The Bridge to Magic by Alex Thornbury

Author:Alex Thornbury [Thornbury, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-21T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

The King’s Decree

“Historians and scholars of the lore of the three realms rarely mention another entity: The Great Web binding the spheres. In the Sachi lore of the celestial gods, there are whispers of a great spider who guards it. He is a half-blood son of the god Moreg and a human princess. He is the Lord of the Abyss, whom the gods cast out from the celestial sphere. His name is Syn’Moreg.”

History of Men, Gods and Magic,

By Priest Oderrin

There were times in Elika’s life when she felt as if her world faded away, and she was spun into another mythical one. Often, those times were during one of Bill’s tales of the old days, when their world was awash with magic.

Standing there, under the old priestess’ probing gaze, she felt as if she was once again cast into that strange place of magical lies and illusions. A place where she could not trust her ears or eyes. Where her mind was twisted in knots and reality became an impossible, unfamiliar thing. In her mind, she groped for something solid and true to cling on to.

“Name’s Eli,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster.

“So you say,” Igla retorted. “Instead of glaring at me with your tsarin’s gaze, why don’t you do something more useful and make me a herbal tea over there.” She pointed irritably toward the kitchen. “My joints are stiff as stone today. And seeing you here doesn’t brighten my mood either.” The old priestess lowered herself into a rocking chair, very much like the one Bill had on his boat. Except, her rocking chair was under an olive tree, in a meadow of small spring flowers and tiny butterflies.

“If you think I’m the demi-goddess Arala, shouldn’t you be fetching me the tea instead.”

“Ha! Look at you, drab and scrawny, like a drowned rat, half-eaten by fleas. Where’s your might and majesty, where’s your wisdom and grace? You, my dear, are no goddess. At least not yet. So if you don’t want to know what my cane feels like on your backside, you’ll be fetching me that tea and quick about it, too.”

Elika was acutely conscious of two things at once. The old woman was mad. And it might have been that same madness, which had saved Elika from facing the bridge that night. So she did what the mad old priestess demanded.

The kitchen was nestled under a large apple tree, as were the table and two chairs beside it. Every surface of the kitchen, and the grass beneath her feet, was covered in small petals from the apple blossoms. There was a bed by the rose bushes, a chest carved out of an old tree stump and shelves made of branches. The old woman’s strange home was reminiscent of Bill’s tales of mages and their unusual abodes.

On the shelf in the kitchen, there were many jars filled with different grains, flour, dried pieces of fruit and flowers. The only thing she knew of herbal teas was that they involved steeping weeds in hot water.

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