Chapter 1

Chapter

One

M arieke splashed water onto her face, taking a moment to consider her reflection in the looking glass above the basin.

She looked tired.

She had no business looking tired, she told herself sternly. It wasn't as though she was traveling, or preparing for examinations. Life in her parents' home didn't involve much idleness, but it wasn't particularly arduous either.

The trouble was that she wasn't sleeping very well. She'd been home for a month, and she still found it difficult to settle. During her waking hours, her mind was consumed with the questions that Gorgon's death hadn't answered.

And at night, when she laid down, supposedly to sleep…well something else filled her thoughts in those moments. Or rather, someone else.

To be fair, Zev crept into her thoughts during the day as well. Such as right now, as she stared at her dripping face in the looking glass and wondered if he thought about her half as often as she thought about him. Was he also kept awake by memories of the passionate kiss they'd shared in the unguarded moment of relief that came after surviving Gorgon's attack?

She hoped so. She felt no noble desire for him to be free of the emotional turmoil in which she found herself.

In fact, she thought, her brow creasing in an irritated scowl as she stared at her reflection, she hoped he was positively pining. In her less generous moments she was still annoyed with him for walking away from her. For declaring—quite reasonably—that whatever was going on in Oleand wasn't his fight, and then leaving it at that, as if their own situation didn't even merit being addressed.

But her annoyance was softened by the memory of those cloud-gray eyes when he'd said goodbye. He'd been conflicted, she was sure of it. Walking away hadn't been easy for him, and it wasn't as simple as doing what he wanted. And it wasn't as though they would never see each other again. She grabbed a nearby towel with a decisive motion. She would make sure of that.

Her face dry, and her mind as awake as it was likely to be, Marieke made her way out to the kitchen of her family's home.

"Good morning, Mari." Her mother's bright voice greeted her, and her father smiled absently without looking up from the letter he was reading.

"Good morning," Marieke said, the greeting encompassing them both. She hastened to her mother's side, carrying the milk pitcher to the table as her mother did the same with a plate of eggs.

"It's certainly nice to have your help around the place again," her mother commented.

Marieke smiled in response. "It's nice to have you cooking my meals for me again."

"There's always a role for you at my clinic," her father reminded her, lowering the letter. "We could use your initiative and hard work around the place."

"Not to mention my songcraft?" Marieke challenged.

"No." Her father lifted the letter again with a sage expression. "Except maybe for cleaning. You'd have to undertake much more rigorous study before I'd let you get your magic anywhere near my animals."

Marieke laughed. "Wise man."

He was absolutely right to be cautious, since using magic on animals was a nuanced and specialized business which she wasn't equipped to do. Naturally she refrained from mentioning that her decision not to specialize in that type of songcraft had been motivated by a desire to avoid spending her life assisting her father in his role as a horse doctor and farrier.

"Well, as I told you when I came home, I'm not here to stay, I'm afraid," she said, settling at the table beside him. "Just for a little while."

"Yes, but that was a month ago," her father said in a practical spirit. "And it doesn't seem to me that you have any clear plan about what to do next."

"It's a shame that earning that place on the delegation to Aeltas didn't raise the further opportunities you hoped." Her mother's tone was softer and more sympathetic. "I'm sure you acquitted yourself well." She frowned slightly, the expression sitting poorly on her pleasant face. "Besides which, you'd think they would feel they owe you something after your place on the delegation almost got you killed."

Marieke laughed weakly. "I don't think that means they owe me. And perhaps opportunities will come up yet."

She hadn't told her parents that she'd gotten on the wrong side of the Council of Singers by pursuing unpopular lines of inquiry. In fact, there was a great deal she hadn't told them about her most recent time away from home, and she didn't feel inclined to share any of it. No need to alarm them with her suspicions that some sinister magic continued to target their country.

After all, even she was beginning to doubt herself. In the month she'd been home, she'd made a point of seeking every opportunity to get news from the capital. She knew from discussing it with her parents that the series of accidents that had befallen singers previously—accidents which turned out to be attacks orchestrated by Gorgon—had been big news locally. Yet there'd been no whisper of any further incidents of that nature since she'd left Ondford. Perhaps she'd been wrong to read some kind of deeper, more sinister magic into Gorgon's attacks. Perhaps he really had been acting alone, and the threat was now over.

There was no obvious improvement in the fertility of the land, but after all, no one had ever confirmed a connection between Oleand's increasing barrenness and any kind of magic. Maybe her conviction that it was connected to the long-ago deaths of Oleand's former monarchs was nothing more than a sign that she'd become too suspicious.

"That letter has you engrossed," she commented to her father, who was once again poring over the parchment.

"Yes," he said. "It was delivered with the market cart early this morning. It's from an old neighbor who lives up near Bull Creek now." He glanced up at Marieke's mother. "I think I'll have to move things around today and pay a call to him."

"In Bull Creek?" Marieke asked, surprised. "That's pretty far away."

Her father nodded. "It's outside my usual area of service. But the closer horse doctor is out of town, apparently. And they're in some difficulty with a pregnant mare who's in a bad way. They can't afford to lose the mare or the foal, not with things so tight. "

"The journey there and back will take the better part of the day," Marieke's mother said, looking worried. "Can we afford the loss of your other work?"

Her husband sighed. "Better than they can afford for the mare to die, I think. I'll leave at once, the sooner to be back. Maybe I'll still be able to open the clinic here for a couple of hours before sunset."

"I'll come with you," Marieke offered. "For company on the drive if nothing else."

"That would be welcome," her father told her. "And I'm sure we can put you to more work than that."

Marieke nodded, not averse either to the change in scenery or the opportunity to be useful. She busied herself helping her mother pack a hamper for the struggling family while her father hitched up their wagon. Before long, she was sitting beside her father on the broad bench seat, bumping along the road westward, away from the coast.

The pair chatted easily on the journey, but Marieke's heart was heavy. The landscape they passed through seemed to mock her optimistic earlier thoughts that perhaps no great threat still hung over Oleand. The dry fields and scrawny trees were such a stark contrast to the thriving, fertile land she'd seen on her visit to Aeltas. Zev's family holdings had been particularly rich.

And her mind was back on Zev. She forced all thoughts of the inconveniently captivating farmer aside, determined to stay focused on where she was and what she was doing.

When they arrived at the farm near Bull Creek, there was enough to do to keep Marieke fully occupied. But her heaviness of heart didn't ease—the struggles of the family in question might be a distraction from dwelling on Zev, but they were a further indication of the generally deteriorating state of Oleand.

The silver lining was that her father was able to diagnose the mare's ailment, and provide treatment which offered reasonable hope of survival both for mother and foal. They were just packing up their supplies, optimistic about making it home in good time, when a shout went up from the lane leading to the farm.

Marieke paused in the act of loading her father's old leather bag, looking up in concern.

"Stay here," her father said, as if she was still a vulnerable child, not an adult and a trained singer. "I'll see what's happening."

He strode out of the barn, his lean form disappearing from view. Finishing her task quickly, Marieke stood and made her way to the doorway, hovering there in half-hearted obedience to his instructions. But she didn't need to emerge to hear the shout that was going up on all sides.

"Fire!"

Fire? Marieke froze, her eyes wide with horror as they flicked to the farmhouse nearby. But she could see no sign of billowing smoke or licking flames.

"Fire in the fields!"

Marieke let out a gasp. Having grown up around farmers, she understood how those four words contained a nightmare of the worst kind. If someone's crops were on fire, not only homes would be threatened, but whole livelihoods. And in a field of dry wheat, the flames could spread with terrifying speed. If not stopped quickly, it would be near impossible to quell them.

At least with normal methods.

Disregarding her father's orders, Marieke hurried out of the barn, joining the group gathering at the gate.

"Where's the fire?" she demanded.

"Out in Mosley's wheat field," a stranger said, oblivious to the fact that Marieke wasn't from the area and that description meant nothing to her. "It's spreading fast! "

"What caused it?" demanded Marieke's father, gazing up at the cloudy sky. It wasn't exactly peak fire conditions.

"No one knows," the man said. "Smoke was first spotted out in the middle of the field, nowhere near any dwellings. It's fields on all sides, and no one was out there that we know of. Half a dozen families stand to lose what little crops they have."

"No time to waste, then," Marieke said briskly. "Does someone have a wagon ready?"

"Marieke." Her father turned warningly to her. "You're not going near there."

"Of course I am," she said, staring him down. "Unless there's anyone else here who's a singer trained specifically in agricultural song."

"You're a singer?" One of the locals leaned forward, looking ready to seize her shoulders in his relief. "You have to help us!"

"I'll do whatever I can," she told him seriously, her insides crawling with nerves. In spite of her bold words to her father, her theoretical studies in agricultural song felt feeble in the face of a real-life crisis where people's livelihoods might depend on her.

"Come on," said the man who'd brought the news. "We shouldn't delay."

He led the group to where a wagon stood at the end of the lane, Marieke and her father clambering into the vehicle alongside the others. Marieke could tell that her father still didn't like the idea of her going into danger, but he didn't protest again in face of everyone's eagerness for her help.

The smell of the fire reached them well before the sight. Smoke filled Marieke's nostrils, suffocating and terrifying because of all it represented. When they reached a crossroads near the affected field, they paused to let another wagon through, this one loaded with barrels of water. Marieke's heart sank as they followed the wagon around the corner and got a good look at the thick plume of smoke. The sheer size of it told her that the water would do little good.

"How close do you need to be?" demanded the man driving the wagon.

"You can work from a distance, can't you, Mari?" her father said quickly.

"A bit of distance is helpful," Marieke agreed. "But closer than this. I need to get a feel for what's going on."

"Tell me when to let you out," the man said. "The rest of us will continue and help unload the water from that other wagon."

Marieke nodded absently, her senses already focused on trying to test the magic in the ground. Confused, she began to hum softly, not pulling much magic into herself, just probing what her extra sense encountered. This area was much like her home, and the magic in the ground should feel similar to what she knew. But something wasn't right. There wasn't enough dormant magic ready to respond to her, but there seemed to be plenty in the air. And it felt…angry. Like fire.

Marieke drew in a breath, ready to sing, and instead let out a choking cough. Much closer and the smoke would inhibit her songcraft due to purely practical reasons.

"Here," she told the driver, and he pulled the wagon to a stop. She climbed down, her father close behind her, along with another man.

"There's only so much they can do with the water barrels," he said by way of explanation. "You may need assistance here." His voice was grim. "If nothing else, assistance to get out if it comes to that."

Marieke nodded distractedly, her focus back on the magic. "The wheat field where it started is that way?" she asked, pointing to their right.

The man nodded, seeming surprised. "How could you tell? "

Marieke just shook her head. She didn't want to tell him what she was thinking, not until she knew whether it meant anything. But the truth was, that was where the angry magic was swirling most strongly. It was distinct from the familiar magic of the farmland, which was behaving just as magic in this type of terrain should.

She put this mystery to one side for the moment, focusing on the fundamental practices of agricultural songcraft that she'd been taught. Keeping her voice low and steady to conserve her energy, she sent out an assessing song, designed to identify areas of danger in farming conditions. As expected, her awareness burned fiercely with the presence of the fire, the sensation of it in her mind uncomfortable almost to the point of pain. She quickly cut off that song, scolding herself for using a strategy that was far too basic for the situation. If there was any other danger of relevance to farming, she wouldn't be able to find it under the overwhelming influence of the fire.

"What did you learn?" her father asked frantically, noting that her song had finished.

Marieke grimaced. "That the field is on fire."

He looked at her like she'd lost her mind, but she was too focused on her next move to explain herself. The situation was well beyond diagnosis. She needed to use her song to try to craft a remedy. She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath as she once again let out a hum to assess the magic of the land. There still wasn't as much in the ground as she'd expected, but there was certainly enough for her to access it.

Agricultural song was intuitive, she reminded herself, especially for someone who'd grown up on the land rather than in a big city. It was all about the natural elements, and since magic was itself part of nature, nature was more responsive to its influence than, say, a human-built structure.

Keeping her eyes closed, she let her hum grow into a proper melody, putting words to it. The words were according to a formula from her studies, seeking to assess the natural forces of the air, including wind and rain. There were plenty of clouds overhead, but none seemed heavy enough to promise immediate rain, unfortunately. And the wind was behaving in the worst possible way, blowing a dry and steady gale outward from the center of the fire, urging the flames on toward the surrounding fields.

That she should be able to influence, she thought, steeling her resolve. She'd never had to do it on this magnitude before—or with such high stakes—but she'd performed well in her examinations regarding the manipulation of wind. She drew in a quick breath as the words of her song changed, turning to an invocation to the wind. Controlling, or even creating, wind was merely a matter of remolding power from one natural form into another. She wouldn't usually try to change the course of such a strong wind for fear of the potential unintended consequences, but in this case she didn't hesitate. The consequences of leaving it unchecked were worse.

Pulling power from the ground and channeling it through herself as swiftly as she could, Marieke sent magic streaking outward, directing it with her song to infiltrate the wind and become part of it. With the magical awareness of the fire still burning dully in her mind, she directed the wind to curl back in on itself, sending the flames toward the already blackened patch of field, where there was nothing to fuel their onward journey.

The effort cost considerable energy, which was no surprise, given the strength of the wind and the large area she was trying to impact. But provided she was up to the task, it shouldn't have been complicated. To her confusion, she found that the wind was resistant to her direction, fighting the tugging influence of the magic still under her control. Marieke' s voice increased in volume and intensity as she doubled her efforts, refusing to let the power she was channeling yield before the opposite force. She opened her eyes, trying in vain to see through the smoke as sweat beaded on her forehead.

"Mari, what's wrong?" Her father gripped her arm. "Are you all right?"

She waved him off, unable to speak without breaking her song. With the inexplicable sense only singers were born with, she reached further afield through the ground behind her, finding more reserves of magic to pull on and send to aid in her task.

Gradually, exhaustingly, she felt her songcraft take effect. The wind slowed, then shifted, changing direction as her magic was coaxing it to do. As it turned on itself, Marieke suddenly felt the resistance disappear, not gradually, but all at once. Part of her mind understood something that sent a chill over her, but she pushed it to one side, knowing she still needed to give her full focus to the task at hand. The flames had slowed considerably with the wind no longer on their side, but that wouldn't be enough to put them out. And nor would the efforts of the humans whose shouts could be heard faintly from further into the field.

Satisfied that the wind was on course and no longer needed her to sustain it, Marieke let her voice drop, drawing in a shuddering breath as she prepared a new song. Once again, her voice reached out in assessment, this time seeking only one natural element: water.

With the use of her magic, she could feel the barrels of water in the out-of-sight wagon, as well as the more dissipated moisture in the low-hanging clouds above them. She hesitated, unsure both what she was capable of, and what was safest. But there was no time to second guess herself.

She knew, as the farmers surely must as well, that the barrels of water weren't going to do anything on their own. It was a desperate effort because they couldn't do anything else, and they couldn't bear to do nothing. Fortunately, Marieke could do something else.

Taking simple control of an element such as water was advanced magic that was taught as part of agricultural songcraft with much cautioning. It was dangerous both for the singer and for the environment around them. But Marieke couldn't think of any other option. With a song which was more like a chant about the power and strength of water itself, she sent magic curling up into the barrels, seizing the water that filled them and shooting it into the sky like a jet. It joined the clouds, losing far more of its volume on the way than she would have liked.

Stretching both her energy and her magic past what was comfortable, Marieke reached for the clouds further out, directing power to surround the water in them and pull it inexorably out. Again, she didn't know what atmospheric ramifications there might be of this redirection of nature, but given she was only capable of reaching the nearest clouds, it hopefully wouldn't be anything too dire.

The water pulled from the nearby clouds joined that from the barrels in the cloud bank right above the fire. To her immense relief, it was enough. The balance tipped as the moisture gathered, and the cloud began to release rain.

With a gasp, Marieke broke off her song again. As soon as she wasn't actively singing, she realized just how much her songcraft had taken from her. She'd channeled far more magic than her limited experience had prepared her body for, and she was barely conscious. She swayed on her feet, her father steadying her with strong hands.

Marieke's eyes drifted closed, salty sweat stinging them as it dripped down her face. All she wanted was to sleep, but the job wasn't done yet. The rain was a good start, but it wasn't a torrential downpour. She needed to enhance it if she possibly could.

An expert in agricultural songcraft might be able to increase the volume of water with only their song, but Marieke didn't know how to do that. She needed to swell the rain with water she found elsewhere. And there wasn't any in the immediate vicinity.

With an effort that kept her too exhausted to open her eyes, she sent her assessing song further afield, trying to find water with the desperation of a dying man in the desert.

There. A body of water just on the edge of her awareness. Likely a dam belonging to the nearest farm, for livestock to drink from. Marieke sent power surging through the ground, calling on the water. She didn't try to make it fly impossibly through the air like she'd done with the water from the barrels. It was easier magic to simply increase natural processes—in this case, evaporation. She sent it up into the clouds, urging it to swell the rain already falling.

She enhanced the natural evaporation process far beyond what would ever happen without magic. The dam was almost drained when she caught the cries of joy from the farmers battling the fire. She permitted herself a smile. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, but she could hear the steady thrumming of what was now a heavy—albeit isolated—patch of rainfall.

As much of the water as she could manage was in the clouds now, and it would fall without her continued intervention. That was part of the benefit of utilizing natural processes as much as possible. She could afford to stop singing.

"You did it, Mari." Her father's voice, hushed in awe, filled the sudden quiet created when her song cut off. "You did it all by yourself."

She tried to muster a smile for him, but she was barely awake. She'd undertaken a task that should really have fallen to a team of singers, and taken control of much more magic than was safe for her body. She felt blackness creeping in at the edges as she let her weight fall against her father.

It wasn't an entirely peaceful descent into unconsciousness, however. Her mind tried to fight against oblivion, insisting on solving the agitating question of the resistance to her attempts to direct the wind.

Only now it was all over did she recognize what she'd felt in the moment. As the wind resistance had suddenly died, so had the angry magic she'd felt when she first assessed the fire.

Even in her befuddled state, there was only one conclusion to draw. This blaze hadn't been natural. It had been created—or at the very least fueled—by magic. And not the dormant magic of the land. The intentional, channeled magic of an active enchantment.

Her last thought as she finally succumbed to unconsciousness was anything but reassuring.

She wasn't the only singer present.