Fleeing Peace

by Sherwood Smith

  And the Mearsiean girls had all seemed to think that Devon should stay with Karia, because they hadn’t offered to let her stay.

  So Devon had gone to Imar to live with Russy and Karia, promising herself that when they didn’t need her any more, she’d be free to go to Mearsies Heili—or somewhere just as good.

  Had that time come?

  Honesty said no. They were under a spell, so they needed her more than ever.

  She was deep in thought when Kondaria stopped at the beginning of a bridge, shook her mane, and nickered.

  “What’s wrong?” Devon asked, jiggling the reins.

  Kondaria tossed her head.

  Devon looked around hastily, her shoulders hunched. Maybe the pony sensed danger.

  All Devon saw in the gathering darkness were ruins.

  “It’s me,” said another voice—a kid’s voice.

  It was Liere, who had been listening to all the minds that passed along the road. Until now she had stayed hidden, for nearly everyone who passed was enchanted. The rest had been Norsundrians riding back and forth on searches.

  Devon’s thoughts, free and clear, had been so welcome that Liere was out of her hiding place and running by the time the little mare had plodded halfway through the ruins.

  Now Liere just stood in the entrance of the tunnel leading downward, grinning up at the silhouettes on the bridge. She shivered, so glad to at least be talking to a real, unenchanted person.

  “Who are you?” Devon cried.

  “Don’t worry, I’m a friend,” Liere responded. “I’m in this tunnel here . . . a moment . . . Ugh! I keep tripping over things.”

  Liere concentrated on keeping her voice friendly, steady, conversational. Devon relaxed unconsciously.

  “I’m Liere,” she said, walking up to Kondaria. Devon looked down at a skinny figure not much taller than she.

  “I’m Devon, and that’s Kondaria.”

  Liere petted the pony’s nose. Kondaria sniffed at her, then whuffed on her cheek and Liere stood still until the pony was satisfied. In this way she apologized for having entered the animal’s mind and commanded it to stop.

  “What’re you doing in the tunnel?” Devon asked. And she took a risk, “Hiding from elevens?”

  “Yes,” Liere said promptly. “And thinking.”

  “All day?”

  “More like three weeks or so. I’m not sure. Until I ran out of food.”

  “Must have been uncomfortable,” Devon said. She was used to oddballs. “What did you have to think about?”

  “The world,” Liere said vaguely. “What brings you here?”

  “My mare.” And when Liere laughed, Devon said, “Really! I just pointed her toward Everon and here’s where we ended up. See, my friends Russy and Karia fell for some creepy Norsunder spell, and so I left.”

  “Russy and—you mean the king and queen?” Liere asked cautiously.

  Devon’s discomfort at being thought snobbish was reassuring to Liere.

  “They’re just friends,” Devon said. “Where I first came from, there are no such things as royalty. But this man came, and they changed—”

  “It sounds like Siamis got to them.”

  “Siamis?” Devon repeated.

  “Man who walks around with a bunch of elevens.” Liere made a sudden jerky movement. “Pale hair. Wears a very fancy sword, Old Sartoran.”

  “That’s the one! Uh, is something wrong with your head?”

  “Suffering from a very bad job of cutting my hair. No. Not suffering. Regretting the action. Uh! My vocabulary is poor, and I didn’t even know it. Now I do. How to use what I have, but be precise.”

  Liere spoke in a quick voice, as if to herself. Devon thought about spending three weeks all alone in a tunnel, and said in her own most comforting tone, “Well, I don’t have any scissors, but I’m sure we can find some. Is it dry in there? Can I sack out safely for the night in that tunnel? I’m tired.”

  “There’s lots of room underground,” Liere said. “I can show you where I’ve been staying. There’s water, and it’s dry. If you don’t mind my company.”

  “Mind?” Devon repeated. “I’m always glad to make a friend.”

  Liere caught the wash of loneliness that accompanied the words—a feeling with which she had a lifelong familiarity.

  After a quiet night the sun came up. Liere sat in the tunnel entrance and watched it. When the light reached the inner space Devon began to stir. She woke up slowly, reminding Liere of her sister Marga: stretch, yawn, look around while a sleepy mind got itself in order for the day.

  Liere wondered if she’d ever been so unconscious, and decided she hadn’t. The emotional reaction that resulted from that observation was regret, and loneliness—and apprehension.

  But those were familiar ghosts, and she dismissed them with the ease of weeks of steady habit.

  When she glanced again at Devon, it was to meet a curious gaze from serious, ringed gray eyes. Devon smiled tentatively, her thin, plain face easy to read even without mind touch.

  “You look kinda like a boy,” Devon observed, a slight question in her voice. It was also clear that it didn’t matter which she actually was.

  “I’m not,” Liere said. “Disguised myself. Siamis’s elevens would be looking for a girl, so I turned myself into a boy.”

  “They are looking for a girl,” Devon acknowledged. “Anyway, you sound kind of like a girl, but you don’t look like one. Um, did I say something wrong?”

  Liere had been thinking that the two of them looked more alike than not—both skinny and plain with thin light-brown hair—but one had gray eyes and the other light brown. And Devon’s face was triangular, Liere’s round. “Nothing,” she said, “that requires action at the moment.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing important. Sorry.” Liere had intended to ask for a day’s ride. But the more they spoke, the more Liere kept thinking of Devon not just as a ride, but as a possible ally.

  Devon poked a finger in the air. “If you want to sound like a boy, you might try talking a little lower. Or maybe more . . . oh, loud. You have a very soft, high voice. And you should also use more slang, just to sound like other kids. You sound, well, old sometimes.”

  “I don’t want to sound old,” Liere said quickly. “Yet I must express myself precisely, but I don’t want to sound . . .” She hesitated, not wanting to voice her foremost fear. “Remind me if I sound too old?”

  “Sure,” Devon said, smiling.

  Liere realized at the same moment that Devon did that they each had begun to assume that they would travel together. Liere hugged her arms tightly around herself, fighting against both guilt and glee.

  “Want some nice wenses?” Devon offered, digging in her pack. “Slightly stale, but still good.”

  She shared out a traveler’s cake for each, and they ate in silence.

  Devon reflected on the fact that she seemed to have fallen into another adventure. She accepted without question that elevens might be after Liere for some reason; in her experience, age was no barrier to villains and their plans. That she’d learned in Mearsies Heili.

  As for Liere, she appreciated Devon at once, the way (she soon saw through listening to the stream of Devon’s surface thoughts) that the girls in faraway, unknown Mearsies Heili had done. It was those memories of the laughing, playing gang in Mearsies Heili that made Devon wistful, and Liere, seeing those memories so clearly, felt the same emotion.

  Then she squashed it as inappropriate.

  “ . . . comb your hair?”

  Devon held out her comb. Liere took it, watching as Devon parted her long, thin curtain of hair and began to finger it into braids. Another, stronger pang of regret lanced through Liere, and this time she dismissed it angrily, vowing that if she missed something as inconsequential as long hair, she’d keep it short until such worthless emotion vanished.

  She ran the comb through her hair with a couple swift, tangle-ripping strokes, parted it, and put the long part be
hind her ear, boy-style. Blinking watery eyes, she handed the comb back, and Devon threw it into her pack.

  “What’s next?” Devon asked.

  “I am going to break Siamis’s spell.” It was the first time Liere had said it aloud to someone besides the Guardian, and she braced herself, feeling that now she was committed.

  Devon accepted this with the same unquestioning attitude as before. Clair and the girls had defeated villains, so of course this girl could, too. “How can I help?”

  “Ever hear of Lilith the Guardian?” Liere countered.

  “Sure. She’s mentioned in some of Russy and Karia’s history books. Are we going to her?”

  “I wish we could,” Liere said, rubbing her hands up her arms. How safe she’d felt when the Guardian at last came to her! Even though she’d not stayed very long, while she was there she’d filled the cavern with light, and warmth, and good food—for Liere had not bought enough in South End. And they’d talked, mostly about magic, for a long time.

  “She doesn’t just help here,” Liere said finally. “And there are worse villains than Siamis, and they are active, too. But when I told her that I had to—that my duty—what I meant to do, she helped me learn some things, and told me how I might accomplish breaking Siamis’s spell.”

  “Oh, good!”

  “It’s a long journey to the north, and if Siamis finds out, there will be danger.”

  “Are you telling me about danger to get rid of me?”

  “No,” Liere said, and it did not take mind-reading to comprehend that Devon was both honest and serious. “To be fair to you.”

  “Then let’s go,” Devon said. “Kondaria can carry two easily.”

  Devon watched as Liere’s face blanked, her gaze going distant, and then Liere smiled, a sudden, happy-sad smile.

  “You’re right,” she said. “Kondaria can.”

  Devon didn’t ask how she knew. She accepted this assurance just as she accepted the fact that this girl must break the villain’s enchantment, and the Guardian couldn’t.

  In Devon’s experience oddballs needed watching out for just as much as anyone else, and Devon liked watching out for people.

  The girls climbed onto the pony and began their long journey northward toward Roth Drael.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Leander and Kitty climbed slowly out of the water onto the coast of Mearsiese Heili.

  It was a rocky coast, rising from a long, gradual shelf overgrown with fantastical shapes of coral, which inspired those waters to be named the Sea of Rose—or, as Kitty told Leander as they climbed out, shivering, the Mearsiean girls called it the Pink Sea.

  The magic on Kitty’s armband began to fade as soon as they breathed air, but at least it took the water from their clothes. Not the salt. But Leander was happy to be dry. He’d been afraid they would freeze to death before they could reach civilization.

  As they began walking inland, it became apparent that civilization was not going to be easy to find. The coast of Mearsies Heili had no harbors or ports, and there was no building in sight, just flat land, covered with old snow.

  The sun began to sink, and the wind got colder, making both kids worry. Kitty was trying to figure out a way to bring up magic transfer without reminding Leander of the awful mess on board that nasty ship when a bird cawed above, and dove down out of the sky.

  Leander and Kitty watched, curious and a little wary, as the bird vanished behind a jumble of rocks. They were both surprised when a boy appeared, barefoot, wearing only a long shirt and sturdy trousers. He was small, skinny, an ordinary boy brown of hair and skin, with a pair of owlish eyes.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Ben. Who are you?”

  “Who are you?” Kitty demanded.

  “Clair’s helper,” the boy said.

  “Take us to Clair at once,” Kitty said. “We have desperately important news.”

  Ben opened his hands apologetically. “I don’t know any magic, and even if I did, Norsunder has wards all over this kingdom.” He grinned. “But I can take you to where Clair and the girls are hiding out.”

  o0o

  To look at a map of Sartorias-deles, one would never guess that a small, agrarian country like Mearsies Heili might gain prominence in world events. Especially one ruled by a girl of thirteen. Her best friend and heir was another girl, aged twelve.

  Mearsies Heili had been the first country visited by Siamis in his search for the child who had been born with dena Yeresbeth. When Siamis discovered that Clair was not the one he sought, he issued orders to a unit of Norsundrians to take control of the country, to which he intended to return. There was far too much ancient magic in this seemingly sleepy little kingdom. He was going to have to explore further.

  Clair Sherwood was not the first in modern times to rule and stay a child. A century earlier, the first Sherwood on the throne—she’d changed her personal name to Mearsieanne, keeping only her family name, Sherwood—had also stayed a girl, but then she vanished into Norsunder’s timelessness as a prisoner, and had recently been freed.

  Now she was helping her descendants.

  Forced by a botched spell when he was small to take animal shapes at least once a day, Ben had been an outcast until he met Clair on the road, and was invited to join her group of oddball, rejected kids who had bonded themselves into a family.

  Ben served as Clair’s eyes and ears when enemies threatened the little kingdom. Until Norsunder began to take notice of Mearsies Heili, the biggest threat had been the land-hungry Chwahir, ancient foes of the Mearsieans.

  As soon as he’d delivered Leander and Kitty to the cottage in the western woods where Clair and the girls were staying with Clair’s aunt Murial, a mage, Ben returned to spying at the capital, a small city built on a mountain top, surrounded by cloud.

  Ben arrived in tiem to discover the Norsundrians in charge in a flurry.

  Siamis was scheduled to return, no one knew why.

  As soon as Ben heard that, he scuttled to a window and turned into a silver condor, the fastest bird he could think of. He plunged away from the white palace atop its cloud-shrouded mountain. The palace dwindled rapidly away behind him and he hoped he was an indistinct pale shape against the incoming snow clouds, for patrolling Norsundrians thought it entertaining sport to shoot at any birds they saw.

  He flashed through the still, cold forest, circling through the trees to scout out any roaming patrols before he arrowed down the hollow trunk into the underground hideout that CJ had nicknamed the Junkyard, where he found a skinny, freckled figure with long, pale braids. This was Lina, one of Clair’s regional governors, another kid. She was sitting on the bright-woven rug drawing pictures. “Ben!”

  “Hi, Lina. Siamis is coming. Tomorrow. Want me to find an animal to take the news to Clair and Aunt Murial?”

  Lina shook her head. “This news I take myself.”

  “And stay there,” Ben warned.

  Lina’s eyes rounded. “Oh yes. I think it’s time to skedaddle. Is it still snowing? I can slip out under cover o’ that.”

  “Some. More coming in.”

  Lina made a face. Ben changed back into a bird, leaving her struggling into her fuzzy white coat.

  o0o

  Ben did not like taking the shape of anything smaller than a bird, for the danger of being squished was greater, and he felt this weird sense of pressure that was hard to define. It had to do with making sense of what he saw.

  For spying on Norsundrians, he didn’t trust any form larger than a spider.

  Ben was in place the next day when Siamis arrived.

  Forcing his faceted eyes to give him a single, coherent image would punish him with a colossal headache later, but for now he was glad to be in his vantage spot in the carving on an old sideboard in the parlor the Norsundrians had adopted as their HQ.

  The Norsundrians did not like palace made of weird moon-colored stone. They only used the austere, vault-ceilinged throne room when handing out threats and rules to the lighters
. The parlor had been completely reorganized—useless furnishings shoved into the corners, and the two tables put together in the middle of the room.

  On that double table lay the map someone had put together, depicting Mearsies Heili, the Chwahir Shadowland, and bordering countries in detail. This map had enabled Ben to keep Lina—and through her Clair and her Aunt Murial—informed on all searches.

  Just as well, Ben had reflected soberly. The risks he took were nothing to those Clair faced almost daily. She was serious about her job as queen, visiting everyone who had endured Norsundrian attacks or reprisals, and arranging aid since magic did not work because of a powerful Norsundrian ward. Most of the Norsunder searches were for her, but this did not stop her—of course.

  Life had been grim, for the Norsundrian in charge was determined to get promoted to a better duty than riding herd on a tiny country run by kids. This meant nabbing Clair or her Aunt Murial, whose magic stung the Norsundrians now and then, at any cost to the hapless populace. He also liked the cruel cat-and-mouse games, as evidenced by the way he had taken control of the country. To entertain himself he also embarked on territorial skirmishes with the Chwahir —all of which the Norsundrians won, despite their limited numbers.

  Siamis appeared at last. He was dressed as a civilian. Ben wondered why he didn’t wear the Norsundrian uniform.

  “Here’s the report,” the slime-mold in charge said. Ben didn’t know his name. All his underlings just called him Commander.

  The Commander waved at his second-in-command, who handed Siamis papers.

  Siamis glanced through them, looked down at the map, and back up at the Commander, whose bony, heavy-browed face was even more smug than usual.

  Siamis tossed the reports down onto the map. “All light and no heat?” he asked.

  The sarcasm made the Commander scowl.

  Siamis said, “Enlightening for the locals, making your moves and methods predictable. At best. And all for nothing.” He glanced around. Ben made himself small as the blond head lifted and the observant gaze swept past his corner. “At least, I see no evidence of success.”