Sword Bearer (Return of the Dragons)

by Jacobs, Teddy

  I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was very thin, but looked healthy. When I looked at him with my third eye, the boy was blindingly bright orange. I had never seen anyone so vibrant. Not even Woltan glowed so brightly. And something the boy had said, about reaching out to the energy all around him and sucking it in... had I heard of that, before?

  The boy was odd, but powerful. I would have to remember him.

  Elias stopped suddenly and looked at me. You think I’m strange?

  I paused for a moment, swallowed hard, then nodded. But you seem like a good kid, and people find me strange too. After all I’m a wizard.

  And a three-blooded prince to boot.

  Elias was smiling. I relaxed a little.

  We kept walking. Suddenly Elias stopped in front of a blank wall. “She doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s not open for business, so her business just disappears. Let me see...”

  I could see runes, like those of the gateway. The boy was mouthing words silently with his lips as he touched the runes in sequence. Then there was a door in front of us.

  We need to hurry. The door will only stay here for about half a minute.

  Elias opened the door and I followed him, a nagging question in my mind. Could he read those runes?

  We were in a small room, with cushions, and candles, a crystal ball, a pool of water that glowed with orange radiance. There had been incense burned here recently, and the air smelled spicy. There was a tray with a silver teapot, and many porcelain cups, each one seeming to have come from some far off land, covered with different kinds of writing that were unknown to me.

  “Auntie Marga?”

  A woman walked into the room. She looked around thirty-five years old, which was younger than I’d expected. Her hair was blond, and her eyes a dark blue. She smiled, showing bright white teeth.

  I look younger than you imagined. Young for a crystal-ball scrying witch.

  I smiled. Young to be Karsten’s mother, and this boy’s Aunt. Karsten sent me, and I was lost, until I found his cousin, here.

  Marga smiled at her nephew. Then thank you, Elias, for bringing him here. You may go now.

  Elias nodded at his aunt and disappeared back out the way we had come.

  Marga smiled at me. “Come grab a cushion. I hope I hold the answers you seek, but it’s always better to seek them in a state of relaxation. So sit down, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  I nodded. I needed to meet Woltan for my morning practice but practice could wait. Better to arrive there in any case without these questions in my mind.

  Marga’s smile was warm and infectious. She snapped her finger and a flame lit on a small brazier. She put the silver tea kettle upon it. The water was boiling in a moment, and Marga dropped in spices and tea leaves. Then she was pouring tea into two cups. The preparation of the tea filled the room with new spicy aromas that blended in with the smell of incense. It all was helping me relax, something I would have thought impossible just a few minutes before.

  Marga handed me my tea and I took a sip.

  She took a sip of her own tea, and then she smiled. “You have questions for me.”

  I nodded. “That is all I seem to have since this morning. I had a dream. And then I talked to Karsten about it.”

  “Tell me everything about your dream, and then I will examine your hands, and we will scry a bit if you like.”

  So I told her about the man with the green eyes and the dark hood and the blood-red aura. I told her how the man had called out to me as the dream ended, and how he had called me Neffe.

  Her smile faded to a slim remnant of itself. She looked at me, and she was silent for a moment before she spoke. “What did my son say?”

  “He told me that the only person with a blood-red aura is the dark lord.”

  “You know enough of the old tongues as well to know what Neffe means.”

  I nodded. “He was calling me nephew.”

  “And what happened after he called out to you?”

  “I woke up.”

  She paused for a moment. “Did it seem real to you?”

  I wanted to shake my head, but it was probably better to be truthful. I nodded.

  “The dream was well read by my son. He would have done well to follow me as a dream-reader, but he chose another path.”

  The silence was chilling.

  I spoke up then. “He sent you these rolls, for us to share.”

  Marga stared at them, and a little bit of smile came back to her face, a little bit of warmth. “Is he a good baker, you think?”

  I handed her a roll and bit into one myself. They were still warm. “These are the best rolls I have ever eaten.”

  She bit down into a roll. “His father was an even better baker,” she said between bites. “We all miss him.”

  I nodded. I could see that her thoughts were elsewhere. I sat there and ate silently with her.

  “Now that we have both eaten and taken in our tea, I will tell you what we can do. We can look at your blood, and see what that reveals. But I would rather that be a last step. Perhaps we will start with reading your palm, and scrying the ball. How much time do you have?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her eyes unfocused for a moment and then she smiled. “I just contacted Woltan and explained our situation, without going into details. He was not too happy, but he wants you to find out as much as you can. He says to report to him when we’re finished.”

  “You told him everything?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t talk that quickly, not even with my head. We have a kind of mental shorthand. It lets us communicate faster, but it’s far less exact. We use pictures and sounds instead of words. He has a general idea of why you’re upset, and that it has to do with your parentage, and with an evil wizard... But as far as the dark lord’s name, and the word neffe, those were left out, for you to fill in later.”

  She stared at me, as if seeking confirmation, and I nodded.

  “Hold out your palm.”

  I held out my palm and she ran her finger along it, lightly, back and forth, her eyes unfocussed, yet open.

  At first her finger crisscrossed my hand methodically, covering every inch of my palm. Then my palm started to sting, to tingle. She was tracing paths of energy. It seemed this palm reading was more than reading simple wrinkles and lines in the skin.

  Then she stopped, and looked at me. “I did a preliminary reading, and mapped your palm. Its pattern glows in my mind, and will stay there for several minutes. I can read your palm without consulting it now, but I prefer to keep contact with you, and reconfirm everything, as we go, if that is alright.”

  I nodded, impressed with her abilities.

  She ran her finger in a sweep across my palm. “Your natural life line is long, but crossed by many obstacles, many of which could prove deadly, breaking your life line prematurely.”

  I nodded. “I know it’s not going to be easy.”

  Marga smiled. “On your blood line I see three separate lines converging in you.”

  I nodded again.

  “I see a sudden change that has happened recently, and more changes left ahead. Lots of movement, some of it very sudden.”

  “Your love line...”

  I cut her off then. “I’d rather not talk about my love line, thanks.”

  She smiled at me. “You are young. You get embarrassed with girls and worry about your skin. I understand. Later perhaps you will wish to talk, but I may not be there for you.” She looked at me, but I would not meet her gaze. She shrugged. “No matter. We have other tasks at hand.”

  “What about my dream? Of the dark lord?”

  She shook her head. “I see nothing here that speaks of that. We can look in the crystal ball, and examine some of your blood in a crucible.”

  I nodded, although I didn’t like the idea of doing anything with my blood.

  She pulled the crystal ball down from a pedestal to a mat in front of her. She touched my hand and held it an
d my face felt warm; but I felt energy in her hand and didn’t want to interrupt the magic.

  I looked down at the ball and saw swirling images, moving so fast I could barely see. Some were of my childhood, some of me now. One was recent, when I sparred with Kalle. Then, just as suddenly, I saw an image of the future. I wore a helm, but it was me, and my sword was green with magical fire, and I smote my enemies.

  The images whirled on, and Marga groaned. “Great power, great magic, and so many riddles... I am a little lost here ...”

  The ball stopped on an image of a figure, in a dark black cloak — it was the image from the dream — and I stood before the man; but we couldn’t see his face, and there was nothing to hear. We could only see events.

  That’s him; the man from my dream.

  I know; that’s why I held this image. I can’t get it any clearer though. We’ll move on.

  The images started to flow past again, fast and fluid. I couldn’t keep up with them. I assumed Marga could, but it seemed to be causing her great strain. Her face was scrunched up with concentration, and then she groaned again. The images stopped moving. They were frozen on a picture of a small boy and three adults. Although I’d never seen a picture of my uncle, I knew at once who the four people were: my mother, my father, my uncle and me.

  There were a number of strange things about the picture.

  Even though I couldn’t have been more than three, or four, I looked unnaturally aware. And through the crystal ball I could sense magic in the image.

  “There’s something strange here,” I said.

  Marga nodded, her face still strained. “Use your third eye, and look at everyone.”

  I did as she told me. I closed my two eyes and opened the third, looking into the ball, falling into it. I saw my father, a bright orange man; my mother, golden yellow; myself as a boy, bright orange, and green, and blue, a rainbow of swirling colors, which was odd enough. But then I saw my uncle.

  I brought my hands up to my head, but it changed nothing.

  The man’s aura was red.

  Blood red.

  And when I opened my eyes, it was like my uncle’s green eyes were staring at me, with desire, and arrogance. And a smile.

  I almost pulled out, pulled my hand away and broke the link. But Marga gripped my hand tighter.

  He’s not looking at you, foolish boy. Look at who he’s looking at.

  Not looking at me? Then who was he looking at? I looked again at the picture, looked at everyone’s faces, at their eyes. Looked at my four-year-old self. I looked at my uncle again, and put it all together.

  Marga was right. He wasn’t looking at me. My uncle was looking at my mother. And not like a brother-in-law.

  Again I wanted to break the link. I pulled at my hand but Marga kept it clasped in hers.

  I’m sorry if this is hard on you. Just a little while longer, Anders, and we’ll be at the heart of this.

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  She squeezed my hand again and the images rolled.

  Marga stopped suddenly on a picture of just me, my mother, and my uncle. I was crying. My uncle’s face seemed red with fury. His aura was bright red. My mother, in tears, was hugging him. I must have been four years old.

  She left the image, and the images spun quicker then than I could absorb them. She brought it back to the image of my uncle, my mother, and me.

  It’s as I thought. This is the last image of your uncle.

  You’re sure?

  There are no more images after this, except in your future, after he changed.

  We broke the connection then and Marga let out a low groan. Her face was covered with sweat, although the room had grown unnaturally cold.

  I frowned. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “I will be. I am not used to scrying into such powerful memories and futures.”

  I kept silent for a moment.

  “I know my uncle left when I was little, but my parents never told me anything about it. Now I can’t even talk to them about it.”

  Marga shrugged. “They would have lied to you anyway, Anders. And there are mysteries here that I doubt even your parents fully understood.”

  “I just wish there was someone I could talk to, to find out what happened. And then try to figure out what’s happening now.”

  And then I was staring at her.

  Giancarlo. Giancarlo would know.

  “You must learn to shield your thoughts, young Anders. Who is this Giancarlo, who you are thinking about?”

  “He was my blademaster, and my father’s and uncle’s blademaster as well, or at least he knew them when they were young.”

  “I can’t contact him for you, but if you like, we can try to scry him, and see where he is now, with the crystal ball.”

  I nodded. “He is one of the few people from my past I feel I can trust now... And I’m sure he would speak the truth. He’s as honest as he is skillful with his sword.”

  Marga smiled wearily. “Grab my hand then. This should be a lot easier than scrying your past and future.”

  She reached out and took my hand, and the connection flowed through it. I stared at the ball, where a picture was forming, but there was something wrong.

  Where had I expected to see Giancarlo? Training some other young man, maybe. Or at home with Ana. Somewhere bright and well-lit and healthy, full of the morning sunlight.

  There was none of that.

  The scene was dark, and I could barely make anything out.

  I squinted at the ball but it didn’t help at all.

  Marga groaned.

  I looked down at the ball and again saw nothing but darkness. I turned back towards Marga and saw beads of sweat on her forehead, her eyes unfocussed, and then she groaned again.

  Should I break the connection? Could I? Instead I looked back at the ball and saw the blackness again and could not figure out what was happening.

  Look with your third eye.

  I closed my two eyes and looked with my inner eye.

  Everything exploded with light then. I saw blood red light everywhere in the ball, covering everything, blinding me. I couldn’t see Giancarlo. I couldn’t even tell where he was. All I could see was the blinding light, burning red into my mind’s eye.

  I needed to break the contact and get out of there, but Marga’s hand squeezed mine tightly. I tried to loosen her grip but she held on. I heard her groan again then, and I wanted to open my two eyes and see what was happening to her. I wanted to be rid of this blinding red light that was eating into us, funneling up through the crystal ball.

  I will always remember that light, and I will always remember Marga.

  One moment she was there, and then her hand tightened. There was a burning smell, and then her hand went limp.

  I opened my mouth then, but before I could scream, there was a great explosion, knocking me backward, and the red light went away. I found myself on my back, on some cushions, and I opened my eyes.

  I didn’t need to look at Marga to know she was dead. You could feel the absence of her aura and it hurt. From far off I heard screams, and I knew somehow there were two boys running to us. They would be there soon. But they would arrive too late, of course.

  I hurt all over and brought my hand to my head. I looked at my hand. It was blood red. I was confused. I thought I had been branded by the dark lord.

  It was only when Marga’s sons arrived, bringing with them others, that I realized I was covered with blood, and only some of it was my own.

  That was when I began to scream.

  For the moment I just stared, and all I saw was the color red, the color of blood, the color of destruction.

  Chapter XIV

  I woke up in a strange pink room, with pink sheets, pink furniture, and just one small skylight in the ceiling with some kind of frosted glass that softened the sunlight. The room was so relaxing that I fell right back to sleep. My sleep was drugged and dreamless. It was not until I had been there several wee
ks that I realized that the room was actually white, not pink, and that my vision was tinted red, perhaps permanently.

  When I awoke again, there were two boys sitting at my bedside, and I recognized them at once, although their clothing and faces were red.

  They smiled at me when I opened my eyes, but there was something constrained and strained about their smiles, and their eyes were redder than the rest of them. They didn’t say anything, but I knew they were waiting for me to speak.

  It would have been nice to say something to them, but I felt this incredible crushing weight each time I opened my mouth. And my lids felt so heavy that I fell back asleep. When I woke back up I was alone, and wondered if I’d dreamt them.

  But as I hadn’t dreamt anything else, I figured they must have been there. With the light of the moon through the skylight I could faintly see where their stools still stood.

  I fell asleep again then, and for the first time in weeks, I dreamt. I dreamt a dream that would haunt me for the several weeks of my recovery. I was in a long hallway. I must have been very young, four or five. I walked quietly, and the stone was cold under my bare feet.

  There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and a tall man with green eyes was staring down at me, smiling. The man opened his mouth, and even before he spoke, I knew what he was going to say, but that changed nothing. At this point I would always try to wake up or change the dream, but the dream would not change. I walked down the corridor, towards the light, towards the smiling face, towards the man with the green eyes who stood in his nightgown next to my mother, his arm around her, looking down at me, and he spoke the word, always the same word, Neffe.

  And although I always wanted to scream and wake up then, the dream never ended with the word. I walked on up to the man, and hugged him, and said Onkel. Only when he had hugged me, and I felt my uncle’s blood red aura mingle with my own, would I finally wake up. Sitting up in bed, I would wonder if this dream was the last, if it was even a true memory, or something that the dark lord sent my way every night so I wouldn’t forget him in that room full of whiteness and natural light.

  Then I would fall asleep again.

  And if I was very, very lucky, then I would sleep dreamlessly until morning, when I would wake up and try to forget, try to heal, and to prepare.