Diary of a Conjurer (6 page)

Where are the winds when you need them?

Meneka glanced up at the mountain that
towered over the village behind him. Eerily glowing in the
starlight, its peaks appeared like ghostly hands caressing a dimly
lit candle.

Why should he let the murderess snuff out
his life when he had this whole land at his command?

Meneka cupped his hands and concentrated on
the power that pulsated beneath the flesh of his fingers. Even if
he couldn’t make a serpent come to life, with the right
maneuvering, he could fool the villagers into thinking the vision
was real. He breathed into his hands, closed his eyes, and imagined
a most horrendous creature. Eyes of marble hollowed into a skull of
dark shadows, coated with scales its pointed fangs arched
dangerously over its mouth. A gilded body sweeping into a tail of
thick mass as heavy as lead.

“Yes. The essence of wickedness! This is
what I think of you, Hacatine. And you won’t own these people. I
will. They will hate you and love me. They’ll never be your slaves,
but they’ll be my loyal subjects,” he whispered.

He held the fireball for a long moment,
soaking in the warmth it churned, and then tucked it into his
shirt. Content that his plan was going to work, he nestled in the
sand under the stars and fell asleep.

The wind picked up in the night. By dawn,
the tide was high, and breakers broke the silence of the morning,
pounding on the beach like explosions of thunder.

The ships were offshore, but the gale that
stirred held them back. Meneka stood and watched as the villagers
ran in panic. Lines of people streamed toward the mountain.
Meneka’s eyes rested on the yurts they had erected the day before.
They stood firm, barely wavering. Their matted walls flapped
quietly.

“Eric,” he called as he spotted his friend.
“Send them into the yurts!”

“Hold up!” Eric called out. It took a moment
for Eric to redirect the people, but soon they turned back. Many of
the men eyed him suspiciously as they passed, but Meneka nodded in
confidence at those who peered. “It’s fine. The yurts will hold.
You’ll be fine.”

When the people were sheltered, Meneka
walked to the beach where the abandoned fishing boats tossed on the
waves. He could see Hacatine’s ship quite plainly. There was no
mistaking that vessel, so appropriately named
The Intruder
.
The ship hadn’t always belonged to the sorceress, but was once
owned by the wizard king Bolero before the uprising. Meneka’s eyes
rested on the beak head as the boat rocked on the water. A young
maiden carved from a lush red wood, common in the forests of
Taikus, clung to the bow as though the ship was her cargo. Meneka
knew the vessel well, for he came from a family of seafarers who
had sailed with the king long ago.

Thoughts of his father made Meneka’s heart
beat hard, and he felt the ball of fire warming his
chest
.
The heat of his
anger satisfied him as he watched the sails tear and
the ship come dangerously close to the rocky
cliffs.

“Douse the sails.” A woman’s voice shouted
above the whistle of the wind and then he saw the silver hair and
black costume of the queen. She stood at the helm, shouting orders
to her warriors. No wizard was on that ship, only Hacatine’s army
of sorceresses. Men were no longer able to sail from Taikus, for
those that had been spared life were disabled of their senses.

“Take your world of
sorcery and lack of wisdom, and drown
.”

She must have seen him, for Hacatine now had
a spyglass in her hand. Meneka moved to higher ground, hoping she
would see who it was that destroyed her.

There was no sun, but a flash came from her
hands regardless.
The dagger.
With the swelling of the sea,
a serpent appeared. Meneka should have known she’d use her sea
slaves. This serpent, unlike the one tucked secretly in his shirt,
was real. As far as he knew, sea serpents couldn’t leave the water.
Meneka ran inland, past the yurts, toward even higher ground.

The wind had strengthened, bringing rain
that stung as it slapped against his body. His hair, now dripping,
clung to his face as he slipped on the muddy trail toward the
peaks. If he hadn’t looked over his shoulder, he wouldn’t have seen
the serpent break the surface and take to the air like a giant
condor. He never expected wings on one of those slimy beasts.

The wind swirled like a cone and lifted the
serpent into the air. Sounds of terror came from the yurts. The
people watched from the doors and windows of their yurts, crying
out in panic.

“This is it. This is my time to shine,”
Meneka said to himself.

“Come in here, fool,” someone from the yurt
called out to him. Meneka shook his head.

“I’ll save you. Have no fear,” he answered.
Working his way toward the mountain peak he stumbled over rocks,
keeping one hand tucked in his shirt caressing the fireball as if
it were the very heartbeat of his life. Glancing anxiously at the
sky, he studied the funnel that carried the serpent. The storm
moved violently toward the mountain, and Meneka followed it.

Only once did his eyes scan the sea far
below. Pounding rain made it almost impossible to see Hacatine’s
ships, but the sound of splintering wood cracking against the rocks
confirmed their doom. Longboats were already drifting over the
white caps away from the wreckage.

He climbed to a ledge in view of the yurts
and balanced himself against the wind.

The dragon spun atop the funnel cloud
directly overhead. Meneka calculated the pattern and then ripped
his shirt off and threw it on the ground, embracing the fireball
with both hands. Aware of the native eyes on him from below, he
released his trickery. Fire flew into the clouds, disappearing for
only a moment and then appeared as a monster fiercer than
Hacatine’s winged serpent, the two seemingly engaged in a battle.
Thrilled, Meneka laughed and climbed higher. He would meet the
dueling dragons on the peak and retrieve his work of art.

***

Eric sat on the rock by the sea squinting at
the setting sun. The fingers of his young grandchild combed his
beard gently. “And that’s the story. I swear it’s true. My sight
fades now, but I could see just as fine as you back in those
days.”

“But what happened to him after he reached
the mountain, grandpapa?”

The old man closed his eyes, bringing the
memory to mind. He breathed in the calm of the salty sea breeze. A
gull called overhead.

“Why, the moment Meneka reached the
mountaintop, the battling monsters fell like a comet from the sky.
The fire of Meneka’s dragon had all but consumed the winged sea
serpent. At that very moment, thunder rattled the Earth, and the
brightest bolt of lightning anyone had ever seen struck them all.
Do you see that peak up there, standing tall like a pillar, split
with black coal down the center?”

The boy nodded, his blue eyes wide with fear
and awe.

“It was in the crack of that rock that
Meneka turned into a fire-breathing dragon. He saved us from the
evil of the East. And his magic still hovers deep in the caverns of
the mountain. He’s to be feared. Revered. We follow his will, young
man, and call him master. And your children will, too. He made the
village of Menek what it is today.”

Tale of the Four Wizards

Kaempie

The Cove

“Get down, Meneka. They’ll kill you.”
Kaempie reached for his bow but it slid from his grasp. With a
sudden tip of the skiff and a splash, Meneka was in the water,
leaving Kaempie to contend with the onslaught of arrows shooting
his way. He scooted onto the seat and picked up the oars. His
muscles tight, his body pumping fiercely, the skiff caught the
western current and skated along the coast, past the bluff, and out
of sight of their enemy.

The voices of his attackers faded into the
sound of rolling waves as his boat rode the breakers into a cove
and skidded to a halt in the sand. Kaempie jumped out and pulled
the weathered vessel higher up the beach. The shadows of the tall
stone cliffs surrounding him chilled the already damp air. He
shivered more at the thought of what might have happened to his
friends than from the cold.

Taking a breath, Kaempie looked out to sea.
Far away, somewhere in that forested horizon on the Bandene coast,
were Silvio and Reuben, the two wizards that had set out from
Taikus with him and Meneka the night before. They were supposed to
have stayed together. But in the dark of night, fool-hearty Meneka
launched the boat in high tide, and Kaempie almost drowned in his
attempt to bring the boy back to shore. Instead of rescuing Meneka,
the lad rescued him. The stormy sea and heavy fog prevented their
return.

What was worse, Meneka, in his pestilent
anger, dove into the water and swam directly toward the tribe of
natives attempting to kill them. Now he was gone.

“Fool,” Kaempie kicked at the sand, tossing
the bowline into the skiff. He retrieved his bow and quiver from
the boat and slung them on his back, intending to find the young
conjurer and rescue him; that is, if he weren’t already dead.

Too tired to swim, his shoulders sank as he
watched the surf beat against the towering rocks that sent splashes
of foam high into the air. To find Meneka, he’d have to climb over
the cliffs and approach the village by land.

Kaempie realized how preposterous the feat
would be once he stood at the bottom of the butte, eyeing its
vertical incline. No stubble or brush or rock could be grabbed in
order to lift his body any distance toward the summit. The face of
the point was coarse from mussels and would easily tear at his
hands. Starfish, crab, and poisonous anemone lingered in the jagged
pools at his feet. Even a wizard’s strength has its bounds.
Climbing over this point to get to the other side would be
impossible. He’d have to find another way. A trail, if there were
one, that lead into the forest, over the hills and down into the
village. That would be his only hope.

Kaempie walked the shoreline, searching for
a way up the bank. It wasn't until he discovered a split in the
cliff that his hopes were renewed. A shallow creek tumbled over the
rocky crevice and spread out onto the beach, wetting his toes,
eroding the sand, and meandering to the sea. He followed the stream
uphill, climbing huge boulders, and jagged rock. Once on higher
ground, Kaempie located a deer trail that followed the creek
through the forest. The hiking eased when he reached flatter,
softer ground, affording him a rest. Maple leaves gilded the mulch
under his feet with reds and gold hues.

The musty scent of mushroom and pine brought
memories of his younger days on Taikus when he’d foraged with his
sisters in the woods. His countenance softened when he thought of
his family- five sisters in all, full of life and laughter. He'd
give anything to be back with them again. They and their mother had
been in his charge after his father died. Taking care of them had
become his purpose for living. He was only now beginning to accept
that he may never return to his homeland again. His mother had
rushed him to the beach just as the sun was setting the night
before. Thinking they were going to the halls of Telamande for his
initiation, he was shocked when she guided him through the alley to
the boat. Even more distressing was his meeting with Reuben and
Lelanie in the moonlight, the rushed plans of the wizards’ journey,
and the fact that they were to take the two younger conjurers with
them. With no idea where they were headed, they shoved their little
skiff, a meager supply of food and weapons, into the dark and
lonely waters.

Kaempie cupped his hands and drank from the
clear, cold brook. The spring water refreshed him, yet weariness
lingered. He sat on the damp leaves and rested, thinking he heard
his sisters' voices singing as if in the rushing sound of the
creek.

The goodness in your breath is gold

Just like the westward wind that blows

Home, family, and a time much sweeter than
now, filled his memory. His sisters loved singing to him. How
gentle their voices were, like the breeze that lifted his hair and
cooled his cheeks.

A yearning in our heart beats true

Needing to be one with you.

He opened his eyes and listened more
intently.

“You’re not my sisters,” he said to the
voice. A breeze whisked leaves into the air and dropped them on his
sandy hair. He laughed as he brushed them away.
I guess it could
be the little sorceresses! They do like to tease!

Stay on with your journey; stay on with your
flight

You friend needs your watching deep in the
night

The queen is expelled, her ship in its
grave

Sing songs of gratitude, hymns of
delight.

Then lay down your powers in exchange for
our might.

What an odd song, not at all like the
magic incantations of the sorceresses
, he thought. There’s no
evil in the music- haunting, but not evil. And the lyrics mention
Meneka, as though he could be rescued
.

Kaempie stood and brushed himself free of
dirt. Though he continued his journey, he wondered if the song he
heard was prophetic. His father had told him about the North Wind
and the strange songs that floated on its breath. On rare occasion,
prophetic murmurings had been heard by Taikan wizards who found
themselves near the mountain.
If this song were prophetic, then
with whom would I be trading my powers? What a bold thing to ask of
a wizard! Don't the North Winds know a wizard is nothing without
his powers?