Sword and Sorceress XXVII

by Unknown

  They separated all the way from the coast to the rim of the basin. Sea water rushed into the gap, heading west.

  “It’s my mother’s doing,” the girl moaned.

  “She’s strong enough to split the earth?” Coil blurted. “How does a sorceress get power like that?”

  “She lay with a djinn.”

  “In that case,” Azure commented, “she must have been very good in bed.”

  #

  The devastation played out at a tortoise pace, if only because the scale was so tremendous. The surge of ocean water reached the basin and diffused into an ever-widening flood. Within hours it would reach the lowest point—Salt Town—and would begin restoring the sea that eons of evaporation had stolen. As yet, the denizens of the outpost might not even be aware yet of their doom, though certainly they must have felt the quake. But even if they knew, they could not save themselves—not without some fantastical means such as the carpet. No camel or man would be able to flee all the way to the rim before the water would catch up. Well before midnight this very night, the only spot in Salt Town left above the waves would be the top part of the tower. Azure could already see in her mind the desperate men storming the entrances, guards just as desperately fighting to deny them entry.

  Would the pirate prince wait to be thrown from the top? Would he jump of his own volition? Or if his defenses held, would he simply wait until the waters inevitably closed over his head?

  Azure struggled to feel sorrow for the soon-to-be victims. The closest she could come was pity for the slaves, but she believed every one of their number would welcome a quick end to their misery. The truth was she was not sorry they would die. She was angry that someone had killed them.

  Coil met her glance. The light was dimming, but she read his eyes as well as she ever had, from the time they had suckled at opposite breasts to now. His thoughts were a mirror of hers:

  They were part of this, but they could not fix it.

  The remainder of the journey through the flight was uncomfortably quiet. Neither she nor Coil felt like speaking. After the carpet had carried them beyond the clouds of dust and steam thrown up by the upheaval, she expected Zephyr to bubble over with expressions of gratitude, or at least to sob with relief. But the girl stayed tucked against Coil, her eyes closed, brow deeply furrowed.

  The carpet took them north. Only when they were well beyond the region affected by the devastation did their speed drop. Finally they were deposited gently on a moonlit stretch of sand beside a riverbed. A riparian stand of woolwood trees showed how different an area this was. Sand and stone predominated and the river had no water at the moment, but clearly rain blessed the place often enough that trees could persist.

  Tucked among the woolwoods was the stormwitch’s pavilion. The flaps parted and the sorceress herself emerged.

  Coil helped Zephyr to stand. He had to nudge her to get her to take a few steps forward. Azure helped her milk brother fold up the carpet while Lady Sirocco completed her approach.

  She took her daughter’s chin in her hand, tilted her head right and left, checked her backside for lash marks. Made sure her mouth still had teeth.

  “I warned you they might catch you,” she scolded.

  “You did,” Zephyr mumbled.

  “I will speak to you later. Go dress yourself,” the sorceress commanded, jerking her chin at the pavilion.

  Head down, the girl did as she was bid.

  Azure thought of the tears that would pour if she returned to her mother, if only her mother still lived. Lady Sirocco was not even smiling.

  Her tone was brighter than normal, though, when she addressed Coil and Azure. “You have pleased me beyond my expectations. Your debt is paid. In addition, you may name a reward.”

  Azure was caught off guard by the generosity. Coil, fortunately, was quicker witted. He held up the carpet.

  Oh! Now wouldn’t that make their quest ... possible.

  Lady Sirocco frowned. “I will never make another like it. I haven’t the years to devote to it. Are you sure you will not take gold or jewels?”

  “We’ve had gold and jewels before,” Coil said. So true, thought Azure. And somehow each time ended up with empty purses a fortnight later.

  “Very well. I am a woman of my word. In the spirit of gratitude, I should warn you it will only fly three more times, no matter who owns it.”

  That was unfortunate, Azure thought, but magic always had its flaws. “How far will it take us per trip?”

  “As near or as far as you request. But have a care not to fall asleep, or it may take you to lands our sun has never shone upon.”

  The woman shifted her gaze to the dark horizon. Her focus was beyond it. Azure knew she had taken such a journey. So—there was something that could unnerve the Witch of Storms, after all.

  “We will take it anyway,” Coil said. Azure nodded.

  #

  They did not linger by the river. Lady Sirocco gifted them with a pack camel and supplies and they set out, letting the river channel serve as their marker. Their water and feed would easily get them to the next oasis.

  They could have used the carpet, of course, but they had no particular place to go. They agreed it was better to save it for journeys that required its contribution.

  They did not press hard. They’d had enough of grueling marches lately. But neither did they lag, because both wanted to put some distance between them and Lady Sirocco’s camp. They waited until midnight before pausing at a bend in the river where driftwood had piled high—enough wood for a cookfire, as the circles of stone and charcoal of previous visitors amply demonstrated.

  Hot porridge struck them as a dose of normalcy they’d not had in many meals. They’d not had hot food in days, not having wanted anything that would make them feel warmer than they already were. They made the fire, brought water to a boil, waited for the grain to soften. It felt so familiar Coil almost was able to speak. But he did not, nor did Azure say anything more than a clipped “Here,” or “Thank you,” or “More?”

  After the second helping was in his belly, he thought maybe he could try. But no. Instead, he lay back on the sand and stared at the stars. To the south they were occluded, but to the north they were undimmed.

  He stood up suddenly, almost before he knew why he was sitting up.

  Azure stood as well. “What is it?”

  “A camel.”

  The sound of two-toed feet on sand was now unmistakable.

  Too late to smother the fire. Whoever was out there had seen the light source. They palmed their knives and waited.

  It was Zephyr. Her garments altered her appearance, but even in the moonlight—and then, the firelight—Azure recognized the scintillant black hair, the supple spine.

  She was alone.

  The girl pulled her mount to a halt in front of them. They helped her down. She was sweating and shaking, a display of jitters wholly unlike the calm fugitive who had fled with them from the tower.

  “Take me with you!” she blurted.

  “But...your mother,” Coil said.

  “I can’t stay with her.”

  Now this was a road of quicksand, Azure thought. They had seen very well what sort of thing Lady Sirocco did to people who kidnapped her daughter. Not that she and Coil were kidnappers, but Lady Sirocco would make no distinction.

  They would be on the run forever.

  “Stay with us,” Azure found herself saying. “Stay with us.”

  She turned to Coil. He looked as though the camel had just eaten his thumb.

  “Please?” she said.

  “Please?” repeated Zephyr.

  He filled his lungs. Azure knew his answer when he did not shout, but let the breath go in one long sigh.

  He strode to the pack camel and freed it from its hobbles. He swatted it on the rump to send it on its way. The girl’s stolen camel clumped off in tandem.

  Next he went to the pile of supplies he would under other circumstances have been loading onto th
e beast he’d dismissed. He pulled out the carpet, unfurled it, and let it settle to the ground.

  “Death is certain, sooner or later,” he said. “Why have a dull life along the way?”

  Azure took Zephyr by the hand. They sat on the carpet. Coil knelt beside them. He touched the embroidered roc over the dunes and whispered a destination that only he—and the carpet—could hear. Azure wondered where he had chosen.

  The carpet obeyed. Away they went.

  Strength, Wisdom, and Compassion

  by Julia H. West

  One of the great things about Julia’s stories is her talent for coming up with new types of magic from simple things. Her story “Soul Walls” in SWORD & SORCERESS 24 used painting, along with Hopi (Native America) culture. In this story she’s using baths, something most of us probably don’t consider magical. Of course, baptism can be regarded as a magical ritual—I’m an Episcopalian, living in the Diocese of California, so I can say that with fearing that my bishop will want to have a long talk with me. But we baptize by sprinkling water over a baby’s forehead (or an adult’s, if the adult was not baptised as a baby). Julia comes from a church that uses full immersion for baptism, which may possibly have contributed to the idea.

  Julia H. West is most often found covered with cats, which makes it very difficult for her to use her keyboard. During the rare occasions she manages to evade the felines, she writes science fiction and fantasy stories, which have been published in such magazines as Realms of Fantasy and Spider, and the anthologies ENCHANTED FORESTS and THE SHIMMERING DOOR, as well as two earlier volumes of SWORD & SORCERESS. Most of her previously-published stories, including the tale of a Micronesian navigating a starship through interstellar danger that won her the Grand Prize for Writers of the Future XI, are available from Callihoo Publishing. You can discover more about her writing on her website at http://juliahwest.com.

  ****

  Scented steam rose from the enameled tub in the bathhouse behind the witch Hyacinth’s cottage. “Renata,” Hyacinth said as Queen Renata disrobed, neatly folding her clothing on a bench, “I beg of you. Reconsider now, before it’s too late.”

  The queen turned a serene face to the witch. “Hyacinth, I’ve made my decision. Everyone in Orthefell suffered when Terzo killed my husband and declared himself king. When he decided to seal that kingship by marrying me, this became necessary.”

  Hyacinth lowered her voice. “This is likely to be more dangerous to the child growing within you than to you, at this stage. This child is all you have left of Bhaltair.”

  “Both he and I will need strength to survive under Terzo’s rule,” Renata said, voice rough. She stepped onto the stool beside the tub and let herself down into the orange-tinged water. It rose along her body as she slid down, until she sat nearly neck deep. She ran her fingers through her long chestnut hair, unraveling its braids, letting it float on the water’s surface.

  Hyacinth, a plain woman who looked no more than twenty years old but was much older, sighed. It was done, and she could not call back her actions now. The queen had chosen her path.

  Renata took a deep breath and slid completely beneath the water, hair slowly sinking to stick in thick clumps on her shoulders. After a long time she surfaced. Water droplets, now bereft of color and scent, ran down her pale face.

  “Is it done?” she asked.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Hyacinth said.

  “Don’t call me ‘Your Majesty’. You were my nurse long before I was Bhaltair’s wife. Long before Terzo coveted our kingdom. To you, I will always be simply Renata.”

  Hyacinth sighed again. She shouldn’t make a habit of that; people didn’t like their witch sounding like a lovesick girl. “Yes, Renata. You can come out now.” She steadied the queen as she stepped out of the tub, then handed her a towel so she could dry herself.

  Once the queen’s body was dry, Hyacinth wrapped her still-damp hair in the towel and helped her into her shift. Renata stood barefoot on the bathhouse’s warm tiles while Hyacinth combed her hair and braided it expertly into all its tiny plaits, then coiled it atop Renata’s head. She helped the queen into her bridal splendor—gown of gold silk and pearls, overgown of cream silk and diamonds, robe of midnight blue adorned with cream lace at throat and cuffs. Last of all, Hyacinth pinned the crown into the coil of braids so that it would not slip.

  Silently, Hyacinth held the queen’s train as she took the stone-paved path to the road where her carriage, her armed escort, and her attendants waited. Before Renata ascended into the carriage, Hyacinth kissed her on the cheek. “Be well, love,” she said, and turned away quickly, hurrying into her house. She didn’t want Renata to see the tears brimming in her eyes.

  #

  Hyacinth stayed in her cottage the rest of the day, mixing spells and ignoring the sounds of celebration—trumpets, drums, muskets firing into the air. Her little Renata, who had been so happy with King Bhaltair, was now married to the usurper Terzo.

  Hyacinth didn’t see Renata again for a month. People came to her for spells—a woman who wanted beauty, a man who craved virility, the merchant who wished for luck, the poet who desired a muse. She explained the price of each spell—both in coin and in the spell’s toll on each of them. “Is not your own native talent enough?” she asked the poet. “No one can know what toll the spell will take on you. What if you lose your eyesight in payment? Or perhaps the use of your hands?”

  “I’ll take the risk,” he answered. “When I compose poems that bewitch the ladies, that make the nobles weep and shower gold on me—what will it matter? For then I will be wealthy, and can hire a scribe to write out the gems I speak.”

  Thus it had been throughout Hyacinth’s life. Each person who wanted a spell was determined. What matter the future? They were concerned only with the now. So, because she was a witch, and that was her talent and destiny, she mixed the ingredients, heated the water, and prepared the bath.

  The merchant took his spell packet home, to use in his own bath, but those who didn’t want it known they’d purchased a spell, or had no bath at home, used Hyacinth’s bathhouse. She only knew what toll the spell had taken when her eyesight became sharper, her hair more luxurious, or her face in the mirror younger.

  Queen Renata summoned Hyacinth to the palace on the first day of the Month of Blooming. The witch dressed in her best, and set out on the long walk to the palace.

  The changes that had taken place in the city since last she had walked this way disturbed Hyacinth. Once-prosperous shops had closed, armed and uniformed men stood on nearly every corner, and citizens walked quickly, peering nervously over their shoulders.

  When she arrived at the palace and was escorted by four well-armed men to the queen’s rooms, she felt shabby and out of place. Renata was surrounded by beautiful women in gowns of lace and jewels, who gossiped with high fluting voices and chirped their artificial laughter. It had not been so when Renata had been married to Bhaltair. She had worn simple wool except for state occasions, and ridden through the city on her own horse, and when she laughed, it had been a hearty guffaw. She had surrounded herself with capable and intelligent companions.

  “Wise Woman Hyacinth,” Renata said, and the witch was glad to hear that the Queen’s voice had not suddenly shot up an octave. “I am with child. In eight months, I will require someone to care for the new prince or princess, and I thought naturally of my old nurse.”

  Hyacinth took a deep breath. So the child had survived the spell bath, and Renata had let the doctors examine her and discover her pregnancy. “Surely, Your Majesty, there are more suitable nurses,” her gaze traveled over the twittering beauties surrounding the queen, “than I.”

  “None of my ladies has children of her own,” Renata said. She met Hyacinth’s gaze and wrinkled her nose. The witch knew they had chosen to remain childless for the sake of beauty spells. “They know nothing of child care. But you raised me. None would wish to deprive me of your expertise.”

  “In that case, Your Ma
jesty, I accept, and thank you for your regard.”

  “I will have rooms prepared for you as I lay out the nursery. When they are complete, I’m sure you’d like to go over them, to see they are to your satisfaction. I’ll send for you then.” Briskly, Renata waved the lace fan she held.

  Hyacinth wished she could talk to Renata without her twittering retinue. The queen had always been energetic. She had excelled at riding and hunting, and spent much of every day out of doors. But now, she had a restless energy that seemed too great for the room she occupied. Others might think it her joy in her pregnancy that put the bloom in her cheeks. Hyacinth knew better. The spell bath she had taken on the day of her marriage had not been for beauty, as her husband-to-be had been told, but for strength. If only she could know what its toll had been on the queen—and on the child she carried.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Hyacinth curtsied and kissed the Queen’s hand. As she stood, she realized Renata had slipped a scrap of paper into her hand. She didn’t acknowledge it, merely left the room with her armed escort.

  #

  Hyacinth waited until she was in her own snug cottage to look at the note Renata had given her. “Wisdom! She wants a spell for wisdom!” Her cat, Pot Pie, raised his head from where he’d been napping in the sunshine warming her work table, thinking she was talking to him. “She knows as well as I do that the great abstracts are the hardest spells. Wisdom!”

  She slumped into one of the sturdy wooden chairs and put her head in her arms on the table. “Wisdom,” she said, through the tears that soaked into the sleeves of her best gown. “Oh, Renata.”

  A long time later, Hyacinth got up, shooed Pot Pie off her table, and began pulling books from the shelves, looking for the spell she needed. She had never prepared the spell for wisdom, and didn’t know anyone else who had, either. She was certain there was one, but she was also certain the cost was immense. Could she substitute another spell—common sense, for instance? Of a certainty, a ruler could use common sense.