Wild Magic

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The Sibyl wrinkles her nose. As things get worse, so does my verse, she says.

She crosses bare feet at the ankles, wiggles her toes. Eleven years gone, she says.

The Land’s drying up and blowing away.

The Lake-That-Never-Fails has fallen from the walls of Gom Corasso, leaving behind a stretch of dead fish and dried mud; the sewer outfalls are visible for the first time in any man’s memory and the city stinks.

The River shrinks, the fishermen net nothing there; they go all the way down to the Koo Bikiyar for their catches these days. They prosper despite this, people still have to eat and fish is about all that’s left that the poor can afford to buy.

Reyna will organize a cadre of Wascrams, women, and Salagaum who carry supplies throughout the Edge, visiting homes, leaving fruit and grain behind.

Juvalgrim will use the gold he wrings from his demon dips to bring in barrels of salt meat, sacks of tubers and grain. He has ordered the Holy Fountain conduits open, the water free to anyone who came to the Cisterns for it. He will work through the Abosoa Order because they live among the people and know the need. The Manassoate will be furious at what they consider a slight; with_. Giza Kutakich spurring them on, the Manassoa kassos will spy on Juvalgrim, complain to the Shinda Prefect, protest the waste to Gom Corasso, do everything they can to sabotage his efforts.

Ai-Ai, she says. This never changes, ephemeras are a constant mix of sweet and sour. What does it matter? What DOES it matter? The end comes and the players switch, the game’s the same.

The Sibyl gazes a long time at the bright irregular round of the cave mouth.

She hears a rock go clattering down the slope, the scramble of feet.

It matters this much, she says. I’ve grown fond of two of these emphemerals. Juvalgrim, diyo. And Faan. This angry imp who’s coming up the path to badger me again and entertain me with her nonsense.-

“You taught me to control wind. Why can’t you teach me rain?”

“I can’t, honey.”

“K’lann! I’m TIRED of that stupid sickly name! I’m Faan. Faan!” She fumed a minute, then calmed, shaking her head so the bright red and green patches of waxed and painted hair swayed like grass in a strong wind. “Why can’t you?”

“Listen to me, Fa. Chumavayal controls the rain.” The Sibyl lifted a hand, let it drop back. “You don’t interfere with god-business, little Sorcerie. Even Thk WakKerrcarr and Settsimaksimin wouldn’t take that on and they’re Primes, the best there is.”

The name Settsimaksimin twitched in Faan’s mind. She blinked, but the faint fragrance that might have been a memory was gone. “Gods!” She chewed on her lip, sighed. “Vema. So what do we do?”

“Search.”

“But…”

“Through the demon worlds, not this.”

“Verna. What do I do?”

– The Sibyl lifted her hands, held them curved a foot apart. She spoke a WORD and a Mirror spread between her palms. “Look and tell me what you see.”

Chapter 8. Juvalgrim, The Demon Worlds, And Various Kinds Of Hunger

Reyna groaned awake as Juvalgrim shook him again. “Wha…”

“Come come, wake up, luv.” Juvalgrim’s hair brushed over Reyna’s torso, tickled his face as the High Kasso of Bairroa Pill bent and kissed him, a light brush of lip on lip, tickled him again as Juvalgrim straightened.

“What time is it?”

Juvalgrim finished lighting the lamp, set the candle aside before he answered. “Midwatch. The moon’s down.” His mouth twitched into a brief smile. “No, luv, it’s not time to go yet. I need you, that’s all.”

Reyna sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed at his eyes, stretched, dropped his hands on his thighs. “I take it you’re not talking about sex this time.”

“Hardly.” Juvalgrim chuckled. “And no pun intended. Come on, Rey. Get dressed.” He walked into the wardrobe that ran along one side of the room; his voice muffled, he added, “You’re the only one I can trust to help me.”

Reyna eased his legs into his trousers, stood and pulled them up, jerked the laces tight and tied them off. He rubbed at his face again, took his shirt off the chair back, shook it out and pulled it over his head. “So what is this about?”

“Open the chest there.” Juvalgrim nodded at the long carved box at the foot of the bed, took a black cloak from the wardrobe, threw it over a chair.

There were three ancient, crumbling leatherbound books in the chest and a newer one resting beside them. “Books?”

Juvalgrim dropped his hand on Reyna’s shoulder, squeezed lightly. “Relics of a time not supposed to exist. Hmm.” He stooped, lifted one of the ancients. “Take a look inside, will you?”

Reyna opened the book, frowned at the marks on the page. “What is this?”

Juvalgrim slid the smaller, newer book into a shoulderbag. “The language of Abeyhamal. I thought you might know it.”

“No. It’s scratchings, that’s all. How…

“Sibyl taught me.”

“Busy, isn’t she.”

“We all do what we must.” He reached for a small darklantern, lit it from the candle, left the slide open. “I’m going to show you some things I learned from those books, Rey. And they aren’t for chit-chat. Not even to Tai.”

“Vema. Do you want me to swear it?”

“No.” He smiled, that sudden glowing smile that never failed to make Reyna’s heart turn over. “You’re not afraid of demons, are you?”

“With Faan living in the house?”

“Ah. I wondered.”

“Sibyl’s teaching her, too.”

“Diyo, I know. Vema, Rey. Keep close to me and don’t talk, hmm? You’ve been through this often enough, you know the drill.” He stepped into the wardrobe again, leaned out after a moment, and beckoned.

Reyna followed the flicker of the lantern, Juvalgrim’s shadow jagging before him; down and down they went, through the narrow passage, a way he knew so well he didn’t bother with light when he came and went-down and down, turning right, turning left, ducking through half-size openings, edging along sections barely wide enough to let him pass, down, and around until the passage suddenly opened out into the volcanic blowtube where he usually left his own lantern. They’d passed from the Camuctarr into the heartstone of Fogomalin.

Juvalgrim bent with the grace that after all these years burned through Reyna each time he saw it, tapped the bronze case of Reyna’s darklantern. The wick was turned so low it put out barely enough light to announce its presence. “Better bring this, luv, I want you to know the way; you probably won’t have to walk it again, but who knows? Keep close to me, hmm? Don’t want you getting lost.”

He was in an odd mood, flippant and defensive, all flash and fragility. Reyna followed silently, growing more nervous with every step he took. He’d seen Juvalgrim like this before, when there was something coming that he found distasteful or frightening for one reason or another, like the last time they were together before the Amrapake was down for the reswearing of fealty, or when the High Kasso in Corasso came to inspect the records and listen to complaints.

They emerged from the winding blowtube into a stone bubble with one side broken open, the break looking straight west toward the Jinocabur Mountains; above those distant peaks The Serpent coiled beside The Lion, the stars brilliant in the cloudless sky. Juvalgrim set the lantern on a ledge of black stone. “Housework first,” he said. He reached into a vertical crack, drew out a pair of twig brooms. “We’ve got to get this floor cleaned off, then set up some candles.” He handed a broom to Reyna. “Push everything out the front, hmm?”

• They worked busily, sweeping a film of dust off the polished black stone. “I thought you left this sort of thing to skivvies,” Reyna said.

Juvalgrim pulled his mouth down, flared his nostrils. “Complaints complaints.” He flourished the broom, sent a pile of dust flying, then cursed amiably as the wind caught the insubstantial particles and blew them back in his face. “I’ll have you know, my skeptical friend, every page learns how to clean before he learns to read.”

The bubble floor was flat, smooth and shiny black, with silver wire inlaid in the stone to form several five pOinted stars, each in its own circle, three small pentagrams in a row along the north wall, a much larger penta in the center with odd convoluted designs scattered about, the silver lines shimmering like trapped starlight.

Reyna raised his brows. “You did this?”

Juvalgrim shook his head. “Not I nor she who wrote those books. I doubt even the Sibyl knows.”

“She?”

“A Kassian. Long time ago. Here.” He thrust his arm into another crack, pulled out an undyed wax candle. “That biggest penta there, put this on one of those points.”

Reyna helped Juvalgrim set up and light the candles, then stood with his hands clasped behind him, waiting for an explanation.

Juvalgrim brushed his hands together, grimaced at the incipient blisters, then dropped abruptly to the stone in the center of the penta. “That’s done, faster with four hands and easier,” he said. “Sit down, Rey, rest your feet. We have to wait till The Plow rises.”

Reyna sat. “I’ve been patient, Ju, you’d have to admit that.” He brushed hair out of his eyes. “What is all this? What are you going to do? And why?”

Juvalgrim turned his head away, stared out of the stone bubble at the night sky. “The treasury is empty, Rey. Nearly. So nearly the difference doesn’t matter. I’ve milked all I can out of the Maulapam and the Biasharim. Didn’t bother with the Cheoshim. They don’t think anything outside their caste is human, not even the Maulapam. The drought’s going to get worse, luv. A year or two and the dying will really start.” He moved his shoulders, his long blue-black hair slipping and sliding, dark as the cloak he no longer wore. The starlight touched his cheekbones, the straight stern line of his nose, the clean curve of his mouth. “I’m no Hero, Rey. But I’m curious, you know. That, and it’s something I can do. Something I seem to… NEED… to do. I’m going fishing for gold, Rey, gold and food for the little ones, the ones you and Tai and the Verakay Bee-house dose and take care of. Fishing among the demon worlds. And you’re going to help me.”

“They’ll burn you. Kutakich will find out and… “

Juvalgrim grimaced. “No. Comes to that, I’m gone. Pfft. Nothing left but meat. I don’t want to think about it. Hmm. Remember the quake we had a few years back? You ought to, Rey, it was that year you got Faan. Wall fell down, those books fell with them, nearly cracked my head for me. After the Sibyl taught me, I read them; they told me what I could do and how to do it. And why I should. If you don’t mind, I’m not going to talk about that.”

“Juva, could you teach Faan… those books…”

“Nayo, luv.” He frowned, moved his shoulders. “I don’t dare… do you understand?”

“Give them to the Sibyl, let her…”

“Rey, sweet Rey, Sibyl doesn’t need the books. If she thought Faan should know, she’d tell her. Chumvey knows what harm I’d do if I got between them.” He scowled down at his hands, his hair falling forward to cloak his face. When he spoke his voice was calm, but Reyna knew better than to interrupt again. “I don’t really need you for the demon bit, Rey, I brought you here so you’d understand. Help me stiffen my backbone, love me a little, hmm? I’m no Hero. I said that. Well, it’s true. Tell me that I’m doing right, that I’m helping where it hurts. Mostly, though, what I want from you and your friends is distribution. You know the Edge. You can get haulers who’ll keep their mouth shut, take the food and pass it out where it’s most needed.

The gold I’d better handle myself, no one’s likely to tunk me on the head for it.”

Reyna sucked in a breath and let it out in a long slow exhalation. “Vema. Whatever I can do…”

“Thanks, luv. I knew you’d agree. Ah! The Bull’s horns are showing. It’s time.” He.jumped to his feet. “Up, up, Rey. Stand in the middle of the star. That one over there. When the silver starts shining, don’t touch the lines with flesh or leather. Got it? Good.”

Reyna hugged his arms across his breasts and watched as a huge insubstantial sphere formed at one of the penta’s points, floated there while images drifted through it, nauseating, terrifying images. Juvalgrim labored on, growling and shrieking sounds that Reyna found obscene and embarrassing.

Juvalgrim’s voice changed, grew harsher, louder.

Blue-green grain poured suddenly from the sphere, spread in a dimpled pile outside the penta, flowed around the penta without entering it.

His voice changed again. Fruit like apples rolled out on the grain.

Another change and coins fell in a golden rain atop the apple’ and the grain.

Another change. Reyna swallowed in sympathy, feeling in his own throat the rasping, tearing syllables.

The sphere went opaque, bulged and warped, shivered in midair, distorted, swirled, suddenly vanished with an absurdly tiny pop.

Juvalgrim opened his throat in a blast of ugly sound that hovered in the stone bubble for an instant, then was gone. He coughed, swallowed. Trembling he lowered himself to the stone and knelt with his shoulders bent, his head hanging. After another moment’s silence, he said hoarsely, “It’s done.”

“Ju…”

“Do you think you could find your way here?”

“From outside?”

“Diyo. Diyo, Rey. You’ll have to. I can’t have this connected to me. It’s too dangerous. Do you understand?”

“Diyo.’’

“Ah luv, I’m too tired to thank you the way I’d like.” Reyna smiled. “Save it up for another night. It won’t go bad for waiting.”