Some people, when faced with adversity, broke. They wept and cried and prayed. Some became wise and strong, they went on with their lives.
Magda became hard. The list of things in this world that she did not hate became smaller and smaller with every pain. Sometimes she made herself sit at the counter, when everyone was asleep, and she would steal a pencil nub, some receipt paper, and try and list things that made her happy. It was a long time, sitting in the dark, pencil in hand, the light fading away to nothing. The paper remained blank more often than not.
It was not dark, now, but bright day. She slipped off the stool and walked over to the large, sunlit window. “Even the light is cold, here.” She wanted to sit in a hot puddle of sunshine and feel it warm her bones. That might make her happy, to melt in the sunlight.
In Pandroth, the sun is always hot.
At least it was, in the desert. She remembered wandering the Vikli Deserts, the desert and its ways ingrained in her — how to read the wind and the stars, the patterns of the grains of sand, the hills and valleys – they all revealed great stories to those who knew the language.
They say that you can get lost in the desert and wander forever, but not her people. Her people had always known where they were, the course of the sun, hot and bright, the cold light of the countless stars at night. It had been that way from the times unspoken of; but it changed, of course, once the Pandrazzi had come. The Empire had been afraid of the nomads, of their untamed magic. It had wanted to tap and control, regulate and cage.
And what the empire wanted, it accomplished.
Magda sighed softly. She missed the stars the most. She had never seen stars that bright, that clearly again. Not even on the waves of the sea.
The Pandrazzi did not kill outright. First, they re-educated. Pandrazzi were practical, if you were of use, you lived. You even lived a fairly decent life. There were rules, and they were hard rules, for the Pandrazzi were as hard as they were practical, but if you were malleable, you could forget. You could build a new life there. They would harness you and train your magic for the greater good of the Empire, and you would go home to your husband and children and eat your dinner and think life was fine.
Magda had never been malleable. She resented her captivity, even though it was voluntary. One day they were free nomads, practicing their magic and traveling from oasis to oasis, another the Pandrazzi had captured them, and put swords to their necks and gave them a choice.
The chief chose for them all. Made them swear allegiance to the Emperor, then bent and allowed them to cut off his head, his, and the heads of his sons, because it was known that this new life would be paid for in blood, and he hoped to pay the greatest part for those who had once been under his protection.
Magda never stopped longing for that life, the feel of hot sand and the sight of stars as far as the eye could see.
“Why do I hate you all so much?” Magda asked, and Ailiani, who had been scratching away at some paperwork, looked up. The scritching stopped, and Magda looked over her shoulder. “It is what you wonder, is it not?”
The other woman shrugged, then just waited for Magda. It was not as if she could do anything else.
“I don’t know, either,” she said, looking back at the window. She finally joined the other woman at the table. She had a sheet of paper laid out, and she was drawing on it. It was a complex knot, circles and whorls with little arrows following their curves, as if telling which way to go. To most it would have looked like nonsense, even though it was intricate and complex. Four patterns, each in a different direction, and one large central one.
“I know this magic,” she said, feeling a frisson of interest. “But I can’t tell what it is.”
Ailiani placed her elbow on the table, at an angle, her hand held like she was about to smack someone. With her other hand she crawled across the counter, until her second hand was under her other hand, which slammed down.
“A trap?”
Ailiani smiled and nodded, and kept working.
“I knew a man from the Stairs of Alessyn. He was on the ship that I was on, he told me about this pattern magic.” It was a variation of her own, symbols made patterns, not curved lines, but she knew what she could do. She saw it, a way to overlap her magic on top of Ailiani’s, to create something powerful.
“Do you mind if we work together on this?”
Ailiani grinned and shook her head.
“Now I wish I had my scroll book. It is where I copied my family’s spells. It was lost many years ago, but I remember much. I think I can make this trap stronger. Can you tell me what we are trying to catch?”
Ailiani made the effort, then shook her head.
“Ghosts?”
A nod.
“Whatever is riding your friend Tasmin?”
Again the struggle.
“I will take that as a yes, then.” She made some notes along side of the margins. Broken magic, just a few words to help her keep track. “How large is this spell? The sailor I knew wore his spell as a necklace.”
Ailiani stretched out her arms, then walked around the floor, waving her arms a little more as if to say “Bigger than this.”
“What are you drawing it on?”
Sand. She wrote on a scrap. The Beach.
“Oh, you can write. I wondered.”
She got a glare.
“So, you are going to draw an elaborate trap on the beach. How are you going to get her annoyance to it? Invite her to walk around a labyrinth with you?”
Ailiani gave a burst of frustrated air.
“You have to admit, it is kind of obvious. Not for ghosts, but for a woman with a ghost riding her. It’s not going to work this way.”
Ailiani reached for the paper, her hand clawed as if she was going to crumple it up, and received a smack for her trouble.
“I didn’t say impossible, I just said we need to tweak this.” Magda frowned at it. “I also may need to use Berengeny magic.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Will you play look out?”
Ailiani waited for an hour. She served customers, kept her eye on the front door as well as the kitchen in case Tasmin came in through the back.
Magda came down and Ailiani tilted her head. The other woman threw up her arms.
Ailiani scribbled. I must go. You should be safe if you lock the doors?
“Certainly. It’s not as if I am going to be trapped, alone, with a possessed Herb Witch and her besotted husband.”
Ailiani hit Magda’s arm.
The water was calling her. Her only stop was to grab a hot hand pie and some cider from a cart as she made her way down to the strand. If anyone stopped her, she would cough dramatically and stick a lozenge that Miss Dovlington had pressed upon her in her mouth. They quickly let her go on her way.
The Ghost Witch joined her when she was almost there, walking, as always, so the ruined half of her face was turned away.
Can you hear me? Ailiani asked with her mind.
“What? I didn’t catch that?”
You must have waited a thousand years to use that joke, she grumbled as she sat on the bench.
The Ghost smirked at her, joining her. “Why do you ask? I know you usually move your mouth when we talk, but I thought that was habit.”
So Ailiani told her.
The Ghost stilled. “So that is where she went.”
Who?
“I believe she told me her name was Franny Harker. She shared my prison for a time. The Heart of Ithalia, I think they called it.”
Ailiani felt her blood chilled. You’re Ithalia? She remembered the stories.
The Ghost Witch laughed. It was not a good laugh. It made the water choppier, the sky grayer. “No, I am Thanlia. Which, give or take your point of view, may well be worse news. Ithalia is out there.” She waved out toward the ocean. “The sea and the wind tells me that some idiot sailor accidentally freed her. Her body dissolved in the sea, and now she’s rebuilding herself. Someday, someone will be very sorry. But it takes time, to become whole again, so it probably won’t be anyone you care about.” The emphasis on probably did not comfort Ailiani.
Why would you be worse than Ithalia?
“Because I understand them. The women who want to bring the ghost storm. They both want to save the men they love. Franny wants revenge because your friends killed her beloved.”
For good reason!
“In this world no one cares about a woman’s heart. Not even her sisters. I have a great deal of sympathy for Franny and her ilk.”
Ailiani sputtered, even in her head.
“At ease,” Thanlia said quietly. “If they succeed, then that gives Ithalia a way to get here. I am not ready to face her. Even with your body, I would burn like a cheap match.”
Thank you.
The sarcasm was lost on Thanlia.
What about Sorvalia? Thanlia smiled quietly. “I destroyed her so completely she will never return. Ithalia can remake, but I can unmake. That is my power. But using it weakened me enough that Ithalia was able to capture me. That is what you need. That dratted amulet.”
Do you know where it is? She shrugged, looking very annoyed for a half-visible ghost. “Do you think place names mean anything to me? It is a place that is old. You can see the sadness of too much time in the walls.”
Will you help me free my friend?
She gave her a fond look, and shook her head. “I shared my prison with Franny for a long time. Why would I turn against her? As I said, I can sympathize.”
Then will you help her instead? The Ghost Witch waved negligently. “I do not wish to be involved.”
Ailiani felt a bit used. How kind of you. But what if Franny wants to bring the ghost storm? What will you do, then?
“Whatever I must.”
When something was lost, William knew, the only way to find it was to backtrack. So, to find clues as to what happened to his wife, that was what he would do. The last time they knew Tasmin as, well, Tasmin, was just before Joe came and got her.
God, I miss you. His heart ached with every beat. He was terrified that he would never see her again, that the heart and spirit he adored would be gone.
I don’t even know what I will do. What if she is gone for good? Do I leave her murderer to wander the earth in her body?
He didn’t know. He didn’t know what he would do, if she was gone forever.
I don’t think I could survive, he thought, looking down the street where the name of his shop glistened in the late sun. But these thoughts do no good. Right now she is a prisoner in her own body. He refused to believe anything else, that she was not here anymore. Or else, they have stored her away somewhere? The amulet, perhaps? And she must be frightened. I have to find her.
He made his way towards Joe and Meggin’s home. She will doubtless be finding her own way out, but she will also be depending on her husband to at least be trying to help.
Knowing that his wife was indomitable in spirit gave his own spirit a rise. He wasn’t alone, working the problem, not completely. Somewhere his wife was present, and she was doing all she could to make things right. “We’ll meet in the middle,” he whispered to himself.
It took a while to figure out which house belonged to Joseph, but the right neighbors finally pointed the way.
An older lady answered the door. “Greetings. My name is William Almsley. My wife Tasmin sent me.”
“Mistress Tasmin.” The woman swallowed this slowly, then said, “Why did she send you?”
“Ah. Well. I wanted to speak to your son-in-law. My wife seemed to think that he needed a better source of employment, and my family business has been looking to expand. I could use some dependable men to help over-see some shipping.”
The older woman opened the door. “You’d best wait for him, then.”
“How is your daughter?” William took his hat off as he entered the small house, feeling quite guilty for the ruse. Well. If he is innocent, perhaps I can figure out something for him to do.
“She and the baby are resting. Healthy little thing. I’ve never seen a pinker or happier baby.”
William sat down in the small, dark room, placing his hat on his knee. The woman dithered back and forth for a moment before finally settling down next to the smoky fire.
“Have you seen my wife, the past couple of days? She said she was going to come by.”
She shook her head.
Well. That answers that. Joe lied. Why? William thought. “How long have they been married?”
“Oh, five, six years. He came all the way over from the western coast.”
William was a little surprised. “How unusual, usually the husband sends for the wife?”
“Lost all his family to the plague a few years back, when he was a teen. He was happy enough to sell up and start over.”
William picked this over for a moment. He knew that the plague often made young men go sterile. Was five years a long time to be married without children? He supposed so, but he never really thought much about it because Tasmin had been taking something to put off that inevitability in their own marriage. “You must have felt very lucky to have become a grandmother, then,” he said cautiously.
“Yes,” she answered simply.
“Did they ask Mistress Anne for help?”
“I suppose. She certainly visited several times, bringing different potions for them to try.” She gave a glance that made him realize that any further questions would not be welcome.
They sat in silence for a long time. She did not offer him anything, a terrible breach in etiquette. He knew that in polite circles this was an indication that he was not welcome and should go, but if he did not see Joe his only lead would vanish. He finally broke the silence by asking, “Does he work for someone else?”
“The odd job here or there.”
“Could I go and track him down somewhere? Perhaps he and I could discuss my proposition on his way home?”
She shrugged and they sat there together. The silence grew more and more oppressive, and William, despite his best efforts, grew more and more twitchy. The baby cried a couple of times and the woman got up to check on her daughter and grand-child, but the rest was an uncomfortable silence.
When he could not bear to wait any more, William excused himself.
He questioned the neighbors. Some people thought that Joe already worked for him in the warehouse. Some people thought he worked for the new foundry out along the main road to the Capital. Another thought he spent a great deal of time at the docks, helping to gut and prepare fish.
He walked a bit, considering what he’d found out. The only thing that Joe wanted was a child. Now he has one. What price did he have to agree to pay to get it?