The Choice of Magic

by Michael G. Manning

  Could the goddamn cat cross between worlds? Was it making the sound he heard? Please let that be the cat, he begged silently. “It’s just me,” he said aloud.

  Something was behind him, and he felt its breath on his neck. Whatever it was sniffed at the air, and Will clenched his eyes shut. The rumbling vanished, and so did the presence he felt. Cracking one eye, he turned his head, but he saw nothing.

  Unsure what to do, Will stumbled forward awkwardly. “Thank you,” he said to the empty air, feeling foolish.

  The area outside was different than the other places he had seen in Faerie, rather than a forest it was a wide field interrupted only by large stones that cropped up here and there. The sun was bright, the wind was cool but not chilly, and other than the strangeness he felt everywhere in the fae realm, it seemed entirely pleasant. He stepped out under the sunshine and nearly tripped over a large branch on the ground.

  Except it wasn’t a branch. As his eyes focused on the thing, he realized it was an enormous femur, sticky with blood and drying bits of flesh. The rest of the carcass lay scattered around him. Will hastened to put some distance between himself and the remains, noting the numerous other old bones hidden in the grass.

  A movement in the distance caught his eye, and he saw Tailtiu across the field, some hundred yards distant, waving her arm to get his attention. She stood beside a massive rock formation that jutted at least twenty feet into the air. Will wasted no time crossing the distance to meet her. She looked nervous when he drew closer.

  “How long did you have to wait for me?” he asked.

  “Too long,” she answered. “This is as close as my people dare approach, and even this is risky.” She pushed something into his hand, and when Will glanced at it he saw a piece of paper.

  “What’s this?”

  “You keep asking its name.”

  Unfolding the scrap, he started to sound out what was written there, a habit he had picked up while learning to read. Cath Bawlg.

  His aunt clapped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it, and that goes double in Faerie.”

  “So the goddamn cat is a native of the fae realm?” asked Will.

  Tailtiu shook her head. “It lives wherever it wants. For the past century or so, it has lived here.”

  Will frowned. “I saw the remains of a lot of kills back there. If something eats here, doesn’t it become part of your realm?”

  “Not if that thing is already immortal,” said Tailtiu. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “And whatever it eats does not return; its prey remains dead—forever—including us.”

  That was certainly ominous, but it bordered on a topic he had been wondering about. If even the plants and animals of Faerie were immortal, and Elthas was the Lord of the Hunt, what happened to the things he hunted and killed? From what she had just said, it sounded as though they eventually regenerated or returned to life in some fashion. It also made it abundantly clear why the fae feared the Cath Bawlg. And I’ve been feeding it an egg every now and then, thought Will. The more he learned, the more he realized that nothing surrounding his grandfather had been even remotely normal.

  Looking around, he saw a distinctive shimmer on one side of the rock formation. “Is that the crossing point?”

  His aunt nodded. “It leads to a small spring close to Branscombe. The town is to the south after you cross over.”

  Will offered her his hand, and together they crossed over, where he found himself once more surrounded by moderately dense forest. The spring was something of a disappointment, for it was little more than a damp place on some rocks that fed a trickle heading eastward through the forest. He supposed it must eventually meet other such flows and become a river, but at this point it wasn’t even enough that he would want to try drinking it.

  Following a small game trail, they went south, and after just a few tens of yards, Will saw the underbrush open up. There was a road ahead, following an east-west course. Looking out, he could see a wooden wall to the west. Branscombe was within shouting distance.

  “You can go home now,” said Will. “This is all I needed you to do.”

  “The bargain was for three days,” insisted Tailtiu.

  “I don’t need you for another day,” he said, giving her a hard stare.

  She stared back at him unflinchingly. “Then you shouldn’t have bargained for three.”

  There was no way he could enter Branscombe with a naked fae girl beside him. “I thought it would take me three days to get here, or longer,” he explained. “They’ll arrest me if I try to walk through the gate with you. Humans don’t take well to naked girls gallivanting about.”

  Tailtiu turned away. “They’ll arrest you anyway. Mark my words.” Then she began walking back toward the hidden spring. “Call me when you need me. I still owe you one more day.”

  That settled, he walked briskly down the road. An older man with a cart reached the gate just ahead of him, and the two guards there ushered the man through without a word.

  Will started to follow the cart through, but one of the men called out to him, “Stop! Who are you, trying to sneak into Branscombe?”

  Will drew himself up and straightened his shoulders. “I wasn’t trying to sneak.”

  The other guard broke in, “You were hiding behind that man’s cart.”

  “Walking behind it—in plain view,” insisted Will. “You didn’t tell that man to stop,” he added, pointing to the cart as it pulled away.

  The first guard, a man with an impressively bushy mustache, gestured at Will’s belt. “You can’t bring a sword into town.”

  “You have swords,” returned Will, but then as he looked at the two men he realized they actually didn’t. They were equipped with spears and knives. “Well, you have spears anyway.”

  The mustached guard glanced at his companion. “Ned and I are constables, smartass. The weapons are part of our job. What are you anyway? You’re dressed up like a soldier.”

  “A Darrowan soldier,” said Ned as Will handed him his sword and belt. “That’s the Prophet’s crest on the boy’s coat.”

  Will glanced down at his gambeson and mentally cursed himself for not thinking to remove the embroidered sun on his chest. “I’m not a boy, I’m seventeen. I’m here to join the King’s Army.”

  The guard with the mustache leaned in, fixing Will with a suspicious glare. “Are you a spy, boy?”

  Will’s jaw dropped. “I’m not a spy. I’m from Barrowden. This isn’t even my coat.”

  The two constables exchanged glances, then Ned said, “Where’d you get the armor from then?”

  “They burned my village,” answered Will, trying to project honesty. “I crossed the pass to get here. I took this from one of their sentries.” When that failed to convince them, he added, “Would a Darrowan try to sneak into Branscombe wearing this?” He pointed at the sun crest.

  Mustache rolled his eyes. “Exactly what a Darrowan spy would say. Hand over the belt knife too.” As Will did so, the guard went on, “You expect us to believe you killed a soldier and took that gambeson?”

  Will nodded his head vigorously. “I caught him by surprise. Look!” He held his staff out for them to inspect. “That’s his blood on the wood there.”

  “You’ll have to give up the staff too,” ordered Ned, who then handed it to Mustache. “This is probably a murder weapon. Hold out your hands, boy. You’re under arrest.”

  Will didn’t resist, holding out his hands while they began tying his wrists tightly together. “I came to enlist,” he protested. “If I was from Darrow would I surrender like this?”

  Mustache snorted. “Probably trying to trick us into letting our guard down. You won’t be fooling us, boy.” Taking the other end of Will’s rope, he tied a loop in it and tossed it over a nearby post that looked to have been put there for just that purpose.

  “Isn’t there someone else I can talk to?” asked Will, trying to sound reasonable.

  “Sure,” said Ned. “You can talk to the magist
er in the morning. For now, you’ll be staying here until the wagon comes to pick you up and take you to the lockup.” The two men returned to their posts and resumed staring down the road.

  “You didn’t even ask my name,” said Will. “Shouldn’t you do that at least?”

  Mustache glanced sideways at him, clearly unconcerned. “What’s your name then?”

  “William Cartwright.”

  “Good for you,” the guard replied, then looked away.

  Will had a moment of inspiration. “There are people in town who can vouch for me.”

  Mustache sighed. “Oh really? Who?”

  “My uncle and cousin, Johnathan and Eric Cartwright. They both joined the army last week. Have someone ask them,” said Will.

  Ned became animated and hopped as though he was preparing to run somewhere. “Why didn’t you say so before? Greg, I’m going to run over to the camp and ask around. I’m sure everyone knows Johnathan and Eric Cartwright!”

  Greg began snickering, and then Ned continued, “Is that what you thought we’d say?” The look he gave William spoke volumes. Ned tapped his temple with two fingers. “People always think we’re stupid. Being a constable takes a lot more brains than you think, boy. The first thing you learn is never to abandon your post. You’ll stay right there and if you have something worth saying, say it to the magister in the morning.”

  Will shut up. It was obvious he wasn’t going to get anywhere. After a few minutes, his body began reminding him of its needs. “Can I have some water?”

  “They’ll feed and water you at the lockup this evening,” said Greg.

  “What if I need to pee?” asked Will.

  “All the more reason not to give you any water until then,” answered Greg, chuckling.

  Chapter 35

  The rest of Will’s day was miserable, and the evening proved to be even worse. The lockup proved to be a small, stone room in what was the town’s main headquarters for the Branscombe Constabulary. The building itself was two stories tall, with a front receiving desk and a few rooms on the second floor that were used by the constables themselves. Will didn’t get to see the second level. He was ushered into the holding cell, which was barely ten feet square.

  There were no benches or other furniture, and to make matters worse, the room was already occupied by three other men. There was a large clay pot in one corner, presumably for when they had to relieve themselves. The lid that should have contained the smell of what was within it was broken, and Will’s nose notified him that it had already been well used.

  The idea of undoing his trousers in such confined quarters with three strangers would have been daunting enough, but their appearances made him even more nervous. One of them was relatively young and slender, with a patchy beard covering a sharp chin. The look in his eyes was threatening.

  The second was an older man, slightly soft around the middle, with a grizzled appearance and a mostly bald head. He didn’t look quite as mean, but the smell of him was formidable. Apparently, he had been picked up for public intoxication.

  The third man was enormous. His head nearly reached the low ceiling, which meant he was probably close to seven feet in height. The man’s height wasn’t the only thing that was prodigious, for he had broad shoulders and thick arms and legs. There was some fat around his middle, but it was deceptive, for the big man was heavily muscled. Will tried not to look at him, though he wondered how much the man weighed. He’d probably give a black bear an even fight in a wrestling match, Will observed silently.

  Each of the men had taken a different corner to maximize the space between them, which left only one corner for Will—the corner where the chamber pot was located. Rather than sit there, Will remained by the door, which put him squarely between the skinny man and the giant.

  “What are you, some kinda deserter from Darrow?” asked the skinny man, his tone hostile.

  “I’m from Barrowden,” said Will. “They burned our village, so I came here. The coat is from a Darrowan soldier I killed while I was escaping.”

  The slender man laughed, but the sound didn’t lighten the mood. “You expect me to believe a kid like you killed a soldier? Look me in the eye when you lie.”

  Will met his gaze, hoping he looked confident as he did. “You can believe me or not. They killed my aunt and cousin. I caught one by surprise and beat him to death with my staff when I was crossing the pass. I would have frozen to death without this coat.” He left out the other three men he had killed, since he knew that would be too much for anyone to believe. Possibly five, if that last one wasn’t found before he froze, he reminded himself.

  “My, my, my!” exclaimed the stranger. “That just about makes you a fucking hero, doesn’t it? I’m sure that’s why they locked you up in here with us undesirables.”

  Desperate to shift the focus of the conversation, Will asked the only thing he could think of, “What are you in here for?”

  “Me?” said the lanky man. “I was lifting someone’s purse and got caught.” He mimed drawing a knife with one hand. “I cut the bastard and I would have killed him if the guards hadn’t jumped on me.” He gave Will a sloppy grin, as though he should be congratulated for what he had done.

  Hoping to shift the conversation further, Will turned to the big man on his other side. “And what did they put you in here for?”

  The big man’s lips parted, and he started to reply, “I was—”

  The skinny man interrupted. “The big fat one don’t speak. Do you, fat boy?”

  The big man closed his mouth.

  “Want to see something funny, kid?” asked the slender man. When Will didn’t reply, he stepped forward and slapped the big man so hard it rocked his head to one side. “This one’s as gentle as a lamb. You could piss on him and he wouldn’t do anything, would you, fat boy?” He slapped the big man again.

  Will straightened up, squaring his shoulders. “Don’t do that.”

  The skinny man slapped the big guy again. “Why, kid? Does it bother you? You should mind your own business. This is the only fun to be had in here.”

  Something about the cutpurse terrified Will, but he couldn’t ignore what was happening. “I said leave him alone.”

  The thief grinned, stepping back. “Fine, kid. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” He seemed as though he was about to return to his corner of the room, but in a flash he turned and slammed his fist into Will’s gut.

  The air left Will’s lungs with an audible whoosh and he doubled over, unable to breathe. A moment later a boot slammed into the side of his head, knocking him sideways. The padding probably saved him from serious injury, but he was stunned, nonetheless. An idle thought passed through Will’s mind, I wonder if this is how the soldiers felt when I attacked them. Another kick sent shivers of pain through his side.

  The drunk in the opposite corner started yelling to alert the guards, but no more blows came. Will heard some scuffling, followed by a wheezing sound, and when he managed to look up he saw that the giant had pinned the thief against the opposite wall, his massive hand around the slender man’s throat. The cutpurse’s face was red and shading toward purple, his eyes bulged as he beat feebly at the giant’s arm. Then he went limp.

  A few minutes later, one of the constables entered the other room and looked at them through the barred window in the door. “What’s going on?”

  “They’re killing one another in here!” screamed the drunk.

  It was another ten minutes before the door opened, and Will could see that the other room was full of men. Five constables stood together with small wooden shields and heavy clubs. “Up against the walls!” one of them ordered.

  Will complied and soon found himself pressed painfully against the wall. The small cell was crammed full when the rest of the guards entered. “What happened?”

  One of them called out, “He’s just unconscious.”

  “That guy attacked us,” said Will. “The big man was just defending himself.”

>   “Let’s go, John,” said the lead guard, addressing the giant. “You know the rules about fighting.”

  “That other guy is the one that started it,” protested Will.

  One of the constables laughed. “Looks like he already got what he deserved then.” They led the big man out of the cell and shut the door again. A few minutes later he heard the crack of a whip and the sound of a man grunting in pain. Will couldn’t help but flinch as it the punishment continued. Fortunately, the whipping stopped after three strokes.

  The big man’s shirt was bloody when he returned a short while later, and he sank into his corner to lean sideways against the wall. The sight of his obvious pain filled Will with a helpless anger at the injustice of it. When the cutpurse began to rouse, groaning and rolling his eyes, Will walked over to address him.

  “Hey,” said Will, suppressing the urge to kick the dazed thief.

  The cutpurse focused bleary eyes on him. “Fuck off,” he replied reflexively.

  “What’s your name?” asked Will, fighting to keep his voice even.

  The slender man’s eyes finally focused, and he seemed to take note of the crazed look in Will’s eyes. “Dave,” he said finally.

  “The next time you decide to make an ass of yourself, Dave, I’m going to break something. And next time there won’t be anyone screaming for the guards to save your stupid ass.” Will glanced at the drunk in the other corner. “Right?”

  The drunkard looked uneasy, but he nodded. “Sure.”

  The thief glared up at Will. “You don’t scare me. I’ve already kicked your ass once.”

  “Catch me off-guard and maybe you will. But you won’t manage both of us, and the big man here has already proved he can wring your scrawny neck as easily as a chicken’s before a holiday dinner.”

  Dave’s eyes burned with hate, giving Will ample warning this time. The man surged up from the floor, only to catch Will’s boot in his chest. He fell back, and his head slammed into the stone wall so hard he lost his bearings for a moment. Then Will felt something heavy on his shoulder. Turning his head, he saw the big man behind him, a hand on his shoulder.