by Sharon Gibbs
‘Yes, but do the people have confidence in Mosely’s ability to handle the money the town will receive? That is the question, or should be,’ Clarence said. ‘He may have big plans, but are they in the best interest of the people?’ Elle placed her goblet on the table as he spoke. ‘Who and what to choose is the hardest part of freedom. The people may have longed for it back, but some have forgotten the old ways and they have become used to life under Arnak’s rule. To no longer be able to make choices for themselves became a way of life and old habits are hard to break. Sometimes it’s easier to take the road most travelled than to have to forge a new path. Mosely is young and grew up in the oppression. Yes, granted he has new ideas and some great plans, but are they to benefit the town, or are they what he thinks the town needs. Gone are the days of a wizard being posted in the town for council; there are just not enough of us. Hopefully there are those with knowledge of the old ways to provide such wisdom. What they need is to store ample food and grain for the winter and have enough seed set aside for the following season; not worry about rebuilding a burnt out manor house. When the most important things have been achieved to preserve life, only then will they prosper. They can build what they wish after that. Just because one wishes for something doesn’t mean one should have it right away.’
‘Well it’s for the people to decide. They also have to elect a council and the council will stand for the people. The Governor will not have total domination over the town. The elected position is to primarily guide the people’s choice, not to choose for them. All parties must be in agreement of the proposed plan. Besides, freedom to make choices doesn’t come without its own cost. The people will come to learn this in time. Freedom has its own responsibilities,’ Christopher said.
Jack placed his mug down. ‘So who is overseeing the counting of the votes?’
‘Frank has chosen some trustworthy men who are not in contention for the governing seat, but are available to accept a seat on the council. He will send them out to various towns and villages. We shall oversee the votes here in Canistar, while Ned and Joseph will be in charge in The Dale. Other towns have organised their own methods for the voting process and have submitted their ideas to their communities for advice. The only suggestions put forward by us were that they should be overseen by those not in contention for Governor.’
‘I think Jimmy has a great chance of attaining his seat,’ Saul said. ‘And with Albert in council The Dale will be sure to prosper.’
‘We can only hope all towns find such wise men to guide them and then the land will again flourish,’ Henry said.
They talked for a while and finalised plans for voting day.
Henry stretched and stood. ‘Are you ready, Finch?’ he called to the boy. ‘Well, I’m sorry everyone, but we have to leave you now. Work doesn’t always end with the setting of the sun.’
‘I’ll probably not see you before you retire, Elle. I don’t know how late we will be,’ Christopher said and then he bent forward and kissed her goodnight. He shook Saul’s hand. ‘I’ll be in the village tomorrow so I’ll drop by and see you then.’
‘Goodnight. I’ll see you then.’
Elle rose from the table. ‘Come, let’s sit by the fire. The night is early and I’m not at all sleepy.’
Saul laughed. He knew Elle wanted to chat about his plans. Carrie would be here next summer, and Elle missed her friendship with the girl. Atlas collected his book and would join them by the fire, while Jack had plans of his own and bid them goodnight.
The three wizards left with the boy to collect the books Henry wanted to take down to the Wizard’s Enclave.
Chapter Seven
Finch clutched three dusty books in one arm while he followed the wizards down the steep steps into the bowels of the mountain. Their way was lit by torches which burst to life as they recognised the wizards approaching. The flames crackled and popped as they passed and soon extinguished as they moved on. The deeper they descended the stiller the air became. Moisture condensed sporadically on the stone walls and as they made their way further into the depths of the mountain the damp seeped through the rock and made the way treacherous unless one was sure-footed. Finch needed his free hand to support himself along the wall as he negotiated the steps which were quite large for a boy of eleven. The wizards took care and traversed the decline with ease as they made their way down the hazardous stone towards the Wizard’s Enclave.
The air was thick, no sound penetrated this far down into the mountain and the silence was deafening. It pressed in on them and even their footsteps made no echo on the stone. The eeriness of the place prickled the hairs on the back of Finch’s neck but to utter his thoughts aloud seemed wrong and the boy continued on with the others. When they reached the bottom step, a path led ahead and then forked. Henry turned left and the others followed.
Christopher paused at the intersection. ‘Where does the other path lead?’
‘Oh, down and around,’ Clarence said. ‘We shall take you there another time. It’s a place only known to wizards,’ he said as he indicated to the boy.
Christopher nodded and as he turned into the left passage he was aware of a movement behind him. He turned only to see Finch juggling the books he carried into a more comfortable position. Christopher stared off into the other passage but saw nothing. When Finch had organised his load he looked up at Christopher.
‘Are you alright? Would you like me to take them from you?’ Christopher asked.
‘No, I’m sorted now and, besides, I don’t think you could carry anymore.’
Christopher nodded. ‘True. Come on, were lagging behind the others.’
The way ahead had become dim but they could still see the two wizards ahead cast in light not too far up the passage, and as they moved forward the torches burst to life to light their way.
‘Come on,’ Clarence called back to them. ‘We’re here.’
Christopher and Finch continued at a steady pace. They couldn’t hurry as the heavy books they carried prevented them from rushing.
‘Right,’ Henry said. ‘Let me see if I remember how this works.’
‘I don’t know how you could have forgotten,’ Clarence said. ‘It’s just the same as it was all those years ago. Touch the symbols and they will show you the key.’
On the face of the stone door symbols had been etched. These weren’t scratched and forged by any tool known to man. The clean lines were unmistakably magical and had been created by the wizards when the door had been mounted a thousand years ago.
‘Yes, I can feel it,’ Henry said as the magic beneath his hand hummed. He moved them over the various scrawls on the stone and then stood back as the entrance to the Wizard’s Enclave was released and the door sprang inwards a fraction. As he pushed on the heavy stone it creaked on the dry hinges that had kept it sealed over the years. And as the stone complied with Henry’s force it moved inwards to reveal a darkened room. Henry and Clarence crossed the threshold and the torches in sconces flickered to life, illuminating the room.
‘Come in you two. Put the books down on the table over there,’ Henry said and pointed to a large wooden table in the middle of the chamber littered with jars, bottles and strange sculptures. Then he wandered over to a table to the right and began to organise the things on its surface to make room for his own stack of books.
Finch and Christopher marvelled at the objects scattered throughout the room. Large urns stood on the floor and pedestals rose up adorned with all sorts of strange objects that looked, to Finch, to be wizardly indeed. Books were piled haphazardly on shelves and in stacks on the floor, and everywhere Finch looked baskets, jars and bottles seemed to be stored. A small fireplace had been constructed on the far wall opposite the door and to the left side of the room the wall arced and was barren. Upon the dark stone floor a circle had been carved. The clean lines resembled those of the symbols carved on the heavy door. The continuous loop contained eight lines that intersected its centre.
‘So this
is the Wizard’s Enclave,’ Christopher said as he set the books down on the edge of the table.
‘Are you suitably impressed, lad?’ Clarence asked.
‘Well, it’s nothing I could have imagined.’
Clarence, satisfied with his answer, pottered around the room organising what they would need tonight.
‘It’s a little chilly in here, Clarence,’ Henry said.
‘Not for long. I’ll see to it,’ he said and then he walked over to the hearth. He lit an orb and placed it in the cradle and the light crackled and popped as it produced heat, spreading to warm the room. Chairs sat at each side of the hearth, for rest, and Clarence passed them as he returned to his task. Christopher spoke with his grandfather and they wandered over to an easel where a book sat open. Its pages were old and faded from time, and Henry blew away the dust that had settled over the years. He coughed and spluttered as the plume rose.
‘Clarence, I thought you said you’d cleaned down here.’
‘Well, I did start to, Henry, but you know I’m not one for domesticated duties when there’s a good book around.’
‘Yes, yes I know,’ Henry replied and returned to the business of the book in front of him.
Finch stared in awe as he wandered around the room. He looked at the strange objects stored in bottles and tried to work out what they were. Some he recognised as fungus and there were others that contained plants floating in some kind of liquid. Jars, boxes and baskets were stacked on every surface, and he pulled a basket out from under a table to see its contents. As he removed it from under the table he found that it contained pieces of material while the one underneath held various lengths of string. He put them back then unscrewed the lid from a dark jar. A pungent odour of rotten eggs wafted up his nose and he quickly placed the lid back on and as he shoved it back under the table, he found a small white box. He eased the lid off, and to his surprise the box contained small round balls. He picked a few of them up and when they rolled together in his hand they made a clicking sound and so he took a few more. He liked the noise they made and he jiggled them around in his palm to hear the noise again. This time each one made its own distinctive sound and he tossed them gently, just high enough so they fell back into his palm. He thought the sound quite musical and so he continued to juggle them and listen to the noise they made. After a few moments he continued his search under the table. Finished, he wandered over to the shelves near the fireplace and scanned the books stacked there. As he looked at the spines which were printed with words he couldn’t understand, he tossed the balls gently in his hand. Click, click, click. He moved along the shelf and when he found something that caught his attention, his hand became still as he studied it. Then when his interest moved on, he jiggled the small balls again. As he tossed them in his hand he didn’t realise one of the small brown balls escaped his palm and it rebounded off the fabric of the chair nearby and rolled across the stone floor to disappear through a crack in the stone.
Click, click, click. Henry looked up from the book and the noise stopped. He looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary.
‘Sorry, Christopher. Yes, here we were,’ he said as his thoughts returned to the faded words.
Click, click, click. Henry’s head snapped up again and this time Finch’s movement caught his eye as the sound continued. He noticed the boy tossed something in his hand and then the noise stopped as Finch’s fingers closed over the objects and held them still.
‘Finch, what do you have there?’
‘Finch!’ Henry called to the boy to get his attention.
Finch looked over. ‘Pardon?’
‘I asked you what you had in your hand.’
‘Oh, some balls or nuts. I’m not really sure what they are but they make a nice noise.’
‘So I hear. Where did you find them?’
Finch’s smile disappeared and he replied, ‘In a box under the table.’
‘You’re not in trouble, lad. It’s just the sound is familiar. Could I have a look at them?’
Finch walked over. Nestled within his palm he held five small objects. Round in shape and as smooth as polished stone. Their silken shells were fawn and speckled, and true to Finch’s word they looked like small balls or nuts.
‘Well that’s why they seem familiar,’ Henry said. ‘You’ve quite a find there, Finch, but they’re not balls or nuts, they’re seeds.’
‘Seeds?’
‘Yes, seeds. Special seeds not many would have ever laid eyes upon, let alone held.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. They belong to a tree which is one of a kind. A tree that is extremely special to the wizards. They come from the Tree of Life.’
‘Oh,’ Finch said. ‘So I probably couldn’t keep them then.’
‘I’m sorry, lad, but no, you can’t. You see the seeds are rare and are used in treating specific kinds of illnesses. There is only one Tree of Life, so to collect the seeds is a difficult thing, for they cannot be plucked from the tree. One has to wait until the tree is ready to let its seed fall and if the seed isn’t found soon after its release it will disintegrate into the soil.
‘There were a lot of others in the box.’
‘You found these in a box?’
‘Yes, Henry, under the table over there.’
‘Could you get the rest of them for me?’
‘Sure,’ Finch said and walked to where he’d found them. ‘Here they are,’ he said as he removed the box from its place under the table and gave it to Henry.
Henry opened the box and viewed its contents. ‘No, no, no.’ He carefully placed the five seeds Finch had taken back in with the others. ‘You shouldn’t have been left there,’ Henry muttered to himself as he walked off towards the chest. ‘You should be in the Scrynne with the other pieces of the tree.’ Henry placed the box of seeds down next to the reinforced wooden chest and with both hands he manipulated the locks. With the panel unlocked he slid the front of the a-framed chest up to open the reliquary and then he picked up the small box which contained the seeds and placed them on a shelf inside. ‘There, that’s where they should be,’ he said and turned to find Christopher and the boy behind him. They had wandered over to see what the chest contained. The cover Henry had opened was carved with ornate designs which ranged from intricate swirls to leaves and included new budding growth which sprouted forth and ran across the front panel of the box. The design weaved and criss-crossed in such a way that there looked to be no discernible ending to it. Whoever had carved the chest had taken great care with the detail, and each leaf seemed as if it could have been plucked from the carving. The heavily ornate chest held various small wooden carvings, pieces of wood, leaves, a small vessel and the box Henry had just placed inside. Christopher picked up one of the carvings. It was a deer figurine. He ran his fingers over the wood that had been smoothed and rubbed with a substance to make it glisten, and he marvelled at the detail the craftsman had included. He placed it back on the shelf and removed another figure that was still raw and nowhere near finished. He admired the fine lines etched by carver, and he could feel the care the craftsman had put into the piece. The bottom of the sculpted piece still bore the bark on its stem, and the wood was rough and in its natural state. While the mid-section had been shaped, it bore no resemblance of its maker’s intention and as he slid his hand up the back of the raw wood he instantly felt a sharp jab in his palm. Christopher pulled his hand away from the wood and it throbbed at the site where the splinter had entered his flesh. He placed the carving back in the reliquary and pulled the sliver out of his palm and then squeezed the entry site to check if anything else remained.
‘What happened, Christopher? Are you alright?’
‘I’m fine, grandfather. The wood is still rough and a splinter caught my flesh, that’s all,’ he said as a droplet of blood seeped from the site.
‘Pass it here,’ Henry said, and when Christopher gave him the splinter Henry took a small vessel from inside the chest. He unscrewed
the lid and popped the splinter in side.
‘Why would you keep that, grandfather? It’s merely a sliver.’
‘Sometimes a sliver is all one needs. The wood from the tree is used to ease any magical infliction. If we’d had some when Elle was impaled by the arrow the enchantment wouldn’t have spread so quickly.’
Henry watched as Christopher pressed the flesh to test for any further sign of the splinter. ‘Don’t worry, too much Christopher. The body is an amazing thing. If anything is still lodged inside your hand, the body will cause the site to fester and push out the foreign body, and if that doesn’t work your essence will surround it and dissolve the threat.’
Christopher left the site alone and returned his attention back to the sculptures in the chest. ‘So why do you need to lock the wood away?’
‘Argh,’ Henry said and waggled his finger in the air. ‘The Tree of Life is a very specific tree. It is the tree that holds the source of magic in the realm we live in. There has only ever been one tree, that I know of, and it is to this tree the wizard’s magic is bonded. Our powers are governed by the tree. In the days of old when magic was used freely, they held little concern for the consequences of its use, until eventually the tree began to wither.
‘Let me think. Yes, that was towards the end of the Great War, when the wizards fought the Dark Lord. Zute had outgrown our magic and had left the Keep and ventured to the southern city of Alden. There he became involved with the Dark Arts. The Sorcerers at the Dome somehow managed to not only draw power from the Tree of life but the world around them, and when Zute waged his war, because of the nature of his power, the tree and the land were drained by his use of it and the people suffered.’ He thrust his finger up as he spoke his next words to impress his point. ‘Evil lurks where good men fear to tread.’ The wizard’s magic had begun to fail, and as the tree slowly withered the wizards worked fervently to find a solution to end Zute’s reign. After they thrust the Dark Lord into the Underlands, they curbed all use of magic and gradually over time the tree recovered. Now our magic is only used for what matters most, and that is to heal the sick and injured. That is why when Arnak and his Sorceress Athena invaded our land the wizards were helpless to stop him. They’d never trained to use their magic for fighting.’
