He glanced to the east, towards the rising sun, even as his hands fumbled to retrieve the bow and yew. The first rays of the sun touched the horizon and there was no flame to greet the day. Beltaine had dawned black.
But there was a sharp, collective gasp from the crowd then as, before Merlyn could move to make another attempt, a small flame reappeared. Then the fire suddenly leaped up high and held. The Beltaine fire was lit, but what of the omens? What events did this portend? What warning did it hold if warning it was? No-one knew - such a thing had never happened before in all the years since Beltaine had been observed.
The celebrations were subdued, the mages nervous. How could they celebrate when everything was held in the balance? If they made it to Majaos and this New World was all they hoped for, then they would rejoice. But their thoughts were consumed by fear of the strange Beltaine fire. Was the world angry with them for abandoning it? Many felt as if they were attending the wake of their own funerals. Were these fears justified? Were they real? Or were they simply last minute nerves? No-one was prepared to say.
* * * * * It was the second night of the Beltaine festival and time seemed to crawl as they fixed their gaze on the eastern horizon, awaiting the first rays of the Sun. At last someone cried out, pointing towards the horizon. At first the others could see nothing and the even sorceress who had spoken was beginning to doubt herself, but then there came another flicker of light. This time everyone saw it. A deep hush fell upon the assembled masses as the sky became streaked with red and purple. Everyone who saw it, even the most cynical among them, swore it was the most beautiful sunrise they had ever seen. Could a dawn on Majaos ever match this? They all wondered.
Many wept openly at the sight; there was no shame in their tears. Merlyn wiped away his own and declared. “'Tis time. The moment we hath worked so hard for hath arrived. We must all harden our hearts and prepare to cast the last great feat of magic this world will ever know!”
There were many preparations to make before they could begin the final spells, preparations that proceeded all through the day, beyond dusk and into night. Finally, at midnight, a full moon high in the sky, all was in readiness. Every mage had his or her own part to play in weaving the complex magic. Merlyn, taking a leading role, was to reach across the vastness of space to Majaos, tapping into its potent magic. This part had been the greatest challenge to the entire project: They had quickly realised that the magic of Earth was insufficient to the task. In order to reach Majaos, they needed the magic of that world. But if they could not reach Majaos, how could they tap into its magic, make the power flow to Earth? It was Artemis, the nervous apprentice, who pointed out that since they could detect the magic of Majaos, that meant the power was already flowing to Earth. All they needed to do was increase that flow. Turn a trickle into a river. All mages knew that magic was much easier when one had something to work with - enhancement magic required less effort than creation magic.
Even so, turning this theory into practice was easier said than done. At last, though, they calculated how to bring their power to bear upon this `stream`, widening it first at their end and working their way back through the flow to its source at Majaos. Once this was accomplished, it would be left to Merlyn to give the Majaos magic the final push, creating a tunnel of time, space and magical energy. If all went well, they would then have the power to travel `up river` through this corridor of magic. It required precision timing and a great deal of effort by each mage involved. Their numbers were so few! If just one faltered or failed to pull their own weight, the attempt would fail and there would be no Terran magic left with which to make a second attempt. It was all or nothing.
Clouds, dark and brooding formed above the Great Stone Circle, yet the moon was still shining brightly as the elements created a ring of their own - a roughly circular gap, almost like a corridor to their cosmic partner. But the corridor was not leading to the moon, nor from it, but through it and from beyond it. Indeed, it was merely coincidence that the moon happened to be in that unique conjunction in the sky.
Coincidence or providence? Merlyn wondered. Certainly this was a time for great omens, both strange and frightening. As if to prove his thoughts, the magic had the unexpected effect of enhancing the lunar light until it took on a brilliance that could have outshone the sun.
The other mages had done well. Their Terran power had almost touched Majaos and it was Merlyn's place to make the breakthrough. Taking slow, deep breaths he brought his power to bear, channelling it upstream to this strange, New World. He could almost see the Majaos terrain, smell the air, hear nature working in concert with magic. It was all he could do to force himself not to stop and stare. Time enough for that later, if they were successful and that was up to him. He flew on the astral plane to the place the visiting `angel` had revealed to him. Here was the source of all magic on Majaos. Perfect. Inexhaustible. Eternal. Its location was to be a closely guarded secret - the angel had been adamant on that point. Only Merlyn must know and he could never share that knowledge with anyone. The Well of Life it was called and Merlyn vowed to keep it secret, sacred and secure until the coming of the Du y Kharia.
Calling upon his vast resources of gift and experience, he tapped into the Well of Life, drawing from it a stream of magic, flowing towards the corridor through time and space.
“It will be curious about you,” the angel had warned. “It will whisper seductive promises to you.”
“Ye make it sound as though it were alive,” said Merlyn, curiously. The angel considered that. “In a manner of speaking, yes, I suppose it is. Majaos y Natus,” he replied, cryptically. “At any rate, you must resist its pull, for no-one can tame it, nor should anyone try.”
“Very well,” Merlyn vowed, “I shall heed your warning.” Merlyn had had no idea what he was promising then, but he did now. The energy of this Well of Life was so pure, so enticing...almost irresistible. A term came unbidden to his mind: Life Infinity a state of magical being beyond any he had ever even imagined. But no, Merlyn was not greedy. As it was, the possibilities of magic on Majaos would far outstrip anything he had ever experienced on Earth. He would be content with that - more than content. So he resisted the call and completed the spell. His consciousness rode the wave of magic through the Corridor back to Earth. Lightning flashed
- blue lightning and green and red, the clouds swirled, the air electrified by this inrush of energy. The connection was complete, the path to Majaos lay before them - now all that remained was to walk that path - literally walk. The mind boggled at the apparent simplicity of it; there was nothing simple about the magic involved.
The mages lined up and entered the mouth of the Corridor. Merlyn was impressed by the orderly nature of the exodus, no rushing or pushing. Mind you, after performing such a feat of magic he doubted any of them had the energy for rushing or pushing - he himself certainly didn't. Ganieda and Artemis remained until the last moment, and then they, too, were gone.
For a moment, there were tears in his eyes once more, as Merlyn took a long last look at the world he knew. He breathed deeply one final breath of Terran air and then faced the Corridor with a new sense of steely determination. He was Merlyn; the greatest mage in the world and his Great Endeavour was a success.
“The future,” he said to himself, “is this way.”
Chapter 1
“Excuse me, sir,” Eilidh objected, “but as fascinating as this is, I didn't ask for a potted history of Merlyn. I asked about Niltsiar.” Eilidh was thrilled to meet this man of knowledge, and another time she would gladly spend every coin she possessed to sit there and learn from him. Right now, though, she had rather more pressing concerns.
“You're right, Eilidh,” Toli agreed. “I'll bet we could have asked our bard friend here to tell us the Merlyn story.”
“Aye, lass,” Granite replied. “And at a much lower rate, too! A thousand gold indeed!” He shook his head in wonder. “I reckon I'd sing the entire history of the world fer that!” “Ah, the i
mpatience of youth,” the sage intoned, shaking his head. He fixed his gaze on the Catalyst. “My dear young lady, I do not intend to waste your time. At my age, time is in short supply and one learns to use it wisely. But what you must realise is that the question you have asked cannot be answered simply. There are connections to be made and I-” his flow was interrupted by a sudden fit of coughing.
“Are you alright, sir?” Toli asked, concerned. “Oh dear, I'm afr aid our healers have left the party for a while. Maybe there's someone we could fetch for you...I could run back to the Corridor, zip back to Shakaran Palace and have someone back here in a jiffy, whatever a jiffy might be. I've always wondered that...a jiffy...what exactly is it about that that's supposed to be symbolic of being quick? In fact, what's the point of a symbol if nobody knows what it means, or rather, well, I suppose we do know what it means symbolically, but we don't know what it means literally...but at any rate, jiffy or not, I could be there and back pretty fast, if you want me to...oh you seem to be better now.”
“Yes,” replied the Wise One. “Please do not concern yourselves. It comes and goes; it will pass. If you will excuse me for one moment, I shall fix myself a herbal tea. Boiled elven spring water and a few wellchosen leaves, that always settles me down.”
The sage rose from his ornate oaken chair and moved behind the red curtain into his private living area. While the golden-robed figure was gone, Eilidh reflected on how they came to be there.
* * * * * Toli and Princess Mystaya had both found riding on the back of a sea serpent to be quite exhilarating. They laughed and told stories - or rather Toli had told stories, often losing her thread within a few breaths, but the princess seemed delighted by the irrepressible hobbit. Granite meanwhile had, by contrast, grown increasingly dour and foul tempered. Dwarves loved to be close to rock and stone and soil, and were not fond of water. They hated sea travel. The way the water beneath them moved and changed constantly was offensive to their sense of the solid, the omnipresent, the permanent. It wasn't that dwarves disliked travelling altogether. On the contrary, it was said among the races of Majaos that dwarves were born in the saddle. Certainly, they were riding horses as soon as they could sit up and hold the reigns and it was not uncommon for a dwarf to learn to ride before they learned to walk. Strictly speaking, the word `pony` would be more accurate than `horse` but dwarves disliked that term, seeing it as a prejudice against small stature.
In general, it was the elves who were always most associated with wild animals, but when it came to horses, the dwarves were undisputed masters. They explained this by saying that horses were flighty beasts by nature with constantly shifting passions. Elves tended to get caught up in this, while dwarves gently exerted their stabilising influence on the creatures. They never sought mastery and control, but partnership and co-operation.
The two main dwarven belief systems both linked strongly to horses. One denomination said that when a dwarf died, his spirit would be united with a horse in the spirit world - a world of unchanging rocky mountains and grassy plains - free to roam with the wind for eternity. The other believed that horses contained the reincarnated souls of dwarves. A dwarf would have nothing whatsoever to do with donkeys, which they thought of as a `horse gone wrong` and quite possibly the dishonoured dead, damned to this shameful existence as punishment for their misdeeds in their dwarven lives.
It was a common sight, then, to see dwarves riding around Mythallen on their ponies, exploring far and wide. Granite Longbeard was a typical dwarf on that score, but riding a sea serpent was disturbingly different. With horse riding, one could feel the solid ground beneath the horse's hooves, so the dwarven rider was still connected to rock, stone and soil. Sea travel was so...unnatural. Besides, dwarven bodies had no buoyancy and invariably they would sink like a stone.
Eilidh cared little one way or the other for the mode of transport. It had simply been the fastest way to get back to Shakaran and the sooner they got there the better. The prince had promised to lead her to a source of information to help her in her quest and she needed that information because, quite frankly, she was at a loss as to where to go or what to do next.
As for the strange old man, Artisho, he had spent the entire trip asleep without ever appearing to be in any danger of falling off. How his battered old hat remained firmly on his head Eilidh had no idea, considering the terrific speeds they reached in open water.
At last they had slowed and come to rest in a river than ran through the borderlands to the North of Shakaran City. They all dismounted, except for Artisho who still had not woken up.
“Be careful out here,” the sea serpent had warned. “There is a great deal of fighting going on in the area. It's still sporadic yet, but you'd better keep your wits about you.” Artisho had chosen that moment to wake himself up with a sudden violent sneeze, swiftly followed by two more that conspired to make his hat fall over hiseyes. “I've been blinded by the gods!” He had whispered in awe. Princess Mystaya helpfully reached up and took away the offending article. “It's a miracle!” The old man exclaimed. “Are you an angel?” he had asked, squinting at Mystaya.
“No,” she replied, goodnaturedly. “Just a princess, I'm afraid.”
“Ah well,” he said, holding up a finger for emphasis. “That's the next best thing, miss...er...I’m sorry, have we met before?” “Sir,” the serpent interrupted. “It's time to go before you really embarrass yourself.” Then without another word it had turned its massive bulk and taken off back down river, Artisho clinging on for dear life. Soon, from the companions' perspectives, they had grown smaller and smaller as they sped into the distance. Very faintly, they heard the old man's plaintive cry, “The angel...she's stolen my hat!...”
* * * * * During their short walk to the nearest Corridor entrance, the evidence of battle had been all around them: scraping steel from one direction, a flash of magic from another, the smell of burning from yet another. Fortune had shone upon them, however, and they made it to the Corridor without incident. Upon reaching Shakaran City itself, they had been stopped at the inner gates. The princess protested at first, but relented when the gatekeeper explained the situation.
“I am sorry, Your Highness, but since you've been gone, attacks by the chaos creatures have increased markedly. The numbers are nothing we can't handle for the moment, but there are a few species that have some strange magical abilities. I can't rule out the possibility that you may be an enemy, posing as the Princess Mystaya in order to gain entry to the palace and strike at the Prince Regent. As the Shakaran guard, we are the ring of steel around the Prince and will fall to the last warrior before any harm threatens him. If you will wait here but a moment, I have sent a priority message for an Enforcer to verify your identity. Then, Your Highness and your guests will be permitted to pass with my apologies and great gratitude for your safety.”
The princess indicated that she understood and commended him for his vigilance. The man just shrugged and said he was only doing his job. The wait had afforded them a good look at the city. There had been some subtle changes since their last visit. On the face of it, people continued to go about their business. Hawkers still touted their wares in the market place and the blacksmiths' forges still burned and smoked; street musicians still played and artisans still painted. People walked by, apparently undaunted, but there was a greater sense of urgency about their stride, a slight hush in their tone and their eyes shot furtive glances around them. Their manner, however, was that of vigilance, not fear. One could not deny the impression that they were preparing for fight, not flight. Eilidh decided she liked Shakaran...despite the palace, raised without magic. That still gave her the chills. The people were sensible, practical. After all, Merlyon's magical shield aside, Shakaran was the most heavily defended city in all Mythallen, so where would they run to if they had the chance? If danger visited them here, there was nowhere safe. Anywhere else would just be more dangerous still. Better to stay and fight for the defence of their homes and families. Still,
one had to admire their courage, Eilidh decided.
The thought that these people might admire Eilidh's own courage, if they only knew, never occurred to her. At length, an Enforcer had appeared in their midst. The way the powerful mage had been enshrouded in the black robes of that order, it had been impossible to tell race or even gender of this individual. Height gave some clues, but had been insufficient evidence on which to base an opinion. The absence of any second colour on the cuffs, hood and trim, had told them that they were aligned with the dark side of magic. That this dark Enforcer should be in the Prince's service was no surprise, since His Highness was aligned with the balance. Doubtless this individual saw royal service as a means of building a personal power base and they wouldn't achieve that by harming the Prince or, through neglect of their duties, allowing others to strike at him. Eilidh could see the logic in that, as she and her companions stood at ease under the Enforcer's intense magical scrutiny. Then the black robe had bowed respectfully to the princess, apparently satisfied that she was who she appeared to be.
The Enforcer uttered not a single word in conversation, but instantly teleported them directly inside Shakaran Palace throne room; something that, Vorden’s attack notwithstanding, was possible only for very few individuals who were privy to the shield’s precise magical frequency. Even before the companions' eyes had adjusted to the change in light, the Enforcer had bowed once to the figure seated by the throne and stepped from the room.
The high-ceilinged throne room was exactly square in its dimensions and dominated by Imperial Purple - the furniture, the curtains; even the marble floor was purple and white in wide, concentric circles, each edged with gold. Great tapestries hung alongside stained glass windows, telling tales of great deeds from a glorious past - not that the present was any less glorious. Hanging from the ceiling to hover over the king's throne was a human-sized painted metalworking of the city crest: a lamb, an owl and a lion in a descending line, gold on a purple background, and silver lettering that read, CALIMNI MENTUS VOLENTE meaning peace, diplomacy and war. This reflected the Shakaran philosophy of first offering the hand of friendship and peace, then if that is rejected enter into negotiations to seek a diplomatic solution, but if all else failed, Shakaran was ready, willing and well able to wage war against its enemies.
Consequences (Majaos Book 2) Page 2