To’paz reached her small hut and let herself in. She walked right through the wards and didn’t even notice the small swarm of bugs that tried to follow, but were repelled by the ward. There were no ants, no flies and no mosquitoes. All manner of crawling things were repelled. To’paz hated bugs. The constant wards also helped her when she treated patients with lice, which fell to the ground as they came for treatment.
The house really wasn’t all that special, made out of stacked rocks with a good thatch roof. The house was located at the end of the valley next to a small babbling brook. The hut was sheltered from the elements by several giant trees that she had helped magically grow tall, long before they should.
The house was modest, given her standing in the community. It took careful inspection to notice the small luxuries she had afforded herself. The wards to keep insects out, the pitcher of water that never emptied. The smooth inner walls where the stones met so closely, that even air could not penetrate. Above, a roof that never leaked no matter the intensity of the storm. Yet, from the outside, all appeared normal for the times.
The main room was good sized and held her two comfortable chairs and the long table. Both were dominated by the large hearth with its endless stack of firewood and kindling. There was another small room to the back, just big enough to hold her bed and her small dresser. The small dresser held all of her nice clothes and the treasures she had collected over the years. Memories of past lives, a couple books, and a small woodcarving she got from a little boy she had saved.
A heavy woven wool curtain separated the two spaces. The single window at the end of the table was shuttered and latched closed. There was a thick quilt hanging in the frame that kept the cold out when the cold winter winds howled outside. The table was filled with clay jars and baskets that held her medicinal supplies. A set of shelves were off to one side and were filled with food, supplies and herbs.
She bolted the door and motioned for light. The candle lamps lit immediately and her bracelet glowed. She shook her head upset with herself. Using the gift was so instinctive for her. She would have to conserve her power. She wondered why it had worked with the light, but not when she had tried to see Eennis’s future.
She wondered if he was one of those who could block the magic. They were like big dark holes in the landscape of magic. They couldn’t be seen, felt or heard using the gift. A dark mage with that trait was extremely dangerous.
She walked over to the fire pit, shook the small teapot checking for water, and swung it out over the coals. She added two small logs onto the fire and stirred the embers with a poker until they started to flame. The shirt and dress came off as she entered the small nook where she slept.
The clothes would have to be washed. They were filthy from her tumble to the ground and from being sick. The image in the small polished hammered metal mirror caught her attention and she stood there staring.
She gazed upon her body, pleased with how young and fit she looked. She turned sideways and gazed at her breasts, still firm. Her cheeks weren’t drooping. She still had great legs for eight-hundred years old and her hair was still jet black. She hadn’t aged since her early twenties when she had learned how to control the gift, prior to getting her medallion.
The tears started to fall. She knew that without the gift she would age. She took off the now useless medallion and packed it into her chest. She had to face the fact that she’d grow old, real old, wither and die. It would be excruciatingly painful. To’paz was thankful that she knew about herbs and potions. At least she could numb some of the pain she would be experiencing. What else could she do? She cursed herself for failing. She wept, the tears rolled down her cheeks. She pulled her nightshirt over her head.
Ultimately, the Closing was her fault. She could blame no other. She had failed to hold evil in check. She had been too lenient in her punishment of those who experimented with the black arts. She should have quieted their minds, cut them off from the gift. She had always thought she would have more time to show them the right path. She had had an inkling that things were getting worse after the attack several days ago. She should have set some wards and protections up, but she didn’t. She had assumed that destroying the demon was enough. Apparently not ….
Hundreds of people had perished in this morning’s single burst of dark fire; she had heard them scream as they passed into the Mist World. She was frustrated, because whatever it was that caused this calamity would have gotten away before she could get there, even if she hadn’t collapsed. Now, there wasn’t much sense in investigating she reasoned. After all, without her gift, there wouldn’t be anything she could do about it. The only satisfaction she could take was that the demon was in the same predicament as she was, and probably even less prepared.
She knew the devastation to the north was caused because of her negligence. Although there was no way to know for sure, she suspected that it was that event that had triggered the Closing, although it didn’t feel that way. The town was a far measure off and she had seen and felt the magnitude of the spell. As she thought back to the exact moment, it felt as though the magic went away after the dark fire, well after. The totems didn’t work that way. She wondered what that meant.
She prayed that the demon had perished when the gates closed, if it was a demon at all. She wasn’t so sure about that, the amount of magic that had been used had been massive. Far larger than any amount she could have managed. Therefore, she reasoned, either it was a very powerful demon, a lower plane lord of lords, or it was a dark mage, but that was impossible. Still, if it were a pure magical being, which she supposed it was, it would have either been destroyed or returned to the lower planes when the magic ceased to exist. She was sure of that!
She knew that sooner or later, an event such as this would trigger a Closing. She was actually surprised it had taken this long; still, she had not known what to expect. How could she? The Closing cut off the realm to the gift and without the gift, none could report back how if felt. She wondered if all Closings took as long as hers did. She would hear the chimes when the ceremony permanently closed the realm.
Her time was limited, the watchers would know, and the Keep would be informed. They would gather the nine and perform the rites and soon the realm would be permanently closed to all possessing the gift and to travel by those using the old power.
She needed a plan.
The copper teakettle began to hiss and pop. She buttoned up the top of the linen nightshirt and went to fix a cup of herbal tea. She opened the clay jar above the mantel of the fireplace, reached way to the bottom, and pulled out a bag of herbs. She undid the leather strap, opened the bag, and sprinkled them into the bottom of the cup. The hot water came next. She used and old cloth to wrap about the hot handle and tipped the pot over, letting the steaming water pour into her cup.
She stirred it with a wooden spoon, letting the loose leaves release their flavor and medicinal properties into the hot water. She held the cup to her nose and drew in the rich aroma of the mint, rose hip and herbs. She reached for another jar on the mantle and pulled the top loose. Grabbing the wooden stick, she put a large dollop of honey into her cup and stirred briskly. The leaves sank to the bottom and soon, the soothing mixture was sliding down her throat. She tasted the mint and chamomile, and quickly felt the numbing properties of the herbs she had used taking effect.
Sleep. She needed sleep. Her entire body ached from the spasms that had racked her frame. She stumbled back to bed and wetting her fingers, pinched out the flame on the beeswax candle. After throwing her feet up onto the bed, sliding down and getting comfortable, she pulled the heavy eiderdown up tight to her chin and shivered until her body heated the blanket.
Her eyes closed as her head hit the feather-filled pillow and her entire body relaxed. She waited as the drugs took effect, opening her eyes and peering across the pitch-black room while they adjusted to the dim light of the fire.
There was no moon out tonight; clouds covered its comforting gl
ow. She laid there for a short while, watching the logs burn down. The purple tipped flames retreated and all that remained were embers, which flickered and pulsed in hues of red, orange and deep yellow. Soon, the room was dark except for the flicker of the coals. There would be no dreams tonight. She would never dream again, not in the way she used to. It was so sad, she thought as sleep overcame her.
Morning came quickly and To’paz had slept well. She opened her eyes and was surprised that the sun was already well up and the light bled into the room through the shutters.
She slipped on her leather slippers, walked over to the water pitcher and added water to the kettle she left over the coals from the wooden bucket she had filled and left by the door. She set another two dried-oak logs onto the fire and stirred the gray, ash-covered coals with a long stick, bringing them back to life. It was still plenty hot under the ash and soon the new logs burst into flame, warming the room.
She wiped off the sleep and sweat from the previous day using a damp cloth and dried off. The mirror’s image that greeted her made her drop the towel.
She was older. Well, she thought she looked older, not really much older, but different. She had lived with this same face for eight-hundred years. She knew every line, wrinkle and crease. She pulled at her eyes and forehead. These did not belong, no they didn’t.
She looked down at her bracelet checking that all five gems glowed softly. She was relieved that she at least had some power saved. It was ironic that the bracelet that her father had put on her right arm in her youth as a gift would provide her with some protection, and maybe a way to live out a normal life. It was the only thing keeping her alive.
In hindsight, she cursed herself for not saving more magic. She could have stored almost double in the bracelet and she had another gem that she could have used to store even more. Of course, it’s easy to be critical with what she knew now. The gift was always there, and so much of it. Why would anyone need to store it?
She cursed under her breath. She had been extremely careless, letting the bracelet drain and only charging it when the gems stopped glowing. At least the gems were mostly charged. She had been lucky! Of course, she had another bracelet. It sat in her box on the dresser. She hadn’t worn it in years; it sat dull and lifeless and contained no magic at all. With a second bracelet, she could have lived a very normal long life, maybe even ninety years or so.
Now that she had become truly mortal, she would age alongside her friends here in the Balder Hollow, most of them rarely made it past fifty. She would die of old age.
They would grow old together, complain of aches and pains and tell stories about when they were young. She would be able to have true friends now. She would never have to move again. She would grow old in this house and she would die in this place. This was her home.
She opened up the porcelain jar on her table and pulled out a small bracelet. Last time she was in the Keep, she had managed to steal it without anyone knowing, anyone meaning her brother. She held the Bal’achar and stared into its milky white stone, watching the mist and colors swirl. It was another option.
She again looked closely into the mirror, pulling on the skin around her eyes. She thought about using the gift to restore her looks, but didn’t. She might need it for something important, really important, like staying alive.
The Cave
It was late. Ja’tar patiently waited in his room. He paced the floor, checked the time and paced some more. He wanted to be sure that everyone in the Keep was sound asleep. He couldn’t risk anyone finding out the location of the Cave of the Forbidden. He furrowed his brow trying to remember exactly where it was located. He had not visited the cave since he had taken over the role of Keeper.
He heard a murmur. It sounded like a woman yelling for help afar. He tried to turn an ear toward the sound. Just when he thought he could make out the words … nothing; no sound at all could be heard. He forgot about it, paced the floor waiting for the hour to pass.
He checked the clock again, carefully counting the various sized balls as they spun and rolled in unison from the top to the bottom, driven by wood gears and a heavy weight, which spun them at the right velocity. The balls slid down the tracks and tipped small vials of oil into a column, poured in four stages, a quarter hour each. Each vial was worth one hour. At midnight, the vials refilled after the column dumped the contents, starting the cycle all over again.
He walked over to his dresser and with a quick flip of his wrist, intricately spun a pattern and watched as the magic began to take effect. Panels slid back and forth, shifting, sliding, shrinking and growing as layers of the dresser decomposed revealing an inner chamber. Ja’tar slid open a small drawer and picked up a shiny marble. He rolled it between his fingers and over his knuckles. He marveled at how such a simple item could hold such powerful magic. He slid it into his pocket. He repeated the spell and watched to make sure the dresser resealed itself.
Ja’tar checked the hourglass one last time before grabbing his pack and exiting the chamber. One glass was empty and the second was getting ready to tip again, one-forty-five in the morning, perfect. He was fortunate and lived fairly secluded from the others in the wing where the Ten had lived. He had chosen a more modest apartment, rather than the ostentatious quarters used by the Ten, not that he could get into any of their rooms even if he wanted.
The Ten lived as extravagantly as kings did. They valued their privacy and often conducted vast magical escapades in their apartments, so safeguards were put in place to keep the normal ‘riff-raff’ out of their wing of the Keep, riff-raff being everyone except for them. They had fiercely guarded their secrets, spells and castings. They had even been known to banish and sometimes magically silence those spies that had attempted to figure them out.
Once he left his room, the door sealed and glowed as he set his ward. He watched as the spell took effect and entered the joining room. The dodecagon-shaped room, with a door for each of the Ten, the Keeper, and the Floormaster, was multistoried with a ceiling was hand-carved. It depicted the final battle of Ror. The animated carving reenacted the final push of the Ten against the Warvyn army and the dark magi.
Carved from massive fine-grained yew logs of the elven realm, they were some of the most magnificent carvings in the Keep, carvings that few besides the Ten and the Keeper had ever enjoyed. Ja’tar felt privileged. He had been privy to many things that none but a handful of the Guild members had ever seen. He often thought it would be nice to open all parts of the Keep to his fellow wizards, but had never been able to counter the protective spells.
Most of the spells just made sure that the rank and file stayed away, but some were a little more persuasive and could leave permanent damage if the wizard didn’t take a hint and turn back. Most were reactive and turned more dangerous the more an uninvited guest prodded. Only his initiation, the secret chants of passing and his ring protected him, but even he couldn’t enter the old quarters of the Ten. They had made damn sure that no one would ever see or learn their secrets. As far as he could tell, their rooms would stand to eternity and never be seen by another wizard.
He could bring a single guest, as long as they stayed with him at all times. He had brought Zedd’aki to his quarters on several occasions so that they could discuss private Guild business.
Ja’tar used his Keeper’s ring to access the Receiving Hall and walked down to the main Keep. It was a long walk filled with history and tradition. The walls were lined with paintings and display cases filled with historic artifacts.
No longer used to greet Kings and dignitaries, it now stood as a monument to the past glory of the Guild. Ironically, there was only a single case from his time, all the other displays were from times long past. His father had three cases. Ja’tar often sat and watched the displays, reliving some of the better memories from his childhood, although most of the displays were of events before his time or from which he had little memory.
He reached the main staircase and slowly circled down, f
ive stories, to the main level. He checked again to make sure he was alone, and continued ten, twenty, fifty stories more. He found that he had to stop and conjure a small light globe, for no light reached these depths and this section of the Keep had been cordoned off for centuries.
He searched the floor until he found what he was looking for. It appeared to be the grate to the sewer, but when he lifted it, he found another hidden stairwell beneath. The illusion was excellent, including the sight of dripping water and the sight of sewage through the grate. He stepped into the narrow stairwell, closed the heavy grate behind and continued counting.
The confining stairwell was dank and covered with webs. All manner of bug crawled and scurried along the walls, trying to hide from the globe that he held in front to light the way. He finally stopped at the ninety-ninth story and rubbed his sore spindly legs. He thought about the trip back up and practically cried. He raised his hand and called on the small globe to produce more light.
The stairs ended at the bottom of a roughly carved hollow. There were no doors, just rough rock. Ja’tar motioned for the light to traverse the area as he looked for clues. He felt for the magic and stopped in front of a section of rock that felt different. He chanted and wove his spells of protection before he placed his Keeper’s ring on the surface of the rock and watched its orange glow work its way out to the edge of the door he knew it hid. He placed his hands on the rock and pushed, feeling the rock move to the side. He felt the sharp shards rip at his hands and he winced as he pushed deeper.
His hands slid into the rock to his wrists. He began to chant as he moved his hands around; feeling for the edges of the door he knew was there. He found the side of the door and felt around for the small keyhole. Finding it, he placed his Keeper’s ring into the slot and twisted. The rock covering began to separate and the individual razor-toothed rock gremlins moved to the side and burrowed into the rock on either side. They eyed him menacingly as they slowly exposed the hidden door.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep Page 22