by Pedro Urvi
Sonea tried to open her eyes, but the light caused an explosion of pain in her head. All around her was a strong smell of fish.
“Don’t try to sit up, you’re badly bruised, as though someone had beaten you up,” said a man’s voice. “Drink this, it’ll do you good.”
The man gave her something horrible to drink, holding her head as he did so to help her swallow. Sonea tried to open her eyes once again, but this time she was so dizzy she almost threw up.
“Don’t move, it’ll just be worse, take heed of what this old fisherman says.”
“Where…, where am I?”
“In Three Lakes. I found you in the smallest one a week ago. You should’ve been dead, but for some reason the sea spirits from the deeps didn’t want to take you with them.”
“Who… are you…?”
“My name is Flint One-Eye. You can call me Flint or One-Eye, as you wish. I’m a fisherman, always been. You’re in my humble home. It’s not much, but it’s enough for me and my boy.”
“Thank… thank you…”
“Better if you don’t talk for now. Rest.”
She heard running steps on the wooden floor.
“The cloth, dad.”
Sonea felt the cloth on her forehead, and the coolness comforted her like a thousand caresses. She fainted again.
An annoying sound reached Sonea’s ears, waking her up from a long deep sleep.
She could not remember having dreams or nightmares. She opened her eyes, and the light brought on the bad headache again. It took her a while to get used to it.
She was in a wooden hut, and from the window she could see a huge peaceful lake, of a beautiful shade of blue. She almost had the impression that the hut floated on the water, but that was impossible. It must be built right on the water’s edge, the height creating that optical effect. Yes, thought Sonea with her head in her hands, that must be it. In the opposite corner of the hut was a boy mending and old fishing net and tapping his bare foot on the floor. He was no more than ten years old.
“Hello…” she said in confusion.
The boy looked at her with eyes like saucers. Leaving the net aside, he ran out shouting: “The mermaid! She woke up!”
Sonea was even more confused, but had a vague recollection of a conversation with a fisherman. Or had it been a dream?
A man with a patch over his right eye came in through the door. He was tall and thin, and was dressed in the manner of the fishing people of the Thousand Lakes.
“You’ve woken up at last, little mermaid,” he said.
“Who are you? Where am I? What’s happened?” Sonea was tripping over her own words in her eagerness to know.
“Don’t get upset, take it easy. You’re in my house, I’m Flint One-Eye, remember?”
“I… I think so…”
“You’ve been unconscious for several days. We were afraid you wouldn’t wake up. Son, go fetch the healer and the foreigner.”
“Yes, dad.” The boy ran out of the hut.
“What’s happened to me? I… I can’t remember anything…”
“I found you half-drowned in the lake when I was working. From your wounds we guessed you’d fallen off the mountain. You’re alive because the lake spirits willed it, although by rights you should be dead…”
“I can’t remember, my head’s killing me…”
“That’s only natural. I’ll fix you some hot fish soup. You need to get your strength back.”
“I’m very grateful… but I don’t know how I’ll be able to pay you for all you’ve done for me.”
“The foreigner took care of that, don’t worry,” said Flint. He winked at her with his good eye.
“The foreigner?” Sonea had no idea what the fisherman was talking about.
“He arrived two days ago asking for you, little mermaid. He seems to know you.”
Flint offered her a bowl of soup and pointed at the door.
“Here they come.”
Intrigued, Sonea turned to look at the open door with the lake in the background. The boy ran in. Behind him came a thin man with short hair and intelligent eyes. He wore a long grey robe, and on his chest was a star with thirty points, which Sonea immediately recognized as the symbol of the Temple of Light.
“Lindaro?” she asked unsurely.
The young man came to her side and looked into her eyes.
“Praised be the Light!” he said. “She wanted you safe. Yes, Sonea, it’s Lindaro.”
A week later, Flint took Sonea and Lindaro in his small single-mast fishing-boat across the lake towards the north. A gentle, pleasant breeze bore them on as it caressed the indigo dreamland around them. Forgetting the pain, she still felt from her wounds, Sonea looked at everything with delight. Her whole body was purple from head to toe, and the scabs from the multitude of scrapes and small lacerations had still not dried and fallen off.
“Pretty, isn’t it, little mermaid?” said Flint with a smile from the helm.
“It’s… breathtaking…”
“Sonea, are you sure you can carry on with the journey?” Lindaro said, trying to dissuade her. “We can wait a few days longer until you’re fully recovered.”
“I’m all right, Lindaro, I’m healing and my bruises barely hurt,” she said, untruthfully.
“You were so lucky, you could have died…”
“Could have? By my good eye, it’s a miracle that this little mermaid is alive. Let’s hope that the lake spirits don’t come to claim the soul that’s owed to them.”
“Don’t be superstitious, Flint, there aren’t any lake spirits…”
“A man of faith can say that, a man who follows the Light. Here in the lakes, we all know that the lake spirits of the deeps are real, very real… When they take someone, they’re never seen any more, ever, I can swear this to you by my bad eye.”
Sonea looked at Lindaro. The man of faith shook his head and smiled.
To be honest, the presence of the priest comforted her greatly. They had exchanged many messages about things connected with their studies about the Ilenians, but until their meeting at Three Lakes, they had never met in person… To have him there as a traveling companion made her feel safe. The way ahead was not going to be easy…
“Flint, how much longer?” she asked, worried.
“It’s three days to cross the lake from the village of Three Lakes, then we have to go up the Strait of the Sword, go on north and cross the Lake of the Moon. From there you have to go by land, and I’ll say goodbye to you there. It’ll take two more days to reach the great lake Vantoria.”
“Thank you, Flint.”
The man winked with his good eye.
Lindaro came to Sonea’s side. With his voice unsteady, he said: “I hurried as much as I could once I got your message, Sonea... The news in your letter was so upsetting that I set out as soon as I could. I crossed Rogdon and the steppes at a gallop, and it hasn’t been easy at all. The West is at war, and not even men of faith are respected. I had to ride at night to avoid enemy troops as I went towards the south-east, which is territory still under King Solin’s control, until I could reach and cross the Half Moon Mountains through the high pass to the East. From there I reached the steppes. Luckily I posed no threat to the Masig and they left me alone.”
“Sounds like an adventure!”
“By the Light, it certainly has been! But I knew I had to come. The moment the pigeon brought your message I didn’t even think. I spoke to Abbot Dian and set off that same evening. I’d never have imagined that the grimoire could have brought about a situation like this. It never occurred to me that it could activate the Ilenian magic by itself. Now that is really significant, as well as totally unexpected.”
“I don’t know whether the Ilenian magic became active by itself or whether I had something to do with the process myself. I felt something very strange inside which might have been something to do with the spell, but I really don’t know.”
“That’s very interesting. We must in
vestigate what connection there is between you and the grimoire.”
“I don’t know whether there is a connection or not. I’m just telling you what I felt that horrible night. Just thinking about it gives me goose-flesh”
“Horrible as far as to what happened to that apprentice is concerned, but not about the discoveries you made. I believe they’re incredibly important in the search for the true secret of the Lost Civilization. I’m convinced that together we’ll be able to make discoveries which will be really valuable for the future of Tremia.”
“I hope so too,” said Sonea. The wide smile she gave Lindaro was hopeful. “I already made the mistake of believing I could survive alone in the wild. Great mistake on my part! I wouldn’t like to make another one that could cost me my life, or what would really be unpardonable, both our lives!”
“Don’t you worry about it, I’m here of my own free will. I want to help you understand the spells that are hidden in that mysterious grimoire, and nothing is going to put me off. I’ve crossed Rogdon in the middle of war, I’ve ridden the Masig steppes and gone into the midst of the Thousand Lakes. I’ll find out what the Ilenians hid from us. No matter what dangers we go through, we’ll be able to overcome them, I’m sure.”
“I’m very grateful to you for deciding to join me in this madness. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go on alone. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“Your interests and mine are the same. We both seek to know what’s hidden behind the mystery of the Ilenians, and that’s what we’re going to do. We’ll pool our strengths and our knowledge, and between the two of us we’ll be able to decipher any mystery we find.”
“Thank you, Lindaro. I knew I could count on you, that’s why I wrote you the letter asking you to come to the Thousand Lakes. You can’t imagine how happy I am that you decided to join me.”
Lindaro smiled at her, and they both hugged each other affectionately.
The journey went on without any more incidents. Flint guided them through the lakes like the expert navigator that he was. They camped at night on the lake shore, always near the boat, and the old fisherman would tell them about adventures from his youth as well as incredible folk-tales about the Thousand Lakes. Flint’s stories delighted them. They were about sea monsters and spirits of the depths. Although Sonea and Lindaro enjoyed them, they were also a little uneasy, as both of them, being scholars, knew that all mythology is based on some truth.
Lindaro took advantage of the nights beside the fire to tell Sonea, in great detail, about his own incredible adventure in the Ilenian Temple of Ether, under the Egia Lighthouse. Sonea listened spellbound to his story, trying to make sure she did not miss the slightest detail, fearful she would miss some vital information.
When he finished telling the story, Sonea still spent hours interrogating the poor priest without letting him even breathe. At last the young exiled librarian was beginning to make sense of what she had experienced from the grimoire: the void and the ether. The pieces were beginning to fit, and that so overwhelmed her that she could barely sleep all night, thinking of all the possible implications.
On the third day they said goodbye to Flint rather sadly, after thanking him for all his help and giving him some gold from the Temple of Light. For a humble fisherman, a small amount of gold meant he would not go hungry during the winter.
“Be very careful, little mermaid. Don’t let the spirits of the deeps drag you down. Flint won’t be there to save you the next time…”
“Thank you, Flint, I’ll be very careful. Don’t worry, I learnt my lesson.”
The two scholars swung their bags over their shoulders and waved at the little boat, which was already moving away into the lake. They began their journey inland. They would reach their destination in two more days. What awaited them there they had no way of telling, but their determination was firm. They would discover why the grimoire had sent them to the great lake and what connection it had with the Ilenians. Sonea thought about the dangers they might face, from wild beasts to enemy soldiers, and decided with a sigh that it was better not to think. She shook her head with worry and went on.
They would come up with something if need arose.
Two scholars against the wild world.
Keepers of the Enigma
Haradin washed his hands and face carefully in the basin in his room, as it pleased him to do after dinner every night whenever he could. He dried himself with a linen cloth embroidered with the royal shield of Rogdon, then looked at himself in the oval mirror on the rough stone wall.
“Not bad… not bad at all,” he said to the face which looked back at him, grey-eyed, out of the mirror. “Time seems not to pass through you, Mage.” He stroked his fine goatee.
He carried his forty-five years of age very well, too well perhaps: or at least that is what the good people of the land said, intrigued and somewhat fearful. It seemed that Haradin’s hazardous life had not taken its toll on his appearance. He examined the fine features: smooth skin, intense grey eyes, blond goatee and long, still blond hair. Haradin was aware he was an attractive man ̶ at Court the ladies sought his attention. Nevertheless, the lack of a grey strand of hair or a single wrinkle on his face was certainly a mystery to those around him, even though nobody would ever dare say anything about it to a Mage. In truth, he did look like a man twenty years younger, and the passing of time did not seem to have had any effect on his face or body. Haradin remained permanently youthful and attractive.
“Will we still look the same in ten years’ time?” he asked his reflection, waiting vainly for an answer he knew would never come.
Haradin knew that although to some extent it was due to his being blessed with extremely good genes, the real reason for his youthful appearance was his Gift: the magic which lived inside him. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on his pool of energy, which was calm, like a lake of sky-blue water. That lake was so deep it seemed bottomless, for the power he held was unfathomable. Yet no matter how deep it might be, it was finite and could dry up eventually. Haradin was well aware of this. His magic had slowed down the aging process considerably in some way that was unknown to him. It was not something that the Mage would have done consciously, since he did not believe in interfering with the natural course of human life. Yet as this was the case, he accepted it gracefully.
His eyes sparkling in the light of the oil lamp, he smiled and winked at his reflection, acknowledging in it the young, adventurous dreamer and discoverer of other worlds which he had always wanted to be. Unfortunately his obligations to the Crown had kept him away from his true passion for years. He had to serve the King, the Crown of Rogdon, his nation. This is the weight a King’s Battle Mage must carry. There’s no doubt that this position represents an honor, but it also entails duties and responsibilities, which I can’t get away from, although I wouldn’t even if I could. I am a Mage of the Court of Rogdon and I must protect the Crown and our realm. He did have to admit that the King allowed him to attend to his own personal affairs when his presence was not absolutely necessary. But that was not the case in times of war, and unfortunately, these were times of bloody war.
He crossed the elegant room on the top floor of the Western Tower, which was his home in the royal castle of Rilentor, to the big window, and gazed upon the dark night. The clouds hid the moon, covering the sky and only let a couple of shards of silvery light filter through. A chill ran down his spine as if some treacherous mystical breath of freezing air had reached him through the walls of the majestic stone tower. He looked at the low fire burning by the northern wall, where thick logs still crackled cheerfully. He looked down at the long robe he was wearing and felt it with his fingers, the richness of texture and thickness. It was of excellent quality, grey, with Rogdonian decorations in silver thread. He should not be feeling the cold while wearing that, so how could it be that such a sense of freezing winter ran through his body? Haradin tried to shake off that unpleasant feeling by shrugging his sho
ulders and waving his arms, but did not manage to dispel it.
This is indeed a bad omen, very bad. Something’s going terribly wrong…
He turned to the fire and invoked warmth almost without realizing he was doing so, a simple spell to comfort the body, just as he had done uncountable times before. But to his utter surprise and dismay, the spell did not work.
“All the fiery demons!” He swore. “Can’t I even do this simplest of spells? Is this what I’m reduced to?”
Bitterly, he remembered the endless suffering he had lived while frozen in carbon in the chamber in the Ilenian Temple of Earth. He let out his breath in a long, resonant sigh. Damn that treacherous trap. Well, at least I’m still alive… he said to himself, managing to calm his frustration to some extent. I must thank the ancient gods for allowing Gerart and his expedition to find me in the final resting home of that Ilenian lord. If it hadn’t been for them, it’s quite possible that no one would have ever found me. A millennium of horror and suffering, trapped and carbon-frozen, that’s what awaited me down there.
He spread his arms and dropped them, striking his thighs with outspread palms. The sound of the blow filled the room, and he felt the hot sting. He still found it hard to believe that he had fallen into the last of the Ilenian traps. He did not understand how he had not been warned by his own magic. His Gift had not alerted him. Maybe being so close to the desired object had unwittingly blinded him for a moment, but it had been a fateful moment. He had overcome all the previous traps, managing to pass by the Ilenian Guardian Mage without his presence even being noticed by using a spell that had taken him months to develop. And just when he had the Medallion of Earth in his hand, his prized goal, the thing which had haunted him and which he had sought desperately, the moment of triumph had blinded him. In an unforgivable moment of inattention, without even realizing it, he had activated the trap that captured him.