Eye of the Wizard: A Fantasy Adventure

by Daniel Arenson

  For a moment, he only saw the afterimage of fire. Then his mind cleared, and he saw Sam Thistle.

  The man was clutching his shoulder.

  "Sam!" Jan whispered. He felt like his own eyes could blaze with fire like the eyes of a demon. "Those who interrupt me during a spell die."

  Jan was a tall man, but Sam Thistle was even taller. A scar ran along his cheek, probably acquired during his battles in the Holy Land. But today this knight, the old friend who'd stolen Amabel, did not look fierce, only sad. There was pity in his eyes, and that made Jan even madder.

  "Jan," the knight said, "old friend, you cannot cast these spells in Burrfield. We allow no black magic here. Return to your Coven. You will not summon your demons here, not in my town."

  Jan barked a laugh. "Your town? Burrfield is as much mine as yours, Thistle. I will summon all the demons I want, and if I want to turn this town into a hive of devilry, I will. Leave now, before I make you bow before me and worship me." He laughed again. "You might have fought barbarians on your Crusades, but you can't intimidate a warlock."

  Sam's eyes narrowed, all pity leaving them. "Maybe," he said, eyes cold. "But what is a warlock without his spells?"

  As fast as Baumgartner after a mouse, Sam Thistle reached out, grabbed Jan's spellbook, and tossed it into the fire.

  For an instant, Jan stared in horror. His heart froze like the moment he saw Amabel married to his old friend. For that instant, pure horror filled him.

  "Damn you!" he screamed, shoving Sam back. Not my spells. Not this spellbook. My life's work is in those pages. Tears of fury in his eyes, fingers trembling, Jan had no second to think. He reached into the fire with his bare hand, screamed, and grabbed the book.

  He pulled the spellbook out, pain overflowing him. His hand was burnt, badly, and Jan had never felt such agony. He could see nothing but red, and had never imagined pain could be so powerful.

  Then he smelled smoke, squinted, and saw that his sleeve had caught fire.

  "Jan, roll on the ground!" came Sam's voice, but it sounded miles away, and the pain roared in Jan's ears. His pockets were full of ashes, powders, flammable potions. They caught fire, and the pain bloomed across his body. Jan fell down, screaming. The fire engulfed him. He rolled around, but the fire grew. I'm burning. I'm burning away.

  He could no longer hear Sam shouting, and all he heard was the flames.

  I'm going to die.

  His life ended here.

  No.

  No!

  I will not give up. I will not let Sam Thistle beat me. I will live!

  He still knew some magic, even without his spellbook. His body burning, he summoned his power, weaved the strands around him, forcing the pain away. He removed his soul from his body, no longer feeling the pain. His spirit hovered above his physical form, and he watched his body burn. He spun the magic around his body with black crackling power, feverishly creating, inventing this spell on the spot. It was magic no one had ever tried. But I'll make it work. I won't die now. Not now. Never. I won't give up.

  With tendrils of magic, he grabbed his life force, pulled it back into his body, kept it there, wrapped it around his bones. I won't let my life escape. His flesh kept burning, smoke flew, fires crackled, and soon Jan Rasmussen was nothing but bones.

  But he kept his life.

  With his black magic, he clung to his soul, imbuing his bones with its power.

  Time passed.

  The stars moved.

  The sun rose.

  They came to bury him, but could not find his bones. Maybe they thought that his bones burned away. But they had not. His skeleton, blackened and ashy, had risen to its feet. It walked now through the forest, still smoking, still hot as fire.

  Jan had no lips left to smile with, but his jaw opened.

  I'm still alive.

  A charred skeleton, he moved between the trees, a trail of ash spreading behind him.

  He returned to the Coven. He moved into the deepest tunnels. When he saw himself in a mirror—an animated skeleton, still very much alive—he couldn't help but laugh.

  Look at me now. Look at these dry bones.

  He grinned at the mirror, his eye sockets empty, black caverns. His laughter echoed through the dark chamber, this chamber miles underground. "Do you see, Sam Thistle? I am still alive. I am still here. I will still kill you." His voice rose, maniacal. He clenched his skeleton fists. "But Sam... now I will do more. I will kill you, and I will kill your wife, I will kill Amabel who betrayed me, Amabel whom you love. I will destroy your town. I will hunt down your children and kill them. Live your life for a few years, Sam Thistle. Raise a family. Pretend that I am dead, pretend that you are happy. And just when you think you've forgotten about me... just when you think your life is good, that you are happy... I will return, Sam Thistle. I will find you at the height of your joy, and then you will realize how much you will lose."

  His teeth clacked in his jaw as he laughed. His laughter echoed through the tunnels of the Coven, and even the mightiest warlocks shivered.

  Dry Bones sat down in his chair, folded his hands in his lap, and opened his jawbone in a skeletal smile.

  Chapter Eight

  The Spiderweb

  Neev regretted throwing away his pointy spellbook.

  The day Dry Bones had banished him, the spellbook had settled awkwardly in his backpack, jabbing him. With Romy annoying the hell out of him, he had tossed the book into the forest with rage, and now he cursed himself. That spellbook had contained just the spell he needed now: a mute spell.

  The other Bullies were bickering so loudly around him, Neev's ears ached and his nerves frizzled. If only I had the magic to silence their yammering. As the Bullies walked through the countryside, following a dirt road, Romy was singing an annoying song about beer bottles on a wall. Jamie was yelling at her to shut up. Scruff was grumbling about his hunger, and his stomach grumbled just as loudly. Even Cobweb was grating Neev's nerves; she was practicing her talking, babbling an endless string of words like a baby just learning to speak.

  "Will you be quiet?" Neev demanded with a scowl. "I'm trying to think here."

  With all the noise, nobody heard him. Neev moaned. Why oh why did I toss out the spellbook with the silencing spell....

  Perrywine and its dead poodle lay miles south. Even the smoke of its chimneys was too distant to see. Fields of flax rolled to the east, undulating toward distant purple mountains. In the west, a forest of beech, ash, and elm rose, rustling for miles before disappearing into mist. To the north lay grassy hills bristly with pear trees. Even Neev—who preferred dusty dens and basements to the great outdoors—could appreciate the beauty of this landscape. And yet the other Bullies made it impossible to enjoy. Jamie had taken to kicking Romy, grunting like an enraged boar. The demon was squealing and running away, Jamie in hot pursuit, boots flying. To overpower the sounds of the quarrel, Scruff raised the volume of his moaning, while Cobweb practiced her words with new relish. "P-p-petew p-pipew p-p-picked a p-peppew," the spiderling was gleefully announcing to any who'd listen.

  "Shut it!" Neev shouted, but nobody heard him. He wanted to figure out a solution to their predicament, but how was that possible in this noise?

  When the sun reached its zenith, Scruff stormed off the road, plunked himself down between rows of flax, and announced, "I'm not taking another step until we eat lunch."

  "Ooh, lunch!" Romy said, freezing and opening her eyes wide. Jamie managed to kick her, and the demon yelped.

  They set camp by a scarecrow sporting a straw hat and a pitchfork. Crows sat upon its arms, watching the Bullies with curious looks; Neev could swear he saw the birds raising their eyebrows, and he wasn't even sure crows had eyebrows. Seeing the birds, Romy whimpered, sucked her thumb, and sat as far as possible from them.

  His own stomach suddenly growling, Neev took some firewood out of his backpack, arranged the sticks on a patch of bare earth, and said to Romy, "If you please?"

  The demon nodde
d and snapped her fingers, sending a spark to ignite the campfire.

  Within an instant, Scruff had turnips roasting on a couple spits. It was their only food. How many more poodles are we going to have to kill? Neev wondered, watching the fire. This wouldn't work for long. They had food for another day or two. What would happen next? Would they starve? More squealing interrupted his thoughts; Romy had begun to sing again, and Jamie to kick her.

  When the turnips were ready, there were finally a few moments of quiet as the Bullies ate. Scruff gobbled noisily, and Romy made an annoying humming as she chewed, but otherwise Neev thanked God for the relative peace. He chewed his turnip thoughtfully, gazing into the misty forests, watching the birds flutter.

  As he ate, he found his gaze drawn to Romy. She was busy eating, chewing with her mouth open as usual, and didn't notice his gaze. Neev spent a couple moments watching her. There she is... the one who got me into this mess. He had to admit, when she was quiet, she was rather comely. As soon as she opened her mouth, some annoying song, taunt, or nonsensical string of words drove him crazy. But now, as she chewed her food, her hair of flame crackling, Neev thought her beautiful. She's the most beautiful creature I've seen. True, Cobweb was beautiful too, but her beauty was of innocence, of purity, of nature, of all those things warlocks found boring. Romy, on the other hand, possessed the beauty of fire, of danger, of passion, all the things warlocks loved.

  Romy finally seemed to notice he was staring. "Hey, Mommy," she said and gave him a wave.

  "Don't talk with your mouth full," Neev muttered and looked away, embarrassed that she had caught him staring. I'm a warlock, not some lovelorn farmboy. I shouldn't think these thoughts. With a grunt, he tossed his turnip aside. He had lost his appetite. "Bah! I can't eat this. We don't even have any seasonings."

  The others turned to look at him, chewing their meals. Romy was still chewing with her mouth open.

  Neev stood up and paced, kicking stones, his black cloak swishing. "Look," he said, speaking as his thoughts formed, "if we're going to be professionals, this won't work. We can't just wander around aimlessly, looking for odd poodles to kill. We need to advertise."

  "What does that mean?" Romy asked. The demon twirled a lock of her hair, that hair made of fire. Her eyes too were small flames, watching Neev.

  "Well, how do people know of Robin Hood?" Neev said. "Of King Arthur? Of William Tell?"

  "I've nevew heawd of dem," Cobweb said. Somehow—Neev couldn't imagine how—the spiderling seemed as clean and fresh as a princess. None of the burrs that clung to Neev's cloak marred Cobweb's gossamer dress, and not a strand of her hair seemed awry. Spiderlings were strange creatures.

  "I've never heard of them either," said Romy, starting when a bird fluttered overhead.

  Neev brushed pollen off his cloak. "That's because you two have been living under a rock. Literally in your case, Romy. But most people know of heroes because they're promoted. Bards sing of them. Actors play their tales. Scrolls of their legends lie around all over the place. We need to promote ourselves, and work will come to us."

  Romy looked at him, frowning. "Explain the part again why looking for poodles is a bad idea."

  Jamie sighed and blew out her breath in frustration, blowing back a strand of her hair. The girl was sitting with her sword on her lap, polishing the blade with a handkerchief and oil. "There's a fair at Queenpool coming up," she said. "The city holds the fair every summer solstice. If we walk fast, we can be there in a few days, just on time. They'll have sword tournaments. If I can win a few fights, it will promote our skills as fighters."

  Scruff nodded, reaching for the last turnip on the fire. "They have weight lifting tournaments, too. I'm a good weight lifter."

  "Do dey have awchery c-competitions?" Cobweb said meekly, lowering her eyes. "I c-couwd do weww at dem."

  "And Neev and I can put on a magic show!" Romy said, leaping to her feet, a smile spreading across her face. "Neev, you'll be the magician, and I'll be your sexy assistant." She sketched an elaborate bow. "I am, you know, an artiste."

  Neev stiffened and tightened his robes around him. "I'm not some parlor magician, doing tricks at fairs. I'm a serious, dangerous warlock."

  "No you're not," Romy corrected him. "You flunked out of the Coven, remember?"

  "Thanks to you," Neev said.

  "Nu uh."

  "Uh huh!"

  "Nu uh!"

  Scruff slammed down his fist, sending dirt flying. "Look, don't start that again!" he said. "Please. We've heard enough of you two bickering. Neev, you're putting on a magic show with Romy. If you don't, I'll use your head for mace practice."

  The crows on the scarecrow leaned forward, as if anticipating an entertaining quarrel.

  Neev frowned. "I'd like to see you try, brother." He raised his fingers, letting magic sparks flicker. I won't let my stupid brute of a brother talk this way to me, even if he's older.

  "Watch me," Scruff said and began pushing himself up, but Jamie pulled him back.

  "Now don't you two start," Jamie said. "I'm tired of you two bickering, too."

  "Have you noticed that all the bickering involves Neev?" Scruff said.

  "Have you noticed that all the turnips involve your belly?" Neev countered. "I think I ate only one or two bites before you finished them all off."

  "Should have taken the poodle instead," Romy muttered, but nobody paid her any attention.

  Neev raised his arms to the sky and shouted. "Guys, shut up! All of you. I'm sick of this. I swear I'm going back to Hermit Island if you don't shut up."

  "Me too?" Cobweb asked, trembling.

  Neev patted the spiderling's shoulder. "No, Cobweb, you're the only good one."

  Romy twirled her hair. "I don't like being good. I like being bad."

  "That is irrelevant," Neev said to the demon, feeling the urge to summon a fireball and torch the whole field. "You just love hearing yourself talk, don't you?"

  She shrugged. "My voice is pretty. I should sing a song when we put on a magic show." She began to sing her bottles-of-beer song again.

  Neev rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, counted to ten, and sighed. "I don't have a choice in the matter, do I?"

  Romy shook her head. "You and me, magic show. Cobweb will win the archery contest. Scruff will win the weight lifting, and Jamie the sword fights. When the fair is over, the Bullies will be famous!" She took a big bite of turnip and chewed lustfully.

  Neev shoved her. "I told you a million times, chew with your mouth closed."

  "Yes, Mommy," she said and stuck out her tongue, showing off her bite of turnip.

  * * * * *

  Cobweb walked alone through the forest, heart thumping.

  She had always had a good nose for berries, and had volunteered to go collect them. She had already picked some into pouch Scruff had given her, and was finding more every few steps. Yet now her heart began to race, her fingers to tremble, and sweat to cover her brow

  Why am I so afraid? she asked herself. She did not know, but the same way she could smell berries a mile away, she could smell danger. The forest reeked of it.

  Cobweb looked around warily, eyes narrowed, but could see nothing but rustling birch trees, toadstools, and mossy boulders. No moldmen. No grobblers. No warlocks. She would smell those beasts if they were here, and she smelled nothing but flowers, trees, earth, and animals. And yet, beneath all those good scents of the forest, lay something... strange, almost familiar, but dangerous.

  "Is a-anyone dewe?" she asked out loud, but nobody answered. Cobweb bit her lip. She suddenly missed her bow and arrows; she had given them to Scruff and Jamie, who had gone hunting. Romy too had made herself useful, gone to collect firewood. Only Neev had stayed behind to guard their camp.

  Cobweb wanted to return, but she had promised to fill Scruff's pouch with berries, and it was still half empty. Her nose leading her, she walked until she found a thicket of blueberries.

  "Mmm... bwuebewwies," she said and couldn't help
eating one. Heavenly. There was no better food in the world, and the sweetness soothed her fear.

  Cobweb sighed and lowered her head. Back at Spidersilk Forest, she would eat blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries every day. They grew plentifully between the birches, and the spiderlings never lacked for food. Berries, wine, music, friends... she never wanted for any during her youth.

  Maybe I just miss home. She missed living carelessly. She missed her friends Gossamer and Webdew. Out here in the world, it was a struggle to find food, water, or a comfy place to sleep. Her feet always hurt from endless walking, and she couldn't count how many days had passed since she bathed in a stream. Always Cobweb worried about finding the next meal, about the next monster who'd attack, and about her future. With every sunrise, she wondered if it would be her last.

  But she had her fellow Bullies. She had her friend Scruff. Cobweb smiled. That counted for something, didn't it?

  As she walked through the forest, sniffing for berries, she tried practicing her tongue twisters. "P-petew p-pipew picked a p-p-peppew," she said, her mouth soon aching. Word after word, sentence after sentence, she practiced speaking.

  Cobweb sighed, tongue sore. What's wrong with me? All her life, she felt stupid because of how she spoke. She wished she could find a wizard who'd magically cure her, or maybe a sage who knew the secrets of twisted tongues. All her life, she'd been shy, speaking only when necessary, keeping silent in a group, eyes lowered lest somebody asked her a question. I feel like a baby, just a stupid baby with nothing valuable to say.

  When she remembered her Star Ceremony, Cobweb lowered her head and felt a tear flow down her cheek. "Monstrous," the elders had called her. Cobweb knew that spiderlings were so beautiful, noble, and wise because the elders accepted no flaws. Only through culling the impure had the race become so perfect. But that knowledge did not make Cobweb forgive, did not curb her tears. Since she'd been a toddler, this pain lived with her, the shame of her stupid, stupid tongue.