Shadowed by Death

by Jane Beckstead

  This conversation should probably take place beneath a

  privacy spell. I waved a hand and set one in place before

  replying, “No. You’ll have to ask Master Wendyn about that, but

  I can tell you that his answer is going to be no as well.” “Why? You’re the one who seems to think you can change the

  world. Don’t you care about all those other little girls out

  there, the ones who want to do magic just like you?” “If I can make it through my apprenticeship without dying,

  then inspiring other girls will be the first thing on my list, I

  assure you. But until then…”

  Papa made a face. “And what am I supposed to do for a hobby

  until then?”

  I threw my hands in the air. “How should I know? That’s

  something you need to figure out on your own.”

  He folded his arms and leaned back. “I like coming up with

  stories. And if you’re not going to let me write the one I want

  to, then come up with a more compelling story for me to tell.” I raised a brow. “Me? Why should I have to come up with a

  story for you to tell? Why does it have to be book writing at

  all? Learn to ride horses maybe. The master has several out in all? Learn to ride horses maybe. The master has several out inBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 265

  the stables. Or take up farming again. There's plenty of land around. Or start collecting rocks. Find something to do, that's all, that doesn't put all of us in danger!”

  For a moment he pondered silently. “All right. Here’s one I’ve been thinking about. A book idea. I’m running it by you first, see?”

  “I appreciate that,” I said. “Go ahead. What is it?”

  “Think about this one before you tell me no. It’s the story of a woman killed by a soulless magician’s curse.”

  “You mean Mama?”

  He nodded.

  “Why would you want to tell that story?”

  “People will find it interesting. Didn’t you?”

  I bit my lip. “Mostly tragic.”

  “But compelling. Anyway, there’s nothing dangerous in it, is there?”

  “Only to you. I mean, what if this magician is still out there and comes looking for you?”

  He folded his arms. “Why, Avery Mullins. Are you concerned for my welfare?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. Go ahead and write your book. I mean, if Ivan’s willing to help you.”

  Ivan shrugged. Guess so.

  Papa sat back, pleased with himself. “What do you know?” he said. “Honesty really does make communication better. Some of said. “Honesty really does make communication better. Some ofBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 266

  the time, at least.”

  Mrs. Pitts entered then, and I dismissed the privacy spell.

  The three of us ate in silence for a little bit, and I thought

  about Papa’s words.

  Honesty. This really was silly. I had something to tell

  Master Wendyn and I knew right where he was. Why wait any

  longer?

  I pushed my plate aside and stood. “I’ll be back in a

  while.”

  “Where are you going?” Papa asked.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I was honest with you,” he grumbled.

  “Try being honest twice in a row, and I’ll consider you on

  your way to being reformed.”

  Papa sniffed. “Reformed? Why would I ever want to be that?

  That’s just another way of saying boring.” He waved a hand.

  “Never mind. Go off and have your secrets. Ivan and I will be

  busy here writing a masterpiece.”

  Ivan rolled his eyes.

  ***

  Down in the room of doors, I pushed the tapestry aside,

  revealing the door to the cottage. I whispered the incantation

  to activate its portal, took hold of the handle, and turned. It opened on nothing. I found myself staring at the wood of

  the wall the door was set into. The wall of the room of doors.

  Beckstead / Shadowed by Death / 267 I’d never known that to happen before. I closed the door and stared at it again, wondering if I’d done something wrong. I uttered the spell once again to open its portal, and turned the handle.

  It opened the same as before, with nothing behind it but a wooden wall.

  Nerves moved through my midsection, which I tried to set aside. It could be nothing. Perhaps the spell had grown old and needed to be refreshed. That happened sometimes, like milk past its prime, which curdled and turned nasty. It was rare, though, and usually a sign of poorly cast magic. That seemed unlikely in Master Wendyn's case. But still—

  I examined the lines of the spell, feeling for the web of constructed magic that made up the door. It was all there, the intricate cross-weaving of magical lines. It didn’t thrum with the usual energy of a live spell, though, and when I looked to the edge of the spell, the other half that passed to the master’s fishing cottage, I stopped.

  The other side of the spell had been torn away, ripped asunder like a cobweb stepped into by a heedless animal. The other side of the spell no longer existed.

  Spells didn't come apart on their own, not like this. They had to have something to compel them.

  Friar's bones. What had happened to the master? My heart bounced around in my chest, and I couldn't think straight. I had bounced around in my chest, and I couldn't think straight. I hadBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 268

  to get to the cottage. I had to get there right now. I’d never built a wizard door before, but building one was sure to take less time than walking to the cottage through the woods. I ran upstairs to the empty library—Papa and Ivan were likely up in Ivan’s room working on their new book—and grabbed the first book on portal spells I saw. Back down to the room of doors, taking the steps two at a time.

  It took what seemed an eternity to reconstruct the spell to the cottage door. In reality it was perhaps fifteen minutes, though it would have only taken me ten if my hands hadn't been shaking and I'd been able to calm my racing heart. By the time the spell was finished, I had imagined every horrible scenario that might have taken place.

  Something had happened that was powerful enough to tear a spell apart. Was it powerful enough to tear the cottage apart? The master himself?

  Or else he’d have come back by now, wouldn’t he? He’d have come back if he was hurt. Unless he couldn’t. Unless he was dead.

  Lips trembling and fingers fluttering, I mouthed the words to open the newly reconstructed door. And then I take hold of the handle with trembling fingers and turned.

  ***

  The door opened on a silent hinge. I stopped where I stood and stared into the room with horror. The floor hung in pieces, and stared into the room with horror. The floor hung in pieces,

  Beckstead / Shadowed by Death / 269 strips of wood splintered away, bits missing altogether, as though gouged out by an invisible hand. My eyes moved further, to where ash and soot streaked the splintered timber. Reason told me I must be careful and slow, although my heart pounded and told me to rush, that the master was in danger.

  I tamped the emotion down and stepped carefully through the opening. Wood and stone crunched beneath my feet. I look around, one hand to my chest.

  “Calm down, Avery,” I told myself aloud. “Calm yourself. He's fine. I'm certain he’s fine.”

  But there was no conviction to my words.

  “Master Wendyn?” I called. “Garrick?”

  There was no reply, and my heart picked up speed.

  The kitchen table lay in two pieces, splintered jaggedly up the center. “Garrick?” I called again.

  And then I saw him, beyond the table, lying near the fireplace in a heap, arms splayed and legs folded beneath him, face down.

  My breath came out in a whoosh. “Friar’s bones,�
� I said, staring dumbly, for a moment rooted to the spot, completely incapable of moving. But at last I forced myself into motion, stumbling closer. I looked him over carefully, and since it seemed it would do him no more harm, I flipped him to his back with a great heave. Blood trailed from one ear, and more pooled beneath him. A bone poked out of his arm, and blood matted the beneath him. A bone poked out of his arm, and blood matted theBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 270

  side of his head. When I prodded the site, I discovered a giant lump and a nasty cut. Still he didn't stir, and I patted his cheek, discovered my hands were bloody, and wiped them on my trousers.

  I knew spells for this. I knew spells, didn't I? But my mind had gone blank. I had to help him, but what if he was already dead?

  Panic rose in me, and I forced it down. No. I was capable of handling this. Calm yourself, Avery. I was calm. I was in control.

  I took a shuddering breath, let it out, and then bent over the master to feel at his throat. Warmth pulsed faintly beneath my fingers, and when I leaned my cheek closer to his mouth, faint heat tickled my skin.

  He was breathing. He was alive.

  “Garrick?” I patted his cheek once more, and this time his eyelids fluttered a few times before they settled closed again.

  One more shuddering breath and I set to work. I did know spells for this. A spell to heal the cut, another to put the bone back where it should be. I knew there was probably more damage to be fixed, but I preferred to get him back to Ryker Hall first—and away from whatever danger might still linger here in the cottage.

  With the last dregs of the magic I felt lingering in the room, I levitated him off the ground and carried him back to the room, I levitated him off the ground and carried him back to theBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 271

  Hall. “Mrs. Pitts!” I yelled, as I emerged from the cellars

  levitating a bloody Master Wendyn. “Ivan! Anyone!” Curious faces came to see what was going on, and soon

  enough the place erupted into chaos. I sent Ivan to call Oscar

  for assistance, Mrs. Pitts for hot water, and Papa to fluff up

  the master’s pillows, because he demanded something to do.

  Meanwhile, I floated the master to his bedroom.

  Once he was secure in his bed, I set to work cleaning the

  blood off of him and looking for more things to heal. Red had

  caked and dried to brown, so I knew he must have been laying

  like that for a very long while. I didn’t like to think how

  long.

  Papa hovered behind me. “Is he dead?”

  “Of course not.” I dabbed at the blood caked into the

  master’s hair. “Help me roll him to his side.”

  Papa obliged, and I wiped at the back of his head, then

  wrung the cloth out in the bowl of water and dabbed some more,

  until the blood in the bowl was a cloudy red and the master's

  head appeared clean.

  I moved on to checking for other sources of blood, and by

  the time I was pretty certain I’d found them all, the bed had

  become as red-smeared as the master. So then I changed the

  linens, and by the time I finished with that, Oscar scurried

  into the room.

  “Sweet carrot sticks.” He stopped short in the doorway,

  surveying the scene. “What trouble have you got yourself into

  now, you two?”

  I hovered anxiously while Oscar cast a few more healing

  spells, spells I could scarcely register the purpose of.

  Whatever they were, they caused color to come back into the

  master's face, though he still didn't wake.

  Oscar gave me a stern look. “Avery, I think it's time you

  and I had a talk.”

  I looked back at the master. “But I need to stay—” I began. “Now. Mrs. Pitts can look after him. He’s not in any

  immediate danger.” He took me by the arm, and I looked back at

  the master lying still and motionless in his bed, before I was

  pulled from the room.

  ***

  “Keturrah Ingerman’s trying to lure you to Belanok?” Oscar

  thundered, under cover of a privacy spell, while pacing back and

  forth in the library. I cowered in a nearby chair. “And you're

  just telling me this now? My grandson might have been killed!” “Yes, well, he wasn't, was he?” My voice trembled. What was

  the matter with me?

  “Pull yourself together,” Oscar growled. “I'm not mad at

  you. Well, all right, maybe I am just a little bit. But mainly

  I'm mad at Keturrah Ingerman, if it truly is her.”

  I’d been waiting for Oscar to deny the possibility of it I’d been waiting for Oscar to deny the possibility of itBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 273

  being her, to insist that she’d been Punished, but it still hadn’t happened. “You never did it, did you,” I said. “Punish her, I mean. She really was banished to Belanok.”

  “She wasn’t banished to Belanok,” Oscar said wearily. “I just impressed upon her the fact that she could never return to the three kingdoms. As I recall, I was in particular favor of her going to the outer kingdoms. If she went to Belanok, that was her choice.”

  “But why didn’t you Punish her?” He sighed. “I’ve never been in favor of the law banning female magicians. When she was caught, I couldn’t bring myself to Punish her. Instead, we Punished a rat I caught in the stables that day, transformed to look like Ingerman. No one was ever the wiser. Or they wouldn’t have been, if she’d stayed gone like she was supposed to.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than just trying to get me to Belanok,” I said, and went on to explain the men she’d killed in Waltney—apparently to protect me—and the son she’d left behind.

  “I don’t like this, Avery,” Oscar mused once I was finished. “I don’t like it one bit.”

  “But what can I do?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t know. Trace her notes, maybe? Wait for her to show herself? Get her to reveal her plan?”

  “You want me to correspond with her further?”

  “Maybe,” he said, tapping his chin with one finger. “Just maybe.” He mused silently for a few minutes.

  “Well?” I said when I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “At least tell me what you're thinking.”

  His eyes shifted to me. “I'm thinking, Avery, that I never should have left this house. You're proving to be more of a problem than I thought.”

  I sat forward. “Me? I haven't done any of this myself.”

  “That's hardly the point. You attract danger, no mistake. I don't see harm in female magicians, but perhaps I was wrong.”

  “What does that mean?”

  But he only shook his head again. “It's none of your concern. At the moment it's merely something to think about.” He rose to his feet. “I'd better be heading back home before Westley notices I've gone. You don't want him catching wind of this, and nor will Garrick. I’ll be in touch.”

  With a flourish of his hand he called up his wizard door and disappeared through it.

  I ground my teeth in frustration. None of the men around here ever bothered to tell me what they were thinking. It was maddening.

  When I arrived back in the master's bedroom, Mrs. Pitts was sitting in the chair next to the bed, knitting.

  “You may go, Mrs. Pitts.” I suppose we’d come to a place of mutual tolerance over the last few months, because she didn’t mutual tolerance over the last few months, because she didn’tBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 275

  shoot me any dirty looks, just nodded and rose, taking her knitting with her. Once she was gone, I took her seat. The master was still unconscious, his chest rising and falling with a steadiness that comforted me. Mrs. Pitts had changed his bloodstained clothes, and now a sleep shirt peeked from beneath the top
of the quilt, open at the chest.

  I scooted my chair closer and straightened the sleeve at his wrist.

  Flecks of blood still mingled with the bristle on his chin. I retrieved a cloth from the fresh water Mrs. Pitts had brought in and washed his face again, then patted it dry. Without meaning to I found myself holding his hand as I sat down beside him again.

  You attract danger, no mistake. Oscar’s words. He was right about that. I had brought this on the master.

  I stared down at the hand clutched in my own and wondered at the tears pricking my eyes. What was the matter with me? I could understand myself reacting this way when Mama and Gavin were poorly, but why was I reacting this way over the master?

  My eyes fell on the master’s face. Was it possible? Did I care for the master more than I should?

  I dropped his hand and sat back in my chair. The answer to that question was dangerous, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to explore it.

  ***

  I lifted my head. My face had been pressed into a quilt, and it took a moment for me to comprehend my surroundings.

  The master's bed. I’d been leaned over it, asleep. I blinked my eyes a few times, and his form came into focus.

  His eyes were open, resting on me. “Sleep well?”

  I blinked, staring. “You—you're all right?” I asked stupidly. “I mean, how are you feeling?”

  He stretched and tucked his hands behind his head, leaned back on the pillows. His shirt gapped open at the neck, and my eyes fell to his chest. I blushed and raised my eyes back to his face.

  “Never better,” he said. “Except for the fact that you tried to murder me.”

  “I—what?” I asked.

  “Tried to murder me,” he said. “The last thing I remember is a letter that flew in my window and landed before me. The outside read, ‘To Garrick. From Avery.’ But when I opened it, it was blank. Then, boom.”

  “That wasn’t from me,” I said indignantly, sitting up straighter. “You think I’d really try to kill you?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But I was curious to see what you had to say about it.” He felt the back of his head and winced. “I can only imagine it was from whoever tried to kill your father. I’m honored, really, to have made the list of people attacked for your sake, but this is a bit ridiculous. They destroyed my for your sake, but this is a bit ridiculous. They destroyed myBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 277