Wizardoms- Eye of Obscurance

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  He considered starting a conversation, but he didn’t know what to say. So much about the world outside of his mountain home still confused him, and his naivety had led to numerous embarrassing moments since he had joined the troupe. It made him wonder if he would ever fit in.

  Rhoa looked at him and broke the silence, saving him from the task. “Your eyebrows look good.”

  His hand went to his forehead. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

  She shrugged. “Body art is among Sareen’s skills. I thought it might help make your appearance less…unusual.”

  His eyes flicked to her and back to the ground, the conversation reminding him of his hairless body – a source of profound shame. An adult male Maker without a beard was unnatural, and Rawk’s smooth, bare face was a constant reminder of his failures. He thought of his father and the man’s thick, brown beard braided to his waist. Bawkobon held much pride in his beard, far more than any pride he had ever shown toward his son. Everyone in Ghen Aeldor knew of Rawkobon the freak. It was the sort of fame one wished to avoid.

  Rhoa spoke again while watching the crew secure guy-lines. “Our first performance will come in two days. The first show is always half-price, intended to draw the curious and create a buzz in the city. I would expect as many as two hundred tomorrow, twice as many on our biggest days.”

  “Four hundred?” That was eight hundred eyes. Rawk tried to imagine so many watching him. Less than four thousand Makers lived in all of Ghen Aeldor, spread across two-dozen holds.

  When Rhoa turned toward him, she must have seen the fear in his eyes. “Don’t worry.” She patted his hand. “You will be hidden for most of your performance. Just shape rock and make it look pretty. Everyone will clap, and you will get paid.”

  “Paid.” He repeated the word, as if tasting it for the first time. The idea of receiving precious metal for shaping stone still felt foreign.

  Pippa walked over and sat with her legs crossed, facing Rhoa. “Are you telling him about tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but mostly I’m telling him he has nothing to worry about.”

  Pippa tilted her head while staring at Rawk. “I wish I could do what you do. Changing boring old stone to something beautiful… It’s a wonderful kind of magic.”

  He grunted. “It’s not magic.”

  Rhoa’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand how you do it, but it definitely is magic.”

  “It doesn’t feel like magic.”

  “What does it feel like?” Pippa asked.

  He put a finger to his lips as he considered how to explain. “I can feel the rock. Everywhere I go, I have a sense of the rock around me. I know if it is soft, like dirt, or brittle, like shale, or hard, like granite. I can feel the fissures and impurities when I touch it and can tell if something else, such as a gem, is hidden inside.”

  Pippa grinned. “Finding gems is a wonderful talent. If you get the right ones, you could be rich!”

  Dark thoughts arose, shrouded by guilt. Rawk turned away. “That is forbidden.”

  “Finding gems?”

  He shook his head. “No. Coveting them. Keeping them. Selling them.”

  “What do you do with them then?”

  “Gems are given to the fire in the mountain as gifts to Vandasal.”

  Pippa frowned. “Fire in the mountain? Like a volcano?”

  “We certainly hope not. So long as you control the pressure, the lava remains calm.”

  “You mentioned Vandasal again. Is he your god?” Rhoa asked.

  Rawk nodded.

  “And you are required to give the gems you find to him?”

  “Yes. It is among our core beliefs.”

  Rhoa fell silent as she stared at Rawk. Feeling awkward, he turned away.

  Her hand touched his, and he stared down at it.

  When she spoke, her tone was filled with compassion. “Forget about the past. You are here now, with us.” His gaze met hers, and she smiled, her white teeth in contrast to her coppery skin. “You were describing how you shape stone.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “When I touch it, I push my fingers in while willing the stone to give way. My thoughts, as much as my touch, guide the stone. Rock shards come loose until the surface is what I perceive in my mind.”

  “Wow,” Pippa breathed.

  “That doesn’t explain the polish,” Rhoa said. “How do you get it to shine?”

  “Polishing is more of the same, except I remove far smaller bits of rock. The result makes it appear smooth and shiny.”

  Pippa stood. “Well, it’s getting dark, and I’m to help with dinner tonight. I’ll talk to you guys later.”

  The blonde girl walked off, and Rhoa leaned back with a sigh. “I wish Stanlin would return. I want to ask him how long we intend to remain at Starmuth.”

  “Where else would we go?”

  After a moment, she replied, “Fastella. It’s a big city, far bigger than what you see here.” She pointed toward Starmuth.

  Rawk’s gaze followed her gesture. Again, he gazed at the city walls and wondered at the shoddy work. Even from hundreds of feet away, he could see the seams and unevenness in the outer surface. The roofs beyond the walls were more of the same – structures that would leave a Maker extremely embarrassed.

  “How long do you usually remain in one city before moving to the next?”

  She shrugged. “It depends on the city and the crowds. Bigger cities pack the tent regularly, which keeps the troupe around for many weeks. Cities like this may last as little as twenty days.”

  “And you would like to move on?”

  She hesitated again before nodding. “I would.”

  “This life of traveling from city to city and performing… You enjoy it?”

  Rhoa frowned while peeling off layers of a thick stalk of grass, appearing lost in thought. Finally, she tossed it aside and gave him a sidelong look. “I enjoy parts of it. The troupe is like a family to me. In fact, they are all I have. Then there is the thrill of performing. I know I am good at it, and the rush I get when I have the crowd watching my every move… It’s as if I cast a spell over them. They will gasp, laugh, weep, or scream at my whim. It is magic of another nature, and the power is intoxicating.

  “However, there are times I wish I had something more in my life. I remember the feeling of having a home, a place where I belonged, a place filled with love and happiness. Someday, I would like to live such a life again.”

  She stood and dusted off her breeches. “It was nice speaking with you, Rawk. You should talk more often.”

  After she walked away, he wondered at his lingering sense of sorrow.

  Jace jammed the blade of his knife between the window and the sill, lifting it to flip the lock. He pulled the window open and peered inside. The barn interior was dark, the only light coming through the open window. He lifted his leg over the sill and climbed in. A pen occupied the far corner, and the space smelled of a mixture of manure and animal musk.

  Moving carefully, he fumbled around and found a doorknob. He opened the door to a completely dark room smelling of dirt. Taking a step inside, he ran into a crate. Feeling about blindly, he found potatoes and began stuffing them into his pack. When he turned, he came across a barrel filled with apples. Eight apples joined the potatoes before he backed out of the room.

  A long, thin crack of moonlight showed through the narrow gap in the barn doors. He unlatched the internal hook and eased the door open. Moonlight shone into the barn, chasing the shadows to the corners. A saddle hung on the wall, and two horses stood in the pen. One lifted its head and sneezed. Jace grinned. After two days, traveling on foot was about to end. The remainder of his journey would be much more pleasant.

  He took the saddle down and opened the pen door.

  “Easy now,” Jace said softly as he approached the nearest horse – a piebald, the large, brown eyes following him. “My name is Jace. I hope you don’t mind going for a little run.”

  The horse didn’t shy away when he put t
he saddle onto its back. Moments later, he had the saddle secured and his pack tied to it. He led the horse out and closed the barn door.

  A sound came from the farmhouse, less than thirty feet away. Jace quickly climbed onto the horse as the door opened.

  “Stop!” a man yelled.

  Jace kicked the horse forward as the man lifted a crossbow. With a yip, Jace gripped the saddle horn and slid sideways, ducking so the horse’s body was between him and the farmer. A twang sounded and a crossbow bolt flew over him, so close that Jace heard the whistle of its passing. The horse ran. Jace almost slipped before righting himself and throwing his leg back over the saddle.

  He rode into the night, wanting to put distance between him and the farmer before resting. When the sun rose, he would be on the road and on his way to Starmuth.

  19

  Black Sparrow

  The menagerie tent was massive, two hundred feet in length and standing a hundred feet tall at the center. A line of people waited outside, Jace among them. It was late afternoon, the weather cool with clouds blanketing the sky and a stiff breeze coming from the sea.

  Jace had arrived at Starmuth around noon, offering him the luxury of a hearty lunch, his first substantial meal since leaving Marquithe. The memory of the meal, mutton and vegetable skewers, replayed fondly in his head. After a long stretch of trail rations and a few days of no food while he was locked in a cell, a hot meal had been like a dream come to life.

  The line began to advance one step at a time. Jace inched along with it, eventually reaching the front where a massive man stood with his arms crossed, his glare leaving no doubt he meant business. A tall blonde woman stood beside him, holding a small barrel with a slot in the top.

  “Five coppers, please,” the woman said with a smile.

  Jace had the coins ready and dropped them into the barrel, the distinctive clinking of money echoing inside. He then ducked under the tent flap and stepped inside.

  Two thick poles spaced sixty feet apart supported the center of the tent, while a series of smaller poles supported the exterior. At the heart of the tent, a ring of interlocking wooden blocks formed a wall three feet tall.

  Jace paused to consider the oddities inside the ring – a ten-foot-tall staircase, a long board supported in the middle by two braces, round pedestals of different heights, a large boulder, and a wooden panel secured to the base of a tent pole. Pegs ran the length of both center poles, leading to platforms halfway up. A trapeze was secured to each post, just above the platforms, the ropes hanging from a set of long, wooden beams connected to two posts.

  Lowering his gaze, Jace walked along the wooden benches encircling the outside of the ring. Behind the benches, white canvas hanging from the top of the tent divided the outer portion on all sides, save for the entrance.

  Jace caught up to the couple in front of him – a wizard and wizardess dressed in green and gold. There were other wizards among the crowd, as well as merchants wearing fine doublets and jackets. In fact, only a handful of spectators, like himself, wore muted colors and commoner clothing. It made sense. Most commoners were reluctant to part with coin for mere entertainment, preferring to spend it on food, ale, or clothing. When the couple ahead of him sat on a bench, he sat beside them. In moments, the bench was full. Minutes passed. The tent filled until every seat was occupied, leaving a handful of latecomers to stand near the entrance. Conversation buzzed, the space filled with an air of anticipation, until a deep, booming drum beat twice and all fell quiet.

  Music began to play, a lively tune with drums, a flute, and a lyre. The tent flap opposite the entrance parted, and a tall man with a dark, curled mustache walked out. He wore a red coat with gold trim and gold buttons. On his head was a tall hat, red with black and gold. He began twirling the cane in his hand around his body while he spun in the opposite direction. All eyes were on him. When he reached the center of the tent, he stopped, the cane pointed toward the sky. It came to life, blooming with a bright, white light at the end, forming a spotlight on the ceiling. The music stopped at the same moment and the tent grew quiet.

  “Welcome to Stanlin’s World of Wonder!” he bellowed, lowering his cane and dousing the light.

  Cymbals struck, the clang reverberating throughout the tent.

  “Today’s performance begins with a revelation. You will be the first to witness the latest wonder I have discovered. Please welcome the Rock Whisperer, the man who tames stone.”

  The audience clapped weakly as a short, stout man in a purple stocking cap strolled out. He wore a purple vest and black breeches, his thick, bulging arms bare as he walked over to the boulder and stood beside it.

  The announcer gestured toward the boulder. “Using nothing but his bare hands, the Rock Whisperer will turn this two-ton boulder into a work of art.” The short man held up his empty hands and spun around as Stanlin turned toward the side of the room. “The curtain, please.”

  Two men ran out and draped a white curtain over the short man and the boulder, hiding them from view.

  “And so our performance begins!” Stanlin’s cane glowed again, the spotlight pointed toward a gap in the crowd. “Enter the Bandego Brothers!”

  The music resumed and two men appeared in the spotlight, leaping over the ring to land in the center. They each began juggling, one with three batons, the other with four. The man with three began tossing his to the other man until he juggled seven. The crowd oooed and clapped. The batons were soon discarded in favor of eight colored balls, which the two began tossing back and forth to each other in a loop so fast, one could barely track their movements.

  The ringmaster shouted again. “Bring me the Tumbling Twisters!”

  Two men and a small young woman stepped out from the curtains. The men were shirtless and wore billowing white pants secured tightly at the ankles. The woman wore a tight white vest and skirt to match. Jace leaned forward and stared hard at the girl before deciding she could not be the one he sought. Her skin and hair were too fair, her eyes blue rather than brown.

  With one man leading the girl, all three climbed the tent poles. Reaching the top, one man grabbed a trapeze and jumped from the platform. An ahh came from the crowd as they watched him swing fifty feet up. The other man grabbed the second trapeze and began swinging, gaining momentum, while the first man lifted his legs to the bar and released his hands so he swung upside down. The other man did the same, the girl gripping his hands when he swung over the platform. The couple swung higher and higher, until the girl released her grip on the man’s hands. The crowd gasped. She flipped once in the air, then the second man grabbed her wrists, catching her. The crowd clapped and cheered.

  A small form dressed in black suddenly ran out, climbed on top of the wall encircling the ring, and ran around it, balancing with ease. It was a girl, her eyes and the top of her head covered by a black mask just like what Jace recalled from the Enchanters’ Tower. Jace leaned forward, watching the masked figure in black.

  It must be her, he thought.

  The girl in black leapt and flipped over Stanlin, stealing the surprised man’s cane in the process.

  “It’s the Black Sparrow!” Stanlin shouted. “She stole my cane! Get her!”

  The thieving girl ran up to one of the jugglers and swept the cane beneath him, knocking his legs out from underneath him. He fell to the ground. She dropped the cane as she slid into his place, juggling with the other man briefly before she redirected the balls and began pelting him with them. The juggler cried out, and the audience laughed as he tried, unsuccessfully, to dodge the balls. One struck him in the crotch. He doubled over, eyes bulging as he fell to his knees. The Black Sparrow threw her last ball, hitting the man in the head and bringing more laughter from the crowd as he fell over sideways.

  “Help!” Stanlin shouted. “We need someone strong enough to stop the Black Sparrow!”

  A roar came from across the tent as a man appeared, the same huge, muscular man Jace had seen out front. The girl yipped and ran as t
he big man gave chase. After one loop around the ring, the man hoisted a barrel. She rushed up the stairs to the platform and looked back. The big man followed, still holding the barrel as he climbed the stairs. The girl leapt down to land on the middle of a long board held up by two supports in the center. A roar came from the big man on the platform. Black Sparrow backed away, moving down the board as it bent lower and lower with her weight. She stopped, noticing Stanlin waiting with his arms extended, ready to grab her.

  The big man at the top of the staircase bellowed, “You are trapped now, Black Sparrow.”

  Still holding the barrel, he jumped onto the short end of the long board. His weight drove one end downward, her end springing up. She launched upward, spinning once before extending her arms. The trapeze with the man and girl hanging from it swung out. With arms outstretched, the female trapeze artist clasped wrists with the Black Sparrow, catching her.

  The three people then swung in two, widening arcs. When the second swing reached its apex, the girl in black released her grip. In a flash, she pulled the blades strapped to her thighs and jammed them into the beams at the top of the tent. When blue sparks emitted from the blades, Jace was certain.

  It is her!

  The crowd gasped as the girl dressed in black dangled sixty feet up with nothing below to save her should she fall. She then pulled one blade free and drove it into the beam an arm’s length away. She repeated the process two more times, then kicked out. Both blades came free. The crowd gasped again as she fell.

  The girl rotated as she plummeted toward the ground, her momentum taking her closer and closer to one of the tent poles. She jammed both blades into the wood, dragging them down the length of the thick post in a trail of sparks, stopping just a few feet above the ground. The big, muscular man rushed in and caught her, knocking her blades away as he scooped her up and carried her to a wooden panel with ropes at the top. He tied each of her hands to a rope and stepped back.