First Mage Hiding

By Barbara Lund

(Previously published as Crowns Peak #1 - Creeper)

Slavers have come to Crowns Peak.

For Creeper, a street urchin living rough in the slums, that fact is just one more in a long list of everyday realities she has to deal with. But what if there were a better place for her, a place where she might be safe? Safe from the coming winter, from the older littles who bully her, from the king’s guards who want to take her, and perhaps even from the slavers.

Creeper might just have found such a place... within the palace walls, surrounded by the very guards she has been taught to fear. But better in here than out there. Or is it? Secrets swirl within those walls, and old hatreds bubble close to the surface. She'll have to navigate very carefully if she is to remain safe, remain welcome, remain hidden.

Outside the walls, however, the littles from Creeper’s old life are being snatched up one by one...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara Lund
• Release date: Jan 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781944127343

Barbara Lund

Award-winning speculative fiction author Barbara Lund has several indie-published novels, dozens of short stories, and has been traditionally published in Daily Science Fiction and L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future, Volume 37 (November 2021).She won the Writers of the Future Golden Pen (2021), along with a First Place, three Silver Honorable Mentions, and two Honorable Mentions. She won the 24th Annual Critters Best Magical Realism Short Story.She's always working on new novels and short stories.Add a husband, two kids, and a martial arts obsession, and she keeps pretty busy.

Book preview

1

CREEPER

Creeper dipped her brush into the bucket, then scrubbed at the sooty stones in front of the kitchen hearth. Somehow, the priest who cooked breakfast always managed to spill, and the priests and priestesses who ate at the solid ironwillow table always dropped scraps to the floor. Most littles fought over the opportunity to clean under the table, since they had their pick of discarded food to augment the scanty temple fare, but not Creeper. Every morning and every night the hearth was hers to clean.

She paused, sneaked a quick look around the room, and then, since the priestess was watching the littles under the table and the littles were arguing over a bit of bread, she scooped a finger of ash to rub in her hair. Despite her poor diet and habit of chopping her hair off with a sharp blade every time she laid hands on one, it grew unmercifully quick, so she had to be careful to keep the roots—and the rest—suitably darkened.

A meaty voice jerked her upright. You there, boy!

Creeper flinched, ducked her head, then peered out from beneath her lashes. Red robes furled in the doorway, then sausage-like fingers gripped her shoulder hard enough to leave bruises and dashed any hope Creeper had had that the priest had been bellowing at someone else.

Get up. The priest dragged her to her feet, knocking over her pail of wash water. Creeper heard stifled gasps of dismay from the other littles—more to clean up now before they were allowed a midday meal—but the priest ignored the gray suds sloshing against his brown leather boots and gripped her chin in his hand, turning her face into the morning light slanting through the window. How old are you now, boy?

Goddess, this is bad. Creeper wrapped her arms around her middle. ’Leven, Father, she whispered into the growing pool of startled hush. None of the other littles wanted to risk drawing the priest’s attention. Even the priestess had gone silent and still.

The head priest released Creeper and wiped ring-bedecked fingers over the embroidery on his scarlet doeskin robes. The buttons of his brown velvet doublet strained over a pristine red linen tunic. He scowled. I think you were eleven last spring, boy.

She trembled in her rags. She’d been claiming eleven years for two summers now, in hopes to stay at the temple a bit longer before being thrown into the streets, or worse, taken by the king’s guards. The rumors—

Time for you to go, the priest decided aloud. He gripped her shoulder and steered her out of the kitchen.

The priestess clapped sharply. Back to work! Littles bent to scrub the tile floor, whispering behind thin-fingered hands.

Creeper dragged her feet across the kitchen threshold. Father Silas… Tears welled up in her eyes, but girls cried. Girls disguised as boys dared not cry. Master, I only been here a couple seasons and the temple’s ‘posed to take care of orphaned littles, she whined.

The priest dragged her down the hall past the rich paintings of the face of the God and past the precious metal symbols of the Goddess. You’ve been here long enough, he grunted. Costing me in food, clothes, and education, as the king demands.

Her thrice-used, much-mended tunic could have once been called brown, Creeper allowed, and once a day she and the other littles were allowed a bit of meat in their stew, but she didn’t see how a priestess teaching them their letters cost the priest anything. Please, Father!

They reached the meeting hall of the church, where the floor had been laid out in patterns of goldenoak and silverash. Under the strict eye of many a priest, Creeper had sanded and re-varnished enough of it to know the patterns by heart. Father Silas’s boots thudded against the floor ominously. How much do you think the crown pays us to take care of you all? he demanded as he pushed open the ornate goldenoak doors. Barely enough to pay for food, that’s how much, and not a bit of help from you! I can put two children in your bed, get twice the coin, and feed them less besides.

Creeper nearly yelped at the unfairness. Washing, gardening, and more washing—and then redoing it if the priestess wasn’t satisfied—seemed like plenty of help to her! She twisted away from the front doors, back toward the kitchen. If only she could catch the attention of the head priestesses, or another priest, perhaps they would let her stay. A sob rose in her throat but she swallowed it.

Get out, boy. The priest’s meaty hand shoved Creeper between her narrow shoulder blades. She lost her balance and tumbled down three stone steps, scraping elbows and knees and collapsing into a bony pile of tattered cloth on the cobblestone street. She twisted to stare up at him. The priest smoothed his long blond hair back into a tail at the nape of his neck and tied it with a red ribbon. He straightened his rings and robes, glaring down at her with wintry blue eyes.

Father Silas, what’m I gonna do? Creeper’s ashen locks dangled limply around her shoulders. Blood welled from one ripped toenail and her shoulder ached. Despite her best efforts, a fat tear rolled down her cheek.

It’s summer, he snapped. Go down to the slums and beg for your food.

Creeper sniveled. But…

The priest held up a gold chain and locket. Creeper’s hands went to her neck and clutched convulsively.

The God thanks you for your donation, the priest intoned. He gestured with mock piety, touching left hand to heart, then lips.

That’s mine! Fury boiled up in Creeper’s bony chest. She opened her mouth.

Oh, go ahead and complain to the guard, mocked the priest. I’ll tell them you’re thirteen and they’ll take you away.

She swiped at her tears with one threadbare sleeve and tried one last time. "Please—"

The priest flung a cracked wooden bowl at Creeper’s feet. Go on, boy. It’s summertime. You won’t freeze… tonight. He turned, scarlet robes swirling, and shoved open the heavy temple doors. And wash your filthy hair! he snapped, retreating inside. The temple doors slammed shut.

Creeper stared up at the intricately worked goldenoak doors. Symbols of the Goddess and the God mocked her from the doorway, opposites of day and night, light and dark, life and death. She shivered in the morning sunlight.

Wonder if he’d a turned me out if he knowed I was a girl. She closed her eyes. Where do I sleep? What do I eat? And my locket…

Despair consumed her, bitter and dark. She picked herself up off the ground and brushed the worst of the dirt from her clothes, rubbing at her hair. Of course it was filthy. She’d spent the last couple of years avoiding the priests and priestesses on bath day, once every ten-day, and relying on a stealthy—and sketchy—midnight wash when everyone else was sleeping, all to hide her gender and hair color.

Creeper picked up the small wooden bowl and cupped it to her middle. She turned lavender eyes up to the puffy white clouds above the temple, where the priests and priestesses claimed the God and Goddess resided. Why? Why is this happening to me? she asked Them mutely.

Silence rang in her ears.

Never answered afore, she thought resentfully. Why wud They start now? Oh, gods. No mum, no dad. No one to take care of me. Cain’t even sleep at the temple now. Won’t go to the guard… She shuddered. Not after hearing them rumors ‘bout what they do to littles dumb enough to get taken.

What’m I gonna do?

Awoman planted herself in front of Creeper, hands on her hips. White lace spilled over the neck and sleeves of her lemon gown and one elegant boot tapped the cobblestone impatiently. Her cheeks were plump and her skin glowed. Creeper looked up with dawning hope. Perhaps this woman could help her, feed her, care for her.

You, boy. What are you doing here?

Creeper canted her head sideways and glanced up through her lashes. I was jus’ at temple, she whispered. But Father Silas—

Our temple has plenty of its own littles, the woman interrupted. You leave Father Silas alone.

Creeper pointed. But I live—

You don’t belong here and you certainly can’t stay. You’re sending my custom away. Look at you, all ragged and dirty. She peered closer. And you’ve been crying, too. Go away, now. Shoo. She flapped her hands, the lace of her sleeves rustling gently.

But I—

The lady frowned fiercely. Go now, or I’ll call the guards.

Creeper jolted. If the guards came, they would take her away and—

She went, stumbling over the cobblestones on misery-numbed feet, moving away from the temple and down because down seemed easier than up, and she was thirsty and vaguely recalled that the Sweetwater River was down, compared to the palace, which was up. If her rags weren’t welcome in this neighborhood, she was sure they wouldn’t be welcome around a palace. And palaces had guards. Which brought her back to her original worry about the guards. Hostile glares from well-dressed men and women pushed her bare feet to a bruising speed. No one else had bare feet. No one else wore rags. No one else was a little, confused and heartsick. They were all adults, confident and cold to strangers.

She wound her way down the gentle slope, choosing turns at random to avoid accusing eyes. As she went, the shops shrank in size and grew in shabbiness. Scents of laundry soap and dye overwhelmed those of spring flowers. Here and there, a little peeped out of a second-story window, only to be scolded by a parent in front of the shop below. Then food stalls started squeezing themselves in between the shops. Creeper took this as a sign she was going the right way.

She thought of asking for a bit to eat, but the grimaces on the peddlers’ faces convinced her not to bother. Voices rose around her, peddlers hawking their wares, buyers bargaining, and guards bellowing. Each time she saw the distinctive black uniform, she veered away from the guard, praying not to be noticed. Eventually the cobblestones gave way to dirt. Second-hand shops and meatsellers with questionable sources choked out the more reputable shops. Peddlers squeezed between rickety houses, and their roofs looked as if they were held up by prayers to the Goddess. Creeper’s nose told her she had arrived: rancid sweat, stale urine, and cheap spilled ale. She breathed shallowly through her mouth, clenched her fists tight, and paused, uncertain how to proceed. People shouldered her aside instead of glaring their way around her and she saw fewer guards. Here, the only ones who noticed her were the littles—most of them were about her age, but much dirtier.

It should be easy to hide among the other dirty, hungry littles. Perhaps Father Silas did her a favor of sorts, after all.

A child of indeterminate gender, disguised by the filth, jostled past her, then turned. Creeper saw a crowd of littles lurking in an alleyway shadow, all staring, as if eating her with their dark eyes. Maybe one of them’ll help me?

She was wrong.

Between one step and the next, Creeper took a blow to the back of her head. She dropped to her hands and knees in the dust, stunned. Five or six littles circled her. As soon as she looked up at them, the biggest slapped her and the two smallest jumped onto her back. Creeper tried to curl up and protect herself, but their fists pummeled her back, arms, and legs with silent ferocity. Smaller hands ripped her tunic over her head. The neckline caught on her chin and tore. One of the littles cursed, and kicked her ribs.

Creeper lay in the dirt again, sobbing, in only the thinnest of dingy gray singlets, barely thick enough to hide her privates. The ringleader flung the wooden bowl back at her with a laugh.

Gonna need that!

The feral children who had taken the last of her dignity left her in the dust, beaten and helpless. Adults walked around her, avoiding her bewildered tear-filled eyes.

Nobody stopped to help. No one cared. In the crowd of strangers, Creeper was alone.

2

THE POOREST TEMPLE

Leather sandals and dirty feet came into view. Not the guard, then, who wore black from shoulders to boots. Creeper choked back a sob and dared to look up. The sun silhouetted a man in robes. Creeper flinched. Not another priest!

The man crouched next to her, something Father Silas would never do, and lifted her chin with gentle hands. He clicked his tongue. You’re going to have some healthy bruises soon.

Creeper shrank back. What would he do to her?

On your feet, then, young one. The man lifted her up and set her gently on her feet. Nothing broken?

Though everything hurt, Creeper shook her head. Now that he was out of the shade, she could see that his robes were brown, not red, and plain instead of embroidered. The man had a gargoyle’s face, seamed and wrinkled and ashen, but when he smiled his tired brown eyes lit up and his face became kind.

Come on then. You’re new down here and need a proper introduction to the… He hesitated, then continued, everyone. The priest walked forward.

She wrapped one arm around her middle, pressing against her bruised ribs. Nothing in her experience with priests led her to believe this one would help her without some law to force him, but his was the only kind face she had seen today. She sniffled, then followed in the tiny space behind his brown robes. He led her down the street with steps slow enough so she could keep up, until the street opened up suddenly.

Five streets flowed together into what should have been a knotted mess, but instead had somehow become a tiny, poor bazaar, with a fountain at the center, shops around the side, and a temple across the way. Creeper jumped when a round man bellowed a Father Lee! next to her. The brown-robed priest stopped and exchanged pleasantries with him. The man in homespun browns with a stained butcher’s apron pressed a pair of meat rolls into the priest’s hands, then called out to another customer by name.

Father Lee handed a meat roll to Creeper and wound his way to the temple. She crammed the roll into her mouth and followed, but stalled at the stone steps. F-Father Silas said… she stammered.

Oh, we can’t give you a bed, the priest in brown murmured regretfully, pushing open the plain maple doors. We haven’t any to spare. But I can get you something to wear and feed you a bit more before you go. He stepped into the meeting hall and beckoned to Creeper. Welcome to the Poorest Temple, he smiled.

Creeper sneaked a look around, then dropped her eyes to her filthy feet. Some little was going to have to clean up her dirty footprints after she had left, though the Poorest Temple’s floor had more than its share of dust on it—for a temple of the God and Goddess. All the temples in the city followed the same floor plan, with the main entrance doors opening to the meeting hall where the priests and priestesses conducted morning, noon, and evening rituals for the believers of Crowns Peak. This room was little more than a large empty room with a raised platform facing north at one end, edged by simple altars to the God and the Goddess on the east and west walls. A few roughhewn benches were placed throughout the room for parishioners to sit if they could not stand for the whole ritual. Hallways led to the kitchen, bedrooms and offices.

Hesitantly, she followed the priest down the hallway.

I’m Brother Lee, he continued. The Poorest Temple hasn’t the money for fancy clothes, he said, plucking his robes. But what food we have, we share. They entered the kitchen where another brown-robed priest stirred soup in a pot on the stove. Brother Lee took Creeper’s wooden bowl and filled it. Sit down and eat while I find you something to wear, he invited.

Creeper collapsed onto a bench, knocking her new bruises. She rubbed at her knee with one hand and sipped the soup from her bowl. It was poor man’s soup—broth and home-grown vegetables—but this cook had a better hand with the spices than Creeper’s temple cook. Not mine now, she reminded herself bitterly.

The back door was open to a huge garden. She saw a couple of littles weeding, and could hear more bickering amiably over the carrots. When she finished her soup, Brother Lee returned and handed her a rag to wipe her fingers, then the thinnest of shirts and pants, each little more than bits of cloth mended together into the likeness of clothing. Thankee, Father, she muttered.

Now then, lad, your name and your age?

Creeper, sir. ‘Leven. Fourteen next moon. Creeper winced at the thought. C’n I clean something for ye?

The cook was already shaking his head no.

No, lad. Brother Lee sat down across from Creeper. We’ve more than our share of littles to feed and take care of the chores around here. They’re falling off the benches at mealtimes and falling out of the beds at night. We can’t take in even one more little. He sighed. If the richer temples would… well, no matter. You’re going to have to grow up a bit and learn to take care of yourself, lad. He met Creeper’s eyes. You’ve nothing worth stealing now, but try to keep your back to a wall. Find a safe spot to sleep.

Creeper ducked her head. Where? she whispered miserably.

When all else fails you, son, look up to the God and the Goddess. The priest touched his left hand to heart and lips sincerely. God and Goddess be with you.

The cook echoed him, eyes on his soup. God and Goddess be with you.

Creeper snatched up her bowl and slunk out of the temple the way they had come. She eyed the altar to the God with particular malice. Her locket would be sitting in front of the richer altar to the God halfway across the city where the red-robed priest rested his fat knees in prayer.

Not God, not Goddess be wit’ me till I get my locket back, she vowed.

Late afternoon heat beat down on Creeper as she eased down the stone steps of the temple. With a scowl at the sun, she stepped into the tiny shadow at the corner of the building. Two men dressed in black appeared out of the crowd and strode up the temple steps. Creeper froze.

They wore black tabards over black tunics and black hose tucked into black boots. Each had short, dark hair, a sword by his side, and a scowl on his face. The taller held open the door for the shorter.

Thanks, Jon, the shorter guard said. For a moment, Creeper thought she saw a smile on the taller guard’s face, but she knew that was impossible. Guards didn’t smile. The temple doors swung shut behind them and she remembered to breathe.

She had clothes again, of sorts, and a full belly, thanks to Father Lee. There were too many littles at this temple and guards inside, so she needed to leave. What had Father Lee said? Take care of herself? How was she going to do that?

Creeper edged out of the shadow into the crowded street. Adults jostled her bruised elbows as she walked, and more than once she felt ghostly hands at her waist. Since she had no coin purse and no coin, she ignored them and drifted, until the man she’d been half-following turned and pushed open a door. Two men behind her bumped