Diary of a Conjurer Page 3

  They don’t know I’m here. Even though the buzzards circled above him, Silvio smiled, pleased with the deception and thankful for his mother. Peace returned.

  Safety

  The only thing he needed now was to endure. Patience was much easier to acquire when he was tapped into this strong majestic pillar whose roots dug far into the soil. I’ll wait here until I’m certain I’m safe. Even though those warriors passed by, I know they’ll be back.

  There was no way to know how long the women would search through the woods, but he didn’t want the warriors to catch his scent when they returned.

  Besides, refuge in the old cedar tree was comfortable.

  The view was magnificent. The fragrant smells of evergreen from the western forest refreshed his spirits. This was the forest Kaempie spoke so highly of. A haven for deer and elk. No wonder the hunters longed to come here. The undergrowth was thicker than the Bandene woods, and flourished with berries and herbs.

  A call from below woke him from his musing. When he looked to the east, his heart sank. Hacatine walked in the meadow with an army by her side, and she was calling his name.

  “Silvio, I know you’re alone and I know you’re in those woods. Come out. Come on home, lad.”

  He watched her traipse through the grass, the swarm of soldiers following her. Black dots across a sea of green, invading the fields like locusts. The Griffons blackened the sky. How she knew he was in the forest puzzled him until he saw the flash of light that bounced from the dagger in her hands.

  Forged from the heat of magical powers she had kept aside whenever she had a harvest, the dagger could wield both will and sorcery with incomprehensible license. My baby, Silvio had once heard her call it. Perhaps it couldn’t do everything she wanted it to, but she claimed that once all the Taikan wizards belonged to her, the magic would rule the world.

  Something that must never, ever happen.

  “I sense your presence.” She had the dagger in her hand, light flashing on the ground under the tree, and then into the forest, and back again.

  The warriors that had been pursuing him returned. They raced to Hacatine. Silvio watched them converse—pointing to the woods, and then to his tree. He held his breath. Did they know?

  Hacatine waved her soldiers behind her and stepped forward. Her face flushed with anger. Only one other time had Silvio ever seen the queen that mad. It was the day in the great hall when she accused the wizards of tyranny.

  “I loathe being tricked, Silvio. What’s more, I despise being tricked by a young inexperienced conjurer. You will pay for this. You and your mother will bear the consequences.” She held the dagger above her head, exhaling a sigh as though what she was about to do brought her great relief. “You and your nature will serve me forever.”

  With that, the beam from the blade caught the sun and the forest behind him burst into flame. Silvio dared not move. He dared not give her the satisfaction of being flushed out of the fire. He stayed in the tree, afraid, yes, but steadfast nonetheless.

  She laughed as she stood in the grass watching the forest burn, the warriors at her side. They stayed through the afternoon until sunset. When the last bit of twilight filled with smoke, they all moved slowly toward the wetlands, towards the water.

  The first wave of heat scorched Silvio’s back when the wind from the fire shifted. Hacatine was gone. It would be possible to make his escape, but before he could will himself free, his tree, the old wise cedar caught fire. Branches above him sizzled. Sap as hot as lava flowed through his veins, transforming into a sticky paste as it fell to where he was. He tried to pull away from the plant’s vital fluid that adhered him to its trunk. It was impossible to break free altogether. The best he could do was bend away from the embers that baked the wood above his head.

  Too terrified to cry, his body bent in crooked contortions as he doubled in pain.

  That night was the longest night of his life. Wishing he were dead, yet glad Hacatine hadn’t killed him and stolen his magic, he endured the hour. If it hadn’t been for the calming spirit of the cedar tree that he had become a part of, Silvio would not have survived.

  Days passed. The sun traveled higher. The golden leaves on the maples floated on the breeze and landed in soft piles at Silvio’s feet.

  Frost formed in delicate crystals on everything he could see, and then the clouds dropped snowflakes until a hush blanketed the land in white. Season after season, nothing more than an old gray stump, the tree’s roots dug deep into the moist ground, sucking life from the earth and transferring its healing to Silvio. Like an embryo feeding in its mother’s womb, the quiet ways of the cedar became his life blood. Silvio learned to accept where he was and in time, grew accustomed to his crookedness, and to his fate, though he clung to the hope that someday he would be released.

  Tale of the Four Wizards

  Meneka

  Night Flight

  You’re lucky you’re alive, you know.” Meneka squeezed the water from his shirt and slid onto the seat of the skiff. He lowered the oars into the ebony sea and leaned into the rhythm of the tide, casting a concerned scowl at his older friend. Kaempie coughed and wrestled for air.

  “Why did you chase after the boat? You should have stayed. Your darling Silvio would need you.”

  Kaempie pulled himself to an upright position, spitting over the side of the skiff. “I nearly drowned. You’re a fool. Why did you get in the boat? We were supposed to stay together.”

  “And burn?”

  “Burn? Is that it? You were worried about your life? What about the rest of us? What about Silvio? What about Reuben?”

  Meneka lifted his head as if the horizon could be seen, but it couldn’t. There was no trace of land anymore, or of the two comrades they left behind. A thick layer of cloud shrouded them. It was so dark that he could barely tell the damp moist air from the ocean that they skated on. He eyed his shivering comrade with contempt. “I’d be better off alone than listening to your badgering.”

  Kaempie took off the leather that hung over his shoulders and threw it on the deck, a drenched rag no longer resembling a shirt.

  “How far have we come?” the older wizard asked.

  Meneka shrugged.

  Kaempie moved next to him. “Let me row. I need to get warm.”

  “Fine. Do it yourself then. My arms are tired, and I’m hungry anyway. Blast you, Kaempie, why do you always have to take charge?” Meneka said.

  Meneka gave up his oars and scrambled to find the meager rations that had been tossed into the skiff earlier that evening. He loosened the tie to a leather pouch that was tucked under the bow, lips pursed as he pulled out its contents.

  “The bread’s wet,” he said with a growl.

  “You can still eat it.”

  “Maybe you can.” Meneka held the soaked meal under Kaempie’s nose. “I’m not eating this garbage.”

  They glared at each other. A gust of salty air blew Meneka’s hair into his eyes and he squinted, wiping the strands that stuck to the corners of his chapped lips. He tossed the wet bread into the sea.

  Life had been rough for the sixteen-year-old. Kaempie might have hope, but Meneka knew there wasn’t any. Hope had disappeared with the rebellion.

  The queen had ordered his father slain. His mother, too distressed to tend to his needs, sent her son away from Taikus. Meneka didn’t have to leave his homeland. Hacatine was not a threat to the younger boys, not until they came of age. Even so, being one of the last four wisdom-carriers, his fate was spelled out. Once eighteen, the Queen would strip him of his powers, just as was her plan for Kaempie and all the other men of the island. The souls she harvested magic from remained a miserable lot. She left them hanging onto a thread of life, worthless and mindless. If she felt merciful, she would kill them.

  Now that they had escaped, the four young conjurers could never return home. Kaempie had been convinced that there was only one safe place in the entire world for them to run, the northern peninsula, where the wi
nds continually proved themselves mightier than the wicked queen.

  “We should have stayed with Silvio and Reuben,” Kaempie said softly. “Our power is greater when we’re together. We would have made it to the North on foot.” His strong arms moved the boat over the crest of the waves with skill Meneka had yet to master. Despite Kaempie’s confidence, Meneka was certain the fair-haired teen was wrong this time.

  “Hacatine has griffons. Vultures. They’re her eyes, and they’re everywhere. Besides, she was already headed for the Bandene coastline. Our only escape was by sea.”

  Kaempie shook his head and Meneka almost wished he’d argue with him.

  Anger churned inside of Meneka as violently as the sea tossed their little boat. He wasn’t bitter toward Kaempie, not entirely. But life had dealt him a raw edge, and he longed to lash out at someone. A good quarrel would be a relief. Resigned that he’d have to hold his temper yet another day, Meneka curled up in the bow, letting the damp wood of the skiff protect him from the wind.

  Adrift on a dark foggy night, uncertain as to the direction they were headed, Kaempie rowed and Meneka let the roll of the ocean lull him to sleep.

  When he woke, the sea had calmed. A cold breeze stung his wet skin and he shivered, opening his eyes to the gray skies and the call of a seagull. It wasn’t until he sat up that he realized what the gull’s squawk meant.

  “We’re coming ashore,” Kaempie whispered.

  Port of Man

  Meneka sprung up, facing starboard over the bow, watching the activities in the distance. “There, look. Is that a welcome sight, Kaempie? Tell me that’s not a welcome sight.”

  Not only were they near land, but also they were near civilization. Northeast of the white sands of the beach nearest to them, they saw workers tending to a fleet of small fishing boats. These were the shores of the northern tribe, and the small seaside village nestled at the foot of the grandest mountain in the entire world. Meneka laughed, rolling his fist in victory. “Yes, sir!”

  Kaempie rested his oar on his lap as the boat turned about with the rocking of the waves. He sat silent.

  “What are you waiting for?” Meneka asked, “Let’s go. Row.”

  Kaempie shook his head. “Those are men. Humans. I think we should be cautious.”

  “Bound-in-lightning right, they’re men. Those people have food, shelter, and dry clothes. Let’s go.”

  “No, Meneka, wait! Taikans and men have no peace treaty. Hacatine has used her sorcery on these parts of the world before. There’s no promise that an arrow wouldn’t find our hearts before we set our feet on dry ground.”

  “What?” Meneka snickered and then spat into the salty surf. “Two boys like us adrift in the sea? What threat do we pose? You think they would kill us right off? I highly doubt it.” Meneka heaved his oar again. Kaempie grabbed his wrist and held him. The boy was no match for the elder’s strength.

  “Stop,” Kaempie whispered, his breath like a snake’s. “I’ve had enough of your impudence. You’ll listen to me this time.”

  “Why? Do you own me? Are you my king?

  “Stop it, Meneka, I’m merely concerned for our safety.”

  “Are you? Safety? Are you a hero? If so, where were you when my father died?”

  “Quiet your voice before they hear us.” But as soon as Kaempie said it, he had fed the fire.

  Meneka’s eyes widened, a grin stretched across his face. “I’m not afraid of men. I have more power than any of those worms. You think I’m afraid?” His voice echoed from the bluffs that towered over the shore.

  “What do you know? You’ve never dealt with men. You don’t even know what powers work against them,” Kaempie said.

  “I know I have magic and they don’t. That’s all I need to know.”

  Kaempie brought the boat about again.

  Meneka stood in the center of the skiff. “Hallo!” he waved, calling to those onshore.

  “Why are you so insolent? Be gone with you, then, Meneka,” Kaempie said, his face red with fury.

  Surprised by the sudden thrust of an oar into his stomach, Meneka clutched onto the slimy wooden pole. The two wrestled until the boat rocked uncontrollably. When Kaempie lunged forward and wrapped his strong arms around his chest, Meneka squirmed. He kicked and finally bit Kaempie on the arm. The older boy grabbed him in a headlock.

  “Free me,” Meneka cried.

  “Not until you’re quiet.”

  “I’ll never be quiet.”

  “Then you’ll never be free.”

  “Let me go.” With that he released a scream that echoed against the bluffs and carried on the wind.

  They’d been heard, and seen shortly after. A crowd of people on the shore pointed at them, and soon boats were pushed into the water and boarded. Arrows flew.

  “Help,” Meneka screamed when Kaempie released him. He scooted to the stern and faced the men.

  “What are you doing?”

  Meneka called out again, his eyes wild. He waved at the boats as arrows flew past his head.

  “Get down Meneka. They’ll kill you.” Kaempie reached for his bow but it was too late. Meneka dove into the water, leaving Kaempie to contend with the onslaught. The older wizard rowed as fast and as hard as he could until he guided the skiff around the point of the bluff and out of sight.

  Meneka swam, turning toward the closest shore, his strokes strong and sure. He rolled with the waves as they broke onto the beach. As soon as he felt rocks and shells against his knees he planted his feet deep into the sand and stood above the rolling surf. He walked toward his attackers.

  The archers had abandoned their skiffs and ran along the beach, bows in hand. When Meneka neared, several of them stooped to shoot.

  Meneka shook the wet and gravelly hair from his eyes and spat the sand from his mouth. The arrows buzzed by his shoulders. He ducked, dodged, and jumped away as they flew at his chest.

  Then he did something that surprised even himself. He reached out and grabbed a projectile as it flew. The shaft splintered in his hand as he stopped its flight. He caught another and threw it to the ground.

  “I knew I had powers over men. Look, Kaempie. You should be here. You should check this out.” He gazed back at the breaking tide, but the skiff and his friend were gone.

  The attackers scurried away in haste. Arrows no longer flew; instead, the archers ran back along the beach from where they came. Meneka followed, holding their last flying arrow in his hand. He laughed. “Fools, you had better run!”

  Confrontation

  So this is what Hacatine feels like when her subjects tremble at her feet! Ha! No wonder she wants to rule Taikus. Not a bad feeling. Not bad at all.

  Word must have already spread throughout the settlement telling of Meneka’s ability to catch the rocketing arrows. People stirred in the village as he approached the wharf, moving in and out of their primitive homes made from driftwood covered with woven mats. Meneka sneered quietly to himself, the warm, dry sand now tickling his toes. Barbarians! Beavers have more civilized homes than these.

  As he neared the village, the conjurer got a good look at the group of boys who had attacked him. They were not much older than he was. They huddled together, curiosity in their pale eyes, their blond hair falling in curly locks off their shoulders, donned in loin skins of a pulp-like material that Meneka was unfamiliar with. Their bodies were tan and fit. Older men filtered into their congregation. The men were dressed in woven pants, their chests bare. They directed the boys to stand behind them.

  “Who are you?” A man stepped forward, crossing his arms. His language was foreign, but having the gift of understanding he was able to speak foreign tongues.

  “Meneka.” The conjurer only gave the man a half smile, wondering what sort of defense these natives presumed they had against him. “From Taikus. I’m a wizard.”

  The man waited for the mumbling behind him to cease before he spoke again. Meneka’s eye twinkled with delight as he watched the crowd’s reaction. />
  “What do you want with us?”

  “Well, you can start by giving me some food.” His hope for dry clothes had already been stifled. These people had nothing he would wear. He’d wring out his leather and let the sun soak up the night’s damage. “A place to rest.”

  Silence.

  That surprised Meneka. Surely this village had a policy toward nomads that entailed more than sending wobbly projectiles their way. “What? You can’t help a stranger out?”

  “A stranger from Taikus? Why would we?” the man retorted quickly.

  Meneka grinned and held up the arrow he’d been carrying, tightening his fist around the shaft. With a single thought, the arrow burst into flame. He dropped it in the sand at the man’s feet, and then laughed when the crowd jumped away.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Meneka asked.

  The leader’s face reddened. He turned to his comrades and they spoke quietly among themselves. Meneka was certain they’d grant his request, and turned his attention to the wide-eyed boys. There wasn’t much to say to them. He was on a level much higher than they, coming from a country so much more civilized than this one. Still, he liked the awe that shone in their eyes. Meneka was going to be considered special here. Something he had never been back home.

  When the men stepped out of their huddle, they turned toward the boys and motioned them away, pointing to the village. The men followed the group of boys up the hill. Meneka watched them leave, puzzled. His gaze fell back on the one person who remained.