Children of Magic

by Greenberg, Martin H.

  His eyes snapped back to hers. He could not sense her in his mind. “What?” he asked aloud.

  Ayrmid leaned closer. “I can hear your thoughts, child. Any of our kind can.”

  “Our kind?”

  Birte crouched beside him, her hand on his arm. He turned to her. Her grey eyes were wide as she looked from Anden to the other goddess.

  “In truth?” she asked.

  Ayrmid nodded. Anden felt a surge of joy from the younger goddess. Her hand tightened on his arm.

  “Goddess?” He did not try to hide his confusion. “What truth? What do you mean ‘our kind’?”

  Ayrmid stood and moved to the hearth. Gracefully, she sat at its edge. Uncomfortably aware he was caught between the goddesses, Anden wriggled.

  “There are a number of truths,” she replied. “For you, the most important is that Rayenn is correct.”

  A shiver ran down his spine. Heart pounding, he whispered, “I am not his son? I am to blame for the crops failing and the weather?”

  Birte’s hand captured his wrist while Ayrmid’s touched his foot. He was nearly overwhelmed by the compassion and denial that swept over and through him. Taking a deep steadying breath, he looked at Ayrmid.

  “The weather and crops are not in your control,” she replied.

  She didn’t deny it all. “So I am not his son.”

  She shook her head. “No. You are not.”

  He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. Tears gathered in his eyes. “Then whose?”

  When silence answered, he lowered his gaze. Ayrmid watched him intently.

  “I am not certain,” she replied. “But I believe you are my son’s.”

  A burst of raw emotion, quickly staunched, filled him. Startled, he glanced at the younger goddess. Her eyes flashed. Before she could say anything, Ayrmid held up a warning hand.

  “Birte.”

  “But.”

  “Peace.”

  Anden felt the power behind the command. He placed his hand over Birte’s, thinking to soften the older goddess’ rebuke. Her surprise quickly became warmth and she squeezed his wrist. He looked at Ayrmid.

  “My mother,” he said slowly, “laid with a god. With your son.” When she nodded, he licked dry lips. “Was she forced? Did she desire it?” His voice shook.

  “Child, I know this is difficult.”

  “Difficult?” he interrupted angrily. “You’re telling me I’m not who I thought I was. It is more than difficult.”

  Ayrmid’s eyes darkened. Birte sucked in her breath, fingers digging into his wrist. Anden kept his gaze locked on the older goddess.

  Take care. She is the most powerful of us all.

  The barely whispered thought broke into his anger. Anden closed his eyes, forcing himself to be calm. After a long moment, he opened them again. Ayrmid still watched him.

  “My pardon, Lady.” He looked down to where his hand still rested on Birte’s. “I was rude.”

  He heard her sigh. “You deserve explanations I do not have.”

  He glanced up and found himself caught again by her gaze. Her eyes were still dark but the edges softened.

  “I will tell you what I have discerned.” She stood and returned to the chair. “Godsblood runs in your veins. For some, it means nothing. For others.” She leaned forward. “For others, it changes everything.”

  Anden moved his hand from Birte’s. When she released him, he stood and moved to kneel at Ayrmid’s knee. “Everything? Can I go home? Must I stay here?” Will I see Mother again?

  Ayrmid captured his chin in a light grip. “You will, child. None are forced to stay in the Godswood and certainly not in the spirit realm. Most mortals cannot and remain sane.”

  The question died on his lips when she smiled gently. “You are still mortal, Anden.”

  He was silent a moment. “You said everything changes.”

  She nodded. “Are you the same child who worked in the fields and shared a sleeping chamber with his brother? The same who wondered why Rayenn was convinced he was not his son? I think the young man kneeling before a goddess is a changed person.”

  Anden took a deep breath. “He is changed.” He took strength from the sense of Birte standing at his back. “But what now, Lady? What do I do?”

  Anden stared toward the bright spot he knew was the edge of the Godswood and took a deep breath. “Go home,” Ayrmid had told him. If only it was that easy, he thought. He felt more comfortable in the Godswood than he thought possible. Likely the influence of the goddesses.

  “Not entirely,” Birte replied.

  Anden turned to her. The goddess had led him back through the spirit realm. Now she stood, one shoulder against the trunk of the tree where they had found him, worry in her eyes. As he approached, she nodded toward the tree. He pressed one hand against the rough bark, unsurprised to feel worry along the connection.

  “This is your tree, isn’t it?” he asked.

  She cocked her head to the side, then smiled. Gentle humor replaced the worry. “It is.”

  Lightly resting his shoulder near hers, Anden said, “Do I have one?”

  Her sigh was warm on his cheek. “No. Only those with a full measure of godsblood have trees.”

  He glanced away. “Not a bastard like me.”

  Fingers lightly brushed his chin. “Anden, look at me.” Her grey eyes shone as he obeyed. “You are who you are. Do not let anyone’s opinion change you.”

  He nodded and looked down. “It’s difficult.”

  “I know.” Her voice grew soft. “Are you ready?”

  Anden shook his head. “No. But it’s time I go home.”

  “Welcome, my son.”

  Jullie smiled and opened her arms to him. Anden took her hands instead, squeezing them gently. Now that he was here, he did not know how to ask her.

  He had waited until Rayenn had left for the field, a reluctant Lienn at his heels, after the mid-day meal to approach the cottage. His mother had been waiting at the door.

  “I knew you would return today.”

  “How? Did they tell you?”

  She turned and led him through the door. Anden stopped when he saw the table. At his place stood a pitcher flanked by two small wooden boxes. The handle of a scythe showed above the bench.

  “I knew you would return,” Jullie repeated. “A young man should be with family on his fourteenth birthday.”

  “But—” Anden stopped. Ayrmid’s voice reminded him most mortals could not stay in the spirit realm and still remain sane. He closed his eyes. Only a few watch glasses had passed while in the company of the goddesses but here a half cycle had gone by. What would have happened had he stayed longer? Would everything have changed?

  “Your father said I was foolish to expect you to return.”

  He opened his eyes and turned to face her.

  “He said you would never.”

  “Mother.” Anden took her hands in his, forcing her to look at him. “Mother, I know the truth. Rayenn is not my father.”

  Jullie let out a slow breath. He thought she would argue but she said, “I knew one day you would discover it.” She looked away. “How did you?”

  He led her to the bench. Once she was seated, hands clasped on her lap, he knelt before her. “When Rayenn came looking for me, Healer Brianne sent me away. I escaped to the Godswood.”

  She stared at him, eyes wide.

  “I met two goddesses there. One said her son was my father.”

  “Timus,” Jullie whispered. “Ayrmid’s son.”

  He nodded. She tensed, her knuckles whitening. As he laid a hand over hers, she slowly began to speak.

  “I had gone to the Godswood to pray. I was training to become a healer and thought to ask the Lady for guidance.” She stood and began pacing.

  “When her son Timus arrived, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t wish to anger or insult him so I listened. He told me I could be more than a healer. That he’d been watching me. Waiting for me.”

 
She stopped before the fire, arms wrapped around herself. When she spoke again, her voice was bitter. “He told me I was beautiful, said all the things a maiden dreams to hear.”

  Anden rose and moved to stand by her. “You are beautiful, Mother.”

  Jullie didn’t respond. Eyes on the fire, she said, “After he . . . seduced me, he vanished but I heard his voice in my mind. He thanked me and laughed as he told me I would have his child.”

  She turned to face him. “If I wished to remain in the village, I had to wed. Rayenn had asked me from the time I turned eighteen but I’d always said no. I think he wondered what had changed my mind but he didn’t question me. Not then.”

  “Not until he discovered he wasn’t my father.”

  “I don’t believe he knows. He suspects.”

  Anden looked past her into the flames. “That is more than enough. Even as a man I cannot stay here.”

  “No,” she agreed quietly. “You can’t.”

  Turning from the fire, she stepped to the table. A padded sack sat on the bench. As she opened it, she said, “The traditional gifts of passage. I never thought you would need them so soon.” She wrapped the pitcher in a cloth before placing it in the sack.

  Anden picked up the first box and shook it. “Salt?”

  Jullie nodded, taking it from him to put it in the sack and picked up the second. “These velen seeds can be sown or traded as spice.” She checked the length of old leather securing the lid. “They are yours to use as you require.”

  When the final item was in the sack, she closed it and handed it to Anden. He slipped its strap over his shoulder and intercepted his mother’s hand as she reached for the scythe. “What will you tell Rayenn when he sees these missing?”

  She shrugged. “I put them away. He was right. You didn’t come.” Her voice cracked on the final word.

  Anden blinked away tears as he gently embraced her. “I will return again, Mother. I promise.”

  “You dared come back after all.”

  Anden placed the sack and scythe beside the rock boundary and stepped onto the field. Lienn worked in the middle of the field, glancing up but not coming closer. Rayenn leaned on the hoe’s handle, watching his approach. Only a few rows separated them when Anden stopped and met the older man’s eyes.

  “I had to.”

  Rayenn looked past him. “To collect your things, I see.”

  Shaking his head, Anden replied, “I had to speak with Mother. And with you.”

  “Me.” His voice was cold.

  Anden swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.” This was harder than he had thought it would be. “I’ve come to say good-bye.”

  Rayenn snorted. “Now that the truth is out, you think to find your true father?” He swung the hoe, slicing deep into a weed. “Be gone then.” He turned his back and continued attacking the weeds.

  Stung, Anden stepped closer, trying to remember the man who had taught him, raised him. Hands clenched at his sides, he said, “In every way that matters, you are my father. Nothing will change that.”

  The hoe blade glanced off a plant, sending dust into the air. “What do you want of me?” Rayenn demanded.

  “For myself, nothing.”

  The older man turned to look at him.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Anden said quietly. “She isn’t to blame.” Before Rayenn could speak, he continued, “She told me you’d asked her to marry you many times before she finally agreed to.”

  Confusion clear on his face, he nodded. “I did.”

  “See her with those eyes, not ones blinded by anger.”

  They stared at each other. After a long moment Rayenn tightened his grip on the hoe and turned his attention back to the weeds. Anden watched him, heart sinking. Have I just made things worse? he wondered. Shaking his head, he made his way to the row where Lienn worked.

  “You’re leaving?” Lienn asked without looking up from his weeding.

  Anden heard the pain in his voice. “I have no choice,” he answered gently.

  His brother dropped the hoe and faced him, hands clenched at his sides. “Don’t go. Don’t let Father make you leave.”

  Anden rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I have to go. I need to find out who I am.”

  A tear left a trail in the dust on Lienn’s cheek. “If I could, I would stay. If you need me,” Anden said, “leave word with Healer Brianne. She will know how to contact me.”

  A second tear joined the first. Anden swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat and leaned in to whisper, “Will you do one thing for me, Brother?”

  “What?”

  “Look after Mother.”

  Lienn straightened and met his eyes, studying him. After a moment, he scrubbed away his tears and nodded. Anden squeezed his shoulder. “I will miss you,” he said as he turned and retreated across the field. He slung the sack over his shoulder.

  He had only taken a few steps when the sound of his name broke the silence. Anden looked back to where Rayenn was a silhouette against the setting sun.

  “May the gods keep you safe on the road.”

  Anden ducked his head. “Thank you, Father,” he said and walked into the gathering shadows.

  Anden stood in the shadow of the Godswood and took a deep breath. “I can think of nowhere else to go,” he whispered. “Gods, please allow me refuge for the night.” Ensuring the scythe blade was covered, he glanced in the direction of the village before stepping among the trees.

  He had only traveled a short distance before he stumbled into a clearing. Light flared, then coalesced into a glowing orb. He took a step back.

  “Wait.”

  He froze. “Birte?”

  When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw her sitting on a stack of wood and stone at the far side of the clearing. She rose and held out her hand. He did not move. After a moment, she let her hand drop to her side.

  “Never fear your welcome, Anden. At least,” she added with a smile, “as long as I am here.”

  “I can’t remain forever.”

  The smile slipped from her face. She stepped into the light at the center of the clearing. “I do not expect you to.”

  Something in her voice told him she was hurt. Leaving the scythe and sack behind, he crossed to her, searching her grey eyes. They gave away nothing but he found his heart beating faster. Uncertain, he asked, “What do you expect?”

  “You could stay for a time. The gods have much to teach.” She crossed her arms. “We might learn from you as well.”

  “And then?”

  Birte looked at the trees surrounding them. “When that time comes, perhaps you could be an emissary. Speak to mortals about the gods. Teach tradition. Advise those who seek you.”

  He took a deep breath. “Why would someone seek me?”

  “Those who walk with the gods are often sought.”

  She still stared into the trees, hands tightening on her biceps. Anden suppressed a shiver. Her voice held none of the warmth it had when he arrived. It did hold something he thought he recognized. Loneliness.

  “Birte? What is your calling?”

  Her gaze turned to him. “My calling?”

  He nodded. “Ayrmid is the goddess of healing. What are you?”

  “Ah.” She smiled. “It is my calling to protect travelers. Especially those who are far from home.”

  He held out his hand. When she took it, he raised hers, brushing it with his lips. “Perhaps the goddess of travelers would walk with an emissary?”

  Her sudden blush surprised him but her smile grew. “Perhaps,” she replied. “We should discuss the possibility. When you are a little older. For now,” she lifted her free hand and the scythe and sack appeared at their feet, “this clearing is safe. Rest. Tomorrow we can begin your lessons.”

  Birte vanished but the orb remained. Anden lay on the ground, cloak wrapped around him, his head pillowed on the sack. His yawn became a smile as warmth surrounded him and the rustle of wings eased him into sleep.

 
BASIC MAGIC

  Jean Rabe

  Jean Rabe is the author of more than a dozen fantasy novels and three-dozen fantasy, science fiction, and military short stories. Her latest novels include The Finest Choice and Return to Quag Keep. She is an avid, but lousy, gardener; a goldfish fancier who loves to sit by her pond in the summer; and a movie-goer . . . if the movie in question “blows up real good!” Visit her website at www.sff.net/people/jeanr.

  “MAYBE IT’S ALGEBRA.”

  Scotty Wiggapolan shook his head, his carrot-red hair fluttering around his ears. “Algebra? I dunno. But I don’t think so, Drew,” he whispered. “My big sister took that last year when she was a freshman. Doesn’t look like nothin’ she ever studied.” He grinned and added even more quietly, “not that she ever studies anything all that much.”

  “So maybe it’s geometry, huh?” Drew leaned to his left to better observe the blackboard. By choice, he and Scotty sat in the very back row of Mr. Lawlor’s fifth grade class, where their hushed conversations didn’t carry very far. And not by choice they sometimes had to crane their necks this way or that to take in everything.

  “Geometry, huh? You think so, Drew?” Scotty hadn’t known Drew very long, Drew starting at the school only three weeks ago—his family seemed to move around a lot. But Scotty instantly liked him and was drawn to him like the proverbial magnet. Drew was a brain, and Scotty, already considered a geek by his peers, found the newcomer a kindred soul. “Well, I know it’s not hieroglyphics. I got a book at home on the Egyptian pyramids. Egyptian hieroglyphics don’t look like that. But maybe it’s geometry, like you said, or some other kind of fancy math. Geometry has shapes like that, doesn’t it?”

  Drew shrugged.

  There were circles within circles cut by curvy lines that ended in arrows and smaller half-circles, some of them colored in solid. And there were marks that looked like numbers, but not quite—at least not numbers that were written in English—and all of them were sitting inside something that looked like a large rectangle awkwardly tipped up on a point and taking up more than half of the entire blackboard.