Stormwielder - Chapter 2
Gabriel crouched in the shadows, head bowed, waiting for the end to come. Grief wrapped around his heart, its thorny tendrils tearing at his soul...
The Sword of Light is an original fantasy novel, packed with gods, dragons and magic. Leap into an epic adventure as a young man cursed with terrible power must master his abilities in order to save the world. You can find my other books on my website.
For five hundred years the Gods have united the Three Lands in harmony. Now that balance has been shattered, and chaos threatens.
A town burns and flames light the night sky. Hunted and alone, seventeen year old Eric flees through the wreckage. The mob grows closer, baying for the blood of their tormentor. Guilt weighs on his soul, but he cannot stop, cannot turn back. If he stops, they die.
For two years he has carried this curse, bringing death and destruction wherever he goes. But now there is another searching for him – one who offers salvation. His name is Alastair, and he knows the true nature of the curse. Magic.
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Gabriel crouched in the shadows, head bowed, waiting for the end to come. Grief wrapped around his heart, its thorny tendrils tearing at his soul, its agony far worse than the dull ache of his battered body.
The night’s chill had long since seeped through his rain-soaked clothes, and he could feel his life fading away. He welcomed it with open arms. At least in death he would be free of the pain, would be reunited with those he had lost.
How did this happen?
Just this morning he had been happy, celebrating his engagement to the girl of his dreams. He had been sitting around the table with his parents, enjoying a simple breakfast of oats and fruit, grinning at the glow in his fiancée’s eyes. His father had been teasing him about Margaret staying the night, but they were to be married, and nothing could dent his joy.
How wrong he had been.
Before beginning work with his father in the family forge, Gabriel had headed down the road with the horseshoes they had completed for a client the night before. But only a block from home, everything had changed.
There had been no warning, just a flash of light and a clap of thunder. Then death had come raining from the sky. There was no defence, nowhere to run or hide. Lightning danced through the streets, consuming all it touched, indiscriminate in its victims.
When the storm had finally passed, Gabriel had found himself standing alone amidst the ruin. As others began to pull themselves from the rubble, he had turned and stumbled towards his house, his dread growing with every step.
It had taken him a moment to find his home amidst the ruins of his street. The two-storey villa was gone—all that remained were the broken walls and scattered roofing tiles. Flames flickered amidst the rubble, already beginning to grow.
Plunging into the debris, Gabriel had screamed for his fiancée, for his father and mother, desperate for a response.
He had found them in the back, where they must have gathered to wait out the storm. Tears streamed down Gabriel’s cheeks as he collapsed to his knees and reached for the beam that had impaled his father’s body. His mother lay next to him, her neck bent at an awful angle. Their empty eyes stared up at him, frozen in terror.
Then a moan had carried to his ears, and Gabriel stumbled forward, searching desperately for the source.
He had found Margaret close to his parents, buried under heavy bricks, her loving face the only part of her left exposed. Her eyes flickered open as Gabriel crouched beside her.
“Gabriel,” a trickle of blood ran from her mouth as she spoke.
“I’m here, Margaret, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” he whispered.
But his words were a lie. Kneeling beside her, Gabriel could not ignore the horror of her injuries. The collapsing wall had crushed her chest. It would not be long.
He stroked her hair, whispering soft comforts as her eyes flickered closed. Her breathing grew shallow, each inhalation harsh and gurgling, and then with a long sigh, she was gone.
Heart breaking, Gabriel had buried his head in his arms, and sobbed for the love he’d lost. When he finally stood, he did not pause to look around, but strode from the ruin, desperate to escape, to flee the ruins of his life.
Outside, he had encountered other survivors, and learnt of the boy who danced with lightning, of the demon who had brought this curse down upon Oaksville. Filled with rage, with a need to lash out, Gabriel had joined the mob in their hunt.
Yet while the gates were sealed, their prey had vanished. Exhaustion quickly quenched his anger, and without it, grief returned to drown him. As night approached, despair took hold, and with the last of his strength, Gabriel had dragged himself into an alleyway. He could see the cracks riddling the stone walls, knew it would not be long before they crumbled. Closing his eyes, he had settled in to wait.
Now though, he could hear the scrape of boots as someone approached through the darkness. Irritated by the intrusion on his grief, he lifted his head, staring into the shadows. His breath stilled as two figures stepped into view.
An old man came first, his greying hair shining silver in the moonlight. But it was the boy who followed that drew Gabriel’s attention. A mop of dark brown hair hung across his face, but beneath he could see the bright blue glow of his eyes.
The same eyes the townsfolk had whispered of.
The eyes of the demon.
Mud and ash covered the boy’s clothes, and he held a short sword gripped tightly in one hand. Holes in his tunic revealed his pale flesh beneath. Cuts and grazes marked his skin, but there were no burns, no blisters.
Taking a breath, Gabriel summoned the last of his strength and stood. “You!”
Eric retreated as the stranger advanced on him. Alastair stepped between them, but he was dwarfed by the young man. Rage blazed in his brown eyes, creasing his forehead as stared down at Alastair.
But the old man did not back down. “Step aside, boy.”
The stranger shook his head. “They’re all gone, all dead because of him,” he ground out the words. “Why? What did they ever do to you?”
When Eric didn’t respond, the stranger took another step. Eric shrank before the accusation in the man’s eyes, the terror in his chest swelling with every breath. He licked his cracked lips, his mouth as dry as sand.
Alastair threw out an arm to block the man’s path. “Stop,” he ordered.
The stranger blinked, gaze flickering to Alastair. “You protect him?” he gasped.
Alastair stared him down. “What is your name?” he ignored the question.
“Gabriel,” the young man swallowed as his eyes met Alastair’s. Suddenly he looked uncertain, but taking a breath, he steadied. “I won’t let him escape. Out of my way, old man.”
The man’s shoulders tensed as he tried to push past Alastair, but the old man shifted to block him again.
“Last chance, old man,” Gabriel snarled. “I won’t ask again.”
But still Alastair did not move. Gabriel swore and clenched his fists, then without warning, he launched himself at the old man. Eric gripped the sword tighter, preparing to leap to Alastair’s aid.
But Alastair was faster. Turning on his heel, he sidestepped Gabriel’s headlong rush. The boy gave a yelp as Alastair’s hands shot out to catch him by his coat. Using the momentum of Gabriel’s charge, the old man twisted, and sent his would-be-attacker headfirst into the brick wall.
There was a harsh crunch as Gabriel struck, followed by silence as he collapsed to the ground.
Eric’s mouth fell open as he stared at the unconscious man. Then he looked at Alastair, struggling to hide his shock.
How did he move so fast?
“Come, Eric,” Alastair said as he stepped past Gabriel. “There’s not much time before day break.”
Glancing at the comatose Gabriel, Eric nodded and moved after the old man.
A few seconds later they emerged into an empty street. Eric was surprised to find the town walls towering above, a silent shadow against the night sky. Beyond, the moon had finally taken its place amongst the stars.
Alastair took the lead again, crossing the street and picking his way through the rubble of an old building, until they reached the foot of the town walls.
Eric shivered as he stared at the giant stone blocks. They stretched up some thirty feet, their surface worn smooth by the passage of time. The ramparts of this wall had overlooked Oaksville for centuries, dating all the way back to the Great War. In all that time, they had stood strong against the dangers without.
That is, until today.
A knotted rope trailed down from high above, flapping in the night’s breeze. Alastair took the rope in one hand and held it out to Eric.
“The gates were barred when I reached the city, I was forced to improvise my arrival. You go first, but wait at the top for me. There’s another rope on the other side of the ramparts. If you hear a guard, whistle, but most of them are busy elsewhere.”
Eric shivered, the strength fleeing his legs. His heart raced as the sickly taste of fear choked him.
He was terrified of heights.
But he was out of options. Hands shaking, he slipped Alastair’s short sword into his belt and gripped the rope in both hands.
You can do this, he repeated the words to himself like a mantra.
A cold sweat beaded his brow as he started to climb. Going hand over hand, he made his slow way up, planting the toes of his boots in the shallow cracks he found between the stones.
For the first few steps, the going was relatively easy. But as he drew higher, the stones became worn, the cracks between them finer, and his old boots struggled to maintain their grip.
When he was twenty feet up, they finally slipped on the slick surface. Eric screamed and grasped desperately at the rope as his body slammed sidelong into the stones. The coarse fibres cut into his hands, but somehow, he held on.
By the time his feet found fresh purchase, his arms were trembling with the exertion. Chest heaving, he scrambled up the last ten feet and swung himself over the crenulations. In those final moments, he didn’t care whether a guard waited, only that he escape the yawning chasm beneath.
Gasping for breath, Eric slumped against the crenulations and waited for Alastair. He could hardly believe he’d made it. Moments later he heard the thud of boots on stone, and looked up as Alastair alighted beside him.
The old man grinned when he saw Eric slouched against the ramparts. “I’ll go down first. You look like you could use a breather.”
With that he crossed to the other side, reached between the crenulations, pulled up a rope, and vanished over the side.
Pulling himself back to his feet, Eric turned to gaze back to the town. Oaksville stretched out below, its dim remnants cast in grey by the moonlight. Flames still burned in places, but the rain had tamed the worst of his inferno. The distant screams of the desperate and dying rose from the wreckage, and a cloud of smoke hung low over the town.
With misty eyes, Eric turned away. This was far worse than he could ever have imagined. Oaksville would never recover from such a blow. He had been its doom. Thinking of the hundreds of shattered lives, he swore to himself he would find a way to make things right.
Beside him, the rope went slack. Taking a long breath, he picked it up and leaned back over the side. Heart pounding in his chest, he summoned the last of his courage, and started down.
His arms shook as he clung to the rope, his strength fading quickly now. He needed to reach the ground, and fast.
Almost halfway down, a sudden gust of wind knocked him sideways, sending him crashing into the wall. He tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth and spat it out.
Without thinking, Eric glanced down and saw the rope trailing away beneath him, the ground far below. His vision swam, and ice swelled in his chest. Suddenly he could not breathe, could not move, his whole body paralysed with terror.
The gale seemed to materialise from nowhere, tearing suddenly at his wet clothing, kissed with the icy chill of the far north. The temperature plummeted and Eric’s teeth began to chatter. Shivering, he clung to the rope, his only lifeline amidst the storm.
Heart pounding, Eric struggled to beat back his fear. But as he watched, the rain-soaked stones started to glisten, the freezing wind turning the water to ice.
“No…” Eric whispered.
He closed his eyes, his breath coming in raged gasps. He could sense the strength in his fingers fading, sucked away by the cold and his exhaustion. His boots slid from the wall, unable to find purchase on the slick ice, leaving only his tenuous hold on the rope keeping him aloft.
His fingers went numb as the wind howled again, drawing the last heat from his trembling body. His eyes watered, the tears freezing on his cheeks as he fought to hold on.
But it was impossible. Bit by bit the feeling in his fingers faded away, until as if by a will of their own, they released his last hold on life.
Eric fell away into darkness.
Gabriel lay in the mud, his will broken, his last hope of avenging his family wasted. Despair wrapped its cold fingers around his heart. Sprawled in the filth of the alleyway, he couldn’t even summon the will to sit up.
Gabriel.
He closed his eyes as the voice whispered in his mind, pervasive, insistent. It had drawn him from the darkness of oblivion, returning him to the agony of life.
But all he wanted now was the sweet relief of death.
Not yet.
Gabriel shivered as the voice came again. Overhead, a low groan came from the bricks. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the broken walls, at the cracks threading across their surface. He lay motionless, breath held, waiting for it all to come crashing down.
Coward.
There was an accusation to the voice now, and anger flickered in his chest.
“I am not a coward,” he growled to the empty alleyway.
Prove it.
Gabriel closed his eyes, trying to push away the whispers. But now he saw again the boy and his protector, the old man who had felled him so easily. His hand trailed up to his forehead, feeling the sticky wetness of the gash where he had struck the wall.
Rage and hate swelled in his chest, pushing aside the despair. How could he rest in peace now, knowing he had allowed the boy to escape? Knowing his family’s killer walked free?
Get up.
Placing his hands beneath him, Gabriel staggered to his feet. A groan came from the bricks above, and stones came rattling down. Dust stained the air, filling his lungs. Turning, he strode down the alleyway, out into open air.
As he stepped onto the street, a roar came from behind him, followed by a whoosh of air as the bricks crashed down.
But Gabriel no longer cared. There was only one thought in his mind now, one all-consuming desire.
Kill the demon.
“Come closer, let me see your face.” The voice snaked its way through the cracks in Eric’s consciousness.
Something within him shrank from it, fighting against the darkness creeping through his mind.
“Do not be afraid. You have a gift. Let me show it to you…”
Cracks spread through his mind, his defences crumbling before the darkness. The silhouette of a face began to form.
“Ahhh.” The voice let out a long sigh. “I can almost see you now, my child. Almost…” The voice was eager, touched by greed.
Alarms sound through Eric’s mind and his instincts screamed for him to flee. With a wrench, he tore himself free.
An ungodly wail echoed through the darkness. Then light flashed through the shadows, and the dream ended.
“No!” Eric screamed.
Gasping for air, he sat bolt upright and looked around. The forest stretched out around him, and for a second he struggled to remember how he’d come to be there. Then it all came rushing back—Oaksville, the Baronians, the storm, the fall.
Eric quickly patted himself down, unable to understand how he’d survived unharmed.
He jumped as a dry, rasping chuckle carried across the leaflitter. Looking around, he found the old man seated on a log behind him. He held his short sword in one hand and was slowly sliding a whetstone down its blade. The whisper of stone against steel carried across the clearing.
“Awake at last,” he said.
Taking slow, measured movements, Eric pulled himself up and turned to look at the old man. He frowned, struggling to recall his name. The cold ashes of a fire lay between them, and through the treetops Eric could just make out the rising sun.
“Alastair,” he said at last, his eyes drawn inexorably to the sword. “Where am I? What happened?”
The laughter came again. “You fell.” He smiled. “Luckily, I caught you.”
Eric shook his head, his frown deepening. “Caught me? That must have been twenty feet…”
“Guess I’m stronger than I look.” At that, he slapped his knees and stood. “How are you feeling? I must have carried you at least a mile last night. I’d rather not repeat the experience.”
Eric shivered, remembering his bone-numbing weariness from the night before. Placing his hands against the damp ground, he pushed himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as he straightened.
“I’m alright,” he said hesitantly, swaying. His eyes narrowed. “Why did you help me, Alastair?”
The old man only waved a hand. Sheathing his sword, he picked up a few items off the ground and then looked back at Eric. “Because you needed help. Now, we’d better get moving. It won’t be long before the townsfolk realise you’ve slipped through their noose. At least a few are bound to come after you.”
Eric clenched his fists at that, fresh guilt welling in his throat. “Maybe I should let them catch me,” he whispered. Biting back tears, he looked at Alastair. “After what I did, I deserve it.”
Alastair stilled. “Maybe,” he mused, his face hard. “But what happened was an accident, and martyring yourself won’t bring those people back. It won’t rebuild their houses or restore their livelihoods.”
“Then what do you propose I do?” Eric replied bitterly. “Destruction follows me wherever I go.”
“That’s what you need to change.” Alastair’s eyes found him across the clearing. “Maybe I can help you with that.”
Eric’s words caught in his throat. He stared at the old man. “What do you mean?” he managed finally.
Alastair only smiled. Waving a hand, he turned towards the trees. “Later. For now, we need to get well clear of Oaksville. Come.”
The old man started off into the trees without looking back. After a moment’s hesitation, Eric shook his head and moved after him. If he’d carried Eric half the night, it didn’t seem likely the old man would betray him now.
They moved quickly through the forest, the old man setting a pace that even Eric struggled to keep up with. He found himself wondering at the man’s age—from the wrinkled face, Erik had guessed him to be at least seventy years of age, yet Alastair moved with the agility of a far younger man. And he’d managed to overpower Gabriel in the alleyway, despite the villager having an extra foot on him.
The trees pressed in around them as they moved, the earth turning to mud beneath their feet. The scent of fresh rain hung heavy on the air, and the first calls of the morning chorus carried through the forest, lifting the last traces of sleep from Eric’s mind. He caught a flash of red in the canopy, and looked up to see a gang of Parakeets hopping through the trees.
Settling into the rhythm of the trek, he allowed his mind to wander. He turned Alastair’s words over in his mind, pondering their meaning. How could the old man help him? He could not begin to imagine controlling the power inside him. When it rose, it came like a flood, sweeping away all thought of resistance. There was no standing against it.
They were moving downhill now, and Eric struggled to keep his feet on the muddy ground. He grasped at seedlings and low hanging branches as he moved, careful to control his descent, even as Alastair pulled ahead. Eric tried to pick up the pace, but suddenly his feet slipped out from beneath him. Landing flat on his back, he slid the rest of the way down the slope, finally coming to rest in a muddy heap at the bottom.
Groaning, he picked himself up and tried to wipe the dirt from his clothes. He turned as laughter carried through the trees. Alastair stood nearby, hands on his hips and a wry grin twisting his lips.
“That was graceful,” he remarked.
Eric spat dirt from his mouth and shook his head. “Where are we going?”
“The Gods’ road, if it’s safe,” Alastair replied as he started off again, “but we won’t have to walk much farther. I left my horses...ah, here we are.”
Alastair drew to a sudden stop and gave a short, sharp whistle. Movement came from the trees as two horses moved from the shadows. The first stood over sixteen hands tall with a glistening coat of midnight black. A silver streak marked its brow, and a worn leather saddle was slung loosely over its back. Muscles rippled along its powerful frame as it wandered over to Alastair and nuzzled at his shoulder.
The second horse was smaller, with a chestnut coat and blue eyes that stared at Eric with a strange intelligence. It wore a thin leather saddle and carried four saddlebags. Wandering across to Eric, it gave a loud snort and shook its head.
“His name is Briar,” Alastair called across to Eric. “And this beauty is Elcano.”
Reaching down, Alastair quickly tightened the straps of Elcano’s saddle before moving across to do the same for Briar’s. “I didn’t think I’d be gone so long,” he spoke as he readied the horses. “In fact, from what I’d seen, I thought my visit would be quick. You’re quite the elusive quarry, Eric.”
Eric frowned. “Why were you looking for me?” he tried to keep the frustration from his voice, but the old man’s stubborn silence was already growing old.
Beside him, Alastair gave Briar a pat on the neck and straightened. “A friend sent me. I wasn’t sure why, until I saw what had happened,” he sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t arrive in time. And I promise you, all your questions will be answered soon. But right now, we need to move. The higher the sun gets, the more likely they are to come looking for you. Do you know how to ride?”
Swallowing, Eric shook his head. Lips pursed, he eyed Briar. The horse may have been small beside Elcano, but his bulk still dwarfed Eric. Trying not to look intimidated, Eric reached out and ran his hand along the horse’s mane.
“I’ve ridden one once or twice,” he offered.
Alastair’s lips twitched. “Very well. A quick lesson will have to suffice. Come here, stand on Briar’s side.”
Silently, Eric listened to Alastair’s instructions. He watched as the old man placed his foot in the stirrup and demonstrated how to swing himself into the saddle, before dismounting again. Nodding, he waved for Eric to copy him.
Briar shifted on his hooves as Eric reached out and placed his hand on the saddle horn. Turning its head, the horse looked back at him and nickered. Eric forced a smile and gave Briar a reassuring pat.
“Place the toes of your left boot into the stirrup, hold onto the saddle horn, and then try swinging yourself up,” Alastair offered from beside him.
Nodding, Eric did as he was told. Pushing himself off the ground, he tried to swing his other leg over the saddle. Halfway through the manoeuvre he lost his balance, but as he started to fall backwards Alastair gave him a quick shove. He tumbled forward, inhaling a mouthful of horsehair in the process, before settling into the saddle.
Eyes watering, he straightened and looked down at Alastair. “I think I’ll stay up here. I’d rather not try that again just now.”
“Agreed,” Alastair chuckled. He moved across to Elcano and swung himself into the saddle in one fluid movement.
Eric shifted uncomfortably, trying to find his balance as Alastair continued his instruction. “Now, hold the reins in one hand, like this.” He demonstrated. “Pull them gently in the direction you want Briar to go—not too hard mind you, or you’ll hurt his mouth. A gentle push with your heels will get him started, although he’s pretty good at just following Elcano. Pull back on the reins if you want him to stop. Ready?”
“Ahhh,” Eric held the reins in his hand, still trying to put the directions together in his head. “What was the first part again?”
“Just try not to fall off.” Alastair grinned.
He gave another whistle, and Elcano turned and started off into the trees. Before Eric could attempt to follow Alastair’s directions, Briar moved off after the other horse, and suddenly it was all he could do just to hold on.
Gripping the reins in one hand and the saddle horn with the other, he ducked as a low branch swept past. The thud of the horse’s hooves carried up through the saddle with each step, rattling his spine, and using the stirrups he tried to lift himself from the saddle. The thudding eased, but his legs quickly began to tire.
Ahead, Alastair was drawing away, and remembering the old man’s instructions, Eric gave Briar a short kick. The horse snorted and shook his head, but he picked up the pace.
A few minutes later Alastair slowed as the trees opened around them. Briar moved up alongside the old man as they turned onto the Gods’ road. Eric glanced around as sunlight filtered through the thin canopy overhead, wary of being seen, but the road was empty.
“Is this a good idea?” he asked, his teeth rattling as they picked up the pace.
“It’s the only way. The forest is too dense around Oaksville, and it doesn’t open out until you reach the desert. It would take days to get anywhere,” Alastair answered.
“But surely they’ll send patrols along the road?” Eric argued.
“As soon as they realise you’ve escaped,” Alastair nodded. “But I’m hoping we’ll be quick enough to stay ahead of them.”
He flashed a grin and then kicked Elcano into a canter. Feeling the horse shift beneath him, Eric had a second to grab at the saddle horn, before Briar leapt after Elcano. He gasped as he found himself lifting into the air, and he clenched his thighs around the saddle, desperate to hang on.
Eric’s heart raced as his feet pressed into the stirrups, holding him in place, and sucking in a breath he looked ahead. Briar had closed the distance Alastair had opened between them, and now they were right on the other horse’s tail.
Slowly, Eric found himself settling into the rhythm of Briar’s stride. Fire burned in his legs as he crouched in the saddle, but he pressed it down, concentrating on Alastair’s back. The pounding of hooves drowned out the sounds of the forest, and sunlight flashed through the trees, lighting the way ahead.
As they raced down the Gods’ road, Eric’s mind strayed, wondering again at the mystery of the old man. Though he knew nothing of Alastair, something about him seemed to inspire trust. Or maybe Eric was just desperate for what he offered—a way to control the curse inside him.
Glancing ahead, Eric watched as the Gods’ road slowly curved away from them. The trees to either side of the path obscured their view beyond the bend, but by now they were far from Oaksville, and any hunters were bound to be behind them. Eric felt the weight lifting from his chest with each thud of Briar’s hooves, his fear falling away. Guilt still wrapped around his heart, but clear of the town, he found his will to live returning. Alastair was right—his death would achieve nothing. But alive, Eric could at least try to right his wrongs.
As they raced around the bend, Eric caught a glimpse of movement in the woods to either side of them. Frowning, he glanced back and saw black-garbed figures stepping from the trees. Looking ahead, he opened his mouth to shout a warning to Alastair. But the words died on his lips as he saw Alastair pulling hard on Elcano’s reins.
Ahead, a line of wagons blocked the road. Black-garbed men and women moved between the wagons, each carrying some variety of sword, axe or club. Most of the men sported thick leather armour stained black to match their clothes. Thick beards covered their faces, and several bowmen sat on the wagons. Sunlight glinted off their steel-tipped arrows as they pointed them at Alastair and Eric.
“Baronians,” Alastair cursed as Briar drew to a stop beside the old man.
Ice spread through Eric’s chest as the men he’d spotted in the trees moved to surround them. Baronians were the scum of the Three Nations. They considered themselves above the laws of the lands, beyond the power of kings or councils. Nationless vagrants, the Baronian tribes wandered between the nations, wreaking havoc wherever they went. Normally they would never come so near to a settlement as large as Oaksville. But seeing them now, Eric had a terrifying suspicion about what had brought them so close.
Amongst the black-garbed ranks, a giant of a man made his way towards them. Thick leather armour covered his massive chest and he wore his hair pulled back in the Baronian fashion of a ponytail. A two-handed greatsword was strapped to his back, and his beard was matted with filth. His black eyes stared at them as he drew to a stop in front of the horses.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
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