Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1)

by Scott Robert Scheller

  For a time she wandered about the compound, thinking on what it meant to have the gift of prophecy. Why did she have it as opposed to someone else? How should she use it? Oren could perform magic at will, but her visions came upon her sporadically and only during sleep. If there came a need for seeing into the future, would she have to wait days, or even weeks, for a dream to come upon her? She let out a gentle sigh. It was too soon to worry about such things.

  Returning to the kitchen, she found the bread only half baked, so she headed to her room. She reached for the curtain covering her doorway, then hesitated, glancing at the workshop door. What were the master and Marc doing in there? As if to answer her, the door swung open. Both men sat at the table. Knowing one of them used their magic on the door gave her a bit of a thrill.

  When she moved to look into the workshop, Oren gestured her way. “Come in. See what else Marc has learned.”

  She quickly entered and took a seat. “Show me.”

  Marc placed a wooden bowl before him and cast a spell. Amazed, she watched it rise until it hung a foot above the table, bobbling slightly. How did the magic hold it up? She waved her hand under and over it, feeling nothing except a slight warmth. As the vessel settled back on the table, she clapped enthusiastically. “That’s wonderful. Can you make anything else fly?”

  “If it’s not too heavy. Master Oren wants me to move the anvil over there, but I can’t do it.”

  “Yet,” Oren said pointedly. “Your will must be stronger. The magic can only work as hard as you do. Practice it every chance you get.” He stood with a groan. “These old bones are getting stiff. A good walk will loosen them up. Valeria, help him find different things to levitate, but remember the bread.”

  “Yes, Master.” Glancing around, she pointed at the lamp. “Move that.” She watched Marc with great interest. His eyes sparkled with the excitement of performing the spell. If only he would look at her like that. And the way his lips were pursed in concentration—perfect for kissing her.

  “How’s this?” he asked as the lamp floated several inches above the table while slowly rotating.

  “Very good. I’m proud of you.”

  Keeping his gaze fixed upon the object, he grinned. “Thanks.

  “Our master seems pleased, too.”

  Marc lowered the lamp to the table’s surface then looked at her, his face serious. “I hope so. I’d rather not have him angry at me.”

  “You’re afraid of him?”

  “No, but mindful. I’ve displeased him twice today.” Marc leaned closer and lowered his voice. “He tells me if I do well in my studies, I may one day learn the Great Secret of magic.”

  A tingle crept over her. “Great Secret? Magic itself is secret. Whatever it is, it must be very important.” She held his hands. “I also have something important to share.” How to tell him? Certainly he would be glad for her, but he might also be hurt that she kept it to herself until now. “I just found out I can do a little magic, too.”

  His eyes lit up in surprise. “That’s wonderful! What is it?”

  “I sometimes see things before they happen. I see them in my dreams.” She told him about some of them. “That’s why I knew to greet you when you brought back the deer.”

  “Fascinating. Will you be learning the spells, too, then?” He nodded toward the book.

  She shook her head, all too aware the sum of magic’s knowledge was within her reach. “Master Oren says I don’t have the same connection to magic you do.”

  “Maybe not, but you do have your own special kind, and that pleases me.” He gave her a hearty but all-too-brief hug. “Tell me when you have any more visions.”

  “I shall.” She wished the hug lasted longer. Why did he not act on the way she knew he felt toward her? “Are your feelings hurt that I never told you about my dreams until now?”

  “No. Why would you think so?”

  “You told me your secrets, going into the Vale and everything. You trusted me enough to tell me.”

  Marc laughed, mischief flashing in his eyes. “Only after you forced me.”

  “But still, I could have told you—”

  “No. You had no reason to. Your dreams are private. I’m glad I told you and Sean about going into the Vale. I could have brought ruin upon our village. Sharing it eased that burden.” He leaned forward and tenderly kissed her forehead. “Thanks for being so curious.”

  The room spun about her and her skin flushed with sudden warmth. “Glad to,” she mumbled. With his touch a cacophony of images flooded her mind. Images of him. Some from past occurrences, but most of times unknown. The experience made her recall what took place earlier by the cave door.

  “One more thing, Marc. Before, when I said your hand was hot—” How could she explain something so abstract? “I saw images of you like I do in my dreams, but none of them made any sense.”

  “Some day they will. Tell me then.”

  “I promise.” She tried not to blush.

  He smiled, warm and genuine, awakening the memory of his kiss. She let it linger until he reminded her to check the bread.

  The remainder of the day passed and Valeria retired to her chamber to sleep, her mind filled with the remarkable events she experienced. Memories of the Great Tree and the Forbidden Vale flitted through her head before being replaced with seeing Marc perform his first spell. He seemed as thrilled as her when he learned that bit of magic.

  Soon memories drifted into dreams as she imagined him standing before the people of their village, performing great feats of magic. The crowd cheered and applauded his every move. But something felt wrong. She knew someone was missing. Donald? He would not want to witness Marc being praised. Searching through the thin blue haze, she saw him next to his father, clapping along with the rest.

  That troubled her. Things were not right. Aside from Donald’s behavior, something else seemed terribly wrong. But what? Why did everything look so strange? And that smell? Smoke! Thick, billowing clouds of it blew through the crowd who ignored it while continuing to celebrate Marc’s prowess. She desperately tried to warn them the village burned, but they did not hear her. Maybe Marc would.

  Looking back to where he once stood she found no one. Whirling about, she now found herself standing in the graveyard, alone. The trees were gone, replaced with giant spears thrust blade-first into the ground. Impaled into their shafts were hundreds of arrows arranged in ghastly caricatures of branches and boughs. Above them rivers of blood flowed through the near-black sky.

  Frightened, she cried out Marc’s name. The only answer—the icy wind. Once again she tried, shouting. With a great clap of thunder, the heavens burst open and a magnificent sword of golden fire tumbled to earth, landing in a hole before her. She leaned over the edge and saw what she feared most: Marc lay in an open grave, covered with blood. Her tears fell upon him and his eyes snapped open. A terrible scream of pain and rage tore from his lips and split the world in two, leaving her in silent blackness.

  Heart pounding, Valeria gasped for air. She felt about herself—blankets and skins surrounded her. She was in bed. Dread overcame her. “Oh, God, no.” While she desperately tried to convince herself it was just a dream, she knew better. It was a vision. A very bad vision.

  About Marc.

  “Oh, God, please, no,” she quietly cried into her pillow. “Don’t let it be so.”

  Chapter 9

  Whistling a tune, Marc strode briskly through the woods, enjoying the early morning air. He was in a good mood. No lessons today. No chores. After a quick visit to the Great Tree, he would be free to leave and spend the day with his mother and sisters. To top it all off, the weather looked to be perfect.

  For six weeks straight he and Valeria had served Oren well and today was to be their first day of rest. In that time, he learned much about the cultivation and application of the many herbs the master used for healing and potions. His continuing lessons on Latin, Greek, history, medicine and the writings of great minds, gave him a deep
er understanding of the world. But his progression in the ways of magic surprised Marc the most—he had learned nearly one-quarter of the spells in the book. Throughout it all, the master’s expert guidance and encouragement made his tasks easier. The knowledge and wisdom Oren had gained over the years amazed Marc. He hungered to learn it all.

  Exiting the trees into the meadow east of the creek, he waded through a knee-deep sea of wild flowers. Insects darted everywhere while mice and other small creatures scurried underfoot. When he came to the large pool behind the waterfall, he saw dozens of fingerlings swimming about; Wiccan creek had calmed now that the last snows had melted. The return of these long-absent things comforted him.

  Marc climbed the hill, letting the magic of the Great Tree flow into his mind. With each previous journey his discomfort toward it diminished, transforming as of late into curiosity. Its intense magic had a purpose, but what? Oren would not say. Once at the ledge, he put his hands upon the massive trunk expecting a rush of emotion or a sensation of some sort, but other than feeling its raw power, the Tree remained quiet.

  Waiting to see if that would change, his thoughts turned to the village. It would be good to see everyone again, but he worried about what questions they might ask and which answers to give. Sean would surely pounce upon him and Val, demanding to be filled in to the last detail. How much should he be told? Val wanted to tell her mother the reason for her visions. Marc wondered if it would be wise to tell anyone about the magic, for doing so might very well change how the others treated him.

  With a sigh, he let go of the bark and sat facing the valley, his back against the trunk. Scanning the land below, he found his gaze kept halting upon one particular spot on the hillside across the way. Why did it catch his interest so? There was little to see but trees and rocks. After some thought, he realized the hot spring lay on the far side of that place. Why would that be important right now?

  Shrugging it off, he decided the Tree had determined to remain mute, and headed back to Oren’s house. As he walked, his thoughts returned to Val, recalling little snippets of her handing him bread, stretching to get something off a high shelf, kneeling in the master’s garden and running after a goose. Then, suddenly, a surge of vertigo welled up, causing him to stagger to a nearby tree for support. The daydream of her swimming naked at the hot springs returned with a vivid intensity he had not previously experienced. Not only could he see everything more clearly, he also heard her splashing about and singing. The crisp scent of the water and the plants living around it came strongly to his nose. The absolute realness of the mental picture both fascinated and worried him. Pushing it aside, he continued on.

  Ahead he saw the branch in the path. To the left, Oren’s home. To the right, the springs. Determined to prove to himself these thoughts were only fantasies of his lustful mind, Marc veered right and quickened his pace. All the way there he continued to see her swim about as if he floated bird-like, high in the air over the spring. The strength of his thoughts distressed him—they seemed so genuine, but, of course, that could not be.

  With deliberate care, he slowly climbed the rocky path to the spring. Keeping low and to the left, he hugged the hillside and silently pushed his way into the vegetation at the water’s edge, trusting the gurgle of the spring would mask any noises he might make. Slightly parting the last layer of bushes, he cautiously peered out over the water. His heart leapt. Not fifteen feet away swam Val! Although her back was to him, he could tell she was indeed naked, just as he had seen. Marc swallowed hard, trying to control the fear and excitement surging through him. Could this be real? Or just a figment of the Tree’s magic?

  No, it had to be real. He felt the bushes against his skin, the grit of the rocky soil pressing sharply into his knees, the heat radiating off the water. Valeria looked real enough, too. And yet he hid from her like a frightened animal. His fear melted away to be replaced with shame—he should not be doing this. As he started to back away, she quickly looked with alarm in his direction.

  “Hello?” Sinking up to her chin, she carefully scanned the area around his hiding place. “Is anyone there?”

  He froze, desperately hoping to remain undiscovered. She looked around several more times before moving to the far side of the spring. When she turned away, Marc retreated down the rocks and back to the path. Crossing over the tiny stream, he stopped and looked behind him in dismay. What just happened? Surely the Tree had a hand in this—what he saw on the way here was real—but there was more to it. Did magic itself want to tell him something?

  Concern for Val pushed those worries aside. As he thought about how frightened she must be, his mind snapped back to the bird’s-eye view of the spring. She now stood next to the water, dressing. Forcing the image from his mind, he ran toward Oren’s house, afraid of what he had done and filled with questions he could not answer. Should he ask the master about what happened? Would he be punished?

  Blurting out the spell, he opened the gate and hurried down the path toward the house. He had not gone far before spotting his master off to the left, far back in the trees, next to the wall. The old man knelt upon the ground, eyes downcast. Marc found that odd. Oren never kneeled, not even to pray. He said doing so caused him too much pain. Moments later, the wizard stood and inspected the branches above him. By the time Marc caught up with him, Oren had moved several trees closer to the house. He glanced at Marc before returning his attention to the immature fruit.

  “Ah. How was the visit to the Tree?”

  In his brief look at Oren’s face, he saw the man’s eyes were moist. While momentarily curious about the master’s doings, his visions of Valeria concerned him more. Marc tried to keep the panic from voice. “Nothing happened there, but on the way back I started having visions—powerful ones—and then I saw they were real.”

  “Visions?” Oren asked calmly. “Of what?”

  Marc took in a ragged breath. “I saw—now please don’t be angry. I didn’t ask for them.” He paused, fought back his jittery nerves, and took another breath. “I had visions of—”

  “Valeria!” Oren looked past him, his face lined in concern. “What is the matter?”

  Marc swiveled to see her running up the path.

  “Master. Marc. Someone spied on me while I bathed at the spring.” She darted up to Oren and grabbed his hand. When her agitated gaze met his own, Marc felt a pang of guilt.

  Oren placed his other hand atop hers. “Be calm, for you are in no danger. Who was it?”

  Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t see them.”

  “Then how do you know you were being watched?”

  “I- I can’t say why I know, I just do. I felt it.”

  Oren nodded and lightly pulled at his beard. “Ah. There may have been someone, or it may have been the magic. It sometimes feels that way when it comes to you.”

  “Can you tell if anyone is still there?”

  The wizard nodded. Closing his eyes he faced skyward, spreading his arms out from his sides. Marc wondered what kind of magic he used. His own experience of seeing Valeria swimming must be insignificant to the powers the master could summon. After a moment, Oren returned his gaze to her. “I Envisioned the area around the spring and found no one.”

  Valeria visibly relaxed. “So it was magic I felt?”

  “I believe magic was involved.” Oren gave Marc a subtle, knowing glance before adding, “To some degree.”

  She turned to Marc. “Did you see anyone this morning?”

  Marc desperately tried to swallow the hard lump in his throat. Should he tell her the truth? Doing so was sure to upset her, but he did not want to lie to her, either. “The only people I’ve seen this morning were you and Master Oren.” Even though he spoke the literal truth, it felt like a lie. A terrible lie. Again the magic he never wanted brought trouble into his life. Only this time it spilled over into Valeria’s life as well. Filled with frustration and shame, he averted her gaze.

  Valeria drew cl
oser, the fingers of her right hand coming to rest on his forearm. “What’s wrong?”

  When Marc glanced at the master, the wizard gestured encouragingly toward Valeria with his eyes. What was he trying to say? That she suspected something? If so, she would not rest until she rooted out the truth. It would be better to confess now than later. Putting his hand on hers, he faced her. “It... was me,” he said, quietly.

  “What?”

  “It was me you sensed.” He looked into her eyes expecting to see anger, shock, or, at the very least, disapproval. Instead he found concern.

  “Explain.”

  He told her everything he experienced after leaving the Tree. “I honestly did not intend to spy upon you. I just—I had to know if what I saw was real.”

  Her face brightened. “Don’t worry yourself for what happened was magic’s will.” She faced Oren. “Yes?” The wizard nodded. “I am thrilled about the gift my best friend has received.” Giving him a quick hug, she turned toward the house. “I’m going to gather my things for the journey. Are you coming?”

  Caught off guard by her rapid change in attitude, it took him a moment to answer. “Uh, soon.” After she was out of earshot, Marc addressed Oren with a subtle bow. “I trust you knew what happened even before I confessed.”

  “Yes.”

  “So what did happen? How was I able to see visions of Val from so far away?”

  “Visions are images of what will be. This morning you Envisioned—seeing what is happening now. To a wizard, this is a most valuable aspect of magic.”

  “So the magic talked to me?” Marc asked slowly, unsure of his thoughts.

  “In a way.”

  A jolt of excitement rippled through him. To hear magic’s voice meant he had its favor—well, some favor, anyway. “I am honored.” He remembered how Oren Envisioned the spring a minute ago. “Will I be able to Envision at will someday?”