Journey to Baromenes - Part 1
On the road somewhere between Bridgeford and Coalton, heading south...
Mags climbed up onto the the old wagon's buckboard bench. Throughout the climb, his black cat, Clair, managed to retain her perch atop his shoulder. Once he settled in his seat, she leaped down into his lap. The bench was cold and hard. Mags pulled the magically warmed cloak snugly around himself. Clair began a lazy purr--a precursor to nap time.
With a cluck from the carter and a subsequent jolt, the wagon resumed it's course south, ambling lazily against the blustery gray day.
"Kategaris. That's a Halaean name is it." It wasn't a question. The carter was a surprisingly wide dwarf, taking up most of the bench. Half his face hid behind a shaggy salt and pepper beard, but his eyes were kindly, marked by smiling wrinkle lines.
Mags had been through such conversations before. He knew his lines well. "I'm from Skiero originally, or near Skiero." he replied politely.
"You speak our tongue well for a Halaean. But you're a bit young for a hedge wizard, I should think." The carter's tone was two parts teasing and one part skeptical.
The conversation took the young traveler into new territory. Mags had spent his life traveling with the Master--in the role of apprentice. Only recently had he begun traveling alone. He answered a bit defensively "I'm older than I look. I recently completed my apprenticeship. I can assure you I'm a fully qualified hedge wizard."
The dwarf cocked his head in Mags' direction. "You've got a cat following you around, I'll give you that much; but where's your pointy hat, your staff, your shiny ancient amulet of arcane power?"
Clearly the dwarf was teasing him, perhaps baiting him. Such was the life of a hedge wizard. The common folk usually received Mags and his Master with respect and appreciation. And yet, there were others who mocked and provoked. Mags took a centering breath, hearing his Master's words. Stop being an angry young man. First listen, see, then think. And then respond.
The dwarf's eyes had smiled as he spoke: playful, not provoking. Mags relaxed.
"They were all out of pointy hats and arcane amulets at the hedge wizard supply shop in Coalton or I'd have picked one up." The young hitchhiker flashed an awkward smile.
The dwarf chuckled approvingly.
Determined to end the dwarf's suspicion and teasing, Mags passed a hand over the bit of bench between himself and the wide dwarf, speaking arcane words to the wooden board upon which they sat. "Zestó chrimatokivóti."
The bench immediately... warmed. Not uncomfortably so. Just right. Mags' body, already wrapped in a magically warm cloak, barely registered the change. But the dwarf grunted in surprise before melted into the bench, warming up for the first time that day, the cold wind somehow less biting.
"Now that's what I call magic," the carter approved. "More than fair trade for the ride."
Mags beamed at the dwarf's approval--then inwardly berated himself for caring so much. Despite the Master's absence, his need for approval had remained. Mags knew he needed to quash that part of himself: that boyish longing for approval from those who only offered it sparingly. He wished he could be more like the Master--who never seemed to care what others thought of him.
"What else can you do?" the dwarf asked, now genuinely interested.
Mags' bit of prestidigitation had succeeded: the dwarf's tone conveyed a new level of respect. The young traveler guessed there'd be no further disparaging of hedge wizards or teasing at his expense.
"The usual: herbal remedies, enchanted items, and... a bit of divining." He spoke the last part with particular emphasis.
"Divining?" The dwarf again turned to shoot his young companion a sidelong glance.
"I have a dowsing rod, a deck of fortune cards--the usual divining offered by hedge wizards. But..." Mags met the dwarf's gaze with eyes that saw more than the appearance of things. "I am also an Oracle of Nezeris."
The dwarf looked away, the smile in his eyes retreating. No mockery, no suspicion. His eyes heavy on the road.
Their journey together continued for some time, only the creaking of the wagon and the clomping of horse hooves to mark their passage.
"You pick up messengers from time to time?" Mags' words broke the silence between them.
The carter kept his eyes on the road. "When I can."
"And others: lone travelers like myself, the kind of people who should not be on the road alone?" There was something in the young hedge wizards voice. His words were not a question. He spoke as one who comprehended hidden things, his voice sounding from someplace beyond his years.
"I do what I can. They're safer with me. My wagon bears the Imperial Tile. I get no trouble from common brigands." The dwarf's voice grew heavy with emotion.
"And so you forge a path of safety for those in need and those who serve the Path Maker." The words were those of a true oracle, penetrating the dwarf with undeniable force.
"I've pledged to do so." The dwarf's words were heavy with remorse rather than pride.
"Why?" In vision and whispers Mags had seen and heard the dwarf's past, his pain. As Nezeris' Oracle, he delivered many messages. Some were easy, others difficult. He did not want to make the dwarf speak his secret shame. But the Path Maker demanded it.
The dwarf broke into sobs. "I never meant for... I killed him. I was young, angry, drunk, prideful. I had no business being on the road. I..."
The dwarf wept as he continued, rough tears and cries withheld for decades, his words faltering. "He was young. An oracle like you. With his dying words he... he spat no curse. He... told me what I would need to do... to... atone. His final message from Nezeris. For me. After what I had done to him he still...."
Mags stopped himself from placing an arm around the dwarf's shoulders. As an Oracle, he was prohibited from offering comfort. He could not insinuate his own desires into the delivery of his oracular message. If there was ever comfort to be had from such messages, it could only come from the words to be spoken.
"Hayrufel Stonecarter, hear now the words of Nezeris. Forty nine years you have sought to atone--the stolen years of the life you took. Your offering is now deemed acceptable. Only one journey remains. You will see Mags Kategaris safely to the sea, with passage aboard a ship bound for Baromenes. Then you will return to Bridgeford, to the shrine of the Path Maker. There, you will make an offering of thanks for safe passage. These are the words of Nezeris."
The dwarf shed more tears as the wagon continued down the road, but now they fell with gratitude, relief, and elevation of spirit.