Modern Magick

Music and Misadventure: 2

When my mother said she'd given me the most beautiful name she could think of, it might be of interest to know that she was referring, more or less, to her own. Delia Vesper sat inside the mouth of the cave, propped against the dark rock wall, and shrouded in so much shadow that I could barely make out the details of her form.

'Is that your Waymaster?' said Delia from the darkness.

'Yes, but we tend to call him Jay.'

'Jay Patel,' said Jay. 'Hello, Mrs. Vesper.' He was so polite, I'm sure he would have shaken hands with her if he could.

Her voice, when it came again, was wry. 'It's Miss Vesper, but you may call me Delia.'

Further questions bloomed in Jay's mind, judging from the brief glance he made at me. I privately hoped I wouldn't have to answer too many of them.

It occurred to me that my mother hadn't moved, and that seemed rude, even for her. All right, then. If she wouldn't come out, I'd have to go in. 'So,' I said, and ducked into the mouth of the cave. 'Why are we here?' With a flick of my finger I summoned a tiny fireball, just enough to cast a light. It's about as much as I am capable of in the fireball arena.

My mother made a frightful sight. Her skin, always pale, was white as wax. Her shabby, old clothes and auburn hair were matted with dirt, the latter tangled, but these things were not so unusual for her.

The blood, however, was.

I fell to my knees beside her. 'Mother,' I said sharply. 'You're hurt.' She was cradling one arm, her breath coming short; it must have cost her some effort to speak in such measured tones.

'A bit.' She eyed me with the same old challenging look: would I, dared I, imply that she could not fully take care of herself?

The dried blood soaking her clothes — hell, my very presence on Sheep Island — proved that, this time, she could not. I wasn't having it. 'You should have told me,' I hissed. 'I'd have brought Rob. You need medical attention.'

'I haven't died yet, have I?' She would have shrunk away from me, I think, if she had not been so hurt.

I may have growled. 'Mother,' I said firmly. 'Don't be so damned difficult. You know you need help, or you would not have called us in. So. Tell us what happened, and then we can decide what to do for you.'

Jay had joined us by this time. He hovered, as uncertain as I was as to what to do for my stubborn parent. He made some attempt at scrutiny, but with the dim light and his lack of medical knowledge, he was as powerless as I.

We sat, and waited.

Mother gave a short, harried sigh. 'I came here a month ago with a team. We'd heard tell of a village that once existed upon one of these islands. Thought to be decimated by plague somewhere in the 1300s, and fallen into ruins. My kind of thing.' She spared a brief smile.

In case you hadn't guessed, my mother's an archaeologist. She specialises in the unearthing of lost magickal settlements, and the medieval era's her speciality. I could well imagine that such a rumour would light her fire.

'Well, we started here. At first we thought ourselves mistaken. You no doubt saw as you came in that the terrain here is largely flat and undisturbed. Buried villages tend to leave some lumps and bumps here and there, where earth and grass have grown over chunks of toppled buildings—'

'We know that, mother,' I interrupted. I would not normally be so impatient, but for heaven's sake, the woman was bleeding. Judging from her face, she was lucky not to have bled to death.

'But,' she said, as though I had not spoken. 'Hank — you remember Hank? Reads every book ever written — Hank said that these islands had a strong gnome population around that era, and—' Here she paused for breath, growing a shade or two paler. '—he was right. The village was below. We found it after three weeks, and, well...' Unbelievably, she gave a tiny snort of laughter. 'It wasn't as deserted as we were hoping.'