The Rock of Ivanore

by Laurisa White Reyes

  “At least tell me your name.”

  The stranger turned toward Marcus. “My name is Jayson,” he said.

  Grasping his hood with his hands, Jayson pulled it back, revealing a head of woolly black hair and catlike eyes as gray as the clouds over a stormy sea. Marcus gasped involuntarily. Their rescuer wasn’t human—at least not completely human. Marcus had never seen a half-breed Agoran before.

  Thirteen

  arcus! Kelvin!”

  The happy shouts of four boys reverberated against the canyon walls. It was a welcome sound, almost as welcome as the sight of them running through the narrow passage. Marcus, who had just helped Kelvin onto his feet after the Groc’s paralyzing potion began to wear off, nearly fell on his backside when Tristan Tether tackled him.

  “We nearly gave you up for dead!” teased Tristan, the yellow scarf from the ceremony still tied around his neck. “I ran into Clovis holding his nose at the entrance of the canyon. We would have caught up with you sooner, but look what we found.”

  In the company of Tristan and Clovis were the other two boys from Quendel.

  Jerrid Zwelger picked a speck of dust from his new leather satchel and flicked it away. “When we hadn’t seen you two by this morning,” he said, “we imagined the worst.”

  Zody Smythe’s freckled face broke into a grin as he gave a timid laugh. “We thought you got eaten!”

  “That is, until we saw that snake carcass,” added Jerrid, coolly. “I only know one person who can wield a death blow with a dagger.”

  Quick as a flash, Jerrid snatched Kelvin’s dagger from its sheath and brandished it in the air. Kelvin, who was still recovering from his paralysis, did not resist. “To Kelvin Archer!” shouted Jerrid. He raised the dagger above his head and let out a loud whoop. The other boys echoed it, filling the canyon with a strange music.

  When the noise died down, Kelvin accepted his dagger back from Jerrid. He wobbled unsteadily. Marcus handed Kelvin the walking stick, and Kelvin leaned against it gratefully. Jerrid nudged Zody with his elbow as the two exchanged derisive glances.

  “Looks like Marcus brought along a little friend for company,” Jerrid said, snickering.

  Marcus held his anger in check, though he dreaded the mockery he would have to endure once Jerrid learned that Kelvin had nearly lost his life because of him.

  “Marcus and I fought the snake together,” Kelvin said. “We had a run-in with a Groc, as well.”

  “A Groc!” Suddenly the boys were all ears.

  “Did you kill it?” asked Tristan.

  “Where’s the body?” prodded Zody.

  “Did you escape?” asked Clovis.

  “They’re alive, aren’t they, brain-boy?” replied Jerrid, his voice thick with cynicism. Clovis cast his eyes downward, ashamed.

  Tristan stepped forward. “Kelvin must have fought him off,” he said, patting Clovis on the shoulder. “How did you manage?”

  To Marcus’s relief, Kelvin said nothing of Marcus’s role in bringing the Groc into their company. In fact, it seemed he would say nothing at all.

  Marcus spoke up. “Actually, we have Jayson to thank for saving us.”

  “Who’s Jayson?” Jerrid asked.

  Having gone unnoticed by the excited boys, Jayson now stepped forward. His broad shoulders and grave countenance gave an air of nobility, though his cloak was torn and coated in moist earth. “It is my pleasure to meet you all,” he said.

  There was an awkward silence as the boys gaped at the stranger. They seemed particularly riveted to his eyes. Marcus noted again how strange they looked, their pupils narrow slits like a cat’s, and pale—the color of wet clay on a potter’s wheel. The silence was broken, however, when Jerrid extended his hand. Jayson took it firmly.

  “Come on, then!” said Jerrid. “We should reach Noam by nightfall. Once there we’ll head to the nearest tavern and celebrate the success of the first leg of our journey.”

  Kelvin and the others followed Jerrid around the next bend in the passage, but Marcus held back. He glanced apprehensively behind and above. A shiver crawled up his spine, and as he hurried to catch up to his companions, he could not shake the feeling that someone or something still lurked in the shadows.

  Fourteen

  aylight was fast receding as two wooden skiffs reached Illian Bay. One passenger from each boat stepped into the shallow waves to heave their crafts onto shore—an easy task for brutes such as these. If not for their faces, pockmarked and malformed as they were, they might have passed for rather sizable humans. The Mardoks were taller and vastly broader than their human leader, and yet they obeyed him unquestioningly.

  Under any other circumstances, Arik would have preferred to work alone. But despite his distaste for subhumans, the man/beast Mardoks were both physically strong and mentally inferior—the makings of an effective and compliant crew.

  A quick-tempered man with hair as red as flame, Arik stepped from his boat while still in the shallows and strode purposely toward drier land. He had waited so long for this moment—sacrificed so much—and though years of ambition and vengeance had hardened him, he reveled at feeling Imaness beneath his feet once again.

  Once the boats were secure, the remaining Mardoks stepped onto the wet sand carrying two small crates and torches. Arik called to them in short, gruff commands. “Quickly now! Scan every inch! Don’t let a twig or leaf escape your eyes!”

  While the seven Mardoks scurried along the forest’s border, Arik inspected the beach. Though partially eroded from the tide, evidence of an earlier visitor was still apparent. A trail of footprints crisscrossed where forest and beach met, finally disappearing into a dense patch of undergrowth.

  “Here!” he shouted. The adrenaline surged in his veins. He breathed deeply, and the exhilaration of the moment made his skin tingle. He lifted his hand to the side of his face and rubbed the raw, newly healed scar that covered the space his left ear had once occupied. Days had passed, yet it ached even now. How he longed for a chance to avenge his loss.

  The Mardoks hurried to the spot. Arik tugged at branches and vines, commanding the others to do the same. One Mardok lit its torch and flourished it at the trees. “Let’s burn our way through!” it shouted, lighting a branch aflame.

  “You fool!” shouted Arik. Moving quickly, he snapped off the burning limb and struck the culprit with it. The creature screamed in pain, its face singed from the flame.

  “Fire will only alert our enemy to our presence, not to mention every other person who lives on this wretched island!” Arik gestured toward the footprints in the sand. “The access is here! Find it now, or I will leave you all here to die!”

  They tried to breach the foliage with renewed vigor. Then for one of the Mardoks, the forest gave way. Arik pushed the beast aside and gazed at the narrow opening with satisfaction. A seeming lifetime of ambitions and designs were culminating in this moment. But there was no time for pride: Soon they had to be on the other side of the island.

  Arik ordered the crates to be brought to him. He reached into one and removed a small gray bird with a yellow band around its leg. Once released, the bird took flight, soaring into the sky and disappearing over the tops of the trees.

  Fifteen

  t was nearing nightfall by the time Marcus and company emerged from Vrystal Canyon. Below them the Village of Noam spread out like a vast, green carpet dotted here and there by low hillsides. Huts made of stone were scattered about at random, each with a thin plume of smoke curling up from a squat chimney. About a mile from the canyon was a cluster of a dozen or more identical wooden structures and a water well, which the boys guessed was the village square.

  “Finally, a place where I can get a suitable meal,” said Jerrid, surveying the valley with an approving nod. “Zody, take my pack while I make my way down.”

  “Don’t do it, Zody,” said Tristan, passing the other boys to start down the hill. Calling over his shoulder, he added, “He’s not a pack animal, Jerrid!”

&n
bsp; “But I don’t mind. Really.” Zody took Jerrid’s pack and slung it over his shoulder, opposite his own pack. Then he followed Jerrid down the steep slope. Near the bottom, Zody slipped on some loose soil, slid into Jerrid nearly knocking him off balance, and endured a berating from his friend for being clumsy. Marcus watched the scene from above. He couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

  “Those two are an odd pair,” said Jayson, the mysterious savior who had rescued Kelvin and Marcus from the jaws of the hungry Groc.

  Kelvin, still a bit shaky from his earlier encounter, leaned against a nearby tree stump and took a long swig from his water skin. “No more odd than some of us,” he said.

  Ignoring Kelvin, Jayson directed his comments to Marcus. “Noam has several satisfactory inns, but I recommend the one on the north side of the fountain,” he said, pointing. “You’ll find a warm bed and excellent service there.”

  “You’re not staying with us?” Marcus asked. Though their journey together had been a short one, he felt safer in the company of the man in the black cloak. He was sure Kelvin agreed. To his dismay, however, Kelvin offered neither thanks nor a request for Jayson to stay with them.

  “But you need a place to rest, too,” Marcus said. “Why don’t you come with us?”

  Kelvin crossed his arms. His face wore an impatient expression.

  “I hesitated to ask earlier,” said Jayson, nodding toward the other boys who had nearly reached the bottom of the slope that led to the village, “but what were two lads like yourselves doing alone in Groc territory?”

  Kelvin straightened himself as best he could and squared his shoulders. “We’re on a quest.”

  “What sort of quest?”

  “We are on a long journey and will be men upon our return.”

  “Men?” Jayson laughed. “Why, you are only boys! If I hadn’t come along, you both would be Groc droppings by now.”

  Kelvin’s jaw tightened, and Marcus sensed for the first time a hint of anger in his companion. “I admit that I was taken by surprise,” said Kelvin. “But Marcus and I would have killed the creature if you had not interfered.”

  Jayson raised a skeptical eyebrow at Kelvin. “Is that so?” he said, still smiling. “Grocs do not generally give up as easily as that one did. So how, pray tell, would you have killed it? You were unconscious, and Marcus was paralyzed with fear.”

  Kelvin’s hand went to his dagger, and for a moment Marcus feared he would draw it. “I assure you, sir,” Kelvin answered, his eyes locked on Jayson’s with an icy glare, “we do not require your protection—or your companionship.”

  “Afraid I’ll eat you in your sleep, like that Groc?” asked Jayson, obviously taking pleasure in provoking Kelvin.

  “Please,” Marcus said, interrupting. “We’re all hungry and tired. Let’s go down and get something to eat.”

  Marcus disagreed with Kelvin. He was certain that the Groc would have killed them both if not for Jayson’s chance appearance. The only way to truly thank Jayson for saving their lives was to invite him to join them for supper.

  “On second thought, I will join you both,” Jayson replied with a smirk. “And Kelvin, you have nothing to fear from me. Agorans don’t much care for human flesh. Too gamey.”

  Jayson moved on toward the village below. Marcus hurried down the slope after him, hoping Kelvin would follow. He did not look back, but to his relief, he soon heard his footsteps following behind.

  Sixteen

  he rooms at the Noamish inn proved to be plain yet suitable. After their two-day trek through the Black Forest and Vrystal Canyon, the boys longed for a good meal and comfortable bed.

  After cleaning themselves in tubs of steaming water, they convened in the guest hall where they feasted on roast duck and stewed cabbage. With their stomachs filled, they warmed themselves by the wide granite hearth and boasted to one another of their adventures so far. One by one, each boy excused himself for the evening. By midnight only Jayson and Marcus remained—along with Jerrid Zwelger, who had laid his head on the table and fallen asleep.

  Marcus placed his satchel between his head and the back of his chair. His eyes felt heavy, but the crackle and warmth of the fire held him as though in a trance. His thoughts turned to Zyll’s cottage, small but comfortable and perfectly suited to their needs. He recalled his old master. Marcus considered himself fortunate to have had such a benevolent guardian, as his upbringing was not usual for orphans. That he would be brought up an apprentice, sent to school, and allowed to embark on a quest were privileges customarily reserved only for sons.

  Jayson joined Marcus beside the fire and placed his feet on the hearth. The maidservant offered him a full tankard of ale, which he downed in a single swallow.

  “Why don’t you just bring me the whole cask?” he suggested, passing the empty tankard back to the maid. She curtsied and hurried from the room. Jayson stretched his legs out before him and wriggled his bare feet in front of the fire.

  “That’s one ugly bag,” he said, poking Marcus’s satchel with his finger. “It looks like a half-eaten carcass.”

  Marcus placed the satchel beneath his chair. Then he leaned forward to warm his hands near the fire. He was glad he had left Xerxes in his room, or he might have had to endure even more ridicule.

  “So tell me more about this quest you are on,” said Jayson.

  “We’re supposed to find something and bring it back to our village,” Marcus answered.

  “What something?”

  “A stone.” Marcus spoke cautiously, forming the words on his lips as if they were a secret, the revelation of which might release some terrible curse.

  The maidservant returned, straining under the weight of the wooden keg she carried. When she came to the hearth, she set it down and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Now that’s more like it!” said Jayson, pulling off the lid and lifting it to his lips with both hands. The servant just shook her head and began clearing the table, careful not to disturb the boy who was using it as a pillow.

  Jayson set down the keg and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “What sort of stone is worth sending six children on such a dangerous quest?”

  Marcus bristled at being called a child, but he tried not to show it. “Some say it is a magical stone,” he said.

  “A magical stone? Just what kind of magic does this stone possess?”

  “I’m not sure, really,” Marcus explained. “I’ve heard a rumor that it has the power to destroy kingdoms and raise them up again.”

  Jayson’s eyes gazed into the flames as though his mind were drifting to a distant place. “Such a power would be useful in times like these,” he said more to himself than to Marcus. Jayson’s eyes flashed with energy. He broke from the hypnotic fire and turned back to his ale. “So where is this magic stone?”

  “No one knows,” said Marcus. “That’s why we’ve come to Noam, to study the writings in the library. Maybe there we’ll find more information.”

  “The library, eh? You could be there for months and never find what you’re looking for.” Jayson swayed unsteadily before he leveled off. The ale was beginning to work a magic of its own upon him. “I am somewhat familiar with the history of these parts. Tell me its name,” he continued. “Perhaps I’ve heard of it. It has a name, hasn’t it?”

  Marcus chewed his lower lip, unsure if he should divulge such information. What if the stone was valuable? What if Jayson did know of it and took it for himself? Would Marcus’s quest be a failure? He studied Jayson’s face for a long moment, searching for some justification of his mistrust. He found none.

  “It has a name,” Marcus answered, lowering his voice. “We seek the Rock of Ivanore.”

  There was a silent pause, and for a moment Marcus thought he saw a hint of recognition pass through Jayson’s eyes. Then, to Marcus’s surprise, Jayson threw back his head and roared with laughter. This continued for several minutes. Each time it seemed that Jayson had gotten control of himself, his laughter began ane
w. It was a good five minutes before he regained his composure, at which point he downed the remaining contents of his keg in its entirety.

  “Why are you laughing?” Marcus asked defensively.

  A wide grin spread across Jayson’s face. “You seek the Rock of Ivanore? What village, may I ask, has sent you on this grand adventure?”

  “Quendel,” answered Marcus. “East of the Jeweled Mountains.”

  Jayson’s grin widened even more. “Quendel. Yes, I know that place. And I suppose it was that old wizard of theirs, Zyll, who put you up to it, eh?”

  Marcus nodded. He was quite perplexed now. How did Jayson know Zyll? Marcus had never seen Jayson in the village before. It must have been before Marcus was old enough to remember.

  Jayson glanced toward the table where Jerrid still lay unmoving, then leaned close to Marcus, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “Do you know why I laugh, Marcus? I laugh because what Zyll has sent you to find isn’t magic at all. It isn’t even a stone.”

  “Then you’ve heard of it?” asked Marcus, filled with sudden optimism.

  “I should hope so!” said Jayson, stifling another laugh. “Because I am the Rock of Ivanore!”

  Seventeen

  ayson clasped his hands together and stared past the now-dying embers. A sudden melancholy came over him. Whether it was the effects of the ale setting in or the memories, Marcus wasn’t sure.

  “Ivanore is my wife,” Jayson said.

  A log in the fireplace broke in two, the shower of spark and ash resounding through the silence as though a tree had been felled. The only other sound in the room was Jerrid’s occasional shifting upon the table. Marcus was filled with questions. He spoke cautiously.

  “Isn’t it against the law for humans to marry . . . your kind?”

  Jayson’s eyes were fixed on the fire. “I’m only half Agoran,” he said spitefully, although the edge in his voice softened as he continued. “We were wed in secret. Her father had forbidden her to marry me, but we were young, in love, and nothing and no one could separate us—or so we thought.”