When she finished putting them on, she glanced back at the bucket. The water was trembling now, as if there was a battle raging on the other side. “I don’t want to be around when they come back out,” she said.
“Agreed,” said the man, and together they set off at a run.
Chapter Twenty-Six
In which Brinley flies to the moon
Brinley and her new companion had run until they could run no longer and then walked until dawn. Now they stopped for a break next to a stream of cool water, and Brinley was grateful for the rest. She gulped down several handfuls of water from the stream and leaned against a tree. She remembered how tired she had been before sneaking into March’s house. That had been hours ago. She nearly fell asleep before rousing herself. How rude would that be? She hadn’t even introduced herself to her new travel companion. She had to say something. He couldn’t see her after all. He might think that she had left him. She was wondering how much to tell him about herself when she drifted off to sleep again.
“Hello? Wake up! Pardon me, but I think that we had better get moving.”
Brinley started out of a dreamless sleep. There was drool hanging off her chin. She was glad nobody could see it. There were advantages to being invisible.
“Okay, I’m up,” she said, rubbing her eyes. The sun was a little higher in the sky. She must have slept for at least an hour. “Sorry,” she said blearily. “I was exhausted.”
The small man smiled. “I gathered as much. No trouble. I needed to recuperate myself…being a prisoner is not as restful as you might think.”
He looked like a different man now. He had bathed, and his beard was trimmed short and neat, revealing strong, chiseled features.
“How did you know I hadn’t left?” Brinley said curiously.
“Well,” the man said uncomfortably, “I hope you will forgive my impoliteness in saying so, but you snore quite loudly.”
“Oh,” Brinley blushed. It was true. Her father always teased her for it, even though his own snores could wake a mummy.
“No matter,” the man said. “But I believe introductions are overdue. I am Thieutukar Manisse. But you may call me Tuck.” He held out a hand, and Brinley took it.
“Brinley,” she said. As their hands met, Brinley noticed that Tuck’s expression relaxed noticeably. “I’m just a girl,” she said. “It’s a long story.”
“Are you bewitched?”
Brinley thought about it. “I don’t know. Maybe. I think my mother did it to protect me.”
Tuck cocked his head curiously. “Who is your mother?”
Brinley was silent. She still hadn’t decided how much she should tell Tuck.
“Forgive me,” Tuck said. “I do not mean to pry. You have saved my life. In return, I will help you if I can. Please tell me what I can do.”
Brinley relaxed. “I have an idea,” she said. “I just need to get to the highest place we can find.”
***
An hour later, Brinley and Tuck reached the top of a high hill. It wasn’t the tallest thing around, but it did command a good view of the surrounding countryside. More importantly, it afforded a good view of the skies; it should be easy for Peridot to spot them from the air if she was still looking.
“Can you help me make a fire?”
“A fire?” he asked. “Whatever for?”
“To make smoke. As much of it as we can.”
Tuck shifted uncomfortably. “That would give away our position.”
“Exactly,” she said, her confidence growing. “I’m fairly sure my friends will find us before anyone else does.”
“How sure?” he asked.
“Almost positive. My friends will probably be in the air still, looking for me.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said, and set about gathering wood.
When they had a large fire burning, Brinley helped Tuck cover it with green leaves, and it started to smoke heavily. Soon there was a dark tower rising into the air. Brinley withdrew the summoning bell from her pocket and rang it, over and over, sending the sound of the gong cascading through the hills. They probably didn’t need it with the smoke, but she figured it couldn’t hurt.
Within ten minutes, they could see a shape flying towards them above the trees, and soon Peridot had landed next to the fire.
“Peridot,” Tuck said, bowing.
“Thieutukar,” she returned, inclining her head to him.
Brinley ran to Peridot and buried her hands gratefully in her fur. There was something comforting about being back with the Magemother’s herald. She was probably the most dangerous creature Brinley had met in this world, but if anything she felt safer now that they were together again. Brinley looked back and forth between Peridot and the gnome. “You two know each other?”
Peridot nodded.
“Everyone knows the Magemother’s herald,” Tuck said graciously. “Forgive me, but if you have no further need of me I have other business to attend to. I fear the witches may be planning an attack on Caraway.”
“They are,” Brinley said. “I heard them talking about it. It will start at noon.”
“Noon!” Tuck exclaimed. “Then we have only hours. I was hoping for days! I will gather my people, Peridot. I trust I will see you at the battle.”
“I trust you will, too,” Peridot said, and she leapt into the air.
“Good-bye!” Brinley called down to him, but he had already disappeared. “How do you know Tuck?” she asked Peridot.
“Tuck? I do not call him that. Thieutukar is the king of the gnomes, and the ruler of Hedgemon. If he can raise his army in a matter of hours then Caraway will stand a better chance of defending itself, but I doubt that he will have time enough to gather more than a few soldiers. Is it as you say? Will the king’s city be attacked today?”
Brinley related all that had befallen her since they parted the day before. Meanwhile, Peridot was circling higher and higher, until the whole forest looked like a distant blur beneath them.
“You did well,” she said. “Habis spoke the truth to you, though I would not have expected it. Still, it is not how I would have wanted you to find out. Your mother wished to explain things herself.”
Brinley nodded. She felt a thrill of excitement. She knew now. She knew, and Peridot had confirmed it. Her mother was the Magemother.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
“She will tell you.”
“Where are we going?”
“There,” Peridot indicated the shining moon above them. Before Brinley could ask what she meant, Peridot bent forward and they hurtled upward at an incredible pace. This was not the way they had flown before. They were shooting straight up. In a second they were too high to distinguish anything on the ground; in another, the ground itself was gone. They passed the clouds, falling upward through mist and moonlight toward the stars. Space was all around them, stretching out like an ocean of silent wind—ribboned with color and starlight.
Brinley wanted to ask how it was possible, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even breathe. It felt as if the air was gone. She tried to breathe again and could not. She panicked, tried again, and found that she could. They landed on the pale, shining surface of the moon, and Brinley found that it was not what she had expected. There was no barren, craggy, cratered crust, only smooth white sand.
She dismounted and bent to sift it between her fingers; a hundred tiny diamonds fell from her hand, sparkling in their own soft light. Ahead of them, the sand swept on in a curving path like a riverbed, curving away to the foot of a castle of glass.
“What is this place, Peridot?” she asked.
Her words were punctuated by a sudden flapping and Brinley looked up in surprise to see Flitlitter fluttering down out of the stars.
“Flitlitter!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? I thought you were with Tabitha.”
Peridot smiled at the bird now resting on Brinley’s shoulder. “Glad to be back with you, I think. We are on Aberdeen’s m
oon, Calypsis. We have come to the throne of the Magemother. You will meet her soon.”
Brinley was riveted by her every word. She couldn’t believe that she was finally going to meet her mother.
“She will tell you the whole story,” Peridot said as they approached the crystal stairs of the castle.
Brinley looked up at the structure. It gleamed like a diamond in the half light. Her eyes fell over it hungrily, her mind busy, her heart full of questions and excitement.
Peridot instructed her to take her shoes off in the entrance hall, after which they walked through what seemed like an endless array of rooms. Each one was a glistening crystal palace in its own right. There was a green room, where the crystal was growing, breathing. It hung from the walls like tropical plants. In another room, everything was round. Another room was completely golden—flat and empty, like the inside of an amber box. Everywhere they went, the glass floor sparkled beneath their bare feet. It was warm to the touch.
Brinley knew she had never been here, but the place had a feeling of home.
At length, they came to a large square room somewhere near the center of the castle. The floor here was different—covered with a soft black something that made the space feel close. At the center of the room there was a round wall that seemed to be made of…something.
“Wind,” Peridot explained. “It is Animus. He guards the Magemother’s hall.”
As they made their way toward it, something crunched beneath her feet.
Brinley looked down and let out a little scream. What she had taken for carpet was something else entirely; the whole floor was strewn with the bodies of black birds—magpies. There must have been hundreds of them!
Brinley felt something sick rise in her throat. “Why…?” she began in protest.
“Hurry now,” Peridot said softly, pushing her to a run. “It is not safe here.”
“Brinley? Are you there? Is someone out there?” Brinley turned at the sound of Hugo’s voice.
There was a bag lying on the floor at the foot of the wind-wall. It was wrapped in a thick iron chain.
“Hugo!” she called, running to him. “Hold on, I’ll help you!”
“No!” he shouted. “You have to go! Tennebris and the Kutha! They’re here!”
“Through the wall, as fast as you can!” Peridot roared. “I will take care of Hugo.” Peridot leapt to the bag and snapped the chain with a twist of her claws.
Brinley hesitated. She couldn’t just leave Hugo, not again. There was a soft thump behind her and she spun around. The Kutha was standing in the doorway. There were two more thumps as dead magpies fell from its beak. Taking in the scene, it gave a sharp cry and leapt into the air, eyes fixed on Flitlitter.
“Here, Flitlitter,” she said, and took the bird down, cradling it protectively in both arms as she ran.
Brinley had eyes only for the wind-wall now. There was a silent rush of feathers above her head and she knew the Kutha had reached her. She was only feet from the wall, but it was too late.
She heard a great roar then, and the piercing claws that she expected never came. She looked up at the grey wind-wall as she jumped into it. In that split second she thought she saw a man standing in it, old and worn, the edges of his wrinkled skin fanned out and blending with the wind.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In which there is a mage and a magpie
Brinley thought that she would spin away when her body hit the swirling wind, like the movies she had seen where cars get sucked into a tornado, but she passed through it like mist, emerging onto the clean crystal floor on the other side.
Immediately she felt peaceful.
All the sound of the world outside was silenced. Something wonderful was pressing in around her. Not water—though it reminded her of water—it was…
Peace.
Brinley looked around for the source of the voice. In the center of the room there was a round hole in the roof. Through it, streaming and falling to the floor, was what looked like a waterfall of light.
There was no one there, but she walked toward it anyway. As she did, Flitlitter leapt from her arms and soared toward the light. The bird banked, flying right into it. Light spilled over her wings and pulled her, feather by feather, into her true form.
Her mother smiled at her from within the light.
“Oh!” Brinley’s voice caught in her throat. Her mother was walking to her now, picking her up, gathering her into her arms.
Brinley looked up into her face.
“Brinley,” her mother said, and Brinley started to cry. They were both crying now, overcome by how easy it was to love each other after so long apart, and feeling all at once the weight of the years that they had missed with each other.
“Brinley,” her mother said again and again.
“You’re so beautiful!” Brinley cried. “I knew you would be!”
After a while they pulled apart and smiled at each other through their tears. Brinley laughed as her mother’s fingers brushed tears from her cheek.
Her mother laughed too, and then winced in pain. Brinley looked down and saw a small round hole over the center of her mother’s chest—right over the place where her heart was. It was small, but it looked sharp and deep. It bled slowly.
She looked into her mother’s face. Was she going to be all right? She couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not after all this.
“Come,” her mother said, and took her hand, leading her across the room to the lightfall.
“I will show you everything.”
They stepped into the light together and Brinley felt the stress of her adventure fade away, like little bruises of the soul.
For a moment, Brinley thought that they had fallen into some kind of dream world. She floated like a ghost beside her mother, hovering in space. This is what astronauts must feel like, she thought, hovering in the middle of empty space, looking down on the Earth.
They were looking down on a strange scene. There were people below them, walking and talking as if they couldn’t see Brinley and her mother hovering above them. Then she realized that one of the people below them was her mother—younger, she realized, but definitely the same woman. “This isn’t real,” she said.
“No,” her mother assured her. The hole in her heart was gone now, and Brinley was eyeing the place where it had been.
“It will come back,” her mother said softly, “when we go back.”
Brinley nodded. Looking away, she blinked against hot tears. She wanted to be brave—brave like her mother was.
“Look!” her mother said, and she did.
She saw her mother, much younger, standing with a group of children. They were all about Brinley’s age, except for one—a boy—who was much older.
“That’s me,” her mother said, “and those are the mages—years ago when they were young.”
Brinley watched the oldest boy for a moment, then noticed that another boy stood out as well, but for different reasons. He was strange looking, happy and sad at the same time, as if he couldn’t decide.
“That is Animus, the oldest. And that,” she said, pointing to the strange boy, “is Lux.”
“Why is he like that?” Brinley asked.
“He always was,” her mother said simply.
A man was there now, and a woman. They were tall and beautiful, and Brinley didn’t have to ask who they were. Gods are unmistakable.
They placed their hands on her young mother’s shoulders and spoke for a long time. By the end of it Brinley understood how the mages each had a part of the gods’ power and helped govern the world—serving it—keeping it safe. Her mother was supposed to watch over the mages and the hearts of the people.
“What does that mean?” Brinley asked. “The hearts of the people?”
“Look,” her mother said again.
Brinley watched the scene change. Years went by and her mother taught the mages. She was with Unda the f
irst time he helped water rise from the great ocean into clouds and fall out over the farmer’s crops. She was with Chantra as she helped the old forest be struck by lightning and burn through the night to make room for new growth. She was with Belterras as he helped the new trees to grow.
Most often, she was with Lux. The little blond-haired boy changed day after day, from good to bad to good again. Some days he sat with new young mothers and taught them how to hold their babies without hurting them, and what lullabies were the quickest to calm their children. Other days he taught young boys how to pick people’s pockets in the street without being caught. As the years went by, his good days became better, and his bad days darkened. The Magemother would sit with him as he yelled or cried himself to sleep at the end of each day, frustrated by the two-faced nature of his soul.
Then, as the boy grew older, he began to help people do terrible things—things so dark they made Brinley sick and terrified at the same time, like she needed to take a shower after watching.
“Look,” her mother insisted when she tried to turn away. “You have to see it all.”
A baby lay in a cradle in a small room with crystal walls. Lux was picking it up.
“That’s you,” her mother said.
Brinley went cold, watching the boy with golden hair stroke her tiny head.
“Was it a good day or a bad day?” Brinley asked.
Her mother’s face fell. “I didn’t know,” she said.
Brinley watched her young mother enter the room and panic. She reached for the baby and wrenched her away from Lux.
The young mage wore the look of someone who had been slapped without warning, surprised and betrayed.
“His eyes frightened me,” her mother whispered. “He was always respectful to me—good days or bad, but I didn’t know what he would do to you.”
She turned to face her daughter and tears were in her eyes again.
“I was so scared then. I was afraid of him—afraid for you. I brought you here,” she hurried on, pointing back to the scene that was changing beneath them.
Brinley saw her mother carrying her into the lightfall. She gave Brinley to the man and the woman—the gods who had been with her in the beginning. Brinley stared at the baby version of herself. She was wrapped in a bundle of blankets inside a basket. She was so small—too young to know that she was losing her mother. It would take years for that to sink in, and then it would hurt. Brinley closed her eyes, wishing she could change what was happening, wishing she could stop it. But this wasn’t really happening, she knew. It was a vision—a memory. She could no more reach out and stop it than change the course of a movie while it played out. She watched as the woman lifted her out of the basket and held her. Her mother handed the man a tiny silver bell. What did that mean?
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