Home From The Sea: The Elemental Masters, Book Seven

by Mercedes Lackey

  With a feeling of cautious delight, she nodded to him, but did not immediately move away. Though her four suitors soon grew bored and went off on their own business, Idwal remained serenely where he was, carefully and slowly carving his bit of bone, while she studied the currents that flowed around him.

  They were, she soon saw, not uniform. First, there was a sort of shell around him, like a bubble, except it had many layers, each a different, subtle shade of green. And every layer moved, so that fleeting patterns rippled across the surface of the whole.

  She stared at it for a long time, and saw that it was not just that the nested bubbles of magic existed; it was that there were little wisps and eddies of more green light feeding into them. She longed, suddenly, to touch one of them—but he hadn’t said to do that. He’d said to just look. So look was all that she did.

  Idwal watched her, without any expression that she could see, as she prowled around him, observing him as narrowly as the cat would watch something she couldn’t identify. How was he doing this? That he was the one controlling it was a certainty. This had to be some of the magic that he intended to teach her, and she suspected it must be elementary in nature. Probably one of the very first things that a magician was taught.

  All right, why would someone construct such a thing?

  She pondered that question. These bubbles looked so fragile… and yet, was it possible that they represented protection? Like a kind of wall? A wall made of magic?

  No, not a wall, walls, in plurality. She didn’t know why you would do things that way, but there must be a reason.

  “Have you guessed what I am doing?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  “Made a shell to protect yourself?” she replied, as she stopped prowling and faced him. “I can’t see how it would, though…”

  “Oh it wouldn’t protect me from a rock or a rainstorm—not the way it is constructed at the moment—but it would defend me against a direct magical attack,” he said, with a pleased little smile. “It would also keep any purely Elemental creature from attacking me.”

  “Like the little nasty Tylwyth Teg I saw here the other day?” she asked in surprise, and described the ill-tempered little creature.

  He nodded. “That is a creature of pure magic, and there are many names for them. Tylwyth Teg will do. It’s more the sort of thing to create malicious mischief than actual harm, and if you don’t fly into a rage over what it’s doing, it generally gets bored and goes away. Unlike some, it isn’t feeding from your anger; it just likes seeing you losing your temper. It finds that amusing. Mostly harmless.”

  She nodded, and got back to the original subject, doggedly. “I can’t see how you’re making that shell.” She thought a moment. “Is it like the circles that witches make to do their work in?”

  He smiled just a little more. “Very good. Yes it is. As it happens, the circle a witch draws is just the boundary line for a sphere of protection exactly like this. She puts the line on the ground to remind her of where she wants the boundary to be, and to fix that boundary in place so her protection doesn’t grow and become thinner, or shrink and leave part of her sticking out of it.”

  Mari blinked a little, and tried not to laugh at the sudden mental image of a woman with her arms, legs and head sticking out of a big translucent bubble. “But why would she need a line?”

  “Because you don’t need to be able to see power to be a witch.” She was glad that her questions were pleasing him, rather than making him impatient. She felt like a dunce. “It does help tremendously, of course, but to work with the lower levels of magic, you only need to be aware it exists, to have the concentration to perform certain actions without being distracted, and to have the power of will to impose on it.”

  “Is that what they call a spell then?” Certain things were falling into a pattern in her head.

  Now he was delighted. “Exactly!” he applauded. “A spell is a process, not a thing. That is why you are said to cast them. Not in the sense of casting a net, but in the sense of performing an operation, or even, in a sense, of giving shape to something. As you would cast lead into fishing weights, giving it shape with the mold you have, so you cast a spell, giving shape to the magic with your will. And when the magic has the right shape, your will maintains it. That shape can be, well, almost anything.” He actually smiled broadly at her. “I see that you not only have the power to be a Master, you have the mind to be one as well. I fully intended to keep you merely observing for the next day or two, but… go ahead. Touch some of the power. You can either touch my shields or the power feeding into them.”

  “With my—hand?” she asked, hesitating.

  He nodded. “In time you won’t need to use your physical hand, but for now, yes, use your hand.”

  She didn’t really like to touch that bubble—fragile as it looked, she had the feeling it was not fragile at all, and she didn’t want a rude surprise—so instead, she reached out to one of the wisps of sparkling nothingness and tried to gather it up on her fingers, as if it were a spiderweb.

  And it did gather, tangling in her fingers at first, and then, to her surprise and delight, flowing around them. That was when, in addition to seeing the power, she got sensations of touch and taste… it was soft on her skin, like rainwater, and had the same clean, pure taste as rainwater, drunk fresh as it came out of the sky: cool, pure, and just a little sweet, yet a little metallic at the same time. How she could taste it when it was getting nowhere near her mouth, she hadn’t a clue, but there it was.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “I can feel it. And taste it, though that makes no sense at all.” She moved it over to her other hand, then amused herself by passing it from hand to hand.

  “That’s just how your mind interprets the sensations,” he told her. “That’s fine. Every mage experiences his or her magic a little differently. Now, want it to form a little ball in your right hand.”

  He’d barely given her the instruction, and she had barely begun to think about it, when the magic flowed politely into her palm and obligingly became a whirling, sparkling little ball of blue-green motes.

  “Well…” His voice was surprised and pleased. “If I had known you would be this apt a pupil, I would have turned up here long ago. I wish my blockheaded kin were this adept.”

  She felt irrationally pleased at having pleased him. “I’m glad I’m not a disappointment.”

  “The exact opposite. Are you feeling tired?”

  Until he asked, she hadn’t been aware of it… but once he did, she realized that she felt very much as if she had run all the way to Clogwyn or as if she had filled the rain barrel from the spring. Not exhausted, but definitely as if she had been doing work. And there was beginning to be a kind of ache in her head and inside her chest, the kind of ache you would have if you were using muscles you’d never exercised before.

  “A bit,” she said, then admitted, “More than a bit.”

  “I’m not surprised. The use of magic isn’t—well, magic. It doesn’t come out of nothing, and the strength you use to work with it comes from inside you. Time to stop. You’ve made a good start, Mari.” And with that, he made a tiny gesture with one of his fingers, and the sphere in her hands spun out into a skein of threads and whirled into his bubble.

  “But—” she felt a little deflated. They’d hardly done anything!

  “Another lesson just before your father comes back,” he promised. “And more tomorrow. We must build up the strength of your will as well as your understanding and your knowledge of the processes.” The smile he gave her made her feel good again.

  “I suppose baby has to crawl before she can walk,” she admitted, and was rewarded by another smile.

  “If only all my students were that sensible!” He laughed. “Come and sit down, and I will reward your patience with a tale.”

  This was going to be quite the journey, Nan had decided, looking at all the train-changes and tickets. In time, as long a journey as some they’d made in
Africa, though the actual distance was a fraction of what those had been. The problem is, of course, that there’s no way to get there directly…

  First, they’d get up before dawn and take a train into London to Victoria Station, and a hired vehicle would be waiting to take them to Paddington. From there, it would be the long journey on the Great Western Railway to Shrewsbury, which would take them through Birmingham and Wolverhampton,.

  From Shrewsbury, they would be taking a new train line into Wales. This would occasion another train change at a city called Maclynnleth. Once there, they would transfer to the Cambrian Line that would finally drop them in the seaside town of Criccieth, where for the short term they had rooms at what was purportedly the best hotel in the town. Well, that didn’t much concern Nan; she and Sarah had stayed in places that would likely have turned the hair of most British women pure white—even the ones that counted themselves lucky to get a bed at night at all. But this was going to be just a bit grueling. Lots of changes at stations, since there were very few “expresses” in that direction. This was where she thanked her lucky stars for Lord Alderscroft’s name; they would be in private, first class compartments most, if not all of the way (she wasn’t entirely sure on that, and the tickets didn’t spell it out), and their baggage would be seen to without either of them lifting a finger.

  She was very glad that she and Sarah and the birds were all seasoned travelers. And even gladder for the new carriers that Lord Alderscroft had had made for the birds. Not only were they vastly superior and easier to carry than a hatbox, they were beautifully appointed. Made of hard leather, and fashioned after the manner of a little dog kennel, each had leather flaps over openings screened with linen mesh that could be buckled up or down, water and food dishes, and a sturdy perch made of a natural branch with the bark left on for the birds to grip. Each had a food container and a water bottle attached to the side, though the food was more in the nature of “emergency rations,” since the birds preferred to share what the girls ate. The arched tops had a good, padded handle just like a fine portmanteau. Both were waterproof, and should the air in Birmingham be so bad that even buckling the leather flaps down would not help, there were cotton gauze pads that could be placed over the openings to further filter the air.

  The birds would never have to leave their sides, and would be protected from just about everything. And as for two-footed problems, Lord Alderscroft had seen to that too.

  The first had been that he had insisted that they each have a traveling outfit that was appropriate for… well, to put it bluntly, his class. Since they were going to be traveling in first class compartments the entire way, and didn’t want to look out of place, even Sarah had sighed and agreed. Several fittings later, they had their traveling gear, a pair of sober traveling suits of impeccable tailoring, and to Sarah’s relief, were fashioned after the sort of things that ladies wore to hunt, so they had to be comfortable.

  Not only had he supplied both of them with the sort of umbrella that Sitt Hakim had wielded, he had provided them with a stout escort in the form of a young fellow with the burly shoulders of a footballer and the watchful eye of a suspicious older brother. He was associated in some way with Lord Alderscroft’s club and was a member of the White Lodge; he’d meet them at Victoria and see them as far as the change to the Cambrian Railway, where he would go on to Torquay where he had some business. Nan didn’t particularly think they would need an escort, but his presence seemed to make Sahib feel more at ease, so she hadn’t objected.

  The trip into London was one they had made many times, so there was nothing particularly stressful about it. The sun was just high enough to see when they arrived. Victoria Station, with its glass-and-iron roof that seemed to stretch on for half a mile, was its usual confusing self, but with the two porters assigned just to get their baggage out to the waiting vehicle, Nan and Sarah, hats firmly on their heads, umbrellas firmly in right hands, and bird-carriers in the left, threaded their way to the front of the station and the ranks of waiting cabs, both horse-cabs and a few rare automobile-cabs. There the young man—Andrew Talbot—met them and guided them to the hired vehicle, which to Nan’s relief was not one of the automobiles. It was not that she distrusted the things so much as she didn’t want the birds subjected to the noise and smoke they seemed to produce.

  The porters followed and loaded on the baggage, and they were off.

  “Well, this is much more convenient than what we usually do,” Nan remarked to Andrew.

  “Omnibus?” he hazarded. She nodded. “Well, I had to reject the first one that turned up,” he said, with a grimace. “I didn’t like the look of the horses. Mistreated.” He shuddered a little. “Be glad to get out of the city. Hate this place. Makes me sick, and if the Old Lion hadn’t called me in for a spot of business, I wouldn’t have come.”

  “Ah, Earth Master then?” Sarah said, sympathetically.

  “Not Master, but Adept. Need to gather up an apprentice the Old Lion wants me to teach, then it’s back to the ’varsity. Old Lion’s sponsoring us both through Cambridge.” He smiled a little at that.

  “What, not Oxford?” Sarah said in surprise. He laughed.

  “I’d have gone, but father wouldn’t hear of it. A Cambridge man he is, and the idea of a son of his going up to Oxford made him turn puce.” He and Sarah had a good laugh at that; Nan just mentally shrugged. Since neither she nor Sarah were ever likely to see the inside of either university, it didn’t matter to her.

  The timing of their arrival seemed to coincide with slightly lighter traffic on the streets; their vehicle arrived at Paddington well before their train was due to depart. And already, Nan sensed a difference. Victoria was in the heart of London; Paddington, where the Northern and Western lines began, was very near to the country. Their escort felt it, too; his shoulders, which had been a little hunched, as if he felt the need of self-defense, relaxed—and his expression eased.

  If Victoria’s glass-and-iron roof had been impressive, Paddington’s was more so. And with plenty of time to get to their train, with unspoken consent, they took their time looking about. “I don’t much like buildings,” Andrew said, finally, “but this is like a cathedral of steam.”

  That, Nan thought, was a very good way of putting things. The roof was more open here, and there was plenty of light. The great engines sighed and hissed and huffed at their places, like enormous living things, their carriages arrayed behind them, gleaming with brass and polish. Paddington was large enough that despite having all the trains here, it didn’t seem crowded.

  Their train was waiting at its appointed place, and Lord Alderscroft’s cachet worked the usual magic of convenience. Although most people wouldn’t be allowed to board this early, those in the private compartments were. Andrew left them briefly to make sure their luggage got stowed safely, then returned to them.

  They had plenty of leisure to get settled before the majority of the passengers descended, in a great hurry to get themselves aboard. There were four compartments in the first class carriages, each with its own private entrance. It was certainly a far cry from the coaches Nan and Sarah had traveled in until now. It had been fitted up as nicely as a little parlor, with lovely soft armchairs, a round wooden table, curtains at the windows, oil lamps and even a stove—cold now, of course, but it would certainly make things more pleasant in the winter. On the side opposite to the exterior entrance was one into a corridor, which would give the stewards and the conductor access to them, and which they could use to get to the rest of the train.

  Sarah and Nan put their cases down at their feet and got comfortable in the plush-covered armchairs.

  “Out?” Grey called—definitely a question.

  “Not until we’re well on the way,” Sarah told her. Andrew had started a little at the sound of a human-sounding voice from the leather case.

  Neville made a rude noise. “I know you don’t like it,” Nan told him. “But you have to admit it is much superior to a hatbox.”

 
; “Can’t see,” he croaked.

  “And you couldn’t in a hatbox, either,” she pointed out. But she did lean over and pull open the flaps on the side, buckling them on the top of the case like the earflaps on a deerstalker hat. Sarah did the same for Grey.

  “What’s more,” she continued, “If we’d been traveling by third-class carriage, you wouldn’t be let out at all.”

  Andrew grinned sheepishly. “And I was under the impression that you traveled like this for the Old Lion all the time.” He ran his finger under his collar in what seemed to be a nervous gesture. “This is several cuts above how I am used to traveling.”

  “You mean to say that you aren’t to the manor born?” Nan teased. “What a disappointment! I was getting ready to set my cap at you.” She switched to her lowest gutter-Cockney. “Oi! An’ ’ere oi was, all ready t’ nobble a dook!”

  Andrew looked startled again. “My word! Miss Nan, you should be an actress!”

  “So I’ve been told. But Memsa’b would have palpitations if I even suggested it.” Nan did not tell him that Cockney was, more or less, her “native tongue.”

  “Those are remarkable birds. Lord Alderscroft told me that they were as intelligent as people, but I must confess that I thought he was exaggerating.” Andrew didn’t bend down to peer at the carriers, which would scarcely be polite, but he did crane his neck a bit to try and see Neville and Grey behind the mesh.

  “I can talk; can you fly?” Grey asked, which seemed to be the birds’ favorite phrase for greeting doubters of late.

  “Not as yet,” Andrew told her. She laughed.

  “And how on earth did you manage to get a raven?” he asked Nan.

  “It would be far more accurate to say he got me,” she replied, and described to him the childhood visit to the Tower of London where Neville decided that Nan was going to be his, regardless of what anyone else might say, and the machinations of the Master of Ravens to accommodate that desire.