Sorcerer's Vendetta (The Secret of Zanalon) (10 page)

“Well, I ...” Rachel bit her lip. “I've never met him. He is an expert on the art of the Early Middle Ages. We were corresponding on doing a book together, my first in Europe, on that era. He's a bit of a recluse, I gather – doesn't like to have his picture taken or deal with computers – actually, he doesn't seem to like electronics at all. Kind of like, um, you, really...”

Zanalon stared at her, his eyes suddenly intense. “Like me? And you neglected to mention this?”

She paused, the expressions her hands had formed frozen in the air. "Uh, yeah ... " she stumbled, realizing the enormity of the significance of what she had uncovered in that one sentence.

"You don't think …?  He
could
be a magick-user...” she stammered. “
He
could be
Hafgan
?”

Zanalon just looked at her, one brow raised archly.

“Oh, no, I
liked
him! He was
funny
! C'mon, he can't be! Why would he disappear? Maybe he realized the statue wasn't just a statue and was trying to help you, and Hafgan
got
him. Besides, if he was Hafgan, why didn't he destroy you while you were helpless?”

Zanalon shook his head at that. “That I do not know. Mayhaps you are right and this Rollin is an ally. Or mayhaps he could not destroy me. Perhaps something in the spell that kept me imprisoned in the stone...” He thought for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table. Under his breath, she thought she heard him say, “The trap ...” He sat quietly for a moment, biting his lower lip, and then he whispered, “And why couldn't I summon him? Perhaps he is guarding, preparing, now ...”

That reminded Rachel of something she had been curious about, in the realm of magic.

"Didn't you say you could not be summoned against your will unless someone knew your true name?"

"Aye."

"Could it be that's what happened when you tried to summon Hafgan? It's just a thought but, maybe that's not his true name ..."

He shook his head, frowning. "Hafgan was but a boy when I took him as my apprentice. That is his given name, which suffices for summoning, if the target knows not his true name. Understand, wizards have a safeguard against this very thing. Once a user of magick makes full wizard, he has the power to determine his true name, his soul name, and thereafter he goes by a title, so that he cannot be summoned. But not before. I was Hafgan's mentor and I had not given him that power. I should be able to summon him."

Zanalon clenched a fist at the table, paused. Rachel was glad to have him warming up to the subject. He obviously needed to talk about it, to sort it out.

"But thou hast a point. I underestimated Hafgan. He must have been studying beyond my teachings, otherwise he would not have gotten past the glyphs of my Book. I had thought he simply chose a moment when I was using it to poi ... play out his hand, therefore have the Book open already, but the glyphs... I had almost forgotten. He must have deciphered them."

"Glyphs?"

Zanalon glanced askance at her. Rachel could see he was worried about telling more than he should. Apparently, he decided she was harmless.

"For anyone who took the Book without my granting, it reversed its index. A spell listed as a healing draught would be poison---"

Rachel felt a strange, sudden flash of anger. "That's awfully nasty," she broke in.

"So is stealing," he retorted.

She paused. "So it is," she agreed, softer. "It's just that in
our
civilized
society we don't mete out death sentences for theft."

He looked hard at her, opened his mouth, closed it, then looked pointedly away and drummed his fingers on the table.

Rachel bit her lip.
Oh, pooh.
I blew it. I practically called him a savage.
He had just been opening up again.

The waitress returned and he ordered, for her as well. Rachel had no great liking for his choice, some kind of fish, though it was expertly prepared. The tension between them ruined what would otherwise have been an excellent meal. She silently berated herself for not speaking up and making her own choice, but she just wasn't ready to start another power play with him. However, she wolfed it down and forgot it as soon as it was done, while he ate indifferently and no words were spoken throughout the meal.

Afterward, she tried one more time to open him up, get him talking again.

"About the elementals ... How exactly can science hold them against their will?"

He looked at her and she could see the strange anger still smoldering, deep. His long, glossy hair glinted amber under the many points of candlelight; for an instant she wondered if there was more to those tiny fires that he could see and she could not, without him.

"How?" He arched an eyebrow, mockingly. "I am unsurprised that thou wouldst ask that. 'How?' is the question thy 'civilized society' is most adequate at answering. Thy people know 'how' everything works. Touch this and this happens; mix this and that and something else happens. Though an thou listen to any child, thou wouldst know the question that is truly important."

He paused, hoping for a trace of understanding in her eyes.  It dawned even as he spoke again, answering himself.

"'Why?'" he said.

She watched his face, his eyes, as his words fell into place.

"An thou had only asked that, at the end of thy questions thou wouldst have understanding. Thou wouldst have known the reason everything works."

Zanalon leaned toward her, meeting her cowed gaze with eyes that flashed with muted anger. And power.

"The universe is alive."

Zanalon paused and a hint of sadness softened his glare.

"And all within it, at creation," he continued. "Only that which is torn from its natural state, twisted, burned, reshaped, without respect for its life, its Divine Source, is lost. It becomes what it is perceived to be. The spirit, the awareness fades, the magick dies. Aught left is nearly dead, its vibration slow and heavy, anathema to the purity o' the free elementals who rejoice in and hunger for life."

His voice, soft, as he leaned toward her, intense, started strange shivers up her spine.  Some of it was simply his powerful presence, but some was a whisper of connection, an awareness of the truth in his words that she had somehow always known, but only now realized she'd forgotten.

"In my time there were enough to satisfy that hunger, encourage that joy. Wizards, trading life force for power, knowledge. It is a fair trade; what is taken we renew, e'en stronger, given time. But here there is no one. The elementals live outside of the flow of time in our existence but they ne'er told me exactly what happened in the future that they knew of, to the magick-users. I can guess. E'en in my time there was much fear of the knowledge, the power we wielded. And now thy people do not e'en believe in the existence of other dimensions, of the elementals who abide there, much less know the language. I suspect that those among you who have any natural ability to see through the veil and connect with them are quickly squelched and those who cannot be are imprisoned as insane."

Zanalon paused, sitting back, and drummed his fingers on the table as he brought his eyes up to hers, questioning yet knowing in his look. "Tell me, was there a time of many books burned?"

She glanced at him, nodded, feeling strangely ashamed.

He exhaled, a snort of disgust, then went on.

"So. My friends will not take life force not given willingly, though the dark ones will.  They are strong here, with none to oppose them." He paused, his eyes prompting,
Am I right?
Her blanch was his answer. He dropped his gaze, lips tightened slightly.

"And
my
friends hunger, desperate anon." He leaned forward again, his voice cutting through to her, though low pitched. "Thy people have stumbled upon processes akin to life force." His blue eyes pinned her, bright with intensity, feeling. "With this they are lured, within walls of death they are held, sealed in a coffin made o' the bones o' their kin, their power stripped from them... in... endless ... rape."

Rachel remembered the beautiful, free fire-spirit and the way he had looked at her. Not worship, not adoration, but the respect and trust of a treasured friendship. And the kiss? She remembered now an obscure reference to a Gnostic Christian practice of transferring Divine authority and power in that way. Perhaps that was the basis for that... Now she understood the anger in his eyes. She stared at him, horrified, and he leaned closer, took her hand in a grip accusing her of guilt by association.

"Is this not the gist of thy precious 'science'?" he whispered, the sneer in his voice barely contained. Shamed, she tried to back from his hard gaze but then she wondered why---it wasn't
her
fault. Indignant, she struck back.

"If you knew all this was going to happen to them, why didn't you tell people, try to stop it?"

The anger flashed in his eyes, heat lightning. She flinched. Seeing that, he cooled, immediately. In that moment, she could see his thoughts turning with her own, to the moment that had passed between them earlier, and beyond, to her fear.

"Far be it from me," he said, coldly, withdrawing his hand from hers, "to deprive the peasants of the one thing they can truly call their own. The one thing they cling to most desperately." He stood, buckling on his sword belt again. Rachel got up as well, looked at him, a brow up in challenge.

"Their damned ignorance," he finished, tossing bills on the table dismissively as he strode toward the door, his cloak flaring out behind him, regal. Pulling a weakened smile, she rolled her eyes and followed.

When they reached the rooms, he unlocked hers first, then moved to his own. She hesitated at the doorway. Though he had been difficult all evening, still she did not want to end the night. There was so much she wanted to know about him and the fascinating time he lived in. She told herself she just wanted someone to talk to, but she ached for peace between them.

Catching her hesitation, he glanced at her, then faced the door with downcast eyes. She noticed a gleam of perspiration at his brow. His hands shook slightly as he unlocked his room.

"I must rest. Do what thou will until, but at dusk on the morrow I face Hafgan," he said softly. Without another glance, he entered the room and shut the door behind him.

Chapter 7 – NEMESIS

On the following day, sunset approached as they neared the end of their journey. Long before the place came into sight, Rachel knew where the road would end and one glance at Zanalon told her he did, too. Rachel recognized the area as the same property where she had discovered Zanalon.

She contemplated as she trudged along beside him, staring without seeing at the alternating toes of her shoes. More practical for this journey, they had reverted back to their original sneaker state, as had the rest of her clothes, though now clean.

Today, he seemed in a lighter mood, ready for the coming fight. They were following the heat of the talisman he held at his chest, their pace brisk, and Rachel was determined to encourage this mood. She was rewarded when he chuckled at her story of the game of "Hot or Cold" she played as a child, how similar to this spell's method of seeking it was.

"No doubt 'tis the same." He smiled. "In my youth, 'twas a game directed by wizards to find youngsters who had potential to learn the craft, using stones such as this. Many sought to learn the way o' the wizards then. Their secrets were guarded closely, but for different reasons than after ..."

A flicker of pain crossed his face. "No doubt 'tis the same," he finished, lamely, looking away.

Rachel didn't miss that flash of something hidden, and she sensed it was important.

"Wait. Wait just a minute." She touched his arm, halted him. Slowly, he turned to face her. Rachel felt the wall go up between them as she met his guarded gaze, searched his eyes.

"Tell me, please. I see you turn so hard and cold, sometimes, I ... I just want to understand."

At this, he turned from her, stared down the road. She continued, quickly.

"I'm not judging you; it's not my place. Listen, I've learned that there are things that happen to us, all of us that make us what we are. I know a lot of people just write others off, say they're jerks or whatever and leave it at that---"

"Jerks?" He snapped his head toward her, staring coldly. "I like not the sound of that." He focused back down the road. It was obvious he would like nothing better than to see her backside in that direction, moving away, and pronto.

"That didn't come out right. Listen, please ..."

He wouldn't. Rachel had her hands out to him but he continued to stare down the road. Finally she sighed, crossed her arms and stared the other way, clenching her jaw. For a moment, they remained in deadlock, but Rachel couldn't stand it. She didn't turn her head, but her eyes sneaked back to his face. She saw his eyes flicker, as he took a deep breath and silently released it. His tight lips relaxed, parted slightly.

Zanalon spoke quietly. "Go on. I shall listen."

She looked back to him, let her arms fall to her sides. Slowly he turned to her, waiting. Carefully, she answered him.