Wolf Awert - The Reign of Magic

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 your way.” The shaman gave a bleating laugh. “Well, whatever the circumstances of your name, be welcome in my home.” Urumir turned back to Dakh. “I saw you coming yesterday. The food is nearly done. Sit by the fire if you would.”

Nill did not understand and scratched his head. The sound of it disturbed the silent interludes between the men’s sentences. Nill felt slightly embarrassed, but the old men seemed to have a different sense of hearing to him.

Where had the shaman been if he had really seen them coming more than a day ago? Nill was certain that he had arrived after they had been here. He could not have been waiting in his cave. Nill sighed quietly. He doubted he would ever understand the ways of magic and its wielders.

Around the fire, which was situated on a flat piece of the hill, lay a few chopped-up tree trunks that served as benches quite well. The shaman gave each of them a wooden bowl full of thick, creamy soup. They ate in silence. Like all men of nature they were not of many words, and tasty food was always worth their full attention.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Nill, putting his patience to the test, Dakh laid down his bowl. “Warming and filling. We need the strength, because the near future will be rough.”

The shaman nodded in silent agreement. “The world is restless. Something is coming, and nobody knows what it is.”

“Which world do you mean, old friend?” Dakh asked the shaman.

He gave another short, bleating laugh. “Both, Great druid. Both.”

Nill felt a shiver run down his spine. That had not been a humorous laugh and the “Great druid” had not been a joke, either.

“Urumir, we have come to you because Nill has been dreaming unhealthy dreams. And also because something is happening around him that I cannot understand. Perhaps we will be lucky and you can see something in the past or the future.”

“Can shaman see the future?” Nill asked.

“Yes and no, my young friend. We belong to the riders of time. But we tend to get lost in it. We never know when and rarely where we are. It’s a pointless gift. Who could possibly want to know their future?”

“Me,” Nill burst out, and both men laughed. Nill frowned. He did not like being laughed at.

“Shaman visit the Other World, the world of shadows, of the dead, of spirits. They have access to a magic that has something to do with the very making of the world, something we druids know nothing of,” said Dakh. “I hope he can help us.”

Nill was only half listening. He was burning to know whether Urumir was really that much older than Dakh, or whether the magic of the shaman was so powerful that it took their vitality. He had just concluded that he never wanted to become a shaman when Urumir’s body suddenly became translucent. Nill could see inside him, where a strong heart was pushing the blood through the veins with a calm beat. The midriff, with all the organs and intestines Nill knew from freshly slaughtered rams, was surrounded by a golden aura and even the bony, leathery feet seemed somehow more dignified. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the vision passed.

“What was that?” Nill choked, appalled. Seeing inside other people’s bodies seemed even more shameful than witnessing someone relieving themselves. The vicious intimacy of the moment took Nill’s breath away, and he would have liked to cover his eyes.

“What did you see?” Urumir asked, and Dakh shot Nill a questioning glance.

Nill began to stutter under their powerful gaze, swallowed and steeled himself. “I saw inside of you,” Nill said, “but it was…”

“It would take the aid of a demon to look inside a shaman; magic alone won’t do the trick.”

Urumir sounded detached, rather as though he were pointing out that rocks were hard and feathers soft. But Nill flinched. The encounter with Bucyngaphos had shaken him too deeply for him not to shiver at the mere mention of a demon. He quietly said: “I fear demons more than anything,” and suddenly fell silent. The men looked at each other.

“So you’ve already met a demon,” Urumir stated. “Tell me what he looked like.”

“I even know his name,” Nill whispered. “Esara told me.”

But before Nill could speak the terrible name, the shaman leapt to his feet and stretched out his hand in a defensive gesture. His feathers wafted air in Nill’s face. “Is he with you?”

Nill stared blankly, not understanding. Then he looked up. At the perimeter of the fire’s light two large, slanted, bright yellow eyes blinked.

He laughed. “Yes, that is my ram. After a bit of a struggle at first we took care of the herd together. Now his herd is gone, the owner sold them. He must have followed us all this time.”

“What is his name?”

Nill shrugged. He had never bothered to give the animal a name.

“Send him away,” the shaman said, agitated. “I don’t trust the beast, and I don’t want him anywhere near me when we’re talking about demons, and especially when we enter the Other World.”

“Why not?” Nill asked in confusion.

“That is no ordinary animal that followed you, and I don’t want to risk disorder in the worlds.” The shaman had suddenly become very serious.

“The demons have helpers in this world, helpers we should avoid. And they are strong enough to control us humans. Arcanists can call upon them. Archmages can summon, but not control them. The strongest demons a mage can summon are the demons of pure emotion. There are six of them. Odioras is the Demon of Cold Hate, Irasemion is the name of the Demon of Wild Rage, and Avarangan is the Lord of Blind Greed. Despras is the Master of Desperate Fear, and Exmediant the Two-Faced stands over exuberant happiness and deepest sadness. I’m not completely sure whether he might really be a gemini-demon, though.”