The Sorcerer's Tome

by Philip Sealey

“How can someone who comes from the woods, keep getting lost in the woods?”

  “All those paths and bushes and trees look so bloomin’ alike," Dan said. He dropped the wood and plopped down on one of the seats. Garren and Tom filled him in on recent events, and together they tried to figure out how they came about.

  “Well, you don’t have to be an alchemist to work it out,” Dan said. “His Gitship in the castle sent the moonlight, didn’t he?”

  “I think we can pretty much take that as read,” said Tom. “But how did he know where we were?”

  “That’s obvious too,” Dan said. “The old feller told him.”

  “No, I didn’t,” came a voice from the shabby little tent. “Don’t you go a blamin’ me.”

  The debate continued for a little while longer then Tom and Maya went into the big tent and climbed into their hammocks, exhausted. Shortly after Garren joined them, leaving Dan to build up the fire with more of his precious wood.

  AN HOUR BEFORE DAWN, Garren silently crept out of the tent and put the remaining fuel on the dying embers of the fire, taking care not to wake the snoring Dan, who had not made it as far as the tent but crashed out on the hard ground in the warmth of the fire. Garren then quietly left the camp and headed into the wood to find Valcris.

  Val was alert and heard Garren approach; he was up and ready in case it was foe instead of friend. Lyca, still wolf-shaped growled through her tied muzzle when she saw him.

  “I thought I had better relieve you so you can find some food before first light,” Garren said.

  “Thank you, I am ravenous,” Val replied, stretching away his stiffness. “I think Lyca has got a headache, judging by the lump on her head and her poor spirits.”

  “Yes, either that or she’s upset at being trussed up and left on the hard ground all night,” Garren grinned.

  “No doubt she will be thankful when she regains her senses,” Val said. “I will return before dawn.” He lifted his arms and ascended into the leafy canopy. Garren made himself comfortable on the ground with Lyca’s rucksack beside him, which he brought from the camp so that she might dress before rejoining the company.

  Valcris was happy to be able to glide through the cold, clear sky. The freezing winter temperature meant little after experiencing the icy coldness of death. Silently he skimmed the tops of the trees looking for a warm meal, a sheep or goat for preference, but any warm-blooded mammal would suffice. He wouldn’t take enough blood to kill the creature, just put it in a mild trance and take a little. The animal would never know it had been a donor, the only side effects being a slight state of confusion and a sore neck.

  Within ten minutes the vampire had located a nice respectable looking woodland pony, standing under a tree snoozing. ‘Ah, nothing quite like the fresh taste of the free-range produce of nature.’ Valcris descended, landing without a sound right in front of the morphic mare and rapped three times on the bridge of its long nose.

  The disturbed dobbin snorted, opened its eyes and before it could say ‘giddy up,’ stared right into the mesmerising gaze of the voracious vampire. Instantly the pony went rigid, which, given its nature, was no great change. Valcris located the jugular and started his day with a good healthy breakfast.

  A few minutes later, after polishing his fangs with a napkin, and thinking that the horsehair would be stuck between his teeth all day, Valcris took off with all the contented grace of a ballet dancer, leaving the entranced equine leaning against the tree.

  With a good twenty minutes before the first rays of morning sun spoilt the skyline, Valcris decided to enjoy his short-lived freedom before returning to the ground and the shelter of the hot, heavy cloak. He swam through the air, doing the backstroke, in the direction of the mountain and the monastery nestling at its base.

  As he reached the very edge of the wood, he heard the rumble of footsteps. Many footsteps. Alighting on the upper branches of a prickly pine tree, the vampire watched as hordes of yellow-skinned, horn-nosed foot soldiers marched out of the open archway and over the drawbridge leading to the opposite side of the river. At their head, in a gig pulled by the powerful lion’s body of a gryphon, its eagle wings clipped and a bit in its beak, was Cox, the P.A. to the tyrant in residence.

  The small army trooped out of the monastery and continued to the east. Wherever they were going, at least the town would remain safe, lying as it did, south of the mountain.

  Valcris had little time left before sunrise. The sky was already beginning to lighten. He left his vantage point and sped back to the camp where he found everyone huddling around the newly rekindled fire breakfasting. Lyca was there too, back in her usual, scrawny girl form, but with the addition of a few bruises and a bucket load of shame.

  “We need to find out what they are up to,” Garren said after Val had informed him of the marching hordes.

  “Does it matter?” Dan asked. “If we get hold of that old book and get it and the boy back to the other world, Balfour will lose his power and be at the mercy of the hungry villagers. Mind you, with all those yellow chappies in there, that would explain why he took all the grub.”

  “The book is only part of his power,” Garren said. “He was a formidable sorcerer before he arrived here, or he would never have been able to take the monastery. No, he has other plans.”

  “I had heard a little rumour in the pound that he was searching for things to make him more powerful,” said Lyca quietly.

  Garren and Tom exchanged glances, both thinking she must be referring to the key. “Do you think he has gone looking for it in that direction, Garren?” Tom asked.

  “No,” Garren replied. “He has been getting very close up to now. He would not shoot off in the wrong direction at this stage.”

  “Hello,” said Dan standing up. “You two know something we don’t.”

  “Keeping secrets isn’t very nice,” Lyca chipped in.

  “Come on, out with it! If we’re putting our lives at risk, we want to know the whole story,” Dan insisted.

  Garren and Tom again looked at each other.

  “You’re right,” Garren sighed. “The reason we know that Tom is the child in the prophecy is because he is the key bearer.”

  “The what?” Lyca said.

  “The key was hidden in Tom’s world by the Ancients and entrusted to a human, the bearer, who passed it down from generation to generation. Tom is the current bearer. Balfour managed to track the key to the old world, and Tom became caught in the gateway when he returned and was pulled along as well,” Garren explained.

  “Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?” Dan said. “Out of all the people in that world, the one that should happen to get caught in the portal is the key bearer, the one that needs to stay well away from that wretched book.”

  “No, I don’t think it was a coincidence,” Garren mused. “The key belongs with the book. Balfour knew he was close to the key, but couldn’t find it. It must have been so frustrating.”

  “Poor Balfour,” said Lyca sarcastically.

  “When the portal opened so close to Tom, I believe he was attracted to it like a magnet. Anyone else would have been able to escape,” Garren went on.

  “Where is it now?” Dan asked.

  “Tom has it,” Garren said. “He is the bearer. He can only be separated from it by death.”

  “You are not serious!” Dan exclaimed. “Why have you brought him here? He should be hidden somewhere safe while we get the book.”

  “We had to make sure it was safe.”

  “Safe!” Dan shouted. “We are taking it right into the middle of Balfour’s fortress. We are handing him the thing he most wants.”

  “He doesn’t know the boy has it,” said the cleric.

  “It won’t be long before he finds out.”

  “We will have to make sure he doesn’t get it. We have to get in and out with the Tome as quickly as possible and get it back to the old world.”

  “And what if we are caught?” Dan argued.

  “I be
lieve we will be safe enough,” the cleric answered. He looked at Tom, “I think we, or at least Tom, will surprise him.”

  There was silence for a very long uncomfortable moment in which everyone looked at Tom.

  “I understand your reason for keeping this from us,” Valcris said. “But, old friend, you should have trusted us.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Garren.

  “What about this army?” Val asked. “You said they were not after the key.”

  “Balfour believes that the key is in the other world, so why send his army east looking for it?”

  “In the pound, they said he was looking for more than one artefact of power. He’s been poring over the ancient texts ever since he has been at the monastery,” Lyca said. “Maybe he has a lead on another.”

  “We need to find out, what they are doing,” Garren said. “It must be important indeed to drag Cox away from his Master’s side.”

  “S’pose I could follow them and see what they are up to,” Dan said. “Never much cared for the idea of breaking into the monastery, anyway. I like it even less now.”

  “Yes,” Garren agreed. “I think we have no choice.”

  “Well you can’t let him go on his own,” Lyca argued. “He gets lost in his own woods. I’ll go with him, I’m almost as fast - when I’m not so bruised,” she added, rubbing her shoulder.

  “Alright,” Garren said decisively. “You two go back with the Ferryman and find out what Cox is doing. We’ll carry on to the tunnels.”

  With their plans amended, they packed up and removed all signs of their camp. Garren paid the Ferryman to take Lyca back across the river, and the party wished each other well as they parted, not knowing if they would ever see each other again.

  Chapter 12

  Monsters and Mushrooms

  It had been almost two days since the last fall of snow, but the winter cold had preserved the deep white layer and frozen the top, so there was a loud cracking sound every time a foot broke the undisturbed surface. It made for tough going for the remaining companions as they continued on their way to the secret tunnels' entrance, and it was impossible to remain discreet.

  For the second day in a row, the bright sun had forced the tall vampire to retreat inside his protective cloak. Earlier, as he had helped Lyca into the Ferryman’s boat, his sleeve caught on a rusty iron nail sticking out of the jetty, exposing a small area of his arm just above his leather gauntlet. Almost immediately, the bare white flesh turned red and began to blister under the sun’s weak rays.

  As they tramped noisily through the snow on the very edge of the woods, they were constantly aware of the immense mountain looming above the trees, almost entirely white with snow, except for the steep, sheer faces where nothing could cling. They were close now, and as Tom walked, in awe of the dominating view, he suddenly realised that it was Christmas Eve.

  It was generally the custom in Tom’s family to spend Christmas Eve together. In the morning they would go into the town and do the last minute shopping. Mum, dad and Alice would go off to the supermarket and get those final perishable food items, while the boys went off together to get the Christmas cards and presents, or wrapping paper they had forgotten. They would meet up at about twelve in a prearranged café for a hot chocolate and a turkey and stuffing roll, before fighting their way back through the throng of last-minute Christmas shoppers to the car and back home. Mum would then start the baking while dad boiled a gammon joint in the big pan he used for making his homemade beer. The smells that came out of the kitchen were wonderful, surpassed only the next day when the Christmas dinner was cooking. Later they would have some of the gammon for tea and settle in front of the television till bed. Everyone went to bed early on Christmas Eve because they all knew they would be lucky if the peace lasted till four in the morning before Alice was up rousing the entire household with excitement.

  Tom wondered what they were doing this year. Inevitably the usual happy outing and preparation for tomorrow would go by the wayside. Maybe they were out looking for him. Perhaps they were all sitting at home waiting for a phone call. Matt’s text had told him the police had been called. He wondered if he had made the news. His sudden sadness became apparent to Maya.

  “I’m sure they miss you very much,” she said, taking his hand as they walked.

  “How did you know?...” Tom began, but then remembered Maya’s unique gift and just smiled.

  “I believe you will get home,” Maya said, squeezing his hand, “though I cannot say when that will be or how it will come about, I am sure you will make it. But it will not be an easy journey. You may experience many difficulties and face many trials along the way. You must remember that things may not be as they appear. Remember the hollow tube and the wolves. Only by approaching each situation objectively will you truly understand what is going on.”

  “I thought you could only sense feelings,” Tom said. “It sounds as though you know what’s going to happen already.”

  “I can sense a lot of things,” Maya said quietly. “Especially people I care for, even when we are apart.”

  “Can you sense your Mum?”

  “Sometimes,” Maya replied, “when she is very sad.”

  Tom understood how she was feeling and sympathised. He heard Val ahead counting away.

  “... seventy-three...seventy-four...seventy-five.”

  “He’s at it again,” Tom whispered. Maya laughed. It cheered Tom to see her smile. Playing on Valcris’s affliction and raising his voice to be overheard, he said, “I live at number forty-one and my friends live at ninety-three and ninety-five.”

  “...ninety-two...ninety-three...ninety-five...” Val counted at the same time.

  Maya laughed again and jabbed Tom in the ribs with her elbow, “Don’t,” she said. “If he loses count again he’ll have to go all the way back to the start.” They both giggled.

  Their course took them away from the river and deeper into the woods. All the while, they could see the white mountain towering above them through the leafless canopy. Eventually, they emerged from the trees at the foot of the mountain. They had traversed to the west of the monastery and out of sight of its towers. Garren and Valcris stopped short of the forest edge to take advantage of the last of the cover before stepping into the open. If they had noticed that Maya and Tom had walked the last half a mile hand in hand, they were diplomatically ignoring it.

  “The entrance to the tunnel is hidden behind that rock,” Garren said when they caught up. Ahead of them, carved out of the cliff by millennia of harsh weather, a large pillar of rock jutted out like a buttress supporting the face of the mountain. It was towards this that Garren was pointing.

  “Balfour has been one step ahead of us all the way,” Garren went on. “I don’t want to risk going out into the open until I’m sure it is clear.” Kneeling on one knee with his staff in front of him, he placed both hands on the shaft and bowed his head in concentration. Softly he began chanting an incantation.

  The others watched in silence so as not to divert his attention. For a while, nothing happened, then, away to their left, they heard movement in the undergrowth. Valcris made ready to defend against whatever may be stalking them. Then, from the bushes emerged the little black and brown nose of a faun, timidly looking out to make sure it was safe to break cover. Its large ears twitching at every sound, the fawn cautiously stepped out of the bushes, its slim brown body dappled with white, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

  It edged away from the woods, all the while looking around, listening, sniffing the air. It slowly made its way to the buttress of rock where, gingerly, it stepped out of sight.

  Garren appeared to be in the middle of a dream, his eyes moving behind closed lids. Tom suddenly realised that Garren was controlling the faun. Somehow he was inside the little animal’s mind and using it to make sure the way was clear for them to continue.

  Garren opened his eyes and pulled himself to his feet. A moment later a very confused looking faun c
antered out from behind the jutting cliff and disappeared back into the forest.

  “It’s clear,” Garren said. “The entrance is still there and unguarded. We should hurry, we don’t want to remain conspicuous this close to the monastery.”

  As quickly as they could, they hurried across the sixty or so yards of deep snow, only disturbed by the little faun till now. The enchantment on their feet had been renewed before they set off from the camp, so the snow sprang back into place behind them as if they had never been there.

  Once safely behind the jutting rock, they could see the dark entrance to the tunnel; it was just a narrow fissure in the cliff, just wide enough to accommodate one person at a time. Tom, Garren and Val approached the opening. Maya remained where she was.

  “We mustn’t go in there,” she said.

  “Maya,” Garren said. “What’s in there?”

  “Danger,” she replied anxiously. “There is great danger in there,”

  “You are most likely feeling Balfour’s presence at the other end,” Garren reassured.

  “We must not enter,” she said again.

  Tom went over and took her hand. “We must,” he said gently. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about,” she replied. “Valcris must not go down that passage.”

  “What is it you think is down there?” Val asked.

  “I don’t know, but I have a dreadful fear that you will not return if you enter.”

  “I cannot remain behind, I may be needed,” said the vampire. “I will be free of the sun and able to use all my power once inside the tunnel, I shall be fine.”

  “All the same,” Garren said, “you had better stay behind us, just in case.”

  “Please don’t go,” Maya pleaded, taking Val’s arm.

  “We should not split up any more,” he replied. “There is no telling what resistance we may be faced with, I must go, but at least now, thanks to you, I am forewarned.”

  Reluctantly Maya relented and one by one they pushed their way through the narrow opening. Garren first, followed by Tom, then Maya and Valcris bringing up the rear.