The Voyage to Magical North

by Claire Fayers

  Tom glanced up from the book. “The wind was full of the voices of the dead,” he finished.

  The mainsail flapped, making Peter jump. He looked out at the perfectly calm sea. “What comes next?”

  Tom bent his head back over the book. “Two crewmen jumped overboard to their deaths. I thought I saw the spirits of my own father and mother, dead these twenty years. The first mate saw such terrible sights that he still refuses to speak.” He turned a page and looked up. “That’s it. The next bit is about a monster made of ice.”

  Peter shivered. The crew looked around uneasily as if they expected ghosts to start rising from the deck. Tom slid the book inside his robe and sat with his arms wrapped around himself.

  “Which way, Captain?” asked Ewan Hughes.

  Peter knew what the answer would be. Cassie walked to the helm. “North. And look out for storms.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Magic is a naturally occurring energy, and it flows in a northerly direction. This may explain why more starshell is to be found in the Gemini Seas than anywhere else. Legends of magical creatures—dragons, unicorns, merfolk, and so on—are often set in the far north. Of course, the far north has never been explored, so the legends have the extra advantage that no one can dispute the existence of such creatures there.

  (From ALDEBRAN BOSWELL’S BIG BOOK OF MAGIC)

  As if the weather were determined to prove Boswell wrong, the seas remained resolutely calm for the next few days. The Onion surged through clear blue waters, and the cold air held barely a trace of wind and certainly no sign of a storm. Brine found it was easy to forget about ghosts, easy to believe that Boswell had exaggerated the whole thing. Peter seemed happier, too, staying up on deck with her and Tom, and once he even joined in a sword-fight practice with Ewan. Brine was pleased. She wondered if most of Peter’s bad temper before had been because of all the time he’d had to spend with Tallis Magus. He was certainly a lot easier to get on with now; at times she even caught herself liking him.

  Then, on the seventh night, Brine woke with Peter shaking her.

  “You were shouting in your sleep,” said Peter. “What were you dreaming?”

  Brine sat up. “I don’t know.” A few last images fled. An island full of trees, a boat, and then she’d been a shooting star, streaking halfway across the world. She rubbed her eyes, trying to see in the dark underdeck, and wondered why everything appeared to be swaying more than usual. “Where’s Tom?”

  “Asleep. It appears he can sleep through anything.” Peter’s voice was tight and nervous. He was holding all three of his starshell pieces, and a faint glow came off them, just enough to see by. He must have been practicing, Brine thought. She hadn’t known he could do that.

  Peter lifted his hand higher, and she saw his face. He looked more than nervous—he looked afraid. Brine slid out of her hammock. “What’s going on?”

  A low growl shook the ship. It was followed three seconds later by a crack that sounded like the Onion had split in half and a flash of light that turned the cabin white. The remaining crew were out of their hammocks in an instant. Tom woke with a yell and fell out of his.

  “It’s just a storm,” said Brine. “No need to panic.” But she heard the edge of panic in her voice as she said it.

  Cassie came sliding down the ladder. “All hands on deck—except you three. Stay down here until we tell you it’s safe. It’s only a storm. It could be worse.”

  “Told you,” Brine told Peter. She tried to smile, but her face felt rigid with fear. Her heart thundered as loudly as the storm. She backed against the side of the cabin as everyone headed for the ladder.

  Tim Burre was the last one up. “Try not to worry,” he said. “We’ll be fine.” He slammed the hatch shut behind him. A moment later, lightning flared in streaks around the edges.

  Tom’s birds set up a mad squawking in their cage. Something sharp latched on to Brine’s ankle and she yelled, but it was only Zen trying to climb her leg. She pulled him off and held him close, burying her face in his warm fur as the ship rocked. She felt sick. Tom crawled into a corner, and she heard him retching, but she didn’t dare move to see if he was all right.

  The floor suddenly bucked and threw her off her feet. Zen raked his claws down her cheek, broke free, and ran. A low wind moaned. Brine felt an answering moan rise in her own throat. Long shadows skittered across the walls as the wind sighed again.

  Tom wrapped his library robe around his head. “It’s the voices of the dead. We’re all going to die.”

  Brine rubbed her hand over her cheek and felt blood where Zen had scratched her. The dead didn’t have voices. It was only the wind. The wind groaning and sighing through every tiny crack in the ship, filling her ears until she thought she could hear voices calling her name. “Don’t be silly, Tom,” she said loudly, to drown the voices out. They only moaned louder. The Onion tipped backward. Something crashed to the deck overhead. Brine bit back a scream. What was happening up there?

  They all slid as the Onion rolled forward again. Brine grabbed hold of a trailing hammock. “Peter, do something.”

  “Like what?”

  The wind shrieked. Another crash suggested something large had just broken. At this rate, the Onion wouldn’t last long. If they stayed belowdecks, they’d drown.

  “Wait here,” said Peter. He began to crawl to the half-open hatch that led down to the lower deck.

  The lower deck, where Marfak West was waiting.

  Brine’s heart almost stopped. She grabbed Peter’s ankle. “Hold on!”

  “We have to stop the storm,” he shouted over the noise of the wind. “I can’t do it. Have you got any other ideas?”

  Brine didn’t. Reluctantly, she let him go. He lifted the hatch and slid through. Brine followed him down, with Tom right behind her.

  Packing crates lay everywhere. Some of them had smashed open, and their contents had spilled out across the floor. Peter took a cautious step forward and allowed his starshell light to fill the space.

  Tom shouted in fright.

  Marfak West stood in his iron cage and watched them. The ship lurched and tumbled, but he didn’t move, not even when a crate hit the cage and shattered.

  “Tom,” said Peter with a grin, “meet Marfak West.”

  Tom’s glasses fell off.

  The magician’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Pleased to meet you, too. By the ship’s behavior, I take it we have entered a storm. Has the wind begun to howl like the souls of the dead yet?”

  Wind shrieked through the hold. “Good,” said Marfak West. “We appear to be heading in the right direction. Now, if you’d like the Onion to survive, the three of you will do exactly what I say. You, girl, go and tell Cassie to steer the ship directly into the storm.”

  Brine’s breath stopped dead in her chest. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “Do it,” said Peter.

  She shook her head fiercely. “I’m not leaving you down here with him.” It struck her as odd that she was worried about Peter’s safety when it would be far more dangerous up on deck right now.

  Peter peeled his gaze away from the magician in his cage and turned to face Brine. “I’ll be all right. Just do it—please.”

  He’d never said please before. Then again, he’d never asked her to do anything before. It was always her telling him what to do. Brine’s mouth was too dry to speak. Trust me, Peter’s eyes seemed to be saying, and she found, to her surprise, that she did.

  “Be careful,” she said. She turned and ran, before she could change her mind, and climbed back up the ladder.

  * * *

  The wind blew Brine off her feet as she emerged on deck. She struggled back up and clung to the mast, gasping. The air was so thick with spray she could barely see. Above her, the mainsail flapped as if it were trying to tear free. Broken ropes snapped to and fro.

  She shouted, but the wind tore her voice away. A wave crashed right over her. The clouds above crawled with green lightning. Brine
caught a sudden glimpse of figures out on the sea, and her heart bumped. The spirits of the dead—but no. Ghosts didn’t exist. She looked around wildly, trying to find Cassie.

  “Look out!” cried Bill Lightning, stumbling past her. A rope snapped and whipped across his face with a crack. He reeled, his nose flattened.

  Find Cassie. That was all that mattered. Brine let go of the mast and crawled on her hands and knees. The Onion plunged down and she slid, screaming. For one moment, she thought she’d be tipped straight into the sea, then her feet caught in a net and she came to an abrupt stop that almost jerked her legs out of joint. She lay sobbing for breath.

  The air cleared for a second, and she saw Cassie at the helm. Brine cried out in relief, kicked away the net, and staggered back to her feet. “Cassie! Sail into the storm!”

  Cassie couldn’t possibly have heard, but she turned.

  “Into the storm!” Brine yelled again.

  A pair of arms lifted her up from behind. Squirming, she saw Tim Burre.

  “What are you doing out here?” He slung her over his shoulder and started back toward the hatch. Brine struggled.

  “Cassie!”

  The Onion shuddered, every rope thrumming. Slowly, battered by sea and wind, she began to turn around. Brine clung to Tim Burre upside down while the storm screamed in her ears. The sky, if it was possible, became even blacker.

  The Onion dipped sharply, then dropped as if the sea below her had disappeared. Everything hung still for a moment. Brine drew in breath to scream and stopped, her mouth hanging open.

  The wind fled, whining like a kicked dog. The sails hung limp. The sea gave one final heave and lay still.

  One by one, the pirates picked themselves up, staring.

  “That’s something you don’t see every day,” said Trudi.

  Clouds still surrounded them and lightning crackled in ghostly patterns, but the sea was calm. It was like looking up at the sky from the bottom of a well.

  Tim Burre let Brine go, and she slid to the deck. “What the—” he began.

  He got no further, because Peter climbed out of the hatch, and right behind him was Marfak West. The magician’s arms were loaded with chains, but he didn’t seem to mind them. He stood, observing the cloud banks and bursts of lightning with interest.

  Brine sat there, staring. When Peter had said to trust him, she’d had some vague idea he’d stay belowdecks with Marfak West and deal with the storm from there. She hadn’t thought he’d let the magician out of his cage. A brief hope that Peter wasn’t that stupid and that Marfak West was mind-controlling him died as she saw Tom scrambling out behind them.

  “This wasn’t my idea,” said Tom.

  Marfak West smiled. “He’s telling the truth. If it were up to him to have ideas, we’d all be doomed. Fortunately, your magician had more sense.”

  Everybody started shouting.

  “Be quiet,” snapped Cassie. “Ewan, put your sword away. Tom, stop trembling. Everything is under control.” She turned to Peter, her eyebrows raised. “I’m assuming it is?”

  He nodded, scarlet-faced. “I unlocked his cage with magic. I didn’t know I could, but it worked. He says he can guide us out of the storm.”

  “He’s lying,” said Ewan. “If he knew the way through the storm, he’s had plenty of time to tell us already.”

  Marfak West gave an irritated sigh. “How was I supposed to tell you anything when I was locked in a cage by myself and you frightened away my only visitor? I’m telling you now: We’re at the very heart of the storm. From here, there is one safe path out. If you miss it, the storm will overwhelm the Onion and we’ll sink. But stay here, and all we can do is sail in circles until we starve. Believe me, I have no wish to drown or starve with you.”

  “Throw him overboard,” said Rob Grosse. “We don’t need him.” The crew muttered in agreement.

  Cassie looked down at the deck. “Peter will guide us,” she said. “Marfak West will help him, and I’ll be standing right behind. If you try anything except get us safely out of here, magician, I’ll cut your head off. Do you understand?”

  Marfak West gave a stiff nod. “Peter, come with me.” He stalked to the helm. Peter shot Brine a helpless glance and followed. She wanted to go after him, but it felt like her feet were stuck to the deck and she couldn’t move. It wasn’t Marfak West’s doing, but her own body refusing to obey her. She watched as Peter joined the magician at the helm and Cassie and Ewan took up positions behind them.

  “This is a big mistake,” said Tom.

  Brine nodded. She couldn’t speak. And she couldn’t help noticing that Peter didn’t shrink away from Marfak West like everyone else did. In fact, he stood closer to him than to Cassie, as if Cassie was the one Peter didn’t trust, and the magician, the vilest man in the whole world, was an old friend.

  CHAPTER 19

  Ghosts do not exist. I can say this confidently, after much research. I have killed many people, and none of them have come back to haunt me.

  (From ADVENTURES IN MAGIC AND SCIENCE: THE RESEARCH AND EXPERIMENTS OF MARFAK WEST)

  “It’s a basic finding spell,” said Marfak West. “I’m sure you know the spellshape for that one. Use it if it helps, and simply picture a way out of this storm.”

  Peter could have done without the word simply. This was impossible. He didn’t know what he was looking for or how to picture it. The heavy warmth of the starshell pieces usually made him feel better, but instead his stomach churned so fast he thought he was going to throw up. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imagine he was back on Minutes, on solid ground. Anywhere but here, with everyone watching him as if they expected him to fail.

  He jerked magic clumsily from the starshell and tried to curl it round into a circle. This had better work, he thought. If it doesn’t, Ewan Hughes is going to throw me to the sharks. If Cassie hadn’t stepped in, the crew would probably have thrown Marfak West overboard already by now, and Peter with him.

  And yet, for some reason, Cassie had stepped in. Peter wondered why. He cast her a quick, worried glance. The magic slipped from his fingers and scattered. Cassie couldn’t have seen it, but she smiled at him, her sword held firmly at Marfak West’s back.

  “You can do it,” she whispered.

  Peter drew in a breath. Cassie didn’t like this any more than the rest of the crew, but she was giving him a chance. A simple finding spell. Right. He knew what the spellshape looked like. He held his wrist and turned his hand around. Brine sneezed and retreated as a circle of bright magic formed in the air. Peter stared through the ring of magic and imagined a path cutting through the storm, the clouds parting on either side of the ship and clear sky above them.

  Nothing happened.

  “It’s no good,” said Peter as the spellshape wavered and crumbled. “I can’t imagine something I haven’t seen. It just doesn’t feel real.”

  Marfak West growled in frustration. “Of course it doesn’t feel real. It isn’t real, not the way you’re doing it. Ask yourself, here and now, what do you want most?”

  Magical North. The thought sprang into Peter’s head. He wanted to stand at Magical North and see … not the world, but the future—his future. Would he ever be a good magician, would he ever stop feeling so out of place? Would he become a hero or a villain, a Cassie O’Pia or a Marfak West?

  “There’s nothing more real than what you’re feeling,” said Marfak West.

  His words flashed through Peter’s mind, as bright as magic. Everything Peter wanted, the answers to all his questions, lay on the far side of this storm. As soon as the thought had left him, he knew which way they had to go, as clearly as if he could see the path right in front of him. He held the starshell gently and felt a faint tug in return. “Left,” he said, hoping he was correct.

  Cassie’s fingers dug into his shoulder. “Full speed to the left!”

  * * *

  Brine sat and watched as Peter gave directions. The wind tugged at her clothes, whispering around her
while, above the mainmast, a twist of light turned the clouds violet.

  “It’s a natural phenomenon caused by static discharge,” said Tom. “Nothing to worry about.” He was looking away from her as he spoke, so she couldn’t see his face, but she guessed it was roughly the same shade of gray as the sea.

  “Hello, Brine,” said the static discharge.

  The voice was like lightning across her vision. Brine yelped.

  There was no such thing as ghosts. She knew that for a fact. You lived and then you died and you stayed dead. It was the world’s way of making room for new people. It’s a trick of the storm, she thought. She tried to say so, but she couldn’t manage more than a squeak. That didn’t seem to bother her parents, who both smiled at her.

  Brine wasn’t sure how she could tell they were her parents—she just knew. Her father was tall, dark-skinned, and handsome. Her mother was shorter, with crinkly black hair that crackled with stray lightning. Brine’s head felt like it was about to explode. She got up slowly and walked away from Tom. He didn’t notice: His gaze had already drifted into the distance.

  “You’re not real,” she said to the ghosts of her parents.

  “Of course we are,” said Brine’s father. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here. It’s good to see you looking so well. We did worry that you wouldn’t survive.”

  “Maybe you should have thought about that before you put me in a boat and sent me off to die,” said Brine angrily. She didn’t care if they weren’t real. She’d been saving this argument up inside herself for a long time. “Why did you do it?”

  Her mother wiped away a tear. “We had to. It was the only chance we had of saving your life.”

  Brine shook her head. This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be. “You’re only saying that because it’s what I want you to say. You’re only in my head.”

  Her father held out his arms to her. “We’re here. We’ve come to take you home.”