He suddenly felt a chill run up his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Michael stared more intently at the mirror. In his mind he heard the words Ostendo periculosus. He gripped the sink tighter and shouted the phrase.
"Ostendo periculosus! "
He felt the familiar cool wind blowing through his mind again and saw his image in the mirror fade. The glass surface turned black, and then the image of a man dressed in black robes stared back at him. The man had long black hair and pale blue eyes. His square jaw was clenched tight. The man's eyes grew wide when he realized that Michael was looking directly at him. He made a swift gesture with his hand and the mirror went black again.
Michael vaguely heard the door behind him burst open and heard Micah call out his name as if from a distance, but his concentration was still fixed on the mirror. He could feel the energy pouring out of his body, attacking the mirror, trying to bring the image back. But that energy seemed to be drawn away and dissipated by some unknown force. Michael increased his efforts, and the blackness seemed to recede a little. Then, with a resounding crack, the mirror shattered. Michael watched, in detached fascination, the slow motion movement of the splintered bits of mirror. He could see every twinkle of reflected light as they spun towards him then the shards vaporized before they reached him.
All went silent and the outpouring of energy subsided. Michael stood there, still staring at the broken mirror, clutching the sink. His legs felt like ropes, and he suddenly had to brace himself with his arms to keep from falling. Strong arms grabbed hold of him and turned him around. Micah was holding him up at full arm's length, supporting him under his arms. He felt himself hoisted over and set down. He realized that Micah had set him down unceremoniously on the lid of the toilet. His head was still fuzzy, and Micah’s voice was resonating like an echo.
"Michael! Michael! Are you ok?" Micah shook him by the shoulders trying to get through to him. Michael’s eyes suddenly snapped up and focused on Micah.
"That son of a bitch was trying to find me! I felt it."
"Who was, Michael? What did you feel?" Turning, Micah addressed Joshua who was still standing in the doorway.
"Joshua, please fetch a glass of water for Michael." Joshua spun and headed into the kitchen.
"I don’t know who he was, but I could tell he was watching me," Michael said regaining his strength enough to shrug off Micah’s hands.
"What did he look like?"
"Big, square-jawed bastard with black hair and pale blue eyes, and he was wearing one of those robes," Michael answered gritting his teeth.
"What robes?" Micah asked standing up straight.
"The same one the guy wore when Karin was killed, black with a red sash."
"Mortow. But how could you know he was scrying on you? Scrying is passive, and unless you are trying specifically to detect it, you should not be aware of it. What were you doing when you felt it?"
"I had just washed my hands and was splashing water on my face when I felt a cold chill run up my spine. I stared in the mirror, and it turned black, then the image of that man was there. He was just looking at me until he noticed that I was looking back. I think that surprised him because he immediately tried to sever the contact, but I was able to hold it." Michael closed his eyes and shivered slightly.
"He just all of a sudden appeared in the mirror?" Micah inquired doubtfully.
"Yeah, as I was staring into it…wait a minute. I heard words in my head, and I said them out loud. They were Latin," Michael said closing his eyes.
"Aye. I heard. Ostendo periculosus. It means reveal the danger. You shouted them loud enough that both Joshua and I heard you and came running."
Michael’s eyes flew open.
"Micah! The seventh door, it’s open now. I didn’t feel it open, but it did."
Micah’s face lost all expression, and he started pacing back and forth across the tiled floor with his hands clasped behind his back. He had made several laps by the time Joshua returned bearing a glass of water and handed it to Michael. Michael noticed his hand on the glass was shaking.
"Navitas meus somes," he muttered and felt his legs strengthen and his hands become steady. Micah’s head snapped towards him, and he stopped pacing.
Never taking his eyes off of Michael, Micah politely dismissed his ward.
"Joshua, would you give us a few moments alone please?"
"As you wish, Uncle." Joshua left the lavatory and headed out into the kitchen.
"Michael, I don’t know how you did it, but you were able to detect someone scrying on you. Not only that, but you were able to lock on to the scryer and open a channel to him, allowing you to see who it was. Mortow must be getting sloppy to have tipped his hand like that." Micah turned to the mirror and began running his finger over its shattered surface.
"What concerns me more is this." Micah indicated the mirror with his hand.
"Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t trying to break it. It just happened," Michael explained with his eyes downcast. Micah waved a hand negligibly.
"I’m not concerned with the mirror itself, but with the implications of it actually breaking. Mortow should not be able to influence anything through scrying. If he has found a way to do that, then I’m at a total loss. It should not be possible."
"I don’t think it was him. I think I did that in trying to bring the image back. I could feel the power flowing from me into the link. I think it was my power that broke the mirror when the connection was finally severed by Mortow. I felt something shatter right before the mirror did. I don’t know what it was, but I hope it was that bastard’s head."
"Highly unlikely. It would take more than the outpouring I felt from you to break someone like Mortow."
"I can wish, can’t I?" Michael replied running his hands through his brown hair.
Micah smiled at last, relieving some of the tension.
"Aye, you can wish. Just don’t count on it coming true. If nothing else, you have given him a puzzle he is not likely to solve any time soon."
"Let him choke on it. Micah, what about the seventh door?"
"I can definitely tell you that no one can tell you anything about the reason for that. You are in uncharted territory, Michael. Never before has anyone spontaneously opened a door above the third, and now you have opened four beyond that. I simply don’t know, Michael. I have one place where I can make inquiries, but I do not know if it will yield any useful information."
Michael puffed up his cheeks and let the air out explosively.
"What other choice do we have? If you don’t know and Merric doesn’t know, I think going for the long shot seems our only choice."
"Ok then, but we have to get to Thelona before I can inquire," Micah asserted.
"Mind letting me in on it, or is it a secret?"
"Not really a secret, per se, but a resource that hasn’t been tapped in so long that most have forgotten about it. Near my house in Thelona is an ancient oak grove. It is nestled within the great forest of Briten. Few visitors go there because the forest has guardians. The grove, however, is made up of the last surviving Oakrin, an ancient race of trees. They are old, even by my reckoning, and are a vast well of knowledge. If anyone could answer your question, it would be they. The problem is, they don’t always answer, and sometimes when they do, it’s not as direct as you would like."
"Intelligent trees, what’s next, dragons?"
Micah chuckled.
"If that’s what you want to be next, then, yes."
"Are you serious? Dragons are real, too?" Michael asked, shaking his head and sighing.
"Oh, yes, quite serious. There are two different species of dragons. There are the Great Wurms and the Swiftclaws. The Great Wurms are the ones you would know from legend; huge, fire breathing reptiles with leathery wings and nasty dispositions. The Swiftclaws, on the other hand, are a small species. They are rarely over three feet long and are incredibly fast. They are mostly gray in color and are highly intelligent and in
dependent. They are fierce fighters as well. I once saw a pair, I am assuming they were a mated pair, since they tend to be otherwise solitary creatures, kill a full grown great wurm. That’s no easy feat, but they are fast and attack so viciously that the great wurm couldn’t defend against them. They tore his head and wings to ribbons in minutes."
"How big do the Great Wurms get?" Michael asked.
"They can reach up to one hundred feet in length."
"Wow! Two tiny little creatures killed something that big in minutes?"
"Aye. I assume they were guarding a nest because they aren’t generally aggressive, unless you’re a rabbit. That’s what they typically hunt."
"Remind me not to get too close to one of their nests then."
Micah chuckled.
"Don’t worry. Unless you can fly, you will never get near a Swiftclaw nest. Are you ready to go?"
"Aye, as ready as I’ll ever be."
Micah raised an eyebrow.
"Aye? Starting to adopt the language already? That's a good sign." Micah beamed a smile at Michael and extended his hand to help him up.
Michael took the proffered hand and stood, returning the smile
"As long as I don’t have to do the accent in addition to the language, I’ll be ok."
Micah laughed.
"That’s not a requirement. Let’s go tell Joshua goodbye, and then you can teleport us to the gateway."
Michael grimaced.
"Ugh, stomach churning time."
"You need to get used to it. It will be your primary means of transportation in Thelona."
They walked out of the lavatory and into the kitchen. Joshua was seated at a small side table drinking a glass of wine. He rose when they came in.
"Time to leave, Uncle?" he asked.
"Aye. We need to get moving. Merric was a shambles when I left. I can only imagine the shape he will be in when we get back."
Joshua walked up to Micah and hugged him.
"Don’t stay gone so long this time." Turning to Michael he shook his hand.
"Take care, Michael, and keep an eye on this one for me would you?"
"I will do my best," Michael said smiling.
"That’s all anyone could ask." Having said that, Joshua stepped away from them.
Micah turned to Michael.
"You have seen pictures of Stonehenge before, yes?" Michael nodded affirmatively.
"That is where we are headed. Just concentrate on an image of Stonehenge, and speak the same spell you did at Father Barthold’s house, Transfero nos ut visum." Micah looked intently into Michael’s eyes.
"Got that?"
Michael nodded again.
"Good. Ready when you are." Micah placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder and waved at Joshua.
Michael took a deep breath and said the words.
"Transfero nos ut visum."
The familiar cool wind wafted through his mind, and there was a sudden sensation of movement. Micah gripped him by his upper arm until his legs steadied. Michael felt his stomach churn again, but not nearly as bad as the previous time. He took another deep breath and let it out in a billow of vapor. The air was very cool, and he shivered.
"That wasn’t as bad as last time. My stomach only flipped once."
"See, I told you it would get better," Micah nodded and led him over to the collapsed altar stone.
"When we go through, there may be a welcoming party, so be prepared to get us out quickly, and take us to Kantwell."
"What kind of welcoming party?" Michael asked.
"Mortow’s kind. He had one waiting when I crossed through to this side. There is no reason to think there won’t be one awaiting our return. Do you have the picture of Kantwell in your mind?"
"Yes, a big stone castle in the middle of a rolling green field. I hope that is Kantwell. It’s the image that came to mind when you said the name."
"That's the one. Just make sure you concentrate on taking both of us, and that you are touching me when you cast the transport spell. Wait for my signal before you cast. If there are only a few, I may try to take them. However, since Mortow sent four last time, and they couldn’t stop me, I doubt there will be less than a dozen this time. Stay behind me and stay close."
"Ok, got it. So how do we get through the gateway?" Michael asked.
"Simple. Touch the altar stone and think of Thelona. I have placed enough information in your mind that it will take you there."
"What if I think of someplace else? Will it take me there instead?"
"No. It only works between Thelona and here. It’s a teleport stone. Teleport stones are location specific. That is to say, they can only take you to the destination to which it is magically linked. That location, in this case, is the mirror of Stonehenge on Thelona."
"If that is the case, then why do I even have to think of Thelona? I mean, if that’s the only place it can go, then why bother?" Michael inquired.
"Because teleport stones are passive magical constructs. They require the user to activate them mentally or else anytime you touched one, intentional or not, it would just pop you to the other location. You haven’t heard of anyone mysteriously disappearing from Stonehenge have you?"
"No."
"That’s why. I’m sure thousands of people have touched this altar stone through the ages, but no one has been teleported away. It requires active thought from the user for it to operate properly."
"I see. So we just touch it and think of Thelona, and we will be there?"
"That’s correct. Any other questions before we go?" Micah asked.
"Tons, but none that seem relevant at the moment."
Micah smiled at him and clasped him on the shoulder.
"All will be well, Michael. I know I have thrown a lot at you all at once, and I also know you can’t seem to figure out if any of this is real or not. You feel like your sanity is in question. Don’t doubt yourself or the things around you, Michael. Doubt and hesitation can be fatal. You will have help every step of the way, from me and from Merric."
"The problem is that if my mind is broken, then I have no way of knowing what’s real and what’s not, and no amount of rationalization will help."
"Place your left hand up between us, palm out." Micah instructed him.
Michael raised his left arm with his hand up and his palm facing Micah. As fast as a lightning strike, Micah drew his long dagger and slashed it across Michael’s palm. Michael yelled and snatched his hand back. Tears stung his eyes from the pain of the cut. He cradled the injured hand with his other hand.
"What the hell did you do that for?!" Michael yelled.
"To prove a point. A point that may help save your life."
"What possible point could there be to nearly cutting my hand off?"
"Come now, it’s merely a shallow cut. No more than skin deep. I wouldn’t risk injuring your hand when you may need it so soon." Micah took a handkerchief from his pocket and started to wrap Michael’s hand with it.
"My point is this; if this is a dream or a hallucination then the danger and the pain are just as real here as in reality. You felt the cut. You bled from it. Thus, you can die as well. So reality or fantasy, the result is the same."
Michael stared at him as he tied the handkerchief around his hand. Comprehension suddenly dawned in Michael’s face. He stood up straighter, and Micah could see some of the tension leave his body.
"You are right. It makes no difference. What’s to say that everything leading up to this wasn’t the hallucination, and this is the reality?"
"That’s not the way to look at this, either, Michael. Nothing in your life has been hallucination," Micah sighed
"Consider it this way. Your life is made up of chapters like a book. You live each chapter and take from it the knowledge gained. It is past, and you must move on to the next and seek the knowledge contained therein so that you can take it with you to the next. If you think any of it is a hallucination, then the knowledge gained is suspect. Did not the knife cut fe
el real to you?"
"Yes."
"Would you have your wife and marriage be merely a dream?"
"No!"
"Then stop this foolish talk of hallucinations. Your wife was real. Father Barthold is real, and I am real." Micah poked Michael in the chest pushing him back a step.
"Ouch!" Michael said rubbing the spot on his chest.
"And you are real," Micah said with finality.
"Just because you do not understand it, don’t consign it to fantasy."
"Ok, ok. I get your point," Michael continued to rub the spot on his chest where Micah poked him.
"Even the verbal one." Michael flashed a smile at Micah.
Micah nodded to him.
"Good. You need to have your wits about you where we are going. Remember, stay close, and do not hesitate. If I give you an order, just do it. Don’t think about it. Don’t question it. Just do it. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Come on then, let’s get on with it." They both laid their hands on the broken altar stone and vanished from sight.
Chapter Fourteen
The column of men had been marching at the fastest pace Commander Salic could push them to safely. He marched them thirty miles each day for the past four days. They entered the BarrierDesert this morning, and he was finally forced to reduce the pace because of the heat. Tomorrow evening would see them finally at The Slot. Of the one thousand men he brought with him, one hundred were cavalry, two hundred and fifty were long bowmen, and the rest were infantry. Commander Salic's company also included eight mounted scouts and four mounted messengers. Twenty wagons containing arms, food, water, and general supplies brought up the rear of the mobilized unit.
The Chronicles of the Myrkron: Book 01 - The Nine Keys of Magic Page 18