“Well, if you enjoyed that tale, perhaps you will accept my humble invitation to entertain you and your son for the evening,” the young, dark-haired man offered with a bright smile.
Kazen tugged excitedly on Ilagon’s cloak.
“It would be an honor to accept such a gracious and kind offer.” Ilagon bowed courteously.
“Excellent!” the young man said with a loud clap of his hands. “Come, then! Comfort yourself at our modest fire!”
Thrilled, Kazen hurried alongside the two men. He had never seen such a convoy before. There were four brightly colored wagons in all, each one draped with dangling chimes and bells that clanked and dinged noisily with the slightest draft. Their horses wore giant red feathers atop their heads, and their tails were braided with gold and blue ribbons.
The young performer himself was a sight unlike Kazen had ever seen. His short, curly hair, and bronzed, leathery skin were an uncommon sight. The robe he wore shined in the sun with a rainbow of colors, like the scales of silver fish out of water. His long sleeves hung to his knuckles, and the hem of his robe brushed the top of his sandaled feet. Bright wooden beads dangled from his neck, and silver rings sparkled on every finger.
“Come and sit, my friends!” He motioned for Kazen and Ilagon to sit beside the fire.
Two other men and an elderly woman were already seated on logs that had been carefully arranged in a circle around the campfire.
The young man slapped his forehead with his open palm. “Forgive my rudeness! Introductions are well overdue! My name is Pietro, and I am your humble servant.” He sang the words with a dramatic bow. “Dining with us tonight is my loyal family.” He gestured grandly to each person as he made his introductions. “My brother, Veldi.”
He was much shorter than Pietro, but dressed equally as extravagantly, with a flowing body sash and soft shoes that jingled when he walked. Smiling deviously, he leapt into a spontaneous back flip, landing squarely on his feet. Kazen applauded merrily, and Veldi tipped his head with a smile.
“My papa, Shilo.”
Clad in more conservative clothing, he smiled and bowed sincerely to both Kazen and Ilagon. Though his graying hair and wrinkled skin betrayed his age, his large build and strong shoulders revealed a man who had not given up on hard labor.
“And my beloved grandmamma, Christina.”
Despite her age, the short, stout woman was most definitely not frail. Her scores of colorful beads and bells clacked and jingled as she laughed a hearty laugh and smiled a nearly toothless grin. Raising her wrinkled hands to Kazen, she kissed him once on each cheek.
Ilagon was next to speak, in his most formal tone. “My name is Ilagon, and this is my nephew, Kazen. Your generous hospitality is most appreciated, and we are honored to be at your service.” He bowed politely and motioned for Kazen to do the same, which he did, if not a tad awkwardly.
Pietro’s family looked on and smiled kindly, but did not speak.
“You must forgive them,” Pietro said. “I am the only one among my family who can speak the tongue of this land. But do not fear, for I have been known to do the talking of four people.” He nudged Kazen with a wink. “But now is the time for food and drink! The meat is tender and the broth is hearty. Once you have tasted a stew made by dear Christina, your stomach will cringe at the thought of any other! While we eat, I will tell you of our travels and then you must tell us of your adventures as well.”
The stew was the most delicious Kazen had ever tasted. He did not want to appear rude, but could not help but accept helping after helping as it was offered to him. The hot meal and fruit-flavored water soothed Kazen’s body and spirit. He relaxed for the first time since setting out on their journey.
Pietro did not exaggerate his ability to talk. He chattered about his travels well after dusk and into the night. Ilagon did not seem to mind the endless conversation. Listening intently to every account, he seemed genuinely interested in even the most mundane details.
Kazen spent much of the evening under Veldi’s patient tutelage, who tried, with little success, to teach him how to juggle. In fact, the pair spent most of the time cackling and howling at his disastrous attempts. Just as Kazen thought his ribs might explode from laughing so hard, Veldi suddenly ushered him over to the fire and with great excitement, sat him down before Shilo. An exotic-looking stringed instrument in his hands, the old man began to pluck a surprisingly delicate tune with his thick, calloused fingers. The music was beautiful and spirited, and Kazen felt his heart soar with every note.
Though they did not speak the same language, Kazen was sure he had found new friends here. He could not remember the last time he had had so much fun, or felt so at ease. Perhaps, he hoped, Ilagon would even let them stay on for a day or two.
“Sas tychi, Kazen! Sas tychi!” The old woman beckoned to Kazen. She tugged gently at his arm, but he could only smile politely and shake his head. Finally, she called to her son. “Pietro! Lego arthro paidi.”
“She wants to tell you your future.” Pietro laughed. “Grandmamma is a palm reader. You’ll have to indulge her; she can be quite persistent.”
Excited at the thought of having his future told, Kazen quickly offered her his left hand. She took one look at the symbol on his palm and began screaming uncontrollably. “Kako! Kako!” she shrieked in obvious fright.
Startled, Kazen stumbled backward, almost landing himself in the roaring fire.
Pietro rushed to the old woman’s side. She rambled hysterically to him in her native tongue, pointing accusingly at Kazen. Pietro was eventually able to coax her into Shilo’s arms, who escorted her into one of the wagons. Sighing heavily, Pietro spoke reluctantly. “Words cannot express my sorrow, friends, but I must ask the two of you to leave at once.”
“Did we do something to offend your family?” Ilagon asked, though he had already guessed what had happened.
“It’s the mark on the boy’s hand,” Pietro explained. “My grandmother believes it is the brand of the wicked.”
“That’s not true!” Kazen cried, visibly hurt at the insinuation.
“Enough, Kazen,” Ilagon said.
Bowing respectfully, Ilagon spoke quietly with Pietro. “We are deeply sorry that we have upset your grandmother. You have been more than gracious this evening, and we remain in your debt. We will leave at once and trouble you no further.”
Gathering their belongings quickly, Kazen and Ilagon packed up the horses and rode quietly into the night.
Kazen glanced down at the symbol on his hand and cursed his carelessness. “I am sorry, Ilagon,” he said sadly.
“It is all right,” Ilagon assured him. “We both let ourselves get too comfortable.”
“Why would she think this mark is evil?” asked Kazen.
Ilagon sighed softly. “She may have seen the symbol before. In the past, that mark has been used to weaken the power of wizards who had gone astray and used their magic for evil or self-gain. It was branded on their foreheads so they could not escape their shame, and so that the world would know them.”
Kazen’s heart sank. That mark of shame, no matter the circumstance, was branded into his flesh forever. How many others would flee in fear from him? How many would wish to kill him for bearing such a mark?
Trudging into the night, the campfire they left behind had just begun to fade to a distant flicker when they heard loud footfalls coming from behind.
“Wait! My friends! Please, wait!” Pietro stepped into the light of Ilagon’s torch. “You must take these rolls with you. They are hearty and will last many days before spoiling.” He handed a small sack to Kazen.
“You are a good man, Pietro,” Ilagon said. “Thank you.”
Pietro looked at Kazen and patted him firmly on the cheek. “My grandmother is old and set in her ways. I don’t believe you are wicked. In fact, the truth that shines in your eyes is brighter than any I have ever seen. I am not blessed with the powers of foresight, but even I can see you have greatness in your future.�
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With a final round of handshakes, Pietro slipped back into the night. “Goodbye, my friends! Perhaps in our next lives we shall cross paths again!”
Kazen smiled as the colorful man trotted back to his camp. “I will miss him.”
“As will I,” agreed Ilagon.
Chapter 5
After three days of traveling, just as Pietro had said, Ilagon and Kazen came upon an impossible sight.
“What is that, Ilagon?”
“I believe that is our oasis.” Ilagon laughed.
Ahead of them, beyond the vast wasteland they had called home for so long, stood a brilliant green forest. Though a welcome sight to behold, the perfectly straight tree line that cut across the scorched terrain was strange and a little unnerving.
As they entered the thick woods, the smell of sweet lilacs and pinesap filled the air. The dense canopy of swaying branches and leaves instantly tempered the cruel afternoon sun. The cool shade and gentle breeze sent a chill over Kazen. He pulled his cloak close around his shoulders. Catching the scent of fresh water in the air, the horses could not be restrained. They bolted through the trees at full gallop until finally stopping at a small, still pond. Ilagon and Kazen quickly unbridled the thirsty horses and let them drink their fill.
“I do not think we need to go any farther today.” Ilagon began clearing a site for their camp. “We have traveled hard; a day’s rest will do the horses good.”
Kazen looked around distastefully as he started to unpack the horses. “I do not think I like it here. It is not natural, this place. In the barrens we could at least see what was ahead of us and what was behind, but in these thick woods we could be surrounded by an entire army and not even be aware of it.”
Ilagon laughed. “Never have I heard someone protest so avidly, the cool shade and ample supply of water offered by a rich forest. But it is well to hear you take in your surroundings with a bit of caution. It is a sign of a good leader.”
Rolling his eyes, Kazen removed the saddle from Omin and sent her off to graze the high grasses. He sat beside the lucid pool and splashed cool water on his face and neck. The soft green grass was too inviting to resist, and soon he found himself flopping comfortably into the tall reeds. Streaks of soft, feathery clouds stretched across the deep blue sky, and the fervent chirps of nervous starlings filled the forest. Yellow pollen and downy-like dandelion seeds drifted lazily above his head. Rays from the afternoon sun filtered through overhead foliage to create beautiful patterns of light on the forest floor. A sleepy haze fell over him and his head began to nod. He had no sooner closed his eyes when a cold shadow fell over his face. Opening one eye, he saw Ilagon standing over him, smiling deviously.
“Comfortable?” Ilagon asked in a sarcastic tone.
“Yes, very,” Kazen answered warily.
“Excellent. Now that your body is resting comfortably, perhaps it would be wise to use this time to exercise your mind.” Ilagon tapped a finger on Kazen’s head.
“Magic?” Kazen sat up, definitely intrigued.
“Indeed.”
“All right, then. How do I start?” Jumping to his feet, Kazen rubbed his hands together, eager to learn.
“I have set up some kindling for a fire, over there, by the water’s edge. I would like you to ignite it.” Ilagon put his arm around Kazen’s shoulder as they walked.
“Are you going to teach me the magic words?”
“There are no magic words.” Ilagon chuckled.
“But I heard you speak them when you fought the raiders in town.”
“Those are not words I can teach you. What you heard was an ancient language, spoken only by wizards. It is a language already embedded deep within you. When you are ready, the words will slip from your tongue like a familiar song, and you will wonder how it was you could not recall them to begin with. But first, you must find the magic within you, and learn how to release it.” Ilagon patted Kazen once on the back, turned, and walked away.
“Wait! How am I supposed to find the magic within me?”
“I cannot help you to find your power. It is something you must find on your own. Ignite the fire, and try not to ignite yourself in the process.” Ilagon sat down beside a sturdy tree, pulled his hood down over his eyes, and began humming softly.
Kazen groaned and plopped down in a heap in front of the kindling. Resting his chin in his hand, he stared with aggravation at the pile of twigs, tapped his fingers impatiently on his knee, squinted intently at the sticks and tried willing them to catch fire. He tried closing his eyes and imagined the kindling bursting into flames. Stretching his hands out over the twigs, he concentrated as hard as he could and tensed his whole body until his arms trembled and finally fell to his side.
Hours passed and the kindling remained unscathed. Kazen was growing more and more frustrated. He had hoped he would have picked this up as easy as he did the sword. In the past, his temper had been the trigger to set off his power. Perhaps, he thought, anger was the key. He glared wrathfully at the pile of twigs and tried to think hateful thoughts. He even tried sneering and growling. Though he managed to give himself quite a headache, the wood did not so much as smolder. Finally incensed, he jumped to his feet, cursing and kicking angrily at the kindling.
“Burn or else!” he yelled, a bit louder than he had meant to.
“I have never known the forces of nature to bend to idle threats.” Ilagon peeked out from under his hood.
Kazen’s neck burned red from embarrassment as Ilagon walked over to him. They looked down together at the untouched kindling.
Ilagon shook his head and spoke in a patronizing voice. “Well, I am sure somewhere in the world greater men than you have been defeated by less.” He nudged Kazen teasingly with his elbow.
Kazen half smiled and exhaled heavily.
“Come now, I did not expect you to be able to do it on your first try. When you are ready, you will find your power.” He handed Kazen a flint. “In the meantime, get a fire started and I will see about supper.”
Taking his bow and quiver, Ilagon left for a short while and returned with a plump pheasant. The filling meal and comfortable surroundings rejuvenated their spirits. They talked and laughed for hours, like they once had in days gone by.
“Ilagon,” Kazen said, still nibbling on a pheasant wing. “Who is it we are going to see?”
“His name is Valduron. He is the wisest of all the elders, and he has often offered his counsel to wizards in the past.”
“What do you think he will have us do?” Kazen asked.
Tossing a branch onto the fire, Ilagon laid back, crossing his arms behind his head. “I cannot say for sure. But it is my hope that he will have the means to call a gathering of kings. If Gregore has truly returned, it will take the united armies of every kingdom to march against him.”
“Do you think they will listen to this elder? Do you think they will follow him?”
“They will follow you,” Ilagon said with a hard stare.
“Me?” Kazen laughed nervously. “Why would they listen to me?”
“Because you are the Flame Weaver,” Ilagon answered, scarcely concealing the doubt in his own voice. “That will have to be enough.”
Kazen stared into the fire, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. “How do we even know this Gregore is coming?” he mumbled morosely. “There has been no rumor of war or attacks on anyone. If there was a dark army being raised, would not someone take notice?”
“Gregore does not rely on armies of men. It is within the shadows that his true legions dwell. There have been too many signs to be ignored. From the drought in Napis Fare, to the stalling seasons all across the land, the world is in turmoil. Only a great imbalance of shadow and light can cause such chaos. Gregore is coming.”
The next morning came too quickly for Kazen. Dreams, dark and clouded, filled his night, leaving him weary and shaken. Still, the morning was beautiful, perhaps as beautiful as he could ever remember seeing. An eye-opening sun,
yellow and red, peeked over the pointed treetops, while listless clouds, outlined in chalky hues of pink and blue, hovered high over the horizon. Brilliant pink blossoms, caught in a gentle current, swirled leisurely about.
Before setting out for the day, Kazen had a few more tries at a fresh pile of kindling. Unfortunately, he had the same amount of success as he had the night before. With a disappointed shrug, he packed up the horses and started off the road alongside Ilagon.
The trails they followed seemed to become more overgrown the farther north they traveled. Thick, prickly bushes sprawled out over the road, and they many times found the path blocked by fallen trees or branches. Walking the horses through thick grasses and over uneven terrain was tedious and time-consuming. Ilagon seemed most frustrated with their slow progress, cursing and shaking his head whenever they were forced off the road. Kazen, however, had begun to enjoy the change of scenery. His skepticism and unease had diminished, and he was quite content just losing his thoughts in the peaceful forest.
Scratching absently at the sporadic patches of whiskers on his chin, Kazen realized he had lost count of the days. Traveling, for the most part, from dawn ’til dusk, the days often seemed to melt into each other, making it difficult to keep track.
“How much farther do we have to go?” he yelled to Ilagon, who was clearing a path a few yards ahead.
Ilagon wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Well, we have made good time up until now, but if this road does not clear up, it could be another week until we reach Crenin Non.” He crinkled his brow in puzzlement. “I do not understand how this path has become so overgrown. This is the main road coming from the north.” Pushing aside a large limb, a sharp stalk caught him on the side of the cheek, leaving a deep gash. Through a painful wince, he managed a sardonic smile. “But I suppose an easy journey would not make for very good story-telling.”
The Flame Weaver Page 6
