Diary of a Conjurer (7 page)

He shuddered, thinking about the wizards he
had seen at home who had been stripped of their magic and had lived
through the process. Youths grown old before their time - useless
and despondent.

He scanned his surroundings, looking for an
enemy, not sure what to think The song could be a trick. Hacatine’s
sorcery
.

Kaempie continued to follow the creek up a
series of switchbacks and along deer trails that meandered
northwest. He came to a summit that overlooked the ocean for miles
to the south and southwest. The village to the east was still
hidden from view.

It was midday and the sun had dried the
morning dew, leaving crisp smells of evergreen. He wasn’t
accustomed to thin mountain air, and the anxiety in his heart added
to his pulse rate.

I hope it isn't too late to save him. If
only I knew for sure. I could apply magic, try to see beyond, to
see where Meneka is, whether or not Silvio and Reuben are
safe...
But no. Looking into the future's too much like
sorcery, against all those years of training with papa.
‘
Seek wisdom’, he said, ‘and use magic for more practical
applications, like healing.’

On Taikus, Kaempie had been given the title
The Healer among his circle of friends. He took pride in
concentrating his efforts and using his magic to help people. It
was that very skill that Hacatine coveted.

No.
I'll stay true to
myself.

With that decision, he turned again to the
east, and as he stepped into the creek to cross it, a snap sounded
in the woods, jolting his attention. Before he could string his
bow, a sudden force knocked him down. A pool of blood reddened the
stream he fell in. The pain came from his calf, where the handle to
a knife protruded from his deerskin pants. When Kaempie bent over
to wrench the weapon from his leg, three men pulled him from the
creek and dragged him to shore, stripping the bow and quiver off
his back.

Two of his assailants pinned him on the
rocky ground, holding his arms and legs. Murder must have been in
their hearts, for one of the men pulled a knife from his belt and
raised it high his sun burned face gaunt, whiskered and unkempt.
His smell was that of wild animal. He wore no shirt. His knee dug
into Kaempie’s stomach as he gathered his strength to strike, but
the wizard was quick with his magic. In an instant, a dust of green
shot out from Kaempie’s eyes into his attacker’s face.

The man dropped his weapon as he jumped to
his feet, screaming in pain as he attempted to brush away the hot
embers that had seared his flesh. The smell of burnt flesh filled
the air. A stream of fiery dust circled the others. They released
Kaempie's limbs and dodged into the woods, taking the wizard’s
weapons with them. The lone assailant’s face scarred and oozed from
the burns. He backed away.

Kaempie sat up and worked the knife out of
his leg, rolled up his pant and held his hand over the wound.
Immediately the bleeding ceased, the puncture wound healed.

The man’s dark eyes grew wide. With his
mouth agape, he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the
forest.

Kaempie listened but there was no other
sound. He now possessed the man’s knife, but this small blade would
never compensate for the loss of his bow and arrows. Enchanted
hands made Taikan weapons. Though the arrows didn’t carry the
actual magic, the thoughts that drove them did. Kaempie would not
be able to rescue Meneka without them. However, in the hands of
these barbaric men, the lightweight and narrow shafts would be
useless. The arrows could, in fact, turn against the thieves.
Legend tell of odd things happening to people who tried to use
Taikan weapons without the owner’s permission.

With caution, Kaempie crawled from the creek
side and made his way silently into the woods, crouched low and
keeping an attentive ear. A hunter by nature, he knew how to step
softly on the ground and sniff out his prey. It didn’t take long
for him to smell his attackers, for their stench was unnatural to
the forest, reeking of body sweat and foul breath.

Huddled in a thicket of young aspen trees,
they whispered in a foreign language, their voices too low to
understand. The stolen items lay in the dirt at their feet.
Kaempie’s first inclination was to burst into their midst and take
back what was his. But though his leg was healed, the memory of the
pain he had just endured changed his mind.

Their voices grew in volume, allowing
Kaempie's wizardry to interpret their ranting.

“You get us back home, then,” the man who
had stabbed Kaempie said. He was bent over, covering his face.

“It’s a portal, I tell you, Hermaz. There’s
no going back,” the quietest of the three mumbled, his fingers
running over Kaempie’s bow in silent admiration.

“We’re doomed then, Jacques. If it’s a
portal, there’s no way home,” Hermaz stood, kicking the ground.
“The gods have damned us. No food and no way to get any. We’re
going to die.”

“There’s meat on the island,” the murderer
spat and wiped his mouth. “I can smell it.”

“It’s your blasted own body you smell.”

“We’ll take this bow and use it to kill
something.”

Though Kaempie watched silently in secret,
his temper flared when the murderer grabbed one of the arrows.

“What do you know about shooting a bow?
Nothing. You’ve never shot a bow in your life.” Hermaz accused.

“There’s time to learn. Plenty of time.” He
grabbed the bow from Jacques and stood. Drawing the string taut, he
aimed at the trunk of an aspen. The pull was weak, the fletching
tight in his fingers, and when he released, the arrow floated to
the ground.

The sight was too humorous not to laugh.
Kaempie’s chuckle caught their attention and they turned toward the
brush where he hid. Shaking his head, the wizard stepped out of his
camouflage toward the three. “Lay down your anger. If you needed
help, you should have asked. I’m not a threat. If you need food, I
know how to use that bow.”

Hermaz pulled his knife from his belt, his
tan muscles twitching for a fight. Kaempie scowled, grabbing hold
of the hilt on his own knife.

The murderer came forward, slapping Hermaz’
arm as he passed. “Let me handle him,” he said. He stared intently
at the wizard as he gestured to the blisters that swelled around
his eyes and the raw skin that hung loose from his cheeks. His face
was flushed from heat. “I should kill you for this.”

“If you hadn’t attacked, I wouldn’t have
harmed you.” Kaempie said quietly. “I’ll heal you, but I need you
to return my bow and arrows.”

The man held up his knife. “What if I choose
not to?”

Kaempie shrugged. “There’s more fire where
that came from. You’d better be fast.” He pulled his own knife from
his waist.

“What are you doing Armel? Let him heal you.
Maybe he can find us some food. Kill him later if you have to.”

Armel glanced briefly at Jacques.

“Let him fix you. Good gramman.” Jacques was
a younger man. Even with the filth that coated his face, Kaempie
saw that his skin was smooth, his chin lacked whiskers, and there
were no lines that creased his forehead.

Only the breeze whispering in the topmost
branches of the trees interrupted the silence as Kaempie waited for
Armel’s decision. The onlookers’ gaze darted between the opponents.
Kaempie wondered what they would do if the murderer chose to
attack.

After a long moment, Armel tossed his knife
in the air and caught it by the handle. “Do it, then,” he said. His
tone hinted humiliation, but he stuck his blade into his pants, the
handle turned to a readied position. “Heal me, then. I saw you mend
your leg. Fix me.”

Kaempie stepped forward cautiously as the
two friends backed away. Armel stood his ground, his grimace
deepened as the wizard came nearer. When Kaempie reached out, the
man jolted back.

“I have to touch you,” Kaempie whispered and
then put one hand on the top of Armel’s thick, matted hair, the
other on his chin. As the magic stirred from the wizard’s
fingertips into the man’s flesh he moved his palms across Armel’s
cheeks and over his eyes.

Armel sighed when Kaempie released his hold.
The sores were gone.

With trembling hands, he touched his face,
and blinked. But when his eyes met Kaempie's, he frowned. “Don’t
expect a thank you,” the man said, his lips twisting into a sneer.
“You’re the one that burned me.”

Kaempie nodded. “Indeed. And don’t
forget.”

Armel spat.

Kaempie had enough of the man's despise. He
stooped to pick up his bow, but Armel immediately put his boot on
Kaempie’s hand, pinning both to the ground.

“C’mon Armel, let him loose. He could do us
good. He did you a favor.” Jacques said with a quivering voice.

“I haven’t seen any favors yet.”

Still kneeling next to his weapons, Kaempie
fixed his eyes on Armel’s boot.
I could
annihilate
you.
The stench of burning leather seeped into the air. Armel
jerked away.

“You foul beast,” he said, his boot aflame.
Stomping the fire out, he drew his knife.

In an instant, the wizard bolted up and
parried the man’s thrust. The heat of Kaempie’s hand burned Armel’s
wrist, causing him to drop his weapon. The two wrestled for only a
moment before Kaempie had him flat on the ground, knee in his
ribcage. “I will not heal you again,” Kaempie warned as he held the
man's arms. “From now on, any wounds you get, either from me or
from the forces around us, will be yours to contend with.”

Releasing Armel, Kaempie picked up his bow
and quiver, gave Jacques and Hermaz each a warning look, and then
began his walk back toward the creek.

“Wait.” It was the young one, Jacques, that
called him. “Don’t go. Help us. Please!”

Kaempie stopped and turned to face him.

“If you can find food for us, we’ll protect
you from this fool.” Though Hermaz had stayed in the shadows up
until now, keeping his opinion to himself, he echoed Jacques’
request.

Kaempie glanced at Armel on the ground. The
man held his inflamed hand, his head bowed.
Perhaps he’s had
enough pain. Perhaps he’ll relent.

As he pondered what to do, a breeze jostled
the golden leafs at their feet, the sound of which sparked
Kaempie's attention. On it, he caught the musty smell of a deer. He
pulled an arrow from his quiver, stepped toward the scent, and when
he saw the rack of a buck peeking through the trees, he shot. The
deer fell. Jacques and Hermaz raced to Kaempie’s side.

“Butcher it and cook yourselves some
dinner.” Kaempie said. “Wrap the rest of the meat in its hide and
bury it in the coals to roast, and then come with me.
I
need
your
help.”

Pursuit

It may not have been wise, bringing these
renegades along with him to find Meneka. But Kaempie had a deep
desire to learn who they were and where they came from. Leaving
Armel behind him didn't seem like a good idea, either. Jacques and
Hermaz were friendly enough, but Armel carried bitterness. Kaempie
would just as soon keep the man by his side rather than have him
sneaking in the bushes behind his back.

In addition, the mention of a portal roused
his curiosity
.

Weighed down with bedrolls and packs filled
with supplies from their ship, the men trudged alongside the
wizard.

“So who is this person we’re set out to
rescue? Is he a wizard, too?” Jacques had made a point of keeping
step with Kaempie, stirring up conversation whenever he could think
of something to ask.

“He is. He’s also as young as you are.”

“How did he come to need rescuing? I mean,
if he’s a wizard, wouldn’t those tribal people be afraid of him?
Wouldn’t he scare them by showing off his magical powers?”

“Is that what you would do?”

Jacques laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe.
Probably. When you have magic, you'd want to boast a little, I
would think, especially if you're around folk who aren't nearly as
gifted. It just seems the natural thing to do.”

“Well, I suppose it’s possible he showed off
his magic. If so, I hope it was effective. However, the last I saw
of him, he was swimming toward a surge of arrows. Whether they hit
him and he died, or was wounded and captured, I don’t know. But I'd
like to find out before we enter the village. It’s not my intent to
cause trouble with those people, nor to show off my magic.”

Jacques glanced at him. “You did,
already.”

“No. I was using my magic. There's a
difference.”

The boy fell silent, keeping pace with the
wizard.

Kaempie added quietly. “If Meneka's been
slain, I would like to retrieve his body and give him a proper
burial.”

“That’s kind of you,” Jacques said. “My
family would do the same for me. If they knew where I was, I mean.”
He stopped. Kaempie sensed the boy’s unrest as they waited for the
others who had fallen behind.

“Where is your family?” he asked.

Daylight was fading, and they had just
reached a summit overlooking the ocean. Where they stood, the air
was fresh and carried a taste of the salty sea. Jacques pointed
toward the cloudless heavens now turning pink and gold with the
setting sun.

“Out there somewhere. I'm afraid I'll never
see them again.”

“I don't understand,” Kaempie said.

“There was a horrendous storm. The tempest
pounded on our ship as though Hades itself sought its destruction.
We were certain we were doomed. The main mast split like kindling.
Tossed violently by a raging sea, our ship took a lunge for the
heavens and then dove toward the devil's caldron, spilling out of
our world into this one. It sounds incredible, I know. But believe
it or not, that's what happened. Armel and Hermaz think we’ve been
spat into the pit of Shoal.”