Cydas nodded.
“The Oracle,” He said.
Then he opened the door.
“Is here.”
Everyone heard it but did not have time to respond as Cydas
ushered into the room and shut the door behind them.
Inside Marc found himself walking into a large tall entry
room with a high ceiling. Stone columns were halfway embedded into the walls
leading up to stone beams that interconnected with wooden beams. The room was
straight at the beginning, leading towards a circular center, and then ending
straight again. At the far end of the room a small set of stone steps led up to
a sort of elevated platform with a tall and wide set of windows. The windows
overlooked a beautiful scene of the river, with forest and mountains in the
distance. Sunlight streamed in the window, making the stone tiled floor shine
beautifully. Elegant carvings and designs were etched into the floor of the
room. A circle of tiles was separate from the rest of the room, depicting an
elegantly and carefully crafted tree with many branches and leaves. Near the
top of the tree the leaves began turning into stars.
Two doors were on opposite sides of the room facing each
other. A set of stairs were also set into the walls opposite each other leading
to upper levels of the building. A balcony on the right hand side was visible,
overlooking the main room. Shelves lines one of the walls, filled with books
and tomes. A set of chairs surrounded a round table near the far side of the
room. Two sets of armor stood opposite each other at the base of the slightly
elevated dais at the back, guardians of steel.
An older man sat at the table, a book open in front of him.
He turned as the doors opened.
“Who enters?” The man asked, lifting himself somewhat
arduously from his seat.
“It is I, Goodfather.”
“Cydas! Me’lad!” the old man said, quickly recognizing the
voice and then the face, “All is well?”
“All is well!”
The old man approached them, embracing Cydas when he reached
them.
He was dressed in simple long dark tunic with large purple
sash, sturdy long sleeve shirt, sturdy pants, and a pair of knee length leather
boots.
“You have been gone too long I think!”
Cydas smiled, “Goodmother said the same,”
“Of course, of course.”
He had an amiable grandfatherly nature to him.
Cydas repeated to the man what he had said to the woman.
The man bowed his head low in understanding, taking in the
others’ presence.
Marc stepped forward.
Cydas introduced him, “Marcus Hughes, Wielder of the Flame.”
The old man got down on one knee and bowed low, “Wielder, it
is an honor.”
Marc looked left, then right, and finally said, hesitantly,
“Thank you. You may stand.”
The old man stood.
“This is Laura, The Unseen Pathwalker.”
Laura gave a low courtesy.
“This is Puck, Ancestor of Rynar, the legendary blacksmith
and inheritor of his ability.”
The old man took Puck’s forearm in a firm grip.
“This is Drake, the Ageless One. And this is Zildjin and
Sesuadra, both close friends of Marcus and exceptionally skilled in their own
right.”
“The Oracle is here then?” Drake finally asked what everyone
was thinking. He was more forthright than usual.
The old man nodded, “Yes,” he said, “But you cannot speak to
her like this. You have traveled far and must rest.”
“We can rest later,” Drake said.
The old man shook his head, “It is taxing on both your mind
and your body to converse with the Oracle, you must first rest, and put your
mind at ease.
“But we have come so far,” Zildjin also added.
“He is right,” Cydas said, “You must rest first, you will
all speak with the Oracle, first thing tomorrow.”
Marc both did and did not want to
rest.
His body was tired from so much travel, his legs, even as
used to the strolling gait of Redmor as they were, were sore, not the fresh
kind of sore, but a sort of deep slight aching sore that won’t go away.
The old man led them through one of the doors to a long
hall connected to several other rooms, some doored off, others completely open.
As they walked down the hall Marc realized that Cydas had
not followed them.
Puck seemed to notice as well because he asked, “Where is
Cydas?”
The old man glanced behind him to confirm that Cydas was no
longer there.
“Must be he has gone to see Sylandria.”
“Who is Sylandria?” Laura asked.
“The Oracle.” The old man answered.
“What?” Zildjin said in surprise
“How is it that we are too tired from traveling to see the
Oracle and Cydas, who took the same trip with us, is not?”
“Cydas does not seek to converse with the Oracle the same
way you will tomorrow,” The old man explained calmly, “Sylandria,” he
continued, “Was once his One Love.”
Before anyone could speak further they entered a large
kitchen and dining room.
A woman was making bread in the kitchen on an open counter
facing the dining area.
“Zania,” The old man said, “We have guests.”
The woman looked up from her work. She could’ve been in her
late thirties but looked younger. She had long brown almost reddish hair, a
fair countenance, green eyes and freckles on her face. She was wearing a dark
green colored dress with a white apron on. Flour covered her apron and her arms
up to her elbows.
She smiled as Marc and the others came in.
“Welcome,” She said kindly.
“Zania, these are they that Cydas has sought.”
The woman put down the dough she was kneading and quickly
wiped her dirty hands on her apron.
“Pardon me Blessed Ones. Please forgive me, my hands—my
hands are messy.”
Marc stepped forward, “All is well, Zania.” He put a hand up
to calm her worries.
He noticed Zania tilt her head as he spoke, to take in the
new voice. Then he realized her eyes only appeared green because the dark green
dress she wore brought out that color in her pupils, but in fact her eyes were
a dull grey.
“Goodfather, is Cydas with them?”
Next Marc realized that she was blind and felt stupid with
his hand up. He let it drop quickly, embarrassed.
“He has gone to see Sylandria,” the old man answered.
Zania nodded with a smile, “He has been away from her for
long this time.”
“Sorry,” Laura interrupted, “Who is Sylandria?”
Zania tilted her head again at the new voice.
“And who is this?” Zania asked, “M’lady, if I may be so bold
to ask.” She finished, apologetically.
Laura began to turn red.
“Just Laura is fine,” She said.
“Goodfather, could you bring me the water and washbasin, I
desire to meet the Wielder of the Flame and his companions.”
“Of course dear,” the old man replied.
They watched as Zania washed herself clean and removed her
apron.
The old man then helped her step out of the kitchen and into
the adjacent room where everyone stood.
“This,” The old man said, positioning Zania in front of
Marc, “Is Marcus Hughes, Wielder of the Flame.”
Zania lifted her hands slowly. They were trembling. Small
tears began to form in her eyes. “Pardon me, M’lord.”
Marc opened his mouth, almost in protest to the title, then
shut it again, “All is well,” he said gently.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
She slowly reached out her hands until they touched his
face. She proceeded to softly feel his countenance. “Goodfather, he is young.”
“Aye,” The old man said, “But he is strong Zania.”
Zania nodded, taking the old man’s word for it.
“M’lord,” she told Marc, “You have a handsome face, one of
Courage and Determination.”
“Thank you,” he said, not knowing what else to add.
“And Laura,” she said, “Where is Laura?”
The old man positioned Laura in front of her, “This is
Laura, The Unseen Pathwalker.”
“M’lady indeed,” Zania said, “Not simply Laura.”
“You have a kind face,” she said of Laura, “one of Loyalty
and Selflessness.”
The old man went on to position her in front of all of the
party, one at a time. And one at a time she placed her hands on their faces and
told them what she saw in her own way.
“This is Puck, descendant of Rynar, he is a Shifter, and
possessor of the same magic that wrought the Phoenix Blade.” The old man said.
“I have grey eyes too,” Puck said.
“Is that so?” Zania said. She smiled and wiped her tears
away, “You have been injured recently,” She spoke when she touched Puck’s
cheek.
“It is nothing but a flesh wound,” He shook his head
slightly, but not away from her hands.
Zania smiled, “In your face I see Foolishness,”
Puck scrunched up his face in a sort of childish and grumpy
way and Zania felt the facial expression with her hands.
Zania continued to smile, “and Bravery.”
Puck smiled.
She moved on to Zildjin.
“I am Zildjin, Jidan of Kolima.”
“He is one of my closest friends,” Marc added.
Zania nodded. “Zidljin, you are lucky to have your face, you
too are handsome.”
Zildjin blushed.
“I see Endurance and Generosity as well.”
Zildjin nodded as she finished.
Then she moved to Sesuadra.
“I am Sesuadra, Jidan of Kolima.”
“Brothers?” Zania asked.
“Brothers at heart,” Sesuadra admitted.
“Raised by the same woman,” Zildjin added.
“Sesuadra. You have a Noble face, one of Patience and vast
Knowledge.”
Sesuadra shrugged, then nodded, accepting the assessment.
She finally moved to Drake.
“This is Drake, the ageless one.” The old man said.
She moved to place her hands at a level where she thought
Drake would be in height. When her hands met air she lowered them.
She drew back briefly after touching Drake’s face, and then
put them back on him.
“You are young,” she said, “Quite young.”
“My appearance belies my true age,” Drake said.
Zania nodded, her hands confirming his words, “Indeed. In
your face I see great agony, and a great willpower.”
When she finished with all of them she stepped back and
said, “Thank you.”
“Zania, if you wish, you can feed our guests, I will go and
draw water for the baths.”
The old man retreated down the hall.
“If you are hungry, there is plenty to eat.”
She found her way back to the kitchen and washed her hands
again. Afterwards, she began to slowly take food from the pantry and line the
counter that looked into the dining room with foodstuffs.
“Please, take what you like, sit and eat.”
Marc felt his stomach rumble and realized how hungry he was.
He and the others took plates that Zania laid out, filled
them with food, and stepped back into the dining room and sat down to eat.
Zania got out more flour and began to knead the dough on the
counter facing them.
Tears were welling up in Zania’s eyes again.
Marc was the first to notice, “Is—Is there something wrong?”
he said, half standing from his place at the table.
“No,” Zania replied, “No. Please do not mistake my tears for
ones of sadness. I cry because I am happy.”
“About what?” Marc replied stupidly.
“I am happy that you are here, that you have come to stop
The Archfiend.”
“You know—” Laura said, “—about everything?”
“I know about most of it,” Zania said.
“How?” Zildjin asked.
“My father, was one of the Ascendant Sages.”
Everyone except Marc was surprised, and stopped eating.
“Your
Father
?” Zildjin said with his mouth full.
She nodded.
“One of the Ascendant Sages?” Sesuadra added quietly.
“He went mostly by his title, The Artificer. Tremos murdered
him when I was only a child. He almost killed me too. The dark magic he used
on me left me crippled and blind. The Keeper saved me, and brought me here many
cycles ago. I finally regained the ability to walk but I will never again see
with my eyes.”
The Keeper
. Marc thought.
But the Oracle said that
he had died bringing the map to her.
Tears began to flow down her cheek again, “And Tremos killed
him as well, not that long ago.”
“Zania,” Marc said, standing up and going over to the bar,
“I’m so sorry.”
“You do not need to be sorry,” Zania said, wiping away her tears
on her apron, “you were not the one who killed him, or my father, Tremos did.
The Keeper sacrificed himself to bring the Oracle the map, and she sent Cydas
to give you the map and bring you all here, and now, here you are.”
“Yes,” Marc agreed, “We finally made it.”
“You have to stop him,” Zania said in a way that was both
firm and also a plea, “My father told me that deep down inside Tremos is
nothing more than a man, a weak, power-hungry man. Even with all his dark magic
and his hordes of armies you can stop him Marcus, you are the Wielder of the
Flame you have to.”
In that moment Marc felt the immense rush of energy and
power that he had felt in his vision of the Fae Ones. A strong desire to right
wrongs, conquer evil, and bring Tremos to justice welled up once more inside
him.
“I will,” Marc said, then turning to everyone, he said, “We
all will.”
His own words echoed in his head as
he lay in bed staring up through the darkness at the wooden beamed ceiling.
After they finished their meal they took turns separately
occupying the bathing room, scrubbing down and getting clean. Marc had been
tempted to play the same trick on Laura that she and Aliyana had played on him,
barging in on her while she bathed, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Even though, of course, a part of him wouldn’t mind, the other part would be
embarrassed to see Laura naked, especially in that way, a sort of cheat way. He
wanted that moment to be special. He knew it was odd but he didn’t mind so much
that she had pranked him. After so much training and fitness he had become
quite confident in his own figure. He was glad he hadn’t anyway, after he
learned that Zania and Laura had shared a bath.
Sesuadra lay on a bed against the far wall. Zildjin was
sharing Cydas’s bedroom with him across the hall and Puck and Drake were in the
room approximate them. Laura and Zania were sharing a room on the other side of
the house, across the main entrance hall with the old couple which Marc still
had yet to learn their names, in a room together opposite Zania’s bedroom.
The room was dark except for a sliver of light coming from
the two planets in the night sky slipping in through the cracks in the
shuttered window. Marc was tired and knew he should be sleeping to prepare to
meet the Oracle the next day, but he just couldn’t seem to rest, his mind was
busy thinking about everything Zania had said and about meeting the Oracle. The
chilly night had made him put on long warm undergarments as pajamas.
It was while he was thinking when the door to the room
creaked quietly open.
For a moment Marc thought that Sesuadra had gotten up to
relieve himself or something, but a quick glance over to the far side of the
room revealed that Sesuadra was still asleep in his bed.
Someone’s head peeked into the room.
Marc sat up and tried to make out who it was.
Then came a voice, soft and barely audible.
“Marcus?”
Marc didn’t know if he should answer, still trying to figure
out who it was.
The figure came into the room, quietly closing the door
behind them.
“Marcus?” again, slightly louder, but still very quiet.
“Laura?” Marc finally recognized who it was.
The dark figure who was Laura turned at Marc’s reply and
walked over to his bed.
“Laura, what are you doing here?” Marc whispered.
“Sorry it took so long, Zania is an extremely light sleeper,
I suppose because she cannot see her hearing has improved to make up for the
lost sense.”
“Laura,” Marc tried again, “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you,” she said.
Marc glanced over at Sesuadra, his sleeping form was still
in its same position on his bed.
“I’m not alone in the room, Laura,” He gestured to Sesuadra
in the other bed.
“I know,” Laura said, “I will be quiet, I promise.”
“Huh?”
Suddenly he felt her knees and her weight on the bed next to
him and she was leaning towards him. Her hands came up and then stopped on each
of his cheeks, cupping his face.
She was so close to him he could smell her scent, mixed with
the fragrance of the fresh soap she had just used on her body earlier.
Her body
. He unwillingly thought.
She leaned towards him in the darkness. Her face was inches
from him. The moons’ light cast perfectly upon her face. She was beautiful
beyond anything he had imagined, even more so than before.
Her nose barely touched his and he felt an almost physical
electric energy pulse through him at the contact. She parted her lips slightly
and he did the same. Then Marc closed his eyes and Laura did the same, and they
kissed. The energy burst throughout his whole soul as their lips intertwined.
He could feel passion rising within him as the kiss continued for what felt
like an eternity, a wonderful, joyful eternity.
His hands began to move on their own, traveling slowly up
her back and into her hair, massaging her neck and head.
They broke the kiss for a moment.
“Marcus,” Her voice was soft, “I love you,”