“Sorry,” Donald said, huffing loudly, then springing away from him, “had to dodge a spear.”
“No problem,” Marc said.
He knew one could easily avoid a spear if one saw it being thrown, even if cast by a skilled warrior. They were only dangerous if a number arrived at the same time, or if one was caught unaware. Realizing the futility of using traditional weapons instead of his magical gifts, he tossed the lance aside and thought about how best to neutralize Thaddeus and Crowe. He didn’t want to kill them outright, even if that would be easier than finding a less permanent way of stopping them. First thing, though, he needed to get them off their horses to prevent them from fleeing. Just as the idea formed in his mind, he watched Thaddeus maneuver his mount next to Crowe, lift a leg and, planting a foot on his leader’s back, shove Crowe off his horse and into the fray below.
Thaddeus quickly spun his horse about and started forcing his way west and toward freedom. This action was repeated by the two companions that always seemed to be with him. As Marc started to send his magic outward to pull down Thaddeus, he sensed a sudden flash of anger and hate from his right. Casting a spare glance that way, he discovered one of the evil soldiers had flanked around the village defenders and now headed directly for Donald, his bloodied battle axe swinging up into a killing strike. Redirecting and strengthening his magic, Marc aimed for the attacker, shouting, “Donald. Down!”
Pivoting his way, Donald saw the direction Marc looked at and, apparently seeing the urgency on Marc’s face, writhed in a manner that would make a ferret proud, flinging himself down and to the side. At the same moment the soldier swung the great axe and it would have buried itself deep in Donald’s gut if the force of Marc’s magic had not impacted against him. With a deep grunt of expelled breath, the man suddenly changed direction and became airborne, flying for over twenty paces until slamming violently into a tree with a muffled crunch of many breaking bones. The man then fell silently to the ground, either unconscious or dead.
Scrabbling to his feet, Donald looked to his attacker and, seeing the deformed heap, said, “Dear God.” Facing Marc, he lightly bowed his head. “Thanks.”
Seeing the light of fear in his friend’s eyes distressed Marc, for he knew it was not due to the death Donald narrowly avoided—too little time had passed for Donald to fully realize the threat the soldier presented—but due to his fear at witnessing the level of power Marc possessed. At how much different—and dangerous—Marc had become. Setting this concern aside, Marc gestured toward the battle raging nearby. “Back to the fight.”
Nodding his acknowledgement, Donald sprinted over to the fallen attacker and took up his axe.
Marc returned his attention to finding Thaddeus but became distracted as a volley of six or seven spears headed for where Oren and Valeria stood. Shouting a non-verbal warning to them, he stopped all but two, but because of his action, the other wizards safely intercepted those. Quickly assessing the scene, Marc found the repentant soldiers had just engulfed Crowe. Seeing their leader’s defeat, the unrepentant soldiers now came at the villagers, determined to take some lives before their own were lost.
Marc immediately joined Oren in Blading the bows and swords of those attackers nearest the people. Not able to Blade very well, Valeria instead used her magic to hurl spears with deadly accuracy and force. Garrett, Ethan and others picked up their own bows and sent arrows into the mob. The attackers in the rear continued to throw spears over the fighting and toward the villagers. Marc managed to deflect all but one. To his horror, that missed spear struck Valeria’s mother, spinning her about, taking her to the ground. Sprinting to the downed woman, he expected the worst and cursed himself for not being able to use his magic better. He reached her the same time Valeria did. Together they dropped to their knees, reaching to find Aula’s wound. Then, suddenly, he and Valeria looked at each other and briefly laughed; fortunately, the spear had only caught the edge of Aula’s garment.
His humor just as quickly passed. Standing, he seized the weapon and, from the Traces upon it, sought out the one who threw it only to find him lying headless in the dirt. The Trace upon the body was unmistakable. —Thank you, Master Oren.—
—You are welcome.—
Scanning the scene, Marc could not find Thaddeus, alive or dead; the man had escaped during all the confusion. Deeply frustrated, he wanted to slam the butt of the spear he held into the dirt, but instead calmed himself because that action would not serve any purpose except to upset him further.
In less than a minute the few remaining attackers fell. The men who heeded Oren’s warning now knelt in ranks before him. The old wizard strode purposefully down the line—tall, vital and in charge—looking into each man’s eyes. Only upon reaching the last man did he speak.
“Face south,” he commanded tersely. “Look at the ground. Remain silent.” After all the men complied, Garrett and Donald rounded up the seven villagers who had risen from their graves and moved them out of sight.
Marc found it difficult not to smile for the seven were quite alive. When Oren told Garrett of his plan to turn Crowe’s men against him by making the dead rise, he explained he could bring only a shadow of life back to the freshly dead. The long dead would remain so. With only one fresh body on hand—Sean—he asked if some villagers might pose as the dead to further frighten Crowe’s men. Oren hastened to add that magic would not normally allow such trickery, but because of Crowe’s evil acts, it would be permitted this one time. There were no shortage of volunteers. After digging out shallow depressions in which to lie, they were wrapped in mud-saturated shroud cloth, covered with old leaves, then a thin layer of dirt. While waiting for Oren’s call, they breathed through a bundle of short, hollow reeds. The well-acted, horrified reactions of the other villagers completed the ruse.
Standing before the soldiers, Oren lifted his hands into the air. “Thank you, spirits of justice. Return now to your domain and leave our dead to rest once more. Take with you the souls of Crowe, Tomar and those who served evil. Show them no mercy. Take them now.”
Marc heard the illusion the master then Pushed into the soldiers minds—a long, blood-chilling squeal of death, not unlike a pig being butchered. Many of the men cringed at hearing it, letting out quiet noises of terror. Marc knew the illusion served more than to just embellish the show; each man would long remember the sound, a reminder of how close death had come.
Oren waited until the men stilled. “Your lives have been spared because you repented and fought against evil. For now, you will be little more than slaves, working to undo some of the damage you wrought. Take this opportunity to examine your hearts....”
While Oren continued his lecture, Marc Envisioned the outlying area and found no remaining threats. Far to the south, Thaddeus and his two men rode hard. While he would have preferred they be punished for their crimes, he would settle for them to go and never come back. To ensure they got the message, he Pushed an image of himself into their minds and said, —Return here and die.— Seeing the fear on their faces made him hope they would heed his warning and, if he were honest with himself, gave him a bit of satisfaction as well. The newfound strength of his magic still surprised Marc.
After binding up the worst of the soldier’s injuries, the village prepared to bury Sean. His heart heavy with sorrow, Marc gently removed Thaddeus’ second arrow from his friend’s body, then Floated him back to the grave site. Valeria came alongside of Marc, nestling both her body and spirit against his. Her silent sobs pulsed through him as Sean’s parents wrapped their eldest child in shroud cloth while Scipio, their youngest, watched with clenched jaw, desperately trying not to cry. They placed Sean in the ground, then each took a handful of dirt and dropped it on him, saying their tearful good-byes. Each villager in turn did the same. When the last of them had passed by, Marc stooped and gathered up some of the rich, dark soil that would soon forever embrace his friend. Looking down into the hole, he wondered whether Sean’s sacrifice was worth whatever he m
ight do in the future. Twice today his life stood in peril, and twice another had saved him. Facing considerable danger, he used his magic to help defeat those wanting to harm him and his village. While he may have passed his test, he took no joy in it.
Marc turned to the people, meeting their gazes. “What lies here is not Sean, only his empty shell, a memory of his life among us. His spirit lives on. He—” His throat tightened, not wanting to speak the words that must be said. Forcing his grief to retreat, he steadied himself, drawing in a calming breath. “He gave the full measure of himself for the good of his neighbors, saying I was to be the next wizard that would protect all of you. In honor of his sacrifice, I pledge that I will do everything in my power to keep the people of Oak Creek and the surrounding villages safe. For now, I will work alongside of Oren the Wise who has served you well for generations. When he decides the time is right, I will humbly take his place. This I do for all of you, and for Sean.” Marc sprinkled the dirt into the grave, crossed himself and walked past.
Valeria, too, faced the people, her eyes sad but proud. “I, like Marc, have been called to serve magic. And, with him, I will also serve you.” Reaching toward Marc with her right hand, palm up, she uncurled her fingers one at a time in a rippling motion while saying, “Surge venīque, amulētum.” Rising off of his chest and over his head, the amulet flew to her grasp where she then held it up for all to see. “When he died, Sean’s spirit passed through this amulet on his way to his reward. The magic that lives with us all has a gift for you. Close your eyes. Quiet your minds. Be calm and listen to magic’s voice.”
When all was still, Valeria let the Trace Sean put upon the stone go from her mind into everyone else’s. A multitude of gasps came from the crowd as they experienced what Marc had witnessed earlier—Sean’s peace and joy as he transitioned from life to afterlife. After a minute she released her Push. A wave of gratitude and relief flowed out of the crowd and through Marc’s mind. Everyone murmured excitedly, amazed at what took place.
Filled with intense love, Marc held Valeria close. —That was wonderful of you.—
Pulling back a bit, she kissed the stone and placed its lace around his neck once more. —I had to ease their pain and let them know what we knew.—
He kissed her tears away, sniffing back his own. —And you did.—
Sensing a sudden surge of pride, they both turned toward the source. Oren looked their way, a faint, sad smile upon his lips and he gave them a small bow of respect.
For the remainder of Sean’s funeral, many spoke kind words about him, recalling how deeply he touched their lives. Afterward, Oren brought Garrett before the captives.
“This is Garrett, leader of Oak Creek. Follow his orders as you would mine. Please him and you will enjoy my mercy. Displease him—” The Wizard’s voice and gaze hardened. “—and you will not.” Crowe’s men heard him well. Oren walked over to Portaeus’ body and gestured at it with his staff.
“Portaeus and the remains of those who fought against Crowe will be buried here with honor and prayer. Those who sided with Crowe will be carted off for the scavengers to feast upon. They were evil and no hallowed ground will be wasted on them. Only after they have become the dung of animals may they return to the soil from which they came. The remains of Crowe and Tomar deserve even less than the wolves and foxes. Ethan, have some of these captives carry them to your swine. Both sows have blessed you with many piglets. They will make short work of their flesh.”
Ethan warily eyed the grim remains of Crowe before nodding to Oren. “As you wish.”
Marc, too, felt some discomfort at the idea, but agreed that such a profound insult would make a strong and lasting impression upon the soldiers. He only regretted that Thaddeus would not be joining his friends in the pigs’ bellies.
Oren stepped back, motioning to Garrett, who stepped up to address the prisoners. “All of you who are able-bodied, divide yourselves into two groups. The first group will go at once to Fox Glen to bury the dead and return with what supplies and possessions you did not steal or destroy the first time you were there. Those items will be given to the survivors who will live with us for a time. Once back, you will begin building them homes here. The second group will remain here to bury the dead and cart off the refuse as Master Oren has commanded. Then you will go to Crowe’s camps and return with all the supplies and spoils you have taken thus far.”
As the men separated themselves, Marc watched the old wizard pull one of the captives aside. “I have a special task for you, Petros. Take a horse and visit the two villages north of here. Inform them of Crowe’s defeat. Tell them they are welcome to come celebrate this good news with us on tomorrow’s eve.”
Tall and lean, yet strong, the soldier’s black hair and eyes made his tanned skin seem all the darker. The man bowed his head. “I will do as you say, mighty one, returning before nightfall.”
Oren smiled slightly. “Then be off with you.”
Marc approached the man as he vaulted onto a horse’s back. “Seek out a monk named Gildas who is among their people. Tell him he is needed here.”
“I shall, Wizard Marc.” With a kick to the animal’s sides, Petros thundered off leaving a wake of dust.
Garrett came near, gesturing at the departing man. “Can you trust him to return?”
Giving out a satisfied grunt, Oren nodded. “Yes.”
After a moment, Garrett glanced questioningly at Marc. “What is Gildas needed for?”
“So I may wed Valeria, of course.”
“Of course,” Garrett echoed with a smile.
Chapter 29
Marc, Oren and Valeria treated the injured soldiers in the village worship area, the benches providing the men places to lay. Of the three most severely wounded, they managed to save two. The remaining men were in no immediate danger, but even so it took hours of continuous use of their magic to heal them. Marc found himself nearly exhausted by the time they finished. Spotting Oren seated on a log in the shade, he joined him.
“What a day it has been,” Marc said with a sigh, rubbing his aching temples. “I feel as if I moved a mountain, one stone at a time.”
With a weak chuckle, his mentor nodded. “Indeed.”
“So much has taken place. A lifetime of experiences.”
For a moment the master remained still, watching as Valeria brought water to the wounded. “You did well today, with one exception.”
Marc knew that issue would come up sooner or later. “Vigilance, I know. But I passed the test, thank God.” Oren looked at him curiously, but said nothing. “What is it, Master?”
“You will always face tests of one kind or another. The most difficult aspect of each will often lie within you.” Closing his eyes, the wizard chewed on a piece of dried fruit. “You did not kill today.” Oren’s calm voice held no admonition; he simply stated a fact.
“I used my magic in the least harmful way, just as you taught me. I could have quickly beheaded them all, but what would that gain? You gave the men enough chances to save themselves. I tried to do the same. Because of that, many lives and souls were saved.”
The old man gently squeezed Marc’s knee. “You have a peaceful, noble heart. But as we discussed last night, some men deserve to die. Valeria knows that.”
The image of her heaving spears at the attackers rose in his mind. At the time her actions were justified. Still, he found it almost contradictory that the same woman who had earlier dealt out so much death now tenderly cared for others.
Marc took a deep breath and let it flow from him, releasing some of his stress and fatigue with it. “I understand, Master, I do. Since last night I have witnessed much of the violence and evil found in men’s minds. I have experienced death, too—the poor souls of Fox Glen, Sean, all the soldiers today. The last thing I wanted was to make more of it.” He looked at the blood-stained dirt by his feet. The many Traces upon it crowded at the edges of his perception—fear, pain, hate, anger, despair. They would overwhelm him if he let them all
into his mind at once.
“I felt temptation today, Master.” He told how the hate for Thaddeus came upon him and how his inner voice pushed it away.
Oren smiled, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. “Your goodness prevailed. The evil of the world wanted you dead, but Sean prevented it, bringing about many changes. Donald finally matured, putting him on the path to his destiny. Sean told you to use his body, which gave me the idea that defeated Crowe without any of the village coming to harm. Many worthy future events will come about because of his sacrifice.”
The sadness coming from Oren equaled his own. “You did tell him he would play a large part in my destiny. I hope to be as wise as you some day.”
“Live as long as I and you shall.” The old man looked upon him with admiration. “You are much wiser than I was at your age. Arturius had not told me the secret yet, not for another two years. I was stubborn and did not accept all of his philosophy. I thought I knew better, and sometimes, when in a less than charitable mood, I considered him an old fool. But he remained patient with me and I eventually understood.” Oren patted Marc on his knee. “Now it is my turn at being the old fool.”
He looked at the man in surprise. “Nonsense. I have never regarded you in that way, Master.”
“And so revealing your greater wisdom.” The old wizard’s eyes sparkled. “I told you that one day your magic would surpass mine, that I would no longer be the master. That day has come. From now on call me by my given name.”
Marc felt a smile forming on his lips. “It would be my honor to do so, Oren, but we both know you have much more to teach me.”
Oren chuckled and returned the smile. “Absolutely. I have gathered much knowledge and experience over the years and it is yours and Valeria’s for the asking. But I cannot teach you any more about magic. All that remains is for you to sharpen your skills.” Releasing a labored sigh, the old one struggled slowly to his feet, dust shedding off his robe like smoke. “I need to sleep. Look in on the wounded once more before you retire for the night, Master Marc. Be at peace, my friend.” Giving him a small wave, Oren headed into the village.
Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1) Page 33