No wings, no magic, no one will know, I repeated to myself again. I took a step out of the hole after no movement or sound had occurred for the previous 10 minutes. I stayed close to the wall, keeping my ears and eyes alert to everything surrounding me as I made my was silently down the hall.
As I slowly crept down the hall to the only other lit room, I tried to desperately tried to recall every bit training I had with Myrdlin. First, was resisting the use of magic; if there was no magic in use, no magic would be sensed, and no essence could be stolen from me. Second, I mentally ran through the his lessons, trying to recall the details of defense attacks, in case they became necessary to use. And Third: to call my 'Sister in Mysticism', if said trouble was to arise, I could find asylum in the utopian realm of the magicians.
I peaked into the room hoping with all that was good and Fae, that the Dark-user was not here. No movement... I looked around the room trying to find any indication of my father. The room was cluttered with scrolls, buckets, tubes, bottles, with one large and very cluttered table in the middle. The only light was artificial, not one window in sight.
Finally, I notice a large box with inscriptions of the old language carved onto it in a messy and foul manner. The box, was in the corner of the room, and under three large books. I crept over to the box, and inspected the markings that were visible to me.
"Bidh mi a 'tarraing air a' chumhachd"... 'I draw upon power', it stated. That doesn't tell me much, I thought to my self as I walked around the box. The next word was the confirmation I needed.
'Aes sídhe". . . or . . .'Fae'
Quickly I crawled on top of the second book that was just barley protruding out from other the book that lay atop. I pushed as hard as I possibly could, and the old leather book fell to the ground with a thud-thud. I flinched at the sound, and looked around the silence to see if anything had reacted to the noise. Nothing. I needed to move quickly as I knew the Dark-user could return at any moment.
Testing my luck, I pushed the last two books has hard as I could. After meeting much resistance from their weight, I had pushed them far enough to where gravity would do the rest. And even louder thud rang through the dusky house. For the love of fae. Please, I hope no one heard that, I thought to myself and I looked at the clasp on the box. It was magically sealed.
I knelt down to the seal in the box, hoping to all that was Fae my dad was in there. "Dad" I Whispered.... Nothing.
"Kesh, its me, its Ri". I paused.
"RI"? He sounded surprised, "Céard is sióga á dhéanamh agat anseo"!
Oh the old language! My heart lurched out, he cursed in the old language!
"Dad," I whispered looking around, "I'm getting you out of here".
"No! Ri," He had to yell in order for his voice to carry through the box, "it's a trap, he knows about the message I sent. Leave now"!
"Trap or not, I am not leaving without you"! I yelled as quietly as possible. I looked at the box that was sealed shut with magic. It would have to be opened with magic...
"Dad, can you run"?
"Yes," he said in confusion, "but we should fly".
"No! Dark-users can sense the use of magic".
"Ri, the box is sealed"!
"I know" I whispered, "so when I open it, we need to run FAST".
"I'm ready", he said. Though muffled, his voice brought back a nostalgia I didn't know I had.
Using as little magic and possible, I turned the air and bent the light in my hand. I warped the elements lightly around the lock, untying the mystic knot that had been placed on it. It was a risk to use even very little magic; but the less magic used, the less we attract the Dark-users attention, and the harder we will be to track when we do.
YOU ARE READING
Avalon Isn't What It Used To Be
FantasyMy mother says my endless curiosity and my need to venture is a curse. Though, I know she only says that because I'm just like my father; who went out to curb his appetite for new experiences and never came home. Do I feel abandoned? No. How could...
