The Third Sign

by Scott D. Muller

  Ja’tar grabbed the old mage by the arm and helped him down several steps. “Would you like to rest?”

  “No, but I would like to eat.” Menzzaren said, with a grin. “I miss the food you know! Who’s in charge of the kitchen then, Dawn?”

  “Dawn passed on,” Ja’tar said softly.

  Menzzaren’s eyes glazed over. “A pity, she was ... pleasant! She could whip up a mean plate of biscuits and gravy.”

  “Her youngest daughter, Gretta, took over.”

  “Ah, Gretta. The thin gal with the red pigtails.”

  “The same, but not so little now ...”

  Menzzaren patted his stomach. “Happens to us all eventually.”

  Ja’tar clapped the man on his back. “Go then, and enjoy! Gretta has outdone herself. She’s been looking forward to everyone visiting for over a week now.”

  Menzzaren took a deep breath and gingerly let himself down from the last step of the dais, leaning heavily on his staff while his knees creaked and popped. He took the steps slowly, always leading with his left foot.

  Ja’tar and Zedd’aki watched the old man hobble across the room and head out the door. Zedd’aki put his hand on Ja’tar’s shoulder, “It hasn’t been this busy here in a long time.”

  “It is kind of nice to have more people around isn’t it?”

  Zedd’aki nodded. “We’ll see how it goes after they’ve been here a few days. You know how well they get along ...”

  Ja’tar bobbed his head and cracked a grin.

  When the last of the wizards required for the tribunal arrived, little time was wasted and the Gathering was convened within the day.

  Ja’tar pressed his ring into the key slot and opened the chamber, while two younger wizards entered to air the room out and make preparations. Zedd’aki pushed his nose into the room and looked around. He had never been in this room before and this was his first time sitting on the council.

  The ceiling was ... missing, or appeared missing. A clear view of the stars and the heavens stretched over three stories above. Zedd’aki was sure it was done with magic, but couldn’t sense any, which was often the case where old magic was concerned.

  They gathered in the Room of Council, entering in single file. They meandered around the thick wood table and chose their seats. Ja’tar sealed the room, and behind the sealed doors, they debated the merits of a Closing for a short few hours.

  The room was buzzing with conversation.

  “Shall we get on with this?” Ja’tar asked, clearing his throat.

  Rua’tor stood, “Where are Dra’kor, Grit and Men’ak?”

  Zedd’aki shook his head sadly. “They’re still very ill. I talked to them earlier today and they said they would begrudgingly comply with whatever the rest of us decide. They fear spreading whatever is ailing them and also fear venturing too far from the facilities, if you understand my meaning.”

  Brink looked up in disbelief and coughed. “They must be on their death beds then. Not like Dra’kor to miss an opportunity like this to preach his prof..fun..profundits...profundities!”

  His comment elicited several chuckles and moans from around the rooms as the wizards exchanged knowing looks and eye rolls.

  Piledriver leaned over and poked Menzzaren. “Someday we ought ta be takin’ the time and learn how to be healing them ills. Most of the healing we do is patching people up from battle wounds, which is rightly good. But ... it’d be nice to be able to cure the heaves and whooping cough too.”

  Menzzaren scoffed, knowing they would never find the time.

  Ja’tar cleared his throat. “Shall we carry on then?”

  He received enough nods to assume everyone was ready.

  “A few weeks ago, we lost Tar’ac. Observe how he died.”

  He wasted no time and opened by playing back the Book of Records for all to see and feel. It was one of the few skills he had mastered for controlling the Orb during his search for the travelers.

  He watched the reactions of the others while the scene played out. Menzzaren was obviously shaken and the dwarf, known as Piledriver, was filled with rage, his skin matching the color of his floor-length beard.

  “A Nagracumulo ...” Menzzaren uttered shakily.

  “Well,” he said, “I’ve seen enough, let’s vote!” Piledriver growled. He stared down Menzzaren, his bushy brows pushed together tightly.

  Ja’tar smiled kindly. Just like a dwarf to get straight away to the vote. Stargazer cleared his throat. “Let’s see how this plays out. A little discussion won’t harm us.”

  Piledriver adjusted his hauberk and grumbled under his breath, “Very well, elf! I be willing ta hear yer words.”

  Ja’tar stood again and reminded the council that the decision to Close had only been made twice in all of recorded history, and that once made, it could not be revoked. It required unanimous consent.

  The gravity of their situation slowly sank in and lips pursed.

  None wanted to condemn a wizard to certain and swift death. None wanted to play god. However, neither did they want to suffer the consequences, knowing that a power as evil and vile as the Nagracumulo was running amuck through the realms. None wanted their own realm to face the threats that Naan had faced. None wanted to meet the same fate as To’paz.

  Menzzaren pushed his chair back and struggled to his feet. “I don’t see any way around this.”

  Zedd’aki watched the room for any reaction to what the senior mage said. He was well respected by all.

  “Are we sure?” Collin asked, looking from one side to the other. “What say ye Menzzaren?”

  Menzzaren coughed loudly, barely able to catch his breath. “That ... demon is fourth plane. We faced them at Ror.”

  Collin’s jaw quivered.

  Menzzaren leaned on rickety arms. “Tha-that beast can’t get to this plane on its own. It had to be summoned. I fear what called the beast, not the beast itself.”

  Collin asked, “Summoned by whom?”

  Warden shouted out, “By a blasted Dark Mage I’m thinking!”

  Warden stood, his full muscular frame took up two spots at the table. His fists were the size of a normal man’s head and everyone’s eyes narrowed when he set them defensively on either side of his hips. He was tall, like Zedd’aki, but could easily have stuffed the man in an apple box.

  Stargazer leaned into the table. “Surely not!”

  “I’m thinking so ...” Warden snarled. “We be needing the Closing, Ja’tar.”

  Ja’tar answered solemnly, “I’m not sure we have a choice.”

  Stargazer spoke up, “There is always choice.”

  Warden removed his war helm and set in on the table. He pulled his thick hand through his peppered black hair and stared up at the ceiling for a second before starting.

  “An entire realm destroyed!” Warden said, shaking his head. “Not since Ror have we been attacked so blatantly.”

  He pointed at the orb with an unsteady hand. His lip quivered and his eyes went soft. “If that was a Nagracumulo, ye knows that the cursed demon can’t be bein’ here of itself. Something had to summon it. You all know what that means, Dark magic. The only types that use dark magic, is Dark Mages.”

  His words hung in the air like a heavy mist.

  Zedd’aki stood. “We fear more is going on than is apparent. We just recently freed the Keep of a devious glamour that restricted our magic usage to that of the Zylliac.”

  Menzzaren took a deep drag on his pipe. “That rings true. This place feels different than the last time I was here. I saw some of the younger mages struggling to do simple ball and flame spells.”

  Ja’tar caught a deep whiff of the powerful Tor root and his head temporarily spun. He grinned, recalling younger days. Ja’tar turned in Menzzaren’s direction. “It is true. And now we know that the curse had been in place from the time of Ror. Our younger wizards have no recollection of the old magic. We have started training them, but it takes ... time.”

  The others all knew how
precarious their position was.

  Brink stood, “If the demons make a move directly against the Keep, what chance have we? How many do we have to call upon?”

  Ja’tar got very quiet, “Not many, I am afraid. The younger wizards still require the Querd medallions to weave the Spell of Life. We only have a scant thirty wizards.”

  Menzzaren pulled the medallion from his cloak. He hadn’t thought about the medallion for years. His face went white when he realized that he had forgotten the Spell of Life himself.

  Zedd’aki saw the look on his face and leaned over, “Are you not well?”

  Menzzaren covered his fear with a well-crafted lie, “I think I ate too many of Gretta’s treats.”

  Zedd’aki snorted.

  Piledriver’s face went red with rage, “Thirty magi? We had thousands. Ye must be countin’ wrong!”

  Ja’tar shook his head, “I have more bitter news for you to swallow.”

  Stargazer stood quickly, his white hair billowing behind his back. “And what of the Orb? Has it shown you any other threats?”

  Ja’tar shrugged, “I am not a watcher, but what I can tell you is that I cannot view many of the realms where we have travelers. You are all that answered the call. I assume they fail to answer because they are ... dead.”

  Menzzaren raised a brow, but it was Hammergrip who swore a curse. The others said little, but their faces went blank. Menzzaren pulled a small cut crystal from his pocket and held it before his eyes, spinning it slowly.

  Stargazer slammed the old wood table with his fist. “We cannot stand by ...”

  He stopped midsentence and stared at Menzzaren who was lost in the multicolor patterns shining from the rotating crystal.

  “What? I’m listening,” Menzzaren said, catching Stargazer’s gaze. Stargazer saw the red, bloodshot veins, glazed look, and rolled his eyes in disgust.

  “... and let the realms be destroyed.”

  Menzzaren nodded and coughed. “Agreed, but will a Closing further our cause?”

  Stargazer, surprised that the man was still lucid, narrowed his gaze and stilled his uncharacteristically aggressive temper. “I do not know.”

  Ja’tar cleared his throat. “I have heard from an old colleague in the realms that the totems are meant to prevent the magic users of the Guild from using strong magic and has no effect on demons.”

  Menzzaren turned and demanded, “Who?”

  “Hagra.”

  Menzzaren’s face cracked a lurid smile. “Ah, your girlfriend. Do you trust what she says?”

  Ja’tar nervously flicked his fingers, causing tiny flames to form at the end of each digit. Each flame was followed by a loud pop. Zedd’aki reached up and grabbed his hand, and raised an eye in irritation, causing Ja’tar to sit red-faced.

  “I do not know. It is said that the Ten changed the magic out of their fear. I have no proof, only a feeling that her words ring true, based on observation. I feel they were behind the glamour on the Keep.”

  Zedd’aki spoke up, “She fought beside us at Ror, and she would gain nothing by telling us falsehoods.”

  The other members of the room nodded their agreement, remembering those vile times. Ja’tar smirked. Seems that everyone knew about him and Hagra. Even without the glamour, his memories regarding her were fuzzy.

  Stargazer stepped away from the table and paced. “Do we lose anything by conducting a Closing? The realm has already been closed by the totems; this would just make it ... permanent.”

  Ja’tar shrugged, and adjusted his robe, “I guess there would be little risk. If her words are true, we will still be able to enter the realm.”

  Zedd’aki yanked on his beard and added, “And so will the demons.”

  All heads turned in his direction.

  “It stands to reason that the demons do not call upon the Zylliac, therefore, they will still be in the realm whether we close it or not.”

  Menzzaren spat on the floor. “But there is a chance that what has been relayed is not true. Then what?”

  Piledriver stood, his chin barely clearing the table. “Really! Do ye risk takin’ a chance here? What if it ain’t the demons, but be a Dark Mage? Then what?”

  Stargazer pointed to Piledriver. “I agree with the dwarf. If a Dark Mage has returned, will the Closing affect him? I doubt it.”

  The dwarf grumbled in satisfaction.

  Ja’tar shrugged, tilted his head up and stared blankly at the ceiling. “We don’t have enough information.”

  Rua’tor mumbled under his breath, “We’re blinded by the rules of the Guild.”

  Qu’entza looked up, surprised at the admission. Piledriver returned to his chair, grunting as he attempted climbing up on the tall stool. He threw his feet up on the table and crossed his arms as he smiled smugly.

  Menzzaren grinned widely while watching the stool totter, knowing the inevitable was coming. He flicked his arm to the side and wove a thin curtain of air under the dwarf.

  Staven and Raven looked at each other. The twins had shared adjacent realms for a millennia. Staven spoke up, “We have not seen any strange behavior by the demons, but we have noticed ‘things’ in our realms that are not right.”

  Heads turned in their direction. Raven pushed her stool back and stood, her gossamer thin, spun-metal dress catching the light and showing off her fine elven features. She pushed her long blond hair from her face.

  Menzzaren leaned forward and asked, “Of what things do you speak?”

  Raven looked at her brother and then back, “Crops dying, beasts from the lower planes that attack. We have quickly dispensed with them, but we never learned the way of the Zylliac. Our totems have not fired, or if they did, their effect on us was minimal, as we don’t use medallions.”

  The crowd murmured at her admission.

  Ja’tar’s jaw dropped. “Didn’t the Guild provide you with medallions?”

  Raven nodded. “We don’t use them because we don’t believe in relying on artifacts for our survival. It is a ... Vork ... elf thing.”

  Staven motioned at his sister. She continued, “These beasts are not a problem ... they’re easily dispensed of.”

  Ja’tar straightened his back. “I have heard that the beasts also roam and attack the realms of Five Peaks and Three Rivers. The mortals are far less able to defend against them. Their casualties have been high.”

  “Beasts?” Piledriver said excitedly, just before losing his balance. His feet flipped over his head, his short stubby arms cartwheeled, and for a second, he grinned widely believing he had recovered his balance. His expression shifted as quickly as his balance. He toppled over and landed on the air curtain Menzzaren had placed. Shooting to his feet, he looked around quickly, waiting for any comment.

  Menzzaren motioned graciously and pointed him back at his chair.

  Piledriver grumbled his acknowledgement to the mage, set his stool right and sat stoically his arms crossed tightly.

  Stargazer ignored the commotion. Turning toward Ja’tar he asked, “And what of the Guild?”

  Ja’tar shrugged, “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know?” Stargazer asked.

  “The Guild always advises inaction, but as of late, their commands make little sense to me. The Guild does not control the totems of the realms, that is our responsibility.”

  “But as a courtesy?” Stargazer asked.

  “Easier to gain forgiveness and not enter into arguments for years,” Zedd’aki said.

  Piledriver slammed both his mattock and his immense war hammer on the table, causing the whole room to reverberate. “I’m all fer closing the dang realm, dagnabbit! I don’t fear em, the demons, but I don’t want them t’be breathing down my neck either.”

  Hammergrip, who had been relatively silent to this point, stood. “I have to agree with me brother. If there ain’t no harm done, then just close the bastard and let’s get on with it. I ain’t gettin’ younger here!”

  The short petite-boned elf, named Zen, stood and leane
d on the table. “I have listened to all the arguments, but still do not know why we should close this realm. If the gates do not affect the demons, I would surmise that they will not affect a Dark Mage either. What would be gained here?”

  Piledriver leaned over and whispered into Zedd’aki’s ear, loud enough for all to hear, “Zen ain’t changed ’as she? Always with the logic. Easy on the eyes though ...”

  Zen set her stance and stared. “At least I use my head for something other than a hat holder.”

  Piledriver snarled, causing Zen to reach for her sword. Stargazer quickly walked to her side and set his hand on top of hers. He leaned over and muttered, “Ecto namma e dwarviel (he’s but a dwarf).”

  Zen smiled, regaining her composure and threw her hand up in the air.

  Ja’tar broke the building tension in the room, “Mayhap we do not close the realm, but instead, close the Traveler’s Gate. At least we cannot be invaded through our own doors.”

  Zedd’aki looked up, surprised at Ja’tar’s willingness to back down from the Closing he desperately wanted just a few short days ago. Then again, much had changed.

  Hammergrip looked across the table, “Can we straighten out the magic of the beast?”

  Ja’tar stared blankly deep in thought.

  “Ja’tar?”

  “What? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe, but much of the glyphs controlling the glamour were lost while trying to break it. Maybe if we study what is left, we might gain some insight.”

  “Don’t you think we should try? Some travelers may still be alive. We all carry extra magic.”

  Ja’tar sighed. “I guess we should see what we can do once we figure out this problem. I can’t concentrate on more than one crisis at a time.”

  As the final resolution was being negotiated, tempers flared. They knew that the Gate must be closed, but should the land be purged. On this they couldn’t agree. To’paz, if she were still alive, would be sacrificed for the protection of the Guild, if the Closing did anything at all. However, was it worth the risk? Closings were tremendously dangerous.

  In the end, they decided to forgo the full closing, but instead decided to close the Traveler’s Gate. The Council dispersed rapidly after the decision was reached. Many of the thirteen expressed their condolences to Ja’tar over the loss of his younger sister. She had been well liked at the Keep. The council also decided that the evil that caused the destruction in Naan was not her responsibility and that she would retain her seat and title. Ja’tar remained silent, knowing that his sister was already physically dead, but that her essence was locked inside a bal’achar.