Chapter 12: A Way Revealed
Early dawn broke as the small group awoke. They were about to head down the path to the open gates of Renadale when Sphergol stopped them and said,
“Wait! If you want to enter this city, you need a disguise.”
“How will we get a disguise in the middle of nowhere?” Ryan asked.
“We have to improvise,” Sphergol said. “Michael and I have the ability to change voices, and slightly shift body distributions temporarily.”
“We do?” Michael asked, surprised.
“Yes, we do. Very slight changes mind you, but changes nevertheless.”
Michael stared at her blankly for a few moments, obviously confused.
“Fine, I will explain the few rules of your magic. Number one, don’t strain yourself. Number two, think wisely in choosing whether to use magic or your enhanced physical strength, speed or intelligence, and number three is that you can cast spells to manipulate the world around you, if you think deeply enough into it. You cannot create anything, so your abilities depend on the environment you are in.”
“But in the history books it says the people could do anything. Why is it so different now?”
“The fullness of magic has been stripped of our land by the Being; the same Being who bestowed it in the first place. Nobody knows who or what it is, or if it is even of this world.”
“Then why would anybody have believed Aaron when he said I had used magic?”
“Because,” Sphergol said hesitantly, “there are other ways to become powerful, and none of them are good.”
“What do you mean?” Michael asked.
“There is a method of obtaining power by inviting dark spirits into your mind. The power comes at a high price however…”
“Sphergol, I need to know this. If there is magic out there I need to be prepared for it,” Michael urged.
Sphergol hesitated, then continued, “Through rituals, these humans gained immortality and power over magical energy. The Summoned, as they became termed, slowly died of mutations caused by the dark power inside of them. The few that have survived became purely consumed by the power and have gone mad. It is believed that Malumo was one of these magicians.”
“We haven’t got all day!” Reno said impatiently.
“Alright, let’s learn to hide in plain sight,” Michael said, though he was still curious about the Summoned.
The next hour went by with hair trimming or matting, voice changes, and wardrobe changes. Ryan tangled his hair with dirt and leaves then tore his clothes slightly. Reno threw flour from their provisions in his beard, lightening it to a flat gray. He hunched over on a stick, using it as a cane. Tristan smeared a thin layer of honey on his cheeks and upper lip, and Michael helped put hair trimming on his face to simulate facial hair. Michael stayed basically the same, but he allowed his hair to hang down over his eyes. Sphergol entered Michael’s mind once more.
“All our weapons are the same!” Ryan complained.
“That doesn’t matter,” Reno said. “All of our enemies who have seen them are dead.”
There is one more thing we must look for in this town, Sphergol said, and Michael relayed the message. We must watch for the crest of the Defre-Lanc. It is a picture of an F with a small c between the top line and the bottom line with a pentagon surrounding it.
“So we should go now?” Ryan asked. “Is there anything else we need to do first?”
“We can go; there is nothing else we need,” Sphergol answered through Michael.
As they approached the city gates they stopped by an armored guard bearing the black dagger on his chest and helm. “Halt! Stay where you are,” he said as he blocked the way with a spear. “By order of the supreme ruler of Jenoth, Malumous, I must check all travelers to assure that they are not the four disguised outlaws wanted for murder, evasion of custody from the capital city guards, and treason.”
“Please,” Reno begged “I am just an old performer, and I need to train my son before I pass on—”
The guard kicked Reno’s cane out from under him and laughed as he fell in the dirt.
“Hey!” Michael shouted and punched the guard in his armored gut. With an almost mocking smile on his face, the guard pulled a cruel knife out and slashed Michael across the jaw and then knocked him out with the black handle.
“Anyone else?” the guard beckoned, but neither Ryan nor Tristan moved.
Reno shook Michael to his senses. “Knife,” he whispered to Michael.
The prince grabbed the handle of the hunting knife he always kept tucked under his shirt at easy hand and slowly pulled it out of the leather case. When it was fully out of its sheath, he swung the sharp steel edge at the guard’s ankles. Michael saw the world in tunnel vision as the blade went straight through, leaving a trail of black smoke behind.
The guard’s legs began to disintegrate from his ankles to his head. Right before he disappeared, there was a flash, and an image of a hooded black phantom with red, glowing eyes burned onto Michael’s good eye. The image flew out of view, and all that was left was a pile of ashes.
“Great!” Michael spat after he made sure there were no witnesses. “Now we have a phantom after us! Is there anything Malumous can’t do?”
“Well technically speaking, yes,” Sphergol stated. “Sadly, that isn’t much, however. You will get stronger, but for now I doubt that you can even heal that small scratch on your cheek.”
“We should start our search for the crest now,” Reno said. “We will regroup in the city’s center at noon.”
Three hours had passed and the sun was just a short distance from high noon the wide band in the sky was light pink, as it always was during the day. There was still no sign of the crest. The group joined again in the middle of the giant square, beside the fountain.
“Did you find anything?” Reno asked everybody, whose reply was no.
“Maybe we should just move on,” Michael said, but almost on cue, there was a commotion in a corner of the square.
“Get out and stay out!” an old woman screamed, “I don’t ever want to see your kind around here again!”
Down on the ground, a man picked up a chain and yelled, “Your sister is now gone, and you’re next, witch!” He stormed off toward the barracks.
Michael looked up at the door as it slammed shut. It had an odd shape, sort of a pentagon. A square window was carved in the center and it had a curved bar from the top right corner to the bottom corner on the same side. A vertical board ran from the bottom right corner of the window, straight down to the bottom of the door. It was the crest!
“You won’t believe this,” he said to the others. “I see it!”
“What?” Ryan asked, trying to follow Michael’s stare. “Where is it?”
“It is the door!” Michael began to run for the small building.
“Michael!” Reno tried to stop him, but with no success.
A sign beside the door read, Alatha’s herb shop. Fortunes are one gold coin each. All travelers are welcome.
Michael entered the shop. “Hello, is anyone here? Alatha, are you here?”
A scratchy voice came from behind a black and red curtain. “Alatha is dead. She’s dead. Gone forever, she will never return.”
“I’m sorry; the sign said that this shop belonged to her,” Michael said as the aged woman emerged from behind the cloth wall. “What is your name?”
“I am Ahtala, Alatha was my twin sister. She was burned at the stake, and now I keep the shop under her name to honor her.”
She had silver hair half way down her curved back, deep wrinkles and straight teeth. Her eyes looked as if they were just barely alive—pale blue-gray dishes in her face.
Reno pulled Michael aside. “We need to ask her about the Defre-Lanc, but if we just suddenly mention it to her she may kick us out, too.”
“Just be quiet! I’ve got this under control,” He turned to the old lady. “Sorry, my father here just wanted to ask about the door, it�
��s very different than all the other doors in this city.”
“Well, there aren’t many people who are as creative as my sister was. So, did you want something from the shop, maybe a fortune telling?” She motioned to a table with two chairs. The table had a map of Magentara painted on it.
“We should get our fortune told – it sounds fun!” Ryan exclaimed.
“I suppose, it may tell us the safest route to our destination. Alright, I’ll do it.”
“Good, very good,” the woman said as the coins were placed in her palm. She lit a fire in a small dish that sat on the table, “These herbs will help clear your mind; they also break the connection of any voices…I hear voices sometimes…” The lady laughed eccentrically for a moment, and then her expression hardened.
“Wait!” Michael tried to stand up but it was too late, the smoke from the herbs had entered the prince’s lungs.
Soon after, Sphergol was ejected from Michael’s mind.
“No, it can’t be; the event prophesied ten centuries ago is coming true! What a joyous day!”
Michael jumped up and drew his sword, as Sphergol took her normal round shape. The others also held up their weapons.
“Do not be alarmed, I won’t hurt you. Please allow me the honor of fulfilling my part. I must tell you the way to find what you are searching for, a way to find what you need!” She grabbed his hand and went pale. Her eyes rolled back in her head so all Michael saw were the whites. She chanted in a strange language. It must have been the directions to the Defre-Lanc because then she said, “Under the Sea of the Dead, over the Black Sky, on the peak of Hytaran Thira. A way revealed!” She repeated this five times and fell unconscious.
Reno felt for breath and a pulse, but there was none. “She’s dead,” he said as he closed her eyelids and laid her on the floor. As he did, a note fell from her hand. Michael picked it up and read:
Before you leave, you must take the book titled Magentara’s Book of War and History. It will help you find the correct path on your journey to my people, the Defre-Lanc. Tell them that I have completed my life and passed on.
Your friend,
Ahtala
“We must leave,” Sphergol insisted.
“Where are we supposed to go? We don’t know where this Sea of the Dead is. It could be any sea in all of Magentara!” Ryan yelled in his new voice that was a fair amount higher pitch, as if he were twelve or thirteen.
“He is right. We can’t head for a sea that we don’t know the location of,” Michael stated.
“If we head toward the forest east of the city for cover, we will be able to travel toward any body of water in all of this Kingdom. That forest is almost the center point of Jenoth,” Tristan said as he looked up from the map embedded on the table.
“I agree, but the first thing we must do is leave this city, as Sphergol said,” Reno added.
Suddenly, a torch flew through the window and landed on the table. The northern half of the map lit first. The fire was blue over the water and green over the land. The rest was normal fire.
“We have to go to the northern gate!” Michael said.
“Why?” Tristan asked.
“Just trust me!”
The blaze quickly consumed the table and spread to the floor. Before the fire reached the shelves of books, Tristan dashed over and grabbed the thick book with the appropriate title and returned to the group near the door. “We can’t just run out, we need a plan!”
“We already have one,” Michael said as he picked up a wooden walking stick.
Reno opened the door and slipped out on the stick, hobbling and coughing on the smoke. Three soldiers ran up to arrest him, but they could never have expected what was about to happen. Michael tossed the axe to Reno and jumped out with sword in hand, followed by Ryan and Sphergol.
It was a battle like Michael had never personally experienced. Thirty armed soldiers bearing the dagger of Malumous all attacked the Sphere and four people. Unlike before, the armor was not enchanted so it was easier to fight them, but sheer numbers made it seem impossible.
Throughout the battle, there was no sign of Tristan. This made Michael feel as if Tristan were hiding something. Was he behind this?
Michael suddenly saw an arrow pierce the leather helmet of a soldier. At least I know that he is still here, Michael thought, not daring to glance away from the approaching soldiers.
Though soon only about ten men standing, each of the members of Michael’s group had been injured. Tristan, who had found a way to the roof of a nearby building, pulled a muscle in his back and a bow string had snapped and cut his face and arms. Michael, Reno and Ryan all had strained muscles, bruises and cuts; they were all exhausted.
“Circle them and close in!” the commanding officer shouted.
There was no possible escape. Michael lowered his head in defeat. He knew it was over.
“What are you doing?” Tristan shouted from the rooftop.
“There is nothing we can do, it’s over!”
“Have you forgotten your gift, and my gift to you? Use them!”
The arrow! Michael had forgotten it. I can do this! I can do this, I know it. He reached under his shirt.
“Keep your hands where I can see them!” the commander shouted.
Michael ignored him and removed the arrow wrapped in cloth from under his shirt.
“Put it down!” the man growled nervously.
“Gladly,” Michael said, releasing the concealed weapon from his grip. With his powers he made the bundle float away from his body level with his chest.
The commander cowered. “What sorcery is this?”
“It is the same as the lost magic of the ancient people of Magentara!” another soldier said.
Michael grinned as the cloth burst into flame, revealing the red hot steel and iron. He controlled the metal arrow and used a magical force to propel the hot projectile in a complete circle through the soldiers’ necks, killing them instantly. It was a clean death, and the smell of cauterized flesh wafted through the square.
Michael felt as if he had been stabbed by the arrow as well. The golden belt sent a paralyzing heat that knocked the prince off his feet. He began to shake uncontrollably and turned white.
Sphergol took the form of a strange liquid and entered into Michael’s body through his mouth and nose. She moved through his convulsing body, flowing through his blood and into his skull where she pressed her mind against his. The shaking ended and his breathing returned to normal.
When Sphergol emerged from his mind, the liquid had a reddish tint to it. She took her original form but unlike before had a red glow and was pale.
Michael sat up and gained his balance using the walking stick. “What was that?” he asked shivering.
“That was a fight in your mind between light and dark magic. Someone has been watching and waiting for a chance to corrupt you and if I hadn’t managed to enter your mind and intercept, you may have become one of The Summoned! I warned you about using your powers when you were weak!”
A moan escaped from Michael as he passed out once more, this time from exhaustion. Reno and Ryan carried Michael to the northern gate as Tristan nimbly ran from roof to roof searching for a safe way down.
Surprisingly, the gate was not guarded by a soldier. The three people carried Michael as they ran for freedom, but something stopped them.
A black streak flew across the sky toward the gate, angled back toward the ground and charged at them. It flashed from a phantom to a falcon and from a falcon to an eagle. When it was almost on them it grew hair, four legs, and a snarling snout with long fangs. The creature shed its wings, taking on the form of a massive black wolf.
The wolf swiped its paw at the four tired people and Magic Sphere, catching Ryan by the arm and slashing four parallel lines in his flesh.
The beast landed softly, and its black fur shone with an evil radiance. It waved its deadly dagger-like claws in the air before striking again. It gouged Reno and Tristan’s thi
ghs and they collapsed, bleeding. The wolf lifted his right paw and it transformed into a thin gray hand with sharpened black fingernails. It began to carve a strange symbol in Michael’s shoulder.
A gasp escaped from the prince as he woke to the burning pain of the claw. He strained to get up, but the giant beast held him down with his free paw.
Out of nowhere, another wolf pounced on the neck of the beast. This wolf was much smaller, and he had a white coat. He hooked onto the giant’s left side and bit hard. The huge beast reached up with his rear paw and kicked the white wolf off like a flea.
The injured travelers all wrapped cloth around their wounds so they would not lose as much blood, although they had already lost a lot. They crawled over to the corner of an alley, but to a spot where they could see what was happening.
The wolves circled each other with the hair on their backs standing on end. They showed their teeth, crouched, and pounced at each other. When the beasts were about to hit, the white wolf somehow angled down and grabbed the black one by the throat. He sank his teeth and claws into the major arteries of the black beast’s neck, killing it.
The monster wolf disintegrated, and the phantom reappeared. It was black and had tattered gray robes. Its red eyes burned like fire. The creature shrank back, but before it flew away, an arrow impaled its head, directly between the eyes. The phantom howled with many voices at once, until it exploded into black flames before disappearing. It was dead.
Who had killed it, and how? The travellers were dumbfounded. How can you kill a phantom? It wasn’t Tristan; he was right there. Sphergol didn’t seem to even care that the evil creature was gone, or that it was there in the first place.
She seems different; darkness seems to shadow her now. And why is she turning red?
The group crept out of the cramped alley and into the light of day. Their wounds slowed them exceedingly.
Michael was still trying to answer the question of what happened with the phantom when a boy suddenly jumped down in front of them. His brown hair was tucked under a black hood, and all but his blue-green eyes and small drapes of hair in front of them were hidden by a black cloth scarf. He was covered in some kind of a baggy, thick cloth that had been dyed black. A small pouch hung off of his belt, along with many knives and daggers of different shapes and sizes. His shoulders were narrow, and his hands were thin. He had a quiver of arrows, but no bow to fire them.
Michael recognized the clothing, and a rush of childhood memories flooded his mind. It was the uniform of the king’s personal bounty hunter; an assassin trained from the moment he learn to walk, sworn to serve whoever sits on the throne of Jenoth. Malumous sits on the throne, Michael thought to himself as he used what strength he had left to draw his sword.
“Nice weapon,” The mysterious boy said with an unnaturally deep voice.
“You defeated the phantom, but are you a friend or foe?” Michael asked suspiciously.
“That all depends on your perspective of a friend. Yes, I killed your phantom. However, was it wise of me? Probably not.”
“Do I detect sarcasm?” Michael asked, his royal nature taking hold of his tongue once more.
“No, it is just that… you seek so much and know so little…”
“What are you saying?”
The strange boy laughed then bolted down the alley, but the four injured people could not keep up the pace. Even Michael with his speed was no match for this agile young man while he was hurting so badly.
The prince looked back and realized that he had been separated from the others. He had no clue where he was or where to go to get out of this city.
The confused swordsman jogged down the narrow alley. He passed a shaded doorway with a cloth draped in front of the opening and kept on for a few steps, until something hard hit him in the back of the head and he dropped. His one-eyed vision blurred, and he went unconscious.
When Michael woke up, he was tied to a tree along with his friends, Sphergol was floating beside him. Something felt different though—his belt felt lighter. The prince dared to look down.
“That guy stole my sword!”
Sea of the Dead Page 12