“No self-doubt now. I’m committed to this. I’m confident I can control the thing, but sometimes nightmares come from the vat surprising even me.”
A nervous chuckle suggested some doubt. Into the cauldron went unspeakable things, powders of beings long dead, rare creatures’ dried body parts, and all in a base of stump hole water still wriggling with mosquito larvae. The blood curdled in the acidic brew as the mixture bubbled over the fire and condensed into a tar-like state. Earwig spoke an incantation from the crinkled skin book. The foul potion gurgled, glowed amber to red, but before the creature formed from the smoke; the substance settled back in the pot.
“What’ve I done incorrectly? I know how to summon spirits, I’ve conjured before.”
Though drained, rage recharged her.
“What’s wrong?”
She retraced the exhortation, but the chant was perfect. She shrieked.
“This summons requires five hairs plucked from the living victim. Without the hairs, the demon has nothing on which to form. I forgot to extract Saxthor’s hairs in my haste to get back here. I’ll have to return to the palace tomorrow.”
The witch scratched at a mole on her face and tore out a clump of wiry, curled hairs in the process. She winced and flicked the hairs and chunk of a mole into the fire.
“I wouldn’t want those to land in the cauldron.”
She pressed her finger to the red bleeding growth and sucked the finger.
*
Minnabec sulked in his bedchamber when a shriek pierced the night, and he scurried to the window. He beheld the luminescent green light coming from the back tower’s uppermost window slit.
“She’ll need a relative’s blood once more. Something’s gone wrong; she’ll be stalking me again. My gold is little consolation for the endless bloodletting she demands.”
4: Flight
Bodrin smacked down the thorny blackberry canes ahead of him with his walking stick. “These briars are worst in fall.”
The boys worked their way to the Sentinel Pine with care. Bushes, vines, and threatening spikes infested the low grounds between fields and swamps bordering the Southern Nhy River. Autumn had tamed the tender undergrowth for the winter, but briars and tangled vines held vigil, keeping intruders at bay. Saxthor trudged along deep in thought, oblivious to the barbs snagging his clothes.
“I’ve put up with Aunt Irkin’s meanness since I can’t remember when. She’s said ugly things about my brother, sister, and me in front of us every chance she’s had. Still, I never thought she’d try to harm us. I got a bad hunch about Memlatec’s scrunched face when he spoke of Aunt Irkin.”
“Maybe she had something to do with the man’s death in the stairwell yesterday. She wants to do more than make you miserable. What does the wizard want you to do?” Bodrin asked.
Saxthor’s expression was dismal. “I don’t know.”
“Stop worrying so. You’re making too much out of the accidents. We’ll find out what the old man wants soon enough.”
“Memlatec just said to come to the Sentinel Pine.” Saxthor tripped over a stick. “It was his expression that scares me. He frowned and his eyes-- his eyes got big, almost jittery. I never saw him so upset before, sorta in a rush. What he didn’t say worries me most.”
“Probably nothing.”
“I keep seeing the old wizard’s expression when he caught Aunt Irkin staring at me in the hallway yesterday. Her pinched face and beady eyes gave me chills, like a big snarling dog with hair bristling about to attack.”
Bodrin pointed. “We’ve got company.”
Fedra, Memlatec’s eagle, plunged in full dive, wings back, focused on something behind them. Fedra smashed into a black vulture carrying a writhing water moccasin in its talons. A shower of inky feathers spiraled to the ground trailing the wounded, tumbling scavenger. Knocked from the claws, the serpent wriggled in the air and plopped in the bog. Though stunned a moment, the snake slithered away.
*
In his tower, Memlatec followed the strike through Fedra’s eyes in his crystal ball.
If I destroy the vulture, Earwig will sense my intervention at once, he thought. Better to hold the scavenger unharmed until the boys are well away. This is her doing. She’s managed to follow and pursues them still.
Memlatec closed the crystal’s vision, chanted a spell, and turned aside.
*
A smoky translucence enveloped the bird stumbling on the ground. Close by, two water moccasins sunned on a log jutting from the dark cypress waters. They witnessed the drama playing out also. A third agitated and bruised cottonmouth emerged among the brown fern fronds at the tannic water’s edge. The new arrival slipped back into the water and slithered through the duckweed to a narrow isthmus only a few feet ahead of the boys. Its mottled gray-brown scales blended into the leaf litter where the serpent coiled.
*
“Careful of logs and stumps,” Saxthor said to Bodrin in the lead. “Lots are rotten; your foot will mash right into them. Walk on the mossy mounds around small trees. They hold up pretty well, crossing the muck between spots of dry ground.”
“Like I don’t know that.” Bodrin picked his way along the squishy quagmire. “Soon, we’ll come to the deep swamp.”
“The Sentinel Pine is up ahead.” Saxthor pointed at the magnificent sight. The tree rose from a dry raised finger of earth, hooking out into the low boggy grounds. “The old-timer stands out over everything, even makes its branches seem tiny. We’re so little next to the giant.
“I’m wound up and alert whenever we get near this place,” Bodrin said.
Saxthor nodded. “Almost erases the briars and crud torment.”
Bodrin laughed. “First, you won’t say anything; now you chatter like a bird. At least you’re not so moody.”
*
As the hikers admired the tree, two snakes zigzagged across the dark waters behind them. Out of the corner of his eye, Saxthor caught movement written in the duckweed. He sighted a third trail and followed it to the bank beyond Bodrin’s feet. A thick gray-brown coil tensed. At the center, a puffy triangular head sporting cold yellow eyes focused on those approaching. Bodrin’s descending foot broke the spell.
“Watch out!” Saxthor’s knife blade flashed by Bodrin when Saxthor lunged.
Bodrin jumped aside and paled as a blood-spurting, headless serpent body sprang from the spiral. The snakehead flew through the air and plopped down, bounced once, and landed open, white, and menacing beside Bodrin’s damp foot. He leaped back from the water’s edge staring at the gaping skull, eyes fixed in rigid threat.
“Cripes! Where’d the snake come from?”
The squirming headless body sank into the muck, still oozing blood. Saxthor wiped his machete blade. “Dunno, but the moccasin was coiled to strike.”
“Scary, those two slithering away were with this one like they were a pack. We must’ve almost stepped on one earlier to rile them so.”
“Water moccasins will attack when mad. Remember the one on the fishing pier we surprised?”
“Yeah.”
“Gives me the creeps,” Saxthor said. “The duckweed trail shows they were coming straight for us. Careful, the snakehead by your foot is still biting.”
“Let’s go on to the tree,” Bodrin flicked the skull with his knife. The chomping menace splashed and sank into the dark water. The musky serpent odor lingered.
“Memlatec said this is a magical place where the earth’s energy bands come together,” Saxthor said in the Sentinel Pine’s shade. “The taproot must’ve grown into some energy or something. I can sense a sorta strength come on me like a warm summer breeze.”
“Yeah, funny how the air seems softer the closer to the Sentinel Pine you get. I love the fresh pine scent replacing the moldy swamp smell.”
Amazed by the shield-size bark plates, Bodrin caught sight of Fedra, who settled in the branches high overhead. “You notice anything unusual?”
“My hair is prickling like right befor
e a storm.”
Saxthor turned around as Memlatec materialized nearby. Motionless, both boys stared.
“I never, ever saw somebody pop out of the air before,” Bodrin whispered in Saxthor’s ear. “People say old wizards could do strange things, but I’ve believed Memlatec was just an adviser to the queen, not magical for real.”
“I perceive newfound respect on your awed faces,” Memlatec said. His smile relieved Saxthor.
“What’s going to happen next?” Bodrin asked.
Saxthor brushed his hand backward, silencing his friend. “How’d you do that, sir?”
“Wizards can move about beyond physical means over short distances. We don’t utilize the mechanism often. Such travel requires extraordinary energy, and I’m getting too old for the strain.”
The sorcerer scanned the area. “This is an enchanted place. The planet’s creative energies converge here, revitalizing those few who find their way to it. You feel refreshed, don’t you?”
“Revitalizing? Refreshed… I gotcha.”
Bodrin’s chest puffed up. “I found this place a long time ago. It’s been our favorite camping spot.”
“Well, this finger of high ground has a greater significance, boys. For two weeks in the spring, the Sentinel drops its veil. Man can discover the extreme display as the power point renews itself. This once I’ll show you what you may never have seen.”
Memlatec raised his staff and chanted a soft incantation.
“Saxthor,” Bodrin said and pointed to Memlatec. “His wand is leading something wavy around the area. Fresh green leaves are coming out everywhere.”
The light within the circle rose like dawn marbled in brilliant yellow, pink, and blue. From above their heads, the formerly unnoticed jasmine vines splashed showers of golden trumpets that cascaded down the trees as melted butter over the branches. Like ornaments, globes of pink wild azalea bloom clusters appeared everywhere on the green leaf bracts of shrub honeysuckle.
“Aren’t the sky-blue phlox and rich purple dogtooth violets on the forest floor brilliant?” Memlatec asked. “Have you witnessed this display before?”
Bodrin stared without blinking. “Even the scarlet cardinals in the tree limbs and orange-breasted robins searching the ground for worms are part of the show. I think I even taste mint. We’ve come across this wonder once before.”
“The area is renewed each spring if you arrive at the right time to partake of the experience.” Memlatec lowered his staff. The springtime scene melted away and returned to the browns and rusts of autumn. “For those who appreciate the earth’s energy, this is a place to refresh.”
“Why’d you want us here?” Saxthor asked. Bodrin turned to Memlatec also. “This is beautiful, but I think you had more in mind than the show.”
Memlatec raised his hand. His facial expression hardened like gray stone; only his violet eyes remained of the vanished vitality. The boys tensed.
“I sent you two to this place because you’re old enough to understand the importance of what I’m about to tell you. You need to be aware of some facts. You’re in mortal danger from Earwig – Irkin.”
Memlatec glanced up at Fedra, who continued to monitor the horizon. The old man looked straight at Saxthor.
“The nobles forced your uncle’s abdication for corruption, ineptitude, and Irkin’s alienation of everyone in society. He retreated to the country content to remain in seclusion amid his mediocrity. As his wife, Irkin followed, bitter and resentful, her ambition was unabated. With reluctance, your mother ascended the throne to save the dynasty and kingdom.”
Saxthor fidgeted. “I’m sorry for Aunt Irkin.”
“She seeks to destroy your family, imagining she can return to a vacant throne one day.”
Bodrin put his hand on Saxthor’s shoulder as Saxthor hung his head.
“She hates him because of his family?” Bodrin asked.
“Yes.” Memlatec tightened his grip on his staff and straightened his spine. “Saxthor, your immense, unique, and critical power is starting to develop. Irkin discovered you have a force unknown to her when the crystal glowed in the garden. She feels threatened by the mysterious energy. Her new fear, atop the old hatred, elevated her desperation, and focused her determination to destroy you.”
Bodrin withdrew his hand and stared at Saxthor.
“I’m a kid. I can’t hurt her. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Of course not, but she envisions you as a threat. She’ll use any means to prevent you from developing your ability to challenge her.”
Saxthor picked at a piece of bark. “I don’t have any power.”
“The servant’s fall in the stairwell was no accident, not the one she intended. You must leave the kingdom.”
“He’s just a kid, Memlatec,” Bodrin said.
“You’re in imminent danger, Saxthor. Earwig indulges her malice in Castilyernov Earwighof’s dark tower. However, the real source of evil comes from the Munattahensenhov, the primordial peak in the Ice Mountains at the continents far north. Earwig is always alert at the slightest hint of a rival, but the Dark Lord of Dreaddrac, who works through her, is your primary nemesis. The Dark Lord fortified the Munattahensenhov during the Wizards’ Wars long ago. That evil festers in the subterranean catacombs. Someday, Dreaddrac will have sufficient power to march south over Powteros. You will be the only force capable of confronting his evil. Neither of them must discover the nature of your growing ability. The witch has already tried to kill you. None of us can protect you here any longer. You must disappear now before your aunt draws the Dark Lord’s attention to you.”
“I won’t go!” Saxthor said. “I must help protect Mother.”
Bodrin’s hand grasped the handle of his hunting knife.
Memlatec patted the prince on the back. “I’ll watch over your mother, Saxthor. You two boys both need to be out of Earwig’s sight, reach, and thought. You must take Bodrin and go into exile far from the witch. I’ll explain your absence to your mothers. There’s no time for delay. Tournak, whom you know well, will guard and lead you. You’ve a critical mission to undertake as well.”
Saxthor and Bodrin stared at each other, their faces blank amid the shattered rubble of their secure lives.
“Does she hate me so much?” Saxthor asked. “She’s always been mean. We try to stay out of her way. Is she bad enough to drive me from my family? My parents won’t understand why I’m leaving them.”
Saxthor’s body slumped. He looked up at the wizard, searched for hope, but wilted again when he found none.
Bodrin kicked a rotted stump. “I wish I could stop her tricks.”
The old man’s hard eyes misted when he saw the pleading ones staring up at him. “You cannot go home again, Saxthor. I’ll explain it to your parents; they’ll understand. It’s too dangerous for you to return, too dangerous for both of you.”
“How will you explain this to our families?” Saxthor asked.
Memlatec turned away. His stilted frame drooped.
Bodrin leaned over to Saxthor. “He didn’t hear you. He’s checking out the swamp.”
Saxthor tugged on the wizard’s sleeve. “Memlatec, why must Bodrin run away, too? Does Aunt Irkin hate me so much she’d hurt Bodrin as well? Countess Betsoya lives for her children. Taking Bodrin from her is too much. What’ve I done to harm so many people?”
“You boys did nothing wrong, Saxthor. You stand in the witch’s way. Yes, she would hurt Bodrin, or anyone else, to get to you. She knows Bodrin is your best friend. She’d use him to find you. He must go with you into exile.”
I’m to blame for everything being messed up, thought Saxthor.
Bodrin took the blow better than Saxthor. His tone was upbeat. “Things will work out. We’ll go on a fantastic adventure and see the world. How many kids can say that?”
Saxthor flicked an agonized but appreciative smile, but his pain overlaid it. He turned to Memlatec and took his hand.
“Mother will be okay. She’s got the
kingdom to worry about. She still has Augusteros and Nonee. Will you protect them for me, Memlatec? They’re kids, too. Aunt Irkin has hurt them enough already.”
“I’ll monitor both your families and Battara, too,” Memlatec said. His voice cracked. “Your brother and sister will be fine. Irkin is fixated on you now.”
To Saxthor, the awesome wizard seemed to age. Memlatec turned again to the pine and away from the boys who still studied him.
“We’ll be all right, Saxthor,” Bodrin said. “Memlatec must be doing magic.”
Memlatec raised his hands and concentrated. The crystal in his staff began to shimmer with an amber glow.
“He’s saying something, must be a spell,” Bodrin said in Saxthor’s ear.
Drained, the wizard’s arms fell to his side following the incantation. He selected and tapped a massive bark plate, which dissolved before their eyes. The pine’s white heartwood stood in sharp contrast to the surrounding brown frame. The cavity contained objects that didn’t belong inside a tree.
“What’s such stuff doing in there?” Bodrin asked.
Saxthor’s squinted, “Seems to be two swords and a pouch. How’d that stuff get inside a tree?”
“Magic, I guess.”
The wizard straightened up and took the first sword and scabbard in both hands.
“Saxthor, I believe this is yours. Tournak will teach you how to use this weapon. The blade, Sorblade, is quite an unusual one commissioned by the wizards of old. It originates from Tixosian steel forged by dwarves and infused with elfin magic. The powers the rapier contains – you’ll discover in time.”
“Dwarves ... elves…” Bodrin mumbled.
“Follow Tournak’s instruction carefully and learn to use Sorblade with pride as its former owner did. I’m certain you’re the rightful master. Draw Sorblade from the scabbard.”
“Did you say dwarves and elves made this sword?” Saxthor hesitated at first and then took the marvel in both hands. “I thought people made up elves and dwarves to scare kids.”
Memlatec stroked his beard. “Yes, well, they made up wizards, too, didn’t they?”
The N Arc of Empire- Complete Series Page 5
