Will considered it for a bit and decided that while his grandfather was almost certainly right, it was still strange. As he thought about it, he saw a look in the old man’s eye that indicated he was about to call for a return to practice. Searching for another distraction, Will blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “Her parents must have known she’d be a wizard someday, since Aislinn is the goddess of magic and the wife of Elth—the fae lord that we met.” He caught himself before saying the name, remembering his grandfather’s previous warning.
Arrogan flinched, almost as if he had been slapped.
He knew he had said something wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. “Your Aislinn and his Aislinn are different people, of course.” His heart sank as he saw the look on his grandfather’s face grow even darker. “Right?”
Arrogan stood and walked a few steps away, heading toward the entrance to the house. “I think you’ve had enough practice for today. Why don’t you take the afternoon off?”
“I didn’t mean to offend,” began Will, but his grandfather closed the door before he could finish. He stared at it for several minutes, feeling bad and unsure how to apologize. After thinking it over, he gave up. The old man would only make him suffer if he insisted on talking to him. Better to let him cool off. “I’m going to go visit Eric,” he called to the door, raising his voice in the hopes Arrogan would hear him.
There was no response, so after a short wait, he left.
As he tramped through the woods, he mulled the conversation over. Tailtiu was Arrogan’s daughter, and from what his grandfather had said, Aislinn was her mother. His daughter was fae because she had been born and raised in that other realm. Could his grandfather’s wife really be the same as the Aislinn from legend? And if so, why had she married Elthas?
Whatever the explanation, it was very likely the reason Arrogan harbored such a big grudge against the fae lord. Will shook his head, as if that would clear up his muddied thoughts. It didn’t. In the end, he had more questions than answers, and he could think of no good way to ask his questions. Still, it’s wicked. My grandmother is the original Mistress of Magic, he thought. Not that anyone would ever believe him.
He was so caught up in those thoughts that he failed to notice the sounds of a man on horseback ahead, and he almost stumbled upon the stranger before realizing it. Coming to a sudden halt, he peered through the brush.
The man was probably in his thirties, and he had dismounted to lead his horse along what amounted to a small game trail. That in itself was unusual; few riders would choose to leave the more-traveled roads and paths. As Will watched, the man took an oiled leather skin out of one of the saddlebags and unrolled it. Inside was a strange metal instrument he didn’t recognize, but what caught his attention was the fact that he could see flows of turyn moving around the device.
What is that? thought Will, instantly curious. Turning his focus to the man’s face, he studied his features, memorizing them the best he could. The rider was definitely a stranger. Will knew everyone that lived in Barrowden, as well as most of the usual traders that visited from time to time. Of course, he hadn’t spent much time in the village over the past few years, so it was entirely possible the man was a new trader, or even a new resident, but Will didn’t think that was the case. A trader wouldn’t be on a horse, alone.
After a moment, the man packed his device away, carefully rolling it back up and returning it to the saddlebag. Whatever it was, it was obviously important to him. Leading his horse once more, Will followed behind him, confident that the noise of the horse and a little distance would be enough to hide his presence. He was wrong.
Just a few minutes after he began shadowing the stranger, he stepped on a particularly thick dead limb. Despite looking sturdy, it snapped, and the sound was loud enough that the stranger stopped and looked back. Will froze, then gave the man a hesitant smile.
“Hello!” called the stranger in a friendly manner. “Do you live around here?”
Embarrassed at being caught, Will hoped his cheeks weren’t red as he tried to act nonchalant. “Yes, sir, in Barrowden.”
“Excellent,” said the man, seeming pleased. “Perhaps you can help me. Am I heading in the right direction? I left the road a while back thinking I could shorten my trip, and I’ve been regretting it ever since.”
“It’s not far,” said Will. “If you keep heading in this direction, although it’s a difficult path for a horse.” Curious, he added, “Where are you from?”
“Branscombe,” said the newcomer without hesitation. “I thought I’d see if I could find a farrier in Barrowden to re-shoe my horse.”
The story didn’t ring true. Having spent considerable time around his uncle, Will knew that Branscombe had a blacksmith as well as a farrier. That was where his uncle bought the metal fittings he needed, since Barrowden had neither. Anyone from Branscombe should have known as much. “You’re out of luck, then,” said Will. “We don’t have a farrier. You’ll have to keep traveling and see if the next village has one. Closer to Cerria you’ll probably find one.”
“Damn the luck,” said the man, then he stuck out his hand. “Gavin Kern. Nice to meet you.”
Suspicious, but not willing to show it, Will took the proffered hand, shaking it vigorously. “Will Cartwright.”
“Cartwright, huh?” replied Gavin. “Your family in the business?”
“My uncle is.”
“Is he handy with horses? I still have the shoe my horse threw. Maybe he can put it back on for me and save me the trouble. I don’t think it will need an actual farrier,” said the stranger.
Will nodded. “I can ask him.”
The man gestured to the trail. “Go ahead. Let him know I’m coming. I’m sure you can get there a lot faster if you aren’t waiting on me.”
“Sure thing,” said Will, flashing a smile. Moving around the man and his horse, he darted down the trail and broke into a jog. He ran the rest of the way to his uncle’s house.
When he arrived, he ran into his aunt first. She had a large basket of washing in her arms, but she called out as soon as she spotted him, “Will! It’s been too long since you came to see us.”
Breathless, he took several deep breaths before answering, “Aunt Doreen. I just met a stranger in the woods on my way here.”
His aunt frowned. “In the Glenwood? That’s unusual. Why wasn’t he on the road?”
“He said he was taking a shortcut, but his story didn’t make sense,” said Will.
“Come inside and tell us about it. Your uncle will want to hear this too,” she replied, before leading the way to the house.
Once inside, he greeted Eric and Sammy, and within minutes most of the family had gathered to hear his tale. He related what the stranger had told him word for word, and everyone frowned at the story.
His uncle spoke first. “That story doesn’t hold water. You said he told you to come ahead and let me know?”
Will nodded.
“We’ll see if he shows up. I have a feeling he just wanted to get rid of you,” said Johnathan Cartwright. “He’s probably planning to circle the village and keep going.”
“Why would he do that?” asked Eric.
“Because he’s most likely a scout for Darrow,” said Will’s uncle, his face serious. “We should send a messenger to Cerria to warn the king.”
“But we aren’t at war with Darrow,” said Will. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
His uncle nodded. “Not to you or me. War never really makes sense, but the Patriarch in Darrow is young. He wants to flex his muscle. And that’s before you consider that damned prophecy of theirs.”
Will didn’t really understand the religion of the Highest. He knew the people in Darrow believed in a singular god, and that their government was controlled by the Patriarch, but beyond that he was clueless. “What does their prophecy say?”
Johnathan Cartwright grunted. “You’d have to ask one of them. From what I know, it basically boils down to uniting
all the lands beneath the banner of their lonely god. Every generation or two, a new ruler takes his place and figures he’s going to be the one to make it happen, and a lot of people have to bleed before they decide maybe the time of their prophecy isn’t at hand yet.”
Sammy looked anxious. “Are they going to come here?”
“I don’t know,” said Johnathan. “But if they are planning an overland campaign, this is the most direct route. Barrowden is between the two mountain passes they have to control to enter Terabinia. That’s why they’re sending scouts.”
The tension in Will was rising fast. “I need to warn Mom.”
“Relax,” said his uncle. “It’s good to prepare, but they won’t come this year. It’s too late in the season. Fall is almost here. They’re most likely scouting in preparation for the spring. Once the snows melt, they’ll come looking for trouble. They might even wait another year or two, it’s impossible to say. That’s for King Lognion to worry about.”
Doreen put a hand on her husband’s arm. “We need to figure out what to do before spring gets here.”
Her husband nodded in agreement. “Most of the villagers will flee into Glenwood when the time comes, but I’d like to be better prepared. We should plan a route through the forest into the hills. If we start now, we can build a shelter in the hills before winter gets here. We can winter there and then wait to see what happens in the spring before we come back.”
Will’s body was almost vibrating with anxiety as he thought about his mother. His aunt noticed and gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Will. You and your mother will come with us. We’re family, after all.”
A wave of relief passed over him at her words.
“I want to fight,” said Eric, suddenly. “I’m almost of age. Will and I could volunteer for the army.”
“Absolutely not!” declared Doreen.
“All the more reason for us to move quickly,” said Will’s uncle. “If the king thinks Darrow might invade in the spring, it won’t be long before the press gangs show up to collect every able-bodied man to increase the numbers of his soldiers.”
Eric’s younger brother, Dougie, the youngest of the Cartwright children at only ten years, piped up at last, “I want to fight too!”
“You’re too young,” said Eric immediately.
“That goes for you too,” added their mother, who then glanced at Will. “I hope you have more sense than my sons.”
Will didn’t know what to say. Being a soldier had never really seemed attractive to him. He wasn’t as heavily built as Eric, and meeting the scout had brought the danger of the situation home to him. The man had looked extremely capable. If all the soldiers in Darrow’s army were similar, Will would feel like a child on the battlefield. I can’t even beat an old man with a staff, he thought to himself. I’d be lost in an army of real soldiers.
“I need to tell Mom,” said Will.
Chapter 23
Will walked back to Arrogan’s house that evening full of nervous energy. His mother hadn’t reacted with quite the level of alarm he had expected, which worried him. Then again, it might have been that she felt the need to stay calm to avoid making him any more excitable. He had been pretty wound up when he told her.
“We’ll do as Johnathan says when the time comes,” she had said calmly. “If anything comes up before then, I’ll come find you at your grandfather’s.”
That had effectively been the end of the conversation, and Will couldn’t help but think his mother wasn’t taking it seriously enough. When he got back to his grandfather’s house, he hoped the old man would have some insight.
After urgently explaining what had happened, his grandfather was equally unimpressed. “Just bring Erisa here. She can stay with us. This place is safe enough.”
“What if the Patriarch’s army comes through here?” asked Will, aghast at his grandfather’s seeming aplomb.
“They’ll never find this house,” said Arrogan flatly. “And, even if they did, we always have my rabbit hole in the cellar. That’s assuming I don’t decide to do something nasty to them rather than hide.”
“But…”
Arrogan held up a hand to silence him. “How many years do you think I’ve been living here? Those fools in Darrow decide to wage their holy war every few decades, and I’m always still here after it all blows over. My only regret is that I didn’t put an end to their self-styled prophet before he ruined the common sense of the people living in Darrow.”
“You knew the Prophet of the Highest?” asked Will, once again surprised by his grandfather’s revelation.
His grandfather nodded. “I mentioned him before—my wayward student, Valmon. He always thought he was smarter than everyone else, and I suppose in the end he was, in a way. He certainly taught me a lesson.”
“I thought you said you killed him?”
“I did,” spat Arrogan. “That was the lesson. Kill a prophet, and suddenly he’s a martyr. If I’d left him alive, he might have lived long enough for them to figure out what a needle-dicked bug-fucker he was. Instead, killing him just poured oil on the fire.”
Will gaped. “Needle-dick—what?”
The old man winked at him. “Take notes. You’ll want to remember that one. It’s a keeper.”
He shook his head. Just when he thought his grandfather couldn’t get any weirder, the old man said something like that. “What about what my uncle said? Do you think they should hide in the hills?”
Arrogan nodded. “Your uncle is probably right on that point. Getting out of the village before the press gangs show up is an excellent idea, whether or not the Patriarch’s soldiers show up in the spring or not. Knowing Lognion, he won’t take chances. He’s probably already getting ready for the war.”
“So what do we do now?” asked Will.
“That’s easy,” said his grandfather. “I’m hungry, so you get to cook supper. Tomorrow I’ll start you on the runes.”
***
The next morning, after breakfast, his grandfather brought out an old and extremely worn leather-bound journal and laid it on the table. “This was my first study journal,” he informed Will. Next to it he put a second book, though this one was considerably newer. “This is yours. As you learn, I’ll expect you to copy everything into this one. It will be good practice for your abominable penmanship.”
Will groaned. “I thought you were going to show me the runes.”
“I am,” said Arrogan. “Runes are the pieces and parts that spells are made of, but as you learn them you also have to know how they’re transcribed on paper. You saw the books in my room. Many of them are full of old spells. The books aren’t magic, but if you’re to use them, you have to understand what they mean. Once you know each rune and what it represents, you’ll be able to recreate the spells created by men who died long before you lived. Open up my study journal.”
Will did, turning it past the first two pages, which were blank, until he found the first entry. His grandfather pointed at a large symbol written at the top of the page. Having become fairly good at reading, Will knew it wasn’t any letter he had learned before; it consisted of a short horizontal line with a downward curve at the end.
“This is the rune ‘bruman,’” said the old man. “Copy it into your book and memorize how it’s written.” He stared over Will’s shoulder until he had done as he was told. “Now, watch me and I’ll show you what bruman represents.”
Will watched as Arrogan brought his hands together and pulled them apart again, leaving a glowing blue line in the air between them. When his mentor took his hands away, the line remained, hanging motionless in the air.
“That’s it?” asked Will. “A line? What good is that?”
“A spell is like a plan that an architect uses to build a house,” said his teacher. “Do you think an architect could draw up a building plan without using lines?”
Will wasn’t sure. He knew his uncle had built the house that his cousin Eric lived in, and he doubted the man
had used a written plan to do so. He wasn’t really sure what an architect was, but he guessed it was some sort of builder or carpenter. “Umm, maybe?”
“Don’t be stupid,” chastised Arrogan before sighing. “I didn’t ask if he could build something simple. I asked if he could draw a plan without using lines. Can you draw without making lines?”
“I guess not,” admitted Will.
“Now. Try to imitate what I did,” ordered his teacher.
He tried, but succeeded only in creating a wide, blurry streak of turyn in the air that dissolved almost as soon as it had formed. Will was actually surprised that he did that much. He had never tried to do anything that precise before.
“What the hell was that?” asked his grandfather.
“It was a line,” said Will defensively.
“Drawn by a drunken toddler,” replied the old man. “And where is it now? It has to persist. Otherwise it will be gone before you manage to construct anything. Do it again.”
Will tried several more times but could never satisfy his teacher’s expectations. Frustrated, he asked, “What good is a line anyway?”
“You need it to cast almost any spell you can think of,” said Arrogan. “Such as this one.” Lifting one finger, Will’s teacher pointed at one of the journals on the table. A blur of turyn streaked from his finger, invisible to normal sight, and settled over the book, which began to float away from the table a second later.
Will frowned. “You didn’t make any lines.”
Arrogan smiled. “I’ll do it slower for you. Pay attention.” This time, an intricate three-dimensional figure appeared in the air in front of him, constructed of a multitude of tiny lines and curving shapes. It floated across the intervening space and then expanded to cover the other book before dissolving into it. The second journal began to float as well.
Will was torn between amazement and frustration. There was no way he would ever be able to produce something so complex and intricate. “I can’t do that!” he complained.
The Choice of Magic Page 17