***
Kina watched them for six days keeping them in constant sight, but now she needed to eat.
She had seen the tell-tale movement of her favourite prey, as it moved across the snow, its white fur blending almost seamlessly with its surroundings making it invisible to all but the keenest eyes.
Now she waited, gauging the moment.
She pounced.
***
For six days they travelled this way, eating cold food and bearing the cold in silence, and for Mark and Richard their lack of shaving began to irritate their faces as their beards began to thicken and grow.
Richard glanced up at the sky, at the dot that could have only been a bird. It had been there for days, giving him a sense of hope that there was still life outside of this barren place. As he watched, the bird banked to its left and dived from the sky with such speed that it disappeared into the snow covered horizon almost instantly.
He sighed.
It had found its prey. Now if only they could have such luck.
On that sixth day, less than an hour later there came into sight, from the impenetrable mist, land. They all silently thanked their gods, their silent prayers fuelling their tired bodies and driving them on. As they neared the land they realised it was more like an island in the snow, for it rose silently and solitary from the wind swept landscape.
For the first time in days Richard spoke. “The magic is coming from that island, it’s to strong now to be from anywhere else,” his voice almost inaudible as the icy wind ripped at the spoken words.
“How long do you think?” asked Mark, shouting to be heard above the howling wind.
“Tomorrow midday, I think,” Richard shouted back, giving his best guess.
With that they set off again with the knowledge that they had just one more night on this forsaken wasteland of snow and wind.
That night seemed to be the coldest yet, for the knowledge that they were only a stone’s throw away from shelter made the freezing cold wind somehow more unbearable.
Hunkered down in their hole they sipped the last of the fire water, but its effects seemed muted, as if it had lost its potency, or perhaps it was just them, and the next day saw them tired and wind battered, the wind having picked up as if sensing that it was about to lose its playthings to the shelter of the island.
The side of the island they approached rose from the snow with sheer cliffs of rock left smooth to the touch by the blistering wind, as if the rocks had been heavily polished, which left no place or means for them to climb.
Disgruntled and eager to be out of the wind, they trudged through the snow along the base of the sheer cliffs looking for any means by which they could gain access to this promised sanctuary.
It took them about an hour, struggling against the buffeting wind with every step, for them to come across the slope, carved from rough-hewn stones that led up into the island and seemed bizarrely to have been untouched by the eroding wind. They could tell that no-one had passed this way in a long time, for the blocks were covered in unbroken lichen, which made them dangerous underfoot.
Chapter Twelve
The Road To Ruins
They climbed the road with great care, for they were eager to be out from the wind, but were not foolhardy, not this close to their goal.
From that first step everything changed, it was as if they stepped through an invisible door and into a different world that had no sign of bitter winter that held sway outside.
Although the path was steep in places, the going was considerably easier than they had been used to in the past few days, for the wind had stopped constantly buffeting them and there was a distinct lack of snow for them to wade through. They found this odd, but the relief at being out of the storm was so overpowering that at first no-one questioned it.
As they climbed, taking care not to slip on the moist lichen covered rocks, they noticed that the air was becoming warmer, so much so in fact that they had to remove their heavy cloaks of fur and tie them to their packs to prevent themselves from sweating.
All around them the sounds of life returned. Lush green vegetation lined the path as it pushed against it trying to gain a foothold and break through the iron hard stones. Crickets began chirping, a lizard scurried for cover and the occasional bird sang its love song in the distance.
As these sights and sounds returned, a tension eased in their shoulders that they had been unaware of until it had gone, though the fact that this place should surely be as cold and snow bound as the surrounding land left a small knot in their shoulders that niggled at their subconscious, but the warmth was welcome.
After a few hundred meters the road levelled and as they topped the rise they found laid out before them an ancient town, its buildings fallen into decay. All around them nature had taken repossession as evidenced by the many trees and brush that grew from their decomposed remains.
As with the path that they had just travelled, it was evident that no one had been here for many years; vegetation covered everything, although judging by the height and thickness of the trees the undergrowth wasn’t as thick as it should have been.
Who had once lived here? Where are they were now? Richard thought as he looked about him.
Mark approached one of the fallen buildings and carefully looked inside trying to avoid dislodging any of the perilously loose masonry, which looked as if it was held together solely by the ivy that clung tenaciously to everything.
The interior was well lit, as there was no roof and the vegetation that covered everything was fairly parse with no sign of the trees that sprouted from many of the other buildings, suggesting that the roof had succumbed to the ravages of time and caved in not too long ago. It was simple in construction and similar to their own homes. It consisted of two rooms on the ground floor and showed some evidence of at least a second floor, if not more, yet where it differed from their own was in the materials from which it had been constructed, which were of a kind Mark had never seen before.
“Be careful,” Richard warned. “We don’t know who might be here.”
“Always,” replied Mark with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Hmmm,” was the reply from Richard, for he knew his brother too well.
Leaving the crumbling shell of the building behind them they moved into the deserted town until they reached what they presumed used to be the town square. On all sides could be seen the remains of great buildings, some still over two storey’s in height, similar to the ones that surrounded their own town square yet these, even in their state of decay, appeared to be far grander with columns and intricate architraves adorning the doors and windows.
In the centre, partially obscured by small shrubs and trees could be seen a domed fountain identical to the fountain of life in their own town, except that this one had had its blue-glassed dome smashed in on one side.
Richard approached it and peered inside. Inside the smashed dome he could see several shards of broken glass and crystal in more colours than he could name that were unidentifiable due in main to the decay of time, and because he had never seen anything like it before. There was one thing that he knew; they were valuable, his experience told him that.
Richard looked up from the mysterious innards of the fountain, looked towards the direction in which they had been travelling and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” asked Mark, seeing the concerned look on his brother’s face.
“I can no longer feel the magic,” Richard replied. “I cannot tell in what direction we should travel,” he added, concern evident to all in his voice.
“We are all exhausted,” said Mark, trying to appear relaxed, “so why don’t we make camp among these buildings and get some rest. It will be dark in a couple of hours anyway and we don’t know what or who might lie ahead,” he added.
“OK
,” said Richard feeling the lethargy in his own limbs that he knew would be in the others.
Probing his fingers into the fountain in an attempt to fish out one of the brightly coloured crystals that were still intact, Richard withdrew them with speed when he received an unexpected shock.
They moved across the open ground of the town square to the nearest building, each of them eyeing the surrounding buildings and rubble (and Richard shaking his hand) and entered via a fallen wall, as the door was no longer in evidence. This building was of one level and was, apart from the fallen wall, in good condition with its roof being predominately intact.
The fallen wall and floor of the building were overgrown with ivy and other vegetation that had managed to drive their roots through the hard floor and walls and by blanketing everything had prevented any trees from establishing a foothold in its territory, thus keeping the structure in reasonable repair.
Of to one side was an intact room, which looked like it consisted of large slabs of what appeared to be grey granite laid on top of the supporting walls, which underneath the crumbling once-white plaster were made from rough-hewn blocks.
Richard examined the room carefully from the outside and when satisfied did the same from the inside. “It seems solid enough. What do you think?” he asked the others, beckoning them towards him.
His two companions glanced around, Mark giving the wall a firm kick, and nodded in agreement. As they moved about the room they disturbed the thin layer of dust and debris that obscured the floor, leaving their booted footprints behind.
In the wall opposite the door was a fireplace with a brick chimney and ornate mantle that had little children with wings moulded into its surface. They all had to admit that they were beautiful, but what they were none knew. Mark knelt in front of it clearing away all the debris in the grate and leaning inside looked up the chimney. “It’s clear to the top, so we can light a fire here,” he said, his voice reverberating up the stack.
“Is that such a good idea? We don’t know who could be nearby,” responded Richard, although he was as eager as the others to get a hot meal inside his cold stomach.
“This place is deserted, and has been for hundreds of years I bet,” Put in Dorina, wiping her fingers through the thick dust covered mantel.
Richard against his better judgement agreed, after all they had been eating cold food for too long and who would see the smoke here in this obviously deserted place...
Mark left, returning several minutes later with an armload of firewood and a broad smile on his face. Then without a word he set too at the fireplace building stacking the wood he had collected. He feathered several of the smaller pieces of wood with his belt knife, so that they would easily catch fire, then removing his tinder and flint from its box on his belt he struck a spark from his knife. Within minutes vigorous yellow flames were ascending the chimney and licking at the surrounding hearth, and a self-satisfied Mark sat basking in their glow.
Removing some of the rations from her pack, Dorina put them in the small skittle that had been strapped to the bottom and hung it on the hook that hung within the hearth, the flames lashing hungrily at the bottom.
Richard stood gazing out over the town square. Who had lived here? Why had they disappeared? Where was Benedict?
“I won’t be long,” he said without looking back, “I’m just going to check to make sure we are alone here.”
And before anyone could voice protest he stepped out of the building and into the street.
Chapter Thirteen
The Library
Once outside Richard briefly scanned about him and then headed for the largest building he could see, as to his mind largest almost always meant most important, for maybe there would be answers to his many questions inside.
Entering the chosen building he stopped and stared at the isle upon isle of shelves that rose to the intact ceiling that towered above him. Scattered across the mostly empty shelves were the occasional book, its leather binding weathered and cracked. Richard gawped at the hugeness of the building, for it appeared to be far larger on the inside than it had on the outside, the shelves disappearing into the deep impenetrable darkness within.
He knew he had chosen the right building, so choosing an isle he began to walk towards the darkness that shrouded the rear. As he left the light of the doorway he stopped in his tracks as a perfect sphere of fire hanging from the ceiling above him sprang to life. He looked up at the ball of fire as it hung there motionless in the sky, his muscles tensed ready to dive out of its path if it was to fall, which it never did. He took a couple of steps forward watching the stationary ball warily. The fire extinguished at the exact same time as another sprang to life, again directly above him, and as he continued to walk another then another did the same keeping him illuminated at all times.
After several hundred paces, a distance that Richard was sure should have seen him out the other end; the shelves were in places still burgeoning with tombs of varying size and colour and in various states of decay. He had never seen this many books before, and they were only a fraction of the number that this building had once held. He like every other child, had heard the fanciful tales of the “LIBRES”, mythical places of knowledge where people would come to learn and to teach, but until now they had been just that, tales.
As Richard began to examine the decaying and fragile tombs, he noticed that they were in a script that he could not read, or had ever seen for that matter.
Scanning the books with his fingers he looked for any words he could recognise, and with a feeling of near compulsion continued to do so for about an hour. In that time he came across several books with words that he could read, but when he had opened them he had been unable to understand them.
Mathematics, a short history:
The stars and our place amongst them:
The internal combustion engine:
The child within: were just a few of the titles, so he had closed them and placed them neatly back onto the shelf where he had found them.
He was just ready to give up and return to the others when his fingers stopped on the spine of a small red innocuous tomb, placed on one of the lower shelves, almost hidden from view. As his fingers rested on the spine of the tomb, the sensation of magic began again on his arms.
He removed his hand to concentrate on the source, but when he did the feeling stopped.
Cocking his head to one side he looked at the small book as a dog would a small insect, and placed his hand gingerly back on the spine. There it was again, it was small and innocuous like the tomb itself, but it was definitely there and unlike anything he had experienced before.
There was no discernible writing on the spine, so removing the book delicately from the shelf Richard read the front cover. “The magic of the moons of Volar,” he read aloud.
He couldn’t believe what he had in his hand; a real book of magic. He had heard the rumours and stories that before history, in the Age of Dreams books a powerful magic had existed, and his arms told him that he now held such a book.
He placed the book in the palm of his right hand and opened it, for it was that small. The script was very small, neat, unerringly uniform, and unlike any he had seen before. It covered every page and as he read he could feel the magic crawling inside his head, as if trying to find some unknown thing within his thoughts.
The words read thus;
***
It is the moons of Volar, in their majestic might that give forth the magic that we utilise in the land.
It was only a few years ago that they both shone white in the night sky, before the evil that now abounds in the land. We have come to call these times “The Time of Nightmares”, for the creatures that walk here could have come from no-where else.
The evil has tainted the magic and turned the biggest of the moons blood red.
We have only one hope. The Volin...
***
As he read the words on the page his vision began to swim, causing the words to begin crawling from the page as if alive and reading themselves.
The sensation was so intense and so disorientating that he had to clench his fist to close the book so that he would stop reading, for he was unable to tear his eyes away from the writhing words that were trying to draw him in.
He placed the closed book on his lap, allowing the feeling to subside, whilst trying not to look at the words that were still slithering from the edges of the cover, like worms trying to find earth.
As his senses returned and the visions began to recede, he noticed a life like picture of the mythical black and white bird that was the symbol of the Voldiner perched on a branch backed by a mass of equally life like vegetation. He hadn’t seen this picture until now and now that he saw it, the bird seemed to be very real and to be staring right at him with intent, almost curious look.
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
Drawing his attention away from the creepily life like picture and back to his surroundings he realised that he could feel magic all around him. His arms didn’t itch, but within his head he felt it. As he sat there wondering at the feeling it began to fade, but to his surprise it didn’t fade completely. Everything about him appeared to throb with magic where it had never done before.
Something within him had changed.
Richard stared at the book in his lap, and then rising to his feet he placed it without thinking, in his breast pocket and headed back towards the front of the building. As he left through the main door he noticed that the sun had set and by the look of the sky it had set a couple of hours ago. “Surely I haven’t been gone that long. At the most it should have been an hour,” he said to himself.
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