by Clay Held
“Raise your hand,” spoke the Other Voice in Simon’s head, and he obeyed. If he could focus, maybe he could repeat the flash of light from his hand yesterday. All he needed to do was point his hand and concentrate. He could get it right this time. “Use your gift.”
“Ex luce...” he started.
“Don’t Simon!” Nathan yelled. “Don’t! Off the boat! Now!”
“I can help!” Simon focused on Streaker. Ex luce vita. He had the motto right now. Now he could really help, do it right. The hairs on his neck began to tingle, and goosebumps swept over his arm. He could almost do it. It had worked yesterday, even when he had it wrong. It would work now. “Vita,” the Other Voice in his head spoke. “Ex vita...”
“Simon!” Nathan screamed. “STOP!”
Streaker slowly turned towards Simon, his oily black eyes burning with anger. Growling, the dog braced its shoulders to attack. Simon steadied his hand, pointed it at the dog.
Nathan bolted towards Simon, completely ignoring the hound. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”
Simon’s head swam, his feet uneasy under him. “I got this,” he said. “I stopped him yesterday, I know I can do this!” he shouted. The tingling in his hand gave way to burning. Streaker held his spot, shoulders braced, his eyes locked on Simon. Why wasn’t he attacking? Why did he just stand there, its fur singed and skin burned, and didn’t go for him now? What was it waiting for?
The boat rocked violently under them. Nathan braced himself and shouted, “We don’t have time! Get off while you can!” He flicked his hand at Simon--it was like a slap of cold water across his face, then Nathan was scooping him right off the deck of the boat and running towards the front of the ship. The crew was hurriedly dropping the ramps onto the shore as they approached. Lungwort was sitting on the guardrail too, his tiny eyes focused on them as they hurried ashore.
“Thank you,” Nathan said to the crew, breathing heavily as he set Simon down on the shore. The burning sensation in Simon’s hand had all but faded.
Lungwort gave Nathan a piercing glare. “The leaves be with you,” he finally said. “Best you were off the boat by dawn, ramps and all, before the sun touch us.” He tossed a small wrapped package to Simon. “From Cookie,” he said.
Simon fingered the folds of the cloth wrapped around the package. Given the smell of the meal last night, there was no way of knowing what was under there. “What is it?” Simon asked tentatively.
“No time.” Nathan was already putting the boat behind them. The morning dew clung to the grass under their feet, leaving a sweet smell lingering in the air. Dawn touched the ground around them.
Simon tucked the package in his backpack and turned to shout goodbye to Lungwort and the crew, but when he looked behind him the boat had vanished--only a few leaves and twigs floated on the surface where the great ship had been.
Nathan was checking his grimoire again. “We still have to hurry,” he said. “There’s not much time.”
“Where now?” Simon zipped his backpack. “We’re in St. Louis? Are we catching a plane?”
“Hardly.” Nathan pointed high in the air behind Simon. “Look up.”
The St. Louis Arch stretched high into the sky behind them, its metal skin gleaming a brilliant, blinding cascade of oranges and yellows as the sun swept fully over the horizon.
“The Gate,” Nathan said, somewhat proudly.
“The St. Louis Arch?” Simon shielded his eyes against the glare of the metal.
“Well, yes and no,” Nathan said. “The Gate was here first, for a few hundred years at least. Zebulon Muske put it together right after the Witch Folk reached the river. He dared to put it right by the river.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“This water’s dangerous,” Nathan said. “It was risky, but Zeb did it all the same--good energy under here, once you get past the bad stuff. Arch came later. Odd how people always have a way of knowing where important things ought to go. Anyway, handy for us.” He checked his grimoire again, nodded. “Cleaning crew will be here soon. You have the fork?”
“Yeah,” Simon said, fishing the fork out of his backpack. “What is the fork even for, anyway? I don’t get it.”
“Payment,” Nathan said. “Nothing’s ever free. Wouldn’t normally need this for you, but under the circumstances, we have to.” He took the fork from Simon. “Here, follow me.” Nathan led Simon directly under the Arch. Looking over his shoulder, Simon saw Streaker coming out of the water.
Nathan looked back too and said, “Don’t worry about him now. He can’t follow where we’re going. Can’t even get close to us while we’re near on top of the sigil that powers the Gate. Freemancer power is strong here.”
Streaker rose out of the water but did not advance. He only stood watching from the shore, his black gaze never wavering from them.
Nathan turned his back on Streaker and began murmuring, walking in a tight circle right on the grass under the center of the Arch. The air vibrated around them, and the buildings in the distance blurred into fuzzy shapes of orange and blue and gray.
The ground beneath their feet hummed, then silvery-blue lines appeared and began to spread across the grass. The lines interconnected in a series of geometric shapes, mostly triangles and squares, all surrounded by one silvery-blue circle which glowed bright in the morning light. The sigil.
Silvery fog crept in from the river. It swam around the circle, slowly building speed as it surrounded the two of them. The air was electric, the buzzing of ten thousand bees, the rush of a roller coaster. The mist suddenly shimmered with blue lighting, sprouting long, misty tendrils that rose and wove delicately around the sigil on the ground, twisting themselves into a shimmering lacework, knots and braids entwining around each other as it circled around them.
Nathan finished chanting. His eyes glowed the same faint silvery blue as the sigil. The mist lacework drew in tightly, compacting itself into a circle on the ground, then it became blindingly bright, and the circle sprang high into the air, sending goosebumps tearing over Simon. A small, silver archway stood in front of them, just tall enough for someone to walk through. The surface of the Gate rippled like glossy water, and Simon shuddered to look at it. Water.
“It’s okay to close your eyes,” Nathan said. “It doesn’t hurt, but it can be a little disorienting.” He tucked his grimoire back inside his coat. “I’ll be right behind you. Make sure to hold the fork tightly, until you’re through to the other side.”
Simon stepped in front of the silver portal. Would it feel like being underwater? If so, forget it. Where did it even go--straight to Sam? To help, or to Boeman?
Nathan placed his hands on Simon’s shoulders. “I’ll see about getting the fork refunded.”
Unease crept into Simon’s stomach. He closed his eyes and took a breath, the smell of the dew flowing deep into his chest. He would hold his breath when he stepped through--hopefully the journey wouldn’t last long.
Nathan stepped away.
Simon gripped his backpack hard and took a deep breath.
For Sam, he thought to himself.
Another deep breath, then he stepped through the Gate.
Act Two
The Thief and The Bookworm
Magic concerns itself with the fundamental forces of the Universe.
This is where the trouble starts.
––Nicodemus Limnic, An Honest History of the Wizard’s Craft, Introduction
CHAPTER SEVEN
SILVERWOOD HALL
Trees.
Everywhere around him, tall trees, old trees, young trees, broken trees. Early morning fog slipped lazily around the tall oaks that surrounded him and the hill behind him. The air was sweet with the smell of a recent rain. Sunlight broke through the branches overhead, coating the forest floor in bright yellows and oranges. Dawn had already been here for some time, where back at the riverfront it was only just arriving. Realization hit Simon. He was very far from where he had been just a moment ago.
>
The Gate had been a rush of sensation. The ground under his feet had fallen away for an instant, and he had jerked when it happened, expecting to plummet. A blur of colors rushed past his eyes, and then his feet had crunched down on the forest floor a moment later, the morning air stinging his face. It had all come and gone in a heartbeat, yet it left him shaken. The rush of the movement faded, and his bearings slowly limped back to him. He recognized that he was in a forest. Beyond that, nothing else.
The noises of the forest crept in around him, a few insects buzzed quietly and the birds overhead occasionally chirped. Without knowing why, the hairs on the back of his neck tingled, and all the air around him seemed to hum with some unspoken quality.
“I would move if I were you,” said a rough voice behind him. Simon froze. He did not recognize the voice, but it was deeper and rougher than Nathan’s. He closed his eyes, and the buzzing in the air died off. He tried to count to ten. Maybe it had been his imagination. Maybe it was Nathan, or nobody at all, just his mind playing tricks on him. “No use pretending you’re not there,” said the rough voice, this time off to Simon’s left. “The oaks know you’re here, so save your jabberings. It’ll do you no good where you’re standing.”
A large man dressed in animal skins and gripping a very large wooden staff stepped into Simon’s view. His head was draped in a large-brimmed hat, big enough for the brim to droop down until it almost covered his gray eyes, which thundered like tiny storm clouds. A long, green feather hung lazily from the brim. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a bonding-sigil under your feet,” he said. Simon glanced down. He stood on a rough stone platform with strange lines and letters carved into it. The man smiled broadly. “In case you’re wondering just how that seal happened be right under where you’re standing, that’s because we don’t do well to suffer trespassers near our home.”
The man swept in close to Simon. Simon wished he could step back through the gateway, but it had long vanished. Still, he stepped backwards, off the stone platform and into the leaves, his feet crunching as he backed away.
The man continued towards him, his hand outstretched as if to beckon Simon closer. Simon continued to back away until he bumped up against something. Something large. He reached around blindly to feel for an opening, but his fingers grabbed thick, soft fur.
“Keep him right there, Grisly. Sterling will want to know about this one.” Simon looked over his shoulder. A very large and very gray bear laid on the ground behind him, its big, questioning eyes focused on Simon.
Simon struggled against the urge to run. Every bone in his body screamed to break into a sprint, to try to put as much distance between him and the bear and the strange man he took for its master, but fear held him in place. There was no outrunning a beast this large, even though at the moment it looked content to remain lying on its sunny spot among the trees.
The man was at arm’s length from Simon when a small pop rippled through the air. Simon felt like his heart might burst at the sight of Nathan appearing a few yards behind the strange man, who spun on his heal at the noise.
“Another trespasser, eh?” The man held his staff in front of him. “We won’t be having any o’ these today.”
Nathan locked eyes with the man, then cocked his head. “Cynric,” Nathan said, sounding beleaguered. “Not now, okay? Not ever. Ever. Got it?”
An excited noise escaped the man’s lips. “Nathan?” Then the man was dashing towards him, momentarily forgetting Simon. Simon distanced himself from the gray bear, who rolled onto its back and promptly fell asleep.
The strange man continued to pat down Nathan, running his hands over Nathan’s face and shoulders. “Dogs and devils, Nathan. It really is you! It really is.” The mountain man seized Nathan in another hug, lifting him clear off the ground.
“It’s me,” Nathan said, finally stepping back from the man. “Honestly, Cynric, don’t you ever check the bulletin? I sent word.” Nathan crossed over the stone platform to Simon. “You didn’t let Grisly frighten him too much, did you?”
Cynric shook his head. “How long has it been? Five years? Five years gone, and you just pop back in, a leaf on the wind?”
“I said I sent word.” A troubled look spread across Nathan’s face, followed by realization. “Archmancer Sterling, well that figures,” he said, petting the large gray bear, who let out a large huff and stayed asleep. “Don’t worry, Simon, Grisly is all grumble and no growl. She’d sooner sleep than chase after you.”
“Is this one yours?” Cynric rooted Simon with a piercing glare. “Have you brought home another makeshift apprentice?”
“Apprentice?” Simon felt a small surge of curiosity at the idea. “You have apprentices?”
“Where did you think the Freemancers come from?” Cynric kept his eyes fixed on Simon. “Think they just pop up out of the earth, all trained and proven?” He broke his stare to look at Nathan. “Honestly, Nathan, I hope you know what you’re doing, bringing in another bit of odd stock like this.”
“He’s not my apprentice,” Nathan said sternly. “He’s my guest.”
Cynric’s eyes widened, his large face folding slightly into a smile. “A...guest? Well, then, I assume you’ve sought all the proper permissions from the council?”
“All in the notice,” Nathan said, smiling and leading Cynric away from Simon. The two spoke in hushed tones for a moment, each of them glancing back at Simon off and on. Nathan then lead Cynric back, grabbing his oak staff from him. He turned to face Simon head on. “Simon Warner...” he said, his tone formal and stately.
“You even remember it all?” Cynric leaned against Grisly, who snoozed softly in the morning light.
“I remember enough,” Nathan replied, then added, “don’t break my chain of thought.” He focused his eyes on Simon, and the hairs on the back of his neck tingled again. “Simon Warner, son of our brother, son of our sister, and one of the Folk...” Son of our brother. Had Simon’s father been here? Something screeched loudly behind Simon, startling him.
Nathan held out his hand to stop Simon from turning around. “Eyes on me,” he whispered. Simon barely resisted the urge to look behind him, and Nathan continued. “I welcome you now, now and forever, to the realm of your people and the place of your home.”
“Home,” snickered the Other Voice in Simon’s head.
The forest groaned around Simon. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him and waited for Nathan to continue.
“You forgot the swearing of allegiance,” Cynric said.
Nathan smiled. “Close enough,” Nathan said. “Let’s go Simon. We’re almost there.”
“Where?”
“Where we’re going,” Nathan said, tossing the staff back to Cynric and walking briskly past Simon. “Follow me.”
“There isn’t anything that way--” Simon’s words were cut short. Where a thick line of trees had stood, a new path had appeared, twisting and writhing further down the hill, leading deeper into the forest. Nathan was already walking down the path, about to follow the curving path down around a ridge and out of sight.
“Better keep up,” Nathan called to Simon before disappearing around the large mossy rock formation that jutted out of the forest floor. “Unless you want to stand guard and wait for the boogeymen with Cynric some more.”
The gentle huffing of the sleeping bear was all the motivation Simon needed. He made his way down the path, eager to keep sight of Nathan. He caught up quickly, and together they hiked along the path. As they moved along, something odd began to nag at Simon. The forest floor was gradually succumbing to a worn stone path. It was overgrown with moss and covered with leaves, but it was there nonetheless. The sky overhead had lost its bright yellow sheen, and clouds began to stretch into long, colorless sheets, washing out the sky to a dull, endless gray. Where birds had sung earlier, the air now was filled with a distant, quiet humming.
They continued deep into the forest. Nathan gripped his grimoire always, never taking his eyes
off the path ahead. The moss and leaves receded, eventually revealing the stone path completely. Up ahead, the path curved, and they found themselves crossing a large stone bridge over an deep, silvery blue creek. The path beyond cut deep into a large rock bluff, revealing steep stone stairs carved straight into the bluff.
“Where are we going?” Simon asked as he climbed over a large dead tree that had fallen across the foot of the stairs.
Nathan paused a few steps ahead of Simon. “We have folk here,” he said. “People like us, people who should be able to help us locate Sam and rescue him.”
Simon started up the stairs, but Nathan held out his hand to block him. “Are they hiding?”
“They live here,” he said. “This is their home.” Then, after an odd pause, he added, “All our home, really.”
“Our home?” Simon asked. This was his chance. “Did my parents live here?”
A pained look crossed Nathan’s face. Finally he said, “This was your parents’ home. There is Warner land out in the woods. That makes it your home too. You look back far enough, almost every one of the Witch Folk leads back to here,” he said, his fingers unconsciously finding his way to the small silver ring on his right hand. “Some more than others.”
“Our home,” Simon said to himself. The idea was so strange. He had never thought of anywhere other than the Paw as his home, really. “Why didn’t Sam tell me any of this?”
“To protect you,” Nathan said. “He wanted better for you, he didn’t want--” Nathan suddenly stopped, looking down at the carved steps with a forced interest.
“Didn’t want what?”
“Simon...” He put his hands on Simon’s shoulders. “Not now. Soon, I promise, but not right now. You need to understand where we’re going.”
Frustration breathed inside Simon. His anger was not going to die off any time soon. His inner voice had suddenly started screaming for answers, and Nathan wasn’t willing to share what he knew. All these years, Sam had been lying to him, keeping him in the dark, keeping all of this from him. Magic. His past. His parents.
