The Mage's Daughter: Book One: Discovery

by LeRoy Clary

  The following morning, she found she already knew K and N, so she made her first lopsided O. Another crow flew inside the tree and landed beside the first. It peered at her and said in Evelyn’s voice, “A mage has arrived in our village.”

  Nothing else. But that message said it all. The bird repeated the message three times, then flew away. A mage. If that were normal Evelyn wouldn’t have sent a message, so it must be unusual—and dangerous. It might be a few more days before the sorceress could return to the tree, but Hannah had left her enough food for days and days. Still, Hannah decided to eat less until Evelyn returned.

  What would a mage be doing in a small, remote village if not searching for her? If one searched here, there were sure to be others searching villages farther away, and probably still more in town and the Palace. Wait! How many mages existed? In her lifetime she had seen two, the Young Mage at the Earl’s Castle and her father.

  If mages were that rare, the appearance of one at the small village took on more importance. Could he believe her to be close? Has she made a mistake and led him here?

  Hannah put those thoughts aside because they could not be answered. Instead, she attacked her studies with renewed resolve, but found she had forgotten F and confused C with K. Instead of getting easier; the task of learning became more complicated as she added new letters. She had to pause in her work so the crow could search for food. Then she wondered why she didn’t place a bowl of it near the bird, along with water for it to drink.

  She didn’t like the crow. It made squawks that had nothing to do with letters, scaring her at times and confusing her at others. It made messes on the table below the perch until she moved the table, thinking that was a good idea. The messes then fell to the floor and were harder to clean, so she shoved the table back.

  Most of all, she didn’t like the stupid bird correcting her every time she named a letter wrong or made the wrong sound. The bird could be the offspring of the nasty woman in the morning kitchen who cooked the hard bread for the slaves. It was the first time she had thought of the morning kitchen in a couple of days. The memories were already fading. Hannah didn’t know if that was good or not. She didn’t like her early life, of course, but did she wish to forget it?

  By the time she started printing the Z on the fourth day, her mind churned when she thought of all the letters. Each time she went back to the beginning she knew the first five or six, then problems arose, and the crow started shouting at her. But she was on the last letter and knew that going over them time after time would forever fix them in her mind. The hardest part was over.

  But the crows message about the mage in the village kept haunting her thoughts. If Evelyn thought it so important that she took the time and risk to send a message, it must be so, and rare. Then Hannah remembered the Young Mage at the Earl’s Castle watching her. There had been something about his eyes, his expression, and the intentness that had made her ill at ease that day, and she avoided places she might encounter him until she left.

  Had he been threatening? Or, had he known or sensed something in her? Or somehow marked her so he could follow? Was that even possible? The coincidence in her father arriving at the castle and the Young Mage’s attention couldn’t have been an accident. He knew something about her. She would bet the mage in the village was him.

  He was a mage, after all. He possessed magical powers, if a grade or two lower than her father, but magic all the same. Had he used it to follow her? If he had, would Evelyn’s spells to hide her workshop from people also hide it from him? Were the two hunters who nearly found her bathing in the pool sent by the mage?

  The questions filled her mind so full that making a simple Z became more than she could concentrate on. She stood, stretched and went to kill the Treeman another hundred times by throwing her knife. Instead of simply throwing it, she now added difficulty. With the knife in the scabbard, she walked past the tree as if strolling in a park, pulled and threw. Next, she waited, hands limply at her sides, for a leaf to touch the ground before pulling and throwing. She spun and threw. She varied the situation and made the throws time after time.

  She seldom missed anymore. Always from the same distance, the same grip on the knife, the same throwing motion. Repeatedly. One throw accounted for one raised finger on her left hand. Five perfect throws, then five more. She waited for the next bird in the forest to chirp and threw, almost before the sound disappeared.

  The bark on the tree showed the slashes where the knife had landed, overlapping and eventually so many the bark fell off the tree leaving a pale yellow circle the size of a man’s chest. Above and below were her near misses. She drew a round face on the tree with white powder, then drew two ink dots for eyes. They were the dark eyes of the Young Mage.

  Her statistics for throwing improved, as did her speed and velocity. Three times that morning she went outside and threw the knife until her arm hurt, then went inside and worked on the letters again. Drawing each evenly across the page, she called out the name and sounds of each. The crow mercifully remained quiet.

  It’s always best to have a plan. If more people came around hunting her, she decided to go to the farm where they had ‘bought’ the horses and take her coins with her. She started packing the leather bag under her dress in case she needed to flee. Since Sir James died, she felt she inherited the debt owed to the family that had helped them by giving them horses. Perhaps they could tell her where to hide next. But first, came the debt she owed.

  If she did not have to flee, and things calmed down, she would talk to Evelyn and explain why she had to travel there, and maybe they could go together. Again the thought of the Young Mage entered her mind unbiddenly. If it was another mage in the village, she could rest easier. But if it was the one who watched her, she had reason to be scared. The problem was in knowing and suspecting.

  She ‘felt’ another mind touch hers. Not directly, but searching and the gentle, quick ‘touch’ moved on. It hadn’t recognized her—or perhaps it had. She waited for another mental touch, and if it lingered she would leave.

  She considered slipping into the village to see for herself if it was the same mage, but that was kind of thing a child would do. She pictured herself asking Sir James if she should sneak into the village. He would demand to know if what little she gained in knowledge was worth risking her capture and even death.

  It was too quiet while sitting at the workbench. On impulse, she printed an H and said, “H, ah.”

  “Huh,” the crow shouted back at her.

  “Bee,” she mimicked incorrectly, her wicked eyes watching the crow.

  “Huh,” it said again, twisting and turning its head as it watched her like it thought her stupid.

  “Huh, does that make you happy?”

  The crow tilted its head but didn’t reply or correct her this time. She made a small evening meal by cooking a cross between hard bread and flatbread. It was not intentional, but she had never made it, and the result could not properly be called either, but she liked it. At least she told herself she did as she forced another bite into her mouth and washed it down with fresh water from the brook.

  The light still filtered down through the trees when she passed Treeman. At three and a half steps she never even paused or hesitated in her walk. The knife found its way into her hand, and her arm whipped forward. The knife struck parallel to the ground, chest high, as usual.

  “How often am I ever going to get that close?” Three and a half small steps. She knew the distance perfectly, but from there a man could almost leap forward and grab her before she threw.

  She moved back to five steps and threw. The knife clattered to the ground. She backed a half step and missed again, but it had almost turned over to strike point first. She went back another half step. The knife stuck into the tree. Six steps instead of three and a half.

  She marked the ground by drawing her foot across the needles in the dirt. Six steps, a much safer distance. But as she threw, it felt awkward and wrong, even t
hough the knife managed to hit Treeman a little high, but still stuck. Her small arm couldn’t provide the speed the knife needed to cross the increased space and strike hard enough to penetrate.

  She’d seen boys throw rocks, and they used their whole bodies. She imitated their movement awkwardly and missed the tree. After locating her knife and returning to her spot she tried again, making the move without throwing and chasing.

  “Take a big step and keep low as you throw.” She told herself as she practiced a few more times, then tried with the knife. It struck Treeman with a resounding whack, very near the center of his chest. The middle of the tree below the face she’d made gleamed yellow, the bark worn off long ago from the repeated strikes of her blade. Darker vertical marks showed where the knife had struck before, so many that the whole area looked like some strange monster had chewed it.

  The following morning, just after sunup, a young woman dressed in green pants and shirt that matched the color of the forest stood outside and called her name. Then she waited until Hannah pulled the curtain aside and walked out.

  Seeing her, Hannah said nothing, but moved a few steps closer until she stood exactly six steps away, her perfect distance for the knife on her back itching to be in her hand. “Who are you?”

  “Sage. Evelyn sent me.”

  “She’s in the village.”

  “I know. The mage is still there. It’s the same mage who served the Earl, one of those opposing the King, so he knows you by sight.”

  While she spoke, Hannah took inventory of the girl. Taller than Hannah by half a head, she wore her long straight black hair tied with a green ribbon to keep it out of her face. She carried a bow, a quiver of arrows at her hip, a leather bag slung over her shoulder, but not the one carrying the bow. She kept that one clear of encumbrance. Hannah decided she was near twenty, but couldn’t guess on which side.

  “You were in the village?” Hannah asked, expecting to find she had been.

  She laughed, “Of course not. That mage is looking for anything out of the ordinary that might point him to you. She sent me an owl with a lengthy message and told me to come and teach you what I can, but to stress you are not to leave this tree for any reason. He is watching and waiting.”

  “Are you a hunter? I have never heard of a woman hunter.”

  “Hunter? No, I’m the same as you. A sorceress, just a little older than you.”

  It was the first time anyone had called Hannah a sorceress. She found she liked it. “What can you teach me?”

  “Reading, to start with. A few small spells to entertain you, but nothing that will attract the mage. Evelyn said you are studying your letters but have never attended training or school.”

  “I think I know them all. I can print them, too. And I can say their sounds.”

  “What spells do you know?”

  “None. I just found out who I am,” Hannah told that part of the truth, and would hide the rest until she knew for sure what else to tell. For now, she wouldn’t even tell a sorceress too much.

  Sage’s eyes went to Treeman.

  Hannah said, “Meet Treeman, my target.”

  “What have you been shooting at him?”

  Hannah spun, and while turning, reached over her shoulder and pulled the black knife and threw. It struck dead center.

  “A spell?” Sage asked, not appearing impressed.

  “Skill,” Hannah said, puffing out her chest.

  “Why?”

  “So I can protect myself,” Hannah said, proud to explain.

  Sage looked off into the distance, pulled an arrow and said, “Do you see that white spot on that tree way over there?”

  Hannah looked. Not only could no arrow fly that far, but no archer could hit such a small target. “I see it.”

  In a flash of motion, Sage brought the arrow to the string, pulled, aimed, and released. Her head turned to face Hannah long before the arrow found its mark. “Not skill. My arrows are enchanted to strike what I aim at. Why would I waste hours and hours learning to shoot half as good?”

  The arrow struck the center of the white blaze. Hannah realized she had just learned her first lesson—and it was a good one. She didn’t know what or how, but she understood that a sorceress’ did things differently. It would be good to have company and someone to teach her. “Would you like to come inside?”

  “Yes, I’ve never been here and using a hollow tree is a wonderful way to . . .” She paused as Hannah drew back the curtain. “Why, this is amazing. Look how large it is. And her supplies! It must have taken a lifetime to gather all this. How old is Evelyn?”

  Hannah didn’t know. She shrugged. Sage began exploring, looking but not touching, Hannah noticed. Sage kept her hands to her sides or clasped behind her. Now and then she squealed in excitement, but no matter what, she never reached for anything on any table.

  After eating some of Hannah’s bread, Sage told her to add more salt and perhaps onion or garlic to give it flavor. “And you might want to use a spoonful of oats, rye, and finely chopped nuts to add texture. Now, let me see your writing.”

  Hannah almost snorted, realizing that a few days ago, she couldn’t produce it because of the disappearing ink, but the blue ink she used now filled several pages. Sage took her time examining them, pointing out a few small problems, and ways to make a few letters easier, but for the most part she approved.

  Hannah dutifully sounded out each letter, and Sage only had one correction. Then Sage said, “Now the easy stuff is over. We’re going to put these letters together into words.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “No problem. Let’s start with an easy one. There, what is the sound of that letter?”

  “I.”

  “Correct. I can read. I know that word. I can say it.”

  “The letter is also a word?” Hannah asked.

  “A few are. There are some words made of two letters, but for the most part, you can read now, but just don’t know it. I made a mental list while on my way here, words spelled as each letter is said. Once you catch on, you can read words you’ve never seen before.”

  “No. Magic? Like your arrows?”

  “Nope, just reading. Say, do you know that magic surrounds this tree? All sorts of incantations, charms, and spells I’ve never heard of, or seen, but unless you know what to look for, this place might as well be in another world.”

  Hannah said, “I think she is not the first to use it. There were seven or eight before Evelyn. I take it your place is not like this?”

  “Lords above and below, no. I have a tiny room in the basement in our barn. I hide the door under two spells, but nothing grand like this. But your explanation tells me what I wondered. No one person could protect this tree so well. Now, let’s get back to work.”

  Sage printed a series of words, most with four or fewer letters and showed Hannah how to sound them out. When they were finishing the second set, Sage said, “You’re doing great, Princess.”

  Hannah bolted upright, her fears emerging with stilled lips. “Huh?”

  “Princess. That’s what Hannah means in the old tongue. Didn’t you know?”

  Hannah thought back to the times when Sir James called her Princess, and she never knew there was a joke tied to it. Her name and station in life were the same. She allowed a smile to emerge. “No, but someone dear to me used to call me that sometimes.”

  “Oh, I wondered what your reaction was all about. Geez, you looked scared when I said it, and I wondered if I did anything wrong.”

  “No, but I guess it is a name my uncle used for me and it’s special for that reason.” Hannah didn’t want anyone hearing her called Princess. Not now. She’d just as soon Sage didn’t use it and bring up the subject so nobody would suspect or wonder and think where they had seen her before.

  They worked on reading until Hannah could remember more sounds and recognize them enough for simple words. Sage said, “Here, let me teach you a small but useful spell. Have you ever be
en caught in a rainstorm?”

  Hannah remembered the story her father created so the globes with the explosions and fireworks would work. But making it rain was work of a mage. How did this differ? She decided to watch and pay attention. “Yes, many times.”

  Sage smiled, “First, you need a little of the inside bark of a maple, red, spreading, whatever kind of maple that’s handy. Not much, just a pinch. Then you need . . .” She rattled off several more ingredients, and Hannah lost track. Sage withdrew a small bag from inside her pocket. She muttered a few words and blew the powder over Hannah.

  “Come now, we’ll go down to the stream, and I’ll show you how it works, but be warned, do not be caught in a storm walking dry. People will know a spell has been cast and suspect you. It’s always best to keep your secrets. It’ll keep you dry and warm.”

  At the bathing pool, Sage scooped water with a cup and dribbled it over Hannah’s head. The water flowed down and over her clothes and skin without wetting either. Sage said, “What I have done is wet my hair beforehand, so it appears the rain did it.”

  The trick interested Hannah for another reason. She asked, “What if you want it to rain?”

  “Then you must see a mage. This spell affects you, a person, not the four elements, you know what they are?”

  “Earth, air, fire, and water. But the spell does affect water.”

  “No, it affects you. Sorceresses like you and I cannot do magic in the four elements, but we are superior in our ways. A mage can make it rain. You and I can prevent that rain from getting us wet.”

  Hannah was beginning to understand and had a glimmer of hope that soon she would know the difference, but inquiring more about Sage might alert her in some way. Back at the tree, Hannah was again reading small words by sounding the letters, and not understanding most. They talked, laughed, ate, and studied.

  A crow flew inside and circled the hollow tree trunk once before settling on the perch. Instantly Hannah noticed the crow stood taller than others, and she had never seen it before. It fixed its eyes on her and spoke slowly, and clearly. “Flee Hannah! I am held a prisoner. A spy followed Sage to the tree, and now you both must flee for your lives. The Young Mage is coming.”