“I know the first allows me to heal and the second has something to do with druidic abilities. When the second door opened, I was able to scry without the use of a basin or mirror, but I don’t see how that has anything to do with nature,” Michael said, beginning to pace back and forth.
“As far as we know, it has nothing to do with druidic abilities. Scrying is a magical operation.”
“What can you tell me about the powers the druids command?”
“The druids are able to manipulate the natural world around them. They can shape the flora to heal it or help it grow. They are the caretakers of the land.”
“That does not sound as if it will be helpful to me right now,” Michael replied.
“What is it that you seek?”
“A way to defeat the Garoliths. I nearly lost Branik to one of them. I have been told that only a wizard of the ninth key can affect them, but no one seems to know how. I came here in hopes that you could tell me.”
“It is true that only a ninth key may defeat them. The magic of lesser magi has no effect on them. A ninth key may command the very soul. That is the weakness of the Garoliths. They were created ages ago by some magi that believed magic was too powerful and should be eradicated completely. Twenty of their number volunteered to be transformed into instruments that were proof against magic. The spell cast turned them into undead beings of incredible power. They took their shape from the minds of some of the most twisted wizards that have ever lived. A shape meant to instill fear in any who view them. Fear fed them as they slew their very creators and it is fear they now feed on,” the Oakkrin explained.
“How do I command their souls? There are no ninth keys around to teach me,” Michael asked hesitantly.
“There is one who can teach you. He dwells down the path on which the Avari departed.”
“If there is a ninth key still in existence why has he not come forward to aid us?” Michael demanded.
“He has been aiding you, and you know him well.”
“Micah? But his magic is limited, and he would have told me how to defeat them if he knew.”
“Micah’s magic may be limited, but his knowledge of it is not. If he has not imparted that knowledge to you, then he either has a reason or does not know that they may be affected in this way. Perhaps you should speak with him,” the Oakkrin suggested.
“Yes, I guess I should. Would you please excuse me?” Michael said as he turned to go.
“One more thing, Michael.”
Michael turned around. He suddenly realized the move was unnecessary as the trees were all around him. “Yes?”
“Before you depart from our forest, bring the Avari back to us,” the Oakkrin requested.
“As you wish.” Michael turned and took off down the trail at a run.
He noticed that it was a cobbled path and, as he left the grove, the sounds of the forest ceased. There were no birds singing or insects chirping; the very air stilled and the trees closed in overhead so closely that all sunlight was cut off. He had to stop because it had become so black he could not even see his hand in front of his face.
Michael raised his right fist into the air. “Lumen,” he spoke aloud. His fist began to glow brightly with a brilliant white light. It lit the path ahead of him. He began to run again and the light revealed a stone cottage with a porch and three steps leading up to it. On the porch, Michael could see Reek, Branik and Micah standing, looking his way. He lowered his hand and slowed to a walk when he neared the steps.
“Hello, Michael. Welcome to my home. I want to thank you for saving Branik’s life today. You will never know how much that act means to me,” Micah said bowing to Michael as he stopped at the top of the steps.
“My Lord, I must confess. I did it out of selfish reasons. I did not want to lose my friend,” Michael replied formally, allowing his light to fade away as he saw a light globe sitting on a small table.
Micah looked at him grimly and motioned for Michael to follow him. “Branik, Reek, would you be so kind as to wait out here please? I must speak with Michael in private for a moment,” Micah inquired of the two Avari.
Branik and Reek both bowed to Micah and took up posts on either side of the entrance.
Micah turned and walked through the door, held it until Michael passed through, and then closed it softly. He walked to his study and sat behind the big desk gesturing for Michael to sit in the chair in front of him. “Ok, Michael, what is going on?”
Michael sighed heavily and leaned forward in the chair resting his elbows on his knees and bowing his head. “What isn’t going on would be easier to answer. We nearly lost Branik to a Garolith. The Weres attacked from the sea just west of Kantwell, and they brought that monster along with them. Nothing Merric or I did had any effect on it. In fact, it was my spell that cost Branik his life,” Michael explained still staring at the floor.
“I was under the impression that your magic would work against them. Everything Merric read told him a ninth key was the only one that could harm them.”
“I was under the same assumption as you. That's why I came to see the Oakkrin,” Michael explained.
“I have been researching some of my oldest books, but have found nothing that contradicts what we already know. A ninth key should be able to destroy them,” Micah said frowning.
“The Oakkrin said the same, but it seems it is only the ninth key magic and not just a ninth key wizard that is required. There are none at Kantwell that can teach me about the ninth key,” Michael said finally looking up at Micah. “The Oakkrin suggested I talk to you. They said even though your magic was limited, your knowledge was not. I have to be able to command the souls of the Garoliths in order to defeat them,” Michael told him.
Micah visibly shivered and turned his eyes away from Michael. “The first time I used magic from the ninth key was over ten thousand years ago. It was also the last,” Micah said in a low voice.
Michael could hear the sorrow in Micah’s voice and he sat up straight. “That was the spell that turned you, wasn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“Will it turn me if I use it?” Michael asked hesitantly.
Micah’s eyes settled on Michael’s at hearing the fear in his voice. He smiled faintly. “If you used the exact spell I cast, yes, it would; but that is not the spell you will need. The spell I cast that night was designed to affect me and the warriors that volunteered. It had a specific purpose; to render us invulnerable to, and to make us physically more powerful than, our enemies,” Micah explained.
“Perhaps that is what I need then,” Michael replied his mouth setting in a hard line.
“No. Our enemies were mortal, just warriors from another tribe. That is not the answer.”
Micah rose and went to the bookcase behind him. He scanned the titles for a few seconds and located the volume he sought. He pulled it from the shelf and handed it to Michael.
Michael took the book and looked at the cover. It was obviously very old, but well cared for. The brown leather cover was cracked and bore only one symbol, the Roman numeral IX.
“Is this what I think it is?” Michael asked excitedly.
“Well I am not sure. If you think it is a journal of my thoughts and experiments involving the ninth key, then yes, it is what you think it is,” Micah answered, reseating himself behind the desk.
Michael moved to the edge of his seat as he ran his hand over the cover.
“Michael,” Micah waited until Michael tore his eyes from the book to look up at him. “Some of what you will read in that book will be from a very dark time in my life. And please bear in mind that I was very young when I wrote a portion of it. Younger than you are now,” Micah began.
“This book is over ten thousand years old?” Michael asked once again looking at its cover, this time in awe.
“No, Michael, but it is very old. I have had to copy and recopy all of my books and journals down through the years. What you hold in your hand you would never have been able to read
in its original format. Our writing back then was very crude. As it is, you will still find it difficult to read. The language is a form of the Latin you have come to know, but it is in the original dialect. As you know, languages change over time and what we write and speak today is different from even a mere one hundred years ago. Therefore, some of what you read may not make sense to you. When you get to those parts, if you need me to, I will translate for you,” Micah explained.
Michael nodded his understanding and once again turned his attention to the book. His initial excitement had been crushed when Micah told him it was not as old as he had thought, but the contents were even more intriguing now. He looked at the edge. It could not be more than a hundred pages long. Michael gently opened the cover and cringed when he heard it crack.
Micah saw him cringe and jump slightly at the sound. “It’s ok, Michael. There is not a word there,” Micah said pointing to the book, “that is not up here,” he continued, tapping his right temple. “As I said, I have written and rewritten them many times."
Michael’s excitement turned to frustration when he glanced at the first page and saw it was written in an archaic form of Latin and the handwriting, though flowing and neat, was difficult to read. “Micah, there is no way I can read this. I have gotten markedly better with my Latin since I've been studying at Kantwell, but I don’t know half these words,” Michael complained.
Micah opened his middle desk drawer and withdrew a small wooden box. He placed it on the desk in front of him and opened the lid. Pulling a delicate pair of glasses from the case, he handed them to Michael.
Michael noted the silver wire frames and small oval lenses. He looked up at Micah with a questioning expression.
“They are a special set that were made a very long time ago. I used to use them when I ran across obscure languages. Go on, put them on then look at the book again,” Micah prompted.
Michael did as Micah suggested and hooked the thin silver wires behind his ears. He glanced at the page again and swayed a bit as the page swam dizzily before his eyes.
“Easy. Don’t try to focus your eyes just keep looking at the script.”
Michael steadied himself and opened his eyes again. The page wavered in his vision, though not nearly as bad as before. Slowly, the text came into focus and what he saw through the lenses appeared to be written in English. He blinked several times in astonishment. “Micah, these are amazing. They have changed the text to English,” Michael exclaimed.
“No, they merely allow you to see the writing in a language you can understand. They have been very useful in the past,” Micah explained, smiling at Michael’s excitement.
“I don’t suppose there is a language you can’t read after all the time you have been around,” Michael commented not looking up from the book.
“Oh, I am sure there are some very obscure ancient languages out there, somewhere, that I have never come across; but I would imagine they are few. You are welcome to borrow both the book and the glasses as long as you need; just don’t put the glasses into a drawer or any type of concealing place. Keep them in their case when you are not using them and on a table or desk.”
“Why not put them in a drawer?” Michael asked, looking up in confusion.
“The magic on them will return them to me if they are placed in such concealment. It is a way to make sure they are never stolen. And they have been several times in the past. Every time, the thief would hide them away in some drawer and the magic would trigger, bringing them back to me. It's a safeguard one learns when you have lived as long as I have. Many of my items have similar enchantments on them,” Micah explained as he pulled the little silver flask from his pocket. “Here, place this in a pocket,” Micah instructed, handing the flask to Michael.
Michael gingerly took the flask, remembering how cold it was, and placed it in his right pocket. He could feel the coldness of the flask against his leg even through the fabric. He was about to remove it because it was becoming uncomfortable when he felt the weight of it lift. He quickly stuck his hand in his pocket only to find it was empty. He looked up at Micah with a smile on his face.
Micah reached into his pocket where he kept the flask and withdrew his hand. The little flask was once again in his hand. “See. Safe and sound right where it belongs,” Micah said as he once again pocketed the flask.
“You are going to have to teach me that spell one of these days. Wait a minute. If they cannot be placed in a drawer, how then can you keep them in one?”
“They belong to me and I cast the spell. I can put them anywhere I wish. It is only an issue for others. And, if we make it through to the other side of this war, I’ll teach you anything you want to know. You are one of mine now, Michael, just as every other Avari. Whatever knowledge I have is yours.” Micah cocked his head and looked up at the ceiling.
Michael followed his gaze, but could see nothing except the rafters above. “That means more to me than you could ever know, Micah. You know, when I came here with you, I had nothing to live for except the prospect of revenge. I didn't care whether I lived or died as long as I saw those responsible for Karin’s death destroyed. You and the Avari have given me back my life. I now care about more than revenge and I count you, Reek and Branik as family. They are my brothers and, much like Joshua, I consider you to be as a father to me. It is strange though, since you don't look that much older than me; but that is how I feel,” Michael said with feeling.
Micah smiled a rare warm smile that lit his eyes from within. “I always seem to pick up strays,” Micah laughed as he watched Michael smile. “It will be dark soon. We should get back to Kantwell. With a Garolith on the loose in Branna, that will be its target,” Micah said rising to his feet.
“We have to go back to the grove first. The Oakkrin wanted me to bring Reek and Branik back to them before I left,” Michael told him.
Micah looked at him puzzled, but motioned for him to exit the study. As they walked out the front door, Reek and Branik fell in behind them. Micah motioned for the Avari to precede him and they bowed their heads in acknowledgement.
“Branik, we will have to get you another set of swords. When we return to Kantwell, I will travel to the Avari Isle and bring back a pair,” Micah commented.
“Thank you, my lord. I have been feeling a bit naked without them,” Branik replied.
“If you had studied more on the unarmed combat lessons, that might not be the case,” Micah gently rebuked.
“Aye, my lord,” Branik nodded his head in resignation.
Reek chuckled and elbowed him in the ribs. “Without those swords of yours, I have a better than fair chance against you,” Reek commented.
“I will not even pretend that my hand to hand skills match yours, but give me a pair of swords, and I’ll take on anyone short of Lord Micah,” Branik said, clenching his fists in frustration as they entered the grove.
“A set of swords, Avari? Well, perhaps we can assist you,” the Oakkrin’s rustling voice called out. “Step forward.”
Branik looked to Micah, who shrugged and shook his head. “I have no idea what they are up to, but I have found that it is better to go along with their requests when presented,” Micah told him.
Branik tugged his tunic down and tightened his rope belt before stepping forward to the middle of the grove.
“Kneel down, Avari, and place your hands upon our ground,” the Oakkrin commanded.
Without delay, Branik knelt and placed his hands palms down on the soft grass. He felt the earth under them grow warm and start to shift. Suddenly he felt a hard object press against the palms of both hands. The pressing was forceful enough that it lifted his hands off the ground; when they were a half a foot from the ground the motion ceased. Branik withdrew his hands and saw by the moonlight streaming down on the grove, a set of white hilts protruding from the earth. He grasped both and pulled. They slid free of the earth as if it were merely a sheath in which they had been stored. They came out clean and free of rust as if newly
forged.
“Avari Branik, your lord Micah has spoken to us a great deal about you. You instill in him a great pride that only a teacher can have, after watching his student exceed his expectations. These swords were once carried by a noble warrior, who long ago helped fight and contain the Garoliths. That was a very long time ago, even as we measure time. Since he was not allowed to slay the creatures, he brought his swords here and bade us guard them in the event they were again needed. Over the ages, we have studied them, but have been unable to divine how they were crafted. They contain no metal and appear to be made of a type of bone blended with the element of fire. May they aid you in the times ahead.”
Branik studied the blades intently. Micah, Reek and Michael all walked forward and looked at them as well. Branik glanced at Micah and handed them to him.
Micah took both blades and scrutinized them. If they were fashioned from bone, then it was like no other he had ever seen. They gave off a bright white light that had nothing to do with the moonlight. The blades were straight, true and dual edged as he glanced along the length of each; and they were lightweight. He judged that the longer of the two was about two pounds and the other, though a few inches shorter, was just shy of that same weight. He moved off a few steps and swung the blades in an intricate pattern. Both were well balanced and, as they cut through the night air, gave off a pure ringing note instead of the accustomed hiss of steel parting the air.
Micah returned the swords to Branik and addressed the Oakkrin. “We thank you for the gift.”
“Branik, may I see those swords?” Michael asked.
Branik handed the swords to Michael.
As Michael took them, he saw in his mind an elegant female with long following copper-colored hair standing by the very lake where he met Mason. She was wearing a purple robe and had a golden sash around her slim waist. Held cradled in her hands was the limp body of a Swiftclaw. Its tiny body was nearly severed in two by a horrible wound. As she raised the pitiful little body up to eye level, Michael could see she had been crying. Her eyes were swollen and red and more tears began streaming down her face. Another Swiftclaw, one with a bright silver crest, stopped before her. The little female dragon nodded its head to the woman, and she began to chant. While she chanted, the living Swiftclaw breathed a small stream of fire onto the broken little body. The scales and flesh instantly turned to dust and fell away. Michael saw the bones left behind begin to crystalize and then flow as if melting.
Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron) Page 26