The Venerable Druid stood frozen with shock. For a moment, he did not fully register the fact that Mastix, once one of his own students, was laying dead, only several feet in front of him. For a moment he just looked at the limp heap of a man he had known since the fellow had been nothing more than a child. Mastix, who had learned so quickly, and done so well; only to become a murderer; filled with evil and hate. The elder felt his heart break with sorrow. Where had he gone wrong? How could he have let something like this happen? He should have taken care of it long ago...But truth be told, he had had no idea how. He had never quite known how to deal with Mastix, even when he was a little boy. Mastix had always been strong-willed, competitive, and cunning. Traits that, had they been properly addressed, might have added something positive to the world. But now, it was too late. Mastix was dead.

Where had he gone wrong?

"MĂșinteoir, please..."

Getafix's soft, frightened voice pulled the Venerable Druid from his stupor. With a jolt, he came to himself, remembering that, while he may have lost one student, he still had another. And right now, Getafix needed his help. Lowering the reflection shield that still buzzed about them, the elder quickly knelt beside his friend and Asterix.

Getafix appeared close to frantic at this point. He looked up into his mentor's face, eyes wide and wild. "H-he's getting weaker!" His grip on Asterix's body was firm, but careful; his hands shaking visibly. "What do we do?! We can't just let him die! Not after all he's done for us!"

The Venerable Druid looked down on the still warrior. He was so pale, and weak. That invisible glow that had once seemed to radiate from within him was now so dull, the elder could barely sense it anymore. Mastix might not have succeeded in gaining Asterix's Soul Light, but he had succeeded in taking it from the one who needed it most. The Gaul's breathing was terribly shallow; the rise and fall of his chest slow and shaky. He looked so frail, as though any moment might be his last. "Getafix..." the Venerable Druid whispered gently, reaching out a hand to try and comfort his student. "I...I don't think there's anything we can do..."

"No!" Getafix clung to Asterix all the more, his voice strong and determined. "We have to at least try! I may have something back at my hut; we have to try!" The look of panic in Getafix's expression was painful to see. "Please!"

"Getafix...his Soul Light is all but gone. He cannot survive without it...He is dying...There is nothing we can do."

"How can you say that?!" Getafix burst uncharacteristically in anger. He rarely ever yelled, and normally wouldn't have even dreamed of doing so at the most revered druid alive; but the stress, and fear, and pain of the last week had finally broken through. Whatever feeble wall of emotional strength he had had, was gone; broken in a wave of true, honest terror. "He probably saved all our lives, including yours! And you aren't going to even try to save him?!"

The Venerable Druid was silent a moment, his eyes holding nothing but pain and grief. Watching Getafix, kneeling beside Asterix's still form, was like a mirror image of the torturous death of his friend, Prolix, in his own haunted nightmares. He had not been able to do anything then; how would now be any different? But the little warrior was still alive, something that already outlasted the disastrous result of Mastix's last Extraction attempt. His heart was beating; he was breathing...Could it be that there was a glimmer of hope? But how? The Soul Light had been taken, and, as far as anyone knew, there was no way to replace it. There was no known spell, nor magic, that could replace something so precious as a man's inner light.

Closing his eyes in resignation, the elder responded weakly. "We can bring him back to the village. We can try our best. And we can make him comfortable. But I want you to understand, Getafix. His chances are very low. Almost nonexistent."

The younger druid nodded, lowering his eyes back to Asterix. Getafix had felt ashamed of his outburst the moment it had passed his lips. Of course the Venerable Druid was going to try. Of course he cared. It was just that the elder was more of a realist, while Getafix had always proven himself to be very much an optimist. It was hard not to hope for the best in every situation, especially when you lived among such heart-filled folk. And if your past was full of darkness. Now that darkness was gone, but a shadow still remained; like a scar. Asterix may not survive, but that didn't make trying useless.

"Let's take him back to the village." With that, Getafix rose unsteadily to his feet. Asterix didn't weigh much, but the village druid found that he was feeling very shaky, leaving him far weaker than he had expected himself to be and making the little warrior much harder to manage. But, pushing that aside, he headed quickly, but carefully, back toward the Gaulish village. The Venerable Druid trailed solemnly behind him...but not before stooping to take hold of something dark lying in the grass.


Books were thrown left and right as Getafix virtually tore his cottage apart. Possessions once considered precious and important were tossed aside carelessly; a much greater thing now being at risk. Asterix was worth all of these objects, and far more; and Getafix was not going to let him die. The village druid's hands stung relentlessly, still scorched and untreated as he rushed against what little time they had left. Beside him, the Venerable Druid assisted him, digging through one shelf after another. Together the two men searched methodically through every tome and parchment that Getafix had ever owned. Some were new, only a few weeks old, while others were covered with aging dust. Those of the books which had not been ruined by flooding, were skimmed through; every spell glanced at, and every rhyme murmured. But as of yet, nothing had been found to save Asterix's life, and hearts were slowly sinking.

They had lit a fire in the damp hearth, trying to gain a little heat to help keep Asterix warm. It blazed away; the only thing in the village that gave off anything full of light and life. All else was dark and dingy. Fear had a way of robbing the world of joy and happiness, as it was doing now. Asterix's condition was lying very heavily on the hearts of the villagers, as well as the druids.

The Gauls stood outside the door, not wanting to get in the way of the frantic search. They knew they'd never be able to tell one spell from the next; it was best to stay clear. Their nerves were teetering on the edge of panic themselves, and seeing just how frightened Getafix was did little to ease their fear. But that still form, barely breathing, held gently in Obelix's arms, was almost more than any of them could bare.

When Getafix and the Venerable Druid had returned to the village, the Gauls, now fully recovered, had rushed out to meet them, hearts filled with worry. When their eyes had rested on Asterix, many of the women had gasped, grasping out for their husbands in horror. As one, they had all turned several shades paler. At first glance, Asterix had looked as though he were...dead. In fact, they had thought he was. It wasn't until Getafix had carefully passed the warrior into Obelix's arms, and they had heard their friend give a ragged breath, that they had known for certain that he was not.

Obelix had gone almost white. His legs had felt weak and a tremor had taken hold of him; soft and hardly noticeable. Except in his hands. When he had first caught sight of his best friend, he had froze; unable to truly believe what he thought he was seeing. It was like all the world had just come crashing down around him; leaving it empty and gray. Images had flashed in his mind of all the two had ever done together; and a feeling of great loss had nearly overcome him. But Getafix had made straight for him, knowing that his fear and pain would be the greatest out of all of them. Looking directly into his eyes, Getafix had offered Asterix to him with a barely audible sentence.

"He's still alive."

The wave of relief that had run through Obelix was almost enough to make him ill again. Gently; more so than he had ever been in his life, the large Gaul had taken Asterix's limp body in his arms, cradling him like one might a small child. For when it came to their difference in size, Asterix was truly only as big as a little boy, compared to Obelix's considerable girth and height. The dead weight of his friend had made Obelix's throat tighten painfully, and he had almost let out a sob. Asterix had been so pale, and motionless. Each breath had sounded labored, as though there was really no reason why he should even still be managing that. His skin had felt oddly chilled, though not icy. It was simply as though no life remained within the frail body. And yet it did. Asterix was holding on...but only just barely.

And now Obelix was one of the few who were within Getafix's hut. He was sitting on the muddied floor; most of the water having drained away after Mastix's spell had lifted. Beside him, Valuaddetax was trying to watch Asterix's pulse as the warrior lay in Obelix's careful hold. His condition hadn't improved; and it was slowly declining. Very slowly; which only drew out the pain for them all.

Holding Asterix wrist, monitoring the Gaul's faltering heartbeats, Valuaddetax gave a grief-stricken sigh, lifting his eyes to meet Obelix's worried ones. "It's growing weaker," he reported hesitantly. It was hard, to be in charge of telling everyone Asterix's condition, and yet knowing that doing so would only bring their spirits down even further. To literally sit there and describe the warrior's slow death, moment by moment. It was the worst thing that the druid felt he had ever had to do. Probably the worst he would ever have to do ever again.

Obelix stiffened at his words, holding his friend just a tad bit more tightly. He was watching the ever-growing pile of read books and papers; the mound now far larger than those not yet searched. His fear was growing steadily, in uneven bursts and jumps. Getafix had always managed to fix things in the past. Whenever neither Asterix nor he could right something wrong, Getafix always could. Always. The Gauls had complete trust in the village druid's abilities. But now, it was beginning to look like even Getafix couldn't fix it this time.

Obelix noticed as Asterix's breathing became even shallower. He wanted to ask if everything was going to be alright. He wanted to ask if this was all just some sort of nightmare from eating to much boar during a feast. But, honestly, Obelix could barely remember the joys and happiness that came with a feast. Nor the feeling of security. Of chasing boar in the forest with his closest friend in all the world. The friend who, at that moment, was dying in his arms. It filled Obelix with a growing coldness within him. "Getafix...?"

"Oh, for Toutatis sake!"

The loud, frustrated shout caused everyone to flinch back. Getafix threw the book in his hand, which went sailing through the air before hitting the wall with slam. Pages rattled out of it as it slumped to the mud covered floor. There was an uncomfortable, and pained silence, in which the only sound was Getafix's hard breathing. His hands were clenched at his sides, as he himself felt hot and trapped in a terrible dream of a world, where all his hope was flickering away. Just like Asterix's life.

"There's nothing in any of my records!" he trembled, already feeling the anger pass. He turned slowly with sad eyes to look into the scared expressions of his friends. "I...I don't know how...I don't know how to save him..." Those seven words hurt him physically to say, but there was nothing left to say. Mastix had managed to take the one thing that could never be replaced. And not even Getafix, with all his usual optimism, could find the least bit of hope to fight this kind of darkness.

"Getafix."

The village druid turned again to face his mentor. The Venerable Druid was standing in front of him, a large, dark, bound book held in his hands. He held it out; offering it to his past student.

Getafix shook his head, defeat evident even in that small motion. "There is nothing in any of my books that can...that can fix this."

But his teacher pressed the volume into his hands, his eyes watching Getafix's face. "This is not one of your books."

The moment the object was in his grasp, Getafix felt the pain in his burned hands increase. Not tortuously so; but very unpleasant all the same. As if someone had slapped salt into the wounds. A sort of energy traveled up his arms, spreading all through him. But it wasn't the good kind. This made him all at once very nervous, and he had to fight the impulse to drop the book to the floor. "What...what is this?"

"It belonged to Mastix. It is the Book of Olc."

The urge to drop the tome became stronger, but Getafix hung onto it. The instrument of Mastix's evil. Or, perhaps, Mastix was an instrument of its own evil. Getafix could literally feel the darkness from within it; the spells of hurt and pain and hate. Everything that had filled Mastix over the years; for it was this book that had filled him with it. Getafix held it at arms length, as though trying to keep it as far away from him as possible. It was because of this book that they had all suffered. It was because of this book that Asterix was dying. "Where did you find it?" was all the village druid could manage.

The Venerable Druid nodded down at the volume. "It was lying in the grass of the clearing. I was going to bring it back to the Carnutes so that it could be destroyed; and never fall into the wrong hands again...But, perhaps, there may be something within it that can save your friend."

Getafix blinked a moment, before rushing over to his desk and laying the book on its wooden surface. He started madly flipping through the pages, glancing over every spell and chant. Most were horrible concoctions; magic to hurt rather than heal. In fact, he was more than halfway through the volume, and still nothing of any usefulness was available. Getafix looked through it once; twice; and just to be sure, thrice. And still, the book contained nothing but evil. With a sigh of despair, the village druid sank into the seat of a nearby stool; the Book of Olc still held in his trembling hands.

"There is nothing," he whispered, eyes locked upon it. "All it contains is death and darkness."

A long silence followed. The other two druids had hung there heads, knowing that there was nothing left to be done. They had tried their best. But that had not been enough. There are times when defeat is questionable, and there are times when it is not. This was one of those times. They had lost. Mastix, dead though he may be, had taken one of their own down with him. That may not have ever been the dark druid's plan, but it had been everybody else's fear. One that was coming true; and there was not a single thing they could do about it.

The villagers, standing outside the door, looked back and forth between the three druids, as though awaiting the next course of action. For them, they still believed that there was a battle worth fighting. As long as Asterix was breathing, there had to be hope. There had to be. Good always prevailed. Wasn't that how it was supposed to be? Evil loses, the pure of heart wins? That was how it had always been. They had never lost anyone. Never. Not like this.

Obelix was the only one who understood. If things hadn't been so dire, he might have laughed at that though. Him? Understanding? But he did understand. For the first time in his life, the truth dawned on him before it had on anyone else. But instead of the blind panic that he might have expected, Obelix felt himself filled with a numbing calm. Looking down into Asterix's slack face, he fought back the tears that threatened to fall, wanting to remain strong like Asterix would have told him to. But it wasn't easy.

A thought came to the large Gaul and he looked up with just a small glimmer of hope in his voice. "What about if we made some Magic Potion and gave it to Asterix? Would...would that help?"

All eyes turned to Getafix, but he only remained seated, eyes fixed with grief on the book in his hands. Realizing that the village druid was trapped in thought at the moment, Valuaddetax responded instead.

"From what Getafix has told me, the Magic Potion is a strength enhancer. It takes whatever strength your body has and multiplies it many times over. But Asterix's body has always gained strength through his Soul Light. Though he may have a small amount of his inner light within him now, to enhance it with potion would be very dangerous. There isn't enough. It would more than likely drain him, rather than fill him. It...It would probably kill him instantly."

"But...it heals..." Vitalstatistix trailed off miserably.

The Venerable Druid shook his head slowly. "Even the best of things can sometimes be hurtful. In his condition, Asterix would not be able to handle it."

Everyone jumped as Getafix stood stiffly to his feet. His frustration and pain was evident, in his face as well as in the way he held the Book of Olc angrily in front of him. Everyone watched tensely as the village druid stalked forward, raised the book with one hand, and prepared to through it into the flames of the fireplace. There was no reason to stop him; the tome was evil and needed to be destroyed. What caused their hearts to falter was in the way Getafix moved to do it. A wrathful, hateful, fevered movement; torn in so many ways between rage and sorrow. No one; not the druids, nor the villagers, had ever seen Getafix so upset.

As his hand swung the weight of the book above his head, Getafix could think of nothing other than to toss the evil in his grasp into the fire to be burned. He hated it; almost more than Mastix could ever have goaded him into hating anything, even the dark druid himself. This object had no soul or will, nor life; and yet it was capable of demolishing those of another. It had to be destroyed. Mustering all his anger and frustration into the motion, Getafix moved to throw the book into the licking flames of yellow and red.

But then he froze.

In his raised hand, the book's leather surface had caught the fire's light. He hadn't noticed before, but its cover was engraved with Celtic designs; old, and terribly worn. But they were there. And they looked very, very familiar. But for the life of him, Getafix couldn't remember why. Lowering the book back to rest in front of him, he ran his scorched fingers over the faded symbols. The beautiful, interlooping bars and circles in the patterns were not in and of themselves all that unusual. Most books owned by the druids displayed these designs, but there was something that nagged at the back of Getafix's memory. Turning the volume to illuminate the book's side in the firelight, Getafix's breath nearly caught in his throat. In bold letters, otherwise hidden in darkness, it read:

An Leabhar olc, Imleabhar II*

Getafix felt his mind lurch back up to full speed, as pieces of a very old puzzle began to fall into place. "It's the second volume..." he whispered quietly to himself. A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he turned, wide-eyed, to find his mentor gazing at him worriedly.

"Getafix?"

"It's the second volume," Getafix repeated, louder this time and with growing excitement. "The Book of Olc is the second volume in a series of two!"

The Gauls all looked at him blankly, blinking in their failure to understand the significance of his words. Even Valuaddetax seemed at a loss. But the Venerable Druid's eyes widened, lighting up with comprehension.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Fulliautomatix spoke up hesitantly.

The Venerable Druid was the one to answer. "It was common among the ancient druids to create series of spell books, one representing the spells they had discovered, and another that contained their solutions."

Obelix looked up, sorrow still lingering in his expression. "...Solutions?..."

"The antidotes!" Getafix exclaimed excitedly. "The opposite of those spells!"

"So if we can find the first volume-" Valuaddetax began, slowly.

"Than there's a chance we can save Asterix!" Obelix cried, hope filling him once more. There was a chance! Oh, thank Toutatis, there was a chance!

A mighty cheer went up from the group, filling the hut with more relief and joy than it had contained in days. But the mood was once again nearly shattered with the next question.

"But where is it?"

Getafix frowned, holding a hand to his head. "I've seen it. I'm certain of it," he murmured with a wince. His hands were still hurting him terribly, burned quite badly from Mastix's spell. "It...it must have been long ago...I can almost see it in my mind. It was so very long ago..." Taking the book and opening it once more, Getafix let his eyes drift over the horrible words. Of all pages to turn to, he found it was the one of the Extraction Spell. The terrible words lay right in front of him; the very words that had been used to hurt his friend. A man almost like his own son. But, now that he was searching for a memory, the actual words faded in his eyes, and he focused more on the shapes and curves of the writing. Of the design of the very words themselves.

The letters were extremely hard to decipher. Only years and years of practice made it possible for Getafix to understand them at all. They were blotched and poorly preserved. It was like some ink-happy dope had suddenly decided to dance his pen across the page in a completely random manner, only getting in an intelligible symbol every two or three sentences. It was like trying to read the doodlings of a -

For the second time, Getafix froze. A memory, nearly thirty-five years old, flashed in his mind's eye. Of him standing in a room, deep within the earth, working late at night. Trying to practice and create a concoction to make people strong. A concoction that would one day become the Magic Potion. But, back then, he had been looking at someone else's work. Writing so messy and chaotic, it had nearly been unreadable.

"It's in the Carnutes!"

Every eye turned to Getafix once more. "What do you mean?" Vitalstatistix asked nervously.

"Exactly what I said!" Getafix was gaining energy and excitement very rapidly. "The first volume of this series is in the Carnutes! I remember! I was looking at it; I held it in my hands the night before I left to come to this village! The night Mastix destroyed the Abode of the Druids!"

The Venerable Druid took hold of his shoulders. "Are you certain?"

"I'd stake my life on it!" Getafix turned to gaze at Asterix. "And his life certainly does. It's his only chance."

"But that trip took days for Cacofonix!" Impedimenta spoke up. She had not left Vitalstatistix's side. "We don't have time!"

"No," Getafix said with a smile, "Not normally. But we do have speed on our side now." He turned to Obelix. "Before, we needed stealth. This time, we need to get there as fast as possible. Obelix, thanks to the Magic Potion's permanent effects, could get us there in only four hours."

The other two druids looked shocked. True, they had seen Obelix's impressive strength, but could a man truly travel so far in such a short amount of time?

Obelix nodded, standing to his feet carefully, so as to not jostle Asterix. "I can do it," he said confidently. He'd make sure he could. If Asterix's life rested on this one thing, Obelix would brave it all; go anywhere; do anything, if it meant they might be able to save him.

The Venerable Druid volunteered to go with Getafix and Obelix, feeling very much responsible for their safety. They might need his authority once they reached the Carnutes. Valuaddetax opted to stay, saying that the villagers, though mostly recovered, would still need watching over for a while. Not to mention that Cacofonix still needed some very careful attention.

One of the Gauls, a farmer, donated one of his ox carts, minus the ox. Blankets were given by everyone to cushion the inside of the cart, before Asterix was carefully lain inside. Then, positioning themselves on either side of the blond warrior, Getafix and the Venerable Druid climbed in as well. Obelix took hold of the wagon's hitch, and with a solemn wave, started out of the village at an incredible speed. Trees whipped by on both sides as they raced through the forest, at speeds that could be matched by nothing else but lightening itself. The trip would take a very short time at this rate.

Getafix kept a hand resting on Asterix's pulse, wanting to be certain to notice should the Gaul's health plummet unexpectedly along the way. Despite their speed, Obelix managed to keep the cart fairly steady, which helped.

Hope was in sight again. But it was far...and very small.


Obelix traveled the distance in record-breaking time. The estimated four hours was beaten by a full half hour. Coming to a quick, but mindful halt just outside the border of the Forest of the Carnutes, the large Gaul brought the wagon to a stop. Fastened to a tree, far larger than it really needed to be, was an enormous, wooden sign reading:

Forest of the Carnutes. Non-Druids Keep Out.

Obelix was familiar with this place. Some time ago, he and Asterix had come with Getafix, escorting their friend to the border. It had been some special meeting of the Druids, but he and Asterix had not been permitted in. It was their law; that no one other than a fellow druid should enter the Carnutes. And it was one that Obelix had always followed. As had everyone else from their village, including Getafix.

But this time, Getafix was about to do something unthinkable.

Lifting Asterix gently in his arms, Getafix dismounted from the cart's interior. Shifting his friend's light form, and seeming to steel himself as he determinedly walked toward the invisible line that marked the forbidden zone. "Come, Obelix."

"GETAFIX!"

The stunned, almost frightened shout came from behind them. Obelix turned, finding that it was the Venerable Druid. Getafix, on the other hand, stopped, but didn't turn.

"Getafix, they cannot enter into our Forest!" The elder's voice seemed to hold a hint of desperation. "They can stay here; we'll find the book and bring it out to-"

"We haven't time."

Getafix's voice sounded unsteady, but determined. Obelix got the impression that Getafix was breaking one of the Druids' most important laws.

"I'm going to need Obelix's help. And who knows how much longer Asterix has. He could die before we could reach him out here." Getafix finally turned, locking a pair of sad, frightened eyes with his mentor. "I'll take full responsibility for my actions." With that, he turned back toward the forest, and entered through. Obelix hesitated a moment, looking between mentor and student, before moving to follow Getafix. He trusted his druid. And Asterix needed his help.

The Venerable Druid stood stunned, trying to come to terms with the fact of what Getafix had just done. He couldn't. This would not sit well with the council. By Belonos, it didn't sit well with him! But Asterix's life was at stake...

They'd have to deal with Getafix's actions later.


Getafix pushed against the door of the chamber. He had led Obelix and the Venerable Druid down into the catacombs of the Druidic Fortress, making his way to the room he had once claimed as his own. Luckily, it was unoccupied, and looked very nearly as it had thirty-five years ago. It seemed that many of the rooms on this particular level, though they had been repaired, were mostly abandoned. Not that anyone could be blamed for that. It only served as a distasteful memory to most of the druids. There were plenty of other levels in the Fortress; there was no immediate need to live in the ones further down.

The chamber had one bed, just like it had back when Getafix had lived in it. Rushing forward into the room, Getafix carefully settled Asterix on the soft sheets of the cot. The little warrior gave the slightest hint of a gasp, causing his breathing to hitch painfully. Getafix held his own breath, fearing the worst, but a moment later Asterix's breathing evened out. It still sounded terribly labored, but he was still alive. And that was what mattered. His complexion was still rather gray, and he was beginning to look drawn; as though he were wasting away. Gently taking Asterix's cold wrist, Getafix checked his pulse. His heart jumped in anxiety as he realized just how weak it had become.

"We don't have much time," the village druid whispered softly to himself. He lay a hand on Asterix's shoulder. "I'll be right back. I promise." Turning to the two standing behind him in the doorway, he addressed his past mentor. "Stay here with him. Obelix and I will go and find the book." He started to head out the door, but the Venerable Druid stopped him by lightly grabbing his arm.

"Why does he have to go with you? Shouldn't Obelix stay here with his friend?"

Getafix shook his arm free at the same time as he shook his head. "No, he can't."

"Why not?"

Getafix's face grew in determination as he brushed past his elder. "Because the book is probably buried under six feet of soil."


Getafix and Obelix raced down the tunnels of the Druidic Fortress. Obelix had long since lost his bearings, relying wholly on Getafix's thirty-five year old memories of the many twists and turns. Getafix himself doubted his recollections, as they ran into a few dead ends, reversing course once or twice before getting back on the right track.

The deeper they went, the dustier and less kept the place became. As though the repair crew had started to slack in their work; or perhaps they hadn't made it that far down yet. It was still passable, but it was getting darker, and Getafix was forced to grab a torch from the wall side as they continued. The limited light wasn't helping; nor was the constant pressure of time that hunted them. Asterix couldn't hold out much longer. Time was the most precious thing they had, and with every wasted moment it was becoming more and more scarce.

Rounding a corner, Getafix slid to a halt beside the inlet of an ancient-looking door. Or what had once been a door. All that was left was the cracked, and slightly twisted wooden frame. Pounds and pounds of dirt had settled heavily upon it over the years, weighing down above it.

"This is it!" Getafix exclaimed, holding his torch higher to get a better look. It wasn't an encouraging sight. The interior of the room was filled with dirt; completely packed from ceiling to doorway. It loomed black and taunting in the flickering light. "We're going to have to dig, but we don't have much time. Obelix, do you think you can-"

"I can." The big Gaul stepped forward and buried his stone-worn hands into the moist soil. Taking a deep breath, he started digging at an incredible speed, passing the dirt away as he shoveled out handful after enormous handful. As he did so, he talked, finding that his nerves could not take the uneasy silence. "Why is it caved in like this?" For that was indeed what it looked like.

Getafix wrung his hands in front of himself, feeling useless in the situation. But there was no room for him and Obelix to dig. "It collapsed the night that Mastix killed Prolix. The Venerable Druid and I were in there when...when Mastix attacked with storms and great quakes of the earth. We barely got out alive."

Obelix nodded silently, before asking the next important question. "The book is in here then?"

"Yes, I am certain. It will look very much like the Book of Olc. I will help you identify it when you dig it out."

Getafix ended up identifying many books. The laboratory had contained quite an assortment of tomes and parchments. Many, unfortunately, having rotted to a nasty degree. The book they were searching for, for all they knew, might have dissolved by now to nothing more than moldy dust. But neither Getafix nor Obelix were willing to accept that for even a moment.

All at once Obelix cried out, "Here's what appears to be a cauldron!" He was much further within the room now, and his voice echoed in the enclosed space. With a toss, the cauldron clanged out into the tunnel. Getafix wouldn't have given it a second thought, had it not resounded with the bang of something inside it. Rushing forward, Getafix leaned into the gaping black hole of the cauldron's opening. He groped for a moment, before his hands closed around something that felt very much like a bound, leather book. Pulling it out and into the light, Getafix discovered that it was indeed a book. But not just any book.

"We've found it, Obelix! Oh, thank Toutatis; we've found it!"

Obelix scrambled out of the hole he had dug, rushing to Getafix's side. The druid held it up for him to see. It was very much like its evil counterpart. Disturbingly so. Its bound leather was slightly lighter in color, more of a warm brown than a black. Crisscrossing Celtic designs adorned the cover, and on the side, when held just so in the torch light, words engraved upon it read:

An Leabhar na Chéasta, Imleabhar I

It was in perfect condition. No dirt seemed to have touched it, the book having been kept safe within the cauldron. How it had fallen within it, or how it had managed to last unharmed for all those years, would remain a great mystery. But that didn't matter right now.

"Come, Obelix!" Getafix cried, already running off down the tunnel. "We have to get this back to Asterix before it's too late!"

Obelix grabbed the torch from the mound of dirt he had created, taking off after Getafix with his heart brimming with hope. Maybe, just maybe, things were going to be alright.


The Venerable Druid sat on the edge of Asterix's cot, hand resting gently on the Gaul's heaving chest. Only seconds after Getafix and Obelix had left, the short man's health had suddenly plummeted. Gasping for breath, and seeming to struggle with a deep, torturing pain, Asterix had plunged into a very dangerous condition. The gray color of his skin had vanished, making way for a terrible white. But, despite the agony he was obviously in, Asterix barely moved. He had no energy to move. The most amount of reaction was his fast breathing, gasps, and, on occasion, a small, involuntary twitch of pain. It broke the Venerable Druid's heart to see. But that was nothing compared to what he was feeling from the young Gaul through his magical link between them.

The Soul Light was flickering. No, not flickering; petering out. It was getting weaker and weaker by the second; with each desperate breath Asterix gave it blinked out and then barely managed in relighting itself. Terrible shivers had taken hold of the man, adding to the possibility that at any moment, the inner light would fade, and never return. The Venerable Druid was willing as much strength into the Gaul as he could, but it didn't seem to be doing any good.

Asterix was dying.

Oh, how the elder had always feared this. The loss of another innocent soul. Just like Prolix. For years, the Venerable Druid had striven to ensure himself that such an event would never happen again. He had promised himself that he would never let Mastix hurt another human being. He had gone to great lengths to erase that which had happened in the past. Something he had tried so very hard to forget. The pain; the sorrow; the sleepless nights filled with guilt and dread. But, now, it wasn't he who would be facing these horrors. It was Getafix.

Getafix would be crushed. Losing Asterix would destroy him. The Venerable Druid understood now. He could see it in Getafix's actions; his willingness to even go against his own peoples' sacred laws, all just to save his friend. Why? Why?

Because Asterix was Getafix's Prolix.

That deep bond of friendship that the Venerable Druid had once shared with his deceased companion, was the equivalent of Getafix's fatherly love for Asterix. For the whole Gaulish village. It was the reason that Getafix had never returned to the Carnutes. Why he had decided to choose between his own people and the people of a different nation. A nation that had been conquered, all but one small village on the edge of the sea. Getafix wasn't just living with them. Getafix was one of them. He cared for them; knew them. They were his family; his friends. They were bonded; perhaps in an ever stronger way than the druids in the Carnutes had ever been.

Asterix was Getafix's Prolix.

The Venerable Druid understood. It might have taken him thirty-five years; but he finally understood. And now he realized just how devastating this short, blond Gaul's death would be. Not just to Getafix. Not just to Obelix. And not even just to the village. This was a friendship that held together far more than that. Asterix affected so many people. And without him even realizing, Asterix had managed to affect the elder as well. The Solas Anam within this little warrior had reached out and stirred something that the Venerable Druid hadn't even known he was still carrying. Fear and a closed mind. A mind that had shut out everything else, because it had been afraid to do what Getafix had done. He had been afraid to reach out to others, for fear of being hurt again.

Well, now none of that mattered. Nothing mattered. Not if Asterix died. Because once he did, everything would fall apart again for the old druid. And this time, Getafix would fall too. And the Venerable Druid found that thought absolutely unbearable.

"Hang on, Asterix. Just hang on."


When Getafix and Obelix rushed into the bedchamber, they were dirty, sweaty, and very much out of breath. Even Obelix, whose superhuman strength was supposed to be endless, seemed to be finding the stressful situation very taxing. They burst into the room, the book clutched tightly in Getafix's hands.

Getafix ran to the bedside, taking in Asterix's declining condition. The Venerable Druid had his hand laid on the Gaul's chest, something that Getafix took as a very bad sign.

The elder looked up at him worriedly. "He's almost gone."

Nodding hastily, Getafix perched himself on the edge of the bed, right next to Asterix. Opening the book, he began to leaf through page after page, his movements full of stressed panic. The book was just like he remembered it; blotched and very hard to read. But he could make out far more than he had been able to thirty-five years ago. And these spells were, without a doubt, good. No evil lurked within its pages. Getafix searched, eyes scanning over each section with a fevered pace. Cures, antidotes, and remedies flashed before him as he raced against time and death.

"Here it is!" He nearly burst into tears with relief. But his joy was short lived, for just a fraction after he spoke, his mentor cried out.

"He's going!"

"Asterix!"

Obelix's horror-ridden cry was all Getafix needed. Without further ado, he launched into the spell.

Heart that's torn,

And taken far,

Return to him,

Heal this scar!

Repair the hurt,

That has been done,

Take the pieces,

Make them one!*

There was a sudden golden flash that filled the room. It was so bright that the they were forced to cover their eyes against its intensity. A sound like a mighty gale blew about them, ruffling their hair and beards in its throws. Then all at once, it all seemed to flow into Asterix, causing him to glow with a golden flare. As if the light were truly coming from him. With a startlingly abrupt halt, everything became still, and the room returned to normal.

But Asterix was no longer breathing.

Getafix stared down at the still form in disbelief. It should have worked. It had to have worked! There was no reason that it shouldn't have worked! Asterix couldn't be dead; he couldn't be. With a shaking hand, Getafix reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around Asterix's wrist. This time he was met with nothing. No heartbeat. Not even a weak one. Raising pain-filled eyes to meet Obelix's fearing ones, Getafix's voice was barely above a whisper.

"We...We were too late."

"No..." Obelix slowly sank to the floor.

His stunned expression was almost too much for Getafix to bare. Obelix and Asterix had been closer than brothers. They had been each other's shadows since birth. They may have not had much in common; not in size, or shape, or character; but it was the difference that had made them fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. It had been what completed them; made them whole. And now, only half remained. A torn, tattered, beaten half. How would Obelix go on without Asterix? How, for that matter, would Getafix? Asterix had been the closest thing Getafix had ever had to a son. They had shared a certain understanding; a friendship that had developed so far beyond teacher and pupil. But now Asterix was gone.

And it was all his fault, because Getafix hadn't been able to make it in time.

With a grimace of terrible emotional agony, Getafix slowly slipped off the bed onto the floor. He didn't even fight the tears that came. He didn't care the his mentor was standing right there to witness it. All that mattered; all that echoed in his mind, wave after relentless wave, was that Asterix was dead. Shifting his burned hand along the top of the sheet, Getafix clasped Asterix's hand in his own.

Obelix had gotten over his shock by this point, having launched into uncontrollable tears. Silent and full of pain, each breath seemed to wrack his whole body; grief practically tearing his heart in two. "Asterix...Asterix, you promised...Please, you promised..." The large Gauls words faded into muffled sobs.

Getafix still sat on the floor, hand griping Asterix's like a lifeline, when he felt a hand gently land on his shoulder. He didn't look up. He knew who it was.

"Getafix," the Venerable Druid whispered carefully, his own voice wavering with emotion. "There is nothing we can do. I'm...I'm sorry...For everything." When he got no response, he tried again. "We should go. It will only harm you both to stay here."

Getafix shook his head like a stubborn child, squeezing Asterix's hand just a little tighter. He wasn't about to leave his friend; alive or no.

"Please, Getafix," the elder continued urgently. He was worried about both his past student and the large Gaul. Such sorrow he had never seen. His own pain from Prolix's death could never even come close to this. "Think of Obelix; we need to get him out of-"

But Getafix was no longer listening. With a jump, the village druid had snapped his head up, eyes wide; completely focused on the hand that he held in his. A hand that, when he had tightened his grip, had responded in kind.

Asterix had squeezed back.

Getafix rose to a kneel, taking Asterix's hand in both of his. "Asterix...?"

There was a moment where nothing happened, as the two druids and Obelix watched in breathless silence. But then, ever so slowly, Asterix took an audible breath, his chest rising as his still lungs were jolted back into use. He gave a little groan, before his brown eyes fluttering open. They swept around the room for a moment in confusion, before settling on Getafix's face. Asterix's expression lit up, and he smiled faintly before speaking, ever so weakly.

"Y-you...You druids are crazy."

Before the little warrior even knew what was happening, he found himself held in the embrace of his two closest friends. It was the most emotion he had ever seen out of either of them, and, though he remembered very little of what had happened, Asterix knew enough to realize that it must have been very bad. That it must have frightened his friends terribly. Hurt them. But now, everything was alright. Everything was going to be alright. Finally.

Getafix laughed joyfully, holding Asterix up in bed at arms length. Asterix's color was returning, as well as that warm feeling that the Gaul had always seemed to generate. His Soul Light. But that didn't mean that Asterix was completely healed. He looked tired and worn, but his smile was genuine, and there was no trace of pain in his posture. But still, Getafix had to be sure. "How are you feeling?"

"A little dizzy," Asterix admitted. "Tired. And maybe a little sore." Slowly the events leading up to his incapacitation were coming back to him. His leaving the village; going off alone to face Mastix...Suddenly, the pure foolishness of his actions were very clear, and Asterix felt an overwhelming wave of shame wash over him. Taking hold of Getafix's hands he launched into an apology. "Getafix, I'm...I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just...I couldn't..." He faded out, not knowing how to continue. But Getafix understood.

"You did what you felt you had to, Asterix. That's all that matters. That's why you are who and what you are. I know why you did it."

Asterix appreciated that. It filled him with joy, and removed the guilt immediately. Until his gaze shifted to Obelix. His best friend. The friend whose illness had caused Asterix to go against everything he possibly could; even death. "Obelix..." There were no words that could ever fix this. No words, except two.

"I'm sorry."

Obelix gave out a sob, once again leaning forward to embrace his friend. His best friend. His brother.

The Venerable Druid was absolutely speechless. Asterix shouldn't have been alive. He shouldn't be. They had been too late. But that didn't matter. Who cares what the cause may have been. Asterix was alive, and it looked like everything was going to be fine. The elder stood to the side, watching silently as the three friends talked and hugged, and, in general, just reassured each other that everything was true. That it wasn't a dream. That everyone was alive and well.

As they talked and Asterix steadily gained strength, Getafix thought back to nearly thirty-five years before. Back to a very special birth of two very special babies. Born in the same season, same day, same hour, and same moment. When this young pair of friends, practically inseparable, had first come into the world. Where Asterix and Obelix had first come into his life; and changed it for the better. He remembered that strange feeling he had had; that need to stay in the village; that need to keep something safe. Getafix now realized that it had all been for a very important reason. To save Asterix's life. And probably more than that. If he hadn't stayed, he never would have created the Magic Potion. He never would have been there to help the villagers stand against the terrible might of Caesar. If he hadn't stayed, Asterix would be dead now. Getafix didn't understand it. And he doubted he ever would understand it. But, for now, that didn't really matter.

He was just glad he had stayed.

...

*The Evil Book, Volume II or The Book of Evil, Volume II

*The Good Book, Volume I or The Book of the Good, Volume I

*I know I usually write the spells in Irish, but I felt that doing so here would take away from the moment. I wanted everyone to know exactly what the spell said, so that it didn't break the mood. :) Believe it or not, I came up with this rhyme as a typed it. No editing, or planning. It just came out.

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