In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (23 page)

“
As more and more people sought out magic as a profession, many during Torbeth’s time tried to join the ranks of True Mages by climbing the Staircase.  This is not tradition—it is required of all would-be serious magic-users to climb.  Those who reach the top shall be accepted and transformed; you see my eyes as the Mark of my accomplishment, and as a signpost to all who meet me that they may know the
power
at my disposal.”

Magi was completely enthralled by the story.

“Quixatalor did not see the pursuit of magic by so many as a good thing.  Quite the contrary.  Those who fail to climb the Staircase are always ravaged.  Some go mad; some are physically disabled.  Many are killed in the attempt.  Fate weeds out those unfit for serious spellcasting.  This is nothing new to either of you.  We have discussed this.”

Magi was twisting his ring again
with nervous energy.  Kyle had his head down and kept listening, not wanting to interrupt.  Both knew eventually they would have a choice to make.

“So he established a tradition
—a prophetic tradition.  Let every would-be magic-user receive a prophecy within a year or two of climbing the Staircase.  It was brilliant, actually.  He knew he could never outlaw the practice of magic, nor could he put a “test” in place—the Staircase
was
the test, and a very effective one at that.  Yet if people caught a glimpse of their future, and saw death, pain, failure, anguish, suffering, or other tragedies, he knew many would opt out of a doomed life-choice.  Many could earn their bread with the simple magic they had learned by keeping a smitty’s forge hot or by serving as a village healer with basic spells.  Or they could entertain people with rudimentary illusions as part of a travelling fair.  But to progress in the Art, one must climb the Staircase, and that was a daunting proposition that had the potential to turn the entire population against magic-users if enough families were torn apart by failed ascents.  So the prophecy served its purpose, and serves that same purpose today.  The Ol’ Shakoor is one of the best, and the way is not far.  You will learn a little about your future, and it will be up to you to interpret what you’ve learned, and apply it to your life choices.  Once you leave the Ol’ Shakoor’s hut, you will find it impossible to share your prophecy.  Though I remember it like yesterday, I cannot physically tell you mine from many moons ago, even if I desired to.  So, too, will it be with both of you.”

Magi stopped fiddling with his ring and jammed his hands into his pockets, picking up the pace slightly.  He was anxious to hear what the
Ol’ Shakoor would say.

Chapter 8:  An Unknown Future

~Magi~

The next day, the landscape began to change.  The mountains, always visible in the distance, grew larger and the terrain became far hillier.  They were following a path through the woods that grew thick around the foothills of the Crystal Mountains.  Marik appeared to be following an old game trail; the path was not easy to follow, and several branches required many choices that did not appear to lead in any one, consistent direction.  Yet Marik never hesitated—he clearly knew where they were headed.

They paused late in the morning near a small clearing. 
Large shafts of sunlight penetrated the forest canopy to spectacular effect, glinting off the wet rocks in a nearby brook.  “Magi, I need to study.  I’ll be lost in my spellwork for a few hours.  There is fresh water here, so there is bound to be game nearby.  You and Kyle go hunt us something—I think fresh meat the day before we see the Ol’ Shakoor will do you both good.” He began building a fire on the other side of a large tree.  “And please do not disturb me.”

Magi and Kyle obviously knew better than that.
  One day Kyle had interrupted Nugget in mid-spell, causing their roommate to lose his concentration.  A wave of his summoned energy, no longer bound by the spell, tore down one of the walls in their home.  Marik was furious, and the boys never interrupted one another again.  And they certainly wouldn’t be interrupting their Master.

Kyle headed down to the brook while Magi began stringing his bow.  T
hough he had only learned to shoot a few weeks ago on their trip to Gaust, Magi enjoyed it immensely.  And he was competent.  Most magic users never took the time to learn how to shoot, but Magi found it a welcome diversion.  In fact, if his Art didn’t take up so much time, Magi fancied that he could become quite a good shot with even more practice.  He could bring a boar or elk down with his magic missiles for sure, but he just preferred the
physicality
of the bow.

Kyle watched him put
the bow across his back and shook his head.  “You look for all the world like a proper Ranger.  Like Lionel.”

“Like Lionel
,” Magi repeated. 
He taught me to shoot.

Later that night, as the
deer meat crackled over the fire, Marik ate one of the fresh steaks approvingly.  “Wants for salt, but otherwise a fine piece of meat.  You’re sure Kyle didn’t slow it down for you just a tad, Magi?” he teased.  Even though Magi was a natural with the bow, it still amused his Master that he preferred to hunt without the benefits his magical gifts would so clearly provide.  “Not even a wee freeze spell to give a Ranger-wannabe a leg up?”

Magi just smiled as he gnawed on a
chewy piece.  It did need salt.  “No Master.  Kyle was there, got it on the run.  One shot.” 
Lionel would have been proud.

They ate and drank from the fast flowing brook before settling down for the night.  “Sleep well, boys.  You meet your destiny on the morrow.”

As Magi lay wrapped in his heavy cloak, he tried to imagine what his prophecy would be.  After tossing and turning for several minutes, he rolled over and whispered to Kyle, “Are you excited?  I can’t sleep.”

“Yeah, me either.  I
would
suggest we get up and go for a walk,” Kyle whispered back with that mischievous grin of his, “But I remember the last time you and I ran around on an adventure by ourselves.  Didn’t turn out so well.”

Magi flashed his own smirk back with a quiet chuckle.  “Yeah…found a little trouble, didn’t we?”  He straightened his face and turned serious.  “I miss Lionel, Kyle.  Sindar, too, in his own way.  What do you think your prophecy will be?”

“I…I don’t know, Magi.  I just hope I’m not discouraged from climbing the Staircase.  I can’t imagine getting to this point only to find out that some prophet doesn’t think I’m good enough before I’ve even tried.  That would be…beyond disappointing.  I think I can deal with just about anything besides that.  You?”

“Probably the same.”

“Oh please,” snapped Kyle, a bit louder than he intended.  He lowered his voice again.  “Magi, if you’re not worthy of the Staircase, no one is.  Save the false modesty for someone who doesn’t know you as well.”

“You never know.  Maybe I’m destined to become injured on the Staircase…what would I give up?  I don’t know if I’d give up, say, an eye or a finger or something to reach the top.  It’s not false modesty.”

“Or maybe you’re destined to be the most powerful True Mage in several generations.  Good lord.  Go to sleep, Magi.”  Kyle turned his back to Magi, effectively ending the conversation.

“G’night.”  He rolled back over, his mind still racing.  What if Kyle was right? 
What if I
am
the most powerful True Mage in several generations?

~Magi~

Kyle and Magi awoke to find Marik nibbling on deer meat.  “The flank is my favorite, and I found some wild berries growing to the South.  Add that to some wild mushrooms
, and a better breakfast you’ll not find,” he said.

The boys agree
d as they filled their stomachs with roasted deer.  They cleaned up their campsite and followed Marik as he crossed the fast-flowing brook and began walking along its northern edge.  Soon they re-entered the forest, which grew thicker all around them.  The trail here was barely marked, and might not have been anything more than the random meandering of small game.  They left the reassuring confines of the water’s edge and plunged deeper and deeper into the forest.  The ground began to rise steadily, and the three were soon sweating from the exertion as they were forced to climb.

“Master, how often have you visited the Ol’ Shakoor?” asked Kyle, who was enjoying the hike.  He was always fit.  “You seem to be picking your way with ease, yet when I look around
, I can’t see anything resembling a proper path.”

Marik shrugged.  “Once or twice a year.
  I thought it would be best if I came myself with you two.”

Kyle muttered under his breath, “No doubt because
Magi
is here…”

Marik and Magi ignored him. 
At the top of a ridge they heard the sound of rushing water in the distance.  “There,” Marik pointed, “is where the Ol’ Shakoor lives.  And she’s expecting you.”

She?
Magi thought.

~Magi~

Kyle and Magi eagerly approached the small home of the Ol’ Shakoor, tucked into the foothills of the Crystal
Mountain.  Their pace quickened and Marik smiled, having seen dozens of similar reactions from other students throughout the years.

The dwelling was surrounded by thick woods and
next to it, a brilliant waterfall cascaded down the face of Kraggentop
,
one of the largest peaks near the northern end of the range.  Soon winter would come, and the water would slow to ice, forming one of the most spectacular formations of ice-knives one could hope to see.

But that was not on either of the boys’ minds.  “Kyle,” Marik sa
id.  “I would like you to go first.”

“Yes
, Master.”  Kyle was tense with excitement and anticipation.

As they approached the home, the door opened and they saw a figure walking toward them.  She was wrapped
in cloth from head to toe, with an oversized cowl drawn up over her head. 
Unusual clothing for a relatively warm fall day,
thought Magi. 
But what’s a prophetess supposed to wear?

She approached the three of them and nodded to Marik.  “Good day, Marik.”  He nodded back.  She fixed her eyes on Kyle, her face still hidden
in the folds of her robe.  “Come, young Kyle.  Come hear your destiny.”

Kyle looked back at Magi and tried to look cool, but Magi suspected his best friend was more nervous than the last chicken in a hungry town.  Magi himself had a hard time swallowing, feeling like his tongue was coated and raw.  He gave Kyle a thumbs up and watched him follow the woman into her house, the door closing behind them

“What happens in there, Master?”  Magi asked.  “How does she predict our future?”

“The prophetess has many ways, Magi.  I don’t claim to be an expert in this branch of magic, and frankly it is more art than science, anyhow.”  Marik grabbed a comfortable seat next to a wonderful smelling evergreen tree.  He took out a spellbook that he brought with him.  “Come here, Magi.  Let me teach you another spell while we pass the time.  This is one that will manipulate the wind…”

Magi wasn’t sure how long they studied, maybe an hour, maybe three.  Late that afternoon Kyle emerged from the Ol’ Shakoor’s house.  He had an odd look on his face.  Magi looked at him and, without thinking, asked how it went.  Kyle just looked at him and shrugged.  Marik fixed his gaze on Kyle intently, but spoke to Magi.  “I believe she is waiting for you, Magi.”

“Right.  See you soon, Kyle.  Master
.” He turned and bowed his head to Marik as he approached the door to the Ol’ Shakoor’s home.  He looked back and saw Kyle looking at him.  He waved; Kyle gave him a short wave back and began talking to Marik.

“Enter, Magi.  Young mage, this is a day I have been anticipating for a long, long time.”

“Uh, yes.  Me, too.” 
Lame. 
He twisted his ring absentmindedly.

The Ol’ Shakoor motioned to a simple table with two very comfortable chairs next to it.  “Sit.  We will talk awhile.”  The Ol’ Shakoor pulled back her cowl to reveal a woman of striking beauty.  She had hair the color of honey, and it tumbled to her shoulders.  Her eyes had flecks of gold in them as well, like a cat
’s in the dark.  She wore a pendant of silver with a single black pearl, tight to her neckline.

Magi could not help but suck in
an audible breath.  The Ol’ Shakoor laughed. “Am I so unpleasant to look at, young mage?  Do I startle you?”  There was a playfulness in her eyes that didn’t square with his vision of a prophetess. 
What did you expect, some wrinkled, dried-up battle-axe?

“No, not at all.  Just been a long day.”  He sat.

“Well.  So it has.  And it will be a bit longer still.  Please take this drink and refresh yourself. 
I insist.
”  She passed him a pitcher of water.

Magi poured himself a glass
, but did not drink immediately.  Again, the Ol’ Shakoor laughed.  “My sweet boy, how many of your schoolmates have you seen return from my home having had a portion of their fortunes revealed?  If I wished to poison children, they would never return.  It is water from the mountain stream, with crushed pine needles to provide a refreshing bite.  Please, enjoy and relax.  We have much to discuss.”  She had a velvety, almost seductive voice.

Magi poured himself a glass and allowed himself to relax.  The water was truly the best he c
ould ever remember tasting.  “So, how does this work?”

“
You are direct.  Good—you will find this of me as well.  All I require is for you to cast a simple spell.  Call forth your magic; it is the power within you that I must read, for that power contains the secrets of your future.  Do not worry about harming me.  You will find I am not easy to—harm.”  She said with a smile that caused her golden eyes to sparkle.

“Very well.  But what shall I call you?  Master Marik calls you the Ol’ Shakoor, but I’m not sure that’s proper.”  Magi looked at her and met her gaze.

“My name?  How quaint, Magi.  You may call me Elsa.  Now cast your spell, mage.”  Her smile slowly faded away into seriousness.  Her face seemed ageless. 
Was she 20?  40? Older still?

Magi continued to look at the prophetess, and grabbed a pinch of sand, preparing for a sleep spell.  He focused on her body, with the robe clinging to her curvy frame.  He brought forth his magic and felt the familiar tingle as he began to sense things all around him.  He saw a bead of sweat forming on the left side of Elsa’s forehead.  He heard the crack of lighting from a storm on the far side of the Crystal Mountains.  He heard the sound of Kyle’s voice as he spoke with Marik.  A small bird abandoned in a nest a league away found itself to be dinner to a hungry puma.  And the magic came forth.

The Ol’ Shakoor was shaking, visibly straining.  Sweat poured from her head and her robe was disheveled.  She fell out of her chair, pitching forward onto the floor.  She was not asleep—but clearly exhausted.

“Water
,” she whispered.  Her voice was hoarse and weak.

Magi poured her a cup.  He felt no more drained than if he had lifted a feather.  “Are you ok?  I cast a simple sleep spell.  Obviously it didn’t work.”  He tried to be funny. 
Still lame.

Elsa drank deeply and extended her hand, asking for help to get up.  She slowly made her way back to the comfortable chair by her table and tried to compose herself.  “I did not anticipate this.”

“What is it?”  Magi was intensely curious now.

“Your magic
—your future—it is too heavy for me.  This has never happened before.”  She finished her water and asked for another cup, emptying the pitcher.