Tinkermage (Book 2) (24 page)

Hello, Evana. Nice to meet you.

“Now, add a little of your wellspring.”

Nikselpik gulped. He did as he was told, tried anyway, reaching down for a line of wellspring. But his mind, his body, would not follow. His wellspring was alive, yes, but as useless to him now as gold to a dying king.

For all the years he’d been practicing magick, he had promised himself he would not take the path of a monger. Yet he whispered the words of taking, syllables sliding off his tongue like slime, and eagerly absorbed the snow bird’s life force into his fingers, his body sucking it in like one dying of thirst might inhale a thimble of water. The exchange was both exhilarating and painful and he could not stop.

Fara gasped and jerked away, and Nikselpik tore his own hand from the crumpled bird form. His stomach dropped at the look of horror that passed across her face, even as his body surged with newfound health.

“What have you
done
?”

Nikselpik looked back and forth between the cleric and the dead bird. He rose up and reached for Fara but she moved away from him. A candle fell over, spilling hot wax across the table’s dark wood. “I’ll fix it. I… can fix it…”

He went back to the bird, lifting it in both hands and whispering instinctively, words he’d known for just a few weeks yet words that came quite naturally to him. “Pra’
ae
sini, resi… pra’
ae
sini, resi…
resi
…”

The thing in his hand quivered, shook, and twitched. An eyelid popped open and revealed a dead, white eye. The snow bird was already a rotting shell that had just a moment ago been full of vitality.

“
Resi!
” This time, he stated the words with explicit force, bending his will on the struggling corpse. The bird leapt up as Nikselpik returned its life force with a jolt. Giving was far more painful than taking. More
costly
. But worth it if he wanted to keep Fara as… as… as
what? “
Ahhh…”

The bird stood, wobbled, and awkwardly stretched its wings, a shadow of its former grace. The broken wing cracked and snapped. The thing cooed a bizarre, deadpan sound that broke his heart even as he swelled with pride at being able to successfully do what had eluded him for weeks. He felt the bond, like a mother hen to hatchling, a chilling attachment to this dead thing. Whatever life force occupied this shell of an animal was his to control. So he ordered it to be quiet, and the cooing stopped.

Fara was aghast. “What have you done?” But she knew, oh yes, in her white-gold cleric heart. Nikselpik had not only killed the once-beautiful snow bird, but he’d brought it back to life as a gray-feathered, undead
thing
.

Nikselpik put his hands to his cheeks. They were cold once again, but Fara’s reaction chilled him even further. “Fara, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill it. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t, Nik. Something like this only happens with intent. Maybe you didn’t imagine you’d feel so horrible about doing it, but you knew exactly where this would lead. How long have you been studying necromancy? Were you doing it the entire time you were sick? No, I don’t want to know! You…” Fara began quickly gathering her things, but wouldn’t touch anything on the table.

“Fara…”

She tucked her book under her arm and gathered her coat and satchel. Her fiery curls bounced angrily. “It hardly matters.”

“Please…”

She turned on him. Tears filled her eyes. “Make sure you put that miscreation down. And don’t ever let me hear of you practicing necromancy again, or I will tell anyone, no, I will tell everyone who will listen. You may be in the High Council’s favor now, but they won’t abide this.”

“Fara, wait. You don’t… listen, necromancy it’s… it’s natural magick! The mastery of life and death.” He followed her out of the room. “Your own magick, Fara! It drives out infection and mends bones. It heals injuries that might otherwise result in someone’s death! It
cheats
death, and death is a natural part of life. Necromancy merely cheats death in a different way…”

Fara turned on him, her jaw clenched, and raised her finger to his face. Her other fist, he noticed, was balled into a fist beneath the coat draped over her arm. “It is
not
the same thing! Evana’s love extends life for those who are worthy. It heals grievous injuries, but the focus, Nikselpik Nur,” (she spat his name), “is to
relieve
pain! To end suffering. Life is sometimes extended as a result, but death is not
cheated
. Death comes for us all, and no one can cheat it. Nothing can be brought back from that dark place. Not truly. And you know this!”

“Fara, I—”

Her eyes narrowed and her voice lowered as she confronted him. “What you have done… you have crossed that line.” She un-balled her fist and threw her arm out, pointing at the table. “Go back to your study. Look at that
thing
and tell me it’s alive.” She spat that last part, wounding him even deeper.

Fara turned and stormed into the hall, her hair whipping like fire around her head. He followed her all the way downstairs and into the small foyer. She threw the door open to a screaming wind. Gods, she was beautiful even in her anger, and he chided himself for thinking it. How he must have hurt her! And how lowly he truly was. She was about to walk out, any second now, out of his life forever. Worse, they would be enemies. She no better than Etty Vinkerwinkle to him. He… he had lost.

She stood on the threshold of his home, her lip curled. The wind blew her hair. “I mean it. No more necromancy, or you’ll find yourself in Municipal Jail with nothing but walls to spout your nonsense to.”

“Don’t do this, Fara.”

But she’d already gone, tramping down the old wooden steps. He watched her march out into the lane, then shut the door softly and went back inside to find Lili staring at him from the kitchen.

Before she could say a word, he put his hand up to her and slunk back upstairs. He went inside his study and closed the door. The grayish thing still perched on the table, staring at nothing in the corner of the room through milky eyes.

He went over and wrapped his thumb and index finger around its neck as one might prepare to dispose of a live fowl prior to plucking. But that wouldn’t have worked, not with this bird. Instead, he closed his eyes and quietly took back the life force he’d given it, sighing with pleasure at the influx. The bird slumped and was still.

He heard the click of his study door opening. “Nik.” Lili’s voice was tentative, frightened. Quite the opposite of what he’d just received from Fara. “What just happened?”

“
What just happened? I’m an idiot… that’s what.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Why, you little stowaway,” Niksabella said, staring in disbelief. The day was shaping up to be quite insane, and the sun was just barely up.

Upon hearing the familiar voice, Niksabella rushed to the back of the line, passing two idling land crawlers, their crews turned around to see what kind of fuss could have drowned out the
thrum
of their engines. And there was Fritzy Popoff knuckle-busting with a gnome and gnomestress grabbing at her wrists. Fritzy looked as disheveled as Niksabella had ever seen her: hair matted and sweaty, skin wormy-pale except for her dimpled cheeks, which were an angry red. She held up her pudgy fists, knuckles scraped where she’d apparently made some connections. A compartment in the back of the land crawler hung open, and pots and pans and tarps were strewn about in the mud.

“Fritzy!” Niksabella yelled as she stomped toward the fracas. “What are you doing here?”

Fritzy’s head swiveled and upon seeing Niksabella she lowered her fists. “Oh, Nika. Thank Tick and Tock you’re here. I thought these heathens were—”

Fritzy’s two opponents saw the opening and dove in to grab the wild-eyed gnomestress’ arms. She jerked away and swung wildly, connecting with one’s temple as the other caught hold of her. Fritzy then shook her would-be tackler like a blasted wolfhound with a toy and finally flung him to the ground.

Niksabella was impressed. Who knew her uppity friend was such a scrapper? She almost forgot to tell Fritzy to stop as her friend reached for one of the gnomes lying in the mud, plucked him up by the back of his trousers, and flung him a good few feet away where he landed in churned up mud and snow.

“Fritzy, stop! No one wants to hurt you.” Niksabella rushed in and grabbed her friend’s shoulder. Fritzy spun and cocked her arm, and for a moment Niksabella thought she’d be on the receiving end of a punch. Instead, she got pulled into a crushing embrace. Fritzy began squeezing and crying all at once, blubbering through her tears.

“
Oof!
Okay, okay. You’re going to squeeze the life out of me.” At which point, Niksabella was squeezed somewhat less (but still squeezed) and she returned the hug, stroking the back of Fritzy’s matted head.

“Oh, Nika. It was terrible. Locked up in there with nothing but a canteen of water and a few cookies. I could smell the food you were cooking.” Her face drooped, and her frown turned petulant. “I’m
famished!
”

“We’ll get something for you.” She spotted Terrence nearby and gave him a look. The gnome’s cheeks blossomed red, either because of how his folk had treated Fritzy or the fact that she’d given seasoned fighters the worst of the exchange. Niksabella couldn’t tell, but he nodded and strode off in search of foodstuffs.

“And just where did you come from, Fritzy?” Termund stepped around Niksabella, a stern edge to his voice.

One of the clobbered gnomes spoke up as he rubbed the side of his head. “We were locking down compartment seven when we heard a knock from inside. We opened the compartment door, and this one popped out, swinging her fists and screaming about being cooped up and yelling about her hair.”

“It may never recover its curl!” Fritzy almost burst into tears again and Niksabella patted her, feigning understanding to avoid another blubbering fit.

“What do I know about curly hair?” the gnome groused. “Like I’d know anything about
curls
. I hardly comb my
own
hair. We should leave this one locked up
tight
, if you ask me.”

Fritzy started at him. “Just you try and put me ba—”

The gnome ducked his head and raised his arms defensively, but Niksabella kept hold of her friend and Termund stepped between them just as Flay arrived, grinning in open amusement. He looked at the cowering gnome. “So you were just beaten by a full-sized version of a toy springbox, you’d say?”

The gnome nodded, abashed. “Something like that.”

Fritzy looked perfectly desperate. “My plan was to stow away until we were too far along for you to send me back. Are we too far? Termund?”

Termund merely sighed.

Niksabella smiled at her friend, holding her at arm’s length. “Truth be told, I’m glad to see you, Fritzy. I sure could use a
friend
on this trip.” Niksabella scowled (albeit lovingly) at Termund.

“Let’s go,” Termund said, striding back toward his land crawler.

“I can come?”

“Of course you can come,” Niksabella told her friend. “You’ll be riding in the front wagon with us.” And she put her arm around Fritzy’s quivering bulk and led her through the muck toward the front of the caravan.

Perhaps after today, these Thrasperville gnomes would think twice about messing with Hightower ladies. Niksabella felt surprisingly proud of Fritzy, who’d nearly beat the snot out of a pair of burly types. A snort burst loose, and Niksabella buried her laughter into her scarf.

“What, Nika? What is it?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” She squeezed her friend. “Just glad to have you here. I should never have sent you away.”

They put Fritzy in the back of the first crawler, wrapped her in a warm blanket, and fed her some dried meat and fruit. She downed several cups of hot snolt, as well. The sides of the wagon worked as back rests for two benches running parallel from front to back. The cargo had been shifted beneath them, configured so that it ran directly down the middle, where one could sit or place their feet while they snoozed.

It was like a big, cozy square.

There was even a compartment door in the rear floor to reach their supplies. They were joined by Jess and another fellow so laden with tools hanging from tool belts and filling his coverall pockets that Niksabella wondered how he even walked.

Four other gnomes took positions on the outer square, each sitting at a double-corded crossbow. For now, they relaxed against the miniature bulwarks protecting the inner square.

“Mmm,” Fritzy murmured as snolt ran down her chin, oblivious to the fact that they traversed the hillside in one of the strangest and most wonderful machines Niksabella had ever seen. She handed her friend a rag to clean up, and then turned to appreciate the moment.

The slinky-legged locomotion, a cadence which Niksabella hadn’t quite pinpointed, threw the van gently from side to side. Their cruising speed settled in at several paces faster than a pony’s walk, but the real benefit came in the machine’s sheer doggedness, able to clamber tirelessly over treacherous terrain with hardly a hitch.

Earlier she had studied Termund at the controls, his feet manipulating the striding power while his hands pushed and pulled levers to increase the stride length and, in turn, the speed. The front legs sported hooks on either side of the foot plates, serving to pull the wagon up precarious slopes and over rises, which often left the passengers to balance at dangerously fun angles.

Heat stirring in the steam-driven bellies rose up through the metal and wood to heat their rear ends and provide an aura of warmth. While Niksabella couldn’t imagine riding in one of these during the summer, her tush was currently quite toasty.

Termund tilted his head at the fellow with all the tools. “Nika, do you know Tomkin? I’m sure you’ve seen him running around. He’s chief engineer and master mechanic. He’s the one who keeps these little mean machines working. If you have questions, he’s the one to ask.”

Tomkin dipped his head. “I slept in my workshop for ten years as we streamlined this model. The Hill Crawler, model 299e9. We call ‘em
niners
.” Tomkin was a thin fellow, bald on top, chin covered with wispy, gray whiskers. A slender handlebar mustache decorated his upper lip, and his eyes blinked huge and brown behind his goggle lenses.

Niksabella was surprised by a small pang in her core, and she knew it was from neglecting her tinkering. She’d not
created
in a long time. Not that she had anything in particular to work on—her life’s work was tucked away in one of the land crawler compartments—but old habits die hard.
Time for new habits. Magicking may feel like starting over, but that’s exciting in itself!

“Wonderful work, Tomkin,” Niksabella told the fellow. “I could tell these weren’t ordinary wagons. How in Tock’s name did you get such a flexible frame and a steam driver to work together so well? A froiler connection?”

Tomkin chuckled, waving off that probability with a wag of his finger. “The engine
is
the chassis. There’s no separation between the two, one and the same.”

Niksabella was dumbfounded. “How…?”

“A proprietary system that uses a new type of swivel joint in the center…” Tomkin stomped on the floor “… and a series of hoses far stronger and more flexible than anything currently made anywhere but in our own workshops. They provide incredible compression and power. I’d get deeper into it, but it would probably only confuse you.”

Despite her own rising pride and a low whistle of warning from Termund, this was the kind of gnome Niksabella could bother with. She cleared her throat and sat up straighter in a semblance of officiation. “If you’d allow me to apply, sir, I’ve become quite good at imbuing materials and have created a flexible substance myself. It’s called
tulec
. If I could—”

Tomkin held out his hand, stopping her cold. “No thanks, dear. There’s nothing you have, or anyone else, for that matter, that could ever improve upon my
rubberdine
. And believe me, I’ve checked. Hah!”

Niksabella glanced out at the passing hillside. They were currently working through a copse of trees, the path having completely disappeared. The niners edged between thick trunks of oak and used their front claws to tear away any brush seeking to tangle them.

She said, “That’s hardly fair.”

“Tell me something, miss. Have you ever been outside of Hightower?”

“No,” she said primly.

“Then how do you know what’s been invented and what hasn’t? My climbers are one of a kind. Never seen anything like ‘em and might never again. At least not until I make ‘em better. Can you say the same for yourself?”

I have something you’ve never seen in your life, you crass little ferret.
Yet Niksabella refrained from anything more than a grunt, turning away from Tomkin’s buggy eyes and Fritzy’s chomping.
If she replied, she’d only sound desperate and annoyed, and she was above all that now (or at least she’d act like it). She took out her book and immersed herself in more of Kaytzi’s knowledge.

“I wouldn’t brush Niksabella off so quickly, Tom.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s a fine tinkerer.”

“You know, Nika,” Termund added, “besides yourself and Fritzy here, no one outside of the Grundzest Travel Company knows our land crawlers even exist. To our trading partners, especially humans, we’re just short, insignificant folk whose sole purpose is to ensure they’re supplied with long-burning pfitzer blocks, exceptional clocks, and properly-brewed ale.”

“Your
secret
is safe with me,” she said with guarded sarcasm. “And I won’t mention the crawlers, either.”

Termund chuckled as he slammed a control bar into the proper notch. “Fair enough.”

They crawled around steep hillocks and along ridges stripped bare of trees and vegetation, leaving the land completely exposed to the east. Niksabella gasped as the Southern Reaches spread before them, the distant and lonely patchwork of gnomish fields giving way to wild forests and lowlands teeming with animals… and perhaps other things by now. And they were not very high yet; there were still loftier foothills left to climb, and Niksabella had no doubt they would climb them.

Scouts rode ahead, often returning with news of a clear path or otherwise redirecting the caravan down a less treacherous route. The
thrum
of the land crawler’s engine lent itself to peaceful study, and that’s what Niksabella did for the next several hours, stopping long enough to change into some dry socks and have a bite to eat. She put her feet up between Jess and the now wilted, snoring Fritzy and read.

It seemed one of the biggest barriers to achieving prowess in the art of conjuring—aside from wellspring control—was giving oneself over to the elements. And that was if Niksabella was reading between the lines correctly because Kaytzi never ever got straight to the point.

With great focus and will,
she read,
one may break down the elemental tine, the matrix of bonds and barriers. Yet it takes a sacrifice of one’s own truth. Who hath the bravery to do so may move mountains of earth, assemble mountains of flame, and control tidal forces, even to make the air stop breathing.

“To make the air stop breathing,” she whispered.

She assumed Kaytzi meant the forcing of one’s will upon the elements, a breaking of the elemental will, so to speak. It made sense, and when she felt strong enough to conjure an actual elemental instead of playing with inanimate stuff, there would undoubtedly be a contest of wills. This contest she must win or risk being consumed. Possibly even killed.

Kalaquick had warned her of mages who had been burned to ashes trying to control great fire elementals they’d mustered from unknown depths. Mounds of living dirt rolling over inexperienced summoners, muffling their screams forever. Even her brother had been wary of her new focus of study. “It’s too risky,” he’d told her. But he hardly had room to talk considering his own life had been one huge risk after another. Nikselpik knew what his sister could do; he’d seen it in her when they were children—
if that was even me
—so when she told him her mind was made he’d not said another word.