The Awakening of Dreams, page 1
part #3 of Averot'h Series
The Awakening
of
Dreams
Averot'h Saga Book 3
George Mazurek
Text Copyright © 2018 George Mazurek
All Rights Reserved
Cover art and Illustration © 2018 Barbora Frankova
All Rights Reserved
e-mail: mazurekgeorge@gmail.com
Revised: December 2018
CONTENT
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
INTERMEZZO
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
EPILOGUE
A HISTORIC JOURNEY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
For more than twenty years, the ring that fell from the hand of the last Warlock rested on the bottom of a rift caused by the destruction of Ka'tan spire. It slept deeply until it sensed a tormented soul. The feeling resonated through the golden body of the ring, waking its hidden magical powers.
On top of Averot'h's walls, a man stood tall, facing the descending sun. His long hair streamed freely in the wind, his wide, wizard-like eyes shut. His lips whispered into the air. No more would fingers point at him. No more would he be mocked. No more would others beat and torture him for his differences. Here and now he would end his miserable existence. He wished for it as he opened his eyes to gaze at the abyss beneath him. He lifted his right foot and stretched it over the void, when a faint voice in his head halted his movement.
The man pulled his foot back and focused on the feeble call vibrating inside his skull. The soothing voice beckoned him.
And the wizard who wished for death listened to it.
CHAPTER 1
THE famous Battle of Three Mages twenty-three years ago reduced the city of Averot'h to ashes and charred ruins. Syrdan the Just, the last Warlock and victor, took an oath to restore the legendary city. With the help of Martell the Burned, the former Supreme of the disgraced wizards' Council, the fallen city rose to its former glory in just four years.
Syrdan restored the city's center with its crooked lanes, brick houses, bridges over the river, and paved roads. Meanwhile, Martell built its pompous boulevards, palaces, and squares. Remembering past mistakes, they used brick instead of magic to lay its foundations. The building of towers and spires was strictly forbidden, so the only reminder of the power of the Four Spires was a remnant of Ka'tan Spire, destroyed by Syrdan himself.
The Thumb, which locals popularly call the stub, looms over Unity Square, where the worlds of Syrdan and Martell, and also that of humans and wizards, connect, figuratively and literally.
For years after the Restoration, the city gained fame once again for peace, tolerance, and prosperity, its population swelling nearly to that of years prior.
Today, in the center of Unity Square, a monumental fountain lined with benches offers refreshment, shadow, and rest. From its midpoint two streams of water, blue and red, gush in an eternal embrace, creating a fascinating play of colors, especially during the night. Forty-one snow-white pillars symbolizing Warlocks ruling the city from the time of its foundation to the time of its destruction encircle the Square. The last of the pillars belongs to Syrdan, the only public remembrance to the Just, who left the city ten years ago, leaving behind his spouse, two children, and a heap of weird manuscripts in his former study.
What's the big deal with Unity Square anyway? It's simply my favorite place.
By the way, my name's Leisha and I'm seventeen.
~
I live in a quiet quarter of Averot'h, in a small, but cozy flat with a balcony and large window overlooking the river of the same name some two hundred feet to the east. Every morning, I watch the sunrise over the river, never tiring of its astonishing beauty.
From a more practical perspective, I chose my apartment for its proximity to the Institute of Natural Magic, where I'll continue studying inherent aspects of magic right after the autumn's solstice.
Today, the river's water glittered under the warm sun, inviting me for a walk.
I closed the balcony and dressed, spending several minutes making my appearance as ordinary as possible, for I had no desire to attract unwanted attention.
I grinned at the mirror, satisfied with what I saw nevertheless.
Because I'm a celebrity of sorts...
~
Of the city's preserved attractions, Es'cher's staircase is one of my favorites. The experience of ascending a never-ending circle of stairs amazes me. I've tried it myself now and then, until my lungs burn and my knees are so week I can hardly stand upright.
This morning, I was content with observing a group of children playing on the stairs. I moved on and passed a queue in front of the Wailing Stone, a famous, magical artifact satisfying all kinds of human wishes.
Well, satisfying some of them, at least.
No one knows why it fulfills the pleas of one person, but not the next. In any case, its unpredictable, fickle nature does little to discourage hundreds of folks from standing there for countless hours.
Not all attractions of the past were restored, however. The Arena, the place of famous truels, was gone forever. I heard some stories about the Tournament and truels that took place at its sandy ground. I guess leaving the Arena in ashes was a wise decision, after all.
After two blocks and several minutes of a slow walk, I arrived at a unique spot built by Martell the Burned. In the middle of a small plaza, a portal from white sandstone stood surrounded by curious folks. I watched a rotund peasant closing a seven-foot high arching door until he completely disappeared.
The portal was one of several others constituting the White line, a means of instantaneous transport built by The Burned for faster transportation among the city's most distant quarters.
I must admit I have never tried the line.
Perhaps, I'm too cautious.
I have never heard of a single accident, though people use it hundreds of times a day. But I never mess with things I don’t understand. I guess I inherited a large portion of wariness from my cautious mother…
~
After tiring a bit, I stopped at Unity Square and sat on a bench encircling the fountain. Around the square, a ring of forty-one white and slender pillars commemorated every Warlock to ever rule the city. Only the dark walls of the Thumb at the northeast tip of the square disrupted their idyllic appearance.
I sat down, and as thousands of times before, I couldn't stop staring at Syrdan's pillar.
Frenzied thoughts filled my mind.
Why did he leave the city?
Where did he go?
Will he return some day?
My vision blurred and I saw the Thumb rising to the sky, dark grey and powerful. At the top of the spire, doors opened and several wizards stormed out. Somehow, I knew they were the infamous Ka'tans, wizards of the Council known for their cruel and contemptuous treatment of humans, who were considered only as fresh meat for the wizard's tephirs. I recalled the many mournful stories told by my mom and dad, and shivers ran through my spine.
That was really weird.
I blinked and the vision was over.
I scowled and turned around, confused. The Spire was just a thumb again, resting peacefully in its place, broken and deserted.
I got up and slowly circled the fountain. The strange vision was gone, indeed. Everything seemed normal.
Until I heard a scream.
“Aaahhh!”
I followed the sound, turning towards the northern section of the square. There, from the dark shadow of the Thumb, a little girl emerged, crying and rushing to her mother, embracing her tightly and ducking her blond head into the woman's belly.
The girl was clearly frightened by something hidden in the darkness.
I closed the distance between the sun-lit fountain and the shadow of the Thumb menacingly sticking out in my direction on the paving stones. Three more steps and the sun hid behind crumbled walls of the fallen tower. I took a deep breath of cold air and scanned my surroundings for danger. But there was none, the space was empty except for tiny dust particles twirling in the dim light. I turned back.
And then I saw it!
Blood stains on the grey stones, several steps to my right.
I inched closer.
I couldn't tell for certain, but my gut said the blood belonged to a human. Human and wizard blood were the same red, so I could be wrong, nevertheless. The spill large and fresh, I looked around for a body or anyone trying to escape, but I was alone.
Perhaps the victim escaped, though I doubted it.
I left the place absorbed in gloomy thoughts.
Someone was badly hurt here.
Or even killed...
I couldn't remember the last time when I heard of violence involving bloodshed, or even murder. Averot'h has been a thoroughly peaceful city with only minor and occasional clashes among merchants at the vendor's quarters.
I ruminated on whether it was possible the Ka'tan was rising back to its ominous power.
I definitely had to tell someone about it.
~
It was an hour b
efore sunset when I decided to meet Sari. She’s my best friend as well as classmate at the Institute.
It didn't take long to find her. Though she lives only three blocks from my apartment, her landlady directed me to the Rat Hole, a place where young people gather to spend evenings together while listening to music, dancing, drinking, flirting and sometimes even more than that…
I took five steps into the basement where the place was hidden from curious eyes of unauthorized persons, which in this case means adults. When I opened the heavy doors, loud music pounded my ears, and my nose wrinkled at the smell.
Candles and spells in all colors of the rainbow reflected on the dance floor and glossy wooden walls lighting the interior of the basement. On my tiptoes, I looked over a sea of heads and crazy hairstyles to find Sari. She was small, but her long, ink-dark hair was easily recognizable, even in a crowd like this.
After a few moments, I spotted her dancing with a lanky human boy in the middle of the dance floor. I weaved my way through a tangle of sweaty bodies. Sari embraced her dancer around his neck, while the boy held his palms firm on Sari's backside. I tightened my lips and let out a slow breath. Usually, Sari was not so easy and reckless. I took hold of her right arm, and she finally registered my presence.
She grinned. “Leisha! You're here! Wanna have some fun? Wanna dance? He is good!”
The boy turned to me, a smirk on his face. “I'm the best!” he yelled into my left ear, attempting to draw me closer. When his hands came dangerously close to my behind, I pushed him back.
He made a face at me and I bared my teeth. “Watch your hands, buck!” I snapped.
He retreated hastily.
“Sari,” I grasped her arm again. “I need to talk to you.”
She stumbled and giggled in response, tilting her head to the side, her hair falling across her wide, smoky eyes devoid of white.
That was when I figured she was drunk beyond all hope. It’d be of no use talking to her right now.
“Let's talk later!” I shook my head, defeated, and turned to leave. “Enjoy the party!” I shouted, before making my way to the exit.
Evenings at my apartment are quiet and my bed is my treasure. The mattress is soft, just right, and when I gaze upward, a spell on the ceiling allows me to see the stars, planets, and other celestial bodies in the night sky.
Every night I marvel at the unthinkable scope of the universe and my place in it, until my eyelids grow heavy and my restless thoughts are replaced with dreams.
CHAPTER 2
AS I ate my breakfast of fruit and milk, regret gnawed at me as I recounted the scene at the Rat Hole.
Sari was my best friend when it came to spreading gossip at school, keeping secrets, occasionally cheating on exams, or chatting about boys. She certainly was not the right person to bother with something equal to a city-wide threat.
So, I exchanged youth for experience. I decided to speak with Gileon about the incident and my vision at the Thumb.
Gileon was an old wizard, maybe the oldest one in Averot'h. I recalled he mentioned he had lived in the city before its destruction twenty-three years ago, and he even remembered Gael, the Warlock before Ver'del the Great, and my paternal grandfather. He also happened to be my teacher in the history of Averot'h several years ago.
He was certainly the most qualified man I could ask my questions regarding bygone times.
I knew Gileon was fond of coffee and sweets, and often visited a nearby coffeehouse called The Grind.
I was lucky. I found him at a table in a corner, alone except for a cup of coffee and two jam doughnuts.
I bowed to him slightly and he returned me a curt nod with a smile.
“May I?” I nodded to an empty seat.
“Sure, Your Grace,” he replied.
I took a close look at my former teacher. His hair turned from grey to white at his temples, and wrinkles on his face ran deeper than I remembered. His beard was unusually thin. He seemed weak and weary as though he recently battled an illness.
“Are you feeling well?” I asked.
His smile was somewhat forced. “I'm fine, thank you, Your Grace,” he replied. “What brings you here? Are you an addict for sweets and coffee like myself?”
I chuckled. “Sometimes, I admit,” I tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “But not today. I just need to know something.”
For a second, I pondered where to start. I wondered whether it was accidental that the crime happened in the shadows of the Broken Spire, or if there was something secret going on.
“Master Gileon, you're an expert on Averot'h, I mean the former one, right?”
He took a small sip of coffee. “Yes, I am,” his light green, content eyes observed me with a hint of curiosity. “Why do you ask?”
“Could you tell me the history of the Council and its rise to power?”
“Oh, that would be a truly long talk, dear Leisha.”
“Well, a short version, then?”
Gileon had a taste of a doughnut. “Amazing stuff,” he muttered. “You want a short version? Then listen.”
During the following half hour, the best source available educated me on the history of the Ka'tan. Gileon's story ended with an epic battle between my father and Cid'rel, followed by the destruction of Ka'tan spire.
“What exactly does it take to become a Ka'tan?” I asked.
The old wizard licked the sugar and chocolate cream from his lips.
“An applicant must pass an exam. It's called The Trial of the Three Elements. The elements in question are earth, fire and water. From what I know, it was an extremely dangerous undertaking, ending with an exit into the nonexistence more often than not. Skills required by the Trial could be described as truly cutting edge,” he continued, thrilled by the concept. “The ranks of candidates were always wide, though.”
“Why?” I didn't understand. “What appealed to them?”
“Being a member of the Council meant you were among the most capable and respectable wizards in the world,” replied Gileon, his eyes gleaming. “Being a Councilman meant everyone would look up to you with respect and humility.”
I scowled. “But the Ka'tans were monsters, weren't they?” I objected.
Gileon's shoulders sank a little. “As you say, Your Grace” he admitted mutely. “As you say.”
“Hm. Was Cid'rel the last Ka'tan?”
“Well, technically, your grandfather was the last. He was the Supreme at that,” Gileon frowned and corrected himself. “He is the last Ka'tan. But, as you know, he caused the fall of the Council ultimately, and condemned his own involvement in it.”
I nodded. In fact, I had never considered the Burned to be a Ka'tan at all.
“Then, Cid'rel can be considered the last true Ka'tan,” I said. “Was he special by any means?”
Gileon jerked and his eyes went wide. “Cid'rel? Special?” he babbled. “Why do you ask, Your Grace?”
I shrugged. “I don't know, actually. I wonder, what was he like?”
Gileon didn't stop staring at me. “Cid'rel was the opposite of the Burned. He was bold and loyal to the Council until the end.”
I memorized his answer and continued. “What part in the power of the Ka'tan did the ring you mentioned before play?” I queried.
Not that magic artifacts were rare nowadays. On the contrary, various talismans and amulets were of vast abundance. But an item with such a power as Cid'rel's ring was rare, if not unique.
“Immense, Your Grace,” the old wizard clicked his tongue.
“What does the ring look like? Is it exceptional in appearance? Does it have precious stones, diamonds or sapphires, on it?”
Gileon chuckled. “Not at all! It's just a thin ring made of gold. You see, Your Grace, sometimes things that appear to be casual hide an unexpected treasure inside.”
I contemplated the answer for a moment.
“Could the power of the Ka'tan return?” I asked.
Gileon coughed as his last bite went down a wrong way.
“Forgive me,” he held a napkin to his mouth. After a short pause, he said, “I don't think so, Your Grace. Without the ring it is impossible.”
