Diary of a Conjurer

by D. L. Gardner

  Save Taikus

  A sudden crash of thunder just before sunset woke the wizard. Just one rumble, that was all, and it was so sudden he could have been dreaming. After that a whisk of wind jostled the trees on top of the cliff, a mist fell from the sky, and heat lightning danced above the storm. Little streams formed around him, but he was in a lean-to made of hemlock boughs and moss. The handiwork of Xylepher, no doubt. His bed was dry and he was quite comfortable watching the rain.

  He blinked several times to focus in on the terrain where he and the Xylonites had traveled that day. The beach stretched far away from the surf into sandy grassland that merged with the forest. It was through those woods they had come.

  It was there that he saw the caravan appear. If he weren’t a conjurer, or the king of the Xylonites, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the little people. Still, his eyes had grown accustomed to spotting his charges in amongst ferns and brush. The Xylonites looked odd tonight, though, beautiful but odd. He recognized Xylepher pointing the way with his little saber, riding his weasel back and forth along the parade. Silvio knew most of the families. They were craftsman and some of Xylepher’s close friends. Tonight they rode weasels, and were almost completely camouflaged by the woods. The blue glow of the sand cast its light on them, and their shadows danced like tiny ashes flickering in the wind.

  The figures that moved behind the Xylonites were not familiar, though. He hadn’t seen a wolf since his young days when he was able to observe the Kaemperns from the cedar tree in Alcove Forest. Two teams of the furry creatures, led by little people on foot, traveled some distance behind the weasels and their soldiers. The canine pace was slower, more deliberate and as they neared, Silvio saw why. They dragged two travois, one that bounced across the ground, the other weighed down by a woman. She sat upright, wrapped in furs. Only when she passed through the clearings in the woods could he make out her form. Silvio sighed a breath of relief; glad the Xylonites had persuaded Promise to join them.

  The first band of mounted Xylonites had already arrived at his resting place. The little people were cautious, whispering only when they had to, but they kept busy, scurrying here and there to make a camp. Some of them dismounted and rushed to his side, fussing over his condition. Several of the women began to comb his beard but Silvio brushed them away.

  “No, there’s no time for that,” he said again and again until finally Xylepher came by and dispersed the crowd.

  “No camp. Get ready to leave,” the soldier ordered. “We’re only here until the King is in his coach.” With that, he prodded them away in order to make room for the wolf teams.

  Silvio grunted. Coach, is it?

  Well at least they were letting him keep his dignity. He waited until the travois was in front of him before he stood, and what a feat that was! His bones seemed to have molded together while sleeping, and now trying to unfold them sent excruciating pain throughout his body. His joints creaked and he groaned, but with the help of the little people he stood.

  Were he able to stand tall, as he had when he was young, the wolves’ ears would have touched his waist. But bent over, which was all he could manage, his head just touched the tops of their brows. They smelled very wooly and wet, for of course they traveled through the rain, with thick fur that fluffed about their necks. Their eyes were black marbles, attentive, always moving, searching. Their mouths hung open as they breathed. Silvio rubbed the lead wolf’s head and the creature licked him.

  “Sir, please hurry.” Xylepher was one to keep on schedule. Wasting no time, he directed Silvio to his coach.

  The travois was made of sticks and rattan and ingeniously woven reeds attached to two long poles. Twisted branches tied at the sides were a special addition, which Silvio could use as a brace, and hang onto if the ride became rough. Soft moss had been placed on its platform, providing a somewhat comfortable place for him to sit.

  The conjurer smiled to himself, amazed at the craftsmanship of the little people. Where they didn’t show much intelligence in worldly matters, they made up for artistically.

  The travois carrying Promise pulled up alongside as the conjurer crept onto his mossy mat, not without a good deal of groaning. He looked at the blind girl, not sure what to say to her, although he thought it only polite to announce his presence. Her appearance was pathetic. The once proud warrior was now bound in fleece, her head hung in discouragement, hair disheveled from the ride. Looking at her too long might make him tear up, so he shuffled as smoothly as he could into his bed and grunted.

  “Wet and rainy night,” he said.

  She didn’t answer. Very well, then, but at least she knew he was here.

  “Are you ready, sir?” Xylepher asked. The weasel that Xylepher rode nudged his head under Silvio’s hand and the conjurer scratched behind its ears.

  “As ever I’ll be,” the old man sighed, not too happy about having to ride on a travois, although the journey the day before had proven he was not as strong as the others. If they were going to find Ivar before Hacatine did, and retrieve the magic, they had to move steadily.

  “We’re going by way of the beach, sir. It should be a smooth ride on the sand. I suspect we’ll reach the wetlands by morning. The scouts have sighted Hacatine’s ship far west from here so we’re downwind of her army. Are we headed for Kaempern directly?”

  “The Fields.”

  “Sir?”

  “We’ll stop at Elysian Fields and get horses, and look around for Ivar at Alcove Forest.”

  The little man coughed into his hand once, and then eyed Promise.

  “Sir, horses?” Xylepher asked again, scratching his beard.

  “What?” Silvio’s one eye grew wide as he stared the man down.

  “Your condition, sir. Horses?”

  The conjurer didn’t blink, but only stared harder.

  “Yes, sir,” Xylepher said and rode off, prodding the wolves forward. Silvio grabbed his hand bar as his travois bounced along the ground.

  “Blasted,” he said under his breath and then wished he hadn’t. The two platforms were dragged side by side and he was certain Promise heard him. “Never you mind.” Silvio shifted his weight. “I’ve no right to complain, not compared to you–being blind and all. A few bruises on the rear, that’s it for me.”

  “It must be truly uncomfortable for you,” she said, startling him, for he hadn’t expected sympathy from her.

  “Bah,” he answered, and then whispered an “ouch.” He cleared his throat. “Why would that be?”

  “You’re used to leading your subjects, not following behind them,” she answered.

  Silvio could admit to that, but her saying it humbled him. “Darn right I’m used to leading them, little Spindiddies that they are. Good folk, all of them.”

  “They do a fine job. You’ve taught them well.”

  Silvio hadn’t expected flattery from her, either. He grunted. “I’m not sure if I taught them anything.”

  “You have. They’ve been your children. If you could hear the way they speak of you, it would warm your heart.”

  She leaned back, unaffected by the jumping and bolting of the travois. Silvio tried doing the same but he felt every bump, especially in his back and rear. Squinting, he tried not to breathe out any more discomfort. It was a pride thing, maybe. He wasn’t used to being around a lady, either, and she certainly was brave. He’d gotten soft and too old.

  “It must be a good feeling,” she said.

  “What?” Silvio scowled. She couldn’t see the way his nose turned up and his eyes squinted closed as the pain rushed up his spine. For that he was glad. “What good feeling are you referring to?”

  “I mean, having so many people love you and admire you.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Taikus has lost love, you know?”

  “I assumed.”

  “There’s no one to love and admire on the Island anymore. Everyone is so afraid. Survival is the only concern. It is a dying island, Silvio.”

&nb
sp; If he turned a little to his side he didn’t seem to hurt so much, though a cramp was inching its way up his right leg. “Blasted wasteland that Taikus. What good is it? Let it fall to ruin!”

  “No.” Her reply was quick and stopped him cold; it even stopped the pain in his muscle. “It can’t ever become a ruin. There are too many innocent people oppressed by Hacatine’s tyranny, too many good citizens who don’t deserve the cruelty she dispenses. They need saving.”

  “Evil,” he muttered. There was nothing on the island worth saving as far as he was concerned.

  “That’s not fair, Silvio.” Her chin lifted, resentment resonating in her voice. “They aren’t all evil. And there is hope. There can still be a bond between the Sorceress and the Wizard. The magic still holds its power. I saw it, when I had my sight, that is. The potential for love is still alive. I can’t see it anymore, but I know it’s there. It’s just that . . .” she sighed heavily. Silvio looked her way, curious. “I’m sorry. I’m just touched by all this caring. The Xylonites for you, and you for them, and then you wanting to help me. I’m not used to kindness.”

  Silvio shuddered. He was familiar with the same grief years ago. Like her, he had been strong once, and proud. Then overnight, as if he were an autumn leaf broken away from its branch, fallen to the ground, and crumbled underfoot, he was defeated and humbled. Those days had been painful and lonely. He worked hard to forget them.

  Silvio squirmed uncomfortable. Promise pouring out her heart to him left him feeling naked. He couldn’t tell in the dark if she were crying, but she could have been. The Xylonites never cried, not unless they had their fingers pinched or spilled something. All he had to do was give them a look, the one with his eye wide open. Then they’d stop their pouting and straighten up.

  This was different.

  “The wizards on the island despise us. Why shouldn’t they? They’ve been mistreated for too long. They have reason to hate us,” she said.

  Well, Silvio had to admit, he had been privy to despising the sorceresses himself. Hadn’t any respect for them. They were the cause of his exile, his father’s death, and his family’s demise.

  “They destroyed my family.” Silvio looked out at the breakers shimmering against the dark as they trudged along the shore. Somewhere across the sea, as far away as never, lay his homeland, his strength, and his youth.

  “Silvio, most of the warriors that make up Hacatine’s army are just young girls who had nothing to do with the rebellion. We were trained for Hacatine’s warfare, but we aren’t inhumane. We want families. We talk about it all the time behind her back. But the queen has been cunning in her guard against mutiny. We worry for each other.”

  There was a long silence. The storm clouds broke, opening a portal for the moon to peek through and cast a blue glow over the coast. The sea beat a rhythm that the wolves kept pace with.

  “Silvio?” she whispered.

  His silence opened the door for her request.

  “Come back to Taikus. Save us.”

  He would have blurted one of his ridiculous inflections if she hadn’t been so serious. He bit his lips to keep his mouth shut, and looked at her, then at the ocean, then at her again, letting his breath out with a burst.

  “Save us, Silvio.”

  “I can’t save you. I can’t even save myself. Look at me.” Well, she couldn’t but she would know what he meant. “Here I am riding alongside you on two poles and a mat the little people made because my bones are crinkled up like bark from some old stump. Bah! Save you. You forget that the Kaempern boy has my powers, most of them. And yours, too, I might add.” Save her? Save Taikus? If I could save Taikus I would have done it a long time ago, when I was young and strong. Bah.

  He shifted on his bed, turning his back to her, and struggled to think of a solution but there wasn’t any. No, Hacatine would send one blast of magic at him, and he’d be ash. “Oh stop it,” he said again. “Don’t put your faith in me. I’m just an old conjurer that gave his will away to a foolhardy boy. What can I do?” He kept mumbling. She quieted and soon after must have fallen asleep for when he looked at her again, the glow of the moon cast a backlight against her profile and her eyes were closed.

  “Save Taikus,” he grunted. His doubt faded as the motion of the travois rocked gently on its voyage. There was no way he could take on Hacatine. No way. Maybe if he had his powers . . . No. It was impossible. Hacatine had robbed every wizard on the island. There was no magic greater than hers. Only the Songs of Wisdom were greater. His thoughts lulled him to rest and perhaps he was dreaming, but just before he fell asleep he whispered, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  A New Man

  His will, or rather Silvio’s power, became the wind under his feet, and Ivar jogged along the coastline the entire night, arriving in the marshes of the wetlands just as the rising sun turned the heavens gold.

  With the first sound of a red-winged blackbird, Ivar slowed to a walk and looked out across the bay. The scent of this country had a flavor all its own. For Ivar it was the taste of home. The hard sand of the Bandene coastline turned to mud that oozed in between his toes like the black tar the Meneks used to cure their boats. Coarse shells that were concealed under the silt cut through his heels as he walked. He stopped. These wetlands were a resource for seafood, a place where the Kaempern people traveled yearly to replenish their supplies.

  He fell on his knees and began his quarry, not needing to dig much to get to the layer of oysters. He grabbed clusters of the coarse shells; freed them from the clinging mud, pulled the seaweed away, slapped them against each other, and pried them open with his hands. Though his fingers bled, the meat slithered down his throat and into his belly, one after another until he had his fill.

  His hunger satisfied, the youth sat in the silt, content, taking the time to watch dawn approach. There was a faint haze on the horizon, but he could see the mountain peak in the distance to the north, still covered with snow, stretching above the fog. Deception Peak. There, on the side of that mountain the Kaemperns lived.

  Ivar pressed his hands into the hem of his tunic until the scrapes and sores stopped bleeding. Not having looked at himself for a very long time it was a shock to see what had happened to his body after leaving the safety of home. The tunic hung so lose over his chest that his weight loss was frightening. His stomach had shrunk so much that he had little appetite and may have forgotten to eat altogether if he hadn’t stumbled upon the oyster bed.

  He had grown taller since he left, for the hem of his garment barely covered his waist. Arms thin and dark, seasoned from the sun, his hands were larger than he remembered, the fingers long and lanky under the bruises. The glow of the magic pulsated in his palms and he watched his veins for a while with both fear and a sense of security. Possessing Silvio’s power seemed to cause the very trouble it protected him from, and yet the more it traveled through his arteries, the more he didn’t want to let it go. It was becoming a part of him.

  With hair hanging in dreadlocks over his shoulders and into his eyes, Ivar could only imagine what his face looked like. He will certainly be a different person when he returns to the village. He hoped that it would be soon. He was tired, hungry, and alone. He made a mistake coming on this journey. Aren was right. He should have stayed home and been thankful for the family he had, for the village that kept him safe.

  Never mind about the dagger or the conjurer’s power. After the long walk the night before, it seemed as though he had left all of those problems behind. He curled his tongue in the space between his front teeth and watched the shifting fog float inland, off the water and away from the bay.

  Black dots shifted in the shimmering sea. His troubles weren’t over. A fleet of ships sailed near, and they weren’t Menek fishing vessels. They were three-mast ships, full sail though without wind. The same sort of ship he had been taken prisoner on.

  Ivar spat on the ground and stood. If he hurried, he could get home before Hacatine got there, and be in the safety of th
e Dragon Shield with his father and Amleth. Granted he’d made a mess of things, but he was certain his family would help him sort it out.

  Refreshed, but thirsty, Ivar brushed as much mud off his hands as he could and thought of his next move. A fresh water creek ran through Alcove Forest. He would quench his thirst there and dive into the bay at Elysian’s Fields before the long trek to the mountain. If he walked the shoreline, he’d stay cool and be able to keep an eye on the fleet of ships. That was his plan.

  When he reached the wetlands he lost sight of the coast. The reeds grew well above his head and Ivar’s legs sank into the silt, stirring mosquitoes from the surface of the marsh. He swatted at them with a tinge of fear, remembering the plague that had struck his village years ago.

  The path through the cattails meandered onto the edge of the green grassland where a gentle breeze blew the insects away. The smell of grass and mint overpowered the stink of the tidelands and the marsh. Filled with fresh energy, he rushed into the meadow and veered up a hill that led into the forest, following the trail to the creek. Only a brook in size, it was full with cool rushing water, run-off from the melting snow in the mountains. Signs of flooding showed as the waters already swelled over its bank, though they still ran clear. It may be an early spring this year. The days were warm, and already buds burst from the maple trees. Soon, when the moon found its sliver, before its wane had cycled, it would be time for all the young men to return to Kaempern and join in the ceremonial hunt.

  That would be a good thing. Ivar was anxious to see his friends again. He knelt over the creek and let the sweet waters sooth his chapped lips. When full, he washed the silt and salt off his hands and the dirt and debris that had caked over his cheeks. Ivar dove his head under the water and came up shaking his hair, refreshed.