Magician's Journey:

Chapter 6

Thomas let out an exhausted sigh, as he returned his flute to his bag. “Well, I’ve played every song I know, most of them twice. I’ve even made up some new ones as I went along. Further more, it can’t be more than three candles until dawn, I really do have to go now.”
A warm glimmer flew across Sam’s eyes. “Come now, you’ve been saying the same thing every five songs! Surely you can stay a little longer?
Thomas nervously looked up towards the moon. He was reluctant to refuse the hospitality of a god, but it really was growing very late, and Pallo was growing tired. She was starting to drain his energy just by staying awake. “I’m afraid I really can’t this time…”
Sam let out a disappointed sigh. “I see… Will you at least tell me where you’re headed so urgently?
“Certainly! I believe I was heading for North… North…” Thomas reached into a small side pocket on his bag, pulling out an old and worn piece of paper. “Ah. Northshire. I was headed for Northshire to see a master magician named Silvester.”
Sam’s head tilted in an inquiring fashion. “A magician seeking human contact? How unusual.
Thomas blushed. “Well, I only just become a journeyman. I’ve never even left the forest I was trained in before now.”
I see.” Sam stretched his body upwards and tilted his head back, seemingly lost in thought. “Well, I hope you aren’t planning to follow the path. The routes made by normal humans are always so slow and jumbled.
“Well, I don’t have any other means of navigating…”
Sam returned to his normal stance. “Have you tried asking the winds which way to go before taking flight? If you went in a straight line, I’m sure it would only take you a candle or two to arrive.
“…I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you, Sam.”
Sam’s eyes flickered and shifted, shaping themselves to imply a warm smile. “Farewell, Thomas. I hope you visit again some day.
“Farewell, Sam. I will.” Thomas pulled his walking staff out from his pack, placing it on the ground with the handle facing towards him, and the tip facing east. “{Ventra, Motta.}”
Thomas’s voice echoed through the forest. There was a deep richness to his words, as though they were not words at all. As though he had opened his mouth, and spoken with pure meaning. A meaning the forest understood well, as the air began to stir, gathering around Thomas.
“{Ventra, Respum.}” The wind began to push on Thomas’s staff, slowly rotating it until it pointed northeast.
“{Instrum, Motta.}” The staff began to lift into the air, gently hovering about a foot off the ground.
Thomas turned to face Pallo. “Are you coming, Pallo?”
Pallo eyed the staff cautiously. <I think I will follow on foot.>

 

A note from the author ninja:

Gods would make for much better company if they had any idea how intimidating and powerful they are from a mortal perspective.

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