Wild Magic

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With Ailiki running ahead and back along the top rail, Faan, Dossan, and Ma’teesee walked slowly across the Wood Bridge, Faan brooding over what she’d heard. Halfway over, she shifted the heavy basket to her other arm. “Dossy, Teesee, were your Mums all right? Not sick or anything?”

“Why?” Dossan grabbed her arm. “You know something?”

“You’re joupy as three-legged flea. Shwar’t, Dossy.”

“Shwar’t yourself! 01’ Maumyo drinks and vomits and spews potz all day, he runs a fever but he won’t take anything for it. lb11 me.”

Faan moved across to the rail, set the silver-heavy basket by her feet; she leaned on her forearms and stood gazing down at the dark slow water oiling below. Ailiki came back to balance beside her. “Rey says there’s cholera in the edge. Maumyo probably got it from that straw mule he drinks. Rey said Aboso Shakiyr is getting water to them, so they won’t catch it from the River. He says we’d better wash down good once we get home, dump our clothes in a tub with plenty soap. Teesee?”

“Kiffin’s a pernickety jegger, wouldn’t get near a jug of mule; he makes Mum boil everything and cook it till it’s mush. Actually, you could eat off the floor in his house. Mum even makes me take away my garbage when I come see her.” Ma’teesee leaned over the rail, dropped an apple core into the River. “That stuff is so gungy it doesn’t even splash.”

Dossan was frowning back along the Bridge. “Fa, can’t you DO something? Make HER let the Mums cross.”

Faan rubbed her hand along the ancient wood, smoother than silk from generation after generation of sliding hands. “I tried, Dossy. I yelled at HER till blood come out my nose. SHE doesn’t listen to me. SHE tells me.”

“Fa…” Ma’teesee pushed her hood back, caught her lip in her teeth, pointed. “Thereⁱs a boat coming downRiver. More trouble?”

Faan looked along Ma’teesee’s arm, saw the glimmer of starlight on a sail; Ailiki jumped onto her shoulder and hissed in her ear. “You thinking trouble, too, Liki, my Aili?” As the boat came closer, she saw it was a small one-master like Reyna’s cat that got burned a few months ago. ‘No people in it. “I doubt it. Probably just a River smuggler. Trouble would come on a barge like the General.” She pushed away from the rail, grunted when Ailiki’s hind claws bit through her shirt as the mohsnr jumped down. “Buzzit, Tchi’ka, the Kassian will be worrying about us.”

Dossan went quickly along the Bridge, her head down, worry worry worry, Ma’teesee went after her, glancing uneasily at the River every few steps, talking a steady stream. “Vema vema, look, it’s turning t’ward Southbank, you probably right, Fa, coming down to connect with someone off a coaster. Coomma coomma, Dossy, stop being a snerk. Think about Honker, he’ll give you a rub where it itches. Your Mum? Reyna’ll take care of your Mum.’Sides, Fa says she’s going over tomorrow, she’ll see the Mums get what they need, you’ll do that, huh, Fa?”

Faan shifted the basket again, her eyes on the River. “Vema vema, Thesee, early tomorrow…”

The boat nosed toward one of the wharves, twitching awkwardly, swinging out to go on by because it was moving too fast; it cut across the River toward NorthEdge, then circled back unsteadily, heading for the wharf again.

Abeyhamal took Faan the moment she moved past the Approach Pillars.

The Wild Magic came pouring from the River, swirling in a silver helix around her, a silently screaming mist that she could hear but the others couldn’t. She tried to say something to them, but Abeyhamal wouldn’t let her speak. The god sent her loping down the Gatt Road, Ailiki bounding at her heels, heading for the gat where the boat was trying to tie up.

She trotted out onto the planks and stood watching in enforced silence as the two women climbed from the boat, women wrapped in clumsy gray robes with lengths of cloth bound about their heads and across their faces.

Abeyhamal spoke through her. “Falmaree Penhari Banadah, be welcome, daughter.”

Chapter 22. Abeyhamal Advances Her Queen

Desantro looped the mooring rope over the bitt, pulled the nose of the boat closer to the wharf, and went up the ladder. She knelt on the damp planks and reached down to help Penhari. “Weird,” she said as the older woman came laboriously off the ladder and straightened. “Been raining here. Y’ can smell it.”

Penhari didn’t answer. She was staring past Desantro.

Desantro eased Hahlaz’s knife from the sheath she’d taken off him and turned slowly, keeping the knife behind her.

Mist like cold smoke twisting about her, a girl stood halfway out on the wharf, carrying a basket that dragged on her arm and wearing a heavy black cloak, a small beast beside her, sitting up with black paws folded across a white ruff. The girl was Wascram or slave, too pale for anything else, smooth black hair cut even with her shoulders and something odd about her eyes.

Those eyes changed suddenly into black faceted rounds that glittered in the starlight; mica wings vibrated behind her shoulders. When she spoke, there was an eerie buzz to the words. “Fahnaree Penhari Banadah, be welcome, Daughter.”

Penhari pulled the cloth from her head and stood holding it. “What are you saying?”

“Receive my Blessing, Faithful Daughter. You have come in the proper time to fill a great need. This girl is my Voice and my Focus, follow her.” The overlay faded and the girl was simply a girl again.

Desantro pressed her lips together, took a step back, grimacing as her foot hit a bit of gravel; the scrape was loud as a mule’s bray.

Penhari turned her head. “Desantro?”

“The boat,” Desantro said. “I’d best see about getting rid of it.” She took another step back as she spoke. Half a chance, Geddrin, I’ll plant a hundred trees for you. Let me get out of this and you can ask what you want.

The girl moved impatiently. “Never mind that, it doesn’t matter. Come on, I’ll take you to the ICassian.”

Desantro shifted again. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.” Her hip touched the bitt next the ladder. “Big Bro’s gonna be sniffing after us any minute now.”

The girl shifted the basket on her arm, rubbed absently at the discoloration of her pale flesh. “Verna, vema, I hear you. You don’t want that boat any more, heshal Falmaree?”

“My name is Penhari, child. It’s all I claim these days. No. We don’t want it.”

Desantro stood silent, cursing under her breath; she knew better than to speak up again, to say let me take it down past the bridges and turn it loose to float away. Float away, hall! She’d be in it out of here, if she got the chance.

“My name is Faan. I stopped being a child a long time ago. Step back, please.” The girl whistled, made a sweeping movement of her arm.

The silvery mist swirled faster round her, then swooped at the boat. Round around it spun in a wide flat vortex, then it melted into the water and the boat was gone, not even dust left where it had floated.

“Verna.” Faan drooped wearily; her voice was hoarse. “Will you come now? I’ll take you to the Bee-house.”

Two girls about the same, age as the first came from the shadows and joined them, whispering vigorously, breaking off as they saw Desantro watching them.

With the beast trotting before them, Faan and Penhari walked down the Gatt Road. Desantro followed a step behind, the other two girls beside her, nudging each other and whispering again. One reminded her of the Wharaka she’d seen when she was a child slipping out to play in the moonlit forest, shy dark sprites flitting from tree to tree or dancing in Whara circles in the night mists. The other was an imp with a spray of sunspots across her upturned nose.

The imp whispered furiously with her friend, then edged closer to Desantro. “Is that really the Falmaree?”

“Diyo.” Desantro smiled. “Straight from the Falmatarr.

‘‘Choo-ee.”

Desantro looked around as she walked, beginning to enjoy herself. The smells of damp earth and wet wood weren’t the same, of course, but they did remind her of Whenapoyr. Her mind’s eye saw soaring rough-barked trees as huge and old as the mountains themselves, the whitewater stream that danced down the slope beside the sheep cote, the mountain peaks visible from the porch: Kappawhay the Cloud Breaker, Rawhero the Sun Spear, Whentiaka the Land Guard.

The imp tugged at her arm again. “She going to stay with us?”

“I don’t know.” Desantro shook herself; she’d forgot for a moment where she was.

It was long after moonset; the night was quiet except for the sounds of their feet and occasional irregular drips as leaves shed their burdens into the pools below. The wynds were empty, the windows dark. She thought about falling behind and getting lost in this maze of twisting ways, but it would brand her a runaway and she didn’t think that was a good idea. Penhari promised to get her passage on a ship. She was filled with good intentions, that Mal. Good intentions. Haiti That and six mojus would buy a slug of mule.