February 1886, England
Snowfall had left most of the streets impassable. Margaret huddled with James in front of the wall-sized fireplace, reading him a fairy tale in an attempt to lull him to sleep. James fit perfectly into the space between her crossed legs. Beneath them was a Persian rug. Margaret had a bearskin blanket draped over her shoulders to keep out the cold. She hated this house in the winter. The high ceilings and stone floors made it bitterly cold despite a fireplace in virtually every room.
As she turned the page of her Kleine Ausgabe version of the Grimm brothers’ fairy tales, the door whipped open letting in the ferocious winter wind. The baby, who was no baby at all being nearly three, quickly shifted from the precipice of sleep to the land of the awake and alert. Margaret let out a sigh as he jumped from her lap and ran toward the door.
A tall man, so thickly bundled one couldn’t tell if he was fat or thin, stepped into the room and closed the door. The man’s mittened hands slid back the hood to reveal black hair parted down the middle with numerous strands standing on end. It was obvious he hadn’t shaved in several days. His drawn, blackened eyes had the look of little sleep.
He smiled as the boy ran toward him. He managed to free his hands from the mittens just in time to catch the boy as he jumped into his arms. They both laughed and embraced. James Lochlan Stuart III had returned. His smile waned as he watched Margaret moving toward them. Her eyes bored into him yet her demeanor was cordial. James would have preferred an outburst to feigned kindness she was so good at emulating.
“So the traveler has returned,” she said curtly.
“Alas,” he replied, and smiled as he returned his attention to the child in his arms.
“You shaved your moustache,” she said.
Stuart reached up to his face, having forgotten that the moustache, common among noblemen, which had been there since before they had married was now gone.
“You look awful,” she said examining him.
Stuart stared back at his wife. The boy squeezed him tightly around his neck and showered him with kisses.
“And what news have you brought?” Margaret asked.
“Much. There is much to tell. Many things have changed. I promise I will reveal everything the moment James goes to bed.
It appeared as though Stuart intended to outlast his wife this evening because he and his son played well beyond the normal bedtime for the boy. Having not seen his father for several months, Margaret let her son break her normally militant schedule for the first time she could remember.
“A boy needs his father,” she remembered being told, “no matter what kind of man he is.”
She nodded agreeably at the time but now wondered if he was doing the boy more harm than good. Over the past year he’d been home so little. More than once the boy asked if his father was ever coming back. She always said, “Of course, your father is just a very important and busy man.” In reality she wasn’t always sure.
Finally when she couldn’t stand waiting another moment, she walked into the drawing room to break up the reunion. The two were wrestling on the floor when she stepped into the entry holding a lantern. Both stopped dead and looked up at her.
“Not a word about it, I’ve allowed you to stay up well beyond your regular bed time. Off to bed with you. Shirley will tuck you in.”
Knowing there were times to hold one’s peace-and this was assuredly one of those times-neither protested. Father and son embraced once more, and the boy tottered off. His mother kissed him on his head as he passed. Stuart stood slowly, straightening his evening jacket.
Margaret took him in again. She couldn’t help but find this disheveled and slightly wild-looking version of her husband attractive. Quickly, she pushed the thought away and prepared herself for the task at hand.
“I’ve asked Nigel to bring tea,” Margaret said, settling into a large leather chair by the fireplace.
“Very good,” Stuart replied, rounding his desk and taking a seat. They sat in silence, listening to the clock tick away the seconds. After several minutes, Nigel entered the room with the tea tray. He set it on the desk, added the appropriate amount of sugar and cream to each cup, and headed for the door.
“Good to see you back, Sir,” he said.
“Thank you, Nigel.”
“Nigel?” Stuart called just as Nigel was stepping out of sight.
“Sir?”
“You’ll bring him in as soon as he arrives?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Bring who in?” Margaret asked, “have you not seen the hour?”
“All shall be explained if you give me the opportunity,” Stuart said calmly.
Again the room was silent. Margaret held her cup with both hands, letting the warmth circulate through her fingers.
After another moment of awkward silence, Stuart took a deep breath and said, “I suppose you’d like to hear about my travels of late?”
“An explanation of your sudden and unannounced hiatus would be appreciated, yes.”
“If it wasn’t important I wouldn’t have gone, Margaret. Everything is clear to me now. I’m sure everything will be clear to you as well when I have finished.”
“Please enlighten me then.”
“Lately, I’ve been traveling more than my job requires, as you may have noticed.” Stuart paused, expecting Margaret to interject. When she did not, he continued.
“I met a man named David Ogilvy at a parliament meeting last autumn. He took me to his house in Northallerton, where I met his family. We discussed matters of great interest. There was one subject that was particularly enthralling.” Again he paused and studied his wife. If she had any interest in what he was telling her, she didn’t show it. Her expression remained like stone.
“Magic,” he said. At precisely that moment a gust of wind blew down the chimney, scattering ash from the dying fire onto the stone hearth.
“Oh, James. Please tell me you haven’t been drawn into that cods wallop. Of all the things to be wasting your time on. Magic indeed,” she said, standing and making her way to the door.
“Believe me, I’d have said the same thing if I were sitting in your place. Please just listen before you pass judgment.”
She stopped, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Please,” he said, extending his hand to the chair.
Slowly, she moved back to her chair and perched on the very edge of the seat. She leaned in and set her teacup on the desk, knowing full well that an unprotected cup on his beloved desk would drive him mad. To her dismay, he never took his eyes off her.
Stuart could tell from his wife’s posture that she would mentally dissect and tear apart anything he said. “After dinner on the second day of my visit, Mr. Ogilvy and I were sitting in his library discussing one of the topics from the last meeting. The parliament is planning on banning discussing anything related to magic in any government forum henceforth. I said it was perfectly logical considering it hardly comes up anymore, and when it does come up it is usually related to some inexplicable event. Ogilvy took the opposite stance. He believed the government’s origins were founded in magic. To deny its existence, which is what the government is trying to do, he said, would be denying our heritage.”
“Rubbish,” Margaret said.
Stuart lifted an impatient hand and continued. “Mr. Ogilvy removed an old book from his library shelf. It was covered in reptile skin and was large and cumbersome. He said the book predated the Magna Carta Libertatum by over a thousand years. Inside it spoke of powers, lands, and sorcery found nowhere in any book I’ve ever read or heard about.”
“Found nowhere because it’s fiction.”
Stuart continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “It also spoke of a date in the near future that would mark the beginning of the end of their kind. The Epoch Terminus he called it. It spoke of a terrible war in which sorcerers would all but destroy themselves. I asked him where he’d acquired this book. After swearing an oath that I wouldn’t share this with anyone but you, Ogilvy told me. He said he was part of a magical council very much like the parliament. His family has sat on this council for over a hundred generations. Ogilvy said that the book passes from father to son.”
“I asked him why none of this was common knowledge. He told me the unfaithful-the nonbelievers-pushed their magical kin and their beliefs away generations ago. They didn’t want any part of what they couldn’t understand. They were frightened of magic. They called it witchcraft, devilry, evil. The faithful, as they call themselves, were and continue to be chastised, outcast, and even murdered. History was and is being rewritten denying their very existence. A genocide of our own countrymen is happening as you and I converse. So now Mr. Ogilvy sits on both the parliament and his magical council in hopes of gaining a better understanding of the unfaithful, who now far outnumber those who believe.”
“And let me guess, he’s recruited you for his cause. Save the freaks. How can you believe in that nonsense? The government scientists have all but explained it away. All explainable scientific phenomena.”
“That’s exactly what I said. I wanted proof. If there truly was this magical world among our own, I wanted some evidence. Of course he knew I would ask, and he was well prepared. Behind a bookshelf was a hidden staircase, which spiraled deep into the bowels of the manor house. By torchlight we walked down the stone passage until we came to a massive room. He whispered an unfamiliar word and candles surrounding the room burst with flame. ‘Don’t worry!’ Ogilvy said. ‘That’s just the beginning.’ And indeed it was. Stuart sipped his tea.
“Waist-high stone troughs weaved this way and that through the room. Glowing liquids of every color flowed through the troughs. He encouraged me to step close to one that was flowing a particularly vibrant shade of purple. He raised his hands over the trough and again whispered an unfamiliar word. The liquid stopped flowing from left to right and began to flow toward the center of the trough where Ogilvy’s hands hovered. The liquid pooled there until it looked as if it would spill over the edges.
“Then it rose up out of the pool like icicles from the ground. He appeared to be siphoning it with his hands until each strand of liquid had delivered its contents into his palms. With another word and a wave of his hands, we were encased in the purple liquid. It was as if a shroud covered us. I reached my hand into the shroud, expecting it to be wet. No moisture did I feel. The energy, Margaret. I felt such energy. And then it happened.” “What happened?” Margaret asked, finding herself captivated to her own chagrin.
“We were gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean?” she asked.
“We no longer stood in the musty dungeon.”
“Then where were you?”
“Precisely my question. ‘Where are we?’ I asked. It was bright, warm, and pleasant. Only after the purple haze cleared could I begin to fathom our location. Behind us stood mountains higher than I’d ever set eyes upon. In front of us were grasslands as far as the eye could see. Grazing animals peppered the flatlands like leaves in autumn. I’d only read of places like that in books.
“Mr. Ogilvy said we were in Africa. I had to take him at his word, having never been there. Regardless of where we actually were, the fact was we’d gone somewhere. We’d traveled out of the dungeon by means I could not comprehend. We stayed for but a moment before he reached into his cloak, retrieved a small bag, and tossed its contents above us. Once again we were enshrouded in the purple mist. A moment later, we were back in his laboratory, as he calls it.”
“Impossible,” Margaret said with a hint of curiosity in her voice-or perhaps it was a hint of doubt.
“I wouldn’t have believed it had it not happened to me,” Stuart replied.
“Perhaps the purple liquid contained some type of drug. He drugged you, and you thought you’d left the dungeon, but in reality, you didn’t travel at all.”
“One of the many reasons why I married you my dear Margaret is that your mind is as sharp as a blade. Once I gained my footing in the dungeon-err, laboratory-and my head stopped spinning, I suggested the same thing. Ogilvy then asked me if I believed in God, and when I said I did, he asked if I had ever seen God. As you know, I have not, and when I shared this information with Ogilvy, he asked, ‘Then what makes you believe?’”
“I told him that a nonbeliever could be shown undeniable evidence that God exists and still deny his existence. Eventually, I said that faith is required. A smile crossed Ogilvy’s face, and he said, ‘So what you’re saying is that you could show me unquestionable proof of God’s existence, and if I still want to deny him, I could. However, if I were to allow for a small measure of faith then everything would fall into place. Allow yourself, Mr. Stuart, to consider the possibility that magic does indeed exist and magic will become apparent every day of your life.’
“I couldn’t help but marvel at the parallels. We left the laboratory, and I spent another day with Mr. Ogilvy. We discussed nothing but faith, as they call it, and how the faithful were being shunned from normal society. They were being looked at as outcasts, as diseased. Magic folk are peaceful. Never in the history of the written word have the faithful ever engaged the unfaithful in open combat. It is against their laws to kill another.
“I left with a promise from Mr. Ogilvy that he would come calling so A knock at the front door interrupted Stuart’s recounting. Nigel hurried by the open doorway toward the hall. Both Margaret and Stuart listened as the large front door groaned open then closed with a bang. A quiet conversation was followed by footsteps until Nigel was standing at the doorway.
“He is here,” said Nigel with a nervous expression. Stuart moved toward the entryway.
“May I introduce… Akil Karanis.”
Nigel stepped aside as a tall, lean man moved in from the hallway. What hair remained on his head was cropped close to his bronze skin. He wore a long goatee, which was all white but for a few strands of grey. His pleasant expression was accentuated by the bright blue of the three-piece suit he was wearing. Margaret had never seen something so bright-or so ridiculous.
Stuart exchanged greetings in some bowing manner that Margaret could only see from behind and thought only added to the absurdity of the situation. Stuart welcomed the tall man into the room and offered him his seat behind the desk. Akil declined and stepped over to greet Margaret.
“My sincere apologies. How rude!” Stuart said realizing his omission. “Margaret, this is Akil Karanis,” he said, sweat now beading on his forehead.
Akil extended his hand. Margaret, being ever stubborn remained seated and only looked at the man as he attempted to greet her. Stuart stepped forward to reprimand his wife for her impropriety and Akil raised a silencing hand.
“I imagine the conversation that preceded my entry has left you in a state of enthrallment only to be out-done by what is to follow and therefore excuse your absence of social grace,” Akil said with a smile.
Margaret couldn’t tell if she was being insulted or compliment so she simply remained seated and said nothing. She was glad to have someone to interrupt her husband’s nonsensical storytelling. Stuart rounded the desk and sat while Akil leaned slightly against the bookshelf and looked at Stuart.
“Where was I?” Stuart asked. “Yes, of course. Sure enough after another meeting of parliament the following winter, Mr. Ogilvy approached me again. He said there would be a gathering that very night of the magical council and he would like me to attend. I agreed. Ogilvy took me into the basement of the parliament building away from unfaithful eyes. Once again he removed the marble-size bag from his cloak and encased us in what he called transporting powder.”
“An instant later we stood upon a grassy plateau in yet another land with which I was unfamiliar. Ruins of an ancient civilization stood nearby. Below us were mountains and valleys surrounded by clouds. Imagine being above the clouds, looking down on them. It was almost as if we were hovering above the earth.”
“Perhaps it would be best if I took it from here,” interrupted Akil.
“Of course,” replied Stuart.
“Margaret, my dear,” said Akil, looking deep into her eyes. “I’m about to do something which may come as quite a shock. It may be best if you sit back in your chair.”
Margaret nodded and slid slowly back until she was up against the rest. Akil nodded, took a step back, and extended his right hand. He muttered something neither of the others could hear, and a blue orb of light rose from the palm of her hand. Rather than scream, which is what Stuart thought Margaret would do, she sat transfixed as the orb rose and expanded. Soon the room was enveloped in the light and a new scene formed in front of them.
Shadowed figures converged on an amphitheater of sorts in the center of the plateau. It was nothing more than rows of halfmoon-shaped stone benches with grass between them. In the center was a lectern. Ogilvy led Stuart silently to a hill overlooking the amphitheater. Nobody spoke a word until all had been seated and the sound of shuffling bodies subsided.
Once the quiet had settled, a rather large man pried himself from his seat and hobbled to the lectern. He paused, surveying the crowd before he spoke. “As we are all aware,” the large man said, “the precariousness of our current situation continues to worsen. With each setting of the sun the Epoch Terminus draws nigh. Despite the generations of searching, we are no closer to finding the anointed one.”
He glanced over at a man sitting on the bench across from where he stood.
“Coupled with the approach of the Epoch Terminus,” he continued, “and our lack of preparation, the unfaithful continue to push us away. They’ve managed to convince each new generation that our ways are nothing but fairy tales… smoke and mirrors. So blind are they to reality that they’re willing to ignore history itself. Humanity was set back nearly 1500 years when the early Anglo-Saxons invaded Britain so long ago and we were powerless to do anything as the uncultured pagan barbarians destroyed the advanced civilization we’d created. Why? Because our laws forbade open war against the unfaithful.”
“We gather,” the man said, “to ensure our survival. The threat is real. The Epoch Terminus will arrive while our generation is in power. If we have not deciphered the clues left by The Seer and located the anointed one we all shall perish. I believe at the hands of the unfaithful. I believe that is the end The Seer did not detail.
“We run, we hide, yet every one of us has the power to turn and fight. We are superior. The unfaithful are no match for our powers. Every one of us can influence, control, and some of us can even kill with mere words. Yet we continue to cower. The time for diplomacy has passed. We must act or we will fall. Not one among us wants his children growing up in exile.”
More fervent applause followed this statement. He shuffled back to his seat as another man stood. Tall, thin, and agile, he looked the opposite of his predecessor. It was Akil Karanis. He did not hesitate to begin speaking.
“Not one among us wants our children growing up at war. In that, we are no different than the so-called unfaithful. Our knowledge and tolerance obligates us to act for the good of all humanity. Not solely for the good of our own kind. We are all humans. We are all brothers. Wielding a power simply because one posses it would be the epitome of ignorance,” Akil said.
“Because we have an understanding of magic we are bound by our laws to protect those who are ignorant. Not destroy them. There are ways to co-exist without violence. For centuries the unfaithful have been at war between themselves because of differences in their own beliefs. We have not intervened. Yes, much was lost with the Celts. In the end they were given a choice and chose to fend for themselves just as we chose to leave. Today, they are frightened of us. They do not remember when we lived in peace side-by-side. Men fear what they do not understand regardless of their beliefs. Rather than keep to ourselves let us allow them understanding and abate their fears.”
A small bald man in the front row stood. “Lest you forget, Akil, that too is against our laws.” The man squeaked, sitting as quickly as he stood.
“A law this counsel created centuries ago. Perhaps it is time to amend our laws.”
The fat man who originally spoke quickly stood.
“If we change any of our laws it should be to allow us to retaliate against those who persecute us, not educate them. Remember they want us dead,” he shouted.
“You assume much, Alvero, with your statements. Nowhere in The Seer’s recounting of the events leading to the Epoch Terminus is there mention of a war between faithful and unfaithful. Inaccurate generalities won’t solve our problems. This is no time to take action in haste. There are ways to live in peace, and we are bound to seek them, not ignore them by taking an easier road. We have been outcasts since the beginning of history. Because those who don’t believe are taking formal actions against us now is no reason to destroy them. Let them write us out of their history. We have our own historians, our own history. The higher road is ours to take.”
“Now, the reason we gather is not to express our dissatisfaction of our relationship with our fellow man. We need not waste another minute discussing it. As I said, The Seer declared nothing of the sort. The Epoch Terminus approaches as Alvaro has mentioned. My search continues. I believe I am close to deciphering the last of the criteria. I request of the counsel that all resources available to it be at my disposal in order to once and for all find he who The Seer spoke of. Time runs swiftly.”
The man removed an ornate pocket watch from his robes, opened the lid and shook his head with a concerned expression as he returned to his seat. Three others stood and moved to the lectern. The tallest of the three, a woman with straight black hair reaching past her waist, was the first to speak.
“We have heard from our party leaders. It is apparent a rift exists.
The man next to her picked up where she left off. “I fear indecision may cost lives.”
The third, a woman spoke. “This is no time for impulse. We must find the anointed one or we all shall perish.
“Akil, we grant you the authority to command the resources of the counsel. You have one rotation. May all speed and grace be with you,” the tall woman said.
Akil stood and bowed. The fat man jumped to his feet. “It was this fool who unleashed that monster upon us and you’ll give him the authority to continue his nonsensical efforts?” he screamed, jowls shaking.
“The fact that we have yet to find the anointed one tells us only that we’ve failed to recognize the severity of the circumstances, Alvaro. Akil may have taken missteps, but he alone has been active in this pursuit for such a time. Our focus is the Epoch Terminus and nothing else as so it should be for all of us. With respect to the unfaithful, every one of us is to blame for our inability to coexist. Remember that when you return to your homes,” the smaller woman said, looking out over the crowd. “ We all have failed. In one rotation, we shall meet at Skara Brae.”
Not another word was spoken. David Ogilvy led Stuart to the edge of the plateau, and a moment later they were back in the parliament basement. The scene faded to white then reformed. It was the very same room the three of them sat watching Akil’s memory orb.
Stuart was sitting at his desk when a flash of light by the door caused him to shield his eyes. When he lowered his hands, Matthew Ogilvy was standing by the door.
“I apologize for barging in like this,” said Ogilvy, “but the time has come for us to discuss something of great importance.
“Of course,” said Stuart, standing.
“Brandy?” he asked, filling his own glass.
“Please,” replied Ogilvy.
Stuart poured a second glass and handed it to Ogilvy.
“There is someone else who will be joining us, “ Ogilvy said after sipping his drink.
Just then there was a flash of light and the Akil Karanis stood in the doorway. He immediately smiled when he saw Stuart.
“James Stuart, meet Akil Karanis,” Ogilvy said.
“The older man balled his right fist, pressed it into his left palm and bowed slightly. Stuart returned his greeting with a nod.
Akil pointed to the brandy and asked if he could help himself. Stuart hastily handed him his own glass, reassuring him that he had just poured it, and fixed himself another.
“Shall we sit?” Akil asked, assuming the role of host.
“I have asked David to introduce you and I, Mr. Stuart. I’ve been looking forward to this for quite some time.”
“You’ve been looking forward to meeting me?” Stuart asked.
“‘Indeed,” he replied as if I was silly to doubt the authenticity of his statement.
Stuart looked questioningly at Ogilvy.
“I haven’t been completely forthcoming with you James,” Ogilvy said. “I’m privy to information that you weren’t ready to hear.”
“While the general concept of the information is common knowledge among our kind,” Ogilvy continued, “realizing that you were the subject was quite difficult. The faithful had been searching for this information over many generations, trying to piece together clues of a prophecy made several thousand years ago by the greatest of seers. Just recently, Akil was able to discern the meaning of the final unsolved clue.”
“And this prophecy has led you to me?” Stuart asked.
“Most certainly, Akil replied.”
“What is it the prophecy said?” Stuart asked.
“It translated to ‘the son of a noble lord, born among unfaithful would rise and lead mankind through the Epoch Terminus. Without whom all shall perish,” said Ogilvy.
“Surely that I cannot be the only son of a noble lord born among unfaithful.
“This is where the clues are of particular relevance,” said Akil
“The first specifies the geographical area where he would be born. The second details the bloodline. The third unveils the surname. The final clue, which has until most recently remained un- or misdeciphered, details the abilities of the one whom The Seer spoke of.”
The three men sat in silence for a moment.
“And you believe I am the one to which the prophecy refers?” asked Stuart, his hands shaking.
“The prophet specified the fourth line of his father’s name,” said Akil.
“But I am only the third,” Stuart began then stopped abruptly.
“James. My son,” he said in almost a whisper.
“Yes, it is not you we seek but your son. Before the pyramids were hewn from the stones of the desert, it was written by our kind. He will lead us through the dark hours that draw closer with every breath I take,” Akil said.
Akil reached into his pocket, removed his ornate pocket watch, flipped it open, and again shook his head with a concerned expression before snapping it shut.
“James is barley three. What could he possibly do?”
“Much must be done to prepare, and I’m afraid we have precious little time,” said Akil, ignoring Stuart’s question.
“How are you certain that James is the one spoken of by the seer?”
“Understand, Mr. Stuart, Akil wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.”
“What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to lead? He is barely three years old.”
Stuart looked at Akil. The friendly expression remained on his face. He exuded confidence in a calm, reassuring manor. His humble posture appeared to relax Stuart.
“We merely have to show the council that he is in fact the one to which The Seer refers. That shall be left to me. You, Mr. Stuart, must prepare,” Akil said.
“Why must I prepare?” Stuart asked.
”You must begin you training.”
“But I am not the one…”
“You are correct,” Ogilvy interrupted, “However, you are his father. No man has greater influence over a child than his father. You must therefore be trained in the teachings most important for your son.”
“Magic?” asked Stuart.
“Faith, survival, negotiations, and combat. All are essential to James’s success.”
“I thought your kind was peaceful,” said Stuart.“
“Each facet of my training will be preceded by a lengthy explanation of its relevance.”
“To begin when?” Stuart asked.
“This very moment,” replied Akil.
Again the scene faded to white then reformed. The three men were standing on the grassy plateau where the council meeting took place. They were the only people in sight. Akil wandered off quietly, leaving Ogilvy and Stuart in each other’s company.”
“What do you know about magic, Mr. Stuart?” asked Ogilvy.
“Nothing really, only hearsay.”
“Why do you think I can perform magic and you cannot?”
Stuart appeared to ponder the question for a moment before replying.
“Perhaps you were born with the ability?” Stuart finally replied.
“What if I told you every human is capable of magic?” asked Ogilvy
“I’d ask you to prove it.”
“Magic is the combination of three things: knowledge, experience, and faith. This is why we refer to ourselves as the faithful and the nonmagical as the unfaithful. The only thing that separates our abilities from theirs is faith, or lack thereof. Knowledge can be learned. Every man has the capacity to learn. Experience obviously comes with practice and study. Faith is where someone who is born to an unfaithful family struggles. You have seen me perform magic. I’ve done things you’d consider inexplicable. If I asked you to perform that same type of magic this moment you couldn’t. Not because you are unable but because doubt exists. As long as there is doubt, there cannot be magic”
Some people say,” Oglivy continued, “faith is belief based on the abstract, but those who lack faith are only blind to the proof that surrounds them. One must believe they can perform magic. They must know the skill, but they must also know that they are able to perform the skill. They must have faith in both their abilities and in the incantation itself. I don’t think I can move this rock.” caressing a large boulder beside them. “I know I can.”
“Ogilvy whispered, ‘ Jasoketa,’ lifted his hand from the surface of the rock, and waited. A moment later the boulder freed itself from its earthen bed and hovered several inches above the ground. With a smile and a lowering of his hand, Ogilvy returned it to the earth.
“There are some who say faith cannot be taught,’ Ogilvy said. “I believe confidence in the knowledge translates into confidence in one’s abilities. You must know you can move that rock. Once you understand the incantation you will see the power was with you all along. The knowledge I have of the language combined with the experience of moving objects and the confidence that I am able to move the object allows me to move the object.”
“Just as I know dried heather, sap from the Baobab tree, mixed, crushed and stored for twenty rotations along with the correct incantation will allow me to transport anywhere on earth. Some say beyond.”
“You’re telling me all I have to do is believe that I can do something to be magical?” asked Stuart.
“Knowledge, experience, and faith,” Ogilvy replied.
Ogilvy went on to teach Stuart the incantation required to lift an object from the ground without touching it. He told him the history of the word, its origins, and the pronunciation.
“The way a word is spoken is as important as the word itself. It must come from deep in the lungs at barley a whisper,” Ogilvy said. “As the word is spoken and the air vacates your lungs, energy from your core will flow outward through your hands. Your hands are the gateway between the magic inside you and the world around you.”
Stuart tried repeatedly to lift a stone no larger than his palm and was unsuccessful.
As the sun set behind the distant western mountains the pair returned to the drawing room leaving Akil, who had not moved from his seated position in the center of a ruined building since shortly after their arrival. Ogilvy reached into his cloak for another pinch of transporting powder.
“Perhaps Akil was wrong,” said Stuart
“Do not be disheartened,” he replied, “we are several hours into a lesson some receive before they can walk. All things come in time.”
The scene faded leaving Margaret staring off into the distance-her expression one of complete shock. Stuart stood, stepped to the fireplace and added several logs while Akil refreshed his drink.
“The next day I expected Ogilvy to continue my training,” Stuart said, “but he did not come. A week went by with sign of neither him nor Akil. When a month had passed, I started to believe I had made the entire thing up. I planned to confront Mr. Ogilvy at the next parliament meeting but his seat was empty. Unable to cope with the uncertainty, I traveled to Northallerton to confront him.” Stuart said, nodding to Akil.
Again, Akil rose his hand and again a blue memory orb rose and enveloped the room.
Patches of snow dotted the countryside. Deep muddy ruts ran along a hillside where Stuart was trotting his horse. An abandoned carriage in the distance told the story of difficult travel conditions. Stuart arrived at the Ogilvy manor house. The iron gates were open, the gatehouse unoccupied. No signs of life were apparent as he approached. As the front entry came into view, one of the large oak doors could be seen laying on its side.
“Stuart quickly dismounted his gelding and called out from the threshold, but there was no reply. After several moments of silence, he stepped into the house. Everything appeared in order. Again he called out and again there was no reply. He made my way to the library. Every book rested neatly on its shelf, and not an inkwell stood out of place on the desk. Stuart scanned the bookshelves with a nervous expression.
He stood and began pulling on several of the shelves. When none yielded, he sat on the floor and slowed his breathing. He stood slowly, and moved toward the bookcase. He extended his hand, closed his eyes, and let the incantation flow in a hoarse whisper. Something gently brushed my hand. Astonished, he opened his eyes. A small book tumbled to the floor.
“You’ll never get it open with that incantation,” said a voice out of the scene. Stuart turned, startled. Tabitha Ogilvy stood behind him. She wore a dark cloak and hood, which covered her black hair.
“You’re commanding it to rise. You need to command it to open,” she said.
“My Basque needs some work,” Stuart replied.
“He’s dead. They killed him and took the children,” she said. Tears streamed down her face as she moved toward Stuart for a comforting embrace.
After a moment, Stuart stepped back. “How do you know he is dead?”
“I felt it,” she replied, placing her hand over her heart. “The bond is broken.”
“Who killed him?” asked Stuart
“They were Alvaro’s men disguised as unfaithful.”
“Where is Akil?” Stuart asked.
“I don’t know. No one can find him. The seer is right, the war is beginning,” she said.
“We must go to the council. They will protect you.”
“The council has turned against us. There is no one left to turn to.”
“She looked at Stuart with a pleading expression. His face went ashen, and he looked as if he may throw up. Quickly, he sat on one of the large wooden chairs and buried his face in his hands. Tabitha strode quietly across the dark wood floor and onto the rug in front of the fireplace.
“Only you can right what has been wronged,’ she said.
Stuart lifted his head from his hands and looked at her
“I can’t help anyone. I can barley lift that book from the ground and that was the first time I’d ever gotten anything to move. It is my son who is the supposed Anointed One, not I. My son who just learned to use the wash basin for the first time.”
“I will pick up where David left off,” said Tabitha. I made David a promise the day he first brought you here. I told him I would continue your training studies if something were to happen to him.”
“What good will it do? The council has turned against us. Even if I were as good a sorcerer as your husband we still would have no chance.”