Mystic Firestorm 2 Page 8

  Only three had survived and the Hearthstone was lost.

  FIVE

  The sun was setting over the Cliffs of Mohr when Deagian emerged from her home in Fellowood. Golden rays crossed the spectacular line of rock that ran west and curved southward. A chestnut colored cowl covered Deagian’s long black curly hair. Her cloak trailed just above her boots and wrapped around her slender body. In her left hand she held a strange looking lantern that glowed from a small crystal which had been placed within it. The crystals shun adequate lighting around her as huge oak trees caste shadows on the soft green ground. Deagian felt comfortable in the surroundings of her homeland. She turned off the small slate path and went around to the side of the small cottage. In the shadows was a gray stone well with a crankshaft which had rope attached to it. Deagian cranked the lever and pulled the pail up with her right hand. A strange sensation sent a shiver through her body as Deagian noticed a form coming her way on the lonely path. She did not recognize the man who had dark gray hair with a long beard and a worn face. His cowl was ragged and appeared to have dried blood on it. The man seemed to wander off the path toward the light near her home. Deagian watched as the man staggered over and fell. She dropped the bucket and the crankshaft spun widely as she ran across a small thatch of trees to help the fallen man. Her brown eyes peered at man who lay still on his side.

  She knelt down and shook him gently, “Try to get up and I will help you.”

  “I cannot rest,” the stranger stated in a weaken tone.

  “You must come inside so that I can help you.”

  “I must get to a place. I must continue to the...”

  “To the what?” He did not reply, “what is your name?”

  He spoke his name with a mumble and Deagian could not understand him. She went to turn him over and he was still.

  It was the next night that the stranger had awoken to find himself in a strange house. Deagian tended to his wounds and put on fresh dress of clothes as she rocked back and forth while sewing his ripped garments.

  “Where am I?” the strangers harsh voice asked as his eyes opened up.

  “Fellowood,” she replied and got out of the chair. “You had me worried, I was afraid you would not make it.”

  “I don't understand?” the voice calmed down a little and he sat up with a slight moan.

  “Where have you come from?” she inquired and brought a warm washcloth to clean his face.

  “I have no place; I do a lot of traveling. I must have injured myself in a fall. I cannot remember much.”

  She nodded and excused herself for a moment as the stranger looked around the room. The room was neat and clean. The bed faced the huge open window and outside the stranger could see the darkness. He felt uncomfortable and wondered how he had reached this place. He could not remember anything from his previous journey. The stranger did realize that he had journey to make, a place of urgent business, but his fatigue stopped him from remembering his task. On the opposite wall was a wooden bureau with a small mirror and candles on the table. Two oil lamps burned gently in their brackets that were secured into the wall. Dozens of books were lined on the floor with scrolls and maps. The stranger realized that they were for making potions and magic. He remembered something about magic but could not place his finger on it. He shrugged it off as the girl entered the room with a bowl of warm soup.

  “What is your name?” the stranger asked questioningly.

  She smiled and replied, “Deagian.”

  “Strange,” said the man as he felt the bandage on his head, “I cannot for the likes of it remember what my name is.”

  “You have an injury on your head. You've lost a lot of blood and were very feverish when I found you.”

  “I appreciate your help, but I have urgent business to attend to.”

  “You're not going anywhere for a couple of days,” she stated firmly.

  “Do not be foolish,” he yelled.

  “You are extremely ill and cannot remember anything. Your cowl was ripped, and you had huge scratches on your body.” He went to interrupt, but she ignored him and continued, “I am not in the business of taking care of strays, but you may stay here for a little while. I must go and tend to my work. Leave if you wish, but it would be foolish. It appears to me that somebody tried to kill you and almost succeeded.

  “Women, you have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Do as you please,” she turned and walked out the door.

  The stranger lifted himself out of the bed and walked over to his clothes. They were in fact worn and were stained with blood. The entire idea that somebody trying to kill him was absurd. He could not figure out why he had the blood on his cowl. He stared at the blue cloak and gave a sigh. Something was terribly wrong, and he could not remember what it was. His mind deliberately had blocked the previous memories that he held. The stranger felt a loss and tried to summon all of his strength to remember, but the blue robes did not affect him. He went back to his bed and sat down, staring into the window, he wondered what was so urgent, what was the impending danger which gnawed at him.

  Deagian worked quietly in her basement. Dozens of books and piles of scrolls surrounded her. On the far wall a blazing fireplace had a small black cauldron that glowed amber red from the ongoing fire. Deagian grabbed some herbs from the rows of jars that lined her wall and sprinkled some into the water. She felt her heart race as she understood that the potion would soon be finished. Deagian felt the need to continually work and not give up her studies on magic. She considered herself an apprentice magician, although others would call her a witch. Deagian watched the water bubble as huge blasts of steam crawled up the chimney warming the upper part of the house. She frowned as she read an old, warn yellow book, its pages cracked and peeling from the years of use. Her exhaustion had surpassed her will to continue on as she sat down in a small wooden chair and took a deep breath. She had reservations about working in a secluded part of Fellowood. She had given up an entirely different world to practice in the arts of white magic. Her parents disapproved and were angry at her for leaving them so long ago. Deagian had made her decisions cautiously and thought about every aspect and decided to practice the arts. Deagian felt that someday she could use her powers as a healer to help those in need by using the natural plants and herbs. She blinked and gave a look of displeasure as the stranger walked down the small flight of stone steps.

  “I see you are feeling better,” she replied while gesturing him to sit down.

  “I must stay until I am healed.”

  “While you are here, I must make up a name for you.”

  The stranger gave a stern smile and rubbed his beard, “Yes, what do you propose?”

  “Ballendor sounds good.”

  He gave a small laugh, “I have been called many names, but that is the strangest yet.”

  “What other names?”

  “Come to think of it, I do not remember,” he stated oddly.

  “Maybe one of them will come to you,” she replied softly.

  He was reluctant to continue on the conversation as his head had a sharp pain. “I feel very strange as if something terrible were about to happen. I feel the need to be on my way to some place which I have not been to in a long time.”

  “There are many places,” she answered him as she reached toward the table and grabbed a map. “Here is a map of the lands.”

  He grasped it and unrolled it on his lap. His eyes scanned the legend and the names of the cities, forests and rivers, but nothing struck him in any strange way. He shrugged his shoulders and gave out a sigh.

  “I see you practice the arts of magic.”

  “Yes, but only in the things of nature.”

  “A Druid?” his dark brows lifted harshly up.

  “An apprentice magician,” she stated with a smile.

  “I'm not exactly sure what my goal is, but I think I will figure it out.”

  “Your purpose in this life can be many things.” He bent over a
nd listened eagerly, “There are things that are good and evil. We must make a stand and fight for what we believe in. We must realize our potential and use that to help the race of humankind.”

  The stranger grasped his head and felt a severe pain. Deagian got up and went over to him.

  “Relax and take a deep breath, it will pass.”

  The man smiled, “I sensed a feeling which I had forgotten. I cannot explain it to you, but I must figure out what happened to me.

  “Why?” she responded.

  “Because the races of this world will be destroyed in a few months’ time.”

  Deagian stared in speechless shock.

  As Splint Quill fought the magic of the Crimson Seekers, Deagian continued to heal the man she named Ballendor. Over the past few days, he had fallen into a deep sleep, delirious from a high running fever. Deagian fed him every healing potion she knew, but none could break the fever. The man lay in a burning sweat and she feared that he would die. Every few hours she checked his pulse and noticed that it became increasingly weak. Once again, she draped the cold washcloth on his burning forehead. Deagian sat quietly in the chair as his body convulsed in pain. She rose to comfort him in an uneasy manner. Deagian watched his worn face inhale and exhale soundlessly. She left the room and went down to her basement. She opened up an old book and placed it on an old wooden desk. A candle was lit and rearranged next to the book as she fiercely read it. She turned the page and then pounded her fist onto the book. She turned and across the room buried beneath dozens of scrolls a leather chest sat, dusty and undisturbed. Breathlessly she strode over, hesitating to open it. After a moment of silence, she turned in quiet desperation a journey had to be made.

  There was only one way to save his life and she needed help. The undying questions she had bestowed on him had not been answered. Just before his illness, he had spoken about the races being destroyed in a month’s time. At first, she had thought him to be a crazy old man, but then he had spoken about many different things on the histories of the Six Providences. He mentioned a red darkness that she could not comprehend, nor did he quite understand it. There was a place, a mission that was to be undertaken, but his sickness hindered any journey. The fever threw him into disorientation, finally leaving him bed stricken. The man's life was torn between life and death, in an eternal limbo. There was one whom could save him, and she had to go. In this particular journey awaited a dangerous task ahead of her. It had been three years since she had left the peaceful surroundings of Fellowood. The unpleasant memories bound her to a fatal decision. The choice had to be made which would bind her to a legacy. She dared not use the magic bequeathed to her unless the time had come. Could it be possible that her sacrifice would occur? She had only lived a portion of her life, understanding little of the very mysteries of nature. Something cold and horrible had awoken and she sensed the coming of evil. This man was somehow tied into the entire puzzle, a missing piece. She knew her time had come to act and fulfill the destiny given. One question loomed in her mind, Was it time? Deagian walked the cold changing forest of Fellowood knowing her time was short.

  The Cliffs of Mohr rose sharply before the twisting turns of River Gray. The water shimmered in the pale moonlight as she approached a rocky ridgeline. Below, a wooden suspension bridge crossed for the wayfarers of Fellowood into the bleak forests of Mohr. She winded down the dirt trail and stepped closer to the bridge's edge. Abruptly she stopped in the shadows to examine the rocky edge. Torchlight flashed in a long line as dark shadows passed beneath the bridge. The figures were huge and cloaked by the darkness and red robes. A cold terror struck as she held her breath and saw something small slip onto the bridge. Clouds rolled past the moon, blotting the soft blue light which reflected against the churning waters. The thing stopped on the bridge, small and hunched as the strangers past in a silent march northward. It crawled on muscular legs and peered over the edge to guard their passing. Deagian drew further into the oak as the creature leapt closer toward the middle. A small hairy body rose to sniff the air as an angular head with a stout muzzle turned. Red eyes gleamed as it turned in the cold air and left the bridge. It lunged out into the darkness with a screaming grunt that was imprinted in Deagian's mind. After the procession passed and the torchlight twisted up into the deeper woods and she stepped out of her alcove of darkness and onto the bridge. She migrated with quick steps as her boots echoed on the wooden planks. She grasped the side of her cowl and lifted the small lantern up. The washed-out light flickered across the oak bridge. The bleary shadows drew back at her passing as autumn leaves were swirled away. The timberland was silenced except for the rushing of River Gray. A noise broke and she crouched down on the side of the bridge concealing the lantern deep within her heavy cloak. Deagian held her breath as the crouched thing crossed onto the first plank. It stopped with a load grunt, fangs gleaming in the night as it stared across the bridge. Eyes scanned the woods for movement, an abrupt sign. It guardedly rose and then dropped as it stared at the black shadow before it. Without further lull, it pounced into the brush and down the trail. Deagian crouched in frozen fear as her heart raced from thing that scurried past her. Somehow, she had been spared through a trick of the darkness or perhaps the poor sensory and sight this creature had. Deagian remained in the shadow for a lengthy period, afraid to chance on the things that prowled the night. Only after she caught her breath, did she move across the bridge. The unfathomed gusts pushed the great boughs wildly about.

  Deagian continued toward the Cliffs of Mohr.

  Against the blackened night the Cliffs of Mohr rose almost spilling into the fringes of River Gray. The not-so distant memory of the strange creature hung roughly in her mind. She managed to escape it by luck and trick of the fallen shadows. Deagian stopped to gain her breath as the small leaf covered trail twisted sharply around decaying oaks. Twigs snapped beneath her feet as she carefully stepped across encrusted stones and broken tree roots. Leaves fell like gentle snow and piled against the ragged edges of rock and worn wood. The air had a dry smell about it as she treaded around the meandering path. Only a short distance remained then her journey would end with the confines of a large alcove. Red vines trailed along the way and up onto the gray smooth stone. A small crack appeared over a glen which seeped deep into the mountain. Trees swayed with their leaves whistling and rushing in swirling ghost-like motions as she turned. Startled-momentarily, she continued up to the cliff wall. Rows of worn rock etched the mountain into an eerie monstrous face that moaned with wrenching pain. Memories flooded her as she feared the final answer that awaited her inside, without turning back, she entered the gray slit and was swallowed in the ebbing darkness.

  Deagian wound deep inside the maze-like passage. She kept a steady pace knowing the stranger did not have much longer to live. The strange poison that infected his body was draining away his life force. Death was on the verge of claiming, if only she could stop it. Deagian stopped as the sound of rushing water filled her ears. She entered an archway where an old iron portal blocked the way. With great exertion she opened the door as squeaking hinges gave way. Deagian entered and climbed up three stone steps. Before her, the cavern spread out like a wide room. A glistening water flow washed gently by. A small break in the cavern wall let forth the waters, which fed into River Gray beneath the foundations of Mohr. She placed the kerosene lantern down at the edge of the silver water. Limestone reflected the small flickering flame from her oil lamp. Magnificent greens and oranges mixed with crystal-like rock. Deagian gently knelt on one knee and bowed her head. She whispered a broken phrase and awaited an answer. Deagian stood quietly for a long, moment, her mind deep in thought, in hope of what was to come. So, what seemed at least an hour, a beam of light shot through the Eye of the Needle, a small hole, which towered through the entire cliff to the stormy skies. The bluish moonlight flooded as the waterfall ceased and the water stilled. The luminescence spread as a gentle figure took form and became human. A shade, a gentlewoman stood before her as
she cautiously lifted up her head. The white aura sparkled into the darkened heart of the cave. It was only after the women opened her hands did Deagian speak.

  “Mother,” she whispered with worried heart. “I need your help.”

  “My child, I know why you have come. It is-as you have felt. It is time to go out and help those to fight the dark magic’s of the Crimson Seekers.” Deagian gasped her breath and kept her knee stiffly to the slate. “Do not despair. It is time to use the gifts which have been bestowed upon you.”

  “Where am I to go?” she softly asked.

  “Where your heart leads you,” the apparition cupped her heart.

  “What of the Wishmagic?”

  “It’s gift to you shall be Shadowstill. It shall make you black as midnight, darker than the netherworlds. It shall protect for a short while. Use it sparingly.”

  “And of the stranger?” her heart raced.

  “The poison of the Devilings wounded his soul. There is no helping him.”

  “There must be something,” she trailed off with a humble patience. “Who is he?” The apparition did not answer. She only bowed her head, her life-force dissipating in fading mist. Deagian looked at her mother's gentle face. “Please help me.”

  As the shade faded the waterfall burst upward while her mother’s echo pierced the gushing sound in calming bliss and full understanding.

  “Look... the... vision....” The shade disappeared as the spraying water from the fall swirled violently. Rainbow colors reflected before her eyes in a changing color of violence. It struck her for an instance, a powerful image of dark and forbidding, of flame and fire. She bowed her head and the image faded. Deagian rose with a tear in her eye. She knew what could be done. In that powerful vision had been Skydark.

  There, she would find the answers.