Читать книгу A Meddle of Wizards - Alexandra Rushe - Страница 19

Chapter 11

An Unexpected Visit

“Brefreton,” Raine shrieked, rushing to the edge of the cliff.

She watched in horror as he did a freefall off the mountain, his tattered cloak whipping in the wind. Down he plunged, the rocks rushing to meet him. He opened his arms at the last second and turned into a hawk, soaring away with a keening cry.

Mauric yanked Raine from the brink. “Please,” he said. “My heart can’t take it.”

Tiny strung their packs on his belt and Raine and Mauric climbed onto his shoulders. Gertie shapeshifted into a bird and fluttered around the giant’s head.

“I hears you, Gertie,” Tiny said in response to the bird’s insistent chirping. “You don’t has to keep a-cheep cheep cheeping in m’ ear. Them pesky vuks ain’t gon’ catch old Tiny.”

With a last twitter, the bird darted away. Raine heard a horrible snarl and looked back. She got a good look at the vuks, and wished she hadn’t. These goggins were big—roughly the size of a large horse and vaguely lupine in shape—with gray, scaly hides. Their eyes were black with burning red centers and their slathering mouths hung open, displaying razor-sharp teeth. The leader threw back its gnarled head and howled, a soulless moan that turned Raine’s bones to jelly.

“Listen to them pups,” Tiny said with a chuckle. “Right nattered they be.”

“Get us out of here, Tiny.” Raine nudged the giant’s shoulder. “Now. They frighten me.”

“Right-o, Rainey.” Tiny jerked forward in his peculiar, mile-eating gait, and they left the vuks behind.

As they tromped along, Raine braced for a recurrence of the giant-itis. To her relief, the roller coaster swell of nausea and the blinding headache did not return. Tiny clumped out of the high reaches and the bitter cold lessened. After a time, Raine relaxed and began to enjoy herself. Riding a giant, she decided, had a rhythm of its own, rather like riding a camel. Or so she imagined. Camels were few and far between where she came from.

“Stop humming,” Mauric said. He sounded cross. “You’ve been making that racket this hour and more.”

“The earth is singing.” Raine laughed in delight. “Don’t you hear it?”

“All I hear is you humming and humming. Stop it. It sets my teeth on edge.”

Raine peeked around the giant’s head at the warrior on the other side. Mauric’s handsome features were drawn and his skin was a delicate shade of green.

“Sorry,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“I just did.”

Whew, trolls didn’t have a monopoly on grumpy. Knowing what it was like to be ill, Raine did her best not to hum, tapping her foot instead in rhythm with the vibration thrumming around them. It was a fine clear day and they made good time. By late afternoon, the mountains were a distant memory and they were plodding through rolling grassland.

“Thas’ it,” Tiny announced, jerking to a stop as the sun lowered in the sky. “I be tuckered. What say we make camp?”

Mauric’s only answer was a groan, so Raine took charge, sliding down from the giant’s shoulder to look around. They were in a pleasant hollow sheltered by several large oaks. A gurgling stream nearby provided fresh water.

“This will do quite well, Tiny,” Raine said, rubbing her hands together to warm them. “Hand me the bags.”

Tiny unfastened the saddlebags and dropped them onto the grass. Mauric climbed down with a grunt, clutching his belly. Peeling out of his long leather coat, he tossed it aside and slumped to the ground with his head in his hands.

“Where’s Gertie?” he asked.

Poor Mauric sounded like he’d swallowed a bucket of frogs.

“Dunno,” Tiny said. “Reckon she be scooterpootin’ around here somewheres in birdie form.”

Raine rummaged through the packs and found a cloth. Moistening it in the icy stream, she laid the cool compress across the back of Mauric’s neck.

“Thanks.” He put his head between his knees. “I’ll be all right as soon as everything stops spinning.”

A red swift flitted into the glade and shifted into the troll.

“Why have you stopped?” Gertie demanded. “We’re but a few leagues from the Durngarian border.”

“Tiny’s tired and Mauric has giant-itis,” Raine explained. “No offense, Tiny.”

“None taken.” Tiny wheeled about. “See you lot in the morning.”

“Wait, you,” Gertie said, stomping after the giant. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Tiny turned. The giant’s face was a study in innocence. “Nowheres in par-tickler, Gertie. Jes thought I’d poke about a bit, don’t you know.”

“I do know, and that’s the problem,” Gertie snapped. “You’re off to liberate something. See you don’t get caught.”

Tiny started to protest, but seemed to think better of it. “Yessum.”

He lumbered off, his hide skirt swinging about his massive, hairy legs.

“What was that all about?” Raine asked.

“Giants are a notoriously sticky-fingered lot.” Opening a pack, Gertie removed bread and cheese wrapped in cloth. “With the Shara River a few leagues to the south, there’s bound to be temptation.”

“What sort of temptation?”

“Wine, silk, trinkets—not to mention black gurshee out of Esmalla,” Gertie said. “All sorts of goods make their way down the river to Gambollia. And Kron help us if Tiny stumbles across an ale barge. A drunken giant’s the last thing we need.” She rubbed her paws together. “I’ll scrape us up a bite to eat. A little food will set Mauric to rights.”

Mauric staggered to his feet. “I’ll start a fire.”

* * * *

The stars were out by the time they’d finished eating. Supper did much to restore Mauric, but he was still subdued. Stiff and achy from the long journey, Raine stretched out on the cold ground and listened to her companions discussing the next day’s journey. She glanced up at the nigh sky and stifled a gasp. The stars were wrong. A large indigo orb twinkled where the North Star should have been, and the Milky Way was gone. Most disturbing of all, there were two moons. The smaller one was missing a big chunk and hung next to its sister moon like a half-eaten apple. The sight of the unfamiliar firmament made Raine feel unaccountably lost and lonely.

I’m a stranger in a strange land, she thought. It wasn’t homesickness precisely, but she had a sudden longing to see something, anything, familiar.

After a while, Gertie pulled out a stubby pipe and packed it with tobacco. Taking a coal from the fire, she lit the pipe and inhaled. Pursing her black lips, she blew out a puff of sweet-smelling smoke.

Mauric noticed Raine’s curious stare. “Know what a troll smokes in her pipe?”

Raine shook her head.

“Any trodyn thing she wants.”

Chuckling at his own humor, Mauric rose and took a piece of canvas from one of the packs, flung the stiff cloth over a low hanging branch, and secured it with wooden pegs. Raine crawled inside the tiny tent to take a look. To her surprise, she found her aunt waiting for her inside, glowing like a candle.

“Mimsie,” Raine cried, forgetting her earlier misery.

Mauric’s booted calves appeared in the opening. “Eh?”

“Um, I said it’s not flimsy.”

To Raine’s relief, he moved away.

She wheeled around. “Oh, Mimsie, I’m so glad to see you. I’ve got so many things to tell you that I—” She faltered. “Wait. Can you understand me? I’m not speaking English.”

“Course you aren’t speaking English. We ain’t in Kansas anymore. Or any other place I’ve heard tell of, come to think of it.”

Raine smiled. “We’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, for sure.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “How’d you get here?”

“Followed you and that ginger-haired troublemaker through the mirror. Couldn’t let you go junketing around another world without me, could I?”

“Oh, Mims.”

Any seed of doubt Raine had harbored about her aunt’s trustworthiness vanished. Mimsie hadn’t poisoned her. Moved, Raine reached out to touch her aunt. To her shock, Mimsie’s flesh was cool and solid.

She received an electric shock at the contact, and yanked her hand back. “Ouch,” she said, nursing her stinging fingers. “That hurt.”

“Sorry,” Mimsie said. “I’m working on that. Now tell me. What have you been up to?”

Raine rattled off the events of the last few days while Mimsie listened with an enthralled expression on her pretty, young face.

“Brefreton says the god stone is lost,” Raine said, winding down. “Looks like I’m stuck here.”

“We’re stuck here,” Mimsie said. “I’m on you like white on rice, girl.” She shook her head. “But it’s strange goings on, for sure. How are you feeling?”

How many times in her life had Mimsie asked her that question, her searching gaze on Raine while she waited anxiously for the answer? Hundreds, no thousands of times. Raine hesitated. If she said the words out loud, would she jinx it?

“I feel better than I have in a long time,” she said cautiously. “Maybe ever.”

“That’s wonderful news, baby.” Mimsie gave a disdainful sniff. “I heard that four-legged doormat accuse me of poisoning you. The nerve.”

“You were there? I told Gertie she was wrong. My theory is lead poisoning.”

“Nope. Had you tested for that.”

Raine worried her bottom lip. “Very well. If it’s not lead poisoning, then what is it?”

“No idea. Don’t reckon it matters, so long as you’re better.”

“You’re right.” Raine sat up straight. “Hey, it seems I have a sister.”

“Stay away from Hara, baby. She’s a bad egg.”

“How do you—”

“Never mind how I know. I just do.” Mimsie reached out and stroked the fur coat. “Nice. A gift, you say?”

“Yes, from Mauric.”

“Mauric.” Mimsie gave a girlish sigh. “If I were alive, I’d hose him down and lick him dry.”

“Mimsie,” Raine said, shocked.

The ghost’s mischievous expression vanished. “Quick, before he comes back. There’s something I need to tell you. I was there the night you were left on the steps.”

“You were at the church? But you never—”

“It was late,” Mimsie said, cutting her off. “I’d gone back to Saint Mark’s to return an urn I’d borrowed from the flower guild—you know how that Norma Lou Higgins could be. Acted like she owned the damn church—and that’s when I saw her, the woman in the cloak.”

“My mother?” Raine stared at her in shock. “But why didn’t you—”

“Tell you?” Mimsie shook her head. “Because what I saw didn’t make sense, and it was over in a blink. I told myself I’d imagined it.” She stilled, listening, and put her finger to her lips. “Shh. Pretty Boy’s coming back.”

Raine heard the tramp of approaching feet.

Mauric cleared his throat outside the tent. “Gertie says come back to the fire.” He shuffled his feet in the leaves. “She’s made you a cup of herbal tea.”

“Coming,” Raine said.

When she turned back around, Mimsie was gone. It didn’t matter. Raine knew she’d be back. Spirits lighter, she crawled out of the tent and trudged back to the fire. As she drew near, Gertie and Mauric broke apart with a guilty start.

“What’s eating you two?” Raine planted her hands on her hips. “Did I miss something?”

Mauric offered her a steaming tin mug. “Um . . . we were wondering who you were talking to in the tent.”

Raine accepted the tea and sat down, her face burning. They’d overheard her chatting with Mimsie. No wonder they were acting peculiar. Should she lie, or tell them the truth? They’d think she was nuts.

“If you must know, I was talking to my Aunt Mimsie.”

The troll’s bushy brows rose. “The dead woman?”

“Yes.” Lifting her chin, Raine looked the troll in the eye. “I can see her spirit.”

Mauric’s eyes widened. “Tro, you see ghosts?”

“One ghost, and only in the last few months.” Raine blew out a breath. “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Gertie said. “Necromancy’s unusual, but it’s as legitimate as any other talent.”

“I’m not a wizard. That’s absurd.”

“Of course it is.” Mauric slapped his thigh. “I’ll wager lots of people on Urp talk to the dead.”

“No, they don’t,” Raine said. “That would be weird.”

“Damn.” His shoulders slumped. “You’re a wizard.”

“So?” She looked from Gertie to Mauric. “It’s not a big deal, right? Wizards are probably a dime a dozen around here.”

“No, pet,” Gertie said. “Wizards are uncommon even in Tandara.”

“Thank Tro,” Mauric muttered.

Gertie gave him a repressive glare. “Most people have a smidgen of talent, little abilities that make life easier, but few are adepts. Magic takes training and discipline. More than that, it takes desire to become a wizard. Many of those born with the knack are too lazy to develop it.”

“What sort of talents are you talking about?”

“It varies,” Gertie said, with a lift of her bulky shoulders. “Brefreton’s people, for instance, are wonderful farmers. I once saw a Tannish farmer coax fruit from a stone. And the Esmallans weave beautiful cloth. Delicate as a spider’s web, and the colors are exquisite. What’s more, the fabric keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer, doesn’t tear or show dirt.” She warmed to her topic. “The Seths are renowned sword smiths, the Finlarans mighty warriors—”

“Stop, you’re going too fast,” Raine said, her brain whirling.

Mauric laid a hand on Gertie’s shoulder. “Let me draw a map. Maybe it will make more sense if she sees it.” Rising, he took a long stick and sketched a rough shape in the dirt next to the fire. “This is Tandara.” With a few, quick strokes, he divided it into segments, and pointed to a section at the top. “My country, Finlara, is here, and here—” He touched a smaller piece of the map that hugged the coastline beneath Finlara. “This is Shad Amar, the Dark Wizard’s territory, where we’ve been.”

“Where we are,” Gertie grumbled. “We shouldn’t have stopped.”

Mauric ignored her and moved the stick to a large patch to beneath Finlara and to the right of Shad Amar. “Tannenbol, Brefreton’s home.” He touched another portion of the map. “This big patch over here is Durngaria—it’s mostly plains.” He moved to the far right of the rough map. “Over here is Seth, the land of the dwarves. And in this corner is the Amedlarian Forest. That’s where the elves live.”

“There are elves?” Raine said, her eyes widening.

“Of course, but they seldom mingle with the other races. Standoffish, elves.” He moved the marker to the bottom of the map. “Esmalla is here and below the Great Plains and to the left is Valdaria.”

Gertie smacked her lips. “Fine vintners, the Valdarians.”

“Gertie is fond of Valdarian wine, but she loves Finlaran ale. Right, Gert?”

“I’d give my left teat for a mug of it right now.”

Mauric chuckled. “The Rowan has recently installed troll-proof locks to keep Gertie out of his ale.”

“He what? Well, I like that. Who do you think gave the mingy ale-pinch the recipe for his precious brew in the first place?” Gertie thumped her hairy chest. “I did, that’s who.”

“Is the Rowan like a king?” Raine asked.

“Aye, and pay no mind to Gertie’s snarling.” Mauric grinned. “She and my uncle are the best of friends.”

“Oh, aye, I’m crazy about him.” There was a dangerous gleam in Gertie’s eyes. “Locking me out of his cellars.”

“The Rowan’s your uncle?” Raine turned her head to stare at Mauric. “Does that mean you’re in line for the throne?”

He shook his head. “Nay, Trowyn himself chooses the Rowan.”

“The god of Finlara,” Raine said, trying to keep it all straight. “There are nine gods, right?”

“Aye. Trowyn, Kron, Magog, and Reba,” Mauric said, rattling off the names. “Seth, Gar, Valdar, Esma, and Tam.” He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Tro, I forgot about Tam.” He quickly scratched an irregular blob in the dirt next to his original map. “This is Tamir. The Tamirs build the finest ships in the world from tukalla wood. The tukalla tree grows only on the Isle of Tamir. There’s no better wood for shipbuilding in the world—no knots, straight grain. It won’t warp or rot, and it’s impervious to insects.”

Gertie knocked the ashes from her pipe and rose. “Fascinating, I’m sure, Mauric, but it’s time for bed. We’ll continue the lesson on wood craft later.” She gave Raine a kindly glance. “Try not to fret about the wizard thing, pet. You have talent, or you don’t. Either way, there’s nothing you can do about it.”