The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1 (14 page)

It had always disgusted Isidor when Tartum acted like this. When things got too hard, or a failure became too intense, he’d just quit and pout like a six year old. There was no time for him to feel sorry for himself right now. He needed to move. Looking around, Isidor saw the towns people gathering up the survivors. Some of them were pointing at them. The looks from the good samaritans weren’t friendly. Isidor knew it was only a matter of time before they were attacked by a blood thristy mob, looking for revenge. Isidor found himself wondering if they didn’t deserve it.

Hadn’t he told Tartum to be careful with the scroll? Hadn’t he taught him how powerful and dangerous magic could be? He’d told him over and over, about limitations and the consequences for breaching those limits! Over and over, he had drilled those lessons into him. He thought it had sunk in. Thinking about Tartum’s ability with enchantments, his ability with his staff, and his ability with the scrolls; Isidor realized that those lessons had been proven false to Tartum...All of them, until now.

Looking at his pupil again, Isidor began to pity him. “It’s not his fault” Isidor told himself, “I should have realized how reckless he was being and stopped teaching him so much, so fast. I should have made him see the folly of his actions. Instead, I just kept teaching him, I kept encouraging him. It’s my fault for not giving him more disipline, more respect for the magic and its dangerous side effects.”

Isidor felt shamed. He felt that he had failed Tartum. Well he wouldn’t fail him this time. Even though the boy’s will was broken, he wouldn’t let the mob have him. Right or wrong, Isidor would see to it Tartum got a second chance. Picking Tartum’s limp form up off the ground, and slinging him over his shoulder, Isidor carried his friend toward their wagon.

“We must escape!” he thought, ”we must leave this town!”

Isidor moved as fast as he could. His plan was forming with each step he took. It was a simple plan, relying on his luck and ability to evade detection. He didn’t want to resort to violence unless he had too. He knew that, logically, the town’s people deserved to catch Tartum, and that Tartum deserved to be punished for his crimes. Isidor’s love for him overrode his concerns with logic and lead him to believe he was making the right choice.

“Damn these people anyway. The only ones I ever really liked are all dead now. Damn it, Tartum! Why did you have to do that?!” Isidor thought to himself. He used the anger that was boiling up inside of him to fuel his flagging leg muscles, to feed air into his raw lungs.

Arriving at the wagon, Isidor threw Tartum on the driver’s bench and went dashing back towards the town. He hoped no one would find Tartum there. He figured the simple townsfolk would look inside the wagon before searching the drivers seat. Anyone foolish enough to open the door on a magician’s home without permission was in for a painful surprise. Isidor had always trapped his door with a lightning enchantment. As simple as it was dangerous. If you opened the door without permission, the spell knew and would send enough lightning through the person’s body to send them flying through the air. Usually it wasn’t fatal, and Isidor hoped it would prove to be the same tonight. Enough innocent people had died horrible deaths this night. He didn’t want to cause any more if he could help it.

Isidor ran toward the farms, looking for barns. He hoped to find horses inside them to take and lash to his wagon, so they could make their escape. He doubted the townspeople would give much chase once they realized the culprits were gone and not likely to ever return. He
hoped
that no one would be willing to come after them over a bunch of dead whores. He had to be right. Otherwise there would be much more killing tonight. Isidor didn’t want to think about it.

Dashing into the barn, he was elated to see two mares sleeping soundly in their stables. He grabbed a few sacks of oats and threw them over one of the mares’ backs, and then he attached the reigns as fast as he could. It had been a while since Isidor had bridled a horse, and he wondered if he was doing it right. The mares didn’t seem to mind his fumbling hands and helped out as much as they could. Isidor finally got them both ready and lead them out of the barn. The horses were well bred and followed Isidor without question. They were simple creatures and any chance to get out of their small stable and into the open air was all the incentive they needed to follow this stranger.

Isidor ran as fast he could, while trying to keep the horses from tearing off in random directions, or stopping to eat a tempting flower. The damn beasts were slowing him down, and he needed to get back to Tartum. Isidor’s mind was full of images of arriving too late to find Tartum crucifed by a mob of angry villagers, or being torn apart, or burned alive, or any other equally horrific death a crazed mob could come up with.

After what felt like an eternity, Isidor arrived to find the wagon undisturbed. Tartum was sitting in the driver’s seat, with his head in hands. His body was racked with the sobs of mourning. It was a good sign. The boy was at least still human and aware of the atrocity he had caused. Lashing the horses to the wagon, Isidor threw the reigns up at the seat and ran around to inspect the wagon. It hadn’t moved in almost twenty years, and Isidor had no idea if the wheels would hold up in their current condition.

Opening himself up to the magic, Isidor let it flow through him and into the wheels and structure of the wagon. As he had feared, the wheels were riddled with termites and cracks. The enchanted structure of the wagon, however, was in perfect condition. The enchantments holding it together were as strong as ever. Quickly, Isidor ran inside to get the few components he would need to mend the wheels and make the wagon ready for their flight. As Isidor ran out of the wagon, he saw a man with a rusty sword creeping up on Tartum.

The man’s intention was clear. He was going to murder Tartum. There was no doubt, there was no question. The man’s eyes were set on Tartum’s weeping form. His clothes were wet and burned in places. His shaggy hair looked singed on one side, and he favored his left hand. He was probably one of the lucky survivors of the brothel. He was only a few paces from Tartum, and he began to position his sword for a killing blow. Isidor went livid.

Dropping everything, Isidor reached into one of his secret pockets and pulled out a small copper rod. Rolling the rod between his hands, Isidor focused his magic into it and recited the words to his spell.

“
Yuik-rena toem-urthma
!” as he spoke the words, the man jumped. He turned around to face Isidor, surprise and fear in his eyes. Isidor saw the look in the man’s eyes, for a moment, Isidor pitied the man, but he shouldn’t have tried to kill his friend.

Isidor pulled his hands a few inches to the sides of the rod. It stayed suspended in the air between’s his hands, spinning at a supernatural speed and glowing a bright white light.

“
Za-tan
!” lightning exploded from the rod and hit the man dead in the chest. He went flying, end over end, into the night sky. He never saw the man hit the ground, but judging by the hit, he was as dead as poor Hilary.

Isidor paid him little attention. With his senses heightened by the magic, he could hear the faint yells of outrage and anger from the town’s people. It sounded like they had organized and were heading straight toward them. He was running out of time! Gathering up his spell components, he focused his mind on the mending spell.

Holding a piece of wood in one hand, and a piece of iron in the other, Isidor chewed on a sparrow feather. Masterfully, he channeled his magic through each component at the same time. Releasing the wood and the iron, they flew across the gap between them and became one solid mass, warping and bubbling in the flow of magic. Spitting the chewed up sparrow feather into the alloy in front of him, Isidor spoke the words to the spell.

“
Men-lingrows Du-pot-mend-grouse
!” the amalgamation of wood, iron, and sparrow feather leapt into the decrepid wheels of the wagon and began to repair the damage, two decades of neglect had caused. The process was taking too long, and Isidor forced more magic into the mending spell to speed it along. From the sound of it, the mob was getting very close, and he could see the faint red glow of torches on the horizon. If he didn’t speed things up, he was going to have to fight these people. Isidor didn’t know if he could.

Killing the man wasn’t a difficult choice. Killing an entire town of people that were rightfully looking for justice, would be. Killing an entire population of good honest folk, just to protect one man, one
guilty
man...Isidor didn’t know if he could do it; or rather, he didn’t want to know if he could. Would he kill every man, woman, and child in this town, to save Tartum? The thought made him sick.

The spell was finished, and Isidor released his connection to the source. Running to the front of the wagon, he found Tartum still weeping. His sobs weren’t as strong now, and he seemed to be passing out again. That was fine. He had done enough for tonight, and in his current condition, it was best if he just slept this nightmare away.

Whipping the horses into a gallop, Isidor guided them towards the road. The horses were strong and used to moving heavy burdens like the wagon. It seemed to Isidor, that the animals were thrilled at the new challenge the wagon provided and threw themselves into the effort. The wagon was enchanted to give a smooth ride and make it as little of a burden as possible to whatever beast was towing it. It still had alot of mass, however, and so the going wasn’t as fast as Isidor would have liked.

They made their way down the unlit streets, trying to get to the northwestern road. Isidor’s plan was to get to Saroth, the main city on this contenent. It had been his original destination, years ago when he first stopped at this town, to ply his trade and earn some coins. Before he had begun his third, and supposedly last, show for this flea-bitten town. Before he had met the young boy that reminded him so much of his own son. The son that he had loved more than anything. The son that he had buried only months before his arrival here. Tartum was Isidor’s second chance, his new lease on fatherhood and responsibility. Tartum had been his reason for not taking his own life when the grief of his past was too much. And now, Tartum was as he was, broken, grieving, and miserable. Isidor would make things right for him again. He would not fail him again, he would not bury this one. Not his second son.

Isidor found the road he was looking for, just as the mob found them. They blocked the path for their escape with their mass. Isidor didn’t have any spell components, didn’t have any scrolls, didn’t even have his staff to fight his way through this mass of at least thirty people. He thought about charging through them, but already the horses were slowing down. These beasts weren’t bred for combat, and the scent of the mob’s anger and the fire from their torches was enough to slow them down. Whip and scream as he might, Isidor could not get the horses to speed back up.

Tartum had stopped crying and was numb to the world. He saw Isidor kill the man that was about to snuff out his life. He had seen the wonderful magic he had used to mend the wagon. He saw the fear in his friend’s eyes and the intensity of it all eased his self pity. Tartum needed to find something to fill the void in his heart that the death of Hilary had left. It was an accident, he was trying to help her and instead, he killed her. Her and many others. He hadn’t meant to do it. He was just trying to help, just trying to be useful, isn’t that why he had dedicated his whole life to the study of magic? To be useful? To be powerful? To be there when needed? He had failed, he was so sorry he had failed, but he couldn’t turn back time and change that. Now the towsfolk were blocking their route and calling for his blood. It was just a mistake! Why couldn’t these people understand that? Why did they think that hurting him or Isidor would make it better? Couldn’t they understand he had just made a mistake?

In the middle of his internal questioning, Tartum felt the wagon slow down. Looking up, he saw the mob, he saw the murderous look in the men and women’s eyes. He saw Isidor stand up and say something to the mob. They jeered at him, while throwing insults and threats back. He saw fear gripping Isidor, he saw how much he looked like the last time he saw Hilary. The last look she had given him before the awful blast. It was the look of fear, the fear of not knowing how to get away from something that terrified you.

Looking up at the mob, he saw that they had noticed Isidor’s fear too and were advancing on them. Tartum didn’t care much about himself and decided that he would let the mob have him, as long as it saved Isidor. He saw a man in the middle of the mob hurl something at them. It sailed through the torch-lit night and caught Isidor a glancing blow to the side of his head. Isidor fell, screaming with pain. Blood seeped through his fingers as he held them to his head. Tartum saw Isidor’s fear overwhelm him, and the sight disgusted him.

Tartum realized this mob was coming to kill both of them. He realized that most of the members of the mob probably didn’t even know why they wanted to kill them, just that they were going to. Judging by their clothes and weapons, most of them were simple farmers and shop owners, that had never known anyone in the brothel or done anything to help anyone but themselves. They all knew Isidor, had been to one of his shows over the decades, and now, without knowing or caring why, they were going to tear him apart. These weren’t people to Tartum anymore, these were animals! Animals that must be culled...

Raw, white hot fury boiled up inside of him, Tartum did not try to fight it. In fact he encouraged it to take hold of him. The audacity of their attack on an innocent man. On his master, on his FRIEND! Opening himself to the magic, Tartum allowed it to flow inside him, completely filling him with power. The fury he felt before was in him, intensified a hundred-fold. His vision turned blood red as he stood up from his seat and turned his attention to the mob of towns people before him.