The Third Sign

by Scott D. Muller

  “Seems to reason, although the farther away you are the more magic you need,” Ja’tar added. “Still, I learned how to manipulate a portal from my Grandfather, the rogue.”

  “Ah, I had forgotten about that. He really turned the world of magic upside down, didn’t he?” Zedd’aki said, with a broad smile.

  “He did at that,” Ja’tar agreed, grinning back.

  “So what now? I don’t suppose we’ll figure this out any time soon. We might as well work on the glamour.”’ Zedd’aki proposed, lifting his eyes from the fire, which had burnt down to a bed of hot coals. The coals flickered as they slowly died.

  Ja’tar threw a few more branches on the coals and then stirred them with a crooked stick.

  “Well?” Zedd’aki repeated while he checked the moon, trying to gauge the time.

  Ja’tar looked up wearily. “I guess we should.”

  “You’re enthusiasm is intoxicating,” Zedd’aki condescendingly retorted.

  Ja’tar snorted.

  “Let me take a look at you. Can you sit still over here by the light?” Zedd’aki asked, trying to focus on the weave. He didn’t see anything but a blur.

  Ja’tar turned toward the fire and moved down the log until he was adjacent to Zedd’aki.

  “I guess I’ll just need to dig in ...”

  “You better take off your medallion, or you’re just going to frustrate yourself!” Ja’tar pointed out.

  Zedd’aki groaned, pulled his medallion off and shoved it into his pack. He looked at the small statue that Ja’tar had brought and slid it closer to where they were. Just to be sure, he thought to himself.

  Zedd’aki began moving his fingers and casting his wards and spells. He was deep in concentration when the weave expanded and knocked Zedd’aki back over the log.

  Ja’tar extended his hand to help his friend up. “What the Ten was that?”

  “Well I’ll be,” Zedd’aki mumbled, shaking off the effects of the attack. “First glamour I’ve ever seen do that.”

  Ja’tar looked at him, not understanding what he was saying, “Huh?”

  “Oh, the glamour fought back, like it had a ward within the spell. It completely attacked my mind and then repulsed me.”

  Zedd’aki was dumbfounded. “It pushed me out when I started moving the strands.”

  “What does that mean?” Ja’tar asked concerned.

  “It means I have a lot of work to do, so shut up and sit still. First I’ll need to get rid of that ward.”

  He turned Ja’tar back into the light and this time, he focused on the part of the weave that had moved the last time he tried to weaken the glamour. His eyes turned white as snow as he used the sight to examine the jumble of threads.

  “This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen,” he said, mostly to himself. “Who’d have thought to try that?”

  Zedd’aki continued to mumble to himself while his fingers wove the threads of magic away, like trying to untie a huge knot of catguts.

  “I need to rest a bit,” he said, sitting up and stretching his sore back.

  “Can I move?” Ja’tar asked, looking sideways at his friend from his position on the log.

  “Better if you sit still for a while,” Zedd’aki said. “I think I can break this little part off in another try or two.”

  Zedd’aki began weaving again. After another ten minutes, he smiled and rubbed his sore hands. “I think I got a part of it. How do you feel?”

  Ja’tar shrugged. He didn’t feel any different. “What did you do?”

  “I think I got you your memory back…” Zedd’aki said proudly. “You should be able to recall the trip once we return to the Keep, but you will still be blocked from the magic.”

  “All of my memory?”

  Zedd’aki spat. “No, but enough for you to remember the trip, and maybe some of the old magic. I’m fairly certain you won’t be able to cast using the old magic.”

  “It’s a start,” Ja’tar said, encouraged by the progress. “Can you instruct me how to free you?”

  Zedd’aki shook his head, “I’m afraid only another Spell Caster could undo this weave.”

  “Unfortunate!” Ja’tar despaired. “Most unfortunate indeed!”

  “I’ve been thinking. This spell has been around a long time, so it’s reasonable to assume that it must be fed from some external magic source.” Zedd’aki said, presenting his train of thought. “I think that if we can get up high enough, maybe we can see where the spell is getting its energy.”

  “Right!” Ja’tar said, grinning. “If we cut off its source of power, we may be able to just let it dissipate.”

  Zedd’aki looked around. “You think we could get to the top of that mountain?”

  Ja’tar looked to where Zedd’aki was pointing; the tall cliff towered above them, just visible in the moonlight. Ja’tar had hoped that the cloud cover would break; when both moons glowed brightly, there was plenty of light to see by.

  Ja’tar signed heavily. “I don’t see why not. But, it’ll be a trudge and it’s going to be rough going at times.”

  Zedd’aki stood up and grabbed his pack and medallion. “Well then, we best get started! I’m thinking that if we can get there, I’ll be able to see the flow from the Keep and figure out what’s powering this spell.”

  “Let’s leave the fire burning. We’ll need to come back this way and the glow should be visible from up top. It should help guide us back,” Ja’tar suggested, joining his friend after grabbing the small figurine and his pack.

  They turned up the hill and started their long hike. Zedd’aki shoved at the low branches and gathered his long coat as it caught on the briars and brambles growing around the old trees. He led for a short while before he let Ja’tar take the lead.

  It wasn’t long before they were both gasping for air.

  “We’re out of shape,” Zedd’aki grunted, as he used his hands to push on his thigh while stepping over a huge boulder.

  “You think?” Ja’tar spat back, sweat pouring down his forehead.

  Zedd’aki pushed branches out of the way, peered out through the trees and hoped that he would see the Keep. They were still too low and he lowered his head in resignation. This was going to be a very long night.

  As the magi moved up the hill out of sight, an undersized chameleon demon with leathery wings released its grip from the tree high above where the two wizards had been sitting and discussing their plans. It leapt to the sky and headed due north, flapping hard to give the news to its Master.

  The higher they climbed, the easier it got to bushwhack. The undergrowth was starting to thin out and the amount of underbrush yanking and pulling at their legs was noticeably less. This enabled them to increase their pace.

  They struggled to crest a steep ridge. They stopped at the top to rest and looked back down into the deep valley, barely seeing the glow of their fire through all the dense foliage.

  Out across the horizon they saw the very tips of the high towers from the Keep. They weren’t quite high enough, but the vantage point allowed Zedd’aki to get a better look at the glamour unhampered by hills and trees. He was sure that he would be able to read the weave if they climbed a little further.

  “Let’s keep going,” he encouraged his friend. “I can almost make out the Keep!”

  Ja’tar looked at the wall of rock that stood between them and the next ridge. “What are we supposed to do with that?”

  Zedd’aki looked up the wall, and then to the right and left. “I guess we climb.”

  Ja’tar looked at his long coat and loose fitting boots, “It’s going to be a bit difficult with what we’re wearing ...”

  Zedd’aki scowled at him.

  “I’m just saying!”

  Zedd’aki opened his coat and removed the belt from his robe, which he hiked up. He tied his belt around the bundle, giving it a tug to make sure it was secure. It gave him what appeared like a short bloated skirt, with his knobby knees and droopy socks peeking out from und
er his long shirt. He grinned approvingly.

  Ja’tar took one look and broke into laughter. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

  “We climb,” Zedd’aki announced curtly, stepping up to the face of the rock.

  Ja’tar grabbed him by his arm. “You’re going to need this,” he said, shoving the small statue into Zedd’aki’s hand. You be careful!”

  Zedd’aki nodded and turned his undivided attention to the towering crag in front of him. It seemed insurmountable from where he stood. He inhaled deeply and tried to clear his mind of negative thoughts.

  He studied it carefully, before deciding on a path. He slid his hand into a big crack and made a fist. His hand secure, he placed his foot sideways into the same crack and wedged it tightly. He stepped up and grabbed a jagged outcropping above his head. Methodically, he worked his way up until he was well over Ja’tar’s head.

  “Be careful ...” Ja’tar warned, while watching his friend slowly find his way up the steep surface. He pulled open his coat and sighed as he prepared for the climb too. He felt stupid, standing there with his little skirt like jacket, legs bare in the cold air.

  “The air is cold, I’ll probably catch my death,” he grumbled.

  Zedd’aki ignored him, but under his breath he mumbled, “Whiner ...”

  A reply came from below. “What was that?”

  “Nothing—just thinking out loud, figuring out my route.”

  Zedd’aki was almost to the top when his feet slipped out from under him and Ja’tar watched helplessly while his friend’s feet scraped and searched the rock for a foothold. His hands slowly pulled themselves loose of his last handhold. Ja’tar hastily prepared a weave of air and readied it to throw.

  “Hold on,” Ja’tar screamed, quickly weaving a cushion of air under his friend’s body.

  In a desperate move, Zedd’aki wedged his knee and foot sideways between an outcropping of rock and a wide crack and stopped his slide with a lunge for a boulder with his free hand.

  “I’m alright,” he yelled down, as his heart thumped loudly in his ears.

  He was shaking uncontrollably and was forced to pause before continuing. Only a few more feet to go, he thought to himself, I can make it.

  Ja’tar cursed to himself. His turn was next. Then he cursed again because he knew they had to make their way back down later. Climbing down was always harder than going up, at least that was how he remembered it from his childhood.

  Ja’tar looked at his staff. There wasn’t any way he was going to be able to climb the wall and carry the staff. He searched the base of the cliff for a good place to conceal it away. There would be Darkhalla to pay if it fell into the wrong hands. He wove his most violent of wards over the staff as he slid it under a rock outcropping, well out of sight. As an afterthought, he pulled a few shrubs out of the dirt and covered the staff as best he could.

  Zedd’aki stepped up onto the ledge and paused to catch his breath. He turned and placed his hand next to his mouth and shouted down to Ja’tar. “There. That’s not so bad, come on up!”

  It took Ja’tar twice as long to reach his friend. He hated heights, and he hated climbing. He yelled, “I especially hate climbing in the dark!”

  However, Zedd’aki was already gone, continuing the trek the rest of the way up the ridge. He strode with determination, ignoring the burning feeling in his thighs.

  Ja’tar looked at his scraped and bleeding hands and the gashes and rips in his socks and boots. How was he going to explain that? He was beginning to think the trip was not such a good idea after all.

  Ja’tar grunted and moaned softly, taking another step. His toes hurt through his boots and he was sure he had blisters the size of skipping stones on his heels. He knew he would be walking in pain all the way home, limping like a one-legged sailor! He sighed, and then took another step higher. Each step burned. His thighs ached; his back throbbed; and his lungs burned.

  “Are you going to wait up?” Ja’tar gasped.

  Ja’tar grumbled when his question fell on deaf ears. He looked up and didn’t see his friend, so he paused on the small ledge and waited for his breathing to slow.

  Zedd’aki could see the next ridge. He had purpose now and walked fast, anxious to see the entire Keep. He crested the hill and grasped his legs, panting for air. His breath came in hoarse gasps and his head spun from the thin air. He turned around, faced up the valley, and saw the Keep. He removed his belt and let his chape down over his icy-cold legs. The cold wind blew steadily at the top of the mountain and his chape billowed.

  He knew about the glamour that made the Keep appear as an old inn and rapidly dismissed it once again. He took his medallion off and hung it on the broken branch of an ancient gnarled tree that had roots the size of his arms clinging to the rocky edge of the cliff. He stoked the porcelain sculpture between his fingers, keeping it in his pocket.

  He now marveled at the size of the Keep as the towers reached high into the heavens, several tree heights above the clouds. They had to have been a good hundred plus feet tall. He focused his eyes and saw the glamour, the entire glamour. He searched for thin strands that might be pulling in energy from some other location, but couldn’t find any. The sheer size of the spell held him in awe.

  Ja’tar caught up with him while he was staring out over the mist-filled valley.

  “Well, you were right about something,” Zedd’aki commented. “Five Peaks is getting walloped by that storm. I haven’t seen that much lightning in years. Look at those clouds!”

  “It’s something to see, that’s for sure. I hope the boys are holed up for the night if they’re headed that way. It’s too easy to get lost in a storm like that and end up wandering the mountains for days. You could end up frozen, or worse,” Ja’tar said, scratching his head in marvel.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much. Dra’kor and Men’ak have good heads on their shoulders,” Zedd’aki said, grinning. “They know enough to get out of the rain.”

  “Or the snow,” Ja’tar added with a snort.

  Ja’tar looked over at his friend and knew in an instant that he was concentrating on seeing the weave, so he dropped the subject and let his friend work.

  “Well, I’ll be a wood skunk! The glamour must be getting its power from the Keep itself somewhere. Nothing is being pulled in from outside the grounds,” Zedd’aki said, pointing at the Keep.

  “Can you see anywhere it might be getting the power from?” Ja’tar asked, not willing to have made the trip for nothing.

  Zedd’aki changed his scan of the magic. “I can try.”

  “Wait, I see something…” he said excitedly. “Wow! Those strands are so thin, I’d have never seen them if you hadn’t asked me to look again.”

  “Well, what do you see?” Ja’tar demanded impatiently.

  “It looks like they’re coming from the old back tower, by the old meditation rooms up on top. Hasn’t that section been closed for centuries?” Zedd’aki asked.

  “You mean the old resting tower?” Ja’tar asked.

  “Yes! I’m as sure as a duck flying south, that’s the one!”

  Ja’tar cursed. “That tower has been closed off and boarded up since I was a child. It was deemed to be unsafe. We were going to rebuild it—we never did get to it. I had completely forgotten about it until now.”

  “Well, that’s where it’s coming from and it’s clever,” Zedd’aki retorted. “There must be tens of thousands of hair thin strands, but I can’t tell for sure from this distance.”

  “We should search that room out once we get back to the Keep,” Ja’tar said enthusiastically. He clapped his friend on the back. “Good job! Well played.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be much use, I’m not going to remember a dang thing,” Zedd’aki said sadly.

  “That’s okay,” Ja’tar told his friend, slapping him on his back. “I’ll be your eyes, if you’ll just trust me and do as I say.”

  Zedd’aki looked at him strangely and then noticed that Ja’ta
r didn’t have his staff. “By the Ten, you forgot your staff!”

  Ja’tar shook his head. “I had to hide it and leave it at the base of the cliff. I’ll retrieve it on the way down.”

  Zedd’aki’s face visibly relaxed.

  “Trust me!’ Ja’tar said, winking.

  Zedd’aki shrugged and started back down the hill. When they got to the cliff, he turned around and started to climb down.

  “Wait,” Ja’tar said. “I want to try something.”

  Zedd’aki pulled up short and turned to see what his friend was doing. Ja’tar was on his knees holding one of the roots, and he was chanting.

  The root slowly grew longer as the chanting continued. Ja’tar grabbed it and tossed it over the edge of the cliff. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. We climb down.”

  He spit on his hands, grabbed the root, let himself slowly over the edge of the cliff, and walked down the rough surface. Zedd’aki watched, waiting patiently at the top.

  “I’m down,” he yelled up several minutes later. The muffled words reached Zedd’aki who took one last look at the Keep before following his friend over the precipice.

  By the time he reached the base, Ja’tar had retrieved his staff and was waiting patiently. “Shall we go?”

  When they eventually reached their fire pit, all that remained were a few glowing embers. Ja’tar looked up at the Ocht’or moon, which had marched almost two thirds of its way up from the horizon and had found a patch of clear sky to shine through.

  “We should be heading back soon,” he said.

  Zedd’aki agreed, “Do we have enough time to drink some of that wine and finish our snacks. I’m weak-legged; coming down that mountain took a lot out of this old body.”

  “I suppose we have a few minutes,” Ja’tar said, removing the cork from his wine skin and taking a long drink. “Ahh, that really hits the spot.”

  “You gonna share that or are you just going to hog it all to yourself?” Zedd’aki asked, as he tried to grab the bag.

  Ja’tar reacted quickly, moving it out of Zedd’aki’s reach.