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

by Paul Vanderloos

  On the filling of the moon of Mogog in its fourth cycle, Mirrortac completed the spears. Already four erfins had lost their lives to the wolves that now showed themselves in the daylight, hunting in packs of ten or more along the scattered pathways, looking for any erfin on their own. Mirrortac had called all the he-erfins together outside his hut and handed out the spears to each one, instructing them briefly on how to hold and throw them. Fillytac handled his spear uncomfortably, glancing at Mirrortac and shaking his head with doubt. ‘I hoped I would not live to see a day such as this. I am no warrior. Let the younger have their blood, give me back my foté.’ The older erfin’s eyes were murky and sad, and his hands trembled slightly.

  ‘Stay with the she-folk; protect them,’ Mirrortac said, softly squeezing his friend’s arm.

  Fillytac ambled off, spear in hand, a sorry figure. The day itself had a gloominess about it as the clouds gathered in dense masses around the mountain and its neighbours - Elfa, in the west, and Ohmga, in the east - obscuring the three mountains and covering up all the sky. The air was already very cold, with a strong hint of snow in the wind. Mirrortac had already relegated Yenic and all the she-erfins to stay inside their huts. He smiled with reassurance at her as she stared fearfully out of the window of the hut. The abandoned pathways of the village added to the air of foreboding and the nervousness of the he-erfins who were now feeling vulnerable and not as confident.

  Witherelle was standing nearby with the other priests as they offered petitions to the god of Mateote, clasping their burning sheaves of nif-grass close to them as the cold wind picked up around them. The elder priest looked upon the unlikely throng of warriors with his own nagging doubts. Suddenly, a howl was heard from the woods near to the east of them. A chorus of howls coming from all around them quickly answered it; some sounding only a short way off down the various pathways that branched off from here to the different areas of the village. A number of the erfins took fright. ‘The nite-wolves have us surrounded! We shall nought be able to fight them off!’ one cried. ‘We’ll all be slaughtered where we stand!’

  This was more than many could stand and as another chorus of howls echoed up from the woods all around, many dropped their spears and ran for cover to the nearest huts. Mirrortac was left with the youth and the seeker-erfins who each were foolish enough to believe they were invincible. The priests too now hurried off, leaving just 40 he-erfins to protect the entire village. Mirrortac sucked on his lips as he considered the best action to take against this unexpected change in odds.

  ‘Fellow erfins! Take up your spears and draw back to the lake. At least we will not have the wolves behind us. Hold on to your spears and do not throw them. Thrust it at the chest of the beasts, and make sure you kill it quickly, so you can get at the others without delay.’

  The “warriors” obeyed eagerly, falling back to the Waters of Three, with spears held at the ready. Mirrortac kept a keen eye out for the first appearance of the wolves, which were converging on the village in numbers unheard of in the history of Eol. Flakes of snow began falling with the wind strengthening beneath the low clouds. Mirrortac stood to the front and took up his sword, which until now had rested at his side in a belt he had cut from old wolf-hide. Ahead of him, there were three pathways - one leading into the western sectors of the village at Fotwood, another winding north to the temple avenue, and the third leading to the east and following the border of the Wood-of-the-Nite-Wolf. The temple was central to Fotwood and the far northern side of the village, which was a little more than a day’s march away, or a moonith in erfin measure. Snow was falling thickly now, making sighting difficult. Mirrortac squinted into the stinging whiteness and thought he could make out movement on the central path. Dark shapes could be seen bounding towards them and now they could hear the nite-wolves’ unmistakable growls and their heavy panting. The he-erfins lifted their spears and muscles tensed. Suddenly, wolves appeared from around hidden bends on the other two paths, only a few hundred erfin-lengths away. Mirrortac felt the surge of the warrior’s rage rush into his chest and arms. He tried to keep his head, but it was a madness too powerful and overwhelming.

  As the nite-wolves covered the last few erfin-lengths between them, Mirrortac let out a cry not heard in Eol for thousands of cycles-of-the-seasons. His scream of fury reverberated through the Fotwood oaks and made the wolves check in their headlong dash. He burst out from the ranks of his fellows and drew first-blood as his sword drove deep into the chest of the nearest beast. The animal gave a yelp, sprawling in a heap. The battle was then on in earnest, the he-erfins gathering courage as they speared one animal after another. Mirrortac hacked his way into the mass of attacking wolves, screaming like a lunatic as he surrendered himself to the warrior rage that now possessed him. The bodies of nite-wolves soon littered the ground, their shaggy hair matted with blood. But more wolves came to the fray, tiring the erfins until some began to slow, allowing the nite-wolves to gain the advantage. An erfin fell as a wolf jumped his guard and pinned him down. Two other wolves quickly joined in the kill, tearing at the throat of the erfin whose scream was cut short, becoming a guttural gurgle. He was already dead before anyone could come to his aid. Two more erfins died soon after, raising concern in the ranks on how much longer they could last out the seemingly endless hoards of wolves. Mirrortac was a lather of sweat despite the snow but he kept up the rage, his sword a bloodied blur amidst the heaped up bodies of nite-wolves. The fighters were now backed up close to the lake shore where the slimy black forms of lorcs were gathering for a feast of erfins. Mirrortac gathered his breath and ordered them to retreat towards the nearest huts where they could call a halt and rest until they had the energy to fight some more.

  They began their retreat but the wolves blocked off the way to the huts. Energy reserves were running very low and few could survive the onslaught for much longer. Another erfin was taken, and then another while they desperately fought to reach the huts, their arms hardly able to hold up the spears any longer. Even Mirrortac was slowing now, the madness in him simmering. There was a sudden yelp from behind and the wolves turned in confusion. Mirrortac looked up and spied the elder erfins who had left the huts and taken up the spears. They were fresh and had surprised the wolves on the downwind side. Fillytac was among them, busy with his spear on the wolves that had strayed outside the general fray. This gave the wearied fighters a chance to gain their breath and regain the advantage over the wolves, which now showed signs of dismay. The beasts abruptly ended their attacks and retreated towards the deep wood. A loud cheer went up from the erfin fighters who stood now with their grey fur a wet and tangled mass of blood.

  Mirrortac sheaved his sword for the first time since the battle started. There was nowhere on the ground to stand without encountering the bodies of nite-wolves which were heaped in mounds up to the knees. They were all of them standing on the bodies, leaning weakly on their spears, eyes swimming to maintain concentration. The elder erfins moved in and assisted their young brothers through the piles of bodies onto the open ground where the snow lay in thin sheets. The torn bodies of the dead erfins were found and quickly buried in shallow graves nearby until proper burial could be arranged. The elders threw all the dead nite-wolves into the lake where the lorcs fed on them.

  The village hearth fires burned all that night while the snowstorm gathered strength, dumping deep drifts of snow onto all of Eol until the doorways of the huts were half submerged in snow. Mirrortac slept fitfully, his body jerking with spasms as he relived the battle over and over in his dreams. Yenic lay beside him, caressing him with her hand to soothe his savage dreams.

  Morning came with deadly silence. The snow had covered all the paths and the nif-grass flats. It was no longer snowing and the air was a white mist, which allowed just a few paces of visibility. A messenger came knocking at Mirrortac’s door – a young he-erfin who had fought in the battle the day before. Mirrortac sat at the table and called for him to come in. He invited him to a breakfast of flatbrea
d and foté, which he eagerly accepted. Yenic brewed a hot herb drink for them as the young erfin explained his business. ‘I bring good news,’ he grinned, hardly able to contain his excitement. ‘My friends and I were at the border of the Wood-of-the-Nite-Wolf earlier when we noticed there were dead wolves under the snow. We decided to take the chance to explore deeper into the wood and found many wolf bodies. They were all frozen from the snowstorm last night. We think they are all dead.’

  Mirrortac’s face lightened for the first time that day. ‘This is indeed good news! We have won against the darkness!’ he said, but a part of his mind nagged him. This had been too easy though an erfin may not have thought this in the pitch of battle the day before. He ignored the doubt and decided to call the villagers together for a celebration that evening. The priests conducted a burial for the unfortunate erfins who died in the battle against the nite-wolves, and the entire village paid homage. Fillytac was beside himself with tears. It turned out that one of the dead erfins was his nephew, Pintac, and it was the sight of him dying that stirred the elder erfin’s blood into action; mobilising the others with him and saving the day. Erfins were normally wrapped in nif-grass before burial but there was no nif-grass to be spared, so they were wrapped in the papery bark of the swampbrush tree, which grew at the edge of the lake, and buried with their spears in a special site adjacent the temple. Their names would go down in erfin-lore as heroes and the story of the battle told around the hearth for many generations to come.

  As promised, Mirrortac’s post-battle celebration was prepared at the Hall-of-Eol for that evening, and all the erfin-folk were invited. Doorways and paths were cleared of snow before the time, and all day a thick mist pervaded all of Eol. It was strangely quiet without the distant howls of the wolves. Not even a bird lent a twitter to break the eerie silence. Erfins kept their hearth fires stoked all day against the cold, and walked about rubbing feeling back into vulnerable toes and fingers. Erfins began streaming into the hall as evening fell, the torches outside just haloes of gold in the darkness and fog.

  The high priest Rruppu made a rare appearance, greeting each erfin as they entered. Trestle tables had been erected and flatbread was served along with a steaming brew of clover tea. Mirrortac was with Yenic and his children who soon were off with the other children to play games in the anteroom. Rruppu wore his ceremonial robe of office - a golden silk with exquisite purple trims. He was a handsome erfin of sacred lineage; most of his time spent in worship at the most holy altar of the temple where even the priests were forbidden to enter. Beside him sat Witherelle who looked a little troubled and introspective despite the gaiety around him. Fillytac was in discourse with his younger brother, Nantil, who was Pintac’s father. Both spoke soberly of current events that had visibly shaken their normally peaceful lives.

  Rising from his place, Witherelle caught Mirrortac’s attention and motioned for him to follow him. The erfin excused himself as Yenic smiled up at him before rejoining in her happy talk with she-friend, Turnak. He rounded the table, jostling through the crowd of erfins before reaching the priest who led him into a small room where they could talk in private. Witherelle shut a petition behind them and leaning his head near his, almost whispered. ‘Do not think the danger has passed,’ he said, and then he looked hard at Mirrortac. ‘But you should already know this. Is there nought something that you should confide to me?’

  Mirrortac half smiled but only managed to look awkward. ‘Oh, what can I tell you ... that a demon appeared to me with lies on his lips?’

  ‘Then it IS true; the Ni-Do in my dreams has appeared to you,’ Witherelle said, nodding. ‘You must listen to him. He brought you the sword with the inscription of the Werd. What did he tell you?’

  Mirrortac reiterated what Ni-Do had said about the wizard and his mission to go north to the land of mists and waters and into the sorcerers’ world of Hopocus where he must take the sword and place it in the Well of Lost Memories, thus ending the age of darkness that threatens to destroy all goodness in all the worlds. Witherelle muttered a prayer in maja when he heard this then reached out and held the erfin’s arm kindly. His eyes were close to tears.

  ‘I know nought of what this all means except that Mateote has given his sacred blessing to this stranger. The words on the sword are his testimony to truth. We must heed to this warning. When the second darkness comes to us out of the sky, you must lead us away from here.’ Witherelle was gripping both the erfin’s arms now and pleading. Mirrortac was dumbfounded.

  ‘I am tasked to do mason work, holy one. What is this second darkness of which you speak?’

  Witherelle released his grip and massaged his forehead, sighing. ‘I am not sure; in my dream I could hear the cackling of demons in the sky. There were many and spears were of no use against them. I fear they will be upon us before the shadow of another night befalls us.’

  Mirrortac showed his obeisance but was at a loss to express any confidence in the face of such weirdness. ‘I will take up the sword as you will, and lead with Mateote’s guidance to I know nought where ...’ he said, and kneeling before the priest, he bowed his head. ‘Then weave the protection of our god upon me so that my steps will nought falter.’

  Witherelle cupped his hands over the erfin’s head and whispered a prayer. A torch on the wall flickered, sending fluttering shadows across the floors and walls, and a table standing in the corner. When he finished, he pulled the erfin to his feet and patted his face affectionately. ‘Go join your friends now and celebrate this night for you will need the joy to steel you against the many dark days ahead.’

  Mirrortac’s smile was shallow as he turned and parted through the partition, leaving Witherelle in the room alone with his haunting thoughts.

  Chapter 2 – The Womb of Mateote

  The fog had lifted enough during the day to reveal the firtrees in the wood but Mateote was totally shrouded from view. It was bitterly cold as Mirrortac rubbed his hands vigorously before the hearth fire. Yenic sat beside him toasting flatbread at the end of a poker. She repeated a silly rhyme as she turned the bread in the flame - something she had learnt as a girl and had no doubt been passed on through many generations.

  ‘Flatbread toasting in the flame

  one turn will make you brown and plain

  two turns will make you all the same

  watch out now for soon you will be

  as black as the lorc, as black as can be!’

  Mirrortac’s heart warmed at the words. He regarded his wife with a smile and she giggled at her own girlishness. He placed his arm around her waist, leaned over and nuzzled her in typical erfin fashion. Outside the open door, they could hear the laughter of their two girls playing in the snow and for the moment, thoughts of what had happened just a day before were forgotten. Mirrortac had not told Yenic of the mission given him by Ni-Do. He preferred to spare her the anxiety until at least he would have to tell her. But Yenic was not oblivious of something going on. Like any she-erfin, she was sensitive to her he-erfin’s moods and sensed that he was hiding something from her. She had even guessed that the sword had come to him for some purpose yet not complete. She had seen how enraged he had become when battling the nite-wolves and this had disturbed her greatly. Now the sword was back on the wall, as gleaming as though it had not yet spilt a drop of blood.

  A sharp chorus of screams brought Yenic to her feet in an instant. Fentil and Wynper burst inside screaming and crying. They fled behind Yenic and looked back at the doorway in fear. ‘What is it?’ Yenic said, exchanging an anxious glance with Mirrortac. The younger, Wynper pointed out the door, and half sobbing said, ‘Ba.. bad birds! Bad birds!’ she blubbered, sniffling with tears running down her face unchecked. She could hardly say the next words, ‘They ... took ... Mashic in ... to the sky!’

  Yenic’s expression showed sudden alarm and confusion. Mirrortac at once slammed the door shut and bolted it. ‘Stay away from the windows!’ he commanded. He went to the wall and lifted the sword off its pegs then
approached the front window cautiously. By now they could hear an awful sound in the air outside. Mirrortac recognised the screeching call of the gakar - a predatory bird known only to frequent the skies above mountain ridges. Stealing a look through the window he could see the low cloud was filled with masses of moving dark shapes and occasionally one would dive down into the clear air, revealing its expansive wingspan and ever-watchful head. A shriek nearby took his attention to the roof of a hut across the way where he was repulsed by the sight of a gakar tearing at an erfin child’s body. Another gakar dove down and alighted alongside, shoving and squabbling with the first gakar over the choicest portions of the corpse. Their bright red wings were like blood in the greyness of the day, and their small black heads were ugly with sharp curved beaks dripping with blood. They were easily as large as an erfin with wingspans of more than two erfin-lengths. Any erfin out in the open would be easy prey and it would be futile to try to defend with spears, as the birds would simply stay out of reach until they found an opening. Mirrortac now understood that this was the second darkness and the need for all erfins to leave Eol. But how and where?

  Mirrortac glanced back at his family then at the fire in the hearth. He grabbed a well-lit log from the fire, and holding the unburned end went back to the door and unbolted it. Yenic let out a gasp. ‘Take care,’ she said, her grip on the children tightening as she bit her lip anxiously. Mirrortac gave her a solemn smile then opened the door. He strapped on the sword belt and slid the sword into its sheath at his waist. Then holding the burning log up in his left hand, he stepped onto the snow-covered ground outside. Immediately, a gakar spied him and plunged down at him from the clouds. Several others followed but as the first closed in on him, it pulled up short of the burning log that Mirrortac was now waving furiously above his head. A second and third bird swept in perilously near but each time they avoided the flaming log. The bewildered birds circled above him, waiting for him to expose an opening for them to take him. Yenic cried out to him to return inside which he finally heeded once he was satisfied that fire constituted some protection; perhaps enough to aid an exodus of erfins.