by Cole Pain
Ista chuckled. “It’s funny only you and I are left, Zorc. Just think, my friend, I’ll be the one to destroy you and your world when you thought you were going to destroy mine.”
A knock on the door shattered her thoughts. She turned, not bothering to change into her beautiful guise. She knew whom the guards admitted. She placed her hand on the Red Eye. She could feel its power residing within, hungering for release. “Come.”
The door opened and Lazo entered. Although his eyes were hard she could sense his terror. The twins remained in the dungeon, far below. If he didn’t return soon the Mar would claim them. “Good evening, Lazo. I have a special request of you.”
- - -
The creatures’ howls were growing louder. Zorc gritted his teeth as the sound of the battering ram boomed in the stillness of the Orb, the centermost room in the keep.
All around him the wizards began to chant, softly at first, but soon their voices rose in intensity, drowning out the creatures’ howls. Zorc tried to search for Christa, but all were robed and cowled on the Calvet’s order. Krov knew it would be harder if Zorc saw his friends’ faces, but Zorc wished he could see his betrothed one last time.
A lone figure stepped forward for a final blessing. Krov brushed the shaded face before turning to Zorc, eyes filled with sorrowful compassion.
“Remember, Zorc, when you look though wizard’s eyes, he’ll be like an eclipse – so dark he’ll be blinding, so light he’ll be unseen. His hate will be noble, his pain will be deep, and his love will be immeasurable. If he realizes the second truth he will succeed.”
Zorc nodded. Krov had told him this before, but how was he to help a man seek a truth if he didn’t even know the truth himself?
“You won’t fail, Zorc. You don’t know how to fail. That’s why it must be you who remains behind.” Krov gripped his shoulder. “Be strong, my son.”
Zorc opened his mouth to speak, but Krov turned from him, body wavering like the summer heat, and faded from vision as he gave his body to dust and his mind to the Silver Eye.
An explosion echoed around them. The walls had fallen. In a few breaths Barracus’ creatures would be upon them. Almost on cue the wizards’ pitch began to rise, and soon their voices weren’t individual voices at all, but one shrill voice, rising higher, moving faster, until their words were lost in one piercing scream.
Zorc covered his ears and fell to his knees, willing his mind not to shatter. Just when he thought his mind would burst, there was silence.
The circle was gone. The shouts, the screams, the chanting, all had silenced. The wizards who had surrounded him were now dust, their lives wrapped up in the emotional weave they had woven. But there were no howls either. The only ones with magic remaining were himself and the cowled figure before him.
A gloved hand came out of the robe, holding the well-measured time weave. Zorc drew in a devastated breath. The time weave was the most painful magic to invoke. The one conducting the weave relinquished his life so another could live until a future time. Although the granter of life would die, their spirit would live inside the vessel and continue to suffer until the time weave was broken. He didn’t deserve the sacrifice the man was about to make.
Then he saw it. A tattered, red velvet pouch lay on the ground beside the cowled figure. His eyes went wide.
“Christa!”
He started to run, but it was too late. Christa flung her cowl back at the same time she hurled the dust into the air. A multitude of fiery-red hair cascaded over her shoulders as the dust fell upon her. Her eyes said it all. She wanted to be with him, and this was the only way.
Her body disintegrated as it joined the dust that fell around her. Zorc’s entire body shook as her lifeforce found a home, wrapping around his life matter and carefully protecting his years ahead. He sensed his blood and bones become something unexplainable, something that slowed to almost ceasing. Then Christa’s life took over, forming life as his own life was halted, but hers worked so slowly that for a precious heartbeats he thought he might not live.
He fell to the floor, desperate to reach inside and bring her back. Each time he drew a breath he felt her in every pore. When he felt a hand steady him, he looked up into Galor’s worried eyes.
“Hurry, Zorc, we don’t have much time.”
The seer had warned him the peasants would storm the keep, desperate to destroy anything remaining of magic. Zorc quickly bent to retrieve the tattered pouch. After brushing all of Christa’s ash inside, Zorc went to the crystal, shrunk its size and placed it in his robe.
Just before the door to the keep burst open Zorc and Galor plunged down the passage leading to freedom, turning over torches along the way. Almost immediately flames exploded skyward as the fire touched the black ashes of the wizards, ensuring complete destruction.
Zorc glanced to the side dungeon where Ista’s body lay. Fire had already enveloped her cell. The destructive weave had granted her an easy death, unlike the death she deserved.
When he heard a lone whimper he thought it was his imagination. Now he knew better. Ista had survived and she had received some of the time weave. Ista had taken part of Christa – his Christa.
Zorc’s vision blurred to a vehement red. His Christa was now part of that vile, corrupt woman he had condemned to death, a sentence that had never been carried out because of the war. Ista’s aim wasn’t control. It was revenge. He knew her mind. She wanted him to bow before her. She wouldn’t stop until he did.
“Try to make me do so, Ista,” Zorc said, as his widow’s peak quivered with rage. “If you do you’ll have a surprise waiting for you.” He turned to the Silver Eye. He had to begin his questions. But soon he would have to go in search of the Chosen.
Very soon.
Chapter 7
They had walked fifty dragon’s tails and had already passed the wall surrounding the keep where the first passage ended. It dipped under the thick stone layer and opened into a closet-like haven inside the wall itself, where a hollowed, hinged stone allowed access to the main road of the city. Ren had often used the first passage in order to escape to the city without fanfare. The second passage led to the wine cellar in the Dragon’s Bane, an old pub in the city’s center. Elderec, the pub’s owner, knew about the passageway and kept it well hidden.
They were almost at the end of the third passage, which careened through an abandoned silver mine to the wall surrounding the entire city of Ziera, the main city of Zier and home of the Stardom Castle. Years ago Michel had hidden weapons and provisions in the wall’s hollow in case quick escape was needed. Ren made sure to check the stash frequently, trading out rusted weapons with fresh and restocking the food supply. Now Ren was glad he had listened to Michel. The provisions would be invaluable in the days ahead.
The ground sloped down, signifying the passage’s end. The silver streaks in the earth became more prominent, and the torch Ren carried brought them to life, bathing the tunnel in beauty.
A slight movement caused Ren to stop in his tracks. Michel gripped Ren’s arm, forcing him back a step. The air filled with the sharp ringing of steel as the men drew their swords. Ren lifted the torch higher. Its rays cut the shadows. A sharp cry of delight lit the confusion of the group as Renee jumped to her feet and ran toward them.
Ren scooped his mother up in his arms. Renee clung to him. “Ren, I was so worried. Valor wouldn’t let me near you. I tried everything to reach you – ”
Ren chuckled. “You would have succeeded if both guards had liked raspberries. When the first passed out from your little trick the second warned the replacements you had slipped a sleeping herb into the tarts.”
Renee pulled away and grinned mischievously. “That wasn’t even my best attempt.”
Before Ren could reply, Renee’s eyes drifted to Michel. Ren found himself holding his breath. Everyone knew the rumors, and everyone knew why Michel had left Stardom. Although Renee had never voiced her sorrow, Ren sensed it. Wyrick was a king, and for years Renee had playe
d the queen, but her heart was wild and her spirit free. Michel had called to those urgings. Wyrick had stifled them. As the men watched, the silence in the tunnel deepened, but it was a hopeful silence, one in which friendships grew and rekindled.
Renee stepped past Ren and offered Michel her hand. Michel started to bow, but Renee stopped him.
Michel’s already widening smile grew wider. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to be seen,” Renee said as the corners of her lips lifted into a grin. She kept hold of Michel’s hand as she surveyed the others. “Thank you for defending Ren.”
There were murmurs of ‘My queen’ and a shuffling of feet. Bentzen even blushed. Ren chuckled, fully aware the effect his mother had on men.
Hearing a slight noise, Ren turned to find Markum and Tol standing in the shadows.
“Markum, thank the Maker! Lazo and the twins, have you seen … ” Ren’s words faded with Markum’s concerned look. “Markum?”
Markum’s eyes locked on Michel. “Have you told him about the prophecy?”
“No,” Michel said. “There’s been no time.”
Ren glanced between his friends’ concerned faces. “What prophecy?”
Markum drew a worn book out of his tunic and handed it to Ren. “It belonged to my ancestor, a survivor of the Wizard War. It’s been handed down through my family ever since. It’s blank, save for the first page. Read it. It will explain a lot.”
Ren could almost feel the concerned gazes of his friends as he took the book. He fingered the silver dragon on the cover, noticing it had blue eyes.
Ren read the passage aloud as Neki peered over his shoulder.
Magic must be demolished to conquer the traitor of the law
But One must live to show the Chosen how to unlock his inner call
For a thorn will go unnoticed by those who reap destruction on the masses
And permeate the Lands.
The Chosen’s love will shatter, igniting an inner raging storm
When the dragon will rip open his mind and the power will be born
And if he can’t destroy the silver form the darkness will begin
And darkness will live on.
The thorn will try to prick him as the righteous deed is done
And the prick will cause a rain of red to grow into a flood
And if the Dragon Tamer will not search to find the One
The world will drown in blood.
The crown will be demolished before it can be whole
And the Chosen will have to willingly sacrifice his soul
For only through the Chosen will the demon spike be flawed
And hope will grow again.
Neki gave a low whistle as Ren’s voice faded.
“Ista suspected you were the Chosen, Ren,” Markum said. “She framed you for your father’s murder so Valor could order your execution. If you were the Chosen you’d tame the dragon. If you weren’t she’d still have your kingdom.”
Ren leaned against the damp earth as a shudder shook him. His eyes kept returning to one verse. And if the Dragon Tamer will not search to find the One, the world will drown in blood.
He forced his eyes to move back to the first verse. “It’s talking about the Wizard War.”
“Yes,” Michel said. “Barracus was the traitor of the law. Magic was destroyed because of him. The wizards kept the One alive to teach you. This One is quite possibly unaware of who or what the thorn is. Ista, the thorn, somehow evaded the wizards. It seems she’s been waiting to discover who would reconnect the thread to reveal herself.”
“But how could they have survived for almost four hundred years?” Ren said, looking down at the prophecy. “Wait, a time weave.”
Michel nodded. “That’s what the advisors think. If the One received a time weave, Ista might have received one as well. The prophecy says a thorn will go unnoticed. She’s just waited until magic’s rebirth to reveal herself.”
“Why?” Quinton cut in. “If she has magic, why would she care about its rebirth?”
“She’s a sorceress,” Markum said. “Sorceresses don’t have the power wizards do. The only magic they can invoke at whim is something called the ‘sorceress death.’ It allows them to die without pain, but also without any tie to magic. Other weaves they evoke take time, perhaps days of preparation, to mold their emotions to induce the effects they desire. She was waiting for magic’s rebirth to be able to lure others to her side, to build an army of magic.
“The Collective,” Ren said. The Collective had already helped Ista rid the world of the Maker’s chosen so the masses would flock to magic’s call. Without the Maritium’s basic ideology a new moral code could be imposed.
Ren closed his eyes. He was opposing a sorceress who had the knowledge of over four centuries. He knew nothing about the Quy. She knew everything. He recalled Aidan’s warning about the crystal Ista carried.
At the thought of Aidan, Ren’s heart stung. He looked back at the prophecy. It told him to destroy the silver form.
Ren’s stomach curled. He would never harm the silver dragon. Now, with Aidan’s life hanging in the balance, he had a driving need to protect it. Ren leaned back against the wall, suddenly understanding Ista’s purpose. She didn’t want him to kill the dragon, and she had used Aidan to ensure he never would.
But if Ista ever discovered the secret of the crystal she would have to capture the dragon once more.
Maker of Fates, he needed to find the One, not only to counter Ista but also to save Aidan.
“How do we stop her?” Quinton asked, a slight edge to his voice. “No one knows the slightest thing about magic.”
“I do.”
Ren turned to find Tol giving him a widening smile. Tol turned to look at a discarded pike. Heartbeats later the pike spun through the air and impaled the wall with a hollow thud.
Renee released a sharp cry of alarm as Michel stepped in front of her. Tol smiled at Ren, but his demonstration caused his grin to appear demonic.
“I know how to use magic.” He tapped his head. “But she’s gone.”
Renee gently moved Michel aside. When he protested, she gave him a look of reproach. “Who’s gone, Tol?”
Tol looked at her with slight confusion. A few strands of blond hair clung to the corners of his eyes, and when he blinked the hairs jerked in quick response. “Ista.”
Ren put a hand on his mother’s shoulder, urging her to stand back. Renee shook him off and pushed an errant strand of hair behind Tol’s ear.
“How do you know Ista?”
“She raised me.”
Renee’s back stiffened. Michel and Ren exchanged troubled glances. Ren felt foolish being fearful of a boy, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. Renee, however, was undeterred. “What do you mean she’s gone?”
“I feel safe now. She can’t call me anymore.” Tol traced the lines of silver sediment with tentative fingers. “She kills all of them without magic, first thing.” He shrugged as if what he said was natural. “She told me to kill you up there, but I didn’t want to. Then she sent me bad pain. I’m supposed to be dead now. But I don’t feel her anymore.”
Ren met his mother’s frightened eyes.
“How did Ista call you?” Renee asked. “I was with you. Ista wasn’t there.”
“In here,” Tol said, tapping his head once again. “She screams in here and then I have to look at this.” Tol pulled a hazy blue ball from his pocket.
Ren’s breath caught. It was a crystal ball, the type wizards used for communication.
Tol turned to Ren. “When she told me to kill the queen and I didn’t she sent me the bad pain.” Tol bit his lower lip, suddenly understanding he had said too much. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But the bad pain is better than the other way.”
Despite his better judgment Ren knelt beside Renee. “What’s the other way, Tol?”
Tol turned and pointed to the pike.
“May the Maker have mercy,” Galvin whispered. “I
sta deserves every death she finds in this war.”
Ren silently agreed. He studied Tol, trying to make sense of it all. Although magic was powerful he didn’t know anyone who could call to the mind of another.
Someone tapped his shoulder. Ren turned to see Markum holding up a thin needle.
- - -
They were trying to reason through what they should do, but no solution seemed a good one. Manda was exhausted. She wanted to go home, but home was the one place she couldn’t seek refuge. Zier was out of the question.
They had traveled just far enough away from Vos to let him grieve in peace. Manda felt a pang of regret for harming a twin. The thought of Lazo under the Mar’s influence sent chills to every fiber of her being.
“I’m fine, Manda,” Chris said, voice barely above a whisper. “I can travel. We need to help Ren.” Manda turned toward her brother. ‘Fine’ was a fabrication. Chris was not fine, and neither was she. Their father had betrayed them.
Chris rested against a large tree, paces from her, still incredibly weak. He would have passed for a ghost if his straw-colored hair wasn’t matted with fever. When he glanced at her the pain in his eyes reignited her anger. The herb administered him was from the reston vine. Chris always had a negative reaction to the herb. As a child he had nearly died from it.
“We can’t return to Zier, Chris. Although I’d like to help Ren, we can’t. Ren may not even be there.” She didn’t want to voice the fact that Ren may already be dead. She didn’t even want to think it.
“We can go to Ketes,” Evann said, looking between them. “We can try to warn Bostic of this.”
“Yes, Ketes, that’s the best suggestion I’ve heard.”
Chris nodded his approval, but when he opened his mouth to speak no words followed.
Manda silently entreated the Maker to save her brother. She had done everything she could to keep him comfortable. The herb had been in his system too long to counter the negative reaction. Chris just had to fight. He should have pulled out of it by now, but something had given him a jolt during the ride. Manda had a bad feeling that something was magic.
