by Tracy Lane
His voice was dry as he issued a soft, low chuckle. “I assure you, dear, no time will pass while you’re in Ythulia.”
She gasped out loud to hear they city’s mystical name spoke aloud. And so casually, at that. “So it is real? Mage City does exist? I thought it was only in my storybooks. A fairy tale parents told children to help them fall asleep at night.”
“Mage… City?” he asked, wearing a curious expression as his long, pale fingers gripped the crystal staff.
He turned, expecting her to follow. She did, with both Boer and the Nayer in tow. “It’s… it’s what we call it at our Learning Place,” she explained, drifting along in his wake as the hem of his maroon cloak made waves in the mist that covered the grass. “But only… only because we never thought it was real.”
“Is it not in your learning books?” he asked over his shoulder, the tone of his voice implying he already knew the answer to his question.
“Yes, of course,” she gushed, racing to keep up. His feet seemed to hover above the ground beneath his flowing maroon robes. “But… no one’s ever seen it before so, it always felt mythological to me. I thought… I thought that’s what our teachers intended.”
He turned, at last. They had reached one of the sparkling, see-through buildings. In front of it was a large, almost cavernous box. It had a door, and inside it looked bare and empty and large enough to hold most of the tiny cottage Aurora shared with her parents.
He waved his crystal staff and the door opened without a sound. With his free hand he waved her inside and, hesitating only briefly, Aurora stepped in. Behind her, the little Nayer wriggled free of his reins and hustled in while Boer lingered behind, cowering near a sheltering tree.
“He’ll be okay,” said the man and, nodding, seemed to speak to her steed again, without words. Almost immediately, Boer went to his knees and then leaned against the trunk of the tree, as if sleeping.
The door slid shut and the room rose around them. Its sheer walls seemed to sparkle the higher they rose and, daring a look outside, she watched as the green grass and the crooked trees of Wandering Woods disappeared far, far below. Higher and higher they rose into the sky, and quickly.
On the other side of the room she saw people in the sparkling buildings blur by, their faces bland and indistinguishable but clearly visible through the clear walls of the moving car.
The little Nayer trembled next to Aurora’s knee and she shushed him, gently petting the hairy spot between its trembling ears. Just then, the room stopped and the wall facing the nearest building opened as smoothly, as quickly, as if it had never been there at all.
“Come along,” the man said gently, as if to both Aurora and the gray beast.
Either way, both followed. The floor beneath Aurora was see-through as well, made of the same cool, clear crystals that sparkled and shone on the outside walls.
Aurora followed the man, the Nayer close at her side, its hooves clattering on the clear crystal floor. They had walked into a vast, open area, a foyer of sorts, outside an even vaster hall where men with waving, silver hair stood and debated.
There were crystal risers surrounding a large pedestal that shimmered and shone with a green light from within; much like that that ebbed and flowed within the old mage’s staff.
They paused just outside the massive arena and the man turned to her. “You came at an awkward time,” the man confessed, but in a pleasant tone.
“Why?” Aurora asked. “What’s happening? It all seems very serious.”
“It is,” he said, nodding and moving her along. “One of our Council recently went to the Great Beyond. So now we’re meeting in the Great Hall to replace him.”
She tugged his robe to halt his progress. When he turned to face her, one silver eyebrow arched, she said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He nodded, face softening just a bit. “I can see that you are. Come along, and let us see if we can get some refreshments after your long journey.”
The hallways outside the sparkling arena were bustling with younger, less shimmering people in white hooded cloaks that looked more like servants. A young man caught her eye, long blond hair and luminous brown eyes, a soft, full nose and even fuller lips. He paused in his step, opened his mouth as if to greet her and, looking up at her more dignified companion, merely nodded and kept rushing along.
The old man nodded. “I can see you’ve caught the eye of one of our young squires, Kayne.”
“Squires?” she asked, but what she really wanted was to know more about young Kayne.
“Mages in training, my dear.”
No one else seemed to take notice of Aurora, or even her tiny Nayer, as the odd progression moved silently, even swiftly, through the crystal halls of Mage City. People were bustling about, but all seemed to make way for the kindly man who had invited Aurora to the fabled city of Ythuria.
She could hardly believe her good fortune, or contain her excitement. The man paused outside a clear, glittering door and, with a wave of his staff, it opened to reveal a warm, inviting room with soft red lounges and small black tables. They, too, seemed stone-like and yet softer somehow, as if carved in place but with a master’s touch.
“Sit,” he said. Almost as quickly as she did, a young woman in a white tunic approached, bearing a tray loaded with a teapot and two cups.
The old man nodded as she placed them on the carved crystal table in front of them. “Salamander root tea,” he explained, pouring for them both. “To revive your spirits.”
She nodded, speechless. It was almost as if he could read her mind. She hadn’t felt tired, not really, until at last she sat in the comfortable red lounge cushion. The mug was heavy and white and warm in her hand as she sipped it cautiously. It was warm, but not too hot, and had a delicious spicy flavor.
“Uhhm,” she said. The young servant girl smiled and then took the Nayer’s rope.
“It’s okay,” the man said before Aurora could protest. “Nayers need refreshments, too.”
Soon the little gray beast was gone and Aurora watched as more servants entered, bearing trays and plates of all sorts of treats, from frosted pastries to bubbling cheese to seared sweet meats to frozen custards that melted on her tongue with textures both rich and creamy.
She ate until she was full – and then ate still more – and openly marveled at the old man’s restraint. “You haven’t touched a thing,” she said, eyes growing heavy.
“If you insist,” he said, reaching for a gleaming, decadent pastry shaped like a figure-8. He ate it with long, delicate fingers and, when he was done, brushed crumbs from his long, gray beard. “Might I ask your name, now that we’ve shared a meal?”
“I’m Aurora,” she said, wiping a hand on her peasant blouse self-consciously before extending it for his.
“I’m Iragos,” he said, rolling the name around on his tongue. She smiled; it sounded like he looked: dignified, careful, mystical. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She smirked, buoyed by the sugar and spice and everything nice. “I bet you say that to all the farm girls you find wandering in the Wandering Woods, staring up at your glass city.”
He shook his head. “Not hardly. In fact, Aurora, most mortals can’t even see Ythuria.”
She sat up slightly, easing along the polished surface of the crystal lounge. “Really? But… but… it’s sitting right there, as plain as the nose on your face. How… how could they not see it, Iragos?”
He smiled. “Why do you think I invited you up here, dear? You are very special, indeed.”
“I… am?”
“Didn’t you know?” he asked.
“No,” she said, averting her eyes. “No, I didn’t.”
But she was lying, sort of. Aurora had always been, if not special, then at least a little… different. It was nothing she could put her finger on, just a vague sense that made her stand out from her classmates, even her family. Sometimes she answered a question before it was asked.
She wou
ld say, “Twelve!” only to find her teacher looking at her, nodding and shaking her head at the same time. Or she’d say, “Yes,” and her father would say, “Yes what?” And she would say, “Yes, I can plow the fields with you after dinner.” Then he and her mother would exchange “that look.” That look that said… she’s doing it again.
Irago smiled and nodded, as if listening to her very thoughts; as if she was speaking them right out loud. “It’s a rare few that can actually see, ‘Mage City,’ as you called it. And, after they do, they usually end up living here.”
5
Kayne stood in Kronos’ chambers as the dark mage paced in footsteps angry and full of rage.
“But you don’t know the Council will choose Iragos,” Kayne offered humbly, head bowed and hands clasped in supplication as he feared his master’s vengeance.
His white tunic was stiff around his throat and even more so when he bowed. He ignored the tugging sensation, ever intent on serving his Master’s every need.
“You fool,” Kronos rasped, voice hoarse from shouting all afternoon. “That’s all anyone in Ythulia can talk about. But you wouldn’t know that, would you squire?”
In his years of faithful service, Kronos had never once called Kayne by his proper name. “No, master,” Kayne muttered dutifully between clenched teeth.
As Kronos paced, Kayne risked offense by asking, “But… Jaroch was a light mage, right Master? Why would the Council replace light with dark? Wouldn’t it offset the balance?”
“Of course it would,” Kronos raged. “That’s the point. I’ve been campaigning for eons to prove to the Council that I can be just as light as Iragos, to no avail apparently.”
Kayne nodded, eyes on the ground as he’d been taught on day one of squire training. Kronos raged, his maroon robe dragging on the ground, the red tip of his crystal staff tapping the floor in cadence.
Then he stopped, and looked abruptly at Kayne. Kayne could only see the mage’s shoes facing him, but dare not look up until given permission.
“Face me, squire!”
Kayne did and saw Kronos wearing something quite unusual indeed; a smile! “M-m-master?” he stammered.
“I want you to run an errand for me, squire.” Kronos’ voice was almost… mirthful… something that made Kayne immediately suspicious.
“Y-y-yes, Master.”
“It’s a small thing, won’t take but a moment.”
“Indeed.”
“Run and fetch me the Ythra, will you boy?”
Then Kronos cackled, dark and deep. Kayne stared back at his wrinkled face, leathery and unkind. His eyes were dark as coal, his goatee only slightly darker with its faint, oily sheen.
“I… I don’t understand.” Kayne didn’t. Unlike some of the mages, Kronos wasn’t one to joke. But… the Ythra? The most magical, mystical item in all of Mage City?
Clearly, he had to be joking.
“The guards are mostly in mourning for dear Jaroch,” Kronos explained, inching closer. “While on our way back from the Choosing, I spied only six of them standing at the entrance to the Chamber of Ythra.”
“That’s six too many, master!” Kayne croaked, knees trembling at the thought. “The Ythra guards are trained killers, chosen with the express purpose of protecting the Orb of Ythra, each one a fierce fighter from the land of Churl.”
Kronos waved a hand, tipped by long, yellow nails, unconcerned. “Take this,” he said, sliding a small vial from the golden cuff of his flowing maroon robe.
Kayne did as he was told. Even if it was wrong, he was bound by duty to honor his master’s wishes. “W-w-what is it, Master?” The vial was a small crystal, hollow and filled with a floating red gas that looked like smoke, captured in its essence.
“It’s a Belief Spell,” Kronos explained. “Release it once the first guard questions your presence and they will believe whatever you tell them—”
“But the Guards of Ythra are spell proof!”
Kronos slapped Kayne hard across the face, dropping him to his knees with the power of his glancing blow. “Dare you question your master, squire?”
“No, no!” Kayne gripped the vial tightly, still on his knees, trembling, afraid to look up lest he receive another beating. His cheek stung and his jaw ached, as if maybe it was broken, or at least sprained.
“The Ythra Guards are immune to single spells, boy, but this is a collective spell.”
Kayne shook his head in spite of himself. “But… but those are illegal!”
Kronos sighed and paced some more, waving his hands in the air as if in private conversation. Then he turned to Kayne and glared. “So is stealing the Ythra, boy, what’s your point? Now hurry, lest I cast a collective spell on you as well.”
Kayne rose, slowly, avoiding his master’s further wrath. “Here,” said Kronos, tossing a leather satchel at him. “When you’ve stolen the Ythra, put it in here. Even if the belief spell wears off before you leave the chamber, the guards will think you’re just going to night class.”
Kayne arched one eyebrow at this claim. The lethally trained guards from the planet of Churl would think Kayne was just… going to night class… by way of the Chamber of Ythra? Still, his jaw ached from abuse and he was none too eager to invite anymore by questioning Kronos any further.
“As you wish, Master.”
Kayne quickly left the chamber and, when he was around the corner, out of his Master’s view, sank with his back against the wall and rubbed his swollen cheek.
He cursed Kronos as he shuffled along toward the Chamber of Ythra. He tried to act casual, but Kronos knew the punishment for even entering the hallowed chamber, let alone stealing the precious orb: banishment from Ythulia and imprisonment for life in the Hall of Pain.
Still, a stone cell in a silent prison was heaven compared to what Kronos and his dark spells could do to a humble squire like Kayne if he disobeyed one of his master’s direct orders. And so he limped along, dreading his fate in either event.
The Chamber of Ythra was hidden away, tucked in the shadows of the Great Hall and far from the Election Berth, where all the mages had spent nights and days voting on Jaroch’s replacement.
Usually the entire hallway to the chamber was lined with guards, up to a dozen at any time, each trained in a special way to kill, but in mourning of their fallen mage, half the guards were gone.
Kayne nervously fingered the top of the crystal vial as he approached the first guard, a warrior of the Chosen class standing nearly 7-feet tall and outweighing Kayne by a good two hundred pounds.
Like all the guards, he came from the Land of Churl, a harsh environment marked by caves and even harsher people, where from birth, children were trained in the lethal arts. All Ythra Guards came from the same clan, and were “Chosen” by the most savage trainers for their skills at killing weaklings like Kayne!
“Halt,” said the guard, calmly, raising a beefy fist hidden in a clenched glove. He wore the uniform of the Ythra Guard; a rusty orange like the glowing orb itself, covered from head to toe in creaking leather and armored plates. His helmet was orange metal, his tunic orange leather, his pants to match. Only his boots – and his dark, vicious eyes – were black.
“I believe Kronos has a message for you,” Kayne said, just before releasing the spell. It flowed from the vial like a viper, a cloud of red gaseous smoke that quickly split into six heads, like a side show snake slithering toward its prey.
Each cloud of smoke went straight to its intended victim, sliding into their nostrils and turning their eyes, even the whites of their eyes, a smoky red with the power of Kronos’ spell.
When all six of the guards stood at attention, thick fists saluting him as they brushed their orange helmets, Kayne ordered, “Now, open the door and let me inside.”
Even with the spell seeming to work, Kayne still feared it was all a ruse, and that the half-dozen guards would all wink at each other, just before tearing him limb from limb and using shards from his rib cage as toothpicks.
> “Right this way,” said the guard nearest the door, opening it for Kayne as the squire slipped into the hallowed chamber. He’d never been inside, not ever, had only heard about it in tales and legends passed down from the fables of old.
And there it was, the orange glowing orb, about the size of a glad fruit, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, resting atop a crystal column.
The guards stood outside, entranced, silent, making Kayne wonder how long the belief spell would last. Either way, he didn’t intend to wait around and find out! Instead Kayne took the satchel from around his neck and opened it, admiring the glowing orb as it sat, much as it had for the last two centuries.
Untouched by mortal hand, until now.
It was born of magic, a pure ball of energy, contained in a crystal crust of power. It was said that, eons ago, when the dark forces of Sinisteria had clashed with the light forces of Ythulia, the planet of Synurgus had nearly met its end.
That was when a secret council, forged of four members of the Sinisterians and four Ythulians, had come together and cast their collective powers in a spell to end all spells. They had formed the orb, filling it with enough power to overrule any council, any enemy, any single man, woman or beast on the planet – or who might invade the planet. With it locked away inside the sacred chamber, the Council could contain its power rather than abuse it.
Guarded by the fiercest members of the fiercest race on the planet, all mages – both dark and light – as well as the citizens of Synurgus could sleep at night knowing no single force could wield the orb’s mystical power.
But somehow Kronos had convinced the other three Sinisterians on the council to form a collective belief spell, overpowering even the mighty Guards of Ythura. And it was Kayne’s job to steal the orb and bring it back to his master.
What would happen then? He wondered to himself, fingers trembling as they hung, suspended in mid-air, the Orb of Ythura glowing just out of reach. He knew Kronos wanted one thing and one thing only: power. Would he use the orb to get it? Of that, Kayne had no doubt. He only knew that he was a squire, and that he must obey his master.
