Rift Between Lands (The Trida Series Book 1)

by J. Gertori

  Sam shrugged. “Sure, as long as you let me dig a little deeper into that night.”

  “Whatever it takes to help that hudger.” Dara grabbed an item from the table and returned. “Alright, so everyone needs a plan B, right?” She leaned in and mumbled, “Well, being a Lekly guard was my plan B. First night on the job, and I almost died—that’s a sign. Some jobs at the manor are a circuit; you try them season by season, and if you find a fit, you stay. I blew my shot at the Giant and Yeti Affairs office; I may or may not have sent a giant to Yukon, Canada.”

  Rowen covered his face with his hand.

  “What are you getting at, Dara?” said Sam.

  “Glad you asked. I spent years at Belle Reets Institute with people chirping in my ear: be a doctor of alchemy, an elixir nurse, run for Lekly Head of House. But I just want to create. All it takes is one good concoction, and Avabelle will be a household name. The dream would be to sell on on that show Enchantments Now. My stuff would reach wizards throughout Trida. Take, for example, this popcorn balloon I made.”

  “Can I turn her into rocks yet?” whispered Rowen.

  Sam silenced the hudger. “That’s a brave stance. While you get situated, can you tell me why the newspaper said there were two guards? Raske and I only saw you.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised,” Dara opened a frumpy bag of deflated balloons. “Being my first night on the field, I got paired with a veteran guard, Mr. Mack. He usually works solo, but my boss said they’d like me to shadow him so I could work when we’re short-staffed.” A balloon ripped in her hand, and kernels rolled under the bed.

  “And Mr. Mack survived the curse as well?”

  Dara paused to exhale deep breaths into a new balloon. “The nurse told me he looked fine. In fact, they released him not long ago.” She blew another round of puffs. “Heh. I could tell he wasn’t happy to be training a newbie, but between us, I won him over.”

  “Not glad to spend time with ya? Can’t believe it fer a minute,” said Rowen, rolling his eyes.

  “Right? But like I said, I’m not surprised you didn’t see him. He took trips to the bathroom every ten minutes, leaving me alone for most of the shift.” Dara managed to inflate a single pearl-colored balloon. The trio stood in silence as it floated in the air, neither rising nor falling.

  “Wha—”

  “Wait for it…” Dara put her index finger close to Sam’s face but didn’t break eye contact with the balloon. A muffled explosion brought Sam and Rowen into an awkward pose.

  “What do you think?” said Dara. Her smile stretched to her ears as she flaunted the elastic filled with red and blue popcorn.

  “That’s a helluva gag,” said Sam.

  “But . . . why?” said Rowen, his head tilted.

  “Why not? Why have a balloon, when you can have popcorn? And why have popcorn, when you can have popcorn and a balloon?” Dara loosened the knot and forced a crushed treat into her mouth. After glaring at Sam and Rowen, her smile fell flat. She released her grasp on the balloon, which spiraled in the air before making a sad descent.

  “No, no, I get it,” said Sam. “Screw the status quo. Make kids work for their food.”

  “What am I thinking? Nobody wants a popcorn-filled balloon. Two days lost, and that’s the first one that didn’t explode.” Dara kicked her satchel. “Have you guys heard of Gobblerug?”

  “Of course. Makes ya flat to fit between cracks. Ya made that?” said Rowen.

  “Not quite but close! I call it Gobbleplum. It makes you twice your size. I’m not sure of the use just yet.” Dara stared at the bottles in the bag beside her feet. “The truth is, I haven’t found my golden goose. When my friends from Belle Reets ask where I sell, I just say ‘at the crossing of Saxon and Kent.’”

  “Nothin’s at the crossin’ of Saxon and—”

  “Exactly. You find yourself there, and you’re looking at two signs and gravel under your feet. It’s deep in Heru Colony. You’d be lucky to see ten people in a week going that far in.”

  “Heru Colony—home of curses and deep fried snarlfruit,” said Rowen, sounding like an attempt to lift the mood.

  “For an angry hudger, you know a thing or two.”

  “Got a book and read ’bout it.”

  “And might this be the book?” Dara flung a crumb onto the bed and aimed her wand before uttering, “Originate.” The debris sprung to normal and bounced into the air. A leather bound book with torn corners plopped on the bed: Ashes to Ashes: Wand History by Elfrid Driftwood.

  “Oops!” Dara dug through her pocket and threw another scrap. “Originate.” A second weathered book expanded before their eyes and dropped to the floor. The title took Sam’s attention: Growing & Selling Your First Snarlfruit by Connor Ippo.

  “Bam!” shouted Dara.

  “That’s the one!” Rowen’s excitement peaked.

  “Tell me you’ve read his wife’s book.” Another crumb fell on the bed sheet and enlarged with the spell and spritz from her wand. She dabbed the embers off its end and said, “Breeding & Selling Your First Diamondfly, Alexis Ippo.”

  Rowen climbed onto the bed frame and rushed to the tarnished books.

  “That’s insane!” Sam said.

  “You like that?” With a sly smirk, Dara reached into her pocket and produced a pinch worth of scraps. “A wizard should be able to bring reading materials everywhere.” She sprinkled Rowen’s front with tiny rectangles and fired away.

  Cruimlud Breakdown by Albert Crowsby appeared, trailed by Bike Flight 101, and then Occhi Ee’s The Last Cyclops ricocheted to the floor. Sam squinted to recover from the flashes as colorful, oddly-shaped books adorned the bed, and the room smelled of fresh sage and coriander.

  Dara surged the red tip toward another shard, but her magic fizzled out. She fired at it again to no avail, and one of her eyebrows rose. “Wait a second . . . Amplify!”

  The wand fired a faint light, inflating the crumb at the foot of the bed. “Knew it!” She rocked the enlarged object. “That’s—uh—rather large sesame seed; I had Pearsom’s for lunch.”

  “That’s it! That’s what you should sell,” said Sam.

  “Interesting, but I’m not sure sesame seeds are in short supply.” Dara tapped the book that rested on Rowen’s chest. “Where’d you find this jokester?”

  “Not the seed. The enlarging magic. Can all wizards do that?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. We learn object sizing in year two, but you don’t want to manipulate scale with those spells. They stretch and condense, you see.” She squeezed on the wand’s base and used her index finger to slide the pointed end into neutral position. “For instance, if I were to use the standard spell for enlarging—like I did with the sesame seed—the ink in these books would crack from the stretch. Not to mention the pages would be close to transparent.”

  “Yer way don’t stretch?” said Rowen.

  “Not at all. I’ve charmed the books with my concoction. It keeps the aspect ratio of the object intact. A drop of this bad boy”—she lifted a vial of aqua blue liquid—“and it’s ant-sized. Then I use ‘Originate’ to bring the altered item back to normal.”

  “We’re getting sidetracked. About the other guard, any idea where we might find him?”

  “I’m sure I’ve got his address written in my workbook; they’ve got every guard’s info in there. Mind if tag along? Mr. Mack’s going to be ecstatic when he sees me.”

  “About that—we’re kind of at capacity as it is, and Rowen doesn’t like new people—”

  The hudger retracted his nose from the book. “She’s off her rocker, but she ain’t all bad.”

  Dara’s eyes widened as did her smile. Seeing no way around the situation, Sam displayed a half-hearted grin and said, “Alright, it’s settled: we’re a company of two and a quarter.”

  “Make it three and a quarter,” said a familiar voice at the door. “Corda Cupla!”

  Sam’s thighs clapped together, and he fell to his side. His head thumped on the hos
pital floor, unable to stop his fall with his hands, which had froze in position. He squinted to find Rowen upright on the bed, aiming his stubby wand.

  The voice came again: “Silence is your right. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a committee trial. Safety is your right. If you attempt to use a wand, potion, pipe, or any form of weapon, your right is forfeited. Do you understand?”

  “Brava. I can’t believe you have the speech memorized,” said Dara.

  “Committed to memory on day one,” said the newcomer.

  “Rowen . . . Rowen,” grunted Sam, “who is it?”

  The person walked beside Sam’s stiffened body. A pair of dark boots stopped ahead of his face, and a long, black dress swayed to a stop. “Capto Allevo,” uttered the woman, yanking her wand to her chest. Sam flew to his feet with a strange, silver material wrapped around his body.

  “Drop the—wait, is that a rogue wand?” said Dara to the growling hudger.

  “You know this woman?” Sam said, refilling his lungs.

  “I should hope so,” Dara said, walking to the black-dressed woman, who removed her hat to release a thick mane of jet-black curls that bounced below her ears. “This is Crissa, my sister.”

  SEVEN

  Bloodlines

  “Second week on the job and you’re already breaking laws, Cris?” said Dara.

  “Why did you attack my sister?” growled Crissa, inches from Sam.

  Rowen stepped closer to the bed’s edge. “Lookin’ fer a reason not to blast her into the wall.”

  “If you did, I’d have to lift this bed and crush you like a fly,” said Dara.

  “Please—with that rogue wand, he’d be lucky if he didn’t set himself on fire,” said Crissa.

  Rowen growled, “How’re ya sure it’s rogue? Confident enough to see first hand?”

  “The unrefined shape and mediocre materials; I know a forged wand when I see one. Not to mention the missing pivot pin and safety fold,” said Crissa.

  Rowen’s stubby wand sparked at the end, and Sam looked on helpless. He waddled to the table beside Dara’s bed, wanting to straighten the items that had fallen.

  “Nobody’s gonna hurt anyone,” said Dara. She turned to her sister, “Let . . . uh . . . How rude of me. What’s your name?”

  “Sam,” he mumbled, brushing his tongue along his teeth to ensure they were intact.

  “Let Sam go.” She then swatted Rowen’s wand to his side. “These two are friendlies. Besides, I think the committee would frown upon an unlawful arrest—rookie scrutor or not.”

  “He ran from me at Fizzawick’s Bazaar. He’s hiding something.”

  “Can you blame him? You look like the grim reaper. I take it the Knight Gator hex hasn’t worn off?” Dara laughed. “Super-scrutor here went after a rogue market seller and got hit with a hex that gave her metal scales from her neck to her stomach.”

  “Remind me to thank them,” said Sam.

  “You’re in luck. He needs a cellmate. I’ll put in a good word, my treat.” Crissa shot Sam a smirk then spun to face Rowen. “I’ll make a deal with you, hudger. Give me the name of your wand slinger, and you won’t be in any trouble. You’ve my word.”

  Rowen snarled as stale ashes fell from his wand.

  “My, my, there’s a lot of animosity in here,” said Dara.

  Crissa slipped her wand into her low-hanging pocket. “Metal scales are a small price to pay for a high-profile bust. By tomorrow night, I’ll be back to normal, and this week’s evaluation will be that much sweeter when I arrest Raske Olimpi’s fleshing accomplice.”

  “Hey Tin-Woman, you might want to run those facts by your sister,” said Sam.

  “What’s he talking about?”

  “Heh. I’m not sure they attacked Mr. Mack and me,” said Dara, stacking the books on the bed. “Sam knows about the cuts on my side. Says the hudger made them, and you heard the nurse: without the incisions, I wouldn’t be alive.”

  “But Ms. Ward told us Raske Olimpi and his pact came from a top floor. And that both men reeked of the same stench as you.”

  “Dad wouldn’t hurt a wizard, especially not a Lekly guard,” said Rowen.

  “We found your sister unconscious in a pool of sweat,” Sam said. “But we weren’t alone that night. A group of three came right after us. I bet Devon didn’t tell you that.”

  “How do you know her name? It doesn’t matter—Ms. Ward saw the two of you at the manor. There goes your alibi. And even if others came through the gates, they didn’t curse Dara since, like you said, you found her like that.” She rattled the wand in her pocket like a gunslinger, ready to draw. “So either there’s more to this story, or you’ve come to finish the job.”

  “Sher-wack Holmes—we didn’t hurt her.”

  Dara whispered to her sister, “If the hudger did save me, I owe it to him to see this out.”

  “Then, what’s your angle? Find the other gate jumpers? The station’s trying to get a spell footprint, but hundreds of people commuted yesterday—pacts and wizards alike.”

  “We’ll ask Mr. Mack. Maybe he saw our attacker.” Dara uncorked her vial and placed a droplet on each book. “It could be a bigger case than what’s on the surface, Cris.” The books disappeared with a puff of air, leaving a pile of scraps on the bed. Dara paused and said to Sam, “You don’t wanna lug the helmet around. You mind?”

  “Not at all. Hey, why doesn’t your vial shrink?” said Sam, penguin-trotting toward the bed.

  “Trick of the trade. It is shrunken. I bought a case of those huge novelty vials from Alchemy Abe. Don’t get me started on the amount of equipment I ruined during the trial phase.” She slipped the pea-sized helmet into Sam’s shirt pocket.

  “What if it gets on your skin?”

  “Well, the base, like most potions, starts with Ree water and—”

  “Fiora flowers,” said Rowen, grinning.

  “Correct. So it has the built-in safeguard to ensure it doesn’t affect us. But by substituting the Fiora flowers, we can make some creative potions.”

  “Like yer Gobbleplum?”

  Dara hushed Rowen with nervous laughter.

  “When you deviate from safe ingredients, things like Knight Gator hexes or curses hit the rogue market,” said Crissa. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand.”

  “Good idea,” said Sam, clearing his throat.

  “Exsolvo Corda.” A flash from Crissa’s wand sucked the silver rope, setting Sam free. “I’m in. I’ll help you get to the bottom of this.”

  “The fuck does this look like? Tryouts for Sam’s Detective Agency?” he blurted.

  “It would be ‘Dara’s Agency,’ if anything. This affected me first, to be clear,” said the outspoken wizard. She placed her belongings into a backpack.

  “You don’t think your ragtag group will look suspicious? Two helpless dopes and a hudger sniffing around and asking questions. I’m a scrutor; it’s in my job description.”

  Sam flung his arms into the air. “Perfect. So we have the mad scientist, the attention seeker, and a mythical creature. I can’t imagine this going wrong.”

  The door handle jiggled and creaked open.

  “Trudo,” uttered Crissa, jabbing her stick at the door; it slammed shut.

  “Still changing, Ms. Avabelle?” said the nurse on the other end. The room went quiet, save for the smoldering tip of Crissa’s wand. “You’re clear to go.”

  “Are the reporters still around?” Dara asked.

  “Mhmm. I’ll forward the discharge papers to Grand Station.”

  “You’re an angel, Ms. Kelli.” Dara slung the bag onto her shoulder. “I’m going out the window. You’re all welcome to join.”

  Rowen grabbed Sam’s leg. “I don’t care who helps. Just wanna clear my dad.”

  “Fine. You can come along,” said Sam to Crissa.

  “I don’t need your approval. Let’s not forget you came here unlawfully. No matter how this plays out, I’m bringing you to Ms. Ward,” said Crissa
. She propped herself on the ledge and swung outward.

  “Am I the mad scientist? said Rowen, getting a boost. “She’s the mythical creature with the scales and all.” As he plopped to the grassy field outside, his wand tumbled beside Crissa.

  “Last chance. Tell me your slinger’s name, and you’re off the hook.”

  “Will you get off that whole wand issue,” said Sam, dropping beside Rowen. “It’s just a—”

  “You’ve no idea what rogue wands can do. Here, let me turn your hands into claws and let you snap yourself to bits, or make your hair burst into flames every time you sneeze, or let’s erase everything you’ve ever learned and leave you flopping in the dirt—all without saying a single spell. And since forgeries aren’t registered, nobody will trace it to me,” said Dara.

  She raised her wand, and Sam fumbled backward until he leaned on the window ledge. “Lucky for you, that’s not possible with our wands. The committees remove any ridiculousness from the Linking Port, where official wands are regulated to ensure safety.”

  Rowen scoffed. “Talkin’ out yer ass. Ya can’t do any of those.”

  “As far as you know. Your fake wand doesn’t look well made. If I had to guess, I’d say you spent, forty-maybe-fifty quin.” Rowen’s smirk melted away. “We have a division of scrutors that hunt rogue slingers. The strongest forgery to date came from a man in Wulf. Somehow, he got his grubby hands on Fiora buds a year away from blooming. He priced a single wand at an astronomical amount. Luckily, he was picky with his customers and never made the sale. With the perfect supplies, the right wand whittler could conjure magic too powerful to control.”

  “Well, no need to worry about Rowen’s; I think his slinger had a texture fetish. Then again, he could turn your scales into feathers if you ask nicely,” said Sam. He crept beside Dara. “Wow. That’s Trida?”

  “Quiet please,” Dara said. On her map were three islands clustered in a triangle-like shape. A fourth land mass with an intricate drawing of gears labeled “Linking Port” was at the center. The word “Okra” stretched across the northern isle, and to the east, a land titled “Wulf.” The largest section at the bottom left was “Lekly.”