by M K Drake
During his last days of known existence, those close to him reportedly heard him speak of something called white Magic, something he believed to be more powerful than both good Magic (blue) and evil Magic (red). He locked himself away and became a recluse. He was rarely seen outside of his palace and often ventured on voyages by himself with no support from the Majjai armies of the time. His sanity was questioned several times as he began speaking to himself in prose. Conversing with his own being, not merely discretely, but many a time he was heard in full voice. Eventually he left Persian lands, becoming a nomad, wandering the globe. Human eyes have not set on him since.
Chapter 9
Secrets Revealed
Atticus and Joyce walk down the garden path to the large front gate; Sophia watches from the window, still wearing the same smile. Atticus closes the gate behind them and nervously walks with Joyce.
“How are you feeling today, Atticus?” asks Joyce, trying to break the ice.
“Erm, fine thanks, a …a… and you?” stutters Atticus nervously.
“I’m fine too, just thought you could use the company today; you always come to school by yourself or your parents drop you,” Joyce checks her watch, “We better walk quickly though, we don’t want to be late.”
“You have classes with Professor Sprocking, don’t you?” asks Atticus.
“Sometimes, yes, why do you ask?”
“Just curious to discover what kind of person he is really,” replies Atticus.
Joyce flicks her hair back and pauses, as if thinking of what to say, “Well, he is a little eccentric, but nice, fair, although…”
“Although what?” asks Atticus, eager to learn as much as he can.
“Nothing, I shouldn’t say. Anyway, why talk about school, tell me about you,” says Joyce making an obvious attempt to evade the topic.
“Erm, nothing much to say really, … err…” Atticus flusters slightly, desperately trying to find something interesting in his life to describe, but his mind just slinks away until he remembers fencing, “FENCING!” he screams, making Joyce jump, “Yes, I like fencing.”
“Really? Any good then?” asks Joyce.
“Not bad. I follow this unique style Mr Callan has come up with, which treats it like a martial art.”
Joyce giggles, “So you’re like Karate Kid with a sword?”
“Not quite,” laughs Atticus, “Mr Callan is a great teacher, but he hasn’t taught me the ‘wax on, wax off’ method yet.”
Joyce laughs as Atticus begins to go into a mass description of his favourite sport; Joyce listens on attentively as they converse together.
Atticus feels a warm glow inside as the nervousness disappears. He continues to be amazed at how easy this girl − whom he feared in the past − is to talk to. They continue to banter on their journey to Wysardian Manor until they reach the outskirts of estate upon which it lies.
“You still getting those nightmares?” asks Joyce.
Atticus nods, “You?”
“Not for a long time, they stopped soon after…” Joyce pauses again, as if withdrawing something she was about to say.
“I’m listening,” Atticus says, determined to get the answers Joyce is trying to hide.
“Atticus,” Joyce says softly, “There is something I need to say to you.”
“Go on,” says Atticus
Joyce leans towards Atticus to whisper in his ear, “I have faith in you.”
Atticus looks confused, “Faith in me for what?”
“You’ll see, but I can’t say any more until tomorrow. Shall we meet again in the morning?”
“Sure, but, what do you mean? You like confusing me don’t you?” Atticus says jokingly.
“Not at all; in fact, I can’t wait until tomorrow, it will be fun,” Joyce looks towards the main gates, and sees that most of the other students are already on the grounds, “There is something I do know I can tell you though.”
“And that is?” Atticus raises an eyebrow, itching to hear some clue to Joyce’s verbal cryptography.
“That I can beat you to the school gates,” Joyce darts ahead, not even glancing back to see if Atticus will follow.
Atticus stands perplexed for a moment watching Joyce run towards the main gates, then murmurs under his breath, “No way,” and immediately races after her.
They get to the gates just as the bell sounds. Joyce hands Atticus her phone number on a piece of paper, “Call me in the morning to let me know what time you want to leave for school,” and with that they say their goodbyes and head towards their lessons.
Atticus can barely concentrate in any of his classes. Professor Snugglebottom using him as target practice almost persuades Atticus to focus on the lesson, but all he can think about is today’s interview − and Joyce.
He thinks back to their walk, the comfort he felt then was soothing, but he can’t shake the thought, “Why has she suddenly appeared to take an interest? What isn’t she telling me? Who is Elric? Why didn’t my parents tell me how I was found until now?” the questions race through his mind as it wanders between the PQE, last night’s revelations, and Joyce.
Lunch passes quickly. Atticus realises he has some time before he has to meet Professor Sprocking, so decides to pay Professor Morgan a visit and thank him for the books.
Atticus peers into Professor Morgan’s room, but there is no sign of him. Atticus thinks this strange, as he is fairly sure that the Professor has a class taking place in this period. Atticus shrugs and continues his journey to Professor Sprocking’s office.
His destination is near the opposite end of the manor; it is an area that is rarely ventured towards by most of the students as not many lessons are scheduled there. As far as Atticus knows, only a few students head in this direction. The corridors are quiet, and Atticus tries to make his walk go by a little bit faster by counting how many times he can hear his footsteps echo. The walls in the manor are very tall, but not much adorns them − they are mostly stonework or marble, some have engravings of battles carved into them, but most are quite plain, with only the odd pillar to break up the monotony.
Atticus checks his watch, making sure he is not running late as he nears Professor Sprocking’s office. The door to the entrance is, as with all doors in the manor, incredibly tall, and very heavy. Compared to the bland walls, the doors are a symphonic celebration of carvings, with exquisite shapes and intricate patterns. Atticus knocks twice. A voice calls out from the room.
“Enter!”
Atticus opens the door slowly, its creak echoes around the chamber it connects to and back through the corridor. Atticus can see Professor Sprocking standing on the left side of his room, staring out of a window onto the hillside.
“Hello Sir,” says Atticus tentatively, “I have an appointment with you today.”
“Yes, Atticus, yes,” Professor Sprocking says quickly, still staring out of the window, “Please, take a seat, we have much to discuss.”
Atticus ventures into the room, all four walls are covered in books and strange ornaments; the far wall is curved outwards, with a large wooden arch preceding it. Within that area is a circular table, upon which stands what appears to be a large globe covered by a silk blanket. The ceiling is dome-like, curving upwards into an inverted steeple at the centre. Candles are alight in various areas, some large, some small. Although daytime, the window that the Professor is standing at is the only inlet of outside light, and it fails to adequately illuminate the entire room; the candles, therefore, are welcome members to the cast of objects scattered around. The Professor’s desk is situated just before the arched area. Atticus’ footsteps echo as he approaches it, he gets to the large leather chair and sits.
“Any questions before we begin, Atticus?” asks Professor Sprocking.
Atticus thinks for a moment, can this be the opportunity he has been waiting for? Before he can finish this train of thought, his mouth opens, almost of its own accord, “Elric Griffin, sir. Who is he?”
The Profess
or turns his head towards Atticus, and smiles, “You can ask him yourself, he’ll be joining us shortly. But before he does, we need to talk.”
Atticus sits attentively; rather excited now, as he senses that he may finally get the responses he has been craving.
Professor Sprocking walks to his desk. He is wearing a rich, deep red cloak under which is a black suit and a matching deep, red, mandarin-collar shirt. He sits, staring at Atticus as if trying to analyse every part of him, “Usually, Atticus, we would be giving you questions to answer today, and you would have needed to go through various tests before I could even think of telling you what we need you to know. But unfortunately, recent events have forced our hand.”
“So, there is no test for me today? What about this PQE?” asks Atticus, cautiously.
“Oh, there will be tests for you for the rest of your life, Mr Jones. Things change for you forever today, if…” Professor Sprocking pauses, and decides not to carry on down that particular path of conversation, “Actually, I’m jumping ahead here, what do you know of the Majjai, Atticus?”
“Maj-eye,” Atticus says, seeing it phonetically in his mind’s eye, making sure he gets the pronunciation correct, “A little, sir; Professor Morgan lent me a book.”
“He did, eh?” the Professor chuckles, “Benjamin always did have a soft spot for you; he speaks very highly of you. What if I told you the Majjai exist not only in the pages of that book, but are alive and well today?”
Atticus shakes his head, knowing not what to say.
“Well, we exist, Atticus,” the Professor raises his right arm, opens his hand, and as he does so, sparks of blue electricity jump from one finger to the next. Atticus’ eyes open wide, mesmerised by the dancing ribbons of light.
Atticus suddenly remembers that what he is looking at is exactly the type of blue light he was using in his dream last night. Atticus does not mention this just yet, eager to hear more.
“Elric thinks you are very special, Atticus,” continues the Professor, “I trust him, and he has entrusted me to inform you of a number of things, most notably, how important you are to us.”
“Important? What do you mean?” Atticus keeps hearing about being a ‘chosen one,’ first from Marcellus, then in his dream, and now, hearing he is important to Elric, the thirst for answers grows ever more.
“There has been a war going on between good and evil for longer than any of us remember. It’s been hidden for thousands of years − hidden from the mortal world,” says Professor Sprocking.
“Mortal, sir?” asks Atticus inquisitively.
“Yes, Atticus, mortals. We regard those without Magic as mortals,” Professor Sprocking leans back into his chair while speaking, “There are those in the mortal world who know of this war, but they are few and are only aware due to our need to sometimes keep our secret safe. The world will never be ready for such truths to be fully known, not in its current state. You see, mythology, religion, culture, it is all intertwined. Norse, Egyptian, Islamic, Kabbalah, they all have a beginning. Demon lore from the books of religion, from Genesis and before, to the present day, there is substance to all of it − even vampires and werewolves − all these stories have a basis. Yes, it has changed through the perception and translation of man, but the essence is there. This war is born from all of this and is very real, but it hasn’t been so forthright for a few millennia. Again, I wouldn’t be normally be telling you all of this; we would usually follow the standard procedure, in that you would be sitting a test today and learning of this history over time. But as I have mentioned already, recent events have forced us to include you sooner, therefore we need to bring you up to speed straight away.”
“Why me, sir?” asks Atticus, still not wholly convinced of everything he is hearing.
“Patience, I’ll be getting to that bit soon,” the Professor opens a drawer on his side of the desk, pulls out a piece of parchment and places it face down in front of him, “This war, like any other, has sides Atticus. In this case, we regard ourselves to be on the good side. Our counterparts however, have dark intentions. They seek to destroy and want nothing but chaos; we bring order to the chaos. We cure their disease when it encroaches into this realm. They embody evil, and have been fighting to try and find a way here for millennia. For all those years we have stood in their way, but it has only been through sheer luck that their leader has not been strong enough to make an impact for such a long time.”
“Why is that sir?”
“Because a brave group of Majjai, called the Majjai Six, stopped him from invading our realm a long long time ago, and in doing so, weakened him. Unfortunately, he has now become stronger than ever. There is a way to defeat him, but only the chosen one will find that way. This brings me neatly onto you, Atticus.”
Atticus prepares himself for what he feels he already knows, he has heard about the note left with him when he was found, he has seen the birthmark, he has seen the birthmark glow, and then there are his dreams, “The chosen one. That’s me, isn’t it?”
The Professor chuckles, “Perhaps,” he says, trying to diffuse Atticus’s anticipation, “Some seem to think so; I will wait before making that judgement. Unfortunately there is only one member of the original Majjai Six alive today, and to combat the new threat from the dark realm, we need to train those that have the gift of the Majjai − and in doing so, hope to find the successors to the original Majjai Six. It’s been prophesied that the new Majjai Six will be formed at a time when the demon king is close to becoming strong enough to enter our realm. Each will be identified by a birthmark − a circular birthmark with a tiny spiral around the main ring − you have probably seen it on the books that Benjamin lent to you.”
Atticus nods.
“We have found five of the successors, the one missing is the chosen one. The mark of the chosen one will also be a circle, but his will include a larger entwining around it. You should also know that you have been brought to our attention because it has been noted that you have certain abilities, which were revealed when you were very young. In fact, you were so gifted we had to bind your powers early on, Elric managed to create a potion to stem your abilities after learning of your guardians’ search for answers. The downside to this suppression is that it can be rather uncomfortable by the time one reaches your age. Nightmares, blurred vision and excessive static can be witnessed by some subjects.”
“I have dreams about Magic, strange dreams,” says Atticus, suddenly feeling comfortable enough to reveal this after what he has just been told.
“Please, tell me about them,” requests the Professor.
Atticus tells him of his experiences, including his waking dream on the playing field; he is just about to start talking about last night’s dream, but thinks it worthwhile to show the Professor his birthmark.
“I also have this,” Atticus pulls up his sleeve to reveal the circular mark. The Professors eyes widen, dancing between the birthmark and Atticus’ face, “The most peculiar thing is that it glowed this morning. I had the strangest of the dreams last night, about someone who called himself Razakel, and another creature called Herensugue. In the dream I am cut, and when I woke up, I had this scar, in the exact same place,” Atticus indicates towards the scar on his other forearm.
“Did you speak to Razakel?” asks Professor Sprocking
“Speak to him?” replies Atticus, “He was trying to kill me, and then spouted some strange comments about projection before he threw me into the mouth of a dragon. Professor, what the hell is going on?” Atticus becomes flustered, for the first time in the entire conversation, he sees concern and bewilderment within the Professors eyes.
Professor Sprocking is visibly disturbed, “Draconus?” he asks.
Atticus nods.
“So he lives,” says the Professor, “Atticus, I must leave you here for a moment − I need to get Elric a little sooner than we planned. Don’t touch anything; feel free to read any of the books, but do not touch anything else,” Atticus acknowledge
s the Professor as he observes him leave the room hurriedly. Atticus closes his eyes for a moment, intending only to gather his thoughts, and as he does so, he finds himself looking out through the eyes of Professor Sprocking.
# # #
The professor heads down the corridor towards Elric’s chamber. The sight of the birthmark has sent him into a state of confusion, he is blinking wildly and shaking his head, whispering to himself, “How did Elric know for sure, what hasn’t he told me?” he approaches a massive pair of doors, “Farasi Bakhwar,” he murmurs, his whisper is purposely low, as not to make any possible passer by aware of what is said.
The doors open slowly to blackness. Checking behind himself as he enters the room, he waits for the doors to close. As the two doors meet to seal the world hidden behind them, the corridor they lead to suddenly appears through the darkness and everything is alight.
“No need to go any further, Geoffrey,” Elric stands just behind the Professor, placing his hand on his shoulder, “I know why you have come to seek me early, but you must understand, the boy’s identity had to be kept secret. Only one other knows, and that other is his current protector.”
“You should have trusted me, Elric, like I have trusted you many times in many a battle,” the Professor turns to face Elric, “He speaks of encountering Razakel and Herensugue in his dreams, and has seen Draconus revived. Atticus’ awakening should have been sooner, perhaps we wouldn’t have lost her then. Draconus will pay for his crimes.”
Elric sees the pain in the Professor’s eyes, he knows his story is a sad one, and understands the emotion all too well, “Atticus’ early awakening would have had no effect on that outcome my friend, it would have been too soon, he was too young and the Quantorbium is still lost. His time is now, not the times of King Arthur.”
“But we can awaken him now. That is why you have that particular Gooyeh Partaab, is it not? If he finds the orb to control the portal of time, as he is meant to, we could use it to save her, perhaps turn the tide of this war?”