Red Wizard of Atlantis

by Ravek Hunter

  That night, he had another dream. Whereas his previous dreams of Anesidora had been about love and longing to be together, tonight his dreams were dark and frightening. Anesidora appeared to him in distress. She was being stalked by an unknown specter in the dark that threatened to do her harm. Noticeably frightened, she begged Akakios to come to her urgently. With a start, Akakios awoke in his own sweat and was unable to settle his mind enough to sleep again, so he lay with eyes wide in the dying firelight until it smoldered and the sun peeked above the horizon. For the first time, he felt real fear that he would not be able to find his love in time to save her.

  Chapter 8

  Ἀτλαντίς

  Aquilon

  “I wish to go back to the market this evening,” Qel said between bites of hartebeest stew. “There were several taverns nearby, and we never had a chance to celebrate after graduation.”

  “That,” agreed Havacian, “is the best idea you’ve had since we received those two day passes from our masters at the same time a few years ago.”

  Qel knew his friend was speaking sarcastically. “Aw, c’mon Havacian, we had a great time.”

  “We did until we got drunk and you had me freezing the water in the fountains all over the city.”

  Qel laughed so hard at the memory that he almost snorted the broth out through his nose. “Artistic expression! We were so misunderstood.”

  “We caught hell for that,” Havacian shook his head. “The masters never let us out at the same time again.”

  “Well, there are no masters around tonight,” Qel smiled.

  “Very well, but remember what Master Curatei said before we left. We represent our order now, and our actions must always reflect well on the order.”

  Qel rolled his eyes. “We are not children anymore, Havacian. Let’s go find out what grownups do on a night out in the city.”

  An hour later they were back at the central market. Qel was surprised that most of the vendors were still open and the throngs of browsers had only lessened by a little. The taverns were easy to find. Some had rowdy music and raucous patrons, others featured outdoor seating and small orchestras, and still others were quiet with a minstrel playing a flute or lyre and reciting poetry. No matter the persuasion of the tavern, they were all very busy. On Qel’s suggestion, they entered the liveliest of the taverns and sat together at one of the crowded long tables.

  The tavern was a jovial mix of mostly humans, a few Dwarfs, and a small number of young Atlanteans all singing and laughing to the quick music a group of musicians played from a small stage. They ordered wine and laughed when the server brought them mugs of fine Mekali from Qel’s own family vineyard. After a while, the musicians took a break, and the din of conversation rose to such a level that Qel had a hard time hearing Havacian speak.

  It was only a short respite before there was a collective shout from nearly everyone in the large room: “Wanderer!”

  Qel looked around and watched as a middle-aged human man with dark hair that touched his shoulders and a short chestnut beard mounted the steps to the stage. He carried a staff in one hand and waved to the crowd with the other, then took a seat on a stool that had been placed for him in the center of the platform. The room went quiet while the man adjusted his oversized, dull blue robes cinched at the waist by a thick gold chain. He was loosely covered by a grayish brown cloak that had one side flung over his right shoulder.

  “I have heard of this man before,” Qel commented. “He is purported to be a great poet. My brother once said he draws his inspiration from traveling the world and life experience.”

  “By the looks of those robes, he must have a great store of life experience!” Havacian jokingly replied.

  Qel laughed. “I have heard that sometimes he will recite a poem or song in a language unheard of and without translation, making it even more mysterious.”

  Finally settled, the man looked around the room, as if searching for something or someone, then stopped and spoke to the gathered crowd. “Good evening, fine folk of the world. My name is Wodanaz, a wanderer of many lands among many peoples. I hope to entertain you this evening with a few of my favorite sonnets and poems. And when I am done, I pray my work has inspired some of you to seek out your own wisdom and knowledge beyond that which you currently call home!”

  Soon Wodanaz was spinning his poetry with such grace and timbre that not a patron spoke or a mug clanged. Qel could sense subtle magic woven into the beautiful words the Wanderer spoke, and when he finished each oration, the crowd in the tavern applauded, vigorously calling for more. The word must have quickly spread that the famous entertainer was performing in the tavern, and soon it was standing room only, even overflowing into the street outside. When the poetry was sad, the crowd cried with him; when it was fraught with humor, the crowd roared with laughter; when it was triumphant, the crowd cheered; and when about love, the crowd was quiet and reflective. A little over an hour later, the performance ended, to the great disappointment of the entire room, and Wodanaz yielded the stage back to the musicians. With a flourishing bow and flair of his long cloak, he exited through a door in the rear of the tavern. By the time the musicians were set and playing again, Wodanaz emerged from backstage to spend the evening accepting offers from patrons buying him drinks while he told short, funny stories that kept the drinks flowing and the patrons laughing.

  Qel and Havacian angled close to where Wodanaz sat surrounded by his admirers and listened in on his stories of far-off lands. Tales of the Vikju to the north, the pirates of Tartessos across the Primal Sea to the east, and rumors of a fantastic Golden Dragon said to fly the skies over the Isles of Gades in the south were among Qel’s favorites. The tales inspired him to want to visit all of these lands and more.

  Although there were many performances of music and prose on the stage that night, the real show was Wodanaz, and he might as well have been sitting on stage for all the attention he was getting. Qel was fascinated by the man and found himself drinking into the early hours of the morning with no encouragement from Havacian to leave. It wasn’t until Wodanaz finally took his leave that the crowd began to disperse and Qel managed to convince a reluctant Havacian to return to the Tower for sleep.

  Qel awoke the next morning to the worst hangover of his life. He would require the services of a priest if he could find one before his head exploded, and he was sure Havacian must be feeling the same. Cleaning up as quickly as his limbs would allow, he got dressed in casual trousers, tunic, and a cloak, then went to retrieve his friend.

  After Qel knocked for a while, Havacian opened the door to his room. He was dressed, but his hair was mussed, and the look on his face was pure misery.

  “I was going to find a healer. Would you care to come with?” Qel asked.

  “Without question.” Havacian nodded, and the two strode down to the common room together.

  There was a different attendant at the administrator’s desk that morning. He was from the Brown Hall, Earth Wizards, and he identified himself as the assistant. This man was nearly their age and probably graduated only five or six years before them.

  “The healers are at the temple just a few blocks away. Shall I send a runner to fetch one here for you?” he asked politely.

  “Thank you, no,” Qel replied. “We will go there ourselves. The walk and the fresh air will no doubt do us some good.”

  Walking outside and into the perfectly sunny day, Qel regretted their decision almost immediately. The street was crowded, and it was very bright. They pressed on despite their discomfort and found the temple of Pontus in short order. The temple itself was on an island surrounded by a broad moat filled with water. It was symbolic of the temple in Atlantis, Qel supposed. From what he could tell through the glare of the morning sun reflecting off the water, there was a single wide bridge that led over to the main entryway. Had he felt better, Qel would have admired the white marble bridge that was adorned with a series of large sculpted fish that sprayed streams of water arcing
high overhead, one way and then the other, when they passed.

  At the end of the bridge was a wide-open courtyard with a massive fountain embellished with more fish, seahorses, and a giant squid with tentacles rising out of the water. Beyond that was the temple of Pontus. Like the one in Atlantis, the main feature was Pontus himself holding his trident high and forward in the direction of the Primal Sea. This one, however, was much smaller and enclosed on the sides and back by great slabs forming marble walls and a propylon in the front supported by numerous tall marble columns. Surrounding the Sea God’s likeness were smaller statues of notable Atlanteans from history, and not only those dedicated to the priesthood.

  A young, pretty priestess wearing a white robe approached them when they reached the end of the bridge. “How may I guide you, good sirs?”

  Qel could barely keep his eyes open from the glare reflecting off of everything. “We need a priest.”

  “For healing or death?” she asked politely.

  “For healing, of course,” Qel replied irritably. “I’m standing here in front of you, aren’t I? I’m not dead yet.”

  She smiled knowingly. “My apologies, I did not want to guess if you were in mourning.”

  “Oh, right,” he said, a little embarrassed at his behavior. “We need a healer, please.”

  “Follow me.” She gestured, still smiling, and led them across the courtyard and through a side entrance of the temple. Inside, the darkened room was lit only by a dim light globe floating near the ceiling and revealing several chairs and a few cots. Otherwise, the chamber was empty.

  “Please sit or lie down, as you please, and I will inform our day healer that you are here.”

  The priestess disappeared through a door in the back, and a servant came in a few moments later with a tray with mugs of cold water. Qel was relieved to be out of the sun and thankful for the water. He couldn’t get the thirst from his tongue no matter how much he drank, feeling as dehydrated and nauseous as he was.

  They hadn’t been there long when the priestess returned with an older man adorned in sea-blue robes and a gold medallion engraved with wavy lines that represented Pontus. It was the mark that indicated he was a high priest. Qel immediately stood and greeted him respectfully; high priests of Pontus were equivalent to the masters of his order.

  “Sit here, child”—he beckoned to Qel—“and let me have a look at you.”

  Qel sat on the chair indicated, and the high priest put his hands to Qel’s temples. There was a feeling of warmth that began to saturate Qel’s body, and he sensed the use of the power flowing through him. It was not magic as he would generally describe it if he were to observe it from another wizard, but there were some similarities. He learned early on that the priesthood did not rely on the Orichalcum Crystals for their abilities. Somehow, they drew their power from nature itself or the energy that surrounded and bound it together. Even the masters did not understand fully how they did it. The priests would only say that their power was a matter of faith and shared nothing more about it. He could tell that it was a source of frustration for Master Ampher, and probably the entire order, to think of the priests as a kind of enigma that they had no hope of understanding.

  The most striking thing to Qel was that the rule also applied to foreign priests, shamans, holy men, clerics, and druids regardless of race or religion. It was also true for magical creatures derived from nature like Dryads, Pixies, Fairies, and Nymphs. His master told him once that the one caveat of the different conduits from which they gained magical power was that when the priests and the wizards collaborated in their research, it often revealed hidden knowledge to their mutual benefit.

  “So, you have a hangover.” The high priest’s brown eyes capped by bushy gray eyebrows bore down on him in disapproval. “You are an imperial wizard and, more importantly, an Atlantean. I suggest you conduct yourself with more reserve in the future.”

  The priestess standing behind the high priest was a little younger than Qel and gave him a wink and a smile. She could appreciate the exuberant nature of youth that seemed to be lost to his people the moment they hit forty.

  “Of course you are correct, Revered One,” Qel answered humbly. “My friend and I have only recently graduated, and we took our celebration a bit too far.”

  “So it’s the same for the other one, then?”

  “It is, Revered One.”

  Suddenly the warmth he felt turned cold, and his head and teeth felt like they would shatter before it was over. Then he felt wonderful, possibly even better than he usually did. The headache and nausea were gone, the sluggishness replaced by energy and vigor. The high priest walked over to where Havacian was sitting holding his head in his hands and sat down beside him. Within a few moments, he too was standing and expressing his gratitude for the high priest’s proverbially bringing him back to life. Qel wanted to roll his eyes.

  On his way out, the high priest called over his shoulder, “I expect that you gentlemen will not be back here again under the same circumstances.”

  It was not really a question, and they were quick to assure him they would not, trying desperately not to laugh at the priestess, who followed him out making funny faces at them.

  Qel looked at Havacian, “I am so full of energy I think I could run to Avalon from here. Shall we tour the city before we go back to the market?”

  “Great idea,” Havacian agreed. “And let’s find some food along the way.

  When they departed the temple, Qel marveled at the great pools of pristine water complete with beautiful fountains and waterfalls designed seamlessly into the architecture of the temple itself. The waters were tended by aqueous elementals he knew as Oceanides, the children of Pontus, just like the ones that guarded the channels in Atlantis. In his previous state, he had missed the beauty of the temple and was glad not to miss it again on the way out.

  The remainder of the morning, Qel led Havacian on a fast-paced exploration of the natural beauty and splendors of Aquilon. They saw the trade offices of Lyonesse, known as the Knights Temple. It was built like a miniature stone fortress surrounded by a crenelated curtain wall, towers, and fortified entryway complete with a portcullis. Atop the walls and astride the entry stood a few knights in their shiny metal armor with gold- or silver-fringed cloaks. Very impressive, thought Qel appreciatively.

  Then there was the perfectly plain and square granite building complex that served as the Dwarf’s trade consulate. It was so wholly austere and unremarkable that it could have been mistaken for a massive stone block if such a thing wouldn’t have been considered absurd sitting in the middle of the city. After that, they went down to the port, where they sat at an open kiosk overlooking the docks while they ate fresh fish and watched the ships from several different nations coming and going or unloading their goods.

  In the afternoon they returned to the central market. The crowds were still thick and loud with the incomprehensible haggling between buyer and seller. Qel’s energy had waned somewhat since that morning, but he was still game to spend a few hours following Havacian through the lanes of stalls. His friend’s quest for knowledge was insatiable, and even the little things, like a bamboo tool used to liquefy and remove the brains used in the process of mummification by the priests of TaShemau, was exceedingly interesting to him. Qel was just glad Havacian didn’t buy the contraption.

  When the sun finally fell below the horizon, even Havacian conceded that he was exhausted, and the two walked back to the Tower, ate a light meal in the common room, and went to sleep early. They planned to cross into Avalon and the Sylvan Forest the next morning. It would mark the beginning of a five-day journey that would take them to the fabled Avalon City, capital of the Elves. Even though he would have liked to spend a few more days exploring the beautiful city of Aquilon, Qel was eager to be well rested. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

  ~~~

  Rising just after dawn, Qel got dressed and checked on Havacian before packing his clothing and personals away for
travel. Not surprised at all, he found Havacian ready to go before he was. They went down to the common room for a quick breakfast, then retrieved their horses and set off on the north road toward the border just a league away. Qel was excited and nervous at the same time, having heard many tales of the Elves and their enchanted forest. He was sure that most of them were just fanciful stories written to entertain, but some could hold elements of truth too strange to imagine.

  Remarkably few people were on the road with them that morning; even the merchants were few. In fact, except for a few Atlantean merchants and a group of Dwarfs transporting heavy ore in wagons, the road was empty. Most notably, not a single human was in sight.

  “Havacian, why do you think there aren’t any humans going north this morning?” Qel asked.

  “Don’t you know?” Havacian looked surprised. “The Elves won’t allow them in. They never have.”

  “They allow Atlanteans and Dwarfs entry, but not humans? Why is that?”

  “Master Curatei says they don’t trust the nature of humans. He said they probably have other reasons as well.”

  “I suppose we are not much better,” Qel conceded. “The emperor won’t allow humans to own land in territory controlled by Atlantis, the high priests won’t allow them to enter the priesthood, and our own masters will collaborate but not allow them entry into the order.”

  Havacian sighed. “Master Curatei says that too many humans carry hidden agendas and that you never really know what their motivations are.”

  “It’s truly sad,” Qel said, “and there are so many of them.”

  In the distance the tree line was visible, and when the road brought them closer, Qel could see two slender figures, one on each side of the road. He almost missed them since they blended into the forest background so well, and only when one moved to speak to the other did he notice them. They wore uniforms in shades of green with breeches tucked into high, soft boots, and each of them carried a curved sword at their side and a bow across their back. When they rode closer, Qel observed that one appeared to be male and the other female. Each of them was just as exceptionally beautiful as the other. How can they stand themselves? Qel jested to himself. Their features were sharp, with almond-shaped, slightly turned-up eyes, slender noses, and narrow jaws. And of course, their most notable feature: pointed ears. Neither wore a hat or helm, and both exhibited very long hair. The male elf had natural brown hair not unusual to any humanoid species, but the female displayed a very strange silver tone that shimmered in the light when she moved. They both appeared young by Qel’s standards—although, considering the long lifespan attributed to the Elves, they could easily have been a hundred years old.