A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1)

by A. Christopher Drown

  “I followed your tracks outward quite awhile,” their father said. “I might have followed them all the way out to the Edge had it not still been light enough to notice the second set coming back the other way. ” He puffed again and exhaled. “Were you two out by the Edge?”

  The children exchanged condemned looks. “Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

  Father leaned heavily, angrily onto the table. “Does someone want to explain why you went out that way when I’ve forbidden it?”

  Saia gestured toward her brother. “Tell him, Rai.”

  Their father glared. “Tell me what?”

  Rai shrugged. “I saw something, and went to go see what it was is all.”

  “What was it you thought you saw?”

  The question made Rai sit up straight. “I didn’t think I saw it,” he said firmly. “I did see it.”

  Saia groaned and dropped her head down onto her folded arms.

  One corner of Father’s mouth crept up, but just a little.

  “All right, then,” he sadi. “What did you see?”

  Rai recounted everything. The path, the footprints—even about the interesting rocks with the water burbling out of them. When he finished his tale, he sat back defiantly in his chair, arms crossed. Their father blinked a few times, absorbing what he’d heard.

  He turned to Saia. “And you went with him?”

  Saia sat up quickly, alarmed. “Yes, but I…”

  “No,” her father said, holding up his hand. “No buts. You’re older and should have known better. You’re grounded.”

  “But I tried to stop him!”

  “Then you should have found me!” Father all but roared. “You two have no idea what’s out there near the Edge, and I will not have you tromping off whenever you feel like it! Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” came Saia’s defeated reply.

  Father swung back around to Rai. “And you. Not only are you grounded, but you’ll go without dessert until I say otherwise. You’re getting too big to be acting so foolishly, and I want it to stop. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered.

  Their father sat back down and said to Saia, “Go tell your mother goodnight. I want to talk to your brother for a moment.” He pointed the stem of his pipe at the kitchen door.

  Saia rose from her seat, offering Rai a sneer that quickly turned to a malicious smile when she realized her younger brother was surely about to get what he deserved.

  Once alone, Father said to Rai gently, but firmly, “I want you to promise you’ll stop running off on these adventures of yours.”

  “But Father…”

  “No, Rai. I don’t want to hear it. You’re growing up, and there are many things about the world for you to learn. And many things about the world you simply must accept.”

  With that, Father stood, yawning, briefly letting his long, incandescent wings spread fully. They trembled as he stretched before folding back neatly behind him. “And the first thing you must accept is that there are simply no such things as giants.”

  The child sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now go kiss your mother and get to bed.”

  19

  A closer look at the subterranean room revealed two passageways heading deeper into the earth—one to the south, the other to the east. The group agreed to wait until dark, split once more into teams, then see where the corridors went.

  “Why wait for night?” Niel asked, slipping on a clean jerkin. “Why not go now?”

  “That’s so if something with lots of teeth decides to chase us back out again,” Arwin explained, “we won’t be running into the brightness out here from the darkness in there and need time for our eyes to adjust before we can turn around and fight whatever-it-is off our collective backside.”

  It made sense, but Niel couldn’t help wondering why all their hypothetical dangers had to involve things wanting to leap out and eat them.

  Arwin told Jharal to stay behind and serve as lookout. The narrow tunnels meant someone his size would have difficulty maneuvering, which could be troublesome if they needed to defend themselves or make a hasty retreat.

  “Niel, you and Peck take the east passage,” Arwin said. “Cally and I will take the other. Until then, let’s have an early supper and get some rest.”

  He walked off to where they’d put the gear. Cally followed.

  Niel was relieved at not being paired with Cally again, who had avoided eye contact since they’d pulled him out of the hole. When Peck flashed him a predatory grin, he wondered if he’d be better off staying with Jharal than going with either of them.

  ***

  After the evening meal Niel sat away from the others under the pretense of giving the Light spell he’d been asked to learn one last going-over.

  He’d actually committed the spell to memory after only a few hours of study—quickly enough that at first Niel was convinced he’d missed something, though supposedly even a novice magician could distinguish the satisfying snugness of a spell whole in one’s mind from the muddling distraction of a spell uncompleted. Since they had torches, Niel planned to incant the spell before going into the tunnels but leave off the gesticulated component. With three quick taps of his right hand on whatever he wanted to illuminate, the spell would be cast.

  He hoped.

  The truth was he simply wanted some time alone before his first expedition as an adventurer; a few quiet moments to consider and acknowledge the unexpected bend he’d reached on his life’s path.

  A voice somewhere within told him not to worry, that actions alone did not define the person taking them. A similar voice came a short distance from behind.

  “Apprentice? Are you ready?”

  Unsurprised, Niel peered over his shoulder to see Arwin standing a few paces away, pack slung and an unlit torch in hand.

  “Actually,” he replied, “I believe I am.” He stood and brushed off the backside of his trousers. “Let’s go.”

  Night had spread with unexpected haste. Thick shadows swallowed the forest in a black, silent flood. By the time the group walked the hundred or so paces back to the tunnels, it became necessary to light the torches.

  Peck produced a spool of rough twine for each team to track their way down into the passages. When they ran out of string, they’d turn around and come back, compare notes, then decide what to do from there.

  Niel shouldered the small pack he’d been given. Other than his spell book it contained only a few supplies: water, a length of rope, a piece of flint, and a tiny vial of healing potion for emergencies— a revelation which had surprised and impressed Niel. He appreciated the practicality of having the potion on hand, but he also knew full well its scarcity and cost.

  That Arwin would think enough of his companions to retain such a thing as healing potion almost offset the emphasis its presence placed on the nature of their task.

  At the edge of the opening loomed Jharal, his axe standing blade-down and his hands folded on the end of the stock. The dancing shadows cast by the torches gave him a grotesque and ominous appearance, letting Niel appreciate his effectiveness as a sentry. He couldn’t imagine anyone being happy to come across Jharal’s monstrous shape in the middle of the night.

  Jharal gave a slight nod as he met Niel’s eyes, to which Niel opened his fingers from the shoulder strap of his pack in a casual wave.

  “All right, folks,” Arwin said. “Last one out buys the next round at the Gus.”

  With that, he and Cally disappeared into their tunnel. Niel watched until their torch light faded away.

  Peck tapped Niel on the shoulder.

  “Is there a spiritually significant moment you’re waiting for, Lord Elder,” he asked, “or do you and your minstrel friends have a ballad in honor of the occasion?”

  “If only I’d prepared something,” Niel replied.

  He took firm hold of the torch Peck handed to him and crossed the threshold of the east passage. After few paces, he noticed Peck
was no longer behind him. He turned and poked his head back outside.

  “You are coming, aren’t you?”

  Peck smiled. “Of course not. This is all an elaborate scheme to do away with you, because we find you unpleasant and awful.” He made a brushing motion that told Niel to go back into the tunnel. “So off with you, if you don’t mind. Arwin and Cally are waiting to come back out so we can all run off without you seeing. You’re spoiling our plan.”

  Niel knew it was joke, but at the same time his feet remained unconvinced.

  “Peck has really good eyesight,” Jharal said from his post atop the opening. “He can see in the dark. Your torch’ll get in the way of that, so he’s going to follow after you.”

  “Then why doesn’t he go first?” Niel asked.

  “Because you can’t watch my back if you can’t see it,” Peck said.

  “But you have the spool,” Niel pointed out, “how will I know when it runs out?”

  A throwing knife appeared in Peck’s hand. “When you feel this sticking out the back of your head, that means I’m out of string.”

  Jharal let out a deep chuckle.

  “It warms me to think how you worry over my well-being, Good Reverend,” Niel said.

  With that, he turned around again and began his descent.

  In the shuddering amber torchlight, Niel took note of the stones comprising the passage walls. They looked similar to the ones where he’d first fallen through, but smaller like tiles. A few bore engravings just as the floor had. He knew none of the Galiiantha’s written language, and only two spoken words Biddleby had taught him: ghesalt, or “greetings,” and austa, which meant “water.”

  An adjoining corridor appeared on the left. Niel held his torch out at arm’s length and peered down the passage, which seemed identical to the one in which he stood. Not wanting to risk getting lost by forgetting a turn, he continued straight. Cool sweat formed on his forehead and back. Some of which, he thought, might even have been from the heat of the flame.

  After a short while the tunnel’s downward angle became steeper, as did the increasing monotony of his surroundings. Beyond the single intersection, the corridor’s distinctive features dwindled to none. Soon neither the tiles on the floor nor on the walls bore any marks of any kind, other than the occasional crack or bit of mold. The slow, ambient dripdripdrip of water from somewhere ahead had grown sharper, and the temperature seemed to fall with every step—of which he had long since lost count. He wondered how far underground he’d gone. He wondered whether Peck had much twine left on his spool and when it would be time to turn around. He wondered how childish it made him, just as when he stood on the bluff overlooking the sea, to grow tired so easily of something that should have left him enthralled.

  Niel stopped, considered, and with a sigh decided to head back on his own. As he turned, a gloved hand snaked out over his shoulder and smothered his torch. Another hand mashed hard against his mouth. In the sudden blackness he made a frightened, clumsy attempt to defend himself, but in one smooth motion his attacker pinned him against the wall.

  “Be still, Lord Elder,” came Peck’s barely audible whisper. “We’re not alone.”

  “Where?” Niel mouthed against Peck’s fingers.

  The thief pressed his lips against Niel’s ear. “Behind us.”

  Niel doubted his ability to restrain the panic now charging through his body. His heart raced so hard he could feel the tiled wall thrum against his back.

  Peck gave Niel a quick pat on the stomach then took the apprentice’s hand and placed it behind him on his belt. The two moved quickly, descending further. Niel did his best to match Peck’s unseen stride in the dank underground chill. After a short distance, Peck once more pushed Niel against the wall and jerked his shoulders which meant to stay put.

  And then he was gone.

  In the absolute black of the passageway, Niel struggled to rein in his thoughts, and strained to hear beyond the loud rush of the blood coursing fast through his veins. Peck might have spotted Arwin and Cally. Perhaps they’d found a connecting tunnel and ended up behind them. If so, why had Peck gone forward, not back?

  A thin gust cooled Niel’s sweaty face. Someone had dashed past him, heading in the direction where they’d come in.

  “Peck?” he whispered.

  Countless invisible hands seized Niel’s arms and neck. He screamed in mindless fright, scuffling against his attackers, flailing at whatever he could. In the struggle, his fist made contact with flesh. He lashed out again and again, hitting once, twice—

  —brilliant blue light exploded from the face directly in front of Niel’s. Piercing beams of magical energy burst from the eyes and mouth as the person released his hold on Niel and clawed at his own head, shrieking in pain.

  The passageway filled with more shouts, with more hands, and more fists.

  A blow to the back of Niel’s head scattered them like leaves, and he drifted away with them, taking nothing but the image of that face, contorted in agony as it burned.

  20

  Beyond an initial childhood wonderment, Canon for Ennalen had rarely amounted to more than mundane exercises in academia and ritualism. Effort outweighed reward far too often in formal magic-making for her tastes, and never had seized her imagination as it seemed to for others—reason in large part why she preferred the swifter currents of criminal investigation.

  Her cantle, however, was proving an entirely different matter. While to say she had been eager to explore the possibilities the stone represented would have been profound understatement, Ennalen also had been confident that her exhaustive preparation, coupled with her inherent self-discipline, had sufficiently readied her for the experience.

  She could not have been more wrong. And she could not have been more grateful for it.

  Only a halfmonth had passed since she acquired the cantle. Just as during her experiment with the nectarine, Ennalen at first had found herself helpless amidst the sensory onslaught brought by contact with the stone. Each subsequent interaction, however, let her keep her feet a little longer in the face of that ferocious gale.

  Her equilibrium grew, and she soon discovered that prefacing her requests of the cantle with a spoken phrase had become unnecessary; merely touching an object to the gem garnered the knowledge she wished.

  Within days after that, she required no buffer at all; placing one hand on the stone while holding an object with the other yielded breathtakingly vivid and intimate results. From a hawk’s feather came the poetic emancipation of soaring high above the Peridehn Mountains; a tiny yellow conch shell filled her mouth with brine as she herself was swallowed whole by a monstrous gold-speckled fish; a broken-off arrowhead brought the instantaneous, excruciating horror of having her throat pinned to a wall by a distant enemy.

  Working with the stone infused Ennalen with a sense of potency more delicious than she had ever imagined, sustained an emotional resonance that satisfied like nothing else before, and simultaneously appeased and deepened both those appetites.

  Rewarding as those monumental leaps forward were, one maddening exasperation persisted: physically affecting any of the objects involved in her trials. No matter how forceful her attempt, regardless how many times her intense concentration left her on the floor trembling and bleeding, Ennalen could not commute her accomplishments from the abstract to the corporeal.

  That particular bar of lead simply would not budge.

  To alleviate frustration, and to preserve her sanity, Ennalen increased her walks about campus, even setting aside her dislike of venturing out during normal school hours. On those days, like this day, she made for the very outskirts of campus where plenty of isolated nooks provided both diversion and seclusion.

  Ennalen moved along the slender stone avenue to the Eastern Observatory, near which lay all but hidden a marvelous little arboretum of small, delicate trees whose perennial blossoms flourished despite the growing cold. When she arrived at the entrance of arced branches, Ennalen
stepped off the main walkway onto a brick footpath that snaked through the miniature forest and was immediately gratified by the spicy, tropical aroma of countless flowers. The thick air within the arboretum warmed her. Her pace slowed. Her breathing deepened. And she smiled at the welcome solace.

  This, she thought, is real magic.

  She dared not carry her cantle with her. Not only would such stupidity defeat the purpose of respites from her work, but obviously she could not risk the cantle being noticed, directly or otherwise. Thus, when Ennalen went out she triple locked the cantle in a thick steel box, which itself was permanently anchored within a vault hidden in the floor beneath her workbench, which itself was protected by a charm that produced a vile but entirely phantom stench to overpower and repulse anyone who might happen near. Still, even those extensive measures left Ennalen ill at ease, forcing constant self-reassurance that she had taken every practical precaution.

  She willed away any further thoughts of her experiments—something becoming ever more difficult to do—and continued into the soothing greenness of the sanctuary.

  In actuality the arboretum covered a modest area, but the tight back-and-forth parallels of the footpath, with dense walls of flora between each, ingeniously convinced the eye of ample space in which to wander. Ennalen strolled a long while in relative bliss, clearing a dead stick from the path here, rolling a leaf between her finger and thumb there, enjoying how it seemed she could feel the pulse of water and minerals coursing inside.

  “Here, let me try.”

  “No, give it back!”

  The whispers came from off to her right, somewhere farther along the path, and stiffened Ennalen’s spine. The fact that she was not alone annoyed her, certainly, but something about the voices other than their sudden presence fired a deep-seated yet strangely disconnected sense of violation. She hiked the hem of her robes to keep them from brushing the ground and crept forward.

  “Give it back, I said!”

  “Let go, you’re gonna tear it.”