Wielder of the Flame (64 page)

He had short dark hair that stood up. And was dressed in the
loose flowing pants typical of the Isles. Most interesting was that he had
fascinating black symbols painted all across his caramel skin. From his
forehead, to his cheeks, then down his neck and upper torso, all the way down
to his cerulean colored sash around his waist. As well as his arms, hands, and
even fingers.

Zildjin knew what it meant.

He had seen Sesuadra reading about it, even read some of it
himself when Sesuadra was not looking.

The man was a Runemaster.

Marc did not know where he was when
he opened his eyes but he was positive it was not in Lyrridia.

It was a restaurant of some kind, sleek and modern in design
decorated and furnished in a minimalistic style. Dark elegant oak tables with
glass tops and matching seating were spaced out evenly across the rich maroon
carpet. Each table was set with an arrangement of candle-like sticks, white
porcelain plates, polished silverware, and tall sparkling clean glasses. Clear
but soft light emanated from long strips high on the wall connected by
half-spheres.

It was dim inside the room, not gloomy, but a dimness that
evoked a sense of calm and tranquility. People were seated at some of the
tables, enough to make the room lively and welcoming with friendly, polite
table-talk and quiet laughter, but not sufficient to call it a crowd, nor to
classify it as noise. Waitresses wearing smiles and clean black and white
uniforms and carrying silver platters arrayed with delicious steaming hot food
and tall glasses filled with bubbling drinks made their way in between the
tables delivering orders and quietly helping customers. In the back, the far
end facing Marc, was a bar area filled with row upon row of wine bottles with
all sorts of different colored labels. Behind the counter of the bar stood a
tall, broad-shouldered, man. He was bald but had a clean cut black beard and
moustache. A simple white serving apron covered his dark uniform, and he had a
rag in one hand with which he was using to clean an already clean-looking glass
held carefully in his other hand.

Next to the bar were two port-holed double doors through
which the serving girls were continually passing through, trays in hand.
Finally, next to the two doors was an elegant set of stairs that appeared to
lead upward to nothing but darkness. This was because the room had no roof but
instead opened to a magnificent view of the night sky; billions of tiny white
stars and a small, slightly shifting, multi colored nebula. It was beautiful,
magical, and of course totally unreal. But Marc had seen similar magic, such as
when he and the others conversed with the Oracle, so he was not too overwhelmed
by the view.

The last three things Marc realized, as he continued to
glance around, was that a very large, dark, mahogany, gold-lined door stood
behind him, that he was dressed in a white and black pin-striped elegant suit
complete with all coordinated shirt, vest, suit, pants, tie, matching dress
shoes and a bright red rose pinned to the lapel of his suit-jacket, and that he
didn’t have any of his gear and things, including, most importantly, the Sword
of the Phoenix.

What is going on? Where am I? And what am I wearing?

Marc did not stand there long until one of the waitresses
approached him, an empty tray in one hand and a tall dark blue folder tucked
under her arm. She was a bit taller than him and looked older too, in her late
thirties, but still had a youthful beauty to her. She had golden blonde hair
pulled back in a long tight braid, brown eyes, tan skin, and a friendly
countenance.

“Hello, Marcus,” She greeted him “and welcome.”

She paused only for a brief moment.

When Marc didn’t respond she said.

“I’m Vanessa and I’ll be your waitress this evening.”

Marc was silent for a moment as his mind tried to process
everything. This isn’t where he should be. He was supposed to be back in
Sulendald, with Laura.

Laura.

Was she here as well?

He glanced around, scanning the tables.

The waitress seemed to know precisely his thoughts.

“She’s not here, Marcus,” she said, catching his gaze, “But
don’t worry, she’s safe.”

He nodded. It was clear that this woman was no mere waitress
and that this was no mere restaurant, but he decided to go along with things
with the faith that there would be at least some explanation for all of this at
some point. Marc opened his mouth to speak but then shut it again. He was still
a little stunned by everything, and he felt extraordinarily tired from his
fight with Belator. He opened his mouth to try once more but no sounds ebbed forth.
It was clear he was having trouble saying something. After a few seconds of the
young man trying to flounder for words the woman broke the silence.

“Can’t talk?” she asked, “Don’t worry, that sometimes
happens, I’ll get you just the right drink to cure it. Well, to tell you the
truth, whatever I get will always be just the right thing, that’s just how it
is in this place, you know? Go ahead, choose a seat, whichever one, I’ll be
back with your drink in just a moment.”

The waitress turned and began to walk away. She glanced back
at Marc and motioned at the tables, nodding her head with a smile on her face
and said, “Its ok, you can sit down, the chairs won’t bite.” And with that she
left, passing through the swinging double doors in the back.

With an innumerable amount of questions swimming through his
head Marc shrugged his shoulders and began to make his way through the tables
to take a seat. He found it slightly odd that no one looked up at him as he
passed, and it didn’t appear that they were being rude to him in particular, it
just seemed that they were very engrossed with their conversations, either that
or it seemed as if Marc wasn’t even really there at all, after all, it
was
a slightly odd place.

There were many empty tables to choose from but finally Marc
decided upon one slightly away from the center of the room but not far away
enough to be up against a wall, he was never one to be the center of attention
but neither was he someone who liked to seclude himself from the group.

He sat down and immediately felt comfortable, the chair
perfectly fitting his height and form, as if it had been made specifically for
him in the first place.

He grinned, despite all the questions he had, and the fact
that he still couldn’t talk, because, he simply just loved it, the lighting,
the mood, the quiet conversation, the comfortable chair, the fancy table
setting and dinnerware, the roofless view, everything, it was just perfect.

Marc looked down at his lapel and to the rose pinned there
and carefully pulled it off to examine it. It was one of the most vibrant,
beautiful red roses he had ever seen. He brought it up to his nose and took a
waft, it was more than heavenly. There was a tall thin glass filled with water
on the table, perfect to put the rose in, and so Marc did just that.

As the young man placed the flower into the waiting glass
Vanessa was approaching the table, balancing a tray in her hands. On top of the
silver platter was a simple yet elegantly carved and designed mahogany wood
cup.

“Here’s your drink, it will help you get your voice back.”
She said, lowering the plate so he could more easily reach the drink.

Marc nodded his head in thanks, since he still couldn’t
talk, and took the cup, it too, like the chair, fit the form of his hand
exactly. The liquid inside it was a rich cerulean blue, also Marc’s favorite
color, and smelled absolutely divine. The drink gave off a different aroma with
each sip, which of course was impossible, and yet Marc had found that with
magic, pretty much anything was possible. First it smelled like cinnamon, then
of petrichor, the earthy smell of rain upon dry earth, after was a hint of the
metal of the Sword of the Phoenix, sweet griddle-cakes that Eleanor had made
for him, and one more Marc just couldn’t place.

It was delicious, beyond delicious, it was almost
indescribable. It was cold at first, and then warm, almost hot, but not enough
to hurt going down his throat, it was just perfect.

After another long sip Marc set the drink down and looked up
at Vanessa who seemed to be waiting for an analysis.

“It’s delicious,” Marc told her. He was glad to have his
voice back.

“Of course,” the waitress replied with a grateful smile,
“I’m glad you like it, I made it.”

“It’s very good, thank you,” Marc said again.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, “May I sit down?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Vanessa took the seat across from the young man.

“So—” Marc said after she had gotten comfortable, “Now that
I have my voice back—where am I?”

“Why ‘Roy’s Legendary Inn and Diner’ of course, he owns the
place.” Vanessa responded, pointing to the man behind the bar, “Well, co-owns.”

The man behind the counter smiled and waved at the two of
them when he saw the woman motion towards his direction, the white rag swaying
back and forth in his hand, then he returned to cleaning glasses.

After returning a wave and smile to Roy, Marc looked back at
Vanessa.

“Co-owns?”

“I’m the other owner,” She smiled.

“Well,” Marc continued, “I understand this looks and feels
like a restaurant—but where am I
really
?”

The woman smiled, nodding her head, “I knew you were
different from the moment I saw you Marc. You are very intelligent. Many people
don’t ask questions or catch on so soon. But I can see you have a strong
purpose of mind, a good heart and determination, that’s good. This place is
merely a transitional one, a place for us to talk, so you wouldn’t feel too
intimidated, or overwhelmed. We know you’ve been through so much. Does that make
sense?”

“Sort of,” Marc answered, “But— I mean, it doesn’t exactly
answer the question. Where exactly is ‘here’, what exactly is this place?”

Vanessa paused, taking a slow breath and then letting it
out. Suddenly she was changing, morphing into something Marc recognized.

A black cat.

It winked at him and he immediately understood that Vanessa
was the black cat that had taken him from Earth, given him the Sword of the
Phoenix, and brought him to Lyrridia.

“You,” Marc whispered.

The cat nodded and suddenly it was gone with a whisper of
smoke and Vanessa reappeared.

“Then Roy must be, well, whatever you would call him in his
other form; a majestic, otherworldly lion-elk?”

Vanessa smiled, “He has an inclination to the ostentatious
at times. Some in Lyrridia who have seen him have called him Guardian of the
Forest, a title I see fit for him in that form.”

There was a moment of quiet as Marc took another sip of his
drink.

“I hope you can understand, the way that things have
happened, the smoke and mirrors, the elusiveness. Roy and I are not doing it on
purpose. There are universal laws by even which beings such as we, are bound. ”

Marc frowned at that statement. He had hundreds of questions
and wanted specific answers to all of them.

“I wish I could speak plainly with you, but
you
must
ask
me
questions. It is the way of things. I will answer as best I can,
but I cannot promise you will be satisfied with the answers, or that you will
fully understand them, as they will most likely be multi-faceted.”

Marc nodded then, accepting her statement. He thought for a
moment about what he should ask first, and then began.

“Why me?”

She motioned with her hand for him to expand on the question.

“Why did you appear to me that day at the park when Victor
and those idiots were ganging up on me?”

She motioned once more for elaboration.

“Had you been watching me the whole evening?”

She nodded with an expression on her face that read
you’re
exactly on the right track.

Picking up on the subtle hint, Marc continued.

 “More than just that evening?”

She nodded again.

“A lot? The whole week?”

She made the same gesture with her hand indicating,
more,
more, more
.

“A month,”

She shook her head no and motioned with her hand again
more
.

“A year? Several years?”

She finally nodded her head yes.

Marc didn’t know exactly what to think about that. On one
hand, growing up in a society where privacy was very nonexistent in much of
one’s life had desensitized him to such surveillance. But to think that Vanessa
had observed him for several years, to what end?

For this
. He thought.

Vanessa shifted slightly to speak and Marc had the feeling
that she could very much read minds, or, that she could discern his thoughts
through his subtle facial expressions, but most likely she could read minds.

“You were chosen, Marcus. It wasn’t random chance. I didn’t
intervene that day out of pity, or desperation. Roy and I made a deliberate
choice, a careful choice. We do not judge as others do, looking only upon one’s
outward appearance, and actions, but we look upon the heart.”

It was Marc’s turn to nod, which he did for a moment. Then
he shook his head. “But why didn’t you appear to me as you are now, speak to
me, person to person, explain it all in a much better fashion. If I knew then everything
I know now. The dangers of Lyrridia, the pain,” an image of the Fae One’s
burning at Tremos’s hands flashed before his eyes, “The responsibility that
would be placed on my shoulders? I don’t think I would’ve pulled the Sword from
the stone.”

Vanessa tilted her head slightly.

“Earth is not our world,” She explained, her voice patient
and kind, “Our powers are greatly limited there, and I could not have appeared
to you as I am now. I did the best I could with what I had.”

Marc was stunned by the implication of her statement and he
tried to hide it by taking another sip of his drink. It was cool this time,
calming him.

 “Not
your
world? So
Lyrridia
is your world?”

“Lyrridia is a name given to a realm upon the lands
surrounded by ocean that make up a part of our world. Our world cannot be said
in your tongue. But Gaia is an acceptable alternative. For Gaia is life and
creation, and we created Gaia.”