The Pilgrim Stone

by J D Bowens

  “Keeper, have you noticed anyone near the doors of the Deep Vault?”

  “No one besides Dean Thagula. Only the mice have been near the door.”

  Altin withdrew his hand from the door. He saw the Tracer Spell that Margaret set. The purple mist crawled around his own hand and would remain there for nearly a month. Her murderer should bear a similar mist upon their hand. It would be faded but still visible to me. “Keeper, when was the last time the Deep Vault was opened?”

  “The door was opened four hundred and thirty-five days ago.”

  Altin tapped his chin, deep in thought. “Was that the last time a person entered the Deep Vault?”

  “No person has entered the Deep Vault since then.”

  “And there are no living persons in there now?”

  “There are no living persons there now.”

  Altin sighed. If the circumstances were not so dark, he would congratulate the thief. How does a mage bypass a ward that repels all living men? He thought of several books in the library that may answer some of his questions. It would be helpful if Consus were here. He could sort through all those books and find an answer in no time.

  "Keeper, tell me of the night you found the body of Margaret Thagula." The steel golem shifted to attention behind him.

  "It was a late evening I was patrolling and noticed a few mice near the vault. They have become a nuisance in the Repository and were scurrying along the walls. I eradicated them before I continued patrolling --"

  "Tell me about how you found Margaret," Altin said. Golems were so frustrating to talk to. They always required specific questions. "Where was she and how did you let her assailant escape?"

  "Her assailant did not escape. Her assailant was never here."

  Altin looked at the Keeper, perplexed. "Keeper, someone cast a Heart Snare spell on her. Who else was in the Repository?”

  “I saw no other spell caster here. I saw Dean Thagula collapse, and that was all.”

  Altin rubbed his temples in frustration. This questioning was useless unless --

  “Keeper, the next time you see one of these rodents, please hold it for me. I would like to study it alive.” The empty helmet nodded and escorted Altin from the Repository.

  Chapter 26

  Passing clouds muted the moonlight. Everflame torches burned without fuel and lit the streets of Anidrack. Altin heard loud conversation from nearby inns and taverns and saw the Holodrin Spire over the roofs of the houses and shops around him.

  Most of the homes and shops were owned by mages, but a minority belonged to ungifted mortals. Some were the children or parents of the mages in Anidrack. Others were shopkeepers who saw the opportunity to do business in a magical city controlled by the College of Anidrack.

  He wandered into the residential district of the city, and the voices that carried into the street became softer until they were gone. The sound of his own footsteps echoed in the lonely streets. The lights dimmed in most of the windows of the homes.

  I hope she is still awake at this hour.

  Altin came to a humble but comfortable little cottage. A small garden of herbs, vegetables, and various flowers grew against the front wall of her home. His nose caught the scent of rosemary and thyme. He knocked on the door and heard footsteps respond. A tall, pale woman in an oversized blue tunic answered the door.

  "Hello, Dandrea," Altin said.

  A slight smile overtook Dandrea’s face, framed by her raven black hair. She held a gloved finger up to her lips instructing him to be silent. She closed the door behind him as he quickly stepped in. "Wasn’t expecting you to visit me. I hope no one saw you sneak in. I can already hear my neighbors gossiping." Her soft voice carried a tone of mock concern.

  “Oh, stop it,” he said. "My intentions are not nearly as scandalous. And you’ve never cared for your neighbors."

  “You’re right; I don’t care.”

  He looked around and noticed the candle lit upon the table in an adjoining room. "I see you still have trouble sleeping."

  “Always the night owl,” she replied. “Just myself and the bats.” As if on cue, two small brown bats flew past Altin. He leapt back in surprise and then felt himself turn a shade of red from embarrassment. Dandrea laughed. “Don’t worry; they’re supposed to be there. I’m working on a project with one of the deans. There’s a lot of animal handling involved, hence the gloves.”

  Altin kept a wary eye on the bats now hanging upside down from a low beam on the ceiling. “Well, I hope you and your flying rats don’t mind the company of an old friend.”

  She crossed her arms under her chest. "You’re an old friend, are you? I haven’t seen you in years. I’d say you’ve become more an ‘acquaintance’ than a friend.”

  "I have only been gone a year," he said.

  "You have been gone from Anidrack for a year, but you have been gone from me for much longer." Her eyes became cold, and her smile soured. "I was your first friend when you arrived here. I taught you how to get into trouble, and I used to be able to rely on you. Then you stopped talking to me. What happened?"

  "It was not my intention to ignore you,” he said. “We were chosen for different schools, and I became preoccupied with my studies. The College of Truth encourages us to spend time with only our own. You know how it is."

  Her glare commanded a better answer. “So, you do not consider me ‘one of your own’? Were they better friends to you than I?”

  “You misunderstand,” he said. “It’s not the same. You don’t have a third eye in your forehead. You don’t know what that’s like. To see things no one else can see. I just felt more at ease with them.”

  "I didn’t realize I made you so uncomfortable," Dandrea said.

  "That’s not true. You’re twisting my words.”

  "Why are you here now?"

  “Because Margaret was murdered," he blurted out, “and I need someone I can trust.”

  Her demeanor softened, and the glare in her eyes was replaced by shock. She waved to the table with the candle. The table had several papers spread across it and a near empty inkwell. She stacked the papers in a neat pile and shooed a cat away from the chair. Altin sat down and brushed away a tuft of fur.

  "How do you know she was murdered?" she asked. “I thought she died from a weak heart.”

  He told her of the Heart Snare spell and Margaret’s investigation on the Deep Vault. Dandrea listened without interruption. “The Archmage believes that there may be more than one person involved, but it’s hard to believe that even one person would kill Margaret. She was like an aunt to me.”

  “She was very protective of you,” she said. “I never told you but the first time I saw you was with Margaret."

  "How is it you never mentioned?"

  "I was not supposed to be there," Dandrea said. She grinned at the memory. "It was during your Seeing when they opened your True Eye. I snuck into the room, hid under a desk and watched."

  Altin recalled the experience.

  He was ten years old and had been in Anidrack for only a year. A series of painful headaches plagued his nights. Colors faded and vanished from his vision, and a mysterious lump had formed in the middle of his forehead. One of his teachers brought him to Margaret - then a mere teacher in the School of Truth. She examined his head with care.

  “You’re such a brave young man,” she said. She held up four different quills. “Look at these feathers and tell me what you see.”

  “Those two,” he said. “One has yellow threads around i, and the other has a purple light.”

  Margaret put the quills away and opened a large thick tome. She flipped through the pages and paused. She smiled as she read and, when she was finished, looked back at him. "Do you know how special you are?"

  "I don't know," he said. “Special” was a strange way to describe it. He put on a brave face but his voice cracked with worry, and his palms were sweaty. He was terrified with the bizarre changes happening to him.

  "You are one of the rar
est spellcasters there is. You are going to be a part of the School of Truth when you are old enough."

  "The School of Truth?"

  "Yes, mages like you are gifted by arcana with special powers, aside from spellcasting. Some can read thoughts or interpret dreams. Others can see into different universes. I can see the paths of fate.”

  “What gift do I have?” he asked with curious fascination.

  She closed the book and placed it on a table beside her. “You will be able to see the brilliant colors of magic. Only a few people in history have been able to see arcana’s nature. You will see what spells look like and how they are made. I will be your guide and will teach you everything I know." She touched the lump on his forehead with a careful finger. "First, we must open your True Eye."

  She helped him onto a table, and as he lay down, she rubbed an ointment on his forehead. Altin’s head became numb. Two teachers pinned his shoulders against the table. Altin tried to remain calm. His brave face turned into a wide-eyed scowl. He wanted to trust Margaret. She seemed very nice.

  Margaret drew her fingertip across the lump like a scalpel. "This will sting but only for a moment. I promise."

  "I will never forget the moment,” Altin said. He tried to push it from his thoughts. “It hurt so much to have my eye opened."

  "It was just a small cut," Dandrea said. "I don't think I ever saw a boy cry so much."

  Altin could not help but laugh at the smirk on her face. "I didn’t cry that much. Ah, I cannot believe you were watching."

  "I could not help myself; I was just a nosey child. There was no harm done. It was relatively disappointing anyway."

  "Was that a slight?" he asked half-joking.

  "No not at you, I just expected more - oh, I don't know. I thought there would be more fireworks or something more fantastic would occur."

  "You were such an odd child," he said. “Always fascinated with obscure and macabre topics.”

  Her scoff echoed through the small house. "You were just as odd! Neither of us had many friends. You seeing magic and me seeing ghosts; we made for an odd pair."

  Altin flinched. His eerie recollection of her conversations with unseen people still gave him shivers. “Well, you can be thankful to Margaret that you no longer suffer those hallucinations.”

  “Yes, I suppose I should be.” She fiddled with the gloves on her hands. Altin eyed them with curiosity, and she caught his eyes. "I have been getting my hands dirty with these animals."

  "I'm not sure I need to know anything more than that." Altin was familiar with Dandrea's study into macabre enchantments and death. She was fascinated with the transition of the soul into the Veil, an unexplored area of arcana magic. While these studies were not forbidden, most found them to be immoral and invasive. One should respect the privacy of the dead.

  Dandrea rose from her chair, yawning. "I find myself finally getting tired.”

  “Do you mind if I stay the night?”

  She raised a curious eyebrow and feigned modesty. “My neighbors surely will suspect me of something improper. But seriously, you’re asking quite a bit from someone you’ve ignored for some time.”

  “I know, I don’t mean to impose. But I just don’t want to run into more sad grieving people.” The words sounded selfish, but he was tired of being around other mourners and grieving friends of Margaret. If he went to an inn or tavern, someone might recognize him. “I just want to be away from all of it for a few hours.”

  Her face softened with understanding. "I understand. People can be quite dreary. But you have to promise to have breakfast with me a few times while you’re here.”

  “I promise,” he said.

  She pointed to her living room. “I have a more comfortable chair if you wish to sleep in it. I sleep in it all the time."

  She left him a blanket, and a graying hound wandered into the room and plopped down in front of him. Sleep did not come easy. The “comfortable chair” turned out to be only slightly more so than the floor. After an hour of painful fidgeting, he drifted into sleep while remembering some of his misadventures with Dandrea.

  Altin was sixteen years old again and was running through the forest outside of the walls of Anidrack. He had come outside to meet Dandrea in their secret place. Looking over his shoulder, he made sure that no one had followed him. He was not supposed to tell anyone about where he was going. He waved away the vines and large leaves as he walked, trying not to trip as he hurried through the forest. She had been so excited about her new project. She would not tell him what it was but told him that the results had been "promising." He came upon a large man sized hollow under an enormous tree. Under its branches sat a small still pond and Dandrea at its banks.

  She doesn't know I am here. He smiled and crouched behind some bushes. He tried to remain hidden as he tiptoed his way behind her. He struggled not to laugh. What will I say when I jump out and surprise her?

  When he was closer, he heard her singing. The Melancholy Maid, he realized. She’d been humming that dreadful song for weeks. Why did she like it so much?

  You left my heart so broken,

  You gave me tears to weep.

  And bitter words unspoken,

  My it does sadness reap.

  This sorrow keeps me warm though,

  Now that you’ve gone from me.

  So, I shall let this pain grow,

  Till anguish, I will be.

  She stopped humming suddenly to screech. “No, you idiot! That’s not how the spell is supposed to work. Your clumsy, stupid fingers and terrible timing.”

  Is she talking to herself again? Altin wondered.

  She turned, surprised to see him. Her cheeks wet with blood and dirt, her eyes wide and wild. "You should have announced yourself,” she said as she stood up. “You are too early, and I am not ready. You should not have snuck up on me like that."

  "I am sorry. Is everything alright-" Looking over her shoulder he saw a collection of corpses. The bodies of dogs, squirrels, birds, and many rats lay behind her. Their internal organs splayed out to the sides of their bodies. The skeletal remains of others lay beyond. At her feet was a dog, its hind legs twitching and scraping the dirt beneath it.

  "Don't look, please!" Dandrea held up her hands to try and block his view. "The spells almost worked. It would have worked on them if they were not so weak. I almost had the reanimation spell."

  "What have you done?" He meant to whisper but shouted.

  "Please, you cannot tell anyone," Dandrea begged. “I know this looks bad now but the voices, the ghosts, they tell me about secret spells.”

  “Blazing shit,” he said. He recognized her symptoms: strange voices, violent tendencies, and tinkering with souls. “You’ve gone mad, Dandrea. You’re a necromancer.” He stepped back in horror, but she followed him.

  “It’s not what you think. Necromancy isn’t bad. There’s nothing wrong with raising the dead. You cannot tell anyone. Promise me you won’t.”

  He shoved her away, and she fell backwards onto the ground. Tears ran down her cheeks and streaked through the blood. “This is bad, Dandrea. It’s really bad. You’re not supposed to kill things. And you’re not supposed to mess with souls.”

  She remained a huddled mess on the ground, sobbing. “I want to stop, but the voices won’t leave me alone. I must do this. I promise I’ll stop. Just don’t tell anyone.”

  Altin held his gaze with her and searched her wild eyes. Had she gone mad? It didn’t matter; she was his best friend, and he had to help her. He sat down beside her. “I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”

  Chapter 27

  Consus stood in the middle of a bridge that joined two realms: one bathed in fire and another covered by tall, thick oak trees. He felt the chain around his arm and knew the dragon was pulling him closer. Consus dug his heels into the stone walkway of the bridge, but it did him no good. The dragon continued to pull him closer, and the more Consus resisted, the harder it tugged.

  I must stay calm. He cl
osed his eyes and pulled his thoughts from the dragon. Seeking peace, he recalled his sanctuary in the library. The steady pull of the chain became a weak intermittent tug and then finally he was not being pulled at all. Consus opened his eyes and saw the dragon struggling with the chain. He turned his gaze to the realm of light where the stars floated through the sky.

  “Come to me,” he called to them. One of the stars descended again, the same gryphon wrapped in light. It hovered above him, its eagle wings casting gusts of wind. The dragon growled and tugged at the chain. Consus remained calm and motionless; his eyes fixed on the gryphon.

  Stretching out his free hand, Consus took hold of the gryphon’s large talon. The chain wrapped about his forearm shattered like glass. The dragon screeched and erupted into a column of fire. The gryphon touched the ground and bowed before Consus. Without hesitation, he climbed onto its back and seated himself firmly behind the gryphon’s neck. The gryphon leapt off the bridge and into the sky. Its wings stirred up bursts of wind which extinguished the column of flame.

  They soared over the forest and over an ocean until they came to a familiar coast. I recognize this place. It was the coast of the Southern Empire, the southernmost part of the continent of Amarant. The cities appeared as specks below and the mountains as anthills. The Gelhbin Desert looked like a field of gold beside the green plains of the far east. The forests of the Northern Kingdom were a tide of green crashing into the Eastern Mountain Range.

  The gryphon beat its wings harder and sailed further upward. Consus looked up as they climbed up toward the stars. The stars, they are all gryphons, he realized. The radiant white glow around the gryphons grew brighter as they drew closer. His vision became filled with light.

  -----------------------------

  Consus awoke on the cave floor and shuddered at the chill in the air. He propped himself up with his elbows and rubbed his arms. The glowing moss along the walls provided no warmth. On the other side of the small cave, Leiwyn continued to sleep beside Karinne. Kyran, Ewan, and Milo sat beside him.