Robert Newcomb: A March into Darkness

As Faegan entered the room he was pleased to see that no one else was about. With a wave of one hand he commanded the doors to close and the tumblers to lock.

Faegan thought for a moment about where to store the three precious works. He knew that no one granted access to the Archives would try to harm them, but he wanted them protected, just the same. Finally he seized on an idea.

Raising his hands, he called the craft. Almost at once the three documents rose higher into the air, then settled in a row against a bare area of the room’s far wall. With another wave of his hand, he encased them in a glowing, azure box mounted directly to the wall.

He would of course reveal the spell calculations to the other mystics on the Conclave, but to no one else. Now he could check on the documents anytime he chose, and they would still be easily accessible. Faegan found himself wondering how long it had been since the three amazing artifacts had been so near one another.

Perhaps centuries, he thought. If in fact they ever were.

Happy with his invention, he let go a little cackle as he let himself out of the room. The massive double doors closed. Had someone been inside the Archives to listen, he would have heard the tumblers in the door locks turn over once, then twice more.

Unknown to anyone, the three documents suddenly started to glow. As they brightened, selected books and scrolls on all levels of the Archives started to take on the same azure hue.

After this night of nights, the craft would never be the same.