Seven Words of Power (3 page)

“I see,” Evora said, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Please, Evora, come with me. Bring your wand.”

Master Zoran led Evora along corridors, up carpeted stairs and through several locked doors to a part of the Academy Evora had never been to before.

Finally, Master Zoran stopped outside an open archway. Evora came to stand beside him and her mouth dropped open.

Looking through the arch, she could see nothing but an empty void of darkness. There was space out there though, she could sense it. If she fell, she knew it would be a long way down.

“Come,” Master Zoran said, “stand here.”

He led Evora onto the silken mat that stood in front of the archway. Looking down, Evora could see symbols woven into the mat. Clever, she thought.

Master Zoran straightened his robes and took a deep breath. In all the years she had known him, Evora had never seen him like this. “Keep your eyes down, Evora,” he said, “and only raise them when I say.”

Evora had heard of this place but she couldn’t believe she was really here. Master Zoran spoke some words and the silk mat began to glow, gradually becoming more radiant with every passing moment. If this was the place Evora thought it was – and there could only be one place like this – then he shouldn’t be saying these words where she could hear them.

Evora held her breath. Not unless, she thought, Master Zoran wanted her to hear them.

Master Zoran led her forward, and now at her feet Evora could see a glowing pathway, a bridge of runes, crossing the empty void. At the end of the pathway there was a door. The pair crossed in silence, but as they arrived Master Zoran spoke another word. The door opened and they stepped through. Master Zoran guided Evora as she kept her eyes down.

The door closed behind them and Evora saw a polished wooden floor beneath her feet. Her peripheral vision told her she was in a large room and that she and Master Zoran were not alone.

“Master Zoran,” a deep, booming voice said. “I have to say I’m surprised to see someone with you. Either she’s deaf, or you expect her to come here again. Or perhaps this is a one-way journey for the girl. The void you just crossed isn’t bottomless, but it is a long way down.”

Evora kept her head down, even though she desperately wanted to look up. Her fingers gripped her wand tightly.

“High Enchanter, you always said to tell you if I ever found someone special. Well, here she is. I’ve only seen one other with as much talent for enchantment as this apprentice.”

“And, Zoran, who might that be?”

“You, High Enchanter Greffon.”

The deep voice chuckled. “Look up, apprentice,” Evora heard the voice directed at herself.

She hadn’t realized how large the High Enchanter’s workroom would be – it was more of a series of rooms. Glass jars bubbled as heatplates warmed them from beneath and nearby vials of black liquid rested next to tools on a workbench. Books lined shelves on the walls, taking up every available space from floor to ceiling. Scrolls and tablets lay scattered about on a low table. Evora's eye was drawn to an emerald orb, inlaid with gold runes, proudly displayed on a pedestal.

The High Enchanter sat at a desk, a heavy book open in front of him. He wore a robe of green silk that shimmered as his body shifted. Smile lines creased the corners of his eyes, which sparkled as he looked at her. Evora realized he had been making fun of her.

“What is your name, Apprentice?” High Enchanter Greffon said.

“My name is Evora, High Enchanter. Evora Guinestor.”

“Are you as good as Master Zoran here says you are, Evora?”

Evora lifted her chin as she met his gaze. “Yes, High Enchanter. Yes I am.”

“The emerald orb over there… What does it do? If you can answer that now, I will accept you as my apprentice.”

Evora knew it was impossible to tell; once again, the High Enchanter was making sport with her. She was suddenly tired of being led around – by the rules and contests of the Academy of Enchanters, and by the men who saw her as an easily-dominated woman.

“Do I have your word on that, High Enchanter?”

“Yes,” the High Enchanter smiled. “Yes you do.”

Evora lifted her wand and pointed it at the orb on its pedestal.

With a clear voice, she spoke the seven words of power.

“I can tell you in all truthfulness, High Enchanter, that the emerald stone does nothing." Evora smiled as she lowered the wand and turned back to the two wide-eyed men. "I suppose,” she finished, addressing the High Enchanter, “I should now call you master?”

The Discovery

“Do you know any dark stories?” Harun, the oldest boy, asked. “That last one was nice, but it was a bit…”

The bent old storyteller sipped from his wooden cup and then raised an inquiring eyebrow at Jenrin. Jenrin nodded and then gave Harun a squeeze.

“There’s no women here,” Jenrin said. “Give us something to suit the night.”

Harun looked up and grinned at his father.

Petie shivered and squirmed. He’d enjoyed the story about the huntsman and his missing bride. Outside the circle of firelight it was pitch black, and unlike Harun he didn’t have his pa close by to make him feel safe. Petie’s pa had been killed by bandits just three weeks past, bringing the number of people in the caravan down from seven to just six: Jenrin, Harun, Jenrin's brother Rob, the Torak twins, and little, fatherless Petie.

The storyteller spoke in his thin, croaking voice. “You’ve given me food and shelter on this cold night, and I’d be remiss in my duties as a guest if I didn’t give you what you asked for.” He drained his wine and then, setting down the cup, began to rummage in the sack he kept at his feet. The storyteller groaned as his body bent down, and Petie frowned when Harun stifled a laugh at the storyteller’s contortions. Jenrin pinched his son’s shoulder, silencing him.

The old storyteller found his wine flask and filled his cup, straightening. Petie slid along the ground until he was close as he could get to the fire without being burned. His night vision was spoiled by the flames and he was suddenly conscious of the darkness at his back. He wished for a big log behind him or even one of the caravan wheels, but the wagons were out there, hidden by the night.

“Where to begin?” the storyteller said. “I suppose I’ll start at the discovery.”

~

Once, in the land of Petrya, there was a boy who was smaller than all the other boys his age. Someone called him Fidget, because he was always playing with things, and even though that wasn’t his name, it stuck.

Apologies if I’m telling you what you already know, but Petrya is a land of contests. From a very young age the boys start competing, and this continues on through life. Even old men still fight, and wrestle, and climb, and jump. What about girls? Girls aren’t much valued in Petrya.

Fidget tried hard, but he wasn’t very good at the contests. He would practice in secret, over and again, trying to jump and climb and run. But Fidget was small, and he wasn’t very strong.

Fidget’s father was a warrior in the High Lord’s guard, a very honorable position. He was embarrassed by his weak son and tried to teach the boy, but he finally gave it up as hopeless. Fidget’s mother was kind, but she wasn’t able to stop the other boys from making fun of her child.

As Fidget grew older, he spent more time alone: playing with things, fitting pieces of metal together, forming blocks of wood into figures with his knife. He didn’t know it, but he was good with his hands.

Then Fidget’s mother died, and with no one to protect him, the sport of the other boys turned vicious.

They always hit him where he was covered by his clothes. Once, they broke two ribs. Another time he passed blood for three days. Fidget never told anyone; he was afraid his father thought him a weakling, and he didn’t want to get into trouble.

What’s that? Ah, yes, I mentioned a discovery. Well, one day, when Fidget was far from his village, he came across a cave. It was hidden by scrub, but the entrance was large enough for a man to pass through, and Fidget was able to push the bushes to the side and enter.

He coughed as he walked in, his footsteps raising big clouds of dust. No one had been in the cave for a long time. It was too dark to see, so rather than exploring further Fidget resolved to come back the next day with something to see with.

He stole a pathfinder – one of those seeing devices the Alturan enchanters make – from a strong boy named Tatem, one of his greatest tormenters. Returning to the cave, he activated the pathfinder and started to explore.

It was dark in the cave, outside the light of the pathfinder, and Fidget was scared but he was also curious. The walls of the cave were creviced and jagged, creating strange shadows. He walked slowly forward, finding a few planks of wood and a pile of old cloth but not much more than that. He was about to give up when he rounded a cleft at the back.

Suddenly Fidget froze, and the hairs rose on the back of his neck.

There, at the back of the cave, in the shadows past the pathfinder’s glow, was a man.

Fidget willed his legs to turn him around, but he was too scared. He simply stood, staring at the black form, his eyes wide and his heart hammering in his chest. As he waited for the man to speak, or to come at him, he realized that the figure was completely motionless.

Now, I don’t mean motionless like little Petie here, staring at me all wide-eyed. I mean completely, and utterly still.

Finally Fidget summoned the nerve to step forward. He raised his hand holding the pathfinder, and the light trembled along with him. The glow caught the figure’s foot, and something glinted back, like the way a sword will catch the sunlight.

The light moved higher as Fidget took one more step forward. And then he saw that it wasn’t a man; it was a statue of a man. No, it wasn’t a statue, like you’d see in a town square. It was a man made of metal.

Walking forward, curiosity starting to overcome his fear, Fidget ran the light up and down the metal construct. It stood about seven feet tall, and it looked strong, powerful, like it could come to life at any moment.

Then Fidget heard a noise outside the cave.

“We know you’re in there, Fidget.”

He recognized Tatem’s voice. Fidget tore his eyes away from the metal man and looked back at the entrance to the cave. He could see the light outside, and hear other boys’ voices.

He wondered if he’d be able to hide in the cave, and maybe his tormenters would leave him alone. Then his nose wrinkled. He could smell wood smoke, and in a breath he could see wisps of grey entering the mouth of the cave.

The boys had started a fire.

Fidget coughed and his heart started to race. He might not have been the fastest runner, or the strongest wrestler, but he was clever, and he knew that if he stayed in the cave he would choke on the smoke and die.

Already smoke was pouring into the cave, filling it with gray clouds that clustered on the low ceiling. The entrance could no longer be seen through the haze. Fidget had to act, and he had to act fast.

He crouched down low and ran half-bent over, his hand over his mouth and nose. Fidget heard the sound of heavy branches being dropped onto the fire outside. He screamed as he reached the cave’s mouth and all he could see was grey, interspersed with flickers of red flame.

Terrified beyond belief, Fidget ran blindly ahead, feeling the fire touch his skin, burning through his thin clothing and blistering his stomach and legs.

He tripped over a branch and fell to the ground. Rolling, his eyes shut tight and lungs burning, he kept moving until he finally felt the heat lessen, and he knew he had made it out.

“Look, Tatem, isn’t that your pathfinder?” a boy piped.

Fidget still held the device in his hand. He opened his eyes. He was on his back, squinting against the bright daylight. There were five of them; they stood around him in a group, looking down at him.

“Lord of Fire, look at Tatem’s face. I’ve never seen him so mad.”

Fidget grimaced as he tried to move. Though his burned skin hurt worse than anything he had ever felt before, he knew the danger was far from over.

“You’re not getting up,” Tatem finally said. The expression on the big boy’s face was dark. He bent down and took the pathfinder from Fidget’s unresisting fingers. “You stole from me. No. You’re not getting up,” he repeated.

Fidget’s vision burst in stars and he felt an incredible pain. Tatem kicked him in the head again. Then the breath went out of him as Tatem kicked him in the stomach.

The other boys jeered and laughed. Fidget tried to cover his crotch, so they kicked him in the head. Then, when he covered his head, they kicked him in the crotch.

The kicking went on and on, all the boys joining in. Fidget’s body curled up, but they still found unprotected spots. All of the individual points of pain joined together, and Fidget felt his mind disconnecting from his body. When Tatem kicked his back with all his strength, Fidget felt something break inside him.

Eventually they left him, and as the day passed, Fidget wondered if he would live. The sun set over the horizon, and the moon rose, and still Fidget couldn’t move. He heard the howling of wolves.

Petrya is near the desert, and with the night came a terrible chill. As the temperature dropped, Fidget began to shiver, but it wasn’t until he heard the wolves’ howling draw closer that he managed to drag his body back inside the cave, crawling along the earth like a worm.

By late the next day, Fidget was finally conscious of his surroundings. Lying on the ground, his breath wheezing in his chest, he looked around and realized that after such a long time in the cave his eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

And there, just a dozen paces away, was the metal man, as still and silent as ever.

Fidget tried to stand, feeling pain shoot through his bruised and battered body, but there was something wrong with his back. He fell back down to the ground, crying out with the agony.

When he could think again, Fidget noticed something he hadn’t noticed before. Behind the statue, not far from Fidget’s eyes, was a flat box. It wasn’t a big box; it was only about a foot on one side and half that on the other, perhaps a couple of inches high.