| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by Olga Godim / Artwork by Marge Simon |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| Magic, Sword and ... Turnips |
“I hate hopping through magical eddies,” Sima
grumbled. As an officer of the Magus Academy’s
Guard, she often traveled along the magical web of
highways, but she had never got used to the
dizziness and the sense of falling.
“I love magical pathways,” Talika said. “They are so
blue and swirly. And fast!” Her slanted turquoise
eyes, typically elven, sparkled with mischief. She
skipped off the black basalt pad, the portal to the
magical road network, and keyed the pad off by
sketching a glyph in the air. Her ear tips strained
up, sharp like little joker’s hats.
Sima sighed. She wished they didn’t have to go on
this rotten mission at all. At the very least, she
wished she could’ve avoided taking her
fourteen-year-old half-sister with her.
Unfortunately, she needed Talika’s magic. Although
Talika had always been the darling of the Academy,
nobody in their right mind would’ve ever entrusted
the flighty half-elven teenager with anything more
serious than garden improvement, had they had a
choice. But they didn’t. Talika was the only healthy
magical worker left in the city.
“In any case, I prefer a horse and cobblestones,”
Sima said dryly. She patted the hilt of her sword,
making sure it was safe in its scabbard.
Talika giggled. The setting sun poured reddish
highlights over her fat golden braids, snaking
below the girl’s slim shoulders. Each of the four
braids ended in a tight ringlet. More ringlets
escaped the braids, surrounding Talika’s smiling face with an aura of golden curls. She was clearly
enjoying the sunset, until a shadow swiped over her sunny features. Her turquoise eyes hardened. “We
should hurry,” she said.
They both knew why they should hurry. Two weeks ago, one of the idiot apprentices put his nose into a
forbidden grimoire, unwittingly activating a spell that had started a magical plague. The poor sucker had
died on the spot. Every other mage and apprentice had succumbed to the illness. High fever ravaged
indiscriminately both humans and elves, but for an unknown reason, the spell hadn’t touched the only
magically gifted half-blood in the city—Talika.
Although the spell hadn’t affected mundanes, not yet, the city council had declared the state of
quarantine. Mages, struggling with fever that wouldn’t abate, searched through the scriptorium day and
night, until one of them had unearthed an ancient chronicle of an obscure sorceress. According to that
chronicle, the disease was a curse. The only cure resided in a talisman, hidden centuries ago in an old
silver mine in the mountains.
The Academy Dean, shivering in a bundle of his robes, his gaunt cheeks burning from fever, summoned
Talika and Sima and begged them to retrieve the talisman, although its precise hiding place, size, and
shape remained unclear. When the Dean begged, everyone obeyed. In theory, as a mage in training,
Talika should be able to sense the damn thing, while Sima, fully human and mundane as a hog, was just
muscle and sword, charged with her younger sibling’s protection.
“Fool’s errand,” Sima muttered, surveying the landscape. Only moss grew on the scattered bony ribs of
the mountain surrounding the polished black basalt of the portal. Outside the semi-circle of haphazardly
strewn stones, the tall mountain pines reached up to the sky. In the perpetual twilight beneath the
pines, the thick groundcover of needles rustled under Sima’s feet. According to the map, the village with
the mine was an hour hike from the portal.
“Why?” Talika asked, falling into step. Like all elves, she drifted noiselessly between the pine trunks.
Petite and slender, she seemed ethereal under the majestic forest canopy. She hummed quietly, and a
tiny magical light sprang up over her golden head, encompassing both half-sisters in a glowing sphere.
Talika often hummed when she worked magic.
“We don’t even know what we’re searching for,” Sima said. “How does the talisman look?” An owl hooted
overhead, mocking her.
Talika shrugged. “The chronicle said it’s gold.” She resumed her humming. “I’ll find it.” As darkness
deepened, her small light brightened imperceptibly, just enough for them not to trip on the uneven
mountain slope.
“Great! It must be heavy as hell.”
“And we shouldn’t touch it.”
“What?” Sima halted. If the situation wasn’t so grave, she would’ve considered it a joke. Her impish little
sister was fond of jokes. “What do you mean? How do we handle it?”
“We use a napkin in your backpack.” Talika’s lips twitched, but she kept on humming. The light sailed
steadily over her head, illuminating her perky ears above the golden fuzz.
Silently, Sima marched beside her sister. It took them until full dark to reach the village. The stockade
appeared unexpectedly. It was about two times Sima’s height, and the undergrowth clung to the old
logs. On the other side of the fence, the normal sounds of an evening in a village bounced back and
forth. Dogs barked. A cat meowed. Goats conducted a hiccupping exchange of opinions. Women called
to their children. A winch squeaked on a well.
Nobody would guess the people in that village belonged to a reclusive religious sect of Sefrenites, who
didn’t welcome outsiders. Everything sounded so ordinary; one could scarcely credit the ominous rumors
circulating about the sect, but Sima knew those rumors to be true. The Sefrenites disliked mages and
elves and they sometimes killed uninvited visitors. She put a hushing finger across her lips. Talika
nodded. She didn’t need a reminder. She stopped humming and dimmed her light. They jogged around
in silence, until the stockade had run into a dead end at the side of a cliff. In the gap between the cliff
and the fence, brambles grew dense, blocking the view.
“They sure value their privacy,” Sima muttered. “The entrance to the mine is right here.” She stood still,
listening.
“There’s no one close by,” Talika whispered into her ear. “I feel it. The mine is empty.” Her light died. “We
can climb over.” In the darkness, Sima couldn’t see her sister’s face, but she could hear the excitement
in her voice.
“Stupid elf,” Sima whispered. “This is not a camping trip. They’ll kill us if they can.”
Talika snickered. “But they can’t. You have your sword, and I have my magic. We’ll be invincible.”
Shaking her head, Sima clamped down on her apprehension and scrambled over the wall, helping her
sister along. The faint lights of the village flickered behind their backs. The mouth of the mine gaped like
a black hole in front of them. They darted in. Silence hovered there, undisturbed. Only a hissing echo of
Sima’s steps tailed them between the stone walls. As always, Talika moved silently. Nobody raised an
alarm in the village. Nobody seemed to notice their entrance. Abandoned for the night, the mine rested in
tranquility.
“Okay. Let’s find it and get out of here,” Sima whispered.
A weak bluish light sprouted up, wavering over Talika’s thin hand, illuminating the girl’s goofy grin. Sima
wasn’t in a grinning mood. Although she was only fifteen years older, she felt like a hundred. She didn’t
like this assignment. So far, everything had gone too smoothly and too easily. Something nasty waited
ahead.
The tunnel they followed turned sharply, zigzagging inside the mountain. The magical light danced on
Talika’s palm, throwing blue sparkles on the walls, shovels, boxes of nails and wooden pegs, and
handcarts stuffed with mallets and chisels.
Sima’s fingers caressed the hilt of her sword. Where was the bloody talisman? Something brushed past
her booted feet, disappearing towards the exit. Talika’s light flickered briefly. Was it a rat? Running from
what? Sima frowned as she watched Talika’s braids swishing in rhythm with the girl’s bouncy steps.
When the tunnel came to its first intersection, they stopped. Three passages forked off into darkness.
Talika stuck her hand with the wavering light into the right-hand corridor. The small magical torch
couldn’t penetrate the darkness farther than a few yards.
“I don’t feel anything.” She closed her eyes in concentration. “Let’s get a bit deeper.” She started up the
tunnel.
“Hey, not so fast, lassie.” Sima ran to catch up with her sister. With steely fingers, she grabbed one of
Talika’s braids, making the girl gasp. “Don’t go more than two steps ahead of me! Not in this place!”
Talika nodded mutely, the gleaming light in her hand deepening the shadows beneath her eyes. She
looked frightened.
“I don’t mean to dampen your spirit, sis,” Sima murmured. “But these religious fanatics would kill us
both. You should be afraid. Don’t go off on your own.”
“But they’re gone,” Talika protested in whisper. “There’s nobody in the mine.”
“Nevertheless, better safe than sorry. Stay together.”
The tunnel was empty, magic-wise. Talika sensed no talisman, nor could Sima see anything resembling
gold. Miners’ tools littered the earthen floor. The wooden support beams looked sturdy, some of them
new, the wood still yellow. A dirty rag lay near a wheelbarrow, half-full of ore.
Talika bent closer, her blue light tossing curious little tongues into the barrow. “There is silver inside.”
Her lilting voice rang with surprise. “It doesn’t look like silver. It looks like dirt.”
“How do you know there is silver there?”
“I feel it, like my silver bracelet.” The light leapt up, hovering between Talika’s ears, as in the forest. She
stretched both hands towards the wheelbarrow. “Look.” A trickle of silvery flecks arched out of the
barrow, ending up as a small pile in her cupped palms. “Silver.”
Sima guffawed. “You’ve tricked the sanctimonious pigs out of their catch!”
“I have not!” Talika said indignantly. “I’m not a thief.” She upended her palms, and the silver fell back into
the barrow.
“Pity. Let’s explore another tunnel.”
They retraced their steps back to the intersection. The next tunnel burrowed like a serpentine for some
time before dropping sharply. The wooden ladder was old, the rungs crumbling under Sima’s sword-
callused fingers, the bits falling down into darkness.
“This ladder is ancient.” Sima winced. “Do you feel anything?”
“No. I don’t think there is anything magical down below.” Talika seemed subdued. “Maybe I can’t sense
it? I’m not a very strong mage yet.”
Sima pulled out her pocket watch. It was past midnight already. They had to hurry. “This mine is just too
big,” she mumbled. “Let’s check another corridor.”
Talika trudged beside her sister. “Maybe it’s not in the mine at all?”
“Maybe, but we’ll check all the corridors. The chronicle said it’s here.”
“Yes,” Talika agreed. Her ear tips wilted slightly; she was obviously getting tired.
After a couple more turns and twists, the tunnel again forked into two. One passage went straight. The
talisman wasn’t there, but it took Talika some time to figure that out. Another tunnel climbed up in a
shallow spiral. The supporting beams looked dark and brittle, marred by cavities after the decaying pieces
had fallen off. Gravelly dirt crunched under their boots. Sima had to bend her head not to brain herself.
Maybe that chronicle lied, she thought, and the talisman isn’t here at all. Or maybe the chronicle was a
riddle. The tunnel stooped even lower, and she had to hunch uncomfortably to fit in. They were running
out of time.
“Lassie. We must get out soon.”
“Everybody will die, if we don’t bring the talisman.” Talika barged ahead.
Gritting her teeth, Sima rushed after her sister. She felt the walls closing in, squeezing off the minutes.
They couldn’t stay in this mine after daybreak. Despite her prowess with the sword, she was only one
swordswoman against many miners. The Sefrenites would kill both her and her sister, if they lingered.
“Morning is coming,” she called.
“I know,” Talika answered breathlessly. “The talisman is here.” She sprinted forth.
Sima ran two steps behind, cursing her own insensitivity to magic. Dry soil, disturbed by her passing,
hissed angrily, trickling down the walls.
Talika halted in front of a dead-end wall. The blue light of her magical torch kept steady above her head.
Her sharp ears quivered in agitation. “It’s deep inside the wall,” she whispered. “Embedded.”
“Can you get it out?”
Without answering, Talika raised both hands, palms up, as if asking for a favor.
Hastily, Sima rummaged in her backpack for a napkin, spreading the white fabric over her sister’s
outstretched hands.
Talika didn’t move. Erect, with her ear tips up, she seemed taller than she actually was, working her
spells, her lips moving without a sound. Magic-less, Sima couldn’t see anything, until the wall started
undulating. Upset from within, the soil spilled out. The closest supporting beam groaned. The density of
dirt falling along the walls intensified all around them. A clod landed on Sima’s head, and she brushed it
off. Her nose was so clogged with dust, she could hardly breathe. To her left, a sidewall moaned.
Her instincts screamed to grab her sister and run, as the mine seemed ready to collapse. Was it the
talisman that held it together? Another support beam grunted like a wizened oldster behind her. They
had to flee, but she couldn’t hurry magic.
Oblivious to the disintegrating tunnel, Talika stood like a dainty statuette in front of the eroding wall.
Finally, the soil of the wall sputtered and boiled, and a golden plaque the size of Sima’s palm shot out,
coming to rest on the napkin. Talika recoiled but didn’t drop her prize. The ceiling over their heads
creaked ominously. More dirt rained down, but not a spec touched the shining gold. Quickly, Sima closed
the fabric over the golden trinket, shoving the talisman into her backpack. It was unexpectedly heavy,
pulling at the straps.
“Let’s go,” she said, unwilling to speak above whisper.
They ran towards the exit, the tortured grating and rasping of the tunnel following them, nipping at their
heels like an irate monster. It took them an eternity to backtrack the maze of the mine, but when they
burst into the second intersection, Sima skidded to a halt.
Talika bumped into her. “What?”
“Put down your light.” Sima pulled her sister to the wall. “Someone is at the exit.”
The floor shook under their feet, and something rattled overhead. The blue swirls of magical light folded
in on themselves, throwing both sisters into darkness. Then weak yellow light seeped from the exit
corridor. Talika’s arm in Sima’s grip shivered, and an answering tremor ran along the wall they leaned on,
almost tossing them to the floor. Sima widened her stance to keep upright. Talika whimpered, almost
inaudible under the screeching of stone, her small hands clutching for purchase.
Sima put her lips to Talika’s big ear. “Stay back. I’ll check what’s happening out there.” She couldn’t see
her sister’s face in the dark, but Talika’s breathing came fast. “I love you, elf.” Kissing the fuzzy ringlets
on top of Talika’s head, Sima pushed the girl into the unused tunnel with the old ladder.
“I love you too,” Talika whispered.
Dropping on her belly, Sima slithered forward. The floor swayed under her. Particles of dirt rained down
on her back and shoulders. She slunk to the last curve in the wall, all her muscles tense to keep from
rolling and bouncing like a log in a stormy sea. Cautiously, she peeped out.
A cluster of men blocked the exit. As she watched, a couple more arrived, bulging with muscles and
armed with knives and pickaxes. They talked quietly, pointing inside the mine, their eyes fixed above
Sima’s prostrate body, at the level of her chest, if she stood upright. Anxiety hung among them like a
living being. When the mine buckled, the men jumped.
A huge slab of stone above the entrance clanged before shaking loose, falling between the men and
Sima. Pebbles and flint shards jettisoned around, invisible in the cloud of dust. Sharp pain bit into Sima’s
jaw. Another razor-thin fragment cut her hand. She coughed out the dust and crawled back. She didn’t
think anyone at the entrance noticed her. They were too busy cursing. Someone screamed. Another
boom signaled another stone falling. The mine was breaking apart.
Talika’s blue torch flared up suddenly. “Sima?”
“The entrance is blocked,” Sima grated. Dust lodged in her throat, no matter how hard she tried to
cough it out.
“There is another exit down that old ladder. I felt it.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” Talika squeaked. “You’re bleeding.”
“Just scratches. Let’s try that shaft anyway.”
They ran as fast as they could along the rippling tunnel. More dirt and small stones fell down. Talika
tripped, but Sima’s support kept her on her feet. Rising dust made it hard to breathe or see. Finally,
Talika’s blue magical radiance shed light on the disintegrating ladder that led down the shaft.
The girl’s enormous turquoise eyes seemed to be the only points of color around them. Everything else
was dusty-gray: walls, clothes, hair, faces.
“I don’t know how to get down,” Talika yelled above the rumbling of the mountain. “It’s broken. I can’t
levitate yet.”
“I’ll lower you down.” Balancing like a sailor on the pulsating floor, Sima ransacked her backpack for a
rope. She made a loop at one end. “Grab it.”
The mine whined like a living being. Soil flowed down the walls. The floor heaved. The support beams
creaked painfully under the enormous pressure.
“What about you?” Talika inserted one hand into the loop, clutching it tightly. “There is no place up here
to anchor the rope.”
“The shaft is narrow. I’ll crab-walk down it.” If it didn’t crumple with her inside, she thought.
Talika tossed a glance at her sister and slid down. Her light traveled with her.
Sima reeled the rope out slowly. It was about two-thirds gone when it stopped tugging at her hands.
She glanced down.
Awash in her blue light, Talika was standing, beckoning frantically. “Hurry!”
Sima dropped the rope and began climbing down the shaft, her hands and feet splayed on the opposite
walls. The shaft was just narrow enough for her height, but it swayed like crazy. Once, she couldn’t hold
and slipped down a foot, skinning her palms, cursing vilely.
“Sima!” Talika shrieked.
“I’m fine. Get the rope.”
Finally the shaft ended. Sima jumped down, landing beside her sister on a stony path that ran around
the perimeter of a small cavern. In the middle, an underground pool of dark liquid splashed loudly. In the
rocky grotto, the heaving that agitated the mine above wasn’t as pronounced, although the sounds of
convulsing earth trickled down the shaft. A few rotten splinters, parts of the ladder, fell at Sima’s feet.
“The exit is on the other side.” Talika pattered around the subterranean pool.
Sima followed; her scratches stinging. She couldn’t see the exit but she trusted her little sister’s magic.
Her muscles and sword were useless in here. She grimaced in the darkness.
“Here!” Talika stopped, pointing up. Her huge eyes reflected the murky pool.
Above their heads, another shaft led up, and this one had a sturdy ladder. Under their feet, the waves
were rising, reaching over the edge, the lacy cockscombs as black as ink, as if a storm was brewing in the
tarry depth. There was no wind, but the mine groaned pitifully. The walls complained. The pool seemed
alive, distending in retaliation. The path around was already invisible under the swelling jelly-like liquid.
“Talika, go first.” Lifting the girl to the lowest rung, Sima scrambled after her.
The moment they emerged into another dark corridor, a loud boom detonated behind their backs,
hurting the eardrums, echoing up and down the shaft. The floor beneath their feet shuddered, throwing
them both on the ground.
Talika’s light winked out.
“Get your light back!”
The light flashed above their heads. Talika huddled on the floor, holding her palms to her ears. The ear
tips protruding between her fingers quivered. Sima’s gaze fell on the shaft behind her shaking sister.
Dark water of the pool was rapidly coming up.
Sima pulled Talika to her feet. “Water!” she yelled, trying to out-scream the unending racket. “Run.”
With the waves licking at their heels, they ran along the winding tunnel, their boots squelching in the
rising water. It covered their ankles; then crept up to their knees. No side corridors appeared to disperse
the flow. How deep was the damn pool?
“We’ll drown!” Talika’s voice quavered.
Sima kept running, pulling the young elf after her. They rounded another corner, and still the tunnel
stretched ahead. It was hard to run in the deepening water. The roar behind them vibrated, bouncing off
the walls like an endless echo. By the time they burst into a small antechamber, the water was up to
Sima’s mid-thighs and rising.
A wooden door, locked from the other side, loomed in front of them. Not even a handle marked the thick
boards.
Screaming elven curses, Talika pummeled the door with her fists.
Sima unsheathed her dagger and began carving.
“Let me.” Talika sniffed. “I can try something…” She shivered.
“You’ve used too much of your magic already. Keep it. We might need it later.” Sima kept on whittling.
By the time she had managed to open the door, the water was over their waists. It rushed into the
opening, almost knocking them off their feet. Talika grabbed at her older sister, and they stumbled into a
vast cellar together. Through the flood that sloshed over sacks and kegs, they waded toward the stairs.
Only at the top of the stairs, did they outrun the water. Lightheaded with relief, Sima touched the door,
and it swung open. “Kill your light,” she whispered, easing out into a kitchen.
Talika followed. Her sharp ears were folded inward, a sure sign of distress. Briefly, Sima hugged her
sister. “Keep up, lassie. We’ll get out of here soon.”
Talika didn’t answer.
Sima opened the shuttered window into the night. Outside was pandemonium. People ran up and down
the street. The torches sprang to life. Someone screamed in terror, while loud clashes went on and on in
the night, as the mountain rumbled its displeasure.
“We did it?” Talika’s voice was very small.
“Probably.” Sima clambered out of the window. “Come on. Get out.”
Nobody paid attention to them. They weaved their way around the house to the back alley, where Sima
bumped into a youngster. The boy darted headlong without a second glance, the two shovels he carried
on his shoulder clattering together. The wall surrounding the village loomed closer, silhouetting under the
moon. A few more minutes, and they would be free of the damn village. The sky, spangled with silvery
stars, fluttered like a veil across the night.
“Let me go!” Talika wailed behind Sima’s back.
Sima whirled.
Two men held the girl. She kicked and writhed ineffectively between them.
“We’ve got one elven witch!”
Another slapped Talika heavily on the side of her head. “Stop your twisting, slut.”
Talika bit into his hand.
“You filthy bitch!” He lifted his fist for another wallop. “You’ll pay.”
Sima barreled into him. This old bag of bones, this repulsive fanatical lout had dared to touch her little
sister, her elven minx! Hot and ugly, Sima’s rage unfurled, and she let it explode, releasing her pent-up
fury. She blasted into the man; two decades of a fighter’s training directing her blows. A punch into the
stomach! Another one in the neck. The man grunted, tottered, and let Talika go. A kick in the crotch!
The man screamed and collapsed. Another kick in the face. Something crunched under Sima’s boots,
probably the nose.
“Stop! Or I’ll kill her.” The other man was squeezing Talika’s throat with both hands. She was fighting
him, clawing at his fingers, but her thrashing was getting weaker.
“No, you won’t!” Abandoning her first victim, Sima dashed towards the second man. Her sword sang as
it came out of the scabbard. The polished steel, thirsty for blood, glistened in the whey-colored predawn.
Finally, she was what the Dean had said—the sword.
The man’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth. Before he had time to mew, Sima thrust. The blade slid
into the man’s eye. He bellowed and let Talika go, collapsing in the mud under the wall. Talika wheezed,
gulping air, bending double. Sima pulled the sword out and thrust again, this time into the whimpering
mouth of her enemy. The man choked on his blood and fell silent. Only his blood still gurgled.
Talika was leaning on the wall, breathing heavily. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Behind you,” she croaked.
Sima glanced over her shoulder. A dozen men were running towards them, armed with shovels, knives,
and torches. She turned back to her sister. “Over the wall you go, lassie. Run like hell.” She turned the
girl around to face the wall and lifted her up, until Talika could grab the top of the stockade. “Get out!”
She gave another boost and then threw her backpack with the talisman over the wall. Talika scrambled
up, balancing on the top. Drawing her dagger, Sima spun around to face the mob.
Suddenly, the garden between her and the attackers erupted. Lumps of earth flew into the men’s eyes
and mouths. Carrots and beets flipped the fronds of their leafy tops, whipping at the villagers’ faces.
Nettles and brambles sailed over the fence from the outside, assailing everyone who dared to approach,
stinging, prickling, stabbing cheeks and noses and foreheads. The men screamed and stumbled, blinded
by roots and weeds. Their shovels cut into each other in confusion. Sima stared.
“Hurry, sis!” Talika’s whisper sounded strained.
Jerking awake, Sima sheathed her blades and clambered up and over the fence.
“Jump down, lassie!”
Talika slid into her hands. “We did it!” She started laughing, her eyes tearing. “My magic has always been
good for gardens. We did it!” Her laughter morphed into hysterical giggles, and then into bitter weeping.
“It was marvelous! Can you run?” Sima hugged the young elf.
“No.” Sniffing, Talika sagged against Sima’s shoulder, sobbing, clutching at her sister’s clothing.
Sima picked up her backpack, lifted Talika into her arms, and started running towards the portal. “It’s all
right,” she murmured into the big, wilting ear, holding her sister tight. “You saved out asses. I’ll
remember this magnificent battle as long as I live. My first battle won with beets and carrots.”
Talika clung to her, uncontrollable sobs wracking her small body, mingling with snickers. “And turnips,”
she said, her voice muffled by Sima’s shirt. She nuzzled Sima’s cheek with her soft lips.
“How could I forget turnips?” Sima didn’t hear any pursuit. The villagers were probably afraid to give
chase outside the stockade at night. They had enough problems with the mine and the flood. Did the
vegetables continue their scuffle as well?, she thought.
In the milky dusk, she could hardly see her way and stumbled a lot, but managed not to bump into
trees. Talika fell asleep in her arms. By the time they reached the black pad of the portal, the sun had
risen. Sima’s arms felt laden from carrying her sister. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of the
talisman in her backpack. Her legs and feet ached, but her heart sang. Even the prospect of a magical
highway with its dizziness and demented swirls didn’t trouble her. They did it!
grumbled. As an officer of the Magus Academy’s
Guard, she often traveled along the magical web of
highways, but she had never got used to the
dizziness and the sense of falling.
“I love magical pathways,” Talika said. “They are so
blue and swirly. And fast!” Her slanted turquoise
eyes, typically elven, sparkled with mischief. She
skipped off the black basalt pad, the portal to the
magical road network, and keyed the pad off by
sketching a glyph in the air. Her ear tips strained
up, sharp like little joker’s hats.
Sima sighed. She wished they didn’t have to go on
this rotten mission at all. At the very least, she
wished she could’ve avoided taking her
fourteen-year-old half-sister with her.
Unfortunately, she needed Talika’s magic. Although
Talika had always been the darling of the Academy,
nobody in their right mind would’ve ever entrusted
the flighty half-elven teenager with anything more
serious than garden improvement, had they had a
choice. But they didn’t. Talika was the only healthy
magical worker left in the city.
“In any case, I prefer a horse and cobblestones,”
Sima said dryly. She patted the hilt of her sword,
making sure it was safe in its scabbard.
Talika giggled. The setting sun poured reddish
highlights over her fat golden braids, snaking
below the girl’s slim shoulders. Each of the four
braids ended in a tight ringlet. More ringlets
escaped the braids, surrounding Talika’s smiling face with an aura of golden curls. She was clearly
enjoying the sunset, until a shadow swiped over her sunny features. Her turquoise eyes hardened. “We
should hurry,” she said.
They both knew why they should hurry. Two weeks ago, one of the idiot apprentices put his nose into a
forbidden grimoire, unwittingly activating a spell that had started a magical plague. The poor sucker had
died on the spot. Every other mage and apprentice had succumbed to the illness. High fever ravaged
indiscriminately both humans and elves, but for an unknown reason, the spell hadn’t touched the only
magically gifted half-blood in the city—Talika.
Although the spell hadn’t affected mundanes, not yet, the city council had declared the state of
quarantine. Mages, struggling with fever that wouldn’t abate, searched through the scriptorium day and
night, until one of them had unearthed an ancient chronicle of an obscure sorceress. According to that
chronicle, the disease was a curse. The only cure resided in a talisman, hidden centuries ago in an old
silver mine in the mountains.
The Academy Dean, shivering in a bundle of his robes, his gaunt cheeks burning from fever, summoned
Talika and Sima and begged them to retrieve the talisman, although its precise hiding place, size, and
shape remained unclear. When the Dean begged, everyone obeyed. In theory, as a mage in training,
Talika should be able to sense the damn thing, while Sima, fully human and mundane as a hog, was just
muscle and sword, charged with her younger sibling’s protection.
“Fool’s errand,” Sima muttered, surveying the landscape. Only moss grew on the scattered bony ribs of
the mountain surrounding the polished black basalt of the portal. Outside the semi-circle of haphazardly
strewn stones, the tall mountain pines reached up to the sky. In the perpetual twilight beneath the
pines, the thick groundcover of needles rustled under Sima’s feet. According to the map, the village with
the mine was an hour hike from the portal.
“Why?” Talika asked, falling into step. Like all elves, she drifted noiselessly between the pine trunks.
Petite and slender, she seemed ethereal under the majestic forest canopy. She hummed quietly, and a
tiny magical light sprang up over her golden head, encompassing both half-sisters in a glowing sphere.
Talika often hummed when she worked magic.
“We don’t even know what we’re searching for,” Sima said. “How does the talisman look?” An owl hooted
overhead, mocking her.
Talika shrugged. “The chronicle said it’s gold.” She resumed her humming. “I’ll find it.” As darkness
deepened, her small light brightened imperceptibly, just enough for them not to trip on the uneven
mountain slope.
“Great! It must be heavy as hell.”
“And we shouldn’t touch it.”
“What?” Sima halted. If the situation wasn’t so grave, she would’ve considered it a joke. Her impish little
sister was fond of jokes. “What do you mean? How do we handle it?”
“We use a napkin in your backpack.” Talika’s lips twitched, but she kept on humming. The light sailed
steadily over her head, illuminating her perky ears above the golden fuzz.
Silently, Sima marched beside her sister. It took them until full dark to reach the village. The stockade
appeared unexpectedly. It was about two times Sima’s height, and the undergrowth clung to the old
logs. On the other side of the fence, the normal sounds of an evening in a village bounced back and
forth. Dogs barked. A cat meowed. Goats conducted a hiccupping exchange of opinions. Women called
to their children. A winch squeaked on a well.
Nobody would guess the people in that village belonged to a reclusive religious sect of Sefrenites, who
didn’t welcome outsiders. Everything sounded so ordinary; one could scarcely credit the ominous rumors
circulating about the sect, but Sima knew those rumors to be true. The Sefrenites disliked mages and
elves and they sometimes killed uninvited visitors. She put a hushing finger across her lips. Talika
nodded. She didn’t need a reminder. She stopped humming and dimmed her light. They jogged around
in silence, until the stockade had run into a dead end at the side of a cliff. In the gap between the cliff
and the fence, brambles grew dense, blocking the view.
“They sure value their privacy,” Sima muttered. “The entrance to the mine is right here.” She stood still,
listening.
“There’s no one close by,” Talika whispered into her ear. “I feel it. The mine is empty.” Her light died. “We
can climb over.” In the darkness, Sima couldn’t see her sister’s face, but she could hear the excitement
in her voice.
“Stupid elf,” Sima whispered. “This is not a camping trip. They’ll kill us if they can.”
Talika snickered. “But they can’t. You have your sword, and I have my magic. We’ll be invincible.”
Shaking her head, Sima clamped down on her apprehension and scrambled over the wall, helping her
sister along. The faint lights of the village flickered behind their backs. The mouth of the mine gaped like
a black hole in front of them. They darted in. Silence hovered there, undisturbed. Only a hissing echo of
Sima’s steps tailed them between the stone walls. As always, Talika moved silently. Nobody raised an
alarm in the village. Nobody seemed to notice their entrance. Abandoned for the night, the mine rested in
tranquility.
“Okay. Let’s find it and get out of here,” Sima whispered.
A weak bluish light sprouted up, wavering over Talika’s thin hand, illuminating the girl’s goofy grin. Sima
wasn’t in a grinning mood. Although she was only fifteen years older, she felt like a hundred. She didn’t
like this assignment. So far, everything had gone too smoothly and too easily. Something nasty waited
ahead.
The tunnel they followed turned sharply, zigzagging inside the mountain. The magical light danced on
Talika’s palm, throwing blue sparkles on the walls, shovels, boxes of nails and wooden pegs, and
handcarts stuffed with mallets and chisels.
Sima’s fingers caressed the hilt of her sword. Where was the bloody talisman? Something brushed past
her booted feet, disappearing towards the exit. Talika’s light flickered briefly. Was it a rat? Running from
what? Sima frowned as she watched Talika’s braids swishing in rhythm with the girl’s bouncy steps.
When the tunnel came to its first intersection, they stopped. Three passages forked off into darkness.
Talika stuck her hand with the wavering light into the right-hand corridor. The small magical torch
couldn’t penetrate the darkness farther than a few yards.
“I don’t feel anything.” She closed her eyes in concentration. “Let’s get a bit deeper.” She started up the
tunnel.
“Hey, not so fast, lassie.” Sima ran to catch up with her sister. With steely fingers, she grabbed one of
Talika’s braids, making the girl gasp. “Don’t go more than two steps ahead of me! Not in this place!”
Talika nodded mutely, the gleaming light in her hand deepening the shadows beneath her eyes. She
looked frightened.
“I don’t mean to dampen your spirit, sis,” Sima murmured. “But these religious fanatics would kill us
both. You should be afraid. Don’t go off on your own.”
“But they’re gone,” Talika protested in whisper. “There’s nobody in the mine.”
“Nevertheless, better safe than sorry. Stay together.”
The tunnel was empty, magic-wise. Talika sensed no talisman, nor could Sima see anything resembling
gold. Miners’ tools littered the earthen floor. The wooden support beams looked sturdy, some of them
new, the wood still yellow. A dirty rag lay near a wheelbarrow, half-full of ore.
Talika bent closer, her blue light tossing curious little tongues into the barrow. “There is silver inside.”
Her lilting voice rang with surprise. “It doesn’t look like silver. It looks like dirt.”
“How do you know there is silver there?”
“I feel it, like my silver bracelet.” The light leapt up, hovering between Talika’s ears, as in the forest. She
stretched both hands towards the wheelbarrow. “Look.” A trickle of silvery flecks arched out of the
barrow, ending up as a small pile in her cupped palms. “Silver.”
Sima guffawed. “You’ve tricked the sanctimonious pigs out of their catch!”
“I have not!” Talika said indignantly. “I’m not a thief.” She upended her palms, and the silver fell back into
the barrow.
“Pity. Let’s explore another tunnel.”
They retraced their steps back to the intersection. The next tunnel burrowed like a serpentine for some
time before dropping sharply. The wooden ladder was old, the rungs crumbling under Sima’s sword-
callused fingers, the bits falling down into darkness.
“This ladder is ancient.” Sima winced. “Do you feel anything?”
“No. I don’t think there is anything magical down below.” Talika seemed subdued. “Maybe I can’t sense
it? I’m not a very strong mage yet.”
Sima pulled out her pocket watch. It was past midnight already. They had to hurry. “This mine is just too
big,” she mumbled. “Let’s check another corridor.”
Talika trudged beside her sister. “Maybe it’s not in the mine at all?”
“Maybe, but we’ll check all the corridors. The chronicle said it’s here.”
“Yes,” Talika agreed. Her ear tips wilted slightly; she was obviously getting tired.
After a couple more turns and twists, the tunnel again forked into two. One passage went straight. The
talisman wasn’t there, but it took Talika some time to figure that out. Another tunnel climbed up in a
shallow spiral. The supporting beams looked dark and brittle, marred by cavities after the decaying pieces
had fallen off. Gravelly dirt crunched under their boots. Sima had to bend her head not to brain herself.
Maybe that chronicle lied, she thought, and the talisman isn’t here at all. Or maybe the chronicle was a
riddle. The tunnel stooped even lower, and she had to hunch uncomfortably to fit in. They were running
out of time.
“Lassie. We must get out soon.”
“Everybody will die, if we don’t bring the talisman.” Talika barged ahead.
Gritting her teeth, Sima rushed after her sister. She felt the walls closing in, squeezing off the minutes.
They couldn’t stay in this mine after daybreak. Despite her prowess with the sword, she was only one
swordswoman against many miners. The Sefrenites would kill both her and her sister, if they lingered.
“Morning is coming,” she called.
“I know,” Talika answered breathlessly. “The talisman is here.” She sprinted forth.
Sima ran two steps behind, cursing her own insensitivity to magic. Dry soil, disturbed by her passing,
hissed angrily, trickling down the walls.
Talika halted in front of a dead-end wall. The blue light of her magical torch kept steady above her head.
Her sharp ears quivered in agitation. “It’s deep inside the wall,” she whispered. “Embedded.”
“Can you get it out?”
Without answering, Talika raised both hands, palms up, as if asking for a favor.
Hastily, Sima rummaged in her backpack for a napkin, spreading the white fabric over her sister’s
outstretched hands.
Talika didn’t move. Erect, with her ear tips up, she seemed taller than she actually was, working her
spells, her lips moving without a sound. Magic-less, Sima couldn’t see anything, until the wall started
undulating. Upset from within, the soil spilled out. The closest supporting beam groaned. The density of
dirt falling along the walls intensified all around them. A clod landed on Sima’s head, and she brushed it
off. Her nose was so clogged with dust, she could hardly breathe. To her left, a sidewall moaned.
Her instincts screamed to grab her sister and run, as the mine seemed ready to collapse. Was it the
talisman that held it together? Another support beam grunted like a wizened oldster behind her. They
had to flee, but she couldn’t hurry magic.
Oblivious to the disintegrating tunnel, Talika stood like a dainty statuette in front of the eroding wall.
Finally, the soil of the wall sputtered and boiled, and a golden plaque the size of Sima’s palm shot out,
coming to rest on the napkin. Talika recoiled but didn’t drop her prize. The ceiling over their heads
creaked ominously. More dirt rained down, but not a spec touched the shining gold. Quickly, Sima closed
the fabric over the golden trinket, shoving the talisman into her backpack. It was unexpectedly heavy,
pulling at the straps.
“Let’s go,” she said, unwilling to speak above whisper.
They ran towards the exit, the tortured grating and rasping of the tunnel following them, nipping at their
heels like an irate monster. It took them an eternity to backtrack the maze of the mine, but when they
burst into the second intersection, Sima skidded to a halt.
Talika bumped into her. “What?”
“Put down your light.” Sima pulled her sister to the wall. “Someone is at the exit.”
The floor shook under their feet, and something rattled overhead. The blue swirls of magical light folded
in on themselves, throwing both sisters into darkness. Then weak yellow light seeped from the exit
corridor. Talika’s arm in Sima’s grip shivered, and an answering tremor ran along the wall they leaned on,
almost tossing them to the floor. Sima widened her stance to keep upright. Talika whimpered, almost
inaudible under the screeching of stone, her small hands clutching for purchase.
Sima put her lips to Talika’s big ear. “Stay back. I’ll check what’s happening out there.” She couldn’t see
her sister’s face in the dark, but Talika’s breathing came fast. “I love you, elf.” Kissing the fuzzy ringlets
on top of Talika’s head, Sima pushed the girl into the unused tunnel with the old ladder.
“I love you too,” Talika whispered.
Dropping on her belly, Sima slithered forward. The floor swayed under her. Particles of dirt rained down
on her back and shoulders. She slunk to the last curve in the wall, all her muscles tense to keep from
rolling and bouncing like a log in a stormy sea. Cautiously, she peeped out.
A cluster of men blocked the exit. As she watched, a couple more arrived, bulging with muscles and
armed with knives and pickaxes. They talked quietly, pointing inside the mine, their eyes fixed above
Sima’s prostrate body, at the level of her chest, if she stood upright. Anxiety hung among them like a
living being. When the mine buckled, the men jumped.
A huge slab of stone above the entrance clanged before shaking loose, falling between the men and
Sima. Pebbles and flint shards jettisoned around, invisible in the cloud of dust. Sharp pain bit into Sima’s
jaw. Another razor-thin fragment cut her hand. She coughed out the dust and crawled back. She didn’t
think anyone at the entrance noticed her. They were too busy cursing. Someone screamed. Another
boom signaled another stone falling. The mine was breaking apart.
Talika’s blue torch flared up suddenly. “Sima?”
“The entrance is blocked,” Sima grated. Dust lodged in her throat, no matter how hard she tried to
cough it out.
“There is another exit down that old ladder. I felt it.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” Talika squeaked. “You’re bleeding.”
“Just scratches. Let’s try that shaft anyway.”
They ran as fast as they could along the rippling tunnel. More dirt and small stones fell down. Talika
tripped, but Sima’s support kept her on her feet. Rising dust made it hard to breathe or see. Finally,
Talika’s blue magical radiance shed light on the disintegrating ladder that led down the shaft.
The girl’s enormous turquoise eyes seemed to be the only points of color around them. Everything else
was dusty-gray: walls, clothes, hair, faces.
“I don’t know how to get down,” Talika yelled above the rumbling of the mountain. “It’s broken. I can’t
levitate yet.”
“I’ll lower you down.” Balancing like a sailor on the pulsating floor, Sima ransacked her backpack for a
rope. She made a loop at one end. “Grab it.”
The mine whined like a living being. Soil flowed down the walls. The floor heaved. The support beams
creaked painfully under the enormous pressure.
“What about you?” Talika inserted one hand into the loop, clutching it tightly. “There is no place up here
to anchor the rope.”
“The shaft is narrow. I’ll crab-walk down it.” If it didn’t crumple with her inside, she thought.
Talika tossed a glance at her sister and slid down. Her light traveled with her.
Sima reeled the rope out slowly. It was about two-thirds gone when it stopped tugging at her hands.
She glanced down.
Awash in her blue light, Talika was standing, beckoning frantically. “Hurry!”
Sima dropped the rope and began climbing down the shaft, her hands and feet splayed on the opposite
walls. The shaft was just narrow enough for her height, but it swayed like crazy. Once, she couldn’t hold
and slipped down a foot, skinning her palms, cursing vilely.
“Sima!” Talika shrieked.
“I’m fine. Get the rope.”
Finally the shaft ended. Sima jumped down, landing beside her sister on a stony path that ran around
the perimeter of a small cavern. In the middle, an underground pool of dark liquid splashed loudly. In the
rocky grotto, the heaving that agitated the mine above wasn’t as pronounced, although the sounds of
convulsing earth trickled down the shaft. A few rotten splinters, parts of the ladder, fell at Sima’s feet.
“The exit is on the other side.” Talika pattered around the subterranean pool.
Sima followed; her scratches stinging. She couldn’t see the exit but she trusted her little sister’s magic.
Her muscles and sword were useless in here. She grimaced in the darkness.
“Here!” Talika stopped, pointing up. Her huge eyes reflected the murky pool.
Above their heads, another shaft led up, and this one had a sturdy ladder. Under their feet, the waves
were rising, reaching over the edge, the lacy cockscombs as black as ink, as if a storm was brewing in the
tarry depth. There was no wind, but the mine groaned pitifully. The walls complained. The pool seemed
alive, distending in retaliation. The path around was already invisible under the swelling jelly-like liquid.
“Talika, go first.” Lifting the girl to the lowest rung, Sima scrambled after her.
The moment they emerged into another dark corridor, a loud boom detonated behind their backs,
hurting the eardrums, echoing up and down the shaft. The floor beneath their feet shuddered, throwing
them both on the ground.
Talika’s light winked out.
“Get your light back!”
The light flashed above their heads. Talika huddled on the floor, holding her palms to her ears. The ear
tips protruding between her fingers quivered. Sima’s gaze fell on the shaft behind her shaking sister.
Dark water of the pool was rapidly coming up.
Sima pulled Talika to her feet. “Water!” she yelled, trying to out-scream the unending racket. “Run.”
With the waves licking at their heels, they ran along the winding tunnel, their boots squelching in the
rising water. It covered their ankles; then crept up to their knees. No side corridors appeared to disperse
the flow. How deep was the damn pool?
“We’ll drown!” Talika’s voice quavered.
Sima kept running, pulling the young elf after her. They rounded another corner, and still the tunnel
stretched ahead. It was hard to run in the deepening water. The roar behind them vibrated, bouncing off
the walls like an endless echo. By the time they burst into a small antechamber, the water was up to
Sima’s mid-thighs and rising.
A wooden door, locked from the other side, loomed in front of them. Not even a handle marked the thick
boards.
Screaming elven curses, Talika pummeled the door with her fists.
Sima unsheathed her dagger and began carving.
“Let me.” Talika sniffed. “I can try something…” She shivered.
“You’ve used too much of your magic already. Keep it. We might need it later.” Sima kept on whittling.
By the time she had managed to open the door, the water was over their waists. It rushed into the
opening, almost knocking them off their feet. Talika grabbed at her older sister, and they stumbled into a
vast cellar together. Through the flood that sloshed over sacks and kegs, they waded toward the stairs.
Only at the top of the stairs, did they outrun the water. Lightheaded with relief, Sima touched the door,
and it swung open. “Kill your light,” she whispered, easing out into a kitchen.
Talika followed. Her sharp ears were folded inward, a sure sign of distress. Briefly, Sima hugged her
sister. “Keep up, lassie. We’ll get out of here soon.”
Talika didn’t answer.
Sima opened the shuttered window into the night. Outside was pandemonium. People ran up and down
the street. The torches sprang to life. Someone screamed in terror, while loud clashes went on and on in
the night, as the mountain rumbled its displeasure.
“We did it?” Talika’s voice was very small.
“Probably.” Sima clambered out of the window. “Come on. Get out.”
Nobody paid attention to them. They weaved their way around the house to the back alley, where Sima
bumped into a youngster. The boy darted headlong without a second glance, the two shovels he carried
on his shoulder clattering together. The wall surrounding the village loomed closer, silhouetting under the
moon. A few more minutes, and they would be free of the damn village. The sky, spangled with silvery
stars, fluttered like a veil across the night.
“Let me go!” Talika wailed behind Sima’s back.
Sima whirled.
Two men held the girl. She kicked and writhed ineffectively between them.
“We’ve got one elven witch!”
Another slapped Talika heavily on the side of her head. “Stop your twisting, slut.”
Talika bit into his hand.
“You filthy bitch!” He lifted his fist for another wallop. “You’ll pay.”
Sima barreled into him. This old bag of bones, this repulsive fanatical lout had dared to touch her little
sister, her elven minx! Hot and ugly, Sima’s rage unfurled, and she let it explode, releasing her pent-up
fury. She blasted into the man; two decades of a fighter’s training directing her blows. A punch into the
stomach! Another one in the neck. The man grunted, tottered, and let Talika go. A kick in the crotch!
The man screamed and collapsed. Another kick in the face. Something crunched under Sima’s boots,
probably the nose.
“Stop! Or I’ll kill her.” The other man was squeezing Talika’s throat with both hands. She was fighting
him, clawing at his fingers, but her thrashing was getting weaker.
“No, you won’t!” Abandoning her first victim, Sima dashed towards the second man. Her sword sang as
it came out of the scabbard. The polished steel, thirsty for blood, glistened in the whey-colored predawn.
Finally, she was what the Dean had said—the sword.
The man’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth. Before he had time to mew, Sima thrust. The blade slid
into the man’s eye. He bellowed and let Talika go, collapsing in the mud under the wall. Talika wheezed,
gulping air, bending double. Sima pulled the sword out and thrust again, this time into the whimpering
mouth of her enemy. The man choked on his blood and fell silent. Only his blood still gurgled.
Talika was leaning on the wall, breathing heavily. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Behind you,” she croaked.
Sima glanced over her shoulder. A dozen men were running towards them, armed with shovels, knives,
and torches. She turned back to her sister. “Over the wall you go, lassie. Run like hell.” She turned the
girl around to face the wall and lifted her up, until Talika could grab the top of the stockade. “Get out!”
She gave another boost and then threw her backpack with the talisman over the wall. Talika scrambled
up, balancing on the top. Drawing her dagger, Sima spun around to face the mob.
Suddenly, the garden between her and the attackers erupted. Lumps of earth flew into the men’s eyes
and mouths. Carrots and beets flipped the fronds of their leafy tops, whipping at the villagers’ faces.
Nettles and brambles sailed over the fence from the outside, assailing everyone who dared to approach,
stinging, prickling, stabbing cheeks and noses and foreheads. The men screamed and stumbled, blinded
by roots and weeds. Their shovels cut into each other in confusion. Sima stared.
“Hurry, sis!” Talika’s whisper sounded strained.
Jerking awake, Sima sheathed her blades and clambered up and over the fence.
“Jump down, lassie!”
Talika slid into her hands. “We did it!” She started laughing, her eyes tearing. “My magic has always been
good for gardens. We did it!” Her laughter morphed into hysterical giggles, and then into bitter weeping.
“It was marvelous! Can you run?” Sima hugged the young elf.
“No.” Sniffing, Talika sagged against Sima’s shoulder, sobbing, clutching at her sister’s clothing.
Sima picked up her backpack, lifted Talika into her arms, and started running towards the portal. “It’s all
right,” she murmured into the big, wilting ear, holding her sister tight. “You saved out asses. I’ll
remember this magnificent battle as long as I live. My first battle won with beets and carrots.”
Talika clung to her, uncontrollable sobs wracking her small body, mingling with snickers. “And turnips,”
she said, her voice muffled by Sima’s shirt. She nuzzled Sima’s cheek with her soft lips.
“How could I forget turnips?” Sima didn’t hear any pursuit. The villagers were probably afraid to give
chase outside the stockade at night. They had enough problems with the mine and the flood. Did the
vegetables continue their scuffle as well?, she thought.
In the milky dusk, she could hardly see her way and stumbled a lot, but managed not to bump into
trees. Talika fell asleep in her arms. By the time they reached the black pad of the portal, the sun had
risen. Sima’s arms felt laden from carrying her sister. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of the
talisman in her backpack. Her legs and feet ached, but her heart sang. Even the prospect of a magical
highway with its dizziness and demented swirls didn’t trouble her. They did it!
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Olga Godim is a freelance writer and journalist in Vancouver, Canada.
He articles and book reviews appear regularly in local newspapers, but her
passion is fiction. Her short fiction credits include Bewildering Stories, The
Cynic Online, The Rejected Quarterly, Aoife’s Kiss, Golden Visions Magazine,
and Toe to Toe anthology (Bedazzled Ink Publishing), which was a finalist of
the 2009 Golden Crown Literary Award.
He articles and book reviews appear regularly in local newspapers, but her
passion is fiction. Her short fiction credits include Bewildering Stories, The
Cynic Online, The Rejected Quarterly, Aoife’s Kiss, Golden Visions Magazine,
and Toe to Toe anthology (Bedazzled Ink Publishing), which was a finalist of
the 2009 Golden Crown Literary Award.