The Witch's Daughter (Lamb & Castle Book 1)

by J M Sanford

  There she stood at the heavy double doors in silence, uncertain. “Thank you,” she said at last. “For being so brave and getting us safely away from those terrible creatures.” Then, tentatively, “how are you feeling?”

  “Sick as a dog. We’re finally stopping at a proper City and I can’t even get out there to trade.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry…”

  “But I’ve got to hand it to you, Amelia – I’ve never had a run like that before. Gives me a whole new appreciation for the old Storm Chaser.”

  “Really?” Since her first ill-fated lesson on skyships, Amelia had grown much more curious about how they worked. “I would have thought the skyship needed a soul with wings.” Her cheeks coloured at once: the idea made a certain sort of sense, but she understood so little about how magic in general actually worked…

  “Very sharp of you,” said the Captain. “A soul with wings is better, but one stubborn enough to stay airborne against all odds will do in a pinch.”

  “I’m still sorry about what I did,” said Amelia, feeling that no matter how many times she apologised, it would never be enough. “It was so stupid of me. Is there nothing I can do to make up for it?”

  “Hmm.” The noise rattled the floorboards under her feet, low and tingling in her toes. “Tell Madam Meg she’s to find me a new soul. But you’re to go along with her into the Flying City, and pick out one that doesn’t upset you.”

  14: THE FLYING CITY

  Meg and Amelia had time for a few more lessons before they arrived at the node where the Flying City of Ilamira was docked. Amelia had become quite proficient in a basic fireball spell, if nothing else. Meg had taught her a spell to protect her hands from the worst of the heat, and she found it enticingly therapeutic to stand at the stern of the Storm Chaser and fling fireballs, while Stupid helped out with her aim. At first she’d worried she might hurt him, but the fire sprite thought it a wonderful game to dodge and chase Amelia’s projectiles. They practised it daily until her soft hands were completely inured to the heat, and she could throw fireballs far and fast and in any colour she so desired. Her shoulder still throbbed now and then beneath the bandages, but she was determined to be brave. One day, though, Meg bade her stop and focus on less disruptive magic.

  “We’re coming close to Ilamira now,” said the witch, leaning out over the railing to peer into the hazy far distance. Amelia could see nothing but wide open sky, a sight she had become accustomed to lately. “We’ll be in a heavy traffic area soon,” Meg continued, “and you can’t go chucking fireballs around willy nilly where other people are trying to go about their daily lives.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Amelia took off the conjuring rings and offered them back, surprised when Meg didn’t take them straight away.

  “Put those back on – I’m not giving you an excuse to shirk your studies. The spells you should be practising day and night are the ones you find most difficult, so next time I come up here, I expect to not see you practising invisibility.” Her face might be stern, but her eyes sparkled and the corner of her mouth twitched at her own joke.

  Amelia nodded meekly, putting the rings back on. “Yes, Meg.” She hated the invisibility spell: it took all her concentration to maintain, and she could never be entirely certain when it was working. Meg always seemed to know exactly where she was anyway, and shouted at her for treading too heavily, or breathing too noisily. As Meg retreated to the cabin for an afternoon nap, Amelia sighed and dutifully faded out of sight.

  ~

  Amelia spent the rest of the afternoon invisible. Having lived in seclusion all her life, watching the world pass by from the window of her tall tower, she couldn’t fully appreciate the opportunity it gave her: to watch without being watched. Sir Percival and Harold, practising sword fighting again, either forgot or didn’t realise that she was there. Without the (visible) company of ladies, Harold used some shocking language that Amelia found most intriguing, and which Sir Percival reprimanded him for. That bad habit aside, Sir Percival seemed to think Harold had the makings of an excellent Paladin.

  “You’re a fine strong lad,” the knight mused, at the end of the lesson, “although I doubt you’ll get any taller. In the old days, you’d have been made to eat lemons until you cleaned up your language, though. Consider yourself lucky we don’t have any.”

  With their lessons ended for dinner, they left Amelia by herself. She lay down on her front on the deserted deck, with the clockwork dragonette’s cage set before her. She’d lost all fear of the thing, confident in the security of the magical amaranthine cage, and become simply fascinated by it instead. Such a lovely little thing. She lay with her chin resting on her hands, staring at it for hours on end, wishing she’d brought along her rarely-used set of watercolours. As if she could do justice to the delicate intricacy of it, the shimmer of its jewel eyes, or the stainless sheen of its wings as it preened in the sunlight…

  “Amelia! Pay attention, I can see your shadow!”

  Amelia jumped, her concentration entirely broken. She looked up to find Meg standing over her and grinning for some reason in spite of her student’s failings. On intuition, Amelia looked over her shoulder, and gasped. There, where she had come to expect nothing but sky, stood a host of towers and spires, tall crenelated walls and red-tiled roofs. She rushed to the railings and looked down, reeling back at the dizzy shock – yes, they were still sailing hundreds of feet above the ground. The city that had appeared slightly to their port side stood on a level with them, on a chunk of rock that looked as if it had been ripped from the side of a mountain. A wall surrounded the city: judging by the tiny flecks of windows in it, it had to be at least fifty feet high and thick as a townhouse. A few pine trees grew close to the outer wall, some of their roots reaching out into the sky. At the place Amelia irrationally wanted to call the front of the City, its footprint stretched out into the sky, narrowing almost to a point, the wall opening up in a grand main gate. There was yet quite a gap between the Storm Chaser and the Flying City, but it closed visibly even as Amelia watched.

  “Oh my word!” she dashed into the deckhouse at once, quite overcome. “Harold! Harold! You simply must come and see!”

  ~

  At the edge of the floating island, a wooden platform stuck out into the sky, half a dozen skyships as big as the Storm Chaser tethered and bobbing in the air currents. As the Storm Chaser came to roost amongst them, Amelia watched the busy dock that skirted a mile or more around Ilamira’s walls.

  As they drew level with the dock, Harold hefted one of the skyship’s enormous tetherhooks over his shoulder. Under the Captain’s patient instruction, the boy climbed out over the railings to attach the hook to one of the great iron rings that lined the City’s dock, and let out a chain as thick as his arm. Amelia could hardly bear to watch.

  Harold came back, shivering and grinning, greatly pleased with himself.

  “Let’s get a move on, then,” said Meg, swinging her satchel over her shoulder. “You too, boy. And fetch your blade. If you’re to be Amelia’s Paladin, you’d better start acting like it.”

  “What’s a paladin?”

  “A bodyguard. To keep your Queen from coming to harm.”

  “Like a knight?” Harold bowed deeply to Amelia. “My lady. I swear I’ll protect you however I can.”

  “Oh, stop it,” Amelia giggled, turning beet red.

  “I’ll lay down my life for you if need be,” Harold persisted, earnestly.

  Meg huffed. “Nice and pretty as the sentiment is, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we? And get a move on! I can’t be the only one feels like she’s fading away for the lack of a decent pastry. Worst thing about sailing’s the food,” she grumbled, and kept on at the matter even as they climbed down the rope ladder, onto the wooden platform below. Percival pulled the ladder back up behind them, and waved them goodbye as they struck off towards the city wall. The dock’s builders had at least thought to enclose it with a handrail, but had given little thought to ob
scuring the dreadful view, hundreds of feet down to the town below. Amelia stayed well away from the edges, close to Harold. She had recently learned how to levitate a little, until with practice she could float along with the tips of her toes just barely bumping against the boards. The lessons still exhausted her, and she knew she had a long way to go before she would be able to fly safely, but every time the drop at the edge of the City caught her eye, it was the thought of her progress so far that comforted her.

  The three of them entered the City of Ilamira through a gateway large enough that the Storm Chaser herself could almost have scraped through, were it not for her masts and sails, and immediately Amelia wished she’d stayed on board with Percival. So many people! Noisy crowds filled the broad street, a constant stream of people moving in and out of the many shops that lined the thoroughfare. Their dress was strange and varied: amongst the crowd she could see merchants and mages, priests and princes, travellers from scattered lands both near and far. Guardsmen in handsome blue uniforms patrolled the streets, keeping order, or at least the last illusion of it. The chatter of a dozen or more languages she didn’t know filled her ears, and the enticing smells of strange spices and new foods came from all directions, mingling and intoxicating. A crowd of impossibly tall figures with their faces hidden behind masks stalked downhill against the stream. As they passed, Amelia clung close to her bodyguard, who puffed up his chest in pride at his new responsibility.

  “Keep your hand on your sword, boy,” Meg advised him.

  Harold obeyed. “Is there danger?”

  “Always,” said Meg. “Of thieves, mainly, and that’s a good blade the Captain’s lent you, so you’d best keep it safe.”

  Cacophonous music approached – heavy drums and shrill pipes – Amelia shrank out of the way of a troupe of dancers who seemed oblivious to the crowds. She remembered a time she’d gone ashore with her father to attend a wedding in Springhaven. The whole village had been there, dressed up in their finest clothes, but they would have looked very shabby compared with some of the people strolling the streets of Ilamira. Amelia gazed in awe at the beautiful ladies in their finery – their dresses and jewellery that would have made even her stepmother look dowdy by comparison.

  Meg took them to a haberdasher’s first. Amongst the rolls of wonderful silks, velvets and brocades stood elegant mannequins as exquisitely dressed as any of the ladies on the streets of Ilamira. Amelia gawped in unashamed wonder and want for such pretty things, but Meg picked out two nondescript blue hooded cloaks, paid for them in gold, and then back out into the jostling crowds they went.

  “Chilly, isn’t it?” said Meg, meaningfully, as she handed Amelia one of the cloaks. “Put up your hood, dear, I smell rain.”

  Amelia squinted at the few faint white smudges of cloud marring the blue sky. It looked like a fine sunny day, and what did rain smell like, anyway? Still, she did as she was told, and didn’t complain when Meg helped to tuck her long neat braids into her cloak.

  Ilamira’s Main Street climbed steeply up from the gate, flanked on either side by grand buildings of a rich golden stone. Oh, the merchants and princes who must own such buildings… Still, opulent as they might be, they were nothing but a prelude to the pinnacle of the hill. There, a great white obelisk stood, taller than trees, so pristine and bright that it hurt the eyes to look too long when the sun shone on it. Delicate lines of gold flashed all the way up its impossible height.

  “What’s that?” Amelia asked.

  “The City’s Keystone – it’s what keeps Ilamira up in the air. Just thank your lucky stars Perce isn’t here to bore you with the details.”

  “So that gold writing on it…”

  “High magic. Well beyond what the likes of you and me can do.”

  Amelia squinted up at it, curious despite her previous disastrous experience with written magic, back in the Storm Chaser’s soulchamber. She might only have learnt a little magic so far, but already she’d achieved feats which would have been beyond her wildest dreams not so long ago. Perhaps she could convince Meg to take her for a closer look at the Keystone, once more pressing matters had been dealt with…

  ~

  Back aboard the Storm Chaser, Stupid the fire sprite cowered in the cabin where Amelia had left him, a barely visible sickly haze of yellow. She’d left the porthole window open for him to go out if he wanted, on the condition that he behaved himself, but after a too-close encounter with an angry and very fast creature the size of an albatross, he’d fled back to the refuge of the Storm Chaser. Like Amelia, he’d never seen so many people before: he’d always belonged to the lonely tower. He bounced listlessly off the wall, pining for his mistress. She had left behind the clockwork dragonette as well; its cage hung on a hook so that the sunlight shone in and gleamed off its primly folded wings. Stupid wanted to burn the thing. Stupid had managed to burn metal things before. Burn hot enough and it would melt like candle wax… People got angry when he burned things, though, and metal things seemed especially precious to people. Look at it there: pretty and smug and glinting with reflected sunlight. Stupid bumped up against the bottom of the cage, and to his satisfaction the clockwork thing squawked in alarm. He did it again, shaking and giggling to himself at the dragonette’s helpless indignant scolding, its wings flapping as it tried to steady itself in the wildly swaying cage. And then the handle of the cage slipped off the hook, and the cage fell to the floor with a crash. Stupid dived into the darkness under the bunk, disappearing from view entirely. When he dared look out, the cage lay open on the floor, the clockwork dragonette nowhere to be seen.

  15: AT THE SOUL FORGE

  Off Ilamira’s Main Street, the passageways diminished to little more than corridors lined with narrow-fronted buildings three or four stories tall. Most of them had expensively glazed shop fronts, carrying riches Amelia had only ever heard of in stories. Or better yet, strange artefacts that she couldn’t identify at all. Meg marched briskly on while Amelia followed reluctantly, taking in all she could. Here, a sign advertised love potions to last a lifetime (longer or shorter periods available, ask within); there, a display of iridescent stones and hanging crystals glittered and caught her eye.

  “Doesn’t Harold need a cloak too?” Amelia asked.

  “Harold can shiver.”

  “No, I mean…” Amelia couldn’t guess why she and Meg needed anonymity but Harold did not. The rain Meg had promised hadn’t yet materialised, and Amelia was too warm in the thick cloak. “Who are we hiding from?” she whispered.

  “Nobody especially. Better safe than sorry, though. Harold: wait for us here,” said Meg, indicating a bench beside what looked like a horse trough and a fountain. “We won’t be any longer than we have to be,” she told him, and they left him there.

  Amelia glanced over her shoulder, still worried. “Where are we going? I thought you said I needed a –”

  “Hush now! He’s not much use to us here in the magical district, believe me. And the next stop is the soul forge,” said Meg, so quietly Amelia could barely hear her above the noise of the crowd. “Keep quiet and don’t call me by my name. In fact, don’t speak at all. Can you manage that, or do I have to put a spell on you?”

  Amelia shook her head violently. “Oh no! You needn’t do that!”

  “The Captain said you’re to choose the soul, so I’ll pick out one that’s suitable for the job, and you just nod ‘yes’ if you’re satisfied with it. And don’t go getting all sentimental and picky, because there’s a lot of people I want to talk to before we leave. See if anyone knows anything about those blasted griffins,” she muttered. “Come along now, we’re almost there. And don’t forget: not a word! One squeak out of you and I just might turn you into a mouse, understand?”

  Amelia nodded mutely and vigorously. It was hard to say if Meg was joking or not, but better not to take any chances. She followed Meg into a building with no shop sign over the door or the murky window. It might almost have been a private house, for all that it advertised, but
Amelia could see otherwise as soon as she went inside.

  The shop’s interior was dimly lit and musty smelling. It was much smaller than the haberdasher’s, largely dominated by a big old desk with dozens of drawers lining its sides, and a lantern sat upon it. All around, on every available surface, stood hundreds upon hundreds of glass jars: every size and shape imaginable; every one of them empty. Or at least, so they appeared…

  A man dozed in a frayed armchair beside the desk, his hat over his eyes. “Good afternoon,” he said, not getting up. “May I assist you, or will you browse?” His sarcastic grin was the only part of his face that Amelia could see.

  Meg looked unimpressed. “I’m planning to spend a good deal of money,” she said. “There are other places in this City where I can find overpriced glassware, if that’s all you have here.”

  The shopkeeper lifted the brim of his hat just enough to look up at Meg. “And who are you, precisely?”

  “The Storm Chaser, in need of a new soul.”

  The shopkeeper nodded very slightly, satisfied with this answer. Then he turned his attention to Amelia. “And you: what a soft pretty thing you are. Learning the trade at your old mother’s heels, are you?”

  “Don’t waste your breath speaking to her,” Meg interrupted. “She’s mute as a rabbit.”

  Amelia looked at her shoes, hiding her face in the shadow of the voluminous hood of the blue cloak. She didn’t know quite what role Meg would have her play. She wished the shopkeeper would stop looking at her.

  “What about you then?” said Meg. “Are you a soul forger or not?”

  The man got to his feet. “The very finest in Ilamira,” he said, bowing creakily, with a sly grin. “Indeed, the very only soul forger in Ilamira. Let’s see what I can provide you with today, Madam Storm Chaser.”

  As the soul forger explained, souls glowed and spoke (or growled, chirped, barked…) only in the presence of a specific type of magical light, such as that found in the Storm Chaser’s soulchamber. He took a mirrored lantern from the desktop, and crumbled a handful of dried sage green leaves into the flame. Immediately, the light within the dingy shop took on the familiar cold blue light of the soulchamber, and a murmuring started up, all around them. The soul forger swung the lantern around to a nearby shelf of jars, and the murmur swelled to a cacophony of bird song. The jars were small, the souls within mere flutterings of wings, recognisable by their voices as starlings, sparrows, blue tits. The soul forger moved his light along the shelves, slowly, so that Amelia could see jackdaws and crows, hear their raucous noise. In a fit of morbid curiosity, Amelia couldn’t help but peer closer. Further from the light, other things shimmered at the edges of her vision, unidentifiable, a rumble of noise at the threshold of hearing. The next shelf up from a long row of magpies, cat souls slept curled up tightly in the bottoms of their jars, the purring of a dozen of them loud despite the sealed jars. Amelia, who quite liked cats, felt a pang of sadness at how many jars of cats he had, and had to look away. Holding the magical lantern high, the soul forger moved on inevitably towards the biggest of the jars, smiling as he must be saving what he deemed the best for last, but Meg stayed his arm.