gemini (prologue)

Prologue

The old man awoke, slowly opening his usually bespectacled eyes. This was a surprisingly difficult task - his left eyelid was swollen and incredibly bloodied and the natural healing juices it had released in order to repair the damage had congealed over the duration of his unconsciousness, resulting in a pair of glued eyelids. This, the frustrating lack of spectacles, and the thunderous tattoo which beat in his head hindered his ability to focus to the point where he perceived himself to be surrounded purely by a light-consuming mist.

After a short time, he remembered who he was and, irritated by his stupidity, berated himself with the incoherent mumble of an aged man. He waved a sinewy hand; the slender, long-nailed fingers flexed lazily in a flourishing swirl and a small green spark emanated from the tips of his digits. It was born as a small stream of green light and then cleaved to form the shape of a chevron; it flew as a bird until it reached his face where its body split in half and one wisp of verdant mist fell upon his eye and the other entered the ear canal in order to locate and soothe his brain.

The old man sighed as he struggled to his feet, his arthritic joints causing him to emit a groan which deepened as he became aware that the heel of his shoe had trapped the hem of the lengthy, ragged cloak that he was wearing, causing him to trip slightly. Shuffling along, he sought the missing spectacles that lay, miraculously unbroken, on the opposite side of his lonely, dingy cell. The arms of the spectacles cupped the shells of his oversized ears and revealed the world around him in stark focus.

Upon inspection, the tiny cell had one feature, (other than its surrounding walls, which were identical): in the wall to the left of the wizard was a small window with three iron bars, seemingly put in place to prevent entry or escape. The old man smiled; his adversary had an interesting sense of humour. The window, he knew, was a mirage. For a wizard of his age and experience, removal of a few bars and elevation through the gap would have been mere child’s play, for this wizard was one of the oldest and wisest of all. Partly for amusement and partly out of curiosity, he blinked twice and held his open palm towards the solitary window. A purple jet of energy – more robust than the healing green mist he had previously employed – shot fervently from his wizened hand and hurtled towards the small casement. It ricocheted off the iron bars and met the opposite wall forming, in a perfect mirror image, another window with three glinting iron bars. In his soul he felt his adversary’s mocking laughter.

The other was growing in power, to an extent that even the old wizard in the cell could not comprehend; this was why he had been thrown off guard, this was how he had managed to be defeated in their one-on-one combat. However his enemy had no desire to completely eradicate this wizard. The old man knew that he would be called upon to aid his enemy with administering Old Magic, a Magic too pure for one with such a dead heart; he knew that there would be many attempts to destroy his mind, to make him wilt and turn to Darkness. This was the reason, he concluded, that had been granted windows in his chamber. The world was succumbing to Evil and he was to watch its deterioration day after day. The more he attempted to rebel against it by fighting for an escape, the more he would see of the world; the cell had been enchanted to produce more casements if spells were cast, until, finally, its occupant was suspended in a cage amidst the dying world. In this way, he would be shown that there was no other option but to succumb. Yet, the incarcerated wizard understood that those beings whose hearts and minds had been turned to evil deeds were accustomed to ignoring small, seemingly inconsequential, actions. The vanity of powerful creatures would convince them of their own infallibility.

As the old man comforted himself on the cold, bare floor, arranging his brown cloak beneath him as a cushion, his grey eyes stared out of the original window. They glistened with excitement as he read the stars; his astronomy was somewhat rusty, yet he was convinced that the astral powers had moved into the sign of Gemini. He believed that, on that very night, the only chance to save the world and rid it of Evil was being born.

- the pen’s scratching halts: ‘how these things came to pass, one could never have predicted, one could have tried no harder’ he mumbles, comforting himself, ‘the arrogance of men interrupts destiny; this world had not been created by higher forms with the intention of finding destruction at the hands of its selfish inhabitants, they were supposed to fight it…but when one is here what more can one do?’; sighing, aching, grumbling, he huddles over the parchment, and begins his tale –