The Infinity Mantle (Lore of Arcana I)

The Infinity Mantle

Lore of Arcana I

 By

Elaina J Davidson

A Wild Wolf Publication

Published by Wild Wolf Publishing in 2013

Copyright © 2013 Elaina J Davidson

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

First print

All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Prologue 

In a time now passed beyond memory, a man whispered over a golden disc as he set it into a vice. He lifted an engraving tool to mark the first glyph. He murmured the words of an ancient enchantment, a repeated rhythm, until it was perfect, and then whispered more as he polished. It took time, many months, and he rushed nothing. Spoke of it to no one. Only when the time was right would he reveal his handiwork.

He possessed the tools and skills to achieve his goal, as well as the voice that was impetus and creation. To infuse inanimate gold, to gift atoms sensitivity, to compel unassailable eternity, required tone, repetition and emotion. Imperative was emotion, for it determined the ultimate nature of the infused device. If fashioned in anger, the consequence was an instrument capable of confusion; indifference led to instability, hate to darkness, mockery to deception, egotism to arrogance, and love to illumination and enlightenment. He intended only love.

The Supreme Wisdom- the Maghdim Medaillon- of the Valleur was made tangible and it was beautiful. On the day he laid it in a protective casket, he thought: I am done now. The future is secure.

He was wrong.

Part I

Darkness

Chapter One 

‘This is creepy, boy; it’s about to tumble into the whirly-swirl.’

Tattle’s Blunt Adventures 

Rayne rested on the final descent from the pass, drinking deep of tepid water. Exhausted after four days hard travel, the latter two by foot after his horse lost a shoe, and having taken a battering when he lost traction on a scree slope earlier in the day, he sought the sleep of oblivion. Farinwood, however, journey’s end, lay just ahead now, nestled in a fold where the soil was fertile and moist all year, the town facing roughly west towards the Corridor Mountains behind him. Dense mist shrouded the lower hills beyond and the valleys appeared oppressed in murky shadow. The mist and murk was not natural and was the reason he had come. Rumours of darak sorcery and reports of the dara-witch Infinity had the Mantle in a state of flurry. Rayne grimaced. Flurry was not the word- the Mantle was in uproar.

After a few minutes he followed a path only goats knew of to enter town and as he stepped off the splintered bridge that spanned the canal the weight of rampant sorcery pressed down upon him. The canal was green with algae; not a comforting sight, for this was drinking water. The town itself was gloomy with vapour trailing tendrils like spooky fingers from a netherworld. The quaint, old buildings were shuttered, blind; the cobbled streets slick, misshapen moss growing in cracks. Rayne shivered.