A/N: Once again, thank you everybody who reads and those who also review. Note the offer in Chapter Five's A/N still stands.
Hope you enjoy Chapter Seven.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Anwar
Trying to convince lightning to strike a metal pole was not normal. Especially when the metal pole was rusted and you were trying to make lightning come from your finger-tips.
Coh sighed and looked around, just to check and make sure he was alone behind the familiar knoll, the knowe, as his father had always called it.
Nobody was in sight. His luck had gotten a bit better. The storm hadn’t been bad, but Mark and Luke had been called out to help their father in the fields to check up on things. Coh had been left to his own devices after he’d helped his mother finally completely fix the chicken coop, him doing most of the work. He wondered what had gotten into his mother of late. Normally she did more than him, was always pushing him.
He shrugged to himself. That wasn’t what he needed to focus on now. He looked sidelong and almost jumped out of his boots. A rough-coated brown sheep dog watched him curiously from a few meters away.
“Shoo,” he said.
The dog just cocked its head.
He sighed, deciding to add the animal to his list of things to ignore, and touched his fingers to the tip of the metal pole again.
The metal pole was gritty from the creek’s broken sandstone bed. He could smell the creek today--rot and a scent that only belonged to free-running water. Its smell was amped by the hot sun and the heat beat against his back, an unhappy taskmaster that wanted him inside his home and/or in the shade immediately. The storm hadn’t kept it at bay at all.
He puffed out his cheeks and then took a big breath, deciding to, yes, just try one more time.
Come on, come on--bloody shock the fish!
“Lyarket,” he said, near hissing as he willed something to happen. Proof he wasn’t mad. Like he needed more proof.
He didn’t see what happened, not more than a flash of blue-white, because water jolted to his face. He fell back onto the bank on his rear with as little grace as one could have.
He pawed at his face, brushing his now wet hair off his forehead and rubbing at his eyes. He blinked repeatedly, trying to get the nasty water from his eyes and waiting for his vision to clear. When he could see his stomach dropped.
He’d gotten what he’d asked for.
Every fish in the creek, small as minnows to a few larger silver fish, were floating on their sides--dead on the surface of the water.
Well, I suppose I won’t need to hunt today, or perhaps any other day this week. That was his first thought, but then he felt himself pale.
He heard the sheep dog bark again and again, clearly disturbed. He glanced over at the animal to see its fur standing on end on its back. He forced himself to smile.
“It’s okay,” he said.
The dog only eyed him suspiciously, muzzle twitching.
“Come ‘ere.” He gestured for the dog to come.
It obeyed this time and moved over, staying low to the ground, until it was by his side. He stroked its velvety ears and leaned up against it. It was one of the dogs they’d had for a while, but one that didn’t have a name.
Luke had probably named it at some point, because he was the sort to name working animals, but it wasn’t like he was around to ask.
Coh looked close at the face--noting delicate bones.“You a girl, then, yeah? How ‘bout Amber?” He looked closer at the dog. “You do have eyes the color of hard tree sap.”
The dog didn’t look amused, but continued to let him pet her.
“I’d give you a fish, but you’d probably choke on a bone,” he said, gesturing at the fish one-handed. “Probably should clean that up, then, before you or the one of the others get ‘em, huh?”
The dog made a noise of agreement and Coh made to stand up.
“That was rather impressive. However, it must get boring doing the same simple spells over and over. Mistakenly or not.”
Cold shot up Coh’s spine and he whirled, still bent-kneed. The dog at his calves growled low in its throat, a sound clear to his ears past the sound of pounding blood. His hands felt shaky from the rush of emotion. His gaze jerked across the clearing--back, forth, back, forth. He couldn’t see a thing.
Then there was movement, a faint shift, and a figure in gray stepped forward. He squinted, recognizing the person from somewhere, and grabbed at the collar of the dog, so it didn’t charge at the figure.
“You were watching me.” Unease prickled along his neck and he looked over the man. He had a grizzle-brown and gray beard, skin paler than his (not too surprising), and wore a gray cloak that blocked off his eyes from view and almost brushed the ground. His mind tried to put the image with a memory.
“Yes,” the man said, “I wanted to see what you were capable of--after that incident in Mr. Phios’s shop. You left the whole place reeking of magic.” The man wrinkled his nose.
Coh’s thoughts slammed to a halt. The man in Mr. Phios’s shop, the one who had gotten in his way as he was trying to leave.
His mouth opened, closed, and opened once more. He was left gaping like a fish at the realization. Sweat started to collect on his brow.
“I--I was just looking at the fish. They looked ill. They came up all dead just a second ago. What are you even talking about?”
Coh was pretty sure the man was giving him a look. The sort his mother gave him when he told an obvious untruth. He shifted under the gaze.
“For a free warlock, you’re a horrible liar.” The man paused then said, “We’ll have to work on that.”
“Excuse me?” Coh spluttered.
“Well, you’ll need a mentor. I can handle that. You’ll also need a wand--but any applewood or oak stick will do, in most cases. Otherwise, living in Tariq and with the church burnt and Dakas rarely coming through, you’re pretty safe. Well, I suppose.” The hood fell back a bit to reveal the man’s upper half of his face, his graying hair, and to show his squinted bluish eyes. “What’s that around your neck?”
Coh tucked his necklace piece under his shirt. “Nothing.” He shivered and the dog growled louder beside him. “Are you mad?”
“Of course not. I’m John Anwar--Anwar to you--and I’m a wizard.” The man laughed. “Well, maybe I’m a bit mad. Most of us after going into battle against that piece of filth Dammar and his and being imprisoned for longish stints tend to be. However, I think I am doing quite well despite the circumstances of, say, living in a wild wood and avoiding all humanity.” He frowned. “Am I scaring you? You look scared. Here, I’ll prove it to you. Tends to help.”
Coh stared, unsure of what to say, as the self-proclaimed wizard, a man with too many lines in his face and too much gray for a person his age, pulled a painted twig from his belt. Coh’s eyebrows rose. The dog beside him made a curious coo, as if it was unsure the threat was about to play fetch with her or not.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” Coh asked.
This was beginning to get too weird. For one, the man seemed to have a thing for letting his speech wander; secondly, he just looked wrong and it was making him nervous. Under that gray cloak of his he wore a kingdom’s colors, even though all had been replaced with the black-and-red of the King. His mother had said she was only a young girl when the change had happened. How could this man still have other colors, then? Wouldn’t they have worn to tatters?
Coh shifted uneasily.
Anwar responded with a huff. “You just did, didn’t you?” He then shrugged and pointed at the ground. “You’ll see,” he said. He smiled Coh’s way and then frowned down at the grass.
“Aphir,” Anwar spat.
Coh jumped at the sudden loudness of tone--and jumped again as the grass caught fire beneath Anwar’s feet. It curled around the toes of his steel-tipped boots and then started to wander down the gullies, towards the knowe.
Coh stared disbelievingly at the orange and red flames for a moment and then everything caught up with a bang in his mind. “Hey, put that out,” he yelled.
Coh stepped back, right into the dead fish-filled creek, dragging the dog with him.
“What?”
“Put it out,” he repeated, louder.
“Oh!” The man said something else, which was lost in the crackle--and then the crackling stopped. Out of the blue, it stopped. Coh gawked, eyes almost bulging. He just--this wasn’t normal.
He swallowed hard. “Tomorrow I’ll meet you in the field where Westwood Road used to lead,” he paused, “and I’ll be bringing my hunting knife.”
The man hummed, but nodded.
Coh wasn’t sure if he should, you know, go anywhere with that crazy man, but he was already in deep trouble. What else could go wrong? He grinned to himself about that lucky phrase--a way to ward off evil-doings, according to his mother--and pointed at the burnt grass.
“Be sure to show me how to do that. Would make the summer grass burns a lot easier.”
#
Coh paced. There wasn’t much else for him to do but pace. This whole thing was madness, he decided. He shouldn’t be out in the woods, not after his accident, and if his father or Mark found him out here, he’d probably be kept locked in the house for a week, forced to knit or clean or whatever suitable punishment his mother came up with.
He sighed and looked around. A road he had walked often as a child, Westwood, led here. It had long since been disused, but he could remember where it led--a tiny chapel deep in the woods, all old, rain-stained and rotting wood, a carved childlike angel kneeling to the right of it. Now with the road overgrown with ferns, saplings, gorse, and prickers he doubted he could find his way to it. The pebble path had been eaten alive by the forest.
The fact it was morning didn’t help his mood much either. Mist clung to the earth, drifting slowly between trunks of trees. It was eerie at this time of day here. Here on the edge of the Damis Forest.
He looked down at the dogs he’d brought with him--for protection. That brownish shepherd and a white dog that had followed him when he’d taken her. It was larger and short-furred, with up ears and a nasty scar across its muzzle. He figured since it made him nervous--it was far too wolf-like--it would scare that Anwar character if he tried to mug him. He had his knife, sure, but he was injured, so he needed back up.
He rubbed the pale dog between the ears, trying to calm his own nerves.
He remembered who the man was now. His mother had talked about him long ago, after one of his playmates mentioned the hermit. She’d said he was a foreign man who came through town every so often. No one knew who he was and he rarely drifted through, all anyone knew was to stay out of his way. All they know was he had his home in the Damis Forest and that was enough to distrust him for.
He wondered what the townspeople would say if they knew Anwar was a wizard.
“You really should watch your back better.”
Coh wasn’t too surprised by the voice. Expectation of another dramatic entrance led to that, but he jumped anyway. Okay, so maybe he’d been a bit surprised. The dogs hadn’t responded.
Speaking of which, Amber had taken to growling, side against the backs of his legs. The white dog just cocked its head.
Figures.
He turned and faced Anwar. He was leaning against one of the trees, a sword at his belt and his gray cloak gone. He was wearing normal dress now; peasants’ clothes. If anyone saw him, they wouldn’t take note--except perhaps to notice his skin, while weathered, did not have the sort of tan a working man got.
“Here to talk nonsense again?” Coh asked. “You do realize I knew you were there, right?”
Anwar’s eyebrows rose. “You’re getting better at lying,” he said. “Good.”
He looked up then and Coh followed his gaze unthinkingly. Blue-black smoke drifted over the tops of the trees, countering the white that clung to the ground.
Ice entered Coh’s veins. “W-w-what’s that?” he asked.
“Smoke from my chimney,” Anwar responded. He fixed his shirt and straightened up. He brushed moss off himself and glared at the tree beside him.
Coh couldn’t help but grin smugly. “Leaning against wet wood is a good way to stain your clothes.”
“I’m aware. I’m older than you, boy.”
“You’re--what? Twenty-ish? Not older by much.”
Anwar huffed. “Thirty-ish,” he coughed, “and I live in these woods.”
Coh shrugged. “Why do you have your fire on?”
“Making myself something to eat and drink,” he paused, “I’ll be heading that way.”
Coh frowned. “I thought we were staying here.”
“You don’t have to come. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Coh narrowed his eyes, not suspicious, really, just--how stable was this person? Anwar could give him up to the Dakas, easy. He couldn’t even understand why Anwar hadn’t yet. Maybe because he didn’t want to give himself away?
“Fine,” Coh said finally, “but I’m not moving.”
Anwar gave him a confused look. “I didn’t suggest you to, or ask you to.”
Coh scowled. “Close enough.”
Anwar shrugged and stumbled off.
Coh’s face smoothed out. Anwar had a bad leg, or even a bad half, by the way he limped like that--a rocking, uneven gate. He was surprised with all the roots Anwar didn’t fall flat on his face.
He probably couldn’t hurt him then. If he wasn’t faking it, that is.
Coh waited until Anwar was out of sight before he followed. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see how the wizard lived. So, with the dogs at either side, his fingers curled around their collars, he went down another path, one he knew would lead to where the smoke was--a simple hog trail.
He’d show him who knew the bloody forest.
#
Coh’s surprise was almost palpable. Shock and mild awe were the twin sensations pulling at him as he looked over the small cabin. The stone chimney was a normal thing made of rough-cut gray stone layered nicely, but the rest of the place--he didn’t even have words. Four white-barked trees supported the entire structure, making the four corners of the house, and their branches twined above to make a leaf roof, with bark shingles tied to the branches at intervals. Below that was a mess of privet woven with saplings, forming the walls. A collection of boulders made the back of the house and the foundation.
He blinked, disbelieving, and Amber let out a confused whine. He finally shook himself and decided to get closer. He released the dogs’ collars and then he stepped out from the edge of the woods. He made his way across the dirt clearing towards the front of the house.
As he moved closer he could see ill-cut posts and fencing to the right of the all too natural house, fencing that held in two horses, one seal brown and and the other a younger dapple gray. There was a small garden to the left and, straight ahead, the house’s porch and door. He manoeuvred around a few spiky plants, their sharp, dry branches clutching at his trousers uncomfortably, and came to the steps of the porch. The door loomed right ahead--all dark mahogany wood with vines growing down it, accented by a glass knocker in the shape of a sleek, scale-less dragon.
His awe increased, even as the dragon form made his hackles rise minutely. Amber whined again at his feet and he looked down. “What?” he asked.
The dog tilted her head and he actually felt relief that she didn’t talk back once more, which he took as a bad sign.
He shrugged and then glanced around, trying to figure out what had upset her. He couldn’t see anything but the horses, which had come to the fence, and the woods beyond.
She scratched at the dirt beside him and then padded off. He shrugged to himself and then ever so slowly, put his foot down on the first step.
He winced, waiting for plants to come and swallow him whole like they did in some of the fairy stories his grandmother--Luke and Mark’s grandmother, that is--had once told. When nothing happened, he continued up the stairs.
He wondered how many odd panic attacks he’d have before everything was sorted out. He figured quite a few more.
He just shook his head and went silently over to one of the ancient wicker chairs that sat on the porch and sat in it. He shifted, unable to find a comfy spot, and waited for Anwar to return.
#
Eventually, Anwar returned. He returned, limping still and carrying a plate of red meat, barely cooked, and brown bread. A pitcher of bubbling ginger-colored drink followed him and Coh tried not to act too surprised. He’d made a dumar croak, Adair take a try at flying, rocks collapse, ash burn, and fish die. It really shouldn’t be so surprising to see such a thing; see such simple use of magic.
He couldn’t help but stare, anyway. He just watched the thing as it lowered itself down, seemingly using with its shiny metal ladle as a sail, to the rough wood of the porch. He narrowed his eyes, looking for any sign of a trick, but, as expected, couldn’t see a thing.
He sighed and slouched in his chair. Amber looked up from his feet at the sound, but made no comment.
Anwar sat down in a chair across from him and started to poke at his food, more or less ignoring him.
“You were much more talkative yesterday,” Coh said.
“I’ve had time to think,” Anwar said, “and I’m not sure this is best. I can teach you to control your magic, keep it at bay, but to teach you more? Questions would be asked if they ever caught you. Who taught you, eh? Who taught you? And you’d tell them, because otherwise they’d do what they did to me.”
Coh shifted in his seat, uneasy. Though he had just wanted to control it, even yesterday he’d thought that mostly, the thought of using the power--just to do simple things, mind you--had led to a certain yearning. He knew that was bad. He should want to do things like everyone else did. But it was his power, wasn’t it? It was only fair to be able to do what he wanted with it--and he could care better for his family if he used it, stop even half-wise being a burden.
So he frowned and asked, “What did they do to you?” It seemed proper to do so. Polite. He was also curious, but that was a given.
“Destroyed anything that mattered,” Anwar responded.
Coh’s gaze latched onto Anwar’s face. His eyes were downcast, every wrinkle in his much-too-young face clear as day. It made Coh shiver.
“As in?”
“Pregnant wife, my master, my brethren, my home. They only left me my horse and my life, though I had to gain the latter myself.” He paused. “I escaped.”
Coh thought about that. Would it be worth risking everything, as Anwar implied? Or was just existing the same amount of risk? If he was untrained, the Dakas would probably pick him up eventually, mark or no mark, and force him to fight--fight against the rebels, others of his kind, and the church. Did he want that? No.
If he managed to hide his magic, he’d slip up eventually--everyone did. There were stories about that posted on a pole in the center of Tariq, placed there by Dakas. Some family, three witches--mother and two daughters--with a husband who was a wizard, slaughtered after trying and failing to hide their abilities; ousted by their neighbor, an older widow. A young woman was captured at such date after admitting to being a witch. A young boy was found levitating frogs and taken straight to the correct authority. Kids read them over, awed, and Dakas leered from far off at their mothers. Coh had seen that enough to know that most people were well-informed about the consequences of magic and knew that odd things meant magic, at least here in Tariq.
He was lucky Mr. Phios hadn’t sent Dakas to his home.
But, to get back on topic, in truth he probably had no options. Well, no. He had options--leave, leaving his family open to anything, stay and be found out eventually and be powerless, or learn how to protect himself and his family. The last sounded best, in his opinion.
Of course, he only knew what was said about witches and warlocks, and Anwar here had been living in these woods for how long, without being found out?
Coh sighed.
“Escaped from where?”
Anwar jumped. Coh had the feeling he’d expected him to leave without any more instruction, like the madman he probably was. Coh smirked.
“Avaran.”
Coh froze, all joints locking. “W-w-what?”
One fear that had been pushed back to the far reaches of his mind lurched forward, a monster in its own right. He thought of the worst stories--political prisoners, rebels, tortured to death and then strung out on the gate posts of said place. Witches and warlocks that had done something to show they sided with the rebels--they got the same treatment, if not worse. His vision was invaded by black shadow in the corners as he stared, not breathing, at Anwar. His fingers turned to claws on the wicker arms of the chair.
“I said my master was murdered. My master was King Arshad of Volengrad, the best king to ever rule that nation. Except for Alaric, perhaps--but he never liked me much.”
“You were a prisoner of war, then?”
“What else did you think I was?” Anwar asked.
Coh blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. His mind was too busy putting the colors Anwar had worn--blue and gold--to the last king of Volengrad (and Viren, by proxy). Sometimes coins still came through with his face on them. He remembered why those coins were mostly confiscated, too. Arshad and all his family, all his servants, and all his soldiers had been slaughtered and burnt to ashes along with Arshad’s castle at the origin of Blue Gate Stream--Iris Lake.
Coh ran a hand down his face, too confused to put his questions to words. How did you escape? How did you survive the massacre? Why are you alive? “Whatever,” he said finally, “just--show me how to hide it. For now. But I need to know something,” he frowned, “and I need to have a way out of this mess, without anyone getting hurt, if something goes wrong.”
Anwar tilted his head. “You’re one for tall orders, aren’t you?”
#
“What’s this then?” Coh asked, wrinkling his nose at the small garden on the side of Anwar’s home. It had a rotten stink to it; a clash of rosemary, burnt leaves, cocoa-sweet, and dill, amongst other things. Anwar was pointing at a stout little bush, with dark green and lighter green leaves. It had small purplish-white flowers, petals broad but short.
“This is nasrin,” Anwar said, “it’s an excellent magic suppressant.”
Coh raised an eyebrow. “A plant can counteract magic?”
“No,” Anwar said, “it just controlls it. Keeps it tame.” He looked closer at Coh. “Young kiddies like yourself, when they get their magic in full, they have almost no control. Their brain spits out the engraved Old Tongue willy-nilly and their powers are like an old fire--it’s about to go out, then flash, starts all up again. Even in normal times they used it for younger witches and warlocks, to keep them from breaking the good plates mostly, I’d assume.” Anwar let out a weak chuckle.
Coh’s eyebrow shot higher. “Young kiddie? How old do you think I am?” He didn’t mention how curious that was--there wasn’t really a need, he figured.
“Twelve?”
“Fourteen.” Coh looked closer at the plant. “So, what? I take some leaves home and dose myself, or what?”
“No, not the leaves--the flowers. A flower every few days whenever you need it should suffice,” Anwar explained. “To top it off, nasrin grows natural around here, so if anyone asks, just say you added it to your recent meals because you’d seen people eat it before or such. It’s effective and discrete.”
Coh’s brow furrowed despite the reassurances. “If anyone asks?”
“Well, it has quite the particular smell, doesn’t it?”
Coh shrugged and reached down. He grabbed a fistful of the flowers and ripped them out. “I’ll be defenseless when I take these, won’t I?”
“More or less, yes--magic-wise. You will still be perfectly able in all other areas.” Anwar paused. “They have been known to make people sneeze, though.”
Coh let out a humorless laugh. “Is there anyway to, you know, keep my magic? Keep it in an object; just the magic energy I have currently?”
Anwar raised an eyebrow. “How do you know about that?”
“Everyone knows that; it’s in all the stories.”
Anwar sighed. “I’d suggest a stone, perhaps precious, or a metal that won’t rust--because with the rust goes the magic. A simple incantation is enough and, voila, you have any of your current magic energy stored in whatever you wanted it to be stored in.”
Coh inadvertently touched the bae amulet hidden under his shirt.
“Could you put it in something else? Like a shirt, or a cat, or something?”
“I suppose,” Anwar admitted, “but shirts break down, as do cats. Anything that lasts long would work. Gold works best, but other metals--like bae, syver, or tiger-metallica work fine. Even silver--tarnishing doesn’t do any harm. Hard stone from the earth works rather well, too. Quartz, for instance.”
Coh nodded. He knew where he’d store his magic, but he’d been curious.
“And what’s the incantation?” he asked, as he shifted towards a rose bush. He shoved the flowers into the pockets of his tunic and looked at Anwar. He looked concerned, a bit wary and weary, but with a heaved sigh, he spoke up, “Accipe custodiam latere.” There was a roughness to the words, a slight difference in punctuation. He wondered what else was different between the Old Tongue as Anwar had called it from the language of his people, the people of Viren.
But he just nodded nodded and quickly said, “Thank you.”
He shifted once more, not exactly what to do or say next. His mind went through the process of repeating and trying to recollect the three words and eventually he just grabbed Amber’s collar, where the female dog lay with a butterfly pinned under her paws, and heaved her up.
“I’d better go.”
Anwar nodded. “Of course.” His eyes went steely for a moment. “Don’t come back here unasked.”
Coh’s spine stiffened. “What?”
“Anyone could trail you.”
“Few would.” Coh frowned.
“That’s besides the point,” Anwar snapped. He frowned. “You should probably return home now, Coh. If you need me, leave a note at the chapel. If I need you, I’ll find you.”
“I could always come here, if there was an emergency?” Coh asked.
“No.”
#
Coh left the cabin feeling distinctly annoyed, but he knew he was better off. He had those flowers in his pocket, which hopefully weren’t poisonous, and he knew a spell to keep his magic bound, locked up. It had been worth it, even if he was slightly more confused now. Anwar had been more wishy-washy than he’d taken for granted.
As he followed the boar trail back to the Westwood Road field, an itch started. He wasn’t sure where, it was just there, hovering at the back of his mind. He stopped in a shady patch under firs and looked around. He couldn’t see a thing, except for a few rooks high up in a live oak high above. Amber whined at his side in response, his anxiety rubbing off, and then it hit him. He’d left that white dog.
He fought the urge to hit himself in the face.
He bent over and got eye-level with the sheepdog by his side. “Hey, think you can find your buddy?”
Amber blinked.
“Never mind then,” he said. He then muttered to himself, “Have to do everything myself.”
#
He had on the fourth circuit realized why it was such a good thing Luke tended to name the animals. That way, you could call them. Wandering around the forest, skirting Anwar’s property, he figured calling out, “White dog! White dog!” wouldn’t help him any. So he was forced to walk pretty much endless cycles trying to find a sign of the pale dog he’d brought with him.
Amber kept pace at his side, a comfort if anything. He was getting scared as the light faded, signaling more bed weather. Viren always had the worst weather near the end of summer as of late. He could remember dry, endlessly-sunny days when he was younger, at a time when his father grew grains. Now they were forced to grow roots and scraggly above-land vegetable plants, as the heavy rains they now continuously got beat the grains to the earth.
He sighed and looked skyward. There was still an almost endless blue sky stretching above, but he felt the static in the air. He could almost smell the rain coming in.
He had an hour at best to find the dog and get home before his lie of going on a walk to check out the property (which he had before he left) was absurd. Not even Luke could stretch out a property check that long.
While he continued looking at the sky, something sounded far off--a ripping sound. He tensed about the shoulders, but kept an eye on the silvery-belly of a small, fast-moving cloud that raced at zenith. A sound following shook him to the bone, however, and forced him to look in the far off direction the first sound had come from.
The sound was a human scream.
He reached for his knife and pulled it from its sheath, before he rushed in the direction. He knew it could be a trick, but he was on the edge of the woods and it was likely it wasn’t a trick.
He wasn’t so selfish not to go and see.
