by Gregory Heal
But Richard needed rest. A fresh and alert mind would be better suited for thinking of escape plans than a tired one. He tried his best to focus on a way to fall asleep, and quickly. Finally deciding on the old trick of counting sheep, he imagined one, two, three sheep jumping over a wooden fence underneath a full moon. Reaching sheep number thirty proved he wasn’t getting tired, but he pushed on, sending more sheep over that fence one after another.
Sheep number seventy-five was when Richard felt drowsy . . . when, all of a sudden, a cat jumped over the fence in place of sheep number seventy-six. There was something different about that cat, though . . . it exuded a calming effect on Richard’s mind.
Being a psychologist, he knew that people tended to exhibit unrelated and sometimes even random sequences right before they fell asleep, so he professionally concluded he was experiencing a similar phenomenon. The last sheep he counted before falling into another dreamless sleep was not a cat, and it was number ninety-nine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Am I surrounded only by imbeciles?!” Draconex spewed rhetorically. He channeled the strength of a silverback gorilla as he splintered a table in two with his clenched fists that were glowing with his dragon rings.
Madame Diaema quickly morphed into a bat and flew away, making sure she was out of the dangerous vicinity of her lord’s anger.
After he commanded one of his personal golems to take the injured Malcolm back to his chambers, Draconex’s short fuse had been lit once again when Diaema brought him news from Watercress. Apparently Archibald Blake, the sleeper agent he had entrusted to capture the Lancaster girl, was discovered and had tried to kill his target in a desperate panic to escape. His former handler had sent the message, along with his cloak and totem spear.
With his scar turning a deep mauve color, he picked up Blake’s collapsible spear, inspecting its metal head. Retracting it to its full length, he thrust it into a large mirror on the opposite side of his den.
CRASH!
The mirror broke into a thousand little shards that danced on the floor like frozen raindrops. Draconex then spun around and paced in front of his throne before sitting down and clenching the ends of his armrests so intensely that his bony knuckles turned snow-white.
Paralyzed with fear, Diaema remained quiet and gripped her branch until she thought it safe to offer him comfort.
Ever since Jennifer Lancaster was discovered, everything seemed to be going wrong for Draconex; every one of his well-formulated plans had fallen well short of their marks. Every Watcher he had dispatched either came back empty-handed or not at all. In all of the contingency plans he had made, Draconex would have never imagined that it would be this difficult to capture a naïve, ignorant college girl. Granted, she was a Lancaster; but, based on the intel gained during Malcolm’s three-month mission, he knew that she had no prior knowledge of sorcery, nor of her true family heritage.
That left only one explanation: Victor Huxley.
Like a bad penny, Victor had turned up and ruined his master plan, and foolishly he had sent boys to do a man’s job.
That will never happen again, thought Draconex.
The soft beating of wings made his pointy ears prick up. Madame Diaema turned back into her ghoulishly radiant female form and sauntered closer to him, carrying a goblet. Draconex could smell the fresh blood that had been poured for him, but he was too angry to stop and enjoy a glass.
“For My Liege,” Diaema said seductively, bringing the goblet in front of him.
If there is one thing you must know about Lord Draconex, it is that he hates being interrupted and distracted.
Without warning, he smacked the cup out of his mistress’s hand, sending the goblet clattering to the floor amid a pool of dark blood. He shot her a look so loathsome that it turned her cold blood even colder.
He didn’t say anything, which made it worse. Diaema shied away, dreading what punishment he might inflict upon her; but instead of lashing out, Draconex looked back out in front of him and put his long-nailed fingertips to his temples. He tried desperately to calm down, but his temper only rose further as he thought about the embarrassing failures of Malcolm and Blake and how different it could have been if it were he who had went after Lancaster.
Just then, an idea popped into his mind, and without a word he pushed himself from his throne and headed for the dungeon level.
“Where are you going?” Diaema asked, disappointment in her voice.
“To pay Volcanor a visit.”
Draconex didn’t stop to wait for a reply.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jen was starting to catch a chill from the crisp night air, so Victor threw some wood into the cottage’s fireplace. Before long, the entire first level warmed up and Jen could hear the wood starting to crackle as it grew into a pleasant fire.
Warming her hands, Jen finally spoke after a few minutes of silent contemplation. “Have you ever tried reading the lost journal of Merlin, Vic?”
Victor leaned forward and started stoking the fire. “Yes, back when I was a tenderfoot. After I had my totem forged, Grand Mystra Cindergray brought the journal into the ballroom for all of the new tenderfeet to read. At the time I didn’t realize that it was Merlin’s journal, but even if I had known, it still wouldn’t have helped me. No one could decipher the scribbles and shapes on any page, and I felt like I failed my first test—right up until my mystra explained Merlin’s prophecy of the Light Bringer.”
“Yeah, Grand Mystra Cindergray also told me about the prophecy.” She paused, thinking. “So . . . every tenderfoot is shown the journal?”
“It’s a rite of passage, yes. Ever since Merlin’s journal was discovered, every tenderfoot class gets a crack at reading it, but no one has been able to.” Victor saw Jen’s concerned look. “What’s wrong, Jenny?”
Jen chewed on her lower lip and said, “It’s just that I was right in front of the lost journal . . . but he didn’t give me a chance to read it.”
Victor moved his chair closer to hers. His tone was reassuring but firm. “The Grand Mystra has always respected the Guild’s rules and traditions, and one of them is to present the lost journal of Merlin to the new tenderfeet—after their totems have been forged. I could tell that the Grand Mystra was fully aware he was breaching protocol by taking you down to the Sacrarium to deposit the Ring of Lancaster right after you passed the Chimera Course, but I think Blake’s attack made him realize he needed to protect you. I’m sure you’ll be given a chance once we return with your new totem.”
Victor’s rationale put her mind at ease. “Thanks, Vic.” Jen leaned back into her chair and let the fire warm her core. She wondered if she’d be the same as every other tenderfoot and not be able to read it.
Victor stared at her for a bit, then asked, “Do you know who found the journal after Merlin disappeared?”
Jen’s eyebrows shot up, suddenly intrigued. “No. Who found it?”
Victor smirked. “Philip Lancaster II, Genevieve’s son—and another one of your ancestors.”
Jen couldn’t conceal the surprise on her face. “You’ve got to be kidding me! That’s awesome!”
Victor’s smirk turned into a grimace. “You’d think . . . but once he found it, Philip devoted his life to hunting down the rest of the MystiCrystals so he could avenge his parents’ deaths and make sure that kind of power would never fall into the wrong hands again. It consumed his every waking thought—and his inability to read Merlin’s journal nearly drove him insane.” Victor took the fire poker and stoked the fire.
“What happened to Philip?”
“It’s said that his obsessive desire to find the remaining MystiCrystals turned him into a paranoid recluse who shut out his family and friends. He spent the rest of his days in seclusion until he embarked on what would be his last quest. Nobody knew where he went, and he was never seen again.”
Jen, sorrowful at Vic’s tale, was surprised at how tragic Philip’s life had turned out. She felt for his fa
mily, her family—only able to imagine how they would have felt. She just hoped that he died peacefully.
Victor stood up and gestured at the pile of wood by the fireplace. “More wood?”
Before Jen could answer, the front door of the cottage swung open to reveal a man almost as wide as the door. The fire flickered as a breeze entered with Hephalon, who side-stepped through the opening, shouldering a leather satchel.
“Salutations once again!” he shouted jovially after he closed the door.
Jen was so focused on her conversation with Victor that she had completely forgotten that Hephalon was forging her totem on the other side of the compound. To her surprise, an hour had already passed—that explained why the fire needed more wood.
“How did it go?” Victor asked.
“I’ve never been asked to forge a totem bracelet before, so I undertook this challenge with great zest!” The master blacksmith walked into the kitchen and slid a stein underneath the keg’s spout. “I hope one of my designs will tickle your fancy, milady.”
Jen got up from her chair and made her way to the kitchen table, eager to view his creations. Victor tossed three more pieces of wood into the fireplace and joined her.
Hephalon plopped into a chair next to Jen and started to sift through his satchel, but only after downing a full stein and refilling it. Finally finding what he desired, he produced the first of three bracelets, saying, “Aye, yes. This was the first design I cast.” He held the shiny bracelet between his index fingers and thumbs. As he moved it from side to side, the fire’s light played off its depressions and inlays, making it come alive. “I made the metal into two cords and twisted it around to give it a dimension of interlocking strength.” He handed Jen the bracelet, then went back into his satchel to look for another.
It was a solid cuff, bent into an oval with a half-inch opening that was able to open wider so Jen could slide it on. The hard metal didn’t conform to her wrist; it retained its oval shape, lifting itself an inch and a half off of her wrist when her arm rested on the table. It seemed too rigid, the sides of her wrist pinched by the cuff.
“This one here,” Hephalon continued, “is more fluid in nature. More delicate also, but just as impressive.” Lifting it up with two fingers, he showed them a bracelet formed by several interlocking oval links. It jingled and jangled as he laid it on Jen’s open palm.
She took off the first bracelet and put the chained one on, letting it hang off her wrist. It was lighter than the first, but it didn’t seem as durable. The chain also made constant noise whenever she moved her wrist.
“And last but not least,” announced Hephalon. He pulled out one that was thicker than the others and had an intricate design between two metal borders that looked like thin ropes. This one had the durability of the first bracelet and the flexibility of the second. Jen knew before she even tried it on that she would choose this one, but ever eager to see how it would look on her, she unclasped it and slid it onto her wrist.
Jen let it fall into a normal resting position after she clasped it in place, and she immediately felt a connection. Beaming, she looked up at Hephalon.
“This one is absolutely beautiful.”
“I had a feeling that one would enchant you,” Hephalon agreed.
“I can’t believe you made all three in just an hour,” Jen said, still in awe.
“It’s the least I could do for a Lancaster.”
Victor, still tending the fire, put down the poker and stepped closer to see which bracelet Jen had chosen. With appreciation and amazement in her eyes, Jen got up and showed him her pick.
Victor nodded his approval. “It is very beautiful, Jen.”
Jen ran back into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Hephalon, who was still sitting. “Thank you so much, Heph!”
“Oh, my!” The metallurgist’s cheeks flushed bright pink with surprise and humility. “You’re most welcome, milady.” Jen pulled away from Hephalon, who had to take a few seconds to compose himself before he remembered, “Oh! Let’s not forget your terramancy charm.” He reached back into his satchel.
Jen, still wearing the last bracelet, sat back down and earnestly waited for the unveiling.
Like a kid in a candy store, she thought.
Hephalon plucked out a small charm and placed it in her hand. It had the silver outline of a teardrop, but inside were the colors of the rainbow. He explained the colors as such: “Red and orange signify fire . . . yellow is for lightning . . . green for earth . . . blue, indigo, and violet for water . . . white for air . . . and silver to represent metal. All the elements of terramancy.”
“Wow,” Jen breathed. “Vic, you have to see this.”
Victor walked over and gave his friend a look of gratitude after he saw the colorful charm. “You did well, Heph.”
Hephalon self-deprecatingly waved his hand. “Ah, ’twas nothing.”
“May I put it on?” Jen asked, looking to both Hephalon and Victor for approval.
Victor nodded while the metallurgist—who was already reaching for his stein—said, “Please, go ahead.”
Jen clasped the charm onto her bracelet, feeling as if it were already a part of her. The teardrop design fit in well with that of the bracelet, giving her a sense of eagerness, but also a sense of responsibility to begin training as a tenderfoot.
“I look forward to awarding you the next charm when the time comes,” Hephalon said, breaking through Jen’s thoughts.
She winked. “You won’t be able to get rid of me.”
He bowed respectfully. “I wouldn’t want to.”
“Congratulations, Jen,” Victor said. “Now that you have your totem and your first charm, you’re one step closer to becoming a sorceress.”
Joy filled Jen as she realized, in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to become a sorceress, despite the dangers involved. She felt as though she was closing the current chapter in her life, which included plans of becoming a doctor, and starting a new chapter that had more questions than answers. But Jen was fine with that realization, because, in that instant of pure bliss, she also realized that she was able to do what she had always wanted: to change the world and help out those in need along the way.
She got up and gave Victor a big hug.
One step closer to finding my parents and the Halostone.
“This calls for a drink!” suggested Hephalon, quite loudly.
“No!” Jen and Victor declared in unison, staring him down.
The night was still young, but, even though Hephalon invited them to stay the night after supper, Jen wanted to get back to Watercress to finally see if she could read the lost journal now that she had her own totem.
And so, with her sights set on Watercress Castle, Jen expressed her gratitude once more to Mystra Hephalon, who she knew would remain a good friend of hers, and waited for Victor to do the same. She could tell it was hard for him to leave his friend so soon—but not as difficult as it was convincing Skarmor to leave Pernissa.
At first, Skarmor pretended not to hear Jen or Victor, finally shaking his head after they repeated themselves five times. If it wasn’t for Pernissa and her urging, Jen seriously thought that they’d have to walk back. To inflate Skarmor’s spirits, Victor promised that he’d see Pernissa again soon.
With her newest piece of jewelry and a full stomach from Hephalon’s famous wild boar roast, she hopped on Skarmor and, while holding on tight to Victor, took off into the midnight sky. Her gaze lingered on the diminishing form of Hephalon until he stopped waving and made his way back into his cottage.
As she turned back around, she marveled the weight of the totem bracelet on her wrist. She hadn’t worn a bracelet since her sophomore year of high school, so it felt slightly awkward yet still familiar. A smile crossed Jen’s lips as she remembered the first bracelet her mother bought her; it was for her thirteenth birthday and had three translucent pink hearts on the front, with the middle heart being the biggest. She had cherished that piece of jewelry,
never taking it off for a year—not even when she went to bed. Jen wondered where it could be now, but immediately remembered she had put it in her jewelry armoire, which was nestled safely in her childhood closet back home. At least she knew that bracelet was safe.
The full moon was high in the sky and very bright that night, projecting Skarmor’s shadow onto the uneven ground as they flew westward. Jen began to feel relief wash over her now that she knew they were getting closer to Watercress Castle. Resting her head on Victor’s back, she lazily followed Skarmor’s graceful shadow on the ground when another shadow darted through his. Jen blinked twice and turned her head around just in time to see a shape fly in front of the moon, casting a silhouette of massive wings and a sharp tail.
“Uh, Vic?” Jen asked, apprehension seeping into her voice as she pointed at the silhouette. “What’s that?”
Victor turned his head and followed her finger up toward the moon. Jen’s left arm was still wrapped around his midriff for balance, so when she felt Vic flex, a sinking feeling developed in the pit of her stomach.
He swore then said, “Jen, whatever you do, don’t let go.” He leaned forward and pushed Skarmor into a dive.
“What’s—”
A crackling fireball drowned her out as it zoomed past, narrowly missing Skarmor’s right wing. She could feel the immense heat on her arm and shoulder, and checked to see if she was on fire. Luckily, she wasn’t singed, but as another fireball shot past them, she didn’t know how much longer she would stay that way. Trying to push her fear of fire from her mind, she found enough courage—probably due to her strong dose of adrenaline—to not faint and fall off of Skarmor.
A deep, guttural roar echoed over the mountainous terrain, rattling Jen’s bones. She had never heard an animal make that jarring sound before and prayed that she would never hear it again.