by Nix, Garth
Terciel did as he was instructed. Everything seemed peaceful, with the beautiful gardens above and the Charter-made sunlight streaming down. But Tizanael was worried, and that made him worried. Worse than that, it made him scared.
Returning to the island, he stood for a moment next to the drain, looking down at the fast-rushing water, listening to the gurgle of the sinkhole on the far end. Then he jumped across, and stood near the chests, every sense alert, ready for something to happen.
Nothing did. The water kept rushing by on either side and disappearing into the sinkhole. Tizanael stood by, sword in her right hand, her left hand cupped, lit from within by the Charter marks of whatever spell she held ready.
Terciel touched the chest with the toe of his boot and gave it an experimental push. It moved slightly, sliding a few inches over the stone surface, but was heavier than he expected. He bent down and picked it up, using the bronze handles on each end, and turned toward Tizanael, ready to jump back across the drain with it.
But as he did so, he felt something grab his ankle and then almost immediately his shin and knee, and his nose and throat was flooded with the acrid, hot-metal stench of Free Magic. Whatever held him was not a hand. It was something singular and stronger, like a living rope. He couldn’t see what it was because he was holding the chest, so he dropped it and tried to back away. The chest smashed into the stone and bounced toward the drain, but Terciel was held fast. Looking down, he saw his leg was encircled six or seven times by a snakelike creature with glass-like hide, so clear he could see through it. But where internal organs should be there burned the white fire of Free Magic.
It had a head like an eel rather than a snake, a diamond-shaped affair with a long mouth lined with several parallel rows of teeth, and its eyes were slits of darkness. Terciel grabbed it just behind the head as it struck at him, teeth screeching on the gethre plates of his hauberk. It reared back to strike again. It was so strong Terciel was unable to stop it moving, and the coils about his leg tightened again. He screamed and tried to move his thumbs to press into those hideous dark eyes, but he lost his grip and this time it went for his throat and he only just interposed his right forearm so it fastened on that, crunching down with ferocious force. Its teeth couldn’t get through the gethre scales, but it felt like his arm was broken.
Then a cloud of Charter marks more blinding than the false sun above blew across snake creature and Terciel, doing him no harm but shattering the glassy hide. Free Magic burst out like gouts of steam from volcanic vents, scalding and poisonous. Terciel turned his head away and kicked his bound leg like an enraged donkey trying to throw off its hobbles. He fell hard on the stone, dangerously near the drain. The long body of the snake thing shattered, but the head remained clamped on his arm, the black eyes still shining, and it ground down on his arm again.
Terciel screamed again and scrabbled at the hilt of his sword with his left hand. But he was lying down and the sword was under his leg and he couldn’t get the leverage to draw it, and then a glowing blade sheared through the snake creature’s head, entering its right eye and exploding out the left. Golden fire blazed around the sword, and a tongue of white fire exploded out of the creature’s mouth and lashed at Terciel.
Tizanael left the blade in place and called forth a master mark of binding from the Charter, letting it slide along the blade and into the thing’s head. She followed this with another, and another, marks so powerful they had to be used in the instant, they could not be held in hand or mouth, or placed in stone or wood.
The tongue of fire shriveled back into the creature’s mouth, trammeled by the marks. The darkness of the eyes ebbed to leave only glassy sockets. The teeth that scraped upon gethre plates broke like chalk, no longer sustained by magic. Terciel ripped his arm free and scuttled away on his backside, almost falling into the drain in his haste to get away.
The creature’s head, suspended on Tizanael’s sword, cracked. All over, all at once. Hundreds of tiny shards fell, leaving a line of white fire rather like a pulsating slug on the tip of the sword. The Abhorsen picked up the silver bottle, tilted her sword, and the core of the Free Magic creature slid down into the container.
“Fetch the stopper,” said Tizanael. “Quickly.”
Terciel jumped to where the stopper lay, picked it up in his left hand—his right arm, if not broken, was so badly bruised he could not use it—and shoved it in the top of the bottle as Tizanael set it down. He stepped back at once, as Tizanael summoned a fourth master mark and let it fall upon the stopper. A column of silver sparks six feet high blew up around the bottle, and a sudden wind swept around the two Abhorsens, a fresh wind, redolent with salt, as if it had come off the sea. Then both sparks and breeze were gone, and the bottle was securely closed, the stopper wound about with silver wire.
Chapter Fifteen
We thought it would be a nice surprise for you,” whispered Corinna as she stood off stage left with Elinor, waiting for the bridal feast scene to finish before they could go on to rehearse the coracle piece, which Corinna understandably had still not managed to completely master. “It was Kierce’s idea to get you your permission thing. But Hazra must have put in the complaint about the teaching.”
Elinor was about to say something about it being very stupid of Hazra, but she bit her tongue. Hazra might be the most accomplished Charter Mage of them all, but she was also just turned sixteen.
“Well, what’s done is done,” she said instead. “I know you all meant well. And I did say I would probably have to ask Hazra to send a message-hawk, so I guess I gave her the idea in the first place.”
“I was wondering why Tallowe sent us all notes about attending magic class,” said Corinna.
“I expect she’s going to try to pretend she was teaching properly all along,” said Elinor. “I wish I knew how long we’ve got until the Clayr person arrives. ‘Near midwinter’ could mean weeks before, couldn’t it, and the Midwinter Gala is only a month away now . . . How long do you think it would take for her to get here? I mean, where would she have to come from? And what does ‘yours, that is’ about midwinter mean?”
“Time and season change over the Wall,” said Corinna. “I mean, it’s probably already spring there or something. From the hill behind our house we can see night and day split as if with a knife along the Wall. Only we tend not to look, because it’s rather unsettling.”
“I’d like to see it!” said Elinor. “Speaking of seeing things, what does the Watch Seeing me mean? With a capital ‘S.’”
Corinna looked sideways at Elinor.
“Don’t you know? I thought your grandmother was a Clayr?”
“I never knew her,” said Elinor. “I mean, not when I was old enough to remember.”
“The Clayr have visions of the future,” said Corinna. “At least, that’s what my mother says. They see things in ice or water, what’s going to happen, though not always visions that come true.”
“They see things in ice?” asked Elinor.
She had an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach as she recalled that huge, clear icicle at the end of the greenhouse and the things she had seen in its icy depths, like waking dreams. She wished she could remember them now, and that they had not been dismissed as fancy, or Ham made to break the icicle and mend the gutter.
“Apparently. They even live in a city made of ice.”
“That can’t be true,” said Elinor. “It wouldn’t be practical.”
“Who knows? Don’t you think it’s exciting they’ve had a vision of you? I wonder what it could be?”
“They live in the far north?” said Elinor, turning the conversation. “So it might take a long time for one to even get to the Wall?”
Corinna shook her head.
“They can fly,” she said earnestly.
“What!” exclaimed Elinor, loud enough to attract a stern glance from both Madame Lancier and Tegan, the fierce Fifth Former who was the stage manager.
“In a balloon?” she continued, f
ar more softly. She’d seen pictures of balloon ascents, though never the real thing.
“Oh, no,” whispered Corinna. “Much better than that. A kind of flying boat, one with wings. My brother saw one. Charter Magic, of course, so they land at Fort Entrance, close to the Wall. I expect the flying craft wouldn’t work farther south. Or would stop working, when you were really high up . . .”
They were both silent, imagining a magical flying boat losing its feathers or its wings folding up or whatever would happen when the magic failed, and the subsequent long fall to certain death.
“So the Clayr could be here quite soon,” said Elinor. “And I suppose I’ll have to go with her.”
Corinna touched her arm, but drew back again immediately, a little flustered.
“I . . . we don’t want you to go at all,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Elinor, a little distractedly. The bridal feast scene was finishing and the actors were about to come rushing past.
“I bet the school would keep you on,” continued Corinna. “So you don’t have to go.”
“Maybe,” agreed Elinor. In fact, both Madame Lancier and the Sarge had already told her they wanted her to stay on, and would speak on her behalf with Professor Kinrosh.
She hesitated, looking around the dim backstage area, out to the brightly lit action where Madame Lancier had stepped in to adjust the blocking, and up to the panoply of rigging and lights. “But I think I do have to go. I love the theater, but I realize . . . I realize growing up I used what I could have of it to disguise the other things I lacked, to paper over the gaps and tears. And now I am part of a wonderful, a wondrous play, but it . . . it isn’t enough by itself. I need to find the other pieces that are absent. When I felt the Charter for the first time, I felt . . . no, I knew . . . that it was a missing part of me, a part I must bring home to myself. Also, I have no family now, save for whoever I may have in the Old Kingdom, who I do not yet know. So I do have to go. But I hope not until after we have opened the play!”
Corinna was about to say something, perhaps something difficult, for her mouth was open with no words coming out, but before she could gather the breath or the courage or the thought, a great rush of giggling, talking, prancing, and preening actors came between them, forcing them apart like the tide splitting a bridge of sand.
They did not have an opportunity to talk again until the next Thursday evening, when all five gathered for their clandestine magic class. Elinor, as was often the case, was the last to arrive. As she cautiously opened the heavy door, she heard the girls giggling, and found them clustered together to look at a book Kierce was holding open. Not Hazra’s grimoire, which would never incite laughter, but some well-worn tome that looked like it had lost its binding and been recovered in newsprint, of all things.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s a book I confiscated from a First Former, if you can believe it,” said Kierce, who was not only a prefect but vice captain of the school.
“A funny book?” asked Elinor, leaning so she could peer over Hazra’s shoulder. But when she caught a glimpse of the page, she drew back in shock, with a sudden, involuntarily intake of breath.
The picture, drawn in scientific exactitude, was of a man and woman engaged in what Elinor understood from Mrs. Watkins’s rather roundabout talk when she was thirteen or fourteen was termed “copulation.”
“What is this?” she asked.
“I think the actual title is The Physical Aspects of Love,” said Hazra. She took it from Kierce and started flicking through the pages. Elinor blinked at some of the things she was seeing, albeit very briefly. “It’s in some obscure continental language. The pictures are very detailed, though.”
“Diagrams, really,” said Angharad, with a sniff. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”
“There’s always a few copies floating around the school, handed down from older sisters and so on,” said Kierce. “But not for First Formers.”
“This copy still has the chapters that usually get torn out,” said Hazra with fascination. “Look, all the positions for men and men, and women and women, and the . . . gosh . . . what is that with the feathers—”
Kierce took the book back and closed it with a snap.
“Perhaps not for a Fourth Former either,” she said.
Elinor bit her lip, almost spoke, stopped, then took a breath and did so.
“May I borrow it?”
She felt herself blushing as she added, “I . . . I am rather uneducated in this regard. I only know what my governess told me, and she was . . . she was wonderful, but a bit old-fashioned.”
“It’s all covered in Fifth Form Health,” said Angharad helpfully. “Well, not the extra chapters, but the other stuff. You could sit in on their lessons, maybe.”
“No she couldn’t,” said Corinna scornfully. She took the book from Kierce’s hand and gave it to Elinor. “There you are.”
Elinor looked at Kierce, who smiled her always somewhat sardonic smile and said, “Yes, we wouldn’t want even a teacher’s assistant knowing less than we do about anything.”
“I know there are many things where I know less than all of you,” said Elinor. She put the book down by the door and came back to the circle.
“Um, possibly you don’t know the spells for contraception either?” asked Corinna. She seemed rather embarrassed to be bringing this up.
Elinor shook her head. She wasn’t really sure what Corinna meant by “contraception,” except that it had something to do with a vague talk Mrs. Watkins had given her about “coverings” employed by men.
“There are two main spells to ensure you can’t get pregnant,” said Angharad, without any embarrassment. “One you cast before lovemaking, which will endure until the next sunrise, and another which is more long-lasting, that you have to cast with every new moon. Of course, they won’t work much farther south of the Wall than Bain, so you need to be careful.”
“There are other methods,” said Kierce with a shrug.
“Not as sure,” said Angharad knowingly.
“There’s a chapter in that book on them,” said Hazra helpfully. “Though it’s a bit tricky not being able to read the names. That cap thing, what’s that actually called?”
No one answered her.
“I have a lot to learn,” said Elinor quickly, resolving that she would get Dr. Bannow to go over the basics when she saw her next. Asking schoolgirls younger than herself to explain such things did not seem wise.
“We can teach you the contraception spells now,” said Angharad. “Hazra as well.”
“I already know them,” said Hazra scornfully.
“I would like to learn the spells,” said Elinor. She was always grateful to learn any new spell. No matter how many new marks she learned, and new spells, she always wanted to learn more. It was a thirst she could never quench.
They were tired afterward. The two spells were a little more complex than anything Elinor had tried before, each made up of more than a dozen marks, and there was something particularly wearying about casting a spell upon oneself. All of them sat down cross-legged when they were done, despite the cold stone floor.
“I’m sorry about the kerfuffle with old Tallowe,” said Hazra apologetically. “I should have sent a separate message about her being useless, but I thought she might notice two message-hawks gone at once from the mews.”
Kierce rolled her eyes, which Hazra ignored.
“Has she said anything about me in the resumed magic classes?” asked Elinor.
“Ha! Resumed magic classes my foot,” said Kierce. “All she’s done is make sure everyone attends again. She’s still going over the same old marks, the same old spells.”
“And no, she hasn’t mentioned you,” said Corinna.
“I wonder how much they pay her to be the Magistrix,” said Hazra. From the look on her face it was not hard to tell she was thinking she might be the Magistrix of Wyverley College herself one day.
“And
why would they bother paying anyone?” added Angharad. “We’re not in their kingdom.”
“My mother always says to me, ‘to aid one’s neighbors is to aid oneself,’” said Corinna. “I think it’s a quote.”
“The Warden of Lormantil, Act One, Scene Two,” said Elinor automatically. “The Warden.”
“Breakespear?” asked Angharad, her brow furrowed.
“No, a contemporary, Anne Penikan,” said Elinor. “Her plays aren’t very well known now, but she was as popular as Breakespear in their time.”
“It makes sense,” said Kierce. “If troubles from the Old Kingdom come across the Wall, at least they’ve helped us have Charter Mages who might be able to deal with them.”
“Preventative diplomacy,” said Corinna. “Though there have been no real troubles from across the Wall for a long time.”
Elinor almost said something about her own experience, but did not. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps a desire to keep these untroubled schoolgirls free from the fears she had herself.
“Since it seems I will be off to the Old Kingdom myself in a month, or thereabouts,” said Elinor, “I want to thank you all for your teaching. If I am ready at all, I mean as a Charter Mage, however pitiful, it will be due to the four of you.”
No one spoke for several seconds. Corinna looked away, the suspicion of tears in the corner of her eyes. Kierce looked at Corinna. Angharad frowned, as if she doubted Elinor would survive long. The silence was broken when Hazra clapped her hands together and jumped up.
“We haven’t taught Elinor the ankle-winding spell. She has to know that one. It could be very useful.”
Everyone groaned, and no one else stood up.
“You can’t be that tired,” said Hazra, but there was no force in her voice.
“I think we are,” said Elinor. “I am.”
