ARC: The Wizard's Promise (13 page)

“Don’t come looking for me!” I shouted into the empty field. Then I stormed back down to the road. Isolfr didn’t follow me, thank the gods. It figured that not only did I have to get saddled with some magical do-gooder, I had to get saddled with a cowardly, incompetent
one.

The wind picked up, northerly and sweet-smelling. I shivered and drew my coat closer around my chest. And for a moment, I worried. Not about Isolfr – he wasn’t human; he could take care of himself. But Kolur. Kolur and Frida too, both sailing into the trap of Lord Foxfollow with only Isolfr to help them.

I shook my head. No. Kolur had lied to me. About where he was taking me, about his past. His business wasn’t mine any longer. Lord Foxfollow cared not for me; I didn’t want to steal away his bride. All I had to think about was earning enough money to get home.

The wind continued to blow, and I continued to shiver beneath my coat.

CHAPTER 10

I hoped that would be the end of it. I hoped Isolfr would slink back to the
Penelope II
and do whatever weaselly things he could to keep Kolur and Frida out of trouble. Meanwhile, I’d continue to sail out with the
Annika
and we’d all go our separate ways. That’s what I hoped life would be like.

And for a while, it was.

The jar in my captain’s quarters grew heavier with stones, even though I had to dump out a handful to pay Rudolph the rent for my little moored
Cornflower
. I drew down the winds as the
Annika
sailed up and down the Tuljan coat, I ate meals with Asbera and Finnur, I fetched water from the well and bought food from the grocer.

It should have been peaceful, if not satisfying. But it wasn’t. Something always niggled at the back of my head, a note of discomfort that made me toss and turn at night as the waves slapped against the walls of the boat. Whenever I was in town, I found myself looking over my shoulder, watching for the Mists.

I wanted to blame my encounter with Isolfr, thinking he must have planted ideas in my head. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t it.

After a particularly long trip aboard the
Annika
, I went over to the
Crocus
for the usual dinner with Asbera and Finnur. I climbed over the railing, like always, but this time I saw something that made my heart pound: They had switched out the twisted-up vine charms, swapping the old for the new, and added at least twice as many as before. The charms hung from the masts like sails, dropping small oval leaves across the deck.

Seeing them stirred up a whisper of fear.

“Hanna! I thought I heard your feet on the ceiling.” Asbera’s head appeared in the hatch. “Dinner’s almost ready.” She stopped and set her hands on the deck and stared at me. “What’s wrong?”

“You changed the vines,” I said.

Her expression flickered. “Yes,” she said. “I brought in some new charms. For protection.”

“Were you robbed?” The question sounded naive, even to me.

Asbera shook her head. She shifted her weight like she was uncomfortable. “It’s nothing, Hanna, it really isn’t. You just have to be careful this far north.”

“We know what the Mists are in Kjora.”

“I know you do.” She smiled. “Nothing’s happened, you understand. It’s just – a need for precaution.”

I went down to dinner feeling uneasy.

The next day, I went into Rilil for the first time in nearly a week, and I saw that the charms hanging above the shop doors had gotten bigger too, plumped out with gray moss and dried flowers and wrapped in red ribbons. Tuljan characters were scratched in the soil and stained with red dye. I didn’t have to read them to know that they were protection spells.

Compared to the elaborate earth-magic charms of the Tuljans, my bracelet from the Skalirin magic shop seemed paltry and weak, but I knew it was better than nothing. To calm myself at night, I practiced the protective wind charms I knew, standing up on the stern of the
Cornflower
, facing out to sea. I called the south wind, and its magic washed over the boat, settling in all the nooks and crannies. I hoped it would bring me the protection I needed.

One evening, everything still bright with the late spring sun, I went for a walk along the docks, my hands tucked tight into my pockets to protect against the chill. I stopped when I spotted the
Penelope II
against the horizon, her Jolali carvings cast in silhouette against the white sky. At that point, I turned around and went back home.

I’d just wanted to know if Kolur had finished the repairs or not. I’d just wanted to know if she was still in port.

The
Annika
crew wasn’t an exception to all this new paranoia, either. They took to muttering prayers whenever we left the docks and before we returned, whispering to themselves in a thicker-than-usual Tuljan dialect, the words guttural and unfamiliar. Finnur, seeing me listen in one morning, grabbed me by the hand and said the prayer over me, flashing a bright smile when he finished. “Now you’re just like the rest of us,” he said. It was from him that I learned the words were a prayer at all – an ancient one to guard against the Mists.

And then there were the Nalendan.

We saw them one morning as we dragged the night’s catch to the market. The jangling, pounding music drifted down the street, and everyone in the crew stopped and set their loads down, even Baltasar. I followed their lead and rested my package of ling at my feet and stood straight and unmoving. The music set me on edge, even if it was a protection spell.

The costumed men approached, chanting the same song as before. Magic shimmered around them. The shopkeeper across the way tossed flowers and the man dressed as a pine tree bowed to her, the pines needles of his costume shining in the light.

Magic settled around us like a blanket.

The costumed men passed, and the air sighed with relief. The crew gathered up their packages, but the high spirits from our successful catch had disappeared. Asbera was frowning.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered to her as we made our way down the street.

“The Nalendan,” she said. “They were just here, remember? And to see them again, so soon–” She shook her head. “No matter. We should be grateful for the catch, don’t you think?”

I nodded, although her words kept me on edge. We didn’t speak the rest of the way to the market.

The costumed men disappeared around a curve in the road, but I could still hear their music on the wind.

A week later, Asbera and Finnur and I went out for drinks. We’d gotten back from a four-day trip and had the next few days off, so it seemed a fine idea to go down to the mead hall for a round or two. I knew we hoped the drinks would help dull the fear that had been cutting through Rilil lately. Not that any of us admitted that out loud.

The mead hall was crowded when we arrived, the lighting dim and smoky. I looked over the mass of faces, scanning for Kolur. I was about as keen on seeing him again as I was on seeing Isolfr. But in the dark light, it was too difficult to make anyone out. All the men looked the same, with their long hair and their thick northern beards.

“In the back,” Finnur said to me. “There’s always a place there.”

We pushed through the crowd to a table in the corner. Asbera ordered ale for all three of us. “I’m looking forward to the next few days,” she said when the serving girl had left. “Some of my herbs need tending to.” She paused. “Maybe you’d like some, Hanna?”

I looked down at the table and twisted my bracelet around my wrist. The herbs, like the pieces of vine, were enchanted to protect the
Crocus
from the Mists. Everyone was protecting themselves from the Mists, but not a single damn person would admit to it outright. That probably explained why the mead hall was so crowded tonight. All that fear.

“I don’t want to be a bother.” I’d learned not to bring up the Mists myself. It worked out better that way, to keep my head down. “I’m sure you need them.”

“I can spare a few.” She smiled, and Finnur looked at her and then looked at me and grinned.

“Yeah, it’s a right jungle on deck,” he said. “Just like Jokja. You ever hear the stories about Jokja?”

“My mother sailed there,” I said. “Her captain was friends with the queen’s consort.”

Asbera’s eyes lit up. “Really? I hear the Jokja royalty is
grand
, that the palace is made entirely out of jewels. Is that true?”

Off to my side, Finnur scoffed, but I shook my head. “Not really. But Mama said you could feel the jungle’s magic if you went too close.”

Asbera’s eyes glittered. Our drinks arrived, and the serving girl slammed them down on the table without saying a word. Finnur lifted his up in the air and said, “To two days of freedom.”

“Freedom!” Asbera and I called out, laughing. We clicked our drinks together, ale sloshing over the sides, and drank. I didn’t feel free. Every day away from the boat was a day I wasn’t earning money to return back home.

“Hanna?”

The voice came from behind me. It was soft and silvery like moonlight. My stomach dropped out at the bottom.

“Who’s this?” Asbera grinned. “Should we know him?”

“I’m Pjetur.” Isolfr sat down in the seat beside me. I didn’t bother to correct him; something told me Asbera and Finnur wouldn’t hear me if I did. “I work for Hanna’s old captain.”

“Ah,” Finnur said. “So you can shed some light on Hanna’s mysterious past.”

Asbera smacked him on the arm.

“Afraid not. I know as little as you do.”

I ignored him and scanned the faces of the mead hall again. This time I did find Kolur, sitting over in the corner with Frida. He was staring at me, scowling, but when he saw me looking, he lifted one hand in greeting.

I turned away from him.

“Kolur asked me to check on you,” Isolfr said. “He wants to make sure you’re all right, that you have everything you need.”

“Is that so?” I stared down at the foam of my ale, looking for patterns the way you do in tea leaves and coffee dregs. I didn’t see anything.

“Yes. Things have been–” Isolfr stopped when he saw Asbera and Finnur staring at him with unease. “Stormy.”

“Been clear skies for me.” I took a long drink of ale. “And they’ll be clearer once Kolur leaves.”

“Is that true?” Finnur asked. “About Kolur bringing–”

Asbera looked at him sharply, and he didn’t finish his question. But I knew he was asking if Kolur brought the Mists here.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s why I left him.”

“You poor dear,” Asbera said. “No wonder you want to get away.”

“You can’t lay the blame entirely on Kolur.” Isolfr looked shyly over at Asbera. “Hanna has a tendency to exaggerate.”

I glared at him.

Asbera laughed. “Not from what I’ve seen.”

“Not from what he’s seen, either.” I turned to Isolfr. “Are you finished here?
Pjetur
?”

He recoiled a little at the snap in my voice, but he did answer with “I am.” He didn’t move away from the table, though, only stared at me with his flat pale eyes. “You could do a great deal of good aboard the
Penelope II
, and if nothing else, it would be a free place to sleep.” He paused. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you enough before.”

“Not interested,” I said. “Like fishing better.”

Isolfr granted me one last hopeless look. Then he stood and gave a weird, formal bow to Asbera and Finnur both before scuttling to Kolur's ship.

“My,” said Asbera. “I bet that’s an interesting story.”

I swirled my ale around. “It’s not.”

“Prettiest fisherman I’ve ever seen,” said Finnur.

Asbera laughed. “I was thinking the same thing. You sure you don’t want to go back to the
Penelope II
? Might be worth the–” Her voice hitched. “The danger.”

I knocked back a swig of ale. “Hardly.” I didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to talk about Isolfr, or Pjetur, or his unsettling beauty. They hadn’t even seen him in the moonlight and the ocean, the way I had. They’d only seen this watered-down version of him, his beauty faded into handsome blandness.

“You sure about that?” Finnur said. “I feel like Asbera’s about to go in your place.”

Asbera shrieked and shoved him, a blush creeping along her cheeks.

“She likes her fishermen pretty,” Finnur said, and Asbera grew redder and redder. I watched them laugh and flirt with each other, and I didn’t bother to correct Finnur. Isolfr wasn’t a fisherman. Isolfr wasn't even human.

Hard to fall in love with something like that.

We wound up staying late at the mead hall, later than most of the folks there. We certainly stayed later than Kolur and Frida and Isolfr – I saw them gather up their things and leave while Finnur was in the middle of a dirty joke. When they walked away, I was finally able to relax.

By the time we left, I’d drunk much more mead than I was used to. The candles lighting the hall were as bright and golden as summer suns, and Finnur and Asbera seemed to glow, especially when they looked at each other. It was nice, all that warmth drawing us together. Stumbling out into the cold, empty street was a shock.

“Everyone’s gone hooome!” Finnur sang out, throwing his hands wide. Asbera and I laughed at him, and our voices echoed up into the night air.

“Look at the stars,” Asbera said, leaning back. She grabbed my arm and pointed. “Look!”

I looked. Like the mead hall candles, they were brighter than I expected, a brilliant spiral of light spilling across the black sky. For a moment, Asbera and I stood very still, clutching at each other’s arms and looking up at the stars. Our breath crystallized on the air in great white puffs.

“Beautiful,” I finally said.

“You act like you’ve never seen stars before,” Finnur shouted, and he smacked me on the back, startling me out of my daze. I looked over at him and grinned. He had his arms slung around both our shoulders. “Asbera and Hanna,” he slurred. “Never seen the stars.”

Asbera tickled his ribcage, and he crumpled into laughter that sounded hollow in the empty street. Even after he stopped laughing, I could hear it still, bouncing off the music.

Music.

Finnur’s laughter – and music.

Jangling, pounding music.

“Shhhh,” I hissed. They were all wrapped up in each other’s arms. “Do you hear that?”

“No,” Finnur said, but Asbera tilted her head like she was listening.

“Yeah,” she said. “I hear it.” She pulled away from Finnur. “The Nalendan.”

The name sent a chill down my spine.

“Protecting us from the – you know.” Her face was pale in the starlight. “They never march this late, do they, Finnur?”

“We don’t usually have this much to worry about.” Finnur’s voice was throaty, bitter. He must have had a lot to drink, if he was acknowledging the threat outright. I shivered. “It was your captain who brought them here, wasn’t it?”

“Shush,” said Asbera. “No human can control the Mists. You know that.”

We pressed together, swaying in the middle of the road. A pinpoint of blue light appeared in the distance. The music rose and fell with the wind.

Coldness prickled at the back of my throat.

“Maybe we aren’t supposed to be here,” I said.

“Nonsense,” said Asbera. “We just need to find some snowflowers to throw at them.” She pulled away from Finnur and me and stumbled over to the grocer’s across from the mead hall. It was closed for the night, the curtain pinned shut, no light spilling out around it. She rang the bell.

“They’re closed.” Finnur chased after her. The light at the end of the road grew bigger, wreathed in a shimmering halo of magic.

“I really don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” I whispered.

I glanced over at Finnur and Asbera and found them kissing each other, like they’d forgotten where we were. “Hey!” I shouted. “Pay attention! We need to go home.”

They pulled apart and both turned to me, their faces pale in the moonlight. “Don’t be silly,” said Asbera. “It’s good luck to see the Nalendan.”

It didn’t feel like good luck, being out here alone in the dark. I looked back at the light. The Nalendan grew closer. Their singing was stronger, louder. I ran over to Finnur and Asbera and we stood in a line, waiting. My heart pounded in my chest. My thoughts were dizzy with drink. I didn’t feel like I was part of this world.

My bracelet. I’d forgotten I was wearing my bracelet.

I touched it and the vines were cold. My heart skipped a beat.
No,
I told myself.
Of course they’re cold, it’s cold out here.

The singing was louder now, louder than it ought to be. Finnur and Asbera both grinned wildly, like children waiting for gifts on midsummer. I pressed closer to them, still touching my bracelet. The wind lifted, rustled my hair. It blew in from the north and smelled of flowers. It was so soft against my skin it almost felt like protective magic.

For a split second I felt that presence I had known when I was aboard the
Penelope
. But then it was gone.

“Here they coooome,” Finnur said, under his breath.

In the dark, all I could see were shadows: the silhouette of a man-sized pine, the shaggy hulk of a yak’s-head mask, the twist of goat’s horns, the straw-man shaped like star. I trembled. I held my breath. Closer. Closer.

The music buzzed. It didn’t sound right. I told myself it sounded that way because of the drink, that the ale had made me paranoid. I gripped my bracelet tighter, and it was so cold that it seared into my fingers.

“Something’s
wrong
,” I whispered. Finnur and Asbera didn’t hear me; they stood transfixed, staring at the costumed men. “The music – that isn’t right–”

“It’s the Tuljan dialect,” Asbera said, but her voice was slurred, and she sounded distant, not part of herself.

“No, that isn’t it.” The wind blew harder and amplified the singing. Clarified it. The words were sharp and unfamiliar. “I don’t think that’s the ancient language at all.”

But Finnur and Asbera weren’t paying any attention to me. They moved forward, toward the costumed men, drawn on some invisible wire.

“Stop!” I shrieked. “This isn’t supposed to happen.” I grabbed at both of their arms, yanking them back.

The costumed men halted. They’d never done that before. Their singing died away and their heads turned, in unison, and they bore down on the three of us.

A tree, a goat, a straw man, a yak. I felt suddenly diminished.

Asbera and Finnur pulled away from my grip and moved toward the costumed men. The tree smiled, his teeth bright in the moonlight.

“No!” I screamed, and I tackled Asbera and dragged her to the ground.

“What are you doing?” she asked, spitting out muddy snow. Her voice didn’t sound so curiously flat. “What’s wrong with you–?”

She stopped. Finnur was almost to the costumed men. The goat lifted his great shaggy arms as if to envelop him.

“This isn’t right,” Asbera said.

“I’ve been saying that!” I scrambled to my feet. The goat drew Finnur into an embrace. His eyes glittered behind his mask. Gray. His eyes were gray.

All of them, their eyes – they were all gray.

The Mists.

The air slammed out of me.

“No,” Asbera whispered, low and fluttery. “No no no no.”

The yak stepped forward. The mask was carved from wood and painted in dull brownish-gray. The mouth was fixed in a permanent snarl.

“Friend of Kolur.” Its mouth didn’t move as it spoke. Asbera let out a strangled squawk and grabbed my hand. The goat pulled Finnur closer, wrapping its furred arm around Finnur’s neck. Finnur was so pale, his skin looked like snow.

“Stop it!” I shouted. “Let him go!”

“
Friends
of Kolur,” the monster said.

“No!” I cried. “Just me. They’ve never met him. Please, let Finnur go.”

All the stories about the Mists flooded through my head. You couldn’t outsmart them; you couldn’t undo their magic. And that was terrifying, because dressed in the costume of the Nalendan, they had undone Tuljan magic. They had turned the protection spell into a weapon.

“Let him go!” I shrieked.

The straw man hissed.

I didn’t stop to let myself think, because thinking only reminded me of all the horrors I could face. I just launched myself forward and grabbed Finnur’s hand and tried to wrench him free from the goat. Asbera screamed behind me, but then she was at my side, pulling too. Finnur stared numbly at both of us.

The costumed men didn’t do anything to stop us, although they didn’t let go of Finnur either. The goat didn’t struggle, just held him tight, and the other three stood in a circle, watching.

“Curious,” said the straw man with a dry, crackling hiss.

“Yes,” said the tree. “Most curious.”

“Come back to me, Finnur!” Asbera cried. “Please. Remember. Our little sea-house. Come on, darling–”

We pulled harder, and then, without any warning at all, the goat dropped him.

All three of us fell backward onto the cold, hard ground.

“Friend of Kolur,” said the tree, and all four of the costumed men turned toward me. I froze in place while Asbera and Finnur crawled away.

“Friend of Isolfr,” said the monster.

Asbera cried out, her voice strangled. I tried to twist around to look at her, but I couldn’t move. I was bolted to the ground. The costumed men crowded in close.

“What do you want?” I screamed.

The wind gusted. Through the cloud of my fear, I thought I might be able to conjure the south wind, to pull out enough magic that Finnur and Asbera and I could escape. It probably wouldn’t work, not against Mists magic. But I could try.

“Our lord does not appreciate what you’ve been doing,” said the straw man.

“No,” said the goat. “Not at all.”

“He’s sent us to make you stop,” said the tree.

“You and Kolur and Isolfr,” said the yak.

“I don’t even sail with Kolur anymore.” I concentrated hard on the wind. It was cold and damp and blew my hair straight away from my face. The costumed men’s gray eyes glittered at me from behind their masks. “I haven’t seen him for days. I can’t help you.”

Magic coursed through the wind, fine and gossamer like lace. It tingled against my skin.
Concentrate. Concentrate.

The costumed men looked at one another.

“Of course you can help us,” said the goat.

“Friend of Kolur,” said the tree.

“Friend of Isolfr,” said the yak.

I started to cry. The wind pummeled against my body, and my hair blew straight out behind me–

And then my hair tumbled into my face.

The wind had shifted. I could taste the south on it, mangos and warmth and the distant brightness of spice. With the southerly wind, the magic didn’t feel like lace; it felt like sunlight, like ocean water, like air. It was everywhere, and all I had to do was reach out and harvest it.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The magic flowed through me, changing inside my bloodstream. I whispered an incantation in the old tongue, and I told myself it would work, it would have to work–

The paralysis lifted.

My eyes flew open, and I jumped to my feet. The wind swirled around us, looping around the costumed men like a rope. I stumbled away from them, gasping with the effort. Asbera and Finnur lay tangled up against each other, their eyes closed.

The tree broke free of my chains.

“Friend of Kolur. You cannot stop us.”

I strengthened the magic, and the wind knocked him away. He landed on his back, shedding pine needles in the moonlight. I knelt beside Asbera and Finnur and sent the magic flowing through them. Their veins glowed golden beneath their skin.

“Wake up,” I whispered in the ancient tongue. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

Asbera’s eyes opened first. She stared at me like I was a wild animal.

“Hanna!” she gasped.

“You must move.” I said this in the ancient tongue, too. Asbera’s eyes widened and her arms jerked and the wind dragged her body up until she was standing. Then it dragged Finnur up. His eyes fluttered.

“Run!” I screamed at them, still in the ancient tongue. “Run! Run home!”

The costumed men wailed over the roaring of the wind. I couldn’t tell which direction it blew; it seemed to come from everywhere, north and south, east and west. Asbera and Finnur raced away, their movements jerky and awkward and not entirely their own.

I whirled around to face the costumed men. The thread of magic had tightened around them. I stared; I hadn’t tightened it. I’d been tending to Finnur and Asbera, and doing so had sapped me of my strength.

The rioting wind howled and howled, drowning out the cries from the costumed men. It howled so much that it became a voice, sharp and shining and cold like ice. I wasn’t sure if I imagined it or not.

It spoke the ancient tongue.

Run
, it said.
Run. Run away
.

And I did.