THOMAS KNIGHT believes in magic, especially at this time of year. He wouldn't be surprised if Santa himself descended from the night sky and asked for directions to the nearest reindeer servicing depot. Tonight, Tom will discover that magic is real...
The eerie glow of the burning torches threw dancing shadows on the rough stone walls of the meeting chamber. The big wooden door creaked open. A robed figure hurried through and rushed over to his assigned place at the large round table from around which twelve pairs of eyes watched him.
"Now that we are all present," said the Patriarch, whose beard was the longest by a clear foot. "I hereby convene the final convocation of elders, on this, the fifty-first day of the third quarter of Chemise in the age of Pisces, to..."
"It's only the forty-eighth day of the third quarter of Chemise," said the person on his right.
"No, he's right. It's the fifty-first," said someone else.
"Chemise? I thought we were still in Camisole," said the most elderly elder.
"Camisole! That was three eras ago. Silly old f..."
"Brothers, please," cried the Patriarch, "I convene this convocation of the elders to confirm the proposal made at our last meeting.
"Brethren, as the last remaining elders of Iragoth, and before we leave this plane of existence to join with our brothers in the eternal..."
"Oh, get on with it," someone heckled.
"..Eh-hem... Right... You have all had time to ponder this grave situation. Do we all agree to unite the cypher of the Dragon's Tome and hide it in the safe and secure repository as discussed at the coffee morning last week?"
"It is really necessary, I suppose? I mean, it is a little drastic, don't you think?" asked the late arrival.
"Sputillius, we can't allow the refugees from the other realm to get their hands on it. Their magic is young, and the persecution they suffered for it will taint them for many years to come. They will fill the void we leave here on Lucifria, but they must not be permitted to discover the secrets of the Tome. Its power will corrupt them."
"Perhaps we could hide it; somewhere here; under a gargoyle, perhaps."
"Oi! Who told you where I hide my 'Warlocks and Wagons' scrolls?"
"No one."
"Dementius! Warlocks and Wagons! I'd never have thought it."
"Brethren!" the Patriarch cried. "You have read the signs. If the prophecy is fulfilled and the great evil returns to these lands, the Tome will give it the power to destroy this and all other worlds. That is a legacy we have no right to leave."
"Quite right! Well said, Septus-Elrik," said the man at his right, then mumbled to himself about a new hiding place for his scrolls.
"If there is that much at stake it should be destroyed," said a grumpy-looking, red-faced fellow. "Throw the darn thing in the well."
"No," said Septus-Elrik quietly.
"Why not?" asked Red Face. "It's the only way to be sure of keeping it out of the hands of those who would surely use it for evil."
"Because," said Septus-Elrik solemnly. "If the prophecy is fulfilled and the Saviour of Iragoth returns to fight the evil again, he will need the power of the Tome to save the universe from eternal darkness."
Everyone sat for a moment, looking silently at each other.
Eventually, Dementius spoke, "Well, I'm with old Septic," he said.
"Brethren, you have heard the proposition, you will now signify your consent in the usual manner," said Septus-Elrik.
Slowly hands began to raise, some reluctantly, but eventually all thirteen elders voted in favour.
"Then it is agreed. Gentlemen your places, please."
The old berobed men, all with white hair and beards of varying lengths got to their feet and placed their hands on the table. Septus-Elrik opened a small wooden box in front of him and took out an oval stone inscribed with strange runes, which he placed in the centre of the table. Taking up his position with the others, he closed his eyes and began to chant a rhythmic incantation.
The others listened for a moment and then joined in one by one.
When the thirteenth man had joined the chant, a crystal worn on a cord around each of their necks began to glow. Brighter and brighter they shone until a shaft of light burst from the Patriarch's crystal to the stone in the centre of the table. In a clockwise direction, similar beams came from each of the other twelve jewels in turn, each ray of light pulsating as if something was passing from man to stone. The stone rose into the air revolving slowly as it was endowed with the mystical energy. It too began to glow, like a dynamo-powered bicycle light, the dim glow growing brighter the faster it turned. Gradually the stone started to lose its shape, collapsing in on itself till it was nothing more than a point of piercing light no bigger than a pea. As it hovered in the air, the beams of light ceased pulsating and were reflected onto the table below. Thirteen points of light hit the table, lingering for a moment before starting to rotate. Soon the beams blurred into a cone of bright light that engulfed the whole table. The rays ceased, and a tiny point of white brilliance was left hovering above a disc of pure light. It began to descend, disappearing into the dazzling glare. The disc of light faded, leaving the table as before. The stone was gone.
"No one will find it there," said Septus-Elrik.
"Well, Septic, let us pray you are right," said Red-Face.
"Don't call me that," Septus-Elrik said irritably.
"Are you sure it's not still Camisole?"
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