Diary of a Conjurer

by D. L. Gardner

  With only a little light of day left, Ivar could still see well enough to climb over the stark white boulders and up the cliffs to where the firs grew tall and met with the black stone pillars of Deception Peak. He would venture to the aspen groves that grew behind the Kaempern village and which camouflaged the entrance to the caves.

  Ivar hesitated when he smelled an animal nearby. The only food he’d had for days was shellfish. His stomach twisting with hunger. If I’m going to eat, I’d better do my hunting now, before entering the hollow of the mountain. Nothing worth eating lives in the caves.

  Even though his body weight had suffered on this journey, Ivar hadn’t lost strength or grace. Swift and agile, he never lost his hunting skills. With his natural ability now combined with the incredible willpower of the conjurer, Ivar was able to sneak up on the hare. The rabbit jumped from where it had been hiding in the shadows. He lunged, grabbed its hind legs, and watched it squirm in his hands, beating its strong thighs in an attempt to free itself.

  The sense of power that Ivar had over the creature thrilled him. The magic churning inside his body delighted him. The lightning energy sizzled through his hands into the beast, toasting it to a crisp. The creature’s hair singed and fell in burning embers to the ground. Laughing, Ivar watched it die and then ripped it open with his fists, eating first its heart, its liver, and then the meat that had been roasted tender from the magic.

  These new abilities to hunt swelled his heart. Silvio’s powers would be an attribute for him the rest of his life. Ivar’s name would be held in high esteem among his friends when they see how easily he can bring down his prey.

  Why, I might even be regarded as a sage!

  He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stood, brushed his hands on his shirt, and looked through the forest. His heart pounded with excitement. He didn’t even need a bow anymore, nor did he need a lance. His hands were deadly enough. Ivar held them up to watch the swirls of light under his skin. That’s when he saw the treasure. The image of the shining gold dagger appeared in his palms. The cool of its hilt, the sharp edge of its blade took his breath away. If he could be this powerful with his bare hands, how much more powerful could he be with the magic dagger?

  “Where are you?” He spoke to the image. “I’ll find you. And when I do I’ll hold the secret to sovereignty. That witch will end her attacks on our people forever! But her efforts are fruitless. With you in my possession, I’ll redeem all the wrong doing I’ve ever done. I’ll free both Menek and Kaempern from her clutches. I’ll free the wizards and the sorceresses imprisoned by Hacatine’s power too!”

  Memories again rolled through his mind like waves of a tempest as he neared the Aspen grove. He’d been on this mountain, and in the caves before. Not just as Ivar, but as Daryl.

  The sky lit up. Daryl laughed because the dragon was doing its job. The sun’s reflection on his dagger shone on the Golden Rock. Enchanted by the ray of light, the dragon dove and spit his fire, melting the gold into nuggets that dripped to the ground. The pirates harvested the nuggets, and paid Daryl for his help in food. Apples, bread, cheese.

  Yes, of course, the Golden Rock! The altar the Meneks had taken their sacrifices to in the days leading up to the war, when they worshiped the dragon before the dragon disappeared. No one went that way anymore. Approach to the Golden Rock had been forbidden, the mountain road from Menek sealed off. The Northern people claimed it caused too much friction between the tribes, and to have peace, should never be mined again.

  Aren told him the stories when he was younger, and now Ivar relived them.

  The caves lead to the altar. I can find that Golden Rock! I’ll find the gold!

  Considered sacred, and possibly still haunted, few people ventured through the caves and usually only on quests of self-discovery. Ivar’s reason to enter was as good a reason as any. For me, self-discovery is finding my dagger. It’s in the caves. Even Hacatine suggested the dagger was somewhere in Deception Peak. Indeed! If Hacatine’s spies are following me won’t they be surprised when they’re lost in the caves! I’ll have my memory bring me through the labyrinth. They have nothing!

  When Ivar reached the soft layers of mulch under the aspens, he ran. Dusk had settled long ago, but Ivar’s power radiated from his entire body lighting his way like a torch. He laughed, provoked by the sense of pleasure the magic gave him.

  Daryl raced through the caves, his dagger in hand. He was on a mission now for he had overheard that the Kaemperns were going to be mining the sphere that seals the portal. Their plan was to chase the dragon away and seal it out.

  Not so. That was Daryl’s dragon. He was going to stop them. His ambush was in place. He would coerce the dragon’s fire into the cave as soon as the sphere was on the surface. Once the men were burned to a crisp, he’d grab the sphere and use it as leverage to get the remote back from the foreigner, from Ian. Then everything would be at his command, the dragon, the gold, and the portal.

  Daryl heard footsteps behind him.

  Ivar turned around, startled, but saw nothing. The walls of the cavern were tight over his head, forcing him to crouch while he walked. The glow of his body illuminated the cave and everything in it. When a spider dropped on its web in front of him, Ivar flicked his fingertips and it fell to the ground, nothing more than an ash.

  “Nothing could harm me now!” he thought.

  “Adrian, you found me.” Daryl said.

  “Your pirate friends told me you were in here, but walking in the dark is not one of my fortes, or I would have found you sooner. I brought you something.”

  “What? A gift?” The boy lit up.

  “Something you’ve been wanting for a long time.”

  The image of a man stood at the far entrance of the cave. Ivar remembered him vividly; a pudgy fellow who always wore a pea coat and a thick wool scarf around his neck. His nose was a red, ears a bit too big for his balding head, and whiskers roughened his cheeks. Adrian, the first mate who taught him the ways of the sea when his parents had died. He had hired Daryl onto the ship, and when the storms kept the boats at bay, it was Adrian who found him a home with his nephew Andre. But Adrian was as wicked as the captain, using Daryl’s talents for his own gain.

  “I know you,” Ivar scowled at the vision. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been like your papa ever since you were a child. Took you in, taught you the ways of the sea, I did. Had a lot of hope in you.” The man’s voice sounded almost remorseful as his blue eyes shifted to the ground. “Blasted Andre rotted your soul though. Taught you wrong. You should have stayed with the captain’s family. I thought I was doing right.”

  “That’s not true. I learned to hunt from Andre. I learned survival. Look at me. I’m strong now, powerful.”

  Daryl took a step closer to the man. “What do you have for me?”

  “The key.”

  “The key?” Ivar asked.

  “The key to the portal to take us home.”

  “Home? You can take me home?” Ivar stepped closer, his heart pounding. Reaching out toward the vision. “May I have it?”

  The boy laughed. “You? Monsieur gave you the key? It is a trick, non?” He laughed an evil laugh.

  “Not me.” Adrian chuckled. “He gave it to someone I hired. And we did the tricking. That’s why we have it now, not him.”

  “Then let me have it.” The boy reached out to receive the game controllers, but Adrian didn’t offer it.

  Ivar withdrew his hand.

  “No, Daryl. Not now. You need to fulfill your promise, first.”

  “Promise? Mon conseiller, you do not trust me? When my mission is done.”

  “What did I promise you?” Ivar asked the vision.

  The man shook his head. “I just wanted to go home,” he said, his lower lip trembling.

  Ivar’s brow furrowed. “And didn’t I help you?”

  The man’s beady eyes looked up at him. They stung, as if Ivar should know the answer to that.

&nb
sp; “Tell me.” Ivar took another cautious step toward the vision. “Where is home?”

  Adrian shook his head. “Same place as yours, boy. At the edge of the sea so far away I’m afraid I’ll never see it again.”

  “Nonsense,” Ivar assured him, his own yearning for home swelled inside. “We’ll go there together. I have powers now. I can do that.”

  The man dropped his eyes again. “It’s too late, now.”

  “No, Daryl. I can’t wait. It’ll be too late. No one can go back when your mission is done. You know that. I won’t give you the key until you get us home like you promised. That gold is doing us no good here.”

  “I will not help you now. Je ne peux pas partir maintenant. There is much work to do.” The voice faded as Daryl slithered into the darkness of the cave.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Ivar turned toward the junction and followed the boy’s voice. He could hear Adrian’s footsteps behind him.

  “When your work is done, I’m had.” Adrian called out. “Get me out of here now, or I’ll give this blasted thing back to the man it belongs to, and have him bring us home.”

  Daryl laughed and the sound resonated throughout the caves. “Mais, non. He will not bring you home, Adrian. You are his adversary. Your threats do not bother me. In time I will take you home.”

  “You’re a little liar.” Adrian hissed as he stumbled through the dark cave in pursuit of the child. “You were like a son to me. Look at you now.”

  When Ivar looked over his shoulder, beads of sweat poured down the phantom’s face. Ivar stopped and waited for him. “You saved my life, didn’t you? You were the only one who cared about me back then? You called me son? Can’t I help you?”

  The man leaned against the cave to catch his breath.

  “I’ll get you out of here. I’ll help you. You’ve been imprisoned by Hacatine haven’t you?” Ivar asked but the vision didn’t respond.

  “You are a fool Adrian. I will take the key from you.” Daryl jumped, the dagger in his hand, arm pulled back he thrust the blade into the man’s chest.

  Adrian bent over. “What are you doing to me?” He cried in agony but again and again the boy stabbed Adrian until the man collapsed on the ground in a pool of blood.

  Adrian lay still at Ivar’s feet.

  Ivar stepped back. The phantom dagger clung to his hand. Blood had splattered on his clothes. “No,” he cried and then his cry turned into a scream. “No.”

  The vision of Adrian faded quickly, but the dagger took its time disappearing, fused to his skin, the stain on its blade being the last color to disappear, melting into his pores.

  “No!”

  Ivar fell to his knees and sobbed.

  “You are a fool Adrian,” the boy said again. “Merci beaucoup.” His sinister laugh echoed through the cave as he raced away.

  “You murderer!” Ivar called at the top of his lungs. “I hate you!”

  Footsteps sounded through the channel. A cold wind picked up blowing against his face, numbing his nose, his cheeks and his ears. In the wind was a choir of male voices singing a lament.

  Time alone devours the past

  And Death will swallow its own

  Will you willingly lay to rest

  The guilt for life that’s gone?

  Wretched hearts will mourn in song

  Eyes will cry their tears

  But life of woe must still go on

  And pain you still must bear.

  “No.” Ivar stood. The air stilled. No longer did he hear the Songs of Wisdom. “You’re wrong,” he shouted to the Wind. “I’m not like that. I’ll go back. I’ll change things. I’ll follow that boy and stop him. I have a Wizard’s power now. I’ll bring this poor soul back. This can’t have happened. I can’t have done this. I would never have done this!”

  Whether the heat in his body was from the magical energy that soared through him, from the fever of his despair, or from the pressure of the cave, or all three, he didn’t know. Ivar burned. Fire moved him. He ran, following the sound of his own feet from years ago.

  He had no thought of what he would do, what he could do. It didn’t matter how tight the walls squeezed in around him, how little air there was to breathe, how his shoulders beat against the jagged rocks and made his flesh tear open. Ivar ran in pursuit of the Daryl.

  Way to Nowhere

  The day prior, with the help of a tall stump, the Xylonites had helped Silvio onto the back of a plump little roan. But this morning in the prairie, the task was more than a chore. There were no stumps anywhere. In fact, there was nothing but dried grass and a very long shoreline. As hard as the Xylonites tried, there just weren’t enough of them to lift the old man up from ground level. The sky was turning a golden orange, the morning now dawning and already they were hot and sweaty from their efforts.

  “I can help.” It was the third time Promise offered. Silvio had been ignoring her, preferring to let the Xylonites’ frantic little voices drown out her voice. The sorceress was already sitting on her dapple mare waiting patiently, no doubt listening to the ‘umpfs’ and ‘ughs’ of both Silvio and his musketeers as they teamed together to fight gravity.

  “I said, I can help,” she repeated.

  Both Silvio and Xylepher sighed in unison. The conjurer squinted up at her.

  “How can you help?”

  “I can lift you.”

  Silvio blew out a laugh. What hair that hadn’t stuck to his head from sweat flew about his eyes.

  “Do you doubt it?” she asked.

  “Sir?” Xylepher asked.

  “What?” Silvio hadn’t the strength to give the little soldier his eye-popping look. He felt so old, so inept. And now his right-hand-man wanted to ask the assistance of a sorceress. How much more humility must an old conjurer endure?

  Promise slid off her horse before he could answer, and one of the little people set her cane in her right hand. She felt her way toward the roan, touching its nose when it breathed on her, and then held the knotted cattail bridle with her left hand until she stood next to mare’s withers.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  Xylepher nudged Silvio and the old man stepped closer to Promise, not without mumbling a protest. “I’m here,” he finally admitted.

  Promise grasped the mare’s mane for support, and bent her right knee, pointing her toe to balance her weight. “Step up.”

  Silvio looked at Xylepher, red in the face.

  “Either that, or walk to Deception Peak,” Promise said. “I’ve seen Hacatine’s maps. It’s not an easy hike.”

  The conjurer only stared.

  “What’s wrong Silvio? Are you too proud to touch me? It’s not like I have any magic that will turn you into pea, not anymore. I thought we’ve gotten over our differences.”

  It wasn’t only that he didn’t trust her, he also wasn’t sure if he could balance himself on that silky pant leg of hers. What if I cut her with my toenails like I did on the ship when Hacatine’s warriors tied me up? I stink. She’s so sweet smelling, I smell worse than a rotten mushroom. The little people don’t mind my odor. They’ve grown accustomed it. They aren’t so rosy themselves! But a sorceress? Well what if she decides to use it against me later? Besides, I’ll have to touch her . . .

  “Sir,” Xylepher nudged him again.

  “All right, all right.” Silvio mumbled and slowly lifted his crooked foot up, bent toenails and all. His bones wouldn’t bend as much as they needed, and his foot slipped without nearing his destination.

  “Miss,” Xylepher tried to sound polite. “Could you bend your knee a little lower, he can’t seem to, well, you know. He’s got problems.”

  “Certainly.” Promise kneeled and grasped for something to hang on to. Seeing her struggle, several Xylonite women took her hand and gave her support.

  Silvio watched. Seeing how willing Promise was to help him, he waved Xylepher closer, took hold of Promise’s shoulder, stepped on her knee, and with a boost from everybody rolled his bod
y onto the horse. After a round of applause to celebrate success, the little people led Promise back to her dapple. She mounted gracefully.

  Silvio huffed and looked away. In his younger days he’d been that agile. Shame it was, his bones were all twisted and bent, all because of Hacatine. If he’d never hidden in the forest as a tree, he’d never had aged like he did, missing most of his younger years as a decrepit old stump. His face soured, the corners of his mouth falling into a pout as he reined the roan toward the mountain.

  The Xylonites and their weasels lunged alongside the horses, the day’s heat beating on their heads. They would have left sooner, been in the shade of the mountain before now if Silvio hadn’t take so long to mount, but at least they’d arrive in the foothills before the sun reached its zenith. Then it was just a matter of finding the right passage to the Kaempern village.

  The hilly trail brought them into the shadow of the mountain. On they rode, and not without tiring. Silence won the battle over conversation. Silvio’s body groaned in pain. He was not used to sitting in such a position. If he ever made it off this horse, he would not be able to walk, he thought.

  “You know, sir, the war’s still going on.” Xylepher said.

  Though they could no longer see Menek, the Dragon Shield’s light glowed from behind the hills. The sky in that direction had gradually darkened. It would be night soon. The fading blue was lit sporadically with bolts of white lightning. Streaks of red and yellow fire bolts flared across the sky.

  “Yes, it is,” Silvio admitted.