Sorcerer from Another World

We set off up the river. Shortly afterwards: Làidir said, “I hear a sharp ringing.”

Morgana, Iris and I stared at her with curiosity.

“What is it?” Samiya asked with the persistent curiosity of a child. Her fear was forgotten in her desperation to learn.

Làidir concentrated for a moment and then replied, “I’ve heard it before.”

“It’s a funeral bell.” Umbra answered. “Someone’s died.”

Moments later, we came across a woman, she wore rags and was thinner than a rake to the point where I could see the clear outlines of her ribs and spine. There was muscle there soon to be sapped by the ravages of starvation.

In her hand she carried a rotting human head. It did not look fresh and seemed more like one of the undead than from a living human. She was walking towards the village we could now see in the distance.

We stopped and she looked up with disinterested eyes. Her pupils widened with shock, but there was no other sign that she cared.

Iris leaned over the edge of the barge, “How goes it?” she asked.

“Fine.” the woman said. A clear lie, but she seemed disengaged with the world and stuck.

“We are travelling to Elkilbour. Do you want a ride?” I asked.

She shook her head, “If there is not anything else, I will be on my way.”

“The bell, who is it for?” Iris asked.

“It is for the village chief, I would guess. At least she is able to die.” She held up the rotting head. “Carc didn’t. My husband of twenty summers, even as his stomach bloated and then the warmth and breath left his body. Still he would not die. Most don’t.”

Yeah you seem real fine, stranger. I thought. Where’s a therapist when you need one?

“People aren’t dying? How?”

I shrugged, kind of a dumb question there Iris, “More undead. Pretty common from what I have seen.”

Iris shushed me.

Whoa.

The strange woman sighed and exhaled a little more life from her body, “The dead stay in their graves, but no one dies. Not since they built the Great Stickman. Our land died and our people did not.”

Okay, maybe I was wrong.

“My name is Morgana…”

“If it is alright with you…” Iris softened.

“Take us to this great Stickman.”

The stranger nodded and guided us. It was a tall man looking figure made of straw. Far more substantial than a scarecrow.

“So, I destroy it?” I asked.

“Don’t.” the stranger pleaded.

Morgana bit her lip in thought, “There are consequences with messing with magic.”

“I can handle them.” I replied.

“But can the villagers?” She retorted.

I looked at the stranger. I doubted she was afraid for herself.

“Fine.”

“We chose to appease the Unseelie. We live in their service, but all the mercies of life are denied to us. Mercy of kindness, of fellowship and even of death.”

“That sounds horrible.” Iris said with an attempt at empathy.

“It is. I don’t know what horrors will happen if you disturb Great Stickman. My people have suffered enough for our foolishness. Do not bring more.”

“What is your name?”

“Beth, I believe it was Beth.”

“Damian. It is nice to meet you.”

“May the sun ever shine on your back.” She said in response. “Come, we will go to the village and you can be on your way to Elkilbour and far from here.”

Beth returned to her village with us on our magically floating barge in tow.

Hunger gripped every inhabitant of the village; they all seemed more bone than flesh. Without magic I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between the living and the undead.

For there was indeed undead among them pretending, even to themselves, that they were still alive.

We came across an old man, thin as the rest, staring at us with hollowed out, watery eyes.

“I can’t believe it. A miracle?” He said with open mouthed shock.

I brought our barge to a stop and grounded it into the earth creating a ramp whereby people could descend.

I floated down, “Something like that. Think of us as help from down south.” I said with a warm smile.

Beth and others followed after me.

“My daughter. Who do you bring with you?” He asked her.

“I am Damian…” I sighed a little. “Of the Greys. Sorcerer by practice.”

“He is travelling to Elkilbour.” Beth explained. “Has Miram passed?”

“Aye and I am chief now. I was raised during your absence. I am sure you heard Miram’s funeral bell.”

“We did. The Sorcerer came following the sound.”

“What strange luck it is that the death of one may bring the benefit of the many.” The Chief said with the intention of being profound. “A sorcerer eh.”

“The Resurrected One has come!” Gainor declared and so did his followers. They spread their word of me.

“We will rest in the village for the night. Head for Elkilbour after dawn.” Morgana said to everyone. No one disagreed.

Events were moving on without me it seemed.

“Is that okay for us to stay the night?” I asked the chief.

He nodded, “Please do. We have little food.”

I raised a hand to stop him, “No bother. We will share ours for disturbing you without warning.”

His head bowed low and tears salted the earth, “My thanks.” He muttered.

We had little food to share, but I ensured everyone to share what they could for I could replace what they gave when we reached Elkilbour.

It was a gamble of a promise to give most of the food we had. If I had land to cultivate I could grow more. A problem for tomorrow.

Our refugees stuck to themselves and the villages stayed out of the way. Even as they were happy to feast on our food.

But there were so many of us refugees and villagers that camps were made around the hall. It was our luck that there was not a spot of rain that night.

Celebrations unfurled and the village people - one foot in the grave - bounced with liveliness. Our people so recently traumatised and scarred danced, laughed and cried with them. They needed the break as much as these villagers.

We were in the village hall: the largest building and the only two-storey one in the village. It could fit twenty plus people inside comfortably. Basically a scaled up roundhouse that I had lived in back in Ferisdarm.

It had all the living essential inside split into sections with the exception of the toilet left outside leaving the pervasive stink out there too with a dash of long ago cast druidic magic.

Outside the walls of clay, straw and wood stood strong, but the bright paints were cracked, and celtic designs faded with neglect. This was true, as well, for the inside of the roundhouse walls. The only door faced east so the light would peek through with the rising sun.

I longed for the day where I could finally settle down and make a modern home rather than stay in a shack. They were surprisingly clean compared to what you might see in a Hollywood movie, but a huge drop in living standards compared to a modern city flat back on earth.

I noted that the hall be it from neglect or poverty was far poorer than Galen’s hall had been back in Ferisdarm. The difference in wealth perhaps between an elite in a hillfort and farmers in their no-name village.

“We eat in memory of Daga.”

“May he rest well.”

I looked to Iris for an explanation.

“One of the Fae Lords. News must have reached here of his death at Mars’ blade.”

I mumbled along with others, “May he rest well.”

“We have no cattle here. So don’t expect the fancy meals you might get in that hillfort of yours.” The village chief said to us, in particular Rebecca.

“We bring the last of ours and share it gladly.” Rebecca replied with formal politeness.

The comment meant little to me. It only told me cattle were valuable to these people. Rich warriors had them and poor farmers didn't. I ate what I was given: some soup with meat, turnip, oats and onion in it. I was too distracted by dark magic at work and all the noise to really taste it.

The ragged wool the villagers wore was noticeably poorer quality to the hides and leather Rebecca wore. She was adorned with gold, silver and jewels where the Chief alone had a bronze bracelet. Though he also had an intricately carved bone necklace and a brass broach.

Many of the villagers had some kind of bone jewellery they were less impressive in comparison to the carved designs on the stoneworks dotted around the village.

Beth left at some point, at ill of ease among the crowds of people as I was.

“Going for a walk?” I asked.

“I find little joy among the merrymaking these days.”

I understood that feeling all too well. Perhaps it would have been better for her to stay, but I was not one to force people into doing what I want. Not at least if it comes at the expense of their own will and desires.

“You sure?”

She left without replying.

I regretted my choice. But, perhaps I would have regretted it if I had forced her to stay.

“For what reasons do you not hunt?” Iris asked the chief. “Are the animals dying too?”

A fair question and I can see how a druid would think of it.

“Any who stayed are gone, the smarter ones fled north. The same for our people as well. North is a gamble where the boundaries between Seelie and Unseelie land shift like the seasons.”

They continued to talk.

Samiya slept, Morgana and Làidir argued loudly.

Morgana tried to be refined, but Làidir spat out insults like, “How can a mosquito like you hope to stand a chance against me?” and “I am the mightiest woman alive!”

So, Iris and I skipped out for a quickie in the woods. She was hot and tight for me. I bounced off her arse as she clung to the bark of a tree. I filled her with my seed as she gushed from my pounding.

She staggered and I took her again. First as she tried to maintain a downward dog and then again with her breasts pressed against the earth.

We tip-toed back after a quick wash in the river.

Morgana and Làidir were fist fighting on our return. Umbra seemed to be goading both of them. While Làidir had a bloody nose, she was clearly dominating the fight. Her guard was high and she hit harder and faster. A rather impressive feat considering just how much I had enhanced Morgana’s body.

I stepped in between them, placing a hand on their shoulders and pushing them gently apart, perhaps not my smartest move, “That’s enough.”

I received two punches to the face for my efforts.

I stumbled, but I struck back with a punch charged with a bolt of lightning.

Làidir hit the floor, but to her credit she jumped right back up. Bouncy as a spring that one. Morgana took a moment longer to stand back up.

I wanted to cry. My hand hurt to fiery hell. Since when has violence become my day-to-day? I know I chose this, but come on.

“We are guests in someone else’s home. Morgana, I expected better from you.” I said with as much disappointment as I felt.

She had the decency to at least look away from my gaze. I get things were complicated but I don’t appreciate getting punched in the face out of nowhere. I was going to stay annoyed and make these two get along somehow.

We are, however, interrupted.