The Baker's Wife--complete

by Amy Keeley

  The day passed in a haze of checking Zhiv (sometimes the fever was small and sometimes it appeared to be gone though she felt her hope might have gotten in the way of her assessment), a hastily made meal here and there, and times when she just sat and stared at him, her thoughts full of worries for Daegan and her family. And Zhiv’s.

  His fever broke in the afternoon. And yet, she continued to check, not quite trusting it. When it was clear Zhiv’s fever had truly gone and would not return, she tried going back to her primer. It was difficult to concentrate, and she put it down sometimes as soon as she picked it up until darkness fell and she slept once more in the chair.

  ***

  Krysilla woke to the feel of a hand brushing against her shoulder. Blinking, she wasn’t sure who would wake her so gently. She looked up to see a pale Zhiv, wrapped in a blanket, looking down at her. Stubble lined his jaw and outlined his mouth.

  “At least you’ve slept,” he said, still looking exhausted. “Have you eaten?”

  “Some.”

  “Do you mind making us something then?” he asked.

  “What do you have in mind?” she said, heading toward the kitchen. Afternoon sunlight filled the house.

  “Whatever my sister brought that won’t take too much out of you.” He sat down at the table and rested his forehead on its surface. Speaking to the floor, he said, “How is my sister?”

  “Furious with you.”

  He chuckled. Apparently, this wasn’t a rare occurrence. “And you? How are you?” He lifted up his head to look at her.

  “Wondering if you really should be up and around. Best thing for you would likely be porridge, especially after the fever you had.”

  “Do we have milk?”

  Krysilla shook her head. Slouching in his chair, he wrapped himself up tightly. “Porridge’ll do.”

  The questions she’d been thinking last night lingered as she got him what he asked. He rested his head on the table, looking as if he were asleep. Only after she’d put the finished bowl of porridge in front of him, and he’d lifted his head to eat, did she say, “You don’t come here often?”

  “In the winter, during Two Days. And whenever I had a day off, though Ziri doesn’t know I had twice as many as she saw. Why do you ask?”

  “Ziria seemed surprised to see you.”

  Krysilla nodded, looking away as he ate. “You’re not going to have some?” he said.

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  “If you’re saving it for me, I’ll have you know that I can starve with the best of them.”

  She laughed.

  “Come, goodwife.” He said, gesturing toward the small pot she’d used. “Eat while we have the chance.”

  The blood drained from her face. The map. Watching him, she said, “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” And for just a moment, those aquamarine eyes of his looked at her so sharply that she had to look away.

  Perhaps, she thought, we can use those bags again to leave. Or use them to figure out where Nitty, Daegan and Tira are. “How often have you used them? The portals you built.”

  “Not that one. Not until now. The Dogs are thick around the cities and on the roads. In the rural areas, the chance of getting caught by one goes down dramatically. If that wasn’t true, you and your locks would have been caught long ago. Either way,” he sighed the words, “I have little things hidden around the country, including sack portals similar to the one we used to get here. I travel to a city, play a bit, then head into the country to ‘rest’ and wind up here.”

  All over the country. And the Dogs might now have a map to every single one. “How many little things?”

  “Has Daegan shown yet?”

  “No. No one knows of this place?”

  “It’s nestled among the mountain range that’s called here, Hezefaniv, The Rulers, where the Ornic lay in wait,” he said, a faint, cynical smile working its way onto his face. “Mountain behind it, the lake in front, and no one aware of it because no one cares, and those few who do were paid to forget long ago by my uncle. But I doubt learning all this is the reason you’ve grown pale.”

  The Dogs could be on them any moment. It was a wonder no one had yet attacked, but that didn’t mean they weren’t on their way. “While we were running, my bag ripped open.”

  “I remember that.”

  “I lost the map. The one Hon Jixsin gave me.”

  He grinned. “Is that all?”

  “They could be on us any moment because I—”

  “You did nothing wrong. I was there, if you’ll remember, and you did what you could to gather what you could without dying. Considering you’ve likely never been in fear of your life before, I think you handled the situation well.”

  Shocked, she said, “Then, the map isn’t a concern?”

  “Oh, it is, but not in the way you think.” He closed his eyes, rubbed his face, and she realized she’d tired him with her conversation.

  “I’ll set up one of the upstairs beds in case you want it.” She’d gotten to the hallway when she heard him speak through his hands.

  “Two.”

  Turning back, she said, “Pardon?”

  He didn’t look at her. Only stirred what was left of his porridge with his spoon. “I’ve killed two men. Or at least, I thought I had. Vyomsi’s still alive, apparently.”

  Her mouth dry, she asked. “Who was the other one?”

  “A robber that I met on my way to kill the King. He took me by surprise, held a knife to my throat, and...I thought it was an opportunity to see if I had what it took to kill someone.”

  Krysilla nodded. “You heard all that then?”

  “Most. Not all. I was a bit overcome at the time. So,” he turned to face her more fully, “have you decided you’ve been taken in?”

  She shook her head, slowly. “Did he wear teeth?” Robbers who enjoyed killing wore the teeth of their victims around their neck.

  Zhiv chuckled. “Does it matter?”

  “If he did—”

  “It would be self-defense, wouldn’t it? Not murder.” His eyes focused on her. “And if it was murder? Vyomsi hadn’t done anything beyond threaten when I killed him. And I felt no regret, Krysilla, not even when I watched him fall to the ground. In fact, I was glad of it.” His face hardened. “Is there really that much difference then? That’s not a vague philosophical question. Do you see any difference?”

  She thought over what he’d said. “He wanted to see you worse than dead. He wanted to destroy all you’ve built and torture you with the death of your friends.” And he killed a woman and her children who had done nothing wrong except belong to the wrong family, she was about to add, but Zhiv spoke before she could.

  “I have no friends,” he said, focusing once more on his porridge, though he was no longer eating. “Only associates.”

  She thought back to the meadow. “Didn’t you once say—”

  “I also said that the truth is a malleable thing to me.” He finished his waybread in a few bites, getting up with a remnant of his old energy. “Do you truly want to learn the old ways?”

  To protect others, she told herself, not to burn the world. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  He nodded and wrapped himself up more tightly in his blanket. Getting up, he walked over to one of the cabinets. Kneeling, he gestured for her to come closer. “Do you see that plank?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lift it.”

  She touched it, remembering how the very edge of it felt slightly higher than the rest of the floor. And inside, she could feel one of Daegan’s locks, this time made entirely of a spell instead of metal, the spell curling through the floor and connecting the wood tightly to the rest of the boards. Anyone trying to use brute force would have to rip the whole floor up. And there was something else inside it.

  Shaking her head, she asked, “What did Daegan do to this?”

  Zhiv grinned as if she had just passed an important test. “It’s a trap.”


  “You’d have—”

  “It won’t go off if I’m here. It’s one of the things I wanted changed before he cast it. If I’m here, the spell senses it and will only refuse to open.”

  “How does it know?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s one of those trade secrets Daegan refuses to tell me, even now.” Zhiv put his hand on the board. Krysilla watched as a glow similar to the one that had filled the blade Ziria held yesterday spread from under Zhiv’s hand, outlining it. Slowly, she felt the spell that held the boards together come undone, sliding under themselves until it had created an opening big enough for one person. A small King’s Light, similar to the one Zhiv carried with him, came to life inside, revealing a small library.

  “No magic, hmmm?” she couldn’t help saying, transfixed by the Ornic characters on the spines of the books.

  “Not unless necessary, and nothing that would go beyond the walls of this house. Besides, we only have so much time before the Dogs come.”

  She thought of the map. “How much time is that?”

  “Not enough.” Zhiv slipped out of his blanket, his wrinkled clothes looking odd. She’d only ever seen him with clothes that were clean and well-taken care of. Stepping down into the library, he took three books off the shelf. “When Daegan gets here, I’ll have him modify the spell so that you can come here whenever you like.”

  “How kind.”

  “I assure you, it’s for entirely selfish reasons,” he said, coming back up into the kitchen. “I don’t want you bothering me if I have to sleep.” But there was a sparkle in his eyes when he said it that softened what should have been a gruff answer. “We have time on that, though. You’re still reading that book I gave you, correct?”

  She nodded, and remembered his notes. “Although...I’m not sure how accurate it is.”

  “Better than I expected. Not to mention, I think the language I learned changed a bit since the time when these books were written.” He lifted the three small books he’d taken, and stood. “They’re children’s stories, meant to teach basic spells. You might find them interesting.” Wrapping himself back up in the blanket, he gestured for her to follow him out through the side door.

  She looked at the stairs that climbed to the cave. “Perhaps we should wait until you’ve rested a bit more.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll need to see this now.”

  Even more concerned now, she followed him up the stairs and into the cave. He held his hand out to her. “We’ll need to travel in the dark for a bit. Best to hold on.”

  Glad it was dark enough he wouldn’t be able to see her blushing, she took hold.

  “And don’t be frightened by the insects.”

  “What?” She nearly jumped back.

  “Of course. You didn’t think caves were lifeless, did you? Just close your eyes and let me know if you feel anything crawling on you.”

  She thought of Lord Teranasin and his murder of the royal family. It was silly to be afraid of a few insects who were just as frightened of her as she was of them. “All right.”

  Krysilla followed Zhiv down long corridors, letting the tether of their hands lead her past the sound of water dripping, and the occasional scurrying of something living. They didn’t speak, not until Zhiv stopped. There was a tap on the wall, and then the corridor flooded with light. Krysilla gasped.

  The walls were a multitude of colors. Something she had never expected. And then she realized the colors had a pattern. “It’s the sea,” she said.

  “And there’s the Plains of Belgeriand.” Zhiv pointed to a spot far to the right. “Except it has more trees on this map than it does now.”

  And then Krysilla saw them. The mountains, the lake, the whole of the kingdom, from coast to coast. Scattered across its surface were circles. And one was in the mountain they must be inside right now. “What are the circles for?”

  “Portals.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, not all of them were built. I’ve heard they managed three, or six. One legend put the number at twelve, but that seems an exaggeration. This was a late project, begun as part of the battles between the Ornic lords, and a betrayal as far as some of them were concerned. In some of the stories, the lords felt that it was an attempt to invade their lands. In others, it was a way of bringing them in on a battle they had no intention of involving themselves with.”

  “By showing up on someone else’s land?” Krysilla guessed.

  “Imagine that.” Zhiv sounded decidedly amused. “Eating your dinner and suddenly one of your fellow lords appears at your table with who knows what behind him.”

  “Worse than discussing politics.”

  Zhiv laughed, and she loved to hear it. “And there are some stories that say this was a conspiracy between the lord of the mountain and the lord of the northern sea. A pact, of sorts, and one they were willing to extend to any who would join them in their conspiracy.”

  Zhiv’s hand felt warm in hers. She focused on the map in front of her to try to ignore the sensation. “It takes a lot of effort just to move small things. What does it take to move something as large as a person?”

  “Much concentration. Inscribing the spell to conserve energy. Also, the larger the group, the more durable the material has to be for the gates. We were lucky the portal held when you and I traveled together.”

  “And why you sent Nitty somewhere else. Where did you send her?”

  “A cavern three days’ journey south of here. It was where I had originally planned on sending you, and where Daegan and I had agreed to meet first if anything should happen. They’ve likely met by now and are headed this way. In fact, chances are good they’ll show up tomorrow.”

  The smile he gave her was comforting, and she couldn’t help smiling back. “Do you have much practice inscribing spells then?”

  “Here and there. You’ve seen the bottoms of my boots, but that’s something we were taught when I was...a long time ago.” And she felt she shouldn’t press him on how he’d learned. Too much pain in his reply, carelessly hidden. The thought of causing him needless pain made her stay quiet.

  He let go of her hand and took one of the small Lights from the wall. It looked very much like the kind that he’d carried with him into the Felldesh manor. Did he create them himself? Could she ask him directly when she felt they were dancing around things he’d rather not remember. Trying to keep the conversation light, she said, “The only inscribing we ever did was to put a name on an item, or some other marker. What is it like?”

  “If you know how to make a marker, then you’ve already figured out most of the basics. Inscribed spells are like,” he searched for a moment, “they’re like when someone gives you a loaf of dough and asks you to bake it. The whole thing’s already made up, you just need to add the heat to finish the job. King’s Lights work the same, except it would be like putting it back to raw dough with a clap of the hands. And because the spell is already inside the item, waiting for the catalyst, it just takes a small nudge to finish the rest, instead of all the work of casting from the start. Faster, simpler, and less exhausting.”

  “And no one thought to use that with the ovens?” she couldn’t help grumbling as he helped her over a small fissure.

  He chuckled. “A baker is an artisan and you know how protective they are of their trade spells. Minstrels are the same.”

  “All the trades write spells down in books, though.”

  “Only by the King’s command and not everything. Not that it matters. The spell merchant gathers a lot of them, prices them four, six, ten times the value, a hundred if he thinks the risk is great enough. But then, there are many subjects in this kingdom who would pay well to get their hands on magic they aren’t supposed to use, aren’t there?”

  Her cheeks burned. It didn’t last long. “Proof of that is in your kitchen.”

  He grinned broadly. “It is indeed, goodwife.”

  The path took a sharp turn to the right, turning into a narrow set of uneve
n stairs that followed a curving wall down into a large cavern.

  “Then,” she asked, staring at her feet to keep from falling down, “what is the most powerful item you’ve ever seen?”

  “That.” Zhiv stopped and pointed to the center of the cavern. Krysilla held up her light, revealing a rectangular piece of polished metal in the corner, and a strange contraption in the middle of the room. It looked like three wheels set on top of each other on their sides. Black handles poked through the rims and a large post shot up from the floor, connecting all three wheels through their centers. Only when she got closer did she realize the wheels weren’t wooden. They were made of black stone. “What are they?”

  “The metal in the corner is a viewing mirror. Still has spells in it. Not nearly as interesting as this lovely piece of work.” He gestured to the wheels.

  “But I don’t feel any magic.” They might as well have been the stones in the meadow where she’d discussed the Felldesh manor with Zhiv.

  “That’s because the source isn’t here. But it definitely has a purpose.” He pointed out the inscription. “It’s a script I’m unfamiliar with, so I can only guess at some of the words. But given the map, and given the amount of power necessary for creating the kind of portal mentioned in the stories I’ve heard, I imagine this is the wheel one of the stories mentions as the key to opening the portal.”

  “It’s a key?” She stepped forward and Zhiv followed her. “It’s an odd-shaped one.”

  “The key opens the power to the door. Daegan’s examined it and says there’s no lock on it. Apparently, just getting it the power it needs is lock enough.” He sighed, and stared at the wheels with what Krysilla realized was frustration.

  “Power?”

  “It’s a...unique contraption. The Ornic were at war at the time, so this, I suppose, is an example of their attempt to reduce the energy needed to run a spell while still retaining the ability to power a large portal.” His ill-humor faded and he gestured toward the wheels. “You can feel it yourself if you like. It won’t hurt you.”