Close Encounters of the Magical Kind

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “I’m finished. Are we ready to get started?”

  “So what have you done?” Steve wanted to know. “How will you know if something has happened to the flower?”

  “If the flower has been compromised,” Gareth carefully explained as he gently rotated the stone figure to face west, “then the eyes will glow. If the flower has been eaten then the eyes will be blue. If it’s been harvested then the eyes will be green.”

  Sarah nodded, “Got it. Let’s see what it does.”

  Gareth activated the spell and stepped back. Together the four of them watched the stone figure slide across the table to land a few inches away from where it had previously been. As before, the figurine began to slowly inch across the map.

  Gareth leaned down over the map so he could see for himself what color the eyes were. He frowned. There was no color. The figurine’s eyes weren’t glowing.

  “So what does that mean?” Steve demanded. “If the flower wasn’t picked, and it definitely wasn’t eaten, then what does that leave us?”

  Gareth sank down into a chair across from Shardwyn. He stared hard at the map and its moving locator. He looked up at Steve.

  “It means its moving. It hasn’t been eaten. It hasn’t been harvested. That could only mean wherever that flower is growing, the land it’s growing on is moving along with it.”

  “Impossible,” Steve snorted.

  “If I didn’t know any better then I’d say that…” Gareth trailed off as he quickly sat up straight in his chair. “Wait. Wait a minute.”

  “You’re on to something,” Sarah observed. “Care to share?”

  “When everything else has been ruled out, then whatever is left, however illogical, must be the answer.”

  Sarah risked a glance at Steve before tapping Gareth’s shoulder.

  “That’s the sort of thing Sherlock Holmes would say, although how you would know that is beyond me.”

  Gareth gave Sarah an approving stare.

  “Sherlock Holmes is my favorite literary character! Is he yours, too?”

  Steve spun the teenager around until he was facing him.

  “How in the world do you know anything about Sherlock Holmes? He’s a fictitious character from my world.”

  Gareth was nodding, “I know! I love reading all about his exploits in the foggy kingdom of London. I really need to return that book to Mikal. He’s the one who lent it to me.”

  “And we lent it to him,” Sarah dryly recalled. She winked at Gareth. “Why don’t you keep it? With our permission. We can always pick up another copy back home.”

  Gareth looked at Sarah with wide, wondrous eyes.

  “Really? You’re gifting me your precious book? Thank you! I’ll cherish it always!”

  Sarah pointed back at the map.

  “Okay, back to the problem at hand. What were you saying about whatever was left, no matter how illogical, had to be the answer?”

  “I was going to say that if I didn’t know any better,” Gareth continued, “then I would say that the flower, and whatever piece of land it was growing on, was floating, although I have no idea how that could be.”

  Shardwyn rapped his knuckles on the table and let out an exclamation of surprise.

  “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it? I should have known!”

  “What, Shardwyn?” Steve asked, genuinely curious. “What should you have known?”

  “I know of only one possibility, Sir Steve,” Shardwyn proudly answered, thrilled that he knew something his young apprentice did not. “It would seem we’re looking for the floating isle of Ranal.”

  Chapter 5 – An Empyrean Enigma

  “Would you care to elaborate?” Sarah asked, looking at Shardwyn and offering the wizard a friendly smile. “Personally, I’ve never heard of ‘Ranal’, whatever that may be, nor have I ever heard of a floating island.” She looked at her husband, who shrugged and shook his head. She glanced over at Gareth, who also shook his head. Evidently they knew just as much as she did.

  “Whereas I wish I could tell you everything you wanted to know,” Shardwyn began, “I cannot. Little is known about the Floating Isle. What I can tell you is that Ranal is to the griffins as Nevir is to the wyverians.”

  “So this floating island is a griffin graveyard,” Steve surmised with a groan. “And naturally this flower is indigenous to that island only. The Fae can’t fly so naturally they can’t reach it.”

  Gareth looked up with surprise, “The Fae? What does this have to do with the faeries?”

  “Better forget I said that, dude,” Steve warned, under his breath.

  Gareth nodded, “Consider it forgotten.”

  Sarah frowned, “Now that we know the flower is on this floating island, how is this going to help us?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Steve asked, confused. “We finally have a break! We should easily be able to spot a floating chunk of land. Our problems are solved!”

  “Not so fast,” Sarah disagreed. “If it were that easy then wouldn’t it have been spotted by now? Why is it we’ve never heard about this Ranal place? I think we’re missing something else here. We need more information.”

  “I’m not going back to those Archives,” Steve vowed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d rather do battle with a horde of trolls than see that nasty old crone again.”

  Gareth, in the process of taking a large gulp of water from his goblet, spewed his drink all over himself. He hastily wiped a sleeve across his mouth and smiled sheepishly. Steve looked over at the teenager and noticed the water still dripping down the front of his tunic.

  “Let me venture a guess. You’ve met Ms. Congeniality before?”

  Gareth nodded, “I haven’t been that tempted to break the rules in a long time. Do you have any idea how easy it is to turn someone into a toad?”

  “You’d probably be doing her a favor,” Steve muttered, eliciting a smack on the arm from Sarah.

  “Are you talking about lovely Ms. Alwyn?” Shardwyn asked, picking up the thread of their conversation. “What a wonderful, intelligent, and charming woman. She’s run the Archives for decades. Decades! I’ve admired her tenacity for years.”

  Sarah looked away before she could burst out laughing. Steve shuddered, closed his eyes, and shook his head in a futile attempt to erase the mental image his mind had helpfully supplied. He had instantly pictured the old wizard and the cantankerous archivist getting cozy together, which caused him to shudder again.

  “Gross,” Gareth softly muttered. “I could have done without hearing that.”

  Steve snorted once, coughed twice, and then cleared his throat.

  “Well, with that bit of unpleasantness out of the way, what’s our next step? Where do we go from here?”

  “If we’re looking for a griffin graveyard,” Sarah began, “then we should be talking with the griffins. I would assume they would know how to find this island.”

  “That should be easy enough,” Steve decided. “I think we can take it from here. Shardwyn, thank you for your help. Gareth, you, too. Sorry I tried to blast you.”

  Gareth smiled appreciatively, “Don’t be. Based on my past history, I would have done the same. If you ever need help again please let me know. I’ll get you on the – cough – right path.”

  Shardwyn nodded, wished them luck, and sank down into an armchair near the window. The chair, unsurprisingly, was battle scarred and creaked heavily in protest. The elderly wizard leaned back, closed his eyes, and appeared to go to sleep.

  “We’re sorry we blew up his workspace,” Sarah whispered to his apprentice. “Thanks to us you have one heck of a mess to clean up, not to mention having to restock all of Shardwyn’s potion ingredients.”

  Gareth waved a dismissive hand.

  “Don’t be. I’ve been harassing him for some time now to throw everything away and start from scratch. This is the perfect opportunity to get him organized.”

  “Just do me a favor,” Steve called back as he and Sarah started do
wn the stairs.

  “Anything!” Gareth called back.

  “Go to the Archives. Introduce Shardwyn to our favorite old lady. Let’s see what happens.”

  It was Gareth’s turn to shudder.

  “That’s not even funny.”

  “You must visit the Pools…”

  Sarah froze in mid step. She snagged Steve’s arm before he got too far away from her and drew him to a stop.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Did you hear that?” she quietly asked.

  “No. Did you hear something?”

  Gareth’s head appeared in the doorway.

  “You should hear this,” the teenager quietly informed them. “Hurry. He keeps repeating the same thing over and over. I thought he was just talking in his sleep but he seems to be in some type of trance. He keeps saying ‘Ranal’. I thought you should know.”

  Sarah hurried back into the room and timidly approached the prone form of the wizard.

  “Shardwyn?” she gently asked. “What were you saying?”

  “You must visit the Pools of Ranal,” Shardwyn softly instructed.

  Frowning, Steve leaned close and studied Shardwyn’s wrinkled face.

  “It looks like he’s sleeping,” he whispered.

  “What about the pools?” Sarah asked, hoping she could convince the sleeping wizard to keep the conversation going. “Are there pools on Ranal?”

  “Only in His hands,” Shardwyn continued, after being silent for nearly a full minute, “will you find that which you seek.”

  “Whose hands?” Steve asked. “How are we supposed to –?”

  “Hush,” Sarah scolded. “Shardwyn, can you tell us whose hands you’re referring to?”

  “You must visit the Pools,” the wizard intoned.

  “The Pools of Ranal?” Steve guessed, holding back a smile and leaning forward.

  Shardwyn’s wrinkled face suddenly broke out into a smile. His eyes opened.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Taken aback, Steve straightened.

  “What are you sorry for?”

  “I was only napping, Sir Steve,” Shardwyn insisted. “Did my apprentice ask you to do it?”

  “Do what?” Steve asked, completely confused.

  “Check for a pulse. Young Mister Gareth fancies having a sense of humor. He’s constantly checking my pulse whenever I happen to doze off.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” Gareth muttered. The teenager turned back to the charred potion rack and continued making notes about which ingredients he needed to find.

  Sarah hooked her arm through her husband’s and pulled him from the room.

  “Thanks again, Shardwyn. You, too, Gareth. We’ll see ourselves to the door.”

  Emerging into the bright sunshine, and – thank heavens – fresh air, Sarah led Steve back towards the castle.

  “What was that all about?” Steve asked. “Do you think he was talking in his sleep?”

  “He mentioned Ranal. I think he might have been in some type of trance.”

  “I wonder whose hands he was referring to.”

  Sarah shrugged, “I have no idea.”

  “Do you think Pheris is here today?” Steve wondered.

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” Sarah answered. The two of them walked through the Northern Gates and headed back towards the Great Hall. “If he isn’t then maybe someone will know where he is.”

  “If we can’t find him we can always try Phane, his son,” Steve suggested. “At least we know where he lives.”

  “We did know where he lived,” Sarah corrected. “That was years ago. You’re assuming Phane didn’t move his flock after the battle with Celestia. After all, she did send a large number of trolls to his island.”

  “True, but we did take care of the trolls for them.”

  They found the Great Hall full of people and both thrones occupied. Kri’Entu’s head jerked over to his the moment they were spotted. Steve nodded towards the Antechamber, prompting the king to all but leap out of his chair. The queen, not wanting to be excluded, followed at a more comfortable rate. Only when they were all inside the king’s private chamber, and the doors were sealed, did Steve ask their question.

  “Is Pheris around today?”

  Kri’Entu shook his head, “Pheris retired from his position at the beginning of the year. Is this urgent? I can send for the current griffin liaison, if you’d like.”

  Sarah nodded, “Yes, please. We need to talk to a griffin.”

  The king was curious. Sarah could see it on his face.

  “May I ask why?”

  “Not yet, I’m afraid,” Sarah reluctantly told him.

  “Ah. Very well. You may use the Antechamber.”

  Sarah smiled, “Thank you, your majesty.”

  With a sigh, the king departed just as the queen appeared in the doorway. Kri’Entu took his wife’s hand, spun her around, and the two of them quickly left. They could hear the queen talking as her voice eventually faded away.

  “What if this new griffin doesn’t know where to find Pheris?” Steve asked.

  “Then we’ll have to just ask him how to find this floating island,” Steve decided.

  “And if he doesn’t know?” Sarah pressed.

  “It’s the griffin graveyard. There’s gotta be at least one griffin out there who knows how to find this place. Otherwise, we will…”

  Steve trailed off as he heard a tapping noise. It was coming from the closest closed door. Sarah made it there first and opened it to find an adult griffin staring back at her with as much fascination in its avian eyes as she had in her human ones. The griffin bowed just as Sarah moved to the side, allowing him to come inside.

  “I’m Sarah, and this is my husband, Steve,” Sarah told the griffin.

  “I am called Raben,” a distinctly feminine voice answered. “How may I be of service?”

  Sarah shot her husband a surprised glance before giving the griffin a smile.

  “We were hoping to talk to…”

  “Wait,” Raben interrupted, rustling her wings against her back. “You’re the teleporter, aren’t you? And you! You must be the fire thrower. Our Prime has told us all about you.” Raben turn to Steve, cocked her avian head, and regarded him for a few moments. “Aye, I’ve heard about you, too. I know you were responsible for burning most the feathers off my father’s wings during your first encounter.”

  Steve jammed his hands in his trouser pockets and stared at the floor.

  “Ooookay. Awkward. Look, I, er, that was a long time ago. If you want to get technical about it, I was the one who proposed helping you griffins out that day. Once we stopped trying to kill each other, that is.”

  Surprisingly, Raben extended one of her aquiline front legs and bowed again, dropping her head close to the floor.

  “I know, fire thrower. All griffins know the story. I meant no disrespect. I am just protective of my sire.”

  “As you should be,” Sarah told her. “What happened is in the past. You mentioned ‘prime’. Is that the leader of you griffins?”

  “There is no leader over all griffins,” Raben clarified. “Our Prime governs and protects our flock. We will come to the aid of another flock, should the need arise, but in essence all flocks are self-sufficient.”

  Sarah nodded, “Got it. Listen, do you know what happened to Pheris?”

  “Of course. He retired from his position here. Pheris recognized the importance of having a griffin presence here amongst the humans so the call went out for a replacement. I am proud, and honored, that I was selected to take his place.”

  “Where is Pheris now?” Steve asked.

  “Why do you want to know?” Raben suspiciously asked.

  “He’s a friend of ours,” Sarah quickly answered. “We’d like to say hello.”

  “Pheris is with the flock.”

  “Is your flock still living in the same place it was when I, er, had the run-in with your father?” Steve hesitantly asked.

  R
aben nodded, “Aye. There is no need to relocate our nests. Our numbers are too great. There is nothing there to challenge us, save the wyverians, and there has been no discord there for many years. We all live in peace.”

  Sarah held out her hand and waited for her husband to take it. She turned back to Raben and offered the griffin another smile.

  “Thank you. You’ve been incredibly helpful. Would you please tell the king that we’ve left?”

  “You’re leaving?” Raben asked. “Are you planning on visiting my flock?”

  Steve nodded, “Yep. Not for long though. Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “Just don’t –” Raben stopped and sighed as she noticed she was now in the room by herself. “…arrive unannounced. Griffins hate surprises.”

  ****

  “This place hasn’t changed much,” Steve observed as he glanced around the large clearing they were standing in.

  “At least the burn marks have gone away,” Sarah remarked as she looked around.

  “Burn marks? There never were any. All the blasting I did was aimed up.”

  “Oh.”

  Steve was silent as slowly looked around the quiet clearing.

  “I can’t believe it’s been, um, how many years has it been since we were first here?”

  Sarah shrugged, “It’s been a while.”

  “I don’t see any nests. Do you?”

  Sarah stared at her husband for a few moments.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “What?”

  “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Hon, look around,” Steve instructed, pointing at several trees. “Do you see any nests? I sure don’t. I think Raben sent us on a wild goose chase.”

  “Steve, they were never here to begin with.”

  “What? Yes they were. Trust me, I know. I fought with them right here.”

  “Don’t you remember what happened afterward? Once the griffins stopped attacking and you stopped shooting fire at them?”

  “Of course I do,” Steve snapped, growing angry. “I was there. You weren’t. Not at first, that is.”

  Sarah silently counted to ten.

  “When I first arrived I administered aid to the adult griffins that were injured. Remember?”