If Crows Know Best (Mage of Merced Book 1)

by Aimee Gross

  “I will,” he said, and rose to blow out the candle beside his chair.

  I packed my folio of magic in the box with my mum’s book. I found one of the canvas seabags Virda had sewn, and put the box and all my clothes inside. Did Lohr Island have seasons like Merced, if it was so far away? I took winter cloak and scarf anyway. I still had room for stylus and paper, so I could write folk at home. Though I did not suppose Gargle could carry a letter across the ocean. Perhaps ships carried such to and fro? If they didn’t, they should, and I would look into that.

  How would I find my mother’s people on the island? Was there a school for magic, such as fancy folk had to teach their children their lessons in the capitol? Or tutors, as some country folk engaged in our province? Da always taught us.

  I did not want to sleep. I had not had dream visions of pursuing animals since the cliff, and tonight would be an ill time to find the mages’ search renewed. Da found me sitting beside Wieser with my packed bag when dawn only hinted. He gave me a sack of gold and silver coins, startlingly heavy, and a thick folded vellum he said was a letter of introduction to a master mage who would take me as apprentice. We went out to harness a team while the rest of the house still slumbered. Wieser rose to follow us out, though she walked stiffly yet.

  I bade farewell to Dink and Murr, and chose Cider and Honey for the drive down. Da and I just finished hitching them to the wagon when Annora appeared at my side. Silently she handed me a leather pouch with a long strap for wearing over the shoulder. Within were all manner of labeled paper packets of herbs and such. When I looked up, I found her eyes brimming.

  I had never seen her cry.

  “You cannot be starting that now,” I said, my own voice thick. She shook her head and kissed me quickly on the cheek before fleeing back to the house.

  Da lifted Wieser into the back, and we rolled out of the yard with Gargle on the roof, though I glared him into silence when he looked to be drawing breath to gloat to the other two crows perched on the peak of the barn. I waved to Tock and Clock, and they took wing, circling above the farm until we were out of sight.

  I kept turned in my seat until I could not see home any more. It did not seem fair that all I had worked for was to have us safe at home as before, only to have to leave when Da, Wils and Morie, and Annora and Virda too, were finally ready to resume some kind of life like we had been living before the invasion. I understood now what was meant in Da’s books about “war torn” countries, because I was being torn from my home.

  We rode without speaking, but it did not feel strained. As day broke about us, I tried to note every bird call and scent on the breeze so I could remember home while I lived away. Blueflax and sunny white bonnets nodded in the tall meadow grass as we passed. The village was barely stirring when we rolled through. No other folk travelled the road with us. I enjoyed the quiet and peace, which I usually don’t, being more inclined to want something happening all the time. Perhaps because I was a man now, I would have more patience. The full-grown always seemed to me to have the capacity to sit still and do nothing for amazingly long stretches of time.

  Both town gates were shut tight and guarded by Mercedian sentries when we reached Bale Harbour. Da was waved through with no delay by men who smiled and raised hands to us both.

  “Is it true they all know you?” I said, waving back.

  “More all the time, it seems,” he said, nodding their way.

  He knew the ship he sought on the quay, and halted by the tallest. The name on its side was Moon Road, which joggled in my memory a bit. I found out why when we hauled Wieser and my bag up the ramp, or gangplank as it is called, Da said. The man who met us at the top, on the deck, I was hastily schooled, not the floor, was Virda’s son Lichan Tedesch.

  Da handed him what must be payment for my passage. “If it was up to my mum,” Lichan allowed, “we’d carry this one all around the world for naught. She thinks quite high of him.”

  Da smiled. “You’ll see he finds the proper folk at the port? My wife’s people will not know to expect him.”

  “Oh, aye.” Lichan must favor his da, Davini Tedesch, for he was tall and angular, with a square jaw. None were Virda’s features. I could remember him a little from his visits home over the years, but he was one of her older sons, and had been at sea longer than I had been alive. His cheeks did not yet look like boot leather, though.

  Gargle came to perch on my bag, and peck at it looking for food, which reminded me of my stomach and Wieser’s. “I haven’t eaten, should we get something on the street?”

  “As this is your first time aboard ship, you’ll want to stay empty to start,” Lichan said. “Some landfolk take seasick until they get accustomed to riding the waves.” He lifted my bag to his shoulder.

  I turned to Da. He pulled me to his great chest for just a moment, then shook my hand, engulfed in both of his. “You’ll do well,” he said, and strode off down the gangplank. I thought his voice had been just a little thick, at that. I know mine would have been, if I tried to speak.

  “A quick farewell, that’s the best,” Lichan said, watching him walk away. “Let’s stow this below. We set sail on the tide, and the tide does not wait!”

  I did not know what that might mean, exactly. Below what? “Come, Wieser. Gargle. Let’s go see where our fortunes will carry us now.” And off we went, together.

  The End

  About the Author:

  Aimee L. Gross loves to tell stories. When she was nine years old, she noticed an advertisement for The Famous Writers School in the back of a magazine, and wrote a letter at once, since she planned to be a famous writer.

  She received a kind reply from the school’s director, telling her that students must be grown up before enrolling. He advised her to keep writing, and she always has.

  She lives in the Midwest with her husband. They share their home with an adopted Cairn Terrier named Kizmet, and Norbert, the orange marmalade cat. Many crows live in the hedgerow, and often suggest she increase their allotment of corn.

  Readers are her favorite people. She welcomes followers on Facebook as Aimee L. Gross, author and artist. Or connect on Twitter @Aimee_SanG. Send a message anytime at agross9999author.com.

  Judian, Wieser and Gargle will continue their journey in the forthcoming No Mercy From Crows, summer 2015.