Nexus Moons: Book One of the Tales of Graal

by Ron Root

  He followed the lad through the maze of corridors that connected the university’s rooms and outbuildings. The young man stopped before an open door. “These are Master Kagen’s quarters.”

  He spotted an old man poring over a tome. Dozens more cluttered the room. Some lay on tables and chairs, but the bulk of them were strewn about the floor. The room’s only clear pathway led to a wine rack.

  Jarek’s escort left, and he stepped inside. Apparently hard of hearing, it wasn’t until his shadow shaded Kagen’s parchment that the white-haired old man realized he wasn’t alone. Startled, he looked up. “I recognize that sigil on your tunic. You must be Lavan’s Suzerain friend.”

  “I am. My name is Jarek Verity.”

  “Yes, yes, Lavan mentioned you. He said you’d be helping with his experiment. How did it go?”

  Jarek cleared the books off the nearest chair and sat. “Disastrously.”

  Kagen spun his chair around, frowning. “Tell me.”

  Jarek proceeded to recount the experiment gone awry. Kagen sat silent, listening without interruption. “He just vanished, eh?” he asked once Jarek finished. “Where to, do you suppose?”

  “To some elsewhere.”

  “Where and what is an elsewhere?”

  “I’ve yet to work that out, but the beast spoke of elsewheres as if they were alternate planes of existence. It’s consistent with The Law of Infinite Universes, so I find it plausible. I believe he somehow tapped the power of the Nexus to transport Lavan there.”

  Kagen’s brows crinkled. “Even if you manage to locate this elsewhere, how do you propose bringing Lavan back?”

  “I’ve been mulling that question since Zakarah took him. Lavan said each moon would generate its own Nexus, that two more would soon follow. If the power of the first one drew this creature, the others might too. I plan to be there to confront him, to find out what he’s after; to see if there’s something he’ll take in exchange for Lavan.”

  “Not a great strategy, but at least it’s a plan. Is there some way I can help?”

  “Was anyone privy enough to Lavan’s plans to tell me when and where the next Nexus will occur?”

  Kagen stood. “I fear not. But Lavan’s study has all his drawings. Perhaps there’s enough there for us to puzzle it out.”

  Soon the two were poring over astral charts, mapping trajectories and calculating interceptions. By mid-day they’d concluded the second Nexus would occur seven days hence. The third would happen five days thereafter. All that remained was to pinpoint their exact locations.

  Kagen spread a map over his table. Translating Lavan’s notes, the two began mapping the moons’ trajectories. “If I’m interpreting Lavan’s scribbles correctly,” Kagen began, “the upcoming Nexus will focus between these marshlands and that mountain range.” He leaned close enough for his fading eyesight to read the map. “Some cataclysm must have created those mountains,” he said, dragging his finger across the map, “and likely these atolls as well. Perhaps an eruption on this volcanic isle where the third Nexus will take place.”

  “Zakarah will either be at the second one or not. The location of the third one is of no consequence.”

  “Well, either way, both sites are in our islands. But getting to either place is equivocal at best. I’ve seen those atolls. They make any sea approach too dangerous to consider. That means crossing this marsh, not a journey anyone would covet. No wonder maps of this area are scarce. I’ll have Genevieve check our annals for any information we have on these locations.” He hollered out the doorway. “Hagley!”

  Moments later Hagley poked his head through the doorway. “Sir?” His eyes widened when he saw Jarek. “Magus Verity, good to see you again.”

  It was Master Kagen’s turn to look surprised. “Hagley, please fetch Mistress Genevieve, we’ve need of her services.”

  Hagley left and Kagen shuffled to a nearby bench. Groping, he eased onto it. “I’ll likely need help standing again, but not too soon if you don’t mind. So, how is it you know young Hagley?”

  “He provided me transport from Portsmouth. During the ride, I got the impression you’d expelled him. I told him I’d do my best to get him a third trial. Lavan promised to look into the matter, but now…”

  “Hagley expelled? Hardly. It’s true, however, he failed both his trials, despite a mind keener than most. I’ve tested him several times. His results are erratic. On some occasions he lights up the prism like few others can, but in times of stress—like facing the reviewing magi, there’s nary a flicker. You know how critical confidence is in spell casting. Until he gains it, I fear he’ll never earn his robes. Worse, he considers himself a failure. The irony is that he might even be extraordinarily gifted.” Kagen shook his head, “But try as I may, I can’t seem to isolate his facet. I’ve hired him as wagon driver. He thinks I did it out of pity, but unbeknownst to him, I’m subtly teaching him. I leave ever more complex spell books lying around in obvious places. They always disappear, only to reappear on my shelves days later.”

  Jarek cast a dubious glance at the room. “Shelves?”

  Kagen waved his hand. “Well, wherever he found them. Anyway, he thinks to fool me, but it’s really the other way around.” He winked. “I’ll make a sorcerer of him yet.”

  Jarek chuckled. “I have no doubt you will.” He wandered over to the wine rack and hoisted a wineskin and smelled its contents. “Ah, a Roberdavy if my nose doesn’t deceive me. It’s the rage in Suzerain right now.” Picking up a glass, he looked back at Kagen, “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. Please pour two. My greatest fear is that I die before I empty my cellar.”

  Jarek brought Kagen a drink and hoisted his own. “Here’s to finding Lavan.”

  Kagen clanked their glasses together. “And to bringing him home.”

  They’d finished them by the time Hagley returned with Mistress Genevieve. “You sent for me?”

  “Yes, we’re wondering if you have anything documenting an area we’re examining.” Kagen showed her Lavan’s map and the area in question, making no mention of his disappearance. She studied it. “This may take a while—it’s not an area I’m familiar with.”

  “We’re most urgent to see whatever you might find. Let’s hope it won’t take too long. When you return, bring Turpin’s sword, Magus Verity has use of it.”

  “Do not worry, I’ll find you something, even if I have to work through the night. The annals are sure to contain something useful.”

  Exhausted, Jarek returned to the quarters Lavan had given him. “Take heart my brother,” he whispered. “I’m coming for you.”

  Lavan lacked all sense of time, place, or direction, save for spinning and tumbling. Despite his struggles to orient himself, the vortex he was caught in defied him. Where was he? Why was he alone? Where was Zakarah?

  His confused turmoil ended abruptly when a deluge of liquid inundated him. He punched through its wetness, emerging above it like a surfacing whale. Momentum lost, he splashed back into water. Rising on trembling legs, he found himself waist-deep in a pond not unlike the one he’d just left. Thankfully, all hint of the strange webbing that had ensnared him was gone.

  Despite being drenched, the surrounding heat seared both skin and lungs. Water drained off his face, clearing his vision. He scanned the area, struggling to deduce his whereabouts.

  His mote-laden stone lay half-buried in mud at the water’s edge. Although the pond seemed a twin to the one at the Nexus, nothing else looked familiar. Void of plant life, the place stank of sulfur. Jagged rocks, streaked with hues of brown and red, surrounded him. Heat waves rippled off them, distorting the surrounding air. Crimson skies overhead added to the place’s alien sense. Was it even sky? Lacking sun, moon, or stars, it seemed more like a shimmering roof. What sort of hell had Zakarah taken him too, anyway?

  “Look up there long enough and you’ll find yourself dead—but only if you’re lucky. Capture is far worse.”


  The voice came from behind him. Lavan wheeled about. There stood Zakarah. Half again as tall as a man, he had greenish skin awash with reddish-brown blotches that extended below elbows and knees.

  Zakarah pushed back his cowl. His mouth stretched into a grin, exposing rows of jagged teeth and a forked tongue that seemed to probe the air with a mind of its own. Arms trembling, it was all Lavan could do to draw a breath. Despite the intense heat, cold crawled up his spine—Zakarah was a demon. He truly had been taken to hell.

  A large cave loomed in the background a stone’s throw away. Cages lined its walls, too many to count. Each held a captive, none any type of creature he’d seen before. Some looked dead, most others not far from it. All appeared bony and gaunt. Worst were their vacant stares, at least on those few who had the will to look Lavan’s way.

  Hissing, Zakarah made his way into the pond, his red eyes boring into Lavan. “Welcome to my elsewhere, Headmaster.” The demon’s laugh died abruptly as he scanned the skies. “Let us retire to my cave lest prying eyes discover us, something neither of us would enjoy.” A gnarled finger propelled Lavan toward him. “Come,” Zakarah encouraged, his tongue flitting about, “we have much to discuss.”

  It was only then Lavan noticed an empty cage with an open door—the one they were headed for. Zakarah’s ensuing cackle evoked shudders that even a master sorcerer was helpless to bridle. Moments later he was in that cage—its door slamming behind him. As he looked around, that same look of helplessness he’d seen on the other prisoners’ faces washed over him too.

  Pursuit

  Jarek sat picking at his morning meal, too worried about Lavan to have any real appetite, when Hagley burst into the refectory. “Magus! Master Kagen beckons you; Mistress Genevieve found something.”

  Foregoing the remainder of his meal, Jarek followed Hagley to Lavan’s study. Kagen waited there, next to a cluttered table. “Ah, you’re here!” he said, motioning Jarek over. “Question: as a child did your parents frighten you with stories of the Boggarts of Ariath?”

  “I’ve not heard that tale.”

  “Here in the islands it’s a common bogeyman tale. Ariath is the watery abode of ghastly beasts who, in the dark of night, whisk away misbehaving younglings and eat them.”

  “On the mainland the tales are of ogres, not boggarts.”

  Kagen handed him a scroll. “Genevieve found this. Based on what I just read, Ariath may actually exist.”

  Jarek looked at it. “I’m not versed in this ancient script. What does it say?”

  “It’s a scholar’s account of the early exploration of our islands. Malg was the author’s name. He was the ship’s map maker and historian, charged with charting newly found lands. His scroll describes his encounter with a people from a place called A’ryth.”

  “Are you suggesting Ariath and this A’ryth are one and the same?”

  Kagen nodded. “Its peculiar name simplified over time.”

  “That seems a bit far-fetched. If these A’rythians truly exist, surely someone would have encountered them again by now.”

  “Not necessarily,” Kagen said, raising a finger. “I found one part of his recounting particularly interesting.” He ran his finger down the scroll. “Ah, here it is. It chronicles Malg’s exploration of that desolate bay across from Portsmouth. Listen to this: ‘Much to our dismay, we found this freshwater inlet infested by beasts so vicious our crewman dubbed the area Foul Marsh. We lost several sailors to its brutes.” Kagen looked up. “Here we have it, boggarts and Ariath sharing the same tale.”

  Jarek looked at the scroll. “A small coincidence doesn’t make a tale true.”

  “There’s more,” Kagen said, setting it down. “Malg disdained his fellow crewmen, portraying them as marauders more interested in plunder than exploration. To support this opinion, he cites the violation of two A’rythian women by them. When the A’rythians demanded justice, the ship’s captain refused. The following morning the mutilated bodies of the two sailors were found, their male parts severed. The A’rythians were never heard from again. Perhaps they remain isolated out of choice?”

  “Even assuming that’s true, what has it to do with finding Lavan’s next Nexus?”

  “This,” he said, laying Malg’s map beside the one they’d drawn their calculations on.

  “Gods!” The locations of A’ryth and the upcoming Nexus were one in the same, and Malg’s map showed far more details. It depicted an area even more rugged than they’d first surmised. “What a marvelous find. What are the chances of getting this copied? Malg’s journal too.”

  “Our scribes are working on it as we speak.”

  Hagley scanned the corridor. Confident no one was watching, he slid the cinder slab aside, slipped into the concealed passageway behind it, and closed the block behind him. He conjured a light globe, one of his few reliable spells, and headed down the stairs—into his private world.

  It was common knowledge that the university had once been some baron’s manor, but few knew noblemen’s households had hidden passageways that granted servants access to attend its rooms. It was his special secret.

  So far, his explorations produced two considerable finds. The first was the tunnel that opened into a small canyon behind the university—his personal gateway in and out of the school. The other was learning the corridors had spy holes that allowed you peek into rooms.

  He’d just overheard Master Kagen and Goodricke talking about a trip to Portsmouth. Their hushed voices hinted of something secret. Finding out about it was too tempting to resist.

  He found the spy hole into Kagen’s room and ever so slowly opened its slider. He peered inside. The two were there arguing with Magus Verity. “This undertaking is way too dangerous to involve Goodricke,” Master Verity barked. “I’m going alone—on horseback if necessary.”

  Master Kagen shook his head. “Look at Malg’s map,” he said, pointing. “How are you going to traverse that swamp on a horse? It’d just become fodder for Malg’s beasts. You need a boat!”

  “I don’t know the first thing about boats.”

  Kagen bounced his finger on the map. “Which is precisely why you need Goodricke. He was once a seaman.”

  Their talk of beasts and swamps quelled Hagley’s interest. Although trips to Portsmouth were always adventures, what they were talking about sounded dangerous—and danger was something he always steered clear of. He closed the peek hole.

  “Hagley!”

  It was Kagen. Had he moved the slider too fast? Even if he had, how had the old coot known he was the one peeking through it?

  “Hagley!” Kagen repeated. “Where is that boy? He was supposed to organize my books this morning.”

  He exhaled. He hadn’t been caught after all. He had, however, forgotten his promise to set Kagen’s library right. He slipped out to the corridor and rushed to answer Kagen’s summons.

  He opened the door. “I’m here to fashion your books, Master Kagen.”

  “Ah, there you are.” He motioned Hagley inside, “Attend to the books later. Magus Verity is returning to Portsmouth. I want you to drive him. Goodricke will be going with him. While there, drop by the guild; my supplies need restocking. I’ll make you a list of ingredients.” He grabbed his quill and started scribbling. Hagley stood waiting. “Here,” he said, handing Hagley the list. “By the time you’ve readied the wagon, the scribe will have a letter of authorization drafted too.”

  Hagley stuffed the list into his pocket and slipped out the door. As soon as the door closed behind him, he let out a whoop. A letter of authorization! Unless you’d earned your robes, the only way you got into the Sorcerer’s Guild was with a letter of authorization. Several of the spells in his latest book required special ingredients. He’d been agonizing over how he’d practice without them. Now all he had to do was add them to Kagen’s list and they were his. With a hop in his step, he headed for the stables.

  He brought the wagon to Magus Verity’s quarte
rs and helped Goodricke load gear. Finished, he returned to Kagen’s chambers for his letter of authorization. The old man was alone now. “It’s there on the table. There’s also a bag with adequate coin. You may keep anything extra.”

  Hagley’s eyes widened. Kagen had just solved Hagley’s problem of how to pay for his items. “Gramercy Master Kagen, you’re most generous.”

  “Bah! No need to thank me, just take care, the port city is full of ruffians. Return as soon as you can. I don’t want you spending even one night in that jeopardous place.”

  “Sir, it’s not as perilous as you make it to be.”

  “It is. It is. I’ll abide no argument. The cooks are packing travel rations. Stop by the kitchens before you leave. Now hasten lest you keep the Magus waiting.”

  Hagley left, pondering Kagen’s warning. Portsmouth truly was a dangerous place, but he could defend himself. Maybe not with fisticuffs or weaponry, but he had his arts—even if he couldn’t always depend on them. Besides, any show of the Gift usually frightened off trouble. He’d impressed the ungifted with spells before. Of course, his wellbeing hadn’t been at risk any of those times.

  He found Magus Verity and Goodricke waiting at the wagon. After a brief stop at the kitchen, they were on Kinsmen’s Highway, Portsmouth bound.

  At first, travelers were plentiful, but not after they distanced themselves from Stalwart. It was then the Magus began. “So, Hagley, Master Kagen says you have sufficient gift to pass your trials, but you lack confidence. Do you agree?”

  The comment gave Hagley butterflies. Did this mean Master Kagen thought him capable of earning his robes? “Well Sir, I’m not sure if it’s confidence, it’s just that sometimes my spells work, other times they don’t. I never know which it’ll be. The same is true with my prism tests, sometimes it shines brightly; other times, nothing. I’m fortunate that Master Kagen was kind enough to enlist my wagoner services. The prospect of returning to my father as a failure is not something I relish.”