“Flee! Flee!” Magpie shouted.
The guards seized Tildi’s arms and backpedaled, but he knew it was futile. No human could outrun the sinuous tendrils. The king of the monsters reared up, preparing to swallow the girl whole. The knights drew their swords and struck at the funnel-like mouth. It recoiled in pain, but snapped back. Dripping ichor, it moved to engulf Tildi. She screamed.
An insubstantial gray sheet interposed itself between Tildi and her fate. The wide mouth struck it and rebounded, like a bird striking a window. It struck again, but its head came no nearer than a yard. A thin-limbed rune hung in the air between them. It looked too fragile to withstand such an attacker, but it held. Tildi seemed to recover her wits at that moment, and her hands began to move. She put out a forefinger and drew marks on the air in thin black lines. The monster retreated farther.
Only then did Magpie remember Serafina, standing silent at the side of the clearing. He turned to see her pulling an invisible mass between her hands. Her face was like that of a stone statue, flawless and emotionless. She spread out an invisible sheet and pushed it from her, as if launching a sail into the wind.
The beasts continued to fight for their lives. Some had fallen. Their relicts had no time to mourn them, lest they become the next to die. The smaller adults picked up the children and ran out of the clearing. Others tried to pull the wounded out of the way of the questing tendrils.
A thinner, more insubstantial veil joined the first one. Together, the shields spread out throughout the glade. Where they extended, the snakes’ progress halted as though a wall were thrown up. Some of the serpents attempted to climb it, but their bodies found no purchase. The veils drove them back over the blood-soaked ground, inexorably forcing them toward the mouth of the cave. The snakes struggled against the translucent shields, but ended up rolling and squirming over one another and their victims as they were driven along. The beasts, now harried by both seen and unseen enemies, grew hysterical with fear. They raged against whatever they could reach, biting and scratching.
“The hairy people are caught in it,” Tildi said, her small face straining with the effort to concentrate.
“Surround them,” Serafina said simply. “Build a wall around each. Draw them through. The wards will hold.”
Tildi nodded and began to make small designs in the air. As she completed one, it floated away from her to join the wall she had created, melted into it, then separated from it in a different shape: a cylinder. Each of those glided over the torn ground. As it touched a beast, it popped like a soap bubble, then re-formed with the besieged one within it. The beasts all cried in terror, and started beating their fists upon their insubstantial prisons. The snakes, robbed of their prey, threw themselves at the faint cocoons. They could not get through. The denial frustrated them into frenzied attacks. With open maws, they launched their whole lengths at their prey. The beasts threw themselves against the far wall in panic. Yet they were not as unintelligent as the knights believed them. Some quickly came to understand that while they could not get out, their foes could not get in. Magpie fancied he could see glee erupt on more than one hairy face. They waited for whatever providential miracle had occurred to finish working its will upon them. The rest were terrified, cowering at the bottom of the spell-cast cylinders. Magpie ignored the protests of the knights standing by him and went for his pipe, tucked in his right-hand saddlebag. He played soft but sprightly melodies, hoping to calm the fearful ones.
“Put them to the side,” Serafina instructed Tildi, working her hands as though she were folding a cloth. “I intend to wall these snakes up within the cave with a warding. They do not belong here on the surface, but I am wary of destroying them.”
Tildi nodded. Magpie admired the way the girl took to the task at hand with no more fuss than if she had been told to cook supper for a hundred guests. One by one she rescued beasts and set them close to him. Parents looked for their children. When they saw they were safe, they became more aware of their own surroundings, and became at peace with them. They were far more trusting than a human would be under similar circumstances, Magpie thought, most likely because nothing in their environment had ever harmed them but the snakes. Everyone else they had ever encountered had been benign or friendly.
He played a lively dance tune with his fingertips. The beasts caught on to the melody very quickly and started singing along. Magpie took only a moment to wonder at their facility with music, because his eyes were still fixed upon the spectacle at the cave.
“That’s the last,” Tildi said.
“Well done,” Serafina said to Tildi, scowling. Her eyes were fixed upon a distant point. “I see this will be more difficult than I thought. Do you have strength to spare me?”
Tildi thought for a moment, then gave a surprised nod. She smoothed down her mussed tunic with her palms and folded her hands together neatly. “I am not tired at all, master.”
“Good. Aid me. We must build a permanent warding here, one that will seal this being in its cave, but deep within. The beasts use it as a shelter against bad weather. We must not deprive them of that.”
“No, I can see that,” Tildi said, frowning thoughtfully. “What an uncomfortable neighbor to have while one is hiding from a thunderstorm!”
“It is one we all have,” Serafina said. “Somehow the roots of the earth have reared up in this place. Only the vigilance of this one species has kept it from creeping out upon the surface, where it was never meant to be.”
“Roots of the earth?”
“Read from it,” Serafina said, indicating the enormous rune that overlay the impatient tendrils. “It is one creature, and it is joined to the heart of our world. No, don’t let your concentration lapse! There will be plenty of time later. We will weave a net. Air and water must still move freely, as must the smaller creatures of earth, but the roots may not leave the underground anymore. They learn by devouring, and they have no sense of the harm they do. They are blindly curious, that is all.” She moved her hands, and multicolored light left the tip of her wand to join with the gray sheet. “Do you see what I have done?”
“Not really . . . Oh!” Tildi’s face wore the pleased expression of discovery. “I do see.”
I wish I did, Magpie thought. He sat as the knights did, fascinated but uncomprehending. He felt wisps of will moving around him like a breeze through curtains at night. They were less like physical touches and more like thoughts made tangible. Except for the council meeting at Silvertree, he had never been able to witness great magical working. The court wizard in his father’s court in Mimalda had been poor Nemeth, a puissant seer but nearly lacking in wonder-working ability. Magpie was able to enjoy the sensations as he would the legerdemain of a stage conjurer, but the scholars around him looked jealous. He did see now that there was just one rune upon the mass of tendrils. In the melee, he had not noticed. Nor had anyone else, he fancied. He had more respect than ever for Serafina’s skills and powers of observation.
Tildi held out her knife, and a concentration of color, a captive rainbow, flowed from the tip to augment Serafina’s power. All at once the veil looked less impenetrable. Magpie knew at once that it was permeable to air. He didn’t know how he knew, but he would have bet the last coin in his pouch that it was true. With hand and wand, Serafina directed the flow. It captured the errant tendrils—roots—and gathered them almost tenderly within the sac of power.
“Now, back!”
The tips of the pseudopods flailed against their prison, but the delicate curtain drew them inexorably into the cave. Soon, Serafina nodded. She drew a final silver rune upon the air. It flew into the cave. A flash of light burst out, illuminating the mossy stone walls, then died to darkness. Magpie found he had been holding his breath. He let it out.
The boldest of the hairy beasts broke away from their huddled group and went to examine the wizards’ handiwork. They crept into the cave with exaggerated wariness, like mountebanks. Their hooting echoed off the cave walls and they came
racing out to share the good news with their fellows. The merriment lasted for a while, then the able-bodied beasts became solemn. Under the guidance of the eldest males, the crowd gathered together at one side of the clearing with some of the hooked and pointed sticks and began to bury their dead. The knights watched the activity curiously.
“Animals do not inter or mourn,” Vreia observed. For the first time she sounded uncertain. “Did we miss some human characteristics that ought to have been excised?”
“Oh, you!” Lakanta exclaimed. “Let be! Have you not done enough harm?”
Serafina folded her hands and bowed her head. “We are finished. Seal off the power.”
“As you say, master,” Tildi said. She closed her hands around the hilt of her knife, trying to copy the gesture of her teacher. Magpie felt a kind of release, like an arrow loosed from a bow. The task was done. The air around him returned to normal. No tension, no sense of urgency or purpose remained. The completion also set the knights free.
“That was . . . unnecessary,” Sharhava said, her voice sounding oddly far away. She cleared her throat. “Further use of magic was not required.”
“It was not unnecessary,” Magpie said. “I believe that Tildi and Serafina have saved our lives—all of our lives. What about your action? It robbed these poor people of their wisdom and their own skills.”
“They are not people!” The abbess’s cheeks turned scarlet. “We did what we had to to restore the balance of life on Alada. Do you question the wisdom of ten thousand years of our study?”
“I will not argue against your beliefs. You have done what you wish to those poor beasts,” Magpie said. “But you would have left them defenseless against a fearsome enemy. How is that responsible use of power? How is that restoring balance?”
Sharhava held her chin out defiantly. “These creatures were not blessed by the Mother and Father with human intelligence or magical ability.”
“Do you believe you equal the judgment of the Mother and Father yourself?” Magpie asked. “These creatures have existed the way they were for thousands of years, without either Nature or Time cursing them.”
“The Mother and the Father placed us here as stewards of their gifts. They do not punish or reward directly. We set fate in motion according to our actions. We spent those centuries studying ancient texts, so we could be certain, if—when the opportunity came, to correct the mistakes by those you call the Makers,” Sharhava said. Her words were too emphatic. Magpie could tell she was shaken, but refusing to back down. “We will continue our studies, now that their tool is in our hands.” She turned her gaze to Tildi, who quailed.
“It is foolish to meddle with what you don’t understand,” Serafina said firmly. “You say that you have studied the book, but not what the book describes! You think rewriting is the only cure—but you don’t see the greater picture. And now, you have done unimaginable harm. My specialty is not barricades. For that you need Olen or Komorosh, or one of the southern wizards. I hope that I can get a message to someone. You must let me send a message.”
“No!” Sharhava exclaimed. “You will not communicate outside. No one must know . . . what happened here.”
“But they will,” Rin said. “They cannot help it. The Windmanes will know very soon.”
Sharhava had no stomach for further argument. She rounded upon Serafina.
“You put us all in danger meddling with a native force.”
“The roots?” Serafina asked, stunned. “How did I endanger you?”
Sharhava waved her good hand in Tildi’s direction. “You allowed that untrained creature to pierce your wards over and over again, and to close the spell at the end. She is no master. You should not have trusted her.”
Tildi gaped at the abbess, but Serafina waved at her to remain silent.
“Because of the book she has far more power than I have,” Serafina said. “I needed her help to accomplish all of our aims without harming any living being. It was more than my skills could encompass. It gives her nearly the ability of a Creator. When she is fully trained, she will be formidable.”
“Well,” Sharhava said, swallowing. “There will be no possibility of that in the Scriptorium! No sinful wizardry will be performed within its grounds. All will be done according to the rule of the order! Remember my words, girl!” She shook a finger at Tildi, who lowered her head meekly. Serafina regarded them both and clamped her lips shut. “The evil of your kind must not manifest itself. I forbid it!”
“Evil!” Serafina said, mortified. “She is a child, and a courageous one. You wrong her.”
Sharhava was diffident. “She comes of a race of unnatural origin. In time, once we have achieved control of the book, we will reward her for her service by returning her to the state from which her ancestors came.”
“What a ridiculous notion,” Magpie said, but he was shocked. She could do it. She had just demonstrated that she was capable of upsetting the lives of a people just as old as the smallfolk. Tildi had told him that Sharhava had threatened them. In the frenzy of the moment he hadn’t believed her. Perhaps he should have. “They have intelligence, their own customs and culture, their own language!”
Sharhava frowned. “We will make them human again, or render them the species they once were. Then they may carry on with their lives. Nothing will be lost.” But she sounded less than sure of herself. “We have much to do before that time comes. Our order will restore all the ills that were done to the world by the Makers.”
“We’ll see about that,” Lakanta said cheerfully. “You don’t control the book yet. With luck, you never will.”
Sharhava ignored her magnificently. She addressed Loisan and Auric.
“We must make ready to go. Our work here is done, and overdone. There was no need to pen up the cave monsters, but it is done.”
“You do not understand what they just did,” Magpie exclaimed.
She waved a dismissive hand.
“I know that a natural creature has been restored, but yet another has been interfered with using sorcery. If I had the time . . .” Her voice trailed off. “It is not our business. I will mark it in the annals to correct once we have undone more important infractions against nature.”
“That isn’t fair, Abbess! She did heroically.”
It was no use. Sharhava was not listening. She marched away, her officers in her wake.
Magpie turned back to Tildi. “I can see I will have to add another verse to my song, this time about your puissance in the high arts.”
“Aye,” Rin agreed. “Where those fool knights meddled, she stepped in. We would have been prey next.”
“You are the equal of every legend I have ever heard sung,” Lakanta said, patting her on the knee. Tildi recoiled, fearing for her friend’s safety, but Lakanta lifted her palm to show she was still invulnerable to burns. “When this lad sings his tale across the world, you’ll get the praise you deserve—Oh, sorry, highness, I keep forgetting you are not a bard.”
“I have been one for many years, good merchant,” Magpie said gravely. “But I have never been a hero. I hope my words will be worthy of the deed Tildi has done.” He glanced through the trees toward the beasts. Their culture was remaking itself as they watched. The weaker ones had gathered up small gifts of berries and sticks to present to the new chief. “Poor creatures.”
The girl smiled modestly. “I wouldn’t have known what to do without Serafina. She is a fine teacher.”
“So she is,” Magpie said. “She was a rock for the rest of us to cling to. I must tell her so.” He looked around for the young wizardess.
Serafina had gone to see to her horse. He found her leaning against the white mare’s side, shaking as her hands fumbled within a saddlebag. He put an arm around her and held the bag steady. She drew from it a fine cloth packet smelling strongly of herbs.
“Tea?”
“A restorative,” Serafina said. She did not look directly at him. Her cheeks were damp and her eyes suspiciously bright.
“I fear we all need it at the moment.”
“Allow me,” Magpie said. “You rest here. I think you need a moment’s privacy.”
He brought the packet and a jug of water to Tildi, who had returned to her rug. She sat surrounded at a polite distance by knights. Her tether had been lengthened to two lengths of rope instead of one, a mark of fear or respect. “I think our hosts won’t wait for a fire to be made and water boiled, but your teacher needs a cup of tea. Can you . . . ?”
The girl’s eyes widened with amused interest, but she took the packet from him. The jug removed itself from his grasp and hovered in midair.
“A fine idea,” she said. “Would you like some, too?”
“Not I, but there are others who surely would.” He watched the earthenware pot hover. A flame appeared at the bottom, also unsupported. It was green. The knights were fascinated, too, but they kept their faces void of emotion. “You are getting amazingly good at that.”
“It is easy,” Tildi said, surprised at admitting it out loud. “There is so much power around that it seems almost a shame not to use it. I mean, this is a very unimportant purpose, but it doesn’t seem to mind. I . . . I have to admit that I enjoy it. Magic is not approved of in the Quarters, you know.”
“I did know. I have visited your homeland many times.”
Tildi looked apprehensively over his shoulder. Magpie turned to see the abbess, who was giving vigorous directions with her good hand.
“Don’t worry. She can’t hear us.”
“I fear her,” Tildi said in a very low voice. “I fear them all.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about all of them,” Magpie said. “I think Auric’s getting to be quite an admirer of yours. Loisan seems to have some sense. And Lady Inbecca . . .” His voice trailed off, unable to complete the accolade. She had gone along with the abbess’s orders without a murmur of dissent. To have stripped the humanity from those poor creatures, after ten thousand years of intelligence, was a crime. He was angry with her, and was ashamed for the feeling. He needed to puzzle out his thoughts, and he mustn’t drag Tildi into his private turmoil. He smiled at her. “Don’t fear them all. Human beings are fallible. I wish they could be more like smallfolk, who are never wrong.”
A Forthcoming Wizard Page 15
