The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) (33 page)

At the mouth of a small cave only a few feet above the ledge where Conjiber had been held, the two magicians settled down to watch. Karryl was still seething, his efforts at concentrating on a calming spell achieving only minimal success. Symon crouched in silence on the stony ground, his vision adjusted to give him a clear view of what was happening.

Stepping imperiously down from his position on the elevated ledge, Qitzaqli strode away, encircled by his warriors. Able-bodied helping injured, the surviving villagers trudged raggedly along behind, their departure gradually obscured by a swirl of fog rising from the devastated valley floor. Twisting and writhing, long white tendrils snaked up towards the newly created escarpment to roll and tumble over the jagged edge. In seconds, valley, mountain-sides and people were obliterated by a thick, billowing grey-white blanket. Retreating to the meagre shelter of the small dark cave behind them, the two magicians sat in total silence, the fog deadening the intermittent sounds of shifting and settling which drifted up from below.

Karryl leaned back against the cave wall and folded his arms. “Couldn’t have gone much worse, could it?”

Keeping his gaze fixed on the fog-enshrouded escarpment, Symon gave a derisive snort. “Yes. We could have been executed.” His words hung heavy in the chill air.

Shuffling uncomfortably, Karryl cleared his throat. “Er…what I meant was, I didn’t handle it very well did I?”

The little magician clasped his arms round his drawn-up knees. “No, you didn’t. I never took you for a hothead, but this time you let your emotions get the better of you. If your wilder powers had surfaced…well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Karryl favoured Symon with an indignant glare. “My only thought was to stop those Mirikani from going over the cliff.”

Symon addressed the fog. “You should have thought a bit more. Conjiber and Morchelas are not, and never were, our responsibility.”

“
But how are we going to find out why they did it?”

Symon gave another snort. “We know why they did it. Someone paid them blood money to get us killed. What we need to find out is who, and we shall know that soon enough.”

Karryl frowned at Symon through the gloom. “How?”

Symon’s tone made it clear that he would stand no argument. “You leave that to me.” He lowered his voice. “You’ve done enough damage for one day.”

Hearing the sound of rattling and scrabbling, Symon re-adjusted his vision and looked across at Karryl. His apprentice was busily rummaging in his pack.

Symon raised an eyebrow. “It’s a wonder they didn’t take that away from you.”

Karryl looked startled. “Have you still got yours?”

The little magician nodded. “Not with me, but it’s quite safe. We’ll go and retrieve it shortly. You can rest a while longer, then we’d best be on our way.”

Karryl pulled out a couple of slightly bruised apples and tossed one over to Symon. “What d’you think happened to the road? It was almost as if it hadn’t been made properly.”

To his surprise, Symon gave a sly chuckle. “If I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” His expression taking on a more serious cast, he seemed deep in thought as he slowly rubbed the apple on the sleeve of his robe. “As soon as we’ve eaten these, we’ll go and retrieve my pack. I’ve got one little matter to attend to, then I think we’ll head back north. It’s time we got to the bottom of this.”

Karryl paused, his apple just about to touch his lips. “What matter?”

Symon bit and crunched. Round a mouthful of juicy pulp he mumbled “You’ll see.”

No further conversation accompanied their frugal supper. Below them the fog swirled, rippled and dispersed as quickly as it had formed. In the coldly enquiring light of a half-formed moon, the devastated valley below them lay silent and abandoned. Tumbled rocks, splintered trees and ruined buildings bore a silent and deep-shadowed witness to the horrendous events of the day. Disinclined to risk the vocals required to conjure the Light of Perimus, Symon groped around on the cave floor until he found a piece of flat rock about the size of his hand. A few murmured words set a small flame wavering gently on top.

Dubiously eyeing the make-do light, Karryl pushed himself to his feet. “Won’t that blow out when we get outside?”

Symon shook his head. “No, but it won’t last much more than half an hour, so we’d better get moving.”

Karryl hitched his pack over his shoulder. “Where are we going?”

Holding the light shielded behind one hand, Symon stepped out of the cave. “Like I said before. You’ll see.” He turned and frowned at Karryl. “Have you any power left at all?”

His apprentice grimaced. “Just some wild power lying pretty deep. I could feel it rising when I was having that head to head with Qitzaqli.”

Symon looked at him askance. “That’s best left well alone for now. Come on, it’s time we got moving.”

With moonlight to show them where they were going, and the conjured light to see where they were putting their feet, the two magicians left the cave. The effects of the physical effort and mental stresses of the day’s events, coupled with the total depletion of his powers, were beginning to manifest themselves in Karryl’s mood. Lapsing into a brooding silence, shoulders hunched, he scuffled behind Symon down the narrow, winding stone-littered ledge. Dislodged by their questing feet, small rocks and boulders clattered and bounced down the mountainside, the noise seeming preternaturally loud in the still night air. After what seemed like hours, they reached a broad shelf overlooking the destruction fifty feet below. Snatching his pack from his shoulder, Karryl flung it to the ground. Sinister in the moonlight, his strong features drew into a sullen scowl.

He gestured back up the mountain. “Why did we have to go to all that trouble? Couldn’t you have taken us straight to where we’re going?”

Symon extinguished the light, tossing the rock to one side. His long-suffering expression and air of quiet patience did little to improve Karryl’s mood.

“I needed time to think”, was all he said.

Holding out his arm he nodded to Karryl. “Now, pick up your pack. With a bit of luck, this is the last time I shall have to do this for a while.”

Karryl reached down for the bedraggled pack and slung it ungraciously over his shoulder. As if to add a final act of perversity to an already overloaded catalogue, the goat-chewed strap broke. Halfway to the ground, the pack suddenly ceased its tumble to hang motionless in mid air. Karryl turned to see two slender fingers pointing rigidly from Symon’s outstretched hand.

The little magician glared at Karryl. “Grab it then. I can’t hold this all night.”

Flinging one arm round the magically suspended pack, Karryl held it close against his chest. Unable to suppress a grin, with his free hand he gripped the little magician’s arm. A swirl of dancing silver motes sparkled briefly in the moonlight and vanished.

* * *

A loud groan escaped Karryl’s parched lips. He held his arm up to shield his eyes. “Now what? I was really looking forward to a few hours sleep. Why is it daylight?”

He lowered his arm and squinted up at the cloudless blue sky. “And midday at that.”

Hearing no reply, Karryl looked round. His expression one of total bemusement, Symon was sitting on a nearby flat rock, his legs straight out in front of him. Karryl flopped down on the soft turf beside the rock and followed the little magician’s gaze.

Letting out another groan, he drew up his legs and rested his head on his knees. His muffled voice crawled tiredly over his thighs. “I don’t believe this. Tell me I didn’t just see a temple in a jungle.”

He glanced sidelong to see Symon looking intently at him, his grey eyes twinkling. “Fortunately, I can’t do that.”

Karryl lifted his head off his knees and scratched at his stubbly chin. “That word ‘fortunately’ tells me you’ve figured it out.”

Pushing himself to his feet, Symon patted his palms together. “I believe I have.”

Karryl raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Symon chuckled. “I’ve been here before, but I came on it from another direction. This is the temple the local legends speak of. I had a pretty good idea where it would be. I found it while you were organising the rescue of the villagers.”

Karryl’s mouth gave a wry twist as he pulled up his trouser leg to examine an angry red scratch on his shin. “That was lucky. I suppose now you’re going to tell me we’re the only ones in the whole world who know where it is?”

Symon’s gaze returned to the small round white building, partially concealed by a luxuriant growth of twining lianas and broad green leaves. “Something like that.”

Karryl stood up. “Are we going in?”

With an enthusiastic nod of his head, Symon started forward. “Of course. I have to retrieve my pack.”

Karryl reaching out and grabbed the magician’s sleeve, bringing him up short. “Just a minute. Before we do that would you please explain why we left the mountain in the dead of night, and seconds later we arrive here at midday? Have we gone forwards…or backwards?”

Symon looked decidedly embarrassed. “Erm…I’m afraid I can’t say. I’m as mystified as you are.” He gestured towards the temple. “Perhaps we’ll find an explanation inside.”

Shaking his head, Karryl snugged his pack under his arm. “Come on then. I expect D’ta’s got something to do with it.”

Symon chuckled. “She usually does.”

* * *

The interior of the temple was dim and cool, a welcome relief from the blazing sunlight. Once his eyes had become accustomed to the dimness, Karryl began to look around. He had ventured into the somewhat larger temple to D’ta in Vellethen quite frequently, especially when he needed peace and quiet and the chance to clear his thoughts. This little temple was nothing like it.

Every inch of the curved walls was covered in complex reliefs. His eyes wide with amazement, Karryl slowly followed the walls round, hesitantly reaching out at intervals to touch the intricate carvings. He peered at strange creatures and birds, the like of which he never could have imagined. Exquisitely detailed wings seemed to flutter beneath his questing fingertips, while exotic blooms and foliage twined and twirled around incomprehensible geometric forms, incongruous amongst the sinuous beauty of their surroundings.

Arriving back at the entrance, his racing mind barely registered the sound of Symon’s voice. “Quite something, isn’t it?”

Forcing himself back to reality, Karryl swallowed hard, turned and nodded.

“I never expected anything like this. Are you sure it’s Dta’s Temple?”

Symon shook his head. “No. I’m not. And the more I look at it, the less certain I become. All I am certain of is that we were allowed to see this for a reason. Perhaps that reason will become clear in time.” Pointing a slender index finger towards the ceiling, Symon asked “Have you looked up?”

Surprised, Karryl tilted his head back. His breath caught in the back of his throat. The shallow dome of the ceiling was quite plain and unadorned. It was the broad collar which separated its expanse from the intricacy of the walls that held his eyes.

His response was a hoarse whisper. “Oh! Good grief!”

Reaching into a deeply shadowed niche just inside the entrance, Symon retrieved his pack and slung it onto his back. “Mmm. That’s what I thought when I first saw them.” He took a pace backwards. “D’you think you can memorise all that?”

Karryl nodded, turning on the spot as he let his eyes follow the deeply etched sinister alien glyphs which travelled the length of the collar. Ending his scanning at the deep lintel above the door, he swallowed hard again. As if to add finality, three more unbroken lines of closely spaced glyphs filled the width and depth of the pale grey and white striated stone.

Karryl’s head started to swim. The glyphs shimmered, seeming to take on a life of their own. The angles and curves writhed and reformed, joining, separating and rejoining. From somewhere a long way off, someone called his name. Unwilling and unable to avert his gaze, he swatted the air as if annoyed by some tiny buzzing insect.

“Karryl! Come away! Karryl!”

A stinging slap on the side of his face snapped the malevolent trance. Gasping, he stared down at the furious face of Symon. Without a backward or upward look he allowed the magician to drag him stumbling out into the bright sunlight. Just beyond the temple’s shadow, he crumpled slowly to the ground and lay unmoving. Seating himself cross-legged beside his motionless apprentice, Symon opened his pack, took out an apple and began to munch.

“What do you think he saw that you didn’t?”

The scent of honeysuckle and Telorian spring blossoms made Symon feel a little homesick. He replied without turning round. “I’m not sure. But I do believe he’s memorised it all.”

The slender woman’s silver-grey robe swished softly as she moved to seat herself beside Symon. Her amethyst eyes regarded Karryl thoughtfully. “It may have been a mistake to let him do that.”

Symon scowled. “It may also prove to be the one thing on which everything else hinges.”

D’ta clasped her hands under her chin. “What did
you
see?”

Symon shrugged. “A glyph form I’ve never seen before, but the characters seemed quite benign. Nothing more than decoration. Now I’ll ask the same question of you.”