Eye of the Wizard: A Fantasy Adventure

by Daniel Arenson

  Romy shrieked in fear, and Neev tossed the fireball he summoned, eyes narrowed. With a crackle, his rabbit ears vanished, and he felt a tail sprout behind him. The fireball crashed into the moldman, knocking it down. It groaned, kicked its feet, then lay still and smoking.

  Neev took shaky breaths, a monkey's tail peeking under the hem of his cloak. God help us, what is a moldman doing here? His heart pounded against his ribs.

  Hair crackling, Romy knelt beside the burned creature. "A moldman!" she said and shuddered. "These creatures are known in the underground. We demons hate them, and they hate us. What's one doing here? They usually sleep in the earth, waking up only to hunt worms." She began to suck her thumb, trembling. Then she noticed Neev's monkey tail and her eyes widened. She removed her thumb, started to giggle, and reached out to grab the tail. Neev pulled it away, glowering.

  He took a few more shaky breaths, trying to hide the tremble in his fingers. This creature was different than those that had invaded Burrfield, but nevertheless, the sight of a monster filled him with memories. The agony of that day, five years ago, flooded him. The day grobblers killed his parents. The day he swore to become a warlock. Neev looked down at the dead moldman and felt nauseous.

  "Warlocks can summon moldmen," he said softly.

  Neev remembered the warlock who had led the grobblers into Burrfield. The man's face had remained hidden in his hood, but Neev had sworn to find him someday. I swore I'd become a warlock powerful enough to kill him.

  But what would happen now? He was banished from the Coven just when he needed all his training. Monsters were returning, and Neev felt like a boy again, helpless to stop them.

  Being out in the forest suddenly seemed very, very frightening.

  Romy slipped her hand into his. Her hand was hot, and Neev squeezed it, more lost and confused than he'd been since Burrfield burned.

  Chapter Four

  Twisted Tongue, Straight Arrows

  It was her sixteenth birthday, and tonight Cobweb would be anointed an adult spiderling... or outcast into a life of exile and pain.

  She swam in the pond, waterlilies blooming around her, glowing dragonflies circling above. She tried to calm her worry by admiring the sunlight on the water, the chirping of robins in the surrounding alders, and the sound of the waterfall behind her. Spiderlings are never really banished on their Star Ceremonies, she told herself. That only happens in stories.

  She placed her feet down on the lake-bed and sighed. Her thoughts always sounded so coherent. If only she could speak as clearly as she thought, she'd have no cause for concern. But when she spoke....

  Cobweb took a deep breath and tried speaking her thoughts aloud. "S-s-spidewwings awe nevew weawy b-banished," she said. "D-dat o-o-onwy happens in stowies."

  She sighed. It was no use. No matter how hard she tried, she could not speak like an adult. She sounded like a baby just learning to talk. Everyone thinks I'm stupid because I sound funny, she thought. If only they could hear my thoughts, they'd know I'm smart.

  Cobweb stepped out of the pond onto a grassy shore. Sunbeams glowing around her, she slipped on her dress, a dress woven of gossamer that glowed like moonlight. Upon her head she placed a garland of crocuses, purple like her skin, and donned a necklace of painted apple seeds. I'll be fine, she told herself, watching birch leaves float in the lake. There's nothing to worry about. She tried speaking the words aloud: "N-n-nutting to wowwy about."

  Cobweb sighed.

  It wasn't fair. All her friends anxiously awaited their Star Ceremonies, spending moons (if not years) planning the event. After all, a Star Ceremony—the night a spiderling turned sixteen—was the most important day ever. Ever. When the first star twinkled, the clan elders would pass judgment upon the girl. If she was perfect, she would be anointed with dew, becoming an adult of the clan. And if she was impure, well....

  Cobweb shook her head and began walking between the birches, bluebells carpeting the forest floor and caressing her bare feet. She tried not to think about it, but she couldn't help remembering the tale of poor Tangleweb. The spiderling had lived here a hundred years ago, born with a birthmark beneath her eye. The elders had deemed her impure, a danger to the spiderling race. They banished her from Spidersilk Forest, and spiderlings whispered that the humans caught poor Tangleweb and ate her.

  Cobweb shivered. "B-but dat was d-diffewent," she told herself. Spiderlings lived for beauty, for purity, and poor Tangleweb had been marred. I myself have no physical deformity. Her hair was milky white and glowing, her eyes blue as sapphires, her skin perfect lavender. Will the elders deem my voice a monstrosity?

  "M-m-monstwosity," she tried, then sighed. It was no use. Why must I sound like a baby? Tears filled her eyes, and she caressed the spiderweb tattooed onto her shoulder. Please help me tonight, spider spirits.

  She walked between the trees, heading toward Memory Meadow, the holiest place in the forest, the place where every Star Ceremony was held. Cobweb walked as slowly as could be, dreading sunset. It was dangerous wandering alone, she knew. Humans could burst through the trees, wielding weapons of that strange, hard material called "temal" (or something of the sort). Humans loved eating spiderlings, Cobweb knew... though right then, she'd prefer to face a human army over the scrutinizing elders.

  I just have to keep my mouth shut, Cobweb told herself. If the elders ask me anything, I'll just nod or smile. She could not, of course, pretend to lose her voice. Falling ill was the worst sign of impurity.

  A starling landed on her shoulder, and Cobweb patted the bird, tears on her cheek. I don't want to be exiled, she thought. I love Spidersilk Forest. She tried saying it aloud, practicing: "I w-w-wove Spidewsiwk Fowest."

  Cobweb sighed.

  Soon she heard tinkling laughter ahead, the laughter of spiderlings, a sound like rain on flowers. I'm here.

  Cobweb stepped into Memory Meadow, the heart of Spidersilk Forest, the heart of every spiderling. The towering Memory Boulders stood in a ring around the meadow, each taller than Cobweb, glistening with golden runes. The Ancient Ones had arranged these monoliths in the shape of the planets, carving the runes that collected starlight. Pollen glistened in sunbeams that fell upon the meadow, and flower petals glided through the air. On most days, only the elders were allowed in Memory Meadow, the caretakers of its magic. Today, for Cobweb's Star Ceremony, a hundred spiderlings sang and laughed here.

  Singing their songs, tunes formless and playful as butterflies fluttering, the spiderlings were arranging baskets of fruit and jugs of wine. Glittering dragonflies and fireflies haloed around their heads, lazily gliding, leaving wakes of golden powder. The spiderlings wore gossamer over their lavender skin, and flowers filled their glowing white hair. Humans were separate from nature, Cobweb knew, and could at best form a bond with it; spiderlings had always been part of nature, one with flowers and stones and leaves.

  Her two best friends, Gossamer and Webdew, were hanging strings of glowing riverstones upon the birches. They noticed Cobweb and ran toward her, feet silent in the grass.

  "You're here!" they said and hugged her.

  Cobweb looked at all the spiderlings who smiled at her, standing among bouquets, the sunbeams glowing upon them. "It-it's b-beautifuw," Cobweb whispered.

  But not every spiderling loved Cobweb. As she walked through the meadow, holding her friends' hands, some spiderlings snickered. Others whispered amongst themselves. "There comes the baby," one girl whispered to her friend, probably not meaning Cobweb to hear, but she heard anyway. Her eyes moistened. I'm not a baby, she thought, biting her lip. It's not my fault that I talk like one.

  Her friend Webdew, her skin soft purple and her sapphire eyes sparking, gave Cobweb's hand a squeeze. "Just ignore them," she said. "Who cares what they think?"

  Gossamer, her other friend, nodded. She wore feathers strewn through her glowing white hair, and acorns hung from her pointy ears. "Those who whisper are the real babies."

  Cobweb nodded, sniffing back tears. "T-ta
nk you."

  The feast soon began, the spiderlings settling in the grass before wooden bowls of fruits, but Cobweb could not eat. She sat before her bowl, not touching it. She held a goblet of raspberry juice but could not drink. Around her the spiderlings ate, drank, danced, and sang, but Cobweb sat silently, twisting her toes.

  Gossamer noticed her unease and kissed Cobweb's cheek. "You'll do great," she said. "Just think—tonight you'll be an adult."

  "I hope so," Cobweb said and couldn't help but smile. I said that sentence all right, she thought. Somehow, talking to Gossamer always seemed easiest. She even managed a sip of juice.

  But soon the sun began to set, and Cobweb's smile vanished. In a few moments the first star would rise, and then the Memory Boulders would glow. Cobweb gulped. The moment of truth.

  Indeed, a hush fell over the spiderlings as the elders, holding lanterns, emerged from the forest.

  All eyes fell upon them. There were five elders; there had been five for time beyond memory. They were ancient beings of light, maybe centuries old. Their hair was long and white, their skin indigo, their faces cold and unlined. Fireflies haloed around their brows, and they wore robes woven of spiderwebs. Silent, paper lanterns in hand, the clan elders stepped into the meadow.

  Cobweb whimpered and clutched Gossamer's hand.

  The sunlight fleeing, the elders came to stand before Cobweb, gazing upon her with blue eyes, eyes far too large, deep, and old. Gulping, knees trembling, she stood to face them. The other spiderlings crowded around, holding moonflowers and primroses, the flowers of the night skies. Gossamer held Cobweb's left hand, while her friend Webdew held her right hand, patting it.

  Please, spirits of Spidersilk, help me, Cobweb prayed. The elders raised their eyes to the sky. Cobweb and her friends did the same. Everyone held their breath.

  For a moment there was silence.

  Shy, winking, the first star appeared.

  The Memory Boulders that surrounded the meadow, arranged like the planets, collected the starlight. Their runes began to glow with azure light. Everyone exhaled and mumbled blessings and prayers.

  "Cobweb of Spidersilk Forest," spoke one elder, her voice so loud and sudden that Cobweb started. "Tonight is your Star Ceremony, your passage into adulthood."

  Cobweb nodded, allowing herself a tremulous smile. The light of the runes and fireflies seemed to spin around her, blinding her. It's going to be all right, she told herself, squeezing her friends' hands. I'm going to become a woman tonight.

  One elder examined her eyes. "Clear, perfect blue," she announced.

  A second elder examined her hair, passing her fingers through it. "Soft, glowing white... pure."

  The third elder examined her lips and teeth, deeming the former full and soft, the latter straight and sparkling. The fourth elder praised her purple skin strewn with "perfectly whimsical freckles", while the fifth and final elder deemed her body of "godly proportions."

  Cobweb smiled. They like me! The elders, notorious for their sternness, actually smiled back.

  "T-tank y-you," Cobweb blurted out, tears of joy in her eyes. "I-I'm weawwy happy."

  The elders' smiles vanished.

  Oh... damn, Cobweb thought.

  One elder scratched her chin, frowning. "Child, will you speak the chant of the forest?"

  Cobweb bit her lip and shook her head.

  The elder's frown deepened, blue sparks flaring in her eyes. "Speak the chant, child. Every spiderling should know the chant."

  Cobweb looked at the elder, trying to make her teary eyes seem pleading.

  "You can do it!" Gossamer whispered, squeezing her hand.

  Cobweb took a deep breath, her fingers trembling. "F-f-fowevew we f-fwowick among da twees, p-puwe and pwetty."

  The elders gasped. "A monstrosity!" one whispered.

  Cobweb lowered her head, tears filling her eyes. Monstrosity. There was that word again. I can say it so perfectly in my head, she thought, sniffing. It's not my fault my tongue is so clumsy. Everyone thinks I'm stupid or a monster, but I'm not.

  The elders circled her, eyes flashing angry blue, and all around the spiderlings gasped. A few spiderlings covered their mouths, while others covered their eyes or pointy ears. The forest went silent, even the trees ceasing to rustle. Cobweb closed her eyes, crying.

  "Cobweb of Spidersilk Forest," she heard an elder saying, "we deem you impure and a danger to the spiderling race. You are banished from Spidersilk Forest."

  Around her, the spiderlings erupted in shouts, whimpers, sobs. A few girls laughed. Cobweb dared not open her eyes, and she sobbed into her palms. She felt hands grab her, pulling her away from her friends, tearing her away from her world.

  "P-pwease," she whispered, "wet me twy again."

  But they were dragging her away from the meadow, pulling her into the darkness of the forest, shoving her, scolding her, spiderlings shouting and crying around her. Cobweb opened her eyes, but the world seemed to spin around her. She saw only darkness, black trees, glowing elders pulling and shoving her, glimpses of spiderlings trying to chase her through the darkness.

  How could this have happened? I'm banished. I'll never see my friends again.

  "Cobweb!" came the distant cry of Gossamer, but soon her voice vanished in the darkness.

  Tears and pain covered Cobweb's world.

  * * * * *

  Scruff stood on the raft, staring at the rocky island that rose ahead from the lake.

  Wind moaned, rippling the water and cutting through Scruff's cloak. He shivered, perhaps more from fear than cold. The lake gurgled, and Scruff could imagine serpents coiling in its depths, ready to leap out and eat him. He leaned over the raft, trying to gaze into the lake, but the water was murky and thick as stew, gray-green under the overcast sky.

  When he returned his eyes to the island ahead, the fear only grew colder in his belly. A mile away, Hermit Island looked lifeless and gray, its few trees scraggly. While mallards swam through the lake, and gulls circled the raft cawing for food, no birds seemed to fly over the rocky island ahead. Even they don't want to live there, Scruff thought, lowering his head. Everything about today seemed dismal, from the rotting planks of the raft, to the weather, to the weight on his heart.

  The ferryman was humming a tune even older than he was, and he was old indeed, all wrinkly skin and long white hair. As he hummed his song, he rowed the raft as leisurely as a nymph running her toes through a sunny stream. That suited Scruff fine; he was in no rush to reach Hermit Island, his new home. Once he set foot on that rocky shore, who knew if he'd ever leave it?

  He turned to look at Jamie. She stood beside him on the raft, the wind ruffling her short black hair. Though she no longer needed a disguise, she still dressed like a boy; boy clothes were all she owned. She wore black leggings, tall leather boots, and a deep green cape clasped around her neck with an iron acorn. Her eyes dark and her lips tightened, she looked like Scruff felt—miserable.

  Their only valuables were their weapons and scant armor. Jamie carried Moonclaw over her back, the filigreed sword that once belonged to Father. Scruff kept Norman, his oversized mace, slung over his own back. Both siblings carried wooden shields emblazoned with the Thistle emblem, a cluster of thorns growing around a tower. Dull iron vambraces protected their forearms, and greaves protected their shins. They owned no helmets or breastplates—such armor cost a fortune—and they had left their chain mail behind, for it belonged to Fort Rosethorn. Vambraces and greaves weren't much, but Scruff was grateful for any protection. The world was a dangerous place, swarming with moldmen, grobblers, and God knew what else. Out here in the wilderness, any weapons and armor were worth more than gold.

  After what seemed like hours, the raft finally reached Hermit Island, docking at an abandoned pier that seemed comprised of more moss than wood. A sign stood atop the pier, crooked and moldy, the letters so old Scruff could hardly read them. "A home for outcasts; may they live their shunned lives here, hidden from society," he read ou
t loud.

  "Not the most hearty of welcomes," Jamie muttered, eyes narrowed.

  The siblings stepped off the ferry and paid the ferryman. The graybeard pocketed his penny and rowed away, singing a bawdy old song, leaving Scruff and Jamie on the island.

  Rubbing his neck, Scruff looked over his new home. The shore was bleak, and the rocky hills ahead looked even bleaker. Bare trees covered the hills like old, gnarled men who'd wandered outside naked. Otherwise, Scruff saw no sign of life. He heard nothing but the murmuring water, the creaking trees above, and the distant call of a gull. Spring bloomed across the rest of the kingdom, but had not found the island. It was cold. Scruff tightened his cloak around him, shivering.

  I should say something, he thought, glancing at his sister. He cleared his throat. "Well, here we are. Hermit Island. Our new home for the rest of our lives." He tried to keep his voice cheery, but heard the gloom in his words.

  Jamie covered her face. "Great. Just great."

  Scruff sighed. "Let's go explore," he said, clumsily putting a hand on Jamie's shoulder.

  She pushed his hand off, muttering. Scruff shrugged and walked away from the shore, Jamie following silently. The trees seemed made of nothing but twigs, and the rocks looked like chipped, rotting teeth. Soon they reached a hill and hiked up, stepping over fallen logs coated with snails. Mushrooms and moss covered the ground, but barely any grass. Scruff hoped to find other hermits who might share some food and a fire, but saw no sign of habitation. It was hard to climb with Norman bouncing over his back, his backpack bulging with pots and pans and a change of clothes. Soon Scruff was out of breath.

  Would they find food here? Would the trees give enough firewood to warm them? They were meant to spend the rest of their lives on this forsaken rock of an island. As things were, Scruff didn't know how they'd last a week.

  "Look what you did, Scruff," Jamie said, lips twisting bitterly. "Look what you did. Thanks to you, we'll be stuck here forever."