The Lord of Obsidian [Quest for Earthlight Trilogy Book 2] Read online

  "The Obsidian Orb does not belong to Sujad the Traitor.” Merlin's dark eyes flashed. “As I said, he has merely stolen it and usurped its powers. Believe me, he will pay dearly for the violation of a Token of Power made for the Earthlight."

  Peter looked at the austerity of Merlin's rugged features and felt glad he wasn't one of the sorcerer's enemies. He flushed guiltily when Merlin added sharply, “Oh, don't worry—I won't punish him myself. He'll wreak his own destruction. Those of the Earthlight have no need to kill or destroy their enemies."

  Merlin nodded at the Book of Obsidian resting on Peter's knees. “Open it. It's time for your testing. The Book of Obsidian will be your judge and jury."

  Peter looked at the Book of Obsidian and his mind rebelled at the thought of undergoing such a trial. What if he was found wanting? he asked himself, and the book blurred in front of him as he considered how much depended on him and any choices he might make. He knew—for Merlin had admitted as much—that the Great One had made bad choices in the past that were influencing the present and would go on affecting the future. If Merlin could make mistakes, how much easier it would be for him to do so!

  Peter blinked and the intricate, familiar design on the front cover of the book became clear again. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned the cover back—and, as he had more than half suspected, the contents were nothing like those of the book he had handled so briefly at Christmas. In fact, he was unable to read it for it was written in a foreign language. He lifted the book from his knees until it was nearly touching his nose, but its language remained obstinately unintelligible.

  "Is it Latin?"

  "I'm glad to hear your education is not totally barren,” Merlin said with heavy irony.

  "But I don't know any Latin. Not many schools teach it these days. They say it's a dead language."

  "They are the dead ones.” Merlin's features softened at the dismay in Peter's eyes. “Read it, Peter,” he said more kindly. “You only need to try to be able to do it. I know you'll pass the test with flying colors, otherwise I wouldn't subject you to it."

  Still not convinced, Peter brought his gaze back down to the book, and this time found he was unable to tell what language was used because it became blurred again. He blinked, and suddenly everything was clear. Much to his surprise, this time he found he could understand every word.

  But it didn't seem to be the same book he had sat reading beside the Lady's sepulcher in the City of the Reborn. He looked for the section on “Daggers, Swords, Knives or other Sharp Implements” in which he had read that anyone who tries to use a sharp-edged object of obsidian to kill someone automatically forfeits his life to the one he tried to kill. The longer the Obsidian Dagger was in his possession the more he hated the idea of killing anyone with it—even so vile an enemy as Sujad.

  "Must I kill him with it?” he asked the Book of Obsidian. “Merlin says those of the Earthlight have no need to kill their enemies so why is Sujad's life forfeit to me? I don't want to kill him in order to defeat him. Is there no other way of winning the quest for Earthlight?"

  "His life is indeed forfeit to you,” he read from the book, “but you will not need to kill him so do not concern yourself."

  Peter sighed. “Why can't he repent and become Merlin's friend again?"

  "Because it is so ordained,” the book replied with kind finality. Although Peter was only reading the words, their tone was as clear as though the book was speaking to him. “You feel the way you do because Sujad Cariotis is influencing your feelings through the weapon he created. He bewitched the dagger to stop it being used against him—especially by you. Anyone of the Earthlight who handles the Obsidian Dagger will have strong feelings against hurting another—and more specifically Sujad the Traitor—with it."

  "Oh!” The terrible feeling that had been haunting him—a feeling of guilt for something he had not done—dropped away.

  "Now stop asking questions and let us get on with our lessons,” the book suggested gently but firmly.

  "I'm ready.” Peter's voice sounded husky to his ears and his heart began thumping painfully. Something—fear? apprehension?—tightened in his chest.

  The pounding of his heart became steadily louder until it sounded as though the noise was coming at him from outside. The words written on the page were suddenly outlined by a circle. Within that circle they started to all but jump out at him. He drew back until he realised the circle was nothing of which to be afraid. It was merely a magnifying glass. The magnifying glass picked out one word on the page—Obsidianus. It came closer and closer to Peter's face until the circle surrounding it touched the sides of his face. Abruptly he felt that he was on the other side of the glass. At the same time the word Obsidianus was swallowed up somewhere behind his eyes. It felt as though it was burning itself into his brain. For a few moments it stood in the air outlined in red, then dissolved in a whirling ball of mist.

  It wasn't on the other side of the magnifying glass that he had reached, though, Peter realised. He seemed to be inside something. He must, he thought with a sudden rush of panic, be inside the magnifying glass. The idea made him feel strangely vulnerable. Everyone would be able to observe him in close-up from either side. The thought made him go hot and cold all over. Then he realised—with relief—that the only witnesses were Merlin and Bart. Merlin was confident this time that the power of his spell of forbidding would keep the Evil One and his Lords of Corruption at bay.

  Peter looked at the concave walls of the magnifying glass. They looked rounder than he would have imagined. He looked up, and realised, with shock, that he was encased in a globe. The ground under his feet was also concave. He tried to pierce the view behind the glass walls. But he could see nothing beyond the enclosure of his globular prison, for the wall appeared to be black. Then what little light there had been to show him a glimmering of his surroundings went out. He was in total darkness.

  His heart thumped somewhere in his throat; his mouth went dry. A wave of terror washed over him—for he knew where he was. He was inside the Obsidian Orb. That could mean only one thing: Sujad had intercepted Peter's lessons from the Book of Obsidian. Even now Sujad could see him—had him trapped!

  Chapter 4

  The Essence of Obsidian

  "MERLIN! Merlin!” Peter's cry came out as a croak. Then, realizing that even Merlin couldn't be expected to hear him from inside the Obsidian Orb, he repeated his call in mind-speech. “I'm trapped inside the Obsidian Orb. I can't see out. And I don't know where the orb is."

  "Shush!” came back the reply, a mere whisper inside his head. “If you don't stay quiet you won't learn, and you're likely to miss something."

  Despite all the questions buzzing in his head, Peter felt the tension seep from him. Slowly his heart rate returned to normal. He crouched on the bottom of the orb and waited.

  Gradually he became aware of a throbbing sensation—a sound felt rather than heard. He turned his head in the suffocating darkness and became conscious that he could see as well as feel and hear the pulsing. Its source was a dim light pulsing at him in all directions from the wall of the Obsidian Orb.

  He crouched lower, head down and arms folded forward over his face to block out the all-seeing essence of the light. But the light beat at his mind rather than his eyes. Its brightness grew and he knew there was no escape from it. His ears felt as though they shrank in anticipation of Sujad's cackles of triumph. A sob rose to his throat. Then, visualizing the gloating triumph on Sujad's face, something stirred deep inside him—anger and abhorrence directed at the man who had betrayed his benefactor and friend.

  Since there's no escape, I might as well go down fighting. I'll never let it be said I allowed Sujad the Traitor to win without a struggle. He uncoiled himself and stood up. He screwed up his eyes against the brightness and balled his fists in readiness to batter at the wall of the Obsidian Orb. Then he gasped and his heart gave another jump—for the nucleus within the light spoke to him.

  "Do not be afraid. I
mean you no harm.” Its voice was deep, slow and booming.

  Peter dropped his hands to his sides, and suddenly the light was no longer dazzling. “Who-who are you?"

  "I am the Power of Obsidian, the Essence of Obsidian, the Spirit of Obsidian. I am the Omniscient All-seeing Eye of the Obsidian Orb—the Quintessential Nucleus of All Sorcery."

  "Am I inside the Obsidian Orb?"

  "Oh indeed not.” The Power of Obsidian sounded shocked. “Trust me—or at least trust your master, Merlin—not to needlessly expose you to the malice of one who seeks to use the Obsidian Orb for his own evil purposes."

  "Where am I then?"

  Did he imagine it, or did he hear a faint, hollow chuckle?

  "You are within the Essence of Obsidian or, if you prefer it, inside the Book of Obsidian. Just as you learn your school lessons from school books, so you learn your lessons on power from a book of power, and the Book of Obsidian is the most powerful book ever written about the most potent source of magic the world has ever known."

  "Yes, I know. But why can't I learn from the Book of Obsidian the same way that I learn from other books? Why do you have to—well—swallow me?"

  The Power of Obsidian definitely did chuckle now. “Ah! But I have not swallowed you. You are simply reading everything about me, and in doing so you are picturing in your mind what I am like and experiencing the very nature of my existence. However, whereas different people picture things differently although reading the same words in a book, anyone who is able to read the Book of Obsidian gets the same impression of me."

  "Does Sujad Cariotis know what you're like then?” Peter's heart beat high with hope that Sujad had been refused knowledge of the Essence of Obsidian.

  "Aah!” There was infinite sadness in the deep sigh. “I am afraid so. One so powerful—one with a birthright claim on the Obsidian Orb so to speak—cannot be denied knowledge of the Essence of Obsidian. But if you mean do I speak to him as I speak to you, then the answer is no."

  Peter sighed with relief. “Can't you stop him? Can't you take the Obsidian Orb away from him? He's—he's defiling a sacred Token of Power made for the Earthlight."

  The pulsing of the Essence of Obsidian was like a caress in Peter's brain. It was difficult for him to describe how it felt—a gentle caress was the nearest description he could think of—but something definitely reached out to soothe his troubled mind. “Don't worry about it, Peter. The Obsidian Orb cannot be defiled. I can only repeat what Merlin has told you: Sujad Cariotis will succeed only in befouling himself, and anyone else who cares to join him in his work for the Evil One. And now, farewell. I must leave you to learn your lessons."

  The throbbing light slowly dimmed and gradually the pulsing died to nothing. As the last pulsation left him, Peter dreaded the return of the black hole in which he had been huddling. But it didn't come. Instead he was surely standing inside a ball of pure clear crystal. He could see outside. Though distorted by the curve of the ball, it was a strange but lovely view.

  He seemed to be standing in an orchard, but an orchard nothing like those he was accustomed to seeing, with dwarfed trees in rows and—more often than not—bird-proof wire netting stretched over the tops of the trees. Instead, these trees weren't of one kind. There were several different varieties of apple trees as well as cherry, pear, apricot, peach and plum. Tall for fruit trees, they were all laden with spring blossom. Bees buzzed busily among the blossoms, whose fragrance Peter could smell along with the freshness of the air. Green grass, scattered here and there with fallen blossom, grew around and underneath the trees, and drifts of spring flowers, mostly bluebells and daffodils, spread themselves everywhere.

  It was a perfect day, rather chilly but so fresh and fragrant that it compelled anyone who appreciated beauty to drop everything just to spend the daylight hours drinking in the glory of a day made for day-dreaming.

  Peter heard a light quick step behind him and a voice singing melodiously in French. He couldn't understand a word but as the tuneful voice was definitely feminine he guessed she was singing a love song. Then the singer came into view. Peter blinked in astonishment; for surely this was a goddess or faerie creature—the spirit of spring incarnate—coming towards him. Cloaked in shimmering green that rivaled the color of the budding leaves on the oak trees beyond the orchard, she threw open her arms to embrace the brilliance of a day in a world that had surely been created expressly for her. She twirled and danced and the sunlight blazed in the swinging curtain of her long, unbound hair, changing it into rich unalloyed gold.

  As she turned in his direction, Peter was abruptly aware that he was standing with his mouth open and felt ungainly and boorish in the presence of such perfection. He closed his mouth and straightened his shoulders. But the spirit of spring incarnate didn't see him. She looked straight through him. And as she did so he saw her face and eyes—and his blood ran cold. The eyes in the delicate ivory oval of her face were green and slanted, the eyes of a beautiful predatory cat: the witch Morgause.

  Peter's first instinct was to run. But she must have seen him, he reasoned, and such an exit from her presence would be extremely undignified and—in view of her fiendish powers—useless. His heart began thumping as he steeled himself to stand his ground and face her. She moved in his direction and, finding his mouth had gone dry, he swallowed hard. The lovely face broke into a heart-stopping smile and Morgause stepped towards him with open arms. The green eyes shone like emeralds while the soft voice spoke a greeting, and the longing in her voice was very ardent. “My love! My love!"

  Instinctively Peter stepped aside. Morgause walked right over where he had been standing into the arms of someone who had been coming towards her from behind Peter. It was Jadus Castirio. His arms went round her, crushing the fabric of her cloak.

  "It's been so long,” Jadus whispered passionately—hoarsely—into the sweet-smelling gold of Morgause's hair. “Why have you not sent for me sooner, my dearest?"

  Peter didn't hear her reply. Jadus spoke again, his voice eager with the desire to please his beloved. “I've brought what you asked for, dearest. I did as you said and the old fool tried to resist me but was powerless against that little spell you taught me. He wanted to know how I was aware that he'd been asked to create and look after this black ball for this thing you called the Earthlight. But I wouldn't tell him.” Jadus chuckled with enjoyment.

  Peter saw what Jadus couldn't because Morgause—only an inch or so shorter than Jadus—had her chin resting on her lover's shoulder: the gleam of greed in the beautiful eyes and the avaricious smile that distorted her soft mouth. She disentangled herself from her lover's embrace and fixed him with her most disarming smile.

  "Where is it, my love?” Her low-pitched voice was fierce with hunger for more power. “I must have it and we need to use it quickly or they'll destroy our love for each other."

  Jadus picked up something at his feet that Peter hadn't noticed, whisking away the cloth in which he'd wrapped it. And there gleaming darkly in the spring sunshine was the Obsidian Orb. But Peter saw it for no more than a second, for Morgause covered it with her cloak as she took it. He caught the triumphant glitter in her eyes as she turned, clasping the orb against her with one arm while she linked the other into her lover's and led him through the orchard.

  Peter was unaware that he'd followed until he saw them enter a small cottage at the edge of what he thought might be the same deciduous forest through which he had ridden so recently with Merlin and Bart. The cottage had started to fall into ruin. Peter reluctantly peered through the unglazed window.

  They sat at either end of a rough table on two equally rough chairs. Between them—and right in front of Peter's eyes—lay the Obsidian Orb, on a small square of green cloth. While Jadus leaned eagerly over the table towards her, Morgause touched the tips of her spread fingers together in front of her face and slowly moved her hands towards the Obsidian Orb, drawing them apart as she did so until the palms, with fingers still spread, hovered over th
e top of the orb as though to protect whatever she might see there from others’ eyes.

  She closed her eyes. Concentration stamped itself on the small ivory features. Her lips moved soundlessly. A vicious scowl twisted her face into ugliness and she swore violently. At least Peter assumed that she swore, for he was unable to understand the few words that she shrieked.

  Jadus looked horrified at her outburst. But he was given no time to reproach her. She fixed her gaze on his with all the domination in her power. “Quick! Put your hands over mine! I need you to combine your command with mine to force the spirit of this wretched thing to yield. You have a birthright through your father that I don't possess."

  "My father? I never knew my father. He walked out on my mother as soon as he heard I was on the way. As far as I'm concerned I have no father.” Jadus's expression clearly betrayed his scorn for his errant father

  "What does that matter?” Morgause snapped.

  This time there was reproach in the black eyes transfixed by the glare of green ones. However, he instantly placed his hands over hers. Morgause again closed her eyes and Peter could almost feel her concentration. This time little bolts of lightning sizzled from her hands, hitting the black globe and rebounding.

  Finally Morgause sank back, pushing Jadus's hands away. She looked exhausted and her face was twisted with fury. “There's some power working from you, but not enough to allow me mastery. If I can't be master of this—this thing, then nobody else will have it!"

  She leapt to her feet, grabbed the orb in both hands and held it aloft. A pulsing light blazed out at her from the entire surface of the orb, and from the widening horror in Morgause's eyes Peter divined that it was not of her making. But whatever it was in the Obsidian Orb that reached out to Morgause, it was too late to stop her. She gave one great cry and the Obsidian Orb flew into thousands of pieces. Morgause staggered back, and when she had recovered sufficiently to look around, there was no sign that the Obsidian Orb had existed.