Chapter 3

Marabeth was out in her winter herb garden, gathering Logwort and Greenroot, two of the rarest herbs used to make healing potions and salves.  The sun’s rays had barely melted the snow covering the town, so her hands were cold and the herbs still speckled with white powder.  She had just collected enough to fill her hand basket when the pain in the back of her head shot through her neck and spine and she toppled to her knees into the snow-covered grass, dropping the basket, as a vision flashed before her eyes.

A woman dressed in armor, holding a sword, light shining on the blade, her head covered by a silver helm…three robed figures all in black, their hooded faces seeming faceless, their evil deep and absolutely pure…a man with a broken spirit, exhausted and tired, reaching out…waves, crashing against the cliffs as a figure jumped into the sea…a man with purple eyes…a sword the color of blood…

Her eyes burned and tears rolled down her cheeks and she sobbed at what she had seen and felt.  Never had a vision been so strong, so sudden, so powerful.  Never had a vision demanded her full attention.  Something was happening, but what she did not know.

Isram stopped and sat underneath a tall oak tree.  There was a town in the distance, smaller than Idol, or so it seemed, but, perhaps a blessing none-the-less.  He knew that the Captain of the Royal Guard was right behind him, not hours away.  Isram knew that he needed a weapon if he even hoped to survive.  This was the town of Misdalle, and if the sounds of waves he heard were correct�"as well as his knowledge of maps�"it was on the edge of the northern cliffs, cliffs that dropped straight down into the ferocious sea below.

He was not a fool, and he knew that, although he could see the town in the distance, that he could not make it in time to bargain for a weapon before the captain was upon him.  But he sensed something else, something�"or someone�"powerful nearby; closer than the town.

He turned his gaze slightly to the right of the town, and, closer to his position than the town itself, stood a small building, whether a shack or a home, he could not tell from his distance.  But that, he knew in his soul, was his goal; to reach that spot.  What would happen after that, well, he had no way of even knowing.

“Get up,” he told himself, raising himself to his feet and staggering forward.  He could barely walk, for while the snow had not seeped into his clothes, the cold had not been kept out, and his hindquarters were numb from it.  But still he trudged along as quickly as he could, for there was no time to waste, every second was precious, for every second was a second of life that he had cheated from death.

            The captain knew that his presence was not being hidden from his prey, and he knew, as he rode at full speed�"far faster than the horse wanted to run, or indeed needed to in order to maintain its health�"that he would be upon the Elf much sooner than the other thought.  He pulled his steed to a stop atop a hill, and, down below, he could see a long winding road that made its way towards a small speck in the distance: a town.  That was where the Elf was headed, Vertonius knew it, and, hidden underneath his hood, he grinned a dark smile at what he knew was soon to be a quick victory.

            Marabeth stood up from where she had fallen on her knees, brushing her long black hair out of her face and bending over to pick up the basket and the herbs that had fallen to the ground during her episode.  Suddenly the wind began to blow gently from the west, her green dress blowing gently.  Something about that wind made her heart speed up, as if there were a great demon riding the wind, coming to steal her and take her to some forsaken place.  With effort she turned to face the wind, only to see a figure walking her way, far into the distance.  No matter how she narrowed her eyes, she could not make out the figure as a man or woman.  All she knew was that the figure was headed straight for her home.

“And are you friend or foe?” she whispered to herself, staring at the approaching figure.

Her conscious gave her no answer, for there was no real way for her to know the truth of the approaching figure’s intentions; and the mental silence that followed her question was not unexpected…for even with all of her knowledge and power, she was still unable to answer some of the most basic of questions.  She did not know everything; and was quite glad of it.  All-knowing led to madness, and madness was a state of being that Marabeth Waters could live without.

Watching the figure for a few more moments, she turned and headed into her home, placing the basket of herbs on the kitchen table and heading into the small back room separated from the rest of the home by a curtain of black silk.  She returned out of the room with a small leather-bound book in hand.  She was taking no chances.

Isram fell to his knees, the strength nearly left from him.  He had traveled too long on foot, for far too far.  He was tired; he was almost ready to give up…but not yet.  Finding the reservoir of his strength, he stumbled forward, halfway to the house�"yes, he could see now, it was indeed a house�"and his destiny.

Vertonius’ horse stopped, and no matter how hard the captain tugged on the reigns or kicked the beast, it refused to go any further.  So, with a deep breath, the mighty soldier dismounted his steed and stood in the snow.  They were atop a small mound in the earth, and down below he could see a large oak tree standing solitary, like a great obelisk.    Further beyond the great oak and closer to the edge of the cliffs, sat a small town; but that was not of importance to the captain.  What grabbed his gaze was the small moving figure slowly making way to a solitary building.

“So, this is where the chase ends, and I get what I have toiled through rain and storm alike to gain,” the captain muttered to himself, his left hand squeezing the pommel of his sheathed long sword.

Patting his mount on the neck, he pulled the hood closer around his face and walked forward.  Soon his sword would taste blood�"not for the first time�"but only after he had gotten all the sought from the Elf.  Yes, he knew that Isram would not willingly loosen his tongue, but the captain had just the thing for that.  He reached into his breeches’ pocket and felt the glass vial within; making certain it was still there.  Without that there was nothing.

No blood.

No victory.

Nothing.  And that was intolerable.

Marabeth stepped through the threshold, the book open in her hands.  The figure was close enough that she could see that he�"or was the unknown on comer a she?�"was wearing all white, save black boots and gloves.  She hesitated for a moment.  Her mother, bless her departed spirit, had always said that the innocent wore all white.  It showed blood more; thus a great warrior would be a fool to trot around only in that one color.  But, then again, it was winter, and there was snow on the ground.  And, besides, it had been quite a long time since strangers had come so far north and she could not know if this was a wise warrior intent on fooling her so more could march in and conquer her home town…or if there were other, even notorious plots at hand.  She was not taking any chances.

Looking down at the open book in her hands, she slowly took in a breath and whispered the words:

“Unmay onmo, extera, tomevo.”

Suddenly clouds began to appear in the sky, growing thicker and heavier, until the sun was blotted out and the day was covered by a grey light.  The figure stopped and looked up; and it was then that Marabeth saw the second figure, far behind, near the great oak.  And, upon spying the second figure, her heart shivered and icy fingers made their way up and down her spine.

There was undoubtedly evil in that one.

If ever she had not been certain of what she was doing, the present situation had definitely made her into a believer.  Looking back down at the book, the repeated the short spell, pouring all of her energy into the words.

With a crack of dark thunder, with no lightening to be seen, the sky dropped as large blankets of snow, the wind starting slow, and then picking up speed.

Isram stopped and looked upward as the clouds suddenly appeared and dropped their snowy loads in heavy, dangerous blankets.  And then the wind…when the day had been so calm; that wind had come from nowhere, blowing seemingly from every direction.  And it was only growing stronger by the second.

The Elf turned his attention to the woman standing in the doorway to her home, not fifty feet away from him now, and knew it was her that had brought the sudden blizzard.  Being an Elf, and having met the Wise Ones once, he was very accustomed to magic, but the power!  He did not know if she were a simple country-witch who had gotten a hold of something very powerful, or if she was a Wise One, but if ever he had salvation, it was with her.  For his magic was weak; he was too weak to do anything but flee.

He took a step forward, but stopped as something nagged at him inside his head, something that warned him to turn around.  As he did, he knew that whatever he saw would be greatly to his disliking.  And, as if to prove his point, he saw the figure walking towards him from the distance.

Vertonius.

About that he had no doubt.  He turned and began to run�"although in the snow, both on the ground and falling from the skies, it was really more of a stumbling walk�"toward the woman.  The hood blew off of his head, and the panic on his face could not be mistaken.

The captain had not even paused at the sudden change in weather, he had seen far too much magic to be taken aback, but he did snarl his lips in both annoyance and anger.  That was powerful magic, magic that only the Wise Ones were privy to…and if one of the Wise Ones had decided to hermit inside that house and took in the Elf, then the captain’s mission would have failed.  He would have traveled all this way, dealt with all he had dealt with, for nothing.

No, he would not fail!

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to move faster.  But, being trained to march and fight in any battlefield, from desert to blizzard, he only moved a touch faster; for he knew full well that if he pushed any harder, it would only slow him down.

As the hood blew back, and the man’s face was revealed, the witch took in a breath and took a shocked step back.  It was the face of the broken man, reaching out from help; the man from her vision.  He was the victim, and the one behind was the prey, the fact of this came to her unbidden; and with this knowledge he was now her charge. She had to help him.

She cast her gaze on the second figure, ignoring the book and the first man for just a moment.  It was the second man that she had to slow down.  He was the one descending on the man and her, like a bird of prey with beak and claw bared.  He was something special, she could feel it.  Whether magical or not, she did not know.

“Hurry!” she screamed at the closest man, her voice cutting through the wind as if it were dead still.

He looked at her, his eyes pleading for help.  He was only around fifteen feet away from her now, and she could see�"for the first time�"that his ears ended in an odd pointed angle.

An Elf.

She had to keep her mouth from going agape.  It had been a very long time since she had last seen an Elf.  But…why did he not use magic to escape?  Elves were born of magic, like dragons and griffins�"for him not to use his natural born powers was very disturbing to Marabeth.

There was nothing she could do to help him, this she knew, but, she could put distance between him and his pursuer.  She turned her eyes on the book in her hand, flipping pages until she found the spell that she felt was right for the job.

“Levno noppay emollon, nexus!” she exclaimed, pointing at the second figure.

A burst of blue energy surrounded the second figure for a slip second before exploding and knocking him backwards about ten feet.  He lay there for a minute before climbing to his feet.  She tightened her lips in agitation.  Whoever that evil man was he was definitely trained to handle powerful blows.

She looked back at her book, flipping pages to find something more powerful.

The Captain of the Royal Guard had not been expecting the magic attack that had suddenly bombarded him, throwing him to the ground on his back; knocking the breath out of him and making is vision go black for a  moment.  His chest began to burn as if he were on fire, and his armor had a dull orange glow as if it had been tempered.  He hurriedly grabbed his hands full of snow and shoved it on his chest armor.  The snow sizzled and melted almost instantly, but his armor had lost the heated glow.

“Damn it all!” Vertonius swore, making his way to his feet.

That had been a powerful spell, one only the Wise Ones could know or cast.  This made his heart race with apprehension.  Surely Isram was no Wise One; otherwise the pursuit would never have happened at all.

No, the Elf was not a Wise One, of that he could be sure.

But what of the dweller in the house in the distance, the one that Isram was nearly upon?

His heart raced even faster.

He shoved his hand inside his pocket, making sure that the vial was undamaged.  And, to his relief, the small bottle was still intact.  He took in a sigh of relief.  At least his mission was still in motion…but if Isram go to the aid of that Wise One, for even a minute, it would all have been a failure.

For the first time since he and his companions had parted, he wished more than anything that they were by his side.

Isram staggered onto the front porch and out of the heavily falling snow, falling to his side before the woman.  He reached towards her�"and her vision suddenly became reality�"and tried to speak before his eyes closed and he fell into darkness.

Vertonius drew his sword as he neared the fenced in yard to the Wise One’s garden.

“Surrender that man, witch, and I will leave you in peace,” he demanded, pointing his sword at her, “I give you my word on my very honor as a warrior.”

“Your honor means nothing to me,” the woman replied, her face steady, her green eyes gazing into his brown ones; unflinching.

“None-the-less, I shall have him, for he is sought after by the Great King, the king of Grail, King Davus.  And, by the authority deemed, by His Highness, you are to relinquish that man to me at this moment, or suffer the consequences,” Vertonius retorted.

“Oh, so, you feel that I should bend to your will simply because some cruel and unscrupulous man stole the throne from the man before him?” Marabeth asked, cocking an eyebrow and pointing at him, “I will have you know that I have never bent to the will of another, and never will I.  So if you seek to have this man, then you will have to take him yourself.”

Vertonius stood for a moment, unsure of what his next move should be.  This woman was apparently very powerful, and equally stubborn.  One wrong move and he would be in worse shape than his target…and that was something he could not condone.

“I see you are a very headstrong woman,” he said after a few seconds, his sword still pointing towards her, “but you must surely understand that King Davus outranks anyone in the realms, no matter the power or stubbornness of the said person.”

“I am a Wise One, captain, if you had not already noticed,” she retorted quickly, “and that title automatically ranks me higher than any other person in the realms other than the other Wise Ones.”

“King Davus, however,” Vertonius responded, “will not see it that way, and neither do I.  Surrender that Elf, and I will let you live.  This is the last time I will warn you, do not take it lightly.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and the captain thought that she may do as he asked, and hope bloomed in his dark heart for a moment, but the moment was brief.

The woman opened her eyes, and behind those green spheres he could see pure determination, and anger.

“To threaten me once is a fool’s folly, but to do so again is not only ignorance, but complete stupidity on your part,” she said coolly, “and I will not take to such threats, by anyone, whether or not you carry the Great King’s name like a banner or not.”

“And I will not stand by and allow you to make a mockery of the Great King, witch!” Vertonius spat, taking a step forward, ready to kill the woman that stood in his path.

Marabeth was growing tired of the captain, and the moment he took a step towards her, her self-control vanished and her anger snapped.  She flung one of her hands towards him and his sword flew from his hands and towards her, landing with a clang on the porch beside the unconscious Elf.

“Fool!” he snapped at her, narrowing his eyes, “I will kill you surely for that!”

But her eyes were quick, and she saw him pull out the dagger and throw it towards her, even though a normal man or woman would have been dead before even noticing the captain move; but years of training in the magic arts and a sharp sense of sight gave her the advantage.  With a flick of her wrist the dagger stopped in mid-air�"only inches from her face�"and dropped audibly to the floor.

The captain stared at her with what only could have been surprise, but quickly he gathered his wits and tightened his lips in anger.

“I will have that Elf, witch, and you will suffer for your resistance,” Vertonius said calmly over the howling wind.

“You can threat all you want, you foolish man, you know good and well you have no way to pass my power, and you will not have this Elf that has come to me for aid,” she said, “no matter how long I have to bar your way.”

Vertonius gave her a look that would have made a full grown man shudder, but then began to walk forward as he spoke.

“My dear woman, you are mistaken, very mistaken, you see, I am a Royal Guard, the Captain of the Royal Guard, and as such my armor has been blessed to allow me passage through any magic barrier.  There is nothing you can do to keep me from physically taking that Elf.”

“Oh, is that so?” Marabeth asked, quickly murmuring the spell she had used earlier, and, like before, he was blasted quickly backwards onto the ground.  And, like before, it took him a moment before he got to his feet.

“I can do this all day, captain,” she told him, pointing her finger at him, “and you have no blessings against that.”

Then, without warning, and�"later, when she was being honest with herself�"unexpectedly, he kicked snow up and into her face.  She sputtered and, with her attention thrown off for just a moment, staggered back.  Before she could prepare for anything, the captain was before her, with his hand around her throat.

“Now,” Vertonius said coldly, squeezing her throat tightly, “your magic is useless, and I have the upper hand.  I am going to tell you what is to happen.  I am going to squeeze the air out of your lungs and you will faint, then I will use my sword and kill you, then I will take Isram, as my mission entails.”

“Over…my…dead…body,” she gasped.

Then, how he did not know, he ended up on his back over the edge of the porch, his face burning and his body almost paralyzed.

Marabeth grasped her throat and took in a deep breath.  Her breathing came back slowly, but she was in no hurry, she had no fear of him getting to his feet anytime soon.  And she was going to deal with him long before he reached that point.

“How…dare you.” Marabeth rasped, pointing at him as he lay helplessly on his back in the snow, lifting her hand and lifting his body in the air as she did so.

“To harm a Wise One is more of an insult than to kill the Great King himself.  And, you, as the Captain of the Royal Guard, should know this.  You are nothing more than a fool, a cruel and heartless man, even more so than that king of yours.  As far as I see it, you have done but one thing in your life, and that is to succumb to the darkness that is ever-present, that thing the priests call evil.  For you I have only pity.”

Vertonius attempted to talk, but he could only grunt in his throat, his entire body now paralyzed from her most powerful self-defense spell.

“No need to try and utter more lies to save yourself, captain, it will do no good.  First of all, your entire body is by now paralyzed, and you could not talk if you had to.  Secondly, and, possibly the event of which you should more concern yourself with, is the fact that I am about to remove you from this world.  As I have said before, there is nothing but cruelty and darkness in you, and upon seeing that, it is my duty first and foremost as a Wise One, to vanquish you so that you can never cause harm to another.

“Usually I would take you to the Isle of the Wise Ones to carry out your sentencing, but they would only lock you away.  And, as you are so closely respected and loved by the king, that would do no good, for you would only escape to become a problem yet again.  Oh, no, I have other, more permanent plans for you, dear Vertonius.  For you I shall invoke the Netherworld Spell.”

The captain widened his eyes as the witch uttered the very name of that spell.  His major bodily functions were mostly unresponsive, but his mind worked just as well as ever, and he knew that he had made a most fatal flaw.  The Netherworld Spell was the most powerful curse ever to be discovered by the Wise Ones, and was only used in the most extreme of circumstances, simply because of what it did.  In the simplest of terms, it removed the soul from the body of the victim and threw them into the netherworld as their body remained alive, making it so that the castor of the spell could avoid murder.  However, eventually, the physical body would haplessly wander into some unfortunate accident at one time or another and the spell would be completed.

Vertonius did not want to fall victim to such a horrid fate.

He attempted to reach into his breeches and pull out the vial, that blessed vial that now could save his life.  But he could not move, and he suddenly recalled the Wise One telling him he was still affected by her most powerful spell of self-defense.  His mind raced, going through all of the known spells of self-defense, and finally he came to the conclusion that she had used the Immobilization Spell on him.

Yes, it was definitely that spell, for its results were exactly his current conditions.  Yes, fully paralyzing of the limbs and main body, but it only lasted a full of five minutes.  He tried to gather his wits of time.  Three…it had been three minutes.  If he could only get her to keep talking for two more minutes he could get the vial, he could take it, he could save himself.  Although it would mean the end of his mission, it would mean the survival of his life, which would give him another chance at his mission.  The vial in his pocket contained the ingredients of a potion known as the One Wish potion: tears of a phoenix, blood of a dragon, and the essence of a griffin.  The three mixed together gave the person who administered the potion to another the power to make one wish on that person.

Most of the time it was used to get information out of the victim.  But, if he took it himself…yes, that could save him.  If he took it himself, then he could wish himself out of this place, back at the castle, back with his comrades, out of the reach of this horrible fate.

Marabeth watched as Vertonius widened his eyes, and she knew that he was aware of what the spell’s effects were.

“Ah, so you are trained in knowledge of magic, I see.  Not that I am surprised, I assume that the rank you uphold requires you to go about and murder many people, some of which may have magic knowledge.  That is good; it means I will not have to go about explaining to you what it means,” she took in a breath and caught her breath for a moment before continuing, “which means I can get to this unpleasant business and tend to this man you attempted to kill.”

She closed her fist and then released it, making the spell of him being in midair remain stable while she held out both hands to her sides.  She would not need the book for this spell.  This spell she had memorized long ago, after she had written it.

“Monvera, toolay, contoa, mossaph, lenol, lemus, overon,” she chanted, over and over, watching as a dark hole ripped open in the sky above and behind the captain and his soul was ripped from his body and hung in midair as she continued the chant.

“No!” Vertonius screamed in his spirit voice as he stared at his physical body and the witch before him, casting her powerful spell.

“You will not get away with this, Wise One.  King Davus will discover your treachery, and you will die for this!” he spat, but his words were useless, she could not hear him, or, if she could, she was not responding to his threats.  She only kept chanting.

He watched in horror as his body fell to the ground and, without his control, stood up and began to walk to the right, towards the cliffs.

“No!” he screamed, reaching out to stop his body, but stopped halfway as he saw his physical body’s arm move forward.  He dropped his spirit arm quickly, casting a glance at the witch, but her eyes were closed.

Of course!  When he had been removed from his body she had reversed the spell on him and without realizing it, had given him back the one chance he had.  He slowly reached into his breeches pocket and grasped the vial, pulling it out, and grinned as he saw his physical body do the same.  He quickly uncorked the vial and began to lift it to his lips, watching in near ecstasy as his body did the same, but suddenly a force stopped him, both his physical body and his spiritual one.

It was then that the witch’s voice cut through the night, and his hope vanished.

“A One Wish potion,” Marabeth mused, after she had thrown her hand forward and had stopped his spirit’s mobility, “very clever, and you almost made it, but I have not been a Wise One since my childhood ended for nothing.  Too bad I will not let you drink that potion, Vertonius.  You are now at my justice, and nothing can save you.”

Vertonius swore as his physical body suddenly began to run towards the cliffs and he could not control his spirit form anymore.  It was then that he realized he was being pulled into the hole behind him, that black swirling hole that was pulling snow and air and everything around him into it.  He watched wide eyed as his body tumbled over the cliffs and his last hopes followed close behind.

“Curse you, witch!” he spat, throwing his spirit hands forward as if to grab her, realizing only then that he was able to move again, but it was too late.  He began to panic as his form was pulled into the hole, he sensed more than felt his form being ripped to shreds as he entered the swirling vortex, he turned to look at the Wise One another time, casting at her all his anger and his hate and his wrath, before he was pulled into the darkness.

And, a single moment before he completely vanished from the physical world, one desperate thought entered his mind; ‘Oh, how I wish-’

He never ended the thought, for just as he was thinking it, his ethereal head was shred apart and pulled into the darkness, and it closed behind him.

As the hole closed, Marabeth felt a wave of darkness attack her, and she waved it off without a thought before bending down and grabbed the Elf under the armpits, dragging him into her home.  Now that Vertonius was dealt with, she had more important matters to attend to.

“Come,” she said to the Elf, although she knew he could not here her, “let’s get you inside, out of the cold, and make you better.  I have some things I would like to know, and you have to be in your right mind when I ask them of you.”

She pulled him over to her cot and laid him down so that he looked comfortable, then, without any shyness most women possessed; she pulled off all his clothes and laid them to the side, covering him up with a warm blanket.  The last thing she wanted was for him to catch the death from his damp cold clothes.

“What reason would that dark man have had to track you all the way from the Kingdom of Grail,” she wondered aloud, “why are you sought so severely by the Great King?  No matter, I will know soon enough.”

With that she stood and walked over to the porch, picked up her book and cast a glance to the cliffs where Vertonius’ body had disappeared.

“Good riddance,” she muttered to herself, walking back inside and closing the door.

No one would have known what was hidden from the naked eye, and none would have even imagined what had happened as Vertonius was being sucked into the netherworld, and Marabeth was casting her spell.  And certainly neither of them were aware.  Although it would have seemed later that perhaps Vertonius should have been aware, and possibly would have been, had his mind not been preoccupied with the snuffing of his very existence.

As Vertonius’ spirit was being disintegrated by his fate, his body had fallen over the cliffs and was tumbling towards the crashing seas below.  But there was also something else below: wet boulders that rose from the surface of the sea like gaping teeth from a monster’s maw.  And it was on these boulders that Vertonius’ body landed; every bone in his body broken and many of the veins busted.  His skull and the bones in his hands had been cracked into numerous bits, and had his spirit been inside the body, it definitely would have left at that point.

This, however, would have been expected, what was unexpected however, was that, as Vertonius’ spirit had reached forward towards Marabeth his physical hands had released their hold on the vial in which his body had been grasping.  And, as his body broke against the rocks, so did the vial, right before his broken face.

And, perhaps it was the ironic hand of fate, or perhaps it was a wicked plan constructed by destiny, but it so happened that the rock was slanted in such a way, and the wind was blowing in such a way, that the liquid slowly made its way towards the broken face.  And, just as the last part of Vertonius’ spirit was being sucked into the nothingness that was the netherworld, a small bit of the potion seeped against the dead body’s eyeball; which gladly absorbed it.

It was then that fate took another path completely.

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[Devian]

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