First Magic Page 3

  I hadn’t asked precisely what those instincts could drive him to. I could guess, but I suspected that my guesses would fall short of the reality. I’d heard Faerene muttering the word “feral” and staring at Rory with respect, fear and regret when I first read my father’s letter and the threat implicit in the postscript.

  Visiting my adopted family in Apfall Hill had been necessary to keep them safe, but it had also been a means of redirecting Rory’s emotions to something positive and calming.

  What good the visited had achieved had just been undone by Radka’s report of the town meeting.

  Rory growled. “Hostile negotiation liberties can range from espionage, infiltration and sabotage, all of which are allowed to a degree in ordinary negotiations, to assassination and combat. The matter under negotiation can become something achieved by force.”

  Radka shrugged that dire outcome aside. “Bataar isn’t an extremist.”

  “But the militia doesn’t have anything Justice needs,” I protested. “What could they take from the militia?”

  Radka grimaced. “It’s more a case of what the militia has jeopardized.”

  “Goodwill,” Rory said. “Bataar would likely have settled terms with the militia to provide them with access to the Faerene, the open lines of communication that General Dabiri requested, on the basis of setting up for the future the bare bones of acceptance and exchange between our peoples. Now, he can’t.”

  “The militia’s threat against you means they aren’t negotiating in good faith.” Radka began walking to the clerks’ room. We fell into step. Corridors wide enough for dragons and griffins easily accommodated the three of us walking abreast. “If Bataar allowed that breach of behavior then he’d set a precedent for others to abuse Justice’s interests during negotiations. The town meeting is to decide how to penalize the militia, and the decision will be made primarily with an eye to Justice’s future status among the Faerene.”

  “What is likely to happen?” I asked as we entered the clerks’ room.

  Urwin, a centaur clerk, flicked his tail. He’d overheard our conversation as we approached, and evidently had a nervous, unhappy prediction of events.

  Radka peered sideways at Rory. Apparently, fielding this question was my new husband’s duty.

  “We need to know what the militia is planning,” he said straightly. “So in the short term, nothing will happen, at least from the Faerene side. We want the militia to act. We need to learn what that ‘Be ready’ postscript refers to.”

  “Except they’ll know something’s happened when Nils rescues my dad.”

  “They won’t receive that news for days,” Rory said. “And we’ll be watching for how that message is delivered, what they choose to do, and who is involved.”

  I’d forgotten that long distance communication for humans had fallen apart. Letters had to be delivered via horse or maybe via water traffic, that is, boats. Maybe some people had managed to string together carrier pigeon services. However, the militia were majorly handicapped by their inability to communicate and move around freely as we had pre-apocalypse. Whatever they did in the next few days would be in a vacuum of ignorance.

  What could they even think to do? Quite apart from the severe logistical constraints of slow communication and transport that humanity now operated under, the Faerene had magic and the militia didn’t.

  Chapter 2

  Istvan circled high above the militia’s temporary camp, twenty miles south east of Justice. “They blame us for their problems.”

  “And they’re right to.” Piros soared beside him, almost lounging on the air. Dragons had some funny tricks of flight. “But the Kstvm would have annihilated them. We secured their survival, and one day they’ll understand.”

  “Generations from now.”

  Piros flapped his gigantic red wings, once, idly. “Maybe faster than that. Humanity isn’t quite what we anticipated when we studied them from Elysium. They’re already adjusting to their new reality in which they’re aware that magic exists. Their societies are adapting to accept our presence on Earth. Sometimes in healthy ways. Sometimes not.”

  Istvan eyed his old friend shrewdly. “We’re not talking about the militia anymore, are we?”

  They flew west, across the river and over fields and new forest. Grazing cattle startled as their two giant shadows darted over the open ground.

  “The militia aren’t as important as they think they are,” Piros said. Then he coughed a ball of flame. That was a habit of his when annoyed with himself, a sort of self-chastisement since fire tasted acrid, or so he claimed. He flew through the ball of flame. “Sorry, that was arrogant. The militia are important. They’re helping human survivors to reorganize, to consolidate resources, and to construct a new way of life. But they’re caught in patterns of thinking that belong to Earth’s pre-Faerene era.”

  “Linear progress.”

  “And fervor to restore nation states, specifically America. Maybe an empire could span this continent east to west, but I doubt it. Not at the level of technology we’re permitting them. They need to start thinking of city states, trade routes, looser connections and multiple redundancies. No more monocultures. If a crop fails, they need other crops to succeed.”

  Piros sighed. “We anticipated this response. They see us as invaders, but they can’t rebel against us because we refuse to govern. The militia wants to draw us out into acting and interacting. Their military training shapes their thinking. Other groups also want a relationship with us, but their approach is cultic. Propitiation, imitation, worship and aggression.”

  “How is a cult’s aggressive posturing different to the militia’s intent to provoke us?”

  “The cults are turning their aggression on other humans. We provide the excuse to ‘sacrifice’ human lives to us.”

  Istvan clacked his beak in disgust.

  “We’re lucky,” Piros said. “Bataar will guide the town meeting to a reasonable position re hostile negotiations. He was a formidable lawyer before he retrained as a blacksmith for the Migration. He’ll prioritize the necessity of instituting a prudent precedent. Likely the citizens of Justice will opt for espionage. Learning more about a potential enemy is sensible, and everyone wants to know what the humans think they can do to attack us.”

  Piros swooped. “I wonder if this lot even guesses we can use magic to conceal our settlements?”

  “Judging by Callum’s write up of the original meeting with the militia, they do.”

  Callum was the owner, editor and sole reporter for Justice’s newspaper. He was also a lone werewolf in Rory’s pack territory. Callum had an interesting personality.

  “So why risk provoking us when they actually have contact with one of our towns?

  “I’m going back.” Istvan wheeled around.

  Piros incorporated the change of direction in his soaring circles. “What will you do with Amy’s father?”

  Istvan paddled the air with his paws, thinking.

  The result was turbulence that Piros rode easily. “The practical solution is to lodge him with her adopted family in their town. They seem like good people. Then all of her vulnerable humans can be protected in one place.”

  “I do not know if they will have him.” Istvan whistled a sigh. “I lie. I am sure they would take him in if Amy requested it, but I don’t know if it would be healthy for them. Or if he would agree.”

  Piros’s nostrils flared in a draconic sign of curiosity. “What do you know of him that I don’t?”

  “Amy’s parents raised her to believe that everything had to be earned, including their love. That she was able to commit herself to her adopted family and both give and receive trust and love speaks to her good heart rather than her upbringing.”

  “Your tail is lashing.”

  “I’m cross. Stupid of me. I’ve refused to be a parent, and here I am criticizing one who gave Amy the foundations for responsible adulthood.”

  “But you don’t trust him?”

&n
bsp; Another louder whistling sigh. “No.” Istvan frowned at a cloud. “I’m not sure how much more Amy can bear. So many of the unexpected events of the Migration have spun around her.”

  “Around her or around you?” Piros questioned acutely.

  Istvan did him the courtesy of not immediately dismissing the idea. The black griffin had joined the Migration to act as a magistrate, which was an important role to maintain the magical balance on Earth in both the short and long term. He had to balance immediate survival and satisfaction of wants with establishing solid foundations for a healthy world. Despite leading the team that sealed the Rift, a team that had included Rory, Istvan didn’t consider himself a pivotal player in the Migration. Not like Piros or Fae King Harold or the Orc Champion.

  “Take a lesson from your familiar,” Piros said.

  Istvan corrected him sharply. “My partner.”

  Piros flapped a wing tip in acknowledgement that Amy wasn’t lesser, wasn’t a pet, which was how some Faerene had come shamefully close to viewing the human mages in their familiar roles.

  Istvan remained furious from the Reunionist plot in Atlanta that had included draining the “lesser” human mages of their magic and lives.

  “You said that Amy managed to transcend her upbringing to trust in the unconditional love of her adopted family. Istvan, you need to do the same. You trust me, and you trust Rory and the other magisterial guards to serve justice, but you need to accept more from people. You’ve let Amy into your heart, under your wing, and where she goes Rory will force his way.”

  As much as he preferred his solitary life, Istvan allowed that Piros was speaking out of concern, and from reality. “Amy has already crafted a family in Justice. They are the ones she permits into the common room.” Istvan had created it for her in the magistrate hall so that she had her own space, a safe place, but also one where she could invite others to relax and recover. He had keyed the wards to her so she decided who could enter.

  “She allowed me in for your sake,” Piros said.

  Istvan couldn’t deny it.

  Humanity saw Piros as the face of the Faerene Apocalypse. He’d been the Faerene spokesperson, warning humanity of what was coming before the Reclamation Team eliminated the technologies of the modern world. Most of humanity had subsequently died.

  Amy tried to accept Piros because of Istvan’s longstanding friendship, but she was wary of him.

  “Talk to Melinda,” Piros said.

  That small piece of advice changed Istvan’s perspective on a few things. Melinda was a senior unicorn. She’d been Amy’s tutor at the human familiar trials that had matched Amy with Istvan. He’d believed that Melinda had relocated herself and her herd closer to Justice for Amy’s sake.

  “Melinda is a wise soul,” he said.

  Piros grinned. With dragons, that was always a toothy expression. “Then heed her wisdom.”

  Istvan dipped his beak at the confirmation that Melinda was in place to act as his therapist, a person with whom to explore the emotional impact of his job and decisions. On Elysium he’d denied being bothered by emotion. Here on Earth, he couldn’t honestly and responsibly ignore that he had feelings. “Thanks, Piros.”

  Chapter 3

  Nils returned to the magistrate hall after lunch, and he brought my father with him. Opening a portal wasn’t as easy for Nils as it was for Rory or Istvan, but he’d managed it rather than call and ask for help.

  “Dad?” I’d been sitting with Peggy and Oscar, and talking with Jarod and Niamh via the silver mirror.

  My father stood in the kitchen doorway, his gaze sweeping over the two goblins before fixing on me.

  My chair toppled as I raced to him.

  He was deeply tanned and far skinnier than when I’d last seen him, pre-apocalypse. He allowed my hug, but quickly released me.

  I held on a moment longer. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  That was honest.

  “Come on through to the family room,” I said.

  Oscar had slipped away to get Rory, but also to warn everyone else to stay out of sight. We didn’t want to overwhelm Dad with Faerene.

  I smiled at Peggy who’d picked up the mirror and retreated to the stove to whisper an explanation to Jarod and Niamh.

  Nils followed Dad and me. “I found Sean at a militia camp near the Ohio River south of Louisville.”

  “Fort Knox,” Dad said.

  “Uh huh,” I answered absently as I added my father to the family room’s wards. I gestured him in. Rory waited by the fireplace. “Dad, this is my husband Rory.”

  Dad grunted, shocked.

  “Rory, this is Sean.”

  “Glad you’re here safe,” Rory said.

  Sean tore his gaze from assessing him to scowl at me. “You’re married?”

  “Yesterday. Uh, Dad, how much has Nils explained things?”

  Nils answered. “Only that I was bringing him to you.” He nodded to Rory, his pack leader, and departed.

  “Holy hells.” Sean dropped into an armchair. “What are you doing in this nest of freaks?”

  “Dad!”

  Rory grinned, but not with amusement. “We are freakish to humans, but Amy has adjusted.”

  Sean straightened. “We?”

  “I’m a werewolf.” Rory sat down on a sofa across from Sean and looked at me to join him.

  My father put an arm out to stop me. “Amy.”

  “Rory’s my husband, Dad. Your son-in-law.”

  Despite his tan, Sean paled. “The army didn’t tell me.”

  “The militia doesn’t know. There is a lot the militia doesn’t know, for all that they’ve been spying on my family. My adopted family,” I corrected myself.

  “Are they more freaks? A werewolf husband. An elf. There were blue things in the kitchen.”

  I dug my fingers into my palms, trying to believe that Sean was just overwrought. “Oscar and Peggy are goblins. My family in Apfall Hill, Pennsylvania, are human. I told you I would ride out the apocalypse there, and I did. They’re good people. We banded together to help one another, and we survived. Like you, Dad.”

  He shook his head. “I survived by myself.”

  I tried to work out what to tell him, how to bridge the chasm between us. “Did the militia tell you that a dragon carried me away from Apfall Hill after the harvest to be matched with a Faerene magician?”

  “The army told me you had magic. They asked if I had any. They tried to test me for it.”

  My heart startled. Had they tortured him? Torture could change a person. And Sean had been a patriot. Maybe he’d transferred his anger with the militia’s actions to the Faerene. “I was partnered with the magistrate for North America. Istvan rules on matters involving magic.”

  “How does he use your magic?”

  I smiled faintly. “Reluctantly.”

  There was no answering lightness in Sean’s face. “How do you come to be married to it? Did he force you?”

  “We fell in love,” Rory said with a surprising lack of anger for a son-in-law called “it”.

  “Life isn’t a fairy tale,” Sean said to me.

  “Believe me, Dad, I’m well aware. I’ve healed people, and I’ve killed to protect others. I’m all grown up and you need to trust my judgement. You’re safe, here. But if the militia is planning to do something stupidly dangerous which will hurt people, and you know about it, you need to tell us.”

  “People!” Sean scowled at me, a disappointed, disgusted look that I’d never earned as a child. “You’ve allied yourself with the monsters.”

  Sick hurt locked me into myself. “In your letter you reminded me to always do the right thing, to take the right path even if it’s harder. Yet now you’re being a bigot.”

  “It is not bigotry to want my daughter to stay away from the monsters who ruined our world and killed billions. Billions of us.”

  Us and them.

  But my “us” included both humans and Faerene.


  “Do you know what they did to Crete?” Sean rocked forward, face twisted in the ugliness of hatred. “I was in France. I saw some the survivors, those who’d fled. They were kicked out of their homes, off their land, having to leave everything behind for the monsters.”

  “I’ve seen Crete, Dad. It’s where the Faerene fought to seal the Rift. Rory was one of those magicians. The Faerene lost people to that fight. They’ve made their capital city there, Civitas, but it wasn’t built without sacrifice and heartache for them, too.”

  “And Manhattan. Have you see that? Our home is gone, Amy. The stories people tell. The survivors. Monsters came out of the deep. Giant octopuses.” A muscle twitched under his right eye.

  “Kraken. I’ve met one and he was nice. Dad, the world can’t be what it was.”

  “The monsters have made sure of that. Medicines have vanished. Our guns have gone, so we can’t protect ourselves. We live in the ruins of our world, like cockroaches.”

  I stared at him. “Do you want to return to the militia? What were you even doing with them?”

  “I was designing wooden boats to sail the river and transport goods.”

  “And men?” Rory asked.

  Sean glared at him. “I am no more inclined to tell you the army’s plans than I am to confide in my daughter, your puppet.”

  “I am no one’s puppet.”

  “Sex slave?”

  I flinched at that wicked verbal slap from my father.

  Rory pulled me out of the room. The door shut behind us, locking Sean in. “I love you.”

  “Why would he say that to me?” I burrowed into Rory, seeking comfort, but also giving him my total trust. I liked how werewolves affirmed belonging with touch.

  “Your father is very clever.”

  That wasn’t the comment I’d expected from Rory. “Huh?” I peered up at him.

  He smiled crookedly. “We’re too close to this emotionally. You because he’s your father, and me, because I love you.”

  “I love you more.”

  He kissed me, but briefly. “Sean ended that conversation.” Rory nodded as my eyes widened in comprehension. “Whatever he’s hiding, it’s important enough to him to sacrifice his relationship with you.”