The Eynan Read online

  The king was happy to agree and he'd told Patinus that as soon as the legal requirements were met, the ceremony could take place. According to the laws of Timendra, a public announcement of the intending event had to be posted for a full double sennight after both parties had officially signed the nuptial agreements, including the confirmation of the marriage tithes.

  Once all had been agreed, signed for and proclaimed, the wedding could place within the next sennight. Patinus guessed that within the passage of a moon he would wed.

  * * * *

  "Take the jewelite, and I will try and explain," Ninian replied calmly, still holding the jewel out for Jhond to take.

  Jhond calmed himself, still looking warily at Ninian, but he carefully took the proffered gem. He was amazed to find it was warm to the touch, and in some strange way it felt welcoming. As if it liked to be held. Lords, I'm attributing feelings to the thing.

  "Can you feel it?" Ninian asked quietly. "Feel the warmth. Feel the life."

  "Feel the life? Whatever are you talking about?"

  "Come on, Jhond. Don't fight it. Let it talk to you. Feel it."

  "I do feel something. I can almost sense..." His voice drifted off.

  "Go on. You can sense?"

  "Pleasure. It likes...me?"

  "Yes, that's it. Now, want it to light your way. Think that. Need it." Yet again, Ninian's voice was deep, resonant.

  Jhond realized with a start that it wasn't the way Ninian was speaking, but the way he was hearing! Something was happening to him and it wasn't for the first time. He remembered what Ninian had said. He took a cleansing breath to steady himself and he felt deep inside that he needed the gem to show him the way. Suddenly, dimly at first, the jewelite began to glow and with his pleasure at the effect, it glowed more and more as it rose from his hand to hover just over his head.

  "How...how did I do that? In fact, did I do that?" Jhond's voice was filled with awe.

  "You certainly did. I knew it was you. At last I have found you."

  "That's enough! Ninian, who are you and what are we really doing here? You know this place, don't you?"

  "Yes, I do know this place. I've been here before. As for who I am? I am a mage and the last Guardian of the Truth. Though, in recent times, I'm just a wanderer who searches for answers." He stopped, watching as Jhond took in this extraordinary statement. "Look, this isn't the place to talk about it now. It's a long story and we need to be somewhere more conducive. Follow the jewelites down the stairs."

  Jhond frowned, but said nothing. He turned and began to follow Ninian carefully down the steps. As if it knew what he wanted, the jewelite led the way. They walked down and down, going deeper than the foundations of the temple could possibly go. "How much farther can it be?" Jhond finally asked. "And where the hells are we?"

  "We're almost there. And we aren't exactly anywhere. This is difficult to explain, but once we turned the first bend in the stairway, we moved out of the reality you have always known. It is only possible for people to do that if they have magistry. I do, and so do you, Jhond of Reeve."

  Jhond started. "How did you know that? I never told you my family name."

  "You did, indirectly. When you told me that your family had archives of books of the magi and that your family had tried to keep the stories alive. You said in the past your family had been magi. I even felt it from you, that magistry. One who is strong can sense it in another. Even the elements showed the way. Remember the blue fire? There are prophecies about the blue fire. Prophecies about you."

  Jhond stared at this man he thought he had come to know and realized he knew nothing about him whatsoever. He never had. And now the thought occurred, had he even known himself?

  Chapter 10

  "We're there," Ninian announced.

  "Where? There's just more stairs."

  "Really? Look again." The jewelite leading the way faded slightly, and as his eyes adjusted, Jhond saw what Ninian meant. There was only one more step, then a passage opened up to end in yet another small archway. With more of those strange markings.

  Ninian led the way through into a small circular room. The markings continued around the room high up on walls where the stonework had been worked smooth. In the center of the room there was a small stone plinth on which there was a tray, which appeared to be made from dark wood.

  Jhond was drawn to the plinth. He had never seen anything remotely like it. It was some kind of stone, shiny like marble, striated in that same way, too, with grey and sliver shot through the basic black. It was fascinating the way it drew all the light into it like a sponge drawing up water. He found it hard to take his eyes off it, but forced himself to study the tray on its surface.

  There were indentations in the tray at regular intervals; about a dozen of them and in the indentations there were what looked like rough shards of dull, chipped glass.

  "That's a scrything block," Ninian said from behind him.

  "I've never heard that word before. What's it mean?"

  "It's not likely you would have done. This is the only one left anywhere as far as I know. There never were many of them. Too dangerous. As for what it is... That's one of the main reasons you're here. I've got a story to tell and that's part of it. But first things first. Let's get ourselves comfortable."

  "With what? There's nothing else here."

  Ninian raised an eyebrow as he put his hand into one of his pockets and brought out a small flat stone, with nothing remarkable about it at all. He laid it in the palm of his right hand and passed his left hand over it, muttering something unintelligible. The stone took on a transparent appearance and a puff of smoke rose slowly from it. It drifted across the chamber, growing thicker as it moved, 'til a small cloud settled on the ground to one side of the plinth. The cloud thinned and disappeared: leaving in its stead two chairs, a small table on which there was a plate of bread, a plate of cheese, a bowl of fruit and two mugs of mead.

  "Now we can be comfortable."

  Jhond was speechless. Then he had an uncontrollable urge to laugh. It rose in his throat and poured out. He could not stop it; even as he gasped for breath, he couldn't help the irrational laughter.

  Ninian watched for a moment before saying, "Go on. Let it all out. You've been holding that in for far too long. It's what the Medicants would call hysteria. Just too much emotion and, if you ask me, it needs to jump out sometime."

  The laughter died as suddenly as it had come. Jhond took a few deep breaths to calm himself and then made his way over to one of the chairs. He picked up the mug and took a good draught.

  "You should also eat something," Ninian admonished, taking a drink and reaching for a piece of cheese. "I know you have some knowledge of the times of the magi, Jhond, but I don't know exactly how much you know, or even if what you know is accurate. I think it best if I tell you everything my way and we'll see. Now where to begin?

  "In the past, long ago, the magi ruled the world. As in all things, there was a plus and a minus, good and evil, if you will. The balance had to be maintained and the magi took that duty on themselves. For millennia it was so, but gradually, so slowly at first that no one realized, things began to change. People started to progress, and with this progress, belief in magic and the power it held began to be doubted. A new age of science was born, science that commenced to explain things and what it could not explain, it dismissed as untrue, with simple stories to explain the then inexplicable--legends in the making. They explained that people needed to create myths to understand what they could not comprehend. As time passed, more and more people drifted away from the old beliefs. But the balance had to be maintained. The magi decided it was time to pull back because, for the time being, they were not needed.

  "The Magister Council debated for many years before a decision was taken to remove magic from the eyes of man. The legends would be allowed to grow, but the truth would be shrouded in mystery. A shroud of more than name was needed, though, because if the truth was stumbled upon by the uni
nitiated, it could be very dangerous. As all life is a cycle, the time would come when the power of the magi would be required again, and it would be there waiting. After much work, the spells were created and the power set. The Doyen of the House of Reeve was the council major and it was his duty to oversee the setting in motion of the plan."

  "The Doyen of the House of Reeve?" Jhond interrupted. "I have never heard that word, that title before. What is a doyen?"

  "It was the name of the elder of each of the major houses of the magisters. There were ten families--the major houses--and each one was ruled by a doyen and that doyen represented the family on the council. My family was the House of Hartees and, as I believe I am now the only one left, I suppose I am the doyen. The doyen wasn't necessarily the oldest, the head of the house in the usual sense that it would be used today. The doyen was simply the most powerful mage within the family. By dint of experience gained it often was one of the older members, but it wasn't always so.

  "Anyway, it was partly the responsibility of the Reeve family to correlate the institution of the spells and the creation of the shroud, and it was also their responsibility to keep the archive, both in their own possession and here. But over time, something went wrong and even they seem to have forgotten some of the Truth--with a capital T."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means the archive wasn't just the books...they were only secondary. The more general legends and information were to help create the shroud. The real truth, the real library is here. This was the responsibility to be handed down until the magi were needed again. We made the mistake of creating too good a shroud, too powerful. It rendered my job nigh impossible."

  "Your job. What exactly is your job? There's still something about you that feels...I don't know, different. Odd."

  Ninian smiled. "Odd, yes, I suppose you could say I am odd. Different, certainly. I'm one of the few, maybe the only, mage still practicing the art. It was the duty of my family, through the ages, to keep the power in use. Always in secret. You see all the power of the magi has one source, a source that is said to be inexhaustible, but like a torch in a storm, once it goes out, it's very difficult, if not impossible to re-ignite. Therefore, it must always be kept alight. The source must always be there for the day when we, the magi, would be needed again."

  Ninian rose from his seat and roamed the room, seemingly unable to sit still any longer. He stopped for a brief time in front of the dark stone plinth and studied it, before turning back to Jhond. "There were prophecies, many going back to a time before anyone could remember even in the time of the magi. Some of these prophecies were part of the reason the council eventually voted to withdraw magic from the world. It was prophesized that such a period would occur. It was also prophesized that the time would come when it would be needed again. Those prophecies have been used in the interim by my family to keep a track of...possibilities."

  "I don't understand," Jhond interjected. "I mean, you make it sound on one hand as if the history of the magi had just become legend, lost in time. On the other hand, you suggest your family has always known what was going on. These prophecies...how accurate are they? What of the archives, the books and whatever library is here? Lords, the more you tell me, the less I seem to know."

  Ninian came back and sat down. "I'm sorry. It is confusing for me, too, I admit. It's true a lot of the history has become legend. In my own family, so much time has passed that history and legend have become fused so even I can't separate one from the other. The prophecies...well, that's another problem. You've read the books. They're couched in a language that would take an expert to decipher and understand. And the archive your family now holds is much larger than it originally was."

  "Yes, my family has collected every single book ever written about the magi for the Lords know how long. From what my grandfather said, the family wanted to keep a track of everything, even books that were anti-magi just to have a full record."

  "I understand, but it makes for even more confusion. We need to rely on this library."

  "Where is the library here?"

  "We'll come back to that. Right now, you asked what my job was. My job was--is--to help keep alight the source of power when the magi need to return. There are two special prophecies that relate to this time. They speak of the one to come who will unlock the mysteries. The prophecies I can rely on I have followed, as did my predecessors, and they have led me to you."

  "To me?"

  "It was no chance we met that night. That, too, was prophesized. You have already met two out of three of the most important criteria in one of the most specific prophecies: 'Look for one who seeks, but carries what he seeks with him,' and 'One out of place in the woods where the Dancing Fire points the way.'"

  Jhond frowned at this, so Ninian went on to explain. "You seek knowledge, answers, but you carry the most informative books with you, and I believe you are the answer. You remember the blue fire in the woods? That's known as Dancing Fire across the Estan Sea. And you must admit, you are a man out of your place."

  "What was the third?" Jhond queried.

  "The third?"

  "Third criteria of this prophecy you think I meet."

  "Ah, the third...that I don't know whether... It states, 'One who loves and reveres his family, but too well.'" Ninian hesitated as he heard the sharp intake of breath. "Jhond?"

  Jhond said nothing. He just looked as if he had been slapped.

  "Jhond, is there something I should know? I'm not asking for details, but if there's anything..." Ninian waited.

  "I told you a little of my history, about the girl I wanted to marry. Well, that kind of fits," Jhond said hesitantly.

  "It does? How?"

  "It's not my...secret to tell."

  Both men were quiet for a minute or two.

  "What's this prophecy you think I might meet anyway?" Jhond asked.

  "Listen carefully and try to memorize it.

  'Look for a man as out of legend

  One who seeks, but who carries with him what he seeks

  Out of place in the woods where Dancing Fire points the way

  Trust one who loves and reveres his family, but too well

  To seek the power of the magi, lost and found, trapped and freed,

  Beyond the pillars of history, beyond the sea,

  Beyond the strands of time.'"

  * * * *

  Suvran sat quietly in his chamber, a stone room at the top of one of the towers of the Castle of Rugarold. It hadn't concerned him that the room was small and not at all salubrious for a personage of his rank. It suited his purpose precisely. It was high up; the higher the better. It was round; the circle was powerful. The tower was situated on an almost direct north-south line. It was quiet and no one would dare disturb him. Even the emperor left him alone when he knew Suvran was so engaged.

  He had drawn a sigil on the floor using rock salt and black basalt, the salt forming the outer circle within the prime circle of the room. The powdered basalt he used to draw the power lines that would draw the forces he needed. The basalt had been powdered by a pestle bathed in his blood, a sacrifice taken from high up on his thigh, then washed in the fresh water taken from a mountain stream that had been blessed in the name of Lords. The purification circle and the sigils of power would assist Suvran as he worked his talent.

  From his pocket, he carefully drew the vial. It wasn't very large and the contents looked unprepossessing. In fact, the contents were irreplaceable and more precious than anyone, anyone knew. Suvran never dared to open the vial unless he was in a purification circle protected by the sigils of power.

  He held the vial tightly in his right hand as he repeated the words of precipitation, which had been handed down generation by generation in his family line since the time of the magi. The actual meaning had long been lost, but Suvran knew the power of them. As he spoke the incantation, the sigils drawn in the basalt began to glow, just slightly. As the cadence of the words rose in crescendo, Suvran raise
d and then carefully opened the vial. His voice ceased and he slowly lowered the vial to about chest height. He placed his left hand just above his lap and he poured a tiny amount of the precious contents from the vial to fall toward it.

  As the strands fell, they sparkled as if they really were made of the glass they resembled, or was it the spaces between the strands which sparkled and shifted and formed patterns of light? Suvran concentrated with all his might on the image that formed and faded and twisted as the strands fell to his waiting hand, committing it to memory.

  There. There he was again--the tall, fair-haired young man with the unusual violet eyes. Suvran had seen visions of this young man for a number of years now. He didn't know who he was, only that he was vital. Only that he was somehow linked to Suvran himself; linked in opposition, Suvran was certain.

  He knew one day the stranger would lead him to the great secret, the great prize. He was always dubious of using his strands because he had so few and while he always caught most for re-use, a few slivers escaped as they fell through his fingers. Once fallen through the catcher's fingers, the strands became useless. The small vial was all he had. He could only gain more by solving the mystery and finding the prize, but he knew the mystery wasn't his to solve.

  That, he believed, belonged to the mysterious young man whose name he didn't even know. The strands only allowed Suvran to see, not to hear so his deductions were always limited. He could only ever see the close environs of the anonymous young man and whoever was with him. He had developed the skill of lip reading to try to aid him, but as he was never able to maintain the scene for very long, he had never yet been able to decipher the language in which the young stranger or his friends were speaking.