Queens Of Osiris

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Mykal wore the green cloak Blodwyn had given him. It was long, heavy, and protected him from, among other things, the wintery weather—among other things. The falling snow seemed like a perfect reason to skip the day’s lessons, but Blodwyn wasn’t having it. The morning sun did its best, but most of the rays, and all of the heat, were absorbed by flat grey clouds. His hot breath plumed in front of his face, but did nothing for the frozen hairs inside his nostrils.

Blodwyn stood with his left leg forward, right back, and knees slightly bent. He held his staff balanced out in front of him in the palm of one hand, and the back side of the other. He started slowly, twirling the staff around and around until the staff spun so fast the wind whistled. Mykal could barely see the staff at all. As if the speed of movement wasn’t impressive enough, Blodwyn rotated his arms all the way to the left, and back to the front, and then all the way to the right. Any opponent unlucky enough to— well, Mykal didn’t even want to think about the consequences.

When Blodwyn slowed the twirling, and then finally stopped, he stood his staff up right in the snow, leaning his weight on the iron and wood compound, and c****d a hip.

“Now, you try.”

“Me?”

“Your control of the staff is essential in completing your training. The two of you will be like one.”

“That sounds a little weird.”

“Enough procrastinating.”

Mykal shrugged. “Not really procrastinating. Just delaying the looking like a fool part, is all.”

Blodwyn laughed. He was a good three inches taller, and while Mykal was all brawn from working his grandfather’s farm, and his hair was copper-colored, and unkempt, Blodwyn was more wiry and lithe. He wore his long, black hair in a braid that ran down his back. He kept his mustache and beard long and bound by bands.

Mykal sucked in a deep breath and held it for a moment. He balanced his staff across his hands, as he had seen Blodwyn do, and slowly began rotating the staff around.

And then dropped it.

“Don’t laugh,” Mykal warned.

Blodwyn held up hands. “Wasn’t.”

Mykal picked up the staff, along with snow. He shook the snow off and started over.

“Try closing your eyes,” Blodwyn suggested, ever ready for more.

“I won’t be able to see what I’m doing.” Although he protested, Mykal closed his eyes. The staff made it around once, before he dropped it again.

“I heard you laugh that time!”

“Got me,” Blodwyn said. “This is something I want you practicing any time you have a free moment. I believe it will also bring you a sense of peace. There is a music created that runs through you. It is a very satisfying feeling, a calming one.”

Mykal wasn’t useless wielding a staff. He wanted to master everything Blodwyn taught him. The man had tremendous patience. He’d dedicated his life to standing by Mykal’s side.

“I’ll practice. You have my word.”

“Shall we duel?” Blodwyn twirled his staff around in his hands and spun it up and around in one hand and then around, over the top of his head.

It was made of cedar and iron, and nearly six feet long. When he brought it down, he teetered the staff across his back, and into the opposite hand. He stepped forward and thrust the head of the staff forward. He took a step to the side and drove the other end backward. As if paddling, he rotated the staff around and around, alternating hands. His left, his right. His left, his right. He strode forward.

Mykal grinned and came at his teacher—his friend—fast.

Long, thin black hair ran down to just above the center of Blodwyn’s chest. His black facial hair consisted of bushy and overgrown eyebrows. The arms of the mustache fell past the corners of his chin and were tied off at the ends with little bits of string, the chin hair was also long, thick, and braided.

“The fancy footwork looks lovely.”

“Thank you.” Mykal repeated his motions, twirling and spinning the staff around. At nine and ten years of age, he was tall, stocky. His muscles were groomed from years of working on a farm.

Blodwyn drove his staff forward when the opening was obvious.

Mykal didn’t have time to counter.

The head of Blodwyn’s staff crashed into his gut, the air raced out of his lungs.

“Oomph.” Mykal pressed his hand over the spot where he’d been struck.

“Those fancy moves help you?” Blodwyn didn’t hide his smirk.

Mykal lowered his hand and gripped the staff in a white-knuckle grip. “Oh, it’s like that is it?”

“It’s like that.”

They circled each other with slow, deliberate steps.

The wind howled around them as if a spectator cheering on the fight.

Blodwyn struck out with his staff. Mykal parried, blocking the blow. The staffs slammed together. Mykal stepped back, spun around, and followed up by bringing the back end of the staff forward.

Blodwyn chopped downward with his staff, knocking Mykal’s out of his hands.

The snowfall was heavy. The wind whipped the flakes around in a near-blinding flurry. The tip of Mykal’s nose and cheeks were numb. He could barely feel his hands on his staff. He needed a pair of gloves like the ones Blodwyn wore.

Mykal froze for a fraction of a second.

Blodwyn saw an opportunity and seized it. He twirled the staff over his head and drove the back end in a stabbing motion toward Mykal’s head.

Mykal slipped, rotating his hips and shoulders so his skull wasn’t punctured open. He dropped to the ground, and somersaulted away from the next attack, but away from his staff.

Blodwyn fought back and stepped toward Mykal while swinging around the head of his staff.

Mykal swayed back, and then dove forward. He expected to wrap and tackle Blodwyn.

Blodwyn may have been caught off guard but maintained balance.

Mykal grabbed for Blodwyn’s staff, left hand, right.

Blodwyn was faster, spinning his staff away and out of reach. He thrust his foot forward, behind Mykal’s left leg.

Behind his left leg.

Before Mykal could react, he found himself on his back in the snow.

Blodwyn stood over him and the head of the staff at the dip in his throat. “It’s like that,” he said.

Mykal winked.

Blodwyn rose into the air. His feet kicked at nothing. “This is not funny!”

Mykal stood up, brushing off snow. As he set his teacher down, he held out his arm, and opened his hand. His staff flew from the ground and into his grasp. “Looks like you brought a staff to a wizard fight.”

Blodwyn grimaced. “It’s important you master using the staff, just as it is important you continue your training in all forms of self-defense.”

Mykal knew Blodwyn was right. When the sorcerer, Galatia, had been captured by the Mountain King, she’d been gagged. Her magic was stifled. She needed her words to speak her magic into existence. While he could wield power without words, there could come a time when his magic would be suppressed.

“I’m sorry, Wyn. I am. But it’s cold. Aren’t you freezing out here?”

“When your life depends on it, will the cold stop you from defending yourself?”

“My life doesn’t depend on it. Not now, at this moment.” Mykal let his teeth chatter as a means of punctuation. “We practice every day. We practiced today, I was just hoping we could cut it a little short, is all. Go inside. Sit by the fire.”

Blodwyn’s jaw set. His eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. “There will be no sitting by the fire for you. If we end our lesson early, you will begin your studies with your mother.”

Blodwyn may have thought he was threatening Mykal. He wasn’t. The young man enjoyed reading through the ancient scrolls, manuscripts, and books. The art of magic contained in the pages inspired him. It wasn’t that long ago he’d learned he was a wizard. Now, it seemed as if there were just the two of them left. Him, and his mother, Anna.

Although they’d battled magic in a war, and won, there was so much he didn’t know about magic. Anna was the perfect teacher. For the last few weeks, they’d been studying the magic rituals and customs of natives who had lived on the land long, long ago. They were people who drew power from nature. Aside from the elements, they found usable magic in the soil, from herbs and roots, flowers, oils, and berries. Magic came to them from the trees, rocks, and rivers. It was fascinating, and Mykal couldn’t wait to learn more.

So Mykal said, “But sitting by a fire—”

Blodwyn held up a finger. “Ah, ah, ah. Hit the books, kid. Don’t argue.”

“Fine,” Mykal said.

“Wait,” Blodwyn said.

Mykal ground his teeth. It was the only way to keep them from clicking together. “What is that?”

In the distance, by the foothills of the Muye Mountains, was the lone shadow of a figure.

“It’s not a what,” Blodwyn said, squinting against the wind, and snow. “It’s a who.”

They stood side by side and waited. It seemed as if the person walking toward them was standing still. The shape neither grew, nor shrank. “Have they stopped?”

Blodwyn shook his head. “They are walking into the wind. It must be slow going.”

“Should we see what they want?”

“That’s presumptuous.”

“Presumptuous how?” Mykal asked.

“How do you know it is us they want to see?” Blodwyn folded his arms, his staff nestled in the crook.

Mykal looked around. “I think we’re at the beginning of a storm.”

“It very well might be. It doesn’t show signs of letting up any time soon,” he agreed.

“At least we can offer shelter until it passes,” Mykal said. “And I am not being presumptuous saying that. They may not want shelter, but offering it can’t hurt.”

Blodwyn nodded. “I don’t disagree.”

“You don’t disagree?” Mykal laughed. “So should I?”

“Should you, what?”

“See if they need a place to get warm. If they crossed the mountains, could be they’ve been out in the cold for a while now.”

“Why not wait until they get here?” Blodwyn asked.

Mykal thought the person walking toward them might avoid the ruins. Like Castle Deed in the Constantine Realm, there were rumors the library was haunted. He’d witnessed the ghosts in Castle Deed, and so far, he’d not seen any sign of spirits in the library.

They stood silent for several moments. Mykal didn’t think the person approaching made much progress. At least when they were training with their staffs, they were moving, keeping the blood going. Exerting energy kept him warm. While the cloak was specially woven—it kept him safe from arrows and knives— it was warm, too. The problem was his face and hands were uncovered. The cold had teeth, and it bit like a rabid dog at any exposed skin.

When the person was closer, Mykal saw the labored steps. “He doesn’t look good.”

“Agreed.” Blodwyn started toward them, Mykal following behind him.

The person stopped walking, perhaps when they noticed Blodwyn and Mykal, and then collapsed into the snow.

Mykal ran ahead. He heard Blodwyn’s repeated warnings during instruction replay inside his head. Be mindful of traps. Be aware of your surroundings. Just because something appears obvious, doesn’t mean everything has been revealed. If you expect the unexpected, you’ll never be caught off guard.

He slowed when he was several yards from the person.

The linens were tattered, torn. They looked useless against the wind, and snow. If this person came from any distance, they could be near dead.

Mykal closed the distance, and knelt beside them. He set his staff down and rolled the person onto his back.

Only it wasn’t a he. It was a she.

Her skin was red and raw, and her lips chapped. Mykal lowered his ear to her mouth. The wind made listening for her breathing too difficult. He placed a hand on her chest. It rose and fell. The rise and fall was shallow. The young girl was not well. She needed someplace warm, and dry. He determined that if she stayed in the cold any longer her life was in jeopardy.

“Wyn! We have to get her inside. She’s dying out here!”

Blodwyn was still about twenty yards away. Mykal thought he saw his teacher nod. That was all he needed. He reached for his staff and placed it on top of the woman. Mykal closed his eyes and pictured the library foyer.

The bold blue smoky plume appeared as if out of the snowy ground and encircled them. It swirled as fast as a small tornado around them and spread upward until they were engulfed in the dense fog.

In the next instant, the two of them were transported. There was a brief moment of disassociation. His mind and body separated. It was jarring, but he was growing somewhat used to this method of travel. He kept his hands on the woman, though. He wasn’t sure if someone without magic could be lost between the here’s and there’s. When his mother used this type of magic, they always had held hands. It seemed safer, so he didn’t weaver from the technique.

When the bold blue smoke evaporated, the two of them were safe and warm, out of the storm, out of the cold, and inside the library.