The Seventh Sigil

by Margaret Weis

  “Patrick is a soldier, not a sailor,” said Miri, sniffing.

  “What of Sir Conal? Is he safe?” Cecile asked, deftly changing the subject.

  “He is safe for the moment, although we had to shuffle him from one secret location to another. The soldiers are searching for a man matching his description. Since people began hiding their loved ones to keep them from being used as blood sacrifices, the soldiers know where to look,” said Brother Barnaby. “Patrick’s men will take Sir Conal to the boat. He will be waiting for you, Miri.”

  Barnaby gave a wry smile. “As you predicted, my lady, Sir Conal did not want to leave you or the princess. Your argument that he had valuable information Captain de Guichen could use finally persuaded him.”

  “He is a good man,” said Cecile.

  And then no one had any more to say. The sound of thunder rumbled through the room. Another storm was approaching and with it, Xavier. He would want to see Gythe and Sophia stop one of the wizard storms, as they had promised. Here was his chance.

  Sophia was pale and trembling. She held fast to Bandit and talked to him softly, telling him not to be afraid. Gythe was singing snatches of a song. Cecile was braiding a leash for Bandit out of the string Gythe had used for the cat’s cradle.

  As Miri watched them her courage almost failed her. Her fear was not for herself so much, but for those she was going to leave behind.

  “Are we all in agreement?” she asked abruptly. “Do we go through with this? The risks are great.”

  Gythe motioned with her hands. Sophia answered for them both.

  “Gythe and I have practiced the magic,” she said in a low voice. “We know what we have to do. And so does Bandit.”

  She kissed the dog and then handed him to the countess, who tied the leash to his collar. He immediately began to whine and tried to squirm out of the countess’s hold.

  “I am not certain about Bandit,” said Cecile. “But I am prepared.” She smiled reassuringly. “The risks are great, Miri, but they are greater if we do nothing.”

  “Have faith,” said Brother Barnaby. “God is with you.”

  “God isn’t going to be the one sailing a rickety houseboat through the Breath,” Miri muttered, keeping her voice low so as not to shock Brother Barnaby.

  The storm broke, sending rain thudding on the roof and thunder shaking the ground. They almost didn’t hear the key turning in the lock, but they all heard one of the soldiers say in warning tones, “Make ready. Xavier’s coming!” just before he slammed shut the door.

  “He is one of ours,” said Brother Barnaby softly.

  “One of the resistance?” Miri asked, startled.

  Brother Barnaby nodded.

  The key turned again in the lock and Xavier entered, followed by a soldier carrying heavy woolen cloaks, which he distributed to the women. Xavier wore a cloak that buttoned down the front with the hood drawn up to protect against the rain. Strange constructs had been sewn into the fabric. Miri thought back to something Patrick had said:

  Xavier has survived three assassination attempts. His clothes are steeped in magical constructs. I have heard some people claim he has found a way to inscribe magical protective spells on his flesh.

  “It is time,” Xavier said. “As with the previous savants, I have assembled people to serve as witnesses. You will perform your magic in the center of the square, where all can see.”

  This was good; it meant that members of the resistance would be among the crowd.

  “You will be in the full fury of the storm,” Xavier continued.

  “We do not fear the storm,” said Miri boldly. “We will command the storm.”

  Xavier looked at the group and raised an eyebrow. Miri supposed she really couldn’t blame him for being skeptical. Gythe was serene, she almost seemed to be in another world. At the other extreme, Sophia was shivering, while trying very hard to be brave. The countess seemed impassive, almost bored. He must be wondering how these few women—his prisoners—could have any effect on the fierce magical storms sweeping over his land.

  “We are ready,” said Miri.

  “Walk with God,” said Brother Barnaby softly.

  Bandit howled dejectedly.

  * * *

  Xavier accompanied them, allowing Cecile to remain with Sophia, which Miri was surprised to see. Perhaps he had seen the determined look on the countess’s face and decided trying to prevent her would not be worth the battle.

  Xavier did flatly refuse to allow the dog to come, and Brother Barnaby offered to remain behind with Bandit, whose earsplitting wails were heartrending.

  The group of them emerged from the prison into the teeth of a ferocious wizard storm. The wall around the compound sheltered them from the raging wind, but it could not protect them from the driving rain. Their cloaks were soaked the moment they stepped into the courtyard and they were thankful to hurry inside the temple, to gain some respite from the storm.

  Miri soon found that walking through the shadowy corridors of the temple was worse than being out in the storm. The drumming yesterday must have been accompanied by more sacrifices, for the stench of fresh blood seemed to suffuse the air.

  Xavier led the way, with Gythe and Sophia following him, their hands clasped. The countess walked directly behind them, staying near the princess, and Miri came last.

  With her concentration fixed on what she had to do, she did not notice the foul smell that was making the others gag. She was frightened, but resolute. She did not let herself dwell on the danger of escaping Xavier’s forces or flying through the Breath; she would worry about all that when the time came to act.

  Xavier briskly led them to the front of the temple, where the soldiers on guard there flung open the doors.

  He nodded to his brother, the Blood Mage, who stood on the stairs outside the doors to the temple, his crimson robes whipping in the wind. He was surrounded by a large group of men and women dressed in crimson mantles with drums slung across their shoulders. These must be the drummers who combined blood magic and contramagic in an effort to try to silence the voice of God. The drummers had their hoods pulled over their bowed heads. They muttered among themselves, not appearing at all pleased to be standing, unsheltered, in the fury of the storm.

  The Blood Mage turned to the prisoners and regarded them with cold, glittering eyes. Perhaps he was thinking they would soon be within his grasp. Miri shuddered and looked away.

  “You will come with me,” Xavier said, indicating Gythe, Sophia, and Miri.

  He stopped Cecile when she would have gone with them. “You will stay here.”

  As several guards moved to stand around Cecile, Sophia drew back and cast a frightened glance at the countess.

  Cecile gave her a reassuring smile. “I will tell your father how brave you are, Your Highness. He will be proud of you.”

  Sophia managed a smile. “I will work the magic, my lady. It’s just like playing cat’s cradle.”

  Miri risked a glance back and saw Cecile inside the door of the temple raising her hand in farewell. The countess’s lips formed the words: “Give my love to my son!”

  Miri nodded and, not watching where she was going, stumbled over the hem of her sodden skirt and bumped into one of the soldiers, who ordered her harshly to pay attention.

  The wall around the temple sheltered them from the wind. Beyond, in the plaza, they would have no protection. The guards had to struggle to open the gate, pushing against the fury of the wind, and at last managed.

  A crowd had gathered in the plaza, waiting in drenched and stoic silence to see if these latest savants could stop the storm. Patrick must be somewhere in that crowd, but Miri despaired of finding him. She could scarcely see anything through the downpour and she doubted if she would have known him anyway. Every person in the plaza was muffled against the rain.

  Xavier walked through the gate with an army of soldiers around him and the women following. Once out of the shelter of the wall, they were nearly knocked down by the
wind. The storm pummeled them defiantly, as though daring them to try to thwart it. They fell behind. Xavier, forging on ahead, did not seem to notice.

  Miri cast a glance back at the Blood Mage. His face bore a slight smile.

  “We have to get out there into the plaza!” she gasped.

  Gythe took hold of Miri and Sophia and clasped their hands tightly. Looking up into the roiling clouds, Gythe began to sing. Rain struck her face. The wind beat against her slight body. Gythe began to sing the song about the dog.

  She sang loudly, encouraging Sophia, who joined in after a moment, spluttering and gulping rain water. Miri knew the song and joined them. Energy tingled through her body. A faint blue glow glimmered around Gythe’s hand, twined around Miri’s and spread to Sophia’s hand. Gythe walked forward, defying the storm, drawing Sophia and Miri with her.

  The wind eased and the rain let up. Around her, Miri heard murmuring from the crowd. Led by Gythe, the three women came to the center of the plaza where Xavier was waiting for them.

  Miri caught a glimpse of movement. A man standing in front drew back a green scarf that covered his face: Patrick. He lifted the scarf up over his face and faded back among the crowd.

  Gythe released Miri’s hand.

  “Take care of yourself. Tell Stephano and Petard I miss them,” Gythe said silently.

  Miri needed all her courage and resolve to let go of her sister. She felt as if she were walking off and leaving her soul behind.

  “We will come for you!” she said finally.

  Gythe smiled and turned to Sophia. The two held fast to each other.

  “Stand here,” Xavier ordered.

  He pointed at the rain-swept mosaic, the first initial of his name, of the names of all the Xaviers. Gythe and Sophia began to sing the children’s song about the nine goblins. Miri sang along, pretending to work with them. The words of the song were in Rosian, and Miri doubted many in the crowd would understand. She could tell by Xavier’s frown, though, that he understood. He must be wondering how a song about nine little goblins sitting on a fence could quell a storm.

  At first nothing happened. The rain fell. The wind plucked at their cloaks. Then, shimmering “fireflies” of blue magical light began to dance and sparkle around the young women. The fireflies gathered into a swirling swarm that delighted the eye. Children in the crowd pointed and laughed. The adults watched in wary awe. Xavier was still frowning, but he seemed intrigued.

  Now the raindrops began to glitter with a bright blue light, falling from the heavens in a shimmering curtain of dazzling, twinkling magic. Xavier was no longer frowning. He was gazing up in awe at the sparkling drops falling on his face. The crowd was silent, spellbound.

  A whistle pierced the silence. At the signal, the rebels surged forward. Xavier’s bodyguards shouted for him to take cover and fired into the air. As green fireballs burst above them, people began to flee in panic. Gythe and Sophia stopped singing and were staring around in bewilderment.

  A man seized Miri around the waist and started to drag her off.

  “Kick me,” Patrick growled. “You’re being abducted!”

  Miri screamed and kicked. Xavier ordered his soldiers to rescue the prisoner, but a sea of bodies intervened, rolling over the soldiers and washing them away. At the end of the plaza, the crowd parted, opening a way for them and then quickly flowing in behind them to block pursuit. Patrick held her tightly and soon they were out of the plaza and into the streets of the town.

  Miri looked over her shoulder. The plaza was empty, the crowd melting away. She could not see Gythe or Sophia or Xavier.

  Well, she thought, it’s done. No going back.

  The wind had died and the pelting rain was now only a drizzle. Lightning flickered in the distance, and the thunder sounded subdued. Miri had seen Gythe and Sophia work their magic and force the wizard storm to retreat. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that: she’d have to think about it later.

  She and Patrick entered a maze of streets and hurried down alleyways into more alleyways. They ran one way, then turned around and doubled back. At last Patrick stopped so that they could catch their breath and see if anyone was following. Miri gasped for air, almost dizzy with the exertion.

  The street was empty, the buildings looming over them were dark, though here and there light gleamed through a gap in a curtain.

  “The boat is at the edge of town,” Patrick said. “I think we’ve thrown off pursuit for the moment, but Xavier’s soldiers will be out in force. We must keep going.”

  Miri lacked the breath to answer, but she nodded to show she understood. Patrick slowed to a brisk walk, keeping Miri alongside. She wondered what had become of Gythe and Sophia and the countess. It was the countess who had devised the plan of making the escape appear to be an abduction. Xavier would not suspect her or the others of being complicit.

  Miri hoped the plan had worked and that they were safe. Sophia and Gythe had not had time to drive away the storms and bring back the sunshine, but they had proven their magic could calm the storms. Xavier would not let the Blood Mage have them. Not without seeing more of what their magic could do.

  The pavement came to an abrupt end. One moment Miri had been hurrying down a street surrounded by buildings and the next moment the town seemed to simply stop and she was looking out over a vast plain of rain-flattened grass and mud.

  “There’s the boat,” said Patrick, pointing.

  “God have mercy!” said Miri.

  The boat was based on an old, old Trundler design that had been modified so that its passengers could survive sailing through storms or, she hoped, the Breath. The gunwales were solid wood and came up to about chest height. The cabins below had small portholes instead of larger windows, and the bridge and helm both were fully enclosed to provide protection from the elements. The mainmast and boom were considerably heavier than the original fittings to brave the winds and the wings had been reinforced.

  The boat had been covered by a tarp that now lay off to one side, resting on a crude dock made of slats of wood.

  Recovering from the first shock of seeing the strange boat, Miri was both relieved and impressed.

  “We might have a chance,” she conceded.

  As she and Patrick waded out into the mud and wet, stringy, long grass that tangled around their feet Miri noticed several other houseboats in the field. Some rested on their sides, perhaps blown over by the wind. Others were mired so deeply in mud it would take a team of horses to drag them out.

  “This area was once a harbor,” said Patrick. “Until the storms grew so bad no one could sail.”

  “My boat seems to be in good shape compared to the rest,” Miri observed.

  “That’s because it belongs to Xavier,” said Patrick.

  Miri gasped. Now that she looked, she could see the X painted on the sails and the balloon. “We’re stealing his boat? Aren’t there guards? Won’t he discover it’s missing?”

  “He hasn’t used it in years. No one ever comes here anymore. The place is like a graveyard. Don’t worry. Xavier would never imagine you would try to escape by boat.”

  “Because he could not imagine I would be so stupid,” Miri stated.

  Patrick smiled slightly, then gestured.

  “That man, Conal, is on board, waiting for you,” Patrick continued. “I’ll wait here to cast off the lines.”

  Sir Conal waved to her. He had already lowered the gangplank. Miri boarded the boat and took a critical look around. The bulkheads were painted in black lacquer, giving it a gloomy air, and the boat’s beam was narrower than the beam on the Cloud Hopper, but overall, the size was comparable.

  “Captain Miri.” Sir Conal greeted her with a flourishing salute. “Welcome aboard.”

  “How much do you know about boats, Sir Conal?” Miri asked, eyeing him. “You being a Trundler, you must have sailed the Breath some in your life.”

  “You are wondering if I’m going to be a help or a hindrance. I still remember how to splic
e the main brace and haul on the bowline,” Sir Conal replied with a grin. “And I know my port from my starboard. Tell me what to do and I will do it.”

  “Thank you, Sir Conal,” said Miri, relieved. This journey was going to be difficult enough without having to deal with a landlubber. “If you could go below and make certain everything is stowed securely, I will inspect the helm.”

  The helm had been her biggest worry. If the constructs were contramagic, this was going to be a very short voyage.

  She was pleased to find that the constructs were not contramagic, though they were very old-fashioned, not as elegant or streamlined as those on her boat. After a moment’s experimenting, she figured out how the magic worked. The helm responded to her touch. She inspected the rest of the craft. It appeared to be well built, sound. Her uncle would have approved.

  Trundlers here Below were not so different, after all.

  Sir Conal returned to report that all was secure, the hold was stocked with water and food enough to last a week.

  “And blankets and heavy peacoats to survive the cold,” he added.

  “Are you ready, Miri?” Patrick called. “You should leave now. Another storm is brewing.”

  Miri put her hands on the helm. Sir Conal was in the bow, waiting for Patrick to cast off the mooring line. He looked at her expectantly. Patrick watched in growing impatience.

  Miri had only to move her hands over the magical constructs on the brass helm. Her hands were frozen. She couldn’t move a finger. She kept thinking of the perils that lay ahead of them. They would have to sail through wizard storms and endure the mind-numbing cold and the wind currents of the Breath in this ramshackle cockleshell. And if they survived all that, they would surface with no idea where they were and running low on lift gas.

  “No going back,” Miri said to herself.

  She drew in a deep breath and touched the helm. She felt the magic sparkle through her as she channeled the magic and sent it running along the cables, then the familiar thrill of the boat coming to life at her command. Patrick cast off the lines. Sir Conal hauled the ropes aboard and deftly coiled them and stowed them in their proper place. The houseboat rose off the ground.