A Muddle of Magic

by Alexandra Rushe

  “Hurry,” the Durngesi said, taking Seratha by the arm.

  Dodging falling stones, he guided her away from the crumbling spire, through the gate, and up across the land bridge that connected Shadow Mount to the mainland. They reached safety and stopped to look back.

  “It was a lie,” Seratha said. “Zared was nothing he pretended to be.”

  “Let not rancor take root, lest it consume you. Envy and resentment were Zared’s undoing.”

  “The members of the Circle have the sight. Why did they not see their own doom?”

  “Dreams are fickle, and seers seldom foresee their own troubles. You know this.”

  The Durngesi was right. Worry and emotion blinded a seer to the cares of their loved ones and themselves. This was as it should be, the novices were taught, for the life of a prophet was a life of service to others.

  “I was a fool to join the Circle,” Seratha said. “It was a sham.”

  “Nay, child. The seers did much good, ere Zared tainted their purpose.”

  An ashen-faced woman shoved past them with her skirts pulled up around her fat knees. “Merciful gods,” she said, panting.

  Seratha recognized the woman from the kitchens. She was a cook for the seers. Seratha had toiled for hours, peeling potatoes and chopping carrots, roasting chickens, and baking bread that she had not been allowed to eat. Gruel had been the sustenance of the novices, thin and unsweetened.

  Below them on the rocky finger of land where the tower stood, Zared’s tumid form burst through the tile roof in a shower of stone and mortar. With a creak of shifting stone, his arms, now the length and breadth of full-grown firs, were forced inexorably over his distended head. His vast palms clapped together with a dull boom and something shining flew into the air. The god stone, Seratha realized, watching, dazed, as the sparkling gem dropped into the sea.

  The remains of the tower collapsed in a flume of dust and rubble. When the smoke cleared, the tower was gone, and a gray monolith stood in its place.

  “Na’ima’s paw, is that Zared?” Seratha asked, startled from her lethargy.

  “Aye, what is left of him.”

  “He’s alive, then, within the stone?”

  “Some small part of him, I think.”

  Seratha clenched her fists. “Good. I want him to suffer.”

  “Spoken like a Wind Rider. The Durngesi make fierce enemies. It is good that you have not forgotten.”

  The Durngesi disappeared behind a small cairn and returned with a pack. Removing a tunic, breeches, and a pair of boots, he tossed them at her feet. “I brought you these. Put them on. The shift you wear is thin.”

  Seratha knelt to examine the clothing. The garments had been fashioned of drekalli hide and worked until they were soft and supple. She recognized her mother’s neat stitches at once.

  “These are my things,” Seratha said. “You were so certain Zared would release me?”

  “I was certain of his avarice.” A smile played about the Durngesi’s mouth. “Zared was a greedy man and a rogue. This I knew from our first meeting.”

  “Would that I had your wisdom.” Seratha was bitterly ashamed. “I was dazzled by his fine clothes and manner.”

  “Do not chastise yourself. Many older and wiser than you have been fooled by the High Seer.”

  “He was a charlatan and a swindler.”

  “Aye,” the Durngesi said. “He used his gifts for evil and gain, but that is at an end.”

  Suddenly, Seratha could no longer bear the scratchy robe against her skin. With a sound of disgust, she strode to the edge of the cliff. Pulling the shift over her head, she hurled it into the wind. The garment whipped sideways and snagged on a gnarled shrub halfway down the bluff, where it hung, flapping in the bitter gusts off the sea, like a dark-winged bird of prey.

  With trembling fingers, Seratha jerked the kerchief from her hair and unbound her tresses. She stood there for a moment, naked, her face to the sea and her long hair swirling around her hips, then donned the raiment of her people.

  Squaring her shoulders, she turned. “I am ready.”

  “Not quite.” He handed her a belt and a dagger. “A Durngesi is not dressed without steel.” He watched her slip the belt about her waist and slide the dagger into its sheath. “The welts and bruises on your body are many.”

  “The skaldiff was fond of the cane.” Seratha’s mouth thinned. “I was her particular favorite.”

  “She will never hurt you again. Are you strong enough to travel?”

  “I am.”

  “Then let us leave this unhappy place. Your parents await your homecoming with great joy.”

  “They love me and I them, but they do not understand me.”

  The Durngesi’s mobile mouth twitched. “The eternal lament of the young.”

  “I cannot stay in their tent,” Seratha said. “I am much…changed.”

  The Durngesi regarded her thoughtfully. “I plan to rest among our people a few days, then journey on.”

  “Whither do you go?”

  “The Citadel.”

  “I will accompany you.” Seratha lifted her chin. “But I would know your name ere we depart, Trivan.”

  The Durngesi bowed. “I am Alden Rathloren. Come. The shadows lengthen.”

  Turning, he headed west, away from the Gray Tides and Shadow Mount.

  Seratha followed him without looking back.

  Chapter 2

  Shifting Revelations

  Two months later

  Brefreton leaned against a heavy crate and took a sip of ale. “Do it again. The back legs are too long, and you still don’t have the tail right.”

  Raine wiped the sweat from her brow. They’d been at it over an hour, and she was tired and hungry. “Let me catch my breath. Magic isn’t easy.”

  She and the wizard were standing on the deck of the Storm, the swift Finlaran ship on which they’d booked passage. The wind off the Iron Sea was bitter, and Raine thought with longing of the woolen gloves she’d left in her cabin. Gertie had knitted them for her, no small feat, considering the troll’s sharp claws.

  “Of course, it’s not easy,” Brefreton said. “If it were, anyone could be a wizard. Once more, and this time form the image clearly in your mind, down to the smallest toenail. A skilled variegant pays attention to the niceties. You aren’t trying.”

  “Yes, I am,” she said, stung. “In case you’ve forgotten, not long ago, I didn’t even know magic existed, and now I’m trying to shapeshift.”

  “You’re welcome.” Brefreton sketched her a little bow. “You were three parts dead when I found you. If I hadn’t rescued you from that drab place, you’d be dead by now.”

  “Rescued me, my hind foot. You kidnapped me.”

  “Don’t start that again. You’re as much to blame as I am. You knocked the god stone out of my hand. Reba still isn’t speaking to me.”

  “You scared the crap out of me. Anyone would have reacted the way I did.”

  The loss of the god stone, a powerful artifact that belonged to the goddess Reba, remained a bone of contention between them. Brefreton insisted that Raine was to blame. Raine maintained it served him right for being a highhanded jerk.

  It had all started when Brefreton borrowed Reba’s god stone to travel from Tandara to Earth. Stepping out of a mirror in Raine’s house late one night, he’d informed her, in typical Brefreton fashion and without so much as a by-your-leave, that she was coming with him. Raine’s response had been to punch him in the nose. The god stone in his hand had gone flying, and poof. She was in Tandara, where magic and monsters were real, and an evil wizard named Glonoff wanted her blood.

  “And now, thanks to my intervention,” Brefreton said, interrupting her mental meanderings, “you are in the bloom of good health and no longer suffer the Earth sickness that plagued you for…” He
paused to squint at her. “How old are you, again?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Twenty-five years.” Brefreton took another swallow of ale. “My cloak is older than that.”

  “Your cloak is older than dirt.”

  “There is no need to be insulting. Back to the lesson.”

  “Yes, Bree.” Raine got to her feet and shook the wrinkles from her woolen gown and mantle.

  “And don’t forget to use your wizard stone,” he cautioned. “Unchanneled magic is dangerous. You were in bed a week after that last surge. It’s a miracle you survived.”

  Raine winced. “That was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill that poor tracker.”

  The tracker, a loathsome toad-like creature Glonoff had sent after her, had been melted on the spot. It made Raine sick to think about it.

  “It happens with untrained wizards,” Brefreton said, noticing her reaction. “Try not to dwell on it, but no more surges. Knock a hole in the ship, and we’ll all be in the drink.”

  Raine sighed and reached for her wizard stone. Bree said a wizard without a stone was like a wagon without wheels. In other words, useless. Hers had been a gift from Brefreton, purchased in the Great Market a few weeks earlier. As wizard stones went, Raine’s was unremarkable, flat and brown as a river rock. There’d been much prettier stones in Mr. Turnipseed’s magic shop, but this one had come with its own chain…and it hadn’t shattered when Raine touched it, unlike some of the others, which was a big plus. Moreover, this stone seemed to like her. It fluttered happily against her palm at her touch and emitted a lovely opalescent glow when engaged.

  But stone or no stone, magic was hard. Not for Gertie and Bree; they’d been doing magic for thousands of years, and so had Glonoff. Raine was a mere babe compared to them.

  She let the stone slide from her fingers, her shoulders sagging. “Who am I kidding? I can’t defeat the Dark Wizard.”

  “Defeat the—” Brefreton regarded her in astonishment. “Sweet blessed Rebe, you can’t turn yourself into a decent mouse.”

  “He killed my parents and he killed Trudy and Kipp.” Raine’s throat tightened. People she cared about were dead because of Glonoff. “That’s why you kidnapped me, isn’t it? To defeat the Dark Wizard.”

  “For the last time, I did not—” Brefreton drew in a deep breath. “You can’t challenge Glonoff. He’d snuff you like a candle. You’ve a modicum of talent, I’ll grant you, but you’re untrained. Remember Dorfus the Doomed and Olfred the Ominous? They’re prime examples of what can happen to a green wizard.”

  “But you said the prophecy—”

  “Prophecy is inconstant. Only time will tell if you can wield the Eye.”

  “What does it look like, anyway?”

  “What?”

  “The Eye. Is it like an orb or an amulet?”

  “It’s an eye, Raine. Magog’s, to be precise. He maimed himself after he murdered his brother Xan.” He shrugged. “Whether from remorse or because he’s crazy as a toothless rat in a bakery, I couldn’t say.”

  “It’s an actual eye?”

  He frowned. “Yes, thus the name. Saw it once, many years ago with Gertie. We sneaked into the Hall of the Gods.” He tugged on a lock of his red hair in thought. “It was blue as a summer sky and it glowed like a star. Quite lovely, really.” He stirred from his abstraction. “At any rate, that’s how it seemed to me. Gertie gave a different account.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s the way of it. Maybe folks see what they expect to see.”

  “An eye. Yuck. I’m glad it’s lost.”

  He straightened. “What do you mean, lost?”

  “Glonoff hired someone to steal the Eye, but the thief lost it. At least, that’s what Glonoff told me the day I went into the woods.”

  The day the Dark Wizard had set his demon Xai on her, and Raine had nearly died. She still had nightmares about it.

  “The Eye lost.” Brefreton gave a low whistle. “Glonoff must have been furious.”

  “Livid, at first,” Raine agreed, “but he—”

  Glory glided up, interrupting them. “Perhaps he consulted Zared on the matter,” she said, tossing her long dark hair. “The High Seer has been selling prophecies, or so Raven informs me.”

  “Has he, indeed?” Brefreton said. “Any notion what he’s been whispering in Glonoff’s ear?”

  “None whatsoever,” Glory said with a sniff of disdain. “I’m a seer, not a mind reader.”

  “The Eye . . . lying about where anyone can find it.” Brefreton’s mouth curved in a slow smile. “Glonoff must be frantic.”

  “No, he’s not,” Raine said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Glonoff doesn’t want the Eye, and he doesn’t want me. He’s got the crazy idea that I’m some sort of…nemesis.”

  Brefreton stared at her for a moment, then slammed his tankard onto the ship’s rail. “No, by gods, I won’t have it. If anyone’s Glonoff’s nemesis, it’s me. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “We’ve been busy.”

  “Not that busy,” Brefreton said. “What else did he say?”

  Raine shifted in discomfort. Why hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut? “Oh, you know. Stuff.”

  Glonoff had been exultant to have Raine in his clutches, and he’d seemed to relish the opportunity to brag about what he’d done. How he’d killed Raine’s parents, and Trudy and Kipp. The plans he’d made for Raine and set aside once he’d learned she’d be his undoing, and his decision to kill her instead.

  He’d had a lot to say about Brefreton, too—startling things.

  Brefreton’s gray eyes narrowed. “Raine? I’m waiting.”

  Raine flushed. Bree would not thank her for airing his family linen in front of others, particularly Glory. She was trying to think of a way to change the subject when Gertie clomped over. The troll wore a shapeless robe and boots with the toes cut out to accommodate her claws. Her red fur was mussed and stood on end.

  “What are you on about, Bree?” she asked in her growling voice. “A troll can’t take a nap with you bellowing.”

  “Glory says the High Seer has been selling prophecies.”

  “Humph,” Gertie said. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Never cared much for Zared. Pack of conceited windbags, the Circle of Seers.”

  Glory stiffened. “Need I remind you, until a few months ago, I was a member of the Circle?”

  “No need atall, not when you’re forever running on about it.”

  Glory’s green eyes flashed. Turning, she left without another word.

  “Good. That’s chafed her,” Gertie said. “Now, Bree, what’s got you fussed?”

  “It seems the gal and Glonoff had quite the coze the day she ran away.”

  “I didn’t run away,” Raine protested. “I went into the woods after Chaz.”

  The boy was her responsibility. Magog was a bloodthirsty god, and children brought a premium price in the markets of Zorbash. If she and Tiny the giant hadn’t intervened, Chaz and the other children would have been altar fodder.

  “Whatever.” Brefreton waved his hand. “Remember how we thought the Dark Wizard was trying to kill Raine out of malice?”

  “Aye. Glonoff’s always been spiteful. If he can’t have her, no one will.”

  “Raine says that’s not the case,” Brefreton said. “She says Glonoff wants her dead because she’s his doom.”

  “His doom?” Gertie’s craggy face creased in a delighted smile. “Why so glum? This is excellent news.”

  “No, it ain’t,” Brefreton said. “I’ve waited a long time to kill that bastard, and I’ll not be cheated. What’s more, I’ve a notion that ain’t all the chit ain’t told us.”

  “Hmm.” Gertie rolled an appraising eye at Raine. “I’m sure she’ll tell us everything, in time. You two been at your lessons?”

  “Aye, tr
ansfiguration,” Brefreton said. “A mouse, to be precise. The girl’s having trouble with the legs and tail.”

  The troll’s bushy brows shot up. “A mouse? Is that wise with a snake on board?”

  Brefreton rubbed his jaw. “You’ve got a point. Where is Flame, by the by? Haven’t seen him in days.”

  “I don’t know,” Raine said. “He’s molting, and it makes him irritable.”

  “Something the two of you have in common,” Gertie said, widening her eyes at Raine. “He’s found himself a burrow, of some sort, I take it?”

  “If he has, it’s in my bunk.” Gurnst, the Storm’s burly helmsman, stomped up. “I keep shooing the scaly varmint away, but he comes back. I don’t like it, I tell you. Don’t like it atall.”

  “My goodness,” Raine said. “What a fuss you make over a little snake.”

  “Little?” Gurnst’s eyes bulged. “Your ‘little snake’ is three fathoms long and still growing. What’s more, he sheds like a troll.”

  “Hey,” Gertie said with a glower. “No troll bashing.”

  Raven, the ship’s captain, heard the commotion and strolled over. “Is something amiss?”

  Mauric Lindar, Raven’s cousin, was with him. Big and tall and hard muscled, both warriors moved with the easy grace of the supremely fit. Mauric, like the rest of the Finlaran crew, was blond and blue eyed, whereas Raven had black hair and green eyes.

  Raven’s coloring wasn’t the only thing that set him apart. He’d been raised by a troll. Gertie, to be precise.

  “Son.” Gertie gave Raven an affectionate cuff on the head. “Gurnst is in a pucker ʼcause Raine can’t find her snake.”

  Gurnst reddened. “No such thing. Don’t want his nasty droppings in my bunk, is all.”

  “He’s shedding,” Raine said. “And it’s skin, not droppings. Flame can’t help it that he’s growing. I should think you’d be grateful. He’s eaten all the mice and rats.”

  “Oh, aye, he’s scoured the ship of vermin,” Gurnst said, “and once the rats were gone, he started in on the birds. Sang a flock of ʼem right outa the sky. Swallowed ʼem whole, beaks and feathers. A good thing we’ve enough rations on board, for neither fish nor fowl will come near us now.” The big man shuddered. “Thank the Bear, it was petrels he ate and not gulls. Souls of the dead, gulls. The gods know we’ve bad luck enough with a load of wizards on board.”