Stormwielder - Chapter 4
By the time the sun rose the next day, Eric and Alastair were a long way from Oaksville....
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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By the time the sun rose the next day, Eric and Alastair were a long way from Oaksville. Alastair had woken Eric in the dark, dragging him still half-asleep through the woods. They had led the horses until the trees opened out and they found themselves back on the Gods’ road. There they had mounted up and ridden east at an easy trot.
Now though, Eric could not help but glance over his shoulder to check for signs of pursuit. He still half-expected another pack of horsemen to come for him, with Gabriel at their lead. But the road was silent, and the trees overhead hid any sign of the distant city.
While Alastair was confident the people of Oaksville would be too preoccupied defending their city to come after him again, Eric was not so sure. He had seen the rage in Gabriel’s eyes on the road. If he had somehow survived the battle with the Baronians, nothing in the Three Nations would stop him from coming after them.
For now though, it seemed he was safe—from the hunters at least. He wasn’t so sure the same could be said about his safety around Briar. The horse bounced along beneath him, seeming to take an almost human pleasure from Eric’s every muffled wince and groan. And every so often the gelding would drift towards the trees, forcing Eric to duck as the branches flashed for his face. By noon, his whole body had been beaten black and blue, and it came as a relief when Alastair called a break.
Unfortunately, it only lasted long enough for them to devour a few scraps of dried beef, and Eric climbed back into the saddle with no small amount of trepidation. As he settled his feet into the stirrups, Briar looked back at him and gave a low whiny.
Alastair chuckled as he mounted Elcano. “I think he likes you.”
“How can you tell?” Eric raised an eyebrow.
“He hasn’t walked you into any big trees yet.”
“I thought you said he had a good temperament!” Eric exclaimed.
“Oh he’s fine.” Alastair gave Elcano a kick and they started off again. “He’s just a bit of a character.”
Eric snorted as he followed the old Magicker. “If you say so.”
As silence fell between them, Eric found his thoughts drifting to their discussion from the night before, and something occurred to him. “Tell me more about the Elements,” he asked. “The Earth, the Light, and the Sky, you said. The Three Gods control those same three powers, right?”
“Correct. Each of the Three Gods is a master of one Element. In fact, they’re the living embodiment of those forces. That’s why, unlike us, they have the power to create.”
“And what exactly does each Element control?” Noticing Briar beginning to pull ahead, Eric gave a short tug on the reins, bringing the gelding back under control.
“Well, as I said last night, the Light is the manipulation of raw energies in the natural world. It allows a Magicker to control fire, or light, or even for some, another’s magic. Myself, I can manipulate the forces of attraction between objects. In terms of raw power, the Light is the most powerful of the Elements.”
“Then there is the Earth—the physical embodiments of the natural world. Animals, plants, even the ground beneath us. Human’s too, in terms of healing physical wounds.”
“And finally there is the Sky—your Element. It is a wild and unwieldy force, Eric. The most uncanny and chaotic of the three Elements.”
Eric nodded slowly to himself as Alastair spoke, piecing the information together. Above, a breeze rattled the tree branches, and copper leaves rained down around them.
“What about dark magic?” he asked at last. For so long he had blamed his curse on that mythical force. He wanted to know how it differed.
“Dark magic is the antithesis of true magic, a perversion of the natural world. To wield it, a Magicker must ignore the Elements and give themselves over to their magic.” The old man took a breath. “Magic is a perilous force, and given freewill, it incites only ruin. Allow it free rein for too long, and you become a puppet to the very power you seek to control.”
Eric shivered. The more he heard of the perilous force, the less it seemed the blessing Alastair claimed. They fell silent then, continuing through the trees at a hard pace. As the day progressed, they took several more breaks, even walking the horses for a time to rest them.
Slowly the trees to either side of the road shrank, their trunks growing twisted and leaves turning a sickly brown. Eric sneezed as dust rose from the road to catch in his nostrils, and the air grew hot as the afternoon sun set in.
“We’re close to the edge of the desert now,” Alastair commented eventually. “It rarely rains here. The trees that survive have deep roots to reach the water far beneath the surface.”
“Why are we heading this way?” Eric asked as he wiped sweat from his brow.
“The hunters didn’t really leave us much choice,” Alastair replied. “But fortunately, I already had plans to head for Chole.”
“The Dying City?” Why?” In Eric’s wanderings, he had always stayed well clear of the desert, and the city in its centre.
“There is someone there I’ve been looking for.”
“Who?” Eric paused, thinking, then continued. “Is this someone like me?”
“Not quite,” Alastair chuckled. “But I cannot say who, only that I’m running out of time. We’ll have to travel through the desert itself to make it to Chole in time.”
“What?” Eric squeaked. He coughed, trying to regain his voice. “You can’t be serious?”
Dark tales were told about the desert around Chole. It had been created a hundred years ago, at the height of Archon’s war, when the Three Nations banded together to repel an invasion from the north. Archon, a Dark Magicker of incredible power, had driven his forces deep into the heart of Plorsea, to the gates of Chole itself, before a great spell had been cast by the Gods to drive him back.
But in the aftermath of the battle, the once green lands around the city had been turned to dust, and many of the dark creatures that had followed Archon had come to call it home. Now few dared to venture into its depths, and fewer still returned.
“There is an old road that crosses the desert, from the time before Archon’s war,” Alastair was speaking again. “Don’t worry, I’ve passed that way many times. Most of the tales are exaggerated.”
“But your shoulder…” Eric began.
“Relax, Eric,” Alastair shrugged his injured shoulder. “I am a fast healer. By tomorrow it shouldn’t be causing me so much pain. And even if it did not, it would not affect my magic.”
Eric fell silent, not entirely reassured. He shifted tack. “What about the city? I could lose control of my magic again.”
“We have a few days yet before we reach Chole. Don’t worry, Eric. I cannot make you a master overnight, but I can at least help you gain some control over your power before we arrive.”
Nodding, Eric returned his attention to the road. He had run out of arguments, though the unknown quantity of the Chole desert still made him shiver.
They reached the end of the treeline as the sun dipped towards the horizon, lighting the sky aflame. The forest ended abruptly either side of them, giving way to cracked brown earth. The desert stretched away into the distance, where three volcanic peaks rose from the skyline. The plains were devoid of movement, of life. Only the petrified corpses of the old forest remained, the ancient carcasses of trees littering the baked earth.
The Gods Road veered away to the left, tracking the outskirts of the desert, but a thin track continued into the arid land.
Alastair spurred his horse onto the path, and glanced back to check Eric was following. “Keep your eyes open. We’re in a different world now. The tales might be exaggerated, but this land is by no means safe. Dark creatures hide in these crevasses.”
Eric nodded and suppressed a shiver. It did not take much imagination to fear a place like this. Suddenly he found himself thinking the hunters might be preferable to whatever nightmares stalked the desert plains. He prayed to the Gods that Alastair knew what he was doing.
He stared up at the three volcanoes stabbing up into the red sky. The one in the middle was known as Mount Chole, but the others remained nameless. They had erupted from the earth at the apex of Archon’s war, as the spell was created to cast him from the Three Nations. The Magickers of the time had saved the city from the lava flows, but their magic could not stop the shadow the peaks created. Their presence drove back the humid coastal storms, plunging the land around Chole into drought.
A century later, the once great city had become known as the Dying City. Eric just hoped he would not be the final nail in its coffin.
Eric sat in the darkness, staring into the crackling flames of the campfire. Alastair sat close by, his arms stretched towards the fire, eager to fend off the chill that had come with nightfall. Above, a thousand stars crowded the night’s sky, and the moon had just appeared on the horizon.
Shifting on the log, Eric took stock of his body’s aches. The day’s ride had taken its toll, leaving bruises on top of bruises, but he was pleased with the progress he had made. Already he felt more comfortable in the saddle, slowly settling into the rhythm of the horse beneath him.
Beyond the light of the fire, the darkness was absolute. Staring into the pitch-black, Eric couldn’t help but shiver, imagining unseen eyes looking back at him. His neck tingled, and he glanced at Alastair, wondering how the old man could seem so relaxed.
Feeling a need for a distraction, Eric forced himself to speak. “Do you think Gabriel’s still out there?”
“If he was with the horsemen like you say, I do not think so. The Baronians would have slaughtered them all before continuing to Oaksville. But the man was driven, pushed past the brink of sanity. He may have found a way to survive.”
Eric took a moment to reply. “I think he’s still alive. I think it would take more than a few bandits to stop him,” he paused. “He terrifies me.”
Alastair nodded. “A man with nothing left to lose is a man without restraint. But there is more to your fear than that, isn’t there?”
Eric jumped as the fire popped. His heart was still racing as he settled back on his log. “I have no defence against him,” he replied eventually. “Whatever he’s become, it was my actions that created him.”
“And you think that makes you responsible for him?”
“I guess,” Eric shrugged.
There was a long pause before Alastair replied. “There is nothing you can do to change the past, Eric. All you can do now is try to make a difference for those who remain, to balance the scale against what happened in Oaksville…”
Alastair’s voice trailed off as he turned suddenly towards the darkness. Eric frowned, opening his mouth to reply, but Alastair waved a hand and scrambled to his feet. Clenching his jaw shut, Eric followed the old Magicker, his muscles screaming their protest.
“Quickly, get your back to the fire Now!” Alastair hissed.
Eric spun to face the darkness as Alastair unsheathed his blade. The flames had robbed him of his night vision, but as he stared into the black, shapes slowly took form. His ears twitched as a rattle of stones came from away to their left, followed by the crunch of footsteps from the right.
He shook his head, squinting in the direction of the sounds, struggling to pierce the black. Had it just been his imagination? His eyes flickered back and forth, but all he could see were the shadows of long dead trees and the dim outlines of their horses.
Then one of the shadows moved, and a roar erupted from the silence. Eric shook with fear as he staggered back, gagging as the stench of rotting meat tainted the air. Then Alastair stepped in front of him, sword raised, and shouted a challenge to the darkness. Despite his wound, he looked strong and steady. The firelight flickered on his coat, catching the silver lines weaved into the fabric.
The roar came again, and fingers trembling, Eric bent down and picked up a burning brand. With his other hand, he drew the knife Alastair had given him as they made camp earlier that night, and stepped up next to the old Magicker.
A cold wind swept through the campsite, and Eric fought to calm himself.
Was that me?
With a final roar, the beast charged from the darkness. One moment there was nothing, the next the dark creature was racing forward, jaws wide to devour them. It stood ten feet tall on its hind legs, all corded muscle and sleek black scales. Scars crisscrossed its chest, glinting in the firelight, and a muscular tail stretched out behind it. Long claws reached for them, and rows of razor-sharp teeth filled its massive mouth.
Blood-red eyes locked on Alastair. The horses screamed as it leapt towards the old man. But Alastair stood strong, refusing to retreat from the beast. He raised a hand, and Eric’s ears popped as an invisible force caught the beast mid-air and hurled it sideways. Alastair rushed after it, sword in hand, the other still moving as he worked his magic.
The creature crashed into an outcrop of rock, but regained its feet before Alastair could get close enough to strike. With a bound of its powerful hindlegs, it leapt over Alastair’s head. The old man spun to face it, but before he could raise his blade to defend himself, the tail whipped out and caught him in the chest. Alastair cried out as the blow sent him tumbling backwards across the ground.
Eric gaped as his mentor disappeared into the shadows. Arms trembling, he clenched the burning brand tighter and raised his knife. He crouched low as the creature turned on him. Before it could charge, he hurled the flaming branch at its eyes.
The creature reared back as the branch struck, sending sparks scattering through the night. A high-pitched scream rent the air, so shrill it sent Eric to his knees. Dropping his knife, he clamped his hands to his ears, as a pain like shards of glass drove deep into his skull.
When the sound ceased, he threw himself at the fire and gathered up another stick. He turned, slipping in his haste, and braced himself for the worst. But a few feet away, Alastair had re-joined the fight. The beast and Magicker circled one another warily, their gazes locked in a deadly battle of cat and mouse. Alastair’s face was grazed and he was limping, but still he refused to back down.
Beside him, the creature still looked whole. Their efforts had done nothing to pierce its scaly armour, and Eric shuddered as he stared at the yellowed teeth, imagining them rending and tearing at his flesh.
Alastair’s sword shimmered in the orange firelight as he attacked, the blade lancing out to tear through the creature’s forearm. The monster roared, its claws slicing at Alastair, but the old man danced back and they cut only thin air. His movements were steady despite his injuries. Only the tightness to his face gave away his pain.
Snarling, the creature threw itself at Alastair. A rock the size of a man’s head flew through the darkness, smashing the monster’s jaw and knocking it to the ground. Alastair lowered his arm and leapt forward, driving his sword down at the beast’s skull.
But the creature raised its arm, and the sword plunged through its forearm. Before Alastair could pull away, its claws swept out, tearing through Alastair’s hamstring. The metallic tang of blood filled the air as Alastair shrieked. Somehow he kept hold of his sword, tearing it from the creature as he fell backwards. Thick black blood ran from the creature’s arm, but it didn’t hesitate now. Leaping forward, it towered over Alastair, jaws wide to tear his head from his shoulders.
Letting out a shriek that was half rage, half despair, Eric threw himself forward, desperate to do something to sway the course of the battle. The creature’s head turned and watched him come. As he came within range it spun, lashing out with its tail to knock him from his feet. Before Eric could rise, the tail crashed down on his chest, pinning him to the ground.
Stars flickered across Eric’s vision as it pressed down, crushing the air from his lungs. Suddenly he found himself unable to breathe. Darkness swirled as it turned back to Alastair.
“No!” Eric hissed.
He felt the familiar power stir within him. For once he did not resist—it was their only hope now. He surrendered to it, let its power boil through him. Strength flooded his aching body and swept from him in a rush.
Above, the wind howled with a violent voice. Gales formed, driving down towards them. They rushed around the campsite, picking up dust and stones. The firelight flickered, threatening to die. With a final, desperate shriek, Eric willed them towards the monster.
The winds gave a collective roar—and obeyed. They struck the creature, hurling it from Alastair and pinning it to the ground. In an instant, the old man was on his feet. Teeth bared, he stumbled forward, sword gripped tight in his hand. Blood soaked his leggings and he almost lost his footing, but before the creature could recover, Alastair lifted his blade and drove it deep into the creature’s chest.
The creature gave another blood-curdling scream and lurched to its feet. Its claws lashed out, catching Alastair in the chest and hurling him from his feet. Then it turned and reeled towards Eric, the sword still lodged in its chest.
Eric scrambled backwards, eyes wide, mouth gaping. He could not believe it. How could the beast suffer such a blow, and still live?
The beast gave a horrible, gurgling cry as it took another step towards him. Then it fell, slowly toppling forward to crash to the ground. A cloud of dust billowed out around it, blinding Eric. When it finally cleared, the creature lay still. Its dead eyes stared up at him in silent hate.
Gabriel stood at the edge of the desert, staring out into the darkness. Night had fallen an hour ago, and they could go no further. Impatience gnawed at his stomach. He did not want to stop, not when his quarry was so close.
I will not let them escape. Not again!
We must wait, another voice spoke in the sanctity of his mind.
“Why, beast?” Gabriel turned to the wolf at his side. “Can’t your master protect us from the desert creatures?”
A low growl rattled up from the wolf’s throat. My master is occupied elsewhere. His magic will not protect you from tooth or claw. The beasts that lurk here will kill you, if they find you. The woods are safer, for now. One less night spent wandering the cursed desert.
Gabriel gritted his teeth. “Very well,” he snapped, storming back into the trees.
He could see the wolf shadowing him as he searched for a place to camp. He had already grown to hate it, hate its constant reminder of the deal he had struck. Regret was never far from his thoughts.
What was I thinking?
You needed help. You found it, the wolf supplied.
“Stay out of my head!” Gabriel snapped back.
The creature lifted its shaggy head and howled. The noise cut through the night, raising goosebumps on Gabriel’s neck. The distant hooting of an owl fell suddenly silent.
Glaring at the wolf, Gabriel reached down and drew his sword. Steel scraped on leather as he pulled it clear and pointed it at the beast.
The howling ceased. The black beast lowered its head and growled. Baring its teeth, it took a step towards him.
Gabriel tried to suppress a shudder as he took a step back. “Just keep quiet, mutt,” he snapped, and sheathed his sword.
Closing his eyes, Gabriel put his hands on his head. How had his life come to this? Everything had crumbled so quickly, he was struggling to come to terms with it. He tried to picture his parents, his fiancée. Their images floated in his mind, and his chest constricted with emotion. But their faces were blurred and indistinct, and as he watched, flames burst within his mind, consuming his family once more.
Rage rose in Gabriel’s throat as he opened his eyes. He smashed his fist into a nearby tree, and clung to the pain that shot through his knuckles. Pain was the only thing that felt real now, the only reminder he still lived. Everything else had been taken from him. Even his memory was fading.
All he had left was his hatred, his burning need to see the boy and the old man punished.
Perhaps then he would finally find peace.
Silence settled over the night like a blanket. The fire had burned low, leaving only the dim glow of embers to light the camp. The metallic tang of blood was heavy on the air, mingling with the reek of rotten meat and smoke. A thousand stars stared down from above, indifferent witnesses to the slaughter.
“No, no, no,” Eric whispered as he fell to his knees beside Alastair.
Sharp stones sliced through his leggings, but he hardly felt them. Stretching out a trembling hand, he pressed his finger to Alastair’s neck, searching for a pulse. The old man’s eyes were closed, and he did not respond to Eric’s touch.
“Please…”
Tears stung Eric’s eyes as he grabbed the Magicker by the shoulders and shook him. An iron fist clenched around his heart, robbing him of breath. And still the old man did not move.
“Come on, Alastair!” he shrieked, not caring what dark creatures might hear him. “You can’t do this, you can’t die!”
Hot tears ran down Eric’s cheeks and dripped onto Alastair. It did not take a doctor to see the man’s wounds were mortal. His right leg was a tangled mess; muscles torn from bone, tendons hanging by threads. The other leg was twisted at an awful angle, with a shard of bone protruding from his shin. The final blow had shattered Alastair’s ribs, leaving a deep indentation in his chest.
A shudder racked Eric’s body as he sat back on his haunches, defeated. He thought he’d felt the faintest flicker of a pulse, but even if the old man lived, he would not last long. And even if he did, they were stranded here, miles from help.
“Please wake up,” he begged to the night.
“Don’t cry, Eric,” a voice whispered from the darkness.
Eric gave a strangled cry and leapt to his feet. Spinning to face the voice, he scrambled for his dagger, only to realise he had lost it yet again. Clenching his fists, he scanned the darkness, searching for the speaker. His body shook with pain and exhaustion, but he was determined not to die without a fight.
“Who’s there?” he hissed.
“Do not be afraid, Eric,” the voice was soft, feminine.
“Who are you?” Eric growled. “How do you know my name?”
Stones rattled as a young girl stepped into the light. Her features were faint, as though viewed through a veil of mist. Of her face, only her violet eyes were visible. Their brilliant glow lit the night, casting back the shadows. An elegant sky-blue dress wrapped around her slight figure, decorated by images of vines and flowers that appeared to shift before Eric’s eyes. The scent of lilies filled the air, casting away the stench of the beast. Her bare feet carried her across the stones, hardly seeming to touch the ground.
“I am Antonia,” she said simply.
Eric’s stomach clenched as he gaped at her, unable to form a response. It wasn’t possible. Antonia was the Goddess of Plorsea, Master of the Earth. This girl couldn’t be older than twelve years old.
“Ho…how?” he managed finally.
“How did I come to be here?” The girl took another step towards him. “How can I be Antonia? How, how, how...you humans always have so many questions.” The girl’s voice was rich with mirth.
Eric swallowed hard. He tried to speak again, but could not find his voice.
The girl was only a few steps away now. “We can ‘how’ all night, Eric. But first, I must save the old man.”
She swept past without waiting for a reply, her movements smooth and graceful. A faint glow seeped from her skin, mingling with the violet of her eyes to cast back the shadows. Suddenly the terror had gone from the night, as though the young girl’s presence had banished the evil of the desert.
Eric stared as Antonia crouched beside Alastair. His heart pounded like a galloping horse and he could not tear his eyes away as the girl stretched out her arm and placed a hand on Alastair’s chest.
“Would you stop staring?” Antonia spoke without turning.
Eric opened his mouth and then closed it, but no sound emerged.
Snorting, Antonia glanced back at him. “Honestly, you look as though you’ve seen a—oh!” her eyes widened and she placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh damnit, I’m sorry, Eric. I forget sometimes.”
She snapped her fingers, and the mist that concealed her features faded. The radiance of her skin and eyes softened, bringing her features into focus. Curly brown hair hung across her face and cascaded down her back, while a tiny button nose sat between her violet eyes. Light freckles dotted her dimpled cheeks and a strand of hair was caught behind her left ear.
As their eyes met, Eric was struck by their depth. They were not the eyes of a girl that watched him, but those of some ancient presence, an eternal being of immeasurable knowledge. Staring into those eyes, Eric felt he might lose himself…
Then the Goddess blinked, and a wry grin twisted her lips. “I’m not sure that helped.” She laughed. “Am I not what you expected?”
To his surprise, Eric found himself grinning back at her. The vice around his chest relaxed and he found his voice again. “Not exactly,” he paused, his eyes flickering to Alastair. “Can you really help him?”
“Watch and see.” Turning, Antonia placed her hands on Alastair’s chest again.
A slight frown creased Antonia’s forehead as she closed her eyes. A shadow passed across her face, and she hunched her shoulders, tiny fingers digging into the torn cloth of Alastair’s shirt. Blue veins stood out against her creamy skin.
From nowhere, a faint green light appeared to bathe the two of them. It swirled around Alastair, seeping into his skin, his wounds. Within seconds, the muscles of Alastair’s leg began to knit themselves back to the bone. The angry red tears closed on his arms and chest, while the colour slowly returned to his face. His chest rose as his lips opened to take a breath.
Eric could only watch in disbelief as all sign of Alastair’s injuries vanished, until only his torn clothes remained as a reminder of the battle.
Finally, Antonia gave a little gasp and sat back on her haunches. Sweat trickled down her forehead, and for a second her aura of invincibility vanished. Her hands shook as she staggered to her feet.
“He’ll sleep for the night,” she said as she straightened and looked at Eric. “That gives us time to talk, Eric.”
Eric’s head shot up as she spoke his name. His fears came rushing back, and he stumbled as the girl’s violet eyes settled on him. Antonia was the Goddess of Plorsea—was she here to punish him for Oaksville?
But Antonia only smiled, the wariness falling from her face. “I am not a vengeful soul, Eric. I can sense your remorse. It weighs on you like an anchor. I know you desire redemption.”
“What do you mean?” Eric looked up at her last words.
Antonia laughed. “Such a serious soul. We can discuss that later. For now, why don’t you ask a few of those questions burning a hole in your chest?”
Eric sighed and shook his head. Then he smiled, and asked the first thing that had come to mind. “Why do you look so young?”
Antonia giggled. “Blunt too, I see. Most take hours to gather the courage to ask that.”
“And do you usually answer them?” Eric was slowly relaxing, emboldened by Antonia’s easy manner.
“Of course. People deserve to know the truth of those who rule them. Even their Gods.” She paused, her voice taking on a serious tone. “Five hundred years ago, the three of us were only spirits—the eternal embodiments of magic, but powerless, more or less, to influence events. Priests worshipped us in their rituals, but we were unable to respond, to touch the physical realm.”
“During that time, there were only two nations—Lonia and Trola. A great war had been waged between them for decades, bringing death and destruction to the citizens of both lands. Their Magickers cast terrible spells, and entire armies were lost in the chaos. It seemed only a matter of time before the two nations wiped one another from existence.”
“So the priests of both nations came together, and embarked on a great gambit to summon the spirits of magic to physical form. Knowing us to be creatures of balance, they prayed we would bring peace. Joining their powers, they worked a great magic—one unlike any that had come before, or has been seen since. The spell brought us into the physical world, and allowed us to assume the bodies we still wear today. It was then I chose this body.”
“And it worked?”
“In a way.” Antonia smiled. “Darius, the oldest, remained in Trola, while Jurrien went east to Lonia. Together, they returned the surviving armies to their homelands. I gathered the refugees, those disillusioned with their own nations, with nowhere left to call home, and led them into the wastelands left behind by the war. Together we created Plorsea from the ruins, to be a buffer between the hatred of Lonia and Trola. The people loved us, for we were gentle and kind, where their rulers had been hard, and driven by selfish desires. And the new kings and queens we lifted up to rule them were loved as well.”
“But our coming also sowed the seeds for the creation of Archon. In that, we failed, for our presence ultimately led to a new conflict that almost destroyed all the good we had created.”
A fresh breeze carried the stench of the beast to where they sat. Eric wrinkled his nose, his stomach roiling. Antonia frowned, and standing she moved across to the corpse.
“The two of you did well to slay it. Few survive an encounter with these creatures.”
“What are they? How can they survive in this place?”
“They are called Raptors. And not by my will, I assure you.” She raised her arm.
Light spilt from Antonia’s hand to bathe the beast. Tendrils shot from the ground to wrap around its broken body. They twisted and grew, tightening as they moved. Leaves sprouted along their length and the Raptor’s body shook. Fresh vines erupted from its flesh, weaving together to cover the black scales. A minute later, an azalea stood where the beast had lain. Pink flowers slowly opened, filling the air with their rich scent.
“That’s better,” Antonia nodded to herself.
Eric sat down, hard. He remembered Alastair’s words, about how the magic of the Gods differed from mortals. Antonia had created the azalea bush from nothing. He stared at her, seeing now what his ancestors must have seen all that time ago, to follow her into the wastelands that had become Plorsea.
But he could also see the strain on her face. Her skin had paled and she was panting softly.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” Antonia said, straightening. “It’s just difficult to work my magic in this place. The curse that lies over this desert is one I cannot break alone. The earth itself has been tainted by Archon’s darkness. It fights my magic. Within a few days the bush will die, like everything else good in this desert.”
“So you cannot bring back the rain, restore the forest?”
“Jurrien and I tried, once. But it was beyond our strength. It is Archon’s last mockery—that my nation be cursed with this place of death.” The Goddess’s voice was laced with bitterness.
Eric breathed in the sweet scent of the flowers, drawing strength from the plant’s beauty amidst the darkness of the desert. He thought back to the war a century before, when Archon’s forces had marched across the land, bringing slaughter wherever they went. While the Great Wars had been all but forgotten, Archon’s war was still fresh in his nation’s memory. Just the mention of Archon’s name was enough to cast a cloud over a room.
“Who is Alastair?” Eric asked at last. “Who is he searching for?”
Antonia stilled, her violet eyes hardening. She stared into the fire, and for a moment, Eric did not think she would answer him.
“Alastair is an old friend of mine,” she said at last. “His purpose is a great secret, one few know of. Can you be trusted with such a secret, Eric?”
Now it was Eric’s turn to fall silent. He stared at the Goddess, wondering at her words, and the secret behind Alastair’s rush to reach Chole. Then he swallowed his hesitation. He owed the Magicker his life. Whatever happened, Eric would not betray him.
He looked the Goddess in the eye as he replied. “I swear by…err, Antonia, that you can trust me.”
“Good.” Antonia smiled, but this time the gesture did not reach her eyes. “I’ll hold you too it.”
She sat down beside him. “I’d better start at the beginning, although you will know parts of the story. Two hundred years ago, my brother, Darius, vanished. He abandoned Trola and the Three Nations, and no soul has heard from him since. He did not tell even Jurrien or myself what he planned. He simply disappeared.”
Eric frowned. “I always thought the Gods at least knew where Darius had gone. But what does this have to do with Alastair?”
Antonia grimaced. “I said I’d start from the beginning, Eric. Try not to interrupt. Now, when Darius left, he at least had the foresight to leave behind a sword infused with his power over the Light.”
“Yes, the Sword of Light—”
“Eric…is this my tale, or yours?” Antonia’s eyes glittered dangerously.
Eric nodded and quickly shut his mouth.
“Unfortunately, the sword was useless. Worse than useless, in fact. It was fatal to any Magicker who touched it—or so it seemed. Even Jurrien and myself were repelled when we tried to wield it. For a time, we allowed Magickers from across the Three Nations to test the Sword. It burned them all to ash. Eventually the price was too great, and we were forced to stop.”
“So for the next hundred years, Trola was Godless. And without the Light to aid us, Darius and I were stretched thin. The land weakened and dark things crept from the holes we had banished them to. The hearts of the people grew hard. Even Plorsea and Lonia suffered, for our power is infinitely weaker without the union of the Three.”
“Then, a hundred years ago, the dark things vanished. No one could explain it, but the people began to speak of Darius’s return. Only Jurrien and I knew better—we would have sensed if our brother was near.”
“It was not long before the dark things returned. Ghouls and Raptors and countless unnamed beasts flooded down from the Northern Wastelands, marching beneath the banner of Archon.”
“Archon’s war,” Eric breathed.
He looked up when Antonia did not continue. Fire burned in the Goddess’s eyes, but despite her fury, Eric found himself grinning. It seemed even the Gods had a limit to their patience.
Eric managed to look contrite. “Sorry, won’t happen again.”
Antonia smirked, a sly twist to her lips that spoke of drastic consequences if he disturbed her again.
“Okay, where was I? Archon. He was Trolan once, one who protested our appearance and rule. He wielded a powerful magic, but it was not enough for him, not enough to touch us. So he gave himself to its dark side, and used it to slaughter the master of the priests who had summoned us. For that, we banished him to the Northern Wastelands.”
“It wasn’t until he reappeared leading his dark army that we realised our error. His power over the dark magic had made him immortal, and he had spent centuries mastering it. I have never seen a more potent human, nor one with so little humanity remaining to them. His power could not be matched.”
“Even by you?” That had always confused Eric. How could Archon have wreaked such havoc when two Gods still opposed him?
Antonia sighed. “With Jurrien at my side, we stood against Archon’s magic. We attacked him with every ounce of power we could summon. The darkness consumed it all, and threw it back in our faces.”
“The dark magic tore through us, ripping through our defences, piercing our very spirit. For a second, I thought it would consume me. It was only a last, desperate attack from Jurrien that saved us. My sense returned then, and I threw up a wall of vegetation between Archon and ourselves. Before he could burn through, we fled.”
Antonia’s little body shook and tears gathered in her eyes. Eric hesitated, and then reached out and took the Goddess’s hand in his. It seemed a futile gesture, considering who and what she was, but it was all he could offer.
Shifting closer, Antonia leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’re a sweet soul, Eric.” She hugged him before continuing her tale. “With our magic defeated, the only choice left was open battle. Archon was powerful, but his army still had to cross the Gap. So we mustered fighters from every town and city in the Three Nations, and for the first time in four hundred years, the people marched to war.”
Eric was silent now. He had heard this part of the tale before, but the way Antonia told it was personal. She had been there, witnessed and mourned each death. Archon’s threat had been real to her—not some story passed down through the generations.
“Archon’s army came like hell itself unleashed—demons and beasts and men. A thousand Raptors like the one you fought tonight, and many creatures more terrible. The men who fought alongside them were the scum of society, those we had been banished in punishment for their crimes.”
“Against them stood the men and women of the Three Nations. Flames seared holes in our ranks and the earth opened to swallow men whole. The claws and swords of the enemy seemed endless. Yet for every brave soul that fell, another stepped forward to take their place. And damn it, we were winning.”
“Then Archon joined the battle. He soared overhead on wings of darkness, morphed beyond recognition, blackening the heavens with his magic. Clouds gathered around him and the air throbbed with his power. Jurrien released his magic, trying one last time to tear the monster from the sky. It was only seconds before he collapsed, overwhelmed by Archon’s power.”
“Then the sky opened up, and it was not rain or lightning that fell, but fire. Flames swept across the Gap and thousands fell like leaves before a forest fire, consumed by Archon’s dark firestorm. Brave souls, all.”
“I watched in horror, powerless to save them. My heart broke as I felt each life end, each soul erased from existence.”
Tears spilt from Antonia’s eyes and ran down her freckled cheeks. Eric hugged her again, unable to find the words to comfort her. All those people. Their bravery and strength had meant nothing against Archon’s magic. They had never stood a chance.
Antonia sniffed and in a half-choked voice, continued: “We fled with the shattered remnants of our army. I used what magic I could to stall the dark host, but we lost many more as we retreated. Jurrien’s defiance had cost him dearly, and I alone was left to stand against Archon’s might.”
“Only one king survived the catastrophe at The Gap. His name was Thomas, King of Trola. He led the retreat, gathering the broken armies of the Three Nations and leading them to the relative safety of the south. At his side was his champion and bodyguard—Alastair.”
Eric blinked. It took a full second for him to process what he had just heard. He broke away from Antonia, and stared at her, mouth agape. “That’s not possible…that would make Alastair…that would make him over a hundred years old!”
Antonia nodded. “Alastair has enjoyed an unusually long life. One in a thousand Magickers will age far slower than a normal human.”
Seeing Eric was still lost for words, Antonia smiled. “Thomas and Alastair made it as far as Chole, but there they were ensnared and forced to make their last stand. The enemy had spread out across the land, wreaking havoc as they went, until we were completely encircled.
Eric’s skin tingled as he remembered what came next. “Isn’t this where you give—”
“Eric!” Antonia shrieked.
He winced, glancing across at her meekly. “Sorry?”
Antonia shook her head. The sly grin returned and there was a sparkle in her eyes as she looked at him.
“You really are impossible. I think it’s time we tried this a different way.”
At that, Antonia leaned across and placed her hands on either side of his head. Her grip was light but slowly she began to apply pressure. Eric stared into her eyes as they took on a look of intense concentration.
“This won’t hurt—much,” Antonia said.
Then pain tore through Eric’s skull, and everything went black.
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