Swift Magic (The Swift Codex Book 2) (12 page)

“It happened that the young woman's husband and another man argued.

“That same night the young woman was making a pearl necklace for her sister's wedding present. Well, she dropped a pearl and it rolled out of the wagon. She found it, and when she stood up she saw a terrible sight.

“It was her husband, passed out mere feet from the door. He was all bloody and his shoulder had been shot. She was very panicked, and she got her husband inside the wagon and went and got help.

“The poor doctor had already been out to see one man that night, who had been attacked by a wolf. He guessed that her husband had accidentally been shot during the chaos.

“But then they both saw it at the same time: the hand which had been hidden beneath her husband's body wasn't a hand at all, but a gigantic wolf's paw.”

There was a collective gasp and excited comments from the children. However, Daae's daughter flared her nostrils, whirled on her heels, and stomped outside. Her lover hesitated, then went after her. I frowned at Mordon. If this was to be the reception we could expect from my parents and the Fey Council…

Daae said, “That wasn't the tale I had in mind.”

“No,” said the Grand Master. “I know it wasn't. But it was a warning. Be content with it.”

The woman bit her lip, determined not to talk back, but fighting the urge.

In a creaking voice, the old man began to recite:

“Do you know what happens

to the lost souls

of Alarum

Alarum

oh Alarum

lake of blood and bone

lake of strife and grief

Do you know what happens

to the lost souls of a lost lake of a lost time

if you know what happens

then tell us

tell us so

tell us

now.”

They waited as if genuinely expecting an answer.

None came.

I felt something stir, but once I tried to find it, it had gone. There was something worrying at me, something which should be obvious yet wasn't. If I unfocused, I could catch glimpses and that was it. Then the feeling was gone, and Mordon's tap on my knee brought me back to the pavilion.

Shaking the feeling, I stood and trailed after someone who guided us outside. There was a chill bite to the wind until we were shown to a wagon where there was a spare bed. Inside the wagon, it was cramped and there was only place for one person to stand at a time without stepping on toes. There were various other beds, and it took people some minutes to find their beds and stop wrestling with blankets.

Settling in next to Mordon on a hard bed which worked as a seat during the day, I tried to calm my senses. Fear of the unknown snaked up and down my spine, a reminder of the husks we'd left behind. But not all was well here. I swallowed the temptation to feel a little sorry for myself. I would get out of here, alive and well, and I would have to show the Fey Council that I didn't care if they approved of Mordon or not.

I closed my eyes and let sleep come despite the howling of wind over the lake.

It was the wind which woke me sometime during the early morning hours. As I lay awake, nauseous with the pains of an empty stomach and trying to understand why I even was awake and supposing it was because I was hungry, I heard the howl of an actual wolf. I froze, the sound echoing through my body. Barnes had been right about the wolves, I supposed. My eyes started to close, but then came the screams.

“Mordon,” I hissed, pushing against his shoulder roughly. “Wake up.”

I waited for his response. Rain pounded on the roof of the wagon, dripping into pots and cups placed below the leaks, and flashes of lightning lit the wagon. All the beds were empty. In fact, it was as if they'd never been slept in. Why hadn't I heard people leave? I wasn't sure what it was precisely which filled me with terror, but there was a sensation creeping across my skin, one of shocked dread and the desire to knuckle down beneath the covers and hide. I shook Mordon again.

It took me a couple times before he stirred enough to grumble, “What?”

“Listen.”

Just then, a woman screamed outside our wagon.

All pretense of normality evaporated with that very definite human cry of pain. Mordon went tense, then bolted out of bed. I was fast on his heels. Mordon rammed his boots on with haste. Something hit the wall outside, rocking the wagon, making us both gasp. I had one shoe one, one off. No more time was wasted.

We went to the door, one of us on each side, and peered out the windows. In the dim light of the stars, it seemed there was nothing that we could do, that there was nothing wrong. No one outside. No
thing
outside. I breathed in quiet, shaky breaths.
Rain thudded on the windowpanes. Mordon unlocked the door with a whispered spell and I yanked the door open with the wind.

Outside the wind whipped my hair and battered Mordon against the railing. At once I knew this was no ordinary storm. Though I'd yet to be outside with my magic during truly bad weather, I knew that I should have some control over the wind. I should be able to soften it or push it this way or that. This thunderstorm refused me. As rain pelted my flesh and I pulled Mordon against the shelter of a wagon, I tried and failed to cushion the blows.

We didn't see the woman who had screamed, though we felt for her on the walkway and examined every place we could find nearby. It was as if she'd never been there. Grimly, I wondered if she had fallen into the lake, but I didn't see her nor did I hear any splashing.

“Where are the others?” Mordon called over the noise of the rain and wind.

“Find them,” I yelled back. Though we were mere inches from each other, it was hard to hear even these short words. “Pavilion?”

If there was a problem, I imagined that the pavilion would be the place where people would gather. It was hard to imagine them leaving us if there was trouble, though. The wind whistled and howled again, and we both crouched and clutched the railing as water drenched our clothes. I gasped, every bit of energy I had been throwing at it was just gone with no change of conditions.

“Here,” Mordon wrenched open a door to another one of the wagons. We burst into the stale peace, panting. Our eyes adjusted to the blackness.

The beds lay unmade, a pillow on the floor. No one occupied the place.

“Where are they?”

“I don't know,” Mordon said.

“Why would they just leave?”

“Something is wrong.”

“It is. I can't control the wind, not one bit.”

Mordon leaned against the door as wind struck it. The entire wagon rocked. My own fear reflected in Mordon's eyes.

“Pavilion. It has the strongest defenses, right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

I opened the door, the wind caught it, and with a sharp snap, the storm cracked the door straight off its hinges, dropping it with a crash into the lake below.

“Move,” Mordon yelled and jumped to the walkway. My feet slipped on wet wood, but Mordon's arm kept me upright. The boards groaned and heaved. We clutched the railing, forcing our way against the storm. I was aware of a deeper groaning, of the rattling wagon battering against its tether, but I didn't look behind us. The shaking loosened boards and made progress more treacherous. My foot found an empty slat. Then the whole walk bucked beneath us, we braced, and the walk slammed back down. There was a grating crunch, and the wagon we'd been in was just gone.

We slid along the rest of the walkway without daring to say a word. Destruction was everywhere. The whole while the wind howled in our ears and rain tried to tip us into the lake. Wagons were gone or torn into shreds. When the wind took a breath, the place smelled of burnt fur and blood. Jagged breaks in the railing cut into my palm. Most disconcerting of all, there was no sign of life.

The strangeness of the day made this seem a dream. Why did the Wildwoods put their visitors through such vigorous testing? Was it even a test, or was it a state of nature? Drenched, cold to the bone, and shaken from the unresponsive wind, I crossed into the quiet of the pavilion.

A place which wouldn't tumble into the lake! I gasped with fear and relief, resting my hands on my knees. Mordon slumped to the floor, swiped his face with his sleeve, succeeding in smearing a bit of blood or dirt across his forehead. We could hear the distant pounding of the storm on the barrier. No one else was with us. Dust covered the floor. When I wiped my finger in the cauldron, I felt powdered remains of soup, too dry for a couple of hours ago.

“The time line’s all wrong!”

I couldn't help exclaiming it. A flame appeared in Mordon's hand. He was on his feet, looking for whatever had startled me. Only when his eyes settled on mine did I blush. I hastened to explain.

“Do you feel full?”

“What?”

“I feel starving, like I haven't eaten.”

His brows narrowed and he said, “That wasn't a meal. It was half a snack.”

The lightning struck the defenses, breaking apart in a sphere all around us and illuminating the water.

“That's not the point. We haven't eaten anything, that's why we're hungry. We haven't seen anyone, because there's no one to see. I can't control the wind because it isn't there.”

Mordon closed his fist, snuffing out the flame. “We're in a ghost town?”

“Exactly. A repeat haunting. A couple of the ghosts are conscious and can interact with us and each other, but the rest is just memories of what once was.”

“Our Daae and the Grand Master. Are they the ones who have their wits about them?”

“Maybe. There might be others. And the rest…if they're all caught up in some sort of spell or curse, they're stuck here, for every day of their lives—afterlives—until something breaks the cycle. That sort of thing harms the spirit.” I tapped my fist against my head, thinking.

“His magic must be strong in order to withstand the beating for this long,” Mordon said, gazing at the whitecaps on the lake as they crashed against the barrier over and over again.

“Mmm.”

“What about the time line?”

I nodded. “Ghosts will preserve relevant memories, but the longer they have them, the harder it is to present the facts in a way which makes sense. They don't know what they observed after a while, or they confuse it with one thing or another. Sometimes they forget, and if there are multiple ghosts, they'll think different things are important, and it will all mash together.”

“So the story behind the haunting was already told to us,” Mordon said, thinking. “If the time line is confused, then we shouldn't evaluate it on how it played out in our chronology.”

“Yes. The Grand Master's horror story—I'm thinking that was the middle of the tale, or thereabouts. And what we're seeing now tonight is the actual ending.”

“So the beginning would have been with the young woman and Nathaniel.”

“Right, so the young woman and Nathaniel wanted to be together, they were rejected, and, what, Nathaniel unleashed some kind of a monster storm on the camp?”

“No,” said a soft, faint voice. It was the young woman. She stood beside the cauldron, gazing in fear at the rain battering the sphere around us. “We wanted to leave, but they wouldn't let me go. So we waited until night, and we got in a boat. Nathaniel was in the front. When we hit the edge of the protective circle, it trapped me inside and wouldn't let Nathaniel return. My family brought me back here in another boat, and pushed Nathaniel's out to the lake. He was so furious.”

She shuddered with the memory. The air was feeling tight, constricting.

“Fera?” Mordon whispered.