Aeromancer

by Don Callander

“A party of Wizard and near-Wizards,” Douglas explained. “My name is Douglas Brightglade. I’m a Pyromancer.”

  He introduced his wife and Cribblon, explaining their origins and their magical specialties.

  “Pleased to meet you, Wizards all!” hummed the bee politely. “What is this I’m seated upon, can you tell me? I’ve seen plenty of furry beasts in my time, but none with so rich a coat... or so strange an odor.”

  “Marbleheart Sea Otter, my Familiar,” Douglas replied.

  “From a distant part of Sea called The Briny.”

  “Briny!” the bee coughed. “Not a very pleasant name, I must say.”

  “A pleasant enough sort of place for an Otter, however,” Marbleheart retorted, with an effort uncrossing his eyes while being careful not to shake his head. “Although I left there years and years ago and have never since returned.”

  “Wise Otter!” the bee chuckled. “But I don’t mean to insult your homeland.”

  “You can’t say you prefer this spot,” Douglas said, waving his hand to include the whole crater. “Not a flower anywhere that I’ve seen.”

  “No, I came only at your call, Fire Master. Normally I would stay far away and well outside this barren place. Something in the soil prevents even the hardiest bramble or rankest dock from rooting here. Flowers never grow in Sandrovia. Never have ... in memory of my people!”

  “We appreciate your coming all the more,” Myrn told the insect.

  “I’m pleased to provide any assistance, of course,” said the bee, bowing slightly to the lady. “Do you wish me to guide you out of this horrendous wilderness? Easily done!”

  “No, we seek information about this ruined city and to know if you or your people have seen anything suspicious here of late. In the last day or two, in fact,” the Pyromancer told him.

  “We pay little attention to the old, empty city, or the crater, either, as I said,” the bee insisted. “However, now that I’m here ... ummm! ummm! ...”

  He appeared to be listening, turning, much as Douglas had done earlier, in several complete circles, vibrating his wings in a blur. “I hear strange sounds from deep below. Something moving very slowly about and softly snarling ... or sniffling? ... sort of. Deep under our feet, it is. Hmmm! Best to flit away while we can! Something’s going on deep inside the crater floor, way down below.”

  “I don’t hear anything,” objected Cribblon.

  “But I hear it, Air Adept,” the bee murmured softly. “Deep. Low-down, constant, but coming from a Being of some sort. Not an insect, nor a Man, nor a Fairy, nor anything like that. Oh, dear! Not even a Near Immortal! Something harsh... and lonely ... and fearful.”

  “If you fear, we’ll not detain you,” Douglas said gently. “I think I know what it is, and it is dangerous, believe me.”

  “It’s not been here very long,” added the bee, preparing to flit off. “I never heard it before, friends and Wizards. Nor do I wish to hear it ever again!”

  And he shot off on a beeline toward the low, grassy hills just visible to the north.

  “I’m truly, truly stumped!” admitted Douglas Brightglade.

  They had retreated from the blazing-hot plaza to sit under the arched entryway of the largest ruin, where there was now deep shadow as the sun moved across the glaring sky. Only Lesser Dragon remained in the broiling sun, sleeping peacefully, snoring wisps of yellowish steam.

  “What interested me was the honeybee’s description of the Being under the crater,” Myrn put in. “Did you notice? ‘Not Man nor Fairy?’ Nor any kind of Near Immortal!”

  “But we already knew that,” said Cribblon. “The Darkness are certainly not Men, nor Near Immortals like a Fairy. What else is there? I forget!”

  “An Immortal, then?” Douglas considered. “Not that either, perhaps? What do you think, Myrn?”

  “I’m just the junior-most Journeyman here,” Myrn protested, shaking her dark head. “Not much was ever said in Augurian’s training classes about Immortals. Oh, that they exist and that there are Bright Immortals and ...”

  “Precisely!” Douglas nodded. “Dark Immortals!”

  “We need some older and wiser heads on this, I guess,” said his wife, sighing.

  “You’re right!” Douglas agreed. “I’ll send for Flarman, Augurian, and Litholt, to come at once!”

  “Meanwhile, we must stay here to keep watch, in case this pesky bit of Darkness decides he should flee somewhere else,” Myrn said, setting her chin firmly.

  “They’ll be here, all three, as quickly as their combined Powers can bring them across the wide Sea,” Douglas told the party a short while later.

  They’d set up camp on a side porch of an ancient palace, one which still boasted a half-roof for shade and some shelter from the constant, drying wind. Marbleheart and Cribblon went off to explore the rest of the city on the crater’s rim and Myrn was preparing to order lunch.

  “What has this Darkness Servant to fear?” wondered Myrn, setting places around a stone table for the party, including the Dragon, who’d just awakened from his forenoon nap. “For that matter, why did he—it—run from us when we came to Darkest Mountains?”

  “I can’t imagine, darling,” answered her husband. “It’s only a tiny part of the whole, old Darkness, of course. It may not yet understand how powerful it could be. I only hope our Masters can give us some assistance and more information. For example, how did the Fellowship of Wizards manage to defeat The Darkness at the end of Last Battle? Nobody’s ever told me that.”

  “Nor me,” Myrn admitted. “Well, we’ll hold on—or hide like scared rabbits, if need be—until they arrive. Late tomorrow, do you say?”

  “Flarman just said, ‘We’re on our way!’ “

  “Might as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible, then,” Myrn sighed. “You like spicy dishes, young Fireman. How ‘bout a nice curry for lunch? I imagine Lesser’ll like that. And Marbleheart will eat just about anything!”

  “Good enough! Meanwhile,” Douglas said, rising and beginning to pace back and forth, a habit he’d picked up years since from Flarman Flowerstalk, “I need to think. There must be a way to control this ... thing, or whatever you want to call it. Some way ...”

  ****

  At Wizards’ High, far to the west, the three older Wizards prepared to answer Douglas’s call.

  Flarman said to Black Flame, “You and Stormy must come, too, Puss! We may need every bit of help we can get.”

  “Do you think this Servant of The Darkness is all that powerful?” the Geomancer asked, sounding rather worried. Of the three of them, she had the least experience with The Darkness or its Servants.

  “We can’t tell from this far away, can we?” Augurian answered for Flarman. He set his battered, water lily-patterned carpetbag near the kitchen door. “Ah! Here’s my Familiar!” The long-winged Stormy appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  “I should come, too,” said a new voice. Bronze Owl rattled and banged down the wide hall from his post at the front door.

  “It means leaving the High unguarded!” Flarman protested. “Well... come along then, Owl. We can use another hard head, and you once were famous for your knowledge of The Enemy.”

  The Pyromancer went to the kitchen range and patted the round, warm side of Blue Teakettle fondly.

  “You’re in charge while we’re away, Blue, my pet.”

  She puffed a short, reassuring jet of pale blue steam, saying, “Trust me, Magister! When you and Douglas and his Myrn return triumphant, we’ll have a grand Victory Celebration!”

  “If we return, there’ll be cause for celebration,” sighed Augurian, who tended to be a pessimist at times.

  “Everybody ready?” Flarman called loudly. “Not forgotten anything? There won’t be many toothbrush trees or washrag bushes handy in the wasteland northwest of Samarca!”

  He led them out into the kitchen courtyard, where late spring had turned overnight into full summer. Equinox was just a few days away.

  The La
dies of the Byre, the brown-and-white hens, their cocky rooster, and their yellow chicks, had stayed awake late to cheer the Wizards on their way.

  Precious, who’d take care of the Wizards’ High livestock and watch the cottage while they were gone, stood leaning on the meadow gate, chewing on a stalk of green oat-straw. Overhead the stars were popping out and the moon, just rising, was almost full, bright, and untroubled by clouds.

  “Good evening for a fast flight!” cried Flarman cheerily. “Form a line, please. It’ll make things easier for an old magicker if you touch each other or hold hands. Here’s my hand, my dear.”

  He grasped Litholt’s capable left hand with his right, reached for Augurian’s hand with the other, waited while Bronze Owl flapped noisily up to perch on his left shoulder, and glanced down to make sure Black Flame was standing touching his right ankle, purring confidently. Stormy Petrel rested easily on Augurian’s off shoulder, his wings furled and his eyes hooded.

  “You really should find another Familiar of your own, my dear.” Flarman smiled at Litholt, squeezing her hand.

  “When I find a suitable candidate, I won’t hesitate, Flarman,” she said, returning his smile. “Do you think I should’ve brought along a warm sweater?”

  “No, from where Douglas called it’s hot enough for a swim-suit or less.” The Water Adept laughed.

  Flarman leaned forward to check. Glancing up and down the flight line. “Ready all? Get set! G—!”

  A gust of warm, wet breeze rushed in where almost the entire remaining Fellowship of Light (lacking only the Choinese Magician named Wong) had a moment before stood near the courtyard well.

  Rooster nodded importantly to his wives and began to shoo the excited chicks back into their chicken coop beyond the door to the Wizards’ workshop.

  Party and Pert turned to go in at the open workshop door. It was nearing Party’s birthing time and she felt heavy and rather tired.

  The old orchardman shook his gray head, thanking his stars he’d never been tempted to become a Wizard of any sort. He tossed his oat-straw to the ground, pushed the meadow gate closed, and stumped off down to Old Plank Bridge over Crooked Brook, on his way home to his bride and bed.

  Chapter Twenty

  On the Rim

  “I’ve got it!” cried Douglas, sitting up straight on his blanket in the hot darkness of the palace porch.

  The nearly full moon was well risen, and the desolate city was entirely quiet... ominously silent, Marbleheart thought with a sudden shiver. He rolled over on his back and stuck all four feet in the air, but said nothing.

  Myrn stirred, blinked at her husband a bit as Bronze Owl would have blinked, shook her head, and said, “It can’t wait, can it?”

  “Doing some thinking.” Douglas grinned at her fondly in the dimness. “Forgive the rude awakening.”

  Myrn sat up, pushing her lustrous black hair out of her eyes.

  “Need me... ?”

  “No, no! Go back to sleep. Dawn will come in about two hours. Flarman and the rest will be here by midday, if all goes well. Then we’ll settle this Darkness Servant thing for good and all.”

  “A hint might make me go back to sleep out of pure relief.” Myrn yawned.

  “Well... I was trying to fill a void in my knowledge. How did Flarman and Augurian—Litholt’d left before Last Battle—finally defeat The Darkness and send it back into Endless Caverns atop World?”

  “I know the stories, Douglas,” said his wife, just a tad impatiently.

  “But Flarman once—and one time only that I recall—used a word for how they’d finally bested the Darkness. It took me a long time to remember that single word, dearest, and it’s just come back to me in my sleep.”

  “I promise if you tell it to me,” Myrn growled, “I’ll go back to sleep and let you ponder it the rest of the night.”

  “ ‘Unity!’ “ Douglas pronounced. “Go back to sleep!”

  “Unity?” asked the Sea Otter, several hours later.

  They were walking on the rim at dawn, watching the sun slowly unveil the sea of dark glass at the bottom of the mile-deep crater and spotlight the chimneys of red flowstone scattered across its shining surface.

  “We can defeat this ... this Servant,” Douglas explained, “if we act in unison, all together, with single purpose. That’s what Flarman discovered in the terrible Last Battle against The Darkness, two centuries ago.”

  “Humph!” snorted Marbleheart. “I would have thought the Forces of Light were united from the very beginning!”

  “Evidently not.” Douglas shrugged. “As I recall, King Grummist lost his nerve and nearly cost them all their lives And brokenhearted Litholt had left the Fellowship when her Familiar was foully murdered. Some of the Federation of Light were distrustful of Faerie, you recall. And, of course, there was the selfishness of Frigeon. No... our side’s Unity was rather ragged at the beginning of Last Battle, I fear.”

  He picked up a flat stone from the path and threw it with all his might out over the deep chasm.

  It fell, and fell, and fell... until at last they heard it crack faintly, almost a mile below.

  “So we wait for our Magisters to arrive?” asked the Sea Otter when the echoes had died at last.

  “We wait. They should be here in a few hours.”

  “Meanwhile,” Marbleheart murmured, cocking his ear over the edge, “I believe I hear bumblings and rumblings from below now, too. Do you catch ‘em? Very faint, but... something!”

  The two friends stood very still, leaning out over the edge, listening. Myrn came up to them.

  “What’s this?” she chided them cheerfully. “You look like you two are about to fall into the hole.”

  “We’re ... uh ... listening. There are sounds coming from down there,” whispered Marbleheart.

  “I heard them as soon as I woke,” Myrn agreed with a nod. “It shouldn’t stop our eating breakfast, should it?”

  “Never!” cried the Otter, swinging about. “C’mon, Master! Sensible commons make common sense, I say.”

  Douglas wished his wife a good morning with a kiss. Arms about each other, they followed the Otter to the palace of the ancient, doomed warrior race known as the Sandrones. Marbleheart detoured to call Cribblon from his resumed investigation of yet another of the empty, roofless, windowless ruins along the rim.

  “Deka!” Douglas cried.

  Under the porch, where the early-morning shadows were deepest, shimmered the form of the Wraith messenger, moving and wavering and looking ill at ease in the brightness of reflected light.

  “Greetings, Wizard Douglas. Mistress Journeyman. Hello, Sea Otter Familiar and Journeyman Cribblon,” whispered the Wraith. “I cannot stay long. Flarman bade me come and say they’re but a few hours off, coming fast.”

  “Thank you, old friend! Rest with us while we break our night’s fast,” Douglas urged.

  The ghostly messenger appeared as weary and wan as they’d ever seen her.

  “Yes, do!” Myrn urged. “Tell us the news, if you can.”

  “No time now,” replied the Wraith, already beginning to fade. “You understand? I’ll be back at eventide. I really dislike this place by day”

  And she was gone.

  “Well, we’ll eat without her,” decided Myrn. “Ah! Here are cantaloupes from somewhere. Certainly not our garden at the High yet? I don’t know how Blue Teakettle does it! And she even sent sweet pastries with cinnamon and sugar icing, such as certain Otters are very fond of.”

  “Coffee?” Marbleheart asked Cribblon, who followed him onto the porch. “What were we looking for, if a mere Familiar may ask?”

  Cribblon sipped contentedly at the steaming black coffee before he answered.

  “It occurred to me that this Servant had to have a way to enter the... crater, as I guess one should call it. I’ve been looking at openings in the surface below. It must have found a way under the crater floor, somewhere.”

  “The cave we slept in two nights back?” Myrn suggested.


  Cribblon considered.

  “No, there was no trace of the Servant there at all.”

  “I quite agree,” said the Otter.

  “Scent is about all we have to follow. There’s no way anything could leave footprints on that glassy rock below,” Myrn also agreed.

  She nibbled a cinnamon-dusted breakfast roll thoughtfully while her husband and the Journeyman Air Adept discussed possibilities.

  “I can help you explore the floor of the crater,” said Lesser, called from slumber by the smells of coffee, hot buttered cinnamon rolls, and raspberry jam on toast. “We may find a crevice or a cave down there.”

  “Have some food first,” Cribblon said to the Dragon. “We may be gone a long time. The crater is miles and miles in each direction and it’ll take us hours and hours to give it even a preliminary scrutiny.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, then.” The Dragon grinned.

  “The other Wizards are due shortly. I’ll stay here in the city,” Douglas decided. “How about you, Myrn?”

  “I’ve a few Water Spells might give us some information about our Enemy,” Myrn said. “I’ll need a nice quiet place with a good view and a few minutes to think and spell. I don’t suppose Flarman is bringing our babies with him, do you think?”

  “I very much doubt it,” Douglas said with a wide grin at the thought of their twins. “Although, sometimes I think they have more enchanting powers as babies than we older folk will ever enjoy.”

  “They’re Wizardly children and Faerie nephew and niece, as well,” Myrn reminded him. “Who knows what they could—”

  “We’re off, then,” called Lesser. “Yell down the hole if you need us. Sound’ll carry a long way on that glass!”

  The Dragon, bearing the Journeyman Aeromancer, shot into the air, then began spiraling down, down, around and around the mile-deep chasm.

  “I wish there was something more I could think to do,” worried Douglas.

  Myrn used her Traveling Pearls to fly to the top of the palace’s front facade, the highest point anywhere on the rim. Shortly they heard her speaking charms and chanting spell-songs, but too softly for them to recognize words or guess at purposes.