SongMaster's Realm

by Wolfram Donat

  “Yes, they would,” said Fender. “And now let’s find the Duran and make sure their losses were not in vain.”

  With that, everyone gathered their things and they were soon on the move, following Withers as he struck off in a more northeasterly direction than before. Having a destination seemed to affect everyone, not just their guide. It was as if they were no longer wandering aimlessly, and they now had purpose behind their footsteps.

  They were more on alert than ever, and they all were learning to recognize that danger was all around them. They spotted no fewer than three dracorths, and were able to duck under some trees before they were seen. Withers pointed out other creatures that they passed when he could, and Joel soon realized that almost everything they saw was dangerous. He began to look at their guide with a newfound respect as he realized that the old man had indeed been traveling in and out of the Wastes for many decades and was still alive to tell about it. He showed them the chmaula, a slow moving turtle-like beast covered with poisonous spikes. He also spotted and pointed out the welagorg, the malarde and the elorin, each more ugly and poisonous than the last, it seemed.

  For his part, Joel kept to himself. He was careful to pay close attention to everything that their guide told them, but the faces of his missing comrades danced through his line of sight. He felt responsible for their deaths, and didn’t want to be responsible for any others.

  He finally caught up with Bowen and talked to the taciturn archer about it. After listening to Joel’s thoughts, Bowen was adamant. “It’s not your fault, magician,” he said. “Both of them died because they were attacked by an element of evil, probably in the service of Ysuldur. You had nothing to do with it.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t shake the feeling that if it weren’t for me showing up, none of you would be going on this journey in the first place.”

  “That may be true,” said Bowen, ducking under a particularly nasty-looking thorny vine, “but I think you can bet on the fact that we’re all glad you did show up. I’d rather have a chance to save the multiverse, than to have it be destroyed while we remained blissfully ignorant. And Oren and Luana may have died on the journey, but, like me, they volunteered. They knew they might not come back, but it didn’t stop them. Nor does it stop me. I may die tomorrow. For all I know, I might take two more steps and be felled by an olurg or some other beastie that the old man is going to show us, but I’m at peace with that. And perhaps you should be, too.”

  Joel didn’t respond, but he knew the other man was right. These people volunteered, he thought. They knew it might be dangerous.

  But that doesn’t mean they have to keep dying, though. Maybe I can make sure of that.

  By the time the sun began to sink towards the horizon, Joel’s feet were beginning to ache considerably. Withers had kept them to a fast pace during the day, and he was pretty sure they had walked in excess of twenty miles. The snow-covered Liavir Mountains to the north were considerably closer, and looked colder and more menacing than ever. Fender had told Joel that the Northern Wastes did not continue past the foothills of the Liavir, however, so he looked forward to reaching them and escaping the death trap of the Wastes.

  They made camp on a small hillock that enabled them to keep an eye on the surrounding landscape. As they journeyed farther north, the trees had increased in number and size, and they were now marching through an alien forest, uncomfortably aware that there were lethal animals everywhere.

  Once the fire was lit, they snacked on jerky and a few roots. It was quiet, and Joel was certain that he was not the only one with sore muscles. He wanted to know about Vertton Crags, however, and he asked Fender about the city.

  The wizard lit his pipe and puffed a few times before responding. “Vertton Crags,” he said slowly, “is left over from the Old World.” Joel said nothing, and Fender continued. “Legend has it that something happened there ages ago, and whatever it was helped contribute to making the Wastes the way they are, though nobody remembers what that was.”

  “Was there a war?”

  “Most likely, though the records of it are lost, and thus the growth of legends and superstition around the city.”

  Gaen, who had been listening, broke in. “Say what you like about legends and superstition, magician,” he growled, “but I have walked the streets of that city, and it was not an experience I am looking forward to repeating. There are ghosts and demons that haunt those streets.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that at all,” responded Fender. “All I meant was that nobody really remembers why it is the way it is, and so legends are born.”

  “Would J’Mart know?” asked Joel. “He’s incredibly ancient, isn’t he?”

  The wizard chuckled. “He might, although getting him to tell you might be a chore.”

  “That’s all right. Let’s ask him. J’Mart!” he called. The little man had been absent most of the day, and Joel was actually starting to miss him.

  There was a ‘pop’ and the Ramiken appeared, floating in his usual arrival point about three feet in front of Joel’s face. In this case, however, flames from the fire occupied that spot, and he yelped and disappeared. About ten seconds later, he reappeared sitting next to Joel, making a great show of rubbing his backside. “You called?” he asked. “Got another dracorth or a wist? How about a fundarg? I’m here for you, buddy.”

  Joel shook his head. “Nice try – I’ve figured out by now that there are no fundargs in these parts. No, I’ve got a history question for you.”

  J’Mart rubbed his hands together. “Goody! History! What shall we talk about? The sinking of the Titanic? The attack on Zelagog Prime? The –”

  “No, none of those. Where’s Zelagog Prime? No, never mind. Don’t answer that. I’m curious: Do you know what happened to Vertton Crags? Fender says it happened ages ago, but I also happen to know that you’ve probably been around for that long.”

  The Ramiken thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there. The first time I visited Alera, Vertton Crags was already ancient. I think I asked Gephram about it once, but he was remarkably close-mouthed about it. I say remarkably because he could talk for hours, at least when that damned bird of his would let him get a word in edgewise.”

  “Did he mention a war?”

  “Nope. I think I asked him, in my usual earnest, fact-finding way, ‘What happened in Vertton Crags?’ To which he said something like ‘Something best forgotten,’ or some other typical cryptic wizard-speak. Why do you wanna know?”

  “Just curious,” Joel answered. “Gaen and Withers both seem totally uncomfortable about it, and everyone swears it’s haunted. Now, I don’t know about that, but if there a war here ages ago, particularly a nuclear war, that might explain the formation of the Northern Wastes.”

  J’Mart shrugged. “Haunted wouldn’t surprise me, but I don’t know about a nuclear war. In case you hadn’t noticed, science and technology didn’t really develop over here like on Earth. Now, a magical war – that’s a definite possibility.”

  Disappointed, Joel let the matter drop. Conversation fell silent around the fire, and after assigning Joel the first watch, Frayne and the others retired. J’Mart sat next to Joel as he settled into his watch, and seemed inclined to talk, so Joel discussed his feelings with the little man about losing Luana and Oren.

  Perhaps not surprisingly, J’Mart echoed what Bowen had said earlier. “It’s not your fault, Joel,” he said seriously. “They did volunteer and knew what they were getting into. Besides, even if you had grabbed your guitar in time, do you really think you would have been able to play something to save her fast enough? Do you have any idea what you could have played?”

  “Well, I should have tried. What the hell am I doing all of this practicing for, if not to pull my weight magically?”

  “Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think you need to practice because your magic is what will be needed to rescue the Duran, tho
ugh I have no idea how, and I think the rest of the group, myself included, are here to ensure that you get there. So if you manage to ‘pull your weight’ magically on the journey there, as you so eloquently put it, it’s an added bonus, but it’s not expected.”

  Although the Ramiken’s response did not appeal to Joel’s sense of responsibility, he didn’t have a good argument, so he fell silent. He had not been practicing the magical exercises that Fender had assigned him, so he unslung his guitar and fingered a soft B minor harmony as he ran through some visualization exercises. He was painfully aware of the need to remain vigilant, however, so he gave up before long and concentrated on keeping a sharp eye out for threats. The rest of his watch passed without incident, and when Frayne showed up to relieve him, Joel crawled into his bedding and fell asleep without difficulty, though his sleep was disturbed by images of huge black snakes, crushing his friends.

  The company’s travel the next day was much slower than it had been up to that point, due to the increasing thickness of the trees and foliage. Though Withers seemed to know exactly where he was going, he was unable to find a path heading in that direction, and the circuitous route they were forced to follow slowed them considerably. As the number and height of the trees increased, the undergrowth grew sparser, but remained hostile. Gaen and Jared were both scratched severely by a thicket of thorns that they had tried and failed to avoid, and before long the arms of both men were swollen and puffy. Gaen bore the discomfort stoically, but Jared admitted to Joel that the swollen areas itched fiercely, and more than once Joel saw the Warmaster surreptitiously scratching his arms savagely. They saw few animals on the ground or in the trees, though it seemed there were always one or two dracorths overhead.

  About midday, Joel heard a rushing sound that grew in intensity as they walked, and he soon realized that it was the sound of running water. Within an hour Withers had led them to a brook about ten feet wide. “This is the beginning of the Oyo River,” he told them. “We are close enough to the northern border of the Wastes and the mountains from which these waters spring for the water to be potable. I strongly suggest you fill your water skins.”

  As they had begun rationing water the day before, everyone immediately took his advice, and Joel took advantage of the break to remove his shoes and wade out into the brook. The water, though frigid, felt incredibly refreshing on his sore and tired feet, and Athena and Bowen soon joined him. Withers seemed particularly on edge, however, and it wasn’t long before he and Frayne were calling for the hike to resume. The Prince and the Warmaster soaked some cloths in the cold water before moving on, and they draped these over their red and swollen arms.

  Over the course of the afternoon their route seemed to grow more roundabout, and the distance they had traveled did not seem to be noticeably increasing. Withers kept them to a fast pace, though, so by the time shadows were beginning to lengthen everyone’s feet were sore and tired, and there was not much talk around the fire. Withers still forbade them from hunting, so once again they made do with roots and the rapidly decreasing supply of jerky from their packs. “If I never see another piece of jerky I’ll die a happy man,” said Step to Joel as they chewed. “I’m as big a fan of dried meat as the next guy, but I’ve eaten better than this behind enemy lines.”

  After they ate, Fender once again gave Joel some exercises in visualization. Once he had worked on them for a time, however, he stopped and looked at Fender. “All right,” he said, “can we work on something interesting? I mean, I know the basics are important, but this is getting awfully boring. Can’t you give me something a bit more interesting to break up the monotony? I am doing magic, after all, and I never thought I would say this, but it’s actually getting dull.”

  Almost immediately, Fender nodded. “You’re right, Joel, and I’m sorry. I haven’t instructed anyone in the magical arts for a hundred years or so, and I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how tedious it can be. I have been noticing that your interest level has been declining slightly, and now I realize why.” He thought for a moment. “I know. Let’s work on levitation again.”

  “I thought I had that pretty much down okay.”

  Fender smiled. “Not like this. How about trying to levitate yourself?”

  Joel’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious? I can fly?”

  “It’s quite possible, I think. Not every wizard can do it, but I think there’s a very good chance you can. Your powers are growing every day almost exponentially.”

  Joel could barely contain himself. “All right! Tell me what I have to do!” Several of his companions had sensed his excitement and were paying closer attention to the two wizards.

  “It’s actually very like the way you levitate anything else. Choose a sound – a skill you’ve developed a real knack for, I might add – and hold in your mind the image of yourself floating as you play. I warn you: it’s going to take quite a bit more concentration and power than lifting a separate object has taken.”

  Joel only needed to think for a moment before the perfect music came to mind. Positioning his fingers, If I Could Fly by Joe Satriani began streaming from his instrument. Before he closed his eyes, he noticed that the colors of his music were already tending toward the blue end of the spectrum. Then he shut his eyes and concentrated on the vision of himself floating a foot above the ground.

  “Try to feel yourself lighter,” came Fender’s voice through his music. “You should not only feel yourself as light as a feather, but that the magic is wafting you up like a breeze. Hold that thought.”

  Though he strained and strained, Joel had no luck. The notes of the music came easily to him, and he had no problems seeing himself floating on the notes, but he remained firmly rooted to the ground. After almost half an hour, he opened his eyes again and looked at Fender.

  The wizard was puffing on his pipe, watching him. “Not very easy, is it?”

  Joel shook his head. “I can feel what’s needed, but it just doesn’t seem to be happening.”

  “Nor will it right away. I can definitely tell that you have enough power, but the skill is not quite there yet. Don’t be too disappointed, Joel. I would have been extremely surprised if you had managed it the first time.”

  As Fender finished speaking, Joel realized that everyone in the party had been watching him, including J’Mart. He looked at the Ramiken. “Any words of advice?”

  J’Mart did one of his back flips and landed on his head. “Nope. Not much I can tell you that Mr. Magician here hasn’t already. You just have to keep trying until you get it. Just a question of practice.”

  “Well, you sure make it look easy.”

  “Hah!” snorted the little man. “That’s because I’m made of magic, not lumbering flesh and bone like you. If I was made of that stuff, I’d probably have problems too.”

  Joel noticed that Athena had been watching, too, which made him sort of glad he had not succeeded, since he had a feeling that controlling the levitation was completely different from achieving it in the first place and he had no desire to look like a complete fool in front of her. The image of him floating upside down with his shirt around his ears came unbidden to his mind, and he chuckled to himself. That would impress her.

  Fender looked at him quizzically, and he made a noncommittal gesture. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just had a humorous vision, that’s all. Say, are you going to try the finding spell again?”

  “As a matter of fact, I was going to try it in the morning when I am fresh. It takes a lot of power to perform, but Frayne and Gaen agree that it would be nice to have a more definite location in mind, since we could conceivably be at the walls of the city in two or three days. Though he won’t enter the city, Withers may be able to direct us to the book’s location, should I be able to find it.”

  Joel nodded. “It’s too bad I can’t help you with it. Last time you did it, just after –” He paused a moment, then continued. “The other night, you looked really tired. What did you mean, there was ‘some resistance’?”

>   Fender’s pipe had gone out, and he relit it with his finger before replying. “Ordinarily, when you locate an object, it’s a simple thing. But in this case, it’s like trying to see through a very dark glass, or through a dark cloud. It’s very hard to see, and the attempt is draining, to say the least. I only wish I knew if it was the Duran itself blocking me, or if it is the person who took it. Not that it matters, I suppose. I do seem to be gradually pinning it down.”

  Joel understood the other wizard perfectly; the evening’s exercise in levitation had left him with a headache and an overwhelming fatigue. He bade Fender goodnight, and after checking with Frayne to see that he didn’t have a shift on watch, he crawled inside his bedroll, shivered against the chilly night air, and was asleep in moments.

  THIRTEEN

  Dawn had not yet broken when Joel woke to Frayne quietly shaking his shoulder. “Wake up, magician,” the little man was whispering as Joel groaned and sat up. “And be quiet about it, for Yath’s sake.”

  “What’s going on?” Joel asked as he came fully awake.

  Frayne had already moved on to wake up the others. Fender, who was sitting next to Joel and looked as if he’d been awake for a while, answered his question. “Our guide has alerted us to the fact that there is a jakar stalking us and getting closer. We are going to determine if it is wiser to turn and fight or if we should run.”

  “What’s a jakar? I take it it’s not friendly?”

  “Not at all. A jakar is one of the upper predators of the Wastes. Ugly, powerful, and very, very mean. Withers tells us that ordinarily there’s no discussion involved; when one approaches you run the other way.”

  “Aye, and you don’t sit around talking about it, neither.” Joel was suddenly alerted to the fact that Withers was crouched on the other side of him. “Jakars are mean, ornery bastards that’ll tear apart ten men without breathing hard. I thought we could outmaneuver this one, but it’s smart,” said the old guide.