Stormwielder - Chapter 6
The next morning, Eric woke to a long, wet tongue dragging across his face...
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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The next morning, Eric woke to a long, wet tongue dragging across his face. Screaming in disgust, he rolled away. When he opened his eyes, he found the long snouts and friendly eyes of the horses staring down at him. They shook their heads and snorted, the sound almost like laughter, then ambled off.
“Good morning, Eric,” Alastair called. “How was your night?”
Eric sat bolt upright and looked around. Alastair stood nearby, poking a stick into a freshly lit fire where a rack of sausages hung over the flames. The sun was still low on the horizon, colouring the sky a bright orange, but Eric could already feel the heat of the desert touching his face.
“Where did she go?” he asked as he stumbled to his feet.
Other than himself and Alastair, the campsite was empty. The only sign the Goddess had ever been there was the Azalea bush. It stood out in stark contrast to the barren desert around them, a reminder of Antonia’s power.
“Our unexpected visitor?” Alastair smiled. “She doesn’t tend to hang around long.”
Eric stared at Alastair, then in two steps closed the distance between them and pulled the old man into an embrace. His eyes stung, but he did not cry; there had been enough tears the night before. He was surprised at the strength of his relief. While he had only known Alastair a couple of days, his fate was inescapably bound to the old man now. Alastair had lifted him from the depths of his despair, offered him hope, purpose.
“Glad to see you too, Eric,” Alastair laughed.
Eric smiled as he released the man. “You didn’t mention you were on a first name basis with the Goddess of Plorsea.”
“Yes, well, we have a complicated past.” He turned to retrieve the sausages from the fire, and then handed one to Eric.
Eric took the offered sausage carefully between his fingers, wincing at the heat, but his stomach was growling and he carefully took a bite.
“I know,” he muttered after he swallowed. “She showed me Archon’s war. I knew you were old, but who knew you were ancient?”
Alastair scowled. “Old, and a great deal wiser than you, boy. How much did she show you?”
“She showed me your journey through the Way, and how Thomas and the Gods cast the spell to banish Archon.”
“I see. And did you see what happened afterwards?”
Eric shook his head.
“Typical Antonia, always leaving out the finer details. It was the clash between Archon and the God magic that created those.” He pointed at the trio of volcanoes marring the horizon. “The collision of magic tore the crust of the earth itself, releasing the pent-up forces beneath. The three cursed peaks were the result.”
Eric shivered. “I see.”
“Do you see the lesson, though?” Alastair probed. Frowning, Eric fell silent, and Alastair continued. “Even pure magic, cast with good intentions, can have disastrous results. Nature is infinitely complex, and magic is only a small part of that complexity. The smallest act can set in motion a chain of events that not even the wisest of Magickers could predict.”
“So the Gods created this desert?”
“In part. The peaks create a rain shadow over Chole, cutting it off from the moisture laden air from the oceans. But the severity of the desert was Archon’s last curse. The God magic was enough to banish him and shatter his armies, but without Darius’s total mastery of the Light, it could not destroy all trace of the dark Magicker. His evil lingers here, a final curse over the land and everything in it.”
“What happened to the king, after he used the Sword?”
“Thomas returned to Trola and lived a good life. Then he died,” Alastair said softly.
Eric’s neck tingled at the way Alastair spoke the words. There was something in the old Magicker’s tone that suggested more to the story.
“How did he die?”
Alastair sighed. He turned to stare out at the horizon. “He was a good man, Eric. And a good king. He dedicated his life to healing the damage left by Archon’s war. He travelled often, working to strengthen the unity between the Three Nations. He even visited the wildlands of each nation—including Dragon Country. It was there that he met his end.”
“How?” Eric breathed.
“Thomas’s Earth magic allowed him to befriend most living creatures. He was there negotiating a pact with the Gold Dragons, an alliance ensuring their support if the Three Nations were ever threatened again.”
“And they killed him?”
“No,” Alastair whispered. “No, Thomas and his people met the dragon tribe in Malevolent cove. The treaty was signed, and the dragons departed in peace. It was then…it was then that something went wrong.”
“You weren’t there?” Eric asked.
“No.” Alastair bowed his head. “Fool that I was, I left Thomas in the care of younger Magickers, and started a new life for myself in Lonia. I travelled to Malevolent cove afterwards, once word of what had happened reached me. But by then it was far too late.”
“What happened?”
“An ambush, I think. The king’s party were found dead—some slain by sword, others without a mark on them. But Thomas was not with them. I searched for weeks for my friend, but I never found so much as a trace.”
Eric swallowed. “And the Sword of Light?”
“It remained in Kalgan, and so was passed to his eldest child, and his grandchild after that, and so on until today.”
There was a sense of finality in Alastair’s words as the old man stood. Moving around the camp, he started to pack the last of their belongings into Briar’s saddlebags, leaving Eric to ponder his words.
“We’d better get moving,” Alastair said at last. Without waiting for a reply, he swung himself into Elcano’s saddle. “We still have one more night in this desert left to survive. Let’s not make it two.”
Eric sighed and quickly scrambled onto Briar’s back. He was getting better at it now, but he could still sense Alastair’s amusement. Straightening, he looked across at the Magicker. “You still haven’t said who you’re looking for.”
“Antonia did not tell you?”
“No.” Eric looked Alastair in the eye. “Who is it, Alastair?”
A smile tugged at the old man’s lips. “A family,” he said. “That’s all you need to know, for now.”
At that, he gave Elcano a kick, and with a shrill whiney, the horse took off into the desert, leaving a dust cloud in his wake. Coughing, Eric pointed Briar after the old man and covered his mouth with the collar of his cloak. Ahead, Alastair checked his speed, allowing Eric to catch up, before turning and continuing at a slower pace.
Gabriel jogged across the barren plain, his long legs carrying him easily over the dry earth. He held his sword in one hand, his waterskin in the other as he ran. The skin was already half empty, but the wolf promised it could find more.
The burning sun dominated the horizon, and the distant peaks cast long shadows across the plain. He scanned the desert as he ran, though he knew his quarry was still at least half a day ahead. The wolf loped effortlessly alongside him, tongue panting in the scorching air. It was never far from his side now.
They had headed off an hour before sunrise, Gabriel’s impatience finally winning out over caution. The night had been long, his dreams haunted by monsters that chased him through the gloom. Faces came and went, most unknown to him. He was glad to finally wake, and cast them back into the darkness.
They came across the campsite around midday, but Gabriel could make little sense of what they found. Three sets of footsteps were evident on the dusty ground, though the third set could only have belonged to a child. Stranger still, there were hints of a fight—long claw marks in the gravel, a congealing pool of blood, and shattered boulders.
Most confusing of all, an Azalea bush stood in the centre of the campsite, its pink blossoms shining in the hot sun. Their sweet scent filled the air, and for a second something fluttered in Gabriel’s chest. The hate that clenched his heart melted, and he felt the pain of all he had lost seep through.
They have already left, hours ago. We must move on, the wolf’s growl cut through Gabriel’s pain, and the hate came rushing back.
Nodding, Gabriel set off again. The crumbling path threaded its way through the desert, between dusty boulders and petrified trees, often splitting in two or disappearing altogether. If not for the wolf, he would have lost his way within an hour. As it was, he was left to follow helplessly in its wake.
Yes, they came this way, the wolf whispered as they moved. Not far now, not far.
As the day drew on, Gabriel found even his newfound energy fading beneath the heat of the sun. He slowed, his sword growing heavy, his throat parched. By mid-afternoon his legs were burning, and each step had become an agony. Still he pushed on.
As his thoughts drifted, an image flickered through his mind, and for a moment he found himself in a tiny room, standing before a great furnace, arms up to their elbows in thick leather gloves. He clutched a pair of steel tongs in his hands, a horseshoe glowing in their iron grip. A man larger than life stood beside him, his giant grin hidden beneath a woolly beard. The roar of the furnace filled his ears, and his chest swelled.
Then the image faded, and Gabriel groaned as he found himself on his knees. He closed his eyes, searching for the image, the memory, but it was gone.
At his side, the wolf growled. They are escaping.
Gabriel swore, remembering his prey. He leapt to his feet, exhaustion forgotten. He still remembered one thing. He could see their faces with crystal clarity.
Kill the ones who hurt you!
Inken lay on the hard desert ground, her body a mess of agony. Sharp rocks stabbed through her thin clothing, digging into her skin, and the pounding in her head was growing worse. Her mouth was parched, her thoughts jumbled and confused. A groan rattled from deep in her chest at the thought of water, but her waterskin was long gone, and she could no longer muster the strength to stand and search for more.
The shortcut across the desert had been ill-advised to say the least. Yet it had been her only chance to reach Oaksville before the other hunters. If only she had left three nights ago, when the messenger pigeon had first flown into Chole. Within hours the city’s underground was abuzz with the news—that a massive bounty had been offered for the head of a demon boy said to have burned Oaksville to the ground.
Inken, like most, had scoffed at the news at first. The letter had to be a hoax; the idea of such an attack on Oaksville was ludicrous. But over the next few days, more birds had followed, confirming the city’s plight. Oaksville had been attacked—first by magic, then by Baronian raiders.
By the time Inken decided to try her hand at the commission, half the bounty hunters in Chole were already well ahead of her. But she knew they would not dare to take the desert path. The short cut would shave more than a day off the journey, allowing her to overtake the other hunters. She had scoffed at the superstitious fear that blinded the others, confident her longsword and bow were enough to fend off any trouble.
How arrogant she had been. The childhood tales should have warned her. The people of Chole made no secret of the dangers lurking beyond the city walls—but Inken had dismissed them as legend, fears long since rendered void by the ending of Archon’s war.
It had not taken long for the truth behind the tales to reveal itself. If not for her horse, she would have been dead before the sun set on her first day on the road. The horse had bolted before Inken had even realised the danger, leaving Inken clinging desperately to the saddle horn.
It was only then she had seen the beast. It had exploded from the earth beside the trail, its short yellow fur blending perfectly with the scorched ground. Powerful muscles propelled it after them on all fours, its claws digging deep into the hard ground. Even on four legs, it stood as tall as her horse, with jaws large enough to crush her skull.
The chase seemed to last hours. Only an inch separated the two beasts, and all Inken could do was close her eyes and hang on.
She wasn’t sure when the beast had given up, only that when she finally looked back again, it had vanished.
But her horse galloped on, its eyes wild and mouth foaming in its frenzy to escape the creature. She tugged desperately at the reins, eager to slow their pace in the treacherous terrain. But the gelding plunged onward, oblivious to everything but its terror.
Then the horse was falling, tripping over the uneven ground, and Inken was flung from the saddle. The earth rushed up to meet her, and all she could do was raise her arms to protect herself. She struck with a jarring thud, following by searing pain as something went crack. Her momentum sent her tumbling over the jagged rocks, her head and chest and legs slamming into unseen rocks, before she finally came to a rest in a broken pile of flesh and bone.
The horse screamed again, struggling to rise behind her. Inken struggled to sit up, but pain swept through her, and she collapsed back to the ground. She glimpsed the terrified animal from the corner of her eye. Its front leg was bent at a sickening angle.
Darkness swept across Inken’s vision then, and she had gladly given way to the respite of unconsciousness.
When she woke again, the horse’s screaming had ceased. Looking across, she saw its still body lying next to her, its glassy eyes staring into nothing.
Inken had closed her eyes then, willing strength into her shattered body. Summoning her courage, she struggled to her feet. Agony lanced through her right leg and she knew it was broken. The rest of her was a mess of red and blue. Her arms looked as though someone had flayed the skin from her body. Her nose throbbed, and bracing herself, she reached up to twist it back into place. The cartilage gave a sickening crack, but the relief was immediate.
Somehow, she had started hobbling back towards the road. For hours she had walked, unarmed and without food or water. Her weapons and saddlebags had been dislodged during the chase. With every agonised step she expected the beast to reappear and finish her, but the desert remained empty. Somehow, she had survived.
But now she was finished. An hour ago she had fallen, and she no longer had the strength to get back up. The pain was unbearable, and her energy had long since melted away in the sun’s heat.
Fool, she cursed herself. How could you have been so arrogant?
Lying helpless in the baking sun, Inken waited for death. It didn’t seem right for it to end like this. She was still only nineteen, yet to reach her twentieth birthday. But of course, life was never fair. She knew that better than most. Fair would have been two loving parents, rather than a mother who abandoned her to an abusive father. The old drunk would be laughing now—he had always said she would amount to nothing.
She blinked as a sound came from her left. Opening her eyes, she looked around, expecting to see the yellowed eyes of the feline come to finish her. Instead, she saw two horsemen trotting past, not five yards away.
“Help!” Inken tried to shout, but her throat was so dry the word came out as a whisper.
“Help me!” She tried again, louder this time. “Please!”
“Alastair, why did my magic only...awaken...when I turned fifteen?” The question had plagued Eric for a long time.
“So late?” Alastair asked from the back of Elcano.
Eric nodded.
“Most develop earlier, but that is in families with a long lineage of magic.” As they rode his eyes scanned the ground ahead, seeking out signs of predators. “Magic always awakens on the anniversary of our births, but which birthday that is depends on the individual and the environment they’ve been exposed too. The more magic you are in contact with in childhood, the faster your own will develop.”
“Okay,” Eric fell silent again, his thoughts lost in the past, and what might have been.
They continued across the desert at a fast trot, their horse’s hooves eating up the rocky miles one after the other. Behind them, the sun dropped towards the distant horizon, casting long shadows across the plains. Eventually Alastair slowed their pace to a walk, taking care on the rough terrain.
“The spring isn’t far now,” Alastair reassured him.
Before Eric could reply, he heard a rattle of stones from away to their left. He pulled up on Briar’s reins and turned towards the sound, a frown deepening his brow. Dropping his hand to the hilt of his dagger, he scanned the ground, searching for movement.
“Help me,” the call was so soft, Eric thought he might have imagined it, until it came again. “Help!”
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he searched for the source. The voice had been distinctly human, and female, but who would be mad enough to venture this far into the desert? Other than themselves, of course.
Eric was about to give up when one of the rocks seemed to move. The next instant he realised he’d been staring straight at her. The dull brown jacket and leggings she wore blended in with the dirt and baked stone, so that she seemed a part of the desert itself.
“Alastair!” he cried as he nudged Briar off the trail.
The young woman’s hazel eyes followed him as he approached. Eric shuddered as he drew close enough to take in her injuries. Her scarlet hair was matted with dirt and blood, and a dried trail of blood ran from her scalp. Tears in her jacket revealed bloody wounds and purple bruises, while her leg lay twisted at an awful angle. The relentless sun had burned her skin bright red. Her eyes were swollen, and ringed by dark shadows.
As Eric drew up beside her, she struggled to sit up. Her courage shocked him—he could not imagine the willpower it took to endure her injuries. But it was not enough, and with a low whimper she slid back to the ground. Her eyes closed as Eric reached her. Her body began to shake.
Alastair dismounted behind him and the two crouched beside her. Pulling out his waterskin, Alastair cradled her head in his hands and held the skin to her lips. Tipping it gently, he allowed a small amount to trickle into her mouth.
After a few swallows the girl started to cough, and Alastair withdrew the skin. “Don’t speak, girl. Save your strength.”
Eric pulled a blanket from his saddle and covered her, hoping it would help protect her from the sun. He wondered what had happened to her—and how she had come to be stranded in the desert without food or water, and only the knife strapped at her side for protection.
Alastair gave her another gulp of water and then replaced the cap on his waterskin. “That’s enough for now. Anymore and you’ll be sick.”
“Thank you.” Somehow she managed a smile, her parched lips cracking with the movement. “I’m Inken.” Her eyes closed again.
“Eric, help me with her. We will have to be very careful, who knows what injuries she has. I’ll ride with her on my horse. We need to get her to the spring. She needs water and broth to replace the salt she’s lost in the sun.”
“Will she make it?”
“I don’t know. Her best chance is if we get her to the spring. It’s not far.” They knelt on either side of her and draped her arms over their shoulders. “Careful, this arm is broken. You’ll need to take most of her weight.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
“We’ll have to ask her that when she wakes. Now help me get her on Elcano.”
Eric carefully took her weight on his shoulder. For a small woman she was heavy, her arms and legs thickly muscled. He wondered again who she was, and what she had been doing out in the desert alone.
Together they managed to get her slung over Elcano’s saddle. Alastair climbed up behind her, and Eric arranged her so she would not fall. Then he mounted Briar, and they set off again, keeping their pace slow and steady. Behind them, the sun slowly set, staining the horizon red.
Eric poked restlessly at the fire with a stray piece of wood. Dust and sand had worked its way into every seam of his clothing, and however he sat he could not get comfortable on the rocky ground. His aching backside was relieved to be free of Briar’s bouncing saddle, but now he found himself on edge. Staring out into the darkness, he could only imagine what dread beasts might be staring back.
At least they’d found the spring. Water trickled down a nearby rock face and slowly gathered in a bowl of loose soil at its base. They had almost emptied the pool filling their waterskins, and now Briar and Elcano stood nearby, waiting patiently for their turn to drink.
A rocky escarpment hemmed them in on three sides, hiding their fire from prying eyes. An eerie silence hung over the campsite, and the pop of the fire echoed loudly in the darkness.
The girl, Inken, lay nearby, shivering by the fire. They had covered her with blankets and managed to give her more water, but she still had not stirred. Her hair blazed red in the firelight, its glow strangely mesmerising. The hard lines in her young face had softened with sleep, and her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm.
They had cleaned the sand from the worst of her wounds and bound her broken arm and leg to branches they had scavenged from the long dead trees scattered through the desert. There was little more they could do for her now, not until they reached Chole and found a healer.
Alastair sat stirring the pot of stew he had just taken from the fire. Earlier he had added the last of their food to the mix, little more than a sprinkling of vegetables and salted pork. If Inken woke, she would need the sustenance, and even Eric was beginning to weaken from lack of food.
Placing the pot back over the fire, Alastair looked across at Eric. “Still needs some more time. I’m going to check to see if our fire is properly hidden. I don’t want any more surprises.”
Eric shivered. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye on her. Be careful.”
He watched Alastair disappear into the night and then returned his gaze to the young woman.
What were you doing out here?
While Inken was a few inches taller than him, she could not have been much older than his own seventeen years. The skin of her hands was rough and lines marked her brow, suggesting a hard life, but even so, he couldn’t begin to imagine what might have driven her out here.
Still, with luck she would recover from this. The temples of the Earth were renowned for their healers, although whether the temple in Chole still survived was another matter. With the city fallen into disrepute, he would not have blamed the priests for leaving.
Eric added their last stick to the fire. Alastair had hacked the branches from one of the fallen trees when they’d first arrived at the spring. The heat and dust of the desert had turned the ancient logs the colour of rock, but beneath they were still wood, desiccated by time into the perfect firewood.
“Who are you?”
Eric jumped, sending sparks skittering from the fire. A giggle came from the pile of blankets, rich and good-natured, but it quickly trailed off into a groan. “Oh, I shouldn’t have done that!”
Standing, Eric walked around the fire to sit beside Inken. In the flickering light, he saw that one of the gashes on her face had split and was bleeding again. He offered her the waterskin and then gently pressed a damp cloth to her face to stem the bleeding.
Inken accept the skin and took a long gulp. She didn’t flinch as Eric wiped the blood from her cheek, but her eyes never left his face. When she finished drinking, she replaced the cap on the skin and handed it back. “Water never tasted so good.”
Eric smiled. Taking the skin, he took a seat across from her. Inken’s eyes were sharp now, and Eric could almost see the questions ticking through her mind.
“Thank you, kind stranger.” Her big hazel eyes watched him. “Sorry for my lack of manners just then. May I ask who you are?”
Despite his misgivings, Eric found himself grinning. “My name is Eric and my old friend is Alastair. We’re travelling to Chole. You’re lucky we saw you as we passed. What were you doing out here?”
Inken offered him her good hand, and Eric took it gently. “Thank you, Eric, I owe you my life. I made the foolish mistake of trying to reach Oaksville by the desert trail. I was lucky my mare outran the beast that ambushed us, but she didn’t make it. When she fell, it nearly killed us both.”
Eric stilled at the mention of Oaksville. His heart began to pound and he scarcely heard the rest of her story. He swallowed, trying to find a way to break the news to her, already seeing the grief and tears that would fill her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Inken,” he croaked at last. “I don’t know how to say this, but we came from Oaksville. There wasn’t much left.”
Inken nodded and her face tightened. “Argh, everything hurts.” She shook her head. “I know what happened to Oaksville. The town’s Magistrate sent a pigeon. He offered a lot of gold for the head of the demon who did it. I was hoping to claim it.”
Eric’s blood ran cold. The muscles of his neck tightened as he stared at the girl. Suddenly he saw Inken in a whole new light. The lines of her face seemed to harden, and a dark glint appeared in her eyes. The muscular curves of her body lost their sensuality, becoming those of a warrior, a hunter.
His eyes flickered to the dagger at her side. Her fingers lingered near its hilt. Suddenly he wished they’d disarmed her while she lay unconscious. An icy hand seized his heart.
What if she finds out who I am?
He realised he was staring and gave himself a mental shake. “You’re a brave woman,” he said uncertainly, “to hunt a demon.”
Inken chuckled. “I’m no longer sure if I was brave, or just stupid. Trying to tackle the desert alone was bad enough. I had given up hope when you appeared. And I don’t have a chance in hell of claiming the reward now.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best. What would you have done against a demon anyway?”
Inken absently flicked a strand of hair from her face. “Demon, Magicker, or mortal, an arrow from the shadows will kill most things.”
Eric gulped, his voice deserting him.
Before the silence could stretch too long, Alastair reappeared. He strode across the rocky ground, his footsteps little more than a whisper, and sat down opposite them. A pile of firewood tumbled to the ground beside him.
“Hello,” Inken greeted. “You must be Alastair.”
Alastair smiled. “I am. And you are Inken.”
She nodded. “So why are the two of you travelling to Chole?”
When Alastair did not reply, Eric answered for him. “Alastair has someone to meet,” he said shortly. “I’m just along for the ride.”
Inken nodded, her hazel eyes studying him with a strange intensity. Eric tried to keep the fear from his face. Despite her injuries, he did not like the idea of the woman hunting him. She had the look of someone who was good at her job.
Shifting back to his seat on the rocky ground, he leaned back and closed his eyes. The world seemed to rock beneath him, as though he were still in Briar’s saddle, and he quickly opened his eyes again. Beside the fire, Alastair stirred the pot of stew and then added more wood to the flames. Eric licked his lips as the rich aroma of broiled meat drifted across to him.
His eyes slid past Alastair to where Inken lay in her pile of blankets. Her eyes were closed again, though he doubted she was asleep. Her brow was drawn tight and her eyelids flickered. Despite her quest to kill him, or perhaps because of it, Eric felt a strange connection between himself and the enigmatic woman. Her very presence made his heart race, though whether from fear or something else, he could not tell.
“It’s ready,” Alastair announced.
Eric sat up and took the wooden bowl Alastair offered him.
“Give it to Inken,” he said.
Eric nodded reluctantly and moved across to the injured woman. Her eyes snapped opened as he approached, but she smiled when she saw him. “Ahhh, my hero returns. And with food.”
Eric found his smile as he offered the bowl.
Inken reached out to take it, and then hesitated. Her cheeks flushed red. “I’m not sure I can hold it,” she opened her hands to show the raw flesh of her palms. “Do you…do you think you could help me?” Her blushed deepened. This was a woman used to taking care of herself.
Eric’s face grew hot. Just sitting near the young woman was making him nervous. His thoughts scattered around his head and he managed to stutter something incomprehensible.
“Please, Eric?”
Eric looked down at Inken, lying helpless beneath her blankets, begging for his help. Her broken arm lay limp at her side, and the muscles of her neck twitched with the strain of sitting. The tears on her hands were so deep he thought he could see the glint of bone.
Casting aside his doubts, he nodded. “Okay.”
Sitting beside her, he offered her a spoonful of broth. Heat washed across his face as the spoon disappeared into her mouth. She closed her eyes and chewed, her brow creased with pain, as though even the simple task of eating took a great effort. But a few seconds later she swallowed, and he offered her another mouthful.
Suddenly Eric found himself smiling. The whole scene was surreal—here he was, sitting by a warm fire, spoon-feeding a woman hired to kill him.
In the orange glow of the fire, Inken’s burns were almost invisible. He found himself studying her as she ate, searching her eyes for hint of the killer within. Yet all he could see was her injured beauty, her reluctant vulnerability. He could not connect the girl before him with the image of a ruthless bounty hunter.
When Inken finished the stew, Eric stood and returned to his own seat. Alastair offered him another bowl and Eric gladly gulped it down. His stomach rumbled as he ate, eager for the sustenance.
“We have time for one more lesson before we reach Chole, Eric. I think we had better make good use of it.”
“Ssh,” Eric glimpsed at Inken, but her eyes had closed.
Alastair waved a hand. “Don’t worry about her. I heard you speaking as I returned. I slipped a pinch of sleeping herb into her bowl. She’ll sleep through the night.”
Eric sucked in a breath, trying to calm his frayed nerves. “What do we do with her?”
“Nothing. I don’t think she has made the connection between you and Oaksville. So long as we’re careful, there shouldn’t be any danger. Now finish that stew. We have some real magic to learn.”
Eric swallowed the last morsel and placed the bowl beside him. The meat had been tough and the vegetables tasteless, but even so, he could feel the energy returning to his arms and legs. He followed Alastair as he walked from the firelight out into the night. His eyes scanned the darkness as they moved over the uneven gravel, searching for any hint of the desert beasts.
“Okay.” Alastair stopped suddenly and faced him. “As you have unfortunately learned first-hand, magic in its fundamental state is controlled by emotion. Fear, anger, love, hate; if the emotion is strong enough, your magic will respond. To harness its power and bend it to your will, you must discover the link between the magic and your emotions. We achieve this through meditation.”
“Meditation?”
“Meditation is a technique apprentices learn at a young age, so they can develop control over their mind and body. Eventually, it allows Magickers to find their magic, and summon it at will,” he paused, his eyes losing their focus. Around them pieces of gravel lifted into the air. “In other words, meditation will allow you to manipulate the weather, rather than your emotions.”
“Right now, I’d be happy just to stop myself losing control,” Eric sighed.
Alastair smiled. “We will start with that. There are certain dangers to consider before we go further, but in time, you will be capable of far more. Now, let us begin. Sit down and cross your legs.” Alastair obeyed his own command as he spoke.
Eric quickly copied the old man, wincing as the gravel dug into his backside.
“Now, close your eyes and try to clear the thoughts from your mind. Take a deep breath, and exhale slowly, until all the air has been emptied from your chest.”
Closing his eyes, Eric took a deep breath. His lungs swelled, and then contracted as he slowly exhaled. He repeated the exercise, smiling at how easy it was. Idly, he wondered whether the old Magicker was playing a joke on him.
“You’re thinking, Eric,” Alastair’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“What?” Eric’s eyes snapped open.
“Your eyelids were flickering. Think of nothing, Eric. It’s okay, most take a long time to master the practice. Try again.”
Eric nodded, shaken by Alastair’s interruption.
Alastair stopped him again after another minute. “You’re still thinking too much.”
Eric sighed. His mind kept flickering from one thought to the next, unable to turn off. So much had happened these last few days, and whenever he pushed one thing away, another rose to take its place.
“It can help to repeat a word each time you exhale,” Alastair offered.
“Like what?”
“Well, when I was an apprentice, we were told to breath out ‘ing’,” Alastair said.
“I don’t think that’s even a word, Alastair.”
The old man scowled. “Just try it. By focusing on something benign, you will find it easier to let your thoughts fall away.”
Eric grimaced. “Okay, I’ll give it a go.”
He closed his eyes again and breathed out, whispering ‘ing’ as he did so.
In, out. In, out. In, out.
His heart slowed and some of the tension fell from his shoulders. The word ing vibrated through his consciousness, drawing his thoughts like moths to the light. Everything else drifted away, until he seemed adrift on a sea of black.
I’m doing it, he exulted.
The thought shattered his concentration. Opening his eyes, he grinned at Alastair. “I think I had it for a second there.”
Alastair laughed and stood. “Good, keep practising then.” He stretched his arms. “Call me if you need a hand, I won’t be far. I’m going to go keep watch.”
The old man disappeared. Eric sat back and began again. Watching the old man move away, he had been reassured. Alastair looked stronger than ever, his injuries healed and forgotten. He looked more than a match for the creatures of the night now.
Gradually he sank back into the calm centre of his mind, away from the distractions of the physical world. It came faster this time, as though it were a skill he had once known, and now remembered. Even the slow thumping of his heart faded, leaving him alone, cut off from sensation, from all sense of time. He drifted, separate from himself, a ghost within his own mind.
After a time, a memory surfaced. Alastair had said that it was here, amidst this emptiness, he would find his magic. As though waiting for the thought, a blue light appeared in the distance. He floated towards it, slowly at first, but growing faster, until he became a blazing arrow. The speck grew, becoming a lake of brilliant blue, stretching out beneath him, immense and overwhelming.
The glow washed over Eric, its warmth intoxicating. Thin threads of light rose from the lake and swept towards him. Tentative tendrils stroked his consciousness, and slowly wrapped around him. Power surged through Eric as they connected, filling him with strength. A need curled through his consciousness, a desire for more. He dropped slowly towards the lake, the threads weaving all around him, tiny hooks burying themselves in his being. The light rose to meet him, shifting as it came, becoming the jaws of a great wolf.
Fear touched Eric as the jaws widened, but it was too late to flee. The magic was all around him, binding him tight, and before he could move the jaws snapped shut. The blue light flooded him, pouring through his consciousness. Drowning, Eric tried to wake, but the tendrils held him tight, dragging him deeper and deeper into the darkness of his mind.
Freed of its prison, the wolf blazed brighter. It grew, even as Eric shrank. He could feel it merging with him, its power eating away his resistance until they became one.
Back at the campsite, Eric opened his eyes, but it was no longer the boy who stared out. The force within grinned, feeling the strength flowing through his veins and muscles, the power crackling at his fingertips. Eric’s body tensed, and then lifted slowly to his feet.
The power looked around. Invisible tendrils of magic stretched out, searching, seeking power. Far away, over the rainforests to the west, they found it.
The storm clouds had been building through the day, feeding off the moisture laden air. Energy crackled across the sky, water and air and dust smashing to create friction, igniting the lightning within.
The threads of magic tore great chunks from the storm, drawing it across the miles to where Eric’s body waited. It arrived with a boom of thunder and flash of white, as lightning struck Eric’s outstretched arm. Roaring, it gathered around him. Thunder boomed again and again, fresh bolts of electricity fell tumbling from the sky.
Eric lifted his fists in exaltation, as deep within his mind, a voice screamed. But the magic, the power, was everything now. Exhilarating, intoxicating, indestructible.
“Eric, stop!” A voice shouted over the thunder.
Eric pointed an arm at the speaker. No enemy would stop him now. Blue energy crawled along his arm and leapt from his fingertips. Lightning shrieked through the night, and he watched a shadowy figure dive from its path. Light flashed as it struck the cliffs, turning the stone to molten rock.
“Eric, listen to me. I am Alastair, your teacher!”
Alastair.
The name rang through his mind, but he shook his head. He needed no teacher now. Another bolt chased the figure through the darkness. The stench of burning rock filled the air, and Eric breathed it in, revelling in his power. But still the man escaped him.
“Die!” he shrieked, his voice metallic. Lightning flashed from him in all directions, burning white tracks across his vision.
“Eric, you must stop. The magic will destroy you. Remember Oaksville!”
Oaksville.
Eric paused as the word reverberated through his mind, cutting a track right to his soul. Some small, forgotten part of him grabbed for it like a lifeline in a stormy sea. Sanity clawed its way back from the deepest recesses of his mind. Horror struck him like a physical blow and he stumbled.
Oaksville, Oaksville, Oaksville.
The word chimed in his mind, drawing him back. But with a roar, the magic rose again, burning away thought and reason. Eric gritted his teeth, determined to force it down, guilt warring with fear. He would not let it consume him, not this time.
The lightning around him flickered, but he could not release it, not with Alastair and Inken nearby. Its heat radiated across his skin, and sucking in a breath, he pressed it down. It danced across his arms, flickering, alive, but to his astonishment, it obeyed. Bit by bit, the electricity faded away, drawn down into the darkness in his chest.
Closing his eyes, Eric forced the lightning deeper, taking his magic with it. The lake appeared again, angry now, raging against him. But Eric had found his courage, and gritting his teeth, he hurled the lightning down into the lake. It struck the surface and disappeared.
In an instant, the lake calmed, its surface turning glassy smooth.
Opening his eyes back at the campsite, Eric felt the strength go from his legs, and he crumpled to the ground. Footsteps crunched on gravel as someone approached, but Eric suddenly found himself unable to move. He stared up at the night’s sky, unable to even close his eyes.
Alastair’s face appeared overhead. “Too close.” The old Magicker shook his head. “I’m sorry, Eric. That was my fault. I have never seen anyone go so far, so fast. Most do not discover the dark side of their magic for years. But tonight you met the beast that lives within you, and survived. Next time, it will be easier. Rest now.”
And reaching down, Alastair closed Eric’s eyes with a gentle hand.
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