The little man braced himself for a retort, but seemed to think better of it. Slouching back towards Keegan, he muttered something under his breath and harrumphed again.
“Pardon?” said Keegan.
“Nemwith! I said the name’s Nemwith blast it!” he shouted, scowling up at him. “Happy now, you old bat?” he snapped over his shoulder.
Keegan jumped back just in time as a large dusty volume came flying out of the pile of books where the old woman was working and landed smack in the back of Nemwith’s head, knocking him off the stack of books he was standing on.
Clambering to his feet, Nemwith adjusted his visor and dusted off his breeches, muttering under his breath as he did so. Obviously on the losing end of the battle, he turned his attention to Keegan.
“Right, you’ll have to excuse the wife. Evalsef gets a bit testy after a day in the archives,” he said somewhat sheepishly. “Now, let’s get down to business. If I’m not mistaken, you are here for your first test.”
Reaching over his head, he extracted a large tome from the dusty old shelf, setting it down with a heavy thump on the table beside Keegan. He motioned the boy to take a seat in the cushioned chair next to the table. Scuttling over to another shelf across the room, he retrieved a cobweb covered decanter and goblet, setting both on a silver tray. Setting the tray on the same table as the old book, Nemwith blew the dust off and poured a generous portion of a dark, blood colored liquid into the heavy crystal glass.
“You’ll have to forgive my manners, young Master. It’s not often we get visitors down here in the archives. There you are,” he said with a satisfied tone, “now drink up and we’ll get started.”
Raising the glass to his nose, Keegan inhaled deeply. The dark liquor smelled strangely of spices and herbs, with a hint of something Keegan could not quite pinpoint. Shrugging, he took a long sip of the bittersweet liquid.
“What is it?”
“A very rare brandy, almost five hundred years old.”
Taking another long sip of the dark liquid, Keegan set the heavy crystal glass back on the tray and picked up the dusty old tome. Laying the book on his lap, he unclasped the heavy leather binding and opened the book.
“So, what am I being tested on?” he asked Nemwith.
“You mean you don’t know?” Nemwith asked in a somewhat amused tone of voice.
“How am I supposed to know?!” snapped Keegan “I was just dumped here by the Council without any warning.”
“Ingenuity. Specifically, the identification of a poison by observation and its nullification by the proper incantation.”
“Poison?”
“Yup,” the little man said with a nod. “One of your most important studies, to be exact. You’d be surprised how many of your predecessors neglected the subject, only to regret it later – or at least their heirs did,” he said with a wink.
“Wait – you don’t mean…” Keegan’s voice trailed off as he glanced at the decanter.
“Why yes, I do mean, actually,” smiled Nemwith. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s a very slow acting poison. You should have at least ten minutes or so before it reaches your heart.”
“WHAT?”
“Did you think these tests were supposed to be easy, boy? Do you have any idea the amount of responsibility the Guardian has? Surely, you didn’t think we would hand over that much power to a youngling like yourself without making sure you could handle it, did you?” Chuckling to himself, Nemwith plunged his hands into his pockets and slowly strode over to a pile of books as tall as he was. He slowly clambered up the stack and took a seat on top of the books, so he could watch Keegan.
The book in Keegan’s lap was apparently a very old treatise on poisons, with numerous descriptions, symptoms and antidotes. It had only been a minute or so since his first sip of brandy and Keegan could already feel a slight tingling sensation in his fingertips. He began flipping through the book feverishly, scanning the pages for something, anything that might tell him what poison he had just consumed. Sweat beaded up on his forehead as he glanced over at the book stacks where Nemwith had gone and saw the little man sitting on top of a pile of books with his feet propped up in front of him. The old gnome was watching Keegan over his glasses, puffing contentedly on a long pipe and blowing smoke rings that curled up and about his little white-haired head.
“Nothing like a little incentive to speed the learning process, eh my boy?” Nemwith chuckled.
Keegan snatched up the bottle and began examining it for writing or clues that might give him some idea of what it contained. The tingling sensation was now in his feet as well, and had started moving up his left arm. Dropping the bottle back onto the tray, he resumed his frantic search through the book; strange symbols were drawn on some pages, while others were so crammed with writing they were barely legible. Finally the word “Antidotes” appeared at the top of a page and his heart leapt. Moving his fingertip along the lines of ancient text, Keegan scanned for the answer he so desperately needed.
“…As with many types of potions, poisons (and their quality) vary widely depending upon the skill of the witch or wizard mixing the concoction. Likewise the antidotes to those poisons vary widely in their effectiveness.”
This wasn’t helping. The tingling was getting worse now, having moved up his forearms and his shins – he didn’t have much time at this rate.
“…While the careful choosing and mixing of ingredients is essential, in many cases timing may be an important factor.”
“No kidding,” he said with some difficulty; his mouth was dry and his tongue felt like an old bath towel.
“…Most mages can however produce the desired result and neutralize the poison with the use of the proper incantation and their particular talisman. In many cases, use of the following incantation, along with proper concentration will convert the poison to an inert mixture that will pass harmlessly through the victim’s system.”
Keegan scanned the passage, concentrating on the incantation. Grasping his signet ring, he began repeating the spell with increasing fervor, as he could now feel the tingling sensation caused by the poison moving up his torso. He pulled up the sleeve of his robe and glanced at his forearms. Both were now covered with a latticework of fine black lines, etched across his skin like a fine black spider web. As he watched the lines were slowly making their way further up his arms.
“Anrheithia 'r gwenwynwch mewn, cartha 'r chrau a achub 'r enaid”
It’s not working he thought, starting to panic. His heart was beginning to race and he was starting to feel dizzy.
“Anrheithia 'r gwenwynwch mewn , cartha 'r chrau a achub 'r enaid!!” he shouted, twisting the signet ring on his finger. Over and over he chanted the incantation, trying to focus on the poison coursing through his veins, until slowly the room dissolved into darkness and he slid out of the chair onto the floor of the library, knocking the bottle from its tray as he fell.
***
Nemwith dropped his pipe and ran over to where Keegan lay on the floor. He quickly checked the boy’s pulse and his pupils.
“Oh, dear; this isn’t right,” he fretted. He picked up the decanter and sniffed carefully at the contents. “By the Ancients!” He recoiled from the smell and dropped the decanter to the floor.
“Nemwith? Nemwith, what’s the matter,” said Evalsef as she came over from the behind the bookshelves. She stopped short when she saw Keegan’s body and decanter on the floor.
“Something’s wrong, Ev,” said Nemwith nervously. “I gave the boy the bottle of elderbrandy, like I was supposed to. But something’s wrong. He passed out after only five minutes or so. It shouldn’t have worked that fast! I checked the decanter and it smells like nettlewine!”
“Nettlewine?!” Evalsef covered her mouth with her hands. “But Nemwith, how is that possible? It’s kept in the restricted stores section and we’ve both got to use our keys in order to retrieve any.”
“I don’t know, Ev… I just don’t know.”
“Wha
t about young Master Whitestone? Is he okay?”
“I think so. The boy actually did it. He found the incantation and it appears to have been effective. He’s still breathing, and the markings on his arms are starting to fade.”
“Ancients be praised for that,” she said with a sigh. “There’d be no end of trouble if Old Master Whitestone’s apprentice were to die while in our care!”
“I’m afraid the stakes are much larger than either of you realizes,” said a new voice, startling both librarians. Nisha stepped forward and knelt beside Keegan, placing her hand on his brow.
“Mistress Nisha, you must understand! I gave him the correct bottle! My wife will tell you, it takes both our keys to enter the restricted storeroom. I don’t know how the nettlewine got into the decanter!”
“I’m sure you don’t Nemwith. You and Evalsef have served the Council since the library was founded. You have their complete trust.”
“Will the young Master survive?” asked Nemwith’s wife, her brow creased with worry.
“Yes, Evalsef, I believe he will,” said Nisha calmly. “I’m amazed he completed the incantation correctly. His natural talent must be strong to perform an advanced bit of magic like that with no formal training.”
Nisha looked at both librarians, shaking her head. “We must keep this to ourselves for now, I’m afraid. To access the restricted stores without being detected means someone powerful is behind this. I will return Keegan to his grandfather’s chambers, where he can recover.”
She grasped Keegan’s arm and took her pendant in her right hand. Murmuring the portal spell, she and Keegan disappeared in a swirling vortex of energy, leaving Nemwith and Evalsef to exchange worried glances.
###
Chapter 18 – The Shadow
Snow swirled around the feet and robes of the dark hooded figure, blown by the tough, biting wind that howled through the mountain pass. The figure, bent against the blowing snow, trudged onward towards a dark crack in the side of the mountain. Barely noticeable from a distance, what looked like a crack in the face of the mountain was in reality a deep passage, wide enough for six horses to stand side by side. The traveler continued deeper into the mountain until the passage widened into a cavern with an immense domed ceiling. There were scorch marks on the wall and rubble strewn about as if a great struggle had occurred here once, eons ago. Towards the center of the cavern was what appeared to be a large, ornate golden seal set into the floor. The figure brushed the snow away from a glyph carved into the middle of the seal. Running a gloved hand across the stone carving, the figure murmured quietly causing the glyph to glow a pale green in the darkness. The mark had been exactly where Brimstone said it would be – now, had he told the truth about what lay beneath it?
“Patefacio quod solvo quis lies intus” intoned the figure, tracing over the glyph one final time.
A sharp crack resounded throughout the cavern, along with a hiss of escaping air as a white hot, glowing line outlined the inscription. The section of floor containing the symbol separated from the cavern and rose upward. A stale stench filled the wizard’s nostrils as a blast of air shot upward from the opening, followed by an almost inaudible hissing voice coming from somewhere in the darkness.
“Who summons us from our slumber?”
Startled, the hooded figure stumbled backwards away from the opening. Brimstone had not mentioned anything like this – the dragon had simply said the opening of the seal would allow a permanent gateway to be formed.
The hissing voice returned, louder this time.
“Who awakens us?”
“I am a powerful wizard who is not to be trifled with. Who – or what – are you?” said the figure, rising to his full height. He squinted at the opening – he could swear he saw movement somewhere in the dark.
“We were here at the beginning. We were here before all else. We shall be until the end and after all others are gone,” came the hissing voice.
“What do you mean you were ‘here at the beginning’?”
Was it his imagination or was the cavern growing darker? It must be a trick of the light, but there was definitely movement there he thought. Just beyond his sight, he could barely make out a form, but was it moving toward him or merely shifting in place?
“We were here long before your precious Council, long before your ancestors received the gift, long before they interfered.”
A chill ran down his spine; darkness began pouring from the opening as long, dark wisps of shadow stole forth. For one of the few times in his life, he was truly frightened; there were few things in this world he didn’t understand but something like this he had never seen. He began edging backward towards the opening, but the wisps of shadow were faster and the tendrils of darkness were now behind him as well.
“You will not be leaving us yet, mighty wysard,” came the voice. “We have many questions to ask.”
“I am not inclined to answer your questions,” said the wizard, as he pulled his wand from his robes.
Soft laughter issued forth from the opening.
“A great and powerful wysard are you? Megalesius thought that once as well, but told us all when asked. He struggled too at first, but was overcome with little effort….though his homeland paid the price for his resistance.”
“What do you mean?” He was afraid he knew the answer; Megalesius was one of the twelve Telchines who lived eons ago.
“His pitiful little memory shield collapsed under our persuasion. The resulting shockwave collapsed most of his island home of Therasia,” hissed the voices.
“Oh please,” snorted the wizard “you can’t expect me to believe that. Therasia was devastated by a volcanic eruption over five thousand years ago.” He raised his wand as he spoke; its shimmering tip now pointing directly at the opening.
“Tell us about your precious Council, wysard,” hissed the voice, louder and more menacing now. The shadows had grown and by now totally obscured the entrance to the caverns.
Desperate to escape, the wizard flicked his wand upward and shouted “Spiraktus!” A blue-white spiral of flame engulfed him and a spilt second later he was standing inside his study, panting and covered in a cold sweat.
By all the gods, he thought; what have I done?!
He stumbled over to his desk and collapsed in the chair; he had narrowly escaped and only by the use of a very powerful but dangerous transportation charm. His robes still bore the singe marks from the flames. His eyes scanned the giant bookcase behind his desk and came to rest on an old and tattered looking volume whose binding was peeling at the edges. He flicked his wand and the tome shot off the shelf, landing with a dusty thump on his desk. As he waved his hand over it, the cover flew open and the pages began flipping so fast they were a blur. Two-thirds of the way through the pages stopped – Ducat’s eyes came to rest above a page that was blank except for two words: ‘The Shadow’
###
Chapter 19 - Headache
Pain. Intense, mind-numbing pain, as well as a horrid taste in his mouth. Keegan slowly tried to open his eyes and focus his thoughts through the pain. He must have had way too much to drink last night to wake up feeling like this. He stared upward at the high arched ceiling overhead.
That’s odd; I don’t remember having arched ceilings in my apartment.
“Oh God,” he muttered, rising up slowly on his elbows. “It wasn’t a dream….it really happened.”
“Easy now,” said a woman’s voice from somewhere behind him. “You’ve just had a very nasty experience with a vile and quite powerful poison.”
Keegan turned slowly and glanced in the direction of the voice. He did not see anyone else in the room, however perched on the table was a large black raven looking straight at him. It looked just like the one lingering outside his office for several days.
“Feeling better?” it asked, cocking its head to one side.
“Not really. I’ve got a terrible headache.”
“That’s good – it means you’re aliv
e,” said the bird.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” muttered Keegan as he slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position. “What happened? The last thing I remember was being in the library and drinking the stuff that little man gave me. Then…wait…..I remember! It was poison! I remember flipping through that book and finding an incantation.”
“That’s right,” said the bird. With a flurry of wings, it flew over to the bed and landed neatly on the bedpost. “You found an incantation used to convert poisons into a harmless inert substance. I am truly surprised you pulled it off, actually. That’s an advanced bit of magic – not something a novice like you would normally attempt.”
“But how did I end up here?” asked Keegan. “The last thing I remember was my body going numb and falling out of the chair; I thought I was dead.”
“I brought you here,” said the raven. “You needed time to recover before your next task.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“But…”
“Yes?”
“You’re a raven.”
“Very observant, you are. Not much slips past you does it?” asked the raven, cocking its head to one side.
“That’s not what I mean! There was a raven outside my office window three days this past week; that was you, wasn’t it?”
“Things are not always as they seem, Keegan. You would do well to remember that.” Spreading its wings wide, the raven flew across the room and out the window, disappearing into the dark night beyond.
Keegan dropped back onto the pillow, his head still throbbing. The door across the room opened and Phineas entered, his robes shimmering in the light of the fireplace. Seeing Keegan was awake, he strode over and sat at the foot of the bed.
“I’m very proud of you, Keegan. You passed the first test.”
“I almost died,” hissed Keegan, “and all you have to say is you’re ‘proud’?!”
The Guardian's Apprentice (Beyond the Veil) Page 10
