The Rock of Ivanore

by Laurisa White Reyes

  Fredric accompanied them to the outer gate. “You are my only heir,” he said to Kelvin. “Won’t you stay with me until the time comes for you take my place as king?”

  Kelvin embraced his grandfather once again. “I will gladly stay with you, but first I must finish my quest,” he said. “My friends and I have been given the charge of bringing the Rock of Ivanore back to Quendel.”

  “Why not let the others deliver it for you?”

  Kelvin looked around him and smiled at Marcus and the other boys who stood beside him. “We—all of us—began this quest together. We will finish it together.” He turned back to Fredric and bowed his head respectfully. “But I promise to return in the spring.”

  “If that is your desire,” replied Fredric, “then I am a happy man, indeed.”

  The horses were brought to the gate with packs secured to their saddles. Marcus’s horse was a white mare, sleek and lively. He stroked her nose. It was softer than anything he had ever felt before.

  “She’s a beauty,” said Jayson from the back of a chestnut mount. “As fine as any I’ve seen. What will you call her?”

  “I haven’t decided,” replied Marcus. “I just can’t settle on the right name.”

  “It will come to you.” Jayson circled his horse. “I suppose you’ll be going back to complete your apprenticeship with Master Zyll.”

  “That is my plan.”

  “Well, seeing as I gave my word to accompany you, I suppose I’ll have to come along. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Marcus smiled. “Not at all,” he said. “Not at all.”

  Kelvin and the other boys had, by now, mounted their horses and called to Marcus to join them. Before he left, however, he wanted to say goodbye to Kaië. He was glad to see her walking toward him.

  “I meant to bring you this,” she said. “You left it at the tavern.” She held out a limp leather sack. Before Marcus could accept it, Jayson snatched it away.

  “Haven’t you put this thing out of its misery yet?” he asked, laughing. He tossed it to Marcus, who examined it. To Marcus’s amazement, Zyll’s makeshift strap was still intact.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I kind of like it.”

  Jayson cleared his throat and nodded toward Kaië. Marcus felt his face flush.

  “I’ll think of you often,” said Kaië. Her words warmed Marcus to the very core.

  “Do you have to stay here?” he asked. “You could come to Quendel with us.”

  Kaië smiled at the invitation. “Maybe one day my journeys will bring me to the Jeweled Mountains. I would like to visit the son of Ivanore—and his friends. In the meantime, I will help my people repair their city.”

  Though Marcus felt disappointed, he understood her reasons for staying behind. He struggled to find the right words to express how he would miss her and how much he appreciated all she had done to help him. He could think of nothing adequate, so he simply reached out his hand to her. She took it. Her hand felt warm and soft in his.

  A loud screech broke the silence between them. Xerxes rolled his eyes and hung his beak in a mocking expression. “Such eloquence!” he said. “Tell her she is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen! Tell her you hope she stays well. Tell her something! Anything!”

  “I’ll name my horse after you,” blurted Marcus before he could stop himself. Kaië’s eyebrows rose, and a bemused grin appeared on her face.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I am honored, truly.”

  “Brilliant,” said Xerxes with noted sarcasm. “Simply brilliant.”

  Marcus was glad when Kelvin’s horse left the gate accompanied by Tristan’s, Zody’s, and finally Clovis’s. As he followed them through it, something glinted in the sun. He found a key hanging from the post. Marcus took it, turning it over in his palm. It was an ordinary iron key worn smooth in spots—Zyll’s key! When he dropped it in the Fortress, he thought it lost forever. Yet someone had recovered it and left it here for him to find. But who?

  Beyond the Fortress gates, a crowd had gathered to bid farewell to Dokur’s heroes. Marcus caught a glimpse of a familiar face among them, a young boy with amber eyes. A moment later the boy was gone. Marcus smiled to himself. Somehow Bryn had survived, and Marcus hoped their paths would again cross one day.

  The elation he felt at that moment made him want to run as fast and as far as he could. He snapped the reins and galloped ahead to catch up with the others. Soon Dokur would be far behind him. He was on his way home.

  Sixty-seven

  hen Marcus and the others emerged through the border of the Black Forest, they were greeted with cries of, “They’ve returned! The boys have come home!” Young and old ran from their cottages into the streets of Quendel to greet the town’s newest heroes. Kelvin led the parade of horses and riders through the center of town to the square where a large crowd was already beginning to gather. Tables were erected, and a feast was prepared. All were joyful and begged the travelers to relate their tales of adventure, which they willingly did.

  Each boy soon had his own throng of admirers about him, ever eager for one more story. The young ladies of the village wore garlands in their hair and vied for their attention. Marcus marveled that only days earlier he was nothing more than an orphan apprentice, but now he was as a victor come back from war. He liked this attention very much but knew that not everyone felt the way he did.

  He strained his neck to see over the heads of those gathered around him. There, sitting on his horse well away from the crowds and celebration, was Jayson. He had traveled with them to Quendel, but now that he was here, he looked as though he regretted his decision. When he turned his horse as if to leave, Marcus shouted out to him and made his way through the throng of people.

  “Don’t leave,” he pleaded. “You’ve come so far with us, you must stay for a while. The celebration will be over soon, and then Kelvin will present the Rock of Ivanore to Master Zyll. You will be my guest.”

  Jayson agreed, promising to meet him at the enchanter’s cottage at sundown.

  The afternoon flew swiftly by, and soon night fell upon Quendel. The girl who had tearfully kissed Tristan on the day of their departure kissed him again. Both he and Zody were welcomed home by their families. Clovis presented his father with his crossbow still in good condition. They learned that the coward, Jerrid Zwelger, had returned to Quendel days earlier but had received no hero’s welcome. He was given instead the task of thresher in the mill—and he was content to take it.

  At sundown, Kelvin and Marcus met Jayson at Zyll’s door. Zyll, who had shied away from the festivities due to the onset of a slight illness, was slow to answer the knock. As the door to the cottage opened, Marcus greeted the old man with a warm embrace.

  Zyll patted the boy’s head fondly, welcoming him home. “So, you’ve returned,” he said. “Was Xerxes a good companion for you?”

  Xerxes ruffled his feathers and yawned. “I watched over the boy like a hawk,” he said. “And it’s a good thing, too. Without me who knows what mischief he might have gotten into!”

  “Thank you for your guidance, my old friend,” said Zyll, taking the walking stick from Marcus and leaning it against the inside wall. “And Kelvin, my boy! How are you?”

  “A bit road-weary,” answered Kelvin, “but overall I am fine, thank you.”

  “Well, come in the both of you,” Zyll said, motioning them inside. “I’ve some hot porridge waiting on the table.”

  “Just a moment, Master,” said Marcus, barely able to mask his excitement. “I’ve brought a guest.”

  Jayson stepped up to the door. The old man looked the visitor up and down but said nothing. His expression was that of utter astonishment. Marcus was concerned that perhaps Zyll felt his home was not suitable for guests and tried to think of a way to politely excuse him of this unexpected duty. But to his surprise Zyll held out his hands to Jayson, who took them in his own.

  Jayson’s icy expression melted as he spoke. “Hello, Father,” he said.

/>   Sixty-eight

  yll was so overcome with emotion that he could not speak for some time. Finally, when he had gathered his wits about him, he invited Jayson and the boys inside.

  “I knew you would come,” Zyll said to Jayson. “Though we’ve been apart since you were a boy, I’ve watched you over the years in my divining bowl—a father’s devotion, I suppose.”

  Jayson smiled and laid his hand on Zyll’s. “At first I came only because of a promise,” he said, “but now that I’m here, I’m glad I came.”

  Jayson sat at the table and graciously accepted a bowl of porridge.

  Marcus, who was too much in shock to eat, could hold his tongue no longer. “Would someone please explain what is going on?” he demanded.

  “You’ve had a long journey,” said Zyll calmly. “Have some supper, and then we’ll talk.”

  “I don’t want supper,” replied Marcus impatiently. “I want to know why Jayson didn’t tell me you were his father.”

  Kelvin, who had remained silent until now, spoke up as well, though he sounded more hurt than surprised. “And I want to know why Zyll never told me he was my grandfather.”

  Zyll slid one bowl across the table toward Marcus and another toward Kelvin. “All your questions will be answered,” he said, “but first you must eat.”

  Marcus and Kelvin reluctantly sat down and began their modest meal together before an inviting fire. As they ate, Zyll leaned his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together.

  “Tell me, have you succeeded in your quest?”

  “Yes,” Marcus replied. “We’ve brought you the Rock of Ivanore.”

  “You discovered its true character, then?”

  “It is two things, actually. The first is Jayson, Ivanore’s husband, but you must have already known that.”

  “The second is this,” added Kelvin, removing his pendant and laying it on the table. On this signal, Jayson emptied his pouch. His part of Ivanore’s seal lay alongside Kelvin’s. Zyll pushed the two pieces together with his forefinger.

  “The Rock of Ivanore, her royal seal crafted of the finest Celestine. Where did you find it?”

  Marcus related the story of how Jayson had come into his company and how it had been discovered that Kelvin was the son of Jayson and Ivanore, the heir to Lord Fredric of Dokur. Through the entire story Zyll sat in his chair, silent and thoughtful. After all was told, Marcus sat back to catch his breath.

  “And what about the key?” asked Zyll. Marcus had failed to mention the key, and now he hesitated to answer.

  “I did as you instructed,” he said. “I used the key to practice my magic. I did improve my skills somewhat, though I admit its power was difficult to control. And then I lost it.”

  “Lost it?” replied Zyll, his eyebrows raised.

  “I got the key back,” added Marcus quickly. “But something happened while it was lost that I can’t explain. I performed magic on organic matter.”

  “What sort of magic?”

  Marcus cast a wary glance at Kelvin. Sensing Marcus’s uneasiness, Kelvin spoke up.

  “He healed me,” he said. “I was told later that I was dead, and Marcus revived me.”

  “This is true,” added Jayson.

  A look of concern crossed Zyll’s face. “Dead, you say? And Marcus, you have no ill effects from the experience?”

  Marcus shook his head. “Not really,” he replied. “I do have a little pain from the wound Arik gave me. But I’m sure I’ll recover quickly.”

  Zyll scratched at his chin for a moment, deep in thought. “I am glad you are all right,” he said finally. “Few would even attempt what you did—let alone succeed.”

  “But how did I do it? I didn’t have the key!”

  “Well, that is easy to explain,” said Zyll, a sly smile creeping across his lips. “The key bears no magic.”

  “What?”

  “I never said it did. What I said is that it would unlock your destiny. If you misunderstood me, that was your mistake.”

  “But Xerxes told me it was forged in the depths of Voltana!”

  “And so it was . . . by a locksmith in the village there.”

  “But . . . but the magic . . .” stammered Marcus.

  “The magic came from within you. You obviously had confidence in the key, which translated into confidence in your own abilities. When your confidence was strong enough, no key or any other crutch was necessary. And it seems that your abilities are far stronger than you or I ever imagined. Now, if I may . . .”

  Marcus reached into his pocket. Withdrawing the key one last time, he laid it in his master’s outstretched palm. Zyll went to the bookshelf and took down the wooden chest he had opened on the first day of the quest. He turned the key in the lock and opened the lid.

  “That stone you brought me is incomplete,” he said. “There is a piece missing.”

  “But Master, we don’t know where it is,” said Marcus.

  “Of course you don’t, but you asked for answers, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to give them.” Zyll reached his hand into the chest and, as he had done before, withdrew an object wrapped in his fist. He held out his hand and opened his fingers. There, lying in his palm was a triangular shard of sea-colored stone, the missing piece of Ivanore’s seal. He laid the shard on the table beside the others, forming a complete circle.

  Marcus did not know what to say. What could this mean? And how had Zyll come by the missing piece? The expressions on Kelvin’s and Jayson’s faces seemed to ask the same questions.

  As though reading their thoughts, Zyll explained. “When Jayson was exiled,” he began, “Ivanore fled her father’s wrath. He had threatened to kill her child, and so she sought the only person whom she could trust.”

  “Her husband’s father,” interjected Jayson.

  Zyll nodded and continued. “Though you and I had been estranged for many years, she hoped I would shelter her, which I did, of course. By the time she reached me, however, she was very ill. She eventually passed from this earth, but not before I swore to her that I would conceal her offsprings’ identities to protect them from Fredric.”

  “But if you were my grandfather, why did the Archers raise me?” said Kelvin.

  “I would have taken you myself,” replied Zyll, “but according to our law, orphans go to the highest bidder. I simply could not afford both children.”

  Jayson looked up in surprise. “Both children?”

  “When Ivanore came to me she was with child.”

  “I know,” said Jayson. “She had our son, Kelvin, with her.”

  “Yes,” said Zyll, “she had Kelvin with her, but she died giving birth to a second son to whom she left this last shard of Celestine.”

  Marcus’s eyes fell upon the seal now. The pale blue-green crystal glistened in the firelight. He laid his hand on it, encircling it with his fingers. He thought of the dream of the angel woman he had had after healing Kelvin. The woman had given him a shard of Celestine. He had assumed it was Kelvin’s, but now he realized the shard in his dream was identical to the one Zyll had set before him.

  Zyll’s voice continued, his words settling in Marcus’s heart like a ray of spring sunlight. The expression on Jayson’s face revealed that he felt the same.

  “I took the child,” said Zyll, “and named him Marcus.”

  Energy coursed through Marcus’s body. His arm surged with heat, and his hand grew so hot that the stone beneath it glowed red.

  When the heat finally subsided, he removed his hand, dropping it heavily on the table from exhaustion. But his fatigue felt strangely satisfying. What he saw before him renewed his strength. Ivanore’s seal no longer lay fragmented. Its rough edges were now smooth. The Rock of Ivanore was whole once more. Marcus Frye had unlocked his destiny after all.

  Acknowledgements

  When my oldest son was eight, he asked me to tell him a bedtime story—not read him a story, but make one up as I went along. Night after night, this story grew. In tim
e, I started writing some of it down. And so The Rock of Ivanore was born.

  This book is dedicated to my son, Marcum. If it weren’t for him, I would never have even thought of it. But all my children have had a hand in it. Carissa, you’re my right-hand man and most trusted critic. No one reads anything of mine until it passes your inspection. Stuart, thank you for being my biggest fan. Brennah and Jarett, you inspire me every day to be the best writer and mother I can possibly be.

  My husband, to whom I’ve been married for nineteen years, is my rock. He puts up with my crazy ideas, the walls covered in sticky notes, endless hours and days and months and years of me living in my creative bubble while the dishes and laundry pile ever higher. Gonzalo, thank you for being my best friend and for working so hard to provide for our family—and for making all my dreams come true.

  My sister-in-law, Dorine White, is my fellow writer-in-arms. She loves fantasy as much as I do and has encouraged me every step of the way. Thank you to my brother, Trevor, for marrying her and giving me the sister I always wanted.

  I am so grateful for my high school English teachers & college professors who made me fall in love with literature and nurtured my budding talent—Thelma Chapman, Fran Kristoff, Carol Spector, and especially Elizabeth Rose, who has been a friend to me and an aunt to my children for all these years.

  My parents, Ray & Cyndi White, believed in me long before anyone else ever did. From the time I was five years old when I wrote my first poem, Mom always told me what a good job I’d done, while Dad offered advice on how to improve my writing skills. I needed both Mom’s unconditional support and Dad’s gentle instruction to reach my potential. Dad’s amazing stories inspired me to write my own, and Mom’s motto “If someone else has done it, you can learn to do it, too,” instilled in me the drive to never give up on my dreams.