Diary of a Conjurer

by D. L. Gardner

  “The sea is full of storms and tempests. You’ll be wet from the morning fog and cold from the nighttime mist,” he said, gathering the warmest clothing Ivar owned. “It’s easier to cool off than it is to get warm. You’ll need these.”

  “I’m not sure which way to begin my Crossing.”

  “Go to Menek. Theirs is the ocean port. If you begin at the docks perhaps you’ll be able to hire on as a fisherman.”

  Ivar’s eyes lit up. Ever since Aren had taken him to the Menek village to trade hides for the sailor’s smoked fish, Ivar had fallen in love with the sea. He swore he’d return someday, live there, build a yurt, and become a fisherman. At least Amleth had shown some sensitivity to Ivar’ desires, sending him on a sailor’s course.

  “You can take the trail from Moor Cove.”

  “Or I can build a raft and go by water.”

  Aren shrugged. “It’s your decision. It’s not a long journey and if you feel inspired to build a raft, then that’s even better. Shows ingenuity!”

  They packed in silence. When Ivar picked up his bow, he thought about Amleth.

  “If Amleth doesn’t want me to go on my Crossing, does that mean I don’t have his blessing?”

  “If he gave permission, you have his blessing.”

  “But he seemed so despondent after he consented. Doesn’t Amleth trust the Songs of Wisdom?” Ivar folded his tunic.

  Aren put his hand on Ivar’s shoulder and squeezed. “Amleth believes in the Songs. That’s the only reason he’s letting you go. You’re younger than the others. He’s just hesitant. He doesn’t know–.”

  Ivar hoped he misunderstood Aren. “He doesn’t trust me?” the boy asked shoving the linen shirt into the pack.

  “He trusts your heart. Amleth told you that.”

  “What does that mean?” Ivar sneered. His father may have meant those words as encouragement, but to him they were a rebuke.

  “If he didn’t have some faith in you he wouldn’t have told you to go. I have faith in you. We just–we want you to be strong.”

  “Isn’t that what this is about?” Ivar rolled his fleece, anger rising inside of him. “I’m not as strong as I want to be, probably not as strong as I need to be. Isn’t this journey supposed to make me strong? Isn’t that the whole idea of sending us away, so that we come back strong?”

  “Yes, Ivar, it is.” Aren paused for a moment. “Listen to me,” He took Ivar by the shoulders, leaning over slightly to face him squarely. His eyes were a father’s eyes, gentle but stern, fearful, and caring. “Keep your ear to the Wind and never forget what the Kaemperns taught you. And try-” Aren’s voice faded into the still of night. He was looking for words that weren’t easily found, and that made Ivar angry. If he’d only blurt out the truth, then Ivar would know where he stands. Why is it so hard?

  “Try what?”

  “Try to make decisions with your intellect, not your emotions. You have a temper that needs to be controlled.”

  Ivar shoved an extra pair of moccasins in his pack.

  “Ivar, son, listen to advice. Heed a warning if you hear one. It could mean life or death for you on this journey. Have nothing to do with wickedness.”

  Ivar kept his hands busy, stuffing his clothes further into his bag, avoiding Aren’s eyes.

  “Ivar?”

  “You don’t think I’ll listen?”

  “You haven’t been tried, yet.”

  He’d had enough of this talk. Ivar filled his quiver with the stoutest arrows that he had, which could double as spears should he need to fish.

  That was it. He was ready. He faced his father and they embraced.

  “You have our blessings, Ivar. We want nothing but the best for you.”

  “I know you do, Father. I love you.”

  Ivar’s moccasins shuffled quietly over the soft mulch of the forest floor. Though the night was dark, his night vision was keen, and his feet sure. He knew the terrain in these woods as well as the deer did; his movements were just as graceful. The salty scent from the southern cliffs lured him on. Switchbacks brought him to the rim. Below, Moor Cove waited.

  Ivar breathed deeply as he looked out across the sea. Reflections of the night twinkled on the waters, the constant hum of the foamy breakers glistened on the sands.

  Raft building was not new to Ivar. He and Tage would go to the beach and practice survival skills for the fun of it. He was no stranger to the Menek piers either, since after the war and the expulsion of Stenhjaert the dragon, the seaside village became one territory. Though the Kaemperns stayed faithful to their homes in the woods, a treaty between the fishing village of Menek and the forest dwelling Kaemperns was signed, and both tribes now coexisted peacefully.

  Ivar slid down the embankment; pebbles rolled from under his feet and tumbled to the sandy beach like hailstones. The morning was peaking on the horizon in gilded ribbons. A new day, a new life. Ivar laughed and stepped from the cool shadows of the cliff. He pulled his shirt over his head and tied it around his waist, setting the bow, quiver, and pack aside while he looked for materials to build his vessel.

  Moor Cove was a quiet cove, the waters were deep and formed a protected inlet for ships. Trails leading to the both the Kaempern camp and the Menek village were easily accessible from its shore, and the surf gentle, especially at low tide, as it was now.

  The beach was cluttered with driftwood, allowing Ivar to find logs perfect for a raft. He spent the morning pulling them from their piles and laying them on the sand in columns. With a hunting knife he cut notches in the ends so that they fit snug.

  Patches of milkweed grew near the cliffs, and after harvesting last year’s stalks, Ivar separated the stems in long strings, twisting the fibers tight. He then wrapped the lacing he had spun around two logs at a time, alternating the wrap, so that each log was bound to another. He placed the finished raft in the water.

  The sun was well overhead by the time Ivar had completed his raft. Exhausted, he sat in the shade of the cliffs, enjoying his late lunch of bread and dried fruit, watching the cloudless sky. A sea breeze whistled through the pile of driftwood, rustling small patches of grass scattered in the sand dunes. The wind didn’t seem to be saying anything specific aside from reassuring him that he wasn’t alone. The lulling sound of waves splashing on the beach, and the heat of the sun evoked sleep. Ivar napped under the peaceful blue skies.

  Ivar awoke at sunset to find himself soaked from the rising tide. Salty puddles had formed around him. He jumped up in shock, disgusted that he let himself be so careless. But what was worse than getting wet, was that the raft he made now bounced on the waves, floating out to sea on a journey of its own.

  He dropped his shirt that was tied around his waist, and dove into the bay hoping to retrieve his handiwork. The cool of the salty waters stung his flesh as he swam. His strong arms guided his body as he moved with the current. When he surfaced for air he expected to be nearer the little cluster of logs he had sewn together. Unfortunately, the raft had all but disappeared into the shimmering of the last of the sun’s rays.

  He swam toward the vessel without success. His day’s labor floated out to sea and Ivar was too tired to chase it any longer. As much as he regretted having to relinquish his raft, he gave up. The thing wasn’t worth drowning over.

  Ivar reversed his direction, all the while making plans in his mind to construct another watercraft in the morning. But fatigue was inching into his bones and he quickly lost momentum. He rolled on his back and floated, expecting the tide to bring him to safety, but it didn’t. Instead, the current pulled him toward the ocean.

  Ivar panicked when he realized he wasn’t getting any closer to shore. His lungs tightened, water splashed in his eyes and up his nose. He had a horrid sense that the ocean was about to consume him.

  While he fought the tide in an attempt to swim to shore, something thick and slimy grabbed onto his legs and dragged him beneath the surface. Unable to move his feet, he bent over to peel the object away and free h
imself. Nearly blinded by salt water, sand, and foam that burned, Ivar wrapped his hands around the scummy mass. It moved. It was alive. He couldn’t push it away, nor could he pry it off.

  His lungs burned for air. Daylight rippled above an arm’s distance above his head but he was powerless to surface. He pushed against the creature’s hold but his efforts were useless. His only hope would be to slither out of its clutches. It had squeezed so tight his leg was numb, and now the creature wrapped its massive body around his waist. It would crush him to death if he didn’t escape. He had to breathe soon or he would drown.

  He stopped fighting and dog paddled toward the surface. With vigorous strokes, Ivar inched through the depths, his lungs about to burst, fear the source of his strength. To his relief, the creature floated to the surface with him.

  He gasped air finally, inhaling and wheezing. Dizzy. After blinking the salt water from his eyes, he saw the hull of a ship.

  “Help,” he called out feebly. He coughed, treaded water, and wiped hair from out of his eyes. “Help me!”

  Seconds later, a rope flew over him from the ship’s gunwale. The line’s end floated like a golden snake on the now-dark brine. Ivar grabbed onto the coarse strands of hemp and let whoever was onboard pull the line taut, dragging him to the hull. As he was lifted out of the water, the serpent released its hold, its back curved above the surface and back down again, white caps splashed onto its scales as it disappeared into the deep.

  Ivar was safe.

  Someone on the ship laughed as the crew hoisted Ivar out of the water. A cold wind blasted against his soaking body as he spun in midair. The rope released, he fell with its coil, exhausted, on the wet wooden planks of the ship’s deck.

  Coughing saltwater from his lungs, he focused on the feet of his rescuers as a crowd gathered around him. Sandaled in leather, clad in furs, with silky balloon pants that blew in the wind, and breastplates of metal armor, these were not men that had congregated, but women. The sinister laugh repeated and its owner stepping in front of the others until he was in her shadow. Ivar blinked and wiped his eyes, catching sight of her sandals, slender pale toes draped by the hem of her black, silk gown. His eyes traveled up past the rapier fastened in a sheath around her waist, damp smelling furs draped over her shoulders, and long silver hair blowing in the wind. Her hazel eyes, framed with long, white lashes, were fixed on him, her thin lips puckered in a condescending pout.

  “So. We have a poor, pitiful human, do we?” she led the others in a taunting laugh. “Who would have thought our first man-prisoner would be scooped up from the ocean as easily as smelt in a basket?”

  Ivar scrambled to his feet. He smiled, mostly from nerves, and his tongue slid into the comfort zone between his front teeth. She was taller than he was and her body emitted a strange smell like a mixture of hot ash from a newly snuffed fire, hinting at a scent of lilac.

  “Thank you for saving me.” His voice shook as he trembled from the cold, and from the trauma he had just experienced.

  She stepped closer to him, returning his smile with her own. “Aren’t we the gracious one?” She reached out and touched his cheek with the tips of her fingernails. Her touch tickled, and made the hair on his neck stand on end. He gently brushed her hand away. The women turned red, and slapped him, stinging his cheek. The cold salty wind blew against the wound with a bite.

  She laughed again. “A Man child,” she said. “Not what I was expecting in these waters. Better, though. Much better. My senses tell me this is more than what we could have asked for. I think this little fellow can help us find our belongings.”

  Ivar’s attention turned to the weathered faces that surrounded him. Young women. Their hair danced wildly on the wind, their cheeks were rosy from the cold. He was the center of their attention, but their faces were grim and hostile.

  “If you tell me what I need to know, your death will be short and quick.” The older woman smiled. “A sorceress is rarely kind to her prisoners. Do yourself a favor.”

  Ivar’s heart raced and he pivoted around, wondering if he could dash overboard before they caught him again, but the women drew their circle tighter.

  “Promise!” the woman in black called out as her eyes scanned the crowd. “Where’s my first mate?”

  The girl named Promise stepped forward. Despite Ivar’s fatigue, his legs still throbbing with pain, and his fear-her beauty mesmerized him. She was a young woman, her hair, eyes, and skin all the color of reddened bronze.

  “Yes, Most Noble Highness,” She held her head at defiant height though she spoke as a servant.

  “Take this human specimen to his cabin and prepare him for interrogation.”

  The woman bowed to her superior and took Ivar by the arm.

  “And, Promise, look into him. I want to know who he is. He’s not of the Northern Tribe; he’s too dark for that. See into his past for me, would you?”

  Promise didn’t answer, but her grip was an iron cuff as she shoved him forward. He tripped, but before he could fall she lifted him to his feet and soon maneuvered him inboard toward the hatchway. Ivar eyed the gunwale portside wondering if he could make a run for it, and swim back to shore. The woman snickered.

  “Did you enjoy the clutches of the serpent enough to return to him? You’re not going back in the water.” Her smile had a slight twist to it. “Not now, anyway.”

  Promise pushed him down the hatchway into a small cabin. Once at the bottom of the stairs, she tied him with hemp to a post in the center of the room.

  “Hold still Sea Boy. You can’t get away. Besides, where would you go if you could?”

  Ivar stopped struggling. “Sea Boy? You call me boy? You aren’t any older than I am!” His nervous grin returned as fear tightened his face.

  “Age matters?” she asked as she fixed another loop around him.

  “You’re my equal. Why are you binding me like this? I’ve done nothing to you or your friends. I have no weapons. I pose no threat. Let me escape and swim to shore.” Ivar kept his voice steady so his terror wouldn’t show. “Who would know if you turned me loose?”

  “You’re as naïve as you are stupid.” Promise said, a wry smile of her own. “I’m the one in the position to ask questions, not answer them.”

  She gave a yank to make his ropes tighter, looked in his eyes and smiled.

  “Ow.” He scowled. The pain turned to dread, for her movements had stopped, and she consumed him with her auburn eyes.

  “Hacatine is the High Queen of the Island of Taikus. She’ll make you wish you had never been pulled from the mouth of the serpent. If you want my advice . . .” Promise’s thick auburn hair fell on Ivar’s shoulders as she leaned over to tie the rope. “Let your fear guide you to obedience. You’ll suffer if you don’t.”

  She stood straight. Their eyes locked again. His body trembled from the damp, and the cold.

  “Why would my suffering concern you? Why even give me advice?”

  Her answer was barely above a whisper. “I’m not like Hacatine. I don’t possess her wickedness. I’m only a slave to it.”

  “What does she want?” The words came from his lips more intense than he meant them to. He wanted to sound brave. Had he not been bound to a post, however, his knees would have crumbled under him.

  “Information. Six years ago the Men of the North did Hacatine a grave disservice, thrusting her dragon out of the world. She’s been preparing for war ever since. We’ve come to take your lands and to punish your people. But first Hacatine is intent on finding her most treasured possession lest she destroy it accidentally. She thinks your people have the gem, in fact she’s certain of it.” Promise’s stare was so powerful that Ivar’s eyes began to burn. He turned his head away.

  “And if I’m not mistaken, I can see it in you. It’s deep, a little hazy but I see a memory of her lost treasure. It was a long time ago, wasn’t it? What a run of good fortune! Fate is with us!”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ivar wrestle
d against the ropes, but the cords of hemp were thick and tightly wrapped.

  Her gaze didn’t falter. She took hold of his cheeks and pulled his head back around. Never had he seen such depth in a person’s eyes, and then the burning started again.

  “Stop,” he fought to turn away from her penetrating stare, but he was a prisoner of her hold.

  Her fingers squeezed his jaw as she stared deeper into his mind, touching it with hers. The impact of her vision meeting his mind stung, as if his head had been pierced with an iron rod. He held back a cry, but struggled to get away. He couldn’t move.

  “Je sais qui vous êtes.” Her voice was soft, though he had no idea what she said, still it sounded familiar.

  The burning ceased when she released her hold but the contact had left him breathless. He closed his eyes seeing only a wall of white light and then blood rushed to his head. He panted, dizzy.

  She brushed his wet hair from his face. Her touch as a feather to his skin, sending chills down his spine. “You know too much for your own good.” She curled his hair behind his ear and whispered. Her breath was sweet smelling. “She’ll drain you, and then she’ll kill you. Hacatine is ruthless.” A look of sorrow came across her face, her voice pensive. “You don’t deserve her wrath either. No one does. I’ve seen it too often.”

  When he caught his breath, and the spots in his eyes disappeared, he looked up and questioned her with his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I really am sorry for you,” she whispered. She slipped out the door, but not before the ship began to sway and toss. He heard someone from outside call out in panic.

  “A squall. Man the sails.” The rise of the surf sent the craft leaning dangerously portside, rocking on stormy waves. Water splashed down the stairs of the hatchway as Promise walked out, soaking Ivar’s feet with cold sea water.

  “Haul off,” someone else shouted, and then the hatch slammed shut.

  The ship tossed for nearly an hour, creaking and groaning under the weight of the waters. Ivar, still tied to the post, pondered the words Promise had spoken, and of the burning in his mind when she looked into his past. The violent motion of the ship made his stomach queasy. Thankfully, he hadn’t eaten much that morning.