The Mage of Samon
It is true that the human intelligence is limited up to a point where a person ceases to accept a belief or an idea even though its existence in the world is proven to be positive. We regard what we can control and leave the unbearable to the forces of ignorance, never to ponder over our failed attempts to understand these ideas. These are the phrases I grew up with in a village among the mountain ranges of Samon. The people of my village were distant with the fact that there indeed were forces of nature and supernatural creatures that dwelt amongst the snow clad valley. Books and scrolls we had but few and it explained the proper ways to grow carrots and potatoes in harsh nippy weathers. We were apes of a forgotten valley, unaccounted by any province and unaware of by any ruler.
Once and twice we had the misfortune, so the village headman says, to witness the beasts of the valley that crawled out of the stream of river in the middle of a bright beautiful day and trampled our properties with their bodies that defied any logical explanation, leaving behind crushed ceilings and amputated body organs. If one considers pitchforks and pickaxes as weapons to challenge against the might of the supernatural beasts, then one might consider us fairly equipped. Poor and afraid my village people were, none had the wisdom nor the wit to challenge the might of the nature. It was time for the folks to abandon Samon and seek refuge under a kingdom where military protection would enable the children of the folks to have a better tomorrow. An evening when the snow had prepared to fall from the sky, we heard a couple of diabolical howls echoing through the mountain ranges. Of wolves’ or of monsters’ was the sound we did not know, only that we were to shut ourselves inside our cottages until the blizzard passed.
For me the night was neither the trouble nor the howls outside a much of a nuisance. I am not much of a learned man and had never acquired the privileges of a country style education. But I write this so as to commemorate the teachings of a person who in such a short time acknowledged my existence and thought fit to be taught the lessons of Domiton Fraternique, a popular but mediocre organization of magicians and witches, though they comprise of humans only. As the wind began to blow wildly, the howls neared our civilization. I sat near the door peeping over the white sheet of blizzard that rocked my cottage mildly, waiting for the horrific shrills to end. Curiously I assimilated my eyes to grab a clear image of the world that resumed outside my cottage and suddenly gazed upon a dark image of a creature that seemed no human by structure. Looking at the bizarre creation was not the moment when the terror inside my body began to build. Soon after the beast took a step forward, a bright light with an amazingly curled electric bolt pierced the creature causing it to burn ferociously. The beast, taken by surprise, dropped on the floor with a huge cavity inside its torso. More two bolts flashed outside and I heard a couple of loud screams. Paranoid by the mysterious death of the beasts, I crawled away from the door. Soon the door of my cottage smashed from outside, causing splinters to fly along with the blizzard and above the broken pieces of wood lay a creature whose very appearance was responsible for the mayhem and panic. Vile and gored with blood, its teeth uprooted from the gums, shoulder bones protruded from the dark fur around its neck, and a dark cavity on its chest – an impression the beast made which has never faded out from the walls of my brain.
From behind the fallen creature there emerged a person shrouded in white clothes all to his head and held out a long wooden staff with a blue orb twined over the tip. The person said nothing but grabbed the beast and threw it outside the cottage onto the thick sheet of snow. As my heart began to pound I stood up and calmly walked out of my house, many claimed I was so paranoid that I ran out of the house yelling wildly. The people of the village who were hitherto coiled inside their small houses started to gather outside, all of them occupying a safe distance as far from the dead beasts, and all staring at the person with a staff in all white. Slowly he unfurled the layers of shawl wrapped around his head until he reached his neck.
There is a thing about optical illusions. On certain occasions our mind is so convinced that the image we are staring at is not the image we had imagined so it constantly tries to reimagine it until it either adjusts the image according to the present visualization or shuts down completely, causing the brain to become temporarily unconscious. As soon as the person revealed his mysteriously shrouded face in front of the public, I saw my own reflection in the person standing in front of me. The blue orb above the staff began to glow faintly. After a long melodramatic pause I asked, “Who are you?” He struck his staff on the white earth and the orb began to give out blue electric glints. “I am your future.” He said aloud and, like the sands of the desert flowing away in the wind, he vanished…
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