The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic (21 page)

She wanted to slam the book shut, but at the same time she had a squeamish fear of crushing the eye and feeling its gelatinous squelch through the thin cardboard of the cover. Then she saw that the eye wasn't resting on the page, it was
under
the surface of the page. She got a glimpse of a distorted face and foreshortened limbs, like the view through the fisheye peephole in an apartment door, except what exactly was she looking into? Lost in a book, lost in a book, she thought—I will never use that expression lightly again.

“I think I found your Bouragonr,” she said.

•   •   •

Bent over the open paperback, Aruendiel and Hirizjahkinis experimented with a couple of different spells that had no apparent effect before trying one that made the book grow very large and then very small and finally left a gray-haired man in a brown velvet tunic tottering in front of them. He groaned and collapsed against the bookcase.

Aruendiel half dragged, half carried the newly freed prisoner into the reading room and went to summon help from the palace staff. Hirizjahkinis produced a silver flask from thin air and made Bouragonr drink it. In fits and starts, he told her his story: He had run across Ilissa in the library, and she had shown him a little book in a foreign language, which he had opened with mild curiosity. The next thing he knew, he was shut up in a dark place with no food or water.

The library quickly filled with people: a crew of servants, the palace chamberlain, one of the royal doctors, and a growing cohort of gawkers. The doctor attended to Bouragonr for some minutes, and then the patient was taken away on a stretcher. Nora was relieved to see him go. Unfair as it was, she felt a certain resentment toward Bouragonr. The shock of seeing his agitated eye looking out of the book had slightly tainted her pleasure in finding it again.

“He'll be fine in a few days,” said Hirizjahkinis, fastening the leopard pelt around her neck again; she had retired the Kavareen after he snarled at one of the visitors.

“Oh, Bouragonr's health will be restored easily enough. It's his position that will feel the hurt,” Aruendiel said sourly.

“The king will dismiss him, you think?”

“His chief magician taken prisoner by the Faitoren within the very palace walls? Abele can hardly keep Bouragonr on after such a blunder. It's too bad,” he added. “Bouragonr isn't a bad magician, or at least he wasn't before he spent so much time at court.”

Hirizjahkinis laughed. “You won't be applying for his job, I believe?”

“Never! Although I almost wish that you would, Hiriz. It would ease my mind to know that a magician with good sense had taken the post. I want no more talk of Faitoren alliances.”

“I'm surprised you wish me so ill, Aruendiel. Never will I subject myself again to one of your terrible winters.”

Aruendiel glanced around. The library was almost empty again. “Nothing else to do here. We can be on our way. Mistress Nora!”

Nora was in the history section, looking for the book that had mentioned Aruendiel in the title. She turned with a twinge of guilt. “Yes? Are we leaving?”

“Yes, make haste,” he said. “And I want to know more about this book of yours.”

“Well, I have a theory about how it got here,” Nora said. “Ilissa brought it. It must have fallen out of my pocket at Ilissa's castle, and then she found it. What I don't understand, though, is why she brought the book to Semr. Could she have been planning to use it all along to trap Bouragonr?”

Aruendiel gave a crooked shrug. “Perhaps. It was a shrewd place to hide him, a book in a foreign tongue that no one would likely open for years. Or she may have brought the book with some idea of doing you harm. Since it was your possession, it would give her some limited power over you. That's a very primitive, imprecise form of magic, and not Ilissa's usual style, but it's a possibility.”

“But how could she have known that I would even be here in Semr?” Nora objected. “We only decided to come yesterday.”

“Perhaps she was reading your book,” said Hirizjahkinis. Aruendiel snorted. “No, I am only half-joking,” she added. “Mistress Nora says that it is a very famous story, and it is all about love and marriage, very much to Ilissa's taste, I think.”

“I don't think Ilissa can read,” Aruendiel said stiffly.

“It's really not one of my favorites,” said Nora. “But I was going to have to teach it in summer school.”

Even if
Pride and Prejudice
wasn't one of her favorites, it left the library with her, tucked surreptitiously inside her sleeve. Finally, something to read.

Leading the way from the library, Aruendiel chose a route through the palace that went through back staircases and side corridors. Nora could guess why. The news of Bouragonr's kidnapping had already spread throughout the court. They got stares and whispers from the people they encountered on their way.

“Ridiculous uproar,” Aruendiel muttered.

“Don't pretend you're not enjoying it,” Hirizjahkinis said.

The chamberlain waylaid them near one of the winter banquet halls. He expressed a hope that the two distinguished magicians who had just rendered such a great service to Lord Bouragonr and the king were not too fatigued to join the king's other magicians and ministers in the council wing, in order to give a full account of the day's remarkable events.

Before Aruendiel could answer, Hirizjahkinis said they would be pleased to do so. The three followed the chamberlain to a part of the palace where the corridors were smaller and dingier. Through half-open doors, Nora saw clerks filling their scrolls with brushwork or dropping stones into a complicated wooden gadget that, she decided, must be some sort of abacus. This was evidently the palace's back office.

After a few minutes, they entered a long, columned gallery. A knot of men engaged in conversation turned to greet the two magicians; then an older man with a ballooning double chin claimed Aruendiel's attention. Nora could not get close enough to hear much of what was being said. Aruendiel was speaking rapidly, matter-of-factly, the double-chinned man interrupting with what seemed to be a tinge of skepticism. Aruendiel paid no attention to the interruptions.

Hirizjahkinis, closer at hand, was drawn into a technical discussion with a youngish, heavy-featured man about the spell that had imprisoned the royal magician. That was interesting, or might have been—Nora was hoping for some clue as to how this magic thing actually worked—but their talk of edges, stops, seals, and wicks soon lost her.

With some frustration, Nora moved toward the other end of the gallery. Portraits hung between the columns that lined the walls—grave, elderly men, mostly, although there were some grave, young men represented, too. Nora amused herself by noting the change in men's fashions, from layered, vaguely Chinese-looking robes to tunics and knee-length coats worn over close-fitting breeches. The coats seemed to be the more modern note; only a few men in the room now were wearing tunics, the older style. Aruendiel was one. Again, she wondered how old he was.

A fireplace was set into the wall at one end of the gallery, with a pair of ceramic animals guarding each end of the mantelpiece: a wolf and a lion. Nora had seen variations of the two-headed wolf-lion carved, painted, and embroidered all over the palace that day. Some sort of dynastic symbol, obviously—representing the union of two kingdoms, or two ruling families? This was the first time she'd seen the two animals depicted separately. She ran an exploratory finger over the ceramic lion's head. It was clear that the artist was familiar with exactly what a wolf looked like—especially a large, hungry wolf—but was not so sure about a lion. The lion he had shaped had a luxuriant, shawl-like mane of carefully curled ringlets and a round, rather merry face.

“You know,
I
was the one who found Bouragonr,” Nora told the lion quietly, slipping into English. She glanced back at the group at the other end of the room. “And it was my book, and hey, I'm from another world. Not that I'm a magician or anything, but you'd think they might want to talk to me, too.”

The lion looked at her with wide, amused eyes. She touched the glazed mane again, gently tracing the curve of one clay lock. It really was a lovely piece, she thought, the kind of sculpture that belonged in a museum—if there were museums here. “I don't know anything about art—art in this world, anyway,” she said, leaning close to the clay figure, “but I know what I like, and I like you very much. I can tell you're a lion of character.”

She raised a finger in a brief, ironic good-bye, and then turned slowly to retrace her steps.

Midway down the gallery, an open archway on the right led into a spacious hall, lightly trafficked, with a grand bronze door at the far end. On the left, another archway opened into a very small, enclosed garden. Nora stepped outside and took a turn around the stone path. After a few minutes, she went inside.

As she stepped into the gallery, Nora had a direct view through the opposite archway, into the other hall. A woman was passing—tall, wrapped in a dark green cloak. She turned and looked at Nora. It was Ilissa.

A
fterward Nora thought that if she had reacted more quickly, if she had called out or run away or done
something
, there might have been time to escape. Ilissa seemed as surprised to see Nora as Nora was to see her. For a moment neither of them moved. But then Ilissa smiled and looked heartbreakingly beautiful and kind, and it was too late.

The truth—Nora felt it come scuttling out from the shadows of her heart—was that when she had told Aruendiel that day that she didn't want to meet Ilissa, she had been lying. Or rather, she both dreaded seeing Ilissa and hoped that she would. It was a kind of bravado: This time, she wouldn't be weak. She'd be strong, wise, adult enough not to fall victim to whatever sweet, suffocating magic Ilissa had worked on her before. Also, she was curious to see whether Ilissa was as perfect—as lovely, as loving—as Nora remembered. Surely there must be a flaw somewhere, a clue that it was all fake. The tip-off would be obvious once you saw it; the trick was to see it clearly for the first time.

But that moment of revelation would not occur now, Nora realized, facing Ilissa. Ilissa's charm was still intact, her face ready to launch a thousand ships or sell a million magazines, and worse, Nora herself had not changed, or at least not enough. Whatever unprotected place Ilissa had found before, she still knew how to find it.

“Nora, you poor darling!” Ilissa's voice was soothing, gentle, impossible to ignore. “Dressed in rags! We've missed you so much, you know,” she added sadly.

In spite of herself, Nora's heart was wrung. Without exactly meaning to, she took a step toward Ilissa.

“Are you really happy, darling? You don't look happy. There's something so dissatisfied in your face.”

Nora willed her feet to stay firmly planted on the marble floor. After a few seconds that seemed very long, she took another step.

“You look lonely, I think. Are those magicians”—a little purr of scorn underlined the word—“being kind to you?”

Nora looked over at the magicians in question, a few dozen paces away. Hirizjahkinis had her back turned. Aruendiel's head was visible above the crowd; he was looking down, listening to something the double-chinned man was saying. “Help!” Nora screamed as loud as she could. “Ilissa's here!” Nothing emerged from her mouth except a silent rush of air.

Ilissa gave a short laugh that sounded nastier than anything that Nora had ever heard her utter. This could be the crack in the crystal, the tip-off that she'd been waiting for, but it was a little late. Nora took another step.

“Wouldn't you like to come home with me, darling?” Ilissa held out her hands. “Where we love you so much.”

No, you don't, Nora thought swiftly, although part of her only wanted to run straight into Ilissa's arms. Again, she concentrated on staying exactly where she was. The desire to move her foot forward was like an overpowering itch. Five seconds, she could hold back for five seconds. She counted them off. Another five seconds. That was a little worse, but she could stand it. Another five. The desire to move forward was agonizing.

A shade of exquisite disappointment passed over Ilissa's face, and Nora winced inwardly. It was very wrong, she knew, to make Ilissa unhappy—Ilissa, the only person who loved her. And what Ilissa said was so true. Nora was lonely, worse than lonely—she was terrified, lost, worn out from making her way in a world of strangers, from being at the unpredictable mercy of magicians.

Tears filled Nora's eyes. But she did not move.

“They don't care about you, those magicians. What do you matter to them?” Ilissa's voice seemed to be coming from within Nora's own heart. “No one here understands you. This is not your world. You mean nothing here.”

Ilissa was false to the bottom, Nora could smell it, and yet there was no resisting the truth of her words. Nora uttered a silent whimper. If she kept standing here, trying to resist Ilissa, she would collapse and lose control of her own body—go sprawling on the floor, helpless as an infant. And even then, perhaps, the magicians over there, absorbed in their conversations, would notice nothing.

She tore her eyes from Ilissa's face and looked frantically around again. Only the round eyes of the clay lion met hers.

All at once, a new emotion rose within her, a calm, spreading exhilaration. Surprised by joy, Nora thought. There was no reason for her to feel this way. Was it part of Ilissa's honeyed enchantment? Why did she suddenly feel so powerful, when she had no power? Then the fear seized her again, roughly.

In the corner of her eye, off to the right, there was a blur of movement. An animal leaping. Something shattered, explosively. The noise splashed against her ears like cold water.

•   •   •

“If what you're saying is true, Lord Aruendiel,” the minister said, “we'll have to—” He broke off at the sound of the crash. The murmur of voices halted.

Aruendiel looked up. Broken crockery was sprayed across the floor at the far end of the gallery.

The minister clucked, turning back to Aruendiel. “The servant girl knocked something off the mantelpiece.”

“Wasn't that one of the Deriguisian figurines?” said someone disapprovingly. “They're irreplaceable.”

Aruendiel saw that the girl Nora was standing near the smashed figurine. Her head half turned, and her eyes met his. Her mouth worked silently. There was a heavy, glazed look on her face that was unusual for her.

“Excuse me,” he said to the minister, pushing his way through the group. Nora took a step into the next room, disappearing from view.

•   •   •

She was giving in now because she was too exhausted to do otherwise. The sound of the smashing statuette—poor lion, she felt oddly responsible—had startled both her and Ilissa, had given her a brief respite. But now she was completely out of strength. Weary of desires and dreams and powers, of everything but sleep. Ilissa came toward her, smiling graciously now that she'd won.

Awkward, hurrying footsteps sounded on the marble floor, and Nora sensed rather than saw a dark figure looming at her back. “Ah,” said Aruendiel's voice, in a tone that indicated he was neither surprised nor pleased to see Ilissa. He clamped his hand onto Nora's shoulder. She felt a jolt, a backlash surge through her body, trying to repel his grip. His hand only tightened.

“Let her go, Aruendiel,” Ilissa said warningly.

“After you do.”

Ilissa did not answer. Her eyes moved back and forth, studying him closely.

A smaller figure came up behind Nora on the other side. “Well, if there must be a fight, I don't want to be left out,” Hirizjahkinis said.

With an almost imperceptible shrug, Ilissa stepped back. “Very well then, Aruendiel,” she said, flashing a radiant smile. “You take her, the poor child. But it's sad, really. Is she the best you can do, these days?”

Aruendiel said nothing as Ilissa turned on her heel and strode down the other hall toward the bronze door. Only when it had closed behind her did he let go of Nora's shoulder. She turned to look up at him.

The girl was pale and drained, he saw, but the dull, preoccupied look in her eyes was gone. “All right now?” he inquired brusquely.

“Thank you,” Nora started to say, but no sound would come out of her mouth. She tried again with no better results. “My voice is gone,” she mouthed, gesturing toward her throat.

“A silencing spell, eh?” Aruendiel said. He yanked Nora's jaw up and glanced quickly into her nostrils, then into one of her ears. He had done something similar, Nora remembered now, the first time she had met him. Then, frowning, he looked over at the mass of broken crockery.

“What happened here?”

Nora made a hesitant gesture to indicate something jumping. She was almost positive that she had seen the lion leap off the mantelpiece.

Aruendiel smiled sardonically. “You like to break things, don't you?” he said. “Hirizjahkinis, can you get this silencing spell off Mistress Nora? I want to make sure Ilissa has really made her departure.”

A faint look of surprise crossed Hirizjahkinis's face. “Certainly. But are you sure? Would you like me to—?”

“No,” he said abruptly. “Don't worry. I won't engage her. I'll be back tonight.” He turned before she could say anything else and walked quickly through the archway.

•   •   •

Some time later, Nora sat facing Hirizjahkinis in the small salon to which Hirizjahkinis had ushered her. Nora had consumed some cold roast chicken and a glass of rather sweet white wine, and was feeling more like herself again, although her voice was still gone. It was tempting to think that hunger alone—low blood sugar—might have made her succumb to Ilissa. Nora kept replaying the scene in her mind, thinking of what she should have said to Ilissa, the defiance she would have offered with just an instant's more preparation. But she could not shake the memory of those unwilling, inevitable steps that had carried her toward Ilissa's summons.

“I hope he's back soon,” muttered Hirizjahkinis, placing her hands lightly on either side of Nora's neck. “If only because he may be the only one who can take off this silencing spell. He knows a dozen times more about Faitoren magic than I do.”

She was talking about Aruendiel; Nora raised her eyebrows in an interrogative way.

“Oh, yes, he has made a deep study of it. It is to keep an eye on Ilissa. Me, I never even think about her anymore, except when I come to this wretched north country. Of course, Aruendiel has strong reasons to, I suppose.”

Hirizjahkinis must have caught another flicker of interest in Nora's eyes, because she smiled and gave her a shrewd look. “You must tell me more about yourself, Mistress Nora, while I try to remove this spell. So you come from another world?” Nora nodded, as Hirizjahkinis gently palpated her neck. “And you fell into the hands of Ilissa and her horrible son.” Hirizjahkinis touched the scars on Nora's cheek. “Then you escaped from the Faitoren. Aruendiel helped you?” Nora nodded again. “And you have been staying at his castle ever since? Does he still have that housekeeper with red hair? I think she was very shocked the first time she saw me; she had never seen anyone with black skin before. And, tell me,” she added, “are you Aruendiel's mistress?”

Startled, Nora shook her head as vigorously she could.

“I am sorry, I do not mean to offend you. Well, too bad for him!” Hirizjahkinis chuckled.

Nora shook her head again, smiling very deliberately in such a way as to say never in a million years.

“I only ask because in times past, he would have expected, as a matter of course—well, I must tell you, Aruendiel saved my life, too. Oh, yes. This was long ago, back in my home country, when I was very young. I was a nun, a priestess of the Holy Sister Night, but I broke my vows of purity. So they were going to stone me to death, until Aruendiel happened by, saw me tied up in front of the temple, and decided to spirit me away. It was not easy—the witch priestesses are powerful—but he managed it. We escaped into the mountains, we found a cave to spend the night in, and then!” She went into a brief gale of laughter.

“Well, I was very grateful for my rescue, but not
that
grateful. It took me some time to make him understand the situation. Aruendiel had assumed that I'd broken my vows with a man. Lady moon, he was furious!”

With slight consternation, Nora telegraphed another question with her eyebrows.

“Oh, no, Aruendiel did not force me, nothing like that. But he was very disappointed! He was used to a different reception from women he wished to bed.” Hirizjahkinis laughed again, then looked suddenly troubled. “I would be happier if you were his mistress. It would be a sign that he takes some joy in living. Do you think he does?”

Nora looked blank, then made an equivocating gesture with her hand: I guess so. I don't really know.

“I do not think he does, myself. He takes pleasure in magic, of course—how can one not? But to hole up in that backwoods castle of his for so many years, and this obsession with Ilissa! She is a bad one, but she is not worth so much attention. She is the sort of creature who, if she cannot be loved, is very pleased to be hated. It would be much worse for her to simply be forgotten.”

Hirizjahkinis sighed. “Well, I am rambling on. Let us see about taking off this spell.” She studied Nora from several different angles, peered down her throat, rubbed a finger along her neck, touched her own neck, muttered to herself, and then sat back to regard Nora once again.

“These Faitoren spells, there's no logic to them,” she said, more to herself than to Nora. “I can't even find where this one begins. Well, we must try something.”

Her first attempt only made Nora's ears ring. The second did nothing. The third produced a violent coughing fit. After the fourth try, Nora found that she could sing but not speak, and in fact could only sing snatches of an aria that she thought might be Puccini. “Very pretty,” said the magician. “But I suppose you want to be able to talk, too.” Slightly to Nora's regret, she undid the singing spell and made a few more tries until Nora's throat began to feel as though she were in the first stages of a cold.

“By the sweet night, Aruendiel! What sort of task have you set me? Now we must really hope Ilissa does not kill him again, because I am running out of ideas.”

Nora wondered if she had heard Hirizjahkinis correctly. “Did you say kill him
again
?” she tried to ask, forgetting that she had lost her voice.

Hirizjahkinis had no difficulty understanding. “Oh, yes, Ilissa killed him,” she said composedly. “That is another reason for him to hate her.”

“Killed? Dead?” Nora mouthed, but Hirizjahkinis only laughed a deep, rumbling chuckle, as though she enjoyed keeping Nora in suspense.

“I can see you are very impatient to retrieve your voice,” she said. “I have one more idea. I confess that I cannot neatly unpeel this spell and take it off in one piece, as Aruendiel might be able to do, but I know another way. A little cruder and not as pleasant for you, but you will have your voice back. Would you like me to try it?”