by Martha Carr
“You’d prefer to remain a myth.”
“Fables are more powerful than reality. Everyone tells the story adding their own embellishment. Before long, the forest is dangerous and impenetrable. It’s kept the creatures and plants on this part of Oriceran safe for a very long time.”
“Till now.”
Anger flashed across the Gardener’s face as he drew the pupils in his eyes together, glaring at Perrom. The lion let out a low growl.
Perrom was prepared for his reaction and stood his ground. “Not by my hand. Humans from Earth are responsible.”
“Your friends led them here?”
“No, they had nothing to do with it. We suspect a false prophet. The Gnome who travels with them. He is the one we believe is stealing from the forest and making deals with the humans. He’s giving them seed pods to grow in their world.” Perrom watched the Gardener. “You’re not surprised. Why is that?”
“I’ve noticed the patches of destruction in the forest but couldn’t be sure who was doing it. Powerful dark magic is behind it if I can’t follow a trail. I know about your Gnome. He barters with the Dark Market and oversees the large tent in the back.”
Perrom startled and blurted out, “You’ve been visiting the market. How long has that been going on?”
“Hundreds of years. I told you, the stories about me are more mythical than reality. I’m a Wood Elf after all. I can blend in.”
“What do you know about the Gnome?” Perrom felt his heart pound in his chest.
“He’s an unusual Gnome, that’s all. A dark-hearted one, which is not their usual temperament. He keeps secrets like they all do but the ones he keeps are his own. He travels in and out of these woods all the time but I always lose his trail. Like I said, very powerful magic. If he’s the supplier of the seed pods, stopping him may not be so easy.”
“I should go.”
“Be careful, Perrom. The animals and birds of the forest are on edge these days. They always know when dark magic is around. I haven’t seen them like this since the time of…”
“Rhazdon,” whispered Perrom, finishing his sentence, a shudder rippling through his skin. It can’t be him. He can’t still be alive. He didn’t want to say it out loud. “You be careful, too.” His voice grew softer. “Tell my mother I said hello.” He turned to go.
“Tell her yourself someday.”
Perrom turned back to say something else but the Gardener was already gone.
Chapter Seventeen
The Gnome prophet moved from floor to floor on the outside of the castle. “Altrea extendia.” A shower of bronze sparks went out in front as another short staircase appeared taking the Gnome to the floor of the castle where the library was kept. He walked confidently along the unseen hallway, nodding at a passing Light Elf as he got to the door of the library.
He strode between the shelves, muttering a greeting at a passing Gnome as the poppy on the bowler let out a puzzled squeak. The prophet kept moving, not looking back. The time had come to take back some of what was his before events got much further.
His plans were already in motion on Earth and humming along nicely. Soon, there wouldn’t be a need for this squatty old body and then gaining access to the Gnomes’ vault would be much harder. Time to strike.
He got near the stacks filled with books about horticulture closest to the vault and stopped to take down a book and peruse the inside. The first chapter was on how to clear graveling worms out of a garden. He kept an eye on the Gnomes wandering nearby and waited till there was only the one Gnome guard standing in front of the iron gate across the front.
The prophet muttered a spell low under his breath, killing the Gnome where he stood, stiffening his body so he stayed perfectly still and upright. His eyes looking straight ahead. The prophet worked quickly conjuring a small fire ball and whispering into it, sending it through the lock in the gate, breaking the eternal spell that surrounded the vault.
He opened the gate just enough to slide through and pressed against the wall as a Gnome passed by the far end of a stack. The poppy on his bowler turned to look back but saw nothing and settled back into place.
He waited till he was sure there would be at least a few seconds before another Gnome appeared. This will take some doing. He raised both his arms using a spell that was over a millennia old, passed down among the Atlanteans. The power running through his muscles and out his hands in a flash of light that felt familiar and welcoming. It’s about time.
The thousands of small tumblers rolled around in the door like marbles rushing to get into place. Not much longer.
The sound carried across the library, attracting startled looks as the Gnomes worked to reconcile the noise out of context. The vault was opening at an unscheduled time.
As soon as the thick, large door opened just enough for the round Gnome to squeeze through he pushed his way in, pulling in energy and sending it out, searching for his old artifacts and books and commanding them to come to him. There was a clatter and crash as the artifacts pushed their way out of drawers and off shelves, knocking over anything in their way. Books flew through the air, their pages rustling as they landed in a pile at the prophet’s feet. He pulled out a sack and held it open as everything clambered in. At the last moment, he held out his arms and released a temporary glamour, giving the illusion he was a Wood Elf.
He came out of the vault as the Gnomes came running and he pushed their dead friend toward them as he ran, the bag of artifacts magically riding a current of air in front of him.
“Altrea extendia!” he shouted, running down the stairs. The bag easily stayed three paces in front of him as he made his way to the ground and ran across the royal gardens. The Gnomes were just two floors behind him but as the prophet reached the edge of the woods he stopped suddenly and bellowed, “Mortimis linger”.
The Gnomes stopped where they were and waved to everyone nearby to get away from the edge of the woods. They knew the spell. They had been holding the secrets of dark magic for longer than anyone else could remember. The thief released a death spell that would claim anyone who followed too closely. The poppies were all hissing and baring their teeth as the Gnomes looked at each other.
No one knew that spell but them and one other. Someone had mastered Rhazdon’s old spells and now was in possession of his old artifacts and books.
They scurried back to the library, all of them muttering, “Trouble, trouble, trouble.” An inventory would be needed before they reported to the king.
The Gnome prophet hurried to the cabin deep in the Dark Forest, releasing the glamour spell as he ran. He didn’t stop until he was safe inside the walls of the small dwelling, his heart pounding with joy and exertion from the long run. He settled the bag in a corner and took off all his clothes, releasing the spell as his bones painfully grew back into place, stretching and growing. The top of his head sprouted tentacles and his body took on more curves as Rhazdon emerged, standing naked in the center of the room.
“At last,” she yelled, stretching her arms overhead. The tentacles on her head writhed and twisted until they were in a loose bun at the back of her head. She pulled on a dark silk robe, excited to open the bag. “At last,” she whispered again, “Revenge is sweet, even after all these years.”
She pulled out an old flute, holding it gently in her hands. Old Atlantean magic was encased in the wooden instrument and when the right notes were played in the right order by someone powerful enough to flow magic through it the flute was able to make others do the bidding of the musician. Rhazdon held it tightly to her chest and shut her eyes. “Good times,” she laughed, remembering how she used it to gather her first followers. She picked up an old amulet on the top and held it against her skin feeling the hum of the dark magic resting in it. “Mmmmm, delicious.”
She put both artifacts back in the bag and cinched the rope. “I’ll be back soon.” She patted the bag lovingly. “This has to wait. I need to make an appearance and create an alibi. Not time to reveal w
ho I am just yet. They’ll be looking for a thief.” She shook her head. “Not a thief if you’re taking back what’s yours.” She smiled and patted the bag again.
Rhazdon dropped the robe and took a last look at the bag, reluctantly casting the powerful spell again, twisting herself back into the old Gnome prophet. “Soon,” he muttered, standing there transformed as he picked up the dark blue robe. He hurried out the door to the Dark Market, leaving the circle of dark mist around the bottom of the cabin making it invisible to anyone who might pass nearby.
The Gnome prophet pushed his way into the Dark Market, shoving people aside. He was in no mood to talk to anyone and he wanted to be sure everyone remembered his entrance.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” The tall young half wizard, Louie bellowed at the Gnome as he passed, steadying a stack of electronic components as they teetered to one side. “This four by eight space is my castle,” he said, waving his large muscular arms around the tight space. “Yeah, that’s right…” He marched back and forth in the space, stomping his feet.
“Hey Louie.” A Witch wandered by, shoving her wand into her sash around her waist. “How are you doing?”
Louie stopped his frantic waving and put his hands on his hips. “I’m dying, that’s how I’m doing. Dying!” He shook his blonde curls, making the Witch laugh. “Hard to get some respect around this place. What are you up to, Ramona.”
The young Witch laughed again. “That’s a good one. Respect at the Dark Market. No one respects anyone here. Fears maybe. And I don’t know how far you’re going to get selling used parts from the last century in a tiny booth.”
“Don’t insult the size of a man’s booth! This is a perfectly respectable size booth. Okay, I’ll give you the one about the parts. They’re a little old but that’s just the stuff to get people to come closer.”
“I don’t know that you understand marketing.”
“I’m half human. Marketing is our own brand of magic. My kind has convinced people to buy crap they don’t need that’s not even good for them for generations. Time-honored practice!”
“So, what’s the good stuff?” Ramona walked closer to the booth as Louie dug around under a wooden table pulling out a large crate. He dug through the hay and lifted a tray of polished stones. “Huh? Yeah?” Louie held out his arms, tilting his head to the side, smiling.
“You have more charm than most Light Elves, Louie.”
Louie smiled, the dimples deepening in his cheeks. “What can I say?”
Ramona drew closer to peer at the stones.
“Artifacts. Shhhhh.” Louie put his finger to his lips. “Not supposed to have these.”
“I really think you’re missing the whole point of a dark market there, Louie. We’re not supposed to have any of this stuff.” She stepped closer and ran a finger over one of the blue stones with a silver streak through the middle.
It sparked as she yelped pulling her hand back and sticking her finger in her mouth to cool it off. “What the hell, Louie!” She took out her finger and looked at the blister. “Even your good stuff is crap. You’re lucky you’re not bad looking. Only thing you have going for you.” Ramona picked up the edge of her robe and marched off in a huff.
Perrom saw the spark as he was coming out of the market and looked down at the stones. Ancient and powerful. “Where did you get these?”
“Everybody knows an artifact is only as good as the person holding it!” he yelled to her retreating back. “Hey there, how you doing? Uh, what? Oh these! Found them near the Concha. Probably dropped by a Nicht.” He whistled, pointing to the sky. “Bat wings are not always good for deliveries.” He held his arms out to the side, bent at the elbows and flapping his hands. “Wind thrust not the best.”
Perrom knew he was lying but let it go. “How much?”
“For you, a bargain! Five pieces of gold. What do you say?” Louie picked one up and held it against his skin making his heart race. “Good stuff. Better than weed, I hear.”
Perrom narrowed his eyes and looked at the artifacts again. No spark when the half-wizard handles it. Interesting. He walked away without answering Louie.
He needed to keep up with the Gnome but he looked back over his shoulder. There’s more to that wizard. He’s covering a lot of ground if he can find anything that good. What else do you know? The skin along his neck fluttered. Perrom turned back and saw the Gnome in the distance turn a corner in the bazaar. Another time.
A Kilomea grunted as he passed by Louie. The two were at eye level with each other. “Interest you in a walkman, big guy? Still has all its parts.”
The Kilomea smiled and gave Louie a shove as he went deeper into the market.
“All you need to say is no, thank you. Not that hard.” He carefully put the tray of stones back in the crate and hid them back under the table. “These babies are by appointment only and a show of cash.” He stood up and wiped the sweat off his face with an old rag. “Good looking and charming are not the only things I have going for me,” he muttered. “First thing but not the only thing. Not bad with a wrench and a wand. Don’t see any other Wizards who can say that…”
A trail of Pixies fluttered around a pile of crystals. “Can I interest you ladies in a nice green amethyst? Very rare!”
Chapter Eighteen
Turner tapped his chin, his elbow resting on his arm held across his waist. He was sitting in a green Adirondack chair on the thick grass with a view of the lake. “There is a way you could venture a little closer magically to the cabin.”
Leira was standing in front of him practicing as Correk stood off to the side watching grackles take flight off the roof of Turner’s large house and fly out over Lake Travis. He looked back at Turner. “It’s too dangerous,” he said firmly, fully expecting a glare from Leira but all she gave him was a dead fish look. “You’ve made up your mind, I see. Fine, what’s the idea, Turner?”
“It would take an artifact from the time of the old king. Something that has the magic layered into it over time.”
“You mean like that damn necklace.” Correk scowled. “Right back where we started.”
“Not necessarily. The necklace is imbued with magic over generations of Light Elves. It’s what made it so powerful. A family tradition. The Oriceran royal family are not the only ones who have that tradition. There were others, which means there are other artifacts out there. Almost all of them are some kind of adornment like a bracelet or an armband or a simple ring. They may not look like much. That was done on purpose to hide their true value. But touch one in any way and they would give themselves away.”
Correk remembered the buzz in his fingertips. “I think I know where we can find one. I saw something like that in the dark market. More like right in front of it.”
“Then I suggest you retrieve it. It will act as an amplifier for Leira’s magic and more importantly disguise her identity. The artifact will be full of so many different users’ magic it will be more difficult for whomever it is that you’re pursuing to quickly identify her. If it is who we all suspect it is, the sooner you retrieve the armband the better. Time is not on our side.”
Turner shut his eyes and felt Leira’s magic riding out over the current of air, curious and open. A good sign. “Send out an intention Leira,” he said, without opening his eyes. “Do it without attachment and let the magic respond. You must learn to recognize that feeling and lean into it.”
Leira thought of her mother’s new apartment and sent out an intention to let them know she cared. Turner felt the energy quickly change, the slow swirling motion take on direction and coast outward, seeking its destination.
Eireka felt the thick flow of energy wrap around her, filling her with a loving warmth. “Hmmmm, Leira is getting better at magic.” The tired flowers in the vase on the counter from Donald perked back up and the air around Eireka shimmered in light. “It’s a new day,” she said, smiling.
“What dear?” Mara called out from the other room.
“
Nothing, Mom. Leira called to say she misses us and is doing fine.”
Leira stepped onto the firm ground of Oriceran just inside the forest and breathed in the scent from the lilies nearby.
“Try singing to them and see what happens.” Correk nodded. “Go ahead.”
Leira sang one of her favorite songs she heard back in Antone’s Nightclub in Austin.
“Home is made for coming from, for dreams of going to, which with any luck will never come true. I was born under a wandering star. I was born under a wandering star…”
The flowers bent their heavy heads toward Leira and released a puff of perfume that filled her head and left her with a feeling of peace. “What a wonderful trick!”
“Not a trick. Basic botany on Oriceran. What an appropriate song for you.”
“Not really. I was born and raised in Austin. Haven’t wandered far at all.”
“Strange how it seems like it.”
“When you met me, I wasn’t really connected to anyone. I was eternally restless. Felt like I was barely tethered to the Earth. Turns out I was right. Part of me is from this planet.”
“Come on, are you up for walking? It’s a few miles to the Dark Market but it’s a beautiful day. You can see more of the area walking than you can bouncing on the wooden seat of a wagon.”
“You’re really selling it. Sure, let’s walk.”
They passed by the royal gardens and Leira looked up to where she knew the Light Elves castle was hanging in the air, even if she couldn’t see it. “Still strange to know there are tons of rock and furniture and Light Elves up there and only magic is holding it there.”
“Magic is more powerful than nuts and bolts but you don’t question their ability to make a skyscraper.”
