Diary of a Conjurer (30 page)

There was a long silence. The storm clouds
broke, opening a portal for the moon to peek through and cast a
blue glow over the coast. The sea beat a rhythm that the wolves
kept pace with.

“Silvio?” she whispered.

His silence opened the door for her
request.

“Come back to Taikus. Save us.”

He would have blurted one of his ridiculous
inflections if she hadn’t been so serious. He bit his lips to keep
his mouth shut, and looked at her, then at the ocean, then at her
again, letting his breath out with a burst.

“Save us, Silvio.”

“I can’t save you. I can’t
even save myself. Look at me.” Well, she couldn’t but she would
know what he meant. “Here I am riding alongside you on two poles
and a mat the little people made because my bones are crinkled up
like bark from some old stump. Bah! Save you. You forget that the
Kaempern boy has my powers, most of them. And yours, too, I might
add.”
Save her? Save Taikus?
If I could save Taikus I would have done it a
long time ago, when I was young and strong. Bah
.

He shifted on his bed, turning his back to
her, and struggled to think of a solution but there wasn’t any. No,
Hacatine would send one blast of magic at him, and he’d be ash. “Oh
stop it,” he said again. “Don’t put your faith in me. I’m just an
old conjurer that gave his will away to a foolhardy boy. What can I
do?” He kept mumbling. She quieted and soon after must have fallen
asleep for when he looked at her again, the glow of the moon cast a
backlight against her profile and her eyes were closed.

“Save Taikus,” he grunted. His doubt faded
as the motion of the travois rocked gently on its voyage. There was
no way he could take on Hacatine. No way. Maybe if he had his
powers . . . No. It was impossible. Hacatine had robbed every
wizard on the island. There was no magic greater than hers. Only
the Songs of Wisdom were greater. His thoughts lulled him to rest
and perhaps he was dreaming, but just before he fell asleep he
whispered, “I’ll see what I can do.”

A New Man

His will, or rather Silvio’s power, became
the wind under his feet, and Ivar jogged along the coastline the
entire night, arriving in the marshes of the wetlands just as the
rising sun turned the heavens gold.

With the first sound of a red-winged
blackbird, Ivar slowed to a walk and looked out across the bay. The
scent of this country had a flavor all its own. For Ivar it was the
taste of home. The hard sand of the Bandene coastline turned to mud
that oozed in between his toes like the black tar the Meneks used
to cure their boats. Coarse shells that were concealed under the
silt cut through his heels as he walked. He stopped. These wetlands
were a resource for seafood, a place where the Kaempern people
traveled yearly to replenish their supplies.

He fell on his knees and began his quarry,
not needing to dig much to get to the layer of oysters. He grabbed
clusters of the coarse shells; freed them from the clinging mud,
pulled the seaweed away, slapped them against each other, and pried
them open with his hands. Though his fingers bled, the meat
slithered down his throat and into his belly, one after another
until he had his fill.

His hunger satisfied, the youth sat in the
silt, content, taking the time to watch dawn approach. There was a
faint haze on the horizon, but he could see the mountain peak in
the distance to the north, still covered with snow, stretching
above the fog. Deception Peak. There, on the side of that mountain
the Kaemperns lived.

Ivar pressed his hands into the hem of his
tunic until the scrapes and sores stopped bleeding. Not having
looked at himself for a very long time it was a shock to see what
had happened to his body after leaving the safety of home. The
tunic hung so lose over his chest that his weight loss was
frightening. His stomach had shrunk so much that he had little
appetite and may have forgotten to eat altogether if he hadn’t
stumbled upon the oyster bed.

He had grown taller since he left, for the
hem of his garment barely covered his waist. Arms thin and dark,
seasoned from the sun, his hands were larger than he remembered,
the fingers long and lanky under the bruises. The glow of the magic
pulsated in his palms and he watched his veins for a while with
both fear and a sense of security. Possessing Silvio’s power seemed
to cause the very trouble it protected him from, and yet the more
it traveled through his arteries, the more he didn’t want to let it
go. It was becoming a part of him.

With hair hanging in dreadlocks over his
shoulders and into his eyes, Ivar could only imagine what his face
looked like. He will certainly be a different person when he
returns to the village. He hoped that it would be soon. He was
tired, hungry, and alone. He made a mistake coming on this journey.
Aren was right. He should have stayed home and been thankful for
the family he had, for the village that kept him safe.

Never mind about the dagger or the conjurer’s
power. After the long walk the night before, it seemed as though he
had left all of those problems behind. He curled his tongue in the
space between his front teeth and watched the shifting fog float
inland, off the water and away from the bay.

Black dots shifted in the shimmering sea. His
troubles weren’t over. A fleet of ships sailed near, and they
weren’t Menek fishing vessels. They were three-mast ships, full
sail though without wind. The same sort of ship he had been taken
prisoner on.

Ivar spat on the ground and stood. If he
hurried, he could get home before Hacatine got there, and be in the
safety of the Dragon Shield with his father and Amleth. Granted
he’d made a mess of things, but he was certain his family would
help him sort it out.

Refreshed, but thirsty, Ivar brushed as much
mud off his hands as he could and thought of his next move. A fresh
water creek ran through Alcove Forest. He would quench his thirst
there and dive into the bay at Elysian’s Fields before the long
trek to the mountain. If he walked the shoreline, he’d stay cool
and be able to keep an eye on the fleet of ships. That was his
plan.

When he reached the wetlands he lost sight
of the coast. The reeds grew well above his head and Ivar’s legs
sank into the silt, stirring mosquitoes from the surface of the
marsh. He swatted at them with a tinge of fear, remembering the
plague that had struck his village years ago.

The path through the cattails meandered onto
the edge of the green grassland where a gentle breeze blew the
insects away. The smell of grass and mint overpowered the stink of
the tidelands and the marsh. Filled with fresh energy, he rushed
into the meadow and veered up a hill that led into the forest,
following the trail to the creek. Only a brook in size, it was full
with cool rushing water, run-off from the melting snow in the
mountains. Signs of flooding showed as the waters already swelled
over its bank, though they still ran clear. It may be an early
spring this year. The days were warm, and already buds burst from
the maple trees. Soon, when the moon found its sliver, before its
wane had cycled, it would be time for all the young men to return
to Kaempern and join in the ceremonial hunt.

That would be a good thing. Ivar was anxious
to see his friends again. He knelt over the creek and let the sweet
waters sooth his chapped lips. When full, he washed the silt and
salt off his hands and the dirt and debris that had caked over his
cheeks. Ivar dove his head under the water and came up shaking his
hair, refreshed.

His blood circulated, head stinging from the
cold water as it met the warmth of the morning. It was an
invigorating feeling, causing him to laugh. His hands glowed, which
made him burst with energy even more. But then he saw blood
coagulating in his palms and he stopped, stunned. His fingers
touched the red liquid, and passed through the vision. Or was it a
memory?

At first Daryl thought it was just the
pirates feeling happy from all the rum they were drinking. Somedays
they would let him drink, maybe tonight. The pirates and the
captain were celebrating their new plunder. Of course, Daryl told
them where it was and showed them how the controllers worked. They
were thrilled when they opened the door and found all the shiny
things, and they were amazed and called it magic. Everyone had to
try the controllers. It was fun.

Daryl had coerced them into helping him
catch the foreigner and get his dagger back in trade for the magic
key. The kidnapped girl was tied, the pirates patted him on his
back.

“
Not so dumb after all!” they told him as
they walked from the ship to the campfire.

He heard a loud noise and wanted to run
ahead, but Adrian held him back as the other passed.

“
Walk with me and the prisoner,” Adrian
said.

It was dark so Daryl did what Adrian said.
When they got to the fields, it didn’t look so happy. Men were on
the ground moaning. The booms were still blaring, but arrows were
whizzing by. Adrian pulled the girl away as one arrow almost hit
her. The men behind them fell over. Daryl saw the glow, a bright
light with children in it yelling. “Abbi!” they called, meaning the
prisoner. The shield of light kept them safe as they ran to the
captive girl. Arrows and blasts were just bouncing off of the
light. It amazed him. If he was in the shield he’d be safe too, so
with a hearty laugh, Daryl ran with them, dodged into the light,
and stood with the girls. They screamed. He didn’t know he had so
much power to make them afraid, and that made him laugh louder.

The next thing he knew all the pirates and
the crew were on the ground dead. Adrian had his hands in the air.
Someone pulled Daryl out of the glowing globe, and tied his hands.
The man who was their leader, the foreigner they called Ian. He
took the controllers from the dead captain’s pocket.

Ivar stood stunned wondering if indeed he had
been a prisoner of the legendary King, if so, then he had been in
the war, but he had been the enemy to the Kaemperns. Suddenly
Ivar’s stomach turned, and he looked past the woods into the
fields. The sun’s rays peeked out over the shadows of the forest
and lit the gravestones with a brilliant light.

He rose. His steps were
slow, for Promise’s sight was still working inside of him and
everything he passed brought some kind of memory to him. None of it
had been pleasant. He was frightened to see what else her power
would reveal. Hacatine’s words echoed in his mind
“
You are not a Kaempern.”

At the edge of the grassland, past the
headstones of the Kaempern warriors and chiefs were unmarked graves
stretching far across the prairie. Promise’s power of seeing the
past showed Ivar the people buried there, women and children who
had fallen, their clothes and hair ablaze, screaming. It was a
horrible sight. Burned alive. There were some men with them, but
not many, only helpless, innocent people dying one after the other,
charred and burned.

Ivar stood as still as the headstones that
marked their graves. Stunned.

“I was wondering when you were going to see
this.”

The all too familiar voice came from
behind.

“It’s called the Trail of Tears. Legend has
it that in the last war, hundreds of Kaempern women and children
died here because of an unmerciful attack by a dragon. Imagine
that, a dragon did this. These poor people didn’t have a chance,
Daryl.”

He faced her, his eyes wide, his heart
pounding.

Hacatine shook her head. “I wonder why it
happened.”

Silence.

“What else do you see?” Hacatine’s wicked
smile ate a hole in his heart.

Speechless, Ivar wouldn’t have told her even
if he could find words. He had seen the thunderous dragon soar over
the prairie and swoop upon the string of innocent Kaemperns. He saw
the blaze as it came from the dragon’s mouth and struck the ground.
The grass caught fire, the people with it. All the while Daryl
remained in the foothills, watching, twisting his dagger so that it
caught the sun and shone in the prairie on these people.

“Still want to know more? Go ahead. Go to
Deception Peak. You deserve to know everything.”

The vision of Hacatine disappeared.

A few years ago, Ivar had walked this way
with the funeral procession after one of the elders died. When they
passed this part of the graveyard at the southwestern end of the
prairie, though already solemn, folks suddenly stopped talking and
bowed their heads. Ivar remembered seeing Britta take hold of
Aren’s hand and squeeze it tight, drawing closer together. The
Trail of Tears was more sacred than Elysian Fields. No Kaempern
could approach the place without weeping.

But in all the tales and war stories he heard
growing up, no Kaempern had ever mentioned a dagger or a boy. It
was almost absurd to think that a child could cause such a
disaster. Hacatine had to have been lying; playing some kind of
trick with his mind to make him think the death of all those people
had been his fault. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t! He may
have been a foolish youth, mistreated and perhaps mischievous, but
he couldn’t have been a murderer. Tears welled in his eyes. He
couldn’t have murdered these people!

This magic is sorcery. Who’s to say Promise
isn’t in on Hacatine’s deception? After all, it’s Promise’s power
that showed him these events, and she’s a sorceress, Hacatine’s
warrior. Perhaps it’s just some sort of wicked curse, a trick to
get him to relinquish the magic to Hacatine. He won’t believe any
of what he’s seen. It’s a trick.

Never trust a
sorceress,
Silvio had told him.

The last of the fog had drifted inland and
dissipated into the air, and now a dry breeze blew the dust at his
feet as he headed toward the mountain range. The prairie grass was
short and stubby, golden brown and parched from the sun. The blades
poked through the hard clay ground, and the blackened earth that
had been torched from the dragon’s fire years ago. The earth’s scar
of war.