Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts

by Lakshman, V.

  “What do you think—?”

  “Silence!” Arek stepped forward. “You will answer me.”

  Piter’s shade looked sidelong, an obsequious grin on his face, and slowly the ghost knelt. “That didn’t take very long...”

  Arek ignored him, looking about. “What’s happening right now? Has time actually stopped?”

  “No. We stand within the blink of an eye. When it ends, you will be right where we first started.” A sly grin appeared on Piter’s face and he added, “Of course, I’ll still be dead.”

  “I don’t remember killing you, Piter. I don’t even know if you’re telling the truth about any of this.”

  “I made this up? Then I appeared to you in the desert? How stupid are you?”

  Arek sat down in the sand, trying to piece together what to do. His logical mind took over where his conscious thoughts had given up. “You said earlier the dragon means to kill me... why?”

  Piter’s shade moved over in front of the young apprentice, his form and his demeanor subservient. “Let me prove my worth. I will tell you a truth only your masters know.” The shade looked at Arek conspiratorially and said, “You have a great destiny ahead. You can feel it. The dragon sees a lie, he sees an end, but he is wrong. He does not see truth, and believes the lie.”

  “What is my master’s mission?” he asked again, his patience wearing thin with the roundabout way the shade answered.

  “The fact you mask the scent of magic is useful, but not the reason you were sent here. Your particular Talent for destroying enchantments is not a side effect.” Piter trailed off, waiting for something.

  “Piter, I’m losing my patience,” Arek said. “Answer me!”

  Then the shade smiled, and in that smile Arek could see true evil. It seemed to relish having this information. Slowly, like a snake unwinding, Piter whispered, “Sacrifice.”

  Arek stood up, shocked. “What do you mean?”

  “They would need someone,” smiled the shade, “whose touch disrupts magic.” Piter stood and paced around the apprentice, his arms folded within his dark uniform. “Ask yourself, what happens to this person?”

  Then, with perfect clarity, Master Silbane’s words came to mind, Your Talent to disrupt magic makes you important for this mission. I wish it were different, but you and I are the best choice to go.

  Arek shook his head and said weakly, “I don’t believe you.”

  “How do you think you’ll survive once your master finds the Gate? How will he protect you and accomplish what he must? You are the key to his success.” Piter smiled and shrugged, then whispered, “You are expendable.”

  Arek thought about it, slowly nodding, the shade’s information filling the missing gaps, fitting things into place. Would the lore father hesitate to use Arek’s power to safeguard the land? Would he balance the world’s need against Arek’s life?

  He remembered Adept Giridian’s gift of Tempest, and realized it wasn’t worry or disappointment he had seen in everyone’s eyes, it was shame. A cold anger settled into place at being used by those he trusted.

  Piter leaned in and said, “It matters not. What matters now is you listen to your master’s tale.” The shade smiled again. “There is real danger coming. If you hesitate, you will die.”

  “What do I do?” he asked. A sudden chill ran through him, a cold feeling that spread out from the pit of his stomach. Where it went, a mindless worry began to grow.

  Piter looked sidelong at Arek and whispered, “You must flee to Bara’cor. It is your only hope.” He stepped back away from Arek.

  The reality of the danger he faced suddenly hit him so he did not question the obvious contradiction in Piter’s advice, blurting instead, “How can I?” The shade seemed prepared to leave and Arek was not ready for that just yet. As much as he hated him, Piter was someone he knew.

  Piter replied, “Strike the Far’anthi Stone with a stone. It must shatter and when it does, the stone will glow blue.” He paused, then fixed his gaze on Arek until he was sure the boy was listening, “It is very important you go through first. Your master must come second, so he may close the portal.”

  Piter’s form started to fade, and Arek felt his vision begin to tunnel again. For an instant, he thought he heard the shade laugh. Then a final whisper, “Do not forget the Far’anthi Stone. You will need a rock to speak to a rock,” and then he found himself snapped back, facing his master.

  “—I’m going to try to activate the Far’anthi Stone. Once I do, we take our provisions and send you to the Isle.”

  Arek looked around, confused. His master stood in front of him, speaking. Of Piter, there was no sign.

  “Pay attention, Apprentice! Your life rests in the balance!” the mage said.

  Startled, Arek looked back at his master. “Home?” The fear still ran through him, making his master’s words difficult to understand.

  “Yes, Apprentice. You are going home. Do not talk to anyone upon your return. Wait for me, stay out of sight, and trust no one.” He met his apprentice’s eyes, to emphasize one last point. “If we do not meet within a day, gather supplies and leave the Isle.”

  “How will you get there?” Arek asked.

  Silbane turned and grasped his young apprentice by both shoulders, but not unkindly. “Remember, I have Themun’s Finder. Use your knowledge of the Isle and stay hidden. I will come for you after I finish this mission.”

  “What mission?”

  “Arek, please, there is little time. The council made a mistake in sending you. You know our mission is to investigate Bara’cor. Before I do that, I would see you returned to a place safer than here.”

  Arek watched, unable to reconcile what he had just heard from Piter with his master’s actions now. Someone was lying and Arek thought it was likely Piter. Still, something the shade said had sounded right, something deeper than logic.

  Without another word, Silbane moved past his apprentice and made his way to the Far’anthi Stone. It sat there, dull and lifeless, a gray sphere of rock and granite. He motioned to Arek to gather his things.

  Arek quickly secured Tempest on his back and grabbed some supplies. He then joined his master at the small tower’s base. “Master, wait.” He wanted to tell him of Piter’s appearance, but something made him stop.

  Silbane closed his eyes and held a hand over the Far’anthi Stone. Though Arek had never heard of one activated before, the principle of all magic was the same, intention bred action. Like reaching for a falling object, Arek’s intention bred action and stopped that object’s fall.

  Now Arek watched as Silbane reached for the Way, focusing his attention and stance on the Stone that could open the portal. His master’s form flashed, outlined in yellow fire, concentrating itself on his hands. A moment passed, then two, then Silbane struck in a detonation of yellow flame.

  Nothing happened, no sound, no outward indication that his master’s strike had accomplished anything. The Stone looked the same, as dull gray and lifeless as ever. Arek was not sure what to do, but knew it was imperative he tell his master about the shade. He stepped closer and said, “Master, Piter appeared again.” He nervously licked his lips, the fear in him growing.

  Silbane whirled to face his apprentice, stunned. “What?” He looked around, afraid. “What did he say?”

  “He told me a rock would speak to a rock... I think he meant for me to strike the Far’anthi with a rock.”

  Silbane did not say anything, a dumbfounded look on his face, so Arek continued, “He also said the dragon would try to kill me, and that you... that I would be used to close the Gate.”

  Arek didn’t know what else to say. He felt guilty saying anything at all but then saw the look on his master’s face, like Adept Giridian’s when he handed over Tempest. He suddenly knew what Piter told him was true. “You planned this?” Arek asked, his voice a whisper.

  “My boy,” his master’s voice fell, leaden with regret, “I would never let you come to harm. You must return to the Isle.�
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  Arek met his master’s eyes, mistaking the guilt he saw there as truth behind the shade’s words. As he thought back to the council and his master’s actions he could see something underneath it all, an undercurrent of the same shame and guilt they had all exhibited. Piter was right. Perhaps he was expendable.

  Before Arek could give voice to his thoughts, his master spun around, his face to the sky. “Arek, get behind me and do not move!”

  Arek scrambled over and drew Tempest in a gloved hand, then stood between his master and the Far’anthi Stone. “I can fight with you!”

  “Even with Tempest, you are not ready to face a dragon,” Silbane warned him. “Stand back!”

  Angry, Arek shook his head and insisted, “I can help!”

  Just then, the great dragon appeared, a wing-shaped speck that quickly grew larger, and anything either Arek or Silbane might have said was forgotten.

  Both stood alone next to the rocky outcropping of the desolate Far’anthi ruins, whose towers rose like stone fingers from the dunes, dead sentinels of a forgotten age.

  * * * * *

  Rai’stahn spread his great wings, riding the warm air with a mixture of anticipation and dread, emotions he seldom felt when thinking about the people of Edyn. For over a millennium he had lived amongst them, sometimes as hunter, sometimes as prey. He had served the role of guardian, tyrant, and god.

  They lived eye blinks in time. They were physically and mentally weak. They warred amongst each other. In fact, he believed their only strength to be they bred like insects, covering the great Garden like a plague. Still, he chided himself, at times they had their uses.

  Over the centuries, Rai’stahn had come to respect their bravery and their willingness to sacrifice themselves to a cause. Always trust one to pick the wrong side of an argument and gladly pay for it with his life, as Valarius had.

  It was this fact that concerned him, for Silbane, a man he had come to respect more than most, was not likely to agree with what they must do next. Still, thought Rai’stahn with regret, even Silbane did not matter, regardless of how important he was to bringing about unity. The Conclave had made that clear.

  The great dragon spotted the Far’anthi Tower below and spiraled down, changing in mid-flight into his knight form just before landing in the soft sand in a cloud of yellow and white grit. His great black wings, now man-sized, flapped the annoyance away, then folded closely along his armored back. He had tried his best to convince the adept his was the right course of action... now, nothing would stop him from doing what he must.

  He had landed near Silbane and hailed the master, who stood a few feet away, saying, “This is thy last chance to parley. Dost thou join me?”

  Silbane walked over to stand beside the great dragon-knight, then looked at the tower. A small sigh escaped his lips, words unformed and unneeded.

  Rai’stahn’s golden gaze swept the tower’s base, drinking in the smells and sights of this ancient place. There was no sign of the boy to the dragon’s sensitive sight, but that was no surprise due to his peculiar masking. However, Rai’stahn had learned to look for him using his heat, and even that did not register. The fading warmth from the lee of the rocks near the sun side of the tower’s base was the only thing to shine with a dull orange glow. Only then did he notice the slight shimmer in the air, which could only be an illusion blocking his heat sight.

  The dragon spun, already knowing he had miscalculated the master’s intentions. He felt rather than saw the three quick strikes to deep, vital points. With those strikes a numbness spread, but not to his limbs. His great fist lashed out, catching Silbane across the jaw and sending him spinning and tumbling away, but the damage had already been done. The numbness spread magically, and deadened his ability to change form. Such a strike would normally never have hurt Rai’stahn, except for the accursed drain he felt in the boy’s presence.

  Silbane slowly rose, shaking his head. He stumbled to his feet, his hands up in defense. “I would parley with thee, Rai’stahn.”

  “Parley, after thou attacks!” roared the dragon, more furious at himself for letting this man dupe him.

  “Nay... I only sought to level the field.”

  “Thou underestimates me, mortal. I am still many times stronger than thee.” The dragon flexed his armored body, promising, “Thou art nothing but prey, and I hath hunted for centuries longer than thee hath lived.”

  “I have the Way,” Silbane said to the great dragon-knight. “I do not wish to combat you, my lord, but I cannot allow you to bring harm to my apprentice.” As he said this, the illusion between him and the Far’anthi vanished, and Rai’stahn could see the boy with his sword drawn, standing near the stones.

  “Thou wouldst send him to Bara’cor?” the dragon gestured at the gray sphere, knowing it was keyed to only one destination. “Dost thou think this saves him? I can destroy the fortress as easily as I can kill the boy.”

  Silbane appeared confused, and said simply, “Not in this form.” The effect on the dragon was instantaneous.

  Rai’stahn took a step back, the master’s plan coming to full clarity. He was correct... in this form, the dragon’s great powers were extremely limited. He was stronger and faster than a man, but his ability to breathe fire was less powerful, and he could not destroy the walls with his crushing talons and whipping tail.

  A smoldering hate began to grow, an anger that took the place of any regret or pity he might have had earlier. First, he would have to lull Silbane into trusting him.

  “Wouldst thou measure the fate of the world against this one boy?” the dragon said softly, his tone soothing. “Before, this was not so.”

  Understand us, said a voice in Silbane’s head. The master began to nod in agreement.

  “Remember what thou witnessed,” said Rai’stahn softly, and Silbane recalled the vision given to him by the dragon with perfect clarity.

  Believe us.

  Silbane shook his head, then looked at the dragon-knight. “Valarius is dead. That vision was from two hundred years ago.”

  “Thou did not See!” the dragon-knight exclaimed. “Thou saw only what thou wished, but thou did not truly See.” The dragon slowly circled the master. “Valarius meant to create something. What?”

  “Valarius is dead!” His form outlined in yellow fire, and in an instant, the dragonlust was gone. Silbane said, “You said, ‘stand steady.’ Do the same.”

  Rai’stahn retreated a step, knowing the spell was broken. His eyes narrowed to slits and he took a different tact. “Thou came here willing to sacrifice the boy to finish thy mission. The lore father saw the danger. Even the council thought he would surely die.”

  “My mission includes preserving my apprentice,” Silbane countered.

  “There was never a mission!” The dragon now stood before the mage, his entire stance imploring the adept to listen. “Do not choose such a narrow path. Thou canst accomplish much with less bloodshed. Remember the vision.”

  Silbane looked at the dragon and knew he could not agree. Nothing the dragon said would change his mind. “I will not do that.”

  “Thou art a fool.” Rai’stahn looked sidelong at Arek, his golden gaze calculating. “There is another way my prana can be released,” he let out with a hiss.

  “If you mean by my death, then you are correct.” Silbane looked at the dragon-knight, then shook his head. “But now it is you who underestimates me, my lord. In this form, you may not prevail.”

  Rai’stahn began circling the mage, the power within him curling, yearning for release. “Thou dost not ken the nature of death. After my release, I will destroy this abomination and Bara’cor. It will ensure this land’s safety. I will do what thou dost not have the courage to do.”

  “Be that as it may, you have not won yet,” was all the accursed mage said in reply.

  Rai’stahn continued to circle, his wings spread, his curved talons ready. He watched the man ready himself, the shallow beating of his heart behind paper-thin skin an
d twig-like bones.

  He could taste his blood already, and waited for Silbane’s next indrawn breath, when the man would be at his weakest. He watched as a predator watches prey, waiting, and knew when to strike.

  Journal Entry 7

  It is clear now I never understood Thoth. He spoke of tiny motes, infinitesimal particles, and other fanciful things. It is a fact these particles exist, but they are not Aeris. They are the substance upon which Aeris are made.

  What of us? Are we made of these things? I do not know, but our will seems to Shape them into purpose. In that manner, we are the impetus upon which these Aeris Lords gain substance.

  However, it is more than that. We bring them into being, incoherent at first, wisplike. They are like wishes or feelings, trapped on the psychic wind between worlds. They surround us at all times, ready to be shaped by our will.

  Ritual, myth, ceremony, sacrifice, these seem to give them purpose, life. I walk in a world filled with the promise of the mythology of my people and the legends of all who ever lived.

  It is a dangerous place for I walk amongst titans, and as I’ve learned with Finnow it seems, sometimes even ghosts.

  A FINAL ILLUSION

  When facing multiple opponents,

  Engage each briefly and move to the next,

  Or it will become you against many,

  Instead of you fighting many single foes.

  It is vital to understand the difference.

  —Tir Combat Academy, The Tactics of Victory

  Dragor moved quickly to his right and felt the strike pass inches from his head. He ducked low, tumbling effortlessly in a circle as kicks and punches flew around him, striking the empty air where he had just been or flashing harmlessly off his flameskin in a burst of amethyst. He blocked a strike to his midsection, his hand stinging as if he struck stone and moved into the attacker, preparing to inflict a shattering strike that would pierce armor and cripple the body beneath.