Diary of a Conjurer (4 page)

The warriors that had been
pursuing him returned. They raced to Hacatine. Silvio watched them
converse—pointing to the woods, and then to his tree. He held his
breath.
Did they
know?

Hacatine waved her soldiers behind
her and stepped forward. Her face flushed with anger. Only one
other time had Silvio ever seen the queen that mad. It was the day
in the great hall when she accused the wizards of tyranny.

“
I
loathe being tricked, Silvio. What’s more, I despise being
tricked by a young inexperienced conjurer. You will pay for this.
You and your mother will bear the consequences.” She held the
dagger above her head, exhaling a sigh as though what she was about
to do brought her great relief. “You and your nature will serve me
forever.”

With that, the beam from the blade
caught the sun and the forest behind him burst into flame. Silvio
dared not move. He dared not give her the satisfaction of being
flushed out of the fire. He stayed in the tree, afraid, yes, but
steadfast nonetheless.

She laughed as she stood in the
grass watching the forest burn, the warriors at her side. They
stayed through the afternoon until sunset. When the last bit of
twilight filled with smoke, they all moved slowly toward the
wetlands, towards the water.

The first wave of heat scorched
Silvio’s back when the wind from the fire shifted. Hacatine was
gone. It would be possible to make his escape, but before he could
will himself free, his tree, the old wise cedar caught fire.
Branches above him sizzled. Sap as hot as lava flowed through his
veins, transforming into a sticky paste as it fell to where he was.
He tried to pull away from the plant’s vital fluid that adhered him
to its trunk. It was impossible to break free altogether. The best
he could do was bend away from the embers that baked the wood above
his head.

Too terrified to cry, his body bent
in crooked contortions as he doubled in pain.

That night was the longest
night of his life. Wishing he were dead, yet glad Hacatine hadn’t
killed him and stolen his magic, he endured the hour. If it hadn’t
been for the calming spirit of the cedar tree that he had become a
part of, S
ilvio would not have
survived.

Days passed. The sun traveled
higher. The golden leaves on the maples floated on the breeze and
landed in soft piles at Silvio’s feet.

Frost formed in delicate
crystals on everything he could see, and then the clouds dropped
snowflakes until a hush blanketed the land in white.
Season
after season, nothing more than an old gray stump, the tree’s roots
dug deep into the moist ground, sucking life from the earth and
transferring its healing to Silvio. Like an embryo feeding in its
mother’s womb, the quiet ways of the cedar became his life blood.
Silvio learned to accept where he was and in time, grew accustomed
to his crookedness, and to his fate, though he clung to the hope
that someday he would be released.

Tale of the Four Wizards

Meneka

Night Flight

You’re lucky you’re alive, you know.” Meneka
squeezed the water from his shirt and slid onto the seat of the
skiff. He lowered the oars into the ebony sea and leaned into the
rhythm of the tide, casting a concerned scowl at his older friend.
Kaempie coughed and wrestled for air.

“Why did you chase after the boat? You should
have stayed. Your darling Silvio would need you.”

Kaempie pulled himself to an upright
position, spitting over the side of the skiff. “I nearly drowned.
You’re a fool. Why did you get in the boat? We were supposed to
stay together.”

“And burn?”

“Burn? Is that it? You were worried about
your life? What about the rest of us? What about Silvio? What about
Reuben?”

Meneka lifted his head as if the horizon
could be seen, but it couldn’t. There was no trace of land anymore,
or of the two comrades they left behind. A thick layer of cloud
shrouded them. It was so dark that he could barely tell the damp
moist air from the ocean that they skated on. He eyed his shivering
comrade with contempt. “I’d be better off alone than listening to
your badgering.”

Kaempie took off the leather that hung over
his shoulders and threw it on the deck, a drenched rag no longer
resembling a shirt.

“How far have we come?” the older wizard
asked.

Meneka shrugged.

Kaempie moved next to him. “Let me row. I
need to get warm.”

“Fine. Do it yourself then. My arms are
tired, and I’m hungry anyway. Blast you, Kaempie, why do you always
have to take charge?” Meneka said
.

Meneka gave up his oars and scrambled to find
the meager rations that had been tossed into the skiff earlier that
evening. He loosened the tie to a leather pouch that was tucked
under the bow, lips pursed as he pulled out its contents.

“The bread’s wet,” he said with a growl.

“You can still eat it.”

“Maybe
you
can.” Meneka held the
soaked meal under Kaempie’s nose. “I’m not eating this
garbage.”

They glared at each other. A gust of salty
air blew Meneka’s hair into his eyes and he squinted, wiping the
strands that stuck to the corners of his chapped lips. He tossed
the wet bread into the sea.

Life had been rough for the sixteen-year-old.
Kaempie might have hope, but Meneka knew there wasn’t any. Hope had
disappeared with the rebellion.

The queen had ordered his father slain. His
mother, too distressed to tend to his needs, sent her son away from
Taikus. Meneka didn’t have to leave his homeland. Hacatine was not
a threat to the younger boys, not until they came of age. Even so,
being one of the last four wisdom-carriers, his fate was spelled
out. Once eighteen, the Queen would strip him of his powers, just
as was her plan for Kaempie and all the other men of the island.
The souls she harvested magic from remained a miserable lot. She
left them hanging onto a thread of life, worthless and mindless. If
she felt merciful, she would kill them.

Now that they had escaped, the four young
conjurers could never return home. Kaempie had been convinced that
there was only one safe place in the entire world for them to run,
the northern peninsula, where the winds continually proved
themselves mightier than the wicked queen.

“We should have stayed with Silvio and
Reuben,” Kaempie said softly. “Our power is greater when we’re
together. We would have made it to the North on foot.” His strong
arms moved the boat over the crest of the waves with skill Meneka
had yet to master. Despite Kaempie’s confidence, Meneka was certain
the fair-haired teen was wrong this time.

“Hacatine has griffons. Vultures. They’re her
eyes, and they’re everywhere. Besides, she was already headed for
the Bandene coastline. Our only escape was by sea.”

Kaempie shook his head and Meneka almost
wished he’d argue with him.

Anger churned inside of Meneka as violently
as the sea tossed their little boat. He wasn’t bitter toward
Kaempie, not entirely. But life had dealt him a raw edge, and he
longed to lash out at someone. A good quarrel would be a relief.
Resigned that he’d have to hold his temper yet another day, Meneka
curled up in the bow, letting the damp wood of the skiff protect
him from the wind.

Adrift on a dark foggy night, uncertain as to
the direction they were headed, Kaempie rowed and Meneka let the
roll of the ocean lull him to sleep.

When he woke, the sea had calmed. A cold
breeze stung his wet skin and he shivered, opening his eyes to the
gray skies and the call of a seagull. It wasn’t until he sat up
that he realized what the gull’s squawk meant.

“We’re coming ashore,” Kaempie whispered.

Port of Man

Meneka sprung up, facing starboard over the
bow, watching the activities in the distance. “There, look. Is that
a welcome sight, Kaempie? Tell me that’s not a welcome sight.”

Not only were they near land, but also they
were near civilization. Northeast of the white sands of the beach
nearest to them, they saw workers tending to a fleet of small
fishing boats. These were the shores of the northern tribe, and the
small seaside village nestled at the foot of the grandest mountain
in the entire world. Meneka laughed, rolling his fist in victory.
“Yes, sir!”

Kaempie rested his oar on his lap as the
boat turned about with the rocking of the waves. He sat silent.

“What are you waiting for?” Meneka asked,
“Let’s go. Row.”

Kaempie shook his head. “Those are men.
Humans. I think we should be cautious.”

“Bound-in-lightning right, they’re men.
Those people have food, shelter, and dry clothes. Let’s go.”

“No, Meneka, wait! Taikans and men have no
peace treaty. Hacatine has used her sorcery on these parts of the
world before. There’s no promise that an arrow wouldn’t find our
hearts before we set our feet on dry ground.”

“What?” Meneka snickered and then spat into
the salty surf. “Two boys like us adrift in the sea? What threat do
we pose? You think they would kill us right off? I highly doubt
it.” Meneka heaved his oar again. Kaempie grabbed his wrist and
held him. The boy was no match for the elder’s strength.

“Stop,” Kaempie whispered, his breath like a
snake’s. “I’ve had enough of your impudence. You’ll listen to me
this time.”

“Why? Do you own me? Are you my king?

“Stop it, Meneka, I’m merely concerned for
our safety.”

“Are you? Safety? Are you a hero? If so,
where were you when my father died?”

“Quiet your voice before they hear us.” But
as soon as Kaempie said it, he had fed the fire.

Meneka’s eyes widened, a grin stretched
across his face. “I’m not afraid of men. I have more power than any
of those worms. You think I’m afraid?” His voice echoed from the
bluffs that towered over the shore.

“What do you know? You’ve never dealt with
men. You don’t even know what powers work against them,” Kaempie
said.

“I know I have magic and they don’t. That’s
all I need to know.”

Kaempie brought the boat about again.

Meneka stood in the center of the skiff.
“Hallo!” he waved, calling to those onshore.

“Why are you so insolent? Be gone with you,
then, Meneka,” Kaempie said, his face red with fury.

Surprised by the sudden thrust of an oar
into his stomach, Meneka clutched onto the slimy wooden pole. The
two wrestled until the boat rocked uncontrollably. When Kaempie
lunged forward and wrapped his strong arms around his chest, Meneka
squirmed. He kicked and finally bit Kaempie on the arm. The older
boy grabbed him in a headlock.

“Free me,” Meneka cried.

“Not until you’re quiet.”

“I’ll never be quiet.”

“Then you’ll never be free.”

“Let me go.” With that he released a scream
that echoed against the bluffs and carried on the wind.

They’d been heard, and seen shortly after. A
crowd of people on the shore pointed at them, and soon boats were
pushed into the water and boarded. Arrows flew.

“Help,” Meneka screamed when Kaempie
released him. He scooted to the stern and faced the men.

“What are you doing?”

Meneka called out again, his eyes wild. He
waved at the boats as arrows flew past his head.

“Get down Meneka. They’ll kill you.” Kaempie
reached for his bow but it was too late. Meneka dove into the
water, leaving Kaempie to contend with the onslaught. The older
wizard rowed as fast and as hard as he could until he guided the
skiff around the point of the bluff and out of sight.

Meneka swam, turning toward the closest
shore, his strokes strong and sure. He rolled with the waves as
they broke onto the beach. As soon as he felt rocks and shells
against his knees he planted his feet deep into the sand and stood
above the rolling surf. He walked toward his attackers.

The archers had abandoned their skiffs and
ran along the beach, bows in hand. When Meneka neared, several of
them stooped to shoot.

Meneka shook the wet and gravelly hair from
his eyes and spat the sand from his mouth. The arrows buzzed by his
shoulders. He ducked, dodged, and jumped away as they flew at his
chest.

Then he did something that surprised even
himself. He reached out and grabbed a projectile as it flew. The
shaft splintered in his hand as he stopped its flight. He caught
another and threw it to the ground.

“I knew I had powers over men. Look,
Kaempie. You should be here. You should check this out.” He gazed
back at the breaking tide, but the skiff and his friend were
gone.

The attackers scurried away in haste. Arrows
no longer flew; instead, the archers ran back along the beach from
where they came. Meneka followed, holding their last flying arrow
in his hand. He laughed. “Fools, you had better run!”

Confrontation

So this is what Hacatine feels like when her
subjects tremble at her feet! Ha! No wonder she wants to rule
Taikus. Not a bad feeling. Not bad at all.

Word must have already spread throughout the
settlement telling of Meneka’s ability to catch the rocketing
arrows. People stirred in the village as he approached the wharf,
moving in and out of their primitive homes made from driftwood
covered with woven mats. Meneka sneered quietly to himself, the
warm, dry sand now tickling his toes. Barbarians! Beavers have more
civilized homes than these.

As he neared the village, the conjurer got a
good look at the group of boys who had attacked him. They were not
much older than he was. They huddled together, curiosity in their
pale eyes, their blond hair falling in curly locks off their
shoulders, donned in loin skins of a pulp-like material that Meneka
was unfamiliar with. Their bodies were tan and fit. Older men
filtered into their congregation. The men were dressed in woven
pants, their chests bare. They directed the boys to stand behind
them.