Magic's Secret Chapter 1

Chapter 1

~Magic's Hold~

Fog clung to the early morning, its grey mantle shrouding the earth with an ominous sense of melancholy.  The icy bite of the frosted earth stole past the thin straw pallet which served as a bed.  Victorious in its onslaught, Helene awoke in a wave of irrepressible shivers.

She brushed honey-gold tangles away from her sea-green eyes, peering into the morn's gloomy ill-humor.  "Pox on the weather," she mumbled, keeping her voice low.  She slipped free from the woolen rag of a blanket and the tangle of her little sister's arms, careful not to disturb the child's fitful slumber.  Her freed hand brushed back Annel's damp ringlets -- no fever.

At the light touch the child jerked, and a weak whimper preceded a spate of rambling words.  "It's emerald.  I seen… I seen it.  Emerald!"

"Shush, Nel.  It be okay."

The child's eyelids barely raised, her gaze clouded in sleep.  "But I saw it.  I is telling ya, it was emerald."

"I know, I know.  But ya just needs to be resting."  She stroked the flaxen curls atop her sister's head.  "Now, back to sleeps with ya.  Close them eyes."  Struggling into a sitting position she drew her sister tightly against her chest.  She softly hummed a remembered lullaby.  Rocking gently, she soothed the bedraggled child until slumber laid hold its claim.  Helene dropped her cheek to the child's forehead, felt again for signs of a fever… felt if the fragile bonds of magic continued to hold.

Despite the long passage of time the spell still carried the signature of its caster.  Though loathe to dwell on the thought, she suspected Annel's frequent fever sweats stemmed from the numinous binding.  A swell of anger washed over her, and she swallowed hard against the curse, more rancid than bile, that rose in her throat.  She hated her father for what had happened; she hated herself.

A cavernous sigh slipped from her lips.  Wallowing in the past served little purpose, for it remained as solid and unmoving as most men's hearts.  It would not be changed.

Depositing her precious bundle back to the mat, Helene cautiously rose to her feet.  Losing the added warmth of a bedmate Annel moaned and curled into a tight ball.  Her plaintive cry dropped Helene back to her knees.  Quickly, she tucked the tattered snatch of gray around her sister's gaunt frame.  Fingering the worn remnant, more holes than patches, she cast an envious glare towards her rival that bedded on the opposite side of the camp.  Chara lay curled-up, snoring and cozy in a thick, warm blanket.

Helen's fingers twitched.  I ought to just grab it from the sewer rat, she thought.  But, there were rules, her rules in fact.  She was the leader of this ragtag band of street urchins, and had been for nigh on five ages, despite the fact she was younger than many of its members.  She imposed little in the way of commands, but rigidly enforced the few rules she had enacted.  Thievery among the gang earned a group beating.

This morning almost half of Helene's troupe slept at the opposite end of the narrow lane, close to Chara.  Power was shifting.  Not surprising, considering the interloper's talk of magic.  Helen rued the day Pint and Chara entered their camp.  For a muddler of mixed heritage, Pint was a nice enough fellow, but the girl had been nothing but trouble.  Helene often wished she could take back her invitation welcoming the two starving orphans to join their ranks.

She stole a short distance away to avoid disturbing her little sister.  She stomped down, cramming her foot into a dilapidated shoe, two sizes too small.  Her toe peeked out from a split between the welt and the toecap.  Laces, borrowed from the eyelets, lashed the separated sole back to the upper leather.  Her other foot swam in an oversized black boot that jutted as high as her knee.

Despite her mismatched footwear, she quickly shuffled over to a figure bundled in a cocoon of pale-blue fleece.  The lovely blanket contrasted sharply with the grating snore it emitted.  Gleefully, Helene gave it a sharp kick.  "Get up!  You're supposed to be doing breakfast duty."

A bony arm lifted from the quilt and waved the tormentor away.  "I be trading with Bard."
"I being the one that assigns the work," Helene growled, landing another kick for emphasis.

Covers whipped off, revealing a disheveled tangle of matted red hair.  A sickly pallor painted Chara's face, though the dash of freckles peppering her nose and cheeks granted a semblance of color.  "Are ya really wanting to be on me bad side?"

"As if ya had a good one.  Now, get up before I be booting ya clean 'cross the street!"  The ugly curl of Helene's lip magnified the jagged scars that disfigured half her face.  Green eyes glaring, she drew back her foot in threat.

Chara's reply dripped honey.  "Ya know, with a bit of magic, I could be making them shoes fit… shiny and new."

"You won't be bribing me.  I knows those spells don't last.  These shoes would be new, for what, a day at the most?"

Rising on her elbow, Chara propped her head against her hand.  "I could be spelling them every day, if ya likes."

"I done told ya, my gang don't be doing magic.  It's against the king's laws."

"It's just transient charms.  As long as it ain't mage magic, what does it matter?"

Helene threw her hands to her hips, and her brows tightly arched.  Her voice grew low, almost guttural.  "If I be saying it matters… it matters!"

"I don't think a good part of our troupe would be agreeing with ya."

"Don't ya be saying our.  I be running this outfit."

A sneer flashed across, Chara's face.  "Yeah, but for how much longer?"  She punctuated her words with a disdainful snort.

The rudeness only solidified Helene's reaction.  Hard and swift, her well-aimed kick slammed into her challenger's ribs, forcing a harrowing cry.  Chara, from her half-reclined position, spun backward, rolling into a mud-filled rut.

Helene stalked over to her dirt-caked adversary and glared down.  Swallowing a chuckle, she warned, "Well, I still being in charge now.  And if I done tolds ya it matters, ya best be listening.  My gang don't be doing magic.  Ya just be bringing trouble down on us, getting us all killed, or worse!"

Chara flung the mire from her fingers and attempted to wipe away a glob of mud from her face.  Instead, a broad smudge smeared across her chin, leaving her temper even fouler.  "Ain't nothing worse than being killed, ya idiot."

"If ya believes that, then ya don't really knows much about magic."

"Like you know anything!  You is just being jealous 'cause ya can't magic."  Clutching her injured side, Chara struggled to her feet.

"Maybe I can or maybes I can't magic, ya gutter rat.  It ain't none of your business.  But, sure as picking a drunk's pockets, I can beat the stuffings out of ya!"  She slowly circled, weight balanced, beckoning her adversary forward.  Her other hand curled into a tight fist.  "Come on!  Come gets it!"

Amid the escalating conflict, shouts of triumph interrupted.  Dashing into their midst, Bard's hand proudly shot into the air, displaying five melon-size rats.  The vermin hung limp against the nooses that had strangled them.  "Rats it is!  Caught a whole bunch of 'em.  We be a feasting this breakfast.  They is big ones too!"

Quickly children rolled from the ground that served as their beds.  They scampered around, clapping in glee, tongues lolling out, and faces expectant.  There was no hiding the joy of this flock of tattered rags and grimy smiles.  It took little time for the sizzle and hiss of flames to curl and dance about skewers that jutted into a hastily built fire.  While most might have described the smell as acrid or burnt, grumbling stomachs rejoiced at the aroma.

In jest, Helene flourished her arm in a broad bow.  "All hail, the master hunter!  The rats be quaking at your approach."  She gave Bard a smile and a wink, before tossing him a huge hunk of blackened meat.  "You be earning the largest piece."

"It's promised it is.  I be giving it to Chara."  He caught the seared meat, juggling it to avoid burning his fingertips.

With a few quick strides, Helene blocked his path.  "Ya no be giving it to her.  I'll not have it!"

Looking down from dark, hollow eyes, he swallowed hard, but managed to utter, "I gave me word.  I don't want to be breaking it.  I told her, I'd be giving her the best piece of meat… and the furs."

She clapped him strongly aside the head.  "Bard, what ya be saying that for?  That lazy troll didn't do nothing.  Shirking duty, she did.  Ya won't be rewarding her for that."

"But she done magic on me hands.  Put a trapping spell on them.  Our bellies be starving if not for that!"  He stared back, defiant, but finally cast his eyes downward unable to withstand her withering glare.

With fluid movement she stripped the morsel from his hand and flung it to the ground.  "Nobody be eating this meat!  Tainted it is!"

Skewers froze halfway to salivating mouths, as eyes locked on the chunks of seared rat.  Chatter and laughter died beneath the weight of Helene's condemnation.

A cool voice sliced the cloud of hesitancy.  "It be very tasty.  Best I be eating in a long time."

Hungry jaws chewed the air, mimicking the motion of Chara's over-stuffed mouth.  Tongues licked their lips in expectation, drooling as though they could actually taste the skewered treat.

She gnawed another huge bite and smacked her lips in approval.

Slowly one child took a timid nibble, after which the majority quickly followed suit.  A small faction gaped longingly at the meat, but remained steadfast to their leader.  They tossed their meager portions to the dirt only to see it pounced upon by greedy hands.  The bulk of the half-starved orphans however were tearing into the charred flesh with complete abandon.

"Spits it out!  Ya swallow any of that magic fouled fodder and ya earns a beating from me."  Helene snatched a fistful of hair from the nearest transgressor.

"Lets her go, ya big bully.  Ya tries beating anyone, and that'll cost ya.  Sure as morning comes, I'll be the new boss.  Looking at how many is a feasting, I'd say me being leader is pretty much happening anyway.  So ya best not makes me too mad."  A self-satisfied grin spread across Chara's face.

Helene stared back, a slight quiver pulling at her chin.  She tore from the camp before her troupe could witness the warm, salty tears that coursed down her cheeks.

Kicking up a spray of fine pebbles from the cobblestone, she scuffed at the dirt.  Spotting a larger fragment, her foot flew in malice, spiraling the chunk of rock down the square.  With each kick she imagined Chara with a new, ugly bruise painted on her pale skin.  Following the stone, she chased her way across a number of back alleys through one of the poorest wards of Prosper.

With thinly thatched roofs and rotted wooden doors, hovels crowded the narrow streets.  The mud-brick structures, devoid of window-slits, pocked the lane like pustules upon the land.  A few larger two-story wattle and daub buildings, typically taverns or brothels, towered amid the poverty.  One might have expected filthy streets; however the dusty paths remained free of litter.  Even the smallest apple core served some purpose, far too valuable to discard.

Lost in her thoughts, she gave a loud squeal as the contents of a chamber pot splattered all over her.  Helene hadn't realized she had walked so far, for she stood just blocks away from the river docks.  Looking up to open shutters, a loud cackle rang in her ears.  Madame Granod was at it again.  The wizened street urchin had watched the old crow's antics more than enough times to know it best to avoid the woman's personal summons.  Though reluctant to admit to such a shallow pastime, she often stopped to watch unsuspecting folks get doused.  Somehow it seemed funnier when it happened to someone else.

Helene glared up at the hooked nose and pale green eyes.  She cursed the hag, "Bloody rat piss, ya old--"

"Bloody and rat, it's not.  Got your attention though, didn't it?  Better than a gilded card on a silver platter."  Snarled gray hair snaked from beneath a stained, blue rag, wrapping the crone's head.  Merriment sparkled in the gaze that peered down from the sill.  The spinster waggled her finger in admonishment, jangling a multitude of thin bangles adorning her wrist.  "Listen, ya thieving tad, watch how ya be talking to me.  Unless ya have another place to take your pinched goods, I'd sheathe that tongue of yours."

Far from foolish, Helene knew it dangerous to insult the woman responsible for moving a quarter of the stolen goods and contraband in town.  Attempting to sound contrite, she asked, "What is it, ya want?"

"I've got word for ya.  The Wagoneers be coming to the town square today.  Best get your little scallywags down there for a bit of pick-pocketing."

Crazy old loon Madame Granod was, but she always seemed privy to the latest gossip or news.  An amazing fact, considering the woman never left her second-story window.  Rumors abounded that the locked and boarded door hid a downstairs packed with broken furniture, crates of rotting produce, and every useless article imaginable.  Stacks and towers of junk had long obliterated all traces of possible passages within or out of her home.

To Helene's understanding, Madame Granod's connection to the outside world remained a chamber pot and a block and tackle pulley hung from her window.  It was alleged the recluse hadn't set foot outside her door since the day she borrowed the piece of equipment from the shipyard.  Helene doubted the veracity of the tale, but as long as the woman unloaded their filched goods it mattered little.

"Well, I best be getting since I needs me gang down there.  Thanks a bunch!"  Helene waved her goodbye and headed out.

"Finds me a good trinket or two, and sends your little sis.  I've been missing our chats," Madame Granod hollered to the receding figure.

Helene was halfway back to camp when Scar sprinted to her side.  His oily, auburn hair hung in thick strands across a face it couldn't entirely hide.  His skin looked melted, part of his nose completely gone.  Eyes bereft of eyebrows and eyelashes completed his monstrous visage.

He flung his arm over Helen's shoulder and matched her pace.  "Been looking for ya.  Getting a bit worried I was.  Not sure ya should've gone running off like that.  Now's not the time to be showing weakness.  Afraid she might be having more beds than you this night."

Helene gave him a quick shove.  "Ya think I don't knows that!"

He shrugged his shoulders, as he offered his advice.  "Maybe, ya should've let camp have a bite without drawing a line in the sand."

"What, did ya fill your belly too?" she accused, poking her finger against his chest.

Scar often wished she wasn't quite so adversarial, though he had learned to accept her nature.  "Ya knows I didn't."  Trying to sound light-hearted, he teased, "Serve ya right, if I don't be giving ya any of the chirpers I caught."  He winked and held out a small handful of dead bugs.

"Thinking you can be ordering me about now too."  Ignoring her growling stomach, she smacked his hand sending the breakfast flying.

"Don't be that ways.  Ya knows I've been with ya from the start, and I's thinking--"  His hand instinctively sought the damaged flesh that served as a face.

Unflinching, she pushed his hand away and lightly caressed the scarred tissue.  "Ya knows better than most the dangers of messing with magic."

"That's just it.  Maybe, we should be telling the gang some of what we knows.  We don't have to be telling them… everything."

The word 'magic' burned in her mind with recrimination.  More than seven ages ago, magic had forced her to run away, Scar and Annel in tow.  Helene gulped against emotions that tightened in her throat.  She squeezed her eyes shut hoping to purge the unspeakable memories.  It weren't me fault, she thought.  Unsuccessful in freeing herself from the blame, her eyelids slowly drew open as she took a deep breath.  "Nothing that I wants to be sharing, so ya best be keeping your mouth shut."

Scar looked as though he intended to argue, but then thought better of it.  His head bowed, like a wolf acknowledging its leader.  "As ya wish."

Content with the response, Helene skipped a few lengths ahead before spinning around.  Her eyes shone with excitement.  "Besides, I got some news.  Come on, we needs to be getting back.  Wagoneer Carnival is coming."

He froze at her announcement before his loud yowl pierced the air.  Hopping in circles in a silly little dance, elbows flapping, hips rocking, he hollered, "No fooling!"

"No fooling!" She laughed as he chased up behind her.  Between giggles, she added, "There's bound to be some pockets that need lightened.  We be eating good tonight.  Everybody will be in a better mood."  Unspoken thoughts filled with hope.  Maybe she would retain control of her troupe.

Scar gave her a hearty shove.  "A mark won't be letting ya within an arm length with that smell about ya."

She raised her elbow to her nose and sniffed.  "Best be stopping by the river, eh?"


*


Helene climbed up the hill and found cool shade beneath a canopy of green.  Resting her back against a tree, the fingers inside her pocket jangled an array of half-coppers, gids, and even a quarter-silver.  The light, whispered rustle of leaves tempted sleep.  She closed her eyes, not in surrender, but rather in thought.  Something was amiss.  Something about the carnival just didn't feel proper.

The hill rose directly above the square and gave a broad view of the activity below.  Though it wasn't market day, tents popped up all over the quarter, a display of vivid colors and stripes.  Flags and banners boldly waved, enticing patrons to a closer view.  Hawkers wove their way between the press, their voices raised above the din.  Local vendors quickly set up shop next to the carnival's canvas shelters and competed for extra coin from the milling throng.  Jugglers and acrobats broke into impromptu acts, hoping to garner crowds for later showings.  A bouquet of smells, roasted pig, herb potions, breads, and sweet treats all lingered in the air.

In the middle of a deep inhale, Helene let out a squawk as her eyelids flew open.  Bard plopped down opposite her with a thump.

"Better up here.  Down there, it's a bit too close.  Someone really ought to be telling old man Dowry he needs to be finding a bit of water.  Old goat should know there's not enough lavender powder to smother the smells that be following him around.  Sweat, ale, and piss it is."  Swallowing half a sweet bun in a single bite, he held out the remainder as offering.  "Want some?"

Her fist flew, knocking the bun to the earth.  "Like I'd be taking anything from you."

Picking up the sticky bread, he brushed away bits of sand.  "Donkey Piss, if I been wanting a crunchy bun, I would have asked for one with nuts."  Popping the partially scraped off treat into his mouth, he mumbled through overstuffed cheeks.  "What cher… being mad at… me fer?"  After a huge swallow his garbled words rang clear.  "We always get half our takes.  It's me own money I be spending.  I be keeping track."  He sprang to his feet and managed a cool glare.

"Don't be playing the innocent with me.  I knows ya far too well for that."
Bard shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.  "Look," his voice faltered a moment while he chewed at his lip, "about this morning--"

"Come back to ya has it!"

Her friend threw up his hands in exasperation, refusing to be intimidated.  "Ashes, Helene!  We be starving!  We hasn't had a decent bite in days."

Tilting her head, she presented a quizzical look.  "Hurt didn't it?"

"What?"

"When she be doing magic on your hands, it hurt bad didn't it?"  The coldness in her voice demanded truth.

"A mite bit… but she always says that just being the cost if ya wants to magic," he offered truthfully."

"Always!  Whats ya mean, always?  This morning weren't the first time she done it!"  With that realization, the timbre of her voice dropped to a growl.  "How many times it happened before?"

Bard dropped his gaze to the ground, seemingly incapable of a reply.

"Hell's fire, Bard, ya know that's against me rules.  Magic's being far too dangerous to mess with.  Why didn't ya tells me what she was doing?"  Her voice rose in volume with each word she uttered.

"I's afraid you'd be mad.

"Ya got that right!"

"Fire and ash, Helene!  We's starving!  I just be wanting to help."

Reaching for the nearest rock, she hurtled it before he could duck.  "Some help! This night she'll probably be having more lying on her side of the camp.  No doubt she'll be leader by morn."

Rubbing the red mark on his brow he snapped, "Maybe, I ought to be sleeping on Chara's side of the camp too."

In reply Helene pitched four more rocks in rapid succession.  Bard danced in response, escaping the hurt of three, but he howled at the solid thunk of the fourth.

Retaliating, he kicked a spray of pebbles into the air.  "And here I be trying to make peace.  I just might not tells ya what I know."

"Tell me what?"  Helene bound to her feet in a blur of motion and latched onto his collar.

He answered quickly.  "Chara kind of be taking over.  Says, since tomorrow she be our new leader, she might as well be giving orders today."

His tatty woolen shirt tore under her grip.  "What orders she be giving?"

Trembling, he held his voice to a whisper.  "More… doing really.  She cast a stealing spell on some of our hands."

"Did she only do it on the ones that's claimed they can magic?"  The intensity in her voice indicated how badly she wanted the answer."

"Why, what's it matter?"

"'Cause, ya bloody idiot, it means she knows more than she should.  It's dangerous to try and draw energy if it ain't already being there… if ya ain't got no way of knowing."

Bard's finger rubbed across his chin as he studied Helene with cold blue eyes and a dawning light.  "For being so against magic, it seems ya know quite a bit yourself.  How's that?  I'd give half me brain for an answer to that one!"

Deflecting his query, she taunted, "Careful, I doubt ya got half to spare."  Turning her back on Bard, she pivoted and headed down toward the festivities.

"Nah, you're not pulling that.  I wants an answer!"  He snatched her elbow and spun her around.

Forcing bitter memories from her mind, nightmares better forgotten, she paused awhile before speaking.  "Truth being, there's plenty I know.  Enough anyways to know there be real danger when ya mess with it.  Unless of course you're a mage… only they understands all the secrets."

"Well, you're in luck then! Ya can be asking 'em.  Even though the mages be banished from the king's lands, there's a whole tent full of them down there.  They is all dressed in fortuneteller's garb, acting like they is Wagoneers, but they ain't fooling--"

Helene's hand clapped to her mouth as a strangled gasp hung in the air.  Terror washed all color from her cheeks.  "We be ruined.  Bloody hell, we all be ruined."  She pivoted and sprinted off faster than a rabbit with hounds at its heel.  Her hollered caution carried back in the wind.  "Down to the square with ya, and warn who ya can!"

Bard threw up his hands in confusion.  "Warn them against what?"  He just stood there, shaking his mop of black hair, trying to make sense of her directive.  Plodding back toward the town square and its swirling mass of frivolity, he muttered, "Should've kept me nose clean.  Never go sticking it where it might get cut off.  Bloody hell!  Just wait till she finds out what else, Chara done."  A warm trickle from the cut on his brow rolled past his eye.  He wiped it away with the back of his hand and whispered in resolution, "It's not going to be me telling her!  That's for sure.  Got me enough bruises already!"