The Eye of Luvelles

by Phillip Jones

  Shalee blushed.

  Sam gave the chef a look. “Thomas, don’t you have something better to do with your moments?”

  “My apologies, Sire. I shall fetch more wine.”

  As Sam watched Thomas move to the far side of the platform, he marveled at the gigantic doors of the temple in the distance. They sat beyond the pools that bubbled to the surface across the plateau. He could remember how he felt the first moment he saw their massive hinges. Each door was massive and arched toward each other at the top. He remembered thinking how heavy they must be. At almost two meters thick, he had imagined the sound they would make if one of them was to slam into the wall.

  Shalee lifted her mug from the table and sauntered to the railing overlooking the falls that were fed by the springs. The water fell more than 7,000 feet to the land below. The view across the steppe was breathtaking. Many beautiful flowers as well as other vegetation she had grown accustomed to seeing since their arrival on Grayham, bloomed around the pools. The scene was glorious and set the mood for an evening of romance with her regal husband.

  After dinner, Sam had his men clear the table and teleport back to Brandor. Once they were gone, Sam moved to the edge of the platform and rang a large bell. “I have a surprise for you. I know you don’t remember our first ride with Soresym since you were asleep. You remember ... the Peak you threw your fit?”

  “I remember my mood fit the moment,” Shalee defended. “However, I do regret missing the experience of that first flight.”

  “Well ... now you’ll have the chance to make up for it.”

  Shalee smiled and pushed up against him. “Just take a look at you, Sam Goodrich. Who would have ever guessed that you had a romantic bone inside that body of yours?”

  Sam remembered Shalee’s exact words when she found out that they would need to ride the griffin to get to Brandor. The queen had scolded Mosley, “If you think I’m gonna ride some giant whatever it is, you got another think coming. I’m not about to get on some creepy, flying thing. I don’t know how to ride stuff like that. Do they bite? Goodness-gracious, I bet they bite. Oh my gosh, do they smell?”

  Mosley had become sick of Shalee’s ranting. The night terror wolf breathed on her face, and her body slumped over onto the platform. He said, “She will be asleep for a while. I’m sure she’ll be far more pleasant after she’s had the moments to adjust. Are all the women from your Earth like her?”

  Sam had responded by saying, “Only the ones worth keeping. I have to admit, I find her attractive. I like her sassiness. She’ll grow on you, Mosley. She’s just stressed right now, that’s all. But I am glad you knocked her out.” The king remembered smiling. The last thing he had said to try to convince the wolf was, “Just trust me on this, Mosley, you’ll grow to like her. I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope you’re right. I find her annoying ... like a tick on my tail.”

  He grinned at the pleasant feeling of the memory and pulled Shalee close. He was kissing her when Soresym crested the ledge of the cliff. The king reacted. He grabbed the railing surrounding the platform as the massive wings of the griffin stirred the evening air. As Soresym’s majestic form lowered to the landing area, Shalee could not contain her excitement. She ran to the griffin and stroked his feather-covered neck.

  “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. It’s good to see you, Soresym. I think of you often.”

  “And, I you, young one.”

  The Griffin Lord, Soresym

  “Thank you for this, Soresym,” Sam said as he approached the griffin. “I cannot express how much I appreciate you.”

  “You’re welcome, King of Brandor.” The griffin lowered to the platform. “Please, climb up.”

  Sam lifted Shalee onto the griffin’s back and then jumped up to take a seat. He tied his queen in with the heavy leather straps that were attached to the padded saddle, and then he pulled her to him. The beast walked to the edge of the platform with his head held high and wings spread. Shalee lifted her arms into the air and screamed as the griffin folded his wings and jumped from the ledge.

  Soresym kept his wings tight to his body as the ground approached. He waited until the last possible moment before the griffin allowed the wind to funnel beneath his feathers. The coolness of the mist shrouding Siren’s Song was refreshing as they swooped out over the terrain.

  Shalee shouted, “Oh, my Lord in Heaven, Sam! This is the best date ever!”

  Sam reached around Shalee’s waist and gently squeezed. He admired the countryside as it passed swiftly beneath them. After a while, he leaned in and put his mouth to the queen’s ear. “I’ll always love you.”

  Turning to taste his lips, Shalee responded, “I love you, too, ya big lug.”

  Meanwhile, Western Luvelles

  The Lands of Kerkinn

  The Dark Chancellor’s Tower-palace

  The Dark Chancellor, Marcus ID

  The Dark Chancellor stormed into the highest level of his tower-palace. Marcus Id threw his black cape, marked with the Order’s symbol, and watched it fly across the room. Despite the chancellor’s desire for the cloak to hit the wall, the cloth refused to be abused. The cape adjusted its course and peacefully hung itself on a hook near the door.

  Marcus grunted his disappointment. His brown eyes were cold. Tension filled his lanky limbs beneath the confines of his golden shirt. His long, brownish-black hair fell across his elven features as he shouted at the top of his lungs, “My brother’s self-righteous attitude is becoming tiresome!”

  After a moment of silence, Marcus realized he was yelling at an empty room. He grunted again and then lit his pipe. “Gage, get in here before I have you skinned!”

  Another few moments passed before a dark-brown badger, covered in a short, fitted, red robe entered the room, walking erect. He ignored the chancellor’s threat and tapped his tiny, wooden cane on the cold stones of the tower-palace floor. “Would you stop shouting? Just relax. Stick to the plan. Your tirade will accomplish nothing.”

  “Careful, goswig, I’m not in the mood.”

  “You’re always in a mood. You created me for confrontation. It’s my obligation to tell you when you’re being absurd. If memory serves me right, and it always does, you created me to speak our mind when you have these idiotic fits. You know you’re acting rash, or I wouldn’t feel the need to bring it to your attention.”

  Marcus slammed his bony hand on the stone table that rested at the center of the room. The table was large and its stone surface held many chiseled markings that represented the ways of dark magic. “Then you know what I’m thinking!” Marcus barked as the smoke from his pipe drifted past the anger in his eyes.

  Gage’s furry face cringed. He hurried across the floor—a task hard for a badger to do while walking on hind legs—and jumped up onto the table. The badger pounded the butt of his cane against the stone.

  “It’s too early to kill your brothers ... either of them, no matter how strong your desire. You don’t have the power.”

  “Bah! Gregory is no match. I could kill him with little trouble. I should destroy his precious city of glass while I’m at it. Why someone would want to live in a glass palace is beyond me. His goodness binds my bowels.”

  Gage growled, then looked up at the archway spanning the center of the room. “Would you stop? We both know it isn’t Gregory you fear. You cower to the Head Master.”

  Marcus snapped his head around and stormed toward the window. He took a long, deep breath and looked down at the roof of the Order’s temple that surrounded his tower. Taking a moment to admire the gloom of the city he had named after himself, he responded. “I cower to no one ... not even Brayson. I could defeat him.”

  Gage gave Marcus a look.

  Seeing the badger’s expression, Marcus turned and glared at the cloud-covered sky. “So what if I am afraid of Brayson? I don’t need you pointing it out. Besides, my power has grown. Perhaps it’s the right moment to challenge him.”

  The badger growled as he
sat on the surface of the table and started to trace the etched markings with his claws. “You must wait. If you’re wrong about your ability to defeat Brayson, you’ll perish ... and for what? Because you have no patience. The Head Master will take on a new Mystic Learner soon. You must wait for this to happen.”

  “It has been more than 20 seasons. How can you be so sure? Brayson doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. I need that spell. Without it, I can’t open the chest to get the key.”

  Marcus thought back to a confrontation he had with Brayson’s last Mystic Learner. Hettolyn, a young halfling, was making his way to Brayson’s shrine after receiving the secret spell from the Head Master. The shrine, located on the southern end of the Head Master’s Island, served one of the most important purposes on Luvelles.

  Marcus had stopped Hettolyn just prior to his arrival. The shrine housed a locked chest, and the spell Hettolyn had memorized was the only magic that would open it. The key unlocking the way to the Source was inside.

  “Where do you think you’re going, boy?” the Dark Chancellor asked after appearing in front of Hettolyn.

  “You startled me, sir! Who are you?”

  “‘Who’ doesn’t matter. You and I have something to discuss.”

  “I see,” the young halfling responded. “Then if it doesn’t matter who you are, I suppose it doesn’t matter what I’m doing or where I’m going.”

  Marcus laughed. “You’re right. It doesn’t. It’s what you have that matters. And what you have, you’re going to give to me.”

  Marcus remembered the fear in Hettolyn’s eyes as he lifted his hand and bound the halfling with his magic.

  “Please, let me go! I have nothing of value. I have nothing other than the clothes on my back.”

  “How could you not know who I am, boy?”

  “I don’t know your face. You must have the wrong man. You must be waiting for someone else.”

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “I’m called Hettolyn, from Equality.”

  “Equality is a city full of weak minds. Are you also weak, Hettolyn? Do you think your mind is strong enough to resist my advance?”

  “I believe I’m strong.” The Mystic Learner struggled to break free of Marcus’ magic. “Why do you bind me?”

  “How about we find out how strong you are? On this Peak, you’re going to recite the spell my brother gave you to unlock his precious chest, or you’ll perish if I don’t lay my hands on the key.”

  “I have no idea what you’re speaking about. I have a family. Please! They need me.”

  “Don’t lie to me! I know you seek the key resting inside your master’s chest. You seek your chance to speak with the Source. You wish to look into the Eye of Magic. We both know I have the right man.”

  “I swear it. I don’t know anything.”

  “Hmpf! We shall see.” Marcus lifted his hands.

  The halfling had proven to be unforthcoming. Hettolyn gave his life to protect Brayson’s secret spell, and the Dark Chancellor destroyed the evidence.

  Marcus took a drag from his pipe and then shook his head. “Brayson’s spell is the gateway to my desires. With the power of the Ancient Mystics I could rule Luvelles.”

  Gage showed his sharp teeth, picked up his cane and once again tapped it against the table. His tone was firm as he snarled. “The key is worth the wait. I know controlling this world means everything to you, but only the Source can give access to the power you seek. We both know that without it, you’ll be unable to destroy Brayson.”

  “I already know this, goswig!”

  “Then why speak of it?”

  “Because all this waiting while my brother basks in his glory is killing me! Brayson is pompous. I want to rip that arrogant smile from his face and feed it to the krape lords. It’s absurd how he remains neutral in all things. How could someone avoid choosing a side? At least Gregory’s vexatious mind has chosen to wallow in tenderheartedness.”

  Gage shook his head. “Your impatience solves nothing.”

  Marcus relit his pipe. After a long drag, he held the smoke inside his lungs and then exhaled over an expanded series of moments.

  The badger lowered his cane to the table and crossed his arms. “Your brother will eventually choose a Mystic Learner. Be patient, Marcus.”

  The chancellor chuckled as he rolled his hands around one another. “Yes ... and Brayson will give this fool the spell. I’ll force this doomed spirit to speak the words. Once I have them, I can get past Brayson’s magic.”

  “You’re right,” Gage responded, “but you might want to maintain your composure when the moment presents itself. You should wait until the student recites the spell before you kill him.”

  “Again, I know this. Your babbling is testing my patience, goswig.” Marcus took another drag from his pipe.

  “Your mind’s affliction will subside. Just think about it. Once you’ve spoken with the Source, you’ll be all powerful ... without rival. It’s worth the wait, so be patient.” The goswig swallowed at the thought of his words and shook his furry head in disgust, careful not to allow Marcus to see his disapproval.

  The badger would have continued to dwell on his dislike for Marcus’ repulsive ways, but he became distracted after capturing another thought from Marcus’ mind. The thought was ridiculous, and it forced the badger to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Marcus sneered.

  After collecting his composure, Gage responded. “I find it humorous that you call your brother pompous when you were just thinking you’re the only brother vain enough to name a city after himself. You cast stones in the wrong direction.”

  “Careful, goswig.”

  Gage shrugged. “Don’t be so unbalanced. You thought it.”

  Marcus gave the goswig a look of warning and pointed a bony finger in the badger’s direction.

  “Calm down!” Gage watched as Marcus stormed out of the room. The badger sighed and then thought, My duties as your goswig are becoming taxing. There’s too much hate in your heart. It makes my head hurt.

  The Village of Floren

  Kebble’s Kettle

  George Nailer rushed into his room, his blue eyes full of anxiety. The day had come to leave Kebble’s inn. “Athena! Are you ready?” Shutting the door, the mage scanned the empty room. “Where are you? We need to hurry. This is the Peak I’ve been waiting for.”

  “I’m moving as fast as I can,” Athena responded from behind the washroom door. “I’ll be ready in a moment. You do want me to look my best, don’t you?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Besides, you don’t want to look over-anxious. You said so yourself.”

  Athena’s light-blue eyes carried a sense of joy. Her belly was beginning to show the life the couple had created on Grayham. She could only smile as she brushed her long, blonde hair with an ivory-handled brush while gazing in the mirror.

  “I know what I said,” George huffed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to get going. We’ve been stuck inside this damn inn for far too long. It’s about time that piece of garesh sent for us.”

  Athena poked her head out the door. “George Nailer, you watch that mouth of yours! You know I hate it when you speak so foul. And there you go again using that word ‘time.’ You know there’s no such thing.”

  “Whatever,” George whispered, careful not to allow Athena to hear. “Yes, dear. I’m sure I meant to say, I’m glad the moment has arrived for the Head Master to send for us. We’re supposed to meet with him to find out where the family’s new homes are.”

  Athena looked back into the mirror. She knew it was hard for her husband to change his habits after a life filled with nasty language and abuse. Taking a deep breath, she continued to brush her hair. “I know you’re right. I agree. I’m also glad the moment has come, but the family has enjoyed our stay here. Kebble has been more than pleasant. I thank Mosley that you had the coin to keep us sheltered for so long. I can’t imagine what my family would have done i
f you didn’t have the means.”

  “Mosley had nothing to do with it,” George argued. He shifted from one foot to another, knowing that his wealth had come at Amar’s expense, and Lasidious had been the one to convince the Head Master to give him the dead mage’s riches.

  “Coin isn’t an issue,” George continued. “I’ve told you that more than once. You need to stop worrying. I’m ready to move on and get settled. This inn has been an okay place to crash, but I think we need to have our own space. I want to get past this pit stop.”

  Athena looked out from behind the door. “What’s a ‘pit stop?’ And I’m sure we haven’t crashed into anything. Some of the things you say are odd. There are moments when I have trouble understanding you. The people from your Earth must have been strange.” She laid down her brush. “Mother said you confused her the other Peak. She said you spoke of how much you missed your car and metal beasts called planes. I’ve been meaning to ask you about them.”

  Rolling his eyes, George sat on the edge of the bed and threw himself back with a flop. “Babe, you’re killing me! Don’t worry about it. Just hurry up so we can get out of here. I’m sure you look stunning.”

  “I’ll hurry, but it doesn’t mean I won’t make you answer my questions later.”

  “Later is better.” George stood, moved into the washroom and pulled Athena to him. “I love you.” He smiled. “Now hurry up.”

  Athena grinned and then lowered her head against his chest, her favorite spot. “I love you, too. I’ll be ready in a moment. I want to look beautiful for you.”

  As Athena and George left the inn, they said goodbye to Kebble. As always, the short, plump elf lifted his pipe into the air and bid them farewell. “Come back in one piece,” he joked, his rosy cheeks and his graying, smoke-stained mustache complementing his jovial smile.

  As the couple exited, Kepler was napping on the front porch. The demon stood and stretched, his massive form that spanned the width of the porch as his muscles rippled beneath his black coat. The top of the cat’s back was as tall as George, and his weight bent the wooden planks where his paws rested.