The Last Wizard

by Jane M. R.

  “Nary. I hath already made my grand presentation into thy society at the ball. That only needs to be done once. I just need to knoweth what day nary to expect thy visit.”

  “Oh. It’s on Wednesday.”

  The crackling of the fire crystals has such a nice sound. If only it would sooth me deep enough to sleep.

  She nestles further into her blanket. “How did your conversation with Life go? What did they want?”

  Damn. I didn’t want to talk about me. Because now she’s going to bring the horse around to why I haven’t slept.

  I almost choose to not answer her questions, but I have to so she will know why I will be making certain choices in the near future. I take a deep breath, as if preparing to run a great distance. “I asketh them to give the Human Realm more wizards. They refused.”

  “Oh. So…”

  “So when I die, the Faewraith shall swarm the Human Realm and everything upon it who hath the pineal gland shall ceaseth to exist.”

  She’s silent, and then a pang of realization makes her twitch and she looks at me as if to see different words floating in the air. “No, that’s… that’s got to be wrong.”

  “Nary.” The popping of the fire crystals in the hearth before us fill the silence for a moment. I don’t look at her. Because looking at her will summon a dry throat and staccato breaths. “I try every angle I couldst think upon. They dost nary care. They hast thousands of worlds of which to mother. Howevermore, ye art safe, for I still knoweth the spell that let me live for three hundred twenty-four years in the vault. If Life shalt approve my spell again, I shall go back in –”

  She clamps a hand down so hard on my arm that I can’t just pull it away this time. “NO! Zadicayn!” How she says it makes me feel like a disobedient dog. “No. You will not live like that ever again. I freed you so you could live.”

  “What choice dost I hast?” I deflect my anger and terror away from her so she can’t see quit the depth of their reach inside of me. “The Faewraith shall come whence upon I die. I art nary so selfish as to cling to my life for the expense of the whole world. Ye shouldst have left me in the vault. I shouldst hath stayed in the vault.”

  “You will not do that to yourself!” I wish I could believe her words. “You will – we will think of another way. I will not abandon you to do that. I refuse to live knowing you have sealed yourself away with a spell to make you immortal. How can I possibly enjoy life knowing at what cost it took? No. I will not take it.”

  “And I shall nart live knowing that tis because of me ye shall die!” Now I look at her, my heart beating with my certain future that I’m certain she can feel the vibrations of through the air. “This tis my future, Brine. I dost nary like it more than ye. But this tis the burden I must bear. Knowing that the humans shalt die for my failure to liveth forever dost nary compare to any hardship ye put upon thyself.” My voice has dropped to a near whisper. My emotional weary has me weak enough to where I can’t even show her the urgency in my heart because I am too tired to keep my voice at a convincing level. And she sees it, because she asks,

  “When was the last time you slept?”

  “I be fine.”

  “Liar.”

  I ignore her.

  “When was the last time?”

  “I shalt see thee on the morrow, Brine. I pray thee hast a good rest.”

  “You’re still dreaming about the vault.”

  “My dreams art part of life. Like your betrothal.” I know I am tired when I sneak that in there. “There tis nary ye canst dost for me. Dost nary maketh it a hardship for ye too by worrying about me.” I haven’t forgotten that she still has hold on my arm. I no longer have the emotional strength to indicate she needs to let go.

  “Zadicayn… we can sleep right here, on this couch –”

  I’m on my feet before she can tighten her fingers on my arm and keep me down. The blanket drops and I back away from her, backing away like an addict from his addiction. “Nary! Nary, Brine. Ye art betrothed. Ye shalt nary violate thyself.” This is what I say instead of, I’m going to reach a point where I can’t tell you to stop anymore, and then it will be too late. It might reach the terrible point where I force you into something I can’t control anymore.

  “Violate?” she snaps the word and I fear I’ve offended her until she softens, slathering her next words with innocents. “Zadicayn, I’ve done it for you before and I never felt violated. I won’t be violated right now. You are my friend. Let me help before I can’t anymore.”

  “Nay.”

  “If you don’t sleep you will die. I am not married, Zadicayn. And I have never considered these as sl – sleeping with you. We’ve never shared a bed. On the floor of a kitchen in front of a fire fully clothed can hardly be looked at as scandalous. In fact, in my society, they are called formal sleepovers, except those are done on a bed.”

  “Ye art betrothed.” I don’t move, considering running out the door and finding somewhere else to pretend to sleep. I don’t do that, because If I can’t have Brine, I’m going to have the warmth of the fire crystals. But Brine doesn’t move. She leans against the arm rest of the couch and opens up the blanket for me.

  I hate her. And I hate myself because the Snake of my Need is pushing me back to the couch. I give in. I failed. I’m going to escort Brine to the Fae Gate tomorrow and wave farewell forever. And then I’m going to whisper the spell to make me immortal.

  But that is not until tomorrow. Right now, with the blanket wrapped around both of us and I have the touch of her heart beating against my ear, I sleep. And I think it will be three Fae days before I wake again.

  PART III

  CHAPTER FORTY

  JAICOM

  I step onto a burnt hunk of timber. It crumbles to cold ash beneath my boot. The parish constables are prodding the other worldly creature with sticks. I wish I was a wizard so I could spell the disbelief off their faces, spell them to forget what they are looking at. Worse, because Valemorren being just small enough, the parish constables have taken on the double duty to run the enforcement of the church and the hamlet. The priest is going to find out.

  They push on the orange creature. The movement causes the disks on its wings to tinkle like a handful of glass marbles. It is dead. Bled out through the cut in its neck.

  Unfortunately, the constables were notified of the fire on our lumber house before my father was. Otherwise we could have gotten here sooner to dispose of it.

  But therein lies another problem; the creatures are only summoned when the amulet is touched by skin. I’ve touched the amulet a dozen times because that is the only way to get any sort of reaction out of it, that reaction being these creatures bursting out of thin air and others standing by to shoot them down. But at least it’s a reaction.

  My father stands close by. I have no idea what is going through his head. There is no point checking on the amulet. We have both silently agreed that it is gone, despite the safe still being locked. Because the safe at my house was still locked before the accountant went in and discovered money was missing.

  The constables are loading the creature into a wheel barrel. It’s a bloody tragedy. Through all my planning, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I could have easily played off the apparent random appearance of the creatures to my father, but I can’t do that for the fire. These creatures have never brought fire with them before.

  I watch the constables wheel the thing out of the lumber house.

  “Jaicom.”

  Somehow my father can draw my name out like a knife and wave it around as if to threaten me with it.

  I inhale sharply. “Yes?”

  “What do you make of all this?”

  It is an unexpectedly mild question. I’m certain my father will point the blame of this mess directly on me. Well, he hasn’t yet, but our conversation just started. “I have no idea.”

  “The church will undoubtedly be tipped off that the last magic still exists.” My father’s head moves as he surveys all the
random splatters of blood all over the second floor walkway. I don’t count his silence over the discovery of his obliterated office as being patient. More like… you have to have heat and pressure to make an explosion. “They will play it off like someone is worshipping the devil and this is what happens, but secretly they will send out spies to locate the amulet.”

  “I don’t think we will be accused.”

  “I don’t either. Just because it happened here doesn’t mean we are tied to it. We have a hundred workers who also frequent here. I believe the church will just want to find the amulet. And then break it.”

  “To think three hundred twenty-four years gone to waste…” I can’t call the words back. I clamp my jaw and look away from my father who likely guesses my lack of remorse.

  “Yes…” he drawls. “Gone to waste.” He pauses, and I done armor against what I know is coming next. “Son… why do you think fire came with the creatures? Fire has never come with them before.”

  “No idea.” I say it too fast. My father will pick up on it. Sweat breaks beneath my frock coat. It’s not the first time I’ve stood against him, but it only gets harder, not easier. I’ve seen what my father is capable of doing. Of what he promises to do.

  He takes two steps closer to me. “You think the wizard stole the amulet.”

  I pretend to assess the cost of the damage to the burned wood.

  “Yes? No? Are you just going to ignore me?”

  “I don’t know why the fire came with them.” I’m very used to pretending false calm when confronted by my father. But it’s hard now to pretend when your father has suspected you all along.

  My father snorts and steps away from me, the air suddenly cold in the space he had just occupied.

  “I guess the only way to know is to make sure we all still have our keys.” He shoots me a look. “You better hope we still have our keys, son. You better hope.” He walks out of the lumber house, though from this angle I can’t decide whether it might not be the shadow leading the man.

  OOO

  The glow from the gas lamps in the drawing room reflect off every face in a ghostly tone. Refreshments remain untouched on the table. I wish for my mother’s violin to ease the curdled worries in my stomach, but she has never been privy to these gatherings. A mercy for her because my father has said the less people who know, the less we have to consider silencing. We, as if he thinks I was ever part of those.

  Corrana finally arrives and she takes her seat casually, as if already expecting the worst and had gotten over it a long time ago. Her over-rouged cheeks glow like summer apples in the light. Capped by long black and silver streaked hair, she looks more like a porcelain doll than a human being.

  My father stands. The silent room becomes quieter still. “Do I need to tell everyone why they are here?”

  Brocen shifts uncomfortably. His daughter, Crisy, plays with a string on her dress. She has yet to meet my eye.

  “No? So you mean to tell me this bloody town has spread the word already that the magic creatures were found dead in the lumber house?” No one speaks. He begins to pace about the room. “Okay then. Let’s get right to it. I think the damned wizard has been freed.”

  The knocking of the second hand in the clock splits up the fringes of the cold silence that follows.

  Brocen clears his throat. “We still have two of the three pieces.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Brocen drums his fingers across his knee. “Sweetie, when was the last time you saw the key?”

  “What?” My father spins on Brocen, his frock coat resembling the tail on a crow. “You mean you don’t remember the last time you saw it?”

  Brocen slinks deeper in his chair, though, still tries to appear as if my father’s barbed question didn’t faze him.

  “This morning,” Crisy steps in to her father’s rescue, twirling her blond hair around her finger. And for the first time since my sister’s debutante, her eyes flash to mine. “I see it every day since I keep it in my drawer with my hair brush.”

  My father gasps. “You keep it where?”

  Brocen stands and faces my father. Everyone in the room leans back in their chairs as if that would avoid the eminent blast. “Where are we supposed to keep it, Aklen Whaerin? I don’t have the money to buy a four hundred pound vault like you keep yours in. I kept mine on me until Durain found out. I had to do something with it.”

  My father waves his hand down to encourage Brocen to sit again. He instead looks to Crisy who’s eyes are fixed on her lap. “Did you see anything different about the key, Crisandra?” She shakes her head a little too quickly. I hope my father sees it that he’s scaring the devil right out of her. I can’t protect Crisy from him right now. She knows it, too.

  My father looks at Brocen again. “I encourage you to take a good look at the key when you get home. A good look. As for mine, it’s been compromised.” He pulls the copper key affixed with the thorn-shaped gem out of his coat pocket and tosses it on the table. It makes a woody thunk before tumbling to a rest. “Any guesses why that’s fake?”

  Corrana, who is closest, picks it up. She shakes her head and tosses it back. “It’s wood.”

  Brocen slaps his head with his palm. Crisy sinks down her chair as if wishing to disappear. She’s acting so well. “Father, if mine is wood, I am so sorry –”

  “It’s not your fault, sweetie.” Brocen scrubs his eyes with his sun-browned hands. “If a four hundred pound vault can’t keep the thief out, then a hair brush drawer won’t either. But then, Durain is dead. Did he make the switch before he died? When was the last time you handled the piece of your key, Aklen?”

  “I think the switch was made after his funeral,” Aklen says, completely ignoring Brocen. “Stealing from Corrana was brash and not very well thought of, given that it was easy to find out who did it. The switch was made by someone who has experience breaking into things and thinks out their plans. I think Durain passed that task on to someone else before he died.” My father struts back to his chair and sits, finally taking the first sip of untouched wine. His calm is a false façade to keep up appearances for those he’s trying to lord over. “I think it’s Brinella Frondaren.”

  “Because she is a skilled thief, obviously,” I say, stuffing the word with as much sarcasm as I can, daring my father with a silent challenge which turns the rest of the room chilly. Crisy’s fingers occupy the loose string on her dress.

  “She could have hired that thief whose been breaking into all the businesses.”

  “Prove it.”

  All eyes turn on me.

  “Okay, son. Since our talks in private are not good enough for you, we’ll do it with witnesses and let them vote. Durain and Brinella grew up together. Hell, her father even let her run around untied until Durain died. She’s wild enough that carrying on what Durain was doing might not be so far gone for her. They are both descended from the wizard’s sister. Brine didn’t befriend Crisandra until after Durain died – she promptly had a sleep over as well –”

  “I invited her for the sleep over,” Crisy interjects, a rather bold move for her but she’s seeing the same thing I am.

  “– and she came to Varrica’s debutante and… didn’t I see you, Jaicom, take her down to show her the vault?”

  “I showed the priest the vault too. Maybe he broke in and took the key?”

  “Don’t be snide with me, boy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re on the wizard’s side.”

  The unstable mood in the room is righted somewhat by the distraction of Corrana’s coughing. “I agree with Jaicom,” Corrana says. “Crisy has had other friends, haven’t you girl?” Crisy nods. “And has had other sleepovers as well?” Again, she nods.

  “Well Crisy can tell us then.” My father looks at the girl who is doing her best to look inconspicuous. I wish I could sit by her and hold her hand through this. “Crisandra, by chance did Brinella ever look in your hair brush drawer when she was over?”

 
I try to connect a glance with Crisy without looking too earnest about it. Crisy does not return the glance since she is on display, but she knows. “No.”

  “You see?” I say. “It could be the thief all along, without Brine. There are other families who have held close the secret of the wizard. Like the Isendell’s.”

  “Regardless,” my father throws a glance my way that says we will talk privately later, “we are safe to say the wizard has been freed. Tomorrow we will meet at the lumber house and open the safe to see for certain if the amulet is there. But given everything… I’m already counting it is not. So right now we need to deal with finding the wizard and putting him back in the vault before the church finds out. After that, we can deal with who let him out.”

  “And who are we looking for?” Corrana questions. She has been the only one, so far, to not show any emotional attachment to the fake keys. Her real key was stolen before Durain’s funeral. “We were never given a description of the wizard. There wasn’t a point.”

  “Well, this is a small town and I doubt the wizard has reason to leave. His castle is beyond the mountains through the Fae Gate. I did see a young lad with black hair dancing with Brinella the night of the Whaerin business anniversary whom I haven’t seen before. He was dressed rather oddly. And I’m not aware of any other young men taking an interest in Brinella Frondaren. Who would? She went untied much longer than she should have.”

  I know that is meant for me. My father said it to lay my real intentions for marrying Brine out for the eyes of the public to see. I hold silent. There is a much bigger battle I need to fight.

  “I would like to get to know this young man better.” My father sips at his wine. “I’ll send out my private eye to keep an eye out for anyone they don’t recognize and learn about them. Especially those Brinella associates with for she is not out of suspect yet. But know this… the church has been tipped off upon finding that magic creature in the log house. They will have their own investigation going. It is vital we recover the wizard first, or they will break his amulet and there goes over three hundred years of effort. You are dismissed.”