The Lore Meister's Reach (Legend of the Crow Prince)

By J L Jeffries

The Lore Meister’s Reach is the opening volume of The Legend of the Crow Prince, a four-book epic journey through time, space, magic and mystery. In it we meet Zak – short for Balzak Little-time Twitchin – an enigmatic blind stranger who has set up home with two dogs in a shack on an east London common. Zak is befriended by three local 12-year-olds – Joseph Skylark and twins Felicity and Faith Virtuoso. The children are captivated by his tales of a universe full of dark intrigue, secret promises, strange characters and extraordinary powers. In Zak’s telling, this ‘Known Universe’ boasts millions of years of recorded history, sophisticated constitutional arrangements and evolved laws. But what at first appears pure fiction becomes steadily more tangible, and the three children find themselves joining forces with Zak to deny the Lore Meister (the legal authority of the Known Universe) what he wants more than anything else: the life of Zak the fugitive, the only ever escapee from the penal planet of Banish.

In a fast paced narrative which carries them from London’s east end to the Island, a world beyond Earth, and back again, the four friends seek to outwit a corrupt institution and its army of ruthless agents – who have at last discovered Zak’s whereabouts. As the hunt closes in, Zak is forced to take desperate steps both to evade the reach of the Lore Meister and to prove his innocence.

The Lore Meister’s Reach will be followed by Secrets of the Almanac, Einstein’s Elementary and The Maps of Motion.

About the Author

J L Jeffries lives in south-west France with his partner, two dogs and eight cats. His books draw on the wisdom and traditions of several Earth-centred cultures, in particular those of the Native Americans and the European Celts. There are also numerous astronomical references, which he has sought to make as accurate as possible – although he says he cannot testify to the existence of white holes or slip space.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J L Jeffries
• Release date: Aug 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781909182011

J L Jeffries

J L Jeffries lives in south-west France with his partner, two dogs and eight cats. His stories draw on the wisdom and traditions of several Earth-centred cultures, in particular those of the Native Americans and the European Celts.

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The Lore Meister’s Reach

by J L Jeffries

book I of

The Legend of the Crow Prince

Published by Weeks Publishing

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 978-1-909182-01-1

Copyright J L Jeffries 2012

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

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This author respects your integrity.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover artwork by Ina Scholte-Albers ©2012

The Lore Meister's Reach Fan page

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Covenant of Innocence

1 Legend of the Crow Prince

2 The Storyteller

3 Gwydion’s Choice

4 Prophecy of the Crow Prince

5 Cyclops’ Second Eye

6 Escape From Banish

7 Gruff and Archimedes

8 Desperate Dam

9 Out of This World

10 Wanted: Dead or Alive

11 Hollow Bone Stone

12 Isle of Wight

13 Mona Lott

14 The Transit Station

15 Return to New Albion

16 Press and Pixies

Author’s note

Acknowledgements

About the Author

~~~

The Covenant of Innocence

Prophetic song of the seven directions

As gifted to the wise woman Whocan

United by intention

Secret and unbidden

From the seven directions

A covenant remains hidden

Rising in the flaming east

With the power that precedes

A beacon of light, illuminates

The path of fateful deeds

To the south the sound of laughter

Joy and innocence defined

Trust in hope, trust in Faith,

Trust an open heart and mind

Setting in the distant west

Pain from the past still chains

Transformation and surrender

Releases time’s tight reins

From the bare bones of the north

A song of wisdom and gratitude

Praise and felicitation informs

Life’s essential attitude

Above and from the future

Forged by temporal laws

Returns one to stand again

For Innocent’s just cause

From below, a past debt to settle

Alchemy present in the fact

Life for life, death for death

A binding temporal contract

From the centre, at the last

Comes the one that tells,

Courageous to the very end

With his healing spells

Alone and broken in their midst,

The point of all attention

Neither forsaken, nor abandoned

By the covenant of intention

High above, the celestial dance

Signs the path ahead.

Forgo revenge and retribution

To free the unquiet dead

Above and below are required to meet

The temporal cost of present defeat

East and west must now unite

The west to stand, the east to fight

From the heart, a solitary voice

One to heal the Shadow’s choice

North and South, two as one

Bear witness for Doom’s dying son

When Shadow’s champion again arises

When hope is drowned by fear and hate

Only the covenant of innocent intention

Can send the demon back to Hell’s gate

One

The Legend of the Crow Prince

I could tell you a true story, if you like, said the ragged man, sounding a little reluctant. The flickering firelight cast distorted and slightly disturbing shadows around the walls of the shabby shack.

It is a dark and dangerous tale, full of horrors you cannot imagine, to risk the truth, he said slowly, not looking at his companions. I am not entirely sure you are ready for it.

His audience of three squirmed with delicious, spine-tingling anticipation, desperate for him to begin. This was what they had hoped for; this was why they were there.

I will not lie to you. The ragged man’s hoarse rasp of a voice was barely more than a whisper. I think you are too young. This is not a story for the faint of heart. It will chill you to the bone; it could even give you nightmares.

The storyteller paused, and for a few long moments there was silence, punctuated only by the spit and hiss of the wood-burning stove.

Oh, please, please! implored one of the twins, Faith Virtuoso. She clapped her hands together and bounced up and down in her battered armchair, unable to contain her excitement a second longer.

Felicity, her sister, frowned and surreptitiously waved away the small cloud of dust billowing up from beneath her eager twin.

The storyteller sighed with a sad shake of the head. Your courage is commendable, my fine young friends, your spirit indomitable. But my heart tells me that you are not, innocent as you are, quite ready for this particular tale.

Zak! cried Joe. We can handle it. We can, honestly!

The ragged man sighed again, his shank of grizzled, unkempt hair brushing his shoulders as he considered the matter. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he agreed. Very well, if you insist. I suppose you have a right to know.

Joe turned to the twins and exchanged delighted looks; all three shivered with a thrill of anticipation. If they knew one thing about their unlikely friend (and it was true they didn’t know that much), it was that he was a master in the art of storytelling. He had been spinning beguiling yarns almost every day over the long hot summer – tales of distant lands, of dragons and witches, magic and mischief – and they were desperate, just desperate, for more.

This is the oldest story I know. It has its roots in the long-forgotten past. It is a story that begins during Earth’s first age but reaches out into the future, into this age, into this future.

With the passage of every sentence the ragged man’s voice grew lower, and with every word the three children became more and more involved. They sat, perfectly still now, the twins with identical expressions, Joe with his mouth very slightly ajar, entranced.

I am afraid to say, the man confided with a characteristic little shake of the head, it is a story in which the three of you are destined to play a part – a very important part. The outcome of which… The storyteller paused and shrugged, leaving the sentence hanging. The children shivered again as he let the silence stretch out provocatively between them.

What? What? demanded Faith, unable to stand the tension.

Shush! reprimanded her twin.

The storyteller grinned and continued in his low croak of a voice. The outcome? Well, that is yet to be decided. The outcome may very well be up to the three of you. I wish it were not so, but my heart tells me it is, he concluded, his last words barely audible.

Although it was summer, and a hot one at that, the grizzled man had a bright fire burning in the old stove. The curtained windows and the warmth generated by the fire made the atmosphere in the shabby shack close, almost oppressive. The flickering firelight, the cheerful snap and crackle of the burning wood, the enchanting dance of flame and shadow all added to the bewitching mood being conjured up by the storyteller.

I said it was a true story, and so it is. This story has been handed down to me through a long line of storytellers, for generations beyond count. I have the honour and the burden of carrying the story to its conclusion. The ragged man remained quite motionless now, sitting forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. He looked into the fire, his focus never changing.

Let me see now, he mused, more to himself than to the children. Yes, it would have been about the time of Neanderthal man here on Earth. You know of what I speak?

All three children nodded before Joe added quickly, Yes, yes, we know about that.

Well, at about that time, in a distant part of the Known Universe, trouble was looming – serious trouble. Discord and conflict, like great, dark storm clouds, were bubbling up fast. The storyteller paused once more. He licked his dry, slightly cracked lips and, after a time, croaked on.

The story I am about to tell you is called ‘The Legend of the Crow Prince’. Some refer to it as ‘The Unfinished Fable’, while others call it ‘The Fall of the Mage’, but I prefer the first title. The second part of the story is called ‘The Prophecy of the Crow Prince’, and the third and final part of the saga, and the part in which you will play a crucial role, is called ‘The Return of the Crow Prince’. The ragged man, for the first time, turned his attention away from the fire. Are you quite sure you are ready for this? he asked the children.

Ooh, yes, yes! insisted Faith, her eyes as round as pennies.

Very well, said the storyteller gravely. "But it is only fair to warn you that, although I know the first two parts better than I know my own story, the third part is incomplete and will, for the time being, have to be left in part to your imagination. I can, however, promise that you will not be left disappointed.

It is a long story; we will not finish it this evening. We shall have to see where we get to. So if you are ready, if you have the heart, the courage for it, then I will begin.

Oh, yes. Yes, please! squealed Faith and Felicity in perfect unison.

The grizzled man grinned, took a sip from his bottle, settled himself once more and began.

"There is a place. It is a truly terrible place, the worst place in this or any world. It is full of darkness and misery and despair. It was once said to be located on the far side of hell, but this is not true. It is found in a remote and forgotten part of the Known Universe, hidden away in a fracture of the fabric of space and time – a temporal fissure to be exact, a tiny crack in the warp of time and weft of space. In this fissure, there is no sun, no moon, no stars. It is, but for one rogue planet, snared in the anomaly, utterly empty.

In this place, every rotten, fetid thing, every monstrous creature, every malign spirit is said to thrive. It is infested by the most vile creature I know of – a cave-dwelling horror that is the very stuff of nightmares. So despicable is this creature, shuddered the ragged man, "that I cannot bring myself to utter its name.

"On this world, there is no daylight. It exists in a state of perpetual night and perpetual winter. The surface of the planet is lashed by ice storms that would strip you to the bone in seconds. This dark, barren, freezing wretched world, infested with every kind of foulness imaginable, is said to be worse than hell, and in that there is some truth.

"And yet, for all that, it is a place, you might be surprised to discover, that has been painstakingly sought out. It was known only by reputation, and the discovery of its location took some considerable time. This place was known as Banish, and Banish was soon to become the first and the only prison planet of its kind in the entire Known Universe. Why was such a place as Banish needed? Well, that is what I am about to tell you.

Our story begins… The ragged man hesitated once more, smiled wryly to himself and started again.

*

The Magnolia Mage sat in the highest tower of the many that made up his palace. It was where he conducted his many secret meetings and almost all of his most important work. He flicked through several loose-leaf notes, picked up the one he was looking for and made a correction or two. He read what he had done, frowned, snorted and irritably crossed out his corrections. For a moment he sat and glowered at his notes. Then, pushing them away, he got to his feet. He started to pace the circular room with increased agitation, distracted, unable to concentrate or settle to his work.

The Mage swept aside a heavy velvet curtain and stalked out on to the balcony that ran around the circumference of the tower top. He resumed his pacing, muttering darkly to himself.

The beauty of the stars wheeling overhead was entirely lost on him; he had other things on his mind, more important, more worrying things than the prophetic movements of the celestial dance. He strode silently over the worn flagstones, aware of nothing but the dark nature of his own preoccupation.

He was not a handsome man – far from it. His eyes, for example, were of disconcertingly different colours, as were his crooked teeth. His forehead was high and bulbous, his dark hair thin and his chin pointed. It was a face utterly without charm. As for his expression, it was often adorned with a sneer. While some might say he looked shrewd, the more honest word to describe him would be cruel.

At the very top of the tower, a level above the balcony, a sculpted pedestal reached up towards the heavens. Accessible only from the balcony below by narrow, worn stone steps, this was the place the Magnolia Mage went when he needed to think, when he desired complete solitude. The pedestal was ornately carved with figures of mythical creatures supporting a smooth marble seat. Etched into the marble, runic letters and symbols offered spells of protection and insight to any who sat there.

The Mage climbed the dozen or so stone steps and, reaching the summit, crossed to the pedestal a few metres away. He placed himself comfortably upon it, facing east, the direction of enlightenment and clarity. He drew from inside his silken robes a long pipe – possibly clay, possibly bone – and, putting a light to it, drew deeply.

The plume of emerald smoke that whispered from his lips a full minute later gathered like a cloud before him. An instant later, and the haze of pale green smoke began to take shape, to adopt a form, just as he knew it would. The smoke figure had a face he knew well, a face he had had to live with for much of his life – a face he despised. A young woman smiled sadly back at him. She had a gentle countenance but also a determination in her sorrowful eyes. Her features expressed compassion and kindness, just as the Mage’s revealed ruthlessness and intolerance.

The woman knelt, her arms crossed over her chest, and she bowed her head so low that her lips kissed the ground. It was an action that the Mage recognised well, and it didn’t please him. A second later, the kneeling figure was blasted apart when, with a snarl, the Mage made a snatching gesture with his gloved left hand.

If it is true, he thought savagely, "if it is true, then the conflict will be swift and brutal, but it will be final. For good and all, it will be finished between us!

Where is that accursed gaoler of mine? he cried suddenly into the darkness of the night.

Agitated and unsettled, he leapt from his seat. All billowing cloak and whispering silk, he swarmed down the twelve stone steps, his expression dark and deadly. He reached the balcony and made as if to return to his tower-top chambers, but something caught his attention and he stopped abruptly, cocking his head to one side, listening.

It was as if the shadows themselves rustled. Suddenly a disembodied voice reached out into the night, and the Magnolia Mage scowled.

You are looking for me, Mage? said the voice.

News, Blud. Do you have news? demanded the Mage.

As a matter of fact I do, Mage. I have just received word, but you won’t like it, replied the disembodied voice, with just a hint of impertinence.

What is it? Tell me! commanded the Mage into the night.

It is true, Mage. She has been called, and she has been chosen. She is elin, Mage; she is one of you now. She has adopted the title of Celeste the Healer.

No! No! No! How can that be? How can she have been chosen? I have devoted my life to my studies, and she, that whimpering pup, what has she ever done?

It gets worse, Mage, said the voice calmly, unsuccessfully suppressing tones of amusement.

Worse? How can it get worse? spat the Mage angrily.

Her obligation, Mage, it is to create an elin council, the first ever elin council, to give expression to the elin’s sacred covenant.

What? cried the Mage. Say that again!

The disembodied voice sniggered. It is true. She has pledged to create an elin council. It is to be called the Council of Light.

She will fail, the Mage hissed, his voice low and dangerous. All the heat and anger were gone. Now he was focused, single-minded.

The transformation from incandescent fury to ice-cold calculation was alarming, or at least it would have been had anyone been there to witness it. The extreme volatility of the Mage’s nature was just one of the reasons he was so feared. Another was his reputation for brilliance. His ingenuity and wit, when allied to his formidable powers, made him a frightening opponent and one that even the other elin sought to avoid.

Fail, Mage? No, I don’t think so. I believe she will succeed. She has already generated significant levels of support. I hear Celeste is quite the politician.

She can achieve nothing if she is dead, sneered the Mage in a deadly whisper, before laughing gently to himself.

Kill your own sister, your twin? enquired the voice. That would be taking a great risk, Mage, a very great risk indeed.

And what is that to you, Blud? It is not your concern, snapped the Mage, resuming his walk back to his High Tower chambers.

How is your work going, Mage? Have you made any progress? enquired Blud’s disembodied voice.

That is none of your concern either, Blud. Your remit, lest you have forgotten, is time. No less and definitely no more. Now leave me!

With respect, Mage, said Blud, your obligation is my –

My obligation, Blud, is my business and my business alone. I will not tolerate any interference, especially from you. I refuse to be held to account. Now begone! I have urgent matters to which I need to attend, spat the Mage, his temper rising once more.

With a chortle, the disembodied sound of Blud’s voice faded away.

Reseating himself behind his desk, the Mage pulled a thick, leather-bound book into the candlelight. He flicked it open and raced his long, dextrous fingers through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. The page contained a picture of a man’s face, a sleeping face. The Mage jabbed his forefinger sharply against the forehead of the portrait three or four times. Instantly it changed from a portrait into a real face. The sleeping man opened his eyes, blinked and focused his gaze on the Mage.

My Lord Mage? the man said quickly.

Druke, I want to see you immediately in the High Tower. Bring Dudu with you.

Yes, My Lord Mage, immediately.

Only a short time later, the Magnolia Mage sat in a shadowy alcove with two others, the three of them talking in low voices.

You remember the details of our previous discussions? the Mage enquired.

His two associates nodded silently.

The Mage studied the two men for a few moments. They were an odd pair, but they had, over the years, served him well. Druke was taller than his companion by some considerable distance, dark-skinned, almost handsome but for a perpetual and distracting twitch that detracted from his looks. He was devious, though, and could be trusted to be discreet. Dudu, on the other hand, was short, barrel-chested and entirely bald. He wasn’t perhaps the brightest star in the night sky, but he was loyal and thorough.

Good. Then it is time to make the preparations. My dear twin has been called, she has been chosen. And that, as you know, is unacceptable to me. Do you understand?

We do, My Lord Mage, they replied as one.

Make all necessary arrangements, but await my final instruction. Is that clear?

It is, My Lord Mage.

And remember, my hand must not be detected in this matter. It is unimportant where suspicion lies, but there must be no proof, no evidence. You understand me?

We do, My Lord Mage, we do, they replied and, getting to their feet, hurried from the High Tower.

*

Time passed; days rolled by. Soon days became weeks, which in turn became months. The Mage devoted himself to his studies with renewed vigour. Celeste the Healer devoted herself to her promised obligation. Meanwhile, Druke and Dudu began to work on the Mage’s clandestine plans.

It was a year to the day, and the Magnolia Mage had not left the confines of his palace in that entire time. He had moved his work from the High Tower and relocated into one of the palace’s many subterranean vaults. The reason for this was not entirely clear, but several of the palace servants had heard him cursing at cloud and breeze, bird and butterfly. Brilliant the Mage might have been, but paranoid he was also. He trusted no one and, more significantly, nothing. Hidden away in his most secluded cellars, he worked feverishly in the half-light. In the bowels of his palace fortress, protected from spying eyes, he worked tirelessly to achieve his goals. He studied with an intensity and a determination that left room for nothing else. He was getting close now – very, very close. He could sense it; he could taste it.

All elin, on being chosen, are required to accept an obligation. The Magnolia Mage, who had been called several decades earlier, was no exception. He had promised to use his prodigious skills to slow down the ageing process for all those not so fortunate to be chosen as elin. It was a laudable obligation and well received among the elin family. The Mage had boasted of being able to double or even treble the life expectancy of all mortals in the Known Universe. This he would do, he claimed, by stripping away the genes responsible for ageing – or, at the very least, inhibiting them. But this he had not done. Almost a quarter of a century after he had been chosen, his promised research remained untouched, his obligation unfulfilled.

Instead, he had bent his mind and focused his extraordinary talents on something else. And it was that aspect of his work that was nearing completion now.

The candle guttered as he bent low over his books. His quill scratched out a line of the formula that he then amended, frowning, thinking and muttering. His eyes, red-rimmed and sore, scanned the complex set of calculations once more. He pursed his lips and read again, more slowly this time.

That must be it, he whispered, checking for a third time and then a fourth. Yes, yes, of course. It must be. At last! he cried, his expression suddenly wild, ecstatic.

Leaping to his feet, he began capering around the cellar like a lunatic. That is it! This will surely work! Ha haa! Ha haa! After all this time, I have it, I have it! He clapped his hands, threw his head back and let out a savage, primordial scream. A split second later, however, his wild celebrations were cut abruptly short. He stopped, arms still outstretched, fists still clenched in a victory salute, but now his head was tilted to one side as if listening. His expression darkened, his brow furrowed. Irritation spread across his sharp, cold features, and a characteristic scowl settled over his face.

What do you want, Blud? I have not summoned you, he shouted, looking over his shoulder.

A few moments later, and a bizarre-looking creature appeared in the far doorway as Blud the time serf rolled into view. Ape-like in form, he had an ancient face with a complexion like curdled milk, yellowed and crusty. The face carried wizened, crumpled features that contrasted starkly with its twinkling emerald green eyes. Blud was about the size of a human child of five or six, with long arms swung low to the floor. On one hand, a digit was clearly missing: this was the mark of the time serf. No matter what form they adopted, and they were adept at changing appearance, a finger would always be missing.

Success, Mage? You have revised your technique? You have mastered the ageing process at last? the creature enquired.

I thought I told you, Blud, that I would summon you when I was ready, and not before, retorted the Mage.

But it has been a long time, Mage, and –

And nothing! roared the Magnolia Mage, striding towards his diminutive companion. I do not answer to you. I do not answer to any!

With respect, Mage, you do. On your choosing, you claimed an obligation, as you were required to do, and that obligation –

Yes, yes, said the Mage with a dismissive wave of the hand. But how and when I carry it out is up to me.

The cadaverous magician, in his robes of rustling silk, towered over the small creature, barring him from entering further.

That was true, Mage. It still is, I suppose, for now. But soon, very soon, that will change. Blud grinned, looking up at the Mage with an expression best described as insolent.

Celeste? Celeste the Squealer? Celeste the Wheeler-Dealer? Or whatever she has chosen to call herself? Are you referring to her?

I am, Mage. She has called for a gathering of the elin. I am surprised you did not –

Of course I know! snapped the Mage. You think because I keep a distance from my peers that I am uninformed? I am not. I know everything.

Really? replied Blud in mock surprise. And are you going, Mage? Are you going to attend the gathering?

That, Blud, is no –

"Yes, Mage, I know: no concern of mine. Yes, for the time being at least.