Magic of Wind and Mist

  I shook my head. “I can do magic.”

  The fisherman turned back to the others and took to muttering again. I strained to listen to what they were saying, but their accents were too thick and their voices too low.

  He turned back to me again. “What sort? Sea-magic?”

  “Wind.” I held up my hand. “You want to see? I know plenty of protection charms, and I can set the sails so you won’t have to mess with them when we’re out on the water.”

  The young fisherman turned to one of the elder ones, a fellow with a bushy yellow beard and rheumy eyes. He nodded, once, and I took a deep breath and concentrated, pushing aside all the turmoil from earlier. The wind was gentle, but it was blowing in from the southeast. Made my job easy.

  I closed my eyes and hummed to myself, and the strength of my ancestors rose up inside me, drawing forth the magic inherent on the air. The wind shifted so that it was blowing straight from the south, and it brought with it the scents of home—Mama’s ice-berry pie, the soap for bathing we kept in a little ornamented box, the herbs growing in the garden next to the front door. My hair whipped around my face and my coat whipped around my legs and I opened my eyes and the three fishermen were all staring at me in wonder. Behind them, the sails of the fishing boat rattled and flapped; I couldn’t do anything with them if she wasn’t moving. But I could sculpt a protection spell, and I did, weaving the wind into a blanket that settled over all of us, me and the fishermen. It was thick as smoke.

  “Good enough for you?” I asked, out of breath from holding the magic.

  The younger fisherman laughed. “C’mon, Baltasar, that’s better than anything Reynir’s ever conjured up.”

  The man with the yellow beard harrumphed. “Don’t take much to beat out Reynir. You can stop, Empire girl; I’ve seen enough.”

  I let the magic drop. The protection shimmered away; the wind settled and shifted out of the southeast again.

  “I’m not Empire,” I said. “My mama was, technically, but she was a pirate, so she never pledged allegiance to the emperor. And my papa’s family has lived in the north all the way back to the time of Helgi.”

  The younger fisherman grinned at me. After a moment’s hesitation, I smiled back.

  “Please,” I said, and I addressed Baltasar, speaking as formally as I could. “I was washed ashore when my boat was attacked. My captain”—I figured that was better than saying “apprentice master”—“led me astray about why we were going north. I’m just looking for a way to earn money to support myself.”

  Baltasar studied me. He tugged at his beard. I held my breath like I was about to drop underwater.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll take you on. Be here tomorrow at dawn. We’ll be catching lisilfish.”

  I didn’t know what lisilfish were, but at least I wouldn’t starve here in the north. And maybe, eventually, I’d find a way home.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  My new fishing boat was called the Annika and it was a good sight larger than the Penelope, despite being moored here at these sad little docks, on an island more known for raising yaks than catching fish. The fisherman who got me hired, Finnur, told me that the crew was pretty sizable, about ten men all told. Well, eight men and two women, me included.

  After Baltasar hired me, I wandered back into Rilil to try and find a place to sleep for the night. We had a three-day run out to the Blackened Sea tomorrow, so at least I’d only have to spend one night in an inn. However, I was wary of coming across Kolur and Frida. I’d run straight from the mead hall to the docks without giving much thought to either of them, and I was still angry at the way they’d dragged me north and kept secrets from me and put me in danger of the Mists.

  I asked directions to the closest inn from a woman selling hunks of charred meat from a cart, right at the edge of the docks. She frowned at me, made me repeat myself a couple of times, then pointed me off to the west. The inn proved easy to find, since beneath the picture-letters was the word “inn” itself, spelled out for travelers, I guess.

  It was one of the more permanent buildings, with actual stones stacked up around the mound, and a real wooden door. I went in. The room was dark and smoky from the fire burning in the hearth, but an old man was behind the counter, cleaning out ale mugs.

  “Can I help you?” he asked without looking up.

  “I need a room. Just for one night.”

  “Very well. Fifteen stones.”

  I stopped. “Stones?”

  “Aye, what we pay with up here.” He squinted up at me and set the mug aside. “You don’t got none, do you?”

  I pulled out my pouch of gold discs and counted out fifteen of them. Then I laid them on the counter. “I’ve got these.”

  The man stared down at them. They looked flat and dull in the lantern light.

  “No good here,” he said, and chuckled. “Haven’t seen discs in a while, though.” He pinched one between his thumb and forefinger and held it up. My stomach felt heavy.

  “What do you mean, they aren’t good here?” I asked. The man looked at me. “I mean, they’re gold. That’s good everywhere.”

  “Good in the southerly islands, not the northerly ones. If you want to stay at my inn, you got to round up fifteen stones.” He tossed my disc back on the pile. It hit the others with a flat metallic ring. “Not going to steal it, girl. I told you, they’re worthless.”

  I swept the discs back into my pouch, keeping my head low because I was afraid I might start crying and I didn’t want him to see. Kolur had betrayed me, and here I was trapped in a land where I barely understood the language and my discs didn’t have any value and so I couldn’t even buy a room at the inn. I bet Kolur knew about Tuljan stones. I bet he had whole piles of them sewn into his boots.

  All I had was the Annika.

  I mumbled a thank-you to the innkeeper and walked back down to the docks. My limbs were heavy and the air seemed colder than it had before I left. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to warm up. It didn’t work.

  The Annika sat where I’d left her, tall and majestic in the thin sunlight. Baltasar and Finnur and the others weren’t standing on the dock anymore, but the gangplank was down and I figured since I was technically an Annika fisherwoman, I had permission to climb aboard. So I did.

  The deck had that eerie empty quality ships get when they’re moored on land and aren’t ready to sail yet. Except it wasn’t truly empty. Baltasar was up at the masts, tugging on the ropes and fooling with the sails, with the help of a spidery, gray-haired man I hadn’t seen before.

  “Excuse me,” I called out.

  Baltasar glanced up at me. “Don’t need you till tomorrow, sweetheart.”

  I walked up to him anyway. “I’m in a bit of a predicament,” I said.

  Baltasar laughed, his attention back at the ropes. The other man, though, kept sneaking glares at me, his brow furrowed. I tried my best to put him out of my mind.

  “It turns out I can’t pay for a room at the inn with my gold discs,” I said.

  The wind picked up and one of the sails yanked out of the spidery man’s hand. He cursed and went chasing after it, shouting something back at Baltasar. His accent was so thick that I didn’t catch it except the words “witch” and “what she’s done” and “don’t trust.”

  “You hush up, Reynir!” Baltasar snapped. He turned to me. “Don’t mind him. He’s angry we’re replacing him on the masts. But he’s a seawizard, and he’s never been able to control the wind.”

  The loose sail flapped out over the edge of the boat, and Reynir jumped up to try and grab it. He wasn’t having much luck.

  “See what I mean?” Baltasar laughed again. “Now, what’s your worry? Something about gold?”

  “I can’t pay for a room at the inn,” I said.

  Baltasar nodded.

  “And I can’t stay with my old captain, since we had a—a falling-out, and it’ll be too cold for me to sleep out in the open, and—” I stared at him pleadingly. “This is an ove
rnight boat, isn’t it, sir? Please, you can take it out of my pay, but I’ve got nowhere else—”

  Over on the starboard side, Reynir managed to wrestle the sail away from its freedom. Baltasar held up one hand.

  “You can sleep aboard tonight if you want. Down in the crew quarters. Nothing fancy. I’ll be here myself.” He shrugged. “Might do you well to get used to the boat and her sails.” He nodded over at Reynir, who was pulling the loose sail back into place, scowling all the while. “No way you can do any worse than Reynir.”

  “I heard that!” Reynir shouted back, and he glared at me one last time. Baltasar just found it funny.

  “Oh, thank you,” I said. “I promise you, you won’t be disappointed in me.”

  • • •

  I didn’t sleep well that night. The crew’s quarters were cold, even with the heat globes Reynir produced for me and Baltasar—I suspected he’d made mine weaker than he ought to. Plus, I was fretting about my future, which never makes for a restful sleep. In the end, I wrapped a warm sealskin blanket around my shoulders and went up on deck. Better than hanging in that uncomfortable hammock, waiting for sleep to overtake me.

  The docks were quiet and dark. I walked up to the railing and looked down in the water, but Isolfr wasn’t there.

  Good. I think I wanted to see him less than I did Kolur. The wind blew over me and the magic sank into my skin. Everything felt as it should: no disruptions, no sense of darkness on the horizon. No Mists.

  For a moment, a small and shivering moment, I let myself think that it was over, and that was enough for me to go back down to my hammock and finally fall asleep.

  Not that my sleep was restful. I was jarred awake the next morning by Reynir, his thin, pointed face like a remnant of a nightmare. “About to make sail,” he snapped. “Better go out there and prove what you can do with the winds.”

  The morning was a blur after that. The sun was just starting to rise as the crew stormed aboard, and their laughter and groans and roughhousing finally woke me up completely. Reynir, who turned out to be the boat’s fortuneer, gave me the directions to the Blackened Sea with a scowl, and I called down the winds and the Annika sailed off to the west.

  Since I wasn’t a strong witch like Frida, I had to stay up on deck the whole time, in case the winds shifted directions or there were other unforeseen problems. It was dull work and cold, but fairly mindless, and I was able to watch the crew ready the nets and prepare the preservation charms. I wasn’t a part of a crew at all. Sometimes it felt like watching a play.

  At lunchtime, Finnur brought me a jar of dried and salted meat. He said it was yak’s meat.

  “Thought you might be hungry,” he said.

  I was, and I smiled at him in gratitude. “Thank you,” I said.

  “You got to soften it in your mouth first,” Finnur said, pointing at the jar. “Like this.” He pulled out a strip and tossed it into his mouth, and his jaw worked around a bit. “Don’t try to chew till you can.” He spoke around the hunk of yak’s meat. “Not the best meal out there, but better than nothing.”

  I nodded, grateful for his kindness. I pulled out a strip of my own, studied it for a moment, and then slid it into my mouth. Finnur was right; it was tough as tree bark. I let it sit under my tongue, tasting the salt.

  “So do you know what kind of fish we’re after?” Finnur asked.

  “Baltasar told me.” I paused, trying to remember. “Lisilfish, wasn’t it? I don’t know them.”

  “Wouldn’t imagine so. They ain’t much in the way of southern fish.” Finnur leaned up against the mast. “Trickier than skrei or ling. With normal fish, you can just drag ’em up on deck and let ’em suffocate. Not so with these buggers.” He pulled away from the mast and walked over to the railing, gesturing for me to join him. I did. The fishing net trailed out behind us, glimmering in the pale northern sunlight. Light flashed beneath the water, and my heart jumped with it, but Finnur said, “That’s the lisilfish there. You can see ’em flickering.”

  “Is that what makes them trickier?” I leaned farther over the railing. I couldn’t get a good glimpse of them, but they seemed to be swimming among the nets like any other fish.

  Finnur laughed. “No. You’ll see when we drag ’em aboard.” He stared thoughtfully out at the water. Baltasar says it’s cause they swam south from Jandanvari waters, and that makes them smarter than most fish.”

  Hearing the name Jandanvar made me dizzy. I thought of Kolur the last time I’d seen him, his face illuminated by the murky light of the mead hall. Then I thought about Gillean. I pulled away from the railing and pretended to test the wind, just in case Finnur was of a mind to keep talking about Jandanvar. But one of the crewmen called him over to help with a tangled net.

  We dragged the nets in late in the afternoon. Baltasar rang the big brass bell that hung from the highest mast and shouted, “Net time! Net time!” He handed the wheel off to one of the younger boys and jumped down from the helm. “You,” he said, “Empire girl. Stand off to the side. You’ll just want to watch the first time.”

  “I’ve brought in fish before,” I said.

  “Not like this, you haven’t. Stand off to the side.”

  I did as he asked. He wasn’t Kolur; I couldn’t sass him and expect to have a job the next time the boat went out to sea.

  He wasn’t like Kolur. Definitely a good thing in my mind.

  I took a place over on the port side, close to the masts in case trouble stirred up with the wind, but still in good view of the net. Half the crew crowded around. I frowned. Seemed a lot of men to bring in just one net.

  “Grab the net!” Baltasar called out. Everyone did as he asked, winding their fingers up in the ropes and bracing themselves against the deck. “Hold!”

  They held. The boat rocked back and forth; the wind rippled through the sails. The tip of my nose burned from the cold.

  Everyone seemed to be holding his breath.

  “Draw!” Baltasar shouted, and in one great gasp of effort, every single one of those fishermen heaved at the net. Water splashed up along the side of the boat and the net erupted into the air. It was full of tiny silver sparks that threw bits of light all around the deck.

  It went up into the air.

  And it stayed in the air.

  I’d never seen anything like it, this net of fish floating over a boat like those brightly colored kites children play with during the windy months. It swayed back and forth, showering water over the fishermen, who grimaced and grunted and chanted something in a language I didn’t recognize. I felt like I needed to dart forward and help, but whatever magic this was, I didn’t know it.

  “Drop!” Baltasar shouted.

  The chanting swelled. The air rippled. And then, with a rush of coordinated movement, the net slammed against the deck.

  It stayed there.

  The crew burst into shouts of joy, laughing and slapping at one another’s backs. Finnur made his way over to where I stood watching. He was soaked with seawater, his hair plastered in dark ribbons against the side of his face.

  “See what I told you?” he said. “Tricky.”

  I looked over at the net. Someone had already cast the preservation charm, and one of the crew, the other woman, was loosening the net so she and another crewman could dump the fish out properly. I wondered why they cast the preservation charm first, but then I saw that the fish were still moving, swimming around the air like it was water, hemmed in by the shimmer of the preservation charm.

  “They aren’t dying,” I said.

  Finnur shrugged. “They don’t die easily, no. Natan puts a poison in the preservation charm to slow their hearts. It takes a minute to work. Says it’s not painful.”

  “And people want to eat these?”

  Finnur laughed. “It’s a Tuljan delicacy, actually. Lisila. I’ll have Asbera make it for you sometime. The poison can’t hurt humans.”

  I looked at him. He seemed serious, not like he was going to make fun of my supposed
Empire ways.

  “Really?” I said.

  He nodded. “Asbera makes some of the best on the island. That’s why I married her.” And he pointed to the fisherwoman, who was standing with the other crew and laughing now that the lisilfish were all out of the nets.

  The rest of the trip continued much like that first day. We caught seven more nets’ worth of lisilfish, moving from place to place according to Reynir’s calculations. I controlled the wind the whole time and never once let us blow off course, but Baltasar wouldn’t let me help draw in the nets.

  “Maybe next time,” he grunted when I asked him about it. “You need to learn the spells first.”

  We arrived back at the Rilil docks midafternoon during the third day, exactly when Baltasar promised we would. That level of honesty was a refreshing change of pace. The stores of lisilfish weighed down the Annika, and it took the entire crew to bring them to the market, where Baltasar sold them to a tight-faced, thin-lipped young man who tutted over the size of the fish. Still, Baltasar haggled him to a price of nearly four hundred stones, and I could tell by the whoops of excitement from the crew that it must be a good deal. We each got an equal share. When Baltasar handed me my pouch, the stones clacking together, I felt a surge of pride. With Kolur, I’d only been an apprentice, and so my share was always small and went straight to Mama besides.

  “A job well done,” Baltasar said. “Next trip planned is two days from now. You’ll be there.”

  I nodded, pleased. I shook the bag of stones and opened it up. They actually were rocks, sea stones that had been polished down into evenly sized discs about the same size as my gold ones. What a difference materials make.

  A couple of crewmen muttered cold words to each other, and I had a creeping feeling that they were about me. But I told myself not to be bothered. The captain appreciated my work, and I was paid, and if I could put up with that islanders’ paranoia that is the trademark of the north, I’d get home for certain.