A Sword in the Sun

by Shannon Page

  Local æthernet? I wondered, but set that aside for the moment. “I found a couple of machines labeled with their name back in the United States. Their function…confused me a bit, and there was no one I could ask. I need to know specifically what those machines do, and how they do it; and I need to be fairly quiet about finding this out.”

  Her fingers danced in the air; golden letters flashed into and out of view. She frowned as she worked—in concentration, or something more? Finally, she turned back to me, letting the spell vanish. “I’m finding an unusual number of blockages in the information path. Where in the United States? And can you tell me anything more specific about the machines?”

  In for a penny…“Berkeley,” I told her. “The University of California campus. One of them was tall and skinny and had what looked like a bell jar at its top.”

  “The Enchin Aberra?”

  “Yes, that was it.”

  Her fingers moved again. Her frown deepened. No, this wasn’t just concentration. “The blockages are active,” she said, as the letters blinked out again. “Grand Laurel discourages virtual research and keeps shutting down my inquiries. I’m really sorry.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, though I was afraid I knew.

  “You’re going to have to go to Zchellenin. It’s not far—several well-established ley lines go there. I can give you a map.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’d planned to go there anyway, but I wanted to know a little more before just showing up on their doorstep. It’s…sensitive.”

  “Yes, so you mentioned.”

  “About Zchellenin…” I paused, trying to find the words. “Will I find it…as welcoming there as Balszt?”

  The librarian shook her head. “Probably not. Though it’s perfectly safe.”

  “Safe?”

  “Yes. Visiting witches rarely get pulled into the struggles.”

  The Iron Rose. “What, exactly, are the struggles about?”

  “Do you not have warlocks at home?”

  I looked at her. Was that a hint of a smile? “So, it’s just a warlock power struggle?”

  She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You did not hear this here, but that’s exactly what it is. For all the useful things that warlocks do for us, they do ten things that are worthless at best and harmful at worst.” She glanced at my baby and her smile grew. “Granted, the good things they give us are very good indeed.”

  Except that no warlock had given me this child…“What are they fighting about? Does anyone even know?”

  “I think they sense the world changing and their relevance fading. It makes them grip harder, scream louder to preserve the old ways, to hang onto their control. How long have you been here?”

  “Not even a day yet. But, it’s not at all what I’d expected. It’s even warm.”

  “See, that’s just what I mean,” she said, growing exasperated. “A witch did that, not a warlock.”

  “Did what?”

  “The weather! It was a witch climatologist who figured out how to adjust the flow of the winds and keep the temperature stable.”

  “Wow.”

  “But do you ever hear about that in the new world? No, of course not! All the news that makes it overseas is about how backward we are here, how dangerous the Old Country is, how traditional. And it’s just warlocks, warlocks, warlocks—as if well over half of the population didn’t matter!” She rolled her eyes, and then gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, don’t get me started. It’s just, this stuff bugs me to pieces.”

  “I can see that,” I said, “and I don’t blame you a bit. Plenty of what goes on in San Francisco bugs me too.” And isn’t that putting it mildly. “Plenty of what warlocks get up to, specifically.”

  She reached a hand over the counter and made a fist. “Solidarity, sister.”

  I fist-bumped her back. “Solidarity.”

  “Well, that was fascinating, and not at all what I expected,” I said to my little group, as we sat at a fancy restaurant table after all, waiting for our second dinner to arrive.

  My infant and my cat did not answer me. My golem said, “Yes, Mistress Callie.”

  I sipped a cocktail that was entirely different from the one I’d had at the hotel this afternoon, yet just as delightful. What I really needed to do was steal an Old Country bartender and bring her home to work at Rose’s Bar.

  “Not yours,” I said to my daughter, whose eyes found mine just as I thought the name. “Rose Elvinstone owns a lovely little bar back home, which I will take you to when you’re of age.” I thought about the witchlets at the coven house drinking Witch’s Mead on Samhain, and amended that to, “or on special occasions. But not while you’re still nursing. Blessed Mother.”

  I’m sure she hadn’t read my mind, and I’m equally sure she didn’t give me a sly or knowing smile in response. Anyway, she started blowing spit-bubbles again and lolling her eyes around.

  She was just an infant.

  The food came. Sadly, this chef was not an empath, so I’d had to make my own selections off the menu. I did a pretty good job, though.

  I was going to have to steal a chef as well as a bartender.

  — CHAPTER SEVENTEEN —

  I was tempted to head for Zchellenin that very night, but despite all the feasting and napping, we were still not recovered from our lengthy journey. So, being the only one with both a brain and the power of speech, I made the executive decision that we would stay twenty-four more hours in lovely Balszt, and leave for the small town the following night.

  Not that any of my companions seemed disappointed with my decision. It gave us more time to enjoy the city, and the very comfortable (if tiny) hotel room back at The Majestic. The witch behind the front desk had finally gone off shift; her replacement was equally charming, and even chattier. When she learned where I was from, she informed me that the hotel had a sister property in San Francisco.

  “You’re kidding!” I said.

  “Not at all. It’s on Sutter Street, at Gough.”

  I thought a moment. “I know that hotel! I had no idea it was witchkind.”

  She smiled. “Humans are allowed to stay there.”

  “I’ll be sure to stop in and say hi when I get home,” I told her. “And tell them what a nice time I’ve had here.”

  “Please do. Tell them Guinevere says hello.”

  The next day flew by. Even though I told myself I was not here on vacation, it was hard not to let myself forget, for a time, why I was here, and just explore the wonderful strangeness of the place.

  But as I touristed around, I also thought about what the librarian had told me about the Iron Rose, and about warlocks in general. It sure seemed to be a witches’ world here.

  I wondered how long this situation would last. It didn’t seem entirely…stable.

  It seemed like the kind of thing that could lead a morally challenged, old, powerful warlock to lash out against witchkind. To steal power from witches…even while pretending to heal them, pretending to hunt down and punish whoever might be preying on them.

  To be fair, there were a few warlocks in Gregorio’s basement of horrors.

  But not very many.

  Near midnight on my second day there, we regretfully checked out of The Majestic and prepared to hit the road—or, rather, the ley line. The desk clerk from my first day, Magrit, was back on the job. “We will keep your room for you until you leave the country,” she assured me, even though I told her I was unsure of my exact plans. She wouldn’t hear of my protests. “We have plenty of space, and the capacity to squeeze more if we need it. But this is a slower time of year, so please don’t give it another thought.”

  I couldn’t dissuade her, so I stopped trying. “Thank you,” I said, and took my leave.

  We could have traveled straight to Zchellenin’s main square in one uninterrupted jump, and it wouldn’t have taken more than a half-hour, but I wanted to arrive far more quietly. So we took a few hours, emerging in a dark patch of woo
ds a short walk from the outskirts of the town.

  I stood there, baby strapped to my chest, golem and cat beside me, as I let my magic take the measure of the place.

  It was dark here, certainly darker than the capital had been. And I don’t just mean the absence of streetlights. There was a sad, ugly feeling to the very trees, the soil they grew in, the heavy, damp air around me that smelled of something stale and foul.

  “Mistress Callie,” Petrana said softly. “There is different magic here.”

  “I am feeling that,” I told her, just as quietly. At my feet, I could sense Elnor’s fur standing on end, even though I couldn’t quite see it. “Does anyone have any ideas about the specifics?” I asked, because why not? Petrana had surprised me before.

  Rosemary reached out her tiny hands and grabbed at my shirt, as if she wanted to nurse. “Not now, sweetie,” I whispered to her. But she kept grabbing, and soon had hold of my braid, which had somehow migrated over my shoulder where she could reach it, though there was no wind.

  I gently pulled the braid out of her hands. She didn’t want to let go. “Ba-ba-ba,” she said. If I didn’t know better, I would swear she sounded cross.

  “Now is not the time to decide to learn how to cry,” I told her, patting her soft head, bouncing gently on the balls of my feet and rocking back and forth, trying to soothe her. “Come on, gang, let’s walk.”

  I started through the trees in the direction of the village, picking my way slowly over the fallen leaves, trying to make as little noise as possible. Petrana followed; Elnor stuck close. We passed a darkened cottage. I didn’t dare send out my senses to see if anyone was inside. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t looking for a cottage; I was headed for Grand Laurel Merenoc.

  The librarian’s directions had put the manufactory in the center of town, with offices adjacent to it, on a large piece of land with several outbuildings and storage sheds. It was clearly the village’s main industry. What had Logan’s parents done for jobs, when they lived here the first time? Had they worked for the company, or done something else?

  It pained me to realize how little I knew of my best friend’s family history. Of course, her parents had disappeared when we were barely teenagers. I’d only met them a few times, and they were as interesting as any parents are, to a teenager: not at all.

  And then they had come back and settled here once more. In a cottage on the outskirts of town…perhaps one like the darkened one I’d just passed. Perhaps even that very one.

  I shivered and told myself it didn’t matter. I knew where their bodies were. It was their souls I was trying to track down now.

  And everyone else’s.

  At last, I saw a soft glowing light through the trees, and then another. I slowed, making doubly sure I was not detected. I passed a corral for horses (uninhabited for the night, but the smell made its function clear), and a barn, then a few small houses. The deer trail I’d been following widened into a people-path, then something like a road. It was mostly dirt, with stray cobblestones here and there—more impediment than anything else, I thought.

  I was in Zchellenin.

  I followed the road past more houses and barns, then what might have been an inn in happier days. And then I reached the central square. It was as gloomy as Balszt’s was vibrant; not a soul was out.

  On the other side of the square was a large, squat building of dark stone. A small painted sign over its door read Grand Laurel Merenoc.

  “Here we are,” I whispered to my companions.

  We walked across the square, my boots clicking on the flat paving stones. There were three steps leading up to a set of double doors. Just as I was wondering how to petition for entrance—I didn’t see a door knocker or bell pull or anything—the left-hand door swung open.

  A tall warlock stood there, wearing traditional dark robes—the kind our Elders wore when they were trying to be fancy or solemn or impressive. “Greetings, Calendula Isadora,” he said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  My heart beat fast in my chest. Rose pulled on my braid again, having somehow gotten her hand back around it. “You have me at a disadvantage,” I managed.

  He cracked the faintest of smiles; it was gone in an instant. “I am Dr. Mar. Please come in.”

  I wanted to go inside, I was here to go inside, I’d come all the way to the Old Country specifically so I could go inside, but…“You were expecting me? How?”

  That smile flickered again, vanishing just as fast. “Dr. Andromedus sent word that you would be along.”

  I didn’t fall over or pass out or anything. Rosemary yanked on my braid again; I untangled her hand once more, absently, as my mind raced. “I…I hadn’t mentioned to him that I was coming here,” I finally said.

  Dr. Mar’s smile hung around a little longer this time. “Just so. Do please come in, the night is cold.”

  Was it a trap? Well, if it was, it was already too late. I swallowed the anxious lump in my throat and took a step forward. Petrana took a step as well.

  Dr. Mar put up an age-spotted hand. “Just you, Calendula Isadora.”

  “Wait, what? No, we’re all together.”

  He shook his head. “Creatures of unnatural magic are not permitted within the walls of Grand Laurel Merenoc. Nor are witches’ pets, nor minors. You may leave them all outside. I imagine the creature can take charge of the infant while we conduct our business.”

  What business did he think I had here, anyway? I was not looking forward to finding out. “I can leave the golem, but my familiar and my daughter stay with me.” Why did warlocks have to be such assholes? He knew perfectly well what witches’ cats were for. And he wanted to separate a mother from a newborn?

  “Then I must bid you a good evening.” He turned with a sweep of his ostentatious robes and started to close the door.

  “Wait!” I cried.

  He paused. “Yes?”

  I thought fast. “I just have some questions. Can’t we come in for a few minutes—do you have a lobby or something?” A place where we won’t sully your precious manufactory?

  “No.”

  The door closed, and we were alone in the night again.

  I sat down heavily on the steps and removed Rose’s fingers from my braid yet again. “Well,” I said to my companions. “That went well.”

  Petrana walked down the steps, turned, and looked at me. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I have to think.”

  “Dr. Mar knows we’re all still here,” she pointed out.

  I nodded, the lump in my throat swelling, threatening to overwhelm me. “Yeah, and he knew I was coming—because somehow Gregorio figured it out and got word to him—and he’s probably listening to our conversation right now, and you know what? I don’t care!” I practically yelled, as if into an overhead speaker. “I’m tired of fighting so hard. I’m not some kind of international spy! I’m just a witch who wanted to make some actual decisions about her own actual life, and I’m tired of getting punished for it. I’m tired of trying so hard to get everything right, to be so careful, to keep all the secrets, to cover my tracks—only to find out it was all wasted effort anyway. I’m just tired!” I was on the verge of tears, frustrated and stymied, at the end of my rope. “I don’t even know what Gregorio wants from me,” I went on, in a lower tone, to my golem. “Here I thought I was so clever, and he probably knew that, um, we’d found that, uh, stuff in Berkeley all along.” But just in case he didn’t know literally everything—or who I’d been with—it was probably smarter not to blurt it all out on the very doorstep of Grand Laurel Merenoc. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I just don’t know,” I wound down, and finally gave up trying to hold back the tears.

  As I wept, Rose made little cooing sounds against my breast, and Elnor came and nudged her head against my legs, rubbing against me. Even Petrana stepped forward, somewhat stiffly, and patted my arm. It was really sweet, and not a little weird.

  Eventually, my tears ran their course. I wip
ed my eyes with my sleeve, getting some snot on my nose.

  “I still don’t know what to do,” I said.

  And that was the moment when my daughter sent me her first coherent mind-communication. Strong, I received, as clear as if she’d spoken aloud.

  I gasped and pulled back, staring at her. Her dark eyes gazed back at me, still slightly unfocused. “Did you just…”

  Strong, I got again.

  “Oh, sweetie,” I said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “You smart, sweet, wonderful witchlet! You do speak!” I hadn’t even realized how much I hadn’t wanted to let myself worry about her lack of communication…I knew that not every witchlet or baby warlock communicated with their mother in the womb, but most of them did. And certainly, I’d never heard of one not “speaking” once she was born.

  Of course, she was half-human, and Gregorio had made much of how weak she was going to be…but the relief poured through me all the same.

  “Good girl!” I murmured, rocking her as we sat on the cold stone steps.

  Petrana, bless her little mud-brain, didn’t look curious or confused at all. “Rosemary just sent a mind-thought to me,” I told her, anyway.

  “That is good news, Mistress Callie.”

  “It is. It is indeed.”

  I still didn’t really wish she’d start crying…but that would be another sign of normalcy. Well, one thing at a time.

  I got to my feet and brushed off the back of my snake-pants. “Well, I guess we ought to—”

  Behind me, the door opened again.

  I whirled around, ready to give Dr. Mar a piece of my mind, but a young warlock stood there instead. He looked to be hardly into his twenties, though of course, it was impossible to know for sure. His robes were like a junior, starter-version of Dr. Mar’s, and the power I could feel from him when I gave a reflexive, gentle probe was much less than that of the old warlock.

  “Calendula Isadora?” he asked, almost timidly.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Dr. Spinnaker. I, um, Dr. Mar sent me to answer your questions.”