The Galactic Mage

by John Daulton

  “Oh?” She looked puzzled, like trying to adjust to some impossibility. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He got hurt. Doctor Leopold treated him though, so he’ll get better now.” His voice lacked conviction, but Pernie seemed not to notice as she pressed.

  “Was it the orcs what hurt him? Because I seen him flying down. I heard him roar real loud. I thought he might be coming after me.”

  “Well, he was coming to help you, so he was coming for you in a way. He was helping me to get you back. And the orcs did hurt him, but Doctor Leopold healed him, so now everything should be okay.”

  She tilted her head and studied him for a moment. “Where is he then? Are you going to his cave?”

  Altin hesitated, wondering if he should tell her that the dragon was here, up in the tower, or if he should tell her something else. But hadn’t he hurt her enough? Certainly she deserved the truth. But this truth might get her killed if she tried to sneak up and take a look; what if Taot suddenly woke up? So he probably shouldn’t tell her. Which meant he had to lie, another form of injury. Or was it? Why was this little girl so hard to comprehend?

  Little bits of blue. That was why. Glimpses of Neechy danced across his mind, spinning around in her bright blue dress, laughing and playing. Alive before Altin dealt the killing blow. And now there was Pernie. Altin realized as he stood there beginning to sweat why it was he had such trouble with this tiny child. Suddenly he knew. But the knowledge didn’t change anything. At least not now, not for this.

  “Well are you?” she said again. “Because I can help you if you do. I’m a pretty good hunter, you know, if you need help finding him some food.” She puffed her chest out proudly.

  He exhaled carefully. “No. He’s not in his cave. He’s in my tower. Up in the battlements. He’s very sick. And you must promise to stay away. If he wakes up, hurt like he is, he might be angry and lash out at the first person that he sees. Promise you won’t go up.”

  “But I could go up with you,” she said. “He wouldn’t be angry at me then.”

  “I don’t know if even I am safe.”

  “Of course you are. You saved me from the orcs.”

  He winced. “Yes. Listen, about that Pernie. That should never have happened, and you should know that the whole thing was my fault.”

  She looked at him as if he’d just told her Kettle was the Queen.

  He needed her to believe him, and he stepped forward and knelt before her to look her in the eyes. “Really, Pernie. It is my fault. They came in through the wall, through the hole I made. I never should have taken the tower out without putting something in its place. I opened up the castle and just let the orcs come right in. It’s my fault you got hurt. And I’m really sorry.” He forced his gaze to stay in hers, his breath held awaiting her rebuke.

  “Is that why Kettle was yellin’ at you last night?”

  Altin nodded.

  “She was yellin’ pretty loud. She yelled at me like that when I forgot to shut the gate and all the goats got out one time. Nipper paddled my behind too.” She hesitated then, her mind drifting for a moment to the memory of which she spoke. “I bet Nipper won’t paddle your behind though,” she said at length. “Nope, I bet he won’t.” She seemed satisfied with this assessment, but felt compelled to ask, “Will he?” with tangible concern reflecting in her large blue eyes.

  Altin could not stop the smile that came to his lips, although he felt unworthy of it even as it did. He shook his head. “No, Nipper won’t paddle my behind. But I think perhaps he should. I certainly deserve it.”

  She laughed at that. Apparently the thought of an all-powerful magician being spanked by the cantankerous old man was hilarious. “You could fix it so it didn’t hurt,” she giggled as she began contemplating the possibility. “You could turn his hand into a pillow or grow your butt into a stack of hay.” She laughed louder as she thought about it more. “I wish I could make my butt into a stack of hay. Or maybe a big prickly pear tree.” She was nearly overcome with hilarity as she began to rattle off every soft or menacing thing that she might turn her bottom into if only she had Altin’s magic to command.

  The irony was too great for Altin to share in Pernie’s fun, for he had no intention of ever using magic again. He realized now that everyone was right. He was just a Six. The circular irregularity to which he’d clung for all these years meant nothing. And not only was he just a Six, he was a deadly Six, a Six that had been taking people’s lives all along the way. His only question now was whether he should burn out his mythothalamus and stay here as a blank on Kurr like he’d decided to do last night, or if he should just vanish into space, one last cast and then drift forever in the night. The latter seemed a more fitting end. Particularly as he watched little Pernie laugh. She was so innocent and full of life. She didn’t care what people thought. She was just alive. And she was not cursed like him, not a menace like Kettle said. He wished that the worst thing he had ever done was to let some goats get out.

  Pernie ran out of items to list as options for the transmogrification of her backside, and so she abruptly changed the subject as children are wont to do. “So can I help you find Taot’s deer?”

  Her question caught him off-guard and at first he had no reply.

  “Well, can I?” she repeated. “Help you find the deer?”

  He didn’t know precisely what to say, but he was certain that “no” was not an option given the events of yesterday. “Fine,” he said, retaking the shortbow from the rack and grabbing a quiver of arrows hanging on a nail. “You can come along.” Why not, he thought. Hells, she’d probably find one faster than he could anyway if ravens were any kind of clue.

  The groom saddled a pony for Pernie to ride, and soon the two of them were off across the meadow and out onto the plains. As Calico Castle grew smaller in the distance, Altin couldn’t help thinking that he was probably the last person Kettle would have chosen to have watching over Pernie now. He tried to shake the thought. The girl roamed these lands almost daily as it was. She probably was safer when he was not around, which gave weight to the option for disappearing into space.

  Strips of blue cloth wrapped around his thoughts as they rode along, memory’s garrote tightening amongst the imagined sounds of Pernie screaming from inside a tree. He could hear the screams clearly echoing off the insides of his mind, much like they had off the face of the orcish cliffs. The screams he’d caused her—a gap in the wall was an invitation that an open gate was not; one spoke of vulnerability while the other spoke only of people at their ease.

  Sure enough, it was Pernie who spotted the doe and her fawn as they topped a modest hill. “Down there,” she whispered, breaking Altin from his trance. “See? By that tree. And look, she has a baby too.”

  Altin would have ridden right on by if Pernie hadn’t spoken up. He blinked a few times, clearing his head, and then looked where Pernie was pointing down the slope. The deer grazed beneath the sweep of a weeping willow’s boughs, unaware of their approach.

  “Yes, I see them,” he said. “You have good eyes.” He was reluctant to go after them, however, because the doe did have a fawn. He didn’t think Pernie would be too happy about killing the little one. They’d either have to kill it, or leave it motherless, and neither option was likely going to sit well with a child.

  “Kill the mother first,” she said, “then the little one won’t go too far away.”

  Altin turned in his saddle and gaped at her.

  “It’s true,” she said, misinterpreting his incredulity. “Gimmel told me so, and he hunts all the time.”

  Altin shook his head and had to suppress a grin. He didn’t deserve it anyway.

  They dismounted and, after hobbling the horses, they slunk down into the grass, trying to keep the willow tree between them and the pair of deer. The wind was blowing across their path, preventing the deer from scenting them in the air, and they finally made it close enough for Altin to take a shot. His tired muscles protested as he drew the
bowstring back, and when he shot, his missile flew harmlessly past, so much so that the doe didn’t bother looking up.

  “You’re not very good at that, are you Master Altin?” Pernie said. There was no judgment in her tone. She merely observed.

  “No,” he replied. “I’m not. I haven’t used one of these things since basic training.” He didn’t want to admit that he was sore and feeling weak.

  “I can probably get the baby with my sling,” she offered.

  “No. I’ll get it,” he said, not wanting to subject her to such a thing.

  He drew the bow back again, grimacing, and fired another shot. This one was worse than the first. Pernie giggled. The doe remained oblivious to the shot, the errant projectile seeming little more than an insect buzzing by; but the child snickering did make the deer look up, forcing the pair of hunters to dive for cover in the grass.

  “You sure you don’t want me to get the little one before they both run off?” Pernie offered. “At least Taot could have a snack.”

  “I’m sure,” Altin said. “I’ll get it this time.” He wanted to cast a seeking enchantment on an arrow, but he pushed the thought aside. First off, he didn’t have one memorized, and secondly, he was no longer using magic anymore. He’d sworn it off, so he was going to have to shoot this deer just like anyone else would have to do.

  “What’s that?” Pernie asked as Altin rose up on his hands to peer through the grass and see if he was clear to take another shot.

  “What’s what?”

  “That, around your neck.”

  He looked down at the fast-cast amulet now dangling a few inches from the ground. “It’s an amulet. I made it for bringing my tower close to home. It’s just in case something goes wrong.”

  “What can go wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Now be quiet so you don’t scare the deer away.”

  “It’s not very pretty,” she observed.

  “Yes, well, it only has to work.”

  “How do you make it go?”

  “You don’t ‘make it go.’ You just strike it. Like a match.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  He got back up onto one knee and fitted another arrow to the string. Pernie fell silent as Altin drew back the bow, this time trying to remember everything his drill instructor had said. He took careful aim and released another shaft. This one was too low and hit the ground early, sliding through the grass and coming to a stop right between the doe’s front feet. She jumped and darted off, perhaps thinking it was a snake, and she didn’t stop until she was eighty paces from the tree. The fawn followed along behind her, bounding through the grass as if its feet were made of springs.

  “Damn it,” Altin cursed, which set Pernie to giggling again. Altin cupped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s a bad word.”

  Pernie was still giggling.

  Now what was he going to do? Getting food for Taot was going to take forever at this rate. He debated going back and demanding that Nipper slaughter the hog anyway. He did have the authority if it actually came to that. However, he really was not in the mood for another argument. Yesterday had really worn him out.

  “Master Altin,” Pernie asked innocently, “why don’t you just use your magic?”

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t.”

  “Because why?”

  “I just can’t, that’s why.”

  Pernie watched him for a long while. He could tell she desperately wanted to ask him why again, but was managing to hold her tongue.

  “Come on; it’s going to get away.” He got up and trod through the knee-high grass, stooping as he moved and trying to stay downwind. Pernie waded along merrily behind him, arms out and grinning as the blades of grass tickled the soft skin on the undersides. Once they were in range, they crouched down again. Altin pulled another arrow out. He glanced over at Pernie who returned his look with a happy smile. He sighed, and then took another shot.

  He got the doe this time, only he hit her in the hind leg, high and in the middle of the thigh. She let out a screech and took off in full flight, her fawn once more following behind.

  “Damn it,” Altin cursed again.

  Pernie didn’t giggle this time; she just stood up, watching the deer run away and waiting for Altin to make another move. When the pair was almost out of sight and Altin still hadn’t done anything, she looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

  “What?” he said, pinned down by those blinking blue irises and feeling somehow very small.

  “Aren’t you going to chase her down?” she asked. “So she don’t die a horrible death, all sick and miserable, oozing pus and dying torture-like?”

  He groaned. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  “Gimmel says you got to chase them down if you make a bad shot like that. He says the goddess gets mad if you make them get sick and die on their own, all hurt and stuff.” She paused and then added, “Plus, yer supposed to be a better shot. That’s why I practice all the time.” She patted the length of rope tied around her waist, which Altin realized was her sling.

  “Well we’re not going to catch them now,” Altin observed as the doe, while limping noticeably, still managed to diminish into the distance at quite a clip. She was headed for the woods.

  “Use your magic then,” Pernie said as if it were such a simple thing, though with urgency in her voice that spoke to her belief that there was something huge at stake. “You’re not supposed to let them die.”

  “I told you I can’t. I’m not using magic anymore.”

  Incredulity filled her little face. “You mean never?”

  “That’s right. Never.”

  She clearly didn’t understand. “But what about the deer?”

  “Forget the deer. I’ll just tell Nipper I need a hog. Let’s go.” He turned and started back towards the horses on the hill.

  Pernie didn’t follow; instead she took a few steps closer to the woods. Altin figured she would come if he just pressed on, but when he was half the distance to the horses and she had still not caught back up, he stopped and turned around. She continued watching the deer as they ran towards the trees.

  “Pernie,” he yelled. “Come on. It’s time to go.”

  She did not come, and he was forced to go back to where she stood. When he got close to her, he realized that she was crying, the sound of it carrying to him on the wind as he approached.

  “What?” he asked, frustrated and desperate all at once.

  “I don’t want the goddess mad at me,” she managed to say between sobs of increasing severity. “Gimmel says the Great Huntress will gut you in the night if you treat her creatures mean. I don’t want to get gutted, Master Altin. Gimmel says it’s a terrible way to die.”

  He wanted to tell her that Gimmel was a twit and that there was no such thing as a Great Huntress anyway, but it was clear that that particular tactic probably wouldn’t work. His mind churned as he sought a way out of his predicament. “Listen, Pernie, the goddess will understand,” he said at last. “Maybe she’ll even come down and pull the arrow out. The gods do things like that sometimes. The doe will be fine.”

  He caught himself even as he spoke, realizing that he was doing it again, setting the world to revolve around his needs, centering everything on his beliefs. Forget anyone else. Do anything, say anything, just so long as everything moves his way. And once again he’d managed to make Pernie cry. He was getting good at that. Making girls cry.

  The word “menace” flitted hauntingly through his mind, and he felt the rage begin to boil once again, filling him with its heat and its necessity to act. “Fine,” he said, snarling, and he then began to chant. A moment later he appeared right between the doe and her fawn just as they had come into the edge of the shelter of the woods. Before they could leap away, he reached out and placed a hand on each of them, calling up the still-familiar lightning spell in his mind and releasing it with a w
ord. In an instant, the deer and her fawn writhed and died as the powerful currents burnt their flesh and turned their blood to steam inside their veins. Finally they fell motionless to the ground, smoking heaps of sundered meat, as Altin ground his teeth with the anger of feeling trapped. And he was trapped too. He knew it now with palpable certainty. His magic was a curse, an inescapable reality. He could feel the truth of it with all his heart and soul, and he realized that he could never be rid of its effects; it would find him even if he didn’t want it to. Which meant he had no other choice, he had to be rid of himself instead; he had to go away.

  Still angry, he teleported himself and both deer corpses back to where Pernie stood. She clapped giddily and jumped up and down. “I can’t wait till I’m old enough to do that,” she said, tears forgotten and drying on her cheeks. She stared down at the two charred corpses, smoke still coming off of them with the scent of fresh burnt hair. “Magic is going to be so much fun.”

  “You can wait,” he said. “And it’s not fun.” With that, he stooped and slung the doe across his neck, a mighty heave that sent pain like lightning jolting through his already aching back. He groaned, feeling as if mountains could not weigh as much as this damnable doe now did. He wheezed under the weight as he staggered through the grass, headed towards the horses on the knoll.

  Pernie followed a few paces behind, dragging the fawn along by its hind leg and humming the tune to “My Cat’s Paw” with a contented smile upon her face. She didn’t even mind that Altin never spoke another word the whole way home. That was fine. She could be happy enough for two.

  Chapter 33

  The vaccine made by the New Guinea’s crew proved efficacious, and just in time too, at least for those who were still alive when it arrived. Captain Asad survived, if barely, as did Orli and Doctor Singh. Of the ship’s one thousand twenty crew members, only one hundred and forty-six remained alive. So, while the vaccine was seen as something of a victory by those who survived the disease, for the rest of the fleet, the events aboard the Aspect were a terrifying example of a battle horribly lost and one that gave the measure of their enemy as well. And the worst part of it was, the enemy had returned.