Magefall Read online

  CHAPTER 20

  Despite Wren’s best efforts to keep her community a secret, word was beginning to spread. After what had happened in Sour Crown, as well as foiling several attacks on merchant caravans, travellers were starting to realise the normally dangerous and lawless western region of Shael was a lot safer than it used to be.

  No one knew where Wren and the other mages lived and she made sure anyone who left the community was careful upon their return to make sure they weren’t followed. The last thing she wanted was for a scavenger party to lead the raiders right up to her front door.

  Travellers on the road into Shael understood that Boros and his raiders were still a problem, and that her mages couldn’t be everywhere all the time, but anything that disrupted the robberies was seen as a good thing. Even if it was a mage. Wren knew they were still scared of magic and it wasn’t a softening of their attitude, merely a reflection of how dire circumstances were in this desolate region. Given the chance they would still kill her or any other magic user. Caution seemed to be the word she imparted most often when speaking to anyone who set foot outside their community.

  Wagon trains didn’t take any fewer precautions. They were still crawling with mercenaries and sometimes one or two Fists of Drassi warriors, but losses had been reduced. What she found most odd about it all was that some of the travellers left her a tribute.

  There was an old stone marker towards the halfway point in what she’d come to think of as her territory. The worn stone circle, once a shrine to the passing of the seasons, was now used to drop off offerings of food, a little money and sometimes children.

  The refugees came from all over the west and she suspected many had fled south to Shael to avoid persecution at home. Although no country had brought in a national ban on magic, Garvey’s murderous rampage, combined with the problem of Seekers and children exploding, meant anyone connected to magic was still seen as a threat.

  Until rumours of her community spread there had not been anywhere that was remotely safe for children struggling with control. Wren felt a little guilty as recently she had been vocal about the shortfalls of the school but it had been a haven. In the years to come Wren suspected there would be many such moments where she discovered the Red Tower had done a lot more than she realised. It had given people hope that the power inside them could be tamed and that it need not be seen as a terrible burden or a curse. With the destruction of the school, and communities turning their back on magic, there had been nowhere to turn. Until now.

  After speaking with the children who were abandoned on the road, they told Wren how they’d done their best to hide in plain sight. They’d tried to go on with their lives as normal while struggling to contain the primal forces growing inside them. All of the children found beside the stone marker had their hands and feet tied together, suggesting they’d been prisoners or captured stowaways on the caravans.

  So far they’d rescued eleven children and only nine of them had the ability to touch the Source. As for the other two, someone had taken a dislike to them and used the threat of magic to force them from their homes. At least with more people the work in their community was made a little easier.

  Delegating had always been difficult for Wren but, after Laila had proven to be so reliable, she was gradually learning to let others share her burdens. In truth it was something of a relief. She wasn’t nearly as exhausted all of the time and it allowed her to focus on the issue of Boros.

  The houses were being built at an astonishing rate, some cows and chickens had been rounded up and all the students were making progress in their studies. For some that meant going back to basics, learning to read and write, as they’d come from small communities where they weren’t seen as a priority. Those without magic were taught alongside everyone else, learning herb-lore, survival skills and how to fight with a sword or empty-handed. The absence of Master Choss during those lessons was particularly noticeable and Wren knew the news about him from other survivors was not good. The last time anyone had seen him was fleeing into the woods on horseback being pursued by an angry mob. She’d whispered a prayer to the Blessed Mother that night to watch over his spirit.

  Master Yettle and a few others offered her advice on decisions that affected the community when she asked, but a lot of Wren’s time was now taken up with keeping the peace in the region and planning how best to tackle the raiders. So far Boros had done little that was different. It was as if her confrontation with the raiders in Sour Crown hadn’t happened, or the message she’d delivered hadn’t reached him. Whatever the reason his people had not returned to the village to exact revenge. Not yet at least.

  In the last week there had been two attacks on merchant trains and one on a village where some of Wren’s people had been only an hour before. They’d barely left and had doubled back, injuring several of the raiders who quickly fled.

  “Perhaps they’re scared,” said Laila, who’d taken to walking with her and Danoph early in the morning. Wren liked to see how things were progressing in the community and it gave her a chance to talk things through with her friends.

  “No. It’s something else.”

  “A test,” said Danoph, reminding Wren once more of his unusual insight. It wasn’t just his visions that allowed him to see what was to come. He was only a year older than her and yet at times he seemed so much older, or at least significantly wiser than her. Maybe being exposed to brutality from such an early age gave him clarity when it came to violent criminals and their deeds. Whatever the cause, she’d learned to trust his instincts.

  “Exactly. I think it’s a test,” she agreed, but her feeling did not come from her intuition. It was from long experience, but not hers. Old men loved to talk and children often went unnoticed in a crowd. Wren had grown up around craftsmen who, in their youth, had been Drassi warriors who wore the famous mask. They had travelled to every land, fought for and against every kind of soldier and warrior, and lived to tell the tale. They were veterans of wars and countless battles most people had never heard about. In every tea-house and whisky bar across Drassia they reminisced and spun stories for attentive audiences. Before his passing her grandfather had sat her on his knee and told her hundreds of stories about his life as a young man. Wren remembered his tales and those of other warriors because they were full of exciting adventure and heroic deeds.

  Once Wren’s mother learned of her interest in these stories she had tried a similar approach, with less wondrous tales about their family’s clothing empire. However, she gave up when she realised Wren retained none of the facts about the less exciting history of silk and its arrival in Drassia.

  After going over many of the stories she remembered, Wren came to understand one thing. There was nothing new that Boros could attempt had not been done before by someone else.

  Every scheme, every ploy and tactic had been tried in the past. She just had to hope the stories she remembered included how to beat whatever he was planning. At the same time Wren was under no illusions about her skills and made sure she talked through everything with the teachers before making any important decisions. She made no attempt to hide that she was speaking to them and yet everyone assumed the plans were hers alone. Master Yettle had even encouraged her not to dissuade others from thinking this. She was the founder and figurehead of the community and people needed someone to believe in.

  “What kind of test?” asked Laila.

  “I think he’s studying us to see how we react. How fast we can travel to the villages and our tactics when we defend the caravans,” said Wren. It made sense. After all she was doing her best to learn about Boros, his people and how they fought. “All of this is a lull before the storm.”

  She had a few ideas about what he would next attempt. It might not happen tomorrow or the next day, but it would come soon. They were on a collision course and only one of them would walk away from it. The thought made her hands tremble but only Danoph noticed.

  “Laila, could you please do me a fav
our?” asked Danoph, holding out his basket of fresh herbs. “Morag asked for these and I have to go and help in the school. Would you mind?”

  Laila’s smile spoke volumes. Wren had heard some of the rumours about her. A few people thought she and Danoph were more than friends despite her protests. She let it go for now as it gave her some time alone with Danoph. It was clear he wanted to tell her something in private. Laila took the basket without a word but winked at Danoph before she left.

  The two of them walked in silence for a while, heading for the sheep enclosure, where one of the new arrivals was being trained to herd the flock. Amos, a grizzled farmer, was teaching the girl how to whistle to control the dog, but they were far enough away to talk without being overheard.

  “Have you had another vision?” asked Wren.

  “Yes, but it’s one I’ve had before.”

  She was afraid this was going to happen and knew what it meant. “Was it the one about your village?”

  So far he’d had the dream at least five times that she knew about, but was beginning to think it was a lot more.

  “Yes. It’s coming more often.”

  “You’re going to leave,” said Wren, feeling a pain in her chest.

  “I am, but not yet,” he promised. “I need to go back to the beginning and speak to my mother. She sent me to the Red Tower for a reason, and now I wonder if it was because I predicted something when I was young. I believe she knows more than I’ve been told. My ability to channel power from the Source is limited, so something must have happened that made her get me tested by a Seeker.”

  The heartache was spreading and Wren did her best not to let it show on her face. It had been a couple of weeks since Tianne had left and she still hadn’t grown used to her friend’s absence. Her two friends had helped her survive the Red Tower and losing one of them so soon was bad enough. For her to be without either of them was something she found difficult to think about. Nevertheless, it was not her place to keep him here against his will.

  “What’s coming with Boros is going to be difficult. Perhaps the most difficult challenge you’ll ever face,” he said. “I’m not going to abandon you now.”

  “Did you see something? Is there something I should know?”

  Danoph shook his head. “No, I can just see which way the wind is blowing. I want to make sure that when the time comes you won’t hold back.”

  Wren fidgeted and turned away from him to watch the sheep. “What do you mean?”

  “You scared the raiders away at Sour Crown, but you know that it won’t be enough next time. It may be necessary for you to kill them.”

  The words hung in the air and Wren struggled to control the emotions roiling inside. Her mind immediately went to the bully, Brunwal, and the way the black motes had eaten through his flesh and bones. The sounds he’d made had been unlike anything she’d ever heard. They’d been inhuman.

  The logical part of her mind was reminding her that she wasn’t the one who had summoned the thing that destroyed him. All she’d done was defend herself against someone who wanted her dead. The rest of her mind wasn’t as calm and rational. It showed her again and again the terror in his eyes as she’d trapped him inside a shield with the pulsating living darkness. Over and over she heard the noises he’d made and some nights it was she who woke up Danoph with her screams.

  She had killed him. No matter how she tried to look at it, as an accident or in defence of her life, that one thought was undeniable. He was dead. There was no one else to blame. And now Danoph was telling her she might have to do it again.

  “I’m not sure I can,” she said finally. “Even to save myself.”

  “Out here, we’re far away from the capital city, but the villagers don’t kill their neighbours just because the Queen isn’t sending patrols to the area. They don’t need to be told. Right and wrong doesn’t come from the threat of punishment for not obeying the law, or what’s written in a sacred book.” From the corner of her eye she saw Danoph shake his head in disappointment. He had little time for religion or those who followed any faith blindly. “Boros and his people chose this place because there are no repercussions for their actions. They can steal and kill and hurt other people and nothing happens.” He spoke calmly, neither angry nor sad, it was merely a statement of fact. “The villagers aren’t strong enough to fight back, otherwise the raiders would go elsewhere. They’re preying on the weak and they like doing it. Even a lion that hunts a herd of deer does it for food, not for fun. The raiders enjoy scaring and hurting other people.”

  “You want me to kill them? Kill all of them?” asked Wren, her voice turning hysterical.

  “I don’t, but tell me this. Do you think Boros can be reasoned with? Do you think he will accept a compromise if you offered one? Do you think he would hesitate to kill you?”

  She knew the answers to all of his questions. The villagers at Sour Crown had tried to negotiate at the point when they’d already surrendered. The victor did not negotiate with conquered subjects. They made demands and doled out punishment if they were not met. She represented a threat to his control and reign of terror. With her dead, and made an example for others, their fear of Boros would only increase, making it easier for his people to collect their tithe in the future.

  “There’s no law or justice out here to protect the people. There’s just us. You could try to scare them off again with magic, and it might work for a time, but they’ll come back.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Wren, but she didn’t really believe it herself. It hadn’t worked on Brunwal and she knew hardened criminals who robbed and killed would not be easily scared away. This remote frontier offered them a chance to live as they chose, outside the law, because if they tried it anywhere else they would be arrested and imprisoned. Killing one teenage girl to keep their way of life wouldn’t worry them or cause any sleepless nights.

  Danoph took one of her hands in both of his, making her look at his face. “Something in them is broken. I don’t know how it happened or when, but at some point they walked away from one path and chose this life. They’re scavengers, preying on the weak. They don’t have the courage to try something difficult and fail. I may be wrong, perhaps a severe shock will send them in a new direction, but I have my doubts.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said, trying to swallow the anguish.

  “I know and that tells me a great deal about you, but you need to be ready in case they leave you with no other choice. When the time comes people here will need your strength and leadership.”

  She knew he wasn’t just talking about those in their community. Every person in the nearby villages had been suffering before she’d intervened.

  “If the moment comes, and you find yourself facing Boros, then you need to act without hesitation. I know this is a terrible burden, but you can shoulder it,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Others cannot. The weight would crush or twist them into something else. Something dangerous and destructive. Those who went with Garvey have shown us what can happen when anger and hatred take over.”

  “I don’t know how to move past this guilt and pain,” said Wren, putting a hand to her chest. It was always there, lurking in the background.

  “We’ll find a way, together. You’re not alone.”

  “What if, when the time comes, I’m not ready?”

  “You will be,” said Danoph. He sounded so confident. Perhaps he’d seen a vision of her fighting Boros, or perhaps it was just wish-fulfilment because she needed to be. All she could do was try. Wren decided she could do that much and hoped that when the time came she would be able to do whatever was necessary.

  CHAPTER 21

  Tianne wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the water cell but she’d heard the guards upstairs change over at their posts several times. It felt like days at least.

  Sometimes she drifted into a troubled, pain-filled sleep, huddled in a corner of the cell, her feet going numb from the cold water. The gnawi
ng pain in her stomach told her she hadn’t eaten in a long time and her throat was parched and raw. There was filthy water all around but she was sure it would do her more harm than good to drink it. Several times she’d called out to the guards but no matter what she said they continued to ignore her.

  Escape seemed impossible and so she was left only with time and her thoughts for company. If she’d worked harder on learning how to heal then she could do something about the burning pain in her side, the bruises and her swollen eye. Several times she tried to heal herself but at the Red Tower she’d barely been able to master minor cuts, never mind anything else. The pain made it difficult to embrace the Source but each time she did it provided her with a brief respite. Her physical discomforts faded but, unfortunately, at the same time her senses became more acute. She could pick out individuals in the crowd upstairs and began to recognise certain voices. Out of boredom, and to keep her mind occupied, she assigned names to them and tried to picture their faces.

  Tianne’s sense of smell also sharpened to the point where it felt as if the stench of the stagnant water was filling her nose and scratching the back of her throat. She tried not to gag but ended up dry retching a few times. Her empty stomach contracted even further but she fought to hold on to the Source as the pain of her injuries was far worse than the assault on her senses.

  All too often her physical condition interrupted her reverie and she lost her concentration. Her grip on the Source shattered and the pain and cold rushed in again making it that much more difficult the next time.

  At some point Tianne found herself feeling light-headed. A rat had found its way into her cell and it started paddling across the water towards her. When she tried to kick it away the rat vanished. A moment later it reappeared with two more rats, all of them seemingly intent on crawling over her. She was already pressed into a corner of the cell and had nowhere to go. Kicking and punching, she tried to keep the rats away but they dodged back out of reach and then just sat and waited. It wasn’t natural. Rats were never that silent and still. Six beady eyes watched her, waiting for her to exhaust herself or perhaps fall asleep.