Time ~ Gyrax

Time  ~  Gyrax

By Len Morgan

Gyrax expired air!  The air shimmered with the heat of her breath.   For several moments an eerie silence spread o’er the glade, punctuated by the furtive scuttling of a small foraging rodent.   He’d strayed unwittingly over the periphery of the kill zone.   He spotted a fat worm dancing invitingly just beyond his reach.

He closed rapidly, locking onto it with sharp gnawing teeth, seeking to tease it from its hole.   Unaware of the approach of others either side.   The lure slipped out of his grasp and retreated once again tantalisingly just out of reach.   His small mind failed to register danger and he licked the thick sticky sweet worms slime from his whiskers and paws before continuing his assault.   The normally timid wary creature followed its prey and its position became even more precarious.   Slimy tentacles closed in all around him, like a nest.   Through blurred vision, he just registered the once slender worm had now grown much fatter flattening like a paddle.   The nerve agent occurred naturally in the sticky mucous on the tentacles and was doing its deadly work.   At the very last instant, he realised his predicament, but too late to do anything about it.   His limbs were tired and sluggish, he could feel the tendrils wrapping about him, dragging him towards the central pit – the maw of the Gyrax.   Unconscious but still alive he was taken into her dark foetid open gullet.   Down, down he went unable to struggle, into the larder of the oldest creature still living, the last of her kind in the universe.  

Gyrax expired!   She was delighted by the tiny spark of terror, in the rodents mind, but there was other larger prey out there and it was coming closer by the second.   The air shimmered, for several minutes.   Closer, closer…

.-...-.

He was naked as a new-born, save for the emerald ring on the middle finger of his left hand.  Light from the greenstone pulsed in time with his heartbeat, he knew nothing.   He possessed nothing but a sixth sense born of the regression process.   He felt a sudden sense of imminent danger and jumped back several paces.   Twenty yards ahead the air shimmered, a deafening cry of frustration accompanied the beating of tentacles lashing the spot he’d occupied.   He sensed the danger, without recalling a similar encounter, somewhere back in the future.   He watched as the tentacles settled back amongst the flora, and stored the memory, first of many.

“Be wary boy!    This is the lair of the Gyrax, she has been here since the dawn of time and is not particular who or what she eats.”   The boy turned, surprised by a grey-bearded man who had appeared beside him without warning. 

“Who are you,” he demanded, staring up into the intense slate grey eyes. He showed no fear and exuding a confidence he didn’t feel.

The tall slim elderly man switched the stave from left to right hand and smiled, childlike.

“Would you be seeking employment?” he asked ignoring both the question and the boy’s nakedness.   “I have need of an acolyte.   An apprentice to fetch, carry and assist me in the performance of my craft.   In return, I will provide you with food, shelter, and I will teach you all I know of the Forbidden Arts.”

“Forbidden, by whom?”

“A straight question boy, deserving of a straight answer.   Forbidden by those who could never conjure or control true power themselves,” he tousled the boy’s hair and smiled.   “My name is Reynon, it’s a word of ancient power.   Like you, I arrived here from the future.”

“You know how I came here?”

Again Reynon ignored his question, “What is your name boy?”

“I… I don’t know…”

“Then I shall call you Morlen if that meets with your approval it’s another ancient name.” 

The young man paused and reflected.  “It sounds just fine sir.”

“Master!   You are now my acolyte, an apprenticed magician, of the fifth order. Now follow me, to your new home.”

“Tell me master Reynon, how do I reach the fourth-order?”

“You just did, simply by asking the question.”   They walked on in silence for a while.

“Then will you tell me how I can reach the third level?”

“That is not so easy.   You will need to demonstrate a little talent, self-control, and empathy with the minds of other creatures.   In addition, you need to display a thorough knowledge of the sciences, coupled with control and manipulation of natural processes.”

“So where do I start?” Morlen asked with enthusiasm.   A low thatched building came into view surrounded by ancient woodland on three sides and a fast-flowing stream on the other.

“Take a bucket from the rear of the house and fill it with water from the stream.  Do you see that cauldron? Three buckets should fill it, light a fire beneath the cauldron.   Through the side door is a root cellar--”

“What is a root cellar?”

Reynon was exasperated, “Don’t you know anything boy?   Can you not cook?   Am I forced to present an acolyte who can’t cook, to the Grande Assembly of Mages?”   Oh, the indignity of it!  He thought.   “Don’t despair; we have two years before the encounter on Enchanters Island.”  

“You don’t want me here,” said Morlen.

“I never said that--”

“Oh the Indignity of it!”   Morlen parodied.

“I did not speak those words; mayhap you do have a modicum…”  

"Follow me he said," entering the house he opened a chest, "in here you will find suitable garb.  "Dress and follow me through that door, you have much to learn."

 Morlen followed.

"Sit." said Reynon, taking a pack of cards, from a pocket in his robe.  He randomly cut the cards, what is this, he thought.

“A star.”

And this, Reynon cut again.

“A square.”

And…

“Another star, the sun.”

“How do you know the sun is a star?”

I… I don’t know, but it’s true master!” Morlen said with conviction.

“Come let’s find you something to eat,” said Reynon changing the subject.

Continues see Acolyte/...

Copyright Len Morgan