by Lou Hoffmann
“I love these almost as much as chips,” Cook said and tossed some onto a griddle for Lucky to have with eggs.
“Has Thurlock been here?” Lucky asked.
“Yes. He didn’t want the hash browns. His loss, I say.”
“Is he still here?”
Cook just shrugged, but Shehrice was passing by and answered the question.
“Oh no, Luccan dear. He went upstairs a while ago, to the war room, as he calls the library when it suits him to do so. With Han and that nice Henry.”
Lucky ate his breakfast on a stool at one of the kitchen’s big work tables, and Cook sat with him drinking a cup of something that looked like tea but smelled fortified. They played a very quick game of skippers, and when Lucky won hands down, Cook accused him good-naturedly of cheating, just like normal.
Normal…. Right, Lucky thought again as he headed up the stairs to the library.
He’d actually never in his memory visited the library at the Sisterhold, and what he found when he got there wasn’t what he’d expected. The only library he’d ever been in that he could recall was the one in downtown Valley City, which was located in a single-story concrete building, hosted the homeless during the day, and boasted two helpful librarians, some bored clerks, and one of the nastiest public men’s rooms Lucky had seen in his life—the smell of which permeated the entire reference section on a bad day. On the top floor of the Sisterhold, a single tall room with shelf upon shelf of books and scrolls—many reachable only by ladders on rollers—this library smelled of lemon-oil wood polish, leather, and sunshine. It couldn’t have been a more different experience, and Lucky felt the peace of the place ease down over him the minute he walked in the door.
But that peacefulness fled just as quickly once he saw Thurlock’s scowl.
He hesitated just inside the doorway until the wizard looked up and growled, “Come in, come in, young man. Take a seat.”
Lucky had expected Han and Henry to be there; instead he was alone with Thurlock. That wasn’t always a bad thing, and he did have some questions he’d been storing up for the old man. He just wasn’t sure this would be a good time to ask. Thurlock rifled through a thick tome, referred now and again to the several scrolls he had spread over the dark wood of the table, and occasionally took hold of his staff—which leaned against his shoulder while he studied—and closed his eyes. Lucky sat chewing his lip, breathing as quietly as possible, and watching Thurlock work.
After some time had passed, Thurlock shut the book with a thunk, and while he rolled up one of the parchments, the others rolled up as well, and they all stacked themselves neatly to one side as he finally looked up and met Lucky’s gaze.
“Sympathetic magic,” he said, explaining about the scrolls though Lucky hadn’t intended to ask. “Pretty easy to learn. Remind me to teach you sometime.”
“Okay,” Lucky said agreeably, but privately he wondered why Thurlock expected him to be any better at that than he was at any of the other “ordinary” magic he’d tried to learn.
“Mm,” Thurlock said, possibly realizing the foolishness of that statement, then went on to explain his studies. “I’ve been trying to research the phenomenon you’ve been experiencing—the dreams or whatever they are—looking for historical precedent.”
“Did you find some, sir?”
“Not sir, just Thurlock, and yes, though it’s a bit obscure. A very, very long time ago, long before even I was born, events were written about that appear to mirror some aspects of what’s happened to you. But I don’t have more to say on that just now. I sent Han, Lem, and Henry off with errands. Lem is getting Henry up to speed on the geography of the Fallows. Han is organizing the military expeditions that will be setting out soon. They’ll all three be back momentarily, along with some others. We’ll be in conference about important issues. Han convinced me last night that it is time to begin including you in these meetings and proceedings, so you’ll stay, but I’ll ask you to be very careful before you say anything at all. Understood?”
“Uh… yes, sir. Thurlock. But can I ask, is there some special reason I need to be careful, or just in general.”
“Fair question, and not an unwise one. Of course, being careful about what you say is always a smart plan, but yes. Indeed there are some important reasons I’d ask you to add an extra degree of prudence. Firstly, there will be a fair number of people attending the meeting, and not all are privy to all of our concerns and plans. Please trust me, that’s with good reason. Secondly, some of the personalities involved take every opportunity to argue, either with each other, or with me, and it’s never productive. I’d like to avoid that, and the less you say needlessly, the less chance whatever you do say will set them off. Finally, most important, you were attacked two days ago on the green, regardless of the presence of both the Watch and the Guard, as well as Rose and Lem. I believe one or two of the people attending today may be part of a movement against you—”
Lucky gasped, and blurted out, “What do you mean, ‘a movement against me’? Thurlock, I…. What? Does this sort of thing happen often?”
“Calm down, young man. I’ll give you the short answers: I meant exactly what I said, and though I have no idea how widespread or bloodthirsty this particular faction may be, erring on the side of caution seems wise. And no, this sort of thing doesn’t happen often, not even once in the last many decades, and rarely over the centuries. That doesn’t excuse me for becoming complacent, but it may go some distance toward explaining it. However, the fact that it hasn’t happened doesn’t mean all people always loved whoever was Suth Chiell. The previous holders of that title had a particular skill that may have helped avert it. I’m confident you’ll be able to call upon that skill as well, and I will, as soon as possible, teach you how to use it. It’s called the Charismata, and it is part of your birthright.”
“Charis…. What?”
“Don’t concern yourself now. If you’re done interrupting, here is a list of who will be attending besides you and me. Han, Henry, Lem, Rose, Sergeant Koehl, and three wizards who represent the Sisterhold on the Sunlands Council—you may remember them from Nedhra City. Also some senior officers of the Guard and the Watch, which is like the police. And finally Zhevi and L’Aria. You’ll sit here on my left and Han will be next to you on the other side. As I told you when we went to the university last fall, don’t make eye contact! That’s excepting those few of us you know very well.” Thurlock stopped speaking and looked at Lucky expectantly, his right hand idly twirling his staff, and his left-hand fingers drumming out an impatient rhythm on the table.
“Okay,” Lucky said quietly, beginning to feel mildly apprehensive.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get through this meeting fine,” Thurlock said. “And I thought we could utilize the five minutes or so before people get here for you to ask me whatever questions have been on your mind. I’ll do my best to answer.”
Lucky surprised himself by popping off with a question he hadn’t even realized he’d been wondering about. “K’ormahk. He doesn’t just fly. He goes through stars. How?”
Thurlock broke out in a huge smile. “What a delightful question,” he said. “The truth is, I don’t know!”
“You don’t?” Lucky couldn’t help but smile back. Thurlock rarely smiled, especially lately, and when he did he seemed so young and alive—the feeling was contagious. Still, he was surprised the great wizard didn’t have the answer to his question.
“No! And I love that. You can’t imagine what a joy it is to be reminded now and then that after more than a millennium of walking the worlds, things still wait to be discovered. I’ll tell you as much as I’ve ever been able to figure out about it, though. Winged horses come from far in the north. Now, when we here in the Sunlands think of the Northern Icelands, we tend to relate them to Mahl and all the cold emptiness that god embodies, but of course many wonderful things exist in the north—those we understand, and those we don’t. Natural creatures, like cairnwights and glacier wolve
s. We think of them as tools of Mahl, but truthfully, they are only beings well suited to their home. There is a plant I’ve read about but never seen called thaw-sprig. It lives under the ice for many years until the world shifts and, for a few days, the ice grows thin. Then, the plant pushes up and out, creates magnificent clusters of golden flowers, and goes to seed—all within two days. The winged horses are a little different, I think, in that they partake not only of their natural surroundings but of a particular stream of Ethran magic.” Thurlock stopped talking, looking off into the distance and tugging the locks of his beard.
Lucky tried patience but failed the trial. “So, you were saying… some special magic? That’s how they fly through the stars?” It seemed a wondrous kind of enchantment, if that were the case.
“Yes,” Thurlock mumbled, then suddenly his attention returned. “No! I’m sorry if I misled you. You know, people from the north travel to the south overland, for the most part. There may be Portals there, but most Portals are encased in rock and accessible through caves, I believe they might often be blocked by ice in those regions. But two things to remember. One, as you discovered when you visited the Wraith Queen and the Stable Master—”
“I didn’t tell you about that!”
“Han told me what you told him. Soon, you and I will talk about it, as I’m sure there’s more to know. But my point is, much exists that is neither of one true world or another—like pockets within Naught, if you will. Two, there are other ways than Portals to travel between worlds. For example, your movement between those places, and also the way Tiro and L’Aria make water into a way between worlds. I believe K’ormahk’s star flight might be like that. Like the winged horses can use the air, or maybe space, to make their own Portals.” He smiled widely again. “I’d love to know more, though, and one of these days when K’ormahk is around I’m going to see if I can’t talk to him about it.”
“You can talk to K’ormahk?”
“Han can interpret.”
Lucky nodded, “Of course.” But Thurlock’s words about stuff between worlds had him thinking about a more serious question. “Thurlock, you know that stuff between worlds? Could that be what… how… where my dreams… they’re not dreams, though, right?”
The sparkle faded in Thurlock’s eyes and he shook his head, saying, “No, they’re not truly dreams—I’m sure of that. I think you want to know if where your consciousness goes during those times is a place between worlds, a pocket such as I mentioned. I’m not yet sure of the answer. I think perhaps yes, but I’m not clear on how your mind would go there without your body.”
“It’s all in my mind, isn’t it?” Suddenly, Lucky needed the answer to the question he most feared. “Thurlock, do you think I’m going crazy?”
Thurlock didn’t acknowledge Lucky’s shaky condition, instead sipping his tea, then answering the question in wizardly fashion—namely giving half an answer. “I believe these black mists which were a feature of your experience are the same thing Henry, Maizie, Lemon, and I encountered in a Portal cave on the way home. When we managed to cleanse that filth away—dispel the energy that was making things happen—deposits of ash and goo were all over the place. Also, I spoke briefly to the visiting Droghona today, just to get a feel for what they wanted, and they’ve described similar mists seen in the Fallows. So, these things can exist physically in this plane.” He scratched his head. “It’s almost like they’re leaking from somewhere else…. Hm. But for that to be true, something—or somebody—has to be… let’s say poking holes, yes, holes in Ethra’s energy field. And that, my boy, is the same thing as our world’s magic.”
“So I’m not crazy?”
“How would I know?”
That wasn’t at all comforting, and panic loomed on Lucky’s emotional horizon, but just then Han came in. Apparently he’d heard the question, as well as Thurlock’s failure to answer.
“No, Luccan,” Han said, laying a calming hand on Lucky’s shoulder. “You’re not crazy. And if you are, I am too, because I was there with you, remember.” He gave a squeeze to the shoulder and then turned his attention to Thurlock. “Sir, we’ve run into a snag for the mission north to the prison tunnels. Zhevi didn’t show up this morning, so I sent him a message to get L’Aria and come to the briefing right away. He never came, so after I talked to the officers who’ll be leading the mission, I went to find him—I was planning to give him a piece of my mind—but he’s gone. His aunt said he left early in the morning with a pack, and she’d thought he was on his way to muster. And one more thing, I found his favorite mount and one other horse missing from the stables along with their tack. I’m afraid our star standard bearer has taken—”
“It’s because of L’Aria!”
Both men looked at Lucky, obviously waiting for an explanation of his interruption.
“I saw Zhevi last night when I went home… to your house, Thurlock, after the Night House. He was really worked up about L’Aria being gone. I didn’t get it, because she leaves all the time, right? But he wouldn’t listen. Maybe because I’d hit him—”
“You hit him?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean to. Anyway, he was looking for you, Thurlock, about L’Aria.”
Han’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Thurlock.
Thurlock rolled his eyes and said, “Behl’s teeth! Of all the times for young love to blossom, why now?”
That was the end of that conversation, for the moment, because people began filing into the room, some carrying cups of tea and notebooks, others empty-handed or carrying staves or wands. Thurlock gave Lucky a meaningful look. Han interpreted it.
“He wants you to remember what he told you: listen don’t talk, and no eye contact.”
Lucky didn’t need a reminder. He had a sudden desire to flee, as he felt like an imposter.
“You’re fine,” Han sent as he took his seat next to Luccan. “You belong here, and it’s important for you to know what happens in this room. And if anybody gives you a hard time, I’ll make them sorry.”
Lucky started to smile gratefully at Han, but just then Maizie trotted in the door and stopped to growl at one of the people Lucky didn’t know—a man who looked like a wizard, judging from the beard, robes, and staff. The man turned to Maizie with a hand extended. Suddenly worried for her, Lucky called out.
“Maizie! Come here, girl.”
He needn’t have worried, because Thurlock apparently also didn’t trust that wizard’s intentions. At the same time as Lucky spoke, so did Thurlock, and his voice had that special ring that Lucky had come to know as Command, with a capitol C.
“Stop, Mahros.”
The wizard—apparently Mahros—jerked his extended hand back as if it had touched a hot stove. Then, slowly, his face red and tense with anger, he turned to face Thurlock. He pointed across the room to where Maizie now sat, alert, between Lucky and Han. “That beast, Thurlock—” he began, but he never got any further.
“The dog is a personal friend of myself and the Suth Chiell, Mahros. I know that your popularity with voters is important, but dogs don’t vote, so I’m sure it won’t be a problem if Maizie doesn’t like you. Please sit down. We’re about to begin.”
Lem came in, followed by Henry, and Lemon Martinez slipped in, prowled once around the room, sniffing a couple of feet in his usual thoroughly disgusted manner, then slipped out before Rose pulled the door shut. If Mahros had anything to say about the cat, he kept it to himself.
As Henry crossed the room, his eyes went to Han, then Thurlock, and then he caught Lucky’s gaze and winked with a little smile. Still, Henry looked less at ease, less sure of himself than Lucky had ever seen him. Han indicated the empty seat next to him, and Henry, ever graceful in his movements, walked over and sat down. He caused quite a stir—everyone was looking at Henry, either boldly with a challenge or a smile, or covertly with flicks of side-eye. No wonder, really. Henry was a complete stranger to most there, and in a place like the Sisterhold that’s a rare animal. Also,
gossip about him being able to change shapes—and about him and Han—had already been circulating.
Thurlock called the meeting to order by tapping his staff on the floor a few times, causing some golden sparks and a flash. His manner and speech were more formal than they had been at the smaller meeting the previous evening—a less friendly and more in-charge vibe. Masterful—Lucky thought that was a good word for it—and though he usually disliked bossiness of any kind, in this instance he was grateful for it. He was a little afraid, sitting in this room with more people he didn’t know than people he did. He figured he’d eventually need to know them, though, so he tried to listen to Thurlock while studying the reactions of various ones around the table.
“In Earth,” Thurlock was saying, “people use a figure of speech, ‘the elephant in the living room.’ Know what an elephant is,” he said, and gestured to the clear area between the rows of tables, where an image of the animal appeared with Han pictured standing next to it to show size. “See that, and the meaning of the phrase becomes fairly clear. The elephant in the living room is the great big thing on everybody’s mind, that everyone pretends they don’t see.”
He waited while some giggles and murmurs about the elephant subsided, then banished the image. “There are two elephants in this room today and I intend to dispel them. Let’s deal with the easy one. Allow me to introduce Henry George, from Earth. He came to our assistance in a time of need last year, and now he’s here, and I believe he will be a great help again. Please make him welcome as the opportunity presents itself.”
He got up and slowly walked down one long side of the room, people turning their heads to watch as he passed behind their chairs, his staff thumping the floor with every pace. This was one of those moments when, to Lucky’s eye, Thurlock seemed to grow very large. When he entered the open space between the tables lining either side of the room, he slowly walked from one person to the next, meeting each one’s eye and holding it for a moment as he spoke. “The second elephant can be called, for the time being, hostility. I’m sure you’ve all heard about the attack upon the Suth Chiell two days ago, right outside this building on the public green.” He moved to stand in front of his own place at the head table, his towering presence imposing.
