Magemother: The Complete Series (A Fantasy Adventure Book Series for Kids of All Ages)

by Austin J. Bailey

  Hardly said nothing. Then he flew away. She hoped that meant yes.

  After a few minutes the idris stopped at the foot of a little river. Tabitha opened her eyes, wondering why. The giant seemed afraid. It was looking around, and its grip on her was loosening ever so slightly.

  The forest floor went dark.

  They both looked up then, she and the idris, his big hairy hand shading his eyes from the sun. A second later, the sun itself had disappeared behind the shadow that was gathering above the trees.

  “Birds,” the idris whispered. He was right. It looked like all the birds in the world were gathering above them. Bluebirds, finches, golden larks, seagulls, night jays. Some of them she recognized from her tower, but many were strangers. Out in front, leading the tremendous flock, was Flitlitter, with Hardly flying right alongside.

  The idris grunted and ran, which seemed to be what the birds were waiting for. Like the tail of a tornado, a line of birds broke free from the swarm and dove at him. They split apart across his face, his arms, his legs, swarming around him like a cloud of bees, their tiny beaks and claws needling his skin. He screamed and dropped Tabitha, shielding his face with his hands. A giant pelican caught the collar of her shirt before she fell three feet, and a score of other birds were there to help an instant later, including, she realized with delight, the little family of starlings from her tower. They were flying again! Soon she was rising through the air instead of falling, birds catching hold of every inch of her clothes, lifting her into the sky. An albatross tried to grab hold of her hair to help, but it was startled away by her squawk of pain.

  The forest was beneath them now. The idris’s screams were growing fainter. The birds seemed to be taking her somewhere. Where, she couldn’t guess, but they were still rising, high into the air, birds holding her up by shirtsleeves and socks and bootlaces. She forgot all about the idris. They were going so fast! She laughed and spread her arms, feeling like a bird in a giant flock of birds. It was like being part of some wild, multicolored flying dream! They reached a wall of clouds and broke through, vaulting high above a plane of white and sunshine that few people ever see. It was utterly silent. The sun was so close that the chill air felt almost warm. Nothing could ever be wrong up here, she knew. Here, she would always be safe…If only she could stay here forever, like a bird, with eyes wide enough to see the wind, and wings strong enough to wander through heaven.

  One by one, the birds let her go. She flailed her arms wildly at first, thinking that she would fall. But she did not fall. She flew‌—‌beside the other birds, her own new wings spread wide against the sky. She had wings! Had she always? She tried hard to remember. No, she hadn’t. She wasn’t a bird at all. Not really. She was a girl‌—‌Tabitha, Brinley’s friend, the birds’ friend‌—‌the birds! She could hear their voices now, clearer than ever. Their dreams, their fears, their old, small knowings.

  Flitlitter flew away. The magpie had other things to do, Tabitha knew. Besides, she was safe now; the other birds would take care of her. Her little family of starlings drifted beside her. They would follow her for some time, she knew. She had saved them, and now they had helped save her, and neither she nor they would be quick to forget it.

  The birds banked left and she banked with them. She knew where they were going. They were being called together by the Earth Mage, he who spoke the language of earth and listened to the dreams of birds. There was a battle somewhere, and he was calling all living things together to help. She would go with them.

  She belonged with them.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In which Hugo is tempted

  That night was the darkest of Hugo’s life. He was dragged from the inn and bound hand and foot with cords, then thrust into a brown canvas sack and dumped on the ground in the center of a little clearing. The bag was tied tightly above his head and he sat there, silence all around him, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. His gut told him that the witches were still there.

  They were. They stood around him in a wide semicircle, watching the sky. If Hugo could have seen, he would have been much more frightened than he already was. The Kutha soared out of the night and landed between him and the witches. To Hugo, it sounded like nothing more than a faint rustle of the night.

  “Mighty Kutha,” March intoned solemnly, “take our gift to the master.”

  Hugo heard someone scream. His heart sank. It sounded like Brinley.

  “Silence,” March hissed.

  Hugo tried to peek through the top of the bag, but it was shut tightly. Surely the Kutha couldn’t be there already.

  His question was answered as he was lifted smoothly into the air. He cried out in shock and heard the witches break out in laughter below him. He had a mental image of the earth dropping away below him, the sinister owl carrying him up into the air where he would be totally at its mercy. Would it take him to Tennebris as they said, or would it simply drop him from the sky onto some sharp rocks and have done with him?

  This last thought was more than enough to set him moving. He squirmed and wriggled, trying to loosen the ropes around his hands and legs. He felt the bird tip slightly in the air, no doubt his shifting about had unbalanced the Kutha’s flight. A giant talon gripped him around the chest in retaliation, squeezing him until all the air was gone from his lungs.

  “Okay,” he wheezed, but hardly any sound came out. The Kutha must have understood, because it released him. He coughed and sputtered, rubbing his ribs awkwardly to make sure that they were all in one piece.

  The second time around, he was much more careful. He curled up gradually, as far as he could, bending his knees so slowly that the Kutha didn’t notice. He found that he could just barely slip his fingers into the top of his boot. He smiled in satisfaction. He had kept a small knife in his boot ever since he overheard a knight talking about the practice over supper. If he ever got back, Hugo was going to buy that knight the finest boot knife in the world as a thank you gift.

  He slipped the blade out gingerly. He didn’t like the idea of dropping it in this position. Things were bad enough flying through the air in a confined space without a sharp knife bouncing around in the dark. It took a minute, but he was able to saw through the ropes on his hands and wriggle free. Then he freed his legs. When he was done, he cut a tiny slit in the bag to peek through.

  He couldn’t believe it. He seemed to be flying among the stars. He got a glimpse of the world below him, but they were so high up that nothing was distinguishable besides a hazy film of green and blue. Where were they going?

  The Kutha turned then, and Hugo had to stifle a little gasp. He had heard stories about the Magemother’s private home on the moon, but as far as he knew, nobody besides her ever went there. It was said that only the mages and the Magemother herself possessed the power to travel to it. As far as he knew he was the first person ever to see it. No, he reminded himself, Archibald had seen it. Despite the danger, he felt a thrill of excitement. That would make him only the second person to see the Magemother’s home.

  The Kutha banked slightly and Hugo caught a faint glimpse of glass towers before everything went dark outside the sack. He guessed they had gone inside the castle. They were actually in the Magemother’s home! In his excitement, Hugo had temporarily forgotten what was waiting for him at the end of the journey. It came back to him as the Kutha dropped him on a hard surface with a bone cracking thump, and he heard an empty voice say, “What’s this?”

  “A gift from the March Witch,” the voice read softly, brushing the top of the bag. The witches must have left a note. The rope was untied quickly, and the bag fell to the floor around his feet as he crouched. Lux stood over him.

  “Hugo Paradise!”

  Hugo stared up at the face in surprise. He was not frightening, as Hugo had expected. He looked like the bright, shining mage that he had grown up seeing in his father’s council chambers.

  “Hello, Hugo.”

  “What do you want?” Hugo asked the
mage warily.

  “What do you want?” Lux said, taking a step back and gesturing in a friendly way. “Didn’t you want to talk to me?”

  “What do you mean? I was captured. Your monster brought me here. What do you want?” Are you going to kill me? That is what he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  Lux shook his head, looking more concerned than dangerous. “No, no, Hugo. You’ve got it all wrong. It is you that wanted to talk to me. Remember? You have questions. Questions about magic. Haven’t you been wanting to talk to me?”

  Hugo swallowed, remembering. He had wished that. He was a fool for wishing that. “How did you know?” he asked.

  “I know,” Lux said simply. “I can feel it when my presence is needed.”

  Hugo was silent, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “I sense you have second thoughts,” Lux mused. “But why? Do I frighten you?”

  Hugo shrugged. He was frightened, but there was no sense in admitting it.

  “I do.” Lux nodded to himself. He didn’t sound angry, though. If anything he sounded compassionate. “That is to be expected of one who knows so little of magic.”

  Hugo bristled. He might not be magic, but he knew more about the subject than half the students at the Magisterium probably did. “I know,” he faltered. Now that he was trying to say it, it was difficult to put into words. “I know you have bad in you.”

  Lux smiled. “‘Bad.’ Yes, I suppose. But that’s who I am, you see. It’s my job.” He hesitated, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I regret that you had to see me like that with Archibald. I was having…a difficult moment. I assure you, you do not need to fear me.”

  Hugo fidgeted. He didn’t feel assured at all.

  “You and I have things to discuss,” Lux went on, circling around so that Hugo’s back was to the center of the room. It was almost like Lux was trying to keep him from looking there. He started to look over his shoulder. There was something big behind him, like a wall, but made of wind.

  “Hugo!” Lux barked. “Look at me!”

  Hugo glanced back at Lux. “What is that?” he asked.

  “Something I’ll explain momentarily,” the mage said, waving his hand. “We have things to discuss first, and I don’t want you getting distracted.”

  “We do?” Hugo asked, perplexed. “What?”

  “How to become a mage.”

  Hugo’s pulse quickened. He felt his mouth go dry. What was going on? Was this just coincidence? Could Lux read his mind?

  His thoughts were interrupted as something brushed his face. A breeze, he thought, a brisk night wind. Then he could see the wind, and he knew it must be something else. He turned to see a ghostly form detach itself from the wall behind him. The wall, he saw, was made of wind. So was the person who had stepped from it. Hugo knew who this must be. There was only one person in the world who could do things like that with the wind.

  “Animus,” Lux said cordially. “Nice of you to join us.”

  Animus ignored him, turning his back on Lux and facing Hugo. “Do not listen to him,” Animus whispered.

  The Wind Mage was very old. His body was beginning to bend with age and his beard was tattered around the edges, but despite his ghostlike appearance there was a striking quality to him. It was power, Hugo thought. It hung about him just like it did Lux. But with Animus it seemed like a lighter, cleaner thing.

  Hugo jumped as Lux swept his hand through the face of the Wind Mage, dispersing his features.

  “Too busy to come in person?” Lux mocked, waving his hand through Animus’s chest now. “Something important taking up all your time?” He leaned in to whisper in Animus’s ear. “Why are you resisting me? You know it’s only a matter of time.”

  Animus continued to ignore him, focusing his gaze on Hugo. “Do not listen to him,” he said firmly. “He cannot help you. You must speak with the Magemother.”

  “Why?” Hugo asked. “What are you two talking about?”

  Animus looked down, sighing. “This is not the way for you to find out,” he said.

  “I want to talk with you about your power, Hugo,” Lux said solemnly, drawing Hugo’s attention again.

  “My power?”

  “Yes,” Lux said with a smile. “There is magic in you, Hugo, just as you have always dreamed. I know you can feel it. I can help you. I will help you to find it. I know the way. Once I was a boy such as you! You could be a mage someday.”

  Something stirred inside of Hugo. Could it be true? Could Archibald have been wrong?

  “Do not listen to him,” Animus said, stepping in front of Lux again. “He wraps the truth in lies. A mage you may become, but only with the Magemother’s aid. That is her work.”

  “I don’t understand,” Hugo began. Lux interrupted him.

  “Mages do not live forever, Hugo,” he said. “Eventually they die. Eventually they need to be replaced. Few people have the capacity to become a mage, and you are one of those few. Look inside. Haven’t you always known it?”

  Hugo felt confused. “Is he telling the truth?”

  Animus looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps,” he said. “It is uncertain. Only the Magemother can decide. You should not listen to him.”

  Lux scowled, waving his hand through the Wind Mage’s face again. “Be gone,” he said coldly. “The boy and I are trying to have a conversation.” He turned back to Hugo. “I am offering you help. You don’t know who you are, what you are capable of, Hugo. I have watched you for years. Why do you think I spend so much time at the castle? If your father did not keep you so isolated from all things magical, perhaps we could have begun our friendship sooner.”

  “He means you harm,” Animus warned. “He cannot help you. He will seek to use you to his advantage, nothing else.”

  Hugo looked at Lux. Everything he had learned from Archibald flooded into his mind. He thought of the things that he had overheard in Kokum. Had the darkness truly overcome the light? He stepped closer to Lux, peering into his eyes. He thought of the stories of wise old men reading people’s souls through their eyes.

  It wasn’t working. He couldn’t tell. In the end he decided to trust his gut.

  “I don’t believe you,” Hugo said.

  Lux frowned. And then, suddenly, he wasn’t Lux anymore. He wasn’t the gleaming, light-filled mage of his youth. Nor was he Lux Tennebris, the half light, half dark Lux. This man was all darkness. Two dark and empty eyes stared out at him, and when he spoke his voice sounded dead, like it wouldn’t echo even in a cave.

  “Leave us,” Lux whispered to Animus. He put a finger into the wind body, and something black issued from it.

  “Run,” Animus whispered to Hugo. Then he winced in pain as his wind-body dispersed, drifting back to join the wall of wind behind them. Hugo examined it for the first time and saw that the real Animus was suspended in the center of the wall. He was creating the wind, Hugo realized, forming the wall. Wind spun out from his hands and feet and sides like light from the sun. Hugo wondered what was behind that wall. What was he guarding?

  “What do you think your father will pay for your safe return?” Tennebris asked, bringing his head back around viciously. The mage’s face was contorting in a way that made Hugo feel queasy‌—‌a smile, he realized. “Do you think he will give up the kingdom in exchange for you? Perhaps I won’t have to fight him at all.”

  “Not likely.”

  “No,” Tennebris said, voice becoming carefully gentle now. “That’s right, your father doesn’t particularly care for you, does he?”

  “That’s not true,” Hugo said automatically. He was trying to back away from Tennebris, but the other man was advancing.

  “Of course it is,” Tennebris said smoothly. “He makes you spend all your time with dusty old teachers. He keeps you confined to the castle when all you want is to leave. You want to go to the Magisterium and learn to become a mage. Well, that future is gone now.”

  Hugo felt his face go hot. He took another
step back, tripping over something soft. He glanced down hurriedly. The floor was covered with something. Something black and soft.

  “I could have taught you, Hugo,” Tennebris said seriously, regaining Hugo’s attention. “I wasn’t lying.”

  Hugo stopped retreating. “It’s not worth it,” he said bravely.

  Tennebris looked taken aback. “Do I repulse you so? The Magemother made me what I am today. Don’t you trust her? Don’t you trust the ways of nature? Someone must give evil a place to live.” Tennebris paused, nostrils flaring as he calmed himself. “There is no reason,” he said kindly, “that the people of Aberdeen cannot still have a Paradise king to rule them. You could be both king and mage. I could teach you.”

  Hugo shook himself. He was almost listening. Tennebris had become gentle again, like Lux, and he was saying nice things, but it was still Tennebris. “No,” he said softly. Then more firmly, “No.” He stood up as tall as he could, though Tennebris still towered over him. “I don’t want to learn from you. You’ll just make me like you are! I‌—‌I’d rather die.” Hugo took a quick breath, gathering speed. “I heard the witches say you killed Lux, and you killed the Magemother!”

  “Ah,” Tennebris said. “Yes and no. She will die, and I did that, but she is not dead yet. She fled from this place in the form of a magpie.” He took a step and something crunched under his foot with a sickening sound. Hugo looked down at it and felt a little dizzy. The floor was strewn with the bodies of magpies‌—‌there must have been hundreds of them. “Ugh,” he said, reeling. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Yes,” Tennebris agreed, lips curling into a snarl. “The Kutha has been hunting for her.”

  Hugo remembered how he had seen the Kutha attack the magpie in the forest. He felt himself start to sweat. What if that had been the Magemother? “You’re a monster,” he said softly. “You’ll never find her.”

  “Oh, but I will,” Tennebris responded quietly. “Eventually she must return to this place.” With a shout, Tennebris took him by the throat, spinning him around to face the wind-wall. The ancient Wind Mage was still suspended in the midst of it. Animus looked ill, pale, like he was on the verge of death.