The Last Enchanter (4 page)

He took several spoonfuls before he noticed what was in front of him. Zyll's divining bowl was dented from years of wear. It sat just where Zyll had left it before his hasty departure.

Marcus looked into the dark water. Zyll had seen Fredric's death. He had sensed danger, betrayal. Marcus desperately wanted to see it, too. And why shouldn't he? He wasn't half bad at magic now.

In his mind, he formed an image of Dokur. He remembered the crowded streets, the jutting cliffs above the shore, the grand yet menacing Fortress. The vibrant colors filtering through the stained-glass window in the king's council chambers and the scarlet robes Fredric wore were as vivid now to Marcus as they had been when he had first seen them eight months earlier.

He focused on his memory of Fredric's face. Could he really be dead? And was it true that his brother, Kelvin, was in danger? Marcus peered into the water and tried to summon up the past. Suddenly it felt like someone had taken hold of one of his ribs and snapped it in two. He doubled over, clutching at his chest. He took slow, measured breaths until the pain began to subside.

What Zyll told me was true then, he thought. Magic is to blame for the attacks I've been having.

In a sudden burst of anger, Marcus swung his arm across the table, knocking the divining bowl to the floor. The bowl landed with a sharp ping, and the water spread across the wooden floor, leaving a dark, widening circle in its wake.

“Then I won't do magic,” he said through clenched teeth. “Not ever again!”

Marcus stood up and snatched the rag still draped over the edge of his cot. He knelt at the edge of the spill and
placed his hands in the water. He wondered at the stillness of it. Its surface was as smooth as a mirror, so smooth Marcus could see his reflection in it.

Within moments, Marcus realized the sounds were gone. The crackle of the fire, the soup boiling, the window shutter creaking in the wind—all had gone silent.

And then he realized everything was gone. The world around him had vanished—the table, the fireplace, the cottage—everything. All that remained was himself and the puddle of murky water.

Marcus stared at his face in the water. As he did so, the reflection changed. It was not
his
face he saw now, but an older face bearing the marks of years of hard work and of magic. Zyll stared right back as though he could see Marcus through the water. The image widened, and Zyll's entire body came into view. Zyll lay on his side on a patch of brown earth. The front of his robe was covered in blood flowing into the soil beneath him. As Marcus watched in horror, Zyll's eyes flickered for a moment and then closed. His body lay as still as the earth.

As the water turned dark again, Marcus desperately waited for some other image to appear. He wanted to see Zyll stand up and walk, to hear him laugh and tell Marcus to do his chores. But no image came, only the pale, frantic reflection of Marcus's own face.

Nine

M
arcus did not notice the world returning, nor the sound of the knock at the door. He may not have heard or seen anything at all had someone not grabbed him by the back of his tunic and pulled him to his feet.

“What are you doing?” asked the boy standing in front of him. It was Tristan. “Are you hurt?”

Marcus looked around. The cottage was back to normal. “What happened?” he asked. He realized Clovis was there, too, and had pulled out a chair for him. Clovis held Marcus's arm, helping him into it, though the pain Marcus had felt minutes earlier had nearly gone.

“We should ask you that question,” said Clovis. “We knocked and knocked. When you didn't answer, we thought maybe you'd had another attack.”

“I'm fine,” said Marcus, “but I have to go.”

“Go where?” asked Tristan.

“Dokur.”

Marcus looked around the room. He wouldn't need much, just enough food and water to last a few days. He could refill his water skin at Lake Olsnar. He would also need a weapon. On his quest he had had Xerxes, who doubled as a sword, but Zyll had taken the walking stick with him this time. Marcus had no sword of his own, so he would settle for the long knife Zyll used to cut squash from the garden. It was a good ten inches in length with a sturdy handle. Luckily, Zyll kept it sharp. It would have to do.

“Marcus, you're acting very strange,” said Clovis. “What's going on?”

“You wouldn't understand,” said Marcus.

“Try us.” Tristan crossed his arms and waited.

Marcus wanted to hurry, but he knew his friends wouldn't let him go without some kind of explanation.

“Two nights ago Zyll left for Dokur,” he began. “He saw something in his divining bowl that made him believe Kelvin might be in danger. Today, just now, I saw something, too. I saw Zyll.”

Marcus stopped. The image he had seen passed through his mind again. It was almost more than he could bear.

“I saw Zyll dying.”

Tristan huffed in disbelief. “Zyll can't die.”

“Yes, he can,” said Marcus. “I have to get to him as soon as possible.”

Marcus got up from the table. He fetched Zyll's knife and tied it to his waist with a long strip of cloth. Then he took a blanket from his bed, placed some figs, cheese, biscuits, and dried meat on it along with some coins, and tied the corners together. After taking one last look around the room, he picked up his bundle and headed for the door.

“Are you sure?” Clovis asked. “Sure about Zyll, I mean. Maybe he's just sick, or maybe it hasn't happened at all.”

“It's happened,” answered Marcus, “or is happening. Zyll uses magic to see things in the past and present. The images in his divining bowl have never been wrong. Not once.”

“Then I'm coming with you,” said Clovis.

“No,” said Marcus, “you've got responsibilities here.”

“That's right,” said Tristan. “It's busy season at the tanner's. I can't just up and leave. And Clovis's father's got more bow orders than one person can handle.”

“I wouldn't let you come,” said Marcus. “Besides, I need someone to look after Agnes while I'm gone.”

“Tristan will take care of the goat, won't you, Tristan?” said Clovis.

Tristan shrugged. “Yeah, sure I will.”

“And he'll tell my father where I've gone. As long as I'm back before the first snowfall in a couple of weeks, he won't mind.”

Clovis held tight to his bow, his wide, brown eyes gazing expectantly at Marcus. Clovis had proven a loyal friend during their quest, though the journey was at times demanding for the slightly overweight boy. But he had
grown taller since then and had slimmed out a bit. Maybe Clovis would be up to the task after all. And besides, Marcus reasoned, the crossbow would come in handy for hunting.

“All right, then,” said Marcus. “Grab some extra bread and cheese from the cupboard and anything else you need, and let's go.”

Clovis eagerly gathered up some supplies and followed Marcus out the door, grinning from ear to ear. When they'd gotten halfway across the field, Marcus glanced back at the cottage where he had lived with Zyll his entire life. He wondered whether he would reach Zyll in time or arrive in Dokur only to learn that he was too late to save his grandfather. He shuddered to think about that. He decided it was best to put Zyll out of his mind and to focus on the journey ahead.

He looked back once more. A sick feeling filled him, one he could not ignore, no matter how hard he'd try. It was a feeling that he would not be returning—at least not anytime soon.

Ten

T
wilight.

For humans, this was the time of day when light blended into darkness, creating a muddled picture of the world, but Jayson was not human—at least not entirely.

Jayson had been born of a forbidden union between human and Agoran. Like his Agoran mother, Jayson's eyesight, hearing, and sense of smell were far more acute than his human cousins'. What he gained from his father was a strong skeletal system and powerful human muscles.

He used these attributes now as he prowled the marshlands of Taktani, the northern part of the island where the Agorans had lived for most of Jayson's life. Creeping through the underbrush, he pursued the scent
that had attracted him hours earlier. He could have ended the hunt in minutes, satisfying himself with a warm meal, but he delighted in the hunt itself, savored the act of tracking and trapping his prey. In truth, he doubted he would even make the kill. There was no need. There was food to spare in the village, but still, something in him felt driven to this occasional pleasure.

He pressed on as daylight continued to fade, his catlike vision unhampered by the dimness. Several yards ahead, a warboar grunted and pawed at the ground, preparing its nest for the night. Jayson, hunched and ready, extended his claws. His muscles twitched anxiously, but still he waited.

There would be a midnight feast, he decided at last. He would resist the urge to eat the kill himself and instead carry it back to the village where the elders would prepare it. A bonfire would be lit, and everyone would gather to celebrate the return of his people to their homelands in the forests of Imaness.

Jayson smiled. Yes, this was reason to celebrate. The village he had called home as a child would welcome his hunt. It would be his gift to them, his offering of goodwill.

The warboar was resting now, unaware of Jayson lurking behind the willows. Jayson's attack would catch it by surprise, rendering it helpless before it could consider the possibility of escape.

Jayson flexed his muscles and pressed his heels into the soft earth. He would need instant speed. His claws glistened in the moist, night air. They would make quick
work of the warboar's thick hide. Steady now, thought Jayson, pacing the warboar's breathing with his own. Steady . . .

In the distance, a voice called out. The warboar shifted in its sleep. The voice called again, strained, worried. Jayson knew that voice well, and immediately the thought of the hunt left him. He turned and sprinted off toward the village. The warboar would live another day.

Eleven

T
he hours passed too slowly, and Marcus wished more than anything that he could travel faster, but if he pushed himself too hard, the pain might come back. He would be useless to Zyll then. Better slow than not at all.

Clovis didn't seem to mind. He passed the time by describing every detail of every hunting trip he'd been on in the past few months, none of which interested Marcus, but listening to Clovis did keep Marcus's mind off Zyll for a while.

As daylight faded, Marcus started to feel anxious. The last time he had spent the night among these trees, he had nearly become a giant snake's meal. He was sure there were other creatures lurking in the shadows, and he did not want to meet any of them.

Marcus walked faster. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being stalked.

“You must be feeling better,” said Clovis.

“What?” asked Marcus.

“You're walking faster than before.”

“I just want to get out of the forest.”

Marcus wasn't afraid of the dark, at least not anymore. He had overcome that fear months ago in the shadows of Dokur's watchtower when he fought Arik, the man who betrayed Dokur to the Hestorians. However, Marcus still didn't like the darkness. Darkness had a way of settling into his bones, like a winter chill or a sickness. At home, he always managed to have his chores done before nightfall. By the time the sun said its last goodbyes and tucked itself behind the mountains, Marcus had long before put Agnes in her pen, drawn water for the next morning, and shut the cottage door tightly behind him.

Before Dokur, before he had conquered his fear, he understood why he was afraid. Everything made sense. But now, as the sky grew dark above the forest of trees, the uneasiness he felt made no sense at all.

It's nothing, he told himself, but with each step the light grew dimmer and his courage grew weaker.

“We'll stop here,” he said, tossing his bundle to the ground.

Clovis walked another few paces and then tossed his knapsack beside Marcus's. “I guess here's as good a place as any,” he said through a yawn. “Should I get some wood?”

It would have been easy to make fire. The enchantment that had once seemed so impossible now came almost without thinking, but Marcus hesitated. He thought of the pain it would bring on, and what Zyll had told him: Magic is power, but power comes with a price.

Luckily, Clovis had come prepared. His flint and wool made quick work of the kindling, and they soon had a warm fire. After Marcus and Clovis ate some food from their packs, they spread out their blankets and lay down for the night.

Just as Marcus had convinced himself that it was safe to fall asleep, something in the darkness caught his attention. It wasn't anything he could see. It was more of a feeling that someone—or something—was there.

Marcus shook Clovis by the shoulder. Clovis, who had already fallen asleep, groaned as he sat up. When he saw the knife in Marcus's hand, he reached for his quiver, drawing out two arrows. Marcus placed a finger to his lips, motioning for silence.