A Forthcoming Wizard

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “He killed them,” Demballe said angrily.

  “I don’t believe so,” said Olen thoughtfully. “He seems to lose interest. More likely older prisoners died of neglect and starvation.”

  “Never starvation,” Calester protested. “We always fed our subjects. Cruelty was never tolerated, not even by him.”

  “But what is more cruel than stealing a family away?” Tildi asked.

  Calester spread out his hands. “What would be a worse punishment than to condemn him to live on forever? How else? I cannot change what he is. That part of reality cannot be rewritten.”

  “I can’t forget what he has done,” Tildi said.

  “No, but it seemed that he has forgotten us,” Olen said.

  Knemet was not listening to the argument going on about him. He seemed enraptured by the voices. Tildi could not hear them, but she imagined the woman’s voice having a conversation with the shrunken wizard. No, an argument. Knemet lifted his voice sharply to retort in the ancient language to something he heard. He cut off in midsentence to listen. His face flushed angrily, giving him color for once. He broke out in an extended protest, clearly defending himself. He halted to listen again. The next time he spoke, his tone softened. The others watched, reluctant to interrupt. At last, Knemet lowered the enormous scroll. He turned his rainbow eyes to the taller Maker.

  “I beg you for this, brother.”

  Calester nodded.

  “Then you shall have it.”

  Thraiks appeared in the chamber, chittering with terror. Tildi had never seen fear in the fierce creatures. Knemet looked up at them in annoyance.

  “Don’t interrupt me, children. I am speaking with a colleague.”

  They did not seem to be able to help themselves. One let out a wail of pain and fear. It held out its wing. The sails were torn and burned. Tildi pitied it, heard the panic in its song. Knemet frowned.

  “The storm rages? Red lightning? Not that again!”

  “What does he say?” Demballe asked. “What about lightning?”

  Olen turned to her. “The book is unshielded. The Madcloud is here. We must turn it. Open the book, Tildi.”

  Hastily, Tildi unwound the scroll and peered into it.

  Olen shook his head. He pointed toward a cluster of signs that were intertwined though they had nothing else in common. Tildi recognized the troubled turmoil of the Madcloud’s rune. “Our friends are in danger. The ships cannot move easily. They will be torn to pieces.”

  “Stop it!” Tildi begged Knemet. She showed him the twitching, writhing image on the page. “We can send it away, but it will keep coming back.”

  “We know it as the Madcloud,” Olen explained. “It is a weather phenomenon that is attracted to great magical power, like the Compendium, but also what we have done here today. It is horrendously destructive, and has troubled Alada greatly. It has been known to level entire villages. It will make short work of two ships.”

  Knemet frowned at them. “I know it well. It is indeed a terrible misuse of power. I hate it. I wish it would vanish as well. My thraiks fear it, as you see.”

  “You made it, didn’t you?” Tildi asked, puzzled.

  “Is that what he told you?” Knemet asked, pointing at Calester, who suddenly wanted to look everywhere but at them. “He did, not I.”

  Calester looked abashed. “I was not always mature of judgment,” he admitted. “I learned better, but the storm went away, and I forgot about it. I have not seen it since.”

  Tildi was agog. She had been right all along about Calester. He was high-handed and arrogant.

  Olen smiled. “There is no reason to allow such destruction to continue. Our friends are in danger.”

  “Undo it!” Knemet said.

  “I shall, my colleagues.” Somewhat humbled, Calester placed his hand over the rune in the book. Beads of sweat broke out upon his forehead. Tildi peered at the runes on the page. She saw the storm in her mind as she had when she and Olen faced it in the hills above the city of Overhill. It was a frightening mass of tossing, greasy, gray clouds from which shot multicolored lightning. She pitied those who were caught in it. “I . . . I cannot.”

  “What do you mean, you cannot?” Knemet snapped at him. “It was your toy. You set it loose! Now, bridle it before it begins to rain lightning down on my home! Fool. The irony pleases me that you came here with the intention of defeating me, yet you end by requiring my aid to put down some of your own mischief.”

  He clapped his palm down on Calester’s hand and closed his eyes.

  Tildi watched the troubled rune glow and begin to unwrap itself. Calester’s face started to ease, then tightened again as the Madcloud wrenched itself away from their control. It appeared as though it was trying to save itself from destruction. Olen added his hand to the others’ and gestured to Tildi to do the same. She recoiled at the thought of touching Knemet’s hand, and made very sure that Olen’s flesh stood between him and her.

  The moment she touched Olen, it was as though she could feel the wizards’ minds open to her. There wasn’t time to wonder at the vista of possibility that it opened to her. The three intelligences struggled against the rogue power, each trying to catch one turn of a very long and muscular snake. She joined them, feeling as though she were hanging on to the creature’s tail.

  The Madcloud responded to three wizards and an apprentice as it did to all other forms of magic: it attacked them. Tildi gritted her teeth as the terrible force took hold of her and whirled her mind until she thought she would be sick with dizziness. It screamed at them, begging for an end to its pain.

  Like Knemet, Tildi thought, and blanched at herself for feeling pity.

  “Dissolve that bond,” Knemet ordered her, as if he did not sense what she was thinking. A twisted vine that was a stroke of the rune reared up near her. She envisioned nothingness, and caused it to descend upon the bulging line. It vanished, and the Madcloud paused in its frenzy. She saw other fragments disappearing or changing, and knew that the two Makers were working together upon the problem, as they might have done ten thousand years before.

  “There, Tildi, another,” Olen instructed, distracting her from the thought. A red light illuminated a curlicue deep within the throbbing mass of lines. “Remove that. It is what keeps it seeking out power.”

  As she moved to blot it out, it surged toward her own rune, seeking to envelop it entirely.

  No! she thought at it. She harkened back again to the day they had driven the storm back. She drew it before the advancing cloud of spiky lines. The Madcloud touched it and tried to retreat. She caused the wall of gray to expand outward and wrap itself around the rune. Golden clouds of power struck it. The Madcloud shrank, twisting as though in agony. It shifted from one side of the enveloping spell to the other, seeking escape. The wizards excised one part after another, until the rune subsided, and lay upon the page like any other. It had loosed its hold upon the ships and the rocks, and moved away from the mountains.

  “Just an ordinary storm,” Knemet said.

  “Now it will just rain itself out,” Olen said, sounding pleased. Tildi opened her eyes and backed away, putting her hands behind her back.

  The thraiks vanished. In a moment, one came to hover over their heads. It dropped a scroll at Knemet’s feet and let out a cry.

  “What is that?” the small wizard asked, picking it up and unrolling it partway. “Maps?” He looked up at the thraik.

  “A ruse,” Olen said. “To divide your attention long enough to accomplish our goals. All our goals. It is not their fault.”

  “Ah,” Knemet said, giving him a very shrewd look. He thrust the scroll aside. “You are a worthy opponent, as I surmised. Now, I would wait no longer. The twig-girl wants me out of the world as soon as possible.”

  Tildi felt embarrassed to be singled out, but she could not deny her feelings. She put her chin up with stubborn pride. He was a murderer. One good deed didn’t undo a lifetime of evil acts.

  “So do I, brother,
” Calester said. “You won’t find it peaceful when you cannot escape our colleagues’ wrath.”

  The rainbow eyes gleamed. “It is better than the half existence I have now. First, I must set my children free.” He beckoned toward the ceiling. The thraiks swooped and flitted nervously, but one, the largest that Tildi had ever seen, came down and hovered eye to eye with Knemet. The wizard touched the monstrous creature’s nose as though it were a beloved dog. Knemet pointed his forefinger at the thraik’s eyes, and the golden rune at their center winked out, leaving the orbs a plain, muddy brown. The thraik blinked, puzzled, then retreated toward the ceiling. When it neared the others, the rune vanished from their eyes, too. They chased one another around the high dome, and a great blackness overspread the runes along one wall. The thraiks scudded through it and disappeared. Knemet bowed his head. “It is done. They will no longer seek the Compendium. Let me go now.”

  “Will you hold the book for me?” Calester asked Tildi.

  “Willingly,” she said.

  He instructed her to open it to his full arms’ width. He extended one hand toward the page and the other toward Knemet. He murmured in a low voice. The words echoed gently, taking on substance. Tildi felt as though the air were thickening like jelly. The rune etched in red upon the open leaf of the Compendium grew until it was man-sized. It expanded toward Knemet, meeting the identical image in the center of his body. When they touched, Knemet cried out wordlessly. His body began to waver and tremble. Then, to Tildi’s horror, it seemed to break apart. No, she realized, it was taking on the shape of his own rune. The red glow brightened until it hurt to look upon. It collapsed in upon itself slowly, retreating toward the page.

  In a moment, the rune had shrunk to the size of her fingertip. The brilliant glow faded, leaving a beautifully drawn sigil in red, illuminated with gold and purple. Tildi put her thumb down on top of it.

  The other red runes crowded in from the sides of the page and converged upon the newcomer. The voices burst out in her inner ear. A new one was among them now. The first three were haranguing it, and the newcomer defended itself vigorously. Peace and punishment had begun. Tildi looked up at Olen and Calester.

  The Maker smiled.

  “Now, my friends, we must take all of them home.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  arrying lights from the chamber’s sconces as torches, the guards marched proudly flanking Calester, who bore the Compendium like a trophy. Olen and Tildi walked side by side behind him. He had virtually forgotten they were there. Tildi knew he was listening to the discussion that must be going on within the confines of the Great Book.

  With both wizard and thraiks gone, the big, empty room echoed their footsteps like a haunted house. Tildi was not satisfied. In her eyes Knemet had gotten away with all of the terrible things he had done. Even the book seemed less precious with him inside it. He soiled it. No matter that it had been his creation in the first place! And she . . . she was one of his creations, too. Smallfolk and thraiks were brethren. It was too horrible to contemplate. If the Elders would cavil at knowing they were created by humans and not natural beings, they would go out of their minds knowing what else their Maker had done. They would never contemplate asking the thraiks to come for feastday meals. The absurdity forced an inadvertent laugh from her belly, which turned into a sob.

  “What is the matter, Tildi?” Olen asked, his voice gentle.

  She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. Even he had betrayed her. Olen, the one she had trusted beyond all others, had led her into danger.

  “You knew that this was going to happen, didn’t you?”

  Olen bowed his head. “I foresaw that Calester would not be able to resist challenging Knemet. It was a necessary risk. If we met—as we did—we would need Calester’s help. And he would need yours—as he did. I decided to let the events unfold as they would. I am sorry for you, my dear. You know now how alone one would be as a wizard. The only time we feel true communion is as you saw, and that is filled with peril, magically and physically and emotionally. We had no choice, none of us. I am sorry if it was unwitting on your part, but the action you took, deliberately, without my prompting, saved everything.”

  Tildi felt better. “I was so frightened when I thought you were burning to death.”

  “It was a little closer to such an end than I have ever suffered,” Olen admitted. “We are all a little bruised and scorched,” he added, picking up the blackened ends of his beard, “but it was the best possible outcome. The threat to Alada is ended, and the Compendium will go back where it belongs. You did so well. I am proud of you.”

  “But how did you know that it would come out all right?”

  He put his hand upon her shoulder. “I did not know, my dear. Foresight is inexact, as I have told you many times before, but I also saw the outcome as a success. I believe it to have been worth the risk, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” Tildi confessed.

  “Well, you should be optimistic. All our goals will be met.”

  “We haven’t found Rin and Lakanta yet,” Tildi said sadly.

  Olen smiled, the corners of his singed mustache lifting. “Ah, but they have found us. Listen.”

  “I tell you, it is them! That man is as short as I am. He’s not there,” Lakanta’s voice announced. “Hurry! I see light.”

  Tildi felt her heart lift.

  “Lakanta!” she cried. “Over here! We’re over here!” She waved one arm in the air though she couldn’t see anything but runes past the dim blue glow of the wizard-lights.

  “By the Mane, it is!” An excited clatter of hooves rang on the stone floor.

  A familiar rune appeared in the dark passage that resolved into a more familiar face. Rin galloped toward her, arms outstretched. Tildi felt as though her heart would burst with joy as the centaur scooped her up and hugged her.

  “Hold up, hold up!” Lakanta shouted joyfully. She hurried up on her much shorter legs. “Oh, you darling, we knew it was you when we saw all the runes! We are grateful, but you put yourself in so much danger coming for us.”

  “We couldn’t have left you,” Tildi said. “Oh, and wait until you meet the man who helped us.” She glanced toward Calester, who gave the newcomers an absent nod. “How did you get free?”

  “We burned our way out,” Rin said.

  “Burned? But everything here is made of stone!”

  “We will tell you all.” Lakanta took her arm anxiously. “What happened to that wizard, the one with the weird eyes? He wanted to destroy the book, Tildi!”

  “He’s not going to bother us again,” Tildi said firmly. “He is locked up forever and ever, in the very book he wanted. Do you remember the voices I thought I heard? There are people living inside the book itself! And they don’t like him very much. At least, I believe they don’t.”

  Rin snorted with laughter. “Hah! A fitting end. Master Olen, I greet you.”

  Olen bowed. “My greetings to you, Princess. I am relieved to see you well.”

  “Well enough,” Rin said. “When I have had ten good meals and a bath and five days’ run in the sunshine, after this place. Tildi, we have a surprise for you!”

  Lakanta’s eyes were sparkling. “Indeed we do! It’s the best thing in the world. I hope you like it. Well, it’s only half the surprise we were hoping to have—perhaps a third of it. . . .”

  “Isnt that just like a trader, can’t keep a story to a measurable length, no more than she could keep a yard the same length twice in a row?” asked a familiar voice. Tildi spun on her heel. Gosto held out his arms to her.

  Tildi couldn’t believe her eyes. Her four brothers swarmed around Rin’s legs and made straight for her. She didn’t know which one to embrace first. They were all thin, pale from long imprisonment underground, filthy, longhaired and bearded, but healthy, well—and alive. She could hardly breathe for the joy of it all.

  “How?” she asked at last, when she had hugged each one at least ten times. “How di
d you survive for all these months?”

  Gosto grinned sheepishly. “Teldo’s magic. The magic we all made fun of. That fire kept us alive, along with hope and grit.”

  “And music,” said Marco. “I sang songs.”

  “We told each other stories,” Pierin added. “Some of them true. Some not so true, but it kept us going.”

  “In other words,” Teldo said, smiling into her eyes with that familiar, beloved look, “we had each other. And now we have you again. These ladies here tell us you’ve become quite a personage. Do we have to pay a groat to talk to you now?”

  Tildi was torn between laughing and crying, threw her arms around him in a fierce hug that squeezed the air out of him. Just for good measure, she embraced all her brothers one more time.

  Gosto stood back to admire her, then frowned. “Tildi, you are not wearing your cap! It looks . . . indecent.”

  “I don’t wear my cap any longer,” she said. She refused to let the joy she had at having her family back be damped down by the old ways. “I don’t have it. Women outside the Quarters don’t wear them unless they want to. And I don’t want to.” She tossed her head defiantly. “I’ll wear a hat when the weather’s bad, that’s all.”

  The brothers exchanged a brief look as they summed up the statement. “Well, it’s a different world, I suppose,” Gosto said thoughtfully. “Oh, little sister, I thought we would never see you again!” He threw his arms around her. Tildi rested her head against his shoulder. He accepted the change. He would not force her to go back to the old customs against her will.

  She noticed Lakanta’s wistful eyes on her. “But what about your husband?” she asked.

  Lakanta shook her head sadly. “It was too much to hope,” she said. “Well, then, I only saw him a small part of the year. It will be like he’s hardly missing. I won’t know he’s gone. He . . .” She stopped, and tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks. “Curse the man. He was never where I wanted him to be when I wanted him, so why would he now? No. I only hope he has a chance to rest in peace. Life on the road’s a hard one. He’s well off away from it.”