by T P Sheehan
Magnus hesitated to push back on the wyvern’s mental assault. He wanted to garner information from it, so needed to find a way in without giving it cause to flee. He took a breath and eased the protective heat from his mind, preventing his dragon blood from burning the wyvern’s presence away. With the wyvern right there in his mind, there had to be a way to infiltrate its own mind and find out what it knew about Lucas.
“Magnus!”
A shudder passed through Magnus making his whole body shake. Someone grabbed him. A voice warned him. It may have been Catanya, but her words were muffled… cloaked… like a surreal dream. Another shudder passed through him only more violent this time. I can beat this… I can infiltrate the wyvern’s mind… The obstinate wyvern had a firm grip on something. Magnus tried to fight back but could not get traction. There was nothing in the beasts mind to hold on to. The arms holding him tightened. They were keeping him from falling, but he fell to his knees anyway. A third shudder rippled through him. Magnus kept his focus on the wyvern’s eyes. They were beginning to glaze over with hoarfrost, extinguishing their yellow glow, replacing it with frozen, ice blue orbs. The wyvern released itself from Magnus’s mind, opening its own to interrogation. An icy chill creaked through Magnus. Glimpses of the black creatures memories came to him in jarring flashes, most of them irrational but some of them recognisable. He saw Lucas screaming as the wyvern’s fangs sunk into his body. He saw Breona defending Lucas, stomping at the wyvern. Just as quickly, the memories were warped with anger then vanished. The more he encountered, the quicker they vanished until the icy chill in the wyvern’s mind was too much to bear. Magnus was so close. The wyvern’s thoughts were laid bare but hoarfrost was freezing them over faster than Magnus could witness them.
“Damn it!”
Magnus wrenched his mind free of the wyvern and leapt to his feet, pulling from Csilla and Catanya’s protective embrace. Magnus jumped at the wyvern—the cursed creature who cursed Lucas—with Lucas’s own sword, but there was nothing for him to do. The wyvern lay dead on the battlefield. Its open eyes filmed with frost. Blue mist rose from its nostrils and open mouth.
“What just happened?” It was Csilla.
Catanya placed an arm on Magnus’s shoulder and spoke softly to him. “It was Iisilée working in you, wasn’t it?”
“Aye,” Magnus mumbled. He knew what had happened. By keeping Thioci’s blood at bay, he had inadvertently given his other Electus blood an opportunity to exert its strength. It was effective—even if Magnus had neither control over the power nor any idea how it worked. It was also powerful. Somehow, I killed the wyvern with my mind…
“Are you okay?” Catanya asked.
Magnus gritted his teeth. “I just wanted to learn more about Lucas before we killed it.”
“What just happened?” Csilla repeated in a demanding tone.
“Magnus killed it.”
“I gathered that much.” Csilla pulled Magnus and Catanya closer, out of earshot of a gathering crowd of battle weary Nuyan folk who witnessed the spectacle. “It was not fire magic that killed the beast—look at it!”
Magnus realised—if Csilla knew, many of the other folk nearby knew it as well. It would not be a secret for long that their Electus was in fact a double Electus.
ELECTUS REVEALED
The ‘False Battle’ of the Uydferlands ended late in the afternoon.
“The name will stick,” Magnus said. “Everyone is calling it that.”
“The name does nothing to honour our people, does it?” Catanya said. “Certainly not my father, who worked tirelessly to defend our lands all these months.”
“It certainly doesn’t honour your father. Are you still comfortable calling him your father, now you’ve learned the truth?” Magnus could hardly believe she was confronted with such a truth just as she arrived back in Nuyan, only to then learn Hannah and her mother were gone.
“I’m not comfortable calling him ‘Xavier’. Despite our disagreements over the years, he was always my father. Besides, calling Austagia my father is way too strange. That, I can never see myself getting used to.”
“I wonder…” Magnus thought, as he looked at Austagia who was about to address his fellow Irucantî and the Couldradt Fire dragons. ‘I wonder if Austagia, in his heart, has always considered you his daughter. Perhaps being called ‘father’ some day may be his greatest wish.”
An awkward smile came to Catanya’s face. She looked at Austagia as well.
Even if the False Battle was a ruse, the seven-month ordeal came at a huge cost and no more so than on the final day of battle. Among the fallen was a dragon named Meggän.
“The lost lives of our people will be honoured,” Austagia began his address. “But we must acknowledge Meggän’s passing before the sun sets this day. She will join Balgur, Thioci and others of her fallen kin in the Couldradt constellation—home of the Fire god.”
The dragon’s funeral was to be at the Cliffs of Overpell at sunset, which gave Magnus an hour of summer sun to do something he had been keen to do ever since leaving Thwax. Brue flew Magnus and Catanya to Realms End at the southwest border of Froughton Forest. They landed and Magnus found what he was looking for—the small group of boulders beside a hill. It was here he hid his own fleu-steel sword before turning himself in to the Quag prison train heading for Ba’rrat.
Magnus searched about the boulders and found two with a narrow opening between them. He peered into the opening. His heart skipped with joy—the sword was just as he left it.
“Is it there?”
“Aye, Catanya. It is!”
Magnus reached through. Just inches from retrieving it, his arm stuck. He laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I think I was a lot skinnier when I hid it.”
“Here, let me get it.” Catanya shook her head in amusement and reached through the opening, stretching through until she was shoulder deep. “I’ve got it.”
Catanya pulled the scabbard free, looked it over and handed it to Magnus. Brue came closer and sniffed at the reclaimed treasure. With Lucas’s sword still slung across his back, Magnus held the pommel of his own sword in his left hand and dusted it off. He paused.
“What is it?” Catanya asked.
‘They are different, yet the same…’ Magnus remembered the day Sarah gave the swords to Lucas and him. He remembered her emotional story behind the blades once again. Both were forged by Ganister with skills learned from his swordsmith father—Gilfieüg. Both were forged of fleu-steel gifted by his mother’s people.
“I think,” Magnus deduced. “I am meant to wield this with my right hand.”
“But you’re left-handed. We all are,” Catanya said.
“Twice now, Lucas has left his sword for me. His is fire, mine is ice. Simeon said I need a second sword. I shall wield Lucas’s with my left hand. My right hand…” Magnus showed Catanya the iridescent blue scar across that hand. She examined it closely. “My right hand shall wield my reclaimed sword.” Magnus turned the scabbard about, gripped the pommel with his right hand and unsheathed it.
The moment the sword was freed, the scar over Magnus’s hand shone bright, creating a sapphire-blue shimmer that eddied about his arm, down the white blade of the sword. The pure-white blade changed before his eyes. Intricate Icerealmic glyphs began to form on either side of the blade from the cross guard to the tip, shining as bright as a frozen cobalt lake. Magnus dropped the scabbard and drew Lucas’s sword with his left arm. Exactly the same thing happened, only this time familiar amber flames eddied about his left arm, coursed down the blade forming orange flamed engravings of Fireisgh glyphs, never before seen on Lucas’s sword.
Magnus took three steps back from a wide-eyed Catanya and equally alarmed Brue. It’s as though the swords come to life in one another’s presence, now that I have access to both Thioci’s and Iisilée’s strengths. He allowed the swords to dance about one another, spinning them this way and that in a dance of fire and ice. Magnus could
feel the swords talking to him—through him. He felt the fire of Thioci and the ice of Iisilée, Couldradt and Ertwe, finally working together, affording him greater strength.
Magnus stilled himself and drew a steady breath, holding the swords to his sides. All was calm and a silence seemed to permeate through him. His body felt at peace for the first time since he became the Fire Realm Electus. His swords at rest and his mind at peace, each blade paled into its pure white form. Magnus sheathed them one at a time and belted their scabbards together over his left shoulder.
“Perhaps you should name your swords,” Brue said. “That is what they do in the Ice Realm.”
Catanya came forward and held Magnus’s right hand, looking at it. The blue scar on the back of his hand was still there. She turned his hand over and rubbed the scar on his wrist—the scar given by Thioci. Magnus squeezed Catanya’s hands and she looked into his eyes. “I think you have finally made peace with yourself.”
“Aye. And I think I have names for my swords,” Magnus said. Brue stepped closer and stood beside Catanya. The name ‘Balgur’ had served him well in Ba’rrat’s arena for a long time. It seemed appropriate that he continue the honour of dragon names. He shared the names as thoughts, using Brue so Catanya could hear, too.
“‘Thioci’ for the fire-sword, ‘Iisilée’ for the ice-sword.”
The Irucantî and dragons congregated on a field near the Cliffs of Overpell and formed a circle around Meggän. Magnus stood with Catanya. She held his hand, tracing his blue scar with her thumb. Austagia spoke to the gathering, wishing Meggän best of travels as she joined her kin in the stars. As proceedings concluded, the sun set in the west and the sky turned from blue to black. To Magnus’s mind, the Couldradt constellation shone a little brighter than usual. So it should, thought Magnus. There is one extra star in the sky tonight.
When all was done, a mound was built of quarry stone over Meggän’s body and a stonemason began carving a dedicated inscription upon a slab of granite from the Western Margins.
Back in Nuyan, a final war council meeting was taking place. Csilla led Magnus, Catanya, Austagia, Jael and Eamon into the marquee. Xavier, who was bloody and bruised, spoke with a weary voice, giving praise to the men and women gathered before him. He stopped when he saw Catanya.
“Catanya. The attack went exactly as you said.”
“Aye. It did,” Catanya agreed.
“Some say they saw the Electus on the battlefield today, other’s disagree. What do the order of the Irucantî have to say—do we have our Electus, or not?”
Magnus looked at Catanya who flashed a furtive glance at him. She walked to Xavier’s platform and turned to the gathering.
“Not so long ago, I asked my teacher—my ‘Semsdi’—‘how will we recognise the Electus?’ He said that we would recognise the Electus when they present themselves at the right time. He said that they would not be able to hide from who they are. And so, people of the Fire Realm, it is time to meet your ‘Electus’.”
Catanya looked at Magnus. The room turned about, following her gaze. Soon, everyone was looking at Magnus, including Xavier. The remaining Ferustirs entered the Marquee and, together with Austagia and Jael, stood behind Magnus and bowed their heads to him. Magnus could see the collective were waiting for some sign—something to show he was indeed the Electus—and so he reached over his left shoulder and unsheathed ‘Thioci’ and ‘Iisilée’, reproducing the show of Electus power he had united earlier.
“A ‘double’ Electus?” Eamon chugged another pewter of ale, spilling half the contents down his long, grey beard. “By all the gods, this is beyond the dreams of mortal men. Indeed—it is beyond the dreams of dragons!”
Eamon’s jovial speech ignited cheers through the gathering of exhausted, yet happy people of Nuyan. There would be a time for grieving but the township would celebrate the end of the war throughout this night. Hundreds sat at hastily made trestle tables and hundreds more, including children of all ages, danced the night away. Musicians plucked strings and chefs prepared feasts of roasts and stews, ale and wine.
Magnus sat next to Eamon, for there was none whose company he wanted to celebrate with more. But having eaten his fill of honey-roast venison and savoured every dish presented to him, he excused himself to join Catanya.
Csilla had procured maps of Froughton Forest and spread them across one of the tables. She and Catanya poured over them, devising a way to navigate through the Valley of Shadows to find Hannah and Alessandra.
“These maps are old. Did your OhUid friend not show you his route to their lands?” Catanya asked.
“No. OhUid folk never carry maps. Discretion is everything to them. Creighton knows the ins and outs of Froughton Forest but that knowledge is guarded up here,” Csilla pointed to her head. “With wards to protect from prying minds.”
Magnus remembered Eamon telling him of the OhUid people when they travelled through the Valley of Shadows long ago. Eamon said one had to travel far deeper in the forest than the Valley to find them—‘To The Core you must go.’ Though the thought unsettled Magnus, he knew Catanya and Csilla would leave no stone unturned seeking out Hannah and Alessandra.
“Joffren told me of the OhUid folk,” Catanya said. “He said discretion ensured their survival.”
“Indeed.” It was Eamon, walking to join them. His jovial demeanour had mellowed. Csilla looked at him warily. “Catanya informed me of your predicament. I know of OhUid ways and routines that may be of help. The key is to find a course between checkpoints.”
“Checkpoints?” Catanya asked.
“The problem with OhUid checkpoints is they change. What you find is usually abandoned,” Csilla said.
“Precisely. You will only find one if it has been abandoned. That’s what they want you to find. Distraction is a fabulous ally.”
Magnus was intrigued. Eamon’s riddles always proffered wisdom—particularly where Froughton Forest was concerned. “But you didn’t say to find a checkpoint, Eamon,” Magnus said.
“That’s right—you said to find a course ‘between’ checkpoints,” Catanya completed Magnus’s sentence.
“Precisely!” Eamon repeated, pointing a finger for emphasis.
Csilla, who had been leaning over one of the maps, stood tall. She crossed her arms and stared blankly at Eamon. Magnus gathered riddles were not Csilla’s style.
“The relocation of OhUid checkpoints follows an evolving pattern,” Eamon explained. “The tricky part is working out how far the pattern has evolved. Once you know precisely where you are in the pattern’s evolution, you can plot a probable course.”
The notion of ‘evolving patterns’ reminded Magnus of the High Priest’s fighting technique. He was keen to learn more.
“And you know how to do this?” Csilla asked.
“Aye. But it is a pain in the backside trying to work it out alone.”
“I won’t be travelling alone,” Catanya said.
“Good. So, let’s assume you’ve found an abandoned checkpoint. Remind me again how you’ve done this in the past, Csilla?”
Csilla looked hard at Eamon for a moment, then explained. “There’s always a checkpoint to the west, on the fringes of the Valley of Shadows.” Csilla pointed to her map. “In my time, I’ve found three. I’ve smelt them before I’ve seen them.”
“Smelt them?” Magnus asked.
Eamon lit his pipe—a knowing glean shone in his eyes.
“Lavender oil,” Csilla said. “They use it in the torches they travel with. Creighton always smells of lavender.”
“It’s a good insect deterrent, so it serves two purposes,” Eamon added.
“The scent always leads to a small clearing with a dirt mound from an extinguished fire and there will be a tree nearby with a sconce hanging from it.”
“And the torch mounted in the sconce is the source of the lavender smell,” Magnus guessed.
“Aye,” Csilla said.
“Right.” Eamon placed his pipe beside the map
. “From here you need one of two things. A Jasper stone, which is nigh impossible to procure, or a Juniper stone. Magnus or I can help you with that. We always carry a Juniper stone.” Eamon winked at Magnus.
“It’s true. We do,” Magnus said.
Eamon shifted closer and spread his arms. “Come in, come in,” he whispered. Everyone came closer. “This next part is not for prying ears. It’s something I’ve devised during my years of travels through Froughton Forest. It could compromise the discretion we all agree is essential for OhUid survival. So listen carefully and keep your knowledge of what I’m about to say hidden.”
“Aye,” Magnus, Catanya and Csilla said together.
PIECE OF MY MIND
Eamon devised an eclectic way for Catanya and her fellow travellers to navigate through the Valley of Shadows and into The Core where they hoped to find the OhUid stronghold. He then excused himself and re-joined the celebrations. Csilla agreed to meet Magnus and Catanya at dawn to begin their search for Hannah and Alessandra. Finally, Magnus and Catanya retired for the evening to Catanya’s family home, where they sat on chairs in the common room, drinking in the warmth of the fire.
“You don’t have to come with Csilla and I, Magnus. I know you need to find your mother,” Catanya said.
Conflicted, Magnus ignored the question for a moment and stood to place another log on the fire. He gazed at the warm flames and was reminded of Hannah showing him the spell she had learned, right here at this very spot. It was her first spell and she was only six. “I wonder if Hannah has learned any more spells since we left?” Magnus sat in the chair again.
“She’s seven now. I never want to miss another of her birthdays.”
“I want to help you find Hannah. And I want to remain by your side.”
Catanya leant across and kissed Magnus softly.
The front door swung inward and Xavier stepped in, followed by Austagia.
“Well, isn’t this a lovely sight,” Xavier proclaimed.