Diary of a Conjurer (8 page)

The pit of shoal?
Kaempie didn't
understand some of this man's imagery, but the emotion behind it
said enough. “This shoal—it must be a terrible place, then.”

“It’s a cursed place of eternal
torture.”

Armel and Hermaz climbed the last rise and
approached breathless.

“Well, Jacques, I think your friends might
be wrong. There are terrible things that happen here, but there are
good things, too.”

Jacques shrugged. “I've yet to see any. You
believe me?”

“I believe you came through a portal,”
Kaempie whispered. He saw nothing unusual in the direction Jacques
had pointed. The renegade’s ship moored near the cove and he noted
that some repair had been made to the broken mast.
Perhaps they
planned on using it again.

Off in the distance, a brilliant glow lit up
the horizon, and then the entire coastline across from them burst
into flame. Alcove forest was on fire. Kaempie’s heart stopped.

Silvio and Reuben would have traveled that
far by now.

Smoke curled into the sky in billowing black
puffs.

“Wow,” Jacques whispered. “That’s some fire.
I wonder what caused it?”

It wasn’t lightning, that’s for sure. Not on
a clear cool day. It wasn’t heat, either. “Maybe a dagger,” Kaempie
whispered, not meaning for Jacques to hear.

“The ground is level here
.
Let’s make
camp.” Armel said, dropping the pack from his shoulders. “I’ve had
a hard day.”

The sun was sinking like a red fireball into
the sea. The fog that formed over the water would soon be rolling
into the foothills, making travel difficult if not impossible. By
Kaempie’s estimation, they were no more than an hour’s walk to
their destination.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s sleep. We can
survey the village before dawn.”

Jacques and Hermaz rolled out their
bedrolls. Armel gathered wood.

“Not tonight.” Kaempie warned.

The man scowled. “I’m cold.”

“And if you make a fire, you’ll be dead
before the sun is up.”

He stood with his bundle staring
rebelliously at Kaempie.

“The natives will see your fire. They’re not
hospitable to strangers. That I know.”

Armel threw the wood on the ground, looking
to his friends to interject, but no one did. Jacques was already
wrapped in his blanket and Hermaz snored under his fleece. Armel
mumbled something inaudible and laid his bedroll on the ground.

Kaempie had no plans of sleeping. He’d stay
up with the crickets and the night owl, keeping watch. As exhausted
as he was, his pounding heart kept him awake. Fear that Silvio and
Reuben may have died in the hands of Hacatine turned his stomach.
If she had taken their powers, she’d be even stronger now. But
worse was the guilt that weighed on his heart. Kaempie, being the
oldest, was supposed to have protected his friends.

Dusk fell into dark. The day’s warmth
tapered into a chill, and then a crisp wind picked up. Stars
appeared, but quickly faded as clouds moved swiftly from the
northwest. A low whistle, and then a deep pining melody filled his
hearing. He glanced at the three men wrapped in their blankets,
snoring, and oblivious to danger.

“
Kaempie, Kaempie
,” the wind
called.

Kaempie lifted his head and listened.

Our breath calls your name.

Your peace sings the same

Wisdom transcends the power of light

Completing the day, fulfilling the night

Join in our strength, our freedom and
might

Release now your magic, be one in our
fight.

A sudden gust alarmed him. He stood. The
swift moving clouds cast dark shadows, but there was still enough
of a clear sky to see small glimmers on the ocean surface. With the
gale gaining strength, he wasn’t sure if the lights in the distance
were reflections or stars. When a flash of lightning invaded the
dark, the glint of a sail confirmed his suspicions. Ships were
approaching.

The fury of a storm thundered an angry
warning. The wicked queen Hacatine had set her course to the
Northland. She was coming for him, for Meneka and for victory over
these unsuspecting people who called this land home. Hacatine had
been brewing her evil for years, certain that when she possessed
the magic of every wizard alive, she would have the power to
overcome the Wind and reign as queen of the entire world.

But Kaempie realized earlier that day the
wind had given him a solution.

If I relinquish my magic to the one force
that she cannot conquer, then she’ll never possess it. Never. It
will always work against her.

Kaempie had never heard of a wizard
sacrificing his own powers. He’d seen the men from whom Hacatine
had taken magic. Once the green energy of wisdom and will was
depleted from their systems, they were mindless vegetables,
dependent on their loved ones to sustain them. It was a horrible
state of being. No one would ever ask to live like that.

Still, it isn’t me that matters. What
matters is that Hacatine is denied her final triumph. I was born
with these gifts, and fate has demanded that they be taken from me.
If I act now while I’m strong, I can at least determine where my
magic goes.

He turned to face the oncoming tempest. Wind
cut the rain against his face, making it almost impossible to keep
his eyes open. He lifted his head and held out his arms. The rain
permeated his skin, dampened his lips and cooled his cheeks. “Take
it then,” he whispered as he felt the magic tingle inside of him.
“I have no use for it if indeed Silvio, Reuben, and Meneka have
perished. I have no defense against the Sorceress. You have saved
men and nations for good causes. Papa talked about you.”

His eyes welled with tears at the thought of
his father. If only the wind had saved his papa. The warmth of
salty drops mixed with the cold rain cascaded down his cheeks. “He
said you were our hope, and so I’m here to give you everything in
his honor. Everything I am. Take my powers of wisdom and will, and
use them against evil.”

I have no idea what I’m doing. Wizards don’t
give up their powers. But what else can I put my faith in?

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply,
letting the force of the tempest fill his lungs, and then his
being. Had his feet not been planted firmly on the ground, he swore
he would be flying.

The wind answered him.

Give us the song of wisdom

Give us the song of healing

Your will remains your own.

Despite the storm, the tone was soft, its
sweetness reminded him of the voices of his sisters.

“I will,” he said and surrendered his
magic.

With a sudden jolt, lightning struck.
Blazing heat crackled through his body and a flash of bright green
hovered over him only for an instant. Stunned, he stood motionless
as the aura disappeared. His eyes stayed fixed on the three men he
had climbed the mountain with as they jumped from their beds. Their
faces were deathly pale as they gaped at him. They grabbed their
blankets and raced down the hill toward the beach.

When the shock wore off, the gray of morning
lightened the sky. How long Kaempie had been standing there, frozen
like a statue, he couldn’t tell. The storm still raged. Streams of
running water rushed around his feet and cascaded over the rocks.
He was numb from cold. His drenched hair lay flat against his head,
drops trickled off of his nose into his mouth.

With a shudder, he turned his back to the
wind and began his trek toward the fishing village alone.

Reunion

Kaempie had expected to come across the
wreckage of the primitive driftwood shelters he had seen the
morning before. The storm was hefty enough to cause such damage.
But when he spied the cloth skins of the yurts holding up against
the rain, his heart raced.
Those are Taikan yurts, and they were
not here yesterday. Meneka must have survived.

Slipping down the side of the bank, past the
boulders that bordered the forest from the valley, his heart burst
with excitement. He leapt from the last rock and landed on his
knees in a stream of mud, laughing.
Meneka is alive.

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky,
diverting his attention to chaos along the coast. Three ships
struggled in the storm, sails down, and one lying broadside to the
raging sea, beating against the rocky point. So near to shore were
they that Kaempie could see its crew. He rose from the mud, wiping
his hands on his leather pants, his eyes peeled to the disaster. A
figure draped in black stood on the quarterdeck, calling orders to
her team of rescuers, her own ship drifting dangerously close to
the reef.

Hacatine the cursed witch, daring the Winds
to battle. And she’s losing.

The Sorceress lifted her hands to the sky in
a ceremonial gesture, one Kaempie knew all too well.
She’s
releasing some sort of curse and she’s holding the dagger
.

Rising from the depths of the ocean came a
monstrous sea slave, the serpent that had tipped the wizard’s skiff
near the shores of Bandene.

But no, it’s not the same one. This monster
has wings.

With a fierce roar, the creature emerged in
a funnel of salty foam, stretching its slimy appendages as it took
to the sky.

He’d never seen the likes of such a
creature. Fear captured Kaempie’s heart and he turned away to hide.
As he did, he eyed a familiar figure running from the shore toward
the mountain.

“Meneka!” Kaempie shouted. But the storm
screeched, the ocean pounded, and Kaempie could barely hear his own
voice. The serpent soared overhead with the wind spinning around
it, shooting out an ominous finger that picked it up and slung the
creature through the clouds, carrying it to the mountaintop.

Meneka followed its path.

Kaempie struggled through the mud, over the
bank and behind the yurts. Bucking the force and tripping through
the rocky terrain, he hugged the edge of the valley as he ascended,
ever conscious of Meneka's location.

Where is he going?

The rain thrashed, thunder shook the earth,
and lightning struck. A loud crack of splintering wood came from
the coast. Kaempie looked over his shoulder to witness Hacatine’s
ship beating against the rocks. Two longboats rode the tide out to
sea, survivors escaping the wrath of the gale.

Meneka stood high on a cliff now, surveying
the catastrophe. Kaempie scrambled toward him and called again, but
again his voice was inaudible. When he saw that Meneka threw off
his shirt and held a brilliant burning globe, Kaempie stayed his
ground.

With a commanding toss, the flames shot out
from Meneka’s hands and spun into the clouds in pursuit of the
serpent. The fiery mass took on the image of a dragon and engulfed
the winged sea serpent. The two battled through the storm.

A crowd of people emerged from the yurts,
pointing in awe at the mountain.

He doesn’t have the kind of magic to create
a real dragon. It’s a vision. That little deceiver! He’s planning
on taking credit for what the winds of the North are doing. He'll
be called a dragon slayer. Meneka, you fool! That’s wrong. That’s
against our precepts!

“Meneka!” Kaempie shouted as he dodged out
of view of the villagers.

Meneka had turned his back and walked
regally toward the peak. Kaempie raced to intercept him, and as he
did, the dueling monsters rolled from the clouds and fell from the
sky.

With a sudden crash, lightning struck the
serpents, and they soared toward Meneka, a flaming torch diving
from the heavens. The young wizard fell as they touched ground.
Kaempie rushed to the young conjurer's side, dragging him into the
shadows of a cave just as the serpent, now fused with the vision,
swooped back into the clouds and disappeared.

Kaempie rolled Meneka on his back and lifted
him onto his knees. His chest was charred, his clothes melted to
his skin, his face burned and blistered beyond recognition, his
breathing labored.

“Meneka,” Kaempie whispered. Meneka opened
his eyes. Kaempie held his hand over the conjurer's face, and then
realized he no longer possessed the gift of healing. His cool, wet
hands drew the fever from the boy's burning body, but they could
not heal it.

Meneka blinked, dazed for a moment before he
focused on the older wizard. “Kaempie. Heal me.”

Tears welled in Kaempie’s eyes as he shook
his head and struggled to speak. “I can’t.”

“I’m dying, Kaempie. Heal me. It hurts.”
Meneka struggled for air, shivered and then rolled his eyes.

Kaempie pulled Meneka closer to him. “The
Northern Wind has my magic, Meneka,” he whispered. “And my gift of
wisdom. Hacatine will never possess it.”

Meneka scowled. “You gave it away?”

I gave it away, and now I regret it, for
your sake. This doesn’t make any sense. We came to be saved by the
North Wind, but instead we were robbed by it.

“You’ve failed me, Kaempie. You’re not the
hero you thought you were.” In a desperate effort to turn his head,
Meneka looked into the deep of the cave and lifted his hand. “I'll
give my magic away as well.”

“Meneka, don't. Don't just give it up to the
unknown. You don't know what will happen to it.”

“Do you care?” he asked, still staring into
the dark of the cave, a dim glow trickled through his fingertips
and a ghoulish green mist floated into the cavern, vanishing into
the tunnels of the mountain. “There,” he said. “Let whoever is the
hero use it now.”

Meneka died in Kaempie’s arms.

Heartbroken, Kaempie buried his young friend
in the soft soil of an aspen grove at the western mouth of the
caves.

The Foreigners

The next morning, the rain subsided, and
blue skies brought a freshness that would have lifted his spirits
had Kaempie not experienced such loss. He wasn’t sure why he was
returning to his skiff. Nor was he certain that if the boat were
still there, would he row away from these lands and spend the rest
of his life at sea.