The fluxed portal narrowed down like a sphincter of energy swirling in many colors behind him.
The statues set about the hall of portals did not show heroes, they showed the failures. Reminders of what could be, of how deficiency could hide away within until brought out by the right circumstances.
Scenes depicting failed rebellions, some that tried to overthrow the rule of his people.
Others where they challenged and fell to otherworldly gods in ill-timed engagements or poorly planned battles.
Some showed the results of bad logistics, others of retarded construction in arcane matters, while yet more showed the more straightforward failures of battle and war. That his people did not celebrate their victories, did not laud over others their triumphs, said a lot about them.
They did not seek to improve merely to show others their strength.
Being alive was the triumph, surviving to move ever onward was the victory, the celebration was drawing yet one more breath.
**
Winding corridors brought Fenix past many rooms.
Although the school was never widely populated, he did pass some other masters and an occasional student. The right talent had to be taught and properly provoked, and as such, many students did not survive the training.
Two in eighteen was the highest survival rate, leaving them with only a few thousand practitioners at any one time.
In mortal terms, his people were long-lived, several centuries at least, if not for the general conflict which inevitably ended their existence. There was no record at all of an old man or woman from his kind, they just did not live that long.
Therefore, he was proud to be chosen by one of the oldest living masters of magic in the school. A man so old, he had wrinkles on his face, around his eyes, and around his knuckles.
The room that they met in was bare, a circular floor surrounded by raised steps and sixteen pillars with runes that met above in a curved dome ceiling. Fenix’s master was already there, waiting for him. On arrival, Fenix knelt in the center of the room, both out of respect and because the man was due the propriety.
Then he stood. There would be no more signs of respect. To acknowledge a better was proper, to be subservient was not.
Very few were due the courtesy of respect in the first place, it was to be earned or taken.
The lesson started, details blurred in his memory, of conjuring and creations of illusion from the walls to test his recollection and counterspells.
The limits of his strength pitched against fluxes of evocation that blasted away at him. Many a student died because they took on more than they could handle, a common occurrence for his kind, and accepted. Knowing your own limits was necessary, stretching yourself was, as well.
Foolhardy attempts to grow stronger through overwhelming odds meant you could not gauge your survival accurately and deserved to die.
Fenix’s memories of the school mixed and flowed one into the other, what he learned, how he learned it, and the conversations were all a blur. Years were spent there, that he knew.
It was one day, in one particular year, at a time much later in his life that leaped out at him.
**
Steam rose from the most recent batch of molten rock where conflicting energies had reduced the floor to slag.
Fenix stood, tall and proud, with his various scars prominent on the bare skin of his chest. There were a few scars on his back from creatures or animals that could get around to him and some from weapons in a general melee where he could not always cover all sides.
Most of the scars were at the front, where he faced danger and overcame it.
His master stalked down the steps from the last batch of sigils and in an uncharacteristic mood smiled at him.
“Well done, Fenix. You have improved. Your skills are now sufficient for you to meet another teacher. One who has awaited your rise to proficiency with barely held restraint. Do not embarrass me.”
Fenix did not reply. Standing tall, he nodded once.
It was the correct response.
His master gave a slight gesture and with his telekinesis turned a dial on the far side door. The stone slid smoothly back and then to one side to admit a strikingly different humanoid figure.
She was pale skinned as if no blood flowed through her veins, but the pallor still healthy and full of life. Just so pale as to be almost alabaster. She had long red hair, a luxurious fall of it, which glinted in colors from amber to red gold and back again, and it stayed back away from her face; yes, as if it had a mind of its own.
She walked barefoot on dainty feet with neat toenails and long slim legs that disappeared under the white satin dress she wore.
The material hugged her figure, an allure for the eye it grasped at her curves, enticed along the sides of her and pulled taut across her chest up to where a modest neckline surrounded the pale throat.
A graceful neck was topped by a face from tranquility, green eyes with round pupils and blood red lips. The scent of lilac and blossoms preceded her.
With barely the whisper of a footstep, she approached him.
Fenix was overcome by the sight, the smell of her, the allure, and the enticement.
He switched his senses over to his other sight, the supernatural gift that had required training in magic to use. With it, he could accomplish a glimpse past the veil of mundane reality. Now, shockingly, he lost the vision behind a blinding glare emanating from her, this being who wore such mundane flesh.
In just that instant he learned much. It seemed she shone as an entity much more vast than this entire planet and yet wrapped herself in flesh and bone to become so small and tiny within that enigmatic form.
Such was her power that even the merest glimpse of it shook him loose from the well-trained perceptions he had employed.
His mind was numbed to her presence, as if a sudden surge of electricity had passed through him, tingly, but also putting a damper on his senses. Somehow, though, he knew she had intended to do so, and only because to gaze upon her true countenance would injure him.
She confirmed it with her next words, spoken in such a lovely voice the rock walls themselves would move if she asked it of them.
“I apologize young one, but to let you experience me fully would require much more training on your part. You are a hundred years too soon to be gifted my full presence, lest you lose your mind.”
She stepped right up to him, a dainty finger coming up to run a clear nail down his rippling chest muscles.
“And I have such plans for you, it would be a shame to waste them.”
She stepped slowly around him, the motion was graceful and sedate. Fenix looked at his master but got only a subtle shake of the head in reply.
He was to do nothing, say nothing.
This creature who chose to appear in the female form was dangerous, he could tell by the master’s respect and demeanor.
Her fingers stroked up his back where they had glided down with her slow observation, and her breath tickled his skin.
“You are strong, powerful. I am pleased.” Her voice shifted, the tone changed, possible disappointment met with practicality.
“But you may be too soon, not yet the combination I need.”
The tone changed again, this time uplifting. “Or…there have been sudden leaps forward. The combination of bloodlines could result in a unique pattern, a new mutation, a new growth. Perhaps you are one such as this?”
She ended in front of him again, one thin eyebrow raised in question, her eyes captivating him. He could not answer her.
Even if she had actually expected him to answer the question. She mesmerized him instantly, and all his mental training, the psychic blocks, all the hard work at resisting domination and hypnotism were swept aside as the paltry defense they were against such a titan.
“What is his talent?” Her eyes did not leave him, but the question was directed at the master, who answered succinctly.
“Fire, my lady. The boy posses
ses an interesting link with the primal essence of fire itself. That fire which is beyond the energy which merely burns, destroys, or consumes. He contains within him the complete composition of fire, its cleansing, its warmth, its salvation and survival, and also its capacity to do harm.”
The master looked at him then, pride evident in a momentary flicker.
“He embodies our race in form and function, the fire is a representation of his innermost facets. He is a pure and strong example. He is intensity.”
She smiled, and it sent his heart racing. For flight or fight, he did not know. Possibly both.
“Hmm.” The sound was sweet from her, he already found himself wishing to please her, and dreading any failure on his part.
“Well then, I will take you on for your lessons, my dear young man. Who knows, in a few decades you may be just what I desire.”
For the first time in his life, Fenix found that he wanted what someone else wanted.
This person, she would be able to lead him to a whole new realm of power.
Day 9…
Fenix sat with his hand facing upward, the fingers curled slightly.
The glowing circle hovered an inch above his palm. Lines of light stretched from each fingertip to the outer edge of the loop, while his thumb was connected to the center of it.
With intense mental discipline, he brought forth a sigil constructed of light within the circle, clear and precise. The blueish glow reflected onto the rocks of the small outcrop where he was sheltered.
So far, the land crabs had not ventured down the cliff to get another taste of him, despite the time he had spent there, practicing.
He let the sigil fade and drew the next, his mind pushed the necessary magic out through his palm where he captured and shaped it within the construct. Each shape a geometric design for harnessing magic, the unique configurations on their own didn’t mean much unless they were enchanted.
When you added several of them together, the effects could be exceedingly complex.
It was a trivial exercise for one practiced in such things, and he vaguely recalled he had practiced for years. Now, though, it was as hard to do as his first day at the school of magic. His mind seemed to know how to make it work, and his magic responded with practiced ease.
Just like his body was strong, agile and with peak endurance. Physically trained through repetitive practice, he was able to use that endurance. Without the correct guidance, it was an impressive vessel lacking a skilled navigator.
He could not use the well of magic within as adeptly as he should, it responded properly, it was powerful and practiced, but he could remember none of that practice.
That was within his wiped memories.
He put the frustration aside, it wouldn’t help his survival and instead focused on the next set of designs. The exercise was helping, it brought back the memorized configurations, and he just had to repeat the exercises so that his mind recognized the skill and didn’t need the memories.
It was a very strange sensation. If he required practice to accurately recall everything from his education in magic, then his mastery of the combat arts was probably also lacking.
All were skills to practice, and the Prison would not lack opportunities to do so, he was sure.
**
By the next day, he felt like he was getting better at it.
With his drive, it was easy to continue the practice throughout the night and into the morning. His mental fortitude matched his body’s capacity to endure without sleep, and he needed to improve if he was going to escape the pack of land crabs waiting for him up above.
He just wasn’t sure when to strike.
Some preparation would be required. The land crabs had great strength in numbers, and he did not have the energy to destroy vast swaths of them at a time. Since he knew they were made of ectoplasm and could recall the basics of the arcane, he had a few ideas.
He figured the main reason the small creatures had stopped in the undergrowth and not pursued him into the rain was because of their nature.
Conjurations would be disrupted by the moving water.
Just as many creations or supernatural energies avoided swimming or crossing rivers because of the drain on their magical life force, falling rain would have much the same effect, if on a highly reduced scale. Beings that small would not be able to retain cohesion in even a light rain if they were out in it for too long.
He thought he could simulate those disruptive properties by using other magic.
It would be a lightweight spell and consume relatively little energy compared to outright attacks. All Fenix had to do was be able to cover a wide area with it, which was what he was trying to practice with the sigils for shape, form, and direction.
The correct combinations eluded him, though continued practice seemed to wean out more and more of his cloistered mind.
He found it was opening up within him, the knowledge expanded and found more, and sometimes images and ideas would explode in a rush.
Unfortunately, the effect was lessening with the more time he spent away from the drive that had caused him to remember how to light the fire. He needed to employ what he had learned, and he needed to fight for survival again so he could recall more.
Fenix spent the rest of the morning in practice. He needed perfection, and he needed to be unhesitating in the application.
**
The sun threw the shadow of the monolith from the arrivals platform in a line over the plateau he had been interrupted exploring.
If the Prison worked the same as the average realms, then the transition from day to night would include a general disruption of magic while the energies changed. He may have been wrong, but nightfall in the Prison might be arcane in nature and provide even more as an agent of change.
Fenix completed the short climb up the Cliffside, with the roiling sky far below him and no hesitation in his movements.
He quite enjoyed the view, actually. It was a good reminder for every living thing that a misstep could lead to death. One hand on the loose ground above, then the other, and he hauled himself over. He stood up and dusted himself off, patiently waiting, listening.
They were there, the lot of them, being quiet and still, but he knew they were there. The trick now was to get to his gear and then go after the source. Now that he had a plan, it would go very differently than it had before.
He took one of the small stones he had gathered from the pouch of the reused bandage, nothing wasted after all.
Each of the stones had sigils burned into it, his exercises had paid off.
He then took off at a run straight into the undergrowth, navigational senses keen to lead him back along the trail he had come. First, he had to throw off the controlling intelligence, then he would strike back.
Also, being on the run, he should attract more of the land crabs into a smaller area at once, which was precisely what he needed.
Trees whipped by, bushes were swept aside, leaves crackled as the myriad of yellow and green whirled past. The sound of his passage through the fauna was doubled, tripled, and then expanded even more as the land crabs started after him.
That cacophony from his headlong flight more than a day earlier was repeating itself. Their smell carried over to his keen senses, overlaying the loam and mossy scent of the plants.
They didn’t actually let him through their cordon on the edge of the brush, he encountered a few and in each case grabbed and threw, crushed, or slammed them with his fists, reducing them to the ectoplasmic goo from which they were formed.
Their reaction was to surround him and follow, with many likely circling to get ahead of him.
Perfect.
Again, he broke free of the denser amalgamation of plants into a small clearing, perhaps even one from before. There, on every tree, scuttling over the ground, and weaving through the lower boughs of the bushes were the land crabs. So many he just left the count at close to a hundred, all ready to pounce on him.
&nb
sp; Fenix smiled that predatory smile of his, all quirky forethought and steeped in the knowledge that he had won.
Magic flowed through him and into the stone with his will. Suddenly infused with the eldritch energy, the sigils glowed and reached incandescence in moments. He gently threw the stone up, underhanded, into the air and turned his eyes away.
A blinding flash followed by an expanding corona of sapphire energy. It swept out in all directions and each of the land crabs it touched shuddered and decomposed into gelatinous ooze that evaporated just as quickly.
The blast wave spread and emptied the clearing and most of the surrounding area, the disruptive effect playing havoc with the internal matrix of the small beings.
They couldn’t hold up against even this small spell; its strength was minor but enough, and they dissolved in droves. Fenix did not wait for the final results but headed into a run once more.
He had been right to keep moving. More rustles and scuttles sounded out from his surroundings. Whatever controlled the creatures must have thought he would now be vulnerable, perhaps assuming he only had one of those, and he was more than happy to dissuade it.
Fenix’s sense of direction brought him right back to the fallen pack he had dropped, his eyes read the signs of his previous passage.
The broken twigs, bent branches, signs that the rain had not wiped away. He came to a stop standing over his few precious possessions in this lonely Prison and pulled out another stone carried with him from the cliff.
This time they rushed him immediately, dark claws propelling them with their knobs of muscle and tawny flesh. An all-out attack to bring him down before he could do anything else to stop them.
Usually a good tactic, but not when he had the upper hand and the capability to wipe out so many of them at once. Even if the spell on the stone failed, he could now unleash potent energy and fire. But it would take more out of him to do that than using what he had prepared.
Convict Fenix Page 11
