The Sorcerer's Tome

by Philip Sealey

  Tom was slightly alarmed by this revelation, but having been in this strange world for a while, he was beginning to become a little more accustomed to its strange inhabitants. After all, he had already met Death; after that, a werewolf didn’t exactly make you need a change of undies.

  “Do you actually change into a wolf?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, swallowing a bite of raw meat. “Only on the three nights around the full moon though. You’re alright. That was last week. I have to report to the pound. It’s the law.”

  “The pound?” Tom urged.

  “That’s where all the werewolves go at the full moon. It’s quite nice, really. It’s like a big family reunion. We all meet at the pound, have a buffet and a few drinks, maybe a bit of a sing-song, then just before the moon rises we all get locked into separate cages till the morning. But, oh, the noise when the moon comes out. You wouldn’t believe it. That’s why we call the full moon ‘the howling’,” she took a swig from her goblet.

  “I can imagine,” said Tom.

  “Has its downside too.” Lyca went on. “You can’t go travelling too far. Got to be back for the full moon, see. If you don’t report to the pound, you get arrested. My friends went travelling around the country, but I couldn’t go with them.”

  “Has anyone heard from Val?” Garren asked. “He said he would meet us here.”

  “He’s always late for early meetings,” Dan said, wiping his greasy mouth.

  “He’ll be here. Old reliable, that’s him,” Lyca said.

  The group sat and chatted as they finished their breakfast and the lovely warming spiced mead. Despite being stranded so far from home and the thought of the dangerous task he was about to embark on, Tom felt quite content. The snow-covered scene was picturesque and gave him a Christmas thrill, the smell of the spit roast and the hot spiced wine warmed him inside while the blazing brazier warmed him on the outside. Even his feet had thawed. Tom, who was never at ease around people he did not know very well, felt quite comfortable with his new companions, even more so when he realised that the hostility he thought he sensed between Lyca and Dan was really nothing more than playful banter.

  They began arguing again, this time about the little man’s name.

  “Don’t call me that, dog girl,” Dan snapped.

  “Why not, Dandelion, it’s your name isn’t it?” Lyca jibed.

  “I don’t like it. So don’t call me it.”

  “I think it suits you,” Lyca tormented.

  “I’m gonna get you a muzzle for that snout in a minute,” said Dan, rolling up the sleeves of his green cloak revealing thick muscly arms with what looked like Celtic designs tattooed on them. He reminded Tom of Popeye; all he needed was a little white sailor’s hat and pipe. Tom sniggered as Dan pulled a pipe out from inside his cloak and began to fill it from a pouch.

  “What you laughing at?” Dan demanded.

  “Nothing,” Tom replied defensively. “You just remind me of someone.”

  “You ain’t got Fairies at the bottom of your garden, have you?” Lyca asked loudly.

  “Fairies!” Tom exclaimed. “No.”

  “Cos Dandelion here is a Fairy, see.”

  “It’s Dan,” he shouted. “And I prefer the term ‘Woodlanders’ if you don’t mind.”

  “He has a complex about being a Fairy,” Lyca explained, enjoying every second of Dan’s annoyance. “He doesn’t think being a Fairy is macho enough, that’s why he’s into bodybuilding and tattoos. His mum’s hoping he will grow out of it one day and become a happy little Fairy.”

  “Lyca, leave him alone,” said Garren coming to his red-faced companion’s aid.

  “You’re not exactly how I imagined a ... Woodlander to be,” said Tom, diplomatically using the preferred term.

  “Well, I’m bigger than most when in this form, but in my normal form I expect I’m more like what you imagine,” said Dan, calming a little. He held his hand about six inches above the table. “Bout so big, wings that glow when in flight.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know you could change shape,” Tom said, impressed. “And Dandelion? Parents hippies?”

  “When a Woodlander is born, he or she is named after the first flower to open its petals on the following morning. Stupid tradition really. I have a brother and two sisters, all called Bluebell and my eldest brother’s called Snowdrop.”

  “Bet that gets confusing,” Tom said.

  “Darn right.”

  “Here he is, told you he’d be here,” Lyca said. They all looked up and saw a tall figure approaching. He had a very long black cloak that almost reached the floor with a hood that came right over his face obscuring it completely. “Mornin’ Val.”

  “You took your time,” Dan complained. “Thought you’d stood us up.”

  “My apologies, I do not, as a rule, do mornings,” Valcris’ voice said from beneath the hood.

  “Are you having breakfast?” Garren asked.

  “No, thank you,” Val replied. “I ate before sunrise. If everyone is ready, shall we go?”

  The group left the warmth of the fire, hoisted their various packs and bags and left the square. Garren led the way, with Lyca and Dan bickering behind him and Valcris and Tom bringing up the rear. They were well spaced so as not to appear to be all together.

  “How are you this morning Master Knight?” asked Val.

  “OK, thanks,” said Tom, he thought that Valcris sounded a little frailer than the previous evening as if he were ill or very tired.

  “I trust Garren has fully explained the severity of the task we are about to undertake,” he said.

  “He’s told me of the dangers if that’s what you mean.”

  “Ah,” Val said. “And you are still willing to go?”

  “I have to. If I don’t, I’ll never get home, and I’ll have to hide from this Balfour bloke forever,” Tom answered. “At least this way, if we get away with it, I get home, and you are all free of him.”

  “And if we don’t get away with it?” Val asked.

  “We have to,” Tom said quietly.

  “I have a feeling not everything has been told,” Val said.

  Tom knew he meant the key. Garren had not mentioned that Tom was the key to the Dragon’s Tome last night. He was glad. The thought that some secret mystical power resided within his body scared him. He was happy for the knowledge of it to be limited to Garren, Rita and himself, for the time being anyway. Perhaps Garren thought that if he told the others that they would be taking the key right into the lair of the man trying to find it and use it to complete his evil power they would not have agreed to go along with the plan.

  “Don’t worry; I will not press you. I trust Garren’s judgement,” Val said. “But forgive me, I cannot see how an unremarkable human child will be able to deliver the people of this realm from evil as the Ancients foretold.”

  Tom thought for a moment, then said, “Neither can I.”

  “But it seems that both Garren and Rita are convinced you are the one. If you truly are then I wonder why you are here now,” Val mused. “It is too early.”

  “Rita said something like that,” Tom said. “She said that Balfour’s reign is just a prelude to the evil to come.”

  “I think,” said Val solemnly, “she is right.”

  They walked on in silence for a while, considering the graveness of this theory. Tom realised that if he was this saviour that everyone believed him to be, which he very much doubted, and the evil he was supposed to save them from had not yet descended on the world, he would not be going home anytime soon. If that were the case, then their current plan would fail. He tried to put this terrible thought to the back of his mind and concentrate on the present.

  They had taken the road to the side of the tavern, which took them up quite a steep hill. The little thatched cottages had once more replaced the larger buildings and by now the morning was well underway. There were more people around, mostly heading towards the marketplace the companions had just l
eft.

  “Can you even see where you’re going?” asked Tom as Valcris stumbled.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Val answered. “It was just a stone hidden beneath the snow.”

  “Why do you wear that hood? It’s not that cold.”

  “I do not wear it to keep the cold away,” Val replied. “I do not feel the cold. It is to keep the daylight away. I cannot tolerate daylight.”

  “What, a skin condition is it?” Tom asked.

  “No, I am a vampire, did you not know?” Val said, surprised.

  “No way!” Tom exclaimed. “Really?”

  “Of course,”

  “Like Dracula? I mean, you know, sleep in a coffin, drink human blood and turn into a bat and fly around and stuff? I knew I saw you use mind control on that barman last night.”

  Val laughed, “You should not believe all you read in fairy tales,” he said. “We do need blood to live, that much is true, but very rarely human, it is a little... rich for our palette. We definitely do not turn into bats or wolves or rats or any other animal.”

  “But you were bitten by a vampire, and you died?” Tom asked, his curiosity taking over.

  “Not precisely. I was the child of two vampires. I was as alive as you are and grew from a boy to a man. When I was nineteen-years-old, the vampire gene took over, and I just died one night, for no reason. Two nights later, I woke as a vampire, complete with this awful accent. My parents were so proud.”

  “Oh,” Tom said with perhaps a little disappointment. “I didn’t know vampires had kids.”

  “Most of us are born these days,” Val explained. “But my father and mother lived in the old world. Where you are from, I believe. They were both turned by an ancient vampire by the name of Vladimir Domitrovich, who, so my parents tell me, was born a human over two and a half thousand years ago and became a vampire by making a pact with a demon. Perhaps he was the first of the modern vampires. Oh, there were tales of vampires before that, in the writings of ancient civilisations and in cave paintings, but they were as far removed from us as apes are from you.”

  “Have you ever been to my world?” Tom asked. Valcris seemed to know a lot about its history.

  “No, I never have, but my mother would tell me tales of it when I was a child. Now I teach history at night school, or at least I did before this ridiculous curfew was brought in.”

  “You’re a teacher?” Tom said, surprised.

  “That is my profession,” Val replied. “But I have not practised since Balfour came here. None of my brothers may work now. It’s so unfair, especially after the trouble with the strike and everything.”

  “Strike?” Tom prompted.

  “Several years ago, the vampires in this area, mostly night watchmen, lamp maintenance men, postal workers and the like, got together and petitioned for equal rights for nocturnal workers, paid lunch breaks, three flavours of blood in the canteen, pension rights, that sort of thing. We formed a union and got up a petition which was presented to the Mayor.

  “Well, he didn’t like vampires very much, on account of his pet pig having been drained by one, so the petition failed. The union leader was not happy about this, especially since the pig had given him the most horrendous wind, so he called a general strike.

  “Everybody downed tools and joined the picket line. It was a good one too; everyone was there every night for two weeks. There was an impassable picket line outside the town hall in the square. There were placards, banners, braziers for everyone to huddle around; they weren’t lit, we don’t require the warmth, but someone said they were compulsory on a picket line, so we picked up a couple.”

  “What happened, did they give in to your demands?” Tom asked.

  “No. We picketed at night, you see. Everyone was asleep, so no one noticed,” Val shrugged. “But after the Mayor failed to get the food parcels from his mum for a couple of weeks he gave in. We got our meal breaks and a more diverse menu, but they would not budge on the pension issue.”

  “Why?”

  “They said that regular pension payments cease when the person claiming the pension dies. As we were dead already, they would not be able to make any payments to us. It’s just nit-picking if you ask me. They don’t like giving pensions to immortals; it costs them too much in the long run.”

  “Hmm,” Tom said thoughtfully. “I can see their point.”

  “Still, they gave us two out of three, and to placate us further they allowed us to set up our own general store in the town, the 11-7 shop. It makes life a lot easier. Before that, we had to rely on friends to do our shopping for us during the day.”

  They had, at last, caught up with the others, outside a little cottage on the very top of the hill. The dwellings were becoming more widely spaced the further away from the village centre they got. The one they were standing in front of had white painted walls and a front door that opened out on to the street. Either side of the cottage was a pale blue-painted wooden fence marking the gardens on either side. Garren knocked at the door.

  “Who is it?” asked a female voice from the other side of the high fence.

  Garren stepped away from the door and addressed the fence. “It is Garren. I’m here with some friends. We would like to speak with Marj if we may.”

  There came the sound of a large bolt being drawn back, and a gate in the fence opened. A girl, not much older than Tom peered out. “What do you want with my mother?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  “We need her help on a matter of some importance,” Garren said softly. “May we see her?”

  “Come in,” said the girl.

  The companions entered through the gate and found themselves in a sizeable snow-covered garden which stretched for a long way behind the cottage, ending in an orchard of leafless fruit trees. As soon as they were all in, the girl shut the gate behind them and slid the bolt home.

  “My mother isn’t here,” she said.

  “Will she be long?” Garren asked. “We need to see her urgently.”

  “She will be away for some time,” the girl said. “She has gone to Rokely to care for my Aunt. She has knee blight. She is not expected to survive,” she looked away with tears in her eyes.

  “I am so sorry, Maya,” said Garren, placing a tender hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I didn’t know. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, thank you,” Maya replied, dabbing her eyes with a soggy handkerchief.

  “We should go,”

  “No,” said Maya. “Wait...you wanted to speak to my mother, what was it about?”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Garren said. “I’m sure it can wait until she returns.”

  “It must be serious, if it needed five of you to see her,” Maya observed.

  “It was nothing. A wager, nothing more,” Garren lied.

  “Before my mother left, she told me that some people would come to enlist her help in a most important matter. She was talking about you, wasn’t she?” Maya asked.

  Tom and the others looked at each other uneasily. This put them in an awkward situation. Maya knew about them, which made it dangerous for them, and for her.

  Garren shifted uncomfortably. He said, “What did Marj tell you?”

  “She told me only to be ready to go with you and help in any way possible. She said that the fate of all of us would rest with you.” As she said this, she stared directly at Tom. He could feel himself turning red.

  “Maya, have you inherited your mother’s abilities?” Garren asked.

  “I am not a seer as my mother is, but I have the ability to sense things which are about to happen. I am also able to perceive the feelings and emotions of those around me,” Maya answered. “It allows me to find the truth.”

  Garren knew she had seen through his lie and felt his embarrassment rise. He addressed the others. “I think we have no choice but to take Maya into our confidence and our company,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” Dan countered, “Marj was one thing, but she’s just a child.”

&n
bsp; “It would be in the best interests of both Maya and ourselves if we were to keep her with us,” Garren argued.

  “We are going to have a hard enough time as it is, without babysitting two children,” Dan responded.

  “Hey,” Tom said, offended.

  “Her mother instructed her to assist us in our quest, and as she is a seer, she should know what is for the best,” Val put in.

  “If anyone finds out that we were here it will mean danger for her and we would lose the element of surprise,” Garren said.

  “I still think that the less of us there are, the more chance we have,” Dan replied.

  “And I don’t need babysitting,” Tom put in.

  “Oi!” Lyca shouted. “Have you lot heard yourselves.”

  They all stopped arguing and looked at her.

  “You are talking about Maya as if she were a spare pair of wellies rather than a person. Why don’t you ask her if she wants to join us before debating whether or not she should come.” She put her arm around the girl, who stood listening in silence as they argued her future.

  Garren, Dan and Valcris looked on, ashamed of their behaviour.

  “Please forgive us, Maya,” Garren said. “We are so distracted by the task that lies ahead of us that we forgot our manners. Let me explain our mission, and you can decide whether or not you wish to join us. We will all agree to accept your wishes.” He looked at Dan, who silently nodded his acceptance.

  Garren told the girl about Tom, and the ancient prophecy and how they intended to steal the Tome right from under the sorcerer’s nose and return it and Tom to the other realm, thereby removing the source of Balfour’s power over the people. He also explained the dangers of joining their quest and of staying behind, should it ever be discovered that the companions had been there.

  Maya thought about it for a while, before asking them to wait in the snow-whitened garden while she went into the cottage and shut the door. Tom and the others looked at each other, wondering what she was doing in the little house when at last the door opened. Maya emerged wearing a dark green travelling cloak and carrying a large backpack. She shut and locked the door and turned to the waiting party.