“Yes.”
Ran shifted into a more comfortable position, unhappy about the delay.
“It won’t be long now.”
Sarn steeled himself and confronted the tunnels, letting the magic stray from his side. Which way do I go?
First, his liberated magic swept backward scanning for trouble in case backtracking became necessary. Sarn relaxed when no people icons appeared nor any of Rat Woman’s minions. Maybe she’d quit spying on him for good.
“Ag-or-a-pho-bi-a,” Ran whispered. "You don't like small places. Do you have a phobia?"
The question reminded Sarn he needed to do something about Dirk before word of his son reached Jerlo, or worse, the Lord of the Mountain. If any of those worthies found out, they’d take his son away from him. Sarn tightened his grip on the boy. He could not let that happen.
“I’m just cautious. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want people to know.”
“Why?”
Sarn fell silent; Ran was in one of his inquisitive moods. Anything he said would trigger another ‘why’ instead of moving the conversation forward. Better to save this topic for when his son was more disposed toward listening.
The magic blew past Sarn in a cascade of green fire and divided as it dove into each of the three tunnels. Threads of emerald lightning attenuated and the effort of keeping them on three different courses made Sarn lightheaded. He slumped against the nearest wall as the white magic still locked within rattled its cage. It wanted out, and it wasn’t taking no for an answer.
What did the white power do? It didn’t make or maintain his head map nor did it scan for threats. All the magic he routinely wielded was as green as his eyes. What did the white one do? How did he end up with two magics?
“I don’t want two,” Sarn said, or maybe he thought it; everything was blurring together as he fought to restrain the blinding white star lodged in his soul.
“Papa? What’s the magic doing?” Ran’s voice was a blade of worry stabbing Sarn in the heart.
“Which one?” Sarn slid down the wall into a puddle of elbows and knees.
Ran ended up sitting on the mountains his legs made as the three strands of emerald fire converged in a chamber. Magic investigated it, sending back a three-dimensional image of a curious object at its center.
Sarn studied a wire-frame of a vertical shaft with handles and a rotating center. And there was something written on it. He strained to make it out, but his body was so heavy. It anchored him to a cage of blood, breath, and bone requiring rest and sustenance, but he had no time for that.
Something terrible lingered just beyond his magic-enhanced sight, and its urgency pounded in his veins. White magic surged, blinding Sarn as he ripped at the constricting bonds of human weakness and tore free of them. White fire lifted him, and he flew, leaving a husk crumpled on the ground.
A groan startled Ran. He raised his head from his shoulder pillow. White fire devoured the pupil and sclera of Papa’s eyes.
“Papa? What’s wrong with your—”
A loud grinding sound drowned out the rest of his question. Dust rained down making Ran cough as he wriggled. Behind him, a section of tunnel rotated on its axis, sliding two new tunnels into place then they too were whisked away. The contraption paused when only one tunnel remained. Ran stared at a wall of green flames rushing at them. Before he could say anything, it collided with Papa in a blinding flash.
“This is not a nice ad-ven-ture.” Ran blinked to clear his sight of the purple afterimages. Exploring was not fun. Ran fingered one of the white filaments descending from a shimmering cloud floating over Papa’s head. “What are these for? What’s going on?” No answer. Ran sighed. “I should’ve brought Bear. He’d tell me what’s going on.”
The strings attached to Papa’s limbs and yanked him to his feet, and he wobbled until the magic stabilized him.
“Put me down. I want to walk.” And walking seemed a lot safer than being carried by a mindless body.
Instead of acquiescing to his request, two types of magic clashed—one green and one white—as Papa lurched forward. Both types of magic spun bubbles, but they collided, sending showers of sparks flying. All their jostling created friction making Ran’s hair stand on end, and it left him only half protected.
“Stop that. You can both protect me. You just have to share.” Ran glared until the bubbles quit fighting and meshed into a glowing ball striated in green and silver light. “That’s better.”
A rock formation full of enticing colors and textures sailed by as the magic grew more adept at piloting Papa’s body. Squirming got Ran nowhere. Papa and his magic were doing their overprotective thing again.
“Put me down. I want to walk.”
No answer. Ran fumed as a purple crystal sticking out of the wall as thick as Papa’s arm went by out of reach. He kicked Papa in the belly hard enough to make his point. No reaction, not even a flicker of acknowledgment from the magic.
Ran laid his hand on Papa’s heart. One good tug on the shining cord connecting them and Papa would come back to himself. Ran’s tummy growled. Breakfast was a long time ago. He curled his fingers around the link.
Light gathered into an approximation of an eye whose gaze trained itself on Ran. No malice emanated from it, but it was trying to figure him out. Good, let it try.
“I’ll bring Papa back. I can do it.” Ran tugged the link just enough to make his point and Papa’s body jerked to a stop.
A dip of Papa’s chin acknowledged Ran's threat. The magic heard and understood, but a slight shake of the head advised against his plan.
“Why?”
A look Ran couldn’t read met his question. “Hurt,” the magic said in a voice full of gravel.
“Don’t you hurt my Papa.”
A slight shake of the head reassured Ran. If not the magic, who was hurting Papa?
Those fiery eyes, a clash of color and magic now, tried to signal something. Ran stared uncomprehending.
“You,” the magic said.
“Me?” Ran stabbed his chest with his thumb. “How can I hurt Papa? Papa is huge, strong and magical. I’m small, cute and a good boy.”
“Don’t,” continued the magic. But it stopped after its one-word injunction.
Ran waited for an explanation, but the magic spoke no more. What was he supposed to do? Wait for Papa to come back on his own? Papa would; he always did but he might take a while, and Ran’s tummy growled a warning. It wanted food now.
“Don’t call Papa?” Ran suggested.
A slight head shake for no. “Ad-ven-ture,” the magic slurred the word when it had trouble working Papa’s vocal chords.
“A nice ad-ven-ture?” Ran gave the magic his sternest gaze, “one with food?”
The magic gave only the faintest of nods.
“It better be very nice.”
The magic managed a full nod this time, before allowing Papa’s face to blank. He moved now in a mechanical way as the magic gave up all pretexts. Why fake human when no one was around to see it but one small boy?
Chapter 22
Circular designs festooned the cylindrical apparatus—the same ones those enchanted roots had sketched. What did this device do and why did it bear those symbols?
Sarn circled the device as his magic investigated its parts. Rows of clay wheels clicked as they turned on their spindles. Each wheel bore circular markings reminding him of a prayer wheel. But if it was, then the individual prayers were encoded into a language of circles. Why hide such an artifact in an out of the way tunnel in the Lower Quarters?
Sarn rolled a wheel at eye level remembering the mantra at the core of his heroes’ code. “Generosity, virtue, patience, diligence, determination, wisdom—” all the things he strived to instill in his son and himself.
Dust shook free as the mechanism made one revolution winding something—a winch perhaps. Gears ground and stone groaned as the device rotated clockwise three ti
mes, revolving the entire chamber. It slid a tunnel into view replacing the blank wall across from Sarn, and the profusion of arrows on his map merged into one pointing forward. And on every third step, someone had etched symbols like the ones on the device.
The mystery tugged Sarn onwards. Maybe this was the answer to everything, and maybe it was a new twist or a different mystery altogether. It didn’t matter. He raced up the broad steps and didn’t stop until the tunnel belled and branches interrupted his path.
“What the hell is this?”
A lumir mosaic depicting a sky shined down on an orchard. All manner of leafy vegetables carpeted the gallery in a swath of edible green, inside a mountain.
“So this is where all the food we eat comes from. Impressive.” He whistled at its sheer size. When Ran didn’t ask how this could all fit inside Mount Eredren, Sarn stopped in his tracks. Where was his son? He was just carrying the boy, wasn’t he?
Feeling as if he could blow away in a stiff breeze, Sarn looked down and through his boots. Was he turning into a ghost? Sensing his son coming toward him, Sarn turned and stared at a hooded wraith lumbering into the cavern. Ran's green eyes bored into him. But the thing holding his son drew his attention, and its burning white eyes dragged Sarn down a shimmering tunnel.
Sarn opened his eyes and found himself standing in the middle of the farm holding an upset Ran. Wiggling his toes, he felt solid again, anchored back in flesh and blood. “What just happened?”
Had he been in two places at once? Such a thing was impossible. But the figure he'd seen had worn his boots, and he owned no spare pair. Had he just looked at himself? Was an extra tall wraith with burning eyes what people saw when they looked at him? No wonder they stared.
"Mirabilia," Sarn said as he stood there trembling from the revelation.
Ran poked him. “Are you back now?”
Sarn nodded.
“Good, put me down. I want to walk.”
Sarn complied since plants surrounded them not people and they’d never tell anyone about his secret son. The instant Ran’s feet touched the ground, the boy shot into the greenery, trailing questions.
“What’s this? Ooo strawberries! I want one. Papa, I’m hungry.”
“Don’t touch anything. Something isn’t right about this place.”
Under constant lumir light in a windless environment, shadows shouldn’t move. But one had darted after his son. “Ran, come back here!” Sarn hurtled over a leafy mound and grabbed for his son but missed. So did the shadow because a thorny cane batted it aside. Thank Fate the foliage was on his side.
Ran stuffed a ripe strawberry into his mouth before he ducked into a raspberry thicket. Sarn cursed and circled the thirty-foot tangle, following the bobbing light his son cast on his head map. When his berry juice stained son exited, he seized the boy.
Sarn opened his mouth to scold Ran, but no words emerged as he sensed magic. It throbbed in the heart of this subterranean farm, calling to him. Sarn staggered toward it, stepping on the radish and carrot plants in his path.
“Papa?” Ran called as he padded after his father.
Sarn heard his son’s voice, but it was a whisper on the wind, and the magic’s call drowned it out with promises. Columns as wide as a house supported the ceiling. They too bore those damned circle glyphs, but he ignored them as he headed toward a radiant crystalline structure.
Shadows fled from his path and rippled across the plants infecting them with their dark purpose. The same thing had happened in the forest the other day, but that wasn’t important now. Only the magic beckoning to him was. He must go to it.
Vines shot out and wrapped around Sarn’s ankles, but he broke their grip and stumbled on. Ran followed in his wake, gripping the edge of his cloak, calling him back. But the light was so attractive, and his son’s voice was fading away. Sarn touched the crystal’s cold face, and it ignited, blinding him.
“The magic in me greets the magic in you,” said a disembodied voice, “Eam’maya rayar.”
Light erupted, and Sarn tumbled into its purifying heart. Shapes formed, twisted, broke apart and remade themselves in the white fire surrounding him. Magic crashed through Sarn, lighting him up from the inside. Thin bands of colored symbols comprised his innards, but they faded before he could study them. What did they mean?
A blue-green sphere revolved out of the light, and he plummeted through noctilucent clouds toward the enchanted forest. As the ground rushed up to meet him, it revealed a riot of symbols in complicated chains. They made up everything including Mount Eredren’s bent cone, and its snow cap sparkling in the sunlight.
Sarn blinked at a crystal fifty-feet tall and a quarter as wide. His hand still pressed against its cold, unyielding face inside which power churned, vomiting shapes out of its blinding depths.
First, a ring and beside it stood a solid circle. Next two halves, one concave, and the other convex added themselves to the other two. The fourth symbol, a circle with eight curves radiating off it, landed beside the other three. Sarn stared at a line of familiar symbols and tumbled back to a time when he was younger than his son.
Sunlight spilled through a slit window making the polished table shine. Nearby, a rag and pot lay discarded on a ladder backed chair. Humming as she swayed, a woman held him in the crook of one arm. Her washed out green eyes stared off as she traced four symbols into the wax. Sarn recognized the same four from before—a ring, a solid circle, two crescents facing away from each other and a circle with eight rays.
S A R N
Over and over she traced those four symbols. After each repetition, she said his name: Sarn. The memory twisted and turned itself inside out as the years piled in, and another memory wriggled free. It tackled Sarn, dragging him to a balcony. As the rising dawn bathed him in gold light, he’d traced three symbols in the dust covering a coping: two crescents facing away from each other, a solid circle, and a ring with eight rays. He’d drawn them while repeating the name his son had chosen, Ran.
R A N
The memory rolled itself up as pain drilled his skull. Something tickled his face, and Sarn tasted blood. He wiped his sleeve under his nose, and it came away bloody. But his gaze caught on chains of luminous symbols covering his hand.
A woman appeared in the light. She was a dark sketch against the white, but her features were drawn along the same lines as his son’s and his own. She pushed him, and he stumbled, breaking the connection.
For one glorious moment, everything from the plants to the trees to the crystal ribs holding the ceiling aloft became symbols in a chain, forming a great pattern—no—a great chain of being. There was a design to the natural world and both he, and his magic, fit into it. His knees buckled, and Sarn fell poleaxed by the realization.
Ran stood over him, his face anxious and those three symbols flashed on the boy’s brow—the two crescents facing away from each other, a solid circle and a ring with eight rays.
If magic was light and color, what was its opposite? The question dissolved into unconsciousness as his mind dropped the key to the mystery.
Something was wrong with Papa. He was breaking all the rules of adventuring. “Papa stop! Touching strange objects is bad.”
Ran wrapped his arms around one of Papa’s legs and tugged, but nothing happened. Light exploded from the crystal, blinding him and shaking the ground.
“Papa stop! Touching glowing things is bad!” Why had Papa touched the bright rock? Ran pulled harder on Papa’s leg, but still, couldn’t budge it.
A man arrived in flowing robes and locked his arms around Papa's waist. One good tug pried Papa away from the crystal spire, and he folded into a pile of cloth and limbs on the grass.
“Papa? Are you ok?” Ran patted but received no answer. Was Papa sleeping?
Magic hugged Ran—the emerald one he often played with. Holding him tight, it relieved some of his fears. No one could hurt him while Papa's magic cupped him in its protective warmth and light. Through its fuzzy edge, he saw a w
oman wearing a softer version of Papa’s face. She offered him a tense smile before vanishing.
Ran blinked. Who was the woman? Papa had one annoying brother but no sisters.
“Shit,” said the robed man shaking his head.
“You said a bad word.”
“Sorry kid, I didn’t know you were there.”
Milky eyes turned in Ran’s direction as the man patted the air around Ran, but the magic shoved his hands away. It was doing its protective thing again and Ran appreciated it.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?”
The man stopped examining his hands. No doubt they tingled from the magic’s rejection. “Hmm? Oh, I’m blind lad. Means I can’t see.”
“How’d you know we're here?”
“I felt it. The ground quaked, and I heard something. Do you know what happened?”
Ran wanted to say no, but the truth bubbled up and wanted out. What would happen if the stranger found out Papa touched something bad? All hope of a nice adventure would disappear.
Ran wrapped his arms around his complaining belly. “I’m hungry.”
“Well, we’ve got plenty of food. Let me pick up your—Papa, is it?”
“Yes.”
The blind man felt around to confirm the location of Papa’s head then with a grunt. He slung Papa over his shoulder. “He’s a big one, isn’t he?”
“Yes, Papa’s very tall.” And Ran would be too. When he was big like Papa, he would avoid random crystals. Maybe Papa had learned his lesson. If not, he would make sure the lesson stuck.
Smiling, Ran followed the man carrying rag doll Papa toward the promise of food. The other magic had been right about one thing. This adventure did include food, though it had yet to qualify as nice. Maybe the ‘nice’ part would come later when Papa woke up. Catching Papa’s dangling hand, Ran held on to it as he walked in the stranger’s wake.
Chapter 23
Curse Breaker: Books 1-4 Page 31
