3

 

Papa's scream, calling me to the yard; I had to clean up after last night's supper. At the site of the priestess's death, I found no trace of yesterday's fight; the entire yard was stained with a mixture of ash and mud. Of course, I was the lucky one who had to clean it all up. Memories of last night flashed before my eyes like a nightmare. Today, during the day, I wasn't so sure that all these terrible events had actually happened. There was only one way to find out for sure. I had to go to the Frisian temple.

Cleaning took me until noon, plus an hour. All this time, Xenor hadn't shown up. But I was afraid to look in his window. I asked Papa where our guest was, and that got me a headache. I didn't dare ask again. I kept glancing at the temple, but Mother Dhora was nowhere to be seen. An hour after noon, the mayor came to Papa, as he put it, "to get well," and reminded Papa that Mr. Delmonte was coming tomorrow. Papa calmed the mayor and said that Magus was leaving for the north tonight. I decided I had to hurry, so I set off across the square, carefully checking to make sure no one was looking at me suspiciously. The day was bright; even the sun had emerged and was warming up. There weren't many people in the square. I only saw the owner of the sawmill, Romba, his wife, and their daughter, Borna, to whom I could barely say "hello," stuttering and blushing. She was my age – ten summers, we'd be entering adulthood together, but that was still a long way off, six long years had to pass. This time, I said "good" to her without even looking.

"Father, why don't we go to the temple to pay our respects today?" I heard

him ask.

"To the temple? A child, what kind of... Damn it! Be quiet, girl!" he reprimanded

her. Then he turned to his wife. "How did you raise her, woman? It's a shame to be seen among people."

The temple is a large building, its foundations made of stone blocks. A remnant of an ancient civilization; apparently, a stronghold once stood here. Only three houses still had such foundations: the mayor's, Rombo's, and the miller's. Papa once said that humans and elves once lived here, but those were so ancient that no one knew what caused their decline. Because that civilization had fallen, there was no doubt about it. Far in the forest, the lumberjacks say there's an old cemetery there, but no one ventures there because it's a strange and haunting place haunted by ghosts and spectres. They buried their dead in the ground in barrows, unlike us. We send our dead out to sea in special boats, having previously set them on fire.

As I mentioned, the temple's foundations were made of stone, and on them was built a wooden building covered entirely in runes. The structure was crowned by a dome, composed of interwoven spruce slats and inventively colored fish bladders of various sizes. During the solstices, this produced an incredible, visually pleasing effect, as the sun's rays refracted at various angles, creating picturesque mosaics on the temple walls, like multicolored tongues. In the center stood an altar of thanksgiving, the center of which was a large block of rock crystal. It was said to have magical healing properties. This crystal radiated its own light when someone endowed with power or marked by the gods approached it.

At the temple gate, I met the old fisherman Olaf, who didn't even look at her. Before entering, I looked into his eyes, and the sun dimmed them. Normally, the eyes of our race are grayish in color, but Olaf's were almost white!

I pushed the temple gates, but they wouldn't budge. I pushed harder. Nothing. Well, what did I expect, that they would be open? At the back of the temple was the living quarters, a small room, and a kitchen. I ran around the building and stood by the door. My heart was pounding like Werning's hammer (the local lumberjack, who also served as blacksmith). I pushed, and the door gave way. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching me and went inside. The room was indeed small; on the left, under the window, stood a bed, and on the right, a large, sealed chest. Above it, on the shelves, stood various strange objects, the origins of which, let alone their purpose, I preferred not to guess. I crossed the room and found myself in the kitchen. Various herbs hung above the stove, dropping in pods. Jars and pots were scattered beneath the window; it looked as if someone were searching for something. I turned and stood in front of a shelf of scattered books, which would be of no use to me, as I can't read. From the kitchen was a passage to the temple, but the door wouldn't budge there either. There was no sign of Mother Dhora. So I decided to talk to someone about her; surely, someone must have noticed her disappearance. I didn't want to admit to myself that the priestess was truly dead. I turned back. As I walked through the room, I noticed something glinting on the shelf of strange objects, a glint of light, a ray of sunlight streaming through the window reflecting off something. I went over and found a small silver-plated medallion, engraved with the symbols of the sun, moon, and six-pointed star. I wanted to put it back, but some inner voice told me not to. Without hesitation, I took it. I thought it was a theft, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was an object with magical properties. I tucked it into my pocket and headed back.

That evening, a large crowd gathered again at Dad's inn. They drank beer and discussed plans to build a palisade fence around the settlement.

They also recalled yesterday's supper in the notice board. To my dismay, no one mentioned the duel between Magus and the priestess, even though they praised the miller, Papa, and the mayor for their excellent preparations for the event. They all agreed that it was a resounding success thanks to Xenor's fireworks. So they considered Dhorra's fight with the sorcerer a fireworks display! The spell cast on the community seemed to have affected only partial amnesia. They remembered the entire evening, except for the distortion of the fight. They remembered the fireworks display, and I remembered Dhorra's mother's death. I decided to give it one last try. I walked to the center of the room and looked at Papa; he was engaged in a conversation with the mayor and the miller. I said in a raised voice, "Everyone remembers last night's supper." They looked at me in surprise, but nodded. "Everyone remembers how Daddy and the miller used to compete in drinking matches," I continued. "Everyone remembers how I knocked an eagle into a bonfire." They cackled, but Daddy glared at me with a menacing look mixed with slight surprise. "And does everyone remember how Magus burned the priestess Dhorra to ashes?" I asked. I was terrified when I saw their reactions. Everyone's eyes dimmed and took on the shade of white I'd seen in Olaf's earlier. Daddy will be the first to wake up. I got a slap on the head, stinging, of course, for speaking without permission. The miller came to my defense, saying to Daddy, "Leave the grub alone; my little one was terribly sorry he couldn't have been there to see the fireworks."

The situation seemed hopeless; I lowered my eyes and burst into tears, sitting on a stool by the fireplace. I desperately wanted to talk to Halla, to my mother, to anyone. The secret I carried haunted me. I would prefer they bewitched me too, so I wouldn't remember anything. There was one more thing. I was simply afraid to go to sleep. When my mother had finished serving the guests, she called me in. "Get your supper and take it upstairs," she ordered. And I paled. I didn't want to go there for the world, but how could I explain it? I looked at her, wanting to tell her everything, about Xenor's true nature. This is it! Instead of recounting his crime yesterday, I could have told her his intentions. "Mother, he's a bad man. He wants to enslave us, and what's worse!"

She looked at me and said, "Good or not, he's our salvation. He pays dearly for the room, and he doesn't cause any trouble. He eats little, drinks little." And you don't know if he has any bad intentions, or if he has any bad intentions. Take this dinner and go upstairs. Well, that's a complete disaster. I took the tray and, as if to a scaffold, went upstairs with my head down.

And once again I was standing in front of the little room door. I placed the tray on the small table beside the door, took a deep breath, and knocked. Nothing, no answer. I knocked again. Nothing again. I was about to leave when the door creaked open. He was sitting at the small table by the window, leaning forward, staring at a book with the lamp. "Put it on the bed and leave," he said, ignoring me. I took in the room with a quick glance. His belongings were in disarray; most of his books were books. Large, smaller, and quite tiny. Bound in leather, with heavy cast-iron clasps. On one of them, I saw a mark similar to the one I'd found on the priestess's. He noticed my interest. "This book contains spells that will turn you into a frog just by looking at them," he said, and seeing my fear, he burst into laughter. I ran out of the room without closing the door, almost falling down the stairs.

I couldn't sleep for a long time that night. Lying in my bed, I heard the sorcerer leaving, and the clatter of his staff on the floor made me pull a blanket over my head. When he left, I felt much better. I thought I'd try again in the morning to go to Mother Dhorra's house. After a few moments, I fell asleep and dreamed nothing more until the early morning.

The next day, I didn't manage to go to the temple; there was a lot of work at the inn because Mr. Delmonte had arrived, and Father was running around like a rabid bitch. I also got a slap on the face. Magus wasn't seen for a week. I don't know if he was in Longend during that time. No one mentioned Mother Dhorra, and I found nothing interesting at her place, despite a thorough search. I also stopped going to her, for fear someone would notice me and report me to Xenor. I hadn't met Halla yet, and she hadn't contacted me in any way. I decided to wait, because what could I do?

On the seventh day of the week, which was Zind, Xenor returned. He entered the room in the evening. Father, sitting with the mayor by a barrel of ale, greeted the newcomer with enthusiasm fueled by the effects of the drink.

"Greetings, Lord!" the mayor shouted a little too loudly. "I trust your journey has aided your studies. Please sit down here with us; I offer you refreshments."

The wizard accepted. Settling down at the table, he tossed his handbag, which fell to the floor with a metallic clatter. He reached for the barrel of ale and drank greedily. "Oh! Our guest is so thirsty," Father remarked, then called to me.

"Mitch, you rascal, run to the kitchen and fetch another jug. And don't forget the mug."

Once I was in the kitchen, I heard another shout from my dad.

"And bring me a bowl of herring... You slacker!"

I brought it, setting the tray with the jug, tankard, and herring on the table. Papa handed me a key and told me to carry Xenor's luggage upstairs. It was quite heavy! As I entered the room, I smelled the same unmistakable odor I'd smelled during the mage's duel with Mother Dhorra. I dropped my bag on the ground and was about to leave when my gaze fell on a stack of books by the window. I lit a lamp and walked over to them. I'd never seen such books in my life. When I touched the first one, my fingers tingled. A symbol was painted on the cover: a two-headed dragon holding a nine-pointed star in its paws. Inscribed within the star was a complex pattern, composed of circles interwoven with silver-gray runes. I felt movement behind me. I turned slowly and froze. A staff floated before me, its runes glowing with flame, but its crown was now a living snake's head! Its glowing, hate-filled eyes scanned me from head to toe. I felt hopeless, fear paralyzing me so I couldn't even move. The serpent-staff hissed. I felt dizzy, and the entire room spun. Darkness enveloped me. I felt as if I were dreaming. I felt a searing pain in my chest, and heat spread through me, alternating with ice. Then I saw Halla, waving her hand at me. She stood in a clearing knee-deep in grass, holding a staff in her hand, but different from the mage's. Hers was white and had a different crown. Her staff ended in a white flower that glowed like a torch. I heard her voice reach me from the distance. It was weak and brittle.

"Mitch, a rider will come to town. Tell him everything you saw." Beware of Xenor, his power grows. I can no longer stop him; I am too weak. Speak to no one but the Rider. Do not let the balance be disturbed! Beware the Children of Darkness, they will pursue you! You have been marked. You are the chosen one! The Rider will protect you. Remember, you are our last hope!

Then her form sank into the cloud, sinking into the earth. The clearing began to shrink, as if receding; I felt the cold and heat again. I shuddered, feeling with my whole being the changes taking place within me and the entire area. As if a piece of my soul had been ripped out.

I saw Magus now, racing on a fiery winged horse just above the snow-covered ground. He flew faster than the wind, retreating towards the islands looming on the horizon. I heard his demonic laughter receding along with the trail he left in the sky. The moon emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating the icy desert with a silvery glow, where I saw a host of shadows. The source from which they emerged was one of the islands on the horizon. They moved with incredible speed, warping everything they touched, transforming it into their own image!

As quickly as it had appeared, the vision vanished, and darkness enveloped me once again.