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

by Timothy Woods

  "I see Joshua has you suitably attired for our trip," Micah said with a look of approval on his face. Michael was struck speechless by the sight of Micah before him.

  "Come now, I know I may be the first real warrior you have ever seen in the flesh, but I certainly won’t be the last. Where we are going, sights such as this will be commonplace," Micah said chuckling.

  "I…I guess most of this didn’t seem real until I saw you standing there dressed like that," Michael replied apologetically.

  "It's all right. Come, we need to get you a sword, and then we need to be off. Joshua, would you be so kind as to take Michael’s pack and finish loading it with food supplies? Oh, and get a wineskin and fill it with water please."

  "Certainly, Uncle." Joshua took the pack from Michael’s hand and headed for the door.

  "The usual items? Dried beef, bread, and cheese?"

  "Aye," Micah replied clasping him briefly on the shoulder as he went by. When Joshua left, Micah gestured for Michael to follow him. They left the studio, and Micah closed the door.

  "I don’t suppose you actually got a look at that painting did you?"

  Michael smiled and shook his head. Micah’s question seemed to release some of Michael's tension

  "No, Joshua asked me not to look under the cover. He said it wasn’t finished yet."

  "Ah, just as well. I would probably spend too much time gazing at it, and we don’t have the time to waist," Micah sighed.

  "You weren’t kidding when you said he was a talented artist. I have never seen anything like his paintings. They almost transport you to the locales," Michael said with a lingering sense of awe.

  "Yes, he is gifted. I could tell when I first laid eyes on him that he had something within him that others lack. I thought, at the time, that it was the gift of magic; but sadly, Joshua has no aptitude for it. I even tried to train him, but he wasn’t even able to grasp the basics. No, it seems his gift is in giving magic to others through his paintings."

  "Not to get too personal or nosy, but what happened to his parents?" Michael asked.

  Micah glanced over at him as they walked down the hall.

  "When Joshua was less than a year old, his mother and father were killed in a car bombing. I tried to shield him and his mother, but a piece of shrapnel tore through my shoulder and went through her neck. However, with both of us shielding him, Joshua survived. He had no other relatives, so I took him in and raised him as my nephew."

  "Does he know?"

  "Yes. I never kept the truth from him. When he was old enough to start asking about such things, I told him. I have never regretted taking him in, and I believe he hasn’t either."

  "No, that’s quite obvious. He couldn’t be any more dedicated to you than if he were your own son," Michael stated sincerely.

  "He is my son in all but blood. I had him call me uncle from an early age to keep from hurting him when he found out about his parents. I didn’t want him to think I tried to replace his real father. Plus, I don’t age. Physically, I appear younger than him. A younger uncle is possible where a younger father is not."

  "Good point."

  They climbed to the third floor and went to the end of the left hall. They came to a door with a numeric keypad beside it. Micah entered a very long string of digits in rapid succession and then opened the door. He motioned Michael into the dark room. Michael stepped inside, but could see absolutely nothing. It was pitch black. He heard Micah step in and close the door. As he did, several banks of fluorescent lights flickered to life. Michael stood close to the door staring agape at all the swords displayed around the room. There were hundreds of them.

  Micah walked passed Michael and turned around in the center of the room. He put his arms out at his sides as he turned to face Michael.

  "What you see before you is the accumulation of millennia. There are swords here from every era of the world. Some I made myself and others were commissioned from skilled craftsmen. Most of these have been used in combat at one time or another." Micah walked to the back wall and pulled down a sword in a green scabbard. He returned to Michael and held it out at full arm's length, at eye level. I fought with this sword in the fourteen hundreds in Japan. It was forged by a master craftsman in the village where I lived. It was given to me the night I saved his son’s life. It served me well in many battles, and now I give it to you. You now know the blade’s origin; make it a part of you, and it will never fail you."

  Michael stood looking at the sword before him. This was a piece of history. It was priceless. How could he accept such a gift? He looked into Micah’s eyes and saw there that it was not so much a gift as it was a promise. By giving him this sword, Micah was promising his protection and his knowledge. Michael reached out with both hands and cradled the sword to his chest. He bowed his head and replied sincerely.

  "Thank you, Micah. I hope I can, one day, live up to its reputation."

  Micah nodded sternly.

  "That is a good start. Strap it to your belt. You need to get used to its weight and presence at your hip." Michael untied and unbuckled his belt.

  "Are you right handed or left?" Micah inquired.

  "Right," Michael answered.

  "Then place it at your left hip. Drawing across your body is the only way to pull a long sword from its scabbard."

  As Michael was sliding his belt through the scabbard loop, Micah walked to the right wall and selected a dagger. It had a round cross-guard and a cord wound handle. Micah returned to Michael and handed it to him.

  "I made this tanto a long time ago. Wear it on your right hip."

  Michael strapped on both weapons and refastened the buckle on the belt. Micah tested the placement of the weapons and adjusted the dagger a bit more toward Michael’s back.

  "If you have to run, place your hand here, on the hilt near the cross-guard and push down, angling the sword up behind you and pull it slightly towards your buckle to keep it from getting tangled in your legs." Micah showed him on his own sword.

  "Should I wear it on my back like you do?" Michael asked.

  "No. It takes more time and skill to draw from the back than from the hip. Drawing from the hip also gives you a good ranged strike during the act of drawing. Here, I’ll show you." Micah stepped back and placed his hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip.

  "Watch the draw. I’ll do it slowly a few times so you can see exactly what I’m doing." Micah slid the sword slowly from its scabbard in an arc across his body.

  "The draw can be done high or low, becoming a strike or a block, as need requires. Only draw until your arm is straight out from your body, then reverse the stoke bringing your hand back across your body to join with your other hand. Keep the blade slanted up and across your body to guard your head. If you continue to draw out and away from the straight position, then you leave your entire body open to attack." Micah sheathed the sword and drew again, extending the stroke on out to his side.

  "See, the sword points away from my target, and my entire length is exposed."

  Michael nodded.

  "Now you try it, slowly. Grab the hilt with your right hand and the scabbard about an inch below the cross-guard with your left. That keeps your fingers from accidently getting cut when you draw. If you grab the scabbard too close to the cross-guard when you draw, your index finger can slip from the pressure of your grip and move into the path of the blade. There is more danger of this if you are performing a low draw than a high, but it is good form to get used to placing your hand properly."

  Michael nodded again.

  "Ok, like this?" He placed his hands where Micah instructed and pulled the sword slowly from the scabbard, trying to mimic Micah’s fluid motion. The sword felt awkward and heavy, and his attempt was jerky and unsure.

  "Not bad for your first time holding a sword. Respect it as the weapon it is, but don’t be afraid of it. It is there to protect you," Micah told him.

  "It is awkward. I didn’t realize it would be this heavy."

&nbs
p; "It will take time to get comfortable handling it, but when you do, you will feel naked without it."

  "Hard to imagine being comfortable wielding a sword."

  "That’s only because you were raised in an era where other weapons are the norm. To me, guns are unwieldy and uncivilized."

  "You find it more civilized to hack someone to pieces with a length of sharpened metal?" Michael asked.

  "A sword is a weapon that relies on the strength and skill of its wielder; a gun does not. Anyone can point a gun and pull the trigger. With a sword, you must pit your skill against your opponent’s skill. You are fighting the person not the weapon. With a gun, your opponent’s skill in combat is negated. It only matters that you shoot him before he shoots you."

  "Shooting a gun takes skill," Michael said.

  "Shooting for accuracy requires skill. Hosing down a battlefield with lead does not," Micah corrected him.

  "Easy for you to say, you’ve got centuries of training and skill behind you. If we were to fight, swords would not be my choice. Facing you with a sword would be tantamount to committing suicide," Michael said earnestly.

  Micah chuckled.

  "Ah, but I am an exception, not the rule. Those whom we will face on Thelona are not immortal like I am. We will be fighting against those who have had only one lifetime to hone their skills."

  "Yeah, and I have had five minutes. I think I would prefer a gun."

  Micah’s face grew grim.

  "A gun is the coward’s weapon. With the invention of the gun, this world lost its honor."

  Michael stared at Micah for a bit.

  "Joshua told me that technology doesn’t work on Thelona. I know I will be forced to fight with weapons like these," Michael indicated the sword and dagger at his sides, "but you are right. A gun does not require skill as these weapons do, but it is skill that I lack."

  "That is precisely why I am here. Merric knew as well as I that you would be at a distinct disadvantage when you crossed over to Thelona. I am here to ensure that you are protected. I will do what I can to teach you the skills you will require in swordsmanship, and Merric will educate you in the ways of magic."

  "I feel as helpless as an infant in the face of all this," Michael said dejectedly.

  "You are not as helpless as you think. Remember, the magic has risen to your call before. Trust in that, but don’t let that be your only recourse. Do your best to learn what we teach you, and you will be able to stand on your own sooner than you can imagine."

  "I’m not a warrior, you know."

  "I don’t know that, and neither do you. How could you know? You have never even tried. You were born a magi, but that need not be the sum total of what you are," Micah said with fire in his eyes.

  "I was born a shaman, not a warrior. Yet here I stand, deprived of my birthright and caparisoned for war. I have become what I was not, and what I once was is no more."

  "You were a shaman?" Michael asked surprised.

  "Aye. I was born the only magically endowed son of the tribe shaman, and thus it fell to me to take his place upon his death," Micah said more subdued.

  "What is a shaman? Is it like a wizard?"

  "Shaman is just an ancient term for magi, whether it be a magician, sorcerer, or wizard. In those times, the distinction was not known. If you had magic, you were a shaman."

  "You said you were deprived of your birthright. Did you lose your magic?" Michael asked stunned.

  "That is not what is important here. What is important is for you to see that you can become whatever you are willing to work at becoming."

  "I’ll try, Micah. I really will. It’s just that I have never been especially good at anything."

  Micah placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder.

  "Well, we are going to change that," Micah said earnestly.

  "Come on. Let’s find Joshua and those supplies." Turning Michael around, they left the room together and headed for the stairs.

  "Micah, do you think I can actually help, knowing what little knowledge I currently have?"

  "Yes, I do. Even though you are new to magic, there are very few high level practitioners remaining. Magic, to the masses in general, is awe-inspiring because it is so rare and can do such a variety of things. Don’t get discouraged about your abilities. You are going to be studying among the best there are, and your knowledge and skill are going to seem miniscule next to them. But, you will be viewed the same way by those without magic as you will view those who teach it."

  They descended the stairs to the first floor, and found Joshua leaning against the front door with the pack at his feet. When he saw them approaching, Joshua straightened and picked up the backpack. When Micah and Michael reached the foyer, he handed the backpack to Michael.

  "All packed up and ready to go. I just need any personal items you may still have."

  Michael took off his wedding ring and the necklace he wore with Karin’s wedding ring on it. He handed them to Joshua along with Karin’s debit card.

  Joshua asked, "Do you have a picture of your wife for me to paint?"

  Micah raised an eyebrow at Joshua and smiled. Joshua grinned back at him.

  Michael pulled from his pocket a picture he had taken from Karin’s purse. One of Karin from a picnic they took at the park when they were dating. She was seated on her hip on a blanket before a big maple tree ablaze with autumn color; leaning, propped up on one arm and raising a glass of wine towards him as he snapped the photo. Michael handed it to Joshua.

  "This one. She was very happy that day."

  Joshua accepted the picture and looked at it.

  "A good picture. Very nice setting for a portrait. I will lock the photo in the safe with your other belongings when I have finished the painting."

  "Thank you, Joshua. I look forward to seeing it."

  "I will do my best to have it done for your return."

  "I have left strict orders with Colonel Bastise that absolutely no one is allowed on the grounds. They have orders to take no one alive. If he requires anything, I have told him you will take care of it. I don’t know how long it will be before I can come back, so ration everything as best you can," Micah said sternly.

  "Oh well, I guess I will have to clear my social calendar for the foreseeable future," Joshua quipped good naturedly.

  "I guess we could wait the five minutes that will take, if you want to do it before we leave," Micah returned smiling.

  Michael nearly choked as he tried not to laugh. Joshua smiled and bowed to Micah.

  "You know, you shouldn’t joke about that. You’ll give me a complex."

  "I already have," Micah said gesturing to the house around him.

  Michael chuckled. He realized that the banter was their way of relieving the tension of parting, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable, like he was intruding on their farewell.

  "Could I use the restroom before we leave?"

  "Of course." Micah gestured to the door on the back wall under the stairs.

  "Go through that door, and it’s the door on the left."

  Michael walked to the door and went through it, closing it behind him.

  Once Michael closed the door, Joshua returned to his conversation with Micah.

  "Uncle, be careful. I know you are the best equipped to handle this situation, but that boy is scared out of his mind, and I would hate to see either one of you get hurt."

  "Nothing is going to happen to either of us. I know he’s scared. In his position, who wouldn’t be? He sees the scope of that which is before him, and he cannot see how he is going to survive, let alone aid in matters he doesn’t even comprehend."

  "I can kinda understand how he feels. He is about to leave his own world and enter another at the onset of war. He has been told that both sides are vying for him and that he is a powerful sorcerer; that fantasy is reality; and that he will have to fight against creatures which, to him, only previously existed in books and movies. On top of all that, he just lost his wife. I’m surprised he’s
not off in a corner gibbering to himself."

  "Yes, he has a lot to learn and even more to unlearn. I believe he is equal to the tasks before him, even though he yet does not. Don’t worry about us, Joshua. Concentrate on staying safe yourself. If Mortow gets a hold of you, my life will become complicated really fast. Colonel Bastise will need your help. You know the kind of fiends we’re up against. He does not. In this matter, he is like Michael. I have given him a crash course on what I believe he will need to know. Even though he trusts me implicitly, he still has the look of a man who feels he is dreaming."

  "I will help him and his men any way I can."

  "Good. I think you should get your sword from the armory and wear it at all times. If they come, it won’t be for tea. They will strike fast and hard. Remember what I’ve taught you. Strike to kill. When they go down, decapitate them. Burn the bodies afterwards. The only slight advantage you will have is that they will be trying to take you alive. Mortow will gain nothing except my vengeance if you are killed in the attempt. He knows enough about me to fear provoking me."

  "We will be ready if they come," Joshua said.

  "If the fight goes really wrong, bring everyone into the house. There are still enough magical wards in place to protect against magi."

  "You think he would send a magus against us as well?"

  "I just don’t know. It is possible. I don’t know Mortow's mind. He may not even have thought to attempt something like this, but then again, it is a move I would make if I were him, and the man is far from stupid."

  Michael’s pulse was racing, and he broke out in a cold sweat as he thought about the impending trip. I can’t believe I’m really doing this. The hallway he was in ran for about fifteen feet and opened into a large kitchen. There was a door on the left and one directly across from it. Entering the one on the left, Michael flipped on the light to reveal a spacious lavatory decorated in earth-toned tile. After a cursory glance, he walked to the toilet and relieved himself. He washed his hands and then splashed cold water on his face. He stood there for a moment clutching the sides of the sink, letting the water drip from his chin. Michael stared at his reflection in the mirror. Well, I always wanted to see exotic places, but now that the time has come, I find I am scared to death. Or maybe my mind is broken, and I’m in a psych ward somewhere hallucinating all of this.