by Wark, RM
Fallon had never seen anything more beautiful in his life – well, except for maybe that girl with the jet-black hair. It was a slender white stick adorned with tiny veins of grey and tan and black. It was so smooth to the touch that Fallon could not help but caress it.
“It comes from the Taiga Forest,” said Isaiah.
“Where the mysterious white deer are?” asked Fallon.
“Aye,” replied Isaiah. “How did you know about them?”
“Gentry told me. He said his father went hunting for them once.”
“Oh, and did he catch one?” asked the Steward, amused.
“No. And I do not believe he has any desire to try again. That forest is haunted, you know.”
Isaiah smiled. “Well, this particular wand was crafted long ago, before the forest was…haunted, as you say. It has been passed down for centuries to the Stewards of Reed.”
“But your wand does not look like this,” noted Fallon, a bit confused.
“No, I still have my wand. There are actually three different wands that have been passed down. Mine, yours, and a third that is kept in a secret compartment in the Council Chambers.”
“Only three? But what happens if the wand breaks?” asked Fallon.
“Then we shall only have two – so be careful.”
“Can we not just acquire another wand somehow?”
“Unfortunately, no,” sighed Steward Isaiah. “The village has but three remaining wands. If they break – when they break – that shall be the end of sorcery training for the Stewards.”
Steward Isaiah went on to explain the lore as he understood it: a thousand years ago, the wizards were much more careless about their magical implements. Wands and simple spell books were frequently cast aside carelessly. At the time, wizards did not believe that anyone besides themselves possessed the gift of sorcery. Eventually, the misplaced wands and spell books started appearing in novelty shops and book stores. A Steward of Reed from a thousand years ago – Steward Isaac – was keen on collecting these items. He sent people throughout the Western Territories in search of anything that might have been cast aside by wizards. He knew somehow that they would prove useful, and he and his successors spent years trying to master sorcery. Eventually word reached the wizards that the common people were practicing magic. Since then, the wizards had gone to great lengths to keep their own magical items more secure, and to destroy any magical items found in the possession of a non-wizard.
“Steward Isaac’s foresight is the reason you and I are able to practice magic today,” noted Isaiah. “Some Stewards, like Isaac, seemed to have a knack for sorcery, others did not; but the skill is one of the reasons the Village of Reed persists to this day.”
Fallon took this to heart and practiced every spell he could find for months, never stopping until he could perform each and every one flawlessly. Open locked doors? No problem. Make small objects move across the room? Easy. Surround an area with a large puff of smoke? Fun.
He could not quite replicate Steward Isaiah’s skill of influencing the weather – that was not his gift. His attempts to call forth lightning storms merely resulted in a few clouds becoming more grey. Yet he still wanted to learn more.
“I imagine, with your innate talents, that you would be capable of pulling off much more difficult spells, spells that might even rival the wizards,” Steward Isaiah confessed. “Unfortunately, our knowledge is limited to only the simplest of spells. The wizards have seen to that.”
It was impossible to mistake the look of immense disappointment on Fallon’s face.
“I am sorry, son. I cannot teach that which I do not know.”
“I know.”
*************
While Gentry and Dennison were struggling on the ground, Edna had returned home. I must find out what happened to my son, she thought. With all the commotion, the two men failed to notice her. But she noticed them, and she knew that Dennison was in trouble. So she picked up a spade from the garden, walked up behind Gentry as quietly as she could, and slammed it hard into the back of his head.
Gentry had no idea how long he had been out, but when he finally awoke he found himself tied to a chair inside Clive’s home. His head was pounding and there was a loud ringing in his ears. He tried hard to focus on the things around him, but it felt as though the room was spinning.
Dennison approached him with a malicious, gloating smile. “Does your head hurt?” he asked, feigning concern. Then he slapped Gentry in the side of the head as hard as he could.
Bright flashes of light filled Gentry’s field of vision and the shooting pain from the blow made him nauseated. He closed his eyes and said nothing.
“Edna wanted me to kill you straight away, but I resisted. I want you to suffer for everything you have done to me and my crew. I want to see you writhing in pain. I want to hear you beg for mercy.”
Gentry opened his eyes but did not respond. He had no clue how he came to be tied up in the chair, but he knew things were bleak. This was not how events were supposed to unfold. Dennison was seconds away from his own death…how is it possible he now had the upper hand?
Gentry’s eyes darted around the room looking for some way to escape. Although his head was dizzy and his thinking dulled, Gentry knew he was trapped. Any attempt to escape would be futile. “Who is Edna?” he finally asked, though it was almost inaudible. His throat was parched and felt as though it had been sanded raw. He could barely speak.
“Clive’s mother. I sent her to my house for now, but she shall be back. She shall want to know for certain that the fool who killed her only child got what he deserved.”
Dennison picked up his old knife, the one he lost at the River Nye all those years ago, and approached Gentry. He pressed the knife to Gentry’s face and proceeded to slit his cheek open. The pain was sharp and Gentry could not help but cry out as blood poured from the gash.
Dennison laughed.
Gentry’s mind was racing. His head was still pounding, his face was throbbing, he was in pain. He did not want it to end this way. His eyes focused on his bags in the corner of the entryway.
“Do with me as you wish,” Gentry managed to croak with his parched throat. “But please, let me have some water first. I have some in my canteen,” he said, nodding his head towards the corner. Gentry did not know if Dennison would oblige him, but the man walked over and rummaged through Gentry’s things, finally locating the canteen.
“Is this what you want?”
“Aye.”
“That is unfortunate,” Dennison said, laughing as he began to pour the water out.
Gentry sank down low in the chair, defeated, watching the precious contents splash into a puddle on the wooden floor.
Dennison reveled in Gentry’s obvious despair. He laughed and brought the canteen to his own mouth, drinking heartily the few swallows of water that remained. He smacked his lips together and let out a big “Ahh,” just to rub it in a little more. To Dennison’s surprise, Gentry started to chuckle.
“What is so funny?” Dennison demanded.
“You shall find out soon enough,” Gentry croaked.
Gentry knew what was in the canteen. Fallon had shown him the poison locked up in Steward Isaiah’s metalworking shop years ago, gleefully re-telling the story in which he correctly identified the cup with the poison. Gentry had brought some along in a canteen. He had no real plans to use the poison; it was just something he brought as an afterthought. When he saw that Dennison intended to ensure his last moments in this life were pure torture, Gentry decided to swallow the poison. He had no idea what the side-effects would be – but at least he would deprive Dennison of his cruel desires. Gentry never imagined that Dennison would drink from the canteen.
The poison quickly took hold, and before long Dennison felt as though he was burning from the inside out. He broke out in a sweat and the knife he had been holding fell with a loud clank to the floor. Gentry watched as Dennison keeled over, vomiting profusely. The stench was overwhe
lming. In between retches, Dennison felt his chest tighten. He could barely breathe. Every muscle in his body was screaming out in pain, and he curled up in a fetal position on the floor. His body began to shake violently and bubbles of foam appeared in the corners of his mouth. And then everything stopped. The body no longer shook, the mouth no longer moaned, the lungs no longer inhaled. Dennison was dead.
*************
Gentry’s head was still in a fog and it took him a while to process everything that just happened. Dennison was dead on the floor, ironically by his own hand, yet Gentry was still tied to the chair. He knew Edna would be back soon. He had to leave the house before she returned, otherwise he would be dead, too.
Gentry spotted the knife on the floor – his knife, Dennison’s knife. With all the strength he had, he began to rock the chair violently until it toppled over. Unfortunately his shoulder took the brunt of the impact and was now vying with his head and his cheek for the part of his body that was in the greatest amount of pain. Somehow, despite the pain, he managed to inch his way towards the knife. It took forever to position himself just right so he could grasp the knife with his hands, which were tied to the chair behind his back. It took even longer to grip the knife in such a way that the rope cords finally gave way, ever so slowly, at the sawing of the blade.
At last he was free, but he could hardly move. It took the sight (and smell) of Dennison lying in his own vomit only a few feet away to finally motivate Gentry to rise. He stumbled towards the dead man, picked him up by the shoulders and dragged him outside. Casper was still tied up to the post. He neighed loudly at the sight of his master, repeatedly nuzzling Gentry’s hand. The horse was excited to see Gentry, but he was also hungry.
“I am sorry, my friend. You shall have some food when we return to Luca’s.”
By the time Gentry was able to pull Dennison onto the horse, the moon was set high against the dark sky. Gentry kept nervously looking around, expecting Edna or someone else from Dennison’s family to come back, but no one came. At last he mounted Casper and rode off towards the little brown shack.
He fed the horse and then worked long into the night digging a new hole beside the one that held Clive’s body. He knew that Dennison was dead, but before he threw his body into the ground, he slit the man’s throat just to be certain. “That is for Luca,” he said.
Five down.
It was finally over. Justice for Luca had been served. And every time Gentry touched the raised scar on his cheek left by Dennison’s knife, he was reminded of that fact.
*************
Lord Fabian, a tall wizard with wavy brown hair, olive skin and a bright smile, was not too difficult to spot at the Fountains of Laredo. He was sitting at a little bistro table by the fountains, sipping on some tea, and Lady Dinah could tell he had many admirers nearby. He did not seem to notice them, but he did notice her. Jumping to his feet, he bowed and kissed her hand in greeting.
“My Queen,” he said, and her heart fluttered just a little. She could see the looks of jealousy from the surrounding tables and she had to admit it felt good. She was happy she had borrowed some more flattering traveling clothes from Lady Leona – even if they did call more attention to herself.
They walked through the streets of Laredo through an endless maze of shops and houses. It was positively disorganized, with narrow streets twisting this way and that around the lower hills of the Atlian Mountains. Dirty children were running in the street, laundry was hanging out to dry above her head, but laughter and music were everywhere. At last they reached a narrow set of stairs carved out of the hillside.
“It is a bit of a climb,” apologized Lord Fabian.
“I shall manage,” Lady Dinah replied.
The stairs zigzagged back and forth and seemed never-ending. Along the way, they passed by many doors yet stopped at many others that Lady Dinah hoped would lead to Lord Fabian’s house. But each time he tapped them with his wand, they only revealed yet another flight of stairs. Just when she thought she could not will her legs to take another step, they reached the final door.
Lord Fabian’s house on the hillside was magnificent. He had a wrap-around terrace on three sides which overlooked the entire town. She could see where the Lower River Kael snaked its way through the center of town, all the way until it reached the harbor in the West Samora Sea, the same harbor she had arrived at earlier that day. And everywhere she looked there were houses. Houses atop houses atop houses.
“I always thought Bartow was big,” she mused.
“Nothing compares to Laredo,” laughed Lord Fabian. “It may not be as well planned and coordinated as Bartow, but I assure you Laredo is more fun.”
“I suspect Lord Milton would disagree.” Lady Dinah’s smile quickly faded to a frown, though. She kept forgetting he was gone.
Lord Fabian wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle hug.
“How is it you live amongst all these people without being discovered?” she asked. Lord Milton had been the only wizard she knew that lived in the heart of such a bustling town. “Do you rely upon memory spells as well?”
Lord Fabian laughed. “The locals here consume enough alcohol – they do not need any help forgetting things.”
Lady Dinah observed him with a raised eyebrow.
“In truth, I do not leave my house much. And when I do, it is usually at night when it is not so easy to remember a face.”
That night Lady Dinah and Lord Fabian enjoyed quite a bit of alcohol themselves. When they finally decided to retire for the evening, he leaned in to kiss her. And one kiss turned into many more, and with each kiss, with each caress, the walls that had so faithfully guarded the more vulnerable facets of Lady Dinah’s innermost self began to crack and crumble. She hesitated for the briefest of moments, but it was inevitable. Those walls were brought down in a rush of emotions that Lady Dinah had not allowed herself to feel for the better part of two decades. She trembled in Lord Fabian’s arms, and though she lay there naked and exposed, she had never felt more secure. She had never felt more at peace.
There was no hint of any awkwardness the next morning. After breakfast he led her to his library and left her alone. She did not find any of her mother’s journals, but that was just as well. She could barely concentrate anyway.
She stayed a bit longer in Laredo than she had planned, but she knew she must leave soon or else Gordon would likely send a search party after her.
“I shall be back,” she said at their parting.
“And I shall be waiting,” Lord Fabian replied, kissing her softly.
*************
Summer had come and gone and the leaves of autumn now decorated the trees of Reed. Fallon was particularly excited for this upcoming weekend. Gentry and Daria were to be married! And in addition to celebrating this milestone with his best friend, he would have the opportunity to see his family again.
Although he had gone back to Littlebrook for Zeke’s 11th birthday – this time with Uncle Charles and Aunt Rebecca riding alongside him – the visit was much too short. The Steward had only granted him a few days leave, so he was not able to spend as much time with his family as he wanted. After the ceremony on Hexaday, he would have the entire night and following day free to spend with his father and Zeke. He could not wait.
Everyone arrived at the Hartford Inn the day before the wedding: Hammond and Edith, Tobias and Zeke, members of Daria’s family. Plenty of ale was consumed that night (even Zeke took a little sip when no one else was paying attention), but somehow everyone managed to arrive at the old oak tree on time the following day.
Steward Isaiah presided over the short and sweet ceremony. Daria had never looked more beautiful than in her simple blue dress with a white sash and pretty white and blue flowers weaved into a crown upon her head, and Gentry had never looked more happy and nervous, standing at attention in his plain brown suit. They exchanged rings of gold, courtesy of Saul’s Jewelry Shop in Jessum, and drank heartily from a gol
den goblet filled with wine. The vows concluded with a passionate kiss that was cheered on (loudly) by the guests.
Fallon was quite excited for his friend. He briefly entertained the thought of getting married himself one day, but this made him frown. She is a Komanite, he thought, sadly.
“I thought they would never stop kissing,” whispered Zeke with a nudge to Fallon’s side as he nodded towards Gentry and Daria.
This made Fallon laugh, and for a moment he did not think of the girl with the jet-black hair.
As beautiful as the bride and groom and ceremony were, it was actually Beatrice that stole the show (at least as far as Fallon was concerned) with her amazing spread of food. She had been slaving away in the kitchen for days, constantly tripping over Mobley as he tried to lick up any crumbs that fell to the floor.
“I would never admit this to Elizabeth,” Fallon said with his mouth full, “but I think I like your sweet bread better, Beatrice.”
She positively beamed.
That evening they were all back at the Hartford Inn, drinking, dancing, carrying on. Fallon watched as Gentry and Daria danced around the floor for hours. Daria kept urging Fallon to join them, but he remained sitting at a booth with his father and Zeke until the final dance when the wedding song filled the air and all the guests made their way onto the floor:
’Tis a happy day, this wedding day,
A day to remember for all of one’s life,
A day a man has finally taken a wife.
’Tis a happy day, this wedding day,
We feast and dance and sing so bold,
For those that now wear rings of gold.
’Tis a happy day, this wedding day,
When one becomes two and then hopefully three,