The sky above the bookshop opened and a beam of pure energy came crashing down, breaking open the asphalt street as it hit.

He’s alive, he thought. How can he be alive?

As the energies that brought him here dissipated, Balin took stock of his surroundings. He was standing on a small street filled with shops. He could sense autumn in the cold air as it billowed all around him. Balin was taken off guard, a feat not easily accomplished. He had been far away from here, hunting, when the unmistaken call of his birthright brought him to this place.

Pelias was trying to give what was his to another.

Surly Pelias would have known that by doing so, it would bring him right to it. Why then, had he chosen to do it now... and in this place? It didn’t matter. It had called to Balin and now Pelias would reap what he sowed.

He knew it was close. He could feel its power, and nothing was going to stop him this time. He had underestimated Pelias, a mistake he would not repeat. This time, he would make sure he finished what he started in the Forest of Glen three nights hence. He would look in Pelias’ eyes as he died, confirming the light within him went out. He had come too far for childish mistakes.

The street and shop signs told him he was in America and, based on the weather, he guessed the northern United States. The air chilled him, yet there was no snow on the ground. He saw small shops, reminiscent of New England. Closing his eyes, he could hear water lapping against the shore, but no smell of salt in the air. Not New England, he thought. “Where are you hiding, Pelias?” he said to himself. Then, opening his eyes, he saw it. A small white building, with large front windows, and a blood red door...crooked to the right. It’s here, he thought. He knew immediately that this was the place. So obvious... and childlike. Even in hiding, Pelias could never resist infecting the world with his foolishness. The windows and doors of the shop were proof of his flaw. This is why he was going to win. Balin had rid himself of the flaws of men. They were beneath him now.

He began approaching the crooked door and windows of the little shop. Seeing the sign above the door, he smiled, his assumption was confirmed. "King Fischer Books...est 1998." 1998? So you have been here the whole time, he thought. And this is how you lived your life? Hiding in this small town. Living like one of them. Selling books to the pathetic town’s people. Never revealing who you really are. What a waste. “How tedious,” he said out loud, dismissively. He kept approaching the store. No matter. Pelias’ failure had now come full circle, he thought. Pelias could live with them. Balin would rule them.

He was close enough to see through the windows now. A girl, purple streaks highlighting her short blond hair, eyes wide with fear, was staring back at him. You are right to be scared girl, he thought. You have never seen anything like me before, and in a moment, you won’t see anything ever again. There was a young man standing next to her. He was tall and slender, his long hair pulled into a ponytail. A knit ski hat adorned his head. He looked familiar to Balin, though he did not know why. Then he saw it: the orb, glowing blue. He could feel the energy emanating off of it, calling out to him. The boy was holding it. A rage began to build within him. That boy is holding it! he thought. He is touching what is mine! HOW DARE HE!

The rage rolled through him, building to an almost uncontrollable level, threatening to explode, forcing him to lose control again; something he tried very hard to prevent. Then he and the boy’s eyes met. Those eyes, he thought. I know those eyes. The veiled illusion of control he had worked so hard to maintain quickly dissipated. He could see the girl grab the boy by the arm and run toward the back of the shop, pulling the boy with her.

You cannot run from me, girl, he thought. But then he saw the girl pull the enchanted ball from her pocket and throw it at the wall. She is one of them! his thoughts racing. They are going to escape! Conjuring a ball of pure yellow energy, Balin hurled it at the usurpers.

The front of the shop exploded outward. He saw the purple portal forming in front of the young couple as they sprinted towards it. Energy erupted from Balin’s outstretched hand, exploding the bookcase directly behind them, just missing the boy as they ran towards the portal. Then, before he could do anything more, they disappeared through the spectral door and were gone.

The anger inside Balin exploded. There was no semblance of control now, only rage. The face of the building to the right of the little shop was blown off. Lightposts and street signs were bent outward, as waves of energy erupted off of him. He heard the screams of the residents, who came to investigate the commotion, as they ran for cover. Slowly, with each breath, he began to regain his composure. Control. I must maintain control, he thought.

Making for the bookshop, he crossed over the rubble that, up until a few seconds ago, was the entryway of the little store. The deafening sound of birds screeching was echoing all around him. Looking, he saw the stone bird statues in the corners, wings flapping, calling out as if sending an alarm. “SILENCE!” Balin commanded with the wave of his hand. The Birds fell silent almost immediately. He chuckled to himself. So..., he thought, Pelias does fear me. He had set up these statues with his magics, to warn him should Balin find this place. This emboldened Balin. He reveled in the knowledge that he had created such fear in his old master.

Moving forward, the only sound that could be heard was the crunching glass echoing off of each of his footfalls as he made his way through the rubble and into the shop itself.

There was little left of the store now. The bookshelves that hadn’t been blown apart were tipped over, spilling their years of contents across the oak floors. Loose pages blew about the store, pinned against walls, or floating on the wind out of what had previously been the store front. Where did you keep it, Pelias?

Not here. The bookshop was too public a place for such a dangerous item. No, he would not have kept it here. It would be someplace more secure. Someplace only he knew about.

Then he saw them. The stairs. The stairs in a one-story building. A devious grin began to cross his face. Clever. Very clever. He walked over toward them and looking up, he saw only the ceiling. Climbing the steps until it was within reach, Balin reached out, touching the solid plaster surface with his heavily tattooed hand. He smiled again. This would fool lesser men, but he was no lesser man. He could feel the magics Pelias used to create the illusion, and he knew how to defeat them.

Balin closed his eyes and held his hand out in front of him, touching the ceiling. He could feel the ripples the illusion was causing in the energies that surrounded everything. Focusing, he began manipulating them, until he could feel them bending to his will. Then, with the close of his hand, the protections Pelias placed on the hidden doorway were revoked.

He continued to climb the stairs, passing confidently through the no-longer-hidden portal. Rising from the oak floor, like a cloaked demon rising from the grave, he stepped out into the hidden library of his former master. It looked exactly as he remembered it. So, you brought it with you.

The shelves still had the multiple trinkets that had been there all those years ago. The statues of the knights, which had been passed down throughout the generations, as well as their pointless stories, immortalized in the books shelved above them. He noticed one of the small statues had been moved, the hidden door behind it left open, exposing the empty wooden hand inside which had, until recently, held what should have been rightfully his.

This is where that mongrel boy had stolen it. Where he put his filthy, unworthy hands on what did not belong to him. Balin felt the anger welling up inside of him again. He pressed it back down deep, maintaining his control. The boy will be punished in time. Now was the time for focus. To find what in their carelessness the boy and girl missed and left behind. The moved statue was sitting on the shelf, out of place. Picking it up, he noticed the knight’s green shield with the golden lion. Of course. It was Tristan. Sentimental old fool. He picked it up and turned it around in his hands, examining it as if it may still have secrets to reveal. Once he was sure the statue was nothing more than painted stone, he dropped it to the floor. With a loud crash, it broke in two. He smiled again. How appropriate, he thought.

Balin noticed a slightly crumpled sheet of paper and a torn envelope on the shelf just above the one that held the knight statues, near the books. It did not belong there, and he knew he had found what the thieves had mistakenly left behind. He picked the parchment and envelope up from the shelf to examine them. Turning the paper over in his hand, he saw it was blank. He was sure it hadn’t always been, but whatever magics were once there, were no longer. The envelope however was much more revealing:

Master Rasputin Fischer

℅ The Fischer King Books

Woodhaven, MI 49740

United States

“Rasputin,” he said, his voice a gruff whisper. “How..." he paused, searching for a word, "...interesting.”

So, the old man wasn’t lying. There was another Fischer after all. Pelias was smart to keep him hidden. But who was he? Pelias was too old to have more children, and besides, his wife was dead. Balin had made sure of that. Adopted? Perhaps, but unlikely. The most probable scenario is that Tristan had a child. The boy’s eyes all but confirmed that. Tristan’s eyes. Filled with the same weakness and emotion. But how? With whom? Balin was careless to have missed this all those years ago. A mistake he would not have made today. The boy was dead already, he just didn’t know it yet. All Pelias had done was delay the inevitable.

But he was hidden no longer, and it was only a matter of time before Balin would find him. And not just the boy. He would find them all, and end them and their pathetic order for standing in the way of his destiny. He folded the envelope carefully, placing it within his cloak.

Turning his attention back to the room, he saw the case holding the four staffs. He walked over to them to take a closer look. He recognized the gnarled root staff right away. The staff, with its carved runes, was ancient; a time when the magics walked the earth with man. Pelias had forbade Balin access to it all those years ago, but no longer. It was his for the taking now. The old man could prevent it no longer. It wasn’t why he came, but at least he wouldn’t be leaving empty-handed. Besides, he would use it to kill Pelias and the boy, which he felt was poetic.

He took it from the embrace of the stand that had held it for centuries or more. The runes engraved up and down its shaft began to glow. He could feel its power surge. Yes, he thought. This will be useful.

He looked down at the remaining staffs on the shelves below. He recognized one of the partially carved staffs. It was his own...or it had been. It was the one he had been making while he was still floundering under that old fool. Why would he have kept it for all these years? Probably as a visual tool for a cautionary tale he could spin about his old apprentice. Lies to make sure his new apprentice wouldn’t question the foolish teachings he was given. Lies Pelias told to maintain control and keep the magics to himself. Lies Balin refused to accept. Lies he was free from now.

Once again, Balin was getting angry. But emotion was for the weak and he was strong. They wouldn’t control him. This was his destiny after all, and he wouldn’t let them get in his way. A sense of calm came back over him as he regained composure and control.

There is more here, he could sense it, but not on the shelves with the trinkets and silly books. No, what was important was always hidden; but it wouldn’t be hidden from him. He began feeling the energies of the room again, dismissing the ripples coming from the talismans still holding power, or the remaining staffs left abandoned.

Focusing, he could feel the empty space behind the bookcase to his left. Reaching out, he moved it with a thought, revealing a hidden archway leading to a sitting room he could see on the other side. Walking through, he found himself in a home he had been in many times. Turning around he saw the archway disappear, leaving nothing but a green wall where it had been. He looked around the little cottage. So, he thought, you brought this with you, too. He admired the magics it must have taken to bring it here but the sentiment behind it disgusted him. This is why you are weak, old man. You could never let go of anything.

Newspapers and books were strewn about. A small reading chair sat next to the fireplace. A pair of reading glasses perched atop a red leather bound book. The carriage clock, which sat upon the mantle, ticked loudly in the silence. Everything was exactly how it had been all those years ago, except none of the family pictures Pelias had displayed so proudly, remained. It was as if he was trying to wipe the past clean. But the past could not be wiped away that easily. Balin, standing here, in this room, was proof enough of that. “I am coming for you, Pelias,” he said. “I will take everything from you, just as you tried to take everything from me.” Starting with this place.

He reached into his cloak, removing a small silver ball. Holding it between his finger and thumb, he reached out into the empty space in front of him and, as if placing the ball on an invisible shelf, he released it; it remained, floating on the spot. The silver ball began to spin like liquid mercury. Energy popping and crackling around it, it spun faster and faster; items in the room began moving ever so slightly towards it, like metal to a magnet. Balin stepped back, admiring his creation. Then, closing his eyes, hand gripped tightly on the stolen gnarled staff, he evaporated into pure energy, shooting harmlessly through the ceiling, rematerializing in the woods, outside the little cottage.

He watched as the ball inside did its job. He could hear, as anything not nailed down was pulled toward the little spinning ball. He heard the contents of the little cottage break and shatter. He could hear the wooden beams of the structure bending, trying to resist, until they could no longer fight against the forces pulling them inward. Then, CRACK! The entire structure began folding in on itself. He watched as the walls and thatched roof began crushing inward as it was sucked into the ball of spinning mercury. Fieldstones from the cottage walls were ripped from their mortar and hurled toward the spot in the middle of the sitting room Balin had just vacated. Until at last, with the faintest popping sound, the cottage was gone.

The little ball, having finished its job, fell to the large empty patch of dirt that was formerly occupied by the house. Balin reached out his hand, drawing the now still silver ball to himself. He placed it back inside his cloak, and in the same burst of energy that brought him there, disappeared into the sky, leaving the woods in a complete and unnatural silence.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4 - The Order of Merlin