Fire Mage (Firecaller Series Book 1)

by Trudi Jaye

  The ghost came closer to Nate, swirling around him, his eyes narrowed. “You’re no ordinary mage. There’s a strange sensation that fills the air when you’re around. I was compelled to go to you in the desert.”

  “How does that help?” Nate knew ghosts were attracted to him.

  “Perhaps if you can draw enough ghosts here, to fill the spaces around the farm, the creature will be frightened off. They can sense ghosts and they don’t like ‘em. They avoid me whenever I get near ‘em in the desert.”

  “You think I should summon ghosts?” Nate looked back over his shoulder at the approaching desert worm. The idea of deliberately attracting ghosts to the farm gave him chills. He’d never felt comfortable around one ghost, let alone the hundreds he’d need to make this work. But if the alternative was to let himself or these people be eaten alive...

  “We don’t have time for this,” said Argus, swinging down from his horse. “Come, we must leave this place.” He stepped forward with one arm out, as if to grab Nate.

  Nate jumped back out of Argus’s reach. “It will simply follow us,” he said. “It’s faster than we could ever possibly be, even on the horses.”

  Argus glowered at Nate, but it was obvious from his face that he already knew the truth of what Nate was saying.

  “Go help with the animals. The ghost has given me an idea.”

  Argus hesitated, then grabbed the reins of the horses and stomped off toward the cellar.

  Nate took a breath and closed his eyes. He didn’t even know how he was going to do what needed to be done. The ever-increasing rumbling of the ground under his feet blocked his ability to think. How should he call ghosts? He’d never wanted them around before.

  It was simple when he called demons. He’d done it so many times he almost didn’t have to think about it. The barrier between the real world and the Edges was always a bit thinner wherever Nate was. When he needed help with some fire-related problem, he simply reached through into the Edges with his magic and trapped whichever demon was stupid enough to stray too close.

  Nate’s breath hitched. Ghosts were from the Edges too. They were a different type of creature, sure, but perhaps he could use a similar technique?

  Relieved to have a plan, he took a deep breath and pulled on the magic he used for the demons. He drifted past the barrier into the Edges, and stopped. He could feel his entire body trembling with the effort of staying in this other realm. Usually he pulled on the first demon he found and dragged them back to the real world. It meant less than a second spent in the Edges. This time he had to hold himself here, and try to lure the ghosts to him. Sweat dripped down the side of his face and Nate knew he couldn’t do it for much longer. He pushed his magic into the Edges, letting it drift away and permeate the air around him. His muscles shook with the effort of staying in that place.

  At first, nothing happened, other than the feeling of being drained of his magic, like someone was sucking it out of him. He wanted to yell, to leap back into the real world, away from this place. But that wasn’t an option.

  Nate swayed where he stood, his magic almost depleted. Everything started to blur around him and he could hear voices whispering in his ears.

  Then he saw ghosts floating toward him from every angle. All over the landscape, both in the real world and the Edges, ghostly white shapes were converging on him. Nate’s heart was racing and he saw stars. His breath came in strange gasps. How was he going to deal with all these ghosts? They were more likely to smother him, all the while demanding and talking at him as if he was their only hope. The cold around him increased, and a circle of ghosts shimmered in front of him. Their voices murmured, growing in waves, as they realized what he was.

  And still they came.

  He felt like a Flame beacon on the edges of the sea, telling the ships which way to go. Except the ghosts only wanted to go one way, and that was closer to Nate.

  A voice called to him from far away, and Nate turned. Argus was yelling something at him, but he couldn’t hear. He shook his head. He needed to stay out here.

  The ghosts were crowding him now, creating a moving barrier between the farm and the giant desert worm that was heading their way. Constantly shifting, every single ghostly eye was focused on Nate. They reached out to touch him and goose pimples rose along his skin. They swam through the air in front of him and talked in their whispery voices. He felt deafened by the noise. Squeezing his eyes shut, Nate covered his ears tightly with his palms.

  “Stop!” he yelled. “All of you stop.” Immediately the murmuring ceased. Nate opened his eyes. The ghosts had steadied in front of him, their shapes not quite so dizzying without their constant movement.

  Mutters floated across the sea of ghosts. There had to be at least two hundred of them, all crowded around Nate, pushing at him, trying to get closer, to be the one he chose to help.

  “Move with me to cover the farm,” said Nate, taking a step closer to the old house. None of the ghosts moved. “Now!” he ground out, his voice a low growl.

  A few of the ghosts trickled to join him and then more followed, until they were all crowded around him again as he stood on the bottom step of the veranda.

  Argus appeared beside him, pushing through the ghosts as if they weren’t there. “Come, Nate, we must get into the cellar. It won’t be much, but at least it is some protection from the worm.” He grabbed at Nate’s arm and started to pull him away.

  There was a scream of outrage from the ghosts around Nate. Several of those closest to him, some of them so old they were barely visible, swooped down and entered Argus’s body. The mercenary went still, his eyes wide and his arm locked in place. Then he collapsed in a heap at Nate’s feet.

  “You better not have hurt him permanently,” said Nate.

  “Stupid fella deserved it,” said Seamus, who’d appeared beside Nate again. “But he’ll be fine. Maybe wake up in a while with a headache.”

  Nate nodded. “Do you think this will work?” he asked.

  Seamus shook his head. “No idea.” He looked back to the cellar where his family was hiding. “I hope so, for their sakes.”

  The worm and its surrounding dust cloud came closer and closer. Nate hauled Argus into a sitting position against the house, but once he had the mercenary in place, there was nothing else to do but stand and wait.

  He was drained of everything, with no magic left even to call a demon. The ghosts had taken it all. The rumbling became louder, sending vibrations over the whole farmyard. Implements started dropping to the ground and falling over all around them. A section of the roof separated and fell to earth.

  The creature kept coming, closer and closer, until Nate could see its scales through the dust cloud. It rose up off the ground, higher than the house, with a section of its long body carving a trail in the sand beneath it. The worm curled around like a knotted piece of string, each part of its long body moving separately from the others.

  The tangy taste of magic hung heavy in the air, stronger with every yard that the creature moved toward them. Nate was starting to sweat, despite the cold of the ghosts around him. His hands curled into fists, and he tried not to think of that young boy hiding in the cellar, his life about to be cut short in the most painful way.

  It was only a hundred yards or so from the house when the worm stopped. It swirled in and around itself for a few seconds as if trying to decide what it was doing, and then it screeched, loud and high pitched. The sound echoed across the arid landscape. The ghosts all moaned as one, as if they were answering the creature’s call.

  “Come on, you lazy lumps,” shouted Seamus. “We need to move forward, to attack that thing. We can’t just leave it there.” Seamus waded through the shifting bodies of the other ghosts, his own shape barely visible, before emerging on the other side. He lifted his arm and gave a battle cry, before leading the ghosts toward the desert worm.

  The ghosts moved forward, cutting across the farmyard, going through objects as often as they went around the
m, until they reached the desert worm. It was hovering at the edges of the farm, staying away from the ghosts.

  The ghosts surrounded the worm, and seeped into its space. The shifting sands calmed, and the worm became visible, its black scales reflecting the sun. The creature screamed again, and this time the ghosts seemed to leap onto it and then into it, soaking in like white mist.

  Nate heard a noise like the opposite of a boom, as if his eardrums could hear something that his mind couldn’t comprehend. Then silence settled across the whole farm. The desert worm lay dead and the ghosts had all disappeared.

  Beside Nate, Argus was waking up.

  Nate ran over to the cellar and opened the doors. “It’s done,” he said, his head reeling. His whole body felt heavy, as though he had too many layers of clothing on. “Tell me, Seamus. Where’s your body? Quickly,” he slurred at the ghost.

  “Due west from here. Two days walk.”

  Nate nodded slowly. “Lily, your grandfather’s body waits for you two days walk due west from here. He says he will protect you. Remember, there’s gold on him that you can use for the farm.”

  Lily stared at Nate. “I will go, if only because I have never heard of anyone killing a desert worm. You are truly a great mage.”

  Nate shook his head. “Don’t give me talents I don’t have. Just take care of your grandfather’s body, and he will take care of you.”

  Nate turned to Argus, who had arrived in his wake. The mercenary had fire in his eyes; he wouldn’t forgive Nate for running so easily.

  “I will go with you,” slurred Nate. “There are too many creatures trying to kill me to do anything else.”

  And then the ground came up to hit him in the face.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “It’s strange to suddenly have a sister. A sister who looks exactly as I do,” said Breanna, walking beside Jena along a rough forest path.

  Jena nodded, absently brushing aside a leaf-covered branch. They had escaped after their talk with Miara, and they were both attempting to digest what they had learned.

  “We’re not exactly the same. I have my burns. It’s not like anyone will ever confuse us.”

  Breanna made a face. “No one could ever mix us up. I’m boring. You’re elusive, interesting. Exciting. Plus you have an aura the size of a mountain. In some lights, you glow.”

  Jena made a face back at Breanna, aware of her skin creasing up. “We’re officially family. You’re obviously not able to see me clearly anymore, Breanna.”

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” Breanna batted at Jena’s arm. “And call me Bree. We’re family now.”

  Jena’s mouth twitched. Her sister wasn’t as docile as she appeared. “All right… Bree.” Jena hesitated. “You look like her, you know. Like Dalafine, our… mother.” The word tasted strange on her lips.

  “Have you seen a picture of her? I’ve never been allowed to show an interest; Miara thought it too dangerous.”

  Too late, Jena realized her mistake. She still had some secrets to keep. “I... ah... yes, I’ve seen a picture of them both, Primus and Dalafine.”

  Bree stared at her for a moment. “I can already read you. It’s like watching my own face. You’re not telling me everything.” She tipped her head to one side, studying Jena’s expression.

  Jena tried to keep her face blank, but the amusement on Bree’s face told her she wasn’t succeeding. “How could we not have known?” said Jena, a reluctant half-smile twitching at her mouth.

  “I sometimes dreamed,” said Bree softly. “Of a mirror with my face reflected in it, but with black hair like yours. I always thought it was a secret dream to change who I was. But it was you. I was dreaming of you.” Bree reached out a hand to touch Jena’s dark hair, the wisps falling through her fingers.

  Ahead of them, an old tree was growing over the path. Bree used one hand to balance herself as she climbed around the huge roots, before climbing back onto the path. Jena followed behind her.

  “I had dreams of an owl and a raven flying together,” said Jena. “Thornal said the raven was my symbol, even though it’s normally a mage sign.” Jena touched one hand to her stomach where the raven tattoo shifted slightly. “I used to think the owl was Thornal, my wise mentor. But it was you.” Jena glanced at Bree, studying her profile.

  Bree turned. There was something hovering, waiting to be said.

  “What?” said Jena. “Just say it.”

  “When were you burned? You said it when you were ten. Was it during the winter months?”

  Jena shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure.” She tried to forget that time, rather than remember it.

  “I think I felt it.”

  “Felt it?”

  “Not long after my tenth birthday, I felt an excruciating pain down one side of my body and on my face.” Bree touched her own face, on the place where Jena’s burns stood out. “The healers didn’t know what was wrong; it was terrifying. I somehow managed to use my powers to dampen down the pain. That was when I first learned I was skilled with healing.

  “But I think it was you, not me, who was hurt. I think I was helping you heal.” Tears appeared in Bree’s eyes, then rolled down her cheeks. “It was from you, a kind of overflow, because you had too much pain to bear.”

  Jena didn’t speak, just kept walking along the path. She tried to remember anything specific from the day when her body had been burned, but it was just a blur. “There was... a lot of pain. I don’t think they expected me to survive.” But something was familiar; a wisp of feeling that surfaced when Bree talked about taking her pain. Jena looked at Bree, grasped her hand, and held it. “Whatever you did, it helped me. Thank you.”

  “I wish you had grown up here with me.” Bree was shaking where she clung to Jena’s hand. “I wish you hadn’t lived the life you have.”

  “I’m not sorry for who I am, Bree,” said Jena, shaking her head. “ I can’t be sorry about it. My life has made me who I am. Some things are meant to be, as Thornal used to say.” It seemed strange to be saying it, but Jena knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth that it was true.

  “He sounds like a wise man.” Bree wiped at the tears on her face.

  “He could be. But he could also be a cantankerous old grump. I don’t know why he didn’t tell me I was his granddaughter, and I don’t know why he never visited you. But he saved me, and for that, I will always be grateful.”

  Bree nodded. “And when it counted, he sent you here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Nate stood up and kicked dirt over their fire. He repacked the few possessions he’d taken out of his travel bag, and tied it to his horse. Nearby Argus did the same. They’d been traveling for the better part of a week and had settled into a routine.

  Argus still watched him carefully, and tied him to his horse every day. But since they’d left the farmhouse, Argus had been more respectful. He seemed willing to give Nate the benefit of the doubt.

  “We’re almost halfway there,” said Argus. “But this has been the easiest part of the journey.” He gestured toward the forests they could see along the horizon. “The Forest of Ghosts lies to the north.”

  “We avoid it, I hope? We’ve enough on our plate without having to deal with a haunted forest,” replied Nate. They hadn’t seen any more of Prince Lothar’s creatures, but the expectation of it hung in the air like an odorous fog.

  “We’ll travel the border of the forest and then along to the base of the Ember Volcanoes.” Argus came over, and gestured for Nate to get on his horse. He tied him to the pommel using the same thick ropes he’d used to tie Nate onto the saddle. The sharp sizzle of the attaching spell ran up his arms, and Nate sighed. Another day stuck to his horse.

  Argus leaped onto his great black stallion and put an easy distance between them. Ready or not, Nate’s chestnut horse cantered after Argus, unwilling to be left behind. Nate was silent for a time, watching the man in front of him. The mercenary was taking them through some of the most dangero
us landscapes in the kingdom—the desert, the forest, then volcanoes, which harbored not only fire and ash, but also beasts like the lavaen—without a pause for thought. He was devoted to his master; there was no doubt about that. But why would a man as proud as Argus have a master who demanded such a high price?

  “Tell me about your master, Argus. He must be a great mage.”

  “There is nothing to tell.” His voice was flat and hard, saying end-of-story as clearly, as if he’d spelled it out. Many of their conversations ended on such a tone.

  Nate was left to wonder to himself as they rode the dusty trail.

  The winter sun was on the verge of the horizon, bright rays of light clustering in his vision. Nate blinked, adjusting to the emerging sunlight. At first, he confused the flickering light to his left with the sunrise, but then the figures started to appear.

  He sighed.

  Along the roadside, hovering in front and behind as he rode, keeping pace with his horse and whispering, were ghosts from the Edges. The voices were different, but the message was always the same. Old and young, wealthy and poor, there was no distinction.

  Help me.

  Save me.

  Ever since he’d called so many at the farmhouse, something had changed. They were now more aware of him and could find him more easily. Nate ignored them all, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to; he was firmly attached to the saddle. He also knew from long experience that he couldn’t help them all.

  So he pretended he couldn’t hear their ghostly moans. He ignored their desperate pleas. But out of the corner of his eye, their wispy figures glittered in the sunlight and he was tempted to glance around more than once. His knuckles were white from clutching the pommel; Nate gritted his teeth and kept his focus on the road ahead.

  They rode hard along the trail, their tired bodies sinking lower and lower into the back of the horses. They stopped only for short periods, resting the horses and eating as often as they could. The Forest of Ghosts went from being a black dot on the horizon to a larger, more ominous shape in front of them.