Foundling Wizard

by James Eggebeen

  The image of the young boy materialized on the table amongst the candle flames. He was about fourteen summers in age, seated on the bed in a plain room without decorations. The boy looked frightened and alone.

  “Don’t be afraid, young man. I am going to send someone to help you,” he assured the image.

  The boy in the image peered straight ahead. Zhimosom knew the boy would be able to make out his face in the mist, but he also knew it wouldn’t be clear or sharp.

  “Who are you?” the boy asked.

  “I am Zhimosom,” the wizard replied. “I’m going to send someone to help you. He will come to you in the morning. Be ready to leave when he contacts you.”

  “Who are you?” the boy repeated. “Who’s coming to save me?” The image of the boy struggled as if sheer effort would clear the fog and present Zhimosom to him.

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to send help,” Zhimosom told him. The mist faded and dispersed as he lost contact.

  Zhimosom sat back and heaved a heavy sigh. He had not been sure that he would be able to contact the boy through the shielding the priest had on the temple, but it had been worth the effort.

  Before he attempted to contact the second young man, Zhimosom needed to get something to eat. Wizardry was hungry work, and he was in for a long night. He extinguished the candles and pushed back from the table.

  After a hearty meal, the wizard was well rested and ready for his night of training. He ambled back into his study and prepared for the long night ahead.

  He resumed his seat at the table and pulled out a large book with a crude binding. There was writing only on those pages where he himself had written something. He pulled up his quill and ink and jotted down some notes before he tried to contact the boy. He needed to have all this fresh in his mind and ready to transfer to the young man or else the plan would fail.

  He pulled the chair in and resumed his previous position. This time, when the candles flared, they emitted a much larger flame and took longer to settle down. The images of the young man from the night before appeared. The youth was in the same haymow as the previous night, but this time he was asleep on his blanket.

  “Wake up, son,” Zhimosom called to the image. Once again, he cast the spell of paralysis on the youth so he wouldn’t startle or cry out and bring someone to investigate. He waved his hands as the young man came awake and raised him into a sitting position.

  “What do you want?” Lorit asked.

  “I need your help,” Zhimosom replied. “I need you to rescue the young boy that the priest captured yesterday.”

  “Me? How can I do that? I’m running from that priest, too.”

  “I believe you can do this,” Zhimosom assured him. “I can show you a few things that will help you.” He waved his hands in the air in illustration.

  “Why do you need me?” Lorit asked. “What can I do?”

  “You can sneak into the temple and help the boy escape. Do this and lead him here to us.”

  “Are you sure you want me? I’m no wizard.”

  “You were wizard enough last evening,” Zhimosom answered. “All you have to do is learn to shield yourself from the guards. You can confuse the minds of the guards and walk in and out of the temple as you please.”

  The wizard shook his finger in the air in warning, “You cannot confuse the mind of the priest, so stay away from him.” He hoped he’d established enough fear to keep the boy safe, but not enough to scare him away from the task.

  “How will I do that?” Lorit asked.

  “Remember the shield I showed you last evening to guard your conjuration? It will be much like that, but you will have to carry it with you as you go.”

  Zhimosom waved his hands and a semitransparent version of the fencing they’d practiced before appeared. “Make it transparent, like glass, something you can see through.” The image turned to glass and glimmered with the refracted light. “Try it,” he encouraged.

  The young man closed his eyes. Zhimosom could see the fence surround him. It stabilized and started to turn clear, then suddenly shattered and fell to the hay in a shower of diamond shards.

  “What happened?” Lorit asked.

  “I think that was pretty good for a first try. Try to keep the structure in mind when you make it transparent. You changed the structure along with the image, and it shattered under its own weight.”

  Once more the fence appeared. This time it slowly turned translucent until it was almost as clear as glass. Once again, it exploded into a flurry of shards.

  “That was better,” Zhimosom encouraged him. “Keep at it. You’re almost there.”

  “This is hard work,” Lorit complained. “How does this work, anyway?”

  “The shield creates a wall around you. By making it clear, it guides the light around you as well. The solid fence is good for keeping your conjuration secret, but you would not be able to see where you were going. It would hide you, but it would also blind you.”

  They practiced for a long time, with Lorit improving with each successive try. On several occasions, Zhimosom had to remind him that he was just beginning his training but that he was doing well.

  Eventually, the candles had burned all the way down to the table, and the young man had all the knowledge that he could absorb in one night. Zhimosom hoped it would be enough.

  Zhimosom relaxed and sat back, satisfied with his attempt. As the image of Lorit started to fade, he called out one last warning, “Don’t eat the food you’ve conjured.”

  The sun was just about to rise. The study took form as daylight started to chase away the darkness of the night.

  “Mudray!” the wizard called. “I’m famished. Is breakfast ready?”

  Zhimosom headed for the kitchen, hoping his housekeeper was ready with breakfast. Performing magic with the young wizard had drained him almost as much as if he were young and just coming into his powers.

  He shook his head. He was not getting any younger and taking on a new trainee was going to tax him tremendously.

  Lorit stirred from his night’s training. He was even more tired than the night before and ravenously hungry. He fished in his pack for something to eat and pulled out the apple he’d conjured the previous night. It was still firm and fresh. Why had the wizard counseled him not to eat it?

  He placed it on the blanket before him and found the bread he’d conjured. He added some of the hard, white cheese Shyenn packed for him and had himself a hearty breakfast. As he repacked his belongings and prepared to leave, a hunger like he’d never felt before hit him so suddenly it was like a physical blow.

  His muscles grew weak, and he almost collapsed from weakness. He rummaged in his pack and drew out the partially eaten loaf of bread he’d conjured. The sight of it gnawed at him. The wizard’s warning about eating food he had conjured came flooding back. He cast the loaf away and grabbed for the food his mother packed for him. He tore into it ravenously, as if he’d gone several days without eating.

  As he ate, his hunger gradually abated. After he’d consumed almost two days’ rations, he started to feel normal again. Maybe he should have heeded the wizard’s admonition. He wondered what else he would run into that the wizard had neglected to tell him.

  He carefully made his way down the ladder and out of the stable. He shouldered his pack and followed the map he’d memorized during his session with the wizard.

  This time the wizard had been much clearer. Lorit saw him sitting in his study, behind a stout table littered with odds and ends that Lorit didn’t recognize. Lorit felt as if he sat within the circle of candles on that table while he conversed with Zhimosom and learned his lessons.

  He followed the alleyways and streets until he neared the temple of Ran. It was just dawn and would soon be time for Morning Prayers. The priest would stand on the balcony and cry out to the townsfolk, calling them to Morning Prayers. Not all of the townsfolk observed the prayers. Many of them would carry on with their labors, buying, selling, and otherwise living th
eir daily lives untouched by the priest. Fortunately for Lorit, there was only one priest in Mistbury Tye. He would not have to worry about running into the priest while he was in the temple.

  The temple was a solid block building with decorative windows dotting the exterior walls. The tri-pane glass of the windows formed the upper arch with split panes beneath. The stained glass depicted a benevolent, smiling priest. They were opaque to prevent the outsiders from observing the interior of the temple. The heart of the temple was reserved for the devout.

  The more devout, the deeper into the temple mysteries you were allowed, or so Lorit had been told. He’d never been inside the temple. He hadn’t seen much of Mistbury Tye before, and he certainly was not a believer.

  As he approached the door, a guard stepped in his path. He wore polished copper armor atop a black cloak with red trim. He held his shield low as if he’d grown weary of holding it. He raised the shield when Lorit approached and positioned his staff to block the doorway.

  “What are you doing here, gutter rat?” he demanded. “This is reserved for the devout, and you don’t look like a believer.”

  “I just want to see,” Lorit implored. “Maybe I’ll become a believer if you just let me in.”

  The guard shook his spear at Lorit. “Get away! We don’t want your kind here, believer or not.” He shook his shield this time. “Go on, get out!”

  Lorit retreated back to the shadows and waited.

  Soon, a nicely dressed couple arrived with a young daughter in tow. The girl reminded Lorit of Onolt, only this girl was dressed in expensive clothes and decked out with gold and silver jewelry. If Onolt had jewelry like that, she could have fed the whole family for a year!

  Lorit raised a translucent shield just as the wizard had shown him. He felt the shield rise and turn clear. He held it as he cautiously walked up behind the family, trying to will the guard not to see him.

  The guard stepped out of the doorway as the family approached. “Good Morning, Sir,” he said with a deep bow. “Madam, Miss,” he addressed the rest of the family.

  Lorit kept close to the young girl and slipped through the doorway behind the family before the guard stepped back into the opening.

  He was inside. Now all he had to do was locate the boy and walk right out. He surveyed the room he’d entered. The windows, visible from the outside, glowed with the light of the dawn. There were tall posts carved with a twisted inlay bearing copper bowls filled with lamp oil. They lit the interior of the room with an eerie, flickering light that was beginning to dissipate with the new dawn.

  Lorit made his way along the hall. The floor was polished marble that gleamed like a mirror. He had to tread softly so as to make as little noise as possible or else invisibility would do him no good at all.

  He passed a carving made to resemble the temple window. Standing in the window was a skull wearing the hood of a temple priest. Next to the carving rested a staff almost as tall as Lorit. It was made of copper-colored wood, with a skull mounted at the top and a sharp iron spike at the bottom. He leaned over to look at the spike. It was coated with dried blood.

  “Priests,” Lorit commented, before he caught himself. He looked around to see if anyone had heard him, but he was alone. Keep quiet! he thought, to remind himself.

  He made his way down the hall toward the door that Zhimosom had pointed out. He rapped lightly on the door and called out softly, “Hello.” He waited for an answer. “Hello!” he called a little louder.

  “Who is it?” came the reply.

  “I am Lorit. Zhimosom sent me to get you.”

  There was a bolt on the outside of the door. Lorit slid it open and pushed. The door creaked open to reveal a young boy of about fourteen summers. He looked scared and nervous.

  “Are you really here to help me?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am,” Lorit said, stepping into the room. He closed the door partway. “What did Zhimosom tell you? Did you learn to hold your shields?”

  “All he said was that he was sending help,” the boy replied. “I could barely see him, and it was hard to make out what he was saying…All I heard was that he was sending help.”

  “Did he teach you anything? Did he contact you before you were captured?” Lorit asked.

  “No. The first I heard from him was last night. He just said he would send help,” the boy repeated. “Please help me.”

  “I’m going to get you out of here, but you have to remember: be quiet. I think I can hold the shield for both of us. Stay close to me and don’t wander. If you do, they’ll see you, and I don’t know what will happen, but I don’t think either of us will like it.”

  The boy headed for the door. Lorit reached out and grabbed his coat to stop him. “Wait for the priest to call for the Morning Prayer. That way, we know he’s occupied, and we can sneak out. The priest is the only one who won’t be fooled by my shields.”

  They stood quietly until they heard the cry of the priest from the balcony. He sang out loud and clear, calling the faithful to Morning Prayer. The boy told Lorit his name was Chedel and that he’d been captured by the priest in the market during the previous day’s activities.

  Lorit pulled the door open and carefully stepped into the hall. He reached behind him and grasped Chedel by his coat, pulling him close. “Stay close!” he admonished the boy.

  They carefully made their way back down the hallway to the room where Lorit had entered. If his map was accurate, they would be able to access a side entrance from here and make their way out. He steered Chedel toward the archway that led to the side doorway when the family that Lorit had followed entered the room.

  “Father, I don’t want to stay for Morning Prayer,” the girl complained.

  “Well, you don’t have much choice. You’re a part of this family, and as a part of this family, you go to temple for Morning Prayer. Like it or not,” said the father.

  Lorit tried to squeeze past the family dispute, hoping to get around them and out of the door without incident. Just as they passed behind the girl, she stomped her foot and said, “But I don’t want to go to Prayer.”

  Her father reached out to take hold of her. She pulled back to escape his grasp and bumped into Chedel. The boy let out a startled grunt before he caught himself.

  The girl turned and looked at the space where they stood. “I felt someone here!” she cried out. “Someone’s in the room with us! I just bumped into them.”

  She started swinging her arms around as if attempting to swat the invisible perpetrator. “I know there’s someone here.”

  Lorit grabbed Chedel and pulled him quickly down the hall. He put his hand over the boy’s mouth to silence him. They stood pressed against the wall breathing hard, trying to quiet themselves. When the girl didn’t follow them, Lorit headed for the side door.

  When they reached the door, Lorit twisted the knob and pushed. The door was old and rusty and didn’t want to budge. He heaved his weight against it until it started to move. It creaked loudly and opened almost enough for him to fit through.

  “Down here,” called a voice from the room where the family still argued. “I think I heard something.”

  Lorit gave another shove, and the door moved enough to let him squeeze through. He pulled Chedel after him into the crisp morning air.

  Once outside, they both heaved against the heavy door. They managed to push it shut just as something hit it from the inside. Lorit grabbed a shattered brick from down the alleyway and jammed it under the door as the guards attempted to force it open.

  “Run! Follow me,” Lorit called to Chedel. He headed down the alley that Zhimosom traced out for him on the map.

  Overhead, he could hear the sound of the priest as he sang out the prayer.

  “We need to get far away from here before the guards report us,” Lorit explained. “We have to find a way out of the city and fast.”

  “I know a way,” Chedel offered. “My uncle runs wagons in and out of town all day. They should be heading back to t
he homestead with an empty wagon soon. They always deliver the first load just after sunup.”

  “Lead the way, then,” Lorit replied.

  The two young men headed off down the avenue to find Chedel’s uncle.

  Chapter 4

  Lorit and Chedel hid beneath a tarp stretched across the meager remnants of straw that littered the bed of the wagon. The straw was scratchy and constantly poked both boys. The dust not only had a strong tendency to itch but also threatened to make Lorit sneeze. He was worried that any noise would reveal their hiding place, so he forced himself to endure the agony all the while the wagon made its way to their destination. When they reached the fork in the road, Chedel’s uncle halted the wagon.

  “We’re here,” he called out.

  “Is there anyone on the road?” Lorit whispered.

  “No. The road is clear. There’s a small stand of trees just off to the right where you can take cover. Head for them and you should be out of sight before anyone else comes along,” the driver answered.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Lorit called as they headed for the trees. He and Chedel ran as fast as their cramped legs would take them until they reached the small grove of trees that marked the beginning of the woods proper. The trees provided them shelter from the heat of the morning sun as they made their way toward the river.

  The river was wide and deep despite the lateness of the season. The water crashed among the rocks violently, making its way south. There was no way to cross the river here.

  “There’s a ford to the north of here,” Lorit explained. “Zhimosom showed me the route on the map before I came for you.”

  “How did he teach you these things?” Chedel asked. “I was only able to see him faintly, as if through a dusty glass. I wasn’t able to make out much of what he said beyond his assurance that someone was coming to get me.”