To Cast the First Spell
Chapter One: The First Spell
Chapter Two: A Mystery To Be Solved
Chapter Three: A Gratuity To Be Paid
Chapter Four: Talenteds Journey
Chapter Five: The Serpents Stir
Chapter Six: A Secret No More
Chapter Seven: The Mountain Glows
Chapter Eight: An Unasked For Attachment
Chapter Nine: Maestro of the Zephyr Guild
Chapter Ten: Dowman’s End
Chapter Eleven: The Price of Failure
Chapter Twelve: A Quick Trip
Chapter Thirteen: Unwelcome Guests
Chapter Fourteen: Bad News
Chapter Fifteen: A Taste of Battle
Chapter Sixteen: No Mere Potential
Chapter Seventeen: An Agreement
Chapter Eighteen: The final Assault
Chapter Nineteen: A Time to Heal
Chapter One: The First Spell
Daniel Benhannon leaned against the trunk of the great pine and unbuttoned his red buckskin shirt, hoping to take advantage of the cool breeze whispering through the green needles in the canopy above. The air was filled with the scent of night blooming jasmine. The toils of the day were behind him and it was time to relax. His muscles ached; minor discomforts really, from hauling and placing logs, a labor of love that made it all worth while. The calluses on his hands, like those of most mountaineers, proved he was no stranger to hard work. He glanced at the cabin twenty strides to his right and smiled at the result of his labor. His future dwelling was almost finished, except for the furnishings.
He took hold of his most prized possession, a six stringed guitarn, and strummed a chord. The strings vibrated, producing a beautiful tone made richer by the acoustical quality of the instrument. Being the son of the only carpenter on the mountain had its advantages. The guitarn was hand crafted by his father, although it was Daniel’s mother who taught him how to play. He knew hundreds of tunes, including some composed by her. Like his mother, he could perform any melody after hearing it just once. He plucked the tune, Flight of the Whippoorwill, composed by her.
He was skilled in his father’s trade; the proof stood twenty strides away, a testament to the training he received. The master craftsman taught his son all the necessary skills of carpentry, but Daniel’s true talent came from his mother. It was no idle boast that Miriam Benhannon could play any stringed instrument with as much, if not more, skill than an Aakacarn.
The mere thought of the spell casters sent a chill up Daniel’s spine. He tried to put the dreaded power wielders out of his mind. The old and numerous stories of how an Accomplished would search the world for Potentials and steal them away in the night, sometimes even in broad daylight, plagued his mind. Mountaineers do not frighten easily but even the bravest of them would rather go unarmed against a full grown bear than face an Aakacarn. Daniel always had a nagging concern that he would be one of the unfortunate few who would be dragged off to Aakadon, the ancient city of the Aakacarns. Young men like him were ripe for the picking and being less the a hundred spans from that city did little to ease his nerves. It was a comfort knowing the nearest village, Bashierwood, lay three quarters of the way up Mount Tannakonna and the Benhannon homestead was even farther up than that. He convinced himself an Accomplished of Aakadon had no reason to come looking for him and was more likely to turn up in towns and cities more easily assessable.
Daniel played another tune, Riding the Wind. The upbeat melody washed away his tension, making him feel much better. Thoughts of the Aakacarns were replaced by memories of life on Tannakonna. He would not trade his buckskins for the finest garments worn in the royal palace in Ducanton. He thought of Val Terrance and all the possibilities that life with her could bring after he invited her into his cabin.
The old melody was gone, replaced by something new, a stirring in his soul. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the inspiration, allowing the guitarn to express the mood of his spirit. He thought of swimming in the clear blue mountain lake and climbing trees in his youth. He thought of his best friend, Tim Dukane, beating out a rhythm on a pair of drums latched together and covered on top by tightly stretched buckskin. The memories rushed in and were expressed in a fanciful melody and chorded rhythm.
Daniel’s fingers slid up and down the slender neck of the guitarn, moving with precision to the exact location needed to produce the desired notes flowing from his spirit. He tickled the strings and let them do the singing. The more he played, the more precious memories of people, events, and experiences came to mind. The melody was now complete yet he continued to play for the sheer joy of hearing it again and again. This was his first composition and he was thrilled, wanting to share it with everyone, especially his mother.
He opened his eyes while continuing to play this new melody and noticed a peculiar blue glow illuminating not only his immediate area, but farther than his eyes could see. A lump formed in his throat, he swallowed hard, his hands froze in place and the strange light instantly vanished. He was stunned and several moments passed before he even thought to close his mouth and take breath.
“Fire and wind!” he shouted to a suddenly quite forest. Even the animals seemed in awe of the freak occurrence.
He sprang to his feet, barely keeping a grip on the guitarn, as sudden thoughts of the Aakacarns flooded his mind, and nearly sent him bolting into the woods like a frightened squirrel. He stood his ground, mostly because he had not yet determined which way to run.
A noise to his left indicated something else had entered the clearing. In less than a blink of an eye, his knife was in his free hand and ready to be thrown. Daniel aimed at the source of the sound and spotted a raccoon scampering up the third pine tree to his left. He replaced the knife and laughed at himself, part of it was nerves, he was sure, and the rest amusement over his own foolishness. His heart slowed to normal, although his throat was unusually dry, perhaps a result of laughing so hard, but more likely fear, he had to admit.
The illumination was a puzzle he did not care to solve, better to put the incident out of his mind. He began the journey home with a growing sense that something dreadful had happened. His eyes were sharp, accustomed to seeing in the dark, and his skills at hunting and trapping kept him ever alert for prey and predators alike. The sight of a mountain lion leaping out at him as he moved swiftly along the trail would worry him less than witnessing that eerie glow. He could accept and manage natural occurrences; he would be hardly fit to invite Val into his cabin otherwise.
Daniel’s thoughts drifted to his recent composition and the desire to play the new melody for his mother and to get her opinion. He held the guitarn in position as he walked and began plucking the tune. A blue aura formed around him and grew brighter the longer he played. His hands froze in place and the glow vanished just like it did before. Fear and wonder struggled for dominance while he tried to find a reasonable explanation for what was happening. He played the melody again and the glow returned. It was horrifying yet he felt stronger, more powerful, mighty enough to shake Tannakonna from base to peak, and his thirst grew.
He walked in silence under the full moon and tried to make sense of the blue light and its implications. Why did it come when he played his melody? Why did he suddenly have the terrible feeling his life would never be the same again? And, why was he so blighted thirsty?
A familiar light flickered in the distance and he quickened his strides. The tiny flame came from an oil lamp in the window of the cottage he grew up in, the only home he had ever known, the safe haven from all fears. The blue trim on the windows and doorframes were gray in the moonlight. The chicken coop was a stone’s throw from the back door of the modest dwelling and to the right of it was a barn. His family
had one cow, one horse, and twenty chickens. A vegetable garden with pole beans, tomatoes, and lettuce, grew seven strides off to the left.
Daniel covered the remaining distance quickly and ran inside, stopping to close the door quietly so as not to make noise, his parents did not approve of slamming doors. The room was small but more than adequate for the three of them. Six hand-carved chairs surrounded a large table in the center of the room. Wooden figurines of swans and birds decorated the windowsills. The creatures were tokens of esteem from his father to his mother. The whittlings of Ronn Benhannon were life-like and meticulously painted, not a few of his works were scattered in homes all across the entire mountain range, and they sold well. Pieces of wood glowed red-orange in the fireplace, but Daniel paid little attention to the pit. The cottage had three rooms. The main one served as a dining room, kitchen, and company-greeting-room. He wondered briefly what his parents would use his bedroom for after he moved out. The time was soon approaching and Val, who would be leaving her home as well, seemed eager to start a new life with him.
Daniel leaned the guitarn against the wall and went to the wash basin, thanking all that is good that he and his father had installed the indoor pump last spring. He did not miss fetching water from the stream. He picked up the priming bucket and poured the contents while working the pump handle up and down vigorously. Water flowed into the basin, rewarding his efforts. He drank two full cups, and then refilled the bucket for future use.
“Did you see the Light?” his mother called from outside of the room.
“Light?” he replied.
Daniel turned as Miriam Benhannon entered from the bedroom and sat down in her chair at the table. Her long tresses of auburn hair flowed over her shoulders and stopped half way down her back. She smoothed out her light green dress and looked up expectantly, as if willing him to come over and talk. Dark brown eyes focused on him and her left eyebrow arched up as she awaited his reply, as if puzzled by his response.
No one conscious could have missed that blue light. He considered keeping the truth from her, although he did not understand much of it himself, but the notion of hiding what he had done was brief and he rejected it immediately.
His father exited the room his mother had vacated. Ronn Benhannon ran the thick fingers of his right hand through his dark hair and then pickup his pipe from the mantle. At six and a half cubits high and with shoulders the width of an axe handle, he made the entire room seem smaller. His buckskins, red-dyed shirt and blue-dyed pants, were well worn from years of labor and his rawhide boots were stained, though not dirty. The Benhannon family believed in cleanliness and Miriam Benhannon was the chief enforcer.
Daniel imagined himself in twenty years when he looked at his father. Nearly everyone commented on the resemblance, especially in recent months. The only difference between them that Daniel could see, beside the years, was around the waist. He was a bit thinner than his father, who had more muscle.
Daniel licked his lips and took a deep breath. “I believe it had something to do with me,” he said, and placed the cup back on the counter, and then went to his chair to face his parents, feeling this was not news to be told while standing.
Ronn Benhannon’s normally smooth brow wrinkled as he covered the distance quickly and took his seat at the table. “Tell us everything.”
Daniel took a deep breath. “I’ll show you,” he said, and then took hold of his guitarn and plucked the melody long enough for a slight glow to appear and then stopped. “Did you see it?”
His mother blinked and his father sat with one eyebrow arched up. It quickly became apparent neither of them had seen the glow.
“Son, nothing happened,” his father said, ending the silence.
“It was a lovely melody,” his mother added. Her approval was appreciated, but now paled next to the weightier matter.
Daniel concentrated on the melody, playing the composition in his mind while his fingers coxed the tune from the guitarn. The blue glow formed around him, actually flowed from him, and grew brighter.
His mother gasped. Liquid filled her eyes and began to trickle down her smooth cheeks as if she had just been slapped in the face.
His father sat back, arms hanging limp. He stared blankly at the ceiling as if receiving word of a death in the family.
Daniel fought to remain calm against the sudden panic rising from within. He won the fight but just barely “What does it mean?” he asked, although he already knew and dreaded the answer. He did not want to utter the word.
His father swallowed hard and then fixed an unwavering stare on Daniel, a stare that caused many a man to back down. “Aakacarn,” the master carpenter said in at tight voice.
His mother, regaining her composure, wiped the tears from her reddened eyes.
“You are Aakacarn, a Melody Wielder.” she said, using the correct term. Daniel called them spell casters, as they were more commonly known. There were melodies that did nothing but entertain people and then there were Melodies that were Aakacarn spells.
“We’ll hide him. No one else needs to know,” his father said in a firm voice.
His mother nodded quick agreement, as if the matter was settled, and nothing more needed to be said. She even managed to give Daniel a weak smile, clearly intended to make him feel better.
Daniel did not feel any better and the matter was far from settled. What about the cabin? What about Val? What about his job in the Polkat Inn? “No, I can’t hide. I have a cabin to furnish,” he said, looking back and forth between one parent and the other, as if he could will them to understand. “What are the chances that an Aakacarn would come to Bashierwood? Nobody comes this far up the mountain,” he added, hoping both to reassure and persuade them.
“True,” his father said. “And you do have Val to think about. Still, we must keep your condition to ourselves,” he added. Perspiration dripped from his brow, although the room was not uncomfortably warm.
“Yes,” his mother agreed. Her eyes were still red but no more tears came forth. “What would the neighbors think?”
“I think they would run shrieking in terror,” Daniel replied. “I would too if I thought it would do any good.”
A terminal illness might have been better. No, not better. He only needed to keep the secret and avoid stumbling onto any more Aakacarn spells. The thought raised another question in his mind. How did he stumble onto an Aakacarn spell?
“I know,” his mother said as if in agreement with the thought of running in terror, but then added in a brighter tone, “We will get through this.”
“Don’t play any new melodies and all should be well,” his father suggested, then went to the fireplace and picked up the poker, leaving his unlit pipe at the table. “How did you learn that spell?” he asked while jabbing at the burning embers.
“I was thinking of fond memories and the melody just came to me. It seems I stumbled onto an Aakacarn spell,” Daniel told them. He could have sworn the melody was his own original composition. But how could it be?
“A memory spell it would seem,” his mother said and smiled at his father. “I seem to be remembering little details I long since forgotten,” she paused and added, “In fact I remember every thing starting from birth.”
“As is the case with me,” his father said, a flicker of delight danced in his eyes. This was followed by a sigh and a frown. “That was some spell. If a better memory is all we have to live with then we got off lucky. I think you shouldn’t compose any more melodies, stumbling onto another spell might be noticed and give you away.”
“We’ll not speak of this again,” his mother added. It was clear her mind was made up and a quick affirmative nod of her head confirmed this to be so.
Daniel was happy to drop the subject. His father’s solution seemed workable. All Daniel had to do was not compose any more melodies. What could be simpler? He could not reverse what happened, but he felt much better about the incident after discussing it with his parents. The matter was settled.
They fell into an uneasy silence and Daniel tried to ignore some of the affects of his memory spell. Thoughts of the Aakacarns brought back the tales told to children to keep them from sneaking out and wandering the woods at night, those of monsters lurking in the darkness, waiting to snatch a quick meal, the white yeti and its brown cousin the sasquatch, the Condemneds, human beings twisted mentally and physically by an Accomplished of the Serpent Guild, stories of the evil Balen Tamm, Maestro of the guild and servant of the dark Lord Tarin Conn. Daniel shivered in the warm cottage.
* * * * *
Terroll Barnes played his harp before the tiny gathering of village folk. The Polkat Inn was no different than the hundreds of inns and boarding houses he had performed at in recent years. The dining room had ten tables with eight chairs at each. Presently, only half the capacity was being used. His blue on gray silk shirt and coat with black pants were a stark contrast to the simple buckskins and wool worn by the residents of Bashierwood. The patrons did not seem to mind the difference in clothing, all they seemed to want was a little entertainment. He would oblige them.
He played a lively melody which, in his opinion, was fit to be performed in palaces before kings and queens. He deftly plucked the strings of his mahogany instrument, his only comfort and reminder of a glorious past. He went from being a powerful spell casting Aakacarn to playing melodies for common folk in backwoods villages across the continent. He tried not to be bitter or at least not to let it show. He had a duty to his audience, such as they were. To go from a three-bolt Accomplished to practically nothing required radical changes in his life and attitude. He still had the potential, could feel the power ready to be used, and had no way to summon it. He thought of the confrontation which led to his downfall. He never should have challenged the Maestro of the Zephyr Guild, a four-bolt Accomplished, but the man was making drastic changes to the guild and not for the better.
He remembered the Forget spell, oh yes. The very Melody which cost him his great repertoire, every spell he had learned over his ninety years of life. The punishment was referred to as being Silenced by his former colleagues. Physically he appeared to be a man approaching his middle years, which was no where near his actual age. He laughed inwardly at his own predicament. He was aging now. His years were catching up to him. He had not given in to his fate easily, not at all. Right after the cursed spell was laid on him; he went among the Talenteds and tried to read the notes off a page. The spell scrambled his thoughts with every attempt. In the seven years since the spell was initiated, he aged fourteen years. He would probably be dead inside another twenty. He would get no sympathy from the commoners around him even if they knew his plight. He finished the melody and received a rousing applause from the patrons; at least the mountain folk could recognize good music when they heard it.