Beggar Magic

by Burke, H. L.

  “Is it true the Strains don’t sing in Rynar?” Zeb asked.

  Leilani frowned. “I’ve never been to Rynar, but my grandmother said she never heard them until their ship landed in Gelia. She thinks the Strains may belong here and here alone, like Gelian wrens or the golden spotted fish which swim in every pond in Rynar but are never seen in Gelia.”

  Zeb nodded. “I can’t imagine living without the Strains.”

  “Neither can I,” Leilani agreed.

  The trees thinned as they approached a rutted dirt road. Recognizing it as one of the back roads leading towards the main thoroughfare, Leilani stepped out and glanced up at the skies.

  The sun had dropped below the treeline ahead of them. Leilani had told her mother she'd be back in time for dinner. If she turned back now, she might make it, barely. She gave Zeb a sideways glance.

  “This will lead to the highway coming from the main gate. Can you find your way from there?”

  Zeb opened her mouth, closed it again, and shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Leilani sighed, loudly. “I hope it’s not too far. It will be dark soon.”

  The two girls pushed on. The shadows lengthened across the road. Zebedy whispered to the Strains, and the air around her hands began to glow, shining pink through her fingers. It made her bones visible and cast a circle of light about them. Entranced, Leilani touched the other girl’s hands. She exhaled slowly.

  “I didn't even know they could make light. I wish I could do that.”

  “Here.” Zeb took Leilani’s left hand about the wrist and hummed.

  Leilani’s skin tingled and came alight. She smiled.

  “Come on.” Leilani tugged at Zeb’s arm. “Let’s get you home.”

  An owl hooted in the distance, and Zeb flinched. As if in response, Leilani’s fingers blinked out. Regret filled her chest. Well, it had been nice to touch something more than beggar magic, if only for a moment.

  A twig cracked somewhere nearby. This time Leilani jumped. She pushed Zeb a little harder, trying to concentrate on the Strains and not her own morbid imagination. “We need to walk faster.”

  Chapter Two

  Leilani and Zebedy walked hand in hand. Leilani’s legs were leaden and her stomach growled. They had devoured the last of her supplies shortly before sunset, and with the darkness surrounding them and no sign of Zeb’s so-called “Country House,” Leilani wondered if they would be walking all night.

  My parents are going to kill me, if I don't starve to death first. I should've told Zeb I'd take her home with me instead . . . Why didn't I think of that? Too late now. She shook her head and pressed onward.

  Cries of animals and the shrieks of night-birds rang through the trees, and shudders traveled down Zebedy’s arm into Leilani’s.

  “Don’t worry,” Leilani said. “My father told me there's nothing near the city large enough to hunt people.”

  But with only the faint light from Zeb’s spells to guide them, this assurance felt hollow.

  “What about people?” Zebedy’s voice quavered. “Bad people, Wordless people, bandits and murderers and . . . and bad people.”

  Leilani bit her bottom lip. Her mother had warned her about the Wordless, whose violent acts caused the Strains to no longer sing to them. Crime was rare within the borders of Gelia, for few would risk their communion with the Strains by spilling blood. The worst rumors spoke only of financial evil–trickery and greed–and the Weavers lacked the riches needed to draw such folk to their doors. However, the Wordless did exist, and outside, alone in the night, anything seemed possible.

  “We must be almost there,” Leilani said.

  They walked along the empty highway. Occasionally the woods on either side would open up into great, flat fields or neat rows of fruit trees, but they never sighted a farmhouse. It was too dark to see far from the road. Zebedy swore the Country House would be lit and easily marked, so the girls pressed onward.

  After about an hour, voices echoed through the trees, and a smile brightened Zeb’s face.

  “They’re looking for me! They’re calling! Come on! We’re almost there!” She burst into a run, and Leilani sprinted to keep up.

  They turned a bend in the road, and Leilani stared up in bewilderment at the structure before her. Still a fair distance ahead, the red brick house rose like a mountain from behind an iron fence. Lanterns hung from poles on either side of the gate, and the windows within glowed warmly, as if the house watched them with yellow, welcoming eyes.

  Shadowy figures with hands glowing like Zeb’s trudged through the trees around the house, calling out, “Zebedy! Zebedy!”

  “Here!” Zeb cried, raising her luminous fingers to the stars. “Come on. I’m famished.”

  As they came into the circle of light cast by the lanterns, three adults–a man and woman in their twenties and an older woman with gray hair–rushed to them. All wore draping robes, though the man had his unfastened to reveal a waistcoat and trousers beneath, similar to those Leilani’s father wore. The older woman grabbed Zeb by the wrist, her face so stern that for a moment Leilani suspected she would strike the girl. She ran her hands up and down Zeb’s arms, whirled her a full circle, then touched Zeb’s chin, tilting her head back.

  “You seem to be whole,” she said. “Blast it, child, where were you? Do you know how many people have been searching for you? And for how long? Have you no sense?”

  Zeb, in spite of being years past the age Leilani considered crying appropriate, teared up. Her bottom lip shook.

  “I didn’t mean to, Mistress Clavia. I just lost track of time. The Strains were so beautiful in the woods. I won’t do it again. I promise!”

  The woman’s glinting blue eyes softened, and she released the girl. She nodded curtly. “Well, no harm done. Come inside. You must be fed and washed. Another hour and I would’ve had to send word to your parents. You can thank the Maker it didn’t come to that. They might’ve removed you from my care and then what chance would you have for a good appointment?”

  Zeb grinned as she turned back towards Leilani who lingered in the shadows.

  “Come on, Leilani. I will show you my room.”

  “Leilani?” Mistress Clavia’s brows furrowed then rose to her hairline when Leilani stepped closer.

  Zebedy wrapped her arm about Leilani's shoulders. “This is Leilani. She brought me home. She knows an awful lot about roads and gates and east and west and the like. She can stay with me tonight.”

  “Miss Zebedy, you can’t just pick up stray Common folk. They aren’t kittens. I’m sure she has a home and a family she needs to get back to.”

  Leilani yawned and wavered on her feet. Maybe she would get home after all. “I live in the Trade District.”

  “That's too far to take her tonight, Mistress,” the younger woman said. “Perhaps she can stay in the servants' quarters, and one of them can escort her home tomorrow.”

  Leilani grimaced. Well, at least the servants' quarters probably have beds.

  Zeb held Leilani so tight her shoulders scrunched up against her neck. “She’s not a servant or a pet; she’s my guest–and my hero. I never would’ve found my way home without her.”

  “That may be, but your parents entrusted me with your care.” Mistress Clavia waved her finger.

  “My parents say the Maker would have us treat others as we ourselves wish to be treated. It's the foremost command. Is it not?” Zebedy drew herself up like the Sanctified Brothers during Holy Day sermons. “And you said Highmost have a responsibility to the Common, remember? During your Welcome Day speech, you said, ‘We have been given greater magic so we may aid those who do not have such powers, not so we may exploit them.’ You said that! Well, wouldn’t it be exploiting to shove her amongst the servants just because she’s Common?”

  Leilani swallowed, her eyes widening. Zeb argued with grownups as if she were one. Amongst the folk of the Trade District such impertinence would usually lead to physical consequences.

  Mistress Clavia
, however, simply exhaled and nodded. “Well, she did escort you home. I will have a cot set out for her. Jonna, take the girls inside and see to it they get some dinner. Parin, make sure everyone knows Miss Brightly has returned, so they can stop searching.”

  Swept up into the whirlwind of Zebedy, Leilani shut her mouth and enjoyed the benefits. Jonna escorted them up the brick path, through a great, arched doorway, and into a room with a table that stretched on for yards and yards. A white-aproned teenager laid out plates of food at the foot and lit a candelabra. The girls sat, and Leilani picked up her fork. The dish included a breast of chicken, a pile of bright green string beans, and firm but still toothsome lentils.

  Zebedy babbled between bites, only finishing about half her meal long after Leilani had scraped the last lentil from her plate. When the servant returned, Zeb relinquished her remaining food. Jonna glided into the room.

  “I had your wash basin filled and found a cot and change of clothes for Miss Leilani,” she said. “Do you wish me to escort you?”

  “No, thank you,” Zeb said. “Come, Leilani. I’ll show you where we’ll be sleeping.”

  Occasional gas lamps provided a dim, ambient light for the echoing halls. Leilani stared as they passed into a marbled foyer, under a crystal chandelier, and up a broad staircase. Velvet carpet lined the passage at the top of the steps, and rows of doors flanked either side.

  “How many people live here?” Leilani whispered.

  “Do you mean staff, trainers, or students?” Zeb asked.

  “All, I suppose.”

  “Well, it varies, then. There are always two trainers per manor–Art, Healing, Civics, Research, Weather, and Industry–and then Mistress Clavia herself, and her assistant, and maybe a dozen servants. I think this year there are a dozen students. Mistress only chooses the ones who show extreme promise. Sometimes she will be in a generous mood come application time and will allow as many as fifty students to enroll, but most years it's under twenty and some years as few as five. Spending a year at the Country House means the manors will fight over you, and most graduates can choose the manor they wish to attend.”

  “So you divide up into ‘manors’ the way tradesmen branch off into guilds?” Leilani stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.

  “Guilds? I suppose so. Do different guilds specialize in specific things?”

  “Yes, my father is a weaver in the textiles guild but there are grocers guilds and carpenters and the like. Mostly, though, it's passed from parent to child. My father is training my brother to take over the family shop someday.”

  “You have a brother?” Zeb’s eyes widened.

  “And a sister. My sister, Keris, is two years older and my brother, Kip, five years younger. I was relieved when he was born. My father was set to train me as a weaver. Girls can be tradesmen. It's rare, but if a man doesn’t have a son, a daughter works in a pinch. I didn’t want to, though.”

  “What do you want to do, then?”

  “If I could pick anything, I think I would be a translator for the Merchant Guild. I speak Rynaran fluently. It's hard to get an apprenticeship in a guild unless you have family connections, however, and my family is made up of craftsmen, not merchants. Merchants get to travel and talk with people from all over the world. I think I’d like that.”

  “But you might have to leave Gelia . . . and the Strains!” Zeb’s voice squeaked.

  Leilani shrugged. “Not often, and it's only a dream. Most likely I’ll marry another craftsman and learn to help in his shop, like my mother.”

  Zebedy stopped by a door, identical to the others except for the number “9” carved into the top panel. She put her hand to the latch and pushed it open. Orange firelight surrounded them, and Leilani inhaled the comforting smell of woodsmoke. They stepped inside, and Zeb closed the door behind them.

  “This is your room?” Leilani asked. She swallowed uncomfortably. Her entire family shared a living space not much bigger than this over her father’s shop. A great bed covered in fluffy looking quilts and four puffy pillows stood against the wall across from the fire. Along the wall opposite the door, a desk rested in the moonlight. Leilani’s feet sank into a thick rug. Someone had set up a cot in the middle of the floor, near enough to the fire to be bathed in light, but far enough away to be out of the reach of sparks.

  Zeb crossed over and touched the wick of a lantern with her fingertips, setting it alight with the Strains. She replaced the glass shade over the flickering flame and turned up the wick so that the light fell over the desk.

  Leilani watched in amazement. It seemed Zeb didn't even need to speak to the Strains to get them to do her bidding. They anticipated her desires. Could they read her thoughts? Was her connection to them that strong? What was it like to be Highmost?

  Leilani cast her eyes from one luxury to another, letting out a long breath. Finally her eyes settled on the wooden bookshelf. She knelt in awe before this abundance of volumes and scanned the embossed titles.

  “Do these books belong to Mistress Clavia?” she asked, concerned that the Mistress would entrust such treasures to the girl who had lost her shoe in the woods that day.

  “Oh, no, all Mistress’s books are in the library downstairs. These are just the ones I brought from home, about the Strains mostly, though some are my favorite novels.”

  “Novels?” Leilani exhaled. Mrs. Weaver had seen to it that all her children could read both Rynaran and Gelian, but books were considered too precious for children. Their family owned two: an ancient tome of Rynaran homeopathic medicine, which had seen their family through many bouts of fever and flu, and the Sanctified Texts, a collection of spiritual works the Sanctified Brothers liked to distribute, even to the poorest families. Leilani had read them both multiple times, though the spines spanned from her little finger to her thumb.

  “Yes, novels.” Zeb sat beside Leilani with her legs crossed beneath her. She eased one of the thinner volumes off the shelf. “This is my absolute favorite: The Venture of Sir Marcel. It has a dragon and a Highmost who sings the dragon into submission and flies him to rescue a princess. There are some ‘kissy bits’ at the end, but the best parts are all the fighting and flying and magic. Have you read it?”

  “No.”

  “You should. Here, you can borrow it.” Zeb held the book out to Leilani who instinctively drew back.

  She stared at the red leather cover with fancy golden letters proclaiming the title and author. What did such a book cost?

  Zeb’s face fell and her freckled nose reddened. “I'm sorry. Do you not like to read?”

  “No, it's just . . . if I borrow it, how will I get it back to you?” Leilani dropped her eyes, unwilling to admit that taking responsibility for something as wonderful as that book frightened her.

  “I visit my parents once a month in the city. Maybe you can come visit me then.” Zeb pushed the novel at her. “Besides, I know the story front to back. I don’t suppose I will need to read it again. Maybe when I'm old. Old people can be forgetful, and I would hate to forget how to sing to a dragon with the Strains.”

  This knowledge, while amusing, didn’t strike Leilani as particularly useful, dragons being fictional, but she relented and took the book.

  Zeb meandered across the room and sat upon the bed. She gazed at Leilani, opened her mouth, shut it again, then averted her eyes.

  Leilani frowned. “What?”

  Zeb cleared her throat. “There's a question I like to ask people, but . . . I've never asked a Common person before, and I don't want you to take it the wrong way. I promise I ask everybody. Well, everybody I like, anyway.”

  Leilani narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”

  “What do the Strains sound like to you?”

  Leilani bit the inside of her bottom lip. “You ask everybody that? It seems kind of personal.”

  “I just like to know. Everyone I've ever asked hears them a little differently. My parents, for instance, Father says they sound like a man's voice, and they are very s
tern at times, never musical, but Mother, they talk to her like a child and giggle and sing all the time. Do Common people talk about them?”

  Leilani nodded. “Sometimes. We don't hear them alike either. I mean, often they have the same mood, like if the Strains sound happy to me, they probably sound happy to everyone else in the room too.”

  “I've noticed that! I think they talk to each other.”

  “They don't have a constant sound to me. I guess that's kind of odd. My other family members talk about whistling or flutes or birdsong even, but it's consistent for them. For me, it changes moment to moment. Sometimes they are instruments, other times voices, never with words, but just sort of humming.”

  Zeb's face lit up. “That's kind of like me! I mean, most Highmost I've talked to hear only one voice, but I swear I sometimes hear five or six all talking together.”

  Leilani reached up and pulled a few hairpins out of her bun, freeing her hair. “Have they ever told you what they are?”

  Zeb's brow furrowed.

  Leilani cleared her throat. “I mean . . . the Sanctified Texts say they are messengers from the Maker, you know, sent to guide and protect us, but sometimes . . . I can always hear the Strains, but sometimes they don't seem to hear me.”

  Zeb lowered her eyes. “No, they always hear me.”

  “Forget it.” Leilani turned away. What had possessed her to compare her Strains experience with a Highmost? Of course Zeb never felt like the Strains couldn't hear her.

  “They don't like to talk about what they are, exactly,” Zeb said. “It's frustrating how they dodge questions sometimes, but I can tell when they like people, and they really seem to like you.”

  Leilani whirled around and eyed the other girl, half thinking Zeb was making fun of her. However, Zeb's eyes looked sincere, apologetic even.

  “I didn't mean to . . . I mean, I've never had a Common friend before. We don't have to talk about the Strains anymore, if you don't want to.”

  “It's fine. I'm tired, though.” Leilani rubbed at her eyes, which itched and watered. Her gaze fell longingly onto the cot. The skin of her forehead tightened. It had been an impossible day, in both length and content. The Strains hummed in what could almost be considered a lullaby.