Fiery-eyed and lean, with long hair the color of new grass. He wore a white robe embroidered in blue and red thread, and his face was as pale as milk. His eyes were so dark that he could have been mistaken for dead. But, to his credit, he gave no impression of being undead or demon-possessed; on the contrary, he seemed to be in perfect control of himself.
He had evidently taken some trouble over his appearance—he looked clean and neat—but there was nothing ostentatious about him. It would not have surprised me if he'd shaved his head and worn a tunic like an altar boy.
"Who are you?" I asked, approaching him cautiously, remembering how easily I could have killed him before.
Source
He stepped forward smoothly toward me, his hand outstretched. "I am Malchion," he said calmly. "And you are Cordelia." He smiled, but it was a smile without warmth or humor. "Do not fear me," he told me gently.
I took his offered hand. He was much smaller than I remembered. "You're not what I expected."
"No? What did you expect?"
"A sorcerer in black robes who can shoot fire from his fingertips."
"Yes, well, I'm afraid that's not my style," he said, withdrawing his hand.
"What do you want?"
"It is hard to explain," he replied.
"Perhaps we should sit down."
We found chairs under the trees, near the center of the clearing, and sat facing each other across a table made of branches bound together with twine. The sun was setting, casting deep shadows among the trees; it felt like dusk, even though it wasn't yet night.
"Where are the rest of them?" I asked as soon as we were seated.
Malchion shook his head. "They've gone ahead to make preparations."
I frowned. "Preparations? For what?"
"To see whether your story is true."
I stared at him. "How do they know it's my story?"
He shrugged. "That part doesn't matter. They'll believe whatever it is you tell them."
I thought back to the last time I saw Malchion: standing naked beside an altar, his skin glowing and his eyes burning bright red as he chanted and burned his flesh with magic. That image was still etched into my mind, but now he seemed almost ordinary, dressed in a simple white robe and sitting cross-legged on a rough wooden chair. So different from the monster I had seen only hours ago.
"Why?" I demanded. "Why do they care?"
"Because it affects their lives."
"My life? I don't understand."
He sighed. "The people of this land have been plagued by a great evil for many years. We tried to fight it, but we couldn't win. There is a place where evil came through from elsewhere, and it is spreading its poison among us. Until we destroy it, our lands will continue to suffer."
"But it's not here anymore," I protested. "Not in Haven. And even if it was, why does it concern you?"
"I told you, it has already affected our lives. And now it is coming again. It must be stopped. Now, you tell me: Can you stop it?"
"Of course, I can! Why else would I come all this way?"
He considered me thoughtfully. "Then you must know more than you have said. Tell me, then. How did you find it?"
"I went looking for it. I didn't know where to begin."
"Ah. So you took the wrong road. Many people do."
"Well, I followed the right road just as far as I could."
He nodded slowly. "So you did. And what happened when you got there?"
I hesitated. "I met a man named Darian."
"Darian?"
"Yes. I mean, I knew his name. You told me it once."
"Oh yes. Well, that's good. Very good. A person is usually easier to convince when they can identify the source of their problem."
"So you think I'm making it up?"
"No, no. Of course not. I never doubted you would succeed, because I know you are strong enough. But there is always the possibility of failure. If you are lying, then all your efforts will have been wasted, and you will not get away alive."
I thought back to the thing that had attacked me. It might have been a shadow or something out of a nightmare. I shuddered at the memory, and Malchion reached out and took my hand.
"It will be all right," he told me quietly. "You are doing the right thing, and I am here to help you.
Will you trust me?"
I hesitated. "I suppose so."
He nodded. "Good. Then let us begin."
He held his hand's palm up and began to chant softly. The words sounded strange to me, foreign and unfamiliar, but they meant nothing to me either. I watched as he spoke and chanted, and eventually, I realized that he was conjuring something. A glow appeared between his palms and grew brighter as he chanted. It was a ball of light, hanging suspended in the air, and it pulsed with a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.
When the light was bright enough for me to see clearly, he opened his fingers, and the ball of light burst into life. It was a small globe, slightly larger than a marble, and it hung in front of my eyes. It glowed with soft, steady light, illuminating everything around me.
"Is it working?" I asked nervously.
"Yes. Do you understand?"
I nodded. "Sort of."
"Good. It's not easy to describe.
All I can say is that it is something I created. Something to help us communicate. You remember Darian, don't you?"
"Yes."
"This will enable you to talk to him."
"Will it really work?"
"As well as talking, perhaps better.
When we are finished here, you may go wherever you wish, and he will hear you. He will understand your words."
"That's good," I murmured.
"Now. Where is the evil? What happened after you met Darian?"
"After I talked to him, I was attacked by a monster."
"A beast?"
I nodded. "It was huge, and it looked like a wolf. I managed to kill it, but I was badly injured."
"Did it speak to you?"
I shook my head. "No. Not until later. But it was trying to kill me, and I had no choice. I had to defend myself."
"Very well. Did you find anything in the beast's lair?"
"No. Just its body."
"Did you find anything else there?"
"Just a book."
"A book? What kind of book?"
I frowned. "It was like a journal, but it wasn't written in any language I recognized."
He raised his eyebrows. "Hmm... A book. Do you say it was written in a language you don't recognize? Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure! I read lots of books."
"You say it was written in a language you don't recognize?"
"Yes."
"A language you haven't learned?"
"Yes."
His frown deepened. "Are you certain?"
"I'm sure!"
"How old do you think this book is?"
I thought about it. "Five hundred years?"
"Perhaps older," he said quietly.
"Or younger. It may not be able to be determined. Let us assume it is five hundred years."
"All right."
"And the language it was written in?
Is it a dead language?"
"I don't know."
"Perhaps you should try reading it. At least you might learn something."
"I'll give it a try," I agreed.
"Good. In the meantime, I will summon Darian and ask him to join us."
He closed his eyes and started to chant again, but this time it was in a language I could understand.
"Darian," he called. "Darian, are you there? Come quickly!"
There was no answer. He opened his eyes and waited for several seconds, but still, there was no reply.
"Darian?" he repeated, louder.
"Come," replied the voice of a woman.
I jumped to my feet as a figure emerged from the trees in front of me. It was a young girl—no older than fifteen—with short blond hair and blue eyes. She wore a knee-length white dress and sandals on her bare feet. Her skin was pale, and she looked very delicate.
"Who are you?" I asked.
She smiled. "I am Darian's sister."
"What?" I gaped at her. "You're—you're—"
"Danielle," she interrupted.
"You're... you're..." My voice trailed off.
"Yes. Cordelia. I am pleased to meet you." From here, I'll take it from my father. It'll lead to the great seas where you help dispel the magic and defeat the beast that has held us captive for so many years.
And the book..... What about it? I interrupted. Once we get to the river, you'll meet someone who will help interpret the words. With his help, you'll do your part and we will be free forever. She answered.
Can you do it? Malchion questioned startling me out of my dazed. Yes, I responded.
Let's go then, Danielle said. We walked side by side as we journeyed into the lands of the unknown to right all wrongs. While Malchion stayed behind to continue with the preparation to welcome a new beginning.
