The Final Days of Timon Spake
Shivering, he sat in the dank cell, dry heaves racking his frail body- although he had nothing left to purge from his empty, cavernous stomach. Once again, he berated himself for his own stupidity, the hand he may have in revealing Olken magic. Allowing his mind to wander back, Timon considered his mistakes …
Edvord, Timon's father, was dying- the canker in him for so long now swallowing him whole.
His fathers papery white hand pressed down upon his own. ''Timon, now that I am failing, there is something that you must know.'' His breath wheezed in his weakening chest, waiting for the time to stop. ''The...'' his voice faltered for a moment, then strengthened. '' The Doranen are not the only ones with magic''.
Dumbfounded, Timon could only stare in disbelief. Had the combination of a canker and old age finally turned his father mad?
'' Don't look at me like that!'' his father snapped. '' although I am old, I am not senile yet! Here... ''
He held out his shaking, age-spotted hand, and whispered and incantation. Slowly, trembling like a blooming flower, glimfire grew on his fathers hand.
When the fingers clenched into a weak fist, the glimfire easily winked out.
His mind reeling, Timon sat motionless as his father told him a story-
''Once upon a time, we Olken were the only ones in Lur. Our magic was a gentle thing, binding us to the earth and the earth to us. We prospered.
Then there was born a child called Jervale.'' At this, awe crept into his fathers voice. ''Jervale had the gift of foresight. He could see the future, and knew, one day, a golden-haired people would come – these people would bring ruin to the Olken.
As time past and Jervale grew up, the warning faded from his mind. But then everything changed.
Over the mountains came a magical race called the Doranen – but they were not like the Doranen of today. This was a war-wary race, tempered by hardship and suffering.
When Barl, their leader, saw that the land was inhabited, she didn't care. For at the time, the land was suffering from a drought that not even the strongest of our earthsingers could heal.
So Barl proposed a gift. A blend of Olken and Doranen magics, that would put a protective barrier around Lur, to stop the Doranens enemy, Morg, from finding them. This magic would also control the weather, insuring that there would be no drought, or earthshakes, or floods, every again.
However, Jervale's visions came back. They told Jervale that the gift the Doranen had offered contained a rotten core. One day, Morg would come. And Barl's Wall would fall.''
The old man shook his head regretfully. ''Jervale tried to warn the elders, but they were too Doranen-dazzled to listen to him.
So Jervale gathered forty of his closest friends around him, and issued a prophesy that goes thus:
In the Final Days shall come the Innocent Mage
Born to save the world from blood and death.
He shall enter the house of the Usurper
He shall learn their ways
He shall earn their love
He shall lay down his life
And Jervale's Heir shall know him, and guide him, and enlighten him not.
The Innocent Mage is come, Timon. The final days are almost upon us.''
The silence when the tale was finished was so thick that you could cut it with a knife.
Edvord closed his eyes in sorrow. '' my life is ending, child. You must take my place in the Circle.''
''M-me?'' Timon stared at his father, incredulous. Him? Do all that? How an earth could he help the Innocent Mage?
''yes, child. And now, your training shall begin.''
The next few weeks were the best of his life. He learnt the Olken magic was a subtle thing. The only thing marring his happiness was that the Olken could not do Dorenen magic.
''are you sure that we can never do Dorenen magic, father?''
''Yes, I'm sure. Clap tongue.''
Then Timon made a fatal mistake.
It was a beautiful sunny day-really, king Borne did a wonderful job-and Timon was in the forest, walking.
Amusing thought that had niggled for weeks occurred to him-why shouldn't he try Dorenen magic? Of course, he'd be breaking Barls First Law (never shall an Olken raise there voice in magic, for it is not there place) But what if Olken could do Dorenen magic? He could picture it now. The triumph, the joy of helping his father. Lur would be saved!
Timon stopped in his tracks, closed his eyes, and drew a sigil in the air. ''Drank'on sarat.''
His magic fizzed through his blood, eager to try this delectable new magic...then winked out.
Sighing in disappointment, Timon opened his eyes...and found the mayors 2 daughters staring at hm as if I had grown another head. When he stepped towards them arm outstretched, they cautiously backed off, as they flee from a wild animal.
Timon cursed and fell to his knees. ''sink me bluddy sideways!'' a single tear, that one traitorous tear, leaked out, and pretended not to notice.
As he feared, by the time he had hauled his wary carcass back to the village, the mayors daughters had gotten there first. He knew it by the averted gazes, the avid whispering...ah, well, gave them something to talk about.
When the Dorenen came for him, he was unsurprised.
Transported from the past, Timon sighed. He was still in his cell. He would not betray the Circle. His earlier nerves were burnt away in the flames of resolve. He would not be afraid.
His silence would ensure all Olken, and all of Lur, remain safe.
Until the final days.