The small room was windowless and contained only a small bed, desk, chair, and closet. Micah sat down at the desk. He heard Joshua closing the blinds on all the windows, and a few minutes later heard the engines wind up. He felt the jet start to move forward and then stop. The engines started whining loudly. Micah felt himself pushed back in the chair by the force of the takeoff. Sighing, he thought to himself that soon it would begin. Once more the tides of war will wash over me. It will be glorious. About an hour later there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Micah called out.
Joshua entered, closing the door behind him, and plopped himself down on the edge of the bed.
"So Uncle, what’s the plan?"
"When we land, get us refueled, and get a couple of hotel rooms for you and Romis. I will go looking for our new friend. Get plenty of rest and remain inside the hotel. We should be leaving tomorrow night to fly back. If they ask, just tell them you are here to pick up Michael Nickels to fly him to England to visit his Uncle Micah who is on his deathbed."
"Ok. We should land around 8:30 tonight," Joshua told him.
"Excellent."
“Uncle, I have to ask. Why are we flying to pick this man up? Wouldn’t it be easier and faster for you to teleport over and bring him back?”
“Easier, possibly. Faster, most definitely, but I don’t know everything involved. It could be that I may need you or the jet or both. When dealing with the unknown, it is always best to be prepared. Plus, normal surroundings and means of transport may be required to ease our new sorcerer into his new life. Besides, this gets you out of the manor house for a while and lets us spend some more time together before I have to return to Thelona.”
Joshua smiled.
“It is nice to be back in the air and away from the house. I better get back to the cockpit. I’ll come back in a little while.”
After Joshua left, Micah went to the closet and removed a pair of black dress slacks, a light gray oxford, and a black sport coat. He laid them all out on the bed and began changing. The clothes he had been wearing, Micah hung in the closet. Then he lay on the bed relaxing until he finally heard the engines wind down. There was a loud tone right before Joshua’s voice could be heard over the intercom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are making our final approach into Louisville, Kentucky. Please make sure your seat backs are in the upright position and your tray tables are locked. It is 8:32pm, and the weather is a balmy eighty four degrees with the sky fully overcast. Thank you for flying Air Christani, and have a pleasant stay."
Micah laughed out loud.
"That boy is three words shy of a spell."
After they landed, Joshua and Romis disembarked from the jet. Micah changed to cloud form and floated out behind them. Once clear of the jet, he transformed into a hawk and vented a piercing screech, informing Joshua that he was clear. Micah winged his way northeast from the airport. Joshua saw the shadow of the hawk flying away and shook his head with a grin.
Chapter Seven
Maklin cursed. Walking over to the robed figure lying on the ground, he knelt down and pulled the hood back. The eyes staring back at him were glazed in death. He took the talisman from the corpse’s hand and placed it in an inner pocket of his own robe.
"Well Meran, I guess the talisman wasn’t powerful enough. At least you won’t have to face Mortow and explain this failure to him." Maklin rose to his feet and extended his hand down over Meran’s corpse.
"Funditus incinerate."
A wave of heat engulfed the corpse, turning it to ash. Maklin swept his boot through the ash, dispersing it. He stood there a moment, lost in thought, until he heard a faint, deep grunt behind him.
"Gann, I want you to get rid of the other bodies and then hide yourself in the forest. Keep watch, but do not let the elves know you are here. I must return to Gratton. I will see that reinforcements are sent to aid you."
"I will watch the gate, but if the Avari Lord returns, I cannot stop him alone. Braz was strong and fast, but he didn’t even get to lift his weapon before he died. I have never seen a human move that fast," Gann said with grudging respect in his voice.
"Aye. Micah is full of surprises it seems," thinking of how Micah had transformed into a cloud.
"Do not try to engage him. Just watch and gather any information you can." Maklin was not looking forward to giving this report. Mortow did not look kindly on failure, and he was definitely going to be more than a little upset at having lost a magician. No, this was not going to be pleasant. Maklin spoke the words that would return him to his master.
Maklin arrived in his chambers in a beat of his heart. He wanted some time to think, time to work out what he was going to say. He went to the door and opened it, intending to walk to Mortow’s study to have some time to think. Instead, Maklin found himself face to face with his master.
"Master, I was just coming to make a report."
Maklin had to tilt his head back in order to look Mortow in the face. The man was massive, over six and a half feet tall. He was nearly half that wide at the shoulders. His black hair flowed unhindered passed his shoulders, and his eyes were of such a pale blue they reminded Maklin of nothing so much as a twin pair of icebergs. His black robes were gathered at his waist by a red sash displaying eight black stripes.
"I knew you were back, so I thought I would save us both some time by meeting you here. What happened at the portal? Did Micah show up?" Mortow asked in a voice surprisingly soft for his size, yet deep enough to cause stone to vibrate.
"Yes, Master. The Avari Lord showed up, as you said he would. Meran tried to use the talisman."
Mortow’s eyes opened a little wider in inquiry.
"It seemed to have some effect, but not enough to make a difference. He moves faster than lightning and, by the way, lightning doesn’t seem to affect him either. I shot a bolt at him, and Micah merely redirected it to kill Braz. It didn’t even slow him down. I’m sorry, Master, but he got through."
Maklin hung his head not knowing what was to come. Would Mortow yell at him, blast him across the room, strike him down with his bare hands, or simply shrug? The capriciousness of the man’s anger always kept Maklin on edge. He waited in excruciating anticipation.
"And Meran?" Mortow asked.
"Dead, Master. Micah broke his neck with one hand."
"Like this?" Mortow’s hand shot forward and grasped Maklin by the throat. The hand nearly spanned all the way around Maklin’s neck. Mortow easily lifted him off the ground.
Maklin knew better than to resist. He merely hung limp in Mortow’s grip, trying to draw a breath. Mortow’s eyes bored into his and his lips moved, but Maklin could not hear what he said. He felt a searing pain in his chest that had no connection to the burning in his lungs. The air was slowly being choked from him. Then Maklin felt cold stone on his cheek and realized he was lying on the floor. He heard Mortow’s voice, but it seemed like it was coming from a great distance. The burning in his lungs stopped while the other burning pain continued to increase. Just when he thought his chest was going to explode, the pain stopped.
"I’m sorry, Master, but I could do nothing to stop it," Maklin gasped, as he lay panting on the floor, unable even to raise his head.
"I know, and that is why you call me Master. Pull yourself together and come to my study. We have other matters to discuss." Mortow vanished.
"Yes, Master." Maklin lay there for several minutes trying to get his limbs to obey his commands. Finally, his heartbeat slowed and his arms and legs started to twitch. Rising up on his hands and knees, Maklin was seized by a fit of coughing. He coughed so hard he thought that something inside him must surely break. Getting to his feet, his head swam with dizziness. Maklin smiled.
"One day I will be that powerful." Even though he hurt all over, Maklin could not help but rejoice in the feeling of power that pervaded a room whenever Mortow was around.
"It was nothing more than I deserved. I failed him." Maklin brushed off his robes a
nd ran his hand through his short cropped brown hair. After adjusting the red sash at his waist that was a match for the one Mortow wore, Maklin spoke the words that would deliver him to the door of Mortow’s study. He raised his hand, but before he could knock, he heard Mortow’s deep voice, strong and clear, despite the thick door between them.
"Come."
Maklin reached for the knob, but the door swung silently open before he could touch it. He smiled to himself as he walked in and bowed. The room in which Maklin stood was dominated by a huge marble desk toward the back. The left and right walls were bare of any decoration, save for a single black iron sconce on each. Each sconce was shaped to resemble a cupped hand, and each iron hand held a small sphere that gave off a bright, white light.
Behind the desk, Mortow sat in a large, high backed, wooden chair. On the back wall to each side of Mortow, were ceiling-high bookshelves filled with books and scrolls. The bookshelves did not meet in the center. Yet, the scrying basin that Maklin knew occupied the space between them was obscured by Mortow and his chair.
"Master," Maklin said as he bowed again.
"I assume that you left Gann to watch the portal. He is a loyal one. I have already dispatched a company of Weres to aid him. They have orders to bring the sorcerer to me when Micah returns with him."
"Master, do you think it is wise to allow Micah to reach this man?"
"We are better served guarding against his return. Let Micah deal with the petty details involved with getting the man to this side. They will be easier to deal with once they are here."
"Should I return to the portal?"
"No. I have another task for you. Let the Weres handle the portal."
"But Master, shouldn’t one of us be there? Micah is formidable. We wouldn’t want him to escape with the sorcerer."
Mortow raised his eyebrows and regarded Maklin sternly.
"And what would you do Maklin? You have already admitted that you couldn’t stop him. No, I will not risk losing another magus on this. Meran is no great loss but you, my apprentice, would be vastly harder to replace. That is not to say that I won’t kill you myself if you fail me again."
"Of course Master." Maklin flushed slightly at the unexpected praise.
"Now, here’s what I want you to do…."
Chapter Eight
Michael was so excited that he felt flushed. Get a hold of yourself. All you did was fill a glass with water. Michael smiled. Yes, but it was water that I created out of nothing. He ran back to the living room and grabbed the dictionary, the notepad, and the pen.
"Let’s see what else I can come up with." Michael scooped up the other books and walked to the kitchen table. He dropped it all down and sat there thinking.
"Oh, I know!"
Standing up so fast he knocked the chair over behind him, he moved to the cabinet beside the stove and took out a large frying pan. He placed it on the stove and looked around the kitchen. He grabbed a towel off a hook by the sink, folded it up, and placed it in the pan. He stood back a few feet, and raised his hand toward the pan.
"Funditus incinerate."
With exhilaration, Michael felt the cool wind blow through his mind again and saw the towel immediately blacken and turn to ash. Michael laughed out loud, but his laughter turned to a strangled choke as he fell to the floor in tears. He lay on the floor curled into a ball crying for so long he lost track of time. All he could think about was Karin, lying on the sidewalk with a red stain growing on the front of her blouse. Michael knew in his heart now that she was truly gone forever, and he was alone.
He needed to talk to someone, anyone. He thought of calling the doctor’s office and asking for the name of the counselor Dr. Baker alluded to, but no, Michael really needed to talk to someone he knew and trusted. Then it hit him.
"I’ll go talk to Father Barthold." Rolling onto his back, Michael stared up at the ceiling, wiping his eyes with his hands. He looked over at the clock. It was almost three o’clock.
"He has mass at 5:00pm, so I won’t bother him until after mass."
Michael got up with a groan. He walked to the overturned chair and righted it. He slid it under the table and then went to the hall closet. He retrieved his backpack and returned to the kitchen table. He put all the books, the notepad, and pen into the pack and closed it. Next, Michael moved to the sink and splashed cold water on his face and dried off with a handful of paper towels. He pitched them in the trash, grabbed his keys from the counter, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and headed for the door. He opened the door and, as he walked out, he turned and glanced briefly back inside.
"How empty this place is." He quietly closed the door and locked it.
Michael walked down the street to an ATM and withdrew forty dollars, then headed to a sidewalk café. He went in and sat down, taking the menu from its holder and glancing over it while he waited for a server. A waitress wearing a blue shirt, black pants, and a white half apron came over to his table, pulling out an order pad and a pen.
"What can I get ya?" She asked.
"I’ll have a plain cheeseburger and some fries please," Michael replied, placing the menu back in its holder.
"How do you want the burger cooked?"
"Well done."
"Anything to drink?"
"Yea, a large diet soda."
"It will be ready in a few minutes. You want your drink now or with your food?"
"Now, please."
Michael watched her walk behind the counter, tear off the order sheet, and place it on a turnstile. She went to the drink machine, filled a cup with his requested drink, and brought it out to him, placing a straw on the table next to it. The waitress walked back behind the counter and busied herself there.
As he removed the paper cover from the straw, Michael remembered all the times he and Karin playfully shot each other with those wrappers. Glumly, he dropped the straw into his drink. He picked up the glass and drank about half of its contents, realizing just then how thirsty he was. Setting the drink down, Michael huddled over it, cupping his hands around its base, watching the bubbles rise to the top, but not really seeing them.
He thought of all that had happened in the last few days. Nothing was ever going to be the same. He felt like he had a giant hole inside that kept getting bigger and darker as the hours passed. The next moment, it seemed to him, the waitress was placing a plate down on the table. He looked up with a start.
"Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you. Here’s you burger and fries," the waitress said with a smile.
"That’s ok. Thanks," Michael replied, feeling a little embarrassed for having jumped like that.
"Can I get you anything else?"
"No thanks, this should be fine."
The waitress placed his ticket upside down on the table and walked back to the counter. Looking at the food, Michael shoved his drink away and pulled the plate in front of him. He started eating and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table. He knew if he didn’t eat, he would get a headache, but the food was tasteless. He finished his meal and wiped his mouth with the napkin. Michael pushed the empty plate away and grabbed his soda glass. He drank down the rest of it and set the glass back down on the table. He picked up the ticket and reached into his front pocket for his money. The total was $6.84. He walked up to the counter and handed the waitress the ticket and a twenty dollar bill.
"Everything ok today?" She asked.
"Everything was fine, thanks. Just give me a ten back," Michael said.
"Thank you. Come back again," the waitress replied.
Michael decided he would walk to the church instead of taking the bus. It was only 3:45 and the church was no more than a ten minute walk from the cafe. He thought to himself as he walked, How long has it been since I have been to the church? Exactly three years ago Wednesday. Michael groaned. On our wedding day. I have never been much for the weekly gathering routine.
The church always seemed to Michael like a spare house key. It was always the
re if he needed it, but he didn’t think much about it until then. Besides, God was God, and the church was the church. He didn’t feel the intended connection that others felt. God was always there, no matter where there was. The church to him was just ritual. Some people found comfort in that ritual, but Michael found comfort in knowing God was everywhere, not just in that building.
Without realizing it, Michael arrived at the church steps. He thought to recall his steps. I don’t remember walking the distance to get here. It seemed he just stepped out of the diner, and now he was in front of the church.
Michael heard his name called and smiled. He could never mistake that voice. Looking up, Michael saw Father Barthold at the church door, holding it open. The priest was an elderly man with short white hair, dressed all in black save for the gleam of white at his collar. He was wearing a black fedora and black framed glasses with lenses so thick they made his eyes look huge.
"Father. Just the man I was looking for," Michael said, smiling, feeling a little of the despair leave him.
"I had a feeling I would be seeing you soon. Come on inside. I have a few chores I need to take care of before mass, but you can give me a hand."
"Just like the old days, huh, Father?"
"Just like the old days, Michael," Farther Barthold said smiling.
Michael hurried up the stairs and followed the priest inside. He faltered as he looked around the foyer and felt tears come to his eyes. He also felt Father Barthold’s hand on his shoulder. This was the place where he and Karin stood when Michael asked Father Barthold to marry them.
"Painful memories now, Michael, but in the years to come, they will be comforting ones."
Michael was unable to speak for a few minutes.
"I can’t see the future, Father. All I can feel now is the pain."
The Chronicles of the Myrkron: Book 01 - The Nine Keys of Magic Page 7
