The Reign of Magic (Pentamura Book 1)

by Awert, Wolf

  Meanwhile the dancing dot had become a dark figure that was swiftly coming closer.

  Even from this distance Nill’s could see how bulky this man was. It seemed as if the air around him had thickened. It was like a veil that fluttered around him in swift flurries like a billowing cloak. But he was not sure. It could just be billowing dust.

  The dogs’ barks were now accompanied by gabbling from the geese and nervous clucking from the chicken. The closer the stranger came, the quieter were the dogs. One by one they shut up, tail between their legs. The chickens ran nervously around, looking for a safe hiding place. Only the geese stayed where they were, hissing hoarsely.

  Through the hazy air and with the sun behind him the silhouette of the burly body seemed as one with its baggage, making the colossal figure seem even larger than it was. Very slowly the gray backpack became distinct from the brown body. A single small metal cauldron had not been packed into the bag, and instead was strapped to its outside. The man had well-filled carrier bags hanging from both sides, attached to his shoulders with a wide cord, knocking against his thighs with every step. His legs were covered mostly by a knee-length skirt that was slit open in front and in the back. The skirt’s creases performed a strange dance with numerous items that hung loosely from his belt. The man walked barefoot and his calves, too, were bare. But this was not uncommon. Most of the villagers went without footwear.

  Although the stranger had by now almost reached the first huts, Nill could still not make out a face. Anything not covered by the long, shaggy hair was instead hidden behind a thick, matted beard. His chest was bare and only partially covered by the long, reddish-brown hair and beard. Nill could not help but marvel at the man’s light tread. The druid, like any wanderer who reached the village, must have been traveling for a long time, bearing his luggage and his own weight, yet in spite of this his feet barely seemed to touch the earth. Where could such levity come from?, he wondered, for each step touched the ground with the heel, rolled across the entire sole and left the dust with the toes.

  Nill had no time for further thoughts, because the stranger had arrived at the outermost huts. Although he politely took his time, the men gave him nothing but silence and hostile glares. The women had retreated into their houses, barely daring to glance out of the dark little windows and door-hatches, their children huddled around them. The village had gone quiet. The silence was broken only occasionally by the howl of a dog that had not managed to dodge a nervously aimed kick in time. The stranger continued his walk calmly, stopping for short breaks at a few houses or peering curiously into the workshops and stables, yet he never stopped for long.

  There were not many houses between the outermost edge of the village and the well Nill was sitting on, because the place itself was small. The druid’s eyes lingered on the boy for a moment as he passed. His lips twitched as though he meant to say something, but the mouth stayed silent. It was over in a heartbeat, too short for the man’s pace to lose rhythm. Nill kept his eyes on the druid, bursting with curiosity.

  The fellows surrounding Brongard, the Reeve’s son, had gathered at the market square and stared at the stranger with wide eyes. They were too old now to hide behind their mothers’ dresses, yet not courageous enough to play the hero. The Reeve himself stood in the middle of the square underneath the sacred Judgment Tree, where all energies joined together, and greeted the newcomer. “May the luck of the day guide you, stranger. Visitors are rare in this part of the world, yet welcome. I hope you will enjoy your stay here.” He gave the merest hint of a bow, so cursory that the gesture crushed the politeness of his words. A Reeve answered to none but his lord, the King of Earthland, and only in questions of higher magic sought the council of the archmages. The knowledge of his own importance gave his features an expression of pride and grandeur. “I shall take the liberty of having some food prepared for you, and shall fetch a pitcher of my own wine from the cellar. If you would follow me into my home?”

  The druid grasped the top of his flat knapsack in a fluid motion, twisted his fist and was suddenly holding a large pot in his hand. “I thank you, Reeve, for your invitation and for your hospitality. I am afraid I have little time. You would be doing me a favor if you could fill this pot with water and bring it to the boil, and perhaps, if it isn’t too much to ask, spread a quilt under that tree over there.”

  With these words he gave the Reeve his pot as though he were a servant, laid down his backpack and carrier bags and settled in the shade of the Judgment Tree, from whose branches a black, ruffled crow descended, landing on the druid’s shoulder. The Reeve held the pot, staring into it with a strangely absent gaze, as though still thinking of what to do. Then he called over his son, who promptly took the pot to his mother in the house.

  While a quick meal was being prepared in the Reeve’s house, the druid was playing with the crow, which evidently belonged with him. “You’ve rested long enough, my old friend. It’s high time you make yourself useful.”

  The rough man’s voice was unexpectedly gentle and melodious. The crow on his shoulder abruptly lifted its head and flew off with an annoyed caw. The beard in the dark face formed a wide grin. “Lazy chap!”

  After the Reeve had taken care of bread, cold meat, fruits and honey and the water had finally begun to boil, the druid’s head turned slowly in Nill’s direction, who was still sitting on the well at the edge of the square.

  Nill felt something plucking at him, which seemed to say, “Come on now.” But he stayed put on the well. The plucking became stronger and more commanding. “Get down from there, come now.” But Nill had always reacted to orders with pig-headedness, and this time was no different. My place here is my place, and where I’m sitting, that’s where I sit, Nill thought, looking over to the Judgment Tree.

  The young fellows did not dare move. They could feel the silent battle that was happening, and in their mind the victor was already chosen. The dust had vanished and the breeze had stopped in the moment the druid had sat down. The heat of noon was back and pressing down on them.

  The plucking in Nill’s spirit had stopped and was now rather a gentle pulling. The voice – if it even was a voice – was no longer calling, but instead luring. There were no more words, either, only quiet sounds. Wisperling? Stonesel? Nill was certain they were bird sounds, but he did not know of which bird – it sounded nothing like the ones he knew.

  Nill began to laugh and shouted: “If you want something, come here.”

  These loud words broke the silence like a stone that breaks a vase. The villages muttered anxiously, the druid made a small gesture with his hand and the crow dived, flapped once over the well to stop the fall, sat down opposite Nill and cocked its head. Nill gazed into the one eye the crow was showing. He had often had birds join him on the ground, but never had one been this large. From head to tail-feathers this crow must have been around one and a half forearms long. He held out his hand. The crow took three steps backward. Come here, flap onto my arm, Nill thought. The crow’s head jerked up, but the bird itself stayed put.

  “It doesn’t work that way. Wishing won’t be enough for crows. They’re far too clever and have far too strong a will.” The voice was calm and clear in Nill’s head. “Come and eat with me.”

  Nill hesitated for a brief moment but his inquisitive nature got the better of him. He slipped down from the well and ambled over to the sacred tree, taking care to walk slowly, then sat down in front of the druid.

  Now, for the first time, he could make out the druid’s eyes. Nill was disappointed. He had expected huge fire-wheels or unfathomable depths. What he saw were two small, button-sized black circles, peering out from underneath the thick hair.

  “What are you called, lad?” the druid asked, reaching into one of his many bags and throwing a handful of herbs into the hot water. Where the lid covering the pot came from, Nill had not seen.

  “Nill.”

  The druid’s expression remained unchanged as he said, rather off-handedly, “T
hat is an uncommon name. Mine is Dakh-Ozz-Han.”

  Nill bowed his head in a silent greeting.

  The druid looked up from his water. His eyes searched for the Reeve, who was standing ready to receive more instructions.

  “I thank you, Reeve. You are a host, and a better one could not be found. I am happy that these traditions, while they have become scarce, are still honored in this village. Still, I must ask you to please go and leave us alone.”

  The Reeve gulped, gave a short bow and retreated with a frown on his face, joining the other villagers in watching the strange lunch from afar.

  Nill had kept his eyes on the Reeve, but now turned his attention back to the druid. This man’s presence had a certain oppressiveness about it. It was not the shroud of condensed air Nill thought he had seen from afar. It was his smell. The cloak emitted a cloud of scents of an intensity Nill had never encounteredbefore. Heavy smells, dimming the senses, yet among them light aromas such as the smell of fresh hay, some night-flowers and the gently pungent, bitter scent of beli-bush leaves. Or was it something else entirely?

  Only now did Nill realize that the wild man’s cloak was woven from bearing muag-cows’ underbelly hair. It was a precious thing, worthy of royalty, yet the druid had let it become dirty with earth and the remains of old leaves.

  The druid tore the bread into two pieces, laid one to the side and began plucking apart the smaller half with nimble fingers. He ripped stringy stripes off the meat, wrapped them around the bread and then dipped it first into a white paste and then into a fiery red powder. Then he put it in his mouth.

  He used a wooden bowl to drink from the hot water with herbs.

  “Don’t you want any?Aren’t you hungry at all?” he asked Nill.

  Nill gaped at him.

  He had never seen anyone eat so slowly and intricately. The people he knew tended to eat quickly. Usually while walking or working. And even at home, where time was not an issue, the hunger dictated their speed. Nill reached for the bread slowly.

  “Dip your bread into the honey first, eat that and follow with some drink.You’ll see, you will like it.”

  Nill knew about honey. He had seen the thick, sticky substance a few times and even tried it once, when Esara had been given some as a thank you for a rather large favor.

  This part of Earthland was no bee-haven. There were too few strong trees, and the earth-bees built nests too small to be worth taking. If ever honey was available, it was brought by the merchants and was a delicacy for everyone.

  The druid reached into one of his many bags and pulled out two long strips of meat, one of which he gave to Nill. “Here, try this.”

  Nill knew about jerky, too. He had eaten ram and grollahen before, but this meat came from a different animal. The druid simply hung his strip into the water-pot before eating, but Nill knew how to eat jerky properly and he had strong, shining teeth.

  He pulled out his dagger, bit the meat, pulled the strip tense and cut it off close to his lips.

  The druid laughed heartily. “A sharp blade you have there, my boy.”

  Nill did not know whether to react with an annoyed, unmoved or friendly face. He did not care much for being addressed as “my boy,” but the admiration for his dagger felt good. On the other hand, great warriors show no feelings. In the end, his joy won.

  “Where did you get that knife?” the druid asked.

  “I forged it.”

  “Very good!” the druid said, satisfied.

  Nill did not quite understand what the druid found so “very good” about his weapon, but he did not want to ask either. Dakh-Ozz-Han offered no further explanation.

  After a few, long moments of silence the druid said: “I am looking for Esara the truth-teller’s house.”

  Nill jumped. “What do you want with Esara?”

  “Don’t be so nosy. Don’t you think that’s a matter between Esara and me?”

  Nill furrowed his brow. “Then go and look for it.”

  “You could save me the trouble.”

  “Alright. It’s at the far side of the village, the last house. It’s hidden among the trees. You can’t miss it. There is no house like Esara’s.” Nill’s voice brimmed with pride and pushed his irritation away.

  The druid smiled. “Do you know her well?” he asked.

  Nill nodded.

  “She called me, but I don’t know if she knows.”

  “Esara?”

  The druid nodded thoughtfully.

  Nill bit his lip and thought for a moment.

  “She’s my mother.”

  The druid gave another nod.

  “Not my real mother,” Nill hastened to add –yet he did not understand why he was telling a complete stranger about his family. “My parents left me somewhere around here, and Esara took me in.” There was bitterness in his voice.

  “Parents don’t just leave their children lying around.” The druid’svoice was calm and controlled.

  “But they did.”

  “Can you remember it? How your parents said goodbye to you?”

  “No, how could I?I was far too young.”

  “If you can’t remember the moment of parting, how can you claim they left you lying here?”

  This angered Nill. His eyes flashed. “Do you know what happened? You act as though you know the truth.”

  The druid shook his head yet again. “No, I do not know the past. I have my guesses, I see a few pictures. Still they are hazy and incoherent. Druids are not truth-tellers. Ask Esara instead.”

  Nill scowled at him. “She told me never to speak badly of my parents.”

  “Esara is a wise woman.Can you go fetch her for me?”

  Nill’s face cracked into a grin. “That won’t be necessary, she’s already here.”

  The druid got up, turned about, walked the few paces toEsara and greeted her respectfully.

  The Reeve, having watched the scene from afar, was content. The druid had obviously come for Esara and her boy. He was loathe to lose the truth-teller, yet relieved at the same time, for his village seemed now free of danger. Esara was a stranger, and everyone knew that they came and went.

  “You are here for me,”Esara said.It was a statement of resignation rather than a question.

  “Yes, for you too.” The druid lowered his head in agreement.

  “You are too early.”

  “I know,” said the druid.“But I always would have been too early for you. It’s time. Your cry was so loud, it pained my ears. I came as fast as I could. And as you can see, I have already made his acquaintance.”

  “I was afraid I’d called for you. But we can’t change that now. We are no longer free in our actions. Come to my house. It is small and tight, but the trees will lend us their protection.”

  The druid emptied his water-pot, packed his belongings back into his various bags and made a bow in the Reeve’s direction, who still stood at a respectfuldistance.

  “I thank you for your hospitality,”he called. He gave Nill, who had also stood up, a slight nudge and followed him and Esara with light footsteps.

  “That is a house after my own heart,”Dakh-Ozz-Han burst out once he stood before the flowery wilderness. “You live in a grove more beautiful than can be found in Woodhold, yet you live in Earthland. Even a druidcould be stopped from wandering by this.”

  “Yes, it’s our last remains of home,”Esara said.

  Nill glanced from Dakh-Ozz-Han to Esara and back again. Esara, bearer of the village’s mistrust, and Dakh-Ozz-Han, a mighty druidwho scared the villagers witless. Here they stood. The druidhad laid his right arm on Esara’s waist and was looking deep into her eyes.

  Almost like lovers, Nill thought, yet not. There was no tenderness in their gazes. Esara looked oddly lost, and Dakh-Ozz-Han was holding her steady. The stood there without moving. The only movement was the slight shifting of the whisper-willows’ branches. Even the birds were silent.

  Nill could sense powers flowing together right at the centerof Groveh
all, convening there at that moment. Powers he had never felt before. But he could not understand their nature nor their ways. All he could see was that the intimidating aura surrounding the druidhad vanished and made space for something else that had grasped Esara.

  There was no space left for Nill. He could not see what battle Esara was fighting, nor why Dakh had to hold her.

  Esara stared into the distant nothingness. She heard piercing screams, not knowing that they were her own, and saw shadows flitting past. Explosions danced through her head, leaving silence and blackness in their wake. No sounds, only screams. No pictures, only flashes. She clung onto life with a silvery-gray band thatseemed to be coming from somewhere on her forehead, vanishing into the darkness before her.

  Dakh-Ozz-Han fought. An elemental storm surrounded him. He held on to the flickering, torn light between himself and Esara with all his might. He felt remains of destroyed magics in Esara’s mind – buried, half-unearthed roots of Fire and Earth, and terrible, mutilated stumps of what once had been the foundations of Wood and Water. The Metal had gone mad and was now tearing through her mind, prepared to slice everything that dared take shape, and Dakh-Ozz-Han attacked it until it retreated, blunt and spent. Then he calmed the remaining roots of Fire and Earth and gave some strength back to the Wood.

  Esara swayed as the druidunfixed his gaze. His arm veered around her waist and he held the woman tight.

  Nill knew nothing of what had happened, for he could not follow Dakh and his mother on the path they were on. He had stayed in Earthland. But for the first time he saw Esara through different eyes, and he did not know if he liked what he saw. The woman in front of him must have come from another world, one further away than the truth-telling and magical rituals, further than their shared meals, the mends they made on theirclothes, her lined face and the herb-drinks she had given him when he was sick. There was an Esara who took care of him, one from before he had arrived, and there was a third Esara, who had been the beginning. This third Esara was the root of her truth-telling and of something that connected her to the druid. Nill decided to ask her about it, and this time he would not give up after a few meaningless answers.