The early years passed quickly, as almost every waking moment of Erstam’s life was occupied with studying the so-called Serpent Isle. The Ophidian ruins had intrigued him since the moment he had spotted them from the bow of the Osprey. He often took other, more seasoned adventurers with him on his treks, exploring the many temples and buildings throughout the land. He made sure to visit his new home in Moonshade, the town which the mages had established on the Isle of Beyond, each summer. There were some students in town who took magic lessons from him when he was around, and he served a mostly ceremonial position on the Council of Mages, as most Adepts knew and respected him as the founder of Serpent Island civilisation.
In his travels, he also took the time to visit Monitor, to hear news from Jenna, his sister who had been among the passengers of the Osprey. Though their talk was brief and often awkward, Erstam had learned that she held the rank of commander among the stalwart knights. She told of the raids of goblins, the despicable green-skinned creatures who roamed the land. Though Erstam had crossed paths with the beasts in his journeys, he had been horrified to learn that they made a meal of their enemies. He thought she was mad to charge into battle against such abominations, and tried to coerce her into a less dangerous profession. Stubborn as always, she would hear none of it.
His few visits to his home had been taxing, as he had endured the Council and their political bickering. Thankfully, the Council was far different from the monarchy of Old Sosaria; though the mages had a king-like Head Councillor, this position was appointed by the other seven members. All laws passed by the Head were also first approved by the rest of Council, allowing for a much more equivocal government, in Erstam’s opinion. The arguing and infighting, however, had always made any law difficult for the leader to pass, often leaving an important issue undecided for months or even years.
Armand, Erstam’s old friend and mentor, had been the first Head Councillor, and had overseen most of the town construction in the early years. He had been a wise, efficient leader, and had managed to calm most of the chaos in the Council. It did not last long, however, for Armand soon became frail with old age. It had been in the spring of Armand’s eleventh year in Council when the old man had simply passed away in his sleep. Erstam felt a deep emptiness when he had gone; the only man who truly cared for and trusted the once naïve, headstrong young Erstam.
Armand’s widowed wife, a wise woman named Xenka, was asked to take over the Council in Armand’s absence. However, she had started having ‘visions’, as she called them, about the end of the world. She would preach these visions often about the town, and though Erstam hardly believed her mad words, he was appalled at the Council’s treatment of the old woman; they banished her from the city, telling her never to spread her lies around again. Erstam finally saw the Council for what they were: self-serving charlatans who simply disposed of anyone who got in the way of their rule.
Just as he had been preparing to leave the Council for good, however, the mages had appointed a new member. A stunningly beautiful and strong willed woman, Drogeni had quickly gained favour within the council. Erstam had met with her several times after Council, often dinning with her at the Blue Boar Inn. They slowly fell in love, marrying five years after they had met, in a quiet, private ceremony. Their times together, though few and often far apart, would be remembered by the mage as both the happiest and most trying of his life.
He caught the boy by the shoulder, his mischievous grin quickly fading as he was turned to meet Erstam’s heavy frown.
“What is thy name, little one?” Erstam asked evenly.
“Torrissio,” he swallowed hard, shaking with fear.
“Very well, Torrissio,” Erstam replied, “What hast thou in thy hand?”
“Nothing!” he cried desperately.
“Show me now!”
The boy reluctantly put out his right hand, showing Erstam a small, ivory tooth.
“A Serpent Tooth!” Erstam exclaimed, “That would have been the fifth one to go missing, had I not stopped thee! Who told thee that thou shouldst steal this?”
“Pothos!” the boy explained, eager to place blame on anyone but himself, “He dared me!”
“Pothos, eh?” Erstam considered.
“Yes! Please do not beat me!” Torrissio cried.
“I shall not beat thee, Torrissio,” Erstam sighed, “This time. See to it that thou dost never come in my house again.”
Just then, Drogeni entered the house. Her muscles lax with exhaustion, she frowned at the sight of her husband arguing with a boy half his size. Grabbing the tooth from the boy’s hand, Erstam let him go. He wasted no time bolting past Drogeni, who simply stood aside to let him pass through the door.
“The children are stealing thy Serpent Teeth again?” Drogeni asked with a sigh.
“Indeed,” Erstam said, “They have no respect for their teacher.”
“Has their teacher respect for them?” she asked. She came into the main room, sitting herself in a one of the three oaken chairs set at the small table in the centre of the room. Erstam, relaxing only slightly, placed himself across from her, meeting her eyes directly with his.
“I respect all who use magic to seek the truth about our universe.”
“Thou didst not answer my question,” Drogeni returned flatly.
“Drogeni, must we do this now?” Erstam desperately tried to change the subject, “Thou art obviously tired.”
“We must, Erstam. I am going on business soon, as thou dost well know,” she now spoke very carefully, “I want Pothos in good hands whilst I am away. I cannot have thee losing thy temper every time one of the children bothers thee.”
“They all test my patience! Canst thou not see?” Erstam implored, “Of course I doth not respect them; they do not earn it!”
“And thou dost not earn theirs!” Drogeni snapped, “We hath spoken of this before, Erstam: thou need not be such an ogre to them. They are merely tweaking thy beard to see what reaction they can draw from thee.”
Erstam shot up from his seat, about to shout a reprimand, but stopped as he came to a sudden realisation. Maybe she was right. He sat again, carefully considering her words.
“They must know who I am,” Erstam said, “I was the one who…”
“Everyone knows that!” Drogeni interrupted, “Does that give thee any right to lash at those who taunt thee?”
Erstam paused, again taken back by her words. As much as Drogeni's bluntness had hurt him over the years, his love for her was only strengthened by her honesty.
“I suppose not,” he said at last, “Though I do wish I knew why they treat me so.”
“Most likely, they have heard of thine experiments,” Drogeni whispered back.
“What experiments?” Erstam suddenly felt the dark shadow of guilt creeping into him.
“The immortality experiments, Erstam. I found thy father’s notebook, torn from its casing, in thy laboratory.”
“You went into my laboratory!” he yelled. The loud slam of his fist on the table startled both of them; Erstam rarely became so enraged when his wife was around.
“Yes, Erstam,” Drogeni’s voice still managed to sound calm and cold, though her eyelids were now wet with tears, “Thou canst keep no secrets from me; I am thy wife, am I not?”
“Indeed, and as mine wife I expect thee to respect mine privacy!”
“And I expect thee to tell me when thou art endangering thine own life.”
“I am always careful with mine experiments, thou knowest that.”
“That did not help thine father, Erstam,” she didn’t even blink as Erstam’s eyes went wide with surprise and anger, “I have read the notes; I know what happened. As thy wife, I can forgive thee for whatever you have done so far. But know this: If thou pursue immortality any further, thou wilt lose my love, and thy son.”
“Thou wouldst leave me?” Erstam asked quietly, “Thou wouldst take mine only son away?”
“I will Erstam,” as she rose from her seat, Erstam could catch the unmistakable glint of tears streaming down her delicate cheeks, “When I get back from this business, I want to see the abandon thy quest. I also want to see that thou hast stopped letting those children pull thy strings.”
Without another word, she stormed to the large, rounded door, throwing it open and slamming it shut behind her.
Outside, Drogeni nearly collapsed with grief. She braced herself against the door as the tears came out. How could she be so foolish as to marry this man? No, that was not the question - she knew exactly why; he had been a charming man of high morals when she had met him. He was not the same as the other mages, was not the double-dealing, self-serving hypocrite that the typical Adepts was. Instead, he had been an honest, decent man who pursued his craft with an unmatched enthusiasm.
His attitude, however, had steadily become more negative over the years, though. Like Drogeni, he was tired of dealing with the other mages, and wanted only a fair and even ruling for the city. Drogeni had fought the greed of the mages herself, and could understand how one could grow tired of them. When they were not plotting to raise their status in Council, they were likely stealing magic secrets from another, all the while furiously guarding that which they learned.
If only Erstam would fight against the scandalous behaviour, as Drogeni had. She had spent years working her way up in the Council, hoping to work her way towards leadership of the city, when she would be in a position to stop the dishonesty. She had tried many times to convince Erstam to pursue similar goals, but he insisted the effort was worthless; the others would not listen to him, he claimed.
Over the years, it had become clear that Erstam cared only for his research. He seemed to have few friends in the town, and rumours of the occult nature of his studies spread like wildfire among the town gossips. She was bound to him though, and would not revoke their marriage even if such a thing were possible. Leaving him was an extreme measure, one she would only take if left with no other choice.
Her fear of the dark tales surrounding Erstam had often led her to covering his tracks, trying to dispel the rumours of research. Also, she had not let it become general knowledge that Pothos was Erstam’s product. She had always found an excuse to keep to two apart in public - if anyone saw them side by side, they would surely note the resemblance.
She knew she should not have to be ashamed of her husband, however, and hoped with all her heart that she could help the so-called Mad Mage improve his reputation.
Erstam stood solemnly, young Pothos at his side as they waved to the rapidly vanishing ship. Long after it was gone, father and son stood on the long pier, silently watching the gentle rolling of the sea.
Erstam’s found himself recalling the many arguments with his wife, and how he and Drogeni still managed to love each other regardless. Their devotion, however, had become more strained with the appearance of their son. Countless nights, it seemed, had been ruined with their heated exchange over the proper raising of the child. Though many compromises had been drawn, their had always been that one line Erstam could not cross - Drogeni would not let him teach magic to his son.
The mage had reluctantly agreed, and in truth, was glad Pothos was learning from Fedabiblio; the man had seemed a wise, devoted scholar, who taught the arcane arts with admirable patience and tolerance.
Perhaps Erstam could aid Pothos’ studies, the mage considered. Though Erstam’s temper was short with the lad for his role in the other children’s constant pestering, perhaps when she returned, he could renew her trust in him.
“Come, Pothos,” Erstam said at long last, “Thou must continue thy studies at the Semanarium.”
“Father?” Pothos asked, “Couldst thou teach me? Fedibiblio’s is boring!”
“We must keep thy mother’s wishes,” Erstam met his son’s curious face with a small grin, “After all, wouldst thou really want thy father as thy teacher?”
Pothos giggled slightly, but abruptly stopped as he realised at whom he was laughing.
“Do not care for that one, eh? Have I ever read thee Lord British’s Tyrannical Adventure?”
Pothos quickly shook his head, obviously confused at his father’s unusual joviality.
“Come, then,” Erstam said, leading the way from the docks, toward the huge stone wall which marked the boundary of Moonshade, “I promise thou wilt laugh at this story.”
Pothos could only shake his head in bewilderment as he followed his father back into the city.
The large laboratory was practically spotless, Erstam thought as he regarded his hours of work. He could actually see the grey stone of the floor, the piles of books and papers which usually covered it now neatly arranged on the shelves mounted onto the tan-coloured walls. His desk, set at the far end, bore only a quill resting in its ink jar, and a burning oil lamp, casting its soft glow across the room. The greatest improvement, however, was the stone pedestal, set in the centre of the stone floor. No trace remained of the countless animal subjects which had been studied. It had taken all day, and much of the evening, to clean the crimson stains from the stone. Though both his assistants had offered to help him, Erstam had insisted on tackling the job himself, bidding the two to return to their homes for the day.
He supposed his hired hands would have to find other jobs soon; he would no longer require their services. He could put away his search, would gladly revoke any chance of immortality if it meant that Drogeni would love him. He would even endure the teasing of the students if it meant she would stand at his side.
A loud rapping startled him from his thoughts. Walking from his laboratory, into the main room of his house, he made his way around the dinner table to the door. Standing outside the door, drenched and dishevelled from a spring rainstorm which must have started while Erstam had been cleaning, was a young man, obviously out of breath from running.
“Milord,” the man gasped, “I bring news from abroad.”
“Please, do come in,” Erstam could hardly mistake the urgency, and dread, in the young man’s voice; his tidings were obviously not pleasant. He let the boy come in the threshold, shutting the door behind him.
“I bring news of Mistress Drogeni,” the man hesitated, “As thou didst request.”
“Get it out, please,” Erstam said quietly.
“She passed through Monitor two months ago, sir,” the man took a deep breath, “She hath not been seen since. None from Monitor, the Sleeping Bull, or Fawn have reported seeing her.”
“I see,” he suddenly felt a dreadful loneliness creep into him, threatening to crush his spirits and hopes.
“Dost thou wish more updates?” the messenger asked softly.
“Come to me only if she is found,” Erstam reached into his simple black robe, pulling some guilders from a hidden pocket. As he placed the money in the messenger’s hand, he met his eyes carefully, continuing, “Either alive or otherwise, I want thee to come to me, understand?”
“Of course, milord,” the messenger again hesitated, and began to fidget nervously with his hands.
“What is it?” Erstam demanded, his already diminished patience strained to its breaking point.
“The knights of Monitor recently began an assault on the goblins. Jenna was their leader,” he stammered, “She, also, hath not returned.”
“Mine sister!” Erstam exclaimed, hot anger now boiling in his heart, “Leave at once! Thou canst not help with what must now be done!”
The sentries were roused by his approach through the dark forest, but it hardly mattered. Just as they raised their spears, the Mad Mage raised his hand, shouting arcane words. Two bright red bolts sprang from the outstretched fingers, their bright glow reflecting from the damp trees at the edges of the grass clearing, as they shot toward their targets. Each hit a goblin guard, burning deep, bloody holes into their chests. As they fell to the ground with loud shrieks of agony, a score of their companions appeared from behind the trees.
Erstam did not give them time to charge; with another incantation, he sent an blazing orange fireball to the centre of the mob of goblins. The explosion from its impact lit up the night forest, and sent scorched goblins flying in every direction. Of the creatures not badly hurt, a few managed a vicious, if haphazard, charge at the mage. Their spears were within inches of skewering him, when the mage simply vanished in a flash of light.
Appearing behind the bewildered goblins, Erstam drew a dagger from his cloak. He stabbed the nearest goblin, sinking his blade between its shoulder blades. The others turned on him, Erstam pulling the dagger free just as they again raised their weapons at him. He was outnumbered at least ten to one, and his spell power was beginning to diminish. Hardly worried, he reached out with his magic to the surrounding forest, calling out to the creatures of the night.
The goblins screamed as fifteen vicious wolves bounded into the clearing. They attacked Erstam’s foes, commanded by Erstam’s spell to hunt the goblins in place of their usual quarry of rabbits and deer. Though his power was now almost completely exhausted, Erstam smiled as he watched the goblins scatter in every direction as the wolves took them down. Not too smart, he mused. If the goblins stood their ground, their spears, if wielded correctly, could dispatch the wolves. However, goblins were always cowardly, attacking only when victory seemed certain.
Ignoring their screams as they tried, quite futilely, to outrun the wolves, Erstam made his way toward the light of the goblin campfires. As he entered their encampment, his mouth went wide.
Strewn about the rocky clearing were human body parts; bloody limbs, heads, and torsos, some with large bites taken by hungry, sharp teeth. Five campfires lit the mess, four small fires set in a rough circle around a larger fifth. Each bore a makeshift spit, hastily crafted from wood, and from each of these hung a human body, stripped of clothing. Their bodies half cooked, none were now alive - though they had been when they were tied, their struggle against the ropes indicated by deep scars on their ankles and wrists.
At last, Erstam spotted the cause of his rage. Stepping over the various remains of humans, he made his way past the blood stained rocks to stand in front of the large central fire. Her body was horribly charred, and lined with gashes, but he could still make out her face. Jenna.
The five fires suddenly extinguished in a cloud of thick smoke, snuffed out by the last of Erstam’s magic. His face betraying no emotion, and ignoring the choking stench of the smoke and cooked flesh, he quickly untied the prone body, slinging it over his shoulder. He quickly left the camp without looking back.
A mournful howl echoed through the forest just as Erstam reached its eastern boundary. A thin, morbid smile stretched across his face. The wolves had won; any remaining goblins would stay far away from humans for a long time after this bloody night.
He had one final task before he could get some much needed rest. Finally arriving at the long cobblestone highway, not far to the south gate of the port town of Fawn, he turned to walk the long road to Monitor.
He had little sense of the passing time as he followed the path, lit only by the dim light of a small torch Erstam carried in his free hand. He did not know what he would do if any creature decided to attack now, but he did not care. I must make it, he prayed, She must be remembered.
As he at last came to the outer gate of Monitor, the sky overhead was brightening, the sun’s rays peeking from over the eastern horizon.
“Who goes there?” demanded a harsh voice from the other side of the iron portcullis.
“I am Erstam, mage of Moonshade,” he responded, “I carry the remains of Jenna.”
“Commander Jenna!” he exclaimed. Without another word, the knight quickly worked the winch, drawing the portcullis up into the stone archway.
The knight took Jenna’s body, calling out to the other guards. As they saw the body, and the man who had brought it, they bowed deeply to Erstam.
“You must have fought bravely, milord,” one knight said, “One man against an army of goblin scoundrels.”
“I did only as I had to had to,” he spoke quietly, “Mine vengeance is paid.”
That Jenna had received a proper burial, and a statue had been commissioned in her honour were Erstam’s only comforting thoughts. The years dragged as he brooded over her loss, and that of his one true love, Drogeni. She never returned, and Erstam knew she never would.
He delved deeper into his studies, once again treading into the dark territory his late father had pioneered. Moonshade and its pompous Council of Mages grew more distant, Erstam having abandoned the petty bickering to further his travels and studies. When news of the Council reached his ears, it was rarely pleasant: most of it told of mages who were either exiled or executed when they conducted business considered dangerous by the Adepts.
Pothos came home only for supper and bed, avoiding his father as much as possible. As he grew to the age were he could care for himself, Erstam made preparations to leave Moonshade for good. On a secluded island north of the Isle of Beyond, Erstam had found the perfect place for his new home. The children’s pranks, played more often than ever before, had left him with only a few serpent teeth. Nonetheless, they were enough to allow him to teleport to Moonshade, should he decide to visit again. Doubtful, but the gate on his island would no doubt prove useful to his travels.
When he heard the Council had been taken over by a power-hungry Filbercio, Erstam knew it was time to leave. Having taught the now-powerful adept, Erstam knew he would bring nothing but shame and scandal to his office. Filbercio had already claimed the monarch-like position of “Magelord”, as he called it, and decreed that any who opposed him would be imprisoned. He had called for a new dungeon to be built for just this purpose, constructed, ironically enough, from the abandoned mines of the Freedom Mountains.
Nearly a decade after the loss of Drogeni, he finally had all important equipment and books moved to their new place in his isolated home. He gave the care of his family property in Moonshade to Pothos, who now held the job of gathering, preparing, and selling reagents for the town. Erstam was inwardly proud of the boy - though he was not an Adept, an apothecary played a role of great importance to mages. Only a few, very powerful Adepts in all of known history had transcended the need for reagents; to ordinary mages, they were as essential as food and drink.
Having bid a brief farewell to his son, wishing him luck with his new profession, Erstam wandered through the corrupt town, paying little attention to the surroundings and passers-by. As he came to the serpent gate at the south wall, he remembered one final person to whom he should speak. Turning to his right, he came to the metal door of a large stone building. He rapped his fist against it.
The door was answered by Fedabiblio, a wise, even tempered man who had proven to be an excellent teacher for young mages.
“Erstam,” he said, “Mine door is always open; there is no need to knock.”
“Fedabiblio,” Erstam returned, matching the other’s small smile, “I came to thank thee for teaching Pothos. Thou shouldst know that I am leaving town.”
“Ah, but yes,” he said, shaking his head with displeasure, “The mages do not treat thee well, I hear. Thou art widely known as …”
“The Mad Mage,” Erstam cut him off, “Yes, I know. I have come to ask thee keep an eye out for Pothos while I am gone. If thou canst, help him avoid the stain of rumours surrounding me.”
“Ah, but your mind is questing again, Erstam,” he said, “Thou seekest the answers of life and death itself, according to town gossip. Perhaps thou shouldst seek the abbey that old Xenka built when she was banished by the Council; the monks are said to dabble in such mysteries.”
“I have no desire to live as a monk,” Erstam replied, “Anyway, I doubt they would approve of my motives.”
“Whatever thou dost wish, Erstam,” the scholar said with a sigh, “Take care, and do visit again some time.”
Erstam shook his hand, and turned back to the serpent gate. He heard the metal door close behind him as he walked onto the ancient cobblestone, one of the many remnants of an ancient, mysterious culture. Carved into its surface was a menacing serpent’s head, marking the ancient teleporter which would now take him to his island. The greatest mystery of all lay beyond this serpent gate.
He would solve that mystery. He would cheat death itself.
© 1999 Chris Edwards