Dra’kor was surprised at her candor, “So, what do you think we should do?”
Sheila was glad Dra’kor dropped the subject, “I guess we should bury it! Can you dig us a hole?”
Dra’kor nodded and after a brief twining of his fingers, his rogue magic dug a big furrow in the ground. They stood and watched the dirt pile to the sides as the hole grew. He wove another spell when it was deep enough to hold the demon.
He used the spells he knew to lift things, placed the body in the hole, and commanded that the dirt cover the body and pack down hard. Just to be sure, he cast another spell on the grass to quickly grow and cover any sign that the ground had been disturbed.
Sheila used a spell to blow some leaves over the top, making it appear even more natural.
They heard an unearthly howl off in the distance.
“We’d better git,” said Sheila hurriedly. “I’m not up to another encounter today. Every magical beast or demon around probably knows we’re here the way you go about blasting things.”
“It could just be wolven,” said Dra’kor optimistically.
Sheila turned her ear toward the sound and stared off into the distance, “Don’t sound the same to me, it’s not wolven.”
Dra’kor grew worried. He scanned the dense woods, trying to see what Sheila was looking at. “Are they coming this way?”
“I can’t tell, but I don’t think we should take the chance. We should go,” Sheila said.
They hastily gathered their things, quickly setting off for the town.
A hooded creature stepped into the small clearing and looked around for its pet’s body. It found it off to the side in a new grave, which was already covered with grass and groundcover. It raised a gnarled and twisted hand to its bony chin and contemplated the sight. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to make his pet a proper grave and to hide it.
“Ah, my friend. What have you done to deserve such treatment? I believe you have been caught by the elf girl. Once again she proves herself to be quite a formidable opponent.”
It extended hands and an aura of green and vile yellow magic covered the new grave. The ground settled and the hole hollowed as the beat’s body was sucked down into the underworld.
The creature had not noticed that the beast’s head was missing.
They walked back to the town’s barricade, and stealthily let themselves in. They carefully made their way to the cottage, hiding their prize. After entering, they placed the bundle next to the fire and called Hagra over to see what they had found.
“This not be good,” she said as she picked at the head with a sharp stick. “You be right my dear, ‘tis a skree. If there be skree about, there’s bound to be a demon or two with them.”
“We buried the body. I think it was alone,” Sheila said. “But there is no way to know for sure, we heard howling as we left.”
“We’ll need to take this back to the forest and bury it,” Hagra said, grumbling. “Don’t want it in here, just in case there’s another of those skree’s out there. They can smell their own, they can.”
“I’ll take it out, right after I finish changing,” Sheila promised. “Beast’s blood is like acid. Ruined my best shirt.”
Hagra watched as her daughter stripped off her shirt and put on a new one, arching her back as she pulled the shirt over her head. Hagra raised a brow.
Sheila shook out her hair, “He’s already seen everything. I had to strip in the woods; I was covered with the beast’s blood. I got it on me, had to get it off quick.”
“He helped me wash it off after a little coaxing,” she added with a hint of a smile as she reached for another shirt that was draped over the back of one of the chairs.
Dra’kor blushed when Hagra gave him a dirty look over her shoulder.
She put on the shirt and turned to button it.
Hagra smiled knowingly at her daughter. Sheila’s back was to Dra’kor and he didn’t see any of the secret smiles that were exchanged between mother and daughter. Sheila turned, handing Dra’kor his shirt, which he quickly put on. It smelled of Sheila and he took a deep breath taking her in.
“I need to make a new shirt,” Sheila said, shaking her head at the sight of the smoldering holes in her old leather one. She pulled her knife out of its sheath and flipped it over twice, checking it’s blade before she slid it back into the sheath.
Dra’kor looked around the room, “Where’s Men’ak?”
“Probably sleeping. He says he’s been having lots of weird dreams lately. He’s a seer,” Hagra said, nodding as if she had spoken a tome.
“I guess I’ll get rid of the skree,” Sheila said, scooping up the smoking bundle with the spear.
Hagra placed her hand over her daughter’s.
“I’ll try to figure out what’s going on with the skree. You two should work on Dra’kor’s magic. I’ll take it out back when I’m done,” said Hagra, as she turned her attention to the beast’s head. As she grabbed her daughter’s spear from her hand and used it to lift the acid-eaten shirt and set it outside the door, covering it with an old flour bag.
“Should be back soon,” she mumbled as she walked out the door and closed it tight.
“See you mom,” said Sheila.
Sheila and Dra’kor sat down across from each other at the small table and started to work on the living spell. Sheila talked him through the incantation and showed him the magic weave. She repeated the instructions several times, to make sure he understood all the parts.
“That’s very complicated,” Dra’kor mumbled. “I wasn’t expecting it to be that complicated.”
“Well, it’s simple as far as spells go, but it has to be pretty detailed after all, it keeps you alive,” said Sheila sarcastically.
Dra’kor sighed, “Well, let’s get on with it then …”
For the next few hours, they worked on the various components of the spell. One by one, Dra’kor learned them. Finally, it was time to put the components together.
Dra’kor’s frustration set in, “So, this was why you said I had to be able to put three balls in the air …”
“Pay attention!” Sheila scolded.
Dra’kor blurted, “I’m trying …”
“Try harder,” Sheila answered bluntly with steely eyes.
Sheila pointed to the spell he was assembling, “Now, create the first part, the one spun of air and earth.”
Dra’kor did as he was asked, and held the spell in check.
“Next, you need to spin the part that is of fire and magic itself.” Sheila said, as she instructed him on how to assemble the three spells.
Dra’kor made the second component and held it in place next to the other. He was beginning to sweat from the exertion.
“I think I’ve got it,” he hesitantly mumbled.
“Make sure you have it or you’ll need to start over,” said Sheila harshly.
Dra’kor became defensive, “Give me a second. You’re being —”
“Being what exactly —?”
“You’re being mean and impatient,” Dra’kor spat back as he almost lost control of the spells.
Sheila balked at the very idea. “Get over it, this is business.”
“Right!” Dra’kor grumbled. “Pushy, bossy, ungrateful little …”
Sheila ignored his blustering.
“Next, you need to make the last part. Be careful. This part is the link to the magic itself,” Sheila instructed as Dra’kor struggled to get the final piece of the complicated weave in place. He was now balancing almost fifteen different parts to the spells.
Sheila saw that he was ready for the next piece, “Good,” she nodded. “Let’s wrap the other two spells with this one,”
She watched carefully how his spells held together and to make sure that he was weaving the rest of the spells correctly.
“Not that way, wrap it around the spells in the right order.”
Dra’kor finally got the entire spell together on the third try. He held his final
weave of magic in front of his face as he watched the weave pulse with life, mesmerized by the various sized threads of red, yellow white, and blue shimmer. After a little while, the weave settled down.
“I c-c-can see it!” he shouted.
“I think you did it!” Sheila giggled in delight. “How do you feel?”
Dra’kor struggled to talk at the same time as he held the spell together, “F-f-fine.”
Sheila let him hold the spell in place for several minutes. “We should tear it down and build it again.”
“Please? I want to hold it for just a little while — I’ve waited so long … I just …” he broke down and choked back a sob. He struggled to contain his emotions.
Sheila let him. After all, it was quite an accomplishment.
After a short while, Dra’kor nodded and let the spell fall apart in a spray of sparkles.
He built the spell three more times; with each attempt, he executed the casting quicker. On the last try, he managed to build the entire spell in less than a minute.
“You have one more thing to learn,” Sheila said, nodding. “You need to learn to tie off the weave so that you don’t have to constantly think about it.”
Sheila explained to Dra’kor how to tie off the weave, “It’s like you squeeze off the feed to the magic until the magic is just there by itself. The third component, the one that is of the magic itself, will provide the energy the spell needs for the day.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much. Any weave can be tied off. Some can last days, some only seconds, depending on what they are, and how much power you have at your command. You can’t tie off battle spells, but you can tie weaves of air, earth or fire. They’re all different. You’ll just have to experiment.”
To Dra’kor, it seemed so obvious now that she had shown him how. He cast his first knot and let go of the life spell. It held there in the air, twinkling.
“Well I’ll be!” Dra’kor exclaimed. He felt a jumble of emotions. He was proud, relieved. “What now?”
“Now we wait to see how long you can go without needing to step outside,” Sheila said, as she critically checked his spell.
Hagra had returned as he was finishing up. She wandered over and took a good look at his handiwork. “Well, look at that! A fair bit o’ work! A respectable spell for one so young in the magic.”
“I’m not new to magic —”
“Ye are. Ye can’t be so arrogant when ye knows the truth. It’s unbecoming to ye.”
Dra’kor apologized, knowing she was right. He didn’t know what was coming over him. He had been short of temper, arrogant and snippy. He wasn’t used to being this way and was having a hard time controlling himself. He considered that it had to do with the magic, or lack of it, but it just didn’t seem to reason.
“Ain’t no shame in not knowing. The shame would be in not knowing, finding out ye don’t understand, and then not trying to learn. You should be proud of yerself, yer doing just fine.”
Dra’kor looked up into her wise eyes, “How long do you think it will last?”
Hagra eyed it up and down, “Two hours, maybe more …”
Dra’kor was clearly disappointed. That’s all?”
“That’s all. But, you’ll get better with time, stronger too. For now ye will need to check yer spell every couple hours, but that’s better than being chained to the beast, don’t’ ye think?”
Dra’kor nodded weakly.
“Aye! It most certainly is,” Hagra said, walking away. “Now ye don’t need to be taking so many breaks and courting my daughter!”
“I-I-I’m not courting anyone,” Dra’kor stammered defensively.
“Course ye ain’t —!”
“I’m not!” he insisted.
“Don’t get your pants up in a bunch, I’m agreein’ with ye!”
Dra’kor sat there sputtering while Hagra cackled. Sheila rolled her eyes and gave Dra’kor a look that could kill.
“What?”
“Nothing …”
“You sure? I think —”
“I’m fine.”
Dra’kor turned to Hagra, “See! Everything is fine.”
“Excepting when it ain’t,” she replied.
Dra’kor’s head turned from side-to-side as he eyed both Sheila and Hagra. “What does that mean?”
Hagra waved her hand and turned around, heading for the door.
“Ye might be a mage after all,” she snorted, calling back over her shoulder.
Dra’kor thought about what this meant. He was a mage. It meant he was no longer bound to the Zylliac. That he could go where he desired and enter closed realms to see what was going on. As far as he knew, he was the only real mage alive. He was also relieved in that if the realms were ever closed, he would be able to carry on his work. To him, it meant life.
Sheila looked up at Dra’kor and saw that he had tears in his eyes. “Are you feeling right?”
Dra’kor wiped away the tears. “Yes, I couldn’t be better. It’s just a bit overwhelming that’s all. I’m finally free!”
Struggles
Dra’kor returned to the inn late that night, well after midnight, to find Men’ak sitting on the edge of his tousled bed with his head in his hands. His hair was wet, greasy, and disheveled. He was sniveling and rocking back and forth, his legs tucked up tight under.
Men’ak wearily looked up with his red-puffed eyes. “What do you want?” he asked bitterly, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“W-what …?”
“You heard me. What do you want?” asked Men’ak, grinding his teeth. “I suppose you’re here to gloat about your recent spell or something. Well, congratulations, good for you.”
Dra’kor took a step back, raising his hands, “What’s gotten into you?”
Men’ak looked up with bloodshot irritated eyes, “I’m tired of hearing about how you did this, that and the other. Good for you, Dra’kor the Great! Now leave me alone.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know I was being so annoying,” Dra’kor spat back. “I thought you’d be happy for me, being my friend and all.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m not happy at all …!” said Men’ak hoarsely, rubbing his eyes. “I’m mad enough to wrestle a wolverine. I hate this … this … this whole adventure bullshit.”
“Hate? What are you saying?”
“I hate this place, the new magic, everything. I hate the dreams; I hate what I’m becoming …,” Men’ak cried as his whole body shook and quivered. “I hate it, hate it, hate it!”
Dra’kor looked with pity at his friend, “Whoa! Slow down. What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that I haven’t slept in almost a bloody week, that every time I close my eyes I see cursed demons and dead people, horrible bloody things. I’m so tired, I fall asleep walking.”
“Demons and dead people? I had no idea —”
“Of course not! You are always too busy with Sheila and the magic, you never even ask how I’m doing,” Men’ak said, in a desperate plea for understanding. “You haven’t said ten words to me in days.”
Dra’kor realized that Men’ak was right, he had been busy—consumed even. He had not even returned to the inn yesterday night and instead spent the evening sleeping outside the cottage with Sheila. They had talked until the crack of dawn, and he didn’t have the energy to walk all the way back to the inn for only a few short hours of shuteye.
Dra’kor hung his head, “You’re right. I haven’t been a very good friend.”
Men’ak grunted, shifting his weight around on the bed.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just been caught up in all this.”
“Obsessed …!” Men’ak added bitterly as his voice faltered.
“Obsessed,” Dra’kor agreed with a hesitant nod.
“We’re supposed to be in this together. There’s only us. Grit is probably dead … there’s just us,” Men’ak wept.
“We’ll find Grit. He could still be alive somewhere,” Dra�
�kor said.
“Don’t patronize me, he’s dead!” Men’ak yelled. “Probably dead ….”
Dra’kor let him have a few seconds to calm down.
“Men’ak?”
Men’ak looked up with narrowed bloodshot eyes, “What?”
Dra’kor sat down on the bed next to his friend and draped his arm over his shoulder, “Tell me, what’s this about strange dreams?”
Men’ak pushed the arm away, but Dra’kor put it back almost immediately. Dra’kor could hear him trying to take a deep breath. His breathing came in gasps as he tried to regain his composure.
“They’re horrible … horrible, so horrible!”
Dra’kor rubbed his friend’s back.
“I have these disturbing dreams, nightmares, every time I fall asleep. Demons and spirits visit me, tell me things, show me things — hideous things,” Men’ak whimpered as his body shook uncontrollably.
“Do you have any idea why you’re having them? I haven’t had any weird dreams,” Dra’kor asked.
Men’ak shook his head and wiped his leaking nose on his sleeve.
“Because I’m some kind of deathwalker or seer or something, at least that’s what Hagra keeps telling me,” said Men’ak venomously. “She says I could be the first Walker since Ror, that I should be proud. He could talk to all the recently killed soldiers and even dreamers.”
Dra’kor’s eyes shot open wide, “Deathwalker? I’ve never heard of deathwalkers in the stories of Ror? Hagra never mentioned to me that you were a deathwalker either. What the Ten does that mean?”
“Visions! Visions of the dead, or soon to be dead, or so she says. She says she’s only known a single other deathwalker and that he was one of the Ten. He could talk to people in their dreams too”
“Go on …” Dra’kor bade him as he looked at the dark circles under his eyes.
“She says I’m gifted in the sight. Dra’kor, I hate it! I can’t close my eyes without seeing them. They’re everywhere and they yell and scream at me.”
“Yell? Like what do they yell?”
“You know, yell at the top of their lungs! Warnings mostly. Do this, don’t do that. They argue and bicker amongst themselves,” said Men’ak drowsily. “They get right up in my face … it’s horrible. They’re all dead and decomposed … the smell … it’s so foul …”
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep Page 53
