Evra and Artus
Episode 9 - The World Stone
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Tasol and Myra read a letter from their father, learning their mother was a Spellweaver. The letter contains dire warnings telling them to flee Bannion and head to Ward’s End to find someone named Belidor.
⧔ 30 YEARS AGO ⧕
Artus stood at the door to the Tower, a cool sheen of sweat on his brow, as Evra calmly approached.
“Quickly, inside,” he said, waving her in, “before the guard comes.”
“You are the guard,” Evra said in a mocking tone, “no one would question either of our presence here. You, the head of the Protectors, and me, the venerable daughter.”
“Illegitimate daughter,” Artus said, correcting her.
“Illegitimate or not, I’m still his flesh and blood,” she said, stepping inside the doorway as Artus swung it shut, locking it with the key that hung from a chain around his neck. “We’re both the same, you know. I betray blood, you betray loyalty. We’re a perfect match,” she said, smiling as she leaned kissing him, pressing her body against him.
“There will be time for that later,” he whispered, placing his hand softly to her cheek, leaning back. “The others are already inside,” he said, reaching for a torch on the wall. “Quickly, we only have once chance at this. If we’re discovered, it’s the end of us all.”
“It’ll work. Trust me. He’s blinded by his stupidity, and by Aithne’s fealty to him. He wouldn’t miss my sister's stupid nuptials for anything,” Evra said. “And lucky for us, it provides us with this perfect opportunity,” she said, falling in step behind Artus, their plan finally in motion. Ever since she’d learned of her father's plans, she knew what she had to do, and was grateful Artus shared the same view, as did the others. Their plan had been a full year in the making. They’d almost been discovered, and if not for Evra’s quick wits and steely fortitude, they would’ve been.
One thing was certain, once it was taken, her father would know–everyone would know. They’d have precious few moments to flee with it before the Spellweavers came seeking the reasons for the disturbance only to find it gone, at least that was the plan. Her own powers would ensure their escape, but it would take the others to buy them the time necessary to get outside the walls of Fount, hidden by Evra’s warding skills. The others would make sacrifices for Waterfell, ensuring Evra and Artus’ escape with it in tow. The land forever changed, reshaped by its absence, but her father would be doomed, his ire relentless. They’d have no choice but to escape and conceal their presence to all–somewhere no one would ever look for them. The end of the world, or as some called it, Bannion.
As they entered the main chamber, it was cavernous, and a great lake filled it from wall to wall. Looking up, the walls of the Tower extended upward for hundreds of feet, thrusting into the afternoon sunlight outside like a needle through fabric. The water was dark and its surface still, hiding the secret of its depths as the areas inside the doorway receded into a sizable beach that extended out before itself disappearing into the dark waters. In the middle of the lake sat a rock outcropping where a pedestal stood, illuminated by some internal glow, pulsing as if it were alive. Spread out on the beach were the others, fellow Spellweavers that she’d known for years, many of which were more like sisters than Aithne had ever been.
Passing by, she silently nodded to them as Artus stood speaking to another man dressed in clothing like his, a fellow Protector. She couldn’t overhear what was being said, but the tones were somber, their eyes hinting concern. With a nod, Artus turned back to Evra.
“Ok. Let’s go for that walk.”
“Right,” Evra said. Stepping forward, she reached her hand upward, intoning her words with the pitch she learned, leaning down she pressed her hand to the surface of the water. There was a flash of light and a pulse of force that jolted them all slightly. Standing, she reached for Artus’ hand, pulling him along. “Let’s go,” she said, confidently taking a step onto the surface of the water, her boot landing above on its surface, finding solid footing. Reassured, Artus now stepped forward, following her as they strode across the surface of the water until they reached the stone outcropping some half mile away. Releasing his hand, Evra stepped forward and Artus turned back with a watchful eye to the beach.
Evra stepped forward, looking at the pedestal. She’d been here only once before, many years ago, when she was a young child–all Spellweavers come here when they are entering the service of the land of Waterfell. It looked the same, but in reality she didn’t recall much apart from the glow of the stone pedestal. She recalled how she’d wondered how a stone could glow, but now she knew. She’d learned much since then, excelling in her studies beyond anything ever expected of her, even beyond Aithne’s prowess as a Spellweaver, which was something that had become a bit of a sore spot between them. Circling the pedestal, she knew she would only have one chance at this, and even at that, she had to be at the top of her game. She paused, moving closer and reached out toward the pedestal. A spark of energy arced out from the pedestal with surprising tenacity, and she pulled her hand back, shaking the sting from it.
“What is it?” Artus said looking over his shoulder, hearing her wince in pain.
“It’s nothing,” Evra snapped back. “I just didn’t expect it to care.”
“What do you mean?” Artus said, the concern growing on his face as he glanced back to the beach.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she said, again circling the pedestal, her thoughts flipping through all the pages she read about it.
“Quickly,” Artus said, “they’ll be here any moment.”
“Stop bothering me,” Evra snapped back, “I need to concentrate.”
Across the room, the other Protector called out and the Spellweavers all fell in line behind him, each woman prepared for battle in their own way. “Stand your ground ladies,” the Protector called out. “We have to give Evra and Artus more time. They must escape or this will have all been for nothing.”
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