Master of the Scrolls

by Benjamin Ford

  The manuscript was clearly the original half-finished work that would become The Master of the Scrolls, written in Isabella’s less than immaculate handwriting. Gloria had to remind herself that few people in this time could read or write, so the fact that she could decipher anything of the scrawl was a minor miracle. The binding was remarkably like that in which the completed version was itself bound.

  However, the rolled up parchment really captured Gloria’s attention, and she blew the dust and cobwebs from it. It was obviously so very old that she was almost afraid to handle it, lest it crumble in her hands, but as she carefully unfurled it, she realised there were two distinctly separate parchments, one smaller than the other. They were made of what appeared to be different kinds of animal skins – though clearly neither was the same type that bound the manuscript – the larger stained with age and coated with mildew in places, the smaller singed at the edges, cracked where it had once been folded in haste. She squinted at the writing. The ink was clearer on the larger parchment, but on the smaller section, it had faded to a kind of sepia, almost unreadable against the hue of the parchment. With dreadful insight, Gloria realised the nature of the ink.

  ‘This is human blood, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Human blood, mixed with other things, inscribed upon human flesh! It is difficult to read, but it is intended to read with ease when held afore firelight.’

  Gloria barely prevented herself from throwing the parchments at James. Instead, her curiosity got the better of her and she returned her attention to the writing. There were several different samples of handwriting on the larger parchment, as though more than one person had scribbled things down as random thoughts came to them. Latterly a few familiar words began to appear, but they were infrequently interspersed amid countless phrases in other languages she could not read.

  ‘This is Isabella’s handwriting, isn’t it?’ said Gloria, pointing to the bottom part of the main section of parchment.

  ‘Yes.’

  Gloria pointed to the uppermost handwriting. ‘What language is this?’

  ‘It is Olde English, written by the hand of Merlin himself.’

  ‘Merlin? Olde English? We never learnt that at school, so it’s no wonder I can’t read it,’

  ‘Few can, even in my time. It has not been a spoken language for several hundred years. Further on it becomes Middle English, written unnaturally many years since by Samuel Wylams!’ James stared pointedly at Gloria. ‘Know you his history?’

  ‘Only a little… enlighten me?’

  ‘As Isabella wrote of it, she can tell the story better than I.’ James opened the book, flicking through the pages until he found the section he was looking for. ‘I hope you can read it.’

  Gloria took the book as he offered it to her. He sat beside her and Gloria read what she could understand, with some assistance from James, translating it into English she could appreciate.

  translation of THE LEGEND OF SAWYL GWILYM

  from the journals of Isabella Trevayne

  Sawyl Gwilym was perhaps twenty-five when he ventured away from his Western homeland, and on the borders of Wales and England first encountered the already legendary Merlin, one of the most powerful mythical Wizards to have ever lived.

  Now, some people believe Merlin to be just that, a myth; but what is myth if not fact, distorted through the ages, a twisted fabrication of truths from unknown origins, passed on by word of mouth down through the Centuries.

  Whatever you may choose to believe about Merlin, I can assure you that Sawyl Gwilym is real, for I have met him, to my shame.

  He goes now by another name, but his countenance is as evil as it always was. For now though, let me begin with what he told me of his past.

  For some years, Sawyl Gwilym was apprentice to Merlin, learning his magic, practicing his spells, preparing his potions and assisting the great Wizard, watching all, yet remembering more.

  Up to a point, Sawyl was an excellent pupil. Though once he had written down his spells, Merlin quickly realised his folly, for should they fall into evil hands, those same evil hands might use them for the most heinous of misdeeds. His intellect superior to Sawyl’s, Merlin subsequently committed to memory every one of the secrets that his pupil was forced secretly to commit to parchment.

  Neither teacher nor pupil foresaw the coming of Nimue, a woman whom Merlin came to love, a woman whom Merlin invested with an ever-increasing amount of time and devotion. In a short space of time, Merlin taught her more magic than even Sawyl had learnt.

  Enraged with jealousy, Sawyl betrayed Merlin. Bewitching Nimue, the pupil spread false words about his teacher, who became imprisoned for all eternity by his love in an invisible tower, which existed in a different realm of reality, before Nimue herself vanished from existence.

  Sawyl stole Merlin’s secrets and fled, never again seen by those living at that time.

  For many score years, his life prolonged and protected by Merlin’s stolen magic, Sawyl Gwilym roamed the uncharted territories beyond the known World, spreading fear and chaos wherever he went, searching for the one fabled secret that had eluded even Merlin himself, until finally his quest returned him to these shores with the invading Danes in the year 835. Now approaching five hundred years in age, and using the name Vilam, his time on this Earth was half over as he secreted himself within the caves atop that which would become known as Wicca Hill, where he continued about his business, trying to perfect the last great secret that would grant him the ultimate power.

  The potion he stole from Merlin to unnaturally prolong his life essence was not without ill effects. The potion can prolong a life only by one century at a time, and a maximum of ten potions may be imbibed, after which a further infusion of the potion shall become poison to the blood of he who would drink it, resulting in a most agonizing death. With the passing of the millennia, however, the drinker would wither and die painlessly of accelerated old age within twenty-four hours.

  Merlin had known that the secret of immortality itself lay hidden within the mysteries of Alchemy. Turning base metal into gold was one thing that even Merlin had achieved; progress further with the spell and produce the Elixir Of Life. Merlin knew this, but was unable to produce the Elixir. Vilam chased every rumour he uncovered, yet still the secret evaded even him. It became an obsession, which plagued him for several hundred more years.

  We are drawing to the end of the first third of the Sixteenth Century, and Vilam goes now by the name Samuel Wylams, though some locals know him as the Warlock of Wicca Hill. He has reluctantly sought out the help of a woman, for he has even more reluctantly come to realise that the female intellect is superior to the male.

  I am the woman appointed this task.

  Bewitching me to do his bidding, and using all the knowledge he wrote, my female intuition somehow stumbled upon the very secret for which he has been searching. I managed to keep this fact a secret from him, and James and Peter rescued me before he discovered my subterfuge.

  Of course, he is furious at my escape, and it can only be a matter of time before he realises I have discovered the secret. We know he shall do anything to retrieve the parchment, but to protect it is something for which we have all agreed to lay down our lives.

  We cannot destroy the parchment. Anyone who should attempt to do so shall discover the reason. We can but hope that we might keep it from Samuel long enough for Merlin’s potion to wear off finally and for Samuel to die!

  Gloria looked at James incredulously as they finished reading together. ‘So the completed version of The Master of the Scrolls that I found might be a rewritten fictional account of events, but this original incomplete version is actually Isabella’s journal! It is all true; the secret of immortality really was discovered!’

  James nodded sadly. ‘All his life, Sawyl Gwilym sought to be more than a mere warlock. He wished to become the only living Alchemist to achieve unimaginable power, to attain the unthinkable – immortality. The hidden secrets of the lost art of Al
chemy are many. The ability to transform a base metal into gold is but one; the ability to imbue a person with unnatural unending life is but one more.’ James paused, staring at Gloria. ‘There is a third secret property of Alchemy, not common knowledge, and mayhap more are yet still undiscovered.’ He took both parchments from her grasp and pointed to the Olde English section. ‘Merlin here lists the ingredients needed to create the liquid into which metal objects must be immersed to transform them into gold. One such ingredient is the blood of a human male virgin, sacrificed on the Summer Solstice. The quantity of liquid created is exact: deviate but a little and the magic shall not work; combine several quantities and the magic shall not work. As such, only small metal objects may be transformed into gold. And here,’ he pointed to the Middle English section, ‘Sawyl Gwilym describes the manner in which the liquid should be produced, a passage he added afore he betrayed Merlin to Nimue and stole the great Wizard’s secrets, including the parchment itself, one of Merlin’s few existing written spells. Isabella’s writing tells of the extra ingredients and the order in which they should be mixed which, when added to a specific quantity of the Alchemic liquid, will create the draught of the Elixir Of Life.’

  ‘And what of this section?’ Gloria asked, indicating the smaller piece, the handwriting again belonging to Isabella.

  ‘This describes the third Alchemic secret. Mixing precisely the right quantity of the Elixir draught with yet further exactly measured ingredients shall produce an ink of magical properties. There shall be just the right amount of ink to write, on the flesh of the same virgin male whose sacrifice helped create the original Alchemic liquid, a particular spell. That spell shall give the person who holds both the parchment and an object transformed into gold by the Alchemic liquid, the ability to travel through time. Sawyl Gwilym wrote the original spell,’ James jabbed at the Middle English section, ‘which was useless to him since it was not written in the magical ink.’

  Gloria was aghast at the implications of James’s words. ‘Everything had to be so precise, so exact, and Isabella rewrote it in the mystical ink? Does that mean she sacrificed some poor innocent man? My God, did she not think what she was doing?’

  ‘She was bewitched by Sawyl – Samuel!’ James corrected himself. ‘I try to think of him as Samuel Wylams rather than Sawyl Gwilym, for I feel it gives him less power over my fear. She was bewitched by Samuel Wylams.’

  ‘Okay, so Isabella still retained enough of her own free will to keep from him the fact that she had uncovered the secret; but to write down the spell, and in the magical ink! What was she thinking? Was she crazy? What if Samuel had found it? What if he had drunk the elixir that had to be produced in order to create the mystical ink?’

  ‘Nobody drank the elixir. Isabella writes in her journal that she discarded it the instant she created the ink. Anyhow, it would make no difference had she not written it. Samuel already wrote down the incantation upon the parchment, and while she was bewitched, Isabella wrote down the secret formulae for both the elixir and the ink; it would be but a simple task for Samuel to create all three Alchemic properties!’

  ‘So why not destroy the parchment?’

  James sighed. ‘We tried. The parchment is bewitched. It cannot ever be destroyed. It cannot be cut into pieces, any more than it may be burnt. You see afore you the condition of the original part, even after more than one thousand years! Whatever the cost, Samuel Wylams must not gain possession of this parchment. Peter and I swore an oath to prevent that from happening. We know not exactly how many years he has left to him afore the potion he used to extend his life might wear off, but we know it to be soon, and that he cannot drink it even once more.’

  ‘Then he will be desperate to get hold of this parchment. You managed to keep it hidden from him this long. Hide it again!’

  James shook his head. ‘As you say, he is now desperate. I cannot fathom why he has not tried in the six months since he banished Isabella’s spirit, but he shall surely soon recklessly endanger his very existence to gain custody of the secret. Only beheading or the swiftness of old age as the potion wears off can end his life.’

  James frowned as he glanced across to Gloria, aware that she had suddenly gone very quiet and very still. Her back was rigid, her eyes closed. The only movement came from her fingers as they clenched and unclenched convulsively. Her breath came shallow but regular; short breaths, much like Isabella’s in the months after her return from Samuel’s clutches.

  Even in the gleam of the midday sun, the glow that embraced Gloria’s countenance was ethereal. Like a frightened rabbit that had spotted the fox before the fox espied it, James stood slowly and backed away. The glow increased in its intensity, almost like flames, licking at her from within, as though some fiery demon struggled to attain freedom from the prison of her body.

  ‘Be gone from here, foul demon!’ he whispered. Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes as he fell to his knees, unable to take his eyes from Gloria’s body, unwilling to look into her eyes.

  A small well of blood appeared just below the gold locket hanging at her breast.

  Murmuring incantations to ward off evil, James crouched low, making the sign of the cross. He clutched the parchment protectively against his chest, reaching as he did so for the knife, ever present at his waist since Isabella’s death. He was ready to take whatever action was required of him should Gloria turn out to be demonically possessed – perhaps under the influence of Samuel Wylams himself.

  James almost choked when, with a rattling intake of breath, gurgling with spittle, Gloria’s eyes snapped sharply open, staring sightlessly ahead, yet at the same time seemed to bore directly into him.

  The eyes were not the friendly eyes of the Lady Ria Snowfield. They were fiery eyes that burned red with fury. The woman before him was no longer Gloria; her body a mere husk, a vessel through which another spirit had gained corporeal existence.

  James hoped and prayed, whispering protective incantations, and then Gloria spoke, her voice quiet in the silence of the room, softer even than James’s laboured breathing. The voice was not Gloria’s, yet he recognised it instantly.

  ‘Be not afraid, my love. I am come bearing hope.’

  James stopped cowering, crept forward to kneel before the figure, his eyes wide with anticipation. ‘Isabella? Can it be you, my darling?’

  As the fiery glow diminished from the eyes, Gloria’s countenance was still visible, but mistily enshrouded by another, smiling ethereal visage. ‘Yes my husband, it is I.’

  ‘I understand not how you come here, nor why. The Seer said she could not return your spirit to this world – ever!’

  ‘It is true I am banished from this world into which I was wrought by Thaumaturgia Anathemas, my spirit cursed to wander through the mists of eternity by that loathsome creature, Sawyl Gwilym, but by some wondrous fortune I have found such a vessel through which I can make my voice heard to warn of his return.’

  ‘You mean the Lady Ria Snowfield?’

  ‘Gloria Schofield is her name in her own time. I inveigled my spirit into her dreams and oh, what joy it was to discover life again, however fleeting. But Sawyl Gwilym has found me again. Even within the dream realm I cannot escape him it seems.’

  ‘How come you to be here, now?’

  ‘My spirit and Gloria’s are conjoined. It would seem there is some mystical connection that even time itself cannot break. I have seen such wonders, my love, but now I have real purpose to my actions. The parchments must be taken from this time.’

  ‘Where – when must they be taken to?’

  ‘Remember not how it was written in the flames? You must give them to us. We must return to Gloria’s time. From there I shall guide her.’

  The ghostly apparition reached out through Gloria’s own out-stretched hand, gently caressing James’s cheek. ‘My love, I have missed you so. But we shall be reunited with the passing of time.’

  As James reached up to touch the hand that tenderly caressed him with su
ch familiarity, a tear trickled down his cheek.

  ‘Weep not for me, my husband. All shall be well.’

  James looked into her eyes, and was saddened to see only Gloria staring back at him: of Isabella, there was no sign; even the well of blood at her breast was gone.

  ‘Are you all right, James?’ whispered Gloria, seemingly unaware that anything supernatural had occurred.

  Wiping his tears, James nodded. ‘You are so beautiful. I feel I have known you my entire life. I only now realise how sad I shall be at your leaving.’

  James brandished his knife, opened the unfinished version of The Master of the Scrolls and slit through the binding at the back. He carefully folded the parchments and slipped them into the damaged binding.

  ‘You must take this with you when you return to your own time. It shall be safe there, for by then Samuel Wylams shall be no more.’

  ‘I thought he was already reincarnated once, but I fear I must have been mistaken. I now believe someone else in my time is his reincarnation, someone very close to me. However, should he not be a reincarnation, what if his spirit is able to take over someone in my time? James, of one thing I am certain – Samuel Wylams would never let even death prevent him achieving his goal!’

  ‘Well then, perhaps it can be later taken to some future time where there is no evil? Perhaps a time when future magic can protect the secrets it reveals.’

  Gloria laughed sardonically. ‘I don’t think such a time can ever exist! Eden? Elysium? It’s a nice idea, but a hollow one. Perhaps this secret could somehow find a use for ultimate good rather than becoming a tool of evil.’ Her mind was drifting again.

  ‘Samuel Wylams must be prevented from using this secret to become a master of time,’ said James. ‘As an immortal man he would have the ability to travel through time, to create objects of gold at will and whatever other powers he could uncover. Such a thing must be prevented from happening. We must prevent it at all costs!’

  Gloria touched his arm. ‘Then I shall help, in any way I can. I’ll take the manuscript and parchments with me.’