Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1)

by Scott Robert Scheller

  Marc chuckled. “Let me do it my way!” Saying a retrieval spell, he brought the panic stricken gander to his waiting hands. “See. No running needed.”

  The monk gasped in terror. “What evil magic is this?” Fear filled his eyes as he fished out a wooden cross from beneath the blanket and held it in a tightly clenched fist.

  Marc put his arm around the bird to quiet its flapping wing. “It’s not evil, Brother Gildas. I learned it from our master, the great wizard, Oren the Wise. He’s a good man.”

  “Impossible!” Gildas pointed an accusatory finger Marc’s way. “Practitioners of magic serve the evil one, not our Heavenly Father.”

  Sitting next to Gildas, Valeria took that hand between hers. “Oren is a good and God fearing man. He gives a blessing to God at each meal and prays daily. Our master helps and heals many people. He foresaw the great darkness and warned our village two years before it came. We were able to store up enough food in that time to survive. Is that something an evil man would do?”

  “Evil often disguises itself in the clothing of good. Because of his warning your village now owes him a great debt.”

  Marc moved closer to him. “One he has never tried to collect on. A while ago he saved me from death at the hands of one of the king’s men. Why would an evil man do that?”

  “You are his servant.”

  “I wasn’t at that time. In gratitude I offered him anything he wanted, but he forgave my debt.”

  “That proves nothing for here you are in bondage to him.”

  Valeria caught Gildas’ gaze. “We serve him voluntarily. He asked for our help and both of us gladly agreed. We didn’t know then, but the real reason he wanted our help was because we were blessed with the magic.”

  Gildas looked warily at Valeria. “You, too?”

  “Yes. I sometimes see powerful visions. They used to frighten me until Oren explained they were a gift from God.” She reached out and gently touched the monk’s cross, then gestured around them. “This afternoon, while standing before the holy altar in our village, I saw a vision of you laying here and knew you needed help. That’s how we found you.”

  Gasping, Gildas crossed himself.

  Marc nodded. “Oren commands us to only use magic for good. How is that evil?”

  The monk’s thoughtful gaze shifted between him and Valeria several times. With a sigh that ended in a cough, Gildas smiled weakly. “It is tempting to trust the two of you for you have shown me nothing but kindness. I also trust that my Lord will not deliver me into the hands of evil. While I am not ready to believe that magic can be good, I will go with you to your master’s home.”

  Marc grinned. “Well enough. Now, are you hungry for some roast goose?”

  Gildas’ eyes lit up. “Indeed.”

  The bird made a fine meal. By the time they had eaten their fill, the chill dark of night had arrived. Gildas tried to refuse the use of Marc’s blanket, insisting his now dry robe and the hide would suffice to keep him warm. Valeria convinced him that because of his fever he needed the warmth of the extra blanket. After Gildas fell asleep, Marc stoked up the fire so it would last the night. Valeria crawled under the blanket with him and soon fell asleep holding his back.

  Keenly feeling her warmth against him, her sweet breath upon his neck, he could not help but think about how close her beautiful body was to his, only a few thin layers of cloth away. Preparing to fight off his rising lust, he found it never fully manifested, for other feelings, more powerful and important feelings, tempered his carnality. Feelings of a shared friendship so deep, so complete, that he could never remember a time it did not exist. Feelings of comfort—just being in her presence put him at ease. And he truly cared for her, more than any other of his friends, almost as if—

  He gasped aloud, unable to contain his surprise. Did he love her? Not just the best friend kind of love, but the man and woman get married, have kids, die of old age together kind? Maybe so. But did she love him back? It was obvious she liked him, even cared for him as well, but at what point did like become love? A hundred memories of the feelings he’d had toward her tumbled about his mind, all clamoring for attention. He’d never been in love before. What was it supposed to be like? He thought of his parents, how they used to relate to each other, the little looks and touches, the way they talked. He and Valeria acted like that sometimes. Wishing he had answers to those questions, he resolved to think about it awhile.

  Marc made an earnest prayer for understanding and strength, asking that he take no action that might damage their relationship. Turning his thoughts elsewhere, he reflected on the events of the day and how their lives had forever changed. Magic itself had changed for him, too. Not just that he no longer feared it, but today was the first time he had participated in magic that did something good—a life had been saved. While he contemplated these things, sleep finally came.

  — o O o —

  “Wake up, Marc,” a voice said, urgently.

  Confused, he felt someone shake his shoulder. His cheek was wet. Why? Suddenly his mind focused and he realized the rain he feared had arrived. Opening his eyes, he saw Valeria’s face hovering over his. Seeing he was awake, she gave him a hint of a smile, then moved away. With a resigned sigh, he cast off the sodden blanket and rolled to his feet. While icy cold, the rain fell fairly lightly. No downpour—so far. From the position of the quarter-crescent moon just visible through a gray veil of clouds, he knew four or five hours remained until dawn. The fire had died back, but its low flames and glowing embers provided enough light to see in the immediate vicinity.

  Valeria seemed mildly upset. “You were right, it rained. Let’s make a tent out of the blankets.”

  “No, Gildas will become too chilled if we wait out the storm here. This rain is bound to last for hours.” He glanced over at the monk. “We have no choice but to get him to Oren’s.”

  She knelt, placing her palm on the man’s forehead. “How? He’s still too weak to walk.”

  Marc wished he knew more magic. The Floating spell would have made it much easier to move Gildas to safety. Marc hit upon an idea. “We’ll carry him.”

  “Carry him? How?”

  “Lay him on the hide, then attach a rope to each corner.” He pointed at the pile of firewood. “We’ll run the ropes over those two long branches and put them on our shoulders like poles, slinging him between us. It should take about an hour and a half to get home. We’ll be wet and cold, but the house is warm and dry.”

  She looked doubtfully at the branches, then Gildas.

  “You’ll be able to carry him, Val. He doesn’t weigh very much.”

  After a moment of consideration, she nodded in agreement.

  While she woke the monk and told him of the plan, Marc rigged up the sling. Once Gildas was loaded onto the hide, they covered him with one of the blankets, and draped the other over the branches as a makeshift tent. Taking the lead position, Marc headed for the path north. The wind picked up as the fullness of the storm swelled, pelting them with a frigid barrage of stinging raindrops that sucked the heat out of their flesh. The partial moon provided adequate light when it shone freely, but the fast-moving clouds often hid it from view, diffusing its illumination to the point where he could barely distinguish between tree and open space. Despite that, and the continuous trickle of water in his eyes, he somehow kept to the path.

  After over an hour of travel it seemed as if the branches had burrowed deep into the flesh of his throbbing shoulders. His feet were two blocks of unfeeling ice, and his calves ached with the added effort of carrying the monk. Completely soaked through, his clothing clung coldly to him, weighing him down, fighting his every move. By the way Valeria staggered about, Marc knew she would soon buckle under the load. They both needed to rest. Ahead lay the hill south of the springs. To the east, he remembered seeing a small outcropping of rock that would provide some protection from the elements.

  “This way.” He moved off the path and toward the outcropping, trying to k
eep his footing in the deepening mud.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice weak and breathy.

  “To rest.”

  Hearing her grunt of agreement, Marc led the way around several piles of rocks until they were under the meager overhang. Fortunately, it was almost dry and fairly protected from the wind. Upon setting Gildas down, Valeria sank to her knees with a quiet whimper. Knowing where his own muscles smarted from the task, he began massaging those same areas on her. In time, he felt her tension subside.

  She squeezed his hand. “Thanks. I’m much better. Let’s get going again. I’m cold. Walking will warm me up.”

  Reluctantly shouldering their burden once more, they returned to the path. As they climbed the hill, he realized that while rubbing her, not once did his thoughts drift toward the carnal. That pleased him. Cresting the hill, Valeria gave out a tired sigh.

  “Do you need to rest again, Val?”

  “No,” she moaned. “Keep... going.”

  Soon they were before the large iron gate. Relieved, Marc cast the spell and entered the compound.

  Hearing the groan of the hinges, Gildas stirred. “Where are we?”

  Marc realized the man had slept the entire time. “We’ve reached Raven’s Gate—Oren’s home.”

  “Oh, God bless both of you! I will keep you in my prayers, always.”

  The monk’s praise made Marc feel somewhat embarrassed. Unsure how to respond, he simply said, “You are welcome.”

  Valeria’s labored breathing and unsteady gait told him she was too exhausted to go much further. His own fatigue gnawed heavily at his resolve.

  “You can do it, Val,” he said, encouraging himself as much as her. “We’re almost there.”

  “Yes,” she panted.

  Eyeing the path ahead, he put one foot before the other, maintaining the rhythm until they reached the stone of the entry steps. Marc prepared to cast the spell upon the door when it creaked open. Oren stepped out into the rain and smiled down at the monk.

  “Gildas the Wise, Abbot and servant of our Lord. Welcome to my home.”

  Chapter 12

  “Volitā,” Oren quietly said, waving his arms upward.

  The branches gently rose from Marc’s shoulders—how he wished he could do that. Stepping aside, he watched as the entire sling floated through the door with the master trailing behind it. Following, he stopped short as Oren waved him off.

  “See to Valeria.”

  Marc turned and saw that she stood very unsteadily in place. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her inside. “You look exhausted.” He felt more than heard a little chuckle come from her.

  “I do? I can’t understand why.” Putting her arms around his neck, she smiled, closed her eyes and snuggled into his chest.

  Resisting the temptation to kiss the top of her head, Marc responded with a chuckle of his own. “Let’s go find a nice, warm fire.” Casting the spell, he closed the door behind them. When they entered the fireplace room, he saw with surprise that Oren already had Gildas situated on a bed placed close to the fire. “Master, there’s so much to tell you about what happened today. We—”

  The wizard stopped him with a curt gesture. “In the morning. Go to the workshop. There you will find warm broth, dry clothes and a place made ready for sleep. I will tend to our guest. Go.”

  By Oren’s subtle smile, Marc knew the master was pleased even though his terse dismissal might be interpreted differently. “Yes, Master. Good night. And a good night to you, Gildas.”

  The monk began to speak but Oren urged him to save his strength. Marc carried Valeria into the workshop, finding it warm from a fire that had burned for hours. He deposited her on a stool and found two piles of clothing on the table. Sitting upon the stone fire ring were two large mugs of lightly steaming broth. Taking both, he put one into Valeria’s hands.

  “Drink, Val. This will warm you up.”

  With grateful eyes, she lifted it to her lips and tasted it. “Mmmm, delicious.” Then, in one motion, she proceeded to swallow all of it.

  Laughing, Marc did the same, noticing Oren had steeped medicinal herbs in it as well, most notably rose hips. Collecting his clothing from off the table, he headed for the cave door. “I’ll change in here. Let me know when you’re finished.”

  She looked at her pile and slowly nodded.

  Saying the spell, he entered the cave and saw the oil lamp burning brightly upon its shelf. That was unexpected. He peeled off his wet garments and stood to dry in the warmth of the space. Glancing again at the lamp, he realized Oren must have known well ahead of time they would return with a guest in need of care. Why else did he meet them at the door and welcome the monk by name, never mind all the other preparations? The master’s magic was indeed powerful.

  Donning the dry clothes, he listened at the door to see if Valeria had finished changing. Hearing nothing, he lightly knocked.

  “Val? Are you finished?”

  Still nothing. Did she leave the room? Cautiously Envisioning the workshop, he found her half-undressed and slumped against the table, asleep. He called out louder this time. “Val?”

  “Whaaa?” she said, groggily.

  “Are you dressed yet?”

  She stirred. “No. Wait.” After a long moment, he heard the sound of wet cloth slapping the stone floor. A minute later she sighed heavily. “Finished.”

  Leaving the cave, he saw her slowly kneeling on the pallet of blankets and skins spread upon the floor. With a low groan, she half-rolled, half-fell onto her side. He took another blanket and covered her. She was already asleep. Giving in to his own weariness, he laid down as well, closed his eyes and joined her.

  — o O o —

  The remainder of the night passed quickly for Oren. The gentle patter of rain on the slate roof was broken only by the occasional cough of his guest. He knew this man was special in some way—important enough to awaken Valeria's visions—but his magic could disclose nothing further about him. Any answers would have to wait, for magic would reveal the truth according to its schedule, not his.

  Several hours after dawn, he looked in on Marc and Valeria and found them sleeping soundly; she laying against Marc, her head and arm resting on his chest, his arm curved protectively about her back. The power surrounding them had grown since the day before, especially hers. That surprised Oren, for he expected her development to be more gradual. It mattered not, for the day proved them worthy of their destiny. Now the next phase of their training could begin.

  Shortly before noon, Gildas awoke and struggled up into a stooped posture.

  “How do you feel?” Oren asked.

  No longer displaying the ashen pall of the night before, the monk turned to face him, his gaze hesitant. “Still weak, but better, thank you. I believe the fever has left me.” He looked around the room, taking it in for the first time. “Where might I see to my... private needs?”

  Oren stood and approached him. “Outside and to the right. Let me help you.”

  Holding up an unsteady hand, Gildas shook his head. “No magic, please.”

  “I intended to help you the normal way.” Extending his hand, the monk took it and allowed himself to be assisted to and from the privy. Once Gildas returned to his bed, Oren gave him a bowl of oat porridge. Accepting it with a murmur of thanks, Gildas said a quick prayer then silently ate it, occasionally looking at him.

  Oren acutely felt the apprehension and uncertainty of his guest. “There is no need to fear me.”

  Pausing in his meal, the monk studied him for a long moment. “That is what your servants said, but I have my doubts. Last night you summoned unnatural forces to make me fly. And—” Fear rose within the man and he looked away, his voice shaky. “You knew my name without being told.”

  “My knowing your name gives me no power over you. We all wear our names and other information about ourselves like a cloak. The magic sees it and tells me what it thinks I need to know.”

  “Which gives you an advantage
over me.”

  Giving it some thought, Oren nodded. “I suppose you could say that.” He gestured to the nearby blaze. “That fire is very much like magic. Both are mysteries of nature that possess great power. Do you understand how fire works?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I, but like you, I have learned to use it for my needs. It will warm my home, cook my food and chase the darkness away, but only if I respect its power and use it wisely. If I am careless, it can cause great injury and damage. Now, pretend you had never seen fire before. What would you think if you saw someone using it? Me, for example.”

  Gildas paused, then flicked him an understanding glance. “I would fear it... and you as well.”

  “And once you learned to use it for yourself?”

  The monk nodded. “I would no longer fear it. But I cannot learn to use magic, can I?”

  “No. True magic chooses those who may learn its mysteries.”

  “True magic? Is there any other kind?”

  “Sadly, many are those who claim to command the great power, but are only tricksters who fool people into parting with their money. These thieves often call upon pagan gods, or worse, the forces of wickedness and evil, trying to make themselves appear great and powerful. They accomplish naught but to soil the reputations of real wizards. That is why you think of magic as you do.”

  While Gildas pondered his words, Marc and Valeria shuffled into the room. Gesturing between them and himself, Oren continued. “Watch us during your stay, then judge whether magic is evil. Like you, Marc also feared magic when he arrived here. Only yesterday did he come to understand the full measure of his error.”