Heir of Agartha

HEIR OF AGARTHA

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There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

In the grand scheme of things, Alex Taylor mused, the arrival of the two eldritch winged serpents that had taken up residence deep inside these San Bernardino mountains during the last Ice Age, in long-forgotten cave systems and passages tunneling to the Earth’s core, was a rather recent event.

Or so the legends went.

As he drove through the shockingly dry Banning Pass outside of Palm Springs, the jagged browns peaks pressed tight against the road, swallowing the afternoon sun. Unlike his brother, Alex did not care for mountains, or deserts, or nature in general. He had left New York that morning and already missed the sensory overload of the city. This place had an eternal solitude about it that induced far too much personal reflection.

Perhaps that was why Guy liked it. He had always been a more philosophical sort.

Following the GPS like a blind lemming, Alex turned onto a road that climbed into the mountains so steeply he thought he might be ill. He lowered the window of his rental BMW for some fresh air. That helped steady his vertigo as the road wound up and up the desert ridge until it reached an elevation high enough for trees to appear. He had seen the snow on the mountains from the valley below, but could hardly believe, in the sweltering heat of the desert, that it was real. The car’s thermometer had registered over 90 in Palm Springs, and now it was 55. Remarkable.

The road leveled out as he delved into the heart of the range. He passed a bucolic little mountain town called Idyllwild, little more than a gushing brook, a main street with some charming commerce, and cabins dotting the woods.

If the matter wasn’t so urgent, I could stay here a few days.

Outside of Idyllwild, the road climbed again, taking him so high that snow began to fill the pockets of dense woods along the road. He saw the address he was searching for on a mailbox, and cursed as he began to wind his way up a pot-holed gravel drive so precipitous he thought it might deter goats. His nerves were shot by the time he reached the A-frame wooden house perched on a snow-covered knoll with breathtaking views of the valley below. Smoke curled out of a chimney, and a silver stream wove a merry path through the yard.

His brother was chopping wood in jeans, black boots, and an old gray sweatshirt in front of the house. As Alex parked the car and stepped out, stunned by the change in climate, Guy leaned on his axe and eyed the X-5. “Now you see why I recommended an all-wheel drive.”

“You could have told me to bring a bigger coat, too.”

“You wouldn’t need one if you put some meat on those skinny bones.” A grin creased Guy’s bearded face. “Welcome, brother.”

Alex took a shoulder satchel off the passenger seat and strode over to embrace him, wincing at the strength in Guy’s grasp. “You’ve been chopping too much wood.”

“And you’ve been pushing too many pens. Or buying stocks, or whatever it is you do these days in New York.”

“Crypto, Guy. That’s where the new money is.”

Guy waved a hand, dismissive. “Beer, water, some food?”

“All of the above.”

Guy stepped onto the clapboard front porch. “Any bags? How long will you be in L.A.?”

“No bags.” Alex gave the porch a wary look. “Is it warded?”

“Not against the House.”

Guy held the door open. As Alex walked through, a jade signet ring on his left hand pulsed softly against his skin, alerting him to the presence of an enchantment. His eyes whisked over the door, searching for a telltale gleam of an imbedded charm, but he saw nothing. Guy must have burned a scroll.

Alex took a seat in a leather chair by the wood-burning stove and absorbed the view of snow-covered peaks beneath a sharp blue sky. Guy brought out a glass of water, a plate of salami and cheese, and two pale ales from Escape brewery.

“About time you came to see me,” Guy said.

“I’d come more often if you lived someplace sensible. I didn’t know Southern California could be so . . . remote.

Guy glanced out the window, popped the caps, and handed one to Alex. “So. Important business in L.A.?”

“I’m not going to L.A.”

Guy took a careful sip of beer. “I don’t understand.”

“I said that in case the call was intercepted. I took a great risk coming here. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Risk? Who would care if you came here?” Guy laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you in trouble?”

Alex downed the glass of water, set it aside, and looked his brother in the eye. “Something happened. Something you’re not going to believe.”

“Just tell me.”

“The Gatestone, Guy. Someone found the Gatestone.”

His brother laughed. “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

Alex reached into his shoulder satchel and pulled out a square-shaped stone cross covered in bizarre runes that he knew would be incomprehensible to modern scholars. Each of the four sides tapered to a point at the end, like an obelisk. The stone was dark beige and the runes imbedded into the surface were as black as oil, so elaborate it seemed as if Michelangelo had carved them into the stone with a laser.

Guy frowned. “You brought that here? Why?”

“I knew it would be the only way to convince you.” Alex was gripping the stone cross—about the size of a Rubik’s Cube—by a tiny orb affixed to the center where the four sides met. He opened his palm, revealing an unearthly prismatic glow swirling within that orb. He’d stared at it for hours and hours over the last two days since the glow had appeared, mesmerized, dreaming about what it portended.

When Alex held out the stone, Guy took it and inspected it, turning it over and rubbing his thumb against the luminous surface of the orb. “How is this possible?”

“A team of oceanographers—regular scientists, not one of us—in a submersible in the Mariana Trench found an iron tube on the bottom of the ocean. The Flame Orb was inside it.”

“An iron tube,” Guy said slowly. “The ancients buried it at the bottom of the ocean.”

“The scientists can’t explain the tube. It’s a solid piece of iron that shouldn’t have survived the water. They think someone tossed it in recently. If they had any idea of its true age…”

“What happened to it?”

“The Kigurians heard of the find rather quickly, stole the tube, cut it open, and found the orb inside. We know this because our Gatestone—and the four others—began to glow at the exact same moment.”

His brother continued to stare at the Gatestone. Alex understood his shock. The artifact had never glowed before, not in the tens of thousands of years from which their family had records. No one believed it was real anymore. Not really.

According to legend, when true magic had existed in the dawn of history, a war among wizards had brought on the Cataclysm and almost destroyed the Earth. The survivors, fearing another catastrophe, had combined their remaining power to create the Vale and remove magic from the world. Now all that remained was scraps, the relics of those ancient civilizations passed down to the six Houses and scattered around the globe, hidden in plain sight for those who knew where and how to look.

No one thought the magic was ever coming back.

No one gave much credence to stories that old.

But there was another legend, of a Flame Orb and six Gatestones that, if found, could bring the magic back. The Gatestones had been given to the six houses that had survived the Cataclysm, though only five remained. The ancients had hidden the Flame Orb someplace it would not be found for millennia, if ever, hoping that humanity might one day be ready to possess it once again.

“Three secret doorways,” Guy said, repeating the narrative he had learned as a child, “scattered throughout the world, each of which unlocks one side of the Gatestone.”

“Metaphorical doors. Mind, body, spirit.” Alex reached out to touch one of the tapered ends of the stone cross. “When the fourth side of the Gatestone is unlocked, the path to the Vale will appear, and it will be possible to bring magic back to the world. Real magic,” he said softly. “Can you even imagine it?”

After a long moment, he shook his head and scoffed. “Myths and legends. Nothing more.”

“How do you explain the Gatestone?”

“There are many, many things in the world I can’t explain.”

“What if magic is out there somewhere, waiting to be brought back?” Alex leaned forward, his eyes intense. “We need you, brother. It’s going to be a race, a war. Whoever find the Vale first . . . I know you don’t care much about the world, but if it’s one of the other houses, especially the Kigorians . . .”

“I’m sure this has nothing to do with your own ambitions. Or Deirdre’s.”

“It’s bigger than that,” Alex said. “Bigger than all of us. You know that.”

“I don’t know anything. You need to let it go, and embrace the world as it is.”

“A world on a collision course with destruction?”

Guy leaned back and stared out the window. “I won’t deny that.”

“The Gatestones have never glowed. We’ve tried for millennia to decipher them or affect them in any way.” Alex laid a hand on Guy’s shoulder. “It’s happening, my brother, after all this time. Magic could return to the world.”

Guy stiffened. At first Alex thought he had pushed him too hard, and Guy was angry, but he realized his older brother had cocked his ear as if listening. Then Alex heard it too: the sound of tires crunching on gravel, an engine struggling to climb the long steep driveway to the house. “Are you expecting visitors?”

“I never have visitors.”

“The Kigorians.” Alex leaped to his feet and shoved the Gatestone in the bag. “They’re coming for it!”