Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1)

by Scott Robert Scheller

  “Extend your right hands, palm up,” he said, placing the lace in Sean’s hand. “Hold this tightly.” Sean’s fingers closed about the leather. Oren then settled the stone into Marc’s palm. “Leave your hand open. This amulet will allow Sean to contact you if an important need arises.”

  As Sean watched in wide-eyed fascination, the master held his hand over Marc’s and began a long incantation, during which the stone hovered inches above Marc’s hand. Keen to learn this new magic, Valeria drank in every word. Never before had she witnessed the master working with charms or amulets, so she knew this had to be special indeed.

  “Done,” Oren said, placing the amulet about Sean’s neck. “Keep this with you always. Should something important happen we need to know about, take it loosely in your right hand and think strongly about Marc. Call to him. If the magic believes your message is worthy, the stone will move within your fingers. Release it and it will float in the air before you. When it does this, speak aloud and the magic will convey your words to him.”

  Awestruck, Sean gaped at the stone hanging from his neck. “I... I’m not worthy of this.”

  Oren smiled. “Of course you are. The magic would not have allowed it otherwise.”

  Gingerly touching it, Sean let out a long breath. “But this holds great power.”

  “As do you.”

  “Pardon?” Sean’s doubtful gaze met the master’s.

  Valeria found herself equally surprised.

  “Your influence, your actions—they can, and will, shape Marc’s future. The power within the amulet pales before that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Oren put his hand on Sean’s shoulder. “All of us here play a part in shaping Marc’s destiny, but you will have one opportunity in particular to do so. For now, do not concern yourself with it. When that time comes, you will know what to do. Trust me in this.”

  “I guess... I mean, yes, I will.”

  While Sean further examined his gift, Oren pulled Gildas off to the far corner of the fireplace room to talk in private. Burning with curiosity, Valeria instinctively began to Envision them. As the image formed in her mind, she suddenly heard Oren say —NO!— Startled, she lost the vision and found Marc pulling her toward the kitchen.

  “Let’s gather some food for them to take on the journey home,” Marc said, glancing back at the Master.

  How did Oren do that? And why did her head spin so?

  “They can have the bread left over from breakfast.”

  She looked at him, confused. “What? Why did you drag me—”

  “And some dried plums. Those will do nicely.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You were rude to listen to the master’s conversation.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” She suddenly realized something. “He talked to me, but I heard it inside my mind. Then I felt odd. I still do.”

  He tenderly embraced her. “You’ll feel better in a minute.”

  “What happened just now?”

  “The master put his thoughts into your mind. He’s done it to me, too.” Letting go, he smiled at her and picked up a small square of cloth. “Now, let’s gather the food I mentioned.”

  By the time they placed the food on the cloth and tied it into a bundle, the strange feeling had abated and they rejoined the others. Sean and Gildas said their good-byes and left. Making no mention of her transgression, Oren indicated she was to complete the robes with all due speed. He left with Marc, saying he would return by noon to give her a special lesson. Looking forward to it, she hoped the master would be in a good mood.

  Chapter 20

  As they left the house, Marc felt tension pouring off his master. Something worried him, but what? This was to be a teaching walk and somehow Marc knew it concerned the lesson for the day. Opening the gate, he spoke his mind.

  “I sense you are troubled, Master Oren. It’s about today’s lesson, is it not?”

  A brief chortle erupted from the old wizard as they passed under the stone arch. “Indeed. You use your talent well. However, the lesson is not one, but three. Circumstances dictate you must learn all of them today—if you are able.”

  Taking the path toward the Great Tree, Marc wondered why the wizard seemed doubtful. “I have learned many kinds of magic in less than an hour. Surely in one day—”

  “With more rudimentary tasks, yes. But these take much practice to learn and great skill to use. They are not mastered in a day, even by those as gifted as you.”

  “Then show me the most basic forms and I will work through the night to learn them well. I will succeed, for I know I must.”

  Oren smiled. “Wisely said.”

  “So, what are they?”

  “The ability to Float, create a Spark, and the magic Blade we discussed yesterday.”

  Rather than being daunted by the difficulty of the three tasks, Marc found himself impatient to begin, especially since he had some experience with the first one. “Float? I already did that the day I fell in Wiccan Creek.”

  “Yes, but you have yet to do so at will.”

  “I’ve done it before and, with your help, I’ll do it again.”

  “Your eagerness is commendable, but a clear mind will serve you much better. Given our limited time, I may be less patient with you today.”

  “Do what you must.”

  “Very well.” Marc heard the amused lilt in Oren’s voice but did not have time to think about it. With a violent lurch of his stomach, he sped skyward. In seconds he found himself hovering above the highest treetops, able to see distant things with perfect clarity. Looking down, a sudden sense of falling shot through his center. Everything spun about in his mind and he instinctively flailed his arms about for balance. Suppressing his panic, he relaxed and dropped his arms to his sides, knowing Oren would keep him safe.

  —Look about yourself with the same magic you use for reading Traces,— Oren Linked. —What do you see?—

  While his eyes revealed nothing, Marc slowly inched his magic away from his body. When it was nearly at arm’s length, he detected a considerable change in the area surrounding him. Fascinated, he checked again in several different directions learning more about its makeup. —There is something like a fine rain falling down around me. I’m in a hollow space shaped like a cocoon, or a bubble. It appears to keep that rain out.—

  —Correct. Find out how to push against that rain, as you call it.—

  Marc tried interacting with the boundary but found it quite frustrating, likening it to catching smoke in his hand. After several fruitless minutes without success, he studied how his master’s magic touched the bubble. That gave him the clue he needed; Marc could now push at it in places.

  His master’s chuckle carried over the Link. —That is cheating.—

  —No, Master. That is learning.—

  —Then learn to make your own bubble.—

  The rain-free space around Marc vanished and he plummeted earthward, the sudden wind whipping his cloak about his face. Fighting the panic clawing at his mind, he frantically pushed at the rain around him, but could not make anything even close to resembling Oren’s bubble. As the ground rushed up to strike him, he snapped his eyes shut. Nothing happened. Opening them, he found himself settling gently upon a log. The bubble had reappeared at the last moment.

  Arms crossed, Oren stood before him, a smile upon his lips. “Do you still think you will learn it this day?”

  “Yes.” Marc stepped down, his heart pounding from both fear and excitement.

  “You now know the basics of Floating. Improve on them. I suggest you try imagining the bubble as a whole, willing it into being. The next two lessons are, in concept, quite simple, employing the same magic you just used, and yet many wizards find them most difficult to learn.” From beside the path a thin twig rose to Oren’s hand.

  “Say you wish to light the end of this. First surround it with the proper kind of magic, then concentrate it very quickly into a tiny spot on the tip.” Oren demonstrated the conce
pt by holding up his right hand, fingers spread wide, then rapidly closing them into a fist. “Understand?”

  It sounded easy enough, but so did making a bubble at first. “Yes. May I observe you do it once?”

  “Certainly.”

  A spherical pool of the master’s blue magic swirled about the end of the twig as if it were a living thing. Then, almost too quick to sense, it disappeared into the wood which caught fire.

  Oren handed him the twig. “That is how you make a Spark.”

  Marc stared at the inch-high flame, impressed by his master’s skill. “I’ve never made magic move that fast before.”

  “You will learn. Now, the magic Blade is even more difficult because you have to hold the concentrated magic together much longer than with the Spark. And, instead of making it move to a single spot, you form it into a line that functions much like the edge of a metal blade.”

  That seemed logical. “Understood. What will this magic cut?”

  “Anything, provided you wield it skillfully enough.” Oren pointed at a nearby rock. “That stone there. Suspend it before me.”

  As big as his head, Marc seized the stone with his magic and positioned it in front of his master, waist high. “The magic Blade can cut this?”

  “With ease. Observe.” Oren’s magic formed above the stone, gathering itself into a short, tight line just above the surface. Once complete, it leapt rapidly at the rock, which cleanly cracked in two with barely a sound. The edges of the cut were perfectly smooth and straight.

  In his surprise, Marc let go of the pieces which dropped to the earth with a twin thud. “Master! No sword could ever cleave it that way. How does this magic work?”

  Oren shrugged. “If one could answer that question, they would be wiser than Solomon.” Oren suspended one of the halves before him. “Now you try.”

  “But this is the most difficult of the three. Should I not try the Spark first?”

  “I have watched you use your magic to throw rocks. In doing that, you have already learned to partially concentrate it. You need only learn how to squeeze your magic further.”

  Fixing his gaze upon the stone, Marc made his magic flow toward it and gather into a small cylinder. He squeezed it ever smaller, but could not make a line anywhere near as good as the master’s—thin as a thread and perfectly straight. His own was larger than boot lacing and crooked as a briar branch. Thrusting it against the rock caused a few small flakes to be shed from its surface. He frowned in disappointment.

  Oren grunted, then nodded. “Not bad for a first try. Concentrate on making the line smaller, straighter and striking with more force.”

  Pushing all other thoughts from his mind, Marc repeated the effort. The line was tighter this time and he struck it with everything he had. He was satisfied to see a chunk the size of his thumb fly from the stone.

  “Excellent, Marc. I do believe that by the end of this day you may indeed split a stone, albeit a smaller one.”

  Oren’s praise filled him with confidence. This was the most difficult of the three skills, and yet he had quickly learned to perform it. But what of the other two? The Spark seemed within his grasp since it was so close to the Blade. Floating, however, did not look easier by any account. Concentrating magic was straightforward enough, but how was he supposed to make a bubble? The only thing that gave him hope was the fact that he had done it once before. Now if he could only remember how.

  Marc shared his concerns with Oren. “What advice can you give me on making bubbles?”

  “Much, my young wizard. Let us continue on our way to the Forbidden Vale while I enlighten you.”

  As they walked, Oren shared that his greatest difficulty in learning to Float was not pushing back the rain or making the bubble, but overcoming his fear of heights. Being more than a few feet above the ground had terrified him. Marc realized his master had never before revealed a weakness to him; a clear indication he had gained the wizard’s trust.

  Upon entering the Vale, Oren stopped and pointed up at the Great Tree. “What can you tell me of the magic that surrounds the tree?”

  Marc paused, trying to understand just what question was being asked. Sensing his elder’s mood, he assumed it was posed more philosophically than literally. “It has no reason for being there and yet it is. It is neither good nor evil. Those with magic in them can feel its magic even when their own is hidden from them. It awakens that hidden self. It reveals truths that need to be learned. It strengthens the magic of those that seek it.” Marc smiled, understanding the question’s purpose. “It will strengthen my magic this day so that I may learn the lessons more quickly.”

  Oren beamed. “Exactly. Destiny has chosen well in bestowing magic’s gifts upon you.” His master walked toward the hill. “Make haste. I have little more time to spend with you.”

  Once at the tree, Oren worked with him at making a proper bubble. Uneven and misshapen, his first ones worked well enough for him to Float, but in order for him to actually go anywhere, he also had to simultaneously use the magic with which he moved objects. Manipulating both at the same time proved very awkward, reminding him of the time he tried to juggle. Still, he kept at it until he met with success.

  “Master, this is most exciting!” Marc marveled at the foot of space between the ground and his sandals. Gently pushing up, he rose several more feet. “This is almost effortless.”

  Leaning on his staff, Oren gave him a wry smile and pointed past the Great Tree. “Try moving sideways.”

  Marc pushed horizontally and barely moved. Using much more force, he managed a casual walking speed. “This is difficult, like wading through deep water. Why is that?”

  “I do not know. However, the larger the bubble, the more effort it requires to move sideways.” The master paused, then added, “Since our magic comes from within us, using it tires the body much like physical work does. The more strenuous the magic, the faster we tire. This is especially true for the three skills you will learn today. If you use too much magic, eating something sweet like fruit or honey helps you regain some strength.” Oren turned and began walking toward home. “Practice, young wizard. If you have an important question, Link to me but do not disturb me unnecessarily for I have much to do.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Continuing to Float, Marc moved northward and down the path into the valley that made up the Forbidden Vale, keeping close to the ground. Nearing the bottom of the hill, he heard a faint noise reminiscent of a gentle wind blowing through trees. As he continued forward, the sound grew louder and more breath-like—a deep, continuous exhale. A terrible stench enveloped him, causing his eyes to water and the back of his throat to sting.

  Alarm shot through him—the Devil’s Breath! Sure enough, it sat no more than a dozen paces before him. He tried to retreat, but in his haste lost control of the bubble and tumbled to the ground, skinning up his left hip and thigh. Scrambling back up the path, he warily viewed the source of these noxious vapors—a low cairn of stones stained with whatever leaked out from beneath them. Plucking up a handful of grass, he tossed it into the air and it drifted northeast, away from him. The wind should have blown the smell away yet some still reached him—powerful vapors indeed.

  Months before, when Oren warned of the dangers of this place, he said the vapors came from deep within the ground. Marc wondered just how deep. Extending his Envisioning into the earth, he followed the path the gas took through a maze of cracks and crevices until he came upon an area of shattered rock where many wedge-shaped slabs nestled together. Playing with them, he found one loose enough to move. Sliding it to one side, he widened the crack until it spanned the width of two fingers. After about fifteen seconds, a great rush of gas shrieked loudly as it erupted from the stones of the Devil’s Breath.

  Even though he knew the reason for the noise, it unnerved him, awakening something primal in the dark recesses of his mind. He could understand how the uninformed would fear this and equate it with evil. Lifting his gaze above the roc
ks, he discovered the vapors could be seen as well. Everything viewed through them shimmered and danced as if possessed. Fascinated, he followed the distortions upward and saw their effects gradually diminish.

  Not far beyond the gas column, two ravens flew his way. One veered off to the side while the other continued straight into the plume. It immediately cawed loudly and flapped about, rapidly changing direction several times. Seconds later it fell to the ground, flopped twice, then lay dead. Gasping, he feared he had just unleashed a horrible danger upon the world. Earnestly hoping it could be undone, Marc quickly shifted the slab back to where he found it, and the flow ebbed, returning to where it had started.

  Relieved, he decided his time was better spent practicing the lessons. Having had some initial success with Floating and the magic Blade, it was time to try the Spark. He searched the ground for something to burn. Finding a short stick, he peeled the bark off one end exposing bare wood. Nervous, Marc focused his attention on the end and gave it his all. Nothing happened. Touching the wood, he found it quite warm, but nowhere near hot enough to ignite. Again he tried, and got the same result. Frustrated, he tried six more times, adding a bit of anger to the effort. Still no change.

  Perhaps the stick was too large for the magic he could create right now; the twig Oren used earlier was a third the size. Marc needed something tiny. Looking around, he found little but the abundant grass, and it was too green to burn. Then he remembered the ring of dead grass and weeds surrounding the Devil’s Breath. Tinder dry, it would require much less effort to light. Fetching a few blades with his magic, he held one before him and Sparked it. A wisp of smoke briefly curled up from the pale yellow stem. He laughed. While not a complete success, it was certainly close enough.

  After two more attempts, it caught fire. Exhilarated, he selected another blade and repeated his accomplishment on the first try. Challenging himself, he moved nearer to the Devil’s Breath to see if he could Spark the grass around it from a distance. Wary of the scant vapors still leaking from there, he moved fully upwind and kept five paces away. Choosing a lone blade as his target, he Sparked it.