ShadowKnight

Chapter Eight

"You mean you're—?" Tarin couldn't figure out if he wanted to fall off the log, or stand up from it and start pacing. He picked the latter, watching the man as he explained.
"My name is Luscar. I always promised that I would return, and teach you everything I know about magic, but there was never a good time—"
"A good time!" Tarin cried, "where were you four years ago, when I was struggling to get my magic under control then? Why couldn't you have taught me as a child? I was banished because of my magic. My entire life is over, and it is because of you."
"Over?" Luscar was taken aback. "Over? Son, your life is only beginning! Your powers will only grow with time."
Tarin sat back down heavily, a deep sigh escaping him with a whoosh.
"You're here to teach me?" He said. Luscar nodded, and stood, marking out a wide circle in the grass with a wave of his hand.
"So, tell me," he said. "What can you do?"
"Do?" Tarin asked, feeling a little foolish. "I mean, I'm good with plants, growing things. I can make things move, or people.." he thought back to the day the four older boys who had been terrorizing Jim had attacked him. "And, I made a light last night, but I don't know how."
Luscar nodded at this. "Your skill with plants is probably an elf trait. You get that from your mother." He said. "As for the rest, it seems you already have figured out some measure of basic spell casting, so we will skip the basics and start with more advanced techniques. step into the circle please."
Tarin did as he was told, and Luscar waved his hands again, saying words Tarin didn't recognize. A wind sprang up out of nowhere and blew Tarin's hair out of his face. Luscar nodded, satisfied.
"No one will detect magic performed in this circle." He said.
"Can people do that?" Tarin asked.
"They have their ways. I'm sure someone is already interested in your power. It's lucky I found you first."
Tarin was confused, and he didn't know which question to ask first. Things about the mysterious 'They' that Luscar seemed so afraid of. Why did they want sorcerers? How did they track magic? Why did Luscar leave him with Ella when he was a baby? Who had been Tarin's mother?
But he couldn't ask any of these, because Luscar was digging around in his coat pocket and muttering to himself in that strange language. Tarin realized that his father must have been isolated for a really long time, rehearsing everything he planned to say.
"How long have you been out here?" Tarin asked.
"Years..." Luscar muttered, "Years too long. Aha!" The exclamation was so loud, Tarin jumped as Luscar pulled a small book out of his pocket. "When I was given my powers, the witch, Angela, gave me this book. It's a grimoire, a book of spells. Now, I'm giving it to you."
Tarin took the book from his father, admiring the decorative, finely worked leather cover, and the writing that covered the pages in a fine, neat script.
The spells themselves weren't in Lollican, but were in an entirely different language. Tarin recognized it as the same language Luscar had been speaking. The language of magic, he realized.
He flipped through the book. The spells were sorted into categories, household, fighting, transportation, transformation.
"We will start with self defense," Luscar said, suddenly all business. "The fireball spell is a swift and simple solution that will deter most attackers. The flames do not last long once they come in contact with your intended target, but they do burn. To conjure it, simply say 'Nom'."
"Nom?" Tarin repeated, and almost of its own will, a small orb of orange flame flashed in front of him, before fizzling out. Luscar smiled, and stepped closer, demonstrating.
"Prepare your hand, reach out, like you are taking something. This is where the fire will appear. Will it to be held in your fingertips. Nom." He demonstrated, and a similar ball of fire appeared above his outstretched palm. With a deft movement, he flung it toward the cliffs, where it exploded in a shower of sparks.
"Wow," Tarin said, reaching out and imitating Luscar's pose, but nothing happened. He dropped his hand. "What did I do wrong?"
"Did you say the magic word?" Luscar asked, arms folded, looking at Tarin thoughtfully. "The spells must be translated into the language of magic. Only the most personal spells are completely non-verbal. Don't overthink it. Let the magic use your body as a signal, telling it what to do, and where to go."
Tarin reached out his hand again, and whispered the magic word for fire. Almost as if he had plucked an apple of flame from thin air, the fireball appeared in his hand, with his fingers curled around it. The flames tickled slightly as they licked at his skin, but they did not burn him. Tarin gazed at the ball, mesmerized, and it grew bigger, going from the size of an apple, to the size of a grapefruit, then a small melon. He held it in both hands now, watching the fire grow larger.
"Tarin, stop!" Luscar said, waving his hand. The fireball went out, and Tarin jerked back as if he had been bitten, dropping his hands.
"I'm sorry," Tarin said, putting his hands behind his back.
"Casting spells is the easy part," Luscar said, concern written all over his face. "The magic comes to you naturally, from inside. It is both your strength, and your weakness. You must learn to control it. Do not let the magic control you. You decide the magnitude of your spells, not it."
"I'll remember," Tarin said.
"Good, try again. I want you to be able to summon one nonverbally by sundown."
For the first few hours, Tarin was happy to practice throwing fireballs at the cliff walls, though they always dissipated at the edge of the circle. But after a while, the magic lost a little of its charm. The spell was a simple one. Just the single word "nom", but Tarin had said it so much that it just sounded like more of a nonsense word than it already was.
He turned to Luscar, who sat near the fire, lost in thought, then paused as he tried to figure out what to call him. He'd never had a father before, dad seemed too informal, father was too formal.
"Um, Luscar," he said finally, and the man seemed to wake up from his reverie. "Can I learn another spell now?"
"Have you mastered the fireball?"
"Yes?" Tarin said hesitantly.
"Show me," Luscar said, standing up. Tarin prepared his magic but almost as soon as he took a breath, Luscar was shouting "No! Not here, in the circle! Don't be careless."
Tarin walked to the center of the circle and summoned the fireball. Luscar nodded in appreciation. "Not bad, not fast enough to use in a fight yet, but not bad. Fire comes naturally to you."
Tarin waited, hopeful, as Luscar examined him.
"Perhaps..." he looked at the book and scooped it up, thrusting it into Tarin's hands. "You should choose the next one," Tarin took the book, rifling through the pages. He fell across one that was illustrated with a large fire, and out of the Flames rose a dragon's head.
"What's this one?"
"That one," Luscar looked over his shoulder, reading the title out loud, the entire page was written in the elaborate language. "That is Un Nom Gevi, The Fire's Gift. It's known in Lollican as the dragon spell. I've never performed it myself. It takes two wizards, one to maintain the fire, and the other to fuel the transformation." Luscar scanned the page intently. "Usually, neither wizard survives this spell, as the dragon devours them both, body and soul."
"Oh," Tarin said quietly, turning away from the page. He found another spell. "What about this one?"
"Lael, the frost." Luscar explained. "It summons water from the air and makes it freeze. You can use it to put out fires, cross rivers, or offensively, on your enemies." He demonstrated the spell with a wave of his hand. The air got cold, and Tarin shivered as frost glistened on the grass, and tiny snowflakes drifted through the air. Quickly though, the summer heat returned and the frost melted.
Eagerly, Tarin pocketed the book and said the spell. "Lael!" He said, and his arms went numb with cold and ice shot from his fingertips in a concentrated stream. "Brrr," Tarin shivered, trying to get some feeling back in his hands. A patch of ice lay thick over the ground.
"Are you alright?" Luscar asked, looking at Tarin's fingers for signs of frostbite.
"I'm fine, what was that?" Tarin asked.
"The drawback of fighting with ice. It could freeze your very blood if you aren't careful." Luscar explained, still looking concerned.
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"All magic has its price, Tarin. Every spell has its dangers. This is the price you pay for wielding such power."
Tarin looked down at his hands. His fingers tingled as the blood flow returned to normal. "I didn't ask for this," he said.
A shadowy expression crossed Luscar's face. "I'm afraid I put you in this position," the sorcerer said. "It was my blood that was filled with magic. But I could not deny Remira a child. Elf children are so rare, it was a privilege to raise you with them for a little while. Your mother would be proud of you, Tarin. She would have wanted to see you all grown up."
"What happened to her?"
"She was killed in an accident, when a fire burned down our home. Once she was gone, Lunaria cast us both from the village. That's why you grew up in Grenwood."
Tarin was about to respond angrily. Why couldn't he have gone with his father, and learned magic as a child? Why did he have to have been banished from Lollica? But then he stopped, and thought back on his life. His childhood had been a peaceful one, filled with friends and prosperity. Ella had taken very good care of him, and his friends had been kind and good. Thinking about his friends made Tarin remember his last moment with Jim, and he groaned aloud. He wished now that he could go back and tell him that he would find a way to come back, to ask for forgiveness, to make amends, and heal his friends broken bones.
"There isn't a time travel spell in that book, is there?" He asked, half joking.
Luscar chuckled, "We can only move forward in time, and at Time's own pace," he responded, glancing up at the sky, where the sun was now low on the horizon.
"I should be going," Luscar said. "The sun is nearly down.
"You could stay here, pitch a tent," Tarin invited him, but Luscar shook his head.
"It's not safe," he said, "I will be back at dawn." and with a flash, he had become the large owl again, and flew away over the cliffs.
Tarin watched him go. Then turned back to the fire, still burning in its place near his bedroll, and with a start, realized that he hadn't set up any kind of real campsite yet. Quickly, Tarin set up his own, one-man tent, and slid his bedroll inside. He arranged his pack and prepared another simple meal from the rations he had. He chewed on the food thoughtfully as the last rays of the sun touched the tops of the trees, far above him. It was a very nice campsite. He felt safe surrounded by its high cliffs, and the silver trees made a sound like a thousand tiny bells chiming faintly in the light breeze. This could be his home. Washing his dishes in the tiny stream, and setting them on a wide, flat rock to dry, he banked the fire and crawled into his tent, falling asleep dreaming of magic as the sound of bells filled the air.

Luscar was true to his word, and arrived in owl form before dawn had fully broken the next morning. He tapped on the canvas of Tarin's tent, causing the condensation that had formed to drip onto the sleeping figure inside.
"Tarin, it's time to wake up," the sorcerer said gently. Tarin crawled out of the tent and looked up at his father, bleary eyed.
"Dawn already?" He said, looking up at the sky, which was a pale, blue-grey.
"It would seem so," Luscar said, smiling. "Come on, there's much to learn," and he strode away to the center of the circle.
Tarin hurried after him, "Can you teach me that owl spell?" he asked, reaching the center of the circle.
"Not yet," Luscar said, looking serious. "I have to teach you something more important first."
"What is it?" Tarin shifted from foot to foot impatiently.
"Your power is not unlimited." The sorcerer said. "There's an energy inside you, it's what turns your hair white, and causes your eyes to glow. It's this energy that the spells get their power from. With the magic energy, you can make changes that are otherwise impossible. You have a good deal more than most, Tarin, but it is still not unlimited. If you should run out of magic energy, you may find it difficult to move or do even basic functions, for all creatures have a little flowing in their veins. It's what gives us life."
"I see," Tarin said, unsure of what else to say.
"Good, now, you wanted to learn "Et te Ire, the call of the air?"
"Um, yes," Tarin said.
"Good, now pay attention..." Luscar began to teach him the spell. It was the first, longer more difficult spell Tarin had tried, and it wasn't until nearly sundown that Tarin was able to even sprout feathers on his face and arms. When the sun touched the tops of the trees once again, Luscar left, with the same words he had said the night before. "It's not safe, I will be back at dawn."
And he was. Tarin marveled at the easy routine they began slipping into over the next week. Luscar arrived from wherever he spent his nights, woke Tarin and the training and practicing began again. Before Tarin had tried too many spells, Luscar had him review every spell he had learned so far, and if the spells were successful, they would continue to learn a new one from the book. Once Luscar left at sundown, Tarin would stay up reading the spells in his little tent, whispering the words to himself, getting the pronunciation just right. Luscar even taught him the Fire's Gift, though only the words. They chanted the spell carefully, making sure to keep exactly in cadence. Even without the bonfire that typically accompanied the spell, Tarin could feel a strange, charged atmosphere in the clearing, like the air before a thunderstorm, after Luscar had declared the spell as good as mastered. They did not review it often. Every seven days or so, instead of more spell practice, Tarin went hunting in the woods around the clearing with Luscar's help. There, he learned tracking, and how to move through the trees quietly. Once, a young stag approached the two sorcerers bravely, and Luscar reached out a hand gently, to pat it on the nose, and the stag greet him like an old friend.
"When you've been in these woods as long as I have," Luscar explained, "the animals may take you for one of their own." After that occasion, Tarin found it a little harder to eat venison.

But one fateful dawn, Tarin woke up a little earlier, and he crawled out of his tent before Luscar could sprinkle him with dew. But the sorcerer was not there. Tarin started a fire and made breakfast, watching the sunlight creep down the cliff side as the sun rose higher. Still, Luscar hadn't come.

"Where is he?" Tarin asked, heading for the rope. He climbed up the cliffs and looked around, but there was no sign of the man or the grey and white owl. Tarin whispered the spell that would turn him into a bird, though he didn't become an owl, but a hawk, with brown and white speckled feathers. He took off, gliding above the trees, using his hawk eyes to trace their usual hunting routes, but there was nothing.
Tarin flew in and out of the forest that surrounded his campsite, searching for his father, but Luscar had simply vanished. Landing again in the gully, Tarin scanned the cliffs one more time, then turned back into himself.
Turning back to his fire, Tarin faced the fact that Luscar would not come that day, and a sadness and loneliness gripped him as he realized that, for the first time in his life, he was completely alone.