Archibald smiled in a satisfied way. “You still have three questions.”
“Right.” Hugo mustered his courage. He knew what he wanted to ask most, but he was embarrassed about it. Plus, hadn’t he already decided to give up on his dream of becoming a mage? He settled on a different question. He knew Archibald wouldn’t want to answer it; under normal circumstances, the subject was off limits.
“You agree to answer my questions fully? No taunting me with half answers?”
Archibald looked wounded. “Have I ever?”
“Okay. In that case…what really happened between you and the Magemother?”
Archibald sighed. “Somehow I knew you would ask that. But I suppose it is the most mysterious part about me, isn’t it?”
Hugo tried to hide the guilty grin on his face. He had to admit he was more than a little embarrassed to bring it up. There were all kinds of rumors about Archibald and the Magemother. It was a common topic of gossip among the oldest servants after a little too much wine.
“The rumors are true,” Archibald said candidly. “We were very close once.” He looked sad.
For all his curiosity, Hugo started to feel bad for asking, but Archibald went on.
“We were friends for a long time, then confidants. Because of the nature of her life, her responsibility, her position, her power, there was no one who could really understand her. Most men were either intimidated by her power or simply unwilling to take second priority to her responsibilities. I was not. We became…as close as two people can be, perhaps—at least two people such as ourselves. Your father married us.”
Hugo gaped at him in shock. Archibald was married to the Magemother? Archibald? He took a good look at his teacher. He had always thought of him as a silly old man, wise—brilliant even—but eccentric. He was always dressed too well, and usually so polite as to be mistaken for uptight if you didn’t know him. Could this man really have caught the eye of someone like the Magemother?
Archibald chuckled. “Yes. Hard to imagine, isn’t it? But there you are, the truth. We kept the relationship largely to ourselves, but you can ask your father if you must. It was long ago, but he remembers. What is your second question?”
“What happened?”
Archibald stopped laughing. The sad look crossed his face again. Then he folded his hands and gave a resigned sigh. “We had a child.”
“What?” Hugo sat up. The Magemother had a child? Could that happen? Had that ever happened?”
“Yes,” Archibald said knowingly. “We did.”
“But is that allowed? I never knew the Magemother could be an actual mother.”
Archibald raised his eyebrows. “Is that your third question?”
Hugo winced. “Ahh, um, no?”
Archibald nodded. “No doubt the situation got the best of you. I will ‘cut you a break’ as they say. Just this once.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, the Magemother can have children. In fact, she must. The Magemother does not live forever, though most people do not know that.”
“She’s mortal?” Hugo asked, shocked.
Archibald nodded. “She lives long enough that few people know it. There have been only two Magemothers in the history of our world. In order to pass on her calling she must have a child.”
“A daughter?”
Archibald nodded. “As I was saying, we had a child. I saw it only once.” Archibald looked as if he were remembering something painful. “She gave birth in her sanctuary on Calypsis. No man had ever set foot there before, but she brought me.”
“What happened?” Hugo had lost track of how many questions he had asked. He needed to hear the end of it.
A dark look crossed Archibald’s face, a painful memory brought back to the present. “The child disappeared one day.”
“Disappeared?”
He nodded. “She would not tell me how, or why. She said that she could not tell me. After that, we…grew apart.” Archibald’s jaw clenched.
Hugo looked down.
Archibald coughed awkwardly, and when he spoke, his voice sounded deep and throaty. “Time for your third question. Make it an easy one, will you?”
Hugo thought hard. He decided not to ask what he wanted to. Archibald had already given him so much, he could see it on his face.
“Do you want some tea?”
Archibald smiled appreciatively. “Thank you.”
The conversation was pleasant after that. They spoke of simpler things. All the while, Hugo studied his teacher when he wasn’t watching. He had lived a much more interesting life than Hugo could have guessed.
That night he thought about how much pain Archibald must have been in all these years. He still felt it, obviously. Did he blame her? Had he ever forgiven her?
His thoughts drifted to his own inner turmoil. Was he kidding himself, thinking that he could just bury his dreams, his feelings like that? Would he end up like Archibald in forty years? Archibald gave off the appearance of being on top of the world, but deep down guarded a secret wound. Hugo didn’t want to live like that. Just then he felt the pain come back. It was a tangible thing. He could actually feel his heart hurting.
No, he thought as sleep drifted nearer. That was stupid. Hearts don’t actually hurt.
Above him, a bird started to sing. It sounded like the same bird from last night. That was odd, wasn’t it? He realized he’d forgotten to ask Archibald whether birds sing at night. Sleep was close, and he wasn’t thinking clearly. Maybe they did. He couldn’t remember. But why was it following them? Maybe it liked to pick up stray crumbs that they left behind on the trail. The bird’s song sounded sad, like his heart. Why would a bird be sad? Maybe it didn’t get enough crumbs today. He would have to be sure and drop some good ones tomorrow…
***
An hour later, Hugo woke with a start. Something was wrong. He strained his ears, trying to pick apart the noises of the night.
Ground mice rustling in the underbrush, Archibald breathing, an owl hooting, his bird singing. Everything sounded right.
But everything wasn’t right.
His skin prickled, and he sat up.
“Archibald!” he hissed.
Archibald mumbled something and rolled over.
“Hello,” a soft voice said.
Hugo leapt to his feet, spinning around, only to find a young girl. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground a few paces behind him. Her hair was wild, but her face was kind. She didn’t look at all threatening.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t need that.”
Looking down, he realized he had drawn his sword. In the back of his mind he was impressed with his reflexes, but he put the sword down, donning his traveling cloak instead. He glanced back at the girl and she waved at him enthusiastically. She might have been greeting a friend at a party instead of waking a stranger at night in the middle of nowhere.
He looked back at Archibald. Should he wake him up? Probably. Still, he felt bad about last night. He could tell the conversation had worn his teacher out. This was probably just a girl that had wandered by from a nearby town.
“Archibald,” he whispered. “Do you want to come and talk to the crazy random girl with me?”
Archibald muttered and rolled over again. “Borborygmus,” he said in a patient tone, “is the harbinger of flatulence.”
Hugo grinned. Always teaching.
He walked over to the girl. “What are you doing here?” he hissed as he stepped closer to her.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said. “My name is Tabitha. I’m a student at the Magisterium.”
“Really?” Hugo asked, suddenly intrigued. “That’s where we are headed. You came all that way?”
She shrugged, shaking loose a tangle of hair. “I wanted to see who you were.”
“Why?” He took a step back. This was strange. Maybe he should wake Archibald after all.
“I came because of your bird,” she said earnestly.
Hugo blinked. “
My bird?”
“You have a mourning dove. It’s been singing for you every night. Haven’t you heard it?”
“Oh…” Hugo scratched his head. “Yeah, I guess I have. But how—”
“I’m the bird girl,” Tabitha said significantly.
Hugo nodded. That made sense. They had a “bird man” at the castle too—a crazy old man who gathered news and sent messages through the birds. “I’m Hugo,” he said. “Hugo Paradise.”
“Oooh,” Tabitha said, her eyes widening. “A king! I figured it would be something like that.”
“A prince,” he corrected her. “What are you talking about, anyway?”
“They can sing for common people,” Tabitha said, scanning the dark trees for a sight of the mourning dove, “but they usually don’t bother.”
“You heard it all the way from the Magisterium?” Hugo asked, amazed.
Tabitha blushed. “I’m a good listener.”
Hugo whistled. “I guess so. Well, what now?”
Tabitha looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve found your elusive dove. What now?”
Tabitha looked startled. “Oh! Nothing, I guess.”
“Nothing? You came all the way here just because?”
Tabitha’s forehead furrowed. “Well,” she said, “I’ve never heard a mourning dove lament in person before.”
“Lament?”
“Oh, yes,” Tabitha said excitedly. “The lament—the song of sorrow—it only comes out of hiding to sing for someone experiencing true sorrow.”
Hugo felt awkward. He thought about the pain he had been feeling in his heart. He felt silly now. A bird was singing about him? And this girl heard it and now she wanted to come investigate?
“You don’t have to tell me what it is or anything,” Tabitha said hastily. “I just wanted to see it for myself.”
Hugo nodded hesitantly. “Okay…”
“Okay,” Tabitha agreed. “I guess I’ll be going now?”
Hugo nodded. “I guess so. See you at the Magisterium?”
Tabitha looked startled again. “Oh, maybe. Probably not. Most people don’t.”
Something swooshed over Hugo’s head before he could ask what she meant, and he ducked reflexively. Looking up, he saw a gigantic eagle land next to Tabitha. She sat astride it and gave him another wave before rising into the night.
Strange, he thought as he walked back to his bedroll. He climbed under his blanket, listening with more appreciation to the mournful song of the dove somewhere above him. Very strange.
“What?” Archibald said, sitting up. “Did you say something, Hugo? Is everything all right?”
He considered telling Archibald what had happened, but decided it could wait until morning.
“Yes,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”
“Oh, good,” Archibald yawned.
“Archibald?”
“Yes?”
“What’s borborygmus?”
“Excuse me?”
“Borborygmus.”
“Oh.” Archibald scratched himself sleepily. “Odd question for a time like this. Borborygmus is the technical term for the gurgling sound that your intestines make. It is caused by the movement of gas and fluid moving through the bowels in the process of digestion.” He chuckled mildly to himself. “The harbinger of…wait, why do you ask?”
Hugo rolled over and grinned to himself. “Never mind.”
***
The following day, they reached Ninebridge. The city was named for the nine stone bridges that extended out from the center of the town like the spokes of a wheel. They curved into space from the center of town like slender black arches, scraping the sky dramatically. These bridges were not built to cross rivers or gorges, he knew, but space. They connected cities separated by hundreds of miles, transforming a month on the road into a journey of minutes. How the bridges were made, and by whom, nobody could remember. Maybe nobody ever knew. They predated the wizards, the Magisterium, even the mages.
From a long way off Hugo could tell that the actual city of Ninebridge was smaller than he had imagined. There was one large establishment at the very center, as well as a small military outpost at the base of every bridge (traffic was loosely policed by the king’s soldiers), but apart from a few inns, that was about it.
Archibald must have been thinking along the same lines. “You now see,” he said, pointing to the army outpost, “why your father, among all of the rulers of Aberdeen, is the most powerful. What is the most important city in Caraway?”
Hugo stayed silent, recognizing this as a rhetorical question. Archibald was really on a roll.
“Ninebridge! Never forget it. Many people think of Tarwal, because of the Magisterium, but they are wrong. All travel and trade necessarily passes through Ninebridge. Your father controls that, which means he has a hand in everything.”
They stopped at the edge of the city.
“There is something we need to discuss,” Archibald said.
“What?”
“I promised your father that if you accompanied me, I would not take you out of Caraway. As you know, the rest of Aberdeen, while still technically under his rule, is not under the High King’s direct protection. He does not want you venturing out in times like this.”
“But Archibald, we aren’t leaving Caraway yet! Ninebridge and Tarwal are both inside it!”
Archibald held up a hand. “We will leave Caraway eventually. Trust me. One does not follow a quest such as this without traveling outside their own country. We will likely not find what we are looking for at the Magisterium. As such, we will need to travel elsewhere.”
Hugo felt a flutter of excitement.
“By then I am sure you will be quite impossible to reason with. As such, I want to make it clear to you now that this is as far as you go under my care.”
“Your care?”
“I promised your father that I would not take you out of Caraway. So, I am officially leaving you here, well inside Caraway, and making his wishes known to you. What you do now is your own business.”
Hugo grinned. “Archibald, is this how you justify defying the king?”
Archibald looked grim. “Sometimes. The king and I do not see eye to eye on certain matters, one of them being your education. Of course, I defer to his judgment, and I would never break my word to him.” With that, Archibald turned and rode casually into Ninebridge.
A second later, Hugo pulled up alongside him. “Archibald,” he said seriously, “I’m liking you more and more.”
As they rode through town, Archibald quizzed him on the history of Ninebridge. The first bridge led to the Magisterium, which was located in an ancient coastal town on the southern tip of the country. The second and third bridges led to the Greggan States, while the fourth and fifth led to cities in Chair. The sixth bridge led to the Wizard’s Ire, an old forest kingdom which had long since been abandoned. This was the only bridge that was guarded very heavily, as the Ire was full of unsavory things that occasionally tried to creep into the rest of the world. Hedgemon and Aquilar were reached by the seventh and eighth bridges, respectively. The ninth bridge was broken, and led to nowhere.
As they reached the center of the city Hugo stared at the massive structure in the center. It sat at the foot of the bridges like the body of a nine-legged spider, and while it was not as breathtaking to look at as the bridges themselves, it was still quite impressive. To Hugo, it looked like a giant, many-steepled tent. Carts and caravans rode in and out of it from several entrances, coming and going over the various bridges.
“Fall Hallows…” Hugo breathed. He had heard of it many times, though he had never actually been inside. “Are we going to go?” Hugo asked hopefully.
Archibald laughed. “Not today. The last thing we need is a five-hour detour. I have no doubt that you would completely lose yourself inside…in fact, in such a place even I would be prone to distraction.”
“What do they have i
n there?”
“Anything you can imagine,” Archibald said simply, “and many things you cannot. And everything is for sale. For the right price.”
“Everything?”
Archibald snorted. “I’ll wager that in twenty minutes I could sell everything on my person and trade you for a decent pair of plow horses—well…maybe just one decent plow horse…”
“Done!” Hugo said enthusiastically. “Let’s go!”
Archibald laughed. “Another day, perhaps.”
They rode around the edge of town to the foot of the first bridge, where Archibald had a quick word with the guards before proceeding onto it. It was long and steep, too steep to ride up, so Archibald dismounted. Pilfer actually gave a couple grateful nods when he realized that he would not be expected to bear his master on his back while climbing. Hugo followed suit, walking beside Stilts as they rose slowly above the level of the city. After a few minutes, Hugo gave in to the urge to look over the side.
He had only seen the bridges once before, and he had forgotten how big they were. Built entirely of black stone, they stretched at an impossible angle into the sky for half a mile, at which point the visible bridge terminated in a veil of mist. Hugo knew that the other end was several hundred miles to the south, in Tarwal.
It took just over half an hour to reach the top and they were both winded by the steepness of the climb; Pilfer and Stilts were the only ones that didn’t seem to mind. There had long been talk of cutting stairs into the stone bridges, but the stone was too hard to be reworked by any normal craftsman. Before them stood the curtain of gray mist. It stretched upwards and out like a veil as far as the eye could see.
Archibald stopped to enjoy the view. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said. “What was the question you chickened out of asking me last night?”
Hugo felt his cheeks go red. “What?”
“Your third question. You backed down from it in an effort to spare me. I am curious what it was.”
Hugo shuffled his feet. “It’s nothing.” He hated that Archibald knew him so well.
“Last chance,” Archibald said, stretching his legs casually. “Soon my mind will be on other things.”
The Mage and the Magpie Page 6
