Light in the Barren Lands: Travail of The Dark Mage Book One

by Pratt, Brian S.

  A presence appeared by the Vyrilyzk. An earth spirit had come.

  James reacted not at all as the little creature reached for an apple. A moment later, the creature and apple were gone. “Keep it up,” he said softly to the other two. “One was just here.” Resuming his humming, he waited.

  The calm and peace within the dome was a stark contrast to the hectic flurry of activity without. Mr. Barnes, having left his perch high atop The Matterhorn, now marshaled his forces in an attempt to breach the protective shield.

  “Can we blow it?” he asked a member of the L.A. bomb squad.

  The man just shrugged.

  His anger at being balked was manifested by shouts and orders to his men. Those in Washington wanted this situation diffused without damage to the park. Being as it was one of the most beloved places in the United States, they felt it inadvisable to use extreme measures in the apprehension of the terrorists. They were bottled up. And from what Agent Farmer reported before his accident they didn’t have a bomb with them, so Mr. Barnes had been ordered to hold position and not exacerbate the situation. They had nowhere to go. It was the general consensus of the powers that be that by morning, the terrorists would be in communication with their list of demands. And until then, he was supposed to wait.

  Well, waiting was something Mr. Barnes could never do. He was going to get in there, one way or another.

  Five earth spirits now stood near the Vyrilyzk. Their eyes, if eyes they had, were gazing toward the human sitting before them. It was hard for James to tell if the one from the time in the desert was in attendance, though he hoped such was the case.

  He maintained the humming for some time as others came and went. Three seemed to remain throughout. Finally, when he felt the three were sufficiently at ease, he sent forward the thought, Friend.

  Friend, yes. Gardener. Visions came from the three of the desert and of the previous Vyrilyzk made of stone with him sitting before it.

  Do you know what we plan?

  To journey home. We help the Gardener. Friend.

  He visualized Jiron and Jira. They come too. Friends.

  Hesitation. Slight agitation. Then acceptance. Gardener, yes. Friends, yes.

  A vision formed in James’ mind, one with he, Jiron, and Jira sitting close together, their knees touching the Vyrilyzk. Then in his vision, the three of them vanished.

  Sit like that?

  Yes.

  Images swarmed his mind. The intensity of the invasion pushed him to the brink of unconsciousness. “No more!” he shouted and the images ceased. Behind him, the sound of Jiron and Jira’s humming came to a halt.

  “Not you two,” he said. “They…they were trying to give me information.”

  “Should we continue?” asked Jiron.

  “Yes. Grab our bags and come sit around the Vyrilyzk. They say we should be evenly spaced about it with our knees touching the ring.” He created a very low intensity orb that was just sufficient for Jiron and Jira to find their way. As the father and daughter came closer, earth spirits scattered. All that was, except for the three who positioned themselves within the ring of the Vyrilyzk, directly across from each of the humans.

  “Give me my pack,” he said. “Jiron, make sure the duffle is on your lap.”

  Jira spied the little figure on the ring and gave a gasp.

  “They won’t hurt you,” James assured her. “They have come to lend their aid in getting us home.”

  She grinned at the earth spirit. Giving it a curtsey, she said, “Thank you.” In her mind she heard it reply, You are welcome, Earth Child.

  “It talked!” she squealed in delight. “It called me an Earth Child.”

  “Jira, this is no time to get excited,” came the stern voice of her father.

  She turned her gaze to where he had already taken his place about the Vyrilyzk. “Yes, father.” Then returning her attention to the earth spirit before her, she sat as her uncle had directed.

  “Scoot close to the ring, close enough that your knees touch it.”

  Jira moved closer. Once her knees were in contact with the outer edge of the ring, she realized the earth spirit was now within her reach. Unable to control herself, she reached out her hand.

  “Don’t,” her uncle warned. “They are not to be touched, or played with.”

  Fingers but four inches away, it was all she could do to draw her hand back into her lap.

  “Now,” said James, “I need the two of you to remain absolutely quiet and still.”

  “For how long?” she asked.

  “Until I tell you otherwise,” her father replied impatiently. “Sit still, and be silent!”

  “Yes, father.”

  “Jira,” began James, turning his attention upon her, “understand that this will take all of my concentration. Remember what happened out in the desert?”

  She nodded. “Yes, uncle. I’m sorry for that.”

  “If a similar occurrence happens here, we will never see home again.” He saw her head nod in the faint orb light.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yes,” came her reply.

  “Absolutely,” replied Jiron.

  “Then, we will begin.”

  Canceling his orb, he connected with the magic in the crystal lying before him on the floor. Around the park, twenty-three other crystals responded. As he pulled magic from the focal crystal, so too did it pull magic from the twenty-three gatherers.

  He could sense the three earth spirits before him, Jiron, and Jira. Three fountains of encouragement and support, that’s how he saw them. Hidden within the darkness surrounding them, were dozens more, each standing motionless, almost expectantly, to see what would transpire next.

  Using the Vyrilyzk as the center, James began putting in place the spells to send them home. Power surged around him and the others as the spells fell into place. At times during the process, his senses would travel to the three earth spirits standing upon the edge of the Vyrilyzk. If they felt that what he was doing was in error, they made no attempt to relay that message. Figuring such to be a good sign, he continued.

  Crystals drained as he used their power to set the spells in place. He had known twenty-three gatherers wouldn’t be able to supply the power needed. Fortunately there was another source close to hand.

  The focal point, at which the flows of magic converging upon Disneyland connected, was only a few feet above the center of the Vyrilyzk. Had that focal point not been there, he never would have even made the attempt to cross over.

  How long emplacing the spells took, he wasn’t sure, but he had to make sure everything was perfect. With what he was about to attempt, there could be no error. So he checked, and rechecked, and re-rechecked the configuration of the spells until completely satisfied that they were as they should be. Then he checked them one more time.

  “We’re almost ready,” he announced. The giddiness of Jira, and Jiron’s worry, were almost tangible in the state he was in.

  Are you ready? he sent to the creature before him.

  Waiting. Yes. Ready. Now?

  Almost. Need more magic.

  More. Yes. Much, much more.

  He opened his eyes and glanced across to where Jiron sat. “Jiron, Jira, all is in readiness. I am about to tap Disneyland’s magical focal point. After I do, I will activate the spells.”

  “And we’ll be home?” asked Jira.

  If I did everything correct, he thought. But what he said was, “Yes. We’ll be home. Now, give me absolute silence.”

  “Yes, uncle.”

  Closing his eyes again to better focus his concentration, James reached with magic toward the focal point. He did not immediately connect with it. Instead, he took a moment to examine it. There was still time to abort, the spells had not become fully activated as yet, and he wanted to ensure tapping the focal point would be safe.

  In his mind’s eye, the visual representation of the focal point was akin to the sun. Bright, with flashes of incredible intensit
y, he grew leery of connecting with it. But what choice had he? Aside from the Star and Fire, it was the single, most concentrated fount of magic he had ever encountered.

  Taking a few more minutes to grow familiar with it, he came to realize that there was indeed an outflow of the magic. A single, intensely concentrated stream drew magic from the focal point and sent it off to the southeast. So minuscule in size was the stream that James almost hadn’t noticed it.

  He knew there had to have been an outflow of magic from the focal point! Such constant accumulation without relief would assuredly have resulted in a catastrophic release of one form or another. And this outflow fit his needs perfectly. It was confined, steady, and most importantly, strong. All he had to do was tap into it to power his spells. Piece of cake!

  I am ready. In his mind’s eye, he could almost see the earth spirit nod for him to begin. First he made a cursory check of his spells one final time. Upon finding them satisfactory, he created a conduit that would bridge the gap between his spells and the focal point’s outflow. Then he connected the conduit to his spells. Not a physical connection to be sure, but one which would allow his spells to feed from the outflow.

  Once his spells were securely connected to the conduit, he brought its other end to the concentrated stream of magic flowing from the focal point. In one swift motion, he interposed his conduit within the stream of magic and…

  Wham!

  …a backlash of power exploded, knocking him backward. Jiron and Jira were knocked across the floor and the Vyrilyzk disintegrated.

  “Get back in position!” he yelled to Jiron and his daughter. Magic fluxed around him as he moved to return to his previous position. Before he could reach it, he was hit by a pulse that shattered every crystal in the park. Knocked back another step, his mind went reeling as he collapsed to the floor.

  “James!” Rushing to his side, Jiron slapped him across the face to bring him back around. When Jira came to help, he shouted, “Get back in position!”

  Without so much as an answer, she raced back and sat where she had been before. The earth spirit was gone.

  “The shield’s down!”

  Mr. Barnes turned to find Cinderella’s Castle quite visible. “Is it gone, or merely invisible again?”

  An agent rushed forward to check. When he passed the point where the shield had been, Mr. Barnes picked up his radio. “The shield’s down out here. Can you gain access to the upper level?”

  A moment of silence then, “Yes, sir. The way is clear.”

  “Then get up there and take them out before they get it working again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Though he didn’t know why the shield was down, Mr. Barnes was more than willing to take advantage of the situation while he could.

  “James!”

  Whack!

  Another resounding blow across the face finally brought him around. He looked into Jiron’s eyes. “What?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask you. What happened?”

  Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he tried to connect with the magic, and was surprised to discover that he could. Still feeling a bit fuzzy, he sent his senses toward the conduit and found it in place. The focal point was now an angry red as the conduit was blocking the outflow of magic in anticipation of James’ command to call for it.

  “Back in position,” he cried. Lurching to his feet, he summoned his orb. Returning to where the Vyrilyzk had been, he found it obliterated, pieces scattered all around the room. Of the earth spirits there was no sign.

  “Hurry,” he urged as Jiron moved to retake his own position.

  Jira watched her uncle worriedly as he sat.

  “I’m okay, Jira,” he said, just as a single crack of gunfire shattered the silence.

  Lights sprang to life in the stairwell, drawing his attention to where agents were boiling forward.

  Crumph!

  An explosion threw agents into the air as wood, steel, and concrete went flying.

  “Jiron…” But what he was about to say remained unsaid as Jira screamed, “Father!”

  Lying on his back, Jiron lay in an ever widening pool of his own blood, a dark stain darkening the center of his chest.

  “No!”

  More gunfire came from the stairwell. Jira pitched forward as two bullets ripped through her upper body. Before James could react to the horror before him, three more bullets made mincemeat of him; one in the arm, one in the back, and another in the side of his neck. The force of the impacts threw him forward.

  Men were shouting as agents moved into the room.

  Weak and rapidly losing consciousness, James glanced to the unmoving body of his friend. A small hand touched his shoulder and he turned his head to find Jira, eyes wide open, mouth working to speak but nothing would come. Unwilling to allow Jiron and his daughter to die so far from home, James sought the magic and managed to get a tenuous grasp upon it.

  The conduit was in place, the spells were waiting for his command. Then with his last ounce of strength, he activated the spells.

  In the weeks to come, the story of what happened next made the circuit through the tabloids. So out of this world was it, that the mainstream news media only mentioned it as a side note. According to those agents present within the upper level of Cinderella’s Castle, the terrorists were enveloped in a field of white, blinding light.

  Some agents were blinded, while others claimed to have seen the terrorists’ bodies turn transparent before disappearing altogether. Then in a massive, explosive sound that blew out every window in Cinderella’s Castle, as well as a third of the park, they were gone. All that was left were three areas stained with blood, and a small pile of shattered crystal.

  Epilog

  ________________________

  Kip should have been asleep hours ago. Especially considering how he and the other five novitiates with whom he shared the room were going to be awakened early the next morning. Or could it be morning already? Being in a room with no windows made determining the exact time difficult.

  Rolling over, Kip tried once again to pass through the doorway into sleep’s realm, only to find the door locked tight. “This is insane,” he mumbled to himself. When the Brother came in the morning to gather them for Morning Prayer, he was going to be like the dead.

  Maybe it was the fact that the lad in the cot next to him was snoring like a fellow twice his size? Kip felt like punching him to make him turn over, but such behavior was frowned upon in these new surroundings. Back in his old place, he would have felt no misgivings at all for mistreating another so he could get to sleep.

  As a lad of fourteen, which is as close as he could figure his age to be, Kip was used to a lot worse. Having grown up on the streets of Meuranoll, one of the many cities bordering the Sea of the Gods, life hadn’t been easy for the youth.

  Most of the street gangs had no use for him, and the few times that he’d tried stealing to squelch the growling of his stomach often as not ended in disaster. If not for the timely intervention of Brother Ollin, he quite likely would have been dead by now.

  Brother Ollin was unlike any priest he had ever encountered. Dressed not in fancy robes, instead the Brother garbed himself in regular clothes, usually clothes that had seen better days. He spent his time with the street kids, the riff-raff and downtrodden, he was both kind and generous.

  Every evening, he would invite those he spoke with to sup with him at a local tavern. Not the best inn in town, mind you, but the food was good, free, and all he could eat. Kip soon grew to like Brother Ollin very much. He never missed the Brother’s evening gatherings. Of course, the prospect of food afterward prompted his attendance more than what was actually being said.

  The Brother talked about this new god that no one had ever heard of before. Kip listened with half an ear, doing so merely to be fed afterward. However, over the course of a couple weeks, the words of Brother Ollin began to resonate with him. They started making sense. It wasn’t long befor
e Kip started asking questions of the Brother during his talks, and before he knew it, they were having actual dialogs about this new god.

  Then came the day when Brother Ollin announced his time in Meuranoll was at an end, and made requests of those he had come to know and who showed interest, as to whether they would like to travel with him back to his home temple, perhaps to become priests themselves. And Kip was one.

  He was astounded! A street rat as a priest? But Brother Ollin claimed that there were many of his fellow priests who had had just such an inauspicious start to their lives as Kip and the others. “Why,” the Brother stated, “the High Priest himself claims to have once lived on the street.” Kip, to say the least, was intrigued. Having nothing better to do, and hoping his newfound habit of regular eating would continue, he tagged along.

  Of the fifteen that accompanied Brother Ollin from Meuranoll that day, only Kip, and five others who were located in different rooms within the temple remained. Six were weeded out after a brief introduction with the High Priest. A good natured man looking to be in his late twenties, the High Priest had met each, and right then and there determined who would stay and who would have to return to Meuranoll.

  Two had already been sent packing by the High Priest by the time the man stood before Kip. Kip wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was quaking in his boots that day. He had never felt so scrutinized in his life. But when the High Priest gave him a grin and said he could stay, Kip practically jumped in the air and kicked his heels in delight.

  In the days that followed, the final three to leave had felt that this life was not for them and departed with no ill feelings on either side. Kip’s life wasn’t hard by his previous standards. Perhaps a bit tedious, but at least there were always two meals a day and no one was out to get him. He felt accepted. And for someone having grown up on the streets, that was something Kip treasured above all else.