Earth Magic

by Kenneth Price

  Ruan drew his sword. The sense of evil was strongest in this place. Slowly, he stepped forward into the room. With his head pivoting from side to side, he tried to see the whole room at once. As Ruan approached the chamber's center, he glanced over the stone wall of the well and saw that it was nearly filled to the top with foul stagnant water. He turned his nose at the smell. A thick layer of slimy green algae covered the water's surface. As the lord stared at the degusting surface, a pocket of air rising from below broke the slimy surface with a splat. Startled, Ruan sucked in the cold, damp air of the chamber and took a quick step backward.

  Still watching the surface, Ruan saw the algae began to move. The green slime shimmered and started to flatten out into what looked like a large green mirror. Ruan gasped. Reflecting in the mirror was not his reflection but that of four strangers who stared out at him. Ruan nearly jumped out of his skin, but being a stubborn Northerner, he refused to look away. It took him but a moment to realize that the faces could not see him but were created with some kind of magical illusion. Ruan took a step closer.

  In the strange mirror, four young men, who were really only boys, stood on a wharf just outside a large city. Ruan did not recognize the city, but he knew that it was not in Strigiol. Maybe some were along the Iar Sea coast, he thought as he watched their mouths moved as if they were talking. However, there was no sound. If I were a Southerner, perhaps I could read their lips. His attention was drawn to the youth with a long thin face and thick brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. The boy frowned. His deep piercing eyes stared out at the harbor. With his hands on his hips and his dark green cloak flapping in a brisk wind, the youth's face was drawn inwards, and he appeared deep in thought. Ruan decided he was their leader. Though he was a boy, and a weak-looking lad at that, he had the look of authority about him. Despite your peasant clothes, I would say you're a young lord. A Ceredigion, by his looks. And there was something else too. Ruan could not say what it was, but he felt as if he were being drawn towards the boy. It was not exactly a feeling but the boy seemed to be in some type of trouble and Ruan found himself wishing there was a way he could help the long faced youth.

  Shaking off the strange sensation, Ruan shifted his gaze to the other faces. Waiting at the young Lord’s side stood three more boys. One of the youths had tight curly red hair. The redheaded boy was impatient and shifted from one foot to the other. A smile covered the redheaded boy’s round cheerful face, and he had a devious look about him as if he was always plotting something.

  A redhead? Must be from Cluain, thought Ruan.

  Scowling down at the redhead was a large muscular youth. The beginnings of a dirty blond beard wrapped about his square prominent chin. The scowl then turned into a laugh, and he playfully gave the redheaded boy a shove that nearly sent the Cluain boy off the wharf’s edge. The big youth reminded Ruan of himself. He could easily be from Northern Strigiol or Galway, however with his dark blond hair, he could be from Easland. Over his right shoulder protruded a leather-covered hilt of a large sword. Ruan watched as that the big Easlander turned his eyes to the young Ceredigion lord. Now the big youth's stare took on an intensity, and there was a spark of pride that flashed in his eyes, but the spark quickly changed to one of concern. The young Lord’s guard. Ruan decided.

  The last boy was the strangest of all. This boy was shorter than the others, and the boy was as thin as a twig. The short, thin boy had long straight golden-blond hair that was almost white. The boy's sharp narrow eyes were a strange light-green color, those eyes were not like any man Ruan had ever seen. The youth was dressed in off white cotton clothing and a cloak as green as his mysterious eyes hung behind his narrow shoulders. Hanging over one of those shoulders was a bow made of finely polished wood. The bizarre looking boy stared at the city as if it were the last place in all of Kambrya that he wanted to be. Ruan had never seen one, but if he was not mistaken the smallish boy had to be an Elf. An Elf? Outside of the Green? This is a strange group indeed.

  The images in the mirror flickered and began to shift and twist. When the mirror finally stopped moving, the four youths were gone. Another face now stared up at Ruan from the well. The face belonged to a tall, bronzed skinned figure with hair as black as night and eyes to match. The eyes were so dark they seemed to be absorbing the light around them. Never had Ruan seen such dark and intense eyes. The strange eyes that stared up from the well were shiny dark pits that hid the soul within. The black-eyed man had long coarse black hair, hair that was black as his eyes and was pulled back into a braid that was held together by a band of white gold. With his hair pulled back, it was easy to see his pointed ears.

  “A Black Elf!” Ruan said in a hushed whisper. A Mountain Elf! That is impossible!

  Black Elves do not exist. The Black Elves were mythical creatures, who were also known as Yorns. The mythical Yorns were said to live deep in the Northern Drygan Mountains, it was also said that the Yorns were as evil and as the dark overlord himself. But that’s impossible! The Northern Drygan Mountains is Troll and Hobgoblin country. Trolls and Hobgoblins did not like living with the other races and had driven all other races out of the mountains thousands of years ago. The mountain creatures were also a constant threat to Keloran and all of the north country. Ruan shook his head. The Mountain Elves nor any other race could live in Troll and Hobgoblin country. Black Elves are just stories. Who is to say that anything in the mirror is real. Another one of your tricks, Torcull? I will not believe your mirror any more than your words.

  The Elf in the mirror sat with his back against a large reddish gray granite boulder. Ruan was familiar with such rocks. Reddish Gray granite stones were common in the Northern Drygan Mountains.

  High in the mountains, the black-eyed Yorn stared up at a cloudless blue sky where an eagle soared upon the mountain winds. As he watched the great bird, the Elf oiled a long blade that lay across his lap. Forged from the same strange white metal that held the Elves’ braid, the sword was a long, deadly-looking weapon. There seemed to be a union between the white blade and the emotionless face of the Elf.

  Never changing his flat, expressionless face, the Elf shifted his position and gazed down the rocky slopes. Rising out of the rocky base of the mountain was a city surrounded by a large wall. The city was unlike any Ruan had ever seen. The buildings and houses were painted in bright, brilliant colors. Everywhere flags of different colors flapped in the strong wind. It was like looking down upon a rainbow. Beyond the city was a small clearing. Beyond that was a vast forest that seemed to stretch out forever. Coming to his feet, the Elf slid his long white blade inside a black sash. He started walking down a wooded trail. Without warning, the features of the Elf began to shift. Slowly they became distorted and grotesque. The Elf seemed to be transforming into something else. At last, the Elf’s transformation was complete. In shock, Ruan pulled back from the well as he found himself gazing down at his own face. The reflection of his own face looked haunted and lost. Then that too faded away, and only the well remained. The visions seemed to have come to an end.

  Rubbing his eyes, Ruan stepped back from the mysterious well. A Ceredigion lord, an Elf. A Yorn that somehow transformed into me! And a wonderfully colored city? What does it all mean? Are they related in some way? Fool! Do not let Torcull’s tricks and lies distract you.

  He turned his back on the well and paced across the floor. The desk had nothing on it but a key and a single sheet of paper that looked as if it had been torn out of a book. Ruan turned the sheet over in his hands as if looking for something more.

  The writing on the page was a rusty red color. Ruan held his lamp closer so he could read the writing. It was some kind of poem.

  “Blood thickens, blood thins, blood dries. All who are born must die.

  Two will stand in the place beyond the light. One of day and one of night.

  Two will stand but who will die?

  Blood thickens, blood thins, blood dries. All who are born must die.

  From
blood of old, he who was will be again.

  Two in one and yet not whole. In the place beyond the light, only he may go.

  Blood thickens, blood thins, blood dries. All who are born must die.

  One without a king will find a king. Forced to leave, he will return.

  An army will he bring.

  Blood thickens, blood thins, blood dries. All who are born must die.

  The one who was will have two guides. The sage who does not know.

  The Seer, who cannot see.

  Blood thickens, blood thins, blood dries. All who are born must die.

  At his side, there will be three. The three will change, or all will die.

  The three must stand then stand aside.

  Blood thickens, blood thins, blood dries. All who are born must die.

  Those who never were will show the way. Those who were and are

  no more will sing the tune. Those who were never born will be the key.

  Blood thickens, blood thins, blood dries. All who are born must die.”

  “Gibberish,” Ruan said to himself. Yet he still folded the parchment and placed it into his leather pouch.

  Feeling he had wasted enough time, Ruan turned to leave when he heard a sound. It was the first sound he had heard since coming down through the trap door. Ruan stood still. Again, he heard it. It sounded like a wounded animal. Trying to locate where the sound was coming from, Ruan slowly turned. The soft moaning was coming from behind a door. A small window with strong iron bars was fitted in the center of the door. It was some kind of cell. This must be some kind of dungeon. Why did I not notice this door before? It's like the door does not want to be noticed. Fool! A door can't hide… can it?

  As Ruan crossed the room towards the door, he felt a strange pulling and pushing sensation. It was as if he were being drawn towards the door and yet at the same time being told to stay away. The pushing sensation grew stronger. It was as if the door or something beyond the door was trying to keep him away. The closer he got, the stronger he wanted to look away. It is just your nerves. But Ruan sensed it was much more. More of Torcull’s magic, he realized. But if you’re hiding something in there I need to find out what it is. Ruan found it was growing harder to keep his focus on the door. He forced himself forward despite the growing fear of what Torcull was hiding. In a way, he did not want to know, and yet he also knew he must find out what it was. It took all his effort not to look away. It was like walking into a raging storm, but this storm was invisible. Against the invisible force, it took Ruan all he had just to move slowly forward.

  Finally, he reached the door. His arms felt heavy. His heart was racing, and sweat poured down his strained face. Ruan tried the door. It was locked. With difficulty, he lifted his lamp. Straining from the effort, Ruan let the lamplight spill into the cell. He spied through the square window. The cell was dark and smelled of decay and mold. Ruan could see nothing but a pile of rags. Then he saw the rags move. He turned the light onto the corner. Whatever was there began whimpering and moaning. Lying huddled in the corner was an old man dressed in rags. Skinny as death, he looked like a skeleton. The bony man held a hand to his face and squirmed about as if the light was burning him.

  "No!" the old man's whimpers formed into words. "Ask me what it is you want. Ask me something… anything, but please stop. I will… answer, I swear, just… ask what it is you want. I just want… the pain to stop! Please don't hurt me!"

  Ruan nearly dropped his lantern. He knew this man. Skinnier and older by far, but still the same man. The cowering, whimpering shell of a man was none other than Conrad Cameron, the late king of Strigiol.

  “In the name of the three gods!” Ruan exclaimed. “You are alive!”

  Quickly Ruan raced across the round room to retrieve the key from the desk, but as he turned back to the door, he stopped. The door was gone. Damn it! I know it was here! He stared at the wall, but he could not find a sign of where the door he had stood at only moments ago. I did not imagine it. It must be here. Doors don’t just vanish. Ruan knew it was Torcull’s magic at work. Magic was keeping the door hidden from him. You're not stopping me Torcull. Picking a random spot on the wall, Ruan placed his fingers the smooth stone surface. I can not see the door, but maybe I can feel it. With his hand slid across the stone wall, Ruan slowly started walking. All the way around the room, he gently dragged his fingertips across the wall. As Ruan felt the wooden surface of the door, he came to a stop. Once he could feel the door, the door itself snapped back into view. It was now right in front of him, with his outstretched hand resting on the think wooden surface, Ruan had broken the spell through a simple touch. He smiled to himself. By the three gods, it was hidden by an illusion. Once more he gazed through the window. “He is alive!” he breathed, still only half believing what his eyes were telling him.

  Once more the magical force assailed him, trying to turn him from the door, but this time, he was already at the door and did not have to strain to reach it. Slipping the key into the lock, he turned it and with a click the door swung open. The man who was once king cowered in the corner, trying to melt into the cold stone wall. "No! Oh please, say something, ask something. Do not hurt me. I can't take it anymore!"

  Ruan entered the room, and as he did so the force that assailed him suddenly vanished. The spell was meant to keep unwanted visitors away, but once inside the spell seemed to have been broken.

  Slowly, Ruan crouched beside the old man. He smelled like overly ripe fruit and he was covered in dirt and grim. “Your majesty,” Ruan whispered softly, “I will not hurt you. I am Ruan.”

  “No more hurt. Oh please!”

  “Your majesty?” He has gone mad. How could he stay sane down here with Torcull torturing him, and for no apparent reason? “I will not hurt you.” Torcull will pay for this! “I am going to take you away from here.”

  “You are not him?’ The king looked puzzled. Then the look turned to one of fear. “No! You must go!” There was panic in his voice. “He will come. He always comes… and the pain. He will hurt me for talking to you. He will hurt you too! You must leave now!!”

  “Not anymore, your majesty. I give my word. He will hurt you no more.”

  “Why do you call me Majesty?” The panic in his voice was gone, but the madness in his eyes remained.

  “You are my king,” Ruan told him.

  “Ha!” he howled, “king you call me? Ha! You are crazy, young man. Ha! Ha! Crazier than I, you are. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!…” the king burst into loud hysterical laughter.

  After a time, Ruan quieted him down. Sadly, Ruan starred down at the king. He was a great man once, and now Torcull has turned you into this. He will pay! “We must leave, your…” Ruan cut himself off. Conrad had forgotten who he was. Torcull’s sadistic torturing had destroyed the king’s memory.

  The king looked up at Ruan, “Do I know you? You look… familiar.”

  “My name is Ruan.”

  "Ruan?" the old man repeated. "I do not recall that name… wait… Yes, I sometimes dream of a man named Ruan. We fought together once… I think. We won great battles together. Didn't we?"

  “That was my father. You and he were good friends. I am named after him.”

  “Friends? No, it was a dream. I dream a lot, you know. Maybe you are a dream, yes? Once I dreamt I was a king. Ha! Me a king! I am but an old man, you know.” His head cocked to one side. “Do you know me?”

  “Yes, you are the.. your name is Conrad.”

  The man smiled at that. “Conrad,” he said as if he had never heard it before in his life. “I like that. It is a better name than Ruan. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, your… Conrad. But come, we must go. Here, let me help you stand.”

  With Ruan’s help, Conrad slowly came to his feet. “You won’t let him hurt me?… You… you promise? You said you promise.”

  “Yes, Conrad, I promise. Please, we must go now.” Supporting the king, Ruan guided the man out into the round room.

  “Would you
have tea with me, young man? I do love tea. Do I know you?”

  “I am Ruan, and yes, I will have tea with you, Conrad, but first let us get you out of here.

  Okay?”

  "That is a good idea I think because I do love tea. It is excellent with honey. Ruan, you say?"

  “Yes, Ruan.”

  “That sounds familiar. Sometimes I dream about a man named Ruan. Are you him?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Standing on the harbor wharf of Aonach, Elwin stared out over the harbor. His dark green cloak blew behind him as a stiff breeze was blowing in from the Iar Sea. He had safely made it out of Port Murray, but not out of danger. Aonach was the capital city of Cluain and the weak-willed king of Cluain had caved to the power of Jerran. Cluain was now in the hands of King Jerran and Strigiol. And that meant he was in a land that was also under the control of Torcull. Danger could be almost anywhere. Slowly, Elwin became vaguely aware that Pallas was saying something. Pallas was once more ribbing Colin over something. Pallas seemed to enjoy bantering with the big youth, particularly at the most inappropriate moments. Some stress management, Elwin thought briefly. It was a habit they had both picked up as children. Perhaps it reminded them of better times and kept their hope alive; a hope that those times could come again. However, this time, Pallas' wit nearly got him tossed into the harbor's cold water. Elwin gave their horseplay little attention; he had other things on his mind right now, the biggest was how to get into the city, and out again. He wanted to do it as quickly as possible, without drawing attention to themselves. If it were possible, Elwin would have avoided the city altogether, but the road to Aleach would take a good two weeks of hard riding, and they need both supplies and horses.

  Having arrived safely at Aonach, Jon had said his goodbyes and hurried off to find a buyer for his cargo. The storms that had raged over Reidh had brought a temporary halt to the sea trade. With his cargo of Whitefish and Reidhen wool, Jon would make a good profit.