True Sight (Tales of Eventyr Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  True Sight

  Author Bio

  TRUE SIGHT

  by Jessica Parker

  Copyright © 2016 Jessica Parker

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Dedicated to the authors who helped me on my way.

  Rothe clutched the blue seashell in his hand. The shell, slick from his sweaty palms, slipped from his grasp. Lunging forward, he stopped it from falling over the edge. His body, stiff from age, protested the movement. He gazed far below him at the cliff’s base. The waves tossed a large log on the rocks where it shattered. Just like the shell would have.

  “Mladosti.” Magic surged through his body, giving strength and energy. Renewed, he jumped up, feeling like he was twenty again. The effects of the spell would not last more than an hour, and he would need all of it.

  It only took him a few strides to get to the altar he’d made from driftwood. He placed the shell on it before reaching for the bag at his waist. A high pitched tinkling sound filled the air as he sprinkled dragon scale dust on the shell.

  “Berputar.” Seaweed, freshly gathered from the ocean below, lifted into the air and spun above him. Rothe took several steps away from the shell and turned around. The kelp settled into a spiral on the ground, starting at the altar and spinning out until the last piece landed at his feet.

  He grabbed his white glasswood staff, which leaned against a large rock, with his right hand. It was taller than he with a black stone at the top. The black glass was formed and frozen by the dwarves from the heart of a volcano. The stone channeled his magic and amplified it tenfold.

  “Tongkat.” The spell warmed the white iridescent wood under his fingers as the staff molded itself to his hand. He loosened his grip, and the wood shifted once more, wrapping itself around so that it wouldn’t fall. Without his command, it would stay in his hand. This spell had saved him more than once.

  His work today was almost done, the most difficult task yet to come.

  Taking a deep breath, Rothe began to channel his magic. The earth around him responded, humming with power. His vision sharpened, and the smell of the ocean brine grew stronger as he channeled more magic into his spell.

  “Inkalle drakonas Vanduo.” He tapped the seaweed with the stone in his staff.

  Three-foot flames sprung up as the seaweed caught fire and burned towards the driftwood tower. Rothe’s heartbeat increased. It was too late to turn back now. He gripped the knife hidden under his shirt for reassurance.

  The shell began to glow as the heat of the fire fused it with the dragon dust.

  “Nres.”

  The flame flickered out. Ash was all that remained of the shell. Rothe’s chest tightened as his heart skipped a beat, filling him with dread for a moment. He hoped that it wasn’t a bad omen foreshadowing how his meeting with this creature would end.

  A loud sucking noise sounded from below. He hurried to the cliff edge to see a whirlpool opening a doorway into the ocean depths. A dark shadow shifted under the water just before a large head rose out of the water followed by a body of scales. Rothe backed away as the blue-green dragon climbed onto the cliff rocks beside him. Easily five spans as tall as he, she stretched her translucent wings out and shook. Cold water drenched him from head to boot.

  Eyes - one gold, one silver - stared at him. It was the gold eyestone he needed from her. There was no doubt she was the one he sought. Vanduo the Ancient.

  "I know why you summoned me, Sorcerer," she said.

  "Then you will help me, Vanduo?" Rothe asked. His voice came out in a higher pitch than normal. A squeak was all he needed to sound like an adolescent instead of a forty-one year old man.

  "What you seek is mine. I will not part with it." Vanduo flashed her thousands of teeth at him, each one of them as long as his arm and needle thin. The smile could almost be pleasant, if you ignored the fish flesh rotting on her teeth.

  Rothe knew she wouldn't give it to him without cost, but others had all failed him. The witch’s scrying had revealed Vanduo’s eyestone was the only one that had a chance to work in the spell that would define his legacy.

  "A trade perhaps?" Rothe said. It had worked with the dwarves for the silver.

  "And what do you have that's worth more than my eyestone? It has taken me centuries to grow."

  "The eyestone of fire dragon Gaisma. It was grown over a millennium."

  Vanduo tilted her head and was quiet a moment before answering. "No. There is no use for it in the water," she said.

  “It could help you stay warm, and give you light to see by.” He sighed when she stared at him blankly.

  “I spent my millennium as a fire dragon. I much prefer the cold dark of the sea. It soothes me.”

  "What would you trade then?"

  "Your staff. I’ve seen it will be mine." Her golden eye flashed in the sunlight, while cold seeped down to his bones.

  "What purpose could you possibly have for a Sorcerer's staff?"

  “It’s only fair that I get a piece of you if you get a piece of me.”

  Rothe hesitated before replying. The crafty lizard wanted to absorb the staff’s magic for herself. While the specific details weren’t known, there were rumors that a dragon could use a staff to drain the magic of the sorcerer who owned it. He would barely be stronger than a magicless human if he gave it to her.

  "There must be something else." Rothe tightened his grip on his staff and looked at the gouge which marred the iridescent surface. The last dragon he’d battled left the scar. Although it had been much younger than Vanduo, that swipe nearly cost Rothe his head. As the oldest of the dragons, she would be a much stronger foe. Her eye stone would make his spell much stronger if he succeeded.

  "Dragons are proud creatures and only let go of their property if it’s won from them. You will have to fight me for it." Vanduo just smiled at him.

  "Then you were toying with me?"

  "I don't typically play with my food, but I haven't had anyone to converse with beyond mermaids and tuna. Do you know how brainless fish are?"

  "I imagine they’re on the same level as the squirrels that inhabit my tree.”

  “I haven’t seen a squirrel since I was a youngling.” She looked dreamily at the sandy beach. “They tasted wonderful when steamed.” She let off a hiss, and smoke escaped from her nostrils.

  Dread filled Rothe as he realized his mistake. They’d conversed long enough for her fire to ignite. Like a ranger new to the hunt, he’d fallen for her delay.

  The first rule of battling water dragons on land, do not let their fire ignite. After twenty minutes their fire glands and lungs are dry enough to produce the chemical saliva mixture that ignites once it reaches open air.

  Vanduo lunged forward with her jaws wide open, sparks of fire shooting out. Rothe dove to the side, and rolled to his feet. He planted his staff firmly on the ground.

  “Protexer.” His skin hardened, offering protection but costing him speed.

  The dragon’s tail hit him from the side. Striking first his staff, then him. The force cracked the protection spell and flung him over the cliff.

  In a matter of seconds he fell through the salty air and into the sea.

  His muscles froze in shock from the cold water even as bubbles surrounded him. Helpless, as the powerful waves spun him towards the rocks.

  A flash of claws encircled him and Vanduo pulled him out. Her teeth gleamed in the sunshine. Being as close as he was
, the smell of rotting fish and brine water encompassed him like a moist blanket.

  “Did you really think you could win, Sorcerer?” she asked as she took flight.

  “I have to.” He looked around, as she landed at the altar.

  “To repay a debt that’s already paid? To a Queen who no longer cares?”

  “How did you know?” The sheer cliff edge at his back, and the dragon’s grasp around him, prevented any escape. He gripped the staff searching his mind for a solution to his predicament.

  “If my eye hadn’t shown me, the songs the mer-people sang of your treachery would have been enough. Do you know how many I had to eat before they would stop singing? It’s been ages since I last ate a sorcerer. I wonder, does your magic taste as sweet as I remember?” Vanduo threw him up into the air and opened her mouth to catch him whole.

  Rothe thrust out his staff and lodged it between Vanduo’s jaws. Forced to keep her mouth open, she shook her head like a dog.

  He held onto his staff and felt the glasswood begin fracturing from the pressure of her jaws.

  “Uzsaldyti driezas,” he said.

  The spell froze the dragon beneath him in a temporary paralysis. The humming power of his spell dimmed as Vanduo absorbed his magic. He would only have a few minutes before she’d be free. Being in close proximity to the eye, Rothe let go of the staff and swung himself up onto her snout. He reached with his free hand and pulled out the knife.

  “Should have tried to eat me without the fanfare,” he said.

  Feeling a deep sense of satisfaction, he rammed the knife into her left eye and sliced through the protective layer. She roared underneath him, unable to move. Using both hands he pried the stone from the center of Vanduo’s eye. Glowing from the dragon’s magic, the semi-transparent gold stone was the size of his fist. He placed it in a pouch tied around his neck for safe keeping and pocketed the dagger once more.

  Rothe smirked at her. A new stone would grow again in her eye. Vanduo would be able to live her life as she had before. Although her new eyestone would take centuries to become as powerful as the one he just took from her.

  He reached into her mouth for his staff just as it gave way. Her powerful jaws slammed shut and Rothe felt his upper arm shatter. He screamed in agony as the needles stripped the flesh from his arm.

  Vanduo spit him onto the ground. “A staff for a stone. Don’t come here again, or I will eat you.” She started toward the cliff. “Well, the rest of you. Even if you do taste like fish vomit.” With those words she dove back to her underwater cave as the doorway Rothe created closed behind her.

  Rothe clutched what little remained of his arm. “Agwọ.”

  The healing spell stopped the bleeding, as he pulled several broken teeth from his wound. Without the power of his staff that is all it would do, the last of his magic spent until he rested. He knew he wasn’t the most handsome of men, but how would the Queen see him after this. A disfigured mutant? An incomplete man? A blemish to her perfection? Even if his spell granted her heart’s desire, he’d be an embarrassment to the throne, more so now than he already was.

  Using two fingers on his remaining hand, he gave an ear splitting whistle. A horse the color of sand ran out from the tree line. With the last of his energy, he managed to pull himself up into the saddle.

  He needed to get home to Anessa the witch, so she could heal him.

  He cursed the King’s name the entire three day journey back to his home. Every movement of his horse jostled his injured arm.

  The pine trees gave way to oak trees, and those faded into the silver wood above the dwarven hills. The stories said they grew that way since the hills were filled with the precious silver. Another day’s journey saw the silver wood turn to glass of every color. The outer trees were young, dark and opaque things, just sprouting. He looked at the trees as he rode past.

  Almost there.

  Each tree grew in a different color determined by the temperature of the day they sprouted. On cooler days they grew blue or purple, hot days grew orange and red. As they grew older, their colors grew lighter. He passed a large yellow tree and could see through it much like he would a window. The younger trees were dark in color and harder to see through. They hadn’t absorbed a great amount of light in their lifetime. Close to the center of the forest the trees grew bigger and brighter as the sunlight shone through their branches, a beacon to him, just like when he first arrived and the witch had given him a shelter from his pursuers. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  It was here that Rothe got off the horse and pulled off his bag with the stone.

  He glanced around carefully before approaching his tree. His was a pale sky blue hue, whereas the surrounding trees varied from royal to cobalt.

  “Atviras,” he commanded. The blue glass began to glow, as the tree bark unwound itself from the trunk. The bark floated in the air, and within the light's reflection, the door to his home was revealed. He stepped through, leaving the horse behind. He’d tend to her later.

  He grabbed the first staff he could find and sighed in relief as the pain immediately subsided in what was left of his arm. The staff attached to his magic like a long lost lover, casting a comforting warmth around him to numb the pain.

  “Anessa!” he yelled into the quiet house.

  “Did you get it?” she said from beside him.

  Rothe jumped. “Don’t scare an old man like that.”

  She rolled her golden eyes at him and flicked her blond hair over her shoulder.

  He handed her his things, and she turned to put them away in the nearby closet. She looked better when she used a glamour to darken her hair. Over the years, as Rothe aged and Anessa didn’t appear to, he grew more resentful. She was decades older than him, but didn’t look a day older than when they met.

  “Old man? You’re hardly forty-one, I don’t think the overlord of death is after you yet.” She moved to help him with his cloak and gasped. “What in the forty-five kingdoms did you do?”

  “I made a trade.”

  Pulling him into the sitting room, she forced him down onto a chair. She grabbed her wand, holding it over his shoulder and cast her spell.

  “Gro-og voske.”

  Rothe let out a yell of pain. There was a loud cracking sound as the broken bones grew. He felt an itching sensation to the point of burning as the magic swirled and sprouted flesh where it had been stripped away. When the pain finally subsided, he slumped in the chair.

  He looked down in horror. Instead of his arm being whole and restored to what had been, it was a small withered appendage. Fingers barely able to move on his hand, a tender pink skin now covered it all. This was all that her work accomplished.

  “That’s it? That was a twelfth century spell, I could have done better with a fifteenth.”

  Anessa huffed. “It takes more than old words for powerful magic. If I heal it too quickly, it won’t stop growing. For now you have bones and skin, the rest will come later. You’re lucky. You’ll only have a scar to show for your encounter with that lizard.” She kissed his cheek and ran a hand through his dark hair. “You could use nourishment. Rest while I get you some of the stew I made earlier.”

  She dashed off into the kitchen.

  He relaxed further in the chair and looked up at the wall before him. Rows of frames filled with black glass hung inches apart. The spell on the round ruby frame had almost worked. It did better than the gold and pearl mirror next to it.

  Rothe heard a crash, followed by shattering. He hurried into the kitchen just in time for Anessa to yell.

  “Troll toe jam, that hurt!” She was sitting on the floor encircled by black glass and bits of an emerald frame. A grey mist began to rise from the glass.

  “Rozptylit.” She flicked her wand, and the mist disappeared. She pointed to the mirrors lining the walls. “Rothe, you have to get rid of this mess.”

  He stared at all the mirrors surrounding him. He’d kept twenty years of failed attempts in his home. Containing differ
ent colors of glass, frame after frame hung on his walls, stacked on tables or piled in corners, each a reminder and a lesson of failure.

  “I will as soon as I make one that works. I’ll be able to do it this time.” He glanced down the hallway toward his workshop. Anessa had been staying in his home to monitor the first part of his spell during his absence. He was running out of time. “I should finish it now.”

  “You need to rest first,” Anessa said.

  “How is it?” he asked, ignoring her advice.

  She sighed and used her magic to clean up the broken glass. “I think it’s ready for you to finish. You really should rest though.”

  “The silver is the purest in the Kingdom of Eventyr. Perfect for this type of magic, if it remains untainted. You made sure nothing touched it?”

  “Yes, Rothe.”

  Rothe walked to his work room. The room was the largest in the house, but had the least available space. Failed mirrors of every size filled the room from floor to ceiling. He had just enough room for a ten foot long table, and a five foot square space in which to conduct his spells.

  The space was currently filled with a fire and cauldron. He moved to check the silver for himself. Using his good hand, he grabbed the rod and stirred the melted silver in a figure eight pattern. When the swirls kept their shape, he knew it was time for the next step.

  “I need the eyestone. Rinse it and bring it to me.”

  Anessa was back in moments with the pouch holding the stone. She took over stirring the silver and handed him the stone.

  "Ismaisykite ir gydymas," Rothe chanted. He kissed the eyestone before dropping it into the cauldron. The silver boiled, and each time a bubble popped, bursts of color filled the room.

  “You’ve never explained what the eyestone does.”Anessa stated.

  “A dragon can see if someone’s intentions are good or bad. Vanduo has lived so long that her eyestone holds the knowledge of all that sight as well as the visions of time.”

  “And that will make the mirror show if someone has a good or bad heart?”