Foundling Wizard (Book 1)

by James Eggebeen

  Yerlow sat on the bench next to her. She lifted the bench and scooted them both up to the table. She cocked one eye at the knife. “I hope you don’t mind, but your knife needed attention almost as badly as you did.”

  Chihon picked up the blade and examined it. She ran her thumb over the edge, careful to avoid any pressure but enough to feel the edge. It was as sharp as she’d ever seen it. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said.

  Gareb hefted his knife and swiftly cut a section of the meat free. He skewered it and transferred it to his plate. Soon he had a heaping pile of meat and vegetables. He dipped his spoon into a pot of thick brown gravy. He smothered the pile on his plate indiscriminately with it.

  Chihon timidly cut a small piece of meat. She paired it up with a small potato and a few stalks of asparagus. Gingerly, she dipped her spoon in the pot and drizzled a few lines of brown gravy over the meat. She sat back, and waited for her host to serve herself.

  “What are you waiting for, child?” Gareb asked.

  “She has manners,” Yerlow said. “She’s waiting for her host to be served.” She stabbed a piece of meat and a few vegetables and quickly transferred them to her plate. She lifted her glass towards Chihon and said, “To our guest.”

  Gareb quickly grabbed his cup and likewise lifted it, “To our guest,” he said. He took a large swig and thumped the cup back down on the table. The beer inside sloshed at the roughness of it as some made its way out of the cup and slopped onto the table.

  Chihon raised her glass and said, “To my hosts.” She gingerly took a sip and placed it before her.

  “Yerlow tells me that you’re suitably rested and ready to begin your lessons after the meal,” Gareb said. He looked her over and said, “You certainly look a lot better.”

  “I feel much better,” Chihon said. “Thanks to your lovely wife.” She looked over at Yerlow who gave her a slight bow.

  “Well, the first thing you need to learn is to raise your shields, so the priests don’t come running every time you practice magic. They’re very good at finding unshielded young boys. I figure you being a young lady and all, probably threw them off a bit.”

  “So I understand,” Chihon said.

  “You say you’ve been in contact with Rotiaqua?”

  “Yes, do you know her?” Chihon sliced a bit of fowl and stuffed it into her mouth careful of the sharp edge on her knife.

  “Do I know her?” he asked with a laugh. “I know of her, yes. Know her, as in personally met her? Never.”

  “Why do you say that?” Chihon asked. She leaned in to get a clearer look at Gareb as he explained.

  “I already told you, I’m not one of the mighty ones. I’m just a lowly wizard with very limited powers. The mighty ones don’t mix much with the likes of me.”

  “She certainly knows of you. She told me to come see you specifically. She told me to trust you implicitly. She must know you.”

  “She knows me, I suppose, but I certainly don’t know her. Nor wizard Zhimosom, either. They’re the mighty ones, after all.” He emphasized his words with a gesture of magnificence, as if taking in a grand sight.

  “I don’t understand,” Chihon said.

  “Zhimosom and Rotiaqua are the most powerful of wizards. Together, they are part of the council of Wizards that rule all those with the gift who do not serve Ran,” Gareb explained. “They concern themselves with matters great and mysterious, not the likes of poor Gareb here.”

  “They sent me here,” she reminded Gareb.

  “And there must be a good reason for that,” he said.

  Yerlow stood and started clearing the dishes.

  Chihon made a move to get up and help, but she waved her back to her seat. “Sit,” she said. “I’ll take care of these. You must start your lesson.”

  “Yes, lessons,” Gareb said. “We need to begin your lessons. He stretched out his arm and opened his hand. Chihon followed his gaze to the back of the room. A dusty bookshelf stood in one corner of the seamstress shop. It had several books haphazardly placed on the shelves. One of them quivered, righted itself, and floated across the room to land in Gareb’s outstretched hand.

  He grasped it and dropped it on the table. Dust rose around it as it hit the table’s surface. He blew on it and raised an additional cloud of dust. He opened the book to the first page. On the page was a drawing of a short wall surrounding the image of a young boy. He smoothed out the page and looked up at Chihon. “First, we’re going to learn about shields,” he said.

  For the next several days, Gareb drilled her in the use of shields. How to raise them when she needed to hide her magic. How to create a shield that obscured her image, or made her look like someone the observer would take as ordinary or unremarkable.

  Day by day, she felt more confident in her ability to manage her shields, but each night her fear for Lorit grew. She could feel him but only distantly; sometimes she could not find him at all. He seemed to fade in and out of existence and she worried that one of these times he would fade away, never to return.

  “Your shield,” Gareb was saying.

  “I’m sorry,” Chihon said, returning her attention to her teacher. Gareb had been demonstrating how to leave an opening in her shield where Lorit’s thread could pass through. “I was thinking about Lorit.”

  “I can tell. It looks like you were leagues away. I know you’re worried about him. Can you still feel his thread?”

  “Yes, I can, but it seems to be getting weaker.”

  “Hold on to what you can of him. Learn as much as you can and soon you may be able to help him.” Gareb picked up his staff and approached her. “Ready for a staff lesson?”

  “Not really, I can’t seem to focus today,” Chihon said. She sat on the stool near the table.

  Gareb sat down next to her. “I know it’s hard. You’re doing all you can. You’re growing stronger by the day. You may soon be able to find out where he is and what’s happened. Just try to have a little patience. It will come to you.

  “Come on. I think you’re done with shields. It’s time to move on.”

  Chihon knew he was only trying to cheer her up, but no shield practice sounded good.

  “No more shields?” she checked.

  “No more shield practice,” he said. “You’re already well beyond what I can do. Next, we conjure.

  “Living things are easiest,” Gareb explained. He hefted and apple and tossed it up and down in his hand. Suddenly he was juggling two apples.

  “Once-living things are next,” he pointed to the wooden spoon on the table. He held his hand over it and removed it. Where one spoon had sat, now there were two.

  “Never-living things are much harder,” he said as he placed a coin on the table and tapped it with his hand. “The more dense metals are extremely hard to work with.”

  Chihon looked at him in expectation.

  “Sorry, my powers are not that great,” he said. He picked up the coin and placed it in his pouch.

  Yerlow set Chihon up in their guest room. “I had this prepared for my mother,” she said. “She passed a while back, so now it’s yours.” She ushered Chihon into a small bedroom with its own desk.

  Alone in her room each night, Chihon searched for the thread that connected her to Lorit. It was tenuous, but it was there. If she focused on it, she could feel him, even if only weakly. As she progressed in her lessons, the periods when she could feel him strengthened. She could feel the thread that connected them more clearly. She could almost grasp it and follow where it lead, but then it would vanish all together only to return the next day. The periods where she could sense him were growing shorter day by day.

  Each day, she practiced the lessons that Gareb taught her with more and more dedication. Her fear for Lorit drove her until she fell exhausted into bed each night.

  One day, Gareb pushed his chair back and shoved the magic book toward her.

  “Final exam. Conjure your own copy of the book.”

  “Conjure the bo
ok?” she asked. The book was thick and heavy, the cover made of wood bound in brass. The hinges were worn and loose and the pages ragged and stained.

  “Conjure the book,” he said. “Everyone eventually does.” He gave it a slight shove again. “Go on, you’re more than ready.”

  Chihon put her hand atop the book and felt the pages with her senses. She felt each knot and whirl of the wood, each dog eared fold of the pages and the sloppy looseness of the hinges. She visualized the book surrounded in light, sitting next to itself. Slowly, the imagined book solidified until, after some time, it was as solid as the original.

  Gareb picked up her copy of the book. He paged through it, looking at each page and illustration. He brushed his hand along the spine and pulled at the hinges. He opened and closed it a few times until he finally set it back on the table. He snorted and sat back, crossing his arms.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Chihon asked. She looked at the book. It was an exact copy of his, down to the scratches. It even had a gravy stain on one of the pages.

  “You copied it exactly,” he said.

  “Wasn’t that what you asked me to do?” She was confused. She’d made as perfect a copy as she was able, yet Gareb seemed displeased.

  “My copy is old and worn. Do you really want an old worn out book?” he asked. “Don’t you want a nice shiny new one?”

  He passed his hand over her book. When he withdrew it, the book was shiny and new. The hinges were tight and the wood gleamed. The pages were perfect and pristine. “There, that’s better,” he grinned.

  Lorit came awake to a cold and damp morning. He must have woken before sunrise because it was dark, so dark nothing showed, not even the stars or the moon. He turned over and ran into something hard and cold. He felt behind him, thinking he must have rolled up against a tree, only to find cold smooth stone.

  He startled and tried to sit up, only to bang his head on something. He reached his hand carefully over his head. He felt more of the polished stone. He explored the extent of his prison. He was inside of something made of smoothed stone. It was cold and confining, with only a small space between his shoulders and the walls of his prison. It was closed at the top. The ends offered no purchase.

  He extended his senses outside of his prison. He could make out other enclosures like the one he was trapped inside. Their images were vague and indistinct. Something was binding his power, blunting his abilities. He vaguely felt the outside of the enclosure. Finally, it dawned on him. He was trapped in a crypt!

  Lorit pushed at the cover, attempting to raise the stone lid from atop the sealed box. It was so heavy it might as well have been sealed in place. Try as he might, he was unable to get a grip on it, or cause it to move in the least.

  He tried kicking and slapping his hands against the lid and sides of his prison, but nothing helped. “Help!” he yelled. “Is anybody out there?”

  He called and called until his voice gave out. Finally, exhausted, Lorit lay quietly and listened. There was no sound. It was utterly silent. As he concentrated, he could hear the sound of his own heart beating, and the whistle of his breathing, but nothing more.

  He relaxed and reached out with his senses again. He tried to find the thread of Zhimosom or Rotiaqua that he'd felt just the night before. There was nothing, only quiet and emptiness. He could feel nothing of the Wizard and the Sorceress.

  He jostled around until he was on his stomach. He arched his back and pressed with all his might against the cover, groaning under the strain, but to no avail. It remained motionless.

  He probed around inside his prison. His pack was jammed down below his feet. He felt around with his foot until he was able to get one foot underneath the pack. He lifted it until it hit the lid of his prison. He rolled his foot back and forth wiggling the pack forward between his leg and the lid. Slowly, bit by bit, the pack edged forward. Often losing more ground than he'd made, he kept the effort up, until he was able to reach the pack with his hand.

  Suddenly, he felt a sharp, burning pain slice across his chest. His hand flew up to touch his skin. It was uninjured. The pain struck again, and again he could discern no injury to his body. Somehow, the pain reminded him of Onolt. He reached out with his senses, feeling for her. That closeness they shared had remained with him even as he got farther and farther from home.

  Onolt was in distress. The pain he was experiencing was hers. He reached out for her, but whatever had him trapped was also impeding his efforts. It dulled his magic. He was only able to share her pain. He was powerless to stop it, or even lend her comfort.

  He struggled against the bonds, but it only seemed to make things worse. The more he fought, the fuzzier things got. He felt the pain and agony of each cut. He screamed in agony bearing the pain worse than the priest had caused with his magic. It grew in intensity until Lorit thought he could stand it no longer.

  Suddenly, there was a sharp tug at his chest and the pain vanished.

  He fought his bonds with all his strength until, exhausted, he fell into a troubled sleep.

  Lorit did not know how long he'd been out this time. He felt around his prison, but nothing had changed. He reached out, looking for the connection he had with Onolt. There was nothing there.

  He gave up and allowed the exhaustion to take him once again. He didn’t know how long he was out. Lorit felt as if he’d slept for days. He reached out again. This time he caught the thread of someone. It felt like Onolt, only different, subtler, yet more powerful. He grasped it with his renewed energy and willed the connection to strengthen. As it grew stronger, Lorit began to get the impression of Chihon. He tried to call out to her, but was unable to reach her. He dropped his head against the cold stone in frustration, falling into that troubled sleep once more.

  Lorit wondered how long he’d been trapped here. What had happened to Chihon while he was out of touch? He was worried about her and reached out to try to sense her again. He felt a slight hint of her presence, but nothing substantial. It was just an after image as if he'd looked at her, then quickly looked away.

  The simple expenditure of effort left him exhausted and tired. He reached into the pack, broke a piece of bread and carefully raised it to his mouth. It took an effort for him to make enough saliva to soften the bread, but he was finally able to swallow a small portion after working diligently at it. Even this small piece seemed to re-energize him and encourage him to persevere.

  Soon, he'd consumed the whole loaf of bread, and finished almost all of the hard, sour cheese. Thirst was going to be one of his problems if he did not escape soon.

  Lorit relaxed again and reached out his senses, trying to recapture the hint of Chihon he’d experienced before. At first, it was just the vague feeling of her presence, but as he concentrated, she became more pronounced.

  After a while, he could make out her face. She was sitting on a straw mattress in a small bedchamber. Lorit could see the table in front of her, where a single candle glowed. A pot of water sat next to a battered copper cup, which rested atop a threadbare towel.

  Chihon sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the candle. Her eyes were swollen and full of tears. She looked gaunt and thin, as if she hadn't slept or eaten in days. Lorit reinforced the link, taking it slowly. When he exerted himself, the image faded and became faint. Patiently, he focused his attention on her. Her face became more tangible, clearer, more real.

  Her brow wrinkled. “Lorit?” she whispered. “Is that you?” She sat forward, getting closer to the table and the glowing candle. Her movement startled Lorit and almost caused him to lose the contact, but he managed to hang on.

  “It’s me,” he answered. She didn’t respond. She couldn’t hear him. “It’s ME!” he shouted again.

  She tilted her head, directing her attention towards the candle. “Lorit?” she called out.

  “I’m here!” he shouted.

  “Lorit!” she cried. She remained seated this time, but was visibly relieved to hear his voice. “What happened?”
>
  “I don’t know. I’m stuck in some kind of crypt. I can feel the stone sides and cover. I can’t get out,” he told her. “Where are you?”

  “I woke up, and you were gone.” She reached behind her and pulled out his staff. “I knew you hadn’t run off on your own. Your staff was still where you slept, only you were gone.”

  “How long have I been gone?”

  She clutched the staff as if it were supporting her. “Almost three weeks.”

  “Three weeks!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been here three weeks?”

  “I searched for you for two days. Then I headed into town to find a place to stay so I could keep searching for you. I‘ve been everywhere. I talked to everyone I could trust.” She waved her hand in the air in front of her face. “I’ve even been visited by the images of a sorceress. She asked me about you.”

  “Was she an old Sorceress with a sarcastic sense of humor?” he asked. He recalled the wry smile of Rotiaqua and remembered how she’d wanted to meet Chihon.

  “She was. She showed me how to sense you and open a path for you to contact me. I am so relieved to finally get in touch with you,” Chihon continued. “I was going out of my mind with worry.”

  “Well, we still have a little problem. I have no idea where I am, or how to get out of here.”

  “Let me try something.” Chihon stood and grasped his staff. She strained as if she were gazing intently at something that was unclear. “I can see the outside of the crypt, just a little. It’s hazy and indistinct.”

  “Can you make out any markings that would tell you where I am?”

  “No, nothing,” she said. She wrinkled her brow again and concentrated. “Wait. I can make out a crest on the lid. There are crossed swords resting on a shield. I can’t make out what’s on the shield, though.”

  “That’s OK,” he consoled her. “Can you get a sense of where I am? Which direction?”

  “No, I can’t. Lorit. Maybe North, though I can’t be sure. I am sorry, I’m no help at all.” He could see the tears welling up in her eyes. The effort was tiring, and Lorit knew she was heavily taxed.