Rough Magic Page 4

  He nodded and maneuvered out of the cookhouse, shuffling backward rather than trying to turn.

  I went with him, snatching up the coat I’d discarded over the back of my chair.

  “It’s too cold out here for you.” He saved his objection till we’d exited and I’d pulled the door closed.

  “I agree.” My breath plumed in front of me. I snuggled into him and his wing tucked over me. We walked a little further. “Istvan, could Xi help?”

  “If he thinks he can, he’ll contact us. Xi is an individual of strong principles. However, he has to balance his responsibilities.” Istvan’s swift and complete response indicated that he’d already considered the possibility. Then, again, he’d commanded the force that sealed Earth’s rift. Istvan, like Rory, could function as a war mage. In an emergency, Istvan wouldn’t leave any resources untapped.

  He looked up in the direction of the North Star.

  Oddly, that was the moment I realized that I’d never asked where the Rift had occurred. Geographically, where had the shield of our world torn open to allow the Faerene entrance? As far as humanity was concerned, the Faerene had simply appeared one day.

  Istvan halted at the edge of the forest. “Xi has contacts among the Fae Council, not least Piros. Xi will be following events closely, despite the kraken themselves not being overly affected. They can live, and live comfortably, without using magic. It is Xi’s concern for others that will compel him to act, or not act. I believe it is his decision. We promised to keep the secret of the kraken’s pearls. If we reveal it, the news will affect the kraken on other worlds, not just here. World-viewers mean the news will get back to Elysium, at minimum.”

  And Xi had warned us when he’d given us humanity’s pearl that treasure hunters and those obsessed with acquiring magical knowledge would do anything to obtain a kraken pearl if they learned of their existence.

  Here on Earth I had to trust in the Fae Council’s protection of the orb.

  I also had to trust myself, and that was more difficult. Today, I’d become humanity’s representative on the Fae Council. Whether I was ready for the responsibility or not, I now had an active role in shaping the future relationship between the Faerene and humans. “So we honor our promise of secrecy with Xi and trust his judgment as to whether he comes forward to help. We won’t know how much suffering could be avoided if we called on him, now.” I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, absently missing the warmth that magic had once imparted to the enchanted coat. “But we also can’t know how much suffering we’d cause if we broke our promise and revealed the existence of kraken pearls.”

  “I prefer not to win an argument based on age,” Istvan began.

  I peered up at him.

  “It sets a bad precedent,” he continued, half-humorously. “Piros is a century older than me, but not wiser. And I have met many wise goblins.”

  Goblins’ lifespans match humans’. Being a mage and bonded to Istvan, the Faerene believed that I would live for centuries, which was good because as a werewolf, so would Rory. Unless the dangers of his job as head of Istvan’s magisterial guard unit killed him.

  “My point is,” Istvan continued. “I wish to tell you something that you’d learn with age, and you should believe me because I’m old.”

  I smiled slightly. “You’re in the prime of your life.”

  “For a griffin, six centuries is that.” Istvan squished me teasingly with his wing.

  I sneezed at the tickling feathers. “Impart your wisdom, oh ancient one.” My humor fizzled as I remembered that I’d just been listening to my ancient ones, the millennia-gone human mages who’d created the orb. Their memories were startling.

  Istvan also sobered. “We can never know everything, Amy. As comprehensive as court cases may appear, there is always information I don’t have when I make a judgment. No one is perfect. Definitely no one is infallible. All our decisions and actions are likely to hurt someone. You must have the courage to act, anyway. You decide on balance and from a place of goodwill. We do the best we can. Refusing to act is a choice in itself, and it often adds a corrosive layer of cowardice to a soul.”

  “Being brave when the consequences only affect me is hard enough. Being brave, making hard choices, when other people will bear the consequences…I haven’t given you and your work enough respect, Istvan.”

  “Yes, you have. I’m just a person. Everyone is. That you recognize that fact, that for you everyone is equal, is part of your power. It’s a big part of what you will bring to the Fae Council. Hold onto your values.” His tail tapped my ankle. “Enough lectures from me. I’m proud of you, Amy, and I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” I hugged his wide neck.

  “Back to the cookhouse with you. It’s cold out.”

  He waited at the edge of the pine trees, a deeper blur of darkness against the immense shadowed forest, till I reached the cookhouse. I waved, and he departed on his hunt.

  At my entrance, Nora and Quossa broke off an intense conversation.

  The golden griffin already wore a satchel around her neck. She was ready to leave. “We’re returning to the bunker. You’ll be safe, here, alone. Istvan won’t roam far and humans never enter the area. We chose it as a gathering site because its reputation as an eerie place meant humans avoid it.”

  “Okay.”

  Quossa hustled for the door.

  After a second, Nora followed. The two of us had a confusing relationship. I could never be certain what she wanted from me. As a human mage, I fell within her field of study: the magical aspect of Earth. However, my bond with Istvan added a personal element, whether of jealousy or yearning I wasn’t sure. I knew she loved Istvan.

  I trusted that emotion.

  Istvan might think he didn’t need love or close personal relationships, but he was wrong. I saw his hesitant, skittish behavior with Nora. He was out of practice in loving someone, but his huge heart had an immense capacity for loyalty. He deserved someone who loved him back as the center of his universe. If Nora could give him that, and he returned her love, then I’d be Nora’s biggest fan.

  Her and I just had to work out our rules of interaction.

  The door thudded shut behind the griffin and the unicorn, and I let out a huge breath of relief.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, I was alone. I let the quiet of no other heartbeats and fidgeting bodies soak into me. I felt no fear. I had food and fire, a shelter, a knife in my boot, and a bigger knife in the cupboard by the sink. I’d found it while discovering the cookhouse’s resources. I grabbed that knife, but not for protection. Before I added another log to the fire, I’d toast my bread and cheese over the glowing coals.

  Turning the fork and watching the bread brown, I thought of Istvan’s advice and my own view of my role here. On behalf of current and future humans, I should learn as much as I could about our orb, which meant observing or participating in any activation of it.

  The journal recorded what I’d experienced of the orb, so far. Unlike the record of its initial activation which I’d written for the Fae Council on separate sheets of paper, and which Nora had taken away, the journal was closer to a flow of consciousness record than an official statement. It was mine, and if it was mine, then I could decide its purpose.

  I could also abandon old mistakes and strike out anew.

  For weeks I’d been researching the Faerene, using their books and reference materials. As Istvan’s human familiar, I was uniquely positioned to observe and write a book on the Faerene that could serve as a handy reference guide for humans interacting with our new neighbors. The Faerene were willing to wait a century and more to engage with humanity, but I didn’t think that allowing generations of humans to establish the Faerene as the big, bad other in their—our—psyche was wise.

  It would also help if the Faerene had a guide enabling them to view themselves through human eyes.

  So I was writing This Is The Faerene. But I hadn’t genuinely started to write it.
Like the college student I’d been before the apocalypse, I’d procrastinated with research.

  Now, that research stood out starkly as a delaying tactic.

  I was insecure as to my ability to write a book that I thought both humans and Faerene needed. However, my fear of embarrassing myself and showing up my ignorance was something none of us could afford. As Istvan had said, we had to do the best we could and accept that we weren’t perfect.

  In the journal, in between recording my observations of the orb, I would write about my experience of encountering and living among the Faerene. An uncensored account

  My toasting fork jerked as I contemplated the cost of writing without censorship. The journal would be a private first draft, but in committing to writing down my raw experience, I’d have to relive memories strongly linked to trauma.

  The slice of bread I’d been toasting fell onto the coals and the smell of burnt toast filled the air. I coughed and waved a hand in front of my face.

  My account of humanity’s encounter with the Faerene might end up being incomplete, naïve, and rife with misunderstandings, but I could confide it and the bleeding emotions of its raw material to Rory. I had to believe that we’d have time to go over it together. We’d only been apart for a few hours, but they’d been intense hours, and I missed him so much that I’d had to lock away thoughts of him and the dangers he might be facing.

  The book was something I could write anywhere and in stolen minutes before sharing it with Rory. I didn’t need academic professionalism in drafting This Is The Faerene. I needed someone real to bring the Faerene reality to it. Plus, the truth was that my story became his, as well, when we married.

  I ate the toasted bread and cheese as I contemplated my coalescing certainty as to next steps and my role in shaping Earth’s future. By the time I’d washed up the few dishes, including Istvan’s and Nora’s pots, I had a plan of action, and one I could justify even as it aligned with my personal desires.

  While I might leave activating the orb to Istvan who could channel magic with precise, constant control, I figured that I could maintain enough control over my magic to operate a slate without blowing it up.

  I checked on the fire and repositioned the two kettles to the side of the stove to simmer. Then I sat on a chair by the stove and propped my feet on a second chair so that I could rest the slate on my knees.

  I contacted Rory.

  “Amy.” Love and relief sounded in his voice, but his face was tight with worry. In Justice, it was the middle of the day. Currently, he was the ranking authority on magical disturbances in the North American Territory. He couldn’t spare me more than a few minutes.

  “I’m fine. I had to know that you were.”

  “I am. Our pack is safe.” Our pack: Earth’s newest werewolf pack, Hope Fang; named to be fierce in defense of a better life. “Any solutions?”

  “Still researching.” Even truncated, our conversation strengthened me. Lofty aspirations and duty were important, but the people we loved were the most powerful motivation of all.

  “Tell Istvan we’re coping.”

  I nodded.

  Rory smiled at me, serious emotion in his eyes. “Contact me any time, but I have to go. Tineke.” He stopped, restarted. “The Reclamation Team has been stood down till magic stabilizes. She can talk with you, describe the situation, and take a message to your family.”

  My family had moved in next door to her across the river from the magistrate hall, on the west bank of the Mississippi. They lived in Lajos’s house, while the elf had moved in with Tineke. He tended his herb farm, while my family worked the smallholding they were building on Tineke’s land and established a salvage yard by the docks.

  “I’ll call Tineke. I love you.”

  “My heart.”

  The connection broke. I lowered my feet to the floor and put the slate down carefully on the other chair. Staring at the fire allowed the heat to dry my eyes without me having to wipe away tears. The loneliness of being so far from Rory physically hurt.

  Before the Faerene, before the apocalypse, I’d been accustomed to being alone. My parents had divorced when I was three, and while we’d had plenty of money, they hadn’t had time for me. Without siblings, life had been lonely, even when surrounded by other children at boarding school or camp.

  I looked at the kettle, but decided to wait for Istvan’s return to make tea.

  In our short conversation Rory wouldn’t have mentioned Tineke unless he thought it was important that I contact her.

  I’d met Tineke here at the human familiar trials. She was an elf and a talented magician working for the Reclamation Team. They were the Faerene responsible for breaking down and returning forbidden human technologies, like guns, to the earth, as well as recycling whole cities. They’d also spent months decomposing corpses overnight until Harold’s recent edict that human bodies once more adhere to the ordinary cycle of life, sans accelerated return to the earth. Humans had to bury or cremate their dead now, as we’d always done before. The Reclamation Team’s spell of decomposition had been a mercy granted to us during the loss of six-sevenths of our population.

  The immensity of our apocalypse was staggering. If the Faerene lost a comparable percentage, their Migration would fail.

  “Hi, Tineke.” I smiled at her dispiritedly via the slate.

  Her green skin was pale with darker circles under her eyes, and her hair was messy with her pointed ears sticking through it. “Amy! How are you?”

  “Surviving. Safe. We haven’t found a solution to stabilize the magic flows yet.”

  “They feel bad,” she whispered the words, as if it was an admission she shouldn’t make. She gave a short, shaky laugh. “A bit like having the flu.”

  “I don’t feel it, any of the feral magic.” I felt normal, worried but normal in myself.

  Her head jerked up and down, like a puppet nodding. “All of the Faerene do, although it varies in degree. I’m particularly sensitive to the flows of magic. That was part of my role on the Reclamation Team. If the flows continue unstable…”

  “You’ll be called on to help.” And despite how sick she felt, Tineke would help in any way asked of her. I worried about my friend. Of all the Faerene, she was the one who’d shown the most guilt at the Faerene’s role in humanity’s death and suffering. The others I’d met were grimly resigned to the high cost of keeping out the Kstvm. Tineke mourned what humanity had lost.

  She changed the subject. “Your family are well. They don’t employ magic, so their daily life isn’t disrupted. It’s the rest of us who are shocked. We agreed to reduce and ration our magic use as part of the Migration.” To protect Earth’s shield. “People didn’t realize how much magic we still use in ordinary life. Is Istvan helping you maintain the slate?”

  “Nope. This is all me.” I tried to force a smug smile at my attainment, and failed. “All the practice Istvan had me do with the marble lets me see and steady the magic I’m channeling into the slate.”

  “Well done.”

  Now, I did smile because life returned to Tineke’s haunted eyes with her pride in my achievement. “Thanks. Is Lajos around?”

  Lajos loved her. He’d be alarmed at the state she was in. He was waging a slow, cautious campaign to win her love. Or rather, I suspected that Tineke did love him, but something in her pre-Earth past crippled her ability to live that love. Lajos knew that, and took baby steps to advance their relationship. Giving my family his house had been a masterstroke since Tineke had then invited him to board with her.

  “Rory asked Lajos to help him.”

  Before I could ask with what? Tineke shifted closer to her slate.

  “Amy? How do you trust people after everyone who has hurt you?”

  “No one’s hurt me.”

  She shook her head. “Your dad betrayed you.”

  Yes, he had. But it was more that he hated the Faerene and ached to destroy them. I’d been a tool he tried to use. He was out of my life, now.


  “Then there was that insane Shardist cleric.”

  Cyril had intended to sacrifice me to power his transcendence. It wouldn’t have worked, but I’d still have been dead. The townsfolk of Faerene Atlanta, where Cyril had served as their all-faiths temple chaplain, hadn’t participated in his immoral scheme, but they had shared his disdain for humans.

  In the aftermath of Cyril’s insane plot, the Fae Council had come down hard on that incipient attitude of dismissing humans as lesser beings.

  “The apocalypse that we initiated destroyed the world as you knew it, and you rebuilt. You remade yourself. You created a new family and you added Faerene to it! The people who destroyed your life. People like me. I feel like I’m your family and I…I don’t deserve it.”

  There were so many things in Tineke’s outburst that warranted answers. What came through overwhelmingly was her pain.

  “That’s the thing about family,” I said gently. “None of us deserve our families, for good or bad. But choosing to love and keep close the good people in my life makes sense to me. I like the word you used. Remade. The college student I used to be died in the apocalypse. I had good people around me who guided me, just by being who they are, to be a better person. A compassionate survivor. Like you.”

  She gave a sob, snatched up a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Has anyone told you how I came to join the Migration?”

  “No. Rory cares about you and respects you. He said it’s your story.”

  As she looked down her eyelashes were spiky, wet with tears. She blinked before looking back at me through the slate. “I was married. Anton came from a powerful elven family. I met him at my first job after university. We were both magician engineers. My parents have far less magic. They are market gardeners. They grow vegetables, improving their favorites over decades. They are satisfied with their lives. I wanted more, and Anton represented excitement and sophistication. We were in love.” She said the last words heavily.

  “To marry, we took a blood test to screen for magicka agony syndrome. It’s a formality, nothing more. Or so people assume. Elves carelessly consider the test an outdated tradition, that we’ve eradicated magicka agony syndrome. It is carried on RNA. If an elf has a particular cluster, then their children have a fifty/fifty chance of suffering magicka agony.”