by J. B. Markes
"What?" Gustobald let out a guffaw that ended much too sharply to be genuine. "Preposterous!"
"You knew the Tower of the Heart would come looking for answers. And you knew I would be the one to come as soon as I heard that ridiculously phony name. This was all a trick to get me here!"
"Comical!" The necromancer turned his back to her and forced a smile. "You hear this, Miss Ives? She thinks it's all about her. It's always about Gretel, isn't it?"
"You're one to talk! There's barely enough room in any conversation with you prattling on like a two-headed magpie!"
"A two-headed—" This time Gustobald let out a hearty horselaugh, and I couldn't help but put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing at his silliness. Gretel took it the wrong way, so I summoned my inner strength and regained control for a second, but my reserve cracked again just as quickly.
"Grow up, Gustobald." Gretel crossed her arms over her chest. "This is serious."
Gustobald laughed himself right out the door, grabbing the guard Lionell and leaning heavily on his shoulder as he walked off. "Two-headed magpie!"
"It's more fitting than a jackanapes," I said once the necromancer's laughter had faded from the hallway.
"What did you just call me?" Gretel asked.
"What? No! I—nevermind. He's just avoiding you."
"You think?" She tucked her wand into her sleeve with a condescending glare. "You're wasting your time with the likes of him. He's nothing but trouble."
I closed the door and latched the inside hook. "Can we talk about this? About you and Gustobald?"
"What is there to say?" She folded her hands together in front of her, adjusting her rings.
"Oh I think there's plenty. Could you at least tell me how you know each other?"
Gretel looked at the locked door as if she were measuring her chances of escape, but finally took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. "I've known him since I was an apprentice many years ago. We were close. You wouldn't know it today, but Gustobald could be quite charming when he made the effort. He was only a journeyman at the time, but he taught me much of what I know. He had such a unique understanding of the craft and a singular knack for imparting his knowledge to others. Such a skilled practitioner, and so young. Without a doubt, he would have been headmaster someday. And everyone said so. To think what he could have accomplished for our field."
"What happened?"
"He threw it all away. Less than a week after becoming an expert. He disappeared without telling anyone where he was going—not even me. I waited for him to come back long after all of the others had given up on him. He was gone for years. I even went searching for him after I became a journeyman myself. I wish I'd never found him."
I held my breath, waiting for her to continue. I lowered my voice to a whisper, hoping not to disrupt her cooperative mood. "Where did he go?"
"Where all rogue wizards go," she said. "To dark places of the world, where there are no maps. He had his reasons for leaving. There are few who know why."
"But you do," I said.
"I might be the only person who really knows Gustobald Pitch, but it's not my place."
"What happened when you found him? Is it the reason you hate him so much?"
"Is that what he said?" Her voice broke and all at once her features softened. She didn't cry in front of me, but I knew that look well enough to know she wanted to be alone.
"No," I said, stepping aside to give her room to leave. "He never tells me anything. I'm sorry."
She was visibly grateful for the avenue of retreat, unhooking the latch but staring at the closed door. "I know you won't leave him," she said. "And I know why. I'm sorry for your illness; no one deserves that, especially not someone so young. But sooner or later we all have to let go. That's life."
"Now you sound like Gustobald."
She affected a smile, but it was a poor imitation. "Your hair looks good like that, Miss Ives," she said. "You really are beautiful." She stayed long enough to accept my bow and then left me alone with my confusion.
I locked the door behind her and removed the blanket from my patient. When I tossed the fabric back onto the bed, Gustobald's vial rolled out and landed on the floor with a click. It didn't appear damaged save for a scrape on the glass, but I didn't breathe easy until I had turned it over a few times in my hand. I was cursing the old man's carelessness when it occurred to me that Gustobald was rarely careless, despite outward appearances. He must have expected Gretel would pursue him, leaving me alone with the bird.
The liquid was as stable as it had been when the necromancer first completed the spell. I twirled a couple times to admire its incandescence. The elixir prepared, the hardest part was over. There was but one obstacle in my way. Without thinking, I removed the stopper from the glass and poured the mixture over the body while it writhed and twitched.
"Hak—hakda—" My pulse raced, whether from anxiety or the first stirrings of the magic in my blood. I steadied my breathing and tried again, curling my fingers in the air as if I would lift the bird like a puppet. "Hak—ham. Hakhamdak. Hakhamdak." Again I repeated it again and again, until I was shouting the words, as if merely raising the volume of my voice would help. "Hakhamdak!" Sentinel Chalke pushed the door in, but it caught on the hook. He rammed it twice with his shoulder but I just kept screaming at the bird.
Then something broke inside me, like a gatecrashing in my soul. The magic rushed in to fill the gaps. My chest heaved and my vision turned red. I could feel another blackout coming but the burning in my blood empowered me, seduced me, ensnared me. I knew the bonding ritual would be my end, but it didn't matter. I needed to cast. I would have brought the stone walls down upon myself just to feel the magic again.
Sentinel Chalke melted the metal hook on the door and pushed inward, trying to get a handle on the situation. The pigeon had managed to rock onto its feet, but its wings were still too rigid to fly. I picked it up and held it against me for protection in case the sentinel tried to destroy it.
"Is that what I think it is?" Chalke asked, laying a finger on his wand as if the bird might attack at any moment. My throat was so parched I couldn't reply. "Put it down!"
I shook my head, cradling the bird even as I fell to my knees. I leaned over, burying it in the pit of my stomach as my life essence continued to flow out of me. The bond was formed. I could feel it strengthening exponentially; there was no stopping the process now. Fatigue settled over me, pressing me to the floor beneath its weight. I landed on my side and released my new companion, but he didn't attempt to fly, only perched on my stomach as I rolled onto my back.
My throat burned and I coughed uncontrollably, gasping between each fit. It felt like I was inhaling alchemical smoke. The tortured sound of my wheezing reinforced my terror. Soon I saw dark patches dancing across my vision, like wraiths on the hunt.
"Help!" Chalke called out reflexively as he slapped the pigeon away to place his hand on my chest. "Hang on, Miss Ives." He jumped to the corner where Gustobald's deathknell staff rested, grabbing it and shouting his message into the air. "Gustobald Pitch, return at once! Your apprentice is dying."
I shouldn't be spreading the secrets of the grave, not after everything I have learned about the power behind necromancy—which you wouldn't believe anyway, even if I told you—but since you've humored me thus far, you must be curious about what I saw moments after my death.
A long dark tunnel with a light at the end? An endless wasteland, or a booming voice? It's not your time, Isabel? Could you imagine anything more dramatic? None of it is true. Not even Gustobald's guided tour of the deathwalk could prepare me for what awaited in the great beyond. I saw nothing. Nothing at all; no tunnel, no light, not even darkness. In fact, I don't remember anything.
Later, Gustobald would assure me that I was dead for some minutes before he even arrived, but it was the lost time of a long dreamless sleep, where one is too deep to be aware of anything. Not to disappoint, there was a pinpoint of li
ght that called me back. It hung around Gustobald's neck and grew ever fainter as I returned to consciousness. But by the time I returned to my senses, the pendant's jewel was completely inert.
I opened my eyes for only a moment, unable to raise my head off of the floor. "I feel—"
"Alive," Gustobald said, placing his hand on my forehead and putting me back to sleep.
Chapter 18
A knock at the door brought me back. I sat straight up in my bed, more awake than I had ever been in my life. I stood up and stretched my arms out of habit to shake off the drowsiness that just wasn't there. There was a second knock at the door and raised voices. I could hear Chalke arguing with Gustobald, but I was too hungry to care.
I went straight to the fruit bowl and brought it back to the bed, working my way through a few grapes before sinking my teeth into a crisp pear. Even my sense of taste was more vivid. I had been so sick for so long that I had forgotten what it was like to be healthy.
Finally, the two men got tired of arguing and came in, bringing a third man with them. Sentinel Chalke was amazed at seeing me back on my feet, but before he could speak Gustobald ushered him back outside and slammed the door. The newcomer stared me down, but Gustobald didn't bother with introductions. Instead, he sat in his chair, removed his pipe, and went about his favorite pastime.
"Hello, Isabel," the stranger said. "My name is Thaddeus." He was older than Gustobald by at least a decade, with shoulder-length grey hair and clear blue eyes. He wore a puffy shirt under a moth-worn waistcoat, but the style and material appeared years out of fashion compared to that of the other palace denizens. He removed his flat-topped high hat and left it on the table along with his leather handbag. "Do you know who I am?"
"I'm not a mind mage," I said, reluctantly placing the fruit bowl on the bed beside me.
"If you had to guess?" He put his hands in his trouser pockets and waited.
"You're a visitor to the capital," I replied, glancing at his dirt-caked pointed shoes. "Of some reputation or you wouldn't be in the palace. I just woke up from one of my episodes, so I assume you're a healer of some sort. Maybe a travelling potion salesman. You have the bag for it."
Gustobald nodded, though in approval of my assessment or at the flavor of his tobacco, I couldn't say.
"Fair enough," Thaddeus said. "Incorrect, but fair. And fortunate for me, as you'll soon find out. But I am a visitor and a traveler, which I suppose come together by necessity. I hail from the north, far from these lands. Where life is survival, and your enemies known to you: the cold, the creatures, and the crushing solitude. There are others wandering the wastes or hiding in plain sight—yourself, for instance."
"You're a wild mage," I said, ice creeping down my spine and scaring away my appetite. "Is it possible?"
"Care to try me, girl?" Thaddeus opened his stance in a welcoming gesture, beckoning me to strike. He lacked the manners of a city-bred man, though the same had been said of me from time to time; at least he had an excuse. His crooked sneer unsettled me, though Gustobald never missed a puff. I decided to postpone judgment, as any necromancer's assistant should. When I shook my head, he dropped his shoulders. "Come. Don't be shy now."
I brought my fingers together to a point and flicked them against my thumb. It surprised me how easily the magic flowed through me. I summoned a minor orb of arcane force which lobbed into Thaddeus and popped upon impact. He didn't even blink. I pointed at him in disbelief.
He must have thought I was readying another spell, because he waved a hand for me to stop. "Let's not get too excited," he said. "Save your energy. You'll need it."
"I have so many questions. I'm the same as you."
"I doubt it," the wild mage said. "There are few like me. And from what I've been told, you might not last the winter. I'm only here on the word of a necromancer." Here he bowed his head to Gustobald, who showed the first signs of agitation. "Of course, I mean that with the utmost respect."
"Cast anything you want," I said. "If the Seeker Sentinel couldn't touch me—"
He didn't wait for me to finish. He hit me square in the chest with a force evocation that knocked me back onto the bed. Ten seconds passed before I was able to breathe again, but at length I gasped and slid back to my feet, a bit less spry than when I first woke up.
"What—that's not supposed to happen." I rubbed the ache from my chest. "Gustobald tell him."
"That's not supposed to happen," the necromancer repeated, blowing a smoke ring.
"Isn't it?" Thaddeus asked, tugging down his waistcoat and adjusting his sleeve.
"Magic doesn't affect me anymore," I said, still winded from the blast. "None but my own."
"Clearly it does, which means I've made this trip for nothing."
"But it hasn't, not for two months. I have witnesses, hundreds of them!" I heard the desperation in my own voice, unsure what I was chasing. My condition had been bleeding the life out of me since before I learned about it. I would give everything I had to be rid of it. Now, with my health suddenly returned to me, it took all my courage to say the words out loud. "Could it be possible? Am I cured?"
"You're not," Thaddeus said. "And you never will be. There is no cure. Get that idea out of your head right now. Pitch has told me everything. I don't know what you are, but you're no wild mage. Not yet. Not until you become permanently immune. Until then, there is little I can do for you."
"When will it happen?" I asked.
"Who can tell?" He retrieved his bag and hat. "Maybe tomorrow, maybe never. That's the nature of wild magic. In all likelihood, you'll continue along the same track, losing your powers, regaining them, never achieving your full potential. And you'll die long before you gain understanding, just like all the others."
"Have you met others like me?"
"Many. I once fancied myself a master, taking in the strays of the wizarding world. But none of them survived. I'm sorry, but I cannot take you as a pupil."
"Who said anything about a pupil?" I checked with Gustobald, who wouldn't look at me. "So this was some kind of test? And I've failed without even knowing? You can't evaluate me on something that's impossible for me to control."
"Is that right?" He slid a clean parchment from his bag's side pocket and crumpled it into a ball, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. "Let's try again, shall we?"
I flicked my finger and the paper ignited, then with a quick flourish of my hand it vaporized completely. I had pierced his defenses. Thaddeus wasn't amused, and my own satisfaction died swiftly when I realized I had failed again. "You can control it," I said. "You turned it off. How?"
"Control? My dear, you don't know the first thing, do you? Wild magic is wild, unpredictable at best. It breaks rules, ignoring boundaries and yet encompassing all. It comes and goes at its own pleasure. One day you'll be powerless, the next you'll drink from the font of the gods. Wizards rely on their dusty tomes, their incantations and objects of focus; wild mages tease the secrets from the ether itself. But don't for one moment think that you are in control, or that day will be your last. It can never be controlled, and it can't be taught."
"She can learn it," Gustobald said, stern and sullen. "Teacher or no, if it can be learned she can learn it."
Thaddeus looked to my master and back to me, measuring.
"I can do it, Master Thaddeus," I said. "Just give me a chance. With a little guidance—"
"Very well." He changed his mind so quickly that I wondered if his initial reluctance was merely a ploy to draw me in or if it was simply the nature of a wild mage to change from one moment to the next.
"Gather your belongings," he said. "We leave at once."
"I'm sorry. To the north?" I asked. "What about Gustobald?"
"My place is here, Miss Ives," Gustobald said, finally glancing in my direction. "And back in the magic city. I can't give up my foothold at the academy. You know this."
"I can't leave," I said.
"You can and you must," Thaddeus said. "If you know what's
good for you."
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Gustobald asked. "You've asked many times for help that I cannot provide. If you want to see your one best chance for survival, look no further than Master Thaddeus here."
"What about our mission here?" I asked. I looked for my pigeon and felt a tingle in the back of my mind. "Where are you?" The bird hopped out from under the bed and I stooped to pick him up. "We have a kidnapping to solve. I can't leave now. You need me, right?"
"The capital is crawling with sentinels," Thaddeus said, lowering his voice. "By the gods, there's one right outside your door! And I won't wait around to be taken."
"But their magic doesn't affect you," I said.
"They have their ways and don't you forget it. I was told you were serious, girl."
"I'm sorry. This is all just so sudden." I held the pigeon against me as he flapped in irritation, testing his own limits. Finally, I wrapped both hands around his small body to keep him still. "I need time to think."
"Come, Thaddeus," Gustobald said, standing from his chair. "Give her a few days. Surely it is worth the risk in order to save one of your own."
"Time to think?" The wild mage gathered his belongings. "Take as long as you like. I'm leaving."
"Thaddeus." Gustobald frowned.
"Fine," he added, dusting his hat with a couple quick strikes to his hip. "I'll wait in the market district near the docks. Two days. If you make up your mind, come. And I'll find you." He would accept no more supplications, but went straight for the door and saw himself out. "She'll live," he said to Chalke in passing. "Show me the way, gentlemen."
"Not very cordial," I said, once it was just the two of us.
"He's one of the saner ones," Gustobald replied. "He's not around people as much as some of us." Gustobald's self-congratulatory tone fell flat as soon as he remembered to whom he was speaking. "Well, relatively speaking. And he's only here to help. He's the one you've been begging to see all this time, and you get cold feet the moment he's in front of you?"
"I feel different today. Stronger."
