Escape: The Seam Travelers Book One

by Jason Nugent

  To hear rumors of its demise was disheartening.

  Phetrix picked up his bowl and left his corner, seeking to validate the claims he’d heard.

  Near the town center, a large group of people gathered as a crier sent by Mortas repeated his decrees.

  “By the order of Mortas Frost, rightful ruler and sovereign of Chevalon . . .”

  The crowd groaned at the words, forcing a grin on Phetrix’s face.

  “The Order of Mages, commonly referred to as The Order, is hereby banished and outlawed from the land. Furthermore, any who dare assist or openly aid the Order will face immediate punishment up to and including execution by hanging. The Order is an enemy of the Crown, and our benevolent leader Mortas Frost shall rid the scourge from Chevalon.”

  Phetrix pushed his chin back in place, his mouth opening wider as the man spoke.

  “How could this be?” someone in the crowd said.

  “What about Rhoden?” another countered.

  An unease he’d never seen before rippled through the crowd.

  “Mortas has lost his mind!” a man yelled, forcing the crier to stop repeating himself. Three guards rushed into the mass of people and dragged him away. The crowd grew silent and worried, their feelings evident in their scared faces as they watched the man pulled across the dirt street.

  Clearing his throat, the crier began again. “By the order of Mortas Frost, rightful ruler...”

  Phetrix shook his head and walked away, unwilling to concede the fact that Mortas crossed a line none had ever dared to cross. The Order was always there. It had protected Kings, Queens, and the common people since its inception. How could one man disrupt it all?

  The reign of Mortas grew more worrisome by the day and the need to repair the damage done more necessary.

  When he left the town center, he passed an old woman who winked at him. Odd, he thought, but continued on. At the next corner, she was there again, this time waving him toward her. He ignored the old lady and turned the corner, heading for the road out of the town.

  When he got a block away, she was there again.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “Why do you follow me?”

  She approached him slowly, then her eyes flashed a bright blue.

  “What?” he mumbled.

  “Phetrix, come with me.”

  She turned abruptly and walked to a nearby house where she entered, leaving the door open. Hearing his name spoken aloud almost made him jump out of his skin. No one knew who he was, he was certain of it. Whoever she was, he had to find out what she wanted. Grasping a small amount of magic to protect himself, he followed her inside.

  The door slammed shut behind him and a torch ignited to life.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Relax mage, you’re safe here.” The woman turned to him and her wrinkled face smoothed out, revealing a younger version of the woman. Her hair turned from white to dark brown.

  “Who . . . who are you?”

  “Mathilda, from the Order. Have you heard the blasphemy of Mortas?”

  He slowly nodded, unsure what to think of the current situation.

  “The Order has gone in hiding. You will do well to follow suit. You’ve been in the mountains, right? Good. Remain there as long as possible until we can sort this whole thing out.”

  “What ‘we’ are you referring to? Who are you Mathilda?”

  “I serve the Grand Mage, Samuel. I hear you know his whereabouts?”

  Phetrix gasped. He never realized Samuel would have more contacts back in this world. It made sense and he should have seen it sooner.

  “I do. I met him once.”

  “Then you know the heirs are safe.”

  He nodded. At least he hoped they were safe.

  “Our situation here is dire. The need for the King to return is greater than ever.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “We . . . we’ve yet to find him. We have turned our hope to the heirs. Only they can repel the evil wrought by Mortas. We can help them.”

  “By sticking our heads in the ground and doing nothing?”

  Mathilda stepped closer, her bright blue eyes piercing him. “By staying alive until the day comes.”

  When Phetrix finally left that meeting, his mind found it difficult to wrap itself around the current situation. The Order was aware of the heirs. They were now outlawed by Mortas. They wanted to stay hidden for what . . . a time in the future?

  Thinking back on it now, it made his head throb harder. Though Mathilda was the last of the Order he’d met, he sure could use her power to rid him of the pain rattling inside his head.

  The thunder boomed again outside and he closed his eyes, trying to will away the memories.

  Thirty-Two

  PHETRIX WENT INTO ULTI, preparing to take his street corner and beg for alms as he’d done for some time now, when he noticed guards harassing a couple. Initially he walked past, not wanting to engage them, but the further away he got, the more guilt crept in and forced him into action.

  It had been a couple days since he met Mathilda, but he learned a couple valuable things from her. The first was that the Order remained alive, in one form or another. They were hiding in plain sight. Who knows how many he’d seen over the years? They were actively trying to find the King and knew about what he did with the heirs. No doubt Samuel played a major role in all of that.

  The second thing he learned was how to disguise himself. Mathilda’s magic fooled even him, and he should’ve known better. When they were talking, he studied the remnants of the spell and dissected them until he could cast it himself. Feeling he had a good grasp of it, he ran behind the nearest building into a deserted alley and cast the spell on himself, turning him into a younger man without a beard.

  Once he felt sure it worked, he stepped into the street to confront the guards. More to test his magic than anything else, though helping the couple just made sense.

  “What are you two doing to these people? What did they do wrong?”

  One of the guards turned to him. “Leave us be! This is none of your concern!”

  The woman looked at him with terror in her eyes. Her companion wasn’t a large man and he seemed overwhelmed by the guards.

  “I asked you two idiots a question. What crime could they possibly have committed that you fools felt the need to bother them?”

  “Fools? Your tongue is gonna get you in trouble!” the other guard said. He was taller with a scar across his face.

  “I won’t tolerate your ignorance. Why are you messing with them?”

  The guards tossed the couple to the hard dirt road and turned to him.

  The shorter guard cracked his knuckles. “Ignorance? Mortas will not be pleased that we have people questioning his servants.”

  “I don’t really care. What I do care about is why you find the need to bully these people. As far as I can tell, they’ve done nothing wrong.”

  He felt a surge of adrenaline course through him. It had been a long time since he found himself in a physical altercation. He didn’t intend on this turning into one either, but the possibility made him ready just in case.

  “That’s our decision to make,” the tall guard said. “Now you get to come with us!”

  The guards moved quickly toward him, but Phetrix waved his hand and caught them in an invisible grip.

  “What the—” the tall one said, “We’ve got a mage! Outlaw! You belong on the gallows!”

  Phetrix waved his hand and stuffed both their mouths with air so they couldn’t speak.

  Turning to either side, he used his power to push the guards out of the street and into the alley. He turned to the couple.

  “I suggest you two leave. The rebellion is alive. The heirs are returning. Quickly now, go! Spread the news. The heirs are coming!”

  The pair picked each other off the ground and stared at him with wide eyes.

  “The heirs?” the man asked. His question made Phetrix pause. Everyone knew them, didn’t th
ey?

  “The children of King Artus and Queen Griselde? They live! They will restore this land to its former glory. Mortas will be vanquished.”

  The guards struggled against his magical grip, but Phetrix held firm. Fortunately no one else had come near them.

  The woman seemed to understand him. “The heirs. Erthic and Elysande. They’re alive? That means—” She slapped her partner’s arm. “They live!” Hope flashed across her face.

  “No go before more guards arrive! I’ll take care of these two, but you have to go. I can take care of myself. Hurry. Spread the word. The heirs shall return!”

  The couple nodded and ran off. Phetrix turned his attention to the guards.

  “As for you two, I think you need to learn a lesson.”

  As he was about to let loose all his frustrations, he felt the concealment spell waver. Oh no, he thought. If his disguise vanished, he’d have no way of returning to the town later without being noticed. He had two choices.

  He could dispose of the guards, killing them so they’d never be able to reveal his true self, or he could flee. He considered killing them the better option but before he could weave the spell to do so, a family walked by the alley and stopped, noticing how the guards were in a state of frozen movement. They had a young girl with them that pointed at Phetrix.

  “Mage?” she asked in a sweet voice.

  Her father glared at him, then yelled loudly. “We have someone from the Order! Guards! We have a traitor!”

  Phetrix cursed to himself. He was there to help them! Mortas would never be the ruler they needed! He was a monster and must be stopped, why can’t they see that?

  He ran from the alley while the father raced after him, shouting and calling attention his way. Phetrix spun, cast a spell to trip him up, and ran away. The man fell to the ground and rolled to a stop. Guards ran after him, but he turned through narrow alleys and winding streets, eventually losing his disguise. He slowed his pace and stooped like an older man. Rounding a building, he took up position on the corner like he normally would and nervously waited as the guards ran past him.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when they didn’t recognize him and scoured the streets searching for the younger man he no longer was. It had been an interesting experiment, but he cursed himself for going too far. He should have known better. After fifteen years, many had given up on the return of the King and Queen. There were also those too young to remember a time without Mortas as the ruler and still others who had been under his rule for so long, the King was no longer relevant. A large portion of the population held KIng Artus to blame for their current situation. They felt abandoned, left to the mercy of Mortas and his minions.

  As Phetrix settled into his begging position, he wondered if there would be enough support for the King to return. If the support had been there years ago, why hadn’t he made the attempt already? Maybe the real reason was the people no longer stood behind him and accepted him as their rightful ruler.

  All I wanted to do was help. Have we become so jaded that Mortas seems like the right choice for us? The rebels have been in hiding too long. The Order has lost its luster. Something has to be done. The heirs must come back to make things right.

  Alone, he couldn’t force the change Chevalon needed. With others, he’d be able to bring back the glory of the kingdom. He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Thirty-Three

  THREE DAYS AFTER HE attacked the guards, Phetrix returned to Ulti and the street corner he frequented. The day was warm and not a cloud drifted in the sky. It was almost enough for him to forget the dire situation the kingdom was in.

  Then he heard the crier.

  “Mortas is coming! Mortas is coming! Gather in the town square. Mortas is coming!”

  People ran past him, ousting with one another to get as close to Ulti’s central square as they could. Children cried as their parents dragged them through the throng of people. Mothers scolded their little ones, fathers laid swats to their bottoms.

  Phetrix watched, anxiety growing as the crowd grew. Why would he be here today?

  Ulti was a small town never gaining the eye of any ruler as far as he remembered, which is why he chose the place. It was far enough from the capital to avoid detection and other than the market, it wasn’t of significance.

  A shadow raced across the ground and Phetrix looked up. Five Seekers streaked across the sky, their black wispy forms a stain against the azure sky.

  Oh no, are they here for me?

  The thought of his actions against the guards causing all this worried him. Mortas was unpredictable and ruthless. If what Phetrix did brought his ire . . .

  He packed up his bowl and joined the throng of people, pushing his way closer in order to hear what was to come.

  The crier continued his calls. “Mortas is coming! Mortas is coming! Gather in the town square. Mortas is coming!”

  Moments later, the Seekers swirled above the crowd, silencing them. Phetrix felt a nervous calm growing within the assembled people. They were just as worried as he was.

  The guards sliced through the crowd to open a path. People cursed and shouted back at the guards who pushed them out of the way. Phetrix focused on the opening the guards held. It took several minutes before anyone appeared.

  Then he saw him.

  Mortas.

  Clad in black armor, the white snowflake blazing bright on his chest, the sigil of House Frost. They were an old family from the far north. They claimed ancestry to the same lineage as King Artus though the connection was never substantiated. The Order kept identical records as those that were housed in the castle before Mortas destroyed it. Phetrix spent many days studying the unbroken line that connected to Artus and then the children. House Frost was never part of it. They weren’t even married into the family as far as he could tell.

  Mortas smiled and waved as he marched through the crowd. His massive black stallion, had the same arrogant air as its rider, it’s sheen so glossy as to appear oiled. The people were quiet, a low rumbling reverberating amongst them as shock registered on their faces. Mortas stopped in the center of the crowd and coaxed his beast into a complete circle so he could view the crowd from his superior position

  A cart was pulled in place by two horses and Mortas dismounted on to it. Once there, he raised his hands high and the anxious murmuring within the crowd ceased.

  “My lovely subjects, it is my honor to visit your beautiful village.” He paused and tepid applause greeted him. He continued, unphased by the response.

  The smile faded for an instant, then he recovered. “Very well then. Let me get straight to the matter at hand.”

  “The King lives!” someone cried out. Phetrix whipped his head in the man’s direction and watched as guards rushed at him and dragged him from the assembly. He screamed as they pulled him away. “The King lives! Mortas is a fraud! The heirs will return!”

  The poor man. They’ll kill him for sure, Phetrix thought.

  Mortas grinned as they hauled the screaming man away.

  “My subjects,” he cried out, stealing their attention away from the man, “It has come to my attention that one of you is from the Order. One of you is a traitorous mage.” A murmur rose amongst the assembly, people turning to their neighbors unsure what to think or do.

  “I have decreed the Order to be a subversive organization that shall not be tolerated within my lands. You have heard the law spoken to you plainly. Because of this act, I have come here to snuff out this traitor and restore proper order to your town and my kingdom. If you do not produce this deceiver to me and my guards within a week, I will have no recourse but to garrison this town with my followers and enact martial law. I will not tolerate disobedience. I will not allow such sedition to go unchecked.”

  He paused, the words sinking in the crowd.

  Phetrix felt ill. This calamity was his fault. His rash actions brought this punishment to innocent people.

  “We’ll find the mage,” a woman cried out.
Several others agreed, but not as many as Phetrix assumed would. Maybe they were ready for the heirs to return? Maybe they understood the evil Mortas to be.

  Soon, others echoed the woman and swore to flush out the mage, making Phetrix’s earlier optimism drop with each added voice.

  Mortas raised his hand, quieting the crowd.

  “I expect to find this traitor with your help. We cannot let this mage run amongst you freely. Whoever it is, they are dangerous and seek to pit you against me. They must be stopped.”

  He climbed down from the cart and followed his escort through the crowd.

  Phetrix shook his head. How could the people buy his logic? Mortas was evil, how could they not see it?

  As he left the assembly, Phetrix overheard several people talk amongst themselves.

  “I’d never turn in a mage to that fool Mortas. He’s done more harm than any ruler I’ve ever know,” one man said. His companion, an older man agreed.

  “The Order has always been looking out for us. I trust they’re doing the same now.”

  A woman on the other side of Phetrix spoke to her children in a quiet voice. “You see a mage, you tell me. Don’t share it with the guards. You hear me? They are good and honorable people protecting us from harm.”

  “Yes mother,” the two girls replied.

  Phetrix left the assembly with a renewed spirit. Whatever Mortas had done to try and crush his opposition was creating a different effect. If Phetrix could finally bring the heirs back, he’d have support for their cause. Time was running short. Action needed to be taken.

  Thirty-Four

  TWO WEEKS AFTER KOL revealed his information, Phetrix decided to attempt crossing through the seam. It had been years since he had tried and there were few places left within Chavalon where he could perform the feat. The old burned ruins of the castle were no longer feasible, but a farm outside the city proper housed a location he could enter.

  When he studied the book Samuel had him read, there were five locations within Chavalon where the older mage documented seams that led to alternate worlds. It was a three days journey from where he lived. Packing his belongings in a tattered leather bag, he slung it on his shoulder and left.