Tinkermage (Book 2) (14 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Niksabella could spot her brother’s impatience a mile away. She knew he wanted out of the room right away, but at the same time, she could sense he’d sit here all day if she wished it. But she didn’t think it would take that long. She looked at the bulging threadbare pack between them. It was everything he owned since checking into the Golden Cog. A lifetime of worry, struggle, and tears in a fat leather bundle.

“I should have known you were involved.”

“In…
volved?
”

“With that rock head and stealing my invention.”

Nik arched an eyebrow, then raised a finger, but his words stuttered out. “For… okay, for the record, sister, I had no idea that rockhead would resort to thievery.” He paused. “Well, in hindsight though, I suppose I
was
rather leading him on a bit, so I can see where he might have… well, lost his patience with me.” He frowned. “Hmm. I guess I’m lucky he didn’t smash me to Niksel-pulp.”

“You’re lucky
I
don’t smash you to Niksel-pulp.”

“Well… in all fairness, I did come back to see about your release.”

“Jancy and Jontuk set me free.”

He grinned wide. “I caused the commotion which put things
in
motion. Aw, Nika, Hells sister, at least give me some credit? I defeated the First Wizard
and
burned all my hair off! For you!”

Niksabella’s eyes narrowed and her long ears lifted. “Playing around with ultraworlders, brother? Leading them on? Seriously? I knew you were impulsive, but that’s just downright stupid. Besides, there’s not all that much hair left on you to burn. I know why you wear this skullcap all the time.”

“Eh? I’ll have you know I typically have a full head of hair. It’s just this… the scar.”

Niksabella sobered at the mention of her brother’s wound, a scar across his scalp he would always bear as a reminder. He was fortunate to have flesh up there, much less hair.

“It was the bugs, Nika. I…” Nikselpik seemed ready to argue further, to compound the situation by letting his mouth get in the way. But it was good to see him feisty again, ready to stand up for what he believed in, even with his damned twisted logic. Nik folded his hands in his lap and nodded. “It was wrong of me to lie to you. I should have come to you as soon as… but… someone must have told him about the bugs, because that’s what he offered right away, saying he could get as many as needed. He seemed confident, and I saw an opportunity to explore blood magick. All he wanted was information about your device.” She could see it pained him. “I should have… I should have seen all this coming.”

“It’s okay, Nik,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Really.”

“Thank you.”

They sat quietly for the span of a few breaths, but then he looked over at her. “So… what of this new fellow of yours? This
Termund
.”

She tried not to look overly excited. “Termund, yes.” She found herself smiling just saying his name. “He… oh, I… well, what do you think of him?”

Her brother chuckled. “Since when do you care what I think?”

“Since forever, of course! You’re my brother. My only family. I really do care about the things you think, and I want to know your impression of him.”

Nikselpik looked up at the ceiling, squinting. “He seems like a good enough fellow. Strong, successful… he even manages to have at least half a brain.”

She laughed and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

“Hey! I said nothing to deserve that.”

But the tension was dissipating, but she still had her own apology to deliver. They’d never really made up since the fight in her workshop; Nikselpik hadn’t been of truly sound mind until now. “Brother, I’m sorry about arguing with you that day after Bombrick’s when you came to give me back my coat. I’ve been feeling horrible ever since—”

“Shh.” He stopped her. “None of that’s important anymore. There’s something you need to know, something you need to remember. Something much bigger.”

She drew away. “Bigger than my sincere apology?”

“I am being truthful here. Trust me. You need to know, not only to show you what a true sphincter you were when we were gnomelings, but also because it seems
important
somehow, and also tied to what’s happening with Jontuk and your invention… with you and this Prophetess. With
all
of us.”

Her brother had the queerest look on his face. As if he were about to confide in her as an equal, as someone he could trust for once. His eyes gave no hint of insult. She shook her head, confusedly. “Okay. Tell me.”

“There’s a reason I acted the way I did in your workshop that day. In fact, my entire course in life was influenced by something that happened between us as children.” Her brother gestured around with open hands. “All of what I am—I’ll let you decide what that is—I have done it all because of you.”

Niksabella felt truly confused. “You’ve gone insane, brother,” she wanted to roll her eyes incredulously, but something kept her from doing so. She looked at Nik’s face and saw her brother was deadly serious. She sat up straight. “The way you are. Because of
me
?”

“I’ve held on to a grudge with you up until a short time ago when, upon further reflection, I realized you may not have had as big an influence in my disastrous life as I’d first imagined. What I’m saying, Nika, is that I don’t think it was all your fault anymore. I must ask you a question.”

“Very well. Anything to put a straight edge to this crooked logic.”

“What do you remember about the book we found in the attic of our old house?”

Niksabella searched her memories, her brow wrinkling in concentration. “That book? Hmm. I remember we found it beneath the floorboards when looking for a lost
nepler
. It was old and dusty and had all these wondrous pictures inside.”

Her brother nodded. “What else do you remember about it?”

Niksabella grasped for the memories, snatching at them as they tried to elude her. “You know, I’m not sure where it went. It was simply gone one day.”

“And do you recall gaining an unreasonable amount of power during that time… a power you have not displayed since that time?”

She shook her head, exasperated. “I honestly don’t… I only remember being obsessed with reading it. And that most of it was too difficult for me to understand. Seemed like I spent most of the time flipping through and gazing at the extraordinary pictures inside. Funny, I don’t remember any of them now.”

“You really don’t remember, do you?” His eyes seemed sad, but she detected a hint of relief.

“No, brother. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Her brother took her hand. “I want to try something. As you may know, I’ve honed the ability to speak to the dead, or rather, speaking to the remnants of their spirits as they linger on Sullenor before going off to who knows where.”

“I’m aware you have some strange powers, yes.”

What is he getting at?

“Well, I can do the same thing with memories and thoughts. I can…
express
them through touch to another being, similar to Fara’s mind tuning. You being my sister should make it even easier.”

Niksabella leaned back. “And why would I want to know what’s been going on in that odd noggin of yours? Do I look like a glutton for punishment?”

Nikselpik smiled, and it wasn’t his normally wicked smirk. “I want to show you something. Something from
way
back.”

“When we were gnomelings?”

“Yes.”

Niksabella shifted uncomfortably. “What do I do?”

“Come closer,” Nikselpik said, waving her in.

She leaned over the rucksack, and her brother put his arms around her neck, drawing their heads together. Niksabella caught the scent of tea on his breath. The tight strength in his arms and shoulders surprised her. He was recovering better than she thought.

She wrapped her arms around his, closed her eyes, relishing in this personal contact she no longer shunned. If she’d learned one thing, it was that there could be strength in partnerships, energy in trust, and she trusted her brother now despite his recent troubles and unusual powers.

“Okay.” Niksabella grinned despite herself, feeling a bit like a child. “Now what?”

“Now,” he said, “simply listen to my voice.”

“You sound like a madman.”

“Just listen. I’m going to recite something from the
Tomb of Souls
.”

“Can you recite from something else?”

“No. At some point, you will simply fall into my memories. I won’t tell you when, but soon…” Her brother allowed silence for a few moments, then recited. “One mark for the soul: a tooth. One reason for the soul’s return, a passage from the
Book of Gray
. Two chimes to align the vessel, and the entrance—”

The sound of waves crashing startled Niksabella awake. Her eyes shot open. The bright sun made her squint, but she knew where she was: the bench in the garden beside their childhood home. The same location of all her dreams involving the Prophetess. Niksabella peered up at the ramshackle, two-story structure. Box-shaped with wooden siding, once blue, now worn gray from salt and sun, a sloped roof with an attic, drain pipes clinging to the rotted corners.

A dirt path wound through the surrounding overgrowth of clambervines, red-barked dwarf trees, and honey weed—hardly a garden, but the sweet smells brought back a flood of memories. She gasped as the immensity of the things she’d forgotten returning in one big rush, too much to even make sense of at the moment.
But what moment is this? Then? Or now?

Her brother was nowhere to be seen, at least not the brother she’d left back in their room at the Golden Cog, but she heard the happy cries of gnomelings from somewhere nearby, a sound as lilting and playful as the foam swirling on the hard-packed sand.

It was a hot summer day—a
Hightower heater
, Auntie Gemma would have said.
Auntie Gemma
. Niksabella stood and walked down the path to the front of the house, ducking beneath a bridge of twined greenery, the shade cool on her face. She stepped into the sparse front yard, went up the rickety steps, and pushed the front door open to enter their old living room.

She was instantly struck by how much they
hadn’t
had in the way of possessions. An old, plain, threadbare carpet in the center of the room partially covered their chipped and faded plank floors, while a wood-burning stove sat on a square of bricks in the far corner. Niksabella smiled as she admired the complex array of pipes she’d rigged up to carry heat throughout the house.

Tinkering even then.

But there wasn’t much else. A chair next to the stove with cushions tied to the seat where Auntie Gemma used to sew. A small table laden with candles. It was a similar story in every room. The kitchen cupboards were bare, the dining room had no table, and the upstairs had only straw beds and a few broken toys. No Auntie Gemma anywhere.

Niksabella fought off a sudden well of emotion. Her workshop had been a mansion of wealth and wonders compared to this place. To think she’d felt sorry for herself in Hightower… .

I should have been be more grateful
.

Back downstairs and outside, she took the path around the side of the house, still hemmed in by a wild garden, until the gnomelings’ voices reached her again. Through a break in the tangle, Niksabella crossed the yard and stood at a familiar spot among the trees at the hill’s edge, breaking through that copse to stand above the gray ocean, its waves ever pushing toward the shore. She went down the hill, through the tall grass, and stood barefoot on the warm sand. She relished the feeling a moment, before thinking,
where are my boots?

It didn’t matter. Such trivialities were the stuff of dreams and, in the back of her mind somewhere, she knew this wasn’t real; it was just a step back in time. Two gnomelings played in the sand, giving credence to that thought, as one was her little brother. And the other? The othe was little Niksabella. She couldn’t look at herself,
wouldn’t
, pushing her gaze inexorably to Nikselpik and his round little head, curled blond locks bouncing around his face. He was
adorable
; yet, she hardly remembered thinking that as a child.

She sighed and chanced a look at her younger self.
Why so frightened to see?
Did she fear so
much had changed over time? That she’d become a haggard, jaded gnomestress, a third of her life gone by?

What she saw had just the opposite effect. Her heart swelled. She felt a strange sense of pride, of longing… of amazement. She was so
little
, even by gnomish standards, her light brown hair shining in the sunlight, her hands busy constructing her part of their sandcastle, which seemed well-built compared to the loose pile of sand her brother was pushing together. Her smaller self prattled on endlessly while her brother occasionally piped a response. Indeed, how things had changed!