Wizard of Jatte by Rowan Erlking (librera reader txt) 📕

“Your name is Theissen Darol Mukumar, am I right?”

Pulling back, Theissen nodded.

The witch sighed and then said, “Do you know who Theissen or Darol or Mukumar were, my boy?”

With a shrug, Theissen was about to shake his head and pretend he didn’t, but then he just nodded, averting his eyes. “The three holies. My mother named me.”

Standing up, the witch nodded. “Did you know that Darol was a witch? Or rather more correctly, an Herbalist?”

Theissen lifted his head. He had heard the term herbalist, but he never completely connected it to witchcraft. He nodded. “Yes. And Mukumar was a healer, though Theissen was a philosopher.”

To that, the witch smiled with a twinkle in his eyes. “So why did your mother name you after the three holies?”

Shrugging, Theissen glanced once more at the brew that still spun around in its jar like a dance. “My father got to name my older brothers?”

The man made a face as he reached out to slap Theissen on the head. “You are full of monkey business. No. I can see it enough. You are a special child.” He sat down across Theissen. “Now spill. What do you want to know about magic?”

Glad he didn’t pursue the question further, Theissen tapped the jar. “How does magic work?”

The witch sat back. “Strange? You didn’t ask about spells or about who is more powerful. Everybody asks about that. How does it work?”

Theissen nodded. “I saw you cast that spell. How come the energies of the world obey it? It’s just words and muck in there.”

But again he must have put his foot in his mouth. The witch pulled back from him with a wide-eyed gape and stared. “You could see it happening.”

Closing his eyes, Theissen cringed. He stood up, deciding it was best to go.

But the witch reached out, shaking his head and pulling Theissen back down. “No! Please don’t go! I’m sorry. It’s just…you are the first wizard I have ever met, and I have been dying to know the answer to the same question you just asked me.”

Theissen looked back, surprised. “Then you don’t know either?”

The witch shook his head. “No. But you can see it, right? Tell me, does it really do what I ask it?”

“Tell it,” Theissen corrected, rubbing his finger around the top of the pot, still looking at the remains of the potion inside. “You tell it what to do. I ask it.”

Smiling, the witch extended his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Theissen Darol Mukumar Carpenterson of Lumen Village. My name is Cerben Peres Darol Herbalist of Danslor Village.”

“Herbalist?” Theissen took his hand, knowing of the custom though uncomfortable with shaking the hand of a man who just discovered he was a wizard.

The eyes of the witch smiled. “Yes, the proper term. Magicians and people who don’t know any better call us witches. I tolerate it since most of the villagers don’t harass me when they think I’m something frightening, but it gets tiring having to live up to a reputation that you didn’t earn yourself.”

Theissen nodded appreciatively. He knew how that felt.

They talked most of the afternoon, frankly and with a great deal of robust laughter. Others outside heard them talking, and many peeked over the fence to see if the journeyman carpenter was still there.

Theissen did not head home until near dusk, but by then he had fixed a crack in one of the herbalist’s pots and had mended a rocky table leg and two chairs. He promised to return the next day with some eggs he could get from his cousins if they could spare them. The fence stood straighter after Theissen passed by, and even the road seemed to smooth out from all its lumps and holes. Whispers followed him with wonder.

Though Theissen had planned on staying in Danslor longer just fixing things a bit here and there, he decided he had worn out his welcome with a few of his cousin’s neighbors after his second week. The butcher’s wife, the potato-faced woman, was ranting and raving to her husband about how Theissen threatened to turn her into a toad, though he never did. Some other person claimed that he had transformed their cat into a stone, though in reality their mule had stepped on the cat and they just wanted someone to blame. Unfortunately, the butcher was an influential man, and since the village lacked elders and sheriffs to maintain the order, Theissen decided he ought to leave to avoid a mob.

However, as he stopped by the village center to deliver a fond farewell to the herbalist who had taught him some about how to make skin salves for the blisters on his feet as well as several ways to make a warming soup that would strengthen him as he walked, Theissen found that not as many of the villagers as he had thought were happy to see him go. In fact, many watched from their gates with morose calls for him to return to their village as soon as he could. The truth was, Theissen had changed the state of the well water so that it came up fresher. He also hardened the roads, softened farming soil, and he even passed on advice to the farmer’s friends to trust the herbalist more often with their difficulties. Better still, many took his advice at the well and passed it on to their neighbors, being more neighborly for once. Several families were better off because he had come, and they knew it.

The farmer met him at the highway crossroads after Theissen had collected the herbal gifts from the Herbalist’s shop, stuffing them into his food sack. “Don’t stop at too many villages. Most don’t trust outsiders. And you can be sure some will be out to get you just because of your fancy cloak.”

“It is really that fancy?” Theissen lifted the edge of the hood and peered at.

His cousin smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “Only just.”

Shrugging, Theissen let the edge go. “Oh, well. I suppose my uncle meant well.”

Patting him on the shoulder, the farmer gave one last word of advice before saying good-bye. “And be careful of showing that fancy work belt of yours. The world is not what it was in our fathers’ day. Unscrupulous men are about. And demons. Don’t forget demons.”

Theissen sighed and nodded. The herbalist had warned him of the same. That man had said that most towns and villages had lost a great deal of innocence and justice since the last king had died. Demons were multiplying in the woods. The armies were more dishonest, the merchants likewise. Magicians and herbalists were feared more, and he considered that a bad sign. Cerben Herbalist warned Theissen about doing any magic at all. It was a danger, he said, if powerful men discovered his skills.

“Take care of yourself, cousin,” Theissen said, returning the pat, trying to keep manly composure though he really wished he could hug his newfound friend and family.

“We’ll make this village one that rivals Lumen,” the farmer said, reaching in for a hug anyway.

Theissen laughed, embracing his cousin good and hard. “You do that!”

They broke away, jabbing each other in the side before the farmer’s wife gave Theissen another hug and then a peck on the cheek.

She said, “Remember, you promised to write.”

Theissen nodded to her and then his cousin. “I will.”

There were others standing not far off, but they still did not feel the familiar bond that Lumen had among its members, though it was slowly getting there. Theissen smiled and then drew in a breath. The flow in the village smelled better somehow.

Theissen hoisted up his pack, now full of food to last at least another week. He waved one last time and turned, walking north up the highway, continuing to look back until the trees hid his view of the village and all around him was nothing but trees and the stretch of road. From there he marched on.

The highway north of Danslor village was much like the road to the south. It stretched through thin trees and sometimes along wide fields. It ran along a high enough hill so that he could sometimes see the ocean, but ahead were more hills rather than less. Theissen wondered if they were the Tuscon Mountains that he had heard his father talk about. They didn’t seem high enough to be those.

The closer and closer he got to the hills, the more he could tell he was coming to a wealthy area. The small squalors of homes soon gave way to estates with wide tended fields, homes, and organized villages with no names except in connection with the estate, each divided by rock walls high enough to offer difficulty to a common traveler on foot cutting through the grass. He saw their painted wooden gateways opening towards the highway labeled after each estate, each set with guards armed and eyeing him like a vagabond they had to shove on—all of them doing so except one.

“You!” that one pointed his spear at him, standing at a blue painted archway with white trim and a broad hanging sign with the name of the estate overhead.

Theissen stepped back, trying to keep to the road. “I swear I didn’t step on your land.”

The man snorted with a toss of his head back. “No. I mean, come here you.”

He didn’t though. Instead, Theissen froze to his spot. “Why?”

The guard laughed. “I saw your journeyman’s belt. My master says to keep an eye out for journeymen.”

“To do what with them exactly?” Theissen asked, still not budging.

Nudging his partner, the guard laughed harder. “Hear that? To do what?”

“Quit teasing him,” the other said. His look was sternly fixed on Theissen’s face. “Our master offers pay for work. What’s your trade?”

“Carpentry,” said Theissen, still eyeing their glistening spears and well cared for bucklers.

They both lifted their eyes in chorus. “Eh? Are you from Lumen Village?”

Theissen braced himself. “Will you stick me if I say yes?”

The other burst into laughter again, but the stern one tromped over, lowering his spear point. “Course not. We were told that a journeyman carpenter was supposed to be passing by this month, though we expected you sooner rather than later. What took you so long? Got a gimp?”

“No.” Theissen hiked his slipping bag strap back onto his shoulder. “I stopped off for about two weeks in a village along the way.”

Both men looked surprised again.

“What? Back there?” The laughing one had practically choked.

Theissen nodded, glancing back himself with some satisfaction. “Yes. And now, if you truly were serious about that job, I’d love to go in and see your master.”

The one nodded and waved Theissen over. And with a moment of instruction, Theissen was directed to go down the lane into the village and then towards the manor house where he was to meet up with the steward. The master wasn’t in town, but somewhere to the east visiting relatives on the other side of the mountains.

So, already footsore, Theissen walked the rest of the way, getting a firsthand glimpse of the first estate-village he had ever seen. Here the words Kinnerlin’s letters came back to him. His older brother had said estate villages