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Chapter Two - The Mage's Daughter....

The following section is from another’s diary – pieced together from what I could gather, and written from her perspective. Thus follows a diary entry from the mage’s daughter.

I watched from a distance, lurking behind a tree.

The buildings loomed larger for them as they got closer; the old man and the boy, now sprinting towards their target.

Ominous thoughts would have filled their heads and questions which probably went a bit like this: H-H-How d-did this h-happen? Wh-Wh-What happened? Is-Is everybody safe? Wh-Who was involved? I h-hope my p-parents didn’t decide to st-stay here at my c-cousin’s house. I h-hope my c-cousins are s-safe. Why i-isn’t anyone p-putting it out? What is that screeching sound? Who are those people, all gathered in a group? What are those with them? S-Some s-sort of l-l-lizards?

These questions would have reflected their pathetic fears, pathetic anxieties and what they sensed as they got ever closer. In front of them was a band of cloaked and powerful men who chuckled menacingly as our lizards screeched again, devouring their houses and burning the pitiful. Men, women and children – they all scattered - fled the scene in different directions. The group might have seemed to be doing nothing but their lizards pursued, fire spouting from their mouths to engulf the pathetic survivors.

There was a little stream nearby. This would have seemed insignificant if it wasn’t for what happened next.

‘RISE UP AND EXTINGUISH, IN THE NAME OF JESUS!’ boomed the old man and made me shudder, for some reason.

Suddenly, the babbling stream rose. Water flowed through the air in an arc. The boy fell back, looking stunned. The water rose higher and higher in its arc, until it splashed onto the nearest building. The fire went out – crushed. The stream rose up again. I looked at the causer of this. His face was serious – his mouth formed a grim smile – almost a snarl.

What gave him such authority? Whose name was it he did it in? Jesus, was it? How dare he?

The water spout moved to another house, extinguishing yet another fire! The pitiful had already fled whilst he distracted us. I AM OUTRAGED! Who would have thought that the arrival of this decrepit, old man would have brought this THREAT?! How dare he?! How dare he?! My father worked hard to get to his position, and he wasn’t going to stop him.

I raised my arms and muttered an ice incantation – the best one I knew. I was so full of anger but I was sure this would work. Ice formed in mid-air and I hurled it at the buildings. If they weren’t to be burned down then they would be uninhabited; as blocks of ice! I looked over to my father and his friends. They were not amused. I even thought I saw a glimmer of fear. Can’t have been. Must have been a trick of the light! But now they were fleeing!

My smirk faded; I was concerned. I looked back at the building, wondering what had startled them – even into running!

‘WHAT?!’ I yelled. ‘WHAT HAPPENED?!’

I ran towards the building to get a closer look. No ice. No sign of frost at all! In fact, it was vaguely warm. And yet – I looked at the other buildings – NONE were on fire! How could this be?! Where did the warmth come from?! Who was this man, this boy and this Jesus to which I shudder, at the very sound of the name?! Why is that?

I thought it best to pursue my father. Perhaps this was some kind of trick. Maybe I missed. I thought to follow him for now.

‘Father!’ I yelled. ‘Father!’

He didn’t stop. He teleported. But I could follow him; I knew where he would go, with his band of men and dragons. That teleport only had limited range, five miles in any direction – and he always went south.

                                               

                And here ends that section, to be continued by more of my own.

‘What happened there?!’ I asked, bewildered. ‘Who was that and those men and lizards? What did you do? Was that in Jesus’ name?’

‘Oh, nothing that shall be discussed here,’ said the old man, chuckling. ‘except that the young girl was the chief warlock’s daughter. Poor girl, must have knocked her confidence.’

We looked for survivors but we were unsuccessful. Most were overcome by fire of some sort – although I reasoned that any that did survive got far away enough not to see what had happened and would return another time, if at all.

Now that the village was as stable as we could get it, I thought we would move on, but I was wrong.

‘Ok, which way to Little Hollow now?’ I asked, eager to find another signpost and get home.

The old man looked thoughtful. He turned towards a corpse and whispered something. I couldn’t hear what.

                Immediately, the corpse – or should I say, man – opened his eyes and turned over to get up. Not only that, but the burns immediately healed and returned to perfectly healthy skin – there was no sign of his previous afflictions whatsoever!

‘What happened?’ he asked.

                The old man whispered to him, out of my earshot.

The man looked startled then said: ‘It’s a miracle!’

                ‘Indeed. I am sorry about your town. I guess you should start rebuilding. I’ll try to get some help.’ said the old man, looking sombre.

                The man nodded as the old man left him to – what I could only think of as – wake other people – although they looked like corpses before he did and there was a dramatic transformation when they all awoke.

                I was getting increasingly frustrated by my companion’s secretive behaviour and lack of explanation. I had never heard of any of these miracles happening before – except in Sunday School. But I’d only learned that Jesus could do such things – not anybody.

                This did not make sense to me at the time, yet I wondered if I could do these things. I went up to my companion as he was waking a woman in her twenties – the transformation occurred again!

                ‘So? What is going on then?’ I asked the old man, abruptly.

                ‘I shall tell you later, not now!’ he said. ‘Although, you should know that this is not magic, or anything to do with myself. It is not my power.’

                ‘Always that you will tell me later! Why not now?!’ I yelled, impatiently. ‘Why can’t you tell me now?!’

                ‘I have already said.’ said the old man, simply. ‘Enemies may be listening.’

                ‘But we just saw them flee! Why would they hang around?’ I said, anxious to get home and make sure my own village was safe.

                The old man just ignored me and continued his work.

                ‘Fine!’ I yelled, as I turned on my heel and stomped in the opposite direction. ‘I’ll find my own way home!’

                ‘Go ahead, boy! No doubt I will have to find you later or you will come back, asking for my help!’ he said, calmly and yet again, annoyingly bemused.

                ‘Shall I follow him, sir?’ asked the woman who was now healed and very much alive. I was not so far away that I couldn’t hear them.

                ‘Please.’ said the old man, imploringly.

                I stomped away from the scene, now half-way across the field, wandering which way I should go, but determined to find my way home – for a moment, anyway. All I really did was stomp towards the road and stand behind a hedge, peaking on the old man. I resolved that I could still think of how to get home, even if I was not taking action.

                I saw many of those awoken, going up to him and thanking him, then turning to rebuild their homes. Some set up a small campfire – they seemed to take a while about coming to this conclusion though – probably because of the nature of the previous traumatic events involving it, and they still seemed a bit afraid of it.

                The old man was now on the last of the corpses. He seemed to have a massive gash across his chest – probably where a lizard had hit him. I still could not fathom what they were. He also had large burns that stretched across his back. Of course, all of these problems went away as soon as they had awoken. He healed, just like the others. Some still seemed to be mourning but I couldn’t guess why – all seemed to be alive and well. I resolved to think that it was stress and shock from the attack and the fact that they now had very little. Some seemed to plead with the old man who seemed to show that nothing could be done, judging by his body language and sad expression.

                I regretted arguing with him. He was my elder, after all. I decided to wait for him to come looking, then I would re-appear. I felt rather selfish. The woman had decided to lurk behind the very tree that the girl seemed to lurk behind. I considered that they were probably not much different. But then I felt a pang of guilt. This woman meant me no harm. In fact, if I had gotten lost, she would be the very one to help me out of it. She wasn’t an enemy. I felt ashamed.

                I stepped out from behind the hedge.

                ‘Are you ok?’ called the woman, looking concerned. ‘Are you ready to come back now?’

                I felt sorry for her. Here she was, with nothing; having to rebuild her home and the homes of the other villagers. I tried to imagine the vast sorrow that she must have felt – the feeling of such loss and trauma. But I doubt I even came near.

Furthermore, her clothes were singed and torn in places – she must have felt cold, she looked thin and old too – mum always moaned about the cold.

Before I considered answering, the old man had bent down to tie his shoe-laces. They had evidently come undone during the incident – perhaps on the way to the then-burning village – yet he had not cared. I resolved that he was gentle, kind and caring. Perhaps this secretiveness was for my own good. I’d never considered that. As he tied his shoe-laces, he looked at me with his now-familiar, bemused expression. ‘Ah, there you are, boy! Are you ready to go home now?’

I nodded. It was all I could do to keep myself from crying. They had been so selfless.

Soon, we were walking at a fast pace down a narrow country lane. Briars ripped at my clothing and I had to watch out for nettles, occasionally getting stung. After what felt like an hour of this however, my patience waned and I had grown weary long ago.

‘How far now?’ I groaned.

‘Not far.’

‘How did you know the way, anyway?’ I asked, trying to sound casual but doubt ebbed at me.

‘The woman who followed you told me.’

I took a while to reflect on this.

‘So how do you know that they can be trusted with what you can’t tell me yet?’

‘I don’t necessarily.’ said the old man. ‘I just do. Well, of course it helps that they believe that they owe me their lives. They know that the power is not my own but they are still grateful for it.’

‘But surely you cannot trust them all?’ I said, concerned. ‘What if some of them get bribed by the men? What if that information is used against us? Not all are trustworthy.’

I cared more about gaining his trust for my own questions than for pursuing whose power it was that he used and how it was used.

‘I just do,’ he said, simply.

‘Well, what if you’re wrong? Might this jeopardise my safety too?’ I asked, starting to feel outraged.

‘I tend to believe that God has a plan for us and that He would know about such problems in our journey and sort things out accordingly.’ he said, placing a hand upon my shoulder and looking into my eyes intently. ‘Faith is something to keep hold of, my friend. Trust in Him and never let Him go. He will never let you go.’

‘Yes, but we have to do things towards things going well too, and telling lots of people whatever the enemy wants to know – just trusting them all, sounds foolish to me.’ I explained, panic gripping me.

‘Oh, I believe that we can trust them.’ he said simply.

‘But how-?’

But at this point, I stopped abruptly, seeing his serious expression.

‘We shall talk no longer on the subject.’ he said, sternly. ‘I trust them. That is all you need to know on the subject.’

We continued on in silence for a while after this. Seconds felt like minutes. Minutes felt like hours. It didn’t help that my feet were weary, sore and I was so tired. Yet the sun didn’t even look close to rising. In fact, it could have only just turned midnight, for all I knew.

Things started to change as soon as I passed a rather nasty looking thorn bush. I tried to slip past it without getting snagged but it didn’t work. Another cut stung my knee and my jumper was stuck on a thorn. I felt regret – why had I worn my favourite jumper? Now it was torn in many places and probably stained by blood.

I suddenly realised the cold. I had not yet felt anything like it during the night. I was sure that the temperature must have suddenly dropped. I noticed the old man wrapping his cloak tighter around himself.

‘Bbrrrrr,’ said the old man.

‘Can’t you raise the temperature or something?’ I asked.

‘It could be done, I guess. But some things are meant to be endured. By simply praying all trials away you would not become refined. Such trials and tribulations can strengthen us.’ said the old man. But then he smiled. ‘Still, it is cold – do you want my cloak?’

‘Uh, no thank you.’ I said, though grateful for his kindness.

‘Don’t be absurd – you’ll freeze!’ he insisted.

‘Are you sure?’ I asked.

‘Yes, yes. Don’t worry, I’ll be ok.’ he smiled, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around me.

It was several sizes too big but I felt instantly much warmer.

As we continued, a breeze swept us, a breeze that became stronger as we went along.

My companion’s cloak billowed at the edges as I tried to hug it tight and it trailed behind me on the ground.

‘Well can’t we at least do something about this?’ I yelled, as the breeze became strong gusts of wind.

I looked up and gasped.

‘Look at that!’ I yelled to be heard, pointing at the dark, cloudy, midnight sky, not as far away as I would have liked.

My companion looked up and was horror-struck.

‘A tornado?! This is going too far!’ he yelled in rage.

It started to rain. We heard loud whirring sounds as we got closer and loud crunching. Huge crashes and screams rent the air around us. Large chunks of housing were taken up into the air along with all matter of debris. Roof tiles and hay bales and cars and the church tower. Huge slabs of stone and gravestones and garden sculptures. Gravel was scattered throughout the whirlwind, battering and destroying what the wind had not yet demolished.

All tiredness had left me. I was full of adrenaline – not sure what to do – to run away or to run towards it, in defiance. This was Little Hollow. My village!

‘That’s my home!’ I yelled as I recognised the top part of the house with the attic window, being hurled into the air and smashed to smithereens by the merciless gravel. ‘Gone! My home is gone!’ – And where were my parents? They weren’t in Rohlongtom. I checked - my eyes scanned each and every person that was awoken by the old man.

Such sorrow and grief racked me. I knelt, clinging to the old man’s trouser leg. ‘PLEASE DO SOMETHING! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE STOP THIS NOW!’ I sobbed into the hem of it. Great tears filled my eyes and soaked it.

The old man, filled with compassion and sorrow at my grief, raised his hands, his face serious and filled with fury.

‘BE CALM, IN JESUS’ NAME!’

I quietened, thinking that he was yelling at me, suddenly confused. But -the wind stopped immediately. Not even a breeze. And the dark clouds and rain stopped too. I realised that he was talking to the whirlwind and the storm.

I was shocked and grateful. Then I thought of my home and ran towards the village, all thoughts of cuts and bleeding leaving me. I had to check. I had to be sure. I had to help out and see where my parents were. I prayed repeatedly for God to help my parents – to make sure that they were safe. Prayed more than I had ever done in my life. I had to have hope and believe.

I finally arrived at the site of my house. I looked around. The foundations were still intact; in fact, the basement door was still closed. I yelled for my parents, yelled as hard as I could before deciding to open it – perhaps they were still safe. Perhaps they were unharmed.

I wrenched open the door and ran down the stairs. I fell to my knees.

‘Why?’ I sobbed. ‘Why?!’

They were dead. They hadn’t been killed by the storm or whirlwind, sure enough. But they were definitely dead. It looked as if my father died trying to defend my mother. His body was in front of hers – he had been stabbed through the heart by a sword which still pierced him. She was frozen in ice, a look of terror upon her face. They stood no chance.

I knew the culprits. I knew who to blame. How could I forgive them?! They must have entered the house and backed them into the basement before attacking them. At this point my father must have realised what was going to happen and went to sacrifice himself to buy my mother time to get away. There was no hope.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped, startled. I had forgotten all about the old man. Hope rose in me. ‘You can, you can help them, c-c-can’t you?’

He went over to them and did what I had seen him do so many times before. But they did not stir.

He turned to me with a sombre expression on his face.

‘Well, try again!’ I yelled, distraught.

He tried again, but nothing happened. He seemed to mutter endless prayers though. He shook his head in anguish, tears trickling down his face.

Sadness overcame me. I felt swallowed by grief. Drowning. I was oblivious to my tear soaked clothing. Oblivious to the cradling of the old man. I cried until I could no more, sobbing for what felt like hours, what felt like an eternity. Until I could hold on no longer. Sleep overcame me.

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