Quest for Knowledge (Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga) - Christopher Jackson-Ash (black female authors .txt) 📗

high with books. He wrapped his arms around Simon in a huge hug, oblivious, it seemed, to Simon’s physical condition. “Thank the Balance that you are safe. I have been so worried about you. How are you? What happened to you? Why are you so sad?”

Jhamed excused himself. Simon held the wizard tight and felt a surge of love from the old man. He felt the tears start to flow. He wanted to tell Manfred everything; how he had used Kin Slayer and lost Juliana, then not used Kin Slayer and lost Ju. He wanted the magician somehow to make it right because he hadn’t acted when he’d had the chance so long ago. He wanted to go back in time again and prevent Ju’s death. He remembered what he’d vowed to do to Manfred and was ashamed. He felt more emotions from the wizard; sorrow, regret and love. He was dragged out of his self-pity by a loud voice.

Ubadah was standing by the window, legs apart with his hands on his hips. He was tall and dark. He seemed strong and powerful. He carried himself in a regal manner. He was handsome and muscled. A scar on the side of his face made him look battle hardened. Simon felt inadequate before him.

“What is this snivelling rodent? I have seen more virtue in a beggar in the slums of Illium. He is a puny, dirty wretch. Can you really place the future of the multiverse in his hands? Give me the Sword and I will clear this rabble army from your doorstep!”

Manfred released Simon from the hug and turned to Ubadah. Simon felt the barb of Manfred’s anger and loved the wizard even more. “Sit down, Ubadah, and be quiet. You, of all people, should have learned never to judge a book by its cover.”

Ubadah grunted but sat down in a chair by the window. Manfred sat down too and indicated to Simon that he should sit as well. Simon took a seat between the two of them. He deliberately placed his left hand on the hilt of Kin Slayer, in a gesture that neither of the two missed. Kin Slayer stirred and Simon heard words in his head. I am ready, Master. He wondered if Ubadah heard them too. He wondered whom they were meant for. He tightened his grip.

“Simon, this is King Ubadah of Tamarlan. You might remember his story from the Council of the Wise. He has returned after more than ten thousand years. Dammar helped him to use the time portal.” Dammar, that name again. He is mixed up in everything. “He seems to be another manifestation of the Everlasting Hero. You two must be related. As you heard, he thinks he should carry Fleischaker.”

Both of the heroes were shocked into immediate response. “How dare you suggest that I could be related to this stinking red turd?” Ubadah was outraged.

“No! Do not speak that name again. My sword is called Kin Slayer. It is mine and mine alone. Be careful of your tongue, Ubadah, lest Manfred’s words be true and the sword lives up to its name!” Simon hardly recognised his voice, or the words he had spoken. He felt warmth from the hilt of Kin Slayer flow into his body, giving him new confidence. He knew now, whom the words had been meant for. Simon noted the surprise on Manfred’s face and saw an expression of concern flash over Ubadah’s, although the King quickly controlled it. Simon read envy and hate in Ubadah’s cold eyes.

Manfred quickly briefed Simon on their trip to Tamarlan and how they had spent the last few months preparing Elannort for the inevitable siege that had recently started. Manfred was vitally interested to learn what had happened during Simon’s visit to the past. Simon recounted his story, sparing nothing, including his own feelings. “Thirty thousand years and just one hour ago, Ju perished giving birth to a red-haired child. I loved her, so much.” Simon’s eyes were as red as the rest of his face. The tears ran freely and he was wracked with sobs.

Ubadah jumped up. “You two are fools. There is nothing to learn here. I have better things to do.” He stomped off, slamming the door behind him.

Manfred sighed. “I am at a loss to understand where Ubadah fits into all of this. I’m sorry, Simon. I’m sorry for so many things. I’m sorry about Ubadah’s rudeness, I’m sorry that I was so distracted and neglected you while you were with the tribe, I’m sorry about Juliana, and I’m sorry about Ju.”

The two stood up and hugged again. Simon felt the old man’s sorrow and his desire to make things right. They held each other for a long time. Eventually Manfred spoke again and his voice quivered with emotion.

“I know what you want to do, Simon. It isn’t possible. Everything happened as I remembered it. You were meant to be there. You were meant to love Ju. I’m afraid that she was meant to die. I cannot send you back again. Our battle is here now. We need the Everlasting Hero and Kin Slayer.”

Simon pulled himself away from Manfred and wiped his eyes with his hand. “I would hand over Kin Slayer to Ubadah if it meant that Ju could live.” As soon as he had said it, he knew that he had lied. He didn’t have time to say more though as Jhamed rushed into the room without knocking.

“Manfred, we have another visitor. He arrived through the time portal. It is a strange, beautiful youth. I fear we have a third manifestation of the Hero.”

Surely not another one after my sword? Simon heard Manfred mutter something about Melbourne trams before he spoke more clearly. “Take Simon to get cleaned up and fed. Have the visitor brought to my private quarters. I have a feeling that things are coming to a head. I will see you later, Simon. It’s good to have you home.” Manfred hurried off.

Simon followed Jhamed towards the luxury of a hot bath. Jhamed chattered away, gossiping about this and that. Simon didn’t pay attention. He was thinking about Manfred’s last comment. He wondered where his home really was. He wondered who he really was.

Two Wizards

Manfred’s chambers in the Wizards’ Keep were his private sanctuary. He rarely let anyone else in there. As a sop to his vanity, he had taken over Adapa’s old quarters when he had returned to Elannort at the end of the Dark Ages. Here he kept a few important mementoes of his long life. ‘When one has lived for almost fifty thousand years, one needs to be very selective’, he always told his friends and colleagues. Friends though, were uncommon, especially these days. He rarely got close to people. He had learned quickly that beings with such short life spans quickly grew old and died. He had had relationships with women, but they had been rare and all the more special for that. Jhamed, with a longevity even greater than his own, was like the son he had never had. Although he had known Simon but for an instant, he had already begun to feel like a grandfather to him.

The furnishings in the main room were comfortable without being ostentatious. It had a wheat coloured deep pile carpet and pale yellow walls that gave the room a warm feeling of summer sunshine. A rather weather-beaten old brown sofa and two equally moth-eaten old armchairs took centre stage around a cracked wooden coffee table. The table was piled high with books and parchments, with just enough room for Manfred to place a plate and a cup when he needed refreshment. A couple of hand-crafted oak sideboards displayed his treasures. The walls carried paintings by some of the greatest artists FirstWorld and other dimensions had ever known.

Manfred lounged on the sofa. The stranger walked slowly around the room, taking it all in. He stopped in front of a painting. “This work seems quite familiar to me, yet I have never seen it before.”

“It is La Gioconda. It was da Vinci’s first attempt and it didn’t meet his high standards. He was going to destroy it, but I managed to get him to let me take it. Personally, I find it superior to the version that hangs in the Musée du Louvre in many dimensions. It’s funny how da Vinci has never existed in FirstWorld, at least not yet.” Manfred spoke to the stranger’s back.

The stranger moved on to one of the sideboards. “The wheels of time turn at different speeds in different dimensions. When you are at the centre of things, you turn the most slowly. This artefact is not from this dimension either, is it?” He pointed to a rather simple looking, ceramic cup.

“My dear Dammar, you are not as perceptive as I took you for. That is the Holy Grail. It is the cup that Jesus Christ drank from at the Last Supper. Joseph of Arimathea used it to catch the blood of Christ on the cross. Joseph took it to Glastonbury in Britain. It is reported to have miraculous powers. The quest to find it has occupied the minds of certain humans for many centuries. I was involved with one such quest, myself. There are many who believe it will help win the battle against evil in some dimensions. There are others who believe that the Holy Grail is something else entirely, the womb of Mary Magdalene who supposedly married Jesus and bore his child. I would have thought you would know of it.”

The stranger turned around and faced Manfred. He was young, blond and beautiful, a veritable Adonis. He was naked, except for a white loincloth that barely preserved his modesty. His skin was perfectly tanned and unblemished, either by mark or by hair, except for the blond curls on his head. He appeared powerful, without being overly muscular. There was not an ounce of fat on his lean body. He seemed to be around twenty years old. His voice, though, was deep, confident, and old. “So, you know me, do you?”

“I must say that you look well for someone who is approaching fifty thousand and far better than I remember you, or your statue in the Avenue of Heroes shows. How did you do that, by the way? I’m certainly feeling my age, these days. I’d like to learn your secrets.” Manfred was only half jesting. Imagine having a body like that again. What am I thinking; I never had one that good in the first place.

“I’m sure you would.” Dammar smiled, displaying perfect white teeth and sparkling blue eyes. “I am the epitome of male beauty. All either lust after me or envy me, whether they be male or female. Yet, I am cursed never to know the joy of physical contact with either sex. It is part of my bargain, part of my curse, part of my fate. As are you, Manfred the Magician. As are you.” He sighed and took a seat in one of the armchairs. Manfred couldn’t help but admire his handsome body and the rather large bulge that Dammar’s loincloth could not disguise. I wonder why he doesn’t wear clothes.

“Let me tell you my story, old man. I doubt that you’ll wish for my body at the end of it, for I have fallen for my own version of King Midas’ folly. Unfortunately, my tears will not wash it away. Never mind; let me begin at the beginning. I last saw you at the Council of the Wise in 11175. Gadiel had been defeated, but not killed, and had fled into the Northland. Gilgamesh was dead and Fleischaker lost. Bedwyr had fallen at the Battle of Elvenhome. Adapa, Al’Alim, Bilal, Cadell, and Calum decided that they would seek out Gadiel and destroy him before he could regroup. I knew it was a futile quest and so I headed off on my own business. I should have realised then, how important