They headed up a little hill that jutted out toward the edge of the water and saw that on the other side there was a bowl-shaped valley. The valley was dark; trees shaded it from the moonlight.
From the base of those trees, somewhere in the darkness, the sound came again. This time it sounded like a series of loud coughs, and this time the noise didn’t stop.
Brinley followed Tabitha closer and closer, until eventually they could make out a shape against the grass at the base of the trees. Tabitha came to a halt, lacing her fingers in front of her waist and standing on her tiptoes. “Hello?” she called, craning her neck toward the shape in the grass. The noise stopped, and everything went silent. Brinley could hear her heart beating. It seemed loud against the silence of the night.
Flitlitter chirped once, and the silence swallowed the little sound.
“Hello?” Tabitha called again, more quietly.
“Hello.”
The voice that came back was deep. It sounded closer than Brinley was expecting. She stepped forward a little. “We’re here to help you,” she said. “We’re friends.”
“May we come closer?” Tabitha asked.
The shape in the shadows moved. It was only a dozen yards away now, and Brinley could tell that it was huge. It moved to the edge of the trees and stepped into the moonlight. At first they thought it was a lion, but it was too large, and it had wings, beautiful golden-brown wings that swept back against its sides. Its eyes were the color of green grass, its voice deep and vibrant, like a song spun out of the night, spilling over their ears like moon-shadows on the lake.
“I am Peridot,” it said. “Who are you?”
Chapter Fifteen
In which there is a flying carpet
It took Hugo a few minutes to figure out which door the girls had taken. By the time he did, they were too far away to hear him shouting. When he saw Tabitha intercept a stable boy leading Pilfer, he ran after them, but they disappeared into the forest before he got there.
“Where were they headed?” he asked the stable boy.
“How should I know?” the boy returned.
“Well, then, how do I get to the Lake of Eyes?”
The boy sighed in resignation. “There’s a path through the trees here. Take it right to the fork, then left. That will take you to the lake.”
“Thanks,” Hugo said, dashing off.
“Hey! It’ll be dark soon!” he heard the boy calling, but Hugo ignored him. His plan was to find the girls and get back before that.
Soon he had found the path and was making good time. As the king’s son, he had studied with the best hunters and trackers in the land, and with a quick look around he knew he was going in the right direction. When the sun had finished going down and he was walking by moonlight, he realized that he wasn’t going to catch up with them. He sighed and rubbed his arms as the forest started to cool, thinking that he should have just waited for the teachers to return. He couldn’t go back now though; Archibald would not be pleased, and he would look foolish returning empty-handed. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of the girls walking through the forest alone at night.
He found himself thinking about the dangerous things that might lurk in a forest at night. Everything around him took on a more sinister hue. He started to see the shadows of trees more than the trees themselves. Small animal noises sounded bigger because he could not tell where they were coming from in the moonlight. He forced himself to keep walking. He was probably just imagining things. There was nothing out there.
Then there was something out there. He was sure of it. A great, silent something in the tree above him. It sat on a low branch, silent and menacing, like a stone about to fall on him. But stones don’t sit in trees, he thought. What was it?
Then it moved. A great head spun around backward and golden eyes stared at him from a ghostly, heart-shaped face.
Hugo froze. He wanted to scream, to cry out, to run, but he couldn’t. Great wings spread out and flapped once. He felt a silent flush of air against his face and clamped his eyes shut, not wanting to see.
Nothing happened. No talons tore into him, no sharp beak split him open. He opened his eyes a second later and the beast was gone. Hugo breathed a deep sigh of relief, and then ran.
Soon the trees parted, and the lake was before him. He still felt like he was being watched. And no wonder; he thought he knew what the creature was. He had heard of it anyway, but it was supposed to be dead—long dead. It was the Kutha, an ancient, evil creature.
He shivered as he approached the lake. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the Kutha was following him. He looked out over the lake and blinked. He was being watched, but it wasn’t by the Kutha.
Great yellow eyes, green eyes, purple eyes the size of pomegranates were lifting out of the lake to stare at him.
The Lake of Eyes, he thought. He had always assumed that was just a funny name. Now he knew it was called that for a reason. He took a step toward the lake, wondering what sort of creatures had eyes like that. He had forgotten now about the girls and the Magemother’s herald, and the dangers of exploring strange lakes alone at night.
“Ouch!”
Hugo spun around, rubbing his fingers. Something had bitten them.
“Pilfer!” The pony was alone, left there by the girls, no doubt. The girls!
Hugo left the lake behind and hurried up the path after them, sparing just enough time to cast a quick glance back at the lake. The eyes were gone.
***
Archibald wrapped a finger around a cold iron bar of the dungeon door. Thankfully, he was on the outside of the cell instead of inside it, like Cannon.
“Now, Dean Chambers…” Cannon said, eyeing his iron cage as if it were vaguely interesting. “Is this really wise? I doubt this cell has been used once in the last five hundred years.”
“The Hall of Records has not been sealed in the last five hundred years,” the master librarian spat coldly.
The dean’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them nervously. He looked far less comfortable with the idea of locking Cannon up now that it was done.
“As I said,” Archibald started in his most patient voice, “nothing good will come of this. If you want to question him, question him, but I can promise you the king will not approve of this when he hears.”
The librarian ruffled in consternation. “The Magisterium is governed by its own laws.”
“Which you’ve ignored,” Cannon interjected lazily.
The wizard’s voice dripped with venom. “My mistake.”
The dean scratched his neck nervously. “That does have some weight to it.” He continued as if reading from a book. “The rules of incarceration clearly state that apart from cases of mortal crime, jailing a student requires the consent of at least two masters and the school counselor.”
As if on cue, Denmyn burst through the door. “What in the world is going on?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cannon said loudly over the sudden outburst of explanations, and everyone went silent.
Cannon continued, “Where did you go after you left the Hall of Records?”
Denmyn looked confused. “What?”
“While Archibald and I were being waylaid by these two,” he pressed, indicating the librarian and the dean, “you left with Hugo.”
“And what about it?”
“You were followed.”
“I beg your pardon. By whom?”
Archibald felt a small knot untangle inside him. So that’s where she had gone. He had lost track of Brinley in the bustle outside the Hall of Records, unable to find her even after searching the entire wing.
“If you didn’t see her, it doesn’t matter,” Cannon went on, “but she’s obviously not with you now. Where did you go?”
“I went to see Tabitha.”
“Who?”
“She’s our bird keeper, among other things,” Dean Chambers broke in knowledgeably. “Quite an eccentric girl, she—”
&
nbsp; “I don’t need her whole history,” Cannon snapped at him. He said to Denmyn, “What happened there?”
“That’s why I came looking for you,” she said eagerly. “The birds brought news of a creature wounded by the lake—a Laurel.”
“Peridot?” There was a note of hope in Cannon’s voice.
“It has to be,” she nodded excitedly.
“The Magemother’s herald!” Archibald exclaimed. He couldn’t believe it. Peridot, the Magemother’s herald, was a Laurel—a half lion, half eagle. She guarded the Magemother’s throne on Calypsis. In all his life, he had seen the creature only once.
“Impossible,” the librarian protested.
“Where is she?” Cannon asked, fingers wrapping around the bars.
“Well, still by the lake, I suppose.”
“The girl,” he said impatiently. “The bird girl. Where is she now?”
“Oh, I left her with Hugo at the healer’s office, to wait for us. She wanted to go along, and since she found the beast…”
“Then it’s time to go,” Cannon said. He stretched his arms behind him, took a deep breath, and brought them forward, exhaling loudly. The wall of bars bent and spun as if caught in the fury of a tornado, crumpling into a ball as easily as a piece of paper. He dropped his hands to his sides and the ball dropped too, landing squarely on the librarian’s foot.
There was an audible crunching noise, followed by a shriek as the librarian bent over. Denmyn rushed over to help him.
Cannon gave him a sympathetic look as he passed. “My mistake,” he said. “Come along, Archibald, we might need your bell.”
Archibald followed him out of the cell, patting the vest pocket where he kept the bell. He had developed a habit of doing that, patting the bell just to make sure he hadn’t dropped it. Now he gave a grunt, for it was gone. He searched his pockets as he hurried after Cannon, but it was nowhere to be found. “It’s gone!” he cried.
“What’s gone?” Cannon said, rounding on him at the foot of the stairs.
“The bell! I don’t know what could have happened to it.”
Cannon waved a hand dismissively, returning to the stairs. “We don’t have time to search now,” he called back. “We’ll just have to hope that we don’t need it.”
Archibald had to agree with this assessment, but he felt horrible for losing the bell. It was the only connection they had to the Magemother, and though he didn’t like to admit it, the bell had become a symbol of hope to him. He sighed, pushing the matter out of his mind, and ran up the stairs.
When they reached the healer’s office, they found it deserted.
“Could they have left without us?” Archibald asked, trying to remember exactly how impatient young people were.
“I would have.” Cannon sniffed the air, eyes closed, then strode off the way they had gone. “They passed this way.”
“How do you—”
“The air remembers.”
Archibald thought about that. Magic made him uncomfortable sometimes. He didn’t like the idea of air remembering things. That would make the air alive, he reasoned—a strange concept. If the air was alive, what else was? He glanced around himself and shivered. There was a reason he had never wanted to learn magic. The only magic he liked was the bit inside his cane. He hefted it as he walked, and the wood felt warm and reassuring in his hand.
Cannon paused at the top of a set of stairs leading down into darkness. “How will we get there?” he mused aloud.
Archibald looked around, remembering where he was. “I believe this leads to the lawn,” he said, indicating the stairs.
“Not that. I mean how will we get to the lake?”
“We could walk?”
“Too slow,” Cannon said dismissively. “And of course, you can’t fly.”
“No,” Archibald agreed, startled. “I certainly cannot. We could ride.”
“Mm…but ride what?” Cannon began walking away.
“Horses!” Archibald said, bristling impatiently as he hurried to catch up. “Would it kill a wizard to do things simply just once?”
Cannon pretended not to hear him. He had paused before one of several office doors. “Ah, here it is,” he said, and let himself in.
Archibald read the little gold sign on the door.
Master Librarian
“Oh, dear,” Archibald said, following Cannon inside. “Is this really necessary?”
Cannon ignored him. He was walking around the room thoughtfully. “Ah!” he said brightly. “This will do quite nicely.” He bent over and grabbed the tasseled ends of a fine blue rug. He pulled it smartly, toppling a small table and upending several shoes. “Come on, Archibald,” he said, rolling up the rug and bustling out of the room.
“Whatever happened between you two?” Archibald asked in a huff as they walked back to the stairs.
“How do you mean?” Cannon strode down the steps and into the darkness.
“Yourself and the master librarian. You loathe each other, do you not?”
“Ah, that.” The darkness was split by a sliver of moonlight as Cannon opened the door at the far end.
“Well, I came to the school when I was younger, before Animus found me. I wanted to study here.” He unfurled the carpet with a flare, letting it fall open over the cool grass. The moonlight revealed an intricate pattern of berries and bluebirds embroidered on the silk. A current of air caught the rug just before it touched the ground, holding it in the air.
“I wanted to study the magical arts, of course,” Cannon explained. “He was one of the masters that interviewed me.”
“I see.” He could still remember his own entrance interviews.
“He insisted that I had no talent for magic, so I demonstrated.”
“You demonstrated?”
“Yes,” he said, reminiscently, “on his cat.”
“You didn’t.”
“I was only ten.” A wry smile caught at the corners of his mouth. “Archibald, have you ever seen a cat in a tornado?”
“You didn’t!”
Cannon’s smile widened. “That’s how Animus discovered me, actually. He was visiting the Magisterium that day.” Cannon stepped onto the rug, stumbling slightly, and sat down. “Are you coming?”
Archibald eyed it cautiously, prodding it with the tip of his cane. Then he sat sideways, awkwardly swinging his legs up and trying not to fall over as the carpet jostled on the bed of air beneath. “I think horses would have been just fine,” he mumbled under his breath, trying to figure out how to look dignified on an airborne carpet.
“Nonsense,” Cannon said as the carpet began to inch forward, slowly gaining speed. Then without warning, the carpet jumped several feet into the air, and to Archibald’s horror, he let out an involuntary yelp.
Cannon glanced back curiously.
“Have you done this before?” Archibald asked, scowling. There was still more fear in his voice than he would have liked.
“I’ve never even thought of this before,” Cannon said. The young man looked wild, hair starting to ripple in the wind as they picked up speed. “I don’t know why—novel idea, really—Oh my.” The ground fell away as they careened over the top of a hill, banking downwards toward the forest. As they tipped down, an odd sense of weightlessness made Archibald shout.
Cannon pulled the front of the rug up, wrapping it over their feet like a sled to keep them from falling off. In another moment, they leveled out. They were flying through the air just above the tops of the trees, traveling faster than any horse could.
“I’ll admit I haven’t perfected this yet,” Cannon said, raising his voice to be heard above the whip of the wind, “but I think it’s going to be big!”
Archibald had no idea what he meant. He was too busy silently cursing the disposition of wizards, which seemed to include a penchant for trying out bad ideas on unsuspecting persons.
Just then a gust of wind hit them from the side, forcing them into a barrel roll. As t
hey turned over, Archibald reached for his hat but was too slow; the wind wrenched it from his head and flung it toward the ground.
“CANNON!” he shouted indelicately as the rug righted itself again. “Could we please not do that again?”
“My apologies, Archibald,” Cannon said shakily. “I quite agree.” He cast the older man a sideways look and frowned. “Lose something?”
Archibald shot him a dark look, only to see his hat spiraling neatly into the wizard’s hands, borne there on some invisible current of air.
“Please don’t litter, Archibald. It doesn’t become you.”
Archibald smiled, taking the hat. “No,” he agreed. “And I take back what I said about you.”
“When?”
“A moment ago, in my head.”
Cannon gave a half smile. He was about to say something in response but he was cut short by a noise ahead. A throaty rumble echoed through the trees in the distance, sending birds into the air.
“What was that?” Cannon asked, his voice taut.
“That,” Archibald said, “was a roar.”
Chapter Sixteen
In which there is an astonished goat
Brinley leapt backward when Peridot roared, heart jumping into her throat. They were going to be eaten! This had been a terrible mistake! But no, nothing else had happened. She was still alive. Finally, she came to her senses. Tabitha had not moved when Peridot roared. She was smiling at the beast now, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet as if the giant, winged lion had merely purred at her.
“I see that you are not my enemy,” Peridot said. “You have no fear, little one.”
Tabitha crossed the remaining distance and began to stroke Peridot’s wing.
“How did you find me?” Peridot asked.
“Flitlitter told us,” Tabitha said. At the sound of its name, the magpie took to the air, circling a few feet above them before landing squarely between Peridot’s ears.
Magemother: The Complete Series (A Fantasy Adventure Book Series for Kids of All Ages) Page 11
