The Third Sign

by Scott D. Muller

“What? I didn’t get that?”

  “I said I can remember my early school days. It’s starting to come back,” Ja’tar said, in an excited tone. “The glamour is wearing off.”

  Zedd’aki paused and stared off into the forest.

  “Me too! I remember ... that you were always in trouble,” Zedd’aki laughed, closing his eyes and thinking back to their early days at the Keep.

  Ja’tar chortled. “You needed to remember the past to know that?”

  Zedd’aki glanced over. “Maybe that elf dream catcher is working. What did you call it?”

  “A Whisper Trap.”

  “Right! The Whisper Trap .... You say it blocks the magic of the Zylliac so we can do old magic?”

  “That’s what I figured out.”

  Zedd’aki’s face filled with concern. “We need that, even after the glamour goes away?”

  Ja’tar said, “Seems we do. I’m not sure why, other than the beast’s magic seems to be tied to the medallions too.”

  “I see. Didn’t Dra’kor say he had to do something similar?”

  Ja’tar snorted. “He said that the witch Hagra had cast a spell over her cottage that kept out all prying eyes, sounds and the Zylliac.”

  “Does it work fast?”

  “Does what work fast?” Ja’tar replied.

  “The Whisper Trap. Does it work fast, or do we need to give it more time.”

  “It only takes a few heartbeats.” Ja’tar said with a nod right before he moved it onto the log adjacent to where they sat. He bent over and moved his medallion, making sure it was on the log next to his pack. Zedd’aki did the same.

  “I feel naked without the damn necklace,” Ja’tar complained.

  Zedd’aki sat still, staring at the cold fire pit.

  “Watch, watch!” Ja’tar said excitedly, remembering his use of magic the night before. He motioned with his hands and concentrated. A group of leaves slowly floated up, swirled in an intricate pattern, the leaves dancing, and chasing each other in a dazzling line as they swooped up, down and looped in and out.

  “I’ll be damned,” Zedd’aki said, shaking his head. “I can tell you’re not using the Zylliac. It feels different, but the weaves look almost the same.”

  “I agree. It’s strikingly similar ... the colors are the same, and the strands are the same, but ... my control is different. I seem to have less ability.”

  Zedd’aki stopped looking up at the leaves and gave Ja’tar his full attention. “Less? How so?”

  “I can’t really explain it, but it’s hard for me to lift just a single leaf or two, but a bunch of them, that’s easy.”

  Zedd’aki walked around the swirling leaves, staring at them while they lifted high into the sky. “How does it feel?”

  Ja’tar broke into a huge grin, “It feels great, really great! I get this tingle.”

  Ja’tar let the leaves drop and conjured up a small flame in the palm of his hand, played with it for a while and then sent it into the stack of twigs and branches, where the diminutive elemental quickly began to devour the tinder and dry branches. They burst into flames, adding a shifting yellow and orange glow to the rocks and bottom branches of the firs.

  “You should try,” Ja’tar said excitedly. “Try to feel the magic. Don’t talk to the beast.”

  “I thought that the gift from the elves blocked the beast?” Zedd’aki asked, a bit confused.

  Ja’tar frowned. “Well, it doesn’t actually block it. It just allows you to ignore the calling and focus on casting the magic the right way. You can still hear the lure of the beast calling to you in the distance.”

  Zedd’aki pushed his sleeves up and whirled his hands. He chanted an ancient druid song.

  He stopped. “I see what you mean about the beast calling. It’s quite insistent. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was choleric!”

  Ja’tar motioned for him to continue.

  Zedd’aki started swirling his hands in a hypnotic pattern and chanted. He stood up and did a little shuffle-like dance, spinning in a tight circle.

  “Just get on with the magic already,” Ja’tar said impatiently, rolling his eyes. “Always with the drama —”

  “This is how I do magic,” Zedd’aki said, putting on airs. “The flare is an expression of love—anybody can cast a simple spell. It takes a true artist to make it dramatic and spectacular.”

  “I’m going to be sick,” Ja’tar choked out as he mocked heaving. “You’re moving leaves, not creating a royal garden.”

  After all the hand waving was done, a single curled leaf wobbled up about three feet off the ground. Zedd’aki was smug and very proud of himself.

  “That’s it?” Ja’tar scoffed, placing his hands on his hips. “Zedd’aki, the great! Master wizard of yore?”

  Zedd’aki ignored the snide comments, “Aye! That is indeed, it! It’s the first true magic I’ve done in a thousand years. You can’t expect perfection right off. Give me ten minutes ...” Zedd’aki cackled, while cracked his knuckles.

  Ja’tar broke into a big belly laugh. “You’re a funny little old man!”

  “I’m not old, I’m finely aged, like a good Sherry,” Zedd’aki quipped with a wide toothy grin and a fine bow, complete with flourish.

  Ja’tar gave him a gentle shove with his elbow, “Did you notice how it felt?”

  “Did I ever! I’m tingling all over. I haven’t felt this feeling in years, I had completely forgotten,” Zedd’aki said, closing his eyes and relishing the rush. “It makes me want to just sit and cast spells all night.”

  Ja’tar nodded his understanding, “I spent most of my time here last visit just making leaves float so I could remember what it felt like to be a mage.”

  “We’re mages, aren’t we?” a worried Zedd’aki mumbled.

  “Aye! I believe we’re the last...” Ja’tar said, in a low humble tone. “We’re among the very last.”

  “What about Qu’entza?” Zedd’aki asked, his eyes going wide.

  “Well, most likely,” Ja’tar reasoned, “and probably Rua’tor too. Maybe a few travelers as well, like Menzzaren and Piledriver. I don’t know about Brink and Collin, but I suppose they should know the old magic too.”

  “You think we can trust them?” Zedd’aki narrowed his eyes and asked, voicing a legitimate concern.

  Ja’tar’s face took on a serious note, “I do. They’re from back in the days of Ror; we fought together. There may be others off in the realms that are still alive.”

  The forest went silent while they watched the flames lick the logs.

  “I wonder how many survive,” he continued.

  “I meant, besides them, any others?”

  Ja’tar shrugged, “Doubtful, but maybe some of the elves, or dwarves still practice the old ways.”

  Zedd’aki thought about being the last magi. Out of the thousands they used to have, they were now reduced to a mere handful at best. He reminisced back to when the Keep was bustling with magic. Magi walked the corridors and the courtyard casting spells, the library was filled with students of the art, and laughter filled the air as they discovered and mastered the craft together.

  He remembered the new lads and lasses, eyes wide and jaws agape, barely in their teens, knob kneed, lanky and straight from the country. Fresh from the spring selection, they stood in awe, hopes high, that someday they too would be able to make the sky cry and the ground tremble. Proud, teary-eyed parents hugged, kissed and waved goodbye, knowing well that they would be long dead and gone by the time their children graduated and were sent off to Endaar to observe the rites.

  “What are you thinking about?” Ja’tar asked. “You were just staring into the fire. Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine. I was just thinking back to the days, you know?”

  “I know. I was thinking about them myself just this morning. If we get out of this, I mean to see the Keep restored.”

  “You mean that?”

  Ja’tar shook his head solemnly, “I do.”

/>   “I too would like to see this happen, above all else.”

  “First, we need to figure out this puzzle!” Ja’tar said, a frown filling his face.

  “Your note makes sense to me now. There are only six of us true wizards left at the Keep,” Zedd’aki said, hanging his head. “That doesn’t bode well for us if we’re being attacked.”

  “No, I’m afraid it doesn’t.”

  “When are you planning on telling the others?” Zedd’aki asked, his eyes welling up.

  Ja’tar spat. “Not until I’m bloody certain about what we know!’

  “Don’t you think we should bring them in on this?”

  Ja’tar shook his head. “I don’t think now is the time, I’d like to keep this just between us for a while. One careless word ...”

  “I reason you are right. Still, I’m worried.” Zedd’aki said, as his brow drew together.

  “Can you believe we’re down to six? I can’t wrap my brain around that number.”

  “You too? It just hit home that we may be the last magi to walk this land,” Zedd’aki ceded.

  Ja’tar reached across the fire and grabbed his friend’s arm, “It’s been a good time though, hasn’t it?”

  “It has,” Zedd’aki grinned. “And we aren’t dead yet!”

  “No we’re not. Let’s practice! I was thinking that I might want to try something a little more substantial,” Ja’tar said. “Maybe hurl a few rocks or something.”

  “You should try a fireball!” Zedd’aki egged him on.

  “I don’t think so. We’re a little exposed here. Probably best not to start setting off explosions ...” Ja’tar said, with a smile. “But I bet the rush of that much magic would be worthy!”

  “Worthy,” Zedd’aki agreed, with a twinkle in his eye.

  Ja’tar’s eyes glowed softly as he wove his hands into a little pattern and a fairly hefty boulder rocked and wobbled before it lifted off the ground. He tied off the spell and stood back admiring his work. He walked over and stretched to get on top. He stood on the floating boulder and grunted his approval.

  “Not bad,” Zedd’aki said, agreeing.

  “I believe I was a war-wizard,” Ja’tar stated factually. “I remember thinking ... No! I remember learning that I was a war-wizard in school.”

  “I know,” said Zedd’aki, “and I was a spellcaster. At least, I’m pretty sure I was a spellcaster.”

  “I know how we can figure it out,” Ja’tar said, picking up a tiny pebble and holding it in his open palm. “Can you float this?”

  Zedd’aki whirled his hands. Ja’tar rolled his eyes and the small nugget floated out of Ja’tar’s hand.

  “I guess you are,” said Ja’tar. “Well met, spellcaster!”

  “So, you try.”

  Ja’tar focused, but the grain of sand just sat there.

  “As I presumed. I am a war-wizard. This explains why I had trouble lifting just a leaf or two.”

  Zedd’aki took a bow with a grand sweep of his hand. “So, war-wizard, what do we do next?”

  Ja’tar wrinkled his brow, “Next we need to figure out how to get free of this bloody glamour spell.”

  Zedd’aki held his hands out over the fire and rubbed them together. “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “Well, I was hoping you would be able to discern the weave. It’s too fine for me to make out, but I can form a bridge to the source and feed you extra power you may need to untangle the jumble.”

  Zedd’aki looked up. “Me? How do I do that, don’t we need to be close enough to feel the effects for me to see the weave?”

  Ja’tar pushed at the fire with a crooked branch sending sparks up into the sky. “That’s what I thought, but the weave is so strong, that it bleeds out. I can still see the weave on you now, but it’s a blurry mess. I just can’t see the parts. What really has me awestruck is that we’re better than a league away from the Keep and the glamour is nevertheless present. It’s no longer powerful enough to affect us, but you can definitely see that it clings to us like pitch from a white pine.”

  Zedd’aki focused on Ja’tar, trying to relearn the sight. At first, he only saw a glow that surrounded him, but soon, individual strands and bursts of the magically charged energy became visible.

  “Ja’tar, you should see this, it’s incredible ... I’ve ... I’ve never seen a weave so fine, so elegant.”

  Zedd’aki’s jaw dropped as he viewed the silk-like strands of red, yellow and white, with purple and green mixed in, and other colors that he hadn’t a clue what they did.

  “I’m not sure I can untangle this,” he confessed, throwing up his hands. “Staring at this is making my head hurt. It’ll be like unweaving a pile of spider’s webs.”

  “Damn!” Ja’tar swore, “Have we been out here that long already?”

  “What?”

  He reached over, grabbed the medallions, and handed one to Zedd’aki. “You’re feeling the effects of not having the life spell. We’ll have to wear the medallions for about a half-hour before we can continue.”

  Zedd’aki held the medallion out at arm’s length. “Can’t we just cast the life spells?”

  Ja’tar’s face turned red, not having thought of that option. He was so used to relying on the beast’s magic, that he had forgotten the old ways. He watched as Zedd’aki built his spell and saw relief fill his face as it settled in over his aura.

  Ja’tar removed the fine cloth he had thrown over the elven statue and built his own spell.

  “I wonder why I could still do the magic once you put the cloth over the statue.”

  Ja’tar shrugged. “It must take a little while for it to wear off. Shar’ran was never clear where the statue came from or exactly how it works.”

  Zedd’aki felt immediate reprieve as the spell settled and smiled when the throbbing in his temples subsided.

  “We should eat something,” he said, pulling the bread, sausage and cheese from the pack.

  They sat warming themselves by the fire chewing on the snack they had brought. Ja’tar pulled the glass ink jar out of his pocket and carefully removed the stopper. He took out his journal, cracked it open, and removed the quill from the last page. Ja’tar dipped his pen and began writing some notes, taking care not to spill his ink.

  “Anything you want me to write down that might help you when we get back?”

  “Can’t you just put a vision in there?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember doing anything different last night. May be the visions are made by the magic of the Keeper and conjured from what I’m writing and feeling at the moment.”

  Zedd’aki had him write down some of his impressions of the glamour and they added details about their nature. They finished eating and checked their medallions, fearing losing them. They went back to work, leaving the journal open so that the ink could dry.

  “You should try the journal,” Zedd’aki stated relatively forcefully.

  “Try what?”

  Zedd’aki sighed. “Try the journal. See if your entries can make a vision.”

  Ja’tar picked up the journal and read one of the entries. It popped up and showed him a finely detailed vision of the glamour that Zedd’aki had described.

  “I’ll be damned!” Ja’tar mumbled.

  Zedd’aki grinned smugly. “At least we know that it works.”

  Ja’tar closed the small book. “Sometimes you are scary smart. You know that, right?”

  Zedd’aki grunted at the backhanded compliment.

  “Back to it?” Zedd’aki asked.

  “Now is as good a time as any, I suppose.”

  Ja’tar and Zedd’aki were standing next to the fire warming themselves and discussing their options when a portal opened not more than twenty strides away. The blinking white flash caught the two by surprise, but not more so than the four wolven that came charging through. They burst through the plane claws extended and teeth bared.

  Ja’tar wheeled around and without even realizing it, cast
a ball of wizard’s fire into the nearest beast while he jumped over the log, already holding his sword at the ready.

  “Wolven,” he growled, filling his empty hand with mage fire.

  Zedd’aki took a step backwards and caught his knee on the giant log they had been sitting on.

  “Damn,” Zedd’aki cried, losing his balance and awkwardly fell backwards over the log. He landed flat onto the wet snowy ground with his legs in the air. “Dra’kor was right! Umph!”

  Zedd’aki had struggled to regain his balance and was already casting his own spell as his head popped over the edge.

  The first wolven was caught in the chest by the fireball and it fell to the ground, its chest exploding. It was roasting nicely as it clawed at the empty air. The second beast jumped and Ja’tar fell flat, feeling the beast pass overhead.

  “Damn it!” he uttered, as he hit the ground, letting the spell free.

  He rolled over twice to the side, holding his sword tight to his chest before springing back to his feet, weapon at the ready.

  “Now let’s see if you want to play ...” he spat, weaving his sword back and forth between the third wolven and himself. The beast’s yellow eyes watched his every move as it bared its teeth and growled a low-pitched guttural howl.

  The second beast had stopped and spun, reversing its direction, and was now mid stride as Ja’tar caught a glimpse out of his periphery. He took his eyes off of the third beast and stared into its gleaming eyes. He feigned another duck before he somersaulted to his right.

  He sprang to his feet, stepped slightly to his side, and executed a full Wood-Cutter-Chops-Tree, down across the belly of the second wolven, laying open its guts, which poured out of the gaping wound while it fell to its side.

  “I’m coming,” he shouted out, just to let Zedd’aki know he was all right. He turned quickly, his sword extended and looked for the beast he had been staring down, but it was nowhere to be seen.

  “I got this one,” Zedd’aki grunted while chanting.

  Zedd’aki was now in a full run moving forward and had finished his spell, tossing it underhand at the fourth. The oversized beast wasn’t as eager to race in as the others were and had pulled up short, looking for an opening. Its head bobbed up and down and side to side as it furled its hackles and growled, baring its long fangs.