Laith looked just as shocked as I felt. It couldn’t be true. And yet, as soon as Ulrik speaks the words, I know he does not lie: King Athos Almerion is dead.
“What do you mean? King Athos is dead?” Laith demands as we re-enter the house.
I give Laith a warning glance for his tone. I’ve watched the green-eyed boy grow into a formidable young man, with his athletic build and dirty-blond hair. But he still has much to learn.
Ulrik throws some logs into the hearth and lights a fire with a piece of flint. A small flame ignites and Ulrik places some kindling over the top. He remains concentrated on the flames, apparently uninterested in answering Laith’s question.
“How has this come to be, Zerina?” I ask. “If this is true and King Athos is dead, this could change the landscape of Levanthria.” My mind searches over the vision I shared with the sorceress Morgana all those years ago. The king was not present in it, despite there being a great war. Is this something that the gods have prophesied that I’ve remained blind to?
Zerina rummages around the dining space and pulls up two stools, passing them to Laith and me. The stools are frail and damp, mould creeping up their legs like an infection over a wound. I wonder for a moment if it will stand the test of bearing my weight, but Laith does not hesitate to take a seat. It was some walk to get to the top of these hills, after all, and we are not yet rested. Laith lets out a sigh of relief as he takes the burden of the plains off his feet. When I see that it does not collapse beneath him, it at least gives me enough confidence to do the same.
Zerina takes a seat, casting her eyes over Ulrik, her face a picture of concern and worry for her friend. The man now seems lost as he stares into the growing flames of the fire.
“Is it a bad thing?” Zerina says. “Is the king dying really that bad? Look at the state of Levanthria, look at the state in which he has left things. My sisters and I were dragged away to the witch trials because the king demanded that those who bear magic were to be enlisted to fight his war. When we declined, my sisters were slaughtered like animals.”
“So, you did it in revenge for killing your sisters?” I ask, still in disbelief that somehow these two were responsible for the death of the king.
“No!” Zerina says sharply. “I swore an oath to protect my companion. It is they who sought revenge against the king.” Zerina holds a prolonged stare over Ulrik once more, tears welling in her eyes as she speaks. “We lost someone special to both of us, and it hit them harder than I could ever imagine.” Zerina takes a deep breath as if being mindful of the words that she speaks. The crackling in the fire grows louder as warmth finally starts to greet us. “Ulrik, he was a good man – he is a good man,” she corrects herself before wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.
I consider asking her who it was they lost, but the anguish in her eyes stops me. The burden she carries from the death of her sisters must be unbearable, enough to break anyone. To then add further loss and grief to that . . .
“The king got what he fucking deserved.” Ulrik’s voice is gravelly like sandpaper. He raises both of his hands in front of the fire, embracing the heat. “Everything that happened was because of him. Think of all the lives that have been destroyed because of his actions. At least now he cannot cause any more damage to these lands. I only wish to be in that position again so that I could savour the moment that he took his final breath, one last time. Enjoy every passing second that he endured when the blast ripped through his stomach.”
“And what of the aftermath? What events will now befall Levanthria once word of his death spreads?” Laith asks.
“Ulrik had no desire or intention to worry about the aftermath of their actions. They have been driven by a vow of revenge since we left the island of Treventine,” Zerina explains. She glances at Ulrik once more with a look somewhere between apprehension, concern, and exasperation. “I only hope that they will finally find peace now that they have fulfilled their blood oath. I fear for what grief has done to their mind.” There is a paternalistic way that Zerina speaks about Ulrik, which I find quite strange given their similar age and shared experiences. I wonder if the two of them are lovers but the bond they appear to share is more in keeping of that of a brother and sister.
“Treventine?” I muse. “To tread such treacherous waters will have been no easy feat. What was it that took you there?”
“A map, and a vision from my murdered sister. That, however, is a story for another time, Jordell. Our boat lies to the east of these hills. We merely made port so I could finally make graves for my sisters. It has taken us weeks to return from the eastern lands of Horath.”
Horath, I know, is where King Athos Almerion has been for the last seven years fighting his war against the Zarubians. What a fool’s war it has proven to be, with only his ego serving him and motivating to keep up the battle front. His desire to quell enemies before they have even shown, let alone declared, their intention to invade Levanthria.
“The vision I shared with Morgana . . . it is the king’s death that led to the aftermath. I am certain of it. This is what brings us to your home, Zerina. It must be fated that you should be here at the moment we arrived.”
“What exactly are you here for, mage?”
“Please, I am not a mage. I will not cast magic to cause any harm. I use it only to aid and protect others.” My reply is hard like stone. I do not want to be associated with the kind of destructive magic that mages possess.
“We will need to find another name for you, then,” Zerina answers curiously. “You still haven’t answered my question, Jordell.”
“A book. Your sister, Briasse, told me about a book written in Elvish that spoke of great artefacts. Would you to happen to know the location of that book, or even confirm to me that such a book exists?”
Zerina casts her curious eyes over me once more. She is hesitant to answer at first but after a brief pause, she does. “You aided my sister when we had no one else to turn to. Briasse clearly trusted you and I sense no darkness in you.” Her eyes flicker from me to Laith, the crackling fire and stifled breaths the only noise for an awkward moment. “Wait here.” Zerina stands from her stool and heads to a room at the far side of the ransacked house. The broken glass and plates crunch under her feet as she disappears.
“Do you think we will learn where to find this sword?” Laith asks. “Do you think this will bring forth your visions?”
“I feel that I must be careful with the visions of which you speak. They could be misleading. How they play out in life could be a matter of interpretation, like choosing a side on a battlefield. No doubt both armies feel they are fighting for the right cause.”
An uncomfortable squeak of scraping wood causes the hairs on my arm to stand as Zerina moves things around in one of the rooms. She curses as something heavy crashes onto the floor.
“There it is,” I hear her say. Zerina exits the room with something in her hands bound in what would have been white cloth. It is now stained with dirt, but has done its job of protecting whatever lies inside.
“Ulrik, the table.” Zerina nods towards the overturned table by the broken window. Ulrik quickly moves from the fire and Laith helps him lift the heavy oak table and place it upright.
Zerina lays the item down and stares blankly at it. “In truth, I have not seen this tome since my mother passed. She gave it to Briasse before she was taken from us.” Her eyes began to well once more as her memories trace over her past. A single teardrop falls from her cheek and lands on the dust-covered table, leaving a strange splash mark as it becomes one with the dirt.
“Are you okay?” Ulrik asks, placing a hand on Zerina’s shoulder.
“It draws my thoughts to all that I have lost.” Zerina delicately unwraps the cloth that protects the tome.
I wait with tentative anticipation of what lies within. My spirits lift when I see a leather-bound book in near perfect condition. Gilded lettering and symbols that I recognise as Elvish adorn the cover, a circular emblem filled with hieroglyphics etched on the outer edge. Zerina blows off what dust has settled on the cover of the book before wiping away the rest with a gentle brush of her hand.
“I presume this is what you are searching for?” she says.
I feel my eyes widen with anticipation. For years our efforts have borne no fruits. We have travelled most of Levanthria in search of learning more about the sacred stone that I have foreseen. I can only hope that within this ancient book lies the answers that we seek. I am certain that the very future of Levanthria depends on it.
Zerina slowly turns the pages, which seem too thick to be made of paper.
“May I?” I ask.
Zerina nods and steps to one side. I skim over the first page, but I cannot fully decipher the Elvish words even after transcribing my own spellbook. Turning the page, the texture feels strange, as if it is formed from some kind of hide. The smell of rich leather drifts over me, combined with the mustiness only brought about through age and damp. I can’t begin to think how old this book may be. Each page I turn carries symbols and words that I do not know the meaning of, but intricate drawings and sketches are contained within. I pore over the contents, entranced by diagrams of waterfalls, the ocean, caves. I reach one that contains a near full-page drawing of a tree. Its branches stretch out above the stars that sit at the top of the page. Underneath, there are multiple symbols that I cannot decipher. My heart sinks.
“The tree of life,” Zerina mutters under her breath.
“You can read these?” I ask in wonderment. “How? How did you come to be able to read such ancient scriptures?”
“We found the waters long hidden by the Elves. When it washed over me, it cleansed me of the burden of my magic-use and granted me knowledge you could not begin to fathom.” Zerina’s face becomes sorrowful as she speaks. “But it came at a price, leaving us with nothing but anger and grief.” She places her hand on the crisp, ancient pages as if she draws comfort from them. “We lost nearly all our crew. One of our men, Orjan . . . he helped us activate the water’s true power.”
“Orjan?” Laith interjects. “Was he of Rashouya?”
“Why yes, yes he was,” Zerina says, taken aback. “You know of him?”
“I was his squire,” Laith answers, his voice elevated. It is a name I have not heard him speak of for some time, yet I can see it still pulls at him like a fish on a line.
“When we came across him, we thought him nothing but a drunk, but I soon learned he possessed courage that not many in these lands carry.” Zerina swallows hard, as if her mouth fills with oil.
“Please, you must tell me his whereabouts,” Laith asks in desperation, rushing beside Zerina and placing his hand at the side of the spellbook. “I need to know that he is okay.”
“That he is now,” Ulrik snarls, tossing some kindling into the fire. “He deserves his curse.”
“His curse?” Laith asks.
Judging by the venom on Ulrik’s tongue, it is clear to me that something serious has happened between him and Orjan, and I feel it wise not to poke him with further questions. It does, however, cause a pang of frustration in me that Orjan still has a hold on Laith’s heart, despite the fact that Orjan abandoned Laith when the boy needed him most.
Zerina places her hand on top of Laith’s. “Orjan bore the brunt of a curse that needed to be triggered so that we could use the waters within Traventine.”
“What happened to him? Is he okay? Where is he now?” Laith eyes dart from Zerina to Ulrik as he struggles with what he hears.
“At least he is alive,” Ulrik speaks through gritted teeth. “Unlike my brother, whose life he took.”
“No!” Laith protests. “Orjan is no cold-blooded murderer, I can’t –”
“Ulrik!” Zerina scolds before turning her attention back to Laith. “He is alive, or least he was when we left him. What Ulrik says is true.” She casts Ulrik a scowl, who waves her disapproval away like he is swatting a fly. “An ancient Elven curse has caused his form to change, and for him to lose his mind.”
“What do you mean, caused his form to change?”
“He became disfigured,” Zerina answers. “His appearance, his body was cracked, his mind broken as he was transformed into a lizard-man. He attacked us. With my magic, I was able to free his mind from the curse, but even with the knowledge that the waters granted me, I could not reverse the disfigurement. Orjan eventually left us. He bore the pain of ending the life of someone we both held dear, and he couldn’t bear to be around us anymore, despite my protests.”
“I couldn’t be held responsible for what I would have done, had he stayed,” Ulrik says. “My only regret is not ending his miserable life for him.”
“Where?” Laith asks. “Where is it you left him?”
“To the southwest of Levanthria, east of Loch Bragoah. There is an unknown cove there.”
“When?”
“That was nearly three years ago,” Zerina says.
Before I have any chance to comfort Laith, he stumbles backwards. “I – I need some air.” He turns to leave and exits as quickly as he can. I want to follow him, but I think it wise to allow him a few moments to process everything that has just been said.
“He just needs some time,” I tell the others. “Before we go, is there anything else in the book that you can translate, anything which may aid us?”
Zerina pores back over the pages and places a finger lightly on one of the symbols, a bird sitting atop a branch. “This means ‘new growth’.” She then traces her finger to the symbol next to it, which contains a leaf with a single horizontal line above and below. “This means ‘new life’. That combined with the diagram of the tree means . . .”
“This is the Elder Tree?” My heart starts to race with excitement. “Zerina, do you know what this means?” I grew up being told stories about the tree from which life itself originated. If the diagram is here, maybe it is not merely a story.
I turn the page, my hand trembling. We have searched for so long and it feels as though we have never been closer. My chest almost bursts when my eyes land on the next page and I let out a gasp.
“What is it?” Zerina asks.
“It is here, what we have been searching for all these years.” My voice shakes as I speak. A lump builds in my throat, my mouth drying in an instant.
The next page contains another diagram. This time, it is of a plinth carved from the side of a mountain – with the hilt of a sword protruding from the side.