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

by Austin J. Bailey

  He raised his hand and lifted a hammer into the air, bringing it down upon the metal disc. It cracked and peeled at the edges, and a thin, dull shell fell away to reveal a shining golden medallion within.

  “Here is today’s work,” he said, dropping the coin into a large leather bag that hung from his desk. “I will have another tomorrow. And another the day after that. Go away and do not disturb my slavery until Shael has finally decided that he has enough of these coins.”

  “He has enough,” March said. She raised her hand and pointed at the shackle around his leg. It fell away with a clatter. “I have been given authority to release you.”

  “Oh?” he said, turning slowly on the spot. He propped his leg up on a stool and began to rub it where the shackle had been. “You have, have you?” His eyes narrowed with new suspicion. “At what cost? What must I do to earn this new mercy?”

  March raised the wand and proffered it to him, and he seemed to notice it for the first time. “Do you still have the power to wield this?” she asked.

  He took it from her slowly and ran a careful hand over the caved creatures on the handle. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I think so.”

  “Come with me, then,” she said. “Help me bring down the mages. Set your haunts on them. Help my father go free, and you will have your freedom.”

  “Just that?” he said. His eyes widened in a look of surprise. “But that isn’t work at all.” He drew the cloak around his shoulders and lifted the hood, shrouding his features in shadow. “Haunting the mages of Aberdeen will be a pleasure.”

  Chapter One

  In which there is a Paradise twin

  In the middle of the night, deep inside Caraway Castle, something was very wrong.

  Brinley shot out of bed as soon as she felt it. She got dressed and gathered the bag that held the things she never let out of her sight—a small crystal knife, a magical vial called a naptrap, a small silver summoning bell, a picture of her mother that she had made, and a small drawing notebook—and ran out the door. This seemed to happen every night now, waking up and searching the castle. Since becoming the Magemother, she found that she had an almost magical instinct whenever something was wrong. That was one of the few real changes she had felt in herself since embracing her new role.

  There was never any telling what her instinct might be alerting her to. One night, a cat had been accidentally caught in a mousetrap. She found it wandering the castle halls in silent pain, dragging the mousetrap along behind it at the end of its tail. On another night, she found one of the cooks crying into an empty soup pot. Anything could happen in a castle at night, and now, it seemed, she was tuned in when things went wrong. She rounded a corner and the feeling of wrongness changed. It was different from the things she had felt before. Urgent. She needed to hurry.

  She entertained the thought of sliding down the handrail of the four-story spiral staircase that led to the lower levels and decided against it. After all, being in a hurry wasn’t reason enough to kill herself. When she reached the main level, one of the night guards nodded to her from his position at the main doors.

  “Is anything the matter?” she asked him.

  “Not here,” he responded, moonlight gleaming off his helmet as he tipped it to her.

  She nodded. No doubt the guards thought her crazy by now, what with her inevitable nightly prowl. She deciding against questioning him further. It was one thing to appear concerned, another to appear crazy or nosy, and she was already prowling the castle alone at night. At least she was dressed this time. The first time, she had run out in only her night shirt.

  She turned slowly, wondering where she should go to find the source of the disturbance. Using a trick she had learned when she found the cat, she closed her eyes and imagined where the trouble was. Darkness and torches filled her mind’s eye, so she took another staircase that led down.

  A minute later she opened a door to a long, dank corridor lit softly by a single flickering torch. At the far end of it, directly across from her, there was a dark iron door with a little window set in the top of it, which could be opened and closed. That door was locked, she knew. She had been here before. She knew what the disturbance must be now. She had wondered how long it would take him to try and break through that door. She was glad that her instincts had led her here before he arrived. As softly as she could, she closed the door to the corridor behind her and nestled herself against the wall off to the side.

  She didn’t have to wait long before she heard soft footsteps approaching. With a small creak, the door swung open, hiding her from view. A boy about her own age stepped through it, his fair hair unkempt, probably from tossing and turning in his bed. He moved cautiously, slowly, without the confident strut that usually accompanied him in the halls of the castle. When he got to the locked door he simply stood there for a minute, staring. She could guess what he might be thinking. No doubt he was imagining the thing on the other side. Perhaps he was wondering whether it was wise for him to take it. He would be weighing the risks, thinking of what had happened to the ones who had come before.

  She put out a hand and the door that hid her swung shut with a click, causing the boy to whirl about.

  “Hi,” Brinley said simply.

  The look of worry melted from Hugo’s face almost at once, replaced by a half smile. “You caught me.”

  Brinley shrugged. Inwardly, she marveled at the change that had taken place in him during the short time they had known each other. Not long ago he would have been angry or scared at being found out like this. He was the prince of Caraway, son of Remy, High King of Aberdeen. There was a time when his pride would have been bruised by a situation like this, but things had changed. She was the Magemother now, and he was a mage. There was respect between them, and friendship, the bond of Magemother to mage.

  Something fluttered out of the shadows behind Hugo, danced around the torchlight, and settled on Brinley’s shoulder.

  “There’s a moth on you,” he said, reaching to brush it away.

  She swatted his hand. “Leave it.”

  He shrugged. “How did you know I would come?”

  She yawned, covering her mouth with a hand. “You had to eventually. Remember that first day? I told you that it would call to you.” Something flashed in Hugo’s eyes. “Has it?” she asked.

  Hugo shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t been able to think about anything else for a couple of days.”

  She nodded and approached the door. He was slightly taller than her, and she had to look up at him. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  Some of the confidence left his face, but he maintained enough composure to nod just before she knocked on the door.

  A small shutter opened behind a pair of vertical iron bars set into the door at eye level, revealing the face of a guard. “My lady?” the guard said, surprised.

  “Sorry for the hour, Captain,” Brinley said as he opened the door. She smiled kindly at him. “Thank you. We will be quite fine now. Please leave us.”

  “As you wish,” the guard said, giving Hugo a small bow as he passed. She ducked inside the room and Hugo followed her, closing the door behind them.

  It was a long, low storage room, packed from corner to corner with hundreds of years of things that nobody could find a place for in the castle above them. In the center of it all, propped against a tall stack of crates, was a long mirror shrouded in a protective cloth.

  Brinley glanced at Hugo, who was staring, transfixed, at the mirror.

  “What happens now?” Hugo asked.

  Brinley’s mouth tightened. She had been wondering the same thing for weeks now, ever since she had made Hugo the Mage of Light and Darkness. She had known, even then, that the darkness, the evil that was trapped in the mirror, would call out to him eventually. It could not stay confined forever—that much she knew. But there were many things that she did not know, like what exactly would happen when the Darkness entered Hugo. As the Mage of Light and Darkness, Hugo was one of the most import
ant mages of Aberdeen, responsible for balancing the forces of good and evil, light and darkness, which flowed through every living creature. He was also the first mage that she, as the Magemother, had commissioned, and every part of his rise to power was going to be a learning experience for both of them.

  “Practice with me one last time,” Brinley said, catching the sleeve of Hugo’s shirt as he moved toward the mirror.

  He sighed. “Melding?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  Hugo closed his eyes and wiggled his shoulders, loosening his neck the way boxers do before a fight. His job was to feel a deep sense of what Animus called “allowing,” something that Hugo had found to be particularly tricky so far. “Okay,” he said.

  Brinley squinted at him. Her job was to focus on him as strongly as possibly, so for her, keeping her eyes open was helpful. She took in every part of him, blond hair, face that looked like a young version of his father’s, eyelids shut gently over eyes the color of the morning sky. She opened her heart to him completely. That was a part of the melding as well, the hardest part.

  As usual, she felt vulnerable when she did it. But this time she felt something else. Something for him, something that she couldn’t quite put a name to. It was part caring, part concern, part worry, all things that a mother would feel for a son, but there were other things, too. A fear of what he might become. A fear of what she might become without him. That part didn’t make any sense. There were other feelings that didn’t make any sense. They made her blush; she wished that they would go away. Beyond any doubt, though, he was a part of her, attached by invisible strings. It was like that with all of the mages, but more so with him.

  For a moment, she was alone in the melding. Then Hugo opened up to her. She closed her eyes and saw the inside of his eyelids, heard the flickering snap of the torch through his ears, heard her own voice say “okay” from a few feet away. Hugo opened his eyes and she saw out of them.

  Hugo looked at her. She wished he wouldn’t do that. It felt strange, looking at herself like that. She knew that if she opened her own eyes she would lose the connection. There was something about looking into herself from two vantage points that boggled her mind. She had tried it once, even though Animus had warned her against it, and won a massive headache in the bargain.

  “I’m ready,” Hugo said. His voice was firm. She could feel the resolve in his heart. He switched off his fearful, doubting thoughts like a light inside himself, and she was jealous at the ability.

  “Do it,” she said, and Hugo raised his hand to the corner of the sheet, tugging it off the mirror with a smooth motion.

  Brinley stared through Hugo’s eyes at the figure waiting for them inside the mirror.

  He stood there like a faceless body of darkness, suspended in the glass. Gently, like smoke bending through the night air, the featureless face shifted into a dark parody of Hugo’s own. Two Paradise princes stood before her now, one dark, the other light, sizing each other up.

  No one spoke.

  Finally the darkness gave a tentative smile. “You have come for me?” it asked softly.

  Hugo said nothing. He took a step forward and leaned in until he and his shadowy twin stood nose to nose. “Do you have a name?” he asked quietly.

  “Let me inside,” the darkness whispered, smiling hungrily. “Let me inside, and I will tell you.”

  Hugo set his jaw stubbornly. “You have no name unless I give you one.”

  The darkness mimicked his frown, but remained silent.

  “You have no life unless I give it to you,” Hugo said. “You have no power unless I give it to you.”

  The darkness lifted an eyebrow and gave a little bow. “As you say.”

  Hugo’s frown deepened. “I will not give in to you like the others did.”

  The darkness gave a knowing smile. “Then you will be the first.” It held out a hand and touched the inside of the mirror. Its palm flattened out like a tiny fog bank against the glassy surface. “Let me in,” it said, “or I will never stop calling to you. Let me in. The world is starving for darkness.”

  Hugo took a long, deep breath before raising his hand to touch the glass opposite the smoky palm. When they met, the darkness shivered. A second later, the shadowy substance that composed its body began shrinking, narrowing, and pushing itself through the face of the mirror and into Hugo’s hand. He thought it was going to take him over, try to control him right away, but it didn’t. It didn’t enter his mind and torture him. It didn’t speak dark things to his heart or conjure up the worst of his memories. He felt nothing.

  Brinley’s eyes met Hugo’s as she slipped out of the meld that had connected them. She felt like she should say something. “I wonder how long it will take,” she said. That was the question: How long before the darkness would try to corrupt him? Was it doing it already? Would he even be able to tell when it started, or would it be so subtle that he wouldn’t be able to tell?

  “I don’t know,” he answered.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I think you’ll notice it when it happens.” She hoped that she was right. “Hugo?”

  “Yeah?” He had a faraway look on his face that Brinley recognized as a sign that his mind was elsewhere—she was getting used to that look by now, spending so much time with Tabitha.

  “Don’t forget about the meeting later.”

  “Yeah,” he said, not looking at her.

  “We’ll have to talk about this there.”

  “I know.” There was a hint of irritation in his voice. No doubt the prospect of telling his father about how the evil of the world had entered him wasn’t a thrilling idea. The king was, as a rule, suspicious of all things magical.

  She grabbed his sleeve, holding him back from the door. “And don’t forget,” she said, “I want you to stay for the whole meeting so that you know what’s going on.” Hugo was famous for sneaking out of meetings, classes, and anything else he was supposed to be at as soon as he got bored.

  He snatched his sleeve away irritably. “I told you I would,” he said. He moved through the doorway, not looking back.

  “Hugo?” she called, hurrying after him. “Do you want me to walk with you? Do you want to talk about what just happened? I mean, it’s kind of a big deal, you know? And I don’t want you to think you’re in this alone. Remember, I’m always here to help. We only have each other, and—oomph!” She ran right into Hugo, who had stopped walking suddenly. He turned slowly, one hand raised in emphasis, the irritation clear on his face. Right away she knew she had gone too far. Boys were so difficult sometimes, especially Hugo. He always wanted to be left alone right when he needed help the most.

  “Brinley,” he said, struggling to keep his voice down. “I know! I know because you keep telling me. I know you’re there for me! But I just want to be alone right now, okay? I just want to think.” He spun back around, the dark train of his shirt billowing gently in his wake. “I’ll see you at the meeting,” he called back, and he turned down a side passage.

  Brinley didn’t know where that went. Definitely not back upstairs. Most likely he would wander the belly of the castle for hours, brewing over his questions and worries alone…Maybe he hadn’t changed that much after all.

  “Go with him, Tabitha,” she said quietly, taking the moth off her shoulder and cradling it in her hands. “Just watch out for him, please. I’m worried about him.”

  The moth fluttered away. Anyone watching might have thought it was a plain old moth (it got sidetracked dancing around the torchlight), but Brinley knew that it would follow her friend in the end, watching him when she could not.

  ***

  When Hugo finally realized that he was getting nowhere trying to make sense of what had happened, he made his way back to his rooms, taking a secret passage and a little-used stairway in order to avoid people. It was still early—at least an hour before the meeting—but the servants would be roaming about now and he wasn’t in the mood to bump into people.

  Unfort
unately for Hugo, the apprentice to the Mage of Wind was lounging on Hugo’s couch (completely uninvited) when he entered his rooms. Hugo didn’t try too hard to hide his irritation. “Don’t ask or anything, Cannon,” he said. “Just come right in whenever you please.”

  Cannon smiled warmly. “Thank you. Tabitha said you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Tabitha?” Hugo asked, looking around for the girl.

  Cannon nodded toward Hugo’s feet, and Hugo looked down to see a small brown rabbit sniffing his boot. The rabbit blinked at him and then erupted, growing skyward at an enormous rate, nose and feet and fluffy tail twisting into human form with a sound like fabric flapping in the breeze. In a moment the rabbit was gone and a girl of about thirteen stood before him. She had eyes the color of fresh tilled earth and a long braid of hair to match. She wore a bright yellow sun dress that made her look altogether older and more put together than the first time he had met her. Back then she had been living alone in her bird tower with little human contact. Now, she was the apprentice to the Mage of Earth as well as the Magemother’s Herald. Her time at the castle had done wonders for her, Hugo thought. Simply being around people had done wonders for her. She looked normal now.