The Ordeal

By: Heidi L. Lane

 

“Master Blaize, good to see you again,” Phillip greeted entering the room.  He saw the grim expressions on the faces of his colleagues as he looked around and knew that a decision had been reached.  “So, what’s it to be?”

“We’ve found an ordeal for you to undertake, Phillip,” Blaize stated.  Phillip nodded and looked questioningly at the much older mage.  “Have you ever heard of the Vault of Taliesin?”

“The storeroom that Master Taliesin created when he was Lord Elder, yes,” Phillip thought about all he’d heard of the Vault.  “It’s supposedly connected to the Crystal Palace somehow and is almost impossible to get in to.”

Blaize nodded and looked over to Silvanus.  The magickian frowned and said, “We’ve found a map leading to the Vault.  It won’t be easy and the map’s… not in English.  But we know you can do it.”

“But the ceremony – Phillip, it’s January,” Alaric protested.  “You’ll freeze trying to cross the Waters of Night.”

“I’ll manage,” Phillip assured him.  “I have to.  Otherwise, Darren’s right and I don’t deserve to be Lord Elder.”  He took the map from Silvanus and looked at it carefully.  “It’s in the most ancient dialect of Cygman.  It’ll take some doing to translate.”

“We know.  But then, if it were easy, it wouldn’t be an ordeal,” Blaize stated.  Standing, he placed a hand on Phillip’s shoulder and said, “Good luck, lad.”

Phillip looked up at him and smiled his thanks.  “Well, I’d best get this translated and get going.”  Seeing the scowls on the faces of Alaric and Silvanus he smiled and said, “Don’t worry.  I’ll be fine.  I won’t be alone; I have ‘Medes.”

 

As Phillip walked towards the library he studied the map.  It wasn’t imperative that he be able to read the map before undertaking the ordeal, but Phillip figured he was better safe than sorry.  He’d heard the stories about the lethal pitfalls that protected the Vault.  Maybe the writing on the map gave clues as to how to avoid them.

Walking into the library he quickly found the section he was looking for.  He began skimming the shelves in search of a book that might help translate the obscure language that was on the scroll.  Spotting an old, worn text on a high shelf, Phillip glanced around, looking for a stepstool.  “Never one around when you need it.  I’ve been on the Tribunal for a century, you’d think that they’d have put a few stepstools around for me in here,” he muttered.  “Bloody Hell.  How’m I supposed to reach that book.”

“Perhaps a chair,” suggested a voice from behind him.  Whirling around he found a spellcaster with a very odd colored robe standing near one of the tables.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you come up behind me,” he said, adjusting his glasses.  “You’re self-taught,” Phillip pointed out.  At the spellcaster’s questioning glance he said, “Unconventional robe color.”

The spellcaster shrugged and said, “Orange is such a horrible color and pink is too... feminine.  I like coral.”  Inclining he head, he said, “Master Shadow.”

Smiling because for once he didn’t have to explain why he wasn’t willing to shake hands, Phillip raised his palms to his eyes in the traditional warlock greeting of a non-warlock and bowing, said, “Master Phillip.”

“Oh, the Lord Elder.  Let me reach down that book for you.”  Before Phillip could point out that both of them were to short to reach the high shelf, Shadow held his hand out and the book floated down to him.

Phillip looked up at the shelf then at Shadow and said, “How –?  You didn’t do a spell and I didn’t feel any psychic forces at work.  How’d you do that?”  Shadow shrugged nonchalantly and handed him the book.  “Thanks.  I’d heard that spellcasters were very unusual mages but I’ve never seen one in action.”

“Well, now you have. May I ask, what do you need so old and dusty a volume for?”

“Translating… this.  It’s part of my ordeal.”

“I wish my ordeal had been that easy,” Shadow said skeptically.

Phillip shook his head and smiled, “That’s only the first part.  This map leads to the Vault of Taliesen.”

“A great many very powerful mages have died attempting to get to that vault.  Do you think you’ll be able to do it?” Shadow asked, his eyes wide.

“I dearly hope so,” Phillip replied, once more adjusting his glasses.  “Thanks again.”

“My pleasure, I’m sure,” Shadow said, frowning.  “Good luck to you.”  Clasping his hands in front of his chest and bowing, Phillip smiled and then bounded off.  “You’ll need it,” Shadow continued grimly after the younger mage had bounded off.  Looking at the empty air, he said, “If you keep an eye on him there’s a cookie in it for you.”  He smiled as he felt the sprites flit off to do his bidding.

 

Phillip sat at in a cubicle in an out of the way section of the library, studying the faded writing by the light of a hand-glow.  Scowling he coaxed the magic light brighter and looked back at the scroll in his lap.  “Keep talking… chanting?  But what should I chant?  It doesn’t say.  It couldn’t be so easy as… or could it?  Hmm.”  Shrugging he continued to the next section of the scroll.

“M’Lord Elder,” Phillip heard a voice say from near his elbow.  Turning he saw a very small wizard with a long white beard and pointed ears.  “The library is closing.  Do you wish to borrow that book.”

Phillip nodded and smiled.  The little wizard took the book and walked off towards the circulation desk with it.  “You’re an ellian,” Phillip said.

“Mmm?  Oh, yes, m’Lord.  I’m Master Cyrus.”  Climbing up on a platform behind the desk he opened the front cover of the book and scowled.  Looking up he said, “It seems this is a reference book.  It’s not supposed to leave the library.”

“Oh dear,” Phillip muttered.

The ellian smiled at his and said, “But you are the Lord Elder, I suppose we can trust you to bring it back unharmed, mm?”

“Oh, yes, thank you!” Phillip cried, beaming.  The librarian handed him the book and smiled back.  “I’ll return it as soon as my research is done,” Phillip promised.

“I know you will.  Good luck on your ordeal.  Every mage is pulling for you.”

Phillip nodded and waved as he went out the door and towards his quarters.  Peering into the room he saw his wife.  “Sorry, love,” he said, standing on his toes to kiss her.  “Lost track of time.”

“I figured you might, dearest,” Sarah replied.  “I’ve made you’re favorite meat pie.”  She pointed towards the table.  “Sarina’s already asleep,” she said as Phillip sat, referring to their daughter.  Sarah sat next to him and frowning said, “You’re more nervous than you let on, dear.”

“How could I not be?  Do you know how many mages have died trying to find and get to the Vault?” Phillip said.  Placing a hand on Sarah’s abdomen he continued, “What would you do if something were to happen to me?”

“Nothing will happen, dear-heart,” Sarah assured him.  “You are so wise, so well-trained… Phillip, we’ll be alright.”

Phillip leaned on her and said, “You spoil me dreadfully, love.”

“Phillip, we’ve been together for nearly a century, by now I know you and you know me.  I’m not spoiling you any more than you spoil me.”

Phillip smiled as he gazed at his wife’s loving green eyes.  He laced his hand through her flame-red curls.  “I love you so much.  I worry so about leaving you and Sarina, and this new little one alone.”

“We’ll be fine.  You focus on your ordeal and come back to us safe and sound.  That’s what you need to worry about.”

“How do you always know just what to say?” Phillip asked.

“We’ve been married for nearly a century, Phil.  Now eat your pie before it gets cold… again.”  Sarah stood and went towards their bedroom.  “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Don’t tempt me, love, I need my sleep,” Phillip admonished playfully.

“Oh we’ll sleep… eventually.”

 

Early the next morning, Phillip disentangled himself from his wife and stood.  Leaning over her he kissed her on her forehead.  “I’ve got to get back to translating, love,” he whispered.  He quietly got dressed and went out into the common room.  He smiled as his daughter came out of her room.

“Papa!” she chirped.

Phillip held a finger to his lips, “Mummy’s still sleeping.  Want breakfast?”  The little girl nodded.  “Pancakes?”

“I love pannycakes, Papa!” Sarina said, giggling.

“Shh, Mummy’s –”

“I’m up, love,” his wife said from the doorway.  Phillip looked up at his wife and smiled.  Smiling back she said, “You’ll make breakfast.  I’ll make tea, mm?”

“Tea sounds wonderful, Sarah,” Phillip agreed.  He walked over to the kitchen area and began mixing up the batter.  “Help Mummy and set the table, Rina,” he said, looking at the 6 year old.

“Aye, Papa,” the little girl said.  “Last night, Mummy told me she has a baby growing inside her,” she continued conspiratorially.

“I know,” Phillip replied, testing the pan to see if it was hot enough.  “What do you think of that?  Do you like the idea of a little brother or sister?”

Sarina paused in thought holding a glass in her hand, “I like the idea of a little sister, I think.  But I don’t know about a little brother, Papa.  Boys are icky.”

Phillip chuckled and looked over at Sarah.  She smiled a secret smile and pulled the now whistling teapot off the stove.  “I’ve a feeling she might have to change her minds as far as boys are concerned,” she said.

“A son?” Phillip asked, flipping the pancakes.  Sarah smiled at him and poured the hot water over the tea balls.  “An heir,” he sighed.

 

Phillip smiled as he walked down the corridor to his office.  “Phillip!” he heard someone shout behind him.  He turned and saw the Defender of the Tribunal.  “Are you really going to go through with this madness?”

“I haven’t much of a choice, Belg’rath,” he replied, shrugging.  “I’ll be fine.  I’m almost finished with the translation of the scroll.  Then I’ll be ready to go.”

“Let me come with you, then.”

“This is something I have to do one my own,” Phillip stated seriously.  “That’s the idea of an ordeal.  I can’t have help in completing it.”  The older mage scowled down at him.  “I’ll be careful, I promise.  I have a lot of reasons to come back safely.”

“How’s you’re family?” the ancient Defender asked.

“Fine, yours?” Phillip asked, glad that the discussion had turned away from his impending ordeal.

“You know Pol,” he replied.

Phillip nodded and sighed, “I have to finish this.  Don’t worry; I’m a master warlock; I can take care of myself.”

“I know and I’m not worried.  I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into,” he muttered as Phillip scurried into his office.

 

Phillip sighed and plucked at the cape connected to the tabard he wore.  The translation was complete and he’d returned the book as promised.  He was as prepared as he could get.  Looking down at the map he held he walked in the direction of the cellar of the Palace.  According to the scroll, the Vault lay on the other side of a convoluted maze that wound in, around and under the Palace.

He went to the secret door that the map indicated and reached up to push on a stone in the wall.  He had to stand on his toes and stretch to reach the stone, but he managed it, just.  Feeling the floor give way under his feet, Phillip yelped.

He didn’t know how long he fell but when he landed it was into a pool of water.  He came up coughing and sputtering.  He cast about the chamber he found himself in and sighed as he trod water.  “That wasn’t on the scroll,” he muttered.  Spotting a shelf he swam over to it.  He climbed up out of the water, cast a drying spell over himself and pulled out the scroll.  “Well, at least it’s undamaged,” he said.  “Where are those stairs?” he asked himself as he looked around the dark chamber.

He found the stairs and smirked, tossing a stone up onto a step.  When it came to a rest the walls flew inwards toward the center of the staircase, crushing it.  Phillip nodded and saw the powered remains of the rock when the wall slid apart.  “Keep chanting,” he muttered, “or you get crushed.  I never did find out what to chant, here goes.”  He stepped onto the first step and started repeating, “Oh dear, oh dear.” As he walked up the stairs.  After several minutes of climbing he was starting to get out of breath.  “You’ve gotta cut down on the ‘tween meal snacks,” he told himself, panting.  He sighed and heard the walls shudder and began muttering, “Oh dear,” again.  He slowed his pace a bit and eventually he reached a door.

Still muttering, he peered at the map and frowned.  Nodding, he pushed the door open.  He sighed in relief as he stepped through the doorway.  Looking down on the floor he said, “Which ones?”  The hallway that led to the vault was floored with large tiles.  According to the scroll certain tiles set off pitfalls others didn’t.  Then he saw them, bones.  There weren’t any on some of the tiles while others were littered with bone fragments.  The first tile that wasn’t littered with bones was almost three feet away.  He steeled himself and leapt.  He sighed in relief when nothing happened.  Now he just had to make it down the hallway.  He sighed and sat down to rest for a bit.  Between all the walking and how nervous he was, Phillip was tired.

After eight or nine leaps of at least two feet each, Phillip finally reached the door of the vault.  He looked down at the map once again.  “Great, it doesn’t give any instructions on how to open the vault.”  He sighed and looked up at the huge door.  To have come all this way and not be able to open the door would be supremely ironic.

“How does it open?” Phillip asked aloud to the empty air.

“Art the Lord Elder?” A strange disembodied voice asked.  Phillip looked around and then up at the door.  He frowned as he noticed it was glowing.  “Art the Lord Elder?” the disembodied voice asked again.

“Yes,” Phillip replied cautiously.  The area around him began to glow.  Phillip frowned and muttered, “oh dear, oh dear,” as the glow intensified.  As suddenly as it had started the glow subsided and everything returned to normal.  “And the door’s still shut,” Phillip groused.  He looked up at the door again and his eyes narrowed as he noticed that the decorations on the door had changed.  There now appeared to be a handle-like indentation at what would be eye level to an average wizard, placing it about a foot and a half above Phillip’s head.  “Why does everything have to be built for tall people?” Phillip muttered.  Standing on his toes and reaching up, he managed to place his fingers into the crevice.  He felt something give under his hand and heard a grinding sound.  Still on his toes, he stepped back and pulled on the door.  He felt it give a little.  Pulling again, harder this time, he muttered, “Bloody heavy doors… always make things for tall people… never take into consideration that anyone of slightly smaller size might want to get in too.”  Finally he managed to get the door open wide enough that he could slip through.

Peering in, Phillip saw a treasure trove of magical items.  “No wonder they wanted to find this place.”  He walked around the room and looked at the crystals, wands and grimoire laying haphazardly about.  “Shame they haven’t kept up with this place.  It’s very messy.”  He continued to walk around the room and paused, his eyes going wide.  Across the room, hidden behind several magic shields, swords and suits of armor, there was a door.  He cast about for something to take as proof that he’d completed his ordeal.  Spying a small brooch and deciding that it’s small size suited it to his purpose he pinned it to his shirt and smiled.

Phillip turned around and pulled the large vault door shut, with no small amount of effort.  Then he walked over to the smaller wooden door he’d spotted.  Opening it, he found a staircase.  The ceiling was low enough that it would be uncomfortably claustrophobic for a wizard.  Phillip grinned and bounded down the steps.  It was easier going down than it had been going up earlier.  The stairs weren’t as steep as the others were either.  If it was necessary for him to return to this place and it was possible, Phillip resolved to use these steps instead of the other path.

Guided by the light of his hand-glow, Phillip soon reached the bottom of the stairs.  Ahead he saw a glimmer of light, similar to what would be peeking out from under a door.  As he neared the light, he found it was indeed a door and on the other side he could hear voices.  Not knowing whose voices he heard, Phillip decided to just listen for a while.

“It’s nearly nightfall,” one voice said, “I’m beginning to become concerned.”

“You’re just beginning?” another voice asked, sounding exasperated.  “I was hoping to at least hear something hours ago.  I was concerned the minute he got sent off on this… this… quest.  He’s the Lord Elder of the Tribunal of the Fellowship of Good Mages.  To question his authority for any reason is utterly ridiculous.  He wouldn’t have been elected if no one thought he could handle the job.”

“Calm yourself, Silvanus,” a third voice added.  “Phillip is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.  He’s the most powerful warlock in ages.”

Phillip grinned as he found he recognized everyone who’d spoken.  Still smiling he pushed the door open with a cheerful, “Hello, I’m back!”  The three master mages turned to regard him with some shock.  “Did you miss me?” Phillip asked, closing the door behind him and smiling broader as he saw how neatly it blended into the wall.

“Did you find it?” Alaric asked, calmly.

“Mm-hm, that map was excellent, except for one thing: there’s a pitfall that brings you to the staircase, very unpleasant.”

“Very well done, lad,” Blaize congratulated him.  Turning towards Silvanus he said, “You’d best tell everyone that he’s succeeded.”

“Yes,” Phillip agreed, “and I’ve proof if anyone requires it,” he added pointing at the pin on his shirt.

“Phillip, that’s the Elder’s pin,” Alaric said in astonishment, “It’s been missing for ages.”

“It was in the Vault,” Phillip said shrugging.

Silvanus rolled his eyes ruefully and asked Alaric, “Is he always so… cheerful?”

“No, only when he can be.  He can be very serious if need be.”  Silvanus nodded and left to spread the word that Phillip had returned, successful in his ordeal.

“Well, that’s done,” Phillip said, sitting in the Elder’s Seige.  “What’s next?”

“The ceremony, Phillip,” Alaric reminded. The smaller mage scowled and looked down.  “It’ll be fine Phillip,” the conjuror reassured him.

“The Waters of Night will be all but frozen when I wade through them,” he said glumly.  “And they’re very deep.  I’ll be at least up to my neck.”

“Just be glad it isn’t springtime,” Blaize admonished him.  “With the thaw, they’d be over your head and moving very quickly.”

“I’d surely drown.  As ‘tis I still might,” Phillip said, resting his chin on his hands.

“Think positive, Phillip,” Blaize said, “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.  You wouldn’t disappoint your predecessor, would you?”

Phillip looked up at the older mage happily and asked, “You’re to name me?”

“I’m the only one qualified, Phillip.  As a former Elder and a Cygman,” Blaize replied.

“Oh,” Phillip said beaming, “I’m honored.”

“And I’ll stand up with you, if I may,” Alaric said.

“Me too,” Silvanus said, entering the room.  “I know I’m not Cygman, but…”

“That’s no problem, Silvanus.  I appreciate it.  It’ll be nice to know that you’ll be there,” Phillip said warmly.

“The ceremony will take place on the next full moon, two days hence,” Blaize said. 

Phillip nodded and smiled up at his colleagues.  They’d be ready, so would he.  “I’ll go tell Sarah,” he said, rising.  The others bowed at him as he left the chamber.

 

Two days later…

 

The night was cool and there was a brisk wind coming out of the north.  It had snowed all day.  The weather had finally cleared around suppertime and Phillip was very apprehensive as he thought about the cold water he’d have to wade through.

Alaric found him standing on the outer wall-walk staring into the distance.  “Ready Phillip?” he asked.

“Ready as ever I’ll be,” Phillip replied, shivering.  “Alaric,” he called softly as the conjuror turned away to lead him to the river.  When he’d turned back Phillip looked down and said, “Alaric, I don’t know that I can do this.  It’s cold now and I’m dry and dressed and wearing a weathering cloak.  I’ll be wet and – and naked when I cross that stream.”

“I know, Phillip,” Alaric said, “It’ll be alright.  It’s a test of how strong your magic aura is.  You’re a master teacher level mage, if an apprentice can do this, so can you.”

“I know that,” Phillip said.  Sighing, he continued, “I just… they don’t normally make ‘prentices do this in the dead of winter.  I’ve never heard of anyone doing it in the dead of winter.  But if I must, I must.”  He followed Alaric down to the banks of the stream known as the Waters of Night because of their dark depths.  Tales held that there was only one path across the stream and if a mage stepped from that path, they’d fall over into a nearly bottomless water-filled ravine.  Of course, Phillip thought, those were only tales.

They soon reached the shore and he looked across to see the form of Blaize standing with the other spectators on the opposite shore.  The only people with him were Alaric and Silvanus.  He felt them more than saw them.  They were behind him.  He could sense their good wishes as well as those of most of the spectators.  There was one he could sense not wishing him well.  He knew, without being told, that it was Master Darren.  Sighing, Phillip removed his weathering cloak.  As the thick cloth fell to the ground, he shivered.  Then he stepped out of the low boots he was wearing, curling his toes as they contacted the cold damp ground.  Looking down he applied himself to removing the rest of his clothes.  This was usually a ceremony performed as a mage went from apprentice to journeyman level; from childhood to young adulthood.  The meaning behind crossing the water was crossing from one stage in life to another.  The meaning behind his nakedness was that such transitions could only truly be made without assistance.

Phillip gasped as he stepped into the frigid water.  It was colder than he’d expected.  He fixed his eyes on the far shore and moved along as fast as he could.  The quicker he was out of this nearly frozen river the better.  His mind was numb and he barely heard the words of the ceremony as Blaize recited them.  He reached the shore just as Blaize finished.  Shivering almost uncontrollably he stepped out of the waters and into the white fleecy robe that the older mage held out to him.

“C-c-cold,” he said.  Blaize nodded and rubbed his arms, reassuringly.  Phillip felt Blaize tug him over to a fur rug that was lying on the shore as the older mage began the phrase that every Cygman mage was given their true name with.

“You are no longer a child and, as such, you leave your childhood toys and fancies behind.  With it you leave the name you were given as a child.  Be Phillip no longer, today you are Allian, which means, ‘little wise one’ in the language of our ancestors.”  Turning to the crowd he said, “Come brothers and sisters, greet this new one in our midst, Allian Long-blade.”  Looking deep into Phillip’s eyes he said, “You only need to stay long enough to greet everyone.  Then, we’ll get you inside to get warm.”

Trying to tie the belt to the fleece robe on, Phillip nodded and said, “Th-thanks, B-blaize.”

“Congratulations, love,” Sarah said from his right.  He looked up at her and smiled wanly.  “Poor dear,” she said rubbing his arms.  “You’re chilled to the bone.  When you’re done greeting everyone we’ll go back to our quarters and see about warming you up.  You’re probably famished too.  I know you didn’t eat supper.  We’ll get you some soup and tea, that’ll help.”

“Thanks, love,” Phillip said softly.  “Start thinking of an excuse for me to cut out early, hmm?”

“You have a six year old and a pregnant wife, love,” Sarah said, affectionately.  “We’re your excuse.”  She pointed at all the people who’d lined up to congratulate him on his “new” adult status and said, “Get done, then we’ll go.”  Phillip sighed and nodded.

About an hour later, Phillip was finally done shaking hands and receiving congratulations from the spectators and, begging out of the ensuing party on the grounds that Sarina had school in the morning and Sarah was due at any time and should retire early, he left.  He was still shivering when he reached their quarters.  Sarah tucked their daughter into bed while he snuggled down under a blanket that was lying on a stuffed armchair.  Sarah brought him a bowl of the soup she’d promised, but Phillip was more interested in the tea he spied warming in the kettle on the stove.

“Best activate it, love,” he advised, referring to the medicinal herbs that were always in the tea but weren’t active unless a special operation was performed.  He heard the chime that meant the Sarah had agreed and activated the tea.

After pouring him a cup she set the pot back on the stove and handed him the steaming cup of brew.  Phillip cupped it with both hands and sipped carefully.  “Feel like you might come down with something?” Sarah asked, concerned.

“Well, I d-did just walk across a half frozen stream in the middle of January,” he reminded her.  She nodded and placed a hand on his forehead.  Smiling he brushed her hand away.  “I don’t feel sick, dearest, just cold.  Better now.”

“Good,” said a voice from the doorway.  Turning the couple found Mistress Pol standing there.  “My father told me what was happening, Phillip.  Foolishness,” she said, shaking her head.

“We don’t tease the fact that you’re world isn’t even named, don’t tease our culture,” Phillip admonished.

“Yes, dear,” Pol said.  “Drink your tea now.”  Phillip nodded and smiled as Sarah and Pol went off to a corner to discuss his condition.  Spotting the lady’s father standing in the doorway he beckoned.

When the much older man stood next to him Phillip said, ”I didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

“Something came up, we couldn’t make it,” he explained.  “How are you feeling?  Really.”

“I’m alright, now I’m warmed up a bit,” Phillip assured him.  “What came up?”

“You know… lots of things,” the older man said evasively.

“Belg’rath,” Phillip said ready to pry details out of the older man.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Pol interrupted, coming over.

“But…”

“No buts, you need rest,” the sorceress said firmly.

Phillip nodded and smiled up at the man who would be his protector once everything on his home world got settled.  “Take care of yourself, Old Wolf,” he said around a yawn, “I still need a Defender.”

“When I’m done, Phillip, I’m all yours,” he promised as Phillip nodded off.  “Spike his tea, Sarah?” he asked.

“Of course, if I hadn’t he never would have gotten to sleep.  Especially seeing you here.  He so enjoys your visits,” She said as the older mage carried the much smaller man to the bedroom.  “It was good seeing you again, Pol,” Sarah said as she escorted them to the door.  “Good luck in all your ventures, you two.  Visit again when you can.”

“We will,” they promised as she shut the door behind them.

“Well at least that’s over,” Sarah said as she went to join her sleeping spouse.

 

end

 

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