“Like that gut of yours,” Wrothgaar said, giving Angen a smack in the belly.
“Where are the rest of the knights?” Eamon asked.
Wrothgaar shrugged. “The last time I saw them, Brynn and Daryth were at the stern. Azim is hanging over the railing, and Brianna is below deck.”
Eamon looked at Angen, who was grinning.
“Alright,” he said. “We’ll leave them alone.”
He faced east again, stifling a smile, and gazed out over the waters. The battle was coming soon, and the knights needed time to themselves beforehand.
It would be glorious.
Farouk and Maedoc returned as Traegus was showing Faeraon the many maps and star charts on his walls. Maedoc’s gaze immediately went to the Alvar king, who was fascinated with the similarities of their respective worlds. Traegus introduced them.
“Faeraon,” he said. “Meet Maedoc, my friend and colleague, and the king’s uncle.”
Faeraon took Maedoc’s hand in greeting. “It is an honor to meet you, friend,” he said.
“This is Faeraon,” Traegus continued. “King of the Alvar, and the sole survivor of The Lifegiver’s last exploit.”
Maedoc nodded in respect. “I am pleased to meet you, Faeraon. I have never met one of your kind.”
Traegus led Maedoc over to his desk, where the banshee’s skull lay upon a small pedestal. Maedoc reached out, touching its surface and tracing the ancient runes inscribed upon it. His brow furrowed in curiosity, and he seemed to nod in recognition.
“This is the skull, eh?” he asked. “I never dreamed that I would ever consider bringing this entity back to its body. Nonetheless, I believe it can be done. Have we discovered the identity of the banshee?”
“The banshee is Faeraon’s daughter, Allora,” Farouk replied. “She became trapped here by this spell; enslaved to wander limbo by the sorcerer Tyrus.”
Maedoc grunted. “Tyrus, eh? It seems that this man was much more than a mere sorcerer. This language is incredibly ancient. It is much older than any human language. Where do you suppose he learned it?”
“It is his native language,” Farouk explained. “My friends, the defilers, have told me his story. He was born fifteen thousand years ago on the steppes of the mainland. He was once the shaman of a tribe of primitive human-like men. I am guessing they were similar to the islanders that Wrothgaar referred to as the wildmen.”
“Yes, yes,” Maedoc nodded. “This is, indeed, similar to their modern language, but much older. I believe I can loosely translate it. But the important thing is, we must prepare a mixture of life materials. If Faeraon is this woman’s father, his blood will be needed. Aeli, you are skilled in the creation of simulacrums, homunculi and the like?”
Aeli nodded.
“Faeraon’s blood must be used in the ritual,” Maedoc continued. “As for the spoken words themselves, I must decipher the meaning of Tyrus’ spell in order to divine the proper words of power.”
“Excellent,” Traegus said. “As the moorcat said, exciting things are afoot!”
“A foot!” Jodocus shouted. “I have two foots!”
Traegus chuckled, patting the boy on the head. “Aeli,” he said. “There is something we must discuss further while Maedoc is preparing the spell. Farouk, can you assist Maedoc in gathering Faeraon’s blood? A few drams should be sufficient, wouldn’t you say, Aeli?”
“That should be enough,” Aeli agreed.
“Very well, let us have a seat and get comfortable, then.”
Traegus and Aeli moved to the divan, sitting close to one another. Aeli’s brow was furrowed in worry.
“Do not fear,” Traegus assured her. “But I believe this spell we are about to perform will have some kind of effect on young Jodocus here.”
“What do you mean?”
Traegus pursed his lips. “He is only a year old, yet has aged to the point of a five, perhaps six, year old child.”
Aeli nodded, smiling as she watched Jodocus scratch the moorcat’s ears.
“Another growth spurt may happen due to the presence of this magic. I am quite certain a creation spell this powerful, coupled with an inter-dimensional summoning, will cause it to happen. If it does, there is no way of knowing how much more he will mature. But, rest assured, this is why he is here.”
Aeli nodded again, disappointed at the possibility that her beloved foundling would grow too fast to have a childhood. She had always wanted children, and the forest—and the universe itself, apparently—had given her one. It didn’t seem fair to her that his childhood would go by so quickly.
“I knew this would happen someday,” she said. “But I never thought it would be so soon. I’ve only had a year with him.”
“He will, most likely, still be a child,” Traegus said. “Only an older child.”
Aeli smiled. “He will always be my little boy.”
Traegus smiled, too, gripping her upper arm to comfort her. “That is a good way to look at it,” he said. “I think the two of you will have plenty of years together. Look at yourself. You are nearly eighty years old, and look no older than thirty. I am thousands of years old, and, well… I took this body, but you get the point. Jodocus the Great Druid was nearly five thousand years old when he returned to the Earth. You will live for hundreds of years yourself. Young Jodocus will, perhaps, never die. He is a child of unknown origin, possibly sent by the Keeper himself.”
“Allora referred to him as the star child,” Aeli said.
Traegus nodded. “That seems fitting,” he said. “Whatever it means, he was sent here for a purpose. And, might I say, the timing was just right.”
“Traegus,” Maedoc said. “I believe I may have found some answers.”
“Ah,” Traegus replied, smiling at Aeli. “Let’s see what he has found.”
Maedoc was seated on Traegus’ stool, bent over the desk. His fingers traced the inscriptions carefully as he showed them to everyone.
“There are two spells at work here,” he began. “One that binds her spirit to this skull, despite how little is left of it; the other only allows her to appear in either this realm, or her home realm. She may not leave limbo without becoming this frightening form, and may only do so at dusk. This explains why whenever she tried to communicate with Faeraon, or anyone here, she did nothing but scare the daylights out of them.”
While the adults were silent in contemplation, Jodocus’ curiosity prevented his own silence.
“How do you scare the daylights out of someone?” he asked.
The moorcat suddenly roared, causing the group to cover their ears. Jodocus jumped, quickly going to Aeli to hide his face in her robes.
“That is how,” the moorcat said, chuckling.
“That was loud,” Jodocus said into a face full of cloth.
Aeli shook her finger at the moorcat, who chuckled again.
“Every attempt she made to communicate with either realm ended in disaster,” Maedoc explained. “She never meant any harm. She only tried to communicate with anyone who came nearby, but always ended up killing them. She has terrorized this island for thousands of years through no fault of her own.”
“She would never have harmed anyone intentionally,” Faeraon said, his eyes betraying his sorrow.
“So,” Maedoc continued. “To break the curse, we need to construct a new body for her, and draw her spirit from limbo. I assume Traegus knows the proper summoning methods, and Aeli has the knowledge of what components are to be used in forming a new vessel for her spirit.”
Traegus nodded. “I will prepare the circle,” he said.
“We already have Faeraon’s blood,” Farouk added.
“We will need some soil from her world,” Aeli said. “Earthen clay would not work, since she is not from this world.”
Farouk nodded. “I will cross over and collect some,” he said.
“And I will take a nap, I think,” the moorcat said, curling up in the corner.
“Maedoc,” Aeli said. “The skull w
ill be needed to provide material for her new bones.”
Maedoc nodded. “Yes, the skull will need to be destroyed in any case to render the spell powerless.”
“Crush it into the finest powder you can, and mix it with Faeraon’s blood.”
Maedoc leaned in closer. “I must admit,” he whispered. “I have never done anything like this before. It is quite exhilarating.”
“And it will become even more so,” Aeli replied. “It will take all of us to create enough power to pull her out of limbo and bind her to her new body. And I think only Farouk has the ability to force her into material form.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was something he said before,” Aeli explained. “About a dream he had through King Eamon’s eyes. He dreamt of equations that had been given to the king from some outside power. I think they are a spell to force energy into becoming matter.”
“Hmmm,” Maedoc exclaimed. “Interesting. Some kind of strange field that can create something from… well… not nothing, I suppose. Energy is definitely something.”
“I don’t quite understand it myself, but I think Farouk does.”
“He understands quite a bit for a man half my age,” Maedoc joked.
Aeli grinned. “Don’t forget, Maedoc,” she said. “I’m older than you.”
“Come now,” Maedoc said, smiling. “Let’s see what Traegus is up to.”
Traegus had fetched a large copper tub from his shelves and placed it on the floor. From his memory, he had traced an arcane circle on the floor around the tub, complete with a six pointed star where each participating person would stand during the spell.
Six points was one too many, Aeli noted. Unless…
“Traegus,” she said. “There are six points.”
“Yes,” Traegus replied. “When Allora is fully formed, she will take her place on the sixth point to close the portal.”
Aeli breathed a sigh of relief, but somehow knew that Traegus’ words were not entirely true. However, she kept her thoughts to herself, looking back to Jodocus, who had curled up next to the moorcat.
Maedoc placed the skull in the copper tub, and then stood. He lowered his staff and conjured a crushing force that pulverized the remains into a fine powder.
“Faeraon’s blood…” Maedoc said.
The Alvar king brought the small vial to Maedoc, who held it up to the torchlight. It was an odd purplish color, he noticed, with tiny swirls that glowed and writhed within.
“Odd,” he said, pouring the blood onto the powder.
There was a sizzling sound as the blood mixed. Aeli stepped closer, focusing her mind on combining the two in a more organic way. She forced the blood to bond with the bone fragments, speaking Allora’s name over and over again as she waved her energized hands over the tub.
“What is happening?” Faeraon asked. Maedoc led him to Allora’s side, motioning for him to kneel beside her.
“Now,” Aeli spoke. “Concentrate on the way she looked when you last saw her. Think of things she did in the past. Feel your love for her flow into the mixture.”
Faeraon closed his eyes, following Aeli’s instructions to the letter. His hands shook as he held them above Allora’s remains. It wasn’t long before his loving smile became a sorrowful frown. As he clenched his eyes tighter, tears began to appear in the corners. Aeli felt his pain, and tears came to her eyes as well. She could truly feel the powerful love that this king had for his only child. His anguish was great, and his love for her was stronger than anything Aeli had ever felt.
Faeraon faltered, his body beginning to sway as he weakened. He began to hum a disturbing tune; a lullaby, perhaps—a requiem. It was one that was dark and full of pain.
Suddenly, Faeraon began to cry.
“Aeli…” Maedoc said.
Aeli nudged Faeraon, putting her hands on his shoulders to keep him stable. His sobbing grew stronger, and she embraced him to comfort him. As she held him, she looked down into the tub, seeing the formula almost complete. All that was needed was the soil from Faeraon’s world.
She hoped Farouk would return soon.
Chapter Twenty
Garret appeared in the dark cavern as the unknown woman was struggling with her bonds. She looked up immediately, appearing shocked. Garret, not recognizing her, held out his hands to calm her. She stopped, eyeing him suspiciously as he approached.
“I won’t harm you,” he said.
“Mmmph!”
Garret reached out, pulling off her gag. She immediately bit his hand.
“Damn it!” he cursed. “I am trying to help you escape. You are in danger.”
“No man touches me!” she hissed.
“Don’t worry,” Garret said, pulling out his dagger. “I’ll just cut your bonds and we’ll be on our way.”
“You look familiar,” the woman said, her eyes suddenly softening. “Have we met?”
Garret shrugged, moving behind her. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”
The assassin sawed through her bonds and let them fall to the floor. The woman rubbed her hands together, relieving the chafing on her wrists.
“I know I’ve met you before,” she said. “Somewhere. What is your name?”
“Garret. And you?”
“Twylla,” she replied. “Maybe you’re a friend of my father’s. Or Hargis, even.”
“Hargis?”
“Hargis the Mad. My father is Jax, the innkeeper.”
Garret shrugged again, yet somehow a sense of familiarity began to grow within him. She did look familiar, he thought, but he had no idea where they had met.
“It’s not important at the moment,” Garret said. “I need to get you out of here. Do you know where you are?”
Twylla shook her head. “Not exactly,” she said. “Somewhere near Argan, I think.”
Garret nodded, scouting the cavern for any tunnels that would lead them out. There were two, each as unpromising as the other.
“Are you left-handed or right-handed?” Garret asked.
“Right-handed,” she replied. “Why?”
Garret started off for the right-hand tunnel, beckoning her to follow.
“That’s great,” she said. “Nice decision making.”
“Did you have any better ideas?”
Twylla said nothing, but followed him into the tunnel.
There was a strange glow from the walls, as if some kind of luminescent life forms were growing upon them. It was a light reddish glow, almost pink. Garret felt an odd warmth from it as they passed through.
After a few minutes of travel, the tunnel began to tighten. The two of them had to squeeze through narrow gaps that were often small enough to have to suck in their breath to get by. The tunnel’s floor was uneven, as well, making the trek somewhat time consuming and tiring.
Garret noticed that the woman behind him was not breathless, however. Strange, he thought.
“Tell me about yourself,” Garret said.
“Haven’t I told you enough already?” she replied. “You just appear in this cavern where I’m tied up and start asking me questions?”
“How did you get there?”
Twylla sighed. “I don’t rightly remember. The only thing I do remember is fetching some flour from my pantry and then… well… I was here.”
The tunnel began to widen somewhat, and Garret could feel a warm breeze and see the faint sign of outside light. Another cavern would be ahead, judging by the increasing size of the tunnel, and there would possibly be a way out. Garret stopped, turning to Twylla.
“There may be danger ahead,” he said, pulling a small dirk from his belt and handing it to her. She took it in her left hand, twirling it like an expert.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good blade.”
Garret turned back in the direction of the cavern, continuing the rough trek through the tunnel. As it became wide and high enough to stand comfortably, he stopped again.
“Stay here,” he said.
“I’ll check ahead.”
“Alright.”
Garret crept forward, keeping his eyes peeled for any movements in the shadows. There was a steady ray of light in the cavern ahead that shown on the far walls of the tunnel. There was nothing to be concerned about. The cavern opened up to the right, gradually sloping upward toward an opening in the ceiling.
And that’s when the sudden realization came.
Twylla had said she was right-handed… but took the dirk with her left hand.
He gulped.
“How did it feel, Garret?” came her voice from down the tunnel. “How did it feel to murder the woman you love?”
Garret spun quickly, his saber whipping out of its scabbard as fast as lightning.
“Did she know it was you? Did she say your name as she died?”
Garret was still, his mind racing, his heart pounding. Thoughts began to form in his head. Thoughts of the queen. The queen who bled. Her blood… on his blade.
“Did you look into her eyes? Were they like her sister’s eyes?”
Her eyes. He remembered them. He had known in his dream that he couldn’t look into her eyes. And when he did, he had awakened. There was betrayal in her eyes; her beautiful green eyes.
Why?
“Does your king know that you murdered his mother?”
Garret shot off toward the cavern, leaving the voice behind. He reached the mouth of it, seeing that it was as he expected. There were, however, no exits. No way out other than the opening in the ceiling.
He was trapped.
A dark figure emerged from the tunnel as Garret turned back.
Akharu.
The demon was impossibly tall; taller than Wrothgaar.
Wrothgaar?
It was nothing more than shadow in human form; armored in darker shadow and wielding a blade as black as the abyss. The dark cloak it wore swirled around it like black flame, whipping through the cold wind that followed it from the tunnel.
“Hello, Scorpion,” the demon said. “We meet at last.”
“Who are you?” Garret demanded.
Akharu chuckled, his voice echoing off the walls in a frightening chorus.
Into Oblivion (Book 4) Page 20
