Heirs of Prophecy

by M. A. Rothman

  Suddenly, Ryan sensed an awakening of the presence beneath the altar outside. “Do you guys feel that?”

  “I don’t feel anything,” Dad said. “But you know what’s strange? I can hear your voices, but nothing else. It’s like there’s an absence of sound in this house.”

  Throll frowned. “Now that you mention it, there was no sound back in the clearing, either. I cannot remember having ever encountered a place without sound. No bugs or birds, no animals. It’s almost as if the evil here consumes whatever comes within its reach.”

  “I’m talking about the altar,” Ryan said. “Can you guys still sense the presence there?”

  Throll and Dad shook their heads.

  “I wonder why I can,” Ryan said. “It’s like a coppery taste on my tongue, almost like blood. The longer we’re here, the more sure I am that there’s an intelligent presence is under the altar. I’m not sure, but it does feel evil.”

  “Then let’s work quickly,” Throll said.

  Ryan’s ring vibrated with a message.

  Aaron. Met elven elders at Eluanethra. We are now elf-friends. Mom and Gwen say all is well.

  Ryan’s father beat a reply.

  Jared. Did you learn about elf queen?

  Aaron. Yes. Missing for long time. Elves embarrassed by queen. Affected by Protector’s orb. Turned evil. Last known home is Ellisanethra.

  “That settles it,” Ryan said, raising his eyebrows. “We’ve found the elf queen’s home. We need to figure out what the story is what whatever is beneath the altar. It seems really dangerous to just leave it. There has to be a clue in here somewhere.”

  For the next two hours, they searched the books in the library. Frustrated, Ryan decided to go back to the desk near the front door. It was a plain desk covered with a layer of dust. Even so, it seemed out of place somehow. It was too plain to match the opulence of the other furniture in the room. Looking closer, Ryan noticed that the desk seemed to have been constructed in an odd fashion. It took up a great deal of room beside the door and was much deeper than seemed necessary. When he looked beneath the desk, he found a latch. The moment he pulled the latch, the top of the desk rotated horizontally, revealing a new face, this one much more opulent.

  “Dad, I think I found something here!” he exclaimed. He pawed over the new surface of the desk, finding a sheaf of papers and a couple of old journals marked with improbably neat handwriting. He scanned the text of one of the journals, and realized this was the diary of a woman who had firsthand knowledge of the First Protector and the Seed of Trimoria.

  As his father approached, Ryan began reading aloud.

  Zenethar has been acting very strangely. His moods have become quite erratic. I’m concerned about my pupil.

  When I asked Zenethar about the Seed, he became so angry that it seemed he might attack me. His possessiveness of the Seed is unnatural, and I fear it’s unhealthy. I truly hope he gets better, but I know not how to help him.

  Zenethar seems to be back to his normal self. A bit moody, but usually quite lighthearted. I asked him what had changed, and he said that the wizard’s conclave had been right. The Seed should never have seen the light of day. He claimed to have locked the orb away so it cannot be used again. That is probably for the best.

  Ever since Zenethar locked the Seed away, I’ve been having nightmares about it. I feel that it was a mistake to do such a thing, but I cannot fathom why.

  It has been five years since Zenethar locked the Seed away. I’ve been having visions about its location. I think it’s calling me. I need to get to it. I cannot sleep anymore. I know that everyone in Eluanethra thinks I’m crazy.

  I’ve found it! It’s been three years since I left Eluanethra. My servants have all departed, but not before I managed to build my home near where I’ve detected the Seed. I cannot reach it, but it speaks to me. It has a name. ‘Sammael,’ it is called.

  I cannot abide the sniveling presence of that wizened old man. Can you believe the elder council sent a group of elves to bring me back forcibly to Eluanethra? Sammael has given me powers that I never thought possible. I can even conjure an image of the Seed within my hand now. It’s comforting to me. The fools who arrived thought to take the Seed from me. Sammael and I destroyed them without much effort.

  Sammael and I have ordered the guttersnipe Azazel to destroy all wizards in what is left of Trimoria. Sammael has granted him longer life so that he can perform his work properly. Can you believe that peasant thought to woo me? What could I want with him when I have Sammael? If he didn’t serve Sammael, I would have destroyed him for even thinking such thoughts.

  Sammael has promised me even greater abilities if I can bring him across. First, I need to figure out how to undo what that miscreant Zenethar has done. I now have his journal. I cannot believe that I cared for such a sniveling mealworm. His notes suggest that an inverted container holds the Seed. It required his efforts combined with those of his good-for-nothing son to lock the Seed away. I need to consult with Sammael about how to undo such a thing. I’m just glad to hear that Azazel wasn’t a complete failure. Zenethar is unfortunately missing, likely in hiding, but his son was killed. That put a smile on my face.

  Sammael has helped me see the container that holds the Seed. I’m uncertain if this will work, but I think I know how I might crack the box at one of its seams.

  Dad looked dumbstruck. “Wow! So that’s how it ended? She must have gotten stuck in the box with Sammael or the Seed or the orb or whatever you want to call it. She got what she wanted. That truly tells us a lot about what we’re facing. There’s intelligence behind this thing at the altar.”

  “I could sense it immediately,” Ryan said.

  “She mentioned that she found the First Protector’s journal,” Dad said. “Is it in that pile?”

  Ryan rifled through the books, looking for a different set of handwriting. In time, he found a slightly torn journal with burn marks on its edges. The handwriting here was much less precise and was harder for Ryan to read. But he found some passages associated with the Seed, and again, he read aloud.

  I know that what I have done is only a temporary solution. The demons will find a way past the barriers I’ve erected. I tried to be thorough and included the entire valley and surrounding mountains, but I worry that it won’t be enough.

  Ever since I sealed our portion of Trimoria from the demons, I’ve noticed the Seed has been acting strangely. It occasionally has given me annoying shocks.

  The Seed is really starting to infiltrate my dreams. I can’t stand to be away from it. It seems somewhat unnatural that I find myself thinking about it when I’m not holding it. I should probably bury it somewhere out of sight.

  I nearly bit Ellisandrea’s head off when she asked about the Seed. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I think she wants to steal the Seed from me. I won’t let that happen.

  Ellisandrea thinks she’s the only one with the gift of prophecy, but I’ve seen images of the future as well, and they foretell the Seed falling into the hands of a creature of ultimate evil. I don’t understand what it means.

  I have tried to destroy it, but I can’t seem to achieve my end. I need to determine a way to seal this evil thing from this world.

  It turns out my youngest son is an Archmage. With his help, I was able to successfully wrap a pebble in an inverted magical container. The pebble simply blinked out of existence. I think I’ve figured out what to do with this damned Seed.

  I nearly died in the process, but the Seed is now in a magical container that should be invisible to anyone trying to get to it. The Seed has intelligence. It realized what I was doing. I was attacked as we wrapped it in its container, but the Seed is now trapped. It’s all that I can do.

  Ryan continued looking through the passages. “Most of the rest of this seems to be unrelated, except the last one,” he said.

  My youngest boy and his son are both dead. Newly born are dying in record numbers, and most of them happen to be those
that were identified as wizards. I’ll need to track down who is behind this, but I must be cautious.

  Ryan closed the journal. “That’s it.”

  “Let’s take these journals and head home,” Throll said. “We have much to do, and it seems as if we might actually see the three nations united in common cause soon enough.”

  Dad nodded. “We should start by recruiting wizards. We need everyone in Trimoria tested again at the fountains in each town. Once we’ve identified them, we can begin training them in the art.”

  “I’ll talk with the Protectors personally, if that is what it takes,” Throll said. “I think we might find a few undetected wizards in some of the refugees who refuse to live in the towns. These people were likely never tested. It’s possible that we will find among them fully grown, untrained wizard candidates.”

  The rings suddenly vibrated with a message, interrupting the planning.

  Aaron. Dad, I have a very important question, and I can’t wait to ask you. It’s about Sloane and me…

  Epilogue

  Aubrey carried a one-year-old girl on her hip as she watched the construction of a school—one in which she would soon be teaching.

  Jared put his hand on her shoulder. “What do you and Rebecca think of the new school?”

  Aubrey handed her daughter over to her husband. “It’s a lot bigger than I’d pictured. Call me naïve, but when you talked to me about being a teacher at a school for magic, I was thinking of a one-room schoolhouse. I mean, it really wasn’t that long ago that I could count on one hand all the people we knew of with magical skills.”

  Jared laughed. “Things have definitely changed. How’s our Archmage doing with his class?”

  Aubrey swelled with pride. “Ryan is growing up so quickly. He’s actually a very good teacher.”

  In the open yard before the school, her eldest son was standing before a group of twenty young people sitting cross-legged in the grass. Arabelle was among them, looking stunningly beautiful despite the cross-eyed look she was giving to a piece of ore she held in her hand. Ryan was trying to teach his students how to infuse energy into an inanimate object, but it was clear that this particular lesson wasn’t taking with Arabelle.

  Sitting behind her was Ohaobbok. Even sitting cross-legged, he towered above the rest. He, too, had a problem with the ore in his hand—he’d accidentally crushed it to dust.

  Aubrey laughed under her breath at the sheepish look on the ogre’s face.

  Ryan walked over to Ohaobbok with a chunk of metal. “Try this instead,” he said. “And don’t squeeze.”

  He turned to the rest of his students, sounding remarkably professional as he continued the lesson.

  “Okay, let’s change things a bit. I would like you to place the ore on the ground before you. This is so you don’t burn yourself from holding a red-hot rock. Now imagine you’re pushing waves of energy at the ore. Some of you will be able to do a little. Some not at all.”

  Aubrey gasped as sparks erupted from the rock resting at the feet of a young child. Clearly frightened, the boy fell back and started to cry. Ryan ran to him and stooped over what was now a pile of molten slag. He whooped as he picked up the toddler.

  “Zenethar, my boy,” he said. “I think you overwhelmed that poor chunk of ore. We now know you aren’t a healer.” He set the boy back on his feet. “Come on and smile for me. You’re going to be a war wizard, just like my father.”

  The chubby little boy smiled and hugged Ryan’s leg.

  Unfortunately, it soon became clear that some of Ryan’s students would never be able to send killing energy at their samples of ore. Arabelle was among them. She looked devastated and on the verge of tears.

  Aubrey stepped forward and kneeled beside her.

  “Don’t fret, my dear,” she said. “It could be that you’re a healer, like me. We healers are very rare.”

  “Mom,” Ryan leaned over and pointed at a few students who hadn’t managed to get anywhere in the last round of tests and said, “Can you help test for healers?”

  “Of course,” Aubrey smiled. She stood and raised her voice a bit. “Everyone who wasn’t able to heat the ore, come here, we’ll test to see if we’ve got some healers in our midst.”

  Aubrey walked over to a table and passed each student a cup of water and a clay pot containing a very sick-looking plant.

  “This lesson will be similar to the one with the ore. Do the same thing with the water—just attempt to push energy into it. If you’re a strong healer, you might even feel vibrations returned to you. This means that the item cannot hold any more of your healing energy.”

  Everyone stared at their water. Before long, two of their lot gasped. One was Arabelle, and the other was a young boy.

  “I felt the vibrations bounce back at me!” Arabelle cried happily.

  Aubrey clapped. “That’s great! Okay, now pour the water on your plant. If it carries any healing energy, we should see the plant react.”

  Arabelle poured the water on the shriveled brown plant. Almost immediately, the plant turned a bright green, and a flower bloomed.

  “We just found another healer!” Aubrey announced.

  Sloane watched Aaron spar with two fighters from the local garrison and two elves from Eluanethra. She’d prepared a large snack for him, since these workouts always wore him out. She felt that it was her responsibility to make sure he was well cared for.

  It had taken a great deal of begging from her and arguing from Aaron before their fathers had finally consented to their betrothal, but by now, she knew fully that it had been well worth the effort.

  Aaron had grown significantly over the past two years, and his strength and speed had doubled. He was currently fighting bare-chested with weighted wooden swords, and he was a whirlwind of activity as he ducked a slice from one of the garrison guards and kicked the man’s leg out from under him, then spun around to meet another fighter’s overhead chop and tossed him from the ring. As the two remaining fighters circled Aaron, Sloane’s father called the scrimmage to a halt.

  “Aaron,” Throll said, “you did well with your riposte, but your slice motion needs more work. Also, I really like how you knocked your opponent off his feet as you ducked from his attack.” He then turned to the elf standing next to him. “Did you teach him that?”

  The stern sword master broke into a smile. “Effective, wasn’t it? Quick like a cat, but sneaky as a weasel, he is. You’re doing well with that one, Aaron. But you must stop depending on your strength to compensate for your laziness in counterattack. Your push, albeit effective, wouldn’t have worked against someone much larger than an elf. Some demons are as large as Ohaobbok, and I know you wouldn’t be dumb enough to try a stunt like that with him.”

  “But it worked, right?” Aaron complained.

  “That’s not the point!” Throll and the elf hollered at once.

  Sloane giggled as her father patted the sword master on the shoulder. “We have a very stubborn student,” the ranger said.

  Dominic wandered aimlessly in the mist. He was utterly lost, surrounded on all sides by an impenetrable wall of gray. He knew he was searching for something, but what that something was, he couldn’t say.

  When he stumbled along a path that was somewhat clearer, he felt as if he had no choice but to follow it. After a long while, it led him to a clearing with an old wooden home at its center.

  A dulcet voice sounded inside his mind. “The altar lies behind.”

  Dominic looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. “Who are you? What am I doing here?”

  He sensed someone behind him, and spun around. A gorgeous woman was watching him. Her delicate features seemed fragile, even frail. Yet when she walked, she moved with the sensuous grace of a dancer. Luxurious blonde hair flowed over her shoulders, settling near her waist. Dominic felt absolutely unworthy to be in the presence of such beauty.

  The woman pointed toward the building. “There, you’ll find the stone altar. All your
questions will be answered.”

  Dominic reluctantly turned away from the beautiful woman. All he could think about was his desire to please her.

  At the altar, his thoughts of the woman were shattered by a booming voice.

  “Kneel!” the voice commanded. Its power sent shivers down Dominic’s spine.

  He kneeled, and a wave of unwholesome wrongness frightened him to his core. He gathered himself to run for his life, but before he could even turn, a black mist erupted from the altar and engulfed him. The putrid cloud slithered up his nose, burnt his eyes, filled his mouth as he opened it to scream. Moments later, the burning embers that were now Dominic’s eyes flew open. A smile stretched across his face as he spoke clearly for the first time in his life.

  “Yes, Master. I understand.”

  Author’s Note

  Well, that’s the end of Heirs of Prophecy, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

  I should note that when I wrote this story, years ago, I never intended for it to really be published. You see, I’m a stuffy science researcher type and I don’t go around talking about dwarves, elves, dragons, magic, and such. I just don’t. The origins of this story really began because as a relatively younger father of two boys, I would come up with bedtime stories for them.