Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1)

by Scott Robert Scheller

  Two years ago, Marc knew nothing of magic or how it felt, but now he understood the antler had a strong connection to it. A cold, chill sweat trickled down his back as the truth became evident. He embraced his mother.

  “Oh, God! I know why I fear magic as I do.” He told her of straying into the Forbidden Vale, feeling the Tree, and how its magic related to that of the antler’s. “Why was the antler so strongly charged with magic? Did the magic kill him?” That last thought greatly worried Marc.

  “I wouldn’t know, Son.” She reached out to caress his cheek.

  When her hand touched him, he again saw quick flashes of the nightmare, only this time with new images. The dark figure skulked about as before, but now he saw it watch as his father knelt before a fallen buck, knife in hand, preparing to clean it. Stepping from the shadows, the figure approached his father, who stood and looked upon the man with familiarity. The figure suddenly drew a sword and plunged it into his father’s heart. Next, Marc saw the antler being thrust into the wound and his father’s lifeless hands positioned around it.

  “Marc?”

  Shaking his head, Marc fought off the effects of the dream—no, not dream. Vision.

  “Marc? What is happening?” she asked, distressed.

  Taking her hands in his, he met her gaze. “I just had a vision.”

  Some of her earlier apprehension returned to her eyes. “You get visions?”

  “Not often, but this one revealed something terrible.” Anger welled up within him as he understood what the vision meant. “Father was not gored by a buck. He was murdered.” Gritting his teeth, he gripped her upper arms. “Murdered with a sword wielded by someone he knew.”

  Pain filled her eyes. “Who?”

  Who indeed, Marc wondered. While the magic revealed some much needed information, it also withheld the most important part. Seeing he was hurting her, Marc relaxed his grip and reined in his temper.

  “I don’t know, Mother. But I’ll find out and avenge father.”

  “How? It’s been over two years.”

  “Magic, that’s how.” Holding her to him, he released what anger he could and calmly said, “I swear on father’s honor, and my own, that I will find a way to use magic to expose the killer.”

  Patting his back, she said, “Ask Oren for guidance.”

  Ask Oren. The man who knew everything, to whom everyone turned when they needed direction. “He says I am to become a wizard like he is, that I am to replace him one day. While I am fairly good at magic, I don’t want to be a wizard for they are also leaders. We all expect Oren to solve our problems. I can’t be responsible for other people’s lives.” He met her gaze. “I can’t do that.”

  A loving, knowing smile blossomed on her face. “You can, and I’ll tell you why. You don’t see yourself as others do. Many of your father‘s strengths are within you. You put the needs of others ahead of your own. You listen before speaking. You never think of yourself as better or more important. You care. And you are very smart.” She tenderly placed the palm of her right hand on his chest. “The leader you claim not to be is already inside. All you have to do is let him out. I know that. And so does Oren.”

  Marc saw pride and love in his mother’s eyes, plus one other thing—certainty. She truly believed it. A sense of peace came over him. Embracing her once more, he felt a warm, familiar sensation come from his left.

  “I know that, too.” Valeria walked into the shed. Her expression matched his mother’s.

  “Val!” He ached to hold her tight.

  She smiled at him, then looked at his mother. “I see he told you.”

  “Yes. Quite a surprise. I’m not sure how to adjust to this. How did you do it?”

  Valeria gave her a crooked little smile. “I’m still adjusting. Sometimes it’s a little strange, but Marc is learning it well.” They exchanged a knowing nod. He had seen women do this before, but never understood its meaning. This time proved no different.

  His mother kissed his cheek. “I’m proud of you.” She moved toward the door. “I need to help with dinner. Let’s talk after.” She glanced at the bouquet, then smiled. “Thank you for the flowers.”

  Valeria followed. “I’ll help, Judith.”

  She held out her hand. “No. Stay. He has something to tell you.” Ducking through the doorway, she left.

  Valeria flashed him a curious grin. “I thought you weren’t going to tell her?”

  “I wasn’t.” He told her what Garrett said about his father’s magic. “I had to ask her. She thought it was all nonsense. I showed her it wasn’t.”

  “So this is what you’re supposed to tell me?”

  Marc shook his head. “I know why I once feared magic.”

  Her brows rose slightly. “Why you once feared magic? What changed your mind?”

  He explained about the antler. “I didn’t put the pieces together before because I hated to remember that night.” He paused, unsure how to share the terrible news. “And then a few minutes ago I learned something more.” He told how a vision uncovered his father’s murder.

  Stepping closer, she affectionately looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry those memories hurt you. We’ll solve this together.” Her soft embrace comforted him.

  Chapter 11

  After several hours of constant talking with friends and neighbors, Marc felt in need of some quieter time, so he talked Valeria into visiting the grain fields. “I’m eager to see how high the oats are,” he said, leading her past the stone altar used for the Sabbath worship. Behind it stood a simple wooden cross fashioned from braided saplings. “Sean says Garrett expects—” Seeing that Valeria no longer walked beside him, he glanced back and found her standing motionless before the altar, staring blankly at the cross.

  “Val? Are you all right?”

  When he touched her arm she blinked, gasped and took a few uncertain steps back. “Oh!”

  Grasping her elbow, he steadied her until she found her balance. “What happened?”

  She gave him a curious smile. “A vision, I think. When I looked upon the cross, I suddenly saw a man lying on the ground.”

  A rush of delight leapt within him. “A vision? While awake? Wonderful. What does it mean?”

  “I’m not sure, but—” Her forehead crinkled in concern. “Somehow I know he’s in need of help.”

  “Can you tell where he is?”

  She looked at him, uncertain. “No, I didn’t see enough to recognize the place.”

  Thinking about his own experience that morning, he guided her to a bench, then settled next to her. “I believe I can help. Close your eyes. Remember how you saw him.”

  Closing them, she nodded. “All right. Now what?”

  “Remember how it felt.”

  After half a minute, she frowned and gently shook her head. “I keep losing the memory.”

  “Try again. You must want to know the area around him. Make it important to you.”

  While she struggled with the task, he noticed a faint blue light surrounded her, clinging like a second skin. As he began to wonder what it might be, the light momentarily intensified and she bolted to her feet. “OH!”

  He stood as well. “Well?”

  A wide smile burst upon her face and her eyes blazed in elation. “Oh, yes! It’s a wonder. It truly is. I saw him, Marc. I saw him try to sit up as clearly as if I were standing there before him. He’s just off the path to Broken Rock, near the big patch of roses. If we don’t help him, he’ll die.” Valeria took his hands, her touch warm with the power he knew well. Several tears rolled from the corners of her eyes as joy radiated from her. “The magic came, Marc. It showed me everything I needed to know. Thank you.” She threw her arms around him in a brief, but intense, hug, then turned and hurried toward the southern path.

  “Val, wait,” he called out, moving after her.

  Stopping, she waited for him to catch up. “What?”

  “Shouldn’t we take our packs? Also, we need to tell someone we are leaving, oth
erwise they’ll wonder why we disappeared and come looking for us.”

  She pursed her lips in a thoughtful frown. “You’re right, but what do we tell them? That I had a vision?”

  “Tell your mother the truth and I’ll tell mine the magic has revealed something we need to take care of.”

  After hastily informing his mother, Marc collected his pack, met up with Valeria and rushed down the path leading to Broken Rock. He thought about why the man needed help. Had he injured himself? Been attacked by some beast, or worse, set upon by thieves? Whatever it might be, the three remaining hours of light should be enough to find him and help him back to Oak Creek.

  Eager to reach the man, Valeria stayed ahead of Marc. Several hundred paces before the woods gave way to the wide meadow, she veered left into the trees and brush. “We’re close, Marc.”

  The magic must have given her as vivid a picture of the man as he had of her that morning. If so, she would know the place as surely as if she had already been there. In less than a minute they came into a small clearing fifteen paces across. Curled up in a ball, the man lay shivering against a fallen tree.

  Panting for breath, Valeria knelt and touched his forehead. “Sir, do not be alarmed. We are here to help you.”

  He was a small man, somewhere in his early forties, clothed in a filthy, brown robe that covered him save for his bald head, hands and sandaled feet. White with fever, his gaunt face clearly showed he had not eaten for some time. The stench that arose from him made it apparent he was quite ill. Marc’s heart went out to him.

  The man peered out through slightly opened eyes. “Oh, thank God,” he wheezed, breaking into a wet cough.

  Slipping the strap of his water skin off his shoulder, Marc crouched and offered it to him. “Who are you?”

  “Gildas.” The man feebly took the skin and swallowed four mouthfuls before resting. “Bless you. I have not drank for two days, too sick to move from this spot.”

  Valeria softly patted his shoulder. “Rest easy, for we will care for you, Brother Gildas.” A look of surprise crossed her face. “You are a monk, yes?” Gildas nodded weakly. “Well, Gildas, I’m Valeria, and this is Marc.” She touched his forehead once more. “You have quite a fever. How long has it been since you have eaten?”

  The monk coughed before answering. “Six days.”

  Marc removed a small cloth bag from his pack and opened it. “I have dried fruit, nuts and a little bread. You are welcome to it all.”

  Valeria took the bread. “Drink more water, then eat this.”

  Gildas’ eyes opened wide; the fist-sized bit of bread must have been more food than he had seen in a long time. He put a shivering hand on Valeria’s. “Our Lord has richly blessed me by bringing both of you here, but,” he pushed her hand away, “I cannot take your food from you.”

  “Please do,” Marc said. “We have enough to eat.”

  Again Valeria offered it. “You need it to get well.”

  Gently accepting it, Gildas said a quick prayer of thanks and devoured the morsel.

  Valeria pointed at a bundle lying nearby. “Do you have any other clothing in there?”

  “No.”

  “Well, we need to get you out of that robe. It’s wet and quite soiled.”

  Again Marc dug inside his pack. “He can use this blanket and hide.” Setting both on the ground, he stood. “I’ll get wood for a fire to warm him.”

  While scavenging about for fuel, he thought of Valeria’s vision. How fortunate for Gildas—and her—that the magic chose this day to speak to her. Smiling, he recalled the heat of her magic flooding into him. It pleased him that he helped her just as the Great Tree had helped him. Even now he sensed its raw power, knew its direction and distance.

  A feeling of awe overcame him as he realized the true importance of this day. The Tree had not kept silent this morning—the entire day was his lesson! A taste of Envisioning earlier let him know how to help Val later on. Marc discovered much about his father, and through that, even more about himself. But of all the things that took place today, the most important was losing his fear of magic.

  Then there was Gildas. Was he part of that lesson as well? Were they destined to find him? Is that why, earlier that morning, he felt the deep-seated need to bring a blanket, skin and extra food? Or was it just chance they were nearby and the magic used that opportunity to teach Val more about her visions? Oren would know.

  Bending to get one last stick, he headed back, eyeing the sky through the treetops. The deepening mass of clouds concerned him. For the monk’s sake, he hoped it would not rain tonight. Returning to the clearing, he found Gildas bundled within the blanket and hide, with only the man’s black hair showing. Downwind of them sat the robe.

  Valeria put a finger to her lips and spoke quietly. “He’s sleeping. He ate three pieces of fruit and drank the rest of the water.” She raised the empty water skin by its strap. “I need to get some more.”

  Marc nodded. “You should wash his robe as well. It’ll dry by the fire.”

  “I’ll do that.” She glanced back at Gildas with a pitiful expression. “That poor man’s so wasted away, little more than a skeleton. He’s been starving for some time.”

  “He’ll recover,” he said confidently.

  She cast him a questioning glance. “You sound so certain.”

  “The magic guided you here for a reason. I believe to rescue him. Therefore, he’ll recover.”

  She appeared thoughtful for a long moment, then gave him a look of admiration, or possibly respect. “I think so, too.”

  He quietly set the wood down. “We’ll stay the night. By morning he might regain enough strength to walk.”

  Glancing back at the prostrate form, she shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll get the water.”

  While she headed off, Marc started on the fire. Gildas was weary indeed, for he slept through the noise of snapping wood and the knife against the flint. While the fire steadily grew, he pieced together a framework upon which to dry the robe. With a quiet chuckle to himself, he recalled doing much the same the day he went over the falls. Valeria returned just as he finished.

  “All clean.” She handed him the damp ball of cloth, set the water skin aside, and sat cross-legged next to the fire. Draping the robe over the frame, he settled beside her and poked silently at the embers.

  Her gaze searched questioningly over his face. “What are you thinking about?”

  “What to do with Gildas tomorrow. He still needs much care. It would be better to take him to Oren’s—it’s closer than the village—but I’m not sure if our master will welcome him.”

  “The magic led us to Gildas. How could Oren refuse?”

  Nodding his acceptance of her logic, he again inspected the sky. The darkening clouds looked even thicker and the breeze had strengthened, bringing with it a chill dampness. “I’m worried it might rain this evening. Even if it doesn’t, it will be cold. Gildas will need both my blanket and hide. All we have left is your blanket to keep warm.” He glanced over and saw her gaze was fixed upon the flames.

  “We can share it like when we were younger.”

  “But we were much smaller then.”

  She faced him, a trace of a smile on her lips. “Then we’ll snuggle up close. That will keep us warmer.”

  Yes, too warm. Nothing short of torture. “And if it rains? A short, light rain should not be a problem, but this looks like a downpour to me.”

  She gestured at the monk, then shrugged. “There’s little we can do about it now.”

  Sighing in agreement, he stood. “We’ll need more wood, then, to last the night.”

  Grabbing a rope from his pack, he headed back into the trees. His task did not take long for many trees had dead limbs that snapped off easily. He also came across two long, stout branches as thick as his forearm—ideal for making a tent should the need arise. Tying the firewood into a bundle, Marc lugged it back.

  He found Valeria, still by the fire, braiding wildflowers into a nec
klace. As he sat beside her, she draped what she had completed below her neck. “Doesn’t this make me look beautiful?”

  “You don’t need those flowers to be beautiful.”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” She gazed at him expectantly, her eyes soft and dreamy.

  Marc silently chastised himself for revealing too much of his feelings for her. Quickly staring at the ground, he pulled up a few blades of grass. “Absolutely.” His confession shocked him. Why did the words escape his lips as if under their own power? He certainly didn’t want to tell her that. Or did he?

  She took his hand. “Marc—”

  An urgent rush of warmth shot through his insides. She was about to speak further, but Gildas awoke in a sudden fit of coughing. The mood broken, Valeria moved to the man’s side. When the spell subsided, she felt his face.

  “Your fever has eased some, Brother. How do you feel?”

  His smile appeared stronger than before but his voice remained shaky. “Better. The food and water helped me greatly. Again, my thanks to you and your husband for coming to my aid.”

  She grinned briefly. “Oh, we’re not married. We’re from Oak Creek, a nearby village. We were—” Her uncertain gaze flicked Marc’s way for a moment, her thoughts very likely close to his.

  How would they explain finding him?

  “We were returning to the home of our master when we came upon you,” Marc said. “When you are well enough to travel, we will take you there to further recuperate.”

  “That is most kind. Please, tell me of your master.”

  Marc knew he had to choose his words carefully. “Oren is very wise and has been teaching us many things, including Latin and Greek.”

  The monk gave him a look of approval. “An educated man.”

  “That he is. From his many scrolls we have learned—” A faint noise in the distance caught his ear. “Do you hear that, Val?” He pointed in the direction of the stream.

  Pulling her hair back, she cocked her head. “A goose. It sounds pretty excited about something. Let’s take a look.”

  Together they moved toward the ruckus which rapidly grew louder. All of a sudden, a gander popped out of the brush and half flew, half ran to the center of the clearing. Right on its tail was a fox, which upon spotting them, abandoned its prey and made a hasty retreat. Marc laughed and watched as Valeria chased after the injured bird. Its bloody left wing hung limply at its side. As it tried to fly with its good wing, it rotated around and ended up landing on its back. Valeria made several grabs for it, but each time it managed to elude her. Gildas started to laugh as well but ended up coughing violently.