Chapter One: Something New

Aud looked at the room and sighed. It was clean, the cupboard tidy, the bedspread square and flat, the floor clear. A month ago the floor would not be visible, the cupboard spilling clothes, the bed a rumpled heap. She missed it, even as she recalled her endless struggle over tidiness with her youngest son. Well, now it was tidy, and empty. With Jershain gone the house now held only herself and her husband. It was quiet, peaceful and more of her time was her own. It was also somewhat empty.

She should be – indeed she was – gratified that all three of her children were now independent, established (as far as was possible given their ages) as competent adults, with lives of their own. It was a mild source of regret that none had followed in her own path, although two had a good grasp of craft and her daughter’s flair for finance had already launched her on a promising career. They visited, of course, and in time there would be more permanent partners, maybe marriage, grandchildren. Aud felt old at the prospect. She gave a brisk shake and gently closed the door. ‘Old’ was nonsense – she had a lot of life before her, and a lot to look forward to.

Not least her profession, of course. She had practised magic for three decades, and her delight in the art was unfailing, her awareness of the ether as natural as sight. There were spells she had cast a thousand times or more, each time adapting tone and cadence to the surround, and each time with the same thrill as the words shaped the world. Well, perhaps not the same ecstatic surprise as her first successful spell. That was like a first kiss, never to be repeated. Still, spell-casting, like kissing, not only grew better with practice but remained among the great pleasures of life. It was a wonder to magicians how folk with only indirect experience of the ether stayed satisfied with their limited senses.

Aud cast a last look around the landing and went downstairs to dinner. This night of the week they ordered in food from a restaurant, taking turns to choose. It was her turn and she had chosen a new venue, one specialising in Hada cuisine. Most of the dishes had been unfamiliar, so she had asked for a banquet for two. Her husband Jeoreh, dear comfortable Jeoreh, was waiting at the table, and had already set out the dishes. They looked over the selection, commenting as they spooned portions on to their plates.

“I can’t think of any nation that hasn’t come up with some kind of pastry wrapped around a stuffing,” observed Aud. “There’s our street-pies, and dumplings from the peninsula, and those seaweed thingies the Merllan do. These are a bit different, though. What do you think they make the crust from?”

Jeoreh did not reply immediately. He took a thoughtful bite, washed it down with a swallow of small beer and suggested mashed yam leavened with flour. In the same manner they analysed the dish of green jelly, the spicy red-bean paste and the noodles flavoured with a black sauce. The meal concluded with brittle flakes that dissolved on the tongue, first tart and then sweet. They agreed it was a cuisine they would visit again, then retired to the lounge to read for a time before bed. A day like many others, satisfying in its own way: small pleasures and nothing more than the minor irritations that came with being alive.

So that week continued. One evening Aud joined three friends for mild gossip over a game of tiles. On another she and Jeoreh took a stroll out to the headland overlooking the harbour. Jeoreh told her of the ship building on the stocks below, with all the wealth of detail that came with being the senior draughtsman of the yard. Aud had picked up enough knowledge over the years to follow his remarks, even to develop a certain amount of interest in his profession. If she had her art, he had a craft that gave intuitive understanding of how water would flow around a hull, how wood would respond to wind and wave. The yard had a deserved reputation for turning out fine vessels.

* * * *

Workdays were for the art. Two days after the dinner from Hadawa, Aud stood in an underground chamber. Four stone spheres, each as smooth and round as patient skill could contrive, were racked in wooden cradles in the centre of the room. Two were of black marble, as wide across as Aud’s stretched fingers. The other two were much smaller, no larger than a child’s marbles, and of pink quartz. Aud checked the alignment of the cradles, then motioned to the junior to stand on one of the sigils inlaid in the floor.

“What do you feel in the surround?” she asked. His face tensed with concentration.

“It’s very smooth and quiet, with a light presentation,” he finally offered.

Aud nodded. “It’s used to what we do here, almost expecting it. The mode is invitational.” She focused inwardly, hummed a little, took two paces to the left.

“Check the ground-line again, would you.”

The junior again tensed with concentration. Was I once that young and nervous? thought Aud. “There’s a quaver there, in slow time,” the junior said after a time. “If I were casting, I would move up a half-note in response.”

Aud smiled. “That would work, and work fine, for a single cast. Since we have four casts to do here, the resulting perturbations would take you quite high by the third cast. So we adjust the ambient surround. You know how to do that?” She checked the junior’s knowledge and then had him cross to one of three stone cylinders, each set to turn on copper discs, and shift it a little clockwise.

“Check again. Smoother now?”

The junior’s eyes went inward. “Yes, indeed. As smooth as glass, with a sheen.”

“Very good. The sheen matches the stone, so we can use that. We will begin with the larger ones, as they take the spell most easily. Light, of course, and then a Binding. Your access will allow you to do both without strain.”

The junior made sure his feet were positioned, then spoke Words. Silver light sprang from the first stone. A brief pause, then again Words, in a harsher rhythm. The light dimmed a little, sank into the stone, steadied to a mellow radiance.

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“Well done. Let the surround settle a little.” The junior repeated the spells and the second stone matched the first.

“Very good. I’ll do the smaller ones, as they need more effort. The light resents the smaller compass. Stay there, and you’ll sense the difference.”

Aud stepped on to a second sigil and let her Words call to the ether. The light sank into the stone readily enough, but a more forceful tone was needed to wrap the Binding into place. The light flared brighter, dimmed almost to nothing, then built again. Aud felt the surround, adjusted her Words and cast both spells a second time. The last syllable took some effort, and she could feel her access to the ether narrow. A third set of spells would be the limit of her powers.

The four stones now threw a light that cast every crevice and joint into harsh relief and washed their faces to a blur. They both regarded the result with satisfaction, then left for needed refreshment. The four glow-stones already had buyers; it merely remained to fix them into appropriate holders and they would shed light for the next few centuries.

* * * *

“Hearth-stones tomorrow, then that blasted reaper the day after. That thing keeps coming back, no matter what we do.” Aud was speaking to her husband over dinner, this time a spiced stew with rice-cakes. It was Jeoreh’s turn to cook.

“Has anyone checked the surrounds where it is used?” he asked. “You remember that problem we had with wood from a spirit domain? The pieces that kept trying to make themselves into a house and then lure animals in?”

“I do. What happened to the sloths anyway?”

“The priestess of the Garden-Goddess sent some people. I guess they gave them a home. Anyway, could the reaper’s problems be down to an unusual surround?”

“I suppose I could take a look. The others can manage the work, and I have been feeling the need to do something new – why not a small trip? I would be away three, maybe four days. Can you survive?”

“I’ll be fine. Is there something wrong?” Jeoreh’s kind round face was wrinkled with concern. Aud leaned across to pat his cheek.

“Not with us. It’s just, I realised that I have not done much new in the art these last years. Casting is still a delight, but not a novelty, if you understand me. A new surround will challenge me.”

Jeoreh’s face still showed concern. Does he think, Aud thought, that I would abandon my life to pursue the art, running off to the Wild to revel in the untamed ether-flows? Nonsense! I have my home, my friends, my practice, my dear husband and my children. I just want a change in routine.

“No, really,” she went on in an effort to reassure him. “The reaper works that area out below the hills. I think it’s housed at Terlwen, so I’ll start there and then see where it’s been working most recently. That’s what, a day there and two or three days to look around. I’ll stay in Terlwen; I heard there’s a nice inn there. Would you like to come with me?”

Jeoreh shook his head. “I have to be on hand at the yard for the next three weeks at least.”

That night she lay abed, listening to Jeoreh’s familiar soft snore, turning over in her mind the urge to depart from her ordinary round. It was not that she was tired of magic in general, nor even of the magic she performed daily. Did she want to extend her powers? Perhaps, a little. Not too much. The art could consume one. It was just that now the last child had left home, so it was time to do something different. That was it. On that thought she turned over, curved her back into Jeoreh’s form and went to sleep.

* * * *

Three days later she alighted from the public carriage in the town square of Terlwen. It was a pretty place, a cluster of tidy stone and tile houses atop a small rise, around which the River Terl curled in a neat half-circle. An old stone bridge crossed the stream, two mills dipped creaking wheels into the rushing water and a suitably rustic collection of yokels adorned the benches about the square. All in all it was the very picture of rural charm. Aud set her trunk bobbing along behind her with a few casual Words and ambled into the lobby of the Piked Duck. A thin-faced man in a severe black suit and a wing collar so starched as to be nearer an instrument of correction than a garment looked up.

“I am Magistra Aud; I believe you have a room reserved for me.”

The clerk bent to scan a ledger bound in purple leather, running a painted fingernail down the rows. Aud noted idly that the book probably recorded every guest of the establishment since its foundation, and was still only two-thirds full. The clerk’s clothes creaked as he moved; perhaps this made it difficult to put his finger on her name, she mused. It could not otherwise be hard: there were only three entries for this date.

“Ah yes. Here we are. You required a room for three nights. I have given you a chamber at the back, on the upper floor; it is quiet and has a grand view of the river. I will have someone show you up.” The clerk rapped a wooden block sharply and a young woman appeared, again in clothes so stiff as to impede her movements. Aud decided against using the inn’s laundry service.

The room was clean and, as advertised, had a view through a wide double window of the river winding back into the hills. Aud settled her trunk into a corner with a flick of the fingers, gave the girl a coin, stretched and considered her next move. Tea or enquiry? Tea first, definitely. But before that, she prodded the bed. She was not sleeping on starched sheets.

A shop across the square offered an adequate pot of tea and a selection of pastries. Aud sat outside in the amber sunshine of afternoon, nibbling at an almond confection. There was not enough of the day left to get anything much done, but she could make herself known and perhaps ask a few questions. Later, after the tea.

The waitress readily directed her to the premises of Hengen and Father, just outside the crumbling towers of the old West Gate. Aud made an appointment for the next morning, and then stood considering. What now? A stroll around the town was an attractive notion, followed by dinner by the riverside. First, though, she would pay a call on the senior of Terlwen’s two magicians. It was a professional courtesy, and it was also possible she might gain some useful information.

Aud had checked the register at the Association before leaving Pelsie, and expected a bearded old man. She was instead greeted by a sturdy woman in her thirties, practically clad in a blue smock over trousers of rough twill.

“Hebdir? He retired late last year, and went to live on the coast. He’s my uncle, and I’ve done most of the work these last years. I wrote to the Association; did they not get my letter?”

“Apparently not. Or they did not update the register. I’ll speak to them about it on my return.” Aud briefly outlined her reason for visiting Terlwen. Each year of the last three a reaper made by Pelsie Mage-Wrights had malfunctioned, luckily at the end of the season. Each time the fault had been different. It had been dismantled, carted to Pelsie, scrutinised, re-fashioned, carted back and re-assembled. Pelsie Mage-Wrights valued its reputation for quality workmanship, and could find no issue in the manufacture. She was here to explore other possible causes. Had her colleague noticed anything unusual?

“I heard about the reaper. Most of my work is in the veterinary line, and farmers gossip. The surround is pretty steady around the town, but gets frisky up towards the hills. If there’s anything odd happening, that’s where it will be.”

When Aud left it was for her stroll. Terlwen’s origins were lost in time, but much of the current town dated back to the Domainal Union, five centuries ago. The centre was a tangle of narrow lanes, complete with frequent dog-leg turns, dead ends and sudden constrictions. Covered archways spanned the streets, dotted with murder-holes and arrow-slits. It had been a turbulent time, Aud reflected. Now the old stones had faded to light yellow, windows had been enlarged, flower-boxes strewed scents into the warm air. The town wall, once an imposing ring, had been levelled to provide terraces above the river where the young folk promenaded of an evening. Aud found a seat, ordered a glass of the local beer and watched the folk of Terlwen enjoy themselves. The young men wore brightly-embroidered vests, the young women long tunics over leggings, also in bright colours. The older folk were more sedately clad, many with light shawls of the fine local wool draped over their shoulders. From the terrace Aud could look out over rolling farmland to the dusk-shrouded hills. The scene had a soothing calm, and Aud let herself relax. Tomorrow would come soon enough. She ate a dish of fingerling eels with a salad and wandered back to the inn, content with her explorations.