Mageborn

by Michael DeAngelo

  Chapter Six: Divination

  With the tea finally within her hands, Adelia watched as Gaston gathered various components and reagents from the closet in his quarters. She sat upon his bed and hadn’t realized Merlin had stealthily squirmed into the room, taking up position beside her. Without thinking about it, she scratched behind his ears with her free hand.

  “Now, while the old-fashioned way of inquiring about the location of Gypsy Hollow may be just out of our reach, there are still some alternatives,” the sage offered, taking a deep breath afterward. He set a table in the center of the room with many arcane symbols etched into its surface, almost looking as though they had been charred into existence.

  “There is an art of magic called divination, where the practitioner of the arcane arts can warp the plane of magic to aid their sight. There are a variety of ways that people see as well. Some see through time, understanding events of the past more clearly or observing a future that may come to pass. Some see across our plane of existence, as if looking through a window.

  “As many ways as there are to see, there are scores more ways to imbue our sight,” he continued. “Geomancers are known to scatter dust or dirt or sand to the wind. I’m sure you’ve heard of tarot cards, and I regret that you’ve likely heard of animal sacrifice.”

  At the sound of the horrific practice, Merlin meowed and hopped from the bed, slinking away from the room.

  “As soon as man emerged from beneath the earth, we used the stars to guide our hands and our hearts. The month of our birth has always been assumed to hold deep secrets to our inner psyche.

  “Scrying with crystal balls and mirrors; using dowsing rods to find enchanted springs or precious metals; melting wax into archaic shapes… These are all supposed to tell us something. Why, some even subscribe to the thought that a fit of wine can bring on strange precognitions. Just an excuse to get drunk, I say. Don’t even begin to bring up the idea of turning to a random page for some grand higher meaning. Laziest form of magic I’ve ever heard.”

  “Master Camlann,” Adelia quietly interjected.

  “Just Gaston will do,” the sage said. “When I first came to Forsynthia, all those years ago, the wildflowers you see were already in their place. That was when I met Henrietta. She wasn’t a practitioner of magic or anything close to the like, but she could divine better than most I knew. She could… hear the plants, from what she said. If a new plant sprouted and it wasn’t where it was supposed to be, she could predict the events of the next month without fail. Now, one time in particular –”

  The wizard abruptly stopped talking and focused on the young lady. A wave of realization washed over him, and he stood straight. “Oh. Right, of course.” He cleared his throat and set the table more firmly in the center of the room. “To make a very long story short, not everyone can rely on the same means of divination.

  “For myself, I turn to an art called cleromancy,” he went on. “By casting certain items into a place of power, I am afforded insight into my questions. You already know my passion for inscription. I’ve dictated my life’s story into scores of tomes at great expense to my hands.”

  He laughed then, cracking his knuckles slightly as he contemplated that. “I must admit, despite all of my experience in the subject, I’m not very skilled in using the arcane arts for any significant information. Even then, I’ve never been hesitant to try.”

  At the back of the table, a small wooden wall had been constructed. A miniscule door had been fashioned there, a round handle just barely discernable. Gaston pulled that tiny cabinet open, collecting a leather pouch within before closing the door once more.

  Adelia sipped at her lavender tea, but it had not begun to lull her toward sleep. Rather, she looked on with keener eyes, intrigue plainly etched upon her face. She watched as her mentor emptied the contents of the pouch onto the table. A collection of small, wooden cubes rattled out into existence. When they stopped rolling, the young lady was able to see the dark runes etched into each side.

  “Now then,” Gaston eagerly began, “why don’t we see what we can discern here?” He gathered up the wooden dice in his hands and cast them against the back wall of the table.

  They were thrust forth without refrain. Adelia expected at least a few to come rolling off the other side of the table, but as the cubes tumbled over the etched glyphs on the table, they became firmly rooted in place. Beneath them, the grooves began to glow in an otherworldly bluish green.

  Gaston gathered the dice that had not rolled over the outer ring of glyphs. Without further explanation, he cast out the dice again, listening to them rattle as they reached the wall and doubled back. Once more, those that traveled far were frozen upon the etched glyphs.

  The sage repeated the gesture a third time. By then, Adelia’s brow furled, and she had to struggle to stifle a yawn. She was startled when her mentor abruptly clapped his hands together.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got now,” Gaston said, gathering up those cubes that had not become associated with the markings on the table. He placed those back in the leather pouch, which he set on the center of the table.

  Swirling his arms, Gaston caused the sleeves of his robes to sway back and forth. His focus, and that of his pupil, remained on the glyphs, which pulsed an eerie color. Faster and faster they flashed, until the ring of the table seemed to glow all at once.

  The sage abruptly lifted one arm, asserting a path for the magical dweomer. The lights leapt off of the wooden furniture and took to the air, retaining their shape. That strange aura maintained as well, even as the glyphs formed a perfect line. Closing his eyes, Gaston contorted his outstretched fingers into a fist. The glyphs seemed to compact as well, until he abruptly opened both his eyes and his hand. At once, the light expanded again, and the glyphs formed letters of the common language.

  “Confound it all!” the sage harrumphed.

  It was not difficult to surmise what he took objection with. Adelia quietly snickered when she saw the words his magic had displayed.

  “Gypsy Hollow,” Gaston read aloud. “I know that already!” He grumbled again and turned to his pupil, who failed to completely conceal her smile. The sage’s eyes narrowed and his jaws clenched shut. That sneer only lasted a moment, though. His features softened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “You think that’s funny, eh?”

  Adelia stared for but a moment and then nodded impishly.

  Gaston sighed and shook his head. “It is a bit, isn’t it? Bah. Let it be known, I did warn you. Divination has never been a strength of mine.”

  “You don’t have to say anything to me,” Adelia assured. “The arcane arts in general are not yet a friend of mine.”

  “Ah, but they will be,” he said. As he spoke, the brightened letters in the air dissipated, falling apart like sand blown in the wind. Each individual grain faded from existence at a random point in its journey. “With practice, you could be a great sorceress, I’m sure. Nothing will save my skills in this,” he said, waving his hands about the table.

  “We should get some sleep and come back to this tomorrow with fresh eyes. Perhaps someone in town knows the place we’re looking for.”

  “Yes, of course,” Adelia agreed. “Thank you.”

  The young lady began making her way toward the door to the hall.

  “Adelia,” the sage said, gathering her attention. “I know it has been a spectacular day. They won’t all be like this, I assure you. But… you’ve handled it well.” A smile plainly sat upon his bearded face. “I’m happy you’ve come to Hawthorne Keep.”

  She said nothing but nodded exuberantly. Excusing herself, she slipped out into the hallway. A cool draft seemed to press through the keep, a ghastly reminder of the time of night. Torchlight led her to her room, but even those flames seemed barely able to stave off the darkness.

  She hurriedly made her way to the quarters she had been given. The door was left sligh
tly ajar, allowing a meager amount of light to carry inside. Adelia was nearly ready to shut the door when she saw a pair of glimmering orbs staring at her from the bed.

  “Hello, Merlin,” she whispered.

  The small black cat responded with a minute meow, though the young lady was unable to see his expression. She stepped forward, leaning out of the room and grasping a torch. In mere moments, she used it to light the lone candle she kept on a nightstand beside her bed.

  Adelia yawned, stepping out into the hall once more to replace the torch within its sconce. When she returned to her room, she noticed Merlin just finishing up a yawn of his own. The young lady couldn’t keep herself from laughing then, the sound carrying gently through the keep.

  A sigh passed her lips, and she sat down on the bed beside the feline. He looked up at her, prompting her to rest her hand upon his neck, scratching behind his ears. Adelia looked up then, noticing the teakettle waiting on the nightstand. It was surely cold then, but she reached for it anyway. When she poured the beverage, the scent of lavender wafted more plentifully in the room.

  She could feel the grasp of slumber. It reached for her mind, but she was able to press it down, until she could only feel its weight upon her shoulders. The teacup was brought to her lips, and she clicked her tongue when she confirmed her earlier assumption.

  The young lady replaced the teakettle on the nightstand but kept hold of her cup. She watched as the contents swirled around just beneath the black edged rim of the porcelain.

  Another sigh exited her lips, that one of resignation. She looked down at her furry companion. “What do you say, Merlin? Time to turn in for the night?”

  She took another small sip of her tea and leaned forward again, placing the teacup next to the kettle. It bumped into the candlestick, causing it to wobble slightly. The young lady’s eyes went wide and she stopped breathing momentarily. As it rattled back into place, another sigh of relief passed through her lips. She nearly melted into the bed at that point.

  Adelia sat up straighter then, her head turned inquisitively. She rose from the bed, Merlin meowing a miniscule protest. Reaching the door, the young lady stepped outside, peering down both ends of the hall. When she was content no one was nearby, she slipped back into the room and shut the door.

  She turned back toward the candle and anxiously approached it, reaching her hand out to the holder. The teacup was in her other hand as she carefully sat upon the floor. The cat upon her bed looked down at her, his yellow eyes wide and curious.

  “This is probably a foolish idea, Merlin,” she said. “But maybe it’s far worse not to try at all.”

  Breathing out sharply, Adelia lifted the candle and turned it on its side. The tallow dripped down, splashing into the teacup. It solidified as it cooled, morphing into a more permanent state. The young lady peered at it with interest, trying to deduce what it meant.

  After several minutes of patient reflection, the would-be mage shrugged and allowed another drop of wax to fall into the tea. As it rose back to the top, she thought she saw an image in the shape. She leaned forward, bracing herself on the floor. Merlin, too, leaned forward, peering down from a little higher.

  At his vantage, the cat was able to see the look of disappointment on the girl’s face. He sat back and bowed his head, as if in sympathy.

  Adelia lazily continued the failing experiment. As that drop of wax landed within the tea, though, it splashed the liquid out of the cup. She could hear the flame protest as the tea struck it.

  She moved her hand toward the candle to protect the flame. That fire did not need to be kindled and let her know as much. Gasping, the young lady drew her arm back. She cradled her hand as if she had broken it, though the flame had left no lasting mark.

  Merlin hopped down to observe, but she paid him no heed. She was lost within the fire, her eyes drawn to it as surely as if she were a moth. The fire consumed her and the keep, searing the stone around her. It melted like wax, until nothing was left around her but open air. The fire that lingered took to the sky, rolling into a giant orb.

  It was daylight, and the sun pressed down fiercely upon the fields. Adelia had been there before. She recalled the small hills, the unmarred skies. When she turned, she was sure she had seen those woods before. Folly’s Glen was in front of her, as real as she could imagine.

  She felt the slight touch on her hand and turned to observe it. A dandelion was beside her, yet its seed head was jet black, surrounding a yellow eye. She bent low, blowing on the weed, scattering the achenes away.

  The young lady could sense the otherworldly presence. She was not walking of her own choice, yet she could not seem to stop. As she proceeded into the magical forest, she realized she didn’t really care for anything else.

  The cool, magic-filled air lightly brushed against her skin. On that breeze, the aroma of the various floras wafted, just tickling her nose. In the distance, she could see the dancing pillars of light and, shortly after, the roaring plume of fire. The sight of that fire was peculiar, almost like she was looking at paper. Everything else seemed so vibrant, so real.

  Her legs kept moving her forward. As she moved on to the southwest, she realized she was not building off of her memories. She had never traveled that far, and what she saw was breathtaking.

  Before her, a large, fuzzy caterpillar crossed from one thicket to another. It was wider than her shoes and rose above her ankle. Still, it seemed not to care as she stepped over it, observing the spectacle before her. The caterpillar was not alone in its grand presence.

  She was in a land of giants.

  Across the clearing, a hare struck its head with its foot. Though Adelia was far from the lagomorph, she could see that its foot was likely as big as her forearm. That would make for quite the lucky trinket, she thought.

  As she proceeded through the forest, Adelia learned that though the fauna had indeed grown, they were still uneasy around humans. The hare noticed her and immediately gave flight, scattering from its comfortable spot.

  Just as well, the young lady thought. For there, just several dozen feet away from her, a massive cave sat like the maw of some large beast – the only creature capable of devouring the larger nearby critters in a single bite. Red runic marks had been made above the mouth of the cave, and as Adelia closed the distance, her vision began to flutter. The runes shifted, until they formed letters of the common alphabet. She knew she had arrived at the area she sought out.

  “Gypsy Hollow,” she whispered.

  Another breeze passed her ear, and a faint sound was carried upon it. Like a bow dragged across a violin, it lingered like a song. Adelia waved off the notion and continued into the cave.

  The taste of some recently cooked creature entered her mouth before she could identify the fire. A powerful plume of smoke rose from it, obscuring the deeper reaches of the cave. The wood was nearly entirely consumed by the flames, yet the blaze burned brightly.

  Adelia looked into the fire, seeing the shapes and faces within.

  A scream echoed in her ear, and she turned back to the mouth of the cave. She was no longer within Gypsy Hollow, surrounded instead by fields of green. She could feel the solid weight behind her and turned, seeing the old gnarled tree. It was so familiar, but she knew it to be hundreds of miles away.

  The young lady couldn’t remain focused on that for long, for just beyond the tree, she could see the nightmare that had plagued every hopeless evening for the prior year.

  Her home was burning.

  A feminine scream cried out again and again, the howls piercing Adelia’s very soul. She found herself running toward the immolated house and didn’t bother to stop as the thatched roof caved in.

  Those shrieks kept coming, a banshee’s wails that Adelia would never forget. But when a man’s desperate shouts entered the cacophonous, horrible symphony, the girl could bear no more. Her legs buckled, and she sputtered to the ground.

&
nbsp; The young lady was just before the house, though, the flames stealing away the moisture from her skin. She breathed out, trying to steady herself.

  Adelia found she could not, for a charred arm reached anxiously through a dilapidated window. The girl could not keep from weeping as she reached for her mother’s hand.

  An immense pain surged through her skin as she neared the flames and the burning flesh. She looked up inquisitively and watched as her mother and her home pulled away from her. The pain would not relent, however.

  A blinding flash of light was followed by sudden darkness. The only thing Adelia could see was a pair of concerned yellow eyes. As her vision began to adjust, she realized the divination had ended. She was once again in her room in Hawthorne Keep. The candle had burned out, leaving only a faint aroma in its absence.

  The young lady rose to her feet and opened the door to the hall, letting the torchlight spill into her room. It was then that she noticed the blood on her hand between her thumb and index finger.

  She narrowed her eyes as she focused on Merlin. As she sank to her knees, though, her features softened. The cat eagerly approached her when she reached out her hand.

  “Thank you for bringing me back, Merlin,” she said. “I have much to tell Master Camlann.”