Chapter 5

     The camp was quiet. The fading embers of the dying fire cast ghostly shadows on the ground, illuminating the two intruders in flickering feeble light. Pilar was just rousing herself. Jess sat up, rubbing his eyes, getting his bearings. Tarkin stood rigidly erect, axe in hand, muscles coiled. Across the camp two figures slowly walked toward the beds of the northerners.

     “Stop right there,” demanded Tarkin. “Who are you?”

     “We've already settled that,” replied the taller figure. “I’m Seth.” He paused impatiently. “Get up Pilar,” continued Seth in a loud voice. He turned to Fakir and continued, “A hearty crew, indeed! Arnnon must have been wrong. These people can't help us. Look how easily we came into their camp!”

     “You'd better explain yourselves,” insisted Tarkin, “if you don't want to feel my axe in your back!” Tarkin’s impatience was growing. The fire's light danced brightly in the Morg-arn's eyes, intensifying the burning red glow of the warrior's eyes.

     Fakir continued the conversation without regard to Tarkin. “The Master knows best, Seth. You know that. These people will be of great assistance. We can't do without them.” Now the two Mal-tokii warriors ran into camp, their eyes wide with amazement. Where did these two come from?

     “Listen, you,” demanded Tarkin, looking at the youth, “what are you doing here? No nonsense now, boy!”

     “Listen to him,” scoffed Seth. “A really fierce fighter!”

     “Enough, boy! Don't tempt me!...Now who are you?” Tarkin pushed Seth backward with the head of his axe and was grinding his teeth.

     “A bully too!” said Seth, indignantly. “Have you no manners?”

     This was too much for Tarkin. He didn’t need these two. The party was better off with them dead!  Without further warning, Tarkin yelled a piercing cry and swung his great axe. Fakir immediately reacted, pushing Seth out of the way. The axe blow clanged sharply off Fakir's shield, throwing the dwarf across the camp.

     “By the gods, he’s mad!” yelled Seth. A deep calm came immediately to Seth’s face as he closed his eyes and raised his hands.

     “No, Seth,” screamed Fakir. “Stop!”

     It was too late. Suddenly wind rose in the camp, whipping the fire to a high blaze. Tarkin stood back, amazed by the sudden light, the wind blowing his hair wildly. Almost at once, something tugged strongly at Tarkin's axe, nearly wrenching it from the Morg-arn's hands, but his battle training was too strong. He held his weapon tightly. His eyes wide with amazement, Tarkin struggled with an invisible foe, pulling strongly on his axe, pummeling him from above. Several times he was almost lifted from the ground.

     “Seth,” demanded Fakir. “Stop it!” Seth maintained his concentration, keeping his eyes tightly shut. “By the gods, Seth,” cried Fakir, tossing his war hammer reluctantly at the boy. The hammer hit him squarely in his abdomen, causing the air to rush from his lungs. Seth collapsed, falling to the ground. Immediately, the wind stopped, Tarkin’s struggle stopped, and the fire returned to normal. Darkness rushed back to reclaim the camp.

     “I'm terribly sorry,” pleaded Fakir running forward. “He's still so young and excitable. Please forgive us.”

     Tarkin turned a scorching gaze on the dwarf, his eyes burning wildly. “Who…are…you!” repeated Tarkin as he regained his breath. His anger was still hotly evident, but temporarily overwhelmed by amazement. Now Jess and Pilar stood, both fully aware of the strange situation confronting them. The dwarf didn't answer. He stood silently, hanging his head.

     “Such excitement kills people,” charged Tarkin. He looked down at the dwarf and the boy, their inaction beginning to calm Tarkin’s nerves.

     Fakir's shoulders slumped lower. “I know,” he said meekly, “but he's just a boy, unaccustomed to the world.” Tarkin scowled at the dwarf. This was supposed to be an excuse?

     “What's going on?” insisted Pilar. “Who are these two?”

     “Just what we were trying to find out,” returned Jess.

     Tarkin scowled. “Two intruders to the camp, Lady,” stated Tarkin. “Yet they seem to know me and you. They greeted us by name.” He paused. Turning back to Fakir he continued. “Maybe you'll explain yourselves now!”

     Seth slowly stirred on the ground. Fakir moved to his young friend. “Seth, get up,” he implored. “Don't be rash! Leave the magic alone.”

     “This one seems to know some magic,” stated Tarkin. “Not too bad either. If not for his friend, he might have caused some damage.”

     “Sure,” said Jess. “He looked like a match for you.”

     Tarkin flashed angry eyes at Jess. “A momentary lapse. His friend easily put him away! Soon I would have too!”

     “Enough,” demanded Pilar. “What's their business?”

     Still groggy, Seth spoke. “Lady Pilar, I come to offer my services.”

     Fakir slapped him solidly on the back and grinned. “That's it, boy,” whispered Fakir in Seth’s ear.

     Seth continued. “My Master said we could be of mutual benefit to each other. My Master foresaw a great deal lying in our common path.”

     “This is nonsense,” objected Pilar. “You're a mere boy, and I've never set eyes on you before.” Pilar was perplexed. What was this boy saying? It was impossible that he had bearing on her needs and wants.

     “There may be something to what the boy says,” interrupted Tarkin. “Don't judge so quickly. The northern provinces are ignorant of magics.” Tarkin saw a glare in Pilar's eye. “Believe me,” continued Tarkin, “the witch woman is nothing! I've seen many an amazing thing in my time, powers far beyond what we know in the north. What the boy says could be true.” The camp was silent as Pilar considered Tarkin's words. Behind the fire, the Morg-arn warriors intently watched the actions of the two intruders, trying to fathom the motives of the strangers.

     “Well,” asked Seth, “what's it going to be?”

     “Patience, boy,” whispered Fakir. “Give the girl some time.” Pilar shot indignant looks at the dwarf. She was no “girl” and didn’t like to be addressed as such. She was about to make loud objection, but Tarkin spoke first.

     “Just who is this Master of yours anyway?” demanded the Morg-arn. Tarkin was still angry and knew that the boy and his Master were of no consequence. The boy was arrogant and needed to be put in his place.

     Seth stood, oblivious to the hostile overtones of Tarkin’s voice. Seth spoke with pride filling his chest. “My Master was Arnnon of Gorth-Ar, a most powerful wizard who served the land faithfully in the battle of Gosser's Loss. The forest you approach is the remnants of that battle ground.” Seth was sure that now that Pilar’s party knew of their lineage that they would be treated better and with all due respect.

     “The forest ahead?” asked Tarkin. Now the Morg-arn was surprised. This boy and his Master couldn’t be involved in anything of consequence, could they?

     “Yes,” replied Seth. “The remains of a fearful battle, a battle beyond anything you can imagine.”

     Pilar was not impressed. “Nonsense,” objected Pilar again. “My father traded all his life with the lands to the west. There hasn't been any war here.” Who was this troublemaker, thought Pilar. They should be free of them as soon as possible.

     Seth's shot an indignant look toward Pilar, then he turned toward Fakir. “What's the use trying to talk to these people? They know nothing of history or magic. We’re wasting our time. The Master was wrong.” Seth just shook his head. “Let's just go.”

     “Just a minute,” said Tarkin. “What war did you say?” Understanding of what the boy was saying was finally penetrating through his anger and amazement at what just happened.

     “The Gossene war,” said Fakir. Now Bal'ma-ki and Softol'dor drew closer to the intruders.

     “The Gossene war was ages ago,” said Pilar. “There...”

     “Quiet girl,” interrupted Bal'ma-ki as he pushed forward through the group. Softol'dor followed. “What do you know of this war? Many of my kin died in those battles.” Pilar was stunned by the forwardness of the Morg-arn. Tarkin remained quiet. He was obviously interested in hearing the reply to Bal'ma-ki's question.

     “You rude oaf,” objected Jess, and moved toward Bal'ma-ki.

     “Peace!” insisted Tarkin. “I want to hear of this,” and stood directly in Jess' path, blocking the two Morg-arn warriors from Jess.

     Pilar stood still. She was stunned by the reaction of the Morg-arn, but especially Tarkin. She quickly regained her composure. “That's all right, Jess,” she whispered. “Let it go.” She put her hand gently on his shoulder, pulling him backwards.

     “Do you know anything of the war?” asked Seth. Faces remained blank, eyes became expectant. They knew but scant tales. “Well it's a long story,” started Seth. “I've no time for most of it now, but will outline the last battle.” This was more like it, thought Seth. This is what he expected, to teach these people something!

     The listeners were silent, eagerly awaiting each word spoken by the young sorcerer. Seth's tale lasted several minutes. He told the travelers of the Great War in which a general by the name of Gosser was finally defeated by the evil forces of the powerful wizard, Sausorous. Gosser was a stranger to the land, appearing one day with a large troop of men. No one knew his purpose or origin other than he came from beyond the western mountains and probably from the western coast. He came into a troubled land smitten with plague and drought. He brought with him strange grain seed that he shared with the countryside. The crops from these seeds seemed relatively immune to the drought and blight infesting the land. In time, the western lands chose Gosser as their new leader. The peace and prosperity was short lived, however. Wild bands of Morg-arn troops attacked and pillaged the countryside, coming at once from the north, west, and south. Gosser was able to hold them at bay and was beginning to turn the tide of battle when he met his ultimate defeat. Gosser had amassed a large army and was about to unleash the final crushing blow, when Sausorous cast a terrible spell upon Gosser’s troops. The spell affected everyone, leaving twisted straining bodies behind in its wake. The gruesome spell quickly turned flesh into tree that soon petrified on the screaming tortured bodies of its victims. The only remains of that fateful battle were the forest ahead that now had gained the name of the Dead Forest of Gosser's Loss. Surprisingly, after Gosser's defeat, the invading armies left the land, leaving an uncertain peace. Now, however, once again strange happenings filled the land. Just as the blight and famine before, swamps and deserts now miraculously appeared without cause, and new intruders were feeling out the strengths of the borders.

     “You lie, slandering thief,” screamed Bal'ma-ki. “The Morg-arn served no evil master in that war!” Bal'ma-ki moved toward Seth, drawing his sword from his belt.

     “Hold,” interjected Tarkin as Fakir moved to intercept Bal'ma-ki. “The lad tells the tale as he has heard it. It profits him not to slander our kin. The proof of his story lies ahead. We'll soon know if he speaks true.” Tarkin looked at Seth. He was gaining new respect for the boy. True, he was a fool and reckless, but perhaps he had some merit. 

     Bal'ma-ki and Softol'dor somehow managed to restrain themselves. They reluctantly returned their weapons to their sheaths, quickly turned and stormed away speaking lowly to each other in their own tongue.

     Fakir whispered to Seth. “I don't like the sound of those two. They're going to be a problem. Watch out for them, Seth.”

     “Let's get some sleep,” offered Pilar. “Tomorrow will be another long day. We can settle your differences in the morning when heads are clearer and people are rested and more agreeable.” Pilar was tired, and now from what the strange young man said she worried even more about the forest ahead. Heads must be clear tomorrow. Immediate danger was over now and rest was imperative.

     Tarkin spoke. “Jess, you take over guard duty now. I'll relieve you in a bit.” As Pilar spoke to Seth and Fakir, Tarkin took Jess aside, telling him to keep a careful watch on the strangers.

     “You two can sleep over there,” said Pilar talking to the newcomers. She pointed to the north side of the campfire. “Don't worry, Jess will make sure you're okay.”

     “Thank you Lady,” returned Seth. “We'll see you in the morning.”

     Jess, Seth, and Fakir turned and walked toward the campfire. The others settled into their beds. While Fakir unpacked the horses and unrolled the bedding, Seth stood at the fire talking to Jess who busily stirred the flame and tossed new wood on the fire. The fire responded by crackling hungrily at its new food.

     “We of the north see little magic,” said Jess.

     “So I guessed,” replied Seth.

     “How do you do that stuff?” asked Jess.

     Seth laughed. “You mean the magic?” Seth beamed. His favorite topic! “Well, it's not too hard. Takes training though,” he added.

     “I can imagine,” returned Jess, “but how is it done? You don't use anything, and I saw you nearly take Tarkin's axe from his hands, and there was nothing. How do you do that?”

     “Well, you do use something,” insisted Seth. “You use magic. Magic is real.” This was wonderful! Seth was deep into it, getting carried away with his explanations.

     “Okay.” Jess paused reflecting on Seth's words. “But exactly what is magic?”

     “Well, I really don't completely understand it myself,” said Seth, trying to show some modesty. “My Master told me that it's power flowing through the world on its way to the abyss. Sorcerers learn to understand how the power works, redirect its flow, and channel it.”

     “Seth, your bed's ready,” called Fakir. He glared at Seth. He hated his enthusiasm for magic, the way he talked incessantly on the subject.

     “I'll come in a minute,” replied Seth, barely glancing back. Who could think of bed now?

     Jess turned to look at Fakir, wondering what was going on. Fakir lay in his bedroll with his back to the discussion. Jess turned to face Seth. “Abyss? I don't know what you're talking about. You don't make sense.”

     Seth smiled. “I'm sorry…I forgot. You probably don't know how the world's put together.”

     “What do you mean?” asked Jess deeply puzzled. Jess was fascinated. He was glad he came on this trip with Pilar. The world was much wider and interesting than he could have possibly dreamed back in the Northern Provinces, and now he was talking to a real sorcerer!

     Seth continued his discourse, words pouring rapidly from his lips. “Magic holds everything together, and determines the balance between the various worlds. Magic flows through the worlds and into the abyss. Our world is just like a pearl on a string, and magic is that string. Magic flows into our world from another, then flows out into the next and down into the abyss.”

     Again, Jess asked, “Abyss? What's that?”

     Seth smiled. “Just a name for the worlds beyond this one into which the magic flows.” Seth smiled wider, showing off. “In good time I'll go there to visit my Master.”

     “What do you mean?” challenged Jess. “You can go there?”

     “Sure,” returned Seth, loudly and in a matter-of-fact manner. “Everyone eventually leaves this world, after all!” Seth could see that Jess didn't understand. “What do you think happens when you die? When your soul leaves your body, its attachment to the world is broken. The flow of magic acts like a kind of wind and blows your soul along with it to the abyss. In fact, that's dangerous for sorcerers too. If a powerful spell gets out of control, it can rip you from your body and cast you into the abyss. You would probably just say the sorcerer died. And so he did.”

     Jess was flabbergasted. “You're just making fun of me! You're just kidding around, aren't you?”

     Seth smiled wider. “Maybe,” he continued, “but don't worry about it. When you die you really will be dead. Sorcerers, on the other hand, retain consciousness. Their minds are too strong to die; they survive on magic. They have a chance to get back into the world if they're not washed too far from their body. You see, it's their body that anchors them to the world through contagion and it's their bodies that allow them to direct the flow of magic. If a sorcerer is washed too far from his body, he dies too. Given enough time, however, he can establish a body in a new world, tie himself to it, and establish strong magical abilities there. That’s provided, of course, that the sorcerers on that plane don't finish him off first. After all, you’re pretty weak when you arrive on another world before strong contagion anchors your body.”

     Jess was beginning to get upset with Seth. Seth was so uppity, so self-righteous in his magic. “This is nonsense! What is this contagion? There's no such thing! Tell me again in the morning and I'll see if you change your tale!”

     Seth smiled. He didn't notice the resentment in Jess' voice. “Contagion”, Seth began, “its threads are everywhere! They're how the body knows what belongs to it. They're all over. You just don't see them. Let me show them to you.  …Now don't panic.”

     Without hesitation, Seth walked over to Jess, mumbling a few soft words casting Perceive-Magic, then lightly touched Jess on the forehead. Jess gasped and shrunk back. He now saw a new world. Tendrils flowed everywhere. Everything dripped with them. Thick masses of strings hung from his feet attaching themselves to the places he had just walked. Strings connected him to his horse, to Pilar, to his bed. A multitude of strings ran from his body and stretched out into the distance.

     “Notice,” observed Seth pointing, “that some of the threads are decaying. Look at where you just walked! The masses of thread are shriveling. Only the strong attachments retain contagion for very long and only a powerful Perceive-Magic spell can see the weakest threads.” Seth paused. “Want to find a lost item? Follow its thread. That's how a sorcerer would do it. Want to enchant someone or something at a far distance, simply cast your spell and move your magic through the contagion thread.”

     Jess was barely listening. He was going into a panic. “Stop this,” insisted Jess. “Take it off me!” Jess trembled uncontrollably, horrified by the world he now saw.

     Seth could see Jess was in terrible distress. He was disappointed in Jess' reaction, but not insensitive to his pain. “Okay, wait,” said Seth. Seth again touched Jess' forehead. Jess sighed. Gradually, an uncontrollable depression overtook Jess. Seth was right; it was he that didn't understand. The realization that the world was different, vastly different than he thought, struck the very center of his being. How could this be? The world was strange and no longer to be trusted. He lived in a world beyond his reach or understanding. He felt cheated and tricked, but worst of all impotent. Slowly tears gathered in his eyes and a crushing woe blackened his soul.

     This was a reaction Seth had not anticipated. He felt terrible. Now he realized he had been too brazen with Jess. His Master often warned him about this. He had caused Jess pain. He had rubbed his nose in his mortality and ignorance of the world, making himself feel big at Jess' expense.

     There was a long pause. Jess, still shaking, turned and walked from the fire. “Forget about all that,” comforted Seth, trying desperately to undo the damage. “It's not important. I was just raving!” He paused looking at Jess. There was no change in his mood. Seth walked forward, put his arm around Jess, trying to console him. “I'm sorry. What I said was not important.” Seth's voice became more upbeat. “We’ll talk about these things later. We'll get Fakir drunk, too. He’ll tell you how unimportant magic is, and he knows much more about life and living than I'll ever know. Come on now! It's okay!” Jess smiled faintly. This seemed to quiet Jess somewhat. He was obviously still hurt. Seth felt badly and hung his head, clasping his arm tighter around Jess' shoulder. “Maybe you should get some rest now.”

     Jess looked up. “I can't,” he complained, “I have to stand watch.”

     “Oh yes,” acknowledged Seth, quietly. “I forgot. I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone.”

     Seth walked back to his bed. He felt terrible. Fakir was snoring softly. “Fakir?” There was no reply. “Poor northerners,” said Seth quietly, “but what can I do? I can't be responsible for everyone!” Yet, try as he might, Seth couldn't talk himself out of his depression. He felt guilty and responsible for making Jess feel so bad. Seth sat down on his bed and pulled off his boots. He lay down and looked up at the stars thinking. Soon fatigue overcame him and he slept.

Reviews

[James Watts]

he said meekly, (you are way too good a writer for this. Try to avoid the -ly adverb in dialogue.)

This story is just so animated, carries you with it and you actually seem to know the characters. Want to be a part of their world and their struggles. Amazing, my friend. Excellent story.

[Charles D. Moorer]

Another fine chapter, though a word change is suggsted on page one of chapter 5, the fire's light, would be better as "the fire light danced" and page seven turned flesh into tree that ... shoudl be turned flesh into trees...the petrified the screaming bodies (take out "on." We have reached the critical point in the story and so now the denouement unfolds.