Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

Gilmour walked with him. ‘So you are-?’

‘I must be, Gilmour. I don’t know how I could have done those things otherwise. I think Nerak hid more knowledge in that staff than power.’

‘So Mark was right on several issues.’

‘He must be – we were drawn to Idaho Springs, both of us, just like his father had been. It’s the reason I turned down all those job offers, and why we both went to college within spitting distance of the town, and then stayed. Lessek’s key was keeping us there.’

‘So is it true about Mark as well?’

Steven shrugged. ‘That he’s Rona’s heir, and Eldarn’s king? I think it must be, don’t you? I can’t see him hanging around long enough to lead this place to democracy or anything, though. Still, it’ll look good on his CV: history teacher, swimming coach, king of all Eldarn.’

Gilmour laughed. ‘You know, something occurred to me today, too: I’ve always thought I was still alive because I was supposed to battle Nerak, but then I realised I’ve been around a long time waiting for you; I think that supports your theory, doesn’t it?’

Steven shook his head and grinned. ‘Who could ever have guessed that I would end up here?’

‘Someone who knew you were a powerful sorcerer, someone who knew where you were – both you and Mark – and why.’

‘Lessek?’

‘Lessek.’

‘But you’re still here, and still alive,’ Steven said, trying to puzzle it through. ‘If your charge has been met, wouldn’t you fade away, or something mystical like that?’

‘The Fold is still navigable,’ Gilmour reminded him.

‘Right. Slipped my mind.’ Steven slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘I forgot these three again, too.’ He turned once again to the imprisoned wraiths.

Steven’s heart froze in his chest as he looked at them; Gabriel and Lahp were gesticulating wildly towards the forest, trying to communicate something.

‘Oh God,’ Steven whispered, ‘Mark.’ He freed the wraiths with a gesture and grabbed Gilmour’s hand.

‘Come on!’ he shouted, sprinting towards the trees. ‘Mark!’ he screamed but he was horribly afraid that they were too late.

Mark came down the hill and stepped cautiously beneath the trees. Water dripped all around as his boots sank into slushy snow made filthy with ash and burned bits of tree. It felt like an acrid cloud of smoke had swallowed him whole, so he covered his eyes and trudged, still coughing, down the trail until he reached the tree with the cross burned into its trunk.

He started digging with the toe of his boot, not really wanting to get either himself or his clothes any more wet than they already were, but after a bit he gave up and crouched down. He dug in with both hands, trying to ignore the freezing slush and icy mud. ‘No matter,’ he said aloud, ‘Steven will dry them out for me.’

He had got down almost far enough when he heard someone say, ‘Hello Mark Jenkins.’

Spinning round, he shrieked, ‘God! You scared me!’

Mark strained his eyes through the smoke to see who was there.

‘Who is that?’ he asked loudly and drew his battle-axe.

The disembodied voice came to him through the haze; for a moment Mark thought he could see the outline of a man, but it flickered in the smoke and then was gone.

‘Who is that?’ he asked again. His voice cracked; his hands were shaking.

‘One half of a marriage that went tragically wrong, Mark Jenkins, but I will not make that mistake again.’

An itch began to irritate the back of Mark’s left wrist and he rubbed it against the coarse fabric of his tunic while he searched the forest for the steam and smoke visitor. When pain paralysed his forearm, he suddenly realised what had happened – and that it was too late to scream. He flailed about wildly for a moment, gripped the tree in a one-armed hug and then slumped to the ground.

In the instant before he felt himself fade away, Mark was given a glimpse of the entity’s vision for the future, Mark’s future. Then he did scream, but no one heard him. He slipped into the darkness and was still falling when the entity rubbed a handful of snow across the back of his bloody, pus-covered wrist. He would need gloves. Reaching into the muddy hole beside the tree, Mark retrieved Lessek’s key, slipped it inside the pocket of his Gore-tex jacket and jogged north along the path into Falkan.