Fleeing Peace

by Sherwood Smith

  Diana faked a throw—CJ ducked—and with practiced expertise Diana whirled her cherry-pea patry-bomb underhand, right into CJ’s face, where it connected with a satisfying splorp.

  The fight was on!

  Disgusting pastry fillings flew through the air, ensliming every surface. The Junky smelled of a horrible combination of over-cooked, over-ripe fruits, boiled vegetables, and strange spices.

  The girls wheezed with hilarity as Devon tugged at Liere. “See? See? I told you we’d get to see a real pie fight!”

  Liere didn’t want to say, or even to think, So what?

  At first no one threw any at her. Liere understood those quick glances her way. None of the girls wanted to be the first to attack the Great Sartora. She suspected they didn’t like her the better for the perceived distinction.

  She did not belong here any more than Devon did.

  It was such a chilling, sickening thought. Most people in the world didn’t know or care about you, but what if you met people you wanted to belong to, you should belong to . . . and they didn’t want you?

  It was like betrayal, and yet it wasn’t. There was no rule that said people had to make you one of their group.

  Could she belong? She bent down, picked up a chunk of an avocado-pineapple nightmare that had landed near her foot. She flung it back at the nearest girl—and then wiped her slimy fingers off on Dhana’s back.

  “Whoo?” Dhana yelped, whirling around, and slamming something glutinous right onto Liere’s head.

  Liere gasped. After that she was a target; and she picked up pieces and flung them indiscriminately. Though she didn’t like the nasty feeling of gluey pies, the humor of flinging them began like with a butter-fly wing touch behind her ribs, and when Sherry popped up, huge blue eyes gleaming out of a mask of drippy peace soup, and whapped a mashed potato pie in Liere’s stomach, laughter exploded out of her. It felt like the birth of stars.

  After that, she grabbed pies, and pieces of pies, and then handfuls of goop, throwing it just to be throwing, whether it hit anyone or not. She laughed until she hiccoughed, and finally she fell flat in the mess, arms and legs out, breathing hard, a stream of giggles fizzing as girls slipped, splatted in the mess, tried to get up, and flopped down again.

  Then Faline and Gwen ran and slid in the appalling mess on the floor, fetching up against the stone wall in an oozing tide of multi-colored goo.

  That ended when the mess began to lessen in volume. Liere sat up to watch as the tide of slop diminished and then disintegrated into nothing, leaving only the rumpled rugs, and a scattering of paints and chalks, which Devon swooped on and tidied with quick fingers.

  This was not permanent magic, but something only one step beyond illusion. The thought behind it was so clever, something no one else would never have invented.

  o0o

  Next morning she and Devon woke up to the smells of breakfast. There was an air of expectation. Departure was imminent. The girls were not thinking about Liere’s quest, but about their impending journey.

  “Can I see that dyr thingio?” Gwen asked.

  “Yes.” Liere took it out of its bag.

  Gwen extended a small hand—then snatched it back. “It isn’t going to turn me into a purple mushroom if I think the wrong thing, or something, is it?” Her forehead puckered above her sleepy eyes.

  Liere shook her head. “No. It doesn’t seem to do anything. I don’t know why I have to use it, except as an object to catch the attention of the people I have to disenchant.”

  “It is kinda weird looking,” CJ said, taking it and holding it up to the light of a glowglobe. “Looks like the one Wende had. Remember? Like silver mixed with white stone. Like the palace walls, a little, but more silvery.”

  “Huh,” Irene said, taking it. “It looks to me like it’s melted moonlight.”

  Seshe took it, then passed it quickly. “It makes my head feel odd.”

  “Me, too,” Clair said.

  The girls passed it from hand to hand, giving it back when Faline bellowed, “Breakfast!”

  They sat in a circle to share their last meal.

  Liere’s ribs ached. This emotion was different from the laughter during the pie fight; this ache hurt. I will miss this place the moment I leave.

  “I’m going to fix you a nice fat food-pack,” Seshemerria said to Liere. “Devon said she’d help me.”

  Devon smiled, reminding Liere of a bird about to chirp.

  “You’ll be in good shape for some days, and we’ll also send along some coins for just in case.”

  Conversation was sporadic. Faline made jokes and laughed at her own wit. She also laughed when the others roundly insulted her, Irene with dramatic emphasis.

  Dhana punctured Irene’s persiflage with teases when she got too attention-demanding. Diana was quiet, her dark brown eyes gleaming in the reflected light of the cozy little fire. Seshe ate quickly, then sped into the little kitchen, Sherry and Devon with her.

  Clair sat next to CJ, who joked and laughed, glad at the prospect of action after a long, horrible year of helplessness.

  Clair’s gaze kept coming back to Liere, so skinny and tense, carrying such a terrible burden. Liere had been places, seen things, talked to beings that Clair only knew from maps and books. Was her tension masking boredom? No, that wasn’t right. She wouldn’t be watching the girls so closely if she were bored. And she was watching, very closely. So much so she kept pausing, forgetting to eat.

  “Done!” Irene declared, jumping up.

  Her action functioned as a general signal.

  They helped clean and restack the dishes. Then they ran to get cloaks, or knives, or whatever they wanted to take north. Devon appeared from the kitchen to say good-bye to each girl. They each spoke quite kindly to her, friendly words, jokes, but then they turned away, their minds clearly ahead on their next adventure. It never occurred to any of them that Devon longed to be with them—and when they left, Devon flitted back down the tunnel like a little ghost, saying over her shoulder, “I’ll pack my things.”

  Liere was alone with Clair. She looked at that calm face and asked quickly, “Is there really a spell against growing up?”

  “Well, it’s against the change that makes you an adult,” said Clair. “Your body stays a child. Some of us want that.” Her voice flattened.

  Liere’s nerves tingled. There was pain in Clair’s soft voice. Betrayal.

  Liere sighed. “That’s what I want. I think. I—” She thought of her aunt saying on her ninth birthday, She’s plain as mud now, but you wait. She’ll one day be a beauty, and you’ll make a fine marriage for her.

  Liere had known for some time that she did not want a life like her mother’s life. Now she understood that this was the kind of life she wanted.

  “You can change it back,” Clair said slowly, “if you want. Nothing is forever in light magic unless you want it to be. But you have to make the original spell before the change of puberty, or it’s too late.”

  “Thanks,” Liere said, waiting, wishing Clair would say, And after Siamis is gone, come and live with us.

  But she didn’t. They were a family, and didn’t even know it, or think about it. It just was.

  o0o

  Lina Mellay walked slowly back across the tile floor, thinking over the messages from Clair that had just appeared on the slate in the workroom.

  Hmmm, Lina thought, looking out one of the zillion arched windows at where Gutli, Kitty Marlonen, and some local kids were playing in one of the gardens surrounding the rambling old building. It was good to see the kids playing, after a year of hiding among their own local friends, who had all walked around like zombies.

  Clair has her own reasons for doing things, Lina thought.

  She was still thinking it over when the kids ran in, whooping in protest of a sudden frigid wind sweeping directly in off the sea. Lina glanced out the window at the tossing trees and the early spatters of sleety rain. That would probably keep people inside, which was just
as well, until Lina could figure out what to say to Kitty about being left behind when Clair and the girls had gone north.

  Clair hated gossip, especially negative gossip, and double that about kids. Well, Lina confessed (to herself) she thoroughly enjoyed hearing gossip, though she seldom told anyone besides Gutli, who was silent as a fence. Sometimes, in fact, Clair was so very reserved that she didn’t always make her true feelings clear on what was to be done about a troublesome kid.

  Like now.

  Lina loved being Mayor of the Tornacios. It was an easy job, for there were only a few small villages comprised of fisher-folk or other sea-related professions. It was easy and fun, because lots of wandering kids had been attracted to the Tornacios over the years. It had become a haven for runaways from some of the lands up north—like Ralanor Veleth—where, if you were poor and clanless, the military made you into a soldier or a servant.

  Let them come, let them be wild for a time, Clair had said. It’s better if they do it with rough games here than they think the only choice is to go join up with Norsunder. Most of the kids usually settled down. A few hadn’t. Lina seldom found out what happened to those after they left.

  Lina turned her attention to Gutli, her best friend for a very long time. They sure were pretty to look at, Lina thought: Gutli with her golden coloring and Kyale all silvery.

  Lina grinned. She quite liked being scrawny and freckled and unpretty.

  “It’s great to have the spell gone!” Gutli proclaimed, running up to Lina. “Everyone’s awake again!”

  Kitty looked up, her silvery eyes round. “You said there was a message from Clair. Are we going to have a celebration now that we don’t have to hide anymore?”

  Lina winced, wishing she’d known to keep her lips buttoned.

  Oh well, she has to find out sooner or later, she thought.

  “When they get back,” she said out loud.

  “Get back?” Kitty repeated blankly.

  “C’mon, let’s get some hot chocolate,” Gutli suggested, after a quick look in Lina’s direction. “My fingers and toes are still numb.”

  “Wait. Where’d they go, Lina? Let’s go in and ask Clair on the slate.”

  “They’re already gone. Magic workers are needed to fight Siamis,” Lina said, hoping that that would end it.

  Kitty was rather like a terrier with a rag. “Clair and CJ, sure, but did the others go?”

  “They always go as a group,” Lina said, shrugging. “We’ve got to stay here and make sure things stay safe.”

  Kitty’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned.

  Lina and Gutli had brought Kitty to the Tornacio Islands ostensibly to help see that the people and animals were all right, a job that had stretched out for spring, summer, and autumn. Kitty had been content to stay, knowing that news of her brother would have been conveyed instantly, as the magic slate was something so old it bypassed the Norsundrian wards. She had also enjoyed the advantages of the housekeeping spells that Clair had put over the old, rambling palace left over from centuries before. She wasn’t expected to do unprincessy chores, like at Murial’s, and she had her own room, something impossible in that tiny cottage. She and Lina and Gutli had played day-long games of hide-and-seek and treasure hunt, and Kitty had lorded it over the local kids as the Visiting Princess.

  Now Kitty stiffened all over her small body. “Didn’t they think that my brother has to be up there, chasing Siamis? Who is going to look out for his welfare? Why didn’t they bother to tell me?”

  “Maybe they don’t think Leander is there,” Gutli said practically. “That news was months old. Or they won’t be near him even if he is.”

  “Huh! I could at least find him,” Kitty said, her voice going shrill. “Why didn’t anyone consider that? If Siamis is going north, Leander will, too! Just because they don’t have any brothers . . .”

  “Clair’s gone off to fight villains, Kitty,” Lina said. “How about let’s just wish her well? We can find plenty to do here.”

  Kitty sniffed, whirled around so fast her skirts brushed Lina’s knees, and marched out.

  She didn’t appear at dinner, which was a relief—though no one said so.

  At night, one of the local fishermen came to see Lina. “The little girl with the silver hair,” he said. “I saw her walk right out into the sea and vanish.” He looked worried. “Ought we to search?”

  “Nope,” Lina said, rolling her eyes at Gutli. “She’s got some kind of magic armband she got on another world, that lets her breathe underwater. My guess is, the next place she’ll be found is Bereth Ferian, or whatever shoreline is nearest.”

  When the man was gone, Lina shook her head. “We did our best,” she said. “But she’s gone. I couldn’t think of a way to stop her.”

  Gutli said, “Maybe it’ll turn out for the best.”

  “Hope so. Fonei’s fleas! Let’s get bucketing on our chores!”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Five days’ ride west of Bereth Ferian, Winn watched Arthur stick his head outside the tent flap, then pop back in hastily, rain dripping off his yellow hair. “It’s rolling away south, just like usual,” he declared, wiping the rain off his face with his sleeve.

  “Good. Then we can ride t’night,” Dtheldevor declared as she reached for the second roll on Arthur’s plate. “Roust us some pinch-souls.”

  “Hai! Get your own.” Arthur snapped out his fork and stabbed the roll back.

  “I don’t want to get into any fights with elevens,” Leander said. “I have enough trouble staying on my horse.”

  Winn noticed Senrid Montredaun-An sending a fast look his way, but he let his gaze go diffuse and kept stropping his knife on the whetstone, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, or a thought.

  Leander glanced at the cheese-stuffed roll his hand, stretched out his legs—and winced. “Speaking of which I need a break from horse-riding.” He did not add that he was tired of the eternal rye. That seemed to be what grew up here, and it was in nearly everything. Senrid wouldn’t notice, because in Marloven Hess the good oats were given to the horses, and people ate wheat, barley, and rye.

  “Aw, yer butt’ll toughen up.” Dtheldevor stuck her fingers in the apple tort and scooped up a portion. “Ridin’s the right idee. Then maybe me’n you’ll be almost good enough t’not fall off.”

  She obviously thought it a very good joke, the falls that the two had taken on some spectacularly rough rides. She crammed the pastry in her mouth, then licked her fingers.

  Arthur sat quietly, head bent so all Winn saw was his damp blond head.

  Winn kept his motions steady, trusting that his presence had become background noise again. He liked it that way: made for better observations.

  Evend would not like the next report, he was afraid. Winn had always thought it a mistake to keep Arthur mired up in the palace, studying day and night, instead of learning how to handle himself, but the mages had insisted. The Prince in Bereth Ferian was to be a Scholar King when he took his place as symbolic leader of the federation of northern kingdoms. And of course it made sense if you considered that his so-called kingship had no political power whatsoever. Knowledge, mage-guild alliance, communication between nations whose rulers either practiced or had access to magic: those were to be his concerns.

  But Norsunder could still march in, Winn had pointed out, or Arthur could be kidnapped—again.

  He studied them all now. Leander and Dtheldevor talked, and Arthur, the one forbidden to go on scouting runs, stared at his hands as if he could read something there, and he didn’t like what he read.

  The others never teased him, never referred to it, but Winn could see that Evend’s single constraint was as effective a prison for Arthur as keeping him in the castle.

  It was worse since Senrid came. Not that there was any trouble between the boys. The problem could be seen at a glance: two blond boys sitting side by side, Senrid eating with quick, neat motions, always checking the entrances, as if he would be required to
leave at any moment. Senrid was shorter than Arthur, yet he went on every expedition he could.

  Arthur had to stay behind.

  The tent flap opened, and Faris slid in, shaking drops from her face. “My, it’s brisk out,” she said. “Venn weather!”

  “That’s what ya always say when those storms go down there.” Dtheldevor pointed a broad finger southward.

  “Well, the weather is much worse down there,” Faris said, helping herself to the cider warming on the hearthstones. “The Venn haven’t done anything terrible for ages, but their names still show up in all kinds of curses and nasty comparisons.”

  “We even have ‘em in our own languages, down south,” Leander offered. “Though most people have long since lost the real meaning.”

  “Like?” Arthur asked, looking interested.

  Leander grinned. “The word for a stubborn fool in Marloven, when literally translated, is ‘westdoor’, something so old they slur it and you can’t pick out the words. Ask anyone what it means, and they look at you blankly. It took me a whole year to track it down, but what it means is ‘builds his door on the west.’”

  Dtheldevor rolled her eyes. “And that makes sense?”

  She was just ahead of laughter from the locals. “It would if you knew anything about the Land of the Venn,” Winn said. “There are no doors on the west sides of buildings in the Land, nor windows. All their storms come from the west, unless it’s from the northwest. It has to do with currents.”

  “Rotten storms,” Faris said earnestly. “Dangerous and terrifying. Though they are south of us, we’re protected by a kindly current on the east coast, and they get battered by a horrible one on their west.”

  Dtheldevor slapped her knee, and dust rose. “Huh! That’s new one on me! But I dunno know much about them people. I remember hearin’ ‘bout ‘em, when I first took sail. Me dad was alive then.” Dtheldevor flung her braids back. “Never did get over to that side o’ the continent. Just as well, eh?”

  “They don’t go out empire hunting any more but they are still formidable,” Faris said, wrapping her hands around the ceramic mug.