Stormwielder - Chapter 3
Gabriel had not taken long to sift through the remains of his family home. The flames had been doused by the evening rain, but what they left behind was barely recognisable...
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 had not taken long to sift through the remains of his family home. The flames had been doused by the evening rain, but what they left behind was barely recognisable. In the ruins of the forge, he found a few gold coins that were his family’s life savings, along with a short sword an old soldier had once given his father as payment. He took both, carefully tying the sword and its sheath to his belt.
During his search, he had studiously avoided the room in which his family lay. But as he was leaving, a glimmer amidst the rubble caught his eye. Reaching down, he’d lifted the silver necklace from the ashes. It was the necklace he had given his fiancée as an anniversary gift. At the end of the silver chain, a tiny blue sapphire glinted in the light. He had saved all year to afford it. He could still remember the light in her eyes as he placed it around her neck.
He wore it around his own neck now, a silent reminder of all he had lost. Wandering down the dark streets, Gabriel made his way towards the city gates. Lost souls stumbled past him, eyes empty, faces black with soot. Watching them, an idea came to Gabriel, and he slowed. His eyes were drawn to a man wearing the uniform of the city guard.
The man did not look up as Gabriel approached. In the dull gloom, he could have been a statue. He sat alone on a crumbling wall, head held in his hands.
“What are you doing?” Gabriel asked bluntly.
The guard took a long time to move. When he did, he looked up at Gabriel, blinking slowly in the moonlight. “What?”
Reaching down, Gabriel gripped the man by the shoulders and shook him. “I said, what are you doing?” Gabriel growled. “Why are you sitting here like a coward, letting the demon escape?”
Light flickered in the man’s eyes and with a giant hand he pushed Gabriel away. He staggered to his feet, towering over Gabriel. “A coward, am I?” his hand shot out and caught Gabriel by the shirt. “Come here, little man, let’s see how brave you are?”
Though Gabriel was anything but little, he had no desire to go toe to toe with the guard, and he quickly tore himself free. He raised his hands in a sign of peace. “How about we both prove our bravery, and go after the demon?”
The guard stilled at that. He glanced away, his shoulders slumping. “Long gone by now,” he muttered, “and what is a mortal man to do against something like that, anyway? The Gods know we almost had him, but he slipped through our fingers.”
“He had help,” Gabriel whispered. He stepped in close to the man and placed a hand on his arm. “But they can’t have gotten far. I saw them not long ago, near the eastern wall. If they’re heading east, they won’t get far through the forest. They’ll have to return to the Gods’ road eventually.”
The man shrugged. “Maybe. But like I said, what can we do? Only the Goddess could stand against that darkness. And she isn’t exactly easy to reach these days.”
“The Goddess be damned!” Gabriel cursed. “If she cared, she would have stopped the demon before it came here. No, it’s up to us to stop it, before more lives are lost. We may not have its power, but I have a sword, and last I heard, demons still die when you stab one.”
The guard frowned at Gabriel. “You’re just one man.”
“Join me and there will be two,” Gabriel replied.
The silence stretched out, their eyes locked in a silent battle. But Gabriel did not look away, and finally the man nodded. “You’re a tough little bugger. But you’re right, someone’s got to stop that demon.” He held out his hand. “The name’s Tom.”
After that, their numbers slowly swelled, until come morning, two-dozen men joined Gabriel at the eastern gates. They had gathered up stray horses and weapons as they wandered the town, and now Gabriel felt confident about their chances. He still wore the short sword strapped to his waist, but many of the men around him were armed with crossbows. If they could track down their quarry, things would end differently this time.
Word came at dawn confirming Gabriel’s suspicions. Tracks had been found at the base of the eastern wall, leading into the forest. Unable to wait any longer, Gabriel and the other men set off through the eastern gates. The clatter of hooves on cobbles was deafening in the tunnel, but ahead the bright light of the world beyond beckoned.
Sitting comfortably in the saddle, Gabriel kicked his horse into the lead as they emerged from the gate. While they had never been rich, the forge had provided his family with enough for a modest existence—including a horse and wagon. In his free time Gabriel had often taken the gelding into the forest with Margaret, to wander at their leisure.
Now though, Gabriel’s mind was focused on the chase. His thoughts were far ahead, picturing the twists and turns of the Gods’ road. If they’d climbed the wall, it meant the boy and old man were on foot. They should have no trouble getting ahead of them—after that, it was only a matter of closing the net around them.
The breeze picked up as he kicked his horse into a gallop. The others followed suit, and they raced up the hill from the town. He did not look back as they entered the trees—he had no wish to see the smoking ruin of his home. The trees loomed around them as they pushed on, their branches stretching overhead to blot out the sky.
Amidst the woods, the stench of the burning town faded away, replaced by the richness of the earth and trees. The fury of their passage sent leaves whirling and birds flew shrieking into the trees at their approach. Within a few minutes, Gabriel’s horse began to snort, unused to the hard pace. But as it slowed he dug in his heels, determined to outpace their quarry.
Faster.
The thought slivered through his mind, driving him onwards. A need rose within him, a longing to see the demon pay, to watch its face as he plunged his sword into its black heart. His chest ached as red flashed across his vision. He could almost smell the blood, taste the thrill of revenge.
Ahead the Gods’ road bent away to the right, concealing what lay beyond. Crouching in the saddle, Gabriel pressed his mount harder, feeling the beast shuddering beneath him. They would have to slow down soon, regardless of his own desires. Their horses were work beasts, not trained for such a hard pace, but he would press them for as long as he could.
As they raced around the bend, Gabriel heard a shout from one of his men. He glanced around in time to see an arrow sprout from Tom’s chest. His mouth fell open as Tom slumped in the saddle and tumbled from his horse. Tugging at the reins, Gabriel tried to slow his mount, but it was far too late for that.
Black-garbed men streamed from the trees around them, while ahead the road straightened, revealing the massed ranks of wild men and wagons. Before Gabriel and his men could recover, the men roared, and charged.
Eric sat frozen in his saddle as the massive Baronian drew to a stop in front of the wagons. Hands on his hips, the man stared up at them, black eyes glinting in the low light. Swallowing, Eric reached unconsciously for his knife, before remembering he had lost it in Oaksville. Briar shifted beneath him, his ears lying flat against his skull. Beside him, Alastair sat straight in the saddle, calmly returning the Baronian’s glare.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” the Baronian repeated.
“Out of the way, Baronian,” Alastair growled. Elcano stamped his hoof to reinforce the old man’s words. “In the name of the Goddess.”
“Oh, the Goddess is it?” The Baronian threw back his head and howled with laughter. The others joined in, and the forest rang with their mirth.
Eric glanced at Alastair, his skin tingling at the thought of the arrows pointed at his exposed body. One slip of a finger, one over eager bandit, and it would all be over. He hoped Alastair knew what he was doing.
When the Baronians eventually fell silent, their leader took another step towards Alastair. “Well, I’ll admit, that’s a new one,” a broad grin split his face. “Doesn’t matter though. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell all the others: to pass you’ll have to pay the toll.”
“And what is the toll?” Eric croaked.
“All that you have.” The big man’s tone brooked no argument.
Alastair met the Baronian’s ultimatum with silence. Sweat dripped down Eric’s back as he stared at the old man, willing him to speak. His guts roiled at the thought of giving over his measly possessions. He had lost his bag at some point during his flight through Oaksville, but he still wore the steel bracelet around his wrist. It was all he had left of his parents.
“What’s your name?” Alastair asked suddenly.
“Thaster.” The Baronian grinned, apparently unconcerned by Alastair’s change of tact. “Now, if you don’t mind, we have business elsewhere. You’ve come from Oaksville, have you?”
Eric shivered at the greed in Thaster’s eyes. It was clear what the man’s intentions were, why the Baronians had come to Oaksville. The pillars of smoke staining the sky behind them made it clear something had happened to the town. Looking around at the men of Thaster’s tribe, Eric prayed there would be enough fighters left in Oaksville to repel the raiders.
He didn’t like their chances though.
“Where we’ve come from is none of your business, Baronian,” Alastair was speaking again, “Now, out of my way. I have no intention of providing any more funds for your misdeeds.”
Steel rasped on leather as Alastair slowly drew his sword from its sheath. Eric gaped, his heart lurching in his chest. For a moment, Thaster stared at the old man in obvious disbelief. But his hesitation only lasted a second. Reaching up, he drew his greatsword.
“Very well, old man,” Thaster grinned and glanced back at his men. “Take care of...”
Thaster’s voice trailed off as the distant pounding of horse hooves reached them. Thaster frowned, shifting to stare down the road towards Oaksville. A few of the black-garbed bandits faded into the trees, and several of the bowmen shifted their aim, waiting for the horsemen to appear.
“Bring friends, did you?” Thaster growled. “Pity they’re too late. Hunter, Laurel, put some arrows in their hearts.”
Eric flinched and closed his eyes as bowstrings twanged. There was no time to move, to throw himself to the side. Helpless, he waited for the sharp steel to tear through his flesh. But it did not come. A heavy silence fell over the road, broken only by the thunder of approaching horses.
Opening his eyes, Eric looked around. Alastair still sat comfortably in his saddle, his hand outstretched towards Thaster. Hovering in the air between them were two steel tipped arrows.
As Eric gaped, Alastair flicked his wrist, and the arrows went spinning off into the trees.
“Out of the way,” Alastair growled. As he spoke, an invisible force seemed to strike the crowd of Baronians, sending them stumbling backwards a step.
Thaster’s face had paled to white in the space of a second, but he straightened now. A scowl twisted his lips as he looked around and saw his men shrinking from the old man. “Cowards!” he screamed. “Fire! Kill him!”
But suddenly the pounding hooves were right on top of them, and twisting in the saddle, Eric watched as two-dozen horsemen barrelled around the corner of the Gods’ road. A twinge of panic twisted in his chest as he saw the man in the lead—the same man that had accosted them in the alleyway. The man’s eyes were dark with hate as he kicked at his foam-flecked horse, urging the poor beast on.
Then arrows flashed through the air, and several horses went down in a tangle of thrashing limbs and hooves. The man from the alleyway looked up and dragged on his reins, turning his horse a fraction, and several arrows went shrieking past him. Drawing a short sword from his belt, he drove his horse at the nearest Baronian.
As Eric turned back towards the wagons, a horse crashed sidelong into Briar, driving him from the centre of the road. Crying out, Eric tugged at his reins, struggling to control his mount. He ducked as an arrow hissed past his head, then swung to face the other horseman.
“Come on!” Alastair yelled as Elcano slammed into Briar again, sending them towards the trees.
Alastair’s brow was furrowed and his jaw clenched tight, his hands raised above his head. But Elcano seemed to be obeying some unspoken instruction. He leapt at the bandits to their left, scattering them from his path, and then raced into the woods. Before Eric could so much as dig in his heels, Briar sprang after him.
Eric crouched low in the saddle as a wall of greenery loomed. Then he was amidst the trees, clinging to the saddle with everything he had, desperately trying to follow Elcano’s path. Ahead, Alastair sat slumped in the saddle now, his head bent, but still he did not slow.
Branches flashed at Eric’s face as they tore through the shrubbery, threatening to hurl him from the saddle. His ears throbbed with the erratic beat of his heart, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He still could not believe what he had just seen. The man from the alleyway—Gabriel, he remembered his name now—had followed them, had chased them all the way from Oaksville.
And, impossibly, Alastair had stopped two arrows mid-flight.
But there was no time to consider either now, and keeping low in the saddle, he tried to avoid the branches flashing for his face. He had no hope of controlling Briar now, but ahead he saw Alastair finally pulling back on Elcano’s reins.
With a low whinny, the horse drew to a stop, and to Eric’s relief, Briar did the same. Still gasping for air, Eric slid from the saddle. His legs crumpled as they touched the ground, their strength exhausted. A swarm of insects rose to meet him, biting mercilessly at his skin, but in that moment he didn’t care. He grasped at the damp ground, drawing reassurance from its firmness, and looked up at Alastair.
A distant scream carried through the trees, and Eric stared back in the direction of the road. There was no sign of movement, and slowly the far-off sounds of clashing metal faded away. Facing Alastair again, his anger flickered into life. What had the old man been playing at on the road, baiting the Baronians like that?
“What the hell…” The words died in his throat as he saw the arrow embedded in Alastair’s shoulder.
Alastair swayed in the saddle, face pale, brow creased. With painstaking slowness, he lifted his leg and swung himself down from Elcano. He staggered away from the horse and slumped against a tree, then slid to the ground.
“Are you okay?” Eric breathed. He climbed to his feet and took a hesitant step towards Alastair.
The old man shook his head. Closing his eyes, he reached up and took a hold of the arrow. In one smooth movement, he tore it from his shoulder and hurled it into the trees. Eric stared as blood began to ooze from the ragged wound it had left.
“What…what happened back there?” Eric stammered.
Grimacing, Alastair opened his eyes and glanced at him. “Magic,” he muttered. “Except…the Baronians had a Magicker of their own, one with power over the Light. Something interfered, there at the end.”
“The Light?” Eric frowned. He hadn’t understood half of what the old man had said. “You’re a Magicker?”
The old man forced a smile. “Ay, Eric,” Alastair replied, “and so are you.”
Gabriel gasped as he struck the ground. The force of the impact drove the air from his lungs, flooding his chest with pain, but instinctively he rolled to the side, carrying him clear of his thrashing horse. It kicked and screamed on the ground beside him, a black-shafted arrow embedded in its broad chest. Other horses stampeded around him as his men attempted to defend themselves against the hoard of Baronians.
He scrambled in the mud for his sword as another horse screamed and went down. His fingers clenched around the hilt, and then he was back on his feet, swinging to meet the first of the black-garbed bandits. The rain of arrows had ceased as the men in the trees raced to join the battle, but they had already done their job. Half his men were down, the others either unhorsed or surrounded.
Swearing, Gabriel swung at the nearest Baronian, but the man leapt from his blade’s path and started to laugh. Gabriel gritted his teeth and went after him, painfully aware of his inexperience. He had never been in a real swordfight before. His only knowledge came from playing with his father’s blade when the forge was quiet. Still, work as a blacksmith had made him strong, and he had no intention of dying easily.
Fight.
The thought swept through his mind, lighting a fire in his chest. A surge of adrenaline added strength to his weary limbs, and with a growl he swung again at the Baronian. This time the man was not quick enough to retreat, and raising his axe he caught the tip of Gabriel’s sword on its blade. Clenching his fist, Gabriel drove forward, freeing the blade and sending it deep into the man’s chest.
The axe slid from the Baronian’s fingers as he staggered backwards. For a second he clutched at his chest, trying to stem the bleeding, before he toppled face first to the ground. Elation swept through Gabriel, washing away the fear. Grinning, he stepped over the body and searched for his next opponent.
Kill.
Blood pounded in his head, and his vision flickered red. He snarled as another Baronian charged him, his battle axe swinging for Gabriel’s face. Ducking the decapitating blow, he rushed forward and punched out with his short sword.
The axeman twisted at the last moment, then his fist slammed into Gabriel’s cheek. The blow caught him off-balance and he tumbled backwards. His vision spun as he struck the ground and rolled. He heard the thunk of an axe striking dirt. Before the man could try again he kicked out, and felt a satisfying thud as he knocked the axeman’s feet out from beneath him.
Ignoring the pain in his face, Gabriel gathered himself and dove on his attacker. His sword had been lost when he fell, but he smashed a fist into the man’s face before he could raise his hands to defend himself. The power behind the blow drove the Baronian’s head back into the hard-packed earth. Then he surged back against Gabriel, struggling to throw off the blacksmith. But in close quarters, he was no match for Gabriel’s muscular bulk.
Grinning, Gabriel wrapped his fingers around his foe’s throat. Fear appeared in the man’s coal-speckled eyes, and his arms flailed, trying to break Gabriel’s steely grip. Veins bulged on his forehead as he wheezed, frantically trying to draw breath.
Watching the light fade from his foe’s eyes, Gabriel felt a thrill of exhilaration. He found himself joying in his newfound strength, in this power to give or take life. As the man sagged in his grip, Gabriel began to laugh. Finally releasing the man, he straightened and looked around.
The dead and the dying covered the road, and nearby the last of the townsfolk were fighting back to back. Beyond, more Baronian’s stood amidst their wagons, their attention fixed on two fleeing horsemen. Gabriel caught a glimpse of grey hair and a flash of youthful blue eyes, before the horses vanished into the trees.
His gut clenched with rage. There was no mistaking them—it was the old man and the boy from the alleyway.
So close!
Gabriel’s hands shook as he picked up his sword and stumbled to his feet. His clash with the Baronians had carried him clear of the conflict that had engulfed his comrades, but now he stood on the opposite side of the road to where his quarry had vanished. And somehow they had found horses, while he now found himself on foot.
Cursing, Gabriel gripped his sword tighter and stepped towards the press of bodies. He would fight his way through, or die trying.
A blinding light flashed across his vision, and he staggered back, pain lancing through his forehead. When he looked again at the road, it seemed a dark figure hovered over him, a ghost or demon from the other side. The figure leaned towards him, stretching out a pale hand.
Go back!
Then it was gone. Gabriel stood for a second longer, his whole body trembling with terror. Sucking in a breath, he tried to find the rage, the hatred that had driven him so far. But there was only fear now, only an empty, unmanly cowardice.
He stumbled backwards, retreating from the sound of clashing swords and screaming men. As he reached the trees, he saw the last of his comrades stumble backwards, a sword embedded in his chest. Their eyes caught across the distance as the man sagged to his knees. His mouth opened in a silent cry, and then he was gone.
Gabriel choked and looked away. Guilt twisted in his stomach as he fled into the trees. He waited for the screams to follow him, for the shouts as the Baronians gave chase. Gasping for breath, he leapt over a half-rotten tree trunk and staggered on.
Only after a few minutes did Gabriel realise no one was following. He stumbled to a stop and turned back towards the road, listening for the sound of pursuit.
But there was nothing. An eerie quiet hung over the woods. The trees were still; not even a breath of wind stirred the branches. The buzz of insects and the chirping of birds had been silenced. Beneath the thick canopy, the world was cast in shadows. They seemed to press in around Gabriel as he turned, suddenly unsure of which direction he’d come from.
Gabriel…
The hackles on Gabriel’s neck stood on end. He shivered, looking around again. The voice had almost sounded real this time. But he was alone amidst the trees, and shaking his head, he started off again.
Gabriel…
He stilled as the voice came again. Then panic rose in his chest, and he started to run. The whispers chased after him, seeming to come from all around, wrapping him in terror. His rage fled before it, his thirst for revenge drowning in it, until all that remained was the fear.
When he finally stumbled into the clearing, he was at the end of his strength. Falling to his knees, he bent his head, gasping for air. The whispers came from all around him now. His heart pounded hard against his chest, but Gabriel could run no further. Gathering the last of his courage, he stumbled to his feet.
The clearing he’d found himself in was small, barely more than a patch of barren ground amidst the trees. A dark pool of water had gathered in its centre. Ripples trailed across its surface as light raindrops fell through the gap in the canopy. Beside it sat an old stone alter, its surface covered by moss and lichen.
The patter of rain on leaves gathered strength, and a fine mist rose from the pool. It collected amidst the trees, concealing the earth, cutting Gabriel off from the world. Amid its silvery tendrils, darkness began to coalesce. A figure took form, its black presence dominating the clearing. The forest seemed to retreat before it, the ancient trees withering before its black power. Silhouettes danced about the spectre, forming a cloak of living death.
Gabriel stood transfixed as the voice whispered through the clearing, taunting him, drawing him in.
Gabriel...it said. Welcome, my child…
A tremor went through Gabriel as the spell broke. He staggered, and then reached for his sword. But as he drew the silver steel into the light, he knew it was hopeless, that mortal weapons were nothing to this creature. Even so, he gripped it tight, and stepped towards the darkness.
Stop.
The force behind the voice was enough to send Gabriel to his knees. He stared up at the evil presence, his hope withering, a vast emptiness opening inside of him. The sword slipped from his fingers.
“What do you want?” he croaked.
To help you.
Gabriel shivered. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “It’s not real. It’s not there,” he muttered, willing himself to wake, to pull himself from the nightmare.
Look at me!
Gabriel reeled as the voice became a roar. Around the clearing, ancient tree trunks groaned, and the very ground seemed to shake before the creature’s power. He looked up and his gaze caught in the pitch-black of the creature’s eyes.
“What are you?” Somehow he found the courage to speak. “What do you want with me?”
To help you on your quest.
“Why?” the words leapt unbidden from his tongue. “Surely the demon boy is your kin?”
Laughter echoed through the mist, sending a shiver down to Gabriel’s very soul. The creature shook its black head.
My reasons matter not¸ the creature’s words snaked their way through Gabriel’s mind. Do you not want revenge, my child?
Gabriel shivered. Gritting his teeth, he fought the temptation that rose within him. “Why would I need your help, demon?”
The laughter came again, a soft, crackling sound that clawed at his ears. He tried to block it out, but it slipped past his defences, carrying with it the sick sense of corruption. Dark tendrils wrapped around his soul, calling for him to join in, to give way to his hatred.
Look around you, the voice said at last. Your friends are dead. Your town is in ruins. And here you sit, freezing in the rain, as your quarry slips away.
Gabriel stared up at the dark face, willing himself to spurn its words, to turn away from its darkness.
“What would you offer me?” he found himself asking.
I will grant you immunity to their magic, and the means to track them.
Uncertainty gripped him. What the demon offered would guarantee his success. Without their magic, the old man and the demon were only mortal. Today he had proven he was a match for mortal men. If the demon spoke the truth, they would not escape justice again.
He looked at the demon, the creature of shadows and darkness. What would it possibly gain from their deaths? And what price would it ask in return?
Their deaths…
The words echoed in his mind. Suddenly his choice was clear. Whatever it asked, his life no longer mattered. And if he accepted its offer, he would rid the world of at least one evil. If he declined, both would continue unchecked. The decision was simple.
“I accept,” he whispered.
And darkness descended around him.
Eric stared across the empty fire pit, shivering as the autumn breeze blew through the trees. The sun had set an hour ago, drawing the last heat from the forest. He had gathered the wood for a fire before realising his own foolishness. Their hunters would be drawn like moths to the flame. But now he was seriously reconsidering his conclusion. Surely the trees would shield the light…
Angrily, he shook his head and glanced again at the sleeping Magicker. The old man had said little since his pronouncement after the chase. Instead, he had set about making a poultice for his wound from herbs he pulled from the saddlebags. Afterwards, he had muttered something about the townsfolk being distracted by the Baronians, propped himself up against a tree, and then promptly fallen asleep.
That had left Eric to spend the last several hours agonising over the meanings of his words.
Magicker.
He shook his head and shifted himself into a more comfortable position. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t as though he had never considered the possibility of magic, but Magickers were noble born. For commoners, magic was the cheap tricks of the circus. Real magic was unheard of, reserved for the rich and powerful.
Closing his eyes, Eric concentrated on the ache of his body, trying to distract himself from the questions whirling through his mind. The day’s ride had left him hurting in places he had never dreamed of. Even his knees were sore—though Gods only knew how that had happened.
He looked at Alastair again, watching the old man’s chest rise and fall. He seemed to have regained some colour in his face now, though Eric still found himself wondering whether the man would ever wake. He had no experience with wounds, but the jagged tear left by the arrow had not looked good.
“Good evening, Eric.”
Eric jumped as Alastair’s eyes flickered open, and he almost fell off the log he was sitting on. Groaning, the Magicker straightened and looked around. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the empty fire pit.
“You’ve been busy,” he gave a pained smile. “How long was I asleep?”
“The whole day,” Eric replied shortly, then trying to insert some humour into his voice, he added: “Anyone ever tell you that you snore?”
Alastair chuckled softly. Staggering to his feet, he slowly stretched his arms, wincing as he moved his injured shoulder. “Every morning, when my wife was still alive.”
“You were married?” Eric asked, and then cursed himself for getting distracted. He had more pressing questions to ask.
“Once…” Alastair’s voice was soft as he spoke. Reaching up, he lifted the bandage to inspect his wound. “But that’s not what you’re really interested in, is it?”
Eric shook his head. “You said you were a Magicker. That I was one too. It’s not possible.”
“And why is that?” Alastair replied softly.
“Because only nobles have magic…”
Eric clenched his fists as he waited for a reply, barely daring to breathe. He didn’t want to face what it meant if Alastair was speaking the truth, if he really had magic. Until now, the darkness inside of him had been a curse, some terrible force that lashed out with a will of its own. But magic…magic was controllable, malleable to its users demands.
If he truly had magic, that meant he could have…could have stopped the destruction that had been unleashed on Oaksville.
“No. It’s true, most Magickers are from powerful families. But the gift does not recognise royalty, or wealth. Only blood. It is passed down from generation to generation.”
“But my parents…they didn’t have magic,” Eric grasped at the fact like a lifeline.
“Magic can lie dormant for generations before reasserting itself,” Alastair fell silent for a moment. “Such cases usually have horrifying implications.”
Eric closed his eyes as a memory flickered into his mind. He quickly thrust it away, even as his arms began to shake, a numbness spreading through his body. “I thought it was a curse,” he whispered.
“No, Eric. The power comes from within you. What happened in Oaksville was wild magic, an unleashing of your power in response to your emotion, to your fear or anger.”
Eric slid from the log, his knees sinking into the damp earth. A gurgling sob built in his chest. His fingers dug into the soft dirt, grasping for something solid to cling too. His eyes never left Alastair’s.
“Could I have stopped it? Could I have saved them?”
It’s all your fault, the words whispered in his mind.
A strong hand clasped him by the shoulder. “You could not have saved them, Eric. Once released, you stood no chance of containing that power. Without training, without preparation, you never stood a chance.”
“But it was still me.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Eric.” Alastair’s emerald eyes bored into Eric. “Magic is a wondrous thing, but it has a mind of its own. It does what it wants, when it can. And it will do all it can to preserve itself, to protect its host from outside threats.”
“You make it sound like its alive?”
“In a way, it is,” Alastair replied.
Eric shivered, turning the words over in his mind. “It’s still a part of me though,” he paused. “I need to learn how to control it.”
Alastair laughed softly, his face soft. “I said I would help you, Eric. I meant it. I will be your teacher.”
Relief flooded Eric’s chest. He sat back against the log and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. For the first time in years, hope touched him. When he opened his eyes again, Alastair was standing over the fire pit. He held a piece of flint in one hand and a knife in the others. Sparks leapt from the flint as he struck it with the knife.
“Are you sure it’s safe to light a fire?”
Alastair nodded. “The Baronians and townsfolk will be preoccupied with each other tonight. And I’m not a young man anymore. My bones ache in this cold.”
Eric shivered as he recalled the charging horsemen, and the face of the man from the alleyway. “He was with them, you know?”
“Who?” Alastair looked up at the tremor in Eric’s voice.
“Gabriel,” Eric closed his eyes, recalling the hate and anger in the man’s eyes. “The man from the alleyway. He was with the horsemen, the hunters from Oaksville. Yet another death caused by my actions.”
“You cannot blame yourself for the decisions of others,” Alastair said softly.
Eric only nodded. He watched in silence as Alastair lit the fire and settled down on the log opposite. Finally he shook himself from his melancholy.
“Why couldn’t you just light it with your magic?”
A smile tugged at Alastair’s lips. “Do you recall what I said about the Light earlier, Eric?”
Frowning, Eric tried to recall the old man’s words, but none of it had made sense to him. He shook his head.
Alastair laughed. “Perhaps I should start from the beginning. Magic is a complex, chaotic force, but it is still a force of nature. It has rules, Elements that divide it. The Light is one of those.”
“What do you mean by Elements?”
“The Three Elements are the Light, the Earth, and the Sky. All natural magic falls within the bounds of one of these Elements. Most Magickers control just a small part of the whole. For instance, my power manipulates the forces of attraction between objects. That comes from the Light. But I cannot control fire, or light itself, which are other aspects of that Element.”
“And my magic?”
“Yours is…different,” Alastair paused. “From what I have seen, you control all facets of the Sky. Such an ability is rare, and while the Sky is the weakest Element, it makes you a formidable Magicker.”
“The storm I created didn’t seem weak,” Eric replied bitterly.
“No, but you should also understand, your magic did not create that storm. Only the Gods can bring about something from nothing.”
Eric tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Your magic did not create, but drew the storm from elsewhere. It manipulated distant weather patterns, until they converged on Oaksville, forming a destructive maelstrom of lightning and wind. But it was not created.”
Running a hand through his hair, Eric struggled to process the new information. But his mind was sluggish, exhausted from the day’s events and distracted by the constant ache of his body.
On the other log, Alastair smiled. “I think perhaps that is enough for now. A night’s rest will be good for you. As I said, magic comes from within you. When you use it, it draws on your life force. You will need rest to recover the strength it took. I will keep watch. We’ll leave before first light. Hopefully the Gods Road will be clear by then.”
Eric nodded, struggling to contain a yawn. He still had questions, but his eyes were drooping and he could no longer deny his exhaustion. It would be useless to continue their discussion now. Grabbing a blanket he had taken from Briar’s saddlebags, he curled up in front of the fire and closed his eyes.
As consciousness drifted away, images appeared in the darkness of his thoughts, some as clear as day, others little more than blurs. Then, as it often did, his mind turned to his parents, and his fifteenth birthday.
“Eric, catch!” The nectarine tumbled towards him.
Reaching up, Eric plucked the fruit from the air and sank his teeth into its soft flesh. His friend sat in the branches above him, munching on a second nectarine. Juice ran down his youthful face. Behind him, an autumn sunset lit the sky blood-red.
“So how does it feel to be old, Eric?” Mathew asked.
Eric shrugged. “No difference, really. But my father’s already talking about getting me in the fields.”
Mathew laughed. “That’s too bad. Maybe you should just forget about this birthday thing. Growing up sounds like hard work.”
Eric grinned back. “I don’t think it works that way.”
“Eric!” A woman’s voice carried up the hill. “Come help set the tables!”
“It begins,” Mathew mocked.
Shaking his head, Eric waved his friend goodbye and started down the hill. His mother’s call came again, and he began to run, taking care not to slip on the muddy ground. Below, the little town spread out beneath him, the wooden houses with their thatched roofs ringing the hill.
He was puffing by the time he reached his back door and pulled it open. Leaning down, he took care to scrape the mud from his boots before entering. His mother could be terrifying when she was angry, and birthday or no, trekking mud through the house was bound to bring her wrath down upon him.
“There’s the birthday boy—or should I say man!” His father greeted him with a booming laugh.
Moving across the room, he scooped Eric up into a bear hug. His strong arms crushed the air from Eric’s lungs before releasing him. He stared up into his father’s dark amber eyes, and smiled.
His mother’s voice echoed up the corridor, and his father laughed again. “Sounds like it’s dinner time. We’d better not keep your mother waiting,” his father said.
“Better late than never I guess,” his mother greeted them as they moved into the dining room.
Her hazel eyes found Eric from across the room. Despite her grey hair, his mother had lost none of her vitality. She moved around like a woman half her age. A smile tugged at her lips as she put her hands on her hips.
Eric bowed his head, struggling to conceal his own grin. “Sorry mum, I came as soon as I heard you!”
His mother shook her head, laughing softly. “Oh don’t worry; it’s your day after all. Come here!”
They embraced before the three of them sat down at the small table. The rich aroma of roast lamb filled the room, its source sitting centrepiece on the table, surrounded by potatoes and broccoli and an assortment of other vegetables. It was a feast unlike any Eric had ever seen.
The evening flashed by in a rush, filled with talk of Eric’s childhood and his dreams for the future. As the night grew long, Eric resisted his exhaustion for as long as he could, before finally bidding his parents goodnight.
But in his sleep, darkness wrapped around his dreams, turning them to nightmares. He watched as demonic armies marched across the valley of his hometown. The villagers fled before them, but the hordes overran them, slaughtering all who crossed their path. His village burned, the fires spreading until the whole valley was aflame.
Screaming, Eric wrenched himself from the dream. But awakening in his home, he found the nightmare had followed him. His room was burning. Flames clung to the walls and lightning danced across the ceiling, leaving scorch marks in its wake.
He screamed again and threw off his blankets. Lightning caught the covers as he ran for the door, chasing after him. He fled the bedroom, the heat swamping him. The house was already ablaze, and smoke filled the corridor. Holding his breath, he sprinted for his parents’ bedroom.
A blast of heat forced him back as he yanked their door open. His eyes burned but he pushed forward. Through the smoke he made out the burning bed and its occupants. Nothing living remained in that room.
Choking on his grief, Eric stumbled back, tears boiling from his face. Turning, he fled from the nightmare.
When he burst through the front door, a crowd had already gathered outside. He staggered towards them before the strength went from his legs, and he collapsed to his knees. Swaying, he opened his mouth and croaked out a desperate plea.
The crowd stared back, unmoving. No one spoke, no one approached to help. Their eyes were transfixed, their mouths wide open. Some sported burns, and ash covered their faces, as though they had tried and failed to enter the inferno.
Whispers spread through the watchers as Eric reached out to them in silent entreat. They drew back as one, fear touching their faces.
It was then that he noticed the lightning. Sparks crawled along his skin, jumping between the raised hairs on his arms. Yet he felt nothing.
Eric fell backwards, scrambling to brush it from him. Lightning burst from his skin and struck the ground. Thunder boomed and the crowd screamed.
“Help me,” somehow Eric’s burnt throat managed to croak the words.
The crowd stared back. Still no one spoke.
Then he saw Mathew amidst the crowd. “Help me, Mathew!”
Mathew’s face was a mask of terror, but still he took a shaking step forward. He had always been brave, always been the one to leap from the high cliffs into the river, when Eric had been too frightened.
Eric reached out a hand to his friend. “Help me, Matthew,” he repeated.
Mathew ignored him. Instead, he drew his dagger. Eric had seen it many times. It had been a birthday gift from his own parents last year. It was a good blade, although nothing expensive. Now it glowed red in the light of the flames.
“Leave, Eric. Leave now, or I swear by Antonia I’ll plunge this blade through your heart.”
Gabriel groaned as the darkness retreated, returning him to the world. Sitting up, he sucked in a breath. His chest ached and his head throbbed, as though a thousand needles were piercing his skull. Yet at the same time, he felt rejuvenated, filled with a strange new energy. Already the pain was fading.
Closing his eyes, he searched his body, looking for a change. Nothing seemed different, but even so, he could feel something had been altered.
He looked around for the demon, but the clearing was empty now, the trees silent. Pulling himself to his feet, he walked across and picked up his sword from the damp earth.
As he straightened, movement came from the woods. He watched as a wolf emerged from the trees. Eyes as bright as the moon watched him. It bared its yellowed teeth, its jet-black fur bristling as a low growl rattled deep in its throat.
Gabriel raised his sword as the beast took a step towards him. He pointed the tip at its chest, silently cursing the demon and its useless gifts.
A sudden laughter whispered through his mind as the wolf halted.
Greetings, Gabriel. I am here to track the two you seek.
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