by C. Gold
Amira leaned against the rough stone wall and sucked in ragged gulps of air. That was close. Too close. She frowned. While visions never show their seer’s future, the wizard was with her. Why did it fail to show him in the storm? Now that she thought about it, this vision came almost too late for her to succeed. Unlike normal visions in which she had days or years to prepare, with this one she had to shove what she could in her saddle bags and fly like the wind to have a chance at getting to the wizard first. There were other inconsistencies—the location of the fissure was wrong, the amount of daylight left was altered, and the choice of direction omitted. Unease knotted her stomach. Am I losing my power? Dread clenched her heart in its icy claws. Really rotten timing if that was the case.
Shivering from more than just the plummeting temperature, Amira wrapped her arms around her torso in a vain attempt at comfort. Doubts once again assailed her, and a sudden wave of weariness swept over her. She closed her heavy lids just to rest a moment longer.
With a start, Amira’s head snapped back up and slammed into the rock wall. “Ow,” she grunted and rubbed the new ache. Did I just fall asleep standing up? Shaking uncontrollably now, Amira registered the frigid dampness of her jerkin pressed against pebbled flesh and realized her cloak was soaked all the way through. If she didn’t warm up right now, she was going to die.
Muscles cramping in protest, she stepped away from the wall and stretched her arm out in the absolute darkness and groped for the right bag. Cursing as her sluggish mind finally remembered the crystals, she fumbled over her waist pouch. Muttering more curses as her stiff fingers refused to work properly, she finally undid the ties and reached inside.
As Amira raised her hand, harsh white light from the glowing crystals chased away the shadows and revealed a cramped space littered with broken rocks. It was a wonder she avoided a twisted ankle during her desperate rush to get inside. There was a small nook opposite the entrance that allowed just enough room for a fire. Shoving loose debris aside, she worked her way around the horses and cleared the space. Setting the crystals along one edge to keep the room lit, Amira opened the supply pack and brought out her meager collection of wood and her tinder box. After carefully placing the materials in the right spot she reached into the box for the flint and came up empty handed. What? Frantic, she pulled out the bedrolls, rations, waterskins, and cooking implements, and carelessly threw them on the ground. Finding no sign of flint in the bottom of that pack, she dug through the other. It only had blankets. With no room to pace, Amira resorted to stamping in place while cussing her vision, the storm, and the wizard who was the cause of everything. She must be the only magic user in the entire empire who couldn’t create even a tiny spark.
Finally done ranting, Amira pulled the wizard’s cloak back to check his status. Surprise widened her eyes when he looked fine and his cheek was warm to the touch. Either he was fevered, or he was keeping himself warm despite being unconscious. She never heard of anyone capable of working magic in such a state. A shot of pure dread zipped through her spine at how skilled he must really be. And once I return his power, there’s no telling what he could do. Too bad the world needed him, otherwise she’d gladly let him die.
Amira kept herself distracted by removing the supply packs and tending the horses. However, once she placed the bedrolls in the tight space and had nothing left to delay dealing with the wizard, her worrying thoughts came streaming back. Worse, she began imagining how her conversation would go when she woke him. “Hey, I rescued you from certain death, could you return the favor and heat this cave so I can live too?” He’d refuse of course. She’d threaten. He’d mock.
Amira’s frozen digits couldn’t get the tightened knots loose, so she cut the ropes. It wasn’t as if she’d need to tie the wizard up again. She’d either kill him or free his compulsions, or maybe both. She struggled as she dragged his limp body over to the bedding. Good thing he was as skinny as a snake. She wound up collapsing with him and didn’t bother to move for several minutes while she caught her breath. Eyeing the pieces of rope, she decided it was a good idea to bind the wizard just in case. Once that was done, she leaned over and touched his forehead. “Wake!” she commanded.
As Radcliff slipped away from the entombing darkness, the fire was burning him from the inside. “Silence boy! You must never reveal yourself.” As young Radcliff became used to Master’s constant beatings, he got faster at distancing the pain. It was still there but remote, like it was happening to another person. The young boy surged with pride that he was able to stifle the scream.
With the pain stabilized, Radcliff snapped out of the memory and became fully aware of his surroundings. Chilly air smelling of ice told him he wasn’t at his tower. The compulsion to return surged forward and his muscles stiffened as he struggled to deny it.
“If you try to leave this cave, you will die.”
Radcliff knew that voice. He opened his eyes and the woman who started this whole mess was sitting right in front of him.
“We need a fire or we will freeze to death.”
Radcliff saw the truth in the way she shivered yet he was just fine. Though now that he thought about it, he realized there was a small drain on his reserve. Right now his knowledge and instinct were keeping him warm. That would change at sunrise when he turned back into a mindless idiot. “Return my magic and fix my memory first.”
“I don’t have the skill for that.”
“What can you do?” he snapped back in annoyance.
“I can dissolve the compulsions but I need to be warmer first.”
“Act quickly then because I’m not wasting my limited resources on you when I need them to take back what was stolen from me.” As Radcliff waited to see how she’d respond, he realized how blue her skin was. Surprising himself, he told her, “Lay on top of me and cover yourself with the blankets. That should keep you warm enough.” It wasn’t compassion, Radcliff reassured himself, just a logical necessity so she can help me, nothing more.
The woman froze for a second and stared at him in shock before doing as he suggested. While she was stretched out on top of him with her icy hand on his forehead, Radcliff tried not to remember the last time he even touched a woman. Jenine was soft and curvy while this woman was lean and muscular. Though they were very different, both were the cause of his present troubles. He wondered if Jenine was even still alive. He didn’t think she had any magic which was another reason he shouldn’t have gotten involved with her. Norms didn’t understand the longer term view of mages due to their shorter lifespan. He sighed. Too bad he didn’t listen to his old master when he said to not trust anyone enough to let them get close. At the time he wanted to repudiate everything his master beat into him thinking that someone so evil would have all the wrong advice. Well, he learned the hard way to trust only in himself.
“What about this stranger who set you up? You trust her with your mindless self?” the bitter naysaying thought rasped in his mind.
“What choice do I have?” He mentally shouted back.
“Kill her. You know you want to.” The poisonous thought wrapped seductively around him.
“And then what?” he spat back. There was no way he could survive without his memory. It rankled, but he needed her. The ugly voices in his head grew silent. Even they knew there was no other way.
“What have you done to yourself,” she mumbled.
Radcliff realized she was talking about the compulsions he had added over the years after he discovered he was truly trapped. Some were for basic survival. Others for amusement. A few others had a darker purpose. He went to give her a scathing reply but her brow was scrunched up in intense concentration and he decided it was better to keep silent. While he could remove his own compulsions, he couldn’t affect what the council put in place. They were very thorough in sealing him inside his own mind.
One by one the threads holding him hostage dissolved. Finally, the last one linking him to the hated tower snapped with a sharp pain. Radcliff sig
hed in ecstasy at regaining his long denied freedom. He did a complete mental inventory searching for anything the woman might have missed. It was strange having the full run of his mind again. He almost thanked her before remembering she was the one responsible. “You can untie me now and hand me my dagger.” At the wary look in her eyes he clarified. “I won’t kill you just yet.” The woman’s eyes opened wider, and she looked ready to flee. Radcliff conceded he may have been a bit too honest with her and decided to try reasoning with her. “Untie me. I promise not to harm you as long as you are helping me.”
She seemed to consider his words though she remained silent. With reluctance evident in the stiff way she moved, the woman fumbled with his bonds and handed him the sheath containing his dagger. Radcliff pulled it free and looked at the unassuming blade. It was dull gray with a flat finish and one single piece of metal from end to end with no adornments, no gems, and no engravings to mark it as something special. At first glance it appeared like any other simple tool. Yet it was so much more. In a lengthy ritual, Radcliff imbued the weapon with a piece of his essence, binding the two and creating a weapon that could penetrate the toughest magical shielding. He named it Mage Bane though its first name was Master’s Bane.
Young Radcliff slaved over the hot metal until he had it shaped correctly this time. When it cooled, he showed Master who seemed as pleased as Master ever got and let young Radcliff keep the small dagger as a reward. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Master took it back as punishment but Radcliff had everything prepared. When Master went away that night, Radcliff ran back into the library and removed the dusty tome from its hiding spot beneath a cracked stone in the floor. Though the ancient ritual called for three mages, Radcliff had to try anyway. He’d be free or die trying.
Radcliff was no stranger to blood rituals and though he never performed the magic stripping spell that the Spider performed, he was well aware of how to reverse it. Standing up he began to undress.
“What are you doing?” the woman squeaked.
He ignored her discomfort and moved his discards to a pile off to the side, then sat back down on the cold bedroll. He used the dagger to carve a shallow rune of binding between his brows. Then he did each foot, the chest over his heart, and his left hand. Swapping hands, he carved the final rune into his right hand. It was a bit less precise, but would suffice. He laid down flat on the ground and addressed the woman whose back was turned. “I need you to place a crystal in the middle of each rune.” The corners of his lips twitched upward watching her try to avert her eyes to his nakedness while doing as he commanded. Perhaps if this worked he could laugh about it later.
Closing his eyes Radcliff began to speak the words of the ancient ritual of rejoining. The pain was worse than when it had been stripped away. He ignored it and pushed on. Sweat broke out across his body as he emptied his meager magical reserves and began pulling on the magic locked away in the crystals. He pulled harder, drawing on everything he had until he began to fade away. He was losing! An unexpected surge of power refreshed him and he redoubled his efforts. The hook finally snapped and molten fire poured inside his tattered soul. For the second time since adulthood, his training failed him and he screamed.
When Radcliff finally opened his eyes to absolute darkness, he thought he was blind. Then he remembered the crystals had been the light source. Light, he sent the thought to his dagger and breathed a sigh of relief when it obeyed. Carefully he sat up and spotted the woman passed out by his side, her cold hand still locked in his. Lifting it away, he saw the cut and realized she was the source of the unexpected power surge. He frowned as he stared at her. Why was she really helping him? What did she want? Stretching his cramped muscles, he locked away his concerns. If there was time later to discover the truth, he’d find it. Right now he needed to stop procrastinating and determine if the ritual worked.
Tentatively, he reached for his magic and found it. The intense relief had him blinking rapidly to hold back the tears. He was still broken and wouldn’t remember anything come sunrise but for a few more hours he was finally whole again. He sent a surge of power into the stone floor to warm it until the space became cozy. He touched a few rocks and imbued them with a soft glow before darkening his dagger. Then he summoned a bucket of water, towels, and a mirror and proceeded to clean himself up.
Looking in the mirror, he couldn’t believe how old and tired he looked. His long, straight black hair had morphed into a nest of tangles as gray as an old norm’s. His naturally pale skin now resembled a corpse. At least he didn’t have wrinkles. Radcliff bit off a bitter laugh. He never used to be vain. There was no point given his reedy build and skin that refused to tan. As an orphan, he always wondered about his ancestry given his odd coloration. Pasty white, spindly, scarred monster. Janine’s words still hurt as if she said them yesterday but her description was accurate. Sighing, he shoved away the searing pain. It was just the obliviate spell messing with him.
Shaving the disgusting mess of hair from his head and face, he finally felt human. After burning the remains, he dressed and considered the woman. Although he should hate her, right now he was gutted from the ritual. So, for reasons he didn’t care to examine too closely, he cleaned her cuts and healed the gash on her forehead before seeing to the horses. Knowing he had little time left before dawn, Radcliff sprawled out next to the woman with his back against the rough wall and summoned both his personal spell book and a fresh journal. With a sardonic twitch of his lips he began writing to himself.
“What are you doing?” The woman yawned and shifted closer to see what he was up to.
Radcliff just finished writing the last spell he thought his mindless self could learn. He sent his personal book back to its hiding place and looked up at the woman. “When the sun rises, I won’t remember anything. You are to give me this journal and make sure I read it every morning. It is the best I can do while my memory remains blocked.”
She reached out to take the journal.
Radcliff didn’t let go right away. “One last thing. I expect you to find a way to restore my memory.” While he knew of the obliviate spell, he had no knowledge of how it could be broken.
“I know someone who can help,” she replied.
With that meager reassurance, Radcliff relinquished the book. It truly pained him to put such trust in anyone, let alone this woman. “It’s time. Is there something you need me to summon while I still remember how?” He couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into his voice. Each remembrance day he had to struggle against the madness. This time was far worse knowing he was free but still consigned to forget.
“Flint.” She hesitated and looked like she wanted to ask him something.
“Just ask it,” he said with a sigh. While waiting for her to speak, he summoned two pieces of flint and placed them on the ground beside her.
“Can you use magic without your memory?” she finally blurted out.
Ah, she was worried about how useless he was going to be and was trying to be delicate about it. How joyful, he thought with great stabbing sarcasm. “That’s what that journal is for,” he replied out loud. Radcliff would love to be able to observe her facing the consequences of her actions in dealing with his mindless self. I guess one year from today, I’ll get to watch. The depression that continually nipped at his heels suddenly body tackled him at the thought of another year.
I can’t keep living like this! That depressing thought surged to the foreground, growing louder with each passing second.
Give it one more year to see if she does something. Hope’s whisper was barely heard but Radcliff latched onto it. For some reason he wanted to give the woman a chance. He longed to be truly whole again even if it meant suffering longer.
But—
No! Shut up! Radcliff shouted his depression back into the background. He was closer to freedom today than yesterday. That had to count for something.
The woman appeared deep in thought and thankfully missed Radcliff’s internal debat
e. She finally focused intense violet eyes on him and asked, “Are you a master summoner?”
He scowled, unwilling to reveal how strong his summoning was or could be if he had his full strength. “And why does that matter? After tomorrow I won’t be summoning much of anything. And what are you precisely? Besides unable to start fires.”
“I think you already know what I am.”
“A seer then,” he guessed, based on how prepared she appeared and her knowledge of his dagger.
She reluctantly nodded.
Radcliff’s anger returned in full. “Then you knew from the start how long I’d be trapped in that nightmare.”
The woman tensed. “I knew my innocent five-year-old sister didn’t deserve the death you dealt her. Nor my family, friends, or the other non-combatants you slaughtered.”
“That saved lives,” he fired back.
“You should have attacked those of us who volunteered to defend our land.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “The strong would have died, leaving the sick and weak to starve come winter. I did your people a favor.”
“Oh how logical of you. I’m not sorry you suffered. You deserved it for the thousands you murdered.” She crossed her arms and glared at him with self-righteous anger.
“I never expected a seer to be so sadistic,” he needled.
“You’re the sadist, not me,” she snarled back.
