“It’s not here, either,” he said. “I don’t have an office, so I don’t know where else to look.”
“What is that?” Aristomus pointed to the wall behind him.
Adam turned. “Oh, it’s just my copy of The Real Book of Magic.” Retrieving it from the dusty bookshelf, he placed it on the countertop and ran his fingers over the ragged and well-used dust cover. “It won’t do us any good, though. It’s the same book we already looked through in the library.”
“With one small exception,” the old mage murmured. “Look closer, Adam.”
Picking up the book, Adam examined the cover. Though faded and torn in a few places, the black dust jacket seemed the same as the library copy. “I don’t see anything different...” He paused. “Wait a second. What’s this?”
A tiny sliver of white extended past the top edge of the book. “A bookmark!” Adam exclaimed. “But I never...” Falling silent, he wedged a finger inside, opening the book. Out fell a crisp, white card imprinted with small, black letters: Max Hendricks, Master Magician.
“It’s Max’s business card!” Adam plucked the card from the countertop and stared at the inscription in confusion. “I didn’t put it there, though. Max must’ve slipped it inside while I was looking at the big suitcase he carried. But why?”
“Turn it over, Adam,” Aristomus urged. “Perhaps the answer lies there.”
Holding his breath, Adam flipped the card over, prepared for anything... except what he found. Nothing. “No!” he shouted. Crumpling the card in fury, he grabbed the book and threw it against the wall. His last link to Alecia... gone.
“Wait, Adam! The book!”
Adam’s head jerked up. “What?”
The old mage pointed at the floor. The book hung open, leaning against the far wall, with one page torn and hanging. But the book’s dust jacket had fallen off. It lay with the title face down, the white underside stark against the dark floor. He saw some kind of scribbling on it.
“Is it writing?” whispered Aristomus.
Adam felt cold prickling his scalp as he knelt down to retrieve the cover. “Yes. I think it is.” He unfolded the dust cover and placed it on the countertop under the light. The markings appeared ancient; written in a language unfamiliar to Adam. Or was it a language? It looked more like glyphs than letters. “What is this, Aristomus? Do you recognize it?”
The old mage slid his fingers over the old text. Face pale, he looked up at Adam. “Whoever penned this script did not want it read by just anyone. It is old giantish, Adam, written by someone from my world.
“Alecia would have little trouble with this,” he continued. “Part of her studies included much written in the old giantish language. I, however, am not so adept. It will not be easy, but I believe I can translate it.” The old mage sighed. “It will take time, and time is not something we have in abundance.”
“Let’s get this back to my apartment,” Adam replied, eyes shining with renewed hope. “There’s nothing we can do about how long it’ll take. You’ll just have to do your best.”
ADAM FOUND A TABLET, pencil, and desk lamp which he set up on the kitchen table. Then he brewed tea to help the mage stay awake and concentrate. Afterwards, he paced, unable to sit still. Every few minutes, he stopped to look over Aristomus’ shoulder. At last, the old mage had enough.
“This will take hours at least, Adam,” he said. “You can best help me by getting some sleep. I will waken you as soon as I finish the translation.”
Adam wanted to argue, but knew it would do no good. After washing up, he crawled into bed. Despite his fatigue, sleep eluded him. Thoughts of Alecia whirled through his mind. Where was she now? What was she doing? Had she forgotten him? The last thought terrified him. A single day had passed here, but in Tantris, over two years had gone by. He’d once told her if the worst happened, he didn’t want her to grieve, but to move on with her life. At the time, he thought death inescapable. With the giant’s village, Herrenbourn, under siege, he’d decided to surrender to the Dark Mage. Now, as far as Alecia knew, he was dead. And she deserved a chance at happiness...
Adam gasped for air as he stumbled across the soft, spongy soil of a darkened marsh. Dense undergrowth ripped at his legs, threatening to trip him. A thick fog shrouded the leaning cypress trees, obscuring his vision. Several times he just avoided dashing his brains out against a trunk coalescing from the mist.
An agonizing shriek pierced the night. Adam stopped, panting, unsure of direction in the damnable fog. Another scream rent the air, this time trailing off to a sob of anguish.
There! It came from just ahead. “Alecia! I’m coming, Alecia!”
The trees ended and a small clearing opened. Swells of soup-thick fog lapped at the ground below him. As he moved forward, his legs disappeared, the gray mist cutting them off at mid-thigh. Ahead a figure dressed in white loomed, its shape wrapped in cold tendrils of fog.
“Alecia? Is that you?”
He waded closer, the figure emerging from the swirling vapor. Long auburn hair and a shapely figure marked her as a woman. But she faced away from him. “Alecia? Are you all right?”
The woman stood, unmoving. Adam drew close enough to touch her. He reached out, but hesitated, sensing something wrong. “Alecia?” No response. His hand closed on the woman’s shoulder, turning her to face him...
“No! Alecia!” Ghastly gray-white skin stretched and split over yellow bone. Laval red eyes stared back at him as her lips peeled back from teeth black with rot. She’d become an Unsouled!
A ghoulish laugh echoed from Alecia’s throat. “Worm! You believe I am dead?” The voice bore no resemblance to Alecia’s. The Dark Mage spoke through her, using her body as a tool, a means to multiply his anguish. “Bah! Death has no meaning to one such as me!”
Adam’s legs gave out. Splashing to his knees, he wept before his lost love. “Alecia, no.” Voice an empty husk, he felt as dead as the woman standing before him. “Please... not this.”
Alecia’s lips curled in a horrible caricature of a grin. “Aye! Bow before me, worm! But do not expect mercy. You will endure suffering and torment beyond anything your petty mortal heart can bear. And at the last, when you have come to the end of yourself, when there is no longer a single drop of anguish I can wring from your miserable soul, then you will be mine. Body and soul... you will be MINE!”
“Nooo!” Adam jerked awake, his face dripping. He fumbled at the sweat-soaked sheets twisted around his body, panting with the power of the dream.
“Adam! Are you well?” Aristomus stood in the doorway, concern etched on his face.
Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Adam replied, “I don’t know... maybe. A... a dream, I think. At least I hope so.”
The old mage crossed the room and dropped to one knee. “Tell me of this dream,” he ordered.
Adam told him about the darkened marshland, his desperate race to save Alecia, and his failure. “I saw her, Aristomus. Alecia... and yet not Alecia. Somehow, the Dark Mage took possession of her body; spoke through her. God, I’ll never forget that voice... so sure of himself... mocking me.”
Adam grabbed the old mage’s shirt, pulling him closer. “But he’s dead, isn’t he? You said I killed him. Please, tell me he’s dead!”
Aristomus patted Adam’s hands, his voice soothing. “Aye, Adam. He is dead. Not even the Dark Mage could survive immersion in lava.”
“Just a dream then.” Palpable relief flooded Adam’s voice as he released the mage’s shirt. “Not another vision. She’s safe.”
“Aye,” answered Aristomus. But sudden dread made his face pale. Rising, he walked back to the doorway, unwilling for Adam to see his doubt. “Come. I have finished the translation. Perhaps you will understand it better than I.”
Adam sprang from the bed, the dream forgotten. “You’re finished? What does it say? Does it tell how to get back to Tantris?”
Aristomus said nothing, instead motioning to the table. Piles of wadded paper covered its surface, overfl
owing to the floor. Only a small nub remained of the pencil. But in a cleared spot, the tablet sat next to the dust cover.
Concerned by Aristomus’ silence, Adam hesitated before continuing to the table. Taking a seat, he picked up the tablet, staring at the mage’s scribbled handwriting. Even the completed version had an occasional word or phrase crossed out and replaced by a different translation. But Adam ignored everything else, reading the translation to himself:
From this world doth knowledge span,
To vanish hence as mortal man.
Time and distance are little more,
Than paths to travel, the way ashore.
Abandon to chance and realms obscure,
The fate of those with hearts impure.
Shadows steeped and power’s blight,
The soul’s dark risk reclaims the light.
Dung of bat and beetle's toe,
Ground as one with eye of crow.
Mandrake root and mustard seed,
Mash together with cattail reed.
Skin of snake and toadstool stem,
Basted at night with dragon’s phlegm.
Nightshade petals at midnight gather,
Then mix as one before they scatter.
The devil’s own heart, from earth’s bedrock,
Fire and flame its essence unlock.
A crushing embrace by the vastness of time,
For priceless baubles, their beauty sublime.
From seed to giant with skin of gray,
Underneath the meat shall flay.
Burn it hot, then make a paste,
From the tears of a maiden chaste.
Lifeblood’s essence, now most foul,
Black as the pit where demons prowl.
One drop only, filled with hate,
An envoy straight from hell’s black gate.
Mix them well and distill with pain,
Infuse the seeds with a deadly stain.
Sealed in glass to slowly attune,
To wait for the light of the next full moon.
“What is this? Some kind of joke?” asked Adam, incredulous. “How are we supposed to figure out what this means?”
“I believe it to be a potion,” answered the mage. “Perhaps the one we seek. Look at the first verse, Adam. ‘From this world doth knowledge span, to vanish hence as mortal man. Time and distance are little more, than paths to travel, the way ashore.’ Vanishing? Paths to travel? And at the end, it says, ‘Infuse the seeds.’ Beans are a type of seed.”
“Maybe. But most of the rest is incomprehensible,” Adam argued. “Dragon phlegm? I don’t know about Tantris, but there are no dragons here.”
“Nor on my world,” sighed the mage. “Though even if so, it would do us little good here. No, I believe much of this to be a series of riddles, tests to ensure the purity of the one using the elixir. ‘Abandon to chance and realms obscure, the fate of those with hearts impure.’” Aristomus covered his mouth, trying to stifle a yawn.
For the first time, Adam noticed how exhausted the mage appeared. “Maybe so, but first I’ll fix you something to eat. Then get some rest. I’ll work on this while you sleep and see if I can figure any of it out. When you get up, we’ll go back to the library and research the rest.”
“I fear solving these puzzles and creating the elixir may be the easiest part of our task.”
“What do you mean?”
“The last verse: ‘Sealed in glass to slowly attune, to wait for the light of the next full moon.’ If the elixir is usable only under the full moon, we will have to wait for it. When is the next full moon, Adam?”
Adam’s face drained of color. “Two nights ago; the same night I ended up in Tantris. It means the next is almost a month away!”
Also by D. Bruce Cotton
Dark Mage Series:
Magician’s Heir
Magician’s Return
Magician’s Quest
Magician’s Loss
Magician’s War (Coming in late 2019/early 2020)
To learn more, go to https://dbrucecotton.com
About the Author
D. BRUCE COTTON GREW up in a small rural town in central Kentucky. A certified bibliophile, when he wasn’t digging through the local store’s latest delivery of comic books, you could usually find him camped out in a corner of the town library, avidly reading the literary masters: Isaac Asimov, Edgar Rice Burroughs and J.R.R. Tolkien. After graduating from college with a somewhat useless degree in English, he went to work for Uncle Sam, serving as a statistical clerk at a nerve gas laboratory, a public affairs specialist at a tank depot, and for the last 27 years as a writer and editor for PS Magazine, an Army comic book designed to teach Soldiers how to care for their equipment. Bruce lives in Huntsville, AL, with his wife, Cindy, and Gracie, a 2-year-old standard poodle. He’s the author of four books in the epic Dark Mage fantasy series: Magician’s Heir, Magician’s Return, Magician’s Quest and Magician’s Loss. To find more about these books and future additions to the series, go to https://dbrucecotton.com.
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