Spell Fade
J Daniel Layfield
a Lazy Fields book
Copyright © 2015 J Daniel Layfield
Cover art by: A. Bierstadt
All rights reserved
ISBN-13: 978-0692464045
For my wife, Cortney,
Thank you for indulging my mistresses – notebook and laptop. Just know that even when I’m with them, I’m thinking of you.
And
For my children, Katelyn and Ethan,
Yes, Daddy can help you, but let me just finish this one sentence.
I love you all!
Chapter One
Elainya, Immortal Virgin Queen of Pavlora, was dead. The frail and withered body her subjects filed by, while paying their respects, bore little resemblance to the fair maiden who had ruled over them for the last two hundred years. Had they not witnessed the decay of her youth over the past six months for themselves, none of them would have believed this to be her body.
How could this have happened? What would become of their kingdom? Who would lead them? These were the concerned whispers just beyond the silent hall holding the Queen’s body. There was one person they were sure would have the answers, but he was oddly absent.
The wizard.
Standing beside the royal family for as long as there had been a Pavlora, his slender frame and stern face had become as common to see with one of royal birth as their very crown. His dark eyes had observed crowds with Queen Elainya at every appearance she had ever made. Until now.
Her great-great-great-grandfather was the first ruler of a united Pavlora following the Great Dragon War. His reign had been short, and each successor found their right to rule increasingly questioned by provinces with growing independence and fading memories. Her father spread Pavlora’s border all the way to the Northern Mountains, and there was an uneasy peace when he died.
Elainya had grown into a strong and proud woman right in front of the wizard’s eyes, leaving no doubt in his mind – she was exactly what Pavlora needed. He knew placing her on the throne would cause controversy, so he decided Pavlora also needed stability. Trusting in himself, and in her, the spell was cast. He had not questioned his decision, and the Queen had never complained of her sacrifice.
Both changed a little more than one year before her death.
Looking back at it now, in the clarity that is hindsight, he was not confident he made the right decision. There was nothing to be done about it now though.
He deserved the accusing glares of her subjects, but they were faulting him for the wrong thing. They blamed him for not being able to save her when they should have been demanding his head for killing her. He had doomed her to death two hundred years ago, even as he foolishly thought himself granting her eternal life.
Blame he could handle, even expected. He had a lot of experience with it. What he couldn’t understand were those looking to him now for leadership.
He had never desired to rule this land or its people. He was already more responsible for them than they realized. Now they wanted him to take away the one thing he had left them. Their own free will.
He looked around his private chambers and let out a frustrated breath. How could he fault them for looking to him? Even more than the Queen, he was a single constant in an otherwise changing world. Queen Elainya, the Virgin Queen, was the last of her line. To who else could they turn?
Who else, indeed, he wondered, glancing at the basket in the corner of his room. It had remained silent the entire day, possibly mourning as well. This was the first time he had looked at it, or even thought of it, since her death. Curious, he thought, how something so small could have such an enormous impact. He wasn’t the first, nor the last, to wonder such a thing. Perhaps feeling his eyes upon it, the basket stirred, but the wizard remained still, remembering the first time he had seen it.
Its arrival, little more than six months earlier, had marked the beginning of the end for the Virgin Queen. What started with a single grey hair, quickly plucked and forgotten, ended with the shriveled skeletal figure now turning to dust in the Great Hall. Perhaps most concerning of all, he had been powerless to stop it. He absently rubbed his head as a phantom tinge of pain sparked behind his eye, a reminder of the migraines he had suffered for his efforts. Her end was inevitable though, as he had known it would be almost nine months before the arrival of that basket.
It stirred again. Reading his thoughts? He supposed it might be possible. Truthfully, there was much about it that remained a mystery to him. The future of what lay in that basket was completely hidden from him. Even more disturbing, he was losing sight of the future of all Pavlora.
He lowered his head, eyes staring blankly at the ancient tomes spread about his desk. He was tired. More tired than he had ever been in his entire long life. It was nothing a good night’s sleep would cure either. No, it was his very existence of which he had grown weary. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Come,” he called out in a voice stronger than he felt. A round head and slender neck peered tentatively around the edge of the door. Marion, the Queen’s personal maid. She, like the rest of the staff, avoided his quarters at all costs. In this case there had been no choice, he had been missing for too long. Apparently, Marion had drawn the short straw.
“So sorry to bother you, sir,” she apologized quickly, her head bowed. She had never really been afraid of him, but there was certainly respect, both for who he was and of what he was capable.
“Well, what do you want?” he asked with feigned annoyance. He really didn’t mind the interruption, but he knew her expectation was that he would.
“You asked to be notified once all the mourners had been ushered from the Great Hall,” she explained, but did not move any further into the darkened room.
Had it been that long? The oil in the lamp beside him was nearly empty, and the stiffness in his back as he sat up in his chair confirmed it had indeed. He might still appear to be a young man, but he certainly didn’t feel like one.
“So, everyone has left then?” he asked.
“All but Roal, the emissary from the Northern Kingdom.”
He leapt to his feet, ignoring the complaints from his stiff legs. “You left him alone with her?!”
“Of course not,” she said without flinching. “What kind of fool do you take me for?” He had known her long enough to know she was no kind of fool at all. Measured against the fact she had not fled the room when he jumped to his feet, he concluded she must be brave as well. She had actually met his eye for a moment, and he noticed a tiny spark of anger there, but it faded quickly and she lowered her head as she continued, “He’s been shown to guest quarters, and I’ve instructed the guards to keep track of him and anyone travelling with him.” She’s smart too, he decided as he lowered himself back into his chair.
“Very well,” he grumbled, truly annoyed this time. “You may go now,” he added absently, leaning back over the ancient volumes spread around him. His eyes didn’t get a chance to settle on even a single word before he heard the unmistakable sound of Marion clearing her throat. He remained hunched over the desk, merely raising his eyes up to meet her own. He didn’t speak, choosing instead to let his raised eyebrows convey the question.
“He has requested an audience with you,” she answered. He wasn’t sure what his eyes said then, but he was certain he saw Marion shrink behind the door a tiny bit under his glare.
“Of course he has,” the wizard spat. “Our beloved Queen not even in the ground, and already the vultures are circling. King Jarel shall not gain even an inch of this land while I still live,” he growled, and punctuated it with a fist to his desk. The bang echoed in the room and the basket stirred again. Instinctively, Marion moved towards it, taking
two steps into the room before realizing where she was and freezing on the spot. The wizard regarded her in silence for a moment, watching her eyes shift back and forth between basket and door. She was one of the few who even knew about the basket, and had even been responsible for it whenever the Queen could not be herself. He wondered if she might take on that responsibility again.
Sensing the silence, Marion looked and found the wizard staring at her. It was enough to make her decision. She scurried back to the door, hiding all but her head behind it. “What would you have me tell Roal?” she asked casually.
“You may tell the Northern Kingdom’s emissary,” he said with a tinge of disgust, “that I will meet with him in his chambers within the hour.” Marion lowered her head in a slight bow, and began to close the door. “Marion,” the wizard called, stopping her and wiping away the look of relief that had begun to creep across her face.
“Yes?” she answered without opening the door any further, or moving back into the room. It gave the appearance of a disembodied head, floating just inside his chambers. Strangely enough, this wasn’t his first conversation with one.
“Come back here at midnight,” he commanded. Her mouth began to open in protest, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “We have much to discuss,” he explained with a sideways glance towards the basket. Her eyes softened, and she nodded her head in agreement.
“Midnight,” she affirmed, then disappeared behind the door, closing it silently behind her.
“Northern Kingdom – ha!” he said aloud to the room. It existed only because of Elainya’s father. Created to settle a feud, it was a cold, barren, mountainous landscape inhabited by people who had no desire to be ruled, and those who had been banished from Pavlora. The self-important King Jarel kept his position because he was the only one with which Queen Elainya would deal. The wizard had insisted Pavlora didn’t need to trade for the mined goods offered by the Northern Kingdom, but she had insisted more that they did. Compassion was one of the traits which had made her a good ruler, a reason he had chosen her in the first place.
The wizard dismissed thoughts of the Northern Kingdom with a wave of his hand. They weren’t a real threat to Pavlora, and never would be. His only concern was the Gateway. There was no doubt it was well protected, but they were so close. How had he let that happen? Probably because the kingdom had not existed at the time, and he’d had little choice in the matter.
The Gateway - the name was a little misleading. It was really nothing more than two pillars of stone, topped with a third, in the middle of a high valley in the mountains almost no one dared cross. Not to mention, nothing had passed through it for centuries.
Strange. He couldn’t remember who had named it, or when was the last time he had heard anyone speak of it. Stories about the lonely mountain pass had been passed down, and embellished, from generation to generation so much so it was enough to keep nearly everyone away. The high pitch squeal it emitted took care of the rest. Those who dared stay any length of time suffered bleeding from one or more orifices.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. The Gateway had been little more than a faint memory until just over six months ago, around the same time as the Queen began deteriorating. It was a wonder he had survived himself, splitting his attention as he had between the two. He used most of his energies trying to save the Queen, and when he was supposed to be resting, he concentrated on the power now surrounding the Gateway.
No, power wasn’t the right word. It was like a void, an absence of everything else … and it was growing. Of course the two had been linked, but he had been blind to it until it was too late. With her gone, he was unsure what effect there might be on the Gateway. The last time he had faced such a power it had very nearly meant the end of everything. He didn’t have it in him to fight that war again. Not now. Not after losing her.
He snatched up one of the closest books and held it in front of his face, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear them. It was one of his personal journals, the oldest he could find. The answers were here, somewhere, scattered amongst these pages. If only he could find them.
He ran a hand through his hair, and lowered the book, a frustrated exhale escaping his lips. His eyes settled back on the page, drawn to something pinned beneath his hand. A single hair from his own head, but this couldn’t be right. Grey?
In that single hair was encapsulated every concern and question for which he had been seeking answers. For how much of what he saw around him was he ultimately responsible? What existed before he had begun putting his hands into everything? He truly didn’t know for sure anymore.
Almost on cue, the basket rattled again. He had no doubt about his responsibility for it. He looked again at the oil level in the lamp, and realized he needed to meet with Roal now if he hoped to be back by midnight. While he had no idea what he was going to do about the Gateway, the kingdom, or even his own future, he finally knew what to do with the basket. What would become of it? He still couldn’t see, but it suddenly seemed not to matter. Their paths would cross again, of that he was sure.
Chapter Two
It had been nearly twenty years since the Queen’s death had left Pavlora without a royal ruler, not that it made much difference to him. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. Ruled by Queen or ruled by wizard, it still meant a day full of tending Mother’s farm. As if summoned by his thoughts, Mother popped her head into the barn.
“Breakfast is waiting on you,” she said with a smile.
He returned it, and answered, “Be right there.” She disappeared as quickly and quietly as she had appeared, leaving only the small smile on his face as evidence she’d really even been there. He simply shook his head.
His mother. Except, she wasn’t actually his mother. She had been clear about that since before he could even understand what she was telling him. She had known his real mother, even loved her, and had been there when he was born, but she was merely his guardian. She had been entrusted with his care by his father shortly after his mother’s death.
Strange. He felt such sadness for a woman he had never even met. He had once thought it was merely sympathizing with his surrogate mother, but now he knew better. It was his fault she was dead. Mother had never said it, and he didn’t think she believed it, but he could feel the truth of it. If not for him, his real mother would still be alive. His smile faded, and his mind refused to follow the thought any further. Instead, his thoughts turned to his father.
He knew almost nothing of the man, and Mother refused to speak of him. There had always been a sense of uneasiness when he had tried asking about his father, as if she didn’t approve of him, or his decisions. He knew his father was still alive, but had no idea why he had been abandoned. The only explanation she would ever give him was it was for his own protection, but from what, Mother never offered.
He spent much of his youth despising his absent and selfish father. As a young man though, the hate tempered to mere indifference. If his father cared nothing for him, then he would reciprocate.
“Dartan!” It was Mother again, and his response was nearly a surprised scream. Somehow he managed not to spill the bucket of feed in his hands. “Breakfast is getting cold,” she scolded him. “Now come and get it.” Again she disappeared so quickly he had only his racing heart to confirm she had been there.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he muttered to the upturned snouts searching for their morning meal. “I’ll be right back.” A chorus of grunts answered him as he exited the small barn. It was a short walk back to the house in the early morning gloom, but he stopped part way, taking a moment to look around. It had been over a year since the death of his village’s resident wizard, yet their farm had prospered. It had been one of the only ones. He remembered well the day the wizard died, as did most of those who now remained.
Wizards were not common and lived pretty much wherever they pleased. Most communities, including his own, were happy to have them, trading goods for magical services. It wasn
’t the life of a wizard that posed a problem, it was the death. This was especially true when they passed as this one had, suddenly and unexpectedly. There had been no time to prepare, no one trained to take over and uphold his enchantments.
After his death, the entire village seemed to hold its breath, unsure of anything in their lives. The spell fade started off harmlessly enough. Men awoke next to wives with a different hair color, or larger nose, or smaller bosom, and, after a bit of awkward silence, there was general agreement that it didn’t matter. What followed was much more serious. Fields turned to dust, crops withered, and animals thinned overnight, then wells dried up, and at least one entire family completely disappeared. Requests to the capital for magical assistance quickly turned to desperate appeals, but all went unanswered.
Within six months over half of the villagers had been affected, and Dartan’s farm was one of the only to remain untouched. Not that he was surprised by that fact. Mother had never looked favorably on magic, and specifically wizards. If he discovered she had ever visited the wizard, he would not soon let her forget it. No, he shook his head, all they had was the result of hard work … and some luck.
Beyond his own farm was another lucky family. He and Aliet were only a year apart, and her family had lived in the village for generations before Dartan and his mother settled next to them. Her parents were suspicious of the boy and his mother when they first arrived, but Dartan and Aliet were inseparable almost from the beginning. The only one who seemed even more concerned about the instant friendship than her parents was her older brother, Marcus.
A small smile touched his lips as he pictured Aliet perched atop the fence marking the boundary between their farms. Her wild hair blowing in the wind and mischief in her eyes, she was headed to see him even as Marcus looked on disapprovingly. In the rising sun, he could almost see it.
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