Elementals: Small Magick Read online

  SMALL MAGICK

  An Ellora’s Cave Publication, October 2004

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

  1337 Commerce Drive, #13

  Stow, OH 44224

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-957-6

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  SMALL MAGICK © 2004 LIDDY MIDNIGHT

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Edited by Briana St. James.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Elementals:

  Small Magick

  Liddy Midnight

  Chapter One

  The Dark Ages

  Drey poked at the turned earth around the young plants and grimaced. Large clods stuck together like so much clay. ‘Twas the same everywhere she’d tried to place her garden. This piece of land would never produce an abundant harvest; the soil was too pale, its texture too heavy.

  She should be able to work a spell to better its quality. Should be able to, but couldn’t. She sighed and rubbed one hand across her face in frustration. There were so many things beyond her meager abilities. Dissatisfaction settled over her, an all-too-familiar emotion. She’d seen her grandmother light a bonfire built of wet wood with naught but a glance. Her late mother, ‘twas said, could command the waters of a river to change its course. Born into a family of powerful mages, how had she alone come to lack Talent?

  “No matter what I do, this garden will never grow lush and green like Aunt Ingreth’s. Her entire valley has naught but rich, dark earth. If I had her Power, I’d be able to make this valley fertile, too.” She tried not to sound petulant. After so many months of dealing with her shortcomings, she still found it difficult to accept her limitations.

  “Mrrp,” her cat Mousebane replied, rubbing around her ankles. He dove across a furrow after a beetle, disturbing the neat row.

  “Mousie, you’re not helping. Henck took the time to lay this plot out nice and square. I’d like it to stay that way.” She wiped a stray wisp of hair off her forehead, which was promptly pulled free again by a gust of air. She tucked the end into the top of the plait. It sprang right back, thanks to the stiffening breeze. Another thing she couldn’t manage. Her sisters influenced the wind and the rain, so why had she no such ability?

  Pushing herself up off her knees, she sought the bench by the shed that housed the chickens and her mule. As she unlaced her boots, she looked out over the garden. The patch wasn’t large but she could take pride in the work she’d done. In the few hours since dawn, she’d planted the onions and several neat rows of turnips. The herbs she’d transplanted yesterday and watered well had begun to recover, turning their wilted leaves up to the sky.

  She slipped off first her boots and then her knitted stockings, draping them over the boots. Her labors had produced a fine sheen of dampness over her skin, despite the cool spring morning. Leaning back, she hiked her skirt up to her knees. Tucked up to the north wall, the bench provided a sheltered seat with a view. She shifted her shoulders into a comfortable position and tried to relax the tension that always filled her when she contemplated her limitations.

  A wonderful vista stretched before her. Beyond the garden, a path wide enough for a wagon led down from her holding, winding around pastures and stands of trees on the lower slope of the mountain. She followed the path with her gaze, to where it met the road that went across the valley to where the village still lay in shadow.

  ‘Twas clear the hamlet had begun as not much more than a cluster of huts on the shore of the inlet. Larger homes and shops marked the growth of the past decade, as trade improved and fishing became more profitable.

  Every dwelling had a large garden behind it. The buildings farthest from the docks were tiny cottages, sitting amidst large plowed fields. Farming wasn’t a profitable endeavor, not with the heavy, hard soil of the valley. That thought skirted dangerously near her earlier concerns and she resolutely directed her attention away from it.

  She’d heard rumors that, when the village was first established, a mage had built the cottage she now lived in. No signs of previous residents remained, at least none she’d found. The door hinges had needed repair and the mattress had rotted away, but little else about the snug house had needed to be replaced. The shelves beside the hearth had been bare of crockery and everything bore a thick layer of dust but she’d found nothing beyond what one might expect of a long-abandoned cottage and no clue as to who might have once occupied the space. She’d found no remains of a garden, either, despite searching for a patch of ground that might yield better earth.

  Henck had set up a space for her to compost table scraps and asked her to bring some nice, fat worms from her aunt’s garden when she next visited her family. He promised such things would help but he warned ‘twould be slow, mayhap take more than a year to improve just her tiny patch of garden.

  If only she could somehow make that soil more fertile.

  If only she commanded more than the small magick she had.

  There was no escape. She had to face it head-on. Like the twisting paths in a tangled forest, all thoughts returned to one point. She was a fraud.

  Had she somehow inherited her father’s lack of Talent? Whoever he might be. Her family never spoke of him. Might their dismissal of him be rooted in his unsuitability as a mate for her mother?

  Such speculation was futile. What had been, had been. There was no changing it. She was what she was.

  Drey let the thought go and rested a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the majesty of the view. The wind picked up a bit, tugging at her plaits and her hem. She turned her face up to the sun, reveling in the cool breeze as it washed over her. The Goddess had blessed her in many ways. She tried to keep the good things in mind and not dwell on what she didn’t have.

  Mousie ceased his digging and came to stretch out at her feet.

  “Now I know why you like to laze around in the sunshine. After working hard, this feels good.” A gust picked up her hem and bathed her thighs in a refreshing current of air. Drey tucked her skirt down before she reached out with her toe and tickled his large, snow-white belly. “Of course, you’d not know what hard work is, now, would you?”

  The fat cat settled on his back, cocked his feet and looked at her, upside-down.

  “You’re going to go to sleep, aren’t you?” She smiled and nudged his stomach. “What about the mice in the shed? What about the crickets in the garden? There will be crows gathering to eat my young plants, too.”

  Mousie merely blinked once, slowly, before shutting his eyes.

  Drey had to chuckle. “It’ll serve you right if I bring home a kitten to do the work you’re too lazy to do.”

  That earned her a brief glare and a long-suffering sigh.

  “I’ve never seen a cat that can convey as much emotion as you can with a single breath.”

  A loud purr rumbled up from the depths of his chest. A tiny yellow butterfly flitted about the cat’s feet before alighting on his belly. Drey chuckled again as the fur there rippled and the insect took off.

  “We may not have such good soil as Aunt Ingreth has but we certainly have more breezes.” She clutched at her hem again and laughed at the rising wind’s efforts to tug it free. A gust picked up one of her socks. It tumbled a few feet, end over end, before landing across Mousie.

  He catapulted as if someone had pinched him, landing on his feet a full yard away. D
rey took in his wide eyes and huge tail and had to laugh harder. “I’ve never seen you move so fast! Now I know you could catch mice if you wanted, you’re just too lazy. Your secret is a secret no longer, my fat friend. Get to work!”

  The cat glared at her and stalked off. The effect was ruined by his immense girth, which gave him more of a waddle.

  Drey doubled over with mirth, while the wind kicked up tiny dust swirls across the garden.

  “Mum?”

  She turned to find the butcher’s eldest daughter, Mara, dropping a quick curtsey. She suppressed a groan. What would the villagers think of her once Mara reported to her mother, and her garrulous mother told everyone else, the local mage had been sitting alone in her garden, laughing like an idiot? The villagers had welcomed her upon her arrival last spring but Drey knew folk. Men or women, they all loved to gossip and gossip about someone who was still considered an outsider was the best sort.

  “Aye, Mara?” She hoped the blush she could feel creeping up her neck and face wasn’t as noticeable as it felt.

  Mousie intervened, rubbing against Mara’s hem. The lass bent to run a hand along his back. The cat rolled over and offered his belly. Mara ignored him, straightening and turning her attention once more to Drey.

  “I’ve come to watch your animals while you’re away.” When she didn’t respond, Mara looked uncertain. “My da said you’d need me a day early this week and that I was to stay for a few days.”

  Drey leapt to her feet. “Thank you, Mara. Let me show you the little you need to know.”

  Dear Goddess, she’d completely forgotten this was the day she’d planned to visit her family. She hadn’t given it a thought since she’d discussed her trip with Mara’s father. Fortunately, the lass had come early. There was plenty of time to toss a few things in a basket, make the hike to her childhood home and arrive before her many nieces and nephews licked the platters clean.

  *

  The sun was at its zenith when Drey crested the hill. She set her basket down and paused a moment to look out over the valley. The familiar setting of her childhood spread out before her. Her heart lifted. After a year on her own, she was home.

  She’d often climbed the apple trees by her gran’s cottage, fished in the brook and hauled water from the well. She’d learned to smoke the bees into drowsiness and collect their honey from the old hives that still stood near the orchard.

  From the wagons clustered about the cottage, she’d wager her three sisters had already arrived, along with their husbands and numerous children. Some neighbors must have come, too, for there were far too many vehicles for her family alone.

  Drey lingered, watching the bustle below and savoring the anticipation of gossip and good food. Aunt Ingreth would most likely open the last of the winter stores for this gathering. The entire family would crowd around the trestle tables the men were even now dragging out and placing under the trees and eat until they were in danger of bursting.

  She’d missed her large family, both the chatter and the shared quiet moments. Although she loved her little cottage and the valley she’d moved to, in the seasons she’d been gone, she’d found herself lonely at times.

  The wind that had accompanied her from her home picked up, teasing wisps of hair loose and brushing them across her face. She laughed, swiping at the errant tendrils with both hands. A sudden gust plucked at her skirts, almost twirling her around as the light wool and linen belled out around her. Cooled a bit beyond comfort by the air rushing over her legs, she let go of her plaits and slapped her gown down. Her hair flew free of its confinement. She gave up. Snatching up the basket, she let the wind take her where it willed, tugging at her hair and whirling her down the slope that led to the proper road below.

  A chattering throng came to meet her, Aunt Ingreth striding ahead of the rest. The little crowd’s talk subsided to whispers and they parted to let her sister Jenny come forward. Jenny’s husband Robert followed closely enough to keep his arm around his wife. Drey looked into his anxious eyes for a moment, then focused on Jenny’s drawn face.

  “Drey, it’s so good to see you.” The words came out in a thread of sound. If Drey hadn’t been listening closely, she’d have missed them.

  Her heart ached and she wished she could echo the sentiment as they embraced. Her youngest sister looked decidedly unwell. The dark circles around her eyes dipped down onto her cheeks. Her thin arms felt like sticks. ‘Twas then that she realized Robert was providing more than encouragement; he was keeping his wife on her feet.

  Drey held her hand up and everyone quieted. Aunt Ingreth herded the children off to the kitchen. The adults, with sympathetic glances at Robert and Jenny, began to drift away. Robert tugged on the shawl Jenny held, moving to drape it around her bony shoulders. Jenny shook her head once and whispered, “I’m fine.”

  It was clear she wasn’t fine. Drey’s stomach tightened painfully. She’d last seen Jenny at the harvest celebration, when she’d been great with child and glowing with health. How could her vibrant, vivacious sister have turned into this weak slip of a woman in such a short time? “What is it, Jen?”

  “The twins. I’ve not been right, not since they were born.”

  “Early in the winter?” Jenny nodded and Drey continued. “Were both the births normal?”

  “Normal enough.” Her short answers, not much more than puffs of air, were far from normal for anyone in the family. Speaking, even a few words, was clearly an effort.

  “They came early?”

  “Aye.” Robert answered as he rubbed his wife’s shoulders.

  “But not too early?”

  Jenny shook her head and Robert grunted.

  With each answer, her dread grew. Drey took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Setting aside her concern, she concentrated on her sister, extending her senses through their joined hands, up along Jenny’s arms, visualizing the body in front of her in her mind. A pattern of light and shadow took Jenny’s shape, shifting and settling as Drey examined each part of her beloved sister.

  The vibrant glow of health was absent. Her sister’s form was faded, pocked with dimness in places. Her head. Her lungs.

  Unless something changed, her sister would only worsen. If she worsened, she would soon die.

  With reluctance, Drey opened her eyes. She had to figure out what was causing this weakness. “Were you fine before the births?”

  Jenny looked at Robert in mute appeal and raised a trembling hand to his cheek. He nodded and she closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Aye. She had no trouble. It wasn’t her first and the lads were small, as twins are wont to be. In the weeks after, she failed.” Drey thought she saw the glint of tears in his eyes before he ducked his head.

  “Who does the cooking and cleaning?” There was a lot of work to do, looking after a home and five children, two of them newborns. Drey could imagine that alone would exhaust most women.

  “We’ve had a kitchen lass for two years, since little Ingreth came along, and my Maeve’s been grand. She’s stepped in like a grown woman, picking up what Jenny cannot. I help when I can.”

  A young stepdaughter’s help, however well intentioned or skilled, and the odd moments a busy husband could spare were not the solution Jenny needed. Drey had discovered that maintaining her own cottage, even living alone, was more work than she’d anticipated. There were always chores: animals to tend, mending to be done, meals to be prepared—and she was only one person to look after. How had Jenny managed as long as she had, with only one servant to help her?

  “How is your business?” Drey really wanted to know how his finances were but to ask outright would be rude, even for family.

  “Fine. Much better than previously. We’ve recovered from the fire in the tavern. I just hired on another clerk and the old brewery—you may recall I have a quarter interest in that—is profitable at last. The mild winter helped increase both travel and trade, after the good crops last year, you know, and—what’s that?” Ro
bert looked down to see Jenny release her grip on his shirt and hold her finger across her lips. “Oh, lass, you’re right. She’s not interested in my business but the money. I’m doing well, better than most.” He folded his wife’s hand in his and rubbed her lips lightly with his thumb. Looking back up at Drey, he said, “She’s my life. I’d spend every last copper I have to heal her.”

  “I know you would.” Drey looked at Jenny, smiling in the circle of his arms. “How’s your milk been?”

  “Flowing well,” Jenny managed.

  “Is it enough to satisfy them both?”

  Jenny glanced uncertainly up at her husband, who answered, “Aye, so it seems. They do begin to cry again before she’s uncomfortable with the fullness but we figured that was a bonus.”

  A thin cry came from the direction of the wagons, quickly joined by another. Jenny flinched at the sound. One of Drey’s cousins hastened to gather up two bundles from the shady end of the largest cart. The cries increased in volume.

  Drey eased the shawl from her sister’s fingers and caught a running child. “Here, laddie, take this to her.”

  He looked where she pointed, to her cousin shushing the twins, then darted over, dropping the shawl across the woman’s shoulder on his way by. As the three of them watched, she wrapped the babies in the soft wool, bounced them a little in her arms and the cries subsided.

  “You’re not ready for them again, are you?”

  Jenny jerked her head to the side. A tear trickled down her cheek. Or had it come from Robert?

  “It’s not the blessing you thought. Two babes are harder on the body than one, even in the womb. You may think of them as easier because they’re smaller from the start but there are two of them. I suspect Jenny’s never recovered from the birth and nursing two babes is keeping her so weak she can’t heal.”

  Robert pressed her closer. His voice shook. “Will we have to choose?” Drey understood his pain, for they’d lost their second child and only son to a fever in his first winter. He didn’t want to lose one of the twin boys but she knew he would make that sacrifice to keep Jenny alive.