Chapter 38-Firepower
One night, after another day of the endless training, they decided it was time. They waited patiently upstairs, until they were sure everyone was asleep, before they wandered their way slowly downstairs only to find Thomas pouring over some book at Aristotle’s table. They stood transfixed, like a deer that has just seen headlights, before slowly proceeding towards the door. They reached the door and found Tom’s head hadn’t swiveled in the tiniest degree during the time it had taken them to cross the room.
Heartened, they painstakingly opened the door to the castle. It slowly swung outward revealing the darkness outside. They cautiously stepped out over the threshold and closed the door behind them. As they descended the steps, their feet began to make crunching noises and they looked down to see snow beneath their feet. The frigid night air made them both shiver as they looked at the starless sky above them. They slowly made their way to the right side of the castle, directly behind the Water Tower, where they knew the Fire Tower lay.
Here Irgen conjured a fire around the tower. The snow melted before their eyes, revealing a large patch of dead yellow grass. The fire died and Idus conjured a light to follow them as they approached the tower. They started searching the grounds for anything which would grant them entrance to the tower.
It didn’t take them long to find what they were looking for, they found on the grass, not far from the east side of the tower, a small branch. Irgen picked it up quickly, knowing exactly what to do. He held the branch before him in the palm of his hand. He concentrated on it catching fire, and as he did so he found it to be a particularly stubborn branch. It did not want to burn. He put it down and took a breath, and prepared himself to focus all his energy into the branch. He lifted the branch purposefully and willed it to burn. Once again it struggled with him, but this time he was prepared he felt it’s small life being snuffed out by his will, after a long struggle he felt his power envelope the branch and light it ablaze. He held the burning branch softly like a live bird in his hand. It was time for them to wait and wonder what would happen. As the branch burned itself out in Irgen’s hand, a small tunnel of fire began to appear in the wall in front of Irgen. It grew larger and larger, but the opening was covered by a wall of fire. Idus looked inquisitively at Irgen. Irgen stood and contemplated for a moment before shrugging and saying:
“I guess you’re supposed to stay out here. I’ll go on, in the meantime see if you can enter your tower.” Then he added as he jumped recklessly into the fire, “I’ll be right back.” Idus watched as he jumped through the flame and the opening closed behind him. He shrugged his shoulders in resignation before trooping off to the other side of the castle to find his own tower. As he approached his tower, he looked up to see the great golden flag glittering in the night sky. He looked down and found the impenetrable snow on the ground, he thought it was stupid for him to be here, without Irgen to melt the snow for him, but then as he cast his eyes upward again, he had a thought.
Maybe since his element was air, it took something in the air to open the door to his tower. He thought for a while, about what might do it, and then, once again he looked back up at the sky, and saw the glittering flag in the sky. That great, Yellow…YELLOW for electricity--that was it. A lightning bolt would open the doors. Enthusiasm flooded Idus as he tried to concentrate. He looked up at the sky and felt the ball well up in his chest; suddenly it burst forth upon the tower. Suddenly he felt a force struggle against his bolt high above him. Without flinching he hit back and felt his energy surge forth. Finally the lightning disappeared, and a great crack of thunder followed, and more than that, a simple wooden door appeared in the side of the formerly impenetrable granite wall. He stood breathing heavily from the exertion. He grinned with pride; he had done it, he was entering a tower that no one had probably entered since its founding.
Idus reached for the door handle with shaking hands. He gave it a twist and the door swung effortlessly open. Light flooded Idus’ vision as he walked inside. He was in his tower: The Tower of Air.
Irgen felt a rush as he flew through the wall of flame. He covered his face with his hands, but did so needlessly, for the flame was not hot at all to him. He landed with a crash inside a great stone room. Flames covered the walls emitting a red glow in the air. Irgen looked into the middle of the room and once again found-“More stairs,” he thought to himself, as he approached them tentatively.
He mounted them, ready to begin a long trek again, but this time, as his feet landed solidly on the steps, the stairs took off carrying him upwards, towards the next level. Irgen stood there shocked as he flew gracefully up the stairs, cutting through the warm air like a knife. He reached the next floor, and the stairway stopped, ejecting him face first onto the bright red floor.
Irgen pushed himself up and looked around, as he did so he could see directly in front of him, standing on its own mount on the wall, a beautiful sword, and beneath it lying against the wall sat Perseus’ bright silver shield. An inscription was set deeply into the wall between the two artifacts, besides these three things, the room was completely empty. Irgen strode towards the sword and shield, and reached for the shiny shield, but as he did so the inscription on the wall started to glow. Irgen straightened up and looked at it. It appeared to be in a different language of sorts, but as Irgen placed his hand over the red writing he felt it speak to his soul. He didn’t know how he was doing it, but somehow he could read and understand the inscription. It said this:
“Before you lies Irgen’s sword and shield. I, Poseidon, have witnessed his downfall, and great though it was, he is sadly gone, and I am left to give one last bit of wisdom to whoever finds this: In these weapons is a great amount of magic. Hephaestus himself forged the sword many years ago and gave it a great power of his own, but at Irgen’s death a great amount of his own power went into this sword which still bears his name. Alecto’s blood sacrifice hallowed these weapons, they are stronger than any weapon that will ever be created, and I fear that the mortal who touches these will receive a great amount of power, which will prove to be too much for him, so I leave this warning, that whoever reaches for these weapons let him beware, that the power he gains from using these weapons does not consume him. I also leave my own mark of prophecy that whoever touches these weapons will be destined to change history, and that only such a marked soul will be able to contain this newfound power. What power is in the weapons I cannot say for it does not affect me, but I believe they will retain Irgen’s characteristics. He sought for glory, and the weapons will still seek for it. Beware! Do not let them consume you. Remember, glory is fleeting, but he who is willing to give all is truly glorified.”
The inscription ended, and the words faded back into the wall. Irgen sat and thought markedly about the inscription. Truly he must be the marked soul referred to, but what about the end of the inscription? It sounded more like advice than a warning. Irgen smiled as he thought that at least this one made sense, unlike that bit of nonsense Xenophon had given them, which they still couldn’t make heads nor tails of.
“Glory…What does that mean?” He spoke out loud now as he looked at the artifacts before him. “I don’t want glory; I don’t even know what I want.” As he said this the blade shone sinisterly through a cloth which held it bound. It was beautiful but Irgen was now weary of its charm.
Finally, he plucked up his courage and reached for the sword. His powerful hands gripped the cloth which was wrapped around the sword as a scabbard, and he lifted it off its mount. He marveled at how light it was, even in the cloth; it seemed like it was only the hollow plastic sword he had played with when he was little. He reached for the hilt, and as he touched it he felt something rush into him. Excitement flooded him as the cloth fell gracefully off the blade. It flashed brilliantly red in the eerie light of the tower. Suddenly fire burst from Irgen, a pillar of fire shot to the ceiling, thunder boomed in the sky, and a bea
utiful red tree rose next to Irgen. Then just as suddenly as it began, the wonders disappeared, leaving Irgen standing with the sword held high above his head, breathing heavily.
He brought the weapon back down to eye level and ran his hand appreciatively down the flat side of the blade. It was a straight double-edged sword with a nastily sharp point at the end. It was made out of some silvery substance, which made it light as a feather, and yet peerlessly hard, and sharp. The hilt was made of some type of smooth red stone, and had been wrapped with a black leather material that created a comfortable grip. At the bottom of the stone, on the pommel, was a large black stone which glittered sinisterly in the firelight.
On the blade of the sword in the middle shone gold filigree in the shape of the same language of the earlier inscription but Irgen found he could not read this. So he tried passing his hand over the inscription and as he did so, it changed, the soft lines swam through the blade, and after a moment the filigree changed to something Irgen could read. There in gold, graven on the blade forever was the word “Irgen”, Irgen smiled as he slid the naked sword into his belt and picked up the silver shield on the ground.
It glittered brilliantly in the light, and as Irgen gazed deeply into the shield, it seemed that some reflection rose to meet him. He waited transfixed as the image rose towards the surface of the shield. Then as it neared the surface, Irgen saw what it was; it was the image that was said to have been graven on this very shield. The image came into focus and Irgen could finally see the hideous head of Medusa, with her green sallow skin, the spellbinding red eyes, and the numerous snake heads hissing out of her hair. Her power in the shield had long ago gone, no longer could her face turn people into stone, instead Irgen felt pity for the hideous figure before him, which had been doomed to live such a depressing life, as he thought this, the figure changed. The shield did something then, which it had never done before.
The hideous cursed Medusa’s face changed to reflect the once beautiful Gorgon. Her lovely features once again flowed outwards towards Irgen. The calloused green skin disappeared, replaced by soft, bright skin. Vibrant blonde hair replaced the hissing snakes, and bright blue eyes replaced the red slits. Now Irgen could see, a white slender neck disappearing below the shield. As he looked at those bright eyes and those full red lips, she smiled, revealing glittering bright white teeth. Irgen almost stepped back at the brilliance of them, but then she spoke, in a high mesmerizing voice:
“Irgen, you are blessed for not having judged me like those of the past. The sword and shield are yours, do not lose your purity of heart, and you will be able to call me forth whenever need arises. I wish you luck, great Irgen. Remember, you are not alone.”
Irgen stood alone, and dumbfounded in the tower, as the figure dissolved back into the shield. Poseidon was right. These artifacts did hold more power than he expected. He got back on the stairs and descended rapidly through the air. When he landed, he no longer fell forward, but now landed proudly on the bottom landing. As he left the tower, he thought how miraculous his night had been, he only hoped Idus’s had been the same.