by Curtis, Greg
“Why?” Despite his fears, his self doubt, there was nothing of condemnation in her question, yet, only curiosity and perhaps even concern for him, and for some reason he discovered within himself that he had the strength to tell her the sorry details of his failure. Maybe it was about time he admitted the truth to someone other than the creatures of the forest, confessed his crime aloud. Maybe it was well overdue.
“It was a long time ago, when I was barely out of childhood. There was a contest, a wizards duel, and I was called out by a rival.” It was the absolute truth and it was a complete nonsense. Wizards didn’t have rivals, they didn’t have enemies either, nor did they engage in duels, but children, and both of them had been little more than that at the time, did. Those with magic in the blood for some reason aged more slowly than others, and though as an eighteen year old he would have been a man anywhere else, in the guild he was but a child. So too was his rival. But he hadn’t considered that.
“In those days I was young and stupid, I had pride, too much pride and too little sense, and I accepted the challenge instead of telling Kyran to go away as I should have. It was a mistake, for both of us.” Just speaking his name aloud after so many years brought Kyran’s face back to him, and all the terrible little torments he had inflicted or tried to inflict upon him. The boy had been a bully, and worse than that, someone with the ability and nature to carry out his ill will on his classmates.
Marjan had hated him so much as a child, especially when he had tormented his friends mercilessly when he couldn’t harm him, minor magics, put downs and occasionally actual fights, more kicks and punches, hot sparks and flashes in the pants, than anything more serious, but to a child they were important things. He had even threatened to unleash Qua’thor’s ghost upon him, the ancient and most terrible of wizards to ever walk the earth. But that at least Marjan had known was a lie. Qua’thor was dead three or more thousand years ago, and all that remained of him were tall tales. But it frightened the younger ones. They believed that Kyran could actually do as he said, that he could send the dark wizard walking among them to steal their souls. They had cried for days and refused to let the lamps be turned off at night, while Kyran had walked the halls, laughing at their fear.
For eight long years while they had lived together in the guild dorms and he had continued his hateful ways, Marjan’s hatred had only grown stronger, but still, now, thinking back on him, he felt mainly sorrow and regret for what had passed. Time had changed things, even his feelings, as was its nature. Kyran had been a bully, but he had also been a child.
“We had never been friends, he was a year older than me and constantly annoyed by the fact that my casting was at least as strong as his even from the start. He hated it when our masters praised me over him. He was angrier still when he achieved the rank of adept and yet I as a mere apprentice was more powerful than him. That was too much and he would not forgive me for it. He was also reckless, dangerous and determined to kill me at any cost, though I did not know how deep his hatred ran back then. I was a fool and never the best with people.” An understatement if ever there was one. He had buried himself in his studies and hardly ever gone out, mostly because when he did he made a fool of himself with his poor social graces. But then that had probably only served to make him a more powerful wizard and better student.
“Determined to win, maybe to kill me, he had set up an arena in the catacombs under the Guild, set it up in advance to suit himself, and to make sure of his victory he had studied particularly lethal spells day and night, while I, an idiot to the end, foolishly stepped casually in to the arena with him. I thought it would be a typical duel, fair and safe, but I also thought I would win, and in doing so shame him further which would have pleased me. I was not an innocent in this crime, no saint persecuted by an accident of fate or a victim of injustice.” It was important to him that she understand that, that she did not think him trying to wriggle out of his guilt with excuses. He had always been taught that a man had to admit what he had done, right or wrong, accept it and atone for it if he could. Unfortunately there were some things that could never be fixed, some mistakes that could never be undone or properly atoned for, but he still had to admit them.
“Of course he attacked me with everything he had, summoning beasts and forces without number, using his gift in ways that were not permitted even in a combat arena which was properly warded and watched, and instead of leaving, I was just as stupid as I stood strong against him. Wrapped up in my anger and self-belief, frightened but determined, I fought back, again using everything I knew. As he broke the rules, so did I playing with elemental magics far too strong for the arena, or for me. It was a hard fought battle. He had a little more knowledge, I the greater strength and neither of us the slightest shred of morality or wisdom.”
“In the end things played out as anyone should have known they would, the battle could only ever have ended in death, though he thought it would be mine, and I never even considered the possibility in my ignorance. He had sworn the others who watched to secrecy and placed wards upon the arena so that the teachers would not notice it and so could not stop it. So when he summoned a three headed swamp hydra to attack me, a beast not allowed to be called by any student at all let alone in an unwarded arena of testing, and no master came to stop it, I thought my life was over, I panicked. I used a spell of confusion on it, and everything fell apart. It attacked him instead, and because he was standing right beside it, he had no chance to defend himself. It was just too fast.” It was more than that of course, it was horrible, and sometimes still in his dreams, he relived those last terrible few seconds and awoke feeling sick.
“He was killed instantly by his own beast before he could raise a counter, bitten savagely and ripped into pieces in front of me, and I could not stop it, not quickly enough. Perhaps I didn’t want to, not at first. I remember a moment of triumph when he screamed and I knew I’d won, before the horror set in and I knew my crime.” That moment, that instant of triumph, had cost him more than just his future and his home, on his bad days he believed it had cost him his very soul, and now, whenever he thought back to it, he hated himself for that. He hated the evil that had grown within him.
“The blood, I remember there was so much of it, was sprayed everywhere covering everything including me, and when Kyran’s lifeless corpse finally remembered to fall down it pooled around what remained of his body in a small lake. The smell of it will live with me forever. His screams cut short as they were, will also live with me in my nightmares, as will the shock and horror etched into his dying eyes.” But most of all it was the knowledge of what he had done that would remain with him. The guilt and shame of having used his gift to kill.
“I knew immediately that I had killed him, that no one could have survived such an attack though some of those watching foolishly called for the healers while others just screamed in their horror. And I knew that I had broken all my vows, and that I would never be able to undo my crime, and I knew what would happen to me. There was always only one possible punishment.”
“Later after the hearing I was expelled as a maverick, banished from the Guild and my life, but in truth there was no need for a trial. I was guilty and I knew the punishment for my crime before Kyran’s lifeless body had even fallen to the floor.” The only sound for a long time after that was that of teeth chewing the oatcakes, and in truth Marjan didn’t want to hear anything else anyway. The past was a long time ago and a painful memory.
“Surely that was self defence.” Marjan grimaced as he heard her speak the words he had tried to tell himself for too long. The lies. He could not allow them.
“No good maiden. I entered that arena of my own free will, and I cast the magic that killed Kyran. Every wizard, every mage or spellcaster, should always know the consequences of every magic that he casts, before he casts it. That is the first lesson in magic that we are taught, control. More than any others a wizard must always know his purpose in every action as I should have know
n. Also the first lesson of life that we are taught, in truth the only one, is to obey the law, and I broke it from the moment I set foot in that arena. Wizards don’t fight. Control and obedience to the law, that’s our way. I should never have gotten into that arena, and even in it I had other choices, other magics I could have used. But in the heat of battle, in my fear and rage I did not think of the consequences of my actions. There can be no excuse. I am guilty and my punishment was just. It still is.” He stared her directly in the eyes, not in defiance but rather simple honesty.
“I said the same to his parents, admitting my guilt and apologising for my crime, and no punishment in this world or the next can stand up against that pain.” Their faces too he remembered, a mother lost in tears, a father filled with anger and grief, and all of it his fault. He had not been sent to jail as he no doubt deserved, because the Guild had determined the death as being accidental rather than intentional and because they placed rather more of the blame on Kyran as the one who had set the arena and called the creature, and because he was older and of rank. But in his heart he knew it would have been just and in their anger and hurt, Kyran’s parents had demanded the same and been denied.
Kyran’s parents haunted his dreams on too many nights even now and he said prayers for them every evening, hoping that one day they might forgive him, if only so that they could move on, but he would never know if they had. He’d not seen them since that terrible day, and now he guessed he never would. They like everyone else from Gunder, were either dead or fled, assuming they hadn’t left long ago.
“Let that be a lesson to you children.” He smiled at them as they in turn stared back at him, a mix of confusion and dismay etched into their faces, as they were too young to truly understand his crime. Perhaps that was a good thing.
“Never do things that you cannot undo. Never get into fights you don’t have to. The consequences could be worse than you know, especially if you win.”
“If you’d lost you wouldn’t be here to complain.” Essaline had a point of course, and one he’d reflected upon many times before. Had he done something truly evil, or had he simply survived a terrifying ordeal by virtue of panic and stupidity? Even a decade later he wasn’t completely sure of the answer. He wanted to believe that it was the latter, but always he knew doubt as he remembered that first terrible moment of triumph when he’d known victory, before he’d known overwhelming defeat and he couldn’t lie to himself. There was evil there. Evil that he would have to spend the rest of his life guarding against.
“But had I not fought we both would have been, and I would neither be an outcast nor a killer.” Silence greeted his words, as he knew he was right and so did Essaline. But he suspected she might try to ease his pain again in due course, never realising that he didn’t want it eased. It was simply elven nature to try and remove discord and pain wherever they found it. So he decided to change the subject.
“Now my lady, if you could stay close, keep the children close and calm, and stand watch around me, I’d like to start using my gifts to see what lies ahead of us so we can plan our next move.”
“How?”
“I can cast my thoughts into the minds of many woodland creatures, see through their eyes, and even direct them a little, especially here, in my home. But as I do so I lose the sight of my own eyes.” Normally though, that wouldn’t be a problem. He’d just find himself a safe spot up a tree and make sure to listen to the knickers of his horse, which was an intelligent animal. But in a forest filled with dangerous animals, surrounded by children who could get themselves into all sorts of trouble and whom he should be watching over, it was a more serious concern.
“I can hear you though, and if something happens, just call or tap me on the shoulder.”
With no more than that he leaned back against the trunk of a small elm which had torn its way up through the cobbles years before, relaxed his body, closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift almost lazily out of his flesh. In time he could see himself sitting there, along with Essaline and the children, but only through his wizard sight, an interesting gift and something most wizards valued highly, but not very useful to him just then.
In his minds eye he could see them all as little more than strange orbs of flashing light and changing colour, and if he’d had the time he could have even worked out what they were thinking and feeling. The colours and lights were their emotions, the flashes of light between them their words and thoughts. Many wizards would spend hours like this, studying their fellow men, seeking wisdom and the understanding of the soul, and in his younger days Marjan had done much the same, but not this day. This day he had to find another set of eyes.
Sending his wizard sight out he quickly found a bird flying high above them, a hawk if he wasn’t mistaken, and in a heartbeat he was with it, flying in its body, feeling the air flowing through its feathers, knowing the sheer wonder of flight. Though his ability to share the thoughts and sensations of the wild creatures and even control them wasn’t the most powerful of his magical talents, it was perhaps his most cherished, and quite possibly the reason he had chosen to exile himself in a forest instead of a distant city in a remote realm. There was great joy and tremendous peace in shedding your skin even for a few minutes, something he’d found not enough of since his exile.
The hawk was out hunting for food as she did every day, knowing nothing of the miracle of flight. Soaring high above the land, seeking out her prey, was simply normal life for her, even routine. Of course what it thought of as food and what he did were very different things, and as always he had to quell the distaste he felt as the bird looked for carrion. More than that though, he had to remain calm as he could see smoke ahead in the woods, and knew that the hawk had identified a source of food in what had been Snowy Falls. He didn’t even have to guide the bird as she flew directly there guided by her sense of smell.
“Oh sweet lords!”
He couldn’t help himself as he saw that the war had already come to the town, and even more so than Gunder the locals hadn’t been ready for it. The result was worse than anything he had ever imagined.
“What do you see?” Essaline wasn’t going to wait for him to return fully to his own flesh before she pestered him with questions. Unfortunately that wasn’t the worst of what bothered him. Not by far too many leagues.
“Nothing good. We won’t be able to purchase supplies in town or stop for the night. Snowy Falls has been attacked. There are bodies in the street, hundreds of them, the buildings are on fire, those that haven’t been destroyed already, and the only people I can see walking the street have red uniforms.” Nine or ten years ago when he’d left the guild it would have been difficult speaking to her in his own body while still letting his thoughts see through the eyes of a hawk several leagues away, but no longer. Years of practice had let even his minor gifts shine through. What bothered him now was what his friends showed him and the truth was worse than he’d admitted.
There weren’t hundreds of bodies lying in the streets, there were at least a thousand and Snowy Falls was a small town with only two thousand residents. Worse was the knowledge that he surely knew who many of those bodies had once belonged to, or he would have had he dared asked the hawk to fly lower over the town. But he didn’t do that. Better that he not know he decided, that he leave himself with some mystery, some hope that some of his friends had survived rather than confront the truth. Besides the bodies were terrible mutilated. It would have been hard to identify many of them.
For the past ten years Snowy Falls had been the closest thing he had known to a neighbour, it was a place to visit, to trade his wares for provisions, to have a drink perhaps in the local inns, or just to pass the time with a few friends, and surprisingly he had a few. He might have been expelled from the Guild, but the locals didn’t know that, he had never told them, nor would they have cared if he had. They knew him only as Marjan the woodsman, a regular visitor like many others and they welcomed him as such.
When he h
ad first been expelled, first set up his home in the middle of the Allyssian Forest, drawn to the wrecked cottage by an instinct he didn’t fully understand, he had been a broken man. Filled with remorse for his crime, cast out from all he had known and loved, wallowing in self-pity, and above all else, lonely. The people of Snowy Falls knew nothing of that, but they saw his pain even if they knew not the reason, they saw through his bitterness, and in their own way they had set about healing him.
He had been invited to all the village feasts as was common, entered into far too many of their strange and often inexplicable athletic contests, been plied with ale every time he stepped in an inn and generally been made to feel welcome. They had also bought his healing salves, sleep drafts, curatives and restoratives without even asking how he, a simple woodsman, could have made them. Though a cynical man might have said it was simply the power of commerce in action as they traded his coin, he knew it was more than that. It was community. But now he would never be able to be a part of that community again. No one would.
