Magic of Wind and Mist

  “So that’s it, then?” He sighed. “We’ve got to hang around for another night?”

  “It’s not so bad,” Asbera said. “We should be home in a couple of days, like Baltasar said.”

  Finnur shrugged. I didn’t blame him for seeming doubtful. He was still weak, deep down inside him, from the Mists attack, and now he was trapped aboard a ship half transformed from the magic-sickness. There was no guarantee we were anywhere close to the Anfinn’s Rocks.

  Reynir and Zakaria dragged the brazier up on deck and broke up an empty water barrel for the firewood. The brazier was supposed to be for cooking, I was told, but no one ever used it anymore, since the Annika didn’t take the long voyages she used to. It was nice to have a spot of warmth to gather round, and nicer still to know that warmth wasn’t bringing even more magic aboard our boat.

  I sat with Asbera and Finnur as the crew took to telling stories, mostly old Tuljan folktales. A few of them I recognized, although they were different from the stories I knew in small ways—here a character was a yak herder, on Kjora he was a blacksmith. But the basic idea was the same. A story of the north. Mama’d told me this once, that all the island stories were the same when you got down to it, that to her Empire ears they were all northern and she couldn’t tell them apart. She was teasing, I think, but I thought of her now, hearing those similarities. And my heart about broke.

  No one noticed when I slipped away from the fire. I pressed against the boat’s railing and closed my eyes against the wind. We were moored without our sails, and the Annika bobbed up and down with the motion of the waves and didn’t do much else. I looked down at the dark water, sparkling with the reflection of stars.

  Something moved beneath the surface.

  I gasped and jerked back, although my first thought was of Isolfr, not the Mists. I’d seen him the same way, hadn’t I, all those months ago? A flash of movement beneath the waves.

  “Isolfr?” I kept my voice low, surprised by how hopeful I felt. It would have been a relief, in a strange way, to see him now. A bit like how the stars reminded me that we hadn’t crossed over.

  The shimmer came closer to the surface. “Isolfr,” I said, a little louder now. “Is that you?”

  But the water went dark.

  I sighed and pulled away from the railing.

  • • •

  The next day was cloudy and gray, the sky threatening sea-snow. The crew gathered along the port side of the boat, where we had the clearest view of the land in the distance. It was dark and rocky and not particularly welcoming. But the crew was thrilled to see it.

  “That’s Anfinn’s Rocks for certain,” said Harald. “I ain’t gonna forget that coastline any time soon.”

  Baltasar blustered up to us and peered through his view glass. I’d no way of knowing if the land was Anfinn’s Rocks or not, and so I watched him and looked for some sign that we’d be on our way home soon. I didn’t trust Harald’s assessment.

  Baltasar slid his view glass shut. “It’s the Rocks,” he said, with the gravelly authority of a sea captain. “We’re on the northern side. Have to sail around, but it won’t be too much trouble.”

  The crew cheered and slapped one another on the backs. Finnur dragged me and Asbera both into a hug.

  “Nice to have everything turn out, huh?” he said. “Didn’t get blown too far off course, and now we’re on our way home.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Asbera, laughing. She kissed him.

  I smiled, but I wasn’t so sure everything had turned out. Why had we sailed into a denala in the first place? Such things only happened when powerful wizards were casting powerful spells. The rest of the crew seemed to agree that it must have been someone on Anfinn’s Rocks, especially now that we’d confirmed our location—apparently, Tuljan priests trained there—but I wasn’t so certain.

  “Hanna, ready the sails,” Baltasar shouted. “Asbera, Reynir, and Zakaria, grab the ropes in case there’s a problem with the magic. We’re heading home.”

  More cheering, but I couldn’t shake the cold, creeping feeling that something was wrong.

  I walked among the masts and held out my hands and felt for the magic on the wind. It blew in from the southeast, with a sweetness to it that reminded me of summer sunshine. Perfectly safe.

  I repeated that to myself as I shifted the winds in our favor. Perfectly safe, everything is perfectly safe.

  It was a simple matter to call the necessary winds to drive the Annika southward, and I didn’t have to expend much energy holding the spell. The denala had made the magic more malleable, like soft clay, and this far from the storm, the threat of magic-sickness was no longer a concern.

  For the first time in days, we sailed forward.

  The crew’s good spirits lingered, even when the clouds thickened and snow fell across the ocean. I spotted Benedict and Harald tipping their heads back and trying to catch flakes on their tongues. Enough of it fell that it started piling up on deck.

  “Clear it off,” Baltasar shouted from the helm. “Before it freezes.”

  The crew took care of the snow largely by shaping it into balls and throwing them at each other. Even though I was managing the winds, I joined in, flinging a clump of snow at Finnur’s head. He roared with laughter and came chasing after me. I kept expecting Baltasar to shout at us to quit, but he seemed as amused as anyone else. Pretty soon, the Annika was the scene of a great snow fight. The winds carried us home, and we just kept flinging snowballs at one another.

  And then something changed.

  I was back at the stern of the ship, reaching behind some of the crates we stored there to get to a pile of fresh snow, when I felt the wind snap, like it had broken in two. I stood straight up, the snow forgotten. All around me, the crew were shrieking and laughing, but there was a buzzing whine in my head that made it sound like screaming.

  I grabbed on to the railing and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling for the wind. But I couldn’t grasp it. It squirmed around me, slippery and just out of reach.

  “You okay, Empire girl?” It was Harald. I opened my eyes and looked at him, pink-cheeked and grinning. He had hoisted up a snowball and was aiming it at me, but he didn’t throw it.

  His grin melted away.

  “What is it? What’s wrong? Should I get Reynir?”

  Something moved out of the corner of my eye. I looked out at the water, but all I saw were the coruscating waves.

  “Hanna?” Harald stepped closer to me. I was trembling. Something was wrong with the magic. It twisted away from me, vibrating as if it spoke—

  Voices—

  They communicate on veins of magic.

  “Something’s wrong,” I said.

  Harald’s eyes widened.

  And then something shot out of the ocean and grabbed Harald and pulled him overboard. It happened so quickly that all I saw was shining silvery water and the bright, bright red of blood.

  Screaming.

  Harald was screaming.

  He slammed back up over the railing, his body limp. Blood splattered across my face and it was hot and wet and I screamed and stumbled backward into someone’s arms—the thing that had grabbed Harald?

  No.

  Baltasar.

  The ship was silent save for Harald’s screaming. His body dripped blood. I realized that Baltasar had one arm around my chest, his hand clutching a knife.

  “What the hell is that?” he whispered.

  “I can’t see,” I gasped. And I couldn’t—I couldn’t see what it was. It looked like the ocean had grown claws.

  They can blend in with their surroundings.

  Harald dropped out of sight.

  There was a splash.

  The screaming stopped.

  That sudden silence hurt my ears.

  “Harald!” Baltasar shouted. He shoved me away. “Get away, girl.” Then, louder, “Have you all gone stupid? We need weapons! Get down below and grab the pistols!”

  “What happened?” someone shouted. “What
happened to Harald?”

  I kept stumbling back and back until I was standing among the masts. The sails fluttered and snapped. My face was wet. When I went to dry it off, my fingers came back red.

  I choked back vomit.

  “He’s dead.” Baltasar stomped back to the helm. I didn’t understand how he could be so calm. “Something dragged him into the water.”

  All the voices of the crew started up at once.

  “What—”

  “How could—”

  “I didn’t even—”

  “Get the weapons!” Baltasar jerked the wheel away from Reynir and shoved him in the direction of the lower deck. “Put a fucking protection spell on this boat and get the damned weapons!”

  “Hanna.” Asbera’s voice sounded far away, and when she grabbed my hand, it was like she grabbed it through fabric. The magic chattered and vibrated. It was close. They were close. They had taken Harald, and they were still here. “Hanna, we have to arm ourselves. Come on.”

  She tried to pull me toward the hatch, but the flood of crewmen heading in that direction made me dizzy. I shook my head. “You go,” I said. “I need the air.”

  She frowned but she did as I said, letting go of my hand and disappearing down below. I leaned against one of the masts and took a deep breath. Harald’s blood was sticky on my face. I kept hearing his screams on the air.

  I closed my eyes and tried to shut everything out. Voices drifted up from down below as the crew dug out whatever weapons Baltasar kept aboard the boat—it couldn’t be many. We weren’t a warship, just a fishing vessel. We could hardly defend ourselves against pirates, much less what monsters waited in the depths.

  And then the magic shifted again, melting into the air, growing slippery and hard to grasp. And I heard something. Not voices, not screaming. Something else. Like water bubbling in a pot.

  I stared into the darkness beyond the boat. At first, I thought I was the only one who heard it, but all around me, the crew stopped in place, looking out toward the water. The sound grew louder. Our fear strung the air out as tight as a wire.

  The crew’s terrified whispers picked up. I slid forward, moving on a thread of magic, my eyes on the railing. The sound was everywhere.

  The ocean had learned how to breathe.

  I came to the railing and looked down.

  The water churned, wild with froth and still pink with Harald’s blood. I shrieked and stumbled backward into Baltasar. He dragged me to the center of the boat.

  “Stay away from the edge!” he shouted. “How do you think Harald got killed?”

  “I know how Harald got killed!” I screamed, but Baltasar was gone, his feet pounding over to the other side of the boat. The rest of the crew clumped around the masts. I whirled around and found Asbera and Finnur pressed close to each other. Asbera’s eyes were wide and determined, and she clutched an old-fashioned roughhewn sword in one hand. Finnur had a dagger, a small silver blade.

  “I got you this,” Asbera said, drawing a knife out of her belt.

  “I don’t know how to use anything.” My voice shook. “I’ll just use my magic.”

  Something thumped against the side of the boat.

  Finnur dragged me behind him. Asbera shoved the knife at me and lifted her sword over her head in a fighting stance.

  Another thump.

  “Stay quiet,” Baltasar whispered.

  Through the haze of my fear, I concentrated on the wind. It was still blowing us south, back toward home. I reached in deep. I didn’t have much experience with magical weapons beyond protection spells, and there was already a protection spell on the Annika, one more advanced than any I could cast.

  I tightened my grip on the knife. It was small and felt unsteady in my hands.

  Another thump. Another.

  “Ready your weapons,” Baltasar whispered.

  I wondered how many of the crew actually knew how to fight. I wondered if it even mattered.

  The thumping grew louder. More persistent.

  It was joined by a scratching like dead leaves against rocks.

  The crew pulled closer together.

  The wind’s magic flowed through me, even though I had no idea what I would do with it.

  A face appeared over the railing.

  For half a second, I thought it was Isolfr, and I had no idea if I should be terrified or relieved. But then the sails snapped out of the way and the thin afternoon sun shone across the face, and I saw it wasn’t Isolfr at all. He had at least tried to look human.

  There was nothing human about this face.

  It was long and narrow, with a pointed snout and sharp teeth that glowed against the gray light. It scrabbled on deck, flinging off water, its body thin and low to the ground. It moved like a snake, even though it walked on four legs, each of its feet ending in a spray of huge, curved white claws.

  It was the color of water, and mist curled around its body, creating a trail that led back to the ocean.

  The magic whooshed out of me. I wasn’t a witch. I was just a fisherman’s apprentice. And I was going to die.

  A pistol popped, and the creature slammed up against the side of the railing. Liquid light oozed out across the deck.

  “We can kill them,” Asbera gasped. She hoisted her sword higher. “We can kill—”

  The creature lifted its head and jumped back on its feet. It threw back its head and let out a shrill, rattling cry. I slapped my hands over my ears. My knife clattered to the deck. The crew shrieked and fumbled with their weapons. Pistol shots echoed across the boat, smoke drifting up along the sails.

  More creatures appeared over the railing.

  The crew dispersed. Most of them scrambled up into the masts. Benedict ran screaming down below. Baltasar shouted for order, but we weren’t soldiers, and we weren’t going to listen. I would have been running for the masts too, if it hadn’t been for Finnur’s hand on my arm.

  “Stay,” he said, his voice hard. “We need your magic.”

  The creatures spilled over the railing. There were too many to count. They wriggled across the deck, their claws clicking against the wood. One after another after another. Like insects.

  Baltasar fired his pistol into the onslaught. White blood splattered the wood. Zakaria and Seimur fired from up in the masts. With each shot, the magic reverberated and I got a taste like rot on my tongue.

  The creatures squirmed closer.

  Finnur and Asbera and I stumbled back.

  “Climb up!” Asbera shouted. She swung her sword and sliced one of the creatures in half, and it rolled away into the shadows. The magic roiled. I knew it was drawing itself back together. “Get to Reynir.”

  Yes. Reynir. He’d know what magic to use. I crawled up the masts, my body slick with panicky sweat. One of the crew grabbed me and pulled me up to the crosstree before firing back into the churn of creatures. From here, I could see Asbera and Finnur and Baltasar cutting their way through the swarm. Thick gray mist curled over the railings, wrapping around the deck like ghosts. And that blood, that blood like light—it was everywhere.

  “Hanna!” Reynir swung down beside me. “Please tell me you can feel it. The magic?”

  I nodded and blinked back tears.

  “We won’t get rid of them, but we should at least be able to protect the boat and send them back to the ocean.”

  I nodded again.

  “If you can’t do this, you better tell me.”

  My heart pounded. I’d beat back the Mists when we were attacked in the village (with help, you had help) and the winds were even stronger here, especially so high above the deck.

  “I can do it,” I said. I almost believed it.

  “Take my hand.” Reynir grabbed mine. “Pull out the magic. You’ll have to cut through the Mists first. You use the wind, right?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t look away from what was happening on deck. The mist was thicker now, thick enough that Asbera and Finnur were silhouettes in the dim light.

  “I
use the ocean. That should be enough to expel them. Concentrate!”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. It was easier when I couldn’t see the monsters snarling and snapping down below, even though I could still hear the pistol shots and the creatures’ horrible screeching. The wind roared against my ears. Slowly, it shifted, until it blew in from the south, until it was my wind. The boat tilted and turned and I tightened my grip on the masts. It was hard to find clean magic, though, magic that hadn’t been corrupted by the Mists, and as I searched, my chest constricted and my throat swelled up.

  “Keep—looking—” Reynir sounded strangled. “Just—keep—”

  The wind. I shut him out, I shut out the screams down below, and I focused on the wind. It was the wind of my father and mother both: my father’s birthright and my mother’s ancestors. And for that reason, it was mine. It did not belong to the Mists. Its magic didn’t belong to the Mists.

  And then, there, beneath that cold, thick Mists enchantment, I found it, a glimmer of power, warm like the sun.

  “I’ve got it!” I screamed.

  Reynir squeezed my hand more tightly and began to chant in the old language. Through his strange dialect, I recognized the spell. It was a plea for protection.

  I joined in, and our words blended together even if we didn’t speak them the same. The wind flowed around me and flowed through me, and the magic lit up my blood and became a part of me.

  My eyes flew open.

  For a moment, I didn’t see the world as it was, mist and blood and violence and terror. I saw only the magic. It suffused everything with light: the boat, the creatures, the rest of the crew. And I was aflame.

  “—protect us all,” Reynir and I shouted at once, our voices ringing out in unison. And there was a sudden, sharp intake, a sudden, sharp stillness—

  And then a blast of light.

  It knocked me back. Reynir’s hand slipped away from mine, and for a moment, I was falling, serenely, through the open air. I stared up at the cloudy sky through the forest of sails. I didn’t realize what was happening.

  My arm burned.

  I’d stopped, midair, and was dangling from the bottom crosstree. Seimur had caught me. His face was strained. I grabbed hold of the sail rope.