by Jasmine Walt
“You there,” he said sharply. I stopped in my tracks. “You’ve got some magical glow around you. What sort of spell are you using?”
My heart leapt into my throat. Time slowed down for a moment, and I managed to think up a lie on the spot. “Sorry, sir. I suffer from male pattern baldness, so I had a witch charm one of my buttons to disguise it.” I took off my hat, then tapped the topmost button on my uniform, willing the illusion to change. The agent’s eyebrows rose as he took in my balding head—I’d thinned out my hair considerably and left a large, shiny spot on the top.
“Don’t see why you’d bother when you have a hat on all the time,” he said, “but to each his own.” He turned away, but his companions had stopped, and Garrett was looking at me with those piercing hazel eyes.
“Any news about the Chief Mage?” he asked.
“I hear he’s fallen into a deep depression and is keeping to his chambers,” I said sadly, lowering my voice. “I’ve never seen anything like it—he’s usually full of energy. Does your visit have anything to do with this sudden change?”
A smug gleam entered Garrett’s eyes, but he only shook his head. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, turning back. I stared after him a moment, resenting the way he confidently walked up the front steps and into my palace as if he owned the place.
Well, it wasn’t as if I owned it anymore. I was leaving this life behind forever. The thought filled me with sadness, and I turned away before my resolve weakened. I only had a few minutes—ten at most—before Garrett found out that I was not in my chambers and called for a search. Urgency filled my veins, but I forced myself to proceed down the street at an unhurried pace. Once I was several blocks away, I changed my appearance to that of a young messenger, complete with a mail bag slung across my shoulder, and ran like the wind. A few passersby turned to look as I dashed past them, but most ignored me—it wasn’t unusual to see a messenger running down the street, though mages in general disapproved of such unseemly haste.
By the time I reached the other side of Magetown, I was thoroughly winded. Hiking was one thing, but I was not a runner, and my chest felt as if it had been turned into a furnace. Thankfully there wasn’t much farther to go—I turned a corner, then cut through someone’s yard and jumped the back fence into my cousin Mendir’s house. It was an old, two-story house that had once been a respectable residence but had fallen into disrepair over the last ten years. The dark green paint on the outside was peeling, several tiles had fallen off the roof, and the backdoor window was cracked. After peering through it to see if there was anyone about, I used a spell to unlock the door, then slipped inside.
I felt a twinge of sadness as I hurried through the house, passing by dust-covered tables and cabinets, shelves filled with old tomes, and moth-eaten furniture that had cost a fortune when it was new, long before my time. Mendir had been close to six hundred years old and had permanently retired to his mountain home some fifty years ago. He’d died in his sleep there, three years ago, and had willed both his city house and mountain home to me. I’d been planning to renovate this city house but, distracted by the demands of my office, had never got around to doing so. Garrett would know it was mine, of course, and would come looking for me, but Mendir was a crafty fellow, and paranoid, besides. He’d built a hidden room in the house, one I planned to make full use of now.
Climbing the stairs to the second floor, I went into the boiler room, then pressed my hands against the wall and murmured the spell my cousin had taught me over a century ago. The walls creaked open, revealing a small library with an overstuffed chair, a lamp, and shelves filled with books. I closed the hidden door behind me and resealed it, then leaned my back against the wall.
Finally, I thought, breathing a sigh of relief. I could catch my breath. I used a simple spell to clear the dust from the room, then settled into the cushy chair with one of Mendir’s books to wait out the storm. If Garrett and his agents were smart enough to find this place, then he deserved the prize of bringing me in. Until then, I’d make myself as comfortable as I could, because it was going to be a long couple of days until I could safely venture out again.
9
I hid out in that secret library for two days and nights while Garrett and his men tore the city apart, looking for me. They’d searched this place from top to bottom the very first day, and I’d sat in that armchair, barely breathing, my skin clammy with fear, as I listened to them banging around in my deceased cousin’s house.
But they hadn’t found the hidden chamber, and I’d lived to see another day.
I would have hidden out for a third day, but I was out of food and the house had no working plumbing. Gathering my courage, I slipped out of the house in my messenger boy disguise just as the sun was cresting the horizon, then headed to the human side of town to grab some food and supplies. The early morning air was dewy, with a hint of chill, and I pulled in a deep breath as my feet hit the pavement. Despite the edge of fear that still rode me, everything seemed bright and fresh, full of promise.
That was, until I glimpsed the headline of a newspaper sitting on a park bench. MINISTER ORDERS IMMEDIATE ARREST OF NEBARA CHIEF MAGE, the headline read. I snatched up the paper, and my heart sank as I read the article. There was a large reward being offered for anyone who had information regarding my whereabouts, and an even larger one for turning me in to the authorities. Thankfully, the paper did not spell out what crime I had committed—it would seem that the Minister’s office was still trying to minimize the impact of my actions. Perhaps they were hoping to find me dead somewhere or arrange for an “accident” before I could be officially brought in.
The thought filled me with anger, and I chucked the paper into the nearest trash can before walking on. Ducking into a public bathroom, I made use of the facilities, then changed my appearance to that of a middle-aged housewife before heading to the market. There, I bought as much food as could fit into my pack, then hailed a steamcab to take me all the way to the city limits. I disguised myself as a human hiker this time so the driver didn’t think it unusual when I asked him to drop me off on the side of the highway.
As I watched the vehicle disappear back down the winding road to the city, my heart filled with sorrow. I wished I could have said goodbye to my parents. They must be worried sick, wondering what had happened to me. My father would have expected me to come to him at the first sign of trouble—he’d probably waited up for me all night. Despite his harsh words to me after our recent dinner, I had no doubt he and my mother would have tried to shield me from the authorities, to smuggle me out of the city if they could.
But I mustn’t let them get involved. They would be accessories then, and I couldn’t stomach that guilt. It was bad enough that they would have to live with the knowledge that their son was a wanted criminal—a coward who had run away instead of facing up to his actions. I didn’t need them paying any additional price for what I’d done.
Hitching my pack high on my shoulders, I turned toward the road and forced any thoughts of my family and my former position and duties behind me. It was time to move forward, and the sooner I put distance between myself and this place, the better.
It took me ten days to reach Iannis’s mountainous retreat in Canalo. I’d had to walk a good thirty miles the first day before finally coming across a farm that seemed sufficiently remote to be safe. As I staggered to the door, my legs had been trembling with exhaustion. The family had taken pity on me, allowing me to bed down in their stables for the night, and after a hearty breakfast the next morning, I’d used one of my gold coins to purchase a mare from them. She was a gentle horse, with dappled red and brown fur and a fondness for potatoes, the owners informed me.
The two of us traveled through the countryside by day, passing fields of corn and wheat, apple orchards that smelled of blossoming flowers and fertilizer, and the occasional small town. Sometimes I would stop at these small towns to refuel, but more often than not, I avoided them. I was in disguise, but ther
e was always a chance that a mage would notice the magic hovering about me, and I didn’t want to put myself in a situation where I might have to fight.
Just when I thought the journey would never end, the open fields and rolling hillsides turned into mountainous forests as we finally crossed into Northern Canalo territory. It was early morning when the mare and I climbed the mountain where the hunting lodge was located, and my heart lightened at the sight of the towering redwood trees all around us. Wildlife abounded here in the form of rabbits and hedgehogs scampering through the bushes, as well as tiny birds and squirrels flitting through the trees. I glimpsed a female deer and her young fawn in the distance, the mother’s large brown eyes meeting mine for a split second before she bolted off. It was not hunting season, but the animals around here had learned to be wary of humans.
My horse snorted as the gradient grew steeper, her breath clouding in the cold morning air. “There, there, girl,” I murmured, patting the side of her neck in reassurance. “Not much farther now, and then you can have a good rest.”
Forty minutes later, the mountainside began to level out and the trees grew thinner as we approached a wide, grassy clearing. Up on a knoll, I glimpsed the sprawling log cabin, glass windows sparkling in the early morning light, its redwood walls bathed in the sun’s rays. There was a stable out back, I knew from my previous visit, where I could rub down and feed the mare, and a fantastic stone bathtub that drew off a nearby hot spring where I could soak my fatigued muscles. I’d never ridden a horse for so long in my life—all my long-distance journeys were either done by carriage, steamship, or dirigible. Muscles I wasn’t even aware of ached with soreness, and that ache only seemed to increase as I finally spied the end of my journey.
Iannis was sitting on the front porch, enjoying a cup of coffee, and he stood as I dismounted right in front of the house. “Good morning, Polar,” he greeted me, with a grin that only a co-conspirator could share. He set his coffee aside and came down the steps. “I am glad to see you’ve made it safely,” he said, embracing me hard. I winced as he squeezed a little too tightly against my sore muscles but returned the embrace all the same.
“You look well,” I told him, stepping back so I could get a good look at him. Iannis was a tall, lean man with dark red hair, pale skin, and the most unusual violet eyes I’d ever seen. Like me, he was a scholar, but unlike me, there were real muscles beneath his dark blue robes. I’d foolishly challenged him to an arm wrestling match one night when we’d had too much to drink and had sorely regretted it afterward. The disparity in strength was surprising, as mages didn’t pay that much attention to keeping up their physical strength. Why should we, when we could accomplish most anything with magic?
My sore thigh muscles twinged, as if in response to my thoughts, and I bit back a groan. Perhaps there was merit to being in good shape after all.
“You look like a washwoman took you in her meaty hands and wrung you out like a wet towel,” Iannis said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Why don’t we get that horse of yours taken care of, and you settled in? You can tell me all about your journey.”
Between the two of us, Iannis and I rubbed the mare down, fed her, and cleaned the tack in relatively short order. I enjoyed that steaming bath I’d been fantasizing about, changed into the soft cotton robes hanging in the bedroom Iannis had assigned to me, then joined him at the dining table for a bowl of chicken and dumpling stew.
“This is surprisingly good,” I said between mouthfuls. “Did you bring servants with you?” I glanced around furtively, suddenly aware that I wasn’t wearing my illusion anymore. I hadn’t seen anyone but Iannis around, and yet . . .
Iannis shook his head. “My cooking skills are meager, but there are three or four meals that I am passably good at making.” He smiled a little. “Your taste buds are likely tricking you into thinking it is better than it is because you are so hungry.”
I shrugged, returning my attention to the food. I ate two bowls of the stew before I was full, then leaned back in my chair with a satisfied smile.
“Now that you are clean and fed,” Iannis said slowly, studying me, “we should talk about where we want to go from here. How to extricate you from your predicament, if at all possible.”
Anxiety settled in my chest, putting a damper on the feeling of contentment I’d been enjoying. I had thought of little else during the recent journey. “I’m not sure it is possible,” I said. “They’re looking for me everywhere, aren’t they?”
Iannis nodded. “A Federation-wide manhunt has been called, and your face is being circulated throughout the states. You will never be able to walk about as Polar ar’Tollis again, not unless you leave the country.”
I sighed. “Have you heard any news of the family I helped? Any sign that they were captured?”
Iannis shook his head. “They made it across the border safely, so far as I can tell. I wouldn’t worry about them—the media is paying no mind to them, and I doubt the Minister is, either. They have focused all their attention on the rogue Chief Mage who has slipped out from under their noses—the greatest scandal in years.”
Though Iannis spoke of my situation lightly, my stomach twisted with guilt and self-loathing. “I never thought I would end up the subject of scandal,” I said quietly, staring out the large window looking out at the forest, only steps away. “I never wanted to do anything but pursue knowledge and serve my people to the best of my abilities.”
“I know,” Iannis said, sympathy in his voice. “But what’s done is done, and there is no use dwelling on it. We must focus on getting you out of the country.”
I shook my head. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me so far, Iannis, but I cannot allow you to involve yourself further. You are a Chief Mage yourself, and have too many people depending on you.” Not to mention a brilliant career ahead of him, if I was any judge. Iannis might well be our next Minister, if he did not taint his reputation by supporting me.
Iannis laughed. “I have only recently become Chief Mage—if I had to abscond from the position, I doubt Canalo will miss me very much. It is a big, wide world out there, Polar, and I have traveled much of it. There are many places I can go where I will never be found should the need arise—and I am the best person to help you start a new life in a new country, should you wish it.”
I stared at him, astonished. “I am having a hard time understanding why you would want to risk your life for me, when we have not known each other all that long. I could not trust even my closest friends or family to do what you are suggesting.”
Iannis shrugged. “We may not have known each other for decades, but you and I are kindred spirits, Polar. And while I enjoy my position as Chief Mage, it would not feel right for me to sit by and do nothing when it is within my power to help. You’ve only to say the word, and I will smuggle you on a boat to Sandia or Garai.”
I fell silent, considering. An exile in those exotic places did not attract me at all. It would feel like transplanting a tree without its roots—only to have it wither and die. “I do not want to leave the Northia Federation,” I finally said. “I know it seems illogical, since the Federation has turned its back on me, but I am very attached to my country. Besides, the Minister will have ordered tightened security. It will be very difficult for me to board any vessel, since I won’t be able to use a magical disguise.”
“True,” Iannis mused, tapping a finger against his chin. “But they cannot keep up their vigilance forever at this fever pitch. It might be easier if you hide out until it’s safe to leave. But then again, it may never actually be safe—the manhunt is unlikely to cease entirely, though at some point they will have to pull back on the number of resources devoted to searching for you. We can try to find a charged gulaya to get you out of the country if need be, but if you choose to stay, you’ll be forced to live as a hermit in some wilderness hideout.”
I shuddered. “I would not want to spend the rest of my days like that,” I muttered. As a scholar, I was comfortable enough
with solitude, but I did not want to be alone all the time. And besides, it would be very hard to continue my studies if I was hiding out in a primitive cave somewhere. All my restless thoughts had come to the same bleak conclusion. “Maybe I should kill myself after all.” I heard the bitterness in my voice, and for once did not scold myself for being too emotional. At this point, who cared?
Iannis’s eyes narrowed. “What, after all this?” His scathing tone told me what he thought of my suggestion.
I sighed. “I was never cut out for the life of a fugitive,” I told him, a heavy sadness settling into my limbs. Suddenly I was exhausted, and not just from the journey. I was so tired of running and hiding, of fighting, and all for something that I probably would not be able to change. “If you arrange for my body to show up somewhere it will be found, then at least my parents will be spared the public humiliation of enduring my trial and execution.” The thought of ending it all by my own hand was gruesome, but strangely, the prospect offered a kind of peace. “Yes, I think that would be for the best.”
For a moment, I thought Iannis was going to argue. And after all he’d done to help me so far, I couldn’t blame him for being angry at my decision. But he only regarded me thoughtfully. “You are old enough to know your own mind. But perhaps your death doesn’t have to be entirely in vain,” he said lightly. “Would you object to using it for a magical experiment?”
I frowned, part of me recoiling at the idea. Somehow, it sounded undignified. But the scholar inside me perked up, interested. “What did you have in mind?”
“That last scroll you sent me contains an antique transmogrification spell,” Iannis told me. “The one our mage ancestors used long ago to create shifters.”
Shock hit me hard, and I sat up straight. “Iannis, that spell is highly illegal,” I protested. “And nobody alive has enough strength for that kind of magic.” That was the prevailing theory, at least, and I had no reason to think it wasn’t true.
