Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  Ferogin shrugged. “The fact remains that we have not yet taken any oaths.” He was slumped in the chair, but his eyes were intent, and although the tone of his words was casual, he was betrayed by how softly he said them. He did not want to be overheard. Was he telling her that he did not care what she did, as long as she did not care what he did?

  She could not trust him. She should not let him know anything, not even the fact that she might agree with him. “Some of us may have,” she finally replied. Let him wonder what that meant.

  Ferogin’s stare had not lifted. “Some of us would rather sit and preen while the world burns around us.”

  The world burns. Was it another hint, or was she now overthinking every word he spoke? Was it just chance that he had used that phrase, or was he saying that he knew about Oran’s dream, the dream that Graegor would “burn the world”?

  Oran had had the dream again, recently. He had told Contare, who had told Graegor, who had told her. Maybe Oran had told Pascin too, and he had told Ferogin. She did not know if it even mattered if Ferogin knew about it, because she still did not know what to think of such a prophecy. Or any prophecy. Was it literal or a metaphor? And by mentioning it, was Ferogin simply insulting Graegor again? He did that a lot, since he obviously could not stand the thought that Graegor was more powerful than he was.

  This was exhausting. She could not unravel it all now. The charm still lay on the table in front of her, and she nodded toward it. “We were talking about my father, and why I should trust your word that this will help him.”

  As she had expected him to do long before now, he rolled his eyes and sighed. Tabitha did not react, and just blinked at him when he met her gaze again. Say it. Say that I am too stupid to understand. You love being so smart.

  Instead he said, “Mutual gratitude. Remember how I said mutual gratitude? I would like you to be in my debt.” As Tabitha stared at him in disbelief, he went on, “Considering how long we’ll all live, I think it certain that I’ll need something from you someday.”

  Absolutely not. “That is an excellent reason for me to refuse.”

  Ferogin tilted his head. “Oh, Tabitha. Would it be so terrible to owe me a favor or two?”

  Or two. One for the charm. Another for not telling Natayl about her secret meeting? Was that what he meant? “Yes, I think it would.”

  “Again, I am so, so hurt.”

  “Take that filthy thing and go.”

  Ferogin stood, without picking up the charm from the table. “It’s your decision, of course. But the time you’ve spent in the library lately—right before your trip to see your father—leads me to believe that his problem worries you. A lot.” He nodded at the charm. “That is a baby brother.” He turned and sauntered to the door, which opened ahead of him and remained open after he left.

  Tabitha looked down at the charm, her thoughts whirling. Far too much had been said, and not said, just now. Did he know about Tabitha’s meeting with the heretics? Was he trying to stop the heretics himself, or help them? Was he like Iseult, trying to end a civil war, or like Donatienn, eager to start one? What was he planning to do about the rogue magi? Did he already have a “favor” in mind for her?

  Did he want her father cured or dead?

  Since receiving word from her father that the charm she had given him was not working, Tabitha had filled several pages in her little handbook with descriptions of impotence therapies. She had found them in books from the library’s nutrition section, the folk medicine section, and even the romantic poetry section, and over the winter she had searched half a dozen other sections as well, tracking down every possible hint. None of those books had mentioned sorcerer’s charms. Was that because, despite what Ferogin claimed, such charms did not exist? She had never seen a hospital patient using one, so maybe it was all lies. Ferogin had suggested that Tabitha ask Graegor, but she and Graegor talked all the time about the magic they were learning. It was the main thing they discussed when they were together. Graegor would have told her about sorcerer’s charms if Contare had taught him anything about them.

  She would not ask Natayl. She never asked Natayl anything. However, Lady Josselin had specifically said that Tabitha could come to her with questions. Tabitha had read and re-read the book that Josselin had given to her and to all the magi girls, A Guide for Magi Women, and while it did not contain much information about impotence, it often mentioned the importance of discretion when handling sensitive problems. Josselin clearly believed in discretion, and she had been very respectful of Tabitha’s privacy during that long conversation they had had in the autumn, never insisting on details before giving advice. Tabitha would not need to tell her where she had gotten the charm, or what it was for.

  Yes. By showing Josselin the charm and asking her what she knew about it, Tabitha could test what Ferogin had just told her. Josselin had not mentioned sorcerer’s charms at all while giving the magi girls their charms to prevent pregnancy. That fact suggested that Ferogin was lying.

  She really, really hoped he was not. In two weeks, she would see her father again. She had to have a solution.

  Tabitha took a deep breath. Yes, she would talk to Josselin.

  Now she had to figure out how to get that shiny, disgusting thing off the table and into her satchel without actually touching it.

  The house was actually half a house. Most neighborhoods in the city were made up of single homes or blocks of joined townhouses, but on this street, all the structures were two half-houses with one shared wall. In townhouse rows like Natayl’s, only those at either end of a four- or six- or eight-home block had side gardens, and they were considered very desirable by the city’s residents, which meant these half-houses were probably equally desirable. But as she peered through the carriage window, Tabitha could see that the left-hand home’s side and front gardens were both badly overgrown with leafy trees and bushes. It was a shame, but apparently Josselin’s First Minister preferred thick shade to attractive landscaping.

  The Khenroxan sorceress had indulged Tabitha’s request to meet somewhere other than home, Hall, or public place. She had even sent her own carriage and driver to pick up Tabitha from the Academy dormitory. As Tabitha climbed the steps to the porch, holding aside low branches so they would not snag on her dress, she could hear no activity on the street beyond the yipping of a dog on the other side of the hedge. Yes, this place was quite private.

  Josselin herself answered the door and greeted Tabitha with a smile. Her grey hair’s loose curls looked recently reset, and her long dress was aqua-blue with white piping. Tabitha had never seen any other women wear Josselin’s styles, but was not sure if they were unique or just outdated. “It’s so nice to see you informally, dear.”

  “I feel the same way,” Tabitha smiled back.

  Josselin gestured her into a small, cluttered foyer that led straight into a dining room with dark furniture, where everything seemed entangled with vines sprouting from dozens of flowerpots. “Fainhe is out of town right now, and her servants are shopping, so it’s just us.” A teapot and cups were on the table with cream and sugar, as well as a plate of butter cookies. Tabitha set her satchel down on one of the chairs as she took a seat on another.

  “As I recall, you take sugar but no cream in your tea,” Josselin said as she settled herself.

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t send a reply to your message earlier. It reached me rather late in the day.”

  “I understand.”

  “Now, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, dear, but the solution to that is obvious.” Josselin gave Tabitha a level look as she passed her the teacup. “Do you trust me enough for a telepathic bond?”

  Tabitha hesitated at the word bond. She knew that most magi and sorcerers used it the same way she used connection, but to her, there was a big difference. She had a bond with Graegor. It was deep and strong, and she could sense his presence whenever she thought about him. And as much as she hated to admit it, her
connection to Natayl was also a rope made of many strands, pulling at her no matter how she tried to ignore it. Neither were at all the same as her connections to her friends. Those were like beads on a string, each unique, but nice and small, seldom invading her conscious thoughts unless one of them called to her.

  She did not know what a connection with another sorceress would be like. Ilene had suggested one in the labyrinth, to help them prepare for that swim down the well, but Tabitha had been too anxious then to do anything but flatly refuse. She was a little nervous now too, but if Josselin had not proposed it, she would have herself. “I think it would be very useful,” she answered frankly. “Passing notes through Magus Lobunat is cumbersome.”

  “Agreed,” Josselin smiled. “I’ll let you initiate. Go ahead and reach toward my mind.”

  Tabitha nodded again and set down her tea. She kept her eyes downcast but did not close them, because she did not want it to seem like she needed to concentrate too hard. She knew how to do this.

  Josselin was easy to find. Just outside Tabitha’s own mind, there was magic that felt as small as a coal but which held the sense of an entire forest fire. At first, Tabitha hesitated to go any closer, but then she plunged forward, and found that the coal was just cool enough to touch. With it came a very faint scent of eggs, or cheese, or some combination of the two. She thought that must be how her mind interpreted Khenroxan magic. Non-Thendal magic had various scents, mostly odd, with none as nice as the sweet summer grass that Graegor’s magic evoked.

  Josselin’s words came clearly: “Nicely done.”

  “Thank you,” Tabitha sent with deliberate care. Of all the magic she was learning, she was focusing most on telepathy, and Josselin’s praise was gratifying.

  “A coal,” Josselin mused. “I like that.”

  Tabitha realized that she had let her impression of the other sorceress’s magic come through the connection. That was sloppy. She should send only what she intended to send. “What does my power seem like to you?” It was a natural question to ask, after Josselin’s comment.

  “Shining silver. I see magic as colors, but your metaphors seem to be tactile. That’s rare.”

  Clementa had mentioned that too. “Do you mind terribly if we use speech instead?” She was still frustrated with herself for that slip, and felt suddenly anxious to close the connection.

  “Of course I don’t mind, dear. Whatever you prefer is fine with me.” Josselin smiled, and the coal’s heat dissipated to nothing. Nothing, as if she had no magic at all. Why was it so hard for Tabitha to do the same thing? “Now, then,” Josselin said, “you have something you want to show me?”

  “Yes.” Tabitha turned to her satchel and carefully pulled out the tied handkerchief. She set it on the table, then tugged at the ends of the silk ribbon to undo the knot. The white cloth parted and settled, revealing the zinc disc.

  Josselin raised an eyebrow at Tabitha. Then she gave her attention to the disc, and it rose from the handkerchief and table to hover in the air, turning slowly in place. Tabitha could just barely feel the old woman’s magic, the warmth of the coal.

  “I find I can discern more this way than if I physically touch it,” Josselin murmured as lamplight glittered on the zinc.

  Tabitha nodded, although she herself had not used any telekinesis to handle the thing. For some reason, that seemed more disgusting than holding it with her hand. “What is it?”

  “One of Pascin’s charms, if I’m not mistaken. Although …” She studied it for a few more seconds, then looked at Tabitha. “Where did you get it?” she asked sharply.

  It was time to find out if Josselin really did respect her privacy. “Actually, I would rather not say. I just need to know more about it.”

  Josselin paused, then asked, “Was it given to you, or did you find it somewhere?”

  “It was given to me.”

  The disc continued to spin between them. Josselin turned her gaze back to it, and the wrinkles on her brow furrowed deeper. “This could be one of Staziec’s,” she said finally.

  “Staziec? Pascin’s master?” Was Ferogin lying about setting the charm himself? Had he told her he had done it just so that he could embarrass her?

  “He made thousands that were never used. Pascin found a cache of them, but he’s convinced that there are more than he hasn’t found yet.”

  “Sorcerers make charms too?”

  “Yes.”

  “And these are stronger than regular charms?”

  “Of course.”

  “No one ever told me that.” She had to be careful with her tone. She should not sound angry, just puzzled. “Why did you not talk about these when you gave the magi girls their charms?”

  “Because they can’t make or renew such charms.”

  “But you did not even mention that they exist.”

  “It does stand to reason that they exist, dear. Anything magi can do, sorcerers can do better. Magi can lift rocks, but sorcerers can lift boulders. Magi healers can make people sleep, but sorcerers can make people comatose. Some magi can sense weather, but some sorcerers can move weather. So, yes, sorcerers can and do make charms.”

  Tabitha held her mouth shut for as long as she could, but eventually it burst out of her. “Does everyone else know about this?”

  “I don’t know what everyone else knows, dear. I’ve told Koren about them, though she’s not yet ready to try to make one herself.”

  But Natayl had never told her about them. It was because he hated her and did not want to train her. “Could you tell me more about them, please?” she asked, working hard to keep her frustration out of her voice. “None of the books I have read mention them either.”

  “They are rare, and most writers, most people, don’t differentiate between the two. To anyone without magic, a charm’s a charm, no matter who sets it.” She slipped into silence, watching the disc that still spun in the air. After what seemed to Tabitha to be a long time, she muttered, “It doesn’t seem old enough.”

  “Old enough?”

  “To be one of Staziec’s. I’m sorry.” Josselin sat straighter in her chair. “You asked a question. People wear magi charms to preserve health. Or, as we’ve discussed, to prevent pregnancy. Those charms keep things the way they are. Sorcerer’s charms, though, can change things in the body, to relieve symptoms or even cure illnesses. They are rare because they are difficult to set properly and require deep concentration. To tell you the truth, I’ve never been particularly good at it.”

  “But Pascin is?”

  “Most Adelard sorcerers have been.” Then Josselin frowned, as if a thought had struck her.

  Before the elder sorceress could ask if Ferogin had been the one to give Tabitha the charm, Tabitha said, “I don’t see them used in the hospitals when I visit.”

  “Are you sure? At a glance, they look no different from magi charms.”

  Tabitha affected puzzlement and gestured to the disc. “But it’s larger.”

  “It’s actually not. Staziec discovered that if he enveloped the charm in zinc, it would keep its full potency.”

  It seemed that Ferogin had told her the truth about that too. “Why is zinc not put on magi charms?”

  Josselin gave a little shrug. “Sometimes it is, but the process adds cost. It’s usually easier and cheaper for a magus to renew a charm.”

  “Are sorcerers’ charms dangerous?”

  “They can be,” Josselin nodded. “If you’re constipated, you wouldn’t want to wear a charm intended for people with chronic diarrhea.”

  Tabitha tried not to grimace at that. “What if the charm is not properly set? Would it hurt the person who wore it?”

  “No. Usually, a charm not properly set would simply be ineffectual.”

  This was the information that Tabitha needed. She could give her father the charm, and if Ferogin’s spellcasting was bad, it just would not work. It would not hurt him.

  Unless, of course, Ferogin intended to hurt him. “Can you tell what this
one is supposed to do? What illness could it cure?”

  “I can’t tell when it’s enveloped like this. Are you willing to break the zinc?”

  Was she? If she did, the charm might lose too much potency before she gave it to her father. And she would not ask Ferogin for another.

  Did she trust his word? Did she trust the fact that he wanted her to owe him a favor? Was this worth owing Ferogin a favor?

  As the questions agitated in Tabitha’s mind, the disc slowly descended to rest in the middle of the handkerchief. “Would you like to tell me more about how you came to possess this?” Josselin’s tone clearly encouraged her to do just that.

  Tabitha looked at the charm. That is a baby brother.

  “Forgive me,” she finally answered Josselin, “but I can’t. Thank you very much for everything you have told me. It was very enlightening.” She carefully lifted the corners of the handkerchief and tied the silk ribbon around it again.

  “You’re welcome,” Josselin nodded. “I have a question, though, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.” Tabitha took her satchel from the chair beside her and pushed the wrapped charm down into the very bottom of it.

  “Did you bring this to Natayl?”

  “No,” Tabitha murmured, not looking up.

  “May I ask why not?”

  “I …” Because he would not help me. He would make me feel stupid instead. “I don’t like to … to approach him.”

  Suddenly Josselin leaned forward, and Tabitha, startled, looked up into her intense brown eyes. “Has he touched you?”

  “What?”

  “I asked you before if he treated you like a plaything. I’m asking you again. Does he?”

  “No. No.” The idea of it reminded Tabitha of how Baron Louard had raped Marjorie, and she shuddered in disgust. “He sometimes takes my hand to formally escort me, but that’s the only time he ever actually touches me.”

  “Hm.” Josselin sat back and picked up her teacup again. “Good.”