Storm Holt (The Prophecies of Zanufey Book 3)

by A. Evermore

  Chapter 16

  Creating From Memory

  FREYDEL sat with Arla by the river, not far from where the wizard’s tower rose. They had satiated themselves with clean water from the river, and Arla had helped him gather what berries, nuts and mushrooms they could find in the forest. Being the end of summer food was abundant, and they foraged enough to make a simple dinner with some left over to spare.

  Both of them were worn out. Arla’s eyes had shadows under them, and Freydel felt like he could sleep for a week. Neither of them spoke, not whilst they collected food or now whilst they ate. Freydel was busy thinking over everything that had happened to him. He sighed as he washed down his last mouthful of berries with water. He would have preferred wine to water. The food helped to restore some strength, but his hands still trembled now and again. He glanced at Arla. She had barely eaten anything.

  ‘You won’t grow up to be big and strong if you don’t eat,’ he said with an encouraging smile.

  She glanced up at him with those strange big eyes. ‘I get sick if I eat too much.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Freydel, that would explain why she was so small and scrawny. ‘Well, do what you can, it will help you feel better.’ She sighed and stuffed a blackberry in her mouth. A tortured look clouded her eyes which made him worry. She’ll be all right after food and rest, he told himself. Freydel reached for the orb in his pocket, hesitated with a look at Arla, then took it out anyway. The girl knew he had the orb. She glanced at it, then looked away without much interest.

  The orb was heavy in his hands, heavier than he remembered it being in the astral planes. He sat there for some time staring into its black surface, but without commanding it. With all that he had learned, what should he do now? Facing Baelthrom, being trapped in the astral planes, seeing his entire life’s work destroyed, travelling back in time, meeting Ayeth, going into the ethereal planes and then returning… So much had happened he needed time to catch up. It had changed him forever, he felt the most learned and the most powerful he had ever felt in life. And the most exhausted.

  ‘We’ve been through a lot together, you and I,’ he murmured to the orb. ‘Do you remember the writing on the pyramid walls?’ The orb responded immediately, faster than it had ever done before, and he saw the symbols and beautiful letters made of flowing curving lines on the side of the pyramid, just as he remembered them. Freydel laughed aloud, Arla looked at him.

  ‘I guess that was an easy one,’ Freydel said with a grin, and stared closer into the blackness wondering what to try next. ‘Let’s try something else. Hmm. Remember my book of spells, the purple one? Remember I spoke aloud to you its entire contents? Can you show me that book even though it has been destroyed?’ The orb swirled, Freydel licked his lips. It pulsed a flash of black light, making both him and Arla fall backwards.

  He sat back up and stared at the book on the ground before him. The purple book, with its torn pages and frayed edges, lay on the grass in front of him just as he remembered it. Freydel stared at the book open-mouthed. He’d expected a memory, the pages of the book shown within the orb, not an actual physical thing. He was too shocked to be ecstatic.

  ‘It created it from nothing…’ he whispered. ‘It created something from nothing.’

  Arla stared at the book, a look of surprise on her face as well. ‘Not nothing,’ she corrected, ‘from your memory.’

  ‘What?’ Freydel looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, ‘Yes, from memory, you’re right. All right then, something else. Ah hah. My staff, I lost it.’ He closed his eyes and formed a very clear image of his staff. ‘Create me my staff,’ he commanded. The orb did nothing. ‘Create for me my staff. You know the one I always carry around?’ Nothing happened. ‘Please?’ he chanced. Nothing. ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Maybe it won’t create it because it still exists?’ Arla said, crawling closer to inspect the purple book on the ground.

  ‘How can that be?’ The very thought of Baelthrom still having his staff, or anything of his, chilled him to the bone. ‘Don’t touch that.’ He said as she reached to touch the book. She pouted and drew her hand away. ‘There’s powerful stuff in there, enough to hurt people. Hmm, why would it only recreate things that have been destroyed?’

  ‘Because it’s the Orb of Destruction?’ Arla chanced.

  ‘Pah. Nonsense. It would destroy stuff, not create stuff,’ he laughed, and then stopped. The girl was right, somehow. Could it undo undoings? His head hurt at the thought. Arla yawned. The sun was setting, and soon it would be dark. ‘Well I have a few blankets in my study. Or rather, I had until they were incinerated in dragon fire. Those blankets would be nice to sleep in. Let’s see if this really works the way we think it does.’ He looked into the orb, ‘Create my two blankets. The brown ones I left on the bed.’

  The orb swirled and pulsed as before. Atop the book now appeared two wrinkled brown blankets.

  ‘Hah-hah.’ Freydel laughed aloud. Arla giggled.

  The tiredness hit him then and he yawned, suddenly struggling to keep his eyes open. Commanding the orb always used a bit of his own reserves, but he’d not felt this tired from using magic since he was a young wizard. ‘Oh my, maybe I should be more careful what I ask for,’ he said between yawns.

  He heaped together the twigs and dead leaves they had collected, surrounded them with stones, and set light to it. Around the fire he pushed together two piles of leaves and settled Arla down on one of them with a blanket wrapped around her. Before it was dark he found himself drifting off to sleep wrapped in his own blanket.

  Freydel awoke before dawn. Arla still slept soundly. After a drink of water he sat in the growing light thinking. The orb had become more powerful than before, or rather his ability to interact with it had increased dramatically. All keeper’s of orbs had very little knowledge of their potential. He doubted even if the ancients knew the full power of them.

  With the orb now he knew he was more powerful than any wizard in Maioria. What were the limits to the orb’s power? What if he could time travel at will, with a far greater understanding than Grenahyme had ever had. He could recreate everything in his study that had been destroyed, as long as he could remember it. He’d have to be careful of course. Doing too much wiped him out. Plus it would be useless to recreate all his things here in the middle of nowhere. But still, his life’s works were not lost. He almost laughed out loud.

  He should call the Wizard’s Circle again, just like he had tried to do before Baelthrom trapped him. He would tell them everything that had happened. No, maybe he should wait until he’d thought about it more. They would think him crazy for time travelling, let alone seeing Ayeth. What if he could go back in time to where he’d left Ayeth. Maybe he could stop him from ever becoming the Baelthrom they now suffered. Ayeth was very powerful, Freydel could learn many things from him.

  The Wizard’s Circle must know of Celene, which was why he tried to call it in the first place. The orb and he were stronger now, and he was already in the tower. It would be safe to call it now he did not have to travel through the astral. He shuddered at the memory. Perhaps he wouldn’t travel in time again.

  Arla remained sleeping as the sun rose, and so Freydel had his breakfast of forest berries alone with his thoughts. Afterwards he recreated his purple wizard’s cloak and hat, a clean shirt, his teapot and herbal teas, and his water flask. After a wash in the river he put on his clean clothes. It was when noon approached and Arla still didn’t awaken that Freydel began to worry. He squeezed her shoulder, but she only gave a weak groan.

  ‘Arla, wake up, have some food and water. It’s time to get up.’

  But she didn’t awaken, not fully anyway. He laid a hand on her forehead, it was cold and clammy. Poor child is sick, he thought. She needed water so he pulled her limp body into his lap. She groaned in protest, but when he held his open flask to her lips she drank noisily. Her eyelids flickered but she did not rise. This was not a good place to be sick in, not when he had nothing to give her. She
needed to be inside and given hot food and herbs.

  Though it was warm he wrapped both blankets around her and gathered his things. He would call the Wizard’s Circle right away. They could help him get her somewhere safe. They would be worried that the child had managed to get into the Circle, but he’d had no control over that, and if it weren’t for her he’d be dead right now.

  He scooped her into his arms, amazed at how light she was, and made his way to the Wizard’s Tower. He carefully scaled stone steps that wound around the outside of the tower. There were no railings to stop him falling, and the steps were only thin slabs of stone jutting out from the wall. He had to stop several times to rest before he reached the top, and by the time he got there he was sweaty and breathless.

  He laid Arla down beside his stone chair, and looked long at his western seat that symbolised Celene, the goddess’s Sacred Isle. Celene that was no more. He looked at the others. Twelve grey stone pillars with hollowed out seats and thin high backs all carved out of a single stone. Twelve seats to mark the twelve continents of the Known World, twelve seats to mark the twelve months of the passing seasons and twelve seats to mark the hours on the clock.

  He took a deep breath and stilled his mind. Usually he would call the circle with his staff and the orb, but without his staff he would have to use his skill and the orb alone. Because he was already within the Circle he would not need to use the long spell, even though it was his favourite. Being physically present also meant he could create a far stronger and secure call for those wizards travelling to here. He held up the orb and called the Flow to him.

  ‘I, Master Wizard Freydel, call the Wizard’s Circle.’

  At his will and direction, the Flow swirled into the orb, and then pulsed out in a wave of dark energy, sending out the call. With Baelthrom ever watching the energies of Maioria, calling the Wizard’s Circle carried some risk no matter how secure he made his spells. He prayed the wizards would also respond with a safer spell for transport. It was always more dangerous for the one calling the Circle to travel in the astral planes, as he’d woefully found out when Baelthrom detected him.

  He looked back at Arla. She hadn’t stirred, worry furrowed his brow. He took his seat and waited. Who would come? It had been so long since the last, he couldn’t even remember how long. Would Coronos come? He was here in the Known World again and so he would have received the call, he must come. Not everybody on the Wizards’ Circle had to be a master wizard, but they had to be a novice or a high wizard of a particular standing. They also had to be an Orb Keeper, a king or esteemed representative of a country or a people. Finally they would have to have survived the Wizard’s Reckoning.

  In the past every member of the Wizards’ Circle had been a Master Wizard. But that was hundreds of years ago when the power of Maioria was stronger. Baelthrom constantly leached upon the magic life force of the planet so that it now dwindled alarmingly. Thinking of Baelthrom, he added strengthening spells to the protective shield surrounding the tower so that it faintly shimmered pink and silver.

  He sat still and waited. At least one seat would remain forever empty. His gaze rested on the eastern seat, a seat that had not been filled for thousands of years. The seat of the Ancients, the eastern most empire, had been empty for a long time. The last person to sit upon it had been an Ancient - and she had been female, so the history recorded in the orbs told them. He gasped aloud as her name suddenly came to him.

  Yisufalni, I’m sure that was her name, it is the same. He remembered the woman, the Ancient, who’d helped him. Could it be the same woman? Why would it be any different? How could she still be here? Was she trapped in the ethereal planes? She had been one of the last of the Ancients, a priestess, a princess and no less than the last female to grace the Wizards’ Circle.

  With the rise of Baelthrom and the splitting of the orbs, it was the female magic users who suffered the most. They found themselves weak where once they had been strong. The female life force, the givers of life… Baelthrom had the Orb of Life, perhaps that was why they were so affected. Not that male wizards remained immune. Everybody lost strength. No longer able to survive the Wizards’ Reckoning in the Storm Holt (and few men were able to survive it either), women with any magical ability became witches or joined the ancient secretive yet tiny order of the seers.

  In the end it didn’t matter who was more powerful, the power of the Maphraxies increased as the power of the wizards decreased, and no one could stop it. The power of the goddess had waned in the world, but when Freydel thought about Issa it didn’t add up. She wielded a power he could not fathom or fully understand. It was an old power and it came from the dark moon.

  The seat next to the Ancient’s, the one that stood for Tusarza, was broken. For one strange moment emotion welled up within Freydel. Maybe it was the memory of something pure and beautiful destroyed, like his Celene. The seat was split in two by a great force. A force driven by the axe of the dwarf wizard Hadden some five hundred years ago. Hadden, in his fury and gut-ridden guilt, had smote the chair with rage and magic - as if by destroying the chair of Tusarza he somehow thought he could destroy the Maphraxies themselves that now occupied that land. It still lay as he’d left it, split and crumbling - a sad sight serving to remind them it would take more than a dwarven axe to destroy the enemy, and that all they really sat on were stone chairs.

  The other seats were as fresh and pristine as when they had been made. No weather or time could wear them, protected as they were by magic. Freydel sat up straight and smoothed his purple wizard’s robe. He put on his hat. The others would be arriving soon.

  No sooner had he thought it than the air shimmered blue in the centre of the circle. Freydel wondered who would be first.

  Chapter 17

  Dreaming Of Home

  ASAPH looked at Issa for the fiftieth time in half an hour as they rode the long road to Carvon. His horse Ironclad was at last tired and walked placidly alongside the others. The colour had come back into Issa’s cheeks, and he was pleased to see her skin gaining a tan from the South Frayon sun. She would never be as tanned as a Draxian, but he found her smooth pale skin and dark hair so attractive.

  This time she caught his watchful eye and smiled. She was tired. Thankfully her eyes were no longer that luminous turquoise green that had scared him so much, though they still seemed abnormally bright. He had never seen anyone with eyes like that before and she had been so pale and weak. The bloody wounds on her shoulders made by the harpies had healed well, thanks to that bracelet of hers, but still she carried the fine lines of scars. He would have to do more to protect her, somehow make sure she never left his side.

  She dropped her gaze and carried on with her thoughts. She hadn’t said much since the raven had given her its message. Why was she seeing demons in the message? No matter how much he thought on it he couldn’t find a reason.

  ‘Could demons be after us?’ Asaph spoke his thoughts aloud.

  ‘Those kinds of demons are in the Murk, they cannot reach us easily. I think it’s something else,’ Coronos replied. ‘A message, a warning, I don’t know…’

  Issa remained silent, deep in thought.

  ‘Well, we can add them to the long list of our enemies. A few more won’t hurt,’ Asaph laughed.

  ‘No,’ Issa said but continued to stare into nothing. ‘I mean, yes. They were frightening, and yes, I saw war - but it was a war between demons. The demons I saw meant me no harm. It’s like they are trying to communicate or something. That white spear… I don’t know why it’s important. I don’t think the demons mean to attack us.’

  ‘That would be a first,’ Asaph scoffed. Demons have always attacked humans. ‘Demons walk the forests of the Uncharted Lands. The Kuapoh spare no human possessed by a demon incubi or succubi. The dangers are just too great. They hate and fear any shape shifter and consider them all demons even if they’re not.’

  ‘That must have been hard for you,’ Issa said, looking at him.

  As
aph shrugged. ‘Yes. No one knew about the dragon within.’ He was surprised to feel pain then. That he’d had to keep his dragon self hidden in shame his whole life was raw even now. One day he would fly free and far wherever he wanted, proud to be a dragon once more. He fell into his own silent reverie. Would he ever feel settled? Would he ever find a place to call home, a home like the one Issa had mentioned?

  He felt a sudden need to see Drax. It might very well be that he wouldn’t like the cold mountainous place he’d seen in The Recollection. The place that Coronos had shown him in the orb and spoken of so many times. But he had to know for sure. Even if it meant he went straight into enemy territory and never came out alive, he had to see it before he died. And what of Issa? Maybe she wouldn’t want to live there either, being as she was from a small temperate island. Would he give her up just to be in Drax, just to see Drax? No, he definitely wouldn’t. But the thought of never seeing Drax was almost a physical pain.

  ‘Please may I see that old map of Maioria you sketched ages ago, father?’ Asaph asked Coronos.

  Coronos fumbled around in his pockets and drew out a torn and crinkled piece of paper.

  ‘It’s not in the best condition. I’ll try to draw another at Castle Carvon, or perhaps King Navarr’s cartographer can sell us one. He passed the map. Asaph unfolded it and stared at the rough drawing Coronos had scribbled down. Holding map and reins in one hand he traced the outline of Drax with his finger. The familiar outline of the dragon tooth-shaped land was so familiar to him even though he had never been there.

  In his minds’ eye he felt The Recollection stir, and through it saw huge grey mountains capped with snow. There was snow there even in summer. The Grey Lords. The mountains protecting Draxa stood like ancient warriors - proud, majestic and ready for battle.