Once A Wizard...

The story is his adventure in search of a hidden truth,

and it would be no adventure if it did not happen to a

man fit for adventure.

-- Raymond Chandler, The Simple Art of Murder

Chapter One

The twin moons, the Sisters of the Sky, had barely risen in the early Tydirian night. Then Little Eloisia, in a shameless attempt to delay her bedtime, began clapping her hands delightedly. Now it’s your turn, Daddy! Do your trick!

John North regarded the crowd, a mixture of family, friends and acquaintances, as they added to the applause, and shook his head ruefully. It’ll be tough to top those acts, he said. But if I must sing for this very fine supper, then sing I shall.

It had been a good day, arguably the best day of his life since Elly’s birth. He had told Charmaine not to do anything special for his sixtieth birthday, and of course she had ignored this, putting together that rarity, a surprise party that was actually a surprise. There had been presents -- including the usual accumulation of gag gifts such as canes and ear trumpets -- as well as some memorable moments, such as each of his girls performing for the crowd. Graciela, the eldest, and the one who took most after her mother with her figure of gentle curves, had read one of her poems, specially composed for the occasion, as her husband, Gwylln, stood on the edge of the crowd and mouthed the words, as though she might forget them. Avia, the middle child, tall and angular and not yet filled out at age fifteen, had given a demonstration of her archery lessons, proving that North’s money had not been spent in vain. The opinion of Charmaine, who considered such lessons unladylike, was usually obvious from her expression, but today she smiled. Even Eloisia, the youngest at six, had managed a performance, a brief play concerning a discussion between her stuffed animals which was received with unanimous acclaim.

Then his three daughters and Charmaine had joined talents for a birthday song. North suspected that Elly had had a hand in that, too. Even his wife had a hard time bringing Gracie and Avia together.

But now all eyes were on North, their faces alight with anticipation. Sweeping his gaze across them, he took a deep breath of the air of this Tydirian spring, stole a glance at the gorgeous vista of the twin moons overhead and rose. He tried not to grunt as he did so, and reached for the gold chain around his neck. It was somewhat worn and tarnished with age, and rare that he wore it nowadays, but he thought he might be called on to perform Elly’s favorite trick. He gripped the small gold cylinder that hung from the chain unscrewed it, and withdrew what appeared to be a simple wooden match.

He struck the match on the arm of his chair and lit it. Glancing at the crowd, he saw anticipation on a few faces -- those of the girls. Polite interest showed on his wife’s face but on most, confusion. His son-in-law began to applaud, but Gracie quickly hushed Gwylln’s misplaced enthusiasm.

Taking his drink in his other hand, North dunked the match in the glass, extinguishing it immediately. Moving slowly so he could be accused of no sleight of hand, North held the dripping match erect. He scraped his thumb against it, and watched it burst again into flame.

This brought a round of genuine applause from the small crowd, and a graceful nod from Charmaine, who took him by the arm and guided him to the table on which a buffet dinner had been set, with a basket of birthday sweets at its center. Happy birthday, John, she said. As they kissed, another round of applause broke the quiet of the Tydirian afternoon.

Later, after the crowd had been fed and North had filched a third of the birthday sweets when Charmaine was looking the other way, Gwylln bonged a knife against his glass with such force that the glass nearly shattered.

Yes, Gwylln, please speak, said North. He feared Gwylln was going to propose a toast -- the lad’s public speaking skills were not his best talent -- but as Gracie stood beside him, North began to wonder. God, not another poem, muttered Avia. North tossed her a mildly disapproving glance, then a wink, and nodded for them to continue.

Gwylln began to speak but Gracie, as usual, cut him off and took over. Father, there’s one more gift for you today... though this one is for Mother, too. She paused a moment for effect, then it seemed to spring out of her. Gwylln and I are going to have a little visitor!

God, said Avia, in a stage whisper, she is such a girl!

This brought a fresh round of applause; North was the first to get to his feet, grunting as he did so, to Avia’s delight.

Backslapping and hugging ensued, much of the latter occurring between Charmaine and Grace who often seemed more like sisters, rather than mother and daughter.

I’m glad I won’t be the baby of the family any longer, said Elly.

You’ll always be the runt of the litter to me, Peanut, said Avia, laughing, and the two began chasing each other around the garden, seemingly ignoring Charmaine’s cries to act like ladies, but nonetheless taking care not to tread on any of her prize three-headed roses.

North felt a hand clap his shoulder and turned. Congratulations, Grandpa, said Gwylln, with a smile.

North’s smile fell away, and Gwylln’s with it, horrified that his attempts at male camaraderie had gone wrong. Grandpa?

• • •

Did you have a good time, honey? asked North, as he tucked Elly in.

It was wonderful, she lisped, using one of her favorite new words. Will you sing me a song, Daddy?

Which song? asked North, brow furrowing in feigned memory lapse.

You know, giggled the girl. The one about the brave little squire...

Who fought the dragon who defeated the squire’s knight?

Yes, that one!

"Oh, a brave little squire stalked through the night, sang North, searching for a dragon and a fearsome fight -- "

• • •

Grandpa, said North, later, as he pulled on his nightshirt. He said the word as though it were in a foreign tongue, like that of Silmaria or Cardonum. I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Sweet night air, heralding the coming of a spring rain, scented the bedroom. Below, he saw the constable making his nightly rounds, heading for Victory Park. Through the night from a farm far away came the plaintive wail of a ebonhawk.

Graciela’s been married for years, said Charmaine, brushing her hair at her vanity table. I was beginning to wonder if something was wrong.

You sound as though you’re ready for it, said North, sliding an arm around her waist as he sat beside her.

It will be nice, yes, said Charmaine, with a contemplative smile. I’m happy for them.

And for yourself, too, nodded North, tickling the back of her neck. I think the last time I saw you smile so much was at Elly’s birth. That had not gone easy for Charie at her age, but she would have it no other way. North had nearly lost both of them.

There were times, said Charmaine, her voice growing solemn, when I never expected to be as happy as I am. Their eyes met in her vanity mirror and she turned, kissing him softly. Thank you, John."

Thank you, he replied, in a voice equally soft.

Are you sorry? she asked him, with the sudden directness to which he could not lie. Her left hand moved up his right arm and gently took the gold chain from beneath his nightshirt. Once in a while I think of all you’ve given up...

What I’ve given up is nothing compared to what I’ve received, honey. I have no regrets.

Are you sure?

His arms tightened gently around her. None.

• • •

He had no idea what time it was when he suddenly awoke. It was like the old days; his mind leapt from full sleep to full consciousness with no intermediate stage.

John, whispered Charmaine, there’s someone in the house.

I know, North said, though he didn’t know how he knew. He crept from under the bedcovers, and took his revolver from the closet as he made for the door.

The rest of the house seemed to make a liar of him. The cat lay in the middle of the couch that was forbidden to him, snoozing contentedly. There were occasional creaks from the foundation, but that was normal.

He prowled around the house, automatically avoiding the floorboards that squeaked. He had designed and built this house, and knew every inch of it.

He neared the girls’ rooms and grew more alert. Was Avia sneaking in from a nocturnal outing, or -- ?

A scream charged the air. Elly. He ran toward her door, somehow sure that her terror had been sparked by more than a nightmare.

He reached for the door of Elly’s room, but it shot open from within, slamming him back. His gun went flying. Two figures emerged, dressed in black. The taller of the two clutched a squirming bundle in a black sack.

North got to his feet, grunting. He seized his gun, running after them.

What’s wrong? Avia’s door opened suddenly. She stood there in tomboyish pajamas, holding her bow.

Back to bed! shouted North. Being Avia, she did exactly the opposite. He heard her soft footfalls on the hardwood floor increasingly distant behind him.

The front door stood open, dual moonlight spilling onto the front yard and its enclosure. He saw motion, but it was the front gate swinging shut. North grabbed the police whistle dangling from the pegboard next to the door on his way out.

Puffing a little as he ran down the front walk, he yanked the gate open, looking first right, then left. The night air had cooled, the promised rain had come. North saw twin sets of footprints, widely spaced, to the left and followed, giving the whistle a hearty blow.

Traffic was light at this hour; the occasional steamcar making its way home from the theater district, perhaps a couple of petwalkers. No one seemed alarmed by the spectacle of a man in his nightshirt and bare feet puffing down the walkway, nor were they inclined to stop or help. And where were the constables? Between the running and blowing the whistle, his wind was nearly gone.

The walkway led to Victory Park. But trees overhung the path, no footprints were visible. North could see the Soldiers’ Monument to those who had died in the Magic War, limned in the night by the Everlasting Flame of Memory on the other side of the Victory Arch. High atop the Emperor’s Palace, a yellow globe of light burned, the Empress was in residence. North looked alertly to all sides, but saw nothing, until --

--There! Where the trees cleared the walkway was wet with rain. He saw two sets of footprints, widely spaced. But he saw no runners, the footprints seemed to appear on their own.

North almost stopped dead in his tracks as the realization struck home. The footprints seemed to be appearing on their own, as if made by invisible runners.

Magic. Supernaturalists.

Invisibility spells existed, but it took a wizard of considerable power and resolve to cast them. But the caster was inexperienced, he had forgotten to extend the spell to footprints.

But the prints faded just a few feet under the Victory Arch. And from under the Arch extended several walkways and roads; he had designed it that way. If he didn’t reach them soon...

He didn’t. He stood on the other side of the Arch, feeling the rain seep into his nightshirt, feeling the cold of the pavement work its way up his legs, but mostly feeling exhausted and useless. North bent over and placed his hands on his knees, breath coming in long, ragged gasps.

Several steamcars were proceeding in all directions. Any of them could have concealed Elly and her kidnappers.

Sir, what seems to be the trouble? came an officious voice. North saw the local constable running toward him, his attitude one part concern, two parts assurance he was dealing with a madman. Citizen North! he said, with genuine shock as he neared. What’s the matter, sir?

My daughter...Elly -- he gasped. Then he fell to the pavement, unconscious.

Chapter Two

These are very serious charges, Citizen North, said Magistrate Strade, very seriously.

I’m well aware of that, Hartor, said North, sharply. He felt somewhat better now. He had awoken on a couch in the office of the local constabulary, the terrified face of Avia floating before him. Charmaine soon followed with clothes and bluff Dr. Maxxon in tow. He pronounced North quite well, just in need of more exercise.

The unauthorized practice of magic is illegal, continued Magistrate Hartor Strade.

Another fact of which I am aware, said North. But I know both what I saw, and what I did not see. He had made his complaint first to the local police. The police insisted on examining his house then insightfully proclaimed that, indeed, his daughter Eloisia was missing. Then, plucking a few strings tuned by his career as one of the city’s leading architects, he was turned over to the Mayor. That worthy listened briefly, clucked regretfully, and proclaimed the matter totally out of his purview. He then demanded an audience with the Magistrate, which was granted.

Throughout the process Charmaine seemed less and less substantial, as though she were being eaten away from within. Avia had been wonderful, supporting her mother in such a way that made it seem as though Charmaine had been supporting her. Sometime during this process Graciela and Gwylln showed up, allowing Avia to turn her mother over to them. Avia seemed to hover at the edge of conversations she should not have been permitted access to, absorbing all and saying nothing, her dark eyes wide and wounded.

There was a knock at the door of Magistrate Strade’s office and Chief Constable Ricker entered. He held a short, whispered conversation with Strade then left with a look at North that was intended to be encouraging, but was only depressing.

All roads and ports have been closed, said Strade, after a moment. There’s no way your daughter can be gotten out of the city. If we must, we’ll begin a house-to-house search.

Do I have to say it again? asked North, crossly. This isn’t an ordinary kidnapping -- if there is any such thing. Magic is involved. Supernaturalists.

Strade looked up and around, utilizing the immense dignity that had seen him reappointed twice to his office by the Empress. His office cleared of everyone but himself and North. Avia had been the last to leave, peering through the doorjamb like a child at an adult party.

How do you know so much about magic? asked Strade.

North prevented his hand from straying to the gold chain around his neck. I’ve been around, Hartor. And if the word ‘magic’ doesn’t spark any action, here’s another: ‘Equinox.’

North had expected Strade to start nervously or to betray something, but he was disappointed. ’Equinox’? What’s that?

The only body authorized to practice magic, said North. You know that as well as I do.

But how do you know it? asked Strade, shrewdly.

Don’t make this about me, said North, coldly. It’s about a six-year-old girl.

I have children, said Strade, stiffly. I know what you’re going through.

You don’t know, said North. It’s not your child that’s missing.

I’ll make some inquiries, said Strade, trying for a reassuring heartiness his voice didn’t achieve. I’ll talk to you in a few hours.

North rose, nodding. It was suddenly as if he had been talking to a wall. All right, then, Hartor, he said, in the same tone. He approached Strade and extended his right hand, please let me know as soon as --

Of course, John, said Strade, reassuringly. We’ll get her back, you’ll see.

I’m sure I will, said North.

After the door closed behind North, Strade’s assistant stuck his head in the office. Orders, Magistrate?

Strade’s massive head nodded. Bring me the slate.

• • •

The darkness was leaking from the sky as they returned home wearily. Charmaine made coffee for everyone -- denying a cup to Avia, who was allowed only milk -- mainly to keep busy. She seemed to drift around the house like a puff of smoke, as if trying to touch her would cause her to dissolve.

It happened after everyone had left. North gave her a sleeping draught and put her to bed, gently patting down the covers around her. He had nearly made it to the door and was turning down the lamps when she burst into tears, sobbing in a silence that was more terrible than howling at the top of her lungs would have been, her buxom body shuddering as though with a seizure.

Finally she had cried herself out. North closed the door behind him to see Avia standing there, cradling the cat in her arms, her eyes large and solemn. What’s going on, Dad? she asked, bluntly.

Your mother’s in a bad way, he said. I’ll send for the doctor --

That’s not what I mean, said Avia, dropping the cat, who scuttled off for the more certain comforts of the couch. What’s going on with all this? You know something about it, don’t you?

North didn’t answer. He closeted himself in his study, where he took the gold chain from around his neck, removed the match and struck it, blew it out and struck it, again and again.

He occasionally left the house over the next couple of days, most often to check in at Strade’s office and hear his evasions. Without seeming to, North examined the street as the gate closed behind him. He saw there one of the same three faces he had seen, always furiously occupied in a variety of purposes. One was buying a report from the elderly town cryer, the second haggled with a flower merchant over the price of a bouquet as the third asked directions from one of the constabulary.

He even saw them when he and Avia met Grace and Gwylln at church. Charmaine had been too ill to attend, but he promised to plant a seedling for Elly.

On the third day, when exiting his study, he saw Avia standing outside the door to Charmaine and his bedroom, one hand on the doorknob. Is Mother going to be all right? she asked, in a very adult voice.

I hope so, honey. But I don’t know. He slipped an arm about her slender shoulders and guided her to the living room where they sat.

Poor Elly. She must be terrified, all alone... She faced North, her eyes brimming with tears. What’s happened to her, Daddy? It had been years since she had called him that.

Don’t worry, honey, I’m going to find out.

North crept into the bedroom and into the closet, trying not to disturb Charmaine who hadn’t moved from bed since North put her there. He closed the closet door behind him and began poring through boxes whose contents hadn’t seen the light of day since before Gracie was born.

He stepped gingerly from the closet to see Charmaine sitting up in bed and staring at him with an unblinking gaze, like the cat’s. Oh my God, she said. Her voice faded, as though sinking down a well.

She was staring at the cloak he had draped over his left arm, whose fine fabric bore the creases of years, but seemed otherwise not to have aged. It was black with a gray border and a hood that could be pulled over for protection -- or concealment. North wasn’t sure for which purpose he would be needing it.

Look here, he said, easily, I’ve arranged for you and Avia to stay at the country house for a awhile. Graciela and Gwylln will be going with you. I’ve told Gracie all about it, she’ll be picking you up tomorrow, all right? It’ll be a nice vacation for you all, out in the middle of nowhere. Where no one can find you, not even the government, he thought.

It’s all about the past, isn’t it? said Charmaine. She tried to rise from bed, but stumbled and almost fell. North caught her, but when she saw she was leaning against his cloak she jerked away as though it carried plague. What could they want with her?

I don’t know. I’m afraid it’s not about her, it’s about me. He felt her shake, and realized that this wasn’t helping. It’s all right, honey, said North, trying to make it sound all right. Don’t cry, Charie.

He sat her down on the bed and took from a backpack a piece of ivory slate, six inches by nine inches, with a frame of black oak and a short, slender rod of wood with a hard black core. He held out the slate to her; she ignored it. Don’t let anyone know you have this.

I don’t want it. I hate those things.

It will let us communicate, dear, you know that. Or at least, it might. I’m not even sure I can make it work anymore. And of course, it will be only one way. He laid the slate down on the bed and sat next to her. She was cold.

’Communicate’? she said, after a few seconds. Are you going?

I have to. No one else is going to do anything. They have a three-day start on me already. She said nothing, but he felt a tremor move through her. What?

I’m afraid if you don’t go, we’ll never see her again, she said, slowly. But if you do...I may never see either of you, ever.

North crushed her to his chest, and kissed her forehead, burying his face in her hair, russet brown dusted with gray, that smelled of roses. I’ll get her back, I promise.

Chapter Three

North spent some time in his study, writing letters and making sure his will was in order. He then tucked various supplies in his backpack and dressed in worn, drab clothing.

He spoke to Charmaine once more, taking her a pot of the ginger tea she so favored. Despite his reason for being there, he was able to coax a smile out of her once or twice; he wanted to remember her that way.

When she had finally fallen asleep he kissed her cheek softly and arranged the covers over her. He extended his hand slowly under her pillow and withdrew a shining shape he had glimpsed earlier, before she had slept. It was a squat, squarish bottle of black glass, a little more than half-filled with a thick liquid. North removed the cork and gave its contents a quick whiff, then quickly capped it, shaking his head. Yes, this was the pain medication the apothecary had given her after Elly was born. Taken in small doses, it had worked quite well. But taken in a large dose...

North dumped its contents down the sink, and thoroughly washed out the bottle.

He closed the bedroom door softly behind him and walked down the hall.

And there was Avia, standing there as if waiting for him. North had hoped she was too busy with school to let this matter hobble her the way it had Charmaine. But she was more solemn than he had ever seen her which, considering her moods, was saying something.

What’s going on, Dad? she asked.

I have to go, honey. I have to leave for a while.

How long? Where?

Maybe a long time. I can’t tell you.

This is about Elly, isn’t it?

I can’t tell you. By which statement he knew he already had. North withdrew a stiff envelope from the pocket of his backpack. Here, this is for you. Read it after I’m gone. He handed her a couple of other envelopes. These are for Grace and my lawy -- and some other people. Their names are on them. See that they get them, would you, please?

Avia held them for a moment, then looked up at North, her expression that of an animal that has been struck for no reason. A tear trickled from her left eye. Daddy --

It’ll be all right, Avia. Everything will be all right. You and your mother are going to the country house for a while. There are horses, remember? You’ll like it. He embraced her slender form tightly, despite the fact that she didn’t hug back. He felt the muscles under her skin and smelled her hair. Sandalwood, her favorite scent. Then he pulled away. Goodbye.

Dad, wait --

But he had already begun the walk through the kitchen to the back door of the house. This gave onto Charie’s garden; in the cool night inhaling its aromas was like quaffing a tankard of wine.

He took the garden path to the little-used back gate, putting his weight against it gently. It creaked faintly as it opened a few inches, and North peered through the crack like a boy on the lookout for pirates. He had walked past the gate a couple of times these past days, but had seen no newly familiar face posted there. He had nearly forgotten about it himself.

North held onto the gate as it swung shut behind him. Once closed, its presence was just barely discernible through a swath of vines and ivy, if you knew it was there.

He scanned the street closely, but saw no one. This road was rarely used anymore, not since the city had put in the major thoroughfare down the block.

He set out on the slight upgrade that intersected the street at the memorial park erected there, puffing only a little. He had taken each of the girls there many times. He had promised Elly a session on the swings the day after his birthday.

From here he strolled down the street slowly, breath coming more easily. He rarely frequented the shops here, but pulled his cap a little lower over his face, avoiding any contact with the couples, old and young alike, that floated in and out of the many merchants and coffee houses, waiting for the dark with anticipatory smiles. Lamplighters trod from one stanchion to the next, stolidly illuminating the street in a string of glowing pearls.

Just ahead, a merchant was sweeping the street before his shop, wondering aloud if the city was inhabited by people or pigs, dumping his sweepings into a battered trash receptacle. North nonchalantly dropped the black bottle into it and continued walking, not surprised that the merchant didn’t seem to be doing much business.

As the street descended, the buildings became increasingly rundown. The ranks of lovers and tourists thinned, replaced with twitching men heading erratically for the taverns and women dressed too flashily and daubed too thickly with kohl. The air grew dark and it became thick with the scent of salt and the sharp cawing of seagulls. The sky ahead was studded with masts, silhouetted by the setting sun, poking the horizon like needles. Air transport would have been most desirable, but no nation offered anything like intercontinental airship service yet. The pirates’ monopoly on that mode of travel made it far too risky. Chartering a small vessel to his destination was out of the question for the same reason. No ship owner would risk dangling such bait before the marauders of the skies.

Turning left, spread before North was the expanse of the Eastern Sea. A series of docks poked into it like the teeth of a comb. Ships in various conditions of seaworthiness were anchored to many of them. At the feet of their gangplanks stood hard men, many of them smoking cigars, scanning the crewmen that boarded the ships with even harder eyes. North asked a few questions at the shipmaster’s office, then headed slowly for the likeliest candidate. A browbeaten old ship that looked as though it was being held together by her crew’s need, it was christened the Naiad for the same reason an aging hooker told her customers she was a virgin.

North waited until they boarded then approached. One of the hard men with a face like a dried river bed looked him over twice, then shook his head. You’re too old, he said. Don’t need you.

I think you do, said North. He withdrew from his coat pocket a handful of coins that glinted silver in the torchlight before he lowered it again. I’m looking for transport, not employment. I see by your flags you’re headed east.

The seaman grunted noncommittally, but his brows rose a notch. Not many civilians could read a ship’s destination from the flags she flew. His tongue, which was the color and texture of beef jerky, moistened his lips; his eyes never left North’s pocket.

I’m heading for Miran, said North. I won’t make any trouble, and you won’t ask any questions. Fair enough?

Won’t reach Miran for a while.

But you’re still the first ship going there.

Not much in the way of ‘ccommodations, said the seaman, with a shrug. Not fancy like a gentleman expects.

I’m no gentleman, said North, trying to affect a gruff laugh, and I’m sure they’ll be fine, said North. Are we agreed? He held out his right hand and when the old salt shook it, the latter smiled.

Take any unlocked room on the lower deck, said the old salt, pocketing the coin North had passed him. No meals until breakfast. Welcome aboard the Naiad.

Thank you, said North, with no trace of irony. He shifted his backpack to his left hand and boarded the gangplank, trying to sway with the motion of the waves.

Minutes after North had gone below, the old salt was about to signal for the raising of the gangplank when he looked up to see two figures standing before him, both heavily-cloaked, one taller and broader than the other. He nearly swallowed his tobacco plug and shook his head. We’re just hauling off, he said.

The taller of the two said nothing, but merely held out a gloved hand, palm up. In that slight recess were several coins that glittered goldenly.

Allus room for two more, he said, executing a mock bow as they preceded him up the gangplank.

The old salt watched them as eagerly as the cold coins grew warm in his hand. Passengers with large amounts of money who traveled on ships like this weren’t liable to ask too many questions -- neither were they too likely to be missed.

Chapter Four

North had forgotten how deadly dull a sea voyage could be; the endless horizon before you, at once always different and always the same. The view changed only when the sun set, like a hot coin being dropped into a vast expanse of cold water.

He kept largely to himself. Three times a day would come a hard knock at the door of his cabin, the signal, if he was quick, that there was a meal to be had. The food was awful, but that was all right; he could stand to lose a few pounds. The company was hardly conducive to light chats; his companions, the crew members, sat stolidly to both sides of him, eating like wolves and drinking like -- well, like sailors. North had heard rumors of other passengers, but he made no inquiries, wishing the same for himself.

Still, he felt he was being observed, though by whom he couldn’t say. He felt, early in the voyage, that his cabin was being broken into. This prospect filled him with little dread; he kept his funds in the belt which he always kept on his person or in his sight, and nothing in his gear. The only personal item of which was a picture of himself with Charie and the girls, would prove desirable to anyone aboard a crate like the Naiad. His cloak he had hidden beneath some loose boards in the cabin wall. Still, he began leaving a few primitive signs that would tell him if anyone had entered during his absence; these showed no signs of having been violated. He continued to feel he was being watched, but wasn’t sure if his feelings of violation were paranoia or a heightened state of awareness; he ignored the cynic’s maxim that they were one and the same.

He also carried a gun. He noticed that he was hardly the only person on the ship to travel armed, but when he asked the old salt about it, that worthy simply shrugged. Pirates, he said, bluntly.

I thought piracy was put to an end after the last war, twenty-five years ago, said North.

The old salt actually winked at him. You can never kill all the rats, he grumbled, and returned his attentions to the bottle he held.

So North spent most of the voyage’s time to himself, time he tried to spend well. He sat on the floor of his cabin, not quite cross-legged. In deep meditation, he tried to access forces he had once turned on and off like a spigot, trying to remember the key to a door which he had voluntarily closed twenty-five years ago. It was like trying to find your way through a neighborhood you had once traversed daily, but had left a long time ago. If these mental exercises bore any fruit, he had yet to taste it. He would stare at the flame of a candle for hours, trying to extinguish it by will alone, only to see the smoke from its flame rise to the ceiling, its path as straight as if it had been ruled with the aid of his t-square. Still he continued to meditate, it was better than thinking about poor Eloisia, alone, doubtless afraid and --

No. That way lay despair and therefore defeat. Best to think of her back in his arms, small and warm against his chest, giggling as she told him a silly joke. He wouldn’t let himself think of the consequences should his course of action be misdirected.

So the Naiad churned on through the Eastern Sea. They put anchor in at many ports: exotic Sarconium, mysterious Osshar. Even, albeit briefly, Loduria, writhing in another of its endless civil wars; nations North had thought never to see again. Cargo was taken on or unloaded during these brief respites, though few passengers left and none were taken on.

The ship changed heading, now bound on a southwestern course. The Naiad’s sails continued to fill, endlessly groping for a setting sun that was forever out of reach.

North was at the rail one night as they neared the edge of a foreign coast, many days out of port. Even from several miles away the coastline seemed to emit a radiance that was too subtle to be designated a glow. It was more an eerie luminescence that was better perceived when he looked at it out of the corner of his eye rather than directly at it. And he could hear, when the wind was right, moanings, strange ululations that came from the radiant coast that sounded almost like human voices raised in pain or in warning. He got a whiff of stale tobacco from upwind and turned to see the old salt looking at him then, after a moment, shifting his gaze to the faraway coast.

Cardonum, he rasped, stabbing his pipe’s stem outward. The scene of many a conflict in the last war, against Silmaria. The Magic War.

Is that what they call it? said North, feigning ignorance. I never heard of any magic being used.

You weren’t supposed t’hear about it, said the old man, shaking his head. But Cardonum was caught in the middle, between Silmaria and Tydiria. Ground troops and wizards alike used that country as the site for their damned war.

What happened to the people? asked North. Rumors held by the uninformed were always interesting.

Destroyed, said the old salt, sagely. Just eliminated in the face of the titanic forces unleashed upon them, poor bastards just got in the way.

Do you hear a kind of moaning? I think I --

The souls of the poor people of Cardonum, held to that cursed land by the spells that killed them. I wouldn’t lay anchor there if we were dying of thirst and had nothin’ to eat but each other’s flesh.

North nodded slowly; his solemn regard of the old sailor’s words came not from awe for their content, but from the fact that the story had sunk in exactly as those who had planted it wished it to. The agents of