Mageborn

by Stephen Aryan

  Habreel’s sneer was not unexpected but she ignored it. He thought he knew why she asked for money, to spend on indulgences, but the real reason would never cross his mind. “Speak to Dannel. He’ll give you the money.”

  Downstairs Dannel and two other young men were busy scribbling in notebooks, but they all paused when she entered the room. Akosh could feel the heat behind their stares, but Dannel kept his eyes averted and was both polite and efficient. She offered him a smile of thanks when he gave her the money but he didn’t reciprocate.

  Akosh walked purposefully towards the most run-down part of the city in the east. Here, the homes were modest and some of the oldest, which meant they were in desperate need of repair. Those with money had moved to other areas, sometimes leaving behind huge empty buildings that seemed far too grand when compared to those around them. With no money to maintain them they had become empty shells stripped of anything that could be sold. Like the skeleton of a vast beast that had been picked clean of meat.

  In these rotting shells lived the refugees, the poor, the desperate and the needy. Akosh stopped in front of a wide three-storey building that had once been the home of a noble who had died over fifty years ago. She remembered him as a sweaty man who was constantly stuffing shellfish into his face. He’d bought a new home elsewhere, taking his growing brood of children with him, leaving this behind to charity. As Akosh recalled he’d choked to death on a fishbone.

  A small crudely painted sign by the front door told Akosh she was in the right place. In the entrance hall she found a small boy and in the next room four more children playing a game with coloured pebbles. All of them looked underfed, but they were clean and dressed in ill-fitting clothing that had probably been passed on to them. There was little furniture in any of the rooms, but she could see the floors had been scrubbed.

  In the room beyond that she found a group of six small children listening in rapt silence to a woman read them a story from a battered old book. A seventh child was sitting on the woman’s lap, reading along and mouthing the words as he traced them with his finger. The woman was in her thirties and as thin as a rake. Her face was drawn, heavy bags sat under her eyes and her lank black hair was badly cut. All of it made her look much older than her years.

  “Children, we have a guest,” said the woman. Another helper, a young man, came into the room, taking over the story. Akosh followed the woman through a warren of empty rooms to a basic office at the back of the building. It had a scarred and worn desk that wobbled, a pair of mismatched chairs and several musty books. As she sat down the woman pulled a thin blanket around her shoulders. Despite everything the smile she offered was warm and generous.

  “My name is Jille. How can I help you?”

  “Actually, I’m here to help you,” said Akosh, putting a heavy pouch of money on the table. It was everything she’d been given from Habreel.

  “We happily accept donations. The children are always hungry and more arrive all the time.”

  “I would like to be more than just a donor,” said Akosh and at this the woman met her gaze for the first time. Recognition sparked behind Jille’s eyes for a moment. “I would like to become the patron of this orphanage.”

  Jille’s smile faltered. “And what would that mean?”

  “I would make regular donations. In return, I will visit on occasion, to ensure the money is being well spent.”

  “Everything we have goes to the children,” swore Jille. “We take nothing for ourselves.”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything,” she said, softening the words with a warm smile. “I’d just like to see how the children are getting on from time to time.”

  Despite the promise of regular donations Jille was still wary. “Is that everything?”

  “No. There’s one more thing. Do you have an idol or a prayer corner?”

  Jille nodded slowly. “Devoted to the Maker. We teach the children about him once a week.”

  “It must go and in its place you’ll teach them about their new patron.” Akosh took a small stone idol from her pocket which she put on the table beside the money. It was crudely made, which was in keeping with such a humble orphanage, and showed a caring mother looking after a child.

  “I’ve heard of you,” said Jille. “You’ve done this before, with other orphanages.”

  Akosh nodded. “Many times.” Even then Jille hesitated. “There are others in the city. Go and speak to them. You’ll see that with my help they’ve flourished over the years. They have plenty of money for food, fuel in winter, clothing and books to give the children a good chance. One of them hires a tutor to teach them to write. What more could you ask for?”

  “And you’ll impose no other rules? Demand nothing in return?”

  “I ask only that you look after the children. But, before you can do that, you must also look after yourself. Have you been skipping meals?”

  “There’s so little food. They need it more than me,” said Jille.

  “That must stop. They rely on you. If you fall ill, who will look after them? I’ll have your promise on that,” insisted Akosh. “You must look after yourself as well.” She waited until Jille had promised before picking up the idol but leaving the money. “Whether you accept my offer or not, that’s for the children. I’ll return in a week for your answer. I’ll see myself out.”

  Akosh left the orphanage and had barely gone the length of the street before she was approached by a young man in his twenties. He didn’t look familiar but when he smiled it was as if he’d known her all of his life.

  “Mother,” he whispered reverentially, bowing his head ever so slightly.

  She looked around but no one had noticed. Akosh took him by the arm and moved out of the middle of the road to be less conspicuous. “Hello, my child. Please, speak to me normally. What is your name?”

  “Adem.”

  “Do you have some news for me, Adem?”

  “Yes, Mother. I live a few days south of here, close to the border. A man came to our town asking questions about children and magic.”

  “What sort of questions?”

  “He was asking about where we heard our news. We’ve all listened to stories about children hurting themselves and other people. He was very persistent. I think he wanted to find out who was spreading the stories.”

  That ruled out one of Habreel’s people. They were the ones perpetuating the stories about the dangers of magic. And it wasn’t one of her children as someone would have let her know. It was possible the man was in fact not a man at all, but one of her peculiar siblings.

  “Describe the man. Was there anything unusual about him?” asked Akosh.

  “Not really. He was from Yerskania with pale skin and he was cross eyed. I think he might have been a soldier at some time, but it must have been years ago.”

  It didn’t sound like anyone she knew. As expected, other mortal parties were curious and trying to find answers of their own. She knew most of the rulers had spy networks that operated in other countries. Yerskania sent Guardians of the Peace abroad on jobs, so it could have been one of them. The Red Tower would be investigating as well.

  “When you get home I want you to keep an eye out for other strangers,” said Akosh. “If you hear anything, send word to me. Our time is approaching and very soon I will need you, and all of the others, for what lies ahead.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “You have no right to keep me here,” said Grell, crossing his arms.

  Tammy wasn’t impressed and chose not to comment. Over the last few hours she’d heard more than enough from him, all of it unpleasant.

  She’d travelled by herself to Morby Dale, a tiny village on Munroe’s list, in the hope of finding the Seeker before he was injured or exiled. She hadn’t anticipated coming across one of those responsible for spreading fear of magic.

  Grell was from Yerskania, but didn’t live close to Morby Dale. From speaking to locals earlier in the day she’d found out he’d turned up in the village a
few days ago. Since then he’d spent most of his time drinking and talking to anyone who would listen. A Seeker was due to visit in a week’s time and Grell’s goal seemed to create a hostile atmosphere. People were already nervous of magic, but Grell wanted to make sure they were terrified of it and anyone connected to it.

  She’d overheard him spreading stories of children exploding in graphic detail because of a visit from a Seeker. With tears in his eyes he’d nearly wept as he described the women and children who had died in a horrible accident in Zecorria. He’d even claimed to have helped dig some of the tiny graves for the children and a mass grave for the mixed body parts that were recovered.

  It was all an act. The tragedy was real, but almost everything else he said was a lie. After listening to him talk with different groups, Tammy noticed how he adjusted the tone and facts of his story depending on the audience and their initial response.

  If they showed disinterest he focused on the Seeker’s pending arrival and the threat it would pose to them, even here in a tiny village. If they replied with disbelief that Seekers were responsible for children dying, he focused on how he’d seen it happen. He provided so much detail that it sounded credible rather than pure fiction. If the person was a woman he started by telling them his sob story about dead children.

  After a while she’d been unable to bear the sound of his voice and had dragged him out of the tavern and locked him in the storage room. Morby Dale was so small that any official business was normally conducted in the Mayor’s front room. In his absence, and with nowhere secure to keep Grell, she’d been forced to improvise. The storage room at the back of the tavern was normally used to store vegetables for the kitchen, but she’d borrowed it from the owner. She’d been only too happy to help as Tammy wasn’t the only one tired of Grell’s voice.

  Grell sat in front of her with a smug grin, confident that she would have to let him go as soon as the Mayor returned. There was a sly cunning behind his small brown eyes. Overweight with a sparse straw-coloured beard and balding head, Grell didn’t look like much of a threat. But she knew he was a menace. He reminded her of the type of bully she’d seen growing up who carried out horrible tricks on smaller children then played them all off as a joke. In Grell’s mind he believed what he was doing was noble.

  “Who gave you the power to keep me here?” asked Grell, tiring of the silence.

  It was Tammy’s turn to smile. “The Queen of Yerskania and the Khevassar when they appointed me a Guardian of the Peace.”

  Grell’s smile faltered. “I’m not wanted for any crime. I’ve broken no laws.”

  “I’m sure I can find a few.”

  “Such as?”

  “How about inciting hatred and violence? Or disturbing the peace?”

  “I’ve not disturbed anyone, just shared a few true stories. People like to hear news from the outside world. After all, Morby Dale is a small place.” If not for his patronising tone what he was saying would sound reasonable. That was what made him so dangerous. He was like a greased pig running through a crowd. Counting the number of chins he had, it was an apt comparison.

  “The Queen of Yerskania gave the Seekers permission to travel anywhere in the country and test children once a month.”

  “We’re supposed to trust her? After what she did during the war? She’s not fit to rule,” scoffed Grell.

  Tammy stopped herself from getting drawn into an argument. As a Guardian, and therefore perhaps a patriot, he expected an emotional response by going after the Queen. When she didn’t rise to the bait a smile briefly flickered across his face. It had probably been a while since he’d met someone who could see through his façade so easily.

  “How long have you been sharing your stories?” she asked.

  Grell shrugged. “A few days.”

  “And what were you doing before that?”

  “Working here and there.”

  “Doing what?”

  “These are troubling times and people need protection.”

  Tammy couldn’t help scoffing. “You’re a mercenary?”

  “We come in all shapes and sizes.”

  “Not many are your shape,” she said, gesturing at his lumpy physique. “Have you ever held a sword before?”

  “I didn’t earn these working in the fields,” he said, showing her calluses on his right hand.

  “So why were you kicked out of the Watch?”

  Grell started to answer but then stopped himself. He clamped his mouth shut, glared at her and folded his arms again. Two could play the same mind games.

  Tammy had been a member of the Watch for years before being promoted to becoming a Guardian of the Peace. Only the best were chosen and Grell did not represent them. There were too many people in the Watch for her to know them all, but she’d seen plenty of calluses like his in the past.

  “Let me guess,” she pondered, tapping her chin. “You were dismissed for gambling? Drugs? Blackmail?” When Grell didn’t react she snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. You were just too lazy and stupid.”

  “How long are you going to keep me here?”

  Tammy shook her head, ignoring his question. “No, it was probably something more sinister. Perhaps you were paid to look the other way for one of the Families.” The crime Families in Perizzi knew better than to try and bribe a Guardian, but sometimes they found members of the Watch with vices that could be exploited in return for small favours.

  “I chose to leave,” said Grell, which they both knew was a lie.

  “To pursue a higher calling.”

  “What we’re doing is important,” he said, ignoring her mocking tone. “We will change the future.”

  Tammy dismissed him with a wave. “We? You’re nothing but a peon, following orders.”

  “I make a difference!” shrieked Grell.

  “You didn’t come up with this plan. Don’t pretend anyone listens to your opinion.”

  “I’m valued.”

  “You’re deluded.”

  “Habreel trusts me!”

  Tammy’s grin stretched from ear to ear. The colour slowly drained from Grell’s face as he realised what he’d said. “So, it was all Habreel’s idea.”

  Grell didn’t move. Not even an eyelid twitched. She knew that for now he wouldn’t say another word, no matter what she said. A heavy silence settled on the room and Tammy used the quiet to ponder Habreel’s identity and where Grell knew him from.

  A short time later a loud knocking at the door surprised them both. A short bearded man squeezed into the room, closing the door behind him. In his middling years, with grey speckling his black hair and a friendly, open face, Tammy guessed he was the Mayor of Morby Dale.

  “I’m Cobb. What’s happening here?”

  “I’m being illegally held by this woman!” shouted Grell. He started to stand up, as if about to leave, until Tammy kicked out one of his feet. Grell fell back into his chair and it rocked backwards on two legs before he was able to rebalance it.

  “I’m a Guardian of the Peace. This is all legal. Do you have a moment to talk?” she asked.

  Cobb’s pale green eyes studied her. She noticed his right eye was covered with a milky white film. A faded old scar ran through his eyebrow onto his cheek. “Let’s step outside.”

  She followed him out of the room, making sure the door was securely bolted, before stepping into the street. The day was bright and sunny with fluffy white clouds ghosting past above them silently. Nearby she could hear children playing and see people in the village going about their business without any worry. It felt a long way from the world she knew with its dangers.

  “Walk with me?” he asked, and she nodded, shortening her stride to match his pace. “Life here is very quiet,” said Cobb, gesturing at the village and its people. “As Mayor the biggest problems I have to deal with is someone getting drunk and starting a fight. Or someone’s dog accidentally killing one of their neighbour’s chickens. We get our news from passing merchants, but most traders don’t
bother coming here as we’re too small.”

  They passed the smithy where a sweaty, red-faced man and his two apprentices were hard at work. The smith wiped at his brow and waved at Cobb as they walked past. The Mayor raised a hand but they didn’t stop to talk to him. A little further down the road two similar-looking women, she guessed mother and daughter, were in lively discussion over a bolt of silk. Cobb steered Tammy away from the two women, moving down a parallel side street.

  “It’s my eldest daughter’s wedding,” murmured Cobb. “I brought the silk back for her dress. She and her mother are having a disagreement about the style. Do you have a family?”

  Tammy’s mind turned to what she had left behind in Perizzi and Kovac’s quest to find her an answer. She’d been so busy lately there hadn’t been time to think about it, but the old pain was still there deep inside. She wondered if it would ever go away.

  “No,” she lied. “Have you lived here a long time?”

  Cobb glanced up at her and touched the scar on his cheek. “I got this as a member of the Watch. A fight on the docks in Perizzi got out of hand. No one died but it was close and I lost my sight in one eye. Been here ever since. Nearly thirty years now.”

  They paused at the end of the muddy track and Cobb led them to a small bridge that crossed a narrow stream. The water was so clear Tammy could see the bottom where a few small fish were swimming around lazily in the sun, their scales glistening red and purple. Cobb paused on the middle of the bridge and Tammy realised he’d led her to a secluded spot where they could speak without being overheard.

  “I’m not here to cause any trouble,” said Tammy.

  “I know, but nonetheless your presence will cause ripples,” he said, gesturing at the water below.

  “Do you know what’s going on out there?”

  “Some,” admitted Cobb. “Tell me about the man you’ve locked up.”

  Tammy explained what Grell had been doing and the wider implications. Cobb had heard about the child in Zecorria killing some people while being tested, but not the impact.