The Pilgrim Stone

by J D Bowens

  “Indeed, he is. But I do not believe he is expecting you.” Sarin’s voice cracked as she spoke in a near whisper. She continued to stare at the page even after the quill had floated back to its inkwell.

  “No, I suppose he is not. I know an appointment is required, but Margaret was family to me. I just found out.”

  Sarin gave a sad smile. “I liked her the most. She wasn’t self-absorbed and pompous like the other deans.” She looked to the purple door for the School of Truth that stood in shadows, the torch above it snuffed out. Under the unlit torch was a great eye, larger than Altin’s head. It watched him as Sarin talked. “She was so kind to me. People hardly spend any time talking to me. Treat me like a bump on a log, they do. She always asked about my cats and my garden.” Sarin closed her eyes and appeared to concentrate. After several moments of silence, she opened her eyes. “I have made the archmage aware of your arrival. He is waiting for you.”

  “Thank you, Sarin.” Altin walked to the white cedar door. There were no stairs that led to the Archmage’s quarters. There were no stairs to anywhere in the Holodrin Spire. The teleportation spell upon the doors carried visitors to their destination.

  Altin opened the door and found himself on a veranda at the top of the spire. Beneath him was the city of Anidrack. The red sun drifted into the horizon, and the shadow of the moon climbed into the sky. Lamp-lights twinkled into life along the city streets and the bridges. Birds flew by just out of reach as they sailed to their homes.

  A thin middle-aged man emerged from the curtains that separated the living quarters and the veranda. His shoulder-length brown and gray hair was ruffled by the wind. His white and gold embroidered robes dragged along the floor as he approached Altin.

  “Altin Edderick, how good it is to see you,” the Archmage Valderma said. A sincere smile graced his face as he embraced Altin.

  “And you,” Altin said, “though I wish it were not under such sad circumstances.” They released one another after several moments. Valderma gestured to some cozy chairs and a table that was arranged with tea.

  “I am sorry that you are only now learning of Margaret’s death.” Valderma lit his pipe. “I thought of you first when she passed, but I had no idea how to reach you. I was going to scry you out after the Sending Ceremony.”

  "I am only here because she sent word for me to return." He wiped away the tears on his cheek. He did not realize he had been crying. "I had no idea her health was so poor. I heard she had a heart attack."

  "I am not sure what we will do without her. We will appoint a new dean to the School of Truth in a few days. I am glad that you have arrived today. We shall have her Sending Ceremony in just a few hours.” He pointed to the edge of the city where the river poured off the mountain side. A ledge stood on either side of the river and a bridge crossing over. A large pyre of wood was stacked on the bridge. “You will be joining us; will you not?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “There's something I must tell you, Altin. The Keeper found Margaret’s body in the Repository near the entrance to the Deep Vault.”

  “The Repository? Was she researching one of the magical artifacts there?”

  “I am not sure,” he said. “I was hoping perhaps you could tell me. You said she recalled you to Anidrack, did you not?”

  “Yes, but I am not sure for what purpose.”

  Valderma reached into the folds of his robes and retrieved a small worn leather-bound book. He handed it to Altin. “This was Margaret’s. She requested in her will that you receive this upon your return.”

  Altin studied the book in his hands and recognized the enchantment surrounding it and Margaret’s signature in the magic. The spell had been cast by her. If anyone other than himself opened the book, the pages within would be reduced to ash. “I don’t know why she would pass this on to me.”

  “This city is peculiar enough. Margaret kept her visions of the future to herself unless they were of immediate concern. Perhaps she thought you would have need of it.” They spoke for an hour recounting memories of Margaret Thagula. The archmage fixed his gaze on the horizon, and as it grew darker, he stood. “We should be going now, Altin. It will take us some time to reach the Sending Bridge.”

  Altin rose with him, and they exited archmage’s quarters, walked through the lobby where Sarin still sat, and out of the Holodrin Spire. They followed the street along the river toward the large funeral pyre. As they walked throngs of people - students, mages, and residents of Anidrack - joined them in a silent march. The lamp lights brightened their path. The large crowd gathered in silence on the bridge and the nearby streets. The songs of the nocturnal birds were carried on the wind.

  Altin stood near the pyre at the front of the crowd with Valderma. The deans of the schools stood by his side. He saw Margaret’s body wrapped in silk atop the pyre. Only her face was visible, her gold and gray hair peaked out of the wrappings around her head. Though Margaret was - had been - sixty years old, her face bore no wrinkles. She looked serene, asleep. He let himself weep among his peers and former colleagues. Amidst the silence, someone began to sing:

  And though my bones are weary and my love does weep, I will live on forever in the Veil my soul to keep.

  To Arcana I’ve been given and her mysteries I’ve seen, and now I will give to her my whole being.

  Each of the four remaining deans stepped forward to the pyre. Their hands were aflame with fire in the color of their respective schools. Together, with the surrounding onlookers, they recited the prayer and mage’s oath.

  From Arcana you were given, and Arcana you inherited. Magic, you were given to learn and to wield.

  To Arcana you are returned, and in Arcana you are home. Magic you have become, and your bones shall yield.

  The fire leapt from their hands to the pyre. Though the colors of the fire were not visible to Altin’s eyes, he imagined it was a spectacular view, a rainbow inferno. He looked one last time and noticed several fading threads of color entangled around Margaret’s chest.

  A chill ran down his spine as he recognized what it was. Those threads of magic; someone cast a Heart Snare spell on Margaret. She was murdered!

  The fires roared, and the inferno devoured her body and the spell. The flames climbed into the sky leaving not even the ashes of the wood behind. The fire evaporated, and its embers sparkled as though they had become stars. The crowd disassembled, and each returned to their home or a nearby tavern. Altin was left to stare at the night sky for several long moments as he wondered who had killed his mentor.

  Chapter 15

  Valderma insisted that he stay the night in the archmage’s guest quarters, a floor just below his own living quarters. At first, Altin refused to be such a burden but soon acquiesced and was led by one of the servants to his room. Alone in the lofty candlelit room, he collapsed onto the bed breathing out a heavy, sad sigh, Margaret’s book beside him.

  No more tears. There is work to be done. He realized that the book was her diary from the personal entries. He read the first page:

  Several weeks ago, while visiting the Repository, I discovered a spell in the wards protecting the Deep Vault. After careful investigation, I discerned that it was placed there by a fellow mage within the college. It is some sort of ward eating spell. It was difficult to see; even with my gifted eyes I nearly missed it.

  The person responsible for it must be incredibly talented. Only someone extremely gifted could hide such a spell. I wonder what they are trying to retrieve from the Vault.

  Whatever the matter, I have laid a tracer spell upon the ward. If I have calculated correctly, it is likely that the person responsible will return to check on the wards. They should not notice the tracer spell if they do not have a True Eye.

  May my True Eye never fail, and the colors never fade.

  Altin flipped through the next few pages and found a crude depiction of the spell’s enchantment. Altin read the passage about the spell over and over until he could no longer keep h
is eyes open.

  Morning came, and Altin had only managed to sleep a few hours. He rose from his bed to meet Valderma who was already eating his meal on the veranda. The rising sun chased away the night’s chill and the humidity was beginning to set in.

  Altin sat in the chair across from the Archmage. “I believe Margaret was murdered.” His tone was cool and measured.

  Valderma choked on his tea and stared at Altin with wide eyes. “That is quite a charge to lay, Altin. Have you any evidence?”

  “I saw a Heart Snare spell on her chest as the fire burned last night,” Altin replied. “It was fading, but it was there. Who examined her body?”

  “Master Geldwick. But he would not have seen the spell. He does not have your gift. It would have been undetectable.” Valderma gripped the arm of his chair as he leaned forward. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”

  “I needed to know why she died,” he said. “I needed to be sure it was murder. Did you know she was in the midst of an investigation?”

  Valderma shrugged, and Altin told him in detail all he had learned from Margaret’s diary. As Valderma listened, he sat back in his chair. His face became dark and pensive.

  “My dear friend and colleague were murdered by some malefactor,” Valderma said.

  “They could still be on this campus: a student, or worse, a faculty member.”

  “Murdering a dean of the college and attempting to unlock the Deep Vault. Something dark lurks within this city, Altin.” He stroked his beard and studied his tea. “I am appointing you Seeker. I want you to investigate this.”

  Altin bit his lip. The Seekers were detectives gifted in arcana and appointed by the archmage to investigate crimes that occurred on the College grounds. “There already exists a group of Seekers at your disposal.”

  “Yes, but they do not possess your gift of True Sight. They will not be able to see the tracer spell that Margaret set. I also want you to conduct this matter in secret. No one should know of it. You were the only one not here when she died.”

  Altin weighed the decision then nodded. “Then I accept your appointment. I will also need your permission to enter the Repository."

  Valderma rose from his chair and disappeared into his living quarters. When he emerged, he held a gold signet ring that had a black and white pearl in its center. “Present this to whomever you must. They will know that you bear my authority.”

  Altin took the ring in his left hand and placed it on his ring finger. “I shall visit the Repository later this evening. It would be best to bother the Keeper after the students have left.”

  “One last thing,” Valderma said as Altin stood to leave. “The artifacts in the vault are ancient and powerful. None can be used by a single person or even two without doing great harm to themselves. The vagrant who murdered Margaret is likely working with someone else.”

  Chapter 16

  They made camp in a small cave near the trail. Consus calculated that it would take two days to reach the Dawnrose Manor and another three days to reach the Nor Sea. The brothers assigned night watches for themselves and included Karinne – at her insistence.

  “I should be responsible for part of the duties,” she said, her arms akimbo, “and besides, I do not see how I will manage to sleep with rocks moving about.”

  Ewan chuckled. “This cave is safe. I’ve stayed here many times. There, see?” He pointed to etching on the cave wall that had his name misspelled ‘Ewin.’

  Consus tied the horses to a nearby pine just outside the cave. Ewan arranged a small fire near the entrance, and everyone sat around it. Leiwyn pulled from her pack a small kettle and brewed tea. Ewan filled his pipe with tobacco before he lit it while Milo whistled away on his flute. Karinne and Kyran sat by the entrance dragging a whetstone across their own blades.

  Leiwyn sat across from Consus sipping on her tea from a small wooden cup. “Will you use the Pilgrim’s Stone to travel to the gods?”

  She coughed on her tea, caught off guard by the question. “Er--I’m not sure that would be possible,” Leiwyn said. “The T’sarntha says that it would require the ‘blessing of the gods.’”

  “The Tis-Sar-natha,” he cringed at his poor pronunciation. “Is that the book of history written by your people?”

  “It’s more than a book of history. It’s a record of magical and divine artifacts and prophecies. The blessing of the gods is their gift of divina magic, that which is wielded by the priests of Arden and Nemoth. Without it, you cannot cross the barrier that separates the mortal realm from the immortal. Are you familiar with Lakanos’ Theory of the Universe?”

  Consus shook his head. “I have only heard of it.”

  With the tip of her finger, Leiwyn drew three concentric circles in the dirt. She pointed to the innermost circle. “This is mankind, the mortal realm we live in. This circle outside it is the Veil - where spirits of the deceased dwell. The ancient gods consider it a neutral plane. Arden would send an emissary to collect the souls of those who served him in life and carry them to his celestial plane.” She pointed to the outermost ring. “For those who served neither Arden or Nemoth, they wait in the spirit world.”

  “Wait for what?” he asked.

  “No one knows. But those who served Nemoth are collected by demons and carried into the underworld. They reap the rewards of their service in this life, but in eternity they are his slaves.”

  Consus shuddered. “Why would anyone want to serve him then?”

  “He is the Father of Blood and Shadows and the Father of Lies,” Leiwyn shrugged. “He can fool even the smartest person.” She pointed back to the outermost circle. “The celestial plane is divided into two realms: half belongs to Nemoth and the other half to Arden. It takes an object of divina magic, like the Pilgrim’s Stone, to cross the divide. But it can also be used with divine altars to augment the powers of priests. In ancient times, they would bestow Blessings of the gods on loyal Children.”

  “What are the Blessings?” Consus asked.

  “Blessings are special powers given by the gods aside from the divina magic. They range from immortality, transformation, and even flight. It varies in the stories.”

  “What will you do with the Pilgrim Stone once you have it?”

  “Take it back with me to my home in the Valenforn. There we will archive it with the other ancient artifacts we have uncovered.”

  “Do the elves believe in the ancient gods? Do any of them still worship Arden?”

  He sensed Leiwyn hesitate before she answered. “Some of our people still do. The Elenthaas is one of the oldest elf houses. A small number of people still worship. Do humans still worship?”

  “Our mother was a believer,” Consus said to Leiwyn. “She was from the Southern Empire and met our father in his travels. She told us some of the stories about Arden and his heroes. I have never come across any others though who worshipped as she did. That was before the Servants of the Quintetta had such a hold in Grenloch.”

  Leiwyn gazed at him. “That is fascinating. How did she worship? What stories did she tell you?”

  Consus looked into the fire and tried to remember. He had been so young. “She used to pray every morning. She’d kneel in her room and face the rising sun. She’d pray for our family, for enlightenment, health - that sort of thing. She used to tell us about how the world was formed by Arden. She said he molded it with his hands and imbued it with his own magic and that’s what the mages use today.”

  “So few humans worship the ancient gods,” she said.

  “Few men would dare worship them,” Kyran said as he put aside his whetstone. “The Servants of the Quintetta burn people alive that they think are heretics or witches. That’s yet to happen in Grenloch, but we’ve heard more than a few stories in other regions of the kingdom. Personally, I don’t see the worth in either of the gods. I doubt you could get a response from either of them.”

  “You think people fools for believing in them,” Leiwyn said. Consus could hear offense
in her voice. She frowned but only for a moment.

  “Perhaps not foolish but silly.”

  “Yet you are the same people who believe that trolls live underneath you,” she replied with a smile.

  Milo and Karinne whooped with laughter. Consus himself could not help but grin.

  Kyran frowned, indignant. “Children’s tales are silly, whether they are gods or trolls.” He returned to his sword.

  Ewan looked up from his pipe and brushed an ember from his beard. “But the trolls are real, aren’t they?”

  Stars filled the night sky, and the landscape of moving hills was bathed in moonlight. They packed themselves into bedrolls. Kyran took the first watch and Ewan - with Karinne - the second. Consus watched the fire dim from where he lay in the cave as he drifted into sleep.

  Chapter 17

  Consus stood in the middle of a bridge that joined two realms: one bathed in fire and another covered by tall, thick oak trees. Why am I here again? he wondered.

  Above the trees, he saw the moving stars again and heard the eagles and once more he walked toward them. His legs barely moved, as if they were being held down by unseen hands. As he drew closer one of the moving stars grew bigger, and he realized that it was descending. He closed his eyes and shielded his face with his arms as a brilliant figure bathed in light landed in front of him. The starlight dimmed, and before him now he saw a gryphon. The eagle head was decorated with brilliant white feathers, the wings of which were a chestnut brown. The mighty hind legs of the lion and its tail were gold, its body wrapped in an effervescent glow. Consus could not recall seeing any creature so marvelous. The gryphon stepped towards him and raised a mighty eagle talon and pointed to something behind Consus.

  He sensed something behind him, a malevolent presence. He turned to see a tall winged smoky figure at the other end of the bridge. The dragon’s glowing red eyes bore into him like fiery hot iron pokers. A burning chain leapt from its mouth and wrapped itself around Consus’ forearm.

  Not again. Consus reached for his sword but found nothing at his hip. The smoke dissipated from around the dragon as it beat its powerful wings. Consus could see its features more clearly: the sword like talons, the dagger-sized teeth, and the horns that jutted out from the back of its head. The dragon’s red eyes grew more intense as it dragged Consus towards the realm of fire.