The Wizard's Sword (Nine Worlds of Mirrortac Book 1)

by Paul Vanderloos

  Mirrortac left the hut and followed the path onto the avenue leading up to the Temple of Mateote. Above the village, the mountain summit was shrouded in a thick cloud. A frosted breeze brought with it a hint of snow, warning of the coming of the season of the White Veil. There was still nobody stirring at this early stage of the day except for an elder she-erfin who was sweeping her step. She glanced up for a moment as the erfin passed by then went on with her work. Mirrortac reached the wide marblelite stairs leading up to the temple courtyard and sighted a priest emerging from under the archways of the temple itself. The priest saw him and immediately started toward him, as though already summoned. Perhaps he wanted some masonry work done, Mirrortac thought, as this was his tasking; with the proof of his skill standing in his midst in the sleek marblelite arches and columns of the temple. The priest met him at the centre of the courtyard, his earthen-coloured robe sweeping over the smooth stone paving.

  ‘How did you know that I was seeking you?’ the priest gasped, somewhat breathless. His silvered whiskers sprayed out in bunched long strands from the top of his lips and his eyes were like pearly slivers from beneath thick eyebrows.

  ‘I have come to you on my own matter; one of utmost urgency,’ Mirrortac replied.

  ‘Oh!’ the priest puzzled. ‘I too have come to call together the he-erfins on a matter most urgent to the whole village.’ The elder frowned and rubbed his chin. ‘What be this matter of yours?’

  Mirrortac told him all about the sword, the dreams and how the sword was now held fast to the wall of his hut. The priest, whose name was Witherelle, frowned some more when he heard this. ‘Perhaps the two matters are related,’ he mused, unwrapping bony fingers and resting his hand upon the erfin’s shoulder. ‘You know that the nite-wolves are coming nearer the village?’ Mirrortac nodded. ‘And that they have begun to attack our foté?’ The erfin nodded again. Witherelle squeezed the erfin’s shoulder. ‘We have few foté remaining now, and no wild foté in the woods. The season of the White Veil will soon be upon us and we shall have nought to eat; we shall grow weak and the nite-wolves will have their feast of us.’

  ‘This is indeed a terrible matter, but what has it in common with the bewitched sword?’ Mirrortac enquired.

  Witherelle looked troubled. ‘I am not certain, but I fear that a time of great darkness may be upon us. These beasts are the hounds of demons and a bewitched sword speaks of evil powers in the woods.’

  This further troubled the erfin. ‘Then come hasten and unbind the spell upon my hut and let us be rid of this demon’s sword!’ he tugged at the priest to follow.

  Witherelle stooped down the stairs, trudging behind the erfin as fast as his frail body would allow. They reached the hut to find a grim-faced Fillytac waiting, his hands grasping at bloodied feathers. Mirrortac shook his head at the sight. ‘Yours too, my friend! We shall all be meeting today at the Halls of Eol. Wait here!’ He brushed past his friend with the priest close behind.

  ‘What is going on?’ said a bemused Fillytac, but neither Mirrortac nor the priest offered an explanation. Instead, they swept into the hut where Yenic was tending to the erfin children.

  Mirrortac picked up the children and marched them outside then turned to this wife. ‘You must wait outside with the child-fins. I have brought the priest to cleanse the hut of the darkness of the sword.’

  Yenic complied, leaving the two alone with the sword, which still hung securely upon the wall. Witherelle examined the sword with a thorough eye, expressing mumblings of surprise as he took in the three amber stones, the sharpness of the blade and strange symbols on the hilt, which had escaped the erfin’s notice. The priest muttered softly to himself as he seemed to read the symbols, and stopped as he contemplated deeply.

  ‘These symbols are in the Maja tongue,’ he explained, with a tone of surprise in his voice. ‘Maja is an ancient tongue which we sometimes use in our most sacred rituals. It was usual for the warriors of our ancestors to have the priests inscribe their swords with symbols of protection, but they are not the symbols used on this sword. No, this one has the marks of the most sacred mystery hidden in the seasons before the Erfin Empire. This is a sword of the Werd, which means “Wisdom of the ancients”...’

  ‘But it is full of a warrior’s madness; it is bewitched!’ Mirrortac interrupted.

  Witherelle pulled at his beard. ‘It has the memory of a great battle, and of a great warrior, but there can nought be any evil in it; such sacredness can abide no darkness. No ... but if it pleases you, I will bestow the blessing of Mateote upon it and put the warrior’s memory to rest.’

  Mirrortac sighed. ‘That would please me, and you can take it with you to the temple, since it is such an object of sacredness.’

  Witherelle seemed doubtful. ‘I can try to take it with me but I feel it has chosen you in sacred trust.’

  The erfin frowned at this. ‘Chose me? That is silliness!’

  The elder priest smiled and shook his head. ‘Who knows what purpose the ancients have divined for the finder of this sword. It is nought by some accident that you have come upon it in the woods where you have walked all your life.’

  Witherelle lifted up his arms and began to chant in the secret maja tongue reserved only for the priesthood of Mateote while Mirrortac watched the sword with expectation. In just a few moments, the sword dislodged and fell with a clang to the floor. The erfin sighed with relief, thanking the priest as the elder bent down to pick up the sword. But the old erfin struggled to lift it. ‘See, it will nought let me take it. I can barely lift it,’ he puffed.

  Mirrortac smirked with suspicion and reached for the sword, lifting it easily in his grip. ‘The sword is nought heavy. My child-fin can lift it,’ he said. ‘Here, put out your arms.’ Mirrortac placed the sword into the priest’s beckoning arms but the elder collapsed as though trying to bear the weight of ten erfins.

  ‘See! This is proof that the sword has chosen you as its keeper,’ Witherelle proclaimed.

  ‘Then I will carry it to the temple for you. We have a meeting to attend, have we not?’ Mirrortac insisted.

  Witherelle smiled. ‘You have always been a stubborn one, Mirrortac of Fotwood. Come then, bring your sword with you.’

  ‘Clever, oh sacred one!’ the erfin countered. ‘I will take the sword and put it in the temple where it belongs.’

  ‘Yea, as you wish,’ Witherelle grinned, then becoming serious, ‘Enough of this. Whatever it means, we have grim matters to discuss with the he-folk.’

  Witherelle stepped out of the hut to be greeted with the questioning faces of Yenic and the others. Addressing Fillytac, the aged priest took on a commanding manner. ‘I want you and all the he-folk to meet with me at the Hall-of-Eol now. Go and tell all your neighbours without delay.’

  Fillytac collared Mirrortac, as he too burst out of the hut, sword in hand and looking very annoyed.

  ‘What is going on? Why did you have that priest here?’ he asked, but his friend only shoved him aside.

  ‘You heard what the priest said. I will explain later!’

  Fillytac turned to Yenic with rising frustration. ‘WHAT in the name of Mateote is happening?’

  Yenic shrugged at him with apology. ‘I think it has something to do with the sword he took home last night. It gave him bad dreams.’

  An expression of self-satisfaction swept over the stout erfin’s features. ‘So, that is it. I did warn him nought to take it home. I told him to take it straight to the priests.’

  Fillytac thanked her and hastened off to alert his neighbours of the meeting. He cleansed his hands of the blood from the feathers of his dead foté before meeting with the other he-folk at the hall at the centre of the village of Eol.

  A crowd of sober erfin faces surrounded the long timber table within the hall with Witherelle at the head. He was seated on a tall backed throne of pine carved in a modest design. The he-folk chattered amongst themselves while they waited for Mirrortac to return from the temple.

  Mirr
ortac stopped at the threshold of the temple and bowed to Mateote which had all but disappeared under the thick cloud. He turned and bowed again, deeply from the waist, as he was entering the sacred preserve of the temple. A single marblelite altar stood in the centre of the floor and on top there was a hollow filled with a thin layer of ash. A sheaf of dried nif-grass was burning slowly, sending a steady stream of aromatic smoke up into the dome of the ceiling where it escaped through small gaps into the sky above. Benches were arranged in a circle around the altar but these were unoccupied except for one where someone was seated with his back to the erfin. He was wearing the priestly robe, which fell over a slim form, and his hair was strangely golden, falling in beautiful locks over his shoulders. Mirrortac stepped with soft reverence, taking care not to disturb the priest who was bowed in silent meditation. The erfin held the sword carefully now, resting in the palms of his outstretched hands, as he crept around the border of the temple interior. The priest raised his head and stood up, alerted by the presence of another in the holy place. Mirrortac stopped, not because he had disturbed a priest, but because he now realised something even more strange about him - he was much taller than any erfin and the hands he now revealed were hairless. The stranger turned, showing his face, which was also hairless and un-erfinlike. His skin was a pale alien sheen; his nose small and slightly pointed while his eyes were a brilliant hue of blue with round black pupils, not like the oblong pupils of erfins. Mirrortac immediately assumed a fighting stance, sword held firmly in the grip of his right hand.

  ‘Who are you? God or demon?’ he uttered, astounded.

  ‘Neither,’ the stranger answered, his voice fluid and unearthly. ‘I am Ni-Do, keeper to the Sword of Thaum and it falls upon me to explain your duty to the worlds against the spread of the coming age of darkness.’

  Mirrortac stood stunned and perplexed. ‘Ni-Do? We have no such name under Mateote. What is this vexing talk of worlds and my duty to them? There is only this world, and it ends at the mountain of Mateote!’

  Ni-Do’s eyes flared. ‘You foolish erfin! The darkness is already taking hold of your blessed Eol. You have not enough food to last the season of the White Veil and the nite-wolves grow bolder and hungrier with each day. If you stay in Eol and go on believing that there is no world across the great mountain, then you will all perish … but worse than this, all hope for the other worlds will perish with you.’

  Mirrortac wished he could collapse but his legs were locked. He wanted to challenge the stranger but his strength had left him. He knew the danger to Eol was great but the stranger was confusing him.

  ‘You vex my spirit, weird one. What could an erfin such as I do against the powers of darkness? What use is an erfin and a sword?’ he pleaded.

  The stranger’s expression softened but his voice remained firm. ‘My master comes from the world of Men but he is different to many men in that he is a wizard, a man of white magic, which in itself is tainted. He was captured alive by the powers of black magic, an evil sorcerer called Krak and the sorceress, Helok, who together created Hopocus, a place to entrap the souls of the dead. They also created an abyss into which all that is good, from all worlds, is gradually being absorbed, effectively spreading evil everywhere; an evil that will destroy you and all that exists. Once he realised that his magic would also be absorbed into the abyss, he devised this sword, which has the power to fight the spreading darkness at its edges, but cannot succeed in Hopocus until it has been given sacred power through the blessing of a holy person. White magic alone cannot conquer this evil and it needs one with great courage and a pure spirit to bring final victory.

  ‘This is where your duty is needed, Mirrortac. As an earth-spirit, I was able to escape Hopocus with my master’s sword and the gateway led me to your world. We needed a warrior’s madness in it firstly to enmesh it with courage then we had to wait until all my master’s magic had been absorbed into the abyss, signaling the time for the sword to appear in the woods where you found it and it laid claim to you. Your mission is to strike a path north until you reach the land of mists and waters where you will find the gateway to Hopocus, and your ultimate task – to cast the sword, which you will call Moonbeam, into the Well of Lost Memories where it will be empowered with its final sacred purpose. Remember this, I shall remind you when you forget.’

  The erfin vigorously ran his fingers through his fur, trying hard to comprehend all that he had been told. ‘The sword is blessed now; couldn’t you take on this mission yourself? How am I able to do all this, even if I should believe there are worlds beyond the great Mateote?’

  Ni-Do continued to be patient with the erfin. ‘I have no power in the physical world. I am merely a projection of my master’s mind, created only to bring to you this message and to guide you into the next world beyond the mountain. When my task is complete, I will become nothing again.’

  Mirrortac blinked at the floor and scratched his head. ‘I must surely be dreaming this. What will I tell Witherelle and the he-folk when I get to the hall? That I spoke to a spectre who told me I must go on a mission across other worlds to fight against demons?’ The erfin addressed himself more than Ni-Do.

  ‘Speak only to Witherelle about me. He has seen me in his dreams and he will believe you. He will help you. No one else may know of your ultimate purpose. Go now, seek your fellow erfins who await you in the hall.’

  *****

  Mirrortac made an awkward entrance into the hall; all the time hiding the sword behind him as he made his way to his seat, which had been reserved for him near the top of the long table where Witherelle was waiting patiently. Fillytac glimpsed the sword as the erfin edged past, and spoke up without regard. ‘I thought you were presenting the sword at the temple. How is it that you still have it?’ he said.

  Mirrortac grimaced. ‘The tale is long in the telling, and you would not believe me in a thousand moons even if I did tell you.’

  Fillytac lifted a suspicious brow. ‘Try me.’

  Mirrortac waved him away. ‘I cannot. You shall hear more than enough in time; more than you would want to hear, erfin-friend.’ This only deepened the frown on the elder erfin’s face but he remained silent.

  Witherelle nodded to Mirrortac as he sat down and cleared his throat to gain the attention of those still talking among themselves. All the able he-erfins of the village were seated around the table - fowl herders, nif-grass tenders, priests, minor workers and the brawny seeker-erfins used to seek out the spellbound for ritual execution. Servants brought goblets of sparkling spring water collected from a well near the foothills of Mateote, and flatbread made from nif-grass flour. Mirrortac lifted the goblet to his lips and swallowed the contents in a gulp, then reached for the urn for a refill. Witherelle raised an arm to gain everyone’s attention.

  ‘Fellow erfins of Eol!’ he began in his priestly formality. ‘You must all be aware now that the nite-wolves have been attacking the foté herds. But you may not know that there are now very few left; too few to last us the season of the White Veil, and none to gather from the woods. Soon, they too will be gone and our child-fins will become their next meal, and then all of us as we weaken from hunger. Unless we take arms against the nite-wolves, our lives are in peril from these demon hounds.’

  ‘And how are we to do this, holy one? With a few old swords and he-erfins who know nought of the ways of warriors?’ one of the erfins shouted. Others supported his argument and a discussion led to a rally of voices.

  Mirrortac listened without a word then abruptly stood up. ‘I will make spears from the Fotwood oak and we will kill them all, to the last animal!’ he shouted, startling all, and especially himself. Everyone fell silent, allowing the erfin to continue. ‘The heartwood of the Fotwood oak is like stone. Sharpened to a point with this fine sword ...’ he raised the sword at last to everyone’s view. ‘...The spears will be strong enough to pierce the hide of the demon wolves and send their spirits back to the Netherworld. We shall hunt them together and in so doing save ourse
lves and the lives of our she-erfins and child-fins.’

  A sigh of awe moved through the throng of erfins as they beheld the shining metal of the sword with its owner standing resolute and tall, like a true warrior. Witherelle smiled approvingly but one erfin was still not satisfied. ‘You give us great hope, Mirrortac, however there is still the matter of our food for the coming season. It is forbidden to eat of the wolf, which is of the Netherworld, though the creature is our sign of courage. What then, shall we feed our little ones?’

  It was Witherelle himself who offered a reply. ‘We must abandon the village and seek out a suitable land where there is still plentiful food for us all. We must protect ourselves from the wolves and kill what ones attack us, but allow the others to keep the woods ... the gods shall deal with them as they may.’

  ‘We must kill them all! Kill them all!’ Mirrortac retorted, his eyes flashing as he flung the sword above his head defiantly.

  The youthful and the elder erfins roared together from their places, inspired by the mason and tired of the many seasons of putting up with the threat of the nite-wolves.

  ‘As you wish,’ Witherelle said, more to placate them as he prayed under his breath for a less bloody outcome. The reality of his own strange dreams came flooding back to him as he watched an ordinary though stubborn erfin exhibit the signs of fierceness that he would need not only for the battle against the nite-wolves but things of unimaginable evil as a great age of darkness begins to overwhelm Eol and the unknown worlds beyond. Witherelle knew that this was just the beginning and if Mirrortac failed in his mission, then the Netherworld would engulf them all.

  The he-erfins left the hall with flaming hearts; all excitedly returning to their families to tell them of the coming battle against the wolves. None really expected to leave Eol, as they thought that somehow they could tough out the season of the White Veil with rations, including more flatbread supplies. Mirrortac went to work immediately to make up spears for all the he-erfins, chopping down a few of the larger Fotwood oaks and splitting the logs to reveal the stone-hard core. Yenic and the other she-folk set to baking up extra supplies of flatbread. The remaining foté were executed and preserved in nif-grass and all children were locked indoors to protect them against the hungry nite-wolves. The panting of their hungry packs could be heard every night and their howls chilled the blood.