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along the curve of its natural harbor and chewed reflectively on a strand of
chestnut hair. It looked like a nice place, but, as much as she wanted to settle
down, as tired as she was of constantly packing up and moving on, she knew
better than to get her hopes up. In a dozen years of traveling, she'd learned
that the most jewel-like villages, in the most bucolic settings, often had the
quaintest customs. Customs like welcoming wandering wizards with an axe,
or attempting to convince wandering wizards to stay by outfitting them with
manacles and chains, or by suggesting the tarring and feathering of
wandering wizards with no better reason that the small matter of a straying
husband or two. For the most part, Magdelene had found these customs no
more than a minor inconvenience, although, had she known the man was
married, she would never have suggested they ...
She grinned at the memory. He'd proven a lot more flexible than she'd
anticipated.
"Well, H'sak?" She spit out the hair and glanced back at the large mirror
propped up behind the seat of the cart. "Shall we check it out?"
H'sak, trapped in the mirror, made no answer. Magdelene wasn't entirely
certain the demon was aware of what went on outside his prison, but,
traveling alone, she'd fallen into the habit of talking to him and figured, just
in case he ever got out, it couldn't hurt if he had memories of pleasant, albeit
one-sided, conversations. Not, she supposed, that a bit of chat would make up
for her trapping him in the mirror in the first place. Stretching back, she
pulled an old cloak down over the glass-no point in upsetting potential
neighbors right off-then gathered up the reins and slapped them lightly on the
donkey's rump. The donkey, who had worked out an understanding with the
wizard early on, took another few mouthfuls of the coarse grass lining the
track and slowly started down the hill to the village.
At the first house, Magdelene stopped the cart and sat quietly studying the
scene. A few chickens scratched in the sandy dirt that served the village as a
main street, and a black sow sprawled in the only visible bit of shade, her
litter suckling noisily. A lullaby, softly sung, drifted through one of the open
windows, and from the beach came the screams and laughter of children at
play. Just the sort of lazy ambience she appreciated.
"Who are you?"
Languidly, for it was far too hot to be startled, Magdelene turned. A boy,
nine or ten years old, naked except for a shell threaded on a frayed piece of
gut, peered up at her from under a heavy shock of dusty black hair. Although
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he showed no signs of malnutrition or neglect, his left arm hung withered and
useless by his side.
"My name is Magdalene." She pushed her hair back off her face. "Who are
you?"
"Juan." He edged a little closer. "You a trader?"
"No. I'm a wizard." Over the years, she'd discovered life worked out better
if she didn't try to hide that. It made explanations so much easier when things
started happening. And things always did. The boy looked her up and down
and tossed his head. "Ha!" he scoffed. "Tell us another one. Wizards got gray
hair and warts. You're not old enough to be a wizard."
"I'm twenty-seven," she told him a little indignantly. He was a fine one to
talk about not old enough.... "Oh." Juan considered it and apparently decided
twenty-seven was sufficiently ancient even without the gray hair and warts.
"What about your clothes, then? Wizards wear robes and stuff. Everyone
knows that." He had a point. Wizards did wear robes and stuff; usually of a
dark, heavy, and imposing fabric; always hot, scratchy, and uncomfortable.
Magdalene, who preferred to be comfortable, never bothered. "I'm the most
powerful wizard in the world," she explained as a rivulet of sweat ran under
her bright-blue breast-band, "so I wear what I want."
"Yeah, sure," he snorted. "Prove it."
"All right." She gathered up the multicolored folds of her skirt, jumped
down off the cart, and held out her hand. "Give me your arm and I'll fix it."
"Oh no." He backed up a pace and turned, protecting the withered arm
behind the rest of his body. "You ain't proving it on me. Find something else."
"Like what?" Juan thought about it a moment. "Could you send my sister
someplace far away?" he asked hopefully. Magdalene thought about that in
turn. It didn't seem worth antagonizing the village just to prove a point to one
grubby child. "I could, but I don't think I should." The boy sighed. The kind of
sigh that said he knew what the answer would be but thought there could be
no harm in asking. They stood together in silence for a moment, Magdalene
leaning against the back of her cart-perfectly content to do nothing-and Juan
digging his toe into the sand. The donkey, who could smell water, decided
enough was enough and started toward the center of the village. He was hot,
he was thirsty, and he was going to do something about it.
As the cart jerked forward, Magdelene hit the ground with an unwizardlike
thud. Closer proximity proved the sand was not as soft as it looked. "Lizard
piss," she muttered a curse, rubbing at a stone-bruise. When she looked up,
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