gemini (ch.1)

Chapter One

It was the night of the twenty-first day in the month of May in the year 418, according to the calendar of Men. Very few Men knew what it was the four hundred and eighteenth year since. As chronology was a minor matter for Men, the calculations of years, months and festival days had been delegated to the local wizard. In recent times, however, the local wizards had become few and far between. The old laws had stated that it was proper for there to be ‘a wizard per hamlet or village, three wizards for a town or duchy, and five wizards in the employ of a regal court’ (for there were regional kings of Men); this had steadily decreased as, now, one would be lucky to find a single wizard in a town.

In addition to their invaluable cataloguing and chronological work, the wizards had once provided entertainment for the people in each community. Children had not been raised to fear these aged magicians and it was a treat to hear of the wild stories that the wizards told with intense animation. By the time one reached adulthood, however, the wizards had lost their credibility; they were ridiculous clowns that found coins behind the ears of children, who were too innocent to realise the difference between sleight-of-hand and Magic; they told inventive, fictitious stories for the youngsters to marvel at and dream of, until experience showed them that they would never be the hero in an adventure tale, but would probably work on a farm, marry and produce an enormous brood of offspring that would, in turn, be delighted by these entertaining men.

The Lady of the town reflected upon her childhood memories of wizards. She had always adored their tales and would beg to hear her old favourites up until the day before she was to be married. She had been told that her new husband would not allow such fripperies from her. She was to be a wife, no longer a girl. She was to produce children, not be a child herself. On the eve of her wedding, the last night of her childhood, she was walking through a garden, wearing an elaborate violet dress of silk; it suited her beautifully, but she hated it and the maturity it demanded. The garden in which she walked was filled with flowerbeds of fragrant fuchsias, freesias, forget-me-nots and foxgloves, though her mind was so troubled that she barely noticed their overwhelming scent. She sat clumsily on an ornate wooden bench, defiantly crumpling her dress, and exhaled a loud, exasperated sigh.

“Ah, my dear child,” came a soft voice from the darkness.

She gave a start: “I didn’t see you there, wizard.”

“That is because I have only just appeared,” he smiled kindly. “Why are you sorrowful?”

Although the girl did not know the wizard, she sensed his benevolence and, as she had always loved the old magicians, she felt honoured that one was taking a concern in her matters and so she poured her troubled soul into his ears.

“…and so, you see, wizard, I will never be the hero from the stories, because I am a girl.”

“Such is the unkindness of this age towards the fairer sex. However, your fear is unfounded, my dear, for you are not merely to be involved in a great adventure, but you are to create one.”

The girl was confused. “I-I don’t understand.”

“That is why I have come to find you on this eve. I am a different wizard to those with whom you are accustomed, my child. The men who parade themselves around these towns and villages are adventurers and comic tricksters. I do not deny that they have encountered Magic and intriguing creatures which make the curious mind of Man thirsty with wonder. It is imperative that they exist to stimulate the active minds of children, to teach Right from Wrong through their stories. However,” and here he leaned a little closer as if to impart a great secret, “they know no true Magic in their souls.”

The girl stared wide-eyed at the old man, her mind full of disbelief, yet her heart full of understanding. ‘Go on,’ she urged, wordlessly.

“I know that you sense I am a real wizard but, to show you the true Magic which, sadly my dear, you will never encounter again, I will leave you a gift.”

He held his hand out and opened it, palm facing the heavens, and the girl gazed at it expectantly for some seconds, almost crying with suspense. Confused, for the wizard’s hand was still empty, she quizzically lifted her eyes to find his fixed on the, apparently, empty palm. He sensed her movement.

“Patience, child. This is Old Magic. It is the most powerful and is not as instantaneous as a mere conjuring trick.”

Humbled, she lowered her eyes to the outstretched hand. Slowly, a red light enveloped the flesh and glowed like the burning embers of the fires of Hell. It throbbed repeatedly, until a large round ball sprouted on the wizard’s skin and grew threateningly. The girl was horrified by the disturbing sight before her: the wizard appeared to have an immense boil on the palm of his hand that was growing out of control. In fact, it had grown to the size of his head. She was just about to interrupt, to stop the process, fearing for the safety of herself, the wizard and this unknown being that was about to rupture his hand, when the wizard scrunched his nose and the swelling popped with surprising quiet and made an effervescent noise as it rose into the air, hovering above their heads. It was an orb.

“Old Magic is neither Good nor Evil. It transcends such qualities. I will not be able to teach you as much as you would like to know, but this orb will help you to understand. I am an old man and my senile methods of talking and thinking will not help the malleable mind of a youth to reach its enlightenment. Take this orb,” here, the wizard plucked the orb from the air, and handed it to her, “and do not fear your marriage. Tomorrow will be a beautiful day; I can assure you of that.”

As the girl stared at the orb, transfixed by its creation, its (surprisingly) diminutive size, its delicate texture like a bubble enchanted not to burst, she did not notice that the wizard had disappeared into the night.

She had dreamed of that evening each night since it had happened; she had studied the orb, protected it, hidden it from her husband, and yet it had revealed nothing to her. The Lady did not doubt the wizard’s authenticity – she was aware that he was an incomprehensibly powerful man – but she was in mourning. Her youth was lost, the adventure that she was supposed to have created did not exist; the wizard’s Magic had not worked for her. She yearned for Magic, her mind craved it. That night, the dark, foreboding night of the twenty-first day in the month of May in the year 418, she lay in a different room to usual. She had been given an elixir to calm her. The Lady was so intoxicated that she was not aware of how heavily pregnant she had been; she could not remember the accident, the blood, the babies, the man. The Lady had lost her mind.

* * * * *

The boys played noisily in the garden which lay adjacent to the stables. They were young lads of the manor in a simplistic country town, blissfully unaware of the unpleasantness which grew in the world around them. The manor was the largest and most imposing building of the town and possessed immaculately tended gardens of which the general members of the public marvelled at and were incredibly envious. To be a gardener at the manor house was a highly revered position, currently filled by a middle-aged man with a nervous facial tic who physically resembled a garden hoe, gaining him the nickname Old Rake. He was an aloof character who delighted in abusing his special rank in the town hierarchy, and he rather believed himself to be superior to the rest of the community. The man was humble enough, however, to appreciate that he was inferior to the Lord and his family – yet in a far more respectable position than the mere servants of the manor – which left the gardener in the unfortunate situation of being extremely lonely. In any case, his task as gardener to the manor was not a simple one for, not only were the gardens extensive and abundant in rare flowers which required high and careful maintenance, but it was the favoured playing ground for the boisterous boys of the manor, the bane of the gardener’s life.

“I’m bored of this game,” announced the larger boy, “let’s play warriors!”

The heart of the other boy sank. He was physically inferior to his brother, who, as he was often reminded, was two minutes older than him. “No, let’s play tag again! I like that game.” As he was smaller, Daniel was much more nimble than his lumbering, strong brother.

“You are such a maid! Just because you know you’ll lose!” Jacob taunted his younger brother.

“Well, if you really want to play warriors…”

“Yeah!”

“…You’ll have to catch me first!”

The boys continued to laugh and chase each other through the foliage, oblivious to the fact that they were being watched not only by the wand-shaped man – who, muttering and twitching, was fervently spying on them from behind a vast hydrangea bush – but also by their keen-eyed father. He was a tremendously melancholic man in his heart, the Lord of the town, but made a concerted effort to keep up appearances. His wife had succumbed to a disease whilst giving birth to the twin boys nearly fifteen years ago which had caused her to lose consciousness with the world. A proud man, he had vowed to raise the children alone, not by handing them over to a nanny or wet-nurse but by taking on the roles of father and mother by himself, as far as he physiologically was able.

The Lord perceived himself to have raised the boys well. They were energetic and intelligent, intrigued by adventure and exploration of the world, and the people and creatures it contained. No two people were less alike than Jacob and Daniel, however. They didn’t even look similar: Jacob was big, blond-haired and had honey-coloured skin; Daniel was slight, dark and sallow in his complexion. Yet, for all of their bickering and teasing, they cared for, complemented and understood each other perfectly. The Lord had high hopes for Jacob as his successor: he was strong and valiant, with an immensely formidable character for one so young. Daniel resembled his mother far more, however; he was sensitive and slight and had an obsession for learning. This worried the Lord.

He had stood by as his wife’s mind had rapidly slipped away; she now lived in a separate wing of the manor, attended to constantly by maids who left her company either in floods of tears or covered with welts and scratches, as though attacked by a wild beast. Many of the maids told incredible tales of events they had supposedly encountered whilst waiting on the Lady of the manor and, sworn to secrecy with a handsome amount of money, were released from employment. The Lord feared that his youngest son also had a weakness for madness which he would have contracted from his mother during birth, something that Jacob was too strong-minded to inherit. The deep sound of a horn fanfare interrupted his reverie, and the boys’ play.

“Whassat?” Jacob panted, rosy-cheeked and out of breath from chasing his brother.

“The wizard! He hasn’t been in town for ages! Shall we go and listen to his newest tale? I bet he’s slain two or three dragons that tried to smite him with their flames, but…but then he used his wizardly wiles to outwit them and…and then he reclaimed the treasure which they had stolen from the men of the nearest village when they burned their houses to ashes!” Daniel had grown more and more enthusiastic as his exaggerated, improvised story progressed.

Jacob – inwardly astounded that his brother was breathing steadily – pouted, affecting boredom. “I have no idea why you listen to that manure.”

Fidgeting excitedly, ignoring the derogatory comments, the dark-haired boy exclaimed, “Come on! He may have new Magic to show us!”, and darted off towards the town.

“He’s no more a wizard than you are!” Jake sullenly called after him.

Daniel stopped and turned to beckon his brother again, not wanting to allow his frustration to get the better of him. “Don’t be an ass, Jake. No one can do Magic like the town wizard! Come on!”

The stronger boy suffered from an inability to drop an argument once it had been started, a fear of not having the last word. “It’s not real Magic, stupid. He just pretends he’s a wizard. I bet he’s only seen pictures of dragons like we have in the books in Father’s library.”

Edging closer, Daniel cocked his head in order to better judge his brother’s expression. Being his twin, he was fully aware of Jacob’s occasional moodiness and his almost instinctive desire to be right, but his brother had never before seen Magic to be worthy of mockery.

“Why would you say that? Of course it’s real Magic.”

“That’s not what Mother told me.” The words were out of Jacob’s mouth before he could help himself; ashamed, he bit his lip and looked at the floor.

“You’ve been to see Mother?” Daniel said, tears welling in his deep, blue eyes like puddles.

It wasn’t that he meant to hurt his brother; his tongue was at the untamed stage of development where it went ahead and spoke regardless of the outcome.
“I’m just trying to stop you talking about stupid Magic, idiot brother. Fine, go and listen to the old man tell you bedtime stories. I’m going home for dinner and to play with the dogs.”

And with that, as close to an apology as he was comfortable with, the blond boy turned and walked towards the manor.

Stubbornly, Daniel made the decision to find the wizard and hear his new tales of adventuring. He walked in the opposite direction out of the gardens with a pang in his chest, as he felt their twin-connection loosen, and traversed along the main cobbled street of the town. It was a beautiful town in which they lived, that their father lairded over.

It was Mayday and the streams of primary-coloured banners were hanging gaily between the buildings and music was played upon pipes by the local boys. The townsfolk, dressed in similar colours, were merry from overindulgence in food and drink on this festival day; everyone that passed by, slower and more unsteadily than usual, greeted him with a warm salutation and a broad smile, even the young girls, which made the boy blush and the girls giggled in response.

Daniel paused at the patisserie to buy some baked goods to tide him over before dinner for, as he had begun to walk away from his brother, he had realised that he too was very hungry from their games. He had a brief conversation with the baker who, embarrassed by the sudden appearance of the son of the Lord of the manor, had tried, in vain, to appear far more sober than he actually was. Out of good cheer, Daniel overpaid the round, red-faced man; he was in no state to calculate the amount of money that he had been given in any case. Daniel, unattractively stuffing the food into his mouth, so much so that he could barely chew it, sped along the pathways in order to find the wizard, still managing to wave politely at people as he did so.

He had always loved seeing the wizard on Mayday for the old man would undoubtedly turn himself out in his finest, gaudiest robes to match the bright occasion; he, also, was usually heavily inebriated and danced and sang his stories, rather than telling them in prose form, with his grey hair and beard flying hither and thither. This year, however, was to bring a shocking change for Daniel; he had almost walked past the wizard before he noticed his presence. The old man was sitting alone on the town green wearing ragged robes, unashamedly, like a village idiot. His pointed wizard’s hat was missing, as were his astrological pendants and charms which usually adorned his neck. The velvet bag that often contained gems looted from adventures now lay open and empty on the ground with a few small copper coins in, donated by passers-by.

“Excuse me, Sir…wizard?” Daniel asked, cautiously, both fearing that he had mistaken a poor man for his favourite magician and unsure of the correct form of address for a man of magic.

“Ah, young boy of the manor. Someone remembers me at least,” the wizard slurred, wiping drool from the corners of his mouth.

“What has happened to you, old man? Are you ill? Do you require nourishment?”

“I am well in body. My mind suffers. The stories I have to tell are no longer those one would want their nestlings to hear, oh no. The world has become a bleak place, so it has,” he mumbled woefully.

Daniel crouched next to the old man, who was emitting a particularly rancid odour, and offered him a croissant which he accepted gratefully.

“The world is a beautiful place, wizard. Look at our town! It is a splendid day and everyone is joyous! How can you say that our world is bad?”

The old man’s eyes widened in horror.

“I have seen things, young master, oh, I have seen things...I have seen much Evil, so much Evil, in the outer lands that you could not comprehend, that no one here could comprehend, not in their wildest, nastiest dreams, not even in those terrible nightmares that feel so true.”
Daniel pitied the old magician, who was visibly trembling at his memories. It pained him to see a childhood figure of joy, adventure and excitement in such a frightful condition.

“Then tell us! That is why we love you, wizard, for you tell us tales of places and creatures that we will never ourselves see.”

“I could not put the image into words, my child…like a nightmare, a nightmare that devours the brain and silences the tongue…I am not strong enough. Yet I fear there is no need for me to do so, for the Evil will creep into this land, as it will through all the lands. There is no escape for anyone. I am powerless.” And, with that vague explanation, the old man, struggling to his bare, unwashed feet, grabbed his velvet bag and doddered away towards the local tavern to empty his mind of memories.

* * * * *
That night, after a sumptuous meal and their weekly bathe, the boys lay in their bedchamber. Jacob, exhausted from the exercise of the hot day, drifted easily, whereas Daniel lay wide awake. Before his brother could fully enter the realm of dreams, Daniel stirred him.

“Brother. Brother!”

“Wha-what?” Jacob asked with the confusion and distraction of a sleepy person.

“I need to talk to you.”

“You pick your moments, Dan. My eyes can hardly stay open. Father punished me for letting you go into the town and for annoying Old Rake by making me muck out the big stables and you know how dirty they get.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jacob said, with good grace, “I’m just really tired.”

“It’s important though, Jake.”

“Go on,” he yawned, sitting up slightly and rubbing his eyes, in order to stay somewhat alert for the conversation.

“Well, it’s what you said earlier, about true Magic. And Mother.”

“Oh, that. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did. When I went to see the wizard, I saw him for what he was: an old storyteller. He has no Magic blood.”

“So you’ve finally seen sense, little brother,” the blond boy retorted, in an attempt to be sagacious.

“But he told me the world was changing, that it was Evil, and that the Evil would come to our town. It’s so Evil that he couldn’t bring himself to tell me about it, Jake.”

“So? The old man’s lost his marble set.”

The silence grew heavily between them. Their brotherly link conversed without speech and, through guilt of disparaging madness, Jacob sighed the deep sight of one about to relinquish important information.

“A few nights ago, when you were sleeping like a dog, drooling and snoring as you do…”

“I do not!” Daniel hotly denied, his cheeks burning.

“Do you want to hear my story or no?” He paused, and Daniel felt his brother’s strong glare cut through the darkness in their bedchamber. “Anyway, you woke me up and, because it was a very warm night, I could not go back to sleep. Unsettled as I was, I decided to go for a wander. Before I knew what I was doing, I was in the East wing,” here Daniel gasped, “- hear me out - and I was opening the door to Mother’s bedchamber. It was strange, brother, as though she had beckoned me to speak with her, for she was sitting upright in her bed, awake. She told me of a wizard, a real wizard and about a true piece of Magic that he had shown her…but then she started going mad and screaming at me. I was so scared Father would find out that I ran back here and lay in bed with my heart pumping fast.” Jacob stopped his tale suddenly, for he never liked to admit fear.

“Were you caught?”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Jacob retorted, grimly.

Daniel allowed his brother a moment before quietly asking: “What did she look like?”

“When she was nice, she looked beautiful. She has black hair, like you, but it’s long and flows half way down the bed like it’s never been cut. But when she was scary, she looked so possessed, like an evil fairy from one of the wizard’s tales.”

“I want to know what she was talking about, brother. I want to see real Magic.”

Hesitantly, for he knew what his brother’s reaction would be, Jacob said: “Dan, I think she has Magic in her room. I think it’s what makes her mad.”

“We have to find it. Let’s go and look tonight!”

“No!” Jacob snapped, and added in hushed tones, “No, we mustn’t. If we are to look in her chamber, we should go when she is out, in her bathing room, or some such. I’m tired, Dan. Let’s go to sleep.”

It was unnecessary for a warning to pass between the boys. Daniel was aware that visiting his mother’s room alone would not be a wise move, however, as much as he tried to join his brother in sleep, his mind was filled with curiosity of his mother and of Magic.