Chapter 9: Talismans and Talisman Masters

 

 

 

Chapter 9: Talismans and Talisman Masters

 

THE journey on foot from Yezero to the Royal Capital of Kujh took five days. The group of six tied their packs to Sissel and Turek’s two horses and walked the distance alongside them. Ori and Mouru planned to borrow more horses at first, but since the key person—Unen—couldn’t ride, they decided to travel by foot to the capital.

Golden wheat fields, close to harvest season, glistened under the sunlight. The comforting sight of abundant crops ripened by the summer sun’s dazzling rays made the heat slightly more tolerable. Finding some relief from the sunlight under the roadside trees, the party crossed into the neighboring territory of Chelveny just past noon.

The sun was still too high in the sky to stop and lodge for the night, so they passed through the town of Harrow standing right on the border between the two territories, where Ori and Mouru had stayed for a month before arriving at Yezero.

I wonder which inn Mouru was left behind at for his flirting. Unen glanced around the shops lining the road.

Irena grinned at her. “You’re finally back to your normal self.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve had your head stuck in the clouds ever since we left your house, Unen.”

I kind of knew I was out of it, but it was so bad that someone else noticed?

Embarrassed, Unen lowered her voice. “Was I acting that strange?”

“You weren’t being strange. I mean, it’s not normal for commoners to get invited to the castle by the king. Anyone would be in a world of their own after getting an invitation like that.”

Unen felt as if she were walking on clouds for several hours after she held her head high and told Sissel and Turek that she would go to the castle with them. Even after she packed her pack again like she had for the previous week’s surveying job, bid Milosh and his family goodbye, left town, and began to walk the highway under the blazing sun, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that her trip to the capital was all some long dream.

Maybe, she had hoped, her name would reach the king’s ears someday if she kept making maps for a long time. Perhaps he’d take an interest in her. And, if he somehow did, she could take that opportunity as her first real step into the wider world. The far-fetched dream that had been built on ifs, maybes, and somedays had suddenly fallen into her lap. Keeping her calm would’ve been far more unnatural than daydreaming about what was to come.

Unen slowly inhaled, and exhaled. Whatever may come of it, all she could do was give it her all. She clenched her fists tightly. Let’s do this!

Irena playfully roughed up her hair.

***

THE sun set before they arrived at the next town, so they set up camp on the side of the road. Incidentally, it was the night of the new moon. In the darkness, it was impossible to tell where there were holes in the road, what rocks and objects had fallen off carts, and where pieces of the path might have dropped off.

After a meal of dried meat and hard biscuits that had been prepared for moments just as this, Unen laid down with her blanket wrapped around her. Both Unen and Irena had been removed from night watch due to Sissel and Turek’s insistence. Irena initially argued that she didn’t need special treatment, but she canned it with a sheepish expression when they told her that it was unacceptable to their code of honor as knights.

“I’ve set up ‘traps’ around the campsite so it’ll be okay if someone accidentally falls asleep during their shift, but please be mindful of them. Don’t walk away from the camp without letting me know,” Mouru informed them, as he moved around the camp making weird rustling noises.

Silence settled in shortly after he finished.

***

A furious uproar struck after midnight.

“What the ‘ell?!”

“Damn it!”

“What’s goin’ on?!”

“Holy crap!”

Unen’s group woke to the sounds of loud cursing in the absence of light.

Murmurs brushed by Unen’s ear just as a soft glow lit Mouru’s hand. There was no mistaking the wooden tag in his hand—it was a talisman.

Then, I was right to think that the Murmurs are related to magic? Unen pondered. Meanwhile, the curses unfurled even more hatefully.

“Piece of shit!”

“Don’t screw with me!”

“Die!”

“Man, I’m such a lucky mage to have them fall right into my traps so perfectly.” Chuckling with pure delight, Mouru held the talisman up high. Magic light dispelled the darkness in the area, exposing struggling men, their legs caught in the ground, three meters away.

“…Were you sleeping?” Ori growled, scowling.

The mage whose night watch shift it had been made an exaggerated face of surprise as he shook his head. “Me? Never. I just didn’t think it warranted waking everyone up since they didn’t seem to have any projectiles. Man, they fell right into the trap one after another like a comedic act!”

“Damn you! Spineless cowards! Do something about my legs or I’ll kill ya!” barked the largest, bulkiest man. He swung his weapon around uselessly.

And it doesn’t make you a spineless coward for attacking travelers in the cover of night?

Apparently, Unen wasn’t the only person to have thought that, for Turek retorted, “Is that something a lowlife highwayman should be saying?”

He squared his rugged shoulders and pulled rope out from his bag. With Mouru in charge of lighting the area, the remaining three men followed suit and tightly tied up the highwaymen.

Mouru’s trap was a spell that temporarily turned the ground into a bog. Once it caught prey, it reverted to its original solid composition. All eight highwaymen now had their hands bound in addition to being firmly lodged in the hard ground up to their shins.

Everything their attackers had on them was dangerous. Broadswords, short swords, hatchets, and even morning star clubs. Unen sighed at the sight of all the weapons piled together. They could practically open a weapons shop right there and then.

“Saints preserve us! No one can claim they didn’t come well-armed,” Sissel remarked disdainfully after the last weapons joined the pile. “Should we assume they come from these outskirts, considering they carry almost nothing on them aside from their gruesome weapons?”

“Probably,” Mouru replied perfunctorily. He turned to Ori. “Do you recognize any of them?”

“No,” Ori said without a moment’s delay.

Ori mentioned before that he had no issue remembering faces. But it was more like he had a talent for it.

“How do you want to deal with these men, Lord Sissel?” Turek asked.

“We can’t safely escort so many highwaymen to the appropriate authorities…” Sissel folded his arms at his chest as he contemplated further. “It would be one thing if we were in the capital, but there is not much for us to do inside another lord’s territory. Let’s leave them bound and stuck in the ground and entrust their punishment to the next town’s mayor or vigilante group,” he decided.

The highwaymen spat out even dirtier curses.

Unen shuddered at the thought of being left outdoors in the midsummer heat with her hands tied behind her back and her shins lodged in the rock-hard ground. She felt just a tad sorry for them. Or she had, until she took another good look at the mountain of sharp weapons piled at her feet. Well, they got what they deserved.

***

THEY cleaned up their camp as light began to take over the eastern sky. Leaving the highwaymen’s chorus that had switched tunes from curses to pleas behind, the group departed for the royal capital.

Leading his horse by its chestnut reins, Sissel formally addressed Mouru, “Master Mouru, you have my utmost gratitude for your assistance last night. We would have fallen victim to that pack of bandits had you not come with us.”

Mouru waved his right hand dismissively with his usual nonchalant attitude. “Nah, I didn’t do that much. Besides, if we’re keeping count, the trap I set last night wasn’t my own skill. It was the work of a talisman.”

“A talisman?” Confusion flickered on Sissel’s face.

Not wanting to let the opportunity slip by, Unen jumped into the conversation though she was walking a few steps behind the two men. “By talismans, you mean the objects you mentioned the other day that allows you to borrow power from another god?”

She wasn’t aware of what went down when the highwaymen got caught in his trap because she had been sound asleep, but she had heard Murmurs every other time Mouru used magic or a talisman.

What in the world are those Murmurs? Does Mouru not hear the Murmurs? Unen had a mountain of questions she wanted answers to. Now at his side, she leveled a penetrating look at him as she awaited his answer.

Mouru flashed a wicked smile, appearing delighted to answer. “Talismans carry duplicates of a spell created by a Talisman Master.”

“Talisman Master?” Irena joined them, tossing her question into the foray, “Is that like a conjuror?”

The corner of Mouru’s lip curled up as if to wordlessly taunt, “You don’t even know that?”

Irena’s cheeks were rapidly dyed with her embarrassment. “Sorry for not knowing stuff! How would I know when all our town has ever had is a single mystic and no mages or Talisman Masters or whatever other terms you wanna pull out of your hat next?!”

Mouru’s mocking expression ticked Unen off as well. Needing to get in a dig back at him, she unleashed sarcasm of her own. “Don’t let it bother you, Irena. There’s no way someone who claims to be one of the world’s great and mighty master mages would snort in the face of those who seek his knowledge. I’m sure what you saw just now was what happens when he tries to hold back a sneeze. Twitchy, isn’t he?”

“…Looks like our shortie here has some bite to her too.” Mouru looked at Unen with a ghost of a smile.

“Mouru,” Ori quietly rebuked him with that single word.

“I know, I know. Sure, they’ve been having a go at calling me shady and fishy, but I need to be more of an adult when dealing with these children. Sorry, sorry.”

“Did you just call me a child?” Irena’s brow furrowed with irritation, to which Mouru grinned broadly.

Unen couldn’t help sighing. I can’t believe Mouru has been holding a grudge against Irena just for calling him shady before we left. He needs to be more of an adult. Or more like he needs to be less childish.

Looking completely refreshed, Mouru returned to the main topic at hand as if they had never digressed. “Talisman Masters duplicate magic onto wood. They observe as a mage uses magic and let the magic’s—what should I call it—surge? pass into their body and record it directly onto a long, thin, narrow piece of wood. Then they finish it off by adding a drop of the mage’s blood. The completed result is what we call a talisman.”

Mouru retrieved a thin piece of wood from his chest pocket. “This is a recording of the surging waves of magic that played the heartstrings deep within a Talisman Master’s chest, an exact representation of the sensations they felt. Depending on the Talisman Master, the drawings of the magic can look like anything, like a squiggle left behind by a wriggling earthworm or a list of nonsense words. There are so many variations it’s funny.”

He was right. The wooden tag Mouru held out for them to see was marked with what looked like a child’s drawing with faltering, uneven brushstrokes.

Each of these lines manage to contain the mysterious power that unleashes the spell? Unen wondered, her expression serious as she stared with intense concentration at the drawing on the piece of wood.

Sissel excitedly leaned in toward Mouru with frightening speed. “Then, can I use magic with just a talisman as well?” He accidentally yanked down on his reins with the sudden jerk of his movement, earning an angry snort from his horse.

“Hard to say until you try, but…I think it’ll be a challenge if you don’t have any magic training.”

Mouru’s answer obviously disappointed Sissel, but even Turek, who’d been restlessly glancing back at Mouru since the question had come up, seemed emotionally conflicted.

“Doesn’t the king have at least one mage under him anyway?” Mouru asked. “You don’t hear about stuff like this?”

“Ah, hah. Well, umm, the topic hasn’t come up much…” Sissel answered ambiguously.

Mouru cocked a suspicious eyebrow, but continued talking anyway. “It takes a lot of time and effort to make a single talisman, and then it’s only good for one use after all that work. There aren’t many skilled Talisman Masters out there in the first place either. Hey, Ori? Do you remember the light talisman I bought last year?”

“The one that produced light dimmer than a single firefly?”

“That’s the one. Can’t get more of a rip-off than that one.” Mouru’s bitter smile shifted into a sneer in the blink of an eye. Then, with venom in his darkened voice, he said, “Talisman making is a skill for wannabe mages who failed to become a god’s Compeer. They just want to find some way to still be able to use magic after all their wasted struggling. You’ll make a fool of yourself if you expect too much from it.”

The tone of his voice was steeped in the same abysmal darkness that colored the hair framing his face. Though Unen instinctively flinched, she mustered her courage to look right at him. Right now, she wanted information more than anything else.

“What’s a Compeer?”

And first, she was going to learn the meaning of a word she’d never heard before.

“It’s an old name for mages. By forming a contract with a god, they are a close existence to them, so they became their compeer, or their human half.”

“What’s the contract?” Unen saw Irena’s exasperation out of the corner of her eye, but pressed on with her questioning regardless.

Mouru closed his eyes partially, apparently enjoying the attention. “The mage and god share their true names.”

“What’s a true name?”

“A true name is the core of your existence. By allowing someone to know your true name, you are giving them life-and-death power over you.”

Unen mentally took note of each new piece of knowledge about magic and began to organize it in her mind. Sifting through all the information from the events that had taken place during her surveying trip last week, to what she had heard on the road to her atelier from Mouru the day before yesterday, to last night’s attack, to what she had just learned. Each piece added to her pool and she eagerly sorted the information out, connected the dots, and then—

“If you share with each other, that means you know your god’s true name too?” she asked softly. It was that implication that felt most off to her.

A single eyebrow arced upward as if to say that was only obvious. “That’s right. I wouldn’t be able to use my god’s power otherwise.”

Unen dragged her gaze away from Mouru and carefully stared in the direction they were heading. “But there are other mages aside from you who can use wind magic, right?”

“You’re right. I’ve met about three so far myself.”

“Then, that means the god of winds has the true names—weaknesses—of at least four mages. Isn’t that unfair?”

She heard Mouru gasp. Then he fell silent, bringing absolute silence to the group who waited for the mage that was the center of the conversation to speak again. For a while after, only the crunching sounds of six people and two horses walking over the dirt ground and the heat haze disrupted the air around them.

Eventually, Mouru quietly broke the silence. “You can’t speak of humans and gods as complete equals. To us humans, our true names are equivalent to our very lives, but it might not be the same for the gods.”

The unusual falters in the pace of his words evidenced his own lack of confidence in what he had said.

“Your god doesn’t tell you those things?”

“It’s a world of, ‘Don’t Think, Feel.’” Mouru lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

***

ORI slowed his gait to walk beside Mouru once the lecture on magic had stopped. Keeping his gaze straight ahead, Ori turned only his voice to Mouru. “Was your spell from last night the same one you used when we suppressed the orangutans?”

“It was.”

Creases formed in Ori’s brow. He muttered to himself, “Twenty centimeters.”

Mouru raised a puzzled eyebrow.

“They only sank twenty centimeters into the ground. Just so you know.” Ori returned to his original position in front of Mouru.

“Is there a problem with that?” Sissel asked.

“Nah, not really.” Mouru hesitated. “It’s not big enough of a deal to call it a problem, but he’s just pointing out that the last time I used the same spell, the victims sunk quite a bit more…”

The thick crease in Mouru’s brow took a long time to go away.