"And if I refuse?"
"If he cannot convince you, Mortow will destroy you. Merric sent me to fetch you back to Kantwell so you would be safe from Mortow's grasp."
Michael stared down at the table.
"What does Mortow look like?"
"He is about six and a half feet tall, massively built, with black hair and pale blue eyes."
"The one I saw in the vision was not that tall nor that largely built."
"What vision? What man did you see? What did he look like?" Micah asked anxiously.
"I had a vision of the night Karin was killed as I walked to the bookstore a few days after it happened. I saw the entire event play out all over again. But, it was as if I was standing off watching the scene as a bystander. I saw a black robed figure standing in a doorway down the street a bit, watching it happen."
"Black robes you say? That would be one of Mortow's magi. Were you able to see his face?"
"No. He had a hood pulled over his face. He only looked to be about six feet tall."
"Micah, I must apologize, though it should be to your grandfather that I make this apology. I always thought he was a bit touched when he would talk of such outlandish tales. Since I have seen what Michael can do, I am now inclined to believe a lot of that which your grandfather told me long ago. Michael, if Micah knows half of what his grandfather did, and I believe he does, he can help you. You must listen to him," Father Barthold interjected earnestly.
"Thank you, Father. That would mean much to my Grandfather," Micah smiled at the old priest and gently squeezed his shoulder.
"Michael, we must leave for Kantwell at once. I have a jet standing by at the airport to take us to England. From there, we can journey to Kantwell."
"I can’t leave now. Karin’s mass is tomorrow, and I won’t get her ashes until Tuesday."
"Michael, Karin is beyond earthly concerns. If this man is coming for you, as Micah says, then you need to be some place safe. I will say her mass in the morning, and I can pick up her ashes for you. I will have them sent wherever you like," Father Barthold told him.
"How do I know anywhere is safe, much less whether or not I can trust this man?" Michael retorted holding his hand out toward Micah.
"I trust him, Michael. His grandfather was a good man, and I can see that he shares more than his name," Father Barthold replied.
"How do I know he can protect me?" Michael asked more subdued.
"If this man, Merric, Headmaster and powerful wizard, sent Micah to escort you, then he must be certain Micah can protect you. Would he send someone not up to the task on a mission as important as this?"
"No, I guess not."
Micah sat quietly watching the exchange between the two of them. When they both stopped and looked at him, Micah laughed.
"Fear not, Michael. Merric sent the best."
"I see I was right about you sharing more than a name with your grandfather. You seem to have his…um…confidence as well," Father Barthold said smiling.
"Don’t you mean to say arrogance, Father?" Micah chuckled.
"Not at all. Arrogance is thinking one is right or better, confidence is knowing it to be the case."
"Well said, Father. My confidence in my abilities is only surpassed by my abilities themselves. You will be as safe as you can be with me, Michael." Micah stood and held out his hand to Michael.
"I need this to be your choice, Michael. If I am to protect you, I need you to be with me one hundred percent. There may be times when I will have but moments to act, and I need to know you will follow my orders immediately and without question. If you are reticent about your own mind, how can you begin to trust mine?"
"It seems I have no choice," Michael said.
"Oh, you have a choice, my friend. It is just not one you like. There is always a choice. You can come with me, let me protect you, and possibly learn about your own abilities; or you can stay and take your chances with the likes of Mortow. Either way, the path is uncertain. At least with me, you will have the chance to make your own decisions," Micah told him gravely.
Michael looked to Father Barthold, and the old priest grinned widely at him.
"Micah is correct. There is always a choice whether or not we like the options given us. I know you, Michael. I have known you since you were a child. You must go with him. Learn what you can and try to help out. You know that is what Karin would tell you."
"Cheap shot, Father, but you are right. She would want me to help in any way I could." Michael sighed and clasped Micah’s hand rising to his feet.
"I will answer more of your questions while we are in the air, but now we need to get going," Micah said.
"You have a car?" Michael asked.
"No, but we won’t be needing one. This will be your first official lesson in magic." Micah took out his small silver flask, took a quick drink, and put it back.
"I am going to place my hand on your head and give you a mental picture of a place, and then I am going to teach you to teleport. Are you ready?"
Michael nodded.
"Beam me up, Scotty."
Micah turned to Father Barthold and shook his hand.
"Father, it was very nice being able to put a face to all the stories I have heard of you over the years. My grandfather was right about you. You are a good man."
"Thank you, Micah. You look and act so much like your grandfather, I almost feel as if he were here. You take care of Michael. I would consider it a personal favor."
"You needn’t worry, Father. We Avari die before we accept failure," Micah smiled.
Michael came forward and shook hands with the old priest.
"Thanks for everything, Father. Just talking to you really helped."
"Remember, Father, all that you were shown and heard tonight have been under the seal of the confessional. These discoveries are not for this world," Micah reminded him. The old priest laughed.
"And who would believe me if I told them? Even if I wasn’t bound by the seal of the confessional, I would not betray your trust. Be careful, Michael."
Micah laid his hand on Michael’s head and spoke a Latin phrase.
"Ostendo meus visum."
Michael saw the image of a small room containing a bed and a desk. Micah removed his hand.
"Where was that?" Michael asked.
"That was my cabin on my jet. That is where you are going to take us," replied Micah.
"Ok, how do I do that?"
"You keep the image fixed firmly in your mind and concentrate on taking the both of us there. Then you say Transfero nos ut visum." Micah placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder.
"Ready when you are."
"Ok here goes…Transfero nos ut visum." Michael felt the cool breeze blowing in his mind and felt his stomach churn. He opened his eyes to see Micah looking intently at him. They were no longer in the rectory. He was standing in the cabin that Micah had shown him. All of a sudden, Michael felt his stomach do a flip. Micah steered him to the bed and sat him down.
"Very well done. The stomach discomfort will pass. It’s a combination of the transference and nerves," Micah said laughing.
"I hope it passes quickly. I would hate to have to pay the cleaning bill for ralphing on your carpet. Is it always like that?" Michael asked as he hung his head with his elbows on his knees.
"No. It gets much easier. After five or six times, you won’t even notice it."
Micah turned to the desk and, picking up the phone, pressed a speed dial button.
"Joshua, we are ready to depart whenever you can get us clearance." There was a pause. Michael could hear a voice reply, but could not make out the words.
"Yes, he is with me. We will stay on board. Very good, see you soon." Micah hung up the receiver.
"Joshua, my nephew, will be here in a little while to get us underway. We will fly to my estate in England and then, when it gets dark, we will go to the gateway."
"Where is this gateway?" Michael inquired.
"The gateway is a place you call Stonehenge
."
"Really? So it actually was created by ancient druids."
"Aye, druids, wizards, and dwarves."
"All of this is so mind blowing. Dwarves! Actual short, stocky, bearded guys?"
"Yes. Actual short, stocky, bearded guys." Micah grinned at Michael's excitement.
"What are they like? I mean, all the stories say they are a strong and stubborn race of cave dwellers."
"The stories are not far from true. Most of the males are between four and four and a half feet tall, thick bodied, powerfully built, and quite proud of their long beards. Their females, on the other hand, are almost never taller than four feet and, though they are thick boned, they are not nearly as stocky as the males. And unlike the stories, they do not have beards. There are two sects of dwarves, the Delvers and the Forgers. The Forgers are mostly warriors, forging some of the finest weapons and armor on Thelona. The Delvers are stone masons and healers. They do make their homes in the mountains, but not all live underground, although they all favor stone dwellings," Micah explained.
"So what about magic? I take it you are a powerful wizard," Michael said still looking a little greenish.
Micah sighed heavily before responding.
"No. I have very little magical ability. I am Avari."
"I heard you use that word back at Father Barthold’s. What is an Avari?"
"The Avari are my people. We are warriors all. You will find none better with hand or sword in either world."
"So you Avari fight against Mortow with Merric?" Michael asked looking up at Micah.
"In this we do. Mostly, we keep to ourselves and practice our skills. It is our way of life. Being the finest warriors in the worlds is simply a byproduct of our quest for Donai."
"What is Donai?"
"Donai is the perfect state of balance between life, spirit, and the spheres of existence. It is said that when an Avari achieves Donai, he transcends his physical form and becomes one with all of creation. Until then, we train, and we meditate. Occasionally, we fight when we are needed, as we soon will be again, hoping that the Great One will not call us home before we can attain Donai. Over the years, I have come to believe that Donai is only achieved when we are called, and then only if our skills are great enough."
"The Great One? Is he your version of God?" Michael asked with interest.
Micah smiled and looked far off in his mind as he continued to answer Michael's questions.
"He is not our version of God. He is God, the same as yours."
"Do all the races believe in God like the Avari?"
"All races have their believers, their agnostics, and their atheists. They all have different names for God, but that is no different than it is here. Why does it shock you so to know that other beings from other worlds would believe in God?"
Michael thought a moment.
"It shouldn’t, but it does. I guess we humans, as a race, feel we have a corner on the market, so to speak. It’s hard enough to think that other races exist, let alone that we are all made by the same being."
"That comes from only living among humans. Are you not taught that God created all things? Does that not include animals and insects? He is their God as well. Just because they cannot talk like you and I, or reason as we do, or look like us, does not mean they are not His creations."
"I see what you mean." Michael grinned.
"You will never again see as you did before. Everything will be viewed through a new set of eyes now that these fundamentals have been revealed to you. You will see."
They both heard people boarding the jet. Micah pushed Michael up against the wall beside the door putting his index finger over his lips. Michael nodded and pushed back against the wall as far as he could. His heart almost stopped when there was a knock on the door.
"Uncle, we are ready to get under way," an English accented voice from the opposite side of the door announced.
"Get us buttoned up and in the air, then come back and see me." Micah turned to Michael and lowered his voice.
"You can relax. It’s my nephew, Joshua, our pilot."
"Will do, Uncle. See you in a bit."
Michael relaxed. Realizing he had been holding his breath, Michael let it out in a rush.
"I almost had heart failure there," Michael stated, only to hear Micah chuckle.
"The adrenaline will do you good. It will keep you awake for a bit so we can talk and, when it wears off, you will sleep well. We have a long flight, and the best way to pass the time is to sleep through it,"
"I have enough adrenaline right now to fly to England without the jet."
Micah motioned for Michael to take a seat on the bed again.
"Let's go over some of the basics you are going to need to know about magic. First, you will be studying at Kantwell under Headmaster Merric and a wizard named Mieka."
"Mieka, that sounds like a female name."
"It is. She is a very talented wizard who has trained under Merric for most of her life."
"But isn’t wizard, I don’t know, a…masculine word?"
"You have read too many fantasy novels and watched too many movies. Wizard is merely a title granted to anyone who has opened at least seven doors, be that person male or female. Your culture has become too worried with political correctness. Magician, Sorcerer, and Wizard are titles that need no gender specification."
"Just sounds weird, that’s all."
"That is just one of many things that are going to sound weird to you, I’m afraid."
They heard the engines fire up, and shortly thereafter the jet started moving.
"How long is this flight anyway?" Michael asked.
"About sixteen hours."
"Wow!"
They heard the engines wind up, felt the jet start to move faster, and then they were in the air.
"You know, I always wanted to see Stonehenge. I was going to take Karin’s ashes with me when I left on Wednesday and scatter them in the ocean south of there," Michael regretted having to change that plan.
"I will personally see to it that your wish is carried out after everything settles down again. Who knows? You may find a more suitable place on Thelona."
Michael shrugged.
"Karin always did want to travel. Maybe you’re right."
"Now, back to the magic. The second thing you need to know is that, although Latin words and phrases are necessary for the casting of spells, the intent is vastly more important. There may be many different phrases that can accomplish the same results, but it is the mind that gives it shape. The more thought put into a spell, the less words it requires. Conversely, if you are not as sure of something, the more descriptive you have to be with the phrasing," Micah explained.
"So the vision you gave me of this cabin was vivid enough to accomplish most of the requirements for the teleport spell?"
"Precisely. Part of the problem with magic, on this world, is that Latin is a dead language. There are many things that exist now that there are no words for in Latin. For example, if there was a word for jet, you would not have needed so precise a picture of this place. You could have simply said take us to Micah’s cabin in his jet."
"I think I understand. I’m going to have to learn Latin, aren’t I?"
"Yes, but not only are you going to have to learn it, you are also going to have to live it if you are going to survive. It must become as second nature to you as English is. The greater your vocabulary is in Latin, the more you will be able to do."
"I am terrible at foreign languages. I tried French in high school and almost flunked it."
"Try not to worry about that aspect of it, Michael. There are magical ways of aiding you in learning."
"Magical aid? I need something more like divine intervention to learn another language," Michael said dejectedly.
"Perhaps there will be some of that too," Micah laughed.
Chapter Nine
Mathis stepped to the wardrobe and removed a fresh robe. He changed clothes quickly because he needed
to report to Merric. The mission had been a partial success. The dwarves would stand with them, but the elves refused. They were so lost in the care of their forests and their disdain of the other races, that they could not be bothered with a war between humans. Arrogant bastards! They have always been that way. I don’t know why Merric even bothers trying. Mathis finished tying his sash and spoke the words that would take him to the door of Merric’s study. He felt the exhilaration of the magic flowing through him and found himself at the door. He stepped forward a pace and knocked on the door.
"Come in," came a voice from the other side of the door.
Mathis opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him.
"Merric, I have good news and bad news. I bet you can guess the bad news," Mathis stated.
"I know. The elves still refuse to help us, don’t they?" Merric replied as he watched Mathis enter and take a seat. Merric wasn’t sure how he did it, but Mathis always seemed to be perfectly groomed. His blue robe hung in precise folds. His silver sash was always tied displaying both blue stripes at the perfect angle, and his short cropped, blonde hair was always immaculate, never one hair out of place. His green eyes seemed to be cut from emeralds. Nothing ever seemed to be able to ruffle the man’s appearance, though his temper was another story altogether.
Mathis sneered in distaste as he confirmed Merric's suspicion.
"Aye. They refuse to get involved in the squabbles of humans, as they put it. Merric, why do you continue to seek the aid of those weaklings when you know they never lend a hand?"
"Precisely because they are not weaklings. With their druidic powers, they can do forms of magic we as wizards cannot. Besides, not all of them agree with the elders, and it is the elders who refuse to aid us. The older generation still remembers the Were War and how it decimated their race. As you well know, in that war, it was human Weres who killed many of their people. There are not many of that aged generation left, and the fire of hatred burns lower in the younger generations. They may outlive us, but they are not immortal. Were you able to speak to Ataum?"
"No. The elders met me on the border of their lands and would not permit me to enter. I’m afraid I did not aid our cause much."
The Chronicles of the Myrkron: Book 01 - The Nine Keys of Magic Page 9