Bright Sorcery

by Natalie Grey

  I gulped. “Survived?”

  “Figure of speech,” Daiman assured me. “Morgana won once, and he didn’t challenge her—but when the next conclave was called, his name was put forward and he won again.”

  “That’s a weird way of doing things.” I watched the coastline slide by. The boat was rocking and I was getting sleepy….

  The fog had grown closer.

  “It has its merits—and its shortcomings.” He yawned, and then growled in frustration. “Dammit it all, they’re trying to get me to let the spell down.”

  “Daiman.” My skin was prickling. “They really don’t want us here. And … we’re being watched.”

  I hadn’t known it until I said it, but as soon as I did, I was sure it was true.

  Daiman looked at me with newfound appreciation.

  “And you say you’re not cut out to be a druid,” he muttered. “Even I didn’t notice them until now.”

  “Maybe it’s because you’re used to the way they do magic—they know how not to get noticed by druids. And being a sorceress, I can feel them more easily.”

  Daiman adjusted the tiller and conserved. “That’s a very interesting idea. Very interesting. I wonder….” He yawned again. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Look, can you lend me some strength? I’m going to try to bring us in quickly.”

  I didn’t hesitate. He had never asked for something like this before, and I knew my magic made him uneasy in general.

  If he wanted my help, there was a damned good reason.

  I held out my hand, and when he clasped it, I fed him a tiny bit of my life force. I watched the boat speed and the circle of clear air widen in the fog.

  “D’you need more?”

  “I maybe, but—good Lord, that’s potent.” He shook his head at me. “You normally have this just … inside you? It feels like fire.”

  I yanked my hand back, suddenly mindful of the fact that almost half of the children born as sorcerers burned alive from the inside out. “Shit. Maybe we shouldn’t do that.”

  “Right.” He shook his head. “It was a stupid idea. At least I used most of that power to get us here. Look.”

  He pointed through the mist, and gradually, a new shore slid into view. In the haze, it was all deep greys, stark and poetic against the clouds. Cliffs appeared and disappeared as the mist billowed.

  I shivered.

  “I really don’t like this,” I whispered.

  My eyes caught on a figure. The cliffs should be too far for me to pick anyone out, but I was sure there was someone standing there, watching us. They wore a cloak, pulled forward over their face so there was no way to tell if they were male or female, young or old.

  “The sentries.” Daiman had followed my gaze. “They’ll be down to ask us what we want. I wouldn’t expect them to be too nice, frankly.”

  But to my surprise, the sentries—for now I saw three more of them, lining the cliffs at regular intervals—only turned and disappeared, moving inland. Within a few moments, I could tell that their presence was entirely gone.

  Daiman and I looked at one another.

  “What does that mean?” I asked him quietly.

  It was a long moment before he answered, and his face had gone still.

  “Nothing good,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on. But it’s nothing good.”

  He leapt out of the boat and started to haul it ashore, and I jumped out to help him.

  We stood for a moment in silence, boots soaked and the silence and the fog all around us, and then Daiman reached into the boat and grabbed his pack.

  “Well, whatever it is … we might as well go find out, right?”

  “Right.” I had never been less sure of anything in my life. “Lead on.”

  Chapter Three

  We found the road easily enough. It was white-paved, something that looked like paving stones but crunched like gravel—and got all strange when you looked at it for too long.

  “And we’re sure this is taking us to the right place?” I asked Daiman worriedly.

  “In this case, yes. Unless they moved the hall while I wasn’t paying attention.” He shouldered his pack and sighed. “I hope I’m making the right choice.”

  “Oh, don’t you start doubting. That’s my thing.”

  He gave me a look. “You know what I mean. What would you have done?”

  “Probably tried to find out more information about why I wasn’t being allowed.” I shrugged. “Finding out more information is the first thing I do whenever someone does something weird. Or … any other time, really.”

  “I always come at things head on.” Daiman rubbed at his face.

  “Well, cheer up.” I elbowed him.

  “Why, exactly?”

  “Because we can hardly turn around and run now,” I pointed out. “So the die is cast. No sense in questioning the choice at this point.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” He smiled over at me. “Thank you. And … next time, maybe tell me I’m making a huge mistake?”

  “It wasn’t necessarily a mistake.” I shrugged. “We still have a lot of opportunities to figure out what’s going on. If nothing else, you look incredibly un-sneaky doing this—which means later, they won’t expect you to do sneaky things.”

  “I wouldn’t do sneaky things!”

  “Okay, I’ll do the sneaky things.”

  “That wasn’t what I—” He groaned. “Keep your ears open, but don’t be sneaky. We need you above reproach.”

  I didn’t say anything, but I felt a stab of misgiving at that. I was hardly above reproach. I wasn’t even close to above reproach, really. That horse had bolted long ago.

  We walked in silence after that. Every once in a while, the mist would clear and I would be treated to a view that made my breath whoosh out of my lungs. Something about the way the light rippled over the land, and the absolute wealth of green on the hills, was unlike anything I had seen before.

  I could almost say I felt the heartbeat of this place, steady and slow. The hills themselves seemed to be alive.

  I grinned over at Daiman sometimes, and he smiled back. He was so clearly pleased to see me love this land the way he did, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to be home.

  Or if he even though of this as home anymore.

  The hall appeared suddenly, as magical buildings tended to do in my experience. I jumped, and then glared.

  It was massive. Stone, plaster, and wood beams held up a thatched roof, but the building itself must have been the size of a cathedral.

  The doors, carved with a display of greenery that was gone too quickly for me to make it out, swung open with a creak. For a moment, just a moment, I thought I saw a hitch in Daiman’s stride. Then he continued into the hall with his head held high, and I followed, trying to remind myself that I had once graced the most fashionable courts of Europe.

  It would just be embarrassing if I showed up with my mouth hanging open.

  The hall was lit with lanterns that hovered above the tables, each lantern fashioned to look like leaves and branches. The tables were carved, as were the benches, and faces surrounded by—or made of—leaves appeared at the ends of the ceiling beams, and where the beams intersected.

  Wherever I looked, there were bright hangings, richly embroidered. Some gods I recognized, and others seemed to be drawn from around the world.

  “And you say sorcerers like the trappings?” I murmured to Daiman.

  The corner of his mouth twitched, but his attention was more focused on the man at the end of the hall.

  Taliesen sat on a throne that, though lovingly polished, was old and crude next to the rest of the finery. His robes were a brilliant green and one hand held a staff tipped with a rough-cut crystal. He wore no crown; instead, heavy necklace lay at his throat, a twist of metal capped with two dragon heads that rested on his collarbone.

  A slightly oversized nose sat below bushy, unkempt brows, and he had let his beard grow in—perhaps for the illus
ion of age, though the hall was filled with people in the same perpetual state of eternal youth.

  Dark eyes appraised me, but I could glean nothing from that look.

  And the hall was growing silent as we walked through it. People turned to watch us, their faces impassive. There had been a strange undercurrent to the gathering before, and now there was only an uneasy quiet.

  Daiman was right. Whatever was going on here, it was nothing good.

  Taliesen stood as we approached. “Daiman Bradach.”

  His voice was resonant, but, like his eyes, somehow entirely without tone. He might be glad to see Daiman, or he might want him dead.

  “Chief Druid.” Daiman bowed his head deeply as we drew to a halt near the steps.

  “And who is your companion?” Taliesen descended to meet us gracefully and reached out for my hand. “An emissary of the Acadamh, perhaps, here to bring us tidings? We have heard little from the Coimeail of late.”

  Daiman frowned in confusion, but I knew this game. Taliesen was forcing him to say outright that he had defied an order—and broken with the Acadamh.

  “I am Nicola Beaumont.” I hoped there was no quaver in my voice at the sound of my full name, and I regretted that I could not see the mood of the crowd as I said the words. “I am no emissary of the Coimeail, Chief Druid, though Daiman and I have only now come from aiding them.”

  Let Taliesen see what to make of that. Indeed, I saw a flicker of interest in his eyes.

  “So. You are the infamous Nicola Beaumont.” He stared at me, and almost ostentatiously turned his back in order to climb back to his throne and sit. He studied me at his leisure.

  I don’t fear you, his gaze told me.

  You should, my smile said back.

  At my side, Daiman was practically vibrating with tension. “Chief Druid—”

  “You were told not to bring her.” Taliesen transferred his dark gaze to Daiman. “In exactly those words. Did you misunderstand, druid, or did you choose to disobey?”

  No one in the hall said a word.

  “I chose not to heed the order.” Daiman did not back down. I could see him struggling to hold back his next words, but he did not succeed. “It was not yours to give.”

  My eyebrows shot up, and there was a murmur behind us.

  “Not mine to give?” Taliesen sounded amused. “Druid, you have returned to a conclave. The druids are gathering. This is no place for outsiders.”

  Daiman looked truly unsettled now. “A summons was sent?”

  “Yes.” Taliesen gestured to the hall, where the druids did indeed seem to show the stamp of many ancestries. “We are aware that you were … out of contact. We have questions about that, which we hope you will be willing to answer.”

  “I will be happy to do so, insofar as it does not betray the confidence of the Coimeail.” Daiman seemed to have recovered his composure. “How long until the conclave?”

  “It will take place tomorrow.” Taliesen looked at me. “And so your acquaintance must leave.”

  “My acquaintance is a prospective druid.”

  “She will not be trained.” Taliesen pronounced the words flatly.

  My face went hot and I stepped back. I could hear the words rising behind me.

  “Because?” Daiman asked dangerously.

  “Because she is unsuitable,” Taliesen told him. “You know this.”

  “I do not.”

  “Daiman—” I couldn’t bear this. I couldn’t stand to watch him argue for me while they dragged out everything I had done.

  “No.” Daiman tossed me a look and shook his head stubbornly. “No. No potential druid should be refused without a rite.”

  “I think you will agree that this is a somewhat unusual case,” Taliesen snapped back.

  “But no less worthy of consideration.” Daiman’s face was set and hard. “Chief Druid, you know how many undertake our training and how many fail it. You know how many lack the resolve. She possesses that, and more. She—”

  “Bradach.” Taliesen’s voice was tight.

  For a moment, the two men stared one another down and I clutched the straps of my pack. This battle might be about me, but it didn’t feel like my battle.

  Neither of them were willing to back down for a few long moments, until at last Taliesen stood.

  Whatever I expected, it wasn’t for his voice to sound so old. “May I speak with you in private?” It was pitched only to Daiman; I hardly caught the words.

  “And Nicky?” Daiman asked. There was no sympathy in his gaze.

  Taliesen hesitated. “Yes,” he said finally. “And Nicky. Come.” He made his way around the throne and through a cunningly-carved door, and after a pause, we followed him.

  “He’s not just going to kill us, is he?” I asked in an undertone.

  “Gods, no.” Daiman looked horrified. He shook his head. “But I wish I had some idea of what was going on. There are layers here that I don’t like.”

  That made two of us.

  Chapter Four

  Taliesen’s private chambers, it seemed, lay directly next to the hall. I had the vague impression of a small, warm room paneled in wood, as if the architecture of the hall had been compressed into a little cottage.

  But that was all I saw, for Daiman went on the offensive the moment the door closed behind me.

  “What are you doing?” His voice was hard and intent. He stared Taliesen down with narrowed eyes.

  Taliesen sighed. “Druid—”

  “No.” Daiman cut him off with any angry swipe of his hand. “You denied our tenets when you denied her training. Don’t try to call me to obedience now.”

  My eyebrows rose slightly. I had rarely seen him like this. When we were at the Acadamh, he had treated the Coimeail—and Terric—almost as his equals. He was not of their world, and though I knew he believed wholeheartedly in his oath to protect the Separatist movement, he had described his service as a way of advancing the druids.

  Now, back amongst their company, he seemed strangely ill at ease.

  What was it like, I wondered, to leave your people behind in your quest to serve them? And I wondered also, uneasily, if a piece of his anger was that he no longer felt a part of this world.

  “I am not trying to call you to obedience,” Taliesen said patiently. He took a seat, and for a moment I almost thought I saw him as the old man he “should” be by now, white-bearded and ancient. He gestured to two other chairs. “Please, sit.” As we obeyed warily, he explained, “I am trying to make you understand this situation.”

  “What is there to understand?” Daiman asked heatedly. “I brought a candidate to be trained in the druidic arts—”

  “You brought a sorceress,” Taliesen said warningly. His eyes stayed locked on Daiman’s. “That alone would cause … controversy. At a time we hardly need it, I might add.” He sighed again and looked away at the fire.

  There was a pause.

  “Who’s challenging you?” Daiman asked.

  “No one.” Taliesen looked less offended than rueful.

  “…No one?” Daiman looked at me, as if I might be able to make sense of this.

  I shrugged. I didn’t know the first things about challenges and conclaves. I didn’t know enough to know whether this was even unusual—though Daiman’s bewilderment was a good enough clue in that direction.

  “I have ruled for a very long time,” Taliesen said. His gaze stayed on the fire, and his tone was thoughtful. “There are arguments to be made, I suppose, that such a thing is bad in and of itself.”

  “You’re not … being challenged for cause?” Daiman shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “That is the cause.” Taliesen looked back at him with a small smile. “The conclave is being held to determine whether or not I should continue to rule. If the motion passes … presumably, candidates will step forward.”

  “Presumably?” Daiman looked deeply offended.

  I, with the sense of being far out of my depth, staye
d silent, and Taliesen gave me a small smile of sympathy.

  “I think we are being rude to our guest. These are matters for druids to discuss. And—” he held up a hand “—to return to my earlier point, you know there has been debate for years over whether a sorcerer ever makes a good candidate to be a druid.”

  “And you know that the arguments are baseless,” Daiman said heatedly.

  “I do not.” Taliesen contradicted him mildly. “Every person in that hall has spent decades of a mortal life seeking magic that could be gained only through skill. With every respect to your friend, she has never had the same challenge.”

  I bit my lip on a retort, but Daiman did not: “You think she will face less challenge in working our spells?”

  Again, Taliesen held up a hand to soothe him. “I think she will face different challenges,” he said calmly. “And therein lies part of the problem. How am I to say that she is a druid like any other, when her journey to power would be like no other druid’s?”

  “Any druid has different challenges,” Daiman said. He was struggling to keep his voice even. “If you would just give her a chance—”

  “Yes. A chance.” Taliesen sighed. “Bradach, whatever you may think of this woman, even you must acknowledge who she is.”

  So now we came to it. I clasped my hands in my lap and stared down at them in the stricken silence.

  “My judgement is not compromised,” Daiman said quietly, but his voice was fierce.

  “Perhaps it is not,” Taliesen agreed. “But you come here with a candidate that might well not be accepted in any case, a sorceress, and not just any sorceress. You bring a mass-murderer, and expect us to treat her like any other woman.”

  In the silence, Daiman sank his head into one hand.

  I stood. I wanted desperately to leave. Something about Taliesen’s calm rebuke seemed harsher than the other things I’d had screamed at me, than the other judgements I knew had been made about my character.

  He spoke the truth simply, and without apology.