“Hoarding,” one woman with a brilliantly green silk dress spat. “Don’t they understand the trade of a finite supply?”
A young-looking man who had the countenance of someone much older stood close to a centaur, muttering, “It’s happening again. I can feel it coming on the wind.”
Maggie took a deep breath, smelling only fish and perfume on the breeze.
“Find more for me, girl?” Mathilda bustled to the front of her stall. She, like many of the occupants of the Siren’s Realm, wore clothes that made her appear to have fallen out of time. Mathilda wore a long, heavy skirt, billowing blouse, and mob cap. “Fish!” Mathilda said loudly in Maggie’s ear, apparently having noticed Maggie’s mind wandering. “Did you bring fish?”
“Yep.” Maggie lowered the net onto the ground, letting Mathilda examine her catch.
“You always bring a good catch,” Mathilda said appreciatively as she weighed the fish in her hands. “It’s nice to see a new one taking to work so quickly. You know, when I first got here, I lived a life of pleasure. Swimming in the fountains, running about in a scandalous way. Ah if the people back home could have seen it! But then one morning I decided not to get out of bed. Didn’t seem worth it if all I was going to do was lie around all day anyway. That’s when I decided to take up a trade again. Gives the fun meaning if you’ve worked hard for it.”
Mathilda hoisted the net and led Maggie behind the counter at the front of the stall to the preparing table. “You’d be amazed what people turn to when they run out of magic. Good to see a pretty thing like you working hard, rather than…” Mathilda made a tisking sound of disapproval as she lopped the head off a fish.
Maggie nodded silently. Mathilda decapitated another fish before looking at Maggie. “But then I suppose someone with no natural magic was always going to have to work for the Siren in order to survive. You should be glad she lets fish into her sea.”
“There’s a whale, too,” Maggie said. “I’ve seen him offshore. I think he might be alone though.”
“A whale?” Mathilda asked, one eyebrow climbing high on her forehead. “Wonder how he slipped in through one of the stitches? Funny, the Siren wanting a whale, but perhaps someone missed seeing them in the distance. What a desire to have!”
Maggie rocked on her toes, knowing that her most pressing desire for the moment was to be paid and on her way.
“A whale, I ask you,” Mathilda said again before looking back at Maggie. “Time for paying, is it?”
“Please, ma’am.”
“When you’ve been here long enough, you won’t be in such a hurry,” Mathilda said. “Here we have endless days of sun, never sickness or hunger. The Siren has given us a land of pleasure. It’s a pity to go wasting it by trying so hard to rush through it all.” Mathilda reached out and shook Maggie’s hand with her own fish-covered one. Maggie was practiced enough by now not to flinch at either the slime coating or the tingle that flew in through her hand and up her arm, leaving her skin buzzing.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Maggie said politely, turning toward the street.
“See you tomorrow, girl?” Mathilda asked.
“If there are fish in the Endless Sea!” Maggie called back as she walked down the street.
She was used to the streets of the Siren’s Realm by now, at least the ones she traveled every day. The streets that led her from the rocks she had made her home to the market. Then through the square with the fountain to see Gabriel. There were other familiar faces along the way, too.
Illial, the speckled gray centaur, was in his usual spot on the outskirts of the square, puffing his pipe, his head surrounded by a haze of blue smoke.
“Maggie.” The centaur nodded as she passed by. “Does the Endless Sea sparkle this morning?”
“It does every morning.” Maggie shook her head, laughing. “You should come and see for yourself. Perhaps some fresh air would do you a bit of good.”
“When the sights of the square no longer hold my fancy, I will try the sea as a thing to watch.”
“Perhaps tomorrow then?” Maggie waved as she moved on, knowing full well that Illial wouldn’t be coming to the rocks by the sea the next morning, just as he hadn’t for the last few months. At least she thought it was months. By the time Maggie had wanted to keep track, she couldn’t be sure of how long she had been there anymore. Seventy-two notches marked the pole in her tent. Seventy-two sunrises she could count.
The smell greeted Maggie before Rushna came into view, sitting outside a tent, eating as usual. The female troll wore her usual tablecloth-sized loincloth. A beautiful man who was almost as tall as Rushna sat next to her, staring lovingly at the troll as she ate.
“Morning, Rushna,” Maggie called as she passed.
Rushna nodded but didn’t look away from the beautiful man. Maggie walked a little faster, not trusting herself to hide her giggle. There was something to fit every desire in the Siren’s Realm.
Maggie turned a corner and cut down a side alley, avoiding the green tent where the minotaur stood guard, then up another lane.
“Fresh roasted meat!” Gabriel’s voice carried down the street.
A small crowd had gathered around Gabriel, ready to trade magic for a hot meal.
Watching the people in line ready to give their magic away made Maggie queasier than the stench of fish that incessantly clung to her.
Finally, she was the only one left standing in line.
“Busy today,” Gabriel said when he looked up to find her the only one standing nearby.
Maggie nodded. “Lots of trade.”
“You hungry, too?” Gabriel asked, giving her a hard look. “If we were outside the Siren’s Realm, I would worry about you starvin’ to death or freezin’ come winter.”
“Then I guess I’m lucky that winter never comes.” Maggie grinned, holding out her hand. The instant Gabriel took it, a dull sting ached on her palm. The feeling was there for only a moment. As soon as their hands parted, the stinging was gone. Maybe that’s why people were willing to part with their magic so easily. It only hurt for a second.
Gabriel handed Maggie a big leg of fowl before biting into one himself.
“Are you still all right, livin’ down there on them rocks?” Gabriel asked, his weathered forehead wrinkled with concern. “I don’t know if I like the idea of a young thing like you livin’ so far from the others like us.”
“I’m fine there. I like the quiet.”
“But the others like us,” Gabriel said, “we all live together, and we keep each other safe.”
“I am safe.” Maggie laughed. “It’s the Siren’s Realm.”
“I know, I know.” Gabriel shook his head, and Maggie waited patiently for him to continue.
She knew what he was going to say. He had been saying the exact same thing for months. But deep down, Maggie liked Gabriel’s dire warnings. Just the same as she liked Illial’s blue smoke, Rushna’s smell, and Mathilda’s chatter. She knew them, and they knew her. If she didn’t show up one morning, they would notice. Gabriel might actually miss her. It was a strange sense of belonging, but it was the best she had.
“And when the magic folk get jealous of us earnin’ a livin’, that’s when the trouble will start again,” Gabriel was saying in a guarded voice.
Maggie nodded. She had missed the first part of the speech but knew it well enough to know when to nod.
“Then the Siren will get angry, and it’ll be a bad day for all of us.”
“But why?” Maggie asked, knowing what the answer would be, but willing to let Gabriel enjoy his speech.
“Because when magic folk come to the Siren’s Realm, they have only what magic they bring in with them. When it’s out, they’re done. Nothin’ to give to the Siren and nothin’ to trade with the lot of us.”
“Like a battery that can’t recharge.” Maggie nodded.
“Yeah, like a battering.” Gabriel nodded solemnly, and Maggie hid her smile.
“And when enough of ’em run out, they’ll com
e after us that have worked hard to earn our way, us that didn’t never ask to come here.” Gabriel’s eyes drifted up and down the street before he whispered, “And that times a comin’, and it’s comin’ soon.”
“What?” Maggie said, almost dropping her meat. This was a part of Gabriel’s dire warnings she hadn’t heard yet. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen three in the last few days,” Gabriel whispered. “Ragged folks in clothes what looked like they should have been nice before. Hungry look in their eyes just wanderin’ around.”
“But only three,” Maggie said. “That’s not very many compared to how many people live here. I mean, how many of us are there anyway?”
“Three is more than there should be,” Gabriel said. “The Siren, she hides people who can’t give no more. Let’s ’em survive out of the way. But she won’t trap ’em. She isn’t cruel. If a few have decided to come out, then more will follow. And it’ll be folk like us they’ll come for first. Seen it twice before in my time, and it’s ripe to happen again.” Gabriel took Maggie’s hand in his. “I just don’t want to see you hurt, girl. Storm’s a comin’. I spent my days on a ship before I ended up here. You might not be able to scent it yet, but I’m tellin’ you, girl, one of the Siren’s storms if fixin’ to blow us all away.”
Something in the way Gabriel spoke sent a chill down Maggie’s spine. “It’ll all be fine. And if things get bad, we just keep our heads down, right?”
“I’ve got a feelin’ you don’t know how to keep yer head down, girlie.” Gabriel laughed, but the usual glimmer didn’t appear in his eyes. “You slipped into the Siren’s Realm during a battle. But this is a fight none but the Siren can win.”
“It all seems like false advertising,” Maggie said, pausing to think while she finished her last bit of meat. “Because if this really were a paradise of joy and pleasure, there would be nothing to worry about. Not ever.”
“It’s not paradise,” Gabriel whispered, leaning in close to Maggie’s ear. “It’s the Siren’s Realm, and she’ll do with it what she pleases. And no one knows what the Siren will choose to bring with a storm.” Gabriel scanned the street. “Go on, girl. Best to get back to your tent before the sun is down.”
There were still hours until sunset, but something in the way Gabriel spoke made Maggie want to be back in her blue tent on the rocks.
“See you tomorrow,” Maggie called as she hurried down the street.
“If the Siren wills it,” Gabriel called after her.
Cold settled into Maggie’s chest at his words. She spun to look at Gabriel, but he had already disappeared from the street.
er net clutched tightly in her hand, Maggie made her way through the winding streets of tents. She had meant to stop to buy bread before making her way back to the rocks, but Gabriel’s words had frightened her. Now the late afternoon sun seemed tainted by something darker than the approaching night. Whispers on the street sounded more urgent than the usual intrigue and gossip that flowed from the open tents.
“Wine for sale!” a man in a crimson robe called as he made his way down the lane.
“I’d better not,” the man closest to Maggie said to his companion, “best to be cautious at the moment.” Only a few people had moved toward the man with the wine; the rest stayed warily away.
Maggie took off at a run. If they were going after humans, they would come after her. You were born a witch, you stupid girl! the voice in Maggie’s head shouted. But it didn’t matter. She had told everyone she had no magic of her own. And it was a lie she wasn’t willing to break.
She rounded the corner to the last short alley she would need to take to reach the shore. Standing right in the center of the narrow road was Bertrand Wayland, his long hair pulled back in a slick ponytail, his shoes shined, and his clothes perfect. He walked calmly down the road alone. Maggie had seen him on the streets before and always ducked away before he could catch sight of her. It was easy when he was surrounded by his usual gaggle of beautiful women. But he was utterly alone today, not even speaking to the people he passed.
Maggie froze for a moment, her desire to get home warring with the urge to put as much distance between herself and Bertrand Wayland as possible.
She made the decision to hide in the shadows and wait for him to pass a moment too late. Her eyes met his, and she knew instantly he recognized her.
“Miss Trent.” Bertrand bowed as he walked quickly toward her. “What a pleasure to see you again.” There was urgency in his tone that wasn’t reflected in his smiling face. “I was actually hoping to run into you this afternoon. I was―”
Maggie turned on the spot and ran, cursing herself as her fishing net slipped from her fingers but not daring to pause to retrieve it.
“Miss Trent,” Bertrand called after her, “I only wish to speak to you for a moment!”
She had spent every day in the Siren’s Realm avoiding Bertrand Wayland; she wouldn’t speak to him now. If trouble was coming, the last thing she needed was someone questioning how she had fallen out of a wizard’s battle without being a witch.
Maggie turned onto a street she had never seen before, then down a wide lane with flowerbeds on either side. The packed dirt path became so narrow she couldn’t avoid stepping on flowers that had left no room for her feet.
Tall tents lined the flowered lane, and centaurs milled about. Maggie looked over her shoulder. There was no sign of Bertrand, only an elderly centaur who seemed angry at Maggie for crushing the flowers. Still Maggie kept running, and running. Soon, the tents grew even taller, and the street became wide and hard. The tents changed from bright colors to gray, and then the gray canvas turned to stone. Looking up at a great house with iron bars crisscrossing the windows, Maggie screamed as she tipped forward, pitching toward the canal. Gasping, Maggie staggered back, leaning on the cool stone of a building as her head spun and her lungs stung.
The streets were empty though light shone through the windows. Faint music floated down a nearby street. A violin playing a slow song. The first few notes were beautiful and calm. Like lovers would be riding the soft current of the canal in a graceful boat, listening to the peaceful music. But the more Maggie listened, the more wrong she knew she was.
The song wasn’t about love. It was about fear. Quiet, penetrating fear she couldn’t run from.
A shadow passed by the window across the canal, and Maggie clapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming. This wasn’t the part of the Siren’s Realm she belonged in. She belonged on the sunny rocks with her tiny tent. The people here, who protected themselves with stone and iron, couldn’t possibly want someone with no magic of her own hiding in the shadows of their streets.
The violin music played faster now, making Maggie’s heart race more quickly than the running had.
Bertrand Wayland or not she needed to get home. Back out to the tent on the rocks where she could wait out whatever storm was coming.
“Make it through the night, Maggie.” She dug hers nails into her palms as she turned back the way she had come. “Get home and make it through the night. You’ve made it through worse, so just do it, you silly girl.”
Not allowing herself to run, Maggie headed back up the street. The glimmers of light from the windows were disappearing quickly as though those hiding within the thick stone walls didn’t want to give any sign they were there.
“Get to the tent.” Maggie pushed away the dread in her chest that shouted at her that if the people in the stone houses were afraid, her canvas tent would be anything but safe.
The gray tents had come into view when she heard the first scream.
Instinct told Maggie to hide in the shadows, but the terrible cry of “Please, someone! Help me!” made her run forward.
“No! No!” the terrified voice called desperately.
Maggie tore down the row of gray tents and turned toward the sound, freezing as the terrible sight came into view.
Four ragged, pale people stood over a man who lay
shaking on the ground.
“Please don’t!” the man screamed as one of the four―a woman with matted hair down to her waist―reached down and seized the sides of the man’s face.
A pale silver glow showed under the woman’s palms as the man screamed again.
His magic. She was stealing his magic.
“Stop!” Maggie screamed.
The woman’s head snapped up to look at her. Her face had regained color, and her black hair was no longer matted but shining and sleek.
“Leave him alone!” Maggie forced the words out past the terrified knot in her throat.
The other three turned their attention to Maggie.
“Please,” the man on the ground groaned. “I have to be able to give. Leave me something to give.”
The biggest of the ragged group kicked the man hard in the stomach.
“Stop it!” Maggie shouted over the man’s scream of pain. “What has he done to you! Why would you hurt him?”
“Not hurt,” one of the ragged people said, taking a step toward Maggie. The man was short and missing patches of hair. “We’re taking what he shouldn’t have in the first place. It only hurts because he doesn’t want to give it up.”
“Give what up?” Maggie asked, trying to keep the man talking. The others were coming closer to her now, too.
“Magic,” the short man said, his tone so loving it made Maggie’s skin crawl. “He’s been hoarding it. There’s only so much to be had, and if some keep it all, the rest of us have nothing to give.”
“But you can’t just take it.” Maggie took a step backwards as the man smiled at her, making the others laugh gleefully.
“We can,” the woman said, “and it doesn’t hurt us at all. No, it feels so good. Let me show you, pretty girl.”
The woman launched herself forward, arms outstretched, her nails scraping Maggie’s face as she leapt backwards and ran.
A screaming cackle followed Maggie as she sprinted back down the row of tents.
“Stop her!” one of the ragged men shouted, and four sets of pounding feet followed Maggie.
Maybe he’ll get away. Maybe that poor man will be gone by the time they’re done with me.
The Girl Without Magic Page 3
