The Reign of Magic. Wolf Awert
a way. The rokkanut’s blessings are the drill wasps. They use their stingers to drill tiny holes into the shell and then they lay their eggs in it. The eggs hatch into larva, and these speak to the shell and persuade it to open up. Nevertheless, it is a tough job to carve anything out of the shell. Whoever crafted your amulet must have quite some experience.”
The druid turned the disk so that the light shone on the surface at an angle. “The symbols on the amulet look like writing, but it is writing unlike any I have ever seen; I cannot read it. It is bursting with magical energy, I can feel it, but I cannot see any more than that. Whatever its uses are, you will have to find out for yourself.”
Lost in thought, the druid held the wooden disk in his hands. “But that is not all. The band that holds it is made up of eight threads, woven in a complex pattern. Every thread is made up of three strands. I see black and white strands. Each thread is either black or white. Three threads have two white strands and a black one. It is all very peculiar. Each thread is either black or white.”
The druid scratched his chin. “There is some sort of symbolism hidden away in this order, and I cannot see it, for the number eight is meaningless in magic. The magic world keeps the pentagram of five elements as its base: Metal, Water, Wood, Fire and Earth. Five is a magical number, for the mages in Ringwall as well. The mages also count three sphere-magics apart from the elements: the magics of the Other World, of Space and of Thought. That would be eight in all. But I have also heard that as of late they practice the magic of Nothing. But I know nothing of that. That would be nine in all. No, no, eight threads on a magical object – the reasoning eludes me.”
“And the band itself? Is it also from Metal World?” Nill’s entire body was tingling with excitement and he had difficulty sitting still. Although he was getting more questions than answers, he felt that the secret of his own origins was not as murky as he had up until now thought.
The druid nodded thoughtfully. “I can tell you more about the material used in the band than the band itself, yes. It is made from spider silk. In fact, it is from the webs of the nightstalker and the royal weaver. Both of them weave gigantic webs that are large enough to capture wild animals. Nightstalkers and royal weavers live somewhere between Water and Metal. They can be found in swamps and mountains. Their webs stick to everything they touch, and I cannot help but wonder how the secretion was removed from them. It takes a great deal of skill to craft usable strands out of those webs.” Dakh handed the amulet back to Nill. “Keep it well hidden. It is an extraordinary magical artifact. Until you find out how its magic works, do not show it to anyone.”
“But how am I to find that out if even you can’t?”
“You are the bearer of this amulet. It will speak to you someday.”
Nill asked the last question that burned inside him. “Do you think my parents were mages?”
The druid simply shrugged, and shortly afterwards his thoughts seemed somewhere else entirely.
After that night Nill’s sleep became so restless that even Dakh’s nightly rest was disturbed by it. Nill dreamed feverish dreams, the slivers of which he had already forgotten the next morning. Every morning it took longer for him to awaken properly. At first he thought it was the amulet or maybe the thoughts about his parents that robbed his sleep. But they were not thoughts that coursed through his mind; they were images and feelings, a chaos of soul and spirit.
Dakh began to worry about him, but he kept it concealed. “You are being tormented by either premonitions or memories,” the druid said. “But as long as you forget what you dreamed I cannot help you. Perhaps something in your past is causing these dreams, these memories.”
Nill told Dakh about the encounter with the demon. “That mess of dream and reality is the strongest memory I have. Esara told me something about a mid-realm, but I didn’t understand what she meant. It’s something between this world and the Other World.”
Dakh sighed. “We will take a small detour. I know someone who might be able to help you.”
They moved towards the morning sun. The loneliness of the landscape had passed. Again and again they came across single huts or small houses that Dakh evasively led them around. Before long the huts were replaced by large farm houses, and the very next day they saw their first village from afar. The villages now either stood visibly on the hilltops, from which one had a good vantage point to see the lands all around, or they hid near springs where the water flowed clear and fresh. Nill was looking forward to some human interaction and a soft, warm bed after days in the wilderness, but Dakh avoided the settlements, too.
“We need to go there,” Dakh-Ozz-Han said, pointing towards a dark spot in the middle of all the green. Nill squinted at it and could make out a few leather-bound poles offering some shelter from the weather in front of an earthen cave.
“Someone actually lives there?” Nill asked skeptically. He was used to Spartan conditions, but this was not even a tent, let alone a hut.
“He does not ask for much and lives alone. He has been there for many years.”
“Who?”
“His name is Urumir and he claims to be a shaman.”
“Is he?”
“You can be the judge of that.”
Nill’s curiosity was kindled. All he knew about shaman came from a few sentences Dakh had dropped on him during their journey. Nill had been satisfied with knowing that shaman knew magic and could travel from this world to the Other World. He quickened his pace instinctively and his heart beat noticeably faster in his chest.
Nill wondered what powers a shaman might have, and he felt strangely torn between his fear of an unknown might and the desire to bear witness to it.
They reached the strange home and Dakh sat down on a stone quite naturally. Nill looked around, somewhat helplessly, and sat down on the earth. After a few moments of silence he asked: “Will we wait long before the shaman comes? Is he here or are we waiting for him?”
“He is here. Can you not feel him? We are waiting for him, yes, but to welcome us.”
Nill let his senses wander around the place and his eyes came to rest on the leather straps holding the poles to the stone wall.
“Well, if it isn’t Dakh, the eternal estray.”
Dakh-Ozz-Han stood up, turned around and very carefully embraced the strange figure, whose clothing of fur and leather was barely visible under the mass of dancing feathers, bones, teeth and claws.
“You have a bothersome idea of eternity, little Urumir. But I am happy to see you. Alas, I cannot greet you properly for fear of breaking one of your sacred quills.”
“And I thought your care was for my old bones.” Urumir laughed. “Now you won’t believe me, but I don’t know to this day whether the trinkets I carry are actually magical, or if I’m still just covered in them because my master told me to all those years ago.”
“You’re right: I don’t believe you.” Now the druid was laughing too. “If you cannot see the value of an item, who can?”
Nill stood next to the two old friends and felt strangely excluded. “Little Urumir” was at least a head and a half taller than the druid and looked ancient compared to Dakh. Urumir’s face was a labyrinth of leathery wrinkles strapped carelessly over a skeletal skull. Despite his great height his body was bent almost double, and Urumir could not walk more than a few steps without the aid of his staff. He had to be incredibly old.
“But you are not alone, my old friend, how unusual.”
“We live in unusual times, little Urumir. The boy here next to me is named Nill and is going to Ringwall to learn the magics.”
The shaman gave Nill a searching look. “So, then, Nill. A strange name. Not a name to be forgotten quickly and not a name to be chosen easily. Perhaps the name chose the bearer for itself? You have a turbulent time coming