The Other Side of Magic

by Ester Manzini

  Gaiane sighed in bliss. She’d never seen such a creature, red with small twitching tentacles on its head. Her arms were still heavy with fatigue, but she couldn’t resist, and she extended her finger to poke the slug.

  A squawk erupted from her lips.

  “Ew!” She backed away, fumbling to her feet and frantically wiping her hand on the ivory silk of her gown in vain. The cold and slimy stain wouldn’t leave her finger. She stepped away from the slug, still busy with whatever sluggy business it was about. “You… foul, disgusting critter!”

  Her books had failed to mention that specific inconvenience, too. She glared one last time at the slug and scratched the sticky slime away with a shiver. Somehow, she felt it under her nails, now.

  Her misadventure had served some purpose, she realized blinking in the sun. She moved her hair from her forehead and contemplated the forest. Trees like black columns, mist, green grass and bushes, the occasional bird or bug… and nothing else.

  She was alone now more than she’d ever been.

  Her lip trembled when the reality of her situation hit her. There were no servant girls to do her hair, no Alcmena to knock on her door and bring her daily list of duties and topics to study. No family, and this added some real tears to her pout.

  All those years yearning for her mother’s approval, for a smile from her father, and she’d left them.

  They must be so angry with me…

  But no, it was behind her now. Alcmena was smart and capable enough to explain what had happened, and no doubt she would be fine. Such a valuable asset for Zafiria was not so easily dismissed, and while her parents were distant at times, they were decent people. They would never hurt her old tutor.

  She wiped her cheeks with her hand and sniffed, smiling at the memory of Alcmena’s disapproving gaze. “Unsuited for a lady. You don’t want to sound like some peasant girl, do you?”

  Gaiane straightened her back and tried to tie her hair in a braid. It instantly loosened, and she sighed in resignation.

  I’ll have to keep my hair down until I find a respectable house to host me. Then I’ll ask for a handmaid and a mirror. And a warm bath, too, she thought. Her hands were stained in mud, and the hem of her skirt bore green and brown streaks.

  “So!” She said out loud, her hands at her sides. Her voice sounded weird without the usual echo of her quarters. “This is a gorgeous place indeed, and I’m honored to have witnessed nature’s marvels. Now it’s time I find a road.”

  After one springy step toward the trees, though, she stopped.

  Right. Where was she?

  A tiny fallacy in her plan. All those years to memorize her mother’s gestures around her collar, to hone her power until the ring of metal could only dampen it and not block in entirely, all those hours plotting every single step to melt with the tower’s essence and emerge to her freedom… and she hadn’t considered what to do after.

  She was somewhere, and Zafiria’s pinnacles were gone from her sight. And this was good. Now she only needed to make out a path to the nearest civilized outpost.

  “Well, it won’t be a problem. I’m overly skilled in both Zafiria's and Epidalio’s geography, and Alcmena always says I have a mind like a steel trap.” She picked up the folds of her gown and pointed with certainty straight ahead.

  By the time she realized there was no road to speak of, the sun had left its peak, and the air was so thick with moisture she panted with every step. She stopped by a fallen log and pushed her hair from her brow, sticky with sweat.

  I’ve been here already. I’m fairly sure I’ve seen that same moss formation at least twice…

  Her confidence lost some of its glamour. Was she walking in circles? Looking up to the sky, she saw that the sun was declining to the West, and this comforted her a little.

  “I just need to follow that direction and I’ll get to walk in a straight line. And then I’ll find some noble’s house, I’ll be safe and they’ll feel honored to have the royal princess under their roof.” It all made perfect sense. “Maybe there will be honey cakes, too. I’ll make sure they’ll bake some for the occasion.”

  With the prospect of food and shelter she resumed her march, a smile steadily spread on her lips.

  “And if they’re not noble, I can bear a villa for one night or two. Alcmena said there are plenty scattered all over the countryside in both Epidalio and Zafiria, it will be a wonderful new experience!”

  It was still pleasant to walk in the ancient shadows of the trees. Oaks, she considered, looking at the lobed leaves, and here and there the splash of orange of mountain-ash, and the black of elderberries. She smiled at a white butterfly flying over and followed her uneven path through the bushes.

  Too late she realized the ground was changing. One moment her foot was sinking in the soft layer of grass and leaves, and the other a gurgling sound anticipated a cold, thick splash on her calf.

  Gaiane stumbled forward and looked down in horror. Someone--no, something was grabbing her ankle and was pulling her down!

  “No! No no no!” she wailed. “It’s satin! It’s a nightmare to clean!”

  She tried to lift her foot, but the viscous muck was traitorous: half hidden among the ferns, it sucked her leg in and threatened to make her fall face first. Gaiane stood on the brink of the puddle; trying to move forward was out of the question, because she wasn’t really into risking what was left of her dignity. Stepping back was hard, with that slime holding her foot captive.

  “Alright. Alright, no panic. I’ve come this far, and I won’t let this… this… stupid error in the design of nature interfere with my plans.”

  Her skirt was beyond salvation already, so she swallowed pride and disgust and tucked it in her belt. Now not just her hem, but her waist too was stained in blackish brown.

  “A problem for another time. And now… pull!” she spurred herself. She pulled her leg upwards, and her silken shoe slipped from her foot. “Oh no! You… damned-ground-formation-with-poor-drainage-and-adverse-geology, I hate you!”

  Her voice, squealing in the buzzing silence of the woods, was covered by the angry cawing of some nearby crows.

  She was stuck. And she wanted to cry again.

  Breath, Gaiane. Calm down. It’s nothing serious, you simply met a patch of soil with such density and viscosity it impaired your walking. You read about it in the third volume of Kleishtenes The Old’s treatise on rocks and soils. Chapter sixteen, page three hundred and ninety-four. Or ninety-five. Or whatever.

  The thought of her books was oddly comforting. She bit her lower lip and clenched her fists, determined to get out of that muddy situation.

  She grabbed her knee with both hands, steadied herself on her other foot and gave a big tug.

  The first attempt almost made her fall into the puddle, but after some whirling of her arms she regained her balance. One more try, and with the help of a low branch right above her head, she wiggled her leg free.

  With a loud plop she fell back in the grass, shaking dirty water and blobs of mud from her foot.

  A very bare foot.

  “M-My shoe,” she whispered. Her lip trembled again as she stared at her toes. Tears rolled down her cheeks once more, and this time not even Alcmena’s reprimands on how to properly behave managed to stop her cry.

  She sobbed for a while, her head thrown back and her eyes squeezed shut. When she ran out of tears, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and considered her situation.

  She needed her shoe back, but the idea of sticking her hand in the puddle to retrieve it made her previous encounter with the slug seem a pleasant surprise in comparison.

  Magic rolled down her nerves, demanding to be unleashed. And it was tempting--just call it to you, Gaiane. It’s less than a snap of your fingers away.

  She extended her hand, but before her power could come to the surface, she closed her fist.

  Unwise, she thought. Not just her tutor’s warnings, but one of the maids’ voice emerged from her memories.

/>   A simple girl, with the anonymous face of a peasant and the simple grey robes of the servants. Gaiane heard her whisper to another serving woman right outside of her door. The girl, among small sobs, said that she missed her home, that the guards had found her after she used magic to help her granny fetch some water from the well. That simple spell had drawn the attention of one of the Queen’s patrols, and two days later the girl was taken to the palace.

  Gaiane hadn’t understood the issue. Going from the boring life of a peasant girl to the glamour of the palace, and with the honor of serving a princess to boost? That was good luck, not something to whine about. But that detail had stuck with her: Gaiane’s mother was sending around her troops to recruit mages from Epidalio, and they tracked them down following their spells.

  If she wanted to stay undetected, she needed to lay low for a while.

  Ten minutes and some more pulling herself together later, she was back on her feet, limping slightly with every step. The moss and leaves, after all, were not that soft, and every twig and sharp rock poked at her heel.

  It was already bad, but when the forest grew darker the mosquitos came, and Gaiane reconsidered her previous concept of “discomfort.” Those insignificant black dots hummed by her ears, got into her mouth and landed on every inch of exposed skin. She slapped herself so hard that the back of her neck burned, but the itch was even worse.

  Scratching to the point of bleeding was unnerving, but it helped her to keep two more pressing matters at bay.

  First, she was crossing the line to despair. She was alone, it was getting dark and there was no road to be seen. She was scared, but she’d never allow the realization that she missed home. It was a prison, and she needed to learn her way around freedom. She deserved it.

  Second, but not less important, she was thirsty. She controlled the need for as long as she could, but as the twilight closed above her, her tongue started to feel too thick to swallow, her lips cracked and dry. The forest seemed to have grown over a sponge, but no stream was to be found.

  And maybe a very small spell would go unnoticed, since apparently she was miles away from any form of human presence. A mixed blessing.

  She cast a cautious look all around her, but the shadows were quiet, and the chirping of birds indicated that they were not disturbed by any strange presence.

  All she needed to do was call for the water. She knew it by name, and it was bound to answer. So she crouched by a boulder and closed her eyes, shutting out her fears and doubts and focusing on the life around her. Sap running from roots to leaves, blood in the countless small animals crawling and flying and burrowing in the ground, flower and fruits waiting for their time.

  There.

  Groundwater, running deep a dozen feet under the surface. She buried her fingers in the soft soil and extended herself. Her spell had no sound or shape, it was a simple extension of her own being, as natural as breathing.

  The soil first turned damp, then wet. Gaiane opened her eyes and smiled at the small pond surrounding her hand, gurgling gently among the grass.

  It was enough to quench her thirst for now, and the less conspicuous her use of magic was, the better. She cut the connection and checked her surroundings--no, all was unchanged. She was still on her own, and safe.

  Kneeling by the water and dipping down her cupped hands was a small pleasure, and she savored the anticipation of the clear, refreshing taste in her mouth. She lifted her hands and took a sip, and what little was left of her fascination for the wild disappeared for good. She coughed and sputtered as the muddy water trickled down her chin and on her bodice. For a long, horrible moment she thought she would be sick again: her stomach churned, and the awful taste stuck to her tongue and palate.

  When she calmed down, her thirst was still there. One way or another, she needed to drink, and using more magic to purify the stream would mean pushing her luck. Still nauseated, she forced herself to have a second taste.

  Still awful, and she grimaced in such a way Alcmena would’ve scolded her. Those ugly faces would make her face all wrinkled very early, her old teacher used to say. Right now, it was the last of Gaiane’s concerns. She took heart and swallowed, and almost threw up when the dirty water dripped down her throat.

  With a moan she stuck her tongue out. Disgusting, but annoyingly effective. After the third sip, it didn’t even taste that bad anymore, as long as she didn’t think of her herbal teas and honeyed fruit beverages.

  At least she was not thirsty anymore, and she could extend her search before darkness came.

  To her surprise, night came too quickly, and in the darkness the forest seemed twice as scary. The mosquitoes were still plaguing her, and now she couldn’t see where she was going. Her belly rumbled--sure, all those days hiding into the essence of stone and earth had kept her physical needs at bay, but now? She could do that again, but it had been quite traumatic the first time, and she wanted to test her survival skills more.

  Still, the idea gained some charm when she put all her weight on something sharp and pointy.

  With a loud gasp, Gaiane lifted her bare foot and floundered around, almost falling when her heel caught into a protruding root.

  “Ah!” she whimpered, jumping to keep her balance and to land as gracefully as possible on a nearby stump. Whatever she’d stepped on, it burned like needles pricking her flesh. She couldn’t see, but when she ran her thumb under the arch of her foot she felt thin spikes protruding from her skin. Panting and grinding her teeth she plucked them out, or at least that was her intention. The burn was horrible and some were buried too deep to get a decent grip and pull them out.

  “It hurts... Oh, why? Why me? I’m a princess! I deserve better!” she said with a pitch of hysteria and (more) tears to her voice.

  Pain and sickness weren’t part of her life. Had never been. She might have hated her tower, but it was the safest place under the sky, and now she was falling victim to… to what?

  Sniffing, she squinted in the shadows before her and leaned forward. She groped the ground until she found the source of her mishap--a burr, half squished but still prickling.

  It didn’t help her. Oh, of course, now she could deduce that she was maybe moving to a different part of the forest, where oaks left room for chestnut trees. But it was dark, so very dark, and she was on her own, with a burning foot and a grumbling belly.

  She slid down the stump and circled her knees with her arms, burying her face in the grimy folds of her skirt.

  In her bubble of despair, a bad thought peeked from her mind. The worst. The most dangerous.

  I should have stayed in my tower. And now I can’t go back.

  Chapter 4

  “How much longer do I have to wait?”

  The Zafirian man’s voice, nasal and smug, was even more annoying than the banging of her hammer. At least the pounding had a use. His horses, shifting lazily between the shafts, were quiet. She could ignore the constant production of piles of dung for that.

  Leo clenched her fingers around the handle and briefly closed her eyes.

  “I can do it quickly or I can do it well. Your choice,” she said.

  “If you think you’re getting extra for being that slow you’re up for a sour disappointment. I’ve been out of Zafiria for long enough, and I need to go back as soon as possible. Are you even listening, girl?”

  No, she thought.

  “Yes,” she said. Once more her hammer hit the wooden hub until it snatched into place and nearly disappeared in the surface of the cartwheel. The steel tire wrapped around the felloes had seen better days: the nails securing it were rusty, and one was gone for good. Leo gave half a thought about suggesting she fixed that, too--but when she glimpsed at her customer’s shiny black boots behind the wheel spokes, her idea evaporated. The jackass was tapping his toes on the dirt floor of the shed, and she wanted him gone more than she wanted the extra coins.

  With some luck, he’d be gone ten miles or so before the tire broke. By then, other, more
Zafirian blacksmiths and carpenters would have had to listen to that man whining and complaining.

  The mental picture of that wealthy fop face down in the mud, cursing Epidalian poor craftsmanship, was pretty nice.

  “There you go,” she said, standing up and wiping her sweaty brow with her forearm. “It will hold until the next…”

  “It better will, or else you’ll hear from me,” the man said. He was in his fifties, with a fading black circle on his forehead, peeking from his dark hairline. Leo suppressed a snarl.

  “It will,” she insisted. When she dropped her arm, the stranger squinted at her.

  “You’re young. Why aren’t you serving your due under Queen Cibele's rule?”

  Now Leo did snarl.

  “I’m not an outlaw, if that’s what you’re suggesting. And I really hope that’s not your intention. Sir,” she added in an afterthought, scrunching her nose as she spat the word out.

  The rich guy--not noble, Leo had thought at first glance: he was trying too hard to look important to be anything but an upstart--caressed the goatee on his weak chin and smiled.

  “I see. Your sign is so faded I can’t even…”

  “Twelve tin talers,” she cut him short. She turned her back on him and crouched to get her tools back. Her cheeks burned, and the last thing she needed was to blush in front of a damned Zafirian clown.

  “Twelve? Nonsense! I’ll give you five, and you’ll even thank me for my…”

  Embarrassment left Leo in a flash and she spun on her heels, the hammer firmly in her fist. She was a span shorter than him, but where her customer was a plump, delicate Zafirian flower, she had the solid frame of Epidalio’s oak trees and all the stubbornness of her eighteen years.

  As tempted as she was to slam her hammer on his foot, she grinned and schooled her face to a polite smile.

  “I’m sorry, are my fares too high for your pockets? We can make it ten, if you wish. I’m always ready to accommodate the request of a…”

  “How… no! Of course I can afford it, who do you think I am, one of your countryside bums?” The man flushed a nice shade of purple and his mustache quivered in outrage.