Wordscapist: The Myth (The Way of the Word Book 1) (9 page)

     The town had already started stirring and there were people everywhere. Goa in December was a completely different place. I wove through the traffic as I swung into Baga and reached the parking just before the shack. I parked my bike and wandered to the shack. It wasn’t the cool sand of dawn, but it still felt good. I ducked inside, hoping Papa Loon hadn’t already launched into his morning crank. It was already way past the end of his shift.

    I found him asleep on the counter. There was no one in the shack. These were the slow hours. The tourists wouldn’t come out until the sun was high, undressed appropriately to try and catch as many rays as they could. I dropped my bag behind the counter and shook Papa Loon gently to wake him. He came awake instantly, that catlike reflex that was such an integral part of him. I saw his hand shoot to his side where I knew his favourite blade rested in its sheath. He saw it was me, and his whole body relaxed. “Fool girl, scaring me,” he growled, his voice heavy with sleep, “you’ll get yourself killed one of these days, sneaking up on me like that.”

     “Sure,” I stuck my tongue out at him, “you keep working on that. All the sharpening in the world isn’t going to help you past my scapes!”

     He gave me a terrible looking scowl. He had a natural aversion to wordsmiths, but couldn’t stay mad at me. Andy da and he were the closest I had to parents. Andy da and Papa Loon were as close as brothers, and Andy da was probably one of the most powerful wordsmiths of our time. Papa Loon’s irritation was more with the Guild - that spilled over to a lot of wordsmiths, and sometimes his foster family got some as well.

     “That lazy cow sent a note with Gomes,” Papa Loon said, referring to his beloved business partner, Matilda, “she will probably come in after lunch. I asked Gomes to come around breakfast to help you out till then. Catch some sleep here, if you want to.”

     I winced at the thought, as I watched him throwing a couple of his things into a sack to take with him. Much as I loved the shack, sleeping behind the counter during busy season didn’t sound very attractive. I didn’t say anything though. Papa Loon had definitely hit cranky hour, and I just wanted him to get out of here as soon as possible. I could probably set up something small to discourage people from coming into the shack so that I’d be relatively undisturbed.

     “And don’t mess with the shack. If I see the collections dip below normal, you’ll have some answering to do, understand?” Papa Loon growled, glaring at me.

     I acted innocent and grinned at him. When in doubt, act cute! It always worked.

    He shook his head, giving up. “Take care, Dooly, I’ll see you at Ingo’s tonight.” With those words, he trudged out of the shack. I gave it a couple of minutes, and then set up a quick scape near the entrance that would nudge people to other shacks nearby. I got back to the counter, set up a couple of cushions to make myself comfortable, and settled into a deep nap.

     Even as I woke up, I knew I had overslept. I’d been planning on getting just an hour’s nap, but the sun outside was way too bright. It was close to lunch. The shack was still empty. Gomes wasn’t here either. The scape I’d put up had probably nudged his feeble mind away too. Crap on toast! I would be in so much trouble with Papa Loon for this!

     I ran to the entrance, quickly saying the words to undo the no-entry scape I’d put up. I saw Raj from the neighbouring shack talking to one of the tourists, fresh out of a plane, train, or bus, bag still in tow. I had to start getting business in, starting with him!

     “Leave my customers alone! Go away, before I set Papa Loon on you!” I shrieked at him. That got him running away in a hurry. And then I turned to the tourist, focussing my full charm on him. He was probably one of the young Indian guys; I’d do the pretty girl act and have him here for a good couple of hours, trying out the menu one item at a time.

     That’s when I saw him, really saw him. My scape view came up almost immediately, almost by itself. His scape sign flared so bright it blinded me. He was the most powerful wordsmith I had ever seen, more powerful than Gaia, Andy da, or even Zauberin! He seemed more powerful than all of them put together! I had no clue who he was. To a Free wordsmith, that meant only one thing. The Guild!

     I started muttering the words to bring up my elemental attack…

Draw on the sun,

Draw from the Earth’s heart,

     Even as I wove, I staggered back, realising the sheer futility of what I was doing. I was attempting an attack against an incredibly powerful wordsmith, someone who could vaporise me in an instant. The thought numbed my legs, my hands, my mind. I urged myself to focus, to weave! I couldn’t give up, not without a fight! That’s not what Andy da would have done. I had to keep going!

Smoulder, burn, consume

To my words, shape thy intent

    I completed the scape, making a mess of it, my scape sign flaring uncontrollably. I gave it my all and cast it out at him; this would probably be my only shot anyway.  I screamed out the release word.

    “Fajro!”

      I saw my scape reach out to encompass him. He looked almost confused, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I had him! Then, almost casually, I saw his hands coming up, his lips moving. Something powerful hit me and I was flung back. I was covered in intense fire for an instant, my scape protection preventing me from being consumed by my own element. I hit something hard, and landed on the sand, completely winded. For a couple of scary seconds, I couldn’t breathe. My training kicked in then, and my lips shaped the words, feeding energy to my body.  In a whooping rush, the air came in. I lay where I had landed, breathing the smoky air in huge gulps.

     Vaguely, I registered the damage the explosion had done. Papa Loon would kill me. That didn’t seem very likely though. The wordsmith stepped towards me very cautiously, walking through the shack. For a second, I considered preparing another attack. As I watched him walk towards me, the words came to my head. But I didn’t speak them. I had just thrown an incredibly powerful, almost out-of-control scape at him and he had just bounced it off, pitching it right back at me. He would have known that it wouldn’t kill me, being my element. That was just a warning, almost kind in intent. Any more hostility from me would probably lead to worse reprisals. I clenched my teeth and waited for him to come to me, bracing myself for the worst. If he was indeed from the Guild, I would die before I would betray the Free Word! I knew the words every Free wordsmith learned, preparing for such an eventuality. I could only hope that my implosion scape would take him too, giving some meaning to my sacrifice. He stepped closer, still looking extremely cautious and tentative in his movements, and I saw him properly for the first time. He was Indian, or maybe South European or Latin American. I couldn’t quite make out. It struck me again that he was very young. He looked around my age, maybe a little older. He couldn’t be over 25. I knew that the gift of the word slowed aging, but that usually kicked in after the wordsmith turned 30. How the hell had someone so young become so incredibly powerful! What devilry was this!

     Another couple of steps and the dim light of the shack allowed me to see him more clearly. He had straight, dark hair, brown skin, and pleasant features. Nothing out of place or extraordinary, but the whole was definitely better than the sum of the parts. I could see the tension in his face and his body, and wondered why he was worried. Couldn’t he see that I was just a rookie smith and wasn’t even trying to counter anything he had planned for me? As he moved closer, I scratched out the ‘nothing extraordinary’ part. His eyes were light, almost glowing in the darkness. I think they were hazel, and I fancied I could see the green and brown swimming in them. At that thought, I brought up my scape view again. His scape sign, his aura, was incredibly bright. It was also brown and green, the same hues that I had seen earlier at the market. His presence and power had somehow managed to affect my scape, even when he was far enough away that I couldn’t detect him. How powerful was this man! As I looked closer I realised there was a kind of a duality to his aura. The brown and the green were distinct. It was almost like two identities. Again, I didn’t understand. Whoever, whatever, this man was, he was beyond my comprehension. I could only hope that death would be quick. I braced myself as he came within a couple of feet of me, his face cocked to one side. I wanted to screw my eyes shut, but I’d rather face my death. I glared at him balefully, willing him to do his worst.

     “Why did you do that,” he asked, “and more importantly, how did you do that?”

     My glare faltered at that. I wasn’t sure I had heard him right. I just looked at him stupidly, wondering what this was about.

     He repeated the questions, louder this time. Oh god, he thought I couldn’t hear!

     “I don’t understand you,” I rasped, my voice thick with the smoke and the recent hard landing.

     “You just threw something like fire at me, with no provocation from me. Why did you do that? And how did you do that? How did you throw fire like that?” he said all of this quite slowly, like he was talking to a kid.

    I stared at him, bewildered. His question was way too dense for me to understand. Why was a powerful wordsmith asking me how I had cast a scape?

     “Is it a language problem?” he asked, again speaking slowly, “You speak English?”

     “I speak English very well, thank you,” I said, “and I can hear you and understand your words, so stop speaking to me like I’m slow.”

     “Well, then answer my question.” he threw that right back at me.

     I didn’t even know where to start with the answer. I decided to take the easy part first. “I didn’t recognize you, but I could see your gift. I took you for a hostile, and attacked. I’m sure you understand that much.”

     He looked completely befuddled. “That makes no sense,” he said. “You took me for a… hostile? You could see my gift? What do you mean by that?”

     At this point, he again cocked his head to one side, as if he were listening to something. He kept doing that every now and then, a stream of expressions flitting through his hazel eyes. It was mostly irritation though. As if he didn’t like what he was listening to. I had the growing feeling that I had a crazy on my hands here. A powerful, crazy wordsmith! Perfect!

     “I’m not answering any stupid questions. If you’re trying to be careful or if this is some kind of new Free Word code that I don’t know, I want out of this conversation. I’m Dew, and I’m a Free wordsmith, initiated three years back. If you’re from the Guild, be done with whatever you will do. If you’re a Free wordsmith, help me up and stop acting weird!” I went through that hard and fast, my temper flaring. There was only so much I could take before I lost it. 

     He seemed bemused at that. He then stepped up and gave me a hand. I took it and pulled myself upright. I saw him quickly move back the moment I straightened up, still cautious. Why was this insanely powerful man scared of me? He didn’t respond to my rant, but then, he hadn’t tried to kill me either. Maybe, with the helping hand, he was indicating that he was with the Free Word. Whatever he was doing, he wasn’t an immediate danger to me. I figured I’d rather have this conversation standing up or sitting on something more comfortable than a broken, smouldering table. My body ached from the hard landing. If it hadn’t been for my scape protection, that fall would have probably broken every bone in my body. I turned to glare at him again, and noticed that he was gone. He had gone to the display menu and was looking at it with interest. Really!

     I saw a bunch of tourists headed to the shack, and then change their minds after looking at the state of the place. Papa Loon was really going to kill me. I groaned at the thought.

      He turned around to face me, his body tense again. When he saw that I wasn’t trying anything, he went back to the menu. “Do you just try to kill all your customers or do you feed them as well?”

     I stared at him with disbelief. I didn’t know what this guy’s deal was, but I was definitely not going to play along! “Are you telling me that you came here just to eat?”

     “Actually,” he drew that out as he looked for something in his bag, “I came here looking for Aktomentes Loon.”

     “Akto isn’t here,” I said, relief flooding me. If he was looking for Papa Loon, he was definitely a Free wordsmith! “You can pass on the message to me, whatever it is. He is usually here only at nights, so you need to be here between dusk and dawn to catch him. Or you could meet him at Ingo’s tomorrow night. All you guys are meeting there anyway, right?”

     He looked up at me cautiously, pausing his bag search. “I’d rather talk to him directly. Where can I find him now?”

     “He’s sleeping now,” I said, walking around the counter. If he was one of ours, I might as well feed him. “I wouldn’t recommend waking him up. You mentioned food; do you want get brunch while you’re here?”

     He looked at me suspiciously. “Are you going to try and poison me now?”

    “Nope,” I smiled at that, “I don’t want to piss you off any more than I have. I’m sorry about the attack, but then, you shrugged it off easily enough. You know how it is. We have to constantly look out for those bastards from the Guild.”

     His face had softened a bit when I smiled, but he watched me carefully as I spoke. It was as if I was speaking a foreign language that he was trying really hard to understand. His English was reasonably unaccented, like he knew it well. I couldn’t quite figure this guy out, and why he was acting so strange. But then such were powerful wordsmiths; quirky and unpredictable. I guess this one was almost normal when compared to someone like Necros.       

     “I am pretty hungry, it has been a long journey in from Mumbai,” he said. Mumbai, that’s where he came from. Probably flew in from Europe or America. Except that powerful wordsmiths rarely flew, especially the ones in the Free Word. They almost always teleported to stay under the radar, keeping their movements secret from the Guild. Curiouser and curiouser!