Chapter 1 - Book 1 of Death of Magic Series

"Everything that starts must end." - Book of Kador

Prologue

Valor sat in the dark. His eyes were closed but around him he felt the soft chanting of his father, mother, and his people. 

“My last son.” his mother called him earlier that day. He felt the burden on his chest. If he fails, all is lost. All his brothers have failed.

“Our hope.” his father called him. His face grime. “You are so young, and I am so sorry we are sending you to do this - but there is no other way”.  

“No other way” - he said to himself.

Valor opened his eyes, stood up, and walked into the light.

Chapter 1

The night was very cold, but the luxurious room was comfortably warmed with an aristocratic-looking fake fireplace and a not-so-fake advanced air-conditioning system. 

Sara sat uncomfortably on a long dark leather sofa and looked at the other two men. They both looked uncomfortable as well.  One of them, a pale, chubby, balding man called Chris, was particularly agitated.

“I can’t stand it anymore! I hate this, I dread it every bloody year...” he muttered, half to himself and half to his companions. He was looking fearfully at the big empty armchair in the middle of the room.

“And we are so tired of hearing your complaints,” said Sara. Casually dressed in black running gear and sports shoes, she was slender and much darker and taller than Chris. Her face was beautiful but bore marks of sadness and worry. 

“Stop being such a wimp.” Turning to the third man, Sara said quietly, “I can’t figure out why Chris is still a member of the Brotherhood, Richard.”

“Because his father controls the assets of the Brotherhood,” murmured Richard so softly only Sara heard him. He was much older than the others, with lush silver hair and strong but tired blue eyes. He was elegantly dressed in a dark suit, and the small bottle hanging from his neck on a gold chain next to his tie looked out of place. He gave Sara a long stare and then said in a tired loud voice, “Chris is an important asset, Sara, you know that. There aren’t many of us left…”

Richard’s long, well-known, and often repeated speech was interrupted by a flashing light. A black hole appeared two feet above the central armchair. It looked like someone had torn a hole in reality; it always reminded Sara of the holes that appeared in old movies when the film was burnt by the projector.

The sharp smell of sulfur filled the room, and they heard the so-familiar cry of pain. A man’s figure dropped through the hole onto the armchair. Then, in the blink of an eye, the hole disappeared.

The man was cramping and convulsing in pain. Although he looked to be in his early twenties, he screamed like a week-old baby with colic. He fell from the chair onto the ground, vomiting on the heavy carpet.

The three members of the Brotherhood sat still. Chris was looking away, still mumbling to himself, “Again and again and again!!! He’s going to die like all the rest of them. Why am I doing this to myself?”

Sara knew very well why Chris was doing this – the Brotherhood was one of the least-known multi-billion-dollar organizations in the world. Chris was paid a fortune for this task, and it fit his limited capabilities perfectly. He once told her that his father described the role as “Look, try to shut up, but most importantly report if anything out of the ordinary happens.”.

Watching a man dying slowly in horrible pain was not considered “out of the ordinary.” in the Brotherhood. Sara knew Chris hated his work, but he would earn more in this single day than the yearly salary of a Fortune 500 company’s CEO. This money, he told her, had to keep his wife happy and quiet –  and he would rather watch a man die and then bury him than listen to her complaints.

The man’s body seemed to have slowly stopped cramping and he was now moaning loudly, his face pressed into the carpet. They all waited as his groans became weaker and weaker, and eventually stopped.

“If you can’t show respect, Chris, then make yourself useful and go get the body bag,” said Sara in a sharp voice. 

Chris gave her an evil look without looking at the body on the floor. She pretended not to notice him, and kept glaring at her feet. After a while she returned a stern look. They both knew he would lose this staring contest quickly, and he lowered his gaze.

An angry yell came from the body below them on the carpet. “Bloch te mi?” he said, sounding confused and angry. Sara’s face turned horribly white. Nobody breathed.

“Bloch te mi?” repeated the man, trying unsuccessfully to stand up. “Pana me!” he demanded crossly.

Richard looked at Sara and Chris. Sara was pale as a ghost, her eyes full of fear and excitement. Chris looked like he was not sure whether to run away or faint.

It was Richard’s time to act. They had prepared for this event all their life, but at the age of 60 Richard had been pretty sure it was all in vain, that he had wasted his life like his father and his grandfather before him. They did not understand a word of what the man had said, but Richard knew how to reply. He stepped closer.

The figure before them was finally able to stand. He was taller than all of them, and thinner too – so thin, in fact, that if it wasn’t for his healthy demeanor, you would have thought he was starving. He had long pale blond hair that covered his ears and the better part of his long face. He wore a green and white robe, slightly stained after his recent trials.

Richard removed the bottle that was hanging around his neck. He opened it for the first time in his life and bowed.

“Mok le Richard Balm, istaloo…” Richard said, holding out the bottle.

The man in the robe was apparently not happy with that statement. “Bloch te mi?” he yelled again, waving his arms and almost knocking the bottle from Richard’s hand. “Ne istaloo, Richurd!” he added more softly.

Sara held her breadth - Richard was very close to failing in his life’s mission. There was only one other sentence to be said; if that didn’t work they would have to try force, and she doubted they would be successful at that.

“Mok le Richard Balm, PARAMATE! Paramate istaloo…” begged Richard. He fell to his knees and raised the bottle over his head.

The tall and thin man gave Richard a tired and frustrated look. To Sara, it looked as if his blue eyes were burning through Richard. The man said nothing, standing there for what seemed to be forever.

“Na me, Richurd,” he finally said in a sad voice. He took the small bottle from Richard’s trembling hands and drank its contents.

For a couple of seconds nothing happened. It seemed that the tall man's face was about to turn angry again when his eyes opened with surprise.

“Hello Richard, the guardian of memories,” he said with a warm voice. Sara felt a feeling of love and welcoming wash over her. “I can’t believe I am alive,” the tall man added.

Sara gasped, and her hand went instinctively to cover her mouth.

”Are you Sara, the guardian of the staff?” the man asked, turning his gaze to Sara.

“Mok le Sara Volt,” said Sara, repeating the words she didn’t understand but had learned to say at the age of four. 

She took a small black box with rounded edges, not much bigger than a box of matches, out of her pocket and handed it to the man, bowing. He took the box in his hands and tapped on its edges with his fingers. The box made a clicking sound, changed its shape and transformed into a six-foot-long black staff. He knocked with the staff on the wooden floor as if to test its hardness.

“And you must be Chris, the guardian of magic.” He looked at Chris.

Chris didn’t move. 

“They always die! I wasn’t prepared for this,” he mumbled.

Richard glared at Chris with a look that could cut through rock. “It’s in the blue cabinet,” he said with an iron voice.

Chris rushed to the blue cabinet that stood in the corner of the big room. He wrenched open the door and pulled from the shelf a glass sphere the size of a tennis ball. He turned and rushed back, almost tripping on the carpet’s edge. He held out the sphere to the tall, thin man, forgetting to say the ceremonial words.

The man took the glass ball and pressed it to the tip of the staff, humming a soft tune. It glowed faintly as it merged into the black rod.

The man smiled. “My name is Valor, son of Valor the twelfth,” he said with a royal voice. He stood tall as he added, “I am the prince of the white elves and heir to the throne. Thank you for saving my life.”

Valor looked around as if searching for someone he thought would be there. “Where is John, the guardian of the witness?” he asked Sara.

“My lord, John and his entire family were wiped out in the first world war,” she said slowly. “A big war we had about a hundred years ago,” she added, seeing the man’s confusion and remembering that Valor had no knowledge of that event.

“That is most unfortunate,” said Valor, looking honestly sad. “I fought alongside his ancestors and truly loved them. The world is a worse place without the Johns.” He looked at the floor and said nothing for a long while, as if he had forgotten the rest of the people in the room, and then spoke softly to himself: “So many have lost their lives…” 

Suddenly he looked up, eyes wide. He stared at Richard in terror. “Have we lost the witness?” he asked, his face a fearful mask waiting to  hear the response. “Is all hope lost?”

“No, my lord,” said Sara, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “There is a problem, though – the witness does not know she is the witness,” she added in a low voice. “After all the Johns died, we lost track of the witness’s family; we only found them ten years ago through genetic screening we did in Europe…” she was afraid to deliver the bad news, unsure of whether Valor was the “shoot the messenger” kind of royalty.

“I am so sorry, my lord, we had lost them for so many years, and her parents were not very cooperative. The witness is totally unaware of her role and destiny… She is a feisty one. We are not sure she will be a ‘willing and cooperative’ witness,” she said apologetically. Richard and Chris kept their eyes down, each unconsciously taking a half step away from Sara.

But to the surprise of everyone, Valor stepped forward and hugged Sara. He was smiling like a little child.

“This is the first good news I’ve heard in years!” Valor said cheerfully. “Do not worry, Sara, I am sure I will be able to convince her to take on her true role in no time,” he said.

“It’s even better that way,” Valor said softly as if to himself.

“You haven’t met her yet my lord, Brenda is quite a character.” said Richard in a doubting voice.

“Brenda? You mean Julia, right?”

“Her parents have not educated her in the ways of the Brotherhood. They did not know of the rule of names; we think they named her as they saw fit.”

“Hmm, I suppose that is to be expected considering human traditions,” said Valor. Suddenly, he looked tired and wary.

Sara felt Valor’s fatigue – it was not hard to see. The prince was shaking from the effort it was taking him just to stay on his feet.

“You need sleep, my lord – we will talk about this in the morning,” she suggested, guiding the prince back to the comfortable armchair.

Valor nodded. He sank gratefully into the seat, his head fell back, and in seconds he was asleep.