Magus (The Unwoven Tapestry: Book Three)

By Morgan Chalut

What can endure when the cost is unveiled?

Trust is a commodity in short supply. Still searching for Ruben and determined not to lose hope, Donovan and Whitman combine forces once more, revealing a pattern neither anticipated.

Determined to gleam information about life mages from the source, Whitman leads them deeper into hostile territory even as the Retrievers unite into an army of their own.

Ruben continues to learn the joys and challenges of life magic and struggles to understand his place in the new world he is shown. The true threat of blood mages is revealed and war looms overhead even as it is battled underground. What is the cost of magic? What is the price of hope?

In this conclusion, Donovan finally realizes what it means to be a Seeker — and must decide if he has the courage to bear it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Water Dragon Publishing
• Release date: Nov 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957146928

Morgan Chalut

Morgan Chalut (she/they) has been writing since she learned that anyone was allowed to do that; it wasn't illegal or anything! While it didn’t slow down her talking, it at least gave her parents and six older siblings (and her poor, poor teachers) a break once in a while. She hopes to continue to discover characters and worlds she can plot and explore and share.Morgan lives in Dallas, Texas with her delightfully handsome and silly, charming, supportive, and lovely husband, Philip. They have two dogs together: Caramel, who absolutely wants to be your friend, and Sammie, who very definitely does not.

Book preview

1

She trembled, knees to her chest, eyes darting between the dead and the living, and wondered which she might soon be joining. Her captor had said little since murdering the Retriever and helping herself to the supper they’d been cooking. Hands and feet tied, the young girl had few choices other than to sit and tremble. But she watched, and hoped for the chance to escape; they were only a few hours from home, and she was sure she could remember the way.

I’m Jan. What’s your name? the murderer asked, her mouth full of rabbit, and with grease glistening on her chin.

The girl clenched her jaw tight and did not answer.

Jan, the murderer, turned as a noise in the darkness drew her attention. A young man, maybe eighteen years old, joined them. As he emerged, the shadows seemed to cling to his shape as though eager to keep hold. Jan stood and brought fire to life in her palms.

Who are you? she demanded. Where’s Manuel?

The young man saw the young girl and tilted his head. Who’s this?

Did you hear me? the murderer demanded. The stone of her confidence dashed against the wall of his apathy and fell like shards of drifting uncertainty.

With no indication of concern, the young man took a step toward the bound child, his eyes locked on hers. The murderer reached out to grab him, stop him, with the threat of fire still crackling in her palms. But at contact, she was the one to shriek and fall to her knees. She clutched at her chest as though to dig through or reclaim and cage what might have escaped. The fire she’d held was gone and, judging by her reaction, it was not by her choice.

The young man raised a finger and stared as a candle’s worth of fire danced on its tip. He winked at the child and blew out the flame before he crouched down in front of her with a grin. Behind him, Jan stared at her hands, sobbing, retching, and throwing fearful looks at his unconcerned back.

You’re a mage? He readily met her eyes, but it seemed a habit of practice more than instinct.

The girl kept silent. She let her eyes dart to the dead man, the sobbing woman, and back to this man’s eyes — a piercing blue she hadn’t seen before.

How old are you? Eight?

She nodded minutely, only once.

Going to the Order?

Nod.

He glanced at the boots barely visible outside the glow of the cook fire light. She killed your Retriever?

Nod.

What kind of mage are you?

She didn’t answer.

If I untie you, will you run?

She didn’t answer.

He grinned.

You hungry?

Nod.

He stood, ignoring the woman he’d maimed. She’d stopped sobbing and was now watching him like an injured animal — full of fear and hate, but too terrified to strike. And with nowhere to run. A skewer of rabbit still lay on the fire, burning now. He grabbed and offered it to the girl.

She didn’t move.

No? He waggled the skewer half-heartedly, bits of grease escaping in tantalizing drops to the forest floor.

The girl lifted her hands to show them still bound at the wrist. The young man handed her the thin stick of meat and pulled a knife from his belt sheath in a smooth and practiced motion. Her trembling, momentarily lessened, picked up again, but he only cut the rope, barely missing her wrist in the brief tug it took to slice through the twisted hemp.

The knife disappeared as quickly as it had been drawn.

While she shook off the remains of her bindings, he sauntered to the dead body of her Retriever, examining his charred flesh with the critical eye of a professional confronted with the work of a hopeful novice.

He produced fire from nothing once more and spoke to the fearful murderer, I expect you want this back?

She nodded desperately. Wh-what are you?

Magus, he whispered, like a lover, like a promise, like a curse.

Jan looked like she might faint.

The young man strode to her side and took her hand, briefly, as though disgusted by the touch. In an instant, the fire was returned to her palms. She bawled with relief, thanking him, apologizing, begging, swearing. He waved her words away like gnats and looked back to the little girl.

What’s your name?

Still holding the stick of uneaten rabbit, she said nothing.

He looked at the sobbing fire-woman, and asked, Has she spoken at all?

They were chattering when we came upon them. Jan was eager to please. But she hasn’t said anything since.

Hm. He came back to crouch before her. Best eat up before it cools, he nodded at the rabbit.

She only blinked at him.

Are you traumatized, or just petulant?

When she finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper, You’re not here to help me.

His eyebrows jumped to his hairline and he grinned in surprise. Ha! Well-spotted, that.

Still keeping eye contact, she set the stick of half-burned rabbit aside and reached to touch the knot of rope around her ankles. When he didn’t stop her, she untied it, glancing down when she had to, but otherwise keeping him in sight. Freed, she stood and backed away a few paces. He stayed where he was, unworried.

What’s your magic? he asked again.

She shook her head gently, unwilling to answer.

What would you do if I took it from you, as I did to her? His head gestured at the murderer behind him, whose expression was still fearful.

The girl shrugged one shoulder.

The man stood and strode forward with purpose. She waited, tense, but did not run. He put out a hand as though to shake and she took it with as firm a grip as she could manage with only eight years of strength in her arm.

He laughed with delight. I know you’re afraid of me — why don’t you run?

Would I get away?

No.

Then why run?

Why take my hand?

It’s easier.

Easier to — He was surprised by her attack. She was a Healer, a robber, a hated little thief-mage, and she sought to Take from him without asking. Untrained, clearly, she wasn’t sure what she sought, only Drawing whatever she could get her will around.

He felt her tugging at his senses, his strength, his health, but kept them from her easily enough. But when she Drew at his magic, he realized he’d been wrong. The touches before had been just that — touches. Now she was bringing her will to bear, and it was formidable.

Taking magic was no easy thing — one must overpower a person in whole, dominate from the inside, prove yourself the stronger, as over an aggressive dog twice your size. For the first time in a long, long time, he had to work to keep someone from overpowering him, and she was yet a child.

He wrenched his hand away and threw her to the ground. She oofed, but didn’t cry out — only glared into his eyes. He could see the fear in her like a twisting, knotted cloud, but she didn’t back down, even for a moment.

I like you. He stretched a cramp from his hand.

She didn’t answer.

He grinned. If you could have one thing from me, what would it be?

Her eyes darted again to Jan, standing nearby. I want to go home, the girl said.

The young man shook his head with slow deliberation. Good answer, but I know you’re lying.

She glanced at her captor again, the murderer with tears on her cheeks and grease on her chin, and nodded again, minutely.

The man put his head back and laughed from deep in his stomach. With only the barest hint of effort, he carved a canyon through Jan’s neck with his knife. She didn’t have time to scream — only stare with surprise as air bubbled from her gaping throat, more wound than body, pumping her blood out onto the ground in crimson sheets.

The girl stood, trembling again. Dread finally showed on her young face as she saw the result of her desire.

Without care, the man sat on a log near the fire and waved at the girl to join him. She moved slowly, an aged wariness in her tiny posture as she came to stand opposite the dying woman. The dead Retriever was at her back, and the fire was between her and the young man.

Speak with me, he told her.

She nodded.

What’s your name?

Wren Acres.

You have family, Wren?

Don’t kill them.

He nodded. All right. Brothers and sisters?

My brother Whitman. He’s training to be a bard.

The man’s lip curled in distaste. You want to go to the Order?

She shrugged.

He mimicked the movement. What does that mean?

I want to learn magic.

Where did you learn to do that? To Draw from me?

Her eyes narrowed, looking for the trick in the question. I saw you do it.

I see. He poked the fire with a stick and watched it flare and curl and spark. Do you know what a magus is, Wren?

She nodded.

That’s what I am.

Her eyes narrowed again.

I’m going to take you with me. I’ll train you, more than the Order ever could, but first I want to know if you’re going to be trouble for me.

She looked at the bodies of the Retriever behind her and the woman across the fire. How much trouble could I be? I’m little.

He grinned again, eyes flashing in the firelight. I don’t believe you.

*          *          *

Wren opened her eyes, sat immediately upright, and gazed around the room. Nothing was out of place, but the feeling of being watched didn’t fade — it rarely ever did. The dream, the memory, echoed around her head. It had lost none of its clarity despite the passage of time.

She stood and stretched her fingertips toward the ceiling, then bent to touch her toes in the routine she’d started years ago. Stay limber, stay strong, stay wary, she thought vaguely, the childish mantra holding onto the coattails of her dream. She rarely had real dreams since Forest had messed about in her head nearly twenty years ago, but memories surfaced instead to fill the lack.

As she finished her morning exertions, the door opened to admit a woman thirty years her senior, who nonetheless gave a small curtsy. She balanced a tray with a bit of fruit, cold meat, and hot tea sweetened near to its death.

Thank you, Padma.

The woman set the tray on her desk and left her alone.

Wren let her mind wander as she started on her breakfast. Most importantly: the boy … Travis had started the life magic training, and he was, of course, a natural. Things that had taken her months to master, he picked up in days. He was still suspicious, but that was a good thing. People who thought their guard was up were easier to manipulate from the inside.

A breeze gusted through the window. She took a deep breath of the fresh air, mentally preparing. All right, she said to the empty room. You can come in now.

She took a handful of blueberries and ate them one by one. The door opened again before she was halfway finished. Forest strode inside impatiently.

You were up all night. She noted his disheveled, unshaven look.

You just woke. He frowned and looked her up and down. Nightmares?

Memories.

He smirked. What was it this time?

Our first encounter. Are you going to tell me how it went with Ost, or make me ask?

Ah, sweet days of your youth. Now look at you. All grown and … hm … probably no angrier now than you were then, Beast. He grinned.

Charming as ever. She allowed a wry smile in response, then popped another blueberry into her mouth.

I ran into my friend again.

Donovan Rudd … Is he yet living?

He shot her a tart look and leaned against the wall by her window to gaze outside. I follow orders.

When it suits. Does he entertain you so much?

Actually, yes. He escaped with that Order-sent spy before I could play with him. I’m sure he’s trotting back to Whitman now. I’d love to know what you make of him. He offered a hand.

Wren didn’t move. I’m sure we’ll cross paths in our time. What did Ost say?

Ost respects but doesn’t like him. Thinks he’s too smart for his own good, but set in his ways.

Wren waited a beat. And the rest? The part I care about?

Forest grinned at her impatience. The usual military babble. They’re in place, only a few bits of rabble breaking off, but they have them contained or something like that. As soon as the rest of your people catch up and give word, Ost promises to crush our enemies and do away with the silly so-called ‘blood mages’ once and for all.

Her eyes went distant while she reviewed the update to her strategy. The Order claims the victory.

Ost is raised as a hero.

The laws are repealed.

And the Order crumbles at our feet as we rise from the destruction, benevolent rulers until the end.

Wren rolled her eyes. You missed a few steps.

He shrugged. I get impatient.

Are we even still working toward the same goal? She watched his expressions, for all the good it might do.

How can you ask that? He gasped dramatically and clutched at his chest, throwing the back of a hand to his forehead. After so many years by your side, how can I possibly consider the idea of doing anything but what you —

Ugh, it is far too early for your antics. Have you yet seen the boy?

Psh. Ruben doesn’t like me even half as much as you. So no, not yet.

Perhaps if you hadn’t tried to kill his friends half a dozen times, kidnap him, lock him in a dark cell, keep him living in constant fear for an untold amount of time …

Technically, I did not do the kidnapping, Forest pointed out.

Right, yes, you performed the attempted and failed kidnapping.

His grin was toothier than true joviality might display. That Donovan …

If you’d used magic —

No. The game isn’t fun when one side has more pieces.

Winning is the point. It doesn’t have to be fun.

You’re only mad because your greatest asset is —

Neutered? She cut him off. Yes, actually. You set a goal, I made the plan, you changed the rules. Nevertheless, I will win. I have plenty of time.

He bowed at the waist and grew serious in expression and physicality. Do you wish for me to use the vastness of my power?

Wren froze the way one might when confronted by a wild and unpredictable child. I’ve grown used to the lack of it. Can’t have you upsetting the new balance I’ve created.

Besides, you’d miss this face. He stroked a cheek with the side of his hand.

Like a rotted tooth. Go away. Write me a report, a good one, and see to your duckling.

Yes, your ladyship. Quack, quack. He leaned out of the window and rolled down the roof to land cat-like on his feet, quacking all the way.

She released the tension in her shoulders. At least he was having a sane day. Twenty years should be long enough to grow used to someone, but ‘madman’ was an apt descriptor, and used by her people with regularity where they thought he couldn’t hear. But it must have gone well with Ost, with Donovan.

Her thoughts turned to Whitman and she wondered again how he would counter her. She’d been impressed with his thoroughness of the Order’s cleansing, which she was already reversing. The spies he sent to infiltrate her own people were lacking, but that was fault she couldn’t put on him. She knew they’d come face-to-face eventually — even soon. He did his work in the shadows, but she knew he preferred to chew his problems with his own teeth — it was only a matter of time before he was in the field himself. She smiled at the imagery, but her face quickly fell. She still didn’t know what she’d do when they met.

She knew what Forest would do, however. Donovan, he toyed with. Whitman, he would break, if only to see if she would follow suit.

Wren looked at her hands and saw again the blood to her elbows, the eviscerated bodies that she’d been made to pull apart, then scatter in pieces around the village so her family would never look for her.

It had been effective; Forest was nothing if not creative. His own childhood tortures gave him a shocking level of innovation in the art of pain and mental destruction. He knew the horrors he’d been through could be used to bring others to his way of thinking — at least in part … the unbroken part.

Still, he had tolerated her presence for this long, and that was all she needed. The war would be hers before anyone could guess. Her life’s work was finally reaching its peak, and when it did …

Well. She would figure it out from there.

2

Ruben squinted and raised a hand to shade his eyes, but the white stone road reflected the harsh sunlight upward as well as down — he was practically surrounded by mirages.

Whenever you’re ready, Travis drawled somewhere in front of him. Only life that I’m wasting.

How do you hide without cover? Ruben muttered, repeating his mentor’s question — today’s lesson. It was advanced, but not beyond him, supposedly. Ruben blew out a breath. Travis was nowhere to be seen, but his voice sounded close.

He itched to bring Empathy magic to his eyes, to see the blossom and burst of colors and textures that would give away his opponent’s position, or Seek to hear the man’s heartbeat and breaths, but that was cheating. Instead, he had to use life magic. It should be easy — Travis was a man, a living being, with a stronger life force than anything else around him. But he was also very clever, and had somehow disguised his presence to Ruben’s magical senses.

Ruben hissed between his teeth, rationing breath to keep a steady stream of sound, of energy, of potential, burning. He pulled gently at the life around him, from the grass, from the air — what was that? A different … scent? Texture? He wished there were more words to describe the sensations magic brought to his senses.

That had to be him …

Ruben continued hissing and brushed delicate fingers of magic across the surroundings as he searched for the strongest scent; the change in the air that would point him in the right direction. But it was coming from everywhere. Of course. Damn.

Are you right behind me? Ruben was already wincing at the inevitable good-natured head-doff.

No.

Ruben turned in a slow circle. If the texture was coming from everywhere … evenly? Perhaps then he could search for the center? He chose a direction and started forward, conscious of the ground on which he walked, the life beneath his feet.

After a few uneventful and frustrating minutes, Travis wavered into view fifteen feet to Ruben’s left. He looked tired but amused. No. Good idea, though.

Ruben shook his head miserably. What’d I do?

Not enough, mostly. The older man wasn’t even sweating despite the sunlight, his gray hair no darker than when they started. He came to Ruben’s side. You’re still hesitant, nervous. We’re playing with basics.

Well, the worst that could happen is I die, Ruben said sarcastically. So I guess I’m just not rushing enough.

Exactly. Travis unhooked the waterskin from his belt and took a deep drink.

All right, so how’d you do it?

You want me to give away the game because you can’t figure it out?

Ruben grinned and shook his head. No. I’ll get it soon enough.

Of that, I have no doubt, a new voice called.

Travis’s smile flickered away. Ruben felt the hairs on his neck stand; a shiver went down his spine. His stomach clenched, but he turned around to see the Smiling Man with hands folded behind his back. He must have just returned; road dust coated his clothing and his cheeks were rough with blond stubble.

I see you’ve made good progress in the last few days.

No one answered.

How’s the arm?

Ruben touched the injury, stitched closed and healing slowly. Determined to learn to use his Healing magic, he had cut himself with a jagged piece of broken bucket. It hadn’t gone quite according to plan.

It’s fine.

Want me to take care of it for you?

No. Um, thank you. But I’ll do it. When I can.

The Smiling Man grinned but it didn’t reach his too-bright eyes. Suit yourself.

Silence passed back and forth a few times before the Smiling Man smirked and said, I’ll expect you for dinner. We have some catching up to do.

He strode away, unhurried, staring around at the property like any lord at homecoming.

Seemed a little less unpredictable today. Travis didn’t look at all perturbed to have been ignored for the conversation.

Ruben gave his teacher an incredulous look. He was quacking. Like a duck. It was under his breath, but I heard it.

Take what you can get, boy. Back to the lesson: tell me how I hid from you.

Ruben shook his head in exasperation. Um. You … ugh.

Focus. It isn’t difficult; think it through. We’ve worked on something similar already.

Right … Ruben tried to buy time but his eyes followed the Smiling Man’s path. He stared after him and wondered what he wanted.

Travis clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder and didn’t indicate that he noticed Ruben jump at the contact. Take a break.

He offered his waterskin and Ruben drank deeply. He was drenched in sweat from their time outside, but Travis looked perfectly fresh.

Did you know he was coming back today? Ruben asked.

Travis shrugged. I didn’t ask.

But Wren tells you things?

Travis raised a bushy eyebrow. Things like her secret plans for overthrowin’ the throne and plantin’ herself as ruler over the land?

Ruben’s eyes went wide.

Don’t be a fool, boy. All we talk about is you.

Oh. What do you say?

I say my piece, listen t’her piece, and then bring you out into the sun to practice magic that you don’t pay a whit o’attention to. He doffed Ruben upside the head.

It didn’t hurt, but Ruben winced sheepishly anyway.

What can you use for magic right now? Travis asked.

Breath —

"Outside of yourself. You need to focus on external choices, or you’ll burn yourself out."

Ruben bit his lip. The wind.

Aye.

Grass, dirt.

Sure.

The trees? Bushes?

Travis bobbed his head. They’re a bit far, but I’ll grant you them for option.

Um …

Travis held out an arm. Ruben looked at it, confused, and then laid a hand on him. The man’s skin was cool to the touch. Surprised, Ruben looked up at his mentor to see him grinning.

"You’re looking a tad warm. Son."

The sun!

It’s a bit far, but you can use the heat, sure as any.

Really?

The old man rolled his eyes like an adolescent. Yes.

Oh. Well that’s good to know.

We’ve been over it before, Travis