To Cast The First Spell (The Maestro Chronicles)

by John Buttrick

  “How could I have so much potential? You expected me to have two or three bolts.” Daniel said, and quickly put his shirt back on.

  “Chosen Vessel,” Terroll murmured, and shook his head as if dismissing the thought, and possibly unaware he had spoken. “The Creator works in mysterious ways. The important thing is to accept what is true. You are a six-bolt Accomplished.”

  “Chosen, you said. Chosen by whom?” Daniel asked.

  “Forget I mentioned it. It was a slip of the tongue. You may as well ask me why water is wet. I have no definitive answer.”

  Daniel decided Terroll was right, it was better to accept what is. Daniel Benhannon was a six-bolt Accomplished and water is wet. What is should not be denied, at least not to himself. But, nobody else needed to know, he thought, and then the ramifications hit him. His family, what about a wife? “How can I keep Val from seeing my lightning bolts? She will see me after we go into the cabin. Can I make these bolts disappear?”

  Terroll pursed his lips and drew in a breath. Whatever he had to say did not promise to be pleasant. “I knew this subject would come up eventually. Aakacarns do not marry, we remain single for life,” he began, and kept talking but Daniel hardly heard.

  He did not want to hear more but the lecture continued. His happiness faded with each explanation as to why marriage was not an option.

  “The markings are permanent and I know what I am telling you is especially hard to except for someone who has had no time to adjust,” Terroll went on, his voice soft and filled with sympathy. “Potentials are usually taken to Aakadon at an early age and have years to learn about the Aakacarn way of life, and the drastic changes demanded of them. Some of them have a harder time adjusting then others, but all must come to understand what is considered proper conduct. You have no such luxury. The responsibilities of being an Accomplished have been thrust upon you only days after discovering your potential.”

  Daniel sighed while listening to why he could not marry Val or anyone. None of the reasons made sense to him, although the Accomplished spoke as if they did. Still, realty must be accepted and his upbringing on the mountain had been a good teacher, Daniel would do what had to be done.

  The Ecoppian finished his speech and sat staring, the silence stretched on, as if he was giving time for the information to sink in. “The Aakacarn way of life is a lonely one. That is why affiliating with a guild is so important. I’m ready to take you to Aakadon if knowing the demands of being an Accomplished has changed your mind.”

  Daniel did not need time to think. “No,” he replied without hesitation. He wanted to stay as far away from the Aakacarn city as was possible and there would be no guild in his future.

  Terroll sighed and nodded his acceptance of the answer. “Very well, do you consider the debt paid?”

  The man had taken a Potential and turned him into a full Accomplished. The pay back far exceeded anything Daniel could think of. “Yes,” he replied, and then picked up his guitarn and strummed a chord.

  “One more thing, will you teach me the memory spell?”

  Daniel was amused, him teach an Accomplished? And, why not, they were equals now? “Sure,” he said, and then played the Melody. The blue aura surrounded him. He kept the power level considerably lower than the original spell had been. He severed the potential and waited for Terroll to respond.

  “That is a complicated spell,” said the Accomplished, while scratching his chin. “I heard a melody and a chorded rhythm. How did you ever learn it?”

  “By accident,” Daniel replied, while strumming random chords. “My mother is a composer and I seemed to have inherited her talent. The Melody came into my mind while I was thinking of fond memories. I first took it to be an original composition, but my parents suggested I must have stumbled onto an Aakacarn spell. A squirrel hunting a hound seems more likely, but what other explanation is there?”

  Terroll shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, but I have lived long enough to know that there are answers to be found if a person is diligent in seeking them. Also, there are many times when the answers lead to more questions. Time will reveal the answers or not but I thank you for teaching me. With the gift of enhanced memory, it is certain I will never forget,” he said, standing up, and then packed away his mahogany instrument.

  Daniel nodded, accepting the gratitude. “Thanks for your teaching. I hadn’t realized how dangerous I was, to myself and everyone else.”

  “You’re welcome,” Terroll replied, and then paused, pursing his lips. “A word of warning, High Power spells send out noticeable ripples and your spell could draw terrible creatures here. Pray that Balem Tamm or any of his followers have felt none of those ripples. Goodbye and take care, my friend,” he added, and then put on his shirt and headed down the path toward the inn.

  Daniel stared into the night while clouds floated above, hiding the moonlight and stars from view. He could not marry and that was bad enough, but the Maestro of the Serpent Guild presented a fresh set of worries. Balen Tamm brings along evil Accomplisheds, yetis, and the Condemneds.

  Daniel glanced at the cabin he now knew would never be shared with Val, or anyone. The flickering firelight made the little dwelling look dark and foreboding. He kicked dirt into the pit, half out of anger and half to smother the fire. The trade off would have been easier to take if he had been given a choice in the matter. He walked home in the damp night and found his parents had gone to bed, no doubt to avoid a possibly awkward conversation with their son. He went to his room, trying not to feel sorry for himself. A stallion does not cry about being a horse and a lions do not whine because they are not bears. He stretched out on his bed and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would take him; maybe he could marry Val in his dreams.

  Chapter Four: Talenteds Journey

  A large gray cloud drifted across the sky, blocking out the sun and providing welcome shade. Violets decorated the field with delicate peddles against the green and, in some areas, brown blades of grass. Dragonflies winged their way up the gentle slope of a broad hill. A narrow sandy trail led straight up and disappeared down the other side.

  Samuel Cresh reined his black mare, Salsa, to a halt. He inhaled crisp clean air and released a sigh of frustration while waiting for Sherree and Jerremy to catch up. Why did she have to stop and heal every single injured creature along the way? He watched her glowing finger touch what looked from his angle to be some kind of rodent. Try as he might, he could not convince her to just let nature take its course. And the Serinian, he hurried for no one.

  Sherree lowered the tiny creature to the ground and watched it scamper away. She heeled Misty, her white stallion, into a gallop. The hood of her silk cloak caught the wind and blew back. Long tresses of blond hair waved freely out and down her back. She drew near and reined the handsome equine to a halt. “Do try to be patient, I couldn’t let the squirrel die,” she said, in a soft and reasonable tone of voice.

  Samuel rolled his eyes upward, He had heard that before, fifty times at least, and dreaded the prospect of hearing it more. He glanced back and frowned. The Serinian leisurely trotted up on Banner, his Taracopian warhorse, sitting regally in the saddle. There was not a single wrinkle or smudge on his white silk outfit. “He’s Teki, they’re always in a hurry to get somewhere,” he said, in a condescending tone of voice.

  Samuel closed his eyes and counted to thirty in his head. “We haven’t even crossed the Gosian River and we should be half way up Tannakonna by now,” he said, trying to keep a tight rein on his temper.

  “See, always in a hurry,” Jerremy said, with an insufferable grin. He glanced ahead and nodded. “We should reach the Gosian soon. I believe it is just on the other side of the next hill.”

  The man could provoke a priest to violence. Sherree at least had a reason for stopping whenever she did. Samuel resisted the urge to slap the smug look off the Serinian’s face. “That’s not the point,” he said, through gritted teeth.

  “We can’t cross if you two keep bicke
ring instead of moving,” Sherree said, as if she was baby-sitting a couple of hyperactive boys. She adjusted her hood in the up position and smiled. Somehow the silk outfit looked better on her. Well, most everything looked better on her.

  “I’ll explain one more time,” Jerremy said, as if he was an instructor. “We are supposedly seeking Potentials. Aakacarns do not gallop into villages like the world is on fire. We ride in calmly as though there isn’t a problem too great for us to handle.”

  The Serinian had a point, although agreeing with him certainly was not palatable. Still, the pace could and should be quickened. Whoever was responsible for casting the High Power spell could be long gone. There did not seem to be anymore ripples coming from Tannakonna. “I understand,” Samuel said, patiently, while glancing back and forth between his companions. “We need to move a little faster.”

  “We should begin now,” Sherree said, smiling sweetly, and then turning serious she heeled Misty into a charge up the hill.

  The implied challenge was accepted. Samuel urged Salsa into a sprint, leaving Jerremy coughing dust.

  “We don’t have to put up with this, let’s show these peasants what you can do. Ho Banner, go!” Jerremy shouted, and heeled the flanks of his warhorse.

  Samuel could hear the Serinian gaining on him. “Come on Salsa!” he shouted. There was no way he would let that arrogant lordling pass him by.

  The black mare topped the hill and started down the other side. The wide river snaked west to east and went out of sight in both directions. Sherree and Misty were half way to what appeared to be an old wooden bridge. By the sound, the warhorse was uncomfortably close behind. Samuel urged more effort from his steed and watched as the Lobenian reined her stallion to a halt near the bank of the Gosian. Samuel and Salsa closed the distance quickly and came to a stop moments before the Serinian. Truth be told, he knew the horses were about equal and also knew he would never tell Jerremy so.

  “Now who is waiting for whom?” Sherree asked, with a smug look on her face, although the expression actually seemed to be attractive on her. The same look had the opposite effect when coming from the Serinian.

  “Wipe the smudge off your face,” Jerremy said, while gently stroking Banner. “You are embarrassing Aakadon.”

  Samuel glanced at Sherree, whose face seemed pretty and clean. She pointed back at him. He wiped his chin until she nodded approval.

  “Better,” Jerremy remarked, and his eyes suddenly sharpened, seeming to focus on a point in the distance.

  Samuel lowered his hood and wondered how Sherree kept hers up all the time without getting overly warm. He turned to get a look at what had the Serinian’s attention.

  The bridge looked to be ancient, although most of the boards seemed to be intact, a few were water rotted and at least four were completely missing. Crossing here would be risky, but it would shorten the distance to Tannakonna considerably.

  Beyond the river, the sandy trail led to another violet covered hill and into a forest of white spruce towering sixty cubits into the sky. A whispering sound came from the many trees as a strong wind filtered through the blue-green needles.

  “Should we cross here or go into Zoltair?” Samuel asked.

  Crossing here and now was the obvious choice, not that Jerremy would care if it quickened the journey. Why had he been chosen to come along? Samuel frowned. The pompous…, look at him. The man acted like the choice was his alone.

  “Zoltair,” Jerremy said, while glancing to the west. “Civilization ends there, nothing but simple mountain folk after that.”

  Of course he would choose another delay. The man had absolutely no consideration for the opinions of others. Samuel turned to Sherree. She usually sided with him against the Serinian, proving she was a woman of good judgment. “What do you say?” he asked, knowing what her reply would be.

  “Zoltair,” the Lobenian said, without as much as a moment’s hesitation.

  “What?” Samuel gasped, not sure he heard correctly.

  “I want a room and a bath tonight,” Sherree replied, in a tone giving notice her mind was made up.

  “But..,” Samuel began.

  “You are out voted,” Jerremy interrupted. He leaned forward in his saddle. “I too would like a room and a bath.”

  “But..,” Samuel began again.

  “Cross the river now if you wish,” the Serinian interrupted again. “Go all the way to Bashierwood for all I care.”

  Samuel could feel the heat in his cheeks, counting to thirty would not do this time. “Fine, I’ll be there and back to Aakadon with the answers before you even manage to cross this blighted river!” he shouted, and then gripped the reins so hard his knuckles turned white.

  “No, don’t go,” Sherree told him, while grabbing hold of his arm. “This isn’t a country outing we’re on. The Grand Maestro warned us there could be danger on this journey. He felt it necessary to send the top three Talenteds in the senior class. You can question my judgment and question Jerremy’s,” she glared at the Serinian for a few moments before returning to the subject. “Are you qualified to question the judgment of Efferin Tames?”

  The only thing worse than the constant delays was being wrong so much of the time. Samuel focused on the ground. “Zoltair,” he reluctantly agreed.

  The biggest problem with Zoltair was finance. Most Talenteds are sponsored by their families and or the kingdom they come from. The Teki are traveling entertainers and belong to no particular kingdom and they do not sponsor Talenteds.

  He had been taken from home against his will, four years ago and he remembered it as though it was only yesterday. Five times he tried returning to his people and the Accomplisheds of the Eagle Guild always succeeded in tracking him down, once actually dragging him back to Aakadon. He had found his family on the last attempt and they declared him to be an Aakacarn and pronounced him dead. The Talenteds were the only family left to him.

  “Oh, I forgot, you have no coins for a room,” Jerremy said, tauntingly. He had plenty of coins, sons of wealthy Serinian lords usually did. This one never seemed to miss an opportunity to remind folks of where he came from and who his parents are.

  Sherree frowned, apparently she had forgotten. Her father and mother own a large hotel, or something like hat, and they proudly sponsored her. Lobenians are strong supporters of Aakadon, so much so even Queen Clareese sent coins to her from time to time.

  Unfortunately, there was not a log close by to crawl under, Samuel wanted to bury himself. Lack of coins would not be a problem once he became a full Accomplished; gratuities often came in the form of silver and gold. For now, he would have to do without. The Serinian obviously wanted to be asked for help, pride is one of the hardest things to swallow.

  “He can stay with me,” Sherree said, evenly, and without explanation. She urged Misty into a trot, heading west.

  Jerremy sat with his mouth wide open. Samuel shut his own mouth and followed the white stallion. It seemed best to accept the Talented’s generosity without question.

  A large boat passed by heading east with the captain at the bow giving orders. His gray coat was unbuttoned, revealing a muscular and extremely hairy chest. His trousers were stained and worn, as were those of the ten shirtless men working the ores, all glistening with sweat.

  Samuel grew weary of hearing nothing but the steady trot of the horses, he wanted to talk but Sherree kept silent and did not even comment when the city finally came into view. He fidgeted in the saddle and spoke not a word, knowing the Serinian would disagree with any comment he made.

  Zoltair was built on the southern bank of the Gosian River, which began two hundred spans north from Lake Farren, located in the valley between Mounts Cormin and Gosian. The river flowed down into the Tannakonna river, and eventually merged with the mighty Hirus, and then into Aakadon.

  A wide mixture of wood and stone buildings lined the cobblestone streets. The largest structure in the city stood twelve stories high. The smooth angles of the seamless whi
te marble walls could only be the work of the Stone Guild, the admiring expression on Jerremy’s face confirmed this to be so. The building had to be extremely old since Ducaunans do not cater to Aakadon and as a result, received little in return. The structure made the buildings of ordinary stone, brick, and lumber, look crude. The entire city seemed to be lacking in quality and style, it was merely functional. But then, most cities looked bland after living in Aakadon.

  Samuel reined Salsa to a halt and observed the activity going on up and down the street. Eight wagons could ride side by side and still leave enough room for people to walk freely between buildings. Zoltair had the distinction of being the second largest city in Ducaun, only Ducanton occupied more space and had a greater population.

  Men wearing buckskins of assorted colors walked beside men dressed in fine clothes of satin, silk, wool, and most every kind of fabric Samuel could imagine. Zoltair, being on the edge of civilization, had a peculiar blend of sophistication and backwoods mystique.

  Samuel crossed the street and headed for the Haven Hotel, which took up half the block. The red brick building stood five stories high and had a constant stream of well dressed men and women trailing through its double glass doors. Most of the patrons were wearing high collars and ruffles in varying shades of red, blue, or violet.

  He dismounted and handed the reins to Sherree. “I’ll inquire about getting us rooms,” he said, without stopping to debate, he never seemed to win them anyway.

  “Ask for the best,” Jerremy said. “We are Aakacarns. Don’t walk in like a peasant.”

  “I know how to act,” Samuel snapped back. He did not need anyone to tell him who or what he was or how to behave.

  As Samuel approached the inn, a man wearing a red wool suit opened the door for him. The middle-aged fellow had streaks of gray in his hair; apparently he had been at this job for many years. He said not a word, but his eyes registered disapproval.

  The establishment was impressive inside, having intricate yellow and green floral patterns in its shiny floor tiles. Samuel could even make out his own reflection as he glanced down. Fine couches were provided for patrons waiting to check in or out. Silver oil lamps gave the extra lighting required to show off the furnishings and accessories.