by Lisa Lowell
“How can I help?” she asked, desperate for some way to be of service.
“Help? You are doing more than you know. You are mastering magic very quickly and keeping their spy in check. It's more than Owailion or I can do right now. We are waiting for the hammer to fall and preparing. You are already fighting. Do not fret for us. Your battles will come.”
“Very well. Here is the map. I've replaced it with a simple blank piece of parchment. Tell me when you have a false map or at least can read what he has created.”
And with that she threw the rolled up scroll with her mind, following the echoing magic of the King of Mountains.
“I've got it, my…” and he interrupted himself before he added the word that would make it an endearment. Instead he finished awkwardly, “I'll tell you when I've broken his spell. Sleep well.”
Chapter 11 – Lines Crossed
Vamilion looked at the roll in his lap but didn't really see it. Instead he wondered at the strength of the connection he felt for Gailin despite the distance he had maintained. He almost slipped there. And his desire to strangle Drake felt more powerful than it ever had when the snake had only threatened himself. Now that Gailin was the target, Vamilion found himself seeking for reasons to pound the sorcerer to dust. If he already felt so protective for a lady who really had probably more skill at defeating the snake than even he did, how far had he come? He cared for her more than he wanted to admit. And he was angry for her sake as well, at Owailion even. This was not a good position to be in if he were going to last for another twenty years or so until Paget died. How was he going to endure? Maybe if the stress of defending Gailin and the Land were to ease and he could go back to being a sculptor? Perhaps if Gailin were off doing typical Seeking things without being in constant danger of being commanded to die, he would feel less of a compulsion toward her.
Or maybe not. Maybe he was doomed no matter that he had never seen Gailin nor spoken with her in person. And maybe the world would stop spinning too. Anything was possible, but this compulsion was only going to grow stronger and twenty or more years were not going to be easy.
To distract himself, Vamilion unrolled the parchment and began to study what might be there. He tasted the magic with a mental touch, seeking the root of the spell on the page. Like the ley lines, he could sense something there despite his eyes seeing nothing. He brushed his roughened hands over the paper and recognized the outline of the Land under his seeking fingers, but the frequency of certain lines seemed different than he knew. As the most skilled cartographer especially in ley lines in the Land, he knew his own work when he felt it and Drake had utilized his original drawings somehow. Had copies of his original geologic surveys made it to other lands? If so, how? And how was he going to see what intentionally had been hidden.
Vamilion decided not to try to force the magical ink to appear but instead thought of his experiments with iron and lodestones. He knew iron filings reacted to the magnetic pull of a lodestone and would congregate in grooves where the density of any substance had grown thicker because of pressure, even the slight pressure of a pen. Could he get the iron dust to settle in the lines of this parchment and cling there?
With the distraction of a challenge, Vamilion began conjuring. First he created a deeper shelf in the mountainside so he could work more comfortably. He had been sleeping in a tent up here on the ridge, but this work required more precision than clinging to a mountainside would allow. Then he enlarged his tent and crafted a table and chair so he could work on a flat surface. For better light he conjured a miner's lantern and set to work. Lumps of shale held down the curling corners of the map. A bottle of the finest iron filings appeared in his hand and he poured a small portion into his palm. He had never actually done this and had to use magic to make the finest dusting fall evenly across the parchment. With a gentle breath he blew the filings into the air above the map and then let gravity take over.
When the dust settled and he felt he had an even coating, invisible to the naked eye, Vamilion conjured his lodestone. The slightly gray haze that had fallen onto the parchment began to shift and shimmer as he passed the loadstone under the table. Like true magic instead of physics, the filings danced and trembled, straining to get out of the lines into which they had fallen. They marched like soldiers, upright in all the lines that spider-webbed across the paper. And much to his surprise, there were more lines than he ever thought; at least double. He looked at the paper with wonder. Out of curiosity he reached out his mind and scooped up the map that remained in his study in the palace in the east so he could compare the two.
As his personal map arrived he had to admit his own map of ley lines was almost worthless in comparison. For every line he had drawn he saw two others that crossed in graceful arcs. These extra lines might be shorter but far more prolific. Obviously Vamilion had not followed every lead when he had drawn his ley line map. With the shorter lines he saw on Drake's map, Vamilion most likely had followed the stronger pull and ignored a shallower nudge. Indeed, most of the new lines intersected or crossed with his original larger ones. Well, he thought, this was worth exploring and he might do so if he didn't have responsibility for stopping an invasion and worry for a Queen to occupy his thoughts. Maybe he could investigate with those twenty plus years he had until Paget passed.
Vamilion felt disgusted for even thinking about Paget's death with anticipation. That was wrong and he knew it. Instead of chiding himself, however, he conjured himself a separate colored stylus to mark the additional lines onto his first map and then made another copy for Owailion who would also find it of interest. Now all he had to worry over was how to help Gailin with the map. Should they give the original map back to the snake and he would never know they had it? Or could they use the loss of the map to be the challenge against him, inciting the battle that would ensue and result in finally killing the despicable sorcerer?
Undecided, Vamilion sent an extra copy to Owailion. He would wait until night to speak again with Gailin to decide how he was going to deal with the new revelation about the ley lines, and the danger there. Most alarmingly, one of the newly discovered lines dipped deeply into the plains, and Gailin would come dangerously close soon.
Unfortunately, life had other plans for him.
* * *
In the middle of the night she felt a gentle nudge and at first Gailin thought Vamilion must be getting back to her about the map. But there were no words coming with the awakening. Drake's hand was in its customary place, and while he was practically draped all across her, he was also sound asleep so he could not be the source of the prompting. The sky above her remained pitch black, but the mist across the grasses spoke of dawn approaching and perhaps the first sign that fall would descend soon. The fog seemed to dance, calling to her to walk.
Greatly daring, Gailin wriggled out from under Drake's hand and set it gently on the imprint of where she'd been laying and stood up. Once on her feet the starlight lit the mist for her, showing her the way down a shallow gully north of their camp and she knew she must follow the path. It felt like one of those compulsions Vamilion had left with the book. However, she had left the book behind in the camp, knowing Drake would find nothing in it of worth to him; just drawings of herbs and anatomy. She could have resisted this prompting to follow the mist but now was a perfect time so she waded into the grasses, guided by a fog bank.
Once in the gully the mist had gathered so thickly that she could not see the night above her head and she might be on another planet for all she could make out in the murk. The prompting nudged her down the path of the dry wash that probably had been cut only by summer thunderstorms. No stones tripped her but a few sparse, desperate attempts at trees pushed out of the ground, hardly more than bushes and she had to weave her way through them before she reached where the mist prompted her to go.
Then she saw a light within the fog. It didn't seem to have any one source but appeared as if the mist itself began to glow just a bit farther down the path. S
he approached cautiously, suspicious of a trick, but the clarity of the light and ease of the compulsion reassured her. She wasn't being driven against her will. The glowing grew so intense she felt blinded and didn't dare step closer until she studied out the situation. She stopped and considered all she had learned about magic. The light and the prompting meant she should be here, but she found herself blocked until she understood what the magic demanded of her.
She thought of the veil over the well of souls in her dream, how it stretched and yet had resisted breaking until she pierced through the material, yet it had all been metaphorical. This veil of nothingness required her to break through with magic of her own. Perhaps this brightness was much the same and she needed to break through. Without hesitation Gailin conjured a scalpel and reached forward, cutting the light with a swift stroke. Where her weapon passed, a lavender gash in the mist appeared. Gailin followed her instinct and carefully reached her hand into the fissure she had caused. The mist burned her skin like alcohol in a cut but the smell of lavender permeated the early morning and she refused to flinch back from the pain.
Then her reaching hand felt something solid within the fog bank. A smooth cylinder, cool to the touch, but not metallic and she grasped it, pulling it free from the opening in the light. Much to her surprise she had withdrawn a thick white candle. It had no dripping marks to indicate it had ever been used and its size made it almost too cumbersome to grasp with one hand. The obviously magical hiding of it assured her that it was meant for her, but she had never seen anything less exceptional unless the sheer size of the candle was magical as well.
What had Vamilion said about certain Talismans hidden all over the Land? Could this be one of them? If so, what did it do? She was, after all, a Seeking Queen and had been given a mandate to master her magic, finding these Talismans and eventually become Seated in a grand palace somewhere here in the Land. Oddly enough this was the first indication she had that the Land still expected her to be something other than Drake's victim.
The thought of him waking without knowing where she was spurred Gailin to action. She couldn't put the candle in her pocket like the Heart Stone and expect it to go unnoticed, so without thinking, she wove an invisibility over it and then imagined up a bag at her back where she could hide things such as her book, the Heart Stone and now this candle so that no one would know it was there. She put the candle in the bag, slung it over her shoulder and then began tramping out of the mist the way she had come. By the time she reached the top of the swell, the mist had faded and dawn was coming, burning away any trace of where she had been.
Unfortunately Drake was awake when she returned. He sat in the trampled grass of their camp waiting for her with a strange gleam in his eye, half anger, and half curiosity. While it wasn't uncommon for her to leave, most often to use the privy or to gather grain for breakfast, he always knew when she had left. Before she reached his side, she conjured the expected gleanings into her pocket and came into camp as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She broke out the pot as if she were going to make their porridge and looked at him in surprise when he didn't start up the fire as was his custom.
“Where were you?” he demanded.
Rather than tell him the truth, she brought water into the pot and replied, “Where do you expect I was? The morning was beautiful with the mist. We might be coming into the fall. We need to reach a village before the weather turns.”
Drake still did not respond as expected. “You left me,” he accused.
“You were safe,” she reminded him. “We are coming back to the mountains and there might be some ley lines there.”
“Let me see,” he replied coldly and Gailin abruptly realized her mistake. He held up the roll of parchment that he had been hiding behind his back. His anger bristled, showing her his sharpened teeth like his forked tongue. He had discovered her replacement map. Gailin felt the drip of fear down her throat but before she could react, he invoked name magic.
“Gailin, you will not call for help. Gailin, you will not use magic on me. Gailin, you will not move.” His words came so quickly she could not react in time. Instead she froze where she stood, eyes wide in alarm.
“Why?” she gasped, as if she were ignorant of his motives. “I've done nothing but help you.”
Drake rose from his seat and came toward her, slapping the useless parchment into his shaking palm. Slowly he circled around her and seductively drew the tip of the scroll around her neck like a knife. She managed to swallow. “You are a magician,” he whispered. “You have powers. Why should I trust you?”
“I cannot lie to you,” she replied, “but I have no way to prove it to you.”
This surprised him and he stopped circling her. The offending parchment disappeared and he placed his hand against her throat and his face so close to hers that she would have backed up if she were able. He leaned in and kissed her violently, his hands groping all over her body and her mind screamed in horror. He was going to rape her right there. But then abruptly he stepped back.
“Gailin, look at yourself,” he commanded.
Her head regained enough control that she was able to look down and saw something even more amazing than any of the magic she had witnessed up until that time. Running all down her body she wore a lavender silk gown embroidered with silver lilies. Over the diamond and silver embellishments she wore a steel baldric from which hung a crystal quiver and white fletched arrows. She looked down the flowing sleeves that almost brushed the ground and found she also held a silver bow in one hand and in the other, the candle she had just found.
“Now Gailin, tell me why I should trust you. You are a Wise One,” Drake snapped even as he stood back to admire the effect of her mysterious change.
“Which means I cannot lie. It's impossible. I've tried,” in despair she replied. Oh, please, Vamilion, now would be a wonderful time for you to call me and give back the map, she thought privately though she still could not send the thought out with any magic.
Drake began his pacing around her again, treading on the skirt that flowed out behind her like water. “It seems you are right, you cannot lie. You see, this is a truth spell I've put on you. Your appearance is as you truly are. I see lilies and diamonds but nothing to indicate where your power is focused. The mountain king is obvious when he changes…but not you. What is your power? Gailin, tell me.”
With a sigh she replied. “I am the Queen of Healing. I basically told you that already. My gift is for understanding how the human body works and how to heal it.”
“Hummm, not as impressive as mountains, I fear,” Drake's voice drawled. His confidence and arrogance was back. Perhaps they had traveled close enough to a ley line that he could draw from that now. “No, the others are more intimidating. You are too delicate and frail. They must not think much of your power if they will allow you to come alone out here with one such as me.”
Gailin felt none of the envy in her fellow Wise Ones like Drake implied. Indeed, she barely knew Vamilion and had only brief comments from Owailion so Drake's stab at her lack of powers did nothing to raise her jealousy. Perhaps as a Wise One she could not truly feel envy toward her peers. Instead the fear of her capture brought out a stubborn bold anger at her predicament.
“What do you look like in a truth spell?” she snapped back, letting anger come out rather than her fear. Accordingly he slipped his hand back around her throat and began squeezing.
“You don't want to know,” he replied frankly in a hiss that reminded her of the tongue she had often seen flicking between his teeth when she wasn't thinking about it. “But it might reassure you to learn that I don't want to kill you. I could slaughter you with a word, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” she whispered with what little breath she could gather. She wanted to keep him engaged because speaking with him meant he wasn't doing other things to her and time was on her side. Vamilion would check in, or perhaps Owailion and they would hear the alarm in her mind and know she needed their help.
“Do you know what I want from you?” he asked, easing his hand slightly and drew her face toward his ever so slightly. As if her stoic glare released something in him, her appearance went back to her simple dress and apron. It made her feel more capable of fighting him despite the fact that she had not regained her ability to move. It put them back on their formerly equal level.
“Gailin, you will bear me a son.”
The slamming weight of name magic came thundering down on her like an avalanche and she staggered despite the prohibition to moving. His hand on her neck kept her upright. She writhed in her head, hoping for a way to escape although such a long term directive seemed impossible to fulfill. Why would he want a son? He cared for nothing; not her, not the Land, not himself except for the magic he could wield. Gailin could only think of one motive he had.
“To pass on the magic?” she asked frankly, swallowing carefully against his sticky hand over her trachea, ready to cut off her air once again.
“Who better? The magic of the Wise Ones is the most formidable in all the world but until now it has come only to the Land and only to males. We thought maybe there would be no more female Wise Ones but now I have the evidence. My colleagues will allow my seed to be the experiment to see if we can breed the most powerful magicians the world has known. And you will be mine, won't you Gailin?” It wasn't a question, but a factual statement. He knew he had won.
“You know that even with name magic, I might not be able to bear a child. And any child might be a girl. It might not…” he squeezed her voice off and she stopped before she could point out the many things that made his goal beyond her control.
