Foundling Wizard

by James Eggebeen

  “I feel Lorit. It’s like a thread that connects me to him. I can feel that it’s him, but it fades quickly. I don’t know where it leads,” Chihon explained.

  “You believe he was taken and is alive, then?” the wizard prompted.

  “I’m certain he’s alive. I know it. I can feel it.” Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought of anything happening to Lorit. They’d only known each other a short while, but she could feel the connection they shared and worried he was in trouble.

  The wizard raised his hand. “Do not fear, child. If you can feel him, he is probably alive, somewhere,” he assured her. “We must determine why we can no longer sense him. To our senses he has vanished from the face of the earth, and we are much attuned to him,” the wizard went on. “As we are becoming to you.”

  “To me?” she asked. “Why to me?”

  “You are now connected to Lorit, child,” Rotiaqua said. “That is why you can feel him.”

  “You need to make your way to Trickby,” the wizard said. “There is someone there who can help you. He is a Free wizard and a friend. He can help you develop your gift and maybe help us all find Lorit. We want you to go to Trickby and locate a man named Gareb. He will help you.”

  “Gareb,” Chihon repeated the name. “How will I find him?”

  “He’s a cooper, a barrel maker. You can find his store near the livery,” Zhimosom explained. “Tell him Zhimosom and Rotiaqua have sent you. You can trust him.”

  “Do not fear, child,” Rotiaqua said. “I’m sure that, if he’s alive, you will find him. We will contact you once you’ve located Gareb.”

  The smoke again twisted into thin wisps as the figures released their grip on it. Chihon found herself sitting before an ordinary breakfast campfire once again.

  She pondered the revelation of the wizard and the sorceress. They said that she and Lorit had developed a special bond. Maybe that’s why she could feel him now and they couldn’t. She wondered why it had happened so suddenly, when before there had been nothing.

  Chapter 10

  As Chihon approached Trickby, she could smell the pungent odor of the Freshen Sea, with its glacial streams to the north and mountain fed rivers to the east. It teemed with life, not all of which was welcome. The Strotailye River they had been following had its source in the Freshen Sea. It was packed with fish and rich plants that flowed from the Sea down to the ocean.

  Much of the economy of Trickby was centered on the fish and plants the citizens hauled from the Sea. Fish, split and hung out to dry, adorned rack after rack along the broad avenue Chihon followed. Occasionally, the fish racks gave way to even more pungent piles of drying seaweed that would be ground up for dietary supplements and cattle feed, once suitably dried.

  Chihon walked down the avenue until she came to the Soaring Eagle Inn. It was there that she was to inquire about Gareb. The inn was reasonably clean, with a recent coat of paint. Fresh tar and gravel had recently been spread on the sagging roof to seal out the rain. Chihon entered the inn and waited for her vision to adapt to the darkness.

  She approached the innkeeper. He was a tall, rotund man with a short, meticulously brushed beard and a stained white apron. “I’m looking for Gareb,” she said.

  He looked her over, stroking his beard. “Gareb, you say?” he asked absentmindedly. “Gareb?” he repeated. He turned for the kitchen and shouted, “Ustrkin! Do you know a Gareb?”

  A middle-aged woman strolled out of the kitchen. Her apron was white, spattered with gravy and dotted with flour. Her shoulder length brown hair was tied back in a kerchief. Her face was red from constant exposure to the kitchen fires.

  “Gareb?” she asked. “He’s the fellow who lives down the lane. Married that seamstress…What was her name?”

  “You know him?” Chihon asked.

  “Sure, sure, my dear,” the woman said. “A solid, upstanding man. Makes barrels and carvings, he does. Married a young seamstress a few years back. They got no kids, but they’re real solid folks.”

  “Can you tell me how to find his house? My aunt told me that he could help me find work,” she explained using the story Rotiaqua had prepared for her. “He’s my uncle.”

  “Take the main avenue down two blocks. When you come to the carpentry shop, turn right and go five doors down. His is the one with the half barrel out front. They live upstairs, but he should be in the shop at this time of the day,” she explained as she cleaned her hands on her apron.

  “Thank you for your kindness.” As Chihon backed toward the door, the woman followed her.

  “What’s your name, child?”

  “I’m Chihon.”

  “Where do you hail from?” Ustrkin pressed.

  “From Bebrook.” She kept shuffling toward the door without turning her back. She tried to make it clear that she was in a hurry, but the woman pursued her questioningly.

  “No family in Trickby then? Other than your uncle, I mean.”

  “No,” Chihon answered. She bumped against the door as she backed away. “No family here but my uncle.” She felt for the handle and grabbed it without looking at it. She pulled the door open and backed out saying, “Thank you for your help, you’ve been most kind.”

  The cooperage was just where Chihon was told she would find it. The half barrel that graced the front of the building was finely crafted. Beneath the advertisement was a casement window that protruded from the building. Inside the window was a mixture of small and large barrels made of various types of wood. One small one was made from the darkest hardwood and held together with bands of brushed gold.

  As Chihon opened the door, a bell loudly proclaimed her arrival. The man sitting at the workbench was neither young enough to be a young man, nor was he an old man. He was just past the flush of youth, not yet showing signs of age.

  He sat straight. His hair, a rusty blond, was cut short to keep it out of his way while he worked. He wore a leather apron, which was dotted with wood chips. He held a draw knife to the piece of wood clamped in the vice in front of him. Carefully, he drew the knife across the wood, slowing as he reached the end to adjust the pressure he applied. Only after the stroke was finished did he look up.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “Are you Gareb?” Chihon asked.

  “That I would be,” he replied. He looked her over carefully before adding, “How may I help a young lady such as you?”

  Chihon waited for the door to close behind her and took another step into the room. She looked around to make sure no one was in the room with them. Satisfied, she said, “Rotiaqua sent me.”

  He straightened slightly at the mention of the sorceress. “You don’t say,” he said incredulously. “And how do you come to know one such as she?” He laid the knife on the table next to the wood and reached beneath the table. His hands stayed out of sight.

  “I was traveling with a young wizard named Lorit. He disappeared.”

  “Go on,” he encouraged her.

  “Rotiaqua and Zhimosom have been in touch with him, but they’ve lost him. I know he’s still alive. I can feel it!”

  “Can you, now? I don’t doubt it.”

  “You believe me?” she asked. “They were skeptical.”

  “The mighty ones are always like that,” Gareb said. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

  “One of whom?” Chihon approached the workbench. There was a stool across from Gareb. He indicated that she should take a seat.

  “One of the mighty ones,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  “I’m not a mighty one. Far from it, I’m just learning.”

  “And yet you’ve already been visited by the mighty ones themselves,” Gareb laughed. “You must really be a special young lady to have attracted the attention of two such as these.”

  “I don’t understand,” Chihon said.

  “It’s not important that you understand just yet. What do you think I can do to help you?” he asked.

  He withdrew his hand from
beneath the table. In it, he held a dagger, gleaming and sharp. He placed it on the table between them.

  “They told me that I should trust you,” she said.

  “Did they, now?” he laughed again. “Such faith they have in one as humble as I.”

  “Can you help me?” Chihon scooted the stool toward the work table and faced him directly. She placed her hands flat on the table. “Please?”

  He reached out and patted the back of her hands. “Don’t worry, child, I will do whatever is within my meager powers. But remember, I’m not one of the mighty ones. I’m not even a great wizard. I can barely handle the shields needed to keep myself beyond notice. Occasionally, I can use my gift to help me draw a straight and smooth cut on a piece of stubborn wood.

  “Yerlow!” he called. “We have company.”

  “Please don’t let me be a bother,” Chihon said. She started to get up, but he placed his hand over hers once again.

  “It’s not a bother. Yerlow loves company.”

  Yerlow appeared down the stairs. She was about the same age as Gareb and very pretty, with long, brown, naturally curly hair framing a thin face. She wore an apron adorned with pin cushions, ribbons, and bits of thread.

  “Well,” she said as she entered the cooperage. “We do have a guest. And your name would be?” she cocked one eyebrow toward Chihon.

  Chihon rose quickly, almost knocking over the stool. She regained her balance and took a bow. “My name is Chihon, Ma’am.”

  “Yerlow will do nicely,” she said with a smile. “I hope it will be years yet before I earn the right to be called Ma’am.” She reached out her hand to Chihon. “Come with me, you must be exhausted from your trip.”

  Yerlow looked her over, slowly scanning her garments from head to foot. “How long has it been since you had a nice hot bath?”

  “Quite some time, I am afraid.” Chihon reached out and took Yerlow’s hand. Her fingernails were short and well groomed, but her fingers showed calluses from the needles and scissors she wielded on a daily basis.

  “Come on then. Let’s get you cleaned up and fresh before we start preparing dinner.” She shot a look back at Gareb. “Men have their priorities all wrong sometimes. He would have you sit there all day, questioning you without thinking about your comfort.”

  The upstairs was mostly consumed by Yerlow’s business. Several different sizes of dress frames tottered around the main salon, crowding around the work table like guests at dinner. Cloth in strips and swaths hung from each one in a different array. On one, a wedding dress was taking shape.

  Yerlow made her way through the disarray toward the kitchen area. A large pot of water boiled over the fire. She grabbed a pail and tossed it into the sink, beneath the rusty pump. She grasped the handle and gave it a few creaky pumps before water gushed into it. She hefted it out of the sink and handed it to Chihon, and nodded toward a hallway. “First door on the right is where you will find the tub. I’ll be along in a bit with the hot water.”

  Chihon grabbed the bucket and lugged it down the hallway. She poured it into the large tub and headed back for more. After she completed the hauling, Yerlow guided her back toward the bath. “There’s a screen there. Go ahead and get out of those clothes.”

  Yerlow turned toward the table and plucked something from one of the piles. She held out a robe made of soft lush cotton. It was light blue with a long belt sewn into the waistline. “This should suit you until we can get your travel clothes cleaned up.”

  Chihon hesitated to take the proffered robe. She was not used to such finery, nor was she used to bathing indoors in a tub.

  “Go on with you, get yourself cleaned up,” Yerlow insisted. “I’ll let you have your privacy. I’ll be over here if you need anything.” She turned to head back to the kitchen.

  “Please, will you sit and talk with me?” Chihon asked. “I’m so worried about Lorit. The wizards think he is dead, but I know he’s not. I can feel him.” She reached her hand over her heart. “I feel him, here. I know he’s alive.”

  “Maybe you can feel him because you two are close. How long have you known each other?”

  “Not really that long, but we’ve been through a lot together,” Chihon said. “Lorit found me in the market. He was going to escort me to Amedon where I can be trained. Then we got caught up in a little trouble, and just when we got out, he’s gone missing. I think they took him—the priests—and the wizards are no help. It’s like they don’t care about him anymore.”

  “You really like him, don’t you? What’s he like?” Yerlow seated herself on the stool next to the tub.

  “He’s brave and strong. He would do anything for his friends. He stood up for Ryvor at the courthouse, when most people would have let him hang. He snuck into the temple in Bebrook to free Ardser, but the priests had already killed the boy. When the priest realized he was in the temple, he raised his shields and walked right past him and out the front door.

  “He is powerful. Most of the time he keeps his shields up and it’s hard to tell, but once in a while he drops them. Then I can feel the power in him. It shines like the light of the sun. Yerlow, I’m worried. What do you think they’ve done to him? Why can I feel him but no one else can?”

  “I don’t know much about wizards. That’s Gareb’s specialty. He may have a better idea,” Yerlow confided.

  After the bath, Yerlow helped Chihon dry and get dressed.

  “This is beautiful,” Chihon said, looking at herself in the mirror. Her long brown hair cascaded in curls to fall about her shoulders, covering the collar of the robe. She twirled in a circle, watching the hemline flare out in response. Chihon wasn’t used to the finer things in life, having grown up around her Grandma’am’s bakery.

  “You look great,” Yerlow said. “Like a proper young lady.”

  While Chihon luxuriated in the warm water, Yerlow had prepared the evening meal. The sun was just setting when Gareb stomped up the stairs. He shouted ahead before entering the loft, “Is everybody decent?”

  “It’s safe,” Yerlow replied. “You can come on up. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  Gareb headed to the dinner table. He shoved one bench out with his foot, but before he could drop to his seat, Yerlow held up her hand. “Forget how to wash up?” she asked. She pointed over to the sink that now held steaming water topped with suds.

  He rolled his sleeves up and doused his hands into the liquid. He swished them around, grabbed the gray block of pumice soap from a dish at the edge, and scrubbed his rough hands. He tossed the soap back into the dish and rinsed his hands once more. He looked around, shrugged, and wiped his hands on his pants before turning back toward the table.

  “That’s much better,” Yerlow said. She pushed the bench out from under the table with her foot while carefully balancing the tray filled with roast fowl meat and potatoes. “Don’t be shy, grab a seat.”

  Chihon took her seat in front of a mat woven from rolled scraps of fabric. On top of the mat was a slightly battered brass plate and accompanying spoon. Beside the spoon was her hunting knife, cleaned and polished. It looked like it had been sharpened recently.

  Yerlow sat on the bench next to her. She lifted the bench and scooted them both up to the table. She cocked one eye at the knife. “I hope you don’t mind, but your knife needed attention almost as badly as you did.”

  Chihon picked up the blade and examined it. She ran her thumb over the edge, careful to avoid any pressure but enough to feel the edge. It was as sharp as she’d ever seen it. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said.

  Gareb hefted his knife and swiftly cut a section of the meat free. He skewered it and transferred it to his plate. Soon he had a heaping pile of meat and vegetables. He dipped his spoon into a pot of thick brown gravy. He smothered the pile on his plate indiscriminately with it.

  Chihon timidly cut a small piece of meat. She paired it up with a small potato and a few stalks of asparagus. Gingerly, she dipped her spoon in the pot and drizzled a few lines o
f brown gravy over the meat. She sat back and waited for her host to serve herself.

  “What are you waiting for, child?” Gareb asked.

  “She has manners,” Yerlow said. “She’s waiting for her host to be served.” She stabbed a piece of meat and a few vegetables and quickly transferred them to her plate. She lifted her glass toward Chihon and said, “To our guest.”

  Gareb quickly grabbed his cup and likewise lifted it. “To our guest,” he said. He took a large swig and thumped the cup back down on the table. The beer inside sloshed and some made its way out of the cup and slopped onto the table.

  Chihon raised her glass and said, “To my hosts.” She gingerly took a sip and placed it before her.

  “Yerlow tells me that you’re suitably rested and ready to begin your lessons after the meal,” Gareb said. He looked her over and said, “You certainly look a lot better.”

  “I feel much better,” Chihon said. “Thanks to your lovely wife.” She looked over at Yerlow, who gave her a slight bow.

  “Well, the first thing you need to learn is to raise your shields, so the priests don’t come running every time you practice magic. They’re very good at finding unshielded young boys. I figure you being a young lady and all, probably threw them off a bit.”

  “So I understand,” Chihon said.

  “You say you’ve been in contact with Rotiaqua?”

  “Yes, do you know her?” Chihon sliced a bit of fowl and stuffed it into her mouth, careful of the sharp edge on her knife.

  “Do I know her?” he asked with a laugh. “I know of her, yes. Know her, as in personally met her? Never.”

  “Why do you say that?” Chihon asked. She leaned in to get a clearer look at Gareb as he explained.

  “I already told you, I’m not one of the mighty ones. I’m just a lowly wizard with very limited powers. The mighty ones don’t mix much with the likes of me.”

  “She certainly knows of you. She told me to come see you specifically. She told me to trust you implicitly. She must know you.”

  “She knows me, I suppose, but I certainly don’t know her. Nor wizard Zhimosom, either. They’re the mighty ones, after all.” He emphasized his words with a gesture of magnificence, as if taking in a grand sight.