The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “Yeah,” Darlan said with a shake of her head. “You’ll start feeling it any second.”

  She was right, too. Half way through strapping on his sword sheaths, he started breathing heavy.

  “You have been lying prone in bed for a month,” Darlan said. “My magic has helped keep your muscles from atrophying, but your body doesn’t know that. You should rest.”

  “I can’t,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for two years. I need to see Locksher.”

  “Fine,” she said. “We’ll take you over there. If this has something to do with grandfather, I want to hear it. Locksher said he was returning to his rooms.”

  Justan re-strung Ma’am with a regular string, sheathed his swords and they headed out the door.

  They left the Magic Testing Center to a setting sun. The sky was ablaze with orange and red. Justan smiled at the hot evening breeze. He had slept right into the middle of summer.

  Ride? Gwyrtha asked hopefully.

  He didn’t dare refuse her at this point. Besides, he really didn’t want to. He was exhausted just from walking this far. Okay, but don’t go fast. It’s not that far away. He climbed onto her saddle and swayed a bit before leaning forward and grasping her mane.

  “Are you okay, Justan?” Jhonate asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m not looking forward to climbing all those stairs to Locksher’s rooms, though.”

  Take my energy, Gwyrtha urged.

  Thank you, Justan said. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought to ask sooner. He reached through the bond to Gwyrtha’s powerful energy source and pulled. He sat up higher in the saddle. His fingers twitched. His vision swam. He had pulled in a little too much energy, but he felt so much better than he had before.

  He breathed in deep and extended his senses. He closed his eyes and listened to the footsteps of those around him. Fist’s were heavy and widely spaced. Jhonate and his mother had similar weights and both walked with firm and purposeful strides, but Justan could tell them apart by the lengths of their steps. Jhonate’s legs were a bit longer.

  A quiet voice echoed through the bond. Justan, you are there!

  Justan focused in and the thoughts grew louder. Deathclaw was surprised he was there.

  Justan smiled. It is good to hear you.

  I had wondered if you would wake. Deathclaw actually sounded happy. Beth told me you would, but I doubted her.

  She seems to be right most of the time, Justan said, remembering her telling Sir Lance that his time was nearly finished.

  Then I must warn you, Deathclaw said. Beth has a bad feeling. She is worried that something horrible is about to happen.

  Tonight? Justan asked.

  She is not sure, but soon.

  To me? Justan asked.

  That is unclear. Deathclaw said. It could be to us. But she said we should warn those at the Mage School just in case. Charz spoke with Alfred this afternoon. He says the guards have been alerted. Her feeling is vague, but very strong.

  “Justan, are you alright?” Darlan said, interrupting his thoughts. “We’re at the Rune Tower.”

  “He’s talking to Deathclaw, Mistress Darlan,” Fist said.

  I have more to tell you, Deathclaw said, sensing his distraction.

  Can it wait another hour or so? I have much to tell you as well, Justan sent.

  Deathclaw hesitated. Perhaps.

  Okay, if Beth feels anything else, let me know.

  I will. Deathclaw said. I . . . am pleased you are awake.

  Me too, Justan said.

  “He says Beth’s worried that something bad is going to happen soon, but she doesn’t know when or to whom,” Justan said. He slid from the saddle and was glad when his legs didn’t buckle. Gwyrtha’s energy had been exactly what he needed. “We should be on our guard.”

  “Your father told me earlier,” Darlan said, her brow was furrowed in concern. “That’s why he wasn’t with us when you awoke.”

  “The guards are on alert,” Jhonate said.

  “Good,” Justan said. But it didn’t really make him feel better. Somehow the fact that everyone knew was of little comfort. He felt a sense of dread in his stomach.

  They crossed the moat, but Justan stopped before they went in. He could feel the heat of Gwyrtha’s breathing against his back. He turned and scratched behind her ears. “Gwyrtha, I’m sorry but you know you can’t go in there with us. I need you to wait out here.”

  Gwyrtha snorted in irritation. I can’t go anywhere here.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll see you soon,” he said “I’ll tell you what. I’ll sleep in the stables with you one night this week, okay?”

  Promise? she said dubiously.

  Yes, he said.

  Okay, she replied. She turned and walked back across the bridge, but made sure he knew she was unhappy about it.

  He sighed and grasped Jhonate’s hand as they went inside. Darlan led the way, Fist right behind her, and when they passed the library and came to the spiraling stairwell that led to Locksher’s rooms, Justan paused and stared at them in anguish. This was going to be a long climb. He was going to need all the energy Gwyrtha had given him.

  Darlan and Fist started up first. Justan placed his foot on the first step, but Jhonate grabbed his arm, stopping him. He gave her a questioning look, but though her eyes were intense, she said nothing. The moment Fist and Darlan climbed out of view, Jhonate grabbed his head and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Oh how he had missed her.

  She turned his head so that she could whisper in his ear. “We need to be alone if I’m going to kiss you the way I need to kiss you.” She kissed behind his ear and the side of his neck. “Never leave me like that again, Justan, you understand?”

  “No necking down there, you two,” Darlan called from somewhere above.

  Jhonate pulled back, her face red. Justan looked back at her, his eyes wide. How had his mother known?

  Jhonate cleared her throat and composed herself. She brushed past him and headed up the stairs. Justan’s knees were weak, but he had no problem keeping up with her.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  When Justan reached the door to Locksher’s rooms, his mother was standing outside it with one eyebrow raised. Jhonate, still blushing, gave her a cool look, but Justan’s sensitive ears immediately picked up what his mother was raising an eyebrow about. A giggle echoed from Locksher’s rooms. An intimate sounding giggle.

  Justan knocked. “Professor Locksher, are you in there?”

  “Is that you, Edge? Come in! Come in!” the wizard replied excitedly.

  Justan opened the door and his nose caught the flowery scent of Vannya just before she ran into him. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug and Justan couldn’t help but return it. She had been doing her best to avoid him for so long it felt very nice.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay!” she said. Her eyes moved from Justan to Jhonate and she took a step back. Vannya cleared her throat. “We’ve all been very worried.”

  Justan glanced back at Jhonate and was pleased to see that she didn’t look angry. “It’s good to be back, Vannya.”

  She smiled and ushered them in. They walked in to a room quite different from the one Justan had seen nearly two years before. Gone were the random stacks of books and jumbles of items. In their place were several rows of bookcases, each one holding neat rows of books. The assortment of hooks adorning the walls had been replaced by shelves. Each one was clearly labeled for the objects that sat on it.

  Even Locksher’s desk had undergone a transformation. Though still covered with papers, the stacks looked tidy, and all his experiments had been moved to two workbenches that had been installed to either side of the desk. One was covered by odd jumbles of bottles filled with various liquids. The other held a wide platter that held some sort of opaque gelatinous mass.

  “So very good to see you awake, Edge!” Locksher grabbed Justan’s shoulder and shook his hand with enthusiasm. His neatly trimmed beard
was split by a wide smile. “I see that the imp in Willum’s axe was able to contact you?”

  “Yes. I very nearly killed him, but we’re both fine,” Justan said.

  “I’m surprised you made it up the stairs after a month of bed rest why . . . Oh yes, of course. Your rogue horse.” He laughed. “You bonding wizards are quite fortunate.”

  Fist, who had never been in Locksher’s apartments before was staring around in awe and bumped into one of the wizard’s bookcases. The bookcase rocked and several rows of books spilled across the floor.

  “Sorry!” the ogre said. He bent down and started to pick them up.

  “Wait,” Locksher said. “Just leave them there.”

  “It’s okay, Fist,” Vannya said. “We’ll put them away later. Professor Locksher likes them in a specific order.”

  “Locksher, we’re here to discuss the creature in Justan’s chest,” Darlan said. She refused to call him Edge. She said it’s a mother’s right to call her son by the name she gave him. It made others uncomfortable, but Justan preferred it that way. Faldon, on the other hand, avoided the situation altogether by just calling him son all the time.

  Locksher’s eyebrow rose. “Yes! Good. I’d been hoping he would learn something while he was in there!” He walked to his desk and pulled out a small notebook and a metal cylinder. “Now, Sir Edge, tell me what you’ve found out during the last month.”

  Justan told his tale, surprised to see that while Locksher took notes, Vannya was doing the same with her own notebook. The two of them exchanged interested glances several times while he spoke. When he brought up the name of his great grandfather, Locksher nodded excitedly.

  “Aha! Wizard Artemus! Yes, I had him on my list.” He flipped back in his notebook and showed Justan a row of hastily scribbled names. “I went back through the archives and looked up all the frost wizards in the Mage School’s past that could have been strong enough to leave a frost elemental behind. Artemus was the most recent one and I highlighted it because his name started with the letter ‘A’. Only two of the wizards on my list started with ‘A’.”

  “Why the letter ‘A’?” Darlan asked.

  “Because of the cover of the Scralag’s book,” Vannya said. She opened one of the drawers in Locksher’s desk and pulled out the weathered book. “The front cover is torn, but look. The title starts with ‘Bo’ on the first line and ‘A’ on the second.”

  “The Book of Artemus!” Locksher and Vannya said in unison.

  “Well, maybe,” Locksher amended. “It’s an idea anyway. I never would have thought Artemus would be your grandfather though. It makes so much sense thinking back on it now that I know your family line. Strength in complementing elements must run in your family. Sherl being a magma wizard. You and Artemus being frost wizards. There would be a tight family connection to you for whatever part of Artemus was left inside the Scralag. The only reason I hadn’t considered the possibility was because Artemus disappeared during the War of the Dark Prophet.”

  “But that was two hundred years ago,” Justan said. He stared at his mother. “You told me great grandfather had disappeared, but . . . How old are you?”

  Darlan’s cheeks colored. “What a rude question. Never ask a woman her age, Justan.”

  “I know wizards can live longer than regular people, but grandfather was a warrior, not a wizard.” Justan did some quick math in his head. “He had to at least be conceived before Artemus disappeared. Even if you weren’t born until he was fifty, you would have to be at least-.”

  “Don’t finish that sentence!” Darlan demanded.

  “That’s quite impressive, Sherl,” Locksher said.

  “You must have a lot of elven fruits in your diet to maintain such stunning good looks,” said Vannya, nodding appreciatively.

  “And to remain fertile enough to have a son twenty years ago,” Locksher added.

  “I have half a mind to slaughter you all,” Darlan growled.

  “How does this work?” Jhonate asked.

  “Good question,” Justan said, folding his arms. “I’ve always heard that wizards used magic to extend their lives, but they never said anything about it in my classes. How does it work?”

  “It’s not something that is discussed openly,” Locksher said, looking a little uncomfortable. “Working with magic does tend to slow aging. That’s why races with blood magic are so long lived. Magic is working inside of them all the time. With humans, our use of magic isn’t constant, so the benefit isn’t as pronounced. Most wizards, if they die of old age, can live to be a hundred, maybe a hundred and ten. For us to live longer, it usually means we are around a lot of elven magic. For instance, the soil in the Mage School gardens is made from elven homeland, so the fruits and vegetables we eat here extend our lives. I am forty five, myself.”

  “And you don’t look a day over thirty,” Vannya said.

  “Thank you,” Locksher said. “Valtrek is in his eighties. The oldest wizard in the school is Master Latva and he’s nearly two hundred. There had been some talk that he was eating a little too much elven food. But now that we know he’s bonded to a gnome, it makes sense.”

  “The Roo-tan have long lives,” Jhonate said. “The elders say it is because we commune with the Jharro trees. My father is seventy years of age, but he is still a warrior in his prime.”

  “How old are you?” Justan asked. “Not that it matters, but-.”

  “Twenty two,” she said, her head cocked. “Am I too old for you, Edge?”

  Justan swallowed. “Not at all.”

  “I’m nineteen!” Fist said proudly.

  “Enough of this age talk,” Darlan said with a scowl. “We are here about the Scralag.”

  “Khalpany olives!” Justan exclaimed. He pointed at Darlan. “A messenger used to bring you a box of Khalpany olives several times a year. You said an old friend sent them, but those were elven olives, weren’t they?”

  “I have some former clients that owe me,” Darlan said.

  “Those are a rare treat,” Locksher said, impressed. “The Pruball Elves. Their olives are highly concentrated magic. On the edge of being illegal. What did you do to make them that grateful?”

  “That is not information you need to know, Locksher,” she glared and said slowly, “Or should I call you by your real name?” the wizard’s eyes widened in alarm.

  Justan’s hand flew to his mouth. “Does father know how old you are?”

  “Of course he knows!” She shouted. “He’s a bit older than he looks too. Now that is enough of this discussion, young man, do you understand me?” Her eyes flared and this time actual flames blazed into existence in front of her eyes. Jhonate gave her an approving nod and Justan was sure Jhonate wished that she had that ability.

  “Yes, let’s get back to the subject at hand, shall we?” Locksher said. He swallowed and flipped through his notebook. “So Wizard Artemus, your great grandfather, whom everyone thought went missing, was somehow killed in the hills near the Battle Academy during the War of the Dark Prophet.” He pursed his lips and picked up the book. “That tells us quite a bit, but we still can’t read this without the key. Perhaps what you said to him will work, Edge. Maybe you can coax more information out of him at a later date.”

  “But we have the key,” Justan said. “Artemus told me so. Do you have the spectacles?”

  “I do,” Locksher said, both his eyebrows raised.

  He turned around and dug through a drawer, mumbling to himself. Finally Vannya tapped his shoulder and pointed to a different drawer. With a relieved smile, Locksher opened it and pulled out a pair of wire frame spectacles. The wire was made of some type of gold alloy and the lenses were square and not very thick. In the center of the right lens was a circular hole.

  Justan took the glasses from him and looked at his mother. “When you told me who Artemus was, I finally understood. What was the one thing of great grandfather’s that you held on to all these years?”

  “His ring, but how . . .” She
looked at the hole in the glasses and her eyes widened in understanding.

  Justan pulled the copper colored ring off his forefinger. He shifted to Mage Sight and looked at the intricate engravings. “To think I’ve been wearing it all this time! How could I not have noticed . . .” His spirits fell. He didn’t see any elemental magic. He switched to spirit sight and there was nothing there either.

  “May I see that?” Locksher said and Justan handed it over feeling numb. He had been so sure. Locksher squinted at the engravings. “Hmm. There is magic here, but it is very faint. Perhaps it’s because these runes are incomplete.”

  Locksher held out his hands and Justan handed the glasses over. The wizard studied them for a moment, then shrugged and placed the ring into the hole in the right lens. It settled into place with a tiny click. A golden glow ignited around the lenses.

  Locksher let out a hoot. “It’s ingenious actually. The missing parts of the runes are actually carved into the glass of the lens! The sequence is incomplete until the ring is set into place!” He laughed, shaking his head, and handed the glasses back to Justan. “Artemus went through a lot of trouble to make sure no one read that book.”

  Justan’s hands shook as he put the glasses on. His vision shimmered and everything went slightly out of focus. But when he brought the book in front of him he could see it clearly. In fact he could see it more than clearly. It was as if every detail stood out to his eyes.

  He opened to the first page.

  I Howell, son of Zack, start this journal because my mother made me. She says that good scholars need to keep journals for posterity. Who wants to be a scholar, though? Just because father is a great wizard doesn’t mean I’m going to be one. Even if I am, I don’t want to spend my time in a musty old library all day. I want to make fireballs or magma streams. I want to fry goblinoids like father . . .

  Justan frowned and flipped through a few pages. The boy complained about his chores, worried that he might never have an awakening, gushed about a cute girl. “This is a child’s journal. It’s written by a boy named Howell, son of Zack. It doesn’t say Artemus anywhere.”