by Dorian Hart
Her books beckoned, but the notion of a magical talking gemstone was intriguing. She reached out to take the gem from Kibi, but it hopped from his hand to the floor, like a cricket aware it was about to be captured. The two of them stared, startled and fascinated, as it rolled quickly across the floor toward the foyer.
“Guess we should get after it,” said Kibi.
Aravia sprang from her chair and the two gave chase. The Eye of Moirel turned sharply before it reached the front door and bounced up the stairs two at a time like a children’s ball come to life. Aravia and Kibi scrambled to keep up.
“You get back here!” Kibi cried, but the diamond paid no heed. By the time Aravia reached the upstairs hallway, it had rolled twenty feet down and stopped in front of Ernie’s door, glinting in the light of Abernathy’s heatless torches.
Kibi puffed up behind her. “What’s it doin‘?”
“I don’t know.”
It rolled sharply into the bottom of the door, struck, and bounced off.
“Come in,” came Ernie’s voice.
The Eye of Moirel vibrated on the wood floor of the hallway, its rapid tapping sounding like chattering teeth. Just as Aravia took a step forward for a better look, it blasted through the door like it had been shot from a ballista, with such force that it left a nearly perfect round hole with only a few ragged splinters. A startled yelp came from inside the room.
“Ernie!”
Aravia dashed down the hall and turned the handle of Ernie’s door. It wasn’t locked; she pushed it open. Ernie was sitting on the edge of his bed, a journal in one hand and a quill in the other, but he wasn’t writing. He was staring open-mouthed at the crate that his parents had sent, pushed up against the wall. Like the door, the crate had a small round hole in it.
Aravia’s mind surged with insight, her subconscious taking it upon itself to connect the dots. Kibi had some rapport with the Eye of Moirel, and a golden circlet had been found on a statue of Ernie that matched one Kibi claimed belonged to his mother. The Eye, she knew, must be attracted to the circlet in some way, and thus its surprising journey to Ernie’s room. She held her breath.
Oh…there was Ernie’s circlet, resting on his bedside table on the opposite side of the room. So much for insight.
Something climbed out of the crate.
It was a stuffed bear. But unlike most children’s toy animals, this one was missing one of its button eyes, and in its place was a pulsing emerald glow. The bear was dirty, one leg was a bit longer than the other, and little tufts of wool poked out through its parted seams, but it was surprisingly limber. It swung itself up and balanced on the lip of the crate.
Kibi arrived in the doorway. “Is that a stuffed animal?”
“My mom sent it to me,” said Ernie faintly. “It was my favorite when I was little, and she thought…well, you know how moms are. But…what is that in its eye? What just happened? Why is my bear…alive?”
HELLO, ERNEST. YOU ARE LOOKING WELL.
“Pikon’s pancakes!” Ernie squeaked. “Did…did Bumbly just talk? To me?”
The bear’s voice was deep and resonant—an almost comical effect, coming as it did from a cuddly little toy. Even as it spoke, a green crystalline rime crept from its glowing socket and spread like a quick frost across its face.
USE THE CIRCLE, COME FULL CIRCLE, BREAK THE CIRCLE.
“What does that mean?” asked Ernie. “And why is your eye glowing like that?”
KIBILHATHUR, KEEP ME SAFE.
Aravia grew impatient. “Eye of Moirel, tell us, what is your purpose? How are you connected to the Seven Mirrors? Who are the Sharshun, and why are they trying to find you?”
MY PURPOSE IS TO TRAVEL, NOWHERE. BRING CARANCH’S GIFT.
“But what…” Aravia began, but the Eye spoke one more time.
THE SHARSHUN WILL UNMAKE THE WORLD. YOU MUST KEEP US FROM THEM. BRING ME MY BROTHERS.
The green light vanished like a snuffed candle. The crystal coating, which had spread almost to the bear’s stuffed belly, sublimated into a vanishing mist. The Eye of Moirel dropped out to the floor, while Bumbly flopped backward, lifeless, into the crate.
Ernie’s voice was shrill. “What is going on?”
Kibi reached down and plucked the Eye of Moirel from the floor. Aravia didn’t know what was going on, not yet, but she’d figure it out. As the most powerful wizard available, she’d have to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TO MORNINGSTAR, SHIELD, from Previa, Chronicler,
Having been authorized to pursue research on your behalf, following your earlier visit to our temple, I am pleased to offer you the following summary of our findings so far:
The name of Moirel appears in a particularly old legend of questionable veracity, in which she was a wizard who appeared many hundreds of years ago (exact date not known) in the middle of the circle of standing stones known as the Seven Mirrors. She was carrying several magical diamonds, each cut round, but she was disoriented and subsequently robbed of her jewels by bandits. Moirel spent the rest of her days searching for the jewels without success, though she was driven mad with the desire to find them. These diamonds are almost certainly the Eyes of Moirel since in a second account, as she wandered the countryside in her lunacy, she “asked all she met to give her back her Eyes, so she could go home.” The specific purpose of the Eyes is not mentioned, but it might be surmised that they were integral to Moirel’s supposed appearance.
The Seven Mirrors themselves are well known and documented: seven obelisks arranged in a circular pattern, far from any human habitation, approximately one hundred miles southeast of Tal Hae. Once every year, at the end of the fifth week of spring, they “flash,” as cascades of light appear in the center of their ring. We have no records of who built them, or why, or what purpose the flashing serves, but when considering my findings on the Eyes of Moirel, it is reasonable supposition that the Eyes and Mirrors combine to effect a form of magical transport.
A Blood Gargoyle is a semi-mythical creature whose existence seems to be in dispute among scholars. The only historical account is vague; the gargoyle is described as both powerful and malevolent, and as having wiped out an entire city (not specified), including hundreds of trained soldiers, before it was defeated and smashed by one of the Archmagi (unnamed). It is physically described as “an orange devil, bat-winged and relentless.”
It was a pleasure meeting you, Morningstar, and I hope you can endure the burdens of walking in light that the Goddess has given you to bear. If the Chroniclers can be of more assistance, I would be happy to oblige.
May the Goddess guide you.
A messenger had delivered the letter just after midnight, and Morningstar read it aloud to the others over breakfast the next morning. It was a pleasure meeting you… She read that sentence again in her mind and smiled. That first night in the Greenhouse, Abernathy had suggested that her new companions would see her as a friend, and she couldn’t deny the truth of it. Kibi and Tor were certainly friendly toward her, and dour Grey Wolf (if nothing else) respected her practical outlook. It had crept up on her, this feeling of fitting in, and it startled her to realize she had started to take it for granted.
But such congenial words from a fellow priestess gave her an even deeper hope that her place in the world might change for the better. Was there a Previa out there for every Corinne?
“No wonder Abernathy was worried about the blood gargoyle,” said Ernie. “I bet those Black Circle people are planning to bring it to life somehow.”
Morningstar didn’t see the point in speculating. “If it wiped out a city and hundreds of soldiers, there’s not much the seven of us can do about it. Abernathy had plenty of time to warn the other archmages, or the king, I suppose, before he…became unavailable.”
“Archmagi,” said Aravia. “The plural of ‘archmage’ is ‘archmagi.’”
“Whew,” said Dranko. “That was a close call. We nearly forgot how smart you were!”
“We should get
going, then,” said Tor. “To Seablade Point!”
Ah, Tor. Always to the point. She shook her head at his impetuosity, but at least he kept things moving forward.
“But what about the Sharshun unmaking the world?” Ernie was wringing his hands. “I’m more worried about that!”
Aravia shook her head. “Perhaps, but we have no leads to follow. The Eye of Moirel said to bring him his brothers, but we don’t know where any of them are. Abernathy was very clear about our next assignment: investigate the portal-arch near Seablade Point, since it’s our only possible means of finding the Crosser’s Maze.”
“Our ship leaves at noon, so we have a few hours,” said Dranko. “After we’ve eaten, I’ll pass out everyone’s windfall from Abernathy’s opals.”
Morningstar was still irritated with Dranko, in general because he provoked anger as a hobby and in specific because of how her whole body chafed. Her skin was recovering with unexpected speed from her march through the desert, but the burned patches were peeling and itched with a fury.
The rest of breakfast was quiet. Aravia scarfed down her food, finished her meal in five minutes, stood, and practically ran for the living room.
Tor laughed. “She loves her books!”
“Let her read as much as she can,” said Ernie. “Every new spell she learns could be the one that keeps the rest of us alive later on.”
An increasingly loud sound of heavy footsteps came from the basement stairs, and Kibi entered the dining room looking a bit nervous.
“Basement is full a’ closets, and each closet has an iron trunk. Put the Eye in a trunk, locked it, locked the closet door. Eye said to keep it safe, and I can’t figure out how to get it any safer. Hard to say if it could blast through iron or not.”
* * *
Dranko had booked them passage on the Goldfish, a small single-masted merchant’s cog. The Royal Strait threatened ships with a perilous maze of reefs and shallows, its dangers compounded by capricious crosswinds. Smaller and more nimble ships had an easier time making the abrupt course-changes necessary for safe passage. Once clear of the strait, it would be a few days’ sail down the eastern coast of Lanei to the tiny hamlet of Seablade Point.
The hold of the Goldfish was cramped and had no good space for hanging hammocks; Morningstar found a niche among padded crates of glassware to stuff her bedroll. As the ship’s captain had forbade any open flames in the hold, Aravia conjured up two magically-lit copper chits to help the others get settled on the first night at sea.
Aravia kept one of these lights for herself, sequestered herself in a small nook formed by a stack of boxes and the protruding hull ribbing, and was alternately poring over books and scribbling manically in a notebook. Her pack was so heavy she could barely lift it, as she had stuffed as many of Abernathy’s spellbooks into it as she could manage, not to mention another half-dozen she had convinced Tor to carry.
“Hey Aravia,” said Ernie. “Are you working on teleport magic? Ships make my stomach do backflips.”
Morningstar found them quite comfortable. It was not uncommon for Ellish sisters to travel this way, when they were obliged to make multi-day journeys. But poor Ernie was not meant for ships; his complexion was unnatural.
“Yes,” said Aravia. “But it’s complicated, and Abernathy’s bizarre notational patterns aren’t making it any easier, so I could do without interruptions.”
“Fine,” said Grey Wolf. “The rest of us will…uuuungh.” He doubled over in obvious pain, gripping his midsection with both hands. “Not again…”
“Dranko,” Morningstar snapped. “Can you do something?”
Dranko chuckled. “Like what? He’s not wounded. Maybe he has a parasite.”
The goblin’s flippancy towards Grey Wolf’s suffering was in exceedingly poor taste.
“Gah!” Grey Wolf barked. “It feels like someone’s trying to drag me around by my intestines, just like before. Maybe some…”
And he vanished. No lights, no smoke, no magical effects. Morningstar rubbed her eyes, but it was no trick; the others were just as shocked. Grey Wolf had simply disappeared.
“Aravia!” Morningstar snapped. “What happened? Was that magic?”
Aravia looked up. “Was what magic? What are you talking about?”
“Grey Wolf!” Ernie shrieked. “He was having that weird stomach pain again, and then just disappeared, like he teleported away!”
Morningstar gestured to Aravia’s book. “You said you were studying how to teleport. Could you have accidentally cast it on Grey Wolf?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” said Aravia. “I was just reading, not casting. And when you teleport, you can’t send someone else away without going along with them yourself.”
“Then what happened?” asked Tor. “Where could he have gone?”
“Maybe he’s still on the ship somewheres,” said Kibi. “First thing we oughta do is search for ’im.”
Lacking a better alternative they did as Kibi suggested, scouring the ship both below and above decks, but Grey Wolf was gone without a trace. They gathered an hour later in the hold, all of them nervous, perhaps wondering who would be next. Morningstar sensed they needed someone to take charge. She didn’t want to do it herself, but no one else was likely to step up.
“We can’t let this change anything,” she said. “We have our job to do, so let’s keep our focus.” It was hard for her to put conviction into her words, rattled as she was by Grey Wolf’s disappearance. He had been a strong guiding presence, not to mention the oldest member of the group since Mrs. Horn had died.
“But what if someone’s attacking us?” asked Ernie. “Abernathy’s put us in a dangerous position. What if someone in the Black Circle did this? Or a Sharshun? Or…oh, I don’t know.”
“Doubt it,” said Kibi.
Morningstar looked at him. “Why is that?”
“’Cause he first complained ’bout his stomach on the way to Verdshane, ’fore we had done anythin’ or even heard a’ all these bad people.”
“Then what do you think happened?” asked Ernie, his voice still wavering.
Kibi rubbed his beard. “Ernie, you and me, we got picked by Abernathy’s spell ’cause of our strange connection, that’s what Aravia here said, and I got no cause to doubt it. Seems to me, Grey Wolf has somethin’ odd about him too, what with his stomach and all. So maybe his vanishin’ is part a’ what got him picked to be one of us in the first place. Maybe he was supposed to disappear.”
That was a stretch, but Kibi’s words gave the others at least a sliver of comfort. “It’s a good theory, Kibi,” Morningstar said. “Since there’s nothing else we can do about it, at least until Abernathy wakes up and we’re home to tell him, let’s carry on with our mission. We should refocus. Why don’t we review everything we know about what’s going on.”
The others shifted uneasily and looked at one other for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then Dranko spoke.
“As I see it, we’ve got three things to worry about, besides whatever made Grey Wolf disappear. We’ve got the Black Circle cult that infiltrated my church and dug up a horrible monster in the desert that has Abernathy shaking in his wizard boots. We’ve got the Sharshun, who are looking for Eyes of Moirel gemstones that have some connection to that rock circle—”
“The Seven Mirrors.” Aravia had her nose back in her book and didn’t look like she was paying attention.
“Thanks, Miss Library,” said Dranko. “Right. And Ernie’s stuffed bear thinks the Sharshun want to make the world end, which would be a serious inconvenience because then where would I buy my cigars? And we’ve got the monster-emperor kicking down his prison door at Verdshane. Am I missing anything?”
“There’s the guy with the big mustache that was at the Mirrors,” said Kibi. “He was awful quick to jump in when the Sharshun dropped his Eye of Moirel. Good bet he’s up to somethin’.”
Aravia still didn’t look up from her book. “Sagiro Emberleaf. Hey, does someone have a ha
ndful of chits?”
Dranko produced the coins. Aravia took the chits one at a time, each time murmuring quickly and flexing the fingers of her left hand. One by one, the coins lit up.
Ernie jumped to his feet. “Why are you all so calm about this? Grey Wolf is gone, and you’re…you’re messing around with coins and talking about things like nothing happened! We need him!”
Morningstar sighed. Hysteria would get them nowhere. “Ernie, what do you propose we do? We’ve searched the ship; he’s not here. Of course we’re all worried, but do you think it will help to panic?”
Ernie reddened and looked down at his toes. “No. It’s just…”
“It’s okay, Ernie,” said Tor. “But Morningstar’s right. We’re still doing our job for Abernathy. We’ll just have to hope that Grey Wolf’s okay, and will come back safely from wherever he went.”
“Done,” said Aravia. In her hand, all twelve chits were glowing like little torches. “Best of all, if I understand Abernathy’s book properly, these should stay lit for a month. Just keep one or two in your pocket, and pull one out when you need light. By working on Abernathy’s variants of spells I already knew, I think I’m figuring out the best way to learn his dialect.”
Morningstar looked at the pile of glowing copper coins in Aravia’s palm, impressed. Then the shock came. She’d been staring into the cluster of lights for a good ten seconds with only the barest of squints. Before Abernathy’s summons, she’d have been squeezing her eyes shut to avoid the pain and blindness from something so bright, but now…
“Ell, forgive me,” she muttered.
* * *
There was a young boy, lost in the woods.
The trees grew so close together as to form solid expanses of silver-gray, turning the forest into a high-walled labyrinth, dark and full of an eerie rustling. The boy’s bare feet crunched on a carpet of dead leaves.
