Star-Born Mage

by David Estes

  And the inhabitants worshipped him like the god that he was.

  They called themselves Centaurians.

  He renamed the ship Demonstrous.

  Chapter 43

  Time through a sieve

  Vee gasped, her eyes flashing open, her heart racing. Her mind spiraling.

  Trying to understand the vision she’d been given. “Did you—”

  “Yes,” Dacre said before she could finish. Her own eyes were wide. “I saw.” She opened her mouth to ask another question that was more of an accusation—Did you know?—but he guessed it and said, “No. That was as much a revelation to me as to you.” His brow was etched with the intense concentration of one in deep thought.

  Vee shook her head. She didn’t know how or why she’d been granted the vision; all that mattered was that she believed. Maybe she had believed the entire time, even if she was in denial. But now…there was no denying the existence of the gods and goddesses, nor the power they offered.

  For the first time in her life, she felt truly thankful for the gift she’d been given, her magic. Thankful to the gods and goddesses. If not, her daughter—No, our daughter, she corrected—might be dead. Or worse, enslaved. All of them might be.

  Overhead, the mighty ward-shield they’d cast together was an arcing field of power, protecting them all. “How long will it hold?” she asked.

  Dacre shrugged. “I can only guess based on rough calculations. This level of magic has never been tested.”

  “Surely your people will give up, find their precious aura elsewhere. It’s over. It has to be.” For our daughter. For Ava.

  “No, my people will not turn away. Their reserves are dwindling, and this system contains the largest natural deposits in this part of the universe. Xantheon’s influence is strong. He wants revenge. They will fight to the last to destroy us and take what we have and destroy the godstars.”

  “Us?” Vee said. Though he looked so human, she knew he was not. This form was something he’d become, not something he was. What did that make their daughter? She looked human on the outside, but on the inside…

  “Yes, us.”

  “You would abandon your own people to stand alongside the rest of us?”

  “I already have. But I…I will not destroy them. I will do what I can to maintain the ward-shield. For our—our daughter’s sake.”

  It was more than Vee could ask for. And yet not enough.

  She needed her daughter’s father to fight for them.

  “What does she look like?” Dacre asked. His face held a child-like expression. So innocent.

  “She has your eyes,” Vee found herself saying. She shook her head just as quickly. She couldn’t have this conversation. Not now. Not when she’d abandoned her own daughter. For what? For her own selfishness and pipedreams. None of that mattered now. Not magic, not achieving Class 4, not the fate of the galaxy.

  All that mattered was, “I failed her.”

  Dacre’s gaze was intense, and Vee could tell he was trying to see into her mind. “Verity, you could never—”

  “You know nothing about me, Dacre. Maybe once, but not anymore. I’ve changed. I’m bitter. I’m angry. I hate myself most of the time. What kind of mother abandons her own daughter to go gallivanting around the universe pretending to be something special? I thought I was doing her a favor, because I am no mother. I thought I was curing her of the disease that is me.”

  Dacre didn’t blink, his eyes holding hers. “Sometimes what people think is the cure is really the disease,” he said. “But your intentions were pure. I wish you would’ve told me. If I had known…”

  “What?” Vee said, her voice rising. “You would’ve come to me, explained everything? We could’ve played house until the Demonstrous arrived? Is that what you think?”

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe? All I know is I won’t fail you again.”

  Vee was suddenly aware of all the eyes on them. When the ward-shield had gone up, the others had apparently stopped fighting. Several Jackals were watching, their scaly heads cocked to the side. Minnow stood with his launcher at his feet, eyes narrowed, boring holes into Dacre. Just say the word and I’ll pound him into mush, his expression seemed to say. Terry was watching too, for once not blending in with his surroundings. McGee was muttering something under his breath, his eyes flicking about nervously.

  Miranda wore a sly smile. “Well, surprise, surprise. I guess Dacre Avvalon has some backbone after all,” she said.

  One of the Jackals stepped forward. It was a female, a leather strap with some sort of insignia angling from her right shoulder to left hip. She had been unconscious when they’d arrived, Vee remembered. Some sort of a leader. She clicked out something sharp between rows of needle-like teeth. Vee’s implant translated it immediately:

  Kill them. Kill them all.

  Minnow, Terry, McGee and Miranda stepped back, standing shoulder to shoulder with Vee and Dacre. “Any ideas?” Miranda said.

  “We can take ’em,” Minnow said, hefting his launcher back onto his shoulder. Just then, dozens more Jackals rose over the edge of the building, their wings carrying them into lines. They kept coming, hundreds and hundreds. Thousands. “Uh, maybe not.”

  “These are your friends, right Dacre?” Vee said. “Can’t you stop this?”

  “’Fraid not. I kinda sorta lied my face off to them.”

  “Great,” Terry muttered. “I’ll add that to my list of Things I Hate About Dacre Avvalon.”

  Vee loved her friend’s loyalty, but this wasn’t the time or the place. She wasn’t certain what would happen if she or Dacre was killed—whether the ward-shield would continue to hold or die with the ones who’d conjured it. Frankly, she didn’t want to find out. “You have to try,” she said to Dacre. “Tell them the truth now. It’s not too late.”

  Dacre shook his head, but it wasn’t a rejection. “General Kukk’uk,” he started. Vee couldn’t help but be a little disgusted by the fact that he was on a first name basis with a Jackal terrorist, and a leader at that. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  You used me, the general clicked, raising a dart gun. Hundreds of other dart guns followed suit.

  “I know. I had no other choice. What was coming would’ve been worse.”

  You are like all the others, Kukk’uk clicked. Always assuming things about my people, about the Cir’u’non. That we are savages. That we are terrorists. That we can be used without repercussions. If you had told me the truth, perhaps I would’ve listened. Perhaps we could’ve worked together in other ways. Maybe nothing would’ve changed.

  Dacre said, “I know that now. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t know. Will your people help us now? Will you protect the weapon and maintain the shields?”

  You’ve left us no choice but to do just that.

  “Thank you. I wasn’t listening before. But I’m listening now.”

  Silence hung for a moment, illuminated by the shield of light that covered the sky above. And then:

  It’s too late, the general said. We will protect the Grem weapon maintaining the shields, but that doesn’t change your betrayal. Or your fate. Fire!

  Thousands of darts were released, a flock of pure liquid aura with the power to kill even the strongest mages amongst them. They dove as one to the ground, shouting at each other to, “Take cover!” scrambling behind the Gremolin’s mag-weapon, darts pinging off the metal and clattering to the floor of the tower.

  “Umm,” Minnow said. “This isn’t good.” He dabbed a finger onto the tip of one of the darts and then licked the dark liquid from his skin. He sighed slightly.

  In the melee, the tubes had been ripped from Vee’s skin, and now she felt the urge. The need. I’m an addict, she thought. Luckily, I can use that. She grabbed a dart and plunged it into her own thigh, feeling the bite, which was swiftly replaced by that feeling. Warmth and life and whoaaaaa. She shook her head, trying to fight off the desire to plunge another dart into her skin, which would likely kill her. Even a
mage couldn’t handle too much aura unless it was flowing in and out in short succession. Small details. Plus, she’d spotted something in the sky, something familiar.

  She silently thanked all the godstars that she now believed in. Namea and Vitrios and Maryce and others whose names she didn’t know.

  And then she rose from cover, simultaneously tracing a glyph in the air. “Run,” she said.

  The next round of darts flew toward her as she released the spell.

  ~~~

  The darts caught fire, dropping one by one, forming piles of ash on the ground. Dacre tried to stand beside Vee and form his own spell, but she shoved him and shouted, “Go! I’m right behind you!”

  He wanted to refuse, to stay and help her, but he wasn’t her protector. He didn’t know what he was to her anymore. That would be up to her.

  So he obeyed, running with the others for the edge of the tower, angling for the point where the starship would arrive. And then it was there, somewhat beat up and damaged but flightworthy all the same, a door opening in the side a moment later, a furry face appearing.

  “Did someone order a hovertaxi?” the cat said.

  Why am I not surprised she has a cat for a pilot? Dacre wondered.

  He turned back to find Vee running right behind them as she’d promised. Only now she was pursued by a thousand flying Cir’u’non. “C’mon!” he shouted, though it was pointless—she was sprinting as fast as she could, occasionally tracing spells and casting them behind her, slowing her pursuers’ progress.

  And then she was there and they were rushing to the edge and jumping across the open gap and landing with a thud inside the starship, rolling to a stop.

  The doors closed, and the cat said, “Layla, auto-pilot.” The ship took off like a rocket, sending them tumbling down the corridor.

  They fought to the feet in a tight knot, following the cat pilot to the control room, crashing into the walls and clutching anything they could get their hands on to maintain their balance. Vee’s friends settled into jumpseats and Clay slid in beside them, pulling his straps tight and clicking them into place. The furry pilot bounded onto the control platform and worked the ropes like an old pro, a feat made all the more impressive by his lack of thumbs.

  Through the view screen, Dacre saw a world of trouble. Though his mother’s—for he knew it was his mother, the Archchancellor, who had attempted to destroy Jarnum—most powerful attack had been thwarted, the battle was in full swing, Cir’u’non destroyers circling the much larger Alliance starship. Energy-filled fire streaked across the dark expanse of space, blocked by an ever-weakening ward-shield.

  The battle was between them and their destination—the hypertube that would allow them to escape this wretched system.

  “Dacre,” Vee said, grabbing his arm.

  His eyes darted to where his fingers touched him, and several memories jarred themselves loose from his mind. Vee’s hand retracted and they vanished. “I am yours to command,” he said. This was her ship and he trusted her.

  “Well I’m not,” Miranda snapped, starting for one of the mage seats.

  Dacre was about to call after her, to demand she show some respect for Vee, but Vee cut him off. “Let her go. She will help us. Come with me.”

  He followed her to the opposite ladder, glancing back once to find Miranda making short work of the distance to the mage seat, settling in and placing the straw between her lips.

  Vee was at the top of the ladder, looking back for him to follow. He climbed, his eyes never leaving hers. “I…” she said, pausing. The ship shuddered, an errant defensive explosion from the Alliance starship detonating far too close for comfort. Even if no one shot directly at them—and there was no guarantee of that—they were at risk of being hit by the crossfire. Vee firmed up her chin and then continued, more confident now. “Your spell for ice sphere…” she said.

  He knew immediately what she was getting at. “And your spell for fire sphere,” he replied, remembering that time. That time. They’d come up with this crazy idea to each draw half a spell and fuse them together with fire and ice. They tried it in private using a small training mag-pistol, unsure of what the Class of spell would be, or whether the glyph would even accept their aura. It had. The only problem—the pistol had exploded and nearly taken Dacre’s fingers with it.

  His eyes met Vee’s and he smiled. “Let’s do it.”

  It wasn’t madness—no, not anymore. They’d worked together to create the most powerful ward-shield the Godstar Galaxy had ever seen. This was child’s play. Vee smiled and started to draw her half of the spell on the mag-cannon’s screen. He kneeled beside her, using one hand for balance while he drew.

  Their fingers met in the middle, tracing the final lines and curves as one. When they finished, he wanted so badly to link his finger with hers. But he knew he couldn’t. If they were to reconcile, it needed to be her who decided it.

  The moment passed and she turned away, locating the straw. She pulled it toward her lips, drawing in the aura. He saw the tension in her expression melt away. She handed it to him, looking content. He was about to take a long pull of the dark liquid, too, but before the straw reached his lips, the cat pilot shouted, “Incoming!” and then the ship banked sharply to the left just as warning sirens erupted. Dacre tumbled sideways, losing his grip on the straw.

  One hand scrabbled to find purchase on the top rung of the ladder while his other hand found

  Hers.

  Her fingers closed around his wrist, and his gripped hers in kind. The edge of the platform cut into triceps, the pain immense as his weight and the starship’s artificial gravity formed a partnership to drag him down.

  Vee growled through gritted teeth, “Not on my watch.”

  Looking up at her, he watched, mesmerized, as she traced a spell with her finger in the air, watching it glow upon completion, vanished. She pulled back as hard as she could, her face tight, her muscles taut against her skin. Inch by inch, she dragged him back up.

  That’s when their ship was hit.

  He landed back on the platform as the ship shook, red lights flashing from the glass ceiling. More impacts took them, and now Dacre was certain this was no crossfire—they were being targeted.

  Mother, he thought, fighting off the swell of sadness that filled him.

  “We can’t take much more!” the cat yowled. The ship banked sharply back to the right and he crashed into Vee, who continued to hold his hand while the other gripped the edge of the mage seat. He came to rest on top of her, his chest heaving.

  Beneath him, he felt her squirm, but not to dislodge him, to locate the straw. She drew it toward his face. This time it found his lips. He drank, feeling the warmth of the aura fill him.

  More shaking, the ship threatening to tear itself apart. “Hurry,” Vee said.

  Dacre shoved the straw aside and pulled her to a sitting position. Locked together, they twisted to face the mag-cannon, their hands settling on either side of the weapon’s handle. Through the glass dome, they could see dozens of rockets blasting toward them. As one, they pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 44

  Aftermath

  The sphere formed of ice and fire had held, barely. It had taken round after round of fire, flashing with red and white light with each explosion. Though the tumult, their starship had emerged unscathed. They’d had just enough fuel to make the short jump into hyperspace. Thankfully, even Vee and Dacre had a chance to strap in, sharing the mage seat, which was more awkward than it should’ve been for two people who’d shared a bed on numerous occasions.

  Protected by the shield they had created, the cat had managed to navigate their ship through the ongoing battle between the Alliance and the Jackals, and the moment they were clear they made the jump.

  “That was fun,” Dacre said.

  Vee blinked and it was like no time had passed and they had no history and the future was bright and shiny and theirs. She blinked again, returning to the complicated present. “Dacre�
�”

  “Yes, Verity,” he said formally, his eyes glittering.

  “No. You can’t do that. You can’t be that person anymore.” He was too close. He was too far away.

  “Why not? It’s a part of who I am just like the other parts.”

  “Like your mother?”

  His face fell and his gaze slipped from hers though her warmth remained. “Yes. She’s a part of me too.”

  “But you were never trying to help her. Not really.”

  He shook his head.

  “And now? After seeing the—the thing—that’s controlling them? Xantheon.” The name tasted bitter in her mouth.

  “I—I don’t know. It’s not their fault, right?”

  Miranda cut in from across the space, her voice echoing. “That doesn’t matter. They are lost. We would’ve been, too, if we hadn’t spent enough time away from Demonstrous. The god’s control seems to have…diminished over time.” While traveling through hyperspace, Vee and Dacre had explained to the others, in as simple terms as possible, what they’d seen in the vision, which apparently no one else had experienced.

  “I refuse to accept that,” Dacre said.

  “Stubborn, stubborn man,” Vee muttered.

  “Stubborn,” Magic McGee agreed. He was sitting with his back against the wall, no longer strapped in, playing with fireballs.

  “Look,” Dacre said, and it felt odd to Vee that she could still read his expressions. For some reason, she thought the time and distance would’ve wiped all the familiarity away, but instead it had only cast a strange fog around it, like she was in some other dimension. She could see the cogs turning in his mind, stacking facts upon facts to build a tower that would become his argument. “We cannot fight Demonstrous. Even if I’d aimed an amplified attack spell right at it, I don’t think it would’ve made a difference. Despite having weakened, the wards would’ve stopped it. The last thing it, Xantheon, was ready for, however, was a shield, a powerful ward of our own.”