Seven Words of Power Read Online Free

available space from floor to ceiling. Scrolls and tablets lay scattered about on a low table. Evora's eye was drawn to an emerald orb, inlaid with gold runes, proudly displayed on a pedestal.
    The High Enchanter sat at a desk, a heavy book open in front of him. He wore a robe of green silk that shimmered as his body shifted. Smile lines creased the corners of his eyes, which sparkled as he looked at her. Evora realized he had been making fun of her.
    “What is your name, Apprentice?” High Enchanter Greffon said.
    “My name is Evora, High Enchanter. Evora Guinestor.”
    “Are you as good as Master Zoran here says you are, Evora?”
    Evora lifted her chin as she met his gaze. “Yes, High Enchanter. Yes I am.”
    “The emerald orb over there… What does it do? If you can answer that now, I will accept you as my apprentice.”
    Evora knew it was impossible to tell; once again, the High Enchanter was making sport with her. She was suddenly tired of being led around – by the rules and contests of the Academy of Enchanters, and by the men who saw her as an easily-dominated woman.
    “Do I have your word on that, High Enchanter?”
    “Yes,” the High Enchanter smiled. “Yes you do.”
    Evora lifted her wand and pointed it at the orb on its pedestal.
    With a clear voice, she spoke the seven words of power.
    “I can tell you in all truthfulness, High Enchanter, that the emerald stone does nothing." Evora smiled as she lowered the wand and turned back to the two wide-eyed men. "I suppose,” she finished, addressing the High Enchanter, “I should now call you master?”
     

The Discovery
     
    “Do you know any dark stories?” Harun, the oldest boy, asked. “That last one was nice, but it was a bit…”
    The bent old storyteller sipped from his wooden cup and then raised an inquiring eyebrow at Jenrin. Jenrin nodded and then gave Harun a squeeze.
    “There’s no women here,” Jenrin said. “Give us something to suit the night.”
    Harun looked up and grinned at his father.
    Petie shivered and squirmed. He’d enjoyed the story about the huntsman and his missing bride. Outside the circle of firelight it was pitch black, and unlike Harun he didn’t have his pa close by to make him feel safe. Petie’s pa had been killed by bandits just three weeks past, bringing the number of people in the caravan down from seven to just six: Jenrin, Harun, Jenrin's brother Rob, the Torak twins, and little, fatherless Petie.
    The storyteller spoke in his thin, croaking voice. “You’ve given me food and shelter on this cold night, and I’d be remiss in my duties as a guest if I didn’t give you what you asked for.” He drained his wine and then, setting down the cup, began to rummage in the sack he kept at his feet. The storyteller groaned as his body bent down, and Petie frowned when Harun stifled a laugh at the storyteller’s contortions. Jenrin pinched his son’s shoulder, silencing him.
    The old storyteller found his wine flask and filled his cup, straightening. Petie slid along the ground until he was close as he could get to the fire without being burned. His night vision was spoiled by the flames and he was suddenly conscious of the darkness at his back. He wished for a big log behind him or even one of the caravan wheels, but the wagons were out there, hidden by the night.
    “Where to begin?” the storyteller said. “I suppose I’ll start at the discovery.”
     
    ~
     
    Once, in the land of Petrya, there was a boy who was smaller than all the other boys his age. Someone called him Fidget, because he was always playing with things, and even though that wasn’t his name, it stuck.
    Apologies if I’m telling you what you already know, but Petrya is a land of contests. From a very young age the boys start competing, and this continues on through life. Even old men still fight, and wrestle, and climb, and jump. What about girls? Girls aren’t much valued in Petrya.
    Fidget tried hard, but he wasn’t very good at