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

by Austin J. Bailey

  “What do you think?” Brinley said, turning her drawing around and glancing up at Tabitha.

  Tabitha was fishing for something in her coat, and froze as a large belching croak echoed out of it.

  “Tabitha!” Brinley said. “What on earth do you have in there?”

  Tabitha looked startled, but quickly brightened. “This is as good a time as any,” she said. “Look who I brought, Brinley! It was going to be a surprise, but, well, surprise!” And she stuck her hand into one of the larger pockets, withdrawing a very fat and dizzy-looking toad. “This is Miah,” she said. “Short for Jeremiah.” She gave the toad a sympathetic look. “Doesn’t like his real name at all, poor thing, so I had to shorten it.” She placed him on the bed theatrically, and he flopped over sideways.

  “Tabitha,” Brinley said slowly, keeping her eyes on the creature. “Why do you have a toad?”

  “To cheer you up,” Tabitha said brightly. “I remembered how you told me about the frogs where you come from and, well, I couldn’t find any frogs that wanted to come, but toads are always keen for a good journey and they don’t mind bouncing around a bit inside a coat and—”

  “Tabitha.”

  Tabitha nodded several times and then threw her arms in the air, dropping into a straddle and bellowing in her most enthusiastic singsong voice, “We’re going to teach him ginastics!”

  Brinley grinned. “Gymnastics,” she corrected.

  “Oh,” Tabitha said. “Yes, that. I know how you’ve always wanted to, and I’ve been practicing my Toadish just so I can translate for you. Your dream’s finally going to come true, Brinley!”

  Brinley stared at her in amazement and then their eyes went to the toad together. He attempted to sit up, belching loudly again, then swayed on the spot and toppled over.

  He was asleep as soon as he hit the covers.

  Chapter Eight

  In which Hugo hits an old man with a stick

  On the fourth day of their travels, Hugo shook Animus awake in the early hours of the morning.

  “What time is it?” Animus said. “Is something wrong?” He squinted at the brightening sky. The sun was not quite up, and the moon was not quite down.

  “No,” Hugo said. “I heard it. I heard it, Animus!”

  Animus smiled, got to his feet, and began to pack up their campsite. “Tell me,” he said.

  Hugo recounted the story. He had awakened several minutes earlier with his eyes locked on the moon. It looked incredibly large to him when he woke; the moon had filled his whole vision, as if he could have reached out and touched it. “And then I heard it,” he said. “I didn’t realize what it was at first. I thought it was just the sound of my own head, you know? It was beautiful. Like a wind chime—no, it wasn’t like that. It was like, like…” he trailed off, at a complete loss for words.

  “Like a glass violin,” Animus offered, nodding knowingly. “But as bright as a bell.”

  Hugo’s expression went blank as he remembered it. “Yes,” he said. “That’s it exactly. Animus, how did you know that?”

  “Lux described it to me once. Did it change when the sun came out?”

  “Yeah—yes,” Hugo said. “It sounded different when the sunlight started to brighten the sky. Quieter…almost sad.”

  Animus nodded. “You have done well. But moonlight is the easiest to hear. When you train your mind to be quiet enough to hear the sunlight, you may begin to learn to feel it as well, and use its power. That is your next assignment.”

  “Fine,” Hugo said, rolling up his blanket. “But you have to help me with something else first.”

  “Oh? What is that?”

  Hugo held up two long sticks.

  ***

  “Is this really necessary?” Cannon asked, holding one of the sticks before him with disdain. “Animus, I demand to know why you insist on subjecting me to this.”

  “Because I do,” Animus said simply, settling himself down beside their little cookfire and checking on his tea.

  Hugo grinned and Cannon swallowed whatever retort he had been preparing.

  “It’s all in the footwork,” Hugo said, dancing around to illustrate. “Though you shouldn’t let me hit you, either.”

  “Indeed,” Cannon said, and without further ado lunged at Hugo, swinging the stick harder than was really necessary.

  “Hey!” Hugo exclaimed, dancing away from the tip of Cannon’s stick. Then he was laughing, parrying Cannon’s blows easily. He went on the offensive then, smiling at how effortless it was to control the fight. It wasn’t much of a challenge. He could tell that he would beat Cannon quickly if he gave it his full effort, but he wanted to drag this out as long as he could. Cannon’s face had broken into a sweat, and Hugo was pushing him back, forcing him towards the cookfire.

  “Hugo,” Animus warned. “If you make him spill my tea…” He raised a threatening finger and Hugo got the message, swooping around Cannon in an attempt to disarm him instead. Cannon, to Hugo’s surprise, moved away in time to avoid him.

  “Very good,” Hugo said, grinning.

  “Don’t patronize me,” Cannon said, and he lunged at Hugo, attacking with a haphazard barrage of downward cuts. Hugo had to concentrate a bit harder to parry them all, and the last one caught him slightly by surprise, unbalancing him. An overpowering gust of wind struck him broadside at that moment, sending the stick out of his hand and flinging his body to the ground.

  Hugo gasped for breath, looking around in the grass for his stick and trying to ignore the sound of Cannon chuckling. “Hey,” he said, getting to his feet, “no powers.”

  Cannon shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Hugo picked up his stick, flashed Cannon a friendly smile and then darted forward, unleashing a series of jabs in quick succession and forcing Cannon to retreat again. Hugo didn’t hold anything back this time, and in a matter of seconds he was holding both of the sticks while Cannon stood there, empty-handed.

  Animus laughed and slapped his thigh enthusiastically, nearly spilling his tea. “A good lesson for you, my apprentice,” he said. “It seems that you do not know everything after all. Not yet, at least.”

  Cannon flopped beside the fire and poured himself a cup of tea, grumbling something under his breath.

  “What’s that?” Animus asked pleasantly.

  Cannon glanced at his master out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t suppose you could show me how it’s done?”

  Animus sipped at his tea. “I daresay, I could,” he said. “But I will refrain.”

  Cannon nodded knowingly. “Of course,” he said. “No doubt you’re feeling a bit unsteady at your age, master. We wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

  Animus frowned. “Point your manipulation elsewhere, young man.”

  “Oh, come on,” Hugo said. “I’m just getting warmed up. One of you has to give me another bout. Please? I promise I’ll whine all day if you don’t.”

  “Oh, very well,” Animus said. “Though I daresay you’ll whine all day anyway.” He stood and stretched so that his back popped in several places. He walked over to Hugo and took a stick, whispering under his breath as he did so. “I really am too old for things like this, Hugo. Not that I ever had much interest in them. I pray, do not injure me too badly.”

  Hugo held his own stick up enthusiastically. It felt good to use his muscles for something other than walking. It was awfully sporting for Animus to join in the fun, but he would have to be careful not to injure the old man. He lunged at the mage, who sidestepped with more dexterity than Hugo expected and knocked him on the back of the head.

  “Ow!” Hugo said in surprise.

  Animus shrugged. “I said I was uninterested, not ignorant.”

  Hugo smiled, bringing his stick around again and advancing more carefully. “When did you learn swordplay?” he asked.

  “Long ago,” Animus said. “Gadjihalt taught me. We were good friends in those days.”

  Hugo’s sword arm went limp in surprise and Animus smacked his left
knee sharply.

  “Ouch! Wait—Gadjihalt? The Betrayer? You knew him?”

  Animus raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

  “But then, how old are you?” Hugo said. “I mean, I knew you were old, but…”

  Cannon snorted from the direction of the fire. “Subtle.”

  Animus raised his stick again and Hugo countered the attack. “I was born,” Animus said, “just before the first Paradise king.” He smiled reminiscently. “When Gadjihalt taught me the sword, I was still a young man. Not yet twenty years old—barely more than a child, and not yet an apprentice to the Mage of Wind. Gadjihalt was the first knight of King Rhendin Paradise. That was many years before he betrayed the king.”

  “Wow,” Hugo mumbled, trying to count the years. Animus really was old.

  Animus struck him another blow on the arm. “Focus.”

  “How exactly did Gadjihalt betray the king?” Hugo asked. “You must know. The history books never say. They all avoid the subject, like it’s something you should not speak of.”

  “True enough,” Animus said. “What do you know already?”

  “I know that he was Rhendin’s most trusted knight, and that he betrayed him to Shael. He let him into the city, I think. Opened the gate and just let Shael’s army in. But I don’t understand why he would do that. Was he always evil? Oh, sorry.” He had slipped past Animus’s guard and knocked him a firm blow in the ribs.

  Animus stopped to rub the spot, leaning on his stick. “No,” he said, “I think not. But he always had his own demons…Shael had great power then. He made Gadjihalt an offer that he couldn’t refuse.”

  Hugo sat on the ground to stretch. He was breathing hard. “What was it?”

  “Eternal life.”

  Hugo stopped, glancing up. “Really?

  Animus shrugged. “That he actually had it in his power to give, I doubt. But it was just the thing that would twist Gadjihalt’s mind, play off his demons. His parents died when he was young, you see—in a fire, I believe. I do not think that he ever overcame the pain of their passing, the pain that death had brought into his life. The fear of death is common, but Gadjihalt was uncommonly afraid.”

  Hugo nodded. “Is he still alive?”

  “Very likely. He became Shael’s most trusted servant, and the leader of his armies during the war. If he is still alive, he must be feeling his age, as Shael would not be able to sustain whatever spell kept Gadjihalt young from inside his prison. I expect that he is hiding somewhere in the Wizard’s Ire. He was wounded, I believe, when he defeated the dragon, Kuzo. As far as I know, he has not left the Ire since then.”

  “He killed a dragon?” Hugo said, looking impressed.

  Animus looked sorrowful. “Yes…the last dragon. He came one day, to avenge the death of his companion, who died at the hands of Shael. Gadjihalt killed him, so the rumor goes. How, I cannot imagine…but then there was never another fighter that could match Gadjihalt’s skill.

  Hugo was frowning. “I still don’t understand how he broke his vow of loyalty to King Rhendin. Even in those days the knights took oaths to the king, didn’t they? And sacred oaths to the king are binding. They have magic in them. There are other knights in history who broke their oaths—lied to the king and other stuff—and died on the spot. Why didn’t his oath bind him?”

  Animus held up a finger. “That was the most troublesome part, especially to Rhendin. However, such magic has little to do with the wind, and as such I am not an expert. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that Shael was powerful enough to protect Gadjihalt from the effects of breaking his oath. But, if that is true, while Shael’s imprisonment keeps his magic at bay, then Gadjihalt may indeed be dead, or at least suffering greatly.”

  Hugo shivered. “I don’t like the idea of knights being able to betray the king.”

  Animus laughed. “I should think not, seeing as how you will be the king someday.” He tossed the stick aside and rubbed his ribs again. “That will have to be enough. An old man can only take so many bruises.” Animus shouldered his pack. “I have enjoyed our conversation, but in the best interest of my feet, I think we need silence again. You should practice listening to the sun. There is still the matter of learning to travel like a proper mage.”

  Chapter Nine

  In which Tabitha is mistaken for dinner

  Brinley walked through a land of endless lakes. They looked golden in the evening light as the sun hit them from a steep angle. Why was she alone? How did she get here? She couldn’t remember. All she remembered was that she was looking for Unda.

  She came up to the edge of an especially large lake and brushed the surface of the water. “Unda?” she called. Nothing happened. Then hands shot out of the water, grabbed her, and pulled her under before she could scream.

  The water changed to leaves and she climbed out of a tall pile beneath a giant oak. Why was she in the leaves? She couldn’t remember.

  She heard a tapping sound and went to investigate. She found Lignumis next to a horrible, black, twisted tree. He was cutting a thin shaving of wood from the tree with a silver knife. “What are you doing?” she asked. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  “I had to,” he said, not looking up at her. “You’re not doing anything, so I had to.”

  “No,” she pleaded. “Come back with me.” She glanced back at the woods behind her, looking for a safe path out, but the forest was gone.

  She saw a silver orb shine through the darkness. It swung back and forth before her, and then it swung away. Her father was standing there behind it, calling for her. He couldn’t see her, couldn’t hear her. She ran to him, but as she ran she began to shrink. The closer she got to him, the smaller she became. She was the size of a football, a baseball, a plum, a toothpick. When she was the size of an ant, someone scooped her into a small crystal vial. It was the man with the head of a snake that she had seen in Habis’s kitchen. He corked the end of the vial and held her up, bringing her close to his beady black eye. “Let me in,” he said. Then he dropped the vial and she fell into oblivion.

  Brinley jolted awake. Her body was covered in cold sweat and she was breathing hard.

  “It was just a dream,” she told herself. “Just a dream.” She forced herself to lie back down and found herself staring at Unda’s painting on the ceiling above her. She and Tabitha had decided to sleep in Unda’s bed, but she wished they hadn’t; it was small and hard, and Tabitha moved around and made small animal noises in her sleep. She wondered how Unda got any sleep at all. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just lay there and thought about deep things and wrote in his journals.

  She stared at the lake above her, wondering where it might be. She took a few moments to contact the mages and share the image with them, but nobody recognized it, not even Belterras. She didn’t know what to do next. Fly all over Aberdeen looking for a phantom lake, she guessed.

  What she needed was some direction.

  She closed her eyes as the images from her dream came back to her. Did they mean anything? Were these the visions she was supposed to receive? She dismissed the thought. Most likely it was just a dream, a nightmare like any other. She shivered, remembering how it felt to be trapped in that tiny vial. Without thinking, she pulled the crystal vial out of her bag and turned it over in her hand. Was she still alive in there? She shook her head.

  I have to stop thinking like that, she thought, and returned the vial to her bag. As she did so, her fingers brushed something. It was the button that Maggie had given her. She smiled faintly at it, and then her smile disappeared. Winter was coming. It would bring the cold southern winds down the streets of Caraway, into Maggie’s shack. Then the snow would come. How had she survived for so many years on her own? Surely it could not have been comfortable. She wished there was something she could do. She was supposed to look out for people in need. Her jaw tensed. She couldn’t even get that part right.

  She rolled out of bed and followed her feet out of Unda’s chambers. Wandering alone seemed like th
e thing to do, especially since she couldn’t get anything else right. Aimless wandering was a hard thing to mess up.

  As she walked, she became vaguely aware that a deep part of her must have accepted the castle as home. It was the only thing that accounted for her being so comfortable in it. Eventually, she stumbled out of her thoughts and realized that she had found her way into the Magemother’s throne room. It was a beautiful space with tall ceilings and the same polished glass floor that ran through the rest of the castle. On the opposite end of the room, behind the Magemother’s throne, a waterfall of light fell from the ceiling.

  She looked around warily. The last time she had been in here, she had not been alone. Her mother had been there, and Habis, and Hugo…and Tennebris. She shook her head, dismissing the memory. He was dead now. Hugo was the new Mage of Light and Darkness, and he was okay. The darkness was still in check.

  She strode across the room then, realizing why she had come. What she needed was some direction. She walked into the strands of falling light and closed her eyes at the sensation. Everything bad fell away from her, and she realized that just by living, she had acquired some sort of mortal tarnish made of fear and loneliness.

  She breathed deeply. Her body felt warm and strong. Her mind was sharp, clear. She opened her eyes to a strange scene. A chestnut horse stood beside her, and a road stretched ahead. On the far side of the road, across from her, there was a black rider on a black horse. His head was covered, his face veiled. He gestured to her, indicating that she should mount the horse to her side.

  She closed her eyes. This was not what she wanted. She wanted to speak with the gods. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of this earlier. She wanted to ask them what she should do. She focused on that thought, prayed that as she opened her eyes again the horse and rider would be gone, that she would see the golden room and archway like she had last time. But it was not to be. The black rider still stared at her from beneath his hood.