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

by Austin J. Bailey

  “I won’t be able to sleep.”

  “Neither will I,” she admitted.

  They both turned to glance at Tobias, who let out a loud, snore-like purr.

  “Do you really think Lignumis is…” she couldn’t finish the thought.

  “I don’t know,” He tossed a pebble into the water and they watched a hundred stars bob up and down on the rippling surface. “Something is wrong with him. That’s why I came.”

  “He can’t get his power back,” Brinley said. “That’s why I brought him.”

  Unda’s hand froze in midair. He dropped the pebble that he was about to throw and laid his hands in his lap. “I don’t know if I trust him less because of that, or more. I remember, all that time my power was gone, my greatest fear was that I would never get it back.”

  Brinley bit her lip, looking for something to say.

  “I know,” he said. “It sounds bad, talking like that. But it’s the truth. Anyway, if Lignumis is who he claims to be, then he’s living out my own nightmare. If he’s the Janrax…well…no wonder he can’t receive a mage’s power.”

  Brinley nodded. She reached out to touch Unda’s mind but felt nothing. No walls this time, no prison, just emptiness. It felt like some part of her had died. An image of the snake-head man flashed in her mind and she pushed it away.

  She pulled out her sketchbook and began to draw Unda beside the lake. She needed to relax. She needed to think. No. She needed to stop thinking. She drew and drew, but it wasn’t working. Everywhere she turned, her mind came back to Lignumis. Even the sketch that she had made of Unda looked more like the Mage of Wood.

  She curled up on the ground behind Unda, feeling tired at last. Her mood had improved too, she noticed. Maybe in the morning she could have some time alone with Lignumis. She would try to go into his mind the way that she had gone into Belterras’s. Maybe there was something there that had slipped out of place, some part of himself that he was hiding from. She remembered when she too had been hiding from her power, her responsibilities. She had actually become invisible trying to hide from herself! Lignumis couldn’t be as bad off as she had been. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

  Chapter Nine

  In which Hugo has very bad luck

  Hugo knelt within the lonely cell of his own mind, powerless to stop what his body was doing as Molad spoke with Shael. Previously, when Molad had taken control of their body, Hugo had awakened afterward with no memory of the experience. Was it his growing awareness of the struggle between them that was allowing him to remain conscious now, or was it just some kind of fluke? Either way, he wasn’t complaining. This way, he could try to take action. He might be able to fight back as Molad often did with him.

  The strength of his mental prison seemed to vary as Molad’s self-control grew or waned. Sometimes, when Shael said something that confused or upset him, Hugo caught glimpses of what was going on outside. He would hear the conversation for a moment and see through Molad’s eyes. But then all would be black again. There was no major lapse in Molad’s self-control until sometime later, when he was leading Cannon toward the dungeon at sword-point. Gradually, the foggy black walls of Hugo’s prison brightened, and he began to see what Molad saw.

  “So, Mr. Poopy Pants,” Cannon was saying casually, “You and me again, just like old times.”

  “Quiet,” Molad grunted.

  “I do have to ask,” Cannon went on. “Is this really your master plan? You’re going to be Shael’s new servant? His puppet, with no will of your own, attending to menial chores?”

  “Shut up and walk,” Molad said, but Hugo felt anger spike in his mind. The world became even clearer then, and Hugo wondered if Cannon was doing this on purpose.

  “I expect that he’ll have you scrubbing the latrines next,” Cannon said. “Make sure you don’t fall in. You wouldn’t want to get any poopier than you already are…”

  Molad bristled with anger and poked Cannon in the back with his sword, making Cannon hop and slip on the stairs. Hugo could now see the details of the torchlit stairs that they descended and the little blossom of blood under Cannon’s shirt where Molad had poked him. They weren’t alone, he saw; there were two guards, one in front and one behind them. Shael wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Shael will teach me how to rid myself of Hugo,” Molad said. “That is why he brought me here. He told me so.”

  Didn’t you hear? Hugo said in Molad’s mind. There is no getting rid of each other. I mean, there is a way for me to get rid of you, technically, if I want to sacrifice myself and ruin the world. But I’m afraid you’re just stuck with me.

  “Silence!” Molad said, and Cannon turned curiously.

  “I didn’t say anything.” He gave Molad a shrewd look as the front guard pulled him roughly down the stairs. The chains that bound his hands and feet clanked loudly against stone as he stumbled. “You hear him in your mind, don’t you? Like he could hear you? He must be getting strong to affect you here, in the heart of darkness.”

  Hugo felt a surge of hope at Cannon’s words, and Molad kicked Cannon in the back, which caused him to stumble into the front guard and knock them both over.

  “Ouch!” Cannon shouted. He got to his feet with difficulty and shoved the guard back down. “Do you have any brains at all, Mr. Poopy Pants? Or is your head full of wax?” Cannon stopped suddenly and looked up. “Or is it full of something else? I mean, just think about your pants…”

  It was the last straw. Screaming in fury, Molad dropped his sword and grabbed Cannon by the throat with both hands, pinning him against the wall.

  “Hugo,” Cannon said with difficulty, straining in Molad’s hands. “Now!”

  While Molad’s anger mounted, Hugo had found his cell walls growing thinner and thinner. At the same time, the world outside felt closer and closer, as if he might reclaim control over his body with enough willpower. Now, at Cannon’s words, he threw the full force of his mind against Molad, straining to feel his body again, to control it.

  Molad caught on to the coup in his mind just in time to stop Hugo from regaining control in one fell swoop, but the battle was by no means over. Their body, having no clear master, was rendered momentarily powerless, and slumped to the floor.

  Cannon scooped up Hugo’s sword awkwardly with his shackled hands and then dropped painfully onto his backside to avoid a lunge from the rear guard. Luckily, the guard tripped over him in the scuffle, and Cannon caught him in the shins with the tip of the blade, causing him to howl and topple down the stairs, knocking the second guard off balance with his fall. Abandoning the sword, Cannon took the second guard by the helmet and smacked his head against the wall three times in quick succession, hoping that the resulting clanging noises would not attract more soldiers. The guard groaned and slumped over sideways, and Cannon retrieved the keys from his belt.

  He unlocked the shackles on his wrists and ankles as quickly as he could, then glanced around to get his bearings. They were almost to the dungeons, so they didn’t want to go farther down. There were guards coming down from above; he could hear their boots on the stairs (probably due to all that helmet clanging). The wall to one side was solid stone, and the windows on the other side looked down over a river, thirty feet below them. They might survive that drop, but then again, they might not. Above him, Hugo was still sprawled across the stairs where he had fallen. He was staring blankly into space.

  “Hugo?” Cannon said. “What do you think of our options? Are you back? Or are you still busy in there?”

  Hugo’s eyes flutered closed at the sound of Cannon’s voice.

  “Bother,” Cannon muttered, hurrying to his side. He hefted his friend onto his shoulder with an effort. “About as useful as a sack of potatoes, and twice as heavy,” he grumbled. “Don’t bother getting up, I’ll handle everything myself.”

  The boots on the stairs were almost upon them now. “We don’t have time for this,” Cannon said. Then, hoping wildly that the shock of cold water might wake Hugo up
, He picked up Hugo’s sword again and knocked out the nearest window. The first of the soldiers appeared above him on the stairs and he twisted around to knock him in the chest with the hilt of the sword. The guard crumpled to his knees and two more came up behind him and tried to push him out of the way.

  Cannon stepped out of the window, sword in one hand, the other braced around Hugo.

  If he had been a moment sooner, they both would have fallen—if not to safety, then at least to freedom. As it was, a pair of strong hands snatched Hugo out of the air at the last second. Cannon held on momentarily, dangling in the air. Then he slipped free and fell alone into the river.

  ***

  Hugo felt cold crash down around him and opened his eyes in terror. He was on his knees, but his face was underwater. Someone was holding his head in a barrel, strong arms forcing him down.

  They pulled him back up and he gasped for air.

  “See,” a voice grunted. “Told you that would wake him up. Now put him down there.”

  Hugo blinked, but all he could see were shadows. Then a door opened in the floor before him and faint torchlight flashed around the room. He was in a prison. There were guards all around him.

  “Hold this,” one said, and shoved a length of rope into Hugo’s hands. It had a strange smell to it, as if it had been soaked in something.

  “Hold on tight,” another said, and then kicked Hugo’s knees in from behind. His legs buckled and he tumbled into the hole, clinging to the rope. He fell fifteen feet before the rope snapped taut. He yelped as his arms locked jarringly and then slipped several inches, hands on fire. He groaned in pain, but somehow he managed to hold on.

  “Put your feet down, fool!”

  Hugo reached out with his legs and felt a thin ledge. He stepped onto it. The torch that he had seen from above was burning in the wall beside him. The ledge beneath his feet was less than a square foot and fell off on three sides into a pitch black abyss. He thought he could hear water running down there somewhere, but judging by the sound of it, it was a long way down. The light of the torch didn’t reach that far. The chamber itself was immense; a square structure, with flat stone walls fifty feet wide. The only shape that broke up their slick vertical sides was the torch at his shoulder and the tiny ledge upon which he stood.

  “Welcome to the Shelf!” a soldier said above him. “Shael said you needed some time to think. Let go of the rope.”

  “Thank you, but no,” Hugo said. “Pull me back up.”

  “Let go,” the soldier repeated, gruffly jerking the rope.

  “No,” Hugo replied, holding on to it. “I don’t think so. I’d rather come back up there with you.”

  “Heh,” someone laughed. “Told you he wouldn’t let go. Smart ones never do. Give me the torch.”

  There was a blaze of light as the other end of the rope caught fire. The soldier tossed it down and the fire spread along the rope so quickly that Hugo dropped it without thinking. It snagged on the shelf and then slid off, still burning, and Hugo lunged for it, lost his balance, and only just managed to grab hold of the torch bracket to keep from falling. He watched the rope fall, twisting in the air like a shining snake, illuminating the room with its passage. Finally it slapped a reflective surface a hundred feet below him and darkness returned. A river.

  A chorus of laughter rained down from above him, and the trapdoor shut with a bang.

  “Excellent,” Hugo said aloud. His voice echoed around the chamber and fell away, leaving him with a poignant sense of isolation.

  “Anyone down there?” Hugo said a little louder. “Cannon? Good time to drop by with a boat…Just saying.”

  I’m here, Molad said. Why keep fighting? What Shael told you is the truth. All you have to do is surrender this silly illusion of control, and I will help you.

  “Imagine that,” Hugo said wryly, “you agreeing with Shael. Never saw that coming.”

  You can’t win, Hugo. There will always be both of us. The more you try to hold me back, the more tired you will become, until I am the stronger, and you will be able to do nothing.

  “Well, until then, why don’t you let me figure a way out of my shelf prison in peace? Alone.” Hugo chuckled. “By my shelf.”

  As you wish, but you will not be able to hide behind good humor forever. Eventually you will have to face the truth. We are one, you and I. We have to let each other be. We have to let each other be free.

  Hugo felt Molad retreat and shivered. Now he was truly alone. When had he started to rely on Molad for company?

  Hugo rubbed his eyes. He wondered how long he was to remain here. Probably until he gave in to Molad. Or until his legs gave out and he fell to his death.

  Maybe he would be able to sit. He put his back to the wall and inched down, but soon he realized that in order to sit, he would have to let go of the torch bracket. Then he would be balancing on his backside, on a shelf that was so small he couldn’t stand sideways on it with his feet together. He gritted his teeth and stood back up again. Maybe he would try again later.

  He watched the torch for a long time, going over Shael’s words in his head. What he’d said had seemed true. It was perfectly logical, and logically perfect. That was the part that bothered him. It seemed too clean, too easy. The answer couldn’t be just to change his attitude, to stop struggling and give in to his every urge, trusting that they would balance themselves out. That was madness, wasn’t it? He went back over Shael’s arguments again and again, and arrived at the same conclusion.

  Something splashed in the water beneath him and he stared down into the darkness, wondering where the river led and what might be in it.

  “Probably just a nice, small fish,” he said aloud. He went slightly dizzy, looking down like that, and began to tip. Luckily, his hand was still on the torch. He pulled himself tight against the wall and slammed his eyes shut. Visions of other dark places came unbidden to his mind. The bag that he was tied in as the Kutha pecked at his head, the Panthion itself. A coffin.

  “I’m in a coffin,” he said aloud. “No. I have to think of something else. Something cheerful.” The sound of his own voice seemed to stem his feelings of panic, so he kept going. “Think positive, Hugo, or you’ll find yourself a bad mood. You don’t want to be imprisoned in a cavernous pit, inches from a long, deadly drop, with nothing but a tiny ledge to stand on and an old torch bracket to hold on to and a mutinous alter-ego for company and be in a bad mood. That would be downright unenjoyable!”

  His thoughts drifted to Cannon. He wondered what had become of him. Probably shot dead in the water by Shael’s guards.

  “That’s not very cheerful,” he told himself.

  He shifted on the little ledge, turning his face toward the light. The torch had burned down several inches. How long had he been in here? An hour? Two? Certainly not three…

  He leaned in tighter against the wall and touched the stone in his pocket by accident. He brought it out.

  “Well, I’ve got as much privacy now as I ever will.” He closed his fist over the stone and rested it against his head, willing it to open up. He felt slightly foolish when nothing happened, but then, he didn’t have any training in this sort of thing. Why hadn’t Brinley told him how to use it?

  After a moment, a new idea struck him. He reached out to the stone with his mind, trying to touch it the way he would touch Brinley’s mind. There was something there, but he couldn’t quite reach it. He closed his eyes with the effort, and as he did so an image flashed in his mind: Brinley standing in a waterfall of light.

  His eyes snapped open in surprise. It had been an image of the lightfall on Calypsis. He was sure of it. He shut his eyes again, willing the image to return.

  This time he was standing beside her in the light. It felt like home, standing there with her. He wanted her to say something, but she was silent. Maybe she couldn’t speak. After all, this was just some sort of memory, wasn’t it?

  Brinley reached for him, touched his shoulder. “How are you?” she
asked.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m stuck in the Panthion with Shael, and I don’t have a way out.

  “There’s always a way out if you need one,” Brinley said. She cupped one hand and placed it into the lightfall, letting it fill up with light the way she would under a faucet of water. Then she brought it slowly to his lips.

  “Brinley,” he said, “I’m not thirsty. I’ve got a serious problem going on here, and I don’t think this is really the time to—”

  She tipped her hand and some of the liquid slipped down his throat. Instantly, his fear vanished. There was a deep sense of peace around his middle, not unlike the way he felt after a big meal, when his body was sure that everything was just right with the world. A second later, the peace was slipping away, like the light that was slipping through Brinley’s fingers, and his worry returned.

  “It’s hard to hold on to, isn’t it?” Brinley said with a smile.

  He nodded.

  “Try.”

  Hugo slipped out of the stone without meaning to, but he knew that the vision was done. He had to try to remember that peace. Where did it come from? It seemed familiar. So familiar. Like it was a part of himself, but now he was struggling to recall it at all, let alone feel it.

  She wants you to think that everything will work out right? Molad said. Funny that, since Shael told us exactly the same thing.

  “It didn’t feel quite the same to me,” Hugo said.

  Our legs are aching, Molad said. This has gone on long enough. Join with me. Let’s leave this place.

  “You think I need your help to leave?” Hugo said.

  You do.

  “I don’t,” Hugo said. He clutched the rock tightly in his fist and folded his arms. He tried to think of nothing but the peace that he had felt. He folded his mind around the memory, clutching it like a lifeline with his attention.

  Then he stepped off the ledge.