Dead Letter (3 page)

The
bright yellow lateen sail of the ferry came into view, gliding
toward the pier. “Here comes my ride,” said Kettna. “You don’t have
to wait to see me off.”

“
Won’t you stay another night?” asked the Chamberlain. “Come
and have a meal with us before you leave.”

“
Thank you, but no. You and Mother are so busy. Cold plates
and awkward silences are not what I want right now.”

“
Please, Kett. It won’t be like that.”

“
The alternative will be hot food and harsh words. I don’t
need Mother’s direction. I need to find Rix.”

“
If you won’t come then you must hear this from me. There is a
guild matter you have been tasked with.”

“
What? Fetch a keg of Tillydale mead from the Cog and Wheel? I
know that’s all you ever go to the city for.”

The
Chamberlain laughed. “I won’t say no to that! It may be difficult
to believe, but in this case there is something more important.” He
pulled a scroll from his inner robe. It was bound in red string and
bore the golden wax seal of the Order, which depicted the great
founder, Calim, offering the dragon, Daniakesh, an open chest of
treasure. “Take this to Mertin’s Alchemy and Sundries on Flint
Street.”

“
Aha! The truth of it comes to the fore. That place is right
across from the Cog and Wheel.”

“
It is, although that’s not why you’ve been asked to take the
message. Master Mertin is behind in his lease payments to the
Order.”

“
I’m hardly the muscle you need to extract a debt. Why send
me?”

“
No, no. There is no need for muscle. Mertin is instructed to
provide you with board and lodging to add some black ink to the red
on his account with us. I am sure he will find the arrangement more
than respectable.”

Kettna
took the edict and added it to her bag. “I’ll visit him directly,
though if he hesitates to accept the terms, I will pay my own way
at the Cog and Wheel. It’s as fine a place as any and I know you’ve
spoken well of it.”

When the
ferry pulled up at the pier, a load of passengers disembarked, each
carrying woven bags and crates full of extravagances mages couldn’t
get on the Isle of Solitude. They were a rowdy bunch of
apprentices, returning from an excursion with Professor Toosel and
Reader Biccin, both of whom held a belly full of Calimskan cheer
and cheeks as red as the ripe grapes they carried. Kettna
remembered the excitement of her first trip across the lake to see
the city and felt the same nervous tension again. Leaving her
quarantine on the island filled her with the thrill of escape and
growing unease at beginning the assigned post.

Swallowing her apprehension, she tucked the edict into her
bag and gave her father a farewell hug.

“
I’ll miss you,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Mother will too.
I’ll tell her you said goodbye. Good luck, Kett. I hope you find
the love you seek.”

***

Novice Kettna walked the pier to the skiff, keen to get
aboard and away before another guild edict could be hastily written
to deny her freedom. The ferryman gave her a toothy smile and
dipped his head with a casual bow. “Half a silver,
Mistress.”

Kettna
opened her purse and blushed. “I’ve only full tabs of gold. I’m
sorry, do you have change?”

“
Course I do, Mistress,” replied the tanned sailor, with a
wink. “Long as you don’t mind a purse full of
clippings.”

Kettna
didn’t know what to say. Clippings wouldn’t be suitable at all and
she didn’t want to get cheated. She could lose half the value of a
gold tab in an unbalanced transaction. The novice turned down the
pier, looking for her father. Maybe he would have more appropriate
shine for the ferryman.

“
Tis a jibe, Mistress. All for a jest. I’ve more change than
these fickle winds have tickle. Truth be told, a stick of gold is a
welcome sight to halve my blight of silver.”

Kettna
laughed and handed him the tab, which shone polished and proud
under the sun. “You like wordplay?”

“
I do indeed, Mistress. What better to do than mess with words
in passing time. Do you like perchance to rhyme?” He opened a belt
pouch and counted out nine tabs of silver and added a half tab to
balance the sale.

Kettna
took the change then accepted the ferryman’s polite hand to step
into the skiff. “Of course you must know, it’s particular to my
occupation, to weave a worded stitch for mystic
fabrication.”

“
Very good, Mistress! We shall have a time of it this
afternoon.” The ferryman welcomed several more passengers aboard in
the same jovial manner. All were blue robed adepts. Behind her were
two men in deep conversation, followed by a lone woman, none of
whom returned the ferryman’s welcoming rhymes. This made Kettna
smile. The Order of Calim was not known for its frivolity. Kettna
received a polite nod from each, but they kept to themselves. She
was a mere green-robed novice and due no more respect than a tabby
cat would presume from a tiger.

The
ferry disembarked, lolling around in a lazy circle until a decent
breeze propelled them out into the Lake of Tears, leaving the Order
of Calim behind them. The Tower of Arcana stood like a giant
sentinel over the Isle of Solitude. Cupped around the tower, like
Calim’s nurturing hand, was the Great Library, brimming with the
accumulated knowledge of the greatest sorcerers Oranica had ever
known. Wanderer’s Wood grew like a lush green wall, protecting the
community of mages from the insistent westerly gusts that sped
across the lake. Small fields grew vegetables, with shadehouses and
glasshouses growing botanicals collected from other lands. While
the island community was self-sufficient for the most part,
Calimska was the hub of commerce. The Golden City satisfied any
desire, if you had the shine.

With her
home in the distance, Kettna felt the pinch of regret’s claws
tighten her shoulders. She was so desperate to chase after Rix that
she had forgotten the security which the island offered. She could
handle leaving her mother, less so her father, but leaving the
familiarity of the island for a whole year was daunting. In
Calimska she’d be an awkward outsider, whereas on the island she
was just the odd one out. For all the strange looks she got in the
halls of home, a mage would attract far more in
Calimska.

On the
Isle of Solitude, she had grown up studying molluscs in rock pools
and practising newfound magic on grasshoppers in the gardens. She
remembered Daniakesh, circling over Calimska with her silver wings
reflecting the blinding hot sun of dragon season, driving off any
migrating dragons fool enough to lust for her hoard or a coupling.
Kettna was a little girl then and didn’t understand why Daniakesh
deserted her horde and left Calimska defenceless. She’d grown to
understand that no one else knew any better. The elders argued
their opinions with the professors and deans and there was never a
satisfactory conclusion. In a guild with a penchant for merciless
critique, no single mind among the Order presented a clear and
faultless theory.

While
the elders of the Order argued over reasons, the Guildmaster moved
for action, raising a magical shield to cocoon the entire city in
safety. His mastery of the arcane was beyond anything the Order had
known since Calim himself. If one sorcerer could wield such power,
to protect every citizen from dragon attack, surely a novice could
help protect the people from themselves. It was a noble thought and
Kettna was glad of the moral drapery to screen out the glare of her
self-serving motivations. She’d help the city folk because they
needed it, not because she wanted to.

The
sorceress beside Kettna gripped the seat with white knuckles and
forced a nervous smile.

“
Scared of the water?” asked Kettna.

“
No, just the way it moves. I’d be happier to swim.” The woman
removed her blue cowl and took a few deep breaths, staring toward
the city docks. This adept had distracted Kettna before in the
Great Library, drawing her attention from one tome or another. She
had only met the adept’s eyes once, but such a woman was not one to
be forgotten. The sorceress possessed the whimsical, poetic beauty
reserved for an artist’s muse. Full lips, satin skin and wavy, ash
blonde hair. An allure that stole your gaze from a distance and
turned it away up close, for fear of staring too long.

Kettna found herself doing just that. “Have you tried
using
Grall’s Easer
?” she asked, drawn to help her fellow guilder.

“
I’ve no turmeric? You?”

“
Ginger will do well enough.” Kettna offered her a pouch from
her component belt.

“
Really? I’m not much for substitution. Follow the recipe, as
they say.”

“
Shall I? You look a little off focus.”

“
Please. If you don’t mind.” The woman’s complexion paled with
each roll and pitch of the boat.

It was a
simple cantrip, known by any midwife worth her silver. While the
Order’s approved spell books insisted on powdered turmeric, hedge
witches and village clerics used ginger to the same effect. It was
cheaper and more readily available than turmeric and Kettna found
the energetic variance negligible for the spell’s application.
While summoning a connection to the weave, Kettna dipped her thumb
into the small pouch of powdered ginger and took hold of the
adept’s wrist, massaging between the ulna and radius. Once her
connection felt stable her own body sympathised with rising nausea.
The novice released the spell with a string of focus words and
images, ingrained through study and experimentation. The weave
yielded and a rush of magic flowed through Kettna with its euphoric
caress. A glowing wave rolled up the adept’s arm and broke in a
rose-bloom of colour upon her cheeks. “Oh, that is much better.
Thank you, Novice … Kettna isn’t it?”

Of
course she knew. Everyone on the island knew Novice Kettna, for one
reason or another. If it were the right reason, it was because of
her work in the Great Library, or because she was the daughter of
the Archmagus. The wrong reasons were her deplorable standing with
practical magic and her scandal with Rix.

Kettna
refused to be put in the negative light. “That’s me. I’ve seen you
amongst the shelves on occasion.”

“
I’ve heard you spend a good deal of time at the library. Is
that guild charity or dedication? You’re the daughter of the
Archmagus, aren’t you.”

“
I am that.” And there it was. Categorised and pegged in a
moment. Kettna regretted calming the nausea. The conversation had
nowhere to go from here and the woman had far too much to
say.

“
I voted for her, you know. You’re lucky to have her as your
mother. Brilliant woman. I bet she has taught you so
much.”

Her
mother taught many gems, such as there being little time in the day
for inane conversation. “She is very busy. I study under the same
tuition as all in the Order.”

“
You get your looks from her too, I bet you are beating away
suitors.”

No, that
was Mother’s favourite pass-time. Kettna stifled her anger. How
could people be so shallow? “What relevance do looks
have?”

The
adept eyed the novice with pitying humour and raised silken hands
across her pretty face, triggering finger signs of magical
retraction. Her guild ink was right hand heavy; a powerful channel
with ample mana to burn. With an mostly bare left hand, Kettna
realised why she had not seen the woman at the Library very often.
Her arcane knowledge was deplorable. How she survived the trials to
come out an adept was a miracle.

As the
sorceress lowered her hands, the glamour of her pretty face
disappeared, revealing gruesome scars across her scalp. Pink,
puckered flesh contorted her features. Like molten wax on the side
of a used up candle, the damage tracked down her neck and judging
by the severity of the injury, it must have continued beneath the
adepts blue robes, branding her shoulder and chest. Kettna recoiled
at the sight and fumbled an apology. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what
to say. I didn’t realise.”

The
adept waved her hands across her face again, returning the glamour
to shroud her wounds in beauty once more. She took Kettna’s hands
and turned them over, admiring the marks of knowledge, tracing the
tattooed sigils with the bare fingertips of her right hand. “Beauty
has its benefits, Novice. Knowledge, even more so. You have both,
so be glad of it.”

Kettna
felt ashamed. “I’m just a lame owl.”

“
And I am just a blind falcon. We are who we are, Novice. The
trials will wait another season. I wouldn’t wish them on
anyone.”

“
But you succeeded. You wear sky blue, free to pursue your
masterworks. Would you wish that gone?”

“
Not at all. Though a year or two with my head in the books
rather than my hand in the weave would have served me better. Don’t
lose sight of your purpose in pursuit of rank. Calim’s own words
are carved in the stone of the Tower of Arcana.
Knowledge before power. Compassion before
understanding.
”

Kettna
considered the sorceress; why was she opening up with the readiness
of a prepared lesson? How did she know Kettna was not ready for the
trials? Kettna herself had only just been given the review. The
novice examined the other two adepts, cowls over their faces,
talking quietly to each other. “I apologise for my ungracious
behaviour. I forgot to ask your name, Adept?”