Ascendants of Ancients Sovereign (Worlds of the Crystal Moon, Book 1) (22 page)

“So you’re going to the Cave of Sorrow, eh?” the mage replied.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

The mage did not answer his question. “Come in, boy. You can call me, Morre. My brother just left, or you could’ve met him as well.”

Damn, I wonder how he knows where I’m going. This beast must be real if he figured it out like that,
George thought. As he walked past Morre to enter the establishment, the desire to vomit rushed through him as the stench of the mage’s odor clubbed him upside the head.
This guy is a pig. Take a damn bath for hell’s sake.

George struggled to think beyond the stench. He swallowed and then forced a smile. “My name’s George. I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but maybe I can meet your brother on some other occasion.”
I bet he’s just as disgusting as you are
, he thought.

Morre nodded. “Perhaps on some other occasion then. However, if you’re going into the Cave of Sorrow, you may never get the chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can give you a spell to protect your mind, but—”

“Hold on. I never said anything about protecting my mind.”

Morre frowned at the rudeness of George’s interruption, but continued without answering his query. “I have a pair of scrolls prepared, but I don’t have the supplies to make another.”

It annoyed George that the mage knew more about his situation than he should have. “Two spells should be fine.”

Morre nodded and led George to the far side of his library. “I think I have a few snare scrolls as well. You can read from the scroll after planning where you’ll trap the beast. The spell sets an invisible snare that will hold him in place for a significant series of moments. But don’t worry, you’ll be immune to the affected area. This should allow you to make your actions look natural while luring the beast into bondage.”

“I never thought of that,” George replied. “Sounds like a plan.” He counted the snare scrolls Morre was holding. “I’ll take all three of those.”

Morre scribbled some calculations, and after a moment, he arrived at a number that was intentionally overpriced. “That will be four Jervaise.”

George did the math and realized he did not have enough to buy everything. “Damn ... I’m three Helmep short. Morre, is there room for negotiation? Maybe I could do a favor to make up the difference.”

The mage thought a moment and turned to George with an idea. “I’ll sell you the scrolls for the coin you have on you if you’ll deliver a message to a friend of mine who lives in Siren’s Song. I use the word ‘friend’ loosely. He’s a large ball of energy called a wisp ... a Wisp of Song. If you can find him, and I assure you he’s difficult to find, please give him this sealed envelope. Inside is the information he desires.”

“A wisp? Huh! Never heard of that before.”

Morre smiled, exposing his collection of heavily neglected teeth.

Seeing the mounds of plaque, George’s jaw tightened in order to keep a straight face as Morre responded. “The wisp is my special ‘friend.’ He’s all-knowing when it comes to matters of magic. He’ll be pleased to receive my message, and he’ll reward you by providing an answer to any question you ask of him. But I must warn you, make sure your question is specific and clear.

“Interesting,” George uttered, unsure of what to think. “I tell you what. I can deliver the envelope once I’m done going to the cave ... if that’s okay with you.”

Morre nodded. “That’s not what I would prefer, but that should be acceptable. It’ll save me from traveling the distance.”

“Where can I find this wisp?”

“The wisp makes its home within the mist below Griffin Falls. There is a hidden pool called Siren’s Song. The water from the falls spreads a thick vapor across a vast area. It’s there the wisp hides. Since the gods have protected the area, the wisp isn’t an aggressive creature. You can approach without fear.”

“What else?” George urged.

“The sphere uses song to communicate with those who are willing to perform an act of service. This envelope is the result of my assignment, and the wisp will offer a reward for the information sealed inside.”

George smirked. “So you’re just going to give it to me? Don’t I owe you coin ... not the other way around? Why would you give me your reward?”

“I’m tired. I don’t wish to journey to the wisp’s home. Three Helmep is not a fair trade. You may have the reward for saving my moments.”

George nodded. “Okay ... I’ll buy that.”

“Wonderful ... then all you’ll need to do is give the wisp the envelope as agreed.”

“Nice. Maybe I’ll take on another task and get a second reward while I’m there.”

Morre chuckled. “Don’t be silly. The journey to fulfill the wisp’s assignments involve great danger.” The mage paused. “In almost every case, the adventurer never completes their task. They fail to return from their attempt.”

“Damn, that sucks. So what will the wisp give me for the envelope?”

Morre frowned. “Have you not been paying attention? I told you to ask the wisp a question. You’ll receive a truthful answer.” The mage reached behind his back and picked at his backside. He sniffed his hand as he continued. “But if that’s not enough, you could always choose to tempt fate and perform a second deed of service if you’re insistent on magnifying the reward.”

“I don’t know that I care to tempt fate,” George responded. “You said this wisp spoke in song. Can you tell me more about that?”

“He will use song to communicate with your mind. That’s all you need to know.” The expression on Morre’s face turned serious. “When you ask your question, keep it simple.”

“For sure. I have no desire to mess this up. Besides, I already know what my question will be.” George rubbed his hands together in excitement.

Morre reached down and scratched at his crotch. “I’m sure your question will change before you find an audience with the sphere.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Anyway ... I’ll get your envelope to the wisp. You can count on that.”

After paying out all of his coin and gathering his gear, George said, “I got to get going. I have a trek ahead of me, and I need to arrive at my destination before someone else. Could you please show me on the map where Siren’s Song is?”

Morre pointed to Siren’s Song and then showed George the quickest path to the Pool of Sorrow. He waved goodbye, shut the door and watched out the window with a chuckle as George hurried down the street. Then he turned and walked into his library where the goddess, Celestria, appeared.

“Hello,” Morre said, not in the least surprised at the sudden appearance of the goddess as he morphed into Lasidious to kiss his lover’s voluptuous lips. “My portion of the plan has been set in motion. What about yours?”

“Oh, my love,” Celestria oozed. “You are my sweet devil-god.” She cupped his head in her hands and kissed him again, “You are a wickedly adorable man. I’ve missed you. Everything is proceeding as planned.”

Lasidious smiled and then moved to the entryway where he knelt to place a paper scroll and a pouch on the floor. With that, the gods vanished and returned to their home on Ancients Sovereign.

Soon after the gods took their leave, the door of the mage’s home opened and the real Morre walked in, his natural, nasty-smelling odor following him. As he stepped over the threshold, he noticed the scroll and the small leather pouch filled with coins. Bending to pick them up, he let out a huge, juicy fart that wafted through the home like a poisonous cloud. He waved his hand to clear the air, grunting his own disapproval of the stench. The smell reminded him of the helping of sea turtle he had eaten the night before. A moment later, he redirected his attention back to the note:

Dear Morre,

Please forgive the intrusion on your home, but I assure you it was necessary.

I want to thank you for the scrolls. I’ve compensated you beyond their value since I took them without your knowledge.

I wish I didn’t have to leave before meeting you. I’ve heard so many good things.

Again, I’m sorry, and I hope to one day apologize to you and your brother in person.

Sincerely,

George Nailer

Morre scratched his backside and farted again. He grinned as the forced explosion warmed his hand. With the same hand he reached up and picked a piece of the previous night’s sea turtle out of his teeth and then headed into town toward the local vault. With each bounding step down the front stairway, an additional, moist note of flatulence was released.

Fellow soul ... I wonder if the

vegetation wilted as Morre passed?

How rank was that guy?

Ohhh, to be a fly on the wall.

CHAPTER 8

The Truth be Told

SAM WOKE FROM A great night’s sleep after having a delicious supper, compliments of Mosley. They stayed at the village’s best inn and Sam was grateful for the wolf’s company. He admired the beast while looking across the room, watching the wolf sleep in front of the cold fireplace. Since their hippogriff was not scheduled to take them to their next destination until the Peak of Bailem, there was no rush to get going.

He directed his attention to Shalee, who had slept on the bed with him. He had been careful not to touch her during the night, placing her staff between them, and since the bed was almost as large, if not larger, than his king-sized bed back home, they had plenty of room.

She looked peaceful. Every now and then she moved gently from one side to the other. Sam was glad to see her movement. As a doctor, he knew it was not good to stay in one position for too long.

She’s beautiful,
he thought.
What is it about her that I like so much? I can’t put my finger on it. Do I really like her kind of drama? She’s a bit of a diva ... but what a diva she makes. I bet those pretty hands have never seen a real day of manual labor. This woman is going to be my Achilles’ heel, I just know it. I wish I could hold her.

He moved from the bed to the window. The place felt more like a cottage than an inn as his bare feet made contact with the cold, flat stones of the floor. He stopped, closed his eyes, and imagined he was in a castle. He took a deep breath of the clean country air and stretched, adding to his fantasy. The world of Luvelles was in clear view, its purple hues added to his enjoyment of the moment as he looked up into the bluest of morning skies.

Sam had always struggled with his imagination and his ability to fantasize. This had bothered him throughout his life. He could never seem to escape his own need to stick to reality. Following this pattern, his logical mind dragged him back from the fantasy of walking on castle floors and dropped him into the cold reality of a simple village, full of everyday, simple people.

Adjusting his gaze, he looked down at the townsfolk who were scattered along the street in front of their respective businesses. He laughed inside.
This place is exactly what I used to believe was fantasy. Now the fantasy is reality, and this reality is… well ... it’s refreshing.

From the smell penetrating the air, breakfast was being prepared somewhere. Taking another deep breath, Sam thought of George.
I wonder where he is? Is he dead? If not, what’s he up to?

If he could have known what George was up to, Sam would have been relieved to know that at this moment, the jerk was having a pleasant breakfast with Athena. However, since Sam was not one to wallow in a vacuum of unanswerable questions, he dropped the thought. He turned from the window and moved across the room to wash his face. The water he poured from the pitcher was cold, and he enjoyed the brisk splash.

Mosley shifted near the fireplace, but he did not wake. As Sam looked over at Shalee, Bassorine, the God of War, appeared out of nothing, standing next to the bed. Startled, Sam watched the god look down at the sleeping woman and whispered, “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Bassorine turned from Shalee and walked toward Sam. “There’s no need to whisper. The others can’t hear us. This conversation will remain between us. I’m here to understand your mind and inform you of the situation regarding the Crystal Moon. This would be a gratuitous series of moments in which to ask any question you may have.”

“Finally!” Sam sighed, taking note of the god’s interesting use of the phrase, gratuitous series of moments. “My thoughts are scattered in many directions. I’ve never had a hard time focusing like this.”

Bassorine nodded. “I’m sure your mind feels cursed since you’re no longer in control of your environment.”

“You can say that again. I hate this.”

“Hate is a waste of an emotion. Perhaps you channel your thoughts and ask your questions.”

“Okay, okay. Here it goes. I would like to know how I know you. Have we met before? When I read the symbols on your statue, I was able to understand their meaning. Why? I even understood a portion of the language the griffin, Soresym, spoke. Again, I ask why?”

Bassorine walked back to the bed. He leaned over and caressed Shalee’s cheek. “Your questions will require lengthy explanations. I’m not sure your mind is ready to hear what I have to say. We should come back to these particular matters once you have had the proper series of moments for your mind to adjust. I trust this would be acceptable, yes?”