Magic Maker
October 10, 2002
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Homework
I'd like to think that this was not meant to happen. I'd like to think that my life was supposed to take the old road, full of ancient, dusty book and rooms. But this? This isn't what I expected. It's so lonely here. Where's my sister. . . ?
* * * * *
"Jahari!"
Oh, not again....
"Jahari! Get your skinny butt out here!"
Jahari can hear her moving out on the porch, her high heels clicking on the old, worn boards. He can imagine her long blond hair sticking out in bits from the simple, silver wire coiffure it is caught up in. He looks to his redheaded companion.
"If you're here, Gen, then how'd she get here?"
She meets his eyes squarely.
"I'm not the only carriage driver who works for your family, you know." she replies with a shrug of her strong, broad shoulders.
"Jahari?" Beatrice says through the door. "Come out, please."
When he hears the whine in her voice he knows that something is not right with her world.
"The door is open, Bee." he hollers.
The knob turns, and in walks Beatrice, his half-sister. Her blond hair has indeed started to come undone, and teary streaks mare her otherwise lovely face. He can see that she has been horseback riding instead of riding in a carriage as is her usual custom. Her skirt has been split up the front to allow her legs more freedom, her blouse has a rumpled, dusty look. It is obvious, to him, that she hasn't slept in a while because of the shadows he sees under her stormy eyes. He also notices how she stares, gape-mouthed at his companion.
He turns to look at Genesis, again admiring her long, curly red hair. The gentle slope of her small nose. His eyes are pulled to the way her bared breasts heave in the sunlight streaming through the door. . . .
Oh, hell! He suddenly realizes why his sister is staring so intently.
He reaches down to the floor where the blanket had been abandoned, and quickly pulls it up over himself and Genesis. Then looks back to his sister.
"Um. . .Could you give us a couple minutes to straighten up?"
"You look fairly 'straightened up' to me," she replies, her face turning bright red, then stomps out the door.
He looks back to Genesis. She shrugs in return, and he remembers one of the reasons why he likes her so. She isn't embarrassed by anything, or anyone for that matter.
He watches as she stands and dresses, watching muscles move beneath tanned skin. Then, he too readies himself. He can feel Gen's eyes on his body, very much like his were just on her. He knows that she is watching the way his long, dark hair falls over one shoulder. The way his back arches when he stretches. The twinkle in his stormy eyes.
When they are both a bit more presentable, they seat themselves at the one small table in the old, dusty cabin. Jahari watches Genesis light the candles around the room with a simple wave of her hand.
"It's safe now, Bee." Jahari says loud enough for his sister to hear on the porch.
ìTook you long enough!î she replies as she walks through the door, again.
"Well," Genesis states, "It could have been worse. You could have shown up half an hour ago!" she chuckles as Beatrice turns an even brighter shade of red, the color moving down her neck and up to her ears.
"Gen! Be courteous to my sister, huh?" Jahari looks at Genesis. "I know you two used to be friends. . .what happened?"
"That isn't the reason I'm here and you know it!" Beatrice exclaims, stopping her foot.
He looks back to her with mild surprise. She hasn't changed much in the three years since we had our last confrontation here in the cabin.
"Ok, Bee. Out with it."
He watches as she looks at him, then at Genesis, then back to him. Her eyes flick to the door, then back to Genesis.
He turns to his companion, admiring her briefly, then sighs.
"I think this is a matter for me and my sister alone. Would you mind greatly if I left you here for a bit?"
"Think nothing of it." she replies turning away from them both.
He sighs again, and stands. Beatrice quickly grabs his hand and drags him outside and around to the back of the cabin.
He looks around himself to find that it is almost sunset. He hadn't realized how the time had slipped by while he and Genesis where inside. He notes the changing foliage, and the low-running stream. He glories in the feeling of the sun on his back, for a second forgetting that Beatrice is standing impatiently at his side.
He snaps back to the moment when she clears her throat.
"Ok, what's wrong, Bee?" he asks, looking again at her tear streaked face.
"It's Papa."
"What's wrong with him, now?" He turns away to glare at the little stream.
"Well, maybe if you were home more often, instead of running around the countryside with your new girlfriend. . . ."
"Hey! Watch yourself there. She was your friend once too, ya know." He looks back to her, swinging an accusing finger in her direction.
"Once." she replies with a huff.
"Either way. What's wrong with Father?"
"He's real sick, you have to help him." Her shoulders begin to tremble with barely suppressed sobs.
"He was 'real sick' last year too!" Jahari exclaims, turning and walking away a few feet. "And the year before that, and the year before..."
"You don't know, do you?" she sighs.
"Know what?" he replies turning back to her again, and crossing his arms in front of his chest.
"He's been bed-ridden for two weeks now!" she cries, her sobs heaving unchecked now.
Jahari sighs and looks to the cabin. He can see a glint of red hair in the window and knows that they aren't exactly alone. He sighs again and looks back to his sister.
"What, pray tell, am I supposed to do about it?"
"I should think that that was obvious," she replies. "You're supposed to heal him."
"You didn't say what I think you just said. . . .Did you?" he asks covering his face with his hands and shaking his head.
"Mother said. . . ."
"Oh no! Don't get me started on that old argument again! Come up with a real reason why you seem to think that I can spontaneously heal others. Just because I have a bit of the Talent doesn't mean that I can do everything, and you know it! How many times have we. . . ." he stops suddenly, dropping his hands to his sides, when he hears her sobbing begin to escalate.
"But he needs you!" she moans.
He studies her face and the new streaks of tear down her rosy cheeks, and sighs.
"Alright Bee, we'll go and see him then." he turns away and motions at the window.
Jahari walks to the small stable and begins to ready his horse. Genesis joins him a moment later and also begins to saddle her mount. Jahari can hear Beatrice pacing outside the stable doors impatiently.
When the horses are ready and they have all mounted, they turn toward the east road that leads to the keep and begin their journey.
Once out on the road, Jahari notices that his sister isn't doing to well on her horse. He can tell that she hasn't ridden in a long time by the way she is handling the reins. But he doesn't get to think about it for very long.
From up ahead he can hear the thunder of hooves, a lot of them. He signals for the women to stop and pull off the road. Who would be out here, he thinks bemused. He doesn't have to wait long to find out.
From around a bend in the road eight riders come charging down on him and his steed. He hadn't thought that he might need a weapon, and so he had left his short sword in the cabin. He jumps down off the horse so he can be a less conspicuous target. But the riders don't seem to care whether he is mounted or not. They come riding in at full tilt, their cloaks billowing in the gathering darkness, partially obscuring their movements from him.
He can hear his sister yelling from the side of the road, but he can't understand what she is saying. He can also hear the muffled voice of his companion, Genesis. But he doesn't have time to look at them, for the riders have surrounded him.
He suddenly feels a prick in his neck, and then the world goes fuzzy. He tries to look one of the riders in the eye, but he can't seem to focus on anything in particular. The world seems to tip, and then there is only darkness.
* * * * *
Drip, drip, drip.
Jahari slowly awakens to the sound of dripping. It seems to be coming from far off, but he can't tell in the echoing darkness that surrounds him. His head hurts intolerably, and his mouth feels as though it has been stuffed with cotton. He tries to bring his hands to his face and finds that they have been manacled to the wall with a short chain.
This last wakes him up completely. He forgets about his head for a moment and begins studying the room he is in. In the half light streaming in through the barred slit in the heavy oaken door to his left, he can see that he is in some kind of dungeon cell. He looks about himself with increasing panic when he realizes that neither of his feminine companions are in the room with him.
"Bee!" he bellows, but the only responses he receives are the drippings and the grumblings of a passing guard.
He opens his mind to send his thoughts out of his body, but he is stopped short at the walls. There is some kind of barrier within the walls themselves that won't let his exploring mind travel outside his cell. He tries to squeeze out through the small slit in the door, but that too has been barred to him. He focuses his thoughts on the manacles clasping his wrists and ankles, but it is as though they aren't even there. He can't seem to focus on them for more then a microsecond at a time, his mind just keeps sliding away from them unable to grasp hold firmly.
Jahari sighs and settles back against the cold, damp wall. Waiting.
He must have dozed off, for the next thing he knows is that there is a rather large brute standing over him and kicking his feet.
"What are you? Deaf!" the overly large guard yells at him, kicking him again.
Jahari looks up to him, and shakes his head.
"Are ya dumb then?" the guard bellows.
"I speak fairly well."
"Then answer me question!" this said with another viscous kick, this time to the hip.
"If you would be so kind as to repeat it..." the wind is knocked out of him with a boot to his ribs.
"Now you listen to me pretty, princey boy!" the guard squats down next to Jahari, "If you don't do nothin' to anger me, I might go easy on ya. You like that?"
"Fine," Jahari replies, trying not to gag on the rotten oder issuing from the mouth of the guard. "Was that your question?"
The guard looks perplexed for a moment, and then with a scowl, staightens up and kicks him again.
Jahari groans and slumps to the side, clutching bruised ribs.
The guard "hrumphs," then walks out the door, dropping a bowl on the floor just out of Jahari's reach.
After the door slams shut, Jahari rights himself and looks around again, noting that there is a little more light then there was before his interactions with the guard. He studies his cell and finds that it is rather barren. The walls of his little 10' x 10' room are hung with manacles of varying sizes. His mouth drops in amazement when he realizes that some of the manacles are sized for small children.
One of these tiny sets even has a tiny skeleton hanging from them. Jahari thinks that the skeleton might have once belongs to a child around the age of six or seven, judging from the size of the skull and fingers. As he studies the little skeleton, he is startled to realize that the skull has turned to him and seems to be studying him.
He quickly averts his gaze hoping that it is just a trick of the bad lighting.
As he turns his head away from the child, he notices that the constant dripping seems to have ceased. He looks to the door, but there isn't anything there to indicate whether or not there is anyone outside his cell. He doesn't bother to waste his breath yelling for the guards.
He settles back and begins to think. He realizes that he doesn't know how long he has been couped up in this tiny room. He thinks back to when he and his companions were jumped, and sincerely hopes that they are well and good. He knows that they didn't get away, but he hopes that they are better off then he is.
With this thought in his mind he drifts off to sleep once more.
He awakens with a start when, some time later, one of the guards throws a bucket of icy water on him. Sputtering, Jahari looks up to his captor. The guard is not alone this time. There is a tall man standing just behind him. This new man is a comely looking fellow, with long black hair, and bright, laughing blue eyes. He carries himself like a warrior, straight and with obvious pride. When he adjusts his waist coat, Jahari sees that this new gentleman's hands are cross-crossed with thin scars. The new man clears his throat.
"You are a magic-maker of this realm?" his voice is low and gravelly, not quite fitting with the rest of him.
Jahari nods, not daring to trust his voice. When the man started to speak, Jahari felt an electric tingle go up his spin. He knows who these men are, Marauders. He knows, also, that he is in a whole lot of trouble.
"Good. You're honest." the tall man turns to the guard. "Not like that lying, redheaded bitch, huh Jacob?"
"But it was such fun prying the information out of her," the guard says turning to look at his companion. The tall man chuckles.
"Too bad she didn't last longer, looked like we could've had such fun with her."
Jahari feels faint as all the blood drains from his head. He stares up at his captors.
"What do you want with me? I can't do much, just parlor tricks..."
"That matters not. You know what we want." replies the tall man, bending down and sticking his nose in Jahari's face, his lips pulled back in a feral grin. "All we want, is for you to die." his eyes twinkle with madness, Jahari shudders.
"My sister...?" he starts.
"Is fine. We have no quarrel with her, she has no magic. But she can't leave either. You know," the tall man says rolling his eyes, "She might just run off and tell someone that we're here. And that's not too good for business, you know."
Jahari reaches out to the tall man with his mind, and is rocked back with the force of the mental blow he receives. His head swims and just before he passes out he hears the two taking to each other as they leave his cell.
"What do you think we should do, Boss?"
"He will have to be eliminated, just like the rest, Jacob. You know that."
"But he's such a pretty boy..."
The last thing Jahari hears before the darkness sweeps over him is the laughing of his captors.
NOTE: This was an assignment for my CCV Creative Writing II online class with William Noble.
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