Brightly Woven
Page 17

The moment my feet hit the ground, I pushed him away from me. North tripped over his heavy cloaks, stumbling backward until he fell onto the dirt with a startled curse.
“Don’t do that without giving me some warning!” I cried, my head still swimming dizzily.
He grunted as he picked himself off the ground.
“All right, all right,” he said. “Next time I’ll warn you when I’m about to twist the magical pillars of time and the world.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I said crossly. “But you’d better!”
“I thought you’d like twisting…,” he mumbled, picking leaves from his matted black hair.
“Twisting,” I repeated slowly. “Is that what it is? Why can’t we just twist to Provincia if it’ll get us there faster?”
North let out a dry laugh. “Don’t you think that if I was capable of doing it, we would already be in the capital by now? Twisting is extremely difficult for a wizard to do alone, let alone with someone else.”
“How far can you twist us at a time, then?” I asked.
“A mile—at the most,” he said. “And that’s quite a feat.”
I blew a stray curl out of my eyes. “Where are we now?”
“Our best chance for a job. Have a look.”
Dellark had been far nicer than anything I was used to in Cliffton. But even at night, this city was grand, far grander than anything my imagination could have produced, and for an instant I was sure we were in Provincia. Its walls and towers reached toward the sky in columns of the purest white. I followed the line of purple flags on the towers down to the moat surrounding the city. From a distance, the walls glinted in a way that reminded me of the porcelain in Mrs. Whitty’s shop at home. So smooth, like cream. It was Fairwell, home of master artists and their apprentices, the city that was to have been my first stop on the road to my future. I would take this chance to walk its streets, even with a reeking wizard at my side.
“Fairwell seems to have captured your heart as well,” North commented, pausing only a moment to readjust his leather bag.
I nodded. “It’s so…” I couldn’t find the right word. Even I, a world away in my little desert house, had heard stories of Fairwell’s fabulous glass sculptures. I had to find the green crystal dragons, and the blown vases large enough to fit a grown man inside. Henry would be incredibly jealous—in all of his travels, he had never once seen the white walls of Fairwell.
“Looks like they still haven’t fixed the bridge,” North said absently. In the distance, I could just make out a long, thin board that stretched over a waterless moat.
“Great Mother, what happened to it?” I asked. There should have been a drawbridge, or at least a stone entry into the city.
“Fairwell had an awful time with hedge witches a few years back,” North said. His shoulders slumped slightly. “But you probably don’t know what a hedge witch is, do you?”
“They take care of the gardening at the palace?” I tried.
“What we all wouldn’t give if they did.” The wizard chuckled. “They’re rogue women with magical ability, shunned by the wizarding community for their practices. They usually live on the outskirts of cities and steal shipments in and out of them to survive.”
“So there are no…male hedge witches?”
“No, we just call them rogue wizards or something of the like.”
“Well, that hardly seems fair,” I said. “Why are only the women singled out that way?”
“They got that name because for a very long time, female wizards were banned from learning most magic. It’s not that way anymore, of course, and you’re almost as likely to see a female wizard now as a male one,” he said. “About two hundred years ago, after the last great war with Auster, there were few magisters left with the skill to take on apprentices. At the time, the Sorcerer Imperial decided that the male wizards would be the ones to receive schooling, so that the next children of children would have a selection of magisters to choose from. Many women were unhappy, to say the least, and left to create their own communities where they taught themselves and one another. Those women and their descendants never came back to proper wizarding society.”
“What are the hedge communities like?” I asked.
“Tightly knit, highly secretive,” he said. “Though I’ve never seen one myself. I’ve only come across one male wizard who grew up within a hedge community, and he wasn’t forthcoming with details.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Who do you think?”
I stared at him. “Dorwan…?”
North nodded. “Explains quite a bit, doesn’t it?”
“How do you know so much about him?” I asked. “He doesn’t seem the type to share.”
“I met him when we were both still young,” he said. “Look, Syd, it’s not something I’m proud of. I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Did you train with him?” I asked. “Did he have the same magister?”
“No,” he said. “When I was with my magister, Oliver was the only other student he had.”
“Who in the world is Oliver?”
North gave me an exasperated look.
“He’s the current second-in-command of the Wizard Guard, ranked number two just behind the Sorceress Imperial, who is ceremoniously ranked number one. He hates tea, enjoys moonlit walks through Provincia’s palace, and is a spectacular git,” he said. “Now that we’ve played twenty questions, would you mind dropping it?”