Mage- The Guardian's Oath

by S A Edwards

  “Then, you know why I’m here?”

  “You wish to make a deal with the Daemon.”

  “I need something he’ll accept. Something I can trade for the Head. I planned something. Something that led me here.”

  “Back then, you understood the risk,” she said. “You have forgotten. From the first spoken word with the Daemon, there is no turning back. A deal must be struck. You ask what you desire. He gives the price. You must accept his offering, or he will take your soul. He will take everything that makes you who you are. You will be subject to him for eternity. You will feel pain like you’ve never known.”

  “I was led here for a reason. What did I prepare? The Keeper said he would ask for the thing I would be most reluctant to give up. Is there something he will accept instead of what he asks?”

  She craned her neck. “As I said in the past, that is a great risk. Never before has anyone attempted a counter-offer. To do so might become the choice you make. If he declines, you couldn’t make another. You will be lost.”

  “But I have all seven gifts. Perhaps that will give me an advantage.”

  She growled, the sound vibrating through my bones.

  I flinched. “I have to try. If I gave you something in my first life, you must have agreed with me.”

  “We have never been in accord regarding this, though, yes, I said I would help you. If you still intend to do this, you need to offer something of equal or greater value than that which he asks. It will require a sacrifice. Any deal with the Daemon, especially as a Guardian, is guaranteed to be steep.”

  “So, the medallion, that’s a sacrifice? Something of great value?” I asked.

  “The medallion of Orashae.” Sapientia’s wings unfolded, and she took off, sweeping over the rocks. Seconds passed, and she returned. Her claw uncurled, and something fell, glinting in the shadows.

  I caught it with ease. The gold was cold against my fingers and shone with a light of its own.

  She landed soundlessly, bending to my eyelevel.

  “This is it,” I said. “This is what I saw in my memory.”

  “This medallion has been hidden here for a long, long time,” she said. “It has the power to open any Gate. If the Daemon takes this, he can release any Hellion from its prison.”

  “But the Keepers –”

  “Have no control over the medallion. Using it is a right they must grant to the user. This is why it has been hidden.”

  I bit my lip. “Won’t he release himself?”

  “He will free whichever best serves his purpose. It will be your responsibility to put right his wrongdoing.”

  51

  I pursed my lips in response to Sapientia’s words. If I used the medallion to get the Head and the Daemon released a Hellion, how difficult would it be to return it to its prison? Would the Keepers help?

  Despite my fears, it didn’t seem I had a choice. “Where can I find the Gates of Omen?” I asked.

  Sapientia straightened and ruffled her wings, her disapproval thickening the stifling air. “I will take you there.”

  Her huge wings flashed with brilliant blue, her claws wound around my shoulders and beneath my arms, and she soared above the rock.

  The cave spanned much further than I had imagined, reaching into the distance with impressive beauty. Star stones dotted the roof, casting silver light across the cavern. A circle of light broke the star stones, and she propelled through it.

  I squinted in the bright light and clung to the medallion. Her scales warmed my skin, bringing back memories of the night she had caught me and carried me through the forest. Wind whipped my hair and dried my eyes as she soared over the treetops, the forest no more than a blur below. My stomach lurched at the height, and I clutched her claw, silently pleading that she wouldn’t drop me. The Preserver mountain towered above us, the tip cloaked in thick cloud, until she changed direction, leaving it far behind.

  Hours passed, and she finally dipped below the trees, weaving between them faster than my eyes could focus, and then deposited me in a small clearing. She disappeared above the trees at once, and her words touched my mind: “Be wary. The Daemon cannot be trusted.”

  Tall gates, ancient and chained, stood before me, with a towering wall stretching into the forest on either side. They remained bare, as though even the plants feared to venture near.

  The hair on my arms stood on end, and I shivered, every instinct screaming at me to flee.

  Power emanated from the gate’s untarnished bars. Thick, rusted chains held them together, several steps from where I stood.

  The heat of the day beat upon my back, yet a chill slid through the folds of my cloak.

  A shadow flickered before the gates. “I thought you were never going to return to the Dark Gates.”

  I cringed at Zantos’ voice and the memory of his rage. “I wouldn’t have if I’d had a choice.”

  “You had a choice.” Zantos’ voice echoed in my mind, breaking through my barriers. His mind searched mine, probing into the deepest corners, and my skin crawled.

  His silent satisfaction swallowed my discomfort.

  I closed my mind to him.

  “Don’t waste your energy. You’re going to need it.”

  “Get out of my head,” I snapped.

  “You’re in my territory now. My rules.”

  My eyes grazed the ancient gateway and the chains clinging to the ageless bars, and my hand tightened on the medallion. “Let me pass.”

  “Are you sure?” His cool breath touched my ear, and a shadow skimmed my shoulder.

  I held my breath and grimaced.

  Darkness gathered before the gates, and he materialised, his cloak as dark as the surrounding shadows. “There are rules to passing here. You will have one offer. One choice. One fate.” He cocked his head, darkness engulfed him, and then he appeared in front of me, suffocating my senses with his sweet, musky scent. “Do you know what lies beyond the Gate?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek, holding back my apprehension. Witnessing my fear would give him satisfaction.

  His dark eyes narrowed. “There are two reasons one would come here: either they’re fools or desperate.” He leaned until his nose was close to mine. “Which are you?”

  His breath on my face made my hands tremble.

  He twisted behind me, his cloak brushing my arm. “Perhaps, if I knew what you wanted, I could help.”

  “You don’t want to help.” I glared at him. “You want my power. You’re not having it. Now, open the Gate.”

  His expression darkened, and fury flickered across his features. “Be aware, gaining entry is the easy part. Getting out …” He waved his hand.

  The chains clinked and unfolded, claiming my attention. My pulse accelerated, and a cool breeze fluttered my hair.

  “One deal. One choice. No turning back.”

  I glanced back toward Zantos, but he was gone.

  Hinges creaked, and the gates parted.

  I sidled through, my focus falling on someone standing on the other side. Deathly pale skin carried dull, almost-lifeless eyes in hollow sockets. Chains clattered when he moved aside.

  My heart reached out to him, longing to free him from his eternal servitude to the Daemon, all the while knowing it was impossible. He would have chosen it.

  One choice.

  The cold gripped me with chilling fingers, so I shrugged into my cloak, unwilling to touch my gifts.

  The Gate clanged closed, preventing even the sunlight from slipping through. My Beast sight adjusted at once to the rocky, bare surroundings.

  Ahead, a narrow passage led deeper into the dark.

  The thick evil in the place carpeted my footsteps into silent progression, and the looming walls pressed closer, whispering of the awaiting danger.

  The corridor ended, and a huge cavern spanned as far as the shadow allowed. Spikes dangled from the high ceiling. A narrow bridge began at my feet and continued in a long line through the cavern. Magic fizzed in the air.r />
  I edged across the bridge, eyeing the lethal drop on either side. The bottom remained hidden in blackness.

  A massive shape blocked the bridge, and I slowed, searching for a way around it. My fingers tugged my hair.

  The rock shifted and grew. The bridge creaked. Dust dropped from the surface with a hiss.

  My leaden legs prevented my flight at the sight of the giant Daemon. I hadn’t expected it to be so big. If I failed to make this deal, if I had to be prisoner to this thing for eternity … the thought didn’t bare thinking about.

  Yellow eyes stared down at me beneath long, shaggy fur. It reached out a cold hand and rested it against my chest.

  A lump rose in my throat.

  “So, you’ve come to deal with the Daemon.” His deep voice rang through the cave. His nose was turned up in a snout, and razor-sharp fangs glinted between his lips. “You are the last being I expected to visit.” He removed his hand and sat back, his bottom hanging over the edge of the bridge.

  I took a breath. I wanted out. If I ran, could I escape? But then, all of this would have been for nothing. “You’re the Daemon?”

  “I am.”

  My hands trembled and balled. “You know why I’m here?”

  “I know you’re not a fool, so you’re desperate. What is it that you want?”

  “The Death Head.” My words caught in my throat.

  “What makes you think I have it?”

  “A prize like that? How could you not?” My voice strove for confidence with success, but the thought that Esté could be wrong plagued my mind.

  The fur below his nose twitched, and I thought he might be smiling.

  “What do you want the Head for?”

  My eyes narrowed. I didn’t know myself. “You hardly need the details.”

  “This is not a light request. Use of it could cost you your soul.”

  “I’m aware.” Though according to Esté, I could use it once.

  He leaned forward, eyes staring into mine. “The payment will be steep.”

  I nodded, my mouth turning dry.

  “You wish to take the life of another,” he said, “but as a Mage, you already have this gift.”

  I gasped. “What? Who said anything about killing?”

  “Well, this is an interesting turn.” He scratched his armpit, and fur drifted over the bridge’s edge. “You seek the Head without knowing of its function.”

  His dry, dusty scent made my nose itch. What did it do? Surely the Head, named Death or not, couldn’t be used for murder? I thought it more complicated than that.

  “Why do you seek the Head?” the Daemon asked.

  My fists balled. Corruption could claim me until I turned 19. Esté wouldn’t ask me to kill. He wouldn’t take the risk, surely.

  The Daemon’s power probed at my mind. “Ah, I see.”

  I tensed. He could see inside my mind?

  “Your deal,” he said, “the Death Head. It’s yours, in return for that.” He pointed a large finger at my crystal.

  My heart sank. “And if I decline?”

  “The price for that is you.”

  I closed my eyes. It truly was as awful as Sapientia had foretold. The crystal I was sworn to protect or my own life. Though without knowing the crystal’s purpose, why should it be protected? My fingers tightened on the medallion, my thoughts straying to the prisoner at the Gate. If this didn’t work, would I end up like him? “Do you know what’s special about the crystal?”

  The Daemon chuckled. “It is more powerful than you could possibly imagine. It belongs in my collection.”

  “I’m sworn to protect it.”

  “You choose to remain here yourself?”

  Shivers coursed down my spine. “No.”

  “Then, perhaps I was mistaken. You are a fool. You know the consequences of refusing to make a choice.”

  Sweat rose to my forehead. It was now or never. “I want to make a counter-offer.”

  He inhaled deeply, and then ran his fingertip around his nostril, eyes never straying from my face. After a moment, he spoke, “I’m listening.”

  My words caught in my throat. If this didn’t work … “The Head,” I said, “for the medallion of Orashae.”

  He straightened. “The medallion has been lost for centuries.”

  “It’s been found.”

  “Show me.”

  Heart pounding, I unfurled my fingers and allowed the medallion’s light to flood the hall. Ancient stone walls became visible, far away on either side. Odd symbols were etched into the rock.

  “Impossible.” He reached toward it.

  I snatched it close to my chest. “Do we have a deal?”

  A low growl rumbled from deep within him. His hand curled into a fist.

  Power surged, and my neck prickled.

  Slowly, the fur-covered fingers unfurled.

  A small coin rested in his palm, the gold glinting in the medallion’s glow. “It’s yours.”

  The touch of his furry palm made me cringe when I swapped the Head for the medallion.

  He closed his fingers on his prize, his fangs glinting.

  “Who will you release with the medallion?” I asked.

  “The deal is struck. You have no more business here.”

  I shifted back across the bridge, gaze on the drop. Deal or not, I doubted the Daemon would save me if I fell.

  When I drew near to the gates, the enslaved soul cracked them open, chains rattling, and a crack of light seeped through the gap. He gazed at the light with longing eyes. His chains tightened, dragging him back.

  Pity tore through me. “Can’t I help you?” I whispered. His fate filled me with longing to free him, and terror at the thought that it could have been my own.

  He shook his head, and jabbed his finger at the Gate, fear holding his eyes wide.

  The Daemon’s words resounded in my mind. “You wish to take the life of another, but as a Mage, you already have this gift.” Killing wasn’t a gift. It was a curse. Esté had better have a good explanation for this.

  52

  My pack still rested by the stone with eight rings. I loitered in front of the cave, the Death Head in my hand. The cool, golden coin gleamed in the shade, and the power it held made my fingers tingle.

  How could Esté expect me to take a life? Wouldn’t killing someone cause the marks to sear my arms?

  My fingers ran over the smooth surface of the Head. If I could only remember making the oath to him, things would be clearer.

  The cave entrance blurred. Orange light flickered, and a strange room appeared, replacing the forest.

  Golden walls surrounded me, covered in deep, unfamiliar carvings.

  The Dalrene lined the wall, their crystals glowing under the firelight.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. My voice echoed. I hadn’t transported here. At least, not knowingly.

  “You have volunteered to become the eighth Guardian. Are you prepared?” Esté’s low voice sounded behind me.

  I turned to him and gaped.

  He stood in front of a golden podium, much like the Percurrere, his focus on another version of me. Her eyes carried my natural shade of brown, and a white dress draped from her shoulders.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  Esté passed her a knife. The silver blade glinted.

  She sliced the knife across her palm.

  I cried out and stared at my hand. My skin remained untouched, but a line of blood trailed along her flesh and dripped into the golden dish in the podium.

  “Your blood marks the start of your immortality and guardianship,” Esté said. “You covenant to protect magic from all who would misuse it.”

  The blood brightened.

  One by one, the Dalrene reached out. Their gifts burst from their palms at the dish.

  The blood flickered and writhed under flames, water, smoke, clouds and light. Frost curled over their gifts like a shield.

  Custos approached, a stone held between his fingers. He clos
ed his fist, crushed it to dust, and sprinkled it into the dish. Then, he re-joined the others.

  Esté lifted his hands, and a square of light appeared above the podium.

  In a mist of bright light, the dish’s contents rose, soared through the square, and pounded into the chest of my past-self.

  Pressure forced my breath from my lungs, and I sank to my knees at the same moment that she did.

  The memory moved on, and Esté walked with me through a field. “You will need to make a deal with the Daemon,” he said.

  The face of my past-self shifted into one of shock. “We would have to be desperate to go through that Gate.”

  “We are. Only a deal with him can help you prevent the harnessing of the Alignment.”

  “Then, I’m going to need something to trade. Something he can’t refuse.” She paused her stride, her lips pursed. “I have an idea.”

  Time flashed by, and soon I re-witnessed my training of the seven gifts in different villages, discovering first-hand how each Mage worked amongst civilisation.

  Even the Beasts lived among the other Mage and Mortals as equals, helping the land workers with transporting and heavy lifting. They assisted in building homes and workplaces and mined for stone.

  Then, the slaughter started. Homes were burned, people were killed: mostly Mortals and any Mage who protected them. Fear spread throughout the land.

  The scene changed again.

  Dressed in the navy colour of the Healers, my past-self paced before a silent Sil and grim-faced Orator. “This has gone on too long,” she said. “They’re killing innocent people. They think they’re better than the Mortals, that they should rule. Hubert’s in charge. He’s going to corrupt the Council. If something isn’t done soon, all will be lost.”

  “You’re sure it’s him?” Sil asked.

  “I saw him order the killings myself. I’m a Guardian. I must protect them, before it’s too late.”

  Orator nodded. “Do what you must. If you need assistance –”

  “I’ll call you.”

  Smoke curled around her, and the memory moved on.

  Blue flames in her palm lit a forest clearing. “Zantos!”

  He appeared in a rush of shadows and sauntered forward with a smirk.