by Robert Beers
Cobain sped off to get the elixir as Gilgafed strove to control the spasms that racked his body. The backlash from Milward's erasure of his shaping sent every muscle in his body into agonizing seizure, including the involuntary ones. His heart beat like timpani; his stomach, his bladder and his bowels emptied their contents explosively.
Cobain returned with the Aleth, and held his master's head as still as possible while he poised the vial over the Sorcerer's mouth. His master had taught him about the drug. Aleth was a potent antispasmodic that needs only to hit the soft tissues of the mouth to be absorbed into the body. A small amount will suffice in almost all cases.
Gilgafed opened his mouth with a supreme effort of will, and Cobain tapped two drops of the elixir onto his tongue. The Sorcerer's body stiffened and then his back arched in one final, massive spasm. He screamed his throat raw and then fell back in Cobain's arms.
He looked up into his servant's eyes and laughed bitterly. “Damn ... that ... Wizard.”
* * * *
Adam's path to Milward's cave followed no set direction. He veered widely from the forest path to both sides in the chance he might come across any sign of Charity's passing. The first day he came up cold, finding nothing. Midway through the morning of the second, he spotted a scrap of burgundy cloth that could have come from Charity's cloak or tunic. There was a small patch of ground where it looked like a struggle had occurred, but his woodsman skills were not enough to be able to tell when or by what. He followed the trail of disturbed ground and broken twigs to the best of his ability. The spoor led through thickets that tugged at his hair and brambles that tore at his skin. He followed it up a dry creek bed where it eventually led to ... a packrat's nest.
He sat there and stared at the nest and then slapped himself on the forehead. “What a gnomic droob! I should have listened to my gut. It told me this was a wrong turning, and I took it anyway.”
He continued with several more minutes of self-recrimination, and then reshouldered his pack and turned back in the direction of the path. At least he should be able to sleep in a bed tonight. Milward's cave, to best of his memory, was only a few more hours of walking away.
“At last!” The thought flew unbidden through Adam's mind. He'd forgotten that they'd walked mostly downhill after leaving the cozy comfort of the Old man's home. He was nearly fagged by the time he crested the last rise, and looked upon the creek and the glade that fronted the cave. He really didn't care at that moment if Milward was home or not, all he really wanted to do was cool his feet in the creek.
“Ooohhh...” It felt so good. The water was cool, and the tiny fish nibbling at his toes tickled nicely. He lay back and closed his eyes; Milward had to be coming home eventually.
Shawooom!! The explosion jerked Adam awake. He looked up to see the old man falling out of a hole in the sky.
“You can get off me now, thank you.” Adam squeaked. The old man was heavier than he looked. Milward had landed, one foot to each side of Adam's chest, and his, to Adam's thought, bony bottom into the pit of Adam's stomach.
The Wizard looked down, “Adam! Good to see you, boy!” and then he realized where he was. “Oops, sorry about that, lad. Here, let me help you up.” He stood and reached down for Adam's hand.
“Thank you.” Adam took the proffered hand and was pulled to his feet. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
Adam shook his head. “Oh, no, you don't.”
Milward peered at him out of his beard. “I don't? What don't I?”
“Uncle used to do that to me when he thought I was too little to know about something. He'd make believe I hadn't seen what I thought I saw. Most of the time, especially when I was very little, it worked.” He put one of his hands on Milward's shoulder. “I'm not going to allow that tactic to work now. I'm no child, Milward. I've killed men with my own hands. I've been forced to become an adult, sooner than some would have liked maybe, but there it is, and I insist on being treated like one.”
The wizard stared at Adam for a long time, hunched over like some wading bird. Then he blew out his whiskers and straightened his back. “You're right, lad, right as rain. It was a foolish impulse and I should have told you back when you and your sister first appeared in my wood. What you saw was a shaping.” He emphasized the word.
“Shaping?”
“Yes, shaping. Don't repeat every word I say as a question, and I may enlighten you before the year's end.” Milward held up a hand. “And don't apologize, just let me get through this.”
“Now,” He rubbed his hands together “There is magik in this world that can be used, shaped, as it were, like you would a painting or a sculpture.”
“I'm not sure I understand.”
Milward raised his eyes skyward, beseeching the heavens. “Have you an imagination?”
“What kind of a question is that?” Adam was getting a little irritated. Milward had yet to answer his original question.
“A fairly reasonable question, I would think.” Milward huffed. “In order for you to understand my answer to your question, you need to understand the basis of the answer.”
“Ok...” Adam crossed his arms and waited.
The wizard looked at him for a moment. “Hmmm ... well, I'll assume you have an imagination. Any decent artist, as you probably know, must have a decent imagination. It is exactly the same in shaping the magik of this world.” He used his hands to illustrate the point. “What you saw was a traveling vortex. I shaped it here,” He pointed to his head, “with my imagination first, and brought it into being here.” He rubbed his belly. “It's one thing to have a good mind, but shaping, like art, is empty without the feeling that gives it form.”
“I ... see ... no, I don't.” Adam's brow wrinkled in concentration.
Milward sighed. He took Adam by the arm and began walking up the bank to his door. “We'll try again later. I think if I show you what I mean, you'll get a better handle on it.”
“Milward.”
“Yes, lad?”
“Are you a wizard? Charity and I always thought you were.”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
“I'm The Wizard.”
“Will you tell me now what you meant by saying you're the Wizard?” Adam poured a mug of ale from the brown crockery pitcher Milward had on his table.
The old man had steadfastly refused to talk any further concerning magik or the title of The Wizard until food had been prepared and served. Adam spent a frustratingly long hour or so until dinner was declared ready.
Milward accepted the mug and sipped from it before he spoke. “Ahhh ... that takes the edge off. I meant just what I said. I'm The Wizard, not a. There are three kinds of practitioners of magik, Adam. Wizards, of which I am the last surviving one, Sorcerers, such as Gilgafed, and witches. I'm not sure that there are any witches left, the magik war killed so many...” His voice drifted off.
“There was a magik war?” Adam tore a huge bite out of his slice of roast venison.
“Oh, yes. It nearly devastated the entire world. It began between a Sorcerer and a Wizard, and then others joined in to aid their side of the battle. It went on for centuries until all that was left were Gilgafed and me. The few petty sorcerers besides him were beneath notice. I don't know of the witches...” That far away note entered his voice once more.
“So that's what you meant by the Wizard.” Adam poured himself some ale.
“Yes...” Milward's eyebrows lifted at Adam's choice of drink.
“How long ago did the war end?”
“Not long ago, only a few centuries.”
Adam's eyebrows imitated Milward's. “A few centuries?”
“What did I say about repeating my words back as a question? I only say what I mean, lad.”
Adam nearly said sorry, when he remembered what Milward had said about apologizing all the time. He shut his mouth and nodded.
“Good. Now to answer your next question, very fe
w people are born with the gift of using magik, and nearly as few of those can be taught. A very, very rare few have the inborn ability of using it as naturally as breathing. You can see why even a span of time as long as centuries has spawned no Wizards as of yet. Sorcerers and Witches, possibly. You'll learn of the differences later, after you've mastered at least the rudiments of your own gift.”
“I have a gift?”
Milward threw back his head and let go with gales of laughter. “Gift? My boy, your gift has the potential to tear the moon out of its orbit. I could see it in you when you stayed with me before...” His voice trailed off as he realized the pain of the subject he was approaching.
“Before Charity and I went to live in Dunwattle.” Adam finished for him.
“I'm sorry, Adam. It was a foolish mistake on my part. I did not intend to dredge up unpleasant memories.”
Adam's smile was brittle. “Don't apologize. I have no intention of letting go of those memories, and I also intend to find her, wherever she's been taken.” Adam looked up at Milward sharply. “How did you ... I never said a thing about Charity after you fell on me.”
Milward looked back at him gravely. “There is an ancient prophecy. It speaks of two, brother and sister, who come into our world. As in all prophecies, it is both specific and vague. It is very specific about the two being separated in a war. When I saw just you, and when you made no mention of your sister, I believed the worst, that the separation had happened.”
“I see.” Adam sipped some more of the ale. “How ... what made it possible for you to tell, about me, I mean?”
The Wizard leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It's a bit difficult to describe. It's like recognizing a smell by its color, or a taste by its sound.”
“That's more than a little confusing.” Adam finished his meat.
“Maybe I should show you.” Milward lifted his right hand and pointed the forefinger at his empty plate on the table in front of him. He began rotating his forefinger like he was stirring an imaginary drink.
Adam felt a sensation he was at a loss to describe. There was a pressure on the back of his mind, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up and ... in his mind's eye he felt ... spinning.
The plate beneath Milward's finger began to turn. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster until its motion was a blur, and the sound of its passage became a hum. The plate began to rise in the air until it hovered at eye level to Adam and the Wizard. Adam felt it rise in the same place he'd felt the spinning. The wizard was right, the sensation was impossible to put a finger on, but it was definitely there.
The plate slowed its rotation and settled back to the table. Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “That was it?”
Milward nodded. “That was it, if you felt it. The sensation is different for each individual gifted, even Sorcerers and Witches have a form of it. I believe it has something to do with the ability to shape the magik. You cannot sculpt something you cannot feel, nor could you paint something you cannot see. Not with any accuracy, at least.”
Adam mimicked the finger twirl that Milward had done. “How do I...” He felt a pressure build in his head.
“No!” The Wizard grabbed his hand and stopped the motion. The pressure went away.
Adam looked up. “Why did you do that? I felt something.”
Milward nodded vigorously. “I know. So did I, you were about to destroy this room.” He looked around. “I have a lot of memories here, I'd rather not lose them just yet.” He turned back to Adam. “I think it best we practice on the road, and leave off shaping indoors until you learn some control.”
Adam blinked. “On the road?”
“Of course.” Milward poured himself some more ale. “You didn't think I'd let you search for your sister by yourself, did you? Let's get some sleep, lad, the morning will come early.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Those, Adam, are Garlocs.” Milward and Adam huddled behind several large boulders in the mountain pass. They were in the Western slopes of The Spine, about a league South of the Great Wood. This was the third day since they had left the old Wizard's home. The previous two days, Milward had filled Adam's head with example after example of what it meant to be a Wizard. He still would not allow Adam to practice, using the excuse that he wasn't quite ready to converse with his maker face-to-face yet.
They had begun to work their way through a series of narrow passes that would eventually bring them to the Eastern high plateaus overlooking The Long Wood. Milward was the one to hear the sounds first, and he was equally quick in dragging Adam with him behind the boulders.
Below them, a group of creatures were gathered around the carcass of a mountain goat, tearing out chunks of meat, skin and organs and stuffing them into their oversized mouths as quickly as they could. Occasionally one would bump into another, and a short snarling quarrel broke out. Sometimes blood would be drawn. Its color looked strange to Adam, and when it hit the ground, it bubbled and steamed, sending a whiff of an acrid scent toward their hiding place.
“That blood is a deadly poison that even my magik can't counteract, so please, Adam, don't let it get on you. During the wars, assassins would tip darts with Garloc blood. They only had to scratch their target to be sure of earning the commission.”
“They look like something crossed with a lizard.” Adam turned away from the Garloc feast and hunkered down against the boulder.
“I'm not sure of that, but legend has them being the offspring of arcane experiments deep in the past.” Milward scootched himself down next to Adam. He chuckled lightly. “They do look like someone crossed a lizard with a Gnome, though, don't they?”
Adam turned to peer over the top of the boulder again. “Nasty tempered things.”
“These actually appear to be in a good mood. It's probably the goat meat. They usually don't get that much all at once.” Milward patted his pockets for a snack.
“Are they just vicious animals, then? They stand upright, kind of like we do.”
“Those are the two things a traveler should never assume about Garlocs. One, that they are just a vicious animal, and two, that they are like men. They have their own culture, their own societal hierarchy, and their own religion, of a sort.”
Adam sat back down next to Milward. “Those things have a religion?”
Milward shrugged. “As I said, of a sort. They worship; it's as close an approximation to what they actually do that I can come up with, this mythical source that will one day give them all the food they can eat, forever.”
“What about their culture?”
Milward smiled. “It's a little looser than their religion, I'm afraid. The law of the hungriest prevails, and Garlocs are always hungry. They have more than one stomach, you see. Their society is slightly matriarchal, as the females are a little larger and stronger than the males. It is certainly not based on any maternal instinct. The young are abandoned at birth, and left to fend for themselves, which, I believe, is the cause for their diet.”
Adam looked at Milward. “What is their diet?”
“Whatever fits into their mouths.”
“I think I'd like to be a little further away from them, if it's all right with you.”
“I knew you were a smart lad from the moment I met you.” Milward eased himself up to check on the feeding Garloc group. They had reduced the goat to mostly bones and were working on those. When they were done, the only sign of what had happened here would be a few stains.
He turned and sat back down. “They're almost done. They're down to the bones now.”
“They eat the bones too?”
“As I said. Anything they can fit into their mouths.”
Adam heard a rustle. He looked up to see an even larger group of Garlocs looking down on them from the bank above their hiding place. “Uh ... Milward?”
The Wizard looked up at Adam's whispered exclamation. He slowly reached out and carefully grasped his staff, a black length of iron hard wood with a ca
rved wolf's head at its end. “Adam.” He whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Remember when I stopped you from duplicating my levitation shaping because you would have destroyed the room we were in?”
“Ye ... s.”
“I think now would be a good time to try it again. Right under that grouping in fact.”
Adam looked closely at the Garlocs. The group stood there looking at them. Some of the Garlocs licked their lipless mouths with green tongues and grinned, showing a lot of sharply pointed teeth. One of the Garlocs stood about half a head taller than the others. It turned its head to each side and snarled twice.
Adam whispered to Milward. “That sounded like it was telling the others something.”
“Yes, they have a language. Most of the words have to do with food and eating. How is your shaping coming?”
Adam could feel the first beginnings of pressure at the back of his skull. “I think it's getting there; my head is starting to hurt.”
“Good. We may have very little time left.”
The larger Garloc snarled at the others again and they fell back a step. Seemingly satisfied, it turned back to looking at Adam and Milward and uttered a string of guttural syllables that ended in a high note of question.
“What did it say?” Adam could feel the pressure in his head beginning to pound.
“It wants to know if we're the other's food.” Milward gathered his feet under him. “I think the big one is a senior female. They can be territorial. You ready?”
Adam's head was pounding like a drum now. “Yes. Let's do it.”
The Wizard lifted his staff and streamers of crackling energy erupted from it, transfixing the large female and two of the others on either side of her. “Release your shaping. Now!” Milward screamed at Adam over the thunderous snapping of the staff's discharge.
Adam released the pressure he felt inside him and the ground around them exploded outward. Boulders the size of horses flew through the air, landing hundreds of yards away. Bits and pieces of Garloc rained down, as Milward raised a hasty shield to keep the poisonous bloody flesh from hitting them.