by M. S. Verish
“We experienced the magic of the Plains,” Hawkwing said.
“Likely triggered by the fact that you strayed from the path,” Arcturus said.
There was no response.
The Markanturian sighed and turned away. “I assume we will reach the third marker tomorrow, and the following day we will see the end of these dreadful Plains. If we can all agree to face this journey competently and with prevailing logic, we just might reach our destination.”
Jinx shook his head and turned to Ruby. For once he was not on the receiving end of Arcturus’s lecture, but he felt no better than if the blame had been his to shoulder. He patted the imp on the head. Can’t get outta here soon enough.
12
A Wizard Named Bill
The arrival at the boundary of the Plains of Delmadria could have been cause for celebration. The morning light gleamed upon the frosty stone that brought an end to the pathway, and beyond the tall grasses was a knee-high field, sparkling with the promise of a new beginning. The quiet, pristine landscape retained its sanctity, for not a word broke the air as the travelers crossed the threshold into a setting not plagued by demons or darkness. Pale hills rose and lapped against the solid base of the snow-laden Thieldrerin Mountains.
Hawkwing’s stride did not break as he passed from the plains and into the field. The other companions looked at one another before trailing behind him.
“Uh, does this wizard-guy live in the mountains?” Jinx asked.
“That would be a mystery, James,” Arcturus said dryly. “Though rest assured that if we are to scale mountains, I will have a none-too-kind word with our expectant host.”
“That’ll learn him,” Jinx said, rolling his eyes.
“We will be there before sunset,” Hawkwing said without a glance behind him. He lifted his arm, and Snowfire took flight, soon lost amongst the higher mass of clouds.
They walked until the sun was at its peak, slowly working their way over the hills and into the rocky terrain near the mountains. Their guide led them to an outcropping of worn stone at the crest of a great hill and rounded the other side. As they joined him, they discovered a mountain waterfall and a stream that cut into the ground. It meandered further downward into the valley, where it connected with a river. Hawkwing stood there a moment and allowed them to take in the site.
Kariayla grazed her fingers along the soft moss that grew on a large rock beside the waterfall. She looked up at the tracker in wonder. “Why didn’t we hear it as we came closer?” she asked. The trickle of water became audible only after they had come into view of the stream.
Hawkwing did not answer, but his smile was carried on a breeze—there and gone again.
“I am certain we merely paid it no heed,” Arcturus said, still catching his breath. He propped himself against his staff. “Weariness has a way of dulling the senses.”
“Or maybe it’s old age,” Jinx muttered, and Kariayla stared at him wide-eyed. The thief picked up a rock and tossed it downstream. He sighed and sat down, Ruby jumping into his lap.
“I see no need for under-the-breath commentary, James. You are obviously cross with me. Express what it is that vexes you.”
“What?”
“Tell him why you’re upset,” Kariayla interpreted.
Jinx threw another rock. “Why can’t ya just believe us, Arcturus? You always gotta be right—even when you’re wrong. Like with the demon in the Plains. Like with the waterfall. Like with Hawkwing.”
The Markanturian drew himself upright. “I have had a great many more years to my life to experience a great many—”
“That don’t mean nuthin’,” Jinx interrupted. “You didn’t get runned over by a fire-horse. You didn’t see the demon coming at you.”
“Do you not think,” Arcturus began, “that there is the slightest possibility that our guide’s story had influenced your imagination?”
“No,” Jinx said stubbornly, “’cuz it wasn’t a story. Everything he said was true, and he was trying to warn us.”
“There is no logic to demons,” Arcturus reasoned.
“Yeah, and I’d’ve said guys with red skin and black eyes ain’t real.” He turned and gestured to the Markanturian. “Are you real? Maybe I’m just makin’ you up from a story.”
“Do not be absurd.” He approached the thief. “If you can gain any consolation from this,” he said, his tone gentler, “then I will admit that there was a strange magical phenomenon that occurred while we were at the second marker.”
“Yeah,” Jinx said sarcastically.
Arcturus sighed. “I have no explanation for what happened, but to dwell on the incident is pointless. Even you must agree that harboring your anger will achieve nothing.”
“So you believe me?”
“I did not see any demon; my account of the matter has not changed.”
Jinx folded his arms.
“But I will try to keep an open mind to your observations, as future incidents may arise,” Arcturus said with a casual wave of his hand.
Jinx scratched his head. “Um. Alright, I guess.” He spat on his hand and held it out.
Arcturus stared.
“Ya gotta shake on it.”
The Markanturian’s expression soured. “With one’s own saliva, James? What manner of Human custom is this?”
“Thieves’ Pact,” Jinx said, his hand still extended.
“Ah, of course.” Arcturus reached down and patted him on the shoulder. “I am not a thief, dear boy, but I will honor our agreement.”
Jinx grumbled while Arcturus lost all expression and turned to Hawkwing. “You said we would arrive before sunset.”
“Yes, and we are early,” Hawkwing replied.
“Early?”
“What, we’re there?” Jinx asked, jumping up and spilling the imp from his lap. He followed the tracker’s gaze into the valley. “Is it over the other hill or something?”
“Not all that exists can be readily seen,” Hawkwing said. “This is a hidden city.” He started down along the creek.
Kariayla glanced at the nearly-silent waterfall and smiled. “Magic,” she whispered to Jinx, and she was the next to follow. As the group approached the river, they came upon a large flock of starlings milling about and causing a racket. One step too close, and the mass of birds took off in a black cloud. When their wings had cleared, a city sat beside the river when none had been before. The river glistened like a sword, cutting the conglomeration of white-roofed structures in half. There was a stately bridge adjacent to a grand tower that jutted from the center of the city green. From the green, long buildings radiated like the spokes of a wheel. None of the travelers would have been surprised if a rainbow had arched downward to fall upon the city in a fantastical display of sorcery.
“Jedinom’s Sword,” Jinx breathed.
“It is quite remarkable…and typical of William’s antics,” Arcturus said. “Though I do not understand the need for secrecy here.”
“William can answer your questions as he chooses,” Hawkwing said. “For now, however, I need to take you to the watchmen.”
“Watchmen?” Arcturus asked. “As in a measure of security?”
“Unseen cities are not unseen without reason.”
Whitestar thumped upon the ground. “Might I remind you that William invited me? Forgive me if I thought I would be received as a guest and not a suspect.”
Hawkwing remained impassive. “Everyone who comes here receives the same precautionary treatment.”
Arcturus snorted. “I will be certain to inform William just how his guests are treated.”
“Bill presides over the city,” Hawkwing said with a shrug. “He created the laws by which the people abide.”
Kariayla stood next to the Markanturian. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”
“Of course we do not, but I find this distrust insulting.”
“We’re all strangers here. Maybe William has a fair reason for his precautions,” she said
.
“Yeah, like we’re a buncha thieves breakin’ into the city, right Arcturus?” Jinx asked, elbowing him.
“I am glad the both of you can weigh this lightly,” he said.
Hawkwing had already started forward. He glanced back only to motion them to follow. “They are expecting us.”
The companions made their way into the city in silence, finding their surroundings were no less impressive once immersed in them. The buildings and structures were mostly white marble, and the paths below them were of a similar, crushed stone. There were lanterns of colored glass along the walkways, and as the light waned, a man dressed in white tapped each of them with a long wand, and a flame ignited inside. Color and patterns spattered the white surfaces like paint, dazzling the companions’ eyes and stealing any words that might escape their lips. There were carved columns and statues and fountains which flowed despite the brisk weather.
Hawkwing had to slow his pace, but he did not hurry the others. He waited until they were following him once more, and at last he brought them to a squat little box of a building etched in vines. He stood at the door but did not enter, gesturing for them to head inside.
“Will you not be joining us?” Arcturus asked, immediately suspicious.
He did not receive an answer, for one of the watchmen peeked outside and smiled at the tall man. “I wondered when we’d see you again. You bring an interesting entourage, Master Hawkwing. Bill’s guests, I imagine?”
Hawkwing smiled back. “He was expecting only one, but as you can see, the party has grown.”
The watchman nodded. “We will take care of them and send them out to you.” He patted Arcturus on the back, and the bewildered Markanturian found himself ushered inside with the others.
“Each in turn,” the watchman announced. “We will start with our Markanturian guest.”
Arcturus stepped up to a desk where a second watchman sat before a stack of papers. “Please sit,” the scribe said without glancing upward. When Arcturus had done as requested, the man continued. “Name, origin, and occupation.”
“I am Arcturus Prentishun, most obviously from Markanturos, though I have not resided in my country for over—”
“Occupation, sir.”
Arcturus frowned. “Do you request my occupation in Markanturos or my more recent occupation in Mystland?”
The scribe finally looked up, clearly anxious to get through his work. “What is it that you do, sir?” he asked flatly.
Arcturus straightened. “I was recently the curator of a museum of magical antiquities. I hardly see how an interrogation is relevant to my visit—”
“Curator, then.” The scribe scribbled on his paper. “Assert your reason for visitation.”
“I do not even know where we are,” Arcturus protested.
“Why are you here, sir?”
“For a visit,” Arcturus snapped.
“He’s here for Master William,” the other watchman said casually. “Do get on with it, Fredrick. There are three more of them.”
The scribe grunted and shoved the paper and quill before Arcturus. “Sign. There.”
Arcturus pulled the paper away from him and drew it closer so that he could read it. “The print is terribly small.”
“If you do not sign it, you cannot stay here,” the scribe said, tugging the paper back down to the table.
“You are quite a rude fellow,” Arcturus informed him before snatching the quill and signing his name with a bold flourish.
“Welcome to Jumull,” the scribe said humorlessly. “Next!” he called over Arcturus’s shoulder.
Kariayla waited for Arcturus to vacate the chair before taking her turn. The scribe did not seem to care that she bore no surname or lacked an occupation. She signed her name and started to step aside when Jinx grabbed her arm. “Hey, can you wait here with me?”
Confused, Kariayla nodded and stood beside him.
“Name, origin, and occupation,” the scribe commanded.
“Jinx, the Freelands, and…” He looked down at his feet, and the scribe tapped his quill impatiently. “Thief.”
There was an awkward pause. “Excuse me?” the scribe asked.
“I—”
“Inventory specialist,” Kariayla blurted.
Both Jinx and the scribe looked at her. Then the thief recovered his speech. “Y-yeah. What she said.”
The scribe sighed. “Sign.”
Jinx stared at the paper in horror. “There?” He picked up the quill awkwardly—as though he had never held one before.
“Today would be nice,” the scribe said.
Jinx tried to offer the quill to Kariayla, but the man interrupted the act. “She cannot sign it for you. If you are illiterate, then speak your name, and make a mark with the quill.”
“What’s ‘illerate?’” he asked Kariayla, turning a shade of red.
“He means if you can’t read or write,” she whispered back in sympathy.
“Oh.” He pressed the tip of the quill to the paper. “Jinx,” he said, but nothing happened. “Did I do it wrong?”
“Try your real name.”
Jinx’s blush deepened. “Jameson Tyegus,” he muttered, completely humiliated. Ink blotted down from the quill and formed the name on the paper. “Can I go now?”
The scribe shook his head. “Your daughter….”
“Daughter?” Jinx exclaimed. “She’s not—you mean Ruby? No, she’s not—she’s a friend. I—I don’t even really know what she is.”
“Fredrick,” the other watchman said, “just let her go with him.”
The scribe bit his lip and stared at Ruby from over the desk. “If she can’t sign the paper, she will be listed as your pet.”
“Pet?” Jinx glanced at her, and Ruby seemed genuinely insulted, her little arms folded, her lips in a pout. “Uh, okay. Whatever.” He patted her head consolingly.
They were too eager to leave the office, and it was with some relief that they rejoined Hawkwing, who was gazing over the river.
“I assume you are in their records,” Arcturus said tightly, “and have already undergone this triviality.”
“You are officially in Jumull now,” Hawkwing said.
“Great,” Jinx mumbled. “So what now?”
“Just a moment,” Arcturus said, holding up a hand. “To what did we attribute our signature?”
“It was an agreement,” Hawkwing said, “that by entering Jumull, you are subject to a spell of memory. Once you leave the city, you will not remember its name or its location.”
“Surely you jest,” Arcturus exclaimed.
Hawkwing merely looked at him.
“No, no—I have forgotten,” the Markanturian said dramatically, “that all my questions should be addressed to William.”
“I will take you to him if you’re ready,” Hawkwing said.
“By all means.” Arcturus straightened his attire. “The walk will give me time to compose my sentiments.”
They did not have far to walk, following the paths cast in a myriad of colors, crossing the stately bridge that spanned the river, and finally reaching the tower they had seen at a distance. There were windows and balconies at every level, and the pinnacle was capped with a crystalline dome. Hawkwing reached for the door just as the ground rumbled beneath their feet. A window above them erupted in a burst of glass and colored smoke.
“Jedinom’s Sword!” Jinx cried, and Ruby clamped to his leg. He bent down to inspect something that had been ejected from the window.
Arcturus sighed, and Hawkwing opened the door.
“Should we just walk in?” Kariayla asked, uncertain.
“We are expected,” Arcturus said, “though I would stress an attitude of caution.”
“String,” Jinx blurted from behind them. He held up a fistful of colorful strands. “See?” He handed them to Kariayla, whose brow furrowed at the bizarre find.
Arcturus shook his head and proceeded inside. The others followed, and Hawkwing shut the door behind
them. They were encircled by a spacious atrium with a marble floor and rugs the size of a one-room cottage. A fire burned from a depression in the center of the room, the tongues turning green, red, or blue as they disappeared without any hint of smoke. There were couches and chairs surrounding the fire, like friends gathered at a camp, waiting for stories. The stories were there, too, shelved against the walls in whatever size their bindings assumed. The pattern of books was only broken by an occasional door—five in all, and each completely different in size, shape and color.
“Them’s alotta books,” Jinx murmured, already strolling around the perimeter, his fingers grazing against the spines as he walked by. “Never been in a fancy place like this.” There was sudden movement from one of the shelves just ahead of him—a flash of white in the firelight—as the statuesque hawk left its perch to rejoin its tall companion.
Jinx gave a shout and then wiped his brow when he realized what had startled him. “Just Snowfire,” he breathed. “I didn’t know she was here.”
“She knows this place well,” Hawkwing said. “Bill should know we have arrived.”
“Because the bird told him, of course,” Arcturus muttered under his breath, inspecting the books himself.
Kariayla shared his focus. “He has his own library,” she said. “But how can it be so much bigger inside? Is it some sort of illusion?”
“You may question much of what you see in William’s presence,” Arcturus told her, “but never doubt that what you find is real. I abandoned hope of solving his mysteries long ago; he never has the inclination to explain much of anything.”
As if the Markanturian’s words had summoned him, one of the five doors opened, and out stepped a well-dressed, middle-aged man. He carried himself like a noble, but there was an easiness in his expression that could give way to spontaneity. His trousers were rolled up to mid-calf, his feet stained in shades of red, blue, and gold. Scraps of thread clung to him as though he had walked through a multicolored spider web. He smiled and took a few steps forward, rainbow footprints left in his wake. “The loom has exploded,” he announced.
“Of course,” Arcturus said dryly. Kariayla and Jinx exchanged a glance.
