by Paul Sobol
As the old man’s hands stirred the air a soft golden nimbus formed above Alex’s torso. Tiny motes of glittering energy formed, lazily swimming in the golden field like flies. Occasionally they gave off small bursts of light as they randomly collided with each other, and as the spell continued they eventually settled on the infected flesh. To those assembled around the bed they could clearly see the black tendrils shrink, some even disappearing altogether, but at the completion of the ritual a few lingering threads of darkness could be seen just under the skin.
Father Benedict, having used a lot of energy for the healing, could only shake his head and sat down in the nearest chair. The undeniable look of defeat was evident to all. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but this is even beyond my powers to heal. Whatever inflicted this wound is not of this world, and resists any attempt at excising the poison. I’m afraid, that unless he is fully healed, that poison will eventually spread and kill him.”
The old Healer paused in contemplation.
“I have seen something like this before. A long time ago. If I had to guess, this is the work of the necromancer Khaldun, it has his signature all over it. The corruption, the poison. I would also hypothesise another alternative to death...something more terrible.”
“And that would be?”
“He could become an unspeakable evil. The poison is almost like a living entity in itself, possibly even conscious. Once it takes over fully, this young man would become a living plague, capable of mass destruction should it get loose. His power would also provide partially immunity to our magic, making it even more difficult to stop. I believe this is ultimately what Khaldun intended to achieve from his experiments during the Dark Ages.”
“So if he cannot be healed we have to kill him?” Archer asked.
“My healing has slowed the infection somewhat. His natural and magical immunity is helping to slow the infection, but realistically he has perhaps four, maybe five days before the poison has spread irreversibly.”
“That leaves us with little choice.” Silver said quietly. All eyes turned to him, wondering if he was going to make the hardest decision to end the young man’s life. “We must make all haste to Avalon and speak to the Oracle. She will know how to save him.”
Considered this, Father Benedict nodded in agreement. He also promised to accompany them and use whatever healing magic he has to stem the spreading infection, perhaps buying an extra day or two. Slowly, in ones and twos, the room emptied as preparations for the journey were discussed.
The last to leave, Archer spent a few moments at Alex’s side. Usually the stoic warrior, she wasn’t ashamed when tears eventually came. In the short time together she had grown fond of the young man. His natural curiosity fuelled an enthusiasm scarcely seen in other students, and coupled with a strong desire to prove his worth left a lasting impression on everyone around him. It was impossible to not fall for his brash, roguish charms sometimes.
Noticing a jug of water on the nearby stand, Archer filled a glass and placed it in his good hand. Taking a few sips he seemed a little better, and within minutes was fast asleep. Taking the half empty glass from him she gave it a tentative sniff. As she suspected, it was drugged – most likely a powerful sedative from Father Benedict.
Standing to leave, Archer reached behind her and undid a clasped chain from her neck. The simple golden links were expertly crafted by highly skilled elven artisans. Their work was considered unparalleled in the entire world, surpassing even dwarven craftsmanship. The chain held a single ornament – a vibrant green emerald the size of a grape. For a few moments Archer lost herself, looking deep within the multifaceted faces of the gem. It was with some reluctance she placed the chained pendant around Alex’s neck. It had been a present from her mother, passed down just before Archer had left the Elven Court.
Those days seemed like an eternity ago.
“This is very special,” she said in a soft voice, even though she knew Alex couldn’t hear her. “It has been in my family for thousands of years. It is Eledhwen, Light of the Elves, and through it may you feel the peace and love of my people.”
The few hours left of the early morning was spent in preparation for the journey to see the Oracle. The Isle of Avalon was believed to be a magical place and gateway to the Celtic Underworld. Myths and legends surrounded Avalon, and many believed it had receded into the mist, eventually becoming inaccessible to mortals. This in part was true.
The ancient druids who considered Avalon their home devised a way to relocate the island, to be undisturbed by mortal affairs, and access was only via a magical bridge. At some point the Sisterhood of Seers took up residence on the island, and since then has been the place of rebirth for the Oracle.
Gift or curse, the ability to see the future is randomly passed on to a child born on Avalon’s shores. Over the centuries, magicians often travelled to the isle seeking knowledge, as only the Oracle possesses the gift to know all answers.
But there was always a price to be paid.
Chapter Sixteen
A flash of light illuminated the darkened room which, moments before, had been empty. A spoken word and several candles around the room ignited, bathing the five newcomers in a soft amber glow. Looking around, they made out the barest furnishings required for an inner-city apartment – a faded sofa, small TV, three-seater dining table, and three mismatching chairs.
The kitchenette was so small it hardly seemed capable of accommodating a single person. The only sign of modern technology a microwave oven atop a small refrigerator.
Apart from the main entry there were two other doors, most likely to the bedroom and bathroom. Judging from the musty smell and layer of dust on everything the place hadn’t been occupied in some time.
“Place him in the bedroom, second door.” Silver directed Father Benedict and Archer, and between them managed to get Alex into the single bed. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, softly mumbling to himself about a forest. For a moment Archer wondered if he was dreaming of her homeland because of the amulet.
Closing the door behind her Archer joined the group huddled near the kitchen. She managed to catch Silver’s last words spoken into an old phone. “30 minutes? We’ll be waiting out front.”
Surprised the phone even worked there was nothing to do except wait until the taxi arrived. Deciding against sitting on the dusty thread-bare couch she opted for one of the wooden chairs which creaked alarmingly. “Why are your safe-houses so dilapidated, Silver? Surely you can afford better than this.”
Refusing to take the bait, Silver remained silent.
Before the taxi arrived they managed to get Alex downstairs in one piece. Descending several flights of rickety stairs they attracted little attention, except for one nosey neighbour who thought it strange such a large group was going down stairs, especially considering no one had gone up the stairs for quite a while.
The black taxi van was just big enough for the entire group. Taking the front seat next to the driver, Silver guided him with instructions to take the M4 and eventually M5 along the coast. Archer, next to Alex in the middle, did her best to make him comfortable with another blanket taken from Silvers safe-house. Father Benedict and Winter occupied the rear seats of the small minivan, his satchel of herbs and potions clinging rather loudly every time they went over a speed hump or large pothole.
It was a typical English summer; which meant rain four out of five days, and if it wasn’t raining the Great Isle was shrouded in fog. Winter was able to keep the heavier weather away just long enough for the van to pass through, and because of this they made quick progress towards the coast and eventually their destination - Avalon.
Turning off the M5 they soon passed through the township of Burnham-on-sea, a small place filled with mid-century brick houses, all tiled in the same moss-covered brown terracotta. The closer they got to the coast the darker the clouds became, and although they threatened to rain at any moment not a single drop fell.
At the end of th
e Esplanade the van came to a stop, and once empty of passengers turned around and drove back towards London. By the time the taxi van disappeared from sight, the driver had no recollection of its previous occupants. The only important thing is that he got paid.
The group of magicians made their way down towards the beach, and even though it was completely deserted at this hour of the morning Silver felt a cloaking spell was warranted. For half an hour they walked along the sandy beach, the only evidence of their passage the footprints left in the sand.
At some point the sand gave way to small pebbles and broken sea shells, and soon larger boulders appeared partially buried. The black and grey stones littered the beach front, making the trek difficult. Alex stumbled often, and it became obvious he was in no condition to continue walking. Employing levitation spells the entire group floated above the uneven beach.
Several minutes later they came upon a large prominent stone; its flat top an ideal place to land and soon all five magicians were on solid ground, looking out at the grey choppy sea. The smooth rock jutted outward into the water, forming a jetty several meters long. Without hesitation Silver walked to the end of the rock and out onto the open water.
Cautiously the others followed. At the very edge of the stone Alex hesitated. He saw the others moving ahead as though walking across an invisible bridge and knew some form of magic must be at play, but in his current condition he was in shape to trust his senses. Closing his eyes he took a step forward. Expecting to fall in the water he was greatly relieved to feel solid ground beneath his shoes.
With each pace over the invisible bridge the air felt heavier, until the group found themselves surrounded by a dense mist. The impenetrable fog blanketed most of the sound and light, and even the water beneath their feet could no longer be seen. The sun was like a dull orange globe hanging against a uniform white background.
For Alex, in his fevered state, it seemed ages until the mist parted and they were no longer walking on ‘nothingness’; instead it was replaced with lush green grass, and the sun was now visible against a vibrant blue sky. The pain in his shoulder was almost overwhelming, and he could no longer use his right arm as the black poison snaked its way to the very tips his fingers. Having set foot on the mysterious Isle of Avalon he was surprisingly feeling slightly better.
The grass soon gave way to a moss-covered cobblestone pathway, leading the group past a small orchard of apple trees and eventually to a stone wall seven feet high. Set in the grey slabs was a sturdy wooden door banded in iron with a large circular ring acting as knocker. After two knocks on the door they waited less than a minute before it opened and were greeted by an age-stooped woman. She was simply dressed in a white habit adorned with a blue sash, and judging from her wrinkled face she appeared quite ancient.
Without a word the old nun stepped back and beckoned the group to follow and slowly led them towards a round stone keep. Surrounding the keep were several outbuildings designated for livestock and grain storage, while others were lit from within from forges and kilns. Everywhere could be seen men and women working various trades, from woodworking and metalworking to weaving and cooking.
Avalon seemed to be nothing more than a thriving medieval township. Occasionally could be seen other nuns walking amongst the workers, wearing similar white garments but different coloured sashes. Those in the group assumed the sashes were to differentiate roles around the keep.
The silent nun led the group up a flight of stairs towards the keep’s main entrance. Passing beneath a portcullis they were temporarily swallowed by darkness, but a few paces further they were bathed in light coming from an ornate stain-glass window high above. Multi-coloured patterns splashed around their feet as they were brought forward from the ante-chamber and into a high ceilinged hall, dominated by a long wooden table above which could be seen three large chandeliers of candles.
As none of these were lit the only source of light came from oil lamps spaced around the walls. Ancient tapestries, some faded beyond recognition, lined the walls. Two large fireplaces were stacked with logs ready to be lit in case the weather turned colder.
The nun with the blue sash indicated they should sit and wait and then promptly disappeared through a small side door. Several minutes later another nun appeared, wearing a golden sash and apparently much younger. Her youthful face was beautifully framed by a long platted braid of dark hair which fell past her waist and neatly tied off with a leather thong. Judging from its length she probably never had it cut. “Welcome to Avalon. I am Sister Abigail. If there is anything you require please do not hesitate to ask. The Oracle will see your companion soon.”
“Please Sister, our friend is in dire need, cannot he be seen immediately?” Silver implored.
“The Oracle already knows his fate; he will be seen shortly.”
Somewhere in the Keep a gong was struck. The single note reverberated off stone floors and walls until only a ghostly echo lingering on the air. Those waiting in the great hall listened to the sound eventually fade away. Gongs and bells were usually tolled to measure the passage of time; perhaps this was of similar significance.
The door behind Sister Abigail opened. The young priestess bowed low, her long hair now touching the floor, and through the door shuffled an ancient nun who appeared to be a mass of wrinkles, wrapped in fine white silks embroidered with gold thread.
Aided by a walking staff of red mahogany, the old woman slowly made her way over to those waiting. Up close she seemed so much older. Stopping in front of Alex, who was supported between Silver and Father Benedict, she lifted her head, revealing eyes with pure white irises. Assuming the woman to be blind they were all surprised when she reached out and gently laid a hand on Alex’s forehead as though she could see all along. “The gift of sight is no longer needed for one such as I,” the old woman croaked in response to their silent question, “bring him, we have much work to do.”
Carried from the hall, the barely conscious Alex was taken to a quiet corner of the keep and up a winding stairwell, eventually ending at a small corner room with shuttered windows overlooking the sea. From this higher vantage point the newcomers expected to see the nearby coast of England beyond the shroud of fog, but beneath the brightly shining sun the blue waters stretched on seemingly forever.
“Avalon has receded far beyond the sight of mortals,” said Sister Abigail, “now only the bridge remains as a means to reach us.”
“Mist-ways, I’ve heard of them,” said Silver, “an ancient magical network of invisible roads once used to cross vast distances. Portal magic that has unfortunately been long forgotten by our kind.”
The room was dominated by a large bed and a low cupboard with drawers, and besides a few simple wooden stools the room was devoid of any other furnishing. The plain austerity spoke volumes of how the Sisters of Avalon lived.
Laid out on the bed, Alex finally succumbed to his fevered exhaustion and immediately fell into a deep asleep. The five companions were asked to stand aside while the Oracle examined him. Stooped over his still form the ancient woman placed her hand over various body parts, and in an almost inaudible whisper began a lengthy incantation. A soft white glow spread from under her hand and slowly travelled around Alex’s body, but as her hands moved over the black wound the light faded and went out.
A frown marred her already heavily wrinkled brow, lending her the appearance of being even older. She began another incantation, this one faster and accompanied with a complex series of hang gestures. Ribbons of coloured light played from her fingertips and wove themselves into seemingly impossible patterns above the necrotic wound. The black tendrils seemed to be shrinking away from the light but the wound itself showed no signs of healing. Alex let out a soft cry as the infection attempted to escape from the healing magic, and the only place it could go was deeper into his body. Seeing his condition worsen the Oracle stopped her ministration and sighed in frustration.
Clearly at a loss the Oracle sat wearily on one of the stoo
ls. Those standing by were dismayed, not only at the resilience of the infection, but also at the Oracle herself who was considered supreme in her arts. If she could not heal the wound then what would.
“Oracle, can he be saved?” Archer asked.
“His fate is clouded with shadows. Two paths remained before him, and I believed I was up to the task of setting him upon the easiest course. Unfortunately I was mistaken. My healing arts, vast as they may be, were not up to the task of defeating such malignant evil. At the heart of his wound lies a dark seed, slowly growing, taking over, and consuming him.”
“We cannot give up on him,” Father Benedict entreated, “There must be something we can do to save him.”
The wizened sage looked down at the floor in defeat. Never had her oracular power failed like this, and she understood, probably more than most gathered in the room, that if the boy’s infection was not removed it would result in utter catastrophe.
A whistling noise from the window drew everyone’s attention, and upon the sill stood a small bird with impossibly brilliant plumage. It almost seemed surrounded by an ethereal glow, and those with magical ability instantly realised it was not of this plane of existence. Something higher was intervening.
With a small hop the bird flew from its perch and landed on the Oracle’s shoulder. Those gathered around the bed looked on in anticipation, silently hoping the celestial creature brought good news. In an undecipherable language of trills and tweets the bird ‘spoke’ into the Oracle’s ear, and once the message was relayed it flew off through the open window and disappeared.
Standing slowly, the Oracle looked gravely at each person in the room, and in a solemn voice repeated parts of the bird’s message. “His fate is not sealed. You must journey to the Temple of Air and bring back the Water of Life. Only the Water has the power to cure your companion, but you must hurry for he has little strength remaining and will not last much longer. Return with the Water before the setting of the sun on the fourth day.”
