Welcome To The Age of Magic

by C M Raymond et al.

  “We need to go that way.” She lifted an arm to point, gripping the saddle to keep steady. She hadn’t entirely recuperated from last night, and working on Marcus had sapped more of her mental energy.

  “Are you ok?” Marcus caught her as she swayed.

  “Yeah, I’m just… starving?” She’d eaten that morning and shouldn’t be this hungry. Shaking, she rummaged in her bags and pulled out a cloth bag. She crammed a handful of jerky in her mouth, blushing in embarrassment.

  “So, what’s that way?” Marcus asked.

  “People.” The word came out garbled around a mouthful of food. Julianne forced it down and tried again. “I can sense people, or at least a person. It can’t be too far, or I wouldn’t be able to. Not in the state I’m in.”

  Marcus cocked an eyebrow. “And what state is that?”

  Still reeling from the sudden bursts of heat and hunger, Julianne clamped down on her mind. He couldn’t use magic to see her thoughts, but right now, she couldn’t trust a damn thing about herself.

  “I’m just tired.” She slowed her horse and moved to one side, waiting until Danil passed before moving in beside him.

  “Hey, Jules,” he said before she spoke.

  “I thought you were too worn out for magic?” she teased.

  “I am. I can sense you from a mile away, but that has nothing to do with magic.” He smiled, turning his face not quite in her direction. His green eyes were pale in the bright daylight.

  “Danil… how are you feeling? Since you woke up, I mean.”

  He shrugged. “It’s taken a toll on me, for sure. A day without food has given me a beast of an appetite, and a temper to match.”

  “You? A temper?” Julianne laughed. Danil was a rascal, with his sharp wit and a taste for gaming, but she’d never seen him in a foul mood before.

  “I know.” His face looked like a whipped puppy. “I snapped at Garrett for trying to help with my breakfast, then ran poor Bastian off just for asking how I felt one too many times. Truth be told, it was only the second time he’d asked.”

  Julianne winced. “I’ve been feeling a bit… unusual, myself.” She didn’t elaborate and when she glanced over at Danil, he’d sunk into his own thoughts.

  Julianne? Bastian caught her attention and again, she shuffled her place in the line.

  “What is it?” she asked. The base of her skull was now throbbing in time to the slow beat of hooves, and the sun was just a little too hot.

  “I wondered how you were feeling.” Bastian spoke carefully, as if unsure how his words would be received.

  “Bastian, it’s ok. Danil is a bit of a bear this morning. I think he’s just tired.”

  “That’s just it, though.” Bastian’s eyes glinted as if he’d found cake. “You see, I’ve been probing his mind since he woke, yours as well, and there’s something there, Master Julianne. A residue or a feeling, I can’t quite describe it but it’s almost exactly like—”

  She cut off his excited torrent of words. “You were probing my mind? Today?”

  “Um. Yes? I’m sorry, I know the rules outside the Temple are different, I didn’t mean to cause offense.” Bastian’s face turned a deep shade of purple as he tried to backtrack his words.

  “No.” Julianne waved away his concerns. “I’m not angry, just annoyed at myself for not noticing.”

  “That’s just it, though!” Bastian said. “Julianne, what I can feel in your minds is the same feeling I had when I was on your coattails earlier. When you went into Danil’s head, while the memory of the beast-woman still had him and when the same thing was trying to draw you in, that’s still there inside you.”

  Panic rose in her chest and she snapped, “Don’t be stupid. You can’t catch something using mental magic. You’re imagining it.” She bared her teeth at him, heart pounding.

  “See?” he crowed. “You’re doing it now! Reacting like your animal urge is taking over.”

  Her hand gripped her walking staff, still tied to the saddle. Her knuckles were white with the effort.

  “Everything ok up there?” Garrett called from behind.

  Julianne looked down at her hand, still on the staff.

  “Bastian, I…”

  She what? Had been about to attack him for sharing a theory? For frightening her with the idea it may have been right?

  Cocking her head to one side, she realized Bastian was inside it, soothing her panic. He flinched when she noticed him, but she simply watched as he worked. The boy had a sharp mind, that was for sure, and seemed to have an affinity for the emotions.

  Within moments, she was able to slip into a contemplative meditation. She didn’t use magic, instead turning his words over in her head, trying to make sense of them. What she’d said was true—magic was simply a projection of thought. You couldn’t catch a disease, or keep a part of someone’s mind with you.

  And yet, she realized there was a precedent for this. Any mystic who’d worked on a person with mental illness—or after severe trauma—knew it could manifest in the days after. It wasn’t an effect of the magic, not directly.

  However, slipping into a memory of someone watching her husband die a sudden, painful death was just as real to the mystic as it was to the patient. Even though the deceased may be a stranger, for the duration of the spell, it was their husband. Even after disconnecting it could feel like the mystic had just lost a loved one.

  “So, you think it’s a stress-based reaction?” Bastian had been reading her thoughts again.

  “Perhaps. But, now that I’m aware of it, I think there may be more to it.”

  Bastian frowned, not understanding. “Like, a kind of transference?”

  “No. Bastian, when you go back to the Temple, do you think things will be different? Will it feel the same, or will it be smaller, plainer now that you’ve seen the world?”

  “Well,” he began, then paused to chew on the question. “I suppose it won’t be the same. I don’t feel as chafed out here, as stifled. I hadn’t realized I felt that way back home, but now that I’ve really been outside… But I don’t understand how that relates to the remnant, though.”

  Julianne worried at her lip, wondering how to explain. She wanted words for this, as they would have to be recorded later, for research purposes. “The remnant are animals, in the most basic sense of the word. Oh, they're intelligent enough. Clearly, they can speak and plan, they just lack… something. Inhibitions, fear, common sense?”

  She fell silent for a moment, thinking. “They don’t have any responsibility. I, on the other hand, have grown up with it. First while running my parents’ house for them, then as a favored student, now as Master. Expectations, every day. Oh, I don’t mind them, but I’ve often wondered what life is like for someone who has nothing to do with their day but keep a house and milk some cows.”

  “And… you got a taste of that?” Bastian said. His eyes were narrowed, as if trying to glean any extra bit of information he could gather.

  “More than a taste.” Julianne smiled softly, remembering the sensation of wind over a mountaintop. “I imagine it’s similar to what a druid would feel, inhabiting the mind of a bird in flight.”

  Then, the memory of the sensations that started all this came to mind and she kicked her horse forwards, shuttering her mind in case the young mystic tried to read it again.

  “Thank you for talking to me, Bastian,” she called over her shoulder.

  26

  The tiny cottage looked out of place amongst the tall grasses and broken fence. Whitewashed walls gleamed in the afternoon sun and bright flowers lined the windows, beckoning to the tired travelers like honey to a bee.

  They had pushed hard in the early hours, slowing as the terrain thinned and all signs of the cloistered jungle the remnant called home faded.

  Marcus had tried to keep on, but Bette forced a stop for lunch when he swayed in his sleep. The soldier had a seemingly endless amount of fortitude, though. After some food and a fifteen-minute nap, he climbed
astride again and insisted he was fit to go.

  Still, Bette thought, he was only human. Marcus sweated and his normally brown face was white and sickly. How he found the energy to kick his horse into a trot when the tiny farm came into view, she’d never know.

  They approached carefully. All Julianne had been able to tell them is which direction to head. The girl didn’t have much more color than Marcus, and by the way she rubbed her head, a thumping headache, too.

  Bette slid off her horse and handed the reins to Garrett. “I’ll knock,” she said. “So that yer ugly face doesn’t get the door slammed in it. Ye’ll take care of the others?”

  He nodded seriously, and she trusted he understood what she had meant: she would approach the farm, as the less threatening of the two, and he would stay back to protect their charges if anything went wrong.

  The little brass knocker was tarnished but smooth. Bette rapped on the door three times, then reeled back as a barrage of angry barks startled her.

  “Who’s there?” The voice that called out was rasped, but had a strong edge to it.

  “Travelers,” Bette called back, trying to sound friendly. “We seek refuge after days of hard travel through the Madlands.” She didn’t want to admit they had injured people, not yet.

  The door opened a small crack, a glittering chain stretched behind it to stop it opening further. A wrinkled face squinted out, eyes dropping to Bette. “Oh. You’re not with them priests, are you? I won’t have none of that foolery inside my house.” Lower down, a black snout pressed against the opening and growled, teeth bared.

  “Priests? No. We’re just travelers,” Bette answered.

  “From?”

  “Arcadia.” It was close enough, and Bette guessed most outsiders wouldn’t have heard of the Heights. “We came across the Madlands.”

  The door slammed, then opened properly this time. “Mind your manners, Florence. These are guests. Until I say otherwise at least. Hear me?”

  Apparently, Florence was the dog. She dropped her hackles and sat, watching the visitors warily, but content with her mistress’s instructions for now.

  “We apologize for the intrusion,” Bette said. “But we wondered if ye have room fer us to sleep? We’ve injured with us, and just need a day of shelter so we can recover. The barn would be fine.” She had spotted the old building behind the house. It looked weatherproof, if not much more.

  “I’ll be having none of that rubbish. You’ll stay inside, where I can keep an eye on you. I’ll feed you dinner, breakfast, too. The cost is a couple of beds weeded and some shingles on the roof fixed. If you’re needing a second night, there’s a field to be tilled. By hand, mind. Got no horses left and the donkey died last month.”

  Bette nodded. She knew how to hand-till a field and damned if Garrett wouldn’t be helping. “We’d be happy to help.”

  The old woman hobbled inside, her gait as crooked as the hump on her back. “The pale one, is he sick or wounded? I’d be guessing the latter, seeing as where you’ve been and all.”

  “Wounded,” Bette admitted. She quickly eyed the house. Only one water glass on the table, and two of the three dining chairs were covered in dust. The old woman lived alone. Bette motioned the others in. “Is there somewhere we can put our horses?”

  “In the barn. Rub them down, and let them graze in the field out back. The Goddess knows there’s enough there for them to eat, and it could do with some thinning out.

  Bette thanked her and headed out, catching Bastian’s arm on his way in. “I’ll need some help with the horses.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  They took the horses from Garrett and led them into the barn. It was a wide, airy space that sent clouds of dust as the floor was disturbed.

  Bette showed Bastian how to lay out their tack and brush the horses down, a task she and Garrett had taken care of while travelling. A burr on a horse’s back could cause a pile of grief under a saddle, and their mornings on the trail were rushed and disorganized. Here, she would have time to check them over before they rode out again.

  “Did ye get a peek in the old woman’s head?” she asked as they worked.

  “Yes,” Bastian said. “Only a quick one. She has some rudimentary shielding ability, but nothing as strong as a trained magician.”

  “I assume she’s safe, then, or ye wouldn’t be out here.” Bette slapped her horse’s back side, sending it out to munch on the long grass outside before moving to brush down Cloud Dancer.

  “I think so. She seems wary, like there’s trouble she’s not telling us about. She trusts us for some reason, though.”

  “And ye think she’s got some kind of magic?” Bette raised her eyebrows, skeptical.

  “I wouldn't go that far,” Bastian said. “Probably just used to the occasional traveler. Marcus said that’s pretty much the only way through the Madlands without adding another three days to the journey.”

  “Aye, I suppose.” Finished with the second horse, Bette wandered outside.

  She soon spotted the water pump, and an old trough that was still in decent enough shape to hold water. Bucketing water into the trough, she explained the basics of horse care to Bastian. “The water is warm, so the horses can drink. If ye ever feed a horse cold water after a ride like that, it’ll likely be dead by morning.”

  They finished up and Bette insisted they wash before going in, then chastised Bastian for attempting to step inside with his muddy boots still on.

  “This woman has let us into her house, don’t you dare go slopping mud on her floor. And if anyone leaves so much as a plate unwashed, the Bitch will smite ye down and bless ye with an ugly wife, if I don’t get to ye first.”

  “Thank you, young lady. It’s good to see some manners in these parts again. They’ve all but gone by the wayside in recent days.” The old woman wiped her hands on her apron and shook Bette’s hand.

  Bette stole a look around at the room. The old farmhouse had been grand once and was still well looked after, but age had taken its toll.

  “I’m Mariana, but you can call me Annie. Most do. Most don’t deserve to, but that’s another matter. I sent your friends out to wash. Have you eaten a midday meal?”

  Bastian ducked his head self-consciously. “Yes, thank you. We really don’t mean to impose, we can leave some of our supplies behind—”

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that. Since my boys left, the garden’s been serving up more than I can eat. Can you peel potatoes?”

  “Yes, ma’am. In the Temple, I was—”

  “Temple?” Annie interrupted him again. “I thought you said you weren’t no priests.” She narrowed her eyes at Bette.

  “Not priests. Mystics. They have the power of the mind?” She’d heard stories about odd beliefs in the villages across the Madlands, but this woman didn’t even know what a mystic was?

  Annie frowned, then let out a sigh. “Well, you don't talk like them at least. You asked instead of told me you'd be staying. Least you’re not wearing them ridiculous robes. Oh, no offence to you, young man, at least yours are somewhat humble. No, the priests around here like gold in their thread and silk in their britches.” Old timbers creaked as voices filtered through the hallway. “Looks like your friends have finished unpacking.”

  Marcus and Julianne came in and Bette shot them a questioning look.

  “Danil is going to lie down for a little,” she explained. “And Garrett went off to scout the area.”

  Bette nodded and looked to Annie. “Is there somewhere I can stitch up my friend? The wound isn’t too bad, but it’ll at least need cleaning again. I dinna want to poke at it on the road with all those beasts about.”

  “I could do without it being poked at entirely, thanks.” Marcus twisted his mouth into a tired smile.

  “You just sit him at the table here, and I’ll go put some water on to boil.” Annie moved towards the back room, but paused at the door. “Do you have needle and thread?”

  “Aye,” Bette said. “I
just need good light and a wee bit of water.”

  Annie sent Bastian outside to gather some vegetables for their dinner, her instructions echoing loudly from the kitchen. “You do know what beans are, don’t you? Never can tell what they’ve got in these foreign lands.”

  He scurried off with firm instructions not to come back until his bowl was full.

  Marcus stretched back in the wooden chair and closed his eyes. “If I flinch, it’s because I’m tired, right? Not because I’m in pain, or terrified of a tiny little needle like that.” He studied the tool as Bette expertly threaded the eye.

  “What? Big brute like you, fighting out there, and you’re scared of a wee needle?”

  Rather than argue, Marcus just grit his teeth. He didn’t notice when Julianne quietly slipped in, Annie on her heels.

  27

  “So, Annie,” Bette said as she cleaned the wound. “It sounds like ye been having some trouble in these parts. Some people in fancy robes?” She shot a look at Julianne, who stayed silent but leaned in to listen.

  The mystic’s eyes, however, were on Marcus’s stretched, muscular torso. Bette wondered if her tongue was about to fall on the ground. She shook her head, then carefully pierced Marcus with the needle. He tensed and sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Yes, that’s right. Moved in a few months ago, they did. A whole tribe of them, and their prissed up leader in his jewels and finery.”

  “What did their robes look like?” Julianne asked.

  At her voice, Marcus’s eyes shot open. With a weak smile, he glanced once at the strand of thread pulled out from his side, and closed them again, suddenly still and quiet.

  “Blue, with golden trims and pretty gems on their buttons. Funny little sun shape on the sleeves, I guess because of the name they gave themselves.”