Star-Born Mage

by David Estes

“Shut up and listen, you damn fool!” Vee snapped, and there she was. The fiery girl he’d loved, who’d come upon him so suddenly and unexpectedly it had taken his breath away and foiled all his plans. She was the fire to his ice, the breath to his suffocation.

  She was forbidden to him, something Miranda had reminded him of in her not-so-subtle way. It had taken Dacre a long time to realize she had done him a favor. Still, he owed the Girl He Had Loved a moment before the world changed forever. “Okay,” he said, nodding, his arms beginning to tremble from exhaustion. “Tell me what I need to know.”

  “We have a daughter.”

  In those four words, his world changed without him having to cast a single spell.

  ~~~

  Tramone watched the firestorm raging below, a battle amongst gods, or so it might’ve been. The spells cast by the Alliance mages continued to shove against the column of light pouring from the gray planet below. Heavy fire from the Jackal starships slammed against their own ship’s magical shields. They wouldn’t hold much longer.

  “Tramone!” AC Martin shouted. “Do it! Do it!”

  He knew exactly what she meant. One reason his mag-weapon’s design was so different than all the others was its ability to control the flow of aura through its system. It was also the reason it had been taken away from him back at uni and dubbed “too dangerous.” It was currently set to medium, by default. There was a high setting.

  Flicking that switch might be enough to overcome the other spell, that column of light that the Archchancellor had said was her own son’s creation.

  And then what? The planet below, Jarnum, would be devastated, along with everyone on its surface. Those burrowed underground may survive, along with the planet’s massive reserves of liquid aura, but that was about it.

  Could Tramone really live with that?

  He remembered the promise the Archchancellor had made—how he would be given a place amongst the conquerors. His finger edged along the switch. It would be so easy. Hole, he might even bump it by accident, like an unconscious flinch. He was no killer, no destroyer of worlds. And anyway, it wasn’t his magic streaming through the mag-weapon. Without the mages being commanded by AC Martin, the weapon he’d created was just a hunk of tech with no purpose.

  None of what happened was on him.

  He felt like a coward for even thinking it, trying to deny it, for rationalizing what was to come in his own mind.

  And then he flipped the switch.

  AC Martin smiled. “You have done well, Tramone.”

  ~~~

  Something is wrong, Vee realized. When she’d revealed the truth that had gnawed at her gut for the last few years, she saw the change in Dacre’s expression, but then it was wrenched away in another grimace. The expression he wore now was different.

  It was that of a man in agony.

  She looked up at the sky, half-blinded by the point where Dacre’s spell met that of another, which was now pushing—no, shoving—against his. He’s losing, she realized. Was it because I distracted him?

  No, she thought, because now he was fighting the spell with everything he had, and yet he was still losing. Once more, his finger stretched for the artifact implanted in the machine.

  And once more, he hesitated, but this time Vee knew it was because of a different reason. Because he now knew he had a daughter. His every choice would forever be weighed against her soul.

  But what choice did he have? Kill his own people to save all of hers?

  Everything is wrong, she thought, determination burning through her as the spell she’d formed earlier heated her blood. It wanted to escape.

  And maybe it should.

  Vee ran to Dacre, pushing in beside him. Not to stop him.

  To help him.

  ~~~

  As Vee slid in beside him, it was like something broke in Dacre. Her warmth, the feel of her body near his, that was the real magic. “Tell me what to do.”

  “We’re going to kick some Centaurian ass.”

  “I—”

  “Do you trust me?” He hesitated, then nodded. “Mind if I delete half your spells?”

  “What?”

  “Good. Here goes nothing.”

  Dacre was speechless as Vee used the spellscreens to erase the three spells closest to her, replacing each with the same spell, one he knew for a fact should be beyond her magical abilities. Yeah, four years ago, he thought. But now…she was the same Vee—fiery and stubborn and half-crazy—but she was different too. More determined. More grounded. Maybe she could perform this spell. Maybe it would be enough to destroy the Demonstrous. Maybe not. But he wanted to believe in her.

  So while she formed the glyph for Inferno, he strained against the attacking spell, one he knew could only have been orchestrated by one person in the entire galaxy. His mother. With only half his spells at his disposal, he was losing fast, but he fought with every ounce of strength he had left, screaming as pain slashed through him, even as Vee removed several of his tubes and reattached them to herself.

  “I should also tell you, I’m now an aura addict,” she said.

  He growled out an unintelligible response. She could be a fairy princess right now, and he would still be glad to see her.

  “Ready?”

  He managed a nod, his veins popping from his skin.

  Vee closed her eyes and aura poured from her fingers into the weapon. Fire erupted from the barrel, joining his ice. Curling around the column but not melting it. Becoming one with it.

  Fire and ice. Ice and fire.

  The Alliance spell stopped winning. This time it was shoved back, vanishing entirely under the weight of their combined spells. Dacre wished he could see his mother’s shock.

  “Aim at Demonstrous now?” Vee said.

  A pang cut through Dacre. Demonstrous was his home, or at least it was once. His people lived there. Not his mother, who’d been the overall mission leader, eventually using her charm and intelligence to become the Alliance Archchancellor. But the rest of his family. Childhood friends. They weren’t all evil, were they? Was killing them any worse than killing those in the Godstar Galaxy? Was there any right answer?

  “Yes,” he said, using a lever on the side of the weapon to tilt it on a new angle, the barrel shifting position, their spells moving with it, slashing through space, ripping through any starship—whether Jackal or Alliance—that happened to be in the way.

  Demonstrous was bigger now. Closer. Almost within the bounds of the galaxy. Years and years of travel across other galaxies to reach this point. For the Centaurians, it was harvesttime.

  Unless we stop them.

  Them, Dacre thought, no longer feeling like he was one with his own people. Turning a corner he’d always been afraid to turn.

  He held Vee’s hand, the aura flowing through them. Their opposite hands were on the dual-triggers, firing, firing, firing, their spells rocketing across the dark emptiness of space. Dacre could feel the sheer power of Demonstrous as their spells neared the edges of its Greystorm, probing, slashing at the planetship’s magical shields. Shields that were far weaker than he expected them to be.

  They are running on fumes, he thought. This could actually work.

  But Dacre knew he could not, for he could not destroy the mighty enemy that was upon them. He could not because he was still one of them.

  There had to be another way, one he’d considered and discarded countless times as he stacked the odds of success against each other. Destroying was always easier, but not always right.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Dacre…” Vee said. “Think of our daughter.”

  “I am. I don’t want her parents to be the architects of genocide.”

  “It’s self-defense.” Vee redoubled her efforts, and Dacre felt the moment they breached the Centaurian shield.

  “Maybe, but not if there’s another way.”

  “What way?”

  “Modify our spells. A shield like the galaxy has never seen before.”


  “That’s only a temporary solution.”

  “It will give us time to find a permanent one. Please. Now I need you to trust me.”

  Vee shook her head. And then she reached forward and activated the prime artifact.

  ~~~

  Vee trusted Dacre. Maybe that trust had once been broken, but she finally understood the reasons. The reasons were important. She couldn’t predict the future or make amends for the past, but she could decide what to do now. And she was with Dacre one hundred percent, if only because her daughter needed a father.

  So the moment after she activated the prime artifact, she reached out and made a few subtle changes to her spell, until it was Inferno Shield. She watched as Dacre did the same to his spells, transforming them from attack magic to wards.

  The mag-weapon processed the new spells, sending them up the column of fire and ice.

  The prime artifact magnified them, sucking more and more aura through her body, which felt like it was on fire, consuming her. But here, on Jarnum, there was nearly an endless supply, enough to make her head swim as it poured through her. She felt light and hot and she closed her eyes, melting at the sensation.

  Her eyes flashed open as the new spells hit the damaged Centaurian wards, not slashing through them this time, but spreading outward, creating a shield that raced through space and time at ever-increasing speeds. She felt wired and exhausted at the same time. Broken and strong. It was the oddest sensation of her life, and she had the urge to sever the connection, to release her grip on the trigger.

  “You can do this,” Dacre said through gritted teeth.

  She didn’t need him to tell her. She’d known for a long time. So she clung to the mag-weapon as three magnified Class 5 spells poured out of her, watching as her MAG/EXP counter shot up and up and up.

  And when the ward was complete, a continuous, unbroken globe of fire and ice that wrapped around the whole of the Godstar Galaxy, her counter slowed, ticking up one point at a time:

  299,997

  299,998

  299,999

  Welcome to Class 4, her message bank said, in glowing green letters.

  The counter read 300,000 exactly.

  The Demonstrous crashed into the ward shield.

  There was a flash of blinding light and then everything went dark.

  And Vee’s mind was opened to the truth.

  Chapter 42

  The Godstar War

  Time rocketed past like a starship.

  Millennia. Eons. The blackness of space was replaced by meteorites, there and gone again, flashing by. There was nothing for a long time.

  The absence of light.

  Until…

  They came.

  They were impossibly large, greater in height and width than entire fleets of starships. Borne of light and darkness they flew, chasing each other through the nothingness. Young. Energetic. Gods and goddesses seeking their destinies.

  There were seven.

  No, there was another. An eighth. More darkness than light, his eyes like burning coals. He saw this emptiness and he saw his kingdom awaiting to be built. To be ruled with an iron fist.

  ‘Mine,’ he said, his voice booming across the vast distances between them.

  One of the others turned to meet his gaze. Her hair was silver, flowing like cascading water, trailing moonbeams. ‘Xantheon,’ the voice purred. ‘Who invited you?’ She was Namea, goddess of war.

  ‘I followed you.’ Xantheon stood to his full height, his broad chin sticking out defiantly.

  ‘Leave.’

  ‘No.’

  The Seven gathered together in a tight knot, fathomless being beside fathomless being. Standing against one. ‘We’ve been here before,’ another of them said, his eyes like golden coins. He was sheathed in golden armor to match. Vitrios, god of courage. ‘You have lost. Twice now. There’s no need for there to be a third time.’

  ‘You speak to me of need, brother?’ Xantheon said. ‘We all need. It is all we are. You feel the urge, no? To create. To birth worlds upon worlds. To rule.’

  ‘Predictable, as usual,’ another goddess said—Maryce, goddess of defiance. She was tinged with green, her chin as angular as her elbows or knees. She wore a bow strapped to her back. In their quiver, the arrowheads glittered like cut emeralds in the dark void. ‘Create worlds. Rule worlds. Repeat. Does it never get old?’

  ‘Never,” Xantheon said with finality. ‘Now step aside while I build my kingdom.’

  The attack came swiftly and without preamble, the seven gods and goddesses spreading out and surrounding the eighth. One of Maryce’s arrows shot through the void, but Xantheon lashed out with a sword of darkness, slashing it one way and then the other. With a casual swipe of one powerful hand, he sent the three shattered pieces flying away.

  Vitrios was already upon him, his sword cutting through space, its golden edges seeming to expand like a new universe being birthed.

  But Xantheon was ready, his own sword dragged from its sheath even faster, meeting his brother’s blade in an explosion of alternating blasts of light and darkness. ‘So you’ve learned something new, Xanth,’ Vitrios said. ‘Pity it won’t change the result.’

  Xantheon growled something unintelligible and shoved his brother back in the nick of time, ducking under a blast of silver light that rocketed overhead. The light trailed from Namea’s outstretched fist, her eyes narrowed with contempt.

  Xantheon spun away to meet another strike, this one from another goddess—Glypha, with her long, curved, crimson staff of metal-infused stone. Each time she struck, it was with blinding speed, but Xantheon held his position, parrying, blocking, and eventually shoving her back.

  Time moved once more, the battle raging for years and years, until, at long last, the gods and goddesses rested. They slept.

  When they awoke at the same instant, the battle raged again, seven against one. This time it was different. This time it was Xantheon on the offensive, his blade moving faster than light. Twice he cut one of his brothers and sisters, who were forced to retreat to heal. Against all odds, the mighty god of darkness was winning.

  Now there was fear in the others’ eyes, their confidence bruised.

  They spoke to each other within their minds, but this was a memory revealed, and all was laid bare to those who watched. ‘He is too strong,’ Vitrios said. ‘He cannot be stopped. Perhaps we should retreat. The universe is vast. We can create our worlds elsewhere.’ The god barely managed to deflect another heavy blow from Xantheon, but the weight of it shuddered through him.

  There was venom in Namea’s eyes. ‘Retreat? Never. He will lay waste to this galaxy, and then he will come for us again. He will never be satisfied. We have a duty to defend the defenseless. The unborn. Those who do not yet exist.’

  ‘At what cost?’ Maryce asked in the others’ minds. ‘You would lay down your lives for those still to come?’

  ‘Yes,’ Namea said without hesitation. ‘They are our children. But we cannot die. We will still exist, only differently.’

  ‘What do you propose?’ It was Vitrios who asked the question.

  ‘That which beats within us,’ Namea said.

  ‘Our hearts?’ Maryce said.

  ‘And the blood they pump. It’s all we have left to give. Life. Creation. Our very essence.’

  The discussion and the battle continued for years in tandem, until time ran out once more. Sleep took them all. And when they awoke:

  They had decided.

  ‘Yes,’ they said as one, all except Xantheon, who had grown twice as large while he slept, his sword—which was connected to his godsblood—reforming to maintain its scale.

  The Third Godstar War began, the ferocity unlike anything the universe had ever witnessed. But this time, the Seven had a plan. One by one, the gods and goddesses ignited their own blood, allowing the pressure to build until, with a cataclysmic explosion, they were ripped apart, their mouths unable to issue another sound before they were gone.
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br />   Their pieces formed worlds, planets, scattered throughout seven systems, each centered around one of their still-beating hearts. On the planets, cells divided, organisms formed.

  Life began. A multitude of races and creatures.

  It was creation, violent and savage and beautiful.

  The various races populated the galaxy, while others, like humans, stumbled upon their world after years searching the universe for a place to colonize.

  Xantheon had been unprepared for such an attack, unable to fathom the love and selflessness it would require to trade one’s life for billions of unborn creations. The blast was a force he could not block, could not fight, a fiery shove that propelled him through space at speeds of millions of lightyears per second. The fragments of his very being were shredded, flaking away and forming giant holes of darkness that sucked at the universe around them. Black holes. Anything that came near disappeared into their void. One such hole formed in a galaxy known as the Milky Way, which had been created many billions of years earlier. Most of the inhabitants had fled the failing systems long ago, but there were still billions that hadn’t. They were taken in the blink of an eye, along with their planet, Urth. The sister planets were taken too, along with the star that powered the system, what they called the sun. Darkness reigned.

  Still Xantheon flew, his powerful body deteriorating bit by bit, godsblood leaking from every pore. He roared.

  His roar was thunderous, shaking the planets and stars in thousands of galaxies, those created by his parents, and his parents’ parents. All within earshot quaked in fear.

  Onward, further and further from where he’d fought his own kin for years upon years. Until…

  He stopped.

  There was nothing left of him but a beating heart and the severed veins that carried his blood to a body that didn’t exist anymore. His heart and those veins had slammed into something larger and firmer, something speeding in the opposite direction, protected by a powerful ward powered by the same magic his own blood contained.

  It was a ship. And a world. Combined. A worldship.

  He wrapped his veins around the ship and hung on. Slowly, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, year by year, he took control.