Zal

Just bloody marvelous.

From the moment I’d gotten assigned to the northern circuit, the bridge to Corvel-on-Byrne had been a pain in my arse. Every time I passed through on my rounds, I had to slap a new reinforcement spell on the rickety span. Sun magic never lasted long over water, but that wasn’t the problem today.

No, today’s problem would be the boulder the size of my cottage standing where the bridge used to be, sending the Byrne off-course to eat away at its banks. One more blasted thing for me to deal with before I left off traveling and returned home for my annual respite. I’d be lucky if I made it halfway to the Inland Sea before the winter storms roared in from beyond the mountains.

“Why anybody would choose to live this far north is more than I can fathom,” I muttered as I shrugged off my pack.

But this canton was part of my circuit and therefore my responsibility, so I shed my cloak and coat and prepared to rebuild the bridge. Even if the present emergency hadn’t called me to Corvel-on-Byrne, the river-locked village at the base of Star Mountain, I could hardly leave its citizens without a way to escape their homes all winter.

Planting my staff with its captive Sun Stone into the ground, I grasped the handle with both hands, calling on the Sun—its size, its strength, its irresistible pull—to convince the boulder to rise from its landing spot. The glow of the Stone bathed the river bank, a sunrise contained in an amber gem the size of my two fists.

I clenched my teeth, muscles straining. Although Sun and Stone delivered the power, a mage still had to control it. And that boulder was heavy, unwilling to abandon its new home in the river bed. As it rose in the air, I saw why: Its base was easily three times the size of the bit that had peeked above the water. I was lifting something the size of the House of Mages.

I gave one last mental shove, levitating the boulder until it was safely away from the river, and let it thud to earth. I ought to have moved it beyond the fields, rough with stubble from the harvest and already rimed with frost, but without stronger sunlight to power my Stone, I couldn’t manage it. I’d need to come back in early spring when the Sun was on the ascendant to move it before first planting.

That would mean cutting my respite short, but that was a worry for later. For now, I needed to conserve enough power to remake the bridge.

Luckily, the villagers kept a goodly supply of replacement slats and coils of rope on the far bank so I didn’t have to forage for materials. I used up the lot, my Stone twining wood and hemp together in a dance above the water until the bridge was back. The villagers could spend their fierce, interminable winter replenishing the stock for the next time the bloody thing needed repairs. And it would. It always did.

I walked across the bridge, skirting the inner fields planted with winter-hardy vegetables where a few of the citizens were occupied with their end-of-season tasks.

The village streets were busy enough. Here and there among the brown-skinned Earth-born, I caught a glimpse of darker skin like my own. Hmmm. Unusual for a Sun-born to venture this far north unless, like me, they had duties that required it. None of my people appreciated the cold.

I strode down the muddy main street, past citizens bustling about their business as if the mountain hadn’t exploded over their heads not a fortnight ago. As I approached the town hall, the village reeves hurried out to meet me. The man, Barkon, outpaced Netta, the women’s representative, as he always did. I was constantly surprised that the men of the town didn’t elect a different reeve, one who wasn’t so nervous.

“Magister, thank the Earth you’ve come.” Barkon panted to a stop in front of me, wringing his hands. “We have a… a situation.”

“I’m aware of that, Elder. That’s why I’m here.” I gestured to the top of Star Mountain—or rather, to where the top of Star Mountain had been until something had blown it off.

“Yes, yes. But this is a real emergency.”

“What Barkon means,” Netta drawled, dusting her hands on her breeks, “is that this affects him personally. So it must be more important.”

Barkon scowled at her. “That’s not the point. If the mountain decides to fall on us, how can we stop it? It will fall or not, no matter what we do. But this other problem is right here, in our village, in our hall.”

I glanced between them. Barkon avoided looking at my face, as the sight of my eye-patch apparently made him even more nervous. He always focused his attention on my collar-bone. Netta at least met my single-bored gaze but didn’t offer any clarification.

I was tempted to sigh, but I’d been a circuit mage long enough to hide my impatience. “Suppose you tell me of this situation then.”

Barkon swallowed audibly, his throat working behind his collar of office. “After the… the event on Star Mountain, the next day, we found a… a person. On the river bank.”

My attention sharpened. “Someone was caught by the river when that boulder came down? Were they injured? Sun and stars, man, where are they? You stand here, whining in the street, when—”

“Peace, Magister.” Netta showed her palms. “No one in the village was hurt. This person is a stranger. We suspect he came from the mountain.”

I blinked, which made Barkon wince. “A Star-born? Here?”

Netta’s brows drew together. “Not a Star-born, no, although who can tell? Nobody’s ever seen one that I can remember.”

“Then what? Earth-born? Sun-born?”

She shook her head, grim satisfaction in the set of her mouth. “Moon-born.”

My fingers clenched on my staff. “Impossible. The Moon-born are gone. Dead these thirty years and more.”

“Nevertheless…” She shrugged. “We found a person, not Sun-born and not Earth-born, naked on the river bank.”

“Naked? In this weather?”

“Well, mostly naked. I wouldn’t call what he was wearing fit for a dash to the privy, let alone a swim in the river.”

“Where is he then? I should examine him. Treat him for exposure.”

Barkon licked his lips and jerked his head toward the hall. “She’s in the cellar. In the gaol.”

I frowned. “She? Netta said he.”

“Yes, well, there’s the issue. We have a bit of a disagreement on that point.”

“How long”—I tightened my grip on my staff to keep from throttling Barkon—“has the person been in gaol?”

“Since, ah, we found her.” Barkon tugged at his collar. “The day after the explosion.”

My Sun-driven rage began to build, a burn in my belly. “You’ve kept him—”

“It’s not a him,” Barkon insisted.

“Then you’ve kept her—”

“It’s not a her,” Netta countered.

I clenched my teeth. “You’ve kept this person locked up underneath the town for a bloody fortnight? I ought to report you for hospitality infringement.”

“You don’t understand, Magister. She—”

“I told you, Barkon, he’s a man.”

“Elders. Please. Obviously the person in your custody is two-natured at minimum.” The reeves looked blank. “You’ve heard of the two-natured, surely?”

“Hearing is one thing, Magister,” Netta said. “But seeing? We’ve never—”

“Apparently you have now. But let us leave the issues of sex and gender out of this discussion. It’s irrelevant to your treatment of a stranger.”

“Not just a stranger, Magister.” Barkon fiddled with his collar again. “A mage. An unregistered one. Has to be. No other way to account for the…” He glanced over first one shoulder, then the other, earning a snort from Netta. “… the spell.”

I pulled my staff across my chest in a double-handed grip, my head whipping around to check my blind left side for a rogue mage who might be creeping up on me. Ridiculous.

I straightened, planting my staff at my feet. “A spell, you say? What spell?”

Barkon edged closer. “Anyone who goes in there, anyone at all, gets overcome with a… well… a need if you get my meaning. An urge.”

“Earth and sky, Barkon, when did you turn into a stripling?” Netta crossed her arms and glared at me. “Whoever goes into that cell turns into a bitch in heat.”

Barkon bridled. “I never—”

“You did. Your pants were around your ankles, man, and your pecker in your hand. If it weren’t for the bars between you, you’d have—”

“Enough!” I thrust my staff between them before Barkon’s head exploded like Star Mountain. “Regardless of the details, it sounds as though the hospitality laws aren’t the only violations here. Barkon, did you seriously expose yourself to a captive stranger? Did you bother to ask their leave? Give them a proper choice?”

Barkon’s throat worked. “I— It was the spell, Magister. You know I would never— No one in our village would ever do such a thing!”

“Much as I hate to agree with Barkon,” Netta said, “he’s right. The same thing happens to everyone. Once they’re within ten feet of him—”

“Her,” Barkon grumbled.

“—they’re suddenly desperate to swive. Do you know how difficult it’s been to keep all the apprentices out of there? We need you to take him away to prison in the capital.”

I shuddered. Prison if they’re lucky. An unregistered mage, using sexual coercion spells? That was enough to get anyone beheaded, drawn, and quartered, in whatever order the Congress was in the mood for on Judgment Day.

“Right, then. Let’s waste no more time.” I waited, but neither Barkon nor Netta moved, both of them gazing at the muddy ground at their feet. “Well? Which one of you is the gaoler?”

“The thing is, Magister…” Barkon swallowed noisily again. “We don’t like to go in there because of, well...”

“He’s afraid he’ll have another uncontrollable urge. Although to be fair—” Netta patted her coronet of braids. “—so am I.”

“Very well. The key?” I held out my hand, and Barkon handed it over.

“Could you take him his meal?” Netta snapped her fingers and an apprentice who’d been lurking nearby hustled over with a burlap bag and a water skin.

“You haven’t even fed them?” My rage rose higher, power bleeding from my Sun Stone until my own braids lifted and swirled around my torso.

Barkon spluttered. “Of course we have. Er, we do.”

“He doesn’t eat much.” Netta took the provisions from the apprentice, who scuttled away—no doubt to put distance between him and the angry one-eyed mage. “I think he may be sickening for something.”

I bared my teeth. “Did you bother to pass them a healing stone?”

This time, Netta wouldn’t meet my gaze. “We’re, ah, running low. With several confinements coming this winter—”

I snatched the bag and water skin. “I expected better of you,” I growled. “Of the whole village.”

“Don’t judge us until you meet her, Magister.” Barkon puffed his chest out like an indignant hen. “And if I were you, I’d don your fiercest protection charms. There’s not a man, woman, or child in this village—”

“Child?” I roared. “The adults are afraid of uncontrollable urges, and you send children—”

“Stay, Magister.” Netta held up her hand, patting the air in a placating gesture. “The children don’t have the same reaction. Yes, they’re drawn to him, but as if he were a kindly uncle with a bag of sweeties.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” I muttered.

I left Barkon and Netta staring one another down and stormed up the steps into the hall.

Just my luck to run into another rogue mage. I was the one who’d had to track down Loriah at the Congress’s decree. I’d resisted for as long as I could. Loriah and I had grown up together, trained together, taken our mage oaths together. But I couldn’t hold out forever, not against my superiors’ direct orders, and I’d been instructed to deliver her to the Congress of Mages and Seigneurs personally.

I delivered her, all right, but not before she’d half-blinded me.

Her execution was the first thing I’d seen one-eyed, and I’d have closed my remaining eye if I could. They’d ripped her Stone from her—almost worse than death for a Sun mage, although her death hadn’t been an easy one.

The Congressional tribunal hadn’t been in a merciful mood that Judgment Day.

I descended the stairs from the hall proper to the cellar that housed the gaol. The rough stone walls breathed damp and chill, a discomfort just shy of pain to my Sun-born blood. Would a Moon-born be similarly afflicted?

The chair at the bottom of the stairs, where a guard should have been stationed, was empty.

“Cowards,” I muttered and stomped down the short hallway to where two tiny cells were cut out of the bedrock. The one on the right was empty. I had to turn my head to compensate for my missing left eye to view the other cell.

“Sun, moon, and stars,” I breathed.

The person in the cell stood under the narrow horizontal window slit. They wore a ragged brown robe, an obvious cast-off from the Earth temple’s charity box. The fabric had fallen away from their arms as they stretched them up toward the window, fingers straining for the sliver of light that was all that made it past the screen of dirt and weeds.

Even in the near-dark of the cell, I could tell those arms were as pale as new milk.

Shite. The reeves were right.

Moon-born.

My gut tightened. I wasn’t qualified for this, the first encounter with a Moon-born mage since the Lunaria plague had swept through the population over three decades ago, killing every last Moon-born on the continent, yet leaving Sun-born and Earth-born untouched. This was a job for the Congress, not a half-blind circuit mage patrolling the arse-end of beyond.

I had no idea what Moon magic was like. When the plague hit, I hadn’t even been born. Later, when I was old enough to understand such things, the Moon-born were spoken of rarely, and then only in furtive whispers, as though folk feared the mere mention of the lost race would call down the same fate on their heads.

Sun mages specialized in healing, in counseling, in dispensing justice outside the capital. The Earth-born held no magic potential whatsoever, content with farming and government. What had the Moon-born done? What magic had they wielded? At this point, they were as mysterious and unknowable as the Star-born in their mountain fastnesses.

I cursed the boulder for draining most of my reserves. If I had to face down a rogue Moon mage, I needed every trick at my disposal, every scrap of power. I’d learned, however, that what I couldn’t counter with magic, I could often handle with physical intimidation. I’m tall—one of the tallest of the Sun-born and we’re all taller than the Earth-born—broad across the chest from chopping my own firewood, lean from constantly walking the length and breadth of my circuit for ten months of every fourteen.

Plus the eye-patch made everyone uncomfortable.

“You.” I put an extra growl in my voice.

The Moon mage flinched but didn’t turn. I noticed their hair hung lank and matted, only reaching the base of their neck. Its lack of cleanliness was one thing—the reeves could have at least allowed their alarming prisoner a bath—but its length was another story. Only criminals had their hair shorn. My own dozens of narrow braids hung past my hips. Barkon kept his gathered in a loose-woven snood, not as tidy as Netta’s plaited crown.

Had the villagers cut the mage’s hair because of the alleged spell? If so, they had more to answer for than simple hospitality violations or even choice infringement. Only the Congress or a mage on the circuit, as the Congress’s official proxy, could order a shearing, and then only after clear proof of guilt.

I steeled myself against an unwelcome surge of pity. “You have serious charges laid against you. What do you have to say?”

The Moon mage lowered their arms. Their shoulders rose and fell once, and then their fingers clutched their ragged robe as though they were gathering power for a strike.

I braced for attack. I’d never felt sexual desire before, but what if Moon magic was stronger than my nature, than my will? If I were overcome by the spell—if I broke the vows I made when I took up my Sun Stone—I’d lose more than my reputation.

I’d lose my life.