The morning dawned like any other as Nalion performed his relatively new morning routine. Which mainly consisted of obsessively flipping through the book. Okay, completely consisted of reading the book. He’d known it would be helpful, and it had! He was sure there was still so much more he could find out if he kept with it.
It also felt… Right. It just felt right having the book in his hands, safe and protected. Almost like a phantom limb, a piece of himself he hadn’t known was missing yet which he was most unwilling to part with now that he’d found it. He turned the next page, caressing the book in a loving manner.
When he’d been reading it before resting yesterday he’d gotten inexplicably drenched again, the water smelling faintly salty as his clothes and hair clung to his body uncomfortably. To be fair, the uncomfortable cold had helped him put down the book, which was always hard. Only then had he been able to start his nightly meditation.
He’d since changed but the clothes he had left by the fire in order to dry them had still been stiffer than usual. Not that it really mattered, it was just a little weird. He presumed the book was a bit weird too. But so was he. Maybe that’s why they fit together so well. Nalion’s lips twitched in a small smile.
He knew he had a tendency to lose all sense of time and space while reading yet, try as he might, he just couldn’t keep his fingers off the book. This wasn’t anything new as it was something he experienced on a regular basis, though with this particular book it felt somehow heightened.
By now the itch in his mind had dissipated, leaving behind only a deep contentment. Besides, Spiro would surely get him up by the pseudodragons' food time if nothing else. Even the possibility of another scary-tentacle-monster-hallucination didn’t deter him, nor did it banish his good mood. There was nothing better than a good book, and this one just kept endlessly giving and giving.
He hummed under his breath as his eyes studied the same pages he’d spent so many hours pouring through. Then, without warning, the book vanished. Nalion looked up in a frenzy, finding that he wasn’t in his room anymore. His stomach did flip-flops before clenching with fear as his gaze wildly flitted around the unknown place. No tentacle-monsters. The worst of the fear abated at that, leaving behind a wariness and worry regarding the well-being of the book. What if it was gone for good?
No, that was unacceptable. He would do anything to get it back. Anything.
He still didn’t know exactly where he was or what was going on as everything seemed kind of fuzzy somehow. He was in a room, roughly the size of the one he’d been in while reading. It seemed as if everything was covered in a vague blue light. He couldn’t decide whether it felt creepy or comforting. There was also someone else in the room, though Nalion couldn’t make out their features or clothing or - anything really.
Nalion strained his eyes, squinting in hopes of getting a better look at whatever he was seeing. It looked like a person, or at the very least something in the shape of a person. The maybe-person was approximately his own size, that was all he could deduce. Maybe a little bit more muscular. The maybe-person-but-thankfully-definitely-not-a-tentacle-monster sighed wearily as they sat down on the floor and put something in their hair.
For some reason Nalion was sure that they were dying their hair, even though he could not discern any color before or after the application of whatever it was. Nalion looked on curiously as the person appeared to smear the same stuff over their eyebrows.
“Hello?” he inquired awkwardly. There was no answer. It didn’t seem like his companion in this weird place could hear him. Or maybe it was pretending not to. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem hostile.
Intrigued, he decided to focus on the environment as he could not glean anything more from the probably-a-person. He moved his head around, spotting only one item that stood out. It was the only thing in the whole room he could see clearly. The one thing the other occupant was sitting in front of. A mirror.
Oh, what did that mean? Maybe it was meant to symbolize something. His mind began whirring, thinking of all the different symbolic meanings a mirror could have. Maybe it meant spiritual reflection? Or revealing who a person really was? Or maybe more an emblem of wisdom, a newer and deeper way of seeing oneself? Or just keeping true to oneself? So many possibilities!
Nalion was getting excited, his heart pitter-pattering despite the apparent loss of his darling book. But the pitter-pattering was in a good way, not in a getting-horrifically-devoured-by-a-tentacle-monster way. He loved puzzles, and he was confident that he would solve this one too. He was suddenly sure that the book was not gone, that it was in fact the book itself showing him all of this. There simply had to be a reason for it. Inspecting the mirror seemed like a good place to start.
To his great pleasure he found that he could move about unhindered in this strange place. Mind made up, he walked closer to the mirror. There was not anything spectacular or shocking about it that he could see. It was small and rectangular, encased in a simple silver frame. The mirror was on the floor, propped against the wall. The probably-person in the room leaned in closer to the mirror to inspect their appearance, before they started to smear something else on the left side of their temple.
Nalion took a few more steps and sat down on the cool floor next to the mysterious person. The elf leaned in, brimming with curiosity and the need to sate it as he tried to glimpse something within the mirror's sleek surface. Maybe there he could see the other occupant more clearly. He blinked and -
He was back in his room, the book open in his slightly trembling hands. He blinked again, yet the room did not change back. Disappointment curled in his stomach at the same time as intense relief crashed through him. He hugged the book close to his chest, inhaling the smell of the ancient leather binding it. Oh well, maybe he’d be plunged there again. Then he’d go straight for the mirror.
He was brought out of his thoughts by a purring Spiro, pushing on his leg.
“Is it time to go up already?”
Spiro meowed while wiggling his tail, signaling that he clearly thought so. Nalion chuckled as he carefully packed away his precious book, a wistful longing spiking in his heart as soon as he’d closed the bag. It was okay. He’d return to the book. The faintest beginning of an itch was forming again in the back of his mind as he made his way downstairs, the staff firmly clasped in one hand.
Today was going to be a big day.
After a lot of careful consideration, he had decided to tell both Erevan and Ilias about his quest. He hated to disappoint Master Tathallan, but he didn’t think he could do this alone either. He was quite sure Ereven would disapprove of this as well. Then again, the gruff ranger tended to not trust anyone. Nalion himself thought that Ilias seemed nice enough, even though he did acknowledge that he didn’t know the human very well. Yet Ilias had been helping them and three was better than two, right?
If Ilias would for some reason prove untrustworthy, Nalion was sure that Erevan had that covered. Not that it would come to that. Most people were nice.
As he reached the end of the stairs, he could hear a door open upstairs. He looked up, seeing Ilias smiling widely at him. Nalion smiled back and waved a little before walking to the closest table and sitting next to Erevan. The ranger looked as he always did, frowning down at his beer and grunting in lieu of greeting. It didn’t bother Nalion though. He had gotten used to the silences with Erevan, and actually considered them to be quite comfortable and relaxing. They also freed his mind to wander, or his hands to pick up a book.
Nalion took up his breakfast slowly, poking at Erevan with his elbow until the ranger noticed and did the same. He then raised a questioning eyebrow at Ilias who made no motion to reach into his bag. The human merely smiled as he said he’d eaten already. He glanced over at Bobby, who was nodding at him from behind a desk of his own. Okay, time to go.
“Bobby?” Nalion started. “Are we alone here?”
Bobby looked at him gruffly. “No, Nick is at the back with Claire. The company seems to be good for him. Why?”
Nalion chewed his bottom lip between his teeth in a worried fashion. Bobby knew about the magic and hadn’t said anything but Nalion didn’t know how Claire would feel about it. Not to mention he didn’t really know Nick at all. Well, except for the whole former-wererat part. He wasn’t sure if that counted.
“Could you all step out for a moment and then lock the door?”
Bobby only lifted an eyebrow but did as he’d asked. Nalion let out a breath of relief. So far so good. As they walked out Claire shot him what he thought was a curious look. Nalion did his best to appear as if he wasn’t up to anything special. All natural, normal Nalion! Oh no. How did he usually have his hands? In the pockets? As fists? Crossed over his chest?
Luckily the others left quite swiftly as Nalion was beginning to sweat from the nerves and changing hand positions to look as casual as he could. As the lock clicked he turned towards his companions, finding both of their gazes locked on him. He hadn’t expected to be this nervous. Where should he start? He felt suddenly dehydrated. Licking his lips to add some moisture to them, he coughed awkwardly.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’m about to tell you something and I need you to promise me you won’t tell a soul about this.”
He looked at them seriously, forming eye contact with each person in the room to let the gravity of the situation sink in. He thought he could see some kind of warning flashing in Erevan's eyes but he took a deep breath and ploughed on regardless. They needed to know. There had to be a safety net. They would have to be the safety net.
“The thing is, there is stuff that’s happening to the north. There is some kind of poison, and it’s spreading. Fast,” he swallowed uneasily, remembering the vision-warning-dream-thing. “Anyway, I was warned by a nature spirit that if it isn’t stopped, it will end up consuming everything. And I mean everything.”
He paused again, thinking of how to formulate what was coming.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
“It can be stopped, according to the spirit. I have to gather three ingredients and combine them at a specific spot in order to do it. So far, I have one of the ingredients and no idea how to continue,” he looked at Erevan and Ilias earnestly, some of his trepidation shining through his eyes. “I think I need help from someone I can trust, and I was hoping it could be you guys.”
“Okay,” said Erevan immediately. As Nalion examined his face he came to the conclusion that the ranger's expression was grim, yet there was no doubt. Well, he presumed so based on the swiftness of the answer. He could have positively melted into a puddle from relief. Meanwhile Ilias’ eyebrows had hiked themselves up somewhere near his hairline, eyes wide. The young mage kept opening his mouth yet no words came out. Nalion chose to interpret it as affirmation.
“So,” Nalion continued with invigorated spirits as he took out his special notebook where he’d written everything quest-related, “I have everything written here.”
He opened it on the table. “It’s coded of course. Written in Elvish, and backwards, oh, and every fourth word is in fact fake, while every third is a number that you find in the back of another book correlating to a word in the song of the gods.”
He felt quite proud of that. No one would be cracking it without significant effort. He thought he could even see Erevan nodding appreciatively from the corner of his eye.
“The place is something called “the eye of the world”, I don't know where that is though. The first ingredient, which I already have, is, well…” he guiltily glanced at Erevan from behind his eyelashes. Then a knock came from the door. Nalion jumped in his seat, startled. Right, they were on a time limit. He whispered, ignoring the guilt: “The ashes of heroes, which were…”
Erevan pursed his lips as he tightened his grip around his current beer. The ranger's eyes hardened momentarily, before resuming their normal intensity as he took a large gulp of his drink. Nalion cleared his throat awkwardly, squirming in his seat.
“Yeah… So that’s what I was doing there.”
Erevan pinched the bridge of his nose and then drank some more. The ranger hadn’t punched him yet, which Nalion considered to be an absolute win.
“Anyway, the ingredients I have left are the blood of the Maker, hope that’s not literal…” the end of his sentence came out faltering and slow as Erevan suddenly choked on his beer at the mention of the second ingredient. Nalion stopped speaking to awkwardly pat Erevan's back as the ranger spluttered and seemed to be hacking up a lung.
“Are you okay Erevan?” It was disconcerting to see the usually stoic brunet wheezing for air in between coughs, face turning red.
After he recovered from the coughing, Erevan pinched the bridge of his nose again as he sighed loudly.
“I think I have to show you something too,” the ranger muttered, eyes closed. He then opened them, glaring at them with an intensity that could have moved mountains.
“If you tell anyone anything about this, I will kill you,” the ranger practically growled with a low voice. It was quite intimidating, even after knowing Erevan all this time. Especially since it was obvious he meant every word.
“I won’t tell a soul,” Nalion promised easily. Who would he tell? Besides, there was no way he would compromise the quest. He needed to succeed, for everyone's sake. Hence, an easy promise.
Ilias nodded too, looking a bit pale and unsteady. Erevan leveled them with one last threatening stare before rummaging through his bag. Then, finally, he pulled out a small red leather book.
“Got this from Howlter,” Erevan rasped in a low voice. He then gave Nalion what the elf presumed was a “Meaningful Look” while saying, “as well as the other ring.”
“OH!” exclaimed Nalion loudly. The other ring to open the door in the secret Order of the Stag hideout? Erevan shook his head at him as he opened the book. Nalion paid no heed to that, instead he leaned in eagerly to see what was written within the first page:
Here are the names of those who carry the Blood of the Maker.
Mighty magic flows in their veins.
Secret to them and the world must they be, lest evil finds them.
Nalion's eyes widened the further he read. It felt too good to be true. He knew Erevan was an excellent person to trust! Who knew what further secrets there were in the locked room? He wondered if he could persuade Erevan into going there and taking a peek.
“What else is written there?” He rushed the words out, hoping against hope that there was some easy way of finding those who had the “Blood of the Maker” flowing in their veins. It was a momentous relief that it had not been literal and he didn’t have to go and try to locate the actual Maker. Especially considering the whole Maker-has-left-the-world-thing.
Erevan met his gaze, steely blue meeting warm hazel. “Names.”
Nalion could have died on the spot. All his wishes were coming true! He clasped his hands together, doing a happy wiggle-dance with his body. The whole world just might not be completely doomed after all! Who would have guessed that he had run into, or more likely collided into, the one person who was the key to the second ingredient? It had to be fate, or divine intervention of some kind. It just couldn’t be a coincidence.
Which meant that there had to be someone powerful on their side. Maybe even one of the gods? Maira herself, perhaps? It was quite reassuring. Nalion could feel some of the metaphorical weight drop from his shoulders. At that moment Bobby stuck his head in.
“Can I come in yet? It’s getting a bit chilly out here. Claire and Nick have left already.”
Nalion gestured for the innkeeper to come in and then for Erevan to continue, too excited to speak.
Erevan huffed. He glanced at Bobby underneath his eyebrows and then said in a hushed tone, “Well, they’re old names. The book is as old as the towers.”
“Well, what are the last ones? Maybe we can track them down, find out if there’s any living relatives! Or does it even work like that? Is it specific individuals or specific bloodlines?”
Erevan shrugged in a your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine manner.
Nalion wilted a little and then perked up again. “We’ll just have to find out! We can start with the book, go over the names and cross-reference to see if there are several similar last names within or if they are all random. I know, it won’t deny or confirm anything, though it would help in supporting one hypothesis or the other.”
He stopped speaking in the middle of his rant in order to scribble his thoughts down in the notebook. Coded, of course.
He thought he could hear a distant sigh, and then book pages rustling as they were being turned. Nalion lifted his head, eyeing Erevan expectantly and having his quill ready.
“The last name written here is D- Dä- Damir Makic,” Erevan read slowly as he struggled slightly with the pronunciation of the name.
This time it was Ilias who started to choke on his drink.
“Damir the Peaceful?” The young mage coughed out, his voice a bit higher than usual. Nalion noted with curiosity how the name flew out of the human’s mouth with fluency, even if his pronunciation was a bit different from Erevan's.
“Well, it doesn’t say anything about “Peaceful” here,” Erevan grumbled, frowning at Ilias.
“Do you know him!?” Nalion couldn’t believe his ears. Ilias knew the name! This was amazing! It would definitely help them track down some of Damir's living relatives. If he had any. No, he wouldn’t give up hope that easily. All they needed now was to figure out some method to test the blood to make sure the possible relatives carried the same potential.
“Oh, uh, I mean I have read about him,” Ilias said apprehensively. “My mother was Shikan so she wanted me to learn her cultural history as well as that of Lucca. The Makic House is the Royal House in Shika, and Damir the Peaceful was said to have dueled the formidable orc-chieftain about 300 years ago in order to establish peace. That’s the short version. If I remember it correctly.”
Ilias smiled at them.
The wheels in Nalion's head were turning. “So there are still people of the Makic bloodline alive? Directly descended from Damir?”
“Yes,” nodded Ilias, “they are royalty and rule the country.”
“Think we heard something about them not so long ago,” Bobby casually joined the discussion as he absentmindedly cleaned another mug with one of the filthiest rags Nalion had ever seen. Oops. He realized now how their voices had been gradually increasing in volume. But how could it have been helped, it was all so exciting! Luckily it was only Bobby. Nalion was pretty sure they could trust him.
Erevan tucked the book away as the ranger directed a questioning frown at Bobby. Nalion was very proud of himself at how good he was starting to be at reading Erevans frowns and shrugs. He gave himself a mental pat on the back.
Bobby walked over to them carefully, eyeing the ranger with some emotion. Okay, maybe the frown had been more than just questioning. When the innkeeper arrived at the table, however, he leaned in towards them as if he was spreading a particularly juicy piece of gossip. Which Nalion guessed he technically was.
“Yeah, they came here about two or three weeks ago, a little before everything with the crops went to shit. I don’t think they would have bothered to inform us with a royal degree if Princess Stella hadn’t been engaged to the Prince, since we’re not that big or important here in Yolkshire.”
They all listened raptly, hanging on Bobby's every word. The innkeeper took a little pause here - almost as if this wasn’t the first time he was telling this exact story. The look on his face was hard for Nalion to read. Was he disappointed in the reception of his tale?
“Well, anyway, some informer guy with royal guards came with news from the South, sent by the King of Shika himself. Apparently his son, the Prince - the very same one that would have married our Princess Stella - had gone crazy! He tried to kill his father and the new Queen, as well as their unborn child. Greedy bastard,” Bobby shook his head in disdain.
“Instead, he slipped!” the innkeeper gave a small laugh. “Then he fell down a steep cliff, into the ocean and died. Good riddance I say,” Bobby huffed as he resumed to clean the same mug he had been wiping previously.
Nalion turned towards Erevan and Ilias with enthusiasm. It really was doable! Just as he opened his mouth he noticed how pale Ilias had gotten. The younger mage was gripping his glass so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. Nalion frowned slightly. That was weird.
“What,” Ilias breathed out quietly. Otherwise he sat eerily still, wide eyes fixed on Bobby.
Bobby just nodded. “Yeah, I know, it’s crazy.”
For a moment Ilias sat immovable as a statue, not even blinking. Then he stood up abruptly, causing the glass he’d been holding to welt over. The water within spread on the table, slowly trickling down on the floor.
“Excuse me, I just remembered something,” Ilias said with a wide smile. “Be right back!”
With that the young mage left, walking stiffly up the stairs. Nalion's frown deepened a bit. Something was off. Was Ilias sick? Or was he hiding something? Nalion shook his head minutely. His thoughts were sounding like Erevan again.
But then again… Did it count as paranoia if you were right?
“Should we go check on him?” asked Nalion, twisting his hands unsurely. It was difficult to gauge what the social protocol dictated in situations such as these. Especially when it came to humans, as their habits still remained a mystery he had not cracked. Yet.
Erevan groaned loudly.
“I’m not going, you go. He’s probably crying or something,” the ranger muttered sullenly into his drink.
“You think?” Nalion asked, some worry pooling near his heart. The human was still very young, even if 18 was legally an adult according to human standards. It didn’t seem right to leave him alone if he was indeed crying. Not that Nalion really knew what to do with a crying person. He’d have to figure it out on the go.
Erevan shrugged, staring at his beer.
Nalion nodded to himself, mind made up. He would go check up on Ilias. He walked up the stairs and to Ilias’ door swiftly, Spiro settling in on his shoulder. He hesitated for a moment as he stood in front of the door. He thought he could almost hear something as he strained his hearing.
Still unsure whether or not he was actually hearing something, Nalion lifted his hand and softly knocked on the wooden door. Silence fell upon him like a heavy blanket. Guess he had been hearing something alright.
“Ilias?” Nalion inquired gently. “Is everything okay?”
He really hoped he wasn’t stepping over some unwritten boundaries.
A few moments passed before he could hear some footsteps and then Ilias opened the door. He had a wide smile on his face, though it looked a bit tight somehow, and his hair was a little disheveled as if he had been tugging it or running his hands through it. His pallor was still off and his eyes were pinched in the same almost-tightness as the curve of his lips.
“Sorry about that, just remembered I’d left my coin purse up here and had to look for it. Silly me!” Ilias exclaimed lightly while jingling a small leather pouch in his hand. “I’ll be down soon!”
Nalion almost missed his words as the elfs gaze was trapped by an inconspicuous item, propped up against the wall that was facing away from the bed. It was a small mirror, with a simple silver frame.
Nalion knew that mirror. A startling clarity hit him as some of the puzzle pieces clicked into place:
1. Ilias was using that mirror to dye his hair
2. This probably meant that he was concealing his identity
3. Which probably mean that he was hiding something else as well
4. Maybe his odd reaction at the table indicated that he knew the royal family of Shika?
Sure, these were mere assumptions and not hard facts. The hair-dyeing could still be a fashion thing, but Nalion could feel it deep in his bones that he was right. What if Ilias was also related to Damir, but didn’t want to say it because of something he was hiding? What if Nalion already had the Blood of the Maker in his company? It would be so much simpler than crossing the sea and asking some foreign human King to give him his blood. This could be what the book had been trying to tell him!
“Sounds good, bye!” Nalion rushed the words out before running downstairs with such speed that Spiro had to bury his claws in his shoulder so as to not get knocked off. He could hear the door being closed behind him but he didn’t care about that anymore. Nalion was feeling giddy.
He couldn’t wait to tell Erevan.