Wayfinder (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 3) Page 3

  “As many as it takes,” answered Neil simply.

  “And to what end?”

  “Perhaps I’ll build my own library,” said Neil. “Or Gully and I will create a university. Magical knowledge should not be limited to only those who can wield it, and everything I’ve learned – am still learning – should be shared.” He gestured at the book with his wineglass. “There’s a place for this in the world. And, if there isn’t? I’ll make one.” He downed the rest of his drink, a silent toast to his own ambitions.

  The corner of Farran’s mouth twitched. “You’re a curious mortal, Arcanist Neil. Your whole life has been spent in pursuit of power. Magic. Blessings. And yet, here you sit, an unBlessed, in the presence of a god. And you do not ask me for a gift of your own?” The pirate closed the book and set it gently on the table between them once more, leaning in conspiratorially. “Did it ever cross your mind to see if I was capable of granting such divine favor?”

  Somewhere deep in Neil’s soul, the little boy who’d watched so eagerly as wizards around him created light, cried out yes. But the young man that boy had become sat frozen in his chair, his mind racing as he contemplated what was being offered. A chance. All he had to do was ask, and there was chance it could be granted. A lifelong wish. An all-consuming pursuit. Why hadn’t he ever thought to ask?

  And then, as Neil played out the last few weeks in his head, the truth dawned on him, and he answered slowly. “I think I’ve wondered every day since I first met you,” he admitted carefully. “But I’ve spent too long studying, and too long praying to gods I couldn’t see. If I was truly meant to have magic of my own, I wouldn’t have to ask.” His throat tightened as an unspoken fear bubbled to his lips for the first time. “And now, I fear I don’t want to find out why I’m not worthy.”

  Neil stood, preparing to excuse himself from the party, but Farran grabbed him by the arm. His grip was strong, and dripping with magic, and Neil’s skin tingled even through his many layers. “Don’t you dare equate power with worth,” Farran growled. He thrust Illumine into Neil’s chest. “There’s not a magician, wizard, or mage alive who has the drive and passion to do what you are doing. Your worth may not look like theirs, but you have a magic in you that doesn’t need to be granted by bloodline or Blessing. And you do not need a god’s permission to be great.” He released Neil, who was shaking slightly now, the force of Farran’s conviction rattling through him like a tremor. “You are what you make yourself, Arcanist.”

  Nobody else seemed to have noticed the confrontation. At the other end of the table, cheers erupted as the dice game concluded, and Norda swept her winnings into a small pouch with a smug smirk. It was the closest thing to a smile Neil had seen from the bodyguard yet.

  “Tell me how you did that,” said Neil quietly. “I’ve seen it before, how you can do or say things without people noticing, unless you want them to.”

  “The gods have many powers, young one,” said Farran. He sounded tired. “But that one is not so different from a street magician’s slight-of-hand tricks. If someone was paying enough attention, they’d be aware of me no matter how hard I try to hide it.”

  A spark of curiosity blazed in Neil’s chest, burning away some of the discomfort and embarrassment he felt at having been scolded. “So, I could teach myself to notice?”

  Farran chuckled. “Yes, Arcanist. I believe there is much you could teach yourself. Things no mere wizard thinks of trying.”

  The celebration ran late into the evening until, yawning and stuffed with fine dining, the small company filed out of the captain’s quarters and off to their respective berths for the night. At the doorway to the small suite Neil shared with Gully and Norda, Fox tapped his friend on the shoulder, beckoning him to hang back. Letting the women see themselves off to bed, Neil leaned against the bulkhead. “Quite a party,” he said cheerfully. “I can’t believe how bad you are at dice.”

  “I used to be better,” said Fox with a groan. “It’s been a long while since I made time for pub games. Must be out of practice.” He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, trying to keep warm in the cold, unlit passageway of the ship. “Was Farran giving you too much trouble?” he asked.

  “You saw?” said Neil. “You know how to notice him when he does that?”

  Fox shrugged. “There’s not a lot he can hide from me, these days. I’m not even sure he tries anymore.” He rubbed his arms vigorously. “We’ve been ... linked, in a way, since he came back. Parts of it are even stronger now, since I – since Calibas.”

  Neil had heard the story from every perspective. He’d even lived through parts of it, but Fox’s own account was much more harrowing. Almost dying, being willing to sacrifice himself to save Farran ... it had left its mark. Neil could see it in his friend’s eyes, and the ferocity with which Fox attacked his own magical training.

  “He told me I didn’t need a Blessing to be talented,” said Neil.

  “You don’t,” insisted Fox.

  “I know, I know,” said Neil quickly. “But that doesn’t change the things I want to know and learn. The things I can try, even with no magic of my own. So then,” he said, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. “I once taught you how to fight. Teach me how to see through magic.”

  Fox raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asked cautiously. “Neil, what if — ”

  Neil cut him off. “I know it will harder without a Blessing. But not impossible. Fox,” he said, letting the eagerness overtake him, “look at what I’ve done without it. Without any of it!” He grabbed Fox by the shoulders. “I understand more than most mages do about their own magic, and I can keep learning. And I’ll do it on my own if I have to but – Fox?”

  The plea hung between them in the air for a heartbeat longer, before Fox laughed and shrugged off Neil’s grip. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

  “And I never will,” Neil promised.

  “I can’t guarantee how good of a teacher I’ll be,” admitted Fox.

  “Oh, I assume you’ll be rubbish,” teased Neil.

  “And, I do still have my own –” started Fox, but Neil brushed off the excuse with a wave of his hand.

  “We’ll find time. And, while you’re training, I can take notes from afar. Learn what you’re doing, and chronicle all of it.” He grinned broadly now. “A new history of the Cartomancers, starting with you.”

  Chapter Three

  Water and Wind

  Fox sat cross-legged on deck, eyes closed. Before him, level with his face, a single feather hovered on a carefully controlled breeze. With each exhale, each passing breath of wind made from crewmen walking by, or flurry out in the open air, the feather threatened to escape. But Fox held fast to his focus, mentally commanding the wind to obey his will, rather than the natural ebb and flow of the shifting zephyrs all around him.

  From behind, he felt Darby’s approach – smelled the dwarf’s scent, and felt a hint of his intentions in the air – and he grasped tighter to the feather in his mind. A moment later, as Fox had anticipated, the wood planking creaked as Darby crouched low, and tried to blow the feather out of balance with a sharp exhale. Clenching his fists, Fox fought against this fresh wind assault, and smiled to himself as he steadied the feather expertly.

  His pride was short-lived, however, as Darby stood quickly and shoved Fox, knocking him onto his back. Fox opened his eyes with a start, his focus shattered, the feather immediately being ripped away into the rigging and out of sight.

  He glared up at his mentor, who grinned and held out a thickly-gloved hand to pull him to his feet. “You never know where an attack will come from,” said Darby. “Mentally, physically, magically, or emotionally ... you must always be prepared to counter all of them.”

  “Clever trick,” said Fox, taking the outstretched hand. “But we both know you wouldn’t have had to use it if I wasn’t doing so well in my practice.”

  Darby chuckled, and released his student’s hand, letting Fox crash back onto the h
ard, cold planking. “A humble man knows when he’s beaten. Get yourself a hot drink, and we’ll go again. But this time, let’s make it more interesting, shall we?” The dwarf turned on his heel and strode away across the deck, whistling jauntily in a way that made Fox absolutely sure he was about to be punished.

  ALL OF THEM. Regret settled over Fox like an iron cloak as he was handed a dulled practice blade, and Cullen squared off against him. Overhead, Farran was perched in the rigging, no doubt prepared to unleash magical chaos for Fox to combat while he fought this stronger swordsman. There was also the obvious internal struggle of crossing swords with the man who had stolen Lai. In fact, the only way Fox could be more emotionally compromised by this fight, would be if he were dueling Lai herself.

  Darby seemed to guess Fox’s thoughts, as he grinned mischievously from several paces away. He was whispering instructions to the living crew – the undead had been banished from this part of the deck for the time being, so Darby could focus. An unfair advantage, Fox thought, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He stretched, taking in everything he could before they began: the direction of the wind; the pattern of the waves beneath them, and the rhythmic way the ship tilted and swayed with every rise and fall of the water.

  He noted the positions of Norda – unarmed for the moment but Fox was certain Darby would find an opportune moment to throw her into the fight – and Neil, watching the exercise from the raised quarterdeck, prepared to document it all. Gully was at his side, leaning on the rail and cheering on both combatants, along with Lai. Well, at least she was out of harm’s way. One less thing to worry about.

  “Now then!” shouted Darby, clapping his hands together. “The challenge!” He pulled another single, black feather from the inside of his cloak, and held it up for all to see. “Keep your focus, Fox. Hold onto the fire within, and do not let this feather escape you.” The wind began to tug eagerly at the feather held tight in Darby’s fingertips, sensing a game. Anxious to play. But the dwarf tightened his grip, meeting Fox’s gaze. “The game is over when it is caught, by any of you, or lost to the sea. Oh, and be careful my young friend,” added Darby with an evil grin. “The bird this was plucked from is long extinct. An ancient, and magical beast. Making this simple feather a priceless, irreplaceable relic.”

  There was no more time to think. No time to panic about this new information as Darby released the feather into the wind, and everyone sprang into action.

  Cullen was there in an instant, his sword cleaving through the air. Fox was barely able to parry in time, throwing up his own blade as he reached out to the wind with his magic and snatched the feather up in a tendril of breeze. Obediently, the feather raced toward him as if it were on a fishing line, and Fox slid past Cullen in an attempt to snatch it out of the air.

  The taller boy was too fast for him. Before Fox could get more than a step away, Cullen was there again, forcing him back. As Fox stumbled, struggling to keep up, his focus on the feather slipped, and a gust of wind tore it away and into the rigging. Fox could still feel it, being tossed to and fro on the freezing, salty breeze, just out of sight. Ducking to narrowly avoid Cullen’s sword, Fox’s mind began to race. Right. He was no match for Cullen physically. Not with brute strength or swordsmanship. He needed a new tactic.

  On deck, Fox couldn’t give himself the advantage. But maybe in the rigging, he could. He felt the ship swaying beneath him and took a steadying breath, feeling the patterns of the wind. Sensing just how much pressure it would take ... when Cullen lunged again, Fox dropped low and swept the other boy’s legs out from underneath him with the flat end of the sword. Amidst cheers from the gathered audience, Fox threw his magic at Cullen, summoning a focused gust of wind to keep him pinned to the deck. Fox could only buy himself a few moments, but it might be enough.

  Abandoning his own sword, Fox ran. Within moments he was climbing aloft, and could sense that Cullen had fought his way out of the wind hold. And there was someone else, gaining on them both. Chancing a backwards glance, Fox saw Norda racing across the deck, a blur of animal skins. She may as well have been a beast herself, as quickly as she was moving. That left only Farran to enter the fray. And Fox, grinning to himself, hastened upward even faster, using the air to propel himself. He split his focus between drawing the feather carefully back toward himself in a bubble of swirling wind and forcing gusts of breeze upward to help his ascent, letting the muscle memory in his body do the grunt work on its own for the moment.

  And then, it happened. He could smell the salt in the air thickening, and braced himself for the inevitable impact as a magically-crafted wave rose into the air, ready to answer Farran’s bidding. For a heartbeat everything froze as the three climbers clung tightly to their ropes, the wave on the brink of cresting over them, and Fox threw all of his magic into keeping the feather safe in its pocket of carefully-controlled air.

  The biting cold as the wave engulfed him was almost enough to make Fox let go of the rope entirely. Panic seized him as all his years of hunter training took over, and his instinct told him to get out. Get warm. Find somewhere safe, where he wouldn’t freeze to death. He needed to make a fire, and fast, to burn away the chill.

  And the fire within him answered, the magical kindling sparking back to life. Fox could feel it within him, ready to be released at his command. Pushing back against the cold, clenching his chattering jaw so tightly it ached, Fox pushed outward, carving the water into a map, just as he had done back in Calibas. Forcing it where he wanted it to go. Using it as his ink in midair, tracing pathways and roads like a silver-grey city turned on its end. Trapping the waves within a dozen wind tunnels, Fox freed himself from the magical ocean assault, and forced his numb hands and feet to climb higher. The feather was being buffeted back and forth, caught between the whipping winds that made the sails pop and fill, barely contained by Fox’s own magical breezes.

  Below him, someone screamed as their grip on the ropes fumbled. Norda. But Fox couldn’t look down, not now. He trusted that she would be alright. Knew Farran well enough to know that the god would not idly let someone fall. Not if he could help it. Darby wouldn’t have set up these training exercises if they were meant to be deadly.

  And he wouldn’t have gambled away such a precious artifact on a whim, either. The realization hit Fox so clearly, he cursed himself for believing it in the first place. Of course Darby had been playing mind games. Making Fox overthink right from the start. Making him more prone to be sloppy and rash.

  The feather was right overhead, and Fox could hear Cullen gaining on him. He felt the ocean swelling beneath them, preparing for another wave of ice. Cheers from below as the watchers shouted their approval and encouragement. Fox tried desperately to call the feather to him on the wind, shouting out loud at the zephyrs whipping his hair and tearing at his clothes. But nature, it seemed, was stronger this time. The feather tore out of his magical grasp, and Fox knew he had to decide: keep the ocean at bay, or channel his power into claiming the feather.

  In a moment of reckless genius, Fox knew how to beat Darby at his own game. He may not have his powers completely under control yet. He still had plenty to learn about his own magic, and plenty of training ahead of him. But he knew the people on deck. And, with a grin, he let go. Let go of his magical hold on the wave-crafted map, and let go of the ropes he clung to for dear life. As the final wave crashed in on him, Fox closed his eyes, and reached out with his magic. He remained calm as he fell, the water closing in around him like a frozen prison, and focused everything he had on reaching out blindly for one, small, black feather floating away. There. He felt it, and wrapped a protective wind around it like an anchor, pulling it with them as the water pulled him to the deck.

  And then, just as he’d expected, his descent slowed. The waves formed a cushioned landing, rather than a deadly crash onto the planks. He sat up, sputtering and shivering, but beaming proudly at all of them, the feather hovering just over his head.

  Darby said nothing for a mo
ment, simply looked at Fox with a raised eyebrow until, “Well then?”

  Fox groaned and started pulling himself to his feet, which was much harder than usual given his water-laden furs. “Looks like I passed your test,” said Fox through chattering teeth.

  “Did you?” said Darby, a bemused smirk on his dwarven face. “Because I seem to recall, I asked you to catch the feather.”

  A moment too late, Fox realized what he meant, and turned to grab it from where it hung in the open space. But Lai beat him to it, swinging into view from the quarterdeck expertly by rope, snatching the feather from midair, and landing on the soaked planks with a devilish, self-satisfied grin. She turned to face Fox, twirling the feather between her fingertips.

  For the first time since their reunion in Thicca Valley, Fox felt like he truly had his best friend back. This was the same girl who would push him over to win races back home, and constantly win at cards. The girl who’d wrestled him to see who earned the bigger pie at dinner, and never just sat on the sides and watched. And Fox, despite his failure, couldn’t help but laugh. He threw up his hands in surrender. “Alright!” he shouted. “Captain, the win is yours!”

  He dropped low into an exaggerated bow, and amidst laughter and applause, Lai strutted dramatically over to Darby to return the feather. “I’ll be keeping score,” said Lai with a wink as she returned to her post on the quarterdeck. “Maybe next time you’ll get lucky.”

  “Maybe next time we’ll let him die,” said Darby dryly. “What were you thinking, boy?”

  Fox shrugged as Farran approached, still applauding his daughter’s trickery. “I trust all of you. I trusted Farran wouldn’t let Norda fall to her death when she slipped, just like I trusted he could feel me in the water, and wouldn’t let me fall, either.”