Magic, Sorcery and Witchcraft: Book One of Marcus Grimm saga

by Stas Borodin

Mother wiped her eyes and gave my hand a squeeze.

  ✽✽✽

  The high walls of Lieh disappeared behind our backs, and I was finally able to breathe freely. The huge responsibility that had burdened me lately finally fell from my shoulders. To be the head of the family was not easy, but I had good helpers, always ready to lend a helping hand. My squire Korn was brave and prudent, old Melvin wise and meticulous. Under my mother’s guidance, they could move mountains. I smiled happily.

  “Just look at him,” Ash chuckled. “Happy as a newborn colt!”

  “You were the same.” Mash sat astride his mount. “Wisdom only comes with age, my friend. Sadly, it comes when you begin to receive invitations to funerals more often than to birthday parties.”

  “You can have fun at funerals too.” Ash winked at me. “Especially if the widow is pretty!”

  I nodded eagerly. I’d always liked the cheerful young scout.

  “Look.” Mash pointed a finger at the map unfolded on his bent knee. “We’ll cross the steppe right here. It is still quite safe as long as the nomads are licking their wounds. We’ll save almost a week on the road and go straight to Aduva River. Here we’ll cross it and go half a day downstream to the city of Lemnark.”

  I tried to remember the map as accurately as possible. The scout’s gnarled finger slid across the parchment, outlining the way.

  “This is a trade route from Lemnark to Ismarga.” Mash frowned. “I must say that this route is quite dangerous. It goes straight through woods infested with brigands and cutthroats of all kinds, so, like it or not, we’ll have to join one of the trading caravans.”

  “I hate it,” Ash said. “And I hate those woods even more.”

  “However, there is no other way.” Mash shook his head. “Of course, if you don’t fancy rafting down the river.”

  “No way,” Ash shuddered. “Once is more than enough.”

  I stared at my companions puzzled.

  “These caravans often hire additional guards for protection.” The scout’s finger stopped, pointing at a small town in the heart of the forest. “But from there on, our journey will be quite easy, down the Insara path and straight to the coast.”

  “How often have you been to Paara?” I was eager to learn more about the mysterious city.

  “I lived there many years ago.” Ash assumed a dignified air. “And I know the town as well as my own piss pot.”

  “You don’t have a piss pot,” Mash chuckled mockingly.

  “I had one once,” Ash protested. “It was made of pure gold!”

  ✽✽✽

  The last fields finally disappeared behind our backs and we made a quick stop in a shallow ravine between two hills. My friends got the scout uniforms out of the saddlebags and we dressed quickly.

  No Alims could be seen, but other nomad clans were still wandering from oasis to oasis and they might cross our path at any time. We had to keep our eyes open and weapons at the ready.

  For five days we rode across the steppe and did not meet a soul.

  “How strange,” Ash said. “For several days in row, no one has tried to make a hole in my hide.”

  “Hold your tongue!” Mash interrupted rudely. “Look over there!”

  A plume of transparent smoke, almost invisible against the grey sky, rose above the top of the distant hill.

  “They don’t even hide,” Ash frowned. “Cocky bastards!”

  “Bad luck for us,” the old scout said. “Let’s get out of sight as quickly as possible!”

  The day passed without incident, and when the sun descended toward the horizon, we had found a suitable place to rest. We did not dare make a fire, and left our horses saddled.

  “Something is bothering me,” Mash muttered. “I feel that something is not right.”

  “Don’t you worry, old man,” Ash said with a chuckle. “I backtracked several times and did not notice anything suspicious.”

  “And if it’s a trap? What would you say?”

  “Come on! It’s not my first day scouting!” Ash was unhappy that the senior allowed himself to doubt his skills. “Only wolves are more cunning than nomads, and I’m smarter than the wolves!”

  “There’s no harm in my taking a look.” Mash jumped deftly into the saddle and vanished into the dark like a ghost.

  “The old man is too suspicious,” said Ash. “But he has a special flair. Who knows, maybe he’s right this time…”

  We sat together, silently munching on dried meat. It was salty and hard as a sole. I was chewing carefully, washing down each bite with water from my flask. This activity was monotonous and kind of soothing. I looked up and, as always, froze spellbound.

  The sky was strewn with stardust. It curled into shimmering ribbons decorated with precious pendants made of especially bright stars. Some of them shimmered red; others had a yellow glow or blinded me with a piercing white light. Mentally joining six big stars, I found the Great Helm. Just below it, three red stars formed the Crow’s Wings, and farther to the north, a string of stars called Embrace sparkled. As always, the sky was full of mysteries. It was inhabited by spirits and gods, the boundless world of dreams and magic.

  For some reason I remembered the words of a lullaby, and I immediately imagined a celestial chariot which scattered wonderful dreams across the sky. My head grew heavy and my eyes closed by themselves.

  Ash woke me up, squeezing my shoulder painfully. “Mash is back,” he whispered. “The old man was right, wolves are coming!”

  Wasting no time, we jumped into the saddles and galloped off into the night. Our undersized horses possessed a supernatural flair; they seem to know where to put the foot and where not. None of them ever tripped during the wild ride in complete darkness.

  Mash ordered a halt only when the sun had barely hatched through the line of the distant horizon. We jumped off our horses and hastily relieved ourselves. Meanwhile, the old scout told us all about the events of the previous night.

  “This time I backtracked much further than usual.” The old scout looked tired. “The wolves were waiting for me. They shot a few arrows, but didn’t pursue.”

  “Strange …” Ash shrugged. “Unless …”

  “That’s what I thought,” Mash said. “They are Sertes. We stumbled upon a detachment of young trackers. For them, pursuit is a kind of game in which the youth are perfecting their skills. The more skilful the opponent, the more exciting the chase. They kill the game only when it ceases to excite them, when the runaways’ tricks become too obvious, and the pursuit becomes too boring.”

  “Are you joking?” I was excited and scared at the same time.

  “I am not,” Mash said. “They are the fiercest fighters on the plains.”

  “We will not run!” I cried. As always, in moments of danger, my heart began to beat faster. “We shall give them a fight!”

  “I counted ten riders.” Mash glanced at me. “We are outnumbered three to one. No offence, young master.”

  “No offence taken.” I clenched my fists. “I understand.”

  “And what about gifts?” Ash scratched his head. “I have heard many stories about Sertes. If they like our gifts, they may leave us be.”

  “And if they don’t like them, then they will finish us off before noon.” Mash pointed to the rising sun. “These are the rules of the game.”

  “But what can we offer?” I asked anxiously.

  “I don’t know,” Mash replied. “No one knows for sure. They might like a weapon, they might like food, a slave girl or a rare beast, but we have nothing of that sort.”

  “In that case, gentlemen, better pull your pants up and hit the road.” Ash grinned. “You can’t go far with your bare asses. As for gifts, we have plenty!”

  The scout nodded, pointing to the small piles under our feet.

  Mash grinned and farted loudly. “Wait a minute, I’ll add more gifts!”

  Two hours later, we stopped at a small stream to water our horses and fill the flasks.

  “
I don’t see any smoke,” Ash said, looking at the horizon.

  “Looks like they didn’t like our gifts,” Mash sighed.

  “For some reason, I’m not surprised,” I grunted. “Your gifts stink!”

  The scouts grinned happily.

  “But they are from the bottom of our hearts!” Mash said.

  “From the bottom of our arses!” Ash corrected him, and the friends roared with laughter.

  Seeing my startled face, they took pity on me.

  “You need to have a good laugh before death,” Ash explained, grinning. “Then you will have a good aura. Gods love a good aura and merry dead men!”

  “But I don’t want to be a merry dead man!” I protested.

  I reached into a secret pocket, pulled out a folded piece of cloth and spread it in front of my friends. A small black stone lay on my palm like a piece of darkness.

  “This stone is called the Tear of Rothe. Can we offer it as a gift?” I asked.

  “Looks like a piece of glass,” Mash said dismissively.

  “Perhaps you have some coloured ones instead?” Ash sighed, examining the jewel. “This stone is so plain …”

  “My mother said this thing cost more than the whole of Lieh,” I said. “It’s a very rare magic item.”

  The scouts looked at each other surprised.

  “Who would have thought?” Ash said. “But I’m afraid that the nomads don’t care much about magic.”

  “But we should try!” I blurted out angrily. “I got this stone as a gift from the sorcerer. Perhaps it was meant to deliver us all from death!”

  The scouts shrugged. They even forgot that the gods love merry dead men.

  “As you wish, young master. Leave your treasure on a rock by the spring,” Ash said. “All the same, we cannot escape our fate.”

  I spread a handkerchief on a boulder and carefully placed the Tear of Rothe in the centre. A jewel that cost as much as a whole city.

  We climbed the hill, chose a convenient defence position and prepared to wait. Mash was whistling some sad tune, pulling the new string on his bow. Ash began to sharpen his already razor-sharp sabre.

  I stuck a few crossbow bolts into the ground, loaded my crossbow and leaned back, staring into the deep blue sky.

  Time seemed to have forgotten about our existence. My stomach growled loudly, and the scouts giggled like children.

  “Behold the God of Thunder!” The smile froze on Ash’s face. He slowly raised his hand and pointed with his finger. A nomad was coming up the hill. His hands were held high above his head, demonstrating his peaceful intentions. The nomad’s skin was the colour of old bronze, bizarre tattoos covered his naked torso, and his grey braids were adorned with white feathers.

  “This is the chief,” Mash whispered. “Let’s see what he wants from us.”

  The leader of the Sertes approached us without fear. He dropped his hands and smiled. “Jolly dead men,” he said, pointing a finger at us. “We didn’t like your first gift, but it made us laugh!”

  The smile on his stern face was terrifying, but Ash had already got up and slapped his ass. “We have more, my fearsome chief!”

  The chieftain laughed loudly, slapping his hands on his thighs. “We have too!” He slapped his tattooed ass. “Even more than you!”

  We could not help but burst into laughter.

  “Jolly dead men, that’s good,” the chief grinned, and the laughter stuck in my throat, turning into an ugly gurgling. “Who is the owner of this talisman?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  We saw the Tear of Rothe. The jewel was entangled in a thin gold wire and was fitted to a chain of dark metal.

  “It belonged to me once,” I said, stepping forward. “But now it is yours. Do you like our second gift?”

  The chieftain frowned. “I’m deeply sorry, but the Tear of Heart can’t be given away.” He came up to me. “It is yours forever.”

  Raising his arms above my head, he put the talisman round my neck.

  “We, the Sertes, are happy that such a gift was offered to us.” The chieftain bowed with dignity. “And we will never forget it. The story that I held the Tear of Heart in my own hands will be passed down from generation to generation, and the name of Atu Tanaka will be eternal!”

  Chapter 6

  The Sertes volunteered to escort us to the very walls of Lemnark. Sometimes they rode next to us, and I looked admiringly at the dark-skinned, muscular warriors who happily demonstrated an unrivalled art of vaulting. Instead of saddles, they used wild beasts’ pelts; instead of spurs and stirrups they used their own knees. Sometimes one of the young warriors stood on the back of his horse and galloped standing for a long time. Sometimes the rider jumped from his horse to the ground, and ran beside it, holding its mane.

  At first glance, the Sertes’ mounts looked exactly like our undersized steppe horses, but in fact they were completely different. Ours were gentle and calm, while the Sertes’ beasts were unruly and playful as puppies. They were constantly trying to outrun each other, bouncing and prancing. They fell to the ground and rolled in the dust, happily kicking and snorting.

  The riders would sense the slightest change in the mood of their pets, reacting instantly to any mischief. They would jump down to the ground, they rode by twos on one horse, or rushed after the runaway on foot, shouting and whooping merrily. It was exhausting just to watch this endless circus!

  “Clowns!” Ash grinned. “Our heavy cavalry would have trampled them in the blink of an eye.”

  On the second day of our trip with the Sertes, we noticed a group of riders watching us from the top of a hill. Our companions instantly formed a wedge and rushed forward.

  One moment they were close to us, a heartbeat later, they had vanished in the distance.

  “I’ll be damned!” Ash yelled. “Let’s give them a chase!”

  We spurred our horses and raced at full gallop. We rode very fast, but still could not catch up with the nomads.

  On a hilltop the Sertes were robbing the dead. The earth was littered with dead bodies. I counted three dozen, while our new friends counted only ten boys and the chief.

  “Atu Tanaka is a great warrior,” cried Ash when we approached the old man, who was busy scalping the enemy leader.

  Atu Tanaka grinned and pointed a bloody knife at the dead. “Damned Ashravs, they steal our horses!” The chief looked pleased. “Their scalps are worthless; I’ll throw them to my dogs!”

  The boys merrily rounded up the horses.

  “This is the main wealth of the steppes,” Mash explained to me. “And there is no worse crime than to steal a horse.”

  You could admire them, or you could hate them, the Sertes were true children of the plains, obedient only to their chieftains and to ancient spirits. They never planned anything, they were free and untameable. They loved stories and songs; they could listen to Mash’s tales hour after hour, they could laugh at Ash’s jokes and weep at his songs.

  “Every morning, I’m happy I’m still alive,” Ash told me one day. “And the chief’s son scares me the most.”

  Little At Tanaka communed with the spirits. Lying on a wolf’s skin by the bonfire, he would close his dark eyes and let the spirits of the steppe possess his body. His fragile frame would shake and twist, his mouth foamed, and terrible inarticulate cries came out of his throat.

  The Sertes watched the boy closely, carefully holding his hands and head. Sometimes, after a meeting with the spirits, At Tanaka gathered the others in a small circle and spoke about what he had seen in the other world.

  “The poor boy is sick,” whispered Mash. “I’ve seen this before. He needs treatment badly, but these barbarians think it is a sacred gift.”

  One night At Tanaka sat beside me by the roaring fire and smiled. He looked almost like a normal boy. His long braids were unmade, and his hands held no weapons

  “Tell me, nishin, what does it feel like to own the Tear of Heart?” he asked.

  I didn’t know what to say. F
or me, the amulet had no mystical significance, it was just a gem.

  “You do not know it yourself,” he nodded. “But please remember the terrible power asleep in this stone. One day, it will talk to you and the whole world will change.”

  Looking at the dying embers, I tried to grasp the hidden meaning of the boy’s words. Could it be there was no sense in his words? Maybe he was just an ordinary sick child and not a famous steppe prophet?

  “The spirits told me that you got the Tear of Heart in battle,” continued At Tanaka. “They said it belonged to Two-Faced, the very Destroyer of Life. This stone has chosen you and, like it or not, you must accept it.”

  The boy emanated an incredible power. It enveloped him from head to toe, bursting in all directions with mighty protuberances. I almost fainted when one of these emissions touched me. I gasped in a vain attempt to breathe.

  At Tanaka smiled and put his hand on my shoulder. “Do not worry; they are the spirits of the steppes. They know you and they like you,” he said quietly. “They bless you, nishin.”

  The little warrior stood up and silently disappeared into the night. I sat at the burnt-out fire, staring at the flickering embers and my sleeping friends.

  ✽✽✽

  We felt the breath of the river from afar. With cheerful whooping, the nomads surged forward, leaving us far behind. Our new friends were just like quicksilver. It was amazing how many things they could do while we trudged at the rear. We rode focused, without stopping even for a minute, trying to cross the inhospitable steppes as soon as possible. We rode hard, harder than ever, but we were too slow to cope with the nomads.

  One moment we rode side by side. Then in the blink of an eye they were gone, just to reappear again on a distant hilltop. Here they chased a spotted deer, a few minutes later I saw them sitting by the fire roasting the fresh meat. Half an hour later they jumped out of nowhere and started some wild game, shouting and throwing the deer’s skull high in the air.

  Sometimes it seemed to me that they conquered time itself. They had time to do much more than we did, they were moving much faster, they were living much faster. No wonder their mood changed quickly as well.