Мерседес Лэки - Passages

She imagined twisting the thread around her fingers, pulling it out of the stream and knotting it into the spell she wanted before sliding it through the slot in the pipe. The pipe sealed itself as she removed her hand. The spell waited, trembling slightly as if in anticipation. With a mental touch, she set the spell in motion. She felt it slowly slither forward, and she felt the feather-light shock when it struck the mirrored wall and was reflected back. It was only just a little faster when it struck the opposite side of the mirrored wall, and the shock was just a little stronger. Each time afterward, it was just a little faster and just a little stronger.

Soon, it was beyond her power to control. Soon, the shock of it striking was thundering in her very bones faster than her own thundering heartbeat. Soon, Shasta was wiping the sweat from her face.

The pipe was glowing a dull, sullen red. She pulled away from the heat of it as far as the trap spell allowed. Timiyon’s hand in hers was limp and dry. At this rate, air was the lesser of their worries. Something had to break, soon, and Shasta worried that it might be her or, worse, Timiyon.

The last thing Shasta remembered was being so hot that the sweat dried on her forehead before she could wipe it away. She opened her eyes and then winced and wished she hadn’t. The familiar wooden ceiling of Timiyon’s house spun and danced, and she hurriedly slammed her eyelids shut. The skin on her face and arms felt tight and tingly cool, and she smelled mint and grease. Heat sickness. The new workers at her father’s farm from farther north were warned about too much sun and heat, and she often helped the local Healer deal with the few who ignored those warnings. Now she knew how they felt.

Then came the gentle hand on her shoulders and the cool spout to her lips and the cool, cool water filling her mouth. She drank two full cups of water and another of broth before she was laid back down. She tried to rest, she knew she needed to rest, but she had to look and find Timiyon.

Timiyon was lying in the next bed. Dmiri, the town’s Healer, was holding a sick feeder to his lips, just as she had for Shasta moments ago. Dmiri pointed her out to Timiyon, and he turned and smiled and waved weakly at her.

Shasta laid back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

When Shasta next opened her eyes, the early morning sunlight through the windows was brightening into day. Timiyon was propped up on pillows, resting but not sleeping, since he twitched nervously during his afternoon naps. She reached across and brushed his arm with her outstretched fingers, and he turned his head toward her and opened his eyes. (Sorry.) Her fingers were clumsy through the bandages, but the message was plain.

He smiled in honest relief. (Not your fault. I didn’t expect the spell to generate heat. An experienced Mage would have known that.) His hands were similarly bandaged, but he seemed to manipulate through them much better than she did, as if he had done this before.

(We escaped.)

(Yes, we did. Thanks to you.)

Shasta felt the heat rising to her cheeks. (What happened?)

(You remember the merchant with the guard and the strongbox? He was the goldsmith who made the tokens. His guard was the Mage who set the trap.)

That got a double-raised-eyebrow look in reply; she might have suspected them of many things, but she didn’t expect this. (How did they find them?)

(They were eating dinner in the common room when you triggered the trap spell unexpectedly, so they decided to flee. Mage complained about his stomach and said he had a potion, so both returned to their room. They packed their gear and snuck down the back stairs; when he stepped into the sunlight, about when the spell broke, he collapsed. Goldsmith screamed, brought innkeeper, innkeeper called Guard, and Guard brought Jayan. Goldsmith was in shock, babbling about Vkandis’ punishment.)

(Punishment?)

(Mage was Karsite black-robe.)

Shasta waved her hands to interrupt him. (Black-robe?) She remembered hearing whispered tales about them.

Timiyon nodded. (Black-robe. Vkandis priest. Demon-summoner. Corrupt. Fled to Rethwellan when Solaris became Son of the Sun.)

(So what happened?)

Timiyon sighed. (They already had plan to escape across border, meet allies, then release us. They didn’t know it was the two of us, the delay could have killed us. When you started your spell, the trap spell drew magic from the Mage. Spell went out of his control, like runaway team of horses. Very clumsy. When the spell broke, he collapsed. Healer says shock. He is in Guard custody, still unconscious.)

(Was it Vkandis’ punishment?)

Timiyon shrugged his shoulders and then winced. (Who can say? My little knowledge of godly intervention is that it is usually more dramatic, or more direct.)

Shasta smiled, showing lots of white teeth. She was more certain than Timiyon: the Mage was now in the same state as they had been, lost in the dark. Vkandis’ punishment, certainly.

(The Heralds will deal with her.)

(Goldsmith?)

(Talked all night. Jayan is very happy.)

Shasta leaned back on her pillows, then suddenly sat up again and looked toward Timiyon. (Thayler?)

(Awake, nervous. Can’t sleep, nightmares. Terrified of the dark. He needs a Mindhealer.)

(Guilty?)

(Was, not now. After Solaris, he confessed, paid fines, accused several prominent nobles of crimes, all in secret, then moved here to escape them.)

Shasta cocked her head and raised just one inquiring eyebrow: And you knew this how?

Timiyon sighed. (I have a confession to make, myself. I didn’t retire here at random. The Crown suspected people like Basidi would use their positions here for criminal purposes, and I have experience in these situations. I was more than just a supply officer, I was a special investigator for Lord Martial Daren himself, and that took me to some very bad places and I learned some very bad things that I didn’t want to burden you with. I am sorry that you were involved with that.)

Shasta dismissed his apology with a slight smile and a slow wave of her hand. After all, he was the one who taught her that her Gift included a responsibility. (Basidi?)

Timiyon grinned, showing his own less-than-white teeth. (Quite guilty. He spent all day confessing to Vkandis. He returned after sundown and confessed to the Guard. Jayan said it was a long list of crimes. Smuggling, helping nobles escape Sunsguard, bribes, extortion, no slaves, though.)

(Merrow?)

(Just as guilty. Still in Karse. Sunsguard alerted.)

So that was the why and the who . Shasta was still curious about the how .

(Goldsmith made gifts for them. Mage put trap spell on trinkets, trigger spell at night. Trap left them in darkness and silence for a candlemark, then release. Vkandis follower sees Vkandis punishment.)

(Why do this?)

(Why? Arrogance. Revenge. Thayler named names, his was one. Basidi and Merrow promised help to escape, took money, reneged.)

(But why did the spell trap us?)

(Spell originally created to trap Mages.) He pointed directly at her. (Are you a Mage?)

Shasta pictured the magic around her, not just random bits and pieces of magic, but the warp and weft of magic threads. She could touch them, she knew which ones to touch and which ones to avoid, and she could use them. She stretched out her hand and plucked a single thread of magic from a nearby ribbon and twisted it into the desired shape; a mote of bright white light hovered above her palm for several seconds until she released it. (Yes. Mage.)