Ithanalin’s Restoration

Chapter Twenty-four

Kelder was waiting on the doorstep. “I see you caught it,” he said.

“Yes,” Kilisha said, relieved to see him still there. “Is my mistress all right? Is everything else still secure?”

“Your mistress is fine,” he said. “And I didn’t see anything else get out.”

“Good.” She looked down at the spriggan clutched in her hand and wished she had some way of confining it-but she didn’t. She stepped inside, set it on the floor, and released it.

Kelder watched as the spriggan promptly ran in circles, frightening the bench and chair. “There was another customer while you were out, but I told her the wizard was indisposed, and she went away,” he said.

“Thank you,” Kilisha said, as she disentangled the leather-and-feathcr device from her hair.

“I really need to go now-but I’ll pass the word about your couch.”

“Thank you,” Kilisha repeated.

For a moment they both hesitated, as if something more was expected but neither of them quite knew what, and then Kelder said, “Well, I’ll come back if I have any news.” He bowed, then backed out the door, turned, and was gone.

Kilisha watched him go, then looked down at the ornament in her hand and decided against restoring it to its customary place. Instead she thrust it into the pouch on her belt, closed the door, ordered the latch to stay closed, then wagged a finger at the spriggan and admonished it, “You stay in this house!”

The spriggan stopped running and stared up at her. “Stay! Stay!” it said, nodding vigorously.

“Good,” she said, as she straightened and marched to the workshop.

Yara was there, peering into the brass bowl. “This looks like overcooked beef gravy,” she said, straightening up. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what it is,” Kilisha admitted. “It’s something Ithanalin had cooking when he was interrupted.”

“Cooking? Don’t you mean brewing?”

Confused, Kilisha said, “Well, something. Heating.”

“You’re sure it’s magic? That Thani wasn’t secretly cooking behind my back?”

Kilisha realized that she wasn’t sure of anything of the sort; Ithanalin might have been cooking, and the magic her athame had detected might have just been a minor protective spell or the like. That would explain why the stuff in the bowl hadn’t done anything magical for two days. Telling Yara that just now, however, did not seem like a good idea. “There was definitely wizardry there, and it chimed once,” she said.

Yara frowned, “Chimed?”

“The bowl rang like a bell without anyone touching it.”

“Ah. Yes, that’s magic.” She nodded, then changed the subject. “You caught the spriggan? That soldier said that that was why you disobeyed my order to stay here.”

“I caught it,” Kilisha said. She was chagrined to realize that in the urgency of pursuit she had completely forgotten Yara’s orders.

“I got your jewelweed,” Yara said. “You didn’t say how much.” She lifted a sack as large as Lirrin.

Kilisha suppressed the urge to say anything about the absurdity of such an amount, or to mention that in fact Ithanalin had had jewelweed on hand all along. Instead she merely said, “Thank you.”

“I told everyone I spoke to that we were looking for the couch,” she said. “Just in case anyone sees it.”

“That’s good,” Kilisha said.

“I told them, too!” Pirra called from the kitchen.

“Good for you!” Kilisha called back.

“Now what?” Yara asked.

“Now I practice Javan’s Restorative, and we hope the couch is found soon.”

“Oh.” Yara hesitated, then asked, “Is it dangerous?”

“Any magic can be dangerous if it’s not done well,” Kilisha said, automatically quoting a statement Ithanalin had made to her countless times in the five years of her apprenticeship.

Yara recognized the words and grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” Kilisha said. “I mean, he’s right when he says that. I don’t think this spell is going to be especially difficult; Istram thought I could do it easily enough.”

“Istram?”

“Yes, he stopped by while you were out.”

“And he didn’t stay for lunch?”

“He’s on Guild business, and couldn’t spare the time.”

Yara frowned. “What sort of Guild business?”

Kilisha hesitated; Yara, despite being Ithanalin’s wife, was no wizard, not a member of the Guild or, at least in theory, privy to its secrets. All the same, this particular affair was hardly secret. “Something about the usurper in Ethshar of the Sands,” she said.

“Oh, I heard everyone talking about that!” Yara said. “Rumors are everywhere.”

“Yes, well, I don’t know any details, but the Guild is studying the situation, and Istram’s helping.”

“Good for him. Well, I hope that when this is all over he’ll come by again and stay a little longer!”

“As you please, Mistress,” Kilisha said, bowing slightly, and wondering whether Yara would be glad to see her come back to visit when she was a wizard in her own right, rather than an apprentice.

That assumed, of course, that she ever did become a wizard- and if she didn’t learn Javan’s Restorative and use it on Ithanalin, that might well never happen.

“I should practice the spell,” she said.

“Of course,” Yara said. “I’ll sec to the children, and bring you something to eat in a bit.”

“Thank you.”

With that Yara withdrew into the kitchen and closed the door.

Kilisha hesitated, glancing at the parlor door. Ordinarily that, too, would be closed while serious magic was being practiced, but she did not want to miss any callers-especially not with the enchanted latch apparently eager to let in anyone who knocked.

And she wanted to keep an eye on the spriggan and the furniture, as well.

The door stayed open, and she turned her attention to the ingredients she would need for the spell. Peacock plumes, incense, water...

First she went through the motions slowly and carefully without drawing her athame or invoking any actual magic, just to get the feel of them. She recited the words until she was comfortable with their rhythms. She handled the ingredients, sensing their magical natures. She lit a candle and set her pan of warm water on a tripod above a charcoal burner, then opened a vent into the chimney so that the charcoal fumes would not poison her. She lit the charcoal and waited until the water began to steam gently.

And when it did she found a stick and snapped it in two, then placed the two pieces on the workbench.

Then, finally, she drew her athame, recited the initial incantation, and lit the block of incense.

She could feel the magic begin to gather almost immediately.

She proceeded slowly and carefully, crushing the jewelweed leaves in her hand and flinging some in the water, others onto the incense, where they flared up briefly before being reduced to flying ash. Smoke and steam and ash rose and thickened, gathering in an increasingly unnatural fashion.

After some forty minutes of this the entire room was thick with smog, and a great opaque cloud of it hung swirling over the workbench. She made the transitional gestures, completed the first chant and began the second, and with her athame clutched in both hands began to cut the cloud into the shape she wanted.

How she knew what shape to make she could not have explained; by this time the magic was as thick as the smoke. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that she could not possibly be breathing the air in the workshop without coughing, probably could not breathe it at all, had the magic not been flowing through her, protecting her and giving her power and guiding her hands.

She trimmed and shaped and shaved the thick gray mist, transforming it from an amorphous blob into something roughly resembling a corkscrew, and the magic was strong and easy...

And the spriggan shrieked happily from somewhere near her right foot, “Oooooh, cloud!”

The athame hesitated, slipped, and suddenly it was just a knife and the vapors were just smoke and steam and she began coughing desperately, waving a hand in front of her face to try to clear the air. She staggered from the workshop into the parlor, gasping. She flung open the front door and sucked in the cleaner air of Wizard Street.

“Awww, cloud gone!” the spriggan said somewhere behind her.

Kilisha, able to breathe once again, bit her lip to keep from screaming.

The spell was ruined and would have to be started over from the beginning-and it could easily have gone wildly wrong, interrupted like that!

It might have gone wrong as it was. it felt as if it had simply dissipated harmlessly, but she couldn’t be absolutely sure.

She looked down at herself, and saw two hands, two feet, her apprentice robe-everything seemed to be normal.

She wasn’t the only one in the house, though. She turned.

The parlor furniture was cowering in the corners; clearly all of it remembered, on some level, what could happen when a spell went wrong.

It all seemed to be there, and undamaged, though. She closed the door, told the latch, “Stay closed,” then made her way back to the workshop.

A look under the sheet reassured her that Ithanalin hadn’t changed; then she proceeded to the kitchen, where she found Yara and the children finishing their lunch.

“What happened?” Telleth asked. “What’s all the smoke?”

“A spell went bad,” Kilisha explained. “That spriggan interrupted me, and I lost control.”

“Did it hurt anything?” Lirrin asked, eyes wide.

“I don’t think so,” Kilisha replied. “I came back here to be sure it hadn’t done anything to any of you.”

“We’re fine,” Yara snapped.

Kilisha, startled by her tone, didn’t reply immediately, but after a moment of gathering her wits she said, “I’ll try again, then.”

“Do you need to fast?” Yara asked.

“No,” Kilisha said.

“Then eat first, and let the place air out. Then try again.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Kilisha said meekly. At Yara’s direction she found bread and cheese and salt pork, and sat at the table. She ate quickly, but even so, by the time she had finished the air in the workshop had cleared, the smoke vanished, leaving no lingering trace.

No natural smoke would have faded away so completely so quickly. Kilisha had not expected even magical smoke to disappear so easily; perhaps having the spell interrupted had something to do with it.

At least no one was waving any tentacles around; she wouldn’t have wanted to have to try to turn a squid back to a human.

She took a deep breath of clean air, then began the spell anew.

Distracted by Yara and lunch, she had forgotten to tell the spriggan not to interrupt. The creature made a few remarks and asked a few questions, but Kilisha simply ignored them, keeping her attention focused on the spell.

At least this way she knew the spriggan wasn’t slipping out of the house and wandering away.

Yara glanced in the door at one point and caught the spriggan climbing on a stool, apparently about to grab for something; she hurried in and snatched the little nuisance up, then carried it into the parlor. Kilisha saw it all from the corner of her eye and was grateful, but refused to let it distract her.

The cloud of smoke and steam formed, ash drifting in the currents and magic thick in the air, and Kilisha shaped it as she knew it had to be shaped, twisting and carving it into a crooked helix that she guided down over the broken stick. Her eyes stung with smoke, and her hair was soaked with sweat and steam, but she could feel the magic all through her, warm and strong, strongest in her hands as she completed the ritual.

The smoke covered the broken stick, hiding it from mortal sight, but Kilisha could sense it, could see it simultaneously broken and intact as if two images were glowing on the bench before her. And then the spell was over, the smoke dissipated with impossible suddenness, and the stick lay unbroken upon the bench. Kilisha pushed hair from her eyes with a smoke-stained, unsteady hand, and smiled down at the stick.

She had done it! She had performed Javan’s Restorative. For the first time, she had learned a new spell without another wizard there to guide her.

She sat down abruptly on the stool, grinning broadly. She loved being a wizard!

As she rested, letting the outside world return to her awareness, Kilisha heard a voice from the parlor-Yara’s voice, talking quietly. Yara must have gone around the outside of the house-or perhaps slipped through the workshop when Kilisha was distracted by the spell. Her attention had been so focused on her magic that that was possible.

For a moment Kilisha sat on the stool, staring happily at the restored stick and feeling pleased with herself, but then she could no longer contain the enthusiasm at her accomplishment that she felt bubbling up inside her. She jumped off the stool, snatched up the stick, and bounced into the parlor to find Yara standing at the front door, talking to someone outside.

“It worked!” Kilisha burst out happily.

Yara turned, startled. “Thani?” she asked.

Much of Kilisha’s good cheer abruptly evaporated. “No, Mistress,” she said. “But I got the restoration spell to work. See?” She held up the stick.

Yara looked at it.

“It’s a stick,” she said.

“Yes, but it was broken, and now it isn’t,” Kilisha explained.

“And this will fix Thani?”

“It should,” Kilisha said. “The mirror thinks it will.”

“But you need the jewelweed and the couch, first?”

“I have the jewelweed, Mistress. All I need is trie couch. And the other furniture, and the spriggan.” She gestured at her surroundings, where the chair and bench appeared to be watching her, the coatrack was pacing back and forth on its tether, and the spriggan was perched atop the end table, dancing from foot to foot as the table rocked back and forth.

“You hear that?” Yara said, turning back to the door. “We just need the couch!”

“We’re looking,” someone replied, and Kilisha recognized Nis-sitha’s voice.

“Well, please keep looking,” Yara said. Then she closed the door and turned to Kilisha. “You can do the spell? You’re sure?”

“Well, I did it once,” Kilisha said. “I think I can do it again.”

“Won’t it be harder putting together so many parts of a living person than just unbreaking a stick?”

“Um...” Kilisha hadn’t thought about that. She remembered how she had had to shape the magical smoke cloud to fit the shape of the pieces and force them back together, then tried to imagine wrapping a cloud around the mirror, the dish, the spoon, the rug, and all the rest....

“Probably,” she admitted.

“Then I think you should practice some more. Keep practicing until we find the couch! I don’t want it going wrong when you try it on my husband.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Kilisha said. She looked down at the stick in her hand, a simple object that had been broken into two simple pieces, and considered how many complicated pieces Ithanalin was in. Then she looked back at Yara and said, “May I have an egg, please?”