“The four pillars?” questioned Kalmar.
Zynor nodded thoughtfully as he tried to remember what he had read ages ago. “The four pillars were markers of the extent of the village. They were erected by a powerful sorcerer as a means of protection for the families within. It was said that no evil could successfully broach the invisible barrier created by the pillars.”
“So the idiot villagers have been effectively caged in for all time?” posed Theos. “That sounds like a useful spell.”
“I believe it was meant in a reverse manner,” frowned Zynor. “I am talking about a time before Karamin existed as a country. Other than the city of Calusa, there was no law and order in this part of the world. I can imagine that raiding villages was a common way to gain supplies and booty.”
“Pillars?” frowned Valera as if someone had just woken her up. “I remember reading something about pillars made of crystal. It was in a book about herbs and spices, and it mentioned something about the ability of crystal pillars to ensure a varied garden without worry of invading pests.”
“What are you talking about?” snarled Theos. “We are talking about evil magic, not gardens.”
“Perhaps not,” interrupted Zynor as his old eyes opened wide. “I do now recall more of the old saga. They were called the Pillars of Crystil, not crystal pillars. It is perhaps a coincidence, but I am not so sure. Every gardener has to worry about invading pests. What if the magic used to exclude vermin was enhanced to keep out larger predators?”
“Do you mean like a magic gone astray?” asked Kalmar. “Wouldn’t the villagers flee from such dark magic?”
“Would they even be aware of it?” shrugged Zynor. “I do not have the answers to your questions. I can only relate what I have read.”
“Such speculation might be novel for conversation,” sighed Kalmar, “but it matters little to us. No one I spoke to has any inkling where the mysterious village of Smirka might be, if it still exists at all. It could be merely a child’s tale for all we know.”
“That is more than likely true,” scowled Theos. “I would not put it past Fakir Aziz to slyly drop the name Smirka in passing to keep our minds occupied during his absence. That way we will not be tempted to discuss his real plans.”
“His real plans?” asked Kalmar. “What do you mean?”
“It would only be natural while Fakir is away that we discuss this foolish journey that we are all on,” explained the Tyronian mage. “Surely Fakir would not want us sharing theories on where he is leading us, so he sets us up with an investigation of some ancient mythical place to keep us occupied. He has something planned for us that we will not approve of. I can feel it in my bones.”
Theos was so full of anger as he talked that he missed the signs of warning coming from his companions. As he finished his tirade, he saw the others looking over his shoulder. The fiery mage from Ur turned meekly and saw Fakir Aziz walking towards the table.
“I think your bones suffer from too much idleness, Theos,” declared Fakir Aziz. “Why don’t you ready our mounts while I get a bite to eat? As soon as I am done, we are leaving Calusa.”
“And where are we going?” Theos asked sharply as he rose to his feet.
“To Smirka,” smiled the Mage. “I am quite sure that I already mentioned that to you.”
“There is no such place,” retorted Theos. “Or if there ever was such a place, it is long gone by now. No village can live in the center of Karamin and escape the armies of the Federation. They would not stand for it.”
“Then it is all well and good that we are not the armies of the Federation,” smiled Fakir as the waiting girl came with a plate of food. “Ready our mounts. I will be only a few moments.”
Theos stormed out of the common room, and Kalmar looked questioningly at Fakir Aziz. “If you are purposely trying to drive him to anger, you are succeeding. Are we truly going to test our magic against the Pillars of Crystil?”
Fakir raised an eyebrow at the words spoken by the Koroccan mage. “I do think that most of you are learning to work together. As for Theos’ rage, only he can control it. The time may soon come when his life depends upon controlling it. I hope he is ready for the challenge.”
Chapter 7
Smirka
Fakir Aziz halted the group in a small clearing and dismounted without speaking a word. He wandered off into the dark, foreboding forest while the other mages settled down for a meal break. For several moments, the group ate in silence, but Theos soon appeared agitated. He rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth.
“Sit and eat,” Zynor said softly and compassionately. “You will ruin your digestion.”
Theos spun and glared at the old mage from Zarocca, his fiery hair illuminated by a stray beam of light that had slipped through the canopy.
“Sit and eat?” echoed Theos. “How can you all be so calm while this madman leads us around the world in search of… I can not even imagine what he is searching for. We have spent a week in this infernal forest, and for what? The mountains of the Barrier loom before us, and we are still no closer to the mythical Smirka than we were when we began. I have a mind to just mount my unicorn and head home.”
“There is nothing holding you here,” shrugged Valera. “The trip will be quieter without you.”
Theos reacted as if he had been slapped. He stared at the thin woman from Vinafor with disbelief.
“You have been fighting this journey every step of the way,” Kalmar said in agreement. “While I have tried my best to befriend you, it would appear that you find this trip very much to your disliking. Perhaps you should return to Ur.”
“Although Ur will offer you no peace of mind,” Zynor said softly. “The turmoil that builds within you is not of your own doing, but neither is it our doing. Why strike out at those who mean you no harm?”
Theos’ eyes clouded with confusion. Up until this point, the other mages had been content to let Theos rage on, but he now saw that they were united against him. It hurt to know that he stood alone. He nodded slowly and turned to retrieve his unicorn. At that moment, Fakir Aziz stepped into the clearing.
“Let the unicorns rest,” he said as he stared at Theos. “We have found Smirka, but I think I should go in alone. The rest of you will wait here until I return.”
“Smirka?” brightened Valera. “It actually exists? Can we see it?”
Fakir Aziz hesitated and then slowly nodded. “There is not much to see from here, but I will show you what we have searched for. Make no loud noises. I do not want to disturb the villagers.”
Fakir Aziz turned and walked out of the clearing. The other mages followed single file until they stood on the edge of a low ridge. Across the valley floor was a small, ancient village. Scores of huts with thatched roofs were clustered inside a small rock wall that encircled the village. Cultivated fields sat outside the wall, and farmers worked the fields by hand. At the four corners of the village, tall stone pillars shot upright, towering over the wall. Two smaller wooden pillars framed a small gate in an archway on the side nearest the mages. This was the only break in the wall.
“It does not look evil and foreboding,” commented Kalmar. “It looks no more sinister than any other poor village.”
“The wall is only the height of a man,” commented Theos. “Surely it could not keep out any army that wished to enter the village. The stories told in Calusa were lies.”
“Perhaps not lies,” commented Zynor. “There was a time when the protection of a village rested in magic. The pillars were the true defense, not the wall. The wall only kept out animals.”
“There is truth in Zynor’s words,” Fakir said softly. “The ancients built the pillars for protection, and they prayed for the gods to bless them with protection. Powerful shamans would also weave in spells of protection to aid the gods.”
“Did it work?” asked Valera.
“Sometimes,” shrugged Fakir Aziz. “The problem with depending upon the spells of a shaman was that eventual
ly the shaman would die. What then would become of your protection?”
“It would become like the protection of the gods,” spat Theos. “It would be worthless.”
Fakir Aziz turned and glared at Theos. “You will remain here until I return. For no reason are you to pass through the gates of Smirka. Is that clear?”
Theos tried to ignore the Mage, but Fakir remained unmoving. Finally, Theos looked up and nodded.
“It will be as you wish, Master,” Theos snapped mockingly.
“Must we all wait outside?” asked Zynor. “I would love the chance to see the village.”
“I think it best for me to go alone,” replied Fakir. “I will try not to be too long, but wait here no matter the time elapsed.”
The other three mages nodded, and Fakir Aziz turned and walked down the hill. Feeling their eyes upon him, the Mage crossed the valley and approached the village. As he got closer, the villagers noticed him. Without alarm or fanfare, each of the farmers casually abandoned his farm implements and walked away from the fields. The farmers filed through the small gate and closed it. Fakir Aziz walked up to the gate and stopped. He peered at the two small pillars and the intricate carvings chiseled into the wood. He recognized some of the symbols and nodded thoughtfully. He stretched out his hand and pushed the gate open. It was not barred.
The Mage stepped through the archway and closed the gate behind him. Scores of eyes peered at him from inside the huts, but the walkways of the village were deserted. Fakir gazed about the village. There were no streets to move along, but rather alleys formed by the close proximity of huts. Fakir looked left and right and shrugged. He chose the left and walked between two huts. He could hear the sounds of people moving about inside the tiny huts, and chickens scratching in nearby cages, but no one ventured outside to greet him or challenge him.
For half an hour, the Mage wandered through the village until he came to a building unlike the others. The building was rectangular, and it was raised a pace off the ground. No farm implements adorned the outside walls of the building, and a short flight of steps sat in the center of one of the long sides. Fakir mounted the steps and stopped in front of a wide doorway. A simple paper sliding door stood open, and the Mage peered at the single room inside the structure. The ceiling was brilliantly painted in vivid colors, but the walls were bare, dark wood. A small, ornate carpet sat at the other side of the room beyond a short desk-like piece of furniture. An unlit candle sat upon the desk. The floor of the room was highly polished, dark wood. The Mage slipped off his boots and placed them on the top step. He stepped into the room.
Once inside the room, Fakir noticed wooden shelves on each side of the doorway. The shelves were loaded with scrolls. He paused to stare at the scrolls and then turned towards the desk. The arrangement of the carpet and the desk in relation to the lone doorway was indicative of a figure of authority holding court. Fakir Aziz approached the desk and sat cross-legged before it on the wooden floor. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.
* * * *
“Stop the pacing!” scowled Valera. “You are driving me crazy.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to notice anything outside your book,” Theos snapped. “Do none of you even care about Fakir Aziz?”
“We care about him,” Zynor said softly as he turned from the unicorn he was brushing. “He said to wait here for him. That is what we are doing.”
“He said that three days ago,” scowled Theos. “The farmers were back to tending their fields before the sun set on the day he left us. They obviously are no longer afraid of him. He is probably long dead by now.”
“If he is dead,” mused Kalmar, “then he will not be returning to us. Still, it will not hurt us to wait a while longer.”
“You are all mad,” growled Theos. “Are all of you so thrilled with the state of the world today that you are willing to entrust your lives to fate? You may be so timid as to let death prevail, but I am not.”
Theos whirled away and started stomping towards the trees.
“Where are you going?” Kalmar asked excitedly. “We were warned not to go near the village.”
“And I think Fakir especially meant you,” added Zynor.
Theos ignored his companions and walked into the trees.
“He is going to die,” Valera frowned. “There is magic protecting that village. I can feel it from here.”
“We must go after him,” Kalmar declared as he got to his feet. “Theos’s anger might not be directed at the villagers, but he seems incapable of controlling it. Whatever protects the village may see him as a threat. We must stop him before he gets there.”
* * * *
Something in Fakir’s mind tickled him to consciousness. He didn’t open his eyes, but he heard the sounds of the village behind him. Children ran through the alleys nearby, and villagers walked by, carrying heavy burdens. He could hear the sighs of their breathing and their heavy step as they struggled to bear whatever load they were carrying.
“Eat and drink,” commanded a nearby voice.
Fakir opened his eyes. Set on the floor before him was a bowl of rice and a bowl of clear broth. Fakir raised his head and gazed at the person on the other side of the desk. The woman was ancient. Her skin was shriveled with age, and her eyes were as black as death. What little hair she had left hung in scraggly strings down the side of her face. Her skin was bronzed by the sun of hundreds of years, and her hands were little more than leathery skin stretched over ancient bones. Fakir nodded in greeting and picked up the bowl of broth. He sipped it slowly as he felt the hunger within his body screaming for nourishment. The warm liquid slid down his throat and radiated warmth in his belly. He sighed and smiled slightly. Picking up a few grains of rice, he savored them in his mouth for several moments before eating them.
“You have famished yourself before,” the old woman noted with interest. “Were you prepared to die here if I decided not to reveal myself?”
“My life was in your hands,” Fakir Aziz said weakly.
“Lies,” spat the woman. “Do not try to hold me responsible for your own foolhardiness. You were not invited into Smirka. Perhaps I should have let you die.”
“Why didn’t you?” asked Fakir.
“Because there are others with you,” frowned the old woman. “Already they seek to discover what has become of you. Soon they will come to assault the walls of Smirka. I will not allow that.”
“There are none in my party who wish the people of Smirka harm,” declared Fakir Aziz. “They are only here because they follow me. I have asked them to wait a distance away.”
“And so they have for three days,” replied the witch, “but they will come. Make no doubt about that. And when they do, they will die.”
Fakir Aziz frowned. The woman’s words were the first indication of the length of time he had been waiting, although his hunger and thirst had indicated almost as much. Fakir did not reply to the woman’s words. He finished the small bowl of rice and placed the empty container on the floor. He finished the broth and placed that bowl next to the first.
“Why have you come here?” asked the woman.
“To gather you,” Fakir replied.
“To gather me?” cackled the old woman. “You have no idea who you are talking to.”
“I think that I do, Crystil of Smirka,” replied the Mage. “You have executed your charge faithfully for many many years, but the time has come for you to leave this place.”
The woman’s eyes opened wide. Fakir could not tell if it was astonishment or fear that gripped the woman, but he noticed an instant change in her demeanor. The sureness that had enveloped her was gone, and her bony hands began to shake slightly.
“You are nothing more than a man,” she said accusingly.
“I am neither man nor demon,” stated the Mage. “I need your help, Crystil. Come with me.”
Crystil’s eyes grew even wider, and a bony hand rose and covered her mouth. “Great mercy of the gods! How can this be?”
>
“All things are possible,” smiled the Mage. “You have cared for these people for centuries, and you have done well. Now I have another task for you. This one may not be so easy.”
“Easy?” balked the witch. “Do you think it has been easy protecting these people in a land filled with murderers and marauders?”
“I did not mean to make light of the tremendous task you accepted,” explained the Mage. “I know that it required great skill and greater devotion, but the next may well require your death.”
“My death is long overdue,” replied Crystil, “but my work here is not complete as long as one villager breathes. I cannot go with you.”
“You must, for the Great Demon stirs,” retorted the Mage. “Your powers are needed.”
“My powers are nothing compared to those of the Great Demon.” Crystil shook her head. “He is a matter for the likes of you.”
“And I need your help,” the Mage persisted. “Will you deny your powers to me?”
A tear formed in Crystil’s eye and rolled down her leathery cheek. She dabbed at it with the tip of a bony finger and brought it before her eyes. Her expression saddened and she sighed heavily.
“I have not done that in ages,” she said softly. “I did not know that I was still was capable of tears. What of my villagers?”
“They will be safe until our mission is complete,” answered the Mage. “If you survive, you may return to them.”
“And if I do not survive?”
“Someone will take your place.”
“Promise me that,” demanded Crystil. “Promise me that my people will not suffer, and I will go with you.”
“I so promise,” declared the Mage.
* * * *
Theos walked across the valley with the other three mages following him. As had happened with Fakir Aziz, the field workers casually laid down their implements, filed into the village and closed the gate. No shouts of alarm were issued and the farmers did not rush. Kalmar expected the worst when Theos reached the gate. Kalmar halted and his arm came up, but Zynor placed his large hand on Kalmar’s arm and shook his head.
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