No More Than Pen and Ink

Raven walked smoothly through the twisted tunnels of magic that he built around himself. He was in no hurry to leave his travel-plane. The creatures that clustered at the edge of the silver pathway of light surrounding him had learned long ago not to disturb his voyages. The wild-space was a dangerous place to most. Even high ranking wyrds worried about spending too much time in the wild-space. Some of them entered and never came back. There were things out there that should be feared. And Raven did fear them, a little; though he knew that they also feared him, which kept them away—usually. Over the years he had built up an arsenal of knowledge, he knew the weaknesses of all the creatures that were any threat, and he knew the secret names of some of the more powerful ones. They would not trouble him. Even on the journey from beyond the hub to Eldale. He smiled thinly to himself, and the creatures on the edge of the light backed farther away. They knew better than to mess with him when he was in a mood like this. They had seen what happened to creatures that got in his way when he was like this. It was not pretty.

He didn’t know if they felt pain, but he knew that they feared death.

He felt the countryside around him, he was near Edge now, it would only be a few more steps before he would be in reach of. . . there is was. He slipped back into the world. He appeared in the village square. Suddenly and with no announcement, just slipping out of a blue-black hole that opened itself and spat him out. He looked around. The headman would be in one of the larger houses. Probably near the center of the village. He looked around. Letting his eyes see into the shadow-world. He could see the shadows of people devoid of magic power, gray, wispy creatures, ephemeral in the land he was looking at, a few had just a touch of the power, but this far from the hub they would not be able to manifest it properly. If they ever traveled closer to the hub, and why would they, they would find themselves gifted with a small amount of magic. There weren’t even any here that would meet the academy standards. Their tribute of magic was obviously being paid.

All he sensed were two somewhat powerful mages in the village. Probably locals kept here as magical police. It was a legitimate concern, and would allow for the better paying of the tribute. After all, mundane forces weren’t always well equipped to deal with a manifester. With a few mages on payroll the local government would be able to bring in a larger number of useful candidates for the academy. Raven appreciated the level of thought that would go into such an action. After a moments scrutiny he found what he was looking for, the house that was marked with mage-power. The walls glowed slightly in the shadow-realm and runes spelled out the names of the simple spells that were used and the planes to which they owed their power. Raven shook his head, a little disappointed. Though really, it was just as well that there were not more powerful spells, or he might have to report the village to the Academy. And no-one would like the outcome of that.

Though it would have been fun.

The villagers who had seen him appear hurried quickly to get out of the way, most going indoors and bolting the doors after them. They spread the word. Something dangerous was here. They didn’t know much, but apparently they knew enough to be afraid. That worried Raven a little. Who would have been out here that could walk the wild all the way from the hub? He didn’t really think take into account the fact that he wore a curved black sword strapped to his back along with a quiver of arrows and a curved bow. He wasn’t used to people fearing physical power near as much as he was used to magical power.

He approached the house that must be the headman’s whether he called himself mayor, chieftain, or king. It didn’t really matter to Raven, he would know the man’s true name in a second and he would have whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was the name of a girl called Underfoot.

The house was large, but not horribly so. Raven dismissed the details, looking only at the doorway and checking the other possible routs of escape. It would be easy to get in, and easy to get out. But it didn’t need to be that difficult. All he had to do was to knock on the door. He rapped once, letting the metal plate on the back of his gauntlet send the wood shivering. It was mere moments before the housekeeper came to the door. She seemed frightened to see him standing there in his loose black clothing, but she did not slam the door, rather getting out of the way very quickly and holding the door open for him. “You are here to see the master?” She asked. Backing up as he stepped into the entryway.

“Yes,” he said curtly. Pushing past her. “Is he here?”

“Just in the parlor. I’ll just go get him.” But he didn’t follow her orders pushing past her and on up the hall. “It is down the stairs, the second door on the right.” She called after him.

Sternbrow was seated behind a small table with the evening meal laid out in front of him. He looked up, rather frightened, when Raven entered. Though the frights was not near as bad as it would have been had he known exactly what Raven was and what he why he was there. It was easy for Raven to see that he was a soft man, easily manipulated by force. But he seemed to know what he was doing. He was the type of person that would sit there behind the scenes and manipulate everyone around him. Raven knew the type very well, he had often worked for the likes. After all who needed names more than someone who manipulated. He struck Raven as exactly the kind of man who would have all the names.

Sternbrow puffed up, making himself look bigger and more intimidating, though Raven knew he didn’t have any leverage. He didn’t have any chance of knowing Raven’s name. No-one knew raven’s name and lived. He grinned a little. The predatory light in his eyes flickering hotter. Sternbrow melted a little, seeming to shrink back into himself. But the bluster in his voice was still there. “What do you want!?” he asked, seemingly outraged at the interruption. “I’m trying to eat here.”

“I just want a small thing.” He said. Looking around. “You have a servant girl called Underfoot.” He said.

Sternbrow seemed flustered. Many thoughts could be seen flying across his mind, but Raven’s request was obviously not what he had expected. In the shadow realm Raven could see that Sternbrow had no magical power, though he saw the mark of many names, layered on top of each other so densely he could not read them. This was a trick that—as far as he knew—he alone had been far enough past the hub to learn. He could see the names that a person knew, it was one of his sources: the easiest, but not the best. There were other secrets past the hub, some of them so dark that even he did not want them. He had paid for this privilege, but it was well wroth it in his line of trade.

“Underfoot.” Sternbrow spat, trying to bolster himself. “Yes, she was here.” He smelled of fear. “What did you want of her?”

“I want her name,” Raven said, circling around the chair. “Her secret name. I’m sure you would know it. Being her master, you wouldn’t have bought her if you hadn’t”

“I didn’t buy her,” Sternbrow said, looking terrified. Raven was concerned. He wasn’t sure why the man was so afraid, but whatever the reason it couldn’t be good for him.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is her name.” Raven bowed close, lowering his voice. “I will give you one chance to give me her name, and I will not kill you. In fact, I will give you 30,000 gold pieces. But if you do not give it to me right now I will kill you where you stand and pull the name out of your rotting corpse.”

“You can do that?” Sternbrow said, a look of shear terror on his face.

“Yes.” Raven said, leaning closer. “His hand moved towards the hilt of his sword. “If you do not tell me the name I will have to.” he said. Calmly and slowly. “I will kill you.”

“I don’t know her name,” Sternbrow practically screamed in his attempt to get it out before the sword found his flesh. “That was why I had her here. She was the only person in the village whose name I couldn’t find. We found them all under the system. The way it was set up they had to register their secret names to be allowed to live in the village. They were set to protect the people. To keep them from killing each other, the council kept very good records, when I supplanted them and took all the names for myself to control the village, I wanted to make sure I had everyone, so I had the census retaken. She was the only person in the entire village that didn’t have a name. Her parents were gone, dead or what I don’t know. But she didn’t have a name, and no manner of the usual divinations brought it to us. She was brought here so she would be safe and so I could keep an eye on her.”

Raven backed up. He could see the truth in the man’s eyes. He usually knew when someone was lying to him. He knew what terror smelt like, and this man reeked of it. “Very well.” He said. “Bring me to the girl.” He said. Releasing his grip on the sword.

Sternbrown stood quickly, moving behind his chair as if that would protect him from Raven’s sword. “I don’t know where she is. . .” he said “She ran off this morning, taken by a wyrd on the run; he stole my book of names and kidnapped her. They are on the run.”

Raven bowed his head for a moment. This man had better not be wasting his time. He had better be lying. “If you are lying to me.” He looked at him through the shadow realm. Sternbrow trembled. Raven had no doubts of the truth. “Very well then.”

Raven’s gaze lanced out, his eyes searching to the very depths of Sternbrow’s mind, he felt around, he felt the names, he took them all and he cut with his mind, lashing out in the shadow realm. Sternbrow fell, collapsing to the floor. The mental motion had been accompanied by a physical movement, so quick you could barely see it he had unsheathed the dagger at his waist, darted forward in a powerful thrust and struck Sternbrow through the heart, taking his life and all his power at the same time. Sternbrown didn’t make a noise, he just slumped. Raven removed the dagger from his chest, wiped in with a cloth he produced from his pocket and re-sheathed the blade. And he turned to leave the room. Raven touched the door post with two fingers as he left the room. Bowing his head slightly. The magic wards on the house shattered, no-one would notice except those who could see into the shadow-world. The glimmering shards of light hung in the air, drifting slowly away from their old place unaffected by gravity or winds. It would only be a matter of minutes before they would be entirely absorbed by the other planes.

Raven hadn’t killed the man out of anger or spite. Sternbrow was the scum of the earth, the very worst kind of person that could ever be made. He was a name collector. And he was beyond the edge of Sintra, he was alone out here: the only man trying to control people by the power of their names. At least the only person who made it as far as he did. He didn’t know of any other villages out beyond the edge that ran their country that required their inhabitants to give up their secret names. . . he didn’t even know of any other villages that had the necessary skill in divination to even attempt it. It was true the the true-name was easier to divine at the moment of birth. When a child was brought in to the world it was assigned a name, a phrase that defined its very existence, indicating who it was, who it would be and how it would grow. Some said the name decided the fate of the person, others claimed that it was the fates who chose the name. Raven knew better. He knew exactly how it worked. But it didn’t really matter to him. To him names were just a means to an end, power in his hands and in the hands of others. He merely found them and gave them to others. It was hard to see how he could do anything else after coming so far. Once past the hub he had found that things on this side of the veil didn’t matter very much at all. There were powers on the other side so great and terrible that nothing could stop them. But he shuddered a little every time he thought about what happened to people who went deeper into the hub to grasp at power.

Even he was afraid of what the humans who called themselves the Council of Dancing Shadows had become. And he sometimes worked for them.

The power that was on the other side of the hub: the colors, the stretching of the mind and body. Anything was possible in the vortex, you could go anywhere, know anything, do anything. That is why all the nobles strove to cross over and fought to control access to the hub. Even the king had only stepped into the vortex once thanks to the mechanations of the lesser lords, and some of them had gone more often. But he had gone through many times—no one held his name, and someone held the names of every single noble. Raven and a few others like him had seen to that. Though he suspected the council of dancing shadows had its hand in that. He wondered at times what the council was up to, and how much they controlled his own life. He knew that there was nothing he could do to stop them. . . yet, and if they really saw him as a threat they would already have their claws in him. He knew that he had a secret name, but he had killed everyone who had known it, and anyone who went looking for it would either have to go very deep into the vortex or break his will and work the divination. As it he would have to do for Underfoot apparently.

He grimaced a little at the thought of having to go into the hub to find the name of Underfoot. That was the final measure, the hardest and most reliable way to get a name. . . if you came out at all. You could enter the hub and walk deep into the other side. There was a place where any name you needed came to you, but it was not without a price. And hard price. Raven had paid it several times in the course of his career. But a nobody like this Underfoot should not require that kind of sacrifice.

But was she really a nobody? She didn’t have a name in a village of names, that made her more of a nobody than normal, perhaps even enough to be a someone. Raven didn’t think too hard about it. He was used to some names being harder to come by, but to miss a name at birth. . . that would be difficult. The divination was simple then. If his workers were even halfway proficient in the art they should be able to name every child that came into the village. And most of the adults that traveled in, if they were co-operative. They would never be able to touch him though. His name was hidden even deeper than any name he knew existed. Save for those of the council. Knowing the powers that guarded the well of names. . . he shuddered to think what would be required to bury his name as far as they had. . . He rubbed his arm unconsciously, as if it were hurting him.

But he had a job to do. He focused and went into the kitchen, where he found the cook, she looked up from kneading a thick dough-paste on the counter. She backed away, and he saw her hand move towards the handle of a broad bladed knife that sat on the counter. Raven held his hands out, not threatening. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said, and it was true, he had not intention of killing her. He was not a murder who went about killing people randomly. Killing Sternbrow had been a service to this village, though he doubted that this cook would be as willing to talk to him if she knew that her master’s body was cooling slowly in a pool of his own blood not twenty feet away. It would not be at all constructive to tell her. “I just want to ask a few questions.” He pulled a chair over and sat on it, leaning on the chair-back facing the cook. She backed away a little, sensing something wrong with him, and eying the hilt of the sword across his back.

“I’ll tell you what I can.” She said, her hand moving back to the dough and kneading it vigorously, almost nervously. “But I’m not sure I can help.”

“Oh, you should be able to.” raven said. “It is about the servant girl Underfoot.”

“She was taken the other day, poor girl.” The cook said, stopping as if to think, looking towards the ceiling and kneading the dough in a more relaxed way. Then she looked back down sharply at him. “She isn’t in trouble, is she? I always liked her.”

“No, she is not in trouble.” Raven said. “I just need to find her.”

The cook looked him over. “Are you the girl’s father?” She asked. “We never knew aught about her father here in the village.”

“No.” Raven said, though he thought about pretending for a moment. “I was hired to find her.” This was indeed the truth, and non-specific enough to be reasonably unquestionable. “I need to know about how she was taken.” He said.

The cook looked a little surprised, but shrugged. “A new wyrd broke into the house and took the Master’s book of names and the girl and disappeared right above the house.” she said. “It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before, all the shouting, the guards running everywhere and the master shouting like no-ones business.” she shuddered. “and there they were, the thief and Underfoot, hovering in the sky above the house, there was magic all around them, you could see it arcing between the city watch-wyrds and the two of them. The sky crackling with dark energy, powers washing over everything, you could feel it against your very soul, washing over you, pressing you down. And then they vanished, completely, it was almost like the sky opened up and swallowed them where they stood. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen and I’ll not forget it for my entire life.” She said, an oddly happy look on her face. Apparently she was happy to have seen the mundane order of life broken.

Raven delighted. A wyrd. It was perfect. The quaint use of the ancient word often applied to fate was amusing to him. But he knew he could follow a manifester. But such power to open a skyway this far from the hub. His nerves tingled with the excitement of it. This was why he loved the hunt. The feeling of adrenaline from following a dangerous quarry, or merely of outsmarting a fellow human and maneuvering into a position of power. He could follow a skyway. He relaxed. And leaned back a little. “Now tell me what you know of the girl’s parentage.”

“Nobody knows who her father was.” the woman said. “But her mother was here as long as anyone can remember. A pretty woman, who had aged remarkably well. She was something of a recluse, keeping mostly to herself. But everyone that knew her liked her. It was hard not to with her winning smile and easy grace. She didn’t seem quite like one of us, holding to herself and not needing our approval. But oftentimes we sought hers. She had a healing hand, she could bring a man out of a deadly fever when all others though he was without hope. We soon became indebted to her and brought our problems to her even if we did not bother much to see to her during the rest of our lives. Underfoot was born in the summer,

She was a beautiful baby, something completely different seemed to be about her. She looked different that other babies, more elegant more graceful, more beautiful. It was hard not to comment, hard not to see that she was special. At times she seemed to glow with an inner light, but it was a different light, like you could not really see it but it was coming at you at an angle and it made you think of different things that you usually thought of. She was born tiny, and her mother disappeared shortly afterwards. Nobody knows what happened to her, but it was during the time when Sternbrow replaced the council, some say she was murdered because she stood in his way, some say that she was killed because she was magical or because she did not give her name in the census. Others thinks that she was a witch. I don’t know what she was but that she was pretty and that I liked her. She healed me once when I was a child, touched me right on the cheek and whispered to me that I would get better. I was terribly sick: my breathing was hard and I was coughing blood. She fed me a warm draft and wrapped me in blankets, she touched me and told me I would get better and then I did.

And then she disappeared. No one knows where she went. No one was told what she had done. No one even really knew who she was or where she came from. Everyone felt that she had been in the village forever, but nobody could remember when she had appeared, and no one could remember her as a child. It was as if her childhood did not exist, as if there was nothing there to happen. I remember her always, when I was a child until when she died, as a tall beautiful woman with long black hair and caring blue eyes. She seemed to be looking through you and she almost glowed as if with an inner peace. Nobody knows who the father was. Though there were rumors at the time. They are mostly completely forgotten. With the woman long gone and Underfoot lost from sight they stopped thinking about it. They lost the little sunshine that she provided.”

“Did you know that Sternbrow could not find Underfoot’s true name.” Raven asked.

“No.” She said. “Though it makes sense. He always did mistreat her. And we never gave her much thought.”

Raven thanked the woman, touching her hand and rising. “I will find her. I will keep her safe.” He did not add the final words that he thought, for now.

He would find her all right, he would travel through the sky-way opened by the manifesting mage. He would be able to find them from there. He could trace the scent of the mage. The touch of his magic. “show me where the girl was caught.” He said.

The woman led him up the hall and into the study. The ceiling was collapsed, debris all around and the cabinet on the other side of the room was singed with unnatural fire. Raven could taste the tang of the other plane in the room. He could feel the magic that had been pulled into this world. It was somewhat powerful. For this far from the hub. But nothing extraordinary. Nothing to show that the user could punch holes into the travel-plane. He looked around and dismissed the cook who was already backing away as if to flee from his presence. “Go.” he said. “And thank you for the help.”

He could see the fragments of magic in the shadow-realm, he could see the magic pulled out, the caster had smashed through the roof, which showed that he did not have any finesse or understanding of what he could do. He was new at this. Hopefully he would be a little better by the time that Raven caught him. Else it wouldn’t be much fun. He grinned a little. The cabinet was a little more interesting, it had been melted by elemental fire. The caster had destructive potential, but he didn’t know how to use it very well. The whole wall was washed with fire, no precision. Raven thought. No precision at all. He ran his finger along the singed edge of the cabinet and then looked up. The caster had fled back the way he came. And from the cook’s description this was where he had grabbed the girl and made off with her. He stepped, and he was on the roof, standing next to the hole. He didn’t so much as propel himself there as step sideways, a moment in the shadow plane and onto the roof. He could see the magic that the mages had used, still hanging there, spent. He could see the powers at work, the magic reaching out to bind the manifester and the powers that had been flung about. It was like a map to the struggle that had ensued. He looked closer. Something was different. Something was wrong. “No.” he said, looking deeper. He shifted his vision. There was no wyrd-gate, no passage to the travel plane that he could find. Nothing. But somethiong was wrong. The magic felt odd here. He looked into the other planes he could see. And there it was. A puncture scar, dark and swollen against the grey sky. Something he had never thought to see, certainly not this far from the Hub.

A hole to a plane far deeper than the usual surface travel plane. The plane of words. . . At least that was what it felt like. The plane that bordered the well of words, where even he dared tread only lightly. No mage would be able to open that plane on their first try. He began to fear. What was this mage? Then he thought about it for a moment. What was this girl? He was fascinated. The hunt had grown far more interesting than he had expected. It would not be easy if she was what he suspected. “Power to shape the destiny of the entire world. Indeed.” he said to himself. “She could destroy this world or remake it however she wanted.”

This could get interesting. A new power loose in the world. A creature from beyond the hub. What would it do. And why had it fled with the manifester? Or had Sternbrow had it’s name? Or another that was important? He searched through he names in that Sternbrow had known, looking at them in his mind’s eye. He had sucked them out of the man, he saw them all, searching them. Most of them were ordinary, there was nothing all that unusual. But it was hard to tell. . . But he let it pass, none of the names would be enough to cover a person of that power. But still, there was something else.

He crouched, readying himself. A predatory smile curling his lips. He touched the scar with one finger and he allowed to take him in.

The other side was dark, and he could feel the creatures ready to tear at him, the first swipe came as he entered. He dodged and then he was ripped out of the plane and into the real world again. He had followed the trace. That was good, she had not gone far in that plane. He would not have wanted to endure it much longer. But if she had only gone that far, maybe it had been the manifester, and an accident that had brought them there rather than the surface plane. A manifester who didn’t know such a distinction wouldn’t last very long.

<-Previous Next->

“Foolish girl! you forgot to douse the candles again last night, didn’t you.” Sternbrow scolded, just like he always did. His forehead folded into creases as he looked at the dirty little girl in front of him. “Why do I even keep you around?”

The girl hung her head in shame. She shouldn’t have stayed up all night reading. It was inappropriate for a servant of such low status as herself. Books and knowledge were the property of the rich, not the poor like her. She was lucky that Sternbrow even let her stay in his house, and here she was stealing knowledge from him behind his back. But she couldn’t help it. She wanted to know so much about the world outside of Eldale. There was so much of interest: flying cities, dragons, elves, faeries, pirates and skyfolk. And all this knowledge was piled up in little words on paper, billions of words in one place, so many places to go and people to see: the temptation was irresistible to her. It’s not like Sternbrow was making any use of the words that were stored up in his library. He spent all his day telling the rest of the villagers what to do and how to do it, he wasn’t about to spend any time reading.

“Are you even listening to me girl?” Sternbrow shook his coffee cup at her over his morning sausage. “Get back to work!”

She mumbled under her breath as she went back to sweeping the floor.

“What was that?” Sternbrow asked her.

“Thank you.” She said, bowing her head again and moving slowly towards another room.

Today was going to be just like any other day. She would do the mundane household chores as long as she could before the exhaustion of staying up all night set in and she would wake up some time later, probably when Sternbrow rang to have her take his coat when he got back from overseeing the village court. He was mayor of the small town by name, but he really was only an authorized busybody, poking his nose into everyone else’s business and telling them how to run their lives. If someone decided to put a vegetable garden in the front of their house it was suddenly his business as he would have to assure the economy and well-being of the village. He was a despot, though he was ostensibly elected by the village people. As far as they were from the hub it was no surprise that the higher governments saw no need to interfere in the affairs of the little people. They paid their tribute to the king and sent the gifted to the academies to be trained in the ways of the wyrd.

Underfoot thought about the village for a while. It was going nowhere: it was beyond the interest of the national powers, it had little in the way of magic, as far as it was from the hub, and it supplied no raw materials worth noting. She lamented the circumstances that had forced her mother into this little village. Of course her mother had died before she could remember. She told herself many stories about her mother: in some her mother was a princess fleeing the fallout of a distant noble feud, in some she was a fallen skyfolk queen or a pirate princess. In others she was a mage of great power. But in the back of her heart Underfoot knew that her mother was just another dirt-poor peasant like herself.

She busied herself with cleaning the kitchen of the morning meal’s garbage. Eating the scraps that were still left-over, the bad ends of sausage and burnt crusts. The cook pretended not to notice that Underfoot stole the scraps that she was supposed to be carting away.

Underfoot was painfully thin, a little over five feet tall, and sixteen years old. Though she looked closer to twelve. Her hair was rough-cut just below her chin, ragged ends scattering every which way. Her eyes were pale, possibly blue or green, though they looked closer to gray most of the time. It was hard to make out her exact complexion underneath the layer of dirt that had accumulated over the years but it was probably pale. Her features were slight, though possibly fine. She wore a long, thin, ragged gray tunic and loose black leggings with no knees. The skin that peeked out from the fabric of her leggings looked more akin to tree-bark than to the skin of a girl. She wore no shoes, and her feet too were tough from years of hard use.

After Sternbrow left she started to dust his study. Every day when her master was gone she found herself drawn to this mysterious room. It was on the list of things that she was supposed to clean, so she was allowed to enter it, but there were several places of particular interest: she was not allowed to open any of the drawers, she was told that they would bite her hand off if she were to try to take anything from them—though she knew otherwise from personal experience; and she was not allowed to even touch the closed glass case behind the desk where the book of names was held. The book of names was kept locked for a good reason. It was where every name in the village was recorded at birth and their parentage was set down. What was more, the court kept the true-names of every person in the village so that they could be bound to truth during any hearings. Anyone who held that book and knew the names within had power over the entire village.

It was passed on from village ruler to village ruler, intended to be a tool for the elected officials. The village had once been ruled by a council, but that had passed a long time ago when Sternbrow was first elected to the post. Originally the council members had all had their name stricken from the book of names when they were appointed and the book was accessible only to those who were on the council. Restrictions of wyrd were placed on all members of the council, to erase any memory they might have of the other council members true names. This restriction allowed the council to decide as a group how best to rule the village, and when to rule by power of name. Most everyone in the village thought that it had always been this way, but Underfoot knew differently, most villages, cities and powers did not rule openly by power of name. Citizens in most every other place did not have their true names recorded on their birth so that they could be ruled over. In her night-time studies underfoot had found out many glorious things. She had learned how government should be implemented, she had read philosophies, histories and all manner of books. And she was beginning to realize that it was wrong to take away others freedoms int he way that Sternbrow had done.

The village had to do whatever he said. He knew their intimate names, if they disagreed with him all he would have to do is go home to his study, pull out the book and invoke the power of their true name and they would change their minds and agree with him. Today she found herself with her fingers on the glass front of the cabinet. The book was mere inches from her grasp. If she had it in her hands what would she do? Would she destroy it like she knew it should be, or would she be tempted by the promise of power? The great thinkers all seemed to agree that such a choice would always be made in favor of the individual. But still, she thought that she would destroy it, even if it was just to get back at Sternbrow and make him as poor an outcast as she was.

But maybe she would look up his true name before she destroyed it.

And then in the middle of her thoughts she realized, just as she always did, that it would be foolish for him to leave his own name in such a record, out in the open and she went back to cleaning producing a clean rag from one of her pockets and wiping down the surface of the glass case. She stifled a yawn as she went to work. She had to at least get one room looking clean before she dozed off or it would even more trouble for her.

The ceiling above her shattered into shards of wood with an astounding crash. She had no chance to react. She let out a shriek as she was showered in splinters. Her reflexes had thrown her arms in front of her face so she could not see anything more until strong arms were around her and a firm hand was over her mouth.

As her arm fell she saw the room, now with a large hole in the ceiling and wooden debris scattered all over. She could not see the man who held her. It was startling and her reflex was to scream again, but her mouth was covered by a firm hand. So she bit it.

She heard words in her ear. “Quit struggling,” his voice was soft, young, and quick between breaths. “I’ll let you go if you promise not to scream again.”

She quit struggling, standing completely still and throwing a quizzically demeaning look over her shoulder at her captor.

Apparently taking the cessation of her efforts to struggle against his hold as assent to not scream again the man let her go hesitantly, his arms poised to grab her if she made the slightest wrong move. “There we go.”

She rounded on him quickly, almost prompting him to grab her again. “How would my screaming—again—raise any more attention than you have already?” She asked.

He looked a little disconcerted. “I really don’t know. But it seemed like the thing to say.”

“Well, are you breaking and entering or what?” She asked him. “What are you after?”

“Like I would tell you. . .” he said as he began to turn away, apparently discounting the possibility of her being a threat.

“Well, you should probably grab it quickly and get on with it.” She said. “The cook or the maid will have run for the police and Sternbrow by now,” she said.

This jolted the thief into motion, he sprang forward towards the cabinet where the book was held, the wood scorched at his touch and the door swung open. He reached in and grabbed the heavy wooden-bound volume of pages. The book looked like it had been bound and re-bound many times as new pages were added to it, there were pages of paper, pages of animal hide and dried papyrus, each section of the record had it’s own flavor, as if told its own story. The most recent pages were cleanly cut paper manufactured in the most modern fashion. He grabbed the book and made a dash for the door.

Underfoot just stood there, unable to think of a proper reaction. She watched the thief wordlessly as he vanished out the door.

But she didn’t have much chance to think about it as the sound of voices came from the entryway. Moments later the thief reappeared, rushing through the door and slamming it behind him. He was out of breath again. Looking frantically around the room, he saw that Underfoot was still there and ran towards her, grabbing her arm. As he did so she felt the floor drop from beneath her. She felt dizzy as she looked down.

“Don’t do it! If you shoot I will hurt her!” he said, she swung herself around in his grip, realizing that she was now outside of the building and the man was standing on the roof of the building.

An arrow whizzed past, as if determined to prove that they were perfectly fine with the death of a dirty peasant. She began to panic, realizing that she was being suspended in the air, on the roof of the house while the city guards were shooting at her. She flailed her arms wildly, causing the man to unbalance and lose his footing, he slipped and tumbled down the roof a short ways. An arrow passed through the space he had just been occupying. Suddenly the slipping stopped and Underfoot felt herself held as if by an invisible hand. “Oh no!” the man shouted, she felt a conflicting force pushing against her. She looked down, the village wyrd was standing below among the group of guardsmen and the gathering crowd of people. She saw Sternbrow’s face looking up at her, it was livid with anger and his eyes flashed with fire.

She knew then that the man who had stolen the book, and her, must be a wyrd. Sternbrow’s wyrd wouldn’t have come out for a simple theft. And suddenly the crash through the ceiling, the burning cabinet and the incredible jump made sense. But they were in trouble now: the man holding her had to be low-ranking in the power of wyrd, if he hadn’t been found and sent off to the academy by now he must have just manifested, or been unusually subtle about it. It was true the the city only kept one wyrd, but he was the strongest to be found in the city. A newly manifested wyrd wouldn’t stand a chance.

“What are you waiting for! Bring him down!” Sternbrow shouted from the ground, urging the men of the guard, who had hesitated to fire at a hostage..

Suddenly the air around her exploded in light, heat washed over her. A lance of fire struck towards the man. She felt the fear and realization that she was going to die well up in her and then everything twisted in on itself. It felt as if a giant empty hole had opened in the fabric of the world and swallowed them and then spit them back out all in one moment.

Underfoot felt a little queasy, and realized that the house was nowhere in sight.

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