• • • • •
Upon the command tower, the wind whipped Damian’s wispy silver hair as the smell of burnt grass hit his nose. He watched as King Maebus and his comrades disappeared into the darkened woods.
General Thane, who’d been standing next to Damian, stared in anger as his prisoners fled. “My Lord,” he began, “I swear to you that I will track down the King.”
“Don’t bother,” Damian replied, holding up a hand to stop Thane from leaving. “Let them flee, for that is what they are known to do. Now that I have the Realmsic Crystal, Maebus and his people are inconsequential.”
“But surely they will return,” Thane argued.
“And when they do, all will be dealt with … permanently.” Damian turned away from the tower balcony. “Punish all those responsible for their escape, and then continue planning my campaign, General,” Damian said before reentering the castle.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Maebus and the other escapees had ridden through the night and were now a significant distance from the castle. Arriving at the gentle waters of the Northwest River, they stopped along its edge, allowing their horses to drink. It was nearly morning now, and the sun was filtering its first rays of light over the tips of the mountains, casting a golden illumination across the banks of the river. So far, no one from the Legion had pursued them into the night. Perhaps the Warlord felt it unnecessary. Such arrogance, Maebus thought.
While washing his hands in the river water, he noticed Fable sitting upon the shore nursing her wounded head. The rock that hit her had left a large purplish bruise on her temple. Maebus quickly dried his hands on his robe and wandered over to help the injured woman.
“How’s your head?” he asked, placing a comforting hand on her arm.
“Not so great,” Fable replied. “It’s pounding and I feel dizzy.”
“I can help you with a healing spell,” Kelm said to Fable, joining them. Maebus stepped back as Kelm pressed a hand upon the wound and began meditating. Instantly, Fable smiled.
“Thank you. That’s already starting to feel better,” she said.
“The injury isn’t as bad as it looks,” Kelm said. “But you’ll still want to take it easy for a day or two.”
Fable nodded, yet her smile faded away. Sitting upright upon the ground, she ran her fingers slowly through her hair as her eyes suddenly began to tear.
Maebus stood silently, as Kelm gently touched her cheek.
“I know why your soul is burdened,” Kelm said to Fable.
“No … no, I don’t think you do,” she replied, staring into his eyes and removing his hand from her face.
Kelm bit his lower lip.
“I’m sorry if my comment was a bit insensitive,” Kelm said softly. “I only meant that I sympathize with the pain of losing your home that you must feel right now, for I held similar feelings after the fall of the kingdom. But no one but an Archivist could truly understand the significance of what was lost in the fire.”
Fable grabbed Kelm by the hand. “Dear friend, it is not the loss of my home that pains me at this moment, for I still possess its vast collection within my mind. However, I dare say it is the magnitude of our current situation that troubles me. For we have lost the Realmsic Crystal and are now in dire straits.”
“Indeed,” Maebus said, approaching them. “But thanks to Leoden, we have managed to escape imprisonment.” He turned briefly to acknowledge the young warrior who stood alone by the water’s edge several feet from them. Leoden looked up, giving Maebus a weak smile.
Maebus then returned his attention to the group. “While I sincerely appreciate our good fortune, I must also remain objective. Despite being free, we haven’t escaped the Warlord’s wrath. As Fable stated, we are indeed in a much worse situation. The one hope we had of defeating Damian is now in his very possession. Our council, who now hides near the Hellish South Plains, will inevitably be found and captured—if they haven’t already. Our army—those who survived the first battle—has been dispersed throughout the Realm, waiting for a signal that, at this point, may never come. And we, having escaped Damian’s clutches, are powerless against him. We have no plan, no weapons, no course of action. We have lost.”
Maebus could tell by the perturbed expressions of Fable, Normandy, and Kelm that his words hit them hard and heavy, perhaps more so coming from the Realmsic King. But Maebus was drained, both physically and mentally. He’d grown sick to his stomach of the emotional highs and lows they’d endured over the past weeks, and he could take it no longer.
Kelm seemed to rebound quickly, replacing his hunched shoulders and long frown with a straight back and hopeful gaze. “Come now Maebus, we must maintain hope,” he said.
“Hope is my enemy,” Maebus quickly snapped. He watched Kelm’s head drop disappointedly upon hearing his words, yet he continued. “Hope fills me with false notions. It distorts my perspective of reality.”
“But it also shows you what reality could be,” Kelm interjected, keeping his eyes low towards the ground.
In addition to his hope, Maebus was beginning to lose his patience with Kelm.
“What reality could possibly exist other than this hell, Kelm? We still have no resources. We still have no plan.”
“Actually … that’s not true,” Fable suddenly exclaimed. She swiftly rose from her spot on the sand to address the group. “Our initial discussion in the Ancient Lands was to locate the Hero of Legend. You yourself said it would be advantageous to search the remaining ancient ruins for clues. I see no reason for us not to continue pursuing that direction.”
Fable’s words further infuriated Maebus. “No,” he began, “I will not gamble what little opportunity there may still be on a vague, speculative, two-thousand-year-old prophecy!”
“But Maebus, you said it yourself. We have nothing else!” Kelm stated sharply.
• • • • •
From a distance, Leoden watched the exchanges between Maebus and the others. He sat by himself, still in utter disbelief over what had transpired. Kings. Wizards. Warlords. “What have I gotten myself into?” he muttered to himself.
Leoden walked further away along the shore. Kneeling down by the water’s edge, he removed his soiled shirt. He washed it thoroughly, quietly ignoring the raised voices.
“Leoden!” Someone shouted.
Immediately, he lowered his shirt, turned and found Kelm nearly running towards him. Leoden was unsure what to do. Had he done something wrong? Was he supposed to be listening and contributing to their discussion?
“Young man, how did you get that tattoo?” Kelm asked, panting. The Wizard stopped just before him.
Leoden shook his head. “What tattoo?”
Kelm jerked suddenly, surprise widening his eyes. “The one on your back,” he pointed.
Leoden’s face scrunched with confusion. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never gotten a tattoo.”
Kelm’s excited smile was replaced with a vacant expression. After thinking for a moment, he asked, “Does your village brand a symbol upon its warriors?”
Leoden slowly shook his head again, beginning to feel uncomfortable. What on earth is he talking about?
Fable suddenly gasped. Quickly, she joined Kelm and Leoden, followed by Maebus and Normandy.
“Leoden,” she said excitedly, “I can assure you that there is indeed a branding of some type upon your back. Would you mind please turning around so I can see it better?”
Leoden shrugged and pivoted on the ball of his foot. Staring out over the water, he listened to the others as they analyzed whatever they thought they saw on his back.
“I can’t believe it,” he heard Kelm exclaim.
“Believe it!” Fable replied in a high pitch.
What was she so excited about? Leoden wondered.
“Are we really staring at…” Kelm paused, unable to get out his next words.
“Yes … it certainly is,” she responded.
; Leoden giggled as Fable’s thin fingers unexpectedly touched his back, the tips seeming to trace over some kind of pattern.
Leoden had had enough of the suspense. “What’s going on?” he asked firmly.
“Leoden,” Fable began. “Upon the length of your back, you have a tattoo. It is called the Mark of the First Wizards.”
“The mark of the what?” Leoden asked anxiously. “What is that? How did it get there?” He pivoted back around to face them.
“I honestly don’t know how it got there,” Fable replied. “But it’s right there.”
Leoden began to protest. “I’ve never seen a mark on my back, and no one has ever told me of it. What does it look like?”
Kelm took a half step forward, his smile as wide as a child given a surprise. “It’s a large triangular shape made of several smaller triangular shapes. This is incredible!” Kelm proclaimed. “I’ve only seen it illustrated in books.”
Normandy shook his head. “I don’t see it,” he said.
“Neither do I,” Maebus added.
“Really? It’s right here!” Fable spun Leoden around again, and outlined the contours of the design with her finger once more.
“Obviously, I can see it,” Kelm said. “But why can’t anybody else?”
Fable rubbed her chin, then her wounded temple. “My goodness, it’s a magical mark! Meaning that only Magicals can see it. Leoden. That would explain why you never knew it was there. If I’m remembering your village’s history correctly, Cyperus is Laymen. So in your village, there was nobody who could see it!”
Leoden was unsure how to respond. Before he could process her words, Fable grabbed him once again.
“Turn around,” she ordered. “In fact, come all, gather around, I’ll draw the mark here in the sand for you to see.”
With her finger, Fable began sketching the image in the soft sand of the shore. Each person stared curiously as she worked. Upon completion, she smiled.
“There!” Fable said. “Behold, the Mark of the First Wizards.”
Maebus wiped the sweat from his forehead. “If only I had completed magical studies as a young Disciple,” he joked. “What exactly are we looking at?”
“This design is of the highest divinity and symbolizes the story of the First Wizards and the Realmsic Crystal,” Fable explained. She bent towards the ground, pushing her silver hair from her face and pointing at the various triangles. “The outer triangles represent the First Wizards themselves in seated positions. Together, they forged the crystal, which is the diamond shape between them. And from the crystal exudes infinite power and balance, which are the two lines ascending upwards. It’s a perfect symbol that some believe was created by Sun and Moon themselves.”
“And it’s on my back?” Leoden shook his arms wide as he spoke.
“That it is,” Kelm replied. “For all we know, you could have been born with it. But what I don’t understand is why a magical mark would be branded upon a non-magical person. It just doesn’t work that way.”
“Well, it’s possible for magic to be stored within Laymen,” Fable said.
Kelm shook his head. “True, but a Layman wouldn’t have access to that magic. His body would just be a container that holds it. Therefore, it wouldn’t manifest like how we see with Leoden.” Kelm paused briefly to take a breath. “In fact, the purpose of the entire Wizard discipleship is to learn how to recognize the magical energy surrounding oneself, and then open your mind, body and spirit to it. That’s how one utilizes magic, by becoming a gateway for its will. Without that bond—that personal acceptance—a mark such as this could not form on one’s being, unless…”
Leoden felt his stomach flutter as Kelm stared squarely at him. He then lowered his gaze, feeling the Wizard’s eyes penetrating his body. “Guess there’s no point in hiding it now,” Leoden said softly.
“Really? Another secret?” Normandy bellowed, throwing his hands up. “I haven’t recovered from learning the true origin of the Realmsic Crystal!”
Leoden held his hands coyly in front of himself as the group surrounded him. “For years now, I’ve had a suspicion that perhaps I was magical,” he admitted. “But I never knew for sure.”
Maebus stepped even closer, giving Leoden his full attention. “Go on,” he said.
“All my life, I’ve lived among the Cyperus Clan. But the Elder recently told me that I was not born one of them. I know nothing about my past, and up until now it didn’t really matter. The Cyperus clan took me in and raised me as one of their own. Over the years, while training to be a warrior, I somehow developed a sixth sense.”
“How so?” Maebus asked.
Leoden studied the ground before him. “Well … I can’t quite explain it. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever spoken about it out loud.”
Fable gave his arm a consoling squeeze. “It’s ok, take your time,” she said. “We’re just hoping to understand.”
Leoden nodded. After briefly licking his dry lips, he took another deep breath, swallowed, and continued. “Every so often, I knew things about people without them telling me anything about themselves. Also, I could sense when important events were about to occur. For example, just before the rise of the Warlord, I had a vivid image of fighting Legionaries. I was wide awake and it flashed right before my eyes. I didn’t understand it at the time. I thought I’d just been training too hard. But since that day, I felt an overwhelming urge to leave my village. In fact your Highness, you and I even talked about it back in my village.”
“I remember,” Maebus nodded.
Leoden reached down to grab his shirt from out of the river water. “The feeling to leave home consumed me,” his voice slightly quivered, as he wrung water from the shirt with both hands. “I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. The feeling just kept pushing me and pushing me, until finally I left my village. Granted, I had no idea where I was going, but I learned to trust my instinct, and my instinct led me to you.”
Leoden studied the faces of the people before him, yet he couldn’t gauge their expressions. Did they think him crazy? Perhaps a fool?
Kelm stroked his chin stubble before speaking. “Leoden, what you’re describing is called intuition,” he explained. “It’s a trait of those called Foreseer Wizards.”
“And those are?” Leoden inquired.
“Well, just as the name suggests, Forseers have the ability to peek into future events or be guided by intangible forces, as you appear to have been.” Kelm paused as if another thought suddenly entered his mind. “This trait takes decades of training for the most powerful Wizards to fully master. But you seemed to have developed the skill … naturally.”
Fabled cocked her head back and released a great laugh. “Amazing, young man! You’ve accomplished an incredible feat with no formal magical training or insight.” Suddenly, she gasped again. “Oh my goodness!” Her eyes grew wide as she threw a hand over her mouth.
“Whaaaat?” Leoden asked anxiously. His damp shirt dangled from his hand as limp and vulnerable as he felt.
Fable counted on her fingers. “The Mark. The natural instincts. The daring rescue. Yes! It all makes sense. Leoden,” she gazed unflinchingly into his eyes. “I strongly believe that you are what is referred to as the Hero of Legend!”
“The Hero of Legend!” he exclaimed. Leoden then rubbed a stiff hand through his hair. “I … uh, I don’t know what that means,” he stated timidly.
“Young man,” Fable said. “Two thousand years ago, it was prophesied by the First Wizards themselves that great evil would revert the Realm back into the Darkest Age. But at the same time, a hero would arise to not only vanquish that evil, but also end the endless war once and for all.”
“Oh. Okay.” There was nothing else Leoden could say. He felt his face washed of all expression, as such an idea was completely outlandish to him, and sounded very much a fairytale. But deep down, he hoped it was true. Fighting for ultimate good was a warrior’s dream. But it wasn’t the perceived glory that appealed t
o him. It was the possibility of finally finding answers about his own past, answers to questions that had haunted him of late.
“Again I say, you have the ability, you have the divine mark,” Fable reiterated.
“Wait,” Maebus suddenly interrupted, his hands forming a T. “I thought the hero was supposed to be found? Fable, didn’t you say that?”
“Yes-yes, I did,” the Archivist admitted.
Leoden watched Normandy stretch out his long muscular arm and point towards him. “Well, technically, Leoden was found.” he proclaimed. “He was found by King Maebus.”
“How so?” the King asked, his tone filled with skepticism.
Normandy smiled. “Back at Cyperus Village, when Grand Wizard Kelm and I were selecting supplies for our journey to the Ancient Land. It was you who approached Leoden as he sat by his fire. It was you who first spoke to him. It was you who found him before we even knew we needed to!”
“That’s sheer coincidence,” Maebus objected, crossing his arms.
“Really?” Kelm asked. “Coincidence?”
“What else could it be?” Maebus replied.
“Perhaps truth?” Kelm retorted.
Maebus began to argue. But Leoden whistled sharply to cease what was becoming another argument. Within the pit of his stomach, he felt an urge driving him to speak. Perhaps it was the same urge that had been driving him along his journey. “Look,” he began confidently. “I don’t know anything about kingdoms, or anything about magic. But I know myself. It was my instinct that…”
“Intuition!” Fable kindly reminded him, shaking her index finger.
“It was my intuition that forced me to leave my village and my hard but comfortable life. It guided me to you all. After I first met you, King Maebus, it was intuition that told me that you were someone important, and that my purpose was to somehow help you. I’m not sure that I believe in this Hero of Legend stuff. But I do believe that I’m here for you, and I have no desire to go back home. Not now. Not until we see this thing through.”
The Hero of Legend Page 25
