Rough Magic Read online

  Before I could protest—I felt hurt, although they weren’t really rejecting me—Digger continued. “At the garage I saw a woman who ought to have been out of place there, who ought to have run looking for her own kind with their soft hands and posh voices, but who instead was searching out and valuing otherness. That’s what Captain Gonzales did. He saw aspects of people and situations that everyone else missed, and he got our missions done and us home. In a changing situation like the apocalypse, you hold onto your visionaries to guide you through.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t, though. That was Stella and Mike, and you. Dr. Sayed.”

  No one agreed with me.

  Nils broke the silence. “Is that what she was like at the familiar trials?”

  “Amy saw us as people, not strange creatures,” Istvan said. “I hadn’t considered her insight as visionary.” He eyed Digger. “I should have. I applaud your wisdom.”

  Digger’s shrug dismissed the compliment.

  “I’m not a visionary.” I didn’t want to be any more special. It was bad enough that I had magic when so few humans did. Being exceptional had put me in this situation: responsible for calming a whole planet-worth of magic.

  “It’s not the term I’d have used,” Rory half-agreed with me. He leaned in, and away. He wanted to touch me, hold me and comfort me, and he couldn’t while I was connected to the orb and spindle. “In my old pack, we’d have called you a verity.”

  Istvan blinked. “That is a term I haven’t heard in a very long time.”

  “They called them ‘essentialists’ for a century or so, and then, people forgot them. From what my mom said, people actively strove to forget that packs once had verities. It’s hard to play politics when a verity can test the substance of your claim.”

  He smiled at me. “I’m not being confusing on purpose. I’m tired, my heart, and so, I’m rambling. You are a verity, one who destroys false certainties. It takes a confident pack to prize such a person.”

  “People have always misunderstood the role of visionaries,” Nils said from his place leaning against the wall by the stove. “The legends of the Oracle of the Blind River repeat the same theme. The disappointment of those who sought her out. How they tried to avoid what she foretold. How they failed.”

  He straightened away from the wall. “Assassins are given mentors for our first decade.” He so seldom spoke of his former life on Elysium, when he worked as an assassin, that we all listened intently. Respectfully. “My mentor would recite those legends and complain about the stupidity of consulting an oracle only to ignore her advice. But people always do.” He said the last words directly to me.

  “I’m not an oracle.”

  Nils looked from me to Digger. The two were friends. It shouldn’t be surprising that they viewed the world in a similar manner. “It’s good that you protect her.”

  My hands tightened on the spindle and orb.

  Nils noticed. “Amy, people misunderstand oracles even as they seek them out. Oracles don’t give us certainty. They remove the false certainties that we use as crutches to get through life. Oracles—verities.” He glanced at Rory. “They challenge us to walk unarmored through the world. To walk bravely in our vulnerability. When the world is changing, our instinct is to dig in and hold back that change. An oracle tells us what amid the changes is unnecessary, and even dangerous, to retain. If we persist in old patterns of behavior, then the subsequent disaster is on us.”

  I couldn’t find a response, but Jarod did.

  Intensity had burned away his usual good humor. “I hope you’re wrong. And if you’re not wrong, then you can keep your damned view of Amy to yourself. Digger, you’re an idiot to have shared that opinion.”

  Digger sat very still. Jarod never challenged anyone like this. “Why?”

  “Because you forgot one of the basic lessons in life. People always shoot the messenger. Call Amy an oracle and you put a target on her back. People don’t want hard truths.”

  “The truth is important,” Istvan said. It was his question that Digger had answered. My Faerene magician partner had initiated this disquieting conversation. “You have a human saying. The truth will set you free.”

  Rory couldn’t be still any longer. It was straining his every instinct to stop himself from holding me. I knew it was because I had to lock my muscles to prevent myself leaning into him.

  The orb and spindle and what they were doing mattered more than my emotions. Our emotions.

  Rory growled out the counterargument to Istvan’s platitude. “The truth only sets free those brave enough to pay its price. That’s what Nils’s mentor meant. Typically, people prefer suffering the status quo to bearing the cost of change. We have stories, too.” He looked at Jarod. “Verities die.”

  There was a charged silence.

  Thane coughed. He and Quossa were the only non-family present.

  I was glad Istvan had waited till Nora had gone before he started this discussion. However, I was also puzzled. What had prompted his question?

  In his human form, Rory was shorter than Thane. In his half-form, Rory would match Thane’s size, but the shift would require magic.

  Thane seemed wary of Rory regardless of his size.

  Then, again, while Thane had dragon-sized backup outside, Rory had an assassin who was pack watching everything from the sidelines.

  “Lone voices can be targets,” Thane said carefully. Nils and Rory were far enough apart that he couldn’t face both of them. “But perhaps Amy isn’t alone. I heard that Amy was a human mage, like the others of her kind. But might it be otherwise? Could the human mages all be oracles?”

  The spindle in my left hand felt like it was mine, alone. In the last couple of hours it had become more than a tool for me to use and protect. It felt like an extension of me. I had found it using acua, as Quossa had advised. I turned my head to find the unicorn in the shadows behind Istvan.

  Quossa’s dark brown eyes met mine.

  “Acua, not magic?” I queried him, trying to find a path to understanding the strange reality we were operating in. “Could there be something that’s not quite magic in the ‘knowing’ that is acua?”

  Quossa nodded. He wanted to communicate. It was just difficult without magic.

  “How long do we have to wait to prove that the magic flows are stable?” I wanted to be free of the orb. My arms, shoulders and back ached from holding position touching the orb and spindle.

  “Nora or Chad should return shortly,” Istvan said. “I’ll go meet them.”

  We were waiting on the information they’d bring back. How were the scientists faring outside the bunker? What was the bunker’s status? If the bunker was judged safe to enter, then they had the Fae Council’s permission to start up key equipment to assess magic flows across the globe.

  However, all the data in the world couldn’t predict the future. It could be that as soon as I broke contact with the orb and spindle, the rough magic would return. The Faerene were guessing. Perhaps it was educated guesswork, but nonetheless we lacked guarantees.

  “Get some sleep,” I said after Istvan had left. He was as anxious and restless as any of us. “There are a couple of blankets folded on the bench and the stove has been on long enough for the floor in front of it to have lost its icy chill.”

  Rory didn’t move.

  Digger and Nils did. Their boots stayed on and they used their backpacks as pillows, but at least they lay down.

  I didn’t dare rest my head on the table. If I fell asleep, my hands might slip off the orb or spindle.

  Jarod swung Digger’s chair around and propped his feet on it.

  I gave Rory a wry smile. “You’re not going to sleep, are you?”

  “When you do.”

  We lapsed into silence. I rejected the whole idea of being a visionary. It was a stupid notion. Almost painfully wrong.

  Globally, the first apocalypse had been devastatingly cruel. But living through it had been a different kind of stress to now
. Back then, I hadn’t known what was happening beyond our small Pennsylvanian town. Now, I knew too much. I had an avalanche of knowledge regarding the magical disasters, and consequently, a greater sense of helplessness.

  Maybe this sense of impotence was what had driven people like my father and the human militia to their extreme anti-Faerene position. It struck deep when you moved from knowing and controlling your destiny and that of other people (as officers in the military did, and they were the people who’d formed the core of the new militia) to operating in a fog of unknowns, unsure how to save those who looked to you for protection.

  The night grew colder, and I missed Istvan’s presence beside me. The huge griffin radiated heat.

  Rory stepped over Nils to add wood to the fire. He returned to the table, but not to his chair. He perched his butt against the table to face me. “At dawn, this ends.”

  Quossa snorted.

  “This ends,” my husband repeated. He respected the moratorium on magic use and didn’t shift form. However, his wolf was close to the surface; calculating, possessive and ruthless. “Amy’s arms are aching. You can tell by how she moves them, restless. Pain does that. Her fingers are pale and cramped, and I can’t even touch her to massage them. She needs a hot drink.”

  “I’m human,” Jarod said. “I might be able to take over from her. I don’t get why you didn’t call that second human familiar partner, Chen, here as backup.”

  I blinked my heavy eyelids. That was an astute question. Did the Faerene not trust Chen?

  Quossa lowered his muzzle to his right knee. His silver horn was less dull now than when the rough magic had been at its worst.

  Rory’s grip on the table edge tightened. “Chen broke.”

  My gaze flew from Rory’s hands to his face.

  His eyes were sad, begging forgiveness from me for what wasn’t his fault. “Viola.” The goblin was Chen’s mage partner, as Istvan was mine. We were their familiars. Rory’s voice gentled. Jarod had asked the question, but Rory was answering me. “Viola was healing a child when rough magic flooded one of her spells. The child’s body grew grotesquely.” He hesitated a half-breath. “Fatally.”

  My hands clenched on the spindle and orb. Agony radiated along my muscles, not limited to my arms, but down my back and into my thighs.

  Rory jerked forward, to me, and deliberately settled back. He looked at the door. “Istvan returns. A goblin is with him.”

  “Chad.” I spoke the name of Nora’s second-in-command like a prayer. If the magic flows had steadied across the globe, then I could release the spindle and orb—I hoped. Less selfishly, it meant the Faerene wouldn’t be suffering magic sickness anymore, and the moratorium might be lifted early. “But what happened to Chen?”

  “His magic seems to have vanished,” Rory said. “He’s traumatized. He won’t speak to any Faerene. He’s angry.”

  Thane rumbled into speech. “It’s not safe to have this Chen near the orb.” The guardian of humanity’s orb had spoken.

  I stared at the black orb. Chen might try to destroy it if it was put in his vicinity. I’d never been tempted. The orb held knowledge. Destroying it would be vicious, stupid vandalism. But when you hurt a lot, sometimes you did shameful things.

  The door opened.

  Chad entered with Istvan looming over him. The goblin was wrapped in a blanket over a coat. He stumbled over an edge of the blanket as he beelined for the table and the orb and spindle on it.

  Quossa put his rump in the way, and Chad bounced off his boss’s boss.

  Unfortunately for Chad, he bounced into Istvan who was out of patience. “Sit down.” A paw against Chad’s lower back propelled him past Quossa and onto a chair at the head of the table.

  Meantime, Digger and Nils rose with neat movements that held no suggestion they’d been sleeping. They folded their blankets, placing them on the bench.

  The most interesting person to watch was Thane, who rose to his seven foot height and skirted around Jarod to stand near Chad, close enough to grab the scientist. Thane hadn’t shown that sort of wariness about the rest of us.

  I studied Chad, wondering what Faerene scientists were capable of in terms of reckless behavior for Thane to consider the skinny goblin a threat to the orb.

  Chad ignored Thane as he’d ignored Istvan. He peered at the orb and spindle, tipping his head this way and that. Forgotten, his blanket slid from the chair to the floor.

  In the background, Digger began making tea.

  We all waited for Chad’s report.

  The goblin’s lips pursed. He leaned toward the orb, but his short arms couldn’t reach it. If he attempted to lunge for it, Thane would pick him up bodily.

  Quossa whinnied, demandingly.

  “Oh.” Chad cringed. “My report. Yes…” His gaze slid back to the orb, and on, to the spindle.

  Istvan clacked his beak in disgust and took over reporting duties. “The magic flows were stable around the bunker. Nora ordered it opened. She, Chad and Vila checked it. When it was deemed safe, Vila allowed the other scientists to return. When Chad and I set off back here, they were completing their tests. It seems that the magic flows are steady across the globe.”

  Chad found his voice. “The object you call a spindle is fascinating.”

  “It is a spindle,” Jarod said flatly. Even his good humor had reached its limit.

  “It nullifies oppugnant possibilities.” Chad wriggled in his chair, sliding forward.

  Quossa’s lips peeled back from his strong equine teeth.

  It took me a long moment to realize why. Chad was using magic sight, something Quossa hadn’t approved. The moratorium on magic use was still in operation.

  Finally, Chad paid proper attention to the unicorn who was the Fae Council’s chief scientist. “Sorry. Nora said I should look. It’s fascinating and we mightn’t ever have another opportunity to observe the spindle in action. Nora believes the magic flows will remain steady. She asks that Amy cease using the spindle at two o’clock.” He fumbled in a pocket for a watch.

  Digger had one strapped to his wrist. “Twelve minutes. A narrow margin. You should have reported immediately.”

  “Yes, he should have.” Rory glowered down at the goblin. Then he met my gaze. “Twelve minutes.”

  My arms trembled in anticipation of the relief.

  Chad finally noticed how closely Thane watched him. He inched away from the orc, only to flinch at a snort from Quossa and a flash of light as the unicorn’s silver horn reflected the lamplight. Maybe donning a professional manner gave Chad a sense of security. He cleared his throat. “After an hour, if the magic flows remain steady, Nora will contact Harold and Yngvar via slate with the data from the recorders. It’ll be up to them whether the moratorium is lifted. Nora is decided. She will advise in favor of allowing people their magic once more. The moratorium’s disruption of ordinary life is severe.”

  Thank you, Mr. Obvious. I looked at Digger. “Can we do a countdown to two o’clock?”

  He smiled at me, unstrapped his watch, and put it on the table where I could see it.

  The small gesture made my eyes sting with tired tears.

  A couple of minutes later we all had mugs of tea.

  “Two o’clock,” Rory said.

  I lifted my hands from the spindle and orb.

  Thane clamped a heavy hand on Chad’s shoulder as he, Istvan and Quossa monitored the magic flows in the cookhouse.

  Rory rubbed my arms.

  “Love you,” I whispered to him. Our heads were close together.

  He kissed me fleetingly. “Want some tea? I’ll hold the mug for you.”

  Given the cramps and muscle stiffness, I agreed. The hot drink was wonderful, and we alternated sips.

  “So cute.” Jarod wrinkled his nose at me.

  I wrinkled my nose back.

  “Are you hungry,” Rory asked.

  “No.” I looked at Istvan, and past him, to Quossa and Chad. “Are the magic flows holding steady?”


  “Yes,” Istvan said.

  I yawned before butting my head against Rory’s shoulder. “I swear I will never take bathrooms for granted again.”

  “Toilet trek!” Jarod grabbed a blanket and one of our unlit lamps.

  Thane grinned. “Actually…Daud?”

  “I will watch from out here.” The dragon was clearly audible through the window. “Istvan from in there. No one is to move closer to the orb and spindle.”

  Quossa nodded agreement.

  Thane considered Chad. “Istvan, injure anyone who approaches the orb or spindle.”

  “I won’t,” Chad said peevishly.

  “On that note.” Jarod urged us to the door.

  Rory supported most of my weight as I got my legs moving. When I was steady on my feet, feeling the blood circulating freely, he wrapped a blanket around me shawl fashion.

  Jarod whistled an army marching tune as he led our little parade through the breath-stealingly cold night. “A lot of people have outdoor toilets these days. I will never again complain about cleaning our inside one.”

  “We have two,” Digger said.

  “Well, I might complain about cleaning two.”

  Thane grunted at Jarod’s joking.

  “That’s the odd thing about disasters.” On our return journey, I shared my internal musings, but started halfway through them, which probably confused the others. “You think about the hard things and the heroics, but it’s the small daily things that make life miserable. Like toilet treks in the freezing cold.”

  Daud answered me. “Sometimes simply going on is an act of immense courage. Go in now and warm up. Istvan says the magic flows remain steady.”

  I settled beside my black griffin magician partner.

  He tucked his wing over me.

  Rory rummaged for food. None of us could sleep while we waited to hear whether Nora contacted Harold and Yngvar with good news, and if the two of them would lift the moratorium.

  The slate lay on the table. If it activated, we’d be free of the moratorium—unless Yngvar or Harold was contacting Istvan or Thane with bad news. I didn’t understand the system that underpinned the slates. Apparently, they could be switched on remotely. Yngvar had disabled the system during the moratorium so that no one could be tempted into using the slates to connect with each other via magic.