The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) (34 page)

The ageless goddess shook her silver-haired head. “Nothing. I am forbidden entry.”

“So I was right to doubt. The temple is not blessed by you.”

“No. And I would ask that you allow me to erase Karryl’s memory of what he has seen. It may well be that the knowledge he has gleaned could prove to be disastrous. I tried to see through his mind, but my presence was quite violently evicted.”

Symon’s eyebrows furrowed. “Can he do that? I thought his powers were totally drained.”

“It wasn’t Karryl.” She nodded towards the seemingly innocuous little temple. “Somebody’s home in there.”

Symon thought for a long moment, his head tilted to one side. “So, why did you bring us here? I visualised a spot I’d seen earlier today, with a cave to shelter in and a little spring of water; I’m never that far out.”

D’ta seemed to float to her feet. She looked down at Symon, her amethyst eyes darkening. “It was none of my doing. The place in which you intended to materialise is almost two miles from here. Which is why I ask once again that you allow me to erase Karryl’s memory of what he saw in the temple, before he wakes up.”

Suddenly numbed by the enormity of their situation, Symon nodded his assent. He watched intently as D’ta reached down and placed her slender hand across Karryl’s forehead, and closed her eyes. Shadows began to creep noticeably backwards. The shrieks, calls and whistles of jungle dwelling fauna became a cacophony of garbled background noises. Feeling decidedly disoriented, Symon too closed his eyes, just as Karryl moaned.

* * *

Someone was shaking him by the shoulder. “Master Symon. Wake up!”

The little magician’s eyes snapped open. It was almost dark. Karryl was crouched beside him, peering into his face. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep too.”

His dark eyes glinting he turned to look across at the temple, a faint pale shape glistening softly in the deep shadow. “Can you make a light? I need to take another look inside there. I seem to have one or two gaps in my memory.”

Symon’s heart lurched. Hitching up his pack he scrambled to his feet. “I don’t think so. It’s best we move away from here to somewhere more sheltered. Er…there are some creatures inhabiting these parts that would consider us a tasty morsel.”

Karryl looked about, listening to the evening’s chirring and whistling. “We could spend the night in the temple. That’s sheltered enough.”

Symon held Karryl’s arm in an almost vicious grip. “Absolutely not. Have you got your pack?”

With Symon still hanging on to his other arm, Karryl reached down beside his feet and retrieved the battered canvas bag. He barely had time to grasp it firmly before Symon initiated the translocation spell. Incorporeal eyes, and a force of phenomenal power and ferocious intensity observed their departure. There was still time. It settled into the dark recesses of another dimension to wait.

The flames of the little camp fire set long shadows dancing and flickering across the mouth of the cave. His stomach chilled from gulping cold water at the nearby spring, Karryl reached eagerly for the hot tea Symon had brewed. Hands clasped around the warmth of the boiled leather beaker, he slurped noisily.

His eyebrows rippled an immediate apology as he lowered the beaker. “Sorry. I really need this.” He took another couple of large sips. “Have we got anything left to eat?”

Symon shook his head. “Not even an apple.”

After taking another gulp of his rapidly cooling tea, Karryl placed the beaker on the floor of the cave. Holding out a hand, he gazed into his palm for a long moment. Nothing happened.

He stood up and shrugged his shoulders. “I’d have thought I’d have got something
back by now.” Reaching down into his pack, he rummaged around, pulled something out and stuffed it into his pocket. He stepped out into the darkness and turned to Symon. “I’m going to catch us some supper. You coming with me?”

Reluctantly, the little magician pushed himself to his feet. “I suppose I’d better. We can’t have you stumbling about in the dark. I don’t know what you hope to catch though.”

Karryl gave him a mischievous grin. “You’d be surprised what you’ll eat when you’re really hungry.”

His expression dubious Symon picked up a small rock, gazing at it as he murmured a short phrase. A tiny glow steadily developed until it had become a fist-sized globe of soft white light.

Symon held it high. “I suppose this is one of those rare occasions when we should both be grateful for your experiences as a street-boy.”

Karryl grinned again. “You’d be surprised how many times I’ve been grateful for that.”

Their path illuminated by a narrow shaft of magical light, the two magicians headed off towards a large clump of shrubs and trees, their silhouettes black against a deep blue, star-studded sky.

* * *

Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robe, Symon leaned against the wall of the cave and released a decorous little belch. “Oh my! That’s
much
better. A bit strong, but certainly filling.”

Karryl nodded his agreement, nibbling the last of the dark meat off a short, thick bone, before he pitched it into the fire.

Licking his fingers, he jerked his head towards a dark bundle lying in the entrance. “D’you want to keep the skin as a souvenir?”

Symon eased himself up off his pack which he was using as a seat, and ambled over to the bundle. He picked it up and carefully unrolled it. “I suppose it would make an unusual winter hat. What is it?”

Karryl came to stand beside him. “I’m not sure. It was its resemblance to an oversized rat that decided me.” He gave Symon a sidelong glance. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve eaten rat. It did have something of the flavour, just a tad sweeter.”

Symon grimaced as he ran his fingers over the short, dark brown fur. “It will be a bit ripe by the time we get home.”

Karryl’s dark eyes shone in the firelight. “Not if we start for home in the morning.” He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and shuffled his feet. “To be quite honest, I’ve had enough of travelling, especially now I seem to have lost my powers.”

Symon murmured and waved a hand over the arm-long pelt, rolled it fur inwards and handed it to Karryl. “Don’t worry about your loss of power. It’s happened to me more than once. It will come back. It may take a while, a little at a time. Now, I think we should get some sleep. We’ll set off at sunrise.”

Karryl took out the length of twine he had used to snare their supper, and looped it around the pelt. “At least we’ve enough left for breakfast.”

* * *

Dawn was just beginning to colour the sky when Symon woke. In the gloom of the cave he could just make out Karryl, wrapped in the magician’s travelling cloak. Symon stretched and smiled to himself. The jungle’s dawn chorus was a far different sound to the gentle and melodious chirruping and twittering he often heard outside his tower. This was almost deafening. Shrieks, loud whistling calls, bell-like bongs and long monotonous whoops sent the night into rapid retreat.

Symon’s nose twitched. Uncertain of the source of the vaguely familiar scent, he lay very still, his eyes wide open. Even so, he almost missed it. A narrow ripple of deep violet light flickered briefly over Karryl’s sleeping form and vanished, along with the fragrance which accompanied it.

The young magician mumbled, rolled over and woke up. “What? I thought … um …Symon, did you call me?”

“No, but it’s time you were awake anyway.” He stood up. “Will you make a fire while I go and fetch some water for the tea?”

Karryl rubbed his eyes, stretched, scrambled to his feet and folded the cloak. “Leave me your flint and tinder before you go, then.”

When Symon returned, his little kettle filled with fresh spring water, Karryl was warming his hands at a brightly blazing fire. His chipped tooth lent a certain roguishness to the wide grin he turned on Symon.

He jerked his head towards the blaze. “It would seem that some of my powers have returned.”

Affecting innocence, Symon raised an eyebrow as he hung the kettle on the tripod. “Really? That’s good. I told you they would. Now, let’s breakfast on the rest of that rat, have a cup of tea, then we’ll be off.”

In a little less than two days, Symon’s extensive knowledge of the geography of Ingalia had taken them across country to within sight of a large town. It sprawled haphazardly near the banks of a wide, slow-moving river which bisected the broad Ingali Plains.

Karryl shielded his eyes with his hand. “Civilisation at last. Erm…where are we?”

Symon chuckled. “That is the ‘city’ of Naput. That sluggish red-brown artery is the River Koona. Whatever else you do while we’re here, don’t drink the water. I’d like to get back this year.”

The first thing Karryl noticed as they entered Naput was the smell. Some of the more pungent aromas were very familiar, fixed forever in the memory of a former street-boy. Mingled in were others, more exotic and mysterious.

Symon strode ahead. “Come on Karryl. We’ll find something to eat, then we’ll move on.”

There was a tone of discontent in Karryl’s reply. “I thought we could at least have a look round. There must be someone here who could mend this broken strap on my pack.”

Symon stopped abruptly. His eyes everywhere except in front, Karryl barged into the back of him.

Bracing himself to retain his balance, Symon scowled up into the startled face of his apprentice. “Mend it yourself. You learned the spell of repairing in your first year.”

Karryl stared over Symon’s shoulder, the colour draining from his face. Clutching his pack close to his chest he lurched forward, his mouth working soundlessly.

Symon grabbed the back of Karryl’s tunic and held on. “That’s the second time you’ve nearly knocked me over. Was my suggestion so preposterous?”

In a gesture of frustrated intent, Karryl yanked the fabric of his tunic out of Symon’s hand. “They’re here! I just saw one of them!”

Before Symon could stop him, Karryl had flung his pack to the ground and was dashing into the colourful tide of people which ebbed and flowed through the city’s narrow streets. Symon snatched up the discarded pack and hurried after. He caught up with his suddenly impetuous apprentice at the entrance of a long winding alley lined with brightly painted shop fronts, hung with billowing draperies and flapping bunting. Hands on his knees and panting for breath, Karryl stared, defeated, into the garish chaos. Encumbered by two packs and feeling the heat, Symon’s mood was beginning to sour.

He followed Karryl’s gaze. “So, would you care to explain what that was all about?”

Straightening up, Karryl pointed down the alley as passers-by jolted them on all sides. “I think he went down there. Gods! They can move fast!”

A high-pitched but calm voice spoke from behind the two magicians. “Think perhaps move faster than you.”

Their eyes wide with disbelief, Symon and Karryl spun round as one. Karryl lunged but Symon was faster. Grasping Karryl’s arm he held it tight. “Look...think.”

The soberly dressed Mirikani stood leaning on a slender, silver topped cane. A wide-brimmed black felt hat sat on deep auburn hair flowing in shining waves over his narrow shoulders. His head tilted to one side, he regarded Karryl from amber eyes. His whole mien exuded the wisdom of ages.

Swallowing hard, Karryl eased his arm out of Symon’s grip and managed to look sheepish. “I apologise. I er…I mean, we…”

The tiny man held up a hand. “Understood. A case of mistaken identity. Nevertheless, intrigued I am. Who think you see?”

The two magicians exchanged glances and Symon gave a little nod. Stepping into the narrow ribbon of shade afforded by the alley, Karryl leaned against the wall. Symon stood beside him. The Mirikani stood squarely in front of them both, his quizzical expression clearly showing he was waiting for an answer.

Karryl took a deep breath. “Do you know of Conjiber and Morchelas?”

The Mirikani studied Karryl for a long moment. “You have had dealings with them?”

Symon nodded. “You could say that.”

The Mirikani gestured down the alley with the tip of his cane. “You must tell me of this. Come.”

The little café he took them into was cool and quiet. The door closed softly behind them, the noise and bustle of the street fading to an almost inaudible hum. Thick square fringed cushions on the floor served as seats around low, circular dark-wood tables. The Mirikani selected a table away from the door. As they settled themselves, a tall Ingali in a spotless white robe approached. No-one spoke as a slender earthenware jug glistening with condensation was placed in front of them, along with three matching beakers, their insides shining with a deep yellow glaze. These were quickly followed by a large bowl of what looked to Karryl like stew, individual bowls of fluffy brown rice, and side bowls of various vegetables. The Ingali took up position nearby but out of earshot, in a shadowed corner. Lifting the jug, the Mirikani poured a small amount of clear liquid into each beaker.

Karryl frowned at Symon. “I thought you said we shouldn’t drink the water.”

The Mirikani lifted his beaker in a salute. “Very wise. Is why you have this.”

After taking a tentative sip, Karryl quickly realised that this definitely was not water. The colourless liquid was thinly syrupy and slightly sweet. Finding it quite pleasant and refreshing, he took a larger sip. It was then that the first one began to make itself felt. Placing his beaker on the table, he waggled his eyebrows as he grinned at Symon. The magician’s response was a slow, knowing smile.

The Mirikani looked at them both in turn. “Now refreshed, tell I, Bardilan, of Morchelas and Conjiber.”

* * *

By the time Bardilan had been told the full story, the jug and most of the bowls of food were empty. Hardly noticed by the three strangers, other customers had been and gone, and oil lamps had been lit in the café. Throughout, the Mirikani had said nothing, his expression inscrutable even through the most harrowing details. He now sat puffing on a long, thin-stemmed pipe of smoking leaf as he thoughtfully regarded the two magicians. The door of the ca
fé
opened. Placing his pipe carefully on the table, Bardilan gave a brief nod and indicated the vacant cushion beside him. Symon and Karryl turned to see another Mirikani, clad entirely in deep cherry red, heading quickly towards their table. After giving the two magicians a brief but respectful bow, he sidled behind them and settled himself on the cushion beside Bardilan.

No introductions were made. The two Mirikanis immediately launched into rapid and animated conversation. Fascinated and intrigued, Karryl and Symon listened to the strangely sibilant and melodious language, markedly different to the harsh jabber of Conjiber and Morchelas. After a few minutes, Karryl began to feel surplus to requirements. Fidgeting with impatience, he glanced at Symon. The little magician sat cross-legged on his cushion, hands inside his sleeves, a gentle smile on his lips. Feeling threads of irritation coursing through his body, Karryl closed his eyes and initiated a calming spell.

The Mirikani conversation ceased abruptly. Karryl opened his eyes to see the two tiny men gazing intently at him.

Symon broke the looming silence. “In our country, your behaviour would be considered, to say the least, rude.” He fixed a flinty gaze on Bardilan. “Perhaps you would have the grace to afford us an explanation.”

The vestige of a smile twitched at the corners of Bardilan’s mouth. “Agree. Also, apologise for what you think rude. Should have excused first.”

Only slightly mollified, Symon eased his aching behind on the thick cushion. “I suspect you did not wish us to know what you were discussing, probably because it concerned the things we have told you.”

Bardilan inclined his head in acknowledgement. “We had certain doubts. Not now. Power of your companion very strong.” He gestured towards the other Mirikani. “Corlian tell what you need to know.”

Clasping his hands in front of his tiny flat stomach, the red-clad Mirikani’s black-irised gaze moved from Karryl to Symon and back again. Without any kind of preamble he began.

His voice was uncommonly deep for a Mirikani, with little trace of the accent which accompanied Bardilan’s speech. “You have done the Mirikani people a great service, although it may not have been your intention.”

The two magicians exchanged surprised glances.

Appearing not to notice, Corlian carried on. “Bardilan and I are, or rather were, in pursuit of Conjiber and Morchelas. We knew we were closing in. Unfortunately, they found you before we found either you or them, and the deed has been done. Had they been apprehended they would have been confined and returned to Mirikan for trial.”

Karryl’s eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. “You’re telling us you knew what they were going to do? How?”

Bardilan shook his head. “Not to tell. Is…secret.”

Corlian placed a hand on his companion’s black-sleeved forearm. “It is our deepest regret that we were unable to prevent what befell you and the villagers of Xatchiqlan.”

Before Karryl or Symon could reply, the two Mirikani had sprung to their feet.

Sliding his pipe into a pocket, Bardilan doffed his hat and bowed low.

Following suit, Corlian then took something from his pocket and placed it on the table. “This is all we are able to tender by way of reward. As you are now returning to Albita, it may be some time before you find it of any value.”

All Symon had time to say was “Thank you”. The two magicians experienced some serious deja-vu as the two Mirikani vanished.

* * *

For the first time in over an hour, Karryl looked about him. He gave Symon’s elbow a nudge. “We’re the only ones here. I think it’s time we left too.”

Symon didn’t reply. He was examining the tiny object Corlian had placed on the table. Centreing it in the palm of his hand, he held it in front of Karryl’s face. “I don’t know yet whether there’s anything in it, but I can confidently state that this is the smallest casket I have ever seen.”

Reaching out, Karryl gingerly touched the tiny black and silver box. The tip of his forefinger covered almost three-quarters of its width. Withdrawing his hand he waited while Symon rummaged in his pack, eventually bringing out a small brown leather pouch. Slipping the tiny casket inside, he pulled the drawstring tight, and tucked the pouch inside his robe. “It should be quite safe there.” He looked up. “Yes, I agree. I think it’s time we left.”

Karryl stood up and looked down at the empty dishes. He made a moue. “I think we may have been lumbered with paying for all that.”

Symon chuckled as he struggled up off his cushion. “Don’t worry. Bardilan’s sleight of hand wasn’t quite fast enough to elude me. The Ingali was well paid.”

Slinging his pack onto his shoulder, he watched as Karryl tied a knot in his broken strap. ‘Don’t you think you ought to take a minute to mend that properly?”

Karryl shrugged, sighed, placed his pack on the table and untied the knot. Holding a broken end in each hand, he slowly brought them together. The air above the table shimmered briefly as the chewed leather uncurled, straightened out and slowly melded. With a soft ‘puh’ the job was done. Symon smiled and nodded, but Karryl’s efforts did not meet with everyone’s approval. As he lifted his pack to examine the results, the Ingali proprietor dashed across to their table, kicking cushions aside in his haste.

His face thunderous, he flapped his hands at Karryl. “No! No magic! You leave now. Not come back. No magic!”

Pushing and prodding, the irate Ingali hustled the two magicians outside into the now dark alley, spat on the ground at their feet, and slammed the door. To Karryl’s amazement, Symon burst out laughing.

Karryl couldn’t see anything funny. “I don’t see what’s to laugh at.”

Recovering his composure, Symon grinned up into the frowning face of his apprentice. “For the first time in my life I have been thrown out of an eating house.” He gave another little chuckle. “I shall record the incident as soon as we are back in Vellethen.”

Looking about him, Symon moved to stand close to Karryl. “Now, in a more serious vein. It’s autumn in Albita. How do you feel about some long distance translocation? I’m beginning to feel quite homesick.”

Karryl grinned. “Sounds good to me, as long as we don’t end up in a river or on top of a freezing mountain.”

Symon wagged a finger as he grasped Karryl’s arm with his other hand. “Trust me. I’m a magician.”

Stopping to rest at night and recoup his powers, Symon was as good as his word. In four days they had traversed three continents, paying their way by performing spells of healing, repairing or just pure entertainment.

Throughout the course of their travels, Karryl had amassed an impressive collection of unusual spells and quirky cantrips, most of which were harmless and in some cases either very amusing or extremely helpful. After the young magician had given a few demonstrations, even Symon had to admit that the time spent gathering them hadn’t been completely wasted. In the middle of a glowing autumn following a long hot summer, they returned to Symon’s tower, laden with enough information and artefacts to keep them both occupied, and Karryl studying for years.

* * *

At his twenty-first birthday party, a few weeks before the winter festival, Karryl and Aenys announced their engagement, which really came as no surprise to anyone. Once the round of parties and seasonal merriment was over, Karryl settled to his studies. His final exams were now only months away.