by Jack Massa
Zenodia’s hands balled into fists. “How can Beryl the Archimage, the tyrant who has enslaved us, be destroyed?”
Mawu sucked air between her teeth. “The queen … the foreign queen … Her witchcraft is mighty. She will thrive for a thousand years … Unless … unless these three prevail: the student who returns, the queen who is already dead, the spear that was melted and forged again.”
Zenodia focused to commit the pronouncement to memory, even as she scowled in disappointment. The prophesies were typically recondite, requiring analysis, open to interpretation. But this—this sounded more like a riddle.
When she had guided Mawu back to the bench and sat with her while she came out of trance, Zenodia repeated the prophesy. The old woman listened and shook her head.
“The student who returns might well be that same Amlina,” she said. “But as to the others. I do not know. I suggest we both of us meditate on the oracle and seek more insight.”
“Yes, High Priestess.”
“Take heart, my daughter. At least the oracle sees some hope.”
Zenodia stared solemnly at the banner over the altar. “Yes, I will be patient, and seek further meaning in the oracle’s words. And I will return to my duties and bide my time, watching Beryl and the forces around her. But I tell you this, Mawu, and I swear it before the moons and sun. A year from now, Beryl will no longer rule in Tallyba. Either that, or I will have died attempting to destroy her.”
Fifteen
Fog, dense and gray, glittering with flashes of silver, like the sparks of witchlight in a freezewind or meltwind … Except there was no wind, only stillness and the endless fog obscuring all …
Amlina stared numbly into the gray cloud as her consciousness surfaced. She had entered the dark immersion for the second time in less than a month. Normally, a witch of Larthang timed her deep trances to coincide with Grizna’s cycle—immersing once per month at the most. But Amlina had been desperate to compose herself, subdue her fear. And the fog …
Her eyes popped open, dimly perceiving the dark wood and lamps of her tiny cabin. She remembered now: the fog was not just a construction of her trance. It existed in the physical world, surrounding their boat, impeding the voyage. The Phoenix Queen had crossed the open sea, passed the Cape of Kleeg, entered the Bay of Mistrel. Soon after that the sea-clouds had appeared, dense and increasingly frequent, far worse than Meghild and Wilhaven predicted. Fogs were common in the region, especially in the warm seasons. Meghild’s timetable for crossing the bay allowed for some delays. But for four days and nights the boat had mostly been fogbound, forced to lower sail and float aimlessly on the slack current—while the moons moved inexorably toward the night of their critical alignment. Almost a full month had already passed since their departure from Gwales; little more than a month's time remained.
Amlina had hoped that in deep trance she might find answers: whether the fogs were simply misfortune or had perhaps been caused by witchery, whether they would lift soon, or if some magical intervention might be possible. But, lost in the bliss of forgetfulness, she had discovered nothing.
Except … Amlina shuddered, fully awake now, remembering. The fog was an emanation of the Deepmind, representing something else—a thing that obscured her vision, engulfed and smothered her, rousing hopelessness and fear. She did not have to look far to know what that thing was. Her glance lifted to the head of the queen, floating in hazy light. The thing that she had done, the blood magic. Day by day, the power of the design was growing, and with it Amlina’s responsibility, a weight that threatened to crush her.
The witch squeezed her scalp with both hands, as if she could force down the dread. She needed to eat and drink, to ground herself, preserve her strength. She rolled out of the bunk, blew out the lamps, pulled her coat from its hook and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She climbed out of her cabin to find the cranock enveloped in fog. Wet veils of it floated over the bulwarks. The sail was reefed, the boat drifting. She gripped the rail and made her way to the mast, where Draven and Glyssa were stationed.
“Hello,” Draven embraced her. She sank against his shoulder, welcoming his warmth, feeling her legs go weak.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes. I am well enough.” She spoke with a parched throat. “Some water? Perhaps some food?”
“Of course. I will get you something.”
He fetched a cup of water from the cask on deck, then busied himself at the oil stove and food locker. Amlina sipped cautiously, steadying herself by gripping a shroud line. Glyssa came over and touched her arm.
“Were we fogbound the whole time I was in trance?” the witch asked.
Glyssa shook her head. “It lifted two nights ago. We were able to adjust our course by the stars. We sailed that night and the next day, before it closed in again. Did you learn anything from your trance?”
Amlina hesitated. But Glyssa was her student, and anyway, she saw no point in concealment. “Nothing definite … except, I think I am to blame.”
Startled, Glyssa searched the witch’s eyes. “Because of your fears, you mean, your doubts over what you have taken on?”
Amlina’s brows lifted with surprise. “Yes. Your training, I see, is not wasted. Your perception grows very keen.”
“But how can you be causing the fog? I mean, why would you?”
Amlina frowned, fixing her gaze on the water swirling in the cup. “I do not say I am causing it exactly. Not deliberately. But as deepshapers, we attune ourselves to the forces that shape the world. When we have thoughts and feelings outside of our awareness and control, those too can influence what comes to us—even against our will. That is why we must strive for perfect self-knowledge, and train our minds to purity, focusing only on what we intend. In this instance, it appears I have failed, bringing us this obstacle, which I must find a way to overcome.”
Draven brought her a bowl of stew and some hard bread, and sat down with her on the deck while she ate. With the boat swaying, the wisps of fog floating and sparkling, it almost seemed to Amlina she was still in trance, or dreaming.
But the hot food restored her somewhat, and when she stood she felt less lightheaded. She climbed to the rear deck and greeted Lonn. Having heard her conversation with Glyssa, he did not press her with questions. She knelt and touched Kizier, who was humming softly with the other windbringers.
His eye blinked open. “Amlina. How are you? … Oh, I see we are still beset with fog.”
“Yes.”
“My companions and I have tried, I assure you. But calling any breeze at all is very difficult.”
“I understand,” Amlina said. The ability of bostulls to summon the wind varied by location and weather conditions. Fog in particular was known to make them drowsy and ineffective. “Please continue to try.”
“Of course. Do you sense that a mental influence might be involved?”
“I do,” Amlina sighed. “That is a thread I must pursue.”
Suddenly, she felt very tired again. “I think I best go and lie down.”
* O *
Soon after the witch returned to her cabin, Glyssa and Draven climbed to the stern and touched Kizier’s stalk. The round eye slipped open, dull and bleary. Glyssa sensed fatigue, perhaps worry.
“We are sorry to waken you again,” she said. “But we wanted to ask about your talk with Amlina. Draven and I are concerned about her.”
“Indeed,” Kizier whispered. “So am I.”
“She is tough,” Lonn asserted, leaning on the tiller. “She will be all right.”
But Draven shook his head. “She is not so strong as she pretends, Lonn. You do not see how vulnerable she is.”
“She carries a great burden of magic,” Kizier stated. “And it grows heavier as we approach the night when she will cast the Mirror. It is not like any working she has done before. From the start, I feared it might be too much, that the power might change her.”
“How do you mean?” Draven dema
nded.
Kizier made a noise like a sigh. “I have known Amlina for a long time. When we first met at the court of the Archimage, she seemed naïve in a way, her heart pure and full of light. But you cannot serve as apprentice to one as evil as Beryl without becoming tainted, without certain seeds taking root in your soul. I fear Beryl’s influence made Amlina more susceptible to the seductions of evil magic.”
“I remember,” Glyssa said. “Amlina told me she had been guided to take an evil power into her soul and to transform it.”
“That is how she sees it,” Kizier replied. “But by performing blood magic, she violated a fundamental tenet of Larthangan practice. Whether the guidance to do so came from some higher purpose in the Deepmind, or from motives in herself that Amlina is unaware of—that is the worrisome question.”
“What do you mean?” Glyssa said.
“Ah. I am no deepseer, but as a windbringer I have certain perceptions. Amlina has a strong and determined soul. As a child, she suffered the abuse of a tyrannical mother. She was never allowed to express herself, as a child with her gifts must in order to flourish. At the first opportunity, she fled her family and enrolled in the Academy of the Deepmind. But she failed to flourish there again, too willful, they told her, disinclined to proper humility and obedience. And so she left Larthang altogether. But you know the rest, how she dwelled for a time in the Tathian Isles, then finally came to Beryl’s court. Always she is driven, by needs and ambitions she does not fully understand. And now … now I fear she may have been driven to something beyond her powers to control—or recover from.”
“What can we do to help her?” Draven asked in anguish.
“I only wish I knew.” Kizier exhaled mournfully. “But then, I am always wishing for things to be better than they are. That is how I became a windbringer, did you know? When Beryl wearied of me, as an ornament of her court, she said my constant, feckless wishing annoyed her. So she transformed me into a windbringer, saying I could henceforth wish for the winds.”
The Iruks regarded him in gloomy silence.
“Ha,” he said. “If only my wishing now could bring a wind to dispel this dismal fog.”
* O *
The fog still hovered over the Phoenix Queen late that night, when Glyssa and Draven stood watch again. Queen Meghild was forward at the prow, her grayish light fading and brightening in strands of mist. Wilhaven sat at the queen’s feet, softly plucking his harp.
Glyssa was silently chanting to herself when a noise startled her—a hatch swinging open. She spied Amlina climbing from her cabin. Even in the mist, Glyssa noticed something different in the witch’s posture. Determination, she thought, and power.
Glyssa followed Draven, who immediately went to join Amlina.
“I am all right, my friend,” the witch touched his arm and gave him a smile. “Glyssa, would you come with me, please? I am going to speak with the queen.”
Glyssa followed Amlina onto the foredeck. Wilhaven climbed to his feet and nodded to them. Meghild stared into the fog, oblivious to their arrival.
“My queen,” Amlina said, and when there was no response: “Queen Meghild, I must have words with you.”
Atop the light-body, the face swiveled down. “Ah, Amlina,” the queen looked perplexed. “This fog …”
“That is why we must talk. We have been fogbound for most of six days. It is almost certainly not just circumstance.”
“Sure, but what can be done about it?” Wilhaven asked.
Amlina continued, solemn and resolute. “I have sought an answer to that question in deep trance, and I have consulted the talking book. I have concluded the fog is a magical emanation, most likely resulting from suppressed thoughts of my own. That makes it much more difficult for me to address through deepshaping. I have fashioned a design, a simple invocation of the North Wind, to disperse the fog. But unless I have help from outside myself, my own weakness and uncertainty will likely thwart the effect.” She stared into Meghild’s dim eyes. “My queen, do you remember the night in your feast hall, when I drew down your power to blind the warriors who barred our way? I must tap that power again.”
“Oh,” Meghild moaned. “But I was so much stronger then. This body of mine was brand new. I am not sure I can do this, Amlina.”
“The magic of the eidolon is perplexing,” the witch answered. “In fact, the power in you is growing, not fading. But it is growing in the Deepmind, below the surface, as it were. The stronger it grows there, the less awareness you have of yourself in this world. It is possible that drawing your power from the Deepmind will actually increase your presence in this world. You might for a time feel much more self-aware and vigorous.”
The queen glared suspiciously. “You say that is possible. What is the other possibility then?”
Amlina’s mouth twitched. “It is also possible that tapping your power will weaken you, in both the Deepmind and this world, and your waking mind will further diminish. That might also mean your energy will not be sufficient to generate the Mirror Against All Mishap, and then our whole voyage will be a failure.”
Glyssa’s glanced shifted to the queen, who seemed intensely present now, carefully weighing Amlina’s words.
“It must be your decision, my queen,” Amlina said. “I hate to ask it of you—the more so because it is probably my failure as a witch that has brought us to this crisis. But unless we can dispel the fog, I do not believe we will reach Valgool in time.”
“Bah!” Meghild growled. “What an inglorious end that would make for my last voyage. Is that not so, Wilhaven?”
“I have faith in you, my queen,” the bard said quietly, “that you will make the best decision.”
“Aye,” Meghild muttered. “And be sure you record this in your song: that on this fogbound night, Amlina had the wisdom to see her weakness, and the courage to confess it. And that Meghild, given the chance, did not cling to a fading life, but chose instead the way of high risk and valor.”
“To be sure,” the bard said, “I will sing all of that proudly.”
“Tap my power as you will,” Meghild said to Amlina. “I am at your service.”
“I thank you, my queen,” the witch’s voice held a tremor of respect, that Glyssa too felt in her heart. “Stand you ready then. Glyssa, I need your help also.”
Glyssa’s lips parted with a twinge of apprehension. “What can I do?”
The witch taught her a chant, eight words of Old Larthangan, which she translated as a summons to the North Wind—Old Lord of the mountain, we call you.
“As we speak the words, visualize the power building in you, spiraling up from the base of your spine, a pure light of intention. Then, when I lift your hand and touch the queen’s body, send the power out as a summons into the north. Do you see?”
“Yes.” Hesitantly, Glyssa took the witch’s hand. “I will try.”
* O *
Amlina closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began the summoning. Beside her, Glyssa tried to mimic the chant, her voice uncertain. Amlina brought to mind the design she had formulated, visualized the force within exactly as she had described it, brightening as it spiraled up her spine.
At first the flow of light was steady and strong. But then the glow flickered, her will faltering. Despite her best efforts, lurking thoughts of failure appeared, sparked by the knowledge that she was to blame. The fog manifested her own weakness. She had risked everything, invoked terrible rites of blood magic, brought her friends on this desperate voyage—all driven by vanity, her foolish belief that she deserved an exalted destiny. And it had brought them all to this, lost and defeated by mere fog.
Amlina gritted her teeth, straining to vanquish the lethal doubts, to focus on her intent, her power. She felt Glyssa squeeze her hand, sensing her distress. The Iruk’s voice was strong and certain now, intoning the words like drumbeats.
Perhaps we can strengthen each other, Glyssa had said to her once.
That memory steadied Amlina. She resumed chanti
ng, her voice rolling with Glyssa’s, forceful and potent. She drew the spiral up her spine, raised the power from the Deepmind until it blazed in her brain. Then with a primal call to the wind she lifted Glyssa’s hand, touched the eidolon, and cast her magic away to the north.
Meghild screamed, shuddering as the power exploded away.
Amlina blanked out for a second, found herself on her knees. Glyssa gripped her elbow and helped her to stand.
Meghild had crumbled, the eidolon body bent over, its light dim and flickering.
“Help her,” Wilhaven muttered.
“Yes.” Amlina collected herself. She took hold of Meghild’s arm. “Come, my queen. I will take you to rest.”
The eidolon hobbled now like an old and crippled woman. Guided by Amlina, Wilhaven and Glyssa helped the queen step from the foredeck and into the witch’s cabin. There, Amlina worked the magic to settle the light-body into the bowl of water, and placed the queen’s head to float above it.
When she returned to the deck, a fresh breeze was blowing from the north, the fog shredding and flowing away.
Sixteen
Standing on the rear deck with Lonn and Wilhaven, Amlina watched as the Phoenix Queen tacked in toward the docks. The port of Borgova spread along the north shore of a broad river, an unwalled town of gray stone and ancient dark timber. Beyond the roofs rose green hills, and white clouds towered in a pale blue sky.
It was morning, the 36th day of their voyage; 24 days until the three moons would align.
The north wind had held fair for six days. Slight fogs had appeared, but caused no further delays. With the time they had gained sailing on ice for part of the sea-crossing, they were actually one day ahead of schedule. Amlina felt a weary sense of relief. The magic to summon the north wind had balanced her spirit. And, though the growing power of the Mirror ensorcellment still weighed on her, her mind was clear, her intention firm.
When they came within earshot of the docks, Wilhaven raised his hands and shouted out to the men ashore, asking the location of the best boatyard. He was directed to an inlet a short distance downstream. The cranock would need to be hauled out of the water and refitted for the journey upriver. The outriggers would be torn out to make space for oars. Thwarts for rowers to sit on were already built in, but the oarholes would have to be unplugged and oars provided. A cranock was designed for ready conversion to a river craft, and Meghild and Wilhaven had both said that the work could be accomplished in a single day.