The Voyage to Magical North Read online

  Brine hopped impatiently from foot to foot. “Can’t you hurry?”

  “Can’t you shut up? We’re nearly done.” He reached up again, moving books out of the way to get to a set of wooden boxes. He hesitated over them, then took down the biggest one. Brine held her breath as he lifted the lid. She’d expected it to be locked.

  Carefully, Peter slid his fingers into the box and lifted out …

  Another box.

  In that box was another box. Inside that one, a tiny casket made of gold-plated wood.

  And inside that, nestled between twenty layers of wool that were already fraying under the corrosive onslaught of pure magic, lay a narrow sliver of amber shell. It was no longer than Brine’s little finger, and it was the most precious thing in the whole world.

  * * *

  According to Aldebran Boswell, starshell fell to earth in the wake of a shooting star, hence its name. According to everyone else, this was nonsense. Starshell was the fossilized remains of the silver jellyfish tree that grew everywhere before the Great Flood and the reason it was called starshell was because people like Boswell didn’t know any better. Either that or it was the claw of the tentacled lurk-weed that once crowded the ocean bed. Or oysters made it when they wanted a change from pearls. In some parts of the world, people still risked their lives for it, diving hundreds of feet through the coldest parts of the ocean and sometimes, only sometimes, emerging half-drowned with a glistening shard in their hands. Even they couldn’t agree on what it was.

  But whatever it was made of, one thing was known for sure: Starshell was the only thing in the whole world that held magic. Somehow—how and why was a mystery—it drew magical energy out of the air and stored it ready to be used. Without starshell, there would be no spells, no magicians, no Tallis Magus.

  For half a minute, Brine forgot the urge to hurry and gazed down at the glowing piece of shell. All starshell was precious, but this one was special to her. It had been found on a gold chain around her neck when she herself had been found adrift in a rowing boat. A shivering, sneezing child with skin as dark as hazel-wood, half-dead from sickness and thirst, and wearing the price of the island as jewelry.

  Magus had been quick to lay claim to the starshell to add to his stock. The islanders had insisted he couldn’t have the shell without the child, so he’d taken Brine in and kept her as a servant. If it weren’t for that piece of starshell, she might have been a fisherman’s daughter by now. And yet, the one time Tallis Magus had let her hold it, she’d sneezed so hard she’d almost dropped it.

  Peter didn’t look at her as he lifted the starshell out of the box and folded the layers of wool over it. “I thought you wanted to hurry,” he said.

  Brine shook herself out of her daze and nodded. It wasn’t her starshell anymore; it belonged to Magus—and they were about to steal it. Gripping the candle like a weapon, she led the way back through the library and down the stairs.

  The front door stood before them, a faint crack of moonlight showing along the top where the wood had warped. Brine’s heart quickened fearfully. They were really doing this. They were going to steal Magus’s starshell, steal his boat, and cast a spell on the richest man in the whole island cluster. She paused a moment to steady herself. It was fine. Magus was asleep, the rowing boat was waiting for them down on the beach, and nothing bad was going to happen.

  She opened the door and blinked in the flood of moonlight. The grass looked silver, crisscrossed with the long shadows of the trees, and the path to the beach curved away between them. Brine glanced at Peter. His face was set in a grin of mad terror.

  “Are you sure you can cast the spell once we get there?” asked Brine.

  He jerked his head in a nod. “Of course I’m sure. I’m a magician, aren’t I?”

  An apprentice magician, which wasn’t exactly the same thing. Brine didn’t say it. She started along the path as quickly as her trembling legs would allow. They could do this. Get to the boat, row to Turbill’s island, Peter would cast the spell, and then—

  The sound of the door banging back stopped her dead. Peter turned and let out a low cry of dismay.

  Tallis Magus burst through the doorway. He was wearing his dressing gown and slippers, and his hair swung loose about his face. Brine might have laughed, except for his eyes. They glittered with a light that went beyond mere rage. They were twin shards of ice, full of vengeance and the promise of long and painful punishment. Brine felt a whimper rise in her throat and clamped her lips together to stop it from escaping.

  Magus advanced upon them with steps that made the grass tremble. “Thieves!” He pointed at them with a long, shaking finger. “I take you into my house. I treat you as my own children. Ingrates! Give me back my starshell.”

  Brine tensed. Peter put his hands behind his back. “What starshell?”

  Magus’s eyes flashed. “Did you really think I’d leave it unprotected in an ordinary box? The moment you put your thieving hand on it, I knew. Give it to me.”

  Brine felt the air thicken. Peter tossed the starshell back at her. She sneezed. The wool-wrapped packet missed her hands and hit the grass.

  Magus curled his fist and drew his arm back.

  “It was Brine’s idea!” shouted Peter. “She took it, not me.”

  Brine’s cheeks flooded with heat. “Liar!”

  “Thief!” Magus roared and took a step forward.

  Peter stumbled away from him.

  Crunch.

  The sound froze them all where they stood.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Brine looked down. Down at the imprint of Peter’s shoe on the grass, and the flattened square of wool, and the starshell that lay in the middle of it. Her mouth turned dry with pure, cold horror and the certain knowledge that now Magus really was going to kill them.

  Magus let out a wordless bellow. Peter yelped, scooped up the broken starshell, and bolted down the hill. Brine hesitated a moment, then ran after him. Magus, cursing loudly, was just behind, but she was a lot younger and much faster. And, at this moment, a lot more desperate.

  She sprinted past Peter and felt the path give way to loose sand beneath her feet. Dark against the shoreline, the rowing boat bobbed as if it were waving to her. With a final burst of speed, Brine flung herself inside. Peter landed beside her with a crash.

  “Come back here!” shouted Magus.

  Brine threw off the mooring rope and heaved on the oars. The boat shot away from shore. Magus ran onto the beach, shouting threats and waving his fists, but he was too late. A wave caught them and swept them out of his reach.

  * * *

  Brine kept rowing until the shore was swallowed up in the night and Magus’s angry shouts were faraway squawks that could have been the sound of a gull. Finally, she paused and leaned on the oars, trembling. Peter’s face was white, his hair standing up in sweaty clumps. He gave Brine a wobbly smile. “Well, at least we got away.” He unwrapped the starshell, and his face fell.

  Brine leaned over to look. The front half of the shell had snapped in two. The back, where Peter’s heel had hit, was crushed almost to powder, and the bits were already turning dull gray, too small to hold any magic. Peter shook the useless fragments over the side of the boat and wrapped up the two larger pieces. He looked like he was trying not to cry.

  Brine shut her eyes tight. There was no point going to Penn Turbill’s island now. Even if they cast a spell on him, it wouldn’t make any difference. They couldn’t go back to Magus’s house, not yet. Maybe not ever.

  A sudden, irrational longing for home came over her—a home she couldn’t even remember. Ever since she’d arrived at Tallis Magus’s house, she’d dreamed of leaving. Then she’d discovered the magician’s library and Boswell’s books, and she’d known straightaway that she was going to be an explorer, too, and see the whole world. Now, however, with the ocean before her, she felt like she was a small child again. Huddled in a boat with no food, no water, nobody to hear her crying or to care whether she lived or died.
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br />   “At least we’ve got the boat,” said Peter. “And we’ve got two pieces of starshell now, where we only had one before.”

  Brine opened her eyes. “We’ve got two much smaller pieces of starshell, thanks to you. And thanks for blaming me, by the way.”

  “Well, it was your idea to steal the starshell.”

  “I didn’t notice you objecting.”

  “That’s because you never listen to a word I say.”

  The boat swung in a lazy circle. Peter didn’t offer to help as Brine took up the oars again. The constellation of Orion hung above them, the three bright stars that made up the mast pointing the way north. She turned the boat in that direction, feeling it pick up speed as the waves swept them farther from Minutes. She lost track of time, letting the sea carry them, resting for long minutes between each oar stroke.

  A long while later, she noticed a rosy pink creeping across the sky from the east. She sat up straight and looked around.

  “Uh, Peter,” she said, “I think we might be lost.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The island cluster of Minutes lies in the northwest of the Atlas Ocean. It consists of more than twenty islands, many of which are so close together that you may sail between them in a matter of minutes. Beware, however, the sudden currents around the Minutes Islands—they can sweep an unwary boat onto the rocks or straight out to sea.

  (From ALDEBRAN BOSWELL’S BOOK OF THE WORLD)

  Peter followed Brine’s gaze full-circle around the empty gray waves. A speckle of dots to the east might have been Minutes or just a result of staring at the rising sun. He sat back rubbing his eyes. Great—now he was stuck in a boat with Brine for company and they had no idea where they were.

  “This is your fault,” he said. “You’ve rowed us in the wrong direction.”

  “Really? Feel free to take a turn if you’re so good at it.”

  Peter gave her his magician’s sneer, though he didn’t know why he bothered—Brine never took any notice. He had put the starshell pieces in his pocket for want of anywhere better. He slid them out and folded back the layers of wool. His palms prickled with sweat.

  The first time Peter had ever touched starshell, he’d been six years old. The youngest in a family of eight children, his main memory of that time was of his parents yelling at him for getting in the way. Then Tallis Magus had come around to the villages, looking for an apprentice, and Peter was shoved into line to meet him. He’d been scared stiff of the big magician, but when Magus had grabbed his hand and forced it onto the starshell, Peter had felt the magic swarming inside. He hadn’t known how rare a talent it was. All he knew was that after less than a minute’s discussion, his mother handed him over to Magus, his father slapped him round the head and told him to behave, and that was the last time Peter had seen either of them.

  “What are you doing?” asked Brine.

  “Finding out where we are. Be quiet, can’t you?” He tried to ignore her—easier said than done when she was watching him from right across the boat—and started to draw magic out of the starshell. He’d never cast a spell without Tallis Magus standing over him before, but he wasn’t about to let Brine see how nervous he was. The magic came out in an uneven strand, but it came.

  The finding spell was one of the first spellshapes Magus had ever taught him, because Magus kept losing things, Peter guessed. Many people thought it was one of the easiest spellshapes to form—a simple circle—but anyone who thought that should try drawing a perfect circle in the air with nothing to guide them and see how they got on.

  “Did you know,” said Brine, watching Peter try, “that the world was once made entirely of ocean, before the mariner Orion stole fire from the stars and drove back the waves to make the islands?”

  Peter grunted. “Pity he didn’t get rid of the oceans altogether, then we wouldn’t be in this mess.” The circle spellshape was slightly flat on one side. He tried again.

  “Why don’t you hold your wrist still and just turn your hand?” suggested Brine.

  “Because…” Peter tried it and found to his annoyance that it worked. The magic formed a little ring in front of him and, gazing through it, he pictured Minutes. All the islands, the houses with stones on the roofs. Magus’s house, cold all year except for the kitchen, where Brine always kept a fire burning. He released the spell and watched as a blob of light the size of his hand leaped high in the air and shot off southeast. Several seconds passed before he felt it connect.

  “Well?” asked Brine.

  “Minutes is that way. A long way that way.” His stomach twisted as he said it.

  Brine shrugged. “It’s not like we can go back there, anyway. Can you find us another island?”

  Peter shook his head. To find something, he needed a mental image of it, and he couldn’t form an image of something he wasn’t already familiar with. He knew he didn’t have the imagination for it. He wrapped the starshell pieces back up. “We have to save magic. If we use it all now, it’ll take days for these pieces to recharge, and then we’ll really be stuck. If we row for long enough, we’re bound to find another island, or a ship. Or something.”

  “If who rows for long enough?” asked Brine pointedly.

  Peter sighed and took the oars.

  Rowing was harder than it looked. The oars kept slipping, and every time he missed the sea with one of them, Brine rolled her eyes and groaned.

  “Is this why your parents gave you away to Magus?” she asked. “Because you couldn’t row to save your life?”

  Peter accidentally cracked himself across the knuckles. “At least my parents knew where I was going. Your parents stuck you in a boat and pushed you out to sea. You must have been a horrible child.”

  A flash of hurt on Brine’s face told him he’d gone too far. He bit his lip. Brine looked away from him. Peter bent his head and kept rowing.

  Brine heaved a sigh. “You’d think I’d remember being lost at sea, wouldn’t you? It’s not the kind of thing most people would forget.”

  “I’m certainly not going to forget this in a hurry,” Peter agreed. He shifted his grip on the oars again, and one of them flew out of his hand altogether.

  Brine retrieved it and grabbed the other one from him. “You just keep watch. Shout if you see land.”

  Peter tried to hide his relief. He sat, rubbing the blisters on his palms, and watched the sea for any sign they were not alone.

  It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later when he spotted a dark smudge on the horizon. It might have been an island, except that Peter was sure there hadn’t been an island there a few minutes ago. Also, islands didn’t usually appear to be heading straight toward you. A rhythmic thudding reached his ears, something like the beating of a giant heart. Peter wondered what it was, then he knew: the sound of sails.

  “Brine.” It came out as a croak.

  A ship. They were saved. Peter scrambled to his knees and waved both arms. “Ahoy!” A ship! He could even forgive Brine for getting them into this mess. A ship could take them back to Minutes—or anywhere else, for that matter. They could work for passage. Brine was good at cleaning, and he … he’d think of something.

  He lowered his arms. “You won’t tell them I’m a magician, will you?”

  Ships and magicians didn’t mix, Tallis Magus always said. On the one hand, magicians were so useful to have around that some ships, especially pirate ships, had been known to kidnap them and force them to work on board forever. On the other hand, sailors were notoriously superstitious and hated anything they couldn’t understand—which was most things, but especially magic. So magicians found themselves both wanted and not wanted, sought after and hated.

  Brine pulled a face at him. “Maybe I’ll blackmail you. Knowledge is money, hmm?”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “You started it.” She went back to rowing the boat. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell them you’re a magician, because you’re not a magician. You’re an apprentice, and you’re not a very
good one.”

  Peter sighed and turned his back on her to watch the ship approach. It was close enough now to make out the four masts and the sails that bowed in the wind. And also close enough to see the black-and-white flag that streamed out from the tallest mast.

  A black skull and bones on a white background. Pirates.

  A moment of pure terror froze Peter’s voice. All he could do was point.

  Brine’s eyes widened as she looked. She dug both oars into the sea, hauled the boat round, and began to row in the opposite direction. She was far too slow. The thrum of sails pursued them, growing louder with every second. Peter gripped the sides of the boat. Brine rowed hard, but the pirate ship sliced through the water behind them like a knife through … well, like a knife through water.

  Brine’s face shone with sweat. The boat creaked with every smack of the oars. Bells clanged on the pirate ship, the sound echoing across the smash of waves and the sudden howling in Peter’s ears.

  “Do something!” shouted Brine. “Use magic.”

  “I can’t!” Peter’s chest felt tight. Almost every spellshape he’d ever learned had fled from his mind. “All I can do is find things and pull them.”

  “Then pull Minutes!”

  She’d gone mad. “Brine, Minutes is all islands.”

  “I know.” She plunged the oars back into the water. “Boswell’s third law of motion. Every action has an opposite reaction.”

  Which meant if he tried to pull Minutes, it would pull them closer instead. Peter’s heart leaped. But Minutes was too far away; he couldn’t do it. Could he?

  It was either try or be captured by pirates. Forced to cast spells for them forever. Or they’d discover that he was only an apprentice magician, and not very good, and they’d throw him overboard. Peter took the starshell pieces out of his pocket and drew out enough magic to make the spellshape. It was only a simple downward arrow, but he let it go too soon and the pieces flared, jerking him forward.