The Mirror Sliver

by Constance Wallace

  “Lug?”

  He turned quickly to see Miranda emerging from the cabin. The sun hadn’t completely pulled itself into the purple sky, but in the grey of the morning, she still radiated. He found himself mesmerized by the blue of her eyes and knew that she would forever own a part of him.

  “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I would come up and see if Keltrain needed any help.” He nodded at the wizard.

  Miranda came to stand beside him. “We’re almost there,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what to think about it, though. I feel like somethin’ terrible is gonna happen.”

  “It already did,” he replied. “We lost Matt.”

  “No. It’s more. I can still feel his presence, but it’s different now. And I can feel some other magic. On one part, it’s dark, and on the other, it’s light. It’s like it’s fighting one another. Oh, everything is getting muddled in my head.”

  Lug felt her worry. He wanted to protect her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. The touch electrified his skin. When she lay her head on his shoulder, he tried desperately not to tremble, afraid he would frighten her. “It’s all right. It will straighten itself out soon. Magic takes some getting used to. If you haven’t been around it much, it can be confusing.”

  “How do you know so much about it?” Miranda lifted her head and gazed into his eyes.

  “My family lineage.” Lug closed his eyes. He felt as if he would drown in her gaze. When he opened them again, he masked his emotions. “I come from…” He stopped himself. “Well, let’s just say that I’ve been around magic all my life.”

  “I guess that’s why Keltrain wanted you for his apprentice and all.”

  “Possibly.”

  “I think I’m going to go back into the cabin. I’ve got to check on Sonya and wake up my cousins. We’ll be at the island soon, won’t we?”

  Lug looked out at the dark smudge that had grown on the horizon. The land and mountains of the island were distinct now, lines and colors that had morphed into the hideous creation of Black Isle. “Not more than an hour or so,” he replied.

  She smiled slightly at him and then turned. He watched as she closed the cabin door behind her. Was it love that kept burning at his soul and heart? It had to be. He had loved the vision of his dream and now he loved the reality.

  Turning back to the scene in front of him, he watched for a moment as the ship moved the water aside, casting waves along the boat. Something flashed beneath the water. It seemed to be a dark shadow riding beside the ship. He squinted at the movement, but in the next instant it disappeared. What did he just see?

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Land Ho!”

  The cry was a relief to those on the ship, especially Urcias. For two days, the crew and his soldiers battled sinister storms, each group taking turns on the upper decks to keep the sails intact and the ship in one piece. The nearer they got to Lismort and Black isle, the more threatening the sea had become. The witch knows we are close. His thoughts focused now on survival. How would he keep them safe until they reached the ancient port?

  Looking skyward, he regarded the sails. The winds had savagely ripped the upper canvases into shreds. Would they take the wind? He couldn’t think of an alternative. He glanced at the decking. Many of the men had collapsed from exhaustion and were hanging onto the railing, their stares blank and hollow. Urcias knew that this war was just starting.

  “Lieutenant!” he yelled. “Ready the men and animals. The port isn’t much further.”

  A crackle above him caused Urcias to look up quickly. The sight caused him to recoil inwardly. Angry black clouds swirled, tangling themselves in a tumultuous display as lightening shot across the sky and the thunder rumbled.

  “She’s makin’ it for us again. That witch,” Rufus shouted.

  “Prepare the men,” Urcias commanded. “We’ve got to make port.”

  He held on to the railing as the waves rolled the ship and then pitched it downward over a swell, sending many of the crew scrambling to keep balanced. The violent turbulence of the water beat against the hull, tearing at the wood and forcing a loud groan to rise from deep within the vessel. Urcias became alarmed when he heard breaking timbers.

  “Sir? The captain doesn’t believe we’re going to make it to the port. The beating we’ve takin’ through the past two storms have weakened the hull,” Rufus called out. “He wants to abandon ship.”

  “Tell him to hold the course. It’ll get us there,” Urcias replied quickly. He scanned the mass of dark clouds, hoping his assumption about the integrity of the ship was correct.

  Suddenly, screams of horror from the port side could be heard above the thunder. Urcias watched in disbelief as a massive creature rose from beneath the chaos of the sea. It hovered above the deck, its monstrous glowing red eyes regarding the men below. The black eel-like creature towered above the main mast, its size unbelievable to Urcias. Shiny black scales, slick and wet, covered its long snake body and its mouth gaped open, baring double rows of pointed teeth. He watched in dismay as its horned serpent head darted at the men when they ran away.

  “A Wurm! It’s a Sea Wurm!” one of the men yelled. Running back toward the helm, the man’s steps were few before the razor teeth of the monster took him from his place on the deck.

  Throwing the lifeless body of the sailor up into the air, the giant beast swallowed his meal in one gulp and turned, searching for more. Teeth gnashing, it hissed loudly before it caught another sailor in its jaws.

  “Get weapons into the hands of the men,” Urcias commanded. He drew his sword. “This must be our welcome from Uthal and his witch. If we don’t kill it, that monster will eat every one of us.”

  Before he could gather his soldiers, Urcias heard a horrendous crackling sound. He turned just as the side rail splintered under the weight of the water serpent. Fearing for their lives, they all sliced and hacked at the head of the beast. The small cuts they managed to inflict on it only angered it more. Slimy black blood oozed under the slick scales and splattered on the deck, burning the planks and withering the boards. Their defense carried no weight in their battle against the sea wurm.

  “Stop,” Urcias cried. He motioned to the acidic fluid eating at the decking. “Its blood is eating at the wood.”

  “What wicked game is this?” one of his men exclaimed.

  “How will we kill it?” Rufus yelled. “Nothing we’re doin’ has any effect.”

  Before Urcias could find an answer, the creature submerged its body and slithered under the ship. From the other side of the vessel, its tail appeared and wrapped itself around the hull. Urcias could feel the vessel lift as the serpent’s body coiled around it. The strength of the beast shattered parts of the upper deck and mast. They were now listing heavily to one side. He could hear the rushing water as it filled the lower decks. The ship slowly turned and began a course toward the jagged cliffs of Black Isle. They were many miles from Lismort.

  “The horses and men below. What are we going to do?” Rufus cried above the screams of the injured.

  Urcias paused, his face contorted in compassion as he gazed upon the dismal scene in front of him. “Open the hold. Get as many out as possible. Give the orders to abandon ship.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was cold, an immense cold. The kind that dives into the skin, penetrating even the layers of bone and marrow, stinging, slicing his flesh like a knife. This chill blanketed his form, freezing even the leather to his body. And took from him all memory of life and self.

  The young man lay flat, feeling the coldness like a newborn babe, his thoughts fragmented. His eyes were glued together with a thin layer of ice and his body was stiff. He couldn’t move, and yet, there was a small sliver of warmth beating in his chest. His mind wheeled in his frozen self, circling in a frenzied attempt to recognize the small thought that played just out of reach in a blur of color. There were voices. They whispered of nothing and yet spoke of something, and floated above his consciousness like ghosts of a
past he didn’t recognize.

  The warmth grew inside him and became painful. The taste of salt water filled his mouth, coming from the very bowels of his being, and forced its way up through his nose. Coughing, he sat up abruptly, spilling the deluge into his lap.

  “Well. It’s about time,” a voice said in a soothing tone.

  His eyes watered at the harshness of his vomit, cracking the lids apart. A small sliver of light filled his pupils, which moments before saw only the dark shadows of the dream.

  “Take it easy now,” the voice instructed softly.

  Turning to the source of the words, the young man saw a medium-sized black and grey dog sitting beside him. “Welcome back to this existence,” the animal said kindly.

  “Who...who?” he tried to ask, his voice raspy. Nothing escaped the constriction of his throat.

  “My name is Olifur. I’m companion to the archer from Kille Cael. I’m also a healer, if you’re wondering. You can call me Ollie.”

  “No. I was wondering who am I?” the young man finally managed to say.

  “Oh. I don’t know. I found your body in the surf this morning. Kinda strange, if you ask me. Seein’ a boy floating around in the waves. But I pulled you in. You hadn’t crossed all the way to the spirit realm. You still had a glimmer of life, so I healed you.”

  “You mean…I was d…dead?” he stuttered. His body shivered violently. His lips began to tingle.

  “Well, if being dead is not breathing, then yes. That’s how I discovered you.”

  “Where am I?”

  “On the beach.”

  “What beach?”

  “A beach on Black Isle.”

  The name caused a distinct emotion to stir in the pit of his stomach, welling into his chest. He touched his chest at the feeling, his fingers finding an object hidden in his tunic. Slipping his hand inside the icy leather, he pulled out a wooden box saturated with ocean water.

  Ollie sniffed at the object. “Full of magic, that is. Old magic.”

  “What is it?” he questioned, turning the box over. The shape had a familiar feel but its memory eluded him.

  “How should I know? It was in your tunic,” the dog retorted.

  Unhooking the small clasp, the young man tilted the box lid open, exposing the soaked velvet lining and its prize. A dark shaft of wood caught the dim light of the obscured sun. The light illuminated its golden tip. Faint forms embellished the metal. It looked like writing.

  “Do you know what this is?” he asked. He picked the object from its resting place and held it up for the dog to see.

  “Ummm…I would guess a wand. A very old one. With ancient Fomorian writing on it.” Ollie sat back on the dark sand and studied the wand. “I’d get rid of this if I were you. It stinks of weird magic. Old and unstable. And very unpredictable. Seems to have a mind of its own. Not good to have in a place like this. Never know who’s watchin’ you.”

  Replacing the wand into the box, he raised his hand over his head to launch the item toward the frozen sea. But before his fingers let go, an urgent feeling caught him and his soul filled with dread at the thought of being separated from the strange thing. He lowered his arm. “I don’t think I can get rid of it,” he mumbled amidst his shivers. “I feel like I’m supposed to have this.”

  “All right. Keep it then,” the dog said solemnly. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Just don’t go pointing it in my direction. Who knows what kind of sorcery will spill from it.”

  He slipped the wand inside his tunic and examined his surroundings. His thoughts focused first upon his body, wet and cold, sitting in the chilled foam of the sea. Perhaps it would be better to get out of the water. The leather tunic he wore clung to his chest like a frozen wrap, barring any warmth from the meager sun above.

  Surveying the dark cliffs to his right, he noticed jagged edges of black obsidian rising upwards. Life appeared vacant from the bleak surroundings, as most of the vegetation had withered away in the cold. The dark appearance of the cliffs only added to his awareness that he was a stranger in this land.

  A sound caught his ear, just behind Ollie. He turned quickly and saw a visual scene of surrealism. Seals, diving into the dark waves, were calling to one another, the playful barking loud above the crashing of the surf. They seemed oblivious to his plight. He smiled slightly, the scene of frolicking out of place in the desolate landscape. Somehow, it reminded him of another place. The thought was there, of sun and flowers and a gate. It only hovered for a moment and then disappeared.

  He frowned and tried to regain the faded memory. Instead, he found himself suddenly aware of a pair of brown eyes. Not far in front of the group, a solitary seal sat alone on the beach, its whiskers twitching as it studied him. Why did it look at him in such a way? He wasn’t sure, but it appeared to be waiting for something. Its eyes stared at him and the dog with anticipation.

  Standing up slowly, the young man noticed he had been lying on a muddied white wool cloak. The dirty material caught a wisp of remembrance. Like the hazy vision from earlier, the image floated within shards of memory, a fragmented piece of a dream. White snow, the flurries in a darkened night that was blacker than the sand around him, hid him and a figure in front of him as they traveled on the back of a horse. They were both covered by the warmth and secrecy of white cloaks. As quickly as it came, though, the memory disappeared. Back it darted, behind the thick shroud of the cold and unknown.

  “Could we build a fire?” he asked. He felt immense sorrow and disappointment at the fleeting apparition of the memory. “Perhaps I could dry out the material.” Wringing out the cloak, he shivered as the solitary seal edged closer.

  Ollie noticed the animal’s advance and barked in warning, the fur on his back rising in alarm. “Get back!” the dog growled.

  “Don’t…” the young man said. He held up his hand, but it was too late. Ollie was already gone and barking. He watched the dog chase the seal until it disappeared into the surf. The dog emitted one last dissatisfied bark and trotted back.

  Ollie sat down and panted happily. “It won’t bother us now.”

  “I feel like you shouldn’t have done that,” he scolded.

  “Why? What do you feel we should have done? It was too close.”

  “Its eyes…its eyes spoke of something other than harm. I saw it. There was kindness and care.”

  Ollie sniffed the air. “We shall never know because they have all left.”

  Shivering more than before, the young man looked back at the surf. The dog was correct. The friendly barking had ceased and the sea was quiet, except for the lapping of the dark water on the wet, black sand.

  “Come,” Ollie commanded. “I’ll take you to our camp. The archer will be most interested in meeting you.”

  “Who’s this archer?”

  “My master from Kille Cael. We were sent here on a mission and have been here a while. We’ve studied the ruins of Crag Cairn and the occupants that live there.”

  Following the dog, he slowly hiked up a hidden path along the dark shores. He glanced for a final time to the waters below them. Who am I? His thoughts couldn’t focus. Who am I? When he tried to conjure memories, his head began to pound. He wanted to know why he was found dead. What tragedy had taken place to cause his demise?

  “It’s not going to help much.”

  “What isn’t going to help?”

  “Trying to figure out who you are.”

  “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “We healers know a lot. Besides, the one who brought you here knows who you are.”

  “The one who brought me here? You’re very confusing, Ollie.”

  “She told me where to find you. Said I was to bring you back from the shadows. You’d been there long enough. She’s an ancient one, that one.”

  “Then maybe she knows why I have this wand.”

  “Nope. Didn’t say much about any wand. Just that you had been in the shadows long enough.”

  The dog made n
o sense to him. He held a hand to his forehead and wished the pain would go away. It was only when he stopped trying to remember that the burning ebbed. Who am I? He asked the question once more before settling into a slow stiff walk behind Ollie.

  A slight breeze caught the tips of the dirty wool cloak, lifting the ends of the material playfully around his body. He studied the cloak. It was his only clue, and he felt that it held answers. He didn’t understand why, but the image of his one memory of a blond girl wearing a similar one felt familiar. He knew that if he found her, he would find himself.

  “Not far ahead,” Ollie whispered. Pushing though brittle bushes under tall dark green pines, the dog jumped out into a clearing and came to stand beside a figure kneeling next to a fire. The figure didn’t move except to add more twigs to the blaze.

  “You make enough noise to give any prying eyes our position,” the bent individual said softly without looking up.

  Stepping out from the shadows, the young man knelt quickly in front of the flames. The heat felt good on his frozen extremities. His fear diminished at the sight of the fire and he didn’t think that Ollie’s companion might not take to his intrusion.

  “What do we have here?” the cloaked figure asked.

  “I found him in the surf this morning. Dead as could be. Well beyond this living realm, I’d say. It took me a while to bring him back from the other side,” Ollie replied. “But she told me he had been in the shadows long enough.”

  “You saw her, then?”

  “Just a glimpse. She moves quickly, you know.”

  “Did she give you any other news?

  Ollie brushed a thorn away from his muzzle with his paw. “She didn’t say much else, other than ‘it’s begun.’ Whatever that means. Wolves. Too mysterious.”

  The young man watched the archer. He couldn’t see much of his face, the hood of his cloak obscuring it. Yet, he could feel the tension.