The Last Wizard

by Jane M. R.

  “Wouldst ye stay with it for a while? Just jump up and down a few times more and then I shalt let it soak.”

  “You bloody tyrant!” I think she’s really mad at me. If I remember, I think I kind of liked that look. “I came here to tell you Corden will meet with us in an hour.”

  “Ah. Well… why art ye playing in the river? Ye hath gotten thy dress wet.”

  “I curse your mattress to move about while you sleep!”

  “I shall just relocate the curse out to thy own mattress. Come along. I shalt make sure thee art dry before we head out.” Gathering my boots in my hand, I walk up the stairs.

  I have a fire started in our usual meet place of the kitchen by the time she joins me.

  “I think we hast time for dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Ye sure? I hath chopped up troll toes, gorgak eyeballs, dragon tongue, and bread. We couldst maketh a sandwich.”

  This breaks a smile out of her which I am glad of because I really didn’t want to make her mad by dropping her in the river. “Chopped up troll toes, please, with a drizzle of gorgak eyeball. But could we eat dinner in the Fae Realm? We could spend two days there before we meet Corden.”

  “Nary.”

  “Why not?”

  What would be the point? I can’t have you. Stop tempting me. In hindsight, it was a bad idea to show her the Fae Realm. “Let us say ye came every night, every eight human hours is twenty-two Fae days. If ye spent twenty-two days every night in the Fae Realm, by the end ye wouldst hath spent four hundred twenty days in the Fae Realm.”

  “So?”

  “So if ye mother asks ye if ye liked what ye hath for dinner three days ago, how wilt ye remember?”

  “I would tell her it was delicious.”

  “So ye come back and ye lose track of the day, or forget someone’s name ye just met the day before, or forget what kind of dresses ye own. Or, ‘Brine dear, Sunday wast yesterday. Why can ye nary remember the sermon? And ye act like ye dost nary remember how to play the violin, or –”

  “Kay,” she snaps. “I got it.”

  “Besides,” I say, pulling food items out of the cupboard, “I dost nary wit at what point the Faewraith shalt notice my absence and cometh into the realm and eat everyone.” I start spreading the Fae green sauce over the slice of bread. “I feel generally okay skipping out for no longer than a human hour, but I nary durst take more. And if the Faewraith cometh, it shalt take nary less than a dragon to chase them back out.”

  “What? Why a dragon? I thought you were good enough.”

  “Some might say I am too good. But it takes a dragon because they hath the biggest pineal gland. It wilt take something that big to dominate all the little Faewraith pineal glands because once the magic protection of the wizard leaves the Human Realm, there tis nothing left to obstruct them so even my pineal gland tis nary strong enough to chase them all out again.”

  “So how does the dragon come into the Human Realm to do that?”

  I rake a hand through my spiked hair. The warming kitchen is finally starting to dry us both from our scamper in the river. “Tis a higher level of relocation magic.”

  “There are different levels?”

  “The Bloodstone ye use to get ye from your room to the Fae Gate tis one level. Picking up and dumping ye in the river tis another. To use higher levels wouldst be easy to abuse, but the Fae maketh it to if ye want it, ye hath to show them ye art serious. They want ye to jump off something high.”

  “To commit suicide?”

  “Close. Whilst ye art falling, ye must speak the spell for the relocation. And whence upon the spell concludes, what actually happens tis ye switch places with whatever creature from the Fae Realm ye want, though in the spell ye must include their name. They cometh here, and ye go there. The kicker is the Fae shalt hear thy spell and then the Fae wilt relay that message to the creature of thy choice and the creature can either approve or disapprove the request. All this is debated whilst ye art falling.”

  “What if they disapprove?”

  I shrug. “Suicide.”

  “That’s so cruel! Has that happened before?”

  “I dost nary wit. I hath nary heard anyone even trying it. Wast no eminent need. But ye can nary blame them for saying nay. They couldst die if they came to this realm. And in the words to the spell, ye dost nary hath time to tell them why ye art asking to switch places. Maybe ye art ready to be crushed by a rock slid, or an army of dwarves hath surrounded ye. They cometh to this world blind. So tis always good to maketh friends from the Fae Realm so they can trust ye and answer thy call.”

  “But even then they could say no.”

  “Yea.”

  “So if they say no, can’t you just relocate yourself to the ground instead of killing yourself against it?”

  “Certain. If ye hath the time to speak that spell before ye hit. Magic tis dangerous. In the handling of and the execution. Howevermore, the one mercy tis the Fae dost nary want to keep creating blood gems, and tis unfair to ask mortals to take on such a task that couldst kill them without warning, so the Fae took a vial of each wizard’s blood mixed with a bit of their own so if the wizard died, they couldst be brought back to life. The dose tis only good once.”

  “Oh. Well that’s nice. I guess. Where is your vial?”

  I finish arranging the food in front of me. I turn around, a wood plate in each hand and set hers in front of her with an elaborate bow before sitting down. “My friend Gareoff Vindazmer wast last in possession. Three hundred twenty-four yore. Twas always better nary to carry it around with thineself. It wast kept in a box of Fae Wood to protect it, but it could still break upon whatever killed ye in the first place.”

  “So how would the blood bring you back to life? Someone would shove it down your throat?”

  “Ye wouldst pour it upon the spot on the body that ended thy life.”

  “But what if your whole body was broken? Or you died in a fire? Or you died of old age? Where would you pour the blood then?”

  I sigh. “I dost nary wit, Brine.”

  “Maybe it’s still floating around. I could look for it. You book made it back to you.”

  “Ye wouldst nary find it. Fae Wood changes color upon its season and my name written on the box tis in Fae Language. But that matters nary. Because it won’t bring me back to life from old age.”

  This somber topic encourages her to mull in silence for a moment while she eats her sandwich.

  Dinner concludes at the same time we both feel dry enough, and grabbing my favored long blue coat with the tall collar, we leave the castle.

  We exit onto the other side of the Fae Gate, the side that opens up into the canyon.

  “The canyon looks nice.”

  “I thank thee.”

  “Why don’t you have a Bloodstone inside the castle I could relocate to instead of here?”

  “My castle tis three layers deep into the Fae Realm. The only way to cross through those layers tis though the Fae Gate.” I hold onto her arm and indicate she can press the bloodstone against the spot of blood I made next to the Fae Gate.

  We relocate with a pop of displaced air and I’m standing in what looks like her bedroom. Keeping hold of her, I focus on the exact spot on the lawn out the window we are going to relocate to. I whisper the spell, and we end our travel-jumping on the lawn.

  I indicate for her to begin walking. “I shall follow thee.”

  She walks onward and I fall in step, shortening my stride so she doesn’t have to jog to keep up. She takes me into the grove of trees beside her house.

  “This is a short cut into town. It’s three miles on the road but you can make it in two through here.”

  I should take her into the Fae Realm. Spend twenty-two Fae days for every eight human hours. She’d like that. She’d want that. But the end would not change. She would still marry, forced to pretend she never knew me as she settles into her role society expects of her.

  I have naught t
o give her. Except exile from her family and Fae clothes and food since I can’t yet show my face in the Human Realm. I’d be selfish to offer her less than what she could have if she stayed.

  I only have these thoughts in the first place because she is the first face I saw when I climbed out of my immortal crypt. The first body she let me hold to dispel my nightmares, the first voice which soothed the shrieking need in my head. I’ll eventually find a girl, for Fae know I do not want to die alone when I had lived alone. But society has to not see me as demon-infested, first. The church would have to accept me.

  The implications of an almost impossible future sends shudders through me and I force breathe into my lungs before Brine notices.

  “Found a lass for me yet, Brine?”

  She shrugs. “My grandmother seemed enamored with you.”

  “She wast a very charming lady, but she hath a particularness to paintings with naked cherubims. I wouldst nary be at peace upon the moment their eyes laid upon me when I must undress for bed.”

  She doesn’t offer up any more suggestions so I concede she hasn’t been looking. Not that I really expected her to, anyway.

  “Oh, my parents are dragging me to London on Monday because apparently the only acceptable dress for a Whaerin comes from London which is kissed by the Queen.” She makes a noise of alarm and I snap my eyes to her. She’s jabbing me in the chest with her finger. “No! You are not going to show up!”

  I laugh which further pushes the tone of cherry on her cheeks. “I dost nary need to, Brine. Ye parents art going to be present with ye. It wouldst take one bold, blood lusting assassin to kill all three of ye.”

  “Four. Our marcramist is coming too.”

  “So thy safety tis assured. I shouldst nary be distracting thee on that trip.” I keep pushing that word on her that she pushed on me, to keep reminding her she’s not the only one “distracted”. She is, however, the one who keeps intentionally distracting.

  It’s only a few miles to the river. I spot fire flickering ahead, guarded over by two people. The girl who has yet to take off her mask and an aging man who stands as we enter into the ring of light.

  “Brinella!” The man smiles and motions Brine over who hesitatingly accepts his half embrace. The man’s eyes lock onto me.

  “Are you the wizard Zadicayn?”

  “Yea.”

  “Come closer so my old eyes can see you.”

  Scanning his body for weapons, I step forward tentatively. The man squints at me… trying to find proof, no doubt. I relax my eyes so they flash to gold.

  “Bloody priest, it is him!”

  “Corden, I told you as much after what happened in the lumber house,” the masked girl says. “Did you think me a liar?”

  “No no. Just… such amazing things have to be witnessed firsthand, you know?” Corden’s energy and smile warm me. “Please, sit with us by the fire. There are things I would like to tell you.”

  I settle myself onto the log in front of the fire next to Brine.

  “Do you mind if I ask some questions? If you don’t want to answer just shake your head.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “How long were you in the vault?”

  The question used to bother me. Now I use it to power my motivation to continue the climb out of it. “Three hundred twenty-four years.”

  “No…” Corden shakes his head. “No, that… that’s monstrous. I… if I had the means to get you out… I would have. I’m so… so sorry –”

  “Dost nary be so. I just be glad I hath people on my side now that I be out.” I look at both the man and the thief and they nod. I remember what Joseara said about her family dying in a fire. Because of me. “Though, at the cost of what ye two must hath been through, tears at me like daggers. I be sorry. No one shouldst suffer on my behalf.” That old shudder, vibrating my limbs as my emotions trampled about to find a seat. I get it under control before Brine notices, so she doesn’t give away her coat to a gypsy boy again.

  “Please don’t be, wizard,” Corden says. “You didn’t choose to lock yourself away. But we chose to fight for you. Sadly, our efforts did not work. Not enough voices. When we did speak up, we were killed. But seeing you out is a relief that our losses were not in vain. Now we must figure out how to integrate you back into society.”

  This surprises me, but they are all nodding. Even Brine.

  “We don’t want you to feel trapped in your castle,” Corden begins, as if all three of them had had this conversation previously. “You are human and can benefit us again like all the wizards used to. I think if we play it right, the church will come to understand that you are not a demon once they see the good you can do for us.”

  Sure, up until the day I die and then the world will be devoured by Faewraiths. But I don’t tell them that. Neither does Brine. No need to feed people with fear they have no control over.

  “That wouldst be nice,” I agree, which parallels my own plan I had thought I was going to have to do on my own. “I couldst believe the church mighten accept me. But what of the three families?”

  Corden nods once. “This is a game we must play carefully. Slowly. Start out with… like, going to church with us on Sunday so the priest can witness you did not burst into flames like a demon would upon touching holy ground. Then you befriend the priest…” His eyes light up as ideas must be sparkling in his head. “We will figure out how to make it work. I know of others who support you but have otherwise done nothing about it for fear of retaliation from either the church or the three families. I will see if I can convince them. Is there something you can give me to prove you are alive and free?”

  The idea to feel human again, to function as a member in society again, brings heat to my heart.

  His request is a risk to me. To even him. But this became a risk the moment I climbed out of the vault. If I want to find my nineteen wizards, I’ve got to start.

  I finger the dirt until I find a twig no bigger or longer than the stem of a chicken feather. On one end I whispered the spell for ice and on the opposite I call upon the Fae for fire.

  A cube of ice blooms on one end. It is small so as not to break the twig, but obvious. The other end of my twig forks a baby curl of flame.

  Brine is leaning in really close to see better. “What happened to your finger?”

  I look at the mare on my fingertip. “The Fae Wood box I telleth ye about?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Fae cuteth my finger, so this fingerprint shall appear upon the box at my death. Tis how the box opens. Ye art so curious. Wouldst ye also like to know how I hath a scare on my right hip?”

  “Yes!”

  I ignore her, handing the wonder to Corden, who hesitates before taking it.

  “The fire shall nary burn the stick, or anything, and the ice shall hold even under sunlight. Show only those ye trust, but nary force them to believe. I shan’t have any more deaths for my name on my conscience.”

  “Nary?”

  “It means not or don’t,” Brine translates.

  “I see. Certainly. It will take time. But I believe it will work. Would you be willing to come to church with us tomorrow?”

  My heart races at the request. My father is buried in the backyard. But I must start somewhere.

  “Yea. I shall go.”

  And while we plan, the small seed of heat spreads to my limbs, muffling all my fears for a brief reprieve. I stand on a solid foundation of hope, that even when I lose Brine, there are others I can lean on. And because I now have others to lean on, I need to put Brine down as softly as I can. Being in London should give her some time to detach and give myself the words I need to say to her to send her on her way so I can move on, too. Before it gets to the point where I can’t let her go.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  BRINELLA

  Zadicayn is going to meet me there. I’m scared for him. I have no right to feel like a mother letting her child out on his own for the first time, but I do. It’s hard pretending
I don’t recognize him when my father’s coach rolls in front of the church.

  He’s standing outside the parish in a crisp black suit borrowed from Corden. He is speaking with Corden, likely cementing their story that Zadicayn is a relative visiting from London. Which might also explain his unique hair style that is at odds with the citizens of Valemorren.

  I exit the coach and have to force my eyes away from the wizard or our secret planning might show up on my face for everyone to see. I walk around the weeping stone angel statue in the churchyard and enter the parish.

  The priest climbs his pedestal and scans the congregation before him with a more bladed edge than usual. I tense. He knows.

  Yes, the priest knows. Knows of the demon-summoned creature found at the Whaerin lumber house, knows it brought fire with it and almost destroyed a good family’s business because that is what always happens when people go cohorting (seriously, he needs a better word) with demons because nothing ever ever ever good comes from cohorting with demons and magic and bla bla bla.

  It’s easy to ignore the yawning pit of hell opening up behind the priest’s eyes, but it takes my mother asking why my hands are shaking for me take a deep breath because the preacher hasn’t yet pointed a finger at me.

  But he did. Just now. And I expect the moment my dress would start on fire because he exposed me – but his pointed finger moves on to sweep across the rest of the congregation to encompass everyone. I don’t relax.

  Then everyone is standing and I shake myself back to a place vacant of priests and cohorting demons. “What’s going on? Is it over already?”

  “Weren’t you paying attention?” my mother asks.

  “I got distracted… by my upcoming marriage.”

  She smiles and rumples my bonnet. “The priest said they found a demon in the Whaerin lumber house. The same night it almost burned down. He wants everyone to look at it.”

  Everyone begins filing through the doorway leading to the catacombs below. I don’t know how to choreograph my face for the appropriate reaction for when I see it, so I mimic my mother who is appalled and revolted and comments that whoever summoned it has a coach waiting to take them to Hell. I’m just a little offended. That thing almost killed me. Unless it is a different Faewraith that… no no, nevermind. There is the slit on its neck Zadicayn made with his knife during his flying leap at it.