by K. C. Herbel
“wild.”
“And you want me to catch it.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“It’s your destiny–”
“to be king.”
“How am I supposed to catch it? I can’t even see it!”
“Ah, but you will–”
“you must–”
“if you are to succeed.”
Billy shook his head, wanting to deny what amounted to an impossible task. I can’t. I don’t know anything about magic. He looked up at the Witan and sighed. “Even if I do learn to see the magic, how will I catch it?”
“If you see it–”
“you will know how–”
“and your will is the means to tame it.”
“Very well.” He still believed that the task they set for him was impossible. “What then?”
“Then you must bind it.”
“Bind it? Won’t that lock it away again?”
“Not to you.”
“How will I bind it?”
“That is for you to decide–”
“no one else.”
“It must be personal.”
“You must choose something to be the binder.”
“Almost anything will do–”
“but not just anything.”
“Something special to you.”
“Your mother chose you.”
“Most amazing.”
“Never been done before–”
“a living person.”
“A very wise choice for one so young.”
“Very wise.” Gwylain nodded.
“Very insightful.”
The Witan nodded approvingly to one another.
Billy nervously spun the ring on this finger. “Then, what should I use?”
“Only you can say.”
“Something special–”
“something dear.”
Billy sat on the solid wooden floor of the Witan’s home. He placed his face into his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. “But I don’t know where to start. I know absolutely nothing of magic, little of Tirn Aill, and I doubt that there’s much time!”
“True–”
“too true.”
“‘Tis pity.”
“What is?”
“That we cannot teach what is needed.”
“That the time is short.”
“That you must go.”
“Go?” Billy lifted his head. “Where am I going ... and when?”
The first two Witan frowned at the last, who shrugged.
Then Gwylid looked at Billy. “We have foreseen it–”
“but only you can know–”
“where and when.”
“Perhaps you will think of something–”
“or dream of somewhere–”
“then you will know.”
“And when I leave on this mysterious journey to somewhere, will I also know what I need to bind the magic?”
“Perhaps, no.”
“Perhaps, yes.”
“Perhaps, you will know, but not know you know.”
“Listen to your head.”
“Listen to your heart.”
“I always listen to my gut.”
Billy looked to the three ancient and gnarled faces of the Witan. Their wise, understanding, and kind eyes stared back. He felt like he might burst. There was so much at stake, and he felt so inadequate for the job.
Billy took a deep breath. “Will I be able to save Tirn Aill? Will I figure out how to bind the magic in time?”
“You are our best hope.”
“You alone may have the power.”
Billy tilted his head. “Best hope? Is there someone else who could do it?”
The Witan glanced at each other, then down at the floor.
“What are you three hiding? Who else could do it?”
“We didn’t want to mention it–”
“didn’t want to distract you.”
“You thought I might just give up—let someone else rule Tirn Aill.”
“Well ...”
“What would be the harm in that?” Billy asked.
“She would be worse than–”
“no ruler at all!”
“If she figures out–”
“what has happened–”
“and she probably has ...”
“She will try–”
“to grab the power–”
“for herself.”
“Malkry.” Billy scowled.
“Yes–”
“but you can beat her to it–”
“and perhaps we can help.”
“How?”
Gwylid placed a gentle hand on Billy’s shoulder and gestured to the numerous cubbyholes and nooks in the walls. Each was stuffed with books, scrolls, and strange—sometimes beautiful—objects.
“If you cannot find it in your heart, then perhaps our little collection will help.”
Billy stood and scanned the walls. “Where should I begin?”
“You have too little time to begin at the beginning–”
“so start in the middle.”
“Where’s that?” Billy couldn’t discern any difference in the wall or the materials stuffed into it.
Gwylid took Billy by the hand and made a broad sweeping gesture to the room. “Anywhere you wish.”
Still confused, but not knowing what else to do, Billy took a scroll from the wall. When he unrolled it, he saw that the writing was something he had never seen before. He glanced up at the Witan, who had retreated to a discreet distance across the room. They were huddled together, mumbling.
Billy cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but I can’t read this one. Are they all like this?”
Gwylith looked back over his shoulder. “Yes–”
“but you can read it–” Gwylain said from around Gwylid’s side.
“if you use the ring,” Gwylid whispered with a wink.
Billy examined the ring. “How can the ring help me to read a language I don’t know?”
“The ring knows that language.”
“Quite so.”
“Maybe better than us.”
The Witan, satisfied that they had answered Billy’s questions, turned and continued to mumble amongst themselves.
Billy looked at the scroll again and concentrated. Still, he could not read it, so he spread the document on the floor and placed his hand to his head with the ring touching it. Again, he was unsuccessful, but he did not wish to disturb the Witan for something that they thought was simple. Billy tried and tried to read the scroll, looking at it from different sides and angles, concentrating with all his heart to read the message written on the parchment.
Finally, frustrated and tired from his efforts, Billy decided to rest. He rolled over on the wooden floor and looked at the ring, wondering what he was doing wrong. Maybe it just doesn’t work for me. Billy slipped off the ring and examined it in the light. The smooth, curving surface and the beautiful liquid-like stone reflected the dim light; with the sparkle and clarity of water.
The ring slipped from Billy’s fingertips and landed on the open scroll. He reached for it but stopped short when he saw a tiny image in the center of the ring that was familiar to him.
“How did I miss that?” He leaned over the scroll to have a better look.
When he snatched up the ring, the symbol changed. Billy eyed it, but now he didn’t have a clue what it meant. He scratched his head, and then moved the ring back over the symbol. This time, he watched very carefully as the center of the ring circled the character. As before, Billy recognized its meaning.
A thought formed in Billy’s head. The symbol’s image hadn’t really changed shapes but, by placing the ring over it, the meaning became known. He put the ring to his right eye. With his left eye closed, he stared through the ring at the parchment. Magically, the images on the page became thoughts, words, and complex concepts.
Billy read the scroll, then another and another. He read voraciously, like a starv
ing man set before a feast. His thirst for knowledge seemed unquenchable. As he read, he found bits of Tirn Aill’s history, herbal remedies, innumerable references to magic, and actual spells. He scanned the documents, searching for any mention of spellbinders or their use, and came up with only a handful of vague references.
Day became night and then day again, and Billy continued to read, refusing both rest and food. Soon, he had finished all the scrolls and began poring over the books in the Witan’s library. He turned the pages ravenously, seeking the kernels of knowledge he needed, driven by the thought that hidden somewhere in the parchments was the salvation of Tirn Aill.
Billy closed the cover on one manuscript, then realized that he had read the last quarter and learned several spells without looking through the ring. In fact, the ring lay on the table where he had set it down. Curious, he picked another volume and found that he now understood the mystical symbols. Freed from this restraint, Billy tore through the library with renewed vigor.
Occasionally, he would stop, and the Witan would clarify or demonstrate the things he had just read. They explained that verbal instruction was the preferred method, but that exposure to the material in written form would have to suffice, given the short time allotted him.
On one such occasion, Billy enquired, “What is meant by ‘those who are free of their tongues’?”
“Ah, very interesting question.”
“Very important question.”
“Well … ?”
“First, let us explain–”
“that most mortals are servants to their tongues.”
“They cannot cause a thing to happen–”
“without wagging their tongues.”
“The words are not the source of their power–”
“but only a gateway for the mind–”
“to release the power.”
“This is true–”
“for wizards–”
“and ordinary people.”
“So, when mortals use magic, they need words to make it happen.”
“Precisely.”
“But not everyone needs words?”
“Ah, you’re getting ahead of us.”
“Second, comes those who are slaves to the tongue.”
“Slaves? Who are they?”
“Creatures not of this world–”
“nor of the world of men–”
“not normally.”
“What do you mean?”
“Spirits, demons–”
“and other creatures summoned to this world–”
“by magic–”
“though often seeming powerful–”
“can be subjugated by words.”
“Names in particular.”
“Mostly their own.”
“Well, of course.”
“That is what I meant.”
“We’re sure you have read–”
“or will be reading about them–”
“soon.”
“So you better get to it!”
“Start reading–”
“unless you’re hungry?”
“No, no. I’m not hungry. But what of those free of their tongues?”
“Ah yes.”
“That is in reference to true wizards–”
“those who cause change by will alone.”
“Very few will ever attain this–”
“especially amongst mortals.”
“It takes years–”
“too many for most.”
“Better get to it!”
Without another word, the Witan turned and went about their business—a business that was still a mystery to Billy. And so, with the discussion closed, the royal apprentice went back to his studies.
Billy finished a short book of magical history and was about to grab another smallish book when he spotted a dark alcove in the back of the Witan’s home. A large, black book sat in the shadowy depths. It seemed odd to him that he had not seen it before, and so he approached. When he neared the book, Billy saw that the cover was of fine, smooth leather with iron bindings.
He reached to pick up the tome, but stopped short of touching it. The hole felt cold. Something chilled his spine. There was an emotion, like that when receiving some long awaited prize. But the emotion was not his own.
Billy leaned forward and examined the book. It was huge in comparison to those he had been reading.
Surely a book this big must hold the answers to many questions. Billy reached for it again.
A flash and a smacking sound accompanied something striking Billy’s hand. He pulled back and looked up to see Gwylith standing over him, a willow switch in hand.
“Not that one.” He sounded more authoritative than Billy had heard him yet.
“Please, never that one,” Gwylain said.
“Anything but that one,” Gwylid said with a grim face.
The sting in Billy’s fingers was the only explanation he needed. He blew on them and stared at the frowning Witan. They seemed in unison on this one topic more than on anything thus far and, oddly enough, they hadn’t said a word to one another. They were bewildering, but if they were so set against his reading this book, then Billy couldn’t see arguing the point. After all, there were still plenty of other books to search.
Without a word, Billy turned and took a book from a cubbyhole between two giant, twisted knots. As he cracked it open, he glanced over it to the Witan, who had returned to their nearly constant mumbling.
Billy searched and searched and searched. In his entire life, he had never read so much, nor had he ever had so much material at his disposal. Bits and pieces from different sources joined together as he waded through the extensive collection. However, throughout this search, his eyes frequently sought the black, yawning cavity where the mysterious forbidden book rested.
At first, Billy snuck peeks at the hollow, between turning pages. Then in the middle of each page, and then after each paragraph or spell. Finally, he could think of nothing else. He read the same sentence over and over again, like some nodding, sleepy reader in bed.
It became late, and the Witan offered Billy a place to lie down and rest. Again, he graciously declined their hospitality, claiming that he wasn’t tired and wanted to continue reading, but in the back of his mind was the great black book. Gwylain, Gwylith, and Gwylid wished him a good night and retired, disappearing to wherever it was they disappeared to at night.
When Billy felt certain the ancient faeries were out for the night, he crept over to the alcove that housed the big black book. He knelt before it and scanned its smooth, seductive back and dark iron bands. Like before, he felt an emotion that wasn’t his own—a presence. It was cold yet friendly, eager yet patient, and foreboding yet desirable.
The Witan’s words of warning stung at the back of his mind. Surely, they wouldn’t want to deprive me of anything useful this book contains. And I’ll bet it contains something on binding magic. They’re too careful. They don’t know what I’m capable of. They think I should learn the old way, the slow way. But I don’t have time for all that. What if it has what I’m looking for? Why are they holding me back?
Billy’s curiosity exploded beyond his control and he grabbed the giant volume. It felt like a warm handshake, and as he pulled the heavy book from its lair and into the light, he felt gratitude and joy. The book felt eager to help him—to answer his questions—to make his life easier.
He set the book on a table and examined the cover. On its back and face, three fine seams creased the smooth black leather in a scooping pattern, resembling rows of ocean waves. Attached at each point was a tiny, hooked claw that stabbed back into the leather.
Billy pulled back the face and thought he heard an audible “Aaahhh!” He glanced around, but the three Witan did not stir. He returned his attention to the book and found the first page was blank, except for a strange text scribbled in a strong but fevered hand, diagonally across the page. Billy tilted his head level with the writing and re
ad.
“Beware! He who opens this tome opens a tomb, for in it resides the knowledge for …” The text became an illegible scratch and ran off the page.
He scrutinized the line, trying to decipher anything more. “Beware?” he whispered. “The knowledge. Beware the knowledge? The knowledge for doing what?”
Billy closed the large book and pushed it away. He was very tired, but the excitement brewing up in him would not let him rest. The book beckoned him. He stared at the tome’s dark cover and pondered the warning on its first page.
Who wrote it? Could it be a ploy to keep simple folks from reading it? Or is it honest? In either case, what can be further inside the book to provoke the warning?—The secret of binding magic?
Again, the book beckoned. Billy’s infallible curiosity was piqued. He thought about the warning one last time, then reached for the book and flung it open.
***
Billy woke with a start, haunted by the same horrible nightmare that had roused him when last he slept. He had seen his mother and others who were no longer among the living, and again, he had been unable to save Lady Myrredith from her devouring grave.
“Lady Myrredith!” He glanced around and saw that he was still at the table in the Witan’s home. The Witan themselves were busy with something in the corner and didn’t seem to notice him.
Billy’s thoughts could not depart from Myrredith. “She’s in trouble.”
“What’s that?–”
“Who’s in trouble?”
“Lady Myrredith.”
“Your friend?”
“Yes. I’ve got to save her.”
“How is she in danger?”
“I saw her ... in a grave.”
“Then she is dead.”
“No!” Billy raised his voice. “She’s not dead. Not yet.”
“Oh?” The Witan turned around.
“I—she can’t be—I know she isn’t. I can feel it.”
“What else did you dream?”
“What else?”
“Yes, quickly–”
“before you begin to forget.”
“Who else did you see?”
Billy rolled the dream around in his head. “I saw my mother ... and father ... and many others who have passed.”
“He’s been walking with the dead,” Gwylith whispered.
“Surprising, for one so young and inexperienced.”
“What else did you see?”
“I saw Castle Orgulous.” He realized that the memory of the dream was fading fast. It was almost gone. “I—I—Oh, I’m forgetting!”