SORCEROUS SIGNALS
Written by Olga Godim / Artwork by Holly Eddy
The Answer is Yes































“Mommy, mommy!” Six-year-old Eri scrambled into her parents’ bed, wriggling her way between them.
“Tell me a story!”

Leyale tugged affectionately at the girl’s thick black braid, secured by a blue ribbon. “How about the story
of how Princess Lubasha first met her beloved Prince Taney?”

“Tell me how you first met daddy!” Eri ordered; her huge silvery eyes aglow. Fast as a little whirlwind
sprite, for which she had been named, she pecked her father on his stubbly cheek and turned her
serious little face back to her mother.

Over her daughter’s head, Leyale glanced helplessly at her husband. “Aram. Do you want to tell that
story?”

His lips twitched, but he kept his face straight. The mage Adept Aram Bareny was good at controlling his
facial expressions. His eyes, the same silvery color as his daughter’s, twinkled. “That’s your story, Leya.
You tell it.”

“All right,” she said. The day of their first meeting was branded into her memory as if it happened
yesterday and not eight years ago.

~ * ~

Leyale hurried across the market square towards her favorite haberdashery stall. She needed some yarn
to knit a sweater for her eight-year-old son Toller. The thought of yarn made her smile. She had just
Healed a magic student from a case of stomach yarn, induced by his mangled transformation spell:
instead of transforming noodles in a bowl into a skein of white yarn, the boy had done it with the
noodles he had eaten for lunch.

Leyale snickered softly to herself. She liked this city. Spread around the Magic Academy, it was a
constant challenge for a healer. In a year since they had arrived, there had never been a dull moment. So
many magicians and magical students made sure she always had work: a weird injury or a strange
malady. Or yarn in the stomach.

“What are you laughing at, lady?”

Startled, she lifted her eyes from the selection of colorful yarns in a wicket basket. A clean-shaven man
stood on the other side of the basket, fingering a bright-red skein. He was slender and shorter than her
by a head, with startling silvery eyes. Although he seemed much older than her, a generous, tangled
mane of black hair fell onto his shoulders. He wore leather pants and a jerkin, simple but good quality.
Probably a merchant from out of town, she guessed.

His lips twitched in a faint grin, and she couldn’t resist—she smiled back. Her heart skipped a bit.
Granted, he was short, and she was all but married, but his smile was so charming. And his wide lips
were so kissable. And she was being a fool. Her smile faded.

“I’m a healer,” she said, keeping a straight face. “I had just been called to Heal a magic student. The silly
boy had transformed noodles in his stomach into yarn.”

He shouted a short, surprised laugh. His eyes danced. “Magicians could be…odd sometimes,” he said
blandly.

“Yes. Do you knit?” She straitened her skirt and adjusted the dark-amber braid across her shoulder. She
wished she had her best green silk ribbon in her hair today instead of a practical brown one. Her cheeks
grew uncomfortably warm.

“No. I’m looking for a gift. My daughter likes to knit. And she likes red. What do you think of this one?”
He held the red skein up for her inspection.

He was married and had a daughter. Of course! Leyale swallowed her oath of disappointment. Well, it
would’ve been strange if this shrimp-sized charmer didn’t have a wife. He probably had an entire train of
women in love with him. Besides, she was married too, she reminded herself. Almost married. If only her
lover Rusham, Toller’s father, would finally settle down to some honest occupation.

As if in answer to her musing, the little man looked pointedly at her lips. “I’m a widower,” he said
hopefully. “I’m here on business. Don’t know many people in town.”  

Leyale frowned. Was she that transparent? Or was he just shopping for more than yarn? Well, she
wasn’t that cheap. “This is good quality yarn,” she said primly, nodding at the red fluffy ball in his hand.
“Good day to you, sir.” Feeling his blazing silvery gaze between her shoulder blades, she hurried away. If
only Rusham wasn’t a thief, she thought wistfully.

~ * ~

“Leya. This is the last score,” Rusham said with conviction. “After that, we’ll have enough money to get
married and buy a house. I promise.”

Leyale looked into his eyes. “That’s what you promised the last time,” she grumbled. And a hundred
times before, she thought grimly, trudging beside him along the quiet, darkened city. Around them, the
houses were dark, looming on both sides of the narrow street. At this hour, they seemed to be the only
people about. “And then we had to flee town. I like this city, Rusham. I feel happy vibrations. I want to
live here.”

“The debacle last year wasn’t my fault, love. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He stopped under a street light and kissed her soundly on the lips. Their shadowy silhouettes on the
cobblestones seemed locked together into one strange, amorphous creature with four legs.

Disgusted, Leyale disengaged from his embrace and started walking again. “I’m tired of your thievery. If
Toller didn’t love you so much, I would’ve left you long ago.”

“I love the little bugger too. And I love his mother.” He caught up with her and grinned, his white teeth
flashing in the darkness.

Leyale hastened to keep up with his long strides. “I love you too, the fool that I am,” she muttered
under her breath, too quiet for him to hear. When they passed under the next streetlight, she briefly
admired the sleek muscles flexing under his shirt. That shorty with silvery eyes from the market couldn’t
ever compare with Rusham’s magnificent physic. Why was she thinking about that chance encounter at a
time like this? She pushed the wayward thought away.

They had been traveling together, Rusham and she, for eleven years, and she never got tired of the
sight of him, although his mulishness and blithe disregard for people’s property often irritated her. If he
wasn’t a thief, he would’ve been perfect. What woman could wish for more: he didn’t drink, he never hit
her and he was imaginative in bed. And he loved her and adored their son. Exasperated with herself, she
sighed. No one was perfect.

Her eyes slid across the empty square to the formidable stone enclosure of the Magic Academy,
illuminated by a string of magical lights. When the edifice’s huge shadow fell across her path, she
shuddered. “Rusham. I have a bad feeling about today’s operation. Maybe we can postpone it? Or drop
it? Where are we going anyway?”        

“I can’t postpone. Tonight, Sap-Tagil is out of his tower. He is spending the night at the Academy—
they’re debating some magical balderdash. His tower is empty.”

“You’re crazy!” Leyale sputtered. She halted abruptly. “You want to rob a magician’s tower? You’ll bring
his curses on all of us. On our son!” Her heart pounded so hard its beats reverberated in her ears.

Rusham overshot her for a block before he noticed she wasn’t beside him and doubled back. “Leya,
listen. He has the Xary Stone.” His warm brown eyes seemed pitch dark in the balmy summer night. He
grabbed both her hands, bringing them to his lips. His urgent whisper tickled her fingers. “I have a buyer
who promised me a hefty price for the Stone. I will not have to steal again as long as I live. One small
stone only. I need your help. Please.”

Always a smooth talker, she thought bitterly. Rusham knew she could never refuse a plea for help. No
healer could. Her roguish lover counted on it. Nevertheless, she pulled her hands free and stepped back.
Anguish seeped into her bones.

“No. You can’t steal from Sap-Tagil. We’ll be arrested. I can’t leave Toller alone in the world.” The
thought of the boy, asleep in their rented room, made her shiver. Refusing to help was against her
nature as a healer, but her son must come first. Her whole body began to ache, punishing her for her
refusal to help.

His handsome face hardened. “I’m not going to enter the tower, Leya. No doors, no stairways. My
informant said Sap-Tagil has the Stone in his study on the top floor. In this hot weather, the mage must
keep his windows open, like everyone else. I’ll scale the tower, climb through the window, grab the
Stone, and will be back before you start worrying.”

“What if you fall?” she mouthed. Tremors ran down her spine, and she couldn’t control them. For some
reason, this night she was afraid more than any other night.

“When have I ever fallen?” Rusham countered. He was getting angry. “Fine. Go back to the room. I’ll do
it myself.” He stomped away.

“Rusham, wait.” She ran after him, stumbling in the darkness and stubbing her toes. They had already
left the city proper, and there were no streetlights in sight. Only moonlight illuminated the road under
her feet. “You need a lookout. You know you do,” she panted. She wanted to cry but stifled her sobs.
She had always played a lookout for him; as a healer she could feel the active life forces in the near
vicinity of her body. She hated his thievery but she couldn’t leave him alone now. He needed her. She
tried to banish all thoughts of Toller out of her mind.

Rusham didn’t slow down, just turned his head. His eyes were pools of shadows.

“Last time!” she demanded, wheezing for air.

“Yes!” he snapped.

They didn’t talk again before they reached Sap-Tagil’s tower around midnight. The dark, column of the
tower rose towards the starlit sky at the edge of the woods. A hedge of boxwood shrubs encircled a
small garden surrounding the tower base. No gate blocked access to the garden. A narrow path wound
its way between the flower beds towards the locked door.

“It’s too easy,” Leyale whispered. Her strained senses couldn’t feel any humans around, just a few birds
and some small night creatures. No servants. No passing travelers on the road they had left behind half
a candlemark ago. “We’re alone,” she reported quietly. Even though nobody could hear them, she
wouldn’t talk loudly. She felt uneasy in the shadow of the magician’s secluded dwelling, as if the tower
itself was alive and aware. As if it was mocking them, daring them to defy its dominion. The shutters of
the windows of the top two floors were open to the aromatic air of the night.

Rusham shucked his shirt and boots and stepped towards the rough stone base of the tower. His bare
feet made no noise on the grass.

“Be careful,” she mouthed.

He winked at her, turned to the wall, and started climbing.

He could do it, she told herself. He was the best. Her attempts to reassure herself failed utterly. The
strange presence of the tower sent tentacles of fear into her heart and gripped her body with tension.

In the indifferent moonlight, her eyes followed his rapid progress. Although his legs, clad in the dark
pants, were invisible, the lighter contour of his blond head and naked torso glided up the wall like a patch
of bleach, nimble and fluid, contrasting sharply with the dark stones of the tower. He almost made it to
the open window of the top floor when he floundered.

“No!” Leyale gasped. She clasped her hands together. With mounting horror, unable to help, she
watched him being torn off the wall by an invisible force. He uttered a muffled exclamation of pain and
fury. A moment more, and he would plummet to his death. “Rusham!” she shouted, forgetting to be
quiet, but he didn’t fall. He hung in midair, writhing in the grip of Sap-Tagil’s protective spell.

“Oh, Rusham,” she whispered. She realized what had happened: he had sprung a magical trap. “What
am I to do?” Hardly daring to breathe, hoping against hope, she saw him struggle with whatever was
holding him, but the magical bonds proved stronger than a mere thief. His thrashing got weaker and
finally stopped. He growled deep in his chest and went limp, his body like a broken toy, hanging in a
sticky magical web a dozen yards above the ground.

“Leya,” his baritone drifted down to her, exhausted, almost inaudible. “This accursed sorcery—it sucks
up my strength. I can’t get free.”

“If you get free, you’ll fall. Don’t struggle. I’ll find help.” Frantically, Leyale looked around. Maybe she
could find a ladder or something to get high enough to help him. Or a neighborhood farmer might help?
No! Any farmer living nearby would be terrified to offend the magician. Maybe a magic student could
help? She had treated many of them.

“Leya,” Rusham called again. She could hardly hear him now.

“What? Don’t you dare die on me, Rusham! Our son needs a father.”

His chuckle was quiet but unmistakable, with no humor in it. “Go back to the room.” His voice broke. He
had to inhale a few times before continuing. In the surrounding silence, his harsh breathing sounded like
screaming. “Take Toller and get the hell out of this city,” he rasped. “Tell him…” Out of breath, he had to
pause again. “Tell my son that I loved him. I’m sorry.”

“No. I’m not leaving you. I’ll find help. I’ll be back.” She swallowed a sob.

He didn’t answer, hanging like a blob of dough against the dark sky.

Leyale hitched up her skirt and sprinted along the path towards the road. Then she ran along the
deserted road as long as she could. Her lungs were on fire. Her leg muscle ached. A stitch pulsed in her
side, but she kept on running. Half-way back to the city, afraid she would collapse if she kept up her
headlong dash, she slowed down to a fast walk.

Where could she find magical students in the middle of the night? Probably in one of the taverns. Would
they agree to help? Go against one of the most powerful magicians in the city? How much would it cost?
It didn’t matter. What mattered was Rusham’s life. She would beg if she had to. She would blackmail
them; as a healer she knew some of their secrets they wouldn’t want their mentors to know. It was
wrong, but she was desperate.

The sleeping houses were a blur as she stumbled past. The Academy loomed over the square in the
darkness; its multicolored magical lights sparkling cheerfully, mocking her panic. Rusham was an idiot to
try to rob a magician.

“Cretin!” she muttered angrily. “Self-absorbed, stubborn billy.” And she was an idiot too for going along
with his stupid scheme. She should have tried harder to change his mind.

When she reached the tavern district, she slowed down. Scanning the life forces inside every tavern and
bawdy house took time. Fortunately, she didn’t need to enter the doors to see with her healer’s sight.
Inside the taverns, the small dull-gray lumps of mundane life forces mingled with the shiny colorful life
forces of magicians. Most of those life forces had at least one little pain or ache. Her healer’s gift stirred.
It took a tremendous effort of will to keep herself from Healing.

Two drunken man shambled out of the nearest tavern. One noticed her, and his toothless mouth split in
a blissful grin. “A wench,” he said happily and groped Leyale’s behind. His friend hooted and drooled.

“A healer,” Leyale said haughtily and sent a sharp itch to the groping hand.

He snatched it back, scratching furiously. “A witch,” his buddy mumbled, as they passed.

In the third tavern, she found several familiar bright life forces and ducked into the low doorway. She
recognized two of the magic students. A couple months ago, she had treated them both for burns,
when they bungled one of their spell assignments and made their laboratory explode in fiery frogs. The
slime of the frogs had eaten into the boys’ skin. It had taken her a while to get them well again. It had
taken even longer and all her skills as a healer to remove the frog-shaped scars. She made a beeline to
their table.

“Hello, frog-boys. I need a favor,” she said firmly.

They glanced in her grim face and followed her outside. They listened to her round-about explanations
with identical troubled expressions.

“No! No way,” one of them, a lanky fellow with greasy hair, dressed in a peacock-bright robe, said. “I’m
sorry, Mistress Healer. We can’t mess up with Sap-Tagil’s spell. He’s the Dean of the Convocation
Department.”

His taciturn friend in a non-descript brown robe nodded an agreement. “How did your friend get into this
mess?”

“It was an accident,” Leyale lied.

They both shook their heads simultaneously and exchange knowing glances. They didn’t believe her. “No
student would help you, Mistress,” the peacock mumbled, inching back to the tavern entrance. “You
should ask Sap-Tagil himself in the morning. Sorry.”

“Sorry,” his friend echoed.

“Look, boys.” Leyale felt cornered. She couldn’t ask Sap-Tagil. The magician was famous for his temper.
He would fry Rusham alive. He would know it wasn’t an accident. She clutched her hands together to
stop them from shaking. “Maybe you know someone who can help?” she pleaded.

“Uhm,” the quiet boy said contemplatively. “There is a visiting Adept here. He’s not friends with Sap-
Tagil.”

“Don’t!” The peacock stopped his retreat. “You don’t want to get between them.”

“Please!” Leyale held her breath. Her eyes switched between the students. “I need help. Don’t leave. Tell
me. I beg you.” Her lips started trembling and her eyes swam with tears.

The youngsters exchanged another glance. “The Adept is… here.” The peacock sounded like the words
didn’t wish to leave his mouth and he was dragging them out. He led her back inside. “In the corner.” He
pointed. “You didn’t hear it from us.” Both boys faded into the rowdy crowd of serving wenches, whores,
guards, and magic students.

“Thank you,” Leyale whispered. The noise of the busy tavern swirled around her, mingling with pipe
smoke. She couldn’t see the corner table above the patron’s backs. When at last she elbowed her way
through the crowd, she caught her first glimpse of the visiting Adept.

With a mug in front of him, he sat alone at his table, deep in thought, absently drawing with his finger
on the table’s wooden surface. A glowing diagram on the table smoked slightly.

She steeled herself and shuffled closer. A mane of his black hair cascaded down his bowed head,
concealing his features, but he seemed vaguely familiar.

As if sensing her approach, he lifted his eyes. Then he shook his head, as if to clear the cobwebs,
banished the smoking pattern on the table with a flick of his wrist, and stood up. It was the man from
the yarn shop.

Leyale stumbled, staring. He was an Adept? She had thought he was a flirt. She took the last three
steps to his table. “You’re an Adept!” she said faintly. “You don’t wear a robe. All the magicians and
magic students I know wear robes. Why don’t you?”

He bowed. “Adept Aram Bareny. I don’t like robes. They’re not comfortable for riding. Have you been
looking for me? Please, sit.” He indicated a narrow bench across from his seat.

Leyale dropped on the bench. She cleared her throat. “I need help,” she whispered.

He sat down too. “Tell me everything.”

She did, as if his quiet command held her in thrall.

“Your partner is a thief?” It wasn’t really a question. His strange silvery eyes glinted.

She nodded and blushed. Ashamed to look at him, she looked at her hands, folded in her lap. “Please,”
she said quietly. “He hasn’t stolen anything from Sap-Tagil. He just… wanted to.” Her throat tightened.
“Could you free him?”

“Do you love him?”

Astonished, she lifted her eyes. “Of course!”

“What would you be willing to pay to free him?” He eyed her hungrily.

Her lips curled in derision. She knew the signs. The runt wanted her body. Some Adept! And why should
he be better than any he-goat guided by his dick? On the other hand, it was a small price to pay. She
wasn’t an innocent girl after all. And she didn’t have much choice. Somehow, she knew if she didn’t bring
rescue soon, Rusham would die. As long as Rusham was safe and didn’t know about the arrangement,
she would splay her thighs for this dwarfish sorcerer. Let him take what he wanted. It might only be
once or twice before he left for good. Still, disappointed slithered through her. As if she expected better
from him. Foolish woman!

“Whatever you want, I’ll pay,” she said coldly, “if I have it.”

“You have it. I want you to come with me, to leave your thief.”

Leyale’s mouth opened. “Leave for where?” she managed finally, her voice strangled.

“For my home. I want you to live with me.”

“You want me to be your mistress?”

His wide kissable mouth twitched. “That too.”

“For how long?”

He smiled a sad, sweet smile. “Forever.”

Leyale started trembling. Was it too high a price? But she knew it wasn’t. It was just right: her life for
Rusham’s. She gazed into the Adept’s silvery eyes and saw a yearning so intense, it shocked her.
“But…you don’t…know me,” she stuttered. “Why?”

He swallowed. “I had a vision,” he said, as if it explained everything.

A vision? At least he was honest. He didn’t profess an undying love or something equally ridiculous. “I
have a son,” she said. “He’s eight.”

“I have a daughter. She is fifteen, but she lives with her grandparents. Your boy can live with us. I’ll treat
him as my own son.”

“What about Rusham?”

“I’ll get him out of the trap. He’ll be all right but he won’t see you again.”

“You deal in strange currency, Adept.”

“I told you magicians are odd sometimes.”

“So you did.” She would be his mistress then. Was it worse than being a thief’s wife? She loved Rusham.
Maybe she could learn to love this little man too. Her heart ached, but she wouldn’t allow it to distract
her. She took a deep breath. “Promise me one thing. Wherever we live, I’ll continue to Heal people. I’m a
healer. I have to Heal.”

“I know. I promise. And I’ll promise you another thing too.” Suddenly he stood up and leaned on the
table, his face only a couple inches from hers. “You’ll never regret this.”

“We’ll see,” she said sourly. “Where is your home?”

“Across the mountains.”

Bereft of words, Leyale shook her head in stunned disbelief. “So this is your price for saving Rusham’s
hide,” she said when she could speak. “You want me to spend my life in a foreign country, among
strangers, hundreds of miles from my home?”  

“I want you to spend your life with me. I was searching for you. It’s unfortunate you’ve already made a
commitment to your thief.” He started for the door.

Leyale trotted after him. “My name is Leyale,” she said breathlessly. Despite his short stature, he walked
fast, and she had to run to keep up. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, she mused. Maybe she could get used
to his country. At least, the life of an Adept’s mistress was bound to be more stable than that of a
thief’s partner. She could Heal people anywhere. Rusham would be free. And although this strange Adept
was short, he had a terrific smile.

“I have a big house,” Aram said dryly.

“You drive a hard bargain, Adept.”

“So what’s your answer?”

“Yes,” Leyale said. She didn’t have much choice after all.

“Good. Go pack. We’ll leave at dawn. I know where Sap-Tagil’s tower is.”

She stared at his retreating back, feeling helpless like tumbleweed on the wind. Should she cry in
sadness or dance in joy? What should she tell Toller? She hoped Rusham would forgive her.

~ * ~

“We met over a yarn basket,” Leyale told Eri. “I was buying yarn for a sweater for Toller. Your dad was
buying yarn for your sister. You know she likes to knit.”

Eri dismissed the details of her siblings as inconsequential and swooped unerringly for the important
stuff. “Did you fall in love right away?” she demanded. “Like Princess Lubasha?”

Leyale met Aram’s mischievous grin with a secretive quirk of her lips.

“Yes!” she said and kissed her daughter’s upturned, perky nose.
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Olga Godim is a freelance writer and journalist in Vancouver, Canada.

Her articles and book reviews appear regularly in local newspapers, but her passion is fantasy stories. Her
short fiction credits include The Lorelei Signal, Sorcerous Signals, Bewildering Stories, The Cynic Online,
The Rejected Quarterly, Aoife’s Kiss, Golden Visions Magazine, and other publications.