Swift Magic (The Swift Codex Book 2) (33 page)

“And you're just trying not to be nervous by poking fun,” Mordon said. “Though it is a very nice butt.”

“My ears. They burn,” my brother said.

“You wanted to come along,” I said over my shoulder, accidentally striking Simbalene's favorite pose.

It took us a little bit to settle into our walk again. Mordon had been right to ask me to take lead. The Wildwoods had been good about keeping us from stepping into a portal accidentally in the past, but no longer. After Simbalene almost stepped into a creek, I started marking the portals with sticks. She was the first to start moaning, at the same time that she stopped doing her hummingbird impression. Then Leazar took up uttering complaints, which must have been her influence because he never used to do it.

When we crossed over the invisible line into the Infected zone, I called a stop.

“It's all dead,” Simbalene said. “Everything. The ground is sterile.”

It was a grim sight, the hundreds of withered trees which were nothing but dried matches sticking up out of ground. All that was left now of the land which had been teeming with life and unruly plants was just a desolate wasteland devoid even of water. There were still river beds and even a pond, with sand and gravel laying in the bottom, a strange muck in the bottom which I didn't want to think too much about. It smelled of dead bodies and I suspected I knew why.

“I don't like it here, either,” Mordon said. “Fera, any idea where the Unwritten is? Or do you still want to seek out the center of this place?”

I shook my head. Where we were, where we were going, I didn't know. Even if I saw the spell now, would I be able to do anything about it?

The husk almost beheaded me. It dove out of the clouds, an eagle-sized bat was my first impression, one with talons and brown skin. I'd felt it slice through the air just in time to yank it to the side. Leazar acted first, whacking it in three successive strikes with his walking stick. Father's swordplay lessons hadn't gone wrong with him. Mordon looked impressed.

“What was that?” I asked.

Leazar poked at it where it lay motionless on the ground. It flinched and screamed. A single clomp over the head made it stop moving. Leazar flopped the wings open and said, “It's a … huh.”

“It's a what?” I joined the cluster crowding the thing.

“A saber-toothed fruit bat with a stinger?” he guessed. “A slightly decayed saber-toothed fruit bat with stinger.”

I met Mordon's gaze and we both said, “Walking animation.”

“You know of this creature?” Simbalene asked.

“I didn't feel as much of a fear spell as last time,” I said, kneeling next to it.

“Perhaps it was too fast.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Barnes said these are an art. How hard is it to make a convincing fear spell?”

“Not too bad, if you know what your target is afraid of. Pretty hard if you don't,” Leazar said. “I've heard of these things, but never seen one before. How did you come across it? Daddio never mentioned that part of your narrative.”

“It was when I was with the market coven. It was grotesque. But this one…it's blended together so well, almost seamless. Look. You can't see at all where it was several animals.” Then I laughed. “An illusion! He put up an illusion to merge the joints.”

“Oh hey, that's clever,” Leazar said. He and Simbalene started talking, but I stopped listening.

Mordon put his hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “Is it him?”

I turned the walking animation over and nodded. “I think he made the husks, too.”

“What, all of them?”

I nodded. Yes. All of them.

Now would have been a good time for Mordon to swear, but he wasted it by saying nothing.

“Hey, sis.” Leazar was pointing towards a storm cloud coming our way. “Think you can wrangle up a portal which will get us…anywhere but here?”

The constant use of magic had drained me, but I squinted at the storm cloud, wondering what Leazar saw. Then I knew it wasn't the cloud that had his attention. The whole ground beneath it wriggled and flowed.

“Is that an army of what you called walking animations?” Simbalene asked.

For a second I stared at Mordon, hoping he would contradict her. But he didn't.

“Sis? The portal? I don't think we can outrun this.”

“No,” Mordon said. “We can't, not at their pace. Fera?”

“I need energy.”

Mordon's hand went from my shoulder onto my scalp, and I felt the searing tingle of an energy transfer pass through his fingertips. It was refreshing, like waking up from a nap, but it wouldn't last long.

“I'll need more to steady the portal.”

Mordon nodded.

I found two portals immediately nearby, but rejected one because the wind couldn't come back through it again, and rejected the other because it led to a dead zone. A football field away, I stabilized a portal which seemed to go to the apothecary, a small path which was nevertheless well-maintained. To keep it steady, I drew from Leazar as well as Mordon.

Mordon, Leazar, and Simbalene went through. Then I turned my head, and I saw
him
out of the corner of my eye, a flicker of shadow, a flicker of the man who Death could not touch.

Then he was gone, disappeared into the oncoming husks. Tired, no doubt, as I was.

So I closed my eyes and plunged through the portal.

The Fey Council and a group of others were waiting outside the apothecary. They had enclosed Leazar, Simbalene, and Mordon the instant they'd arrived, and they did the same thing to me. Father elbowed his way to the front, kneeling next to where I sat on the ground.

“What happened?” he asked. “What did you see? And why did you go? You were meant to be evacuated.”

“I can't go,” I said. “As to what I saw—Mordon.” My throat went dry and I coughed. Father knelt there, shocked, dumbfounded, as Mordon pushed his way to me and pressed something in my hands.

It wasn't water. I wasn't sure what it was, something alcoholic and with herbs and healing magic mixed in. It coated my throat and made my eyelids heavy. Mordon leaned me against the wall of the apothecary and told me to rest. Leazar and Simbalene took the floor, explaining what we'd seen, and answering questions.

“They're arriving for a battle, then,” Father said. He looked exhausted, purple circles under his eyes so dark they looked like bruises. “It was what we expected, I suppose, but now it's here and coming. We'll set up defenses as the battalion has always done. And Fera is leaving.”

“not!” I said, struggling to stand up. “It's the Unwritten which is behind this. I know how to get rid of it, and you need my help to do it.”

“Unwritten? The spell? You've seen one and you didn't say anything?” Father said.

“I thought I'd have more time to look into it,” I said. “I wanted to find out what it did before I said anything.”

The assembly was staring at us, listening intently, whispering here and there. Father, hands knotted together, looked like he was trying not to strangle his infuriating daughter.

“I'll tell you now,” I said. “And I'll tell you all I know about husks and walking animations and Unwrittens. But you've got to listen to me. Really, actually listen, and you can't send me away, because I'm the sole person here who has defeated an Unwritten before.”

The listening Council didn't object to my bold statement, so I presumed I was correct in that assessment. I didn't wait for anyone to settle in before I started detailing what I knew. They were a good audience, quiet and attentive, and when they began to ask after making a plan, I came up with a plan to use a disenchantment spell on the trees, and they took over. Too exhausted to argue, I slumped back against the building, worn out by the constant strain on magic and the effort of holding open a portal.

When they went a ways to discuss in private, I looked up at Mordon. He had wary eyes, an expression he hadn't shown to the others, but it reflected with a vengeance now.

“You figured out the Unwritten and how to destroy it? Since last we talked?”

“No,” I said. “I haven't a clue. I just needed something good to say, because the answer's here, right in front of us. I'm just not seeing it.”

I ate my haunch of roast hare and watched as the portal was constructed on the floor of the communal kitchens. The feys were grim as they got out their compasses to measure angles, the chalk line to snap straight guides from one point to another, then came Mother with a can of paint and a Japanese style brush to make the lines and symbols permanent. The paint, as it dried, turned black then melted into the ground beneath, a mark in the very bedrock of the Wildwoods, there for eternity even if today was the day the woods ceased to be.

It felt that I had somehow sentenced the woods to die. Without knowing how to stop the Unwritten, I'd created a plan on a whim, and now they were likely to fail. I'd be the reason no one gave it better thought.

Father came off of the walking path and I heard Mordon reading a list of items needed for disenchantment, comparing the list to what had been rounded up and put on the benches. The battalion stood ready to go, as soon as the last of the paint had done its work. I forced myself onto aching feet and met Father halfway to the battalion.

I heard Mordon say, “Fera and I are going, as well.”

Mother stirred from her work and took me by the elbow. “Does he always control your actions like this?”

“What?”

Mother had that look about her, the one which told me to grit my teeth and tolerate whatever was going to be said next. “Your father and I don't like it. He rarely seems to ask your opinion at all, and you're so meek, we worry that you won't stand up against him.”

“We always discuss things and don't worry.”

“There's no need for that tone. Mordon seems like a nice man,” Mother said. I waited for the 'but', and I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of asking what it was. She continued, “But maybe there is a better man for you. One with an occupation better suited for your disposition and talents. One that will keep you … closer to home.”

Ah, that was it, wasn't it? If I married Mordon, I'd live in Kragdomen and they'd lose hope of my ever coming to live in the Wildwoods. If there was a Wildwoods left after this. Or did they want me to just live nearby to wherever they would be? They'd never wanted me to leave them in the first place. Leazar they all but kicked out the front door, but every step of moving out for me had been a protracted and gristly ordeal.

“I'll visit, Mother, no matter where I am.”

“And we, of course, do not approve of his attentions.”

I sighed in irritation. “You didn't voice an objection before.”

“Before was not a good time.”

“Neither is now!” I almost shouted it. Mother frowned. People had moved away from us, knowing all too well the telltale signs of an argument, but that didn't mean they weren't listening in.

“But now may be the last time we have to have a heart to heart.”

I did not answer. They wouldn't listen, anyways. The only way they would somewhat listen was if I said something, then they'd argue every point until we were totally off-topic and arguing about past arguments which hadn't been resolved. It would take hours, and there'd be shouting and tears and it would all be concluded by a Serious Discussion which would end when I was so sick of it that I stopped fighting back. Plus, I felt the air thicken with the scent of honeysuckle and knew that if I let go of my control, my magic would start causing chaos.

So all I said was, “Is there anything else you'd like to say?”

Mother was the one who sighed in irritation this time. “Feraline.”

“Is there? We have other things to get back to doing.”

She pursed her lips. “Just think about what I've said.”

“Fine.”

She lingered there, ready to say more, to counterpoint whatever defenses I would put up, but against obedience—even against obedience she knew I feigned—there could be no debate. I did not relax when she'd gone. Though we hadn't fought, I felt strung tight as though we had. Maybe I could unleash some of that tension during the coming battle.