The Reign of Magic. Wolf Awert

at the far side of the village, the last house. It’s hidden among the trees. You can’t miss it. There is no house like Esara’s.” Nill’s voice brimmed with pride and pushed his irritation away.

      The druid smiled. “Do you know her well?” he asked.

      Nill nodded.

      “She called me, but I don’t know if she knows.”

      “Esara?”

      The druid nodded thoughtfully.

      Nill bit his lip and thought for a moment.

      “She’s my mother.”

      The druid gave another nod.

      “Not my real mother,” Nill hastened to add ­– yet he did not understand why he was telling a complete stranger about his family. “My parents left me somewhere around here, and Esara took me in.” There was bitterness in his voice.

      “Parents don’t just leave their children lying around.” The druid’s voice was calm and controlled.

      “But they did.”

      “Can you remember it? How your parents said goodbye to you?”

      “No, how could I? I was far too young.”

      “If you can’t remember the moment of parting, how can you claim they left you lying here?”

      This angered Nill. His eyes flashed. “Do you know what happened? You act as though you know the truth.”

      The druid shook his head yet again. “No, I do not know the past. I have my guesses, I see a few pictures. Still they are hazy and incoherent. Druids are not truth-tellers. Ask Esara instead.”

      Nill scowled at him. “She told me never to speak badly of my parents.”

      “Esara is a wise woman. Can you go fetch her for me?”

      Nill’s face cracked into a grin. “That won’t be necessary, she’s already here.”

      The druid got up, turned about, walked the few paces to Esara and greeted her respectfully.

      The Reeve, having watched the scene from afar, was content. The druid had obviously come for Esara and her boy. He was loathe to lose the truth-teller, yet relieved at the same time, for his village seemed now free of danger. Esara was a stranger, and everyone knew that they came and went.

      “You are here for me,” Esara said. It was a statement of resignation rather than a question.

      “Yes, for you too.” The druid lowered his head in agreement.

      “You are too early.”

      “I know,” said the druid. “But I always would have been too early for you. It’s time. Your cry was so loud, it pained my ears. I came as fast as I could. And as you can see, I have already made his acquaintance.”

      “I was afraid I’d called for you. But we can’t change that now. We are no longer free in our actions. Come to my house. It is small and tight, but the trees will lend us their protection.”

      The druid emptied his water-pot, packed his belongings back into his various bags and made a bow in the Reeve’s direction, who still stood at a respectful distance.

      “I thank you for your hospitality,” he called. He gave Nill, who had also stood up, a slight nudge and followed him and Esara with light footsteps.

      “That is a house after my own heart,” Dakh-Ozz-Han burst out once he stood before the flowery wilderness. “You live in a grove more beautiful than can be found in Woodhold, yet you live in Earthland. Even a druid could be stopped from wandering by this.”

      “Yes, it’s our last remains of home,” Esara said.

      Nill glanced from Dakh-Ozz-Han to Esara and back again. Esara, bearer of the village’s mistrust, and Dakh-Ozz-Han, a mighty druid who scared the villagers witless. Here they stood. The druid had laid his right arm on Esara’s waist and was looking deep into her eyes.

      Almost like lovers, Nill thought, yet not. There was no tenderness in their gazes. Esara looked oddly lost, and Dakh-Ozz-Han was holding her steady. The stood there without moving. The only movement was the slight shifting of the whisper-willows’ branches. Even the birds were silent.

      Nill could sense powers flowing together right at the center of Grovehall, convening there at that moment. Powers he had never felt before. But he could not understand their nature nor their ways. All he could see was that the intimidating aura surrounding the druid had vanished and made space for something else that had grasped Esara.

      There was no space left for Nill. He could not see what battle Esara was fighting, nor why Dakh had to hold her.

      Esara stared into the distant nothingness. She heard piercing screams, not knowing that they were her own, and saw shadows flitting past. Explosions danced through her head, leaving silence and blackness in their wake. No sounds, only screams. No pictures, only flashes. She clung onto life with a silvery-gray band that seemed to be coming from somewhere on her forehead, vanishing into the darkness before her.

      Dakh-Ozz-Han fought. An elemental storm surrounded him. He held on to the flickering, torn light between himself and Esara with all his might. He felt remains of destroyed magics in Esara’s mind – buried, half-unearthed roots of Fire and Earth, and terrible, mutilated stumps of what once had been the foundations of Wood and Water. The Metal had gone mad and was now tearing through her mind, prepared to slice everything that dared take shape, and Dakh-Ozz-Han attacked it until it retreated, blunt and spent. Then he calmed the remaining roots of Fire and Earth and gave some strength back to the Wood.

      Esara swayed as the druid unfixed his gaze. His arm veered around her waist and he held the woman tight.

      Nill knew nothing of what had happened, for he could not follow Dakh and his mother on the path they were on. He had stayed in Earthland. But for the first time he saw Esara through different eyes, and he did not know if he liked what he saw. The woman in front of him must have come from another world, one further away than the truth-telling and magical rituals, further than their shared meals, the mends they made on their clothes, her lined face and the herb-drinks she had given him when he was sick. There was an Esara who took care of him, one from before he had arrived, and there was a third Esara, who had been the beginning. This third Esara was the root of her truth-telling and of something that connected her to the druid. Nill decided to ask her about it, and this time he would not give up after a few meaningless answers.

      “I will accompany him, for now,” Dakh-Ozz-Han said.

      Nill flinched. He had been running after his own thoughts and had not realized that Dakh-Ozz-Han and Esara were talking about him. Did Esara mean to be rid of him?

      The druid said: “I will bring him to Ringwall. He will be in good hands there.”

      Esara stayed silent, while inside her a beast raged. “Ringwall!” it screamed. “Cursed city of all evil, my pain.”

      But out loud she spoke: “Ringwall will not take him. Ringwall has never allowed someone of common descent to pass through its gates.”

      “Perhaps I don’t even want to go there,” Nill attempted to calm her.

      “You must,” the druid said harshly. “You are an arcanist. You have access to the powers of magic. That is no slight gift. An arcanist can change things, but is always in danger of losing himself in the process.”

      “Why is it dangerous if you can do something?” Nill asked.

      “Because magic rules. Magic must be controlled, or it will control you. And if it does control you, your own power will destroy you. That is why every arcanist needs a teacher.”

      “How can you be so sure that Ringwall will take him?” Esara asked.

      “Things have changed in Pentamuria