“There are two types of magic?” Eleanor asked confused.
“No, magic is magic; it is simply the manipulation of energy, just like the energy you hold within you. It is how you access that energy which makes the difference. For example the magic you practice is natural magic.”
Eleanor stared at him. “The magic I practice?”
“Eleanor, you blow holes in solid rock – what did you think you were doing?”
Eleanor felt this needed a reply, but once she had opened her mouth she realised she had no idea what she wanted to say.
Conlan chucked. “You really did not know, did you?”
Eleanor shook her head. “I knew I was doing something, but it never crossed my mind it was magic. It just seemed normal… well, normal for me anyway. Natural magic, unnatural magic, what is the difference?”
Conlan looked thoughtful. “Let me give you an example. I want a piece of wood to fuel my fire. If I used natural magic I would find a seed in the earth and gently encourage it to grow, giving it energy so that it would grow far faster than normal, and when the tree was grown I would cut a branch from it. If I was to use unnatural magic to achieve the same thing I would take the same seed, the building block of life, and through concentration and sheer willpower I would force it to grow and assume the shape of the branch.”
“So natural magic is good and unnatural magic is bad?”
Conlan shook his head. “No, Eleanor, magic is just energy. I told you – it is what you do with it that makes it good or bad. All unnatural magic means is that the magician is working outside of the normal rules of nature. This can be very useful on occasion, but it takes a vast amount of strength, knowledge and control to use unnatural magic.”
Eleanor’s churning mind again provided her with an insight into what Conlan had just said. “That is how you created me, with unnatural magic.”
Conlan nodded, smiling at her. “And you did not turn out so bad, did you?”
Eleanor blushed and quickly changed the subject. “So these Elves use a lot of unnatural magic. Are they friendly?”
“No.”
“Will we have to steal the wand from them?”
“Perhaps.”
“Let me guess: they live in some high, impenetrable tower somewhere?”
Conlan smiled. “No, they live in the Whispering Sands, a vast empty desert.”
“Great! We can find them though?”
“If we head out into the desert, they will find us.”
“How do you know the Elves have the wand?” Eleanor asked.
“I have a… a friend, an Elf called Trey, I was with him when I saw the wand.”
“Why do I get the feeling there is a lot more to this story?”
Conlan sighed. “I met Trey in a town called Drent on the edge of the desert. He had come looking for supplies, I had come looking for the Elves.”
“Why?”
“Eleanor, if you want to hear this story, be quiet!”
She nodded, shrugging away her annoyance. Conlan continued. “People do not like Elves and do not trust them, and to be honest they have good reason. I actually had to stop some of the locals beating Trey to death.”
Eleanor shuddered as her mind proffered the image of Conlan being attacked by the crowd in Bremen.
“Trey was very grateful. Afterwards we got talking and he seemed friendly enough. I told him I was looking for someone to help me create Avatars and he agreed to take me to his tribe’s elders, as he felt sure they could help. On the journey to the meet the elders he asked me about the Avatars and I told him far more than I should have; I was young and stupid, but it was actually pleasant to have someone to talk to who did not mock.”
Eleanor smiled, amused that Conlan would admit to ever being young or stupid.
Conlan sighed. “What I did not know was that Trey was a very minor player within his tribe’s politics, but that he had big ambitions. I think he saw the power an Avatar would give him as a way of realising those ambitions. The tribal elders listened to my request, and I noticed that one of them had a wand like the one in the book. They refused to help and then banished me back out into the Whispering Sands, effectively a death sentence. Trey came to find me and took me back to Drent. I was not in a particularly healthy state and he convinced me he could help me create an Avatar. I did not see the harm in trying.”
“And Will paid the price,” Eleanor finished for him. Conlan nodded, his eyes haunted.
“I had made no preparations, taken no time to study his culture. I just ripped him away from it. It nearly drove him mad. It would have destroyed a weaker person. Trey then tried to kill me so he could take control of the power he assumed this new Avatar would possess, but Will fought him off, wounded him, causing him to flee.”
“Will defended you?”
Conlan nodded. “I was too weak to protect myself. If he had not, Trey would have killed me. I owe Will a lot.”
She could hear the affection and respect in Conlan’s voice and it made her smile. She wondered if he had ever told Will how grateful he was. Eleanor stared into the fire, slowly processing this information. A disconcerting realisation hit her, she pulled the book off Conlan, back onto her lap and began running back through the last few pages until she found the part about the sacred objects. And there it was, the author talking about six sacred objects, not five – there was another object that they knew nothing about.
“Conlan, we are missing one,” she proclaimed. “The book describes six sacred objects, but we only know about five.”
“I know about the sixth object.”
She turned to look at him; he was giving her that inscrutable look again, like he was examining her soul. She waited, knowing that badgering him would not make him answer her any quicker.
“The sixth object was a person – the betrayed king’s granddaughter, the last of his line, a fifteen-month-old called Fraya,” he explained quietly.
“So Alaric’s bloodline is not lost.”
Conlan shook his head. “No, not lost, just buried by time and secrets.”
Eleanor was going to ask what happened to the granddaughter, when everything suddenly slipped into place and the answer flashed through her mind with such clarity there could be no doubt.
“The picture of Alaric… that is why it looks so familiar: it is you! You with a beard; older, but it is still you! Alaric is your ancestor and you are a descendent of the royal bloodline. That is how your grandfather knew all this, why he had the book in the first place,” she said, shocked.
Conlan nodded solemnly.
Eleanor stared at him. “Wow, I have never met a king before.”
Conlan laughed. “I am as much a king as you are a goddess!”
“Do the others know?”
“Will knows, I had no choice but to tell him.”
Eleanor nodded. “Does your father know that you are Alaric’s descendent?”
Conlan shook his head. “The secret has been passed on from father to eldest son for generations. My mother was an only child, and my grandfather despaired that the line would die out, but then I turned up and he made me heir to the secret. At this moment in time the Lords of Mydren – and more importantly my father – regard me as an annoyance, a silly boy with an obsession, and they assume I will fail. But announcing myself as the descendent of Alaric would be like declaring war on them. They would take that rather more seriously. I do not need to be king to balance the elements and save Mydren. While nothing would give me greater pleasure than removing from my father and his cronies the power they covet, I am not stupid enough to start a war I have no hope of winning.”
Eleanor considered this for a moment. “Why did you have to tell Will?”
Conlan smiled. “Because he is as bright as you and was rapidly coming to his own, slightly inaccurate, conclusions.”
“Did you just say I was bright?” Eleanor asked slowly.
“Yes, Eleanor, I said you were bright; deeply annoying, incapable of taking orders and impossible to shut up, but very bright.”
“Guess you have to take the good with the bad. You are not exactly the easiest person in the world to deal with either, you know.”
“Then I suppose we suit each other well.” There was something in his voice – a hint of affection perhaps? Eleanor was not sure, but it made her feel warm inside.
Conlan leaned back against the large log behind them. Eleanor closed the book, and hugging its familiar bulk to her chest she curled herself into a ball, pulling her blanket over her, and watched the fire crackle.
She was tired, but sleep would not come, there was too much information clamouring for her attention. She heard Conlan moving around, stretching himself out behind her, and soon his breathing was a slow, regular rhythm. Eleanor rolled over again slowly, the fire warming her back. He lay on his side in front of her, head on his arm, face peaceful, and she silently admitted that as much as she was missing home, she had liked having Conlan all to herself. Knowing she had to face it sooner or later she let the suppressed thought out from where she had been hiding it.
You’re in LOVE with him!
it screamed at the top of its lungs, causing her to catch her breath. It was true of course, she realised as soon as the thought was out. She loved his quiet presence, his ability to absorb the very worst his world hit him with and still be able to care, the impression he gave of strength and control while inside he was hurt and frightened and his stubborn refusals to give in. Eleanor tried to snap herself out of it.
That’s more than enough hero worship,
it’s not as if he’s ever going to love me back. How did he describe me? ‘Deeply annoying, incapable of taking orders and impossible to shut up…’ doesn’t sound much like a declaration of love.
The desire to reach out and touch his face was almost irresistible; however, the thought of having to explain herself when he woke up kept her still. Instead she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, a small hope flashing through her head, and she smiled to herself. Maybe she would dream about him.
Dragons and Dreams
“Eleanor… Eleanor?”
The voice, his voice, sounding irritated. She opened her eyes. The light stung, blinding her for a moment. Half-remembered dreams still filled her head. Confused, she sat up, the book falling open into her lap.
“I’m awake,” she mumbled, raising her hand to cover her eyes. She had not slept well and her head throbbed and her tongue felt sticky.
“Are you alright?” Conlan asked, irritation heavy in the question.
“Yes,” she replied, the irritation mixed with his oddly courteous question confusing her further. “Are you?”
Conlan’s irritation seemed to raise a notch. “I’d be better if I’d had more sleep.”
Eleanor looked at him blankly, her throbbing brain having problems working out how his lack of sleep and obvious irritation with her were connected.
“You talk in your sleep,” Conlan informed her.
Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face.
What did I say?
Her look of horror brought a wry smile to his lips.
“You were talking about something called a ‘dragon’,” he said. Eleanor knew he had noticed her relief. Desperately looking to hide her embarrassment she began pulling the fragments of her dream together.
“I dreamt about a dragon that lived in a waterfall. It killed me,” she whispered.
A frown creased Conlan’s forehead. “What’s a dragon?”
“A massive lizard-like creature with sharp teeth and even sharper claws – breathes fire, has wings; kind of hard to miss I would guess,” Eleanor replied.
“Traldon?”
Eleanor stared at him perplexed. “Pardon?”
“Enormous flying lizard. I didn’t think they still existed. You have these creatures in your world?”
Eleanor shook her head. “Only in books and movies. They are mythical creatures, and there is no evidence to say they ever existed. Then again, in our world Elves are mythical too.”
Conlan nodded. “And that’s it, you had a dream?”
“Yes, a dream. A vivid, unpleasant dream.” Eleanor shuddered. “I’m sorry I kept you awake.”
Conlan gave her another irritated glance before getting up and starting to break camp. Eleanor dropped her head so that her hair would hide the expression on her face. How close had she come?
What if I’d said something about him?
Horror at the possibilities for disaster blanked her mind. Her eyes focused on the picture on the page open in front of her, recognition making her jump.
“Conlan, these waterfalls… these are the same waterfalls from my dream.”
Conlan stopped what he was doing and crouched next to her, looking at the picture.
“Is that why you dreamt about it?”
“Perhaps.” Eleanor studied the picture. Now she knew what she was looking for she found it quickly. Drawn to appear to be the rocks in the side of the waterfall, Eleanor could see the distinct shape of a dragon, a chalice next to it.
“This is where we’ll find the chalice,” Eleanor said, showing Conlan the outlines.
“How did you do that? I can barely see the dragon and you’re pointing it out to me.”
“I’ve no idea, I just can. Is this a real place? Do you think there’s a real dragon?” Eleanor asked, looking back at the picture.
“It’s a real place, it’s where the five rivers meet, but it’s a long way from here. The wand would be closer. I didn’t think dragons had existed for hundreds of years.”
“So we get the wand first and then the chalice – easy,” Eleanor said, grinning at him.
“Easy…” Conlan echoed quietly, but he did not smile back.
Eleanor felt her heart sink. “I’m sorry I kept you awake, really. I didn’t have any control over it.”
Conlan shook his head. “No, I was wrong to snap at you; clearly your dreams were fuelled by the book. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but I never really considered how difficult it was going to be. Dragons now? How are we meant to deal with that? I thought if I could shoulder the responsibility I could protect you. I should never have dragged you into this.”