From Blood and Magic

by Dave Skinner

  “You did it, Nails. Are you all right?”

  “I’m starving,” Nails admitted.

  Brayson smiled. “Then let us get you a meal.”

  Nails and Brayson herded the villagers back to their valley. They were all still dazed at first but had recovered by the time the village came into sight. The reunion turned into a party with a simple but substantial meal.

  Chapter 23

  Nails felt good. His encounter with the sirens had been promising; he controlled his magic. His urge to draw their power into him had not been overwhelming, and he was able to feed the magic back into the men through the water. The future held hope for him, and Nails was so relieved that he even enjoyed the woods they had travelled through after leaving the village.

  After six days of easy walking, they had reached the shore of South Lake. Not the actual shore, rather the top of high bluffs that Brayson called the Northshore Cliffs. Nails thought that his woodcraft was much better. Moving quietly was something he could do now; he watched where he placed his feet and hands and tried not to brush against branches or bushes. He wasn’t as good as Brayson, but his ability came from his mother’s people. Nails was looking forward to meeting her, and if the far darrig were anything like the gnomes, their visit would be pleasant.

  “Look, Brayson, small boats,” Nails said as he pointed out across the lake.

  “Fishing boats,” Brayson responded. They were camped at the top of the cliffs for the night, and Brayson was stirring stew in a bark bowl he had made from white birch. Nails was forming smaller bowls using the bark from the same tree.

  “They are probably from Rainbow,” Brayson said. “It is a small fishing village that sits at the base of the cliffs about a half day’s journey back along the road.”

  “When will we reach your mother’s village?”

  “We will reach the ring at Garandal tomorrow. It is a faerie circle, and we can make contact with them there. They move the village around to minimize any damage done to the Mother, but the ring is always there and used as a meeting place.”

  “What exactly is a faerie circle?”

  “It is a special place. The Mother identifies them with a ring of mushrooms. Many of the little-people use them to communicate with her.”

  “I haven’t had mushrooms in forever. They will make a nice meal,” Nails said.

  “Do not touch the mushrooms around the ring,” Brayson replied sternly. “I cannot emphasize that enough, my friend. Step over them when you enter and leave the circle. They are not for eating.”

  When they arrived at the faerie circle the next day, Brayson told him the same thing again, and Nails stepped with exaggerated care over the mushrooms that outlined the ring. They walked to the centre of the circle and dropped their packs. Nails looked around. It was a fair-sized clearing within the trees, about a stone’s throw from the road they had been following. Aside from the mushrooms, it looked like many other clearings they had come across, but Nails could feel the magic it contained. It was like a gentle mist on a hot day. His core stirred and reached out, testing the magic. It tasted like Adel’s, only calmer, without the pain. Brayson sat on the ground and Nails followed his example, pulling his pack over to use as a headrest as he stretched out and closed his eyes. It was a beautiful day to be alive.

  “I am Brayson, Amadella’s son,” he heard his friend announce softly. Nails opened his eyes again. Brayson had his hand raised and a small red-breasted bird was perched on his finger. He was speaking to it. “Please tell her I am here with a friend.” The bird turned its head one way and then the other before it hopped back into the air and flew away.

  Nails was beginning to think about lunch when he heard Brayson stand up. He looked and saw a small woman in a long, red coat stepping into the circle. She walked to them quickly, paused a few steps away, then rushed forward and hugged Brayson.

  “Hello, Mother,” he heard Brayson say.

  Amadella’s head reached as high as Brayson’s chest. On Nails, she would reach his hips, perhaps. Nails could see she was wearing green, silky trousers, a blouse and red leather boots. Her hair was thick and red. Nails suddenly felt jealous of Brayson, and it was such a strange feeling that he gave it some consideration. Amadella was attractive, but why would he feel jealous? It made no sense to him until he realized it was magic. The woman oozed magic. It was the same kind he had felt with the sirens, only not as strong. He remembered Brayson saying that his mother had some siren blood.

  “And who is your companion?” he heard Amadella ask as she turned to him.

  “This is my friend, Nails.”

  Amadella stepped towards him, and he felt his pulse quicken. She reached out a hand which he took gently.

  “I am pleased to meet you,” Nails said.

  “And I, you,” she replied. “I can tell that you are a true friend to my son, so you are welcome here, but keep your magic in check.”

  “Perhaps you can help him with that, Mother. Nails has little knowledge and control of his magic. We are on our way to ask Andoo Toran for help, but anything you could do would be appreciated.”

  “I will have to do a deep reading to evaluate you,” she told Nails. “Would you consent to that?”

  “What is a deep reading?” Nails asked. It sounded painful to him.

  “The far darrig, plus others of the fey such as hobs and leprechauns, can look at a person’s path through life. Your wizards call it destiny. A light reading shows us your intentions only. I have already done that, and I saw that you and Brayson are true friends. A deep reading will show incidents from your past and your future. The Mother’s purpose in bestowing power is not always readily apparent. There could be something in your future that she wants you to accomplish. Sometimes the Mother uses us to help her. We must not do anything that threatens her purpose. We will talk more about this before you make a decision to proceed or not. Now, let us away to the village.”

  Where the far darrigs lived, what they called their village, was a surprise to Nails. All the villages and cities he had visited before didn’t prepare him for it. Similar to Crosstown, there was fabric used in place of walls, but unlike Crosstown, there were no wooden, stone, or branch constructions that supported it. Instead, it was draped over tree branches, and in some cases whole trees, and tied back to allow openings for breezes and people alike. Red was the dominant colour choice, although he saw sections of greens, yellows, browns and oranges as well. Amadella led them to a red house.

  “Welcome home, Brayson. Welcome, Nails,” she said as they entered.

  Her house was under a mid-sized maple tree. Fabric beds and seats, which Brayson told him were called hammocks, hung from the branches, as did the walls. Fabric also formed the floor. Nails felt the cloth after Amadella showed them to the area they would use for sleeping.

  “The far darrigs are clever with fabric,” she informed him. “Ours is stronger, lighter and warmer than anything made by big-people. It is also easier to cast a cleaning spell on. Leprechauns do nice work with theirs also, but far darrig cloth is better. Also, they have a penchant for the colour green while everyone knows red is much nicer.” At that moment, Nails’ stomach growled. “Would you like something to eat?” she asked with a smile.

  “Yes please.”

  Amadella led them to another part of the house which contained a table and chairs made from wood. From a hole in the ground that was lined with cleverly fitted stones, she withdrew cheese, sausage, fruit and pitchers of water and wine. Carved circles of wood served as plates, and clay goblets held their watered wine. They sat at the table, and Amadella questioned Brayson about his life until he had brought her up to date.

  For the next three days, Brayson and Nails visited with his childhood friends while Amadella made arrangements for a deep reading. On the evening of the third day, she explained in detail what happens during the reading, and Nails agreed to give it a try. The next morning, he was told he had to fast until evening in prepa
ration. He wasn’t happy but he did it, and that night the whole village gathered by a large central fire. Amadella directed Nails to sit on a blanket while she and five more far darrigs took positions around him.

  “Drink this, then lie back and relax,” she instructed, presenting him with a mug. “There will be no physical pain. You may see memories from your life. If they are painful, remember they are only memories. They cannot hurt you.”

  Nails did as he was bid. He felt the drink, mint-flavoured with a hint of bitterness, seep throughout his body. A mist spread before his eyes, and swirls of colour floated past. He could hear the six far darrigs around him humming softly. He could smell the smoke from the fire. His mother’s death was the first image that formed, and he experienced a fleeting instance of feeling, like a bad taste. He saw himself as a baby screaming. Images skipped by quickly and then settled for moments of clarity before jumping forward again. Nails understood somehow that the far darrigs were looking for incidents that had shaped him. He followed his life story dispassionately until he realized that scenes he was seeing were unknown to him.

  There was an image of fast-moving water, followed by Brayson with what he thought was a tiny-winged person sitting on his shoulder, a dense bog, his Uncle, Andoo Toran, a large pool of black water, the face of Shawn, Brayson’s half-brother, the largest field of grasses he had ever seen, a mouth full of sharp teeth, a boat floating slowly down a wide river, flashes of strange cities, and then a building. The images came to a stop and then began to proceed slowly again. The building was impressive in its magnitude but associated with a feeling of sickness. Nails saw his hands raised towards the structure. Rage surged through him, and the building collapsed in a wash of death, pain and dust that blocked his sight. The dust cleared, and he was carrying Brayson in his arms. He felt a great sadness but realized it wasn’t part of him. He awoke to see that Amadella was crying. She stood and hurried away. Nails didn’t blame her…his magic was going to kill his best friend.

  They left the next morning. Amadella did not ask them to stay longer, but she presented them with far darrig blankets and filled their pouches with gold and silver coins.

  “To help you reach Andoo Toran,” she said. “Make sure you see him, Nails. Please. What we saw is the most likely path you will follow, but it is not a certainty. There is still time to change it if you can change yourself.” She wrapped her arms around Brayson and held him for a long time. “I will ask the Mother to keep you safe, my son. I hope to see you again.”

  Chapter 24

  Brayson and Nails stood where the coast road split in two directions. For three days, they had followed the shoreline, but now they had to decide on which path to take.

  “My mother said the distances are about the same but going inland is an easier route. The inland road goes to a town called Esterfolk. It is on Ester Lake where the Bonanza River leaves it to continue south. She suggested we buy a boat and travel down through the marshes to the next lake that feeds into the Trade River. That will take us directly into Riverrun South. Reaching Delta from there is simple.”

  “What happens if we continue along the coast road?” Nails asked.

  “We walk to Barterville at the mouth of the Bonanza River and then either find a ship or continue to walk to Marshtown. Delta is close to Marshtown.”

  “You pick,” Nails said. “I don’t care.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Brayson asked. “You have been morose and withdrawn since your deep read. Did you see something upsetting?”

  “I told you,” Nails snapped. “It was a hodge-podge of images that ended badly. It reinforced my belief that my magic must be controlled. I knocked down a building and killed...lots of people.”

  “Okay,” Brayson said. “I know you are frustrated and worried, but don’t take it out on me. I am your friend. We are in this together.”

  “Maybe you would be better off by yourself.”

  “Better off? What does that mean?”

  “Safer. My magic hurts people.”

  “You would never hurt me, Nails.” Brayson studied his friend. “What is bothering you?”

  “Nothing.”

  Brayson knew Nails was lying but decided to leave it for now. Hopefully, Andoo Toran could straighten the whole thing out.

  “We will head towards Esterfolk,” he announced.

  They picked up their packs and were about to start walking when the sound of a wagon reached them. Down the road they had walked came a wagon pulled by a single horse and covered by elaborately carved wood. A man and a woman sat on the driver’s seat. The woman held the reins while the man had one leg resting on the front. The leg was splinted. As the wagon stopped beside them, Brayson saw the face of a young child peering out from between the two adults. Both the man and the woman had their long, black hair tied back in ponytails, and they wore finely stitched leather clothes and knee-high leather boots, except on the man’s injured leg. Brayson knew they were Travellers—woodsmiths by the look of the carving on the wagon.

  “Are you trying to decide a direction?” the man called to them.

  “Decided,” Brayson told them. “We head for Esterfolk.”

  “Glad to hear it,” the man said. “We are headed the same way. Would you consider travelling along with us? We have need of help since I hurt my leg.”

  “What do you think, Nails?”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Good,” the man said. “My name is T’Len. This is my partner, Ta’Bet, and this is our son T’West.”

  “You can call me West,” the boy said.

  “And you must call us Len and Bet.”

  “My name is Brayson, and this is my friend Nails.”

  “Please to meet you both,” Len said. “Climb up on the tailgate and we will be on our way. We should be able to make three turns of the glass before we stop for the night.”

  The back of the wagon, like the front, was open. The boys placed their packs in and hopped up. Once they were settled, Brayson heard Bet make a clicking sound to start the horse moving. Nothing happened. She snapped the reins so that they flicked against the horse’s rump. Movement started, and West came back and sat beside them. Brayson estimated he had reached his fourth or fifth name-day.

  “You are a Cross, right?” he said.

  “West, that is rude,” his mother called back to him.

  “Sorry,” West said. “I have never met a Cross before. I was curious.”

  “No problem,” Brayson told him. “Yes, I am a Cross. My father is from Nadia, and my mother is far darrig.”

  “Have you been to Crosstown?” West asked.

  “Yes, we both visited it a short time ago,” Brayson tried to include Nails in the conversation, but his effort was wasted. Nails sat and stared out the back of the wagon. Brayson was sure he was looking at more than where they had just passed.

  “Is it really made from a live tree?” West asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “How do they make the tree grow into different shapes?”

  “The shapes are made from small branches all woven together.”

  “Did you hear that, Dad? It can be done.”

  “I hear you, Son,” Len called back.

  “How did you learn about Crosstown?” Brayson asked.

  “From a friend in Nadia. We were travelling the north shore and stopped there. She was a Traveller before and likes to hear about home. She told me about it. Your father probably knows her, she is Queen of Nadia.”

  “I believe he mentioned her,” Brayson said.

  “West, get out and walk for a while. You have been inside for too long,” Bet told him. “And do not get too far behind.”

  “I’ll walk with him,” Nails said. “I need the exercise.”

  The two of them slipped off the back of the wagon.

  “You do not look like you need exercise,” Brayson heard West say.

  They pulled into a camping site as dusk was settli
ng. Brayson offered to unharness the horse while Nails helped to set up camp. When the harness was unhooked, he gave the horse some water and then started to rub it down with a brush Len brought over. Len sat on a stump and watched Brayson.

  “You have a way with horses. This girl seems to be ornery at times, but she likes you. We lost our old horse in the accident that broke my leg and bought this one from a farmer.”

  Len recounted how a rockslide had caught them as they were travelling out of the foothills south of Nadia. He had been leading their horse down a steep slope when the footing gave way, both he and the horse had ended up with broken legs. Bet had to walk back to a farming community they had passed the day before. “West and I managed to fix the broken wheel while she was gone.”