Wren Journeymage

by Sherwood Smith

  “No,” Wren said. “But Connor here can. Connor can also explain why your spells go awry.”

  Arbran laughed again. “You heard about that? I studied . . . but I was always . . . somehow . . . a very bad mage. Became a good storyteller.” He stretched out his hand, grown thin from the months that he’d been forced into stone shape.

  Wren closed her hands around his, feeling the warmth of his skin, but there was no strength, just bones. “You need to rest.”

  “I’m all right,” he said. “Talk is easy. Sweeping the deck . . . well, that can wait for tomorrow . . .”

  It was a joke, so Wren smiled, but it wrung her heart anew to realize Andreus had caught her father when he was coming to find her, after all these years of wandering on his part, and wondering why he’d never come to find her, on hers. “Magic?” He shifted his gaze to Connor. “Bad mage all my life. Reason?”

  “It has to do with ancestors,” Connor said. “If you inherit magical talents from the Iyon Daiyin, or Hrethan, well, then, when you try to build the spells by the regular method, it’s like trying to divert a river through a straw. Using a mirror. That’s what Master Gastarth told me last night.” He looked doubtful, then said, “If you’re too tired to answer, please don’t, but did you ever feel more magic when in mountains?”

  Arbran twitched his head, too weak to shake it. “Never went high. Stayed low, where more people live. I could do little illusions. Storytelling. I am good at that. And I like it.”

  Wren said, “Papa.” It felt so good to speak that word! “Just tell me where you would like to go. They’re going to shift the mages as soon as they recover a little. The senior mages will do the magic themselves.”

  His fingers pressed hers briefly. “With you,” he whispered, still with his eyes closed.

  “I’m glad. Then we’ll have lots and lots of time to talk.” Wren bent to kiss his hand, and they left him to sleep. They returned to the captain’s cabin, where they found Halfrid and the ancient brother and sister known as Mistress Selshaf and Master Gastarth.

  “How are you feeling?” Halfrid asked, as the twins regarded her with concern.

  “I want to get back to Cantirmoor and see Tess,” Wren said. “That’s what I want. I’m fine, otherwise. Really.”

  In the background, Captain Tebet kept chuckling, a rusty sound that cheered Wren very much. All the way as they rowed back to the ship, Captain Tebet had repeated over and over how much she’d loved seeing the beams in that castle crack and snap, sending Andreus’s minions scuttling out like spiders before the whole thing crashed down the mountainside.

  “Best thing I ever did see,” she kept saying. “What a tale it will make!”

  Now Master Gastarth said, “We must report to the rest of the Council, for they have not known our whereabouts for a year. We must do it while we still can maintain the human form.”

  Connor said, “Human is not your natural form, is it?”

  “No,” Mistress Selshaf said gently. “It is more difficult every time we change. And we can maintain this shape for fewer days.”

  Master Gastarth turned to Halfrid. “Shall we meet again at your Destination?”

  “Either that or at the palace. I suspect our young queen will be thinking the same thing Wren is, and we shall find ourselves gathered there by royal decree. And it is more comfortable,” Halfrid said, smiling around at them all.

  Master Gastarth exchanged glances with his sister. “I rather think that will be most appropriate place for our business. Anon.”

  He and his sister bent down, each touching the stretcher on which Andreus lay, deeply asleep by magic spell. Someone had wrapped the worst of his broken bones, but even so, Wren could hardly bear to look at him. Villain or not, he would wake up in terrible pain, both inside and out.

  As if she heard Wren’s thought, Mistress Selshaf turned to her, silvery hair wisping across her wrinkled face. “We shall do our best to heal him,” she promised. “It is why we have followed him for this past year, he and your friend there, trying to divine what was best for them, and for the world.” She nodded at Connor, whose face reddened.

  Wren was charmed to see Connor blush like that. What kind of secret conference had he had with his erstwhile jackdaws, while she had been busy eating Patka’s best cooking—she’d insisted she made it herself—and then sleeping?

  He’d tell her, she knew. In his own time.

  The Sendimeris twins vanished, taking Andreus with them.

  Halfrid turned to Captain Tebet. “I’m certain that one or more of the local governments will be along to investigate here, and do whatever they think must be done with those who fled into the interior of the island. I really think if they were to be convinced that this island could be held as a neutral port for legitimate traders, it might be included in their protective cruises.”

  Captain Tebet beamed. Wren realized Halfrid was offering her the entire island if she wanted to adopt it as a home base—it would be she who ‘held’ it as a neutral port. Wren loved the idea of Tomad Island becoming a haven for people like Patka, Lambin, Longface, and the others.

  Halfrid said to Wren, “I’m going to stay long enough for the Council to return.” He indicated the crew’s quarters below, where the mages who had once been gargoyles were all lying, most asleep. “These mages are far too weak to transfer, and some even to walk, as you saw. I think they are far better off being shifted to the Summer Islands for healing.”

  Wren and Connor knew it was time to say good-bye to their friends.

  Wren said, “Captain Tebet, thank you for everything.”

  “Hah,” the captain exclaimed, looking pleased. “Did well enough for meself, I did. Got to see the crackiest sight I ever seen, that villain’s castle fallin’ down. And now there’s plenty of stone to build a fine port for the likes o’ us.”

  “Are you going to build a fleet to fight against pirates?” Connor asked.

  “Are ye offering volunteerly to come help me?” Captain Tebet retorted shrewdly.

  Connor looked Wren’s way, then reddened to his ears.

  Wren laughed. “Maybe.”

  “Well then! Might happen. Might just happen. Or I can go round the world. Find and visit my boy and girl, wherever they are. I get some fun outa just thinking about it.” She turned her head. “Meantime, I have you to thank for bringing me good crew-members. Always hard to find, good crew.”

  Patka, her brothers, and Lambin came forward. Wren could tell Patka was happy at last—she loved the ship, she loved Captain Tebet, and she loved cooking, and most of all, she loved having a place where she belonged.

  Danal was clutching the transfer token Wren had requested from Halfrid when she first spoke to him; if Danal decided to come to the school for the new season the next spring, he could use the token. He was turning it over and over in his hand, smiling happily at Wren. She smiled back, knowing she’d be seeing him again.

  She turned to exchange farewells with the rest of the Piper’s crew, and then it was time for the shift. Halfrid had worked hard to create a big enough square for transferring several people. But his skills were strong, and the transfer, when it happened, was as smooth as such things can be.

  Wren found herself standing in the antechamber of the royal palace. The light, slanting in just before sunset, the smell of the old rose garden and beeswax candles, was so familiar that she just stood, blinking back tears.

  Twenty-Nine

  Servants appeared, Halfrid spoke, and somehow her father was taken one way, and she and Connor another.

  Five heartbeats later they heard a brisk step and Tyron launched himself through the door, Teressa just behind. “Wren!” He stopped, putting his hands on his hips. “You couldn’t just pick a normal journeymage project? Nooooo, not you!”

  “I didn’t pick one at all,” Wren said, surprised. “In fact, I have to talk to you about that. I just don’t think I’m ready yet. Wait until you hear about my flubs on the sea. Beginning with squawking chickens!” />
  She would have gone on, but she saw Tyron send a strange glance Connor’s way, a look of smothered laughter followed by a hasty assumption of mock solemnity.

  “What,” Wren said, glaring from one to the other. “What is it? Are you going to start telling all the new students about my chickens?”

  Teressa came forward then, arms out. Wren hugged her, then stepped back, looking doubtfully into her friend’s face. “I’m sorry about what I said,” Wren offered. “Hawk, I mean. I hope—I hope it’s going all right.”

  “Hawk is gone,” Teressa said, looking wry.

  “I think I’ll just see about some chickens,” Tyron said loudly. “Connor. Let’s strut.” He flapped a hand toward the door. “Cackle-cackle!”

  Wren had to laugh at the unsubtle hint.

  “Buck-a-buck buck!” Connor crowed, then whisked out of the door, shutting it behind him.

  Teressa looked around. The room was one of the many minor parlors, with pleasing, old-fashioned furniture designed around the few pieces left over from the fire and destruction of the war. “We may as well talk here,” she said. “I want to hear everything.”

  “It’ll take a long time,” Wren warned. “But first. I apologize for the things I said that day. Nosing into your business.”

  Teressa’s smile faded. “But you were right. Hawk does what he wants when he wants.” She moved to the window, her hands dusting back and forth along the window sill. “We got our first rain of autumn today,” she said, then turned. “And it seemed to wash away all the foolishness of summer. As for your words, when we were small, and heart-free, we used to tell one another what we thought. Somehow, when it comes to matters of the heart, it’s harder to hear what you don’t want to hear.”

  Wren nodded, not knowing what to think, or to say. So she just listened.

  And it was enough. Teressa went on, “Others told me the same thing you did, or tried. Carlas was the loudest and most determined, as you’d expect. But I didn’t listen, until something happened that made me hear what all of you had been saying all along. But a fierce attraction can make a person see only that and shut out the rest of the world, if you let it. And I did. For a time. Then, well, I sent him away. No, I didn’t send him. He left, and he knows why. I don’t know if anything will be worth the effort of his changing his perspective. Only he knows that.” Teressa sighed, then frowned in puzzlement. “Have you ever felt any attraction for anyone?”

  Wren got prickly heat all over. “A week ago I would have said no, but I think I would have been wrong. Now I know.”

  Teressa gave a slow nod. “Ah. Connor, is it? He certainly seems to care for you. I’ve never seen that expression on his face, the way he was smiling at you when Tyron started clowning around about chickens.”

  “I really like hugging him.” Wren grinned. “I just discovered that. It makes me feel like, well, like a sunburst happened inside my skin. And before that, I was missing him so much. You too,” she added quickly. “But it was different, somehow. I can’t explain.”

  Teressa smiled, but Wren felt a small shock at the sight of unshed tears along her friend’s eyelids. “And so you two will probably find your path goes together, as easy as that.”

  Teressa whirled around, then back again. “Not that I want it to be difficult for you! I want you to be happy, for the rest of your life. I just don’t see why I can’t be as well, but it seems I make mistakes every time I—”

  Teressa stilled, her face so taut that there were shadows that one day would be lines. Wren was amazed at how much she resembled King Verne, who had had that very same expression when he was troubled.

  Wren held out her hands.

  Teressa reached, touching Wren’s hands, but Wren could see it took an effort. Teressa did not want a pity hug—or pity words. So Wren changed the subject. “Did you notice my father among all those people? I figured you wouldn’t mind if he came back with us.”

  Teressa’s eyes widened. She dashed her embroidered, silken sleeve against her eyelids, then said, “Your father? Tyron said something about that, but—well, of course he’s welcome! He can stay here, and as long as he likes. I look forward to meeting him.”

  “He’s weak yet,” Wren said.

  Teressa nodded, then straightened up, chin lifted. “Forget what I said. I was just whining. Time and experience might not be so bad a thing for me.”

  Wren was relieved to see Teressa sounding more herself. “Sure. That makes sense for Connor and me, too. Time and experience. His mother might be wanting him to marry some princess some day, and as for me, oh, I don’t know, it’s just so new. And fun. But new means it has to get a little age on it before I figure out what to do next.”

  “Then don’t worry about it now,” Teressa said. “I’m just glad to have you back.”

  A knock interrupted them, and Teressa opened the door.

  Tyron poked his head in. “Wren, they’re ready for you.”

  “They?” Wren asked blankly.

  Tyron slipped in. He was wearing his white tunic with the formal blue sash of a master neatly tied round his middle. His hair was even combed!

  “Tyron?” Wren asked, eyeing that combed hair warily.

  “Come along, Journeymage,” Tyron said, taking hold of her shoulder and guiding her out.

  Smiling, Teressa fell in behind.

  They walked down the long hall to the most formidable of the parlors, the Queen’s Audience Room, all peachy marble with fine gilt chandeliers and two splendid tapestries, one depicting Queen Rhis founding the kingdom, and the other the wizards Prince Morayen and Tre Resdir discovering the Rainbow River, a place of ancient magic.

  Before that tapestry stood a line of mages in their formal white and blue, except for two who wore white with white sashes. Wren stopped, staring in surprise when she saw Master Gastarth and Mistress Selshaf. Then she realized that all the mage teachers from the school—including Mistress Leila, Connor’s older half-sister, who must have come straight from Siradayel—were there as well!

  “Step forward, Journeymage, so that we may invest you with the robes of a Mistress of Magic,” Halfrid said.

  “What?” Wren looked around. “Haven’t you got the wrong person?”

  Despite the formal room, and them in their best mage clothing, they smiled, half of them trying not to laugh.

  Master Gastarth said, “Do you not think defeating an entire pirate fleet is enough of a journeymage work?”

  Wren’s mouth opened. “But that was easy! Once I knew what I was doing, and planned it all out. When I had the real emergency, that first pirate attack, I almost got us killed for all the mistakes I made. I am not ready to be a journeymage yet.”

  “How many people would have been able to fend off six ships, Wren?” Mistress Leila asked.

  Wren pointed. “You, for one. I knew you would have gotten rid of them in a couple of clever spells, and never once a flub.”

  “Maybe now,” Mistress Leila said. “Though it would take more than two spells. But when I was a young journeymage on her very first journey?” She shook her head.

  Mistress Selshaf said in her kind voice, “Wren, these tests are really only guideposts we make up along our way, but the truth is, great mages are always learning, and improving, and learning and improving some more. Very few of us could have done as well as you with so little aid, when we were at the same age and had the same level of experience.”

  “And some never make it that far. They find meaningful work in small ways that do not require tests such as defeating pirate fleets,” Halfrid said. “But you have the makings of a great mage, and if you regard this day as one of many marking your upward road in knowledge and skill, then you will have achieved all we really want for you.”

  Wren swallowed, turning doubtful eyes to Tyron. He gestured. “Come on, Wren.” He flashed his foxy grin. “How do you think I felt, getting my white robe right after the war, when the school was a fire-scorched mess, half the staff was missing, and I still thought I had
to take my last year of classes?”

  Master Gastarth added, “We watched you during your so-called easy portion. You did exactly what we spend so much time training you to do: take the responsibility for solving a problem that needs solving, make your plans, work carefully on them, and delegate tasks to those who are best equipped to carry them out. The actions, in short, of a master mage.”

  “Oh,” Wren said in a small voice. Then she squared her shoulders. And, in a steady voice, “In that case, well, I guess I’m ready.”

  The Sendimeris twins both held the robe, dropping it over Wren’s shoulders. It felt light and cool and heavy all at once. Halfrid stepped forward with the blue sash held in both hands, but he stopped, and it was Mistress Leila and Tyron, her two main teachers, who took the ends and wrapped the sash around her middle. Mistress Leila tied the knot, then stepped back. “Welcome to the ranks of the Magic Council of Magicians, Mistress Wren.”

  And, one by one, the others said the same words. By the end Wren’s eyes blurred with tears, but then the formality was over, and they all crowded around, everyone talking and laughing, until the distant bell rang, and Teressa touched Wren’s shoulder.

  “Mistress Wren, will you lead the way to dinner?” she asked.

  Mistress Wren. Somehow it sounded almost real, coming from Teressa—who had had to become a queen at far too young an age, when she’d barely gotten used to the idea of being a princess.

  Afterward, Wren remembered only bits of that happy occasion. All the masters took turns telling of flubs and near-disasters they had encountered during their early years, until Wren began to feel that the chickens actually had their proper place in the ceremony, as much as her new blue sash.

  At the other end of the table, Connor sat with Mistress Leila and with a tall, hard-looking man who was vaguely familiar.

  Wren watched, puzzled, as the man talked to Connor, making him laugh from time to time. “Who’s that?” she asked Tyron.

  “Don’t you recognize Prince Rollan?”

  “Oh yes! But why is he here?”