Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1)

by Scott Robert Scheller

  “You already did, seeing Valeria at the springs, and can do so now. Center a thought in your mind about someone or some place. Then concentrate on wanting to view them or it. It is easier to Envision people or places you know well, and much more difficult to see things unknown.” The master smiled at him. “Tell me what your mother is doing at this moment.”

  Marc eagerly focused on knowing his mother’s whereabouts and first thought she might be at the family hut. Nothing came to him. He tried harder, wishing to see his mother inside the hut. No change. “I see nothing, Master.” He explained how he tried.

  “That is because you wanted to see both her and the hut. Magic cannot show you what is not there. I assure you she is not in the hut. Try Envisioning just the hut alone.”

  Marc did, and after a dozen or so heartbeats, the image of his home popped into his mind just like the springs did earlier. “Yes! I see it. No one is home.”

  “Very good. Now try thinking only of your mother.”

  He did and quickly found her, Gwen and Stella gathering reeds from the marsh east of the oak grove. As before, he saw the scene from high above. Wondering if he could get a closer look, he tried redirecting his viewpoint and was thrilled to find it instantly responded to his will. He watched his mother cut the base of the reeds with her knife, pass them to Stella, who then stacked them horizontally in Gwen’s arms. The scene was as true and clear as if he stood beside them.

  Releasing the magic with a chuckle, he looked to his master. “This is incredible.”

  “It is, but use it responsibly.” Oren regarded him closely, his expression most serious. “Wizards must always respect people’s privacy.”

  Oren’s caution sobered his excitement, reminding him of how he frightened Valeria and then, like a coward, tried to lie to her. Marc nodded his understanding. “It seems magic gave me a perfect example of what not to do.”

  Releasing a gentle sigh, the master patted him on the shoulder. “I admit, the timing could have been better. Now, off with you. You have an adventure awaiting you.”

  Relieved, Marc headed to the house and set to loading his pack. For some reason he felt the need to take a blanket and a skin, plus extra rations of nuts and dried fruit. After Valeria was ready, they said goodbye to Oren and headed down the path to Oak Creek.

  At first they did not talk, only sharing a small loaf of bread she brought along. Seeing a blackbird eyeing them, he tossed a large crumb to the side of the path and watched it swoop down from its perch to snatch up the morsel. He thought it only fair since enough of the bird’s cousins had fed him in the past. When they neared the small path that led to the spring, Valeria took his hand. Her touch roused the memories of her bathing, making him feel embarrassed.

  She gave him a warm, reassuring smile, almost as if in answer to his unspoken apology. “I’m glad it was you that saw me, not some stranger. Looking back on it, I realize I never actually felt threatened. I also sensed a faint kind of magic coming from where you hid. At the time I was too distracted to realize it strongly reminded me of yours.”

  He avoided her gaze. “How so?”

  “Like I’ve told you before, your magic feels, well, hot to me. Oren and the Tree only feel warm. What I felt earlier was just like yours. What do you think?”

  Calming himself, he gave it some thought. “I believe you are right. I sometimes feel the presence of you or Oren. Maybe this means the magic is starting to talk to you.”

  Her grip tightened. “Oh, I’d love that.” She let out a joyous little giggle.

  Sweeter than any music, her laughter eased his desires. Even so, it could not return things to how they once were. For some time her beauty called strongly to him, but he had always managed to push those thoughts aside. Today changed all that. He wanted her yet knew he could never have her. Even someone as important as Donald was not worthy in her eyes. For as long as he and Valeria served in their master’s house, Marc vowed to remain a gentleman.

  — o O o —

  Lost in thought, Oren lingered at the gate long after his two wards disappeared from sight. Would they notice how much they had changed, especially Marc? It surprised him how quickly the young man learned to use his gifts despite the conflicts warring within him. Oren wished he could tell Marc why part of him feared magic, but doing so would change what would be. What had to be.

  Leaving the gate, he slowly walked up the path, contemplating his future. With each passing month, the aches in his legs and back continued to worsen as his energy, eyesight and hearing also declined. He felt fortunate to have his magic to fall back on, but even that had its limits. Would he remain strong enough to face the coming tribulations? And after over eight decades on this earth, would he live long enough to teach Marc everything he needed to know in order to survive those tests? He hoped so, trusting all would progress according to the Lord’s plan.

  Oren approached a favorite plum tree, one of three he and his wife had planted on their wedding day. It remained barren; no flowers or leaves had come forth. He gently bent a twig. Its brittle snap told him that the darkness had claimed yet another life. Sadly, he knew it had to be removed to make way for a new sapling, one full of life and vigor. A wry smile crossed his face. He, too, would soon be replaced in kind.

  Continuing deeper into the orchard, he came to the place he was at when Marc returned earlier. He knelt. The pain that shot through his knees paled against the ache and emptiness in his heart. Reaching down, he delicately caressed two flat, featureless stones set flush in the ground, opening his mind to the feelings his magic enabled him to receive.

  “I miss you, my darlings,” he said gently. “I still feel you strongly even though you have been absent for so long. I wish you could meet my apprentices. You would love them both. They are so innocent, yet soon will learn the harsh truths of the world. Pain will find them, especially Marc. But they will be strong. Our Creator has seen to that. I am honored to be His instrument to guide them.”

  He visited a while longer before struggling to his feet—he avoided using magic out of respect for his wife and daughter. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he made his way to the house. From within the caves he retrieved medicinal herbs, extra blankets and other supplies. Returning to the house, he carried them into the fireplace room. It was time to ready things for tonight.

  Chapter 10

  “Hurry, Marc.” Valeria tugged eagerly on his arm. “We’re almost there.”

  Above them a thin curl of smoke drifted skyward from the remnants of the previous night’s guiding fire.

  Laughing, he broke into a jog. She had not changed since childhood. “You just can’t wait to tell your mother.”

  Her eyes flashed playfully. “And what’s wrong with that?”

  He laughed again. “Nothing, as long as it’s only—”

  “Marc! Valeria! What a pleasure this is.” Garrett hurried toward them through the underbrush.

  Marc extended a hand. “Greetings.” The village leader firmly shook it in the manner used between the men. Valeria gave him a quick hug.

  Garret beamed. “What brings the two of you here? Some task for Oren?”

  “No, just a free day to visit. How is the hunt lately?”

  “Very good indeed. We—”

  Valeria started to slip away. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ll go see my mother while you two talk.”

  Garrett laughed as she hurried off. “Good-bye, then.” He looked back at Marc, a gleam in his eye. “The hunt? Much improved. Sean has brought in dozens of hares since you left. Seems he has a secret hunting place and won’t tell where. We’re starting to see some deer, even does with fawns. Lord knows where they’ve been hiding, but I’m glad they haven’t died off. There are many geese as well.”

  “It’s good to see everything is changing for the better.”

  “Your life is changing, too.” Garrett glanced about as if to ensure they were not observed, then spoke quietly. “How are your studies in the ways of magic coming along?” />
  Startled, Marc met his gaze. “How do you know that?”

  “Oren told me the night he selected you to help him, but I’ve been expecting it. Since you were a little boy he knew you would be favored with magic. Your father had some in him, too, right?”

  Gasping in a choked breath, Marc managed a stunned, “What?”

  Furrowing his brows, Garrett regarded him for a long moment. “He never told you?”

  Giving his head a slow shake, Marc searched his memories. “He talked about magic a few times, but nothing concerning him—uh, us having any. I do remember him asking if I had any interest in it. But—” Marc looked away, not wanting Garrett to see the hurt in his eyes. “Not long after that he died.”

  Recalling his father’s memory awakened some of the pain he felt at losing him. While knowing they shared a connection to magic gladdened his heart, he wondered what other secrets may have died with him. Images and emotions of that terrible night tried to surface, but Marc firmly repressed them. Even so, something about it nagged at him, something important but very unpleasant. Best to change the subject.

  “This morning I saw Oren kneeling in the trees by the south wall. When I came up to him, he looked sorrowful. Do you have any idea why that might be so?”

  Garrett nodded sadly. “His wife and child are buried there.”

  That fact surprised Marc. “Oh. I never knew he had married.”

  “They died many years ago, well before my time. He never remarried, either. He must have loved her very much.” Putting an arm around Marc’s shoulder, Garrett directed him toward the village. “Enough of that,” he said with forced cheer. “Let’s get you home so you can greet everybody.”

  Thinking of those whom he would soon see, he suddenly became worried. “Who else knows about my studies?”

  “No one.”

  “Not even Don?” Marc worried about Donald’s reaction should he find out.

  Garrett scoffed loudly. “Especially him. He still thinks as a boy and until his attitude changes, he will be treated as such.”

  It startled Marc to hear Garrett speak so frankly about his son. “He’ll come around.”

  Garrett gave him a nod of appreciation. “I pray for that every day. Come.”

  It did not take long for the villagers to notice his return. Within a minute, a small crowd surrounded Marc, eager to hear of his time with the wizard. He patiently explained what he could, carefully avoiding anything that even hinted of learning magic. The nagging sensations associated with his father’s death continued to escalate to the point that, once free of the crowd, he could no longer repress the unwanted memories. Stumbling toward a nearby bench, he collapsed onto it as the nightmare he often suffered surged into the forefront of his mind.

  Marc found himself in the woods at night, clutching a sword in one hand and an antler in the other. His head spun as his heart pounded madly in fear. A figure cloaked in black snuck about the darkness, sliding from shadow to shadow, stalking him. An overwhelming sense of evil hung about this presence—evil directed at him. And the terrible smell of the place, singed hair and charred meat, burned his nose and throat. The dream always ended the same way—the figure rose into the air, burst into flames and vanished.

  “What is the matter?” a man’s voice asked. “Are you ill?”

  Realizing he was slumped forward, head in hands, Marc sat up and opened his eyes to see Domas, the metal worker, looking concerned. “No. Just tired.” He put on what he hoped appeared to be a natural smile and stood. “Had to rest my eyes a bit.”

  Relieved, Domas said, “Good health to you, then,” and headed off.

  Marc trembled a little. Was it from fear? Being assaulted by the unwanted nightmare had definitely unsettled him. But there was more to his unease than just the dream. What that might be, he didn’t know. Looking around, he determined no one else had seen him lose control of himself. Grateful for that, he took in a deep breath, calmed himself and resumed his walk.

  Passing by Sean’s home, he heard his friend’s voice inside. Turning up the short, stone-lined path, he stopped in the doorway and saw him talking with Valeria.

  “Marc!” Sean bounded over and nearly squeezed the life from him. “It’s good to see you.”

  Marc squeezed harder. “And you, my friend.”

  “Valeria has spoken much about your time at Oren’s. She also told me why you were not harmed when you entered the Vale. Amazing, isn’t it? And you said you’d never go back there. Ha!”

  Marc shot Valeria a quick glance, worried she let slip the secret they agreed to keep. Her clever smile eased his concern. “Yes, the Great Tree is not so frightening now. What else has she talked about?”

  “She started to tell me about Oren’s many scrolls.”

  “You’d love them. Grand tales of adventure and exploration.”

  “And poetry,” Valeria said.

  “Yes. Val’s taken quite a liking to poetry. She’ll tell you about it while I go see my mother. Let’s talk more later.” He shook Sean’s hand and retreated outside, walking the short distance home. Entering, he found his mother and sisters weaving reed baskets, giving him a momentary thrill when he recalled Envisioning them at the marsh just hours before. They quickly set their work aside and greeted him.

  “We’ve missed you so much,” Judith said, clutching him firmly to her.

  He hugged her back. “I have as well.”

  “Are you here to stay?” Gwen asked, somehow managing to worm between them. “I won’t mind letting you take over chopping all the wood.”

  Stella lifted her older sister’s arm, squeezing the biceps. “Look how strong she’s getting.”

  Marc chuckled as Gwen yanked her arm back with a frown. “No, I’m only here for the day. Why don’t the two of you get back to your weaving. I need to speak with mother.” After hugging his sisters, he motioned for his mother to follow him outside.

  “What is it, Son?”

  “We need to talk in private. Away from here.” He gestured up the northern path.

  She studied his face for a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”

  While leading her to Ethan’s shed, he repeated what he told the villagers about his time at Oren’s. After ensuring they were alone, he unfastened the door and bade her enter.

  Tightening the shawl about her shoulders, she gazed at him uneasily. “Why are we here?”

  “I want no one to hear us speak.”

  A flicker of concern crossed her face. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “No. I—” How would he tell her? Just blurt it out or ease into it? Oren told him that when making important decisions, he should think first with this mind, but then let his heart make the final choice. “Did father ever talk about having a connection to magic?”

  She cocked her head in puzzlement. “Magic?”

  “Did he know things about it? Did he ever mention it?”

  “No. Why do you ask this?”

  “Because I found out he not only knew about magic, but had some in him as well.”

  Her eyebrows narrowed. “That’s nonsense. Where did you get such a silly idea?”

  He took her hands in his and faced her. “I, too, have magic.”

  Initially shocked, her expression changed into one of confusion. “Marc? Why—why would you say something like that?”

  “Because it’s true. Oren is teaching me to use magic. He wants me to become a wizard.” Marc saw a thick clump of flowers growing near the sheep pen. “I’ll prove it to you. See those flowers over there?” He pointed them out. “I will bring them to you using magic. Don’t be frightened.” Lowering his voice, he gently said, “Flōrēs, ad mātrem meam īte.”

  She gasped seeing a handful of blossoms break free and float toward her. The color drained from her face as she backed away, bumping into a hanging sack of acorns. “How—?” His mother glanced nervously between him and the flowers hanging in space before her.

  “They won’t hurt you,” he said reassurin
gly.

  Hesitantly, she reached out and accepted them. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry to shock you this way, but I didn’t know how else to make you believe me.”

  She smiled weakly. “I see. How long have you been using magic?”

  “Since my second day with Oren.” Marc briefly described his studies, during which the apprehension in her gaze faded.

  “Does Valeria know about this?” she asked.

  “Yes. She’s helping me improve my skills.”

  Judith squeezed his hand affectionately. “Then study hard and learn well. Oren is giving you a wonderful gift.”

  “He is, but it’s not always wonderful. Sometimes I fear magic. It reminds me of the terrible dreams I had after father died.” That nagging feeling returned, unsettling his stomach. “Somehow I know they are related.”

  His mother hugged him. “Those were only dreams. They couldn’t hurt you, Son. If you hadn’t been the one to find him—”

  The memories of that terrible night surfaced full force. It was late evening and his father had not returned from hunting, so the men and older boys went in search of him. Donald and Sean helped Marc look in an area his father favored. At one point, Marc thought he heard his father’s voice calling to him from the other side of a thicket. Pushing through the brush, he found him sprawled backward over a log, lifeless eyes staring vacantly into the black sky, his hands gripping an antler protruding from his chest.

  Marc instantly knew he was dead. Releasing a gut-wrenching cry of loss, he dropped to his knees in the snow and touched his father’s face. It was cold, nearly frozen. While Donald ran to alert the men, Marc moved to pull out the antler. Upon touching it, a hot, tingling sensation rushed into him.

  Jumping back, he fearfully regarded his father’s ashen form in the flickering torch light. Cautiously, he tried once more. The heat and energy again assailed him, this time with greater intensity. Seeing he could not remove it, Sean did it for him. Later, the men searched in vain for a one-antlered buck. How the animal managed to gore his father remained a mystery.