The man on the left was going into a panic. He started lowering his voice, to the point where Ing had to strain his ears to listen. It felt weird eavesdropping on the conversation, but their talk had caught his interest. “Nevertheless, I don’t want you mentioning his name. Do you know that some people don’t even know about him, or Bolsee, for that matter?”
“Is that really true?” asked the man on the right.
“Believe me.”
On the dawn of the second day of Ing’s journey to Dharma, he slowed his pace, for his legs felt like lead beneath him.
He had been walking along a dirt path for many hours, when he got that same strange, familiar feeling. A voice could be heard calling for him in the forest to the right of the path he was on. He didn’t quite know why, but he felt it was best to follow it. It was as if he was out of his body and his legs were moving without his consent.
Mechanically, he wandered through the tall oak trees that made up the forest, until he was deep in its boundaries. The trees grew farther apart. Where am I? Could this be the forest that my book spoke of? Does the Forest Mother dwell here? Does she still live even after all these years?
“Who’s there?” called Ing. No reply. “I said, ‘who’s there’?”
A woman appeared in the clearing. She had soft, pale skin and ocean-like eyes that seemed to peer into Ing rather than at him. She was wearing a white silk dress that flowed in the subtle wind. Seven stars were embroidered upon the part that covered her chest. Each one was a different color: black, blue, red, green, indigo, purple, and grey.
“I have been waiting for you, Ing,” said the woman. Ing looked into the woman’s eyes and felt peaceful.
“Are you an Illusionist?” he asked. Ing wasn’t sure she was in the Dark Lord’s ranks, but he somehow felt that she was an Illusionist. Still, there was something different about her. No, not an Illusionist, he thought. The Forest Mother.
“Yes,” she replied. “My name is Gretta. You are in the Forest of the Mother. I have longed to see you again since I first looked upon you, sweet Ing.”
Ing was not sure what she meant. Why would she have been waiting for him for many years? He was just an ordinary boy until he had found himself in peril.
“If you’re an Illusionist, doesn’t that mean your allegiance is with the Dark Lord, Slithzalien?” he questioned. He wasn’t sure he could trust this lady.
“A good question, indeed. Surely, you have never heard of an Illusionist that is not with the dark one? In fact, I am the sole one who has not fallen under his control,” Gretta informed him. “Ing, only you can put an end to Slithzalien and his dark forces. It was put upon you at birth. You must find an item in order to do so. When you were very young, you were brought here, and I endowed you with the responsibility of ending Slithzalien’s reign.”
“My first priority is rescuing my hometown, Ganwin,” said Ing. Why did he have to stop the Dark Lord? Why couldn’t someone else do it? He had enough weighing upon his shoulders.
“I can see that,” Gretta replied. “You are still a long way from taking on such power as the Dark Lord. And you have not yet spoken with the Lady of the Lake. She will give you advice on where to find the item I have spoken of. But first, you need something to present to her. You must keep Bolsee’s Rod for yourself. Come here and I will give you what you need.”
Ing came forward and held out his hand. He was trying to digest all the information being given--that not all Illusionists were bad, that he was chosen to stop Slithzalien, and that he needed to find some sort of item in order to do so.
Gretta dropped a golden necklace into Ing’s hands. He stared at its beauty. It was elegantly crafted with dozens of tiny chains interlocked within each other.
“The ruby for this necklace can be found in Dharma,” said Gretta. “Only then will the Lady of the Lake be satisfied.”
“Thank you,” said Ing.
“You are most welcome,” replied Gretta. “You must go now.”
Ing stuffed the necklace into his pocket.
“But first, one more thing,” continued Gretta. “I must tell you about my children.”
“Your children?” asked Ing.
“The Illusionists. There are a total of seven, myself aside.”
“Only seven?” Ing questioned. He thought there were many more of them--countless numbers, in fact.
“Yes, there are but seven. Five, now that two of them have been slain. Long ago, they were caught in the Dark Lord’s shadowy web of deceit and forced to forever serve him. He has an uncanny ability to bring people to his side.”
Ing looked at Gretta, listening intently. Her mention of the two slain Illusionists bared on his conscience in a way that it had not before. I did what I had to in order to survive, he thought to himself, trying to justify his actions. And besides, I was with Alma. She understood the danger that was present.
Despite his efforts to calm himself, Ing now couldn’t help but feel awkward in front of the Illusionist Lady—the Lady whose children he had caused death upon. I am sorry, Lady. I did not know they were your children. How could I have known? Nobody told me.
She seemed to understand what he was feeling because she said, “Do not blame yourself for their deaths, Ing. They are my children, but they are forever gone. I do not mourn their deaths. They must all die in the end with Slithzalien.”
Ing simply
