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Part 5
Recapitulation: Young boy Hage is traveling to the north together with his master Glaucus. They've just arrived at the home of Glockard the magician, where Glaucus hopes to get an answer as to why his grapes went rotten back at the vineyard. Hage holds a secret hope that the magician can tell him who his mother is. They're accompanied by Platte the merchant.
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After taking care of Glaucus' wounded foot, the magician set about to make tea. He served them by the fire with large cups of earthenware and dry biscuits on the side. Platte held on to his cup as if his life depended on it. Hage couldn't drink the tea at first because it was so hot, but he dipped the biscuits and ate happily. Glaucus was unusually quiet as he sat in the rocking chair. Sitting down on a stool, Glockard started chatting, "So, this is an unexpected, but most pleasant, visit. Tell me Platte, what's the occasion?" He'd swept back the hood of his cloak. The beard still swelled down his chest, but now Hage could see his glittering eyes, deeply sunken into his face. They looked friendly and good-humored. His nose, visible above the grey whiskers, was slightly red and weathered. Wrinkles on the forehead moved in tandem with his almost white eyebrows. "Well, I thought that you perhaps needed some of your ordered goods quickly. It sounded urgent when we met this summer," Platte said. "Yes. Interesting. I don't remember you being so eager to deliver goods twice a year before. I thank you for your consideration, some of the things you bring will be of good use to me," Glockard replied. He drank his tea in silence for a while.
Hage's biscuits were finished, but the tea was still to hot to drink. The magician rose and fetched a platter for Hage. It was full of biscuits. "And you. It's very seldom I get visits from strangers. Somehow the animals of the forrest keep wanderers away from here," Glockard said with a eyebrow cocked at Platte who shuddered at the mention of animals. "You must have some urgent questions for me, right?" Glockard said to nobody in particular. "Perhaps something to do with a farm and how to rescue it, right?" This time he looked straight at Glaucus, who nodded in reply, "More important than urgent, I would say. Let's talk about it in the morning when we're all clear in our heads." He retreated into silence again.
Platte made up for his earlier silence by talking happily for a long time with the magician. Mostly his talk revolved around illnesses in his family, if a brother-in-law should start breeding donkeys or not and other specific areas. Glockard asked some questions in return before answering the merchant. He also put together some bags of herbs for Platte to bring his sick relatives. Before going to bed, Platte made it clear that he intended to go back in the morning - with or without Glaucus and Hage. "No problem, I'll take care of them and show them the right path through the woods," Glockard promised.
The three visitors slept by the fire that night. The magician gave them hay matresses to ease the hardness of the floor. "Don't worry if you hear strange noises tonight. You're safe here in my house," were Glockard's last words for the night. Platte was wide awake, but Hage and Glaucus soon slid off to dreamland. The only sounds Hage could hear were the crackling of embers from the fire and the gentle swooshing of the wind in the trees outside the house. Both were reassuring and peaceful, he thought.
In the morning they ate a paltry breakfast. It was hardly more than tea and the same biscuits as last evening. Glockard and Platte argued about the price of the goods. The magician managed to get the price down quite a bit and then some. Putting the herbs and money into his pack, Platte prepared to leave. He approached Glaucus to extract a promise not to tell others the way to the magician. "I think we should leave that question up to Glockard himself, don't you?" The magican was flabbegasted when he heard about the merchant's proposition. "Platte, how could you do this? My services are open for those who need them. I'm not taking this lightly, you should know." "I don't want anyone to be harmed by the creatures of this valley," Platte whined. "If anyone would walk around here at night, they'd be eaten!" Glockard responded, "You have a good heart, but in this matter you're wrong - those who need my help shouldn't be stopped either by you or the beasts of the valley. I won't tolerate that you demand this promise of people." Begging forgiveness, the merchant left. They assembled outside the house and watched as he ventured into the forest. Leaning on his cane the magician asked Glaucus, "So, how much did he demand for taking you to me?" Glaucus told him the amount. "You're not afraid that he'll try to claim your horse and wagon from the inn?" the magician asked. Seeing Glaucus' dumbstruck face made Glockard laugh heartily. "Don't worry. The inn-keeper won't let him take what's yours. I'm just wishing that you'd brought me some wine. I've only tried it once and if I remember correctly, it was wonderful." Glaucus answered him, "Well - it's not anymore. But if you can help me, I'll leave my last two barrels of my best wine at the inn for you. Besides I've got some wine-skins with me, if you only want to taste it." Glockard said, "My guess is that you have three barrels." Glaucus responded, "Yes, but only two that are drinkable." Hage followed the conversation with growing interest. The magician seemed to know so many things in advance.
Glockard went back inside the house. "Let's eat some real breakfast, now that Platte left us." He filled the table with hard bread and cheese, and from a cupboard he brought some sausages. "Some more tea perhaps, yes?" They ate in silence. The cheese was soft and salty, the hard bread complementing the cheese nicely. The smoked sausages were hard, but delicious. The water in the earthenware-jug was cold and fresh. Glaucus started talking when they was almost finished. He told the magician about the farm, how he'd inherited it from his father along with the knowledge of making wine. He told about the vines and how to cut them to get the most grapes out of them. How to fertilize them to make them grow, but not too much - otherwise they wouldn't bear fruit. He told about the pressing and how to ferment the juices. He told about all the years that he'd made first-rate wine that was pleasing to the palate and nose. Then he told about the last crop. The foulness of the grapes, the odours from the juice and the vile wine. "I've searched for every possible cause. I've found no insects, no rot, no mildew - nothing that can explain why the wine is ruined." A heavy sigh. "So, I have to search for other explanations, perhaps for magic influences. That's why I'm here to beg for your help."
Glockard nodded and spoke up. "We're not so different. You work with the earth and what the earth gives. Everything you do, from planting the vines, nurturing them with fertilizers, picking the grapes when they're ripe and letting them ferment, are things that could happen anyway in nature. But there's a difference. You steer nature in a specific direction, you push and pull the processes to follow your ideas and attain your goals. That's why people aren't able to walk into the forest to pick bottles of wine to drink. Instead they have to buy wine casks from you. You don't create anything, you only happen to control some vital aspects of the nature." The magician looked at Glaucus, who didn't respond. Glockard continued, this time looking at Hage. "I do the same thing, but on an different level. I too work with nature. I too refine and condense natural resources. But I work with forces instead of fruits." He chuckled. "Things that people generally consider to be untouchable and uncontrolable are my grapes. I collect them, press them and let them mature in favourable environments. Finaly I can tap them like a bottle of wine when the need arises." Glaucus straighened in his chair, clearing his throat. "Yes, I know what you mean. I once was a student of the arcane mysteries, before bowing to my father's requests and taking over the farm. I followed my master... until he died. His name was Spis." Glaucus looked straight at the magician, waiting for some sort of reaction. Glockard sat looking out the open door on the small birds pecking on the ground. He didn't move an hair. When he got no reaction, Glaucus continued with downcast eyes. "I was his most dedicated student - and let me tell you he had many eager students. I awoke first in the morning to light the fire to cook breakfast, went to bed late at night after sweeping the floors of our study - long after the other students started snoring. I was keen on knowing everything. Then one day I was assisting my master. He was working with the powers of earth and fire. To keep us safe, he'd woven a shield of water and air to cover us. It was my duty to keep the weave tight during the experiment, but I became to engulfed in his work - I watched how he mixed the powers, how he streamed the forces of fire into the bowl of earth - how he tamed the elements. And I... I didn't notice the slacking of the water-and-air-weave. It was falling apart because I didn't keep it tight. And then..." Glaucus was almost crying. He keept his hands clasped in his lap as to try to keep himself composed. "Then the fire-and-earth-experiment went wrong. Heated lava exploded with lumps flying around, some burning holes right through the walls and ceiling. The heat was unbelievable. I felt my eyebrows fizzle and the sting of burning hair pierced my nose. The shield was soft, but it hold together around me - since I was the one holding the threads to the weave. But my master... He faced the explosion almost unprotected. He was hit in the face with full force." Glaucus was silent, trying to calm down. Breathing heavily. "He was alive. I caught him as he fell backwards. The shield wasn't as tight around him as it had been around me, but he was partly protected. So he was still alive, but badly wounded. I stumbled to the floor with him in my arms. My mind was blank, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know any formula for healing, I could do nothing to help him." Another pause. Hage listened wide-eyed to the story. Glockard instead had closed his eyes, but hadn't made any other move. "Spis was still conscious. His burned hands grabbed my collar, dragging me towards his blackened face that had lost every well-known feature. A mouth that was working silently. He spoke." Now convulsions of crying shook Glaucus body. He no longer tried to keep himself in check. Some minutes passed before he could speak again. "I can remember his very words, how he condemed me for my failure. Sometimes I hear his voice in my sleep and wake up screaming. He said 'Magic is not a toy, not an plaything for the young to be hastily learned...' Then he spoke no more. How I failed my master. I killed him with my ignorance and my youthful incompetence. I wasn't worthy to follow him, much less to assist him in his work. He knew it too, he rebuked me with his last breath." Silence filled the room, Glaucus' sobbing was the only sound. Outside the wind still whispered through the trees. The birds still pecked in the grass on the ground. To Hage it seemed as if he'd been gone for a long time. It was as if everything had changed, but still was the same.
"I left soon after . I didn't even stay for the funeral. I couldn't face the other students. They knew what I had done, I could see it in their eyes. The burden was too heavy. I wrote a letter, left it on my bed and wandered a last time through the herb-garden. The smells was sweet and heavy, he loved that garden. Now he would no more poke in the ground. "I walked day and night. Only sleeping when I could no longer stand on my feet. I did everything to forget what I'd done. Every river I passed called my name. How I wanted to dive into them, never to surface again. One morning, when the thoughts whirled more than ever through my mind - I did walk down into a river. I bent my knees sinking into the water, my face barely above the surface. I fell forwards, letting the stream take my body. The next thing I know, I'm drawn from the river by women who had come to wash clothes. They'd pressed the water from my lungs and saved my life. They told me that my body came floating towards their usual place, but that it was the strangest of things - I floated upstream. After that I no longer wanted to find death. I succumbed to my fate, to live with the memory of what I had done. Creeping home to my father I asked forgiveness for running away to study magic and said that I wanted to learn about winemaking. He was delighted. In time, I learned to love my new trade. My skills in magic waned. I didn't want anything to do with magic. I even banned the very word from my farm when I inherrited it from my father, until Taglia the wisewoman brought back all the pains of memory when she announced that our troubles rested on magic."
Glockard was silent. Glaucus sat silent. Hage didn't dare to do anything other than sit silently. "That wise woman. Is she any good?" Glockard asked. "She's the best for many miles around. She faithfully helped my father before me and now she helps me. Her visions are clear and to the point." Glaucus seemed to be steady again. His tears still clung wet to his cheeks, but no new tears formed in his eyes.
Glockard shifted position. He seemed to sit taller and straighter in his chair. Authority tinged in this voice when he spoke again. "Glaucus. I want you to say the last words of Spis out loud again." Glockard's request seemed to upset Glaucus. "No. I've said them once and that was painful enough. You only want to gloat in my failure." "Glaucus. You need to say his last words out loud again," Glockard coaxed with steady voice. "You have to say them or else I can't help you." Glaucus resisted a few moments more. But he succumbed.
"He said 'Magic is not a toy, not a plaything for the young to be hastily learned...'" "'...but the very foundation for life and the goal of a lifetime of studies.'" Glockard added to the sentence. "It's the first stanza of the 'Ode of deliverance.'" Glaucus had a blank look on his face. "'Ode of deliverance' is imperative to read when a magician appoints his successor. It is only read when a magician raises a former student to become a true magician himself." Glockard leaned forward and took both of Glaucus' hands into his own. "Spis tried to appoint you as the one to take up his fallen cloak. It is a magician's duty, when he's about to leave this world, to pick out the most promising of his students to carry on his work. Spis didn't despise you, instead he tried to elevate you."
Glaucus was silent. Glockard continued talking. "Your master Spis made one thing wrong and one thing right that day. He put too much responsibility in your hands - that was wrong. As any magician knows, you can't delegate safety. Only he knew exactly what forces were that he was dabbling with, so only he could be responsible for the shield. I have no explanation to why he did this, but it's important that you understand that it was his responsibility - not yours. His trying to leave you his heritage was right. Unfortunately he didn't manage to make it clear to you." Glaucus shook his head in bewilderment. "You should know that I was at his funeral-rite. It's not often that an magician dies prematurely, mostly we know in advance that our time is coming to an end and have time to put things right. Me, and most of the magicians of the north, came to Spis' laboratory a few days after you had left. After the necessary rituals, we met all of his students, all but you. We explained what had happened. But we didn't talk to the one who needed it the most. Your letter was very detailed in your percieved wrong-doing, but not very enlighting in how to find you. You had been quite engulfed in your duties. The other students said that you never mentioned where you came from, or even your family-name. Only Spis knew who you were and he didn't keep written records. We looked for you in all four directions, but we didn't find you. Now, when you describe how you walked day and night, I understand why. Back then it was as if you had vanished from the surface of the earth."
Glaucus face was devoid of colours, his eyes reddened from tears. His voice trembled when he spoke up. "The memory of Spis and what I did still lives freshly in my mind. Still painful. Now you say that this burden I've carried for so many years, doesn't exist. That I had another future staked out. That's just... That's... That's difficult to grasp." A surprising sound came from Glockard - he giggled. "You'll find it even more difficult to wrap your mind around this: I think I know why your grapes turned sour and tasteless." The past hours' discussions had almost made Hage forget why they had come to the magician in the first place. Glockard had the absolute attention of his listeners. "Have you ever noticed what happens to water that stand still to long in an bucket? Or how hay decays when it has been lying around for more than a couple of years - even when it's been kept dry?" Both nodded, bewildered again. "Well, I think the same is true about magic. You, Glaucus, you had talent, a natural flair for magic. It's safe to assume that, since Spis held you in high regard. But when you turned your back to magic, your potential came to a standstill. It didn't develop, it wasn't moving. Instead of maturing into a well-tasting wine, it turned into vineagar. In your effort to ban the memory of Spis and what happpened there in his study, you tried to bury your powers and talent in your mind, but magic kept seeping through your mind and affected people in your surroundings. That's why Taglia has become so powerful, your inherent magic elevates her powers. Now, the grapes. You've told me that you bowed to your fathers decision to go into the wine-business. I think you took to the challenge with youthful effort and determination. I think you buried yourself in your work, learning to like the wine business, but I also think that during the last years you have been thinking about your life and the paths you've wandered. I think it took you many years, but eventually you made an decision - you didn't like the wine-business. Then your subconscious took care of the problem in it's own way." Glaucus seemed shaken, he shuddered when Glockard stopped talking. The logic of the magician's reasoning pointed its finger at Glaucus as the one guilty of causing the grapes to rot. Taglia was right - it was magic that destroyed the harvest this year, but she would never have been able to guess who the perpetrator was.
"I need some time for myself. This is too much to take in," Glaucus said finally. "There's a path behind the house, follow it and you'll find an log where you can sit and look out over a small waterfall. It's very soothing, believe me - I've spent many hours there myself." Glaucus rose and left, moving as if he'd lost all his muscular strength. He moved like a sleepwalker, Hage thought.
Silence spread its wings again in the room. Glockard and Hage sat still, both lost in their own thoughts. At last Glockard spoke, "And what do you want to ask, son? I hope it's okay to call you 'son'. I bet you're tired of people calling you 'kid.'" Hage responded, "You really are the most powerful magician of the north, aren't you? How could you know all these things otherwise? How did you know I had a question for you? And yes, I hate beeing called 'kid.'" Hage was interupted by a raised hand from Glockard. He spoke with sadness in both eyes and voice, "Hage. Listen. Most of the 'powers' you talk about aren't magic. Most young boys in your age hate being called kids. And everyone who comes to me has a question. One way or another they come up with a question to ask me." Hage said, "but you knew about the farm and how many wine-barrels that Glaucus brought." Glockard laughted heartily, but his face sank into sadness again. "Well, yes. It's a secret, so I depend on you to keep it safe within your heart. It's like this - I have a deal with the inn-keeper where you left the wagon. He sends me an homing-pigeon with details of the people setting out to find me. He describes the persons, where they come from and everything else that's important. The main reasons is that I don't want to be surprised by unwelcome company, sometimes violent people have searched for me - so far without finding me. A side-effect is that I sometimes can 'predict' peoples' questions, which can be handy. This time the pigeon brought a letter about Platte and two unknown persons accompanying him. I know about Platte's unwillingness to sleep outside at night in this valley, so usually he turns up well before dark on the third day. This time he didn't, so I was worried and started out along the path to meet you. I came upon you when Glaucus talked about saving the farm. I let you and Platte walk ahead and then assisted Glaucus. We took a slightly different path, it's much shorter than the one Platte favours. So you see - no magic required." Hage didn't know what to think. "But, aren't you a magician then? Are you only pretending to be one? Can't I trust you either?" He was close to tears. "Hage. If a horse is thirsty, do you bring it water or wine?" "What?" Hage was bewildered again. "Do you bring it water or wine?" Glockard asked, punctuating every word.
"Well, water of course." Glockard said, "Yes. Because you know that horses doesn't drink wine - it wouldn't be of any use to offer a horse even the best of wines. It would still refuse to drink, right? It's the same with magic. Different magic has different means. Magicians specialize in one or perhaps two different kinds of magic. Do you know about someone who is a master-blacksmith AND an excellent leather-maker? No, I don't think so. Why? Because you have to specialize to become proficient. Now I've talked enough. You have a question for me. I only hope that's it is within my powers to answer you."
Hage was close to tears again. So much effort. His hopes to get an answer had grown so big. Every step throught the woods had elevated his expectations that the magician could deliver clarity. Here Glockard was telling him that he was no better than an wandering conjurer - extracting eggs from the audiences ears and noses. "I wanted... I need to know... My mother. I want to know why she left me. Where she is now." He could hardly talk. Glockard nodded sadly. "That, my young friend, is exactly the kind of questions I can't answer."
Hage was surprised that he didn't start crying. It was all over. He'd never meet his mother. Never ask her the questions he needed answered. He wouldd always carry the weight of not knowing her reasons to leave him - why she didn't love him. Glockard laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hage. I will leave you alone for now. I think you need time to reconcile. I hope you believe me when I say this; if it were at all possible, I'd do everything in my power to help you, but as you know, pigs can't fly and pigeons can't swim." He left the house. Outside the house the afternoon stretched the shadows of the trees across the open space. The day was closing to night. Hage felt tired. His head was tired. Almost no thoughts stirred. He found himself breathing deeply and easily. Without making an effort a picture popped into his mind. He could see himself back at the farm. He was in the vineyard, pulling grapes. He was grown up, with a short beard covering his chin. He knew without words that the future version of himself was content with his life. Further along the row of vines he could see Fola and all the other's at the farm - they were all older, but they were still the same.
He would never change, never again leave the place where he'd grown up, and he would never know who she was, why she left him or where she'd gone. His mother was truly gone.
(To be continued)
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[This message has been edited by Slayer (edited 05-22-2001).]
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