Magic, Sorcery and Witchcraft

by Stas Borodin

  “Can you say something?” I asked. “I have never…”

  Ash nodded. “Rest in peace, innocent soul. We will avenge you!”

  “Orvad, accept my oath!” I said, raising my sabre high.

  Ash chuckled. “What a stupid boy. What did I tell you about oaths?”

  “I’m serious this time.” At this point a daring plan matured in my mind. “We’ll steal the damn idol!”

  Mash did not like my plan; he felt that we needed more time to prepare such a dangerous venture.

  “It’s our only chance.” Ash shrugged. “Time is working against us.”

  “Damn boys,” Mash sneered. “It’s just our lives that are at stake.”

  Ash ran to the market to get a suitable wagon, while Mash and I went to the nearest sawmill to buy some local goods.

  The shop belonged to a small smiling woman.

  “Wait till the evening, boys, my husband and sons will help you with the loading.” She winked at me.

  “It’s not a problem, my dear. We’ll manage by ourselves,” said Mash, demonstrating his thick arm. “Do you see these muscles? Still hard as a rock!”

  The caravan was going to leave very soon, so we had to hurry. The old scout looked around anxiously. “Damn, we are running out of time.”

  Half an hour later, Ash appeared. The scout looked happy and he was driving a huge six-wheeler. “Are you ready to rob the temple?” he grinned. “I already feel like a real tomb raider.”

  “It’s not a tomb, you dimwit!” snorted Mash. “And don’t you dare brag about it afterwards. You’ll get us all killed!”

  The town was nearly empty and we got to the place without any complications. From outside the temple looked like an ordinary warehouse. The gate was open wide and the floor was strewn with dirty straw.

  I took a deep breath and slipped cautiously inside. The statue of Mithraa stood in front of me on a stone pedestal; its knees were smeared with blood oozing from crushed pies. A horrible stench hit my nostrils. It smelled just like a slaughterhouse.

  “This is where I stole the pie,” said Ash. “While they were busy trampling them with their feet.”

  Mash examined the system of blocks hanging from the roof beams.

  “Good. This may come in handy.”

  Soon the idol was wrapped in the ropes and pulled out of the pedestal.

  “Everything is well thought out,” Mash chuckled. “These guys are real experts at lifting weights.”

  We rolled the wagon in and carefully lowered the idol onto it. I felt goosebumps on my back. The damned statue was staring right at me! I grabbed some dirty rags and hurriedly covered the hideous wooden face. Mash chuckled and started to tie knots around the big mossy stone.

  “What are you doing here?” I heard a woman’s voice.

  A young girl in a white dress with a bucket in her hand was standing in the open doorway.

  Before I could blink, a knife flashed through the air and struck the girl in the chest. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, touching the ivory handle. Looking surprised, she silently slid to the floor.

  “Mash!” I cried. “How could you?”

  Mash pulled the knife out, wiped it on the girl’s shoulder and spat.

  “Serves her right! Damn servant of Mistar!”

  Ash grunted without a backward glance. The scouts looked determined. If they had been allowed, they would have burned the whole town to the ground.

  “You can’t make an omelette without breaking an egg,” Ash growled. “You know that.”

  We loaded up the stones and carefully covered them with straw.

  “Should we take the dead body with us?” Ash nodded at the corpse. “Or should we hide it here?”

  “Too risky.” Mash rolled the dead girl into the mat and threw her into the wagon. “And now, boys, destroy all traces as well as you can.”

  We picked up the bloody straw and the bucket, hid it all in a bag, which was also thrown into the cart.

  We left the temple unnoticed and returned to the sawmill to load the cargo of fresh-sawn planks.

  The owner came out of the shop, counted all, and retired satisfied.

  “Well, that’s all,” I said with relief. “It was much easier than I expected.”

  “And now we need to get out of here quickly.” Ash looked at the sun. “It’s time!”

  ✽✽✽

  Our caravan consisted of two dozen huge carts pulled by shaggy long-horned creatures. Our wagon took its place at the rear.

  “I see that you decided to earn a few coins too,” the caravan master chuckled. “Way to go, lads!”

  These merchants were from Ismarga. The wood they had purchased here was particularly hard and heavy. It was impossible to raft it down the river, so they had to risk visiting Lemnark quite often.

  The caravan master examined our load and nodded benevolently. “Just don’t sell the wood in Ismarga, lads. Take it further to Insana. That way you can triple your profit.” He slapped Mash on the shoulder. “But in the meantime, keep your eyes open and your bows at the ready! They may save us on the road!”

  Chapter 8

  “It’s a long road to Ismarga, six days at least,” said Mash. “We’ll get enough chances to dump our cargo.”

  “We can drown the stones in the river,” suggested Ash. “And we can burn the damn idol or chop it to pieces.”

  “I want to chop it up!” The bitterness inside of me stirred up once again. “And then we’ll burn the thing to ashes!”

  The scouts looked at each other, but said nothing. They were stuffing me with some bitter powders, but no medicine could extinguish my sorrow. From time to time, something like a hot fiery flower bloomed in my chest, a bloody veil blotted out my mind, and I was seized by a horrible bloodlust. Only the Tear of Heart provided some relief. I squeezed the stone in my fist and asked the spirits of the steppes to cool my anger, to help me cope with the black hatred that I felt every time I looked upon our wagon. The Tear of Heart never failed me. My fury dissolved without a trace, replaced by tranquility.

  That night, at the first halt, the scouts pulled the corpse from under the boards and dragged it into the woods.

  “Any further and we would smell it,” said Ash. “Do not worry, brother, we gave her a proper burial.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Ash shrugged; he did not care.

  At night, the wagoneers built a small square out of wagons, a little away from the road. In the centre, they set up their tents and hobbled the animals. We camped for the night nearby.

  “We’ll stand guard outside,” said Mash to the caravan master. “The light of your fires makes us an easy target.”

  “Very wise,” the trader agreed. “I wish I had such fine fellows in my service…”

  “Nah, we want to start our own business,” Mash lied without blinking. “We’ll start with the small things, and then we’ll see.”

  “That’s how I started when I was young,” the caravan master smiled. “At first it was a small cart, just like yours. Then I got two more wagons, and now, look, a whole caravan!”

  The next day we camped for the night by a small brook. As soon as the wagoneers had gone to sleep, we took the reins of our horses and sneaked quietly out of the camp. Mash, in full battle gear, was waiting for us at the turn of the road.

  “We’ll have to backtrack a few miles to make sure there are no pursuers,” he explained. “I’m sure the woodsmen have already figured out what happened to their idols. So keep your eyes open, lads!”

  We drove in silence, warily listening to every suspicious rustle. The forest was filled with mysterious sounds. Invisible animals howled somewhere in the darkness, and I could hear some creaking, thumping, stamping of feet, and the rustle of invisible wings overhead.

  Mash hissed quietly, drawing our attention. We approached him and stopped. Ahead, among twined tree trunks and thorny shrubs, a small red dot shimmered. We dismounted and continued on foot, gliding from one tree to another.


  A small band of woodsmen were camped under an old oak. I wondered at their confidence. They hadn’t even bothered to conceal the fire, over which chunks of meat were roasting. Fat hissed on the coals, and I smelled the strong odour of spices.

  There were only ten men, huge and dangerous-looking. They had taken off their leather armour and were sitting by the fire half-naked, showing off bizarre scars and tattoos covering their wide shoulders and muscular backs.

  Mash nudged me, drawing a complex shape in the air. I understood him without words. These were the priests of Mithraa. Their tattoos depicted the bundle of snakes held by the evil deity in its fist. On the ground next to each priest lay a battle-axe with an iron grip and a bunch of darts.

  Ash squeezed my shoulder, pointing to the huge priest with a braided beard. This one hadn’t removed his clothes; moreover, he was dressed in a heavy iron breastplate and a horned steel helmet.

  I put my hand on my crossbow. Ash nodded in agreement. Trying not to make a sound, I cocked the bowstring and held my breath, lining up a shot. The scouts grinned, pulling their powerful bows. This fight would have to end quickly or we’d be dead. Our light weapons would not last a minute against heavy axes.

  The bowstring softly clinked; an arrow flashed like lightning and pierced the priest through the eye. The tip came out the back of his head, breaking through his steel helmet. The scouts’ bows sang like harp strings.

  The priests fell dead. However, we were not fast enough. The last woodsman leaped over the fire and disappeared into the darkness.

  Mash crawled on the ground for several minutes, studying the tracks, but could not find anything. “Damn! It is like he fell straight to the depths of Annuvir!” The old scout looked puzzled; for the first time, he couldn’t follow a track.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” I said, looking around nervously.

  “In any case”—Ash pulled the arrows from the dead, holding his bow at the ready—“we got a few days’ head start. While he gathers a new band of cutthroats, we’ll have plenty of time to get rid of the idol.”

  We put out the fire and took the roasted meat.

  Back at the camp, our absence had gone unnoticed; the camp was fast asleep, as if nothing had happened. I reloaded my crossbow and took the second watch.

  ✽✽✽

  We made at least ten miles before noon the next day, leaving our pursuers far behind. Soon the road turned into a narrow path, overgrown with thick bushes. The huge traders’ wagons passed with ease, but our small cart pretty soon got stuck, and we had to dismount to cut a path through the stubborn growth with our swords.

  On one of these stops, when the traders were already out of sight, Ash came with good news.

  “I found a large swamp to the right of the road,” he reported happily. “It looks very promising!”

  We quickly finished with the bushes and pushed the cart to the beaten track. On the right side stood a solid wall of reeds and sedges. The ground was covered with green moss, and every track that we left was quickly filled with muddy water.

  “Excellent,” Mash approved. “Let’s find a convenient descent and drown these damn stones!”

  Soon the trail went over a cliff, and we saw small pools of black water among the mossy hills. We turned the cart with its back to the edge of the cliff and quickly unloaded the cargo. The two greenish boulders stared at us like eerie blind eyes. The scouts spat in disgust. Then they climbed into the cart and rolled the stones over the cliff. Raising a small fountain of muck, the rocks went straight to the bottom, leaving gaping black holes covered with swaying duckweed on the mossy surface.

  We reloaded our cargo and drove a few paces away from the cliff. Ash went back and carefully destroyed all the traces of our activities. He straightened grass and covered the tracks left by the wheels.

  “Good riddance!” The scout looked pleased. “And a good day’s work!”

  We caught up with the caravan quite quickly. The wagons were huddled across the narrow road, and the wagoneers looked terrified.

  “Dammit! Where have you been?” the caravan master ran to Mash. “We were ambushed, for gods’ sake!”

  “The wheel broke,” Mash explained. “But we fixed it pretty fast.”

  “Not fast enough!” snorted the merchant. “I thought you’d run away.”

  I elbowed my way forward and peered cautiously from behind the cart, but saw no enemies. The road ahead was blocked by a fallen tree trunk. Shaggy tree paws stretched out in all directions, creating an insurmountable prickly barrier. The ground was strewn with pine cones and dry needles.

  “What do we do?” a worried wagoneer hissed. “We didn’t dare to approach the blockage by ourselves!”

  “And rightly so,” Ash chuckled. “Caution always comes first!”

  Mash easily scaled the closest wagon and began to inspect the gaps between the branches.

  “Can’t see anything, I need to get closer.” He waved to Ash. The scouts jumped over the wagon and began to creep slowly towards the barrier. They strung their bows, ready for any surprises.

  The old scout ducked under an overhanging branch and in instant was out of sight. He returned very quickly, the bow hanging over his shoulder.

  “There is no one there,” he said. “Let’s clear the way!”

  The wagoneers brought big two-handled saws, unharnessed their oxen and went to work. Soon chips of wood flew. Then strong ropes were wrapped around the massive tree trunk and the mighty animals easily moved it from the path.

  “I’m sure that was our friend’s doing.” Mash lowered his voice. “The tree was cut down expertly. No matter what, he decided to delay us. So watch out, lads.”

  “Nonsense, he is alone, and we have a whole army,” Ash retorted. “That bastard wouldn’t dare to act openly.”

  “However, he is quite capable of slowing us down, and his friends will appear pretty soon.”

  We watched as the worried wagoneers harnessed their oxen.

  “Do whatever you like, but we need to get rid of the idol as soon as possible,” Mash said, gently pinching his bow.

  “I have an idea,” I whispered. “Want to hear?”

  “And why am I not surprised?” Ash grinned. “When you have an idea, expect trouble!”

  ✽✽✽

  The caravan stopped well before dark. The wagons were arranged with special care, forming one solid wall, without gaps or passages. This time we chose to place our wagon inside the perimeter.

  “What do you think?” The caravan master approached us. “Should we expect trouble tonight?”

  “Quite possibly,” Mash said. “That’s why we’ll be on guard till the morning. Sleep tight, Master Treba, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “Right.” The merchant shrugged. “My people are frightened, Master Mash, and I can’t blame them, for this is their first time…”

  “Well, we haven’t seen anyone yet.” Ash tried to reassure the man. “Maybe it’s just a false alarm. Our friends will soon realize that the game is not worth the candle and leave us be.”

  Master Treba chuckled sceptically. “I have been through countless scrapes,” he said. “You know, in old times these forests were home for different bands of brigands and cutthroats. It became quiet for several years, after our lord Amfel chased away the Lame Wolves and Bone Brothers. And I, old fool, became careless, saving money on security guards. Take care of the tohr and the umbres will take care of themselves! Do you understand what I mean? It was sheer luck that you happened to pass through the town…”

  “It’s better to be alive and poor than rich and dead!” Ash raised his eyebrows reproachfully.

  “That’s enough!” Master Treba moaned. “Stop teasing this poor old man!”

  “This greedy old man,” Mash corrected him. “Just promise to buy our wood at the best price that you can get in Insana, and then I’ll promise to get you home safe and sound.”

  “Of course!” The caravan master perked up. “Wait a minute, I should
have offered it myself.”

  The merchant left in a good mood. He even began to sing as he went back to his tent.

  The scouts pulled their swords from their sheaths and began to sharpen them for all to see. Looking at the brave warriors, the rest of the wagoneers relaxed slightly, and, putting aside their spears, they began to prepare dinner.

  Making sure that no one saw me, I went behind the cart, pulled back the dirty sackcloth and threw the idol to the ground. Mash handed me an axe.

  “Come on, laddie. You started this thing, and now you have to finish it.”

  I spat on my palms, swung the axe and brought it down on the head of the statue. The old wood only seemed strong, it shot up a cloud of dust and split in half.

  “Lookie here!” Ash whistled approvingly. “The earth beneath your feet does not open up and Annuvir did not devour your sinful soul!”

  I jumped, surprised. “You’ll give me a heart attack, Ash! You know, I could nick you with the axe! It’d not be funny at all.”

  Ash looked smug. “Come on”—he held out his hand—“let me take a swing. While this thing is within our grasp, I want to make a small contribution too.”

  Within a few moments the idol had turned into a pile of splinters.

  “Let’s take them to the fire,” I suggested.

  We collected the chips and carried them to the camp kitchen.

  “Excellent!” The cook was happy. “Throw them right into the fire!”

  The wood was dry and it burned perfectly.

  The night shift passed uneventfully, but early in the morning we were attacked. Two teamsters were killed with javelins as soon as they ventured outside the wall of wagons.

  The attackers remained invisible; they threw their javelins from under cover. Only the shaggy branches swayed and a noisy flock of crows flew up over the treetops.

  “Everyone stay under cover!” ordered Mash. “Put on your armour and prepare for battle!”

  The sleepy men stirred, pulling on their worn hauberks and rusty dented helmets. The old scout wasted no time. Encouraging his motley crew with shouts and kicks, he managed to line them up in two ranks.