The Chronicles of the Myrkron: Book 01 - The Nine Keys of Magic

by Timothy Woods

  "What was that word again? Al something…aladona…alcidonna." Trying to clear his mind, he tried thinking back and heard a whispered voice say Alcedonia. Michael opened his eyes and repeated the word aloud.

  "Alcedonia."

  Immediately, Michael felt a soothing calm flow through his mind and outward through his body, followed by a slight cold chill that raised goose bumps on his arms and legs. Michael's mind was clear. He felt relaxed, and then he felt guilty. I should not feel calm after what happened to Karin, but I need to move. There are arrangements that need to be made. Karin always wanted to travel the world, but she had never been out of the states. Well, I can remedy that, Michael thought. Moving to the couch, he began getting dressed.

  An hour later, all the arrangements were made and all his credit cards had been reported stolen with new ones issued. Karin's body would be picked up from the hospital by someone from the funeral home and was scheduled for cremation on Monday. Father Barthold would say a mass for her on Sunday morning, and Michael would pick up her ashes on Tuesday. The airline refunded his money on their missed flight due to the circumstances, and he purchased a new ticket to England that would depart Tuesday evening. Michael called his boss, Paul, and told him what happened and what his plans were. Paul encouraged him to take all the time he needed. Lastly, Michael phoned Detective Stocks and let him know about his trip, which would last until Sunday, providing the officer with all the contact numbers and his itinerary.

  "I have to do this for her. She wanted so much to go to Europe. I’m going to England. I will scatter her ashes off the shore south of Stonehenge. I will be back the following Sunday," Michael told him.

  "We will call you if we come up with anything, but I would like you to come to the station the Monday after you return. We may have some more questions for you by then."

  "I will be there. How about around noon? I’ll probably be jet lagged when I get back, so I don’t want to schedule anything early."

  "That’s fine, Michael, we’ll have lunch. I’ll see you then." The detective hung up the phone.

  Michael looked at the clock again, 9:17am. It’s not even 9:30 yet, he thought. What am I going to do without her? Is time destined to drag on endlessly now that she’s gone? I’ll go insane inside of a week at this rate. Pondering the situation, Michael decided to go down to the bookstore and get a book on Latin.

  "If I’m suddenly speaking Latin, I might as well know what I’m saying."

  Michael grabbed his keys, cell phone, and Karin’s debit card out of her purse. After retrieving the card, he took out her necklace, a plain gold chain with a sapphire pendant. He had given it to her for their first anniversary. He removed the pendant and put it in her purse. Then he slipped her wedding ring onto the chain and put it around his neck. Michael stepped out the apartment door, locking it behind him. He continued down the hall and out the front door of the building. Turning right, he walked up the street, headed for the local bookstore six blocks away.

  At the end of the block, Michael turned right and crossed the street at the next light. He had walked two blocks when he looked up to see the very street where they had been attacked. Michael started shaking so badly that he was forced to stop and lean against the wall of a nearby building for support. Tilting his head back, Michael closed his eyes and then opened them suddenly, as the scene of that night started to replay in his head.

  A cool wind blew through his mind, and he heard himself utter another unfamiliar phrase.

  "Memor preteritus."

  Michael saw, with a startling clarity, the attack viewed from outside himself. There was the man with the gun. There were he and Karin. Only now, Michael could see a fourth figure. In a darkened doorway behind the hooded man was a tall figure wearing what looked like a hooded robe of some sort. Michael could not see a face, and the hands were tucked into the opposite sleeves, crossed in front of the figure. The robed figure was definitely looking in the direction of the attack. As the scene continued to play, Karin was shot and fell. He was rising and speaking those words again. He saw a shimmering wave, like heat rising from asphalt in the desert, flowing from his outstretched hand to engulf the fleeing attacker. The man screamed in anguish and then started to blacken. In the next instant, he was nothing more than a pile of ash. He saw the ash drift away, and then Michael saw the robed figure nod its head once and vanish.

  "What the hell!?" The present came back with a slamming force that would have knocked Michael from his feet if he had not already been leaning against a wall. As it was, it expelled the breath from his lungs. He bent over, putting his hands on his thighs, trying to draw the air back into his lungs.

  When he could breathe again, which seemed like an hour, but must have been only a few seconds, Michael grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Detective Stocks’ number.

  "Stocks," answered the voice on the other end of the line.

  "Detective Stocks, I just saw…uh, remembered something. There was another person here when Karin was killed."

  "What did he look like?"

  "I couldn’t see his face, but he was dressed in a black hooded robe. I couldn’t even see his hands. They were covered by his sleeves."

  "A black hooded robe you say? That’s an odd choice to wear out on the streets. Are you sure about this? I mean no offense, Michael, but you were hit on the head pretty hard. Maybe you just imagined this robed guy."

  "I am absolutely certain, Detective. As weird as it sounds, the guy was watching the whole thing happen. It wasn’t like he was cowering in the doorway from fear, but more like he was observing what was going on."

  "Can you remember which direction he headed after the attack?"

  Michael paused. I can’t tell him the guy vanished. There is enough weirdness surrounding me right now. He will think I’ve cracked.

  "No. I think I was knocked unconscious before I could see where he headed."

  "Ok, Michael. I've got it. If you remember anything else, just call me." Stocks hung up, but not before Michael detected the note of skepticism in his voice.

  "He really thinks I’ve lost it now." Shaking from the after effects of the vision, Michael crossed the street and started walking on the other side, wanting to avoid the spot where Karin had been shot. He got to the bookstore about ten minutes later and had to wait. The sign said they opened at 10:30, and it was only 10:15. So Michael leaned up against the store window and thought about the dark figure. What was he doing there? Was he the attacker’s partner? Then Michael groaned as he realized another truth. There is a witness to what I did, he thought to himself. And, partner or not, the guy saw me kill the shooter. But no, if the guy had talked to the police, I would be in jail right now. Then again, what could he tell them? That I burned the guy with my hand, without touching him, until he disappeared? They would laugh him right out of the station.

  Michael heard the door lock being turned and saw the clerk inside flip the sign to open. He moved to the door and stepped inside.

  "Good morning. Can I help you find something?" the clerk asked.

  "Yea, I’m looking for a book to help me learn Latin."

  "That would be in our education section under languages; third row, about halfway down on the left. Not sure if we have one on Latin, but you are welcome to look."

  "Thanks." Michael walked to the third row and turned down the aisle, looking to his left. Sure enough, about halfway down the aisle, he found the language section and started skimming the titles. I sure hope they have a Latin for Idiots book. I suck at foreign languages. Towards the beginning of the section, Michael saw a book titled The Beginner’s Guide to Latin. He picked it up and started thumbing through it. Well, if I can’t learn the language, maybe at least the book will help put me to sleep. He also found a Latin to English dictionary. That I definitely need. As he was thumbing through the dictionary, the clerk came up to him.

  "Did you find one?"

  "Yes," Michael replied, "and a translation dictionary as well. Would you ha
ppen to have any books on telepathy or telekinesis?"

  "Yes, over in the New Age section. Follow me. I’ll show you." They walked further down the row to the back of the store, and the clerk turned left and headed to the corner.

  "Here you go. Anything we have on those subjects would be here."

  Michael heard the bell above the door ring. The clerk glanced to the front of the store.

  "You need help finding anything else?" The clerk asked.

  "Nah, this should be everything that I need."

  "Ok, I’ll be at the checkout counter whenever you’re ready."

  Michael watched the clerk move to intercept the new customer. Turning back to the books, he started reading the titles and found one called The Brain and Psychic Phenomenon. He picked it up and skimmed the back cover.

  "This one looks interesting." He took all three books in his left hand and started up the aisle to the front of the store. As he came to the science fiction section, Michael saw a life sized, cardboard cutout of a man in a black, hooded robe, his arm outstretched, with fire shooting from his hand. The face was hidden in the shadows of its hood. Michael stopped and gaped at it. With the memory of his vision fresh in his mind, he was only capable of staring. Michael shook his head, trying to clear away the vision, and then laughed at himself.

  "You may be right, Stocks. I may be losing my mind or I may have just dreamed it." It seemed silly to him now, after seeing this fantasy figure shooting fire. Michael chuckled again.

  "I’m headed for a white rubber room if I don’t get a hold of myself." He walked to the counter and put the books down. The clerk scanned them and told him his total was $43.38. Michael swiped Karin’s debit card and entered her pin number. The clerk put the books and the receipt in a bag and handed it to him.

  "Have a nice day," said the clerk.

  "Thanks, you too," Michael replied. He walked out of the store and made his way home.

  Arriving at his apartment, Michael tossed his keys on the counter. Seeing the box of Karin’s belongings, he put the bag of books down, grabbed the box, and headed to the bedroom. He opened the door, went straight to her dresser, and opened the bottom drawer. Michael quickly placed the box in the drawer, closed it, and rushed out of the room, closing the door once again. Michael then returned to the counter and grabbed the bag from the bookstore. He took out the receipt and stuffed it into a small basket with a pile of other receipts. Pulling the books out, he wadded up the bag and tossed it across the room at the trashcan. The bag went in.

  "Two points. The crowd goes wild," Michael muttered and then moved to the couch with his books. He placed the books beside each other, face up on the coffee table, and sat on the edge of the couch looking at them.

  Michael picked up the translation dictionary and thumbed through it, looking for the word alcedonia. He was pretty sure he knew what it meant, but wanted to see the actual translation.

  "Here it is, alcedonia, it means calm or tranquility. Yup, kinda what I figured." Michael leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, realizing that his headache had returned, in full force.

  "I need to get some aspirin." Sitting there contemplating getting up and going to the kitchen for the pills, the voice returned to his mind whispering expello meus poena. Michael, without thinking, repeated the phrase.

  "Expello meus poena."

  Michael sat bolt upright. The pain of his headache was gone instantly.

  "Now that’s useful!" Michael started flipping through the translation dictionary again.

  "Expello, expello… Ah, here it is. Expello means to banish. Meus, meus. Meus means my. Poena must mean headache." Fanning through the book, Michael found the word poena.

  "It means pain. I guess headache is too literal. So, a crack on the head later, and I can speak Latin, and with that Latin, I can perform, what, magic? That is, unless this is all a dream, and I’m going to wake up in the hospital with a fractured skull. God, I wish this was all a dream. That would mean I would still have Karin, but this is not a dream. The pain in my heart is too real for it to be a dream. That’s one pain I don’t want to go away."

  Seeing an empty water glass on the coffee table, Michael thought to himself, what the hell. I’ll give it a try. He started leafing through the book again. Getting up, he went to the counter and grabbed a pen and a notepad, and then returned to the couch. Flipping open the cover of the notepad, Michael wrote down all the Latin words he could remember, putting their meanings beside them.

  "I need to know how to say fill my glass with water." Writing down the words as he looked them up, he got the phrase he wanted. Michael reached out and picked up the glass, looking at it, he held his notebook up and spoke the phrase out loud.

  "Repleo meus vas per unda," Michael said, and he watched the glass intently. Nothing happened.

  "Maybe I pronounced something wrong." He referred back to the dictionary, checking the pronunciation of each word.

  "No, according to this, I said it right. Repleo meus vas per unda." Michael tried again, a little louder this time. Still nothing happened. He sat the glass down and frowned.

  "What am I doing wrong?" He tried again and again, for the next hour, trying different stresses and inflections to the words, with no results. Michael finally got so angry that he stood up and screamed.

  "Screw this! Repleo meus vas per unda!" To his utter shock, he felt the cool wind again and saw the cup fill, from the bottom up, with liquid. His hand shaking, Michael reached out to the glass and picked it up. He stood there, staring at the glass, which was now filled with a clear liquid. Michael dipped a finger in the liquid. It was kind of hot. He stuck his finger in his mouth. It tasted like regular water except that it was warm.

  Running to the kitchen sink, Michael poured the water out. He sat the glass beside the sink.

  "Repleo meus vas per unda," he said the words again, trying to visualize cold water filling the cup. The glass started to fill again, and he could see beads of sweat forming on the outside of the glass, running down to the counter. Michael stuck his finger in the glass again and was shocked to find the water icy cold. Tasting it again, it was water. Michael laughed out loud and made a fist.

  "YES!" He started dancing around the kitchen. Michael returned to the glass and chugged down the water.

  "Oh! I shouldn’t have done that." Cringing, Michael grabbed his head.

  "AH! Brain freeze."

  Chapter Five

  Mieka appeared in the scrying room in a corner behind Martin. She smiled to herself and stepped up quietly beside him.

  "Good evening, Martin," she said rather loudly, having the satisfaction of seeing him jump and spin to face her.

  "Good…Good evening, Mistress Mieka," Martin replied in embarrassment. He made a deep bow to try to cover the flush of his face.

  "Merric has filled me in on the situation. Have you anything new to report?" Mieka asked him.

  "No, Mistress. He was taken to their healers and is still unconscious."

  "Very well, Martin, you are relieved. I will watch until Merric returns. If Mathis should happen to return first, please send him down here."

  "Yes, Mistress, I will see to it." Martin turned to the wall and said, "Patefacio obduco via." The wall shimmered and a small portion of it disappeared to reveal a flight of stairs leading up. Martin mounted the stairs and, as he passed beyond Mieka’s view, the opening shimmered and once more became a blank, unbroken wall.

  "Well, let’s just see what is transpiring with our new, golden boy." Mieka stretched her hand out over the basin and said, "Ostendo."

  The liquid darkened, and then the scene of the man in the bed appeared on its surface. Mieka pondered what Merric told her as she observed people bustling about the unconscious man. If he is as powerful as Merric suspects, then he could be a great ally when properly trained. Mieka smiled. It’s going to be refreshing training someone who is a clean slate. He would have no preconceived notions of what he is or is not capable of accomplishing. Yes, this has the p
otential to be fun indeed.

  Merric glanced around the oak grove. It was exactly how he remembered it. Even though it had been over sixty years since he was last here, it looked the same. This place was as ageless as the one who dwelled here. The majestic, old oak trees towering overhead were over four hundred and fifty feet tall. The mighty giants stood head and shoulders above the rest of the trees. It was very cool here. Even though there was no breeze, the leaves rustled and stirred as Merric admired them.

  "I bid greetings to the mighty Oakrin. I have come seeking Lord Micah," Merric said softly. In the rustle of the leaves, he could hear their reply.

  "Peace to thee, green friend. Long has it been since we felt thy presence, but we of the Oakrin remember thee, Merric."

  Feeling himself relax and grow refreshed, Merric bowed his head and basked in the tranquility and the permanence flowing from these leviathans.

  "Thank you for the gift of your peace. It is much needed in these times."

  "Lord Micah awaits you. May your roots grow strong and your leaves reach the clouds."

  Merric thought again how odd it was for one such as Micah to live in a place like this, but then the warrior always seeks peace when he grows weary of fighting. Turning to the south, Merric saw the small cobbled walkway leading off to Micah’s dwelling. He followed it for about five hundred feet until Micah’s residence came into view.

  It was a large house made from carved stone fit together so well that mortar was unnecessary. The forest was so dense here that even the sunlight could not penetrate it. Merric saw no living creature, not even an insect, and the forest was deathly still. It was as if all of nature held its breath, fearful of disturbing the man sitting on the porch reading with his feet propped up on the railing.