The Kingdoms of Eden

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Return of the Sorcerer

The thick black liquid inside the Seeing Chamber, that served as a portal to the realm of men, had remained obstinately still since the moment that John Dee had vanished beneath its surface on his ill-fated journey into the past. Patrick, Saint of Ireland, had remained in the room for days, then weeks, then months, watching the surface of the rock-hard fluid, and praying for some sign, no matter how slight, that Dee had made it safely to his destination. The despair grew too intense and Patrick eventually gave up. He returned to his rooms, only leaving his self-imposed isolation for short periods of time to visit the library; and even those brief trips into the outside world were conducted in such a way as to avoid company—the middle of the night being his preferred time of escape. John Dee had gone, and to the inhabitants of the small city on the side of the blue mountain, Patrick had also abandoned them.

Patrick had given up hope of ever seeing Dee again, but Patrick's childhood companion, and lifelong protector, had not. High up in the Seeing Chamber, sitting on a thick oak crossbeam, a tiny creature watched the dark, glassy surface, intently. A fait glow from the creature's small body barely penetrated the darkness of the room. The fairy played a game; it gazed at the reflected light from its own body on the dark surface until the light moved. Its brain told it that the light could not be moving as it was not moving, yet the strain on its eyes somehow gave movement to the reflection. He played the game, day after day, night after night, but the result was the same—any perceived movement on the surface of the water was nothing more than an illusion—a fragile moment of hope that was strangled in its infancy by the cruel hands of reality.

The creature closed its eyes for a moment as it prepared to restart the game. As it opened its eyes it struggled to find the reflected light. It cursed itself—it had been playing for so long that it was beginning to lose hold of reality. As he located the light the reflection was not where it had always been. Something was different. The creature's tiny heart began to beat faster. Its wings fluttered with excitement. Tarish slipped off his perch and he began to fly slowly, and with an abundance of caution, towards the surface of the liquid. Light shifted in a gentle wave across the surface. A murky image formed and then vanished in the fluid. Then again. And again. Tarish hovered six or seven feet above the surface of the portal. The liquid at the centre or the pool suddenly sank, and then rose again, spitting a man out from beneath the obsidian-like surface. Tarish recoiled and then he retreated high up into the beams. The creature flitted nervously from beam to beam as it warily watched the man below. John Dee had landed hard on the mystical bitumen as it settled and hardened to a viscous glass. He lay motionless. After several minutes of cautious observation, the little creature leapt from its roost and it swooped at speed in Dee's direction. Tarish came to a steady hover in front of Dee's face. John Dee smiled at the familiar little thing.

"Hello, old friend," Dee said, breathlessly.

The fairy left the room at high speed without saying a word. The trail of silver light left in the creature's wake quickly faded. Dee walked across the top of the dark liquid to the relative security of the stone floor by the side of the room. He sat down, and he waited. The wait was short. The poorly lit room burst into light when Tarish returned. He was glowing with excitement. A winded Patrick followed the creature. Patrick rushed to Dee's side and he helped the sorcerer to his feet.

"I feared the worse," said Patrick.

"You were right to," replied Dee.

"And? What did you learn? Did you meet the child?"

"I learned much. I met the boy."

"And? Where is he?"

"Dead."

"I don't understand."