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The Banishing

Chapter 4. Another Visitor

By Bill Van OostenPublished 2 years ago 8 min read
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The Banishing
Photo by Ankhesenamun on Unsplash

Marta stood looking to the west from her greeting room window. Ellish's book was right she felt sure. But that did not explain the origins of the spell that Jon had stopped. Magic did not just happen. Magic was created. There could only be one answer that she could think of, Toise and his madness. The size of the cast staggered her. Could one person alone harness that much power? The answer seemed to be yes, but how? Yet another unanswerable question, she thought. Marta had scryed in the quiet of the night to no avail. Well not completely. There were differences she had not

seen before. Places she could not go and could not see clearly. That was a new thing. She involuntarily looked across to the crystal sphere she favored for scrying, beautiful in its simplicity, and mute.

Ellish seemed to take it all in his stride. It was as if he knew or suspected something and was waiting. Waiting for what? He did however have an edge to him she had not seen before, an urgency restrained, and a palpable calm that was deep enough to deny plumbing. It irritated her unreasonably, along with the influx of Witches from every point of the compass.

For a brief moment she thought of Jon and Meena and that pairing annoyed unreasonably. Unconsciously, she placed a hand on her shoulder thinking again of Ellish and his companionship. I regret my choices. I resent the person I have made myself be. She turned from the window and surveyed the Spartan room devoid of any femininity. Marta found herself walking outdoors with no purpose. She took the forest path, ignoring those she met, hurrying to escape her rooms and the oppressive mass of The Hall and its inescapable wash of magic. Marta slowed as the trees surrounded the path. I escape my loneliness to be alone. Tears coursed her cheeks and she angrily wiped them away. Her chin was quivering and she could not control it. She turned from the path into the forest and sought a place of isolation.

The small dell was sheltered from the sea breeze, and she sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. At first she saw nothing of her surroundings; blinded was she by the bleakness of her thoughts. She twirled a strand of hair in her fingers and then pulled until the pain brought more tears. Pain from without to drown the pain within. Sounds began to intrude; the sigh of the trees and grasses stroked by the intermittent zephyrs and birds in the distance. It seemed to Marta the myriad forest sounds were amplified. She wondered that so many were unidentifiable. On impulse she slid out of her sandals and brushed her feet over the grasses, then pushed her feet into the leaves and soil. The awareness of the smells surprised her as did the warmth of the soil. The warmth spread upward, relaxing muscles, and a calm came upon her. She closed her eyes. The forest sounds became a sibilant background and her thoughts became still. Marta opened her eyes. The forest glittered with life in a way she had never seen before; all interconnected and involved in some manner however remotely. I am part of this...this... She searched for a word... harmony. She sat drinking in this revelation, letting it settle within, finding a permanent place and tears came again but now from a joy that seemed boundless.

Late morning saw her back at the window in her greeting room. The drapes were pulled aside, the afternoon sun streamed into the room highlighting the rich wood of the desk and bookshelves and bringing alive the designs in the rugs. Marta had changed her clothes. A long, deep blue cotton dress replaced the heavy plain robe and her hair had been let loose from its customary constraint and hung long and full. This was how Ellish found her, standing tall in a pool of light.

Mid-day saw Ellish hiding himself up on the side of the northern hill just above the tree line. There was a little terrace there, a pocket hidden from view but full of the noon sun. He went there occasionally to escape the constant demands of being nominally the Speaker for such a diverse and attitude-ridden group that was the Wizard’s Hall. Today was such a day, with the added confusion of Marta. Now there was a special something. The picture of her standing, blue dress and hair brushed out in the sun like that…

Ellish admitted to himself the reality that a long quashed spark of hope still lingered, fluttering anew like a moth on a window. He gently returned it to its place but recognized its need for space.

He stood and moved to the edge of the terrace where he watched the weekly fisher boat approach

the pier. Another visitor it seemed; hard to tell at this distance. The breeze from the sea cooled him from the exertions of the climb. He sat with his back to a rock facing away from the sea the sun warm on his face. He shortly fell asleep.

Ellish's strength lay in that he knew his own mind and its failings, foibles and capability. Overall he trusted the core of himself, the last defense, the bastion, the residence of his essence, that little part that never truly sleeps, that is aware as only a Wizard of Madge’s capabilities can be. It woke, kindling defensive power at levels only possible in extremes: That and the fact he did not move even in the instant of awakening saved him.

The compact and layered blue shield took the full force of the incoming spell. Flaring brilliant blue- white as its layers shredded under the impact. The inner layers held. The spell dissipated. Ellish sought with all his considerable abilities the source of this attack but to no avail. However elements of the dissipated spell he did read told him much. He sat up. The grass where he lay was green within the protection of his wards and the rock. All else within the terrace was a scorched cinder. Ash floated and swirled in the breeze. Ellish coughed and stood feeling shaken and drained. A scrape of rock against rock saw him move smartly out of the path of a small avalanche of rocks and stones loosened by the spell. Ellish leaned on a tree by the path down and drew breath. Toise! The spell had the smell and twist of the man. Deep in thought he started down to the track to the pier. At first his legs trembled with the effort but that soon passed with the exercise. There was a new guest to welcome.

Others had dealt with the purchase of the fish and the fisher-boat was already well away from shore. Morek was a surprise, younger than he had been led to believe and far more accomplished in the ways of her arts.

"Morek of Larrak Bay! To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" Ellish indicated the path and they set off.

"I met the lad, Jon; saw him send off the tax man and his bully boys. Felt the Pulling spell of the other night." She stopped on the track. "You did not know it was a Pulling spell?" She added very quietly. "That was a monster thing that was. My guess is Jon killed it." Ellish nodded.

"Why do you think it a Pulling spell? I thought that was only for sheepherders and such." Ellish asked. Morek smiled a crooked smile.

"Can be for splinters or sheep in the mire; but this was different, someone wants the lad and right badly." Morek said and they started up the path again.

"I have dreams. Dreams I sift for truth. Truth is a thing for trade." Morek read something in Ellish's face or manner. "You feel it wrong. Truth is a power in itself. People seldom abide it in its raw form." She gave Ellish a sidelong glance. "Oft it needs be metered out to do its best work." Ellish seemed to slow his pace slightly and then he stopped.

"What did you dream that brings you here?"

Morek heard the weight in his words. She looked Ellish eye to eye. "Gaia was in that spell. All awry and agin her will the power was taken. That's black, black doings. The maker of that spell comes this way and I would see him stopped." Gray flecked red-gold hair streamed in the breeze.

"I see why you are agin this..." Morek kicked a stone against Ellish's leg.

"Don't sing my words to me, to make me a place. I make my own place." She used the old word for self-dome. "Talk me down not." Ellish rubbed his leg, fascinated at the steel in this woman. He straightened up and stepped closer to her and made a little bow not taking his eyes from hers.

"I meant only to show understanding. I am sorry to offend."

"Ah, the moon nears full and I get full prickly when it is so," she started off up the path. Ellish grinned and followed.

What she had said bothered him deeply when placed with his gleanings from the remains of both the spell of Pulling as she had called it and the recent attack on him. Spells leave an imprint of the caster, a signature to be read. Marcule was dabbling with black, again. He sighed.

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About the Creator

Bill Van Oosten

My writing name is William Baldwijn. I write SF and Fantasy.

If you don't like Elves, Witches, Dwarves, Dragons, Changelings, Wizards and Sprites you came in the wrong door. Oh! Did I mention Praxils?

[email protected]

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