by Jack Massa
Glyssa’s look was earnest, but unsure.
Amlina offered an encouraging smile. “Try again.”
The Iruk shrugged and stared at the spinner. Amlina shut her eyes and withdrew her thoughts, so as not to influence the effort. After twenty breaths, she looked again. Glyssa glared unhappily at the spinner, which remained stubbornly motionless.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Amlina said. “But do not be discouraged. Learning these arts is difficult, and power emerges only when it is ready. Many accomplished witches have been known to take a year or more of fixed effort to master the spinner.”
Glyssa shifted her legs. “Who knows where we will be a year from now?”
“That is true.” Amlina let her shoulders sag. “I suppose, if we survive Tallyba and all goes as we hope, you and your mates will want to return home.”
Now Glyssa’s eye lit with a touch of mischief. “I’m not so sure of that. Draven, I think, will want to be with you.”
Amlina lowered her glance. “That would be my wish as well.”
“As for the rest of us, we haven’t talked about it much. Karrol and Brinda want to return to the Iruk seas, I’m sure. But who knows about Eben? And, Lonn,”—here she smiled—“he will want to be with me, I think.”
“And where will that be, Glyssa?”
“I am not sure. I started training with you to heal my heart, and you have helped me greatly. It’s not completely healed; maybe it never will be. But I feel there is a bond between us, Amlina—something like the klarn-soul, and yet very different. And I think there is still much you can teach me.” Her mouth twisted. “If I can ever get this cursed spinner to move.”
Amlina reached over and grasped her hand. “You will, my dear friend, if you persist.”
After Glyssa left the cabin, Amlina straightened her spine and sought meditation. She was heartened at the thought that Draven and Glyssa might stay with her, that they might have a time of peace and joy when this voyage was over. But then thoughts of what they faced besieged her, disrupting the pleasant serenity.
Since sailing from Borgova, Amlina had sensed Beryl working in the Deepmind, fashioning some grand ensorcellment, some design meant to impede their voyage, to keep them from reaching Tallyba. Each day the energies of that unknown design seemed to coalesce, somewhere ahead, but drawing ever closer.
And yet, Amlina sensed with certainty that she would reach Tallyba. Over and over a vision recurred in her deepsight—the same vision she had glimpsed when she first decided to seek the Mirror. In that vision, Amlina faced the Archimage one final time, in the upper chamber of the Bone Tower.
Lately Amlina had also seen Glyssa there—and come to suspect that the Iruk had some crucial role to play. Amlina could not say why, but it seemed imperative to concentrate on Glyssa’s training, to fortify her for that final confrontation.
* O *
On the tenth day of sailing, the Phoenix Queen left the Bay of Mistral and headed south along the coast of Near Nyssan. In these latitudes, the weather of Second Summer was warm and windy, perfect for sailing. Over the days that followed, Glyssa and her mates spotted numerous freighters and galleons plying along the coast. Tathians and Nyssanians had mingled here for centuries, creating a mixed and prosperous land of city states. The Iruks would have liked to put in at one of the thriving ports, but Amlina was anxious to avoid delays. Instead they stopped for just a few hours at a fishing village, to replenish water and supplies.
Glyssa divided her time between her duties crewing and bailing the boat, and studying with Amlina. She continued the daily practices of meditation and moving the cold fire through the nerve centers of her body. She spent hours in the witch’s cabin, practicing the formation of mental constructs, singing in the strange, high-pitched Larthangan language, and attempting—still with no success—to move the spinner with her mind. She listened attentively as the witch read from her small red book about the basics of the Five Revered Arts of Magic. In addition to formulation and pure shaping, there was deepseeing, trinketing, and one called weng-lei or magical combat. Glyssa found that one most alluring, as she could relate the principles to the disciplines of Iruk sword-craft.
That vague connection comforted her. Increasingly, she felt divided within herself, between her normal life with the klarn and the strange, luminous world of witchery. The more Glyssa practiced with Amlina, the more a restless hunger stirred in her, to somehow bring those two lives together, to make herself feel whole.
* O *
A gray curtain hung over the sea. Glyssa spotted it from her perch on the masthead, when taking a turn as lookout. Dark and opaque, it wavered in the distance and then vanished, like some ominous mirage. They were sailing off a barren coast of black cliffs called the Cape of Moloc, 21 days since leaving Borgova. Of the lifespan of the Mirror, just 22 days remained.
Next day the curtain appeared again. Now, it lingered on the horizon, dark and forbidding. As the Phoenix Queen approached, it seemed to recede, as though beckoning them on. Standing with Lonn at the helm, Glyssa sensed an evil power.
“I don’t think it’s a fog,” Eben called from the lookout. “No witchlight that I can see.”
“Nothing natural about it.” Lonn turned to Glyssa. “You’d best tell the witch.”
Glyssa ran forward and knocked on the hatchway. Presently, Amlina crawled from the cabin, blinking and dazed as though roused from a trance. After a quick look at the horizon, she shook herself and hurried aft. Glyssa followed, past where Karrol was stationed at the lines and Wilhaven manned a bailing pail.
“Do you know what it is?” Glyssa asked.
“Not exactly,” Amlina said as she climbed to the rear deck. “But I think I know who sent it.”
“Aye. I’ve never known the like of it,” Wilhaven called after them. “A thing of sorcery, there can be no doubt.”
“Well then, the Mirror should protect us,” Glyssa said. “Shouldn’t it?”
Standing at the rail, Amlina stared intently at the horizon. “I don’t know.”
After a quick glance at Lonn and Glyssa, the witch knelt before the windbringers. She touched Kizier’s stalk, and his eyelid rose.
“Kizier, my friend,” Amlina said. “What can you perceive of the darkness on the horizon?”
The single eye peered into the distance, and Glyssa thought it widened with worry. “Nothing. Some kind of barrier …?”
“Can you tell if it stifles the wind?”
“I cannot sense anything,” the bostull answered after a moment. “It seems to swallow mental energy, and emit nothing.”
Amlina nodded grimly. “My perception as well.”
“Should we tack west?” Lonn asked her. “Try to sail around it?”
Amlina’s mouth twisted. “I hate to risk the delay. But yes, I suppose you had better try that.”
Lonn called out the order to trim sail and leaned on the tiller. The boat veered to starboard, heading away from the land. Their speed increased on the new course, hull and outriggers bounding over choppy waves.
But soon Glyssa saw that the mysterious curtain also moved, streaming along the horizon until it hovered once more dead ahead.
“Resume our former course,” the witch said. “We cannot avoid it.”
Lonn gave the order to come about, and once more they sailed with the land to port. The gray curtain still loomed before them, and now it no longer receded. Instead, it rose higher, and stretched to east and west to swallow the horizon. As the boat approached the weird barrier, twilight spread over the sky. The sealight faded, the water turning dull and metallic. Worse, the wind dropped off.
Amlina knelt in front of the three bostulls. “Kizier, can you and your comrades summon any wind?”
It took a few moments for his eye to open. His voice sounded dull and lethargic. “Amlina, I am sorry. It is hard to even speak. Our mental focus is draining away.”
Presently, strands of darkness drifted over the cranock. The air grew cold and clammy, with a faint smell li
ke rotting fish. Numb with fear, Glyssa watched Amlina, who stared into the gloom as though trying to pierce its mystery.
The gray vapor enveloped the boat. Glyssa could no longer see the prow. The sail hung limp, the hull creaking forlornly as it rocked in the water
“Now what do we do?” Karrol called fretfully.
“Lower the sail,” Lonn ordered. “We’ll hoist it again when the wind comes.” He turned to Amlina, uncertain. “If it comes?”
The witch stared dolefully as the yardarm came down. “This is Beryl’s sending. I am sure of it.”
“Her magic is stronger than the Mirror?” Glyssa asked.
“She has found some way to counter it. I don’t know how. I will have to study the problem.” She took a breath and seemed to gather herself, then gripped Lonn and Glyssa’s wrists firmly. “We will get out of this. I know we will. I have an appointment with Beryl in Tallyba.”
But as Amlina stepped back toward her cabin through the clammy mist, her figure looked small and frail, and Glyssa wondered if she was truly as confident as she pretended.
* O *
Some hours later—Glyssa could not tell how many—the witch came back on deck. It might have been sunset, or even night; there was no way to tell in the perpetual gloom. Water lapped gently around the hull, the sea lacking both wind and wave. The entire crew was awake, Eben bailing amidships, the others on the rear deck, muttering dispiritedly to one another. The air was dank and cold, with the fetid rotting smell.
As she climbed the steps, Amlina’s face emerged from the murk, looking pale and haggard. Draven stood and hugged her.
“Anything?” Glyssa asked.
“Not yet,” the witch answered, taking a seat by the rail. “Can you bring me something to eat? I need to fortify myself.”
“Of course.” Draven moved down the steps to the food locker.
“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Karrol demanded. “And how do we get out?”
Amlina looked at her and said nothing.
“Did you try the talking book?” Wilhaven asked.
The witch answered wearily. “Buroof is silent. All magic has been drawn away from us—including the magic of the book.”
Draven brought her a platter of dried fish and hard bread, and a tin cup of water. The witch ate in silence, her gaze wide and blank.
“It’s not only magic,” Glyssa said suddenly. “Remember what Kizier said about his mental focus being drained? I think it’s happening to all of us. It’s hard to think, like we are adrift in some dream.”
“I’ve noticed that too,” Eben called from his bailing post. “It’s hard to string my thoughts together. I thought it was only me.”
Amlina nodded. “Magic is a mental activity. I do believe this ensorcellment works by dulling our minds.”
Karrol started to speak, then bit back the words. She jumped to her feet and stamped off in frustration. The other Iruks looked at each other helplessly.
“Do not despair,” Amlina said. “I am going to perform the Bowing ritual and enter deep trance. Some way out will present itself. All of you must hold to that thought. Remember, all else being equal, the Deepmind tends to manifest that which we consistently believe in and expect.”
Twenty-Six
Glyssa sat in the crawlspace below the rear deck, eyes shut in trance, moving tendrils of cold fire up her spine. The more difficult it was to concentrate, the more grim resolve she applied. She repeated the practice each time she finished a watch.
Seven watches since Amlina entered deep trance—that meant it was three or three-and-a-half days since the darkness had settled over the boat. With no sighting of sun or stars, this was now her only way to reckon the passage of time.
Beside her, Lonn shifted and moaned in his sleep. The unending darkness, the relentless feeling of helplessness, were taking their toll on her mates. Glyssa could feel the courage of the klarn-soul fraying.
She clenched her jaw, returned to the meditation.
When the envisioned light rose to the top of her spine, she slipped into a dreamlike state. She recalled the shaman, Belach, and the last time she had met him in a vision. He told her of the second great enemy that she must face, deceit. The knowledge came to her that this unnatural darkness was a kind of deceit, a magic sent to deceive their minds …
But what use was this knowledge?
To overcome deceit, Belach said, she must find clarity, must look not only with her eyes and mind, but with her heart. Glyssa pulled a long breath and settled her attention on her heart.
She saw herself on the Phoenix Queen, a season ago, when they first sailed across the ocean. She leaned on the rail of the foredeck, Wilhaven beside her, playing his harp and singing. All around them, the bright sea was alive with the bobbing heads and rolling bodies of the dolphin people.
An insight arose in her brain. Magic had been driven away, mind suppressed. But there was still music and song. That was the way out.
Glyssa opened her eyes, reviewing the thought. It made no sense, and yet she knew it must be true—knew it as one knows there is food in her stomach or blood in her veins. Amlina had taught her that deepsight sometimes came in flashes of inspiration. Perhaps this was one of those.
And she knew what she must do.
She reached for her boots in the dark and pulled them on. She crawled over Lonn and Draven and opened the hatch. Stepping onto the deck, she moved in the direction of Wilhaven’s sleeping tent. Karrol and Eben leaned on the rails by the mast, and Brinda was barely visible at the helm.
“What is it, Glyssa?” Karrol asked.
“I’m looking for Wilhaven.”
Karrol tilted her head. “He’s moping up at the prow.”
Glyssa made her way to the foredeck. She found the bard sitting under the carved figurehead, knees up, feet spread wide. He held the harp, his fingers moving over the strings silently in a way he had—playing but not playing. So far as Glyssa knew, he had made no music at all since Meghild’s death.
He watched drearily as she approached. “Lady Glyssa. Would you take a drink?”
He offered his silver flask, filled she knew with brandy.
She knelt before him. “Thanks, but no. Wilhaven, I need you to play and sing.”
He frowned with bewilderment. “And why would you be wanting that?”
“I don’t know exactly, but you must.”
He took a swig from the flask. “Have a drink instead.”
“Please. This is important.”
“Nay, I cannot. My heart is broken, Lady Glyssa. To see Meghild give her life—my noble queen! And to have it all come to naught. I fear I will never play again.”
Glyssa snatched the flask from his hand and flung it away. “We are not defeated. Not yet! If you will sing, it may save us. It may get us out of this.”
“Aye, and how could that be?”
“I don’t know. But Amlina has been training me, and I think it is deepsight that tells me this. The enchantment that surrounds us, it snuffs out magic and confuses thought, but perhaps not music. Perhaps music can pierce it.”
He stared at her, considering but not convinced.
Glyssa shrugged. “What have you to lose? And if your singing and playing can break the enchantment, would that not make a glorious chapter of your saga?”
A gleam sparked in his eye. “Aye, that it would.”
Glyssa took his elbow and helped him to his feet. The bard straightened, placed the harp against his chest, ran his fingertips over the strings.
“But … what shall I play?”
Glyssa touched a finger to her lips, reflecting. “Do you recall the songs you sang for the myro folk, when we crossed the northern ocean?”
Wilhaven’s lips parted, eyebrows flicking up. “Aye …”
With a nod, he began plucking strings and tightening pegs. While he tuned the instrument, Glyssa waited in anticipation, thrilled and fearful all at once.
Presently, Wilhaven cleared his throat and started to sin
g. His voice, ragged at first, grew steady and clear, the song a mournful ballad. Glyssa gazed out over the murky water, listening keenly, hoping.
When the song ended Wilhaven looked at her inquiringly.
“Keep singing,” Glyssa said fervently. “Please.”
The bard shrugged and began again.
In the midst of his third song, Glyssa heard it—an unmistakable twittering out on the sea. Wilhaven paused, stiffening in surprise.
“Go on,” Glyssa cried. “Don’t stop!”
He resumed with new energy, singing louder. Other voices answered from the darkness, calling, whistling, drawing near. Soon Glyssa could hear swishing and splashing as the creatures swam close to the boat. She quieted her thoughts and called to them with her mind.
Lovely myro, dolphin people, can you hear my voice?
Answers came like whispers from several quarters.
We hear you, priestess of the air.
But faintly. The waves of your voice are muffled.
Why do you float in this darkness?
Glyssa put all her strength into sending her thoughts. We are trapped in the darkness. We need your help.
We would not have entered the dark zone, but that we heard the air singer.
He is known to our people.
Some have heard him before.
Can you please help us? Glyssa asked. Can you move our boat?
While Wilhaven continued singing, a babble of debate erupted among the myro—clacking, whistling, wheezing. Glyssa caught snatches of the communication in her thoughts.
We have never done such a thing.
Of course we can.
It will hurt our noses.
We can push with our heads.
It will make a fine story!
Suddenly a jolt shook the hull, then another. The deck lurched underfoot.
“What is that?” Wilhaven asked.
Tell the air singer to continue.
A lively song to help our pushing.
“Keep on,” Glyssa cried. “Play a spirited tune.”
Understanding dawned, and the bard burst out laughing. He strummed hard and launched into an energetic song. The deck rocked again, and the boat edged forward, more and more of the myro pushing on the hull.