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

by Austin J. Bailey

  The feeling followed him. He was still being watched. But who could follow him in the air? Who could track him at this speed? He passed a colony of gulls and wondered if his pursuer was among them. Hiding in plain sight, perhaps? That could explain it. A bird or a gnat—a bug clinging to his own coat—such things might follow him without his being aware. But that would mean a shape changer, and no shape changers with such skill had been heard of since the Janrax, that miserable fallen wizard that had been banished to the Wizard’s Ire all those years ago. It was doubtful that he was still alive, and even more doubtful that he still retained such powers since the gods had stripped them from him. But Animus could not think of who else might be chasing him.

  He neared the mountain and sped toward the tall stone bridge at its base. He passed over it and emerged several hundred miles to the south, in Ninebridge, and felt the eyes on him again. He dropped out of the wind and turned just in time to see a small red-tailed hawk emerging from the mist. It glanced at him and dove out of sight behind the bridge. Animus leapt into the air again and raced up a different bridge. It took him to the Magisterium. That was good. Belterras was there. Perhaps the other mage would be able to shed some light on his problem, sense what creature was tracking him. At the very least it might be better to face this adversary with Belterras by his side than to do it alone.

  He soared over the crowded city toward the high peaks and towers of the Magisterium, trusting that the hawk would follow him. Belterras would be in the highest tower, where the birds came to feed and rest and share what news they gathered in their travels. Apart from a convenient place to gather information, Belterras liked to take his young apprentice there for lessons when she was not busy with her duties as the Magemother’s Herald.

  Animus landed lightly on the small stone balcony and a dozen birds rustled their feathers and turned in his direction. One of them, a bright blue swallow, turned into the Mage of Earth and tapped his apprentice on the shoulder to get her attention.

  “Greetings,” Animus said hoarsely. “I apologize for disturbing your lesson.”

  The other two must have sensed his distress, for Tabitha did not greet him in her usual jovial fashion, and Belterras said bluntly, “I thought you would be in Calderon. What’s wrong?”

  Animus frowned. “I stopped by the Rift on my way, as you requested.”

  Belterras settled onto a barrel of birdseed and folded his arms tensely. He had sensed strange activity among the animals there and asked Animus to investigate. “What did you find?” he said, voice low.

  Animus described the encounter.

  “A shape-shifter?” Belterras asked when he had finished. “And you think it was following you?”

  “I know it was,” Animus said. “I thought it would follow me all the way here, but it seems to have given up for now.”

  “Well, that is worrisome.”

  “Why?” Tabitha said.

  Animus’s lips twitched in a smile beneath his white beard. “I am not a particularly easy person to track when I want to go unnoticed. I have not known many who can find me when I don’t want to be seen, let alone chase me across the kingdom.”

  Animus and Belterras exchanged a look, and Belterras said, “It could not be him, surely?”

  “Who?” Tabitha said, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

  Animus pursed his lips. “The idea of him operating again is disturbing, but not impossible. He could have survived these long years and recovered something of his power. Shael may have even aided him on that journey. If that is so, then it is likely that our greatest enemy has gained another faithful servant.”

  “Who?” Tabitha demanded. “Who are you talking about?”

  Belterras grimaced. “A frightening thought.” He glanced at Tabitha. “I think it best you return to the Magemother.” He hesitated, watching Animus. “Is it wise for her to leave after this new development?”

  Animus considered him. “Who can say? Either way, her Herald should be with her.” He looked pointedly at Tabitha, and the girl threw her arms in the air in defeat.

  “Fine!” she exclaimed. “Don’t tell me what’s going on, but you’ll have to tell Brinley, and she’ll have to tell me.” She crossed to the balcony and stepped off of it into the air. Her arms became sleek black wings as she spread them, flapping twice to lift her into the sky.

  Belterras cleared his throat. “You think the Janrax has come back, Animus? You think he is after us? Come to weaken us before Shael’s armies invade?”

  “That is what I think,” Animus confirmed. “Weaken us. Kill us if he can…that is what I would be doing if I were him.”

  Belterras shivered at the thought. “If I remember correctly, he has a reputation for being coy. Cowardly, even. He might not attack us outright.”

  “Perhaps not,” Animus said. “But he has other means of harm. Some of them are worse than a knife in the dark. Evil spirits do his bidding, or did once. He set them on his prey like dogs upon a fox. Hunting them. Weaseling his way into their heads, haunting them until their minds unraveled.”

  Belterras picked up a small yellow bird from a rafter pensively. “Very unpleasant,” he said. “Very unpleasant indeed. We should take precautions.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Animus agreed. “We can hunt him together now, if you dare. I shall attempt to lure him away. I cannot sense him now, but unless I miss my guess, he is near, hiding, waiting for us to move. If he follows me, you can track him from behind. Perhaps together we can force him to reveal himself.”

  “Very well,” Belterras said. “Go, then. I will follow shortly.” He looked quite pale, and Animus couldn’t help smiling fondly at him. Belterras was brave, but he had never been quite comfortable with fighting. He was rarely even caught in an argument, and would much rather make his enemies a nice meal and attempt to win them over than meet them on the field of battle.

  “Thank you, my friend,” Animus said, and he was gone.

  Animus was halfway back to Ninebridge when he realized that Belterras was not following. Before he could turn back, he heard Belterras’s voice enter his mind, high and panicked.

  He is here, Animus!

  He was back at the tower in a matter of moments, but he was still too late. Whoever had been there was gone, and Belterras was kneeling on the floor in the tower while birds spun and whirled around him in a confused cloud of feathers and squawks. Animus waved a hand and the birds were blown back to their roosts, ruffling their feathers in protest.

  “Belterras,” Animus said, but the other mage did not respond. His eyes were shut tight, his hands still raised against an unseen foe, and he was muttering softly in some language of bird or beast that Animus did not understand.

  Animus snapped his fingers before the other mage’s face, then reached out with his thoughts, shouting with his mind.

  Belterras!

  Belterras’s eyes snapped open, focused on Animus’s face for a moment, and then closed again, muttering all the while.

  Animus took a step back and peered at the birds around him. Was the attacker still among them, watching even now? It seemed unlikely, but anything was possible.

  “You,” he said, pointing to a particularly fast-looking swallow. “Go and fetch Tabitha. Be quick. This man deserves all the speed that you can summon.”

  Whether the bird actually understood his words or just guessed his meaning, it sped out of the tower.

  Animus reached out with his mind to call the Magemother then. She was the one that Belterras needed. If anyone could enter his mind and bring him to safety, it would be her. Strangely, he found their connection blocked, as if her mind had been hidden from him. Or perhaps it was he who had been hidden from her. But what could this mean? Was it connected with the attack on Belterras? Was she in danger as well? He had to know. He reached into the pocket of his robes, withdrawing something that glinted in the morning light. Fortunately there were more ways than one to summon the Magemother.

  Stepping to the e
dge of the room, he lifted a little silver bell into the air and rang it.

  ***

  The Magemother paused at the top of the Bridge to Nowhere and dangled her foot over the edge. If she had been on one of the other eight magical bridges, she would be facing a gray curtain of mist which would transport her to another place when she walked through it, but the Bridge to Nowhere was broken: bricks knocked loose, jagged edges jutting out into space as if some giant in ages past had brought his hammer down upon it. She wondered what lay in wait for her in the world beyond.

  As soon as she finished the thought, a figure appeared in the air before her—a man with the head of a snake. “Death,” he rasped, as if in answer, and then vanished as easily as if he had never been there at all.

  She jumped back from the edge and swallowed a scream. It was the same snake-man who had appeared in her dreams the day before, but she was not dreaming now. Was this snake-man real or not? What was he doing outside of her dreams? Even setting that matter aside, she was about to do something that had, as far as she knew, never been done before. She was going to cross the Bridge to Nowhere. She was going to jump off it, really. She gulped and looked over the edge. According to Tobias, that was the way you crossed it. The danger of the drop, he claimed, functioned quite nicely to keep out trespassers.

  From behind her, the Swelter Cat purred and wrapped his tail around her calf. “Are you ready yet, or have you just come to fret?”

  “Did you follow me here?” she asked crossly, not at all surprised. “Yes, we’re going, but not until this afternoon after the meeting.”

  The cat coughed impatiently, then sat down and preened a paw. She checked the sun’s position in the sky, making a point of ignoring him. The camp would be just starting breakfast now. She glanced at the field below. It stretched away from the houses and buildings of Ninebridge to the stone bridges that ringed the city, and today it was dotted with dozens of tents. Five kings had come at her summons. She had much to tell them, much for them to do if they were going to save Aberdeen from destruction.

  Something in the abyss behind her made her turn—a hint of movement. “What was that?” she asked the Swelter Cat, but it was her turn to be ignored. She shifted uneasily, and her foot nudged a pebble off the edge. She counted as it fell: one, two, three, four, five, and then it was lost in the darkness. Her head spun as she realized how high up she was.

  Suddenly her head felt as if it was being split open with the sound of Belterras screaming.

  Animus! He is here!

  She reached out for the Mage of Earth, connecting with his thoughts. He was panicked.

  What is it, Belterras? she asked. Are you all right?

  But Belterras drew away from her thoughts. That was odd. Why had she not been paying better attention to him? As Magemother it was her responsibility to look after the mages of Aberdeen—help them, serve them, protect them—but she was barely used to it yet. The power that let her join with their minds still felt unnatural to her, and she knew she didn’t use it as often as she should. She reached for it now, throwing her mind across the miles between them and searching for his. She found him, but before she could speak to him a mental barrier shot up between them. The force of it nearly knocked her off her feet. Eyes closed, she steadied herself against the side of the bridge.

  She felt her way toward Belterras a second time, but the barrier blocked her. She tried to circumvent it, but it went on forever. Leaving him for a moment, she turned to the other mages. In an instant, she felt them all. Animus was racing to Belterras’s aid. Cassis and Unda were on the field below, preparing for the meeting. They seemed not to have heard Belterras’s cry. Chantra was in Maggie’s cottage in the woods near Cornith. Habis was there with her, trying to force a healing tonic down her throat (it tasted like liquid spinach). Brinley could feel it running down Chantra’s throat as if she were swallowing it herself. Hugo, she could not feel. She had expected that; he was locked in the Panthion, the magical prison box built to hold the evil wizard Shael.

  She felt a painful tightening in her chest at the thought of him in there, at the fact that she was powerless to help. She winced, then pushed the thought aside, searching for the last mage. Where was Lignumis? She had not been able to feel him since he had come out of the Wizard’s Ire yesterday. She had tried once, when he was standing right in front of her, and still she could not touch his mind. She could sense his existence, his life, but she could not feel his location or touch his thoughts. Even now, when she knew he must be down on the field with the others, she could not find him—an effect, no doubt, of Lignumis’s long stay in the Ire. She could not think of what else it could be. One by one she reached for the mages again, reassuring herself that they were safe. Last of all she returned to Belterras. The wall was still there.

  She felt a sudden rage growing in her, furious that something could block her from one of her mages, terrified that whatever it was might be her fault. She gathered her anger and her questions and bound them together with a steel intention, then flung her improvised mental spear at the wall with all the force that she could muster.

  When she touched the wall, it expanded, shooting skyward and obscuring her inner vision. The edges flew across the corners of her mind until one by one the other mages were hidden from her view as well, and she was left alone.

  She gasped and toppled forward to her hands and knees. Gone. Gone. They were all gone! No…that couldn’t be. With an effort, she stilled her mind. They were still there. They had to be. She just couldn’t feel them. She closed her eyes again and the wall was gone. At least, she could not see it. But neither could she feel the mages. What was happening to her?

  Suddenly the air around her was rent by the sound of a bell. The bridge, the cat, and the sky spun away in a flash, and she found herself lying on the floor of a familiar tower full of birds.

  Animus stood over her, reaching down to help her up.

  “Magemother,” he said, lifting her to her feet. They were inside Tabitha’s old bird tower at the Magisterium, she realized in a daze. She put her hands to the side of her head to make the room stop spinning. She never got used to traveling by means of the summoning bell. As soon as she could see straight, she spotted the fallen mage.

  “What happened to him?” she asked.

  “Attacked,” Animus replied. “Something has gotten inside his head that should not be there.”

  Brinley felt a chill run down her spine, remembering the snake-man that had troubled her own thoughts. He had appeared in her mind yesterday, and she had not felt quite right since. She shrugged the feeling aside. She needed to focus on Belterras. She put a hand on his head and bent closer to listen to the words that he was now only whispering. “What is he saying?” she asked.

  “Some language of the birds, I think,” Animus said. “He has been muttering since I found him.”

  She closed her eyes and let her mind drift toward his, but she quickly struck a wall. It felt different than it had before. Warm, now that she was near him, a living thing instead of the cold stones that had blocked her path from a distance.

  “Yes,” Animus said, as if he had read her thoughts. “He is blocking everything out.”

  “Animus,” Brinley said. “Is it just around him? I mean, can you still feel the other mages?”

  Animus’s brows knitted together. “Can you not?”

  There was a rustle of wings and cloth behind them, and Tabitha said breathlessly, “What happened?”

  “He is all right as yet,” Animus said, holding up a hand for silence. “Only do not touch him. Not yet.” He turned back to Brinley. “I cannot reach him. Try again. I think that if anyone can get in, it will be you.”

  Brinley closed her eyes and struck out toward the wall again. She pictured it clearly in her mind’s eye and imagined walking around it with one hand on the smooth, warm surface. She looked for a way in, but the wall seemed to rise up forever. She put her ear to it and discovered that it was soft to the touch and held the
noises of Belterras’s own body: the steady thrum of a heartbeat, the rhythmic rush of air as he breathed in and out.

  She continued to circle the wall. When she reached the opposite side she stopped dead. A man with the head of a jackal, dressed in black, was swinging a pick viciously, carving a deep gash into the side of Belterras’s mind-wall. He looked, from the neck down, not unlike her own snake-head ghost. He glanced up from his work in surprise as Brinley neared him. He turned to her as if to ask a question, but then stopped. A confident smile spread across his face and he resumed. Tiny pieces of Belterras’s mind fell from the end of his pick and bounced across the ground.

  Brinley screamed and rushed at him, determined to stop him from harming Belterras, but he simply laughed and stepped out of reach. When he moved, something like a hammer formed itself out of the side of Belterras’s mind-wall and struck the jackal-headed man across the face. Then the wall rippled around the gash that he had made, filling it in. He cursed and spun back around, hacking at it again.

  “Stop!” Brinley shouted, but the man ignored her. A hand clamped down on her shoulder from behind. She twisted and found herself face to face with the snake-head man. Brinley’s heart skipped a beat at the look in his eye: malevolent and cold, like he knew that in this moment he was in complete control of her. Even more terrifying was her realization that it was true. She couldn’t move. If she could only open her eyes, she thought, she might be able to break out of this dreamy thought realm, but even that was beyond her power.

  A thin smile spread across the man’s face. It looked out of place beneath his dead, glassy eyes. “I will not permit you to help him,” he said.

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer. Brinley searched her memories of their previous meeting. What had he said then? He had seemed less real then. Less dangerous. But now he had bound her. Something else was hurting Belterras. Was it her fault that Belterras was in danger?

  “Who are you?” she asked.