A Distant Magic (4 page)

Chapter
FOUR

A
DIA,
W
EST
A
FRICA
1752

Adia straightened up from hoeing yams, her back aching. Her family grew the best yams in the village, but much work was required.
"I'll be glad when Abeje finishes her initiation and is back here doing her
share!"

Her mother laughed. "You'll be even more glad when you are initiated yourself, little one, but you must wait a few years for that." She glanced up at the sun.
"Why don't you and Chike play while I feed the baby?"

The fatigue of hoeing vanished instantly. While her mother took the baby to the side of the field, Adia and Chike began a game of tag among the yam plants, running for the pure fun of it. Sometimes Adia let her little brother catch her even though he was only four and had short legs.

In later years, Adia would wonder if their squeals of delight were what brought the slavers to them, but probably not. Slavers were very good at finding victims.

The first warning came when she glanced up to see a party of large, menacing men emerge from the forest, spears ready and mouths silent. They were not Iske like her, but some other tribe she didn't recognize. As she stared, frightened, her mother cried out,
"Run, Adia! Help your brother!"

Her mother gestured with both hands and sent a blast of magic across the field, raising a cloud of thick, eye-stinging dust between Adia and Chike and the men. Then she scooped up the baby and raced into the forest, unable to do more for her children.

Slavers!
Adia heard them swearing and coughing from the dust. Her mother had given her children a little time. Adia ran to her brother and grabbed his hand.
"Come!" she gasped. "The bad men will steal us!"

Chike ran as fast as he could, aided by Adia's tugging hand. If only she had been initiated! She came from a family of priests and priestesses, and someday she would have power enough to fight evil men, but all she had now was her speed and her stubbornness.

They were not enough. With a shout of satisfaction, the slavers burst through the dust cloud and caught Adia and Chike before they could escape into the forest. Brutal hands knocked Adia to the ground and tied her wrists behind her. The same was done to Chike, who was crying frantically.

One of the slavers said, "These brats won't be worth much." The language he spoke was not Iske, but it was similar enough to the dialect of a neighboring tribe that Adia could understand.

Another said, "They're worth a bar or two of iron if they
survive, so we might as well take them."

He yanked Chike to his feet while the first slaver did the same to Adia. Her knees and arms were bleeding from her fall. For as long as anyone could remember, slavers had preyed on the Iske and other tribes. No one who was taken ever returned. Her favorite cousin and his best friend had vanished one day, taken by slavers.

As the raiders dragged Adia and Chike away, she thought of her father's slaves, warriors who had been taken in tribal warfare, but that was different from kidnapping children.
Help me, Grandmother,
she prayed silently. She had been close to her mother's mother, Monifa, who had died only a year ago. As she prayed, she felt the spirit touch of her grandmother's hands.
Survive, little one. There is hope for the future.

Adia closed her eyes, thanking the ancestors for helping her mother and the baby escape. Then she prayed that her father and the other hunters would come after the slavers and rescue Adia and Chike.

Hope faded as they joined with a larger band of slavers and were marched out of the fruitful valley of the Iske. The group headed west, toward the great sea. There were dozens of other captives manacled together in long lines that made it impossible for anyone to escape. The first time Adia saw a skeleton lying forgotten in the bush, she shuddered at the knowledge that some poor captive had died on a march like this one.

Soon she had seen enough skeletons to barely notice them. As more weeks passed, she began to envy those who had died and no longer had to walk or drink stagnant water or try to survive on a handful of cooked grain a day.

There were a few brighter moments. A tall, strongly built youth named Mazi was shackled behind Chike, and he carried the child for long hours every day. He and Adia spoke different languages, but he made it clear that he considered her brother no burden. Then the slavers met with another group. Sales were made, captives were swapped, and Mazi was taken off by the others. Adia missed him. Only a few years older than she, he had been nearly a man, not a child, and she had felt safer with him near.

Chike died a week before they reached the coast. Adia prayed over his thin body, asking the ancestors to take special care of his spirit because he was only small. Then a slaver jerked her to her feet, and she had to start marching again.

But she would not die, no, not her. Adia of the Iske would survive, and someday she would find a way to make the slavers pay.

Chapter
FIVE

T
he
Mercury
's leisurely progress through the crowded harbor at Marseilles gave Jean ample time to go mad with excitement. She managed to control herself enough that she didn't jump up and down, but she and Annie hung over the railing by the bow, drinking in the sights and smells of France.

"They'll never believe this back in Dunrath," Annie said happily.
"I'll be telling tales to my grandchildren about my trip to Marseilles."

"So will I," Jean said, though she was less certain about grandchildren in her case.

The sun reflected brilliantly from the sea, and even with her broad-brimmed hat, she had to use her hand to shade her eyes as she studied the people waiting on the shore. Had the schooner been identified early enough so that her friends would be waiting?

"Try this, Miss Macrae." Captain Gordon appeared and handed her his spyglass.
"Perhaps you'll be able to see your friends."

"Thank you." Jean put the spyglass to her right eye and slowly scanned the waterfront.
"There they are!"

The thralls had changed so much that she might have missed the group if not for the tall, dark presence of Moses Fontaine. With skin like ebony and a gentleman's elegance, his presence and his African heritage made him unmistakable.

Holding his arm was his blond bride-to-be, Lily Winters. She had been frail to the point of collapse when she and her friends had been freed from thralldom. Now she was graceful and healthy, with an elegance to match that of Moses. Born the daughter of a village apothecary, now she was every inch a lady.

Moving about more restlessly were Jemmy and Breeda, the other betrothed couple. Of the four thralls, Jemmy had been in the direst straits. He had been a chimney sweep, a starved and pallid boy who looked unlikely to survive to adulthood. Now he was fit and strong and tanned. Never having had a surname, he'd decided to call himself James King once he gained his freedom.
"Jemmy" to his friends.

Last was Bridget O'Malley, the Irish serving girl whose carrot-red hair rivaled Jean's bright locks. After being freed, Breeda's greatest ambition had been to learn how to read and write. Jean had taught her and Jemmy, and the letters they'd written over the years were a testament to how well the two had learned. Jean thought the pair were living proof that breeding meant much less than opportunity. Breeda and Jemmy had always had intelligence. Once they were freed and given the chance to grow, that potential had blossomed.

"Would you like to look?" She passed the spyglass to Annie.

"I never knew there were so many kinds of people in the world!" her companion exclaimed as she examined the port.
"Black skin, white, brown, and every shade between. And the way they dress! It's
not like Dunrath, Miss Jean."

"Indeed, it's not." Jean studied the buildings and hills around the harbor hungrily, thinking that an advantage of being a maiden aunt was the freedom to travel. She took off her bonnet and waved, at the same time trying to send a mental message to her friends. Either the hat or the mind touch worked, because Breeda saw her and waved excitedly, quickly followed by the others.

Docking seemed to take forever, but soon enough Jean was able to skip down the gangplank to the shore while Annie stayed behind to supervise removal of their baggage. Breeda reached Jean first and they hugged, laughing and crying at once. The circumstances under which they'd met had created a bond that went deep. As she embraced Lily, Jean said,
"You all look wonderful! Marseilles has been good to you."

"Marseilles and Moses's family." An orphan when she was enthralled, Lily had gone gladly to her betrothed's warm, accepting household.

"You've become smaller, Miss Jean," Jemmy said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
"You're just a little bit of a thing."

"You're not so very tall yourself, Mr. King," she retorted.
"But Breeda wrote that you're the most sought-after jockey in the south of
France."

"I am that," he said with great satisfaction. "And turning into a
fair trainer, too."

Moses, always the leader of the quartet, gestured toward the two carriages waiting behind them.
"Come, Miss Jean, we will take you home."

His lanky frame had filled out into the solid muscles of a man. Moses had been born in Zanzibar as the eldest son of a shrewd merchant who had moved his family and the headquarters of his trading empire to France when Moses was six.

As acknowledged heir to the business, Moses had been given a first-class education and spoke several languages. Then he had been kidnapped into thralldom. After Moses's release, he and his family had taken in the other thralls, who had nowhere else to go. The four young people had flourished, recovering from their enslavement as they matured to full adulthood.

The rest of the day passed quickly as they traveled to Moses's family compound and settled in. The sprawling Fontaine household had multiple courtyards that contained fountains and gardens. Moses said it was modeled after the family compound in Zanzibar. Jean was entranced by the way inside and outside flowed together. Not like Scotland, where a house's main purpose was to keep the weather safely outside.

Moses's parents greeted Jean as if she had personally saved their son's life instead of merely being his tutor. The Falconers were the true rescuers; if Meg and Simon ever came to Marseilles, they would be treated like royalty. In the meantime, the Fontaines lavished their gratitude on Jean.

After a sumptuous dinner that combined the best of French cooking with some African dishes spiced differently from anything Jean had ever tasted, the elders tactfully withdrew so that Jean and her four friends could talk in private. The salon where they gathered had a balcony open to the mild night air. As Jean sipped excellent sherry, she thought she could become very fond of Mediterranean living.

The weddings were still weeks away, but the three women discussed the details until Jemmy and Moses looked ready to flee. Taking pity on the men, Jean turned the topic to magic.
"I see a shimmer of energy connecting you. Do you still feel as closely linked
as when you were in England?"

The four exchanged glances. "Yes, though it's different from when Lord Drayton had us enthralled," Lily said.

"And God be thanked for that!" Breeda added.

"We are always aware of one another's feeling and presence," Moses said,
"but we've had no need to meld our powers."

"So we've not killed anyone lately," Jemmy finished with acid humor.

"I'm glad to hear that." Jean took another sip of sherry, knowing that wasn't a joke.
"But you've become most adept at finishing one another's sentences."

Moses shrugged. "We are part of one another, Miss Jean. Marriage is the logical next step." His warm gaze went to Lily.

Breeda reached out to take Jemmy's hand. "We would wither
if separated."

Power made it possible for mates to join with special intensity. Jean had seen that among the Guardian families, most closely with her parents and now her brother and his wife. She had loved Robbie, and his death had left a hole in her heart that no other man had ever filled. Losing him had devastated her, so perhaps it was just as well that marriage to a Guardian wasn't in her future. If the closeness was greater than she'd known with him, loss would be beyond bearing.

"Have you studied magic since coming here?" Though individually none of them but Moses had unusual power, when they worked together they were rather terrifying.
"I've wondered, but, of course, it's not the sort of thing one can ask in a
letter."

"Several French Guardians worked with us, teaching shielding and control." Lily turned her glass goblet in her hand, her expression troubled.
"Those lessons were welcome, but I haven't wanted to go further. My experiences
with serious magic have not been pleasant. I enjoy helping others with my
potions and lotions. That is enough."

The others silently nodded. "We're not really Guardians, Miss Jean," Breeda said.
"I hope Lord and Lady Falconer won't be too disappointed to hear how we haven't
pursued our studies."

Jean smiled ruefully. "I'm not much of a Guardian myself, so I'm in no position to chastise you. I sometimes think magic is more trouble than it's worth." Though it could be most useful when one was in trouble.

Conversation drifted to other topics until Breeda rose, smothering a yawn.
"I'm for bed now. Tomorrow we can show you more of the city, Miss Jean. Is there
anything in particular you would like to see? The chapel of Notre Dame de la
Garde is splendid, and it has the most magnificent views of the city."

"I should love to see the chapel, and any other sights you deem worthy." Jean debated before adding,
"It's very low of me, but I also wish to buy gifts for friends and family.
There's no rush on that, though, since I'll be here for months."

Lily chuckled. "Breeda and I will be happy to help you spend your
money. One of the best places in the city is actually the Fontaine showroom.
Though the family business is primarily importing, several years ago Moses
thought to open an emporium to sell directly to the public. It has been a great
success."

"And you will get very special prices," Moses added.

"I will pay the usual price," Jean said firmly. "I am already
benefiting by your generosity."

"We shall see," Lily said mischievously as she rose and said good night. Breeda and Jemmy followed her from the room, their hands linked.

Not yet ready to retire, Jean took her remaining sherry out to the balcony. Moses joined her.
"Will you need a guide back to your chambers, Miss Jean?"

She laughed. "I might. Maison Fontaine is the next thing to a
labyrinth."

"I shall escort you back when you're ready." He smiled, his teeth a white flash against his dark skin.
"And provide you with a spool of thread so you can mark your way in the future."

"I may take you up on that." She gazed out at the scattered lights of the city and the dark curve of the sea beyond.
"It's beautiful here, but do you miss Africa?"

He leaned on the railing, his dark face limned by moonlight.
"Sometimes. I was only a child when we left Zanzibar, but twice I accompanied my
father back for long visits. Though he took the family name Fontaine and lives
as a French gentleman, he does not want us to forget our roots."

"You won't. But if your children are born here, they will."

He sighed. "I know. And they will be half European, caught between
two worlds even more than I."

"We are all outsiders in some way. Those who have magic stand apart from those who don't." She finished her sherry in one swallow.
"Guardians with little power are apart from those who are great mages. And men
and women seem to be entirely different breeds much of the time."

He laughed. "You're right. My true home is in Lily, Jemmy, and
Breeda. All of us outsiders, yet together whole."

"It's something of a miracle that the flower of love and friendship has grown out of the despair of your experiences." Would she have been willing to endure the enslavement of her selfhood and will if the reward was a deep and lasting love like that which joined her friends? Probably not—the thought of losing her soul to an evil man like Drayton was too horrifying.

"The others have put aside magic," Moses said hesitantly. "That
has not been entirely true of me."

She wasn't surprised by his admission. "You always seemed
the most interested in the subject. What have you learned?"

"I asked a ship captain who carries much merchandise for my father
to find me an African shaman, and he did. Sekou stayed in Marseilles and tutored
me for a year and a day. He said there were things he must teach me that would
be essential later."

When he fell silent, Jean asked, "What did you learn? Are European
and African forms of magic different?"

"In some ways they are like, in others unlike. The ancestors are very powerful in African magic." His voice gathered intensity.
"I learned so much, Miss Jean! Sekou guided me in an initiation where I walked on other worlds. Not physically, of course, but in my mind. Yet so clear, so vivid, that if I touched fire, I was burned. I learned from Sekou that some African shamans have special abilities to work with time and place that I've not heard of in European magic. I don't know if I have those abilities, but he taught me the techniques, and I practice daily. A lifetime would not be enough to learn it all." He caught himself.
"Forgive my enthusiasm. I have wanted to speak of this, but the others have not
been keen on hearing."

"I'd like to learn more, if you have the time to tell me," Jean said, fascinated.
"My brother's wife is a scholar of magic, and she won't forgive me if I waste
such an opportunity to acquire more knowledge."

"I will share willingly." His expression turned grim. "One reason I decided to study more was the need to wield magic to protect myself. There are those who see a black man in the streets and think him a slave for the stealing. Twice I have been attacked by gangs who wanted to capture and enslave me. Once I was able to fight my way free with my fists. The other time…" He shook his head.
"Without magic, I might now be working in the sugar plantations of the Indies.
But I do not like having blood on my hands."

She winced at his flat recitation. "I've heard that happens in
England as well. It didn't occur to me that a man who is clearly a gentleman
like you would be at risk."

"Black is black," he said drily. "The rest is mere clothing. I've
not told the others this, though perhaps Jemmy suspects that I have had trouble.
I don't want Lily to know that...that I had to kill a man to preserve my freedom."

"I won't tell her." Jean's eyes narrowed. "If you
want absolution for killing to save yourself, you have mine, for what it's
worth."

He exhaled softly. "I think that is what I wanted. Thank you, Miss Jean." He offered her his arm.
"Shall I escort you back to your chambers?"

"Please do, Monsieur Fontaine." She took his arm. "And don't
forget the spool of thread for future travels!"