Magic of Wind and Mist

  “You want her,” Lord Foxfollow shouted. “You can have her. I can hold this palace.” Then, “Guards!” He swirled one hand above his head and a wave of magic crashed over the melee in the center of the room, knocking all the outlaws to their feet. “There are easier ways to fight,” Foxfollow snarled, and Kolur lunged toward him, and Frida pulled him back, and the walls were rippling and distorting with magic-sickness.

  I couldn’t stay there anymore. None of us could. I grabbed Isolfr by the hand and pulled him toward the doors.

  “No!” he shouted. “The queen!”

  “We can’t get to her!” I shouted back, but I looked over my shoulder and found Kolur cradling her in his lap, his head tilted down over hers, one hand ghosting over her hair.

  “She’s dead!” I shouted, and pulled on Isolfr again.

  “She’s not! I can feel her!”

  “Come on!”

  Another burst of magic shattered in the air above our heads, and when it fell across me it sank heavily into my skin. The magic inside me crawled and shifted, threatening to transform in ways I couldn’t control. Isolfr’s skin was turning translucent, his hair streaking out behind like a comet’s tail.

  “The magic-sickness!” I screamed. “We can’t stay here!”

  “But the queen—”

  Ankia’s voice cut through the rushing in my head. “Retreat!” she shouted. “Retreat!”

  Lord Foxfollow was laughing, a cold, hollow sound that struck me in the center of my chest. I grabbed at Isolfr, my hand slipping through his on the first try, on the second try, but finally latching on with the third. We raced toward the doors. No one tried to stop us. The guards were too busy with the outlaws.

  We passed out of the throne room. I turned for one last look back. Frida was close behind us, her expression wild, and Kolur was close behind her.

  He cradled Penelope in his arms.

  I ran.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Isolfr turned to wind in the vast, sparkling hallways of the palace. I wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose or not, if he was trying to protect himself from the magic-sickness or if the magic-sickness had forced him to change. Either way, he swept me and Kolur and Frida and Penelope up in the air and carried us out of the palace, away from the guards shooting arrows in our direction. We flew so high that the palace became a speck. It was all I was aware of, that speck of black in a sea of gray-green grass. I was too numb to notice anything else. Too numb to care about the cold comfort of Isolfr’s embrace, or to think about Frida and Kolur, or to worry about Penelope.

  We drifted over the landscape. Soon, Smugglers’ Wall appeared in the distance, a black mass against the bright sky. The ground rushed up to meet us, and for one dizzying second I thought I was falling. But Isolfr laid me down soft and sweet at the mouth of the cave. Frida settled beside me, sprawling on her back in the sand. Kolur was next. He still held Penelope.

  She wasn’t moving. Her skin was pale and ashen, her eyes sunk low in their sockets. The heavy wedding dress pooled around her and Kolur. She’d lost her crown. None of that mattered anymore, I knew. I remembered what it was like when Finnur had slipped into a magic-coma, how desperate I’d been to save him. Kolur wore that desperation now. He leaned over Penelope and ran his hand down the side of her face. Murmured something I couldn’t hear.

  The wind—Isolfr—blew across us. It tossed strands of her hair into her face, and Kolur smoothed them away with a gentle touch I wouldn’t have thought him capable of. And it struck me, hard, that Isolfr might never be able to come back to me in human form. Foxfollow’s magic might have changed him completely.

  “Isolfr,” I whispered.

  Here, said the voice of the wind. I’ll come back soooooon.

  The last word drew out into a long, mournful wail. Just wind. I closed my eyes.

  “We need to get her into the cave,” Frida said.

  Kolur stared down at Penelope and didn’t answer.

  “Kolur,” Frida said more firmly.

  He jumped, shook his head like he was trying to clear out his thoughts.

  “I know,” he snapped. He brushed her hair away from her eyes. “I know.” More softly this time. He was speaking to Penelope, not to us.

  Then he stood up, lifting Penelope in his arms. Frida watched him, waiting until he was steady, before she led us down into the cave. The sunlight didn’t reach there—everything was still lit with magic. And in the light of that magic I could see tears gleaming on Kolur’s cheeks.

  “Who’s there?” Trystan’s voice broke through the cave’s echoing silence. Frida stopped abruptly.

  “It’s us,” I called out. “Hanna and—” I stopped. Isolfr hadn’t come with us into the cave. An ache shuddered through my chest.

  Trystan appeared in the corridor ahead of us. He held up a magic-cast lantern. The light washed out his face. “Did you kill him?”

  “No,” said Frida. “No, it was a failure.”

  Trystan didn’t move. The lantern light slid over the walls.

  “We should have let you come with us,” I said, my words a tumble. “Foxfollow cast Mists magic—something’s Folly, I don’t remember the name, but Isolfr knew it—” Tears broke through my voice. “We couldn’t stop him.”

  Trystan moved closer. “It’s not your fault. Where’s Isolfr?” He stopped, his eyes following Kolur, who was half hidden by the long shining trail of Penelope’s wedding gown. “Who’s that?”

  “Queen Penelope of Jandanvar,” Frida said. “We need to tend to her. I don’t suppose you could help?”

  “What happened to her?” he said.

  “Mists magic,” Kolur said gruffly. “Not anything I’ve seen before. She’s still alive, but she’s not part of this world. Not right now.”

  His voice was hard, and he didn’t look at Trystan as he spoke. Trystan held the light more closely to Penelope and peered down at her.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Lay her down in one of the sleeping rooms.”

  “Already planning on it,” Kolur said, and he pushed past Trystan. Frida followed. Trystan and I stood in the green light, staring at each other as their footsteps turned to silence.

  “I’ll never forgive that Ankia for this,” Trystan finally said. “You tell her that. I could have stopped him.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Where’s Isolfr?” Trystan paused. “He’s not—”

  “He turned to wind,” I said. “He told me he’d be back.” I didn’t tell Trystan that I felt like the wind myself, loose and ill-defined. I hadn’t noticed it until I stood still.

  Trystan swung the light toward me. His eyes widened. “Calael’s sword, Hanna.”

  “What?” His words made no sense to me. “Sword? Where?”

  “No! Look—” He pulled my hand into the light. It was turning transparent in places, my veins glowing with pale white light.

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh, the magic-sickness—”

  “You need to tend to that.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t remember any of the things I’d learned about magic-sickness. I’d actually thought the magic had faded away from me completely during the flight out of the palace, but here it was manifesting on my skin.

  “Rest,” Trystan said. “Stay away from magic. Stay away from—” He hesitated, then tilted his head toward the sleeping rooms. “—The queen. She’s probably radiating magic right now. Kolur shouldn’t be in there. None of you should.”

  “You’re not going to get Kolur away from her.” I shuffled away from Trystan and into the calming darkness. Let him tend to Penelope. I could tend to myself.

  I stumbled over a loose rock, and I threw out my arm to steady myself against the wall. Touching the damp stone helped me feel more solid. My thoughts clarified. I missed Isolfr. Missed him in his human form. And so I thought of his human form, the solidity of it, the way it had felt against my body as we lay side by side, as we kissed.

  That memory, that feeling of him—I think it
stopped the magic-sickness. I think it kept me whole.

  • • •

  The outlaws came back sometime later. I was stretched out on the pile of straw when I heard them—their heavy, defeated footsteps, the rumble of their voices. By that point my skin had largely returned to normal, and I hadn’t noticed any other side effects of the magic-sickness. I was still too weak to get up, though, to see how they had fared. Not that I needed to ask to learn that our invasion of the palace had been an abject failure. Yes, we had stopped Queen Penelope from marrying Lord Foxfollow. But maybe he didn’t need her hand in marriage. He wouldn’t have cursed her otherwise. Maybe it was enough that she was still alive, that she still existed. He was still in her palace, and perhaps he still had her power.

  I rolled over onto my side. My thoughts were thick and confused. I had tried to be Ananna and I had failed. None of the stories Mama told me ended with Ananna alone and miserable and recovering from magic-sickness. None of them ended with her handing an entire palace over to a lord from the Mists.

  I pulled the blanket over my head as if that could shut out everything that had happened. Maybe if I wished hard enough, magic would transport me out of this cave at the top of the world and back into my bed in Kjora.

  Footsteps echoed outside the entrance to the sleeping quarters. Soft ones, not like the footsteps of the outlaws. I pulled the blanket down. A pale figure stood a few paces away. He glowed like moonlight, the way I’d seen him the first time, swimming in the sea alongside the Penelope.

  “Isolfr,” I breathed.

  I sat up—too quickly though, because the blood rushed to my head and made me dizzy.

  “Hanna.” He came into the room and sat down beside me. I stared at him, certain that I was dreaming, or that this was a hallucination brought on by my magic-sickness. But then I saw the wanness of his skin underneath that moonlight glow. I saw the shadows under his eyes.

  “You’re really here,” I whispered.

  He nodded.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve been better.” He smiled, wavering. “Just worn out. I changed back into human form as soon as I could. Maybe I should have waited, but I wanted to see you. I wanted—wanted you to see me.”

  Heat rose up in my cheeks. “I see you,” I said, and smiled.

  “I wanted to make sure you were safe,” he said. “Wanted to make sure the magic-sickness hadn’t—”

  “I was infected earlier, but I’m fine now.”

  Energy sparkled between us. I wanted to kiss him, but I didn’t know if I should. If it was appropriate, knowing that we had lost, that Penelope was enchanted a few rooms away. Then again, we had gone through that battle and we were both alive. Maybe a kiss was the most appropriate thing in the world, after all.

  And so I leaned forward, hesitating a little. He didn’t pull back. I brushed my lips against his. I expected that to be it, just a reminder that I cared for him, but he slipped his hands around my face and kissed me harder, a real kiss, long and slow and lingering. The kind of kiss that happens when you’re in love.

  We stayed close afterward, our noses touching. Isolfr blinked and his eyelashes brushed against my cheek. It made me smile. I leaned my head against his shoulder.

  “That was a disaster,” Isolfr said, after a moment’s pause. I knew he wasn’t talking about the kiss.

  “Trystan’s tending Penelope,” I said. “He might be able to save her.”

  “I hope so.” I could tell from the way he said it that he didn’t believe it would happen. I didn’t push him, though—I didn’t want to hear his reasoning.

  “Lord Foxfollow has taken over the palace.”

  I didn’t move. That had always been my suspicion, but hearing him say it out loud, I felt a tremor deep in my belly.

  “Did you see for sure?” I asked.

  “I flew by when I was still in the form of the wind. I’m sure he knew I was there, but he couldn’t do anything to me. Not when I’m in my natural form.”

  He shrugged, but I felt a twinge of guilt. He was safer as the wind. He shouldn’t have to change himself for me.

  “You shouldn’t have changed, then,” I said. “Back to human.”

  “What?” He looked over at me. “Oh, Hanna, no—I wanted to be close to you, and I can’t—not as the wind.” He took a deep breath. “Besides, we’re safe here. Lord Foxfollow is fortifying the castle. He’s not going to attack. He expects us to come back.”

  We fell into silence, but I could hear the echoes of the battle in the throne room. Swords and pistol shots.

  “Are we?”

  “We can’t let him take the castle.” Isolfr shook his head. “I wish Ankia had let Trystan come with us! I can’t believe anyone thought I could do this on my own.”

  I threw my arms around his shoulders, trying to be a comfort. He squeezed me back, burying his face in my shoulder. “We’re not safe here,” he muttered. “Not for the long term. As long as Queen Penelope is still alive—and he’s not going to kill her, and certainly we can’t kill her—he could still marry her, even if he has to force her hand. He’s probably enchanting her right now.” Isolfr lifted his head and stared at me. “I bet that’s his plan. Enchanting her so that she’ll wake up and kill us all. Then she’ll marry him.”

  I was sick with fear.

  “How long do you think we have?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know. If Trystan can find out more about the spell—but perhaps a couple of days? A week? He has reinforced the castle’s exterior, so he’s certainly settling in.” Isolfr paused, biting his lower lip. “Or he wants the castle ready for when he does claim the crown. Even if he controls Penelope, people will still fight back.”

  “And what happens if we kill him?” I said. “What’ll happen to Penelope?”

  Isolfr shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Can’t you just pull her out of the coma yourself?” I turned toward him. “Like you did with Finnur?”

  “That was a different sort of spell. Different magic. Besides—” Isolfr took a deep breath. “Our first priority should be stopping Lord Foxfollow. That’s more important than saving Penelope.”

  His voice wobbled as he spoke.

  “You don’t mean that,” I said.

  “I do.” He looked down at his hands. “We may not be able to save her, but we can save our world. Lord Foxfollow is our priority.” He paused. “That’s what a queen would want, isn’t it? For us to protect her kingdom?”

  His words rang out in the empty room. I thought of Kolur cradling Penelope to his breast, his face blank and dispassionate in his grief.

  “Kolur will never agree to that,” I said quietly.

  Isolfr and I sat unmoving.

  “We won’t be able to tell him.”

  I closed my eyes. I couldn’t imagine going back into that palace again—and this time without Kolur’s magic.

  “It’s the only way,” Isolfr said, his voice low. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to do it either, but it’s the only way—”

  I looked over at him. My whole body was shaking.

  “I know it is,” I said. “But this time, we go into the palace with Trystan.”

  • • •

  We left under cover of nightfall. It seemed dangerous to me, but Trystan insisted it would be easier for us to break through the boundaries at night.

  “Twilight,” he said. “That’s when we’re the most dangerous to Foxfollow. We shouldn’t have tried to sneak in during the day with Ankia and the others.”

  I wasn’t going to make the same mistake as Ankia. Neither was Isolfr. So we left at nightfall with no weapons but our magic.

  The three of us walked out of the cave without any trouble. Frida and the outlaws were all sleeping, snoring together in piles among the rocks, and Kolur was tucked away with Penelope. Trystan hadn’t been able to do much for her—just cast a few Mists spells to try and hide her from Lord Foxfollow. Isolfr and I met him outside the room, and I could feel the magic crac
kling on the air, cold and strange. I also felt the queen’s loss, her disorientation, drifting through the air like a miasma.

  We had worked out our plan of attack over a dinner of tough salted yak meat. I’d barely been able to eat, my stomach crashing around in anxiety. Trystan had said I that needed to eat, needed to keep my strength up, but I was grateful for my lack of appetite earlier. As we marched along the black sand toward the palace, I knew that if my stomach contained food, I would have emptied it there along the shore.

  Once we were clear of the caves, Isolfr transformed into the wind, his body paling and vanishing against the dark. I could feel him, though, swirling around me and Trystan. The chill of the north wind was a comfort.

  He scooped us up. I was expecting it this time, bracing myself, and when my feet lifted off the ground I felt a quick thrill of exhilaration. For half a second I forgot what we were about to do.

  The night soared around us. Stars sparkled in the distance, their familiar constellations a comfort. The landscape below was almost too dark to see, but I could still make out dark and light patches—buildings and roads and patches of ice. The wind lashed at my cheeks, stinging the warmth out of them. It wasn’t just Isolfr, but the fact that he had taken us so high up in the air, up near the clouds where snow forms, in an attempt to hide us from Lord Foxfollow.

  I glanced over at Trystan. His eyes were closed and his hair blew back away from his face. He was taking deep, steady breaths, the way Frida had done before the battle yesterday. And I was struck with the full impact of what we were doing.

  There was a very real possibility that we were going to die.

  Suddenly, the night lost its sparkle. I sucked in air, trying to calm myself. Isolfr’s voice whispered around me:

  We can do thiisss.

  I nodded, although I wasn’t sure if he could see me, or if I even agreed with him. It wasn’t a matter of what we could do, but of what we had to do.

  A dark mass appeared on the horizon. Jagged, crawling spires blacked out the light of the stars. As we grew closer I saw that the walls were covered in a churning gray mass that twisted over itself like snakes.