Swift Magic (The Swift Codex Book 2) by Nicolette Jinks Page A

surface of the water, casting tiny ripples after us. If I leaned over the edge, I could see the bottom of the lake, crystal clear and stunning with the faint movement of towering seaweed and the darts of fish through the shadows.
     
    “How far down do you think the bottom is? Fifty feet? More?”
     
    Mordon leaned on the other side of the boat to counterbalance me, looking a little green. I wriggled up and down, causing tiny waves to rock away from the boat. “Oh, stop fretting. It'd take both of us on one side to slosh any water in this thing, and even then you'd be shocked how much water a boat can hold and still remain afloat.”
     
    Lyall shook his head at me. “Do you know what it is that lives in this lake?”
     
    Mordon went pale at the thought.
     
    I cocked my head. “No, I don't. But I've heard of sea monsters and turtles the size of dinner tables and sturgeon as long as thirty feet, not to mention giant squid and octopus. I used to terrify Railey with stories of a woman who would snare the legs of swimmers and drag them underwater at the base of cliffs just like that one there. So, tell me, what have I missed?”
     
    “Swimmer's itch,” Lyall said.
     
    “Ah, that. Do you know what causes it? Deer liver fluke larvae. They can't enter the human bloodstream, so they die just under your skin and you break out.” I leaned forward and squinted. “I think at this point it's closer to seventy feet to the bottom, but up ahead must be at least a hundred. It's all dark.”
     
    “Do you mind?” Mordon said, sounding surly.
     
    “The way it drops off so quick, this has got to be a glacier lake. Think the Wildwoods is in a National Park?”
     
    “Or a very big homestead which has been forgotten,” Mordon said, glancing at the shore. “Which is more probable if this is a sanctuary.”
     
    “It's a sanctuary,” Lyall answered. “We don't listen to Constable Law here.”
     
    I cocked my head and Mordon saw the questions I wanted to ask.
     
    “Places such as the markets are classed as part of the Intercontinental Thaumaturgical Reservation, where people are free to practice magic within the rules of the Constabulary. Sanctuaries are private property, either owned by one individual or by a commune of them, and their laws are set by the community. This is the case with the Verdant Wildwoods and the Kragdomen Colony.”
     
    “But as private property, don't they have to abide by the same laws as the non-magical populace?”
     
    “Show me a lawman who would be able to enforce it.” Then Mordon reconsidered his words. “The constables patrol the cities pretty well, as I understand it, but the outlying and back areas are mediated by sheriffs. Constables appear when there's a problem the local enforcement can't contain.”
     
    We went quiet when we neared the docks, a large platform made of thick lumber like those used for railroad ties, where several other boats were tied. Rope ladders connected the docks to two walkways suspended between all the wagons. As I examined the paths from one carved wagon to the next, a shirtless boy whooped and jumped off the roof of his wagon into midair. I expected him to sprout wings, but instead he used his shirt to slide down a thick rope.
     
    Within seconds he crossed the expanse of water in the center of the encampment, and he tucked his legs up to miss the railing on the walkway at the other end of the rope. He stood there in front of another wagon, victory crying to a clapping cluster of admiring children. Shortly, a woman came out to scold him.
     
    “Children, they're the same everywhere,” Mordon grumbled, but his eyes were bright with merriment.
     
    The woman finished with the boy, who appeared subdued for all of three seconds before racing away to his friends. Shaking her head, the woman stood at the edge of the walkway and looked down at us.
     
    “Lyall? Who is that you bring with you?”
     
    “This is Feraline of the Swift Clan, and the other is her