“But surely there are others who seek you, others more capable?” I cannot be the best one suited to this!
“You think you are not the best suited…but you are, Magi. I do not need to explain myself and my choices, nor is it for you to judge me, but I will offer you this encouragement. All who seek me will find me, and all who know me will stay with me at the proper time. For the few who still call upon me, I move events as I see fit to those with faith. But for the task at hand and the times ahead, your fate is to help Tenebrae rediscover Truth in absolute terms. I put in you a judgmental thirst; it is time for your thirst be quenched, but tempered with wisdom.”
Magi bowed his eyes. “How can I do that? I was killed.” He put his hand to his throat.
“For man, there are limits. For Me, there are none. You shall return—your life on Tenebrae will be returned.” Dymetra smiled, and it was the most breathtaking thing he had ever beheld in his life or death. The smile of God filled the room with optimism, hope, and energy.
Revitalized, but still unable to stand, he asked, “What about all of them?” He looked about the room. Then he turned to his best friend. “Kyle?”
“Through prayer from a faithful cleric, I can grant all manner of healing, Magi—even when the body has returned to me—provided it serves my purpose. Kyle’s purpose, however, has been well served, Magi. He is in Paradise. You have said yourself that Tenebrae is a Dark World. Has your friend not suffered enough? Why not let him enjoy the fruits of the race he ran?” Dymetra asked.
Because I need him! Because I ended his life too soon! Because I feel guilty…
“Magi,” Kyle said, approaching his friend. “It’s ok.”
Magi found the strength and energy to stand, and he put his hand around Kyle’s neck, tears continuing to run down his cheeks.
“Kyle—you’ll come with me, right?” Magi asked, half-pleading. He turned to Dymetra. “Please! Send him back with me!”
Dymetra once again smiled, and the room was filled with hope, with energy, and with optimism. Magi’s tears stopped, and breathed the feeling in deep.
“Young mage,” She began kindly. “You have so much to learn. Let Me grant you the request that you truly petition for, not the one you have asked. Let your guilt be removed, Magi. Over time you will learn to see My plans and My will, and will ask for the things you need most to accomplish it. What you need right now is to be freed from the guilt of your cursed past, which I have granted. You will find that I will provide all the help you need, Magi.”
A shudder ran through Magi, and he felt like a blast of cold air just washed over him. He felt alert, more self-aware. He turned to Kyle again, and saw his best friend…happy.
Kyle put an arm on Magi’s shoulder, then hugged him. Finally he gently separated from his best friend. “This is Paradise, Magi. Apparently my sacrifice is over. If anything, I feel bad that you have to go back. Right, Fate?” He turned his head to a chair not far from the large comfortable looking one, and nodded at Fate, whom Magi immediately recognized, having given him his white eyes at the top of Staircase what seemed eons ago.
Fate smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “You heard Her. He’s headed back.”
Magi just looked at Kyle. “But would you come if She allowed it?”
He smiled at Magi and clapped his shoulder. “For you, I would.”
Magi then turned to Dymetra and bowed his head. “My God, is there no way You would reconsider?”
Dymetra slowly extended a finger toward Magi. “Young mage, I have told you what I require. A selfish, guilt-ridden prayer is not it. A cleric—a True Cleric—armed with a faithful prayer, aligned to my will, shall overcome much. They may overcome death itself. But you are still principally concerned with your needs, and your friend is also principally concerned with your needs as well. With time, reflection, obedience, and experience…you will learn to trust Me.”
Kyle just put his hands together, lowered his eyes, and backed away. “I’m sure you’ll have help, Magi. But my place is here now. I’ll see you again, I’m sure.”
Even surrounded by his family and those he had known, Magi had never felt so alone. He looked up at Dymetra seated in Her chair. “I—I still don’t know what you want me to do.”
Another man approached. Kyle nodded at him and continued backing away. The other man extended his hand and said. “Magi.”
He did not recognize him, except to say that he was one of the men he had noticed in the room. He shook the man’s hand after a brief pause. “Who are you?” he asked.
The young-looking man smiled kindly. “My name is Quixatalor—you may have heard of me. For now you may be returning alone, but at least you won’t return empty-handed. I owe you an apology. My friend Windomere and I, who stands over there, created a terrible spell. It is called Tralatus, and it changes a person’s character, their moral center, so to speak. It was this deed that cost us our lives, and rightfully so. Though our intentions were good, Dymetra was not pleased that we should try and use our power to make ‘bad’ people ‘good.’ So you see, you are not the first nor will you be the last to wrestle with this question. We thought we could rid the world of evil…and all we did was give Her ancient enemy the means to destroy your life. Please forgive us for this terrible mistake. Yet, as is Her character—” he looked over at Dymetra, smiling humbly, “—She causes all things to work together for good for those who are called according to Her purpose. So it is the case with you.” He smiled again, this time with a little twinkle in his eye as he patted Magi on the back.
Quixatalor continued. “She did give me a wonderful gift, however. During my time on Tenebrae, I had a staff that gave me Her perspective on everything. It allowed me to see Truth. It allowed me to hear what was unspoken, to feel what was unexpressed, to learn that which others would not openly share. It is blessed by Dymetra herself, and She wishes you to have it. Take my staff, the Staff of Insight or Wisdom as it has been called, and use it well. Use it as I used it, to bring a measure of light into the growing darkness of the world.”
He held out a thick staff, beautifully carved. It was incredibly light—far lighter than any quarterstaff Magi had practiced with at Marik’s school. The rod was at least eight feet long, and as sturdy as the finest hardwood. The top of it widened into a set of four prongs that held a small, white stone. Magi put his hand on top of the stone—it was smooth like a diamond, but warm.
“You will find that the Staff is a formidable weapon, but that its true value is in sensing and interpreting the truth. Whenever you ask for Dymetra’s insight into a situation in the presence of this Staff, it shall be granted. Use it well.” Quixatalor said, starting to walk away.
Magi said, “I don’t feel anything from the Staff now.”
Quixatalor laughed. “Well of course you don’t—there is no deception here.”
The man called Windomere approached Magi. He was covered in tattoos. “I, too, must apologize to you, Magi. If Quixatalor and I knew hundreds of years ago that you, or anyone’s suffering would be the fruits of our labor, we would not have brought that spell into existence. But come—you have been healed of that spell, and are now who you were always destined to be. And now it is time for you to return. Do not say goodbye…you will return. Seconds here are years on Tenebrae and seconds there are years here. I don’t have a physical gift for you, but I can offer you some guidance: seek others who have committed themselves to this fight. And know this: there are two other Artifacts, blessed by Dymetra, which can aid you in this struggle against the demon Kuth-Cergor.”
Magi gave the staff a twirl. Unbelievably light. “What artifacts?”
Windomere continued. “The Blade of Justice, wielded by Ajax—one of the deadliest True Warriors Tenebrae has ever seen, and my own Shield of Life. I cannot tell you where they are, for I do not know. But you should seek them, and this Staff will be of great help I am sure.”
Magi nodded. He looked around and saw many, many familiar faces, now that he actually too
k the time to take it all in. He set his jaw, and put his hand up to wave slowly, not sure how to say goodbye. He turned to Dymetra, and again felt the immense power emanating from Her seated in that large, comfortable chair. “I am ready,” he said, bowing his head.
Dymetra simply said, “Return…”
Magi
Magi blinked. He saw the back of a woman as she dove into the sea, and then he began hearing cheers and cries and shouts and all manner of pandemonium. He was lying in a street, pitched forward. He dared not move until he heard, “Burn the body!”
His hand wrapped tightly around the Staff, he called forth his magic and disappeared, teleporting to first person he could think of visiting.
“What in the world…how—” was the last thing Magi heard, gasped from a captain who watched the whole spectacle unfold from the main deck of a ship, Sheila’s Bane, tied up at the dock.
Kari
The floor started to rise. Gently at first, but soon they all began to notice they were working a little harder. Strongiron, who was carrying the heaviest load, was soon wiping his brow. He smiled at the exertion. “We seem to be climbing, albeit slowly.”
Niku, still carefully drawing his map to ensure they didn’t miss a potential route out, agreed with the True Warrior. “Yes, I believe you’re right.” He paused when the path they were following opened into a fairly large room, not unlike the dozens that they had been exploring, except that this one was almost cavernous, with four or five tunnels leading in several different directions, including the way in which they had just come. A large pile of bones lay in the center.
The group cautiously entered the chamber and looked around. Rebecca sighed. “More exploring. It never ends.”
Niku, however, came to a stop in the middle, near the bones. He held up his hand. “Do you feel that?” he asked the group.
“Feel what?” Kari asked.
“An air current!” Strongiron answered. Looking up, they saw only darkness above. The alcove they were in had higher stone ceilings than most of the others, and the top was obscured in shadow. “Send one of your glowballs up there.”
Kari obliged, and as her light rose, they saw the source of the mild air current: a shaft, cut into the top of the room.
“Of course!” Niku said. “If Kari is right, the True Clerics would not be concerned with a fall. They would have floated down with no need for stairs.” His eyes narrowed into little white slits. “I believe we should head up.”
Strongiron rubbed his beard. “Can you levitate us all? There are no ladders or ropes for Quentin, Rebecca, or myself. Kari and you can manage, I suppose.”
Niku nodded. “With ease.” Knowing everyone was anxious to be above ground again, he did not wait long to gather himself. Uttering the words, he began to lift the entire group, slowly, in single file, up through the enormous shaft, starting with Strongiron.
The glowball rose ahead of him, lighting the way. He kept rising and rising, more than a hundred feet. Up he went, and the air grew fresher. Near the top, however, the end of the shaft approached unceremoniously, culminating in just a bunch of stone, like one might find atop any cave wall. Feeling disappointed and more nervous from the height than he would care to admit, he started to yell down, but the word ‘Stop!’ got caught in his throat. He saw the glow ball keep ascending—passing straight through the stone. Putting his hands over his head to keep from ramming his head into approaching ceiling, he felt incredibly claustrophobic. Bracing, ready to shout, he watched as his own hands plunged through the stone as if they were air.
He poked his head up through the opening and into a cave, natural light flooding its opening, not far away. The massive True Warrior began laughing, and called down to tell the others. Soon all were standing in the cave, looking at the nondescript dirt floor that was actually an illusion.
“Ingenious,” Niku observed. “Many animals must have walked across this illusion in the cave floor, falling hundreds of feet to the catacombs below. That would explain the large number of bones we saw down there at the bottom of the shaft.”
Quentin nodded. Strongiron motioned to the others. “Come, let’s continue.”
They left the cave and felt the sun on their faces for the first time in days. It was cool, but not as frigid as when they left Elvidor. Winter had come to this part of the world as well, but perhaps spring was close. Walking out from the cave, the chilly air was lost on them all, however, given the sight they came upon.
Pouring over the edge of a sheer cliff was a massive waterfall. The water, however, wasn’t clear blue or muddy brown.
It was silver. Pure silver.
The view was breathtaking, and it was impossible to take one’s eyes off it. The water gathered at the bottom into a large tide pool, and then rushed downstream and emptied into the enormous lagoon that made up the center of the nearly circular continent. The central lagoon was so vast that it might as well have been the sea; you could not see the land on the opposite side. Where the silver water crashed into the crystal clear water, a sort of cloudy, opaque river delta emerged, with lightening shades of gray. The spray at the bottom of the waterfall filled the air with a silvery mist, causing light reflections everywhere. It looked like tiny mirror fragments were suspended in the air, and the effect was dazzling, almost blinding after days in the catacombs.
“Long we have waited for this day!” said a voice behind them. “Welcome, welcome!”
Kari turned around. She saw three male Elves, ancient even for their race, dressed in simple white robes and heavy white cloaks that contrasted starkly with their dark skin. It was then that she saw the tower behind them.
A single tower, beautifully sculpted, rose from the ground to match the height of the cliffs surrounding them. Rookwood may have been more impressive in size, but the detailed stonework was a level of craftsmanship she had never seen anywhere in her life. She had no doubt that what stood before her was the fabled Tower of Dariez—the ancient home of the True Clerics. This was her calling.
The three old Elves approached Kari and the group, walking somewhat slowly. “We have been expecting you. Since others first came to learn about Dymetra—and unfortunately, about the Fallen One as well—we knew the time was approaching when our God would send a new champion. Long have we waited to share what we know. A long time indeed.”
Kari took a step forward, as everyone in her group watched her.
One of the Elves came forward, walking past Kari and said, “Welcome, Strongiron. Come, refresh yourselves.”
The others started sharing awkward looks. Finally, Strongiron said, “Ah, I don’t know how you know me, but I’m here to safely deliver Kari to you. It is her destiny to become a True Cleric.”
The Elves smiled. “All may study who feel the Call. But you, Strongiron, are preordained. The world will need many with faith enough to heal. There must be more than one beacon of light in the growing darkness of this world.”
One of the Elves walked over to Quentin, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Your Art cannot heal you, for the source of your power is Man. But you will learn that with Dymetra, all things are possible.”
The Elf said a word, and Quentin’s hands flew to his mouth. He opened it and stuck his tongue—his new tongue—out. Overcome with joy, he kept sticking his tongue in and out of his mouth, licking his lips. He looked at everyone and said, “…I…can speak. I can talk again! Master Niku—it is a miracle!”
“Come inside our tower, and warm yourselves, friends,” the third Elf said.
Niku’s eyes grew wide, like little white saucers. “It is indeed. The tales of old seem to be true. The True Clerics are back.”
The Elves looked at one another, smiling somewhat sadly. “Some of us never left. But come, we have much to discuss.”
All of them began walking toward the tower, except Strongiron. He stood there, staring at the silver waterfall, the tower, the massive inland sea, and Quentin, trying to take it all in. “I’m a General,” he said. “Fighting is
all I know.”
“Perhaps that is why you were chosen,” said the Elf that had healed Quentin. With another smile that seemed to crinkle his entire face, he made a grand gesture with a sweep of his cloak and continued leading them all into the Tower.
Strongiron reached out and put his massive hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Dymetra…She really exists, doesn’t She?”
Everyone looked at him. The Elves turned to look at Quentin, who stepped forward and clasped the True Warrior’s hand. “Yes, General. She most certainly does.”
Turning, they all began trudging into the Tower, out of the cool, misty air, with Kari last. She paused before entering, her stomach in knots and her fists balled up. This was supposed to be my destiny.
Queen Najalas
Queen Najalas knew this day had been coming. Chief Chocktaw had reported the curious movement of hundreds of small watercraft through the strait of Holstine and around the southern edge of Elvidor, past the great Elven forest of Filestalas. This was no army. These boats looked hardly seaworthy, as if children hiding by the shoreline could sink them while skipping stones. Still—in these times the Queen took no chances. Simon and a contingent of her guards “welcomed” these visitors. Seated in her Great Hall, she waited while some of the leaders, including this so-called ‘Admiral’ called upon the Queen.
Herodius entered, along with four or five other men. They were thin, but fit-looking. However, it was his eyes that Queen Najalas fixated on. He looked like the most resolute man she had ever seen. There was no fear in his face anywhere.
“Your Majesty,” he began. “We have sailed a long way to share what little news we have.” Herodius told the Queen of their capture, the murder of their families, their training, the plans they overheard, their escape, and their remarkable journey to The Rookwood. “And so, your Majesty, we do not seek refuge. No. We come to fight! My men and I seek only opportunity to deliver justice to those who have taken so much from us. If you would have our service, let the men of the Uncharted Isles lend their strength to your efforts. Let us make a common cause of a common enemy in this dark, dark world.”
In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) Page 62