by Ron Root
Second Nexus
Around dusk, Brin arrived, leading Hagley and the rest down and through the city to a small canyon at its far side “It is this way.” Soon they were walking a narrow canyon with a small creek at its center. They hadn’t gone far when the walls narrowed, welling the brook’s waters so high they found themselves sloshing through knee-high water. What had started out as a warm evening cooled the deeper into the canyon they trudged. It widened when its brook emptied into a sandy pool at the canyon’s end.
The Elders were already there, along with a whole host of other A’rythians. Bardán greeted them. “Welcome to Áit na cumhachta, the Place of Power. The Lore Masters await you.”
The mere mention of the place’s name had Hagley’s gut twisting. Jarek placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s important that you understand that every person here is adept. All will participate in your circle. The Lore Masters will be using a variant of ceangailte that allows anyone in the circle to tap into its power.” He glanced Gresham’s way. “That means it’s available to either of you if and when the need arises. We also stand at the focus of a Nexus, amplifying the circle’s strength even more. You two will have access to power that exceeds what the world’s most powerful magi get to experience.”
Hagley knew Jarek’s speech was meant to bolster his confidence, but he was more concerned with holding his bladder. He was about to face the very demon who’d spirited away the headmaster of an arts university, not some acolyte who couldn’t earn his robes.
“If Zakarah appears, it will be when the Nexus focuses. You’ll have no problem recognizing when it happens. If he materializes alone, I’ll try to bargain Lavan’s return. Such a plan has little chance to succeed, but I’ll try. If he arrives with Lavan, ignore Zakarah and bind the headmaster. It is paramount that you keep him here no matter what else happens.”
Hagley tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry.
“Lavan tells me Zakarah seeks magic, be it an item or a person. If he doesn’t free Lavan, we’ll deny him what he seeks. Expect trickery if that happens. If we frustrate him enough to drop his guard; bind him. Release him only if he produces Lavan. Bind Lavan in that case; we don’t want to lose him again. If all goes awry, whatever you do, don’t let him spirit away anyone else.”
Bile roiled up from Hagley’s stomach. It tasted sour. He choked it back down. Jarek patted his shoulder. “With luck and wiles, we’ll outwit the bastard. Remember, no matter how frightened you get, do not break the circle. Do so and we’ll all likely wind up in Zakarah’s thrall in some gods’ forsaken elsewhere.”
Hagley almost vomited.
“You watch for an attack,” he told Gresham. “If Zakarah even looks like he’s casting, attack him. I know you fear this is beyond you, but tonight you’re not novices, you are part of a full circle of power unmatched since the Great Age.” He pointed to the Lore Masters as they formed a circle around the pond. “Now, go join the circle.” He then left to confer with the Bardán.
Hagley grabbed Gresham’s arm. “I can’t do this. I couldn’t pass my trials with five Masters watching me. How does your uncle expect me to bind Zakarah in front of thirty of them, say nothing of dealing with some underworld demon?”
Gresham leaned so close Hagley could smell his breath. “This is about daring Hagley, nothing more. You proved time and time again you can be relied upon in getting us here. Now we need you to do more of the same to keep us here. You’re far more experienced than I am, and I plan to do everything I can to get your headmaster back. Don’t let Zakarah beat us. You can do this.”
Gresham’s courage humbled him. He’d practiced the arts for less than a week and here he was ready to confront a mighty wizard. How could he do any less?
By the time darkness fell, most of the A’rythians were seated around the pond, close enough to grasp hands. But Hagley couldn’t bring himself to join them, even when Gresham did. Instead, he stared at the heavens, trying to fathom what a Nexus was. The moons were so close they almost appeared as one; something he’d couldn’t recall having seen before. They gave off so much light that torches weren’t needed. Their light seemed strangely bright. Then it struck him. He was seeing aethers, not moonlight. It was as if someone had placed a giant light globe in the sky.
He glanced around. Goodricke was placing crystals all around the pool. He remembered Jarek saying they’d done that at the first Nexus. Finished, he sat at the far side of the pond, well away from the circle, with his sword draped across his lap. Hagley wondered what good a mundane weapon would be against the likes of Zakarah.
Suddenly Goodricke’s crystals came alive, blasting light everywhere. The temperature dropped so much Hagley could see his breath.
Jarek rushed to the pond. “Form your circle, the Nexus has begun.” Each man had been instructed to bring a blade. “Keep your knives at the ready, and whatever happens, do not touch the water.”
Bardán relayed the message in A’rythian. Hagley vomited. Fortunately, no one was looking. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and defying his body’s every instinct, forced himself to join the circle, taking a place between Gresham and an elderly A’rythian.
Light rainbowed from the crystals, bathing the canyon walls in shards of colored light. Goodricke was on his feet, his sword at the ready. It was glowing blue. Everyone stared at the pond. The image of a face had materialized on the water’s surface. Hagley feared he’d throw up again. I can’t do this. I’d rather die than be spirited off to some demon’s lair.
Its hooded cowl prevented him from seeing Zakarah’s features, for which he was grateful, but he knew the image forming before him had to be the demon. Warm liquid trickled down his thigh.
Jarek joined the circle. “Link up!”
Everyone joined hands. Power like Hagley would never have imagined rippled through him. His trembles ceased as a sense of wellness engulfed him, only to pass him by and come rushing around the circle again and again, swelling in intensity each time it returned.
The pond turned a bright aqua as foreign words blasted Hagley’s mind. Beannachtaí draoithe eile. Zakarah was mind-speaking A’rythian.
You use the wrong tongue, Zakarah! It’s me you face.
Master Jarek and Zakarah were using mind-speak, and Hagley could hear it. He wondered if the others could too.
Ah, we meet again, ‘Royal Magus.’ Have you decided to join your friend and me? The demon’s ensuing laugh made Hagley shiver.
Hardly. I’m here for Lavan. What have you done with him? Present him!
The demon smiled. You assume he’s with me, but do you see him? His smile vanished. Even if he were here, why would I send back someone so useful; lose a mind so informative? What gain is there in that?
What gain is it you seek? What is it you’d take in exchange for him?
The demon pushed back his cowl, scouring the area, his gaze finally settling on the sword Goodricke held. A forked tongue escaped his mouth, testing the air, wagging like the tail on an excited hound. Mayhap that glowing sword. What does it do?
Give us Lavan and it’s yours.
I’m afraid your friend is indisposed. But rest assured I am …hosting him.
Prove it.
Will this suffice? Something shot out of the water, hovering high above the ponds. It was a rock, covered with tiny speckles. Reflecting aethers, it showered the area with countless beams of light. Hagley remembered Jarek saying they’d lost a similar stone at the first Nexus.
I said to show me Master Lavan, not a rock he once owned.
I’ll show you what I choose, when I choose. He paused, looking around. That sword will do.
He waggled his fingers in Goodricke’s direction. Turpin’s sword rose from his lap, and floated toward Zakarah. His smile transformed into a grimace the instant he touched it. Screeching, he flung the sword back toward Goodricke, who had to dodge aside to avoid getting impaled. Jarek smiled. I gather you didn’t find it to your liking?
&n
bsp; Zakarah snarled. No, but these new friends you’ve brought me will do quite nicely.
Hagley felt himself being dragged toward the pond—as was the rest of the circle. Panic set in as he envisioned the lot of them being taken to Zakarah’s elsewhere. A sudden blast of ceangailte surged through him and the sliding stopped. The circle had countered the demon’s spell.
You’re out numbered and outmanned, Zakarah. Give me Lavan.
Jarek glanced Hagley’s way. Now!
Magus Verity had just ordered him to bind the demon. Hagley, the bumbling acolyte who couldn’t earn his robes. ‘I can’t, I can’t, I can’t’, raced through his mind, only to be countered by Gresham’s earlier urging, ‘You can be relied upon. You proved it in getting us her. Whatever you do, don’t let Zakarah beat us.’
Gresham, Goodricke, Jarek, the Lore Masters; all were counting on him. His dream of becoming a magus was on the line. Dispelling all else from his mind, he cast the spell.
The demon started as the binding locked onto him. He’d done it! A blundering merchant’s son had just bound a demon.
Zakarah snarled, his gaze flitting around the circle, trying to identify this new foe. Fools!
Hagley’s spell faltered briefly, only to be strengthened by yet another surge from the circle.
You’re trapped, Zakarah. Give us Lavan and we let you leave. It’s the only way you’re leaving here.
We’ll see about that!
Once again Hagley felt the pull of the demon’s spell. And once again, the circle answered.
Zakarah growled his frustration, sounding like some cornered beast. Snarling, he raised his arms. His lips moved. He was casting!
In the same instant sparks erupted from Zakarah’s hands, a gargantuan hand appeared, absorbing them. The sparks sputtered, then stopped altogether. Gresham had done his job. A wand appeared at Zakarah’s side, but the spectral hand grabbed and crushed it.
No! Accusing eyes scanned the circle, seeking yet another new adversary. Hagley wouldn’t have changed places with Gresham for the world.
Magic ebbed and flowed. Back and forth. Neither side winning; neither giving in.
The tugs suddenly ceased. So be it Royal Magus, you are too many. I yield; you shall have your wizard back.
Relief washed over Hagley. They’d won. Hearing Zakarah yield, the circle relaxed. In that weakened moment, the demon broke free of Hagley’s binding and with a cry of Be at the final nexus with the relics I need if you want him alive, he vanished, the pond suddenly void of his image. The hovering rock fell, splashing into the pond, sinking from sight.
Goodricke dove in after it. What was he thinking? All eyes fixated on the water. Hagley held his breath, waiting to see tendrils encase their friend like happened to the headmaster. But after what seemed an eternity, Goodricke surfaced, holding a skull-sized rock high over his head. He sloshed ashore, water streaming off his clothing, and held up the rock. “It’s the headmaster’s agate.”
Jarek ran to him. “You fool! Zakarah could have seized you.”
Goodricke shook his head. “The sword had ceased to glow and the waters had dimmed. I knew he was gone.”
Jarek stared at Goodricke for several moments. Finally, seeming more relaxed, he held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
With Zakarah gone, the circle disbanded; the A’rythians chattering to one another in their strange tongue.
Gresham joined his uncle, who’d pressed the rock to his ear and raised a hand. All grew quiet. “Gods!” he said, his eyes widening.
He handed the agate to Gresham. He listened, his eyes growing equally wide. Hagley joined them, listening too. The rock was chanting Beware the witch. Beware the witch, repeating it over and over. “That’s the headmaster’s voice!” he said, handing the rock to Bardán. After a listen, he translated it for the other A’rythians.
Despondent, Hagley watched the agate pass down the line, each person listening to its whispered warning. His binding had failed. Worse, after all their planning, they’d failed to rescue the headmaster, who now warned them now of yet another evil. Most terrifying of all was the possibility that Zakarah might know who had bound him. Would he exact his vengeance? Who’d have guessed Zakarah’s departure would depress him, but that’s exactly what it had done. A night that had begun full of hope had ended in disaster.
Head down, hands behind his back, Hagley paced. First wharf pirates, then marsh beasts and demons, say nothing of Headmaster Lavan’s warning of yet another unknown threat. Why hadn’t he returned to the university with his wagon that day in Portsmouth? What had possessed him to join this danger-wrought adventure? More importantly, would he ever return home?
Commitment
With the Nexus over and the demon gone, Gresham and the other Outlanders reconvened with the Elders in the council area to discuss what had just taken place. Uncle Jarek had stopped to pick up his map along the way. “Uncle, what did Zakarah mean with that last message? Will you face him again? Will we have another chance to rescue the headmaster?”
“Magus,” Bardán added, “Odhran asks that same question.”
“Tell Odhran I will do whatever is necessary to save my friend. Lavan says Zakarah covets ensorcelled items—magical relics like the one Goodricke carries.” He forced a wry grin. “Albeit ones more to his liking. I didn’t mention this earlier because I didn’t think it important, but there’s to be one more Nexus. It occurs days from now. And yes, I plan to be there.”
Bardán translated. As usual, it triggered a debate among the Elders. When it ended, Bardán gave them its upshot. “The Elders are in your debt. They say your warnings likely saved many A’rythian lives, and ask how they may aid you.”
“Tell them I’m most grateful for whatever information or assistance they can provide.” Jarek spread the map on the table before them. “We have only four days to reach the final Nexus, which occurs here,” he said, bouncing his finger on the image of a volcano. “It is paramount that I get there in time. Ask them how I can do it.”
After Bardán’s translation, a runner was dispatched. Bardán explained. “The Elders say the island you seek is in waters too dangerous to reach by boat.” He paused. “They say the best and only way to reach your volcano on time involves great luck and even greater risk, and that it relies upon the help of another. We await the man who is key to your success.”
Jarek turned to Hagley and him. “You two pay close attention. I want you privy to my plans. Hagley, tell the magi at your university what happened here, and that I still hope to save their headmaster.”
Minutes later a runner returned with a half-sized man they introduced as Dzojek. He looked nothing like the A’rythians. No taller than Sully, he was rawboned, with large piercing eyes. Seeming none too pleased to be there, he engaged the Elders in a heated debate. He calmed when shown Jarek’s map, his demeanor changing from surliness to curiosity. A far more civil conversation ensued that involved a lot of pointing at the map. Finally, Odhran stood, and he and the little man exchanged nods.
Bardán shared what had just transpired. “What this man Malg told you of our history is incomplete. There were two peoples stranded when our ancestors shipwrecked, the Jacaí and us. Those ancient Jacaí served us.”
“They were your slaves.” Dzojek snapped. The dwarfish man spoke Common as well as A’rythian.
Bardán shrugged. “Suffice it to say our ancestors did not treat the Jacaí as equals. Both our peoples were marooned. The Jacaí chose to live in the mountains rather than with us. Their people are uniquely gifted with animals. They have tamed the bultúr, the great birds of the high peaks, and use them as steeds. The birds fly riders to the outer islands for trade with Outlanders, thus their fliers learn Common.” He glanced at Dzojek. “One of the Crone’s beasts felled Dzojek’s bultúr. Fortunately, he escaped and made his way here.”
Dzojek’s nodded. “The witch has flying minions now. They took down Rajko and his bultúr. I must warn my people.�
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“So you have said, Dzojek.” Bardán turned back to Jarek. “Without a bultúr to fly over the Crone’s realm, the only way for Dzojek to return home would be to cross her Haunt. Any escort we might offer would be forced to cross The Haunt a second time to return. A single crossing is dangerous; a second is folly. That is why he’s still here. What Lore Master Odhran has suggested, and Dzojek just agreed to, is that you escort him to Jacaioi. In exchange, Dzojek promises the Jacaí will fly you to the volcano on their bultúrs. It’s the only way—if at all, for you to reach the volcano in time.”
Jarek stood. “It’s decided then. He and I shall depart immediately.”
Bardán held up a hand. “It’s not that simple, my friend. The Haunt is infested with abominations in far greater numbers than what you encountered in the marsh. We venture there only in patrols, and only in times of great need. Even with the considerable draíocht of your magi friends, I fear it unlikely you’d survive its perils.”
Dzojek stamped his foot. “It is promised. We go. My people must be warned.”
Bardán spoke true, Jarek and Dzojek stood no chance going it alone. They’d need help. “I’ll go with you, Uncle.”
Jarek’s eyes widened. “Think on what you just said. Not only do we risk an encounter with this witch they speak of, but we’ll face Zakarah again; this time without the aid of the Elders.”
“Sir, your friend needs you, and you need me. Even if my magic is of little aid, I’m a trained soldier. I can be useful in other ways.”
“I’ll go too,” said Goodricke, stepping up beside Gresham.
Jarek stared at them a while before placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Thank you.” He looked Gresham in the eyes, “You two make me proud to call you friend and kin.”
Jarek turned to Hagley. “Tell Master Kagen everything that happened here.”
Hagley shook his head. “Brave marsh beasts and wharf pirates all by myself? No way! If I go with you, we’d have two swords and three magi.” He sighed. “I find those the better odds than going home alone. I go with you too.”
