Cold Magic (Spiritwalker 1)

“Do you need the mansa’s permission to marry?”

“Of course we do. The mansa’s deputies oversee the villages. There must be work for those sons and daughters of the magisters whose sorcery is too weak to harness. The seneschal and her deputies measure our third in labor and crops. Every year the newborns are brought up to be sealed into the House. Certain lads are taken away to work as grooms for the soldiers of the House. And girls…” She glanced over her shoulder, as if fearing the mansa’s soldiers might be coming up behind us on the path to take her away.

“Tell me if you get tired,” I said quietly.

“Never!”

We both laughed. This country girl was not so strange after all. We traded stories of lads and young men we had fancied. She had spoken to a soldier from the House cavalry one time, a handsome fellow with blue-black skin and a charming accent, the magicless son of a mage House based in Massilia.

“Where is that, Catherine? You seem to know such things.”

I told her it was a port city on the northern coast of the Mediterranean Sea, the sea that separated Europa and Africa. I told her how the Kena’ani had plied those coasts for centuries despite the interference of the Romans.

“But the Romans built the roads and brought civilization to the north,” said Kayleigh.

“To the barbaric Celts. The refugees from the empire of Mali were already a civilized people, of course. What happened to the soldier?”

She shrugged. A village girl had to be cautious in speaking to soldiers. Bad things could happen. There was also a young man from the same village as Duvai’s mother, a day’s walk east, who was a charming fellow, one of the tawny Trinobantic Celts, a very fine fiddler with a hunter’s lineage. “He is someone I could marry,” she said, “for a young soldier in the House is usually not allowed to keep a wife, only a concubine. But Duvai’s mother resents our village because of what happened, so she will speak against any marriage between me and him.”

“What happened?”

“She left because of my father marrying my mother, as he had every right to do!”

“I might suppose a woman would be uncomfortable seeing a second wife brought in—”

“She was herself the second wife! Everyone says she was proud of her youth and beauty, and treated her elder wife with no respect at all until the poor woman lost her wits from crying so much and died. Even sweetest butter will sour when stirred by a bitter hand. When my father grew tired of her boasting and complaints, he found a more amiable wife. She took her bride price and went home. He could have stopped her, but no one wished him to, for the entire village was happy to be rid of her.”

“She left Duvai behind.”

“Boys belong with their fathers. Now she has poisoned her village against ours with her gossip and whispering.”

“Surely your hopeful suitor no longer matters, anyway, if you have left all that behind.”

She looked startled, almost missing a step; the enormity of the choice she had made was staggering. “I am rid of such troubles.”

She spat again on the path before plucking an errant strand of hair that had escaped her scarf and releasing it to the wind as if it were her past, blowing away behind us. I licked my cold-chapped lips and felt the strain of a long walk weighing down my legs. The moon had reached zenith. We had been walking at least four night hours. All told, I supposed I had been walking fourteen or more hours since dawn, although of course the daytime hours in winter were of shorter duration and the nighttime hours longer. Tiredness was making me clumsy and dull.

“Do you think we might rest?” asked Kayleigh.

“Not yet.”

With the wind rising steadily like a beast slowly curling out of slumber, we walked for at least another hour. Rounding a corner and stumping to the top of a gentle rise, we reached a crossroads stone, a squat pillar more chipped at than shaped and no taller than my head.

The wind had changed timbre and smell. It blew into our faces from the south—one might almost say out of the stone—and it might even have been said to possess the memory of warmth, something once known and mostly forgotten. This change kindled in me a strange emotion, in the way one imagines the breath of a mother on a cold, frightening night calms her restless babe. I waited until Kayleigh had poured a few offering drops at the base of the stone, and then I went forward myself and let fall the last drops from the first of the two leather bottles Duvai had given me. It was a vinegary drink, tart and bitter, but in the instant of offering, I smelled as through the stone itself a sweeter, summery scent like flowers in bloom. I blinked, wondering if the shadows of the landscape beyond the stone had altered, but after all they had not. In moonlight, I saw the path ahead of me, and the empty hills, and very, very far away and below us in elevation a tiny burr of light marking a town’s watch fire. Was it possible we might reach Lemanis, the first leg of our journey, tomorrow? Sooner than I had dared hope?

The stars lay half hidden beneath a gauze of moonlight. My eyes warmed with tears, although I did not understand why I should wish to weep.

“Ah!” said Kayleigh.

I turned at her gasp.

Riders approached us on the path, hooves and harness muffled. She grabbed my arm, wrenching me sideways, and at first I thought she was trying to pull us out of sight, so I went with the drag of her weight. Then she kicked out my legs from under me, and not expecting this assault, I crumpled as the riders closed. She threw herself on top of me as I thrashed and shoved and got my left hand free. I punched her hard enough that she grunted, and with a burst of furious terror, I heaved her off me and scrambled to my feet as the rider in front pounded up and resolved into Andevai.

His mouth set in a grim line, he drew a sword. Its cold-steel blade gleamed where moonlight kissed it. His mouth was set in a grim line. The wind died, and the air grew so cold so fast I shuddered convulsively. I fumbled at the twisted mess of my garments and belt, knocking my bundle of provisions aside as I groped for my sword’s hilt.

“Are you all right, Kayleigh?” he demanded.

She struggled up and limped over to him. “Of course. Did you have any trouble following me?”