by W. Peever
"Young one. Be still, my eagle cannot hold you when you're flailing like this."
Can she read my thoughts? Charlie silently pondered.
"Yes, speak to me."
"There are vicious beasts lying in wait for us. I need my sword."
"Fear the Warg, but not the ones who wait for us," the woman answered cryptically. "These are not the shape shifters of stories. They are untainted by that plague, and never take the shape of man. They are our friends, our steeds, and they will take us to the queen so that you all may be measured."
"You're a Vola?" Charlie asked.
"We prefer Nature's Mother to Vola or Witch. We tend to the forests of the Nine Worlds, protecting them from those who would destroy our existence."
"Then, why did you save us, my lady?"
"You are the Protector, who can change the tide of the coming war. For only you can mend the rip of fate."
"I can bring the Gods back, but that would just start the war."
"The time will come when the wolf eats the moon, the End of Days and the commencement of Eternal Night. The war will come for us all—the infernal war between the Light and the Dark will be decided. The Dark Ones have a way they come. You have met their scouts in the bowels of the earth. You felt their presence on the bridge that looks from above. They can travel without a veil, where we are left to toil."
"But please just tell me," Charlie pleaded. "Can the Gods help us?"
"An answer will come in clues on your path. Follow your heart. But know this, oh Jumper of Worlds and Time, allies are needed if you are to survive. The Elves and the Dwarves once sided with Man —keep this in mind as you travel our land: we Vola are with you when the darkness descends."
Charlie plunged back to the present, and on all fours into a snow bank. A blast of hot, putrid air with the stench of rotting meat lifted the hair on the back of his neck as he raised himself onto his feet—to come nose to nose with one of the witches' Wargs. The creature was on the wrong side of hideous: the size of a horse but with the body of a hyena; a boar-like head sporting pointed teeth and tusks. Its mat of brown fur was thin around the middle but long and shaggy around the head and hindquarters. The smell was almost overpowering.
The Vola who had carried Colin dismounted and the others around her took one knee. Charlie and his friends followed their example, kneeling to the beautiful woman in green lace.
"My name is Maida, Queen of our tribe here in Midgard." Her thoughts transmitted to each of their heads. "My guards tell me you are accustomed to how we speak, as they have spoken to each of you at length during your flight." She paused and glanced at the Vola who had flown with Charlie, reading her thoughts. "Some have spoken more than they should have, I fear. But no matter—all will be revealed in time. By rescuing you our Tribe has chosen sides, and the enemy will be ready for us next time. The element of surprise has ended, and yet if we did not step in all would have been lost."
The woman glared at Colin. "A Templar should be more careful!" Maida's eyes burned fiery red for a moment and then returned to green. Charlie took in the Queen's other features: swanlike neck, flowing blond hair to her knees, leather armor protecting perfectly bronzed skin and green lace enfolding her like a million fluorescent stars. She was beautiful.
She spoke to Charlie aloud. "You flatter me, World Jumper."
"Oh, yes…that is, I didn't mean…" burbled Charlie, startled. "My apologies, my Queen." he thought, as hard as he could.
"I have ceased listening to your thoughts, World Jumper, for the sake of privacy. And since you have yet to develop a controlled mind we will speak to you your way." Maida said with a sigh. "It is tedious for us to do so, you understand. A collective mind is so important in battle and in life. However, as I said, we value privacy and each of us knows how to protect our innermost thoughts. It is a trait you must learn to defend yourself in a battle with Influencarians. For, if you can learn to block your thoughts no one can control you."
"Then I am your humble student, my lady." Charlie answered with a bow.
This pleased the Queen, who smiled the most brilliant, white smile and laughed. "You are quite the charmer. If you will submit to tutelage I shall arrange for one of my maidens to take residence at your school and teach you all—perhaps to the point you may become so versed as to project thoughts you wish your opponent to believe."
The Queen turned back to Colin, still a little flushed from the tongue-lashing he had received only moments before. "You, Templar, have been trained in weaponry, in deceit, in cartography and in games and puzzles. Am I correct?"
"Yes, my lady. And please, my name is Colin."
"Then…Colin," the Queen choked out, "why has a lad so skilled in puzzles and the art of map reading not seen the writing on the wall?"
Colin looked puzzled, and felt himself turning red again at something else he must have done wrong.
"Take out your map," the Queen demanded.
Colin obliged and retrieved the battle-and-weatherworn map from the outfitting store, and smoothed it out on the hard crust of the snow. The five friends gathered around the poster-sized map and looked blankly for the clue that the Queen believed should jump out at them. They saw…nothing.
Maida sighed the silent, forebearing sigh a mother uses to express disappointment at her children neglecting their studies. "Now, really look at the map—at all the places you've visited, all the things you've seen."
Colin nodded at the Queen, and took out a blue sharpie. "Okay," he said, clearing his throat at the others to get their focused attention. "We take the last clue as a marker, which means it doesn't give any new information." Charlie rubbed warmth into his face, trying to concentrate. "Then," Colin went on, "look at all the places we've been and find a pattern, based on what we know of Templar lore, Viking mythology and the placement of the clues."
Bailey took the sharpie from Colin's hand and circled Newport, Rhode Island. "Well," she said, "we started out right here at the church."
"And here." Colin circled Westford, Massachusetts. "That was the night we met a new ally."
"And here's that lake where we almost bought it," said Mick.
"This is where the marker would be…" Charlie circled the place on the map and then dropped the sharpie, racked by a sudden revelation.
"You see it, World Jumper?" The Queen crossed her arms and nodded, finally satisfied.
"What is it, Charlie?" Tillie asked, sidling between him and Bailey. "What do you see?"
"A sword." Slowly he drew a line from Newport to Westford to a point in between the two dots for Spirit Pond and the marker site in Vermont. "That's the blade," Charlie said. Then he drew a straight line intersecting the blade between the place in Vermont and Spirit Pond. "And that's the cross piece."
Colin stood up, gaping, frustration pouring out of him along with admiration for his young friend who saw what he had not despite years of training. "The Sword—of course, the Sword. 'A Templar will live and die by his sword,'—my grandfather must have told me that a thousand times. And what is the most important point on any sword?" Colin asked himself in place of his grandfather. "The balance—it centers everything else."
Colin looked down at his friends and then fell to his knees, hands flowing over the map. "Draw a line straight up from Westford in line with Newport. Look for any towns, and read them off. We're looking for a place of great significance."
They searched the map, adrenaline pumping in their chests, leaving each of them out of breath. "Does it matter if it's in Canada?" Charlie asked.
"No," Colin replied. "Seeing Canada didn't exist back then as a country, it would have made no difference to Henry Saint Clair."
"Well, then Trois-Rivieres is almost in line with the hilt of the sword…and the blade. And it connects to three rivers that lead to Hudson Bay, which is mere miles from Greenland where they could have resupplied with their Viking friends. Then it's a straight shot to Scotland. It would've been the perfect place for the treasure fleet to land." Charl
ie looked up from the map. "My Gods, we found it. We need to get to Canada."
"And," added Tillie, "before the Vanari figure it all out…or the Seers interpret the signs."
Charlie turned to the Queen, who was smiling at the children's determination. "My lady, how fast can the Wargs run? Can we get there in time?"
The Queen considered the question for a moment. "I believe it is time for you to go and meet Orrick, King of the Midgard Dwarves and Keeper of the Mountains."
"Dwarves?" Bailey gasped. The Nine Worlds took a lot of getting used to. At times she forgot they were living an existence that two years ago she thought was only found in fairytales.
The Queen nodded. "There is an entrance to their world near your destination. We will send word to them of your plight—perhaps an old favor is due to be repaid."
With those words the Queen of the Vola gracefully spread out her arms, fingers catching the frigid wind, a signal for her guards to mount the children each on a Warg. Four climbed on their own mounts. Charlie hardly had time to nod his thanks to the Queen before his head was jolted back by his mount's bolt onto the trail. Then the world was whitewashed by a torrent of snow kicked up from the mighty paws of the giant beasts. The odor from the Wargs' matted fur was enough to make Charlie's stomach lurch with every bump on the path. Combined with the occasional gelatinous drool that smacked him in the face every time his creature shook its head, it turned Charlie six shades of green. He was only slightly comforted by the fact that the others were suffering too. Mick, for one, was struggling to wipe vomit off his staff.
In their quick descent, barren ice and snow changed to low-lying shrubs, to pine trees where the snow disappeared altogether and finally to a warm summer night thickly forested. With all their serious lack of grooming, Charlie had to admit the Wargs made good time. The forest was speeding by them in formless shades of brown and green. The blur of breaking dawn through the canopy revealed another mountain range ahead of them.
"Not much farther now," came the thought from the Vola guard riding next to him, who had caught Charlie's eyes resting on the horizon. "Those mountains mark the boundary of the Great Kingdom of the Dwarves, where I must leave you to journey on foot."
Overcoming the startling effects that a voice echoing in your head conjures, Charlie answered his beautiful guard. "I thought you and the Dwarves were allies…you can't cross over to their land?"
"Allies we were, allies we will be again should they choose to join you. But a private people these stout men are. They will allow you to cross over their mountains as you are the Manserian, but we keep the peace by respecting their borders. Just as they would not tear through our forests on their motorbikes, we would not trespass over…"
"Bikes? The Dwarves ride bikes?" "Of course, they are accomplished bikers. You didn't think they still wielded axes and rode horseback?"
"Well, I assumed that, well…the Templars haven't changed all that much, so…"
"Stealing convertibles and wearing cargo pants is not changing?" Charlie was surprised at the witches' knowledge of their activities. "Do not be shocked. We have been following your path for some time now. We have kept the old ways. My kind is happy communing with nature. Your people, the Manserian, have no need of guns and motorbikes as you have the powers of the Gods, yet you use computers and technology to help you with your jobs. Many other peoples of the Nine Worlds here on Midgard have changed too —the Dwarves prefer motorcycles over horseback and shotguns over axes. Can you blame them?" Charlie shook his head. "I hear the Stonehammer clan of the Dwarves were the original founders of a badass biker clan in your world." The witch laughed. "They are the oldest little boys in this Kingdom."
The Vola woman readjusted her seat on the giant Warg. "When we get to the pass you will dismount and go as fast as you can up the mountain. It is only a mile as the eagle soars but you must hurry. My sisters in the sky tell me that those that pursue you are not far behind. I will contact Bawldin, a friend, adopted son of the King of the Dwarves of Midgard. I will tell him of your mission and beg him to honor the old alliance."
"The Dwarves will favor us?" The thought filled Charlie with hope.
"There is a good chance. Many of the races on Midgard live alongside each other in cooperation where possible. You must understand the circumstances that followed the Gods' departure from the Nine Worlds. Odin, King of the Gods, had asked Humans to watch over their Kingdoms till they returned but many races did not feel this was right, and there was a great war. At that time the Manserian Order had not mastered their new abilities. Nor do I believe they ever will—the Gods were foolish to trust a human brain handling the raw power they gave you. So the Humans asked the Dwarves for help, and they crafted your devices to focus your power so you could use it well." The Vola nodded her head toward Charlie's ring.
"The creatures of the Underworld rose up, with them the Giants, Dark Elves and many other fanged beasts to take the Nine Worlds from the Humans. The Dwarves of all Nine Kingdoms are loyal to the Asgard Gods, and respected their decision in joining forces with the Humans, as did the Kingdom of the Elves and many other smaller groups of races and creatures, including the Vola. It was a bloody war that took the lives of many of our kinsfolk, but in the end the Giants and the creatures of the Underworld returned to their realms, leaving the Humans in peace all these years. Yes, there are those giants and demons that surface on Midgard, but your Order quickly disposes of them. It has been a rather peaceful five thousand years all things considered." The Vola smiled.
"But now…" she went on, her face turning dark,"with your own people rising up against you…if they join forces with our old enemies, I am not sure even the alliance can stop them." The Vola rode on in silence after that as if in a trance. Charlie didn't need the silence translated for him. If he couldn't find the tablets any advantage they possessed would be lost. Suddenly his Warg came to a stop that sent Charlie lurching face first into the thick ruff of fur around its neck. As his friends caught up, they could only feel sorry for the World Jumper clinging tight and stuck in this mass of…what could only be described politely as mucus.
"This is as far as we can take you." The Vola talked aloud so that the others could hear, and pointed up the mountain, dense with evergreens. "It is not far. Follow the path to the summit and look for a clearing in the forest. There will be a graveyard there overlooking the river below. The gravestones are old and weathered. Go to the mausoleum door dug into a hill, break the lock and enter. Your instrument will do the rest."
The Vola turned to Charlie before he could dismount to join his friends, staring deeply into his eyes, her blond hair entangling itself in the wind. "Remember my words, and watch for the Dwarves." The woman touched Charlie's cheek and mounted her Warg. "It will come off," she whispered, before she led her Vola and Wargs away.
Charlie wiped both sleeves across his face in a frenzy of disgust, then focused on the mission at hand. He heaved his heavy backpack over one shoulder. "Looks like we have a climb ahead of us," he said to his friends. Together they began their ascent.
Chapter Twenty The Rosetta Stones
The air was cool as they emerged into the sunlight at the summit. Charlie took in a deep breath to free himself of the stifling air of Christmas trees. This new air was familiar, full of the flavors of his seaside home. The salt air of the ocean filled his heart with hope; hope that they would find the tablets; hope of finding the icons before the Vanari found them; and hope to once again sleep in clean sheets. Looking at Bailey, he could see the same weary longing in her eyes. She caught his stare and smiled weakly back at him.
Charlie took in the graveyard. The grass grew tall around the dozen or so gravestones scattered around this forgotten place. Gnarled trees ubiquitous with old cemeteries threw long shadows in the hot afternoon sun, shade for ravens that watched the group of adolescents with great interest from their branches.
"Harbingers of death," Colin whispered, pointing at the ravens. "Odin's creatures; the King of the Go
ds would send them to feast on the corpses of his enemies after a battle. A serious omen…they only congregate like this when expecting a battle." As he finished speaking six more ravens landed to peer at them.
"We'd better hurry, then," said Charlie, who had spotted the hill the Vola spoke of. It was a small mound. Moving fast, they found the entrance to the tomb below was a solid steel door on rust-fused hinges, bolted to granite slabs. The keyhole too was sealed by corrosion.
Charlie looked at Mick. "Looks like it's a job for you, buddy!"
"My pleasure," Mick replied, and hammered his staff down on the first hinge that snapped in answer. Colin and Mick grabbed hold of the door resting on one hinge and pulled on it. Pieces came away in their hands like crust from an apple pie, but the door itself didn't budge.
"Oh, stand aside!" called Bailey, pushing up the sleeves of her black shirt. With a single blast, the door was torn out of the hill and tossed twenty meters behind them. "Boys," Bailey scoffed under her breath, and then smiled with satisfaction.
Gales of stale air did not come gushing out of the entrance, whistling up suspenseful anticipation like it did when their favorite fictional archeologist entered a tomb. Nor did bats flutter in a stream out of the dark abyss below, much to Mick's obvious disappointment. Instead, the familiar sense of damp soil lingered, ascending refreshingly cool from the entrance before them.
"Lights on!" Charlie ordered as he reached for his lamp. Beams of light sliced through the darkness below like sabers, sharply illuminating the steep descent ahead.
"This looks something like the tombs I broke into as a kid," stated Colin, an adventurous twinkle in his eye. "It should go deep into the ground. Usually the body is straight in…this must be the place."
Bailey, almost back to her old self, couldn't resist teasing. "Broke into many final resting places in your youth, Colin?"
He shrugged. "Not much to do in the armpit of Scotland—not many i-pads to stay plugged into either," he said, adding a barb of his own. He was first to begin the entrance into the cavern.