The Last Mage Guardian

by Sabrina Chase

  “No.” There was nothing she could do now. She had taught him too well. “It doesn’t concern you.” She hid her hands in her skirts, so he would not see them shaking.

  “This house has a lot of magic,” he said finally.

  “Yes.” Her voice was so faint she could barely hear it herself. “And most of it is dangerous.”

  Dominic found the book on magic fascinating in many ways. The content, of course, was so distracting he had to force himself to attend to his daily tasks. It appeared to be an introductory text for beginning magicians. Strangely, it had no lettering at all on the binding. It also bore the marks of having been used by a student. Coffee stains, penciled markings, and dogeared corners brought back many memories.

  Dominic continued reading it while eating his dinner, reflecting that he had not seen or heard from Ardhuin since she had given it to him. He had overstepped some boundary when he had noticed the magical door. It hadn’t been the first time he’d done something like that, and it was very frustrating to not know where those boundaries were.

  He glanced out his window, admiring the view lit by the full moon. The night was beautiful, scattered with stars and edged by the sharp, inky shadows of the trees. Thin clouds faintly veiled the moon.

  Dominic returned to the book, absently wishing he had a more comfortable chair. Immersed in his reading, he soon forgot the hard seat, until a knock at his door startled him. In his haste to reach the door he almost knocked his chair over.

  He opened the door to disappointment. Instead of Ardhuin, Michel the deliveryman stood outside, his cap crushed in his two strong, capable hands. In the darkness behind him, Dominic could see several other people, some bearing lanterns. Curiosity replaced his first emotion.

  “Is there something wrong?” he asked, considerably astonished.

  “It's Alain, Madame Daheron's son, gone missing. They think he was coming here, and he's not returned these four hours. We'd....” He gulped, and gripped his cap even more tightly. “We're wanting to look for him.”

  “I don’t understand. You think he came to my house?”

  One of the lantern-bearers came closer, and Dominic recognized the old war-veteran postmaster. “His mother worries for the lad, and rightly. He has a withered arm, you see. Of course he wishes to be thought well of by the other boys and will do pranks of this nature, but nothing this dangerous before. We were thinking you could ask her, since you have spoken to her on other occasions.”

  Understanding dawned. They wanted him to speak to Mademoiselle Andrews on some matter. “Please forgive me, but I do not completely comprehend. What do you wish her permission to do?”

  “Go to Ankou’s Bones,” Michel said, swallowing hard. He pointed to the dark, shadowed hill behind the chateau. “Her lands.”

  Dominic reached for his jacket. “I would be happy to assist you. Perhaps one of you should go with me, though, in the event that she has questions.”

  There was an interlude of shifting feet and awkward silence, and then Michel stepped forward. He nodded silently at Dominic.

  “I hope you will excuse my curiosity, but why are people so reluctant to talk to Mademoiselle Andrews?” Dominic asked as they walked up the path to the house. If she was in the habit of hitting people with pokers and tying them up, the matter explained itself, but he suspected he would have heard if that were the case.

  Michel finally managed to speak. “The magic of the old lord.”

  “Yes, but he’s been dead for some time.” There was a question forming in his mind about exactly how long Yves Morlais had been dead, though. What had the woman in the market said?

  “Happens the magic don’t always die with them,” Michel said simply. His eyes were darting nervously as they got closer to the chateau. He lowered his voice. “Some say she’s been cursed.”

  That had been in Chapter Two: Misconceptions of Magic. According to the beginning magic book, curses were merely a popular myth. He wasn’t going to argue about it with Michel, though, since he could see it would be like arguing with a stump.

  Dominic saw the gate to the garden and decided to check the back entrance. “Stay here,” he said to Michel, and ran off. He remembered Ardhuin didn’t want anyone seeing her roses. The ward was visible over the back of the house, so he returned to the side path.

  “Where did you go?” Michel said as soon as he saw him. His eyes were wide with terror. “You vanished!”

  “I just went—” Dominic gestured, turning as he did so and seeing the bank of white roses pouring over the garden wall. They gleamed with moonlight and with magic, and he remembered what Ardhuin had said about them creating forgetfulness. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see if the back door was open.”

  Michel’s breathing slowed, but he stayed closer to Dominic as they went around to the front entrance.

  Dominic now understood why the front doorpull was on a long angled bracket away from the wall. This permitted it to hang outside the wards. He pulled it once, listening hard for the sound of the bell, then twice more.

  They waited silently, for what seemed like hours. Then Dominic heard the sound of the lock being turned, and the door opened, but only a crack. He could see the ward was still there.

  “What is it?” Her voice sounded tight, and a little frightened.

  Dominic explained the situation as best he could. Michel stood like a stone, not even daring to come up the steps to the door.

  The door had opened enough that Dominic could see her face in the shadows. There was a long silence.

  “Mademoiselle Andrews?”

  “I will go with them.”

  “What?” Dominic said, startled. Ardhuin appeared almost as frightened as Michel, but her determined jaw was prominent in a way he was beginning to recognize.

  “I know Ankou’s Bones well. Have them wait for me,” she said, and shut the door.

  Dominic turned back to Michel. “Perhaps you should go tell the others,” he said, wondering what was going on. “I will wait for her here.”

  Michel nodded vigorously, and left. After a few minutes, Dominic heard the door open again, and he saw a hole form in the magic of the ward just large enough to permit Ardhuin to leave. It closed behind her. He noticed she did not bother to lock the door.

  She had changed to a dark dress and wore a thick shawl and a familiar hat with veiling. The hat that hid her face with magical shadows, which he had first seen in Dinan. He could barely see her in the darkness.

  “There is no need for you to come,” he protested. “It will be dark and difficult going, not suited for ladies.” It bothered him that he could not see her face.

  “I want to go,” she said, in a voice that had more stubborn determination than interest in it. “I know where the trails are, and I’ve traveled rougher ones in Atlantea.”

  Dominic could see the crowd of searchers before his cottage, the beams of their lamps flashing as they shifted them in their hands. There was no voiced objection when Ardhuin joined the group, but he noticed everyone kept their distance from her and never looked at her directly.

  “You are coming, too?” she said when she saw Dominic walking beside her towards the hill.

  “It is a pleasant night for a moonlight stroll,” he answered, smiling.

  “It’s a full moon, too,” Ardhuin said. “Drat. That will make it worse.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She made a sharp gesture towards the hill and leaned closer to him. “This hill is a ley line focus. The tales the country folk tell about fairy paths have an element of truth in them, you know. To primitive magicians, it must have felt like an evil spirit lived here, interfering with their spells. Ley lines are influenced by the lunar phases, so a full moon makes them even more unpredictable.”

  “How does that affect us?”

  There was a noticeable hesitation before she answered. “It affects the non-magical too. It makes things seem confusing. It is not surprising the child got lost.”

  They walked up a nar
row trail through the black woods, and the winds that rushed through the branches made eerie sounds all about them. As they hiked steadily uphill, the trees began to thin out and great stone outcroppings became visible. The searchers began to call out the boy's name as they fanned out over the rocky hillside. It was strangely bright out; whole streams of light came through the trees.

  “This is never going to work,” Ardhuin muttered, stumbling on a rock. “Those lamps are too feeble for them to see if he's at the bottom of one of the caves.” She turned her head sharply at a rustling sound in the underbrush, and pulled her shawl close to her.

  “There are caves here?” asked Dominic, surprised.

  “That’s what they are called, but really they are just vertical shafts in the rocks. They make strange sounds when the wind is in the right direction. This whole hill is supposed to be the bones of Ankou's victims, and the sounds their spirits wailing. Just the thing to appeal to a young boy.” She looked about, hesitating. Dominic wished he had some indication what she was thinking, but he couldn’t see her face. “There’s one now. Why don’t you try that one, and I’ll find another?” She darted away before he could say anything.

  Dominic dutifully went to the edge of the shaft, peering down. The strange light was quite adequate for him to see it was empty of any small boys, but he shouted anyway.

  Where had Ardhuin gone? He turned away to look for her, catching a flash of light from the corner of his eye. At least it looked like light, but she didn’t have a lantern. Everything was confusing here. Where was the light coming from? It couldn’t all be moonlight. She had mentioned ley lines interfering with magic. Perhaps they were magic too, and he could see with them.

  She staggered as he came up to her, as if caught in a strong wind, but it was calm here.

  “Let’s go this way,” she said, and her voice sounded eager. She stumbled again, and Dominic took her arm to steady her. Something hard in a pocket of her shawl bumped against him. “I beg your pardon...it’s the ley lines,” she said breathlessly. He could feel her hand shaking.

  She led him away from the main body of searchers, down a narrow path to a depression in the side of the hill, carpeted with moss and ferns. The ground was soft and damp underfoot. They had passed several of the rock shaft openings without stopping to look at them, but here Ardhuin headed straight for a cleft in the ground and peered in.

  Dominic looked too, and gasped. “I see something! A boot, right by the patch of gravel at the bottom. Alain! Can you hear me?”

  The boot shifted, and he could just hear a sobbing breath. The boy was at the bottom of a very deep shaft, one that was narrow and obstructed with rocks.

  “I-I’m c-c-cold,” came a small, faint voice.

  “We’ll have you out in two shakes,” Dominic said, recognizing the sound of a very frightened boy. “Are you hurt?”

  “M-my leg. D-doesn’t m—move.”

  Dominic ran up to the top of the depression and started shouting for the other searchers. In a few minutes, they appeared from the shadows. They did not have trouble with their footing as Ardhuin had, but they seemed to have difficulty seeing obstacles that Dominic could see quite clearly.

  This was a very strange place. He could see why it was the focus of legends; it seemed so alive. Even the air he breathed was richer, somehow. Full of the scent of crushed leaves and mud and bark, cool and invigorating.

  They gathered at the cleft, discussing how to rescue Alain. The smallest member of the search party was still too big to fit between the rocks clogging the shaft.

  “He can’t climb?” Ardhuin asked Dominic in a whisper.

  “I suspect his leg is broken, and he only has one good arm,” he explained.

  “Poor child,” she murmured. Dominic blinked. The tight fear in her voice had gone, and it had returned to the usual warm richness that made him want her to say anything, just so he could listen.

  The postmaster carefully lowered a length of rope down the shaft, twitching it in an effort to get it past the obstructions. For the next half-hour, they tried and failed to get the rope down to the boy, who could no longer speak from shivering.

  Michel held the rope now, and the postmaster urgently discussed with the other searchers the possibility of going back to Baranton for someone who could climb down and reach Alain.

  Dominic saw the flash again, and this time he was careful just to glance to the side, unobtrusively. Now he could see it was magic, flowing from Ardhuin’s hands. He felt a chill course over his skin, and he clenched his hands with the effort to keep silent. She was doing magic. Part of him wanted to dance with delight at figuring out the puzzle that had perplexed him for so long, and part of him was stunned by the revelation. Women didn’t do magic. They were supposed to lack the necessary mental strength, even if they had the ability.

  They had apparently neglected to inform Ardhuin of this. He stood silent, watching the magic infuse the rope and guide it down. The magic looked like it was being battered about by a wind, though, and the tension in Ardhuin’s posture told him something was causing her difficulty.

  “He’s got it!” Michel’s surprised voice cut short the discussion among the others, and they crowded around the cleft again. Michel’s powerful arms pulled up the rope, slowly and carefully.

  It seemed an eternity before Alain emerged from the shaft, but he came in view at last; a ragamuffin boy with tears and blood visible on his dirty face.

  Michel carried him carefully down the hill, wrapped in coats. When Ardhuin stumbled again, Dominic once more took her arm. There was a scent close to her...what was it? Sharp, and one he associated with smoke.

  Gunpowder. He suddenly knew what she had in her shawl pocket, with a certainty that surprised him. She was carrying a gun. But why? What could possibly be so dangerous on that hill she wanted to be armed? Why would she want to go there if it was so dangerous? Nothing made sense, and the more he learned, the more confused he became.

  The search party did not linger when they reached the path to the main road, but the old postmaster did stop long enough to shake Dominic’s hand and thank him with visible emotion. He also shook Ardhuin’s hand, which made her stiffen in surprise, and Dominic grinned. She stood immobile for a moment and then seemed to recollect herself.

  “Thank you for your help,” she said in a quiet voice, starting back to the chateau.

  “Permit me to assist you further, and see you to your door,” Dominic said promptly. It was still a beautiful night, although not as bright as it had been, and he was reluctant for it to end. Besides, if she was afraid enough to go armed, he should make sure she got home safely.

  She didn’t object, but she didn’t say anything, either. He couldn’t tell how she felt about it. Dominic frowned. This had to stop.

  “Why do you wear that hat?”

  “I prefer to...to not be seen. I mean, for people to not look at me.”

  It was wonderful to hear her voice. It had so much richness and depth, and her words flowed with changing speed like water in a rocky stream. He still wanted to see her face. If he could convince her to smile....

  “But why? I’ve never seen you wear it here before. I don’t like it. I can’t see you.” A small part of him wondered at his rude persistence. What was wrong with him? It was none of his concern what she chose to do.

  A sudden wave of dizziness made him stop, shuddering. The sounds, the scents, even the feel of the ground under his feet overwhelmed him. He barely heard her say, “You want to see me?”

  “Yes,” he gasped. His vision cleared, and he took a deep breath. He saw they had reached the gate to the garden, and he opened it for her. How rough and hard the metal was, and cool to the touch—a soothing coolness that seemed to flow slowly through his fingers and into his bones. Dominic followed Ardhuin through the gate and let go.

  It was a mistake. The instant he released the gate, the magic roses all glowed like beacons to his inner sight, and the chateau blazed with the magic of the wards. He h
eld up his hands to keep it back in vain, his head swimming, and felt himself fall. He hit the ground hard, landing on one shoulder.

  The pain was a distant thing, noticed but not important. Dominic stared up at the moon, marveling at the faint opalescent colors that shimmered over its surface. Why had he never noticed that before?

  “What’s wrong?” He heard the fear in Ardhuin’s voice and struggled to sit up. He should not worry her like this and add to her troubles. It was not courteous.

  Why did his head swim so? He closed his eyes, resting his head in his hands and trying to collect himself, but a rustling sound made him snap them open again. Ardhuin was kneeling beside him. At least he thought it was Ardhuin. How could he tell?

  “Where are you?” Dominic said, straining to see past the magic and shadows that surrounded her.

  “I’m here, really...look. See?” She lifted shaking hands and pulled her hat off. Dominic sagged with relief and nearly collapsed on the ground again. Yes, it was she. The moonlight dimmed the fire of her hair, coming loose from its arrangement from her hurried action, but the worried face that looked at him was Ardhuin’s. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

  Her hand touched his forehead only briefly, but the touch felt like lightning, like fire, a pleasure so intense it hurt. Its sudden absence was pure agony.

  Dominic groaned. “No! Please...don’t go away....”

  “You are sick—what am I going to do? How am I going to fetch the doctor without leaving you?” Ardhuin looked frantically about the garden as if searching for inspiration. “If they’ve done this....”

  She needed help. He wasn’t quite sure what she needed help with or how, but he responded immediately, reaching out to find her in the soundless confusion of light and magic that surrounded them.

  His hand touched a loose tendril of hair and stopped, letting it slide over his fingertips. It was sunlight made solid, a caressing, warm wind bringing a nameless scent that made his heart pound. His dizziness cleared again.

  “I’m not sick,” Dominic managed to whisper. Mad, perhaps, but not sick. He watched with detachment as his hands seemed to move of their own will, drowning in the rich waves of hair that slid from the top of her head as he dislodged them.