The Smoke-Scented Girl

by Melissa McShane

  Wystylth’s shoulders tensed, and he snarled as the entity made another break for freedom. “But suppose the Despot is not a descendant?”

  “That was the first thing I did. I made the Despot’s body mimic Kerensa’s, part of it anyway, so he would be the nearest available host. At least I hope I did.” Evon gestured at Kerensa’s lifeless body. “And now we see. Solto epiria.” It felt like a knife driven deep into his back, and he closed his eyes briefly as the battlefield swayed around him. No falling unconscious, Lorantis. Stay focused. She’s counting on you.

  The familiar blue ribbons came into view, along with a shimmering golden haze that surrounded Kerensa’s body. Evon breathed out in relief. He also hadn’t been certain the improved epiria rune circle would show free magic. There had been a lot about this situation that he hadn’t been certain of. He checked his watch. Maybe four minutes left before it was too late for Kerensa. He wanted to wave his hands at the golden haze to make it move faster. He clenched his fists instead.

  Then it moved, pouring like melted honey across the gap between their bodies and settling around the Despot. The spell-ribbons flowed after it. Evon flexed his hands; this was where timing was essential. The golden haze settled into the Despot’s body. The spell-ribbons’ glow began to increase. Evon raised both hands and shouted, “Desini cucurri!”

  The spell-ribbons stopped in place, but they shivered, straining against the paralysis. It would take no more than a minute for them to overcome it. “You should go now,” Evon said. “When the spell breaks free, it will complete its cycle and release the fire, and I am only able to shield myself and Kerensa from that.” He hoped. He was nearly at the limit of what he could manage.

  “If I go, the Enemy will go free,” Wystylth pointed out. “And I find I am eager to meet Merenna beyond the gates of the Underworld.”

  “But—” Evon began, then met the man’s eyes. “I understand,” he said.

  “Do you?” Alvor said. He stood beside Evon, his mace hanging heavy in his hand. One of his arms was bloody and he held it at an awkward angle. The fighting was less fierce, though Dania and Carall were still heavily engaged with holding off the enemy forces. “We none of us came into this expecting to survive. Think you that we are such craven weaklings as to allow this young woman to face her death alone? We were prepared to die when last we fought the Enemy. This is simply fate delayed.”

  “But—” Evon said again.

  “I hope for your sake you can revive her,” Alvor said. “Now, Evon, finish this.” He turned away and raised his mace to take another soldier in the chest. Evon stared after him in wonder. Kerensa will never forgive me if I do not remember, he thought, and spared a few precious seconds to look at them all, at Alvor roaring defiance at the horde, hurling soldiers away from him with his mace, at Carall’s undead eyes so intent on his bloody sword slashing and impaling his enemies, at Dania sweeping her arm and sending fifteen soldiers to the ground with their heads hanging limp from broken necks—did they know what was coming? As if she could hear his thoughts, Dania turned briefly to look at him, and smiled, a rueful, resigned smile that told him everything he needed to know. Evon exchanged one last glance with Wystylth, who nodded at him in salute and grinned that now-familiar grin. Evon took Kerensa’s body in his arms, curled them both into as tight a ball as he could manage, and said, “Presadi.”

  An iridescent bubble sprang up around them, just large enough to encompass their bodies. He hoped there would be enough air to get him through this. Two and a half minutes left. He closed his eyes and buried his face in Kerensa’s hair.

  Light blazed so brightly it burned pink through his eyelids, even as well guarded as they were. He felt a silent blow ring through presadi that rattled his bones and made him bite his tongue, a blow hard enough to send them flying as if they’d been kicked by a giant’s foot. For a moment Evon felt weightless, and clutched Kerensa’s body in an irrational fear that she might be left behind. He clenched his eyes shut tighter and prayed to both Belia and Cath for survival; he hadn’t considered what the spell’s explosion would do to presadi, and he was aware that even if presadi protected against external attacks, it would do nothing to prevent his ribs being cracked or his neck being snapped from being tossed off a cliff. Then they hit the ground, hard, and Evon cried out in pain just before presadi bounced, then bounced again, and after what seemed like hours came to a rolling halt. For a moment, Evon just lay there, curled up around Kerensa, then shook himself, dismissed the spell and laid Kerensa on her back on the stony ground. He wiped the back of his hand on his shirt to remove the chalk, laid his palm against her skin once more, and said, “Vertiri. Madi sepera.”

  Nothing happened except the taste of cinnamon passing across his tongue. Her skin no longer looked poreless and felt smooth and too cool beneath his hand. He repeated the spell, pressing harder into her chest. One minute left. His reserves were drained. No. I did everything right. I can’t fail now. Dear Gods, I just need one more miracle. He pounded at her chest, shouting the words over and over again, drawing the runes between her breasts and striking her again in desperation. Nothing. He forced himself to become calm and thought again, trying not to picture the seconds ticking away. Carefully, he scrawled runes across her forehead, pushing her hair out of the way, pulled her eyelids open and said “Vertiri. Torpia cucurri.”

  She blinked, dragging her eyelids away from his fingers, then took a deep breath and pressed her hands to her chest. Confusion deepened. “You undressed me,” she said. “And—where are we? Where’s the Despot?”

  “He’s gone,” Evon said, tension draining out of him. “He’s gone. It’s over.”

  She blinked at him again, her fingers pulling her bodice closed across her chest. “It’s over?”

  Evon nodded. Kerensa’s eyes went wide, her mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times, then she began to cry so hard her whole body shook. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. “I’ll tell you all about it,” he said, “but I would like to sit here with you, just for a moment, because you were dead and I am so, so grateful that we’re both alive now.”

  She nodded vigorously, drawing in a deep breath as she tried to control her tears. “It doesn’t seem real yet,” she said. Then she sat up quickly, breaking his grasp. “Evon, what is that?” she exclaimed.

  They were on a low hill, sitting in about an inch of snow, completely alone, but far in the distance lay blackened ground three hundred feet across around which tiny figures lay collapsed like broken ants. Further away from that center, more tiny figures milled in confusion. Smoke, warm and wispy, drifted toward them, smelling not of burned flesh or grass but sweet, like honey. In the center of the blackened area rose a column of shifting, translucent fire, probably thirty feet tall, that put out short tongues of flame all along its length. At the top, the fire fountained up and out, letting off sparks that faded before they touched the ground. Not a fountain, but a flower with a million petals that it shed and then grew again. It swayed a little in the wind.

  “I think that’s what the fire was trying to be, all this time,” Evon said. “It’s beautiful. It’s a fitting memorial.”

  “For the Despot?” Kerensa wiped her eyes and made a face. She began buttoning up her dress. “And you wrote on me, too.”

  “It was to save your life,” Evon said. “But now I think I should tell you one last Alvor story.”

  Epilogue

  The stiflingly hot, high-ceilinged room in Mistress Gavranter’s cooperative wasn’t much of an improvement over Evon’s old room at Elltis and Company, whose windows couldn’t be opened more than a crack, winter or summer. He couldn’t remember Matra ever being this hot in early autumn before. Knowing that the room was closed off by his own choice didn’t make matters any better. He stood with his back to the maple-paneled wall and regarded the shielded table at the other end of the room. Putting it off was simply cowardly, but he was tired of being thrown all over the room. He sighed and picked up an old-fa
shioned military saber and approached presadi. It had an opalescent, mostly opaque look to it; he probably ought to correct for that, knowing from experience how unsettling it was to be inside a shield you couldn’t see out of. That could wait until later. He took a deep breath, tensed in anticipation, and swung the saber at the shield as hard as he could.

  The backlash took him off his feet and sent him skidding on his rump over the smooth tiled floor. When he finally came to a stop, he checked the marks chalked along the floorboards. Eleven feet. Enough to dissuade an attacker without the magician using up all of his or her reserves on the shield. He’d finally done it. The government would have its spell, and Evon would have one more defense against Valantis, if he ever appeared again. Piercy assured him that the government had enough evidence of Valantis’s crimes that he didn’t dare return to Dalanine, especially since Speculatus had disavowed any awareness of said crimes to protect itself from prosecution, but Evon didn’t intend to take his safety, or Kerensa’s, for granted. He got to his feet and winced at the pain in his backside. That was probably another bruise to add to his impressive collection. Kerensa was either going to make sympathetic noises or laugh at him, and he would bet on the latter. He loved hearing her laugh.

  “By the Gods, Lore, this room smells of sweat and...what is that?” Piercy said, putting a cautious head round the door. He’d been present for Evon’s earlier, ill-advised experiment with firearms.

  “An herbal concoction that’s the key to this new spell. Its components are a state secret.”

  “I cannot believe anyone might want to know anything about anything that smells that bad except, perhaps, how to stay far away from it.”

  “It won’t smell that bad out in the open. And I’m certain the government will find many uses for this spell. I hope to earn a good deal of money from it.”

  “Enough to pay for a wedding, dear fellow?”

  Evon put his hand on his trouser pocket. “If she agrees.”

  “Evon, only you could possibly believe your suit might be rejected.”

  “It was important that we learn to know one another under more normal circumstances. Suppose we discovered we didn’t actually like each other? I haven’t even met her family yet, Piercy—what if they won’t give their blessing? And now she knows how impossible I am to be around, and how obsessed I can be about my work, and there are all those men at university who share her interests—”

  Piercy crossed his arms over his chest. “You are my best friend, and I have seen you at both your best and your worst, so you must know that when I tell you that you are out of your very talented mind I do so out of love.”

  Evon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know you’re right and I’m being stupid. I’m just nervous about this evening. It’s not as if I’ve proposed marriage to anyone before.” He mopped his forehead with his sleeve. “I feel as if I’ve sweated enough for two men.”

  “You should open a window. Or, and this is simply speculation on my part, but isn’t there some spell to cool a room?”

  “I had to keep the windows shut when I was doing the projectile tests. I didn’t want bullets flying out into the streets. And there isn’t any such spell. Yet.”

  “I heard that,” Kerensa said, pushing the door open wider and smiling at Piercy as she passed. “That was the sound of Evon Lorantis adding yet another project to the roster. Don’t you ever get tired of being brilliant?” She was dressed in a lightweight gown patterned in blue and wore a modish hat rather than a bonnet and looked, to Evon’s eyes, more beautiful than ever. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, wrinkled her nose and added, “What is that smell?”

  “Herbs and Evon,” Piercy said. “He says it will make him rich, though in my opinion such an aroma will not sell well to the ladies.”

  “The smell is a side effect,” Evon said. He took a few steps away from Kerensa, conscious of his state of undress, his neckcloth and frock coat discarded on the deep window casement behind him, and of the awful smell he was sure came off him in waves. “The new shield works, more or less. It should be done by this afternoon.”

  She followed him. “Not too late, I hope, because you’ve promised to dine with me tonight and I’ll be embarrassed for you if you come to the table dressed like that.”

  Evon had to stop himself putting his hand on his pocket again. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said. “And I promise I clean up nicely.”

  “I know,” Kerensa said, with a mischievous smile on her lips and a look in her eyes that dispelled all his uncertainty.

  “Will you join us for dinner now?” Piercy asked. “Though since Evon will need to clean himself up it could be a rather late dinner.”

  “Can’t,” Kerensa said. “I have a lecture in an hour. But thanks for the invitation.”

  “Getting, or giving?” Evon said, picking up his neckcloth.

  “Very funny. I’m sure Master Killiter would have kittens if one of his first year students took his lectern. But I’ve been invited to speak on the meaning of Alvor’s descent into the Underworld to one of the university literary organizations next week.”

  “Prodigious work from our prodigy,” Piercy said. “Evon, I’ll meet you at my club in...shall we say one hour? I’d rather not loiter in your front hall where your odious cousin might find me. She is an unholy terror and quite makes me believe in compulsory year-round schooling. Kerensa, my dear, always a pleasure.” He bowed and shut the door behind him.

  Kerensa looked around for a seat and failed to find one. “Did you really have to remove all the chairs?”

  “After I was flung into one the third time, I learned how stupid it was to keep unnecessary furniture in here. But it’s wonderful about the speaking invitation! What do people think, about your radical interpretation of the stories?”

  “That they’re radical. It’s been so difficult to find historical support for what little I learned from Alvor, since I can’t say that my knowledge came from the source.” The smile vanished. “And yet I wish we’d had even more time.”

  “I wish we could tell anyone that you were responsible for defeating the Despot.” Evon shrugged into his waistcoat and began buttoning it up. “Or that Alvor really did return. I suppose I could tell the Weekly Gazette, but it seems like sullying his good name to let that rag have more fuel for their ridiculous theories.”

  “Isn’t it better that people don’t think we’re mad? The idea that the military had an experimental weapon is slightly more believable, if you don’t look at it too closely.”

  “Piercy and Mistress Gavranter know the truth, and so do the ministers responsible for spreading the cover story. All those magicians and Mrs. Petelter’s Home Defense agents who saw the weapon activate at the Speculatus manor must have guessed what happened. And the government hasn’t been able to explain the thirty-foot pillar of fire at the center of a new place of power,” Evon said. He put on his frock coat and hat and wished summer dress for men weren’t so much like winter dress for men. “But the idea of Alvor’s return is so fanciful, no one would believe it no matter how much evidence we had. It just seems a shame that there’s no way for the truth to be told.”

  “We know the truth. That satisfies me.” Kerensa held out her arm to Evon. He looked at it. “Kerensa,” he began.

  “I want you to escort me back to campus. It’s on your way home.”

  “I’m sweaty and unkempt—”

  “And still the most handsome man of my acquaintance.” She hooked her arm through his and drew him close to her. “Whenever you meet me on campus, all the women have the most jealous expressions.”

  “And all the men wish I were dead.”

  She laughed and put her free hand around the back of his neck. “Don’t be silly,” she whispered, “they all know I’d never look at anyone but you, even if you were dead,” and kissed him. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She smelled of strawberries and fresh air and her lips tasted of sunshine.

  “Even if I w
ere dead?” he murmured in her ear. “Waxy and cold like Carall?”

  “I’d rescue you before that happened.”

  “I’m happy to know you’d come after me, because I’d do the same for you.”

  “I know,” Kerensa said. “You already have.”

  Command Words and Spells

  ademi—“same,” duplication spell.

  cleperi—“hear,” in combination with other command words alters hearing or sound.

  cucurri—“move,” limited telekinesis; with vertiri, used in healing spells.

  desini—“stop,” turns off a working spell, among other things.

  desini cleperi—“stop hear,” silence spell.

  desini cucurri—“stop move,” paralysis spell.

  desini spexa—“stop see,” limited invisibility; with vertiri, causes blindness.

  eloqua—“speak,” long-distance communication spell; requires both parties to have a mirror, but can be performed by even the least experienced magicians

  epiria—“reveal,” make a spell visible. Usually requires a lens of some kind, but can be done with a rune circle for larger areas.

  epiria sepera—“reveal go,” preparation for mapping spell.

  forva—“burn”

  frigo—“break,” make things shatter. Only works on relatively dry things, like wood or bone.

  madi—“center,” specifically the human heart or other vital organs when used with vertiri.

  misca—“mix,” complicated spell in which two objects interchange certain physical traits.

  olficio—“smell,” in combination with other command words, alters smells or the sense of smell itself.

  presadi—“guard,” shield spells. Type of shield depends on the gesture used.

  recivia—“reverse,” returns a spell to affect its caster.

  reperto—“find,” locator spell. Requires item belonging to or identified with whatever you're seeking, or thorough knowledge of subject.