Instantly, the spell stopped and disappeared into the air. If Shu-shu had been doing anything, there was no sign of it now. She was looking at Tartum with a bemused look on her face.
“Spying on me, young Tartum? Not very nice. No, no, no, no, no...not nice at all. I thought you were nice. Don’t not be nice to Shu-shu, or I’ll turn you into a poop!” she said.
Tartum smiled. It looked like he was going to get the entertaining rant after all.
“I’m sorry, Shu-shu. I didn’t mean to interfere. What was that spell you were casting?” he asked.
Shu-shu’s bemused look never faltered. “Not a spell! No, no, no, no, no, not a spell. A game, see how many rings you can get to blend before they explode! Very fun! Can only win once. After ten converge into one, they blow up big-big. Much fire. Good victory blast! My best is eight. I will win one day!” she said defiantly.
Tartum shook his head in disbelief, although he really wasn’t surprised. As crazy as Shu-shu was, it wasn’t a shock that she would be playing a game where the only reward for winning was an explosive death. Laughing, Tartum explained to her, he was there to restock his componets. If she heard him, or cared about what he said at all, she gave no sign. She instantly went into a tirade about spell components, giving a detailed description of what they were good for, how they should look when they’re at their freshest, what they should smell like, and how they should taste. It was an interesting lecture, especially when when she began describing the flavors of lizard parts and nissassa colon.
Tartum spent hours with Shu-shu, and it was well into the night by the time he left her store. His purchases were in numerous bags hung from his belt. Unslinging his staff from his back, Tartum headed back to the inn to tell Isidor all about Shu-shu’s lecture.
...
Tartum took his time getting back to the inn. The night air was very nice, and he was in a great mood after spending so much time with Shu-shu. Her stories, advice, and anecdotes were especially entertaining tonight and was exactly what Tartum was hoping for. Tartum looked through the windows of the taverns as he passed them and watched the people inside sing, dance, and drink the night away. For a moment, Tartum envied them. He wished he had a group of friends that he could stay up all night with.
His thoughts wandered for a moment to Hilary and the brothel. It occured to him that Hilary had always made him pay for her attentions. She never wanted to leave with him, even though he could have easily provided for her with the money Isidor surely would have gifted to them. Whenever he approached her on the subject, she would always tell him, “Not yet...not yet.”
He remembered Mama and the people he used to consider friends. It occured to him that they only sought him out when he was paying. They never came by to see if he was interested in doing something other than going to the brothel. Never made plans with him for the day after. Everyone knew that he was Isidor’s apprentice. Everyone knew where he lived. It didn’t shock him that the realization wasn’t so much an epiphany, as it was an admittance of truth. He knew that those people didn’t really like him. He knew they weren’t friends in the true sense of the word. It had just been nice to be able to buy happiness for a while. To play at being a normal man, if only for a night. It also was no surprise to Tartum that he didn’t feel the guilt for killing them anymore. They never cared about him really; why should he care about them now?
The only friend he’d ever had didn’t stay with him because of money. He stayed with him out of love. Isidor was the only person in his life that hadn’t used him. Isidor was the only person in the world Tartum knew he could trust. Isidor was the only person in the world that truly cared about him. Tartum promised himself that he would do anything it took to keep Isidor happy with him. No matter the cost.
Tartum made up his mind, he would drop the mask over his feelings and tell Isidor everything. He made his way back to the inn, determined to let Isidor know how important he was to him, and how much he cherished their friendship. He would tell him that the only person that meant anything to him was his master, his mentor, his friend. Isidor would know, before the sun rose, that Tartum idolized him and that everything he’s ever done right in the world was because of him.
Tartum began sprinting back towards the inn. He couldn’t wait to get home to tell him how he felt.
...
The lobby was empty when Tartum arrived back at the inn. Not even Crenshaw was up. The one person that was supposed to be watching the front door for late night customers had their head down on their arm and was sound asleep. Tartum half flew up the three flights of stairs to the room he shared with Isidor. He opened the door to the room slowly. He wanted to wake Isidor to tell him everything, but he didn’t want to anger him in the process. This was supposed to be a grand moment between them; he didn’t want to ruin that by being inconsiderate.
The room was dark, but Tartum was able to feel his way around until he found the first candle holder on the wall. Opening himself to the magic, Tartum lit the candles and brightened the room just enough to be able to see. Placing his staff on his bed and removing the pouches filled with his purchases, he walked over to Isidor’s bed, thinking to find him sleeping.
The light was dim from the candles, but with his heightened senses he could see Isidor’s bed had not been slept it. With a wave of his arm, Tartum lit the rest of the candles, bringing the room to life with brightness. Isidor wasn’t in the room. All of his posessions were gone. There was no sign that Isidor had been in the room at all since he sent Tartum on his errand. Tartum found it odd that his master wasn’t in the room and that all of his possessions were gone, but assumed that he had tired of living in the inn and went back to the wagon. Tartum was too tired to walk there to join him and assumed since he had left without him, he most likely wanted to be alone this night.
Tartum smiled to himself. There was no telling the lude things going on in the bed pillows of Isidor’s wagon this night. Tartum figured interrupting Isidor’s night of debotchery to tell him how he felt, wouldn’t be very smart nor well recieved. He decided he could wait one more night and prepared himself for bed. He was envious of Isidor, he wouldn’t mind some female company, himself, now that he was thinking about it. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided the brothel could also do without him for one night. He really was quite tired.
Tartum finished getting ready for bed and was about to put out the lights, when he saw something on his bed. Walking over to it, he saw it was a letter and the handwriting was definitely Isidor’s. Picking up the pages, a feeling of dread rippled through him. He didn’t know why, but he had a bad feeling about what this note contained. Taking a deep breath, Tartum began to read:
Tartum-
These past fourteen years have been some of the best years of my life. I came to your little town, trying to escape my past. I was an adventurer and had some modest luck uncovering forgotten secrets of this world. I have travelled over the oceans twice, fought dragons, undead, and even faced off against the dreaded dust tusks. Which I must warn you, if you ever encounter one, RUN! Just one of them killed off three of my friends, before we finally brought the beast down. I digress. I had gotten my fill of adventuring and settled down with a long time companion of mine. We had a son and raised him for fifteen perfect years. He was a wonderful boy named Anthor. He had little skill with magic, but his skill with a bow rivaled his mother’s. She was an archer and a fighter, and was one of the best shots in the world. She once shot a Kritchit Warlord dead from the walls of a town they had been preparing to siege. She saved the town and dispersed the entire Kritchit army with one shot, from over four hundred yards away! She was amazing...
I digress again. We lived in retirement, deep in the woods, miles away from your town. We lived alone, and my wife used to tell Anthor stories about our past. His head filled with tales of glory and treasure. My wife never told him about the truly horrible parts of living the life of an adventurer. Burying friends, facing terrors no man should have to face, the fear o
f knowing death could be around every corner, the horrors of war and battle. The gore, the slaughter, the truly dark side of human nature...I’ve seen things, Tartum, things so horrible, I will not mention them in this letter. I’m almost seventy years old, and I can not tolerate the memories of my past. Especially the final memory of my old life, that eventually led me to Zerous.
There was a village, not far from where we lived named...well the name no longer matters. That village has been dead for years. It was only a day’s travel from our home, and we used to travel there together to buy supplies, trade, and for the company of other people. My son met a girl while we were there. A pretty little thing, much like your Hilary. I think things were getting serious, because my wife began to hate the girl. She always was overprotective of Anthor. I guess that’s just the way mothers are over their children.
One day, my wife came to me and asked if I wanted to go with them to the village. We had fought earlier, and I was still angry with her. I wish I could remember why I was angry or what the fight had been about. It seemed so important at the time, and I was so mad at her! She tried to apologize, I remember, but it didn’t matter, I told her to get out of my sight. She cried, Tartum, she cried as she left with my son. I’d known her for decades, and I had never seen her cry before, even when we buried our friends. The look my son gave me was one of pure disgust. He was right to be disgusted with me. I was so foolish! In my pride, I stayed at home and let them go alone. I didn’t say goodbye to either of them. I didn’t tell them how much I loved them, how much they meant to me. How much I would miss them. That they were the only things good and pure in my life!
Three days passed, and they hadn’t returned. I had a terrible feeling in my stomach, but I misinterpreted my instincts. I got angry and convinced myself she was with another man. With jealousy being my motivation, I picked up my son’s training staff, the grey one I use when we spar, and headed out, intent on confronting her with my allegations.
My rage fueled me, and I made good time. When I got to the village, I found it had been occupied by a gang of bandits. The village wasn’t very large, only about one hundred people populated it, and they had no guards or warriors. There were around thirty bandits; they were lead by a huge brute of man. I heard his men call him Viers. He was at least seven feet tall, his body looked like it was chiseled out of rock, and the plate armor he wore was stained blood red. He wielded a two handed mace that was topped with an steel ball the size of a pumpkin. It was adorned with four inch long steel spikes all over it. It was as cruel as the man was.
The bandits didn’t invade the town for money, women, or supplies. They were CANNIBALS, Tartum! THEY WERE EATING THE PEOPLE! They had killed the men first and piled their bodies in the middle of the town. As I crept around the shadows, trying to find my family, I spotted my son’s young love interest. Her head was on a pike. On the pike next to her head, was my son’s. It was missing one eye, where a sword had pierced his face.
I lost all reason, in my grief and opened myself fully to the magic. I have always been a gifted caster, extremely proficient with lightning spells and defensive magic. A lifetime of adventuring had trained me well. I killed all of them Tartum, the bandits in the surrounding area died to lightning bolts and magical fire. Those that got too close, I took down with my dead son’s staff. I offered no quarter, no mercy; they died as fast as I could get to them. It felt like an eternity of slaughter, and in the end, they all lay dead at my feet. The smell of blood was thick in the air. The scent of burnt blood still makes my stomach lurch.
I had slaughtered Viers’s minions, but my revenge wasn’t complete. I screamed for Viers. I called him every horrible thing I could think of. I demanded he face me. He was in the village hall when I struck and must have heard me bellowing my curses. He came out of the building, fully ready for combat. Our battle was brutal, and more than once, his mace tasted my flesh. In the end, I was able to hit him in the head, hard enough to knock him to the ground. Using the last of my strength, I obliterated his head with a point blank lightning bolt spell.
I freed the villagers that were still alive, and most of them fled into the surrounding woods. I couldn’t blame them. The poor people had watched their loved ones, killed and eaten right in front of their eyes. They knew their fate was going to be the same. The terror must have driven most of them mad. I searched the cages and surrounding houses for my wife, but I couldn’t find her. I had almost lost hope when I finally found her. She was inside the village hall Viers had come out of. She was completely naked, bent down over a table and tied in place. She was badly beaten and had large bite shaped holes all over her back and shoulders. She had been raped, Tartum. They raped her and ate her at the same time. My wife was half eaten, raped, and dead.
I didn’t bury my family. I took down my son’s head and his pretty little love interest’s, then brought them into the building I found my wife’s remains in. I searched but couldn’t find their bodies. The cannibals were thorough eaters, and it still sickens me that this was my son’s fate. I cut my wife’s body free of its bonds and placed their remains as respectfully as I could manage, in the center of the main room. It was hard, and more than once I fell to the ground and cried until I had no tears left to weep. The pain has never left me completely, Tartum. I still feel the sharp sorrow everytime I think of them.
I burned the building with my family’s remains inside. I watched the building burn, and when there was nothing left but ash and memories, I fell to the ground and grieved. There was a hurt inside me that I couldn’t heal. If I had just gone with them! If I had followed them to the town! If I had just been a good father and husband, I could have saved them! Instead, I allowed anger to get the better of me. I stayed angry over something so trivial, I can’t even recall what it was. The last thing I said to my wife had made her cry, I never even so much as told my son farewell. The last interaction I had with my son while he was alive, was to receive a look of disgust! A look I so rightly deserved!
I never got a chance to tell them one last time, how much I loved them. I never got a chance to say I was sorry. I failed at being a husband, Tartum, I failed at being a father. Because of my failures, my family died horrible deaths. I still haven’t forgiven myself for failing them. I don’t deserve forgiveness.
I must have cried so hard, I passed out. I don’t remember. When I woke up, it was raining. I looked around the town, to make sure no one else was trapped there. There was no one left. The town was as dead as my family.
I did find the wagon you’re familiar with and a couple of horses. Whether they were the property of the bandits or the villagers, I didn’t know. I don’t remember much about getting back to my home. I do remember that when I arrived there, I found an escape from my shame and sorrow in drink. We had a modest wine cellar in our home. My son had helped me build it when he was ten. Gods, I miss him!
After many drunken weeks, I ran out of wine. I had no way to make more and no money to buy any. I didn’t care. I wanted to die. I even tried to kill myself with an old dagger. I’m a coward, Tartum, I couldn’t do it. I wanted to, but my hands just wouldn’t plunge the dagger into my heart. I was too scared. My cowardice spared my life. I’ve never been more disgusted with myself. I deserved death; sometimes, I believe I still long for it.
I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I was stumbling around the outside of my home when I noticed the side of the wagon. “Isidor the Magician, Master of Magic!” it said. That’s right, Tartum, my name isn’t Isidor DuFop, like I’ve lead you to believe. My real name is Kael Elblom. My wife was Lyrinn Elblom, and my son, I’ve already named. Isidor the Magician must have been at the village, when Viers and his men attacked. I took on his name and persona, just as I took his magic wagon. I spent three years, running from my memories, hiding in towns and cities, villages and outposts. I moved from place to place, trying to outrun my demons. When I needed money, I put on a show. When I had outstayed my welcome, I would move on. I found solstice at the bottom of
an ale mug for a while. When that stopped working, I found it with women, in the comforts of the brothels and whore houses of the world. It was pure chance, I stumbled upon your quaint town of Zerous. I would have passed right by, but I needed money and supplies for the journey to Saroth.
Your squeal that day, awoke the memory of my son when he was that age. The look of excitement in your eyes, reminded me so strongly of him, I thought you could have been him for a moment. You looked so much like him, Tartum. It was the first time I felt anything other than numbness for years. I had never asked anyone to assist me in my act before. I called you up as a gimmick. I wanted to use you to soak more money from the people in the audience. I was planning on leaving that night for Saroth.
Then you showed me your potential. You showed me your power. That lizard spell I cast was only supposed to be an illusion, and your intervention enhanced it into an actual summoning spell! I couldn’t believe it. Afterwards, the way you clutched to your father, so weak and tired from the exertion, reminded me of Anthor. You could have been his brother. I stayed in Zerous for all those years training you, because I saw inside you a chance to redeem myself. A chance to be a father again. To succeed this time, where I had failed before. I also saw a chance to feel something other than hatred and disgust for myself.
That is why I’ve been so hard on you, that is why I pushed you so hard. I don’t want this world to destroy you like it destroyed me, like it destroyed my family. I may not have redeemed myself, Tartum but you allowed me feel again. You brought a modicum of happiness to my miserable life. Your successes and your victories, your failures and your defeats. You’ve made me very proud and are the only success left in my life. You brought me back from the brink of self destruction, and I’ll never be able to show you the gratitude you deserve.
The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1 Page 15
