by Cat Adams
“Maybe it’s me that’s cold then.” Amazingly, the next shrug didn’t cramp her muscles. Must be building them up—shrugging to the oldies. She nearly laughed, but waved it off before he asked. “Never mind.”
She stepped forward, trying to appear confident that she knew what she was doing. “It’s magic. Why are you confused?” She remembered Baba’s words when she’d asked how the door to Viktor’s garden worked. It was after her eighth birthday, and Baba had told her Viktor had a gift for her. But she had become a big girl, and it seemed important to understand such things. Daddy had showed her the secret of pulling a coin from behind her ear, and she knew Santa was really just her parents. In some small part of her brain, she understood the garden shouldn’t exist. But Baba was so stern, so matter-of-fact about the reality of magic, that she’d soon forgotten to question it, and then had forgotten it even happened at all.
Oh! That was the day I got the stone. Her last visit to the garden was when she’d been presented with the fire opal. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She spent the entire visit just looking at it, catching the colors in the sunlight, watching the flames burn without any heat, except from the warmth of her hand. Even Candy’s shouts to come join her chasing butterflies hadn’t budged her.
She stopped, mere inches from the wall and looked back at Tal. “Could I hold the opal for a minute?” It was just an experiment, and it really didn’t make much sense.
Without releasing her hand, he reached into his pocket and extracted it, holding it out to her other hand. She took it and stared at the stone. It was lovely and still bore the colors she remembered, but not the internal flames that licked and chased each other. But she kept staring at it as she walked forward, leading Tal toward the bower on the other side of the stone. A delightful shimmery sensation overtook her, followed by a rush of energy that was like the high of a double mocha espresso. The stone in her hand came alive as sunlight struck the face of it. “That’s the way I remember you.” She smiled and squeezed Tal’s hand, not even noticing he’d been talking until then.
“This place shouldn’t exist,” he said. She looked up then and the garden was exactly as she remembered it. The sky was the rich azure-blue of midsummer, and fluffy clouds floated by as the warm breeze hit her face. The riot of colors was more intense than a painting by Van Gogh. Every flower imaginable filled the landscape as far as she could see. Most didn’t belong in the same soil, but she hadn’t known that as a child. And some weren’t even possible … like the glittering purple one that resembled an iris. But it spun and scattered stardust in a never-ending circle that would cover her clothing with multicolored glitter. Candy had been right. She’d loved that flower and had tried for years to find it at a garden center. And I never believed Mom that it didn’t exist. How could I have seen it if it wasn’t real? Was that why her mother took away her memories, because of her dogged insistence that magic was real?
“That gate shouldn’t even exist.” Tal was touching things, feeling the texture of flowers and leaves as though he’d never seen magical flowers. He noticed the spinning stardust flower and reached out to it, catching a bit of iridescent glitter on his fingers. He got an odd look on his face that was part smile and part … awe. “My mother had purple allurias in her garden, years ago. They were her favorites.”
She held out the opal with a smile. “It’s alive again. This is how I remember the stone.” She tipped it so he could see. It took a moment for him to turn his attention to it, but when he did, the awe turned to something deeper, closer to respect.
He watched the flames dance under the thin layer of filmy blue that covered the stone and picked it from her hand to turn into the sunlight. “It responds to this magic, whatever form it is. Bloody hell, but I wish Alexy was here. Identifying the type of magic isn’t one of my skills.”
She shook her head and let out an exasperated breath. “It’s just magic. The type doesn’t matter.”
“Oh no,” he said while examining the wooden bower, trellises completely covered with rich dark vines and massive white flowers that smelled heavenly. In fact, she noticed that the garden never overpowered, nor had conflicting scents. It was as though the blooms were selected especially for their complementary scents, rather than the color scheme. “No, it does matter. In fact, it’s very important. For something like this place to exist, outside of your reality and mine, speaks of a power that’s extremely dangerous.”
That made no sense to her. “It’s a garden. Flowers, vines, grass. How can it be dangerous?”
He sighed and seemed to be trying to think of an analogy. “Think of it like energy in your world. If nobody had ever heard of … had never conceived of nuclear energy, but the world suddenly discovered that an unknown island country had devised a reactor, what would happen? If it was reported to be powerful enough to run everything on that island—no oil, no wind—wouldn’t everyone want it? Good countries, bad countries, wild extremist groups?”
The thought was sobering. “So, you’re saying that the mere existence of the garden makes it dangerous because the wrong people could try to steal the magic that makes it, for their own purposes?”
He nodded. “And the worst possible, but most capable person of stealing magic was in your house this morning.”
She looked around again, tried to imagine someone sucking the very life from this place … seeing it wilted and dead and dark. “Oh God. We need to find Viktor and tell him about Vegre.”
She didn’t wait for Tal. She rushed through the garden, sprinted along nearly forgotten paths, under massive branches that held fruit for the picking at any time of year … across bridges over sparkling streams that she knew fat orange koi lived in.
Viktor’s house was built into the remnants of a massive old tree, lovingly carved among the branches and gnarled roots and decorated with more flowering vines that always stayed well clear of the window openings and doorway, none of which contained actual windows or doors. “Viktor! Are you home?”
But no smiling man with tidy white beard and ring of hair came to her call. Of course, he wasn’t always home when she came to visit with Baba, either. He was always off, this place and that. But he always—“Left a message. We need to see if there’s a message for us from him or Baba.” She grabbed Tal’s hand again and pulled him along, before he could protest or ask questions. They raced along again, through the formal English rose garden, past the wildflower meadow … finally ending up in the Japanese bonsai garden. After the tangle of conflicting colors and heights in the meadow, the precise order and careful lines of the rock garden and trained plants was a little startling.
Tal seemed a little out of breath. “Craters, but you can move when you want to, woman.”
“It’s a big place. If you don’t run, you can spend hours getting from place to place. But I never seem to get tired here. Sorry I wore you out, though. Have some water. There’s always a pitcher on the table over there. I need to check the pool for messages.”
The reflecting pond had seemed so much larger when she was young. Now it didn’t look much bigger than a family-sized hot tub. Slender reeds swayed in the light breeze and a leopard frog blinked at her from a lilypad in the center. “I hope you don’t mind if I use your pond, Mr. Frog.” She always used to talk to the animals in the garden … partly because Mom had read her Mother West Wind’s Children too many times, and partly because Baba always told her that not everything in the garden was what it seemed.
“Do you often talk to frogs?” Tal’s voice sounded slightly amused. But he also vibrated with curiosity. Apparently, he’d decided to just run with whatever was going to happen here.
She sat down on one of the orderly gray stones that surrounded the pond and ran her fingertips through the needles of the bonsai tree that grew right to the water’s edge. It was far larger than a potted bonsai, but still tiny in comparison to even a shrub. She’d always loved this little tree and had marveled at the number of little woven nests among the bran
ches. Viktor had told her they were hummingbird nests and each time she would visit, she’d check the nests to see if there were any babies. As tiny as the adults were, she couldn’t imagine the size of a hatchling. But despite the fact that they visited at all times of the year, she’d never managed to spot a baby.
Then she reached a finger out to the frog, twitching it in a friendly manner. But that was too much for the little amphibian. It stretched out suddenly and slid down into the water, parting it without a single splash. “Hey, you never know. Maybe that was Viktor, watching us to find out our intentions.”
Tal sat down on the carved wooden bench near the grape trellises. He reached out to touch the purple fruit, then lifted one of the bunches, as though testing the weight of it. “Not much danger of that … just so you know. While there are spells that can change someone’s appearance, there’s no such thing as shifting a human to another form—especially to something as small as a frog. Where would the mass go? A two-hundred-pound frog wouldn’t be able to sit on a lilypad, unless it was made of iron and bolted to the ground.”
She nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I always wondered about that. But you’d think magic wouldn’t have to abide by physics.”
He leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, and let out a snort. “Wouldn’t that be nice. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about piping water to the cities. The water witches used to be able to simply pull the water through the soil, or raise it from the banks of underground streams and move it to fill the cisterns. But without sufficient magic, physics keeps the water just out of our grasp.”
“But why can’t you move it anymore? You said earlier that magic’s being rationed where you live. But how can that be? Magic is … well, just there, isn’t it?” She started to untie her left boot. It was soaking wet from the snow and she had to wiggle it to get it off her foot. Tal watched with interest but didn’t comment about it. Instead, he actually answered her question.
“The Trees of Life are dying. They’re the source of magic in Agathia. There’s a Tree in each major city square, but they’re all dying and we don’t know why. So the kings of the various realms, who are generally the most magically powerful, have elected to ration magic. Each person can fill up their personal focus stone, plus a general household focus, once per day and when it’s gone, there’s no more until the next day when you can refill it.” He raised up his hands and looked around. “That’s why this place shouldn’t exist. There’s not enough magic left in the world to sustain it. If it weren’t for the fact that some of these plants can’t exist without magic, I’d swear it was just a normal garden, and the owner just happened to get lucky and find a fertile cave with running water, near a volcanic vent for heat.”
She couldn’t help but shake her head. “Boy, I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around that idea. I mean, if all magic in the world comes from some weird species of tree, then why not just plant some more if they’re dying? It’s not like it’s oil—where there’s only so much of it and when it’s gone, it’s gone. Trees grow. They produce new seeds and the seeds grow … a never-ending supply. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“And yet it’s reality, much like this garden. Neither make much sense.” He finally pointed down at her pink cotton sock. “Is there a problem with your foot?”
She sighed and started to pull it off. “No. It’s just another thing that doesn’t make sense. I have to put my left foot in the pond to get the message to play … if there is one.” She paused, sock halfway down her foot. “And please don’t laugh. It’s not my fault.”
The introduction apparently made him curious, and how could she blame him? He leaned forward, eyes fixed on her foot.
Well, I might as well get it over with. There’d been plenty of time over the years to get used to people laughing at it. But this wasn’t like the locker room in gym. She didn’t want Tal to laugh at her. Not after … well, she just didn’t want him to. Summoning up her courage, she tugged the sodden cloth off and wiggled her now-wrinkled toes. “Pretty stupid, huh?”
But he wasn’t laughing. He slid off the bench and knelt down next to her leg. He was careful not to actually touch her, but she could tell he wanted to. “Were you born with these? You have birthmarks for every guild, plus one I don’t recognize. What’s that one?”
He was pointing at the symbol just above her big toe. The series of triangles attached to a long line, was the largest of the marks … or drawings, which is how they started out. “I don’t really know what any of them mean. Baba painted them on my foot when I was about five. She just used regular egg dye. It was fun at the time—like getting my toenails painted. But they never came off. My mother’s been mad at her ever since.”
Tal touched the mark on her second toe. “So they’re ink? This oblong mark with the dots is the symbol of the water witches. The straight line with spikes that looks like a comb is the mark of the dirtdogs—the earth alchemists. This one here,” he said and raised his sleeve for her to compare his zigzag symbol with the vivid yellow one on her foot, “is the fire mage sign … although yours is complete, while mine is much fainter. The clarity of the mark is how magical strength is determined. While I’m an adequate crafter, the same symbol on Vegre is sharp and raised high above his skin.”
“Then what’s this one?” She pointed to the last mark, a short row of elongated curves. “These look like waves. Shouldn’t that be the water symbol, instead of the little blob thing?”
Tal shook his head. “Water, like earth and fire, gain motion by wind. That’s the flyers’ symbol, for the air illusionists guild. And I suppose this last one is the symbol of your own guild, the … Parask.” He seemed to struggle to say the word, but managed. Then he apparently finally got up the nerve to touch her foot. The sensation of his finger lightly stroking the skin over the marks felt really good. “It’s. odd. They don’t look like tattoos, but don’t feel like birthmarks. You’re certain these were painted on? She didn’t use a needle or magic to embed the dye under your skin?”
Mila pulled her foot out of his grasp, before the sensation of him stroking her skin made her forget why they were here. Already she was struggling not to throw him to the ground to kiss him and her heart was racing so fast that she should be able to see her shirt moving. Her voice had a breathless quality when she spoke. “Not—” She had to cough before she could speak again. “Not a needle, anyway. It never occurred to me she might have used magic, but I guess it’s possible. Anyway—” She spun on the rock and raised her foot to dip it into the water. “We need to get the message and get moving. Otherwise, I’ll never get any sleep tonight.”
He raked her from bare toes to the top of her head with intense, dark eyes. Then he shook his head and muttered something she couldn’t make out. She nearly asked him to repeat it, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Still, he backed up a bit to give her room to move. She hadn’t done this since she was eight, and hoped she remembered how it worked. She slid her foot into the water. Not even breathing reached her ears for a long moment as they waited for something to happen. But the water remained still and warm. Mila shook her head. “I think I’m forgetting to do something. I’m still struggling to find things in my mind—” Frustration edged her voice and she wanted to scream. There wasn’t time to forget things. “Hello? Viktor, are you there? It’s me, Mila.” Another pause, but still nothing.
She tapped her knee and stared into the still pool, desperately trying to remember back to the last time she visited. The memory came back so suddenly, and so strong, that she nearly fell face first into the water. She saw again her foot, much smaller—the symbols far larger than her toes. She twisted her foot, this way and that, watching as tiny fish came up to nibble on them. She felt a little bored, but had been assured that her foot was very important to the process. Then she heard Baba’s voice over her shoulder and the identical words came out of her mouth in the present. “I am here, Viktor. We must speak.”
A small glow suddenly lit up
swimming fish from underneath, turning them Day-Glo colors. Her foot started tingling and she remembered that, too, a familiar pins-and-needles sensation like stepping into a hot bath after a long day in the snow.
“So, it requires both will and specific words. A useful safeguard.” Tal was nodding his head, watching as the light grew brighter under the water.
It soon encompassed the whole pool, and then the water disappeared from view. In its place was a clear image of another cave—this one decorated with brightly painted murals and comfortable-looking furniture. “Greetings, Mila. You’re looking well. And what a beautiful young woman you’ve grown into. You remind me much of Nadia when she was your age.” Viktor looked like he hadn’t aged a day since she was eight. His ruddy face was smiling, showing a dark space where one lower tooth was missing. He had a ring of tidy white hair under a patterned headband that had been very trendy when she was a girl. His neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard made his eyes look even bluer. They were darker than Tal’s though and she found it odd that her mind was occupied with noticing it.
“It’s good to see you again, Viktor. I’m hoping you can help us out. We really need to find my Baba. Did she come to see you here … maybe with a young girl and her father?”
Tal moved down to whisper in her ear. “I thought you said this was a message. Are you actually talking to him?”
She wiggled her hand back and forth and wrinkled her nose. “It’s a little of both, actually. It’s sort of an interactive message. He’s there, and can answer questions we pose, but he’s not really there, that we can go off target from what it’s programmed to say. But he’ll be able to watch it later to see our expressions and hear what we said. So it’s recording as well as playing.”
“Interesting.” Tal leaned forward to stare at the image and was looking carefully around the background of the scene. Maybe he was trying to figure out where it might have been recorded.