by J. R. Wagner
Margaret couldn't believe it. Tabitha had told her that David had been killed during the battle at their house all those years ago, yet he was here. Had Tabitha been deceiving them all this time? Perhaps she truly believed him to be dead, in which case David would be the deceiver. If that were true, then why after all this time had he decided to show himself? Her mind raced with questions she was determined to have answered.
The lights darkened and a blue orb rose from the center of the basin. It expanded, filling the empty space overhead. James recognized the home he was born in. His father walked down the cobbled lane. He was smiling as he walked through the cast iron garden gate. A small boy darted from behind a large stone fountain and jumped into his arms. They both laughed with joy. James's heart grew heavy with pain and guilt as the memory pushed all other thought away. It was his fault his father was dead.
After several more images the picture faded and the lights brightened. The council members in purple stood and fell in procession behind the officiant. James and his mother trailed at the end of the procession. Both looked back repeatedly at David Ogilvy, who followed them with his eyes. Two guards stepped behind them and ushered them through the doorway.
A small man in black robes stood in the otherwise empty anteroom. His expression gave the impression that he was in constant pain. The man nodded at the guards, and they quickly turned and passed through the doorway.
“Master Alvaro has instructed me to escort you to his offices. I am his assistant, Jonathan. This way please.”
Jonathan extended his arm and ushered them through the smallest of three doorways on the opposite wall.
“Not a word,” Margaret whispered to her son.
“Mind your step, please. Mind your step,” he shouted from behind. “They tend to be a bit slippery. Don't know why Master Alvaro chose offices on the lower level. All the enchantments in the world can't get that damn musty smell out of here. The bloody floors always have a layer of grime on them. Bloody treacherous for us less stable folk.”
They continued down a twisting staircase. The walls were adorned with paintings of various sorcerers, each wearing the traditional council robes. A plaque bore their name and position. Basil Hallward: Undersecretary to High Master Elder. Edwin Lutyens: Research. Emmerson Tennent: Healing. The stairway opened into a wider, darker corridor. The traffic in this hall was sparse compared to the upper hall. Wooden doors stood inside the stone walls at random intervals. Office of Criminal Proceedings. Office of Advanced Healing. Office of Transporting Regulation.
“Next door on our left, son,” Jonathan shouted. James and his mother exchanged curious glances, both wondering why Jonathan felt the need to shout. They reached the door. James and his mother paused.
“Go on in. He's expecting you,” Jonathan said, taking up position beside the doorway.
It was only when James reached for the knob that he realized that none of the doors he'd seen in this corridor had knobs. He looked back at Jonathan.
“What's a matter, son? Never opened a door before?”
“Ireki,” his mother commanded, and the door opened. James knew the command. Knew it well, actually, but he doubted his ability to use it successfully.
Despite the gloomy corridor, inside was quite pleasing. Heavily curtained windows muted what appeared to be natural light. Numerous plants hung on the walls and grew from stone pots on the floor. A large black cat stood from its resting place on a rug by the fireplace and sauntered toward the guests. James could hear two sets of voices speaking, but they abruptly stopped as the cat passed a curtained doorway. A moment later Alvaro stepped through the curtains with an uncomfortable smile on his face.
“I see you've met Jonathan. Very good. And this is my pet, Murk. He's just a kitten now, but when he grows full size, he'll be nothing to trifle with, I assure you.”
James smiled awkwardly, reaching to pet the cat, who bared his sharp teeth before turning away.
“So, let us get on with the tour, shall we?”
Alvaro led the way back into the corridor.
“I'm sure Jonathan complained about my decision to keep the offices down here, but I quite enjoy being away from everyone running hither and yon on the main floor. I find I'm more productive down here.”
They continued down the hall. Alvaro pointed out offices as they passed. In short turn, the group reached a set of marble steps heading up. Beside them was a narrower, more dingy set of stone steps that led down to yet another basement. There were also two corridors that ran perpendicular to the hall behind them.
“Down there,” Alvaro said, pointing to the left corridor, “are the maintenance offices. This other wing on the right houses the recruitment offices. Let us go up to the first floor, shall we?”
Before Alvaro had gotten his foot on the first step, James asked, “What's down there?” pointing to other stairwell.
“That, I'm afraid, is a restricted area.”
James thought of dragons and super-weapons and dungeons.
“Let's keep moving please,” Alvaro said, bringing James back to reality. “There's much to see.”
The first floor was far brighter and free of the smell Jonathan had been kind enough to point out. People rushed in and out of two arched doorways directly across from the stairwell. The ones coming out looked dirtied and disheveled compared to the ones going in. A loud boom followed by several short snaps echoed out of the doorway.
“This is our incantation-experimentation office. It is where new incantations are tested. As you can see, sometimes it can be a messy business. Let's continue,” Alvaro said, moving down the corridor.
A nervous-looking guard quickly stepped from an adjoining corridor and whispered into Alvaro's ear. Alvaro's face went pale.
“Please excuse me. I must cut our tour short. Urgent business to attend to.”
He turned and practically ran down the stairs they had just ascended. James and his mother exchanged confused glances but said nothing. The guard who had delivered the urgent news stepped forward.
“Master Alvaro has asked me to escort you to the exit.”
Margaret nodded, and she and James followed silently.
After more twists and turns than either of them could count, James and his mother finally reached the steps that would lead them to the covered walkway and out into the forest. The guard nodded, and they moved toward the walkway. Neither James nor Margaret spoke as they made their way along the walkway. They descended the steps at the far end and continued toward the edge of the forest where they had arrived just a few hours previously.
Once they stepped into the forest, James stopped. “That man we saw. The one who was looking at us. I've seen him before.”
Margaret stared into his eyes. “That man is dead. Whoever we saw today is an imposter. Remember, James, magic is a deceiver's best friend. We must be hesitant in our trust of anyone.”
“Especially the dead,” a voice from behind them said. They both turned toward the sound.
David Ogilvy stood alone, looking at them. He looked thinner. His face had hardened, his eyes unsure.
“Who are you?” Margaret asked.
“It is I, Margaret. David.”
Without hesitating, Margaret removed a pinch of transporting powder and let the granules encase them in a purple mist. David Ogilvy was left standing alone in the forest.
— 20 —
THE CAVE OF TRUTH
James stepped through the entry just behind Luno. To his surprise, it was as if the light from an overcast day spilled through an unseen window. The room was nothing but a square, no larger than the main hall at his parents' home. The walls and floors of this room were roughly cut grey stone. James looked up at the ceiling. Far above him were what looked like clouds. They churned in a clockwise direction. Based on their darkened color, James thought it might rain at any moment. He turned to comment to Luno, but Luno was gone.
James quickly moved back toward the door. He extended his hand behind him, not wanting
to turn his back on the open room, but felt only the cold stone wall as he searched for the handle. His heart began to beat faster. The far wall was obstructed by what appeared to be rolling fog. James drew his sword and attempted to clear his mind.
A dark shape appeared in the mist. James's hands began to shake as he was consumed by an overwhelming sense of fear. The shape moved silently toward him—or was it only the fog? Fearing his knees would buckle beneath him if he didn't move, James began to walk along the wall, never taking his eyes off the dark shape.
The mist began to recede, revealing a man. The fog lifted up from the floor, exposing the man's boots and the hem of his traveling cloak. It continued upward until the man's entire body could be seen. His hood cast an unnatural shadow across his face, making it unidentifiable.
“Who are you?” James asked, surprised by the fear in his own voice.
“It is I. Your father,” Stuart said, pulling back his hood and revealing his face.
James immediately fell to his knees, his entire body trembling. He knew what he was seeing was impossible, yet in his heart, he wanted it to be true above all else. The man walked to James and placed a gentle hand on his head.
“Son,” Stuart said, lifting James's chin so he could make eye contact. Tears began streaming down James's face. “Rise, my son. We have much to discuss,” Stuart said, grasping him beneath the arm.
James attempted to rise only to fall to the floor beneath his weakened legs. He wept uncontrollably. He attempted to gain control, attempted to stand, but every time he looked at his father, his guilt and emptiness shook his very core and sent him back to his knees. After a moment, Stuart spoke again.
“Son, look at me.”
James slowly raised his head and looked at his tear-blurred father.
“It's all right. I'm here.”
After a moment, the tears stopped and his body ceased shaking. When James was able to get to his feet, he realized he stood over a head taller than his father. The pair embraced. The familiar and comforting smell pushed the remaining tension from his body.
“I'm sorry,” James whispered into his father's ear as they held each other.
“Sorry? For what?” Stuart asked.
“It's my fault.”
“What is your fault, son?”
“That day you were captured in the forest of Arenberg. I came to rescue you and everyone died. It was an acci—”
“Boy, do I look dead to you? After I woke from whatever magic had rendered me unconscious, I was taken to one of Alvaro's secret prisons. It didn't take them long to figure out I was better off as far from you as possible, so they sent me here.”
James was overwhelmed with emotion. He had believed he was the cause of his father's death for so long. Every day he had lived with that guilt. The guilt of taking his father from his mother, whom he saw crying every night for months after the “accident.” Along with the guilt came the extreme sense of loss. That day had cleaved a hole in his heart, and now, standing before him, his father was alive.
“I see it. I see it in your eyes and your face and the way you carry yourself,” Stuart said.
“What do you see?” James asked.
“You have unnecessarily burdened yourself with guilt.”
“Father, I cannot lie. It has plagued me every day since your loss.”
“Even if I had been killed, it would have been foolish to blame yourself. You were but a child. What happened that day was beyond your understanding or ability to control. Do you agree?”
“Yes, but—”
“But you still lived with the guilt despite knowing you couldn't have stopped what happened that night even if you had wanted to.”
“Every night for a year, I would wake up screaming your name. Every night I would run to mother for consolation and find her crying herself to sleep,” James said.
“Every man has a choice, James. He can allow his emotions to control him or he can control his emotions. Time and time again I've told you the importance of this control. It affects our ability to perform magic. You, no doubt, have struggled with your training since that night.”
“Why is this relevant now, Father? I passed my trials faster than any sorcerer before me, and have become so powerful the council fears my very existence.”
“It does matter, son. You carry a heavy burden. You carry the expectations of the people of our world. You are the Anointed One. And now you are here, banished and powerless.”
“Are you saying it is my fault I've been banished?”
“Yes,” Stuart replied coldly.
James hung his head and turned away from his father. He could feel the anger and frustration churning beneath the surface and did not want it to show. After all this time, after all he'd done, he was being reprimanded like a child.
“What must I do?” James asked.
“Let go of your guilt. Let go of your anger. You have enough to deal with without this additional burden.”
“My anger gives me power.”
“Power you are unable to control is not power. If you release yourself, you will become the most powerful sorcerer our generation has ever known. You must let go, James. If you ever wish to leave this place and fulfill you destiny … save our people, save humanity … save your mother. You must let go. Goodbye, son.”
Before the last words spoken by his father registered in his mind and he could react, his father was gone. The fog had lifted and Luno was beside him, hunched over trying to catch his breath.
Not again, James thought, looking around frantically. The four stone walls of the room had returned. “No,” James screamed. “Father!” His cries were earsplitting in the small room. Luno was finally able to catch enough breath to stand upright. James fell silent, taking in Luno's disheveled appearance. His clothes were torn. Half his face was covered in what looked like soot, the other half was dripping blood from an injury above his left eye. His hair appeared to be smoking. He gave James an incredulous look as he attempted to put out his hair.
“What just happened to us?” James asked.
“This room has the most cunning enchantment. I believed, from the account of the only other person to set foot inside, that we would be faced with the same enemy. It appears, however, as though every person who enters is faced with a different enemy. Something tailor-made for them. Whatever you encountered appears to be slightly more benign than the beast I met. Although, by the expression on your face, I daresay not.”
“And what was the purpose?” James asked.
“I once believed the purpose was to send folks screaming for their lives out of the cave, never to return. However, I'm not sure of that anymore,” he said looking at James curiously. “What did you see?”
James let out a deep breath. “I saw my father … at least I thought it was my father.”
“What did he say?”
James looked at Luno with a reluctant expression.
“My boy, we are far past concealing our emotions from one another. Now tell me, please.”
“He said I have to let go.”
Luno was silent for a moment. He turned and paced around the room revealing a large slash across the back of his jacket. James was still trying to process all that had happened in those short minutes.
“Well then. Let us continue, shall we?” Luno said. James nodded and began moving toward the door they had entered.
“Boy, have you hit your head?” Luno asked, now standing on the opposite side of the room.
“We are moving on, are we not?” James asked.
“Indeed. Through this door,” Luno said, pointing to the solid wall in front of him.
Luno could tell by James's confused look that something wasn't right. He walked slowly toward James, never taking his eyes from the boy's face.
“You can't see it, can you?”
“See what?” James asked.
“There is a doorway on the opposite wall. Framed in gold is the most magnificent mahogany door I've ever seen.”
“I see nothing,” James replied.
“Fascinating,” Luno said to himself. He paced the room in deep thought. After several moments of silence he turned to James. “I must go on alone. Go back to the boat and wait for me. I shall not be long.”
“What is so important in there?” James asked.
“You will see, my boy. Patience.”
With that, Luno turned and disappeared into the wall. James walked over and pressed his hand on the spot where Luno had vanished and felt only cold, hard stone. Disenchanted, he made his way back to the beach alone.
James paced along the back wall of the cave where sand met black granite. He couldn't get the thought of his father out of his mind. While he was in that room, he truly believed his father had come back to him. For a short moment, all the anger and resentment had melted away, and for the first time since his death, he had felt unburdened. The instant his father disappeared and James realized it was a trick of the island, everything came rushing back.
James passed the strange glyphs carved into the wall, thinking they had an odd familiarity about them. Thoughts about what he had just witnessed quickly pushed the glyphs from his mind. It hadn't been his real father telling him to let go; it was a creation of the island. Part of James needed the guilt he'd held onto for so long. It made him feel … human. It helped keep him grounded. He could also reach deep inside himself and harness that guilt if he needed. Some of the magic he had mastered required that he delve deep into the ancient emotions of hurt and pain.
These were usually a combination of dark and contemporary spells. Once he decided to, James had perfected everything he had been taught. And yet, here in The Never, he only knew three magic words.
And then it struck him like a bolt of lightning. Could it be that simple? The island was trying to tell him what he needed. He needed to let go. He needed to accept the past for what it was and move on. James needed to relieve himself of emotions that burdened his spirit in order to understand the language of this land. He believed it, but was uncertain how to do it—or even if he could.
