The White Wizard

Chapter 8

Considering the details Gad had written inside the letter, Arthur found little reason to believe everything contained within it.

He glanced at the picture several times, almost hoping he was not actually reading about dragons.

This Sariel figure seemed feminine in appearance, yet according to the letter, she had been unable to escape the wicked Wizards who sought her.

Another line struck Arthur particularly hard.

Gad had literally written that Arthur himself would need to free Sariel. Arthur almost rejected that destiny immediately. He lowered his gaze toward the page again just to ensure his father had truly written those words.

Though honestly, it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. The handwriting clearly belonged to Gad.

Following the enormous amount of information contained within the letter, Arthur distinctly remembered one detail.

The Wizards had all been forced to drink from the Brink of Sysia. This same Sysia. The same kingdom where he now lived. If the place still existed, Arthur would eventually need to find it.

Perhaps it might even answer some of the questions now lingering inside his mind.

Still feeling conflicted, Arthur was about to turn the page and continue studying the spell incantations when his eyes drifted toward the gloomy sky beyond the wooden window.

He froze. There was trouble. Real trouble. The seriousness of it became even more obvious when he glanced around the house.

Devic could return at any moment. And if the old fisherman returned home to find the place still looking like this, Arthur was fairly certain he would be shot.

It was not that Arthur could not perform some unpleasant spell on Devic if necessary. He was simply afraid the old man might die from shock.

Their first encounter had already proven how easily Devic became terrified.

Arthur could bend metal, but he had never attempted bending a bullet before.

Still, if matters became desperate enough, he might have to try something.

Even though Devic behaved as though he were stronger than everyone around him, he was still an old man. Just like countless others.

Arthur immediately jumped to his feet and began flipping through page after page. His eyes were wide as full moons. Only he knew what he was searching for.

And if he could pronounce the spell properly, its manifestation should perform the work perfectly. He never just expected time to move this quickly.

"Atheos... origus... tos... phus..."

At the utterance, the old birch brooms and bundled reeds suddenly stirred. For a brief moment, they almost seemed alive.Then they collapsed again as though discouraged.

Arthur groaned in frustration before glancing toward the window once more. The sky looked even darker now. He tried again. This time, he failed on the third syllable.

Arthur hissed. He kept imagining what Devic might do if he returned and found the house still in disarray.

Another attempt caused the raffia rag hanging from the wall to twitch. Then the cloth immediately dropped onto the floor. The spell had failed again.

As Arthur wondered exactly how Devic intended to shoot him over an untidy room, a series of horns echoed from the kingdom's water port.

Arthur immediately recognized the sound. The fishermen were returning. Boats would already be making their way back toward shore. And Devic would undoubtedly be among them.

Arthur was beginning to hate this particular phonation. The spell sounded simple enough when written. Actually speaking it proved far more difficult. The frustration was becoming unbearable.

Perhaps he would simply perform a Metal Spell on whatever weapon Devic brought home. But then another thought struck him.

What if Devic carried a wooden sickle fashioned from lignum wood?

Arthur was fairly certain he could not bend wood. And if that happened, Devic's return might genuinely result in his death.

"Atheos... origus... tos... phus... cos..."

On the thirty-second attempt, the spell finally succeeded.

The cleaning equipment immediately stirred.

The birch broom rose upright and began sweeping the floor despite nobody holding it.The raffia rag started wiping surfaces. Even the laundry began moving on its own.

Arthur refused to allow excitement to ruin his concentration. Instead, he continued moving his lips while maintaining the incantation.

And this time, the cleaning tools did not fumble in their duties.

The cups and wooden dishes continued moving across the room while Arthur repeated the incantation beneath his breath.

The spell seemed to grow stronger with every successful utterance. Soon, the washing basin was working by itself.

Water splashed repeatedly against the wooden sides while the dishes cleaned themselves beneath invisible guidance.

Arthur could hardly believe it. A powerful gust of wind circled the room. The pages of the ancient book fluttered wildly. Several loose pieces of parchment slid across the floor before becoming trapped beneath a stool.

Arthur continued reading. His pronunciation improved little by little.

The birch broom swept dust from corners. The raffia cloth wiped the table. Even the laundry hanging nearby seemed to organize itself.

For the first time since arriving in Sysia, Arthur felt genuine excitement. Magic truly could solve ordinary problems.

Somehow, Gad had been right to force him into studying all those difficult symbols and pronunciations.

As the final wooden cup settled neatly onto a shelf, the front door suddenly creaked.

Arthur froze. His heart nearly stopped. Without hesitation, he shoved the book beneath his small wooden bed.

The wind vanished immediately. The broom dropped lifelessly onto the floor but in place. The basin became still.

Then the door opened.

Devic staggered inside carrying a basket filled with fish. His beard looked damp from the drizzle outside. Water dripped from his clothing.

Arthur immediately rushed forward and collected the basket and the old man tiredly handed it to him.

Devic breathed heavily."Bastard! Do you have the house clea—" his words abruptly stopped.

His eyes wandered across the room. The floor. The shelves. The basin.The table. Everything looked unusually neat.

Although darkness had already begun settling over the kingdom, the glow from nearby lamps revealed the condition of the house clearly enough.

Devic frowned. "Apparently, it seems you actually did quite a good job."

Arthur blinked.That was probably the closest thing to praise Devic had ever given him.

"I told you I would arrange everything." He said.

Devic grunted. "You usually talk too much."

Arthur almost laughed. Coming from Devic? That statement sounded very strange.

Then the old fisherman dropped heavily onto a chair. For several moments, neither of them spoke. The way Devic breathed explained how tired he was and it wouldn't had been easy for him to bear the burden of fishing alone.

Then Devic glanced toward Arthur. "You still dying?"

Arthur looked up. "What?"

"The sickness." Devic said.

Arthur realized what Devic was asking. For some reason, that surprised him. He never expected Devic to remember. Much less care.

Arthur shrugged. "I feel better, sir."

Devic nodded slowly. "Good."

Arthur waited. That single word felt strangely genuine. For a brief moment, Arthur remembered Gad. His father had rarely spoken much either. Yet sometimes concern revealed itself through small things.

Perhaps old men simply preferred hiding their emotions behind insults. Then Devic suddenly slammed both palms against the table.

"I am starving!" Devic grunted.

Arthur whipped his gaze at him. The old man's voice nearly shook the room.

"I have not eaten properly since yesterday." Devic added.

Arthur immediately remembered the scene at Genevieve's bakery. More specifically, the way Devic had been embracing Genevieve afterward. Perhaps excitement truly had distracted him from food.

Or perhaps old age simply made people forget important things.

"Take those fish." Devic pointed aggressively toward the basket. "Go to Genevieve's shop and exchange them for bread."

Arthur nodded.

"And hurry. If I starve to death before you return, I will haunt you." Devic said.

Arthur honestly did not know whether Devic was joking.

"I'll be back soon, sir." Arthur promised.

"You better." Devic answered.

Arthur lifted the basket and stepped outside. The evening air felt cool against his skin. A light drizzle had begun falling over Sysia. Tiny droplets landed upon the stone pathways.

Local lamps protected behind glass coverings illuminated portions of the streets. Their golden flames flickered gently beneath the wind.

Arthur carefully made his way through the narrow roads. The basket felt heavy in his hands. Several merchants were already closing their stalls. Others hurried toward shelter before the rain intensified. The kingdom looked different at night and it glimmered with lives.

Arthur eventually reached a larger pathway lined with stone. That was when his eyes landed upon something unexpected. A statue.

The figure stood proudly upon a raised platform. Its stone sword pointed toward the sky. Rainwater rolled down its weathered surface.

Arthur slowed his steps. Oddly enough, he could not remember ever paying attention to the monument before. Perhaps he had walked past it countless times.

Yet tonight felt different. Maybe it was because Gad's letter remained fresh inside his mind. Everything now seemed connected to forgotten history. The ancient kingdoms. The Wizards. Sariel. The traitors.

Arthur stared at the statue for several moments. He wondered whether the warrior had truly existed. Or whether the figure represented some story long forgotten.

Eventually, he continued onward. The bakery soon appeared ahead. Warm light escaped through the windows.

Arthur felt strangely confident approaching the building now. After everything that happened previously, Genevieve was unlikely to challenge him again. In fact, Arthur suspected she feared him. Maybe a little.

Without bothering to knock, Arthur pushed open the door. The familiar scent of baked bread immediately greeted him.

Yet something felt wrong. The bakery was unusually quiet. Genevieve was nowhere in sight.

Arthur's brows furrowed. Then his gaze shifted toward the center of the room.

Aria stood there. But she was not alone. A broad-shouldered man stood directly in front of her.

He wore a sleeveless woolen shirt that exposed powerful arms.

The stranger's build was easily larger than most fishermen Arthur had seen since arriving in Sysia.

For some reason, Aria appeared cornered.

Arthur slowly stopped walking. The basket remained hanging from his hand. And at that exact moment, the stranger turned.