“Not just one,” I said.
When I returned, dressed in a pale blue shirt and the same navy trousers, Faol took one look at me and laughed.
“Here, porridge. And jam. All I have is strawberry.”
“We never had jam at home,” I said. We did eat porridge often – nearly every dratted day – but it had never tasted as good as Faol’s.
“It’s one of the few things I can cook,” he explained.
“Jam?”
“Yes. And porridge.”
“It’s delicious,” I said, as he watched me eat. As soon as I was finished, he whisked the bowl away and announced we were going to his private study. It was also housed in the turret, one floor beneath the bathroom. He paused outside its locked door and said,
“Be careful in here, Aideen. Best not touch anything.”
I clasped my hands behind my back. He opened the door into a sunlit study. The walls were packed with shelves and shelves of books. The floor was bare wood, and covered in faint chalk-marks. A small desk and chair, both stacked with loose papers, sat beneath the window.
“Magic,” he said, rather grandly, “is summoned forth from the Otherworld.”
“Yes, Moranda told me all about it.”
His eyes narrowed. “All of it?”
“Well…a little.”
His shoulders slumped. “Then you don’t need anything from me, do you? Here.” He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a shabby-looking wand. “Off you go.”
I kept my hands behind my back. “Tell me about magic, Faol. I’d rather hear it from you.”
“Liar.”
I waited. And waited.
I could wait a long time if I put my mind to it.
“Fine,” he said. “Magic… It exists in the world that exists on top of this one. All the worlds are pressed together like a sandwich. There is magic in the Otherworld, but also elemental power in this one. Only one who can control both can become a mage.” He pocketed the wand and opened a drawer in his desk. “Beginners must use objects to contact the Otherworld.”
“Ordinary objects,” I added. “Moranda showed me the sacred objects at the Mage Court.”
And as soon as I said it, I wondered what I’d been thinking.
“You…you’ve seen the—”
“The sword, the cup and the shield. Yes.”
His fist curled around whatever he’d taken from the drawer. “Were they beautiful?”
“No,” I replied. “Not beautiful. Strange. And powerful. And a little frightening.”
“Did Moranda explain why she showed you?”
“I’m afraid not. Perhaps it’s because I can do magic?”
“Hmm,” he said. “We’ll find out now, I suppose. Unclasp your hands and hold them out.”
He dropped three smooth stones into my palms.
“Are you excited?” he asked.
“Yes,” I lied. In truth, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Life – especially mine – often turned out to be such a disappointment. I’d had my hopes dashed many times before.
“You should be excited, Aideen. There’s nothing like the feeling of having magic at your fingertips. The power can be almost overwhelming. I remember my first time as if it were yesterday.”
“How old were you when you began your training?”
“Seven. Twenty years now.” His face began to droop.
“You young thing,” I said. “Wait until you hit thirty. Then you’ll be dying that hair to hide the greys.” I knew I’d said the wrong thing again. “That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with grey hair. Moranda has grey hair.”
“Yes. What a fine woman she is.”
I lifted my palms. “Stones. What do I do?”
“Cast them on the ground, and then step inside.”
“Step inside what?”
“Throw them and you’ll see.”
I gently tossed the three stones in my palm, and then scattered them across the floor. One spun under the desk, another hit a row of books, and the last one dropped rather sadly by my boot.
Other than that, nothing happened.
“I don’t understand,” said Faol. “There should be a door here.”
I pointed to the door to the study, while he gathered the stones and gave them back to me. He stood behind me and put his hands beneath mine.
“We’ll try again,” he said. “Follow my lead.”
I had no idea what he expected of me, or even how to ‘follow his lead’. So I let his hands guide mine. He pushed them together, and then pushed up and out, catapulting the stones once more across the study.
This time, they fell in a perfect triangle.
“Step inside,” he said.
I walked forward on my own, until I was standing in the middle of the stones. “What happens now?”
“Shh. Free your mind of thought. You can’t travel to the Otherworld if your head is full.”
I pushed all the voices out of my head, all the images and residual emotions still festering in the corners. But it didn’t last.
“I can’t!”
“You can,” he said, and a wall of blue flame rose around the edges of the triangle.
I tried once more to clear my mind, but I was even more distracted now standing in the middle of a magical fire. The flames offered no heat, but their energy still buzzed around me.
“Do you see it?” His voice was distant.
“No. I see nothing but fire.”
And with that, the flames disappeared.
“I don’t understand,” Faol said again. “Everyone sees a door the first time.”
“I’m not everyone. Do we need these anymore?” I knelt down, my hand hovering over one of the stones.
“Clear them away. I’m sorry, Aideen. I thought—”
“It was nice of you to think of me. I’m afraid I can’t do any magic. I’m not the type.”
“There’s no ‘type’.”
“Of course there is. You have to be exciting and dashing and interesting to do magic. It’s okay. I’m happy with being ordinary. But from now on, let’s leave the magic to you. Moranda said you have real talent, and I believe her.”
“Moranda… Moranda said that?”
“Yes.” I collected the last of the stones and laid them on the desk.
“Did she say anything else about me?”
“Not that I recall. I need a glass of water. All of this attempted magic has made me thirsty. I shan’t be long.”
I hurried up the two flights of stairs to the kitchen and leaned against the worktop. I’d known damn fine I was as magically talented as an old mop. Faol was a fool for thinking otherwise. And I was a fool for letting him.
I heard him approach. He should have been in the study, figuring out the nature of the Night Mage. But here he was.
“I’m sorry,” he began.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I said, still facing out the window. “You must have been thrilled when you first cast the stones and opened the door to the Otherworld. And at age seven! I’ve endured more than four times as many years, and I can’t even throw the stones properly!” I tried to laugh, but it came out all wrong.
“I genuinely thought—”
“We all make mistakes. We better get back to work. Our month will fly by before our eyes.” I let go of the worktop and made my way back to the stairs. He edged in front of me.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt,” I said firmly. “I knew all along what would happen.” I smiled and pressed a finger to his waistcoat. “One would suspect you wanted me to fail, to make yourself feel better.”
“That’s not— I did not mean to—”
“I was kidding, Faol.” I pulled back my finger; turned away from his lying mouth. “Is it back to the study?”
“No…” he said slowly.
“Look, can we forget about it please? Time is not our friend.”
He tugged down his waistcoat, chin tucked. “We’ll go to the library.”
“You have more books? What about the ones in your study?”
“They’re my own diaries and workings. They won’t help us.” He breezed past me, his hair rippling like water.
A library sounded intriguing. I’d read few books in my lifetime, and owned even fewer. I’d heard tales of city libraries as big as fifty houses pushed together, and of libraries long-burned that contained knowledge of forgotten people. Now I was about to enter a library full of magic.
What a treat it will be, I told myself, as I hastened through the castle in Faol’s wake.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The library was old, and a treat perhaps for someone who was obsessed with libraries.
“You don’t come here often?” I asked.
“I used to,” said Faol. “Back when I had a hope of defeating the Mage.”
The library was long and narrow, with a line of reading tables down the middle. All the books were stacked in alcoves, either side of the tables. The shelves ran all the way up to the high arched ceiling; wooden ladders rested against the walls for accessing the top rows.
I coughed and then sneezed from the dust. It was absolutely freezing, in an even greater state of disrepair than the old ballroom.
“I’ll get some candles going,” said Faol.
“And a pot of coffee?” I suggested, clutching my arms against my chest.
“Drinking in the library?” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Moranda would be displeased.”
“I’ll go make us a fresh batch.”
“You know the way?”
“I’ll scream if I get lost.”
I was glad to have more time alone, to let the smile fall off my face. By the time I returned with a tray of coffee and four stale biscuits I’d found among the flour and sugar, the library was warm with the glow of candlelight. Faol had lit five on each of the tables.
“Here,” he said, pulling out a chair at one. I eyed the stack of books. “I’ve selected your reading material.” At the table in front, there was another stack. I noticed his chair had been moved around, so we would be facing each other. “They’re nearly all diaries and biographies,” he said. “Accounts from other mages. If Moranda says every student must defeat the Night Mage, then there should be records in here.”
“You’ve not read them before?” I asked.
He indicated the cavernous library. “Not all of them. And if each Night Mage is different, it’s possible I did not recognise it before.”
I settled into the chair and sipped my hot coffee. There were few windows in the library, and all of them were tucked away in the alcoves. Many were blocked by towers of uncategorised books.
“Don’t worry,” he said, following my gaze. “I’ll keep a track of the sunlight. We’ll be back in my rooms long before the Mage arrives.”
And so we set to work, ploughing through the stacks of diaries and accounts of other mages. Whenever my own to-read list dwindled, Faol scoured the library to replenish my supply.
We rose early each morning – he always insisted on sleeping in the chair and letting me have his bed – and ate our meals in the library, and drank more coffee than must have been good for us. The only thing that changed was Faol’s daily outfit. Whereas I stuck to variations of white and navy, Faol dazzled in burgundy and gold, silver and sapphire, mushroom and teal.
Cal joined us occasionally, bouncing between the table legs, and so did Scaly, who liked to curl around Faol’s neck, nestled in his long hair. Though we faced each other, I kept my head down most of the time. Whenever we did catch each other’s eye, it did not last for long. Occasionally though, when I could no longer hear the turning of pages, I caught him daydreaming, doing no work at all. And so I would have to remind him to stay focused.
The more often I had to scold him, the more I sympathised with Moranda. For all of Faol’s strengths, he was certainly afflicted by many flaws. His lack of prolonged concentration was just one of them.
“My eyes are tired,” he moaned one time.
“As are mine. Close them for a moment, and then resume.”
If only he were a little more determined, a little less whiny… He could be a great mage.
I reached the end of my first week in the castle, and we were no further forward. Yes, I knew all about the multiple marriages and divorces of certain mages, and the great body of work they contributed to the world; I knew about their children and parents and their daily habits: their favourite meals, times of day, and ways to practise magic. But there was not a single mention of the Night Mage. Either these mages chose not to include the Mage in their description of their training, or Moranda had lied. And the longer we went on, the more often I had to remind Faol to keep reading, to not slump forward, to not huff and sigh and rap his fingers on the table.
“If this were any other library,” I said, “you’d be thrown out.”
That earned me over an hour of sulking, but at least he was quiet and stuck to reading.
On the afternoon of the seventh day, when my neck was on fire and my eyes painfully strained, I read about Mage Enwin’s childhood cats and dogs, and all of their names, and all the ways they liked to have their ears scratched.
“Oh this is useless!” I pushed the book back across the table and leaned back in my chair. “I’m beginning to think they’ve been instructed to leave no mention of the Night Mage in case it helps other students.”
“Or Moranda is a liar and wishes me never to succeed.”
“Or that,” I conceded.
He tossed his book aside too. I doubted he needed much encouragement. “Coffee?” he suggested.
“Yes please.” I got up to stretch my legs, and walked to his table to collect my cup. I leaned against the table, beside his chair. “My back is sore,” I explained.
“Mine too. My neck is the worst though. I can’t decide if it feels like fire or ice.”
“You should sleep in the bed tonight,” I said. “All that time in the chair can’t be helping.”
“You are a guest. You will have the bed.”
There’s room for both of us, I thought, but kept it to myself.
“Oh,” I said suddenly, “did you receive a reply from my parents?” I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten them so easily; all this time my head had been full of mages and magic.
“I’m afraid not. But the message will have reached them. I promise. I’m not that useless.”
I ignored his sulk and said, “What about your parents? Haven’t they missed you all these years?”
“They’re dead.” He picked at his embroidered crimson waistcoat. “My father would not lend me his clothes in life. But now he’s dead I can wear what I want.”
“I’m sorry, Faol.”
“As am I.”
“What happened?” I asked softly.
“My mother died when I was a baby. My father never told me exactly what happened. And then he died when I was sixteen. I came in one morning with his breakfast and found him cold in his bed. It was a lucky coincidence I was old enough to join Moranda full-time to continue my training.”
“Faol, when you were asleep in the pool—”
“I wasn’t asleep. I was forging a deep intricate connection with the Otherworld.”
“Okay, so when you were in the pool, I heard a woman—”
“Scream. Yes, you told me. And yes, I know it may have been my mother. Perhaps if you reenact the scream I could say for certain.”
I wasn’t sure if he was being serious. Regardless, I kept my screams to myself.
He rolled his shoulders back; something cracked loudly beneath his skin.
“Here,” I said. “Let me. It’s the least I can do.” I put down my cup and stood behind his chair. I pushed his hair aside and rubbed my thumbs into the fabric of his waistcoat, above the shoulder blades.
“Ow.”
“There might be a little pain. But it will help ease the muscles.” I felt knots, even through his waistcoat and shirt. I could have helped him more if I had dire
ct access to his skin, but of course that would have been wildly inappropriate.
“You’re good at this,” he said.
“Yes. Relax your shoulders. You’re tensing.”
“Sorry.”
He loosened up beneath my hands. The pads of my thumbs soon grew numb.
“When this is over,” he said, “we should do something fun.”
“I’d like that.” I smoothed his shoulders back down, as they’d already begun to rise again.
“I hate all of this.” He threw a hand towards the books. “I worry I’m going mad.”
“That’s understandable after so many years on your own. But I don’t think you’re mad, Faol. Not yet.”
He reached a hand over his shoulder and touched my wrist. “Thank you. Your hands must be cramped.”
“I have strong hands,” I said, although my wrists and forearms ached.
He looked up at me through a curtain of hair. “I wish we were free.”
“So do I. But we won’t get there without putting in the work.” I tapped the table, pulling away from his hand. I returned to my own table and chair and stack of books. “The sooner we get this done—”
“We’ve been at it for days, Aideen. And nothing. And even if we find something, there’s no guarantee it will help us.”
“Faol,” I snapped. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”
“Stop what?”
“Your moaning. Moaning will get us nowhere.”
“You moan too,” he said.
“Only about you. If you were a little less morose and a little more dedicated then maybe we’d have found something by now.”
All the tension I’d just ironed out returned to his shoulders. “You’ve found nothing either!”
“At least I’m trying.”
He clenched his jaw and bowed his head, hair covering his face. He yanked the book back across the table and knocked it open. He dug his elbows into the table and rested his head between his fists.
“Faol—”
“Shh.”
“You are impossible,” I muttered, and got on with my reading.
But I could no longer focus. His damn petulance had leapt from his table to my own and wormed its way into my head. Even with my eyes on the page, I could still see him, the mop of silly green hair, the burning waistcoat set against the midnight blue of his shirt and trousers. It was not the books giving me eye ache, but the offensive vibrancy of his dress.
The Night Mage Page 7
