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Be It Ever So Humble

by Tanya Huff

"So, got any dirt on this place?" Magdelene asked the gold and black lizard who was sunning itself on

a nearby rock. The lizard, looking more like a beautifully crafted piece of jewelry than a living creature,

merely flicked its inner eyelid closed and pretended to be asleep. Children with rocks or nets it had to do

something about. Young women in donkey carts who asked stupid questions could safely be ignored.

Magdelene studied the little village nestled along the curve of its natural harbor and chewed reflectively

on a strand of chestnut hair. It looked like a nice place, but, as much as she wanted to settle down, as

tired as she was of constantly packing up and moving on, she knew better than to get her hopes up. In a

dozen years of traveling, she'd learned that the most jewel-like villages, in the most bucolic settings,

often had the quaintest customs. Customs like welcoming wandering wizards with an axe, or attempting

to convince wandering wizards to stay by outfitting them with manacles and chains, or by suggesting the

tarring and feathering of wandering wizards with no better reason that the small matter of a straying

husband or two. For the most part, Magdelene had found these customs no more than a minor

inconvenience, although, had she known the man was married, she would never have suggested they ...

She grinned at the memory. He'd proven a lot more flexible than she'd anticipated.

"Well, H'sak?" She spit out the hair and glanced back at the large mirror propped up behind the seat

of the cart. "Shall we check it out?"

H'sak, trapped in the mirror, made no answer. Magdelene wasn't entirely certain the demon was

aware of what went on outside his prison, but, traveling alone, she'd fallen into the habit of talking to

him and figured, just in case he ever got out, it couldn't hurt if he had memories of pleasant, albeit one-

sided, conversations. Not, she supposed, that a bit of chat would make up for her trapping him in the

mirror in the first place. Stretching back, she pulled an old cloak down over the glass-no point in

upsetting potential neighbors right off-then gathered up the reins and slapped them lightly on the

donkey's rump. The donkey, who had worked out an understanding with the wizard early on, took

another few mouthfuls of the coarse grass lining the track and slowly started down the hill to the village.

At the first house, Magdelene stopped the cart and sat quietly studying the scene. A few chickens

scratched in the sandy dirt that served the village as a main street, and a black sow sprawled in the only

visible bit of shade, her litter suckling noisily. A lullaby, softly sung, drifted through one of the open

windows, and from the beach came the screams and laughter of children at play. Just the sort of lazy

ambience she appreciated.

"Who are you?"

Languidly, for it was far too hot to be startled, Magdelene turned. A boy, nine or ten years old, naked

except for a shell threaded on a frayed piece of gut, peered up at her from under a heavy shock of dusty

black hair. Although he showed no signs of malnutrition or neglect, his left arm hung withered and

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useless by his side.

"My name is Magdalene." She pushed her hair back off her face. "Who are you?"

"Juan." He edged a little closer. "You a trader?"

"No. I'm a wizard." Over the years, she'd discovered life worked out better if she didn't try to hide

that. It made explanations so much easier when things started happening. And things always did. The

boy looked her up and down and tossed his head. "Ha!" he scoffed. "Tell us another one. Wizards got

gray hair and warts. You're not old enough to be a wizard."

"I'm twenty-seven," she told him a little indignantly. He was a fine one to talk about not old

enough.... "Oh." Juan considered it and apparently decided twenty-seven was sufficiently ancient even

without the gray hair and warts. "What about your clothes, then? Wizards wear robes and stuff.

Everyone knows that." He had a point. Wizards did wear robes and stuff; usually of a dark, heavy, and

imposing fabric; always hot, scratchy, and uncomfortable. Magdalene, who preferred to be comfortable,

never bothered. "I'm the most powerful wizard in the world," she explained as a rivulet of sweat ran

under her bright-blue breast-band, "so I wear what I want."

"Yeah, sure," he snorted. "Prove it."

"All right." She gathered up the multicolored folds of her skirt, jumped down off the cart, and held

out her hand. "Give me your arm and I'll fix it."

"Oh no." He backed up a pace and turned, protecting the withered arm behind the rest of his body.

"You ain't proving it on me. Find something else."

"Like what?" Juan thought about it a moment. "Could you send my sister someplace far away?" he

asked hopefully. Magdalene thought about that in turn. It didn't seem worth antagonizing the village just

to prove a point to one grubby child. "I could, but I don't think I should." The boy sighed. The kind of

sigh that said he knew what the answer would be but thought there could be no harm in asking. They

stood together in silence for a moment, Magdalene leaning against the back of her cart-perfectly content

to do nothing-and Juan digging his toe into the sand. The donkey, who could smell water, decided

enough was enough and started toward the center of the village. He was hot, he was thirsty, and he was

going to do something about it.

As the cart jerked forward, Magdelene hit the ground with an unwizardlike thud. Closer proximity

proved the sand was not as soft as it looked. "Lizard piss," she muttered a curse, rubbing at a stone-

bruise. When she looked up, Juan had disappeared.

She shrugged philosophically and, following along behind the donkey, amused herself by pulling

back an image of Juan as an adult. Long and lean and sleekly muscled, it was a future worth sticking

around for. At some point between now and then, she appeared to have convinced him to let her fix his

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arm. It looked like she'd be staying, at least for a while.

An impatient bray demanded her attention and she allowed the image to slip back to its own time;

they'd arrived at the well.

When the trough was full and the donkey had bent his head to drink, Magdelene, pulled by the

realization she was no longer alone, slowly turned. All around the edges of the square stood the children

of the village, staring at her with wide dark eyes.

"Yes?" she asked.

The children merely continued to stare.

Demons, she decided, were easier to deal with. At least you always knew what demons wanted.

"Magdelene-lady!"

The children stared on as Magdelene gratefully noted Juan approaching with an adult in tow. The old

man had been bent and twisted by the weight of his years, his fingers warped into shapes more like

driftwood than flesh. His skin had been tanned by sun and wind and salt into creased leather, and any

hair he'd had was long gone. He followed Juan with the rolling gait of a life spent at sea, and his jaws

worked to the rhythm of his walking.

"Whatcha doing sitting around like a pile of fish guts?" he growled at the children as he stopped an

arm's length from Magdelene and glared about. "Untie her beast, put him to pasture, and get that wagon

in the shade."

The children hesitated.

"You are staying a bit?" he asked, his growl softening, his dark eyes meeting hers. Magdalene smiled

her second-best smile-she couldn't be certain his heart would be up to her best-and said, "Yes." She

wanted very much to stay for a bit. Maybe this time things would work out. The old man nodded and

waved both twisted hands. "You heard her. Get!" They got, Juan with the rest, and Magdelene watched

bemused as her donkey was led away and her cart was pulled carefully to rest under a stand of palm.

"Boy says you told him you're a wizard."

"That's light."

"Don't have much need for a wizard here. Wizards make you soft and then the sea takes you. We

prefer to do things for ourselves."

"So do I," Magdelene told him, leaning back against the damp stones. "Prefer to have people do

things for themselves, that is." She grinned. She liked this old man and sensed in him a kindred spirit.

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"To be honest, I like people to do things for me as well." He returned the grin and his eyes twinkled as

he looked her up and down. "Ah, child," he cackled, "what 1 could do for you if I were only fifty years

younger."

"Would you like to be?" she asked, rather hoping he would. He laughed, then he realized she was

serious. "You could do that?"

"Yes." His gaze turned inward, and Magdelene could feel the strength of the memories he sifted.

After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. "Foolish wishes, child. I've earned my age and I'll wear it

with honor." Magdelene hid her disappointment. Personally, she couldn't see the honor in blurred

eyesight, aching bones, and swollen, painful joints, but if that was his choice . . . There were sixteen

buildings in the village, eight goats, eleven pigs, twenty-one chickens, and fourteen boats. No one had

ever managed an accurate count of the cats. "Six families came here three generations ago," Carlos, the

old man, explained as they stood on the beach watching boats made tiny by distance slide up and down

the rolling waves. Through his eyes, Magdelene saw the harbor as it had been, sparkling untouched in

the sun, never sailed, never fished, theirs. "I'm the last of the first. I've outlived two wives and most of

my children as well."

"Do you mind?" Magdelene asked, knowing she was likely to see entire civilizations rise and fall in

her lifetime and not entirely certain how she felt about it.

"Well..." He considered the question for a moment. "I'll live 'til I die. Nothing else I can do."

"You didn't answer my question."

He patted her cheek. "I know."

That night, in the crowded main room of the headman's house, Carlos presented Magdelene to the

adults of the village. "... and she'd like to stay on a bit."

"A wizard," the headman ruminated. "That's something we don't see every day."

Magdelene missed much of the discussion that followed as she was busy trying to make eye contact

with a very attractive young man standing by one of the deep windows. She gave up when she realized

that he was trying to make eye contact with a very attractive young man standing by the door.

"... although frankly, we'd rather you were a trader."

"The traders are late this year?" Magdelene guessed, hoping she hadn't missed anything important.

"Aye. They've always come with the kayle."

Just in time, she remembered that kayle were fish.

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"Surely you saw them on the road?" a young woman asked hopefully.

"No." Magdelene frowned as she thought back over the last few weeks of travel. "I didn't." The

emptiness of the trail hadn't seemed strange to her at the time. It did now.

"I don't suppose you can conjure one?" asked a middle-aged woman dryly, tamping down her pipe.

The room rippled with laughter.

"I could," Magdelene admitted.

The room fell silent.

Magdelene cleared her throat. She might as well get it over with. "I'm the most powerful wizard in

the world," she began. The middle-aged woman snorted. "Says who?"

"Well, uh ..."

"Doesn't matter. Would this conjured trader do us any good?"

"Probably not." A trader conjured suddenly into the village would be more likely to trade in strong

hysterics than anything useful. "I thought as much." The woman expertly lit her pipe with a spill from

the lamp. "What in Neto's breath are we wasting our time here for, that's what I want to know?"

"1 thought you might like to know that a stranger, a wizard, has come to the village," Carlos told her

tartly. She snorted again. "All right. Now we know." She pointed the stem of her pipe at Magdelene and

demanded, "You planning on causing any trouble?"

"Of course not," Magdelene declared emphatically. She never planned on causing any trouble. "Will

you keep your nose out of what doesn't concern you?" She had to think about that for a moment,

wondering how broad a definition could be put on what didn't concern her. "I'll try."

"See that you do."

"So I can stay for a while?"

"For a while." Her head wreathed in smoke, the woman rose. "That's that, then," she said shortly, and

left. The headman sighed and raised both hands in a gesture of defeat. You heard her. You can go." As

people began to leave, Magdelene leaned over and whispered to Carlos, "Why does he let her get away

with that?" Carlos snickered, his palm lying warm and dry on Magdelene's arm. "Force of habit," he said

in his normal speaking voice. "She's his older sister, raised him after their mother drowned. Refused to

be headwoman, said she didn't have the time, but she runs every meeting he calls." The headman smiled,

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Tanya Huff - Be It Ever So Humble(1).pdf

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