Father Vickor searched the knifer’s eyes a moment, then laughed.
Jiron grinned. “Well, maybe in part. Mainly it’s so that the ship will be as seaworthy as possible when he awakens.” As one, they turned to where Miko continued administering to an unconscious James.
Chapter Forty-Six
The long dusty road wound through the foothills. Trees grew densely along the way allowing a traveler to see little more than up to the next bend in the road. There was a touch of coldness to the air, like a chill one would find early on a crisp, spring day.
Frist a turn to the right, then another to the left, he made his way along the road. Rays of the midday sun would intermittently pierce the thick canopy overhead creating surreal beams of light contrasting the shadowy dark.
A breeze gently wafted along the route, ruffling his hair. An errant strand slipped its position which he absentmindedly brushed back into place.
His feet were sore and his stomach was empty. Drifting along with the breeze came the odor of sausages cooking over an open fire. Stomach cramping, he quickened his pace.
As he rounded the next bend, an old-timey country church came into view. Dating from the eighteen hundreds, the once white structure had seen better days; a good portion of the paint had stripped away. The old steeple sat tilted, and where a bell had once hung was now the province of a bevy of fowl.
A wisp of smoke rising from behind the church brought the mouth-watering aroma that he sought. Walking through the long grass, he made his way around back.
Standing at a grill with tongs in hand stood someone he hadn’t seen in several years and had in fact hoped to never see again. Four and a half feet in height with skin that’s a dark greenish color, he wore a blue apron that had the words “Kiss the Cook” embroidered across the front. A crazy felt hat sat atop its head and he smiled as James approached.
“Want a dog?”
Using the tongs, he turned the four brats so they wouldn’t burn.
James nodded.
Igor nodded to the wooden picnic table nearby. “Have a seat,” he said. “Be ready in a minute.”
On the table was a two liter of Diet Pepsi, a couple glasses filled with ice, and the standard set of condiments and sides one would expect at a picnic where brats were the main course. The potato salad looked especially good.
Filling a glass with the soda, he drank it down. It felt so good after not having any for so long. “Man, that’s good.”
“Drink it all if you like,” Igor said. “We have plenty.”
James refilled his glass then glanced around the church’s backyard. “We?”
“You and I.” He motioned toward the buns. “Get yours ready and help yourself to whatever you fancy.”
“Thanks.”
His mind reeled with the ramifications of this meeting. Readying two buns, he put a line of ketchup down a single side of each, spooned a healthy portion of the potato salad on his plate and then grabbed a bag of chips. The fact that Igor was here couldn’t bode well; no, not well at all.
“Here you go,” Igor said, bringing plate with the four sizzling brats to the table.
James took one, put it in his bun.
“Just ketchup?”
James nodded as he took a big bite. “I prefer to taste the meat, not the extras.”
Igor shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He on the other hand piled his brat with so many condiments and extras that the brat was all but buried.
James chewed slowly as he eyed the creature across from him. He had yet to figure out just what he was, and his angle. True, he had been instrumental in his coming to this world and becoming perhaps the most powerful mage of the age. But his motives behind doing so had always been puzzling. Was he a good guy, bad guy, or just had a vendetta out against Dmon’Li? On the surface he leaned toward Igor being good, but there was no way of knowing for sure. Frankly, James didn’t care, he merely wanted nothing more to do with him. Life got complicated whenever he was around.
“Beautiful place, isn’t it?”
“Very peaceful,” James agreed.
“Been abandoned for some years, sorry to say.”
“Oh? Were you here in its heyday?”
Igor shook his head. “No. But I do know that the people here were good, hardworking folks who took their faith seriously and strived to live according to their principles.”
“What happened to them?”
“Sometime around the turn of the twentieth century, their crops suffered a blight and most were forced to move to greener pastures. The community never recovered.”
James finished his first brat then started in on his second. “Why am I here?”
“Can’t two friends share a meal without there being a reason?”
The look James shot him said he knew this meeting was anything but social. “Are we friends?”
“Well, we certainly are not enemies.”
James kept quiet while he slowly ate his second brat. There were thousands of questions demanding answers, but knew from past dealings that Igor would tell him only what he wanted him to know, and nothing more. Another reason he wanted to be shed of this creature. Rather than waste his breath, he waited for what would follow.
Seeming to understand his thoughts, Igor chuckled.
“You grew up in a church, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” James replied. “My family has a long history with the church.”
“But you’ve never been that serious about it?”
“Is that a question or a fact?”
Igor shrugged. “A little of both, perhaps.”
“I can tell you I’ve been a little less serious about it since coming here,” James said matter-of-factly. “Gods here tend to be…” he paused a moment before saying, “meddlesome.”
Laughing, Igor said, “True enough. It’s a young world, and as such humans are more easily swayed. Some to the good, others to evil.”
“Which is better?”
“That, my friend, is a matter of perspective. I’m sure those following an evil god would say that to do evil is better, while those serving good would argue the point.”
James used a chip to scoop up some potato salad, chewed it thoughtfully, then asked, “What does this have to do with me?”
“How would you like to start a temple?”
Eyes widening, James chuckled. “Me? Miko would be better suited.”
“I didn’t say you had to run it,” Igor clarified. “A temple to Morcyth would be fine.”
“And is it to be a grandiose cathedral? Something to last the ages and inspire awe and reverence?”
“Hardly.”
“Then what?”
Igor paused a moment then said, “Think of it more as akin to Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.”
James chuckled. “I always loved that song.”
Igor nodded. “I know.”
“So, what? Set up a Chautauqua tent outside some town?”
“If you like.”
“Why?”
Igor shot him a stern gaze. “Because it needs doing,”
“But there are more important concerns right now than setting up some useless temple. An army is invading, the world seems to be coming unglued, my family is off on a ship and I don’t know whether or not they will be safe, and you want me to cool my heels and become a preacher?”
“Again, I didn’t say it had to be you,” Igor replied, patience wearing thin, “just that you need to be involved. And your family is safe. They will make it to Cardri without incident, so do not worry.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
“Do it or not,” Igor said irritated. “As always, you humans set the course of your own destiny.”
He waved his hand and the world faded away.
“James?”
Miko’s face filled his view as his eyes opened.
“What happened?” he asked in confusion. It took a moment to realize that he was no longer in that other place.
“You were knocked unconscious when your spells exploded,” Kip said.
Sitting up, he looked around at the ship still glowing with the power of Morcyth. He saw that he laid on a pallet next to Eddra, then noticed the missing main mast and how the ship listed to port.
“The hole…!”
Miko laid a calming hand upon his shoulder. “Azhan has it under control.” Then to Father Vickor he said, “Get Jiron.”
“Where are we?”
“Still far from land,” Miko replied.
“And dead in the water,” Jiron said as he approached.
James glanced up at the sky and saw no sign of the shimmering fields.
“They disappeared after your spells exploded.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That makes sense.”
Jiron knelt on one knee next to him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired and a dull headache,” he said as he ran his fingers gingerly over his scalp. “Other than that, fine.”
“We need your help,” Jiron explained.
James arched an eyebrow questioningly at his friend. “What now?”
“Well first off, Azhan is doing his best but the ship sustained far too much damage when your spells went off for him to fix it. We’re taking on water.”
“We have Captain Anyn and his crew bailing,” Scar explained as he joined them. “They’ve been at it for half a day and are on the verge of exhaustion.”
“With Azhan plugging the holes, he’s not able to call the winds,” Jiron said. “Even if he did, we don’t have any masts left standing and the endeavor would be pointless.”
James nodded. “So you need me to get the ship moving?”
“If you think you can,” Scar replied. “Otherwise we will have no choice but to abandon ship.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Taking Jiron’s hand, he pulled himself to his feet. A bit unsteady, but they felt like they would support him. “How far away is the land?”
“Captain Anyn seemed to think over an hour.”
“I doubt I can sustain the magical requirements to push this entire ship through the water like I did with Anyn’s dinghy.”
“Any ideas?”
“Give me a moment.”
He walked the ship and considered the problem. At the hatch leading to the hold, a line of sailors transferring buckets of water from one to the next sent a steady stream overboard one bucket at a time.
Only ways to propel a ship is either with sail, which was no longer an option, or an engine which they did not have nor the propellers to go with it. He thought he could maybe throw one together magically, but that felt a bit complicated and to maintain the concentration for that for over an hour didn’t seem possible. It needed to be something simple with few moving parts. Then it came to him.
“How about a paddlewheel?”
“What’s that?” Jiron asked.
“Think of a waterwheel but with paddles instead of buckets.”
“Will it work?” Scar asked.
He thought a moment, then nodded. “I think so.”
Moving to the stern, he passed by the bucket brigade as they continued bailing the water from the hold. The looks they shot him were anything but pleasant. The fact that Tinok and Shorty stood nearby with the former using a knife to idly digging dirt from beneath his fingernails might have had something to do with it.
Once at the back of the ship, James closed his eyes and imagined an old Mississippi paddlewheel. He first fashioned a spell to bring into being two long support arms that stretched from the rear of the ship out and down a ways. Next came the paddlewheel; a central spoke around which he created a dozen long, thin shields to act as paddles. A final spell to start the thing in motion and it began to propel the ship across the water.
“Fascinating.”
He turned to Jiron and nodded. “Ships using these were quite popular where I come from many years ago.”
Miko extended his glow to encompass the paddlewheel so as to avoid attracting the shimmering field.
A cheer sprang up from those on the bucket line once they realized the ship was moving.
Azhan and Hikai were staring at the wheel with rapt attention. He could almost hear the whirring of their thoughts as they sought to figure out how he did that. In no small part he was worried about having them around. With every spell they witnessed, possibilities of what can be opened up for them. He dreaded what he might unleash on this world through them.
The vision of Igor remained strong, not dissipating as had happened so many times before. A temple? He still found it hard to figure out the logic of that request. Didn’t this world already have more than enough? Sighing, he knew he would do it. Igor had yet to steer him wrong and to the depths of his being, knew that this had to be of paramount importance for the god-like being to approach him.
He worried about what might be going on that he had yet to learn that prompted Igor to make such a request. Did it have something to do with the shimmering field? The invaders? Or is something else on the horizon that was even worse? He tried not to contemplate that.
He noticed Jiron gazing longingly off toward the northwest.
“Missing them?”
“We’ll be back together by nightfall.”
“What?”
Jiron turned to James. “That was the last thing I said to them, ‘We’ll be back together by nightfall.’”
James laid a hand on his shoulder. “They are safe and will make it to Cardri without incident.”
“How do you know this?”
“A mutual friend of ours told me.”
Momentary confusion was quickly replaced with understanding.
“And that’s not all.”
Miko joined them and he related what Igor had told him. It took nearly two hours for them to make landfall and during that time, they argued about the logic of acquiescing to his request. Jiron wanted to head immediately for Cardri to reunite with his wife and daughter, and damn anyone or anything that got in his way.
“No!” Jiron finally said. “I will not do it.”
“Look,” James said, “Igor has never steered us wrong. If not for bringing me here, you would have no wife and daughter. If not for training you and introducing you to The Pits, you would not be the person you are today, respected and a leader among your peers.
“Time and again he has done things that at first made no sense but in the end worked for our betterment.”
James laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s a matter of do we trust him?”
“I don’t.”
“Would you trust Kehlan?” he asked.
Kehlan of course had been the guise Igor had used when he had found Jiron as a boy and trained him for The Pits. He had been a mentor and friend to Jiron, had taken him off the streets and made him more than he could ever have been on his own.
Jiron remained stubborn.
“I can’t do this on my own,” James said. “We need you.”
Silence hung between them. “Are you positive they will be safe?”
“So Igor said and I believe him.”
“As do I,” agreed Miko.
James could see the stony fortress of his resistance crumble away.
“Where do we do this?”
“I don’t know.”
“For how long are we to continue?”
James shrugged, “That remains to be seen.”
The ship lurched to a halt as the keel ran aground on the shoreline. A shout of thanksgiving sprang from those on the bucket line.
“So,” James said, “are you in?”
Jiron glanced from James, to Miko, then back before nodding.
James breathed a sigh of relief and grinned. Slapping his friend on the back, he said, “Great. Now, let’s go build us a temple.”
Story to continue in
Book Three of
Travail of the Dark Mage
(as yet untitled)
Appendix I
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br /> Bones and Daggers
-Each player begins with 10 Daggers and 5 Bones.
-Object of the Game: Capture all the enemy’s Bones.
-Playing field is typically a square board 12 x 12 though in some areas this varies.
-At beginning, each player can place his pieces on any spot and in any configuration in the three rows closest to them.
-Object of the game is to take all the opposing player's Bones.
-Daggers can capture either the opponent’s Daggers and Bones. Bones can capture nothing.
-when captured, the Bone is placed beneath their captor and the Dagger becomes a Long Dagger, able to move 2 spaces.
-each subsequent capture adds another move.
-the default limit is three moves to a Long Dagger. If players wish the number to be different, they must agree upon it before play begins. When no limit is imposed, players can get Long Daggers with staggering movement capabilities.
-there are no restrictions upon movement.
-Bones always move one.
If an opponent’s Long Dagger is captured, the top piece is placed beneath the capturing Long Dagger allowing it another additional move, and all of the previously "captured" Bones beneath it are returned to play. They can be placed anywhere along the player's back row.
So if a player captures a Long Dagger having 2 captured pieces beneath it, the top piece would be placed beneath the capturing Long Dagger, and the two captured Bones would return to play on the capturing player’s back row.
Sayings:
-'Bleeding in the Gutter' Player is down to his last bone and defeat is imminent.
Appendix II
Preview of the first book in the new series entitled
The Improbable Adventures of
Scar and Potbelly
This book has yet to be titled
-1-
Smoke hung heavy in the common room of The Gnashing Teeth. A seedier dive on the waterfront, the Teeth held the reputation of being the hairy, unwashed armpit of Castin, a large port on the Sorba Sea. Those who pass through her doors were the worst of the worst and as likely as not, blood would flow as easily as the ale.
Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two Page 60