Magician Reborn (Book 2)

by Paul Sobol

  Extending his senses, Xander realised the fog was not natural, but had been created magically. Marvelling at the spells construction he recognised certain mechanisms, and guessed the cloud’s purpose was to act as a gateway or portal. The shift, when it occurred, was seamless. Although still surrounded by the white fog the only noticeable difference was the sound; no longer did the horses make a rasping thud upon the desert sand, instead it was muffled thudding of riding on solid ground.

  Looking down Xander could see green grass and brown soil kicked up by the horses in front, and he knew they were no longer in Nevada, but exactly how far away he could not tell. That was the marvel of portal spells: with enough power you could move a group of any size anywhere in the world. However Xander was pretty sure they were still within the same country, just a few States removed.

  Shortly after shifting from one place to another the fog thinned and they were now travelling across open fields and gently rolling hills.

  “Aiyana,” said Xander, riding up next to the young woman, “if you could create a portal like that then what was the reason for riding so far?”

  “In ancient times my people were shown a way to move across the lands. This lore, passed down from the Wakanda, the magical beings, has been kept within our tribe ever since. Other tribes knew of the secret paths but did not know how to create the cloud bridges.”

  “So you can only create these bridges in certain locations?” Xander asked.

  “Yes. As a nomadic tribe we have relied heavily on the cloud bridges in the past, but now it is different. We are becoming more content to remain in one place rather than follow the old traditional paths.”

  “I suppose,” mused Xander, “you no longer need to move when food has become scarce. In today’s modern world everything can be bought and there is no need to live off the land.”

  “That may be,” she replied, a touch sullen. “But it should not be an excuse to throw away centuries of tradition.”

  “That’s usually the thinking of someone much older. I thought the younger generations would embrace change over stagnating traditions.”

  “Ours is an old and revered tribe, steeped in tradition. It is who we are. Without it we would have no identity, no purpose. We might as well finally surrender and be content to live on reservations, to build casinos and other abominations to nature,” said Aiyana, clearly contempt of the idea.

  “I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend.”

  She glanced aside at the young man, who rode his horse more confidently. She was a little surprised at his openness and honest sincerity, contradicting her first impressions, and despite being an outsider he seemed more likable, in a roguish sort of way. His self-assuredness was just that, and he appeared to be genuinely interested in what she had to say regarding the tribe.

  “I accept your apology. It can be difficult for outsiders to understand some of our ways, but I would rather we hold tight to what once was then let it slip away to be forgotten.”

  “Can I ask…does everyone in your tribe know this portal magic or just a few?”

  Aiyana looked suspiciously at Xander and wondered why he was asking about such things. It was unlike outsiders to ask questions, unless they felt they could get something out of it. But as she looked into his green eyes there was nothing of deception hidden beneath, just simple curiosity.

  “Since you too share the knowledge of the Wakanda, I am allowed to reveal some of what has been passed to me by my Shima – my mother. The first born in our family is always a female who inherits the Power. Subsequent offspring may or may not be born with the Power, but if so it is usually weaker than the firsts.

  “From early childhood we are taught the ancient Lore passed down from mother to daughter for countless generations. One day when I choose a suitable partner he will become the tribe’s new Chief. My father, the current chief, will step down, and his second eldest will inherit the mantle of tribe War-Leader. However, there has been little cause for fighting for many years and the position has become a meaningless title. Still, it is an honourable position to hold. As War-Leader, it will be their responsibility to train the younger in the art of combat, should it become necessary again to take up arms.”

  “I think I understand,” said Xander, “I have been training my whole life, but without any real purpose or goal. I figured I would follow in my uncle’s footsteps and become a fighter, however, there has to be more to life than that. I believe the Order is a just cause; ridding the world of evil should be the ultimate goal, but…”

  “You feel you have some greater purpose,” she finished for him.

  “Yeah. I know it sounds silly, and I should be thankful to have this awesome gift, but it’s as if some part of me is missing, like an empty void that needs to fill.”

  “Perhaps someday you will find yourself,” said Aiyana, “but in the mean time you may stay with us as long as you wish. I shall even give you a proper tribal name; Huritt.”

  “Huritt? What does that mean?”

  Aiyana flashed him a small smile and kicked her horse into a fast canter. The young men behind gave a cheerful whoop and pretty soon they too had disappeared ahead, following in the wake of the chieftain’s daughter.

  Looking over at his long-time friend, Xander could have sworn he had just been smiling a moment ago.

  “You certainly made an impression on her,” said Simon. He knew his friend was a little smitten with the chief’s daughter, but hoped it wouldn’t become something too serious. She was probably still too young to understand the complexity of an adult relationship, and a casual dalliance with an outsider could have social and political ramifications for the tribe.

  For the first time, Simon wished this assignment would be over quickly and they could return to somewhat normal lives. The past few months had been rather hectic, and they didn’t need anything else to make things more difficult, especially if Xander falls in love with the wrong woman.

  Chapter Eleven

  Riding through a lightly wooded area a camp site appeared suddenly, as if it had been shrouded by an invisible cloak. What at first looked to be a scattered collection of tents actually turned out to be quite a large community laid out in concentric circles. The central area was cleared and dominated by a large stack of wood which, Xander assumed, was a kind of communal area where tribe members gathered for special occasions.

  With the horses corralled, rubbed down and fed, Aiyana led the two magicians through the throng of tents to one on the edge of the central clearing. Unlike most of the other tents which were of more traditional tepee style construction, the chieftain’s tent was larger and five sided around a central pole. Xander couldn’t help but think of it as a small circus tent minus the gaudy colours. This tent at least was adorned with animal pelts.

  The inside of the tent was dark and filled with smoke from a small fire pit in the middle. Underfoot was an assortment of animal skins, but most predominantly were black and brown bear furs. By what little light came through the hole in the roof and from the fire Xander could barely make out other furnishing; several wooden chests, a single drawer in one corner, several oil lamps hanging from the support poles and a variety of dream-catchers hung around like ornamental spider webs.

  Xander was quite impressed at the level of detail that went into the dream-catchers, and while he assumed they were mere decorations the closer he looked at one he realised there was actual power running through the strings. Straining a little he could just make out the signature of the mana, like hearing notes played on a harp or guitar. The energy within the dream-catchers had their own unique vibrations, and he was sure that with more time to inspect the construction he could not only determine its purpose but also be able to recreate it magically. However, his magical curiosity would have to be satisfied later.

  Aiyana gave a small cough and motioned for Xander to pay more attention and come forward. Joining Simon and the chief’s daughter by the fire pit they stood in front of a large grizzled man. The chie
f closely resembled a bear, due more to the layers of furs he wore, and as his clear blue gaze took in the two magicians they felt as if they were being considered the main course for dinner.

  “Shizhe’e, I present to you Xander and Simon, kin to our friend Moon Blade.” Aiyana, finished with the introduction, sat down off to one side. Xander looked quizzically at his friend and silently mouthed the words ‘moon blade’?

  She may be referring to your uncle, Silver, he responded psychically. It seemed logical.

  The Chief, sun-browned to the colour of coffee, inspected the two from beneath hooded eyes. As though coming to a silent agreement he said, “You are welcome amongst us. Long has our tribe been ally to your people, and I formally recognise you both as guests and place you under my protection. My home is now yours to share for the duration of your stay. Please,” the chieftain motioned for the two magicians to take a seat around the central fire, “may I offer you a drink?”

  “Thank you.” They said almost in unison. It had been quite some time since either had anything to eat or drink, and when a small wooden ewer was produced they drank heartily. Thankful for the refreshing water they were a little disappointed the ewer was quickly emptied. Seeing his guests in such a state, the chief motioned for the water bearer to return with more water as well as food.

  “You have come at a very good time. My wife is about to give birth and we are preparing for a huge celebration. Aiyana,” he said, turning to his daughter, “please go visit your mother, she will want to know you’ve returned safely.” The young woman rose and bowed slightly before leaving, sparing a last glance towards Xander before disappearing beyond the tent’s flaps.

  Alone now with the chief, the silence stretched just long enough to become awkward. To Xander, it appeared as though the chief were a little drunk already; perhaps beginning the celebrations a bit too early, but he remained silent on the subject. Instead he brought something up that he was curious to know. “High Chief…”

  “Please,’ he interrupted, “you are guests here, call me Honon.”

  “Ah, thank you, Honon.” Xander began his question again. “How did the relationship between your tribe and magicians begin?”

  “Hmph,” the old man gave in response. His eyes unfocussed as if he were looking into the past, trying to relive those events, but he cleared his throat and continued. “It happened many years ago, during the time our ancestors fought against the invading armies from across the sea. We called them Yancy. They came to our shores and brought war and disease. Naturally we fought back. Those were terrible times, when our people were slaughtered in vast numbers and our lands stolen, however there was an enemy of the Yancy that came to our aid – the French.

  “Although our people fought on both sides, English and French, the northern tribes such as the Cherokee eventually turned against their ally and fought independently. We were once part of the Shawnee tribe, until the signing of the Easton Treaty which was broken when the Yancy defeated our French allies several years later. Others in the Shawnee broke away to join the Odawa tribe in a failed rebellion against the Yancy, however, it forced them to reconsider changing the conditions imposed on our people by the Treaty. But enough of old history lessons, you wanted to know about the magicians.

  “During the first few years of the war our tribe accepted French assistance which comprised mostly of soldiers, but among those were a few who were schooled in your arts. Moon Blade, your uncle Silver, was one of them, and with his help our tribe managed to survive the war.”

  “He’s never spoken about any of this to me before, I wonder why?”

  “As I said, they were terrible times. Our ancestors did what was necessary to survive, and sometimes that meant doing things you wouldn’t consider possible.”

  A woman’s scream shattered the relative calm of the camp.

  “Thank you, Honon, for sharing with us,” said Simon who had remained mostly silent throughout the history lesson, “but you must have other things to worry about.”

  “I shall have someone take you to your tent. We will meet again soon, hopefully under more joyous circumstances at the birthing celebration.” The old chief hastily arose from the pile of furs and made his way outside, headed in the directed of the screaming. Under his breath he said a hurried prayer to the Mother Spirit Hehewuti, may she make the birthing quick and painless.

  Outside the tent, Xander and Simon were met by the tribe member sent for food and drink. They were shown to a nearby tent which looked much the same as every other, and inside they were surprised to find their few belongings already there. Not bothering to gather wood for the small fire pit in the centre of the tent, Xander spoke a quick incantation and a fire sprang up instantly, providing both light and warmth without the smoke or need for wood. Sitting down on the thick carpet of furs they picked at strips of smoked salmon and corn bread.

  “Xander,” said Simon after an interval of quiet eating, “while I have every confidence in our new hosts, I would feel better if we had a little more protection.”

  Xander raised a quizzical eyebrow, but after a moment of contemplation he nodded. “The thought had crossed my mind. I doubt anyone here is going to try and do us any harm, but it couldn’t hurt to add our own touch to the place.” Slowly getting up, as though the effort was too great, Xander paced around the inside of the tent. In a low voice he uttered several mystical incantations accompanied by small gestures with his hands.

  Like an artist he drew invisible runes in the air with his finger. As he spoke the necessary words of power they faintly glowed and drifted towards the tent walls where they stuck. With the wards completed the runes faded from sight, and both magicians felt a little better knowing the enchantments were in place. It wasn’t that they distrusted the tribal people, but their teachers at the Academy had thought it a good practice to maintain, especially in an unfamiliar environment.

  For several hours the two dozed, but throughout the day their rest was interrupted by screaming, and silently they hoped nothing was amiss with the birthing. For some time there was silence, and with boredom growing the two decided to venture outside.

  People of all ages went about their chores quietly, as if to speak louder than a whisper would cause some unknowable catastrophe. Alien to the customs and social mores of this tribe the two magicians nonetheless spent the next few hours exploring the camp site in relative silence. Women huddled in small groups, preparing food or working with various textiles to create clothes or furnishings, while the older men sat inside their tents smoking and reminiscing on the old days. The air inside those tents were often so thick with smoke it was almost impossible to even see who was inside let alone how many.

  At one time Xander thought at least a dozen elders were crammed inside one of the circular tepees, smoking something that definitely did not smell like tobacco. One of the elders smiled and offered a long wooden pipe to the two young men, but hastily they declined the invitation and moved along.

  In the outer fields beyond where the herd of cattle and horses were corralled, young men of the tribe honed their skills with weapons and unarmed combat. Using short wooden bows more suitable for horseback they shot arrows at straw targets a hundred feet away. Some threw a variety of knives and tomahawks at swinging logs suspended from tree branches to simulate moving targets.

  Several of the young men who had escorted the two magicians to the camp earlier waved and invited Xander and Simon to join in. Despite knowing they had a great advantage over the tribesmen the two had nothing better to do and thought it would kill some time. To make it fair, Xander made the challenges harder by increasing the distances or having the others create distractions while he attempted to throw knives or shoot arrows. Despite the best efforts of the youths the young mage still hit his targets with deadly precision. Throw after throw the sharp bladed weapons would hit their mark, and even shooting the bow from several hundred feet away each arrow thunked into the centre target next to each other. Feeling proud of his accomplishm
ents he knew it was amateurish compared to what his aunty Archer was capable of.

  He had spent many summer vacations with Archer and Silver, recalling the lessons on magic and weaponry as if they had happened yesterday. The smell of lacquered wood, waxed braided string, hand-made feathered arrows and different sized targets at various distances. Xander had marvelled at how his aunt could knock an arrow, draw and loose and repeat in a single fluid action with such finesse. His own attempts appeared clumsy by comparison, and yet she had still praised him for his efforts, encouraging him to keep practicing.

  With the last of the days light fading over the horizon the young men wanted to test Xander on his unarmed combat skill, and while he had no actual training in this style of fighting he accepted the challenge. His opponent was to be a young lad his own age and similar build, and despite Xander having no martial training it was whispered the other boy was one of the best hand-to-hand fighters in the tribe.

  While it was still warm for that time of year the two fighters took of their shirts and squared off. A rough circle had been drawn in the ground and the basic rule of the sparring match was to either get your opponent outside the boundary or on the ground in submission. To make it completely fair no magic was to be used, meaning Xander could only rely on his naturally enhanced senses and limited precognition which, while still a huge advantage in itself, didn’t necessarily mean he would win. This style of Greco-Roman wrestling still relied upon technique more than brute force.

  Those gathered around the circle waited impatiently as the two fighters went through a quick series of stretches before signalling their readiness to begin. The young tribesman, called Little Wolf, came in fast and low, attempting to tackle Xander around the waist and drive him out of the circle. His target however was not there.