The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1)

by Beach, B. J.

  Upon hearing each sound, he had looked hopefully at the closed door, but the sun was well up, and the frost patches had disappeared before his hopes were realised. Slowly, the door opened. Mordas came out alone. She walked unsteadily to the window seat and sank down onto it, shoulders drooping, a faint sheen of perspiration on her pale face.

  Resting her hands on her lap, she looked up at Symon. “We have done all we can, and as far as I can tell there has been no response.” Her eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown. “There seemed to be a …a …’something’ that was resisting our crafting. It felt like trying to push a feather into dough.”

  Symon smiled at the analogy. “I can assure you that most of the time I remained seated in my chair. In the light of what you and Kimi told me, I took great care not to come near.”

  Mordas shook her head. “I’m not blaming you at all. Kimi and I could both sense it; a kind of barrier. The strangest thing was, it seemed to originate within Karryl himself, almost as if he knew what we were trying to do and was making an effort to prevent it.” Her eyes widened as she looked up into Symon’s little round face. “Does he have that kind of power at his age?”

  The magician shook his head. “He certainly has some quite strong wilder power, but only once has it manifested itself in my presence. No, it’s very unlikely. I’ll admit he’s a bright lad, and growing fast both mentally and physically, but such power as you describe would take more control than he has had time to acquire. Don’t worry, although I know that you will. There’s probably quite a straightforward explanation. It’s just that we haven’t seen it yet.”

  Only slightly mollified, Mordas nodded and pushed herself to her feet. “Well, we’ve done all we can for now. We shall have to wait for things to take their natural course. I will visit every day, but if there is any change, however slight, please send for me at once.”

  Symon said nothing, but went over to the open door and looked in just as Kimi was on his way out. “He rests now. His face peaceful. Think maybe his mind troubled. You must care for him.”

  From the foot of the bed Symon stood and looked at Karryl’s still form under its covering of blankets. “For how long? Can you tell?”

  Kimi shook his head. “Maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe tomorrow. Nothing certain.”

  Mordas came into the room and stood beside them, taking Symon’s small hand in her own. “We must be leaving now, but I will see you soon.”

  He gave her warm hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you. I will see you to the door.”

  After leading them down the wooden stairs and bidding them goodbye, Symon returned to his tiny kitchen. The activity of the last few hours had left the magician feeling very old and lonely. Brewing himself a large cup of a particularly special herbal tea, he took it into Karryl’s room. Sitting on the small hard chair beside his bed, Symon began quietly talking to him. He talked about anything he thought his young charge might find interesting, all the while watching for any sign of response, until he had finished his cup of tea. Feeling the events of the night finally catching up with him, after one more hopeful glance Symon shuffled despondently off to his own small room. Lying down on top of the covers, the magician soon fell into a troubled sleep.

  * * *

  Symon woke with a start, the remnants of a vivid dream of Grelfons and rushing streams flying off into the early evening dusk which now filled his room. Instantly alert, he stood up and shook his crumpled robe. Feeling considerably more sprightly, he hurried off into Karryl’s room. His young apprentice lay just as he had left him, his face pale and peaceful, his breathing slow and steady. A strand of dark hair had fallen across the boy’s eyes and Symon gently pushed it aside. Seeing the empty teacup he had left there earlier, he picked it up and, leaving the door partly open, returned the cup to the kitchen. After lighting the lamps he re-laid and kindled the now cold fire. He stood for a while in front of it, warming his hands at the comforting blaze, before going back to the kitchen and preparing himself a light meal. Having eaten and cleared away, he was about to sit down by the fire with his pipe and smoking leaf, when he remembered the leather bag and belt he had earlier taken from Karryl and tucked safely away.

  Symon crossed the room, and placed himself in front of a small area of blank wall. A brief murmured phrase transformed the space to a shimmering rectangle. He reached up and opened the door of a small concealed cupboard, took out the leather bag and the belt and carried them to the table. The twisted strands of bindweed which tied them had dried to a brittle hardness, and Symon grimaced as he snapped the makeshift cords with his slender fingers. Pushing the pieces to one side, he picked up the soft, dark leather bag. Holding it across the palms of both hands, he hefted its weight as he studied it thoughtfully. The grey cat jumped up on the seat of the straight-backed dining chair beside him, fixing him with her amethyst eyed gaze.

  Symon gave her a welcoming little smile. “Hello puss. What do you think we have here then?”

  The cat stretched her head forward and sniffed cautiously at the leather. Laying her ears flat against her head, she pulled back and gave an ominous little growl.

  “Ah! So you don’t like it, eh? Well, it looks harmless enough, although I’ve no idea how young Karryl came by it.”

  Symon placed the bag on the table and probed at it with his fingers, gently pressing down until a rectangular shape was outlined under the soft leather.

  He murmured, partly to himself, partly to the grey cat who still watched him warily. “D’you know, I think this is some kind of box, or a book.”

  His hands moved towards the knot in the narrow rawhide cord wound several times around the opening, and his fingers closed round it. The burning sensation in his fingers and the accompanying nausea made Symon stagger back. He viewed the seemingly innocuous object with revulsion, then turned and made his way unsteadily to the fireside armchair, easing himself into it while he fought to keep his recent meal in the confines of his stomach.

  Gasping to dispel the nausea, he sat with his hands over his eyes, the soft lamplight suddenly seeming unbearably bright. “In the name of D’ta, what has the boy found?”

  “It’s not so much the ‘what’ as the ‘where’ that interests me.”

  Opening his eyes, Symon peeked through his fingers, the nausea abating as quickly as it had developed. Standing in front of him was a petite, silver haired woman of apparently middle years, dressed in a long-sleeved ankle length gown of silky silver-grey. Her slightly tilted amethyst eyes regarded Symon for a moment, then, with her feet tucked under her she settled into the chair opposite.

  Symon scowled. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  The small woman gave a little laugh, a musical sound which perfectly complemented her attire. “Just because you can’t do it, there’s no need to get grumpy.”

  Symon snorted. “I don’t mean how you’re sitting, I mean suddenly changing without any warning.”

  She rested her chin on the backs of her folded hands and looked smug. “Well, you can’t do that either.”

  With a weak smile the magician conceded defeat and turned his head towards the table. “So, what do you think? What mystery has our boy brought us from his adventuring?” His question remained unanswered for a few moments as his companion sat, eyes closed, tapping steepled forefingers against her even white teeth. “I think it best if we leave it alone until such time as Karryl wakes and can tell us where it came from. We don’t know whether he was given it or if he found it somewhere. If he found it, I would be very interested to know where. As you have just discovered, the bag is heavily warded, and it may have been the effects of that which caused his accident. What was he doing down by that stream?”

  Symon shook his head. “I’ve no idea. I told him to come straight back to the tower after we’d been to the palace, while I went into the city.” His eyes softened. “It’s his birthday next week. I went to buy him a present. It will probably be the only one he gets.”

  His companion’s eyes widened.
“Has he no family at all?”

  Symon shook his head. “None that will own him. The aunt he was living with threw him out after his wilder magic broke loose for the umpteenth time.”

  His eyes began to twinkle and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Perhaps sometime in the not too distant future I might just make a few enquiries. I do know he had a young friend before he ended up with the street-boys. Maybe I can get them back together again.”

  His gaze became distant. “He may be mature for his years, but it would be good for him to have some friends of his own age.”

  Anticipating he was likely to get over-sentimental if allowed to dwell on it, the petite metamorphosed goddess sprang up from her chair and tapped him on the shoulder. “It can’t do any harm to make enquiries. Now, we’ll go and see how he is. Then we’ll stow that artefact away under a warding of our own. Hopefully we can eventually establish its provenance. Then I must be off. I have such a lot to do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR

  The mumbling began three days later. Mordas had been in that morning, sponge-bathed Karryl’s motionless body and changed his bedclothes, assuring Symon there was no change in the boy’s condition, either for better or worse. The magician was now alone, watching large flakes of snow catch the lamplight as they drifted silently past the window to settle in a soft white drift on the wide window-ledge. It was then that he heard the first brief sound. Pulling the curtains across, he shut away the bleakness of the winter evening and stood with his head to one side, listening. Just as he was beginning to think he had imagined it, a low moan reached his ears. He snatched up a small lamp, and hurried into Karryl’s room. The boy had moved. His head was now facing left instead of right, and his hands, which had been beneath the sheets, lay at his sides above the blankets.

  Symon placed the lamp on a small table and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Karryl. Can you hear me?”

  His young apprentice gave a subdued little moan, but despite Symon spending a further two hours talking to him, remained unmoving and unresponsive. Feeling a little more optimistic Symon eventually picked up the lamp and quietly left the room. The grey cat was sitting on the window seat.

  The magician went over and sat down beside her. “I think Karryl may be coming back to us.”

  He then told her what he had heard earlier that evening. With a soft ‘miaow’ she jumped down from her seat. Tail high, the cat marched into Karryl’s bedroom, sprang lightly onto the bed and started to purr loudly. A protesting kind of murmur issued from the boy’s partly open mouth. His hand moved erratically across the blankets just as Symon entered the room.

  The magician hurried to the bedside, sat down on the chair and took hold of his hand. “Karryl. It’s Symon. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

  There was no response. Symon tried again and again, but Karryl remained silent and unmoving. Feeling he could do no more, Symon stood up to leave. His hand wrapped around Karryl’s until the last possible moment, he looked pensively down at the pale face of his protégé. Suddenly he gave a little “Oh!” of astonishment and sat back down with a thump on the bedside chair.

  He looked at the grey cat, and then back at Karryl. “He just squeezed my hand!”

  Symon began to talk and cajole, while the cat joined in with occasional dabs to Karryl’s face with her velvety soft paws. Their elation was short-lived. Neither cat nor magician were able to elicit any further response that night from their sleeping charge. Reluctant to go to his bed in case Karryl should wake, Symon stoked up the fire and settled in his armchair with a book.

  * * *

  He was roused by a persistent tapping. The fire had burned down to a few fitfully glowing embers, and the light of the lamps was fighting a losing battle with a snow-bright dawn. Seeing his book on the floor at his feet, Symon retrieved it then pushed himself out of his chair. Dropping the book on the table as he passed, he scurried across the room to unlatch the door.

  Although she was wrapped in a hooded and fur-lined thick woollen cloak, Mordas was shivering. She stepped quickly into the room and lowered her hood as Symon dropped the latch. Lifting the embroidered hem of her pale blue robe, the tall physician-mage looked down at her feet.

  Ruefully she surveyed the water marks creeping across the uppers of her soft leather boots. “Ruined. If I’d realised the snow was so deep I’d have worn something heavier.”

  Trying not very successfully to suppress a grin, Symon reached up and lifted her cloak from her shoulders, hanging it on a wooden peg behind the door.

  Mordas removed her gloves, dropped them on the table, then made her way towards Karryl’s room. “I received your message last night, but from what I was told I thought it better to wait until this morning. Has he shown any further signs of waking?”

  Symon shook his head and followed her into the darkened room. He crossed to the small window and pulled back the curtains, letting in the radiant light of the snowy dawn. Karryl was lying on his side, still sound asleep, one hand dangling over the edge of the bed, the bedclothes halfway down and drooping on the floor.

  “Oh dear!” Symon hurried over and began straightening the dishevelled blankets. “He must have done this while I was dozing in the chair.”

  Seeing the distressed look on the magician’s small round face, Mordas helped him with the last blanket. “Don’t worry. There’s no harm done. Now, let’s see if he’s going to respond.”

  With Karryl’s hand in hers, she sat on the hard wooden chair beside him. “Karryl? Karryl, can you hear me?”

  She waited for a few moments, then lifted her head and gave Symon a triumphant grin. “He just gripped my fingers.”

  Symon hurried round the bed. Standing beside her, the magician leaned forward and rested a hand on Karryl’s shoulder. “Karryl. It’s Symon. You can wake up now. You’re quite safe.”

  The boy muttered something unintelligible and flopped over onto his back, knocking Symon’s hand away from its position on his shoulder. His eyes remained closed, and quietly he began to murmur. Mordas answered Symon’s querying frown with a shake of her head. Together they leaned forward, trying to make some sense of what the boy was saying.

  For a full five minutes he continued to murmur, almost without pause, his voice occasionally dropping to little more than a whisper. Then he stopped, and smacking his mouth, ran his tongue around his lips. Symon reached for the jug on the bedside table and splashed some water into a beaker. Before he could offer it, Karryl had started to murmur again, and once more they leaned forward to listen. They both became aware at the same instant that Karryl’s voice had become stronger and clearer.

  Mordas listened for a while, her head on one side, before fixing Symon with a steely gaze. “When did he learn to speak Ingalian? Ancient Ingalian at that.”

  Symon’s eyebrows expressed his bewilderment more eloquently than any words. “I didn’t know he could. I can read quite a few words, and speak just about enough to get by. He must have picked it up from one of my old books. He’s an avid reader.”

  Mordas stood, her expression unreadable. “Stay with him in case he returns to full consciousness. I’m going to see if I can find Kimi. It’s his mother tongue after all. He can probably tell us what he’s saying if we get back in time.”

  Symon opened his mouth to reply but Mordas was already striding out of the room, her robe swishing round her booted ankles. The little magician listened to the door latch click and clatter, waiting for the sound of her footsteps to recede down the stairs. Only then did he return his attention to the still murmuring Karryl.

  It was almost mid-day when Kimi knocked on the door of the tower. He gave a little bow as Symon opened the door. “The lady Mordas follows.”

  No sooner had he and Symon gone into Karryl’s room than they heard footsteps on the wooden staircase. Seconds later Mordas, rather short of breath, joined them at Karryl’s bedside. She glowered at Kimi. Apparently unmoved by her obvious discomfort, he turned his attention to the now silent and peaceful
ly sleeping boy.

  Noticing the tall physician-mage was not her usual calm unruffled self, Symon whispered “You seem a little flustered. Are things not going quite as you would have wished?”

  The magician’s wry smile and sideways glance made Mordas smile in return, and the tension dropped visibly from her shoulders. “It took me absolutely ages to find him. Nobody seemed to know where he was, not even Sergeant Vintar. Anyway I finally located him in the palace stables, talking to the grooms. I took him to one side and told him what was happening and he said he would come straight away. What I didn’t realise was just how quickly he can move, even through snow. I think friend Kimi took some kind of perverse delight in outpacing me.”

  Symon chuckled. “Who knows how his mind works . All I know is that without the help of this Ingali prince, the situation may have been very different. Now, I shall make us some tea.”

  It was at that moment that Karryl started speaking again. His eyes moved rapidly beneath his still closed eyelids. All else was forgotten as Mordas and Symon hurried to rejoin the attentive hill ranger to watch and listen.

  After long minutes of quietly studying the movements of Karryl’s lips and occasionally nodding to himself, Kimi looked back over his shoulder. “You have taught the boy well. He speaks of great Ingali warrior Sairek-budaki-ko, in times past. Long ago, save our people. Very famous story.”

  Symon looked thoughtful for a moment and slowly patted the palms of his hands together. “I remember that. ‘The Saga of Sair the Magnificent.’ But I’ve never taught it to him. It must be in one of my books and he’s committed it to memory. I wonder why?”

  Kimi stood up as Karryl’s voice faded once more into silence. “It is good story. All Ingali boys learn when very young. But this boy different; learn in old tongue. Only princes and sons of chiefs learn in old tongue. You can find this book, please?”

  Consequently, between visits to check on Karryl, the greater part of that afternoon was spent pulling down books one by one from Symon’s well stocked shelves. It would have been a lot easier had he been able to recall ever reading it. As it was, he had no idea whether they were looking for a scroll or a book. The winter sunlight traversed its predictable path across the room as they continued their search. The last rays were casting their watery light on the pale stonework of the chimney breast, when the three searchers suddenly and simultaneously dropped the books they were holding.