by A. Giannetti
“It seems that you may not need a staff after all,” said Tullius casually, as if he had witnessed nothing out of the ordinary. The expression on his face was at odds with his voice, however. There was surprise there and even some dismay, but Elerian failed to see it, for his whole attention was focused on the brightly burning mage light which he had brought into existence all on his own.
“Why does the light stay on after the spell has vanished?” asked Elerian after a moment.
“There are many types of spells,” said Tullius. “Some, like the light spell, produce an effect that lingers. Others, like the spell which destroyed the plate, produce a single effect which exhausts their power. Still others can lie dormant until they are activated by a word, a touch, even the light of the moon. Magic is a subtle and diverse art.”
The explanation Tullius gave only raised more questions in Elerian’s mind, but the old mage had had enough of questions for one day. “Practice the light spell,” he said sternly before Elerian could say another word. “Do not trouble yourself about anything else for now, or we shall never progress any farther.”
Elerian attempted to ignite and extinguish a light above the table many more times that day. Sometimes, he succeeded which pleased him. Other times, he failed as his capricious power failed to obey him, causing him to grind his teeth in frustration.
While Elerian practiced, Tullius sat in his chair by the fireplace, thinking his own thoughts until he noticed that his pupil’s concentration was wavering. “That is enough for today,” he said at once. “Using magic, Elerian, takes a physical toll as surely as any other heavy task done with your body. You may find that you are unusually tired tonight. Rest well and do not return until the day after tomorrow. We will continue your lessons then.”
“What about my book?” asked Elerian as he rose from his seat and stretched tiredly.
“I will keep your book for you until you learn to manage it properly,” said Tullius.
True to Tullius’s warning, an unaccustomed heaviness suddenly filled Elerian as he walked to the door with Carbo at his heels. When he opened it, he saw that the sun was already dipping down into the west behind the sharp peaks of the Galerius. He had spent the whole afternoon and a good part of the afternoon sitting at Tullius’s table without realizing it. As he and Carbo walked up the path that led toward Balbus’s farm, Elerian felt tired down to his bones and ravenously hungry as if he had worked all day in the fields. When he passed the two trees that marked the entrance to the hidden ravine, Elerian saw no sign of the green barrier he had seen that morning. Despite his curiosity about the place, he passed it by, for he was tired, and the hour was growing late. He arrived at the farm without incident, and after a hearty dinner, during which he could hardly keep his eyes open or make any reply to Balbus’s questions, Elerian went straight to bed and fell into an unaccustomed, heavy sleep.
Balbus remained sitting in his chair by the fire with Carbo at his feet after Elerian went to bed. He was pleased that Elerian had begun his training as a mage at last. “He is already growing quite skillful with all manner of weapons,” thought Balbus to himself. “Proficiency in the magical arts will give him still another skill he can use to protect himself when he is grown up and on his own.”
Just then, there was a light knock on the front door, and Balbus started, for it was after dark and thoughts of Goblins immediately popped into his head. Carbo, however, pricked up his ears, but did not bark. Someone he knew was at the door. Even so, Balbus took down his sword and held it ready in his right hand as he cautiously opened the front door. His mage lamp cast a pool of yellow light onto his doorstep, revealing a dark, hooded figure.
AN UNEXPECTED VISIT
Balbus tightened his grip on his sword and regarded his mysterious visitor suspiciously, for the hood pulled low over his face kept the light from illuminating his features.
“Don’t stand there gaping,” said the cloaked shape impatiently in a voice barely above a whisper. “Come outside and close the door.”
Balbus recognized the voice of his friend Tullius at once. Wondering why the mage needed to speak to him out in the dark, he stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind him, but not before Carbo had followed him out. He disapproved of Balbus being out at this time of night, and he intended to keep an eye on his master.
“You old fool,” said Balbus sternly, “Why you are risking your life walking about at this hour.”
“I have something to tell you,” said Tullius, “but it needs to be said in private.”
“Let us go inside then,” said Balbus reasonably. “Elerian is already fast asleep in the loft. We can sit and talk comfortably in the kitchen.”
“No!” insisted Tullius. “We must talk somewhere Elerian cannot overhear us if he happens to wake up.”
“Come around to the barn, and I will open the door for you then,” said Balbus resignedly. As he stepped back inside, Tullius vanished into the darkness. After Carbo followed him inside, Balbus closed and locked his front door. He paused to listen for a moment, but nothing stirred overhead. Elerian was still asleep.
Yawning mightily, Balbus crossed over to the kitchen. Leaving Carbo behind, he opened the side door and walked down the passageway which led to the barn, using the mage lamp from the kitchen to illuminate his way. “I hope the news Tullius brings is worth all this bother,” he thought to himself tiredly as he shuffled along.
He let Tullius into the barn through a stout wooden door, and then led the way to a small workroom that stood in a corner of the barn. Here, Balbus was accustomed to making repairs on his farm equipment. A variety of tools hung on the walls, and there was a heavy wooden workbench along one wall. A small iron stove stood against the outside wall, and Balbus quickly built a fire while Tullius paced impatiently behind him. He left the door to the stove open, so that the yellow flames of the fire lit the room and cast flickering shadows in the corners. There were two benches in the room, and Tullius helped him drag both benches in front of the fire. Tullius then seated himself in front of the stove, basking in its welcoming heat, but Balbus disappeared, taking the mage lamp with him. When he returned a short time later, he was carrying two large wooden cups and a bottle filled with golden mead.
“None of this is necessary. I only came to talk briefly,” protested Tullius impatiently.
“Well we may as well be comfortable while we talk,” said Balbus to Tullius as he passed the mage one of the cups. “This will take away the chill of the evening better than wine.”
After filling both cups, Balbus seated himself in front of the fire on the second bench, and the two men drank in companionable silence for a moment. The shifting light of the fire played over their rough-hewn features and raised an occasional gleam in their dark eyes. Balbus was tired, and he yawned as the potent mead spread its warmth inside his body. He stirred himself back to wakefulness as Tullius began to speak softly.
“Even though I scoffed at your notion that Elerian was not human born, I must admit that there were things about him which concerned me since the first time I laid eyes on him,” began Tullius in a low voice as if he still feared being overheard. “His appearance and his ability to perform magic troubled me, but I clung to the hope that he was an unusually gifted human child. Recently, however, Elerian revealed to me that he had developed the third eye, and that hope began to dwindle.”
“Has the mead made you light headed?” asked Balbus incredulously. “The boy had the same number of eyes as you and I when he went off to bed tonight.”
“The third eye is a magical term,” said Tullius impatiently. “It means that Elerian has gained the ability to see magical forces. It is unheard of for a human child to possess this ability. Those who can see the magical energies are few in number, and are usually mages of the highest rank.
“What are you trying to say then?” asked Balbus who was growing more confused by the moment.
“As much as it pains me, I am trying to tell you that you were right all al
ong,” said Tullius irritably. “There is no longer any doubt in my mind that Elerian is not a human child, or at best is only part human. Today, after waiting all this time for the boy’s magical powers to mature, I was finally able to give him a simple test which would prove whether he was human or not. Elerian was able to cast his first spell today without the aid of any staff or wand, something no human mage can do, no matter how powerful he is.”
“It is what I have said from the beginning,” said Balbus with satisfaction, “and while it is certainly pleasant to be proved right, I don’t understand why you needed to tell me about it tonight. You could have waited until morning instead of risking your neck walking about in the dark,” said Balbus disapprovingly.
“Don’t be a fool,” said Tullius irritably. “I did not risk going out at night just to tell you that your guess about Elerian’s origins was correct. I came here at this late hour because I did not want to chance him seeing or hearing the two of us talking together. From the questions he asked me today, I believe that he has already begun to suspect that something is not right about his past. I managed to distract him, but I wanted to warn you in private to watch what you say to him.”
“What harm can it do to tell him who he really is,” asked Balbus reasonably. “He is older now and can be trusted with the information.”
“He must not discover his true history until he has finished his apprenticeship,” insisted Tullius. “The knowledge that he is not human might affect his training.”
“I can’t see what difference it would make,” said Balbus in a puzzled voice. “He has waited impatiently for years to begin his training to be a mage.”
Tullius gave Balbus a pitying look. “Balbus, the boy may not thank us for what we have done. Once he discovers that he is not human, he may resent the change I wrought on him or even become angry enough to run off. At best, his mind will be in turmoil and unfit for learning. Rather than chance this, we must keep our secret from him until he has learned all I can teach him.”
Balbus shifted uncomfortably, for Elerian’s past and when to tell the boy the truth about it was an old argument between them. It seemed to him that Tullius was trying to muster a new argument for keeping the boy’s history a secret. It might take many years for Elerian to finish his apprenticeship, and Balbus was not sure he wanted to delay telling Elerian about his past for such a long period of time.
“Why is it suddenly so important for Elerian to become a mage?” he asked Tullius.
“There are two reasons,” said Tullius. “First, if he seeks to use his powers without the proper training, it could easily kill him. Second, magic may save his life someday, for cold steel alone will not be enough to protect him from the enemies he may face.”
Balbus was unsure of the first point, but he had a ready argument for the second. “There has been no sign of Goblins in our land for years,” Balbus reminded Tullius. “Surely they believe the boy is dead after all this time.”
“Just because you have not seen them does not mean that the danger is gone,” scolded Tullius. “Have you forgotten the Ancharians that walked about our land searching for Elerian? They were surely Goblins or Goblin spies walking among us in the guise of men. I will wager there are still those among us who have not forgotten their promise of silver in exchange for information about a lost boy. If someone discovers that Elerian is that child, never doubt that the news will travel, somehow, to Nefandus. Once word reaches the Goblins that the child they sought so long ago is still alive, they will spare no pains to have him slain or taken. Malice and revenge might drive them to slay us, too, for sheltering him.”
Balbus shifted uncomfortably at Tullius’s words, for they shattered the peace of mind he had felt for so long. He remained firm, however, in his conviction that Elerian must be told who he was someday. “Even if all you say is true, the boy must still be told who he is. It is the right thing to do,” he said stubbornly. “He can make his own choice then whether he wants to remain a Hesperian or resume his original form.”
“What if he wishes to change back, and I am unable to restore him?” asked Tullius harshly. “He may come to hate us both then. He seems happy as he is. Why not leave him alone to live the life he has become accustomed to?”
The thought was a tempting one, for Balbus had almost come to regard Elerian as his real grandson. Firmly, he pushed it out of his mind. “If we do not tell him someday who he really is,” he said slowly, “then we are no better than thieves. I only agreed to his disguise to save his life not rob him of his heritage,” said Balbus with a stubborn look on his face.
Tullius sighed and shook his head. “Humor me for a little longer then,” he said resignedly “Once he completes his apprenticeship, you can tell the boy whatever you wish although I fear we will both come to regret it if you do.” Without another word, Tullius drained his cup and rose from his bench.
“Spend the night,” said Balbus. “Why risk another journey through the dark?”
“It is worth the risk not to raise the boy’s suspicions,” said Tullius. Drawing his cloak closely about him, he left the workshop and opened the outside door. Stepping through it, he disappeared like a shadow into the night.
Balbus stared for a moment through the open door into the darkness. His imagination suddenly filled the night with Goblins and lupins thirsting for Elerian’s blood and perhaps his own too. He shivered as he stepped back and closed the door, quickly locking and barring it. He was afraid, but he was still resolved not to give Elerian up or force him to remain in human guise for the rest of his life.
Balbus closed the door on the stove and turned down the damper before returning to the kitchen. He set the Dwarf lamp on the table, where it cast a warm, cozy glow over the room. Danger of any sort seemed far away, but when Balbus went up to his bed, he found it hard to forget Tullius’s disturbing words and sleep was long in coming to him that night.
BUMPS AND BRUISES
When it was time for Elerian to return Tullius’s house for his next lesson, he made sure he left early so he would not irritate Tullius by being late again. He left Carbo at home, for he now felt confident that he could deal with his third eye without Carbo’s protection. When Elerian reached the place where he had discovered the enchanted ravine, he could not resist stopping for a few moments to search for its entrance. He attempted to open his third eye in order to locate the barrier which concealed the ravine, but to Elerian’s annoyance, it refused to respond. He wondered if it would always remain beyond his control, opening or closing only at times of its own choosing.
Eventually, he found the two trees that guarded the entrance to the ravine. Stepping past the trees, Elerian found that the path was still there, but he immediately noticed differences in his surroundings, some subtle and some more obvious. He walked down what he was sure was the exact path he had followed before, but the green motes that had filled the air two days ago had vanished, and there was no sense of magic in the air today. When he came to the stream, it seemed narrower, and the flow of water was less than before. He followed the stream to the falls and found that they had turned into a thin trickle of water that made barely any sound as it fell into a clear pool that seemed far too shallow for even an otter to dive into. Even more startling, the beech tree growing by the side of the pool had vanished. In its place grew a tall ash tree.
“Have I come to the wrong place?” wondered Elerian in confusion. He climbed down the side of the falls and walked up to the ash tree. Hesitantly, he touched it with his right hand, wondering if it was real. The bark felt rough and solid when he pressed it with his fingertips. “If this is the same tree, am I seeing it as it really is, or is the spell that is on this place clouding my eyes?” wondered Elerian to himself. “How exasperating it is that my mage sight will not respond. I would have the answer in a moment.” Disappointed and frustrated, he finally left the ravine.
Elerian ran the rest of the way to Tullius’s house to make up the time he had lost. When he knocked on the fro
nt door, the mage opened it immediately, an impatient look on his face even though Elerian had arrived on time today. Seemingly filled with an uncharacteristic anxiety, he remained standing while Elerian seated himself at the table. Elerian had hoped to discuss the hidden ravine again, but Tullius immediately asked, “Do you remember how to cast the light spell?”
“Yes,” said Elerian without hesitation, and in his mind he clearly saw each line of the spell.
“Cast the spell then,” said Tullius, and still evincing a strange nervousness, took up a position behind Elerian, out of his sight. Elerian paid little attention to Tullius’s movements. Putting aside his questions about the ravine for a more opportune moment, he confidently spoke the words of the light spell. He was delighted to feel the immediate flow of power down his right arm in response to the words. As he neared the last word of the spell, however, something suddenly poked him hard in the middle of his back. Hurt, surprised, and distracted, Elerian stumbled over the last word of the spell and momentarily lost his focus. Instantly, there was a blinding flash of golden light in front of his eyes, and something that felt like a heavy club struck him hard enough in the chest to send him over backwards in his chair which then toppled over onto the stone floor. Elerian found himself flat on his back, gasping painfully for breath. After a moment, he slowly sat up, and the first thing he saw was Tullius’s face floating behind the cloud of bright sparks that were dancing in front of his eyes. The mage was holding his staff in his right hand, and Elerian guessed, at once, what had happened.
