ARC: The Wizard's Promise (3 page)

I was exhausted.

Kolur looked over at me and gave a short nod of approval. “You did good,” he said. “Kept calm under pressure. Very good.”

He turned back to his sailing.

Yes, calm under pressure. He’d been
too
calm. But I was too tired to say anything about it. My limbs ached, and my eyelids were heavy. I pushed myself to my feet, leaned up against the mast.

“I need to rest,” I said.

Kolur nodded again, this time without looking me at me. “Figured so. You go on down below, rest off the magic. I’ll see us through the storm.”

Something tickled in the back of my mind, a phantom thought that maybe I shouldn’t trust him. But that was absurd. I’d trusted him for three years, and besides, he was Mama’s best friend.

So I went down below and fell asleep immediately.

CHAPTER 2

I woke up with a headache. Not a bad one, but painful enough to remind me I’d done magic the night before. I’d heard the more spells you cast, the fewer headaches you got, but I didn’t see any of that improvement this morning.

I spent a few moments lying in the cot with my hands folded over my stomach, staring up at the ceiling, trying to sort out my thoughts. Because I was so bleary, it wasn’t until I stood up that I noticed the
Penelope
wasn’t moving.

Odd.

I shambled into the storage room and pulled out a canteen of water and drank it down. That cleared my head some. We still weren’t moving. Had Kolur turned around and gone back home to the village after the storm? It didn’t seem like him. We hadn’t even brought in a full load of fish yet, and he didn’t like pulling into the docks without one.

I pulled out another canteen, along with a jar of salted fish and a hunk of dark bread. It was the usual food we kept aboard and not really that appealing, but recovering from magic always makes everything taste better. I savored each bite, licking the salt from my fingers. I was feeling much brighter about the whole idea of being awake, and so I ran my fingers through my hair a few times and climbed up on deck.

The
Penelope
was moored at the docks, nestled in between a pair of unfamiliar red-tinted fishing boats. Kolur wasn’t anywhere to be found: not at the helm and not up in the masts, either. Our small catch from last night was intact, encased in the soft blue glow of the preservation charm.

Well. Looked like I’d be getting to celebrate spring after all, although I knew Kolur would have it out for me if I left without helping him haul the fish down to the market. He must have walked over to the
Eel’s Eye Inn
for breakfast. I dropped the gangplank and made my way down to the docks.

And froze.

These were not the village docks.

They looked near enough to them from up on the boat, but now that I was on land, I found that they were much busier, crowded and bustling like the docks in the capital. But these weren’t capital folk – they didn’t even look like Kjoran folk. Not that they had antlers growing out of their foreheads, but the men wore beards and long embroidered coats, and the women had their hair up in elaborate braids woven through with pale ribbons. As often as Bryn dressed up for her suitors, and as fond as she was of capital styles, I’d
never
seen her wear braids like these.

Panic gripped me again, cold and icy like the storm. I realized how foreign the voices chattering around me sounded. We all speak the same northern tongue, but from island to island, the accents change, and here the vowels were long and distorted, as if they were being shouted down a tunnel.

We weren’t in Kjora.

When she was angry with him, Mama called Papa an
ice-islander
, a phrase from the language of the Empire, of which I could speak a little. Papa always retorted that he was a Kjoran, and I’d gathered over the course of my childhood that in the south, they saw the north as one place, the
ice-islands
, and not a collection of places, as we did. I had grown up in Kjora and so was familiar with Kjoran customs and practices. As far out to sea as I went with Kolur sometimes, I’d never stepped foot on another island.

Until now.

My head spun. I wasn’t sure I could breathe anymore. Why had Kolur brought me here, to this foreign place? Had we been blown that far off course? I thought of the carved map Papa kept aboard the
Maia
. Akel was the closest to Kjora, a half day’s sail. We must be there.

My initial panic receded then, and excitement rippled through me instead. My first time off Kjora. My first time having a proper adventure, just like Ananna of the
Nadir
.

I took a deep breath and wove myself into the crowd. I received a few strange looks, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was Kjoran or because I bore the imprint of Empire features. As I walked, I thought about how strange Kolur had been in the moments before the storm, like a man possessed. I’d say it was by magic if I didn’t know better. Kolur couldn’t call down the winds like that – my magic was the reason he brought me on board the
Penelope
in the first place.

And yet here we were, arrived safely on land by no action of my own.

I made my way along the narrow wooden walkways until I came to a trapper selling furs out of a cart. Vendors dotted up and down the docks, but he was the closest to the
Penelope
. I strode up to him and remembered the stories I’d heard about the bravery of Ananna of the
Nadir.
I reminded myself that Ananna was my true name.

“Excuse me,” I said. “How long have you been set up here?”

He gazed at me over the stacks of pelts. “Why you asking?”

“I work aboard that fishing boat there.” I pointed at the
Penelope
. “My apprentice master’s awfully forgetful, and he didn’t tell me where he was going when he left. I was hoping you might have seen him.”

“He Empire like you?”

I shook my head, even though my cheeks burned. I wasn’t used to people pointing out my ancestry. Everyone in the village had gotten over that urge a long time ago.

“Hard to say, then. A lot of folks came this way.”

“He’d be dressed like a Kjoran. Brown hair. Only a little taller than me.”

The trapper frowned. “A Kjoran, huh? I seem to recall spotting a fellow like that. Early this morning. Going into the city. But then, they all are.” He grinned. He was missing a couple of teeth. “A bit far from home, aren’t you, for your master to be leaving you on the boat?”

I scowled at him. “I’m not Empire! I’m from Kjora, too.”

“I know. That’s what I mean.”

My stomach felt suddenly heavy. “What?”

The trapper jerked his head back toward the bustle of the town. “Kjora’s a couple days’ sail from here, ain’t it? Never been off the island myself.”

“A couple days? No.” I shook my head, refusing to believe him. I told myself he was a typical landsman, that since he had no reason to sail the seas, he’d no reason to know the distances between islands. I only knew because of Papa’s carved map. “Just half a day. We got blown off course.”

“Half a day. That certainly ain’t true.” The trapper leaned back on his stool and gave me a long, appraising look. “Where exactly do you think you are?”

“Akel,” I said, although my voice trembled.

The trapper stared at me for a moment longer. Then he laughed, his great shoulders shaking beneath his shaggy coat. I took a step back, glancing around, not liking this one bit.

“Stop laughing at me,” I said.

“You ain’t in Akel,” the trapper said. “You’re in Skalir.”

Skalir. The whole world tilted the way the
Penelope
had
last night. I grabbed onto the edge of the trapper’s cart to steady myself.

“That’s not possible,” I said.

“No idea what’s possible or not,” he said. “But you’re in Skalir.”

My ears buzzed. Papa’s map appeared in my head – the islands raised up in relief, the stain sunk deep into the wood. Skalir, past the Bathest Chain, past Akel, heading up toward the north, toward the very top of the world. The trapper was right; it was three days’ sail, not even from Kjora but from the spot in water where the storm had hit us.

“Not possible,” I said again.

The trapper squinted at me with suspicion, and I pushed away from him before he could say anything more. At first, I headed in the direction of the
Penelope,
but then I started worrying that it was still doused in whatever magic had brought us here in the first place.
That
magic – that must be why I slept so late. Working a simple protection charm had never worn me out so thoroughly before.

I turned away from the boat and walked toward town, my heart pounding. Something must have happened to Kolur; he wouldn’t have left me alone otherwise. I could work a tracking spell on him but I didn’t have the materials and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find them here. Or even afford them. Or if my magic would even work. Everyone said that magic changes as you cross the seas, and so the spells of Skalir might be spells I could never understand. I couldn’t risk it.

I shivered and left the docks.

As crowded as the docks were, the town itself seemed small, little more than a settlement growing out of the cold, rocky ground. The wind blew in from the sea, smelling of salt and fish and the peculiar scent of late winter. There weren’t as many people here, as if everyone wanted to cluster close to the ocean. I trudged down the main street, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. It didn’t much seem to work. Anyone out on the street stared at me as I walked past, and whispers trailed behind me like clouds.

Mama and Papa had both taught me pride. So I kept my head high and refused to look away if anyone caught my eye. But it was hard, not so much because I was ashamed but because I was scared. Scared that Kolur was gone for good, that some foul spell had stolen him away as I slept. Every child raised in the north hears stories about the Mists, those creatures from beyond even the uppermost part of the world. I didn’t remember seeing any of their mist last night, that cold, gray blanket that can swallow you whole. But it had been dark and difficult to see.

Sea and sky, I wished I wasn’t so far from the soil of my home. There’s magic to keep the Mists at bay, but I still didn’t trust that it would work here, even with the south wind.

So when I came across a wizard’s shop, I ducked through the heavy, carved wooden doors, relieved at the sudden weight of magic around my shoulders. It was a small shop, dark, smelling of incense and blood. A girl stood behind the counter, chopping up dried marsh violets. She lifted her head when I walked in and frowned like she didn’t know what to make of me.

“I’d like a protection charm.” I pulled out the small pouch of gold discs Mama had me carry whenever I went sailing with Kolur. For moments like this one, I supposed. Papa always thought it was silly, that I should just carry Kjoran money, but Mama always insisted that he was shortsighted.

“We don’t have many.” The girl pulled out a tray, only half of the pockets filled with charms. They were basic things, built of lichen and stone. I ran my hands over each one, feeling out the magic. Even these simple premade charms work differently from person to person, and you have to make sure you’re able to channel the charm’s power properly before you buy.

The girl nodded approvingly.

When my hand passed over a bracelet made of twisted-up asphodel and threaded with tiny seashells, my whole body blazed.

“This one.” I plucked it off the tray. The girl nodded and named her price. It was reasonable, and I was glad, because I didn’t know the customs for haggling here in Skalir.

“Do you feel you’re in danger?” she asked after I paid.

I slipped the bracelet onto my left hand. “I’m not certain.”

She tilted her head at me. “If you’re in trouble, the wizard could help you.”
For a price
. She didn’t say it aloud, but it was implied.

“Not necessary.” I lifted my arm and shook the bracelet. With each movement, its power pulsed through me. Comforting. “But I am looking for someone. Another Kjoran. An older man. Brown hair.”

“No one else has been in here for some time,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

I frowned and thanked her. I’d hoped that Kolur might have come here to gather up more premade charms for the boat.

Unless the
Penelope
had been damaged. Then the simple charms wouldn’t be enough–

“Is there a repair yard here?” I asked. “Or a supply shop?”

“Are you
sure
you’re not in danger?”

“Quite. I’ve just lost my apprentice master.” I flashed a smile at her. “He tends to drink.”

My answer mollified her curiosity. “The repair yard’s not far from here. Walk left from the shop, and then turn toward the sea when you reach the prayer stones.”

I thanked her again. When I walked back out on the street, I really did feel safer with my bracelet. The air was brighter, and I had a good feeling about the repair yard.

It didn’t take me long to walk there. The prayer stones lay at the outskirts of town, a great pile of rocks worn smooth by the ocean, arranged in unfamiliar patterns in the frozen mud. We had prayer stones in Kjora, too, but the patterns were different, based on runes from the ancient tongue.

The repair yard was as small as the town, just a rickety wooden fence hemming in some broken-up lumber and a shack built of gray bricks. A single boat floated out in the water, one of its sails dangling at an unnatural angle. It hurt me to look at it, like I was seeing a broken arm.

This time, no one came out to greet me. I went up to the shack and banged on the door until a shriveled old man answered, his white hair tucked up in a startlingly red cap.

“Empire girl!” he cried when he saw me. “Do you like my hat?”

“What?”

“My hat. It was crafted from the finest Empire fabric over twenty years ago, by a sailor who lost his way. I helped repair his ship when no one else would, and he gave it to me as a gift of thanks.”

“Oh.” I pretended to study the hat like I had knowledge of Empire fabric. To me, it looked tatty and worn, but then, it was twenty years old. “It’s quite lovely, yes. Wonderful workmanship.” I had no idea if this was true. It was a hat.

The old man beamed. “What can I do for you, so far from home?” he asked. “Do you have a ship that needs repair?”

“Not exactly.” The wind blowing off the water was as cold as the ice from last night’s storm. I fiddled with my bracelet. “My apprentice master’s gone missing. I thought he might have come here. We were in a storm, and he’d probably be seeking repairs.”

The old man studied me, rubbing at his chin, his stupid red hat jumping in and out of my line of vision. “An apprentice master? So you aren’t from the Empire.”

“I was born in Kjora.”

“Kjora! Still a long way from here.” He nodded. “And your apprentice master, he’s Kjoran, too?”

I nodded, not daring to get my hopes up.

“Aye, he did come by here, looking for parts.”

I sighed with relief. “Not too short, not too tall? Brown hair?”

“And dressed like a Kjoran, yes. A bit grumpy.”

That was definitely Kolur. “Oh, thank you, sir,” I said, grinning wildly. “Do you know where he went? Did he mention anything?”