Loyal magic, p.1
Loyal Magic, page 1
Loyal Magic
Faerene Apocalypse
Book 3
Jenny Schwartz
Ancient secrets and modern conspiracies swirl around Amy and her griffin partner, Istvan.
The inaugural South Eastern Magisterial Circuit is underway and as Amy accompanies Istvan on his magisterial duties, she faces hostility she hadn’t expected. The Faerene of Atlanta aren’t happy that a human has magic, even if Amy has sworn hers to Istvan.
The wreckage of human civilization is everywhere and the devastating apocalypse isn’t over yet, at least, not for humans. Amy’s loyalty is about to be tested.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
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Chapter 1
The alligator surfaced, its snout breaking the green scum on the water with the softest of plops. An instant later, just long enough for it to detect the scent of my companion, it fled; tail thrashing and scattering algae everywhere.
I wiped a blob of green from my face.
Dorotta, the dragon ambling beside me on the unsurfaced road, sighed with a hint of smoke. “Too bad. Your gators make delicious snacks.”
Mosquitoes and other bugs swarmed around me, but none landed on my exposed skin. I’d sprayed myself with a bug spray bought at Sabinka’s apothecary shop back in Justice. I smelled of aniseed and orange blossom with a sour sharpness, and the bugs whined their frustration. About an inch from my skin, their blood hunger was defeated by Sabinka’s alchemical magic.
“The saltwater crocodiles in Australia are even better,” Dorotta continued enthusiastically. “They’re so much larger. Some are nearly as long as my tail.”
I stared at her tail and shuddered. Dorotta was a copper-colored dragon with a body the size of a truck. I didn’t want to imagine how big the crocodiles she snacked on were.
I opened my mouth to say something about how lunch had only been an hour ago, and choked on a bug. It served me right for contemplating being snarky. Dorotta was my new bodyguard, and we needed to get along.
Rory had appointed her. After she’d joined his pack, he’d hired her away from the Messenger Service to act as my personal guard.
It had been in her role as a Messenger dragon that I first met her, and back then, I’d thought Dorotta reserved and wise. Now, I knew better. Maybe she was wise, but she was also quirky and gossipy and addicted to the thrill of danger. Hopefully, we wouldn’t encounter any of the latter. With Rory and Istvan metaphorically hovering, if I was threatened with any real danger they’d pull the plug on my plans.
Rory was a magician, a werewolf, the alpha of a new pack, the Guard Master for the Magisterial Guard Unit of the North American Territory, and self-declaredly intent on wooing me.
As the magistrate for the territory, Istvan was his boss.
I was Istvan’s human familiar. I’d given him my rare human magic via an oath, and he channeled it into his spells—when he remembered.
The arrival of the Faerene on Earth had changed everything, so much so that the ongoing cataclysm was called the Faerene Apocalypse. Yes, they’d crossed the Rift and sealed it behind themselves to save us, but in doing so, six sevenths of humanity had died from disease, starvation, environmental disaster or violence. Now, Earth hosted approximately a billion humans and half a million Faerene.
The Faerene were a mix of magical peoples. As well as dragons like Dorotta and werewolves like Rory, there were griffins (Istvan was a huge black griffin, very handsome), unicorns, elves, goblins, nymphs, orcs, vampires and others.
The worst of the apocalypse ought to be over. It had taken six months to seal the Rift, but now that it was stable, the Faerene were focused on establishing their new lives. However, the Faerene didn’t intend on including humans in their new world for another few generations.
The Faerene Migration had been planned down to the last detail, but they hadn’t anticipated the emergence of magic in a few rare humans like me. Whilst the Fae Council debated a policy of eliminating our human magic for a century or so, I proposed the opposite. I had more faith in my fellow humans and believed that we could integrate with magical peoples—the Faerene—now, and not wait for generations.
We had to. We had suffered so much; something I couldn’t dwell on for my sanity and survival. We had to move forward. There had to be hope.
I had found my purpose in life. I wanted a blended human and Faerene world to rise from the devastation of human civilization. To get there would require knowledge of, and respect for, one another. I could be part of fostering that understanding and acceptance.
I still struggled with my special status as a human in Faerene society. Before the apocalypse I'd aligned everything in my life to the goal of becoming a psychiatrist. I'd only been at the beginning of that journey, a college student, but my interest in how the human psyche worked had left me with a few understandings. Things like the fact that each of us thought we were special, yet, contradictorily, a number of us suffered from imposter syndrome. We doubted our own accomplishments.
Except I was an imposter.
I was special in the sense that I was pretty much unique as a human familiar, but I hadn’t earned the secure life I now lived. Sometimes the guilt of that ate at me: that while others fought daily to survive, I could be sure of my next meal, and not exhausted, not dead! It was a luxury that I could laugh and spare the energy to be curious.
Dorotta and I were on our way to Miami, or what remained of it. This “teensy-eensy” side jaunt to the Everglades was her idea.
“The Huh adore charcoal,” she’d said. “But it’s difficult for them to acquire in the swamp. So I drop off a sack whenever work brings me close by. Hickory is their favorite.”
So we’d translocated in, appearing in the air above the swamp. Dorotta had circled a couple of times as she chose a road to land on. Now, we walked in the direction of the Huh’s hidden settlement.
A three foot tall humanoid frog popped up to the side of the overgrown road.
“Hello, Kes,” Dorotta said casually.
“Greetings, Dorotta.” The bulging-eyed green being stared at me.
Dorotta flicked a claw in my direction. “This is Amy, Magistrate Istvan’s human familiar.”
Four more Huh popped out of the swamp to stare at me.
“Hi.” I waved lamely.
They waved back with three-fingered, green, splayed hands.
“Charcoal.” Dorotta extracted a sack from the capacious leather satchel strapped to her belly. “I won’t be back this way for a while. I’ve quit the Messenger Service and joined Magician Rory’s new pack.”
Kes opened the sack of charcoal that was as large as him—or her. Although the Huh wore no clothes, I couldn’t discern their sex. Not that I was staring.
The other Huh padded forward to take a charcoal piece each to nibble on. Nibble charcoal, stare at the human familiar. Nibble. Stare.
I smiled uncomfortably.
“The Rift magician has a pack?” Kes asked.
“Hope Fang. I am its first dragon member,” Dorotta said proudly. “We also have an elf and a goblin.” She buckled the satchel closed. “It is a very progressive werewolf pack. Rory is Magistrate Istvan’s Guard Master for the territory, and he has appointed me as Amy’s personal guard.”
“While we’re on circuit,” I added.
Another Huh popped out of the mangroves and grabbed a piece of charcoal. “So, you’re off to Tenger?”
Tenger was the port city the Faerene had founded on what had once been the site of Brunswick, Georgia. It was also the first stop on Istvan’s inaugural South Eastern Magisterial Circuit.
The latest Huh didn’t bother nibbling but shoved the entire piece of charcoal into their mouth. Wide green lips writhed as they chewed and sucked and gawped between Dorotta and me for an answer.
I glanced back at Dorotta. Since I’d been forcibly introduced to the Faerene I’d encountered a number of individuals from their different species. Elves had green skin and goblins blue, but both looked human. Werewolves were human in appearance in one of their three forms. At the other end of the spectrum, non-humanoid species were different enough for my brain to accept them on their own terms. But the Huh, with their blend of frog and human, unnerved me.
“We’re visiting Miami first,” I said.
The Huh stopped nibbling, sucking and chewing to stare at me. “Where?”
“The City of Lost Minds,” Dorotta said.
“Oh.” The Huh lost interest. Three joined Kes and together they lifted the sack of charcoal. “Goodbye.” They vanished into the mangroves. Literally vanished.
Dorotta scratched her chin. “The Huh believe that people who stay in the ruins of a flooded city have lost their minds. Sensible people move to higher ground where they can grow food. Unless they’re the Huh, who like the swamp.”
I had a sneaking suspicion that my dragon guard had brought me here in an attempt to discourage me from visiting Miami. “But there are still people in Miami?”
“Yes.”
“Then I still want to go there.”
Miami had been devastated. The ocean lapped where streets had been and many buildings were partly submerged. Some of the tallest buildings had toppled, taking out their neighbors as they collapsed.
Riding on Dorotta’s back I had a dragon’s eye view of the ruined city.
Gulls roosted on abandoned buildings. Pelicans swam through the streets, serenely avoiding cars that were now no more than rusting, immovable metal hazards. Even high in the air there was a smell of rot. The sea had invaded, but it hadn’t washed clean.
There were people present. Patches of high ground hosted unkempt gardens; sometimes with a tent beside them, sometimes not. Small boats and rafts were moored to the railings of houses and to former store buildings.
The view from above was horrifying, but I needed to walk through the nightmare. If possible, I wanted to speak with people, with the survivors who’d chosen to stay. “Can we land there on the street, by the garden with a banana tree, the one to your right without a tent?” By the standards of apocalyptic Miami, it was well-tended.
As Dorotta swooped down, I could see a few faces at windows or disturbed by our passing as they walked roof to roof along planks.
“Dragon!” People scattered into hiding.
Before the apocalypse, humanity’s answer to a threat like a dragon sighting would have been guns and missiles. The Faerene had used their magic to take those things from us. They’d vanished one night: taken away, broken down at atomic level, and returned to the earth. Now we had bows and arrows, knives and swords.
A rock hit the street a few feet in front of Dorotta, reminding me that humanity also had makeshift weapons and stupidity.
The copper dragon ignored the rock. We’d agreed before going in that I would stay within arm’s reach of her at all times, and that she’d hold an invisible shield around us. Nothing humanity could attempt, even attacking us bodily, could break through her magic, so there was no value in either of us escalating the situation by responding to the rock.
I unclipped the harness, and climbed down.
Dry ground in the flooded city would be premium land. The man who walked out of the white house beside the garden carried himself with the confidence of someone who’d fought successfully for his home and garden, and who right now had a reputation to uphold. There would be people watching our encounter, even if I couldn’t see them.
The man was about my age, in his early twenties, tall, lean and broad-shouldered in a t-shirt, jeans and boots. He had a large knife strapped to his belt, but his hands were empty, which was a sign of good faith and commonsense. He couldn’t defeat Dorotta.
“Of course it would be a white girl who got herself a pet dragon.”
The challenge of his statement, offered in lieu of a greeting, shocked me into silence.
A puff of smoke from Dorotta expressed her amusement. “I am no one’s pet.”
My status in Faerene society as Istvan’s human familiar made me sensitive to anyone using the word “pet” with its connotations of ownership and subject status. However, if Dorotta was amused, then me taking offense would be silly. “I’m Amy.”
In a normal conversation, this was the point at which the stranger would give his name. Somehow I wasn’t surprised when he went, instead, with a curt question.
“What do you want?”
Behind him, at a window, a child’s round face peered out interestedly, chubby hands flattened against the glass.
The knowledge that the man had a child dependent on his protection punched me in the chest. Dorotta and I had, after all, invaded his territory, his home. He didn’t know that I envisaged a neutral, fact-gathering expedition. “I’m not…we’re not going to hurt anyone.”
“What…do…you…want?” He spaced out the words, emphasizing the demand and without a hint of tolerance or friendliness. He kept his gaze on me, not Dorotta.
She’d seen the child. She was blowing smoke shapes: a heart, an apple, a dragon.
“Why are you here?” I countered. “Why didn’t you leave? Why stay?”
It’s hard to threaten a woman who has a dragon at her back, but the scowl on the man’s face and his two quick steps forward had me retreating till I bumped into Dorotta. I threw my hands up. “None of my business.”
I had to respect his courage.
He folded his arms and stood his ground within reach of Dorotta’s fangs and claws. “Leave.”
“I just…” I looked up and down the street. There was a physical stink of seaweed and decay, and a metaphorical miasma of failure, grief and desperation. The man had carved out a tiny oasis that could be destroyed in the next storm or have its inhabitants struck down by an epidemic. All the stagnant water was mosquito heaven.
I stood in the middle of a disaster zone from which there’d be no rescue. There were no aid agencies any more. Not even the military had survived the apocalypse. Agencies of every size had disbanded, or simply ceased to exist as their members died.
In this hell, there was no reason he should answer my questions. Perhaps he’d stayed to scavenge, for trade opportunities, or maybe because even in its ruined state, Miami was his home. Why should he trust me with the truth of his life and motivations?
A sense of my unintended arrogance over-whelmed me. “What am I doing here?”
I’d flown in, well-fed and clothed, protected, and certain of my ability to leave again. I was like some disaster tourist, peering in and getting a thrill from others’ suffering.
“You’re lost.” The man’s scowl remained, but his folded arms dropped to his sides. Some of his animosity transformed into tiredness. “Woman, we’re all lost, but you ain’t gonna find redemption here.”
“I’m not looking for redemption.” But standing in the middle of his reality, I couldn’t tell him what I’d so self-righteously shared with Rory, Istvan and the other Faerene with whom I’d argued my case: that I wanted to see Miami in person so that I could stand witness to its people’s suffering. The only people who had the right to claim that role were the people who’d lived it. People like the man in front of me and the child he sheltered in his home.
“I’m not lost.” I turned and grabbed the harness to help me climb back up to my seat astride Dorotta. To be lost, you had to lack both a path forward and a path back. I mightn’t be completely sure where I was headed, but due to my familiar bond with Istvan I always had a path home.
I wanted to help, but how? The Faerene were determined not to foster dependency in humans by giving the billion of us who’d survived any assistance.
My personal resources were small.
I possessed information, but the possible scary consequences of sharing it silenced me. For instance, the man confronting Dorotta and me considered me human. I could tell him that werewolves looked every bit as human; at least, they did in their human form. But what if that news got around and people twisted it into an excuse to attack strangers? Information could be used in so many different ways: to heal or to hurt, to build or to tear down.
From Dorotta’s back I stared down at the man, and past him to the child watching us.
The man turned and glimpsed the child’s face before he or she ducked out of sight. When the man turned back to me, his expression held a hint of the fear he’d successfully hidden before. “My nephew…”
“Is safe from us,” Dorotta said. “We’re not monsters.”
“The Faerene look different,” I said. “But we’re all people.”
The man laughed, and there was harsh pain in the sound. “Don’t you know, woman, it’s people who hurt you the worst?” He walked away from us, back into the house, and slammed the door.
“What else do you want to see?” Dorotta asked.
I contemplated the window which was vacant, now. No little face pressed close to gaze in wonder at a dragon. “We can leave.”
“For Tenger?” she confirmed our destination.
“Yes.”
There was nothing in Miami, not for me.
Chapter 2
Istvan was a very big griffin. He was accustomed to being the largest of his kind, loomed over only by dragons. Standing on the shore at Tenger to talk with a visiting kraken, he felt puny. It was a salutarily humbling experience, and one which balanced the awed respect the citizens of Tenger awarded him as their territory’s magistrate.
