The Blue Journal (Fantasmagoria Book 1)

by I. B. George

  “That’s pure magic, Captain,” said Azar, with his mouth hanging open. “I could open lots of treasures with this medallion.”

  “Or pantries,” added Bug’ar who was always hungry.

  “Don’t even think about it, you scoundrels,” said the captain “or I shall leave you here to rot in these dungeons.”

  The two comrades swallowed hard and tried not to think about the prince’s medallion as the picture painted by the captain was not really to their taste.

  Rolan pushed the handle and the door opened slowly. He looked through the crack in the door along the corridor. He glimpsed a few soldiers looking bored and chatting without a care in the world, thinking that there was no danger lurking in the depths of the castle.

  “Five soldiers,” communicated Rolan to his friends. “If we move quickly, we could take them by surprise. They seem not to have a care in the world.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Azar who wanted to be around Rolan all the time so he could keep an eye on him.

  “So will I and my people,” added Captain Cavas.

  “Ok,” approved Rolan. “That should be enough. It’s going to be six against five and these blockheads don’t look much like fighters. The others should stay here until we get rid of the guards.”

  Azar, Captain Cavas and the three Wanderers assembled behind Rolan, waiting for the right time to attack.

  The soldiers were taken by surprise by the six people who seemed to appear out of nowhere and jump upon them at a run.

  One of the soldiers who just happened to be drinking from a jug of wine choked on the beverage, frightened by the attack. Another rushed towards the swords leaning against the wall but tripped and took a tumble on top of the weapons, which crushed with a rattle.

  The other three jumped over their buddy, trying to get him out of the way and get their hands on the swords. Too late though. The six friends came closer to them and placed the tip of their swords to their chest.

  They tied them up in a bundle, one next to the other, with a strong rope they found nearby, then Rolan tore off the sleeves to his shirt and used them to improvise a gag for each of the five soldiers.

  “That was easier than I thought. These blockheads wouldn’t be capable of guarding the soup pots in the kitchen,” chuckled Cavas.

  “Maybe that’s the reason they were sent here in the underground. They were given the easiest job, they didn’t need them on the walls.”

  “From what we can see, friend Azar,” added Rolan to what the master said, “they didn’t do much of a job here either.”

  They all laughed. The other friends joined them in a short while.

  “And now, which way?” asked Aryana.

  “This way,” answered Rolan, showing them the way. “We’re near the entrance to the castle.”

  “Do you think we’ll come across more soldiers?” asked Voras cautiously.

  “Possibly… we shall see,” replied Rolan doubtfully as he rushed onto the corridor.

  ***

  Pulling his stallion’s reins, General Sathor managed to avoid at the last moment a sword which could have slashed his shoulder. He waved his sword and hit mightily his adversary who crushed into the dirt.

  He darted his eyes quickly across the battlefield. The odds seemed to balance in his favour because Tyreas’s soldiers had been caught between his pedestrians and the cavalry which had cut through their retreat.

  Large raindrops fell continuously from the dark clouds which had gathered over the place of battle, washing off the blood on the edge of the swords.

  The general saw the king’s flying machines rising over the walls at Heldor. He knew there would come a time when Tyreas will use Professor Radius’s inventions to change the odds of the battle.

  He had seen those machines before, many years ago, at the siege of Sardar when the Water Chosen had claimed many victims among the soldiers from the Kingdom of Fire. He knew they could fly so high that they couldn’t be reached by the archers or the flames of the Fire Chosen.

  He saw the Water Chosen on deck of the flying devices, ready to unleash the torrent upon them.

  Suddenly, there was chaos. Tens of torrents of water started sweeping over the battlefield, crushing the soldiers under the huge quantities thrown at them.

  He realised that the king was desperate and furious because the Water Chosen didn’t make the distinction between attackers and defenders, hitting everything in sight without discernment.

  The soldiers started spreading across the battlefield in disorder, looking for a way out. However, King Tyreas’s actions gave the two fighting camps a moment of relief and the king’s troops managed to escape the claws of the army led by Sathor.

  The general realised he could lose the battle as Valarian’s soldiers started regrouping. Watching from the ramparts, the king understood it was high time for his troops to counterattack.

  He gave a few short orders and one thousand and eight hundred of the soldiers left at the castle lined up and started marching towards the fighting place to help their companions on the battlefield.

  They fell behind Sathor’s cavalry, causing panic among Prince Robert’s soldiers. The odds of the battle were once again in favour of General Valarian who had more soldiers now, the last of which were perkier than those who had been fighting for over an hour.

  General Sathor saw two of the flying machines heading towards the prince’s camp and a few moments later huge torrents of water were hitting the tents with incredible force, throwing them over each other in an unspeakable chaos.

  “Prince Robert,” whispered the general as he understood King Tyreas’s obvious plan.

  He started making his way through the fighters as he tried to reach Robert’s tent. The prince had to be protected because without him everything would have been in vain and the prophecy would not have come true. It’s true they hadn’t found the blue dust, but as long as the prince was still alive, anything could happen.

  He dug his heels into the horse’s belly, racing as fast as he could towards the camp. It was too late though: a huge torrent of water crushed the prince’s tent, and the banner of the Eremon House disappeared within the foaming whirlpool.

  ***

  As he sat outside his tent, Robert also saw Tyreas’s flying machines about which he’d heard so many stories since he’s been in Fantasmagoria.

  He marvelled at the power of destruction of the Water Chosen who, helped by the height from which they hit and the rain started by the Cloud Chosen, were causing havoc among the soldiers.

  He then saw King Tyreas’s troops regrouping and that they received help from the soldiers who came from Heldor Castle. Straight away his thoughts flew back to his father’s journal and the items he’d inherited.

  He went inside the tent and put his compass and the journal in his bag. He then thought that the plan to flee which Radius had imagined might not end well, which meant that the two items might end up in his enemy’s hands.

  He couldn’t allow that to happen. The journal contained some precious information which King Tyreas must never find out: the location of the Eremon House’s thesaurus, names of friends of the family or the place to cross into the Humans’ World.

  It was decided, he had to burn every page of the journal. He had read it so many times that he managed to memorise every passage written by his father’s hand.

  He knew it was the most precious thing to him, a last remnant of his father, Aidan’s memory, but it was more important that the king doesn’t cause even more harm to the Eremon House by using what was in the journal.

  He pulled out the journal from his bag and started a fire inside a deep metal plate which stood on the table in his tent, when suddenly the tent’s fabric was slashed through by the blade of a sword.

  Through the gap, Robert could see a hand tearing the fabric, allowing the Professor’s silhouette to show through.

  “Let’s go, Robert!” he called out. “We haven’t got any time to waste!”

&nbs
p; Robert reacted immediately when he heard the Professor’s voice. He shoved the journal back into his bag and started towards the Professor who grabbed his hand and pulled him behind him.

  He was running alongside Radius, not daring to ask why they were running, when he heard a deafening roar. He turned around and saw the huge water torrent destroying his tent.

  He understood then that the Professor’s intuition and quick thinking had saved his life. He couldn’t tell how many times this old man had saved him from Zathar’s clutches, but Robert showed a quiet gratitude to Radius.

  Eventually they went inside a tent at the edge of the camp to catch their breath.

  “I’m afraid it’s all over, Robert,” said Radius. “We must get to Arvinard. Once there, we will embark the Sea Dragon and then take you back to the Humans’ World.

  “Before that Professor, I want to destroy the things my father left me. King Tyreas must never get his hands on the journal.

  “Are you sure of that, Robert?”

  “I’m sure, Professor,” he replied with determination. “I was just about to set it on fire when you came to my rescue.”

  “There is a lot of valuable information hidden in your father’s notes and that could be lost forever.”

  “I’ve read my father’s journal so many times, Professor, that I know every word of by heart. Everything my father wrote is in my head.”

  “Then, maybe it’s for the best. Hurry up though, we haven’t got much time. I’m going to get everything ready for the journey.”

  Radius came out of the tent and called out something to the soldiers there. Left on his own, Robert looked for something in which he could burn his father’s notes.

  He found a small bucket in which he placed a few pieces of wood and set them on fire. He pulled the journal from his bag and stroked the blue pages covered in his father’s handwriting. He tore the first page and threw it into the fire. It looked as though it was curling up in the heat of the flames.

  With pain in his heart he tore a second page and threw it next to the other into the reddish flames, then a third one. He stopped. Each page that fell prey to the fire gave him an almost physical pain, making him feel as if he was destroying his last connection to his father.

  He tore the next page and, before throwing it away, he took a glimpse at the pyre improvised in the bucket. He froze to the spot, unable to believe what he was seeing.

  At the bottom of the bucket, mixed up with the ashes from the wood, you could see what remained of the pages in the journal in the shape of a blue dust.

  “By all gods!” cried Robert. “The blue dust… it was in the pages of the journal… I had it with me all this time”

  He ran out of the tent and called Radius who ran to him holding his sword in his hand.

  “What’s happened Robert, are we being attacked?” he asked, worried to see the prince so pale.

  “I found it, Professor, I found it!” called out Robert happily.

  “Calm down, son. Tell me what you found…”

  “The dust, Professor, the blue dust.”

  Radius looked at him as if for the first time.

  “What are you saying, son? Where did you find it?” enquired the Professor, convinced that the prince had lost his mind.

  “Inside the pages of the journal, Professor.”

  “But you said you’ve read those pages hundreds of times and there was nothing mentioning the blue dust…”

  “No, Professor, the blue dust is inside the pages of the journal. After I burned the first few pages, there were some ashes left at the bottom of the fire, a blue dust, as fine as sand. Come with me, I’ll show you.”

  Robert led him to the tent and the Professor took a look at the ashes at the bottom of the bucket. He started chuckling, timidly at first, then louder and louder, making Robert wander whether the Professor was off his rocker.

  “You mean… we fought the Shadows, the Zafaris, the Hagors and the Ice Giants… we went through the Misty Passage and Zathar’s Trail, crossed the Boundary… and now you tell me we had the dust with us all along?”

  “Yes, Professor, that’s right…”

  “By all gods, then Rolan was right when he told Voras that Lokar was up to mischief.”

  Robert laughed too. They looked at each other, not daring to believe that fate had come to their rescue once again, at the last moment.

  “There’s no time to waste, Your Highness,” said Radius. “We have a prophecy to fulfil.”

  Robert realised for the first time that Azar was not there with him to guide him. He was hoping to succeed in his attempt to create the Blue Flame.

  He tore off three more pages from the journal and balled them up. He placed them on the table and lit them up with a small sparkle released from the cup of his palm. The pages burned slowly, with a bluish flame, leaving behind a small pile of blue dust.

  Robert took the dust in his palms and went outside the tent with Radius. He unleashed his Inner Fire and the flame started devouring the powder in his hands, turning it into a ball of fire the colour of the sea.

  “It’s time, Professor!” he called out happily to Radius.

  “Yes Robert… it’s time you brought peace to the four kingdoms of Elementis.”

  Robert closed his eyes, holding between his palms the giant ball of blue fire.

  “This is for you,” he said, thinking about his parents, “and for the Eremon House.”

  Robert clapped his hands and crushed the globe of light. A wave of energy spread over the camp and over the fighting soldiers and stretched across the walls of Heldor.

  To the prince it felt as if everything went on forever. Then, for a few moments, there was silence. The rain stopped suddenly, as well as the water torrents thrown by Tyreas’s Chosen, meaning that the Eremons’ Blue Flame had suppressed the abilities of all the Chosen, apart from those in the Kingdom of Fire.

  After the few moments of calm caused by the Blue Flame, the battle started again, fiercer than before.

  ***

  The nine friends reached the top of the twenty-eight steps that Rolan mentioned earlier and now they found themselves in front of the door which separated them from the rooms in the palace.

  Rolan lifted the lock carefully and opened the door. The hinges gave a short creak and Rolan was afraid someone might have heard it.

  Worried, he looked along the corridor but couldn’t see anyone.

  “The way is clear, my friends,” he said to his companions.

  They stepped carefully, their swords ready, prepared to fight at any time. They followed behind Rolan who was leading them along the corridors of the castle.

  “Which way are we heading, honourable?” enquired Azar.

  “Towards the throne room, Master,” replied Rolan. “Whenever Tyreas was afraid of anything, he would hide in the throne room. There’s a group of soldiers guarding the entrance and the room has many secret exits, with passages leading into the courtyard or below ground. He always thought that was a safe place which offered many opportunities to escape the wrath of the king or that of his brother, Lorian.

  “Were you close, the two of you?” enquired Azar again.

  “Who?” asked Rolan naively.

  “You and the king, of course… I see you know many of his secrets and habits.”

  “No, not really,” replied Rolan sincerely. “He never liked me.”

  Rolan stopped them by signalling to them to be quiet. From the corridor which intersected the passage they were crossing, rang out the voices of soldiers.

  Everybody glued themselves to the wall, hoping that the patrol will go past without noticing them. The corridor they were on didn’t have many windows and the light barely shone through the few pieces of glass. Since it was midday, the torches along the corridor were not lit either.

  The patrol went past in hurry, without even looking in their direction, as the soldiers seemed more preoccupied with their chatting. Hidden in the dusk, the nine friends didn’t utter a sound
until the patrol was far away.

  “We could have had them,” said Azar after the danger was gone. “There were only six of them.”

  “No, they could have alerted the others,” argued Rolan. “You’ll get your share of fighting when we get to the throne room and then you’ll bump into the twenty soldiers who normally guard the entrance.”

  They continued along the corridor from where the patrol they just dodged had come. It was a long passage, lined with paintings which seemed to portray all the generations in the royal family of Heldor.

  “There’s one missing,” noticed Voras, pointing to a spot on the wall which showed the faded trace of a frame.

  A shadow crossed Rolan’s face which didn’t go unnoticed by Azar.

  “This is where Prince Lorian’s portrait use to hang,” he said. “They probably removed it after the prince was banished… We’re getting closer to the throne room,” he suddenly changed the subject. “Be prepared!”

  Everybody clutched their swords, waiting to confront the king’s soldiers.

  Armed with halberds the guards outside the throne room stood motionless outside the wooden doors carved with the coat of arms of the ruling house of the Kingdom of Water.

  They looked surprised when they saw the group of strangers heading towards them with their swords out of their scabbards. They grouped themselves instantly into fighting position and waited for the adversary’s attack.

  Master Azar took the flame from one of the torches and threw it towards the group of soldiers, separating them. Two of them started screaming as their clothes caught fire and they dropped the halberds from their hands.

  “I just balanced the odds a bit,” uttered cheerfully Azar who couldn’t wait to cross swords with the king’s soldiers. “Now there’s only two against one of us. That’s fair.”

  The swords started rattling, screeching each time the blades hit against the halberds.

  Moving graciously, Master Azar seemed to be dancing with his two adversaries, which he removed pretty quickly. Voras was fighting with slow movements and every time his two adversaries thought they’d cornered him, he would get faster, fending away the blows with grace and skill.