Fate of Wizardoms Boxed Set

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Minutes later, the wagon train reached the other end of the bridge and turned north, toward the city. A field lay before the two-story-tall city walls made from gray blocks, the sight a poor comparison to the daunting walls of Marquithe.

  It was mid-afternoon, so the remainder of the daylight hours would be spent raising the tents and preparing camp. Less than a quarter mile from the city gate, Stanlin pulled his wagon off the road and settled in a flat, grassy area between the road and the river. Rhoa suspected the menagerie had used the exact same location years earlier, before she was part of the troupe. The man issued orders as the other wagons approached the campsite. Oxen-drawn wagons brought the massive tent poles to the middle of the field while the troupe gathered around their leader.

  “We have three or four hours of daylight, and I intend to use them,” Stanlin announced. “I need all hands focused on raising the main tent. You can rotate breaks until everyone has had a chance to eat. I must go into the city and meet with city officials to ensure our welcome.” A sadness crossed his face. “Besides, we are in need of a new drummer and are short one person for the crew. I will stop by a few taverns and see if I can find someone suitable for either job. Don’t wait for me. It’ll be dark by the time I return.”

  Stanlin turned and walked to his wagon as everyone watched in silence. When the man climbed on and his team towed the wagon back to the road, clapping hands drew everyone’s attention.

  “You heard Stanlin!” Ervan, the crew foreman, shouted. “Let’s begin with the center posts!”

  The man continued to shout orders, calling for men to dig holes while others moved the oxen-drawn wagons into position. Rhoa had seen the tent poles raised many times and had little interest in watching again. Instead, she turned toward the city and stared at it. She wondered how long they would remain at Starmuth. Her gaze shifted north, toward Fastella…too distant to see, yet within just a few days’ travel.

  Soon, she would return to the city of her birth.

  Soon, she would have her revenge.

  Rawk sat in the shade of the wagon he shared with the Bandego Brothers. The two men had been friendly enough, but Rawk remained lonely, isolated, lost. So much of the world outside his mountain home seemed foreign. The menagerie was a prime example.

  He still had no idea what to expect from the performances. The thought that people would pay to watch others do tricks, play music, or shape rock… It was something he struggled to comprehend. Rhoa had attempted to describe it all to him, but he had difficulty imagining the scene. The mere thought of having hundreds of eyes staring at him made his stomach churn and left him in a cold sweat. By the way Rhoa’s eyes glazed over when describing the rush from the cheers and applause, he could tell she enjoyed the experience. He found himself drawn to the energy and passion she displayed.

  Watching troupe members raise the tall poles and the tent they supported made Rawk think of the engineers among the Makers – the men and women who designed and crafted impossible structures powered by extravagant mechanisms. When a Maker-built door closed, one would be hard-pressed to ever find the seams. In such perfection he saw beauty.

  As the day wore on, clouds drifted in and darkened the sky, allowing Rawk to remove his cloth. His eyes had gradually adjusted, but daylight still hurt far more than it helped. He pocketed the cloth, wincing. The arrow wound in his arm was gradually healing. A few more days and the pain would be gone, leaving only a scar as a reminder.

  When the tent had been raised and the crew began staking the guy-lines, Rhoa walked over and settled on the grass beside him. She sat there in quiet for some time, her eyes narrowed as she squinted into the breeze. Rawk followed her gaze and saw her staring at the water. The sea was as frightening to him as the sky, both appearing endless. He had never imagined so much water might exist anywhere.

  He considered starting a conversation, but he didn’t know what to say. So much about the world outside of his mountain home still confused him, and his naivety had led to numerous embarrassing moments since he had joined the troupe. It made him wonder if he would ever fit in.

  Rhoa looked at him and broke the silence, saving him from the task. “Your eyebrows look good.”

  His hand went to his forehead. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

  She shrugged. “Body art is among Sareen’s skills. I thought it might help make your appearance less…unusual.”

  His eyes flicked to her and back to the ground, the conversation reminding him of his hairless body – a source of profound shame. An adult male Maker without a beard was unnatural, and Rawk’s smooth, bare face was a constant reminder of his failures. He thought of his father and the man’s thick, brown beard braided to his waist. Bawkobon held much pride in his beard, far more than any pride he had ever shown toward his son. Everyone in Ghen Aeldor knew of Rawkobon the freak. It was the sort of fame one wished to avoid.

  Rhoa spoke again while watching the crew secure guy-lines. “Our first performance will come in two days. The first show is always half-price, intended to draw the curious and create a buzz in the city. I would expect as many as two hundred tomorrow, twice as many on our biggest days.”

  “Four hundred?” That was eight hundred eyes. Rawk tried to imagine so many watching him. Less than four thousand Makers lived in all of Ghen Aeldor, spread across two-dozen holds.

  When Rhoa turned toward him, she must have seen the fear in his eyes. “Don’t worry.” She patted his hand. “You will be hidden for most of your performance. Just shape rock and make it look pretty. Everyone will clap, and you will get paid.”

  “Paid.” He repeated the word, as if tasting it for the first time. The idea of receiving precious metal for shaping stone still felt foreign.

  Pippa walked over and sat with her legs crossed, facing Rhoa. “Are you telling him about tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but mostly I’m telling him he has nothing to worry about.”

  Pippa tilted her head while staring at Rawk. “I wish I could do what you do. Changing boring old stone to something beautiful… It’s a wonderful kind of magic.”

  He grunted. “It’s not magic.”

  Rhoa’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand how you do it, but it definitely is magic.”

  “It doesn’t feel like magic.”

  “What does it feel like?” Pippa asked.

  He put a finger to his lips as he considered how to explain. “I can feel the rock. Everywhere I go, I have a sense of the rock around me. I know if it is soft, like dirt, or brittle, like shale, or hard, like granite. I can feel the fissures and impurities when I touch it and can tell if something else, such as a gem, is hidden inside.”

  Pippa grinned. “Finding gems is a wonderful talent. If you get the right ones, you could be rich!”

  Dark thoughts arose, shrouded by guilt. Rawk turned away. “That is forbidden.”

  “Finding gems?”

  He shook his head. “No. Coveting them. Keeping them. Selling them.”

  “What do you do with them then?”

  “Gems are given to the fire in the mountain as gifts to Vandasal.”

  Pippa frowned. “Fire in the mountain? Like a volcano?”

  “We certainly hope not. So long as you control the pressure, the lava remains calm.”

  “You mentioned Vandasal again. Is he your god?” Rhoa asked.

  Rawk nodded.

  “And you are required to give the gems you find to him?”

  “Yes. It is among our core beliefs.”

  Rhoa fell silent as she stared at Rawk. Feeling awkward, he turned away.

  Her hand touched his, and he stared down at it.

  When she spoke, her tone was filled with compassion. “Forget about the past. You are here now, with us.” His gaze met hers, and she smiled, her white teeth in contrast to her coppery skin. “You were describing how you shape stone.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “When I touch it, I push my fingers in while willing the stone to give way. My thoughts, as much as my touc
h, guide the stone. Rock shards come loose until the surface is what I perceive in my mind.”

  “Wow,” Pippa breathed.

  “That doesn’t explain the polish,” Rhoa said. “How do you get it to shine?”

  “Polishing is more of the same, except I remove far smaller bits of rock. The result makes it appear smooth and shiny.”

  Pippa stood. “Well, it’s getting dark, and I’m to help with dinner tonight. I’ll talk to you guys later.”

  The blonde girl walked off, and Rhoa leaned back with a sigh. “I wish Stanlin would return. I want to ask him how long we intend to remain at Starmuth.”

  “Where else would we go?”

  After a moment, she replied, “Fastella. It’s a big city, far bigger than what you see here.” She pointed toward Starmuth.

  Rawk’s gaze followed her gesture. Again, he gazed at the city walls and wondered at the shoddy work. Even from hundreds of feet away, he could see the seams and unevenness in the outer surface. The roofs beyond the walls were more of the same – structures that would leave a Maker extremely embarrassed.

  “How long do you usually remain in one city before moving to the next?”

  She shrugged. “It depends on the city and the crowds. Bigger cities pack the tent regularly, which keeps the troupe around for many weeks. Cities like this may last as little as twenty days.”

  “And you would like to move on?”

  She hesitated again before nodding. “I would.”

  “This life of traveling from city to city and performing… You enjoy it?”

  Rhoa frowned while peeling off layers of a thick stalk of grass, appearing lost in thought. Finally, she tossed it aside and gave him a sidelong look. “I enjoy parts of it. The troupe is like a family to me. In fact, they are all I have. Then there is the thrill of performing. I know I am good at it, and the rush I get when I have the crowd watching my every move… It’s as if I cast a spell over them. They will gasp, laugh, weep, or scream at my whim. It is magic of another nature, and the power is intoxicating.

  “However, there are times I wish I had something more in my life. I remember the feeling of having a home, a place where I belonged, a place filled with love and happiness. Someday, I would like to live such a life again.”

  She stood and dusted off her breeches. “It was nice speaking with you, Rawk. You should talk more often.”

  After she walked away, he wondered at his lingering sense of sorrow.

  Jace jammed the blade of his knife between the window and the sill, lifting it to flip the lock. He pulled the window open and peered inside. The barn interior was dark, the only light coming through the open window. He lifted his leg over the sill and climbed in. A pen occupied the far corner, and the space smelled of a mixture of manure and animal musk.

  Moving carefully, he fumbled around and found a doorknob. He opened the door to a completely dark room smelling of dirt. Taking a step inside, he ran into a crate. Feeling about blindly, he found potatoes and began stuffing them into his pack. When he turned, he came across a barrel filled with apples. Eight apples joined the potatoes before he backed out of the room.

  A long, thin crack of moonlight showed through the narrow gap in the barn doors. He unlatched the internal hook and eased the door open. Moonlight shone into the barn, chasing the shadows to the corners. A saddle hung on the wall, and two horses stood in the pen. One lifted its head and sneezed. Jace grinned. After two days, traveling on foot was about to end. The remainder of his journey would be much more pleasant.

  He took the saddle down and opened the pen door.

  “Easy now,” Jace said softly as he approached the nearest horse – a piebald, the large, brown eyes following him. “My name is Jace. I hope you don’t mind going for a little run.”

  The horse didn’t shy away when he put the saddle onto its back. Moments later, he had the saddle secured and his pack tied to it. He led the horse out and closed the barn door.

  A sound came from the farmhouse, less than thirty feet away. Jace quickly climbed onto the horse as the door opened.

  “Stop!” a man yelled.

  Jace kicked the horse forward as the man lifted a crossbow. With a yip, Jace gripped the saddle horn and slid sideways, ducking so the horse’s body was between him and the farmer. A twang sounded and a crossbow bolt flew over him, so close that Jace heard the whistle of its passing. The horse ran. Jace almost slipped before righting himself and throwing his leg back over the saddle.

  He rode into the night, wanting to put distance between him and the farmer before resting. When the sun rose, he would be on the road and on his way to Starmuth.

  19

  Black Sparrow

  The menagerie tent was massive, two hundred feet in length and standing a hundred feet tall at the center. A line of people waited outside, Jace among them. It was late afternoon, the weather cool with clouds blanketing the sky and a stiff breeze coming from the sea.

  Jace had arrived at Starmuth around noon, offering him the luxury of a hearty lunch, his first substantial meal since leaving Marquithe. The memory of the meal, mutton and vegetable skewers, replayed fondly in his head. After a long stretch of trail rations and a few days of no food while he was locked in a cell, a hot meal had been like a dream come to life.

  The line began to advance one step at a time. Jace inched along with it, eventually reaching the front where a massive man stood with his arms crossed, his glare leaving no doubt he meant business. A tall blonde woman stood beside him, holding a small barrel with a slot in the top.

  “Five coppers, please,” the woman said with a smile.

  Jace had the coins ready and dropped them into the barrel, the distinctive clinking of money echoing inside. He then ducked under the tent flap and stepped inside.

  Two thick poles spaced sixty feet apart supported the center of the tent, while a series of smaller poles supported the exterior. At the heart of the tent, a ring of interlocking wooden blocks formed a wall three feet tall.

  Jace paused to consider the oddities inside the ring – a ten-foot-tall staircase, a long board supported in the middle by two braces, round pedestals of different heights, a large boulder, and a wooden panel secured to the base of a tent pole. Pegs ran the length of both center poles, leading to platforms halfway up. A trapeze was secured to each post, just above the platforms, the ropes hanging from a set of long, wooden beams connected to two posts.

  Lowering his gaze, Jace walked along the wooden benches encircling the outside of the ring. Behind the benches, white canvas hanging from the top of the tent divided the outer portion on all sides, save for the entrance.

  Jace caught up to the couple in front of him – a wizard and wizardess dressed in green and gold. There were other wizards among the crowd, as well as merchants wearing fine doublets and jackets. In fact, only a handful of spectators, like himself, wore muted colors and commoner clothing. It made sense. Most commoners were reluctant to part with coin for mere entertainment, preferring to spend it on food, ale, or clothing. When the couple ahead of him sat on a bench, he sat beside them. In moments, the bench was full. Minutes passed. The tent filled until every seat was occupied, leaving a handful of latecomers to stand near the entrance. Conversation buzzed, the space filled with an air of anticipation, until a deep, booming drum beat twice and all fell quiet.

  Music began to play, a lively tune with drums, a flute, and a lyre. The tent flap opposite the entrance parted, and a tall man with a dark, curled mustache walked out. He wore a red coat with gold trim and gold buttons. On his head was a tall hat, red with black and gold. He began twirling the cane in his hand around his body while he spun in the opposite direction. All eyes were on him. When he reached the center of the tent, he stopped, the cane pointed toward the sky. It came to life, blooming with a bright, white light at the end, forming a spotlight on the ceiling. The music stopped at the same moment and the tent grew quiet.

  “Welcome to Stanlin’s World of Wonder!” he bellowed, lowering his c
ane and dousing the light.

  Cymbals struck, the clang reverberating throughout the tent.

  “Today’s performance begins with a revelation. You will be the first to witness the latest wonder I have discovered. Please welcome the Rock Whisperer, the man who tames stone.”

  The audience clapped weakly as a short, stout man in a purple stocking cap strolled out. He wore a purple vest and black breeches, his thick, bulging arms bare as he walked over to the boulder and stood beside it.

  The announcer gestured toward the boulder. “Using nothing but his bare hands, the Rock Whisperer will turn this two-ton boulder into a work of art.” The short man held up his empty hands and spun around as Stanlin turned toward the side of the room. “The curtain, please.”

  Two men ran out and draped a white curtain over the short man and the boulder, hiding them from view.

  “And so our performance begins!” Stanlin’s cane glowed again, the spotlight pointed toward a gap in the crowd. “Enter the Bandego Brothers!”

  The music resumed and two men appeared in the spotlight, leaping over the ring to land in the center. They each began juggling, one with three batons, the other with four. The man with three began tossing his to the other man until he juggled seven. The crowd oooed and clapped. The batons were soon discarded in favor of eight colored balls, which the two began tossing back and forth to each other in a loop so fast, one could barely track their movements.

  The ringmaster shouted again. “Bring me the Tumbling Twisters!”

  Two men and a small young woman stepped out from the curtains. The men were shirtless and wore billowing white pants secured tightly at the ankles. The woman wore a tight white vest and skirt to match. Jace leaned forward and stared hard at the girl before deciding she could not be the one he sought. Her skin and hair were too fair, her eyes blue rather than brown.

  With one man leading the girl, all three climbed the tent poles. Reaching the top, one man grabbed a trapeze and jumped from the platform. An ahh came from the crowd as they watched him swing fifty feet up. The other man grabbed the second trapeze and began swinging, gaining momentum, while the first man lifted his legs to the bar and released his hands so he swung upside down. The other man did the same, the girl gripping his hands when he swung over the platform. The couple swung higher and higher, until the girl released her grip on the man’s hands. The crowd gasped. She flipped once in the air, then the second man grabbed her wrists, catching her. The crowd clapped and cheered.