Marc repeated the command several times, fearing what would happen. Who was he to utter a mere word and command the great power of magic? But Oren persisted, and soon, with authority, Marc commanded the door to open.
“Better. Now concentrate your thoughts upon what you want to happen. As you speak the command, you must also will the magic to slide the bolt over.”
Will the magic? What did that mean? “How do I do that?”
“See the bolt in your mind. Imagine your hand upon it. Then, as you speak the spell, think move to the bolt.”
Again Marc repeated the task, this time gesturing like he had seen Oren do. He imagined seeing in his mind what the bolt might look like, but had difficulty maintaining that likeness while doing everything else. Taking Marc’s hand, the wizard held it near the door. Immediately, the same sensation he felt when Oren Floated him over the water enveloped his arm—magic’s power!
“Again,” Oren said, helping him through the motion.
With great surprise, Marc suddenly sensed the bolt. He did not see it as with his eyes, nor did he feel it as he would with his fingers, yet somehow he perceived it as if both of those senses were at work. Seizing the moment, he imagined seeing the bolt slide as he commanded, “Aperīte!”
The iron shaft sprang to life within the door, making a loud clunk as it slid. Jumping back, Marc yelped in pleased astonishment. Oren nodded approvingly.
Val hugged him with glee. “Fabulous! You learned your first magic spell.”
Oren separated them. “Try it again, but this time lock it.”
“I don’t know the command.”
Arching an eyebrow, the master tilted his head. “Tell it to lock.”
Suppressing an embarrassed chuckle, Marc said, “Yes, of course.” He tried to concentrate on the bolt but could not sense it as before. Maybe it would work anyway. “Claudite!” he firmly commanded while trying to will the bolt to move. Nothing happened. The elation of unlocking the door evaporated. “I’m sorry, Master. I—”
“Do not worry. You have learned all the parts of spell casting except how to talk to the magic. When you unlocked the door, I helped you connect with the magic, but you did the rest. Now, hold your hand out to the door. Take the memory of how it felt to sense the bolt and move it down your arm and into your fingers. Will it to happen.”
“I’ll try.”
Wondering how he would accomplish that, Marc fixed his thoughts upon how it felt when Oren assisted him. With much effort he finally managed to find, then extend, that sensation down to his hand. The power bathed his mind and body, feeling both odd yet familiar. He thought about the door and gasped when the bolt’s image jumped into his mind, clear and precise. Quickly, he uttered the command once more while willing the bolt to move. A satisfying thud echoed in the cave.
“Excellent.” Oren patted him on the back while Valeria clapped. “Now unlock it again.”
Marc easily did so. “Amazing!” His heart beat wildly within him as the magic tingled on his skin.
“Absolutely.” Valeria grabbed his hand, then abruptly dropped it, backing up. “Oh. Your hand is... hot.” She examined her fingers as if something coated them. “Well, not really hot, but—Master, did I just feel magic?”
“Yes.”
When she touched him, Marc felt a surge of familiarity toward her. Curious to learn more about it, he reached toward her.
“I would not advise that,” Oren said gently, blocking his arm before he made contact. “Release the magic.”
Marc did so, withdrawing his hand. “My apologies.”
“Do not move the magic from you into another person until you are trained. Use it only on objects.” Oren pushed the door open and stepped through to the next room. “Come.”
Marc didn’t intend to do anything wrong, but he apparently had. Another reason to not like magic. Chagrined, he reached to usher Valeria through the doorway, but with a worried look, she stepped back.
“Sorry, Val. The magic is gone now.”
She relaxed. “Oh, good. I’m sorry, too. I touched you first, and—”
“Are you coming?” Oren called from the next room.
“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered. Firmly taking his hand, she led him after the wizard.
Passing through the doorway, Marc found himself in a well lit place—the workshop. So now he knew what lay behind that strange door. With a grin, he pushed the door closed and cast the spell to lock it and the thrill of the act returned. Oren sat at the large table, indicated they were to sit opposite him, then began unwrapping the suede covered bundle with great care. Intrigued, Marc sat without taking his eyes off the object and soon saw it was a large and very old book.
“This is the great book of magic. For hundreds of years it has been passed down from wizard to wizard. Within it is the knowledge a wizard needs to know.” Taking the lamp from Valeria, Oren held it over the cover as he opened it. “As you can see, it is far past its prime.”
Marc saw that more than a few pages had pulled free of the lacing that once bound them. Many others had frayed and torn edges from long years of handling. He reached for the book, then paused. “May I?” Oren nodded his permission. Gingerly pulling on the suede beneath it, Marc slid it closer and examined its contents. Although it had aged considerably, he could tell the vellum used for the pages had once been of the highest quality. The grain of the leather—tight and smooth, without blemish. The edges—straight and even. Skilled hands had carefully crafted each page.
The same held true for the lettering and artwork. The first few pages recorded who the book belonged to at various points in history. The last entry chronicled where Arturius passed it on to Oren. Further in were incantations, most penned in Latin, but some had letters he did not know. Could this be the Greek Oren mentioned? Many of the spells had explanations about when and how to use them. Illustrations accompanied others. Every so often he found strange symbols drawn in the margins.
Valeria bent closer. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, it is.” Marc ran his hand lightly over the surface of a page and detected a faint, though familiar, tingling—magic. That was to be expected. “I take it you want me to craft another to replace it. That’s why you wanted my leather working skills.” He continued thumbing through the pages.
The Master gave a single nod. “That is one reason you are here.”
Marc felt a humble sense of pride at being asked to perform such an important duty. “I am greatly honored, Master Oren. I will do my best work; however, I cannot draw illustrations such as this.” He indicated a dragon snaking its way up the right margin of a page.
“That’s my task,” Valeria said. Her bright gaze swung up to meet the master’s. “Am I right?”
Oren smiled slightly. “You are. Between the two of you the book will be restored. In addition, there are newer spells to be added.”
“How soon am I to complete it?” Marc asked. “I have no leather to work with.”
“There will be plenty of time and I already have the needed supplies. But before we do that, Marc—” Oren waved meaningfully at the tome. “I want you to learn all of these spells.”
Stunned, Marc gauged the book’s considerable thickness. “Master, I- I can’t learn all of these. There must be hundreds, maybe even thousands.”
“You can and will learn them. After mastering the more basic skills, the others will become easier.”
Marc had a nagging hunch Oren hid something from him, but what? For some reason he knew it had to do with magic. “So you selected me for more than my leather skills and chopping wood. You want me to learn all this magic, too. Why?”
As soon as the words left his mouth the answer began to form in his mind, but not in time to soften the blow of his master’s response.
“You are to be my replacement.”
Chapter 8
Oren’s words chilled Marc to his core. His replacement? The very thought scared him. “I- I don’t want to be a wizard. I didn’t ask t
o be one, and I’m not suited to be one. Respectfully, sir, choose someone else.”
Oren looked him square in the eye. “The magic chose you, not I. From the moment of your birth you were destined to walk the path of service and magic.”
Marc barely heard Valeria’s gasp of surprise, his thoughts too occupied with Oren’s revelation. Destined? It couldn’t be—for him, anyway. He was meant to tan hides, craft leather goods. How could he become Oren’s replacement when he did not even like magic? His mouth suddenly dry, he struggled to speak. “Master, please, I do not want this. Having magic is wrong. Why should a few have magic’s favor when the many do not?” Marc expected Oren to be displeased, angry even. Instead, the elder nodded in understanding.
“Tell me, Marc. If a man is a skilled hunter, does he not use that skill to feed his family and neighbors?”
“If he is honorable, yes.”
“And what of a builder? Should he not build bridges to cross over rivers, roads to travel on and walls to keep out the enemy?”
“Yes.”
Oren gestured toward Valeria. “Consider Valeria here. She is a gifted seamstress, is she not?”
Marc smiled at her. “She and Aula are known far and wide for the beautiful garments they craft.” Valeria gave him a humble smile, then looked bashfully away.
“Do you know any others with their skill?”
Marc shook his head.
“Many have been blessed with skills others do not possess. Our lives are enriched when they use these talents—these gifts—to help others. The same is true for wizards. Magic is their gift.”
“Those people were given their skills by God, but I’m not so sure about wizards. Magic comes from somewhere else.” Marc did not want to go so far as to claim magic was evil.
Oren took in and released a deep breath, clearly trying to remain patient. “All things come from God, good and evil. It is up to each of us to choose between the two.” Leaning past the edge of the table, the master pointed to his side. “That knife at your waist, is it good or evil?”
Marc glanced at the weapon tucked into its leather scabbard. “Neither.”
“What is it, then?”
He thought about it for a moment. “It is a tool. I cut things with it, dig with it.” The image of his blade piercing the buck’s neck flashed through his mind. “And kill things with it if necessary.”
The master leaned closer, his brows narrowing. “And if you used it to kill an innocent man? Good... or evil?”
“That would be evil, but the evil would be upon me, not the knife.”
Straightening, Oren slowly nodded. “You show wisdom, Marc. Open your mind and realize that magic, too, is only a tool. Have you ever heard that I used magic in a wrongful way?”
“Never.”
“So, what am I? Good or evil?”
The master had well made his point. Marc could no longer assume magic was something it was not. “Well, good, of course.”
“I try to be. I use my knowledge and magic to help others. When I foresaw the darkness we are now emerging from, I could have remained safely here while the world starved around me. Instead, I warned everyone I could. Your village listened and survived.”
Marc squirmed uncomfortably on his stool. “I don’t want to be responsible for people’s lives like that. I’m not a leader, that much I know.”
Oren studied him for a moment, his eyes afire with magic. “In time you will become many things you are now not.” While Marc wondered what that meant, the master rose. “Look through the book. Pick out a few simple spells and learn them. Also practice more with the door. Meanwhile, Valeria and I will make bread for supper.” He motioned for her to follow.
She stood and humbly dipped her head. “Master, might I stay a short while? I would like to learn these, too.”
Marc looked to the wizard, hopeful for any sign of agreement—he very much wanted Valeria’s support—but the man only repeated the gesture. “He alone must study the book.”
As they left, a trickle of panic seeped into Marc’s mind. How would he learn all this? And what if he should fail? He turned several pages, examining the spells on them. It looked overwhelming. Surely Oren erred in thinking he could become a wizard. Marc owed him his life, so he would do his best to memorize the spells. But learning magic and practicing it as a profession were two different things. And as for being Oren’s replacement? Marc could not see himself confronting a man like Thaddeus, someone who could end his life with one swift arrow. No, he could not be the wizard Oren hoped for.
Standing, he cleared his thoughts and regarded the cave door. On a whim, he cast the spell from the far side of the room, easily unlocking the bolt. A cautious grin spread across his face, all fears of wizardry suppressed for the moment. A half hour ago he would not have believed he could do what was now a simple task. Maybe it would be easier than he thought to learn all this magic. Returning his attention to the book, he began to study.
— o O o —
Valeria followed Oren into the kitchen, her mind not on the bread to be made but what she had just witnessed. What a marvelous gift Marc had been given. She always knew he was special in some way. While glad for him and, if she were honest with herself, maybe a bit jealous, it frustrated her to be so close to the magic she yearned for and yet so removed from it.
Oren started a small fire in the oven, warming the stones enough for the bread to rise. Taking a large measure each of wheat and barley, Valeria ground them into flour, mixed up the dough, and put it into the oven to rise. All this time Oren had patiently observed her.
He frowned slightly. “You are unhappy about being excluded from learning magic. Do not worry so.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Master, but why can’t I learn it along with Marc?”
“Today you touched the Great Tree and felt its power. Do you feel it now?”
“No. Should I?”
“If you were meant to command the magic that Marc must learn, you would.”
Her heart sank. Ever since yesterday morning she believed she might learn some of the master’s spells. Even after being told she could not light a fire or heal a wound, she still figured the simpler aspects of magic were attainable. “So that means I will never learn to use magic?”
He gave her a sympathetic shrug. “What must be, will be. If in the future the magic decides you are to learn the spells, that will be made known to you.” Oren settled on a stool. “Speaking of the future, why do you assume there is no magic in your life?”
Valeria thought about it. Of course she had magic in her life; Oren, and now Marc, used it. But why had he mentioned the word future in that way? Did the look in his eyes mean—
“My dreams? Magic causes my dreams?”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “In a way.”
She found herself suddenly bewildered. “How do you know about them? I’ve told no one but my mother, not even Marc.” Keeping silent, the wizard stared expectantly at her, one brow raised. It took her more than a moment to understand why. “Oh, how foolish of me. The magic told you, like it tells you everything else.”
“Yes. It would be difficult for me not to know about someone so strongly blessed with the gift of prophesy.” His intent gaze met hers. “Something rare among those favored by magic.”
Valeria doubted her own ears. Did she hear him correctly, or only what she wanted to hear? “So, I was right to think I have a connection with magic?” Oren’s nod seemed to convey more than agreement. Seizing her first thought, she blurted it out. “You chose Marc and I for our magic, not our other skills. You knew you would choose us long before coming to our village.”
The wizard’s lips curled ever so slightly upward. “There is some truth in that, but both of you really do have skills I need. Now, tell me of your visions.”
Elated, Valeria detailed every dream, ending with the one where Marc returned carrying the deer. “Most of my dreams are very strange, making little sense. Why is that so, Master?”
“Magic talks to us in its own language. At first it appears to speak in riddles, but after you learn how to listen, the meaning will become clearer. It will take time for you to hear its true voice.”
“Do you understand my dreams?”
“Portions, but it is not for me to say what they mean. Your visions are just that: yours.”
Her visions. The concept finally sunk in. Joy overflowed within her. She wanted to hug Oren, but something in his expression told her not to. He was the master, she the servant. Words would have to do. “Thank you for choosing me. I want to learn how to listen better to the magic.”
“You shall.” Oren’s gaze shifted to the oven. “We have talked long enough for the bread to rise. Light the oven. I will see how Marc is doing.” He stood and left.
Valeria tried to awaken the fire by blowing on the ashes, but the embers had died out. She built a new kindling pile, then headed for the fireplace to fetch a burning stick. Midway there, she paused. Why not try using magic to light it?
Recalling Oren’s instructions to Marc, she imagined how the magic felt, concentrated on the kindling and evoked the spell. “Ārdē!” Nothing happened. Focusing more intently and putting all the authority she could into her voice, she tried again. Still nothing. With a sigh of frustration, she decided to light the fire the normal way. After the oven reached the proper temperature, she put the loaf in to bake.
With nothing more to do, she headed outside. Looking about, she viewed the world anew. The vibrant green of life suffused everything. A gentle breeze danced about her, bringing with it the delightful fragrances of newly opened blossoms. And the fruit and nut trees were adorned in the deepest of pinks, the brightest purples and whites so pure that snow seemed dim in comparison. Bees sang to her as they lazily drifted from flower to flower. Hearing the quiet rush of air slipping past wings, she looked up to see a flock of geese pass by. She counted fifteen. What a welcome sight!
Laughing, Valeria ran to the gate. Grasping the bars, she surveyed the land beyond. The mist that usually shrouded everything had lifted, allowing her to see for miles. She gazed along the southern path which led toward home. Just over the rise, occasional wisps of steam rose from the hot springs. A warm bath sounded most inviting, but it would have to wait.
Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1) Page 11
