Legacy of Evil: The Art of Magic (Patreon)

We traveled slowly. After the impromptu wake we had for the few who had fallen, as well as disposal of those who had attacked us, we left and took routes none could easily travel. In that respect, the Romani culture coupled with the werewolves nature helped immensely. I became privy to passages and flight routes that were otherwise, not for outsiders to witness and the trust they put in me was humbling.

When we were hungry, we camped and lived off the land and if we wanted for any particular material, either the Greyback Matriarch or myself transfigured items for such a purpose.

My clothing changed, at first I had simply transformed what I had on and thought that was that. The next day, I was all but forcefully given some extra garb and told in no uncertain terms that I would be wearing them. My amusement was only outweighed by my momentary fear, as it was Rose who had done so and putting up with the teasing of the rest was a small price to pay for the simple happiness such an act gave her.

They are an exceedingly close-knit people. Refugees of circumstance and hatred, cursed to wander and look in from the outside. And yet, to live with them, to perform chores, care for the children and eat with them, you wouldn't see a difference with any other person. Of course, I did have more besides this to occupy my time and my mind.

For instance, we've recently gained an abundance of spare wands and even after giving some to the werewolves, I had enough left over for my own work. So naturally, the first thing I did was dissect a few.

Wand lore was an incredibly eldritch artform, and required more than simply jamming components in. The more I looked at it though, the more I realized I'd need an expert or resources beyond what I had now to further my studies and so that would be put on hold, at least for now. Instead, my time would be taken up with magical studies.

"Swish and flick. Again."

As a number of adults and children began to cast on twigs, I continued to speak. "The words, the incantation are important. But not so much as intent and few think to learn this, till much later in life when habits are set in stone. It is entirely possible to cast without a wand, as it is to cast wordlessly. Like a muscle, exercising it constantly until it becomes mere habit. Like walking or breathing."

I slipped my wand into a holster at my side and breathed deep. I was wearing a faded white long-sleeved shirt, rolled up to my elbows. Over this, a rural looking vest of faded green and below, dark pants with leather boots made me look like one of them. I'd also taken on wearing a flat cap, my hair trimmed with a spell as a carefully shaped beard made up the rest of my look.

"But we use wands and words anyway, because it is... Tradition." I smirked, self-indulgent in my references no one here would get just yet, as I decided to show them. With intent, I focused on a levitating charm. Outwardly, I began to sing as I tapped my foot.

"If I was a rich man. Ya da da da da, da da da da dum! I would be hiddle-diddle dee. Yadda dabba deedee dum!"

Around me, rocks and sticks began to float and revolve around me in an orbit, clacking together to make a beat as I smiled at the heart of what I believed to be true magic in this world. Magic was life, it was creation. Good effects or bad, it yearned to be used and wanted to grow. The more I exercised it, the more it expanded, and I snapped my fingers, ending the spell as I smiled.

"Learning constantly, every day is a gift. More so with magic. Just keep at it and you'll do it eventually. Because it wants to do so with you."

There was a sudden cry. I turned my head and smiled, as Fenrir watched in awe as his goose feather floated higher and higher, the sheer joy on his face almost blinding as I swelled up with pride. Maybe he wouldn't be able to go to a conventional school, not yet at any rate.

But I wouldn't let him be shamed in front of any other wizard if I could help it. And so, the days passed by till we arrived at Montana, where trouble of a different sort raised its head and threatened my peace and patience alike.

=====

"Beautiful, no?" Conan bit into an apple, chewing thoughtfully as we sat there and relaxed. The caravan had landed, we had long since evaded any sort of pursuit or so I thought and just enjoying the quiet. My eyes were fixed on a sight across the plains, at a great herd of buffalo moving around. They were smaller perhaps than what they used to be, but even so it was a sight that had me smile-leaning on my hand as I burned the memory into my mind. "It's breathtaking." I admitted, watching as I asked.

"When the full moon breaks, do you all....?"

"Sometimes." He admitted, finishing off his apple as he added. "It provides food for the caravan as well as give our wolves an outlet so to speak. If that helps your research at all?"

"It does a little." I grimaced, loath to be reminded. I had hit a dead end in that respect. Like the wand work, my research into lycanthropy had been stymied by a lack of pertinent resources. Firsthand accounts were well and good, but a single wizard with a wand could only do so much. That and in terms of magic, most of what I knew were either dark magic or related to British traditions of magic in addition to what I could work out myself. Conan, recognizing the look on my face only laughed as he clapped my shoulder with his silver arm.

"Cheer up my friend! Even the most cunning are sometimes befuddled. Ah, I see by your face I have wounded your pride and I am sorry. But as we have learned, sometimes it is better to be patient. The moon will set and we will walk like men once more, yes?"

I sighed out. The pride comment stung, but that had always been a Riddle trait and consequently my own. The difference being that I knew at least, that I had a problem. I took one of the apples, biting into it and tried to relax as I looked at the field of roaming wildlife... Right before noticing someone there. Conan saw it too, leaning forward in his seat.

A lone rider on a horse without a saddle, clad in a cloak and leather slipped off the horse and took out an arrow, nocking it to a bow. Conan made an interested noise.

"Lakota." I glanced at him and he grimaced. "Due to our nature, we never really got along with the local native tribes. They have odd magic that smelled strange to us, and while never violent, our wolves have always shunned their encampments."

"You've never traded with them before?" I asked and he shook his head. "They leave us alone and we left them alone. It is more than we can ask of most."

I turned my attention to the hunt below, the figure quietly and quickly moving. And then, one of the bison moved away from the herd, munching on the grass... They began to lean over... And just as they were about to shoot, there was a sudden roar and the entire herd spooked and fled. The Thestrals screamed, some of them breaking their bounds and as they fled, the caravan members went scrambling for them as down below the bison began to stampede.

Right in the direction of the hunter.

I cursed and vanished with a crack of displaced air, appearing by the figure as I moved to grab them, only to grab empty air.

Did I come to the wrong place? No, the bow was on the ground but where-? And then the stampede was on me and I had no more time to think.

I couldn't focus enough to apperate. Instead, I did the next best thing as I brought up the strongest shield charm I could produce, crouching as the bison rushed past, crashing into it and on their way. The roar sounded again, I could hear whooping noises and on the outskirts, see the faint glimpse of riders on horses before the beat of wings and a rush of heat overhead made me look up, seeing the following.

A Peruvian Vipertooth. Savage, dangerous as it landed on a straggler and tore it to bits, though my focus was on what was on it.

It had a rider. Holding the reigns, dressed like a cowboy and with skin turned ruddy by sun and weather as he cried out.

"BOY'S, ROUND EM UP! AND TWO OF YE, COME OVER HERE!"

As the dragon fed, he slipped off the saddle and marched my direction as two horses with riders rumbled my way. Up close, he seemed to squint as he looked at me, up and down as I dispelled my shield charm and he drawled.

"Son, anyone ever tell you it's dangerous to go running herd among angry buffalo? What in tarnation were you doing there?"

I ignored the bow at my feet, currently hidden by the long grass and let out a shrug. "I'm a researcher. I was in the middle of my studies when you and your men rode through." He paused and cocked his head before speaking. "Long way from home if you are. British?"

I shook my head. "Canadian." He chuckled as if I had said the right answer and extended his hand, the dragon behind him swallowing chunks of the bison behind him.

"Names Amos. Amos Slade. Sorry about that."

I made a choice and took his hand, shaking it in turn.

"Tom. Tom Riddle."