Foundling Wizard (Book 1)

by James Eggebeen

  “I fear the worst,” Rotiaqua said. Her image wavered in the smoke as she spoke.

  “He’s not dead. He can’t be,” Chihon said.

  “I’m sorry child, there’s nothing I can do.” Rotiaqua’s image faded as the smoke returned to normal.

  Chihon spent the day looking through the woods for any indication of who had taken Lorit. She finally packed up her things and started down the trail to Trickby, where they'd been directed.

  Late in the afternoon Chihon felt a cold chill come over her. It started with a stabbing pain, as if she was being flayed alive. She felt dizzy and had to sit down to keep from falling over. The pain was intense and immediate.

  She curled into a ball and lay there on the forest floor until nightfall. The pain and horror subsided until they were only a memory, but something new arose. She could sense where Lorit was, and he was in trouble. She searched for him, but was unable to determine anything more about where he was, or what was happening.

  She feared he was once again in the hands of the temple, enduring the torture he’d described to her.

  As she sat before her fire, the visage of the sorceress came once again. “Child, I sensed you were in pain,” she said. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” Chihon said. “It’s Lorit.”

  “I know you believe him to be alive, but it’s just a wish,” the Sorceress said.

  “No, I can feel him now.” She placed her hand over her heart. “Here,” she said. “I feel the connection to him here now. It started this afternoon with a great pain and overpowering emotion. I thought I was going to die before the pain subsided. Afterward, I could feel just the barest touch of Lorit.”

  “Are you certain, child?” Rotiaqua asked. “Do you feel him or are you imagining what it would be like?”

  “I feel him now. I didn’t before, but now I do,” Chihon explained. “The connection is weak and distant, but it is unmistakably him.”

  The figure in the smoke raised her hand. “Wait right there, child. I’ll be right back. This is most unusual.” The smoke dissipated and wavered until it was just the random smoke rising from her camp fire.

  Chihon sat before the fire, waiting, as she’d been told. She felt for the link to Lorit, exploring what she’d felt. It was still there, that thin thread that stretched from her to him. She could feel it as if it were a physical connection emanating from her heart. It diffused quickly into nothingness. It was tenuous, but it existed even though she couldn’t make out where it led.

  The smoke once again started to form a distinct shape. This time, there were two figures. The sorceress was back, accompanied by an old man with a long flowing beard. He stood beside her, leaning on his staff.

  “Do not be afraid. I am Zhimosom, the Wizard.”

  “Please, tell Zhimosom what you feel,” Rotiaqua told her.

  “I feel Lorit. It’s like a thread that extends from me and 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 that he 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 that 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 camp fire 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.

  Trickby

  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 teamed 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 sea weed 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 inn keeper. 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. “He lives just down the lane. 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 towards 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 towards 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 wi
thout 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 up towards 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 towards 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 that 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 towards 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 her head towards 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 towards the bath. “There’s a screen there. Go ahead and get out of those clothes.”

  Yerlow turned towards 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 court house, 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 while he drops them. Then I can f
eel 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 his shoulders and wiped his hands on his pants before turning back towards 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.