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

weird. What sort of crazy place is this? A mixture of ancient and modern. Other staff brought them a sumptuous feast, based on local produce, with a bottle of fine red wine. As they ate, they chatted about this and that as if they were old friends, totally comfortable in each other’s company. After dinner, Simon took a long relaxing bath and slipped into his soft bed. He slept long and woke completely refreshed. For the first time in ages he was untroubled by dreams.

Next morning, he found there were new clothes laid out for him. As he dressed, he felt like he was donning a new skin, beginning a new part of his life – a part that had been preordained for him. Why do I feel like this? Is it this place? Does it affect people like Manfred said? After dressing, he looked at himself in the ornate full-length mirror that took pride of place on one wall of his room. He was startled by his reflection. His face, still rather pale but now tanned by the exposure to so much sun, seemed more handsome than he remembered. His bright orange hair was now long and flowing. Must be good conditioner. I don’t think I’ll cut it just yet. His frame, while still tall and skinny, seemed to suit the leather trousers with the large silver-buckled belt, long-sleeved white cotton shirt, and leather jerkin. He pulled on long boots, hung a woollen cloak around his shoulders, and fastened it with a silver brooch that matched his belt buckle. He stole another glance in the mirror before heading off in search of Jhamed and breakfast. What a handsome devil. Simon smiled.

Both Manfred and Jhamed made approving noises when he found them. “You just need one more thing, to set off your outfit,” Jhamed said. Simon looked at him questioningly.

“Enough, Jhamed!” Manfred interrupted. “There’ll be time for that later. You may accompany Simon to the meeting today. I have a feeling that your destinies are closely intertwined and you have the right to hear first-hand things that will affect you deeply.”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Jhamed was lost for words. Simon laughed, though and said, “That means you’ll be classed as one of the Wise! No more jokes at their expense.”

Manfred began as if to question exactly what jokes Jhamed had been making, but clearly thought better of it. “Be in the Great Hall in one hour from now,” he ordered before hurrying away.

They were the first to arrive. When they entered the Great Hall, Simon felt as though they were entering a cross between a great cathedral and a movie set filming Arthurian Legend. The room was enormous and occupied the whole of the domed section of The Keep. The ceiling of the dome towered at least fifty metres above them. The room itself was circular and must have measured a good fifty or sixty metres across. If the roof opened, you could play a game of cricket in here. At the centre of the room was a huge round table. It was big enough to seat fifty people with comfort. It was made from the same obsidian material of the walls and it seemed to Simon that it grew from the floor of the chamber like a giant mushroom. The centre of the table was cut out and a few ornately carved wooden seats were provided around both the inner and outer circumferences. Gaps at ninety degrees segregated the table into four quarters. The seats were positioned in pairs next to giant letters carved into the table. Simon could see each letter of the alphabet – fifty-two places in all, but only five seats evident. There was a gap for access and then on a raised platform another set of seats and tables circled the round table. Like a theatre, more rows of seats rose above them, catering for a large audience. A raised dais in the hole in the centre of the table seemed to be for the speaker. The room was illuminated by natural light from floor to ceiling windows around most of the circumference. The windows were made of stained glass and seemed to consist mostly of heroic scenes of battle. Panels alongside each window and high above in the ceiling provided artificial lighting. Better than the lights at the MCG.

Simon and Jhamed took their seats in the raised platform area. Decorated place cards indicated where they were to sit. They took their seats, watched and waited. The main double doors of the chamber, made of solid oak, swung slowly open and a group of people solemnly entered the chamber in silent single file. Manfred, dressed as always in his grey cloak, was at their head. He carried his staff before him. Behind him shuffled another, dressed like Manfred and one who could easily be taken for his brother, holding a similar staff. Then followed the motliest crew of people Simon had ever set eyes on. Simon counted nineteen individuals. The two wizards moved to the inside circle of the round table. Manfred sat opposite the letter M. The second wizard sat next to the letter Z. The others moved to the area where Simon and Jhamed were sitting. They too had place cards indicating where they should sit. As they passed by, Simon noticed that they stole furtive glances at him, but quickly bowed their heads and wouldn’t make eye contact. Everyone sat down. No one spoke.

After what seemed to Simon like several minutes, Manfred stood and smote the floor with his staff. The artificial room lights went out, so that the chamber was illuminated only by the dappled light entering via the windows. At the same time, Manfred appeared on the dais, as a figure at least three times his normal size. He hadn’t actually moved there, Simon realised. It must be a hologram. Directly above his head, high on the ceiling a strange symbol became illuminated. Simon looked at it closely. It was very simple and was in a white material that gave it stark contrast against the black roof. It’s a huge set of scales. The symbol did indeed seem to be a set of scales as might be used by a jeweller, with two pans that balanced against each other. One pan had a large ornate letter L carved above it, while the second had an equally large C. The scales were tilted halfway towards C.

Manfred spoke. “Welcome, members of the Council of the Wise and invited guests, to the seven hundred and seventy seventh meeting of the Council. In the early days, near the Beginning, the Council met often. Unfortunately, it hasn’t met in recent times, indeed for many millennia since the last of the Seven Great Sages passed to stone. Most of the Wise Ones have gone to their eternal rest and greeted you today as you arrived along the Avenue of Heroes. Of those that have not given up the struggle only I, Manfred, and Zenethyr have answered the summons to this meeting.” Manfred indicated the three empty chairs on the outside of the table. “It bodes ill that Satania’s representatives have either been prevented from attending or have chosen not to attend.”

He paused for a moment and seemed to scan the audience that was distributed around the upper circle. “Invited guests, you have been asked to join the Council today because each of you represents a key constituency of FirstWorld. I have also taken the liberty to invite Simon Redhead, who hails from another dimension of the multiverse. It is my belief that Simon will play a significant role in the Final Days and indeed that our hope rests with him.” Simon blushed and looked at the floor. How can I help them? I have no power or skills. Manfred must be out of his mind.

“With him is Jhamed al Suraqi, Companion of Heroes, and a great helper to wizards who are getting frail and forgetful. His destiny is linked to Simon’s. Both, I believe, will finally rest in the Avenue of Heroes.” Jhamed was not shy and he rose and removed his hat. He bowed several times in the directions of all of the seated guests, his hair cascading over his face and muffling the comments he was muttering. Simon only caught the words “dogsbody” and “about time.” Manfred went on, “Before we continue, I offer myself as Chairman of the Council. It is not a role that I have filled before, but the greatest of us have long gone to stone. Of those here today, only Zenethyr also has claim.”

Manfred sat down and Zenethyr rose. Immediately, he appeared to be on the central dais, towering over them all. He wore a grey cloak and carried a simple wooden staff. His flowing grey hair and beard made him look very much like Manfred. When he spoke though, Simon noticed subtle differences of expression and a lack of fire behind his eyes.

“I attend today because it is stipulated that I must. I have had little interest in the affairs of men for millennia. I am tired to my bones and impatient for my eternal rest. I wait for the day that I may take my appointed place in the Avenue of Heroes. I fear that I must have some destiny to fulfil before it can be so. I welcome the Final Battle. I cede the Chair to Manfred, though he be named Manfred the Fool by the seven hundred and seventy sixth Council.” Zenethyr sat down. He’s not like Manfred at all. His eyes are pale and empty. He is just waiting to die. Why was Manfred called a fool?

Manfred rose and again took central stage. “I accept, with humility, the position of Chair of the Council of the Wise. It is sad indeed that it comes to me by default, as the last Wizard on FirstWorld who both still lives and sees some hope for the future. Perhaps, had the last Council taken heed of my warnings instead of branding me a fool we would not have come to this? But, that is done and cannot, I fear, be undone. My foresight is clouded where other wizards are concerned, but I hope and believe that Zenethyr has a role to play in this ere it is all over.”

He paused again and looked around the chamber. Everyone still sat in silence, as if in awe of the occasion. Finally, he spoke again in formal tones. “Let the record commence and show that I, Manfred the Magician, call to order the seven hundred and seventy seventh Council of the Wise held in the Great Hall of the Wise at Melasurej on the twenty seventh day of the month of Late Spring in the year of fifty thousand, five hundred and six.” Wow, this place is really old. Manfred shot Simon a glance that conveyed, “Concentrate!”

“I now ask that each of you, with the exception of Simon and Jhamed, introduce yourself and give us a very brief summary of your journey here and the current situation in your area. Please tell us of any strange events that have occurred recently. The Balance has tipped towards Chaos. The time of the Final Battle for Elannort may be upon us. The fate of the multiverse may be in our hands. Spare nothing that may be of importance.”

Simon and Jhamed were fascinated as they listened, as one after the other the guests stood and spoke. As each one stood, his or her hologram was automatically displayed on the central platform. Simon was unaware of FirstWorld’s geography, but as the speakers went on, he began to draw a simple map in his mind.

The first person to stand was dressed in a way that Simon imagined a medieval warrior would be dressed. He was wearing plain clothing, simple brown trousers and a cream shirt, but on top of that, he had chain mail. At his belt, he carried a sheathed