Sword Bearer (Return of the Dragons) (13 page)

I nodded. I looked at the food still in front of me.

“Take the rolls with you,” Karsten said. “The porridge I’ll
give to our goat. My mother will calm you, and when you’re hungry again, you
can eat. No matter how upsetting you find what she reads in her ball, or in
your dream, she has a way of relaxing people while they are in her tent. Eat
the rolls over there. Tell her that her son Karsten baked them, and share them
with her.”

I nodded, and stood up.

Karsten gave me a slight slap on the back. Later I would
remember that last contact before everything changed.

“You’re a good person, Anders, remember that. That has
nothing to do with who you’re uncle is or isn’t.”

I thanked him and walked out of the dining hall.

There were more people out now in the streets but I couldn’t
say they were really crowded; Karsten had told me the only time there was a big
crowd was when they had
festen
, the big holiday, and all the people,
young and old, partied together in the old square, with face painting, and
music, and dancing, and spells of light and music.

There would be a
festen
soon, but I would miss it.

I followed Karsten’s directions as best I could, but when I
came to a dark shady street that I didn’t remember, I had to ask my way once
again. I looked back and forth on the blue cobblestones and saw no one.

Wait, there was someone. A little boy, perhaps 6, or 7,
sitting on a circular stone, his legs crossed, his face calm, as if asleep. But
his eyes were open, and when I looked at him, the boy smiled.

Anders
.

Do I know you?

No, but I’ve been watching you ever since you came to the
old city. My name is Elias. Do you need help?

I nodded.

The boy opened his mouth and looked at me. “How can I help
you?”

“I’m looking for a witch, who tells fortunes and reads
dreams. Marga is her name.”

The boy’s face lit up. “Marga is my auntie! Come on, follow
me. I’ll take you there.”

I followed the boy into a small alley that you could barely
see from the street. The walls to either side glowed so strongly with magic
that they lit the alley even with my third eye closed. I tried closing my eyes
and found I could see just as well with my third eye.

Elias must have seen me close my eyes.

“The walls here are as full of energy as the ground we walk
on,” he said. “When I feel tired, I just reach out and grab some of it.
Sometimes I forget to eat.” He gave a little chuckle.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was very thin, but
looked healthy. When I looked at him with my third eye, the boy was blindingly
bright orange. I had never seen anyone so vibrant. Not even Woltan glowed so
brightly. And something the boy had said, about reaching out to the energy all
around him and sucking it in... had I heard of that, before?

The boy was odd, but powerful. I would have to remember him.

Elias stopped suddenly and looked at me.
You think I’m
strange?

I paused for a moment, swallowed hard, then nodded.
But
you seem like a good kid, and people find me strange too. After all I’m a
wizard.

And a three-blooded prince to boot.

Elias was smiling. I relaxed a little.

We kept walking. Suddenly Elias stopped in front of a blank
wall. “She doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s not open for business, so
her business just disappears. Let me see...”

I could see runes, like those of the gateway. The boy was
mouthing words silently with his lips as he touched the runes in sequence. Then
there was a door in front of us.

We need to hurry. The door will only stay here for about
half a minute.

Elias opened the door and I followed him, a nagging question
in my mind. Could he read those runes?

We were in a small room, with cushions, and candles, a
crystal ball, a pool of water that glowed with orange radiance. There had been
incense burned here recently, and the air smelled spicy. There was a tray with
a silver teapot, and many porcelain cups, each one seeming to have come from
some far off land, covered with different kinds of writing that were unknown to
me.

“Auntie Marga?”

A woman walked into the room. She looked around thirty-five
years old, which was younger than I’d expected. Her hair was blond, and her
eyes a dark blue. She smiled, showing bright white teeth.

I look younger than you imagined. Young for a
crystal-ball scrying witch.

I smiled.
Young to be Karsten’s mother, and this boy’s
Aunt. Karsten sent me, and I was lost, until I found his cousin, here.

Marga smiled at her nephew.
Then thank you, Elias, for
bringing him here. You may go now.

Elias nodded at his aunt and disappeared back out the way we
had come.

Marga smiled at me. “Come grab a cushion. I hope I hold the
answers you seek, but it’s always better to seek them in a state of relaxation.
So sit down, and we’ll see what we can do.”

I nodded. I needed to meet Woltan for my morning practice
but practice could wait. Better to arrive there in any case without these
questions in my mind.

Marga’s smile was warm and infectious. She snapped her
finger and a flame lit on a small brazier. She put the silver tea kettle upon
it. The water was boiling in a moment, and Marga dropped in spices and tea
leaves. Then she was pouring tea into two cups. The preparation of the tea
filled the room with new spicy aromas that blended in with the smell of
incense. It all was helping me relax, something I would have thought impossible
just a few minutes before.

Marga handed me my tea and I took a sip.

She took a sip of her own tea, and then she smiled. “You
have questions for me.”

I nodded. “That is all I seem to have since this morning. I
had a dream. And then I talked to Karsten about it.”

“Tell me everything about your dream, and then I will examine
your hands, and we will scry a bit if you like.”

So I told her about the man with the green eyes and the dark
hood and the blood-red aura. I told her how the man had called out to me as the
dream ended, and how he had called me Neffe.

Her smile faded to a slim remnant of itself. She looked at
me, and she was silent for a moment before she spoke. “What did my son say?”

“He told me that the only person with a blood-red aura is
the dark lord.”

“You know enough of the old tongues as well to know what
Neffe
means.”

I nodded. “He was calling me nephew.”

“And what happened after he called out to you?”

“I woke up.”

She paused for a moment. “Did it seem real to you?”

I wanted to shake my head, but it was probably better to be
truthful. I nodded.

“The dream was well read by my son. He would have done well
to follow me as a dream-reader, but he chose another path.”

The silence was chilling.

I spoke up then. “He sent you these rolls, for us to share.”

Marga stared at them, and a little bit of smile came back to
her face, a little bit of warmth. “Is he a good baker, you think?”

I handed her a roll and bit into one myself. They were still
warm. “These are the best rolls I have ever eaten.”

She bit down into a roll. “His father was an even better
baker,” she said between bites. “We all miss him.”

I nodded. I could see that her thoughts were elsewhere. I
sat there and ate silently with her.

“Now that we have both eaten and taken in our tea, I will
tell you what we can do. We can look at your blood, and see what that reveals.
But I would rather that be a last step. Perhaps we will start with reading your
palm, and scrying the ball. How much time do you have?”

“I don’t know.”

Her eyes unfocused for a moment and then she smiled. “I just
contacted Woltan and explained our situation, without going into details. He
was not too happy, but he wants you to find out as much as you can. He says to
report to him when we’re finished.”

“You told him everything?”

She shook her head. “I can’t talk that quickly, not even
with my head. We have a kind of mental shorthand. It lets us communicate
faster, but it’s far less exact. We use pictures and sounds instead of words.
He has a general idea of why you’re upset, and that it has to do with your
parentage, and with an evil wizard... But as far as the dark lord’s name, and
the word
neffe
, those were left out, for you to fill in later.”

She stared at me, as if seeking confirmation, and I nodded.

“Hold out your palm.”

I held out my palm and she ran her finger along it, lightly,
back and forth, her eyes unfocussed, yet open.

At first her finger crisscrossed my hand methodically,
covering every inch of my palm. Then my palm started to sting, to tingle. She
was tracing paths of energy. It seemed this palm reading was more than reading
simple wrinkles and lines in the skin.

Then she stopped, and looked at me. “I did a preliminary
reading, and mapped your palm. Its pattern glows in my mind, and will stay
there for several minutes. I can read your palm without consulting it now, but
I prefer to keep contact with you, and reconfirm everything, as we go, if that
is alright.”

I nodded, impressed with her abilities.

She ran her finger in a sweep across my palm. “Your natural
life line is long, but crossed by many obstacles, many of which could prove
deadly, breaking your life line prematurely.”

I nodded. “I know it’s not going to be easy.”

Marga smiled. “On your blood line I see three separate lines
converging in you.”

I nodded again.

“I see a sudden change that has happened recently, and more
changes left ahead. Lots of movement, some of it very sudden.”

“Your love line...”

I cut her off then. “I’d rather not talk about my love line,
thanks.”

She smiled at me. “You are young. You get embarrassed with
girls and worry about your skin. I understand. Later perhaps you will wish to
talk, but I may not be there for you.” She looked at me, but I would not meet
her gaze. She shrugged. “No matter. We have other tasks at hand.”

“What about my dream? Of the dark lord?”

She shook her head. “I see nothing here that speaks of that.
We can look in the crystal ball, and examine some of your blood in a crucible.”

I nodded, although I didn’t like the idea of doing anything
with my blood.

She pulled the crystal ball down from a pedestal to a mat in
front of her. She touched my hand and held it and my face felt warm; but I felt
energy in her hand and didn’t want to interrupt the magic.

I looked down at the ball and saw swirling images, moving so
fast I could barely see. Some were of my childhood, some of me now. One was
recent, when I sparred with Kalle. Then, just as suddenly, I saw an image of
the future. I wore a helm, but it was me, and my sword was green with magical
fire, and I smote my enemies.

The images whirled on, and Marga groaned. “Great power,
great magic, and so many riddles... I am a little lost here ...”

The ball stopped on an image of a figure, in a dark black
cloak — it was the image from the dream — and I stood before the man; but we
couldn’t see his face, and there was nothing to hear. We could only see events.

That’s him; the man from my dream.

I know; that’s why I held this image. I can’t get it any
clearer though. We’ll move on.

The images started to flow past again, fast and fluid. I
couldn’t keep up with them. I assumed Marga could, but it seemed to be causing
her great strain. Her face was scrunched up with concentration, and then she
groaned again. The images stopped moving. They were frozen on a picture of a
small boy and three adults. Although I’d never seen a picture of my uncle, I
knew at once who the four people were: my mother, my father, my uncle and me.

There were a number of strange things about the picture.

Even though I couldn’t have been more than three, or four, I
looked unnaturally aware. And through the crystal ball I could sense magic in
the image.

“There’s something strange here,” I said.

Marga nodded, her face still strained. “Use your third eye,
and look at everyone.”

I did as she told me. I closed my two eyes and opened the
third, looking into the ball, falling into it. I saw my father, a bright orange
man; my mother, golden yellow; myself as a boy, bright orange, and green, and
blue, a rainbow of swirling colors, which was odd enough. But then I saw my
uncle.

I brought my hands up to my head, but it changed nothing.

The man’s aura was red.

Blood red.

And when I opened my eyes, it was like my uncle’s green eyes
were staring at me, with desire, and arrogance. And a smile.

I almost pulled out, pulled my hand away and broke the link.
But Marga gripped my hand tighter.

He’s not looking at you, foolish boy. Look at who he’s
looking at.

Not looking at me? Then who was he looking at? I looked
again at the picture, looked at everyone’s faces, at their eyes. Looked at my
four-year-old self. I looked at my uncle again, and put it all together.

Marga was right. He wasn’t looking at me. My uncle was
looking at my mother. And not like a brother-in-law.

Again I wanted to break the link. I pulled at my hand but
Marga kept it clasped in hers.

I’m sorry if this is hard on you. Just a little while
longer, Anders, and we’ll be at the heart of this.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

She squeezed my hand again and the images rolled.

Marga stopped suddenly on a picture of just me, my mother,
and my uncle. I was crying. My uncle’s face seemed red with fury. His aura was
bright red. My mother, in tears, was hugging him. I must have been four years
old.