Days were slow to pass by in Otterwesh as both newcomers tried to adjust their routines to the town’s pace. Market and visiting the old apothecary lady at Wednesday, checking on mail by the Town Center at Friday and Monday, work on small repairs around the house, deliver some packages to new clients, as well as cook his own food.

In one of those days, while resting outside the house, a good breeze was blowing and Gillibert was chit-chatting about something silly that made Isemberd’s mind drift away. There were few clouds in the sky and the day was looking good.

The mage closed his eyes in time to be assaulted by an awful feeling. If asked, he would describe it as a weird mixing of annoyances: stomach ache, dizziness, eyes itching and goosebumps.

Gillibert also seemed to feel something weird and his big eyes widened at a seemingly random direction. Isemberd got up from his chair and opened one of his hands. A small translucent globe quickly formed under his fingers, glowing a little before dissolving like smoke into a dense blueish fog that started spreading towards the woods.

It started gathering around something that slowly turned visible amid the fog. The thing seemed a faceless ghost-like humanoid and it hesitated a bit before taking a few cautious steps towards the mage. The being seemed very wary of Isemberd. It’s ghostly arms stretched offering him a sealed letter.

Isemberd gently and slowly took the letter, taking a deliberate step back before bowing deeply. The ghostly figure seemed more at ease after that and took a step forward to bow himself, joining his hands before turning his back and start walking into the woods. After it left the fog, it disappeared as if it had never been there. Soon after it vanished, the fog itself did the same, dispersing by the wind.

“Is it a letter, master?” Gillibert came to see it closer. “From who? Oh, such a nice crest! Is it from the Count right? Was the postman a ghost!?”

“Yes, and yes. More or less.” Isemberd tried to articulate with the excited owl that was flying around him. “Calm down!” complemented Isemberg.

Gillibert landed on his shoulder, expectantly looking at letter. Isemberd broke the red wax of the seal and pulled the letter out. It was a formal message of Count Wells for a visit of his son, Lord Alard. The mage and the Count’s son were more or less friends and it could be said that Alard living human closest to Isemberd.

The letter was very polite in describing that Alard would personally bring a more accurate explanation behind the reasons of his visit and that they would also have a guest coming in to join them. To summarize, House Wells was acting on behalf of Neoria’s King to bring a request for the mage.

“Lord Alard?” Gillibert asked, glaring a bit too serious at the letter. “I remember him. Weird beard, like our quartermaster.”

Isemberd raised an eyebrow.

“Quartermaster?”

“Yes! The man responsible for the slaves, my brothers and I, he had a very similar beard.” The bird’s feathers ruffled a bit while and his eyes had an uncharacteristic red glow. Subtle, very hard to notice, but still there. “Lucky him we never crossed each other’s paths again…”

The mage sighed heavily and caressed the owl’s head. He could understand the feeling.

“Try to not think about it anymore. You’re safe now.”

“But! But!” there. The glow was gone again.

Isemberd grabbed Gillibert with both hands, holding him up.

“What did we talk about these things?”

“To not keep dwelling too much on the past without a proper reason.” Gillibert looked away. “Or something like that.”

“Perfect.”

The bird chirped. Isemberd insisted:

“If anyone or anything around seem to threaten you, what’s the way of dealing with it?”

“I’ll fly very very fast and cut him into pieces with my talons…” He blinked twice and quivered at Isemberd’s glare “I’m joking! I’ll fly away and come after you as fast as possible. We want to stay away from problems!”

“Correct.” Isemberd said, nodding. “Come, let’s visit the town. Alard eats like a bull and we’ll probably need more food if we want to have him and his knights.”

“Can I talk near the knights, master?”

“Maybe.”

Gillibert kept talking about something Isemberd didn’t mind too much. Without replying to the birds endless talking, he waved and his basket came in flying while a few windows closed behind him. He left with Gillibert dashing ahead and with the letter in his pocket.

At the town, they bought ingredients and food for a good meal for several people. The merchant he was getting acquainted with tried to sell him a few more things and the sage ended up buying a big wheel of cheese and a bit more tableware. The merchant’s assistant offered to help him carry most of the goods to Isemberd’s house.

They made their way back after the payment. Gillibert seemed really excited to have company, but Isemberd spoke very few words and the assistant tried to not bother his client too much. He couldn’t, however, hide his surprise when they arrived at the sage’s house in the woods.

“Wow! It doesn’t even look haunted anymore!”

Isemberd left the basket at a chair and went inside to bring two cups of water, one which he offered to the young man.

“Did it look haunted before?” he asked.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

“Well, you could hear a lot of weird noises coming from it at night, sir. And a few people said things about being able to see spirits of the woods here.”

The sage shook his head.

“I saw a great deal of bugs, dust and rats, a lot of big spiders and it’s webs…” after a small break for a sip of water he added: “but no spirits, ghosts or other weirder things.”

The assistant drank all his water in one go and replied, with a smile:

“But say, you seem the type to be awake until very late at night. Not hearing or seeing anything weird for now doesn’t mean you won’t at all, right?”

Isemberd frowned a little.

“Do I look like that?”

The lad scratched his head.

“I didn’t mean to offend sir. Is just that very smart people usually seem to sleep very late, or sleep very poorly.” he looked troubled for a moment. “Or use glasses, am I right?”

The sage left out a humorless chuckle.

“Not always. How much do I own you mister…?”

“My name’s Joran, sir.” He bowed a little clumsily. “And don’t worry about that sir! Thank you very much for the water.”

He gave the cup back to his client and seemed to be ready to leave. Isemberd said:

“Please, you didn’t have to come with me carrying my things.” He opened a purse and picked a few coins. “is six silver enough?”

“Can I have a favor then? And only two, mister.” Joran said.

Gillibert was around and rose his head, paying attention but keeping quiet.

Isemberd offered the coins to the lad and said “All right, just don’t exaggerate, please.”

Joran blushed a little.

“Say, there is a girl, and I more or less like her a lot. She works, well, at old Louis tavern and she’s very smart and love poetry. So… I wanted…”

Gillibert startled him, flying over his shoulder and landing on Isemberd’s. They looked at the young man, that hesitated, incapable of shaking off the feeling that there was something mystical in the eyes that were paying attention to him.

“Go on.” The sage encouraged.

“I wanted to write for her, but I’m very bad with it. I had to serve as a squire of a knight during the war. After my father died and I came back, things didn’t work very well and now I help out with my family at their work.

Isemberd nodded, looking away.

“I understand.”

“I’m just bad with poetry, so, could you help me reach a decent draft, just enough for me to get the hang of things?”

Isemberd took a long moment to reply:

“I need to think.” he tried “is just that…”

The lad seemed very disappointed. Gillibert pecked his ear. Twice. Three times. Isemberd hesitated.

“Say…” he started, very deliberately measuring his words “When do you have a break from work?”

Joran thanked Isemberd very excitedly. They settled on a day that week and he left, going back using the pathway that crossed the woods. When alone again, inside the house, food, tableware and other goods storing themselves, Gillibert said, with a very noble pose.

“See?”

Isemberd looked at him, holding a paper where he was writing something before. He said nothing and waited for the owl, that added:

“Master is very kind with other people.”

He looked back at what he was writing, taking another sheet of scroll to start a reply to the Count’s letter.

“Not exactly” he mumbled, distracted.

“I mean it! He was almost hopping each step back!”

“Don’t get me wrong.” Isemberd said, without taking his eyes off the paper. His mind was already focused trying to imagine what the Count would want from him. “I’m just helping because it can be useful later.”

“I seriously doubt you can be that cold-hearted, master!”

The glare Isemberd aimed at the owl told a different story.

“Gillibert.” He called, very serious. “Enough already!”

The bird seemed clearly offended, and gave him his back. Isemberd heavily disliked the overwhelmingly positive image the owl had of him. He focused on finishing the letter, that took about three or four drafts until he was satisfied.

At night, Gillibert didn’t leave to hunt and just glared at his master with wide eyes before turning his back at him. Annoyed, Isemberd grabbed Gillibert with his hands and tried making the owl look back at him. The magic bird simply turned it’s head almost backwards.

With a defeated sigh, he left the owlet back in his roost, at his room.

“Sorry.” he said, embarrassed.

“What for?”

“Being rude.”

“Master! You yourself is always calling me out on talking too much and being too emotional and anxious and aaaaah” He mixed it chirps, words, wings shaking around, a few feathers flying off of him. “I found that behavior very unfair!”

Isemberd nodded.

“I agree. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Well, well, as you say, master, if you want to do something, do it properly, right? Or leave it to someone else!”

The mage sighed again, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“You don’t let anything slip, eh?”

“Of course not! You’re the one that taught me that.”

Isemberd agreed with his head.

“Right. I’m sorry for being rude earlier.” He raised his hand, palm opened.

After a hesitant pause, Gillibert offered his wing, in a very clumsy hi-five, touching his guardian’s hand with his feathers.

“You’re forgiven, Master Isemberd! And yes! I’m very hungry, I could eat like an Alard Wells bull.”

Isemberd laughed at it a little and that startled Gillibert, that goggled at his master, wings opened, genuinely surprised.

“Master! You know how to smile!? Since when!?”

The magic owl flew a few circles around him before going downstairs. The mage left his winged friend go outside to hunt and took a peek at the drawer where the mysterious book was stored.

Besides the cheerfulness of that moment, the drawer occasionally trembled in an ominous way, with the muffled sound of the padlock trying to open cutting the silence of the room. Isemberd took off his glasses and left them on top of the cabinet. Running his hands over his hair, mumbling something. He grasped in pain for a moment.

His fingers formed his magic sign, windows and doors slammed shut and he caught himself completely in the dark when the little flame of his candles were snuffed out.

Maybe the mage didn’t saw any ghost or spirit because he was the one that brought them to the house.