As depicted, the drawers to his dresser opened.
He laughed, pleased with the result. He glanced down at the word again for confirmation, and glanced back up at his accomplishment. “Oh, that’s brilliant! What other devious spells are in here?”
He flipped the page and continued flipping it until he came upon a spell with a warning next to it.
“What’s this?” he said, licking his lips. “Do not attempt. What kind of bollocks is this?”
He strained his vision trying to read the very small words. “Ki boo nika lock due flam bay? Wait, what? Someone was not right bothered, what a waste.” He shrugged his shoulders, picked up his wand and pointed it towards the wall.
“Kibunika lac du flambé.” A small spark sizzled from the end of his wand, but seemed to go out before it even began. Perplexed, Mierta raised his wand and chanted again, “Kibunika lac du flambé!”
Another small spark shot from his wand, then went out. “What’s wrong with you?” Mierta asked his wand while rubbing a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up straight. “I hope I haven’t broken it,” he said aloud. “Perhaps I am pronouncing the words wrong.”
Abruptly his hand twitched, feeling a surge of power coming from the wand that he couldn’t explain. Gripping it with both of his hands, he watched amazed as a ball of turquoise energy shot out from the tip.
“Obrate combriando!” yelled Mierta, his bedroom door obeying his command by opening.
Next, the ball of energy bounced off the adjacent wall and flew out of his room.
“No! No! No!” Mierta shouted, eyes wide. “I’m so daft! Why didn’t I consider that happening?” His eyes grew wider as he heard what sounded like it bouncing off the walls in the hallway. “Father’s statue! Oh, please, don’t.”
His words were cut short when he heard the sound of something shattering. He grimaced. “Right. I should have expected that, too.”
He was adjusting the front of his robe when the sound of Lochlann crying from his crib made him stop abruptly. “Lochlann’s room is still open! I’ve got to find a way to stop this thing! I can’t allow it to hurt my baby brother!”
He jumped out of bed and raced into the hallway.
“Hang on, Lochlan! Don’t be scared! Your big brother’s on his way!” He managed to close Lochlann’s bedroom door just before the energy arrived. It bounced off the door and shot further down the hallway.
Meanwhile, Armand was approaching from the staircase below with a cup of tea, hearing the commotion coming from Mierta’s room.
“Armand, get down!” Mierta warned.
“Young Monsieur?” Armand questioned, ducking down, feeling his hair blow from what felt like a sudden wind.
“Out of the way!” Mierta said, accidentally brushing against Armand, causing the cup of tea in his hand to be spilled all over the step. “Sorry!” Mierta called, in his hopeful attempt at catching the energy as it shot towards the floor below them. “I’m so sorry! No time to explain, very urgent I stop this!”
He raced to the cellar door, slamming it shut after the energy went inside. Soon afterward he could hear the sound of multiple jars breaking.
“Ooo! Ah! Eee!” Mierta reacted, cringing at each shattering he heard. “That’s going to take a while to clean up. I hope there’s a spell in the book to reverse all of this and help me fix the statue upstairs. I don’t know how I will explain everything to father otherwise.” He raced back up the stairs to his room, grabbed the book and frantically searched for the spell that would stop the energy ball.
COINNEACH CASTLE—
THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY
1238 CE
Orlynd entered Tower Chainnigh, following what seemed like an endlessly winding stone staircase. The stairs were attached to the walls of the tower with the centre open to the air. Looking down into the centre was like peering into a dark abyss. Orlynd tried not to look for too long as it made him feel dizzy. He could not imagine what would happen if he fell into it. A faint light appeared in an open doorway just before he reached the bottom.
Passing through the doorway, Orlynd felt like he had entered a different world. Stepping further into the book–filled room, he was awed by the wonder he saw. The cavernous room had bookshelves as far as the eye could see. There were tables and chairs stationed between the bookshelves, some of which were covered in papers and scrolls. In the very centre of the room was a sculpture of the known universe made from an unfamiliar metal.
“May I help you with something?” a woman asked, startling the warlock. “I do beg your pardon, but you seem to be distracted.”
Startled, Orlynd noticed an older woman standing very near him. She wore a heavily embroidered dress in dark brown tones with light blue accents. He could not determine her hair colour as her head was covered in a cloth crown matching the dress with a light brown veil flowing down over her shoulders.
“Nae, Ah dinnae know. At least Ah dinnae believe so,” Orlynd said, nervously.
“I understand. Wanderers often find their way down here. This is one of three towers found at Coinneach Castle. It is a good place to come when one is trying to let go of one’s troubles.”
“Aye,” Orlynd nodded. “It is quiet n’ Ah can interpret ma thoughts.”
The woman smiled. “I’m glad you approve. May I inquire what brought you down here? Perhaps you were searching for a particular scroll?”
“Eh…eh…Ah dinnae know whit Ah am supposed tae dae. Ma family is gone. Ah huv nothing, but eywis clothes oan ma back. His Majesty has been generous, n’ this kingdom has become ma new hame, but Ah dinnae believe Ah belong here anymore.”
“May I suggest you need someone to confide in? Anything you may say will be kept confidential.”
“Nae,” Orlynd shook his head. “Ah huv said tae much. Besides, Ah already stated whit wis necessary tae whom Ah needed tae n’ they disregarded me. Sorry. Ah should be leaving.”
“Very well,” the woman smiled warmly, pointing. “If you change your mind, there are seats and tables available alongside the wall. Take all the time you wish. My name is Beatrice. The library is yours to explore as long as you’d like.”
“Yis ur very kind. Ma name is Orlynd.”
“Orlynd?” Beatrice said as if the name channelled a memory. “Oh my stars! I thought you looked familiar when you first came in. Please excuse me, I should have recognised your Lorritish burr. My memory tends to sometimes fail me. You are Orlynd O’Brien, are you not?”
“Aye?” Orlynd answered, confused.
“I do not expect you to recognise me. My goodness, it has been a long time. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your mother. Celeste was such a beautiful and kind woman. She was always good to me. Your father on the other hand—a bit chippy if I recall.”
“Ah’m sorry, who ur yis?”
“Oh, I do beg your pardon! I’m getting carried away again,” Beatrice said between giggles, her cheeks growing pink. “I should expect you to not recognise me. Why, you were just a wee babe the last time I saw you. My, it is good to see you again! Have a seat at the table in the corner and I will explain everything to you.”
Orlynd did as Beatrice instructed and waited for her to join him.
Several minutes later, Beatrice emerged with a large book in her hand and sat down at the opposite end of the table. “There, I couldn’t forget to bring this. It’s a registry of everyone who has served in this castle.” She flipped through the book. “Ah, yes. See? There’s your name right there.”
“Ah’m sorry, who ur yis again?” Orlynd questioned.
Beatrice glanced over at Orlynd and cleared her throat. “Yes, my name is Beatrice Calderon, and I am the keeper of records in Tower Chainnigh. I have served his Majesty Francis, and the Queen Mother before him. As I’m sure you already know, your mother was King Francis’s soothsayer. What you do not know is I helped her to give birth to you in the royal carriage before our arrival in Poveglia. Celeste was in this very tower, searching for a scroll when he
r contractions began. I recall your father insisting she give birth in Vandolay; however, she would hear none of it. It was important to her that you had the opportunity to receive your magical inheritance. You see, I knew then that someday you were destined to return to this castle!” She marvelled, “Once we crossed the border into the kingdom of Aracelly, you could not wait to make your appearance! Tell me, do you have your mother’s gift of foresight?”
“Aye,” Orlynd answered.
“I’m so pleased to hear that. King Francis has been, how can I word this, beside himself since Celeste died. I’m certain his Majesty’s heart was warmed at your arrival.”
“Ah gen up doubt it. Ma father wis exiled n his Majesty only accepted me because ay ma Mam. Ah’m nothing, but a burden tae him. It wis a mistake. Ma father should never huv brought me tae court.”
“I beg to differ. Your father wasn’t mistaken in bringing you to court. He was guided by God. You have as much of a right to be here as anyone else, and perhaps more so.”
“Ah dinnae understand.”
Beatrice gasped. “Oh, you poor lad!” she sympathised. “You have no knowledge of your Mother’s family history, do you?”
Orlynd stared back at her dumbfounded.
“I thought so. Stay right here. There is something you should see,” Beatrice answered, standing up.
Orlynd watched as she headed towards one of the bookshelves on the opposite side of the room. “Now, where did I file that book?” he could hear her say to the room. “Oh! There it is.
“Yes, now, there you are,” Beatrice answered, returning back to the table, opening the book. “Now, where was it? Oh yes, here’s the chapter.” She flipped to the middle of the large history book until it came upon the page about a previous member of the king’s guard. He was dressed in armour of the time and he was carrying a sword in his hand. “As you can see, Orlynd O’Brien, you are no commoner. I assure you, your father was well aware of your mother’s family’s infamous descendant. That descendant’s blood runs through your veins. You, my dear, are a noble.”
Before Orlynd had an opportunity to comprehend what was being shown to him, he heard something abrasive and loud coming from above them. “Whit is thit sound?”
Beatrice gasped and placed her hand over her mouth, not wanting to believe what she was hearing.
“Whit is thit?” Orlynd questioned anxiously, speaking louder, believing Beatrice hadn’t heard him.
“Lord, have mercy!” Beatrice uttered.
Orlynd followed her glance. Her cheery expressions were replaced by sadness.
“Dark times have struck our kingdom,” she answered, glancing back over at him. “Those are the bells from the top of this tower. They only ring when someone in the castle has died.”
“Whit?”! Orlynd cried. “Nae, it cannae be!” He stood from his chair. “King Francis!”
“Where are you going?”
“Back tae the castle!” shouted Orlynd, running towards the staircase.
McKINNON ESTATE—GLENDALOW
1238 CE
MIERTA STARED at the cellar door, holding his wand at the ready. He breathed in deeply.
“Okay, Mierta, you can do this,” he persuaded himself, letting out a slow breath. “You just need to open the door, go down the stairs, find the energy, err, Kibunika, and according to Mum’s book, banish it with this spell—Aboterrar. Right.”
Convincing himself he was prepared, he unfastened the cast iron latch and pulled the door toward him. Once again he was welcomed by the sound of the creaking door and was instantly reminded of the cellar’s musty smell.
“Scamos lias!” he commanded his wand. The familiar dim turquoise fluorescent glow lit his way down into the darkness.
Careful to not make the same mistake as the previous time and step on any rats, Mierta stared at his feet before proceeding to the next step. When he reached the bottom, all he could hear was silence, not even the sound of a rat scurrying about.
How strange, Mierta thought. I wonder if it’s possible the Kibunika could have run out of energy and destroyed itself?
He turned his head only to see the Kibunika coming right for him. “Ah!” he gasped, feeling his heart start to race. He hastily tried to shake his light out of his wand before the Kibunika hit him, but he was too late.
“Ugh!” he screamed, feeling himself being knocked backwards after the direct hit to his chest. Once he landed on the floor, the light from his wand promptly went out. His back screamed and his lungs felt like they did not want to move. He could feel the back of his head pounding and for a brief moment his vision blurred as the world spun rapidly around him. It felt like he had been lying there forever, and when he finally sat up, he felt a bit dazed, not recalling what had just happened. However, he was soon reminded when he spotted the Kibunika above him.
“Ah!” Mierta exclaimed rolling over before the Kibunika struck the floor, leaving a dent in the wood. It bounced back up into the air. Mierta stared at it wide eyed as it came barrelling down upon him again.
“No! Stop! Ah!” he exclaimed again, rolling over the opposite direction, hearing it crash against the floor and bounce back up into the air and restore itself for another swift blow. He briefly looked down at his wand, and with resolve, he reached up and pointed it at the Kibunika, yelling, “Aboterrar!” He watched as the Kibunika expeditiously burst into small pieces and dissolved into the air. He slowly lowered his wand to the floor and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Blimey!” Mierta said, breathing heavily as he stood back on his feet. “Next time I read do not attempt, I am going to listen! I could have gotten myself killed.”
COINNEACH CASTLE—
THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY
1238 CE
DREAD FILLED Orlynd’s heart as he climbed up the stone stairs.
“Please dinnae let it be the king! Please dinnae let it be the king!” he uttered, reaching the top. He stepped through the access to the courtyard and stopped; going around to the main entrance would take far too long to get to the royal wing. He concluded it would be quicker running across the lush green lawn of the castle’s square shaped courtyard and cut through the kitchen corridor, which connected to the picture gallery where he had first encountered Prince Déor.
Running till he thought his lungs would burst, he reached the Bumbling Staircase. It got its name from the awkward design and shape of the castle’s architecture. The staircase contained carvings of naturalistic foliage and small animal detail. He followed another series of twists and turns before reaching the top. Stopping at the top of the staircase to catch his breath, he noticed a female servant coming out of the king’s private apartment down the hall, hardly able to contain herself.
“Nae,” Orlynd’s heart broke. How could it have happened so soon, and why didn’t anyone notice anything out of the ordinary?
Preparing himself for what was to come, Orlynd slowly approached the private apartment, noticing the doors were wide open, which Francis would have never permitted. Passing through the room where he had last seen his father, he approached the blue room.
Before him was the king’s massive ornately carved wooden bed, and on the floor on the fore–side of the bed, lay the king’s body.
Prince Déor was already kneeling beside his father’s body and weeping.
“Father! Father, please, wake up!” he cried.
Melancholy filled Orlynd’s heart. It deeply saddened him that this would be the first time he felt like he could understand the prince’s grief.
“Ah’m sorry, Yir Grace,” Orlynd said, reaching out to comfort him.
However, Déor would have none of it and aggressively shoved him away. “Don’t touch me, warlock!” he said, turning his face briefly around, tears falling down his face. There was a mix of pain and anger in his voice.
“This is all your fault! You were supposed to be my father’s soothsayer. You should have known!”
Taken aback, Orlynd found himself on the defence, “Yir Grace, Ah t
ried,” Orlynd started to say, his voice breaking. He thought better of it.
“What use are you to me? You’re nothing but a failure! Get out of my sight before I throw you out!” Déor screamed. His attention was drawn to the door as someone else joined them. “Court physician,” Déor said, turning towards Mortain. “Please, I beg of you. You can save him. I know you can!”
“Allow me to examine him, Your Grace,” Mortain requested, kneeling down besides the king.
He observed a grey–blue tone had already taken to the king’s skin. His eyes were open and unmoving. Already knowing what to expect, he reached to the king’s neck to check for a pulse. There was nothing he could do, he concluded, for the king had been dead for some time and was already beginning to grow cold. As he ventured a little closer to the body, he noted a metallic liquid trickling out of the corners of his mouth.
“Court physician?” the prince begged.
Solemnly, Mortain turned back to Déor. “The king is dead. Long live the king!”
McKINNON ESTATE—GLENDALOW
1238 CE
Father, you’re home!” Mierta exclaimed, throwing himself into his father’s arms.
“Blimey, Mierta! You forget I am not getting any younger,” Mortain answered, giving Mierta a squeeze. “It is good to be home, though.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. McKinnon,” Natasha said, appearing from the kitchen. “I thought I recognised your voice.”
Natasha was a young woman of average height; her curly dark brown hair was tied up under a white lace kerchief. Her small round face and short upturned nose belied her knowledge of rearing babes. Her dress was simple, a flowing white blouse over a flowered skirt, which made it easier for her to go about her duties without being encumbered in any way.
“Good afternoon, Natasha,” Mortain replied to Lochlann’s wet nurse. “Reckon everything is well?”
The Rite of Wands Page 8