The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) (31 page)

With a firm grip on the man’s shoulder, Karryl hauled him upright and spun him round. “Help me get your wife out.”

As if some malevolent entity was bent on foiling the young magician’s plan, the cornerstone suddenly shifted. The woman screamed. Without thinking, Karryl dived for the shoulder-width opening beside the stone and thrust his head inside. Four feet below him the woman was huddled against a section of white-washed wall, her hands desperately clutching what remained of a colourful blanket hanging there.

Karryl wriggled forward on his stomach, stretched down his hand towards her. “Stand up, come closer and grab my hand. You have to get out of there.”

The woman shook her head. A chill washed over Karryl’s skin as the woman’s husband knelt beside him. “Her leg…I think it is broken.”

The cornerstone shifted again, sending a shower of dust and crushed rock into the littered cavity below. The woman screamed again, wrapping her arms over her head.

Pulling back from the opening, Karryl turned and looked fervently into the man’s face. “Listen to me. I am a magician. I want to do things you may not understand, but by doing them I believe I can rescue your wife.”

The man nodded but said nothing, his dark eyes widening with awe as his whole body began to tremble. Taking this as implied permission, Karryl wasted no more time. With the shaken man guided to a safe distance, he sat him down and hurried back to the cavity. The cornerstone was now leaning at an alarming angle. Pieces of tile and thatch had fallen in, narrowly missing the diminutive woman huddled in the corner.

Holding out his hand, palm forward, Karryl smiled down at her. “You’ll soon be out of there. Help has arrived.”

Her face lit up with gratitude. Karryl cringed inwardly at the little half-lie as he watched the sleep spell take effect. His heart in his mouth, he squirmed feet-first past the huge leaning stone. The sense of danger pressing him on all sides like great heavy weights, he dropped down into the ruined room, and crouched beside the woman. His hands little more than half an inch above, he quickly ran them over her sleeping form. To his great relief he discovered that her only injuries were a severely sprained ankle and a nasty bruise on the side of her face. Smiling to himself, Karryl quickly changed his plan to something far simpler and requiring less power. He would simply levitate her through the opening. It was just wide enough.

It seemed that some malevolent entity had other ideas. With a great grinding groan, the cornerstone shifted, ponderously tilting further over until its bulk lay across the width of the opening. Dust flew into Karryl’s eyes and mouth, as bits of rock showered down on his shoulders. Faster than thinking he revised his plan yet again. Thankful that he’d had the forethought to leave the man a safe distance away, Karryl recalled Symon’s instruction to ‘use your powers as you think fit.’ Aware he was about to break one of the cardinal rules of his discipline he stood up, lifted his head and drew in power. With all the impetus he could put behind it, he sent it surging into the twisted roof and the layer of rocks which pressed down on it.

Outside, the rescued man dropped to his knees and stared. A great fountain of rock, dust and debris burst high into the air, pieces spinning in all directions to fall with a rattling clatter to join the devastation below. The Ingali scrambled to his feet and stumbled across to the gaping hole. Kneeling down he peered in. Karryl crouched and eased his long arms under the Ingali woman, lifting her bodily off the cracked and tilted floor. He looked up at the man’s worried face framed by the ragged and unstable edges of the hole. He prayed that his own face wouldn’t betray the niggling fears which threatened to weaken him. What he was about to attempt he had only ever previously done with inanimate objects, although some of them had been quite large. His chief concern was not so much the execution of the spell, but whether he had sufficient power remaining to pull it off. Taking a deep breath and a firm grip on the sleeping woman, he began the spell.

Another face appeared at the edge of the hole above him. “Need a hand?”

Slowly, Karryl allowed the spell power to subside. He called up. “I think I’ve got enough left, but now you’re here…” He let the rest of the sentence hang.

Symon nodded and stood up. Holding out both hands palm upwards, his lips moved as he performed a slow mime of lifting. Karryl’s skin prickled. He held the woman firmly, as slowly and steadily they began to rise, away from the cracked and tilted stones beneath them.

Symon peered into the distance. The broken escarpment, with its little crowd of people and animals, was barely visible through the grey-brown pall which still hung in the air.

Gesturing towards them, the little magician turned to Karryl. “I’ll take the injured woman and her husband up there to their own people. They’ll look after them. You carry on. I want that Mirikani Morchelas found.”

Karryl looked across at the two villagers huddled together on the flat top of a massive piece of debris-strewn granite.

He nodded, then frowned. “I was going to get the man to help me search. His son is missing. We could look for them both.”

Symon shook his head as he gestured towards the man and his injured wife.

“Those two need to be away from here, with their own people. They’re suffering from shock as well as some minor injuries.”

Resigning himself to working solo once again, Karryl looked around him. “D’you think a locating spell would work in all this?”

Symon shook his head again. “Too specific. That only works for a known inanimate object. You need ‘Seek and Find’. That will locate living beings, even if there is only a vestige of the life-spark remaining.”

Without drawing power, Karryl carefully quoted the words of the spell.

Symon gave an assertive nod. “That’s the one. Now, I have to leave you on your own again for a while. There’s something else I need to investigate, but if my hunch is correct we shall find the enormity of our task greatly reduced.”

Not waiting for a reply from his temporarily baffled apprentice, Symon picked his way over to the shaken couple and placed his hands on their shoulders. Blue and silver motes displaced drifting dust. His mouth set in a determined line, Karryl turned to his task. As soon as this was over he would get Symon to teach him relocation.

The ‘Seek and Find’ spell proved strong and efficient. Half a dozen villagers and a varied assortment of pets and livestock were quickly located and, with great urgency and excitement, extricated from the ruins.

Using the ‘Seek and Find’ spell continuously, Karryl devoted the greater part of his powers to guiding all the uninjured men to voids beneath rocks, rubble and debris. It was not all cause for celebration. Slowly, the body count also began to rise. Despite struggling to keep his anger and frustration under control, Karryl felt no compunction about using magic freely whenever the situation demanded. Even so, the animosity of a small number of the rescued villagers towards him was unmistakeable. He soon learned to recognise the hushed tension when another body had been discovered. As each one was freed from its dark and dusty entombment, careful hands laid them gently side by side on the ground. Mangled limbs and torn flesh were hastily covered by whatever came to hand. Eyes wide with terror were tenderly closed.

Hopelessness threatened to overwhelm Karryl, as time after time he felt the life-spark flicker out, despite his efforts. His hands and clothes became torn and blood-stained, the situation increasingly demanding physical rather than magical effort. He snatched brief moments of respite as heart-felt prayers were said over the lifeless forms that had once been friends, neighbours or relatives. His mind and body began to scream in protest each time the arduous process of searching was resumed. He tried not to stare at the bloody messes extricated from beneath piles of rock, the shattered corpses released from beneath tons of crumbed and powdered mud-brick. He longed to share the grief of those survivors searching for lost family members, but as the bitter day wore on, his finer emotions buried themselves deeper.

Steeling his nerves, he concentrated on using his dwindling powers to the best advantage, chiefly maintaining the vital Seek and Find spell. He needed to rest and recoup, but there was still too much to do. He gave silent thanks that Qetzi, the son of the headman of the village had survived. Staying close on Karryl’s heels, and despite a multitude of cuts and bruises, the sturdy young Ingali was now busy organising rescue and retrieval. From far along the mile long swath of destruction a shout went up, its urgency echoing and re-echoing from the surrounding rock faces. Karryl and the rescuers hurried forward, scrambling and stumbling over piles of jumbled rocks and debris.

Two more people had been discovered. Karryl’s heart lurched as he knelt and stared into the gaping hole in the ground. Great slabs of sheared-off mountain granite leaned precariously edge to edge, creating the walls of a tapering shaft some four feet square at the top, and twenty deep. At the bottom of the shaft, on the shredded remains of a reed thatched roof, huddled an old man. Beside him lay the prone form of Morchelas. It seemed to Karryl that the Mirikani was dead. Looking up, the old man clasped his hands together in a silent plea for help.

Cupping his hands round his mouth, Karryl called down. “Try not to move. We’re going to get you out.”

Easing back from the edge of the shaft, Karryl sat back on his heels, Qetzi, the young head-man crouched beside him. “How can we do this? It looks very dangerous.”

Karryl looked about, hoping to catch sight of Symon. With his help he could levitate the old man and Morchelas out of the shaft. There was no sign of the little magician.

Karryl shook his head. “I can’t do this alone; not with magic. My powers are almost drained. Someone has to get down into that hole and bring them out.”

Qetzi’s dark eyes met Karryl’s. With an assertive nod he scrambled to his feet. “Wait here. I think I know how to do this.”

* * *

Minutes later Qetzi reappeared. Accompanied by two other scratched and bruised young men, he struggled under the weight of a snapped-off tree trunk. Passing on either side of the shaft opening, they carefully laid the tree across it. Satisfied it was long enough, the three Ingalis began to take off their torn clothes.

His voice fraught with tension Karryl called out. “What are you doing? Keep your clothes on. At least they’ll provide some protection.”

Qetzi held up two homespun shirts and tied the sleeves together. He waved them at Karryl. “See! We make a rope. That way we go down into the hole.”

The young magician stepped carefully over the jumbled surface. He shook his head as he surveyed the three men and their pitifully small pile of clothing. “It won’t reach. Not even with everything you have there tied together. It just won’t be enough.”

The men didn’t argue. Despondently they gathered up the clothes and put them back on. Karryl watched their faces. He knew he had been harsh, but he had only voiced what was painfully obvious. Once again he looked around for some sign of Symon, but could see nothing to indicate where he might be. There was only one option left open to him. His reserves of power were now not enough to achieve a double levitation. Qetzi’s idea, however, was still viable. Karryl knew the effort would completely drain him, but it was the only chance they had to get the old man and Morchelas out. Moving to the edge of the shaft Karryl looked down, estimating the depth. The old man peered back up at him and raised a frail hand. Morchelas had not moved. Karryl’s heart thumped with trepidation. Stepping back from the edge, he took a long moment to work a calming spell. The power required was negligible. It would be worth it. Drawing in as much power as he could muster, he centred his concentration. Then he began.

To conserve power, he focussed on a spot near his feet, letting the ground take the extra weight. Physically fatigued, he found the process did not come easily to him. It seemed to take forever, but he persevered, perspiration trailing pale streaks down his dusty face. The complex spell concluded, with the final surge of completion the last of his power drained away. He sank to his knees, his fingers closing thankfully over the reassuring tangibility of the coil of thin rope now lying beside him. Almost reverentially, the three Ingalis crouched down beside him.

Awestruck, Qetzi touched the rope. “Is it real?”

Karryl nodded. “As real as those clothes you’re wearing.”

Lifting the end of the coil, he hefted the rope, running the narrow grey length through his fingers. “I opted for strength rather than thickness. It might only just be long enough, but it’ll hold.”

Urged on by an excited babble, Qetzi’s eager fingers dextrously knotted one end of the slender cord round the tree trunk lying horizontally across the hole. He watched as the remainder of the coil tumbled downwards then turned and gave Karryl an approving nod.

Lying across the arms of the Ingali villager, the tiny body hung limply, his once smart clothes and white blonde hair now grey with dust. The young magician picked his way carefully over the rubble to where the man stood, and passed his hands over Morchelas’ body. He felt nothing. With the help of some of the rescued Ingalis, Karryl cleared a reasonably level space among the tumbled stones. Oblivious to the awed and astonished expressions of the onlookers, he took the Mirikani from the man’s arms and lowered him carefully onto the ground. Forced to try traditional methods rather than magic, Karryl looked about him.

He called out. “I need my pack. Could someone bring it please?”

The pack was quickly found and placed eagerly in his hands. He stared. Undeterred by the experience of its village collapsing into a massive hole, a hardy goat had chewed a large chunk out of the shoulder strap. It had already begun to sample the flap and its fastenings when it was disturbed. Karryl grimaced, then shrugged. Watched closely by a huddle of battered survivors, he unbuckled the soggy straps and delved into one of the many inner pockets of the capacious pack. The unwillingness of those rescued to move away from the scene of so much loss and distress hardly surprised him. He suspected that if he was able to restore Morchelas, at least to showing some signs of life, these simple people would instantly elevate the two magicians to near god-like status. With some apprehension Karryl realised that if that should happen, they would be expected to perform miraculous acts far beyond the scope of their powers.

His scrabbling fingers made contact with the tiny black glass bottle. Easing out the cork stopper, he palmed the bottle before drawing his hand out of his pack. Leaning over Morchelas he held his hand just below the Mirikani’s nostrils for a few seconds. There was no response. With a slight shake of his head, Karryl slipped the bottle of pungent crystals into the pocket of his tunic and sat back on his heels. He felt suddenly tired and defeated. Rubbing his hands over his dry, dusty face, he looked around for some sign of Symon. All he saw was ruin and destruction in shades of brown and grey. Hope in their dark eyes, anxious faces looked down at him.

He smiled weakly up at them. “I shall have to think of something else.”

From behind the small group of men who stood watching, a young woman stepped forward, clutching a battered tin bowl. Thick strands of her long black hair had escaped from their shell combs, her embroidered skirt was torn, and she was missing a sandal. Picking her way quickly past the unmoving form of Morchelas, she crouched down in front of Karryl and offered him the bowl.

Her voice was soft and reassuring. “Perhaps, young master, this will help.”

A sigh of relief escaped from Karryl’s lips as he saw what the bowl contained. Glinting cool and clear, it was almost two-thirds full of fresh water. With a grin of gratitude, the young magician raised the bowl to his lips and allowed a small amount to trickle down his parched throat.

He looked up to see the woman standing and smiling down at him. “Give some to the Mirikani.”

Before he could answer, the woman had turned away and slipped back behind the watching men-folk. It was only when he took another swallow of the water that Karryl thought he detected a slight trace in the air of something which hadn’t been there before. Carefully balancing the bowl with its precious contents, he lurched to his feet and scrambled across the tumbled stones. He looked behind the men and outwards in every direction. There was no sign of the woman. With a brief shake of his head, he dismissed the idea and picked his way back to kneel beside Morchelas’ unmoving form.

With some repugnance, he pushed his fingers between the Mirikani’s thin lips and slowly eased the perfect white teeth apart. Holding the bowl close to the small mouth, Karryl fed in the water one slow drop at a time, watching for any sign of life in the tiny body. After half a dozen drops, he drew back and settled on his heels. The onlookers had shuffled nearer. He could feel their closeness as they too waited for some kind of response. Time crawled agonisingly by.

Morchelas coughed. Karryl started. The men shuffled hurriedly backwards.

The bowl of water held steady, Karryl slipped his hand behind Morchelas’ head and lifted it away from its stone pillow. Placing the bowl against his half open mouth, Karryl tipped it gently. The Mirikani spluttered, dribbled, and swallowed. His eyes opened. With one look at Karryl, the tiny golden-skinned face screwed up in dismay and he began to cry.

“Shut up!”

Karryl looked up in surprise, then realised that the sharp authoritative voice was his own. Equally surprised, Morchelas swallowed hard and ceased his howling. With one hand firmly on the little man’s chest, Karryl turned and looked up into the distance to the broad ledge where they had earlier taken refuge. The young magician allowed himself a wry smile. He could just make out the figure of Conjiber prancing and capering up and down the ledge, waving his arms furiously in the air. Silently Karryl gave thanks for Symon’s spell of restriction, then turned his attention once more to the agitated Mirikani’s twin brother.

Almost grudgingly, Karryl pushed the bowl of water towards his captive. “Here, drink a drop more, don’t guzzle it. There’s others here who need to drink.”

Both tiny hands round the bowl, Morchelas took one deep gulp before releasing it back into Karryl’s hand. His voice was a thin, nervous squeak. “Thank you. Thank you.”

The young magician’s reply was accompanied by a dark frown. “Stay there and don’t move.”

Karryl pushed himself wearily to his feet and held out the bowl of water to a nearby Ingali woman. She grabbed it and drank greedily before passing the bowl to the man next to her. After the fourth man had drunk, Karryl held his hand out for the empty bowl. The villager who was holding it shook his head, took a deep swig, wiped his mouth and handed the bowl down to an elderly couple huddled together on the ground. From that angle, Karryl could see into the bowl. It was still two-thirds full of fresh, sparkling water. Eyes closed, he rubbed his hands over his face to hide the inappropriate grin which had suddenly bloomed. For a few seconds his eyes stung with unshed tears. Pulling himself together, he opened his eyes and turned to Morchelas.

Reverting to the Albitan language he asked “Are you injured?”

The Mirikani made a show of feeling about his body. “No, young master. Not hurt. Can help you now, yes?”

Karryl crouched down and glared at him. “You’ve done enough for one day. These people know nothing of your involvement in this…as yet. If you want things to remain that way, I suggest you stay exactly where you are until we’re ready to leave.”

Moving closer until their faces were almost touching, Karryl softly murmured a few more words, before standing up. He looked down at Morchelas.

A thin smile of satisfaction crossed his face as he studied the trembling Mirikani. “Remember what I told you.”

His expression despondent, the little man nodded. Hugging his knees, he watched as Karryl and a small group of village men-folk, one carefully cradling the bowl of precious water, scrambled away, heading towards the centre of the disaster area. Over half the inhabitants of the once bustling village were still unaccounted for. There was still much to do.

* * *

About two hours and many thankful rescues later Symon returned, looking clean, refreshed and with a twinkle in his dove-grey eyes. “My hunch was correct. Help is on its way.”

Looking across to where a sore, scraped and sullen Morchelas sat hunched beside a boulder, Karryl’s dusty face split into a grin. The grin remained as he glanced at Symon. “Yes, I know. She arrived some time ago. What kept you?”

Symon gave an uncharacteristic shrug and made a show of removing a chip of stone from his sandal. “Oh, just…things.”

Poised to ask half a dozen questions, Karryl was checked by Symon’s raised finger. “And we have orders to keep our distance. I suggest we remove these good people and their animals to safety, then do the same for ourselves.”

He frowned across at Morchelas. “Have you put any restraint on that creature?”

Karryl shook his head. “No need. I simply threatened to turn him into a lizard if he as much as moved.”

Symon raised an eyebrow. “When did you learn to do that?”

Using his hand to shield his mouth, Karryl lowered his voice. “I can’t… yet …but he thinks I can. And these people consider baked lizard quite a delicacy.”

The little magician gave a snort of mild disgust. “Yes. Well, you can maintain the pretence for a while longer until we’ve finished questioning the pair of them.”

He opened his mouth to say something else. Instead he swallowed hard, grabbed a handful of Karryl’s sleeve and pulled him around to face the newly formed escarpment which loomed at the far end of the village site. Surrounded by a few dozen villagers, a cluster of squealing children and a motley flock of sheep and goats, the two magicians in unison murmured a prayer of thanks. Smooth and seamless as woven silk, a broad, arrow-straight band of shimmering blue light cut through the air. From the edge of the escarpment, it soared over the top of the tumbled ruins, the end coming to rest a scant yard from their feet.

Karryl took a pace backwards. “That was close. Seems she’s in a bit of a hurry.”

In the fading light he could make out people milling about on the top of the escarpment. He pointed in their direction. “They don’t know what it is.”

Patting his palms together, Symon’s eyes glinted with resolve. “Then we shall have to show them.” He gestured behind him. “Grab a goat and an able bodied man and follow me.”

Not certain his various talents would stretch to the successful capture of a skittish goat, Karryl explained what Symon wanted to the little group. After a short discussion in a local patois which left him way behind, one of the men casually hauled a rather fierce looking billy goat out of the small rescued flock and nodded wordlessly at Karryl.

Two magicians, one man and a goat stepped warily onto the edge of the broad blue lane. It felt firm and steady beneath their feet. Confident in the power of his goddess, Symon strode forward. Reassured, the man let go of the goat, turned, and beckoned to his people. Karryl leapt forward, just managing to wrap his arms round the animal’s neck before it toppled over the edge. Cursing it for its stupidity, he stripped out the cord which laced the front of his tunic, made a loop and slipped it over one of the goat’s huge curved horns. Hauling the somewhat reluctant goat behind him, he started after Symon who was already over a quarter the way along. A quick glance back and down assured him that the Mirikani was closely encircled by the crowd of villagers who now followed after.

Seeing what was happening, the people high up on the escarpment put their suspicions and fears aside and begun to hurry down towards them. Twenty minutes later, those stranded on the mountainside, rescued villagers and magicians all met about three-quarters of the way up the divinely manufactured road. Tears rolled down dusty faces as children were hugged, those thought lost were greeted effusively, and words of sympathy flowed in a respectful and steady murmur. All this done to their satisfaction, every villager’s attention turned to Symon. Not having studied or spoken Ingali as recently as his apprentice, the little magician found himself struggling to explain that the magical road was not of his making.

Still towing the goat behind him, Karryl pushed forward and tapped Symon on the shoulder. “Should I tell them the truth?”

Symon gave an emphatic nod. “Definitely. Just leave out the involvement of Conjiber and Morchelas for now. I don’t want them mobbed into pieces until we’ve got to the bottom of this whole disastrous business. There’s a few other things D’ta wants you to tell them as well, so listen carefully and translate exactly what I tell you.”

By the time Symon had finished, they were completely surrounded by villagers and livestock, and Karryl thought his brain was going to burst. His broad brow furrowed. “What do they call her in these parts?”

Tinged with some amusement, a soft melodious voice tickled Karryl’s hearing. “In these parts I am called Sirimina-makeli-lo. As I am through all of Ingalia.”

Karryl looked at his feet as he felt his face begin to redden. “Sorry. I didn’t realise that was you.”

The goddess chuckled. “Just be careful how you pronounce it when you’re explaining the situation to them. It only needs one slip to make my name mean something completely different.”

Karryl grinned. “I think I’ve already worked that out. There’s a bit of difference between ‘the one who brings light’ and ‘she who washes stones.’ Although, I can’t see any reason why anyone would want to wash stones.” He paused for a moment. “Why that particular name?”

D’ta’s frown transmitted itself through her voice. “It’s an old legend. I’ll tell you about it sometime. At the moment, those kind of thoughts are quite irrelevant. It hardly matters what I am called. What matters is that these poor people understand what has happened and that they will receive all the help they need. And speed it up a bit. Grandfather is working very hard to maintain the stability of this road.”

Puzzled, Karryl nodded as he turned to Symon. “Can you hear D’ta?”

Despite the circumstances, the little magician’s expression was almost blissful. “Oh. Yes. Every word. Now, I suggest you make a start, and tell these people what’s going on, and what they need to know.”