《Shadow Tome: Third Star》


 1 - The Mage and the Owl

    Small towns in the countryside usually had their own personality. The place in question was picturesque, with green hills, nearby woods, and a small stream that turned into a river later down the road. Otterwesh used to be a small village that had started to grow after the war ended. The violent conflict with the neighboring country, the Kingdom of Soryn, had ceased very few years earlier, and people still had a lot of scars from that time.


    Protected by sitting nearby the local noble¡¯s castle, Scarwood Fortress, the town¡¯s people were still gradually returning to their daily lives. Near Otterwesh Woodlands, someone was walking near the stream, moving into the woods. He carried a wooden staff, a bag full of herbs, fruits and mushrooms he harvested nearby and his cape occasionally got tangled in the bushes while he walked.


    A small being was flying with him, a bird that seemed to like flying down the path, then return and circle the young man and then land on a nearby tree to wait for him. With his hood on and a slow pace, the man had a distant demeanor.


    ¡°One ¡®shroom is falling!¡±, a boyish voice came from the bird that just took flight.


    It grabbed the mushroom in the air with it¡¯s talons as it fell off the bag, before letting out a loud excited chirp and keep up flying around.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to.¡± The young man mumbled, stretching his hand to receive the food back from the bird.


    The bird was wide for it¡¯s size, looking like some odd species of owl. It¡¯s eyes were big and expressive, with a sharp and curve beak. It¡¯s feathers were black, with some variation of color and pattern on the chest. The owl gave back the mushroom and gained a long stare from the young man in return.


    ¡°Thank you Gillibert.¡± he said, walking away without looking back.


    The bird flew in small circles for a bit, excited, before going together with him. They followed the stream, walking inside the woodland, going on the opposite direction of the town they now belonged to. Sometimes the bird would make some remarks about interesting things on their path: herbs, cute flowers, fruits, a treacherous branch, animal tracks. He usually didn¡¯t get any response from the young man he followed and at some point they arrived at the center of the woodland.


    Their new home was there.


    It was way too big for them, having two floors, made of good quality stone, showing the damage from the time it remained empty. It had clear signs of abandonment, but it didn¡¯t matter to them. The house was a gift from Count Wells and the young man were escorted there by a small delegation of knights, led by the noble¡¯s very own first son.


    A sign of the noble house¡¯s favor towards the young man.


    Near the house there was a path that led from the center of the woods back into the town. The owl broke the silence with a loud question:


    ¡°Master Isemberd, are we going to the city today? We¡¯re running out of tea leaves.¡±


    The owl had landed on an old barrel that was outside. His sharp claws ended up carving the wood while he balanced himself there, cracking the edge of the old thing.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± The young man replied taking a mushroom from the bag. He bit the tip of it, with a thoughtful gaze. ¡°I don¡¯t actually mind it.¡±


    ¡°Oh-ho, but you like tea so much¡­¡± Gillibert said, gazing with wide-opened eyes. ¡°Wait, wait! I have an idea!¡±


    He left, flying away from Isemberd¡¯s sight.


    The young man entered his home, with a somewhat tired sigh. The place still seemed abandoned and haunted, with cobwebs still hanging on some places. He left his bag of food on a chair, took his muddy boots off and his cape. Isemberd was slim, but wasn¡¯t tall and didn¡¯t have the build of a warrior.


    His short messy hair was blond and brushed to the back. It sometimes fell over a thin face with a squared chin. His eyes were of an uncommon gray and he had a scar in the side of his chin, another ugly one on his left eye. Isemberd had a single earring in his left ear, with a pretty green jewel, cut in triangular shapes and fit into a nice silver frame.


    He raised his hand, two fingers crossed on top of each other. His eyes were covered with an orange glow, that resembled a flame, before things started to move by themselves around him. Chairs moving forward, the bag of food levitating gently towards the table, glass jars opening themselves and firewood piling up, breaking itself in small and easy to use pieces. Occasionally, it was possible to see a faint hint of a yellow glow around some objects, that dissipated quickly.


    ¡°Pretty! Pretty!¡± Gillibert complimented, entering by a window that opened to allow the owl inside. He had a few dark leaves on his talons, that were left near the bag of food. ¡°I bought some leaves for that sleepy-tea you like!¡±


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    Isemberd relaxed his hand and looked away, moving to hang his cape on a coat rack that moved to receive it from him, before flying back to a corner. The bird chirped a bit, flying around the furniture and tableware that was moving on their own.


    ¡°What are going to have for dinner?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    The mage was reading something on a small scroll piece that was over the table: a list of things he planned to do on that day. His arms also had various scars over them, signs of old battles. He seemed to not want to pay much attention to the owl.


    ¡°When are we finishing unpacking our things?¡± It insisted.


    ¡°Some other day¡± he replied.


    ¡°Are we going to buy more books?¡± the owl continued to pester him with questions, walking a few short hops towards him.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Are we visiting the town¡¯s square today?¡±


    ¡°Not today.¡±


    ¡°How about tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, and seeing things at the bakery?¡±


    ¡°No Gilli!¡±


    ¡°But¡­ But¡­ they have that cream-filled bread!?¡±


    Isemberd rubbed his face with his hand. The black bird jumped to land on his shoulder, cuddling to him. It gently pinched his hand.


    ¡°Did I spoke too much?¡±


    ¡°You did.¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    The mage shook his head.


    ¡°Is fine.¡±


    ¡°You speak so little, but I like a lot when we¡¯re chatting. But I don¡¯t like to bother you. I also like when you¡¯re reading.¡±


    The mage took a glance at the big magic beast at his shoulder, that was looking at him with eyes way too wise for a pup of any kind of owl.


    ¡°Why?¡± he asked.


    ¡°You look less sad.¡± Gillibert answered, tilting his head a little.


    The two went silent for some time after that, while the mage was checking other places around the house and making them start to clean themselves by magic. He had already begun to make two rooms on the first floor into a study and a small library. The furniture was old, but it was still useful. The windows opened when he passed by them and soon Gillibert was chit-chatting again, without answer from his guardian most of the time.


    When the whole house was cleaning itself up, he went down back to the kitchen, where his stove was already lit and a kettle was there making noise. The mage took the kettle and finished his tea himself. After it, he sat down, to drink it, in the company of the black bird that gazed at him with a child¡¯s excitement.


    While drinking, Isemberd relaxed in the chair. He ended up sleeping there. When he woke up, it was already night. Gillibert was nowhere to be seen and the man thought a good idea to close the windows. With one wave of his hand, windows and doors around the house closed and locked themselves, except for the kitchen¡¯s window. His tea went cold and the taste was bad now, but he drank it anyway.


    Soon, the owl came back, flying fast.


    ¡°The bed upstairs is way more comfortable!¡± he said, scratching the table with his talons.


    Isemberd yawned.


    ¡°Where were you?¡±


    The big and usually friendly eyes of the bird went serious for a moment.


    ¡°Exploring. Hunting. Checking up the forest and protecting the house.¡±


    The mage bent over the table, getting very close to the bird. He and the magic owl glared at each other for a long intense moment.


    ¡°Two things. First, do not eat more than you need.¡± he said, on a very serious tone.


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡±


    ¡°Second thing. Do not cause our neighbors any problem. Do I have to remind you of things that are not food?¡± He spoke slowly, with a calm expression, but there was something menacing in his eyes. ¡°Pets, livestock, corpses, child...¡±


    Gillibert blinked twice and interrupted him, waving his wings around, excited:


    ¡°Of course, master! Today I had tree mice and a fish. And a squirrel gave me a bit of his food after I left him go alive. I hid them to eat tomorrow morning. Oh, and I found about a very rude dog near the squashed down house.¡±


    The small bird seemed very pleased with himself. Isemberd shook his head, before caressing the bird¡¯s head and getting up.


    ¡°Good boy. Come on. Time to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Can I keep the fluffy blanket tonight instead of my roost? Is so cold!¡±


    The mage gave him a look before doing a very short smirk.


    ¡°You can.¡±


    Gillibert flew to his shoulder and they went upstairs, to the room Isemberd had chosen as his. He left the owl with a nice and fluffy blanket over his old rocking chair, laid on his bed and took a long time until he managed to sleep again.


    His thoughts wandered to the bird and to the day he rescued him. He remembered the war and times darker than the present. Isemberd had a very poor sleep, with little rest, filled with fear of being conscripted again by the crown as the war hero that all the bards were singing he was.

 2 - Otterwesh

    The newcomer¡¯s morning routine started before the sunrise. Gillibert went flying after food, while Isemberd worked on a breakfast. He now had a new kind of problem: he needed money, and he also had an order from Count Wells disguised as a suggestion for him to offer his services around the settlement.


    The mage¡¯s staff that was used the last day was now hidden under his bed, while other details of his magic job were being gradually hidden: fancy symbols on his clothes and tools were scratched, scrolls were tossed into a chest and locked away, ingredients for poultices and solutions were organized in his new study, rings with shiny gems were wrapped in cloth and buried outside the house.


    The young mage wrote a list of products and services that could fit the Count¡¯s order. While writing it, Gillibert came in flying and landed on his shoulder, to watch him do it. Soon, Isemberd had a great deal of things organized and the owl went bored and left again.


    Before lunch, Isemberd was in his room, finishing taking care of all of his luggage. He gestured with his hand, two fingers crossed over each other, his eyes started to glow an intense orange light, that slowly turned yellow. The wooden crate trembled and started to dismantle itself.


    Nails and rivets came out on their own, levitating and storing themselves in a drawer. Wooden boards floated, and metal sheets twisted and curled up. Soon the materials from the crate were in a corner, ready to be repurposed.


    Over the bed, there was a thick book with a leather cover. It was black, seemed heavy and was firmly closed with a heavy silver padlock.


    ¡°Master! Is this¡­¡± Gillibert hesitated. ¡°That book? The one everyone seemed to be talking about?¡±


    ¡°It is.¡±


    The magic bird goggled afraid of it.


    ¡°How scary¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. It¡¯s powers are properly locked away.¡± as if it was listening to the conversation, the book let out a beast-like growl and started trembling, the padlock shaking a bit. Indifferent to it, Isemberd added ¡°Locked away with many other things. I hope I never need to touch that thing again.¡±


    Gillibert pecked him in the ear.


    ¡°Me too! What are we going to do with it? Burn it? Throw it at the river?¡±


    Isemberd sighed heavily.


    ¡°There is no magic in Neoria, or Sorin, or any of our neighbor kingdoms that is capable of destroying this book.¡±


    ¡°Maybe burying it...?¡± the owl suggested.


    ¡°Someone already tried it. That¡¯s how things went wrong the first time.¡±


    ¡°Truly vile.¡± Gillibert said, flying away to his roost, near the bed.


    The mage wrapped the book in a ragged blanket, until completely covering it and forming a big package. With both hands he threw it into a big drawer and closed it.


    ¡°The person that knew how to deal with it¡­ well, actually, it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± his voice changed into a deep and serious tone that made Gillibert uncomfortable. He changed topic: ¡°Let¡¯s go, you wanted to see the town right?¡±


    They left to visit the market and the town square after of Otterwesh after it. Isemberd walked fast and kept his hood lowered, even with the clear and sunny day. Summer was near it¡¯s end and the weather was pleasant, with a gentle and frequent breeze.


    Otterwesh had more visitors at that time of the year and the locals were very curious. Isemberd hated that and did put a lot of effort into keeping his disguise. Gillibert had strict orders about not speaking near anyone that didn¡¯t already knew of his magic nature, so the owl kept silent while they were in the town. That, however, didn¡¯t stop him from flying around near products, landing near merchants and annoying people and animals.


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    People seemed to not care much about it and many would go out of their ways to talk to Isemberd about his pretty owl. He lost count of how many times he looked away to talk to someone, only to find the bird playing with kids or dogs near the town center.


    Isemberd ran after him a few times and apologized to people that ended up chit-chatting with him. The young man then introduced himself as the sage sent to Otterwesh by Count Wells orders to work. He offered services on alchemy, medicine and anything law-related. He even had to show his written permission with the Count¡¯s official signet to some suspicious people that asked him about it.


    Just like the owl¡¯s ability to speak, Isemberd was hiding his magic from everyone. Magic-wielders weren¡¯t with the best reputation lately, specially after the war against Soryn¡¯s dynasty of wizards. He was sure people in the countryside still had many superstitions about magic and it¡¯s practitioners. He didn¡¯t want to try his luck and run the risk of ending up in a big pyre or hanging on a tree for saying the wrong thing.


    Though he ended up having some useful conversations, bought food and a nice basket, visited a tavern and discovered where the town hall was and that it had a library being build. Isemberd also found about an old lady with a shop almost outside the town. She was a very skilled apothecary and had many of the herbs and ingredients the young mage didn¡¯t find by himself.


    From there, he went home, entering the woods and moving towards his home without using the official pathway. On their way, Gillibert pecked him in the ear, with a curious look.


    ¡°Can I speak now?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The mage shook his head.


    ¡°Did it work?¡± the owl asked anyway.


    ¡°Hmm well enough.¡± the man replied, his gaze moving to the horizon. They were near the stream that flowed to the river, and from there they could watch the green hills. He added: ¡°More or less.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem pleased about it.¡± Gillibert observed.


    ¡°How I feel does not matter.¡±


    They went silent for a while and the bird restarted the conversation:


    ¡°Why do you hide your magic? I bet a lot of people would love to pay for you to clean things with flying mops and buckets, is so fun to watch!¡±


    Isemberd stopped near a berry bush, grabbed a few of them and ate one while going back to his path.


    ¡°Do you remember when we first met?¡± he asked, offering a small berry to the bird, that touched it with its beak before refusing it.


    ¡°Yes, I remember very well.¡±


    ¡°The people that did those things with you were also mages, from a kingdom named Soryn¡± he started explaining. ¡°They are our neighbors, a little on the north from here, in Neoria.¡±


    ¡°I thought we were from Otterwesh.¡±


    ¡°Otterwesh is just a small place in Neoria.¡± They kept walking while chatting.


    ¡°Oh, I get it now.¡± Gillibert said.


    His guardian continued the explanation:


    ¡°Mages of both places did a lot of bad things during the war. A lot of people suffered or died by how magic was used, not to mention that book.¡±


    Isemberd stopped, touching a tree bark and thinking for a moment, in silence. His memories of that time were painful and recent, so he tried to shake them away from his thoughts.


    ¡°So, we don¡¯t talk to people about our magic, even if it helps, at least for now. And you, well, don¡¯t talk anyway. We better keep ourselves out of trouble for a while.¡±


    ¡°Master Isemberd¡± the owl flew to a nearby branch, gazing at the mage with it¡¯s big eyes filled with a mysterious wisdom.


    Isemberd hesitated. Gillibert wasn¡¯t one to think too much before talking.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°I simply cannot imagine you doing horrible things in a war.¡±


    The mage sighed heavily.


    ¡°Can you imagine what your brothers did?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that I sure can. I even saw it a bit! Blood and people¡¯s parts everywhere¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you haven¡¯t seen anything I did.¡± Isemberd interrupted his small friend. ¡°It was way worse.¡±


    Gillibert goggled at him for a moment, at a loss of words. Isemberd offered him an arm and the owl thought for a moment before flying there.


    ¡°Even so.¡± he insisted, waving his wings. The small owl still looked seriously thinking about it. ¡°I¡¯m sure you work for your forgiveness everyday, master.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know Gilli. I really don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Look master, today you helped that little girl to not fall in the font, you also helped that old sir with his written papers and, and, well, a lot of things!¡±


    Isemberd looked forward, to the woods, and kept walking the way back home, in silence. The owl now was just talking to fill in the silence of his master, his own clumsy way of trying to cheer him up.

 Interlude - The Owl and Tea Leaves

    Isemberd woke up in the morning almost as the sun rose in the sky. He¡¯s sleep was light and he normally would get up fast. He then proceeded to make his bed, being careful to not wake Gillibert up, as he usually fails at it. The owl then would then shake itself a little, waving it¡¯s wings as if to shoo the sleepiness away. Big eyes slowly opening up, before flying around at the room and then out, while his guardian left to wash himself in his bathroom.


    After their visit to Otterwesh the day before, the mage had no desire to go outside, probably so that he could now enjoy the possibility of choosing to do so. Or, maybe, because now he had a place to call home for the first time. While Gillibert was out, he took a cold bath, changed his clothes and cleaned his glasses.


    He then went downstairs, waving his hand with fingers crossed in a magic sign, eyes and hands glowing in a faint yellow, in time to see windows opening for him. Sitting down by the dinner table, his writing tools would come to him, levitating. Ink, a quill, a solid book, that he would gently open with his own hands.


    Isemberd quickly found a blank page and wrote for a few minutes with a focused expression, sometimes stopping to rub his face with his hands, as if the process was somewhat painful or tiresome. He would write that way until feeling satisfied.


    Gillibert was back at that day in time to see his master closing his journal, clean his quill and start packing his tools, with such a degree of deliberation that the whole thing would seem like a ritual. Isemberd then looked at the owl, with a somber and distant gaze. He greeted the owl, before it started getting excited and starting to fly around him.


    That was a very tranquil day, and Isemberd was setting his first business in town. Deliveries were prepared, a few lists were done and he found a few more repairs to do around the big and old house.


    Near lunchtime, the mage was organizing his herbs and other ingredients that he bought the day before, when Gillibert landed near him, by the cupboard where Isemberd kept them.


    ¡°Master, I brought some more of these leaves!¡± he said.


    Isemberd got near the pup to check on the leaves. They were fresh and he recognized some of them. Gillibert brought a few of them in his small talons, those were just like some of the herbs he had in his very own cupboard.


    ¡°How do you recognize them?¡± he asked, spreading them in front of the owl.


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    The mage was very curious about testing how smart Gillibert actually was, but he refrained. The small animal resembled a child, but sometimes it showed glimpses of wisdom and cunning that were at the same time fascinating and scary. These moments reminded Isemberd of the giant owls bred for war in Sorin and how smart they were.


    ¡°This ones smell nicely.¡± Gillibert replied ¡°This one turns a weird shape when is dried. And this¡­ Wait.¡±


    He goggled, getting near the leaf.


    ¡°Oh no! This one is grass.¡±


    Isemberd took one of the leaves and showed to the pup.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember showing you how this one looks before drying up.¡± Something is his voice was serious, and he looked the owl in the eyes.


    The magic bird pecked the leaf lightly.


    ¡°I saw it yesterday, when we were in the old lady¡¯s house. The one that sells plants. It¡¯s exactly the same.¡±


    He took a second look at the leaf, in his master fingers.


    ¡°Yup. I¡¯m sure is the one.¡±


    Isemberd sighed and nodded.


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    Gillibert chirped, satisfied with his work.


    ¡°Let¡¯s put these ones to dry.¡± Isemberd said, with mixed feelings about how perceptive Gillibert was. He added: ¡°These two we boil in the water.¡±


    ¡°What do you like so much about tea, Master?¡± Gillibert asked, suddenly.


    ¡°That¡¯s a good question.¡± The mage said, putting the leaves in their respective jars. ¡°I think at some point it turned into something that helps me not think about¡­ Not too much, at least.¡±


    The small owl flew to it¡¯s guardian.


    ¡°I think I understand.¡±


    The mage caressed his head.


    ¡°Do you want to taste it?¡±


    ¡°Can I?¡±


    Isemberd frowned.


    ¡°Hmm no. I¡¯ve changed my mind.¡±


    Gillibert flew around him, so fast it seemed like a black blur of feathers to the mage.


    ¡°Master! Please!?¡±


    Isemberd shook his head.


    ¡°No milk. I¡¯m sure it won¡¯t do you any good.¡±


    ¡°Yay!¡±


    They had a nice, slow day, filled with trivialities like properly storing the groceries from the last day, taking out a damaged door and dividing a cup of tea the little owl readily concluded he hated the taste.

 3 - Message

    Days were slow to pass by in Otterwesh as both newcomers tried to adjust their routines to the town¡¯s pace. Market and visiting the old apothecary lady at Wednesday, checking on mail by the Town Center at Friday and Monday, work on small repairs around the house, deliver some packages to new clients, as well as cook his own food.


    In one of those days, while resting outside the house, a good breeze was blowing and Gillibert was chit-chatting about something silly that made Isemberd¡¯s mind drift away. There were few clouds in the sky and the day was looking good.


    The mage closed his eyes in time to be assaulted by an awful feeling. If asked, he would describe it as a weird mixing of annoyances: stomach ache, dizziness, eyes itching and goosebumps.


    Gillibert also seemed to feel something weird and his big eyes widened at a seemingly random direction. Isemberd got up from his chair and opened one of his hands. A small translucent globe quickly formed under his fingers, glowing a little before dissolving like smoke into a dense blueish fog that started spreading towards the woods.


    It started gathering around something that slowly turned visible amid the fog. The thing seemed a faceless ghost-like humanoid and it hesitated a bit before taking a few cautious steps towards the mage. The being seemed very wary of Isemberd. It¡¯s ghostly arms stretched offering him a sealed letter.


    Isemberd gently and slowly took the letter, taking a deliberate step back before bowing deeply. The ghostly figure seemed more at ease after that and took a step forward to bow himself, joining his hands before turning his back and start walking into the woods. After it left the fog, it disappeared as if it had never been there. Soon after it vanished, the fog itself did the same, dispersing by the wind.


    ¡°Is it a letter, master?¡± Gillibert came to see it closer. ¡°From who? Oh, such a nice crest! Is it from the Count right? Was the postman a ghost!?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and yes. More or less.¡± Isemberd tried to articulate with the excited owl that was flying around him. ¡°Calm down!¡± complemented Isemberg.


    Gillibert landed on his shoulder, expectantly looking at letter. Isemberd broke the red wax of the seal and pulled the letter out. It was a formal message of Count Wells for a visit of his son, Lord Alard. The mage and the Count¡¯s son were more or less friends and it could be said that Alard living human closest to Isemberd.


    The letter was very polite in describing that Alard would personally bring a more accurate explanation behind the reasons of his visit and that they would also have a guest coming in to join them. To summarize, House Wells was acting on behalf of Neoria¡¯s King to bring a request for the mage.


    ¡°Lord Alard?¡± Gillibert asked, glaring a bit too serious at the letter. ¡°I remember him. Weird beard, like our quartermaster.¡±


    Isemberd raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Quartermaster?¡±


    ¡°Yes! The man responsible for the slaves, my brothers and I, he had a very similar beard.¡± The bird¡¯s feathers ruffled a bit while and his eyes had an uncharacteristic red glow. Subtle, very hard to notice, but still there. ¡°Lucky him we never crossed each other¡¯s paths again¡­¡±


    The mage sighed heavily and caressed the owl¡¯s head. He could understand the feeling.


    ¡°Try to not think about it anymore. You¡¯re safe now.¡±


    ¡°But! But!¡± there. The glow was gone again.


    Isemberd grabbed Gillibert with both hands, holding him up.


    ¡°What did we talk about these things?¡±


    ¡°To not keep dwelling too much on the past without a proper reason.¡± Gillibert looked away. ¡°Or something like that.¡±


    ¡°Perfect.¡±


    The bird chirped. Isemberd insisted:


    ¡°If anyone or anything around seem to threaten you, what¡¯s the way of dealing with it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll fly very very fast and cut him into pieces with my talons¡­¡± He blinked twice and quivered at Isemberd¡¯s glare ¡°I¡¯m joking! I¡¯ll fly away and come after you as fast as possible. We want to stay away from problems!¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡± Isemberd said, nodding. ¡°Come, let¡¯s visit the town. Alard eats like a bull and we¡¯ll probably need more food if we want to have him and his knights.¡±


    ¡°Can I talk near the knights, master?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    Gillibert kept talking about something Isemberd didn¡¯t mind too much. Without replying to the birds endless talking, he waved and his basket came in flying while a few windows closed behind him. He left with Gillibert dashing ahead and with the letter in his pocket.


    At the town, they bought ingredients and food for a good meal for several people. The merchant he was getting acquainted with tried to sell him a few more things and the sage ended up buying a big wheel of cheese and a bit more tableware. The merchant¡¯s assistant offered to help him carry most of the goods to Isemberd¡¯s house.


    They made their way back after the payment. Gillibert seemed really excited to have company, but Isemberd spoke very few words and the assistant tried to not bother his client too much. He couldn¡¯t, however, hide his surprise when they arrived at the sage¡¯s house in the woods.


    ¡°Wow! It doesn¡¯t even look haunted anymore!¡±


    Isemberd left the basket at a chair and went inside to bring two cups of water, one which he offered to the young man.


    ¡°Did it look haunted before?¡± he asked.


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    ¡°Well, you could hear a lot of weird noises coming from it at night, sir. And a few people said things about being able to see spirits of the woods here.¡±


    The sage shook his head.


    ¡°I saw a great deal of bugs, dust and rats, a lot of big spiders and it¡¯s webs¡­¡± after a small break for a sip of water he added: ¡°but no spirits, ghosts or other weirder things.¡±


    The assistant drank all his water in one go and replied, with a smile:


    ¡°But say, you seem the type to be awake until very late at night. Not hearing or seeing anything weird for now doesn¡¯t mean you won¡¯t at all, right?¡±


    Isemberd frowned a little.


    ¡°Do I look like that?¡±


    The lad scratched his head.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to offend sir. Is just that very smart people usually seem to sleep very late, or sleep very poorly.¡± he looked troubled for a moment. ¡°Or use glasses, am I right?¡±


    The sage left out a humorless chuckle.


    ¡°Not always. How much do I own you mister¡­?¡±


    ¡°My name¡¯s Joran, sir.¡± He bowed a little clumsily. ¡°And don¡¯t worry about that sir! Thank you very much for the water.¡±


    He gave the cup back to his client and seemed to be ready to leave. Isemberd said:


    ¡°Please, you didn¡¯t have to come with me carrying my things.¡± He opened a purse and picked a few coins. ¡°is six silver enough?¡±


    ¡°Can I have a favor then? And only two, mister.¡± Joran said.


    Gillibert was around and rose his head, paying attention but keeping quiet.


    Isemberd offered the coins to the lad and said ¡°All right, just don¡¯t exaggerate, please.¡±


    Joran blushed a little.


    ¡°Say, there is a girl, and I more or less like her a lot. She works, well, at old Louis tavern and she¡¯s very smart and love poetry. So¡­ I wanted¡­¡±


    Gillibert startled him, flying over his shoulder and landing on Isemberd¡¯s. They looked at the young man, that hesitated, incapable of shaking off the feeling that there was something mystical in the eyes that were paying attention to him.


    ¡°Go on.¡± The sage encouraged.


    ¡°I wanted to write for her, but I¡¯m very bad with it. I had to serve as a squire of a knight during the war. After my father died and I came back, things didn¡¯t work very well and now I help out with my family at their work.


    Isemberd nodded, looking away.


    ¡°I understand.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just bad with poetry, so, could you help me reach a decent draft, just enough for me to get the hang of things?¡±


    Isemberd took a long moment to reply:


    ¡°I need to think.¡± he tried ¡°is just that¡­¡±


    The lad seemed very disappointed. Gillibert pecked his ear. Twice. Three times. Isemberd hesitated.


    ¡°Say¡­¡± he started, very deliberately measuring his words ¡°When do you have a break from work?¡±


    Joran thanked Isemberd very excitedly. They settled on a day that week and he left, going back using the pathway that crossed the woods. When alone again, inside the house, food, tableware and other goods storing themselves, Gillibert said, with a very noble pose.


    ¡°See?¡±


    Isemberd looked at him, holding a paper where he was writing something before. He said nothing and waited for the owl, that added:


    ¡°Master is very kind with other people.¡±


    He looked back at what he was writing, taking another sheet of scroll to start a reply to the Count¡¯s letter.


    ¡°Not exactly¡± he mumbled, distracted.


    ¡°I mean it! He was almost hopping each step back!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong.¡± Isemberd said, without taking his eyes off the paper. His mind was already focused trying to imagine what the Count would want from him. ¡°I¡¯m just helping because it can be useful later.¡±


    ¡°I seriously doubt you can be that cold-hearted, master!¡±


    The glare Isemberd aimed at the owl told a different story.


    ¡°Gillibert.¡± He called, very serious. ¡°Enough already!¡±


    The bird seemed clearly offended, and gave him his back. Isemberd heavily disliked the overwhelmingly positive image the owl had of him. He focused on finishing the letter, that took about three or four drafts until he was satisfied.


    At night, Gillibert didn¡¯t leave to hunt and just glared at his master with wide eyes before turning his back at him. Annoyed, Isemberd grabbed Gillibert with his hands and tried making the owl look back at him. The magic bird simply turned it¡¯s head almost backwards.


    With a defeated sigh, he left the owlet back in his roost, at his room.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± he said, embarrassed.


    ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°Being rude.¡±


    ¡°Master! You yourself is always calling me out on talking too much and being too emotional and anxious and aaaaah¡± He mixed it chirps, words, wings shaking around, a few feathers flying off of him. ¡°I found that behavior very unfair!¡±


    Isemberd nodded.


    ¡°I agree. Aren¡¯t you hungry?¡±


    ¡°Well, well, as you say, master, if you want to do something, do it properly, right? Or leave it to someone else!¡±


    The mage sighed again, closing his eyes for a brief moment.


    ¡°You don¡¯t let anything slip, eh?¡±


    ¡°Of course not! You¡¯re the one that taught me that.¡±


    Isemberd agreed with his head.


    ¡°Right. I¡¯m sorry for being rude earlier.¡± He raised his hand, palm opened.


    After a hesitant pause, Gillibert offered his wing, in a very clumsy hi-five, touching his guardian¡¯s hand with his feathers.


    ¡°You¡¯re forgiven, Master Isemberd! And yes! I¡¯m very hungry, I could eat like an Alard Wells bull.¡±


    Isemberd laughed at it a little and that startled Gillibert, that goggled at his master, wings opened, genuinely surprised.


    ¡°Master! You know how to smile!? Since when!?¡±


    The magic owl flew a few circles around him before going downstairs. The mage left his winged friend go outside to hunt and took a peek at the drawer where the mysterious book was stored.


    Besides the cheerfulness of that moment, the drawer occasionally trembled in an ominous way, with the muffled sound of the padlock trying to open cutting the silence of the room. Isemberd took off his glasses and left them on top of the cabinet. Running his hands over his hair, mumbling something. He grasped in pain for a moment.


    His fingers formed his magic sign, windows and doors slammed shut and he caught himself completely in the dark when the little flame of his candles were snuffed out.


    Maybe the mage didn¡¯t saw any ghost or spirit because he was the one that brought them to the house.

 4 - Visitors

    Lord Alard Wells would arrive in a few days if everything went as explained by his father the Count in his letter. Isemberd sent his answer with a spell, burning the flames in his hands with purple flames that moved in strange shapes, full of straight lines and warped circles around him. When the spell was finished, he relaxed with sweat visible on his forehead while breathing heavily.


    Gillibert asked from his roost nearby:


    ¡°Why didn''t you send the letter through one of those transparent people, master?¡±


    The mage wiped a few cinders from his clothes and his desk before replying:


    ¡°The transparent person is a spirit. It needs to accept taking the letter for me.¡± He hesitated a little before adding: ¡°And most spirits, specially nature-related ones¡­ don¡¯t like doing much for me.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± the owlet asked, tilting his head. ¡°This other way seemed harder.¡±


    ¡°And it is.¡±


    ¡°Is it not tiresome too?¡±


    Isemberd shook his head. His breathing was heavy, besides his clear effort to not show any of it.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s not talk about it anymore, please.¡±


    He took a peek at the drawer where the magic tome was and left it closed. Gillibert flew to his shoulder and they went down from his room to his office downstairs.


    ¡°Oh! Master-master! Isn¡¯t today the day Joran was coming to visit us?¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Shall we go through the rules again?¡±


    In a comic gesture of silence, the bird covered it¡¯s beak with one of it¡¯s wings.


    ¡°Of course not, master!¡±


    They went inside the office to look for writing materials. Isemberd took a few quills, an inkwell, a few sheets of paper that were meticulously stored inside a drawer.


    ¡°You take such good care of your paper, Master. Why is that?¡± Gillibert asked.


    ¡°An old habit.¡± he replied, and since the owlet kept looking at him, he added: ¡°Quill and paper are expensive and at some point it was very hard for me to find some.¡±


    He sighed while gently organizing the materials.


    ¡°I had to make do with pillaging the dead.¡±


    ¡°Do people carry paper and quill when going to war?¡± Gillibert seemed confused about it.


    Isemberd closed the office¡¯s window and left the room in the dark. He took his earring off and left it on top of one of his shelves. It took him a while to reply back:


    ¡°Feathers from birds used for sending messages¡­ among other tasks.¡±


    Gillibert went silent and serious for a moment. The mage then went to the kitchen, where he left a kettle on the fire and opened it¡¯s window with a magic gesture.


    ¡°Master.¡± the owl called, in the usually childish tone it used when thinking very hard about a question. ¡°Are you agitated because we¡¯re having someone coming over?¡±


    Isemberd stopped in his tracks for a moment looking at the circular window.


    ¡°It''s my first time.¡± He said, while preparing the leaves for his tea.


    ¡°First time you''ve had someone visit?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    They stood quiet after it. The tea was ready at some point while Gillibert was practicing staying in silent, which took him some effort to do. Isemberd closed his eyes, lost in his thoughts. In his silence, he painfully noticed how his mind still used to wander to his previous memories of the war.


    His winged companion raised it¡¯s head at a moment, just like a dog that hears something in the distance and it¡¯s chirp interrupted the mage¡¯s daydreaming.


    ¡°Two people...¡± Gillibert said ¡°...walking a little fast.¡±


    ¡°Relax.¡± Isemberd replied, more to himself than to the owlet. As if feeling it¡¯s guardian tension, the owl flew to him, pecking him on the ear.


    They waited a little and soon it was possible to hear the voices from the visitors. Joran¡¯s voice was easy to recognize but there was another person talking with him. Soon, they stopped talking near the door. Isemberd found the situation funny enough and kept waiting in silence. He heard his guests whispering if they were going to call for him or knock on the door.


    The mage stood nearby, waiting.


    ¡°Joran, make your mind already! We don¡¯t have all day!¡± it was a girly voice.


    ¡°Whatever Maven, move aside.¡± while lightly knocking on the door.


    ¡°He won¡¯t hear if you don¡¯t knock properly! Like this!¡±


    Toc-Toc-Toc. Someone loudly knocked on the door.


    Isemberd waited a few moments before opening the door. Joran was together with a little girl that was holding his hand. Taking a good look at them the sage assumed they were brothers. The lad had a big package in his other hand, wrapped in cloth.


    ¡°Good afternoon mister Isemberd¡± Joran greeted with a hesitant smile.


    Isemberd greeted him with a nod and looked at the girl. She shook her head negatively.


    ¡°Mister! You don¡¯t look like an alchemist! Where is your gray beard!?¡±


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    The disguised alchemist stopped without knowing what to say.


    ¡°I agree. Come in.¡± He took a step aside so they could enter his house. The little girl entered right away, half running half hopping.


    ¡°Hey is the little owlet from the fountain!¡± She ran towards Gillibert roost despite her brother¡¯s protests. ¡°Do you remember me?¡±


    Gillibert did his best to appear surprised and flew away.


    ¡°Your sister is very energetic.¡± Isemberd said as he invited Joran to his dinner table. ¡°I think I remember seeing her with the other kids the other day.¡±


    ¡°Yes, she was with some troublemakers that pushed another girl into the fountain.¡± Joran explained, clearly bothered by his sister¡¯s behavior.


    ¡°Hey! I was not! They were being annoying again. Annabeth gets very angry when they talk about her parents so¡­¡±


    Joran pulled a chair to his sister. Without his cap, he showed the same red hair that the little girl had. He left the package on the table.


    ¡°We brought this cake!¡± Maeven said.


    ¡°Mom wouldn¡¯t let us come without a gift.¡± her brother explained.


    Isemberd walked around grabbing more teacups.


    ¡°Thank you very much. Do you want tea?¡±


    ¡°Yuppie!¡± Maeven replied excited, hands raised.


    ¡°Pipe it down, Maeven!¡± Joran said.


    She seemed embarrassed and sat properly, hands together over the table. Gillibert came flying to it¡¯s master¡¯s shoulder while the sage was serving tea to it¡¯s guests. He left a metal jar with milk, a small plate with sugar cubes and a spoon.


    ¡°So...¡± he started, sitting down and gently moving the owlet from his shoulder to the table. ¡°let¡¯s start from the beginning.¡±


    ¡°A love poem to miss cook in Mr. Louis''s tavern!¡± Maeven said, giggling.


    ¡°Maeven!¡±


    ¡°What!? I¡¯m not lying.¡±


    ¡°All right, all right¡± Isemberd interrupted the siblings.


    He seemed to ponder for a moment.


    ¡°Could you try writing a little bit so I can take a look at how you¡¯re doing it?¡±


    He pushed a sheet of paper to the lad together with a pencil. Quills and an empty inkwell were lying nearby.


    ¡°and you¡­¡± he looked at the little girl.


    Maeven didn¡¯t even tried to pretend she didn¡¯t want to do it too so Isemberd gave her a paper sheet as well.


    ¡°No need to rush it, just remember it is a good idea to head back before dark.¡± he said.


    The siblings started writing while the sage looked for a plate big enough to put the cake on. He then cut it in small pieces so everyone could eat it easily. Maeven and Joran wrote their respective poems and Isemberd took them to read.


    After a while, he adjusted his glasses when he was done reading.


    ¡°Is not as bad as I was expecting,¡± he complimented.


    ¡°Poetry is not my forte, but you two have a knack for it.¡± said Isemberg.


    He then spent some time reading their texts out loud, which led to some embarrassed protests, then he helped them fix a few easy mistakes before having them rewrite it again. At some point, Joran asked Isemberd for an example.


    Gillibert was on Isemberd''s shoulder. The sage hesitated a little, before gently refusing his request as he tried change topics. He convinced the siblings to write another piece. While Maeven was focused on it, the owlet cuddled up to her shoulder, goggling at the girl¡¯s pencil while the words were written on the sheet of paper.


    Isemberd caught himself watching Joran¡¯s hands while the lad was finishing his last poem with a focused expression. He was a few good years younger than the alchemist and that made him uncomfortable. He didn¡¯t like the idea of being in any kind of influence and when he looked at his own hands his scars made him breathe and force himself to not think about it.


    With light conversations and some strophes drafted here and there on sheets of paper, soon the Sun was setting down and the kitchen got too dark for them to keep writing.


    Isemberd got Joran''s last piece to read while the siblings started playing with a friendly Gillibert.


    ¡°Way better.¡± he said, taking his glasses out. ¡°I think you can make do by yourself now, right?¡±


    Joran once more shook Isemberd¡¯s hand with more enthusiasm and gratitude than the sage expected.


    ¡°About yours, miss¡­¡±


    ¡°Maeven, mister alchemist.¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°About yours, miss Maeven¡± she offered him the sheet and he took a glance at it. ¡°Hold old are you again?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m ten!¡±


    ¡°You''re very clever for your age.¡± he complimented. ¡°To be honest, you two should practice together.¡±


    Joran asked a bit hesitant:


    ¡°Can we do it only one more time? I¡¯m not exactly confident in it still¡­¡±


    Gillibert flew around the two guests before landing near the window. The sage agreed.


    ¡°We can decide on another day, all right? I¡¯ll be busy this week.¡± As he stood up ¡°Let¡¯s go, I¡¯ll take you to the village.¡±


    ¡°There is no need, sir¡± Joran said ¡°the trail is safe and I don¡¯t want to bother you any more than we already have.¡±


    Isemberd shook his head.


    ¡°Nonsense.¡± He briefly left the room, leaving Gillibert on Maeven¡¯s lap. ¡°Never trust this talk of safe pathways in the woods at night.¡±


    He grabbed his staff and an oil lamp. The small group left with Gillibert flying ahead of them. The siblings were happily chatting about the widest variety of trivialities while the disguised mage guided them through the poorly lit path and kept to himself as usual.


    They stopped near the outskirts of the woods, where it was possible to see the center of the town, which was better lit than the path they come from.


    He waved his farewell and only started his way back when he saw the siblings near the first building of the town.


    On his way back, Gillibert landed on his shoulder.


    ¡°Is something bothering you, master?¡±


    ¡°A few things, yes.¡± he replied. ¡°Can you do me a favor?¡±


    Gillibert eyes widened open as he waved his wings, excited.


    ¡°Sure! Sure! Really sure!¡±


    ¡°Can you go check on them?¡±


    ¡°Yes, master! I¡¯ll be right back!¡±


    The magic bird quickly took off accelerating almost instantly, flying away with such power that it turned into a black blur as it left a potent gust of wind around the mage.


    When at home, Isemberd left his lamp over a hook near the entrance and waited for Gillibert. He quietly stood there while gazing towards the dark woods. At some moment of his wait, his eyes glowed faintly in a purple light before he raised his arm to receive the bird that came silently from over the trees. It moved so fast that before slowing down to not hurt it¡¯s master it was a blurry black figure flying in the dark.


    ¡°Everything is all right. They¡¯re both at home!¡± The owlet reported, with a funny pose, chest puffed up.


    With one gesture of it¡¯s master, the lamp¡¯s flame was snuffed by magic.


    ¡°Master, don¡¯t you like writing?¡±


    Another gesture with magic sign and the kitchen started to tidy itself up. Candles came flying and lit themselves, paper sheets gently piled themselves and windows opened while chairs moved forward. Isemberd closed his door behind him, sat at his table and sighed.


    ¡°Not poetry though.¡±


    ¡°Having guests is so fun! When can they come again?¡± Gillibert hopped around the table. ¡°I swear I¡¯ll get really good at staying quiet just like today!¡±


    The mage let out a rare and short laugh and didn¡¯t say anything, despite agreeing with his small fluffy friend.

 Interlude - Spirits

    ¡°Master, why is it that sometimes your eyes glow and I hear voices?¡±


    Isemberd stopped writing something on a very old scroll and glared at the owlet.


    ¡°Voices?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Some weird sighing and whispering. As if someone were talking too low for me to understand.¡±


    The mage¡¯s eyes were menacing for a moment. After a long and thoughtful pause, he asked:


    ¡°Any specific place around the house?¡±


    Gillibert retracted a bit, tilting his head on his master sudden anger.


    ¡°Near our room.¡±


    Isemberd sighed. He took a glance at his scroll thinking while finishing a weird note in the corner of it. He left it on his office desk, took a clean sheet of paper and waved for Gillibert to get near him. The owlet flew to him landing nearby to observe.


    The mage drafted a rough sketch of the house and the grove around it.


    ¡°Here¡± he pointed ¡°this is us.¡±


    ¡°Right master!¡±


    ¡°Our room is here.¡± he marked a small x on the place and Gillibert widened his eyes. ¡°if you¡¯re hearing voices, they can only come from here¡­¡±


    He pointed to the woods.


    ¡°From the deepest parts of the woods.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°Spirits cannot talk to us, like we do. They have to resort to different and usually weird methods of communication.¡±


    The owlet looked at him.


    ¡°Are spirits trying to talk to me?¡±


    Before the mage could explain himself, Gillibert blinked twice and chirped really loud making the right conclusion by itself:


    ¡°Wait! Not to me! To master! What are they trying to say?¡±


    Isemberd shook his head.


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    ¡°Calm down.¡± He drew a few more trees around the house. ¡°I made a deal with one of the spirits of this grove. That if she agreed to tell me in advance should any danger enters the woods. I would do a few favors for her in return.¡±


    In a few trees, he started drawing opened eyes.


    ¡°These trees are the ones she marked for us as our territory. I can use them for a spell so other spirits can''t get closer without she knowing beforehand.¡±


    The owlet seemed confused again.


    ¡°Is the spirit a girl?¡± it asked.


    ¡°It introduced itself as one.¡± Isemberd explained ¡°But we should never trust in most things spirits say. We can only trust on their deals.¡±


    They spent a few more minutes refining the draft of the house¡¯s structure.


    ¡°Spirits also cannot interact with our world without special conditions.¡± He continued saying ¡°But they can see things if they want to.¡±


    He made a small cut on the tip of his finger with a quill, letting a droplet of blood fall over another clean sheet of paper. He then drew a weird sign around it that remember a knot. Along the line, he marked six small stars and then added two bigger ones. Raising his hand with the cut finger, Isemberd made a different magic sign, with three fingers together in a circle and the rest of them spread straight.


    ¡°With a few tricks from the Spirit Constellation, we also can see things over their realm.¡± He said, using his right hand to touch the owl¡¯s head.


    The mage¡¯s eyes and the owl¡¯s both got covered by a purple substance that resembled a membrane. Isemberd¡¯s blood over the sheet of paper started glowing and boiling.


    ¡°Right now, we¡¯re looking at things through the spirit realm.¡± he said.


    ¡°Wow! Master! That is so fun!¡± Gillibert said, blinking a few times.


    Their vision was seeing outside their house, as if they were standing in place of one of the trees the mage showed in the map. Isemberd made them see the house through the perspective of all four trees the spirit allowed him to use.


    ¡°It makes my head ache a little.¡± he complained. ¡°But is really useful.¡±


    ¡°Master, there is something on our window.¡±


    ¡°Ignore it.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Trust me. Leave him be.¡±


    Gillibert chirped.


    ¡°Is a strange man, with a big shabby hair and an angry-looking face.¡±


    Cleaning his throat and raising his hand, Isemberd first undid the magic sign as he closed and opened his hands in a claw motion. The spell was undone while he shook his head with a grimace. The little owl didn¡¯t seem to be bothered by it¡¯s vision sense going back and forth from the spirit realm to normal.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, spirits cannot harm us in any way.¡± Isemberd said. ¡°Specially with me here.¡±


    Gillibert waved his wings a little, chirping and saying a bit angry:


    ¡°I don¡¯t like them getting near Master! Neither our small window upstairs! How audacious!¡± Gillibert walked a little and added ¡°When are we going to clean over there?¡±


    Isemberd laughed and it was such a rare thing that the owlet goggled and seemed to calm down with just that.


    ¡°They stay away from me as much as possible.¡± he said. ¡°Come, I need some tea now that my head is hurting.¡±


    He didn¡¯t want to spend too much time filling the owlet¡¯s mind with information about the spiritual realm. The mage was afraid of whatever consequences this would result from that sort of thing.

 5 - The Hero of Nott

    A Count¡¯s messenger arrived a few days later in the middle of the week with a letter from Lord Alard. The knight came by horse and looked nervous, delivering the letter to the mage and making a fancy bow before leaving without looking back.


    ¡°He smelled like battle, master.¡± Gillibert complained, waving one of his wings. ¡°Strong smell of blood.¡±


    The mage kept silent and closed the door before opening the letter. Alard¡¯s writing was filled with formal waste of time that was a sign something bad had happened and that he didn¡¯t want to explain it in the letter itself. The noble¡¯s caravan was late and they had to stop to deal with an emergency.


    He and Gillibert spent the whole morning tidying up the house. His laboratory was finally done, his small library was slowly getting filled with books, scrolls and tomes to help his disguise as sage and alchemist. The mysterious book was moved from his drawer to a locked chest in the attic.


    After that, Gillibert started bothering his master so they could take a stroll around the town. Otterwesh surely would have something for them to kill time. As a way of getting rid of the owlet¡¯s nagging, Isemberd accepted and they went out.


    They arrived at the town near lunchtime and stopped near the market to buy something to eat. They passed by the store where Joran worked to greet him, and he pointed them to a tavern named Otter¡¯s Den, where a bard would offer a bit of music and stories later.


    The place was cozy despite not being too big. Isemberd stopped near the counter and asked the tavern keeper for a beer. The man was apparently old with a beer belly, but he moved really well and his arms were thick and strong. Isemberd looked around for the girl he knew Joran was interested out of a little curiosity to know how she looked like, but he didn¡¯t find her.


    ¡°Bird of prey, eh?¡± the tavern keeper asked while frowning towards Gillibert and leaning over the red wood of his counter. ¡°Are you the lad the Count sent us to work as sage?¡±


    Isemberd pulled a chair and left his owlet hop over the counter.


    ¡°Yes! I¡¯m in charge of any services that involves law, medicine, alchemy or similar, sir¡­?


    The keeper had his eyes glued to the small owl all this time. His big mustache and thick eyebrows were both gray.


    ¡°Ernin Louis from the old Rivien down south from here.¡± He replied, offering his hand to the sage.


    His handshake was strong. Isemberd introduced himself:


    ¡°You can call me Isemberd.¡±


    The usual reply came almost immediately:


    ¡°No surname or place of origin?¡±


    The young man replied:


    ¡°Is a long story, mister Louis. What is the bard going to show us today?¡±


    Mr. Louis filled a cup with beer from a nearby barrel and left it over the counter near the sage. He got closer to Gillibert again analyzing the bird with a serious expression. He offered a finger to the owlet that gave him a distrustful glare before tiptoeing back near Isemberd¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Your owl is very well-behaved¡± the tavern keeper said, relaxing both expression and shoulders. ¡°And different too, those are gorgeous chest feathers¡­¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s an amazing company.¡± Isemberd said. ¡°Has been with me since he got out of his egg. Don¡¯t you have any snack that I can give him?¡±


    The old man shook his head and laughed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I have in the kitchen, my cat might have caught a mice or two. Or something else, if I can find it.¡±


    Before leaving, he added:


    ¡°The bard is going to tell some stories soon. See if he can lift the people¡¯s spirits up a little. All of this talk of wolves and undead are getting people a bit down, you know what I mean?¡±


    Isemberd nodded.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    He waited while drinking his beer and sometimes caressing his owlet¡¯s head, that closed its eyes. The sage¡¯s eyes darted around the people that entered, trying to pay attention to whoever had more of a traveler attire, and occasionally he greeted back someone that waved at him. Keeper Louis came back with a small leather pouch that he gave the alchemist.


    ¡°Attention, attention here, ladies and gentlemen, and old Louis!¡± The bard said as some people started closing the windows pushing tables and chairs, and the volume of chatter went down.


    Someone pulled Isemberd¡¯s sleeve with him turning in time to see Maeven walking around with other children and hoping to wave at him near the commotion.


    ¡°Mister alchemist teacher!¡± She greeted.


    ¡°Miss little poet.¡± Isemberd replied, nodding at her.


    Maeven laughed and went to sat near him while her friends dispersed around to join their family and other friends. She and Isemberd talked a little before Louis came around and started chatting with the girl about her clumsy brother.


    Then a violin note pulled all attention towards the fireplace of the tavern where the bard was starting to talk, with the magnetic tone that could only be described as the magic of a stage:


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen! I know times have been weird lately, with monsters, bandits and¡­ god¡¯s forbid, mages! All wandering around! Lads and lasses, fear not because we of Otterwesh are neighbors of a special and legendary place!¡±


    Isemberd turned to the bard in time to see him play a few notes on his instrument. His boot was on top of a chair, his hat was tilted a little, a pretty red feather moving it. The artist was using elegant clothing that were practical for traveling and in orange and white, the colors of House Wells.


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    ¡°¡­right there near the border where our small stream full of otters turn into a mighty river exists a place called Nott. A magical place, you see? It was there that our horrible war against Soryn met its end!¡±


    Hearing the name of the neighbor kingdom made Gillibert get up, paying attention after flying back to Isemberd¡¯s shoulder. The young sage sat properly to watch the show. People stood silent to listen to the bard while he started narrating about the great battle over the bridge that connected the two kingdoms:


    ¡°It was night and a storm was raging, and the river was running high and mighty. People of nearby towns of both places were outside to help victims of a few houses that got destroyed by the bad weather. At the time, both kingdoms were already discussing peace treaties, but that wouldn¡¯t stop our mages from the famous Crystal Octahedron to be there in a secret mission: to steal a magic grimoire that belonged to one of Soryn¡¯s mage-generals.¡±


    The Crystal Octahedron was a legendary and recent company of battle-mages of Neoria¡¯s military. During the war, they were absolutely crucial to stop Soryn from invading the kingdom.


    While talking, Louis¡¯s waiter walked around silently delivering food and drinks. Gilibert was paying attention like the children were, with widened eyes and in awe. Isemberd looked pale and sick.


    The bard continued:


    ¡°It was there near the bridge in the small town of Nott that our eight mages were ambushed by Soryn¡¯s mage-hunters and some troops that were stationed near the village. The members of our special mage force were under all sorts of disadvantages possible: hurt, surrounded, under a storm and with civilian from both kingdoms under the magic crossfire.¡±


    Isemberd drank all of his beer in a single nervous sip. He was starting to have difficulty breathing.


    ¡°But who were the eight young mages from the Crystal Octahedron, you ask? Our military¡¯s magic jewel? Well, each one of them was a master of at least one school of magic, geniuses trained since childhood¡­¡±


    The disguised sage rubbed his face. Now he barely could hear what the bard was saying. He couldn¡¯t breathe, and his heart was beating fast.


    ¡°¡­throwing away lightning and creating powerful gusts of wind to block arrows, summoning ghosts and monsters to attack their enemies and hurling giant boulders of stone with the power of their minds!¡±


    In the middle of the description, Isemberd felt as if he was underwater with his ears and hard breathing. He heard Mr. Louis complaining:


    ¡°Hey, you didn¡¯t talk about the death harpies! A whole flock of them were there!¡±


    ¡°Let the man work, innkeeper!¡± someone yelled.


    ¡°Yes old man! Do you wanna come over and tell the story in his place?¡± someone else added.


    The bard laughed it off and waved at them a few times with his violin arc before making a deep sound and continue talking as if all the interruptions were a part of his show.


    ¡°The battle was fierce, and both groups seemed to reach a stalemate, until one of our eight prodigies, a young hero already fed up with all the carnage, started flying high, so everyone could see him. There he was an easy target for arrows or the dark powers of the monster-slayers¡­¡±


    With a fancy gesture pointing towards the keeper, he added:


    ¡°And for the giant war-owls of Soryn, enormous and ferocious birds of prey capable of tearing apart a man inside his armor and taking cattle from the ground with her talons!¡±


    Isemberd stood up, taking Gillibert clumsily in his hands. He leaned towards Louis, that looked at him with a worried expression. He pointed to a few silver coins over the counter, near his empty cup. Louis tried to talk to him, but Isemberd didn¡¯t hear anything the old man said. He barely could hear the bard¡¯s potent voice filling the room, the description of the battle, the hero and the violin notes.


    ¡°¡­ and then in a burst of light that turned night into day for a terrifying moment¡­¡±


    The mage blinked, remembering himself of that burst of light. That burst of light. The one that changed things.


    He left without listening to the end of the story. He apologized to Maeven and left. His face was red while he walked fast, trying to breathe. Outside, he hoped nobody would notice him as he started moving towards the woods walking first, and then running. Outside the town, Gillibert left his hands and started flying near him.


    ¡°Master! Slow down! Master!¡±


    Deeper into the grove Isemberd tripped onto something and fell on the ground rolling until hitting a tree. There he stayed for a while before sitting down with his back against the trunk that stopped him. His broken glasses were lying around somewhere.


    Gillibert came flying with his expressive eyes full of worry.


    ¡°Master Isemberd! Are you okay!? Did you hit your head!?¡±


    The mage was in the middle of a panic attack. The angry voice in his head wouldn¡¯t stop mocking him, and he couldn¡¯t breathe. The memories of the battle near the bridge in Nott were filling his mind. Memories of a battle so terrible he felt like puking while seeing them again. The bard¡¯s words left him with a very complex amalgamation of feelings.


    The young mage silenced the magic bird with a gentle touch and simply closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. A few hours passed by and night came, and he was still there sitting on the dirt. There were no wild animal capable of endangering him, but Gillibert stood nearby in vigilance, widened eyes almost without blinking, worried about his master.


    ¡°Gilli.¡± Isemberd called.


    ¡°Yes, master?¡±


    In the blink of an eye, the bird came flying to his lap, moving a powerful gust of wind in the process.


    ¡°I¡¯m waiting for you to ask about Nott.¡±


    ¡°Is death harpies how Neoria people call my brothers?¡±


    Isemberd gulped. He took his broken glasses.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The owlet walked right and left a few small steps before asking:


    ¡°Master, you were in that battle, right? The one the sir with the weird guitar was telling about?¡±


    ¡°I was.¡±


    Uncomfortable silence.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t anywhere near how he told, was it, master?¡±


    The mage breathed deeply. He put his glasses in his face.


    ¡°Do you remember anything about Soryn soldiers?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡± Gillibert stretched his wings in a weird imitation of a shrug. ¡°Only my brothers. The few nice ones¡­ and the others. The bad ones.¡±


    Isemberd stood up, taking the owl to his shoulder. During Gillibert¡¯s thoughtful silence, he asked:


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to know about the Crystal Octahedron? Or the battle? Or the other mages?¡±


    ¡°I never saw master like that! So no! I don¡¯t want to talk about things that make you sick and fall around and¡­¡±


    ¡°Octahedron mages were¡­¡±


    ¡°Master!¡± Gillibert pecked him painfully in the ear. ¡°I don¡¯t want to know!¡±


    ¡°I need you to know who I am.¡± Isemberd replied.


    ¡°But I already know who you are!¡± Gillibert talked back.


    ¡°Gilli.¡±


    ¡°No! Master!¡±


    They stopped for a tense moment. After Isemberd looked away, the owl asked:


    ¡°What happened to that hero of the story?¡±


    Isemberd glanced at the darkness of the woods and started walking in the direction he knew for sure would lead to their home, while fighting memories and the nagging voice cursing him that only him could hear. He remembered the supposedly eight mages, the monstrous mage-hunters and the hero created to cover up the true story behind the battle.


    With a gesture his glasses started fixing themselves, lenses and metal turning and twisting until they looked like new again, glowing faintly in yellow.


    ¡°I killed him.¡± He replied in a monotone voice while walking in the dark as if he himself was the ghost of that haunted grove.


    Silence reigned during their way back. When Gillibert landed at his roost to sleep, he stood there observing his master with widened eyes lost in thought. Isemberd kept to himself, with his quietness threatening to swallow the house.

 6 - The Calm Before The Storm

    The following day was one of absolute tranquility. Gillibert tried really hard to cheer Isemberd up during the morning, and the mage accepted that display of care without his usual pleas for silence. He felt horrible at that day and tried to focus on fixing some damage he found on the attic. The young mage decided to do the work without using magic instead, he mostly used recycled materials from all the crates and old furniture he¡¯d been dismantling since their arrival.


    The owlet left to eat and fly around a little while the mage brewed tea and put a loaf of bread in their oven after all the work was done. Someone knocked on their door, and Isemberd had to stop a few levitating tools with a gesture before moving to find a worried Joran in his doorstep.


    ¡°How are you doing mister?¡± the lad asked without even greeting the sage.


    ¡°Mister?¡± Isemberd asked back.


    The young visitor hesitated.


    ¡°Yeah, I mean, Maeven said she saw you running away from the tavern yesterday. I got a little worried by it, you know, what if you get sick living by yourself here¡­¡±


    Isemberd sighed heavily. The last thing he was expecting was someone coming into the woods to see how he was doing.


    ¡°I¡¯m not exactly well, but I made some medicine for myself already. Thanks for worrying.¡± he shook his head. ¡°And stop calling me mister or sir, how old do you think I am?¡±


    ¡°Certainly older than me!¡± Joran replied ¡°But if you insist¡­¡±


    The sage brought another chair to the porch and they both sat down.


    ¡°Well sir¡­ I mean, Isemberd, I finished the poem.¡±


    ¡°Good. So?¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡±


    Isemberd noticed Gillibert¡¯s voice calling out to him somewhere at the back of the house. He stood up quickly and spoke way louder than before:


    ¡°Good lord, Joran! I forgot to finish the preparations for Sir Alard¡¯s visit.¡±


    Joran frowned.


    ¡°Geez, sir, do you really need to yell for that?¡±


    ¡°No! Sorry! I need to find Gillibert, where is that bird now?¡±


    The owlet landed nearby, above them in the house¡¯s rooftop. It observed them curiously.


    ¡°I think I saw him coming out of the window earlier.¡± The young man said, before adding: ¡°I can help bring your wares.¡±


    Isemberd blushed and sighed, feeling a little dizzy. He raised his arm, so the black owl could land on it after flying around their guest.


    ¡°That would be really helpful, thank you. We can take a look at your letter right now, if you want.¡±


    The lad showed a folded sheet of paper to the sage. After reading it, Isemberd was serious for a very long moment.


    ¡°Way better.¡± He said suddenly, making Joran sigh in relief. ¡°Did you practice?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± he smiled. ¡°Your explanations the other day were really easy to follow. I just had a few drafts done after my sister helped me with one or two girly ideas.¡±


    Isemberd nodded.


    ¡°Make a clean copy of it with proper ink.¡°He gave back the letter. ¡°You can¡¯t deliver a love letter written in cheap pencil. Do you have a quill and ink at home?¡±


    They went out to Otterwesh chatting about ways of making ink, good quills, how the rumors about monsters were getting worse and the increase in visitors for the town due to Count¡¯s bard visit. Gillibert was already comfortable enough with Joran to occasionally fly around him or land on his shoulder, and he did that sometimes while they were walking. Arriving in the town before lunchtime, they went straight into Joran¡¯s work so Isemberd could pay and retrieve the goods he bought with the merchant.


    Before leaving, the sage stopped in front of the door. His eyes were aching badly as he felt a deep burn into his stomach, goosebumps running around his body as he started sensing something outside. It wasn¡¯t hard to fake looking sick again, though he asked Joran to meet him back at his home bringing the wares as he was going first to set up the writing tools.


    Outside the store Isemberd exchanged a meaningful look with Gillibert before the owlet took flight. He started his way back home under the sun, walking slowly and paying attention to this awful gut feeling. It didn¡¯t take long before he found the source of it as it was inside a nearby inn.


    He peeked at the windows from afar. He couldn¡¯t point out which one of them had the guest that were beaming with magic power. Isemberd waved at Gillibert to come back to him and entered the woods.


    ¡°I feel weird.¡± The owlet complained.


    Isemberd didn¡¯t reply at first. While walking, his eyes occasionally would be covered with a purple membrane. He was using a spell to take a look around their home just to be sure. When they arrived, he stopped near the porch and crouched on the floor. A few hard to spot signs of guests were there, like mud in front of the door and a few footprints nearby.


    No sign of anyone inside or outside.


    ¡°Can you elaborate a little more?¡± He asked after that long silence. ¡°About this weird feeling you have.¡±


    Gillibert flew to his roost inside without paying too much attention.


    ¡°I would say it is like itching, but it moves places whenever I move as well.¡±


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    The mage gestured to his staff that was nearby, and the tool came levitating gently towards him. Isemberd seemed to be really focusing for a moment in silence before doing a sign with two fingers over his middle finger, and his eyes glowed red. The staff started humming and vibrating while veins of light started spreading over it. Just like veins of ore in a rock, but made of pure fire. The owlet was very surprised and goggled at the staff.


    ¡°Can you feel it?¡± Isemberd asked.


    ¡°Yes! Itchy but why?¡±


    The same gestured was used to dismiss the magic flames that were waiting on the staff.


    ¡°Some of your brothers could feel magic sources.¡± The wooden tool now looked normal again and went flying back to it¡¯s place at a corner of the kitchen. A few subtle marks over it did give away where the wood had been burned from Isemberd¡¯s magic. ¡°It seems you might be able to sense it too.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that good?¡± Gillibert seemed worried by his master¡¯s troubled expression.


    The mage took its time to answer the owlet while taking care of a few house chores. The mage was trying really hard to not be bothered by the burnt bread, failing to do so shortly after. He soon had a list on their table with services that he took upon from people on the village.


    Since not a lot of people were comfortable walking in the woods at night, Isemberd was making his deliveries through the old apothecary, Joran¡¯s boss and other merchants from the town¡¯s market. He had to pay a fee for it, but it was good enough for him that way.


    With eyes glued to his list, he finally answered:


    ¡°I truly cannot say.¡± Gillibert was slightly scared of things if Isemberd knew nothing about them. The mage added: ¡°It is a really terrible feeling for me.¡±


    ¡°How is it when you¡¯re sensing magic, master?¡±


    Isemberd tilted his head before taking a quill and waiting for an inkwell that came flying from his office.


    ¡°It hurts as if I had eaten something spoiled and was sick and then spanked all at the same time.¡±


    ¡°Yikes, Master! You can leave it to me! I¡¯ll be vigilant of magic for both of us.¡± The owlet said with puffed up chest and an excited look.


    The mage chuckled without humor.


    ¡°I think I prefer that you leave that to me.¡± He said, taking a look towards the window and then the oven. He definitely was annoyed for burning the bread.


    Isemberd wrote a few notes in small scraps of scroll that cut themselves in rectangles by magic. Soon he was also tying a few leather bags with herbs and the proper instructions on how to use them.


    While finishing writing the last piece of instruction near a table now full of other things like glass vessels, flasks, poultices and salves, he heard Gillibert chirping before flying away. The owlet¡¯s hearing was way better than his, and Isemberd left towards his door without haste.


    Joran had brought him his wares in a big backpack and was accompanied by a knight dressed in orange coat-of-arms. The presence of one of Count Wells¡¯s men wearing the noble¡¯s herald, the tower over the river, made the mage a little uncomfortable.


    ¡°Good afternoon mister Isemberd¡± the knight greeted him with a polite bow. ¡°This young lad gently brought me to your home, I hope I¡¯m not disturbing your¡­ work.¡±


    Isemberd nodded to Joran.


    ¡°You¡¯re not, sir. Joran had to come here today anyway.¡±


    ¡°May I leave your things inside mist¡­ Isemberd?¡± asked Joran.


    ¡°Please do.¡± He replied.


    Gillibert came flying to greet Joran in silence. When the lad and the owl were both inside, the knight frowned a bit confused. He bowed again.


    ¡°Pardon me, commander, but you are very different from the stories I heard.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± it was the mage¡¯s blunt response. ¡°How can I help you?¡±


    ¡°Lord Well¡¯s caravan just arrived in the town, sir. We came directly to visit you but didn¡¯t find anybody home.¡±


    Isemberd kept a serious and mostly unfriendly expression.


    ¡°I was outside for a little bit. You can tell Alard that he can come here anytime.¡±


    The knight seemed a bit uneasy for a moment before saying:


    ¡°Sir, my lord asked me to bring you to him. He asked to convey some really urgent¡­¡±


    The mage interrupted him with an angry, almost aggressive, tone:


    ¡°Now that I¡¯m aware of your arrival, Sir Alard can come visit me anytime he wants.¡± he insisted. ¡°You know where to find me.¡±


    He seemed like he was about to go inside before the knight stopped him clumsily. The young warrior clearly wasn¡¯t properly oriented in the case of a refusal.


    ¡°Commander, please. What do I tell the lord¡­?¡±


    ¡°The truth.¡± Isemberd said, looking at the knight over his shoulder. ¡°And don¡¯t worry, Sir Alard is a very reasonable man. No harm will come towards you for following my orders.¡±


    Gillibert landed on his shoulder, looking at the knight with curiosity. The man sighed and shrugged.


    ¡°I¡¯m only doing my duty, sir.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± Isemberd replied. His expression softened a little. ¡°Come back tomorrow, I¡¯ll be here. Tell Alard that I ordered you to.¡±


    The knight seemed worried, but nodded.


    ¡°Yes, commander.¡± He said, not as loud as he should to not disrupt the mage¡¯s disguise. Every knight of the house of Wells did a solemn vow to protect the Third Star¡¯s identity.


    Isemberd bowed back, quickly.


    ¡°That trail goes directly back to the village, you can¡¯t go wrong with it. Dismissed, lad.¡±


    He turned his back to enter and found Joran on his kitchen observing a few of the medicine pouches.


    ¡°What did the sir knight wanted with you, mister?¡±


    ¡°Mister?¡±


    ¡°With you. It is really hard to get used to not calling you mister.¡± Joran complained.


    Isemberd nodded.


    ¡°He wanted to take me to Lord Alard, but I can¡¯t since I¡¯m still working as well as I have a guest.¡±


    Joran gave him a wide eye, very surprised.


    ¡°Isemberd, Lord Alard is¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, he can come over some other time.¡± His tone was one that ended the conversation. ¡°Give me second.¡±


    He went to his office to grab paper and a few quills. He showed them to Joran.


    ¡°Here. I had a few of them to spare.¡±


    ¡°They look great. Thanks a lot!¡±


    They chatted a little about amenities until sunset. Joran ended up spending his day off more or less working for Isemberd, carrying his bought wares and walking back and forth from the town. He left the sage¡¯s home really happy with good writing tools for him and his sister and a few silver coins his older friend insisted on paying.


    From the mage¡¯s shoulder, the small black owlet said:


    ¡°I think you like having friends over.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that me and Joran are friends¡­ at least not yet¡­¡±


    Gillibert pecked him lightly.


    ¡°And even when you are, I¡¯ll ever be your number one friend!¡± He said cheerfully, ¡°Are we having tea tonight? Master! How are you feeling? Better?¡±


    Isemberd sighed before caressing the owl¡¯s head. He went inside, but not without taking one last glance at the woods.


    ¡°So-so.¡± He replied, closing the door and waiting for a moment.


    He didn¡¯t know if the thing bothering him was only his magic sense, paranoia or the nagging voice in his head, but he kept his magic staff nearby just in case.

 Interlude - The Lady of The Forest

    Later in that night, after the knight of Wells¡¯s house came, Isemberd tried going to bed to sleep, but unfortunately he had a horrible sleep. He woke up a few times during the night feeling feverish and dizzy, as well with a strong feeling of a powerful magic source nearby. He almost could see the intense energy burning outside near his window. A big pyre of pure essence, the source of all magic burning at his backyard.


    The spirit of the forest was calling him in a way that only mages could hear or respond to.


    Taking a peek at Gillibert and noticing the owlet was in a deep slumber, the mage stood up quietly. His hands moved into the magic sign he usually aimed at objects and he started levitating. The window opened for him and he flew outside.


    He found the source of his ill-feeling behind the house near the little grass that grew where he had plans to make a garden someday. He sat down with his legs crossed. It was a warm night, and he was wearing a pair of pants that served him as pajamas, while his glasses stayed at his room.


    A subtle whisper started near him. An unintelligible sound of someone muttering, lower than the breeze itself and the rustling sound of the leaves caused by the wind.


    Isemberd formed a different magic sign. He joined his hands together, forming a weird oval shape with his fingers, intertwining them and stretching his pinky finger and a thumb. If seen from the front, the signed resembled a twisted knot.


    The breeze suddenly disappeared. His eyes slowly closed against his will, and he heard:


    ¡°Finally! I thought I would need to make the wind rip off a piece of your roof!¡±


    Isemberd focused on his own thoughts as he heard his voice answering in an echo to the spirit realm:


    ¡°I am very sorry. Here I am.¡±


    ¡°Of course you are!¡± The young lady¡¯s voice responded. He waited and she seemed pretty annoyed. ¡°I have a problem for you to deal with.¡±


    Isemberd nodded and replied in this weird echo of thought:


    ¡°I am listening.¡±


    ¡°There is a cursed tree in the center of my grove, not far from here. It is eating animals and plants and feeding from a very warm and dark magic.¡±


    Isemberd imagined two small glass globes. In his imagination he painted them one in orange and the other in black.


    ¡°Yes! Just like that.¡± The voice of the spirit said as if the being could peek into the mage¡¯s mind.


    ¡°I need more details if possible.¡± He asked. His mental voice sounded as if it was coming from the back of a big temple.


    ¡°You are the mage here!¡±.


    He sighed.


    ¡°But you, milady, are the spirit of the very grove. Nothing happens in these woods that escapes your knowledge.¡±


    A small and silent break. The sound of a chuckle before a breeze came back again as the leaves on the trees got moved by it.


    ¡°You know how to be cute when you want. Life in the countryside is doing you wonders, look at how strong your arms are.¡±


    Isemberd opened his eyes expecting to see the spoiled noble maiden the spirit said to be. He saw nothing besides the dark woods in the dead of the night.


    ¡°I still need to know more about the cursed tree.¡±


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    ¡°Boring!¡±


    Gentle hands touched his shoulders. Isemberd waited.


    ¡°You certainly are deserving of the reputation you have. Doesn¡¯t it wear you down having that¡­ thing¡­ hanging on you all the time?¡±


    He sighed again.


    ¡°Milady, if you tell me more about what you suspect about the curse I will have it dealt with it by the morning.¡± The chuckle was less cocky and a little more gentle this time.


    ¡°How dependable! Very well, my armorless knight. Have I mentioned that I always wanted to have a knight for myself? A shame you don¡¯t exactly want to become one¡­¡±


    Isemberd left out a short but menacing pulse of scarlet light. His patience was very short. The breeze disappeared for a tense moment before it started blowing again.


    ¡°Stop joking around.¡± He asked with an angry but low mental voice. ¡°We have a deal.¡±


    The spirit took a moment to reply, but it did so without the playful demeanor of before:


    ¡°The tree seems to be caused by having a certain someone around. A powerful magical influence¡­ one that feels to me like dead leaves and animal corpses being gorged upon.¡±


    The mage waited and since the spirit¡¯s silence carried the accusation very clearly, he then said, both mentally and with his voice:


    ¡°I¡¯ll investigate the grove before dawn, milady.¡±


    The same cold and gentle hands touched his shoulders again with care. He felt his eyes closing again and the touch went away. Now there was a third presence there, silent, but deep enough to drag attention to itself.


    Soon, the mage started to hear the angry nagging whispers.


    ¡°Can you also take a look at the outskirts of the woods?¡± the spirit asked ¡°just to be sure?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°I can. Any sign of any other monster near your territory?¡±


    Another chuckle accompanied by the gentle wind. The reply was a little more playful, muffling the sound of the dark whispering the third presence was saying:


    ¡°No, my dear knight. Neither are walking-dead nor bloodsuckers, nor any of the other many monsters you asked me to pay attention to. Only this monster-tree.¡±


    Isemberd replied almost immediately:


    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ll deal with it in the morning. And I¡¯ll take a walk around the grove to make sure we¡¯re safe.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, you would look amazing in a shiny armor¡­¡± the spirit said.


    Another red pulse of light coming from the mage. Stronger this time, enough to silence even the dark mumbling behind him.


    ¡°Oh, stop being such a boring young man!¡± Her tone changed from flirty to serious really quickly: ¡°And sorry for messing up your sleep.¡±


    The touch of the spirit hands on his shoulders were trying to convey the apology, with a little sprinkle of pity.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡±, the mage replied, ¡°my sleep is never good.¡±


    ¡°Of course, with such a monstrosity hanging on your head all the time.¡±


    She hesitated, and the breeze seem to do it with her.


    ¡°I really wanted to help you.¡±


    Surprised by the sincerity the spirit conveyed, he sighed and nodded.


    ¡°You do more than enough already. Do not worry too much about my problem, I¡¯m getting used to it.¡±


    The cold touch on his shoulders moved to his face and he got a gentle kiss on the cheek.


    ¡°I will be there with you in the morning, my knight. Even if you can¡¯t see me.¡±


    When opening his eyes, Isemberd was sure he caught a glimpse of a white dress sneaking back into the woods. He thought of seeing a long red hair disappearing in the dark of the grove.


    The mage stretched his neck and started levitating again. He flew to his window and entered it. Quietly, he undid his magic signs, stretching the fingers and massaging his hands, before landing on his bed. He turned, facing the wall, closing his eyes after a bit.


    Gillibert was, apparently, still asleep.


    The angry whispering in his ears didn¡¯t stop echoing even for a second, even when he fell asleep. As usual, his few hours of sleep were ones of poor rest, filled with terrible nightmares and furious voices from beyond.

 7 – Magic’s Horror

    Before the first light, Isemberd left the house to explore the deepest parts of the groove. He walked for a good hour towards the heart of the woods until he found what he was looking for: an unsettling tree with white bark covered in giant red pustules that bulged from its wood.


    It was growing in the middle of a few meters wide circle of dark and dry ground. Animal bones, dead leaves and chunks of other trees were half buried in the dirt. The circle seemed to slowly grow in front of the mage¡¯s cold gaze. Occasionally, the pustules glowed with an evil red pulse of light, and Isemberd could see a few other sources of magical essence underground.


    He spent a few minutes walking around the tree, examining the dirt, the other trees, the near pustules. He poked the ground with his staff and it was tough to pull it back. Isemberd took his glasses off and glared at the tree with a frustrated expression.


    Something was wrong and the angry whisper near his ear was constant now, as if someone were nearby, cursing him all the time.


    Isemberd focused, making a magic sign forming a small circle with his hands, and a purple and translucent cloak covered his head. Soon it melded magically into his clothes and disappeared. The invisible cloak kept him inside a mental fortress of silence and comfort. It would also protect him from any influence coming from the Spirit Realm.


    The tree emitted a vibration before its roots started growing out of the ground like tentacles, moving in slow and unnatural spasms, feeling out the magic energy now emanating from the mage¡¯s body like warmth from a bonfire.


    Isemberd mumbled something that he himself couldn¡¯t listen because of the magic cloak. His staff started glowing, covered in red marks and signs that soon were glowing and emanating warmth. His hands got cold, his vision was blurry for a moment, symptoms of having its own magical essence drained.


    With Isemberd¡¯s eyes covered in a golden light while he was looking for the tree''s pustules. It was filled with magical essence, and that would soon fuel the mage¡¯s powers, as soon as he stole them for himself.


    He found one tentacle-root with a nearby pustule, he then plunged his staff in the ground. Isemberd raised one hand and formed his common magic sign, with his middle finger crossed over his pointer one, as he closed his eyes, letting himself dive into a deep state of focus. He achieved such strength of thought, concentrating his attention on the mysterious energy that made him euphoric every time he saw it followed by goosebumps as well as perceiving he was forgetting to breathe.


    His fingers changed, and then the ring finger and pointer joined over his middle finger. The sign of the Matter Constellation, the magic school that worked with changing the physical of the elements and of things.


    One root violently darted in his direction as he raised one arm to protect himself. The sound of his bones breaking were muffled by the magical cloak, he grimaced with pain, but kept silent.


    Silent and focused.


    Roots started creeping around his feet, trying to poke holes in his clothes and boots. One red and glowing pustule moved too close. Isemberd grunted, breathing in as he reached to the nearby source of magic with his hurt hand.


    At his touch, his staff¡¯s glow grew violent and powerful, illuminating the woods. The air moved away from him with a thunderous sound. Yellow and red light glowed where the young man stepped as Isemberd made his way walking towards the tree. He would need to be really close to properly destroy the monster.


    The dry ground incinerated under his feet, as the closer branches and roots of the tree erupted in flames. The fire then started shaking and dancing around at one gesture of the mage, joining together in weird shapes. Soon, those shapes turned more complex and Isemberd was controlling a small pack of birds and dogs made entirely of fire, using the essence he took from the monster-tree. His fire puppets moved mechanically, but were fast enough to intercept the tentacle-like roots trying to reach Isemberd.


    He walked up to the magical parasite that threatened the groove and touched its white bark. Around him, flames were fighting the tentacles in a furious battle that he couldn¡¯t hear. Covered with his enchanted cloak, he was only able to feel the vibrations that carried the sound through the air.


    The mage touched one more blood-colored pustule and drained the essence that poured out of it in a powerful burst of light that only he could see. More tentacles attacked him, but he stood unshaken, taking on hits of the whip-like motions of the roots that left marks and cuts on his skin.


    He looked at the bark that started trembling under his hand. It wasn¡¯t his first time killing that kind of monster. With all that essence scattering around him, Isemberd could solve everything easily: a single spell, for one decisive blow to kill the magical parasite.


    The staff¡¯s light started changing, glowing stronger and turning blue. In one instant, Isemberd was the epicenter of a powerful discharge of energy, extremely violent, but under his absolute control. Not even the sound of the lightning he caused escaped his mystical will. Light, vibration, heat, sound, electricity. The mage¡¯s eyes saw each detail, carefully layered on top of each other to shape and form reality. His magic essence burnt like fuel to a roaring fire so that he could tame every aspect of reality into his will.


    From the tip of his staff exploded one mighty lighting explosion that destroyed the tree. Fragments of wood were soon taken into the mage¡¯s control and forced to change direction, moving away from him. The sound and everything that wasn¡¯t necessary was pushed into the ground, making a powerful but short earthquake around the mage. Wood splinters flew around him, stabbing the surrounding ground, but not one of them got near Isemberd enough to be a threat.


    The battle soon ended with the same silent serenity as it started.


    Hurt and annoyed, Isemberd started levitating, with his staff floating next to him, as the fire puppets started incinerating the rests of the tree monster with its fire. Isemberd had to dig a few of the pustules to burst them, and had to take a few more roots from under the surface so they could burn.


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    When he felt satisfied with his work, he started pulling out his cloak, dismantling the spell that muffled his senses. The first thing to come back was the angry whisper execrating him. With a painful grimace, the mage started looking for other fragments of the tree that needed to be destroyed.


    When it was all done, he landed outside the circle and stretched himself, taking note of his wounds. A gentle breeze blew around him, and he almost could hear the forest¡¯s lady¡¯s voice, but he knew it was only his imagination.


    Spirits couldn¡¯t speak with mortals like that without special conditions. The mage stretched his sore neck and started walking into the woods again. It didn¡¯t take long until he heard the sound of a branch cracking nearby.


    ¡°Oh no¡­!¡± he heard the familiar voice of his magical owlet. ¡°Eh, well, master! Hey! I mean, know¡­¡±


    Isemberd turned to where Gillibert was trying to hide behind a bush.


    ¡°I saw you there.¡± he said, locating the branch Gillibert broke by accident.


    ¡°You know master¡­ I felt that itch again! The magical one, but very, very, very big and powerful and I came here to check what it was¡­¡±


    Isemberd sighed and raised an arm, so the owlet could land on him.


    ¡°You saw, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    The bird hesitated, looking at him with widened eyes.


    ¡°Of coooourse I didn¡¯t¡­¡± He flew towards Isemberd and dodged his arm, landing in a nearby branch. ¡°I swear, master, I saw nothing!¡±


    ¡°You dodged my broken arm.¡±


    They stared at each other for a very embarrassing moment until Gillibert opened his wings, extremely excited:


    ¡°Yes! Master! You were so amazing! With all of that fire and glowy magic and bum!¡± He hopped around, chirping in while talking, ¡°Can I be a magic flamy bird too? You think I can?!¡±


    Isemberd shook his head and leaned on his staff, keeping the wounded arm near his body. Before Gillibert started piercing him with a million questions, he said:


    ¡°I believe had asked you to take care of the house?¡±


    ¡°Master! I thought you were in danger! I never imagined you were the danger!¡±


    Isemberd nodded.


    ¡°The forest¡¯s spirit alerted me about a monster deep in the woods. She was right.¡± He started walking. ¡°Come with me, I still have one more thing to take care off before going back.¡±


    He walked while they talk:


    ¡°Master! Can you make a lot of lightnings and thunders?!¡±


    Knowing the owlet wouldn¡¯t leave him be unless he quenched a bit of its curiosity, he nodded.


    ¡°Is not easy, but I can.¡±


    ¡°And what was that thing? And all that fire? Oh, oh and how the explosion caused you no harm, master? And why it was so¡­ silent!?¡± Gillibert hesitated for a little and goggled at Isemberd before flying a full circle around him, worried. ¡°Master! You¡¯re bleeding!¡±


    The mage leaned on his staff again, coughing.


    ¡°Damn parasite¡± he angrily cursed, ¡°I¡¯m a little more roughed up than what I was expecting.¡±


    ¡°Master, rest up a little¡­¡±


    ¡°No.¡± the mage said, breathing in deep twice before straightening himself. ¡°I want to quickly finish what I came here to do, go back home to get some tea and pretend I don¡¯t exist for a few hours.¡±


    Gillibert sounded really worried:


    ¡°Master! What am I going to do if you¡¯re so hurt that you can¡¯t walk?¡±


    Isemberd grabbed the owl from the air and started floating.


    ¡°I told you before: you don¡¯t have to worry about me. Now please, be quiet.¡± he said ¡°My head aches.¡±


    He hugged the bird while they flew around the woods, moving to the end of the grove on the other side, opposite of where Otterwesh was. When they got out of the woods near a very pretty hill, the sun was starting to rise, bathing the green land in its light.


    ¡°Pretty?¡± He asked.


    Gillibert stood in silence and lightly pecked one of his master fingers.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t like seeing Master being hurt.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. That¡¯s why I came here.¡±


    He landed on the grass, sitting in a lotus position.


    ¡°I know how to make a thing no other living mage from Sorin or Neoria can do.¡± He sounded a little proud.


    Gillibert looked at him.


    ¡°A secret spell?¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡± He caressed the owl¡¯s head and pointed to the sky.


    The sun was rising. The first rays of light touched a tired mage¡¯s wounds.


    ¡°Under the first light of dawn¡­¡± he said, almost as if reciting a thing from somewhere. ¡°A desperate plea can be done.¡±


    His staff, glowing with essence, could very well be a small sun in his eyes with so much power.


    ¡°All of my pain¡± he mumbled, closing his eyes, ¡°in exchange for a gift of the same size¡­¡±


    Gillibert felt something was very wrong and hopped back a few steps.


    For a terrifying moment all the mage¡¯s scars opened up, as if the wounds were new, but no blood came out of it. New and old cuts appeared on his skin, burning wounds covered his arms, bruises covered his face and a cracking sound started, apparently from his bones breaking. Even the big scar on his face showed the wound again, a horrible wound that almost carved his eye out.


    In the very next moment, everything was normal and all of the damage disappeared. His staff fell on the grass, no more magical glow to be seen, and now the mage was emanating steam as if he just came out of a really warm bath in the winter.


    Isemberd bent forward and puked, coughing violently and hitting the floor with his face. Crying out in pain, his body twitching horribly from the sudden suffering, he clawed the grass and stood there, breathing. It took a while before he could stop trembling while crying and grunting in pain, before finally going back to breathing normally.


    He sat down, cleaning his face and hands in his mundane cloak. Gillibert was watching him, his beak half opened, completely out of words.


    That lack of what to say disappeared fast:


    ¡°Magic is scary, master.¡± He said, with a very serious tone.


    Isemberd offered his now healed arm. The owlet looked at it closely, visibly worried.


    ¡°I feel every single moment of pain I ever had¡± the mage explained ¡°in exchange for that pain and a gigantic amount of essence, I can heal any wound.¡±


    ¡°But Master...¡± Gillibert flew to his arm, then to his shoulder. ¡°If it hurts that much, you should never do that again.¡±


    ¡°The price is fair. Those wounds would be hard to explain.¡±


    Gillibert kept thinking for a long moment.


    ¡°Master! Your eye almost fell off! That¡¯s horrible!¡±


    ¡°Is not like that¡­¡±


    ¡°Horrible¡± Gillibert insisted. ¡°Is because of those kinds of things you don¡¯t want to talk about the war?¡±


    Isemberd nodded, standing as if nothing special had happened.


    ¡°Now, do you believe in me when I say the battle at Nott wasn¡¯t nice?¡±


    ¡°I do! I very much do!¡±


    ¡°Is not as simple as to lift rocks and throw them at the bad guys, or shoot lighting from our fingertips at monsters, but who am I to tell the bards how to do their thing?¡±


    He looked at his own hands for a moment.


    ¡°Nobody involved in our battles is worthy of tavern songs.¡± He sounded dark and distant.


    His staff flew to his hand.


    ¡°I dare to say your brothers were the least horrible monsters in those battlefields.¡± He sighed and started walking back to the woods. ¡°Let¡¯s move, I want to check out the whole groove before lunch.¡±


    They spent all the rest of the morning walking around. When they¡¯ve finished walking around it, the mage started making his way back home, with a calmer and excited Gillibert wanting to see its master make more salves and writings.


    They approached the house from the backyard, after leaving the woods, Gillibert said:


    ¡°Master, I can hear someone nearby!¡±


    The mage didn¡¯t seem to care. He replied:


    ¡°I know. I was expecting them at some point today.¡±


    He walked towards the entrance, glad for healing his own wounds, or he would have a lot of things to explain. His visitor was an important man, one who arrived with a small group of knights. The knights were clad in steel armor, bearing a vivid orange coat of arms that displayed the symbol of a tower above a stream, the emblem of the noble House of Wells.

 8 - Sir Alard Wells

    The four knights bearing the symbol of Count Wells were near the entrance of Isemberd¡¯s home as they faced towards him.


    ¡°Hold! Identify yourself, please!¡± One of them shouted, taking a few steps towards the mage.


    Isemberd raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Commander Isemberd, Crystal Octahedron¡¯s third star.¡± He said, pointing to the jewelry on his ear that served as a military badge of valor.


    The soldier flushed a little and quickly made a polite and apologetic bow.


    ¡°Sir!¡± he shouted again ¡°Forgive me for not recognizing you, sir!¡±


    ¡°Relax, lad.¡± Isemberd replied with a tired sigh. ¡°That¡¯s the point of a disguise.¡±


    He greeted the other three with a head nod. Isemberd recognized one of them, that were part of the group that brought him to Otterwesh, almost a month ago. The other two he knew from the battlefield, where they fought together. Isemberd imagined none of them told their companion anything about him. A few select knights of Wells, including the Count and his family, made a solemn oath to protect Isemberd¡¯s identity.


    ¡°Lord Alard is waiting for you inside, commander¡± one of the noble warriors said. ¡°Since we failed to find you at home twice, well¡­ you know how he is.¡±


    Isemberd shook his head and entered his home.


    Sir Alard Wells was a promising young knight, with some battlefield experience from the war. He wasn¡¯t too tall, but had a very bulky physique. He was dressed in a thick traveling cloak, over a nice coat of arms in orange and white. Furthermore, he had more or less the same age as Isemberd, around his early twenties, but he was far more cheerful and noisy than the mage.


    ¡°Greetings, my lord.¡± The mage performed a polite and formal bow. Gillibert flew to a nearby chair and more or less tried the same gesture, clumsily bowing to their guest.


    The noble knight had his back turned to him while fiddling with something on the stove. He turned to them with a teapot and a pie Isemberd left to cook, already cut in bite-sized pieces. The window was opened, and the early noon sun brightened the mood of the kitchen.


    ¡°You forgot the fire lit, firewood dyeing out and a half-baked pie in there.¡± He complained, gently pushing the food over the table.


    The knight then walked around the table with nimble steps and hugged the mage tight, pushing the air of his lungs out.


    ¡°Oh, come on, we don¡¯t need that.¡± He held his friend by both shoulders. ¡°Sorry for invading your home, mister third star, commander of the octahedron mages and mightiest of the healers.¡±


    Isemberd shook his head a little annoyed.


    ¡°How was it again? My house is your house? Make yourself at home?¡±


    The knight burst out laughing as the sound filled the kitchen with a cheerfulness it hadn¡¯t seen before, apart from Gillibert¡¯s endless chatting.


    ¡°More or less! Hey, you even cleaned up the dust out of things!¡± he pointed out ¡°And you bought tableware!¡±


    His smiled faded a little after pointing out each thing.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you liked the place.¡± He added, in a more serious tone.


    Isemberd only shrugged. In moments like these, he felt the weight of the only jewelry he carried: the emerald earring that marked him as one of those mages. Alard leaned towards Gillibert.


    ¡°You¡¯re looking big now, little buddy.¡± he scratched the owlet¡¯s chest a little. ¡°Your feathers are looking pretty too. How are you doing?¡±


    The bird replied:


    ¡°Sir Alard! Have I said your beard does not look good on you?¡± he leaned a little towards the knight. ¡°But thank you very much! I¡¯m doing amazing, thanks to Master.


    Gillibert hopped around the table.


    ¡°Oh, but orange is a very pretty color! And it looks great on you, sir!¡±


    Alard smiled and shrugged.


    ¡°What can I say, the beard works wonders with the ladies. The beard and the good-looking orange attire.¡±


    Alard had a long goatee, a narrow face, an easy smile, and a confident gaze. Beneath the persona of a loudmouthed swaggerer, however, he was a virtuous knight and a determined man.


    ¡°Your success with the ladies certainly doesn¡¯t have anything to do with you being the son of a Count, am I right?¡± Isemberd provoked, in a demeanor too serious for a joke.


    Alard, however, laughed at it and changed smoothly changed topic:


    ¡°How have you been?¡±


    Isemberd waved with his magic sign formed and chairs started moving around, Gillibert¡¯s roost flew by to stay with them at the table and the other ones went out, surprising the other knights that were outside. Plates and other tableware started moving, pieces of pie levitating and arranging itself on them to serve the guests.


    ¡°Look at that¡± the noble said ¡°I¡¯m just a little envious of those things.¡±


    The mage sat down.


    ¡°We¡¯re doing¡­ good, I¡¯d say.¡± He looked away. ¡°I¡¯m starting to like the work, it is very different from what I¡¯m used to.¡±


    ¡°That is great¡± His cheerfulness disappeared and turned into a serious look. ¡°I¡¯m really glad you¡¯re fitting in. People were talking really well about you at the town.¡±


    The mage looked down his pie.


    ¡°I still think all of this is a vanity project of yours, and your father is more or less endorsing his son¡¯s weird ideas.¡± He sighed.


    After using so much magic, his body and mind were both somewhat unstable as he was feeling everything way more intensely.


    ¡°But, I won¡¯t complain about a gift when I get one.¡± he said.


    Alard nodded.


    ¡°That¡¯s good. Your other option was to be dressed as a jester to the king¡¯s court using those ridiculous long robes and giant hats, pretending to be a great magician and hero.¡±


    After a short pause, he added:


    ¡°And maybe doing some party tricks with your powers.¡±


    The mage¡¯s expression turned into a grimace.


    ¡°Disgusting, to say the least.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it.¡± The knight agreed.


    ¡°What caused you to delay so much?¡±


    For the first time, Sir Alard seemed a bit uneasy. He bit a piece of his pie and, in between a bite and the next, he said:


    ¡°We stumbled upon a village, smaller than Otterwesh, that were attacked by undead. They were creeping out of their graveyard.¡± He served himself a bit of tea as well as for the mage. ¡°The place were saved before we arrived, but I still had to give it some attention.¡±


    He made a pause and was interrupted:


    ¡°But isn¡¯t that a good thing?¡± Gillibert asked, head tilted a little.


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    The mage waited in silence. Alard was besides his appearance, extremely thoughtful when talking, ponderingeach word three times before saying it. His moments of hesitation were a bad omen, and his loud cheerfulness were there to mask how seriously and deeply he dealt with his own matters.


    He took a moment before replying to the owlet:


    ¡°Hmm yeah¡­ but no. Still, it is a problem out of my control.¡±


    He gazed deeply into the mage¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°You know me and my family have you in very high regard, and that I want to protect you from these politicians from the court. God''s know you fought enough for a whole life.¡±


    Another took another bite of his pie. Another unsettling break. He looked away, buried deep in his own thoughts, as if he had just reached a resolute decision before saying.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t change the fact that many nobles of our kingdom have an interest on you. Including the king, I may add.¡±


    Isemberd squinted his eyes a little, visibly angry, but stayed in silence.


    ¡°No matter the reason, people are looking for a mage, from that night at Nott¡¯s bridge. And¡­¡±


    ¡°You know you don¡¯t have to beat around the bush that much, right?¡± Isemberd interrupted. ¡°If you want to ask me something painful, just get it over with.¡±


    The knight sighed heavily and nodded before saying:


    ¡°I need you to do a job that was asked from the king of Neoria himself. In what the court is concerned is that you¡¯re our mage. Orders were passed down to my father, that asked me to talk them out with you.¡± Alard explained. ¡°So that we can avoid the need of him coming here to order you.¡±


    ¡°How complicated¡± Gillibert said from his roost with wide eyes.


    Alard nodded.


    ¡°You have no idea, I pass my days walking on eggshells all the time.¡±


    He shrugged and ate the last piece of his pie.


    ¡°There is a noble family from Soryn that asked for help. Our nobility is now interested in forming a friendly relationship with them. They openly want to work on improving our relationship after the disaster that was the war.¡±


    He stopped, looking for words to continue.


    ¡°So?¡± Isemberd asked, impatiently.


    ¡°They want you to break the mage-hunters curse.¡± Alard said.


    ¡°No.¡± The mage¡¯s reply was immediate. He raised his head in a challenging way and added: ¡°It is impossible to even understand whatever was done there without the Shadow Tome.¡±


    ¡°That is in your possession.¡± The knight stated.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have the means to unlock the book anymore.¡±


    Sir Alard replied:


    ¡°Lies, Berd.¡± They stared at each other for a moment, then Isemberd looked away.


    He was keeping the key and the book separate from each other, and the key itself was very well hidden.


    ¡°Think about how many people you could help with that¡­¡±


    Suddenly, the windows exploded, sending broken glass shards everywhere. Tableware broke as the table started trembling violently. In the middle of that small magical chaos, Alard seemed perfectly calm as he raised one inquisitive eyebrow.


    The nobleman raised his hands. The knights outside were suddenly ready for a battle, surprised by the mage¡¯s sudden hostility.


    ¡°Do not dare to use that petty trick to convince me!¡± Isemberd whispered, furious, fists closed over the table. A thunder sounded inside the kitchen, out of his mouth as he said: ¡°Not again!¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m not lying! I¡¯m not like that woman from the Octahedron, Berd.¡± Alard retorted, his voice filled with the steel of a knight under an oath. ¡°I will honor your effort and my word, as I always did!¡±


    The knight kept his fearless eyes locked into the cold and furious eyes of his friend mage. Gillibert flew away to Alard¡¯s shoulder and wide-eyed Isemberd for a moment.


    ¡°Master!¡±


    ¡°I was tricked my whole life with that talk about bearing my powers for the sake of people.¡± he said. ¡°If that is your reason, then you won¡¯t have my help in it!¡±


    Alard nodded, apparently unfazed by the furious mage crackling with involuntary electricity near him.


    ¡°That is only fair! My case is: a noble lady and her family were tricked and her father is playing an important diplomatic role.¡± the knight explained, ¡°The lord himself asked the king for help to free his daughter from the curse.¡±


    Alard tilted his head and frowned. He continued:


    ¡°I can¡¯t for the love of the gods, think of any other mage capable of dealing with the problem with the urgency it needs and, besides that, I¡¯m sure you are the only one capable of safely touching that book.¡±


    ¡°As if any of us is safe with that thing nearby!¡± Isemberd grunted, ¡°Be grateful to whatever god you worship you¡¯re not capable of either seeing or hearing what was locked inside that cursed thing.¡±


    ¡°One more reason for me to trust that on you.¡± Alard replied. ¡°Count Wells would certainly agree to do everything on your terms. Your conditions, your house, your rules.¡±


    Isemberd breathed deeply, hesitating. The magic euphoria that overtook him in a moment of weakness had passed. It was a side effect of the amount of essence he had used that day, making his mind foggy and his emotions volatile. The danger every mage had to learn how to deal with, and one of the many costs of the power of magic. The crackling of energy around him reduced and disappeared.


    ¡°Sure, we have political reasons behind that, or I wouldn¡¯t be here to bother you. I could have solved everything with a letter.¡± Alard explained.


    ¡°Any mage would do, right?¡± Isemberd asked.


    Sir Alard frowned again.


    ¡°I disagree. I don¡¯t trust that many mage-healers other than you. You¡¯re much more than a mage at this point: you¡¯re a symbol. One that only bears value to the few that know the truth about Nott and Tome.


    He lightly clicked his fork on the plate, as if they were still having an amusing tea together.


    ¡°If the curse is undone by you, I¡¯m sure a bit of this ill feeling between the nobleman of both countries will tone down. Without mentioning in all the good it would do to mage¡¯s reputation all around.¡±


    Maybe that was true. The world already had too many problems without the two kingdoms increasing the amount of hateful monsters running around at night. Isemberd mumbled, eyes squinted:


    ¡°I hate all of that. That shouldn¡¯t be my problem anymore!¡± He raised his voice by accident, disoriented by both his magically changed feelings and the loud furious execration the spirit was doing against him all the time. ¡°I¡¯ll disappear by tomorrow!¡±


    ¡°Isemberd, please!¡± Alard too raised his voice, frustrated. ¡°My father was considering coming here to hit your door with a squad of knights and mages to bring you to Scarwood Fortress by force!¡±


    ¡°And I would crush every single one of them.¡± Isemberd replied, his eyes suddenly glowing orange.


    ¡°With me among them?¡± Alard shouted back, angry. ¡°We¡¯re both pieces in a big game. But I trust you enough to think that if I were to try and change things, you would be with me!¡±


    Isemberd stopped. His body was emanating a sensible warmth, like the start of a fire with invisible flames.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± He said, trying to ignore the dark mumbling on his ears.


    ¡°So?¡± The knight insisted.


    ¡°Let¡¯s say I were to accept that¡­¡± Isemberd started, but Alard interrupted him.


    ¡°I would do anything in my power to make you impossible to reach.¡± The knight said. ¡°And I would try to help the other surviving stars. All you deserve a little peace and a safe place to sleep at night after all that. But I need influence in order to make anything happen.¡±


    Gillibert seemed extremely worried and hopped around the table towards his guardian cautiously. He saw enough of Isemberd¡¯s powers at that day to be genuinely afraid of them.


    ¡°Ma-master! You yourself said¡­¡± He stumbled on his words, scared, ¡°that is good to be kind! With other people!¡±


    Isemberd closed his eyes for a moment. He then exhaled a deep cloud of steam from his nose. A faint purple glow started around him, lessening the effect of the spirit¡¯s whispering. Around him, broken objects started to fix themselves and the glass shards flew together in a pretty stream towards the window, where they started sticking back and melding together to fix the glass.


    He took a few long moments of silence, his eyes firmly closed, breathing and focusing on repairing the damage he caused. He opened his eyes and gently poked the owlet¡¯s beak, in a very uncharacteristic gesture.


    Isemberd looked at his friend with genuine embarrassment.


    ¡°I need to think a little more. And¡­ sorry about that. I had an inconvenience today and¡­¡±


    Alard sighed.


    ¡°I know. You don¡¯t have to explain, Eloane gave me a report on¡­ well¡­ your morning endeavors.¡±


    Isemberd raised his eyebrows, surprised.


    ¡°So you brought the mage¡¯s apprentice with you?¡±


    ¡°I did. And she woke us up in the morning freaking out about an extremely dangerous power bursting deep in the grove¡­¡±


    He laughed it off.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you had your reasons, and I won¡¯t prod any further. But I dare say that Otterwesh is the safest place of the country right now.¡±


    ¡°I was also sure you were about to explode the house¡± He added, running his fingers over his hair as well as showing off a little bit of concern for a moment. ¡°With all of us inside.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t¡± Isemberd replied, with a painful expression.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. I stepped on an eggshell I shouldn¡¯t have.¡±


    ¡°Well, to be fair, you did.¡±


    Alard nodded and smiled.


    ¡°I know I¡¯m asking you something terrible¡­ and difficult.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m used to it.¡± Isemberd replied.


    Gillibert cautiously pecked his master¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry master! I¡¯ll always be by your side.¡±


    He caressed the bird¡¯s head.


    ¡°It might not look like, you ungrateful sparkling mage¡± Alard started ¡°but for me as well. Being your friend is really hard right Gillibert?¡±


    ¡°It sure is!¡±


    The mage rubbed his face with his hands and pulled his plate with his pie on it. They went back to chat about lighter matters while the house was fixed by magic. Alard invited the mage to visit them at the inn, after he finished arranging everything with the noble from Soryn so they could talk.


    Isemberd didn¡¯t reply about it yet, but Alard would send a knight to fetch him anyway.


    Many hours later, alone while his owl was hunting outside, Isemberd couldn¡¯t get rid of the annoying feeling something magic was there. The magic itch, as Gillibert called, coming from the town. Knowing there was another mage nearby explained it, but that didn¡¯t calm his gut feeling that something was still wrong. A gut feeling constantly reminded by the furious and constant whispering of a haunted spirit in his ears.

 Interlude – Carpentry

    ¡°Master, master! You¡¯re so good with woodworking.¡± Gillibert observed.


    It was the very next morning after Alard¡¯s visit. The mage was sitting at his dinner table with a few tools around, carving a cup on a block of wood. It was early morning, and he had a terrible night of sleep, mostly due to Alard¡¯s quest.


    ¡°I¡¯m barely doing the minimum.¡± he replied, blowing away wood chips. ¡°I¡¯m still incapable of doing the hard part of the work with my own hands.¡±


    He levitated the cup and, using magic, started forcing the wood to carve itself, molding it like clay and making some intricate and pretty details around it. He repeated the process in the middle section of the cup and then landed it on the table.


    Grabbing a thick and ill-smelling mixture of tree sap he produced and a piece of cloth, he started gently applying it around the newly done wood cup. When the process was finished, the object looked like it was wet and sticky.


    ¡°Why did it turn shiny?¡± Gillibert asked, looking at a bit confused.


    ¡°Is a mixture to protect the wood, it''s called a varnish. After it dries, it will look glossy.¡± Isemberd explained.


    He took another small block of wood.


    ¡°Master¡± the owlet called, walking a bit, ¡°Did you make that thing on our dinner table? To make it pretty on the sides of it?¡±


    There were some very well-made details carved on the side of their table. Intricate designs on the wood, made with a very delicate technique, that represented leaves and branches.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me. But that is an outstanding work.¡± he replied, pushing his chair a little so he could touch the wood. ¡°It was either made by a very skillful and dedicated carpenter¡­ or by a mage.¡±


    He could learn the truth if he wanted, but decided not to. The dinner table was there for them, and it served its purpose well, and that was enough for him.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you try to make it without magic, master?¡± Gillibert suggested, looking excited to Isemberd.


    The mage left out an annoyed sound.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never had the chance to learn. Let¡¯s just say I¡¯m just now starting to explore my options a little.¡±


    He stopped and glanced at his own hands.


    ¡°I feel like learning, but¡­¡±


    Still gazing at his palms, he stood silent, and the owlet didn¡¯t insist on the topic, feeling his discomfort. Lately, after so many surprises and visits, they were getting better at understanding each other without words, a very necessary skill if they wanted to keep their disguise.


    Gillibert flew to his shoulder.


    ¡°I bet you¡¯re going to be really, really good at it.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Isemberd raised an eyebrow while focusing his eyes on examining the wood block.


    ¡°Why did you say that?¡±


    ¡°The house is looking prettier and nicer every day. Master is a very dedicated person, you only do things at your own pace.¡± The owl said, very serious.


    Isemberd nodded. That morning, Gillibert was sounding way more serious and wiser than usual.


    ¡°I disagree.¡± He retorted. ¡°But thank you.¡±


    He took the wooden block and his carving tools again and slowly started to work on a new cup.


    ¡°What about a tea cup?¡± Gillibert asked, taking two cute steps on his shoulder to look at him. ¡°We¡¯re having more and more guests lately!¡±


    ¡°Since when you¡¯re so sharp again?¡± Isemberd mumbled. ¡°Indeed, a tea cup is a nice option.¡±


    Gillibert stood there watching his guardian carve the wood slowly, sometimes answering and sometimes ignoring his unending chitchat. Soon, that glimpse of wisdom disappeared from the owlet¡¯s demeanor again, and he started sounding like a cheerful child once more.


    Hours passed by, and the wood block was turning into a simple tea cup, with a very twisted handle and a bumpy interior. Isemberd sighed as he levitated the object to look at it.


    ¡°It looks¡­ erm¡­ you know, almost good, master!¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°This looks awful. I should simply buy a new one, or fix this with magic¡­¡±


    Gillibert waved his wings.


    ¡°But! But! Isn¡¯t that cheating?¡±


    The mage frowned.


    ¡°Why would it be?¡±


    ¡°Master¡¯s point was to carve a tea cup, right?¡±


    Isemberd agreed.


    ¡°Yes, and I did, but I heavily dislike the result. Maybe next time¡­¡±


    Gillibert hopped around the floating tea cup.


    ¡°Can I have it?¡±


    Isemberd hesitated. It was the very first time Gillibert asked that sort of thing.


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±


    It tilted its little head, as if it was obvious.


    ¡°It was the very first tea cup master carved with his own hands! It is special, you know!?¡±


    ¡°Gillibert¡­¡±


    The owlet gazed at him, sincere and with chest puffed out. The mage sighed, defeated, and nodded.


    ¡°All right. But is too big for you.¡± before the owlet could answer back he himself added: ¡°But I guess you¡¯ll¡­ grow up¡­ right¡­?¡±


    He grabbed the chisel again and gazed at the object, lost in conflicting thoughts about the situation. He took a peak at the window. The noon was moving on, and he still had a lot of work to do.


    ¡°Can you do me a favor?¡±


    ¡°Master! What a dumb question! Of course!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m having that feeling again. Can you fly around the groove and take a look around for me?¡±


    The owl opened its wings, excited.


    ¡°Yes! I¡¯ll be right back, master!¡±


    Isemberd never stopped being amazed at how fast and powerfully Gillibert could jump into flight without making too much noise. It was clearly a supernatural sign, but he still couldn¡¯t properly point out the source of all of that might yet. Neither the source nor the price for having it, nor its consequences.


    Alone in his kitchen again, he glanced at the tea cup. With one gesture, the whole house closed itself. Another one and the wood started carving itself again, while the gray eyes of the mage were lost in his deep thoughts on the future.


    Slowly the teacup turned into a perfect replica of the porcelain black one he liked to use, a gift from Alard. He grabbed it and carved a big G on the outside of it¡¯s base. He had a lot to think about, but for now, he would leave his mind linger on a pretty teacup made of wood.


    One more or less carved by his own hands.

 9 – Outsider

    Isemberd spent the following days taking care of the final repairs at his home, practicing his carpentry skills and scouting the woods to make sure the monster-tree he killed wouldn¡¯t have any way of reappearing. He also worked on medicine and documents people brought him or came to pick up from him.


    Alard¡¯s visit that week did a lot of good for his reputation with the townsfolk, and a few people even ventured into the grove to pick their packages. They tried to engage in small talk with the young alchemist the lord knight had spoken so well off. Sadly, Isemberd wasn¡¯t the most talkative of the hosts, but everyone seemed to enjoy the visit nonetheless, if not by the sage¡¯s hospitality and tea, by his cheerful black owlet.


    The noble lord didn¡¯t find the time to visit him during those days, and the knight that Isemberd had ordered around the last time came two or three times to invite the mage for a meal with the entourage. Isemberd tried really hard to not be rude when refusing the many invitations Alard sent the lad to do.


    During the morning of the second day, Isemberd and Gillibert were in the attic where the mage was working on repairing some damage on the rooftop that he didn¡¯t finish the week before. The work was almost complete at this point, and he did all of it without using magic as a personal challenge.


    ¡°Master, I think the woods are a little weird.¡± Gillibert complained. ¡°Weird and quiet.¡±


    Between one hit of his hammer and another, the mage asked:


    ¡°Can you elaborate?¡±


    ¡°Last night I was flying around and ended up meeting that squirrel from before.¡±


    Gillibert was on his roost, that was nearby, close to Isemberd¡¯s big wooden chest. The owlet continued:


    ¡°He told me a lot of animals fled this way. They were fleeing from something coming from the direction of the road. They also seem very frightened of our home.¡±


    Isemberd glanced at his owl. Gillibert added:


    ¡°But, if there are many more animals here, why is it so quiet? What are they hiding from?¡±


    ¡°Lately, I¡¯m having a very bad feeling myself¡­¡± Isemberd said, stopping and turning back his eyes to the nail he was hitting.


    He seemed to be pondering about it in silence while fixing the hole in the roof. The chest nearby that contained the infamous Shadow Tome started trembling and did a big jump, shaking around and bumping on things, scaring Gillibert out of his roost. Isemberd glared at the chest as if he was about to attack it.


    ¡°Master, is it possible that there are some kind of monster coming from that direction towards the town?¡±


    ¡°Yes, it is possible. However, places like Scarwood Fortress and settlements in general tend to be on the safer side.¡± He replied, still glaring at the chest.


    The owlet stood nearby, landed on top of one wooden box. Isemberd added:


    ¡°For now, if you see or feel like something is too suspicious¡­¡±


    ¡°I fly straight back to you!¡± Gillibert replied, puffing out his chest.


    The mage nodded and finished fixing the roof. After that, he closed and locked the window, waved a magic sign to make the roost fly gently towards the stairs. The chest did another sudden jump, as if some monster locked inside wanted to leave. Isemberd then gave it a solid kick, before pushing it back into it¡¯s place and pilling a few boxes on top of it, then covering everything with an old bedsheet.


    He walked down, struck by the awful sensation that some source of magic was nearby, one he could almost follow to the town. The angry voice that usually pestered him was a little lower and less insistent, a thing that made him more alert than before.


    Now in his kitchen he saw Gillibert hopping from his roost to the table.


    ¡°Master! Is Sir Alard coming to visit us today?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    The owlet flew to its master¡¯s shoulder while he served water for himself from a small jar.


    ¡°And when are you going to give him your reply?¡±


    ¡°Later.¡±


    The little owl seemed to try to work around a delicate topic without knowing how. Even so, he didn¡¯t stand quiet for too long:


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking, why are the other mages imprisoned?¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t¡­¡± Isemberd said, looking outside through the window. He tried to explain: ¡°The thing is¡­ well¡­ it isn¡¯t. Could be worse.¡±


    He tried to change topics.


    ¡°Do you want to visit the town¡¯s square today?¡±


    The dreaded question came anyway:


    ¡°Are you going to try to help the person from Soryn?¡±


    Isemberd let out a heavy sigh and left his cup on the table.


    ¡°I¡¯m considering a refusal. I don¡¯t know her, I¡¯m not supposed to have anything to do with all this.¡±


    ¡°What would be the problem?¡± The owlet insisted, curious.


    ¡°The problem is way too complicated for me to explain.¡±


    ¡°You will need the evil book, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    An intense silence engulfed them. Gillibert seemed decided to find a solution as Isemberd almost could see the cogs spinning inside the owlet¡¯s little head.


    ¡°Master¡­¡± he started, carefully.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m also, well, you know, not a person. But I¡¯m also from Soryn.¡± He goggled at his guardian. ¡°And you, I mean, you¡¯re my master and my best friend!¡±


    They gazed at each other for a long and uncomfortable moment.


    ¡°What if¡­¡± the owlet tried, taking one little step to the right, then another one to the left.


    ¡°Leave it to me.¡± Isemberd interrupted him. ¡°Right?¡±


    Gillibert flew to the window.


    ¡°Right!¡± He chirped.


    As the mage was about to cut a slice of bread for himself, the magical animal yelled:


    ¡°Oh and Master! Of course I want to visit the town!¡±


    He smirked shortly.


    ¡°You missed your chance, should have replied earlier.¡±


    ¡°We can investigate the big flat house!¡±


    Isemberd didn¡¯t say anything and the owl insisted:


    ¡°And you can also walk a little! And meet Master Alard and maybe deal with things quickly? Oh-oh and you can also buy those nice filled bread!¡±


    Isemberd seemed to be pondering about it. Before the owl could insist even more, he got something to eat. When finished, he waved a magic sign toward the window. The whole house started closing itself up, chairs pushed themselves towards the dinner table, the door opened and the windows closed. The weather was good and the day was too hot, so the sage decided to go without his cloak or his staff.


    He started the walk to Otterwesh with Gillibert cheerfully flying ahead. While within the grove, he decided to close his eyes and focus on the sounds of the woods. No magic involved, simply paying attention to the signs nature usually yielded, like normal people did.


    He didn¡¯t like the signs the grove was giving that day. It was weird, as Gillibert said, a hint of anticipating silence, waiting for something, as if the grove itself was holding its breath. To add insult to injury, the hexing voice of the spirit started mumbling in his ear, taunting him about it.


    Ignoring the spirit, the sage arrived in the town and sat by the town hall¡¯s shadow, near the center square where a nice fountain was spilling water up. Otter¡¯s Den, the tavern run by Mr. Louis was nearby, and a street connected the square to the market from where they came. Isemberd was quietly observing people coming and going, while Gillibert was having fun with the water.


    Deeply lost in thought, the sage was looking at the inn the owlet called the big flat house on the other side of the street. He couldn¡¯t feel the pain of a magic source nearby, but kept himself alert anyway.


    A girly voice broke him out of his annoyed meditation:


    ¡°Good morning, teacher!¡± someone greeted, running towards the sage.


    ¡°Hey, little poet.¡± he replied moving aside, so the girl could sit near him. ¡°How have you been?¡±


    Maeven bowed clumsily before sitting.


    ¡°Very well, thank you! How is your health?¡±


    Gillibert came flying to land near the girl, and she caressed his head.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°A little better.¡± He replied. ¡°Thanks for worrying. Do you or your brother have anything new for me to read?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I had no idea I would meet with you today, so I left everything at home. Joran might have a few notes and drafts with him, though.¡± She shrugged apologetically and added: ¡°I met a traveling lady that likes to write too, so she¡¯s helping me practice before our next class!¡±.


    Maeven seemed really excited about it.


    ¡°She¡¯s staying in that inn, by the way.¡± she pointed out to the big flat house.


    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Isemberd replied.


    ¡°Is way more fun to write with company and friends.¡± She thought out loud.


    Gillibert hopped to her shoulder.


    ¡°I trust you.¡± Isemberd said, trying to not sound too monotone or boring. ¡°I never tried.¡±


    ¡°Joran said we could visit you sometime in the future. I¡¯ll bring pie this time!¡± She said, excited, and then added: ¡°And I think that when you¡¯re teaching us, it counts as writing with company.¡±


    Something on the way Maeven spoke reminded the sage of Gillibert. The owlet looked at her before waving its wings, excited. Isemberd nodded with a smirk.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right. In that case, yes, I also think writing with company is better.¡±


    ¡°Joran think so too!¡± she added. ¡°Can I play with Gillibert over there? I¡¯m waiting for my friends.¡±


    He nodded, and the girl left with the owlet on her shoulder, while the sage stopped to savor a small moment of silence and peaceful pondering. The sun was pleasantly warm, he closed his eyes for a long moment. Not even the angry and constant voice of the haunting spirit was enough to stop his enjoyment of that moment.


    Then, the uncomfortable feeling started to grow inside him. Isemberd sat straight, looking towards the direction of the feeling. A typical group of adventurers was coming out of Otter¡¯s Den and, the sage looked them up searching for the signs of a stereotypical magic student, but founding none. He looked for Gillibert and saw him flying near Maeven while other children walked close to them carrying a ball and chatting loudly.


    Then, he noticed a woman walking towards them, waving to greet Maeven, that just happened to hold Gillibert on her hands and was about to come bring him to Isemberd.


    ¡°Miss Maeven! How are you today?¡±


    ¡°Hi miss! I¡¯m doing good, how are you?¡± she tried to bow and tripped, almost falling.


    The lady held her and Isemberd felt a painful wave hit him, his head aching as if he had just been hit and even his vision got blurry. He focused on reaching his inner magic source and the pain subsided while he started to see the magic flowing around the mysterious lady. Even the spirit got quiet, if only for a short moment. He got up besides the pain and dizziness, that quickly disappeared as his magic started anchoring his senses back into reality.


    ¡°I¡¯m doing well.¡± The woman replied to the girl. ¡°So, who''s this owl from?¡±


    Isemberd was getting close, walking fast, and Maeven raised Gillibert in his direction. The bird flew to his shoulder, cuddling to him and looking a little scared.


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s from my writing teacher!¡± she replied innocently. ¡°His name¡¯s Gillibert.¡±


    The sage could feel her power like a suffocating warm from a wildfire, and he could see some blueish translucent flames dancing around them.


    ¡°Sir.¡± She called and he blinked, a little distracted.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    The young lady was good-looking, wearing a practical and well-made dress in reds and browns. Her attire was completely under the fashion rules of the north, where it was colder at this time of the year. Her simple jewelry, rings and delicate bracelets made of silver, completed the looks a noble lady.


    Not only that, but her demeanor and posture however were resolute and firm as she had a few battle scars on her arms and hands. The sleeves of her dress were tucked above her elbows, showing strong arms for a woman. Her way of speaking showed some degree of military training, a treatment reserved in some places up north for third or fourth noble children, sometimes even women.


    Without a family crest to see, however Isemberd couldn¡¯t pinpoint where exactly she was from. The young lady said, looking him in the eyes:


    ¡°Good morning, sir! I saw your bird there playing with the children and couldn¡¯t help but worry!¡± as she spoke, the sage tried to relax his posture a little and wait for her to finish. Her demeanor was genuinely urgent when she added: ¡°I know they¡¯re very rare animals around here, and they look cute, but these owls are very, very dangerous, even at this age.¡±


    Her face was pretty and her hair was short, held together by a cute hairpin shaped like a half-moon. She was one head shorter than Isemberd, and when he observed her face, it were her eyes that gave away her place of origin.


    She had a very clear heterochromia in her eyes, with a big vertical scar on the right side of the face, probably from a surgery. The eye with the natural color was hazel, but her magical eye had a natural tinge of red, almost like the eye of a rabbit.


    A pretty red eye that emanated invisible magic flames, made to hunt and to help kill mages during the war. Isemberd replied, with the same serene and neutral expression as usual:


    ¡°I recently came back from a trip to Soryn. Bought the owl still in the egg with a merchant near Scarwood Fortress, milady.¡± he said, ¡°It is a marvelous creature, and has been very well-behaved.¡±


    That was the story agreed upon with Count Wells. The lady still looked really bothered.


    ¡°Sure, sure, but still, is a bird of prey, sir, its talons are very sharp, even at this size.¡± She leaned a little bit, looking at Gillibert with a serious gaze. ¡°You can¡¯t let it near children like that, an accident could happen! Imagine if something startles it, and it claws the face of a little boy or girl?¡±


    ¡°Miss Morgan, Gillibert is very nice!¡± Maeven tried to intervene. ¡°And I¡¯m always careful to not scare him¡­¡±


    Isemberd hesitated. That family name was unpleasantly familiar.


    ¡°I believe in you Maeven, but it¡¯s better to not try our luck, right?¡± the lady replied.


    The little girl shook her head, clearly tempted to agree. Gillibert chirped from his master¡¯s shoulder, but still looked a little tense. The woman nodded patiently.


    ¡°He is a very calm animal.¡± The alchemist insisted. ¡°But I understand your worries, miss, I¡¯ll try to be more careful with it, but Maeven is a special case, she has a thing for handling animals.¡±


    ¡°My brother says the same thing!¡± she added, moving to stay besides Isemberd.


    ¡°Then is settled.¡± Miss Morgan said, giving a nice smile, ¡°Sorry to bother your games, girl.¡±


    The other children of the group waved and yelled at Maeven and Isemberd and the sage waved back at them.


    ¡°Teacher, I¡¯ll go back to play a little more. Joran wanted to see you, if you want we could go there together.¡±


    He tilted his head in a quick nod.


    ¡°We can.¡±


    The little girl stepped away as the mage noticed the foreigner lady was still nearby, looking at his owl with clear interest. Isemberd noticed the magical, almost invisible glow of her red eye. Miss Morrigan was a lady of exotic beauty, with her warrior demeanor and foreigner attire.


    ¡°He does look like a very calm bird¡± She said, finally taking a small step back. ¡°Still, it is good to keep an eye on him.¡±


    ¡°Naturally.¡± he said. ¡°I need to go. Thanks for the warning, milady.¡±


    Before turning, he noticed she was now observing him with the same degree of attention now. Her eyes moved to the left, examining his face and probably his emerald earring that should be glowing under the sun. Isemberd had a hunch his disguise were very fragile at the moment.


    ¡°Wait, please.¡± She asked, resting her hands on her waist. ¡°You do match the depiction lord Wells gave me from this town¡¯s new apothecary. You certainly aren¡¯tn¡¯t an old lady called Rosemary, so¡­¡±


    Isemberd nodded.


    ¡°Yes, I am.¡± He pushed Gillibert on his shoulder a bit. ¡°Do you need any of my services, milady¡­?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Erika Morgan.¡± she did a polite bow, ¡°What is your name, sir?¡±


    His throat was dry and he felt uncomfortable. Morgan was a noble house from Soryn, and he remembered their iconic herald, the blood-red griffin, very well. One of his most horrible battles were in a skirmish against knights and mages of the House Morgan.


    He was worried she would recognize him from some sort of portrait or depiction from military reports of her family, or the rumors spread in Soryn after the war. The few mages on the Crystal Octahedron of Neoria ended up gathering a big reputation between their old enemies, and Isemberd had imagined his appearance was well known.


    ¡°I¡¯m Isemberd.¡± He presented, doing a short and polite bow.


    ¡°No family name, neither place of origin?¡± she asked.


    The sage nodded.


    ¡°Yes, milady, it is a very long story.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I won¡¯t bother you with it. Can I visit you some other time?¡±


    Isemberd agreed.


    ¡°Of course, Lady Morgan. Can you tell me in advance what services do you need?¡±


    She leaned a little, her eyes fixed on what Isemberd imagined it was his earring again. Lady Morgan gave him a side eye.


    She was giving him too many quick looks, and her magic eye was emitting more magic essence than before, enough for him to see it moving towards him like flame tentacles. The mage hunter was trying to confirm that Isemberd was a mage, and she would probably be successful with it, but he breathed heavily.


    ¡°I have a document from Neoria, written by Count Wells himself, detailing the conditions of my protection in his territory.¡± she looked embarrassed and baffled for a moment. ¡°The thing is, I need it properly proofread and explained to me, I couldn¡¯t understand well all the terms of our families truce. Some of your laws are absurdly confusing! And to boot, people seem to have a weird aversion to magic¡­¡±


    The uncovered mage breathed in deeply, and exhaled, pushing her power back with care, slowly making his magic overpower hers and take up space around him. He felt for a moment something rising inside him, like a deep desire to puke. Recognizing what it was and quickly taking action upon it, gritting his teeth and overpowering that too, his own blueish flames were now dancing around him.


    Lady Erika¡¯s magic was gently pushed away, not too strong to cause her pain, but with enough difference in power for her to get the message: he didn¡¯t want her to keep prodding his magic source with hers. They exchanged a silent gaze of mutual understanding, and the noble lady seemed confused.


    Isemberd replied about the work she asked, his cold grey eyes locked into hers:


    ¡°They are in fact very bureaucratic, and it is easy to need a law specialist to deal with simple things.¡± a pause, while the big wildfire of magic around him started to shrink and disappear, and then he added. ¡°Just follow the trail through the grove after the town¡¯s market, it leads right into my home. And yes, people lately are very distrustful of magic practitioners, so I suggest you keep a low profile about it until you¡¯ve gained their trust.¡±


    ¡°Noted, Mr. Isemberd. Thanks for the warning.¡± She took one step away, and he could see her own magic power retreating. ¡°I¡¯ll be going tomorrow, is that okay?¡±


    They agreed at dealing with her documents the next day and then she left. When he was outside public view, Isemberd moved in to a corner behind a house and mumbled:


    ¡°You can relax now.¡±


    ¡°Master¡­ what was that thing in her eyes?¡± Gillibert asked with a weak voice.


    ¡°Nothing¡± the mage said, grabbing the owlet with his hands and making it face him. ¡°Look here and listen.¡±


    Gillibert stood quiet, in between the mage¡¯s fingers.


    ¡°She did recognize you, but I still doubt she knows you¡¯re capable of speaking. Therefore¡­¡±


    ¡°I keep very, very quiet!¡±


    ¡°Exactly. She also knows I¡¯m a mage, and she tried to see how strong I am, but I doubt she could pinpoint I fought her family.¡±


    ¡°She seemed very scary.¡± Gillibert said. ¡°But I don¡¯t know why, she sounded so kind.¡±


    Isemberd caressed the bird¡¯s head.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. She didn¡¯t mean to scare you. Let¡¯s go home?¡±


    ¡°At least now you know her, master!¡± Gillibert said.


    The mage didn¡¯t reply and seemed to be lost in thought, with a tense expression, as if he was feeling very sick. They went back to the town square to find Maeven and then to the store where Joran worked to meet him. The sage didn¡¯t take long to leave and agreed to meet his friend and his sister to write more day the next week. The magic aura he now knew belonged to Erika Morgan¡¯s right eye was nowhere to be seen.


    Unfazed by that fateful meeting, the mage thought it was a good idea to be ready for any unpleasant situation. He went back home and Gillibert was not much of a chatterbox as per usual. The deafening silence was annoying the mage, together with how little the haunting spirit was mumbling now. After meeting Erika, the evil force that followed Isemberd was too quiet for his taste.


    At home, he went to make some tea and tried to cheer Gillibert up, and soon everything was back to normal. Suddenly, the spirit¡¯s fury was so intense and its presence was so vile, the mage had to cover himself in his magic cloak spell to be able to muffle his senses and do his chores.


    Later that night, he removed the spell and noticed something changed. The spirit was silent, and Isemberd decided that was a good moment like any other to sleep. His sixth sense, however, made him uneasy with the feeling something was wrong that never disappeared from his mind until he fell asleep in silence, stuck with only his own thoughts for the first time in a long time.


    As if this time was the evil spirit¡¯s turn to hold his breath, lying in wait.

 10 - Jinx

    Isemberd slept and woke up in a surprising and welcome silence. He went to bed prepared for horrible nightmares, sickness, and an overall terrible night, besides waking up with the spirit making him feel sick like the last noon.


    The sun still hasn¡¯t risen yet, and the silence made Isemberd sit down, scared and breathing heavily, jump-scaring Gillibert. The owlet flew around, opened wings, looking for the imaginary aggressor to his master. The mage calmed him down before rubbing his face.


    That was the very first time in a long while that he slept with no nightmares, stuck with only his own thoughts. He decided to not say anything about it to Gillibert.


    The mage started his day as usual: journal, opening the windows, preparing a breakfast, check his medicines for the day. He felt the spirit nearby, but the being was quiet and distant, enough to give the young man some peace, and even his shoulders felt lighter.


    Gillibert was soon back from his morning flying around the grove, complaining about how quiet it was for that day. Isemberd gave him something to eat and was surprised by a couple of farmers that arrived with their child. The boy had been bitten by some insect and his hand was swollen.


    Isemberd gave them some tea and asked a few questions. After testing a few things, he applied a salve to the boy¡¯s hand and prepared an elixir of herbs while explained how they should use it. He gave them a vial of the medicine and wrote down rigid instructions on how to treat the wound.


    The little small talk they had with the sage after that was mostly about the woods. The boy¡¯s father was complaining about how dark and quiet the grove was and how the road felt longer than usual.


    Soon, the family was on their way home, crossing the grove back to the town. Isemberd observed the woods for a while, squinting with a distrustful look, before closing the door. He went back to his table, picking up a piece of paper and tearing a corner. With a quill and ignoring the owl¡¯s nice comments about how he was good with children, he started drawing.


    Isemberd marked the paper with a symbol that looked like a knot, and drew a few marks alongside it that looked like stars. He then painfully poked the tip of his finger and let a droplet of his blood fall at the center of the knot.


    With the hurt hand he joined two fingers to his thumb, making a circle, and stretched the other fingers as much as he could. His eyes grew a purple and in an ominous membrane, as if it was a thick ink trying to escape from his eyes.


    He was now seeing outside the house, as if he was near the pathway through the woods. He blinked and now he was looking at the backyard. Using that spell, he changed positions until seeing the family leave through the grove, then he looked a little more around the house. When he felt satisfied with his observation, he undid the spell and his eyes went back to normal. His head ached terribly at the end of that and he needed to hold onto the table to not lose his balance.


    ¡°Master! Is everything okay?¡± Gillibert asked.


    After a long moment of pondering, his eyes locked to the dried blood on the paper, the mage mumbled:


    ¡°No.¡±


    The owl landed near him, close to his hands.


    ¡°Were you looking around the house through the trees of the spirit lady?¡±


    ¡°I was¡± the mage replied grumpy, ¡°Everything seems¡­ too quiet.¡±


    The owlet tilted his head, his eyes wide opened.


    ¡°Master, you¡¯re looking very serious.¡±


    Isemberd sighed.


    ¡°Leave it be. Stay close to me today, all right?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master!¡± after a brief pause, he added: ¡°What was the mister complaining about the woods?¡±


    The mage stopped for a moment, focusing on the haunting spirit¡¯s reaction. Nothing.


    ¡°Too quiet.¡± He said, stepping away to carry on his daily chores.


    The morning still had a few hours to go, and the mage spent that time checking each and every one of the house¡¯s spaces. When finished, he sat down at his bed, without too much to ponder in the absence of the spirit¡¯s constant cursing. Gillibert was outside, playing around with something out of Isemberd¡¯s sight. The mage had its staff nearby, his heavy earring always on, his glasses closed in his hands.


    At one gesture, his staff landed at his bed by his side, his glasses flew to his drawer. He laid down and closed his eyes, preparing for a nap, anxious to take this rare opportunity for resting.


    It didn¡¯t last long.


    He woke up hours later, with Gillibert chirping near his face, gently pecking his hand. Isemberd breathed heavily a few times. No nightmares, no furious mumbling about his ruin, nor his terrible memories of the war. He was without the deep angry voice of the spirit and his constant shoulder pain, as if something heavy had been removed from his back.


    He looked to the owlet and soon heard the reason for its excitement.


    ¡°Mister Isemberd!¡± Someone outside called.


    The mage recognized the voice of one of the knights of Wells. He couldn¡¯t remember their name well, but he put a lot of effort into memorizing voices and faces. He went downstairs and opened the door.


    ¡°Sir!¡± The warrior greeted, breathing heavily, as if he had just finished a long sprint. ¡°Lord Alard requires your presence with the utmost urgency!¡±


    Isemberd frowned.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    The knight hesitated and leaned to the side a little, searching for something inside his pocket.


    ¡°Our sorceress ordered us to not speak of anything and just deliver you this.¡±


    Isemberd felt his blood freezing even before touching the parchment. That was a measure specific against spirits. Evil spirits, specially. The knight gave the mage a folded piece of scroll, that he took and opened.


    Isemberd could already feel something was wrong even before looking up at the paper¡¯s content. The absence of the spirit, the wind out of character, the feeling something was lurking in the woods, and now another mage trying to warn him about something. He looked at the scribbles in the parchment.


    The symbol was a knot, the same that represented the magic school that meddled with the immaterial, the same he used for the spell to look around the house. It was done with haste, the eight little stars poorly marked along the lines. The whole knot was hatched with uneven lines, but Isemberd understood the message of it.


    The symbol of the Spirit Constellation, tinted in black.


    ¡°Is your sorceress the Count¡¯s mage apprentice?¡± He asked, folding the parchment again.


    ¡°Yes, sir, Lady Eloane is her name.¡± the knight readily responded.


    Isemberd remembered the young maiden that studied magic under Count Well¡¯s counselor. He shook his head.


    ¡°Wait here, I¡¯ll go pick up my things.¡±


    ¡°Sir!¡± the knight seemed really worried. ¡°I need to go back as fast as possible!¡±


    Isemberd pointed to the woods.


    ¡°If you enter the woods by yourself, you might not leave it alive, sir. Wait for me, it won¡¯t take long.¡±


    In fact, after one quick wave of the mage¡¯s hand while he walked to his office, the whole house violently slammed shut. Chairs pushed themselves, jars closed and food packet itself and flew to its place. His cloak, glasses, and staff came flying to him. Doors and windows locked themselves.


    ¡°Master! Master!¡± Gillibert came flying around the mage. ¡°The itch! It¡¯s everywhere! Very very strong!¡±


    He landed near the mage¡¯s neck and cuddled to him, scared.


    ¡°It will go away soon.¡± The mage said, bluntly.


    The wind outside got very strong when Isemberd left the house and dark clouds started to gather on the sky. The mage closed the door behind him and grabbed his oil lamp, leaving it hanging from his staff. With a small sign of the Matter Constellation, he forced the oil to ignite, feeling the warm first leave his hands and arms.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± He said to the knight. ¡°Stay close to me and ignore everything you hear, do you understand?¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Everything, sir?¡±


    ¡°Until we arrive at Otterwesh¡¯s first light¡± Isemberd said slowly, ¡°Everything you hear is probably an illusion. A spell. I¡¯ll keep absolute silence until we¡¯re there, no matter what you hear.¡±


    An uncomfortable pause between him and the young knight. The man unsheathed his blade, putting on a brave act, but Isemberd knew it was only for his own emotional support.


    ¡°Are we clear? I want us both to arrive at the other side of these woods, sir.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. Utter silence.¡± The warrior responded.


    The two young men entered the woods. While walking, the lamp¡¯s flame gradually turned purple, giving the dark grove a dreamy and suffocating air.


    Abnormal sounds started to pierce the strong wind and the ruffling of the tree leaves. Many arrhythmic growls, hoofs spanking the floor, nervous boar sounds, wings flapping, sticks breaking¡­


    Isemberd raised his head and walked through the trail in the woods. His gaze pierced the darkness, looking for any possible source of real danger trying to hide in all the illusory sounds and threats.


    For many minutes they walked the short distance between the sage¡¯s home and the small town, and the path seemed to not have an end. Night was approaching with an ominous speed, and the wind seemed to grow stronger the closer to the end of the grove they were. Isemberd could feel the evil spirit nearby, not as present as usual, as if the entity were trying to hide from him.


    They arrived at Otterwesh and the lamp¡¯s flame reverted to its normal color. The mage let out a heavy sigh.


    ¡°We¡¯re safe. Where is Alard?¡±


    The knight sheathed his sword and rubbed away the sweat on his forehead, visibly nervous.


    ¡°Near the town hall, close to the fountain.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Are you okay?¡±


    The knight shook his head.


    ¡°I heard you say things. Terrible things¡­¡±


    Isemberd raised his chin, his gray angry eyes seemed to contain a storm of their own.


    ¡°The Third Star do not lie, sir. You have my word I kept quiet the whole way here.¡±


    They exchanged a tense look for a brief moment as the young knight looked away.


    ¡°I believe in you, sir.¡±


    Isemberd held him by the shoulder for a moment.


    ¡°Thank you. Don¡¯t let anyone enter the grove until we have this settled.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    Isemberd then left. Gillibert kept in silence as they were in town as the young sage walked quickly towards the town hall. He could feel many traces of magic coming from many places and needed to focus to perceive the spirit. The entity was still trying to stay as far away from Isemberd as they could.


    He found Alard with three other knights near the fountain. Sitting on the stone it was a pretty young lady, wearing clothes for the road and a cloak, being tended by the old apothecary, Miss Rosemary. The sorceress seemed to have trouble breathing, and everyone stepped a little back when the second healer of Otterwesh arrived.


    ¡°Isemberd!¡± Alard called, pulling his friend a bit far from the small commotion. ¡°We have a very serious problem.¡±


    ¡°I can see.¡±


    ¡°She disappeared.¡± The nobleman said ¡°Eloane tried to track her with magic and now she seemed to be struck by the plague.¡±


    ¡°I need you to describe to me everything that happened.¡± The mage said. ¡°Include every weird sound, smell, feeling or itch you can remember.¡±


    ¡°There was nothing too noteworthy. Lady Morgan, the noble that I was to present to you, disappeared today in the morning. Nobody saw her since last night.¡± Alard took a quick glance at Lady Eloane. ¡°Nobody seemed to notice anything different, except that she was not at breakfast today.¡±


    Isemberd shook his head.


    ¡°It¡¯s a miracle there is not a small mob of curious people here. I need to examine either your sorceress or Erika¡¯s room.¡±


    The knight raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°How do you¡­¡±


    ¡°I met her yesterday, by sheer luck.¡± The mage explained.


    Alard continued:


    ¡°We won¡¯t be able to take Eloane out of Miss Rosemary¡¯s care, but I can put us inside Lady Morgan¡¯s room.¡±


    The mage felt Eloane¡¯s gaze towards him. She goggled at him, her face red while she coughed and struggled to breathe. She was a very young lady, with a round face, brown eyes and a dark blonde hair, tied in a ponytail. Isemberd raised a finger to his lips, asking for silence.


    For a scary moment, he expected her to point to him or have any other intense reaction. Eloane looked away instead and, as if by magic, her cough started dying down. Isemberd felt a horrible pain to his neck, together with a heavy dizziness that almost took him down. Gillibert felt something wrong and chirped, clawing the mage¡¯s shoulder a bit. His shoulder started hurting, as if each of his arms had a heavy pack of stones tied to them.


    The spirit was back.


    Isemberd could feel the evil presence nearby, as if someone was right behind him, chin over his shoulder, waiting for an opportunity to jump scare and curse him once more.


    Whatever it was that the spirit was plotting, it decided it was in time to come back to bother the mage.


    ¡°Berd?¡± Alard¡¯s voice brought his senses back to the material world.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look good.¡±


    Isemberd grimaced involuntarily.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move already.¡±


    Sir Alard didn¡¯t need much to convince the owner of the inn to let them enter Erika¡¯s room. Alard explained the truth, that he and the sage needed to investigate the room because of her disappearance.


    ¡°She couldn¡¯t go far.¡± Alard said, ¡°She can¡¯t locate herself here without a guide.¡±


    ¡°How did she arrive at Otterwesh?¡± Isemberd asked.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t! She got lost!¡± the knight explained, ¡°She ended up near a very small village that happened to have an undead problem and she rescued them.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­¡±


    ¡°Imagine how I felt when she wasn¡¯t at our agreed meeting place when I arrived there. That¡¯s why I got late.¡±


    Isemberd sighed in front of the door.


    ¡°I have a pretty good guess of where she is and how she is and what we should do.¡±


    He opened the door and entered.


    ¡°And¡­?¡± Alard insisted, walking behind him.


    ¡°You will hate the experience.¡± The mage said.


    ¡°Berd.¡± Alard¡¯s voice went down a bit as he closed the door behind himself. ¡°I¡¯m not liking this talk.¡±


    The mage kneeled near the window. He examined the floor where boot footprints marked the wood. He opened the window and Gillibert entered.


    ¡°I prefer a very bitter truth¡­¡± Alard recited.


    ¡°Then a sweet lie.¡± Isemberd interrupted and completed the quote for his friend. ¡°I just have to check one thing.¡±


    He formed the sign of the Spirit Constellation with one hand. His eyes covered in a purple membrane and he spent a few seconds in silence. He observed the room, the roof, the bed. His staff levitated near the door while he laid down near the bed to check under the bed. He stood up with a small leather bag smaller than his hand. He turned those purple eyes to his friend with a neutral expression, but his voice sounded frustrated and low.


    ¡°Alard, I¡¯ll need help.¡±


    The knight replied quickly:


    ¡°My sword is bound to you, Third Star. I swore an oath by my tower and the honor of my family that I would protect you from any harm from this world¡­¡±


    A thunder roared outside, as if nature itself was a witness of the knight''s words.


    ¡°¡­or from the other!¡±


    The spell that covered the eyes of the mage dispersed itself and he looked at his friend for a brief, embarrassing and uncomfortable moment.


    ¡°Miss Morgan is in my home.¡± He said.


    Alard nodded.


    ¡°If we run right now¡­¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t arrive in time to save her.¡± he pointed, ¡°This window goes into the backyard, and we can see the grove from here.¡±


    He called:


    ¡°Gillibert. Come here.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master!¡± The owlet came flying.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to fly to Miss Eloane and stay there, together with her and the knights. Land on her shoulder and do not leave, no matter what you hear, see or feel.¡±


    The owl looked up at him with wide eyes.


    ¡°Master, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Swear to me!¡± Isemberd grunted. ¡°And repeat what I said.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡± Gillibert walked back a few small steps. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll stay with the magic lady. I won¡¯t leave, no matter what I hear, see or feel.¡±


    Isemberd caressed the owlet¡¯s head and gently pushed him outside. Gillibert went away, flying by himself.


    ¡°I sincerely hope you won¡¯t get too dizzy.¡± he mumbled, waving for Alard to get closer.


    His staff came flying and stopped by his side. The knight stood near him.


    ¡°Berd¡­¡±


    ¡°Later! Give me your hand.¡±


    Alard offered the hand to his friend. Isemberd grabbed it firmly. With the other hand he formed his usual magic sign, for the Matter Constellation. They started levitating towards the window and went out. Isemberd floated gently for a moment and grabbed his staff, making the veins of light over it shine with a red glow.


    Then, they accelerated, like an arrow, flying over the grove. They flew over the trees fast, and it was impossible to talk with their speed as the sound of the heavy wind around them was deafening. Isemberd occasionally slowed down for a brief moment, tilting his body a little and looking around to orient himself.


    They crossed the woods in less than a third of the time they would with the road. Both young men landed on the backyard behind the house, where Isemberd had plans of creating a garden someday. Alard hit the ground and rolled, trying to get back on his feet. Isemberd stood down, hanging by his staff. He tried to recompose himself, shaking his head from the dizziness.


    ¡°You were right¡± the knight grunted, standing up straight, ¡°I hated that.¡±


    Isemberd looked up. Something different whispered in his ear, together with the ruffling of the leaves and gentle breeze.


    The gentle voice of a maiden that said an encouragement to her noble knight. The mage gritted his teeth in a grimace. Soon a second spiritual whisper covered his ears, an angry taunt that soon turned into an evil laughter that grew louder, until Isemberd could hear it from inside his room, coming from his opened window.


    Above them, Erika Morgan was laughing, her magic eye glowing red with malice. There was a powerful and dark magic aura flowing around her, like a wildfire of black flames. Her expression was mad and her tilted grin showed a lot of teeth. Between a blink of an eye and another, she disappeared, but her laugh echoed for a terrifying moment.


    The weight over Isemberd¡¯s shoulder disappeared for good and he knew that the spirit was now sitting on another place.


    ¡°Berd¡± Alard called, ¡°I won¡¯t lie: I¡¯m scared.¡±


    Isemberd nodded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, my friend.¡± His eyes ached, his knees were weak and trembling, and his hands were cold. He was terrified. Still, his voiced sounded steady with fake confidence: ¡°I¡¯m here with you.¡±


    He took the first step towards the enormous evil that he used to carry within. Isemberd would never admit it, but he was breathing heavily while using his magic to keep himself from falling down or running away.


    ¡°I trust you.¡± Alard said, unsheathing his sword. ¡°But I¡¯m just not used to fight monsters from the other world.¡±


    The Third Star would never allow an invader like that to do as he pleases inside the only house he ever had. He moved forward, opening the backdoor of his house, entering the dark with the noble knight right behind him.

 Interlude - The Mages Staff

    Three days before, during Isemberd¡¯s pondering of Alard¡¯s plea, he had a vital task to take care of. Gillibert was outside and the mage just finished tending to one of the town¡¯s guardsmen that needed some medicine for sleep.


    The mage had a bad headache that day and was postponing the repairs on his attic for a while. He decided to deal with it the very next day, and as he waited for his kettle to finish boiling water for a tea he waved, bringing his staff floating to him.


    He grabbed the tool and his hands settled comfortably around the familiar wood. It was a simple-polished object of a proper size perfect to help traverse bad terrain.


    Isemberd put the staff over the table and observed the surface of the wood. He focused just enough to make the magic veins that covered it show themselves. Some were failing, losing its glow or straight up broken at some points. He brought a few more utensils floating from his study office, a scroll, ink, and a quill small jewelry.


    Organizing two gold earrings and a few coins on top of the paper, he then prepared the ink and turned to his kettle to prepare a herb infusion. He left the tea sitting on his black teapot and went back to his staff.


    The tool would usually give him a peculiar emotional response. The magic weapon shared with him some good and bad moments. He levitated the staff and turned it around to observe how the magic markings were behaving.


    After identifying every damaged piece, he landed the staff back on the table.


    ¡°Master! Magic itch!¡± Gillibert entered, yelling near him.


    Isemberd got jump scared and turned to the owl, that flew in so silently he didn¡¯t notice him.


    ¡°This time, it¡¯s me.¡± He explained, regaining his composure.


    ¡°Oh, your staff is glowing!¡±


    The mage nodded.


    ¡°It is. Can you see it?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Yellowy, like a candle fire.¡±


    Isemberd gently grabbed the owlet and moved it to a corner of the table, far from the scroll, the gold, and the ink.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stay on the way.¡± He said.


    Gillibert hopped to the nearby chair¡¯s backrest.


    ¡°What are you doing with the staff, master?¡±


    Isemberd organized the gold inside a polished stone mortar that came flying from his office.


    ¡°A repair, I would say.¡±


    He moved to sit in front of his stove, where firewood burned nicely.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need absolute silence, all right?¡±


    ¡°Yes master! I¡¯ll be very very quiet.¡±


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Isemberd sat in lotus position near the fire, with the little mortar between him and the burning wood. His gray gaze lost itself into a deep contemplation of the flame, while his hands this time shaped a different magic sign. It was a triangle made with both hands, all fingertips touching except for his thumbs where the knuckles were touching while the tips of his thumbs were pointing upwards.


    Like a little flame inside a triangle.


    Slowly, the fire started changing colors, turning into a bright blue. The mage closed his eyes while the flames started creeping out of the stove towards the gold, surrounding it with white and blue flames. The process took a little more than a few moments, and soon the flames were turning back to its normal colors and slithering back to its original place.


    The earrings and coins were gone, melted into a thick liquid. He levitated it cautiously towards the table. He grabbed the quill and started to draw shapes on the widespread scroll that reminded him of lightnings.


    Furthermore, he then drew two triangles on the edges of it, connecting the lines. He formed the symbol again with his hands and observed the mortar full of gold turn and spread the content over the parchment that erupted in flames. Gillibert got scared and flew away to the top of a cupboard, where he could observe things in safety.


    The fire however, started to dance over the scroll without consuming it as the mage forced it to follow his bidding. Slowly, the lightning drawings were covered in gold and Isemberd was muttering something.


    From the melted metal, a few droplets started levitating, taking away from the mixture impurities the mage didn¡¯t want. He looked extremely focused, eyes squinting a little, sweat forming on his forehead. He moved the metallic waste back into the mortar and, when satisfied with his work, relaxed his hands, undoing the magic sign.


    Taking the paper gently, he pushed it towards the staff that levitated above it to make space. The magic tool started spinning very slowly while the gold floated and glowed in a pretty stream that started mixing itself with the wood.


    ¡°Wow! Master! That¡¯s so amazing!¡± Gillibert chirped.


    ¡°Quiet!¡± the mage retorted.


    He kept focused on the procedure until all the gold was now properly applied to the wood staff. When it was over, he left out a tired and long sigh. Isemberd stretched his hands and then grabbed his staff, that glowed faintly to his touch and made some noise, as if it were metal straight out of a forge and into the water.


    ¡°Right.¡± he said. ¡°You can talk now.¡±


    ¡°It is the first time I see Master making such an elaborate spell! That was very very interesting to see!¡±


    The mage hesitated, taking a look at the fiery gold covering his staff.


    ¡°Keeping the magic staff in good shape is vital.¡±


    The black owl flew towards him.


    ¡°Why Master?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like your interest in magic.¡± He replied. ¡°But I get it.¡±


    ¡°Master!¡± Gillibert protested, ¡°How can someone not find magic such an amazing thing?¡±


    Isemberd shook his head and said, ominously:


    ¡°There are people and there are people.¡± He brushed his hand over the scroll and it turned into a thin ash that soon disappeared too. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I have some problems that it helps me deal with.¡±


    ¡°I got it!¡± Gillibert puffed his chest. ¡°Master, you look tired.¡±


    The mage kept both hands now firmly grabbing the staff, the magic veins of gold glowing and pulsing.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. More importantly, if I need to fight now, it would be pretty much impossible for me to be defeated.¡±


    Gillibert widened his eyes.


    ¡°Really really?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°But Master, I¡¯m sure nothing would want to fight you! You¡­ you¡­ you make an amazing tea!¡±


    Isemberd left out a chuckle.


    ¡°I hope so¡­¡± He waved his hand and the teapot came floating to the table, while the tools went flying back to their proper places in the study office. Teacups came and Isemberd sat down and poured tea for himself while Gillibert told him his last adventures interacting with the animals in the grove.


    All the time the mage seemed more and more tired, as his magic staff glowed with a golden glow, almost as if it had a heart of its own.

 11 - Possession

    Isemberd¡¯s home felt vast and dark. Windows were half opened and bumping constantly due to the wind. The echoing laughter of the spirit had disappeared, and in its place were now the beast-like sounds of animals. As if a whole forest were inside, ready to pounce on them.


    Alard had his sword in his hands with his guard properly held up, ready for a fight. Isemberd walked in front of him. Both of them went in through the back door into the space the mage rarely used, a small storage room where he kept food and other things. The floor was dirty and covered in dead leaves and mud, which caused the mage to stop and look at his surroundings, checking the ceiling as well as the walls before continuing.


    ¡°Berd¡± the knight whispered. The little whisper he made being almost completely muffled by the sound of the windows slamming themselves. ¡°Upstairs?¡± questioned Alard.


    The mage nodded. He then felt something weird in the back of his head. He knew very well the rules of a possession made through the Spirit Constellation. Not only that, but he was bitter about it, but upon reflecting on what he had noticed, all the rules were properly accomplished by the evil being that was haunting him.


    The kitchen¡¯s window opened abruptly and in between a blink of an eye and another, someone appeared leaning over a chair on the other side of the table. It was blocking their path to the front door of the house.


    ¡°Well, well, if it isn¡¯t two scared little mice!¡± Erika mocked, as they saw her red eye glowing in the dark due to the windows slamming shut every moment. Her voice sounded odd, with a second growling sound over it. ¡°And coming home from the back door! Were you looking for me?¡± Erika asked.


    Isemberd¡¯s throat was dry, and he had goosebumps all over his body.


    ¡°Spirit!¡± Alard spoke, loud and firmly. ¡°I¡¯ll give you one opportunity to give up prot¨¦g¨¦e so we can end this tantrum of yours peacefully!¡±


    Erika burst in laugh, hitting the table with her fist a few times.


    ¡°Hello!? I knew you were a little dumb, but I didn¡¯t know you were that dumb!¡± She stopped laughing and left a sword she carried with her on the table. ¡°You and how many mages, sir knight? That shaky and scared four-eyes by your side?¡±


    The haunting spirit laughed.


    ¡°He is a coward, and we know each other very well at this point.¡± The mocking demeanor shifted slowly towards a more angry and serious one. ¡°You know that me being here, using this woman¡¯s body, is your fault, right boy? You let her get too close, didn¡¯t pay the proper attention and then when you realized¡­¡±


    She grinned.


    ¡°So? Are you going to try an exorcism like last time? I hope you¡¯re very well-prepared this time, because I¡¯m not going out without a fight.¡± Her fingers closed around the blade¡¯s handle. ¡°Oh, right! There is no Spirit Master with you this time! How is your friend with the pretty hair going? Is his hand still crippled?¡±


    Isemberd blinked.


    The instant was so short that his only reaction after seeing the sparks flying were taking a surprised and scared step back. The possessed fighter jumped over the table and tried to slash his face with the sword. The strike came in so sudden and fast it would have killed the mage right there, if not for the knight''s intervention.


    Alard backed out a bit as he felt something wrong, his intuition was sharp since his childhood, as it was hammered into his body and polished during the battlefield. Isemberd felt another presence among them, one that caused him to feel a little better. Invisible, cold yet gentle hands were now holding his shoulders.


    ¡°My knight¡­¡± he heard, in between the second loud noise of the blades trading blows.


    Erika jumped back, growling like a giant cat, and then rushed forward again, but the knight was now ready and moved forward to block her. He defended one and then two consecutively strikes, sparks flying from the clash of their blades. She tried a faint from the side, he didn¡¯t buy it, evading the obvious cut that came after it before taking a step back, creating some space between them.


    The possessed mage-hunter took a step back too.


    ¡°Well, once again some fool save your neck from my claws, little boy!¡± The haunting spirit mumbled, moving a little more back as it kicked a chair out of its way. The furniture got violently destroyed when it hit the wall. ¡°Are you going to take credit for that too? Are you going to tell everyone you saved the endangered lady from the monster?¡± The spirit taunted.


    Isemberd breathed in. His hands moved as he exhaled and the sword got yanked from Erika¡¯s hands towards his. He could feel the spiritual realm influence stronger, probably the result of a mighty and forbidden spell to empower spirits.


    ¡°Alard¡± He said, giving the weapon to his friend, that sheathed it. ¡°Do not reply to anything it says. And be careful to not hurt her, Erika must be feeling and seeing everything¡­¡±


    ¡°She certainly is, little boy!¡± the spirit said, pushing the table aside. ¡°It is a shame you can¡¯t hear her crying. She¡¯s a very strong-willed lady, but still¡­¡±


    Isemberd left out a big burst of visible purple energy. Both spirits present were hit with a strong wave of pure anger, so strong it made them step back for a moment. Even Alard felt something strange he could never explain. The mage stopped the knight¡¯s movement forward with his staff, that now had purple veins glowing all over it.


    ¡°Be very careful where you step.¡± Isemberd said, pushing something under the table with his staff that caused a loud and short hiss. ¡°There are magic traps around. I¡¯ll need to find a small pouch like this one.¡± He explained, showing the knight the same little leather bag they found at Erika¡¯s room.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    In the attic¡­ he heard the lady of the forest whispering to him. The haunting spirit¡¯s expression turned into a grimace of anger and it let out an unnatural growl.


    ¡°Smart little bastard. How are you so sure is hidden here?¡±


    ¡°Upstairs?¡± The mage retorted. ¡°Probably in my attic. As if¡­¡±


    The evil spirit roared like a very angry lion. Glasses exploded in pieces, wooden furniture got pushed away and got destroyed, the floor cracked. Isemberd moved in front of Alard, his hand raised in the Matter sign, creating a bubble of safety where things got pushed away from them. When the pandemonium of magic ended, Erika had disappeared.


    ¡°Berd, she is absurdly strong and quick on her feet. We need to be very careful.¡±


    The mage lowered his hands.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move up together. Careful with the traps.¡± he took a look to all the destruction caused inside his kitchen, without being able to process the feeling he was having now. ¡°Do everything possible to not let her touch you.¡±


    Alard nodded.


    ¡°Any nightmarish reason for it? I want to get ready in case it goes wrong.¡±


    The lady of the forest spoke, her voice clear to the mage¡¯s ears:


    ¡°Do not worry, my knight. I will protect him from the corrupter.¡±


    The mage then did not reply to his friend¡¯s question nor the benevolent spirit that was his ally, and started walking to his office. Isemberd stopped near the door and checked inside, before forming a sign that lit up his staff with a gentle white energy.


    He closed the door with magic and the front door and the windows did the same, but the damage made a few pieces of glass and wood fall to the floor with an annoying sound. The two men then got ready to start moving up the stairs.


    Near the very last step, the mage stopped. Looking up, he saw a symbol that resembled a tree, hastily drawn with mud. He levitated up towards it on the ceiling and scratched it with his staff. Landing on the corridor with the rooms of his home, he sighed. Everything seemed darker than normal and the floor was covered with dead dark leaves and mud, the walls dirtied with moss with some other vegetations and scratched as if by the claws of a big beast.


    Isemberd held his staff up with both hands, much like a sword prepared to take a blow. Golden strands of light waved around it and a big, powerful gust of wind pushed everything away, clearing the floor and revealing more of the magic symbols all around the hallway. Another wave of yellowish energy and most of them got smeared and undone.


    ¡°Impressive.¡± Alard mumbled.


    ¡°Not in the slightest.¡± Isemberd retorted. ¡°He might still have some tricks prepared for us.¡±


    They kept moving forward. Suddenly, all the doors opened by themselves. Alard raised his blade, ready to block a strike that never came. From all around the corridor, a laughter echoed, muffling all other sounds around them.


    Isemberd leaned on the wall to peek into a room, then did the same on the other one. Waved his hand, locking them closed once again. He noticed something in the corner of his vision and turned right in time to see Erika¡¯s face disappearing into a room, really close to the floor.


    She was inside his bedroom, creeping on the floor to try to get them by surprise. The mage wouldn¡¯t find it too weird if she also tried to pounce on them from the ceiling.


    ¡°Berd, I have an idea. Do we only need to find the small pouch and untie it?¡± Alard mumbled


    ¡°Yes. I will then exorcize the spirit from her eye, and that should tie him back to me.¡± Isemberd explained.


    ¡°Wait, can¡¯t you just expel it away at once?¡± Alard questioned


    ¡°Is not that simple¡­¡±


    ¡°You COWARD!¡± The evil spirit interrupted their chat. ¡°Go do your dirty work by yourself, you filthy sorcerer! Will you really let the mister knight touch my cursed things in your place?¡±


    Gillibert¡¯s roost were thrown like a spear towards them. Isemberd stopped it in the air and gently put it down. Erika was now standing there, with a serious and uncanny expression in her face, glaring at the mage.


    ¡°Tell him little boy!¡± It provoked, ¡°Explain to him in that annoying smart tone you do why I¡¯m not tied to your shoulders right now! And why I should!¡±


    Alard lowered his sword, his grip relaxing a little.


    ¡°Grab the pouch. Untie it and open it.¡± He said.


    ¡°How cute! The little noble thinks he can pass by me!¡±


    Isemberd started floating.


    ¡°On the attic.¡± He said. They were both ignoring the spirit. ¡°There is a white bedsheet¡­¡±


    ¡°You pathetic little vermin! Do you really think that locking me away again will change anything? Do you think that it¡¯ll make you feel better, old butcher?¡±


    ¡°Ignore him¡­¡± Alard tried to say, but his friend expression was worrisome. ¡°Isemberd!¡±


    ¡°He is itching with a burning desire to just crush me despite the lady¡¯s body.¡± the spirit said, laughing, slamming its hand against the wall. A few of the mud and claw markings disappeared. Suddenly, all the space started filling with a dense green fog. ¡°During my time, mages like him had terrible nicknames and were the source of some really nasty rumors about us!¡±


    The cloud condensed for a moment, before raising as if moved by a sinister will. Isemberd raised his hand to push the cloud away from them, but it was already too late. He felt his senses and limbs getting numb and his vision turning blurry.


    ¡°Utterly pathetic! Falling from child¡¯s magic like that! Oh, right, you never played with living children your age! That must be why you would never expect things like this.¡±


    In a blink of an eye, the haunting spirit¡¯s opened hand slapped the mage¡¯s face, pushing him against the wall with brutality. Isemberd gripped his staff and a little spark formed on its tip, where he would usually hand his lamp.


    The little spark ignited the gas and a sudden fiery explosion turned the small corridor in a hellish vision for a brief moment. Isemberd protected Alard from the flames and felt his own skin starting to burn. He breathed in hot smoke and pure fire, filling his lungs with all of it. His eyes glowed golden, and all the fire and destruction were now raw power that he could use.


    From the spiritual realm, the lady of the forest screamed worried:


    ¡°Isemberd!¡±


    His reply came as furious as the flames he was threatening to unleash:


    ¡°I will wipe your forest and this city out of the map in flames if my friend dies by the hand of that monster! Take care of your part of our deal!¡±


    The spirit that was his ally filled him with a sensation of security and he felt the time slowing down.


    Another voice joined them, before she could reply:


    ¡°You little fool! This time, I will devour you and will not be just an illusion¡­¡±


    The mage fell to the floor, and the possessed noble lady fell near him. Alard was already pushing through the attic. Isemberd felt his consciousness be ripped off his body and be pulled into another place, where the haunting spirit was hiding from him: the small pocket of spirit realm that existed inside Erika¡¯s Morgan red eye.

 12 - The Druid

    After being pulled to Erika¡¯s spirit realm, Isemberd were surrounded by darkness. Even with his eyes opened, everything was pitch black, as if he was waiting a moment until his spirit, locked outside his body due to a spell, started to make sense of its surroundings. Soon, in between one blink of an eye and the next, his house in the woods disappeared. Everything were void, leaving only him with his glowing staff in his hands.


    The spirit¡¯s voice echoed from afar:


    ¡°Neoria¡¯s Butcher is not as smart as they say¡­¡± said the apparition.


    Suddenly, a flickering image of a floor started forming under the mage, the void made matter around him. The space turned into a big hall with no visible walls nor ceiling, with an unfamiliar floor of gray tiles. There were a clear trail of blood and mud that faded away into darkness.


    The spirit¡¯s voice sounded again, from every direction but none in particular:


    ¡°Are you going to leave your friend to deal with my traps and curses? I might have left a few more tricks¡­¡±


    The mage levitated his staff by his side and stretched his arms. His fingers formed his usual Matter sign, and he then extended his invisible force. It was like he was stumbling in the dark with his hands. Feeling his surroundings, until catching something that reacted, which he promptly grabbed really hard and pulled to himself. Soon, the spirit was being dragged to him, screaming curses and kicking around. He could see the translucent being on top of Erika¡¯s features. An old, tattered man with small black eyes.


    The mage lunged forward to meet the monster responsible for haunting him. He stopped near it and kept the spirit floating, with its arms stretched.


    ¡°Careful to not hurt the little girl¡­¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± the mage replied. ¡°Alard will manage.¡±


    ¡°Will he?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re already defeated.¡± Isemberd retorted, looking deep into the black eyes of the old man. ¡°But your point wasn¡¯t winning, it was just to keep me on my toes.¡±


    The old being rolled his eyes.


    ¡°What a cold lad. If I hadn¡¯t peeked deep into this putrid heart of yours, I would swear you¡¯re not even human anymore¡­¡±


    The mage joined both hands in claw shape, as if trying really hard to rip something apart, and started pulling them away from each other. Trembling as if he was trying to tear apart a thick rope, the resistance he was having soon started to weaken, as the spirit growled in agony, until it snapped, and then he saw Erika¡¯s spirit fading from there.


    ¡°Oh, please, you just ruined the fun!¡± the haunting spirit complained.


    Now he could see the spirit properly. The old decrepit man was an uncanny being to look at, and his black eyes evoked a deep terror within him, a mysterious visceral feeling. His fingernails were long and broken, his clothes were tattered cloth and animal skin, sometimes with fur, sometimes without it. Whenever he spoke, his teeth were visible, all of them warped fangs.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Isemberd replied. ¡°Hope you die out of boredom a thousand times.¡±


    ¡°Impossible! Your memories from the war are amazing, little boy.¡± the being said, opening a wide grin, showing a few putrid or broken teeth. ¡°Specially those agitated ones. Oh, if I could pull the strings on your body, I could turn you into such a great legend and a tavern story every bard would sing about for decades to come.¡±


    He sometimes twitched, trying to move his long limbs, to no avail. Isemberd closed his eyes. He only had to keep the spirit immobilized until Alard and the Lady of the Forest took care of his spell, then soon he would be back into his body. He only had to stay quiet and resolute. Every time the spirit talked, the mage¡¯s whole body crawled with a frustrating fear.


    ¡°Do you think I will disappear if you aren¡¯t seeing me? Pity. You know, the girl was having some very terrible experiences.¡± A small pause. ¡°I¡¯m doing my absolute best to make sure when she wakes up, your face is a nightmare memory for her.¡± added the haunting spirit.


    ¡°You are very good at bluffing.¡± The mage retorted, eyes closed.


    He pulled the spirit closer and opened his eyes, that glowed like fire for a moment.


    ¡°I should really just incinerate anything and everything about you right now.¡±


    ¡°Try it!¡± The spirit¡¯s smile were nightmare inducing.


    The mage gritted his teeth in a frustrated grimace. There were no means for a mortal to destroy a spirit, at least none that Isemberd, or any other of his mage acquaintances knew. One could only lock them away, at places, objects, or even other people, like Isemberd were doing.


    ¡°Only a fool would try to destroy you.¡± he grunted.


    ¡°Well, well, but you are a fool!¡±


    They glared at each other for a long moment.


    ¡°But that is all just empty threats, like the ones your old hag master used to make to feel a little more in charge. I saw you being spanked until puking yourself so many times I have no more respect for that cold gaze of yours.¡± The spirit kept talking.


    ¡°When was the last time you saw a mirror?¡± Isemberd retorted.


    The spirit tilted his head a little, showing his forked tongue, like a snake.


    ¡°In my time, you would be revered as a prince!¡±


    He laughed a few times, contorting a little. His fingers twitched, as if he were trying to grab something.


    ¡°Since we¡¯re here, what about a little¡­ you know, self reflection? You have been such a good man lately, I don¡¯t like that¡­¡±


    Isemberd saw that now there were more people around him in the wide void invaded by the spirit. Waves of blueish and purple energy started glowing out of the spirit, that clearly didn¡¯t need the magic signs with his hands to use his own spells. The illusory beings surrounded Isemberd and when he looked at them, they stopped being blurry and turned into people he knew. They started reenacting some of his memories, from both mistakes and things he was forced to do, in a past he would consider as dark as the spirit¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°If I had an apple for each poor soul like this one that you killed¡­¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter anymore.¡± The mage said.


    ¡°Oh it does matter, imagine what the little birdie would feel if he knew¡­¡±


    ¡°It does not matter!¡± Isemberd raised his voice by accident.


    The evil spirit smiled.


    ¡°Look at you, you filthy little monster.¡± He growled, showing his teeth. ¡°I will make sure to remember all of those faces for you. All of them! The innocent, the fool, even the evil ones. You know you killed some very nasty people¡­¡±


    He stopped and the illusions expanded, more and more people that Isemberd knew, from past and present, in a big crowd of imagery of people.


    ¡°This little war of yours was very fun to me.¡± The spirit¡¯s voice diminished a little, turning deep and beast-like and his usual aggressive humor giving place to cold hatred: ¡°It reignited my desire to completely vanish mortals from the land, one at a time.¡±


    Isemberd were now having difficulty breathing, and he couldn¡¯t tell if his panic were real or yet just another illusion.


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Do you remember how the little noble knights were quick to pull blades against you, right? We are birds of a feather, that mortals hate. You will never have a place to call home, as soon as they see how much power you have at your fingertips, their eyes will always change.¡±


    ¡°The time for mages like yourself are gone.¡± Isemberd whispered. ¡°You¡¯re an old evil antique that some fools unearthed. I have no reason to pay any mind to your nonsense!¡±


    ¡°And how fool were they!¡± He yelled ¡°Young maidens mutilated to kill mages, potions, and medicine to warp animal and man, mutant monsters that born and died suffering through pure hell without knowing why¡­¡±


    He left out a growl, like a big predator ready to pounce, and the surrounding air got pushed away, creating a powerful gust of wind. Isemberd had to fight fiercely against the wave of irrational terror that invaded him.


    ¡°Mutants like the owls bred for war, fool maidens like miss Morgan and tortured monsters such as yourself!¡± the illusory people around him started echoing his words.


    ¡°And it¡¯s all your fault!¡± Isemberd replied.


    ¡°I just offered the gullible men a little nudge towards the direction they wanted to go!¡±


    ¡°And now you¡¯ll be locked inside that book for the rest of eternity if it is up to me!¡± Isemberd yelled back.


    Another gust of wind came from the spirit, that started kicking and trying to free himself again from the mage¡¯s invisible force.


    ¡°Someday I will free myself from your stupid magic and I will cause such destruction in such immense scale that you mortals will remember what it is to fear the dark again!¡±


    He showed his teeth and his face started morphing into Isemberd¡¯s, without the glasses, same forked tongue and monstrous teeth as the evil spirit.


    ¡°And it will be your face the mortals will have in their nightmares, little boy!¡±


    His voice were uneasy, turning back and forth from bestial noises to normal while he threw his angry tantrum, drool dripping from the corner of his big mouth and a bone-chilling hate in his eyes.


    Isemberd blinked and suddenly, the spirit¡¯s face were that of the old druid once more, but now he seemed way bigger than him. His hands were now infant and small, just like Isemberd remember them when he was younger. Another illusion. His eyes were burning, and his glasses fell, breaking against the gray floor. He felt hunger, enough for his legs to falter and for him to fall on his knees. Still, the hand that kept the spirit trapped was raised, the Matter sign firm against the evil being.


    The fake imagery around him started pointing, yelling at him, throwing objects at him. Powerful illusions that affected his mind and his spirit.


    ¡°Look at him! So small!¡± The evil druid¡¯s voice were deafening, ¡°You were so cute when young, before that bitch turned you into a killer and clawed your face in half.¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± the little boy¡¯s voice were painfully familiar. ¡°You¡¯re wrong!¡±


    The being crackled a cruel laughter.


    ¡°You remember me, the little owl! Is that why you take such good care of him, you dirty assassin? Because you don¡¯t want him to turn out like yourself? Because you see yourself in it?¡±


    The ethereal being roared and laughed at the same time, two conflicting sounds coming out of its angry open mouth. All the time it contorted and moved trying to free itself. It kept talking:


    ¡°Who knows, I could give him a few nightmares too. Or maybe that smart little girl? The noble I will properly take care off, I¡¯m going to bite off his fingers one by one.¡±


    Isemberd started coughing, barely able to breath. The memories started flooding around him, from the torture, his training, the other Octahedron mages, the battles and specially people he saw go and that flood was beating him.


    ¡°That other little fool lad you¡¯re helping, well, maybe I could do something more interesting with him! When was the last time you saw a werewolf eat its own family?¡±


    Isemberd closed his hands, freeing the spirit. The druid landed on the floor with its eyes wide opened, baffled. Its surprise was such that he lost control of his illusions, and they all disappeared. The mage in front of him was still a little boy with crying gray eyes.


    ¡°Have you gone mad!?¡± He leaned over him, standing with the help of his hands like some kind of monster-ape. He stretched one of his hands to grab the boy ¡°You must have¡­¡±


    Isemberd yelled in anger with that the illusion of his childish body shattered in a fire explosion. His staff came flying to him in a burst of flames, pushing the spirit away. Fire started surrounding him then it disappeared, absorbed by his skin, eyes, and mouth. The mage raised his hands and grabbed the air, once again using his invisible force to attack the spirit. He violently pushed it around like a doll.


    He pulled the monster to himself, grabbing its head by the hair and striking it against the floor, in a sudden burst of anger and despair, while the spirit contorted and laughed at him. The staff stood near him, sometimes releasing little sparks of lightning to fuel the mage¡¯s magic.


    ¡°Keep going, butcher!¡± the old druid provoked, with his wounds healing between the blink of an eye and within the very next moment.


    Isemberd had finally snapped. He couldn¡¯t talk, he only wanted to lash out screaming in a mix of wrath and pain.


    Suddenly, black vines erupted from the ground, entangling around him and throwing him away. The levitated, absorbed them and then made them burst in flames. His staff came flying again, destroying part of the growing forest of black plants that started forming there. Still laughing, the spirit punched the floor a few time, its wounds disappearing again.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have released me, little butcher.¡±


    More and more giant vines started growing. Dark figures of animals started coming from the floor and a few started flying around them. Soon, they were inside a giant dark jungle, the reign of the evil druid in the middle of his court of black animals.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it ironic that you¡¯re stuck with me? Every thing you touch burns to ash like a real demon of fiery hatred.¡±, said the evil druid.


    ¡°Enough!¡± The mage warned, joining his hands into the weird knot that was the Spirit sign.


    The apparition pointed a bony finger at him.


    ¡°You will never be this good man with people around you see! You¡¯re a hypocrite as dark as myself, destined to die alone like that stupid friend of yours! Do you remember what became of him? Your people call him the Great Hero of Neoria today!¡±


    Isemberd stopped. The druid smiled.


    The mage squinted for a moment, and then his eyes started glowing in a bright orange. The monstrous spirit continued talking:


    ¡°The only virtuous one of all of that band of misfits that gave his life to stop the stupid war over MY power! Your luck at that night will not strike again! There are no other mages with you, brat, you¡¯re all on your own!¡±


    No response.


    Isemberd separated his hands, undoing the spell he was about to unleash. Spheres of fire started forming around him. Six little globes of pure heat were now orbiting the furious mage. His staff fell to the ground, void of all its usual glow and drained of all the magic that was stored in it.


    ¡°What a great healer you are! You just want to cauterize everything!¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you kill me that night?¡± Isemberd asked.


    The druid hesitated and made a pig sound, a spiteful laugh.


    ¡°Well, I ask that myself sometimes too. The other mages were way more interesting and easy to possess or haunt¡­¡±


    Vines lashed around the mage but got incinerated by the spheres of fire before getting too close to him.


    ¡°The fool that released me by accident had such good ideas. Maybe I should have possessed you and killed all the others.¡±


    Before Isemberd could start a battle to the death against an immortal monster, a pair of gentle cold hands held his face from behind, in a weird embrace. A figure appeared by his side, holding one of his hands.


    ¡°Stop.¡± she said, her voice sounding along with a whole forest worth of leaves ruffled by the wind. ¡°We won, my knight.¡±


    The forest¡¯s spirit had the form of a maiden with lightly green skin, eyes completely blue, long ears. She was wearing a long and beautiful white dress. It was simple, and it went well with the long vines of gold that grew around her hands and feet. Her hair was the same color of autumn leaves and were long and wavy. With her free hand, she raised Isemberd¡¯s glasses, putting them over his eyes for him.


    At one gesture of her, the entire dark jungle dissipated in a moment, as if it was never there in the first place. The old druid roared in anger, his body contorting and transforming, growing until he had a good four meters tall, long thick arms and a deformed monstrous face. He looked like a warped and giant version of a gorilla.


    ¡°Someday, Isemberd the Butcher will be so tired he will sleep properly for one night! And when you come back to your sense, I will be ripping off the owl¡¯s wings using your hands, and then I will destroy everything you love before devouring you!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind him¡± the groove¡¯s spirit said, her voice echoing around them. It was clear who was the powerful being there at the moment. ¡°Isemberd, give me your hand, please?¡±


    He hesitated. The lady of the groove grabbed his hand by force. A powerful wind started around her, the wailing of it muffling all the spirit¡¯s angry cursing.


    ¡°I will continue to haunt you, butcher!¡± the druid yelled, ¡°Mark my words!¡±


    Between a blink of an eye and the next, the spell was undone.


    The mage breathed in, deeply. He was sitting on the floor, with his body in pain, his head aching from the strike he took. His staff was nearby. Erika was unconscious over him. Isemberd gently pushed her out of his way and sat properly, grabbing the leather pouch that were anchoring the evil spirit back into the world of the living.


    His trembling hands untied the little string that kept it shut. Isemberd then absorbed a dark magical essence that started pouring out of Erika¡¯s half opened eye, sucking it like he did before with smoke and fire. The sign with both hands were now that of the Spirit Constellation, the magic school of the ethereal realm. He started turning his hands upside down. The dark magic that surrounded Erika before were now around him.


    Like a pyre of black flames.


    Isemberd stood up, numb, dizzy, feeling the spirit fight inside him, way stronger than before. Soon, all that strength started to die down until it was back at its normal.


    The mage stumbled all the way up to the attic to rescue his friend, that did in fact fell into a trap from the evil druid. He had a lot of trouble to carry Alard back down and to put him into one of the vacant rooms. After that, he did the same with Erika, leaving her over his own bed.


    When he was done, he sat down at the first step of his stairs. Cold hands held his, while he closed his eyes, breathing and counting up a lot of times, feeling sick and feverish. He heard:


    ¡°You didn¡¯t need to threaten me¡­¡±


    He gulped and replied with difficulty in the spirit realm:


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    The spirit caressed his head.


    ¡°You¡¯re nothing like him.¡±


    It was the last thing the forest lady said before the mage¡¯s home reverted to normal and all the spiritual influence it had was gone. Now, Isemberd was alone again, with the vile spirit¡¯s voice yelling in his ears, and it¡¯s weight back at his shoulders.


    The magic nightmare that threatened to take place in Otterwesh was over.

 Interlude – Spiritual Invasion

    After her fateful meeting with Isemberd the noble daughter of House Morgan had nothing interesting to do and ended up returning to her room in the inn. When passing by, she greeted the innkeeper, the waiters and sometimes one or another patron that she had already spoken a few words with.


    She walked upstairs and entered her room, closing the door behind her.


    Otterwesh¡¯s inns were comfortable. A bit too simple for her taste, but the lady learned with her mother to not complain too much on things that weren¡¯t that bad.


    Erika opened one of her two big backpacks, searching for a small box with writing tools. She had now a very annoying neck pain, which she was sure wasn¡¯t there before. Someone knocked on her door, and she set both her search and her worries about Otterwesh¡¯s apothecary aside to open it.


    She opened the door and moved a step aside.


    ¡°Milady¡± one of Lord Wells''s knights were there, and he bowed politely, with no intention of coming inside ¡°Lady Eloane and I came to the inn to take care of some business. We thought it was a good idea to check in on you.¡±


    Erika nodded.


    ¡°I''m doing fine, thanks sir. Is she still here?¡±


    ¡°Downstairs.¡±


    She hesitated for a moment. Sir Alard instructed here to take her legal doubts to Eloane or Sir Karl, his second in command.


    ¡°Would it trouble if you two accompanied me to a meal, sir?¡± she asked. ¡°I have some questions.¡±


    The knight frowned.


    ¡°I cannot accept it, milady. Lady Eloane, on the other hand, can.¡±


    The clearly distant treatment was reasonable. The knight left, promising to extend the noble''s invitation to the sorceress downstairs. Erika kept the door half-opened while grabbing a small leather purse where she kept her money.


    Feeling uneasy, she looked over her shoulder. The room was empty, the little furniture it had in its proper place, the wooden floor cleaned and polished. The small portion of the corridor she could see was also empty.


    Having goosebumps, Erika rubbed her face. Her magic eye was a little itchy, and she grabbed a mirror which was a gift from her brother, to take a look at it. She would never get used to her magic eye''s weird independence from her, and it was occasionally moving by itself. The eye glanced downwards, making her feel the magic presence of Eloane on the floor underneath her feet.


    Before leaving, she checked her hairpin, that for some odd reason was a little loose. Opting for leaving it at her room, she quickly fixed her hair before leaving downstairs.


    Neoria''s weather were warmer than Soryn at that time of the year, and she was very bothered by it. Her sleeves were meticulously tucked all the way to her elbows and she was using her lighter dress, even so, the heat was annoying.


    The mage apprentice was sitting at a table near the stairs, chit-chatting with the knight. They were laughing, and the knight walked away to talk to the innkeeper when Erika approached them.


    ¡°Lady Eloane.¡± she greeted. ¡°How have you been?¡±


    The mage frowned for a moment. The uneasiness Erika''s magic eye caused to mages were something she didn¡¯t have any control over.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± she said, sitting down.


    ¡°I just need to get used to it.¡± Eloane tried explaining, brushing off the topic: ¡°It is just¡­ distracting.¡±


    That were the point.


    A waiter came to serve them after talking a bit with the knight and bringing him a big wooden box. The ladies asked for tea and the employee left quickly, they resumed their conversation:


    ¡°Sir Alard is a little worried we''re taking too long to introduce you to our healer.¡± Eloane said. ¡°I thought it was a good idea to check in on you.¡±


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Erika glanced at the almost empty dinner hall of the inn.


    ¡°Otterwesh is very warm and people are a lot more distrustful than I was expecting.¡± she replied. ¡°But¡­ I think I''ll just get used to it. About our delay, I believe it must be a very delicate matter so there is no problem.¡±


    ¡°Eloane!¡± the knight interrupted them, ¡°I''ll be taking our crate back. See you later.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Robert!¡± the mage smiled.


    After a short moment, Erika said:


    ¡°You two seem to get along well.¡±


    ¡°Not at all. Robert is not exactly a supporter of magic, quite the opposite.¡± Eloane sighed and added: ¡°People tend to trust me more because of my master''s local reputation.¡±


    The foreigner lady lowered her voice and said:


    ¡°Your people''s relationship with magic is intriguing.¡±


    Eloane raised an eyebrow and dodged the subject:


    ¡°Have you ever met someone from the Crystal Octahedron?¡±


    Erika shook her head.


    ¡°No. I remember seeing them from afar when my family was signing our peace treaty.¡±


    She had another wave of goosebumps while remembering it. The mage replied:


    ¡°Anyway, stay away from problems, for both your well-being and ours.¡±


    Lady Morgan bit the tip of her lip to kept her anger to herself. She wanted to get up, pack her things and leave, but she retorted, in a low tone:


    ¡°In this horrible heat, far away from home, alone and without a guide, I think the last thing I want is to cause problems.¡±


    ¡°And you''re doing a great job.¡± Eloane said, trying to steer the talk to a more positive energy.


    The waiter interrupted them again, bringing tea and a fresh loaf of bread cut in thin slices.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± Erika said to him, turning then to the sorceress. ¡°I''m actually anxious to start my treatment.¡±


    Eloane didn''t reply. Erika noticed the mage''s gaze were wandering over her silver bracelets.


    ¡°Your jewelry.¡± she started, trying to not be impolite. ¡°Are they enchanted?¡±


    Erika smiled.


    ¡°Yes! They are. A gift from one of my brothers. It keeps me protected from illusions and things from the Mind Sphere.¡±


    ¡°We call them Constellations here.¡± Eloane said. ¡°You don''t see enchanted wares that delicate too often. Be careful to not lose them or to have them pick pocketed. They look great on you by the way!¡±


    The two of them started chatting about Erika''s doubts about Neoria''s laws and Otterwhesh''s customs. The noble lady''s eye kept itching, which was very uncommon since she had lost all sensation in it when it was surgically implanted.


    Shortly after, the mage had to leave and the huntress decided to go back to her room after paying for the tea and chatting a little with the innkeeper about his small vegetable garden.


    Now back at her room, Erika closed the door behind her, immediately feeling exhausted. Without thinking too much about it, she took her silver bracelets and left them together with her half-moon shaped hairpin.


    Sitting on edge of the bed, she took the mirror again. She gently caressed the metallic side of it and mumbled a short plea. The mirror''s reflected image of her face started turning blue and begin spinning, quickly morphing into another image. Now she was looking at Marquis Morgan office.


    She was out of luck at that day, since the office was empty. Sometimes, when missing her home, she asked the magic mirror to show her the office and to check if she could catch her parents together, chatting nonsense or working together on long boring documents.


    With her chest tight and feeling sad, Erika sighed and touched the side of the mirror once again, undoing the spell and making it going back to reflecting her face. She could swear she saw something moving behind her, but brushed the thought off. She must¡¯ve been exhausted.


    Stretching out, she laid down for a nap, focusing a little of her magic at her fingertips. The door locked by itself, the window opened and her belongings floated for a short moment before entering her backpack at their respective places.


    After the spell was over, her eye ached horribly as she felt dizzy. A sign of using too much magic power, which were weird since she was feeling well before. Deciding to insist on her nap, she thought of visiting Isemberd in the morning to have her eye checked up.


    Erika woke up from her nap a few hours later, the sun already down and the noise of people having dinner in the hall downstairs was loud enough to be annoying. Feeling sick, she walked to the window and took a look outside, looking for some fresh air. She observed the nice, picturesque town, poorly lit by some torches here and there or big oil lamps hanging on top of metal shafts.


    She held off the strong desire to flee back home and moved away from the window, towards a small jar of water and a glass she kept nearby. Taking a quick look at her face in the mirror, she filled the glass with water and drank it all in one go.


    Looking herself again in the mirror. Her image contorted, revealing angry black eyes, a wild messy hair, an unsettling smile with cruel-looking sharp crooked teeth.


    In a blink of an eye, a bony hand moved out of the mirror, covering both her mouth and nose. She tried fighting back against the powerful illusion that was striking her, to no avail. Erika fell down back at the bed, pushed down by an evil invisible force.


    She heard a voice, as if someone were right behind her:


    ¡°Be a good girl and don¡¯t scream, okay? I promise I won''t hurt you¡­ Not too much...¡±