Magic, Sorcery and Witchcraft

by Stas Borodin

  “They had many adventures on the way: skirmishes with wild men and encounters with unseen beasts. Just take a look at these pictures!”

  Hrianon carefully turned the page.

  The structure was huge, each stone the size of a three-storey building. Its shadow could easily cover an entire city block.

  “Master Varg was a very scrupulous man and could not leave the place without studying the strange structure from top to bottom. The soldiers made him a tall ladder and he was able to climb to the very top.”

  Hrianon took a deep breath. “The top layer of the rock proved to be pretty brittle, worn down by the steppe wind and harsh weather. Armed with his trusty hammer, Pekul Varg chipped away a small piece of the rock. Imagine his surprise when he saw a fragment of an ancient bone imprinted on the stone! For ten long days he worked with his small hammer, until the whole fossilized skeleton could be seen. There was a sixteen-foot-tall giant lying before him! He looked just like an ordinary human being, only with huge broken wings on his back.”

  Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “The giant’s bones were fractured and shattered as if he had fallen to earth from the skies.”

  “Wow!” I said. “And how much time would it take to turn bone into stone?”

  “Millennia, no less.”

  “I would like to see that too,” I said.

  The girl sighed. “A few months later, Master Varg went back to the site with carts and stonemasons, but he could not find the stones. There were only deep holes in the ground, but the stones themselves were no more!”

  “Sure!” Ice laughed. “I wonder who might need these worthless stones all of a sudden. It seems that your precious archaeologist just made it all up!”

  Hrianon frowned. “Yeah, everyone is a fraud, except you, Master Wizard!”

  “Look,” I said, taking the alchemist’s notebook out of my pocket. “Maybe you’ll be able to decipher it?”

  Hrianon nodded, flipping through the yellowish pages. “How interesting! I never met this kind of cypher before.”

  Armed with a pencil and a pile of paper, she spent the rest of the voyage sitting under an awning, scribbling formulas and making tables.

  “That was masterfully done, sir!” Ice said in admiration. “I thought that nothing in this world could shut her up.”

  “You got it all wrong,” I said. “This girl is smarter than both of us.”

  Ice sulked. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I allude to the fact that our meeting wasn’t an accident at all.”

  “Yeah,” Ice smiled. “You’re damn right!”

  ✽✽✽

  We passed Itar, Sankt, Atu, Lemnar, Eni, Bit and Festur unnoticed. Bevid avoided the well-travelled routes and we spent our nights on tiny desolate islands. There was always fresh water and beaches full of lazy sea turtles.

  “Our friend Bevid knows these waters better than the contents of his own codpiece!” Ice laughed. “The man surely knows how to cover his tracks!”

  “He is a man of mystery.” Eimor yawned. “But there are rumours…”

  “I knew it!” Ice slapped his knee. “I knew you were once a pirate!”

  “Would you shut up, Eimor?” Bevid winced. “Otherwise, I’ll tell the boys who you and Master Tairnon once were.”

  Eimor laughed and threw up his hands. “Gods forbid!” he exclaimed. “My lips are forever sealed!”

  Soon the silhouette of an island crowned by a high jagged mountain appeared on the far horizon.

  “My home!” Hrianon sighed. “Look, over there, on the left slope, right by the water.”

  Bevid plunged two fingers into his belt pouch. “Find us a fast boat”—gold coins flashed in his calloused palm—“and you can keep the money.”

  “Agreed!” Hrianon laughed and slapped Bevid on the shoulder.

  ✽✽✽

  Dekt Mountain and the town nestled at its very foot could be seen from any place on the island. The port we saw was tiny, only a few stone jetties and a dozen fishing boats lying on the black volcanic sand.

  We changed into plain clothes and boarded the rowing boat. Eimor left his sword and all his gear under the awning. Around his head he tied a colourful bandana and he tucked a curved dagger under his belt.

  Bevid was dressed about the same, only instead of a bandana he wore a broad-brimmed straw hat.

  Ice and I got some rags: worn mended trousers with ropes instead of belts and identical faded shirts.

  Hrianon grinned, looking at our masquerade. The girl was dressed in tight leather breeches, sturdy boots and a white shirt with a patterned collar. Under one arm she held my present – a bundle of books.

  “Well, hicks,” she said with a wink, “follow me!”

  The boat touched the sand in a secluded cove a few miles away from the city. We landed on the beach and began to unload the pigeon cages.

  Eimor hoisted a big bag of grain on each shoulder and Ice and I took the cages. The strange birds were surprisingly quiet. They just looked at us with their bulging red eyes and snapped their powerful curved beaks.

  “The road is right behind that hill,” Hrianon said. “From there, it’s a half-hour walk to the city.”

  Eimor and Bevid went ahead, while Ice, Hrianon and I, bent under the weight of the bird cages, trailed behind.

  “If you leave me a dove,” Hrianon said, “I can send you the translation when it’s ready.”

  I was very pleased that she had not forgotten about the diary. “This bird will fly to my friend instead of me,” I said. “Better if we meet right here on our way back.”

  “As you wish.” Hrianon nodded and her cheeks flushed.

  The short journey uphill proved to be much harder than expected. Our legs hummed from exhaustion, our stomachs grumbled and dry salty dust gritted on our teeth.

  “I wouldn’t mind a good bath and a glass of cold beer!” Bevid grunted, looking at the red-tiled roofs and gilded temple dome sticking above the tree crowns.

  “I hate to disappoint you”— the swordsman dropped his sacks of grain on the ground and pulled his dagger from its sheath—“but this is a dead city.”

  Hrianon lowered her cage on the ground and darted forward.

  The city was empty. The doors to the houses gaped open, broken things lay scattered on the ground, and smears of dried blood could be seen everywhere.

  “I saw no corpses,” Bevid sniffed. “And I don’t like it.”

  Hrianon crossed the street, ran to a small one-storey house with a red-tiled roof and peered through the open door. Her lips trembled and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Quiet!” Eimor clamped her mouth with a big calloused hand. “Whoever did this might still be around.”

  He pushed the girl into the dark room and ordered us to follow. I quickly crossed the threshold and closed the door.

  “Look under your feet!” Eimor hissed.

  The small square room looked like a battlefield. The furniture had been turned upside down, and the floor was strewn with shards of coloured glass. It seemed that the house’s inhabitants had fought back fiercely.

  “Your family?” Eimor asked, cautiously peering into the dark closet.

  “My mom and two sisters,” muttered Hrianon, smearing tears on her cheeks. “Ess and Nitt.”

  Bevid put his arm around the girl’s shoulders, trying to comfort her.

  “Don’t you worry, kiddo, we are sure to find them. The pirates don’t kill womenfolk, they sell them. All we have to do is—”

  “I don’t think these were pirates.” Eimor shook his head. “Look.”

  He pointed to a piece of paper pinned to the overturned table with a kitchen knife. Hrianon pushed Bevid off and grabbed the paper.

  “By command of His Majesty Barmor the Lion, the supreme ruler of Gonkor, Ritur, Tergas, Andor and Rodar,” she read aloud, “for the vile perversion of the true faith and the worship of false gods, for treason and plot against the crown, the most foul heretics of Dekt are sentenced to death
.”

  Bevid snatched the paper from the girl’s trembling hands.

  “Signed by the Grand Master Astar.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” the swordsman spat. “We should have crushed him like the damned bug that he is while we had the chance.”

  “Too late for that,” said Bevid.

  Hrianon collapsed to her knees and burst into tears. The tears ran down her sharp nose and fell to the floor.

  “We will avenge them, little sister.” Ice patted her quivering shoulders awkwardly. “I swear it on my ancestors’ graves!”

  It was a very solemn oath.

  “Me too,” I said.

  Hrianon looked at us, squeezed her lips tight and gave a short nod.

  The corpses were found later, when we reached the piers. Hundreds of bodies bobbed up and down just like apples in a bucket of water.

  “Looks like they were drowned,” Ice gasped.

  “Master Astar hates blood.” Eimor clenched his fists. “But his god doesn’t!”

  “What god?” I asked, fearing that I already knew the answer.

  “The Master of the Mists,” Bevid spat, closing his fist around his hammer-shaped amulet. “Sweet-voiced Mistar!”

  Chapter 3

  Dozens of small rowing boats were scattered around the beach. We chose a decent-looking one and pushed it into the water. Bevid lowered the blue rectangular sail and caught the wind right away.

  “As far as I remember,” he said, looking at the horizon, “it will take no more than two hours to get to Gonkor. We’ll be there at dusk, and no one will suspect us coming from Dekt.”

  “It is better to spend another hour,” Eimor said, “to approach the land from the east and let them think we came from Festur.”

  While Bevid and Eimor argued about how to fool the Gonkor patrols, Ice and I were trying to comfort the girl.

  Hrianon wasn’t crying any more. She just sat there staring blankly into space.

  “I don’t know what to do,” said Ice. “You’re scaring the shit out of me, girl! Snap out of it already!”

  Hrianon lifted her head, her eyes dark like bottomless wells. “I will destroy their city,” she said, dropping every word like a heavy stone into the water. “I will destroy their castles and their palaces! I will bury them all under the ruins! You’ll see …”

  Bevid turned his head and looked at us. “That’s my girl! Your father would be proud of you.”

  “That’s right, kiddo,” Eimor said. “You can add Gonkor to your list instead of Paara.”

  Hrianon stood up, clenched her fists and smiled.

  Half an hour later, Bevid pointed to a small black dot bobbing on the waves.

  “Gonkor ship!” he said. “Everyone be quiet. I’ll deal with them myself.”

  The dot soon turned into a huge warship. Two rows of oars foamed the water, slowing the ship to a halt. Our vessel rocked and bounced up and down, sea water splashing over the boards.

  I raised my head and looked into the big painted eye staring at me from above. A slick wooden wall dotted with green moss and hard seashells gently rocked, and a huge bronze ram glistened deep under the water.

  “Who are you?” a tall officer barked. “What business brings you to Gonkor?”

  Bevid lifted his head up, trying to get a better view of the speaker. “We are traders from Bit,” he yelled. “My sons, my daughter and I. We have some Bit pigeons for sale!”

  “Check them,” the officer grunted.

  A gangway fell down with a heavy thud.

  “Keep quiet!” Bevid whispered from the corner of his mouth.

  The tall officer deftly crossed the gap between the two ships, accompanied by two armed soldiers.

  “Nice birds.” The Gonkorian peered into the cage. “Are they properly trained?” The officer’s eyes were cold like ice shards.

  “Of course not,” Bevid laughed. “Trained pigeons are too expensive for the likes of me.”

  “Well”—the officer leaned over the cage—“I’m sure you won’t mind if I check.”

  “By all means, sir!” exclaimed Bevid. “By all means!”

  The officer opened the cage, took out a dove and threw it up in the air.

  The bird circled the ship twice, landed on top of the mast, and began to clean its feathers.

  “I see.” The officer shook his head, as if pondering over something. “These beasts won’t fetch a good price in Gonkor.”

  Bevid frowned. “I won’t sell cheap.”

  The officer grinned. “I offer you a tahr for a bird,” he said. “Pigeon meat is delicious with a white Mino wine.”

  Bevid looked grim. “A tahr for a bird? Don’t make me laugh, dear sir. This bird is worth a whole torh, no less!”

  “I’ll give you a torh for all of them.” The officer shook his purse. “Do we have a deal?”

  “This is robbery!” Bevid howled. “So this is how you treat an honest trader nowadays?”

  “Sell me the damn birds,” the Gonkorian hissed, “or I’ll send you to the bottom of the sea!”

  The marines took out their swords.

  “I’m not that easily intimidated, sir.” Bevid puffed up his chest. “Half a torh for a bird or no deal.”

  The officer slapped his thighs and laughed. “Here, boys,” he said, looking at the chuckling marines, “behold a genuine Bit trader and his legendary stubbornness!”

  “You flatter me, sir,” Bevid looked down shyly.

  The officer suddenly stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

  “Can you tell me why your sons wear rags, while your daughter is dressed fine? Is it some strange local custom?”

  “The girl here can read and write and she’s good with numbers,” Bevid replied, “while these two dunces are good for nothing.”

  The officer scowled. “God help anyone doing business with your tribe!”

  The marines returned to the warship and the gangway was raised.

  “Happy sailing!” the officer shouted, waving his hand. “May Mistar bless you all!”

  Hundreds of oars struck the water and within a few moments, the galley was far away.

  “He scared the shit out of me!” Ice took a deep breath. “Especially when he took a dove out.”

  “It was a stupid thing to do,” Eimor said with a shrug. “The bird won’t fly away without a message.”

  The dove flew down from the mast and climbed into the open cage.

  “Did you hear him blessing us with Mistar’s name?” Eimor spat over his left shoulder. “Damn pagan!”

  “This disease is way more dangerous than the Black Plague”—Bevid touched the talisman hidden under his shirt—“for it affects not your mortal body but your immortal soul!”

  I could not agree with him more.

  It was already getting dark when we arrived at Gonkor. The port was divided into four sections. Imposing warships were moored on the right side, by the stone piers. The second and third sections were occupied by huge merchant ships. The fourth, the smallest one, was crammed with hundreds of fishing boats of all shapes and sizes. There was no pier and we had to pull our boat to the shore by ourselves.

  A customs officer approached us right away and looked at the cages. “Homing pigeons?” He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “A tahr for a bird.”

  “That much?” Bevid chuckled. “They don’t lay golden eggs!”

  “A tahr for a bird. No bargaining.” The officer looked disgusted. “I don’t have time to argue with the likes of you.”

  Ice clenched his fists and leaned forward, but Eimor shoved him aside.

  “I hope that the Customs Commandant is fully aware that the price of pigeon has recently risen sky-high?” he asked. “Or did you forgot to inform him?”

  The officer drew a deep breath and blinked a few times.

  “You misunderstood me,” he managed finally. “I mean – a tahr for all the birds.”

  Bevid chuckled, taking out his purse. “You must excuse my advanced age, de
ar sir. I don’t hear that well any more…”

  “A tahr for all the birds… sir.” The customs officer looked away.

  “No bargain?”

  “No bargain, sir.”

  ✽✽✽

  The first stars lit the sky. From afar came the sound of bells calling the flock to evening prayer.

  “The city gates are already shut,” said Eimor. “We’ll have to spend the night at my friend’s place.”

  The friend proved to be a big fellow with a patch across his right eye, tattooed cheeks and black teeth. The man stood in the doorway of a small shed, looking at us suspiciously. Fish scales gleamed on his long leather apron and dark drops fell from a sharp knife clutched in his hairy paw.

  “Eimor, I haven’t seen you for ages!”

  We were allowed into the boathouse, which was crammed with old fishing nets and dilapidated boats.

  “Not a palace”—Eimor looked around prudently—“But a roof over your head.”

  Hrianon climbed into a boat, while Ice and I settled together on the dirty floor.

  The moonlight coming through the half-open shutters was bright enough to read by. I took out a volume of Ash’s poetry and found the withered flower that served me as a bookmark.

  With each page I learned more and more about my scout friend. At times it seemed to me that the lines I read were written by a completely different person. I saw a stranger, distant and unfathomable. I quickly turned the next page. Most of all I wanted to understand what had led the elegant rhymester into the scout’s saddle. What was he looking for, striving for? What was he missing?

  The palace life described in his verses scared me. Dangerous, precarious and volatile as a quagmire. A golden cage in which the wine wasn’t sweet and the love was bitter. My friend felt like a puppet in the hands of the nobility. A puppet, devoid of feelings, desires and dreams.

  I sighed. No wonder he ran away. He ran away, shedding his former life like a snake sheds its skin. For a moment I imagined Ash all dressed up in lace and silk, and smiled. Mash would die laughing!