The Immortal Mystic (Book 5)

by Sam Ferguson

  He slowly broke the surface of the water and exhaled. He took a few measured breaths before sucking in a long breath of air that he hoped would sustain him long enough to get one of the fish. He went down. Rather than swimming, he walked along the bottom with his knees bent, ready to propel him either forward after a fish, or upward for air when the time came. The spear was held level, pointed toward the deep end of the eddy as he waited for one of the fish to swim before it.

  After about a minute, he was forced to come up for air.

  “Catch a fish?” Tatev asked.

  Erik shook his head and took another breath. He dropped back down to the bottom.

  Spalooosh!

  Erik launched back as Tatev crashed through the water before him. The librarian knocked into the spear and a thin line of red blood floated out from Tatev. Horrified, Erik let go of the spear and moved forward to help Tatev resurface. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and dragged him up and back toward the bank. He was in such a rush to help Tatev that Erik failed to notice that the Eyes of Dowr were no longer on Tatev’s face.

  “Did you fall?” Erik asked. “I am so sorry, you hit the spear before I could move!”

  Tatev groaned. He rolled over and it was then that Erik saw the truth of it. A thick arrow protruded out from Tatev’s chest. Erik looked up frantically. They were surrounded by men on horseback. Erik dropped Tatev and rushed for his sword instinctively. A horseman galloped in and levelled a spear at Erik’s throat. The boy stopped and held up his hands.

  They weren’t Blacktongues, Erik knew that much. These men wore leather and fur, and unlike the Blacktongues they had no markings upon their faces or arms. Except for their much darker skin tone, they looked much like anyone else he had ever met.

  One of the horsemen shouted something, and the one with the spear backed away from Erik. It was then that Erik saw their leader, or at least that was his assumption. A wide-shouldered man with a wrinkly face dismounted from a chestnut colored horse. He wore a long, rectangular necklace of bones that covered the whole of his chest. His ear lobes were grotesquely stretched by discs of wood, and feathers had been woven into his hair.

  “Slock’tah fiun, ber mien!” the man shouted as he extended a finger toward Erik. Erik glanced around, unsure what was about to happen.

  “T-t-tarthuns,” Tatev stammered.

  Erik looked down to his companion. A spear point jabbed into his shoulder and forced him to turn back around. The spear wielder was down on the ground now. He pointed to the ground emphatically. When Erik didn’t move to respond, the spear wielder whacked him across the side of his knee and forced him down into a kneeling position.

  Erik didn’t give them the satisfaction of crying out, though it hurt something furious. The man with the bone necklace came forward and said something that Erik couldn’t understand. Then he pointed to the bags. Three others jumped down from their horses and rummaged through the bags that Erik and Tatev had been carrying.

  Erik knew fighting would be futile, but still, if they found Jaleal they could easily kill him. Not to mention, there was no telling what their intentions were anyway. Tarthuns were not known for hospitality.

  The boy gathered his strength and took in a deep breath. He twisted out and snaked his wrist around the shaft of the spear along his leg. He jumped up with all of his might, slamming his head into the spearwielder’s jaw, snapping the head back and knocking the man off balance. Erik ripped the spear free and jabbed the point into the man’s neck, then he spun around to strike at the man with the bone necklace.

  A massive fist collided with his face and knocked him flat on his back. Erik felt the air rush out from his body as a heavy foot came down on his solar plexus. The spear left his hands and then something struck the side of his head. As he struggled for breath, the light around him dimmed and his ears rang with a constant buzzing sound.

  Darkness overtook him.

  *****

  Erik opened his eyes. Light came back slowly, and what he could see was blurry, as if covered by frosted glass. He could hear sounds off in the distance. No, they weren’t far away. They were shouts. There were voices speaking a foreign tongue, and there was one that spoke words Erik thought he recognized. He shook his head and blinked the fog away. He tipped forward, but something held him back.

  Cold, strong bands bit into his wrists. He looked up and saw that iron shackles had him cuffed to thick beams of wood inside a great cage made of a kind of wood Erik had not seen before. He looked down and saw that he was shirtless, wearing only his trousers, and covered in a mess of dirt and dried blood.

  “Where are we?” Erik asked aloud.

  “They took us to their camp,” Tatev said.

  Erik brought his head up quickly, looking for Tatev. “You’re alive!” Erik shouted happily.

  Tatev offered an insincere grin and rubbed his bandaged shoulder. “I suppose a wound like this isn’t worth complaining about to one who fights dragons,” he commented.

  Erik shook his head, but couldn’t find any words to reassure Tatev. He looked up and saw a pair of Tarthuns carrying a stack of books. “What are they doing?” Erik asked.

  Tatev waved his hand. “They have been rifling through our things, taking what they like and burning the rest.”

  “Jaleal?” Erik asked.

  “Shh!” Tatev whispered harshly. The red haired librarian shook his head. “He is fine. I think they thought he was some kind of vegetable. They put him in a crate with wild yams.”

  “They’re going to eat him?” Erik stammered.

  Tatev glanced to the Tarthuns as they passed by his end of the cage. His mouth dropped open and a fit of rage overtook the scrawny man. Tatev stood up in the wooden cage and gripped two of the poles. “Not the books you heathen savages!”

  A staff came down from above and jammed into the nape of Tatev’s neck. The red haired librarian cried out in agony and fell to his knees. Erik tried to wrest free from his restraints, but there was nothing he could do. He glanced upward to see a strong man crouched upon the cage, holding a staff in his hands and glowering at them both.

  The Tarthuns continued on with the books until they neared a fire pit. They then unceremoniously dumped the books onto the dirt. One of the warriors picked one book up and showed it to the others circled around the fire. They chanted and cheered when he ripped the book apart. He casually tossed the pages into the flames and let the fire consume it.

  Tatev broke down into tears as the savage continued to burn each of the books. When he had only one book left, he made a show of dancing up to Tatev’s side of the cage and holding it just out of Tatev’s reach. Tatev pleaded with the man, stretching his arms out between the poles and just barely able to graze the book with his fingers. The Tarthun only laughed and jeered as the others beyond roared with delight. Erik couldn’t watch. He closed his eyes and looked away. The crowd raised their voices and then a wave of cheers erupted. Erik knew that the last book had been thrown upon the file.

  “The Infinium,” Tatev sobbed. “You don’t know what you have done.”

  The Infinium? Erik opened his eyes, not knowing how to recover the knowledge lost in such a precious tome. Erik had no time to react. A great explosion burst from within the fire. Flames leapt out and grabbed several bystanders, pulling them into the fire. A burning log flew out and smashed into the head of the savage who had thrown the books into the fire. Then, Erik saw the most peculiar thing. A green ball of fire wrapped itself around one of the books and the tome levitated on its own out from the fire. It shot out like a falling star, streaking across the sky and landing somewhere in the plains beyond the Tarthun encampment.

  The Tarthuns cowered in fear and wailed at the loss of their tribesmen.

  Tatev stood again and started laughing maniacally. He pointed at the one who had taunted him. The Tarthun warrior rose to his feet. Blood ran down the right side of his head, but he seemed only to be enraged. His eyes filled with hate and his hand went for his axe. He started
to walk toward Tatev. He shouted something at the librarian, but Tatev continued to laugh at him. “You didn’t know what you were doing!”

  A black bolt of lightning streaked down from the sky and burst through the warrior in a flash. A burnt hole remained in place of his chest, and the corpse fell to the ground. The others nearby scattered and ran. The sky filled with heavy rain. The bonfire died and the camp was soon bogged down in a thick mud as the water rose up to ankle level upon the surface of the plain. For the remainder of the night, no Tarthun dared to emerge from their tent.

  Tatev took advantage of the seclusion to work on Erik’s restraints. Unfortunately, picking locks was not one of the things Tatev knew how to do. Erik tried to give him ideas and hints, but nothing worked. When the sun emerged and the rains stopped, the two were still trapped in the wooden cage.

  As the first rays of dawn fell upon the plains, the man with the bone necklace emerged from his tent. He walked to the wooden cage and opened the door. Erik’s stomach fell and twisted. He could see the hate in the man’s eyes. Something very bad was about to happen.

  He came in hard and fast. A single punch dropped Tatev to the ground like a stone. The man glowered at Erik and then spat upon his foot. The Tarthun shouted something and seemingly out of nowhere came three others. Erik did not recognize these men. They wore leather trousers, but their torsos were uncovered. White paint was drawn upon each of their stomachs in a line from their navel up to their chins. The lower half of their entire face was covered in the white paint, while the top half was painted black. Their heads were shaven, and the only bit of color on them were circles of red drawn around their eyes. They reached down and took Tatev from the cage.

  “No, stop!” Erik cried. “What are you doing?” Erik yanked and pulled against his restraints, but nothing worked. His strength left him when he saw six more men, each painted like the other three, carrying a large, polished plank of wood. They moved to the pit where the bonfire had been erected the night before and stretched it over the top.

  “NO!” Erik yelled as the three placed Tatev atop the plank. Two more painted men arrived, carrying a thick pole with animal skulls hanging from it. They placed the pole into the pit, at the center of the plank. Once it was secured upright, the painted men pulled small bags from a pocket in their trousers and formed a circle around the pit.

  The man with the bone necklace shouted a phrase, and then the painted men would throw a dash of some sort of powder onto Tatev. The leader would shout another phrase, and they would throw more. After the third time, the circle danced around Tatev. Each of the painted men gyrated and twisted while chanting and throwing more powder.

  After three revolutions, the circle of painted men stopped and they all turned their backs to Tatev. The man with the bone necklace held his arms out to the sky and shouted. Then he pulled a knife from a sheath concealed under the back of his leather jerkin and turned to face Tatev.

  “No!” Erik shouted. “Let him alone! He didn’t cause the fire, it was the book!”

  The man with the bone necklace did not heed Erik’s words. He raised his arm up and brought it down swiftly. Tatev’s body jerked, but the man did not cry out in pain. The leader backed away, chanting something that Erik couldn’t understand. The painted men each fell to their knees moaning and wailing. Erik’s eyes fixated on Tatev, a man who had never wanted to venture to find the Immortal Mystic in the first place. Now Erik understood why.

  His eyes locked onto the handle of the knife. Even when the man with the bone necklace set fire to the pit, Erik watched the knife. The knife sparkled and gleamed, then blackened under the heat of the fire. Erik dropped his gaze to the ground. He knew he was next.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Aparen walked to the stump and sat down. Njar moved around him, watching him carefully. Aparen didn’t let it get to him. He was beginning to become accustomed to the satyr’s presence. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He held the breath for a count of seven and then exhaled slowly and completely. He repeated this five times, as Njar had instructed him each morning. Then he opened his eyes and looked straight in front of him. He focused his eyes on a single leaf hanging low from a birch tree, and then he let his eyes go out of focus.

  He continued breathing slowly.

  It took a few moments, but he finally saw it. A field of green energy rolled through the area with blue undertones mingling with it. He smiled wide. He raised his arm to point at it, but once he did he lost sight of the energy. His smile fell away.

  “You found it,” Njar noted.

  “Only for a moment. Then I lost it,” Aparen said.

  “Does it matter how long the arrow flew through the air so long as it hits the mark?” Njar asked.

  Aparen sniggered. “If the arrow disappeared like the energy, it would.”

  Njar offered a sincere smile and reached up to stroke the beard hanging from his chin. “What did you feel when you saw it?”

  Aparen frowned. He shrugged and looked back to the leaf, preparing to restart the exercise. “Pride, I suppose.”

  Njar stepped into his field of vision and bent down to lock eyes with the young man. “Focus on what the energy feels like,” Njar instructed. “Now you know what it looks like, but that is only the first method of recognizing it. Your other senses are just as capable of discerning the energy of a space also.”

  “Next you are going to say I can hear the energy,” Aparen said sarcastically.

  Njar narrowed his eyes and emitted a low, stern bleat. “You can hear the energy. You can also smell and taste it, if you are attuned to it.”

  Aparen shook his head. “But what is the point to that? If I can see it, isn’t that enough?”

  Njar reached out and slapped Aparen upside the head. “How did humans ever get to conquer this world?” He turned away and sighed. “Is it enough to see that I slapped you, or is it a fuller experience to feel it?”

  Aparen rubbed his head. “It made me angry,” he said bluntly.

  Njar turned and pointed a finger in his face. “Exactly. It brought you more fully into the moment. So to it is with energies around us. If you can smell, hear, and taste them then you can fully immerse yourself in the energy around you. You can meld with it, and use it to energize yourself.”

  “I can take strength from it?” Aparen asked, suddenly intrigued.

  Njar shook his head. “You can receive energy, but you can not take it.”

  Aparen folded his arms. “I have taken power before,” he said.

  The satyr grunted. “You stole power, but that is not the same as energy. You took a finite amount of strength from a finite, mortal being. The energy I am showing you will allow you to tap into an infinite amount of energy, powering you far beyond what you ever could have imagined.” He then held up a cautionary hand. “But, you must first learn to attune yourself to the energy. Terramyr will not let you take it by force. Such a thing is a perversion.”

  Aparen nodded. He looked back to the leaf as before. He went through the breathing exercise again and then let his focus fall away. As before, he saw the field of green floating above the dirt, flowing through and between the bushes and trees. It was faint at first, but he thought he felt a slight warmth around him. As his skin awakened to the energy field, he found he could move his eyes and not lose sight of the energy. He splayed his fingers and moved his hand into the colors as if scooping his fingers through a mist. The warmth swirled around him and caressed his skin gently.

  “Now listen,” Njar said softly.

  Aparen closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensations in his hands. Just as Njar said, he could hear the energy flowing. It hummed, like the wings of a humming bird, soft and low, yet vibrant and full of life. The young man opened his mouth and took in a deep breath. To his surprise, he sensed the sweet flavor of honey, ever so delicately, in his mouth as the air moved through him. An invigorating rush coursed through him then and all of his senses heightened and his body felt stronger.

&n
bsp; “There it is,” Njar said. “That is the energy Terramyr gives to those who seek her out.”

  Aparen opened his eyes and moved through the grove. He searched for several minutes before he finally found a flower with withered petals. He stretched out his hand and tried to focus this new energy out to the flower. As he did so, the petals strengthened and became full and strong.

  “I healed it,” Aparen remarked.

  Njar stepped up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Now, tell me how that felt.”

  Aparen said nothing. All he could do was smile.

  The satyr pulled out a set of wooden pipes and rubbed them with a soft cloth. “Anyone can destroy, but it takes true power to restore.” He brought the pipes up to his mouth and played a melody so sweet that the flowers and trees in the grove actually swayed and danced to the tune. Ivy grew before their eyes. New flowers sprouted and bloomed. A patch of dirt darkened and bubble up until a small spring rushed out to circle the entire grove. Deer and squirrels approached, fearless of Aparen and Njar as they drank from the small spring.

  “You can do this with pipes?” Aparen asked.

  “I am tapping Terramyr’s energy,” Njar replied. He ceased playing the instrument and gestured out to the large buck nearby drinking from the clear water. “There is a part of you that wants to hunt the deer, am I right?”

  Aparen looked to Njar curiously. He nodded. “I promised not to, but yes, I would slay it if I found him in my wood.”

  Njar smiled. “Such is the way of other races. Outside of Viverandon there is strife and struggle. Instead of grazing upon the fruits of the land, animals eat each other. I will not ask you to abandon this part of you, but I do hope you will begin to seek balance more than power.”

  Aparen looked back to the flower he had healed and then spun around slowly in place to look at the grove. “There is a kind of power from balance,” he said.

  Njar smiled. “Come, let us go and eat. I have some books for you to read.”