“The sun’s setting, and I think we'd all agree to setting up camp to rest," announced Shomnath as he walked into the small grove. "The battleground is only a couple hours hike from hear, so we can continue in the morning," added the prince. Shomnath was extremely pleased with the group's lightened mood, but was shocked when Baymar stood in protest.
“Unfortunately, that's not an option. I have to get the séance going tonight,” said Baymar. After he spoke he wavered and grasped onto a tree, still obviously off balance.
“Don’t be ridiculous," laughed Shomnath. "You’ve more than proven yourself today. Besides, we all need the rest.”
“Proven myself?” scoffed Baymar. “I have lived twice your life boy, and proved myself before you were born. If we don't go tonight we waste a full day. I can only call Ambrosia in the mid of night, when the spirit realm is listening.”
Upon hearing those last words, Pall looked over his shoulder into the trees. The sun had already begun to set and it was quickly becoming dark. Shomnath paused in thought, but couldn’t argue Baymar’s point if he wanted to. The prince knew nothing of spirits aside from campfire stories. Nonetheless, they couldn't afford to lose another day.
“Then we go right now. Just the two of us,” agreed Shomnath, before turning to Pall. “You’ll wait here with these two, they need the rest most of all.”
“We can’t let ye…” Pall started to protest, but was cut short.
“Don’t worry my friend, I’ve explored this wood since my teen years, and I know it like the back of my hand. Trust me, most of the legends about this wood are nothing more than fairy tales, meant to keep children from wandering too far.”
“Most?” asked the dwarf, brow furrowed.
“Except the ones about people vanishing into thin air, those are true,” smiled Shomnath.
Pall wasn’t happy with the answer joke or not, but looking at Kala and Rolo’s present condition was all the convincing he needed. Rolo was awake, but still made no effort to rise, while Kala kept one arm cradled over her bruised ribs.
“All right, but don’t dilly dally,” said Pall. He cringed, hardly believing that the words came from his lips. Kala didn’t attempt to hide her smirk.
“If their conditions turn for the worse, have them drink this,” said Baymar, handing Pall two small vials that he pulled from his bottomless bag. They were filled with the same blue liquid the cleric had used earlier on Rolo. Pall hesitantly pocketed the vials, and gave Shomnath a helpless look. He was the only one who’d left the battle of the griffins unscathed, and felt more than a little guilty.
“We’ll be fine,” assured Shomnath as he started walking, motioning for Baymar to follow. “You just protect our friends!” he hollered.
“We should be back before the morn,” added Baymar.
“What do ye mean, should be?” asked the dwarf.
“I mean what it means," teased Baymar. "And keep watch for the spirits, they may be attracted to the smell of all the blood,” he added, then vanished into the woods behind the prince.
“Oh yeah?" called Pall. "I hope ye aint wearing any other stupid clothes, like a dragon skin belt, ye crazy wizard!” Pall shook his fist in the air, but his friends were already gone. Then, realizing darkness was creeping over the forest, the paranoid dwarf hurriedly searched for firewood, all the while looking over his shoulder for spirits.
Shomnath and Baymar found the ancient battleground after a couple of hours, just as Shomnath predicted, although the sun's light had long faded from the sky. One moment, the two of them were pushing through waves of prickly grass and thorny brush, and then the next moment they were in a dead zone, which aside from the random weed was void of any vegetation.
Nothing thrived in the area, whether bush or tree, and a backdrop of stars and the moon made up the ceiling of the barren alcove. The cleric noticed at once that the air here was thick with an underlying scent of sulfur. Although they were out in the middle of a forest, the smell triggered memories of his laboratory. Specifically, the memory of how his lab smelled after he worked on explosives.
Baymar sat to rest on a nearby stump as Shomnath became animated, much like a toddler explaining his toy room. The prince quickly walked to and fro narrating the ancient fight, each time pausing to sweep his torch out and aim a beaming smile at the cleric. He illuminated combinations of fallen tree, molten rock, skeletal remains and rusted armor with sweeps of his torch. It was a historical panoramic, recounting the story of a ferocious battle. The show climaxed when Shomnath brought light onto the skeletal remains of the dragon, which Baymar mistook for a group of sharp rocks.
This drew Baymar from his seat, now feeling nearly as giddy as Shomnath looked. Baymar practically floated towards the bones while the prince puffed his chest out with pride.
“I thought you’d like this,” said Shomnath.
“I have only read stories, but this, this is truly breathtaking,” Baymar said and he ran his fingers over the dragon’s cheekbone. “They were such magnificent creatures.”
The dragon bones were in excellent condition. From nose to tail, the skeleton stretched at least fifty yards long, yet it was the pose that struck Baymar as peculiar. Usually the remains of any slain animal would be on its side in a fetal or defensive state, but it seemed as though the beast simply sat down for a rest with its chin on its paws and never got back up.
“This is where I found the armor,” claimed Shomnath, snapping Baymar from his daydream. He was standing several yards from the dragon’s giant skull, next to an old rotted tree stump.
“Sir Williamdale’s remains were the only one's brought back to Somerlund for proper burial," said Shomnath. "I brought my father’s investigators here when I first discovered the area, and I can assure you that aside from observation and note taking, the area is still completely unbothered, with everything in its original place.”
Shomnath continued walking around, pointing here and there, boasting upon how intimately he knew the area and each detail, but Baymar was already ignoring him. The wizard had developed a talent for shutting out the world. Instead of listening to the proud history lesson, he sat down and immediately began pulling items out from his bag.
First to come out was a spell book, before three purple candles that he stuck into the ground around him, roughly forming a triangle. The candle wax was nothing special, but the wicks within were magical braids, supposedly woven from the hair of faeries.
“Do you see this tree? No one could figure out why it is lying over here, when it was definitely uprooted a hundred yards away...”
Shomnath continued on somewhere in the distance, but Baymar continued to blot his chatter from thought. He was patiently drawing symbols on the ground around him in between the candles. He drew with white ash that he drizzled from a powder horn. They were the runes of spirit sight, which would focus mystic energy into the fairy fire once the candles were lit. After he was satisfied with the runes, he sat cross-legged with the book in his lap. When he was pleased with the aesthetics he took in a few slow, deep breaths.
“Put out your torch and don’t say another word,” instructed the cleric.
Shomnath stopped mid-sentence, surprised at the cleric’s sudden curtness. Baymar noticed his hurt expression and momentarily offered a look of sympathy.
“We haven’t the time to reminisce," he added, softer. "You can tell me all about it after we get what we came for.”
Shomnath gave a nod, and then doused his torch in the dirt. A little disappointed that the cleric wasn’t interested in his story, he grudgingly walked over and sat behind Baymar’s setup.
As he took his seat the cleric bent forward, whispered a few words, and then blew onto the tops of the candles. The wicks caught and suddenly let loose a stream of sparks high into the air in a magnificent blast of light. As quick as they were to flare up, they just as speedily simmered down to purple flames that were no larger than the flame on any ordinary candle. What wasn’t ordinary was how the forest around them
suddenly went aglow in a light, lavender hue. The prince enjoyed Baymar’s magical light show until the very moment he saw them.
First one, then two, then several more red forms appeared before them, wriggling free from unseen cracks in the darkness. They were soldiers, guessing by the garb they wore, but they didn’t have the stern faces of warriors. They looked lost, or more fittingly oblivious, and they all bobbed in place several feet from the ground. Closer observation revealed that the apparitions floated above piles of rusting armor and decaying bone. Shomnath handled this sudden change in scenery well, until he made eye contact with the soldier floating closest to him. When he looked closely into the empty, white orbs, from where a pair of eyes should have met his, Shomnath panicked and grabbed a fistful of Baymar’s cloak in attempt to get his attention.
“Let go of me!” scolded Baymar.
“But…” stammered Shomnath.
“They won’t harm us,” assured the older man, and the prince loosened a bit, but his weary expression held as he cautiously watched the spirits floating overhead and throughout the area.
Aside from the gentle bobbing, the spirits occasionally swayed side to side in tempo with the trees around them, riding the invisible breezes that rattled the woods. Shomnath nervously scooted just outside of the ash circle to be closer to Baymar, who was focused on a lone phantom floating high above all the others. Leaning back without taking his eyes from the red blur, he cupped a hand and whispered into Shomnath's ear.
“They are remnants of the dead," Baymar whispered.
"Lost souls, stripped of their wits when their life was torn from them. If you die a peaceful death, your life energy will drift away to the light with your soul in tow. If your life is taken violently, they separate, leaving a confused husk of a soul. The lost soul will spend eternity looking for its home. The one highest up in the air is Ambrosia. I'm going to draw her soul to us, and then we can ask her anything we want.”
This was all that Shomnath needed to hear in order to confirm Baymar's insanity, and he immediately crawled several feet away from the old man. He felt safer sitting next to the dragon’s skull, although he wondered why no giant, red phantom loomed over the skeleton. He turned to Baymar, who was pointing his left index finger at Ambrosia’s spirit, while holding his right hand over his heart. He was reading from the book on his lap, chanting one verse the entire time.
“Ago agere egi actum phasma atis,” said Baymar, and he repeated the tome over and over again in monotone succession.
After about the tenth repetition, the tip of his index finger flickered red. It wasn’t very bright, but a mellow red, much the same as the spirits above.
Shomnath looked up then, to see that Ambrosia’s phantom was steadily gliding down to Baymar, rocking side to side much like a leaf falling from a tree. He nervously looked to the old man, who was so deep in meditation that he seemed unaware of his surroundings.
Instinct told the prince to shout a warning, playing against every bit of faith he’d gained for the old man thus far. He stood ready to yell, but just as the words surfaced from his lungs, the phantom reached Baymar’s extended finger and exploded, drowning the forest in a bright, red light. Shomnath cowered in reflex and began to run away, only to ram violently into the dragon's skull, rolling it onto its side.
Then, dizzy from the crash, the prince found that beneath the skull a glimmering treasure awaited. It was a magnificent golden broadsword, looking as shiny as if it were newly forged. It reflected the red lights of the spirits above brilliantly, but only now they were no longer calmly floating about. The explosion from Ambrosia's contact with Baymar upset the spirits, waking them from their stillness, and now they were zipping all about the grove like an angry swarm of insects.
Terrified, the prince found that not only had Baymar lost control of the situation, but also was bent over fast asleep, with his face planted in his spell book. He would have thought the old man to be dead, if he weren't still mumbling the words of the spell.
Above, the action escalated, and the red spirit soldiers morphed into a screaming, red tornado, that grew until all of the other spirits were swallowed up in the maelstrom. The last image Shomnath saw before blacking out was of the soldiers red faces, screaming out from the center of the whirlwind. Only now they weren’t so oblivious. Their faces held one common expression, rage.
And then, in a blink of an eye, it was morning.
Wake up you twit!
Baymar always did have the tendency of talking to himself, but he couldn’t remember ever calling himself names. As he stirred from slumber he was startled when sunlight burned his eyes. It was already well into the morning judging by the intensity of the sun, but that couldn’t be right. It had been decades since the last time he slept, but that was obviously the case here.
His aching head felt like an anchor to the rest of his body as he pulled it from the open book on his lap. He was still sitting cross-legged, and being hunched over in the awkward position for the entire night wreaked havoc on his back. Just sitting upright was a new hell, but he overcame the discomfort quickly, as memory of the prior night seeped through the blurry forest scene around him.
It took several moments of deep breathing for the dizziness to fade enough for him to focus and regain his bearing. The candles had melted to the ground, leaving three coins of purple, melted wax in their place. In the near distance he heard soft snoring, which he assumed to be coming from Shomnath. Slowly, he glanced down at his spell book.
Ago agere egi actum phasma atis? Please, say that isn't the spell you cast last night! said a woman's voice, and then suddenly the cleric’s memory came back in full.
“Ambrosia?" said Baymar. "It worked! You can hear me!”
Baymar smiled into the air, looking all about, suddenly very giddy and proud. His most favorite feeling in the world was the joy that followed performing a new spell successfully.
More than hear you, you oaf. Do you realize what you’ve just done? No, of course you don’t, because if you did you wouldn’t be smiling like a complete dolt, said Ambrosia.
The first thing that Baymar noticed about the sorceress was that she didn't sound impressed one bit. Baymar looked to his spell book absolutely puzzled. It was a powerful spell, enough to catch the eye of any wizard. Then a thought struck him.
“Ambrosia, how are we communicating in the day?” he said.
Oh, you are a clueless one, she answered.
“I am not clueless,” he retorted. “I drew your soul to your material connection so I could speak with you. Could a clueless person pull that off?” He couldn’t understand why she seemed so upset. The way he saw things, a soul should be happy to be rejoined with its life essence, because only together could they ascend to a better place. So focused in thought, he didn't hear Shomnath wake.
My material connection? Ha! Oh, you’ll be getting much more than a conversation.
“What do you mean by that?” Now Baymar was worried.
“Who are you talking to?” asked a waking, stretching Shomnath. When the prince realized how late in the morning it was, he rose from the ground slightly startled. “We need to go back," he said. "The sun is already up, and the others will be worried.”
Go on. Tell him who you're talking to, prompted Ambrosia.
“That’s who I'm talking to! Don't you hear her?” shouted Baymar, hands waving in the air.
After a short pause, of listening to nothing but the natural sounds of the wilderness, Shomnath shrugged helplessly.
“I don’t hear anybody,” laughed the prince. "But look what I found last night. I its Sir Williamdale’s sword! Can you believe it? It was under the dragons skull all this time.” Shomnath lifted the golden sword and waved it side to side, smiling at Baymar the entire time, but the old man seemed to be lost in thought.
He couldn't hear me, said Ambrosia, because that is a soul-binding spell. You’ve bound my soul to yours, oh master wizard.
“No! Are you sure?” Baymar asked.
<
br /> “Let me see,” said Shomnath, assuming that Baymar was speaking to him. The prince then tilted the sword and pantomimed inspection. "A gold sword, under the skull of a dragon that was slain by a general famous for his golden armor and sword. Yes, I'm fairly sure it was his."
“No, not you, I’m talking to Ambrosia,” said Baymar.
Am I sure? Oh my dear, dear, mageling. I wrote that book, said the voice in his head, to which Baymar acknowledged by slowly opening the cover of the book in front of him. He searched out the author’s name, and as plain as day, inside the cover, in the bottom right corner of the first page, in flamboyant longhand, was one name. Ambrosia.
Baymar’s skin paled.
“Are you okay?” asked Shomnath.
“Bound your soul, to mine?” said Baymar, further confusing Shomnath. “Gods what have I done?”
Evidently, not what you intended, said Ambrosia.
“Could you please tell me what’s going on?” Shomnath pleaded, but was further ignored.
"And the effect is...?" said Baymar.
Permanent, said Ambrosia.
The word hung in his mind, and for a moment Baymar forgot about the Evernight, the blue diamonds, and even the giant stone turtle waiting for them back at the camp. In the world of wizardry, permanent was one of the words that you didn't want to hear after an experiment.
“I have encountered a slight problem,” Baymar said to Shomnath.
Slight? said Ambrosia.
“Slight?” echoed Shomnath.
“Ambrosia seems to be stuck in my head,” answered Baymar.
Stuck in your head? laughed Ambrosia. You cast the spell, so don’t make it sound as though I just happened to wander in here and forgot my way out! It’s your fault I’m in here, and don't you forget it!
Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) Page 14