Marked For Magic

by Daisy Banks

  When had she become his maiden? He couldn’t tell, but after today, he’d never see her as a grubby little wench again. He’d need the stepping skills of a sword dancer to avoid her snare. Tilting his head back, he looked up to the clear blue sky as he tried to work out what he truly wanted.

  The spring birds soared and circled, and no answer came to his questions. It seemed he must improve his self-awareness. Scraping his hair back, he tied the leather loop back in place before making his way to the tower.

  By the time he walked into the kitchen, she had set dishes out on the table, ready to serve the food. From the look of her, she’d found peace with her sorrow for now.

  One eye still on her, he trickled the shells from the stream into the small jar where he kept his collection. When she turned to stir what was in the cauldron, the glamour cloaked her. She moved to the table with the pot.

  He stepped back in surprise. Oh! Perhaps he’d been a little extreme, but he’d get over it. Now, her image could not tempt him.

  “Dinner’s ready,” she said with a gap-toothed smile.

  “Good. I’m hungry.” He settled opposite her and picked up his spoon.

  Chapter 6

  Thabit went down to the warm kitchen to wake her before the dawn. He gave her shoulder, hunched beneath the blanket, a nudge. “It’s time to wake.”

  “No, go away, it’s too early.” She rolled in the blanket wrapping and turned over.

  He shook her shoulder again.

  Turning a tousled head toward him, she opened an eye and glared.

  “Get up, Sparrow, or I will be angry indeed.” He put on a deep frown. Not a qualm disturbed him when he threatened. “Get dressed and get up, or I’ll drag you naked to the workshop.”

  “All right, wait a minute.” She reached over, grabbed the blue tunic, and burrowed under the blanket. Her body shimmied beneath the cover. When she emerged, the tunic covered her. She kicked the blanket off with a melodramatic sigh.

  The antics irritated. Yesterday, she had agreed she needed to learn. She would not get beyond the first hurdle if she continued like this. “Today, you come to my workshop. I will teach you how to keep your busy mind quiet. This way and quickly.” He moved to the stairs.

  “What about breakfast?”

  “When you have mastered the skill, you will eat. Go up to the workshop now, or you will look for worms in the garden to fill your beak.”

  “Bloody bully.”

  Her thought blasted like a loud yell through his mind. Saucy wench to speak to him so, even if it were in thought alone.

  “One more word, Nin, just one.” He scowled to hide his surprise, for he had managed to answer thought with thought.

  “I hate you eavesdropping.”

  “Then come and learn to stop it.”

  She huffed out a breath as she climbed the first stair, stomped up past the closed door to his bedchamber, and on up to the next winding flight. At the top, she waited quietly for him to open the door to his workshop.

  The first shafts of dawn light flooded through the open roof panel. This device allowed him to see the stars and moonlight, both vital to his work. The opening in the roof remained unseen by others.

  He ignored her little gasp when they entered the room, but waited while she stepped forward wide-eyed, staring over at the two semicircular tables covered with herbs, pots, leaves, and twigs.

  “Yes, fascinating I know, Sparrow, look your fill. I do not want you distracted. You may look, but please, do not touch anything. I will prepare the incense.”

  He kept one eye on her while he poured incense into a large, black metal tray. The costly powder smoldered to life under his glance. Wisps of the fragrant smoke twirled up, calming and sweet.

  “Enough,” he said to still her craning neck, her endless examination of the racks of dried herbs hung on the curving rails on one side of the room. “Come, and sit here.” He indicated one of the cushions scattered on the square carpet a little way from the wall where a small, silver star shone.

  She sat cross-legged, naturally sliding into the position used for meditation. He brought the incense over and placed the tray before her.

  “I want you to look at the star. Breathe in the vapor, but concentrate on the star.”

  She nodded, and then took a deep breath, followed by another. The star shone through the pale, sweet-scented smoke. She focused on it.

  “Do not turn your head, but tell me, what can you see, Nin?”

  “The star,” she murmured.

  “Is it bright yet?”

  “Yes, very. It’s beautiful.”

  The soft tone told more than her words. She had slipped with such ease into the calm of the dream-like state. How could he have missed so much about her? “I want you to sing as you did yesterday.”

  “But you said I was out of tune.”

  “I do not care how musical you are. Just sing like you did yesterday.”

  He winced when she screeched and was still out of tune.

  “You know this is different from when you sing aloud?”

  “Yes, this is easy.”

  By the river gods, she’d even answered in thought. A flash of envy at her ability leaped through him. This was no coincidence as he first suspected it might be. He had taken months to learn to speak the silent words clearly, yet she was a bright beacon who burned with a steady power.

  “I want you to try to make the song quiet, Sparrow. Make the sounds soft, so it stays in your head. You will have to concentrate.”

  She gave a tiny nod. Tilting his head, he took note of her expression.

  The pupils of her eyes had expanded to become huge, dark dilated circles, partly due to the incense, the rest, perhaps fear. To let go this fast could cause nausea, or panic if one were unfamiliar with the sensation. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  He wished she’d picked a different tune. The song she had chosen spoke of lost love. Sorrow filled its words. The noise from her lessened a little. “If you want breakfast, you will have to make a much better effort.”

  “Bastard!”

  He suppressed his desire to laugh at her irreverence. She did not need reassurance, but a reminder of where she sat. “Speak to me in such terms again and you will spend a week as a toad in a jar.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, but not in a sulk. She had slid deeper into the trance.

  Concerned, for he did not wish her to go further, he spoke. “You must center all your thoughts on quiet. Stay with me and try.”

  She leaned down toward the incense tray, her gaze fixed on the star. Gently, he urged her upright. The song grew softer.

  “A lot better, but you need more control, Sparrow. Come on, I know you can do it. I am sure you are hungry.”

  Quiet came slowly, creeping over him in a wave. Not one sound from her broke the morning stillness. “Oh, well done!”

  She turned toward him, her gap-toothed smile widened, and the warts on her chin wagged. The noise returned.

  “No, now do it again. Make the singing quiet.”

  Once more, her voice lowered until it vanished. The sense of her effort radiated to him. “Do not turn to look at me, but remember this sensation. Can you feel it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Examine, learn, and remember it. Whenever the thoughts come fast or hard, you must recall this level of concentration to stop them escaping to disturb others who might hear you.”

  She nodded.

  He sat back, pleased. All in all, she’d done very well for a first attempt. “Now, I want you to look away from the star and look at the floor instead.”

  She tilted her head down.

  He smothered the tray of incense with a lid. When he glanced back, she still looked at the floor. “Breathe deep. Stretch your legs out. Relax. When you are ready, look at me.”

  After several deep breaths, she slowly straightened her legs and smiled up at him.

  He offered a
silent prayer of thanks for the power of the glamour. Without the effect of his spell, with her fragile vulnerability and her utter trust in him, she could burrow into his soul. He got up and removed the tray of incense. “Blink, stretch, and now, Sparrow, you can eat.”

  “Thabit, did I do it right?”

  He ruffled her hair, surprised the gray spikes were so soft beneath his palm. The glamour obviously didn’t penetrate further than a visual illusion. He must remember and not touch her again. “Yes, you did very well. You will continue to practice up here with me. But, Nin…” He stepped back and glanced around at the clutter.

  “Yes.” She stood.

  “You must never come up here alone. There are things here that could hurt you. I would not want to deal with the repercussions. Now, shall we go down to make porridge?”

  While she made the porridge, he bathed in the stream. When he returned, she sat quiet as they ate. Might she be ill? The incense could cause nausea and dizziness if inhaled too fast. “Sparrow, are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m remembering.”

  “Good, it is important to identify and recall the sensation of control.” He put down his spoon. “Now, while you go bathe, I will get a basket of things together to trade. We will visit the market today. I intend to show the village I have not killed you…yet.”

  Her low laugh caught at him as he headed for the stairs. He packed a dozen small pots of salve and a variety of bottles of popular potions and healing brews to barter. After a few moments to decide which, he folded three of the scarves. He never took too many. The trades seemed better if the villagers saw the fabric as a luxury.

  The basket ready, he took it down to the kitchen, left it on the table, and went to change his robe. For today’s purposes, he put on his second best—wine red with a hood. The black leather belt he wrapped around his waist, he only wore on serious occasions. He added his silvered dagger to its black sheath and set his pouch beside it so the dagger lay at his hip. He pulled out the leather thong and combed through his hair.

  The villagers would see him powerful today. A mage with an apprentice, if he could call her that, should strike a little fear. He would relish their reactions. Nin lived under his protection since they cast her out. He’d see they would respect her place.

  She waited in the kitchen. She’d bathed and changed into the loose, shapeless brown gown. The homespun rag hung like a sack. His old blue tunic was a far preferable garment. She bent to peek into the basket. Arching an eyebrow, he shook his head so she backed off from her investigation. Her mouth formed a perfect O as she stared at him, and the glamour shimmered, revealing the gold of her hair among the gray.

  “What is wrong?” He glanced down at himself and forced his level of concentration to steady.

  “Nothing, you look…You look…”

  He gave her a nod, pleased the gray spikes had returned. “Like a Mage. Thank you, Sparrow. It is time to go. While we trade, we will get you enough cloth to make a new gown. The brown one is as foul clean as it was when dirty.”

  He indicated for her to carry the basket and, as they left, pondered why he should find the sack-like gown so offensive. He locked the door.

  * * * *

  Their walk to the village uneventful, Nin’s surprise grew at how quick it seemed. For when she first trod this path, the journey had been the longest she’d ever made.

  Had it only been two days ago?

  The gate of the village palisade came into view. She halted because her knees shook. “Thabit,” she whispered, “you won’t let them kill me, will you?”

  He paused his steps and shook his head. “You must have courage, Sparrow. Hold your head high when you walk with me. I swear, not one of them will harm you. Now come.”

  She forced herself to calm, and once he had pulled the hood on his robe up to cover his head, they walked on.

  All talk ceased as they entered the tiny market, made up of six wooden tables for stalls. The squawks of chickens and geese, a dog howling in the distance, the high-pitched wail of a child, all seemed loud. The villager’s silence continued.

  Keeping her head bowed and her gaze on the back of his boots, she followed close behind Thabit. He stopped at the end of the row of tables. She tugged at the straps on her shoulders and handed him the basket. He set it down at his feet and opened the lid to display the contents to those who may wish to look.

  She longed to hide in his pocket.

  Surprise, fear, and the odd flash of guilt, all lurked in the hostile glances toward her. A small boy who stared dropped the bread crust he chewed on and gave a furious yell. The day-to-day sounds of talk resumed as his mother dusted off his chunk of bread.

  Nin sighed, glad things had not been worse on their arrival. The squat, wooden-framed buildings and homespun-clad people remained familiar. Nothing had changed for them. Such a lot had changed for her. They could have no idea how different she already was from the girl they drove away.

  Aunt Jen walked straight by without a greeting, the small basket Nin remembered so well clutched tight to her narrow bosom. She bowed her head with sorrow. The censure of the mark remained.

  Cousin Lettie approached and peeked up at Thabit. Though Lettie did not speak, her tiny nod in Nin’s direction before she bent down to examine the scarves gave a little hope for the future.

  “Nin, you’re alive!” Alicia rushed across the square.

  The three people who bargained at the stall beside the Mage’s, all turned and stared, someone gave a loud tut.

  “Do not allow her to make a fuss, simply nod. You can speak with her privately when the goods are traded,” he murmured from the depths of his hood. He turned to a woman to accept a large keg of butter in return for a pale lilac scarf.

  “Yes, Alicia, I’m alive.” Even to her, the words sounded cold, but he’d said she should do it. “I’ll find you later,” she whispered.

  Alicia backed away in a series of quick steps, her blue eyes full of hurt.

  When Nin turned back to the basket, Lettie had gone. Aunt Jen owned nothing valuable enough for her cousin to trade for one of the scarves. Satisfaction brought a small private smile, and she fingered the soft fabric of hers. Wrapped around her waist today, his gift hung bright like a rainbow.

  He leaned down, his voice low, only for her. “Well done, Sparrow. They must learn respect for you now, even those who were once friends.”

  Alicia backed farther off, her slight form hidden in the shadows. Another woman stepped up to their basket and bent to examine the goods. The woman stooped on creaking joints to take out a jar. She held the jar and looked in question to the Mage. He inclined his hooded head.

  “For the aches of the winter and old age,” he explained, and in majestic silence shook his head at the studded leather belt the woman offered to trade.

  “What’ll you take?” she asked.

  “I want cloth, grandmother, a goodly length, enough for a robe. Oh, and I want it red.”

  The large woman set the jar down before she waddled off.

  “Yes, red will be good,” he murmured.

  Nin darted a glance up. Did he mean the cloth for her?

  Gray-haired Agnes approached, and her stomach flipped. The need to run screamed through her. She inched closer to Thabit, who tilted his head to her.

  “Do not make a move, not a flicker. Do you hear me?”

  The whisper warmed, and her trembles stilled.

  He stood straight as a yard pole and inclined his hooded head to Agnes. “You have my thanks, wise woman.”

  Agnes froze. People stared, and an instant, heavy silence swelled through the air.

  Nin kept her gaze on Agnes, who now shivered. For the way the Mage spoke, deep voice and powerful as a god, would still the most courageous heart.

  Thabit nodded his head again to Agnes, who took a small step back. “My thanks for the gift you sent me, wise woman. Be sure I will train her well. Once she is skilled, I am certain
she will be prudent and not bear any grudge for those who may have been unkind.”

  The urge to laugh was painful to stop. Nin pinched herself. The stooped old woman flashed the sign for protection from evil, turned, and hobbled away through the little group. Only one or two people laughed as she left. Most, like Nin, kept silent.

  Once she understood Agnes would not return, her heart fluttered, and she grew easier with the villagers who milled about, bartering what they could. Confidence swelled through her. When she stood beside him, she had nothing to fear. After a woman handed Thabit a sack of oats for a large, blue bottle of potion and bustled off smiling, she whispered up to him, “Thank you.”

  The woman who wanted the salve returned and placed a folded length of fabric by the oat sack. Thabit handed over the jar. “This will not fail to ease your pain.”

  Excitement sent a tingle to her fingertips. She fought to stop herself reaching out to stroke the material. This looked a long length of well-dyed wool. If she was careful with the stitching, she could make a fiery red gown from it.

  Two women stood for a time with them. She knew them by name, but neither spoke to her. Though both were married, and one had two babes, their gazes lingered on Thabit. They craned their necks in their efforts to see into his hood.

  The temptation to shout, “Yes, he’s beautiful, and he’s mine,” bubbled hot when they simpered at him, but she bit her tongue. Thabit bargained with the pair, and for a slender needle and three swatches of thread, he swapped small pots of salve they could use on their hands.

  “One last thing. We need honey, don’t we?” he murmured, as a man she knew well approached.

  Crispin did not look at her. His baldhead shone in the sun when he bent down to the scarves. He exuded the smell of mead, strong enough to mask the normal village scents. He played with the ends of the bright yellow and green patterned scarf hung over the edge of the basket.

  Nin hid a smile behind her hand as she took a tiny step back. Crispin must need to make up to his poor wife one more time. He must have done something very bad if one of the scarves would make amends.