Fleeing Peace

“One of what used to be called in Old Sartoran days the Blessed Twelve,” Murial said. “Thought gone forever. Unity of body, mind, and spirit is the definition, but what that means exactly is harder to define. We know our ancestors talked from mind to mind, and controlled the aging process.” She smiled. “You kids staying kids is a kind of far-off echo of those days, when people grew up as slowly as they needed to.”

  “‘Needed’ to grow up,” CJ muttered, rolling her eyes. “That would be never.”

  “Hear hear,” Kyale pronounced, still with her arms crossed. “Grownups are horridly disgusting.”

  “Some, maybe,” Clair temporized, smiling up at her aunt, who shook her head a little, and returned her smile.

  Murial said, “Concerning the old Blessings coming back. Has it ever seemed strange to you that you—so many children—have found yourselves caught up in world affairs? That you had to find or even steal magic to control aging while you learned?”

  “Played,” Gwen whispered to Sherry, and both girls grinned.

  Clair looked thoughtful.

  “You say it’s not coincidence?” Leander asked, dropping into in one of the window seats.

  “It’s not,” Murial said calmly. “Dena Yeresbeth is awakening again, in your generation, and Norsunder was caught unprepared. At the same time that various Norsundrians are trying their conquering plans, the two Old Ones, Siamis and Detlev, are apparently competing to find—and secure—the first ones to make their unity. They are the only ones who know what it is—and how to find it.”

  “So that’s why we’ve had so many problems with elevens?” Clair asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s what Siamis was doing when he was here before,” CJ exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “It didn’t make any sense! Of course, they’re too glue-brained to make sense most of the time,” she hastened to add, lest her words be thought to impute anything even vaguely complimentary to a villain. “When he said that Clair wasn’t the one he was looking for.”

  The Mearsiean girls offered a chorus of Ugh! Ecch! And Barfabits!

  “Here’s what I recently learned through my own sources,” Murial continued. “They know that at least one child, apparently a girl, has made her unity. Siamis can listen in some way.” She tapped her head.

  “That would be the one Siamis talked about,” Ben said.

  “They musta thought poor ole Cassandra was it when they figgered Clair wasn’t,” Dtheldevor spoke up from where she sat backward in her chair, her chin on her crossed forearms, her dark, slanted eyes serious for once. “Which is why they chased her all over. What a load o’ soul-sucking horse-dropping!” she exclaimed.

  Murial said, “Only it would seem—if Siamis wasn’t lying during the interview Ben overheard—he has a name, but as yet not the person.”

  “What c’n we do?” Dtheldevor asked. Pounding the chair back with a fist.

  “What is it they want?” CJ burst out.

  “We just assume they want to grab kingdoms for the fun of grabbing,” Clair said. “But there has to be more behind it.”

  “Of course,” Murial said. “Control life. And—” She winced. “Where do you think curse words come from? Not the organic ones, but the metaphysical,” she added with a faint smile.

  “We know that,” Kitty began. “It’s all about Norsunder.”

  Murial smiled at her, then said earnestly to the group, “The Norsundrians in control, that is the authors of Norsunder itself, well, not much is known about them, but the oldest records are clear in agreement on one thing: they really do consume your soul, your identity, and it appears to make them stronger.”

  Leander looked around. The reactions were characteristic: Clair somber, translating the news into evolving strategies for protecting her kingdom; CJ fierce; Dtheldevor laughing sarcastically, her desire to take action overtly expressed in her clenched fist; the Mearsiean girls looking mostly to Clair for clues on a subject which they felt was way beyond their experience; Kitty mulish. Puddlenose’s expression like his cousin Clair’s, and his friend Christoph looked uneasy.

  “Did your animal friends tell you all this?” Kitty asked doubtfully.

  Murial smiled. “They bring me messages from other magicians I’ve come to know from a distance.”

  Leander looked up from gouging his thumbnail in the window sill. He tried to hide the nightmarish regret he still felt over Senrid’s having been captured. Especially after Clair and Murial had listened to his news, but said that there was little they could do. Communication with the outside world had become very difficult.

  Murial said, “The world is changing. No longer can people blithely go about their business and leave it to magicians to ward Norsunder. You all can see that we are too few, and not always successful. People must begin to be self-reliant—and with the rebirth of the Twelve, after so long, we might just prevail.”

  “Who is this girl the creeps are hunting?” Dhana asked, her thin face wary. She and Faline were the only non-humans in human form among the kids, and Dhana resisted any imputation of magic.

  “Ben, what was that name again?” Murial asked.

  “Lee, uh, I forgot. Foreign-sounding,” Ben said, embarrassed.

  “No matter. You did well,” Murial said. “Apparently not just Siamis, but others are aware of her. She’s got a nickname already—maybe to protect her true identity.”

  “And that is?” CJ prompted.

  “Sartora.”

  “Appropriate enough,” Clair said. “If she’s the first, and she can help defeat these creepy Old Sartorans, it’s a good idea to name her after the very first queen of Sartor.”

  “So what’s she doing to help?” CJ asked.

  “According to the latest report, she’s in hiding.”

  “Oh, great,” CJ groaned in disgust. “So much for her. I think we need to figure out a way to get rid of Siamis.”

  “That’s it,” Dtheldevor exclaimed. “That’s the kind o’ action I can understand. We go after this soul-eater an’ kick his pimpled butt to the middle of the ocean.”

  Murial winced slightly, and Mearsieanne—who despite her nonconformity still belonged to a generation whose manners had been more circumscribed—frowned.

  “It’s one plan that might work.” Murial gave them a sad smile. “But who will volunteer to execute it?”

  No one was surprised when Dtheldevor said. “I will!” She laughed her pirate laugh. “Fer that, I’d even get me a pair o’ boots!” She waved one broad foot and wiggled the toes; the others had heard (often) that for shipboard life she preferred bare feet.

  Several were startled when Leander looked up from his place at the window and said, “And I will help.”

  “You can’t go,” Kitty snapped.

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll get killed!”

  Dtheldevor guffawed.

  Kitty glared at her, then turned to Leander. “You can’t face that . . . that . . .”

  “Groanboil,” CJ offered—ever ready with suitable terms for villains.

  Kitty ignored her. “Let someone else go.”

  “And if everyone says that?” Leander shot back, not without humor. “Look, Kitty. We did what we came to do. Now it’s up to others to get the word out about that northern rift.” He glanced up at the one adult.

  Murial nodded calmly. Now, at last, the prospect of a challenge, of a purpose, seemed to override the guilt that harrowed him.

  “Of course I can’t defeat him alone, but maybe two of us can do the deed,” Leander said to Dtheldevor.

  “Let’s move,” Dtheldevor said, slapping her square, capable-looking brown hands on her baggy-kneed trousers. “It feels good to have a plan o’ action. I been grounded too damn-blasted long!”

  Kyale made a show of shuddering at Dtheldevor’s language.

  “Wait until morning?” Murial asked pleasantly. “It’s snowing out, and we’ll want to prepare you some food.”

  “Thanks. Would appreciate that last,” Leand
er said, “but if we’re going to go, it seems to me best to go under cover of darkness.”

  “Good idee,” Dtheldevor said genially. “Someone borry me some woodland mocs? Even I ain’t tough enough to go bare-toed inta the snow!”

  Seshe, the oldest of Clair’s gang, got up to oversee the preparation of the food, and Puddlenose beckoned to Dtheldevor, sure that either he or Christoph had a pair of shoes she might fit.

  “Now,” Murial said. “Something very important. You,” she turned her attention to Leander, “have already picked up the trick of the Language.”

  Her emphasis on the word made it clear to Leander that she meant the language that enabled humans to talk to some animals—a very simplified form of Sartoran. He nodded. One of the ways she’d tried to help him combat that terrible guilt about Senrid’s betrayal had been her offer to teach him this simple form.

  “Remember,” she said, “that certain among the animals of this world are willing to ally with humans against the greater danger. Do not be afraid to call on them for help.”

  “We’ll need it,” Leander said. “Chasing a Norsunder around won’t be easy.”

  “Be fun,” Dtheldevor put in, grinning, as she stomped around testing Christoph’s worn travel-mocs.

  Mearsieanne touched Kitty, who had been glaring the while, and whispered to her. Kitty whispered back, fierce hissings that the others ignored.

  “The animals, in turn, are the longtime allies of the morvende, dawn-singers, and some of the hidden races.” Murial covertly glanced Dhana’s way. The girl gave a slight, wary nod.

  Leander drew a breath of sheer pleasure. It seemed strange that his intention of ending another’s life would bring him into contact with those he admired most in all the world. But then he didn’t want to kill Siamis just to be killing. It seemed to be the only way to halt one seriously evil threat.

  “I’m glad to tell you,” Murial said. “I think—though the times seem very dark indeed—that the world is on the verge of great things, and this alliance is one.”

  “The greatest,” Seshe murmured from the kitchen door.

  At the fervency in her usually quiet voice everyone glanced at her, tall and slim, her ash-blond hair bound in locks hanging against her blue gown. Seshe looked like an old-fashioned girl in some tapestry. She was the peace-maker of the group, and the most spiritually akin to animals and birds.

  “Just remember,” Murial said, as she lifted a young pup from Diana’s lap, “that you always treat them with respect. As equals, not servants.” She set the pup in Dtheldevor’s lap.

  The pirate girl’s face was a study in confusion. “Hey,” she protested, her hands stiff at either side of the dog, who sniffed happily at her tunic. “I ain’t gonna do no Norsunder-blasted insults, but how—”

  “A pat is fine,” Murial said, laughing. “Did you think he’d prefer to shake paws?”

  “I dunno if it’s respectful,” Dtheldevor said, grinning. “I got no idee what that is, not having need o’ it on the seas and fightin’ villains.”

  “Animals are tactile creatures,” Murial said. “And though their form of sentience is not like ours, they are always truthful. They like a friendly touch—and show it.”

  Dtheldevor ruffled the pup’s ears, gave him a smacking kiss atop his head, then set him carefully down, where he promptly tried to leap back up into her lap.

  “I can put together packs of travel food for you in a trice,” Seshe said. “Sherry, give me a hand?”

  “Sure.”

  “Put in coins, in case,” Murial called. “You will find some coinage in the cracked sugar holder.”

  CJ added comfortingly, “Chasing after a villain? I wouldn’t be you two insanitics for anything!”

  Kitty had been steadily distracted by Mearsieanne, but at CJ’s exclamation she looked up—and gasped. “You aren’t—you can’t be actually going now?”

  “Looks like.” Leander shrugged into his coat.

  Kitty wailed, “What about me?”

  “You’ll be safe enough here,” Leander said, with the extraordinary patience that all of the others had noticed.

  “But how am I to get home again? And what about our people? What if Detlev decided to send Senrid after our kingdom again? They’re probably best friends by now!”

  Leander’s face smoothed into blankness, and CJ grimaced. She didn’t like Senrid—well, she did, but she meant not to like him in account of his loyalties to dark magic—but one thing for sure, no kid deserved what had happened to him. And she did like Kitty, but felt she’d shown exceptionally rotten judgment, only why didn’t she seem to realize it?

  Murial said, “Kyale, we will find you a task worthy of your strengths and spirit. Leave Leander to his. Remember, they will find allies.”

  Kyale looked around. There was no support in any of the faces, so she confined herself to warnings that—as Leander moved about, swiftly assembling a few camping items, an extra set of clothes, and a knife—began to sound more and more like scolding. He didn’t hear it. He had a goal now, and for the first time in days, felt good.

  Seshe set two packs by the door.

  Dtheldevor picked up one. “Bye,” she said, and strode out into the snow.

  “We’ll see you at the celebrations,” Leander added, and closed the door.

  Murial caught Clair’s eye, and glanced Kitty’s way.

  The girl stood there in the middle of the room, her fear for her brother’s safety obvious in her stricken expression.

  CJ looked from Murial to Clair, and then stood up. “C’mon, Kitty,” CJ said. “Ol’ Algae-eyes is gonna be okay—you know only good kiddies die young. We’re all too rotten for that, and boys are twice as rotten.”

  “Hey,” Puddlenose said. “I heard that.”

  “Me too,” Christoph said. Puddlenose’s best friend, Christoph was always looking ahead to the next adventure—or joke. “When it comes to rotten . . . “

  “I’ll tell you what’s rotten,” Faline announced. “I’m an expect on rotten—”

  “That’s for sure!”

  “Yes!”

  “Admits it at last!”

  She nodded regally at this chorus of prompt insults from her friends as a queen acknowledges allegiance from her vassals, and continued, “—because I have been granted a glimpse of the Villains’ Code of Rottenness. Now, your new villain must, if he wants to be taken seriously, acquire a warty nose, a gloomy castle—”

  The others joined in, distracting Kitty with a long string of ridiculousness. She liked being the center of attention, and she adored the silly jokes; she calmed, as it happened, long before Leander did.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was scarcely three weeks from the time Rel left Sartor when the enchantment spread around him. He felt nothing, but he saw the effect when a crowded street full of cart vendors, delivery people, store keepers, shoppers, loungers, thieves, and so forth quieted, their steps slowing. Those who’d come to shop continued to shop, but without haggling or exchanging gossip or argument; loungers slowed to a dreamy walk, thieves looked around as if seeking something in the air. The occasional voice was direct, without emotion. Question, answer. Go on about one’s day.

  Rel thought of Yustnesveas, fearing that back in Sartor the inevitable had occurred. Yustnesveas would not have hidden. And no one seemed to be able to resist this Siamis any other way.

  The thought made him angry, but he didn’t waste much time on impotent rage. If he’d stayed in Sartor, he couldn’t have done anything, not against this kind of fight.

  So he turned his attention to what he could do.

  He donned the Norsunder uniform several times as he made his way northward, mostly spying on enchanted people in key places. In each case, they were encouraged to talk just by the sight of the uniform. He learned about Siamis, the enchantment, and some of his movements. He also heard something about the expectation of more help when “the rift” was finished. And he heard that Siamis had found the child he was look
ing for in Imar, but he was as yet too busy spreading his enchantment to deal with the child or the rifts.

  The enchantment was due to reach Colend soon. Rel decided the best thing he could do would be to warn King Carlael Lirendi.

  He rode hard for Alsais, and used his size to force an interview with the king—and when they were face to face said, “Siamis of Norsunder is coming for you. He will use magic to enchant you, and through you, your entire population.”

  The king of Colend was just as extraordinarily handsome as reputed—but Rel had heard rumors that he was not quite sane. Rel observed the restlessness of the fine hands, the anger that tightened his face.

  “You cannot fight against magic with swords,” Rel said. “You can save your people best by staying free.”

  “Save them?”

  “Siamis is going to enchant your city. Your kingdom. By enchanting you.”

  Carlael gazed at Rel. “My people will be enchanted by a damned Norsundrian?”

  “Yes. Through you.”

  “I do not run, and abandon my people, merely to save my skin.”

  Rel exchanged looks with the captain of the honor guard; that was all the time they had.

  Noise echoed from outside the marble palace. The honor guard ran out, drawing their weapons. Rel drew his, unsettled by the tight timing. It was almost as if someone had been watching from afar, permitting Rel to reach the city first.

  Someone who might be amused by his vain efforts.

  Carlael beckoned to a young equerry. “Order the bellringers to sound the alarm. The rest of you? Swords out, to the attack!”

  The Norsundrians had efficiently ringed the palace. A trumpet summoned the Colendi guards to line up.

  Rel fought side by side with Carlael Lirendi, who was moody and difficult, but he did know how to use a sword. Carlael kept turning his head upward, listening for the carillons to raise the city, but the bells were silent.

  Rel did his best, but the Norsundrians kept falling back, falling back. “They’re just keeping us busy,” he finally called to the king.

  Carlael’s response was to redouble his efforts.

  As the sun began to set, the tired Colendi chased the Norsundrians among the buildings. “Come out, you cowards!” Carlael called, over and over.