Where Magic Rules

by Carmen Webster Buxton

  Where Magic Rules

  by Carmen Webster Buxton

  Cracked Mirror Press

  Rockville, MD

  WHERE MAGIC RULES

  A Cracked Mirror Press novella

  ISBN: 978-0-9831871-6-5 (EPUB)

  ISBN: 978-0-9831871-6-5 (Kindle)

  © 2012

  Karen Wester Newton

  All rights reserved

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Other Cracked Mirror books by Carmen Webster Buxton:

  The Sixth Discipline

  No Safe Haven

  Tribes

  Shades of Empire

  For Risa, who proved

  that a writer can be friends

  with her copyeditor

  Table of Contents

  One: A Mystery

  Two: A Mage

  Three: A Quest

  Four: A Dragon

  Five: A Lesson

  Six: A Conundrum

  Seven: Pain

  Eight: The Price

  Nine: The Return

  Ten: The Decision

  Epilogue: The Truth

  Attention, Readers!

  One: A Mystery

  “Good morning, sir.”

  Joe came awake with a jerk. He had been dreaming he was getting coffee at Starbucks, but the stone walls of his room told him he wasn’t in Glencoe, Illinois. In this world there was no Starbucks, no Illinois—and no coffee.

  The boy who waited by his bed looked about ten—skinny, with brown hair and gray eyes and that solemn air so many children had here.

  “Good morning,” Joe said, in passable Katoah. Not knowing the language when he first arrived had been frustrating—and dangerous. “Do I know you?”

  “No, sir.” The boy ducked his head. “My name is Mirek. Mother Wilhelmina would like to see you as soon as it’s convenient.”

  Joe swung his feet to the floor and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Has there been another assault?”

  “No, sir.” The boy backed up and nodded at a tray on the dresser. “I brought you something to break your fast.”

  Joe saw a bowl of porridge, a slice of bread, and a cup of steaming brown liquid. Herb tea, one step up from dishwater. Joe recalled his dream. If only he had managed to drink the coffee before he woke! “Thanks,” he said, getting to his feet. “Please tell Mother Wilhelmina I’ll be there soon.”

  The boy bowed and left.

  Joe washed quickly. Even with steaming hot water from the copper ewer on the pot-bellied stove, a sponge bath in a chilly room was no fun. The early morning sun that streamed over the shutters provided light but no heat. The shutters gave Joe some privacy, as his rooms looked out on the central courtyard, a mark of his favor with the Great Mage. He checked himself in the mirror and decided he couldn’t put off shaving another day. He used a steel straight razor to scrape the whiskers from his face and remembered shaving in his apartment in Glencoe, in the bright luminescence of electric lights, with hot water gushing from a tap, shaving cream foaming from a can, and a safety razor with disposable blades sliding painlessly across his face. He gave a mental sigh for what was lost to him.

  Joe pulled on his clothes and wolfed down his breakfast, then cut through the central courtyard to reach the infirmary. The chill air still held vestiges of winter’s icy grip. It had been a hard winter, but at least the cold had kept the dark lords at bay.

  Joe’s boots crunched on the gravel as he crossed the courtyard. Mother Wilhelmina wasn’t in the tiny room that served as her office. Joe hesitated, then stepped back into the corridor. At the other end, a figure in a long gray robe and veil appeared.

  Joe started toward her. “Mother Wilhelmina!”

  She nodded but didn’t increase her speed. She was far from elderly, but she was old enough for Joe to feel that the obligation to hurry was his.

  He walked briskly until he was close enough to converse. “Good morning, Mother. You wanted to see me?”

  Under her veil her plump face looked as serene as it always did. “Good morning, Joseph. Thank you for coming.”

  She had a faint accent; her Katoah sounded softer, less Germanic. And every time she said his name, Joe missed his home. He had been Joey when he was little, then Joe in school, but his mother had always called him Joseph. From the day he met her, Mother Wilhelmina had done the same. “Is anything wrong?” Joe asked.

  She smiled reassurance, her brown eyes warming. “Not precisely. I wanted to ask you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Come this way.” Mother Wilhelmina took his arm and led him down the corridor, pulling him into the ward for women patients. She walked to the end of the room where wicker screens enclosed a bed. Joe was surprised to see that the figure lying on the bed was a man, a boy actually. He had very short brown hair—Joe would have described him as having a crew-cut—and no sign of a beard. He lay on his back, his eyes closed, and didn’t stir. His finely sculpted features gave his young face a great deal of resolution.

  Joe recognized him at once. “So he made it?”

  “This is the boy you rescued?” Mother Wilhelmina said.

  Joe was surprised into staring at her. “Yes, of course. When I saw him fall, he looked so young, I hated to think he might die, even though I knew he was on the other side. Will he live?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Joe took a moment to glance over the screens at the rest of the ward. “What’s he doing here? Is the men’s ward full? I thought there weren’t many casualties.”

  “There weren’t. He’s here because he’s a she.”

  Joe gawked at her. “A she? You mean he’s a girl?”

  “A woman, actually,” Mother Wilhelmina said. “Sister Gertruda estimates her age at about twenty-one or twenty-two.”

  Joe turned back to the figure on the bed, still incredulous.

  “Is it so difficult to believe?” Mother Wilhelmina asked.

  “Yes,” Joe said. “I mean, he—she looks like a boy.”

  “But then, young boys are often difficult to distinguish from young girls.”

  “I suppose so.” Joe stepped closer to the bed.

  “What’s wrong?” Mother Wilhelmina said. “You still look shocked.”

  Joe shrugged to convey his uncertainty. “I don’t know. His—her hair is very short, but back home plenty of girls wore their hair short—although not usually this short. She could be a rock star—or a soldier in the army.”

  “She was a soldier in a dark lord’s army,” Mother Wilhelmina said, her tone dry. “I presume you mean the army in your homeland, the one that you were in when you came to us?”

  “I wasn’t a full-time soldier,” Joe said. “I was in the Reserves—like an emergency army.” He glanced down at the wounded woman again. “Why would she pretend to be a man?”

  “I’m about to ask her. But first, I wanted to know if she was truly fighting in the battle.”

  Joe could recall the scene easily enough. “Yeah, she was really fighting. She took at least one of our men out. I don’t think she killed him, but it wasn’t from lack of trying. She had a sword, and she knew how to use it.”

  “Very well, then,” Mother Wilhelmina said. “I’ll proceed now.”

  She stepped to the table beside the bed and lifted a water glas
s, then took a vial from her pocket and measured four drops into the water. The water turned cloudy, and Mother Wilhelmina swirled it around. When she stepped to the bed, she didn’t attempt to get the patient to drink the mixture, as Joe expected, but instead held the glass under her nose. After a moment, the woman on the bed stirred and jerked her head away.

  “That’s better,” Mother Wilhelmina said. “Open your eyes, my dear, and speak with us.”

  The woman opened her eyes at once and tried to sit up, but the best she could manage was to prop herself up on her elbows. She had gray-green eyes, Joe noticed.

  “Where am I?” she demanded, in perfect Katoah. “What place is this?”

  “You’re in the infirmary, my dear,” Mother Wilhelmina said, her tone soothing. “You’ve been wounded, but you’ll recover.”

  The woman looked groggy but alarmed. She glanced around wildly. “Whose infirmary?”

  “Why, mine. My name is Mother Wilhelmina, and I serve the Great Mage.”

  The wounded woman looked shocked and struggled to sit up. “I’m a prisoner?”

  “Now, now.” Mother Wilhelmina stepped closer and put a hand on her shoulder. “You mustn’t worry about that now. You need to rest.”

  “Rest?” the wounded woman said with scorn. “A plague on rest.” She slid her feet to the floor and paused as if to gather her strength.

  “Joseph, help me get her back into her bed,” Mother Wilhelmina said.

  Joe took a step closer, and for the first time the woman looked at him.

  She stared at his face, and then opened her mouth in a scream of terror and rage. “No! Get back! Don’t touch me!”

  Nonplused, Joe hesitated where he stood.

  “Wait, please, Joseph,” Mother Wilhelmina said. “My dear, if you’ll get back in bed by yourself, I won’t have to ask Joseph to help you.”

  The woman wavered, and then moved to put her feet under the covers. She still stared at Joe, but her hands clutched the blankets.

  When she twisted her torso, Joe saw she wore a necklace, a short chain with a small stone dangling from it. The white stone looked like an agate; a wire cage held it securely on the chain.

  “What a curious bauble.” Something in Mother Wilhelmina’s voice told Joe that she was more than mildly interested. She stared at the necklace, and then shifted her gaze to the young woman’s face. “What’s your name, my dear?”

  “Phillip,” the woman said. “My name is Phillip.”

  Mother Wilhelmina smiled as she smoothed the covers. “Surely you realize that we’ve discovered your secret? Your name can’t really be Phillip.”

  “Yes, it is!”

  “But you’re a woman, my dear,” Mother Wilhelmina said gently.

  “I’m not a woman!” the patient said, her voice rising in pitch. “I’m a man, and my name is Phillip!”

  Mother Wilhelmina stroked her cheek. “Let’s be reasonable, my chick. At least twice a day you must have to face the truth—and every twenty-eight days, you have a special reminder.”

  The woman called Phillip flushed and turned her head away. Mother Wilhelmina’s hand darted forward and snatched the dangling stone. Holding it tightly, she pulled it as far away from the woman as the chain would allow.

  “No!” Phillip screamed. “No! Give it back!”

  When she began to beat Mother Wilhelmina with her fists, Joe jumped forward to restrain her. As soon as his hands grasped her shoulders, Phillip looked up at him and screamed again, a high keening wail of despair.

  Before Joe could do anything else, Phillip sank back on the pillow in a dead faint.

  “How very peculiar,” Mother Wilhelmina said.

  “I’ll say,” Joe said. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “I don’t know.” Mother Wilhelmina had let go of the necklace. Now she reached over and picked up the agate. “Did you ever see a necklace like this one?”

  Joe shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

  Mother Wilhelmina slipped the chain through her fingers. “It’s too short to pull over her head, and yet it has no clasp.”

  “Try to break it,” Joe said. “It looks like gold, and gold is soft.”

  Neither he nor Mother Wilhelmina could break the links, however. Finally, Mother Wilhelmina again mixed a cloudy potion that she held under the woman’s noise. This time Joe smelled the fumes and turned his head away.

  Phillip gasped and sat up with a jerk, then screamed again when she saw Joe standing near her bed.

  “Sheesh!” Joe said, retreating a few steps. “What’s with her?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” Mother Wilhelmina took one step closer and slapped her still-screaming patient on the face. “Stop it!”

  Phillip’s mouth dropped open in indignation.

  Mother Wilhelmina shook her finger and spoke severely. “Be quiet, young woman! You’re disturbing our other patients.”

  “I’m not a woman!”

  Mother Wilhelmina smiled grimly. “If you’ll tell me why you’re so afraid of Joseph, I’ll send him away. Once we’re alone, you can disrobe and we can discuss your gender at greater length.”

  Phillip flushed a deep red color. “I don’t know why. I never saw him before. Make him go away.”

  Mother Wilhelmina nodded. “Very well. Go away, please, Joseph. Ask Sister Gertruda to send someone to assist me.”

  “Are you sure it’s all right to leave you alone with her, Mother?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Mother Wilhelmina said. “Go, please, Joseph, and do as I ask.”

  Joe looked appraisingly at the boyish figure, decided Phillip was too weak to pose any real threat, and headed for the door.

  Behind him he heard Mother Wilhelmina speak. “Phillip, if that’s what we’re to call you, let’s have a look at your wound and see what else we find.”

  Two: A Mage

  Joe stepped out into the courtyard of the Great Mage’s palace and looked around with a calculating glance, trying to see the place as he had the first time he had come to it.

  Flagstone walkways crisscrossed a large grassy square surrounded by granite buildings. Only a few scraggly bushes softened the lines of the rough-dressed stones. Bounded by the main hall, the infirmary, the laundry, the cook house, and a guard room, the courtyard served both as a workplace and a thoroughfare. People routinely hauled wood and water, hung laundry, swept the flagstones, and tended livestock. Today a peddler had set up a stall, and a troubadour sang and played a lute, her cap artfully placed near her feet for passersby to fill with coins.

  The troubadour wore mannish clothes—trousers, a knee-length tunic, and a loosely tied jerkin—but unlike the wounded warrior, she made no attempt to hide her femininity. The ample lines of her figure were obvious.

  Joe thought back to the previous day, when he looked through the telescope at the fight raging on the other side of the barrier the Great Mage had erected. Joe had seen men fall and likely die; he had seen dreadful wounds inflicted by both sides. But only when he looked on the face of the seeming-boy had his heart been moved enough to risk the Great Mage’s displeasure. He hadn’t hesitated; he hadn’t heeded the cries of the sisters who waited to tend the wounded. He had vaulted from the platform and had picked his way through the fray, evading the armed but exhausted men around him. He recalled how the woman’s wound had bled freely when he found her, alarming him at the same time it reassured him she wasn’t dead.

  “Sir?”

  Joe came alert with a start, aware that the same boy who had awakened him now stood deferentially in front of him. “It’s Mirek, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed, sir. I came last week.”

  Possibly he was an orphan. The Great Mage’s palace provided lodging and education to a good number of orphaned children, many of whom stayed to serve him as adults. “Did you want something from me?”

  “Yes, sir. The Great Mage directs that you atte
nd him at once.”

  The direct order gave Joe a twinge of apprehension. The Great Mage usually worded his requests more courteously. “I’ll go now. Where is he?”

  “In the solar, sir.”

  That didn’t sound too bad. The Great Mage usually sat in the sunny room on the top floor of his palace for pleasant pastimes, rather than for business. Joe took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the top floor landing, he found a half dozen of the Great Mage’s retainers waiting in the hallway.

  “Oh,” Joe said in confusion. “Is he busy?”

  The Great Mage’s steward stretched his lips in an ersatz smile. “He may well be busy, but he told us to admit you as soon as you arrived.” He nodded at the two guards who held the door open for Joe. “I don’t envy you the attention.”

  Joe wasn’t certain himself as he stepped into the long, rectangular room. The dozen tall windows on the side walls had been glazed with small, diamond-shaped panes of glass. The many impurities in the glass made faint, fuzzy spots in the air.

  “Come in, my friend, come in.” The Great Mage stepped out of the shadows and into the sunlight. The first time he had heard that warm, confiding voice, so rich in timbre and inflection, Joe had felt a shiver up his spine. He still felt it, sometimes, and this was one.

  “Good morning, sir.” Joe advanced to bow politely.