A Forthcoming Wizard

by Jody Lynn Nye

  When she feared she could tolerate the terrifying noise no longer, the werewolves fell silent. Inbecca picked herself off the ground and listened as the wailing, sustaining a life of its own, receded into the distance, seeming to go both north and south at the same time. Soon, it died away. Inbecca’s heart slowed to its ordinary pace. She went to put her arm around her aunt and squeezed her good hand.

  “Now, we wait,” Sharhava said.

  They did not have to wait for long. The sky did not remain silent. To Inbecca’s surprise, she heard a response. Faint howls sounded in the distance, a lone werewolf calling out from somewhere to the north. A second, nearer voice picked it up and passed it along. Patha and the other elders cocked their ears toward the sound. The knights murmured among themselves.

  “What are they saying?” Vreia asked. She no longer looked terrified, but fascinated, as did most of the others. Only a few, like Mey, still harbored fear.

  “I don’t know,” Inbecca replied. She should have known more languages than a little dwarf and elf. Eremi always told her she was too provincial. She agreed with him now. When she returned home, if she returned home, she would find a teacher of languages.

  Patha stepped toward Sharhava, changing back to human shape as she came.

  “Your opportunity is within your grasp. Do not waste it.”

  “I will not waste it if I should ever have it in my power again,” Sharhava promised. Inbecca was not satisfied with the way her aunt phrased her vow, but Patha was. The chieftess nodded.

  “Good, then. Prepare. You will be departing from here soon.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  hee!” Rin cried, her hooves rising and falling in rhythm as she ran upward toward the sky. Tildi clung to her back. Her hair streamed backward, whipping into her eyes and mouth. “This is freedom at last, little one!”

  “Keep steady!” Serafina cautioned her, bringing the black-nosed mare up behind the centaur’s striped haunches. “Tildi could fall off!”

  “Not a chance!” Rin said. “We are one in flight, are we not?”

  “I hope so!” Tildi said, holding on to the rough mane. No matter what power flowed through her, no matter how far she had traveled from her home, she was still terrified of heights. She risked a glance down. The treetops were receding to the size of broccoli clusters. If they were that small, then the bearkin were tinier yet, and in comparison she was a fingernail paring. Her stomach lurched at the thought. She squeezed her eyes closed.

  “Tildi! Be back with us!” Serafina commanded over the rushing wind. “Help me. Study the map. It will take your mind off the heights.”

  Tildi obediently took the flapping chart and surveyed the section that showed the part of the river that had become visible as a shining pathway to their right. The book obediently opened up to the runes that described the landscape. Tildi saw the ancient name of the province, which she could just barely read, and compared it to the modern chart. The book was far more accurate. Her heart was in her throat, but as they flew up into the thin clouds, she tried to convince herself the landscape below was no more than another piece of parchment.

  “Whee-hee-ah!” Rin caroled, spreading her arms out with joy. Leaning over the mane of his horse as though he were in a cross-country race, the prince-troubadour came bobbing up beside them.

  “This is marvelous!” he shouted.

  “I don’t think your mare agrees,” Tildi called back. Tessera rolled her eyes so Tildi could see the whites.

  “She’ll get over it,” Magpie said, patting the piebald’s neck. “She just needs to know she can trust a road she can’t see—oh, I envy you wizards, being able to fly like this whenever you wish!”

  “We must be careful of thraiks and other perils of the air,” Serafina said sternly. “We have a long way to go, and we are vulnerable.” Teryn and Morag appeared to agree with her. Under their helmets, their faces were a study in caution. They rode at fore and flank of the group, constantly changing position to give the greatest coverage. Tildi didn’t envy them. It was difficult enough for two soldiers to protect a party while on the ground. In three dimensions, the hardship grew fourfold.

  “Storm clouds,” Lakanta said cheerfully. “I don’t mind which way we go, as long as it isn’t back toward those gloomsayers, with apologies to you, Prince. Hard to believe they and the bearkin can exist in the same world, isn’t it? I feel free as a bird, and I’m not a whit ashamed to say it.”

  Free as a bird, Tildi thought to herself. In spite of the stomachful of butterflies, she did feel free of the fetters that had held her back for weeks. What was ahead intrigued her more than frightened her. For a moment, she chided herself—what respectable smallfolk looked forward to possible danger and hardship? But at the moment, not even the threat of thraiks could hold back her joy.

  “You look as if you could sing,” Magpie said, grinning at her.

  “Can you read runes now?” Tildi asked him boldly.

  “No, faces. I wish you could see the way you glow. The bearkin seem to have set you free of the unjust strictures your upbringing set upon you.”

  Tildi felt her cheeks grow hot. Seemliness withdrew even farther from her. She was behaving like a mannerless hoyden, wasn’t she? No one in the Quarters would ever talk to her again, even if they could get past her doing magic and consorting with wizards. They would cast her into shame and crow about the downfall of a girl who had forgotten how decent people behaved.

  But what did the opinions of those cockerels matter? Olen was waiting for her! The thought cheered her up.

  A faint, plaintive sound broke out below, too far away for her to guess from where it came. The howl made her think of her enemy whom they had left among the werewolves. But Sharhava was imprisoned far upriver, no longer free to follow her. The abbess was no danger to her. An answering cry, fainter, came from the thick forest ahead and to the right. But how could it be werewolves here? she wondered. Some natural wolf must be calling for his mate, who answered him from many miles away. It was a wonder how far they could hear each other. The thought before she had left home on this adventure would have chilled her to the bone, but how well she knew now that there were worse things in the world than wolves, or things in the shape of wolves.

  Magpie looked over her shoulder at the book. “What a wonder!” he exclaimed. “It’s better than any chart I have ever seen, whether made by wizard or cartographer.”

  “This is the whole world,” Tildi said complacently. She had come to terms with his friendship with Serafina. They supported each other, and how could that be bad? Tildi had become more aware than ever of people’s emotional state. It took an effort not to cry when someone else was sad.

  I have become like the book. I reflect reality around me, she mused. It was an interesting lesson that the bearkin had taught her. She felt more clear-minded, and ready for what lessons she had from Serafina while they flew.

  Birds circled them, wondering at the ground-people invading their domain. In spite of her discomfort, Tildi laughed at their open curiosity. It was as large as hers.

  “They aren’t very intelligent,” Serafina said, showing her the part of the rune that defined their thoughts. “They still want to know. They fill the cup of learning to the brim as best they can. It isn’t a big cup, but it suits them.”

  Serafina’s intelligence occupied a much larger and important part of her thoughts. She must have guessed Tildi’s thoughts, and made a sharp gesture with her hand. Tildi stopped her snooping.

  Serafina showed more confidence in her leadership. Besides supervising Tildi’s lessons, she took grave counsel with Magpie and Lakanta, the other seasoned travelers of the party. They agreed to follow the river instead of the roads, but at a distance, to attract the attention of the fewest wayfarers. They descended only to rest the horses and to lunch when the sun was at its highest. Rin told them that running on air was far less tiring to legs than any road. The runes confirmed it. The horses returned to the sky with more enthusiasm than they
had left it. Even Tessera came to enjoy her invisible road.

  The moon named the Agate rode the sky, casting faint light on the landscape, but more than enough to see by high above the clouds.

  “We should set down,” Captain Teryn said, peering uneasily at the last vestiges of orange light that decorated the western horizon. “The river is still visible, but I would feel more confident continuing in full daylight.”

  “We will bed down after moonset,” Serafina declared. “Until the horses tire, I see no reason to halt.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” Magpie said.

  “I could run all night,” Rin said. “Another hour or so will be fine.”

  “Melune is all right,” Lakanta said. “With a sack of oats to look forward to, she will go on as long as you please, same as me.”

  As usual, Teryn merely saluted. Her suggestion made, she followed the orders of the company’s leader. She gestured to Morag to ride right flank, and she took the left.

  Tildi was growing sleepy. With Rin’s permission, she leaned forward and rested her cheek against the centaur’s thick braids. She cradled the book across her lap, open to the leaf that showed the length of the river. All was secure. One more night over the forest, and they would be with Olen. She could hardly wait to tell him all her adventures, that which he had not seen already in his crystals and glasses.

  In her drowse, she felt a familiar urgency. She sat up and looked around. The thin moonlight dyed her friends’ faces blue. The sense of worry didn’t belong to any of her companions. She looked up and gasped. Silhouettes floated above them, arrowing back and forth across the star-washed sky. The rune imposed upon each was unmistakable. She stiffened in fear.

  “What is it?” Serafina asked. Her eyes followed Tildi. “Thraiks! There must be a dozen of them.”

  “Thraiks!” Teryn exclaimed. The two guards went on alert and spurred their horses to ride the air above Tildi’s head. “Descend swiftly, honorable. We will protect you.”

  “Too many,” Lakanta said. “We should have gone down before. This is their hunting time.”

  “Go, Princess,” Magpie said, drawing his sword. “I’ll ride beside you. Tildi, keep your head down. Go.”

  “No!” Serafina ordered, holding out her staff. “Don’t move.”

  “What?” Teryn demanded. She reined back her horse, which reared nervously. “They’re above us. Look! They are coming down.”

  Serafina set her jaw.

  “They cannot see us. They can sense the book, but they do not know where it is. The wards protect us. Watch. They can come nowhere within those boundaries.” She indicated the faint rune that surrounded them like a crystal sphere. Tildi was so used to it being there, she had almost forgotten its presence. “Bring the horses together. We will be as still as we can.”

  “Will the warding keep them back?” Magpie asked.

  “It should,” Serafina said, no longer looking confident. “Don’t speak. They can still hear.”

  “Then we are not safe!” Rin exclaimed.

  The sound of their voices had excited the creatures. Swiftly, they all turned in midair and dove toward Rin. The sight of the rune glowing in their dark eyes and the gleam of their teeth made Tildi’s heart pound until she feared it would leap out of her chest. The centaur held her place, though she quivered like a rabbit. The thraiks slowed suddenly, their nostrils quivering, then turned away again to make another pass. Serafina held her hand up before Tildi could say anything. She shook her head.

  Magpie moved Tessera silently to Serafina’s side. “How smart are they?” he asked. “Are they hounds or hunters? Will they figure out what we are?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Serafina said uneasily.

  “They can see us,” Lakanta said. “They can tell we’re not birds.”

  “Is your warding a shell or a stone?” Magpie pressed. “Can they blunder through it? It won’t kill them, will it? As Sharhava set it?”

  Serafina looked stricken. “No, it will not.”

  “Then they can pass through.”

  “We are in peril,” Rin said, drawing the whip from her hip. “They are many, but we have the Great Book. We can tear them apart!”

  “Hush!” Serafina held the reins of her mare, whose eyes showed whites all around the iris. She whispered to Tildi. “Aid me! We must drive them back.” When Tildi didn’t move, she shook her arm. “Tildi! Be with me! Control yourself.”

  “I cannot!”

  “Be still, apprentice! Aid me now. If we cannot thwart them, we will destroy them. That is wrong. They are only creatures. They are not evil.”

  “Kill them,” Rin said, her voice rising shrilly. “Kill them all!”

  “I am a healer,” Serafina said. “No, we must not. It is unnecessary.”

  “You don’t know what they can do,” Tildi said. “My whole family died because of them.”

  A huge thraik was only a few yards away from her, seeking backward and forward, sniffing. Its eyes were blind to the rune, true, but she saw the image in her mind of the thraik that had tried to kill her in the field beside her home in the Quarters. Instead of pupils, it had glowing runes in its eyes, making it terrible and fearsome.

  “Tildi, pay attention!” Serafina held her staff on high, drawing pale silver lines upon the sky. “Ano cnetegh morai!” A great sign took shape upon the night sky, small and thin at first, but growing rapidly.

  Tildi stilled her nerves. She felt for the knife at her belt. Serafina finished the first sign and turned her mare to begin the second. She would have to hasten to catch up. The rune was a difficult one, but she had a good deal of practice at scribing over the past weeks. The voices coming from the book distracted her. Tildi concentrated hard to ignore them. Her hand shook. The monsters kept looking in her direction. How could they not see her? But Serafina must be right. The thraiks swooped back and forth, like plowmen covering a field, sniffing and listening to what their eyes told them was not there. Melune danced uneasily, unhappy with standing on nothingness. Lakanta leaned over and threw her cloak over the stout pony’s eyes, all more silently than Tildi would have credited she could do. Protecting them was up to her.

  A wall of translucent bronze sprang into being between them and the thraiks before them. Tildi hastened to complete her first rune. The fine lines jumbled together densely, small enough for the winged monsters to fly around. She had to close her eyes again and force them to move outward. Suddenly the rune was like the bars of a cage, ten times taller than the creatures. As Tildi forced her thought into it, the lines thickened, then spread out like honey, until a second barrier, deeper in color, formed behind Serafina’s. The influence of the book made Tildi’s stronger than the more experienced wizardess. She had only two more to do, but she must hurry. The thraiks, losing their scent on the one side, began to sally around until they found it again. The second was easier, though she had to whisper to Serafina to ask for the incantation. Her fear waned as she followed her master’s confident motions. By the time they completed the third side of the triangle, she was only a stroke or two behind Serafina. Once the three sides were joined, they stretched upward and downward to close the bubble around the party. Tildi thought it looked like the points of a prism. The bronze sheen of the protective magic picked up light from the Agate and glowed warmly, as if to reassure Tildi that it was working.

  “Well done,” Serafina said, examining the double walls of the spell with a critical eye. “They cannot touch us.”

  “Can’t they hear our voices?” Magpie asked.

  “It does not matter,” Serafina said. “Watch.”

  “Why?” Magpie asked, avid as a child over matters of magic. Tildi saw the gleam of his yellow-green eyes. “What does it do?”

  “It will drive them away. That is all we require.”

  Would the warding be enough to keep them back? Tildi thought it might have been the hardest thing she ever did, holding still while the fearsome green-black monsters sniffed around only yards away from
her. Their long, sharp teeth showed in their open mouths as they scented. She clutched the book to her as a talisman.

  Go away! she thought. Leave! Now! Please.

  “How much longer?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Until they are gone,” Serafina said. “Be calm. Do not let your emotions affect the spell.”

  Tildi blanched. Being close to the book had caused everything she did to be amplified. She would not let her ancient enemy undo all the good the bearkin had done her. She thought of Jorjevo and his warm brown eyes, imagining him instead of the muddy orbs of the thraik. Her memory of his resonant voice made her feel a little better.

  Unable to ignore them, she stared at the unseeing eyes. The book’s rune looked as though it was part of them, taking the place of the pupil, as though they had been born for no other purpose than to pursue it.

  Poor things, Tildi thought unexpectedly, then blanched at the notion. These were not poor things, but monsters! Yet she could read a good deal of their emotions in their own runes, those on their chests. Those proved what Serafina had said, that they were animals: intelligent, but animals nonetheless. The huge one circling before her and coming close over and over was curious, growing hungry and bored, and afraid.

  Why would a thraik be afraid of anything? she wondered. Then she realized that her friends and relatives had brought down at least one of the monsters in the field beside the farmhouse at Daybreak Bank. They could die while searching for the Great Book. Then why do it? Tildi saw in each of them the trace of another’s will. Their fate was not their own. They were under orders to search. He who had sent them would be angry if they came back without their prize. The presence behind them was somewhat familiar to her. She had sensed it before. Nemeth had been afraid of the same being. He believed it to be either Father Time or one of the Makers. He was mad, but she did not doubt his terror. These suffered the same dread. She still feared them, but she knew them to be real creatures. She almost felt sorry for them.