Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1)

by Scott Robert Scheller

  They walked south along the creek until reaching the falls. There he indicated the route he took over the water, up the hill to the haunted tree, and down to where he found the buck. He then pointed at the violent churning beneath the falls. “That’s where I went over.”

  Viewing that place, her face darkened with concern. “It’s a wonder you didn’t drown.”

  The sight brought back many uneasy feelings, ones he did not care to relive. “Yes. It’s strange how—” Something caught his attention and made him look behind. Oren approached. “The Master is here.”

  Valeria cheerfully waved at the old man. When she looked back at Marc, her smile dimmed. “Why do you frown? We’ll be safe with Master Oren.”

  He tried to give her a reassuring smile but doubted it looked genuine. “It’s not that. I remember the fear I felt that day. It—it changed me.” She said nothing, but her gaze held warmth and support.

  Still twenty paces from them, Oren gestured toward the creek. “Shall we cross over and begin our journey?”

  “Certainly, Master.” Valeria took Marc’s hand and pulled him toward the fallen tree. After several steps she let go and giggled in surprise. She no longer moved forward, but upward, her feet already well above the ground.

  Marc stared after her, transfixed, all worries of the Tree gone from his mind. “Such powerful magic,” he gasped.

  Oren came up beside him. “It is, and safer than crossing over on that log.”

  Valeria drifted over the creek like a dandelion seed floating on a gentle breeze, laughing and flapping her arms as if she were a bird. After coming to rest on the other side, she let out a wordless cry of joy and danced about. “Thank you, Master Oren.”

  Acknowledging her with a nod, the wizard faced him, an amused gleam in his eyes. “Now your turn. Keep still and pay close attention.” Nervous, Marc watched as Oren extended both hands before him, waist high, palms up. “Volitā!” he commanded, slowly raising his hands.

  Marc instantly felt a warm, tingling sensation envelope him. His head spun, his stomach lurched and everything became bathed in a faint blue fog as the ground dropped away. After a moment of fear he accepted it as something to be marveled. Below him raced deadly waters and yet he hung effortlessly over it all, lighter than a feather, safe in Oren’s magic. His arms and legs moved effortlessly for the earth no longer pulled at them. By the time he reached the far side he found himself laughing out loud.

  Valeria wrapped her arms around him, giggling loudly. “Isn’t that fantastic? I’d love to learn to do that. Wouldn’t you?”

  Returning her embrace, he laughed again. “Absolutely!” He savored the moment, thrilled at the experience magic just afforded him and, more importantly, holding her close to his heart.

  Valeria turned to Oren as he landed beside them. “Master, since you intend to teach Marc magic, why not start by teaching him that.”

  Raising an eyebrow, the wizard regarded Marc for a moment, then looked back at Valeria. “Floating requires advanced magic. I will start by teaching him much simpler things.” Oren met his gaze. “If he proves himself worthy, magic may then choose to bestow power such as that upon him.”

  Marc found the prospect of learning to Float anything but frightening, more like useful. Maybe he was rash in thinking everything about magic was bad.

  The master began to ascend the hill. “Let us first visit the Great Tree.”

  And maybe not. Reluctantly following, Marc looked up at their destination, deeply worried what might happen there. Would he have to touch it? Its many voices already whispered in his mind—there was no need to make them louder. And how would it affect Valeria? If only he could shield her from its menace.

  She turned to him, placing a hand on his forearm. “You seem troubled.”

  He shrugged off her comment and hand together.

  Her concerned face drew closer and she spoke in a near-whisper. “Marc, what is it?”

  He knew that look. If he did not tell her now, she would pester him until he did. “I don’t want you to feel the Tree’s evil.”

  “And why do you think it is evil?” Oren’s tone made it more command than question.

  Marc averted the elder’s gaze hoping he had not offended him. “Because it feels that way. The voices, they... come after me, chase me. They try to draw me in, to take something from me, but I can’t say what, or why.”

  The master gave out an affirming breath, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Trust me when I tell you it is not evil. Very strong magic exists there and your mind cannot yet understand it. That will change in time. Come, and learn.”

  Marc wanted to believe Oren—the Master seemed so certain—but part of him refused to let go of his fear. Caution outweighed trust. The Tree’s presence continued to intensify, reinforcing how powerless he felt against it.

  Once they reached the ledge, Valeria eagerly studied the Great Tree. “Master, this is truly the largest tree I have ever seen.”

  Marc wished he could share in her innocent wonder. Not only did the Tree’s power pull at him, so did the earth surrounding it. It felt warm, making his feet tingle. Why did Oren want him to learn more about this place? While willing to try, he doubted he could ever think of it as anything but evil.

  Valeria looked straight up, her face alight with amazement. “The nearest branch is so far away. If I were twice my height, I still could not touch it.” She walked around slowly, scrutinizing the ground. “There is—this place is very special.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at Marc oddly, strode forward and grabbed the trunk, then jumped back in surprise. “OH!”

  He hurried to her side. “Val?”

  Her eyes held a far-off look. “I felt it—felt them. I see what you mean. It’s so strange. But I don’t feel anything evil.” She glanced at the surrounding ledge once more, then took his hands, gazing deeply into his eyes. “We are supposed to be here,” she said, her voice serious, even respectful. “Somehow I know that. Come.” She led him up to the Tree.

  He pulled away at first, but something in her face quieted much of his apprehension. Touching the bark, he braced himself for its attack. None came. Instead, the voices intensified, as he had expected, plus something else slowly came upon him. Something new. Pain. His lungs hurt. So did his stomach. Then, from the center of his chest, a great discomfort radiated outwards and into his left arm. Stumbling back, he dropped to his knees, fiercely clutching his aching arm while gasping for breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Valeria squatted before him and touched his cheek gently, her gaze filled with worry.

  “Pain!” he grunted through clenched teeth. “I feel—” Whatever had beset him vanished. “No, it’s gone now. But I felt pain, felt death, I think.” A icy prickle dashed over the skin of his arms causing the hairs to bristle. He looked to Oren. “Is that true?”

  The wizard nodded, clearly pleased. “Yes. Excellent.”

  Taken aback, Marc stood. “How is that excellent? Its attack was very unpleasant.”

  “The Tree did not attack you. You experienced the Magic trying to tell you something.”

  Letting out a huff of frustration, Marc wished it could find a less objectionable way to communicate.

  Oren turned to Valeria. “Did you find it disagreeable?”

  “No. I felt some alarm at first, but only because it was so unusual.” She touched it once more. “It’s not unpleasant at all.”

  “Indeed. Valeria, leave your right hand upon the trunk. Marc, take her right.”

  Cautiously, he did so, expecting more of the pain. Instead, a jumble of things that made no sense flowed through him. The voices remained, but his overall impression changed considerably, becoming almost peaceful. That surprised him.

  “Both of you may let go. Now, what did you feel this time, Marc?”

  “Well, no pain—that’s good—but I don’t know how to describe the rest. A hundred strange thoughts went into me, and—” He shrugged. How could he explain it? It felt like a dream or
long lost memory, yet composed of much more than thought. It included sensations, sounds, smells, even tastes, but none of them distinct enough to describe.

  “What made it different when I stood between him and the Tree?” Valeria asked while trailing her fingertips along the bark.

  Again Oren looked pleased. “The magic of this place is filled with many things. Its power talks to you, in a manner of speaking. If you touch the Great Tree while thinking dark thoughts, then you will only hear that in its voice. Your mind, Valeria, was open, unclouded. When he held your hand, he shared your perceptions, heard it as you do. I know neither of you understand that now, but in time you will.”

  Feeling a bit foolish for his earlier misgivings, Marc regarded the Tree with a fresh, even curious, outlook. Hearing a low chuckle, he turned toward the master.

  “I am pleased you both gained wisdom here this day.” Oren moved northward. “We have more to see. I encourage you to visit here often.” No sooner had Marc wondered what purpose that would serve, the master added, “Especially you, Marc. Every time you do, you will learn something new.”

  “Yes, Master.” Apparently these journeys would be part of his schooling in magic. So what did he learn today? That the Tree held no evil? Maybe, but spirits most definitely resided there, so it remained haunted, just in a different way.

  The wizard led them downward along a narrow, winding path through the trees into the wide valley that made up most of the Forbidden Vale. Its serene beauty gave Marc no indication of the dangers within. Except for scattered outcroppings of that shiny, black stone, he saw little difference between the Vale and the surrounding land. Across the valley, a diagonal row of hills marked the northern boundary. Intersecting Black Rock Hill several miles to the west, the hills ran northeast past Oren’s home. Because of his elevation, Marc could clearly see the south wall of Raven’s Gate even though it was well over a mile away.

  As the trail flattened out, they came upon a low cairn of rounded, head-sized stones stained with a variety of pale oranges, yellows and browns. Surrounding the mound at a distance of ten paces were a ring of six, shoulder-high vertical iron bars. Atop each, an animal’s skull sat facing outward. Marc considered whether the similarity of that tableau to Crotious’ and Gastus’ remains flanking the Master’s door was more than chance. Probably. It, too, likely served to discourage the unwanted. Right before they reached the nearest bar, Oren abruptly raised his hand.

  “Stop here.”

  They did, and Marc looked upon the mound with interest and more than a little trepidation.

  Oren regarded them with a most serious expression. “Deadly vapors sometimes erupt from beneath these stones. They kill quickly and horribly.” Oren turned his gaze upon Marc. “Even wizards can die from them. Today it sleeps.”

  Valeria gingerly sniffed the air, frowning in disgust. “It smells like the hot springs, only much stronger.”

  “Yes, but when the vapors come forth, the smell is terrible, even from afar. Your eyes will weep and your throat will burn as if on fire. You would be wise to avoid this place.”

  “Or at least stay upwind of it,” Marc said. “Does it have a name?”

  “My predecessors called it Devil’s Breath.”

  Valeria warily eyed the rocks. “Is it from the Devil?”

  The wizard chuckled. “No. It is a natural part of the earth.”

  Moving several steps closer, she inspected it for a long moment, then retreated, ending up next to Marc. “Our world is a curious place.”

  And dangerous, thought Marc.

  Oren led them past other features of the Vale, including a small lake to the west and a mysterious rock that seized Marc’s knife to itself as surely as if it had invisible hands. They ended up at the northeastern corner of the Vale, next to a series of small waterfalls. Studying the water’s course, Marc found it to be the upper portion of Wiccan creek. Immediately to the east, tucked against the base of the hill, perched a small, isolated ledge on the far side of the creek.

  The Master pointed toward it. “There is one more thing to see. A cave.”

  Marc liked caves. Eagerly searching the ledge, he quickly spotted the cave’s dark maw mostly hidden by a dense clump of trees. Repeating his earlier magic, the wizard Floated them across the water to the ledge. The cavern’s hole looked to be two paces high by four wide, expanding into a larger sized pocket within the hill. The overall shape reminded Marc of a half-open mouth. He looked toward his master.

  “I take it this cave is special in some way?”

  The old man nodded. “It is indeed. This is how we shall return home.”

  Marc wondered by what magic a cave could bring them to Oren’s home.

  Valeria looked equally confused. “I don’t understand.”

  The wizard strode purposefully inside, his cloak flaring out behind him. “You will shortly.” They followed him until it was too dark to continue.

  “Uh, Master?” Valeria called out, her voice echoing back from the cave’s depths. “We cannot see.”

  Marc heard the master’s footsteps halt, then move close to the wall on their left. “Ārdē!” Seconds later a torch caught flame. Taking it from its holder, Oren held it high. “Is this better?”

  “Much,” she said.

  Oren gave them an odd look coupled with the slightest trace of a smile. “You are unable to see in the dark?”

  “And you can?” Marc blurted in disbelief.

  “Yes. Here.” Handing him the torch, Oren proceeded further into the cave. “Magic tells me where things are, letting me move through the dark with ease.” After a moment the elder added, “Would you care to learn how, young Marcus?”

  Valeria flashed him a delighted smile, reflecting his own excitement. “Indeed, Master. Such a skill would be valuable on long, dark nights.” If he knew how to see in the dark, unseen threats lurking outside of the fire’s light would no longer remain hidden. Bears, wolves and even the occasional thief could be found and dealt with. Shaking his head, he suppressed a chuckle at having found another positive aspect of magic.

  Soon the cave narrowed to a tall crevice just wide enough to walk through. At that point a light wooden door blocked further travel. Oren swung it open. “This keeps the bats out of the deeper recesses.”

  Once past the door, they threaded their way through seemingly endless twisting passages, the floor of which was filled in and leveled with a fine gravel. Heavy with moisture, the air smelled a bit of wet earth and mold. Marc found the journey both thrilling and mystifying; he had no idea one could go this far into the ground. The rock around them felt warm to the touch, and every so often he spied bands of different color stone meandering up the wall. After several minutes, the crevice before them abruptly closed up to little more than a crack; they had reached a dead end.

  “Where to now, Master?” Marc asked.

  Pointing upward, Oren commanded, “Volitā!”

  Again the magic enveloped Marc. Still holding the torch, he rose through the blackness until coming to rest in a continuance of the fissure higher up. Peering over the edge, he looked down at Valeria who looked back with a wide grin. The distance between them seemed to be about thirty feet.

  “Val, there’s more cave up here.”

  In short order, Oren’s magic deposited her beside him. They found themselves in an oblong chamber, three paces wide by seven deep, filled with an ample quantity of stores similar to those kept in the house.

  Valeria patted a nearby keg as Oren joined them. “Master, why do you have so many supplies this deep in a cave? Are they not difficult to get to?”

  “No.” When she gave him a puzzled look, he calmly added, “You will see.”

  The wizard moved past them into another passage and, after a few steps, took a sharp right turn into a corridor that was clearly man-made. It immediately widened into a medium, rectangular room, also man-made, with multiple niches hewn into the rock walls on either side. The space reminded Marc of the part of the workshop cut into
the hill. At the far end, Oren stopped before a wide wooden door and faced them.

  “This room contains my most important possessions. I show you this because we will soon be working with them. I know I can trust you both to keep this room, and the caves beyond, secret.”

  Honored, Marc bowed his head.

  Oren took the torch from him and placed it in a sconce on the wall. From a small shelf above the door he took an oil lamp and, raising it to the torch, lit it, then handed it to Marc. Moving to the center of the room, the wizard reached deep into the shadow of a larger niche and brought out a very thick object wrapped in a light brown suede. Tucking it beneath his arm, he returned to the door.

  “As you can see, this door has no visible latch. Within the heart of the door is an iron bolt that slides into a hole in the stone. To pass, magic must be used to move the bolt out of the stone and further into the door. Marc, do you remember the spell I used to open my gate yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  The Master gazed intently at him. “Say it.”

  Marc’s stomach lurched with fear. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes.”

  His master’s tone was sufficient to convey he could not avoid this task. Passing Valeria the lamp, he took a deep breath, braced himself—against what threat he did not know—and quickly spat out a half-hearted, “Aperīte.” Nothing happened. The remaining air escaped his lungs in a sigh of relief.

  “What was that?” Oren was not pleased.

  “I said it correctly, did I not?”

  “You used the right word, but the importance lies in how you say it. It is not a request or a statement, it is a command. It must come from the very core of your being. The magic will not work its wonders for you if you merely ask. Try it again. This time take charge.”