The Mage's Daughter 2: Book Two: Enlightenment

by LeRoy Clary

  “And I want someone to teach me to fight.”

  “Fight?” Maude asked, her face showing her confusion.

  “Sir James promised to teach me. I sat helplessly by and saw my father killed. Sir James promised—then he died, too. And another. I could do nothing for myself. Gutter-snipes from the local bars and taverns killed the men sent to protect me while I was a scared mouse. I will not ever be helpless again.”

  Maude sat on a high stool where her feet wouldn’t reach the floor and said, “Again, a reasonable request. We will find you an instructor. Soon. What sort of self-defense did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe swords, knives, wrestling, kicking, punching, pikes, staffs, and hair-pulling. Especially the latter. There are a couple of high-born girls at the palace who need a fist-full of their hair yanked out.”

  “Prin, you do have a way with words. That may be your most effective weapon,” Maude said. “However, I know a man who may instruct you, if asked. If not, I will approach another, but the one I have in mind will not be gentle. He believes pain is the best teacher.”

  Brice woke and pointedly ignored them. He sat up groggily and reached for the candle in front of him. His face locked, as he concentrated on the blackened tip of the wick and the melted wax. His eyebrows furrowed and for a long time, nothing happened. The women watched wordlessly, silently urging him on. He closed his eyes, gathered himself, then opened them and focused again.

  The candle flickered to life.

  Maude looked at Prin from the corner of her eye.

  Prin shook her head. She hadn’t interfered. Brice had done it on his own. The flame winked out. Then rekindled. A smile grew on his face as he stood, the candle extended. “Thank you. Once you know how it is easy.”

  Maude said, “The first of many things you’ll learn, but you will also learn to conceal your talents, so the other sailors do not suspect.”

  “I still have to go away?”

  “You do,” Maude said. “You have a great deal to do. I will teach you more because you need instruction, but the cost for that is that you will sail to Indore and gather information for Prin. When you return, I will teach you more, but again you will sail back to Indore and return. Your new ship will arrive there after three more ports of call, but once there you will leave the Merry Princess for a ship that travels only between there and Gallium.”

  “How many times?” he asked.

  “Until Prin learns what she needs,” Maude said. “After what your life was to be before her taking you in, I’d think this a small price to pay for a lifetime of rewards.”

  As he nodded, his eyes widened. He had only spoken to Maude, and the other two were shielded from his sight and attention. As Sara struck a lamp to life, he saw her hair.

  Prin turned too, seeing that it had continued to grow and was now a mass of brown with soft curls that hung well past her shoulders. Prin’s hand went to feel hers, knowing the texture, color, and length were the same.

  He said, “I thought your hair was a dream. You look so different! And you, too!”

  His eyes had shifted to Prin. She said, “It’s just hair.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s like you two are different people. You look—well, normal.”

  Maude said, “There is more of the hair growth spell if you’d like to use some for yourself, but it will fade in a week or so, and disappear in two. Tomorrow, I think we will teach you how to hide your talent, and maybe give you a little hair. By the time it fades, your real hair will be taking its place, but it will be short until it grows out naturally.”

  “What else are we going to study?” Prin asked.

  Maude gathered more items from her shelves, opened a drawer and pulled measuring cups and pliers out, and placed each beside the next as if preparing for surgery. She used a polish to wipe clean ever part of every tool, then wiped them with a white rag and examined each for residue. She said, “A little leftover from a spell on a tool can ruin your next attempt. You will read every day until Sara agrees it is enough. For me, you will work with Brice, and I will teach him fire, earth, air, and water. He has a decent start in fire, but will require so much more.”

  “And me?” Sara asked.

  “Oh, I think you will read also. I want to begin each of those journals, beginning with the first. You will mark each part that sounds interesting. Would one of you run out to the front window and see if your friend Jam, from the ship, is strolling near?”

  Sara rushed through the doorway.

  Prin said, “I have half a mind to go walk right past him and see if he recognizes me.”

  Maude smiled wanly, and stated in a mild voice, “Yes, that would take half a mind.”

  “It was him,” Sara said. “He was trying to sneak up to the front and peek inside. I pulled the curtains when I was beside the window. He took off running.”

  Maude said, “I thought the direction-sensation of the spell felt strong. He’s a cheeky little boy, isn’t he? Peeking into my windows. I wonder what the constable will say to that if I tell him?”

  They fell into a daily routine of study, learning, and excitement. Maude insisted they work hard, even while she went to the market. Twice she returned with stories of Jam following her. She replaced the tag spell every few days, and as he became bolder, she created a new spell that she sprinkled on him, one that temporally removed his sense of direction. He became lost for two full days.

  But as the departure date for the Merry Princess drew closer, Jam grew more desperate. He once tried climbing the garden wall and wore bandages from the cuts on his arm and hand from the broken glass on top. He then carried a ladder to the wall and tried again, but Maude rushed into the garden with a spell in hand. After casting it over the wall to the top of the ladder, she returned, laughing.

  When asked, she said, “The boy will climb and climb, but never reach the top of the wall. With each step, the wall will grow a step higher.”

  Brice’s studies went well. He learned to control the shimmer around his hair until none of them could detect it. He could create fire at will, but only by casting. He could not create a flame on his finger without burning himself. By the end of the second week, he could make a dry sponge wet, and he could use his mind to sharpen a blade so it would cut through a small tree with one swing.

  However, having learned a few basics of those three elements, air eluded him. Even the most basic of spells failed. He could neither warm or cool air. He couldn’t make it flow as in a breeze, or prevent one. He could not create thunder, or storms, of course, but even a puff of air was beyond his abilities.

  However, the story he’d told about the drought at his home, and the rain on his family’s farm, belied his attempts. He’d told another about a wind pushing two boys back a step, so in some manner, there was evidence he had the ability. He made it rain, so they all believed the ability was there, but perhaps not the maturity to control it. And maybe another mage could teach him—or he’d learn on his own in another year or two.

  Maude continually tried to keep him learning more about the other three elements, adding complexities to his lessons, but he was like a boy who insisted on eating the last slice of peach cobbler. He wanted it. So, Brice wasted part of each day trying to gain at least a small amount of control over the air and failed.

  However, he resigned himself to the sea voyages and trusted that Maude would research his missing use of the fourth element while he was gone. As the time passed, he seemed to look forward to the trip—even though his study and use of all mage magic would cease until his return.

  Prin had her new Treeman in the back yard, and a new knife to practice with, but her old knife, the one she wore, had now been enchanted by Maude and would never miss her target. Still, she practiced daily, especially once a retired knight hobbled up to their door. He took her into the garden where space had been cleared of stone paths and shrubbery by Maude. The old man with one foot missing, first taught her how to fall, then to take a punch, get s
tabbed, cut, and heal from a black eye.

  He growled, “I will not tell you my name. We are not to become friends. I want you to hate me, to want to fight against me and win. You cannot do that with a friend.”

  “Why?”

  “Because defending yourself in real life often hurts. You cannot stop a fight because of a little pain.”

  Prin placed her hands on her hips, now the hips of an eighteen-year-old girl. “Then what will I call you?”

  “There are only two of us. What does it matter what you call me?” He leg-swept her feet from under her, and she landed in a heap.

  “What if I call you cripple?”

  “What if you have to pick yourself up from the ground a few more times?”

  She got her feet under her, but instead of standing, she charged, head low, shoulder aimed at his middle. But when she reached where he should be, he was not. His hand gave her a slap on her butt as she stumbled past, and that was enough for her to sprawl face first in the grass as he laughed and taunted.

  Prin climbed to her feet slowly and wiped some of the leaves and grass off. Fists balled, she stalked him, not allowing him to escape. Once in range, she swung.

  The cripple pulled his head back just enough to avoid the fist. But, she had another already swinging. He moved out of range of that one without effort, too. His left arm shot out, palm open, and struck her on the shoulder, sending her staggering back two steps. She regained her balance and charged, arms spread wide to embrace him and drag him to the ground where she could pummel the smile from his face.

  Instead, she ran into his braced, extended arm, and he shoved back. She landed on her butt again.

  He turned and limped to the doorway where Maude held a steaming cup of tea waiting for him. Over his shoulder, he called with a chuckle, “That’s all for today. I’m worn out.”

  They entered the house with Prin still sitting on the grass, her hand wanting to reach for the knife she wore between her shoulder blades. Not really. Then she changed her mind. No, really.

  He had been abrupt, rude, insensitive, and no gentleman. She would have bruises from one end to the other. Her shoulder hurt. One leg was too sore to walk without a limp. He was going to hear about it when he returned for the next lesson if beating a girl was considered a lesson. Her mind turned sneaky and devious. Yes, there were things she could do. He didn’t know who he was messing with.

  He walked on a stump, a foot made of wood to look like a boot. She was faster and had two feet, and she was younger. She stood and realized that both Brice and Sara were watching her from the window. Let them enjoy themselves. Maybe she could find a spell to blanket the window.

  The next morning the one-legged man returned before they ate their morning meal. Prin was sitting at the table when he strode inside as if he owned the house and kicked the legs out from under her chair on his way to the backyard, never saying a word. She sputtered, ignored the smiles of the others, and climbed to her feet. He’ll pay for that.

  He was waiting for her, standing beside the door, off to one side where she didn’t see him until she ran out and her legs became tangled as she tripped. She slowly climbed to her feet and moved closer, calculating her next move. His hands were held limply at his sides, and she concealed her next attack with a smile and smooth movements until she was close enough to spring her trap.

  He smiled back. His arm shot out, his open palm striking her chest hard enough to almost knock her head off her neck. She lashed out with a foot that nearly made contact. He dodged and gave her the smallest of nods of approval. She didn’t get another of them for almost two weeks.

  He appeared at will, during any time of the day or night, never speaking more than enough to taunt her, and never instructing her in the way she had expected, or heard about. A good teacher would tell her to put her left foot here, her shoulder there, and then what to do next.

  Her teacher, if she could call him that, shoved, pushed, slapped, hit, kicked, tripped, and worst of all, smiled at her failures. On the fourth day of instruction, he shot his arm out, palm first again, to strike her shoulder and put her on her butt, as had happened twenty times in the few days. It occurred to her that in a real fight, his open palm would be a fist.

  But he missed this time. She had reflexively turned her shoulder just enough to let his hand pass her shoulder while she stepped inside his reach. She managed to land a weak punch on his chest. He shifted his weight, locked an arm around hers, then threw her down. She landed hard on the grass. Prin was climbing to her feet before she finished the roll, ready to protect herself, or charge.

  She was too late, as he had turned away and was already accepting another cup of tea from Maude and Sara. The man was infuriating. Prin spent more time thinking of how she would better him than her magic. Then came a day when Brice rushed in the front door, his face animated and fearful at the same time.

  “There’s a green flag on the mast of the Merry Princess. She’s been moved to a regular pier, and the stevedores are loading her cargo.”

  Sara said wistfully, “I’ll bet she sails like a new ship.”

  “Do you wish you were going?” Prin barked.

  “Sort of. At least for a few days. I miss her, and the sea.” Sara turned and went inside.

  Prin said to Brice, “The green flag is the call for her crew. You don’t have to go today, but tomorrow?”

  “I’ll miss you. All of you.”

  Prin gave him a short hug. “You’ll be back before you know it, and Maude will have more lessons ready for you. As you get older, your skills will increase, so they’ll be easier to learn.”

  His head hung, and his eyes looked red. “I’d better go pack.”

  Prin didn’t think about the fact that he had little to pack until he had gone to his room. He had his old sea bag, but that hadn’t been unpacked because it contained clothing for sailors. She let him go.

  Her combat instructor was finishing his tea and passing the time pleasantly with Sara and Maude. Prin avoided tea when he was there. She went into the kitchen and drew the jar of milk from the shelf. It stayed cold and refilled itself after each glass was poured, but Prin no longer marveled at it. She had more to worry over.

  By accident, she had found she controlled air, the second of the four elements a mage worked with. She had increased her abilities with fire when Brice was not nearby, but manipulating air was new. The fire seemed centered in her right hand, air her left, at least for now. She could raise her left hand, fingers splayed, and draw air from behind in a wide swath, then concentrate it ahead in a burst that shook the leaves off nearby bushes.

  Directed at a man, it would strike so hard he would lose balance, probably close his eyes on reflex, and hesitate, not knowing what hit him. During that time, she could run him through with her knife. That was how the book described it.

  She could knock down a man climbing a ladder, blow a man off a dock so he’d have to swim, and so on. The lessons had been intended for Brice, but Prin grasped the concept and hadn’t told anyone, not even Maude.

  Mages often only controlled one element. Some two. A scant few controlled three of the four, and only her father all of them. Brice had the emerging powers of three, but he may never truly control any of them beyond a few tricks. While she now appeared eighteen, her exact age was twelve or thirteen, younger than most mages developed even the beginnings of any. Fifteen or sixteen was the normal age the powers were discovered, such as with Brice.

  The rules must be different for girls. She laughed. Yes, they were different. Girls didn’t get them. She looked forward to Brice sailing, not because she didn’t like or enjoy him, but because she looked forward to learning the work of a sorceress as well as a mage, as well as his return when he hopefully brought news.

  Her combat instructor made a small joke that amused Sara and Maude, then rose and departed without a glance in her direction. One day he might feel the powerful blast of air.

  Maude said, “We’ll all go watch Brice sail, bu
t that won’t be for several days. Right now, he just has to report to the ship and prepare.”

  Sara applied more of the spell to her hair, then brushed it. It hung nearly to her waist, and she hadn’t cut it. Prin kept hers shorter, down to her shoulders, but tied behind where it didn’t get in her eyes at the surprise combat attacks. She had made that mistake once. The crippled man had made her pay for the lack of vision.

  Maude sat up straight. “Trouble.”

  Both girls spun to look at her. She stared off into the distance, face set, eyes closed.

  “Jam. Coming up the walk. He isn’t alone. I think he’s with a mage.”

  The door lock slid aside, and the door swung open without a knock. The three women sat, two on the sofa and Maude in her chair beside the fireplace. The mage entered, a sheen of orange fire coating his bare skin.

  Nice effect, Prin thought. Impressive, but easy to do, I think. He rippled lightning near the ceiling as he crossed the room. Showoff.

  A nervous Jam followed.

  The mage let the rumble of thunder accompany the lightning, then said, “I have questions of you.”

  Maude lifted her knitting from the small table at her side and said, “What you don’t have are manners, young man. Do you think a sorceress my age has never seen a mage make an entrance before? If you allow one drop of rain to fall in here, you will find yourself under a hate-me spell so strong that will have all young women running from the sight of you for a hundred years.”

  “I am a mage.”

  “And I, a sorceress. What is your point?”

  “I command the elements.”

  Maude looked at the sofa. “Sara, have you perfected that skunk-smell spell?”

  “I can’t control how strong it is or how long it lasts.”

  “Be prepared to experiment.” Maude knitted and pearled, then raised her eyes to the mage. “Introduce yourself properly and explain why I shouldn’t turn Sara loose on you.”

  He drew himself up, trying to recover his dignity. “I am here searching for a girl.”

  “Can’t find yourself a romantic mate? I’m not surprised by your lack of manners and respect. Well, none of us are impressed enough to take a stroll with you, so go find a weak, simple-minded girl for yourself. And shut my door on the way out, if you please.”