After Bastise finished his sandwich, he relit his cigar then melted the plastic wrap with the match. He placed the burned match in his pocket with the other one and walked into Stonehenge. The muffled screams became more discernible as he got closer to Tammin. Without saying a word, Bastise reached down, lifted the man and slung him over his shoulder. He walked purposefully toward the broken alter and, without hesitation, placed his hand on the stone. He thought of what the ring must have looked like when it was new, how Tammin had described it to him, and of the strange new land called Thelona.
"Bastise is coming, Joshua."
The muffled screams were abruptly silenced as the two men disappeared, leaving the night silent and undisturbed.
Chapter Seven
Michael continued to stare in amazement. He forced his mind to start again. Why did he never tell me? All this time, he has known that I planned on killing Mortow; hell I even told him as much. He never once said a word. None of them did. I can see some of the younger, newer ones not knowing, but Martin was there. He had even been instructed by Mortow. He had to know. And Micah, he had to know as well. I can understand why Merric would try to hide it from me, but Micah?
Michael’s mind whirled with questions. He didn’t know who he could trust any more. It seemed everyone was keeping secrets from him. He decided it was time to get some answers. He focused on Mortow.
"Yes, I can see the resemblance now; your size, the nose, the cut of your face. I should have noticed it the first time I saw Merric."
Mortow looked slightly confused, then his face relaxed in understanding. "So you did see me through my scrying. I thought it appeared as if you did. I was under the impression that wasn't possible. Mind telling me how you accomplished that little trick?"
Michael quickly gathered his thoughts. I can’t be distracted right now. I must concentrate so I don’t slip up. Michael set his face in a grim expression. "I think that would be a bad idea. I’m sure you do not share all your secrets with your students. I don’t see why I should share mine with you."
Mortow chuckled, a deep rumbling vibration that Michael could feel in his chest.
"So you have no idea either. Well, no matter. There are other things we can discuss. Shall we start with your infatuation with Mieka?" Mortow saw Michael’s ears turn red and his eyes narrow in anger.
"That infatuation has turned to infuriation. How I could've believed a woman like that could give me a second look seems ridiculous. Knowing what I do of her now, I see it was all a ruse to get me here. Beautiful women and I just don’t mix. They either die or betray me it seems," Michael said through gritted teeth.
"Mieka was only doing as she was instructed. She has been extremely valuable in helping me keep apprised of the activities in Kantwell."
"She is your spy, and I fell right into your trap," Michael said caustically.
"Aye, she is my spy, but I see nothing binding you. There's the door. You are free to walk out it at any time," Mortow said gesturing to the stone door. "I am sure Merric taught you the command word for opening such a door, and if he did not then I will tell it to you."
Once again the voice in Michael's head returned. "Aye, she is my spy. You are trapped here. There is the door, and there's no way for you to open it."
Michael closed his eyes and he again saw the old man in the purple robes standing before the golden doors.
The old man laughed, then whispered, "Contego ab vernero," then made a gesture toward Michael. The gesture gave Michael the impression he was being told to get on with it.
Michael thought back, "Get on with what? I’m trapped here!"
The old man slapped a hand to his forehead, then shook his head sighing. "Time for you to set some ground rules, Myrkron. He cannot trap you here or anywhere."
Michael finally understood. The spell the old man cast had worked. That meant magic did work here. He felt a chill and then a rush of adrenaline. If magic does work here, then I have a chance to kill him right now. Michael flew to his feet. He was encouraged by the surprised look on Mortow’s face. Michael yelled out, "Contego ab vulnero," he felt the familiar cool breeze slip through his mind and smiled in satisfaction as he felt the shield go up around him.
Mortow was instantly on his feet. He knew Michael had somehow unlocked the ninth door. He rumbled out the same phrase, raising his own shield.
Michael could see the grim determination on Mortow’s face.
"It would be most unwise of you to challenge me, Michael. I do not seek your death, but I will not hesitate to kill you if I’m provoked."
Michael’s smile turned predatory, matching the gleam of rage in his eyes. "So you were lying. No one can use magic within this room, huh? Now I know why Merric did not tell me he was related to you. What father could feel pride in a son such as you? Though you say you do not seek my death, I do seek yours. For the death of my wife, for the death of all those villagers, for the death of all those men and dwarves in The Slot, for the death of all those who foolishly follow you, I am going to destroy you."
Again Mortow chuckled. "Bold words, boy. You have never met one such as I. I am more powerful than you could possibly imagine."
"You are certainly more long winded than I could have imagined," Michael replied with disdain.
Mortow growled and barked out, "Pello!"
Michael’s shield absorbed the blow. He could feel the power behind that single word. It was as if he had stepped in front of a moving train. Mortow is certainly powerful, Michael thought, but let’s see if he can take what he gives. "Pello!"
Mortow’s eyes flew wide as Michael’s attack struck his shield, and he staggered back a step. He instantly recovered and yelled out, "Premo!"
Michael felt a giant hand begin to squeeze his shield. The force was abrupt and stifling. He made sure to lock eyes with Mortow, then he let a small smile creep onto his face. He whispered, too low for Mortow to hear, "Traho." He watched as Mortow exerted more force, keeping the smile on his face. "I am going to destroy you, Mortow. I will have vengeance for my wife," Michael told him in a level voice.
Sweat beaded on Mortow’s forehead. How could Michael stand against his power? He was pouring in more power than he had ever needed before, and the impudent boy just stood there smiling and taunting him. He doubled his efforts, saving only enough in reserve for an escape. It should've been enough force to crush a small house, but still he continues to smile. "Give up, Michael. I still do not wish to kill you."
Now it was Michael’s turn to laugh. He threw his head back and roared with mirth. "You are lying again, Mortow. You now realize that for all your training, for all your arrogance, you have finally met your match. I can see the fear in your eyes. You've never even dreamed of power such as I can command. You see your death standing before you, and you are afraid."
"Powerful you may be, Michael, but you haven’t beaten me yet." Saying that, Mortow suddenly cut off the flow of force and disappeared.
Michael moved back until his shoulders touched the wall. He remained wary, unsure if this was some kind of trick or not. Suddenly realizing Mortow would return with aid, Michael pictured the lake the old man had shown him, surrounded by huge mountains, and spoke the words of transport before vanishing from the room.
Michael was angry with himself for not killing Mortow when he had the chance. He was angry with himself for falling for Mieka. He was angry at Merric for not revealing that Mortow was his son. He was angry at Micah for not telling him that same piece of information. Michael closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. He felt some of the tension leave his neck and shoulders.
Sighing, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was standing on a gentle slope leading to a good sized lake. The waters of the lake lapped rhythmically against the shore. The gentle wind raised small white caps on its surface and bent the knee high grasses around him in hypnotic waves. Michael thought it looked as if God was gently running his hand over the grass. There was no moon in the sky, but the stars were out and provi
ded so much light that it almost seemed like daylight washed of all color.
The mountains surrounding the lake were like slumbering giants off in the distance, their white peaks starkly visible in the bold starlight. Michael breathed in the clean air. It was cool, but not cold, and smelled fresh and vital. He felt himself smiling. The familiar feeling of insignificance he always felt in the presence of nature unrestrained washed over him like an old friend.
"If for no other reason, this makes me believe there is a God," Michael said out loud, reveling in the pristineness of the place.
"I am glad you find the place to your liking, Michael," a voice from beside him said gently.
Michael turned his head slowly toward the sound. He saw a small man with long silvery hair and beard. The top of the man’s head only came up to Michael’s shoulder. He wore dark robes that Michael knew would be purple in daylight, yet appeared black in the starlight. The starlight, however, could not mask the shining golden sash at the man's slim waist.
"I want to thank you for your help back there. Without your words, I would have continued to believe myself trapped," Michael told the man, speaking softly, as seemed proper in this place.
The old man smiled. "I know you have many questions, Michael. Some of them I can answer, others I cannot. So knowing that, what is your first question?"
"Who are you and how do you know me?"
"That is actually two questions. But, to take them in order, I am Mason. As for your second question, I have been waiting for you for a very long time."
"Waiting for me? How could you have been waiting for me?” Michael asked. “I come from an entirely different world."
"Well, I originally waited for another, but he never came. So I have had to wait even longer for you. It has been a very long time, and I have grown old and tired."
"Why have you been waiting for me?"
"So I could die. Until one came, I have been bound to this life, unable to leave this valley other than with my mind."
"You have been imprisoned here?"
"In a sense, I suppose you could look at it that way. I took a vow long ago that I would remain to pass on my knowledge to the next Myrkron. The Great One acknowledged my vow and gifted me with this valley and an unusually long life."
"So you're an immortal, like Micah," Michael replied.
"No. I am not immortal, and I am nothing like your friend Micah," Mason said with a sad look.
"How long have you been waiting for me to show up?"
"Since the last one did not show. I have been here for close to twenty thousand years." Mason smiled at the incredulous look on Michael’s face. "A long time, eh?"
Michael shook his head. "I don’t know why that should surprise me. My life has turned into one long series of shocks and impossibilities since Karin was killed. Are you here to tell me how to use my power?" Michael inquired, changing the subject.
Mason saw the flash of pain in Michael’s eyes and tentatively reached up and placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder. "No, Michael, I cannot do that."
"Then why have you waited all this time for me to arrive?" Michael said, his voice rising in anger.
"I have waited so I could tell you what you are. Your powers are like my own. I am the last Myrkron to have walked this land before your arrival. Our powers do not function like those of normal magi. Therefore, we cannot be taught by them in anything other than the basics."
"If I am a Myrkron, whatever that is, and you are one, then why can’t you teach me?"
"Because our power comes from within." Mason let his hand fall to his side and walked a couple of steps toward the lake. He turned back to Michael and continued. "Think of it this way. Just as no one can give someone else the key to unlocking one of the doors of power, no one can give you insight into how to use your powers. It is different for each of us."
"But you opened the tenth door for me. I saw you place your hand on it and then it opened."
Mason shook his head. "I did not open the door for you, Michael, you did that on your own. Your curiosity and desire opened it. I merely touched it, drawing your attention to it. Even the old one that waited for me couldn’t help me with how to use my power. And you, Michael, are more powerful than I was. I only saw two golden doors. You see all three."
"Do you at least know what they do and why no one else knows of them?"
Mason smiled again, cheerfully. "That, I can tell you. The first golden door opens the power of healing. It's called Ianua Vita, The Door of Life. It is what you have most desired since learning you had magic, is it not?"
Michael nodded and bowed his head. "Too little, too late."
"For your wife, yes, but not for others. The gift of healing, Michael, think of it; rejoice in it. Of all our powers, it is the greatest gift we have; the ability to save the lives of others. No longer is your power just a weapon, it is now a tool against all weapons."
"What of the other two?" Michael asked, feeling a little of Mason’s excitement insinuate itself into him.
"The second golden door opens the power to influence nature. It's the same power the druids command on a much greater scale. It is called Ianua Vir, The Door of Man."
"So now I'm a druid as well?"
"No. You are a Myrkron." Mason reached down and plucked up a pebble the size of a robin’s egg. He held it out for Michael to see. "You are to a druid what those mountains are to this rock."
"And the third, what does it unlock?" Michael asked staring at the pebble.
"The third has a name as well, one you must discover for yourself before you can open it. I do not know how you can do this. I only know it must be done. It unlocks the power to influence magic itself."
"How am I supposed to discover the name of something I know nothing about, that apparently nobody knows anything about?"
"You do know about it. I just told you what it unlocks. That is all you will need in order to figure it out. That is the main reason I have waited so long for you. Without that single piece of knowledge, you would never be able to open that door."
"A long time to wait for such a vague piece of information," Michael said frustrated.
"Aye, but it was of monumental importance that what little information there is be passed on, else future Myrkrons would never succeed in opening it."
Michael looked to the sky again, feeling as if the vastness of the universe were settling on him. He sighed. "So, what exactly is a Myrkron?"
Mason bounced the pebble in his hand a few times then tossed it out into the lake. "A question not easily answered, but I will do my best."
Mason waved a hand in the air and Michael saw a small wooden house appear further up the hill off to his left.
"Come, this will take some time to explain and my old bones could use a soft chair and a warm fire." Mason turned and gestured for Michael to follow.
Chapter Eight
Micah sat in a chair in front of Merric’s desk, leaning back, legs stretched out straight and crossed at the ankles. His polished black boots reflected points of light from the candles in the wall sconces. Micah had his elbows resting on the arms of the chair and his fingers laced together over the buckle on the wide leather belt he wore. Relaxed though he looked, his eyes were focused unblinkingly on Merric, seated behind the desk. Merric sat slumped forward, leaning on his arms, which rested on the surface of the desk.
"Unless you propose we storm the very walls of Gratton, there is nothing we can do for Michael at present," Micah said pointedly.
"I know, I know," Merric said with another sigh. "I am merely worried about the boy. Mortow is powerful and devious. Suppose he convinces Michael to join him."
"I wouldn’t worry about that particular problem. I know Michael’s mind. He would sooner take his own life than join with the man responsible for the death of his wife. You, of all people, know how that feels."
"Aye, but Michael is young and inexperienced," Merric replied.
"So were we all at one time. The lessons of life are wh
at shape us. The failures are as important as the successes, sometimes more so."
"Your words, wise as they are, do not ease my fear," Merric said mildly irritated.
Micah finally smiled. "They are not meant to."
Merric threw his hands up in the air. "Then what purpose do they serve?"
"Merric, you are Headmaster. You were elected Headmaster for a reason. Use your head for something other than a battering ram. Think. You can do nothing for Michael. Mieka is lost. Forget the both of them for now. You are a leader in this war. Lead."
"Easy for you to say. You are used to this kind of thing. I have only fought in one war, and I was not a leader," Merric said in exasperation.
"That is not true. You have fought in two wars. Just because the second one was fought here and wasn’t on the scale of the first, does not diminish it."
"Bah! The Purging was no war. It was a brawl, a deadly brawl to be sure, but nothing more."
"Anytime ideals are defended, it is a war. It matters not how many are involved nor the locale. You, and those like you, defended freedom against a would-be tyrant."
"A lot of good it did us. All those lives lost and that would-be tyrant is now what he wanted to be. He is Headmaster of his own school with his own students."
"Aye, he is now what he set out to be, but he is not unopposed. You and your students still exist to fight him. As long as you all live, he can never truly be victorious."
"Small consolation to a world sliding into madness," Merric said sadly.
"Not so small as you think, Merric. Was it not you who brought the dwarves into the alliance? Was it not you who convinced the elves to leave their sanctuary and join us?"
"Not all of the elves joined us. In fact, very few did," Merric said dejectedly.
Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron) Page 5