The Reign of Magic. Wolf Awert

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СКАЧАТЬ to exit again. Quite a few people lie buried there. Lost, unknowing wanderers, or sad people, who had long since given up hope. Too many sad stories, too much pain. And the pain in this forest grows stronger the more time passes.”

      The druid lowered his head. Even here by the hill, in respectful distance of the forest, they could not avoid its depressing air.

      “It’s a magical place, isn’t it?” Nill asked with a mixture of awe, admiration and timidity, looking across the valley to the forest, now hidden in the shroud of the night.

      The druid made a tired gesture. “I do not know. I can only feel the desperation and sometimes the helpless anger. Powerful forces are at work here, but whether they are magical, I cannot tell. It is no form of magic I know of.”

      Nill shivered at these words. “Is there magic you do not know of? An ancient magic, or magic that is not of the elements?” Nill did not know where the question came from. Something stirred in his memory. Something about the forest that was vital to tell the druid about, but the memory was no more than a wisp of smoke.

      “Why are the deepest questions always asked in moments of sorrow?” Dakh’s gaze wandered through the darkness beyond the campfire. “Every druid would now tell you that there is only the magic of five elements, and all other sorts are combinations of those. But I am not sure about that. The older I get, the more I learn about the magic that has been part of me all my life, the less certain I am. You asked of ancient magic. Well, if the legends hold true, this was once the Old Forest of Ancient Trees. But ancient magics are not mentioned.”

      Dakh-Ozz-Han knew many tales. Far more than Esara. And he told them well, too. Nill could have listened to the druid all night, had the desire to sleep not won. As much as Dakh kept to himself during the day, he would open up by the nightly campfire. Nill sat up expectantly. The druid just grumbled and said: “This story is quite short. Nobody knows what the Old Forest of Ancient Trees looked like, but this was the only place on Pentamuria where the forest grew. They say that the king camped here with a hunting party once and thought it was far too dusky. Neither joy nor laughter were had at the fire that night. The fool. He did not feel the powers this place has, although he was learned in magic. He could not find any happiness in the place either, although it was there, sleeping contentedly in the darkness. In the Old Forest of Ancient Trees the here and there were as one, earth and space were not separated, old and young felt the same.

      “The king had a grove of Mylantos near his palace. Those are trees that shoot skyward like pillars, with silvery, slender bodies, and the branches only start very high up.”

      Nill nodded. He had seen them in the forest earlier, but he did not want to interrupt the druid now, so he kept his silence.

      “The king’s grove was famed, and it was called the Silver Palace for the trees. By day the sun would shine down through the branches and sprinkle the ground with gold.

      “The king asked his sorcerers to bring some of his fast-growing Mylantos here so that he and his company might rest in more comfortable surroundings. But it was in vain. None of the seeds they sowed would grow. One day, something happened. Perhaps it was a bolt of lightning or a storm, nobody knows any more. Either way, some of the old trees burned down and there was a clearing in the woods. The sorcerers planted three Mylantos trees in that clearing. The king never knew what happened with the seeds. He had grown tired of the whole business and left the forest with his party. He went back home and never came back here. What we know today we know from the people who live here. The Old Forest of Ancient Trees was always important to these people, for they felt what was special about the place and declared it sacred.

      “The Mylantos grew far quicker than the old trees. Their branches wove together and cast shadows on the ground, and the children of the old trees could not grow. Now there are only Mylantos. But the last of the ancient trees noticed that the Mylantos moved in the wind and sometimes the leafy canopy opened up. Light would soak the ground, and darkness would be dispelled for a while. So they began to move, and so the ancient trees still move. They move towards the light to survive. They are the only trees on Pentamuria that can grow under Mylantos.”

      “So both trees now live together in peace.” Nill liked the nice end to the tale, but the druid shook his head sadly.

      “I do not know if there is peace. I cannot feel it. The legend claims that the trees were giants and connected the earth to the sky. What we see here and call the “ancient trees” are small, tough warriors, fighting for their lives. These are no giants any more. What you feel are their cries for help, their anger. That is why people call this place the Valley of Unhappy Trees. They know the forest. I do not believe that there is peace here. There will be peace when the ancient trees are alone again.”

      Nill liked Dakh’s stories. Something in the way he told them turned the words into song. But he never quite understood what the druid was trying to convey, and this annoyed him. He did not want to seem obtuse or stupid.

      “I did not feel anger,” he said, “but certainly desperation. And sadness, too. Why do I always feel like you’re trying to tell me something with your tales? I rarely understand what you really mean.”

      Dakh-Ozz-Han plucked a fresh blade of grass from the earth. “I am not trying to say anything. The stories are the ones who want that. That is why there are always people to keep telling them, and every new person sees a different message in them. But that is also the reason that we keep telling stories about the early days of man.”

      The druid gazed up toward the sky. “Many generations ago, Shubalo the Seer showed the future to mankind. He did not tell what he had seen. He wrote a song of what would no longer be. The song is sung by druids and other peoples, and has been for many hundreds of years.” And the druid began to sing a few lines in his rough voice.

      Where once was magic, still is now

      It conquers and defends

      King will fall and Circle sleep

      And ev’ry reign must end.

      With no order, sorrow comes

      Into darkness flees the light

      When the world is crumbling down

      No one retains their might.

      Nill shook his head, confused. “That is a song for dancing. But who would give a dance-tune such dark lyrics? Did Shubalo really know the future?”

      Dakh opened his hands and looked into his palms, as if to show that there was nothing there. “We druids believe that man once knew his distant future, but the knowledge has been lost. In the tales of the tribes some of the old prophecy is still intact. But I begin to wonder. More and more prophecies are reaching the light of day. Bits of stories that everyone knows, but are still new. Signs inscribed in stone tablets or rocks. And I wonder how we could have missed that? Prophecies made by great mages are truths. But as with all truths, there are more than one.”

      Nill shook his head again. “Either it’s true or not. There is no in between.”

      The druid smiled. “No, my young friend. It is not as easy as you would think. The opposite of a truth is not a lie, but another truth. As such there is always the possibility that a prophecy does not come to pass, or even to stop it from happening. And that is what the mage’s Circle is trying to do.”

      “How?”

      The word exploded out of Nill in his excitement СКАЧАТЬ