in her chest when she heard him play, and when she had stood in front of his door at the castle.

  Her heart began to beat on its own, then stopped. The rhythm stopped, too.

  Pain unlike any she had ever felt gripped her chest, as if an iron band had been wrapped around her. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to call out Zhiv’s name and the band tightened.

  This time, Daegan didn’t sound far away. “Blowback, Zhiv!”

  “Hold it back!”

  And then Zhiv wasn’t gripping her head anymore. The spell around her head was gone. His fingers pressed against her neck and the world began to swim. “Remember the rhythm, goodwife. It’s still there.” He put her hand on his chest, and that was when she realized she was looking up at him from the floor. His aquamarine eyes were focused entirely on her. “Remember it.” His hand pressed her own tight against his chest where she could clearly feel the rhythm pounding harsh inside his chest, faster and harder than she remembered from before.

  She tried once more to remember, though her thoughts flew away from her like startled birds. And then, a surge came through the connection she had to the mechanism, a blast that felt like a fist slamming through her chest. The connection disappeared, the band disappeared, and she took in a deep breath, her heart starting its familiar thump with an unsure rhythm that felt like a spike had been driven through it. She rolled onto her side and screamed.

  ***

  Sounds drifted in and out, voices that Krysilla knew she recognized yet couldn’t place. Concerned, angry, and at one point, she thought she heard someone near her ear telling her he would never ask this of her again if she healed. Now and then, she felt different cold hands touching her forehead or neck, making her curl into a tight ball, then more voices. And in between were dreams of standing on a precipice, her sash the only thing holding her back from falling down into the terrible abyss with a sun at the bottom, waiting for her.

  She woke to silence. Cold gripped her bones, making her more aware than usual of the spell on her wrist. She was laying on the couch, several blankets piled on her. A chair scraped against the floor, footsteps across the sitting room and she heard Zhiv’s nephews ask if she was awake and her sister’s reply that she would see. She heard the faint sound of breathing and opened her eyes. Tira stood in front of her. “Did you die?” she said.

  “I’m not sure,” Krysilla whispered back. But even that took more effort than she had expected, and she fell asleep once more.

  When she opened her eyes again, it was dark. Nitty was touching her forehead and neck. “You awake?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Krysilla’s throat felt dry. Was this how Zhiv felt after a fever? Her eyes felt as if someone had poured sand into them.

  “Good. Now, let me tell you, dear sister, that I expect you to pay me back for everything I’ve gone through so far.”

  “What?” Nitty tossed a folded piece of paper at her, a purple wax seal keeping it shut. She picked it up, and felt Zhiv’s fury within the spell, though she could also feel it tightly controlled.

  “First,” Nitty said, “your fiddler shoved me into a sack, leaving me to wait until Daegan showed up with Tira before I knew where I was. Next,” Krysilla squeezed her eyes shut, trying to listen, “we ended up spending weeks running, stealing food—stealing, Krysilla—just so that Tira wouldn’t faint from hunger. My clothes got ripped. I couldn’t even wash my face. For two weeks, Krysilla. Two weeks. And then, when we finally show up here, there’s hardly enough food to last more than a day or two. I’ve had to work to make it stretch, and even then, it was only because that fiddler’s wild nephews had the decency to show us what their uncle had taught them about wild plants that we were able to survive at all.”

  She’d forgotten that Nitty had never cared for wild harvesting. Rolling onto her back, Krysilla winced. If she’d been beaten until her ribs snapped, she doubted it could hurt worse than she did now.

  “And finally,” Nitty put a cool cloth on her forehead, “that fiddler of yours and Daegan put you through some sort of torture and I wake up to find them watching over you like two nervous healers about to lose a patient. And then he had the gall to greet me as if everything were fine, just a small bump in the road.” Nitty’s lips thinned into a hard line, though when she spoke again, her tone wasn’t as harsh as before. “If they hadn’t done such a good job taking care of you, I might have already snuck you out.”

  “Water, please,” Krysilla said.

  “Even when she’s nearly dead, she says please,” Nitty muttered. “You’re like the poor, sweet girls in the tales of the Blessed Ones.” She heard Nitty’s quick steps as she entered the kitchen, and the sound of water being poured. “They always did what they were told, always made sure they were kind to others, even when it killed them, and then, when—”

  “Enough,” Krysilla whispered.

  But Nitty hadn’t heard. “—they realize how much they’ve lost, a Blessed One appears with magic trailing from her wings.” She came back with a cup of water. Krysilla sat up, clenching her jaw against the pain that stabbed her chest. “Do you expect me to rearrange time for you as well?”

  “I’m sorry...I worried you.”

  Now, Nitty softened, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I haven’t seen your fiddler that concerned since he found out Vyomsi was still alive. You must be very important to him.”

  “I am.” Of that she was certain. But not, perhaps, in the way Nitty apparently thought, judging by her tone. They had to find out more about that door. If the Dogs cut them off, if they were surrounded, that door might be the only escape they’d have. And Krysilla was the only means, as far as they could tell, to start the sequence to open it.

  But Krysilla didn’t have the strength to even clarify that small bit. “Can you open the letter for me?” she asked, closing her eyes and handing the water back to her sister.

  “I tried.”

  Krysilla’s eyes flew open and she stared at her sister with what little strength she’d managed to summon.

  Nitty shrugged. “I wanted to see what kind of nonsense he’d been telling you. Didn’t work, as you can see. Each time I tried, the letter got slippery.”

  Reaching out a shaky hand, Krysilla managed to grasp it. Her hands felt weak and stiff as she tried to pull open the seal. It popped open with surprising ease. Unfolding it, she tried not to smile at his familiar handwriting.

  Goodwife, it said, If you’re reading this, I trust you’re doing better than when we last saw you. Your sister has the medicine you need, if the fever returns. Sleep. Rest. Daegan and I will return soon with food and news of one sort or another. Don’t trouble yourself about me. Daegan has promised me many stories, though I’m sure I’ll enjoy yours better. With faith in your good fortune, Zhiv.

  She fought the need to run her fingers over his signature, though she couldn’t help the smile after all. With a sigh, Krysilla let herself lay back down, the pain making her breath short and labored. “How long have they been gone?”

  “A day.”

  Krysilla nearly sat upright at that. Only the pain kept her still. “Why didn’t you mention that first?”

  “Because I wanted to get some things off my chest first.” Nitty stood by her sister, looking down. “You and Tira are all I have left now, you know? I don’t know how those men view you, though I’m convinced that fiddler has something in mind for you and has for some time from the look of it. You even took his attention away from finding his missing sister, who, by the way, still hasn’t shown.” Nitty folded her arms over her chest. “He said we may leave tomorrow. Depends on what they find on their way to town.”

  She remembered what Zhiv had said about fiddling in disguise and about gambling to get what they needed. And she remembered how her aunt, now passed away, had ooh’d and ah’d over Lejer, going on and on about how w
onderful it was that he had steady employment and a thriving business and that he never gambled or drank to excess or all the other things that made Krysilla’s head hurt now.

  But one thing stood out above everything else. Zhiv had put off looking for his sister because of her. Twice, now.

  Much as she hated to admit it, she was the one who owed him.

  And with guilt filling the aches all through her frame, her thoughts ended, and she drifted off once more into oblivion.

  ***

  Razev stared at the figure by the campfire. “What are you doing here?”

  Lord Vyomsi Teranasin stretched out his legs and grinned. “I thought I’d take a leave from the council of nobles in Hurush. One can only stand so much arguing for so long.”

  Razev looked at the other Dogs, all of them carefully examining spells or studying the forest around them. This, he thought, is what I get for hunting down dinner. Should have stayed with the group like an alpha should. Throwing the coneys at a younger Dog, he sat across the fire from Lord Teranasin, keeping him in sight at all times. “Forgive me for my lack of clarity,” he said. “I meant to ask, how did you get here so quickly?”

  “What do you think of Lord Felldesh?”

  Razev knew Lord Teranasin had heard him. “Are you using Ornic magic yourself now?”

  It was a terrible thing to say, especially when the accused was surrounded by several of the pack. Yet, Lord Teranasin didn’t show any sign of fear. In fact, he did the opposite. “Come now, Dog Jhohdi. There’s no magic denied a noble. We are the ones who protect our subjects. You,” he gestured to the Dogs surrounding him, “are the ones who protect us from ourselves and keep the peace. And this is why I asked your opinion of Lord Felldesh.”

  “My opinion doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, yes, Dogs aren’t allowed to give their voice in these matters. Neither are servants, and every commoner is considered a servant nowadays. So,” he leaned forward, holding his hands to the fire, “we bicker amongst ourselves, like children vying for a chance at the ball. And we become just as brutal when we feel the game has turned foul.” He studied the fire too closely for Razev’s comfort, though he was a Dog and more knowledgeable of such things. Then, more cheerful than before, he stood, “Lord Felldesh has much support among the nobility. With good reason. He’s a good man.”