Brianna sighed and gave the line some slack. “True. His discomfort isn’t helping our plight. We’re no better off than this poor soul.” She lifted Silvio’s chin, inspecting his face.
He squinted at her, but kept his mouth shut. The words he was thinking would have done him no good.
“Hacatine’s unkind ways toward the wizards are criminal,” Brianna kept her voice low, glancing at the hatchway with anxious eyes. “Look at him. You’re right. He’s harmless.”
“Shh.” The other woman handed Brianna a sword. “If Hacatine hears us, we’ll be tried for treason.” The two climbed up the hatchway, leaving Silvio alone, tied to a post below deck.
“Unkind? Bah, evil, more like,” Silvio mumbled to himself. “And for all their sympathy what good does it do me? Or them? Here I am. Bound up with ropes in the bottom of ship for no good reason. ‘Careful,’ they say.” Silvio mocked, making no attempt to keep his voice low. “‘Careful,’ they say! Bah! Do they even know how to be careful?”
The ropes burned more now that they were loose, as they sawed against his flesh with the slightest twitch. “Can’t they see my bones are crooked, and the Beanbalkers tried to bind them together straight?” He stretched his neck to release his long hair from the binding. “Ouch! Bumstickers! Ow!” Once his tresses were free enough not to pull on his head he sighed and fell limp against the post. The dark of the lower deck enveloped him. As if his own heart wasn’t gloomy enough.
The damp musty smell of mold itched his nostrils and made him sneeze. “Blasted, filthy rig. What kind of sailors are you? Look at this place! No respect for your ship, that’s what kind! I’ll tell you why, too. You killed wisdom when you killed the wizards. You took their magic and now what do you know? Nothing, that’s what! Don’t even know enough to scrub the ship.” He yelled at the hatch door hoping someone would hear him.
When there was no response, Silvio closed his eyes tight. Hacatine was too close; the ship smelled like her, like greed. Distaste slithered over his tongue, and he swore it was the flavor of wicked queen. He spat the taste onto the floor.
It’s over. I have nothing to fight for anymore, and my powers are gone, anyway. If they want me to die, then I will. Not to satisfy their corrupt sense of righteousness, but to rid his weary soul of tragic memories.
He hoped that Ivar would nurture the magic given him for the sake of the Realm. Ivar was a Kaempern. Kaemperns had integrity, led by truth and wisdom. If Ivar is indeed a Kaempern, then he will fight for good! A Kaempern was faithful to his people, the Meneks, Alcove and Bandene Forests, and the Xylonites. Indeed, if any hope remained, it now rushed through Ivar’s veins.
Silvio grunted and looked around the dark hollow of his prison wishing he could float away. His absence would not go without sorrow. He was king of the Xylonites. He was their guide and their protector. Without him, the little people will perish.
Silvio sat on that cold, damp floor, rocking with the sway of the ship trying desperately to control his wandering mind. He didn’t want to remember how Hacatine had searched for him when he was little or how he had turned into a tree to hide. She hadn’t seen him. He’d fooled her, but she’d known, and his trickery had backfired. He’d been the fool. She’d set the entire woods ablaze. Silvio came out of it as an old stump of a body, permanently disfigured. The forest grew back. He grew old. She finally got her prisoner. Maybe she’d leave Bandene Forest alone now that she has him. Maybe the poor Xylonites would escape her wrath. Maybe they’d find another king.
Ivar, alone, had the key to their safety now, but did he have the passion? The Xylonites would smell the magic on him. They’d find him and explain everything to him, how to use it, and for what reasons. Ivar would become his apprentice even if Silvio weren’t there to train him. Maybe it was better this way.
Silvio’s dungeon was as dark as a Xylonite’s tunnel. The planks rubbed one another with the constant swelling of the sea, reminding him of the sound of the wind when it jostled limbs in the forest. How he wished he were there smelling the fresh menthol pine, rather than these rotten boards. Fixed on his aloneness, he sighed and closed his weary eyes.
The ship moaned as it rolled in one direction and groaned returning to the next. The sounds from above deck were gone. The crew must have gone to sleep, the lot of them. He would have too, if it weren’t for that constant gnawing sound.
Rats! There it is again, a scratching and grinding, teeth against wood is what it is. Blasted rats are chewing the ship apart.
But a chattering of voices came with the next crunch, and then the breaking away of whatever was being gnawed on until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. First the head of a weasel appeared, its wet furry body slithered into Silvio’s dungeon and curled up by his feet. Behind it trooped in another but this time a Xylonite was on its back, and then another until the entire room was filled with little people and wet weasels scurrying about trying to get their bearings.
Before Silvio could say Gabbersnatch, his ropes were untied and weasels licked his wrists. The old wizard wriggled free from the rest of his binding and hugged the animals, his tears of joy mixing with their wet fur.
“There’s no time for that now,” the boldest and bravest of the Xylonites came forward. “We’ve got to go, and now.” The soldier held a tiny sword and pointed it toward the hole. “You’ll lay on that raft and they’ll swim you to shore, sir.” For it was well known by the little people how much Silvio hated getting wet. And he couldn’t swim, not a stroke.
The raft was made of reeds woven together and carried into the ship by a team of Xylonites. All the little people were soaked, but they had smiles on their faces having found their King.
It took time for the Xylonites to maneuver the conjurer onto the raft. His crooked body had grown stiff from being tied, and he was bent in new contortions. He finally managed to lay flat while several Xylonites jumped onto the mat next to him and laced him with rattan so he’d not drift away should the water spill over. After much scuffling, Silvio was secure. They took to their mounts and one by one eased themselves back through the breach, first their leader, then the weasels pulling the raft, and then the others.
They entered a dark and damp hollow in the ship. Silvio bounced over the planks underneath him, his back rubbed raw because the mat was so thin. But soon he felt water tickle through his clothes and the raft sliding across the surface.
A dim light appeared, though on his back he couldn’t tell from where it came. But the light radiated a glow on the ceiling–that was really the bottom of the ship. But the mat raft drew nearer to the light and Silvio floated out a large hole that had been bored through the vessel. From there he bounded, raft and all into the sea and under the moonlight.
It was a good thing he was tied to the mat too or he may have jumped away out of fear and been lost forever. Up and down he floated all the while tugged through the surf by two strong weasels harnessed to his float.
Hah! And he thought that Hacatine’s ship had been a rocky ride!
Silvio cried out once, but it did no good. He would have cried again if there had been anyone near enough to hear. But he saw none of the other Xylonites, so he just mumbled complaints to himself, shut his eyes tight, and tried not to swallow saltwater.
Shipwreck at Skerry
Having shivered himself to sleep to the tune of sea bells, Ivar woke up damp in the midst of a thick, cold fog. The ringing had ceased, so he knew the tide was out. His back was sore from the hard rock that had served as his bed, and his neck was stiff.
Heavy clouds hung over him when he awoke in the morning. Though still damp and gray, Ivar was glad that day had come. He rose, stretched and made his way down the cliff. The ocean had receded far into the distance and the sandy loam, though foul smelling, was a welcome relief on his bare feet.
Even more gratifying were the little geysers that shot up through the sand around him. Ivar fell to his knees and dug, one hole after another until he had harvested a good pile of clams that weighed
down the fold in his tunic. Sharpening rock against rock, he formed a tool to pry the shells open. Too hungry to take the time for a campfire, he ate every one of them raw, casting the shells back into the water, and remembering the Kaempern prayer of gratitude for the little souls that made his meal.
His belly satisfied, he had acquired a thirst from the salty breakfast. I’d better scout for water before I do anything else, he thought. Ivar brushed sand from his hands and knees and shook his clothes. A sprinkle of green dust flew off his shirt. It might have been something from the beach, some discolored sand or seaweed. A pile of green landed next to his toes and disappeared. In its place, was a water skin. Ivar scratched his head and looked around.
“Where did you come from?”
He had lost his water skin on the beach at Moor Cove. But here it was, and it was full. He opened the lid and drank, cool and fresh as ever it had been. Strapping the leather pouch over his shoulder he turned toward the sea and chose to take advantage of the low tide and explore the jetty.
Seagulls spiraled around him once he stepped past the windbreak, but Ivar kept his eyes to the ground as he ventured farther into the fog; looking for whatever might have surfaced from countless years of shipwrecks. Maybe he’d find some legendary treasure from pirates long ago. Maybe he’d find a clue to his past.
The jetty didn’t disappoint him, for the farther from the coast he walked, the more skeletons of vessels he found, old wooden ribs from ancient ships half buried in the sand, bits of torn clothing, a boot, beautiful glass floats that sparkled in the sun. Tearing the hem of the tunic, he was able to tie the floats to his waist.
The beach narrowed, pools of water foamed at his feet, and the sand he walked on slid off into shallow water making a ledge, and then into the deep. He thought he might turn back, but the fog was lifting and as it did sunlight flashed on something up ahead. It wasn’t far under the water.
A gold coin perhaps? A pirate’s medallion? When he bent over to retrieve it, he slipped, sinking slightly as the sand drifted into a pool, his pants soaked up the sea. He grabbed the coin before it disappeared and saw another larger, black object in the water, which he pried loose from the wet sand.
A foreign sight to him, small buttons that bore a strange code lined the front. Some of the buttons he could push, but others were tight from sand having been wedged into their cracks. The underside was smooth and shaped to fit into the palm of his hand.
Ivar set it on dry sand, and lowered himself back into the pool, excavating the bank carefully. The entire ledge of the jetty was lined with ship bones that were different than the older vessels buried along the ledge. The remains of this ship were still polished and shinning, not dry and white like the others. Strips of cloth from her sails still floated in the shallows, dancing eerily with the tide. Her wreck had been recent.
Ivar’s feet slid, submerging him under water. He reached out to grab the driftwood that was embedded in the bank of the reef but the weight of his body broke it loose and he fell with it. Ivar swam to the surface.
When he opened his eyes, the collapse of the bank revealed another object that intrigued him. With a forceful tug, he was able to free another black case from its grave, this one larger and heavier than the first. With the item tucked under his arm, Ivar swam to dry ground and pulled himself out of the pool. He set the case next to him, shook the water from his hair, and wiped his face with his hands.
No longer did the clouds hug the coast and chill his body, but instead a turquoise sky and hot sun baked his back. Ivar welcomed the heat as he sat cross-legged in the sand, the surf slapping the jetty’s shore both in front and behind him. Ivar set his newfound treasure on his lap.
Small silver hinges were embedded on one side, sealing it shut tight. He turned it over and found a clasp. Once unfastened, the lid separated easily.
Ivar had expected to find the box filled with jewels or gold coins. He was disappointed to discover there was nothing shiny or intriguing inside. In fact, there were no contents at all.
The inside of the lid was flat and smooth. The bottom of the case consisted of black buttons, like the one on the smaller item he had found. Buttons that he could push and they sprang back up, buttons with some kind of odd symbols imprinted on them. He let his fingers run over the different shapes for a while, moving every part he could like a child at play, and then he folded the case back up and sealed the clasp.
The sun had reached its zenith a good while ago; it was time to move on. Ivar gathered everything; his coin, and the two odd rectangular objects. Even if he didn’t know what they were, bringing such curious treasures home to Amleth and Aren would warrant some congratulations.
Ivar walked slowly down toward shore, the sun at his back, the cool breeze drying his hair. He paid the wind little mind until he heard the bells. Odd that they just start tolling this time of day, he looked up. Still a good mile from shore, his heart quickened. The tide was coming in. He hadn’t notice on his walk that the point of the jetty where he had been diving stood higher above the sea than the section of the jetty near shore. Waves were already rolling across the sand in front of him. Ivar dropped the black case and ran. His glass baubles flew from the ties around his waist and bounced to the ground. Grabbed by the tide, they bobbed into the rolling surf.
Breakers were already beating against cliffs over a nonexistent beach, tossing white foamy spray into the air. The ocean closed in around him, stirring angrily at either side of the sandy trail until there was no ground in sight left. He splashed through the water, but his pace slowed the deeper his feet sank into the slimy bottom. Soon the sea came to his knees, and when the water reached his waist it churned so violently over the reef that it knocked him off his feet and the only way he could move forward was to swim.
As he propelled his body toward shore, the violent sea crashed over his head. Ivar’s efforts no longer worked for him as the currents were fighting each other, one from the east and one from the west. They tossing Ivar as they do a piece of driftwood. Whenever he surfaced to catch his breath, the ocean pounded over him, dragged him under, churned him in a spiral of rushing sea and spat him out again. Back and forth the waves commanded him, until panic stricken, Ivar could no longer keep his senses. Salt burned his eyes when he opened them. A sudden wave swallowed him. He couldn’t surface to breathe. The might of the sea crushed him against the rocks. He lost consciousness.
Green Dust
It felt good to be free. Silvio could always count on the little people, loving creatures that they were, fussing over him as he lay on the beach at their old camp spot near Bandene Forest. He was exhausted, though, and the nursing of the Xylonites comforted him more than he could express. They put poultices on his rope burns and combed the sand, seaweed and knots out of his hair. He laid perfectly still, his eyes wide open, enjoying every minute of their nurturing. Xylepher, the army chief sat at his side and told him their story.
“And then we saw the witch’s cronies drag you to the woods. They were going to leave you for dead, but you know what I think?”
Silvio only batted an eye, unable to move.
Xylepher didn’t wait for an answer. “I think Hacatine saw us and thought better of it. Yes, that’s what she did. She changed her mind, just like that! On account of us, mind you. And she worried about leaving tracks, too, because one of those monster warriors of hers threw you over their shoulder and they carried you to the beach.” The little soldier shuddered and scratched his beard. “Just the thought of sorceresses touching our King makes my tummy ill. And we could do nothing, really sir. Not then. They’re too big.” He growled and shuddered again, but when Silvio looked at him Xylepher stopped and sniveled. “We’re sorry we didn’t save you then.”
“No need to be sorry. You saved me in the end. But,” Silvio’s voice tapered. “But not all of me.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
Silvio struggled for words. He had hoped they would know about his magic by intuition so he wouldn’t
have to tell them. His lower lip quivered and a tear bubbled at the corner of his eye, and then rolled down his cheek in a little stream. One of the Xylonite women quickly raced over and wiped his face dry.
“We’re doomed anyway. It’s the end for all of us.” Silvio muttered.
“No, no don’t say that,” they chorused. More of the little people gathered to hear the news.
“It’s my magic. It’s gone.”
The Xylonites gasped in unison. Xylepher was the first to speak. “Gone? Lost? Oh, no! Hacatine got your magic?”
“No. Not Hacatine. You can be thankful for that. Oh we would be baberstashed if she took it, that’s for sure. No, you had better hope she never gets possession of my power?”
“What would happen, sir?”
As the Xylonites do whenever there’s a tale brewing, all the little people gathered around Silvio, folded their hands on their laps, and bent their ears.
“Long ago there was a time when a wizard and a sorceress could mix their powers together. Many did willingly I’m told, and they made families, had offspring. They say a power mightier than the North Wind fell upon Taikus when the couples united.” He popped open one of his eyes and stared at the Xylonites.
They twitched on their logs. None of them knew anything about Taikus, but they had heard the songs of the North Wind.
“Mightier,” he repeated and then nestled his head back onto the sandy bed. “In the old days, before the rebellion, our people were strong. We used our glory for good.” Silvio nodded and then shrugged. “Love. That’s what they called it, and yes, it happened. Long time ago it was, though. I wouldn’t know. I was too young. My mother knew. She remembered. That’s where I came from, she told me. I never had the chance to experience love.” He frowned, wishing things had turned out differently. “But it all grew dark I tell you. Evil took over. Rumors were spread, that’s how it started. Hacatine resented the policies of the Elders. She raised up a rebellion and soon the Sect used its powers against the council. Hacatine was the cause of it all. Evil she was, and evil she is.” He picked his head up again. “Don’t you forget it! None of you.”
Diary of a Conjurer Page 16