A sense of relief washed over Marc. “That’s clever. And—” He paused, shrugged, then humbly gestured toward the spell book. “It’s good we don’t have too much power.”
From the kindling pile, the master selected a slender twig. Twirling it in his fingers, Oren looked him in the eye. “But what we do have can be very powerful when used in the right manner. Remember how I dealt with Portaeus?”
Oren handed him the stick. Marc regarded it while recalling the ease with which his master defeated the thief. “The stick, and the spell you pretended to put on it, were meant to fool him and—his wounds! How did you do that?”
“It is called the Magic Blade. You will learn it soon.”
Marc eagerly clapped his hands together. “Yes, please.”
Oren chuckled. “I thought you would like that. Now the reason I made you learn the spells first was to ensure that you believed in them and, as a result, be convincing to others. Always use the same phrase for the same task, otherwise people might become suspicious. If there is some difficult task to achieve, be sure to have the spell fail the first time or two. Use a larger, more fanciful spell the second or third time. Make it rhyme. Get some of the witnesses to hold hands, or kneel, or do something else special. Remember, the bigger the show you put on, the more powerful your magic appears to be.”
Marc imagined himself casting spells before a crowd, waving his arms in grand gestures while hoping no one would realize his deception. Unsettled at the thought, he shook his head. “I would feel like a liar doing that.”
“Do not. If you are to be a wizard, that is the part you must play. It is expected of us. Think back on my past visits to Oak Creek.”
Memories of Marc’s youth flooded through him, of the many times Oren came to his village and how he and the other children eagerly ran to greet him. One day in particular came to mind. Marc was ten and playing with Valeria, Sean and Donald, when the wizard approached them.
“Good day, young Marcus. I see you and your friends are enjoying yourselves.”
Self-conscious at being singled out, Marc just nodded.
“How would you like to help me do some magic?”
Valeria gasped and looked at Marc with an infectious grin. “Say yes, say yes.”
Catching her excitement, he smiled at Oren and asked, “What do I have to do?”
The wizard gestured at a leather pouch sitting on the ground before Marc’s crossed legs. “Just empty out your acorn bag.”
Donald’s eyes widened and he drew back slightly, his voice nervous. “How do you know he has acorns in there?” Marc wondered the same thing.
Valeria let out a titter of amusement. “Because he’s a wizard, Donnie.”
“There’s that,” Oren said, giving her a nod, then tapping a finger beside his right eye, “plus I’ve been paying attention.”
Undoing the drawstrings, Marc upended the bag and dumped several dozen acorns upon the ground. “Now what?”
“Hold it open to the sky because I’m going to catch some of the heavens and put them inside.” Marc and his friends watched in fascination as Oren slowly lifted his arms above his head and majestically opened them as if in supplication, all while casting his spell with a sure and steady tone. After a minute of this, the wizard placed both hands, one atop the other, above Marc’s head and said, “Hold your right hand palm down over your bag.” Marc did so. “Now say ‘let the sky come to me’.”
As soon as Marc spoke the words, the bag gave a little hop, brushing against his hand.
“Look inside,” Oren instructed, watching him closely.
Tugging the edges of the opening wide, Marc gazed within and saw a flash of reflected light. Tipping the bag up onto his left hand, he gasped as a nearly perfect sphere rolled to a stop against his thumb. Almost as clear as water, it had a light blue tint that spoke to him of cold, cloudless winter skies.
Valeria leaned over his hand, inspecting it close. “It is a piece of the sky,” she whispered reverently.
Oren chuckled. “You could say that.”
Marc rolled it around his palm with the tip of a finger. The stone, or whatever it was, had a curious warmth to it. “My thanks, wise one. I will treasure it always.”
Returning his thoughts to the now, Marc Envisioned his sleeping chamber and the shallow ledge above his bed. Seizing the object he wanted with his thoughts—his magic—it drifted through the house, four feet above the floor, and to the table’s surface before him. Tiny reflections of the fire on his left shone on its glossy exterior. Marc met the master’s gaze.
“You knew even then, didn’t you? Knew I’d have the... the power we share. That I’d be your replacement.”
A smile lurked within the elder’s eyes. “I did.”
Picking it up, Marc held it between his thumb and forefinger, inspecting it with a casual ease. “I’ve always treasured this. For a time after my father passed, I would hold this piece of the sky and find some comfort in it.” He gave Oren a knowing look. “The way you presented it to me made it special, gave it meaning. If you had just handed it to me without such ceremony, or show, as you call it, it would not have mattered nearly as much.”
With a gentle flick of his wrist, he tossed the stone into the air and, with his thoughts, caused it to slow, then hover a couple of feet above the table, slowly spinning in place. Giving his teacher a respectful nod, he gestured at the stone with a dramatic wave of his hand. “I understand the need for wizards to use show.”
Marc felt the trickle of magic that stretched between him and the blue orb. His will alone kept it aloft, and that act seemed... Normal? Natural? It required almost no effort to maintain, yet what was easy for him was impossible for anyone else. Why?
“Master, if our power comes from within us, where do we get it from? Why are we different from others?”
“No wizard can answer that for certain, but I believe the Creator gives it to us. There is no need of spells, potions, amulets and such. We just will it and it happens. I see our gifts as having the tiniest little sliver of God’s power inside us.” Oren gently placed a hand on Marc’s shoulder, his voice taking on a humble tone. “What else could that be besides true magic?”
God’s power? The very idea filled Marc with awe and humility. What made him so special as to receive such a wondrous gift? Distracted by that thought, he lost control of the stone and it dropped to the table with a sharp crack.
As if reading his mind, Oren shrugged. “None of us know why we have these gifts, we just do.”
Letting out an amused snort, Marc turned his attention to the book sitting between them. “I suppose I should continue to learn the remainder of the spells?”
“Yes, along with other important things I will teach you.” The wizard watched him a moment before saying, —This is your first lesson in the new magic.—
“What lesson—” Marc froze. Something seemed very odd. He understood his master’s words, yet Oren’s lips neither moved, nor did Marc hear anything with his ears. Gasping, he took a hasty step back from the table. “What!? How... how did you do that?”
Oren regarded him calmly. —Do what?—
The master’s words passed through him like a hot wind. “I... I can hear you even though you are not speaking. It’s as if you are invading my thoughts.” A surge of discomfort welled up inside Marc. “Please don’t do that.”
—Do not be concerned. This is normal for wizards. You can do this , too.—
Marc’s anxiety subsided to a general unease. “That may be, but I still don’t like you in my mind.”
—I am not inside your mind. I am talking with my thoughts and your mind hears it as your ears would hear my voice.—
Sitting, Marc tried to clear away the confusion churning within him. Magic wasn’t really magic, yet it was. And this power he possessed—how far would it progress? What other mysteries would be revealed? He felt strangely dizzy. “So many changes. I feel quite odd.”
—That is because your magic is trying t
o talk like this. Do not resist it. Let it happen.—
Part of Marc wanted very much to learn this magic. Another part feared giving in to it. The room spun sickeningly. “Master, I—” He tried to stand, but the vertigo swelled and he crumpled toward the floor. Weakly putting out an arm, he attempted to break his fall, but the impact never came. It took him a moment to realize Oren’s magic had caught him and returned him to the stool. The woozy feeling lessened. Taking a deep breath, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
—Thanks, Master. I— Marc’s eyes opened wide and, unsure of what just happened, he hesitantly pointed at his head, then Oren’s.
—Yes, I heard you. We wizards call this Linking.—
All reservation left Marc. —This is remarkable! How far away can we talk—Link—like this?—
—It depends on the strength of each persons’ magic. I could easily communicate with Arturius when he was at a distance of several days journey.—
“Incredible.” —Sorry. This is still new to me.—
—You are doing fine.— The master gave him a pleased smile.
— o O o —
Marc practiced more Linking, but soon the strain of it gave him quite a headache. Even so, he was glad to have learned it; the excitement he felt equaled that of unlocking the workshop door for the first time. Receiving Oren’s permission to take a break, Marc left the house and walked down the stone-covered path, looking about. Everything seemed slightly different. Could it be his imagination, or did learning the Great Secret change him somehow? The surroundings appeared the same physically, yet he sensed there were other aspects he could not quite identify.
As he approached the large iron gate, Marc caught himself about to wave his hand and utter the spell like so many times before. Smiling, he did neither. Seeing the locking bar with his mind, he moved it, letting the gate swing free. With a satisfied laugh, he stepped through the arch, closed the gate behind him and idly strolled down the southern path.
Elated, he felt freed of a burden that until now he did not know he bore. An intense hunger grew within him, a hunger to learn all he could about the new magic—the true magic. He felt so foolish for fearing it in the beginning. If only his first encounter with the Great Tree could have been on different terms. Suddenly, he realized the Tree presented an even greater mystery than before. How did his awareness of magic awake under its influence? Was it due to his magic, or did it have some of its own? Oren probably knew. Marc considered whether it was worth further aggravating his headache to Link to his master for an immediate answer. No, it could wait until he returned. For now, he wanted to rest and enjoy the fine day.
Chapter 16
Marc knocked at the workshop door. “Master?”
“Come,” came the muffled reply. Marc half expected his master to Link his answer instead.
He entered, finding Oren seated at the large table, the book of spells before him. The old man gestured at the stool opposite him.
“Feeling better?”
“Much,” Marc said, sitting.
Oren regarded him for a moment. “You have questions.”
Marc smiled. “Yes, many. The Great Tree. How do I sense it? Why do I sense it? And why does it affect me so? Does it have magic within it like we do?”
The elder nodded in a pleased manner which implied he expected those questions. “The spot upon which it stands is unique. A power flows out of the earth much like water does at the hot spring. It is something we can feel and even draw into ourselves. But the Tree cannot use or guide that power as we do.” Oren gave a half shrug. “I do not know why this is so, it just is.”
“If I had not gone to the Tree, would I have ever discovered the magic within me?
“Possibly not to the degree you understand it now, but since I knew you were destined to become a wizard, I would have sought you out regardless.” Oren eyed him for a long moment, a faint smile upon his lips. “You should know you had already used some of your gifts before coming here.”
A flutter of surprise danced in Marc’s belly. “I did?”
“For one, you had many little visions.” The master’s smile broadened. “Mostly of Valeria.”
Feeling his face heat, Marc looked away in embarrassment. “But those were not as life changing as touching the Tree.”
“True. After that experience you became open to other things. When you and Sean encountered the wolves, the magic in your mind sensed when the attack would come. It also commanded the wolves to stop attacking and leave.”
Marc blinked in disbelief. “You must be jesting. I didn’t actually talk to them, did I?” Closing his eyes, he recalled seeing the female wolf’s startled reaction to his command. “Maybe so. But how?”
“In a way you did a simple version of Linking. Wolves are intelligent creatures. They understood you to say stop and go away.”
Amazed, Marc took in a deep breath and let it out slow. “But I hadn’t learned to Link yet.”
“Sometimes, a severe stress such as having your life threatened will make your powers awaken, if only momentarily.” Oren leaned closer, his eyebrows raised. “Like when you escaped from the creek on the day you found the buck.”
Marc remembered the icy grip of the water and how he almost gave up. Only after becoming angry did he find the strength needed to climb the rope. “What did I do?”
The wizard raised his hand with a flourish. “You learned to fly.”
Instead of being shocked, Marc immediately realized Oren was right. He recalled how the warmth spread throughout his body, his magic coming alive. “Like how you floated me over the water?”
“Exactly like that.”
By the tightness in his cheeks Marc knew he wore a silly grin, but he did not care. “Master, I must learn this right away.”
Oren laughed. “You shall.”
The workshop door swung open and Valeria bustled inside, causing Marc’s fantasy of soaring with the hawks to come crashing back to reality. In one hand she gripped her sewing bag, and in the other she held up a thick bundle of a coarse, tan fabric bound crosswise with twine.
“Master, I found that cloth you want—” Halting, she looked self-consciously between him and Oren, then started to back out. “Pardon me. I didn’t mean to disturb the lesson.”
“Nonsense,” Oren said reassuringly, waving her over. “We need your help.”
“We?” Marc blurted out. The wizard ignored him.
Valeria’s face brightened. “Yes, Master?”
“Take that cloth and make monk’s robes for both Marc and myself, only do a poorer job of sewing them.”
After a brief pause, she nodded in understanding. “You want them to look like monks made them, not a seamstress.”
Oren graciously dipped his head toward her. “Correct. Give them deep hoods to better hide our faces and large sleeves as well. And include some hidden pockets, much like you did for this fine robe you made me.”
Marc watched as the master paused and appreciatively inspected his own garment. The rich, dark green fabric matched the color of pine needles in the deepest shadows of the forest. Marc especially liked the ornate borders of yellow and white that Valeria embroidered on the cuffs, hem and hood—truly a work of art. Wondering what purpose the monk’s robes would serve, he only half-listened as his master stood and moved slowly around the table.
“We will discuss their construction further after supper. However, before you begin those, I have a more important task for you to complete.” Oren stopped behind him. “I need you to make another wizard’s robe for Marcus here. As of today he is no longer an apprentice, but a junior wizard.”
All other thoughts vanished as he stood and faced his teacher. “I am?”
Valeria jumped at Marc, flinging her arms around him as the bundle of fabric tumbled to the floor. “I’m so proud of you!”
The soft warmth of her embrace smelled of flowers and freshly baked bread. Returning the hug, he was surprised to feel her mould her bo
dy to his. Marc liked that feeling. He liked it very much.
Oren moved toward the door. “Measure him for both robes. I have a chore to attend to. In the meantime, keep studying, wizard.”
Marc quelled a laugh. “I will.”
As Oren left the room, Marc felt his master’s mind once more. —Remember, tell her nothing of the secret.—
—Yes, Master.— Marc realized something else had come through the Link. An emotion. Oren was proud of him.
Valeria brought her hands together in a gleeful clap. “A wizard. That’s wonderful. Everyone back home will be so excited when they find out.” She eagerly hugged him once more.
Again her body conformed to his, the warmth of her ample bosom painfully apparent even through two layers of cloth. Fighting his surfacing lust, he gently separated himself from her embrace. “Let’s not tell them yet. I need to learn more first.”
“Oh.” She sagged, disappointment replacing her grin. “As you wish, Marc.” Her gaze flicked downward, voice taking on a remote edge. “Or should I call you Master now?”
Placing a hand on hers he gently squeezed. “Don’t call me that. I’m no master. I’m still a student like you.”
Her smile returned along with a quiet sigh of relief. “Good. Now, let me get your measurements, oh wise junior wizard.” Retrieving a measuring string from her bag, she gestured at him. “Off with your tunic.” Marc peeled off the garment and she eyed his chest and arms with delight. “My, you’ve got more muscles than I remember.”
Her gaze ignited a fluttering tingle low in his belly. “It’s from chopping all that wood for our master’s many fires.”
“Hold out your arms, like a bird with outstretched wings.”
As he complied, she placed one end of the string between his shoulder blades, holding it fast with her left hand. With her right, she pressed it lightly against his skin and slowly slid her hand across his back, drawing the cord over his shoulder and down his arm to his wrist. His breathing quickened at the intimate warmth of the caress. Next, she reached around his chest with the string, again moving with a sensuous grace. When her hands met at the front, she nestled herself against his bare back.
Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1) Page 19