Wordscapist, The Myth

They asked where

He was here

And everywhere else too

They asked when

He was in now

And in everywhen too

Some journeys are too big

To keep to one time and place

Slick

I leaned against one of the few sides of the raft that was lean-worthy. I took care to hold on to a bit of rope, just in case. I looked at Dew, who had been silent for most of the trip. She didn’t want to talk to me, and I had stopped trying after a bit. De Vorto was flitting over the raft, our nest-less crow who kept giving us updates on how he could see no land. Of course there was no land. We were trying to cross one half of the Indian Ocean, after all!

We had covered a fair distance though, thanks to the strangely shaped, scape-enhanced sail that was set up over the boat we were in. More of a raft actually. Barely even that. A few logs and planks tied and nailed together so that they could more or less float. That was all we could pilfer from the debris of an abandoned village. Dew had done something to ensure it didn’t fall apart, and that was all I knew. I couldn’t ask for more at this point. However, given the size of the ocean and how far land was (given my limited knowledge of geography), I had a feeling we were going to be on this raft for a long time to come, no matter how fast the winds bore us along. I was willing to wait, as long as we didn’t end up in hostile land. Burma was close, and so were some islands that were rumoured to be secret Chinese military facilities. We had set out in the direction of the Indian coastline, but I wasn’t too sure if we had managed to stay on course. It was hot. Not the blazing heat of the city or the humid heat of a tropical beach. This was the sapping, unrelenting, moist heat that rose off the ocean in waves. We had some water and some food. I was already thinking about how to get more. There was a small shelter rigged up at one end of the raft, where the sail formed a wall and some more scraps of cloth came together to make a tattered roof. I had managed to scoop this roof into a funnel and placed some coconut shells below - if we had any rain it would hopefully replenish our water storage.

“We are still at least a hundred miles away from land, if not more,” De Vorto grumbled, as he hovered within earshot. I grimaced but didn’t offer any comments. We were nearly through our food rations. I wondered if Dew could fix something that made it possible to grab fish from the ocean, but I wasn’t too sure about that. Dew was doing her best to keep us moving without capsizing, but she needed to conserve her energy, considering she was the only functional wordsmith we had. Given the mood she was in, I wasn’t sure I should ask her either. It was tempting to try and do something. I could feel a near-limitless power sloshing around in the backwoods of my mind. There was something there that almost begged me to release it, let it loose and shape it. De Vorto was keeping a very close watch on me though. He probably knew what it felt like, and he was making sure I didn’t try anything. He had warned me in graphic detail of the consequences of trying to do anything at all with the power.

“Any ideas for going faster than this?” I asked. Dew didn’t react. De Vorto continued grumbling, his accent becoming so broad I didn’t understand him anymore. I noticed he lapsed into his native tongue when he was excitable. Other times he managed to sound closer to how I spoke. I guess he had absorbed that from my head. I wasn’t completely sure how I felt about it. But then it helped me understand him, and I couldn’t complain about that. We passed the next couple of hours in silence, which was the theme for this journey. I dozed for a while and woke up with a cramp. I stood up to stretch, and then noticed something in the distance. I could see a haze that ran at an angle to us and we were going to sail right into it. The air was blurred and I couldn’t see beyond it. I squinted, trying to clear my vision, wondering if this was some kind of marine mirage.

“De Vorto!” I called out. De Vorto shimmered into sight a couple of inches away, giving me a start. He had been practising his invisibility, and was getting uncomfortably good at it. I didn’t need to say more though. He was looking at exactly the same thing. Dew raised her head, sensing the tension in my voice. She saw the both of us staring and looked around.

“What is that?” she asked.

“A ley line,” De Vorto muttered. “Can you latch onto that, girl? That might be a mite helpful.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Dew replied, still staring at the haze.

“Of course not,” De Vorto sighed, “I’m more the fool to think you could. You’re not a source.”

“I’m not a source?” Dew asked, but got no further response from De Vorto.

I had an almost instinctive idea of what De Vorto meant though. I had heard about ley lines. They were mythical force fields that spanned the globe. Earlier, during life as a norm, they were nothing more than interesting paranormal trivia. Now I could actually see one. And without completely understanding how, I could even guess what De Vorto wanted to do. Ley lines were supposed to be flowing lines of force. They had direction and speed. If we could latch on to it, we could trail it almost like a water skier. I wondered if I could pull it off, but knew that there was no way these guys would allow me to try anything. Our raft slowly approached the ley line.

“Is it dangerous?” Dew asked.

“Only if it’s ripped open,” was De Vorto’s cryptic response. I guess it wasn’t ‘ripped open’ and we were safe for the moment.

The three of us continued to stare at the haze as it got closer. I felt a growing urge in me to do something. I had a vague realisation that I was mirroring De Vorto’s feelings, and the frustration I felt at not being able to do something was more his than mine. I could actually do something, though I didn’t know what exactly.

And then it happened. Our raft nosed into the haze and for a blurred instant we were in the midst of it. I knew we would pass it and be left to drift with the wind. I couldn’t let it go. I cast out with my mind, my hand reaching out as if I were throwing a fishing line. Hook. Merge. Ride. Fly! The words came to my head and I whispered them out. I felt something snap into place and felt a tug jerking me forward. I clutched onto the rope I was hanging onto, further wedging myself into the corner of the raft. The raft surged forward. Dew let out a shriek as she toppled backwards onto the raft, and then clutched on to a piece of rope herself. De Vorto turned to glare at me as I shouted, “Hold on!” It was a little late for that though. The raft was already ploughing through the waves at an incredible speed. We were skimming the water, bouncing off waves like a crazy water skier attached to a plane. Everything blurred as I coiled the rope a couple more times around me. I had a feeling that I would go flying away all by myself if I detached myself from the boat. I definitely did not want that to happen.

“You cannot control this!” De Vorto shouted at me, flitting furiously to try and hover alongside me.

“I think you should hold on to something, or you’re going to get left behind,” I muttered through clenched jaws. It was taking a lot of concentration to hold on. I cast a quick glance at Dew and saw her glaring at me as she hung on for dear life. De Vorto had disappeared, and I was hoping he had attached himself somehow to the raft.

I was being constantly hit by the spray as the raft bounced and jumped through the waves. I didn’t think our creaky transport could take a lot of this treatment. I had to change something or the raft would fall to pieces, scape or no scape. I concentrated on the near intangible hook I’d sunk into the ley line, and sank it even deeper, trying to get a better, tighter grip. Considering all this was happening in my head and based on nothing more than mere feeling, I was also simultaneously trying to convince myself that I was not going insane.

Something did change though. We were in the air more than on the water. We were also going even faster, much faster. I had done some crazy speeds on road, but this was definitely way faster than any speed limit I had ever hit. We were almost flying! And the times we did touch down on water resulted in jarring bounces and huge splashes. If we hit a big wave now, we would simply crash into pieces!

“Float, not fly,” I heard De Vorto shout. Oh good, he was still around. What did he mean float?

“Float!” he shouted again, “not fly!”

I remembered the words I had used. Fly. Ah! I repeated them, this time focussing on ‘float’, willing the raft to ride the ley line and not the water.

The raft turned into a hovercraft in an instant, and stopped touching the water. It went up a couple of feet, leaving a wind trail in the water. The ride was much smoother though, and even though I tried to ignore the fact, even faster. The wind was whipping our faces as we flew through the air, just above the expanse of the ocean. I was having trouble holding on now, as the rope dug deeper and deeper into my skin.

“Dew!” De Vorto called out. Dew looked up and saw him motioning her to come closer. She threw me a dirty look and then started inching closer, using the rope she was holding to drag herself forward.

“I did not want this idiot to weave,” De Vorto shouted, trying to be heard over the wind, “but this is good for us. I think this ley line will lead us straight to the nearby coastline and within a few hours. Weave up an anchor for the boy so that he is a part of the raft, or the ley line will wrench him off and leave us stranded.”

Dew nodded and started weaving. I suddenly felt something sliding over my feet. I looked down to see them covered by what looked like bark and leaves, a mossy growth emanating from the raft itself. In moments I was stuck to the raft, and couldn’t move my lower body. I could feel the pull transferred from my arms to my entire being. I gingerly loosened the rope around my arms, noting the thick, angry welts it left behind. The blood rushed into my arms and I winced at the pain, tenderly rubbing them. This new position added even more stability to our movement and our raft rose up a couple more feet now, safely over the height most normal waves reached.

“Thank you,” I said, as Dew wrapped up her scape. She didn’t acknowledge me, and instead started working on another scape that was building more of the same stuff on the front of the raft, in the shape of a dolphin’s nose. It acted as a screen against the wind, and I guess also helped our raft’s aerodynamics. She was done a few minutes later, and our raft looked a lot cooler; quite like a jet-ski hovercraft hybrid that Tarzan would use. I couldn’t move, but I had the constant pull that reminded me that I was what was powering our raft along. It was an incredible sensation!

Protected from the wind, and raised above the water, the journey was a lot more pleasant now. We were flying really fast, and we would reach land soon. We were going to survive this journey after all! Well, for the moment at least, I mentally amended.

The Historian

I had a massive headache. Well, my head was only a part of it. My whole body ached from the exertion and stress it had been subjected to over the last couple of days. I had travelled across the world, been subjected to more action than my action-lite body was used to, and been in danger of being killed at least twice (every time I was within a mile of that insane elemental was a near-death experience, Historian immunity or not!). I had also seen one man attempting to become the Wordscapist and another who might already be the Wordscapist. All in two days. Too much. By far.

I watched the Free Word making arrangements to go into hiding. They had overreached last night. The CCC were in town and they wouldn’t rest without some arrests. I frankly didn’t see Zauberin or any of her crazy flock giving themselves up.

Isis and Wind had managed to make their way back from Leh. In the bloody Himalayas! That’s where the boy had sent them. One moment they were in the thick of action, trying to take on one boy who was fighting their entire warren, the next moment they had found themselves slap bang in front of a tea stall in Leh. They weren’t powerful enough to port back and had no choice but to trek over the mountains, hitching what rides they could get to get to a port point close to Delhi. They were both silent after their return, chilled by their involuntary trip and the sheer power of the young wordsmith who had teleported them thousands of miles against their will. I think what scared them most was that he had used that power to move them out of the way, but had chosen not to hurt them. Suggesting he could have, if he wanted too. A lot.

Lonigan and Necros were not to be seen. They were also not responding to telepathic missives from Zauberin and the others. They had gone renegade from a renegade outfit. Double renegades! I had seen them moving to help the boy. Necros had done more than move. He had taken Loon down. Loon was still walking around with a bloody bandage covering his head. They had made their choice clear. They had backed the boy, and that was that.

Who was the boy? What was his deal? I could barely control the curiosity I felt. I was itching to talk to him, understand what was happening in his head. A thoughtsmith! The Wordscapist! The stuff of legends! How exciting! To be in the midst of all this was a blessing indeed. If only I could avoid Sign. And Silvus. And the CCC preferably. And yes, get out of this situation where I was the Free Word’s Historian. I guess it wasn’t much of a blessing after all.

“Are you ready to leave?”

I almost jumped at the voice. I looked up to see who was talking to me. I realised it was Zauberin and she looked tired, frustrated, angry, and perhaps even a little afraid. She was quite a wreck, very different from the Ice Maiden I had seen all these years in her senior Guildsmith role.

“Yes, I didn’t have much and hadn’t really unpacked what your team put together for me.”

“Our team, Historian. You are one of us now.”

Indeed. I didn’t respond to that and gave her a perfunctory smile.

“Let’s go, Historian. We don’t need to tangle with the CCC. Not now at least.”

Not now at least. That did not sound good. I kept my counsel. Historians were not noted for their opinions, merely their narrative style. I thought fondly of my warm London apartment with its comfortable furniture and all its books. It felt like another place and time. Someday. But today I must travel. Again.

Amra

I got off the little plane, grateful to be on the ground again. I didn’t mind teleports, but flying wasn’t my favourite mode of transport. But there had been a report of a Continuum flare in Goa. The nearest teleport centre had been a few hundred miles away, in Delhi, and I had to fly in from there. We set up an extreme alert across all CCC centres and anything unusual was to be immediately investigated. The Guild was without a master, the Free Word had crawled out of whatever dark places they huddled in, and there was a Wordscapist out there somewhere. These were turbulent times and they called for extreme measures.

I smelled the salt in the air as we drove through the crowds to the temporary office my team had set up. Goa. This was supposed to be a hub of Free Word activity. Somewhere in the midst of this Indian carnival was an entire warren of rebel wordsmiths plotting to overthrow the Guild. I half wished they would succeed. That would eliminate the Guild, and the act of aggression from the Free Word would give me an excuse to lock up all those freaks as well. Oh, for a wordsmith-free world! We reached the office, which was located in a large warehouse on one side of a commercial complex. It was a basic, perfunctory setup. I found a serviceable corner and set up my ‘office’ there. As I waited for my team to get their act together and make their report, I saw a familiar face, a face I didn’t like. The baby soft, pretty-boy face came with a huge, hulking body. Within moments of me noticing him, face and body both made their way towards me.

“Gurmeet,” I said in acknowledgment, curt even by my hostile standards.

“Amra,” he responded, his tone demonstrating how mutual our dislike was. He said it wrong though, like always. My name had two phonetic syllables. You got it wrong only if you were stupid or rude. He was both. But then I quite deliberately mangled his name too. For me, he was always Kermit, and I said his name likewise.

“Congratulations on almost getting Silvus,” he smirked, the stress clearly on the ‘almost.’

“Well, it’s closer than you have got to the Free Word,” I responded, my expression deadpan as I responded to the sarcasm and not the compliment. “I heard there were some fireworks here last night, and I don’t see any wordsmiths in restraints.”

“Well, I might not have wordsmiths,” Kermit replied, his smirk still in place, “but I do have information on the Wordscapist.”

For once, I didn’t have a response. How the hell had he pulled that off! How did he know!

“You’re not the chosen one, Amra,” he said with an infuriating chuckle. “The Lirii have other agents as well. And some of us are even making progress.”

I bit my tongue to prevent myself from responding to that bait. I would figure this out later. Right now, it was important to find out what this fool had discovered.

“And what kind of progress would that be?” I said, trying to inject a balance of taunt and curiosity into that.

“Well, unlike you, I have no qualms sharing my work with my CCC colleagues. It’s all about getting results at the end of the day.”

Results, my foot! But I smirked back at him and waited for him to complete his grandstanding and come to the point.

“Andrew Wallachian a.k.a Andy’s body was found in Mumbai. He bears signs of a snatcher attack,” Kermit proceeded, thankfully abandoning his smirk. “The interesting thing is that the snatcher was definitely souped up and directed. The Guild has taken down another Free wordsmith.”

The scene in Silvus’s office made sense now. I didn’t mention that though. I didn’t want Kermit to rub more of my failures in my face. “What does that have to do with the Wordscapist?” I asked, downplaying Andy’s murder.

“Patience, Amra,” Kermit responded with enough condescension to drown a cat. “So, there are signs of a witness. Someone who was there. Someone who wove!”

“The Guild assassin?” I asked.

“No, the Guild just sent the snatcher. Someone else. A cipher!”

The boy! My eyes widened despite myself.

“Exactly,” Kermit smiled. “The boy who is playing host to the Wordscapist. We studied the Continuum monitors and got readings of some chaotic but powerful weaving on the scene. We don’t know what role he played, but he was there.”

“Do you have a fix on him?” I asked, trying my best to keep my voice steady.

“Well, you know how things are, we have to do things traditionally here,” he said, the smirk back in place, “We got some norm witnesses who saw the boy at the scene, bloody and messed up next to a beheaded body. With some prodding, we retrieved some memories that gave us a physical description. Even better, we got his motorbike’s license plate details.”

“Brilliant!” I exclaimed, despite myself.

Kermit was taken aback, and responded with a surprised and straightforward thank you. He continued in a more civil manner, “With some more investigation, we discovered the boy’s name and address, and also the fact that he bought a train ticket to Goa. Enquiries here revealed the hotel room he booked, and we have retrieved his belongings from there, including his passport and some other papers. All records indicate that he is here now.”

I had to give this round to Kermit. He got lucky, yes, but he had worked with his luck and had achieved results.

“Good work, Gurmeet,” I said, making half an effort at getting his name right, “this is great news. So what is his name? And where is he now?” Kermit stumbled through a series of foreign sounding words, five of them in all. “Sorry?” I said, as I failed to understand what he was saying.

He repeated the words, stumbling less, but making the same sounds.

“What is that?” I asked.

“His name,” Kermit said.

“All of that?” I asked.

“Yes, all of that,” he nodded.

“Wow! There is no way I am remembering that. Is there a code name you have assigned him?”

“Well, he calls himself Slick, based on our investigations with his colleagues and friends. I guess we could go with that.”

I made a face. Some cheek he had calling himself Slick. Well, we would see how slick he was.

“So where is this Slick now?”

“We don’t know yet,” Kermit said, “but we will soon enough. He has left quite a trail. He roughed up some locals last night at the beach with a powerful summoning scape. I believe some kind of fey being was involved. The victims were delirious and it took some effort to piece together a story. We haven’t managed to track down any of the Free wordsmiths yet, but there are signs that something big happened in the Free Word camp last night. The scape signatures point to the cipher and some of the Free wordsmiths.”

“He’s been active, hasn’t he? Any sign if the boy’s mind is still aware? Or has the Wordscapist completely taken over?”

“That’s where things get a little confusing,” Kermit said. “The signature we got from the Mumbai scene was a straightforward one. One wordsmith, untrained but powerful. He wasn’t weaving but I guess he had some kind of a visceral reaction to the snatcher that caused a trace scape. The one we got here in Goa points to a strangely combined signature. Two wordsmiths, both incredibly powerful and weaving as one. I’m not completely sure but I think the Wordscapist and the boy are both involved. The boy is definitely aware, and he is working with this Wordscapist being.”

“That is not good,” I said as I walked towards the table where the boy’s stuff was laid out. I picked up his passport and looked at the photo and the name. No, there is no way I could even begin to figure out how to say it, let alone remember it. The photo showed a smiling, benign face. There was nothing benign about the trail this boy had left. I turned around and spoke to Kermit, “For all purposes, we will treat them as one entity. And the mission is clear. Take them down with extreme prejudice.”

He looked at me and slowly smiled. “For once, Amra, we might actually agree on something. Let’s take this freak down!”

Dew

I watched the waves as they rolled in, one after another. It was good to be back on land. An entire life spent by the ocean hadn’t prepared me for the experience of trying to cross it on a small raft. It had been rough. A lot less than it could have been, I guess, if Slick hadn’t attached us to that ley line. It got us to the Indian coast in four hours, traversing a huge distance at an insane speed. It was scary to even think of it. But we arrived in one piece. Which was a miracle considering that Mr. Slick hadn’t figured out how to let go of the ley line.

We had approached land at a frightening speed, primed to be splattered against the first tree we came across, as Slick muttered word after word, trying to jump off the ley line. De Vorto had worked with him, but had slipped into Gaelic with his instructions because of the excitement of the moment. That hadn’t helped, and there was a brief moment where I had actually considered cutting him loose so that I wouldn’t be pulled to my death with him. I had realised then that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t abandon him. I was stuck with him, even if it meant ending up spread across a series of palm trees. But one of the things Slick tried worked after all, and the raft skittered across the shallow waves like a flat stone skimmed across water, before ploughing to a stop on a deserted beach, north of the Pondicherry coast. The landing totalled the raft, but then, I didn’t see any of us planning another trip on that bundle of matchsticks any time soon. I saw Slick patting it a couple of times as he got off, freed of the bindings I’d woven around him. I was surprised; I hadn’t pegged him as a sentimental type.

We found a couple of fishermen who provided us with fresh coconuts, fried fish, and directions. A short hike later and we were in Pondicherry. Slick dug up some contacts and got us a cottage on the beach in Auroville, which was a pretty enough place to stay in.

I had come to Pondicherry a few times in the last few years. It was like a smaller, quieter, stranger version of Goa. It had its pluses though. There was a peaceful, quiet air to the place that I liked. De Vorto had dismissed the feeling as a ‘ley fugue’ when I spoke to him about it. He said that there was an abundance of ‘holy’ places along ley lines because of the ways in which they affected norms. I didn’t contest it, but held on to my special feeling for Pondicherry. Sometimes, a rational explanation just doesn’t cut it.

Everything that had happened in the last couple of days had been overwhelming. And given my life in the Free Word, that was definitely saying something. I had learned of Andy da’s death. I had met Slick, and though I didn’t know it in the beginning, Alain de Vorto, who in a strange combined way were the Wordscapist. I had seen scapes beyond imagination. I had turned against my people, Papa Loon, the Free Word, to impulsively help this crazy boy I just met. I had flown in a creaky raft across the ocean. I wished I could say ‘thank you very much, that will be all’ and take it easy. That wasn’t an option. I was in it for better or worse. I wondered what ‘it’ was. I waited for De Vorto to come back and talk to us, to give us some direction. I tried to ignore Slick who was snoring heavily in the cottage, his snores carrying to where I sat on the beach. I watched the waves, lost in my thoughts.

Slick

“So norms can fly?” De Vorto repeated, a little slowly, as if he was having trouble absorbing the concept. “Using metal birds that can fly really fast?”

“Yes,” Dew repeated patiently. I was trying hard not to burst out laughing. De Vorto had learned a lot when he had been in my head. But now he was finding life in the 21st century more and more disorienting, especially with no personal mind reference to dip into.

“And you propose that we reach Scotland in this manner?”

“Well, I was saying that we cannot get to Scotland in this manner,” Dew said. “We need money and lots of papers to be able to get there, which none of us have. Mine are in Goa, and so are Slick’s.”

“Can’t we weave up these papers?” De Vorto asked, failing to understand why that was a challenge.

“Not really,” I said. “These papers need to go through machines that are immune to illusions and wordscapes. They need the real deal, and will not respond to imitations.”

Dew nodded. She had started coming around. There was still a weary irritation to the way she dealt with me, but at least now there was acknowledgment and some conversation.

“Slick’s right, I’m afraid. There are all kinds of complexities with tickets and passports that we would never manage to weave correctly.”

“Passport,” De Vorto said slowly, “Something that lets you pass a port. Nice word.”

“Well, it might be a nice word, but we don’t have it. You can go invisible and slip through, but Dew and I will be stuck.”

“You said that you haven’t learned how to teleport yet, Dew,” De Vorto said, looking at her for confirmation.

“I have learned the theory, but I haven’t practised much. I couldn’t risk porting all of us across such a distance to a land I have never actually visited.” Dew was quietly emphatic. There was a cautious determination to that girl, which was so completely different from my wild impulses. It was fascinating.

“No, I wasn’t suggesting that you teleport us across. I was thinking of a passport,” De Vorto said, rather mysteriously.

“Are you thinking of a teleport spell?” Dew asked.

De Vorto looked up at her, surprise on his dainty little features. “Yes, I guess that is one way of looking at it. Have you used such a thing?”

“Yes, the Free Word uses it extensively. It ensures that Free wordsmiths can travel together to locations irrespective of skill or personal experience with the destination.”

“Good, good,” De Vorto said. “Then let’s get to work building one.”

“But I have never been to Scotland, De Vorto,” Dew said, “I wouldn’t know where to start. And I have never built a teleport spell myself.”

“Well, you can start now. And don’t worry about being to Scotland. The highlands are a part of me, and they will guide us to where we need to go.”

“Oooh, we’re going to Scotland! Haggis, here I come!” I rubbed my hands with glee. Both of them, however, continued speaking as if I didn’t exist. They were doing it all too frequently now.

“De Vorto, I do not understand how you propose what you...” Dew started.

De Vorto darted towards her and disappeared an inch away from her, almost as if he had merged with her. A strange look came across Dew’s face, as she went silent. I wondered what was happening but had the sense not to say anything. I sat and watched her face as she stared into the distance, lost for the moment. A few long minutes passed, during which time I fidgeted more and more, trying hard to keep silent and not interrupt whatever it was that De Vorto was doing. Finally Dew relaxed, her eyes returning to the here and now. De Vorto reappeared too, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“It’s beautiful!” Dew exclaimed, looking at De Vorto.

He smiled at her. “That it is. My land. I am going back!”

“And De Vorto,” Dew spoke slowly, as if she had just realised something.

“Yes, Dew?” he asked with a smile.

“I seem to know exactly how to weave up a teleport spell now.” She looked at him accusingly. “Isn’t that something!” he exclaimed, throwing up his tiny hands. “Well, get to it then.” With that, he flitted away. He disappeared even as he reached the cottage door. I wondered what he did when he disappeared. It’s not like he had a social life or anything.

Dew looked at me, a little helpless and lost.

“He messed with your head, didn’t he?” I said quietly.

“Well, he gave me memories. And yes, he did something to my memory of the teleport spell theory. I know a lot more about it now, and I also remember weaving it. Though I’ve done no such thing. And it’s all different now; the words, the technique.”

“Yeah, he does that,” I said. “He doesn’t understand that memories are personal.”

“Memories are powerful, my dear little children,” De Vorto whispered softly. He had been hovering just over us. He hadn’t left at all.

“Stop doing that!” I said, a little sharply. He smiled at me rather mischievously and then turned to Dew. “Get to it, Dew. It is past sunset there. We will have a bit of a walk to my cave once we reach our destination.”

Dew looked at him blankly, while he looked at her with his I’m-so-happy-I’m-going-home smile. “The spell that you left in my head is in Latin. I learned it in Esperanto. What have you done?” She spoke slowly, in that peculiar way of hers, where the speed of speech or the lack of it conveyed menace. There was a lot of menace in this one.

“Esperanto, ah, I picked up a few words from the boy’s memory of the dead wordsmith’s notes,” De Vorto spoke, smiling. “It’s funny how my spells have survived and become a language all by itself.”

“Andy da’s notes, yes,” Dew said pensively. “I forgot that you predate Esperanto by many centuries. Your name does translate pretty well in our language.”

“Of the word,” De Vorto murmured, “Indeed. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“But that’s the language I learned my smithing in, De Vorto,” Dew continued, after giving him a moment. “I cannot weave in Latin. I haven’t learned it well enough to weave in it.”

“It’s all the same, my child,” De Vorto said, his smile cuddling the condescension in his voice into a soft, non-threatening tone. I had to learn how to do that. “Just speak the words, as you ride the meaning in your head. The same way you always do it. Your gift is strong and this spell will not tax you at all.”

Dew opened her mouth to speak but De Vorto continued right on. “Moreover, it is a spell. It does not cause any harm till you cast it. And I will be watching, guiding you. If there is any hazard in it, I will not let you cast it. Beal?”

“Deal, De Vorto, not beal,” I corrected automatically. I was his Wikipedia, and now I was his Urban Dictionary as well.

“Deal?” De Vorto repeated without missing a beat.

Dew looked at him searchingly, trying to see if this strange man was conning her into doing something dangerous.

I decided to put in my two cents, “De Vorto, I don’t want to burst your bubble but...”

He didn’t give me a chance to complete my thought. “Then don’t. We will get there, and we will find my body. If it isn’t usable, we will have to find another way.”

I hated it when he did that, responding to questions in my head. How was it even possible, especially now that he was out of my head, all two inches of him! I nodded, however. There was no point fighting this, and I guess it was as good a plan as any. Mumbai was already a distant memory. We weren’t going back to Goa for sure. Pondicherry wasn’t going to be safe for very long. I guess Scotland was far enough to offer us some sanctuary for a while. And then there was haggis, of course.

Dew picked herself and looked around.

“I guess that’s as good as anything,” she said, walking over to the bottle of water left in the room.

“That’s pretty smart, actually,” De Vorto nodded.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Well, he needs to be inside something considering he can’t really hold on. Otherwise we won’t be taking him with us,” Dew explained, even as she turned the bottle around, examining it.

I was still not completely sure what was happening, but decided to keep quiet. I didn’t want to look any more stupid in front of Dew than I already did.

She sat on the bed and started whispering a string of words, most of which I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, that I didn’t understand any of it at all. I watched her work as her scape sign pulsed and glowed, covering the bottle completely. A few minutes later, she looked up. “I’m done.”

“Good girl!” De Vorto exclaimed, his form glowing with excitement. “A neat scape, if ever I’ve seen one. That will take us right where we need to go!”

Dew nodded, “I can sense it. It’s stable and completely safe. I guess we can leave now, if you want.”

“Wait, what!” I exclaimed, jumping up. “Leave for where? Scotland?”

“Aye,” De Vorto said, a warm glow suffusing his little form. “We are going to Skye! We are going to the Black Cuillin!”

I had no clue what he had just said, but I guessed they were Scottish places.

“Now?” I asked, completely shocked at how we were just ready to skip to Scotland.

“I guess,” Dew responded. “We shouldn’t stay here any longer than we need to.” She looked at De Vorto and asked, “Can this port be traced?”

“Let them try,” he said, with a cocky smile. Oh God, he was so much like me!

“What about food and clothing?” Dew asked.

“The land will provide, little one. Don’t you worry your pretty head,” Do Vorto said. He flew right into the bottle and settled down, gesturing furiously for us to get going. I looked at Dew, still in shock at this sudden decision. She shrugged and motioned to the bottle, putting her hand on it. I reached out tentatively and held the bottle too, my hand alongside hers.

As she whispered the closing words of the port spell, I asked out aloud. “Isn’t it going to be cold?” Then everything dissolved with a loud bang into a crazy whirr of darkness and colours.

Dew

It was freezing. And windy. And extremely dark. There was a cold rain, the kind they call sleet. Slick was hunched beside me and De Vorto was happily flitting all around. Slick and I were definitely not dressed for this, and in a moment were drenched and very cold. I looked around. We had arrived in a black valley in the midst of a bunch of black hills. In the dark night, everything looked black, but I could sense that everything was actually black too. There was no civilisation for miles. I couldn’t see any sign of life or even shelter.

I did the time math in my head – it was dusk and we had a long, cold night ahead of us. It was a miracle we had reached here safely, but it was going to be an even greater miracle to leave in one piece. “That’s Sgurr Dearg,” De Vorto said, pointing at one of the more jagged peaks around us. I noticed that he was losing Slick’s tone and accent and was slipping back to his Scottish roots. I had long since stopped asking him to repeat stuff, trying to make sense of the words he said. My mind boggled as I tried to imagine how those sounds might be spelt. I looked in the direction he was pointing. That sound was probably the name of the mountain in the distance. It was also definitely the highest and looked pretty menacing.

“So?” Slick asked, his voice loaded with don’t-tell-me-we-have-to-climb-it.

“We have to climb it,” De Vorto happily announced. “A short walk and we’ll reach the point where we descend into my valley.”

“Said the one who can flit...You do realise that my leg still hasn’t healed completely,” Slick responded, struggling with the effort of keeping his voice calm.

De Vorto frowned at him, and then looked at me to check if Slick was just being a baby. I tried my best to look cold and miserable and not enthusiastic at all about trekking through the dark while freezing to death. I didn’t have to try very hard.

“Oh well, where is that bottle?” De Vorto asked. I pointed to it. It was sitting straight on a rocky ledge, rain water dripping into it. De Vorto flitted around the bottle a couple of times, his form glowing brighter for a few moments. The doubt I had was slowly becoming a certainty. He was lying to us about not being able to wield his power in this form. He looked at me, and said, “Weave. Take us to where this will port us.”

We huddled around the bottle again. De Vorto was inside, of course. Once again, I initiated the teleport, and another crack later, we were in a new place. More importantly, a dry place. One that wasn’t buffeted by wind. One that was still cold, dark, and rocky. But it was much better. We were in a cave of sorts and I could see the rain through the opening. It smelled damp and it was still really cold. But without the rain, the cold wasn’t as much of a challenge.

I brought up my favourite fireball spell and set up a self-sustaining bonfire floating a couple of inches above the rock, right at the entrance of the cave. That would keep any wild animals out, and also not suck all the air from inside the cave. I crouched beside it, drying and warming myself. Slick smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up, and proceeded to do the same. De Vorto looked at us, and shook his head. I guess wordsmiths were made of tougher stuff 500 years ago. Right now I was glad I didn’t have to live up to wordsmith machismo. I could be a delicate thing and shiver. Slick was pretty much doing exactly that too. A moment later, I realised that De Vorto had disappeared. For now I was glad to let him go. I could do with some rest, even if it was in a cold cave.

“You think this is his valley?” Slick asked, warming his hands in front of the fire.

“Careful,” I said sharply. “The fire is hotter than it looks. It’s not your standard wood fire.”

“Believe me, I know,” Slick said, grimacing slightly. I remembered the fireball incident and grimaced myself. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to be him, walking into that situation, and being attacked like that. It was incredible that he had managed to deflect the attack like he did. It said something of the innate skill and power that he had. I didn’t know how much of that had been him and how much De Vorto. I didn’t want to think about that now. I was just glad that I hadn’t hurt him. Time to change the topic, and I gladly latched on to the question he had asked.

“I don’t think this is the valley. I think this is some kind of a safe spot nearby. He has probably gone to scout ahead. How long has it been, 500 years?”

“Not quite. More like 400. A little more,” Slick said, carefully warming one arm and shoulder, trying to dry himself out. “I think he went into stasis or magical sleep or whatever around 1599.”

“Well, I’m not sure what’s happening around these parts. The place looks deserted enough. I was half afraid someone had built a mall over whatever hole he had concealed himself in.”

Slick chuckled at that. “Yes, I thought about that myself, but decided not to raise it.”

“Well, you are plenty rude to him. I didn’t think you watched what you said while talking to him.”

He grimaced as he hurriedly pulled a smoking corner of his shirt away from the fire. “Well, you know how he is. And it wasn’t fun having him inside my head. Also, I think my defence mechanism to stress is to become more the comedian.”

“More the bad comedian, you mean.”

“You know, you’re plenty rude to me too,” he said, giving me a tragic look.

I didn’t bother responding to that. I was warmer and it was almost nice inside the cave. I saw a fog rolling by the entrance, sizzling against the fire as it tried to work its way inside. We would be alright here. Actually, we’d be just fine. If De Vorto was right about that teleport being untraceable, we had just bought ourselves some safe time. And I really could use some time to just lay back and rest.

I leaned against the rock and rested my head on a convenient ledge. “I’m getting some sleep, Slick. I suggest you do the same. Knowing De Vorto, we have some excitement lined up over the next few days.”

Slick nodded and leaned back himself. He was staring into the distance, like he did ever so often. After a long, quiet moment, he called out.

“Dew?”

“Mmm...?”

“You think we’ll get out of this alright?”

I didn’t know what to say to him. I wish someone would answer that for me too.

“I hope so, Slick. Sleep now. Good night.”

After a long pause, “Good night.”

Both of us took a long while to sleep that night though. I tried to tell myself that it was the sound of the rain and the fog sizzling on the fire that kept us awake. When I finally did sleep, I had nightmares of Papa Loon coming after me with his knife.