Magic of Wind and Mist

by Cassandra Rose Clarke

  Isolfr laughed at me.

  “Shut up,” I said. “You have no idea what’s it like.”

  He went quiet. “That’s true,” he said.

  We watched the flames together, our empty bowls sitting at our feet. I could hardly feel the Shira moving over the water, and part of me wondered if we were moving at all, or if we were just trapped out at sea in a larger ship than the gondola. But the rest of me didn’t care. The rest of me only wanted to watch the flames licking at the alcove, golden and enticing.

  A face appeared in them.

  I recoiled. “Sea and sky, did you see that?”

  Isolfr didn’t answer, just kept staring at the fire.

  “Isolfr!” I grabbed his shoulder to shake him, but he brushed my hand away.

  “Shhhh,” he whispered. “It looks like someone has cast the Flames of Natuze.”

  “What?” I’d never heard that name before. “Do you mean I really did see a—”

  The face appeared again, materializing out of the lines of fire, the flames twisting together to make cheekbones and eye sockets and a strong, pointed noise. It sort of looked like Kolur.

  The eyes opened. Sparks flew out of the alcove and scattered across the floor. I yelped and jumped backward, but Isolfr held his place. And then I became aware of magic shimmering in the room, a blanket of enchantment falling over us both.

  “—Tur?” the face in the flames said. “Is that you?” The voice faded out, faded back in. “—She make it through? Han—”

  “Yes,” Isolfr said. “It’s me. Pjetur.”

  “You look different.” The face pushed out from the flames, and it was Kolur, his features carved out of gold. I stared at him, not knowing what to think.

  “The Flames of Natuze can distort perception,” Isolfr said quickly.

  I shot a glance over at him. He looked different because he looked like Isolfr, not Pjetur. But Kolur seemed to accept this explanation without question.

  “Where’s Hanna?” he said.

  I slid into view of the alcove. “I’m here.”

  “Oh, thank the ancestors.” The flame-Kolur closed his eyes. “Are you both safe?”

  “For now,” Isolfr said.

  The flame-Kolur shimmered. “I can’t hold this for long,” he said. “Frida and I are trying to find a way to get you home. We’re going to Jandanvar at full speed—we think it will be easier there. There’s a group of rebels—outlaws, really—that we’re going to meet with. We think—”

  His voice was fading again, his words turning into the crackle of the flames.

  “—Find you,” he said. “Do not try anything—pid.”

  “What do you want us to do until you can bring us through?” I said, hearing the panic coming through in my voice. “How are we supposed to avoid Lord Foxfollow?”

  Isolfr put his hand on my arm. “Kolur’s gone. That sort of spell between the worlds can never last long.”

  I pulled away from him. He was right. The flames were just flames again.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I asked.

  Isolfr pushed himself back until he was sitting beside me. He didn’t answer for a long time.

  Then he said, “The Shira’s taking us to Llambric. We can find help there.”

  I didn’t like that answer.

  • • •

  A day later, we made landfall.

  The crew let us out of the room shortly before we pulled into port. It was a relief to breathe in the fresh, brisk air, to smell something other than the stale mustiness of being trapped in such a small space. A burly man stayed close to us, though, and he wielded a huge, gleaming ax that he swore he had no intention of using. “Assuming, of course,” he said, “you don’t change my mind.”

  “Oh, we won’t,” Isolfr said.

  The three of us walked to the bow of the ship, where we would be mostly out of the way in the bustle of pulling into port. I wrapped my arms around my chest and watched the land appear on the horizon. Not just land—a city, glimmering in the light.

  “Where are we?” I said, turning to our guard.

  He grunted. “That’s Amkal City. Finest magic port in all of Llambric.” He nodded once, short and definitive.

  Isolfr looked over us, the wind blowing his hair across his face. It kept glinting like flecks of cold. “I’m sorry, did you say Amkal City?”

  “I most certainly did.” Our guard pointed with his ax at the docks spreading themselves across the sea. “I was born and raised right there, on a boat aligned to one of Lord Llambric’s own fishing ships. Fine childhood, it was.”

  Isolfr smiled. “Amkal City. That awful spell was good for something.”

  “Does that name mean something to you?” I said.

  “Perhaps.”

  I sighed, trying to stifle my frustration. I’d have laid into him for keeping secrets, but I didn’t want our guard to hear. And maybe that was why he was keeping secrets in the first place.

  The Shira glided into port. Up close, Amkal City was like no city I had ever seen. The buildings rose tall and spiraling. They were built of stone and glass, and despite the cold air, flowering trees cast drops of color all over the city streets. I could feel the magic wafting off the place, a strange and unfamiliar magic. One that was clearly not human.

  Someone called out to our guard, and he turned, shouted back in a language I didn’t understand.

  “What’s this about Amkal City?” I whispered to Isolfr. “How do you know this place?”

  Before Isolfr could answer, our guard clamped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Captain wants you off first,” he said. “So there’s no chance of you making off with our catch. You understand.”

  “Of course,” Isolfr said primly. I nodded in agreement. Like I even wanted to steal magic from the Mists.

  Another fisherman, different from our guard—younger and skittish and always casting frightened glances at me out of the corner of his eye—led us down the gangplank. The docks were bustling with people. Merchants selling food and women pushing trinkets and jewelry on passersby. We passed a ship unloading barrels glowing with a pale green light that made all the hairs on my arm stand on end.

  “Is that what the Shira was transporting?” I asked Isolfr, pointing.

  “No ma’am,” said the fisherman. “That’s magic from the Isles of Yalisu. Much more dangerous than ocean magic. Unstable.”

  I nodded, grateful when we were clear of the ship.

  The fisherman led us to the end of the dock and gave a quick two-fingered wave. “This is where I leave you,” he said. “No need for kindness now that we’ve made land.” But he hesitated, and his gray eyes flashed. I shivered in spite of myself.

  “Good luck,” he said, and trundled off.

  Isolfr and I stood in the middle of the tumult of the docks.

  “Now what do we do?” I asked him. “Are you going to explain this Amkal City thing to me? And what’s Llambric anyway? Why are you so excited to be here?”

  He didn’t answer, just craned his neck to look down the direction of the main street. I rolled my eyes and turned away from him. The city rushed around us. It wasn’t like any city I’d ever seen, that was true, but at the same time I didn’t feel like I was in another world. The people looked mostly the same, except for their gray eyes, and when they spoke I could understand them. The woman a few feet away was selling fish pies, and she shouted, “Fish pies, fish pies!” like the rhythm of a melody.

  “I know someone who might be able to help us,” he said.

  I turned back to him. He blinked at me, his eyes bright and guileless.

  “What! Who?”

  He hesitated.

  “No secrets, Isolfr. We’re trapped here. And you promised.”

  He sighed. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up. If anything has happened to him since we spoke last—”

  “Tell me now.”

  He paused. The city glimmered and threw off its strange strains of magic.

  “Lands in the
Mists are tied to the nobility,” he finally said, speaking in a low voice. “We’re in the lands of Llambric now. I know that name. A boy, Trystan Llambric—he’s a friend of mine. Or was.”

  I stared at him. “You had a friend from the Mists?”

  Isolfr nodded. “Our families knew each other. He liked to call through the veils between worlds. It was a game. I think he’ll be able to help us. But I know he lives in the countryside, not in a city, so we’ll need to find out how to get to his house.”

  I rubbed at my arms, not out of cold—the fishermen’s lent clothes were quite warm—but out of fear. I didn’t want to place our fates in the hands of someone from the Mists.

  “Can’t we just stay here?” I said.

  Isolfr’s expression darkened. “No. The lands are tied to the various nobility, but Foxfollow has taken them over. For the most part. Trystan would be able to protect us, but even Llambric . . .” His voice faded away. “We need to be careful.”

  Suddenly, the city seemed sinister, and I crowded in close to Isolfr, certain that every face that passed us belonged to some Foxfollow spy.

  “Should we be out on the street then?” I finally said.

  “We don’t have much choice, do we?” Isolfr sighed. “But we do need to find our way to Trystan as soon as possible. He can help us pass through into our world.”

  “What, we can’t just wait for Kolur under this Trystan’s protection?”

  Isolfr scowled. “I’m not waiting for Kolur.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “What sort of magic do you think Kolur’s going to use to pull us through? Do you have any idea how hard it is to move between worlds—especially to move someone else—”

  “You do it!” I snapped. “You took to me to the world between worlds.”

  “Exactly,” Isolfr said. “A liminal space. This is different. This is harder.”

  We glared at each other. The woman sang out fish pies, fish pies and the sound of her voice made my head hurt. We were in a city of people from the Mists. It might remind me of my world, but that was only the surface. Deep down, it was different. It was dangerous.

  But at the same time, I knew Isolfr was right about the sort of magic Kolur might use. And the thought that a spirit might lose its existence, might suffer in pain, just to save me—I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I tried not to think about the gondola, the happy accidents of the Shira finding us floating in the water and bringing us here, to lands owned by someone Isolfr used to know.

  “I’m not going to leave you here,” Isolfr said. “But please don’t be stupid.”

  “How am I being stupid?” I said. “You’re the one wanting to go after some Mists lord who used to contact you as a child.” I stepped away from him and knocked into a woman dressed in elaborate finery, pale gold silk dripping with jewels. She whipped around and pulled her lips back and hissed at me. Her gray eyes bore into mine, looming larger and larger.

  Isolfr stepped between us.

  “Pardon her, madam,” he said with a bow. “She’s a bit simple-minded.”

  The woman hissed again. But then she lifted her skirts and billowed away, giving me one last lingering glare over her shoulder.

  I sucked in a deep breath and covered my face with my hands. My body trembled. A presence moved close to me, and when I dropped my hands, I saw that it was Isolfr, frowning down at me in concern.

  “I trust Trystan,” Isolfr said.

  “Why?” I was still shaking from my encounter with the jewel-dripped, hissing woman.

  Isolfr sighed. He glanced around, his gaze jumpy and nervous. “Let’s get away from the crowd,” he said. “I’ll tell you when we aren’t in such a busy place.”

  I nodded. He made a good point, even if it pained me to admit it. The docks were crowded, swarming with Mists folk. It wasn’t a good place to talk.

  “So where are we going?” I said.

  “Trystan’s lawyer.” Isolfr took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “He handles Trystan’s business in the city. We’ll just have to find him.” He hesitated, then glanced over at me. “Let me do that, though. You give yourself away too easily.”

  “I give myself away because of my dark eyes.” I glared at him. “And your eyes are blue. They know what we are.”

  Isolfr had nothing to say to that, of course. Still, I followed him when he took off down the bustling street. Together, we wove through vendor stalls and clumps of gray-eyed people who sometimes spoke a strange, hissing language that made my blood curdle. To my eye, all these people seemed the same, regardless of the state of their clothing or the way they carried themselves. They were all from the land beyond lands, and I knew that if I cut them, all would bleed light instead of blood.

  But to Isolfr, there was some distinction, because he peered up at folks as we passed them, frowning, like he was trying to make a decision.

  “Just ask someone,” I hissed, poking him in the back. He glared at me. We’d left the docks at that point, and the glass buildings towered around us, throwing off fragments of light.

  Isolfr glared at me. “I’m trying to find the right sort!” he said in a low voice. “You don’t want Foxfollow to know we’re here, do you?”

  We moved on. I wasn’t used to cities, much less Mists cities, and the chatter of voices and clatter of shoes against the cobblestones made my head spin. Every now and then a cart would clank down the street, its driver hollering to clear the way. The crowd would surge to the side, and the cart would rattle past. The carts were never drawn by horses or oxen, but by sleek, moonlight-colored creatures that flickered against the waterfall of light from the buildings. They reminded me of Lord Foxfollow’s monsters, and every time I saw one I’d press close to Isolfr without thinking.

  When I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand it much longer, Isolfr pulled me into a narrow side street tucked between two short stone buildings.

  “There’s no one here!” I cried. “Why didn’t you ask one of those thousands of people out there?”

  “Because I don’t trust them,” Isolfr said.

  “Yes, but we’re not getting anywhere.”

  “That’s what you think.” Isolfr grinned at me. “But I think the protection spell is still working. Look.”

  I peered down the street. A sign jutted out into the alley, swinging on its hinges. MASTER JULIO FORMENTI, LAWYER-IN-SERVICE.

  “It doesn’t say Trystan anywhere on it.” I frowned and looked over at Isolfr. “How do you know this is the right person?”

  “Trystan’s my friend. We were close. I’ve heard him talk about his lawyer before.”

  “How could you be close to someone from the Mists?”

  Isolfr sighed, darted his gaze around. Then he lowered his voice and leaned in close to me. “His family has been engaged in a feud with the House of Foxfollow since before Trystan was born. When he was a boy, his family called on the magic of my family to help them in fighting off Lord Foxfollow. They’re the only noble family who ever openly defied him—all because of some feud that they couldn’t even remember the source of.” He shrugged. “But I know Trystan would never betray us. Family loyalties run deep here. That’s assuming we can find him.”

  Another enemy of Lord Foxfollow’s. I thought of Gillean, how frightened and kind he’d been to me. He was from the Mists, and I’d trusted him. I’d trusted him, and he’d never betrayed me, but he still dragged Foxfollow to the Penelope. Just because he didn’t mean to didn’t change what had happened.

  Of course, Foxfollow only found the Penelope because of my kind-heartedness, because I hadn’t wanted to see Gillean turned into a ghost.

  “Come on,” Isolfr said. “We shouldn’t linger.”

  We went through the door below the sign, stepping into a room that smelled faintly of roses. A gray-haired man sat writing at a wooden desk, and he lifted his face to us as we came in. The air was very still. My heart beat too fast.

  At least the man’s gray eyes didn’t loom large, t
he way Lord Foxfollow’s had.

  “Yes?” he said, setting down his quill.

  “We’re friends of Lord Llambric’s,” said Isolfr.

  The man didn’t move. “You aren’t of this world.”

  Isolfr didn’t say anything, just kind of shrank into himself, as if he didn’t know how to respond. I watched him for a moment, my heart racing, waiting for him to say something.

  The man did the same thing.

  Finally, I took a deep breath and stepped forward, knowing I would have to be the brave one. The man flicked his eyes over to me, which startled me. Still, I was able to find my voice.

  “We aren’t from this world,” I said. “But my friend here, he’s spoken to Lord Llambric.” I gestured with one hand and added, “He’s a wizard.”

  The man frowned.

  That was enough to jar Isolfr into action. “Yes, I’m a wizard,” he said. “Lord Llambric and I had correspondence some years ago—” He straightened his spine and stuck out his chin. “We were great friends. He answered my questions about the ways of the Mists.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you were curious about that,” Mr. Formenti muttered. He picked up his quill and peered at us over the bridge of his nose, not looking remotely approving. “What is it you want, exactly? Understand that I will have to communicate with Lord Llambric before we go any further.”

  “Directions to Llambric Manor,” Isolfr said promptly.

  Mr. Formenti stared at us. I wanted to cringe away from him.

  “Very well,” he said with a sigh, and then he reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. It didn’t look like any parchment I’d ever seen before, though; the surface shimmered and reflected light like a mirror.

  Mr. Formenti dipped his quill into the well sitting in the desk’s corner and began to write.

  I glanced over at Isolfr, wanting to ask what Mr. Formenti was doing, knowing that I shouldn’t. Surely in the Mists they had the capacity to send messages quickly; after all, a wizard could do the same back in Kjora.

  I fidgeted, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Mr. Formenti stopped writing, his quill poised over his paper, his eyes scanning what he had written. Then he looked up at us.