Magic of Wind and Mist

  I didn’t like the thought of walking through the night, and I suspected Asbera felt the same, even if she wouldn’t say it directly.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think that would be lovely.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I was too accustomed to southerly ways, as well as life aboard a fishing boat, to appreciate spending the night in one of those round tents the way Asbera clearly did. I had some trouble sleeping that night, curled up on my bed of yakskin, listening to the wind howling outside. The north wind. I knew it because I felt flickers of that presence as the wind pressed against the white fabric of the tent. I shivered but I wasn’t afraid—that presence had helped me against the Mists.

  The next day, Asbera and I returned to Rilil without trouble, and the bright morning was still and cold.

  Finnur healed from his exhaustion within a few days’ time, although he didn’t go out with us on the Annika’s next run. “Lazing his life away,” Asbera told me as we drew up the sails together. She laughed, but I could tell she worried about him. Still, he was waiting for us when we returned three days later, stretched out on the deck of the Crocus in a patch of lemony sunlight, braiding vines together to make more charms.

  The Annika went on two more short trips, leaving in the morning and returning in full dark of the same day. Finnur was well enough to sail on the second trip, and when he climbed aboard, the crew shouted boisterously for him. Even Baltasar looked pleased, and he slapped Finnur on the back as Finnur picked up a coil of rope and shouted, “Back to work!”

  There were no more attacks from the Mists.

  I didn’t let my guard down, though. In those first few weeks after the attack, I wore my bracelet everywhere, even to bed, and the dried vines grew so brittle and worn that they finally frayed and fell apart. I was lucky it happened while I was aboard the Cornflower and I was able to find the bracelet lying unceremoniously on the middle of the deck. I repaired it with a bit of red yarn from the magic shop, murmuring Kjoran protection charms while the south wind swirled around me. When I slipped the bracelet back on, its magic was stronger than it had been before, and it pulsed with my heartbeat.

  The magic around the village began to change after our visit to the priests—a gradual fortification that made the air taste of metal and incense smoke, like the air in the priests’ temples. This new magic crackled against my own, particularly when I returned from sea and was weak from using it so much during the trip.

  More charms appeared around the village, not just vines and moss, but also tiny figurines carved from mountain stone. They materialized in windows and at crossroads, always watchful. I didn’t like them, because they bore the same shapes as the costumed men: a yak, a goat, a straw-man, a pine tree. Everywhere I went I felt a jolt of fear, seeing one of them lurking out of the corner of my eye.

  It didn’t help that I’d learned that the boats leaving Tulja rarely sailed as far south as Kjora. My jar of stones was almost half full, and I carted it down to the dock master, who lived and worked from a moored junk at the edge of the bay. He was kindly enough, his face wizened and bearded, and his eyes crinkled with a smile when I set the jar on his desk.

  “I want to book passage to Kjora,” I told him. “How much will it cost? These are all the stones I have saved up.”

  The dock master picked up my jar and gave a good hard shake. “You’ve saved quite a bit, Empire girl. I heard about you. Working aboard the Annika, yes?”

  I shifted in my seat, impatient. “Yes. Is it enough to get me home? I’m from Kjora, not the Empire. And of course I’m willing to work while I’m on board the ship too.”

  The dock master set the jar back down. “If you’re willing to work, you wouldn’t need to pay for anything.” Another smile. “But you’ll have a good spot of trouble finding a boat that’ll take you as far as Kjora. Best I can do is get you to Latul, and it might be months before another boat comes along. I’m sorry, my dear.”

  My lungs felt hollow. I thought of all those eerie figurines watching me from the shadows of Rilil. There was even one in the dock master’s office, sitting next to a window covered by a scrap of hide. A yak-man.

  But even I knew this wasn’t the fault of the costumed men. It wasn’t even the fault of the Mists.

  “You save a bit more, you might be able to buy a boat.” The dock master shrugged. “Don’t know about a crew, though.”

  “How much more?”

  The dock master hesitated. He looked down at his hands. “Quite a bit more, in truth. A lug or junk capable of that sort of journey—at least three thousand stones.”

  I stared at him. Three thousand stones. I hadn’t counted the stones in my jar, but I doubted I’d earned three thousand stones in all the time I’d been working for Baltasar.

  “I’m sorry, Empire child,” the dock master said, not unkindly. But his words still struck me hard in the heart.

  “I’m not from the Empire.” I grabbed my jar and stalked out of his boat. Out on the dock, the air was clean and crisp, and the wind was blowing from the north. I drew my thoughts into myself. I had a feeling that presence would be there, lurking, and I didn’t want to sense it right now.

  I held my jar tight to my chest and went back to the Cornflower. It had been such a push and pull to save these stones, eating nothing but salted fish even on my days off, taking on every day trip out to sea that Baltasar would let me. And even then, I still had to pull stones from the jar to pay Rudolf another thirty so I could stay on the Cornflower.

  By the time I made it back, my cheeks were streaked with tears. I stood next to the railing and gazed over the deck. The empty masts looked like dead trees. The whole thing felt like a prison. It wasn’t home. No matter how kind Asbera and Finnur were, it would never be home.

  And then I spotted a figurine of a straw-man.

  It was set next to a piece of vine that Asbera had given me. I stared at it for a few moments, my heart pounding. My tears all evaporated with my fear.

  “The Mists?” I whispered.

  I crept closer, holding the stone-jar tight against my chest, squeezing it for support. When I was a few paces away, my head thrummed with magic. Good magic. Protective magic.

  Tuljan magic.

  I still wanted to throw it into the ocean, but I knew better than to disrespect a protective totem. So I let it be, and I went down below, where I set my jar back in its usual place and tried not to think about home.

  That evening, when I went to the Crocus for dinner, I learned that Rudolf had installed figurines on all the boarding boats—Asbera and Finnur had discovered a miniature goat on their deck.

  “It’s true magic,” Asbera told me as she poured another glass of ale.

  “I know,” I said. “I can feel it.”

  She smiled. “I told you the priests would help.”

  Still, I had my doubts.

  That was the last day when anything new happened. The twin emotions of disappointment and fear braided together into a sense of numbness that highlighted the drudgery of my routine. I’d been used to routines back on Kjora—the constant cycle of chores and tending to Henrik and sailing out to sea with Kolur—but here on Tulja, the repetition was endless and dull. Every few days, I went out with the Annika and received payment that I then spent on food and boarding and patching my coat and stockings. Despite having a new goal, vague and ill defined—buy my own boat—I felt like I saved less money than before. One morning, I pulled on my left boot, and my big toe peeked through the leather. I stared at that toe for a long time. It didn’t feel like it belonged to me.

  And then I counted out stones from my jar, my heart heavy. I couldn’t go without boots, not if I’d any intention of living as a fisherwoman.

  In all those weeks, I didn’t allow myself to think on Kolur and Frida and Isolfr. They were still in Tulja—I saw the Penelope II whenever we sailed in and out of harbor, her carvings distinct and strange against the dull Tuljan boats. According to the rumors swirling around the docks, most folk didn?
??t think they’d ever get through all the repairs.

  I doubted that, though. I knew from experience how driven Kolur was when he wanted something. He’d kidnapped me away from Kjora just because his fish bones told him to go north.

  On and on life went, until one day, while I sat up on the deck of the Cornflower mending sails for the Annika, I heard a bell.

  It tinkled just off the starboard side, down by the water. I set the sail aside and walked over to the railing and looked down.

  Isolfr.

  He was in his human disguise, his Pjetur disguise, all bundled up like the cold affected him. He sat in the dinghy, one oar lying across his lap. He chimed the dinghy’s bell again, then called, “Hanna!”

  His voice was bright and sparkling like starlight. It set all my nerves on edge.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I need to speak with you.”

  I stared down at him, and he squinted up at me.

  “You could have just climbed aboard,” I snapped. “It’s not like I pulled the gangplank up.”

  “I thought I needed your permission.”

  I sighed. He sounded so sweet and sincere, like he didn’t fully understand the ways of humans. Probably he didn’t.

  “What do you need to talk to me about?” I asked.

  He hesitated. That got my guard up. I pressed my hands tight against the railing and leaned out far over the water. The wind blowing off it was cold as death. “Well?” I said. “What is—”

  “We’re leaving.”

  All my words came up short. I pressed away from the railing. The sun seemed too bright and too cold all once.

  “Fine,” I said. My voice was weak but I knew the wind carried it. “You can come up.”

  I turned away from the railing without bothering to check if he’d heard. I knew that he had. He wasn’t human. He didn’t have a human’s weaknesses.

  A few moments later, his icy blond hair appeared beside the railing. I gathered up the half-mended sails like they were a protection shield. He looked like a flash of moonlight off the surface of the ocean.

  We stared at each other.

  “I’m sorry you were attacked,” he said. “I never meant—”

  “So you admit it’s your fault.”

  “What? No, of course not—”

  “Then don’t say you’re sorry, and don’t say you never meant anything.” I grabbed my mending needle and shoved it into the sail fabric. It was satisfying, feeling that give against the needle’s sharpness. A good outlet for my anger.

  “Hanna.” I heard footsteps and when I looked up, he was kneeling beside me, staring at me with his huge, imploring eyes. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?”

  My arm froze mid-stitch. The air went still.

  “The Mists attacked me,” I said slowly. “Because of Kolur.” I paused. “And because of you.”

  Isolfr opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted him.

  “They told me that,” I said. “They called me ‘Friend of Isolfr.’ ” Isolfr didn’t look like himself, with his dull skin and human features and his brow knotted up with worry. “When you sail for the north, they’ll follow you and leave me be.”

  My blood pounded in my ears. I turned back to my mending, but I couldn’t concentrate, not with him crouched there beside me.

  “Just go away,” I muttered, not looking up. “Just leave me alone.”

  “I will.” He touched my arm, lightly, with the tips of his fingers. Magic buzzed between us and I cried out like I’d been stung, even though it didn’t exactly hurt. “But I just—we’re leaving tomorrow, while you’ll be out on your fishing trip—”

  I looked up at him. “How the hell do you know that? About me being out fishing?”

  “I hear people talking. I wanted to give you one last chance to come with us.”

  I glared at him. But he didn’t turn away. In fact, he looked desperate.

  “Your magic is so much stronger than you realize,” he said. “So much stronger than I realized—”

  “It’s still not as strong as Frida’s,” I snapped. “Ask her.”

  He shivered. “You know I can’t.”

  “I know you’re a coward. She isn’t going to hurt you, whatever the hell you are. At least not if the Mists are on their way.”

  He looked at me for a moment, and I could tell he knew I was right. But when he spoke, all he said was, “You would be such a help. Please.”

  He touched my arm again and leaned in close. Magic crackled. “It’s going to be dangerous, what we’re doing,” he said. “And there’s the fate of the whole world—”

  “Oh, shut up!” I yanked away from him. “The fate of the whole world? Did Kolur tell you that? You’ve got a lot to learn about the world, if you think him winning back some queen puts the world in danger.”

  Isolfr frowned. “It’s not just about the Jandanvari queen. I haven’t explained it properly.”

  “Well, don’t bother. I’m not going. I just want to get back home to Kjora and convince Mama to send me off to the capital to study to become a witch. Can you do that?”

  He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “Then I’m staying here.” I turned away from him, but I could still feel the prickle of his eyes on me, the lingering spark of our shared magic. “Please leave.”

  When I finally looked up, Isolfr was gone.

  • • •

  Our fishing trip out to the eastern side of Tulja was uneventful. The winds were in our favor, and there wasn’t much for me to do beside tighten the ropes and prep the nets. It gave me a lot of time to think, mostly on Isolfr. I wished I hadn’t lost my temper and sent him away. Now that he was gone, now that the Penelope II was likely cutting her way through the dark seas, it was easy to see that he might have been willing to answer my questions. Maybe.

  But I hadn’t wanted to go with them. That I knew for certain. It was unfair that Kolur was on his way to Jandanvar and his queen and I would need another three jars of stones to make it back to Kjora.

  I tried to focus my attention on the Annika.

  With the trip such an easy one, it wasn’t long before the crew were all sitting around the deck, throwing dice. Baltasar didn’t even complain about it from his place at the helm.

  We were after capelins. They were a rarity this time of year, and Reynir seeing them when he threw the bones could mean a big payload for the rest of us, even though we had to do a day’s sailing to get out to the patch of sea where the bones had spotted them. By the time we arrived, the stars had come out and the air was cold and windy. The crew was in a mood, too, after a day of easy sailing. Some of them had been drinking like pirates.

  “Drop the nets!” Baltasar shouted from the helm. “We’re here!”

  We all shambled into action. It took the crew longer than usual to toss the nets over the side of the boat. They landed with a slap, and the ocean churned around us. Fish scales glinted in the moonlight.

  “I remember the last time we got a load of capelin,” Asbera said as we watched the starboard. “The yak herders use the oil for tanning, so they’re willing to pay for it. Do you remember that haul, Finnur?”

  He nodded, his eyes on the water. “Felt like enough to retire.”

  I laughed. “I doubt that.”

  He looked up at me. “Said it felt like it. Not that it was.”

  The nets filled quickly, which put us all in good spirits. As irritating as Reynir was, his bones rarely steered us wrong. Asbera and I worked together to drag our net on deck. Capelins spilled across our feet, like the stars themselves had fallen from the sky.

  “It’s gonna be a good trip,” Asbera said.

  I cast the preservation charm. All around us, the rest of the crew was doing the same, dragging the nets aboard and whooping and hollering when they saw what they’d caught. We dropped our own net back into the water. The Annika rocked against the waves.

  “Wind’s up!” Baltasar shouted. “Hanna, tend to the
sails!”

  Asbera nodded at me, a cue that she could watch the nets herself, with Finnur’s help. The wind was shifting in an odd pattern, and it was hard even for me to tell which direction it blew from. I gathered up my strength, dragging the magic out of the air and into myself.

  The wind swirled around us. The boat lurched, swung off to the port side.

  “Hanna!” Baltasar shouted. “Tend to the sails!”

  “I’m trying!” I pressed down the sudden surge of panic and tried to concentrate. The wind whistled in my ears and blew harder and harder. My hair whipped into my face. I had the magic fine, but this wind wasn’t minding me.

  The boat swung again, the bow plowing into an incoming wave. Freezing water crashed over the deck. All the heat globes blinked out. The magic-cast lanterns swung wildly from the masts, throwing disjointed shadows over everything.

  “For the love of the ancestors!” Baltasar shouted. “Get ahold of the winds!”

  “I’m trying!” And I was. I concentrated so hard that white spots appeared at the edge of my vision, that the magic stung as it crept through my blood. But the wind went through me like water sifting through fingers.

  It wasn’t—right.

  The crew shouted around me, no longer joyful from the catch but full-on spooked. Benedict and Zakaria were already turning the sails, trying to catch the wind without enchantment. My knees buckled. Magic burned at my brain. I stumbled backward and would have fallen if strong arms hadn’t caught me. Finnur.

  “Something’s wrong.” His voice sounded far away. “It’s a storm. It’s—”

  He was still talking, but I couldn’t hear him. I twisted around to look at him. His mouth moved.

  “I can’t hear you!” I said. “What’s going on?”

  Another wave crashed over the side and knocked me flat on my back. The water was so cold, I thought I’d died. I blinked up at the sky, dazed. I heard shouting again, frantic, terrified voices.

  “—na! Are you okay?”

  Asbera this time. She helped me to my feet. The Annika swung in a wide arc, throwing off a spray of white-capped seawater.

  “I’m sorry,” I sputtered. “I couldn’t—the wind—”