by Logan Joss
‘At the heart of every story there is a truth,’ Ormostrious said, frowning over his glasses but unsurprised by Burtlùs’ reaction.
Trevor had listened intently to the story, his mind racing to make connections. ‘The fragments of parchment that you found all those years ago, were they from the Ëláryians?’
‘Yes, I believe they were,’ Ormostrious said, turning to face Trevor.
‘So the doorway at the end of the story: that was the glÿmpse?’
‘That is my belief.’ Ormostrious nodded slowly and tapped the scroll on the table with a long finger. ‘I believe furthermore that this scroll is an exact replica of one inscribed by the Ëláryian who was left behind.’
Burtlùs scoffed good-naturedly. ‘How can you possibly know that?’
Freya gave him a silencing look and turned to Ormostrious with a half-hearted smile. ‘Do you think there is something in these scrolls of yours, that will help you fix this glÿmpse and get Trevor home?’ she asked gently.
‘To my knowledge, this is the only way that our friend Trevor will be able to return home.’ Ormostrious sat thoughtfully, stroking his beard. ‘And yes, I do believe there is something here to tell me what I need to know.’ He paused and thought for a moment. ‘There is much I can show you: artifacts, parchments, books…’ He stood and began striding around the table to the bookcase. ‘I haven’t looked at these things in such a long time…’
With a clink, something fell from Mèlli’s lap to the stone floor and slipped between Ormostrious’ feet. He reached down to pick it up.
Despair
Curse them! Curse them! These broken hands. These crippled fingers. Every day they become worse, their movements more restricted.
I trace the outline of the last symbol from the scroll fragment, hindered only by these useless appendages that grasp the quill. The thing that incenses me most is the body that deteriorates around my still keen mind.
Time is running out.
I replace the quill between my fingers with the other crippled hand. It takes a moment.
There is no one here to defuse my ill humor. I prefer it that way.
I begin again. Steadying the hand that writes with the other. But it is hard. It is so hard.
My temper flares. I grab the quill and squeeze in my clenched fist until it snaps. I allow calm to return, holding my breath. My eyes close.
I open the box beside me and take another quill. Again I place it between my fingers using my other hand.
I finish the symbol at last. Now I begin annotating the new parchment. I will need this soon.
My notes are arranged on the table next to me. I know them all. When the time comes, I will recite these ancient words in the order I now write them.
Time is running out.
I start writing the words in order for the first time. I take my time so the hieroglyphs are clear. I will have only one chance when the time comes.
I use the ancient language, not because I fear another using them, but because I respect those who wrote the original text. That is where the power lies.
Steadily I repeat these ancient words. I feel my fingers tire. They begin to ache. I ignore it.
I force my hand still with the other. But now my fingers shake. I curse them. I curse myself, my broken body. My mind is still keen, and stubborn.
My fingers cramp. I slip.
Curse them!
Anger wells again. This time I fail to control it. It consumes me. I take up the inkwell in my claw-like hand and throw it with as much force as I can muster.
It smashes against the wall. For a moment my frustration subsides. But then I realize what I have done. I stagger to my feet. Awkwardly. Painfully. Now my only thought is with the many artifacts, scrolls, fragments. My notes. My research.
The ink runs down the wall. Splatters across the parchments.
I despair of my actions.
It is this body. It hinders me. It frustrates me.
I know time is running out.
I dab at the spilled ink with a claw full of blotting paper I took from the desk.
I curse myself.
Most of the ink comes away, only faint blurs left behind. But I curse myself. Some of the ink refuses to leave as it dries.
I hate myself.
I catch my reflection in the bookcase door. It is not me, I tell myself. The knurled fingers. Swollen elbows. The hunched shoulder.
Time is running out.
I dab harder and harder until I realize the damage has already been done.
As I stand, forcing myself not to look at the reflection, I remind myself that this world needs me.
I will leave it soon enough.
But not before I save these pitiful creatures and the planet they inhabit. They need salvation.
I cannot help but wonder whether I have enough time left.
I am so close.
13
The Map Box
INTRIGUING,’ ORMOSTRIOUS MUTTERED to himself as he examined the silver box between his long, bony fingers. ‘Where did you get this?’
Mèlli jumped out of his chair and made a grab for the box. ‘Give it back!’
Ormostrious held the box high above his head, out of Mèlli’s reach. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked again.
‘I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinking’ Mèlli said, jumping up and trying to reach the box.
Ormostrious’ voice was calm. ‘I was merely asking how this came to be in your possession.’ He looked down, peering over the top of his spectacles at Mèlli, and pursed his lips.
Mèlli was still now, and silent, unsure whether to say anything.
‘It’s his mother’s,’ Trevor blurted, jumping to Mèlli’s defense. ‘Or it was anyway.’
Ormostrious’ eyes widened. ‘And how did your mother come into possession of such an item?’
‘She was a relicker, but she’s…’ Trevor’s voice trailed off as he caught the stern expression on Mèlli’s face.
‘I can speak for myself, Trevor,’ he said. ‘It was my mother’s. That’s all I know.’ Mèlli folded his arms and stood, staring at Ormostrious with a defiant look.
‘Ormostrious, do you know what it is? Is it valuable,’ Freya asked, in an attempt to diffuse the situation, glancing cautiously at Mèlli.
‘It’s a map box,’ Ormostrious replied, ‘but…’
He turned and strode away, disappearing again through the bookcase and emerging moments later clutching an armful of scrolls which he placed on the table.
‘It’s a map box,’ he repeated. ‘They used to be quite common; travelers and merchants used to carry them all the time, but now they’re obsolete, of no particular value. This one, however, is different.’ He held the map box out in front of him. ‘See these markings on the outside? The glyphs. They reminded me of something I’d seen before. Look.’ He unrolled one of the scrolls on the table and placed the map box down next to it. ‘Look at these symbols on the parchment. They have the same arrangement as the ones on the map box.’ Ormostrious’ eyes were wide with amazement and he even managed the beginnings of a smile.
‘The writing on this parchment—it looks like the writing on the scroll you showed us before,’ Trevor said.
‘Yes indeed. I believe this map box may have been created by the same people who made the glÿmpse.’
‘It’s that old?’ Mèlli said. ‘I wonder what’s in it? Do you know how to open it?’
‘Well, let’s have a look, shall we?’ Ormostrious picked up the map box and began turning it over in his hands, placing his fingers over the glyphs. ‘Most map boxes would be opened using a specific sequence of twists and turns, or by applying pressure in certain places. Sometimes they had hidden sliding panels or buttons,’ he said as he carried on trying to open it. After a while, he sighed and put the map box back down on the table next to the scroll. ‘But this one doesn’t seem to open by any of the usual methods.’
Ormostrious folded his arms across his chest, one han
d twisting his long beard thoughtfully. ‘Hmmm. I wonder…’ He picked up the map box again and placed it in his open palm. With the other hand, he touched each glyph in turn in a particular sequence. With a click, the top and sides of the map box split and unfurled like the petals of a flower, shrinking in on themselves as they did so until only the base of the box remained.
Trevor and Mèlli stepped back, their mouths open in amazement, and watched as a cloud of metallic-grey smoke erupted in a jet from the base and spread out to form a flat oval cloud which hung in the air.
‘Intriguing,’ Ormostrious said as he placed the flattened box down carefully on the table. The cloud remained suspended above it. ‘Now let us see what secrets you are hiding.’ In a controlled, flowing movement, he passed one hand over the surface of the metallic cloud and the smoke resolved itself into the peaks and troughs of mountains and valleys.
‘Wow, it’s a map!’ Trevor exclaimed. Mèlli just nudged him with his elbow and rolled his eyes.
Ormostrious continued smoothing the map with his hands, revealing greater detail until it became clear that this was a map of the whole of the five continents of Ëlamár. They all leaned over the map in wonderment as it slowly resolved and coalesced until it was solid and still. At once, five markers appeared—one on each continent. Those on northerly Borreós, on Natorós in the south and on the eastern continent of Eÿranea, glowed a dim white, whereas the one on westerly Aànemoy was an amber-colored glowing glyph. The marker on the central continent of Mèssorós, however, pulsated rhythmically in shades of turquoise and pink.
‘Wow, there’s lights! And some of them are moving. Look, there’s one of those symbol things. What do they mean?’ Trevor leaned closer and closer in his excitement.
‘Trevor, get your head out of the way,’ Mèlli complained.
Ormostrious was curious about the light on Mèssorós. He pinched the map between his thumb and fingers on either side of the pulsating marker and drew his hands apart. This had the effect of zooming in on the map. The smoke shifted and swirled before reforming to give a view of just the central continent.
‘Is that rus?’ Freya asked, leaning in for a closer look.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Ormostrious said. He pinched the map again and zoomed it in for a close-up view of the south-western part of Mèssorós, where rus was located. He then zoomed it into the city itself, but all that was revealed was a small collection of buildings surrounded by wilderness.
‘So where’s the city then?’ Freya said.
‘This map box was made long before the city of rus, as we know it, existed,’ Ormostrious explained.
‘What does the flashing light mean then?’ Trevor asked, pointing to the pulsating light at the center of the collection of buildings.
‘Hmmm…’ Ormostrious stroked his beard and pondered.
‘It’s the Great Library!’ Mèlli said, reaching into the pouch across his chest and pulling out a leather-bound journal. He flicked through the pages until he found what he was looking for, then lay the book down on the table at a page with a diagram showing the outline of a town and the words ‘The Great Library’.
‘Interesting,’ said Ormostrious. ‘How did you come across this book?’
Mèlli reached out and touched the book, stroking the pages gently, his eyes welling with tears.
‘It was my mother’s.’ Overwhelmed with emotion, he dipped his head and turned and ran out of the room.
‘I’ll go after him,’ said Freya with a sigh, following the boy.
The room was silent for a moment before Trevor explained. ‘It’s his parents. They’re both dead. They were both murdered.’
Trevor looked around at the stunned faces before him and considered how horrifying that was. To have had both parents murdered. To be all alone. At that moment, Trevor realized for the first time how alone Mèlli really was. He thought about how his life must have been since his parents’ death and wondered how he had coped all on his own.
Burtlùs’ eyes were downcast and he had an air of guilt about him. ‘I had no idea,’ he said, thinking to himself that he would have been a little kinder to Mèlli had he known. ‘When? How?’
‘Mèlli will have to tell you that himself,’ Trevor said.
A mood of contemplation settled over the room. Ormostrious picked up the leather journal and began leafing through it, peering intently at the drawings and notes written within. As he did so, he made ‘hmmm’ and ‘ah’ sounds, his thoughts revealed by small nods of his head and the raising of his eyebrows. Trevor and Burtlùs watched him in silence, unsure of what to say.
Then Ormostrious’ attention was drawn to the map once more. He stood over it, pinching and pulling it and zooming in to look at the other areas with the strange lights. Trevor edged closer to get a better look. The light on the eastern continent seemed to be located in swampland. There were no buildings there at all. Then they looked more closely at the western continent and that strange orange glyph. Ormostrious zoomed the map in as much as he could and in doing so the glyph broke up into small pieces which resolved themselves gradually into words. The writing was a series of strange hieroglyphs like on the scrolls.
‘Fascinating,’ Ormostrious muttered and scurried away, returning with a quill and some parchment. Fluently and proficiently, like someone who had done this many times before, he copied the glyphs onto the parchment.
At this moment, the silence in the room was broken by the door opening and Freya following a sorrowful Mèlli back into the room. Burtlùs pulled out a chair and gently ushered Mèlli into it, taking the seat next to him. Trevor looked a little uncomfortable and sidled around the table to take a seat on the other side. Sensing the mood in the room, Freya went over to the fireplace to make a pot of láven.
Ormostrious walked over to Mèlli and crouched down beside him. ‘Trevor has told us that you have met with great tragedy.’ He looked at Mèlli with gentle eyes. ‘I know that it is going to be difficult, but do you think you could tell me what you know about these items—the map and the journal. And are there any others that you know about?’
‘There was lots more, but I lost it, okay,’ Mèlli blurted out, his face crumpled and full of regret.
Ormostrious placed a reassuring hand on Mèlli’s arm. ‘It’s okay. Take your time. Start from the beginning.’
Mèlli took a deep breath and tried hard to compose himself. Then, with a shaky voice, he started to speak.
‘I remember it like it was only yesterday. It was such a beautiful morning. I was woken by the sounds of my father sorting out the equipment shed. I opened the window and leaned out and Father looked at me and said, ‘Spring’s come early.’ He tried to get me to come and help but I didn’t, I just went to see my mother in the study. I always loved watching her work. She had a constant frown while she was reading her papers and sorting through her artifacts, but then when she found something interesting or important I could see it in her eyes and she’d smile that lopsided smile of hers.’ Mèlli gazed off into the distance, remembering. ‘Then I heard my father coming up the stairs. I thought he was just going to tell me to go outside and get some fresh air like he usually did. But he didn’t. He burst through the door saying a galleon that he didn’t recognize was landing in our garden.
‘He and mother looked out of the window and saw the men draw their swords. Mother started packing a satchel full of all kinds of papers and artifacts and pushed me into the bedroom, thrusting the bag at me. She told me to get out onto the roof and not to come down under any circumstances until she came to get me. I climbed out onto the roof and hid.
‘I could hear men’s voices and the sound of a scuffle from in the house. Then I heard my mother’s voice. She was pleading. I peaked around the window and saw some men dragging her into the middle of the room by her hair. I couldn’t see their faces, but I remember one man had shiny gold buckles on his boots. There was lots of shouting. Then someone dragged my father into the room and the man with the boots put a sword to his neck
. Mother tried to stop him but she couldn’t. He slit my father’s throat. Mother was crying and trying to escape but they just slit her throat too. There was so much blood. They just left them lying there.
‘I hid on the roof all day, hoping they wouldn’t see me. It was dusk when they left. I’ll never forget the sight of that shining black hull flying over my head. I stayed there all night too. I was too scared to go back in because I knew what I’d find. They’d ransacked the whole house; it was completely destroyed. I don’t know what they were looking for but I expect it was something in the bag my mother gave me.
‘I didn’t know what to do. I had to step over the bodies of my mother and father; there was no other way out. I remember the way their eyes looked—still open but lifeless. I plucked up enough courage to take the pendant from around my mother’s neck, then I just ran. I ran out of the house and just kept going. I had nowhere to go so I just kept running until I couldn’t run any longer. By the time I stopped, my mother’s bag was empty except for the journal and the map box.’
Mèlli slumped in his chair, exhausted.
Ormostrious took both of Mèlli’s hands in his. ‘I’m so sorry Mèlli,’ he said gently. ‘I cannot begin to imagine what it must have been like for you all this time.’
The thoughtful mood that filled the room was interrupted by a loud knocking sound at the door, which startled the group back to the present. Looking around, they realized how dark it had become.
‘Shall I answer the door?’ Freya asked as Burtlùs began lighting some firestone lanterns.
Still holding Mèlli’s hand, Ormostrious peered over the top of his glasses at the boy. ‘We have a lot to discuss, you and I.’ He reached out an arm and picked up the open map box. With a flick of the wrist, it collapsed back in on itself to become a silver cube once more. ‘Until then, take good care of this.’ He looked with earnest deep into Mèlli’s eyes as he handed the precious object back to him.