Legend of the Ravenstone

by M. S. Verish

  “Kariayla,” he gasped. “Find Chierond or Atrion. They will help you.”

  She nodded dumbly.

  “Farewell, my friend,” William said.

  “Goodbye, Bill.”

  Hawkwing’s face was covered, and his muscles tensed as the earth moved around him. Kariayla watched him go, finding the exchange between the tracker and the wizard uttered with strange finality. As if he does not expect to see him again, she thought. But the idea was a fleeting one, because now she was alone with a mysterious wizard and a mournful imp, left to relay a message to a reclusive and magical race of beings while her friends faced peril many miles away. She smeared the tear across her cheek and felt a gentle pressure at her side. Ruby was staring up at her with wide, green eyes.

  “It’s all right,” Kariayla said quietly. “It will be all right.”

  *

  It was like being pinned beneath another body, a confining pressure restricting his movements, holding his breath. He could see nothing, smell nothing, hear nothing—not for the time it would take him to count to twenty…if he knew how to count to twenty. Then he was free again, and the shroud wore away, relenting to bright sunlight above him.

  Jinx pulled and tore at the shroud, which had, at some point, become gossamer and as brittle as dried bark. A cloudless, midday sky welcomed him, and as he sat up, he became aware of the warm, sandy earth beneath him, saw the stringy grasses stir in the mild breeze, heard the leaves rustle from the short and scraggly trees scattered around him. He felt…felt….

  “Jedinom’s Sword,” uttered a deep, gruff voice. His words, but not his voice. Jinx stared at his hands—huge, rough, calloused hands of a deeper hue than his own. And his arms—thick and solid—much like the rest of him. He was dressed in leather, with worn boots, dark pants and a vest. This unfamiliar body wore a scabbard and a belt, though the sword William had given him remained in his grip. He lightly touched his face, assessing the defined, sharp features, the full and wiry beard, his short-cropped hair. “Like I’m a different person,” he mused, considering that strange voice again. “But Bill said not a lick of it’s real.” He pinched his own arm to find that it still hurt. “Well, I’m still real.”

  Jinx started at a sound, spinning to find a large mass had risen from the dirt near him. “Gotta be Arcturus.” The bulky form stirred, and even though he knew who it was, watching dirt move was an eerie sight. Both unnerved and fascinated, he stared until he realized the Markanturian was struggling to rise. Jinx set to peeling off the remnants of the shroud and brushing away the dirt, and then came his second surprise.

  The sandy earth was actually lighter than the Markanturian’s skin, which was a deep, warm brown. Instead of black eyes staring back at him, these eyes were wine-colored and Humanlike. For the most part, Arcturus’s features were the same, but his receding hair was short, gray, and wiry, and a full, long, gray beard fell like a frothy waterfall from beneath his nose and chin. “Whoa,” Jinx breathed.

  Arcturus stared at him. “James?”

  “Yeah, it’s Jinx.”

  Arcturus took a moment to orient himself, and Jinx watched him as he finished brushing off his wizard’s robes and inspecting Whitestar. “This is rather remarkable,” he admitted. “I hope that William commends his students for this accomplishment.”

  “Yeah, though I gotta say—no one else would be crazy enough to travel through dirt.”

  “Indeed, my boy,” Arcturus said, studying him again. Then they both looked to the open ground around them.

  “Uh…Hawkwing is coming, ain’t he?”

  “Patience,” Arcturus murmured. “In theory, we must be near Orecir, but I see nothing to indicate nearby civilization.” He tried to rub his chin but found the beard was in his way. “This must be William’s conception of a classic ‘wizard.’” He picked up a matching silken blue hat laying in the sand next to him. “The stereotype is not incorrect, but I dearly hope he does not expect I will perform feats of magic.” He sighed and felt at his balding head before setting the hat atop it.

  “Arcturus….”

  “Dear me, James, what were the names given us? We must try to employ them instead of our own.”

  “Arcturus, there’s people coming.” Jinx was focused upon the horizon. He glanced nervously back at the Markanturian. “And Hawkwing ain’t here yet.”

  Arcturus frowned and struggled to his feet. “How fortunate would we be to have these be our allies and not our enemies?”

  “Well, I got a magic sword if we need it.” Jinx squinted. “I count five of ‘em, but they don’t look like they’re dressed too fancy.”

  “As I have learned in my adventure with Kariayla, appearances can be deceiving. We would be the perfect examp—ahh!” The ground had shifted beneath Arcturus’s feet, and he quickly stepped away as the form of their missing leader began to manifest. “James—I need you to be vigilant while I tend to our tracker.”

  “Vijalent? Like ready to fight?” Jinx drew the sword.

  “Put it away,” Arcturus said firmly. “Just watch them until they draw near.” He knelt down and began to brush away the dirt as Jinx had done. The dusty body jolted upright, gasping, and reeled away. A bird emerged from the earth, fluttering and squawking with wings unfurled.

  Arcturus recovered from his shock as Hawkwing frantically ripped and tore at his shroud. The Markanturian moved in just as the tracker folded with his face hidden beneath his hands. “Take hold of your sense, man,” Arcturus ordered. He reached to grip Hawkwing’s shoulder, but Hawkwing gave a shout, and shoved him away.

  “They’re getting closer,” Jinx warned, throwing Arcturus a nervous glance.

  “He has lost all reason,” Arcturus said through his teeth as he tried to pick himself up again.

  Jinx gaped at Hawkwing’s trembling and crumpled form, and a thought struck him. “It’s like the story,” he said.

  “What story?” Arcturus snapped, replacing the hat that had fallen off his head.

  “The one Hawkwing told us. His biggest fear.”

  Arcturus got to his feet again and thumped his staff in the sand. “We do not have time for this—”

  “Tight spaces, remember?” Jinx continued. “The blanket and the dirt must’ve got him upset.”

  “At this moment, I am upset,” Arcturus said. “There are riders advancing, and our leader and guide is nonsensical.”

  “Just. Wait.” The strained and muffled voice came from behind the pair of hands—a voice slightly higher and raspier than Hawkwing’s own. “I need…a moment….”

  “We do not have a moment!” Arcturus looked up to see the five riders had dismounted and surrounded them. Slowly they moved inward, but as of yet, no weapons had been drawn.

  One of them—a tall, lean, clean-cut man with short, mousy hair and a bandana around his neck—stepped forward. “You seem out of place,” he said.

  Jinx gripped the hilt of the sword, his heart pounding. “Wh-Who wants to know?” he asked in as tough a voice as he could manage. He was surprised how gruff he sounded, though he felt this stranger could see right through him.

  The man gave a slow and easy smile. “I would like to know.”

  “Are you with the Priagent?” Jinx asked warily, and Arcturus sighed.

  The man eyed the three of them. “If I were, I imagine you would be in a bit of trouble, wouldn’t you?” His gray-eyed gaze shifted from Jinx to Arcturus. “Who is in charge here?”

  Jinx took a step back, and Arcturus opened his mouth.

  “I am.”

  Hawkwing had emerged from behind his hands, his pale face smeared with dirt and sweat. Deep brown eyes met with the stranger’s and did not waver as the tracker stood. His new frame was slight, but he was still quite tall—despite being several inches shorter than his true height. He was well-dressed—more formal than a wealthy merchant. The lines on his sharp face and the silver streaks in his tousled, auburn hair placed him in his mid-forties—perhaps a decade older than the man addressing them
. He smoothed the hair back from his face, straightened, and strode forward to meet the stranger, his hand extended.

  The man with the bandana lifted his sleeve to reveal the underside of his wrist before he shook Hawkwing’s hand. “I have wanted to meet you for a long time,” he said. “The name is Othenis Strix, but you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  *

  “The Wizard’s Eye, then, was what had alerted you to our presence,” Arcturus surmised, his attention upon the small, glass-like orb nested in a linen upon the table.

  “That would be correct,” Othenis said. “William had sent it to me months ago, when he first grew suspicious of the Priagent’s activities.” He leaned forward in his chair. “He asked that my men and I investigate—learn what we can—and that he would send a party to recover the Ravenstone, though he did not know exactly when.”

  Arcturus shook his head. “In whose domicile do we conveniently reside?”

  “Simon Galan is an associate, and this is his home. He is a merchant, and while he is away, he had allowed us to reside here.”

  “He is also a Gray Watcher,” Arcturus assumed.

  Othenis gave a slight shake of the head. “The Gray Watchers are no more. Even if they had not disbanded, this little operation would be forbidden according to the laws of involvement. Fortunately, William is a man who believes in just action. To sit idle is nearly as worse a crime as the offender.”

  Arcturus looked at Hawkwing, who said nothing, but continued to sit and stare out the window.

  “Do you truly believe that his intentions will jeopardize the populace of Secramore?” Arcturus asked.

  “I met the Priagent,” Othenis said, “and the man is dangerously brilliant. I will tell you what I have learned about him, and you will come to share my opinion.”

  “What of the Seroko?” Hawkwing asked, his raspy voice barely carrying across the room.

  “Their eyes have not yet turned in this direction,” Othenis said.

  “Or they are waiting to see just how legitimate a force Rashir Diemh will be,” Hawkwing said.

  Othenis shrugged. “It’s not like the Seroko to wait on any opportunity, but you could be right.”

  “I feel as though we are blindly walking a rope bridge,” Arcturus said. “How do we even proceed?”

  “Yeah,” Jinx chimed in. “I can’t even remember the name Bill gave me.”

  Hawkwing frowned and stood. “Except that you must, Rourke. Our lives will depend upon it.” He came and sat closer to Othenis. “Tell me everything you know.”

  Othenis ran a hand through his hair. “The five of us went to his manor, which had once belonged to an eccentric noble from Belorn. The lord had passed away, and the Priagent had no obstacle moving in. It is a secluded dwelling, overgrown and unkempt, but I imagine it suits Diemh’s purpose perfectly.

  “He has seven followers, and his right-hand man is a giant of a fellow named Nesif. Seldom does he leave Diemh’s side. All of them are as vigilant as hawks.”

  “Did ya see the Demon and the Prophet?” Jinx asked, his tone belying his brutish appearance.

  “We did not,” Othenis said, “but Diemh would have them hidden—no doubt in an area like the cellar or an unused chamber.”

  “How were you received?” Hawkwing asked.

  “We introduced ourselves as ambassadors of the Merchants’ Guild. I told him we were the primary organization behind the majority of Secramore’s markets—that we monitor all business, and those who elect to collaborate with us reap the benefits of our system.” Othenis gave a slight smile. “I honestly believed we would be turned away in order for the Priagent to maintain his secrecy.”

  Arcturus stroked his beard. “Was that not the case?”

  “Not at all,” Othenis said. “We were given an audience with Diemh, and he invited us to stay. He seemed attentive to what we had to offer, but what struck me was his willingness to talk.”

  Hawkwing motioned for him to continue.

  “He said they left their people to pursue the ultimate business venture: immortality.”

  “What?” Jinx asked, blinking.

  “They are here to market an elixir that will extend life and health,” Othenis said.

  “Who would believe such a claim?” Arcturus scoffed, producing his pipe.

  “I would,” Hawkwing said. “The Jornoans have been at civil war for decades. The more radical of their factions will go through any means to divine the future, and such dogged pursuit has awarded them an arrangement with the Durangiel of the Nightwind Mountains. While I cannot give the details of their trade, I do know that the Jornoans received the crystals the Durangien slaves mined. Somehow there must be a connection between the Jornoans, the crystals, prophecy, and Durangien immortality.”

  “That is purely speculation,” Arcturus argued. “And a fantastical one at that. Why not search for a unicorn in the Great Forest to grant you three wishes?”

  “Why not?” Jinx asked. “I would like three wishes—and a chance to live forever.”

  Othenis held up a hand. “Diemh showed me the elixir.”

  “I have ‘elixir’ too,” Arcturus said. “It is made from grapes, and it is kept in a bottle.”

  Othenis smiled wryly. “I understand your doubt, but you must remember that regardless of what you choose to believe, we must humor Diemh’s story. It is merely a front, but until you discover his actual plan, you must hide your skepticism.”

  Hawkwing cleared his throat. “The elixir.”

  “Yes,” Othenis said, reddening. “Diemh said he escaped his people with their secret elixir, and he aims to market it, but his supply is dwindling. He needs to make more, and he says that Northern Secramore is an untapped resource. His greatest obstacle is that he lacks the means to obtain this resource. Therein is his proposal for us.”

  “What does he want?” Arcturus asked.

  “If we can help him, he will sign a contract with the guild—but only if we can produce the legitimate means to—”

  “I know what he wants,” Hawkwing said, his drawn face grave.

  Othenis gave a knowing nod.

  “Well?” Jinx asked, impatient.

  “He wants an Ilangien.”

  Othenis raised a finger. “Not exactly. He did allude to the Great Forest and the life-giving river that runs through its heart.”

  “I cannot even scrounge the words to respond,” Arcturus said, removing his pipe and staring incredulously at Othenis and Hawkwing. “This is all based upon myth!”

  “Like elves and dragons, right?” Jinx asked. “So there’s a magic river that makes people live forever.”

  Arcturus shook his head. “This is quite the ruse. For a ‘brilliant man,’ the Priagent hides his true intentions behind some folkloric quest. How would he believe anyone with any sense could place credence in such a claim?”

  “That could be his test,” Othenis said, “to see if we are truly interested, and if we show we do not believe him, we walk away and award him his privacy.”

  “A rather clever tactic,” Hawkwing said, “to gauge a potential ally or threat. We must play this game and without overt skepticism.” He moved his gaze to Arcturus.

  Arcturus snorted. “What do you suggest? We agree to enter the magic forest and steal from a stream?”

  “It don’t sound so tough,” Jinx said, cracking his knuckles.

  “Appearances are everything. We have an expert medoriate in our midst,” Hawkwing said.

  “I know nothing of elves and pixies. My magic ‘trick’ is making Whitestar glow. What do you…” Arcturus trailed off at the tracker’s nod. “You cannot seriously expect—”

  “Regardless of what the staff can do,” Hawkwing said, “you are the expert. Your claims will not be disputed. Whitestar—a powerful cantalere that can protect us from the magic of the Wild.”

  “I will not tout the staff’s power to entice a power-hungry man,” Arcturus said, adamant.

  “Then what is its purpose?” Hawkwing as
ked, his voice as even as the sea’s horizon. “Why do you have it? Undoubtedly it will be called to question. But if you are the only one capable of using it, we have that much assurance that the Priagent will not consider it for himself. In either case, we will not be reaching the river, and you may never have to do more than make the staff illuminate. We need only reach Veloria’s border, where our allies will be waiting.”

  Arcturus tightened his lips. “‘Elves,’” he grumbled. “It is as though William is speaking through you. Such nonsense.”

  “We gotta look like the real thing,” Jinx chimed in. “If I can do it with the sword, you can do it with the staff, Arcturus.”

  The Markanturian sighed.

  Othenis rested his hands on the table. “What we don’t know is what Diemh is truly after. He has a powerful stone, a prophet, and a demon at his disposal. Could he be assembling a formidable team in place of an army? And if he wanted to achieve immortality, could he use the Ravenstone to do so?”

  “For all the questions we ask, we can take small comfort in knowing the Priagent will have questions of his own about us,” Hawkwing said. “Whatever we do, we have to make it to Veloria.”

  “Assuming the forest is safe,” Arcturus said. “They could easily follow us there.”

  “Not nearly as easily as you might think,” Hawkwing told him. “In this, you will just have to have faith.”

  Arcturus set his pipe down and folded his arms. “At present, that is a weighty expectation.”

  Hawkwing turned back to Othenis. “Is there more to tell of your encounter?”

  “Our meeting concluded on the promise that I would extend his proposal to my superiors. Should they agree to his task, a party would be sent to execute the course of action.”

  The tracker nodded and stood.

  “Where’re you going?” Jinx asked.

  “Out for a breath.” When Hawkwing reached the door, he looked back at them. “I will quiz you on your names when I return.”