Archibald threw Tabitha off of the pony and turned to face the idris.
“RUN!” he bellowed. He flipped his cane over and let it slip through his hand until he held it by the very tip, swinging the heavy silver ram’s head in the air, and charged.
***
Cannon hesitated before leaving with the other mages for Caraway. After searching for Hugo for a few minutes, it had been determined that the mages would depart for Caraway while Peridot and Brinley continued the search for Hugo alone. Now Cannon was having second thoughts, but not about Hugo. He was thinking about Archibald.
“Aren’t you coming?” Belterras asked him. They had stepped out into the little garden.
“I’ll catch up with you,” Cannon said, and watched as the mages shrank out of sight in a slip of light. He caught a faint glimpse of a small yellow bird before it disappeared above the vines; a canary carrying a small, stern-looking stone. He had to admit, it was impressive that Cassis could make even a stone look stern.
Cannon felt bad for leaving Archibald behind when he had made his entrance with Peridot, and he was wondering what had become of him. On top of that, if the king truly was in danger, he knew that Archibald would never forgive himself for being anywhere else. Decision made, he wrapped the wind around him and flew.
An hour later he found Archibald fending off a giant. An idris, he realized numbly. How it had made the journey here so quickly, he could not imagine. This must be the other idris, he realized.
He dropped out of the wind next to Archibald and sent a tornado to collide with the giant’s head. “How on earth are you still alive, Archibald?” he asked, impressed. Archibald, it seemed, had been fending off the giant with nothing more than his cane and his courage.
Archibald stooped a little, breathing hard. “Sheer stubbornness, I expect.” He glanced back up at the giant, which was trying to duck out of the wind swirling around its head. “It’s high time you showed up. I don’t know how much longer I could have held him on my own.”
“I almost didn’t come at all.” Cannon raised his hands and the tornado snatched up the carcass of a dead tree. It twirled in the air and then slapped the giant several times across the face. The idris lifted one hand to block it, but the long end twisted around to attack from behind. The idris swung a huge fist toward them in retaliation and they scrambled out of the way. Archibald was surprisingly quick on his feet, Cannon thought. The older man dashed forward deftly and struck the giant just below the knee with his cane. His blow landed with a curiously loud thud, and the giant howled in pain, limping to the side. It seemed to have had enough, for it turned abruptly and ran in the opposite direction. Wind-borne rocks and sticks were still pelting its face, and Cannon gave a satisfied smile. “Interesting cane,” he commented, eyeing it curiously.
“Been in the family for years,” Archibald said, flipping it over and holding it like a cane once more. “It has come in handy more times than I could count.”
“No doubt.” Cannon raised an eyebrow. “Archibald, is something wrong?”
Archibald was casting about with a worried look on his face. “Tabitha,” he said. “The bird girl from the Magisterium. She has been my traveling companion for the last day or so, but I seem to have lost her.”
Just then they heard a high-pitched scream. They turned to stare at the place where the idris had run into the woods.
Tabitha.
Archibald ran. Cannon ran too, then leapt into the air and was carried by the wind in a jump that arced over the band of trees in front of them. Archibald ran faster. It took him a minute to make his way through the stand of trees, and by the time he did there was no idris. There was no Tabitha either, just Cannon standing there with a puzzled look on his face, holding a shoe. Tabitha’s shoe, he realized in horror.
She was gone.
Chapter Twenty
In which there is a plan
Unlike Hugo, Pike and the March Witch fit in quite nicely when they entered the little inn; their oddness was the norm here. The little company seemed to have been waiting for them, and the room fell into an expectant silence.
“Sisters,” March said, taking a place at the head of the bar. “We are all here.”
Many nods answered her, and one voice, which to Hugo’s dismay issued from the person at the little table next to him, said, “So it is true, you have returned…”
He had been trying not to look at that particular witch since he’d sat down. She wore loose fitting yellow clothing made of what he had first taken to be leather. Now, looking at it more closely, he was sure that it was human skin. An empty translucent glove was sewn onto the end of each shirtsleeve, and the nails were still on the ends of the fingers. The witch had a voice like a whisper, but it carried to every corner of the taproom. Hugo got the sense that even some of the other witches felt uneasy at hearing her speak. “How did you do this thing?”
March nodded in acknowledgment of her question, then spoke to the room at large.
“Sisters, is the coven proved?”
Hugo paled as a half a dozen faces turned to him and pointed their fingers.
“He is a stranger here,” someone said.
Hugo jumped to his feet. “Sorry,” he said, and half ran to the door. “I’ll go.”
The March Witch gave a cackling laugh. “Sit him down,” she said. “He stays.”
Strong hands grabbed Hugo, forcing him into a chair. His hand went to the sword at his waist, but it was gone. He tried to stand up again and received a slap in the face that stung like lightning. “Rise again and I’ll take your head off, boy.” He blinked. The woman who had slapped him was burlier than any man he’d ever seen. She had no teeth, no hair, and no shirt. She held his sword casually in one hand. He decided to stay where he was.
“There,” the whisper witch said, drawing them all to a shuddering silence again. “Now that that’s settled. How did you escape?”
The March Witch gave her a withering look, but relented.
“Long ago,” she began, “when the world was young, the gods gave power to the mages. Only one man opposed them. He fought to keep power out of the hands of the mages. His name was Shael.”
Hugo shuddered. He had heard the story before, but he knew hearing it from the March Witch herself would be different.
“We know our history, March,” the whisper witch hissed. “Get on with it.”
March fixed her with a deadly stare. She raised a finger and the whisper witch straightened suddenly in her chair, shaking in silent pain as if invisible arms were jostling her head. Eventually, a single drop of blood oozed from one eye. March lowered her finger and the other woman slumped forward onto the table, breathing hard.
“The history of Shael is my history,” March said proudly. “I will tell it when I want.
“Shael was the first to lead away the Mage of Light and Darkness. Taluva fell, long ago, and victory was almost ours—but the light survived. The gods gave the mages a guardian. A Magemother,” she sneered, “to protect them. Lux Tennebris was born to replace Taluva, and Shael was banished to the Wizard’s Ire to wither and die.” She paused, looking around the room with a hungry expression. Hugo could tell she had waited a long time for this telling.
“Shael was my father,” she said. Hugo jumped at this, but he was the only one. Apparently this was common knowledge. No doubt this is why they respected her so much.
“I took up his work when he was taken from me,” she went on briskly. “I worked on Lux day after day, pushing the dark in him to the breaking point.” She paused. “As you know,” she said, “the Magemother caught me—banished me to the Ire.” Her face was white as a sheet. “You cannot know the horrors of that place!” She grew silent, remembering, and after a moment whispers broke out among the other witches.
“But Tennebris was already mine,” she said loudly, causing instant silence. “He came for me, and for the beasts.”
“What beasts?” the broad witch who guarded Hugo asked eager
ly.
“The Kutha?” the hawk-head witch asked. “I saw it in these very woods.”
“No,” the bug-eyed witch said. “An idris. I have heard rumor that an idris has come out of the Ire.”
“Two idris,” the toothy witch broke in. “I heard that two escaped.”
March waved her hand, bringing their attention back to her. “You are all right,” she said. “Two idris, and the Kutha.”
“War is coming!” someone whispered excitedly.
“Silence!” March broke in. “Tennebris has overcome Lux. The darkness in him has overcome the light. Surely you have noticed your own powers growing!”
There were nods and whispers of agreement from around the room.
“The time for open war has not yet come,” March said. “Shael has not yet escaped the bonds that hold him in the Wizard’s Ire.”
Hugo felt slightly relieved at that, but it did not last for long; March looked as if she were winding up for something else.
The witch drew herself up proudly. “Shael requires our assistance,” she said. “We must aid Lord Tennebris in an attack against the Paradise King.”
Several of the witches cackled in excitement.
“We cannot hope to succeed in such an attack.” the whisper witch said flatly, stifling the enthusiasm of the others. “The mages are sure to come to the aid of the king, and we cannot stand against the mages. They are too powerful.”
March’s eyes shot toward her. “Only two mages remain,” she said. “They will be no match for all of us together. Besides, that is the whole point of the attack.”
“You seek to lure the mages into battle?” the whisper witch asked darkly.
“Yes,” March explained. “The power that keeps my father bound in the Wizard’s Ire flows through the mages. If our attack results in the death of even one mage, the sacrifice will be worth it, for he will be a step closer to freedom.
The whisper witch looked skeptical. “Perhaps,” she said.
“What about the Magemother?” a voice asked. Hugo could not see clearly who had spoken. His heart nearly stopped a second later when he realized that it had been Brinley. He hoped that nobody else tried too hard to find the source of the question.
March smiled again. “Tennebris has already destroyed her.”
“Dead?” the whisper witch asked, sounding surprised.
“Nearly. She escaped Tennebris with the help of her pet, Peridot, and the Wind Mage—”
Several of the witches hissed disapprovingly.
“—but he struck her a fatal blow,” March said, practically glowing. “She will not last long, and Animus cannot protect her forever.”
“What next?” a voice called, and other excited calls joined it, punctuated by cheers.
“Where do we strike? When?”
“Silence!” March commanded, and the witches obeyed.
“Lord Tennebris will strike the king’s city at noon tomorrow. We,” she said, “will give him a little offering tonight, and meet him on the field of battle tomorrow!”
Cheers spread through the room.
“What gift?” someone said. “What will we offer?”
“Him,” March said as she leveled her finger at Hugo. “Hugo Paradise. We will give our lord a little Paradise king to play with.”
Chapter Twenty-One
In which something amazing happens
Archibald told her to run, so she did. She ran until she thought that she was far enough away to be out of danger, and then she waited. She waited for what seemed like forever, only to realize that she didn’t know what she was waiting for. The danger could be over by now, but she would have no way of knowing. Archibald wouldn’t know where she was. There was nothing to be done except make her way back the way that she had come.
She got five steps before the idris came pelting through the trees in front of her, rubbing its face and looking furious. It didn’t notice her right away, small as she was. Perhaps if she had been thinking, she could have slipped away without being noticed at all. But her mind was on something else. She was looking at its face, all covered in fresh cuts and bruises, and wondering if it might let her make a salve for it from the geneberry bush that stood beside her. Probably not, she thought, as it noticed her finally.
She moved to dive under the bush, then stopped herself and ran instead, but it was no use hiding after she’d already been spotted. She tripped on a large stone and squawked as her big toe lit up with pain and her ankle bent backward. She stumbled and her shoe slipped off.
She scanned the ground as she ran, trying not to trip over any more rocks. Then she had an idea. She bent down and scooped up a rock like the one she had tripped on and turned to hurl it at the idris. She dropped it in shock and it almost landed on his toe. He was right behind her! He lunged for her and she dove between his legs. She picked up another rock and lobbed it at the back of his head. It struck there with a reassuring crack, but she knew it would do little more than make him angry. She needed to get away, and fast. She ran for the trees, hoping that if she couldn’t outrun him, she might be able to outmaneuver him.
It worked for a minute or so. Then she ran out of space to run. The trees thinned out and the ground sloped away, ending in a long, sharp drop into a deep canyon. It was pretty, she thought, but very inconvenient. She turned around to backtrack, but she was too late; the idris had already emerged from the woods and was advancing on her.
In that moment, her fear left her, and she became angry. She thought of the little boy that the idris had been before it had transformed. She put her hands on her hips and glared up at it. “Stop!” she said sternly. “What do you want with me?”
The idris stopped. It looked less like an animal then, less fierce, less crazed. It straightened up.
“There,” Tabitha said. “That’s better.” As Master Lumps had taught her, animals (and people) will often rise or fall to meet your expectations.
The idris regarded her silently.
“What do you want with me?” she said again.
The idris responded, its voice low now, grizzly and gnarled, not at all like the voice of the child. “I take you to Tennebris,” it said, pointing at her.
“Why?” she asked curiously.
“You are a mage.” It took a step forward.
“No,” she said patiently. She spoke to it the way she would talk to a baby. That was the way to calm wild things.
“Mage!” it said again, jabbing a huge finger at her. It took another step forward.
“No mage,” she said slowly. “Student.”
“Mage,” it said again. “I take you to Tennebris.”
She didn’t know who Tennebris was, but she was sure she didn’t want to go anywhere with the idris. She backed up until her heels hung over the edge of the precipice.
It stepped forward again cautiously. “We go now,” it said, stepping even closer, bending toward her. “You no magicking me. Okay?”
“No,” she said firmly, and stepped backward off the cliff.
The idris grunted and walked forward, confused. Master wouldn’t be happy. He didn’t like the mages, and this girl was a mage no matter what she said. He could smell it. He leaned over the edge. There was nothing but flat cliff face for hundreds of feet, and a little river at the bottom, winding through rock. There was a small ledge, right below, but it was very small. He doubted even the girl was small enough to walk it. He followed it carefully with his eye, but it shrunk and faded away to nothing a few feet in either direction. He shaded his eyes with his hand. No girl falling. No girl’s body at the bottom. He looked down the river. No girl’s body floating down the river. He scratched his head. Where did she go?
Tabitha was crouching in a little cave right beneath the idris. She hoped that he wouldn’t see it. She hadn’t seen it. She had dropped to the little ledge because she couldn’t think of anything else to do, and there it was, a perfect little cave, just right for hiding in. She crouched there now, her hands covering her m
outh, afraid she might make a noise and give herself away. She could hear the idris breathing right above her. He might be able to reach her if he tried. She hoped he would not.
It felt like she waited there forever. Then, eventually, the idris seemed to sigh. Its breathing disappeared, and she thought she might have heard the faint creak of stone as it walked away. Maybe she had imagined it though. Maybe it was still up there, trying to lure her out. Was that a quiet breath she heard? Maybe it was just the wind. She waited for what felt like an hour before checking (it was really twelve minutes, but it’s hard to judge time when you are alone, afraid, and hiding from a monster).
She took a hesitant step onto the ledge, holding her breath. She breathed a sigh of relief, and opened her eyes…and screamed. Iron-like fingers clamped shut around her waist and lifted her into the air.
“Help!” she cried. “Help me! Archibald! Someone, help!”
Her screams seemed vain after a moment, and she stopped. The hand around her waist was only getting tighter, and nobody was coming. The idris was walking through the forest now, holding her at his side like a rag doll. She winced painfully, her body jostling up and down with each giant step the idris took. She hardly noticed when a sparrow landed on her arm. She blinked at it a second later. “Hardly!” she exclaimed. (Yes, that was his name—he had come to the tower two summers ago, and she had named him that because, though he stayed for weeks, there was hardly anything wrong with him.) “Can you help me, Hardly?”
Hardly said nothing. Then he flew away. She hoped that meant yes.
After a few minutes the idris stopped at the foot of a little river. Tabitha opened her eyes, wondering why. The giant seemed afraid. It was looking around, and its grip on her was loosening ever so slightly.
The forest floor went dark.
They both looked up then, she and the idris, his big hairy hand shading his eyes from the sun. A second later, the sun itself had disappeared behind the shadow that was gathering above the trees.
The Mage and the Magpie Page 15
