FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “There’s no point worrying about it,” Ashe continued, mistaking my silence for concern. “Folks have been talking about the possibility of Tyrea invading for ages, probably since our people settled here. But there have never been any large-scale attacks on any of the border towns, nor so much as a hint of their navy on our waters for as long as I can remember. Besides, even if something did happen, I doubt we would be the primary target.”

  Though Lowdell seemed like a bustling city to me, it was tiny compared to other places in Darmid. Ardare, the capital city, would be far more valuable to the Tyreans than our port town.

  “The Tyreans probably wouldn’t even remember to tell us if they did take over,” I said. “We’d just wake up one morning and the dragons would be back.”

  Ashe made a sour face. “Don’t even joke about it. The dragons wouldn’t be the worst thing to show up, either. I’d rather deal with one of them than with a person using magic.”

  We walked in silence for a few minutes. I breathed the ocean air as we left the protection of the town’s buildings and followed the road through fields of long grass that stretched down to the bay. The smell of salt water and seaweed calmed me and cleared my mind like nothing else.

  I slowed as we got closer to our parents’ house. I rarely had a chance to speak to my brother alone, and our conversation brought up questions that were more pressing than my pain. Instead of saying goodbye, I leaned against the fence.

  “Ashe, have you ever met a Tyrean? Or anyone else who used magic?”

  “Never have, never want to,” he said, with a firm shake of his head. “You haven’t, have you?”

  “No,” I said. Not really. During my first years with my aunt and uncle, a family of Wanderers from beyond the mountains had come by a few times, selling wares. They seemed nice enough. I’d never tell Ashe, though. Most people considered the Wanderers harmless, and they’d never seemed magical to me. Still, their visits to Stone Ridge were a well-kept secret. We were a good family, and did not associate with anyone connected to magic or Tyrea.

  Remembering the Wanderers and their disappearance troubled me, and I spoke without thinking. “If you’ve never seen magic, then how do you know it’s bad?”

  Ashe gave me a sharp look. “Same way you know a fish has gone bad just from the smell. You don’t need to taste it to know it’ll make you sick. You haven’t been thinking about that again, have you?”

  “No,” I lied. I’d been thinking about it less in recent years, and I’d mostly accepted that real life had nothing in common with magic as I’d imagined it when I was a child. Still, I felt out of tune with the rest of the people in town, like I had too many questions that no one else seemed inclined to ask. Ashe was the only one I trusted not to shun me for them, and to answer me honestly.

  “But no one will talk about it,” I continued, hating the slight whine that crept into my voice, “and the old stories—”

  “Were written in a very different time and place,” Ashe finished for me.

  “I don’t need a history lesson.” My uncle was a well-known historian, and he’d given me as complete an education as anyone could in our country. Hundreds of years ago, our ancestors overthrew rulers who wielded magic, who used it to enslave their countrymen. Our people rose up and killed the Sorcerers, then fled to this land at the Western edge of the mountains. Our magic hunters had been ridding the land of every trace of magic ever since—and every memory of it, including my beloved fairy tales.

  Ashe planted his feet wide and crossed his arms, ready to lecture. “Magic is dangerous. You know how the people over there got theirs.” He nodded toward the mountains to the east. “They sell their souls, Ro, just like the Sorcerers in the old country. The Tyreans worship demons and a false goddess, not our God. We have to distance ourselves from that. I know Uncle Ches keeps the old story books in his library at Stone Ridge. I also know he and Aunt Victoria let you read them when you were little, and that was unfair to you. It warped your thinking. Magic isn’t wise unicorns and pretty mermaids and benevolent magicians, understand?”

  “I know the stories aren’t true. I just wondered—”

  “No. The real heroes are the magic hunters who keep us safe, and the soldiers who protect our borders against the Tyreans.”

  Ashe obviously considered the subject finished and turned to open the gate, but I held him back. I needed my mind to be still. “How do you know that our stories are true? I mean, there was a time when people told their children those stories. They must have thought magic was good, once.”

  Ashe folded his arms across his chest. “All right. Here’s a story for you, little one, since you enjoy them so much. I said that there have been no large-scale attacks on us, and that’s true. But I delivered a report this morning saying that a magic hunter was killed yesterday, his throat cut clean to the bone. There wasn’t much left of the killer once the other soldiers caught him, but they’re almost certain it was the hunter’s own brother that did it.”

  My heart skipped at the news of the magic hunter’s death. No one I knew, but still… “That’s horrible.” I pulled a lock of hair from its knot and twisted it between my fingers, a nervous habit I’d never outgrown. “But I don’t see what their family problems have to do with magic or Tyrea.”

  Ashe sighed. “The ruling family over there, the Tiernals, they’re really powerful. They say Severn, the one who’s on the throne now, has even more magic in him than his old daddy did. His brothers are strong, too, and one of them, Aren, uses it to control people’s minds.” Ashe tapped a finger against his forehead, as if the point needed emphasizing. “There was a barmaid who said the killer was in her tavern the night before the murder and she thought he met with someone, but she couldn’t remember what happened, or even what this guy looked like. She was terrified, thought she was going mad. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  It seemed impossible. An exaggeration, like I’d always assumed the old men’s stories were. I shivered and pulled my jacket closer to my body.

  Ashe glanced at the house and lowered his voice. “Rowan, these people aren’t like us. Severn is ruthless. From what I’ve heard he could be insane, too. I have no doubt that the mountains are the only thing holding him back from taking our lands. We know less about this other one, but we know he’s dangerous, and this isn’t the first time he’s been to Darmid. God willing, they’ll catch him this time, but he’s probably long gone.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “I keep my ears open, and you should, too. The world’s a dangerous place these days. The governor and councils don’t want people to know about attacks like this because it would cause panic. I’m telling you because I’ve seen the kind of books you sneak out of the library, and I know you’re curious about magic. It’s all dangerous, and if you mess with it, you’re jeopardizing everything good that’s coming to you. Understand?”

  My stomach clenched. I’d been trying to avoid thinking about those good things I was supposed to be so excited about. Sympathy for magic held no place in my future. “Understood. You want to come in for lunch?”

  “Nah, I’ve got work to do. You need anything else?”

  “I think I can handle it. Thanks.”

  Ashe waved and jogged back toward town.

  I stood looking at the mountains for a few more minutes and another shudder ran up my spine. Magic, I thought. I knew Ashe was right, but still. What if? I’d once spent my days acting out fairy tales in the woods. More recently, on days when the town and its rules frustrated me, I’d thought about taking our old horse and following the shore past the mountains, just to see what was really there before I had to settle down for good.

  Dreams are for children, I reminded myself, and you’re not a child anymore. Good things are coming, remember?

  I sighed and rubbed my temples, where tendrils of pain once again crept forward. It was going to be one of those days when it came and went like the tide. The headaches were only becoming more frequ
ent and severe as the years passed, but even town doctors were at a loss as to how to stop them.

  At least there was one treatment that helped.

  I opened the gate and followed the path through the yellowing grasses to my family’s home. Out of habit, I paused to rub my fingers over the rowanwood wreath beside the door. Nearly every home in town had one, thanks to an old superstition that said it would protect the people within from the dangers of magic. A tiny branch cracked off under my fingers, and I stuffed it back into the circle as another beat of pain thudded at my skull. No time to worry about a silly decoration. I had more pressing concerns to think about.

  Chapter III

  Rowan

  A NOTE WAITED FOR ME on the little table inside the front door. I unfolded it and read as I followed the long hallway to the kitchen.

  Rowan,

  I’ll be at the workshop this afternoon. Please don’t go out tonight. We need to talk.

  -Mum

  “Where would I go?” I muttered, fighting the urge to crumple the note into a ball and toss it on the floor. Whatever she wanted to talk about, it wasn’t going to be pleasant for me. I left the paper on the kitchen table while I set the kettle to boil on Mother’s new wood stove, then searched the cupboards for heartleaf bark.

  The purple glass jar where I kept it was empty, though I was certain I’d just bought some. The emergency supply I’d tucked away under the sink was stale, but better than nothing. I poured a thin stream of boiling water over the strings of bark and let it steep for as long as I could, then gulped the hot, bitter tea down. A burned throat was a small price to pay for relief.

  I carried a second cup of tea with me to my room and cleared a space for it on the little bedside table, sending several charcoal pencils clinking to the floor. I laid my bag on the bed and took out the book of fairy tales. The leather cover was cracked, and the gold leaf that had once highlighted the title worn. My Uncle Ches took far better care of his personal collection. Still, the book was over two hundred years old and still in one piece. I wasn’t going to complain.

  I turned to set the book down next to my tea. Something didn’t look right. The book I kept drawings in sat on the far side of the table, under the oil lamp. Not where I’d left it. The papers that had been underneath it were stacked in a neat pile, not the disorganized mess I had left them in.

  I grabbed the sheaf of papers and rifled through, but the letter was gone.

  “No,” I groaned. A black and white cat hiding in the pile of clothes at the end of my bed woke and yawned.

  The letter had arrived a week before, and I’d panicked when I saw the return address and the neat handwriting on the envelope. I’d been expecting a proposal from Callum Langley, and should have been excited about it. After all, he was everything a Darmish girl could wish for—strong, handsome, son of one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in Ardare, and following in his father’s footsteps as a magic hunter.

  We’d met at a party the year before, when I visited Ardare with my parents. I was trying to avoid another man who spouted poetry and insisted on comparing my eyes to storm clouds, dripping wine on my shoes all the while.

  The hostess had been forcing her cousin on Callum. The woman was a simpering idiot who batted her eyelashes and laughed at inappropriate times when he was talking. He and I had started talking in order to avoid our pursuers and found that we got along very well. We always did, when he found time to visit. Still, I’d balked when he started talking about marriage. It felt wrong, too fast. And now, a letter. I’d meant to show it to my parents, but had hoped to work out my response first.

  I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes to push back the pain so I could think. My mother would never understand why I’d hidden the letter. At nearly twenty years old, I was practically a spinster by Darmish standards, and was well aware of how embarrassing it was for my parents. I should have been married and trying to have children by age seventeen. Darmish women had difficulty conceiving, and the magic that lingered in our land killed many babies when they were still too weak to fight it off. Some families never had a child survive its first year, and a family like mine with four grown to adulthood inspired both gratitude and envy in the community. Darmish girls grew up knowing that it was our duty to maintain the population.

  I just couldn’t help wishing it wasn’t my personal duty. I liked children, but felt exhausted at the very thought of living like my older sisters, who spent their days chasing snot-nosed toddlers around.

  If only I could be more like my beautiful, bubbly cousin Felicia, who was constantly surrounded by suitors in the capital city and loved every minute of it. She was a few years younger than me and would be settling down soon, too. She’d find a perfect husband, have perfect children, and be happy making a perfect home.

  I set the papers back on the table and wished I had someone to talk it over with. I couldn’t tell my mother about my misgivings, but Felicia might at least try to understand. If only she lived closer. I had no friends in town I could talk to, and if my sisters ever found time to listen, they’d just call me a silly fool and tell me to grow up.

  That didn’t mean I had to sit around and listen to my mother’s predictable rant and watch the accompanying hand-wringing, though. It suddenly seemed like an excellent time to visit the family I’d grown up with. I’d been meaning to go anyway, to help get my aunt and uncle’s big, old house ready for winter. Going now would allow me a brief escape, and no one was likely to go that far to drag me home and face my mother. I’d think about sending Callum my acceptance when I returned. Refusing his proposal was out of the question, but…

  “It just seems so final,” I whispered. The cat ignored me.

  The headache was fading, if only slightly. I took off my skirt and slipped into pants that would be more practical for travel, then tossed clothing into my old canvas bag, along with the book of fairy tales and the knife Ashe gave me as a sixteenth birthday present. There was no harm in reading the book, no matter what Ashe and the authorities might think. The old stories comforted me with their familiar adventures, the romance, and even the magic, and they took my mind off of my real-world problems in a way that nothing else could.

  In just a few minutes I was finished packing, and I hurried to shove the rest of the bedroom’s mess under the bed. “I’ll miss you, Puzzle,” I told the cat.

  He twitched an ear and went back to sleep. If only everyone else was so content to let me be, I thought, and kissed his head.

  My parents’ house wasn’t especially large compared to many in Lowdell, but Mother kept it meticulously clean and tastefully decorated. Today most of the windows were open, and the cream-colored, lace curtains lifted and swayed in the gentle breeze. I moved as quietly as I could through the kitchen, taking only a slice of buttered bread for my lunch and eating it as I piled meat and greens into a sandwich for the road. One of the beautiful glass flasks my mother made in her shop held enough water for the trip, and I threw in an apple for the horse. The back side of my mother’s note was still blank, and I used it to scratch out the details of where I’d gone. At least she’d be pleased that I hadn’t wasted paper.

  The front door creaked open, and I froze.

  “Rowan?” My mother’s voice carried clearly down the hallway. “Are you home?”

  Damn. She was early. I hesitated for a moment, then slipped out the back door. There was no point discussing the letter with her. It would just turn into a fight with her insisting that I accept the proposal before Callum gave up on me, and me pushing back, not knowing why I thought I needed to fight so hard. I understood that marrying Callum would be the best thing for me. I would say yes, and make my parents proud. I would live the life I was meant to have, and I’d learn to be happy with it.

  Everything would be just perfect.

  The old wooden cart waited in our little stable, and I pulled a few things from the storage closet to take with me to Stone Ridge—a crate of preserves, sugar, sweets left over from the pr
evious month’s festival. It wasn’t much, but taking supplies was a good excuse to make the journey.

  I wondered what excuse I’d use to get away once I’d married and moved to Ardare. I’d have to find a way. They and their servants were more family to me than my mother, father, and siblings. But once children came along…

  I gripped hard onto the side of the cart and took deep breaths to calm my aching stomach.

  Jigger, our old chestnut gelding, watched from his stall. I slipped in beside him to crouch in the clean hay that covered the floor, and buried my face in my hands.

  “It’s going to be perfect,” I told myself. “I’m going to have everything a girl should want.”

  I tried to imagine a big, beautiful wedding. Callum would look so handsome, and I would stand there in front of God and everyone and declare that I would love him forever.

  My heart fluttered in my chest, like a bird frantic to escape a cage that was growing smaller every day. I took deep breaths and squeezed back the tears that stung my eyes.

  “What is wrong with me?” I whispered.

  Chapter IV

  Rowan

  THE AFTERNOON AIR WAS CRISP, colder than it should have been before harvest’s end, but the sun shone bright and the leaves on the trees were halfway to what would soon be a riot of colors. Jigger’s hoofs crunched over those that had already fallen as we reached the shelter of the forest road. It was a perfect day for travel, and the weather did wonders for my mood. Soon I was able to leave my anxiety behind and let my thoughts drift to more pleasant things.

  The sun had dropped behind the trees before we reached the rock formation that Stone Ridge was named for. The narrow granite and quartz ridge ran along the north side of the road, rising to twice my height in the middle and tapering toward both ends of its considerable length. It sat on the border of the property, and had marked the edge of my world when I was a young girl.