I have a little nugget for you this morning. Another chapter to my story.
I’ve posted Chapter 1 on my website, and before the Kickstarter campaign is over (just hours to go now) I wanted to give you a little more of the story that Silvio the wizard is telling to the Magic Thief.
Chapter 2 | The First Clue
Smoke drifted in front of Ivar’s eyes, partially masking the enormous stone that towered over his head. He blinked, wondering where he was. Perhaps the pillar was a tombstone. Maybe he was in Elysian Fields where the Kaemperns bury their heroes. It didn’t seem right, though! He was too young to die.
The gentle roar of the ocean brought back the images of the night before. There had been a ship and a terrible storm. He remembered the ghostly face of a sorceress, and ropes bound tight around his body after they pulled him from the serpent’s jaws. A rapier slashing at him, women pulling him on deck and then the crash of water over his head sucking him into a raging sea. That was all he remembered. He did not know how he got on a beach unless the tide washed him ashore, but that didn’t account for the fire pit, or the fleece that he was bundled in, or that he could still breathe.
The statue stared at him with stone cold eyes against the backdrop of a cloudy sky. A statue? He squinted as daylight shone behind the figure.
“You’re alive!” someone said.
The voice startled him. It wasn’t the marble figure that spoke, but a man’s voice.
“I am?” Ivar asked. He tried sitting up, he got no further than lifting his head.
“Bah!” the man spoke in a raspy tone. “For what good it is, half-man, half-dead. Wake up if there’s any waking left in that skinny shell of yours. There are questions you need to answer.”
Ivar felt a nudge on his shoulder and turned to the touch, finding an arthritic foot a few feet from his chin with toenails thick and twisted so awkwardly that they bent backwards, pointing at the silver hairs curled on its owner’s feet.
Ivar immediately bolted in an upright position. “You! The wizard.”
“Does that matter? Who I am? Eh? What matters is who you are.” The man’s green eyes peered through the slit of bushy brows, his nose red as a holly berry. He wiped the drool from his mouth and rubbed his hand dry on his knee britches. “You’re Ivar from Kaempern, but is that who you really are? Or do you have ties with Taikus?”
“No, you have it all wrong?” Ivar answered, still shocked. He brushed the sand off his hands and studied the old man.
Hunched over, Silvio’s long silver hair hung as far as his knees. His skin was weathered and wrinkled, hanging from his gnarly bones as though he were half starved; yet his color was a healthy tan from the sun.
“Humph.” The wizard turned and waddled to a log by the fire. He picked up a dark iron kettle and poured steaming liquid into a clay cup.
“Who’s your friend?” He nodded to the statue.
Ivar studied the sculpture. A lovely piece of art. Her skin, though gray as the smoke that drifted around her, was smooth and sheen. Chiseled fur fell over one shoulder, and armor formed a breastplate under the stole. Wavy, long hair framed her gentle face and draped down her back. An empty sheath hung from a wide belt around her waist. The more he gazed at her, the more familiar she looked.
“Eh?” The silver-haired wizard pressed him for an answer.
“I don’t know,” Ivar whispered, wondering what a statue was doing on a desolate beach. He’d only seen a statue once before on a merchant’s table in Menek–a figurine the size of his palm, made from solid gold, a treasure kept from the days of trade with the pirates.
“She knows you.” The old man didn’t look at him when he said it; he just kept sipping his tea.
“What do you mean? It’s a statue. How can it know me?”
“Thirsty?”
Ivar took the cup that was handed to him and sniffed its contents. A sweet aroma traveled through the steam, reminding him how empty his stomach was.
“Fool youth. Drink. Hurry! You think I would poison you, eh? Feeling guilty, are you?” The old man set the kettle back into the coals and took a seat next to Ivar, holding his own cup with both his hands, though the way his fingers twisted around it looked painful.
“Might ought to be rid of you for making a mess of my beach, littering it with sorceress’ breath. Lucky for you, I don’t kill people. Maybe freeze them for a little while.”
“Freeze? You froze her?” A sudden fear rushed through Ivar as he recalled where he had seen that face. It was the woman who had tied him to the post, the woman named Promise.
“You turned her to stone?”
The old man didn’t answer.
If the old coot turned a beautiful girl to stone, what else is he capable of?
Ivar couldn’t dodge Silvio’s ominous green-eye stare. They poked into his being like a needle, burning his veins with sorcery.
“Indeed!” Silvio scratched his beard. “Sit down. I won’t hurt you. Not right now.”
Ivar’s body turned morbid cold. He sat.
“A Kaempern, still? Floating around in the ocean with a Taikan warrior?” Silvio chewed his tea leaves. Then, in a fit of disgust, he spat, “Holder wash!”
Ivar gulped and scooted away from him.
“Kaempern my scallywag. Don’t know why you want to lie, but you’re no Kaempern! Not if you’re a friend of the queen of Taikus.”
“I never met her.”
The wizard stood, and with an abundance of noise, emptied the pots around the campfire and dropped the iron skillet. He swept sand from the log with his long bony hands, giving Ivar a foul look when he was finished.
“Half-breed, no doubt. Mixed with the likes of her,” he nodded to the statue. “Sorceress blood most like. Who is she? Your sister?”
Ivar was tongue tied. For all he knew, he had come from Taikus.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you, old man,” Ivar stood again. “I know who I am.”
Silvio spun to face him in wicked surprise, one green eye so wide it looked as though it would pop out of its socket. “You know who you are, do you? But you don’t know who she is?”
“No. I mean, she looks like the woman who held me captive on the ship and who pulled me from the serpent’s clutches. Her name was Promise. But I never saw her before last night.”
“Promise? Some promise she is, a promise to your end, maybe. Take a good look at her. Stands before you a Taikan, strong-arm of the sorceress Hacatine, ready to do the witch’s bidding. Evil, I tell you.”
Ivar leaned away from the man as Silvio’s hot breath blew into his eyes.
“Evil. And she took a liking to you. Saved your life, from the looks of it.” He unfolded his body as best he could and turned his back to Ivar. “You’re no Kaempern, I can tell you that. No wizard, either.” He waddled toward the forest.
Ivar watched him as he disappeared into the shadows of the woods, relieved to see the old man go. The trip had been traumatic enough without a stranger badgering him. He questioned his own sanity even now, for he thought he saw little people running alongside the magician’s feet.
Glad for the silence, Ivar sat in the sand, leaned against a log by the fire, and drank his tea. The liquid felt warm in his belly, and the flavor was pleasant. Despite what he had gone through the night before, Ivar was comfortable. A breeze from the ocean picked up, quickly shifting the fog, though low clouds still dampened the day. The salty mist of the ocean left tiny droplets on his hair, on his bare arms, and on the stone statue.
Ivar glanced at Promise again. Daylight had turned her color to dull rust, not unlike the color in Promise’s eyes the night before. She had peered deep into his mind. How painful that experience had been. Still, something had filled the void when she finally released him. Ivar didn’t quite understand what it was. Now she stood frozen in time, and he was drawn to her, wishing she would wake up so he could ask her what she had done to him.
A slanted smile grew across Ivar’s face. “So, I’m enchanted by your magic!” he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even frozen in a piece of stone, her beauty was mesmerizing.
“I bet you didn’t know that my people, the Kaemperns, have magic, too. We have a magical shield that protects us from sorceresses like you. Why, if we were back home, you’d never be able to do what you did to me.”
He chuckled to himself, thinking how fun it would be to take her back to the Northern forests and show her off to his friends.
“You might like it there.” Ivar took a sip of tea and scooted up out of the sand. “We have heroes too, you know? My father, for one. All the Kaemperns. We slaughtered your army a few years back. I was there with the shield. Even before that, my father defeated your kind.” He shrugged, studying the leaves that had settled at the bottom of his mug.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s all connected—the war, my childhood, and my parents. Amleth acts like I’m not supposed to know what happened before I was wounded. He says it’s for the best.”
He glanced up at her, noticing how sympathetic her eyes were. It was safe to tell a statue of these things, and it felt good to get them out in the open.
“I’m not supposed to be doing my Crossing, either. Not according to Amleth. But the magic winds told me I could. So, see? I’ve got magic or sorts, too!”
The waves pounded on the beach in answer, a comforting sound now that he was safe on shore. The fog hung low again, neutralizing any color that had been struggling against the gray. Ivar loved the salty fragrance of the ocean, and he didn’t mind the fog so much either. He threw another log on the fire and warmed his hands.
“Nothing seems to go right with my quest, though.” He snickered. “Nothing as planned, anyway, and I’ve only been gone one night. Look at me! No weapons. All my clothes are back at Moor Cove. Think you could do a little magic trick and get them here?” He laughed at his request. “Don’t suppose you could. Though all is not lost. You!” He held his mug up toward her. “My fine lady burned a hole in my head and saw my past. I shall seek to get you out of that stony place you’re in so that you can tell me what you saw!”
He drank the rest of his tea. The flames of the campfire sparked and popped with fresh energy, casting fire light onto the statue, restoring the bronze color more natural to her race. He sobered as he stared into her eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for saving my life. I hope I can return the favor someday. Maybe today, even.”
When the words left his tongue, her eyes widened, and Ivar’s heart stopped.
“That spell won’t last forever.” Silvio said, having snuck up behind him.
Though startled, Ivar kept his eyes on Promise, hoping to see her move again.
“But she won’t wake up yet,” the conjurer added, clanging an array of pots behind Ivar. “I’ve made sure of it. It’d be a wicked thing if she did.”
“Freezing her is wicked.” Ivar looked over his shoulder and gawked. “You should free her.”
Several dozen miniature people dressed in green tunics and baggy pants followed Silvio to the campfire. They brought tiny wooden bowls and eating utensils, circled the fire, and then nestled on a log.
“Bah!” Silvio said, so loud Ivar’s attention was drawn away from the little people. “What kind of wizard would set a sorceress free from a spell he just made? He’d be just as wicked as she is.”
He lifted a large cast-iron kettle onto the coals.
“I think you’re jumping to conclusions.” Ivar sat back against the log, switching his scrutiny between the gentle face of the statue, and the curious activity of the little people who had been exchanging seats with one another.
“You shouldn’t be so quick to judge her. She saved my life. There must be some good in her.” He tossed a wood chip in the fire pit, reflecting on her touch the night before, and her apology, ignoring how rough she had been when she first tied him up.
“Who’s to say that was a good thing to do? How do I know you aren’t her cohort? There is no good in evil. None.” The old man spoke with decisive stubbornness.
Ivar didn’t care to argue with him, having already formed his opinion concerning the wizard. He broke off a limb protruding from the fire and pushed it farther into the coals, causing a stream of smoke to billow into his eyes.
“So, the Xylonites still follow you around?” He waved the smoke away and nodded toward the little men and women that sat near his feet.
“Always will. They’re my charge.”
Xylon was the little war hero who played a major role in the battle of the Eastern Edge. Perhaps there were more things Silvio knew about those days.
Silvio raised an eyebrow while he stirred the boiling broth. He didn’t say a word.
“The war ended the year I was wounded. All I know is from stories the Kaempern elders tell. Which isn’t much.” He pushed the stick at the coals. “Not what they’ll tell me, anyway.”
Silvio sat quiet for a moment, and when Ivar looked up, he noticed the old man staring at him.
“You can thank King Ian for the end of that war,” Silvio mumbled. “Thank him that the Xylonites have a heart for men, for it was Ian who created them. I had a talk with the Xylonites just now and they said to have mercy on you. If I had my way, I’d toss you back into that skiff of yours, and let the waves drive you through whatever portal you came from.”
That sliced Ivar’s heart. He didn’t care that the old man didn’t like him. The feeling was mutual. The wizard’s words, suggesting Ivar came through a portal, pierced him. He knew he wasn’t a Kaempern, but to think he might be a foreigner from another world was devastating.
“Here, eat some food. Get some strength. You deserve to eat, I suppose.” Silvio set a bowl in front of him. After he had scooped a spoonful of stew into each of the Xylonite dishes, he poured Ivar a healthy serving.
The broth was warm, sweet, and satisfying, with plenty of chunks of vegetables to chew on. Ivar’s appetite was so demanding that he set the spoon on the sand next to him, lifted the bowl to his mouth, and drank the tasty gruel. It wasn’t until he laid his empty bowl down and wiped his mouth with his arm that he noticed Silvio staring at him again. Belly full, Ivar burped.
“I know you,” Silvio’s voice had a haunting ring to it. It spooked Ivar.
“What?”
The wizard’s stare was unnerving. Ivar shuffled against the log.
“What do you mean you know me?” Ivar asked. “We’ve never met.”
“No? Maybe not.” Silvio pointed his gnarly finger at him. “But you came with a witch into my forest, my kingdom. You and your traveling companion don’t belong here. You’re lying to me. If you are a Kaempern, why are you here?”
“I’m on my Crossing into manhood. It’s a ceremony the Kaemperns take when they come of age.”
Silvio waved and sneered. “Fool youth. Manhood! Ha! You’ve a long way to go for that! You were nothing more than a pile of flotsam when you got here. If that makes you a man, you’ve a lesson or two to learn.”
“Flotsam is it, then?” Ivar nodded toward the statue. “If you want to know more about me, why don’t you ask her? She looked into my soul. Pulled some it out of me, I think.”
“I want nothing from a Taikan,” Silvio hissed, setting his pot down and waving away the thought. “Nothing. If you’re finished eating, we’ll go now.”
“Go?”
Silvio shook the thoughts out of his head, his white hair rippling like wind in the grass, his stomach sick at the memory. They had moved to Whomticker’s treehouse, where the Magic Thief claimed it was safer.
“You suggested he go with you? Where to? Why?” Whomticker had laid his writing feather down at his table and stretched. The sunlight had seeped into his treehouse enough that he snuffed the candle and opened the shutters.
“I had to leave the beach. That ship grew nearer by the minute, and if that Taikan warrior woke, we’d both be in a fix. Besides, if Ivar hadn’t come with me, he’d have tattled to them my whereabouts. I was protecting us both.”
“Where though?”
“The Point,” Silvio shrugged. “Maybe Alcove Forest. I had to find out what this boy was up to. He would have been a danger to our world if I hadn’t. Ivar refused to follow me at first until I threatened him. Told him Hacatine would haul him away. Maybe I should have left him on the beach there, let the wicked queen capture him, take him away to her death chambers. What did I care?”
“Oh, but you cared. And still do.”
Silvio glared at the Magic Thief in protest.
“You do,” he repeated. “Or why am I here writing this?”
Diary of a Conjurer has a few more hours on Kickstarter where you can get the illustrated limited edition hardcover, illustrated paperback, or the illustrated eBook. Prices are below retail on that platform, and there is swag and rewards that you won’t find elsewhere. Please take a look and consider backing this project which will help get the entire series into a boxed set.
A peek at Diary of a Conjurer, Chapter 2
A peek at Diary of a Conjurer, Chapter 2
A peek at Diary of a Conjurer, Chapter 2
I hope this finds you all well!
I have a little nugget for you this morning. Another chapter to my story.
I’ve posted Chapter 1 on my website, and before the Kickstarter campaign is over (just hours to go now) I wanted to give you a little more of the story that Silvio the wizard is telling to the Magic Thief.
Chapter 2 | The First Clue
Smoke drifted in front of Ivar’s eyes, partially masking the enormous stone that towered over his head. He blinked, wondering where he was. Perhaps the pillar was a tombstone. Maybe he was in Elysian Fields where the Kaemperns bury their heroes. It didn’t seem right, though! He was too young to die.
The gentle roar of the ocean brought back the images of the night before. There had been a ship and a terrible storm. He remembered the ghostly face of a sorceress, and ropes bound tight around his body after they pulled him from the serpent’s jaws. A rapier slashing at him, women pulling him on deck and then the crash of water over his head sucking him into a raging sea. That was all he remembered. He did not know how he got on a beach unless the tide washed him ashore, but that didn’t account for the fire pit, or the fleece that he was bundled in, or that he could still breathe.
The statue stared at him with stone cold eyes against the backdrop of a cloudy sky. A statue? He squinted as daylight shone behind the figure.
“You’re alive!” someone said.
The voice startled him. It wasn’t the marble figure that spoke, but a man’s voice.
“I am?” Ivar asked. He tried sitting up, he got no further than lifting his head.
“Bah!” the man spoke in a raspy tone. “For what good it is, half-man, half-dead. Wake up if there’s any waking left in that skinny shell of yours. There are questions you need to answer.”
Ivar felt a nudge on his shoulder and turned to the touch, finding an arthritic foot a few feet from his chin with toenails thick and twisted so awkwardly that they bent backwards, pointing at the silver hairs curled on its owner’s feet.
Ivar immediately bolted in an upright position. “You! The wizard.”
“Does that matter? Who I am? Eh? What matters is who you are.” The man’s green eyes peered through the slit of bushy brows, his nose red as a holly berry. He wiped the drool from his mouth and rubbed his hand dry on his knee britches. “You’re Ivar from Kaempern, but is that who you really are? Or do you have ties with Taikus?”
“No, you have it all wrong?” Ivar answered, still shocked. He brushed the sand off his hands and studied the old man.
Hunched over, Silvio’s long silver hair hung as far as his knees. His skin was weathered and wrinkled, hanging from his gnarly bones as though he were half starved; yet his color was a healthy tan from the sun.
“Humph.” The wizard turned and waddled to a log by the fire. He picked up a dark iron kettle and poured steaming liquid into a clay cup.
“Who’s your friend?” He nodded to the statue.
Ivar studied the sculpture. A lovely piece of art. Her skin, though gray as the smoke that drifted around her, was smooth and sheen. Chiseled fur fell over one shoulder, and armor formed a breastplate under the stole. Wavy, long hair framed her gentle face and draped down her back. An empty sheath hung from a wide belt around her waist. The more he gazed at her, the more familiar she looked.
“Eh?” The silver-haired wizard pressed him for an answer.
“I don’t know,” Ivar whispered, wondering what a statue was doing on a desolate beach. He’d only seen a statue once before on a merchant’s table in Menek–a figurine the size of his palm, made from solid gold, a treasure kept from the days of trade with the pirates.
“She knows you.” The old man didn’t look at him when he said it; he just kept sipping his tea.
“What do you mean? It’s a statue. How can it know me?”
“Thirsty?”
Ivar took the cup that was handed to him and sniffed its contents. A sweet aroma traveled through the steam, reminding him how empty his stomach was.
“Fool youth. Drink. Hurry! You think I would poison you, eh? Feeling guilty, are you?” The old man set the kettle back into the coals and took a seat next to Ivar, holding his own cup with both his hands, though the way his fingers twisted around it looked painful.
“Might ought to be rid of you for making a mess of my beach, littering it with sorceress’ breath. Lucky for you, I don’t kill people. Maybe freeze them for a little while.”
“Freeze? You froze her?” A sudden fear rushed through Ivar as he recalled where he had seen that face. It was the woman who had tied him to the post, the woman named Promise.
“You turned her to stone?”
The old man didn’t answer.
If the old coot turned a beautiful girl to stone, what else is he capable of?
Ivar couldn’t dodge Silvio’s ominous green-eye stare. They poked into his being like a needle, burning his veins with sorcery.
“Indeed!” Silvio scratched his beard. “Sit down. I won’t hurt you. Not right now.”
Ivar’s body turned morbid cold. He sat.
“A Kaempern, still? Floating around in the ocean with a Taikan warrior?” Silvio chewed his tea leaves. Then, in a fit of disgust, he spat, “Holder wash!”
Ivar gulped and scooted away from him.
“Kaempern my scallywag. Don’t know why you want to lie, but you’re no Kaempern! Not if you’re a friend of the queen of Taikus.”
“I never met her.”
The wizard stood, and with an abundance of noise, emptied the pots around the campfire and dropped the iron skillet. He swept sand from the log with his long bony hands, giving Ivar a foul look when he was finished.
“Half-breed, no doubt. Mixed with the likes of her,” he nodded to the statue. “Sorceress blood most like. Who is she? Your sister?”
Ivar was tongue tied. For all he knew, he had come from Taikus.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you, old man,” Ivar stood again. “I know who I am.”
Silvio spun to face him in wicked surprise, one green eye so wide it looked as though it would pop out of its socket. “You know who you are, do you? But you don’t know who she is?”
“No. I mean, she looks like the woman who held me captive on the ship and who pulled me from the serpent’s clutches. Her name was Promise. But I never saw her before last night.”
“Promise? Some promise she is, a promise to your end, maybe. Take a good look at her. Stands before you a Taikan, strong-arm of the sorceress Hacatine, ready to do the witch’s bidding. Evil, I tell you.”
Ivar leaned away from the man as Silvio’s hot breath blew into his eyes.
“Evil. And she took a liking to you. Saved your life, from the looks of it.” He unfolded his body as best he could and turned his back to Ivar. “You’re no Kaempern, I can tell you that. No wizard, either.” He waddled toward the forest.
Ivar watched him as he disappeared into the shadows of the woods, relieved to see the old man go. The trip had been traumatic enough without a stranger badgering him. He questioned his own sanity even now, for he thought he saw little people running alongside the magician’s feet.
Glad for the silence, Ivar sat in the sand, leaned against a log by the fire, and drank his tea. The liquid felt warm in his belly, and the flavor was pleasant. Despite what he had gone through the night before, Ivar was comfortable. A breeze from the ocean picked up, quickly shifting the fog, though low clouds still dampened the day. The salty mist of the ocean left tiny droplets on his hair, on his bare arms, and on the stone statue.
Ivar glanced at Promise again. Daylight had turned her color to dull rust, not unlike the color in Promise’s eyes the night before. She had peered deep into his mind. How painful that experience had been. Still, something had filled the void when she finally released him. Ivar didn’t quite understand what it was. Now she stood frozen in time, and he was drawn to her, wishing she would wake up so he could ask her what she had done to him.
A slanted smile grew across Ivar’s face. “So, I’m enchanted by your magic!” he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even frozen in a piece of stone, her beauty was mesmerizing.
“I bet you didn’t know that my people, the Kaemperns, have magic, too. We have a magical shield that protects us from sorceresses like you. Why, if we were back home, you’d never be able to do what you did to me.”
He chuckled to himself, thinking how fun it would be to take her back to the Northern forests and show her off to his friends.
“You might like it there.” Ivar took a sip of tea and scooted up out of the sand. “We have heroes too, you know? My father, for one. All the Kaemperns. We slaughtered your army a few years back. I was there with the shield. Even before that, my father defeated your kind.” He shrugged, studying the leaves that had settled at the bottom of his mug.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s all connected—the war, my childhood, and my parents. Amleth acts like I’m not supposed to know what happened before I was wounded. He says it’s for the best.”
He glanced up at her, noticing how sympathetic her eyes were. It was safe to tell a statue of these things, and it felt good to get them out in the open.
“I’m not supposed to be doing my Crossing, either. Not according to Amleth. But the magic winds told me I could. So, see? I’ve got magic or sorts, too!”
The waves pounded on the beach in answer, a comforting sound now that he was safe on shore. The fog hung low again, neutralizing any color that had been struggling against the gray. Ivar loved the salty fragrance of the ocean, and he didn’t mind the fog so much either. He threw another log on the fire and warmed his hands.
“Nothing seems to go right with my quest, though.” He snickered. “Nothing as planned, anyway, and I’ve only been gone one night. Look at me! No weapons. All my clothes are back at Moor Cove. Think you could do a little magic trick and get them here?” He laughed at his request. “Don’t suppose you could. Though all is not lost. You!” He held his mug up toward her. “My fine lady burned a hole in my head and saw my past. I shall seek to get you out of that stony place you’re in so that you can tell me what you saw!”
He drank the rest of his tea. The flames of the campfire sparked and popped with fresh energy, casting fire light onto the statue, restoring the bronze color more natural to her race. He sobered as he stared into her eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for saving my life. I hope I can return the favor someday. Maybe today, even.”
When the words left his tongue, her eyes widened, and Ivar’s heart stopped.
“That spell won’t last forever.” Silvio said, having snuck up behind him.
Though startled, Ivar kept his eyes on Promise, hoping to see her move again.
“But she won’t wake up yet,” the conjurer added, clanging an array of pots behind Ivar. “I’ve made sure of it. It’d be a wicked thing if she did.”
“Freezing her is wicked.” Ivar looked over his shoulder and gawked. “You should free her.”
Several dozen miniature people dressed in green tunics and baggy pants followed Silvio to the campfire. They brought tiny wooden bowls and eating utensils, circled the fire, and then nestled on a log.
“Bah!” Silvio said, so loud Ivar’s attention was drawn away from the little people. “What kind of wizard would set a sorceress free from a spell he just made? He’d be just as wicked as she is.”
He lifted a large cast-iron kettle onto the coals.
“I think you’re jumping to conclusions.” Ivar sat back against the log, switching his scrutiny between the gentle face of the statue, and the curious activity of the little people who had been exchanging seats with one another.
“You shouldn’t be so quick to judge her. She saved my life. There must be some good in her.” He tossed a wood chip in the fire pit, reflecting on her touch the night before, and her apology, ignoring how rough she had been when she first tied him up.
“Who’s to say that was a good thing to do? How do I know you aren’t her cohort? There is no good in evil. None.” The old man spoke with decisive stubbornness.
Ivar didn’t care to argue with him, having already formed his opinion concerning the wizard. He broke off a limb protruding from the fire and pushed it farther into the coals, causing a stream of smoke to billow into his eyes.
“So, the Xylonites still follow you around?” He waved the smoke away and nodded toward the little men and women that sat near his feet.
“Always will. They’re my charge.”
Xylon was the little war hero who played a major role in the battle of the Eastern Edge. Perhaps there were more things Silvio knew about those days.
Silvio raised an eyebrow while he stirred the boiling broth. He didn’t say a word.
“The war ended the year I was wounded. All I know is from stories the Kaempern elders tell. Which isn’t much.” He pushed the stick at the coals. “Not what they’ll tell me, anyway.”
Silvio sat quiet for a moment, and when Ivar looked up, he noticed the old man staring at him.
“You can thank King Ian for the end of that war,” Silvio mumbled. “Thank him that the Xylonites have a heart for men, for it was Ian who created them. I had a talk with the Xylonites just now and they said to have mercy on you. If I had my way, I’d toss you back into that skiff of yours, and let the waves drive you through whatever portal you came from.”
That sliced Ivar’s heart. He didn’t care that the old man didn’t like him. The feeling was mutual. The wizard’s words, suggesting Ivar came through a portal, pierced him. He knew he wasn’t a Kaempern, but to think he might be a foreigner from another world was devastating.
“Here, eat some food. Get some strength. You deserve to eat, I suppose.” Silvio set a bowl in front of him. After he had scooped a spoonful of stew into each of the Xylonite dishes, he poured Ivar a healthy serving.
The broth was warm, sweet, and satisfying, with plenty of chunks of vegetables to chew on. Ivar’s appetite was so demanding that he set the spoon on the sand next to him, lifted the bowl to his mouth, and drank the tasty gruel. It wasn’t until he laid his empty bowl down and wiped his mouth with his arm that he noticed Silvio staring at him again. Belly full, Ivar burped.
“I know you,” Silvio’s voice had a haunting ring to it. It spooked Ivar.
“What?”
The wizard’s stare was unnerving. Ivar shuffled against the log.
“What do you mean you know me?” Ivar asked. “We’ve never met.”
“No? Maybe not.” Silvio pointed his gnarly finger at him. “But you came with a witch into my forest, my kingdom. You and your traveling companion don’t belong here. You’re lying to me. If you are a Kaempern, why are you here?”
“I’m on my Crossing into manhood. It’s a ceremony the Kaemperns take when they come of age.”
Silvio waved and sneered. “Fool youth. Manhood! Ha! You’ve a long way to go for that! You were nothing more than a pile of flotsam when you got here. If that makes you a man, you’ve a lesson or two to learn.”
“Flotsam is it, then?” Ivar nodded toward the statue. “If you want to know more about me, why don’t you ask her? She looked into my soul. Pulled some it out of me, I think.”
“I want nothing from a Taikan,” Silvio hissed, setting his pot down and waving away the thought. “Nothing. If you’re finished eating, we’ll go now.”
“Go?”
Silvio shook the thoughts out of his head, his white hair rippling like wind in the grass, his stomach sick at the memory. They had moved to Whomticker’s treehouse, where the Magic Thief claimed it was safer.
“You suggested he go with you? Where to? Why?” Whomticker had laid his writing feather down at his table and stretched. The sunlight had seeped into his treehouse enough that he snuffed the candle and opened the shutters.
“I had to leave the beach. That ship grew nearer by the minute, and if that Taikan warrior woke, we’d both be in a fix. Besides, if Ivar hadn’t come with me, he’d have tattled to them my whereabouts. I was protecting us both.”
“Where though?”
“The Point,” Silvio shrugged. “Maybe Alcove Forest. I had to find out what this boy was up to. He would have been a danger to our world if I hadn’t. Ivar refused to follow me at first until I threatened him. Told him Hacatine would haul him away. Maybe I should have left him on the beach there, let the wicked queen capture him, take him away to her death chambers. What did I care?”
“Oh, but you cared. And still do.”
Silvio glared at the Magic Thief in protest.
“You do,” he repeated. “Or why am I here writing this?”
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