Wizard Rising Read online

  He looked at one of the stones that lay at his feet now. It was the size of a small melon. He projected a mental image of the stone rising into the air and said, “Rise!” The stone shot up, as did several others, some even half buried, and broke free from the soil to hover in the air. Zollin was amazed and laughed with delight. Soon he had the stones dancing and swirling around him. He could feel the power in his chest swirling, too, and he wasn’t tired. The magic flowed into him from the tree, giving him strength. He moved the stones for a long time and finally arranged them neatly on the ground in a ring around the trunk of the willow. He sat down on one of the stones to eat but found he wasn’t really tired or hungry.

  For the next several weeks, he visited the willow often. His power grew steadily, and he discovered that, after a storm had shaken several limbs from the tree, magic still resonated in the downed boughs. He stripped these thin limbs of leaves and twigs and wove them into a belt that he wrapped around his waist under his shirt. He reveled in the power that the limbs imbued in him. He could now sense traces of magic in all kinds of things. In plants there was often magic that felt strong but small at the same time. It was different than the raw power he felt within himself—it was concentrated and not as broad. There was power in certain minerals and stones, he realized. He learned that most people had no magic, but a few had some—faint traces that seemed like echoes.

  Zollin was so fascinated by his new studies that he had completely forgotten about the harvest festival that was fast approaching. His best friend Todrek reminded him one afternoon as he complained that Zollin never spent time in town anymore.

  “You’re becoming a hermit, out in the woods all the time,” his friend teased.

  Zollin took the ribbing with good humor, but he also felt the resentment in his friend’s words. They had been friends a long time even though Todrek was three years older than Zollin. They had been in essentials school together, where they learned to read and write. Neither was athletic, unlike most of the other boys who spent their free time wrestling and competing in mock battles. Todrek was almost the opposite of Zollin. He was short and thick with muscle and fat that blended together. His father was a butcher, so his family never went without meat. Todrek was strong, too—he spent most of his time pulling the thick hides from the animals they butchered and moving the heavy carcasses for his father, whose back was bad. His hands, too, were strong, and his forearms powerful, but he carried his strength lightly, and having killed more docile animals than he cared to remember, he had no desire to play at war.

  And so Zollin, thin as a whip, and Todrek, thick as a boar, were close friends. They often spent their free time debating the qualities of food or games, although most recently their talk had seemed to center around girls. Todrek was beginning to catch the eye of several young ladies. His size was impressive, as was the quality of life a village butcher could provide. Zollin, on the other hand, was almost invisible, not only to the young ladies of Tranaugh Shire, but to the adults as well. His father was well known and liked, so Zollin was known simply as Quinn’s son. If he carried no message from his father, he was ignored.

  “I’ve got something to show you,” Zollin told his friend. “Can you get away for a while?”

  “Get away where, out into the lonely woods?” Todrek asked. “Why can’t you just show me whatever it is here?”

  “I just can’t, okay?”

  “It’s really hot,” Todrek complained. “Do we have to go far?”

  “No, now come on.”

  Zollin dragged his friend into the forest, and when he was confident that they were far enough away from town, he stopped.

  “What is it?” Todrek asked. “Have you met a forest imp who’s beguiled you and wants to make you into a tree?”

  “No,” Zollin said with a smile, and then he took a leaf from the forest floor and held it in his palm. Todrek was just about to complain again when the leaf rose from his friend’s hand.

  “Blast,” Zollin said softly, and the leaf burned away in a flash. The ash fell back into Zollin’s hand and blew away on the breeze.

  “How… I mean… What did you just do?” Todrek stammered.

  “Magic,” Zollin said. He was amused by his friend, who looked bewildered.

  “You mean like a trick,” Todrek said. He looked relieved, as if he had just realized that Zollin was playing a game or showing him an illusion.

  “No, I mean like real magic. I can feel it, inside me, in those plants,” he said, pointing at some small weeds growing near the roots of a tree. “I’ve been learning to use it all summer. I even found a willow tree that’s full of magical power. I’ve got some of the branches and they increase my abilities.”

  “Increase your abilities?” Todrek asked incredulously. “What are you saying, that you’re some kind of sorcerer or something?”

  “No, of course not,” Zollin said, aghast.

  “Are you crazy?” Todrek’s voice was rising, his eyes wide in his round face. “Zollin, sorcerers are evil. You really want to be some crazy old man in a tower casting spells and summoning demons?”

  “Of course not,” Zollin said, a little shocked by his friend’s reaction.

  “Well, that’s where you’re headed.”

  “It is not.”

  “That power that you’re talking about, it’s going to twist you into someone I don’t know, someone I don’t want to know. Perhaps it already has.”

  “Don’t be crazy,” Zollin pleaded. He was shocked by his friend’s reaction, and while he didn’t mind being alone, he had thought that of all the people who would understand, Todrek would.

  “I’m not being crazy, you are. You’re spending all your time out here by yourself experimenting with who knows what. How many rabbits and birds have you sacrificed to your demi-god for more power?”

  “Todrek, you know me better than that. I’m not sacrificing animals.”

  “Then where did this power come from?” Todrek challenged.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, it just sort of happened? You’ve just sort of learned to make things levitate and burn up on command?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that. See I was helping my dad –”

  Todrek cut him off.

  “Does Quinn know about this?”

  “No,” Zollin said, raising his voice for the first time.

  “Why not? Don’t you want your daddy to be proud of you?”

  Zollin wanted to double over. Todrek’s words had been like a punch in his stomach. His big friend had been the only person Zollin had ever confided in. He had told the butcher’s son how he hated carpentry and how much he feared his father’s rejection. He had even cried once in front of him, shortly after Quinn had taken on Mansel as an apprentice. Zollin had felt betrayed, replaced, especially when he saw the camaraderie that his father had with his new student.

  “I thought you were my friend,” Zollin said.

  “Yeah, well, I thought you were a person, not a freak. I’ve got a life now, Zollin. Dad’s giving me more responsibility in the shop. We’ve even talked about negotiating for Brianna’s hand in marriage. If this is who you are, I can’t be your friend.”

  Zollin was so shocked by all the revelations he had just heard that he stood mute while Todrek walked away. Part of him wanted to lift his friend into the air and spin him around or shake some sense into him. He felt the magic surging within him, and there was no question that he could do it, but it felt wrong. He didn’t want to be the kind of person who used his power to hurt others.

  It was also hard to believe that his friend was considering marriage to Brianna. She was by far the most beautiful girl in the village, but she knew it, and Zollin couldn’t imagine that she would make a good wife. He had never known his mother, and his father had lost all interest in women after she died giving birth to Zollin. He couldn’t really imagine having a girl in the house with them. His best friend, his only friend, really, was walking away, and it felt to Zollin like the wor
ld was coming to an end.

  He went home after that. He took off his willow belt and tried to push out all of the magic that swirled within him. He couldn’t, of course, but it felt good to try. He would have given it all up at that moment if he could have. All the wonder and excitement was gone, replaced by a nagging feeling that Todrek was right. Was the magic changing him? Would he end up an evil, twisted shell of a man, always grasping for more and more power? He had never considered that possibility before. In fact, he had never given magic much thought. His father was not a speculative man, not about philosophy or religion, and certainly not about such mysterious topics as magic. He fixed his mind on the solid things he could touch or build with, and there was never room in his mind for anything that wasn’t rational.

  And yet Zollin knew magic, not much about it, but he had experienced it, channeled it, used it even to help him with the more practical things his father had him doing. He hadn’t used flint and steel to start a fire in over a month. He could conjure a flame by merely thinking about it with the willow belt on. And it had seemed like he was finally coming to know himself. Going to school and trying to make friends with the other kids from the village and even apprenticing with his father felt somehow like he was only imitating someone else’s life, not living his own. Magic was who he was, not something he did. And, he thought to himself, if I am good, then the magic in me must be good. Even so, he didn’t want to leave the village, and if other people felt the way Todrek did about magic, if they jumped to the conclusion that all magic was evil, he would have to be careful.

  An icy chill of fear ran up his spine as he wondered if his friend would tell people what he had seen. What if Todrek turned the town against him?

  Chapter 3

  Zollin didn’t sleep much that night, but at some point he did make a decision. It was only a matter of time before he would be discovered, so it only made sense to prepare now for the inevitable. In the days that followed, he moved some supplies to the willow tree by the stream. His father had been a soldier in the King’s Army before he had married Zollin’s mother, but he never talked about it. There were weapons in their house, but Quinn had never taught Zollin to use any of them. So after storing away warm blankets, cooking utensils, and a bit of dried fruit and meat, Zollin began to look for a staff. The forest was full of broken branches and sticks, but none that suited him. He had managed to fashion himself a travel pack, and he put all his most prized possessions in it. He used his power to lift it high into the willow tree where no human could get to it.

  The days passed swiftly, either full of work finishing the inn, which the owner hoped to have ready in time for the harvest festival, or searching for a staff. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, but some deep sense within him propelled him to keep searching. He was soon exploring the woods and hills further and further from his home, wild places that he had never ventured to before that contained woodland creatures and plants he had never before encountered. And then one day, on his way home from the village, Zollin decided to take a new path through the woods on the north side of town. He was wandering along when he came to a tree that had been struck by lightning. The branches above were black from the fire that had consumed the tree, and nearby on the ground was a group of branches that had been split from the tree by the lightning bolt. Most of it was burned, too, but oddly enough one branch looked full of life. It was a rich brown color, and bright green leaves were sprouting from it. As Zollin came closer, he began to feel the power radiating from the branch. He bent down over the branch and touched it with a finger. He felt the tingling power rush through his body, and he went rigid for a moment from the pain. He didn’t know how he knew, but somehow he could sense that the lightning had imparted this power. The tingling ceased and was replaced now by a warm flow of magic that moved into him and through him. He immediately pulled out his small knife and began stripping the leaves from the branch. They fell away easily, and when he put his foot on the larger limb the branch grew from, it snapped off cleanly with hardly any effort. The branch was as tall as Zollin, sturdy but lightweight. It was as straight as a tree branch ever gets and did not taper but was equally thick its entire length, except for the head, which ended in a stubby knob. Zollin’s hand wrapped almost all the way around the bough, so that his fingers nearly touched his palm. With the branch in his hand, Zollin felt incredibly powerful. He had intended to find a weapon to fend off animals or perhaps a brigand, but the limb’s magic mingled with his own. They seemed to feed off of each other. While the power of the willow tree had been strong, it had also been a life power, like the involuntary strength of a heart pumping without being willed or even remembered, and carrying the necessary essentials of life. But the power of the branch was greater than the willow. It was more focused, more willful and direct. Where the willow tree radiated its power, the branch contained it, like a raging torrent waiting to be unleashed or a powerful stallion ready to stretch its legs and run.

  Zollin looked at the branch for a moment and then, with a shout of joy, thrust it into the air. Lightning crackled around the branch and ran up and down Zollin’s arm. There was no pain from the energy, only exhilaration. The bark burst off the limb in tiny bits, and the wood revealed underneath was bright white. The lightning pulled back into the staff, for it was no longer a branch of any tree, but rather the staff of a wizard. And although Zollin didn’t know it, that was what he was, the wizard of Tranaugh Shire.

  ***

  Branock felt a ripple, like being in a still pool of water when a rock is thrown in. The ripple passed silently, and the men and women in the inn were oblivious to it. But to Branock and the other two wizards with him, the ripple caught and held their attention. The bloom of magic they felt seemed to brighten and grow stronger.

  They were searching for the source of the magic, just as they had been for the last year, and they were currently in the kingdom of Falxis. They had traveled up and down the Five Kingdoms, spending time in taverns and festivals just to be near people. It was the only way to find the person they were searching for. Branock knew that his master was not pleased. They had hoped to find their quarry while he or she was oblivious of their power, but it was like trying to find a needle in the middle of a forest, in the middle of the night, when clouds blocked even the moon and starlight. They moved among the people in the hopes of accidentally bumping into the person with bright magic power, but it had not happened.

  It was obvious now that the person had discovered their power, and while they still could not track the person, the ripple itself gave them a clue.

  “To the north?” said Branock.

  “Yes,” said one companion.

  “Let’s move,” said Branock. He was in charge of the small band of wizards, and they followed him without comment.

  Outside, as they waited for the stableman to prepare their horses, they formed a plan. Branock and Wytlethane, the two older wizards, both elderly by normal standards, would ride on to Orrock, the capital of Yelsia, the northern kingdom. Cassis would return to the Torr and report to their master and then meet them in the capital.

  Their task had become easier and harder at the same time. As the young wizard used his power, he became more definable, taking on a shape and personality that the other wizards could sense and recognize. On the other hand, if he was learning to use his power, then he could also use that power against them.

  As they rode, Wytlethane spoke, which was unusual for the wizard dressed in simple brown robes. He was usually quiet and reserved, patient and diligent.

  “At last things seem to be moving forward,” he said.

  “Yes, it has been a wearying search,” Branock replied. “It shouldn’t be long now.”

  “It will be nice to return to the Torr.”

  “I agree. I’ve experienced as much of the Five Kingdoms as I can stand.”

  They rode on in silence for a bit before Branock spoke up.

  “How do you think Cassis will deal with the
novice wizard?” he said.

  “Not well,” said Wytlethane, without elaborating.

  After a moment Branock continued, “But do you think he can co-exist with a younger, brighter wizard?”

  Branock was confident that Wytlethane felt the same as he did, but this was their first chance to discuss the subject. He waited patiently while Wytlethane measured his words before speaking them aloud.

  “I do not think that is possible.”

  “Nor do I. We must keep our eyes on him.”

  “Cassis is a strong young wizard,” said Wytlethane after a short pause. “The master would not be pleased if Cassis’s pride disrupts our mission.”

  “No, nor would I,” said Branock. He disliked the way Wytlethane always made sure to bring up the fact that Branock’s authority was merely temporary. There was no hierarchy among the wizards of the Torr, there was only the master and everyone else. “Especially if we end up fighting each other.”

  “That would be unfortunate,” said Wytlethane.