Chapter 3

Souffy

Souffy Ravenus presses her hand against the stones that frame the tower window and angles herself out. Thirty feet below her lies unforgiving cobblestone, but Souffy's gaze stretches further: beyond the fortress's courtyard, past the battlements of its protective walls, and out to the ocean, gray in the early morning light. It's that flat expanse of water, even more than the impenetrable mountains to the south or the oppressive forests that crowd the northern bay, that reminds Souffy just how cut off from civilization—from any place of importance—the town of Bydlo is. Since her banishment to this town three years ago, she has fervently wished for something—for anything—exciting to happen.

And now, maybe, it has.

Souffy had awoken before sunrise; her limbs prickled by a thousand invisible needles. It was as if she'd managed to sleep funny on every part of her body. She knows this physical reaction means that a powerful spell beyond anything a mortal magic user could harness has been cast. Souffy can still feel the hairs—quite literally—stand up on the back of her neck (It’s a curious side effect when she casts or finds herself in the presence of magic). Not that her hair ever lays flat. She's blessed—or cursed—with a thick black halo of tight curls. But this morning's extra volume is unarguably due to magical residue.

The overhang of the tower's slate roof blocks much of the sky, but the section Souffy's striving to see lies just out to sea. It's not so much a beam, as a ribbon of light twisting downward with its edges flashing silver. She can't discern where it starts, only that it comes from somewhere so far up high that it muddles her thoughts when she thinks about it. Souffy can make out where the light ribbon ends, though, on a lifeless outcropping of rocks jutting out from the briny waters. From this vantage, she can't see the sand embankment that connects the islet to Bydlo's harbor; she can only make out a corner of gray roof tile. Maybe if she could just lean out a bit further out…

She climbs up on the sill, scooching forward until she's kneeling at the edge. From there she reaches out the window and grasps the outer tower wall. Gritty chunks of mortar from between the stones dig into her knee as she tips herself forward. Souffy hugs the wall and presses her cheek so close that she inhales the centuries-old mildew that permeates the fort. From here, she can make out most of the squat, salt-encrusted stone Hero Shrine and the ribbon of light terminating at its roof.

As a child, Souffy used to stare at the enormous tapestry in her grandmama's villa that recounted the exploits and great deeds of the Heroes of the Realm. The picture story it told began with a line of silver thread connected to the roof of the Hero Shrine in the city of Talenberg. That shrine had been depicted as much grander with massive stained glass windows and flying buttresses, but the ribbon of light means the same thing.

"The portal's been activated," Souffy squeals.

Just then, her right hand slips an inch, eliciting a gasp from Souffy as the precariousness of her position demands her full attention. Slowly, she lets out her breath, willing her body and thoughts still. This wouldn't be an issue if she'd been able to master the Soft Landing spell. But she hasn't. A sad pile of shattered bricks on the ground beneath her bedroom window attests to her many failed attempts.

Souffy knows you're not supposed to look down in these situations, but she does anyway. This close to imminent death, her vision achieves a remarkable level of clarity. She takes in the cobblestones' geometric patterns, notices the lighter gray of the recently replaced stones, and marvels at the tenacity of the weeds sprouting from the cracks. They’re green now but destined to wither in the cold autumn nights and die a slow death.

Not instantaneous, like Souffy's demise would be if she were to lose her grip.

She’s all but digging her fingers into the masonry. It’s wet, either from the sea mist or her own cold sweat. Despite her vice grip, she slips what feels like another inch. Bit by bit, Souffy's body tips forward. If she does nothing, she will absolutely fall to her death. So why not try the idea forming in her mind? Souffy vaguely recalls a gravity diagram with arrows from her Non-Magical Sciences course that proved the impossibility of what she's attempting. Just as well she hadn't paid attention back then.

Souffy takes a deep breath and—with all her might—pushes backward. Her hands no longer hold the tower wall, and she totters on her knees. A tip forward means death. Thankfully, she tumbles backward. Her hip slams into the edge of the windowsill as she falls—head first—to the safety of the floor. At the last moment, she manages to twist so that her shoulder takes the brunt of the impact. She rolls onto her back and lies still for a while; her shoulder and hip throb painfully.

She's alive.

She's alive!

And, even more miraculously: otherworld heroes are coming to Bydlo!

It's the most monumental thing that has ever happened anywhere near her, and it sets her imagination aflame. Maybe she could arrange to be in the Hero Shrine when they come through. Maybe Souffy could be the one to let them in.

Souffy brushes the worst of the dirt off her official wizard-school smock. It hardly matters. There's no way that Souffy will be teaching basic spell casting today, and she won't be wearing this frumpy old thing when she meets the otherworlders. She’s grinning as she heads to the narrow spiral staircase carved into the tower's massive walls. Her dizziness as she bounds down the steps—two at a time—comes from the thoughts and possibilities spinning in her head.

Opening the portal won't be a problem. The magic required is just a variant of the Restore cantrip. She teaches Restore to all her beginning magic students, although not much beyond that. By the time she's got them comfortable casting cantrips and an elementary spell or two, they’re apprenticed out to a trade-mage (usually in the logging industry or employed by the Laska Bay Trading Company). She's trained only one student in the past three years who shows any real promise. And he was sent away to a larger town to the south—over two days' journey by ship—that has an accredited magic school with Certified Wizard instructors.

Not that Souffy wants to teach. If she passes her wizarding exams, she's determined to do something more exciting. When—not if—she passes her exams, she corrects herself.

But for once Souffy finds herself pleased with Bydlo's provincial attitudes towards higher magical education. It means that, with Uncle Ferimus away on one of his herbalistic expeditions, she's the only wizard with a formal education (or most of a formal education) in town. While a cleric or really any magic user could technically open the portal; everyone knows that wizards are the first choice when dealing with the Divine Wisdom's will.

It really could happen! All she needs to do is to convince the Magistrate or Mayor of the rightness of her claim. Souffy decides to try the Magistrate. Her offices are closet, within the fortress itself.

Souffy bursts into the courtyard, racing past moss covered walls, stables with sagging roofs, and barracks in need of whitewashing. A century ago (when skirmishes and land disputes were common between Ozema and its neighboring countries) Queen Ella, the current King’s grandmother, maintained two regiments in Fort Bydlo to protect its shipyards and sea trading routes. But then the Heroes of the Realm brought peace and goodwill between the nations and now the fort houses only a small garrison, made up mainly of locals. There’s enough extra room for Magistrate Nevus and her staff, as well as Ferimus’s magic school. Souffy hopes the new heroes will not be as bitterly disappointed in this meager outpost as she was upon her own arrival three years ago.

At least the Commandant’s House, where Magistrate Nevus keeps her offices, is well maintained. Even impressive, with its red and white brick pattern exterior and the wide staircase leading up to the great hall. “Fit for the King,” the Mayor is proud of saying. It has been the Mayor’s lifelong dream to have the King (or, more realistically, any member of the royal family) visit Bydlo. Souffy doesn’t see that happening any time soon, and she doesn’t see why they can’t hold a dance or something fun in there in the meantime. All she’s ever seen the great hall used for is town meetings or the occasional trial.

Souffy doesn’t slow her stride as she passes the stairs. The double doors at the top are always locked. Instead, she ducks into a side door and runs along narrow servants’ passages past rooms with dust-covered floors and outmoded furniture covered in drop cloths. Eventually, she pops out into a larger hallway leading directly to the Magistrate’s offices.

“Hey Orley,” Souffy greets the guard stationed outside the door to the offices. In the capital, Sernik, where Souffy grew up, active duty soldiers do not guard government offices, or police the town, or serve as protection on commercial ships. But here in Bydlo, the duties of militia conscripts cover any job that requires a sword.

“Souffy.” Orley’s relaxed posture snaps into alertness. “Is there a problem?”

Orley lives in the barracks, and a few months ago, her younger brother enrolled in the school to become one of Souffy’s pupils. Given those connections and their similar ages—Orley is 21, a year older than Souffy—it would make sense for them to be friends. But for various reasons (not all of them her fault) Souffy has had a difficult time finding companions in Bydlo.

“No.” Souffy tries—and fails—to not sound defensive. “I just need to talk to the Magistrate.”

“About?”

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“Something good, alright?”

Orley is the first to break eye contact. “Magistrate Nevus is having breakfast in the foyer.” She stands aside but doesn’t open the door.

You're a Ravenus wizard, Souffy reminds herself. She holds her head high as she lets herself in.

Souffy finds the Magistrate seated at the head of a large table, a plate of pastries to her right, a stack of papers to her left. A few feet down the table, a messenger bird perches, pecking at a bowl of seeds.

Magistrate Lenora Nevus is a small woman with a formidable presence. Souffy has heard that when Lenora’s gray-streaked black hair is combed out, it hangs almost to her ankles, but she has never seen the woman without it braided into tight coils.

When Souffy enters, Lenora looks up in alarm. “Is anything on fire? I mean metaphorically? Or literally?”

“No!” Why do people always make that assumption? It was only that one building and they were planning on tearing it down anyway.

“Glad to hear that. Now if you’ll just let me get through these.” Lenora returns to her paperwork.

“Actually, there’s something amazing I need to tell you.”

“Can it wait, dear?” The way Lenora stresses the term of endearment gives it an edge. “I need to finish approving the tax deferral requests. The deadline is next week and if the forms aren’t filled in correctly, I want the applicants to have time to resubmit.”

“But—"

“Souffy.” There is iron in her voice, just enough to remind Souffy that Magistrate Nevus is more than a parchment-pushing bureaucrat. She is the appointed representative of the King. Her voice carries his authority. “Sit down and have a pastry.”

Souffy chooses a sticky bun covered in crunchy sugar and munches as loudly as possible. Lenora pays her no mind. She proceeds through her stack, taking the same amount of time to check each line before stamping Accept or Reject at the bottom of the parchment. About the time Souffy is considering a second pastry, Lenora finishes with the last form.

“Well? What is this amazing thing?” She folds her hands and gives Souffy her full attention.

Souffy has been rehearsing phrases in her head. She wants to imbue the announcement with the gravitas it deserves. “Some very auspicious individuals are about to arrive in Bydlo.” She pauses for effect. “At the Hero Shrine.”

Lenora blinks, twice. “Oh, someone has petitioned you to request a hero for a quest? I can see how you’d be excited, but remember dear, the Divine Wisdom only grants a small fraction of all petitions. I don’t think we’ve had heroes in Bydlo in five, maybe seven years.”

“No, it’s not a petition for a hero.” Does Lenora think Souffy would be this excited about some professional adventurer or magic user called in to resolve a local problem? “They’re here now, in the portal, in the Hero Shrine!”

“But, that’s not how these things work, Souffy. There’s a petition and a requesting ritual and a waiting period while the hero prepares for the quest. And only then, when everything is in place, does the hero actually travel between hero shrines.”

“That’s for regular heroes from other parts of Mythreal. These heroes are from another world. They’ve been sent because there’s some great imbalance that only they can make right.”

“So, no paperwork?”

Souffy shakes her head. She can see the import of her news finally dawning on Lenora. “You mean there are otherworlders down in the Hero Shrine right now?”

“Yes! They’re still in the portal. Someone needs to release them.”

“Is that safe?” Lenora sounds confused. Well, it has been almost seventy years since the last otherworld heroes came to Mythreal. And (Souffy reminds herself) this is Bydlo.

“For them? Oh, yes. They’re in a state of suspension. They probably aren’t even aware that time is passing.” At least that's what Souffy vaguely remembers from her Introduction to Divine Wisdom Theology class. She waits for Lenora to question or challenge her. Instead, the Magistrate nods silently, encouragingly. It isn’t often that people treat Souffy as an authority. She decides to make the most of the situation. “We should open the portal as soon as possible. It’s customary for a senior wizard to welcome the heroes but with my uncle away, I could cast the spell to unlock the gate, and then Father Aldonus could perform the Pathfinding Ceremony. It would be—”

A loud squawk interrupts Souffy’s exposition. Both women turn to see the bird at the other end of the table twitching and ruffling its feathers. A moment later, a small green speckled egg drops into a padded bowl.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” says Lenora.

She removes the egg, gives it a gentle tap, and cracks it open a couple of feet above the table. A gob of albumin spills out of the broken egg. It shimmers as it falls, becoming lighter, airier. By the time it makes contact with the table it’s no longer a liquid but a mist, swirling and reflowing into the form of a head and shoulders of a man. The man is quite attractive, with smooth black hair and intelligent eyes. Daydreaming about that face had disrupted Souffy’s study times on a few occasions. More than a few, unfortunately.

“Greetings Magistrate,” says the man-shaped mist. There is just the slightest curl to his lips, a hint of a smile for those who know to look for it.

“Likewise, Captain. I assume your passage to Rozny Las went well?”

“Yes. The winds were favorable, and we made the journey in under two days. I think I should sail with priests more often. I had some wonderful conversations with Aldonus. He sends you well wishes.”

“Wait, Arek,” Souffy jumps in, “Father Aldonus is with you?”

“Oh, hello Souffy.” Arek’s noncorporeal form turns towards her. “Yes, Aldonus, Priestess Jasper, Cleric Malissa, pretty much all of the clergy are here. They’re consecrating the grounds for the new church. You know about the new church in Rozny Las?”

Souffy didn’t. She made it a point to pay as little attention as possible to the goings-on in Rozny Las, the outpost on the far side of the bay that makes Bydlo look positively cosmopolitan.

“But we need him back here!” Souffy tries not to sound desperate as all her careful plans fall apart.

“What? Did something happen?” The swirly mist that comprises Arek’s eyes somehow seems to focus even more intently on Souffy.

“No, nothing like that, Arek,” Lenora cuts in before Souffy can defend herself. “We’ll need him back to perform a ceremony. Apparently, we’re about to be visited by otherworlders. Fortunately, Souffy says we can wait.”

“I didn’t say that,” Souffy cries. She’s feeling hot, flustered.

“You said the heroes don’t experience the flow of time while they’re in the portal.”

“Are you saying otherworld heroes are coming to Bydlo?” asks Arek.

“Yes, exciting isn’t it? Imagine, otherworlders visiting our town.”

Souffy doesn't know what frustrates her more: her words being used against her or the fact that Lenora is conversing with the swirling mist-Arek as if he is real. Messenger bird eggs are like an animated letter, capturing the knowledge and mental state of the sender at the exact moment they feed the bird the enchanted seed. Arek must have made that magical connection with the bird when he arrived in Rozny Las yesterday. (Messenger birds’ other magical ability is next-day arrival, regardless of distance.) Nothing Lenora says to this magical copy of Arek will be communicated back to the original. Arek will know nothing of the heroes or the need to return as soon as possible until the bird is rested and ready to be sent back in two or three days.

“Have no fear, Souffy. I’ll deliver the priest home as soon as possible, I promise.” The not-real Arek smiles again at Souffy, and she finds herself nodding in overeager agreement. Drat, now she's doing it too! If only he didn’t look so damn gallant.

“And speaking of our return trip,” he continues, “I’m happy to report we’ve already unloaded the supplies and will start loading the export timber in the morning. It appears they’ve had a fruitful harvest this summer, top-quality trees and the infusion spells have held well. I was talking to one of the master trade-mages and they’ve developed a ritual to permeate freshly cut timber with magical termite repellent. Can you imagine how popular that will be in the south?” Lenora makes a noise of agreement as Arek launches into even more tree talk.

Souffy picks up another sticky pastry, forcing herself to listen. Hearing Arek drone on does wonders to settle Souffy’s butterflies. It’s a pity that behind that handsome face resides such a dull mind. Arek might be a ship’s captain and look absolutely dashing in his crisp white coat and cap, but both the uniform and ship belong to Arek’s employer, the Laska Bay Trading Company. And more to the point, any happily-ever-after daydream that Souffy might conjure involving Arek would be dominated by unending monologues on trees, lumber, and sawmills.

Souffy finishes her second pastry. Lenora and Arek are still discussing some delay in one of the lumber deliveries from a camp in the far north. Souffy supposes she could wait around for egg-Arek to fade but it’s clear that Lenora does not consider freeing the heroes to be a priority. And when Lenora makes up her mind, you’d need a dragon attacking the town to change it. Souffy needs a different plan. She waves her goodbye to Lenora and slips out of the room.

“Did you say heroes are coming to Bydlo?” Orley asks her as she leaves.

“Ask the Magistrate,” says Souffy as she runs off.

Souffy’s feet feel heavier and heavier with each step as she leaves the Commandant’s House. She could still go see the Mayor. But her earlier enthusiasm has evaporated, leaving behind only the thin gruel of reality.

It's common knowledge that Souffy’s family sent her to Bydlo because she failed her wizarding certification exams and needed a place to study free from distractions and “bad influences”. And maybe, since she arrived here, she had acted impulsively on some occasions, like that time with Nugget three months ago. Not that she’s sorry about her actions. It was inhumane for that man to keep a dancing bear and force her to perform at the town market. None of her teachers ever told her the Charm spell worked differently on ursines, and it only took a week to repair the market stalls. The town gossips who compared the events to the Pandomium were exaggerating and Souffy paid them no mind. She was glad that thanks to her decisive actions, Nugget is now freely roaming the forest.

But people listen to gossip, and no respectable citizen would think someone like Souffy should be the one to open the portal. Soon, everybody who is anybody in Bydlo will know about the heroes, and they’ll all have their own justifications for why they should be the ones present in the Hero Shrine to meet the otherworlders. It isn’t that large a shrine; Souffy probably wouldn’t even be allowed inside for the ceremony.

Souffy is so lost in misery that she’s not paying attention to where her feet are taking her. She's surprised to find herself at the base of the tower from which she earlier viewed the light connected to the shrine. She looks up at the window that she almost fell from and thinks: this is where I would have gone splat. Funny that makes her smile.

She could have called for help back then, but she didn’t. She acted on her own. And it worked out. Some of the excitement Souffy felt earlier in the tower is now flowing back into her. She wonders why she always feels her best when she's about to do something crazy.

Souffy has been told by family members she's a bit like her grandmama, the sorceress Zoriana, who in her youth fought alongside the Heroes of the Realm. The comparison is usually made when Souffy has been caught doing something she shouldn’t, and it’s not meant as a compliment. But once or twice, Grandmama had said it herself, and not in her usual sharp, sarcastic tones. Wouldn’t it be something if Souffy could live up to Zoriana’s deeds after all?

Souffy makes up her mind. She's going to free the heroes. But first, she needs an accomplice.