Wielder of the Flame (29 page)

Marc felt an overwhelming sadness, completely opposite end
of the scale as he was just feeling. He sank to his knees in desperation at the
horrors around him. He felt Laura cry out, sobbing, she clutched at him and
cried into his shoulder.

Why? Why did these little innocent spirits who wished only
to spread happiness and goodness in the world have to suffer such atrocities?
What evil could be so cruel as to snuff out the lives of these goodly beings simply
because it could? Why?

Marc felt an anger begin to grow within him, mixed with the
sadness. He felt the fire inside burn stronger. He had the power to fight this
evil. The cat had brought him here to do just that, and so he would do it.

The fire burned brighter, hotter. He felt the heat bubbling
until it would rise over and he let his head back and let out a cry, as if to
speak for the fallen faeries, as if to let the evil that had done this know
that he, Marc, knew of its malevolence done against such innocent creatures,
and to let that evil know that he was coming to avenge their deaths and to make
that evil pay.

His shout echoed and echoed and echoed and suddenly, all was
black.

He did not know how long he remained
in the blackness. He did not know what was real and what was just a dream. He
did not know if everything he experienced away from his real body had actually
happened or if it had only been a construction of his own imagination. But he
wanted it to be real, the faeries, the magic, the joy, especially the joy. And
he wanted Laura to be real.

He suddenly realized that he was lying in dirt and on hard
rock, the roar of the waterfall nearby. It was still dark but his eyes quickly
adjusted. He felt Laura lying next to him, her breathing was the smooth and
even breaths of sleep. She was snuggled close against him and he was very aware
of the contact and was comforted by it. He glanced around the space in the rock
underneath the waterfall to see if he could see the entrance to the tunnel
leading to the faeries haven. But he could not find it. The rock wall was
completely solid across its surface.

Had it all been a dream? Had he and Laura come up here and
they had simply fallen asleep and he had imagined the whole thing? But how
could he sleep when this was not his real body? He felt if he fell asleep that
he would return to the silvery grey world.

And then he realized that he still had the necklaces and the
bracelets from the faeries. It had been real.

The memories and things shown to him and Laura had been real
also. The faeries had truly been massacred.

Marc felt a magical glow wash gently over him and with that
feeling he knew that the death of the faeries was also a symbol of what would
come if the evil that had murdered them was not dealt with. All hope, all joy,
all life would succumb to the dark whims of that evil.

And he had the power to stop it.

He suddenly felt so tired. With the comfort of Laura against
him and with all that had happened with the faerie magic he knew that it would
not be long before he fell asleep and disappeared, returning to his real body.
This projection of him would be pulled back to his normal frame. He didn’t want
to leave. He shook his head, trying to keep himself awake, but he felt
exhausted, weaker and more tired than he had ever felt before.

He assumed that nothing of his projection would remain
behind once he left.

His eyelids drooped. He shook his head again.

“Laura,” he said softly, gently shaking her.

She slept on.

“Laura!” He tried again.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

Even if he was able to wake her, with the way he was fading
fast he knew there was no way he could wake Laura in time to explain everything
to her in a way that would make sense. About how he would disappear because
this wasn’t his real body, about how much he liked her, about how much he
wanted to see her again.

He shook his head a third time.

He thought quickly, desperately.

Then it came to him.

He knew what he would do, he only hoped it would work.

He wrote in the dirt with his finger.

Kolima

His eyelids drooped. He would soon sleep and return to his
body.

NO!
he fought against the feeling.

There the message lay, in plain English.

But that was the problem. He was sure that no one here spoke
anything that remotely resembled English, and he was sure she could not read
the message scrawled in the dirt. He knew magic had something to do with it for
sure, and he was hoping that magic would work on the message in the sand.

Then, just as he was about to give up hope the letters in
the sand began to change at the same time that he finally closed his eyes.

Marc did not see, but his bracelets and necklace given to
him from the Faeries fell to the dirt next to his message, as he disappeared.

The blackness vanished and he
whooshed back into his body in the silvery world.

Laura.
He thought.

He missed her already.

He vowed he would find her again.

He closed his eyes and tried to will himself back to her.

He opened them again.

“Why can’t I go back!” He said loudly to the emptiness.

The slowly moving shades of silver and grey had no response.
He stared at the horizon.
What a boring place,
he thought,
what is
its purpose? Magic is such a strange thing here.

He began to walk but moving did not do anything. With no
point of reference it was impossible to judge distance traveled or even time
passing. He did not tire, or hunger, or thirst. He tried punching himself. He
felt pain but it was muted as if experienced from a distance.

“Hello!!” He yelled, “Is anyone there?”

His voice echoed, which was strange because there was
nothing to reverberate off of.

It was the longest he had ever been in this strange place.
He wondered what the rules were in this realm. He tried jumping up and down,
gravity seemed normal.

He continued to walk. The motions felt calming. He tuned out
the color-less world around him and let his mind wander. His thoughts turned
first to her. Laura, such a pretty name, and a pretty face, and a pretty
figure. Had he made a good impression on her? He felt like the encounter had
been a little awkward, like
he
had been a little awkward. He hadn’t
known what to say or do.

His thoughts then wandered to the vision of the Fae Ones and
he felt a pang of sadness hit him.

He sat back down.

How could that happen?

He rested his hand on the sword at his side.

Immediately he felt the magic console him.

He withdrew the weapon out of curiosity. It was the sword,
after all, that had brought him to this place, inadvertently.

He wanted to inspect it more closely.

Was this even the real thing? Or was the real one at his
side next to his body?

Again
, he thought,
everything feels real here.

He studied the gleaming metal. It was so perfect now when
compared to how it looked before. The pommel and handguard were much different
too. Instead of a simple straight piece of metal like before, the guard was
shaped like two great eagles wings pointing upward to the blade. The pommel was
like the tail feathers of a bird as well.

That was when he saw it, near the base of the blade.

A fiery bird was embossed into the metal, on both sides of
the sword.

And it was not just any bird.

“A Phoenix,” Marc said with a whisper.

The next thing he knew the mist enveloped him and there was
only darkness.

He felt a lukewarm wetness on his
face.

Once.

He opened his eyes. He saw brown dirt moving beneath him.

Twice.

Then he realized what it was.

“I’m awake, I’m awake, stop, stop, down boy!”

Redmor, the aldom, was licking his face. The creature made a
friendly noise in his throat, pleased that Marc was awake.

Marc playfully pushed the aldom away, wiping away the
creatures drool from his cheek.

He was lying on his belly on top of some blankets. The
blankets were arranged atop a number of supplies that had been lashed around a
lumbering balkar. He was dressed in the traveling gear that Eleanor had made
for him.

“Hold up!”

It was Zildjin.

Marc looked up. The balkar stopped, Redmor as well.

The morning light shone through trees on the right and left
of a long winding dirt road. Zildjin, Sesuadra, and the other man with blonde
hair, were riding aldoms at a slow pace, one empty aldom, the one Marc had
picked with Topar, and one balkar in tow, with Marc atop it. The stranger was
the same as the one who had saved Marc. Zildjin and Sesuadra were dressed in
their blue, black, and gold uniforms, the dragon symbol on their apparel
glinting in the sunlight.

Zildjin and Sesuadra steered their aldoms closer to the
balkar.

“All is well?” Zildjin asked his friend.

Marc sat up.

“Where are we?”

“Road of Amber Elms,” Zildjin replied.

“Wait, what?” Marc asked.

“You have been on this road before, this is where we first
met you,” Zildjin said.

“Yeah,” Marc nodded, “I recognize the name. I mean,
why
are we here?”

“Kolima was no longer safe,” Sesuadra said.

“What do you mean,
not safe
? Where is Eleanor? Topar?
Why did we leave?”

Zildjin reached out his hand to help Marc down from the
balkar.

Marc took it and leapt from the creature.

He fell to the ground, his legs were cramped and felt like a
million tiny bugs were crawling all over them, stinging him.

Zildjin jumped from his aldom to help his friend.

“Are you alright?”

“Ow, my legs,” Marc muttered.

“You have been asleep for several days,” Sesuadra stated.

“Several da—” Marc began to stamp his legs awake, fighting
the little shocks his legs returned in protest.

“I guess that explains why I have to go so bad,” Marc continued.

“Huh?” Zildjin asked, “Go where?”

“Go, as in—never mind, just give me a moment.”

With his legs still tingling, Marc walked over to the nearby
trees to relieve himself.

When he returned, the stranger, who had been keeping his
distance as Marc was talking with Zildjin, was now next to Zildjin and
Sesuadra.

“Marcus Kendrick Hughes,”

Marc stopped short at that.

“Some call me Marc. Wait—how—how do you know—?” Marc looked
up at him, surprised, along with the feeling of a stranger knowing his full
name, almost as if a certain line was crossed.

“Do not worry,” Zildjin said, “He is a friend.”

“The reason we are not in Kolima anymore, is because The
protectors were going to be going house to house searching for three young men
responsible for the murder of one of the city’s most prestigious of the
Overseer’s Hands, Safral, and a protector.”

“But Safral was the one who attacked
us
!” Marc
protested.

“We need no convincing, we are on your side already,”
Zildjin said.

“All is well, Marcus. My name is Cydas, Ardusk of
Fallhaven.”

The man gestured to Redmor.

“If you would mount up, it is of utmost importance that we
continue onward.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I get some questions
answered,” Marc replied, making no move to saddle up.

“Is it not enough that I have already saved your life?”

“That’s true,” Marc tilted his head slightly and raised his
eyebrows, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders, “But I still don’t know very
much about you, like how you found us in Kolima at such a precise moment to
stop Safral from killing me, or how you know my full name—” he stopped, trying
to think of more, but didn’t say anything else. He felt he had gotten his point
across sufficiently.

Zildjin leaned down and patted Marc on his shoulder, “All is
well, friend, we had our doubts and questions too, but he has something that
will help clarify things.”

Marc looked up at his friend. He trusted Zildjin. He looked
at Sesuadra, Sesuadra nodded his agreement. Marc trusted Sesuadra as well.

“Alright,” He finally said.

He approached Redmor and put his hands on each side of the
creature’s neck. Redmor lowered his head.

“Hey there, thanks for the wake up,” Marc said, patting the
animals head in a friendly manner.

Redmor gave a low squawk of
your welcome
.

Marc took the reins and jumped up onto the saddle strapped
around the aldom.

“This is from the Oracle, it is called scry glass. You can
hold it while we ride, we will move slowly until you are finished. If you have
any further questions afterwards, I will answer them to the best of my abilities.”

Cydas handed Marc what looked to be a rectangle of perfectly
clear cut glass with an outside gold rim that aligned all four sides of the
glass.

“What is this?”

“Simply clear your thoughts and repeat the following,” Cydas
replied, “My eyes to see, my ears to hear, my mind is ready.”

Marc nodded and turned to the object in his hand.

Magic is such a strange thing here.

My eyes to see, my ears to hear, my mind is ready.
Marc
repeated silently.

Immediately the glass began to glow and change.

He was no longer looking at the glass, but felt as if he was
moving into it.

It was as if his attention was split in half. He could still
feel his body atop the aldom, moving along gently, but his aura, his conscious
was here, wherever here was.

Marc found himself in a large, tall
room separated only by curtains. The middle was the most open area. It was
slightly lower than the rest of the room and filled with many pillows of
different sizes and color. In the center of the arrangement of pillows a small
space was cleared where a low table rested on the floor. The walls were covered
with shelves festooned with old books and rolled up scrolls and other odds and
ends. Beads and feathers tied carefully together hung from the ceiling. The
place seemed messy because of the nature of the many decorations adorning the
walls and shelves and the many strange devices and magical ornaments lying
about, yet it was an orderly chaos because of their placement around the large
room. One of the walls of the room was made of clear glass and jutted out, with
a semi-circle clear glass roof. It looked out upon a breathtaking snow covered
mountain landscape. He stood before the clear wall, staring down at the serene
drifts of snow.

“Hello Marcus,” a calm female voice said softly behind him.

He turned around to see the owner of the voice.

She was beautiful. Her hair was long and golden, carefully
decorated with feathers and beads. Her eyes were green and spoke of youth,
tempered by knowledge and wisdom, making her exact age hard to determine. She
appeared young but held herself with the insight of age. Simple yet beautiful,
gold, blue, green, and red bracelets covered her arms and tinkled lightly as
she moved. Underneath her blue coat was a set of clothes made from a fabric
material the likes of which was a supernatural combination of a myriad of
colors that flowed together, defying all laws of nature.

“I am the Oracle, and yet I am not the Oracle.”

Her voice was soothing, enchanting.

“What do you mean?” Marc asked.

“I have given up a small portion of myself to this ancient
artifact so that I may speak with you. I would have appeared to you sooner if I
could risk it, but the eyes of darkness know my magic and would visit me with
destruction in an instant if it knew where to find me. It is a risk even to do
a thing such as this, but it is a risk I must take, for all our sakes.”

Marc opened his mouth to speak but she raised her hand and
he remained silent.

“I know you have many questions and I will try to answer the
most important ones first.”

Marc nodded.

“A darkness is rising in Lyrridia. Every cycle the warmth of
Refoveo fades quicker than the last, and with each Gelu the snows come heavier
and longer. Crops and trees are not as fruitful, many go hungry. There are
whispers and rumors of war. An evil is gathering in the East, an ancient evil
from the War of Power. It is infecting the land, spreading the wild magics
closer and closer into civilization. The Wildlands have grown closer to Biarlin
in the past cycle alone than it has in the twenty cycles before it. I have seen
you and Laura with the Fae Ones. I know of the vision you had of their death.”

“But they weren’t all dead,” Marc spoke up, “There was quite
a few left in hiding there.”

“What you saw were only memories of them, strong, powerful,
magical memories, but if you were to return to that place you would find
nothing. Their destruction came about because of this evil, and it is
returning.”

Marc felt a heavy weight upon him as he remembered the
vision of the faeries.

“I wouldn’t wish that to happen to anyone, those responsible
shouldn’t get away with it!”

“That is why you are here Marcus. You have a good heart,
pure and strong. I have seen your world, I know where you have come from. It is
a much different place than here. Your world is yet young, and thriving, even
without the aid of magic.”

“Did you bring me here?” Marc asked.

The Oracle shook her head with a smile and let out a little
laugh, “No, I am not nearly that powerful. There are others whose powers exceed
even my understanding. They brought you. You were chosen to come here.”

“But why me?”

The Oracle gave a comforting smile, “I cannot answer all
your questions now, my time to speak is too short. But when you come to see me,
I will be able to tell you more.”

Marc nodded and fell silent. He had so many questions.

“In the beginning, here, The Creators placed an enchanted
crystal. This crystal held the key to magic. A guardian was chosen among the
Creators to keep man from the stone until they were ready for its power to be
released upon the lands. When the time came the power of the stone was released
and magic was summoned from within. From that time hence, man was able to
summon forth the mysteries of magic to use and to grow. The Elves and other
magical beings came forth to help teach us how to wield the new energies and
harness them. The Crystal of the Great Dawn, the Summoning Stone, over the
cycles it has had many names given to it from many different stories, but they
are all the same crystal, the heart and source of all magic here. Sometime
after the Crystal released magic into Lyrridia a group of powerful sorcerers
was formed who called themselves the Ascendant Sages, one of them was named the
Keeper. They swore to keep the Crystal safe from those who would use it for
evil or unnatural purposes. For a long time they were able to do so, learning
and studying the Crystal peacefully. Their discoveries advanced our world to
great heights, allowing everyone to grow in magic’s power. After a time,
however, one of the wizards in the order desired the crystal for himself to do
as he pleased, unrestricted by the other Sages. Fortuitously, his intents were
discovered before he could acquire the crystal, and he was banished. Then the
War of Power began and he rose up among the many forces fighting in the Great
War, standing out with his power and armies which he had been forming over many
cycles. After many victories he turned his attention to Garduan’s Keep, where
the Crystal was being held, his true purpose during the entire conflict.”

“What was his name?”

“He has many names now, Dark One, The Destroyer, Archfiend,”
She paused, “Tremos,” her voice held a hint of terror in it.

“What happened?”

“Irroth was The Wielder of the Flame near the end of the War
of Power. The Ascendant Sages who chose to defend the crystal selected him and
trained him near the beginning of the war, hoping he could end the conflict.
The Destroyer arrived at Garduan’s Keep with his army to take the crystal by
force. There was a brutal battle to defend the Keep but Tremos broke through to
the tower where the Crystal was held. Irroth fought the dark Overlord valiantly
but realized that he would not be able to defeat the evil wizard. In a moment
of swift decision Irroth raised the Sword of the Phoenix and brought it down on
the Crystal, hoping to shatter it. He would rather see the Crystal destroyed
than in the hands of the Dark One. Only a portion of the Crystal was cut away
and shattered when struck, not the entire Crystal. Tremos was able to escape
with the large part of the Crystal, but without all the pieces it will not do
as he wishes.”

“What does he want with it?”

“The crystal, as I said, is the source of all magic. If he
is able to gather the remaining crystal shards together and reconstruct the
crystal his powers will not only be insurmountable, but after he conquers this
world, he will be able to cross over and do the same to your world.”

“Where are the pieces?”

“After the War of Power was over, the Keeper and a few
others, including myself, and with help from those I have spoken of before, hid
the crystal shards throughout Lyrridia, hoping to buy time until the next
Wielder was chosen. Tremos had just discovered where the Keeper was holding the
map before you came. He barely escaped with his life to deliver it to me. I
have given it to Cydas to pass it on to you. It is not any ordinary map, nor
will reading it be so,” She paused, then continued, “That was not the only
thing that happened when the crystal was struck, however. A powerful force erupted
from the crystal when it was hit, casting the Sword from here, into—”