Table of Contents
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
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Contents
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
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Copyright © 2017 April Swanson
All rights reserved.
This book is written in British English.
CHAPTER ONE
The wood had always been close, yet I did not know it well. My mother and father warned me not to go near, for in the wood lurked dangerous beasts and wicked demons. And beyond the wood lay mountains that were far too wild for someone like me. You needed brains and muscle to adventure into such wilderness, and as it turned out, I had neither.
Jeannie Goldings could brave the wood and the mountains beyond: she was fit and fast. Or Ben Tarthe: he had the quickest mind in the whole land, according to his mother.
But not me. I was just Aideen, and Just Aideen belonged in the village shop, selling bottles of dried herbs and little books about how to read the stars and knit a hat that would warm a head all through winter. I was not destined for wicked woods and wild mountains.
I’d worked in the shop since I’d been old enough to reach the till. Working there had been tolerable before my best friend, Winnie, charming and pretty and easy to love, had been swept off her feet by a travelling bard. She and her true love had married shortly after. He’d given her a silver band worth more than all I’d ever owned, and now they lived in a town called Anywhere But Here. I guess I was happy for her, because best friends are supposed to be happy for each other. She promised in her rare letters to whisk me away too, but thus far I’d never been whisked, and remained, as always, in the village shop. A suitable place for Just Aideen.
On the day I turned 30, my mother arrived in the shop at noon and offered to relieve me of my duties. This had not happened on my previous birthday, or the one before that. As it transpired, the arrival of a zero in one’s age was enough to send everyone into a spin.
“Father’s cooking a special dinner for tonight,” she told me. “And a cake.”
“Don’t spoil the surprise, Mother.”
“What are you going to do with your afternoon?”
“Walk, I suppose.”
“Be careful now. Don’t go near the wood.”
The cloak of winter was fast falling upon the village. Our little collection of stone and thatch was surrounded by uninteresting hills. They kept the worst of the wind out, but offered little else. I started up a hill, aiming for the summit where I could stand and feel the wind on my cheeks. But—
I’ve done that many times before, I thought to myself. And today is my birthday, so I shall go where I like.
So I went near the wood. It crept within a mile of the western edge of the village. Winnie and I had ventured into the fringes when we were young, and had found nothing strange or dangerous: only boughs and branches and everything else one would expect to find in a wood. I’d been terribly disappointed.
I loosed my hair from its band, so my mass of natural ringlets would cover my ears from the cold. I was not well-dressed for a walk in the woods, but if I returned home I would only be trapped by Father and coerced into helping him cook my special birthday dinner. It would be onion stew, followed by raspberries dusted with sugar. We could not afford fancy foods or goods, not like our old neighbour, handsome Gideon Trellister, who was now a famous playwright and making a mint in the process.
I approached the dark line of the wood against the push of the wind. I had no reason to be afraid; there were no wolves in the wood – I would have heard them at night – and I was far too dull to attract the interest of magic. So I entered the wood, as I had done as a child with Winnie by my side.
The trees were just trees, not gnarled and knotted with haunted faces in the bark. No monster swept from the branches and gouged out my eyes. Nor was I tempted by a demon.
All in all, it was, once again, very disappointing.
I sighed.
“Hello? Is there anyone here?”
I waited for a response that never arrived.
“I thought not.”
I flopped down onto the dirt and cried. I cried and sobbed so loudly that, if anything were in the wood, it would have been alerted to my presence.
I rifled for a handkerchief in the pockets of my skirt and found one amongst the dried berries, coppers, and sparkling black rock I’d found last week and wondered if it had fallen from the night sky. I dabbed my eyes dry and blew my nose into the handkerchief until it was unpleasantly damp. I stuffed it back into my pocket.
I heard a sound from up ahead, like the tinkling of silver bells.
“Hello?” I whispered, and followed the sound through the wood. At once the bells were in front of me, then behind me, and then all around. “No trees make the sound of bells,” I said. “So I know you’re out there somewhere. It’s my birthday today, and so you must show yourself. It’s only fair.”
Yet no one appeared.
I picked up my skirts and ran towards the nearest-sounding bell. I looked up to the trees and down to the dirt. Nothing moved in the wood except me and my skirts.
“Stop hiding,” I said. “You’re being very cruel, teasing me like this.” I could feel more tears on the way – which posed a problem as my handkerchief was already damp.
“It’s my birthday!” I wailed to the wood and its hidden silver bells. Something would happen if Winnie were here. Or Jeannie Goldings or Ben Tarthe. But not me. Ne
ver me. “I’m going to cry again,” I warned the wood. “And it won’t be pleasant for either of us.”
The bells tinkled like laughter. And it made me angry enough to keep the tears at bay.
“Very cruel, all of you! Were you not taught better manners?”
I sat down again, and stuck my fingers in the dirt until my nails were black. Mother would not be pleased, and Father would insist I bathe before my special birthday stew. I did not know the time, but from the lengthening shadows I guessed I should be heading back. I had come to the wood, and the wood and shown me no interest.
“I’ll leave then,” I said loudly. “And be out of your hair.”
A copper leaf fell from a branch and landed on the top of my head.
“Oh very funny. So witty, I don’t think.” I pulled the leaf from my hair and crushed it in my hand. “If this was a gift, I don’t want it. I’m never coming back here. I mean it!”
I brushed the dirt off my skirts and shook out my hair. I’d leave the wood with my dignity, at least.
A bright light flashed before my eyes, and I screamed from the pit of my soul. The light dimmed in the centre, revealing the shadow of a man. He spun around to face me, whipping his hair and his long cloak. His eyes were brilliant gems of green, shining bright as stars.
And then he was gone, and the wood was still once more.
CHAPTER TWO
I gathered my breath back into my lungs. The silver bells no longer rang. My feet carried me forward, through the space where the light had shone and the man with green eyes had appeared and disappeared. I felt nothing, but it didn’t stop me from moving. My legs picked up the pace and soon I was running, the woods whizzing past me, the tears dry in my eyes from the rushing air. I ran towards something and nothing; I ran away. The woods thinned and the blood-light of dusk crept in around me. And then there was no more wood to run through, and the world opened up to mountains and sky.
I halted. The mountains towered up and up, their impossible peaks dashed with snow. A hill stood in front of the mountains, and on top of the hill was a castle of silver and black. Strips of red glinted on the stone where the dying sun met the silver. The castle was twisted, with few straight lines. Four turrets stood like nocked arrows aimed at the sky, each of differing heights and capped with peaked roofs.
I had no idea there was a castle so close to home. Why had no one mentioned it? If Mother and Father knew about this castle, they would have warned me about it. This castle was not a place for Just Aideen. Only beautiful heroes with brave hearts and sharp minds should ever venture into a castle so intimidating. Yet I could not look away. My feet were frozen in place. But if I didn’t leave now, I would have to return through the wood in the dark. I’d arrive home long after dinner-time; the stew would be cold; Mother and Father would fret.
But there was a high chance the man with the green eyes was a mage, living in the castle, and my thirtieth birthday would indeed be my worst birthday ever if I did not find the mage with green eyes – even if a lithe, spirited youth was far more suited for the task. In fact, that was probably why he had vanished – he was probably scouting the woods for runaway maids with torn dresses and lovely breasts. I had a rip in my skirt and little else.
I glared at the castle now, no longer afraid. I gathered my skirts and stomped across the grassy hill. The ground rose beneath my feet, and soon I was gasping for air. I turned around, and saw the stretch of the wood, and no sign of my village. Surrounded by mountains, in the shadow of the twisted castle, it was hard to imagine my home was nearby. It were as if I’d travelled to another world.
“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” I said to myself. The bottom of what, I was not sure. But I knew the answers lay beyond the doors of that castle.
The cold wind pushed through my shirt and into my chest, but the exertion of climbing the hill kept a fire burning inside. By the time I reached the top, all the stars in the sky watched my struggle with their cold eyes. I wiped the sweat off my brow and paused at the summit, calming my racing heart. A grand door stood before me: the entrance to the castle of silver and black. A five-point star glittered on the old wood.
“A spell, I should think. To protect against intruders.” I rapped my knuckles lightly on the wood and said, “I don’t wish to intrude. You found me, after all. I only thought we could chat, possibly over a warm cup of tea? It’s cold out here. Please let me in.”
Light rippled around the edges of the star, and the door swung open with a long creak.
I glanced back to the wood. Beyond it, my parents would be worried sick. I felt terribly guilty about that, but then again I was a woman grown, and Winnie didn’t need to report to her mother every night. She was free to do as she pleased.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the village beyond the wood, and stepped inside the castle.
CHAPTER THREE
I was alone in the castle. A hallway swept before me that might once have been grand. Iron sconces lined the walls, dead of all flame. A long black runner softened my footsteps on the stone floor. Above, the roof was glass, criss-crossed with thick iron bands. Though the glass was in dire need of a clean, I could still make out the faint twinkling of stars.
“Hello?” I whispered.
The door shut behind me. There was no handle from this side, no way of opening it.
“Well, I did ask for adventure,” I said, feeling even less suited to the situation than before. “I suppose I should look around.”
I walked the length of the once-grand hallway, reminding myself that the man with green eyes had seemed kind and friendly. I firmly believed you could tell right away if someone was dangerous. In the few stories I’d read, the dangerous folk always had dark eyes or curled black horns. I put my faith in stories.
At the end of the hallway was a large mirror, about ten feet tall. It arched at the top, and was banded with a tarnished gold frame. Tiny specks of jewels glittered between the swirls of the frame. Blues and greens; purples, reds and silvers. I imagined the mirror cost a great deal of money – more money than my family had ever seen in its life. I stared at my own reflection. My olive-brown skin was dull and flat. My skirt and blouse were stained with dirt and goodness knew what else. My face was spectacularly plain; my eyes did not shine bright as stars.
“You should be used to it by now,” I scolded myself. What was I expecting? To look into the mirror and see a shimmering goddess?
At the end of the hallway, where the mirror stood, the castle split in two directions. The west corridor was almost completely black. And it seemed colder too; I could feel a chilled breath on my cheek. The east corridor, while not appealing, at least had a little light from high, narrow windows, and it did not feel unnaturally cold. So I ventured east, while checking over my shoulder for any followers. I did not like having my back exposed to the cold dark of the west corridor.
The black carpet continued underfoot, frayed at the edges. The corridor twisted to the right and opened into a large room, down a small flight of stairs. I grasped the wrought-iron banister at the top of the stairs. The room itself seemed to be an old ballroom; the floor was chequered black and silver, and in the centre hung an old chandelier, now covered with dust and sticky cobwebs. There was an empty hearth, and another large mirror, identical to the one in the entrance hallway. If this was a ballroom, it had been a long time since anyone had thrown a party.
I took the stairs slowly, one at a time, waiting for someone to appear. My boots stepped lightly on the hard floor of the ballroom. I drew a line in the dust with my toe. Beneath, the black glittered like onyx, and the silver gleamed like Winnie’s beautiful wedding ring.
The hearth was to my left. Old firewood, black and charred, spilled out over the grate, surrounded by a pool of soot. This was no way to treat a ballroom.
The mirror was to my right. I crossed the ballroom, leaving more bootprints in the dust. My own reflection grew taller in the mirror. I’d thought the mirror identical to the one before, but now on
closer inspection, I saw an inscription around the arch.
“‘Soon you will see’,” I said, reciting the words. “See what? I see nothing but me.” Like the previous mirror, there were tiny jewels embedded in the frame. In the light of a fire and glowing chandelier, they would have sparkled beautifully.
The long side wall of the ballroom held nothing at all, no sconces or mirrors, not even a small picture. It was nothing but chipped paint, the colour of an angry sea. I’d seen the sea only once, on a rare trip, and it had enchanted me with its restlessness and ever-changing colours. There had been a great storm that day, the wind and rain attacking from every direction, and the sea had roared and charged at the rocks of the headland. I felt the sea here in the ballroom, and not just because of the colour of the walls. There was something angry about this room. Who let a room so fine fall into such disrepair, unless fuelled by bitter anger? I felt the ballroom was being punished for something; perhaps its crime was remaining empty for many years. If I were to have a ballroom of my own (which of course I never would), it would remain empty, and it would wither away like me. I was not fit for ballrooms – except this one. Nobody wanted to be in this ballroom.
“If there were music,” I said, “I’d dance all around your floor. Although I’m no good at dancing. But I suppose you’ve had so few guests I think you wouldn’t mind. You must be quite desperate.”
I twirled on the spot. I hadn’t done that since I was a girl. The turn was not elegant or balanced, but no one was watching. I coughed; my boots had disturbed so much of the dust carpeting the chequered floor. There was nothing else to see in the ballroom, so I climbed back up the stairs.
There was a narrow door.
“No way but forward,” I said, opening it.
I gasped and stumbled back. The corridor on the other side of the door was blacker than night, blacker than the western corridor I’d hastily avoided. And then candles popped into life, pop pop pop, all down both walls of the corridor. I’d never heard candles pop before. The carpet beneath my feet was now blue instead of black, although the stone floor either side of the carpet was as cold and grimy as before.
The Night Mage Page 1