Spell Fade

by J. Daniel Layfield

  “Dartan!” Alain’s voice brought his focus back to his outstretched hand. “I asked if you could feel the leaves.” Dartan started to shake his head, but stopped. He did feel something now. Alain smiled. “You’ve got them, don’t you?”

  “I think so,” Dartan answered hesitantly. They were dry, and a little scratchy, but also very light, like …

  “They want to fly, don’t they?” Alain asked.

  “Yes,” Dartan answered with a half-smile. That was exactly the feeling. They wanted to fly from the ground, swirl in the sky, dance on the wind, and remember their time hanging from a tree.

  “So, let them,” Alain suggested.

  “How?”

  Alain smiled broadly. “Now, that’s half the fun – deciding exactly how to make something happen.” Dartan thought he saw the old man wink, but couldn’t be sure before he continued. “Give them some of your power and let them soar, or bring in the wind to lift them up, or even have the trees bend right over to retrieve their discarded bits.” Wink or no wink, he was definitely beaming as he turned back to Dartan. “The only limit you have is yourself.”

  Dartan felt the ideas shuffle through his mind, along with what seemed like dozens of others. As he chased them around he began to feel dizzy, as if he were being carried away in a whirlwind. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to settle on one of those rapidly rotating ideas, desperately just trying to reach one of them now. It was Aliet’s scream that brought him back. His eyes jerked open, searching for Aliet, but it was Alain he saw first.

  “Impressive,” Alain said. In a perfect circle, expanding out from Dartan to nearly a kilometer in diameter, there did not remain a single leaf on the ground or in a tree. “We obviously need to work on your focus,” he casually noted, “but the power is impressive.”

  Looking ahead, Dartan saw Logan and Aliet picking themselves up off the ground. Before he knew what he was doing, his feet were carrying him to her. The only thing his mind would allow him to think was ‘Please let her be all right’, played in a continuous loop.

  Aliet was brushing herself off, but looked up when she heard Dartan approaching. Her entire face glowed with the smile she gave him, and Dartan felt his knees suddenly weaken. He was forced to slow to a fast walk to keep from tumbling at her feet.

  “That was amazing!” she exclaimed, looking toward the sky.

  “But you screamed,” was all Dartan could think to say.

  “Well, I was surprised. And then this jerk,” she punched Logan on the shoulder, “yells at me to ‘Get down!’, as he’s throwing me to the ground with himself on top of me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Logan mumbled, not meeting either of their eyes. “I felt the power, but didn’t know where it was going.”

  “It was the leaves,” Aliet said. “They were so beautiful, all rising up into the air like a huge flock of birds.” She stepped forward and hugged Dartan harder than she had ever before. The grin that spread across his face was as unstoppable as the beating of his heart, but he did manage to keep his legs from buckling underneath him. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered in his ear. “Really.”

  She pulled away and all Dartan could manage was a small, “Thanks.”

  “How about a little warning next time,” Logan suggested, brushing some of the loose dirt from Aliet’s back. “With your lack of control, it’s a wonder we all weren’t tossed around like leaves.”

  Aliet leaned in close to Dartan and whispered, “I wasn’t scared for even a second.” Before he could respond, she turned and continued her futile effort of keeping up with Marcus, who had barely even paused.

  The smile was still on Dartan’s face, in spite of the scowl he received from Logan as he turned to follow Aliet. It did fade a bit though, when he overheard Logan’s comment to Aliet: “I told you he was dangerous.” It faded even more as Dartan focused on coaxing a root up through the ground at Logan’s feet. The resulting face-first crash into the dirt brought the smile back full force.

  “Apparently he’s not nearly as dangerous as just walking these roads,” Aliet said, helping Logan back to his feet. Fearing the guilty look on his face, Dartan turned before Logan could flash him an accusing glare. He found himself face-to-face with Alain.

  “Now that,” the old wizard smiled, “was perfect force and control. Bravo!” He leaned out from behind Dartan and waved to the others, calling out, “Do be careful. This old road is simply littered with hazards.” He leaned back, hidden from view by Dartan’s body, and spoke low, “I’m fairly certain he suspects you.” He peeked around Dartan, then added, “But, he looks a bit uncertain about coming back here to accuse you of anything.”

  “Good,” Dartan said, smile still in place. He only wished he could have enjoyed the sight a little longer.

  Alain looked him up and down, the frustration gone from both their faces for the first time that day. “One more question,” Alain said, “and we’ll call it a day.” Dartan nodded, but couldn’t deny the feeling of disappointment. He had finally made some progress and suddenly they were done? Alain noticed. “No worries,” he assured him, “you may continue practicing as much as you wish. I just won’t instruct you any more today.” Dartan nodded again, awaiting the question. “You’re obviously pleased with yourself, as am I,” Alain admitted, “but how did using magic make you feel?”

  Amazing. Powerful. Frightened. Relieved. Complete. “Good.”

  “Just good? The look on your face would suggest a little more.”

  Dartan dimmed his smile a bit. “Very good, then.”

  “Perhaps if I tell you why I’m asking,” Alain offered, to which Dartan merely shrugged. “A wizard’s first reaction to actively using magic tells everything about what kind of wizard he will become. If there is fear or uncertainty, he will avoid using it except when forced. Others become obsessed with the feeling, the rush of power consuming them. They will spend their lives in pursuit of acquiring more power, and most will have to be reined in, one way or another. The majority of wizards simply feel relief, finally able to use the power they have felt inside of them for their entire lives.” He paused, watching Dartan, who was looking down at the ground. “You didn’t feel any one of those though, did you?”

  Dartan shook his head. “No.” He then looked up at Alain. “I felt them all.”

  Alain nodded his head. “Quite an unusual response, although not totally unexpected.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “You’re a natural.” Dartan waited for more of an explanation, but none came, and Alain didn’t give him the option of pursuing it. “I must leave you now, for a while.”

  “I know, you’ve got a country to run.”

  “That’s true,” Alain said, “but honestly, I’m doing more preparing than running right now.”

  “Preparing? For what?”

  “For you, my boy. Pavlora needs a proper royal ruler. She’s practically begging for it. They have tolerated my rule long enough. It is time for the royal bloodline to continue, and for me to fade into the background.”

  “You make it sound like the people are against you, but we were treated grandly in Amstead at mere mention of your name.”

  The old wizard smiled. “The people fear me. A rule based on fear can only last so long. A true leader must be feared and loved in equal parts. But now I’m getting ahead of myself, preparing you for Pavlora.”

  Dartan’s eyes widened. That was something he hadn’t even considered yet. “A daunting task, no doubt.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, boy. I’ve done far more with much less.” Again Dartan felt the sting of a look worthy of Mother – disappointed at him for trying to feel sorry for himself. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. “The most daunting task currently before me is preparing for an attack from the Northern Kingdom with what precious little time I have left.”

  “I thought we were helping with that.”

  “The attack will come on many fronts.”

  Dartan waited for an e
xplanation, but the wizard thought it was either not needed or not warranted. Instead, he came back to his original thought. “So, I will be away for a while, and you should continue practicing on focus. When I return, it will be for the remainder of your journey to the pass.” As he spoke, Dartan noticed the wizard was beginning to fade. “Most apprentices start with fireballs,” he suggested. “They’re fairly easy, useful, and impressive.” He nodded towards the snow-capped mountains ahead and added, “I think you’ll find it will be a skill everyone will soon appreciate.”

  “If I can avoid igniting everything within a kilometer of me,” Dartan mumbled as Alain completely disappeared.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The room was dark and cold when he returned. He reached out with his mind, feeling for the embers of the fire. He found them easily enough, but couldn’t seem to coax them to life with what little power he could muster.

  “Guess I’ll have to do it the hard way,” Alain muttered in the darkness as he tried pushing himself up from the chair. To no surprise, he found his arms refused to support his weight, leaving him stuck where he was for the moment. “Just as well,” he mumbled, leaning back in the chair. “My legs would probably have buckled under me anyway.”

  A knock on the door made him straighten up, as much as he could manage. “Not that I would have lain on the floor for very long, apparently,” he said under his breath before calling out, “Come!”

  The door opened tentatively, and a small candle appeared, followed by Norrick’s head. “So sorry, sir,” he apologized, but Alain was already shaking his head. The knock had not been loud enough for him to hear had he still been ‘away’, which made it obvious Norrick had not meant to disturb him. That, he found curious.

  Alain waved him in. “No matter. You saved me from coming to get you.” Never mind how long that might have been from now.

  “I just wanted to check on the fire,” he explained as he slipped in, bringing light and warmth back into the room. He moved in front of Alain and stopped dead, his eyes widening.

  “It’s gotten worse, hasn’t it?” Alain asked. Dartan would have noticed nothing wrong at all with the old man behind the desk, but Norrick could only nod and stare at the almost unrecognizable face.

  Norrick squinted and turned his head to the side. The last time he had seen Alain there were bold grey streaks in his short hair and close beard, with the beginnings of wrinkles around his eyes. “I can almost see you in there,” he observed. “Smooth the wrinkles, trim and darken the hair, and there you are.”

  “It’s happening much faster than I expected, but I guess I can’t expect time to be kind when I’ve held it at bay for so long.”

  “I suppose not,” Norrick agreed as he moved on to tend the fire. It sprang to life almost as quickly as Alain himself could have managed with magic. With the spreading warmth, Alain felt some of his strength returning. Norrick continued moving around the room, lighting candles as he went. In the growing light, Alain’s eyes were drawn to the ivory box, and his thoughts back to Dartan.

  “Are the documents I requested completed?” Alain asked.

  “The Proclamation of Royal Lineage is complete,” Norrick answered as he finished lighting the last of the candles. “They’re still working on the Decree of Succession.” He moved silently to his customary position, facing Alain, waiting.

  Alain pushed himself up higher in the chair, his strength growing, and barked at Norrick, “What is taking so long?”

  Norrick’s face remained still. “You know how scribes are, sir. If you aren’t standing over them, they tend to wander off to their own personal projects – songs, poetry, stories.”

  “Well, stand over them then,” he punctuated with a fist to the table which he was thankful sounded more forceful that it felt.

  “Your mind really is set on this, isn’t it,” Norrick said.

  Alain was surprised by the comment, but answered without hesitation. “Yes. He is the heir.”

  Norrick stepped closer. He needed to understand. “How can you be so sure?”

  “I have been naming heirs for as long as there has been a throne that needed one. This boy is the next.” Flames danced in his eyes. A trick of the light, Norrick thought, despite the fact the fire was behind Alain.

  Norrick cleared his throat, and lowered his head. “Of course, sir. I would never-”

  “Question my judgment?” Alain interrupted. “What would you call it then?”

  “No, it’s just,” Norrick stopped and took a breath. “What does this boy know of ruling a country? He has spent his entire life as a farmer!”

  “How long have you served here?”

  “Nearly thirty years.”

  “And where were you born?”

  Again Norrick lowered his head and his voice when he answered. “Walash.”

  “In the Northern Kingdom,” Alain added, to which Norrick merely nodded. “And have you ever been treated with suspicion, or felt like you didn’t belong here?”

  “No. In fact, I believe this may be the first time my birth place may have ever been mentioned since I have been here.” Alain remained silent, and Norrick finally met his eye. “I am sorry, sir. It is not my place to question you, and it will not happen again.” Alain nodded and gave him a faint smile.

  After a moment of awkward silence, Norrick bowed and began to back away from the desk. “If there is nothing else, I will take my leave of you. I believe there are some scribes who have spent far too much time now trying to find something which rhymes with ‘orange’.”

  “Actually,” Alain stopped him, “there is one other thing. If you don’t mind.”

  “Name it, sir.”

  “That box, behind you,” Alain gestured towards the cluttered shelf. “The ivory box. Bring it to me, please.”

  Norrick turned, easily spotting the box amidst the books and scrolls. There was very little weight to it and he would have thought it empty if not for the slight shift of something inside as he carried it back to the desk. He placed it in front of Alain and moved back.

  “Just a moment more,” Alain said, leaning up to the table, placing a hand on either side of the box. He stared at it, as though studying it, and Norrick found himself unable to look away. He saw nothing much worth looking at on the surface of it. No design or wording, or even an etching adorned its plain sides. Still, there must be something there the wizard could see that he could not.

  Norrick had no idea how long they stayed that way, Alain staring at the box, and he watching them both, but it was long enough that he was getting tired. His legs were beginning to ache, as well as his back, but then he began to notice something more. There was a pressure on his shoulders, as if the very air in the room pressed down on them. He had almost no choice in his slowly sinking journey to one of the chairs facing Alain’s desk. It was then, when he was eye level with Alain, that he first noticed the beads of sweat lined across Alain’s forehead. He watched as one streaked down the side of his face, clung to his cheek for a moment, and then splashed down onto his sweat glistened arm. Following his arms to his hands, he saw the tense fingers and white knuckles of fierce concentration and felt … scared. The wizard was putting a lot of power into something, but he had no idea what.

  Please, stop, he heard himself say in his head, but his mouth refused to move. He found the same true of his arms and legs when he tried to stand and move away. He wondered, with some concern, how much longer it would be before his chest refused to move and fill his lungs with air. It was a disturbing thought, but not nearly as horrifying as seeing the wizard mouth the word ‘Damn’.

  Norrick suddenly wanted more than anything else to just close his eyes, to shut away everything happening, but, of course, he didn’t even have control over his own eyes. Instead, he saw the wizard’s eyes close and his mouth moving silently. He assumed it was some sort of chant, but couldn’t hear anything over the low hum now filling his head. It quickly grew louder, overpowering even his own thoughts. Just as it reached a p
oint where he could stand it no longer, several things happened almost simultaneously.

  A loud ‘snap’ echoed through the room, which Norrick was convinced must have been his spine, because his eyes suddenly closed, and there was a release of all the pressure he had felt on his body. The hum faded, leaving him feeling as if he were floating in the subsequent silence.

  “Are you alright?” Alain’s voice came through to him clear and strong. Nothing wrong with his ears. Norrick cautiously opened one eye and saw the wizard staring at him. He opened his other eye, patted himself in several ‘essential’ places, and released a breath of relief as he nodded. “I’m guessing it got a little intense in here?”

  Norrick flashed a small smile. “Just a bit, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  Alain smiled back. “Good,” he said absently before turning his attention back to the box.

  Norrick, curious if anything else had experienced the same intenseness, glanced around the room. Nothing seemed out of place … other than himself. The wizard was still wholly absorbed in the contents of the now open box. Satisfied after a few moments of inspection, he nodded with a small grunt and closed the lid. The click again echoed through the room.

  “Give me your hand,” Alain said, reaching across the desk and placing a surprised Norrick’s hand on the box. Alain’s mouth again moved silently, forming words Norrick could not even begin to understand, but his attention was captured by a tingling in his fingertips. It quickly spread to the rest of his hand, turning from a tingle into an annoying itch. Again he found his body effectively paralyzed, unable to withdraw his hand, even as the sensation changed to a burning extending half-way up his arm.

  A scream of agony was racing up from his gut when, suddenly, it stopped. Norrick looked, making sure his hand was still there, and gave his fingers a tentative wiggle. They moved with ease, and he drew his hand back, cradling it to his chest.

  Alain simply smiled. “The box can now be opened only by your touch, while in the presence of the heir.” Norrick looked down at his hand. It seemed unchanged, without any special mark or sign, but he could feel the power it contained. “I leave it in your care, along with the scrolls being prepared by the scribes.”