Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1)

by Scott Robert Scheller

  “I’m not certain of its meaning. I should talk with Master Oren about it first.”

  “Very well. But tell me, what did you mean when you said, ‘Beware the Magus of Power’?”

  A cold sensation suddenly radiated outward from her core, its cause unknown to her. “I don’t know. I have no memory of saying those words.”

  Patting her hand, he gently placed it on her stomach and stood. “You better get some more sleep. I’ll spend the rest of the night in the workshop. If you need anything, call me.” She heard his sandals scuff across the floor.

  “Marc?”

  “Yes?”

  “With all the things we’ve experienced the past two days....”

  “It’s been quite an adventure, hasn’t it?”

  “Thanks for being such a good friend.”

  “You, too. I wouldn’t want to share it with anyone else. Good night.”

  Chapter 14

  Valeria awoke to the chirping of birds outside. What little light managed to leak in around the leather flap covering the window told her the sun had yet to rise. The events of yesterday seemed more remote than they should, as if but a dream. Someone else’s dream. That person journeyed to the Great Tree, became overwhelmed by magic and woke in the middle of the night, confused and in pain. But she knew that someone was her.

  Two things remained from the night before: her headache—now greatly lessened—and a keen awareness of the Great Tree. It remained a constant presence in her mind, not unlike the sound of a nearby waterfall. Now she understood why Marc considered it haunted and had such difficulty finding words to illustrate the experience.

  Tossing the blanket aside, she rose and stepped into the tiny alcove where the doorways to the nearby rooms converged. Peeking past the hide curtain to the fireplace room, she saw that both Gildas and her master still slept. Next, she quietly lifted the latch on the workshop door and inched it open until she could slip inside. Marc also slept, curled up on a blanket spread upon the stone floor, his chest rising in slow, even breaths. She watched him for a minute, wanting to sit by him, or better, lay by him, for his presence comforted her. But at the moment there was something she desired more.

  Leaving him be, she tip-toed over to the cave door. Placing her hands upon its heavy planks, she recalled every detail of Oren’s instructions when Marc learned his earliest spell. She knew she needed to remember how the magic felt and to make that feeling move down into her hand. But how did it feel? The magic of her visions, or how Marc or Oren felt when she touched them, were different from being Floated over the stream. Concentrating, she tried to recreate the latter.

  “That will not work,” a voice whispered into her ear.

  Valeria’s heart leapt into her throat as she spun about and saw—“Master! Forgive me, I—”

  Putting a finger to his lips, he pointed at the still sleeping Marc, then motioned for her to follow. She was devastated. The master had to be displeased. Why couldn’t she have waited? Oren would have taught her in time. But now her impatience may have cost her dearly. Humbled, she trailed behind as he led her outside and over toward the well. He sat on the bench facing the trees and nodded at the space next to him. Sitting, she kept her eyes focused on the ground, not wanting to see his anger.

  “Eager, are we not?” His voice betrayed no emotion.

  “I’m so sorry, Master,” she said meekly, unable to keep the tremor out of her words. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Be calm, Valeria. I am not angry.” His hand briefly settled upon hers.

  She looked up and saw warmth in his gaze. “But I tried to use magic without your permission.”

  A grin sprang to life on his face. “Without my permission? What did I tell you about learning magic?”

  “That it would choose if I were worthy.” She paused, realizing the source of Oren’s amusement. “And since I can feel the Tree from afar, I am now permitted to start learning the spells.”

  “Later today,” he said with a wink.

  A rush of excitement ran through her.

  Oren held up a finger. “But first, tell me of your vision at the Tree.”

  Her thrill quickly tempered into unease. “I don’t remember it as well as my other dreams.”

  “Do your best.”

  She nodded. “It began with Marc walking through a great fire of some kind which parted around him as he moved. I saw anger on his face, but—” She sighed. “Somehow I knew he had been deceived. I felt it.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Go on.”

  “Next, I saw a hand draw back a bowstring. I’m certain it was somebody I knew, but the vision would not reveal who. That person felt cold, felt... evil. Then I saw Marc covered in blood, crying.” She clutched at her quivering stomach, trying to will away her rising panic. “After that, the cold man sneered, but I saw only his mouth. The rest of his face remained hidden in shadow. Next, Marc knelt upon the ground, looking up at someone; the cold man, I think. An arrow flew through the air, but strangely, for it moved slowly, like a feather floating by.” She clutched the master’s hand so tightly he flinched in pain. Taking an unsteady breath, she forced out the words she feared to speak. “Then Marc lay in an open grave, screaming.”

  That memory sent a shudder down her spine. Should she tell Oren she’d dreamt it before? Something in his gaze made her think it would be best kept to herself for now.

  “And how did that vision make you feel?” he asked gently.

  “Frightened. I worry it means he will die.”

  The master looked momentarily troubled. “Have you ever seen him as being dead?”

  “No, but I know death is involved. Should I go on?” He nodded. “The last image is the strangest. The cold man possessed a sword and a quiver of arrows, both of which flew off to the side as he rose up into the air, moving away from me. A great wall of flame erupted between us and the vision ended.” Releasing a silent sigh, she relaxed a little, grateful to have shared her burden.

  The master idly toyed with the cuffs of his sleeves for a half-minute before speaking. “Interesting. The most difficult part of interpreting visions is to remove the influence your emotions have upon them.” He looked at her in a way she had never seen before. Tenderly. “Your feelings for him may cloud the truth.”

  Suddenly unsettled, she searched his face for clues. Did the master know how deeply she cared for Marc, or was he only referring to the fact that they had been good friends all their lives? “I think I understand what you mean. There’s one other thing. Marc told me I said something before passing out, but I don’t remember saying it.”

  Oren nodded. “‘Beware the Magus of Power’. As for what it means?” He shrugged. “It might be a portent of something yet to come. Visions need not have any images. They can be only a smell, a taste, how something feels, or even sounds. In your case, words that are spoken.”

  “Then what purpose did that part of the vision serve if I’m unable to remember it?”

  “It is difficult to say. I trust in time we will discover why. Do remember, though, visions often contain many messages mixed together. If something is important, you will usually see it more than once.”

  Valeria tensed, now even more concerned about seeing Marc lying in a grave for that signified death. Or did it? True, she never saw anything indicating he was actually dead, but what if it meant he would be seriously wounded?

  “These images of Marc worry me, Master. Shouldn’t I tell him about them?”

  Oren sternly shook his head. “No, not until you are certain of their meaning. Giving false information is worse than giving none.” He stood. “Do not fear your visions for they serve a higher purpose. Come.” She followed him toward the house. “From now on, you and Marc will spend most of your day learning the spells. He will teach you what he has mastered so far, which is considerable. I expect you to learn quickly and learn well.”

  “I shall!” Oh, how she wanted Marc to instruct her in the ways of magic.


  The old wizard chuckled. “Of that I have no doubt.” He opened the door and bade her enter first. “I have a special task for you. My wizard’s robe is far past its prime. I want you to craft me a new one.”

  “Gladly.”

  Together they returned to the workshop, entering as Marc stretched and yawned loudly. “Morning, Master, Val.” He looked at her with a caring eye. “How are you feeling?”

  His concern gladdened her heart. “Much better. Just a small headache.” She glanced over to see Oren entering the cave door, then flashed Marc a big grin. “I have some good news for you.”

  His eyebrows rose. “What?”

  For a moment she thought about teasing him, making him try and guess the answer, but her impatience won out. “Master Oren has decided to take on a second apprentice. Me.”

  Marc hugged her with enthusiasm. The sudden contact with his body and magic made her mind reel with delight. “That’s wonderful! When do we start your lessons?” His playful smile caught her off guard.

  “You already knew?” His smile broadened, causing an understanding to form in her mind. Planting both hands on her hips, she gave him the most irritated glare she could muster. “Last night, when I asked you to teach me magic, you already knew you’d be doing so, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Oren and I discussed it before you woke. I didn’t tell you because I knew that, despite having a terrible headache, you’d want to start learning then and there.”

  “You’re right,” she said with a laugh. “I would have.”

  — o O o —

  The first part of her morning crept by. Oren detailed at length how he wanted his new robe constructed, with all kinds of inside pockets and secret places not visible from the outside. She did not understand why he needed those additions but knew better than to ask. After taking his measurements, they ate the morning meal during which she fidgeted nervously, barely able to stand the wait. Marc took great pleasure in tormenting her by eating slowly, pretending he had nothing important to do. When he finally finished, she took his hand and eagerly led him to the cave door.

  Marc laughed. “Shall we begin?”

  “Of course.”

  “Since you already know how to properly utter the command, let’s move on to feeling the magic.”

  “Yes, let’s.” Hearing the scrape of the workshop door upon the floor, she turned to see Oren had escorted Gildas into the room.

  “Never mind us,” Oren said, gesturing for her to look away.

  So she would have an audience. Not a problem. Holding her right hand out toward the door, she looked at Marc. She had dreamt of this moment for weeks. “Ready.”

  When he took her hand in both of his, she immediately felt magic’s power flowing through him. Its heat made her skin tingle all the way up to her elbow.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked.

  “Very much.”

  “Good. Now, make it move up your arm and into your head.”

  Without the slightest idea how to do that, she nodded in agreement. What would make it move? She wiggled her arm but the magic stayed put. Flexing her muscles did no good, either.

  “Talk to it,” Marc said gently.

  Talk to it? How? She thought about finding Gildas the other day and how she made the vision stronger. What worked then might work now. Concentrating her thoughts on finding the magic, she stared intently at their hands. A gasp erupted from her as she saw—no, it couldn’t be. Blue! Why didn’t she see it before? Opening her mind much as one would step out of another’s way, she gazed deeply into the glow and cleared a path that the power immediately took.

  Instantly, the tingle washed over her entire body. For a moment her head spun as if she were about to faint, but the sensation passed, leaving her acutely aware of the door before her. “I— I see the door,” she said, almost reverently.

  “Wonderful. Now find the bolt.”

  “With ease.”

  “You know what to do.”

  “Aperīte!” The bolt hastily moved within the planks. “I did it!” She jumped up on Marc who caught her, laughing.

  “Yes, you did.”

  Sliding off him, she danced around like a young child. She felt suddenly free, as if something trapped deep within her had managed to escape its bonds. The sound of clapping drew her attention to the far side of the workshop. Gildas applauded her. Oren, too, nodded in appreciation.

  “Thank you,” she said with a bow. Whirling about, she ran up to Marc and hugged him once more. “And thank you, too.”

  “You’re welcome.” His arms encircled her in a heavenly embrace. If possible, she would have clung to him forever, but soon his grip relaxed and he stepped away. “Now do it on your own.”

  Reaching out, she tried to see the door once more. Nothing. While weak, the magic had not completely left her. Focusing all her willpower on that small remainder, she tried to make it grow. At first, her efforts were ineffective. Success came when she found out how to control her thoughts and thereby the magic. As soon as she located the bolt she wasted no time in acting upon it.

  “Claudite!” The thud echoed within the room.

  “Marvelous.” Gildas clapped louder than before.

  Pleased with herself, she released the magic. Without warning, light-headedness swept through her, making her knees buckle.

  Marc’s strong hands steadied her. “Easy.”

  The discomfort passed. “Does this always happen?”

  “No. You’ll adjust to it soon. That was an acceptable performance—for a beginner.” Admiration filled his gaze.

  “Acceptable? Ha! It was perfection.”

  “It must be because you have such a skilled teacher.”

  She gave him a stern look, then broke into laughter. “Yes. It must be that.”

  — o O o —

  Marc worked with Valeria until mid-afternoon; in all she learned over a dozen spells. He was proud of her and wished he could have had her enthusiasm when he began the lessons. No telling where he would be today. Leaving her to start work on their master’s new robe, Marc joined Oren on a walk. After discussing Valeria’s progress, the wizard’s demeanor became more serious.

  “You and Valeria have experienced many changes these past few days, changes that will continue as I teach you ever more powerful forms of magic, such as starting a fire, floating in the air, healing wounds, knowing things about others—” Oren winked at him. “Something Valeria has already done a measure of.”

  Marc tried not to smile. “I look forward to learning new things, Master.”

  Oren continued. “You will also learn about mankind. Since you will often deal with people in stressful situations, the more knowledge you have about how and why they behave, the better off you will be.”

  “Would the way you handled Thaddeus be an example?”

  “Yes. Although I used magic at one point, I mostly put him in his place by understanding what he wanted.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Power and wealth. Too often people become seduced by those. They achieve a measure of control over others and find they like it, believing themselves better than everyone else. Eventually they no longer follow the rule of law and custom, and others suffer because of it. Such a man is Thaddeus. His heart holds no love or compassion, only a greed for what he can take and control. A hunger which can never be sated.”

  “Cannot the power magic provides corrupt us as well?”

  Oren smiled. “Indeed. We are expected to use this great gift with humility and kindness, to share it freely with others.”

  “I understand.” Marc was about to ask another question when his stomach growled loudly.

  Oren chuckled. “Hungry?”

  “I am.”

  “We are near enough to the creek. How does fish sound?”

  “Delicious.”

  “Gather up some firewood, then.”

  As they made their way, Marc gleaned dry twigs and sticks from the litter on the forest floor. “Master, why go throug
h all the trouble of catching, cleaning and cooking the fish when you could just cast a spell and make food appear?”

  “Magic does not allow it, for to do so is wasteful and lazy. Neither could I have produced food enough for all during the darkness, because that would have altered destiny. However, magic did enable me to give everyone two years notice of the coming hardships, allowing them time to lay up sufficient stores.”

  Marc well remembered that particular meeting. Oren not only spoke with Garrett and the men of Oak Creek, but also the leaders of the surrounding villages, including those of their two nearest neighbors, Leahenfehr of Bitter Well to the north, and Patrick of Fox Glen to the south. That very day Garrett directed every able-bodied villager, women and children included, to begin clearing many new acres of land, nearly tripling the size of the grain and vegetable fields. Later, they increased their hunting efforts and amassed a large cache of dried meat.

  “So magic gives us just as much guidance as direct help.”

  The master chortled. “Excellent, Marc.”

  “May we aid others in any way as long as magic permits it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Marc thought much on that. He had always helped his neighbors. Having had the idea to search Red Cliffs for birds frozen in their nests gave him a fulfilling sense of purpose. So did saving Gildas. The master did say he was meant to walk the path of service and magic. If being a wizard meant he could help others all the time, then he looked forward to becoming the best wizard possible.

  Once at the creek, Marc dropped the wood on a sandy patch of ground. Oren walked to the edge of the water and winked at him. “Being a wizard does have its advantages.” Extending his arm, he said a quick retrieval spell and a fat brown trout leapt from the water into his hand. “Now, you try.”

  Marc moved to the bank and watched the fish dart about the stones on the bottom. Spying a nice one, he said the spell but only got a handful of water.