Brightly Woven

  “Wizard,” I heard him correct me weakly. “I…am…a wizard!”

  “Some wizard you are!” I whirled back around. “How about using some of your magic to sober your sorry, drunken self up? And stop calling me Syd!”

  I stormed up the staircase, ready to slam our door shut against the tavern’s laughter and North’s infuriating smile. My hand was tight on the railing, my eyes firmly on the trail of muddy footprints leading to the upstairs hall. The suffocating heat and movement of the tavern was behind me, but its smell was inescapable.

  The single window in the hallway was propped open by a thin book. I went toward it and forced the stubborn wood frame open the rest of the way. When it finally gave, a rush of cool air was my reward.

  I stuck my head out into the night, and for one peaceful moment, I just breathed. We hadn’t stopped moving since leaving Cliffton, save for the few hours each night I could convince the wizard I needed to sleep. He was always talking, always moving, never stopping.

  At this time of night, the bridges of Dellark were haunting but not frightening. Every now and then a couple would cross a bridge, laughing, so wrapped up in each other’s company they didn’t notice the full moon’s reflection in the dark water. Its face hovered there among the stars until a breeze came along and smeared them all away.

  I leaned back, retreating into the warmth. The stars weren’t nearly as bright as they were in Cliffton, though I could make out each constellation. Astraea the magic giver, Salvala the sword bearer…

  I barely noticed the tap on my shoulder, but it was impossible to ignore the full, flushed face of the man who had appeared behind me.

  “Has anyone ever told you your hair is the color of Astraea’s?”

  He was almost as short as I was, with hair that was unnaturally blond, almost tinged with orange. He wore a light blue velvet coat, and a greasy smile lit his face.

  I took a step away.

  “Yes…,” I said.

  “A golden shade of red,” he mused. “The hair of our goddess, but the color Auster chose for their uniforms and flags. It’s all a bit ironic, don’t you think?”

  “Not really,” I said. “Salvala is Astraea’s sister. They have the same coloring.”

  A young man, no older than myself, appeared behind the man in the blue coat. He looked like Billy Porter, Henry’s cousin, and the thought wrenched my gut.

  “What have I told you about keeping up?” the man asked pleasantly enough.

  “Sorry, Mr. Genet,” the boy said.

  Mr. Genet leaned over and muttered, “George is just my assistant; ignore him if you like.”

  “You’re”—I thought quickly—“a wizard?” North had been so warm and I had thought the same would be true for all wizards, but it wasn’t as easy to identify them as I had thought.

  “One of a few in the city, but the best of these parts—number one hundred twenty-two.”

  “One hundred twenty-two?” I asked helplessly.

  Genet let out a delighted laugh. “What a simple girl you are! That’s my rank in wizarding society. Out of over four hundred wizards, I am the one hundred and twenty-second most powerful. It’s quite an accomplishment, you know. My magister, the great Alfred Ollman, fell over himself to accept my application for training when he recognized what a child prodigy I was.”

  I nodded, trying to move past him, but he blocked my path.

  “You’re a special one, aren’t you?” he asked. “It took me a moment to realize it, but I felt it the moment I came out of my room. Join me for a drink downstairs?”

  Genet must have misinterpreted my stare of open horror for awe, because my hand was suddenly in his, pressed to his droopy—and drooling—lower lip. I ripped it away.

  “Sir!” I said. “Please!”

  He reached for me again, catching my arm and pulling me back so hard I let out a shriek. His assistant took my other arm, and it was a long struggle among the three of us down the hall. I dug my feet into the wood and clawed at their arms, but once we reached the narrow stairs, I was wedged between Genet’s protruding stomach and his assistant’s sharp elbows.

  I did it without thinking, though the moment my teeth bit down on Genet’s arm I regretted it. He let out an awful shriek of pain, pushing me down the last few steps and back into the tavern. I landed hard on my knees, knocking into the feet of two tavern patrons.

  “Have some respect, you stupid girl!” Genet howled, stumbling down the rest of the stairs. “Do you know with whom you’re dealing?”

  “Yes,” I snapped, struggling to my feet. “A filthy pig!”

  Genet raised his hand, and I squeezed my eyes shut, sure I would be receiving the worst backhanded slap of my life.

  Genet froze and whimpered, but didn’t back away.

  “Oh, ho,” said a familiar voice. “That was close!” I opened my eyes as North’s free hand—the one that hadn’t caught Genet’s wrist—gently pulled my arm free. I pushed myself away from both of them.

  “You interrupt my business?” Genet sputtered. “Do you know what this wench just accused me of being?”

  “A filthy pig,” North said good-naturedly. “But there’s only one filthy pig allowed in her life, and the position’s been filled.”

  Genet’s eyes swept over the length of him, taking in the foot of height that separated them with cool indifference.

  “Up to the room with you, Syd,” North said under his breath.

  “No, Syd, stay,” Genet said.

  “Stop calling me Syd!” I cried.

  “She’s agreed to come with me.” Genet did not seem to notice the tavern had quieted around us. Even the barman was studying our exchange closely.

  “I don’t even know who you are!” I said. Genet grabbed for me again, but North was between us.

  “I did not say that you could leave.” Genet flicked his cloak back dramatically, revealing a multicolored rope hanging like a tamed snake at his hip. North looked as if he’d love nothing more than to strangle the other man with it.

  “Who in the seven hells…,” I heard North mumble as he pushed me behind him yet again.

  “I am Renald Stonewall Genet, wizard of the much esteemed patron Mr. Orvilley of Orvilley and Orvilley Sea Shipping, ranked one hundred twenty-two of all wizards. I’d prefer not to use my magic, so if you, young sir, would kindly wait here while I escort this young lady back to my residence…”

  “Can’t you do something?” I asked North desperately.

  “Syd,” North began warningly. “Don’t—”

  “You’re a wizard, too, right? Make him—” I stopped, seeing the pained expression on North’s face. That had not been the right thing to say.

  “A wizard?” The smile crept back up the side of Genet’s greasy face. “No wizard I’ve seen. Dressed as you are, I doubt you have a patron, but if you do, I would like to know his name as well, so I can write and tell him of your inferiority. I’ll have to know your rank before we duel, as well.”

  “Duel?” I asked, looking back and forth between them. I knew about wizard duels; everything I had read pointed to bloodshed and destruction.

  I looked around the tavern to faces that were both startled and intrigued. The man in the pale overcoat with a pipe had moved to stand near the door, as if anticipating the need to run—or perhaps just to get a better view of the fight. But the wizards couldn’t fight here, not when there was a chance others could be hurt. North appeared to have a similar thought.

  “You want to duel? Right now?” North asked. “Right here?”

  Genet nodded, a smile stretching across his face. “Don’t be frightened, friend; you get the first attack. It’s only proper for the challenged wizard to go first. If you’d be so kind as to tell me your rank…?”

  “North!” I hissed. “Let’s just go! Don’t forget—”

  North silenced me with a wave of his hand, smiling as though he were about to eat the other wizard whole. He stood like a statue, the perfect image of self-confidence. Genet l
ooked just as sure, maybe even more so now that his braided whip was in his hands, the split tip dragging lazily on the ground.

  “Hey!” the barman called. “I don’t want none of this in—!”

  I will never forget the sound North’s fist made as it connected with the other wizard’s skull. Genet’s nose crunched sickeningly, and a large spray of blood flew up before he slumped to the ground, motionless. George rushed forward, dropping to his knees next to his employer.

  North leaned over the other wizard’s unconscious body. “I win.”

  “Did you kill him?” I asked as the tavern roared with laughter.

  “Oh, hardly.” North snorted. “I barely hit him, and he went down like a daisy.”

  I looked down at the unconscious wizard and shook my head in disgust. Genet may have been the scum of the world, but it didn’t change the fact that North was little more than a drunken brute.

  The crowd in the tavern showered him with applause and cheers, and North took it in like a conquering hero. He stepped over Genet’s prone body and was welcomed back to the bar with a tankard of ale.

  “Fine!” I said to no one in particular, and turned to go back up the stairs.

  As I pushed through the crowd, a hand caught mine, and I felt the touch of warm, wet air against my neck. I tried to shake free. It wasn’t North.

  “That’s not magic,” a quiet voice said in my ear. “Watch closely…”

  The man in the pale overcoat gave me a smile as he pulled away and lifted his hand to his lips. With a single breath, he blew a cloud of blue powder from his palm, which expanded and grew around me like a thundercloud. I saw the man’s face flash before me, and for the first time I saw the horrible scars that he had kept hidden beneath his hat. The right side of his face looked as though some wild animal had mauled it—his eyelid had melted down his cheek, and the deep, red lines continued across his face to where his ear should have been.

  His free hand took mine again, and I couldn’t pull away.

  “What—?” I choked out. I squeezed my eyes shut against the smoke. The air smelled of ash, of fire. I forced my eyes open again, but I was no longer in the tavern. I was in Cliffton, in the village marketplace. I recognized most of the faces as they ran past me, past the soldiers who were dragging families from their homes. Mr. Porter screamed for them to stop, to spare his house, but the soldiers threw the torch on the building’s roof anyway. And I screamed, too; I screamed until I couldn’t get enough air into my chest. The nighttime sky, usually so clear over Cliffton, was nothing more than a haze of orange. The world was dizzy and awful. I clutched my necklace in my hand, a wave of nausea passing through me.

  With my free hand, I felt in my dress pockets for something sharp. A new blast of fire flew past my head and sent the strange man sprawling to the floor. That magic could only have come from a wizard.

  “North!” I called, waving the smoke away from my face.

  I felt a pair of arms wrap around me, but I wasn’t about to be taken by a soldier that easily. I kicked and clawed at the fabric of his uniform, screaming, “Let me go!” I screamed again. “North!”

  “I’m here!” he said, and I felt the arms around me tighten. “Stop, stop, it’s not real!”

  It had to be real—I saw my father and mother and Henry; I saw the swords and horses. The ground was shaking with the force of soldiers stampeding through the village. I couldn’t force the smoke from my lungs or stop the pounding in my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut again, praying this was nothing more than a nightmare.

  It must have been; I opened my eyes again, only this time it was to North’s face and the sight of a clear sky behind him. Dellark, somehow I was back in Dellark—but the ground was still trembling and the roar that I had attributed to the horses was actually the sound of the stone buildings and bridges grinding against one another.

  North used the fire, I realized.

  “Wait here!” North shouted, dragging himself to his feet. I pushed myself off the ground, narrowly avoiding the patrons fleeing the tavern and surrounding buildings. The wizard pushed through them, heading straight for the quaking buildings. He ducked inside and emerged a moment later with our belongings. He threw them in my direction.

  “We need to go!” I yelled, my voice still hoarse. “It’s not safe!”

  “Not yet—” North’s jaw set in a line of determination, and I saw him ripping his green cloak from the others. He set it flat on the ground, pressing his hands hard against it. The green cloak faded into the street. I watched, mouth open, as the tavern and buildings around us stopped moving. It lasted only a moment. When the tavern began to move again, he dug his hands harder into the ground, with more insistence.

  North caught my eye for a moment, then he nodded, once, twice, and the green cloak reappeared on the ground, caught beneath the loose rubble. I pulled the loom and my bag to my chest.

  I scrambled to my feet, pushing my hair out of my eyes, and then North was behind me, pulling me toward him. I didn’t have time to move; he wrapped his black cloak around us, up and over our heads, and blocked out the image of crumbling stone.

  “What—?” I choked on my own words, my heart dropping again into my stomach. We were sliding sharply downward, the air buzzing and singing. The world went dark around us, but there was no more fear in my heart.

  Ah, I thought, feeling the first brush of tingling warmth as we fell into the unknown. Magic.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I didn’t have time for another thought. My knees bent to absorb the shock of the sudden contact, but the soft ground shifted beneath me, and I tumbled backward. North tried to brace us, but I twisted out of his grip and landed flat on my bottom with a gasp, our bags spilling out into the grass.

  “All right?” he asked immediately, rubbing his eyes. No wonder he couldn’t see straight—the ground was still shaking beneath us.

  “What was that?” I whispered. “I was in Cliffton, I swear….”

  “It was dark magic,” North said, “meant to toy with your mind, to trap you in your worst fears. Everyone in the tavern was affected.”

  “What did you see?” I asked. “How did you break out of it?”

  He didn’t answer. The deep grimace on his face was clear as he knelt beside me, though there was only a sliver of moonlight escaping the clouds. The ground wasn’t shaking anymore, I realized, nor was I. It was North who was shaking. I could see his hands trembling.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I asked. “Why are you acting like this?”

  North had gone deathly pale, and the night’s shadows were heavy across his face. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across his brow. He was in pain, and he couldn’t hide it from me.

  The wizard didn’t answer. His shaking hands fumbled around in the tall grass for something—a bottle—and he thrust it at me.

  “Who was that man?” I asked. “The one with the powder? He was missing an eye and an ear.” I watched an ugly expression take hold of North’s face. “Do you know him?”

  Once again, North looked away. “Take…,” he said past his clenched jaw. “Take this and the blanket…and go to sleep.”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “You obviously need whatever it is more than I do.”

  “Take it!” he said wildly, pushing the little blue bottle into my hands. “Take it, or by the gods, I’ll pour every drop down your throat!”

  “North—” I began, but he walked away to the small patch of trees and sat down heavily. He clawed at the knot of string around his throat, ripping his cloaks away from him and letting them flutter to the ground. I hadn’t had the chance to fix them since the night before we had left, but I could see how badly they needed it. His back was to me, but I saw how he brought his knees tightly to his chest and pressed his face down hard against them. Something inside of me lurched at the sight, and eventually I got up to wrap his blanket around him. The one my mother had packed for me was thinner, but it was still a comfort. Eventually, I felt the insistent tug of
sleep. But all night that little blue bottle lay somewhere between us, past my tired body and just out of reach of his low, muffled cries of pain.

  I was restless under the unfamiliar sky. They were the same stars I knew in Cliffton, but the way they glared down at me now was almost mocking. I searched for the constellations, trying to figure out which way the wizard had taken us—east?

  I sat up in the soft grass and felt my eyes inevitably drift his way again. He was so still, the rise and fall of his chest so subtle, that for a moment I was actually afraid. His face was cold to the touch, and when my fingers brushed the pale skin of his cheeks he cringed—actually cringed.

  My head snapped back up, the weariness in my limbs and mind suddenly gone. Somewhere in the distance an animal let out a long wail, but it didn’t mask the sound of breaking twigs or labored breathing.

  The moon’s full, creamy face gave off more than enough light, yet I saw nothing but the scattered patches of trees around us, just large enough for a man to hide behind.

  “North,” I whispered. When he didn’t respond I tried again, this time with a hard shake. “North!”

  His head lolled to the side, and I had to check once more to make sure he was still breathing. The sound I’d heard was most likely an animal, but there was no way for me to shake the image of the scarred man in the tavern or the crisp red uniforms of Saldorra’s elite soldiers. It was impossible, though, wasn’t it? For the man with the powder to have followed us all the way into the wilderness—how could he have begun to track us when we had left no footprints behind in our escape from Dellark?

  Something touched my back. It lasted no more than a moment, but even half delirious from lack of sleep, I knew I couldn’t have dreamed it. It was a warm pulse through the thin fabric of my dress, there and gone. Then again, and again, and again…like a slow heartbeat.

  “North!” I said through gritted teeth, while searching the trees around me. “North!”

  There was nowhere for us to hide. I couldn’t lift him into the trees; I could barely climb up into them myself. But we weren’t safe, not when whoever—or whatever—was out here and could hide itself under the cover of leaves.