Rough Magic Page 3

  “The orb communicated the information the Fae Council sought—the details of the bathumas’ lifecycle and habits, and that the best method of killing them is long-range, metal weapons.” Istvan paused his dictation. When it came to the bathumas, the orb hadn’t really told them more than what Nora and her scientific team could have discovered in a relatively short time. However, the orb’s other revelation of Earth’s hidden dangers made the activation of the orb justifiable.

  “The ancient human mages locked away their magic because of the bathumas who preyed on them, but the pattern in which they secured Earth’s magic, with quintessences at cardinal star points, also caused another unknown magical creature to sleep. The human mages mourned the loss of their djinn, the thunder shadows.”

  Unlike with the bathumas, humans had retained the memory of the djinn, although the truth of them had become twisted. The djinn weren’t tricksters. They weren’t even sentient. What they were was magic moving across the land and becoming other. And by other the human mages had meant anything from a rock form to a tree or, most difficult of all, an animal.

  Magic as a physical, active, independent entity. When the Faerene on other worlds heard of this via the world-viewers, there would be an outcry. They wouldn’t believe it. But here on Earth, Istvan and the other Earth Faerene didn’t have a choice. They had to prepare to confront the djinn. Thunder shadows was a good name for them. It captured the confounding reality of something that confused every sense.

  The ancient human mages also spoke of acua, the third eye, and of pursuing transcendence, moksha. Istvan’s voice deepened as he repeated the orb’s mention of a world spindle. “The communication from the orb assumed that it had been discovered and activated as a result of locating the world spindle. When the message embedded in the outer layer of the orb concluded with the words, possibly intended as a blessing, that ‘To you, children of our hope, we release our magic’, the ancients expected the unleashed flows of magic to wind around the world spindle. We must find it.”

  Istvan finished dictating. He checked that the recording had copied to Rory and Radka, then closed the slate. He shook out his wings in relief that the effort of monitoring and continually adjusting the magic channeling through him and into the slate could cease.

  The ancient mages hadn’t expected the lock on magic to last the millennia it had. Even if the Faerene located the object the ancients called a world spindle, there was no guarantee that it could cope with the force of long pent up magic running wild.

  Some powers, once unleashed, had to be allowed to run their course.

  His tail lashed as he thought of the djinn. If they grew outsize from the feral magic, what chaos might they cause?

  Quossa had been present for the same communication from the ancients that Istvan had just recounted. The unicorn wanted to learn more from the orb, and for that he needed Amy and, due to her bond with Istvan, him as well. They needed the knowledge of the ancient human mages, how they’d understood and used magic, and the conceptual framework they’d employed to lock away their magic while leaving it capable of being unlocked by their descendants.

  “Istvan?” Amy ventured out of the cookhouse. “Harold’s broadcast is about to begin.” She saw him duck toward the slate and darted to it. “I can carry that.”

  Without magic, his dexterity was less than hers. He could rend and tear better than her, but the fine work of crafting and carrying became difficult for his beak and claws.

  She hugged the slate to her with one hand, while patting him with the other.

  He recognized her request for reassurance in the gesture. He allowed no one else in the universe the intimacy of little pats. Griffins preened one another. He stroked his sharp beak along the side of her face, valuing her trust which let her find comfort in the lethal natural weapon caressing her.

  Then, again, she had happily fallen in love with and mated a werewolf. Amy had a unique reaction to certain dangers—she failed to see them. She saw the person, instead. It was why she’d adjusted so readily to living among the Faerene, while the other human familiars had struggled and lost their magic. Amy saw people; not creatures, strangers or threats.

  “We’re in this together,” he said, and was rewarded by the sudden brightness of her smile.

  She touched his beak. “Yes.”

  Their moment of shared peace shattered as they entered the cookhouse.

  Nora had returned to the bunker twenty minutes ago. Istvan had watched her departure without interrupting his dictation.

  Inside the cookhouse, either Amy or Quossa had propped a slate on the counter and kept it in place with a heavy cutting board.

  Harold’s voice emerged from it. “We are not facing an extinction level threat.”

  Amy crossed silently to the stove and picked up a pot. She brought it to a bench and mouthed to Istvan, “Your tea.” She’d been keeping it warm for him.

  He dipped his beak in out of courtesy. The hot drink was welcome, but his focus was on Harold’s official broadcast.

  In his Fae King role, Harold was impressive. He outlined the situation simply and decisively; first the problem, then the immediate response required of everyone. “We have, however, discovered that the Migration was founded on false data. Incomplete data.” The deliberate correction emphasized the information. “Far from Earth being a magical paradise untouched by magic use, the stable global pattern of magic flows was due to human mages.”

  Quossa managed the magic channeling into the slate. On Civitas, someone would be doing the same for Harold’s broadcast. And hopefully, around the world enough people would be managing their slate’s magic that the broadcast’s information would disseminate swiftly and accurately.

  Harold briefly recapped the existence of ancient human mages, the discovery of the orb, and the Fae Council’s decision to activate it to learn more about the bathumas and other potential threats. He shared the possible re-emergence of the djinn, and wound up with an exhortation for everyone to make smart choices.

  “Limit your use of magic. When you do use it, monitor and manage the flow carefully. I will update you on our progress in stabilizing Earth’s magic flows in twenty four hours.”

  The broadcast ended.

  “There’s our deadline.” Quossa switched off the slate. “Harold and the others on the Fae Council require a minimum of two hours to consider our response and what Harold is to communicate.”

  “Has the magic settled at all?” Amy asked. “Initially, inside the bunker I felt the roughness of it, but that sensation has faded. I haven’t tried to see with magic sight. Should I?”

  “No.” Istvan drank the rest of his tea. “I’m affected by the rough magic, even when not using it. I imagine all Faerene are. You are fortunate if you’re not feeling it.”

  In silence, the three of them contemplated the situation. He suspected that Amy worried about Rory and the others in Justice.

  For himself, he wondered what solution they could find.

  They all stared at the basket with the orb inside it. It occupied the center of the table.

  “The bunker is precariously stable,” Quossa said. “Nora has returned to it to add her efforts to simultaneously regularizing the magic flowing into it, and cataloguing and analyzing disaster reports to identify patterns.” He snorted. “It’s bad.”

  Amy took a shuddering breath. “These are my notes on what I remember the orb said. I think we activated it in the wrong order. It mentioned a world spindle. I think we were meant to find that first, and have it lead us—or prompt us—to search out the orb. I’ve heard of spindles.” She gestured vaguely, hands pulling apart from one another. “Spinning wool. Spinning magic? Do Faerene spin magic?”

  “Only in legends,” Quossa said. He and Istvan exchanged a look. “Legends from the same near-mythical era as tales of familiars.”

  Perhaps Faerene and humans had shared more of the path of magic and its development than either had believed. The orb might hold insights into the evo
lution of Faerene magic. Before scientific curiosity could be indulged, however, they had to bring the feral magic under control.

  They needed the world spindle.

  Istvan checked that Quossa was on the same page as him. “The bunker scientists will assess the situation from the Faerene perspective. We have to learn more about the world spindle and how the ancients locked away their magic, and locked Earth’s magic into an enduring pattern at the same time.”

  Quossa agreed. “Our focus is the orb. We need the knowledge it holds. However, with the magic flows unstable we must handle it cautiously. Istvan, if you can activate the orb via your bond with Amy, that’s our best strategy for maintaining a steady flow of magic into and around it. If you can’t, if it requires Amy, as a human, to keep it active, then we’ll have to trial how you manage her.”

  “I’ll record what I see,” Amy said quietly. “Nora left me a journal.” The leather-bound notebook sat at the end of the table nearest the stove.

  Quossa tossed his head in a unicorn’s gesture of dismissal. For him, Amy was a tool to be used, not an active agent in resolving the disaster of rough magic. “I will take notes and maintain a memory charm. If you are refreshed, Istvan, shall we begin?”

  Istvan finished the last of his tea and picked up the pot by its handle to return it to the sink before repositioning to face the table. “I’m ready.”

  Chapter 3

  Quossa’s gray ears were pricked with interest, and possibly, with some alarm as he stood at the head of the table in the cookhouse. The length of the table ran the width of the building at its western end. With Quossa at the head of it, where there was room for his unicorn body, and me at the foot of the table nearest the warmth of the stove, Istvan had the length of the table nearest to the door all to himself. If the two griffins breathed in and snuggled, Nora could fit beside him when she returned.

  “Amy, as the person with hands, can you unwrap the orb, please?” Quossa instructed.

  Each of us has our talents, I thought wryly. As unwilling as Quossa was to risk me manipulating the orb magically, when it came to small tasks to be done without magic, hands had an advantage. Many of the Faerene, and not just unicorns and griffins, would be facing that problem if we couldn’t stabilize the magic flows for them to use magic normally.

  I sidestepped around the corner of the table so that I brushed against Istvan as I reached for the basket that held the orb. I dragged it from the center of the table and picked up the cloth wrapped bundle inside. The orb was the size of a large grapefruit and about as heavy. It was the weight of all it represented, both trouble and hope, that burdened us. Or burdened me.

  Istvan’s magic had knotted the cloth tightly. I picked at the knot till it loosened and I could open the bundle to view the orb on its blue cushion.

  I stared a moment at humanity’s pearl. That was what Xi, the kraken who’d brought it to Istvan and me, had called it: a pearl.

  The kraken, a reclusive, aquatic people of the Faerene, had their own pearls.

  Looking at humanity’s pearl, as black and iridescent as an oil slick, I recalled Xi’s secret history lesson that he’d shared with Istvan, Rory and me.

  An ancient kraken pearl existed, hidden away in the oceans of Elysium. Each generation of kraken added a layer of knowledge to it, and shared in the collective knowledge that it physically embodied. When kraken joined a Faerene migration to another world, a copy of the original pearl went with them.

  The pearls contained a treasury of magical knowledge.

  Before the other peoples of the Faerene had evolved institutions and practices for harnessing magical power, the kraken had chosen to forego much of the use of magic, and to hide their abilities. They made themselves lesser in the eyes of others. Most Faerene considered them slightly dull-witted cousins. Even the other aquatic people of the Faerene, the sea nymphs, had little to do with the kraken.

  With few sea nymphs joining this Migration, the kraken had Earth’s oceans almost to themselves.

  Xi had trusted Istvan and me with humanity’s pearl because we were the most successful pairing of a human mage and a Faerene magician. Only one other pair had bonded and retained the human mage’s magic, and that was Chen and the goblin healer, Violet. Given Istvan’s role as magistrate and his reputation for balanced judgment and courage, Xi had chosen us to hold the pearl and to decide whether to hide or reveal it.

  Could Xi advise us on how to search it for the knowledge we sought? What did the kraken know that I didn’t even know to ask?

  “If you take your seat, Amy, I’ll try this without a physical connection between us first. That would be most efficient. Lacking that we could try touch or your blood, again.” Istvan’s voice was kind, but focused. He wasn’t thinking of consulting Xi.

  I’d ask him, later. We’d promised to keep the kraken’s pearls a secret, but there had to be a way to consult Xi in private.

  Or maybe we wouldn’t need to.

  Humanity’s pearl shimmered and a layer of knowledge opened to me. Looking at Istvan’s and Quossa’s intent expressions, they shared the experience.

  I opened the journal to the fifth page and began taking notes. When I concentrated, I could “see” the magic that Istvan channeled through me steadily into the orb. That magic lifted layers of the orb, searching through it. To my magic sight, which wasn’t exactly “seeing” as much as my mind interpreting something unknowable into familiar terms, the magic flows resembled transparent silver threads.

  Istvan worked with great delicacy.

  “It’s been an hour,” Quossa said. “Can you deactivate the orb?”

  “Yes.” Istvan did so, and ceased channeling magic through me.

  The silver threads that had been cording into a rope between the orb and me fell away slowly. Magic once again flowed neutrally around the orb.

  I didn’t feel any different, although I did shake out my hand which had cramped from writing. I swept the pile of pencil shavings from the table to burn in the stove. Night had descended unnoticed. The orb had provided us with light to see and work by. Now there was only moonlight through the windows and the flicker of firelight from the stove.

  Istvan used his beak to nudge the cushion with the orb on it back to the relative safety of the center of the table.

  “It’s early for a meal,” Quossa said. “Let’s compare and confirm our information.”

  “I’m interested to hear it.” Nora walked in. “I didn’t want to interrupt. You look exhausted, Istvan.”

  Her own feathers drooped.

  I’d found candles earlier and a spill to light them with. I lit it from the stove and cupped my hand around it while I brought it to the first candlewick. I watched the tentative flame strengthen before lighting the second candle. We were lucky to have them. Faerene were accustomed to relying on mage lamps for illumination.

  “I’ll make tea.” I’d left a couple of kettles of water simmering on the stove. Months of living without modern technology at the farm in Apfall Hill had taught me the value of hot water when it wasn’t available for the turning on of a tap or zapping a mugful in a microwave.

  “None for me,” Quossa said. “Excuse me a moment.” He and Nora moved around so that he could exit and she could approach the table and the orb.

  Through the window I saw the unicorn drinking from a stone trough. He tried to hide it, but he was exhausted, too. Worry and concentration could do that to a person.

  “Have you eaten?” Istvan asked Nora. “I’ll compare notes briefly with Quossa, then I’m going hunting.”

  Nora looked at the supplies she’d brought us earlier.

  I’d left them stacked on a bench by the sink. Until I knew how long we’d be here, tidying everything into cupboards seemed pointless.

  “There’s a haunch of smoked venison in there,” she told Istvan.

  “Have you eaten?” He could be persistent.

  “Yes.”

  I offered them both pots of tea before returning to the t
able with my own mug. There was bread and cheese among the supplies, and I’d earmarked them as mine to make a simple dinner. Istvan liked cheese, and could share it with me, although more for sociability than to fill him.

  Hunting would help him. It was something he excelled at without magic.

  I hadn’t ever considered before that he needed me, but after the past hour and witnessing his exhaustion, he required emotional support if nothing else. The lessons imparted by the orb were scary.

  Quossa summed things up half an hour later. “We need the spindle.”

  “Yes.” Nora had been nervously preening for the last ten minutes. “I also need you, Quossa, back at the bunker.”

  “Status?”

  “Stable, but unsustainable.”

  Quossa snorted.

  Nora lowered her head to look him in the eye. Although smaller than Istvan, who was the size of a small bus, she was larger than Quossa. She was also a predator. Not that anyone sane would consider a unicorn prey. Nonetheless, her physical stance was a reminder that the distracted, dismayed scientist could also be a threat. “We’ve had to deactivate every non-essential magical device, spell and charm, and we’ve been severe in our definition of essential. Even so, we’re struggling to maintain the stability of what we are running.”

  “How many staff are maintaining the bunker?” Quossa asked.

  “Two thirds.”

  Istvan’s crest ruffled in a show of surprise.

  Nora clacked her beak. “You saw how hard Istvan worked on the orb, and you, Quossa, on maintaining the memory charm while dictating notes. My people are working flat out, and we have to schedule them for twenty four hour coverage.”

  “Understood,” Quossa said grimly. “But that only leaves a third to respond to emergency communications, collate and analyze disaster reports, and assess the situation.”

  Nora closed her eyes for a second. “I’m well aware.” When she opened her eyes, she looked at Istvan. “I need Quossa for another half hour, going over specifics of the bunker. I have a list of issues from Vila. If you want to hunt…?”