Swift Magic (The Swift Codex Book 2) (30 page)

Fantastical and natural animals left free to wander or sleep in their homes as they wished. Acrobats and contortionists and street magicians dotted short stages outside of tents, and any manner of palm-readers and fortune tellers sat within their waving canvases. Penny games scattered around, small toys given to those who could shoot moving targets with darts or spells, or to those who could toss a ball into colored cups of water on a table. Cotton candy was spun in front of fascinated observers, done with a flare for the dramatic, the floss changing color mid-way through. Shaved ice and sweet syrup was sold under exotic names like Tiger's Blood and Unicorn's Sneeze.

I got myself a Snickerdoodle, which tasted as I expected: a cinnamon-vanilla spiced cookie. Four sips into it, I'd had all the sweetness I could handle. When I threw it away, a swarm of will-o-the-wisps appeared from nowhere and packed it off, taking bites off it the way a school of fish attacks a bread crust.

A booth also sold Elephant's Ear which was a gigantic oval of dough fried and served with spiced sugar or honey. Someone else sold popcorn, in the bag or cone or on a stick. Chocolate, caramel, and candy apple were the sweet flavors while their savory varieties were salt, butter, paprika, and earwig. Like the Tiger's Blood syrup, I doubted the earwig powder was made from its namesake.

I went through a house of mirrors where the floors slanted and some feys had already unleashed a cloud inside and turned two mirrors to appear invisible. Then I watched a slowly-spinning carousel. I was admiring the way the animals breathed and tossed their heads while they leaped up and down in circles when I heard the distinctive low rumble of Mordon's performance voice.

He was in the middle of the benches and people were eating, watching their kids as they sat in a semi-circle around him. Gone was his occasional distant behavior. Every line and wrinkle worked in exaggerated expressions as he continued to tell his story over puppets which appeared to have been made from manipulating various colors of paper napkins.

“...and the young boy was by now so hungry that he would do anything to eat. What else could he do when no one would give him scraps and they all chased him away by hurling rocks at him and calling him names?”

I decided to embellish the puppets just a little. I gave them faces but did not control their behaviors. Following Aunt Linnia's advice, I let the observer fill in those details. If Mordon noticed, he didn't lose a beat.

“And so the boy had to steal food, and he always ran away because if anyone caught him he would be beaten very badly. The village thought of him as a nuisance and decided to drive him away. They found him and tied his hands and were going to chase him down the road with big rocks. But an old man stopped them. 'I will take this boy, and raise him as a son,' he said. And people let him do it, because in truth many of them felt guilty about the way they had treated the poor boy.”

“Who was the old man?” a girl asked. “Is he Merlyn?”

The old man puppet wagged an arm at the now-giggling girl while Mordon said, “Patience, patience. I am coming to that soon. The old man was not Merlyn; he was an old sorcerer and a kind one. He did not have much but he had a roof with no leaks to shelter the boy and plenty of food to feed the boy and he made a lot of time to teach the boy. Now, we have many, many tales of the boy's youthful adventures and misadventures, but this is not that tale. This is to say that the boy, thanks to the gentleness and open heart of the old man, survived his time as a lonely street waif and he survived a very cold winter which he surely would have died in if he hadn't had the old man's fire to warm up beside. The little boy grew up and became Merlyn.”

A child raised his hand. “But none of it would have happened if not for the old man?”

“You didn't wait for me to call on you,” Mordon said, but the scolding was so light that all it did was make the children laugh. “But yes, thanks to one old man who was just like anyone here, the greatest sorcerer ever known was given the gift of life.”

He didn't even get to ask what the moral of the story was before the children were clamoring to hear more stories. A woman who I'd learned was the head teacher appeared to save Mordon with the words, “There's a whole carnival to enjoy. Shoo, shoo, shoo. Drake Lord Meadows will be with us longer than the carnival will.”

The children broke apart after some more cajoling by the parents and a round of overly-loud ''thank you''s. And then the teacher sat down so close to Mordon that her knee brushed his, and she leaned on her elbow to say, “You have quite a way with the young ones.”

Mordon glanced down her body, taking in her pose and the way she was twisting a bit of hair about her finger. He smiled. “I find they listen better than their elders.” He tipped his head to her respectfully, stood up, and walked away. Her mouth dropped open when she realized he was coming to see me.

He slid an arm about my waist and pecked me on the lips.

“Your mother wants to speak to you. Do you know what about?” Mordon asked.

I shook my head, and looked at the carnies doing their thing under striped tents. Children screamed and played and caused a general ruckus with the performers and each other while their parents, older siblings, or guardians watched on. Even if this came about as a result of someone's death, it was far from a sober celebration. The bereaved at times forgot themselves to the joys of the evening. But I wasn't feeling like being sociable yet. No matter how appealing the curiosities were.

“She said something about leaving before dawn,” Mordon continued.

Realization broke through my distracted thoughts. Had Mother been part of the idea behind Rossalinda's family appearing at my doorstep while Mordon and Father were conveniently absent? She'd want to see me safe more than anyone else.

A man in a brown tunic and hair dyed in patches of pinks, greens, and purples came out from around a darts wagon.

“Is that who I think it is?” I asked.

Mordon followed my gaze and his eyes narrowed. “I see who you're talking about, but I don't…ah.” He smiled as the wind shifted and brought the scent our way. “Yes, it is.”

“Leazar!”

I burst into the clearing, running. My brother jumped, saw me, and held out his arms. I rushed into a hug, spinning around him the way we used to do when I was little and he'd make my shoes fly off. He set me back on the ground and we both stopped smiling, feigning formal indifference.

“Feraline Swift.”

“Peacemaker Leazar.”

We stood there like that, both of us with our arms crossed, chins lifted, deliberately avoiding making eye contact. Daring the other to lose seriousness first. Challenging each other to see who could avoid grinning the longest.

It happened that he'd brought Simbalene with him. Her hair was as carrot-red as last time I'd seen it, and she looked way too cute when all those light freckles skewed up in confusion as she looked between us. It was Mordon's expression that made a giggle start. He stroked his chin, found it empty of a beard, and glanced down at his hand as though shocked to find his fingers empty.

“I win.”

II scowled and slugged Leazar on the shoulder, giggling all the way, saying, “It wasn't fair. Your mate isn't as comical as mine is, otherwise I'd have won.”

Leazar held up a hand to fend off the blows. “Be careful what you call a great Drake Lord of Kragdomen, sister!”

“Phooey. I could call him whatever I wanted.” I wrapped an arm around my brother's shoulders and put all my weight on him, making him stagger. He might be taller, but I was stockier. “What has you and your little wifey here in Smallville?”

“You know me, sister, any time there's free drink and a good time to be had…”

I rolled my eyes and let him go. “Sure, sure. It wasn't anything to do with hearing that you little sis had another legal battle?”

“That factored in, too.”

Something in his voice made me pause. Was everyone here for the same reason? To face off with the Infection and stop it before it got too bad? I examined his face, but as soon as Simbalene was distracted by a floating balloon dog which barked in its squeaky voice, he was distracted as well. I stood beside Mordon, watching as Leazar haggled with the balloon man. Two balloon dogs were soon made, both of them green and seemingly in love, and Leazar let Simbalene hold them. She let go, looked shocked when they floated up. I used a bit of magic to stop them, and Leazar caught their strings. He tied them about his wife's wrist, the way parents did for children in the fair grounds.

Mordon tugged on my hand. I let him lead me to wherever caught his attention, glancing every now and then to check on the way the feys behaved around the even finer-boned fairie bride of my brother's. While Mordon watched, entranced, a Fire Master perform his routine using a deft mastery of magic and sleight of hand, I noticed that people were likewise entranced watching Simbalene. After some soft agreement with Mordon about the finer techniques of fire magic, we went to where a black unicorn danced in a ring of bluebells glowing with witch fire. Simbalene joined me at this, at one point she snapped her fingers and a spray of glittering fairy dust floated overhead. This drew awed approval from the children.

At the Amazing Pixie Cloud Acrobats, Mordon and I hung near the back of the crowd as the tiny pixies went through their performance with the use of flowers, beads, lights, and spider silk, which they wove into patterns and did this and that with. I remembered my own conflict with the pixie clouds in Gregor Cole's employ and how it had hurt when they drove their tiny swords under skin and scale. The acrobats were beautiful, but … I stood it as long as I could, but soon my skin itched. I asked into Mordon's ear, “We leave?”

He immediately took us away. I sighed and scratched my arms, noticing as I did so that my skin had become tough and patterned like scales.

“Bad association?” Mordon said.

“Bad association.” I held out my hands and tapped two talon-like fingernails together. “Am I shifting?”

Mordon's hands were rough and hard as they took mine. “You could. It's in anticipation of trouble.” His eyes glinted and he struggled to keep a smile off his lips.

“Or what else?”

“Let's say…I find you very attractive at the moment.”

I felt the blush crossing my cheeks. I bumped him with my hip. “Ah, I see.”

“Want to be alone?” he asked and slid a hand around my hip, drawing me flush to his side.

“I'd love to.”

There was an instant of spontaneous thrill as he dug long nails into my thigh. My whole body had changed its tack just like that. It wasn't something I was used to experiencing. I wanted it. The sensation, the breathlessness and heat going through my body, was amazing. I wanted to see what would happen next, and I very much had no idea what it was that Mordon had in mind. But I knew that whatever it was, I was going to love it.

So I joined him in looking for an easy to access quiet place. The forest was there, in the distance, but we'd wandered deep into the carnival, and though it was now night, they had the place lit up with torches of all kinds of fire, many of which took the shape of people or animals and moved this way or that.

Mordon was the one who saw the back of a tent where various bushes and shrubs grew, casting a dark shadow. We were soon ensconced in it. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him, giddy with wondering what were were going to do—and in public.

“Fera-line!”

I ignored Mother and wove my hands through Mordon's hair. He ignored her, too, clutching me hard against his chest.

“Fera! I know you're here somewhere, don't make me come find you.”

Mordon nipped my lip, nudged my head to the side, and said in my ear, “She will, too. Do you want her to see this?”

I wanted to say no, but growled instead.

Mordon laughed and slapped my butt. I yelped and slapped his chest, which made him laugh more. His skin shone in the light of a wandering fire spirit which did back flips through the air, watching us before flipping again, giving me a better view of my mate.

He'd partially shifted, too, the anticipation thing. His skin was faintly red in the darkness, lighter and darker stripes which I knew were his yellow and black markings. His nails had grown and hardened into talons. But what got me most were his eyes, turned to vertical slits, large and wide and dark. I felt the itch to shift, to grapple scale to scale, to take flight, to run away, to get close. The flight conflicted with the grappling, the running with the getting close, the urge to be free with the desire to be dominated. I didn't know what to think of the combination.