WinterMaejic Read online

  Oleeda smiled again. “You have not ‘done nothing.’ It might seem like nothing to you because it is on your own insides. But those of us watching on the outside, we can see you growing.”

  I had to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. She sounded like Mama. But even while that was annoying, it was also comforting. And now she was leaving, and I’d be stuck here with Yallick, who definitely was not like Papa. Well, not often, anyway.

  Oleeda kissed my cheek again. “Well, if you have no messages, it is time for me to be off.”

  Traz jogged up just then. “You have my letter to Mama?”

  “Of course I do. Tucked safely in the bottom of my pack.”

  “Your mother knows you’re here?” I asked in surprise.

  He looked at me as if I’d just said the stupidest thing he’d heard all day. “Of course she knows. How else do you think I could stay?”

  Oleeda placed a hand on my shoulder. “Not all non-maejic folk oppose us,” she said. “She was relieved to learn Traz was safe, and saw the wisdom of him not returning to the academy, not for a while yet.”

  “Never is more likely,” said Traz.

  Oleeda smiled. “We shall see. Goodbye, and take care of yourselves until I see you again.”

  We walked out with her and watched her mount her horse. With a final wave, she was gone. Just as Breyard was gone. What was it that kept making everyone leave?

  That evening, I sat in the front room with Yallick. It had turned quite cold when the sun set, and the heat of the fire made me feel comfortable, almost drowsy. We were supposed to be having a lesson, but Yallick just sat staring into the flames. Finally, he broke the silence.

  “Did Xyla sleep this much on your journey?”

  I was startled to hear him voice one of my own concerns. “No. Well, no, I can’t say that.” I thought back. “She stayed hidden during the day while we went into the cities. Then she got captured. So I don’t actually know. Maybe she did sleep a lot.”

  “Hmm,” Yallick said, frowning. My heart started beating faster. Yallick being worried had to be a bad sign. On the other hand, what did he really know about dragons? What, for that matter, did I know? “We will need to keep watch on her. Maybe it is nothing but an old man’s needless worrying.” He gave me a small smile. “So. I wish to speak with you about your afternoon meditation session. Tell me again what happened.”

  I’d been studying with Yallick for only a few weeks, but one thing I’d quickly learned was that he didn’t have much patience with drawn-out explanations. Besides, I didn’t know what he was after. I kept it short and simple. “I took the blue and purple candles.” He nodded. “I went to the shelter under the rock. When I started meditating, it took almost no time to find my calm center, and suddenly I felt,” I paused as I tried to think of the right way to put it, “I felt as if I’d joined the dance of life.”

  Yallick closed his eyes, his face expressionless, took a deep breath, and let it out again. “Yes. Yes. Do you know what is happening, and why?”

  I thought a moment more. “No. I don’t actually understand any of it. But I think it has something to do with mixing the candles.”

  Yallick’s eyes flew open. “Indeed. It has everything to do with mixing the candles. What exactly did they teach you about meditation at that school of yours?” He waved a hand as if dismissing Roylinn.

  “Well, each year is divided into four seasons, of course, and each season is divided into twelve weeks. There are different candleholders for each season, and a different color candle for each week, repeated in the same order each season.”

  “Yes, yes,” snapped Yallick, watching me closely now, his startling eyes boring into mine. “I know all that. But did they teach you why?”

  I didn’t understand what he was trying to find out, so I just said the first thing I thought of. “The colors of the candles represent qualities to enhance life.”

  A long pause. “Donavah, you are nothing if not a diligent student.” Something in his tone of voice told me he didn’t exactly mean this as a compliment. “You are clearly quite capable of learning what is set before you and repeating it back. But my question to you is ‘why?’ Why are the colors assigned to certain weeks? Why are they not mixed? Why does there need to be any sort of order at all? Why?”

  “I don’t know,” I said simply.

  Yallick clapped his hands together once, leaning forward. “Exactly! You do not know. And you do not know because they do not tell you. They do not want you to know.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they do not know themselves.” He leaned back in his chair. “Relax, my girl, and I will tell you why.

  “You see, back in the deeps of time, maejic was recognized as the superior art. There were, of course, many who could aspire only to the lower spells and did not have the full gift. They called their lesser art magic.”

  “I know all this. Oleeda explained it to me.”

  “Do not interrupt me, girl!” Yallick’s eyes blazed, and I dipped my head slightly in apology. Then he continued. “The foundation of maejic’s power is in self-control—something which you need to acquire—and self-control is strengthened in meditation. Are you familiar with the formulas used in the making of meditation candles?”

  “No. I only know the colors and their properties.”

  Yallick snorted. “That should not surprise me. Well, each color of candle is made with a slightly different blend of herbs, thus each gives off a different aroma when burned. It is the aroma that strengthens the spirit for its work.

  “And it is that which the magicians of yore could not abide. The candles are at their weakest when two of the same color are burned together. The magicians, despising a power that they did not—could not—share, strove to weaken the power of the candles by creating a new tradition that they could not be mixed. That tradition is now observed as incontrovertible law.”

  “So,” I began tentatively, then continued when Yallick didn’t stop me, “what they teach us to be right and proper is really the exact wrong way.”

  “Indeed. I think you have experienced this yourself, most especially today.”

  I thought for a moment. “So is there a chart I can study to learn the best way to mix candles?”

  Yallick threw his head back and laughed. “No, my dear. This is something you must learn for yourself. Experience, not study, will teach you how to harness power.”

  Harness power. Those words struck a chord within me. It was all well and good to be able to cast magic spells, but the power I’d felt in my meditation session—that kind of power would strengthen me to . . . to . . . to do anything. I relaxed in my chair, letting the heat of the fire wash over me.

  After a while, Yallick spoke again in a soft voice. “Magic is actually quite simplistic. It takes the energy all around us and re-channels it. Granted, not an insignificant skill, when you think about it.” He pointed to a basket of ripe summer fruit sitting on the mantle. “It can be very useful. But maejic is so much more. It . . . can you guess?”

  “It . . . it . . . creates power?”

  “Not quite.” Yallick smiled. “Creating power, that would be quite a feat, would it not? No, maejic does not create power but gathers it and concentrates it. Like what you did with the locked door in the arena.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t do anything. It wasn’t locked.”

  “Donavah, you do not actually believe that an unguarded entrance to the arena would be left unlocked, do you?” He shook his head and waggled a finger at me. “The king makes quite a lot of money selling tickets. I might not have been there, but I assure you, that door was locked.”

  “But, like I said, I didn’t do anything.”

  “You think you did nothing. What were you doing just before you opened the door?”

  “I was . . .” I sucked in my breath. “I was medi
tating.”

  “And a moment later, when you desperately needed the door to open, it did. That, my apprentice, is maejic.” Yallick smiled.

  I suppose I should have expected it. The next morning’s meditation session went as badly as it possibly could. I closed my eyes and rummaged in my desk drawer to pull out two candles at random. Orange for creativity and yellow for kindness. I sat on my prayer mat in my small room, stuck the candles into some ancient holders, carved from petrified wood, that Yallick had given me, lit the candles, and waited to see what the power would feel like today. And waited. And waited.

  I told myself that trying to force something is usually the best way to hinder it. Then I tried to find my calm center. It was gone, almost as if it had never existed. Was yesterday’s taste all that I would ever experience for myself?

  Finally, I gave up and blew out the candles. Someone knocked on my door, and Traz called my name softly. It was uncanny how he always seemed to know right when I finished meditating.

  “Come,” I said, and he opened the door, breathless from running, as usual.

  “It’s weird outside,” he said, sitting on my cot and placing his staff across his lap.

  “Weird how?”

  “I don’t know. It’s ice cold, there’s no wind, and there’s almost no sound at all. Almost like the forest is holding its breath in anticipation.”

  I looked at Traz, wondering when he’d become so fanciful. He was usually the more practical one of us. “In anticipation of what?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. But it’s weird.”

  “Well, come on. I need to get ready for a lesson with Yallick.”

  “I’m sure glad I don’t have to study with him. He’s always in such a bad mood.”

  “A lot, but not always,” I said as we walked into the front room of the cottage.

  Just then there came a loud pounding on the door. “Yallick! Yallick!” The door opened and someone burst into the room along with a blast of cold air from outside.

  “Anazian!” Traz cried in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

  I looked at the mage with whom Traz was staying. His eyes darted all around the room, although a quick glance was all that was needed to see that Yallick wasn’t there. Anazian’s face was paler than usual, and it looked as if he’d left his own cottage without even combing his hair—which was quite unusual for him. And strangest of all, his hands fluttered all about, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. All in all, he didn’t look anything like the composed, handsome man I knew him to be.

  “Yallick hasn’t returned from his morning meditation yet,” I said, taking a step toward the open door to close it.

  “Yes, I have,” Yallick said, striding through the doorway, gripping his meditation candles in his hand. In a moment of strange clarity, I saw that his knuckles were white. “What is it, Anazian?”

  “They’re coming, sir. They march against us!”

  “Who?” Traz, Yallick, and I all said together.

  “The king’s men.” He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “The Royal Guard.”

  Ah, Arellia. My sweet Arellia. Wife of my youth, mother of my beloved son. I miss you still, though many long years have passed since our final parting. I taste your sweet breath; I feel your soft hair. There has been no other but you.

  I am powerful, far beyond our hopes and dreams. But the flavor of victory is bittersweet without you by my side. I will miss you until I draw my last breath.

  If my power could bring you back to me, I would spend it all. But there is no magic that can stretch beyond the grave.

  It may yet be long ere I join you, but be patient. Await me, my love, in Otherworld.

  We all froze. Yallick was the first to move, and he closed the door. Then he grabbed Anazian’s upper arms and stared into his eyes.

  His next words came out like a hiss between his clenched teeth. “What do you mean? How soon?”

  Anazian licked his lips. I couldn’t blame him. If Yallick had been looking at me like that, I would have wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.

  “I don’t know, sir. I just received a message bird from my cousin. She says they passed through her village yesterday. That would put them here in less than a week.”

  Yallick released Anazian and started pacing. “How could they know we are here?” he eventually muttered to himself. “This community has remained hidden for a thousand years and more. It is impossible that they have discovered us.” Several more laps around the room, the only noise the crackling of the fire and the beating of my heart.

  I’d just spent several weeks on the run from the Royal Guard. Only being able to fly on Xyla had saved me. But Xyla couldn’t save the whole community of mages; there were hundreds of them living scattered all around the woods.

  Finally Yallick spoke again. “We must call a council. Anazian, how many birds have you at the ready?”

  Anazian stood straighter, calmer, as if Yallick’s assumption of responsibility removed a burden from him. “Eight, sir. Maybe ten.”

  “All right. Here is what we shall do.”

  Ten minutes later, I raced along a path toward Ranna’s cottage whilst Traz went in the other direction to Klemma’s, with word that Yallick was calling an emergency council for midday. Anazian’s birds would carry messages to the other council members, some of whom would be hard-pressed to arrive in time for the start of the meeting, even on horseback.

  When I reached Ranna’s door, I pounded on it, just as Anazian had on Yallick’s only minutes, it seemed, before. “Ranna!” I cried, “Ranna!” Where could she be? Why didn’t she answer the door? I hammered again. “Ranna!”

  “What, my child?” She appeared from around a corner of the cottage. Her hands were coated with earth and held a basket of potatoes. There was a large smudge of dirt on her forehead. “What is your panic?”

  “The king,” I said, running over to her. “He’s marching against us.”

  “The king himself?” The doubt in Ranna’s eyes was apparent, even to me.

  “I don’t know,” I snapped, and she stepped back at my vehemence, frowning. “Maybe not himself. But the Royal Guard.”

  Something in my voice or face must have convinced her that I wasn’t joking, for she looked at me closely. “How do you know this?”

  “Anazian received word from his cousin or something like that. Yallick has called a council at midday. Anazian’s birds are taking messages to the others. Oh, please, Ranna, hurry!”

  She looked deep into my eyes, and I could almost feel her rooting around in my thoughts. Then she nodded. “Tell Yallick I will be there.”

  “All right.” I fled before she could ask me any more questions I couldn’t answer.

  When I got back to Yallick’s, I found him sitting in front of the fire, staring at a book on his lap. The fingertips of one hand gently stroked the cover, almost as if the book were a living thing.

  “Ah, Donavah,” he said as I hung my cloak on its peg. “Come here, please.”

  I walked over, unable to take my eyes from the book, which seemed to glow in the firelight.

  “I had meant to wait, but now there is a new sense of urgency. Sit, girl, sit.”

  I did, wondering how he could be so calm, as if nothing were happening.

  “This book, it is a maejic treasure. It has been in my keeping since I was elected to this position. I do not know if I am right, but I deem that now is the time to bring it into the open. It concerns you, or rather, your companion yonder.” He nodded his head in the general direction of Xyla. “For now, just read it.”

  He handed it to me, and I accepted it reverently. Something about it—perhaps the musty odor given off by the vellum pages, perhaps the way the colors of the illustration on the cover seemed to leap into life—made this a solemn moment.
r />   “Go to your room, now. I will call you when I want you.” He gave me a small, encouraging smile, then stared into the fire.

  I carried the book to my room and set it gently on my writing desk. A beam of sunlight fell on it, and as if it had been waiting for that very thing, a red dragon practically leapt off the cover. I gasped. And sat down quickly.

  Yes, there in the whorls of gold, blue, and green flew an unmistakably red dragon. And it breathed fire! How had I not seen it right away?

  With great care, I opened the book. The hand-scribed text was in a script I couldn’t read. Yallick knew that, and yet he wanted me to study it anyway. How curious. But the pictures!

  In the first one, a copper-colored adult dragon sat gazing into the sky in which ten or so small red dragons flew. The second illustration showed a group of red dragons sitting in a circle, as if in council.

  As I looked at the second picture, a movement from the first one caught the corner of my eye. When I looked at it directly, it was exactly the same as it had been before. But when I turned my head a little and didn’t look quite straight at it, the picture seemed to come alive! The young dragons cavorted, swooping and soaring, while their mother bugled at them in good humor. I could almost hear her!

  As I watched, scarcely able to breathe in the excitement of my discovery, all the pictures began to move, and soon I’d pieced together the story they told. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t read the accompanying text—the pictures told their own tale.

  The copper matriarch, Xylera, brought forth eleven red dragons, the like of which had never been seen before in all the world. Her mate, the silver dragon Qonth, ruled Alloway together with King Gren. Qonth decided not to tell Gren of the surprising brood his offspring turned out to be. Instead, he sent Xylera and their young into the mountains, that humans would not learn of them. Together, Qonth and Xylera breathed power and knowledge into their progeny, desiring that in some future day, their descendants would wrest ruling power away from the humans.