Are you hoping she’ll run out of spells, or are you going to take the offensive at some point?
“You’re the one who said to cast wards!” snapped Mithris, twirling his wand and launching into a spell to make Ileera’s body heavier. That should slow her down a little.
“It’s speaking to you now?” screeched Ileera, enraged. She spoke one long, impossible word and stamped her foot. The crystal in Mithris’ hand twitched but he tightened his grip and spoke the cantrip that would break her spell.
“It always speaks to me,” shouted Mithris. “It says neither of them likes you one bit!”
Ileera howled in wordless fury, and summoned a whirlwind. Mithris thought it was the same spell he’d used on those omnitors all those weeks ago. It built in speed and power, whistling through the room as it grew into a confined gale. Papers snapped and rippled and launched into the spinning wind, flapping about the room. Books and other small objects rose ponderously up, then began circling about on the wind.
Mithris could not remember the incantation that would cancel the whirlwind. He had read it, thought it committed to memory, but he could not summon the words.
“Little help?” he asked the crystal hopefully.
“Stop!” screamed Ileera. She glared at the crystal. “I command you to cease helping him!”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Mithris told her. “It doesn’t belong to you!”
That was true, but it meant little. The crystal had not answered his plea. Mithris had hardly expected it to. The wind pulled at his robes. He set his feet far apart against the wind, but he felt himself buffeted by it. He couldn’t hold out much longer and the crystal could not cast the spell if Mithris didn’t know it.
It’s the one that started __________, said the crystal. The word sounded familiar. Suddenly, it came to him. Mithris all but screamed the incantation, and the whirlwind died.
But Ileera stabbed at him with jets of fire alternating with spears of ice. Mithris danced, dodging the attacks and batting aside those he could with defensive cantrips. He dove and rolled across the floor, flinging a net of binding energy at the sorceress. She cut the spell apart effortlessly, without ever breaking off her continuous attack.
“Fool boy!” she cried. “I’ve studied the magical arts for seven centuries! You’re no match for me!”
Unfortunately, Mithris knew that was true.
Chapter 24
Mistress Ileera sent a final wave of firebursts at Mithris, then lifted her foundation crystal high overhead. She cast a lengthy and complicated spell. Mithris dealt with the fire, then began an attack spell. The words died on his lips when he saw what Ileera had set in motion.
The blue-green swirls of the Depths crystal expanded, tendrils of energy reaching out beyond the physical limits of the crystal. The energy extended, seeking out every corner of the room.
“This,” said Ileera, indicating her crystal, “is called Depths. Like the endless waters its appearance evokes, Depths embodies mutability and change. Just as the oceans shape the sands, so too does Depths shape the reality of the foundations.” She smiled sweetly, but her eyes remained cold. “It’s positively astonishing what one can do when one can change reality itself.”
Mithris stared in horror as Mistress Ileera’s study began to warp, the stone walls folding and twisting, the ceiling leaning crazily and forcing upward into a sharp peak. Below his feet, the floor tilted sharply toward the windows behind him and he lost his balance, falling against the inside of his stationary wards. The wizardess hovered a few feet off the floor, watching her study’s transformation with satisfaction.
Reality bent and warped and curved around itself. Mithris felt himself twisting painfully, but he realized something much worse. He felt himself falling toward the new Down, and that new gravity would pull him straight out the window where he would fall four floors to his death.
An idea struck him, a desperate thought. He lifted his own foundation crystal and shouted, “What Is Your Name?”
I am Vapor, came the proud reply. I am the wind and the clouds and the fog and the smoke and the very air you breathe. I am the endless sky and I encompass all things. You feel my touch when the cool breeze blows, but know that I am always present and always holding you. I am Vapor.
After hearing Vapor’s name, something stirred in Mithris’ mind. It was as if a cloud had parted and for the first time he could see how the serpentine language of magic wove within itself to create action. Racking his brain for every air-elemental spell he had ever studied, Mithris decided to try something. It was probably the most foolish idea he’d ever had, but time was short and he had no other options. Picking a word or two from each of the spells—with only the vaguest idea what each component word added to the incantation—Mithris assembled a new spell all his own. It was the sort of thing experienced wizards experimented with all the time. In the inexperienced hands of an apprentice, it would most likely end in disaster.
But Mithris accepted the danger, and began to speak the words. Dropping his wand, he clasped both hands around Vapor and spoke directly to the foundation crystal as he crafted his spell.
Ileera’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she raised her wand but did not cast a spell. Mithris heard a sound in his mind. It sounded as though Vapor had gasped in astonishment.
Around the dueling magicians, the tower vanished. Walls, windows, floors—everything simply faded out of existence. So too did the small city of Avington. Mithris felt a wind rushing over his face. He looked down. The countryside sped past below them. And then they passed over a rocky shore. Finally their flight ended. He looked back to Ileera. The wizardess hung in the air ten paces from him. They were both suspended, forty paces above the churning surface of a deep ocean.
“What have you done?” she shrieked in alarm. She stared at him, her blue eyes wide in complete astonishment.
Mithris didn’t know. In fact, he was still doing it. His air spell hadn’t killed them both, but he wasn’t finished yet. He launched into a new incantation. It was incredibly foolhardy. He’d survived one experimental spell, why press his luck with another? But Ileera had given him the idea and he could almost see how it all fit together. Depths. Endless waters…
He drew on every water spell he knew, again picking and choosing phrases of magic that carried the same pattern to achieve an action. There was no way the trick would work a second time. And yet…
In Ileera’s hand, Depths pulsed and glowed. A deep, throbbing sound split the air. It sounded like a gong heard underwater. Far below, the sea grew turbulent with white-tipped waves. Burbling music rose to their ears.
“What is this?” demanded Ileera.
“I have no idea,” admitted Mithris.
I do, said Vapor, sounding worried. I think you’d better cover your ears.
The burbling sound—it was singing. Below them, six pale-haired heads broke the surface of the waves. They had pasty skin with the texture of scales, and long seagrass-green hair hung wetly and clung to their heads. They had enormous eyes of no color, and they fixed them upward at the floating wizards above them. They lifted their too-long, slender arms in supplication and raised heavenly voices in song.
The mermaids sang:
Come to us and join our song
Surrender to our loving embrace
Come with us and join our song
And sink with us to our place
Among the waves we dance along
Join your feet to our steps
And join us in the watery Depths.
Mithris stuffed Vapor into his pocket, clamping his hands over his ears as the song rose and repeated. He could feel the words, a distinct pressure pulling him down. Opening his mouth, he sang wordlessly to block out the sound.
Ileera’s eyes widened further and she screamed in disbelief. Then she fell from the sky, straight to the groping sea-devils below. They wrapped her in their arms, pulling her below the water. She screamed until the water filled her mouth and she sank o
ut of sight. Two of the mermaids cast longing glances up at Mithris, but he shut his eyes and shouted louder.
You can open your eyes now.
Mithris opened his eyes. He still hung high over the ocean. Ileera was gone. The waters were calm again. Mithris heard a tiny splash and something hurtled up out of the sea and flew to Mithris’ hand.
It was Depths. He had done it.
With the twin foundation crystals safely in his pocket, Mithris turned and flew back toward shore. As soon as the coastline was in sight, his head began to ache and with each second, he had more and more difficulty remembering the patterns of magic that kept him in the air. In fact, he was having trouble remembering how he had performed any of the spells he’d used against Ileera.
Ileera. All he could see was the panic in her eyes as she’d been pulled under. Mithris began to falter in the air, tumbling dozens of feet in the air before regaining his composure.
And then, in alarm, Mithris forgot how to fly. As he futilely waved his arms, he struck the ocean’s surface and a lungful of water rushed in through his nose and mouth.
Mithris kicked and coughed and tore at the water until he broke the surface. Somehow in the fall, he had kept an iron-clad grip on the two crystals.
“What happened?” Mithris screamed, “Why did I fall? Why can’t I remember?” Tears mixed with the ocean as he awkwardly swam to the nearby coast.
It was your sleeping mind, Mithris. For a brief moment it stirred, and you understood. But your sleeping mind doesn’t like to be woken from its slumber, and so you are left with the chestnut that is your waking mind.
“Hey! I’ll have you know that my chestnut brain has served me well so far,” Mithris said as he pulled himself up out of the water and onto the sandy shore. “But what you said makes no sense. Why would I have two minds?”
This is a very complicated concept to explain in your words, but rest assured, if your sleeping mind could be stirred awake once, it can be coaxed into waking again.
Mithris slowly stood to his feet, his soaked and torn robes clinging to his small frame. “I’m not sure if I’d want that.”
Mithris was expecting a smart retort but instead there was silence for a time.
Let’s see if we can find a nearby farm or inn to recuperate from such an eventful day, Vapor said calmly.
Head still swimming, Mithris merely nodded and began trudging toward a fisherman’s trail he’d spotted down the coast.
Chapter 25
Mithris scrubbed his red-stained hands in the wash basin, but it wasn’t doing much good. His palms and the undersides of his fingers stubbornly remained crimson. The mop-headed seventeen year old, formerly apprenticed to a centuries-old wizard, kept scrubbing.
You look like you’ve murdered someone.
Mithris froze in the act of washing his hands, turning his head to peer all about the room. His eyes lingered on the door for a long moment. He had learned to be very careful when he spoke to Vapor. The opalescent foundation crystal lay on the table behind him, next to its turquoise near-twin Depths. Vapor could speak to Mithris, silently, in his thoughts. If anyone saw or heard Mithris answer, they’d think he was mad.
He couldn’t blame them. His hair had been a mess, he hadn’t had a bath in a fortnight, and he talked to two rocks he kept in his pocket.
People thinking they had a mad wizard in their midst, that sort of thing could be unhealthy. Mithris had learned that a few weeks ago when they passed through— quickly passed through—the small fishing village of Lee’s Crossing. The village folk had chased Mithris several leagues down the road, waving torches and carrying pitchforks.
He had tried to keep a lower profile since then.
And bloodstained hands really help a man avoid notice, said Vapor. The foundation crystal could not read his mind, not exactly. But the crystal could sense his mood and the gist of his thoughts, which often enough amounted to the same thing.
“It’s from the beets,” said Mithris, exasperated. While Vapor could sense some of his thoughts, it was always better for him to speak aloud when talking to the crystal. It would be able to hear him clearly from the other side of the world, even if he whispered.
Don’t be silly. No one who met you would ever believe you were a farmer.
So there it was. Mithris groaned. He should have seen that one coming. Vapor was frequently sarcastic and always smugly superior. Sometimes, the crystal liked to make its points in roundabout but rarely subtle ways.
“All I said,” he told the crystal, turning around to glare at it, “was that I could get used to this. It’s good, honest work.”
Mithris had spent the day digging beets with Goodwife Cowan’s two sons, Davam and Cryst. Goodman Cowan had died two seasons back, and the farmer’s widow made a habit of housing travelers in exchange for a day’s work.
The farmhouse had an extra room, and the mattress wasn’t too lumpy. In addition to a roof over his head—a rarity over the past eight months—Mithris had eaten a satisfying dinner and a hearty breakfast. He felt like it was worth sweating a few hours out in the gardens for a fully belly.
Depths says if you try to become a farmer, you really will go hungry, Vapor retorted.
The other foundation crystal could not make itself heard directly in the young man’s thoughts the way Vapor could. Mithris did not know why that was, and Vapor never offered any thoughts on the subject.
“You tell Depths…” Mithris began, but the crystal cut him off.
What do you think Master Deinre would say if you were to tell him that beet-growing was your destiny?
“If he’d eaten one of Goody Cowan’s steak pies, I think he’d be all for it,” said Mithris, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the room’s wash-stand. One leg was short, and the wooden stand tipped back under his weight. The basin and pitcher, undecorated clay, wobbled and rattled together.
Oh yes, said Vapor. Because when Deinre contemplated his ambitions, steak pie featured quite prominently.
“Actually, I think it did.” Mithris scowled and stood up straight. The pitcher and basin wobbled again and the pitcher tipped over, spilling cold wash water down the back of Mithris’ borrowed pants. He yelped, jumping forward and swatting at his wet backside. “Oh, great,” he muttered.
You might have a point, Vapor admitted. Mithris was so surprised he stopped worrying at the pants and stared at the foundation crystal open-mouthed. The old guy did love a steak-and-kidney. But it was magic steak-and-kidney pie, Mithris. Magic. Deinre wasn’t a farmer, and neither are you.
Mithris sighed. Deep down, he knew the crystal was right. Helping out for a day or two at someone else’s farm was one thing. Trying to start up one of your own was something else. But that didn’t mean Mithris wanted to let magic back into his life. He’d avoided magic and everything about it as much as he could in the weeks since Avington.
Whenever Mithris thought back to that day, all he could see was Ileera’s panicked gaze as she was forcibly drowned by mermaids he had summoned. The memory flared up any time he thought about practicing magic.
You don’t even set your wards at night anymore, said Vapor, guessing the direction of Mithris’ thoughts.
“You would warn me if anything threatening was chasing me.” Mithris shrugged. “I know you would. And that’s the first ward I’d set anyway, one to alert me to danger. So I don’t need that. And once I know something’s coming for me, I can run away.”
Farmers have to stay in one place, generally.
Mithris grumbled something under his breath.
What?
“Nothing.”
I was speaking to Depths. Depths wants me to remind you how grateful it is to you for rescuing it from Ileera.
Mithris blinked at the change of subject. “Uh,” he said. “Depths is welcome, of course.”
Why did you want Depths?
“What? Look, I went looking for it because you told me to. You said it wanted us to find it.”
Ye
s, that’s true. But why did you listen to me?
“When one of the most powerful magic artifacts in all the five…er, seven foundations tells you to do something, I think you’re supposed to listen.”
Couldn’t have put it better myself, Mithris. Vapor sounded extremely satisfied. Mithris grumbled again.
“You tricked me into that,” he accused. Mithris raised one finger, holding off any reply. “But this isn’t the same thing. Depths was being held by Ileera against its will.”
How very noble of you to notice that. You do know there are four other foundation crystals, don’t you? One of them is only a few hours’ walk from this place.
“And you’re telling me that one’s unhappy with its lot as well, are you?” Mithris shook his head. “No, don’t answer. Of course you are.”
Mithris suspected the foundation crystals were up to something. For some reason, the six legendary gemstones wanted to gather together. Vapor had not said as much, not outright, but Mithris had learned in recent months to read between the lines.
You are becoming quite the suspicious, almost paranoid, young man, said Vapor.
“That’s what comes from spending time with wizards,” Mithris answered bitterly, thinking back over the past year. His Master had been struck down, murdered by a rival wizard who wanted his tower and secrets. He’d met an ancient wizardess who kept herself young and beautiful by stealing the life force of her own apprentices, and that evil sorceress had tried selling him to the very wizard who had slain Master Deinre. Wizards were not to be trusted.
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