by Crissy Moss
“Is there any news from the runners?” Ayrula asked.
“Winters come early, it would seem,” Edwum said, pacing back and forth. “The water is beginning to freeze over, and here was frost this morning. If it continues, we might see snow before we reach Ludwald.”
“Does it affect the caravan?” I asked.
“Ah, Sybel, I’m sorry. I forget you’re new to this type of life. Yes, winter will slow us down a bit but not stop us. Not till the snows come. We will still make it to Ludwald, and you will still be able to get passage to Kemoor, though the sea may be a bit rough when you do.”
“And what of us once we arrive?” Ayrula asked. “We were supposed to head west toward the mountains for one more circuit before winter.”
“That will depend on the turn of the weather. By the looks of things, we will not be making it to the west coast to spend the winter. If the snows do not fall, we should be able to make it to Beowood before the worst of it and make berth there. Otherwise we’ll have to spend the winter in Ludwald.”
“I’m sure the mayor will just love that, now won’t he,” one of the larger men by the fire said, the sarcasm dripping from him in waves. “He always seems so happy to see us.”
“And for good reason,” Ayrula said. “You destroyed that bar on the lower wharf, Torbin. You nearly got us banned for good.”
The big man gave Ayrula a glare, his nostrils flaring.
“There will be none of that,” Edwum said. “Whatever city we winter at, you will all be expected to hold your own. Whether that’s by finding another caravan to ship with or by finding something to keep yourself busy for the winter, I don’t rightly care. But I will not have my men and women destroying property and ruining our reputation again. Once can be explained away. Any more than that, and people start to look at us out of the corner of their eyes and clutch their purses. Anyone who smears our name in the mud will be left behind come spring.”
There were more grumbles and a few barbs traded back and forth, but everyone seemed to agree to the new edict.
After breakfast, Ayrula pulled me over to the tents.
“I can give you another outfit so you can stay warm, but then we have to pack everything up. It won’t be easy with the wind picking up. We need to get the tent down and everything stowed quickly.”
“Do the winters always come so quickly on the plains?”
“No, I’ve lived on the plains my entire life. Once winter hits, there can be all sorts of mischief, but a cold blow this hard, and snow already on its way…” she said, shaking her head. “It’s never this bad so early.”
“Snow?” I asked, looking up. I could see clouds in the distance but no rain or snow.
“When you’ve lived out here this long, you can feel the snow coming. It won’t be more than a week before we’re trudging through the stuff.”
“And what do we do if it snows?”
“Nothing else to do but keep going,” she said. “If we stop, we won’t make it to a town in time to bunk for the winter, and the road is not a good place to be for some of the winter storms out here on the plains.”
I could imagine. My village was nestled in between two mountain ranges and had been cut off from everything that wasn’t on the river, and even that iced over for a few months in the deepest part of winter. There were the occasional avalanches, but our town was far enough from the mountains that they rarely caused problems. But the plains sounded even more treacherous.
There would be no avalanches out here, but there would also be no shelter from the winds coming down from the north, or from the snowstorms from the east. I didn’t want to be out on the road during a bad storm with only a tent between me and the weather, either. That had been why I pushed so hard to get over the mountains, and it seemed crossing the mountains did not save me. But I was going to keep pushing, along with my new companions, to get across the plains and to shelter. And then on to Kemoor.
Sword
Cold or not, I continued my training the next day. Even with Ayrula’s clothing, I was still shivering, but working alongside Mykul, learning not to fall for his tricks, warmed me up quickly enough.
The days had grown shorter, so we rose before the sun crested over the horizon and trudged out into the grasslands to spar. Though the wind howled and the cold bit into my flesh, I kept practicing. The discomfort I felt now was better than an ifrit’s claws in my gut later.
The dagger had become a part of me. Not a part of me as a hand or a foot, but rather an extension of my arm. When I swung the blade around before me, I knew where the tip would go. When I jabbed left at the moving target, I was able to stab into it.
I lacked the finesse or beauty of a true sword dancer, but I could aim and attack. It was a practical weapon, a last-ditch item that could keep me safe in dire need, not a trade to earn a living at.
“Thank you,” I said, bowing low to Mykul one morning after our sparring. “I almost feel like I could stand up to Orin. Almost.”
He turned with a little smile and shrugged as he wrapped a loose cloak around himself.
“I did very little,” Mykul said. “You’re the one that practiced and worked hard at this. Had you been complacent, then all of this would have meant nothing.”
“It was you’re idea, though. I wouldn’t have sought out a dagger. Even if I can’t fight her, at least I’ll feel safer in a dark alley now.”
“Don’t get too courageous,” he said, giving me a friendly tap on the arm with the flat side of his blade. “I don’t want to end up scraping pieces of you off the cobblestone because you went around tempting the fate of the dragons.”
I pulled the blade back, circling the tip in the air in front of me.
“Do dragons really care what fate I might have?”
“You never know,” he said with a chuckle. “Why risk it?”
He was right. The dragons didn’t seem interested in us once creation had been set aside, but why tempt fate?
I picked up the cloak Ayrula had given me and threw it on. It was made from a thick wool that buttoned up in the front and had slits in the sides where I could slip my hands out if needed. Not practical for swordplay but far better than going without when hiking along beside the caravan in the driving cold.
But the idea of the dark alley came back to mind, even as we walked back toward the relative peacefulness of the caravan. Would I really be able to handle myself if I needed to? Surely, there would be the opportunity to test myself in a big city like Kemoor. And if I lost, would I survive?
“Have you ever lost?” I asked Mykul.
“Of course, I’ve lost,” he said. “Everyone loses at one time or another. The point isn’t to win every battle; the point is to be alive at the end of it. Sometimes that means letting them knock you down, and staying down. Sometimes it means running away. And sometimes it means the only thing you can do is keep hitting until they stop moving because you know if they get up again you won’t.”
His eyes had become deadly serious on that last bit. I could tell without asking that he had been on the winning side of that fight. I could also see the scar the battle had left on his mind, the edge that wouldn’t go away. He might have won the battle and saved his own life, but there had been a cost.
Could I do that if I needed to? I didn’t want to find out. Better to learn the skills I needed so that I could avoid that sort of situation.
As if in response to the dark thoughts in my head, a black shape zoomed out of the grass, smashing into my chest. I fell to the ground, instinctively pushing back against a mass of claws and teeth trying to reach my face. I could feel the sharp stabs biting into my shoulders and cutting into my forearms as I tried to fend off the brute. My dagger was useless with the creature already on top of me, and I had no way to keep it from ripping out my throat other than my frantic movements.
I screamed! All the fear I had been dealing with since my mother’s death struck, and I lashed out against the ifrit.
Fire erupted around m
e, bathing me in glorious heat. The world was on fire, and I was its master!
Time seemed to slow around me as the flames consumed me. They danced along my skin, rippling up along my body and striking out at the creature attacking me.
The screams broke into my ecstasy, and I blinked away the flames, concentrating on the world outside the haze of red and orange. Mykul! He was on fire, too! He waved his burning arms around, trying to put out the flames. But not all of the screams had come from him. The small ball lying on the ground in front of him was emitting a high-pitched scream that pierced my eardrums. The ifrit was no longer on fire, but smoke rose off his blackened skin.
The shock of seeing my friend and the little ifrit in such pain was enough to snap me out of it, and the fire extinguished itself in the blink of an eye.
A shape barreled into Mykul, carrying him into the stream and dousing him in water before I could move. I looked down and saw Edwum patting Mykul down and making sure every last flame was out.
Horrified, I ran to Yunta. The tiny creature was curled into a ball, his skin a mottled mass of black ichor.
“Ayrula! Ayrula, help me!” I screamed. I didn’t know how to help an ifrit. Would water make it worse or better? I knew nothing of an ifrit’s anatomy.
Ayrula was beside me in seconds, already alerted by the screams moments before. She picked up Yunta and darted off to the wagons, leaving me alone in the charred ruins of the field.
I slumped to the ground, tears filling my eyes. The grass around me was singed. I’d been lucky the field hadn’t caught fire as well. Lucky I hadn’t burned down the entire encampment. Lucky…except for Mykul.
“How did the fire start? Where had it come from?” Edwum asked as he lifted Mykul from the river.
From me, whispered a small voice inside me. I brought the flames. But I couldn’t say it out loud. I saw my father pushing me into the flames. Saw James turning his back on me. Saw the men and women of my village sending me out into the forest alone, hungry and shivering in the dark.
I curled in on myself, wrapping my arms around my middle, my eyes screwed shut.
It was only then that I realized my clothing lay in tatters around me, charred and in pieces, barely hanging on. I couldn’t hide what I’d done.
I looked up, ready to speak out, to admit to burning Mykul.
The mercenary lay in Edwum’s arms. Others were there now. Nathye and one of the scouts. A driver from one of the wagons. They gingerly lifted Mykul up while Nathye fussed over his arms.
His arms! Blackened skin covered both hands, and red welts licked up his forearms. His biceps were laced with smaller trails, fading out to angry red welts near his shoulders.
“By the dragons,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, Mykul. I…”
“She didn’t do this,” Mykul said. His voice was harsh, his words slurred, surely fighting off the pain from his burns. He tried reaching out to Nathye with one of his blackened appendages but pulled back swiftly. “She isn’t at fault,” he said more harshly.
“It’s okay,” Nathye said, soothing away the sweat from his brow. “No harm will come to the girl. Just be still, Mykul. Akwulf and Edwum will see to you; let me speak to Sybel.”
Nathye shot Edwum a glare, and I quailed, lowering my gaze again.
They took Mykul away while Nathye took me by the arm. Gently.
She led me back to her personal wagon and helped me up into the back end. A cheery orb of yellow light glowed in a sconce on the wall. Quilted fabrics hung from every surface, and baskets of colorful fruits, yarn, and herbs hung from the ceiling. A pile of furs sat up against the far wall, neatly folded and ready for the evening’s sleep.
“Sit down, Sybel,” Nathye said, taking out a folding chair and opening it up on the floor.
I did as she said, and gladly accepted the small blanket she handed me, wrapping it around my shoulders to hide the half-charred dress.
She took out a second chair and sat, facing me.
“Now then, can you tell me what happened?”
I could feel the tears building, but I blinked them back. She was so kind to me, and I saw no accusation in her face. Surely, she must suspect, but I didn’t want to say it. Couldn’t say it.
“Magic is a terrible thing,” she said, “and a wonderful thing.”
She pulled the sconce down, lifting the orb of light from it, and handed it to me. The glass felt cool to the touch, but the fire burned inside. I could feel the flames trapped, itching to get out, forever burning but never feeling the breath of air.
“Magic gives us light and hot water. It brings pictures to life and helps the sick mend. Magic can do so much, but there is a burden with its use.”
“I don’t even know how it happened. There were teeth and claws then fire everywhere. And the screams…”
“The ifrit attacked you?”
I nodded numbly.
“As I thought,” she said. “You’re a mage, Sybel. You have yet to train, but your soul knows the way of magic. You protected yourself the only way you could.”
“But I hurt Mykul in the process.”
“He’s a tough man,” Edwum said from the doorway. He had snuck in while Nathye and I were talking. “Those burns won’t stop him for more than a month, then he’ll be back on another caravan working.”
“How can you be sure?” I asked him. “His hands were black and blistered. I’ve never seen a burn that bad before. I saw an accident at the smithy once; a man dropped a hot iron on his leg. That damage wasn’t nearly as bad as what I did to Mykul, and he never walked quite the same again. What good is a mercenary that can’t use his hands?”
“Give us a bit more credit than that, girl,” Edwum said. “You think we’d travel this far without a healer? Akwulf is more than just a cook.”
“He’s a healer?”
“He might not be as powerful as many mages out there, but he can get the job done. He’s with Mykul right now, and he thinks he can repair his hands enough. The mages in Ludwald should be able to finish the job when we arrive. He’ll be scared, but he’ll be able to hold a sword again.”
Relief flooded through me, but it was not enough to lift me from the despondency that I found myself in. The fact that he could be healed helped, but it did not change what I’d done.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I’m glad he’ll be okay. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” Edwum said. “What you did was defend yourself, as anyone would do.”
“That shouldn’t be an excuse.”
He knelt down beside me and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Where you are going, there will be many hazards. Orin is a young servitor, not really fully in her own power, and yet she’s caused you no end of harm. It’s good that you can defend yourself because I doubt she is the last that you will have to deal with. And make no excuses: What you did was defense. When you are up against other mages, or servitors like Orin with more power and fewer scruples, then you’ll need that fire.”
“But Mykel wasn’t hurting me. I couldn’t control it.”
“If you could control it, would you bother going to see the city of mages to begin with?”
I had to shake my head at that. If I had been able to control it, I would have stayed with Winifrey and learned more about magic from her. Perhaps I would have sought more information about who and what I was, but I wouldn’t have made it a point to get there as quickly.
“Of course not,” Edwum said. “We knew, when we took you in, that you were seeking them out because you were running from something. That something just happens to be yourself. We knew the dangers of taking in an untrained mage, and we accepted them. All of us, including Mykul, can see that you don’t want something like this happening again, and we’ll see that you get to Kemoor so that it doesn’t.”
I couldn’t stop the tears. All this trust when my own friends and family—the people I’d grown up with and been raised by—had cast me out. And even with all
their trust, I still felt the guilt gnawing away at me.
“The training sessions were foolish,” I said. “I shouldn’t have let Mykul put himself in danger like that.”
“He’s a man who can make his own choices. He chose to train you, knowing there was a servitor nearby who had nothing but ill will for you. He pleaded your case even as they were taking him away. He knows exactly what he’s doing and what’s right in this case. Don’t you think you should trust him to know at least his own mind?”
“Yes,” I said, finally giving him a small smile. “I do.”
“Good, then that’s settled,” he said. He stood, letting out a weary sigh. “Now for the other half of it.”
Secrets
Edwum towered over Orin, Ayrula at his back, the unresponsive Yunta in the older girl’s arms. Though Edwum spoke, everyone knew that Ayrula had given him the authority to do so. You didn’t reprimand a servitor unless you were a servitor.
His face was beet red, the anger boiling up as he made his way to her.
For a moment, I felt sorry for her. Her pet had been burned, the ifrit’s heart fluttering rapidly in his transparent chest. I stood in the shadows, watching as Edwum took his stance before her, too ashamed to stand with him but unwilling to sit inside the wagon as he had asked me to. I had a part in this also.
“Now will you learn, Orin?” Edwum asked, his voice steady but with an edge I hadn’t heard before. “Sybel is a mage, not some young girl to go stalking. You think we’re taking her to the collegium because she’s a good cook? No, there’s magic in her, and you risk injuring your servant, yourself, and everyone around you with your games.”
The girl’s eyes welled with tears, but before she could open her mouth Edwum grabbed her shoulder, shaking her.
“None of that!” he yelled. “You were sent here to learn to be a servitor, to use your gift to benefit your family, and instead you play games and endanger everyone around you. Your antics are more than I can stand, and I won’t suffer any more of this charade any longer. Your tears are no more real than your promises to behave. Go back to your wagon, and do not leave. I’ll be returning you to your mother once we reach Ludwald.”