Severed Empire: Wizard's Rise

by Phillip Tomasso

  “And spiders?” Anthony quipped.

  Punching the man in the face might help him feel better about being beneath the earth. “What do I do now?”

  “You need to follow the orb,” Galatia said.

  If she told him follow the orb, it was safe to assume he was on his own. “How will I know what to do?”

  “Simply recover the mirror, and bring it back,” she said.

  No one else was coming. He wasn’t sure how he felt about doing this alone. There was no way he’d ask for others to join him, though.

  Dust fell from the opening. Legs appeared. Blodwyn dropped down, and landed on his feet. “We do this together.”

  A surge of powerful emotion flooded Mykal. “I’m not going to lie, Wyn. I’m happy to see you. It’s not going to be easy getting back up that hole, you know,” Mykal said.

  “Maybe there’s an easier way out?”

  “What about Galatia?” he asked.

  Blodwyn looked up at the hole. “She’s got the situation up top under control. You follow the orb, and I’ll follow you.”

  “It’s dark down here, there are roots all over the place.”

  “I have my staff, and I’ll be right behind you,” he said.

  The orb hadn’t moved.

  “Well?” Blodwyn said.

  “The orb’s just floating in front of me. Hey,” he said, “ma’am, we’re ready. You can show me the way to the mirror, if you please.”

  The ball of light bounced around and then made its way down one of the paths under the tree.

  “Ma’am?” Blodwyn said.

  “It’s a female,” Mykal replied, speaking softly. “And it worked. She’s moving this way. Stay close.”

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “I have no idea. No idea at all,” Mykal said.

  Stepping carefully, Mykal proceeded slowly. Blodwyn tapped the end of his staff in front of him, sliding it back and forth from root to root. The staff worked to aid his eyes in the darkness. His resourcefulness continued to amaze Mykal. “There are so many passages down here,” he noted.

  “Who would have known,” he said.

  “Not my uncle.” Mykal laughed. He could not believe he had an uncle, or any living family members other than his grandfather for that matter. “Did you know him?”

  “I knew you had an uncle. I’ve never met him.” Blodwyn kept the answer short. It made Mykal think there might be more. He left it alone for now. There would be time to explore the family tree later. He hoped.

  “It stopped.”

  “Now what do I do?”

  “Do you see a mirror?”

  “Stay right here,” Mykal said. He stepped under the orb, and looked around. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “My eyes?” Mykal could easily see Blodwyn under the magenta aura that filled the tunnel they were in. He looked annoyed. “They’re closed.”

  “Think about the mirror.”

  “I don’t even know what that means. Are teaching me magic?”

  “I know nothing about magic, but I have seen it used. It involves focusing the mind.”

  “I don’t know chants, or anything.”

  “Picture a mirror.”

  Mykal closed his eyes, and refrained from grunting. It wasn’t Blodwyn he was annoyed with. All these years he’d been a wizard. Something like that, it would have been nice to know.

  “Are you picturing it?”

  He hadn’t been. “Yes,” he said, and refocused.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw a small mirror in gold frame with a matching handle. It was one someone might hold so they could check their reflection up close, make sure no food was wedged between teeth, or that their hair was properly in place. “I see a mirror.”

  “Good. Good,” Blodwyn said.

  “Now what?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  Mykal lost the image, and opened his eyes. “Well, that wasn’t very helpful.”

  “It was, because now you know what to look for,” he said.

  “Even if I didn’t know what it looked like exactly, I’ll bet there aren’t too many mirrors down here,” Mykal countered.

  “That’s a good point.”

  Mykal looked up at the orb. “Can you show me where the mirror is,” he said, and added, “ma’am?”

  The orb didn’t move.

  “Anything?” Blodwyn said.

  “No, nothing.”

  “Wave your hands. Use some of that hocus pocus.” Blodwyn sounded impatient.

  “I shot lightning bolts from my fingertips, Wyn. I don’t even know how I did that!”

  “Try,” Blodwyn said. “And close your eyes when you do it.”

  “That’s real important to you, isn’t it? Me having my eyes closed.” Mykal closed his eyes. He shook out any tension in his arms. The tingling he’d felt had stopped at some point. He couldn’t remember how long ago. He moved his fingers, pointing some up, others down, curling them in, then extending them straight.

  “Are you going to try?” Blodwyn said.

  “Shhh. I’m doing it now,” Mykal said. He imagined the handheld mirror. It floated in the black space within his mind. Slowly, it rotated. When the glass faced him again, he didn’t see his own reflection. A woman stared at him. And was then gone. He wanted to see her again. He wasn’t positive what she looked like. It had happened too fast. “I saw someone.”

  “Where, down here?”

  “No, inside the mirror.”

  “You have the mirror?” Blodwyn said.

  “No. In my mind.”

  “That doesn’t count. Keep trying,” he said.

  Mykal wasn’t sure how to think. . . harder. Inside his head he said over and over: Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?

  He said it out loud. “Where are you? Where are you?”

  Something pulled him forward. He opened his eyes as he stumbled. No one else was around. There was no mistaking it, though. It was as if something had grabbed the front of his vest and tunic and yanked on him.

  “Where are you?” He said, as if expecting the mirror might answer.

  Blodwyn said, “Eyes closed?”

  He forgot. Closed them. When he spoke, he tried assertiveness. “Mirror, show yourself.”

  A sound like knuckles cracking.

  Mykal opened his eyes. He watched as the roots hanging above parted. He walked toward them, and knelt down in the dirt. The orb circled around and around. Behind the roots sat the mirror. He reached for the mirror and stopped. “Thank you for your help,” he told the sphere of light.

  It zipped up and down, and again spun around in circles.

  Mykal laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Blodwyn said.

  “Inside joke,” Mykal said. “Ah, jeez.”

  “Ah, jeez, what?”

  “Spiders.” They dangled from silk webs above and around the mirror. Some walked on the time-packed dirt. They ceased moving when they noticed Mykal staring at them, or so it seemed.

  “Big?”

  “The biggest,” he said.

  “Aggressive?”

  “Ah. Not yet. I haven’t reached in there.”

  “You can do it,” Blodwyn said. “You’re bigger than they are.”

  “Anthony forgot to mention one thing,” Mykal said.

  “The fangs?”

  “No. He said fangs. Hairy. He forgot to say hairy.” Mykal shivered, wondering how he was going to stick his hand into that nightmare.

  “Walk me over to you,” Blodwyn said. “I’ll get it.”

  Mykal removed his dagger. He jabbed the knife into the crevice. Spiders dropped and scurried out of the hole.

  Mykal jumped up to his feet. “Bad idea. That was a bad idea.”

  The spiders ran by him, trying to get away. That was a good thing. He wasn’t sure he could step on them. What if they didn’t crush underfoot?

  He ran the blade around the mirror, and then tried flicking it o
ut of the hole with the end of his knife.

  What if the glass breaks, he thought?

  He switched the knife into his left hand and, cringing, reached in with his right. He retrieved the mirror, removing it from under the roots and shivered as if spiders crawled all over his body.

  “I did it. It’s done,” he sighed in relief after a frantic, sweeping removal of any potential hangers on.

  “How very brave of you,” Blodwyn said.

  Mykal ignored the sarcasm and studied the mirror more closely. In the oval glass he saw his own reflection this time. The casing and handle were exquisite with a hand-chased and beveled floral design, and rope-twist border. “Now, we just need to find a way out.”

  He missed the spider on his boot. Didn’t notice it as it crawled up his leg. . .

  “Back the way we came?” Blodwyn said.

  Mykal sighed. “It might be the easiest way. I don’t want to spend too much time down here. We’re apt to get lost.”

  Chapter 22

  Captain Sebastian stood behind the ship’s wheel. The Derecho was his ship. Guiding her was a pleasure, especially on a morning like this. The sun burned away the few clouds that had lingered from the night. The slight breeze inflated the sails and pushed away the humidity. The vessel glided easily atop the Isthmian. The ship’s wake cutting the water was the only disturbance as far as he could see.

  He’d almost lost his ship in a freak storm. Helix, his Boatswain, was who he thanked most for getting them out of the mess in one piece. He’d managed and coordinated the deck crew that worked the ropes and masts as well as repairing the damage sustained by that hellish torrent. This was their first time out in days. Usually the Lieutenant, Cearl—or Lou as they called him—manned the wheel, but right now he was enjoying himself.

  “Captain! Captain!” Mercer stood in the crow’s nest atop the main mast.

  Sebastian shaded his eyes with his hand. He watched the carpenter close his spyglass, climb out of the nest, and shimmy his way down the mast. “Richard! Take the wheel,” he commanded the ship’s sub-lieutenant.

  The captain made his way from stern to bow, stepping around the shrouds and riggings. “Tar,” he said to a sailor, “lend me your spyglass, son.”

  The captain extended the spyglass, brought it up to his eye, and peered out beyond the bow. They were headed south and coming up on Fjord Range. A ship was pulling out of the inlet. White masts and sails flapped in the wind. “Mercer!”

  The carpenter jumped the last few feet. “Captain.”

  “You recognize the ship?”

  “Never seen her before, Cap. It’s smaller than our lady, that’s for sure,” he said. The two men were nothing alike. Sebastian stood at just over six feet. His long, dark hair was kept from his eyes with a black cap. Beefy arms bulged against a too-tight white tunic loosely laced together across the top of his chest. In contrast, what little stubble Mercer had atop his head was blond, and had been shaved short. He was a head taller than the captain, but as thin and wiry as his captain was burly.

  Sebastian didn’t like seeing another ship. The sea was his, it belonged to the Voyagers. Everyone knew as much. He supposed it was normal to test boundaries now and again. It made sense that, once in a while, reminders needed to be given. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen another ship dare trespass on his Isthmian. He smiled. His tars were mostly younger. Many never had the chance to overtake another ship. “Helix!”

  “Aye, Captain.” Helix was short, but brawny. His shoulders and arms were thick, filled with muscle from working with ropes and wood day in and day out. His coarse beard resembled the brushes used to scrub the decks.

  “Ready at the sails,” Sebastian said.

  “Ready at the sails!” Helix warned the tars.

  “Two possible things happening here. Either Osiris forgot who owns these waters, or the cargo on board is so valuable they’re willing to risk a run.” He surmised aloud. “As soon as that galleon is clear of the fjord, we take her.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” he said.

  Sebastian never took his eyes from the distant sea. Without the spyglass, he could barely make out the other ship. A lot of water lay between them. There wasn’t much wind. He was confident Helix would ensnare enough of it for their needs. The man was a master at reading the winds and directing the crew to attain the highest potential from Sebastian’s ship. He’d once been offered his own ship to captain, but turned the Voyagers down, content working the reins behind the scenes. That was somewhat admirable, but it was also a fact that Sebastian was the better captain and the whole of his crew considered among the Voyagers’ elite.

  The tars buzzed, repeating back orders Helix shouted at them. Men worked the yard, unfastening knots to unroll sails at the mizzen, the main, and the foresail. A clap of thunder sounded as the sails released, and the wind slammed into them. The bow of The Derecho dipped forward, and surged back up; true wind and apparent wind harnessed for speed. Tars cheered. Skimming the sea felt exhilarating, but with sails in use, their ship smashed through it like a charging horse kicking up clumps of dirt and grass in its wake.

  ***

  The Mountain King sat across from Ida in the Captain’s cabin. The table was bolted to the floor. Anything at risk of sliding, falling over, or rolling was secured in some similar manner. The decor was dark; dark wood walls, dark furniture, even the bedding was a crimson. The windows around the cabin were curtained with thick cloth, preventing the early day sunlight from providing any contrast. “Your first time on a ship?”

  She sat with crooked hands laced together on the table. Her cloak’s hood covered her face as was her habit. Hermon hated admitting to himself that he was thankful, but he was. Sharing the cabin, he didn’t think he could look at the sorceress’s face the entire voyage. He wasn’t worried about her reading his thoughts. If she had been, out of spite alone, she’d have removed the cloak, forcing him to stare into her black eyeballs.

  “I don’t care for water,” she said.

  ***

  Complaints had reached the castle about a witch living in the area. It was while touring his realm that King Hermon first came across Ida in a small hut at the southern side of Flaming Crystal Valley, just north of the Rames. She lived beyond the kingdom’s boundaries, and just outside of the Constantine Realm, as well. It was one of those strips of land that no one had ever claimed, and for whatever reasons, no one had bothered to. The valley ran west and east, from the Isthmian past the ancient library’s ruins.

  There were stories about that valley. Talk of ghosts, dragons, pixies, and magic. This could be why no one tried too hard to occupy the land. From all King Hermon knew, it was not farmable land, just useless dry sand. What he saw firsthand made put his readings to shame. The books did not describe the overall wasteland before him. Nothing would grow in this valley. There was nothing green through the strip. The grains of sand were as fine as sugar. He could only surmise if this much had been true then it was all too possible ghosts, and pixies and magic existed here, as well. He wasn’t buying into the idea of dragons. His imagination just couldn’t surrender to the idea of the mythical beasts.

  Outside the modest structure, he had found there a black kettle boiled over an open fire. The young king approached with his general a colonel, and a few of his knights. They each kept hands on the hilts of their swords. He’d almost laughed at them. They didn’t trust anyone. He supposed it came with the job, along with the eternal pledge to protect their king with their very lives.

  Ida must have heard their approach. A dark wool blanket covered the entrance, and was used as a door. It parted, and her head popped out. “Can I help you?”

  What immediately struck him profoundly were her eyes. Black. No whites at all. He noticed then the knotted skin that comprised her forehead, and the loose wisps of white hair. He didn’t think she was old, but she certainly appeared as though she were.

  When she smiled, Hermon winced. The teeth had been hidden before. He wis
hed he’d not seen them. What few remained were yellow, or brown, and pointy like small fangs. “We’ve heard report that people in these parts are practicing magic. Have you any knowledge?”

  He’d not worn the crown long and tried to be a fair ruler to his people. Doing so wasn’t easy. He overheard the whispers in the court, and could only image what horrid things were said about him when not within earshot. Craving acceptance, love, and respect, he did as much as possible for everyone. All of them. His people, his Lords and Ladies, his knights and advisors. It wasn’t long before he knew the truth. Such an endeavor was impossible. It couldn’t be done, and realizing that truth wound up turning his stomach to acid.

  It marred his position. Becoming king was never his dream. He never thought it obtainable. Since he was a child he knew his older brother, Jeremiah, was destined to shed the prince title. Not him. He had been content with that reality, and satisfied with the notion of remaining a prince and serving his brother, the heir apparent.

  “Practicing?” she said, and snickered. Lifting the large wood spoon, the woman stirred the broth simmering in the kettle. Disturbing the ingredients had been a mistake, the king thought. Its rank aroma wafted into the air. It was as though she had stewed his soldier’s undergarments after a week’s tour of the realm with no change of clothes. His nose wrinkled, and he waved the stench away from his nostrils. “As far as I know, there is no one ‘practicing’ sorcery around these parts, boy.”

  A knight stepped forward, unsheathing his sword. “This is the king of these lands! You’ll address him with respect!”

  “King of this valley? I didn’t know there was one,” she said.

  King Hermon held up a halting hand. “No. She’s correct. There isn’t a king of the valley.”

  Hesitantly, the knight replaced his sword, but didn’t step back. King Hermon noticed the tightening of the man’s jaw, and knew he was itching for a fight, despite the fact that his adversary was female. They had been traveling the kingdom for a while. Trained knights needed more entertainment than bare earth for a bed and cold provided. The nearest small town was miles in the opposite direction. “Are there many people living around here?” he said.