November 29
Word Count: 3178
“We could try singing,” Saratin offered after he’d slid down to the bottom of the bubble for the third time. Mitty burst out into a fit of giggles as she helped him up. At least he was keeping a sense of humor about this whole event. Otherwise, she was quite sure she and Trevelyn would have panicked by now.
They’d been poking and prodding at the bubble for an hour, and nothing seemed to dent it. Even her sewing sheers had bounced right off the surface. Relaxing and waiting, Saratin’s first suggestion, proved to be down right uncomfortable. The moment they laid back and began to relax, they would slide down to the bottom of the bubble, usually knocking over the other two.
“I don’t know too many songs. I know lots of poems. How about a poem?” Saratin asked.
“A nice long one.” Mitty said. “I think we have the time.”
“And what do you think Lynah’s doing right about now?” Trevelyn asked. “Probably giggling and frolicking, not even thinking that we may be hungry or have other concerns to take care of.”
“She’s probably out making more bubbles,” Mitty replied.
“Maybe not,” Saratin said. “This is a rather complicated piece of magic, and she may not have the energy to make another one today.”
“Great. So we have at least another day until all the rest of the Great Mages are bubbled,” Trevelyn said.
“Not if we can warn them,” Mitty added, thinking of Malek, asleep in their cottage. When she didn’t come back, he’d definitely come looking for her.
“How about a poem about dragons? I know several,” Saratin asked.
“I’m just wondering about what else she’s been up to. It just doesn’t seem right that she’s doing this all on her own. Whoever’s been planning this knows what he’s doing several steps before we know,” Trevelyn said.
“Well, we just need to catch up,” Mitty said. Trevelyn bounced herself against the bubble in frustration and was reflected back, knocking over Saratin in the process. She landed on top of him in a heap.
Pushing a layer of skirt off his head, Saratin said, “How about dryads? I know a poem about dryads.” Trevelyn wasn’t listening. She scrambled up, nearly standing on Saratin’s face and crossed her arms across her chest, until she lost her balance and put one hand out to support herself. Saratin managed to get up. His smile was waning. When Trevelyn didn’t speak, Mitty spoke for her.
“Dragons would be lovely.”
“‘In the time when magic was full and the land was fair…’ They all begin like that. Or at least the ones commissioned by Dormas the First. I don’t know why. I read an entire manuscript of poems that started with that line. Most of them rhymed as well. Snare, hair, bear, tear, lair, care, repare, spare, compare, dare… it has a lot of good ones.” Trevelyn closed her eyes, as if that would shut out the sight and the sound of Saratin naming rhyming words and counting them off with his fingers.
“Hey, maybe we should write our own new poem?” Saratin said suddenly.
“Oh would you be serious?” Trevelyn yelled impatiently. Saratin sighed.
“And where would seriousness get us at this moment? Mad, upset, angry, tense, vengeful? Sometimes the only way to deal with the absurd is with the absurd. I could choose to scream right now. Or I could choose to laugh.” Saratin paused as he smiled at Trevelyn. “Or I could choose to write poetry. Does anyone have a writing implement?”
Mitty searched through her pockets and came out with a piece of parchment. Trevelyn stared begrudgingly for a moment, then produced a quill and a small inkpot.
“Perfect. So we’ll start with the traditional line.” Saratin leaned back against the bubble and slid to the floor. He placed the inkpot on the on the ground beside him, and unfolded the parchment. He looked up at the two of them. Mitty sat beside him, and then looked up at Trevelyn, who sighed, and then took a spot on the other side of Saratin.
“As long as there’s no princesses in the poem,” Trevelyn stated.
“Right. Or we could have her, say, eaten by a dragon?” Saratin suggested.
“I don’t think Snult would approve,” Mitty said.
“A lesser dragon then. She wanders off into the forest, expecting to get rescued by the knight, but he’s too late, and she gets eaten.”
“Right. We’ll call it, Late Knight, a Tragedy.”
When Brother Ettu finally found them a half hour later, they’d written about thirty lines, and were on the other side of the parchment.
“Is everything all right?” Brother Ettu asked as he stared at the three Great Mages sitting on the floor. Staring at a piece of parchment. “Can I get you some chairs?”
“We’re stuck!” Trevelyn said, standing suddenly and smacking her hand on the bubble surface so it rippled into view.
“Goodness. How did that happen?” Brother Ettu tentatively reached out and touched the bubble.
“Lynah did it. We found her and she put us in a nonmagical bubble!” Trevelyn said.
“Right. I think you need to find Brother Ilden and detain him if you can. If you see Lynah, run. She’s become rather dangerous.”
Brother Ettu’s eyes got very wide. He shook his head and went running out the door.
“Where’s he going? Isn’t he going to get us out?”
“He can’t get us out. I think only Malek, Iber or Lasser will be able to break this thing from the outside. He probably went to find Ilden,” Saratin said.
“But what if he runs into Lynah first? How are we going to get out of here if she incapacitates him everyone who finds us? We’ll be right back where we started,” Trevelyn said.
“Right. We’re not done with our poem yet,” Saratin said holding up their parchment.
Brother Axio came rushing in, followed closely by Brothers Sheeps, Pogle, Basely, and Chau. They all stopped and stared in amazement at the three mages surrounded by an impenetrable barrier.
“This wouldn’t have happened to the old Great Mages,” Sheeps finally said.
“That’s because one of the old Great Mages wasn’t a spoiled little princess who wants to have everything her way,” Trevelyn replied, glaring at him.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Brother Axio asked. “Are you hungry? Some food perhaps?”
“Actually, the only thing we need right now is another Great Mage,” Saratin stated.
“Right,” Pogle said smiling. He turned to leave, before completing the math in his head. “Where can we find one?”
“Well, Lasser is in Capital City, Malek is at home, and Iber is by now in some village that used to be in Vyna’s head,” Mitty said.
“That’s if Lynah hasn’t gotten to them too,” Trevelyn added.
“Master Malek is the closest,” Brother Chau calculated, “but he’s still a day’s ride away by non magical means. We should send a messenger in his direction.”
“Actually, wouldn’t it make sense to send out three messengers, just in case something has happened to more than one of the mages?” Brother Basely suggested.
“That’s a good idea. Brother Pogle, if you would be kind enough to write out three missives, we’ll send them right away,” Brother Chau stated.
“I can’t find Brother Ilden anywhere,” Brother Ettu stated as he reentered the room.
“Lynah’s probably taken him off to wherever she met with Nelyr.” Trevelyn stated. “He used to have a cottage in a forest somewhere, but I can’t imagine Lynah would go there. It was horribly filthy.” She shuddered.
“Nelyr?” Brother Chau looked to Saratin for clarification.
“We think that Lynah’s been taught by Nelyr… but so far, it’s only speculation. If it is him, she didn’t recognize him, but he’s the only other one who could have taught her magic. There’s no one else who could have shown her how to create something as complicated as this,” Saratin tapped the side of the bubble again.
“Where’s my wife?” Malek suddenly asked from behind the crowd of Brothers. “And what the heck is going on. Isn’t it a little crowded in here?” Mitty stood, and placed both hands on the bubble.
“I’m here, Malek. Help me out.” Malek pushed past the brothers.
“You didn’t come when I called. What’s the use of having this bloody voice in the back of my head if I can’t use it when I want you?” Malek and placed his hands on hers. He shoved at the bubble when he couldn’t feel her hands. Then he pounded at it.
“What’s going on?” he asked again.
“It’s a nonmagical bubble,” Saratin explained. “Lynah cast it to hold us here. We can’t use any magic on the inside. Malek stood still for a moment, as if listening to Master Hilta explain how to get his wife unstuck, then he placed both hands firmly on the bubble and closed his eyes. After a moment he swore underneath his breath.
“She’s got the blasted thing password protected!”
“She can do that? That’s rather neat. I didn’t know we could do that. How is that done exactly.” Saratin was still enthusiastic over new information, no matter how it grim it made their current situation.
“Well, she just imprinted it with a key that only she knows. So she’s the only one who can remove the bubble.” Malek thought for a moment. “I might be able to overpower it with sheer will. Though, I’d need some help with that. I don’t have enough power for it on my own.”
“I’m sure Iber and Lasser could help you out,” Trevelyn stated.
Malek nodded and closed his eyes. A startled Iber was suddenly drawing his sword. He held it wide eyed for a moment, before dropping it down.
“You really should warn a body before you do that. I thought you were… I thought you were Lynah.”
“So you’ve had some problems with her too?” Mitty’s comment drew his attention to the three in the bubble.
“Well, she’s probably pretty mad at me by now, but I have a lot to tell you. I’m glad you saved me the trip.” Iber turned towards Saratin, and began to explain. Saratin put up his hand to stop him.
“Why don’t we get Lasser here too so you only have to explain it once?”
“Good idea,” Malek said and suddenly Lasser was standing there with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth.
“I see we’re having a meeting,” Lasser said as stared at the crowd that was surveying him with equal curiosity.
“To sum up,” Saratin said, “Lynah has locked us in an impenetrable bubble that we need at least two of you to help get us out of.”
“I saw her a while ago. She’s been wandering about. I was going to tell you.”
“She’s completely sore at me, since I wrecked her plans. I’d be careful if I were you.” Iber said. “Well, anyway, I got to site of the village and there she was, waiting. Without any here or there, she unleashes the village. The people understandably have a huge party, and Vyna goes a bit nuts. Even slightly more nuts than usual. While I was calming her down, Lynah was out demanding a bucket of calca a day as payment. Calca are these little white sugary bits of magic from the Great Tree. And when I say Great Tree, I mean, it’s the tree that makes us Great Mages. The whole rigmarole is connected. It is the source of all magic, and when the villagers were digging into the tree for more calca than what natural falls, it shut off the magic. But anyway,” Iber said quite animated. Mitty had never seen him so excited.
“Where was I?”
“You made Lynah mad?” Malek said, obviously trying to speed up his rambling.
“Right. I obviously told her she couldn’t have a bucket of calca a day, and I wrote a poem and she couldn’t do any magic in the village. My poem worked! I told you that poetry was powerful,” Iber grinned from ear to ear at Malek.
“Poem?” Lasser questioned.
“He channeled his magic through rhyme, rather than visualization like the rest of us. He write the words and says them, and they have the same effect as our magic. Staven used to do his magic like that,” Malek said, then shook his head as if trying to clear the voice from his head.
“Calca has no effect on a Great Mage. Taken in small doses it extends youth in an almost infinite capacity,” Saratin said. “Eaten by the bucket, and a person might develop the power of a Great Mage, but only in temporary bouts.”
“So why would Lynah need calca?” Trevelyn asked. Saratin was already smiling, as if he knew the answer.
“It makes sense, really,” Saratin said, “if all our suppositions are correct.”
“Please explain,” Brother Pogle said, unable to hold in his impatience. Everyone stared for a moment at him, before turning their attention back to Saratin.
“First, Nelyr’s powers have been corrupted or damaged. He can’t recharge himself the way that we can, so he finds calca, which he eats to recharge himself. When he’s young and fit and full of magic, he recruits Lynah, teaches her, and uses her to fill out whatever plans he has. This assumes that Lynah’s mysterious friend is Nelyr, of course.”
Mitty watched the crowd as they digested Saratin’s proposal. It sounded logical. She couldn’t find fault with it.
“So what do we do about it?”
“First we get out of the bubble, then we find out what she’s up to. What they’re up to.”
“I think Lynah’s been a bit too interested in my challenges,” Lasser added. “She seems keen on watching them. There are only three contestants left. Maybe she plans to do something to them.”
“Then you should go back and keep an eye out for Lynah. She hopefully doesn’t know what’s up. We’ll come up with a plan to trap her… but bubble first.” Saratin said, prompting Malek. Mitty watched Malek. She could tell he was unsure about how he was going to work with them.
“So how do we get rid of the bubble?” Iber asked. “I could try a poem.”
“One of us can’t do it on our own,” Malek said. “And the only way we can do it together is if…” he paused and looked at Mitty. She was afraid he was going to bite his lip hard enough to make it bleed before he finished his sentence.
“I’ll need to borrow your powers. You’ll need to trust me.”
“Borrow? Like Nelyr, coma floating ghostly borrow?” Iber asked. Malek nodded. Everyone stood silent for a moment, as they considered the repercussions. Trevelyn and Iber had both allowed Nelyr to borrow their powers, and he’d neglected to tell him that it would leave them separated from their bodies, unable to be seen or heard. He’s also had no intention of giving them back, and they had been powerless to do anything about it.
“I trust you,” Lasser said, stepping forward and holding out his hand. Stunned for a moment, Malek almost didn’t take it. Mitty smiled. He forgot that just because he didn’t easily trust people, that didn’t mean that others couldn’t find it in themselves to trust him.
Malek took Lasser’s hand, quickly grabbing him as he fell unconscious and lowered him to the ground. The brothers scrambled to help once they saw what was happening. Malek turned to Iber, who still looked skittish.
“Just answer me this,” Iber said, “If our positions were reversed, would you give me your powers?”
Malek looked at Mitty. She knew that he’d do anything to help save her. He nodded. “Yes. I trust you.” Iber smiled and shook out his hand. This time the brothers were ready to support him as Malek took his hand.
“Whoah.” Malek said, as he reached towards the bubble with both hands. “I’m all tingly. “This is quite… whoah.” Malek was smiling. Mitty leaned over and placed her hands on the other side of the bubble where his lay. He was beginning to give new meaning to the phrase drunk with power. His eyes were slightly glassy and the smirk was so un-Malek like, it was beginning to frighten her. He closed his eyes and moved his head back and forth so some silent song.
“Malek? Are you all right?” He was humming. “Malek?” She called again. She caught him as he fell. They both crashed to the floor.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he slurred. “I’ve had a hard day.” Mitty kissed him, then suddenly realized the bubble was gone.
“Bring them over here,” she said to Brother Ettu who had laid Lasser and Iber side by side. The brothers struggled with Lasser’s prone body, and Trevelyn and Saratin, realizing they were free, ran over to help. A simple touch of their hands and Lasser was up.
“That was by far, the strangest thing I have ever done. I could see right through my hand,” Lasser said, looking himself over, making sure he was quite whole.
“I told you so,” Iber stated laughing at him. “And ten times more pleasant than last time. What’s wrong with him?” he asked pointed to Malek who had started snoring.
“He’s had a hard day,” Mitty said as she tried to get into a more comfortable position. Malek was leaning heavily on her.
“We need to get organized,” Saratin said, drawing attention away from Malek.
“First, I think Lasser should go
back to
Lasser nodded and waved a quick goodbye before disappearing back to where he’d come from. Hopefully no one would have noticed him missing.
Saratin turned towards the brothers. “We need things to run as if the three of us were still stuck in a bubble, Malek was still home, and Iber still in Vilane. I’m pretty confident in the loyalty of those of you here, but it is sad to say that any brother pledged to Lynah may be a spy. Don’t let this go any further than this room.” The brothers nodded and filed out of the room, leaving only the five remaining Great Mages.
Mitty smiled to herself. She had faith in Saratin. For such a mild mannered brother, he was a natural leader. He gave strength to those who needed it, freedom to those who wanted it, and humor to those who wanted to bash his head in.
“I’ve got a plan,” Saratin said.
“What do we need to do?” Mitty asked.