The Wizard at the Tower of Elpris

The bearded man tapped the toe of his hide skin boot against the ground, beating the dried mud from them. He pulled the holey, russet cloak tighter against his bare neck to shelter himself from the depraved winds that blew by. The wind had become almost unbearable to breath in that night. Ever since he had entered these parts, days away from the village Charryenol in the lands of Numishaff, an eastern gale grew stronger. Light rain fell from the sky, piercing the tree tops and trickling down his chilled face to the tip of his chin. The dark, puffy clouds moved fiercely through the night coiling around the moon which had accompanied him this far. Now in the sky as a shadow, lost. It, on this night, would be of no more use to him.

He walked through the trees that swung low in the eerie forest. The pulpy branches lightly stroked the top of his head, brushing his loose frizz of hair from side to side. His eyes burned, faintly watering from the harsh howls gusting past him. It had been at least two days since the man had rested. He grew weary as he approached his destination.

Tightly gripped in the palm of his hand were reins bitted into the large mouth of a broad mare trotting rhythmically behind him. On the animals back, hidden away under spotted hides was a young bronze haired boy sheltered from the rainfall.

The man brushed his face of the loose dirt as they reached the clearing within the trees. A thin light departed from the blackness inside the clouds and an illuminating light danced across a tall, slender tower before them. Within the middle of the land it stood, a colossal shimmering structure towering high into the obscurity that clouded above.

The perfectly crafted stones that this luxurious tower had been created from was unknown to the man. In all the many years that he had worked with stone and metal, he’d never seen such faultlessness in a piece of architecture such as this one. The series of vines spiraled around the diamond details printed on the tower. Even in its age, it glowed with a distinct, powerful gleam.

The same stunning illumination radiated unreformed and unbroken toward the open land onto the green grass and plants sprouting from the life force the tower gave forth.

After a long, hard stare, the man tossed his arm over his shoulder delicately yanking the reins.

“Does this journey end?” a sound resonated from the hides.

The man walked silently with his head low, watching the steps of his feet.

The boy peeked his head out from under the skins and leaned over the horses neck. He brushed the red curls from his face and looked down to the hefty man.

“You keep your tongue still, the end draws near soon enough, boy.”

“Are we going to that white place?”

“Do not speak child. The very words that trail from your lips summon something I do not wish to bring upon us!”

The mare trotted, following almost effortlessly. The elder man, however, seemed more and more reluctant as they grew closer. The boy threw the skins back over his head covering all of him, but a crack through which he peaked from inside with his eyes. The glistening light drew a smile from his face and lit a glimmer in his young eye. It sent a soft, yet deep feeling up the back of his spine through his arms and down to the tips of his toes. The chills made him twitch softly, he recognized a smile that spread over his face. He chuckled inaudibly from within himself .

“Come,” said the man, “You are coming with me.”

“In there?” the boy said reaching out from the hides and pointing at the structure with his finger. A loud rattle of thunder echoed from under them. The elder craftsman stared with a dark glare casting down onto the boy. His brows curled on his head, cupping his narrow eyes. The boys arm fell against the mare and he dropped the hides back over his head. He sheltered himself from the displeased man, gulping the forgotten saliva in his throat, and laid back against the horse.

The presence of the rain grew increasingly thicker than before. The droplets poured down heavily on them shattering loudly against their shimmering skin. The air had become hot and sticky as they reached the tower.

The stern man clenched the reins in his hairy fist and thrust it loudly against the iron door. The loud thumping of his hand echoed through the iron door as he hit it, rick-a-shaying off into the trees. Silence trailed closely behind.

The birds near by, as if from no where, ceased to chirp. The trees, like all else, seemed to had forgotten to sway in the gusting wind. It was silent and still; to long the quiet over took with only their deep breathing for company to their ears. Within the awkward silence, the man struck the door once more, harder than before.

“Womn, Hinavte?” Bis’Nachina Eina!”

The boy shivered under the hides beyond the door. Quickly, he clenched the comfort of the material tighter against his back, his light, sea blue eyes peered out from the small hole he made within the haven.

The elder man cleared his throat, looking down quickly to his feet. He cupped his hand over his mouth and quickly replied, “Great sir, I speak only the tongue of man!” He hollered fiercely trying to speak over the drizzles of rain.

“Who comes? Speak quickly!” the voice echoed.

The man shuddered slightly and answered with a slur in his tongue that had not been with him before, “I am Hanrol, Son of Haynyotte, craftsman of Charryenol. That’s South of here, my lord!”

The boy’s mouth slightly dropped open with a blank expression that grew on his face. He thought he was dreaming when he peered at the elder man. The man’s cruel and harsh nature seemed to have forsaken him.

“Hanrol,” the voice resonated, “I sense you are not alone. Who accompanies you?”

“Who is with me?” Hanrol questioned pointing over his shoulder behind him as he talked to the iron barrier. “This is the son of Ghrevil, my lord.”

“What is your business here, Hanrol?”

“We seek the wise wizard of Aestvinook, Eripathia, Loraduff.”

It grew quiet again.

“Sir?” Hanrol gasped slightly.

The ground slowly rumbled below his feet. The iron doors rubbed against each other, squealing, crackling, as it slowly opened up, parting from one another. Gusting out from the wide open door was a bright light, bright like that of the sun, which walked toward them. The man breathed heavily and stood in awe with his one free arm across his face. His eyes squinted, peering through the small cracks his eye lids left for him. The white figure walked toward them, as if the very air was its stepping stones out onto the forest floor. Then, in a matter of an instant, it ceased suddenly and before them stood a slender young man, cloaked in blue. In his left hand he held a wooden staff that radiated.

“It is wise, Hanrol son of Haynyotte, that you have come. Enter, I welcome you on this day.”

Hanrol started to walk toward the opening before him then stopped, “and the boy?”

The wizard turned his head slightly over his shoulder and looked at the mare, “Of course, it is him that I have been waiting for.”