The Obsidian Quest [Search for Earthlight Trilogy Book 1]

by Laraine Anne Barker

  As the car bowled along the road, Peter turned down the window on his side.

  "It smells so nice out there. It—it's very bracing—and yet so warm! How can a place surrounded by such high snowcapped mountains be so warm?"

  Merlin grinned briefly. “Because it's special. You might call it magic.” He glanced at the mountains. “Actually, it gets very cold in winter. By the same token, it can get extremely hot in summer."

  They were now approaching the forest. In a mere second or two their surroundings went from bright sunlight to near-twilight. The trees were of tremendous height and the undergrowth so thick it wasn't possible to see more than a few feet into the depths of the forest. It was also damp and much cooler under the forest canopy.

  Given the view of never-ending forest that had first impressed itself upon Peter's sight, they came out of the trees much sooner than he had anticipated. It was not, however, the end of the forest but merely a huge man-made clearing which contained several villages and a fair-sized city with great stretches of countryside in between. Peter had seen the likes of such a city only in books and on television. It could have been anywhere in Europe. It wasn't French, Italian, German or Spanish and yet had elements of all four countries, plus many others.

  Their motorcar—a late model Mercedes—looked positively old-fashioned by the standards of the vehicles they saw. Peter would have called these “moon-mobiles” rather than cars. Quiet, like electric cars, they could easily have outdistanced the powerful Mercedes and looked out-of-place among the centuries-old buildings.

  Merlin's arrival was greeted with great acclaim. People shouted and waved to him, both from the footpaths and the moon-mobiles. It should have been no surprise to Peter, therefore, to find that when they arrived at the city's most imposing commercial building they were greeted by the mayor himself in full regalia, accompanied by his staff.

  The inhabitants of the city, to judge by the appearance of the mayor and his staff anyway, were extremely good-looking. They all had olive complexions, black hair and dark eyes and even the elderly citizens retained their comeliness.

  The children were extremely curious and Peter soon found himself surrounded by his peers, all interested in his strange attire, his brown hair and light skin. Questions were fired at him from left and right and he couldn't understand a word they said. Merlin, however, soon came to his aid. So great was the urgency of the wizard's quest, and so familiar with his impatient manner were the mayor and his retinue, that courtesies were quickly completed and Merlin and Peter were soon on their way again.

  They stopped at an expensive-looking shop that appeared to belong to a jeweler. It was empty, but the man who came at their entry recognized Merlin and greeted him fervently. Merlin gave him a warmer greeting than the mayor had received but quickly got down to business.

  Once again, Peter couldn't understand what was said but was able to follow the gist of the brief conversation. As soon as Merlin started speaking, he brought the lump of obsidian from beneath his cloak and showed it to the other, who looked astonished and gabbled out a few sharp questions while stroking the surface of the rock with his fingers. He was obviously much impressed. Merlin fired questions at him in return, without giving answers to the other's queries. The man, however, didn't appear offended but nodded vigorously. He took the stone from Merlin and held it up, eyeing it from all angles.

  "Not here! Not here, for goodness’ sake!” In his panic Merlin lapsed into English.

  Unceremoniously, he snatched the stone back and hid it under his cloak again. He grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him toward a door leading to the back of the premises. Peter followed.

  They entered a passageway with doors to right and left and one at the end. The sorcerer marched straight to the end door and pulled it open. It disclosed a dark staircase leading down to an even darker cellar. Merlin switched on the light inside the door and hustled the shop owner and Peter down the stairs. As he hurried after them, he slammed the door behind him.

  At the bottom of the stairs they stood blinking to adjust their eyes to the dimness of the light at the top of the stairs.

  "I'm sorry you haven't understood a word,” Merlin said to Peter. “I'd better fix that."

  But before he could do anything the other man interrupted, in startlingly perfect English. “There's no need to waste your spells. My Oxford education—from which I've only just returned—was very complete. I speak English better than the natives."

  Merlin chuckled.

  "He's extremely modest, isn't he?” he said with gentle mockery to Peter. “I overlooked the fact that I'd brought him forward in time to gain a twentieth-century education at one of the best educational institutions. He's developed the most disgusting upper-middle-class English accent.” He turned to their host. “Sujad, this is my new companion, Peter. He's the crux of our present quest. Peter, this is my old friend Sujad Cariotis. Sujad has helped me many times in the past."

  Solemnly and self-consciously, Peter shook hands with Sujad.

  Sujad was perhaps darker in complexion than most of the inhabitants of this strange mountain-enclosed country. He was outstandingly good-looking, with large black eyes, and looked as though he was of Indian descent. White teeth flashed in a disarming smile which was to become familiar over a short time to Peter, who took an instant liking to their owner.

  Merlin explained dryly, as though he had read Peter's thoughts, “Sujad boasts the blood of many nationalities runs in his veins. I saved his life a few years ago and have come to seek payment of the debt. Sujad is the only man I know whose skills have the precision necessary to refashion the Obsidian Orb to the perfection I require. Just as he once trusted me with his life, I now trust him with mine, and with the lives of many others—perhaps of every being on the earth."

  Peter and Sujad grinned at each other. Sujad snapped on banks of lights set in the cellar ceiling. The vault was instantly flooded with light that was indistinguishable from the sun.

  It was obviously a jeweler's workshop but looked more like the den of an experimental scientist. There were computers all over the place.

  Sujad took the piece of obsidian from Merlin and placed it in a piece of machinery to which was attached a computer and screen. Using the keyboard, he keyed in instructions for the cutting of the stone and they were able to watch the results on the color screen. Merlin, however, preferred to stand in front of the machine in which Sujad had placed the obsidian, his hands spread over it and his eyes closed. His lips moved rapidly and now and then a barely audible whisper reached Peter's ears.

  In no time at all the obsidian was a perfect sphere. Sujad took it from the machine and held it up for them to admire.

  Merlin took the orb and examined it closely. With a satisfied grunt he handed it back and Sujad placed it in another machine. On a different screen Peter watched as Sujad keyed instructions into the computer. Merlin stood as before, apparently in a trance. Within a matter of minutes the surface of the Obsidian Orb gleamed like a black mirror.

  Sujad took the globe from the machine and handed it to Merlin with a complacent flourish. Merlin again examined it, sighed with relief and covered it with his cloak.

  "Thank you, my friend. You've rendered great service to humanity on this day. You've paid your debt to me a hundredfold."

  Sujad grinned cheekily. “In that case you owe me one. I'd like to come forward in time again and be a part of your scheme. I could do so much for the rest of the world in your century."

  "If you saw your own country in the twentieth century I think you could do a lot for it,” Merlin replied dryly and cryptically. “Very well; come along,” he added before the other could make any comment. “I've a feeling the power of the Obsidian Orb will be all the greater for the presence and help of its reviver. According to Absolute Law one who creates or recreates an Object of Power has a certain amount of mastery over it, dependent on his part in its making or remaking. By Absolute Law it is your right to be a part of whatever great
and dangerous deeds the Obsidian Orb is used for. This is why I chose you rather than someone more ... let us say ... remote to refashion the orb."

  He fixed Sujad with a hard, unwavering stare. His voice turned bleak. “Make no mistake about this, my friend. This privilege which you claim is not to be taken lightly. It involves you in the same danger and adversity that I myself will encounter—and which the Chosen, especially Peter, will also face. You have my promise, however, that I'll protect you to the best of my ability."

  Sujad's quick flashing smile lit up his face briefly, but his eyes were grave as he met the sorcerer's stare. “I owe you my life. It's my duty, as well as my right, to help you in whatever way I can."

  "In that case you'd better go with Peter and me on the next part of our mission. Come and stay with us until then."

  When they arrived home, Uncle Paul and Peter found they had been out for little more than an hour. Uncle Paul hid the orb in Peter's bedroom where Aunt Angela wasn't likely to look and they went upstairs. Aunt Angela was delighted to meet Sujad, finding him both charming and interesting to talk to.

  On the following day Damien held a special pre-exhibition presentation for invited guests. The exhibition itself wasn't to start until after Christmas.

  The arrival of Uncle Paul's party caused a stir among those gathered around his portrait. There was also a portrait of Aunt Angela titled Moon Goddess in which Aunt Angela was robed in blue, reminding Peter, in the first moment of his viewing of the painting, of the Lady. On a second examination, he wondered how he could ever have thought there was any resemblance.

  They left Aunt Angela admiring her portrait, with which she was overjoyed, and went straight to Damien's self-portrait. It also had many admirers and Uncle Paul had some trouble getting himself, Peter and Sujad in front of the painting together. Having managed it, he asked them to make sure they were in permanent physical contact with him. “We can't hold hands here,” he reminded them dryly—and gave his full attention to the painting.

  Now it was finished, the portrait was more powerful than Peter remembered in the painter's studio. The upraised hand still beckoned, but the summons in the dark eyes was more potent, making Peter conscious of his hammering heart.

  Uncle Paul stared at the painted face until they all became aware of a sudden change. The brightly lit gallery with the hustle and bustle of twentieth-century people was no longer there, and they were standing inside the painting in front of the desk where the subject of the painting sat, his beckoning hand now lowered.

  Chapter 8

  The Prophet of Doom

  "WELCOME, Great One,” Nostradamus said calmly, in French, ignoring both Peter and Sujad. “It's some time since we met."

  "Possibly not as long as you think,” Merlin replied, also in French.

  Sujad was well acquainted with the French language and Peter knew no more than most English-speaking boys of his age but found, to his astonishment, he understood every word.

  Merlin indicated his companions and introduced them: “Simon Peter FitzArthur, First of the Chosen, and Sujad Cariotis, maker of the new Obsidian Orb."

  With a flourish he pulled the Obsidian Orb from the leather bag he was carrying. It was the only item represented in the painting that had not been on the desk when they arrived. He placed it on the silver stand. “Peter, Sujad, you are privileged to meet Nostradamus, philosopher, astrologer and prophet of doom."

  Nostradamus looked shrewdly from boy to man. “The man is not of the Chosen."

  "As restorer of the Obsidian Orb he has certain rights. One of those is to be a part of any mission in which the Obsidian Orb is involved."

  Nostradamus frowned. “Yes. A pity.” He sighed. “A curse on that witch who destroyed the first one."

  "That would be a waste of effort. She's long dead."

  "Pity you didn't think to go back in time and stop her. It would have been much less trouble and would have avoided the dangers inevitably associated with a refashioned Object of Power—especially one as inherently powerful as the Obsidian Orb."

  Merlin's eyes sparked. “That would be against the Law. The Absolute Law forbids the manipulation of time and space to erase errors of judgment or negligence or similar mishaps."

  Nostradamus nodded and gave another sigh. “Yes, of course. Such manipulation would lead to utter chaos."

  "The prophecy handed down over the centuries exists to help prevent any more errors of judgment,” Merlin reminded him. “The purpose of your involvement is the same."

  The prophet shook his head. “Ah! There you have me. I foretell the future, but I don't always understand what I'm predicting. I can only give advice from the standpoint of what I comprehend. Therefore, my counsel may go astray."

  "Nevertheless, I'm here to follow your paths of wisdom."

  Merlin began intoning in a way that would have made Peter laugh at any other time:

  "The prophet of doom shall call them forth

  from four hundred back and south to north.

  The Obsidian Orb will tell a tale

  of battles so dread the strong will quail.

  The paths of wisdom the prophet will give

  must be traversed so the good may live.

  Atop the observation tower,

  Twelve tokens manifest their power.

  The Chosen Ones though scattered wide,

  The Great One summons to his side.

  Each token's nature they must learn

  To gird them for the final burn."

  There was a short silence before he continued, “I now have to summon the Chosen, as the verse decrees."

  Merlin lifted the Obsidian Orb from its silver stand and held it aloft. “By the authority vested in me, and by the supremacy of the Lady, I call upon the powers of the Obsidian Orb to command the presence of the Twelve, the Chosen Ones of Earthlight.” Peter's gaze darted from Merlin's face to the Obsidian Orb as its center began to glow, pulsing slowly. “Come, Thomas, leave your criminals!” As though on cue, a dark blue form took shape, rapidly resolving itself into a policeman in sergeant's uniform. Peter recognized his uncle's next-door neighbor. Merlin gave the newcomer a brief nod and continued, “Come, Philip and Andrew, leave your fishing nets.” This time Peter recognized the two men who had invited him and his uncle out on their pleasure yacht. “Come, Matthew, leave your flock.” This time it was the small, doughty figure of the local Catholic priest. “Come, Simon, leave your farm-work, gems, bones and wood.” That was someone new to Peter—a burly Maori with the widest smile Peter had ever seen, holding a half-finished carving. “Come, Bartholomew and Thaddeus, leave your farms.” The first of the farmers was Bart Brown, whose horses they had borrowed. The other was new to Peter—a brawny man smelling strongly of farm animals. “Come, Jim, leave your prescriptions and customers.” Peter vaguely recognized one of the local chemists. “Come, John and James Evans, leave your school holidays and Christmas plans."

  There was a long pause. Merlin called again, with urgency bordering on panic.

  "Boys are notorious for not coming when called,” the policeman said, clearly trying to be helpful. “Mine is anyway."

  "Those are two of my parishioners,” the priest cried. “They're the boys who disappeared. We've been searching for them for some time now."

  Merlin's eyes sparked. The grim line of his mouth told of anxiety rather than anger. “Wherever they are, they have no choice but to come: the Obsidian Orb cannot be denied, even if the one called wishes to ignore its summons. I must know why the Obsidian Orb is unable to make contact with them.” He placed the orb back on its silver stand and laid his hands over it. “Obsidianus regius, I, Merlin the Great One of the Earthlight, call upon you to divine why James and John Evans, Chosen Ones of the Earthlight and children of this last year of the twentieth century, do not respond to the call of one of the great Objects of Power."

  Sparks radiated from his hands into the Obsidian Orb like static electricity. The globe took on a shimmer, which grew rapidly unt
il both the Obsidian Orb and Merlin's hands pulsated with fierce white light. Merlin's concentration was intense, his eyes fixed on the brilliance as though challenging its very brightness. The light dimmed to a glow. The sorcerer visibly relaxed. His eyes flickered, as though reading something within the orb. Peter could see shifting patterns on the surface of the globe but was unable to make them out.

  The glow disappeared and Merlin raised his hands and let them fall to his sides. His tall figure looked stooped and bowed, as though in defeat. “They have been captured by the Enemy. I tried to find out where they are, but the spell protecting them is unbelievably powerful. All I can make out is a shifting dark pattern of what looks like a cave—man-made possibly, as in a mine. There is a power blocking my view, seeming to come from an enormous animal that conceals its identity by not allowing me to see it in its entirety. It also relays false images, one moment looking like a lion or tiger and the next like something else. Sometimes it's as though there are several animals—for there look to be more than one pair of red eyes. I've tried every secret spell I know—"

  Peter's head felt as though a thunderbolt had hit it.

  "Cerberus!” As all heads swung toward him he continued, “Don't you remember the dog that attacked Dreyfus in the cave that we couldn't afterwards find? That was Cerberus. I saw him."

  Merlin's eyes gleamed. “Brilliant, Peter! Being a sorcerer can sometimes stand in the way of the obvious solution. Here was I struggling to see past this ever-changing creature, trying to find out what type of mine the excavation might be part of—"

  He broke off and went back to the Obsidian Orb, again placing his hands over it. This time his fingers moved rapidly back and forth over the orb's surface while he muttered inaudibly. In tense silence, the Chosen waited as he read what the orb had to say. “Now that I know where the boys are, the Enemy has no defense against the Obsidian Orb's commands. They are coming."