Beneath the austere sun, a spinning cloud of dust  rose from the hardpan ground and whipped toward  Reget. A chill rippled through him as he watched  the gyrating motes coalesce into a towering demon  the color of twilight

McGinn, Patrick

English

SWOSU Digital Commons (Southwestern Oklahoma State University)

Volume 1989 Issue 8 Article 17 6-15-1989 The Opaque Crystal Patrick McGinn Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.swosu.edu/mcircle  Part of the Children's and Young Adult Literature Commons Recommended Citation McGinn, Patrick (1989) "The Opaque Crystal," The Mythic Circle: Vol. 1989 : Iss. 8 , Article 17. Available at: https://dc.swosu.edu/mcircle/vol1989/iss8/17 This Fiction is brought to you for free and open access by the Mythopoeic Society at SWOSU Digital Commons. It has been accepted for inclusion in The Mythic Circle by an authorized editor of SWOSU Digital Commons. An ADA compliant document is available upon request. For more information, please contact phillip.fitzsimmons@swosu.edu. To join the Mythopoeic Society go to: http://www.mythsoc.org/join.htm Mythcon 51: A VIRTUAL “HALFLING” MYTHCON July 31 - August 1, 2021 (Saturday and Sunday) http://www.mythsoc.org/mythcon/mythcon-51.htm Mythcon 52: The Mythic, the Fantastic, and the Alien Albuquerque, New Mexico; July 29 - August 1, 2022 http://www.mythsoc.org/mythcon/mythcon-52.htm Abstract Beneath the austere sun, a spinning cloud of dust rose from the hardpan ground and whipped toward Reget. A chill rippled through him as he watched the gyrating motes coalesce into a towering demon the color of twilight. Additional Keywords Fiction; The Opaque Crystal; Patrick McGinn This fiction is available in The Mythic Circle: https://dc.swosu.edu/mcircle/vol1989/iss8/17 THE MYTHIC CIRCLE, #8-pg. 19 nothing; now I am old and I've lost everything. Reget had left because the studies had become too tedious, the volumes too dusty. the tasks too routine and he too arrogant. Instead, he had set out to prove his superiority and, for a time, did well, ac- cumulating riches and praise. But he had continued to reach. He always needed one more conquest. It had taken time -- a dozen years -- but his arrogance had finally surpassed his talent. But I'm back now, he thought. I'll have to grovel a bit, but he'll take me back. His grim, weathered face still stared at him from the bucket. He thrust his hands through his reflec- tion and vigorously splashed water on his face. Reget leaned against the door frame. His adrenaline was ebbing, and he felt worn and stretched, like a threadbare cloak. As his eyes be- came adjusted to the diminished light, he began to discern objects in the room: broken crockery, aban- doned utensils, even disintegrating books of magic and lore. Reget had no fondness for the books -- they symbolized all that he hated about his appren- ticeship: long hours of study to glean small nuggets of useful information. And all the old wizards seemed to have a great preoccupation with their "inner-selves". Yet he flinched at their poor condi- tion. As an apprentice he had aroused Frin's wrath by mistreating a book. And he was disturbed by Frin's residence, too. Frin merely existed in a decay- ing hovel on the edge of the Wasteland. Perhaps he has had as great a fall as I, thought Reget, his new- found hope quickly dissipating. Reget picked out Frin's shape hunched over a table pushed into the shadows of the room; he was rummaging through the clutter that covered the table. Reget noticed that Frin was considerably thin- ner than he had been years before. He looked frail. "You were hard to find; Reget said. "Why live here?" "To avoid distractions; Frin replied curtly. "You are disturbing me." "You saw why. I need your help." "I cannot save you from your demon. Certainly you learned that much." Panic gripped Reget's throat. He had known that Frin might not be able to do anything, even if per- suaded, but he had always pushed this thought back. Frin is a great wizard, he kept telling himself. He can drive the demon away. Beneath the austere sun, a spinning cloud of dust rose from the hardpan ground and whipped toward Reget. A chill rippled through him as he watched the gyrating motes coalesce into a towering demon the color of twilight. "No!" Reget cried. "I'm so close." He fled through the dried grass, stumbling over the uneven ground and crashing through the tangled limbs of manzanita trees. His stomach cramped, and his legs became leaden. Sweat trickled into his eyes, blurring his view of the solitary house that he had locked his eyes on. It was his only hope for sanctuary. The wind rushed about him, and a huge hand covered his shoulder. It spun him about, and, as he stumbled to his knees, he glimpsed a streak of blue. He buried his face between his legs and wept. While he wept, the air became still; Reget sensed the demon gloating. Silently, he cursed his luck, he cursed the demon, he even cursed his arrogance in calling forth a such a powerful entity. Mostly he cursed the wizard Frin, his former mentor. It was he Reget was seeking to succor him from the demon. And, by having moved to the edge of the Waste- land, had caused Reget to expose himself to the demon. Reget, resigning himself, blinked away tears and sand and looked up submissively. Glaring at him was a familiar old man with tanned skin and silver hair and dressed in a faded brown robe. "Frin," Reget cried. "You saved me!" "I think not," the wizard replied. He turned and walked away. Reget stood, brushed away sand and started after Frin. He followed his former mentor to the entrance of the small house. It was crudely made of adobe bricks baked by the sun to an ash-gray. Cracks, some menacingly large, crisscrossed the walls. "Clean yourself," Frin told Reget, and entered his home. Reget stepped to the well and pulled up the pail. He peered into its moss-lined depths. His face, once round with fat, was now narrow and taunt. Creases, like the cracks on the tavern wall, lined his face. He rasped a cynical, bitter laugh. So this is what I've gained, he thought, recalling his days as Frin's apprentice. I believed I was getting old and gaining by Patrick McGinn THE OPAQUE CRYSTAL THE MYTHIC CIRCLE, #8 - pg. 20 The next morning, Reget peered into the gloom of pre-dawn, anxious to begin his journey. Frin handed him his replenished traveler's sack. "listen. You have two choices. You will either despair or tri- umph. But you control the outcome." Frin retreated into his home, while Reget placed the crystal in his boot and considered Frin's words. He's leaving it to me. He hasn't helped me at all. He "A lesson you did not learn. The castle is real. It's in the Wasteland. But to find it, you must tap the magic within you. Search it out and claim its treasure. With the treasure, you can battle your demon." "How do I find it?" "With this." Frin held the crystal out, and Reget took it. It was oblong, about half the size of Reget's thumb, and roughly cut. Reget shifted it in his hand to better catch the light. It was clouded, and ab- sorbed the sunlight. "It's a focus for your magic,· Frin explained. "But for it to work, you must place it in your shoe. Savor the pain. Let it be the sword that cuts through your self-deception and opens a path to your magical self." Reget's fury burst from him. "You want to humiliate me even more," Reget said. "I'm not that much of a fool!" "You are a fool. You asked for a chance, and now you scoff at me." Reget tried to hold Frin's gaze, but he knew he had already squandered too much: his talent, Frin's patronage. He had no choice. He lowered his eyes. "I'll do it." "You rrust do something!" Frin looked at Reget and scrutinized his former apprentice. Reget's skin crawled as the wizard peered, it seemed, into his soul. Could he read the desperation that had moved Reget to seek out a mentor he had spurned years before? What did Frin guess of Reget's flight after his foolish bravado in calling up the demon, and after his so-called friends and allies vanished like shadows in the midday sun? "Who is this demon?" Frin asked. "Senter," Reget said. "Of the Seventh Realm," he added. Frin's hard stare asked the next question: What foolishness prompted contacting that powerful a demon? "To see if I could do it." Frin resumed his rummaging. "You rrust help me," Reget pleaded. "You scorned me," Frin said without looking up. "I could have helped you then." "Give me some hope!" "I will give you this, only to be rid of you." Frin said, completing his search. He held up a crystal shard. "This is your only hope, though you are too obstinate. I doubt it will to do you any good." Reget moved toward Frin. "Once I told you about a castle that houses a great treasure." Reget nodded his head. "Yes, yes," he said curt- ly, his panic having subsided enough that he was ir- ritated by Frin's lecturing. "But I thought that was a parable. A story to teach a lesson." THE MYTHIC CIRCLE, #8-pg. 21 "Damn you Frin." He rolled over on his back. Above him at the top of a low hill was a glistening tower that jutted from a jumble of rock. Its curved sides thrust sharply into the air, and its milky-white sheen spilled reflected sunlight on its sun dulled surroundings. "I'll never doubt him again," Reget swore to himseH as he scrambled on hands and knees over crumbling rock. Having gained the hill's flat top, he stood, forced his leg to keep him upright. He faced the entrance of the tower. There he hesitated. What happens now? Will the demon follow? I'll be trapped. He limped over to the entrance and peered through the doorless entry. The passage went forward only a few feet before the delineation between passage and crystal was lost in the diffuse light streaming through the crystal. Behind him, the demon roared, sending another hot burst of wind. Reget turned. The demon con- tinued it slow approach. For the first time, Reget saw that its face was contorted in agony. Only then did he realized the torment he had caused the crea- ture by yanking it into the wor1d. It bore down on Reget, intent on releasing its agony on him. Reget fled into the tower and down the passageway before collapsing onto the rock floor. Muffled winds howled outside like a predator denied its prey. As he lay, regrouping himseH, Reget hoped that that the tower's treasure -- if it indeed could defeat the demon -- would also deny it entrance to the tower. No pursuit materialized, and he sighed in relief. That is a valuable trinket, he thought. Now to find it. He pulled the crystal shard from his shoe and stood. He moved slowly toward what he hoped was the heart of the tower, but the enveloping glow of the light disoriented him. He could only make his way by running his hands over the rough, cool stone. At one point, he pulled his hands back, and he had the sensation of floating. He reached back, but he couldn't feel the wall. He moved on, expect- ing with each step to smack against an unyielding wall. Instead, he felt a subtle resistance, as if he were pushing through a viscous liquid. Reget continued to move through the tower. He began to feel he was adrift in an ocean with no idea where the shore was. His mind, too, began to drift, and his thoughts were blunted by the haziness. He grasp on why he was in the tower was slipping. And he had no idea on how to proceed. He was jarred back by the demon's unexpected appearance. Its face, sneering at Reget, jutted from the milky haze, and then its arm and a leg. The demon's appearance returned the sharpness to Reget's thoughts. He fled, moving as quickly as he dared. The hairs on his neck stood on end, and his foot throbbed painfully. He began to giggle in clamped his teeth, stepped, winced, limped and shifted the weight back to his left foot. He repeated the movement again and again, painfully making his way over trail that led into the Wasteland, cursing Frin. But -- with the demon's attack continuously reoccurring in his mind - he continued on. The trail wound down while the hills on either side rose slowly like the breasts of a reclining woman. The hills were various shades of brown -- quick- growing and faster-dying plants that had withered in the summer sun -- interspersed with hardy gray plants. Only occasionally did Reget come across un- expected patches of green; these he found mostly in gulches and depressions where water from the in- frequent but potent storms had gathered in pools and kept the earth moist. All that day Reget traveled across the parched, dun-colored earth. His limp became more pronounced as the day wore on and, when the sun descended, he gladly found shelter under a scrub oak. He slept fitfully, often waking to stare out at im- agined shapes. The next morning, after forcing down some food and insipid water, he started out. The hills dropped off to reveal mountains that rimmed the huge valley. Boulders littered the foothills as if they had been sprinkled there by the children of giants. And distant winds flung dust at the base of the mountains to break there like surf on a beach. At midmorning, with the sun already burning fier- cely in the brilliant blue sky and the crystal shard firmly imbedded in the sole of his foot, Reget stopped to rest. He thought again about the unusual focus which was becoming increasingly painful. Frin was too honorable to decelve him, he knew, but he wondered if his wits had been scattered to the winds. I always knew that I was a greater wizard than he, he thought. I'll soon attain the treasure thanks to my own efforts, I shall overcome the demon alone. I can do it. He rested his head on the t;>oulder and studied the sparkling white clouds. A warm breeze caressed across his face, and Reget indulged in it for a moment. Then his eyes flew open as the breeze spun into a whir1wind. At its center was the demon. It was haH again as big as Reget, and its yellow eyes and teeth gave it a feral visage. Light glistened off the blue sheen of its massive chest, giving it the appearance of the sky at dusk. It roared, scorching Reget with hot wind and scouring his face with sand. Ignoring the pain in his foot, Reget ran aimlessly. He gasped for breath, and the heat seared his throat. With his next step, he placed all his weight on his right leg. The crystal lanced into his foot, sending waves of pain coursing through his leg. He fell, his body drenched with chill sweat. On days when cloud cover blocks out the rays of the sun. seers sit idly by, cursing the whims of nature while kings breathe more easily, relieved that there is no future. Light pokes through the sculptured lions atop the battlements, seeks out oriel windows above the great hall, splashes a fist of yellow onto the shimmery floor, carves a diagram with its gossamer hand, a paint-brush of prophesy, and mystics stare into this heavenly pattern. predict wars. victories, births, deaths. by John Grey PREDICTIONS you. But be careful. Your pride is what started your downfall. It could still lead to it." Regel displayed the shard. "I'll keep this to remind me. When you gave it to me. it was opaque. Now its clear." He pocketed the crystal. He looked around at the barren landscape. He was beginning to find its solitude inviting. "What do I do now?" Reget asked. "There are less painful. though more time con- suming, methods of reaching your magic," "And you would teach them to me?" Regel was surprised. "Yes." "Thank you." The shadows lengthened, and Frin entered his home and lit a lamp. Regel, however. stopped at the well. He pulled up the pail of water and studied his reflection. Then he gently dipped his cupped hand into the water and sipped. THE MYTHIC CIRCLE, #8 - pg. 22 Regel slowly limped back to Frin, constantly churning the events in the tower through his mind. He slept deeply that night, and arose ear1y. Near the end of the day, he arrived back, and found Frin wait- ing for him. "Did you find what you sought?" the old man asked. "No. Not what I sought. But I think I found what you hoped I would." "You did? And what was that?" "What I found was a castle. That is, I created a castle that was reflection of myself, and I entered it. But what I discovered was myself. That was the treasure I found. The treasure was a glimpse of my soul.· Frin nodded. "But that merely begins your search. You must continue to quest after understanding of yourself. But you did face your own demon, who is far more powerful than any, including Senter." "What has happened to Senter?" "You'll still have to face him. But only Senter. He won't be able to use your self-deception against panic. I can't continue, he thought. I'll be lost in here forever. I mist finish it. I must face the demon. By finally deciding to face he demon, he realized that he had finally stopped denying the inevitable. Frin said he would decide whether to despair or con- quer. Now he must decide which. And with that, a calm resolve pervaded him. He clenched the shard in his hands, taking com- fort from the sharp edges, and stared at the demon approaching through the haze. As the two adver- saries drew closer, Reget realized that it wasn't Senter approaching him. It occurred to him that Senter hadn't even entered the tower. This was something else. The face was narrow, its size was equal to his own and its eyes were - sad. Regel drew closer. As he did so, the milky haze began to dissipate and the opaque crystal began to clear. The creature -- the person, Reget decided -- was wearing clothes similar to his own: a loose cotton shirt and trousers. What Regel had taken for a vi- cious sneer was, instead, a grim frown. And what he thought was anger, was actually a look of despera- tion and pleading. As the crystal continued to clear, Reget realized that he was separated from the demon by a wall of crystal. He reached for the wall, and the figure mir- rored the movement. It's not a wall -- it's a reflec- tion! I'm looking at myself! Then the image faded. The tower disappeared as well, and Regel found himself slumped against an outcropping of rock. He was staring at the now clear crystal shard he held in his hand. 

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