When Kyja ignored his question and moved on to the next stall, Pepper, a black filly with a white patch on her forehead neighed, “What did he say?”
“I guess you’ll just have to be a little patient,” the stallion answered. “A little patient.” All across the barn, the horses whinnied laughter and stomped their hooves.
Kyja rolled her eyes. She’d only heard that joke about a hundred times. Farm animals were nearly as dumb as a head of cabbage, but somehow they could remember the same jokes for years.
“I heard that cow joke,” a plump cow mooed at the stallion as Kyja crossed the barn and began forking hay.
At the water trough, Kyja pistoned the pump handle up and down until a stream of clear, icy-cold water poured from the spout. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I can’t milk you right now. I’m supposed to meet with a wizard in twenty minutes. But I’ll leave a note for Mr. Goodnuff.”
“That’s okay, dear,” mooed Sassy. “I won’t pop. But I’d keep an eye on Marla if I were you. She’s been going a little heavy on the alfalfa.”
As Sassy was speaking, a roan bull sidled up to Kyja and said, “What has four legs, a tail, a long nose, and flies?”
“No idea.” Kyja hung up the pitchfork and started toward the door. The bull gave her a sly wink and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “A smelly horse.”
“Oh, Brutus,” Sassy giggled, giving her long tail an extra big swish, “you are so-o-o funny.”
In the farmyard things were no better. As Kyja carried her bag of corn to the edge of the pond, a gaggle of geese hurried up onto the bank. “How do you get down from a tree?” the biggest of the geese honked.
“You don’t,” another one shouted. “You get down from a goose! Get it? Goose down.” At that, all of the geese rolled about on the ground, bursting into gales of laughter until several fell into the pond, where they nearly choked because they were laughing so hard.
Not to be outdone, one of the chickens called out, “Why do pigs have pink skin?”
“To keep their insides from falling out!” the rest of them said in unison.
In their pen, the pigs stopped wallowing in the mud for a minute and gave the chickens a dirty glare.
“Lowbrows,” one of them said in a snooty voice.
“Heathens,” agreed another.
The pigs were the only farm animals that had absolutely no sense of humor. As far as they were concerned, the other animals only showed their ignorance by repeating the silly little jokes. Normally Kyja found the animals at least mildly entertaining, but this morning she had to agree with the pigs.
“Hurry up,” Riph Raph called from the top of the henhouse as Kyja gathered the eggs. “You’ll be late.”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” she said. It seemed like every day there were fewer eggs to collect than the day before. Today was no exception, but she had no time to worry about it this morning. Lifting the last of the hens from its roost with an unceremonious shove, Kyja grabbed the final egg and darted outside.
Chapter 7
Master Therapass
By the time she reached the path that led from the western gates of Terra ne Staric to the tower, the sun was fully above the tops of the mountains. Kyja was completely out of breath. Normally she paused on her way into the city to admire the stone sculpture of Tankum Heartstrong that stood just outside the gates. She often wondered what it would have been like to see the great warrior in battle—mythic blades swinging, lips pulled back into a snarl. But today she barely gave it a glance.
“Get a move on,” Riph Raph said, flying just above her shoulder. “I’ve seen slow-worms move faster than you.”
“If you wanted to be helpful,” she answered in an irritated tone, “you could carry this basket of eggs to the kitchen for me.”
Riph Raph flipped his ears. “You know perfectly well I can’t. A skyte’s wings are for transportation only. We are not beasts of burden.”
“You certainly seem like a burden to me.” Kyja raced onto a footbridge and over a burbling creek, ignoring the tiny golden fish that leaped from the water and buzzed about her head before splashing back again.
Past the bridge, the flagstone path wound in a spiral up a steep hill to the base of the tower. Every hundred yards or so, a golden fountain sprayed colorful patterns of water—one in the shape of a fish, another, a giant eye that stared balefully at anyone who passed. Between the fountains, statues of Westland’s most famous wizards and warriors guarded the grounds with stern expressions.
Visitors to the tower were to stop at each fountain and wash their hands—purifying themselves before meeting with a member of the council or the High Lord himself. But Kyja had no time for such niceties. She cut directly up the side of the hill, ignoring the blades of royal grass that shouted, “Keep off! Keep off!” and, “No trespassing!” in their tiny, high-pitched voices.
From their spots along the path, the statues turned and gave her dark scowls. But she ignored them, too. As frightening as the statues looked, they couldn’t actually tattle on her. And by the time the groundskeepers got up in another hour, the grass would have forgotten all about her transgression.
At the top of the hill, she leaned against the cold, smooth wall of the tower, panting. After catching her breath, she hurried up the white marble steps and through the entryway, while Riph Raph broke off and soared up into the sky. Just inside the massive gate, she stopped and curtsied to a stern-looking guard. “Eggs for the kitchen.”
The burly man eyed her threadbare robe through the grate of his plumed helmet, his steel-gloved hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Very well,” he granted at last. “You may proceed.”
After curtseying again, she scurried toward the kitchen, waiting until she was out of the guard’s sight before pulling her robe up to her knees and breaking into a full run.
This time of the morning, the tower kitchen was bustling with activity. Men and women pulled loaves of bread from blistering ovens, rotated whole pigs on metal spits, and stirred huge pots with large, wooden spoons. Here and there one person or another waved a length of branch or a piece of carved horn, and hunks of meat magically dropped into neat, thin slices, or ladles flew through the air, spooning broth into pewter bowls.
Ordinarily Kyja would have stopped to admire their spells, but today she barely gave them a glance. At the far end of the kitchen, a sweaty woman with arms like fire logs was overseeing the staff.
“Your eggs,” Kyja said, dropping a quick curtsey.
Bella took the basket with a hearty laugh. “I’ve told you a hundred times child, you don’t need to curtsy to me. I’m just the kitchen help.”
“You’re the High Lord’s personal chef,” Kyja said with a grin. “And I’ve told you two hundred times it’s my duty to show you the respect you deserve.”
Bella shook her head and armed big beads of sweat from her forehead. “Can you stay for a bowl of pudding?”
“No time. I’m late for my lesson with Master Therapass.”
“Well then, move along, child.” The cook waved a heat-reddened palm toward a dim hallway. “Take the back passage. You’ll get there quicker.”
Bobbing her head, Kyja disappeared into the dark hallway. Every few feet, the shadows were broken by magical torches that never burned out. Occasionally she passed a heavy wooden door. On one of the doors a thick, metal lock cried out, “Who goes there?” through its keyhole. But she was past it before she had a chance to answer.
At the end of the hall, a narrow staircase spiraled up out of sight. Climbing higher and higher into the tower, Kyja carefully counted her steps as she always did. At exactly every fortieth step a doorway opened into a hall lined with brightly-colored tapestries. At the seventh such door, she turned into the hall. Riph Raph soared through the window and landed on her shoulder.
“How late am I?” Kyja asked.
Riph Raph cocked his head. “Fifteen minutes, give or take.”
Kyja passed a
tapestry showing two wizards on horseback bringing down a swarm of giant, bloodthirsty cave bats, and turned left into the next hallway. A woman’s face painted on a large vase watched her suspiciously as she walked by, and a stone dragon gave a great roar that nearly frightened Riph Raph off his perch.
“Ouch!” Kyja said as the skyte’s talons dug into her skin.
“Sorry,” he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “That thing gives me the shivers every time.”
They stopped before a large, oaken door that was standing halfway open.
“Master Therapass?” Kyja called. When there was no answer, she glanced at Riph Raph and stuck her head partway through the doorway.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
“Maybe we should come back later,” Riph Raph whispered. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“No.” Kyja shook her head firmly. “It’s been months since my last lesson.”
Taking a deep breath, she walked through the door. The wizard’s study was a large, oval-shaped room with a domed ceiling. The only light came from a small, circular, stained-glass window set high in the wall and various candles that sputtered and flickered throughout the room.
Kyja’s slippers sunk silently into the thick rugs that covered the marble floor. She passed shelves that rose nearly to the ceiling, filled with thick dusty books and various odds and ends—glass spheres, bottles of white powder, the skulls of small animals.
“This place always appears so homey,” Riph Raph whispered, grimacing at what looked like a human finger.
“Shush,” Kyja hissed.
As they rounded a dark, wooden table inlaid with various ivory symbols, Kyja caught a movement near the door out of the corner of her eye.
A huge, grizzled wolf rose from the rug in front of an empty fireplace. Muscles rippled as it gained its full height—its shoulders nearly as tall as Kyja. Brown eyes, as deep as wells, glittered, and its jaws crackled in a large yawn.
It grinned, showing a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. “You’re late.”
Chapter 8
Magic Lessons
Sorry, Master Therapass,” Kyja said, anxiously brushing the wrinkles from the front of her robe. “I overslept.”
“It was my fault,” Riph Raph said from his perch high on a bookshelf where he’d flown at the wolf’s appearance.
“I see. We have two sleepyheads, hmm?” The big gray wolf turned toward the empty fireplace, and instantly, bright orange flames sprang to life. “Not to worry, little ones. I seem to have overslept a bit myself.” He tilted his shaggy head, and the flames changed from orange to green and blue.
“I like that better. Don’t you?” he asked, stretching his front legs out before the warmth of the fire. “There was a time when the chill in the morning air didn’t bother me. Now, alas, my old bones don’t move quite so easily as they once did.”
As he turned from the fire and padded across the room, Kyja noticed the limp in his back right leg was worse than ever. “Can’t you use your magic to make that any better?” Kyja asked.
The great wolf paused, and Kyja wondered if she had overstepped her bounds. Without any warning, the creature disappeared. In its place stood a stooped man in a powder-blue robe.
Kyja couldn’t help admiring the transformation. Other wizards could change briefly into animal form, but Master Therapass was the only wizard she’d ever met who could actually become another creature and stay that way for days at a time if necessary. Transmorphism was one of the most difficult of all the forms of magic, but the wizard made it look easy.
“There are some things magic can’t cure.” He shook his head ruefully, making his unruly gray beard waggle back and forth. “Old age is one of them.”
“I’m sorry,” Kyja stammered. “I didn’t mean to suggest that . . .”
“Not at all, child. Not at all.” The wizard rubbed his hip and walked to the table. “They who are too afraid to ask questions will remain forever ignorant.”
“Now then,” he said, spreading his long, slender fingers flat on the table. “I assume you’ve come to offer me a rematch at trill stones? Because I certainly can’t allow a thirteen-year-old girl to beat me eleven straight times. I believe I am overdue for a victory.”
He waved his right hand, and two dozen shiny red and green stones flew down from a shelf and arranged themselves in a perfect circle on the surface of the table.
“Master,” Kyja wailed, twisting her hands in front of her robe.
“Not trill stones then?” With a wave of his hand, the stones stacked themselves neatly on top of one another and whisked back up to their spot on the shelf. At the same time a pair of cane-backed chairs walked nimbly across the room and took their places behind Kyja and the wizard.
Master Therapass lowered himself into his chair, but Kyja was too anxious to sit. The old man clasped his hands before him, rested his chin on his steepled fingers, and gave a deep sigh. “You’re here about the magic again.”
“Yes,” Kyja cried, so excited her feet couldn’t help but tattoo a little happy dance of footprints on the floor. “I think I’ve figured out my problem. I’m not concentrating hard enough. All this month I’ve been practicing my focus. I stared and stared at one of my hair clips until my eyes were watering so badly I could hardly see. Then, all at once, I could swear one of them actually moved. Not much—only a jiggle, really. But it did move. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Master Therapass glanced suspiciously up at Riph Raph, and the skyte quickly averted its big, yellow eyes. “Come, little one, and sit.” The wizard pointed a finger at Kyja’s chair, and she reluctantly took a seat.
The old man stroked his long, gray beard, his face crinkled in thought. “Kyja,” he said softly. “A horse may wish to fly. And it may briefly be able to launch itself into the air. But shortly it must return to land again. A duck may wish to carry a melody like a song bird. A goat may wish to swim beneath the waters. But ultimately, every animal, plant, even the rock in the field, must accept what it is, and in doing so, achieve its potential.”
Kyja could feel her lips trembling as her eyes began to fill with tears. “You’re saying I should quit trying? Just give up?”
“Is casting spells really so important?” he asked, his deep brown eyes mirroring the pain in her glistening green ones.
“Yes!” Kyja cried, leaping from her chair. “Everyone has some magic. Cooks, farmers, blacksmiths. Babies turn their rattles into sweets. Mothers command scrub brushes to wash their children. Even plants and animals have magic.”
“Everyone but you.”
“Exactly!” Kyja began pacing about the room. “I’m an outcast. It’s bad enough I can’t do magic. But I can’t even take part in the magic the other kids do. Charms don’t work on me, spells bounce off, potions might as well be water for all the good they do me. I can’t play in any of their games.”
Master Therapass traced his bony fingers across the surface of the table. “Don’t you see, little one? The very fact that magic does not affect you makes you special.”
“Not special—strange,” Kyja said, unable to stop the tears from dripping down her cheeks. “Do you have any idea how I feel when the other kids make fun because I can’t do spells? They laugh behind my back and call me half-wit. They say I have to live in a barn because I’m as dumb as a cow. I don’t want to be different. I want to fit in.”
She waved her hand up at Riph Raph. “Even he has . . .” Sudden understanding dawned on her as she stared up at the little skyte. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one who made my hair clip move.”
Riph Raph tucked his head under his wing in shame. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I just wanted to help. I was watching you try so hard. And I was concentrating with you. And suddenly . . .”
“Ohhhh,” Kyja cried. She dropped into her chair, burying her face in her arms. “I’ll never be able to do magic. Never!”
“There, there.” The old wizard hobbled around the table
and laid his hand gently upon the back of Kyja’s head. When her sobs changed to sniffles, he took her chin in his knobby fingers and raised it so she was looking into his eyes.
“Listen to me,” he said, his face dark and serious. “You are right. Everything does have magic in it. From the smallest insect to the mighty trees of Before Time.”
Kyja looked up at him miserably. “But not me.”
Master Therapass smiled. “Even you, little one. But magic is not just spells. The magic you see on the outside—making pots and pans fly or brewing potions to make boys swoon before you—is but a tiny fraction of the power of true magic. The real power of magic lies within you. Who you are, what you do, and most importantly of all, what you may become.”
Kyja wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You really think I might have some magic inside me then?”
The wizard nodded. “I know you do.”
Chapter 9
Lost and Found
arcus studied the business card in his hand.
Ben Linstrope
Child Welfare Attorney
State of Arizona
“Well, speak up, son. You don’t seem very grateful, considering this man has spent the last six months trying to find you.” For the first time Marcus had ever seen, Principal Teagarden had his tie pulled all the way up to his skinny neck. And he seemed to be wearing a fresh white shirt. Marcus supposed he was trying to make a good impression on the man from the state.
“Um, thanks.” Marcus turned the card over in his fingers before slipping it into his pants pocket. It was all too amazing to believe.
From where he stood in the corner of Principal Teagarden’s office, Mr. Linstrope gave Marcus a toothy grin. “My pleasure, young Mr. Kanenas.” The grin disappeared as Linstrope moved toward Marcus and ran a long, thin finger down the wheel of his chair. “I only wish we could have identified you sooner. Your parents never gave up hope. But I’m afraid the authorities feared the worst when they caught up with the people who’d abducted you and learned of the atrocities they had committed upon such a tiny baby.”
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