The agreement Evan had made with Frances ushered in months of being ordered around by soldier-mage-engineer Destin Noname. Evan had some experience with carpentry from his time on board ship. Left to his own devices, he could have built something that would have kept the rain out and met his own admittedly loose standards. It was a barn, after all, and not a palace.
Destin was a more exacting master. He’d accepted Evan’s presence grudgingly, but seemed determined to make sure that he and his mother got value for Evan’s maintenance. The wetlander saw the project as more than a chance to repair the barn—it was an opportunity to build the barn of his dreams. His role, as he saw it, was to develop incredibly complex sketches of what should have been simple things—and then hand them off to Evan to execute.
Evan turned one such drawing this way and that, unable to determine how it fit into the overall scheme.
“You’ve got it upside down,” Destin said, in the manner of a man explaining art to the unwashed. He snatched it back and flipped it. “There.”
“What is it?” Evan resisted the temptation to turn it upside down again.
“It’s the loft.”
“That’s a loft? I thought it was a chapel in a cathedral church.” Evan pointed. “See, that’s the choir.”
“Upside down, Pirate, it’s a chapel,” Destin said. He’d taken to calling him Pirate when he learned that he’d crewed for the Stormlord of the Indio. “Right side up, it’s a loft.”
And there it was—a hint that the soldier had a sense of humor, though it was rarely on display—not at first, anyway.
Destin found ways to help with the barn, despite his relative lack of mobility—by sanding down rough tiles, or using mage’s flame to cut golden sandstone blocks to size, or packing mud into frames to make bricks, or mixing up plaster for the walls. He stayed in shape by doing pull-ups on the barn beams until sweat dampened his hair and ran down his face. He did this bare-chested, muscles rippling under his skin. Evan had to keep his back turned to avoid getting distracted and mashing his thumb.
Destin continually honed himself like a weapon for a war he knew was coming. He was intense, driven, restless, and very, very private. Their conversations circled a courtyard of unstable ground where secrets bubbled constantly.
When the sun was high in the sky and it was too hot for other chores, they retreated to the cottage for the midday. In late afternoon, as the temperature cooled, they returned to work on the barn until there wasn’t enough light to see.
There was always plenty to eat. Frances was the hardest-working blueblood Evan had ever seen. She’d begun with existing groves of olive and fruit trees. Destin’s irrigation system allowed her to plant a ground garden. She’d brought in beehives, chickens, and, of course, the cows, goats, and pigs. Destin had built a smokehouse to cure bacon and ham and the salmon they netted from the river.
One of Evan’s many tasks was to meet ships in port and collect the items they had ordered from the wetlands.
It took a while to persuade Destin to make good on the promise Frances had made—that he would teach Evan about magic. It was like a game of royals and commons where neither wanted to show his hand. Destin was always too tired, or his leg hurt, or he needed to work on drawings for the next day, or Breaker needed feeding right then.
He claimed he was waiting for some manuscripts to arrive from a temple in the wetlands—ancient texts that might help Evan better manage and control his abilities as a weather mage.
He doesn’t want to give me any more weapons than I already have, Evan thought.
Eventually, the soldier ran out of excuses, and they met for their first lesson at midday in the barn.
Evan was hot and sweaty and dirty from a morning spent hauling sandstone blocks around. Destin lounged back against a bale of hay, legs thrust out in front of him, bad leg propped, shirt open, sleeves rolled, breeches riding low on his hips. He was eating goat cheese, ham, and olives, licking his fingers and washing it down with water from a skin.
Hang on while I jump into the river and cool off, Evan thought. It was a good thing the soldier didn’t know what effect he was having on his unwanted guest.
Evan hoped so, at least.
Beside Destin lay a large leather case embossed with symbols, studded with jewels, fastened with a gold-and-silver buckle. Evan eyed it curiously. What could it contain? Guidance from the gods? An extra ration of ale? A second helping?
Breaker sat next to Destin, watching each morsel of food make its way to his mouth.
“So, tell me, Pirate,” Destin said, “when did you become aware that you were cursed with magic?”
“Cursed?”
“Back home, magic is considered to be the work of the Breaker,” Destin said, scratching his dog behind the ears, “a misfortune that, nonetheless, can be put to use for the greater glory of the crown.”
Was that why Evan and his mother were on the run? Was the general who was chasing them an agent of the wetland king? Those were the kinds of clues Destin dropped like a gauntlet in front of him, but Evan knew by now that there was no point in picking it up.
“Pirate?” Evan looked up and Destin was studying him, head cocked, still waiting for an answer.
“I was aboard the stormlord’s ship,” Evan said, wrenching his mind back to the task at hand and picking through his own secrets. “We were under attack by—we were under attack.”
Destin’s eyes narrowed, and Evan knew he’d picked up the near slip.
“I was angry—angry and scared, and I stirred up the wind and the sea and nearly capsized both ships.” That was like taking a barrel of cider and distilling it down to a tablespoon of brandy.
“And you did this without an amulet?” Destin raised an eyebrow, as if he thought Evan might finally change his story.
“I’d never seen an amulet until we met here in the barn,” Evan said. “I don’t believe they are known to mages on this side of the Indio. Where do they come from? What do they do?”
“They are made by tribes in the northern mountains in the wetlands,” Destin said. “They’re used to store and control magical energy, something we call ‘flash.’ There are other magical tools as well, such as talismans to protect against magical attacks, all made by the upland clans.”
“I’ve never seen them in the markets here,” Evan said. Was that the purpose of the magemark? Was it some kind of built-in amulet?
“The tribes control the supply, and so restrict the power of wizards,” Destin said, feeding Breaker a bit of ham.
“Wizards?”
“That’s what they call mages in the uplands. Amulets are especially hard to come by. . . .” He hesitated, and Evan knew he was choosing how much to share. “They are hard to come by in the Ardenine Empire, since the empire is at war with the uplands. It is said that the wizards in the wetlands originally came from your Northern Islands. That the Northern Islands were a part of a long-ago confederation of realms, ruled by the Gray Wolf queens.” He stopped then, as if realizing that this history lesson was more information than Evan wanted or needed.
He lifted the chain from around his neck and cradled the amulet in his hands. It glowed softly, like a Solstice candle, in the dim interior of the barn.
Destin usually kept his amulet hidden under his shirt, so Evan leaned forward to take a closer look. It was all metal—copper and steel, silver and gold—in an unusual design, like a mechanical device. “What is it?”
“It’s an engineer’s hammer and tongs,” Destin said, sliding his finger along the riveted metal.
“That suits you,” Evan said.
He nodded briskly, without looking up. “Of course. My mother had it made for me. She’s from the north of Arden, and her family has been trading with the uplanders for years.”
“How does it work?”
“Mages produce power constantly, like a kind of magical vapor that dissipates as soon as it appears. Amulets allow us to accumulate enough to work significant charms. Power transfers to it through skin, when you touch it,” he said. “Here, you try it.” He dropped the pendant into Evan’s hands.
It was still warm from Destin’s touch. The amulet flared up so brightly when Evan’s hands closed around it that it was like holding a star between his hands. Evan could feel the buzz and flow of power both ways. It was oddly intimate, to be holding Destin’s amulet, their power—their flash—mingling together. Maybe Destin felt it, too, because when Evan looked up, Destin cleared his throat and looked away.
“It might be that you produce more flash than wetland mages, since we have trouble doing anything significant without our amulets. But you might find you can better control your power by using an amulet. Right now, when you’re in danger, it builds up, gushes out, and it’s gone”—he looked up at the roof, now mostly replaced—“along with half the barn.”
“I hope you’ll remember that next time you go to cut my throat,” Evan said.
The soldier actually laughed. Then he patted the leather case and said, “These are the manuscripts I mentioned—they finally arrived. They are supposed to be documents about Nazari weather mages and how they worked with the elements of the natural world. It’s written in your native language, so hopefully you can read it.” He slid the case toward Evan. “Maybe there will be something useful in there.”
Evan, oddly touched, stroked the tooled leather. “I’ll get these back to you as soon as I—”
Destin put his hand on Evan’s arm, setting his heart to flopping like a beached fish. “Keep them. I can’t read them, anyway. You can hang them over the mantel when you’re done. Right now, let’s go outside so you can practice with my amulet. I don’t want to blow this barn down again now that it’s almost repaired.”
The soldier extended his hand. Evan gripped it, set his feet, and pulled him upright. Then, with Destin’s arm draped over Evan’s shoulders, they hobbled outside.
The weeks flew by, a month, two months. Destin’s leg improved enough so that he could put weight on it again, with the help of a crutch. Once the barn was finished, they spent hours on the beach practicing, when they weren’t doing chores on the farm.
Evan read the manuscripts through, twice, then studied them page by page. While the dryland mages did not use amulets, they knew how to store energy in the land and the ocean itself, leaving it behind so that it could be retrieved and used later. He sat on the sand, arms wrapped around his knees, staring out at the twin sandstone carvings of dragons that bracketed the mouth of the harbor.
The Guardians, they were called, once used by Nazari mages to protect against enemies that arrived by sea. Evan studied the scripts and vowed to climb to the top of the Guardians one day soon.
Evan experimented with Destin’s amulet and found that it enabled him to control the scope and power of wind, waves, and weather using stored flash. He hoped that, with practice, he could learn to use his stormcaster gift more precisely, with or without flashcraft. Especially since there was none to be had in Carthis. And because he suspected, down deep, that this idyll by the sea couldn’t last forever.
Where he totally failed, however, was with spoken charms. Destin had an entire menu of nuanced magic he could work using his amulet and specific words spoken in the wetland language. Power including immobilization, persuasion, interrogation, and the like. Also glamours to make him less recognizable. Evan totally failed at all of that.
“So,” Destin said, as if summing up data. “You’re not able to use spoken charms, nor are you vulnerable to mine.”
Well, Evan thought, his cheeks burning, you’re wrong about that.
“Unless, for instance, I burn down a building with you in it.”
“Good to know,” Evan said.
Though Tarvos was beginning to feel like home, Evan still itched to go back to sea. He was not a carpenter, or a farmer—he belonged on a ship. On land, he felt trapped, like an insect pinned to a board. At sea, he could use his gifts to their best advantage. Periodically, he paid his respects at the waterfront. The work on New Moon was nearly done, but Kadar still claimed that he had no work for him. Maybe the dock boss meant to wait until that ship was ready to send him out again—no doubt at a lower contract price. But what could Evan do? He couldn’t go north—Deepwater Court was too dangerous these days. The harbor at Endru was all but silted up. He was trapped in the middle.