by J. R. Wagner
The man next to her picked up where she left off. “I fear indecision may cost lives.”
The third, a woman, spoke. “This is no time for impulse. We must find the Anointed One or we all shall perish.
“Akil, we grant you the authority to command the resources of the council. You have one rotation. May all speed and grace be with you,” the tall woman said.
Akil stood and bowed. The fat man jumped to his feet. “It was this fool who unleashed that monster upon us and you'll give him the authority to continue his nonsensical efforts?” he screamed, jowls shaking.
“The fact that we have yet to find the Anointed One tells us only that we've failed to recognize the severity of the circumstances, Alvaro. Akil may have taken missteps, but he alone has been active in this pursuit for such a time. Our focus is the Epoch Terminus and nothing else, as so it should be for all of us. With respect to the unfaithful, every one of us is to blame for our inability to coexist. Remember that when you return to your homes,” the smaller woman said, looking out over the crowd. “We all have failed. In one rotation, we shall meet at Skara Brae.”
Not another word was spoken. David Ogilvy led Stuart to the edge of the plateau, and a moment later they were back in the Parliament basement. The scene faded to white, then reformed.
Stuart was sitting at his desk when a flash of light by the door caused him to shield his eyes. When he lowered his hands, David Ogilvy was standing by the door.
“I apologize for barging in like this,” said Ogilvy, “but the time has come for us to discuss something of great importance.
“Of course,” said Stuart, standing.
“Brandy?” he asked, filling his own glass.
“Please,” replied Ogilvy.
Stuart poured a second glass and handed it to Ogilvy.
“There is someone else who will be joining us,” Ogilvy said after sipping his drink.
Just then there was a flash of light and Akil Karanis stood in the doorway. He immediately smiled when he saw Stuart.
“James Stuart, meet Akil Karanis,” Ogilvy said.
“The older man balled his right fist, pressed it into his left palm and bowed slightly. Stuart returned his greeting with a nod.
Akil pointed to the brandy and asked if he could help himself. Stuart hastily handed him his own glass, reassuring him that he had just poured it, and fixed himself another.
“Shall we sit?” Akil asked, assuming the role of host.
“I have asked David to introduce us, Mr. Stuart. I've been looking forward to this for quite some time.”
“You've been looking forward to meeting me?” Stuart asked.
“‘Indeed,” he replied, as if he were silly to doubt the authenticity of his statement.
Stuart looked questioningly at Ogilvy.
“I haven't been completely forthcoming with you, James,” Ogilvy said. “I'm privy to information that you weren't ready to hear.
“While the general concept of the information is common knowledge among our kind,” Ogilvy continued, “realizing that you were the subject was quite difficult. The faithful have been searching for this information over many generations, trying to piece together clues of a prophecy made several thousand years ago by the greatest of Seers. Just recently, Akil was able to discern the meaning of the final clue.”
“And this prophecy has led you to me?” Stuart asked.
“Most certainly,” Akil replied.
“What is it the prophecy said?” Stuart asked.
“It translated to ‘the son of a noble lord, born among unfaithful, would rise and lead mankind through the Epoch Terminus. Without whom all shall perish,” said Ogilvy.
“Surely, I cannot be the only son of a noble lord born among unfaithful.”
“This is where the clues are of particular relevance,” said Akil.
“The first specifies the geographical area where he would be born. The second details the bloodline. The third unveils the surname. The final clue, which has until most recently remained un- or misdeciphered, details the abilities of the one whom the Seer spoke of.”
The three men sat in silence for a moment.
“And you believe I am the one to whom the prophecy refers?” asked Stuart, his hands shaking.
“The prophet specified the fourth line of his father's name,” said Akil.
“But I am only the third,” Stuart began, then stopped abruptly.
“James. My son,” he said in almost a whisper.
“Yes, it is not you we seek but your son. Before the pyramids were hewn from the stones of the desert, it was written by our kind. He will lead us through the dark hours that draw closer with every breath I take,” Akil said.
Akil reached into his pocket, removed his ornate pocket watch, flipped it open, and again shook his head with a concerned expression before snapping it shut.
“James is barely three. What could he possibly do?”
“Much must be done to prepare, and I'm afraid we have precious little time,” said Akil, ignoring Stuart's question.
“How are you certain that James is the one spoken of by the Seer?”
“Understand, Mr. Stuart, Akil wouldn't be here if he weren't.”
“What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to lead? He is just a boy.”
Stuart looked at Akil. The friendly expression remained on his face. He exuded confidence in a calm, reassuring manner. His humble posture appeared to relax Stuart.
“We merely have to show the council that he is in fact the one to whom the Seer refers. That shall be left to me. You, Mr. Stuart, must prepare,” Akil said.
“Why must I prepare?” Stuart asked.
“You must begin your training.”
“But I am not the one—”
“You are correct,” Ogilvy interrupted. “However, you are his father. No man has greater influence over a child than his father. You must therefore be trained in the teachings most important for your son.”
“Magic?” asked Stuart.
“Faith, survival, negotiations, and combat. All are essential to James's success.”
“I thought your kind was peaceful,” said Stuart.
“Each facet of your training will be preceded by a lengthy explanation of its relevance.”
“To begin when?” Stuart asked.
“This very moment,” replied Akil.
Again the scene faded to white then reformed. The three men were standing on the grassy plateau where the council meeting took place. They were the only people in sight. Akil wandered off quietly, leaving Ogilvy and Stuart in each other's company.
“What do you know about magic, Mr. Stuart?” asked Ogilvy.
“Nothing really, only hearsay.”
“Why do you think I can perform magic and you cannot?”
Stuart appeared to ponder the question for a moment before replying.
“Perhaps you were born with the ability?” Stuart finally replied.
“What if I told you every human is capable of magic?” asked Ogilvy.
“I'd ask you to prove it.”
“Magic is the combination of three things: knowledge, experience, and faith. This is why we refer to ourselves as the faithful and the nonmagical as the unfaithful. The only thing that separates our abilities from theirs is faith, or lack thereof. Knowledge can be learned. Every man has the capacity to learn. Experience obviously comes with practice and study. Faith is where someone who is born to an unfaithful family struggles. You have seen me perform magic. I've done things you'd consider inexplicable. If I asked you to perform that same type of magic this moment you couldn't. Not because you are unable but because doubt exists. As long as there is doubt, there cannot be magic.”
“Some people say,” Oglivy continued, “faith is belief based on the abstract, but those who lack faith are only blind to the proof that surrounds them. One must believe they can perform magic. They must know the skill, but they must also know that they are able to perform the skill. They must have faith
in both their abilities and in the incantation itself. I don't think I can move this rock,” he said, caressing a large boulder beside them, “I know I can.”
Ogilvy whispered, “Jasoketa,” lifted his hand from the surface of the rock, and waited. A moment later the boulder freed itself from its earthen bed and hovered several inches above the ground. With a smile and a lowering of his hand, Ogilvy returned it to the earth.
“There are some who say faith cannot be taught,” Ogilvy said. “I believe confidence in the knowledge translates into confidence in one's abilities. You must know you can move that rock. Once you understand the incantation you will see the power was with you all along. The knowledge I have of the language combined with the experience of moving objects and the confidence that I am able to move the object allows me to move the object.
“Just as I know dried heather and sap from the Baobab tree—mixed, crushed, and stored for twenty rotations—along with the correct incantation, will allow me to transport anywhere on earth. Some say beyond.”
“You're telling me all I have to do is believe that I can do something to be magical?” asked Stuart.
“Knowledge, experience, and faith,” Ogilvy replied.
Ogilvy went on to teach Stuart the incantation required to lift an object from the ground without touching it. He told him the history of the word, its origins, and the pronunciation.
“The way a word is spoken is as important as the word itself. It must come from deep in the lungs at barely a whisper,” Ogilvy said. “As the word is spoken and the air vacates your lungs, energy from your core will flow outward through your hands. Your hands are the gateway between the magic inside you and the world around you.”
Stuart tried repeatedly to lift a stone no larger than his palm and was unsuccessful.
As the sun set behind the distant western mountains, the pair returned to the drawing room leaving Akil, who had not moved from his seated position in the center of a ruined building since shortly after their arrival. Ogilvy reached into his cloak for another pinch of transporting powder.
“Perhaps Akil was wrong,” said Stuart.
“Do not be disheartened,” he replied, “we are several hours into a lesson some receive before they can walk. All things come in time.”
* * * *
The scene faded, leaving Margaret staring off into the distance—her expression one of complete shock. Stuart stood, stepped to the fireplace, and added several logs while Akil refreshed his drink.
“The next day I expected Ogilvy to continue my training,” Stuart said, “but he did not come. A week went by with sign of neither him nor Akil. When a month had passed, I started to believe I had made the entire thing up. I planned to confront Mr. Ogilvy at the next Parliament meeting but his seat was empty. Unable to cope with the uncertainty, I traveled to Northallerton to confront him,” Stuart said, nodding to Akil.
Again, Akil lifted his hand and again a blue memory orb rose and enveloped the room.
Patches of snow dotted the countryside. Deep muddy ruts ran along a hillside where Stuart was trotting his horse. An abandoned carriage in the distance told the story of difficult travel conditions. Stuart arrived at the Ogilvy manor house. The iron gates were open, the gatehouse unoccupied. No signs of life were apparent as he approached. As the front entry came into view, one of the large oak doors could be seen lying on its side.
Stuart quickly dismounted his gelding and called out from the threshold, but there was no reply. After several moments of silence, he stepped into the house. Everything appeared in order. Again he called out and again there was no reply. He made his way to the library. Every book rested neatly on its shelf, and not an inkwell stood out of place on the desk. Stuart scanned the bookshelves with a nervous expression.
He began pulling on several of the shelves. When none yielded, he sat on the floor and slowed his breathing. He stood slowly, and moved toward the bookcase. He extended his hand, closed his eyes, and let the incantation flow in a hoarse whisper. Something gently brushed his hand. Astonished, he opened his eyes. A small book tumbled to the floor.
“You'll never get it open with that incantation,” said a voice out of the scene. Stuart turned, startled. Tabitha Ogilvy stood behind him. She wore a dark cloak and hood, which covered her black hair.
“You're commanding it to rise. You need to command it to open,” she said.
“My Basque needs some work,” Stuart replied.
“He's dead. They killed him and took the children,” she said. Tears streamed down her face as she moved toward Stuart for a comforting embrace.
After a moment, Stuart stepped back. “How do you know he is dead?”
“I felt it,” she replied, placing her hand over her heart. “The bond is broken.”
“Who killed him?” asked Stuart.
“They were Alvaro's men disguised as unfaithful.”
“Where is Akil?” Stuart asked.
“I don't know. No one can find him. The Seer is right, the war is beginning,” she said.
“We must go to the council. They will protect you.”
“The council has turned against us. There is no one left to turn to.”
She looked at Stuart with a pleading expression. His face went ashen, and he looked as if he might throw up. Quickly, he sat on one of the large wooden chairs and buried his face in his hands. Tabitha strode quietly across the dark wood floor and onto the rug in front of the fireplace.
“Only you can right what has been wronged,” she said.
Stuart lifted his head from his hands and looked at her.
“I can't help anyone. I can barely lift that book from the ground, and that was the first time I'd ever gotten anything to move. It is my son who is the supposed Anointed One, not I. My son who just learned to use the wash basin for the first time.”
“I will pick up where David left off,” said Tabitha. “I made David a promise the day he first brought you here. I told him I would continue your training studies if something were to happen to him.”
“What good will it do? The council has turned against us. Even if I were as gifted a sorcerer as your husband we still would have no chance.”
— 8 —
MT. MISERY
Water rushed over his body as James clung to the rope.
He could feel the muscles in his hands and arms preparing to seize, forcing him to release the rope and fall into the abyss. He tried to breathe, hoping the oxygen would alleviate the cramping that was about to ensue. Water poured into his mouth, forcing him to drink rather than breathe. Immediately his arms regained their strength. He drank again, no longer feeling the need to breathe. His strength returned. The water felt like liquid energy coursing through his body. He felt alive. He drank again and again, his strength increasing to a level he had never known. His mind was clear for the first time since he'd arrived.
With his thirst satiated, his only desire was to use the power the water had given him. Knowing he had more than enough strength to make the distance, James clung tightly to the rope and planted his feet against the cliff face so he could launch himself toward the sling. Without warning, the water stopped flowing.
Kilani stood on the support line like a bird on a branch, watching him. She had a knowing smile on her face.
“Be cautious, boy, or you'll overshoot and end up at the bottom—if there is a bottom,” she said, walking along the rope until she stood directly across. “Jump as if it were just out of reach.”
He looked at her, uncertain.
“Trust me, it will be more than enough.”
James sprang from the wall with such power that he was sure he would overshoot the sling. Something caught him across the shoulder. It took him a moment to realize that Kilani had lassoed him around the head and shoulders. His waist slammed into the cable as the sling went taut.
He gripped the cable without panicking. He was sure his strength could hold for hours if necessary. Kilani, now standing above him, began walking back toward the
trailhead. James lifted himself up onto the rope, careful not to pull too hard, and slowly stood. Balance came naturally once he found his center of gravity. Quickly, he moved to the edge. So many questions ran through his mind as he jumped down from the support line onto the leaf-covered trail. Kilani was nowhere to be seen. James ran down the path determined to speak with her. He covered the distance back to the shack in less than a minute. She was standing outside the entrance when he came to a halt.
“Please,” he said. “I have so many questions.”
“They can wait. Right now, you must follow me,” she replied.
James yelled out as she darted into the forest. It was instantly obvious she had no intention of waiting for him, so he began his pursuit. They ran through the forest at amazing speed. James couldn't believe the ease with which he was hurtling fallen trees and dodging branches. His breathing was as relaxed as if he were standing still. Instead of loud, cumbersome footfalls, their steps were light and silent.
The ground pitched downward as they passed into a clearing, and for the first time since his arrival trees didn't block his view. Far in the distance stood a mountain topped with sheer rock and surrounded by dense jungle.
“We journey to the top of Mt. Misery,” the woman said.
“That will take days,” James replied.
“We must reach it by nightfall.”
She ran off again before James could protest. They continued toward the mountain. Never slowing, never tiring. They crossed a river and skirted the perimeter of a large lake before reaching the base of the mountain.
As they ascended, the trees became smaller, the undergrowth more and more sparse, until James could see through the vegetation. The trees gave way to a large, steep, yet still passable scree field. Beyond that, the rock jutted directly upward. The smooth face appeared unclimbable.
Nevertheless, Kilani never slowed as she hopped from boulder to boulder across the field of scree. As they reached the vertical stone face, James spotted a fissure in the cliff. Kilani stopped as they reached the fissure and James took in his surroundings.
The mountain sat in the northwest portion of an island. Deep-blue ocean surrounded the oddly shaped island as far as the eye could see. The green of the jungle stretched to all sides. James noticed several smaller satellite islands surrounding the main island. He looked back at Kilani, but before he could ask a single question, she disappeared into the darkness of the fissure. Quickly he followed, his eyes immediately adapting to the difference in brightness.
