First Magic

by Jenny Schwartz

  At least they’d gotten past their resentment that he’d chosen to found the new town of Justice as the site for the magistrate hall for the North American Territory rather than follow the plan of the magistrate he’d swapped territories with and base himself in Atlanta.

  Some former Atlanta residents had moved to Justice. Of those who’d stayed behind, some might now leave. There was a stigma on Faerene Atlanta for the perversion of Reunionist faith that had grown here. It had been uprooted, but at a brutal cost.

  Human mages like Amy had been the target of the disgraced Reunionist priest, Dux Cyril.

  Most Faerene saw Amy as representing all human mages.

  Istvan stretched out in his temporary office and called up the latest reports on the wall-hung slate. Nothing urgent had come in since the night court session closed.

  Nora loves me.

  Her confession wasn’t urgent. He couldn’t forget it, though. Or ignore it. He respected her as a scientist and as a friend. But the something more that she hoped for wasn’t there. He was sure of it. She’d misinterpreted events, seeing what she wanted to see.

  He hadn’t chosen to form a relationship with Amy. The Fae Council had forced him, as a powerful magician, to be one of the first to take on a human familiar. Once the oath bond existed, Amy had become his responsibility. She’d vowed her magic to his service, and he’d vowed to honor her sacrifice. As he interpreted it, that included ensuring her welfare.

  It had been obvious that what she’d needed was emotional connection. Nora was right to that extent: Amy had been brave to display her need to belong somewhere and to someone. The Faerene had ripped her from her adopted family. Istvan had tried to give them back to her, and succeeded—although at a cost. The family had just had to move to Justice.

  He’d gone further, though. He’d recognized that she needed a family, pack or clan among the Faerene as well. Call it what you would, she needed people she trusted. And so, he’d let them in, despite his preference for solitude. The family room in the magistrate hall was concrete proof of his transformation. And by meeting Amy’s need for a de facto family, he’d gained one, himself.

  But Amy’s influence wasn’t as intrinsically motivating as Nora assumed.

  People misunderstood when they framed Amy as a catalyst. It was their own perception of the world and potential futures that placed her as a focal point. People projected their hopes and fears onto her as a human mage thriving in Faerene society. Now, the militia was doing the same. They wanted the magic that they thought she represented.

  However, if you examined events that people thought Amy had initiated, she hadn’t. Take Rory’s appointment as head of the North American Territory Magisterial Guard Unit. Istvan had been considering offering him the position as head of his magisterial unit before any notion of human familiars arose. He and Rory had worked well together battling the Kstvm and sealing the Rift.

  Similarly, Rory had been considering forming a pack before he’d met and been attracted to Amy. He hadn’t formed the pack to protect her. People willfully misunderstood reality. Rory had been a lone wolf on Elysium, but that had been politics, not personality. The chance for someone as strong as him to form a pack on Earth would have been irresistible regardless of Amy. It just might have taken him longer.

  “Thinking deep thoughts or do you simply need a coffee?” His chief clerk’s light voice called him back from cloud gathering.

  Istvan blinked.

  Radka crossed to her desk and put her bags down. She was packed and ready to leave once the day session closed. Radka would be glad to leave Atlanta. She’d settled here, originally, then moved to Justice to join his hall. In doing so, she’d split from her boyfriend. Hemlock had gone on to play a key role in the illegal and heretical Reunionist plot that chased transcendence through sacrificing others. He and Radka had no longer been together, but she still mourned his fate.

  The Heart Tribunal back on Elysium had found Hemlock, along with Dux Cyril, guilty and ordered them soul marked. Each would endure alone till they died. The soul mark elicited repugnance in any who neared them, enforcing their isolation.

  “Love makes demands on us and is slow to fade,” Istvan said to Radka.

  The nymph abandoned her preparations for the morning court session and stared at him. “Huh? Do we have a new case, an illicit love spell or similar?”

  “I was merely musing.”

  She unbuttoned her jacket and hung it neatly, picking up the warm, green cardigan she preferred to work in when not in public. She shrugged it on. “I’ll make that coffee.”

  He nodded approval. “One of the things I like about you, Radka, is that you don’t talk about feelings.”

  A laugh that masqueraded as a cough escaped her. “Not to my boss.”

  His own mood lifted. He identified the weight that Nora’s confession had burdened him with. For now, he would lay it aside.

  Loving someone didn’t mean they’d love you back.

  Chapter 7

  I ate breakfast slowly. The idea of a honeymoon for Rory and me had pretty much vanished. Too many issues demanded our attention.

  Rory had devoured a plate of ham and eggs with warm biscuits, gulped his mug of tea, and accompanied Urwin to consult over some mysterious issue that worried the centaur clerk.

  Then again, the issue probably wasn’t mysterious to anyone who understood magic.

  I needed Istvan’s promised lessons on magic.

  “What are your plans for the day?” Yana asked. She cut into a grilled tomato and it spilled red juice.

  Such an innocent question and such an ordinary occupation, eating breakfast. She very nearly caught me.

  I looked into her wickedly amused hazel eyes. “No!”

  She taught me self-defense, and her training methods made Digger and Craig’s seem gentle. “You can’t get all your exercise in bed.” Snickers erupted from those around us. “Even on your honeymoon.”

  Behind the teasing lurked genuine concern. A hard workout would release some of the tension locked in my muscles. “Beating up on me will have to wait. I need to visit my family.”

  After a quick, assessing gaze, she nodded. “I’ll join you.”

  I’d learned not to ask if she was on bodyguard duty. Friendship and pack support intersected with her obligation as a magisterial guard to keep Istvan’s human familiar, me, safe. Whether she was on duty or not, wasn’t important. “You’ll be welcome.”

  Yana and I crossed the bridge as part of the mass of people on their way to work. It was mostly pedestrian traffic with a couple of bicycles and a horse and cart. Two kids sat dangling their feet off the back of it. Their goblin father waved a greeting, but the kids were intent on some private dispute, pushing and pinching each other.

  “Kids. Berre is eager for some.”

  “You?”

  Yana grinned. “Yeah. But I pretend I just like practicing to conceive them. There’s no rush.”

  Nor was there any rush to our progress. We halted outside the feed store to talk with one of the pack.

  He looked harried, slapping his hat on and off in a quick show of respect. “Goats are the devil. Kassandra wanted a cashmere one for her knitting. I said we should have gone with an alpaca if she wanted to spin her own wool, but no. Damned thing ate through its rope, yesterday.”

  I winced. Using rope to restrain a goat was a rookie mistake. Goats ate everything.

  “Spent three hours chasing it down. Locked it in the shed after that since it was nearly dark and it had already escaped its pen. That’s why I’d tied it up with rope. Now it’s gone and dented the darned wood of the shed, head-butting it. So here I am, buying a tethering chain. Then I’ll have to fix the pen.”

  “Or have goat stew,” Yana said.

  “Ha! You tell Kassandra that.” He hurried inside the feed store, calling out. “You got any chains?”

  A deep voice called back. “We’re not into the kinky stuff.”

  Laughter almost drowned out the
cursing goat-owner’s impatient response.

  We passed Tineke’s cottage. The green scarf tied to the front door handle meant she was at work. As a member of the Reclamation Team, she could break down and return technology and other things to the earth from anywhere in the world. Since moving to Justice and raising her cottage, she’d chosen to work from home. We knew better than to interrupt her when the green scarf flew.

  My family had been warned. Living among the Faerene brought new rules of courtesy and survival.

  Yana cocked her head, listening. “Everyone’s at the barn or thereabouts.”

  A high wooden fence separated Tineke’s cottage and the simple garden around it from the small farm behind. Once Yana and I skirted it, I could also hear my family.

  Jarod loudly proclaimed his idea of where sheds and pens should go. “Less distance to shovel the…manure.” His word substitution told me Stella was present. “We start a pile of it here to break down to fertilize the field and—Amy!”

  The dogs had seen us first. I scratched Tabby’s head. As big as she was, I didn’t have to bend to pet her. “Good morning.”

  “Morning, all,” Yana echoed.

  Jarod lost interest in sheds and pens. During the answering chorus of greetings, he sidled up to me. “Digger said your dad’s a—”

  “Boy!” Mike cut him short.

  Jarod grinned. “Whereas my dad’s all sweetness and light.”

  “Sean is…complicated,” I said.

  Craig pounded a stake into the ground. “Geese, first. If we put a gate to the north, they can be herded into the orchard.”

  “You have an orchard?” Yana interrupted.

  Niamh answered. “Tineke has agreed to two rows of trees between her and Lajos’s yard. We eventually convinced her that we would buy the trees. Lajos is also okay with us letting the geese and chickens forage in his garden.”

  Craig stayed on topic. “Chickens next to the geese.”

  We all turned and contemplated the elaborate chicken coop Tineke had raised. The poultry castle had four turrets.

  “Those birds are going to get a superiority complex,” Stella said.

  Jarod cackled. “The Prince and Princesses of Cluck.”

  Craig threw a stake at him.

  “Coffee,” Stella said firmly.

  Mike matched her firmness. “We have work to do.”

  “And the first step is to decide what we’re doing. That’s why Amy’s here.”

  I stared at her. That was why I’d come visiting. I wanted the reassurance that they would fit in. But how had she guessed?

  She smiled sympathetically. “Your father planted doubts in your head. He criticized you and your choices. Now, you’re wondering if you destroyed our lives. Such nonsense. We chose to come here, Amy. Our lives. Our choices. You and the Faerene of Justice gave us more options.” She looked around. The high fence blocked any view of the river. “It is a good place to be, with good people, but I think it is time we discussed our individual futures.”

  We blinked at her confident statement.

  My human family might have been stunned, although we shouldn’t have been. Stella was both resilient and pragmatic. However, Yana was approving. She gave Stella a thumbs up and strolled away in the direction of Lajos’s herb farm, leaving us to talk privately.

  Craig put the hammer down beside a pile of stakes and a ball of twine. “I agree. Amy needs to get over herself.” His quick, sly grin took the sting from the brutal words. “And the farm doesn’t need more than one of us full-time. We have options. More than in Apfall Hill. I’m happy to be out of there, and I want to go further.”

  Mike turned away sharply. “Let’s have this talk, then.”

  Craig and Jarod exchanged a very brotherly kind of look, a grimace at their father’s response.

  Yet it was Niamh who started the conversation once we’d scraped our boots off and entered the kitchen. She measured coffee into the pot and put it on the stove. The pace of life had changed with the apocalypse. Microwaves and other technological timesavers had passed into memory. “Sabinka offered Digger a job with the police.”

  My jaw dropped.

  Digger huffed a laugh.

  “It’s not you,” I said hurriedly. “It’s that the town is so willing to employ a human, especially after the militia’s actions.”

  Stella opened a cake tin and transferred a fruit cake to a plate. “They said we’re citizens of Justice and they mean it.” She began slicing the cake. “I talked with Peggy about it.”

  Jarod elbowed me. “There you go, you’re not that important. They like all of us.”

  Even if he was exaggerating and substituting “like” for “accept”, the thought that my family’s future among the Faerene wasn’t dependent on me was liberating. I could have floated up to the ceiling like a balloon. Instead, I ate some of Stella’s yummy cider-spiked fruit cake.

  “I’m not going to take up the job offer,” Digger said. “I don’t have the personality to be a cop.”

  Niamh sat beside him. “I do, though. I worked with them when I was a firefighter. Solving crimes isn’t my thing, but community work and emergency response is in my ballpark. When Digger visits Sabinka’s apothecary store later today to decline the job offer, I’ll put in my application with her first as a courtesy, and then, at the police department.”

  There was a beat of silence. From me, it was respect for her determination. Niamh believed in serving her community. For the others, judging by their lack of surprise, she’d already shared her decision with them and they’d come to terms with it.

  Jarod stuffed the last of his slice of cake in his mouth, swallowed and announced his intentions. “I want to be part of the town, too, but not by being a responsible citizen.” He grinned at us, especially at Mike. “I’m going to look into picking up odd jobs around town. Window washing, construction.” He glanced at Stella. “I thought I’d ask Peggy’s sons for help with finding employment, initially.”

  She nodded approval.

  Mike grunted what could have been approval, but his gaze was on his other son.

  Craig folded his arms. “We can’t both be blacksmiths here. Bataar already has a forge. You can maybe pick up smaller jobs, but not enough for the two of us. Besides, I want to see what’s happening out there. I’m going to try for work as a deckhand on one of the Faerene boats.”

  “You don’t know boats,” Mike said.

  Jarod tried to help his brother. “Why not a human boat? They must go past at least as often. Even if you had to travel down to Memphis to sign on since they’re not allowed to dock here it remains an option. And you wanted to visit Memphis.”

  Pre-apocalypse, Craig had been a roadie based in Nashville. The South wasn’t as new to him as it was to the rest of us.

  He shrugged. “Faerene is better. It would be pretty stupid of me to relocate to Justice to avoid the militia using me as a hostage only to offer myself up by hitching a lift with a human boat. We already know they’re in Memphis.”

  The reminder of the five militia-ordered suicides dulled the rising energy in the room.

  Digger topped up his mug. “Rory let us choose our lodgings in Justice and we chose a farm. I’m staying here to farm it.”

  “I’ll help,” Niamh and Jarod said together.

  He reached around Craig to gently punch her shoulder. “Jinx.”

  Digger stared at Mike. “We brought everything with us, enough that we can sell and trade some. You saw how interested the people who helped us move were in our home-canned foods.”

  “Pickles,” Niamh said. “We need to grow more peppers.”

  Digger acknowledged her input with a quick glance, but stayed focused. “Farm produce is one source of income, but, Mike, we should look into setting you up with your own business. We have enough to bankroll a few weeks’ rent and starting stock. A warehouse in the industrial strip, whatever they call that here, would let you use your blacksmithing skills on your own projects.”

&nb
sp; Digger scanned our dumbfounded expressions. “Isn’t it obvious? We have to play to our strengths. We’re humans. One thing we know is human society and technology. We start a salvage yard.”

  Now, he got a response: surprise and intrigue.

  Craig unfolded his arms. “I could travel to trade or scavenge things we can sell, or repair and sell.”

  “Or repurpose and sell.” Mike was interested. Before the apocalypse, he’d owned a car repair and junkyard.

  “Information is currency, too,” I said.

  Craig nodded.

  “You’d have to be careful.” Stella curled her arthritic hands around the warmth of her coffee mug. “The militia would be interested in you.”

  “Hew would go with you. You know, that elf who helped us move?”

  Craig groaned. “He told terrible jokes and flirted with you.”

  Jarod’s smile lit up his face. “I liked him. He said he could glamour himself human. I bet he could hide you, too, if he had to. I could go with you, but to be honest, I’d like to learn more about the Faerene rather than what humans are doing.”

  “We need to know what Faerene customers might buy, so you’d be doing your part for the business by picking up gossip around town,” Digger said.

  “If we could get permission for it,” Mike said. His sons stared at him; adult boys begging for a puppy, or a new business. A new life. “We could ask.”

  As grumpy as Mike could be no one could ever doubt how much he loved his family. And a salvage business would keep Craig relatively close to home. He’d have to be able to transport his finds back to Justice.

  Niamh poured that dregs of the coffee pot into our nearly empty mugs. “To new beginnings.”

  We raised our mugs. “To new beginnings.”

  The militia, however, weren’t interested in new beginnings, but in fighting a war that no one else wanted.

  News of the atrocity on the banks of the Ohio River reached the magistrate hall a few minutes before my return. I walked into an atmosphere of shock, pity and burgeoning rage.

  “Do they hate their own people?” Arnout, one of Peggy’s sons, demanded.