The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1 (21 page)

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.

That being said, I’ve also seen a darkness develop inside you. A darkness I’ve tried to cull over the past year, but have only seemed to succeed in strengthening. What you did to those people in Zerous was atrocious. In all my travels, in all my years, I’ve never seen magic used like that. It shouldn’t be possible. The enchantment on your staff is another enigma. You enchanted a material that was already enchanted. That’s not supposed to be possible. The way the enchantment seems to feed off your power is...evil?...wrong?...perverse?I don’t know which word most suits it, maybe all three? The proper word evades me, but know this...it’s not natural, and it’s not the way magic is supposed to work.

Your remorselessness towards those you’ve killed, and the careless way you wield your unexplainable power, can only lead to your own destruction. I’ve tried to guide you away from this path, but to be honest, you’ve begun to scare the hells out of me. I can no longer be your Master. I have nothing else to teach you. Your power with magic far exceeds mine. Your ability with the staff has overshadowed mine. I had to use magic to keep up for over a year, and now that you’re using magic to enhance your skills as well, I have no hope of competing. You’ve outgrown me, my boy. It’s time for you to find your own way in the world. It’s time for you to live your life without me.

My final request is to beg you to resist your darker nature. Please do not succumb to evil ways. You have too much potential inside you to make this world a better place. Don’t use that potential to destroy it. Improve your surroundings, start a family, defeat evil, learn, and succeed. Continue to make me proud, Tartum. I pray you won’t let me down.

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone from Saroth. Do not worry about me. I know of many other towns and villages, where I can spend the rest of my days in peace. Do not try to find me. The world is big enough that I can disappear if I don’t wish to be found, so know this, Tartum. I don’t wish to be found.

You need to make your own way. I have not left you completely stranded, however, inside the desk you’ll find enough coin and gems to pay for anything you could desire, within reason, for at least a few years. The room is paid for, for the next year, and Crenshaw has promised to be there for you if you need him or have any questions about Saroth.

Please don’t hate me for doing this. I can’t interfere in your life anymore, and if you choose to continue on your path to self destruction, I can’t watch you destroy yourself. I can’t watch you self destruct. I can’t bury another son, Tartum. I don’t have the strength.

You’re the only thing left on the planet I’m proud of. Thank you for the honor of being your Master. Thank you for granting me the honor of being your friend.

Do great things with your life, Tartum.

-Isidor

Overcome with the rush of emotions Isidor’s letter brought to him, Tartum felt the room begin to spin. As it was whipping around him, getting faster and faster, he threw up.

Tartum fell on his bed face down, he had passed out.

CHAPTER 10

When he came to, it was morning. The light from the sun lit the edges of the drapes that covered the window. He hoped, just for a moment, that the note was just part of an awful dream, but he found it right next to him in the bed. Some of the pages had been wrinkled from sleeping on them. He read Isidor’s letter three more times, just to be sure every word sank in. He wanted to be absolutely sure he hadn’t missed anything or that any detail eluded him.

He couldn’t believe it. Isidor...or Kael...had been lying to him ever since they met. He wasn’t just a traveling magician, he wasn’t some well-to-do caster that had lived a happy-go-lucky lifestyle, like he had lead him to believe. He was a down-trodden wreck of a man, that wasn’t there for his family when they needed him most. He had used him in order to try and earn some sort of perverse forgiveness that even
he
knew he didn’t deserve! He was a con artist and a womanizer running from his past. Their relationship had been started by a ruse to make more money. Had anything he told him about his past been true?

Tartum couldn’t help but ask himself, was this really such a bad thing?

Isidor had taught him everything he knew about the world that he loved. He had gifted him with a spellbook and a staff that meant more to him than any other possessions he had ever owned. He had taken him in when his father died and took care of every want and need he had. He protected him when his weakness got him into situations that would have otherwise ended in certain death and raised him to be a powerful caster. If it wasn’t for Isidor, he never would have received his spell book or learned how to control the power inside him. Isidor had given him everything that he loved in life. How could he fault the man that had given more than he had taken? Try as he might, he couldn’t get angry at Isidor. He still couldn’t hate him.

Isidor was still the same man he saw as a father, more so than his biological one. He still idolized the man, even knowing about his past. Although his last words to his family had been harsh and caused pain, they must have known he didn’t hate them. If there was an after life, they must have seen him fight the bandits and avenge their murders. It wasn’t Isidor’s fault that the bandits had invaded the village. He had no knowledge of their intentions. If he had been with his family that day, there was a very good chance he would have ended up in the pile of dead men, just like the rest of the villagers. He stopped them cold, before their reign of terror and cannibalism could reach another village and ruin more lives. That made him a hero in Tartum’s book. He took pride in the knowledge that he’d been trained by a real life hero.

If only Isidor could forgive himself. Tartum sighed, he wished Isidor had waited to tell him, face-to-face, what his intentions were. Maybe it wouldn’t have gone well, but Tartum would have liked the chance to say goodbye to a man he loved, like a son loved a father. Inside, he knew Isidor did the right thing. He couldn’t fault him for his decision. Tartum wondered if he would have had the fortitude to leave a letter so revealing and full of pain if the situation had been reversed. He doubted it very much.

Forgiving Isidor for abandoning him wasn’t as hard as he would have thought. He found the money and gems in the desk, like the letter said. There was easily enough in there for the rest of his life, if he led a humble one. He could buy a home and some land and become a farmer just like his real father was. Perhaps find a wife, make some children. Maybe even name his son Isidor, or Kael, or maybe even Anthor. The thought was a pleasent one. Never to be alone, never to want for anything. He had been content with farm life for the most part. There was alot of reward to be had from tilling the land and producing sustinence from dirt. He was just about to gather himself up and begin that life, when his eyes fell upon his staff and spellbook.

His book was on the desk and his staff was leaning against it. He didn’t remember putting them there. Looking at them triggered something inside him. Something primal, something...hungry. He knew then, that the life he was planning on starting wouldn’t make him happy. It
couldn’t!
Men like him weren’t made for a mundane life. A caster’s life, by definition, wasn’t mundane. He was destined for greater things! Great challenges and adventures. He may have found contentment in being a farmer’s son, but he only found happiness when the magic was inside him. When he was casting a spell or enchanting a new object. When he unlocked a new spell or when he encountered a new scroll, it was like being reborn. His soul swelled with ecstasy, and the rush of excitement filled every fiber in his being. Holding his staff and book against his chest, Tartum cried. Not out of pain or sadness, but out of his explicit gratitude to a man he’d never see again. Isidor had given him a life that most men would only ever hear about in songs and legends. He was going to live those tales with magic as his companion.

His tears stopped, and his fear of being alone vanished. He was content with this new development. Isidor was right. He was nineteen years old now. It was time for him to cut the umbilical cord and set out to make his place in the world. The thought pleased him greatly, but there was still a sadness in him. Isidor had been a part of his life since he could remember. It would be hard to fill the gap in his soul the separation had left, but he was determined not to let Isidor down. Hadn’t his letter said as much? He would make his former master proud.

Placing his staff back against the wall, he took a seat at the desk. Opening his spellbook, Tartum opened himself to the magic and began to concentrate on his book. He knew it was just a matter of time before he unlocked its next secret, and time was one of the many things Tartum was now rich in.

...

Tartum spent the last few months studying his spellbook, practicing with his staff, and exploring the vastness of Saroth. He even occasionally ventured outside the walls of the city and explored the land surrounding it. The weeks he spent outside the walls were his favorite. It started off as just a day at first. Then it became a week and then two weeks, as he became more comfortable with the local area. He returned from one such outing, with enough rabbit meat and hides for Crenshaw to throw an impromtu party. It was a grand celebration and endeared him to the chubby man. He even refunded a portion of his rent, due to the influx of business that night. Things at the inn were good. Tartum had taken to Crenshaw, and on many nights they would sit up talking about any subject that suited their fancy. Crenshaw was quickly filling the hole Isidor had left.