Wielder of the Flame
Page 2
No doubt one of Victor’s cohorts had seen the act, and told him.
The air was heavy with the feel of a soon to come rain.
The afternoon light was beginning to fade as the sky transformed to a dark grey with the thickening clouds. A chill gust of autumn wind rustled the leaves of the surrounding trees.
No one noticed the small and sleek black cat hidden on one of the tree branches, silently watching the scene below.
Another punch.
Marc groaned, his stomach threatened to release his meager school lunch all over the park pathway.
“You can’t treat Marissa like that,” Marc gritted through his teeth.
Victor smirked, readying another blow.
Marc, anticipating the attack, threw his whole weight to the side as Victor’s fist flew.
Surprised by Marc’s quick motion, the boy holding Marc’s right arm was jerked downward and to the side, directly into the path of the swing. Victor’s fist connected right below the boy’s belt, between his legs. The boy let out a groan and immediately let go of Marc to clutch himself. With his arm free Marc grabbed the sleeve of his other captor and revealed a patch of forearm.
Marc bit hard and deep into the young man’s arm.
His prey screamed, throwing his assailant free.
Marc hurtled through the air and skidded across the ground.
Without wasting a moment he scrambled up quicker than he thought himself capable and bolted for the nearest grouping of trees.
“Don’t let him get away!” Victor bellowed.
Marc didn’t bother to look behind him.
He had to get away.
Bushes and branches tore at his face as he stumbled deeper into the trees.
There was a strange coppery after-taste in his mouth and he spit several times trying to get rid of it.
A bridge ahead arced over an intersecting path.
He made as if he was going for the bridge, then jumped and slid down the steep embankment to the path below. He grunted as the grass and loose pebbles raked across his back, elbows, and rear end. He fumbled on reaching the bottom, recovered, and raced under the bridge. He only followed the lower path for a brief moment before bolting towards a grouping of trees nearby.
He heard the boys yelling behind him and finally stole a glance back as he ran.
Victor and three others were racing down the hill after him. The rest remained at the top of the bridge, pointing and yelling.
Marc whipped his attention forward just in time to stop himself from running right into a tree. He dodged around it and continued on. They would easily find him hiding behind a single tree. He sprinted on. Wind whipped through his hair and twigs snapped underfoot.
It began to drizzle.
He struggled to catch his breath. The cold made his lungs sting as he sucked in air. Sweat made his shirt cling to his chest. He gasped a few times, hearing the boys getting closer. He slowed to a stumbling jog and put his hood over his hair to stay dry. He couldn’t stay ahead of them forever. He had to find a place to hide.
He ran past a few more thin trees and came upon an expanse of grass. On the far side of the grass were several different clumps of dense trees and bushes. He might be able to conceal himself there long enough for them to give up for the evening. He summoned a burst of strength and sprinted as fast as he could to one of the clumps of bushes.
He pushed through the thick growth for a good bit before his hoodie caught on some branches.
He pulled frantically, trying to free himself.
The fabric would not come loose.
He pulled harder. There was a loud ripping sound but he was still stuck.
Then he heard the boys drawing nearer and he froze.
Am I far enough in to be completely hidden? He tried to look around but leaves and twigs enshrouded his vision.
“Where did he go?”
The voice was somewhat distant.
“I swear he ran this way!” someone else added, even closer.
Marc tried to free the garment more gently, but the bushes shook with the slightest movement and he didn’t want to give away his position.
He heard footsteps draw near. His heart pounded in his chest. The sweat on his forehead turned cold from the evening’s autumn breeze. He could hear his own breath coming in heavily and he tried to slow his breathing down. It was silent. Had he lost them? He let out a sigh of relief. His stomach gurgled loudly in the silence, protesting the previous punishment it had endured. He stifled a groan from the pain and stopped himself from vomiting.
The bushes shook and a hand clamped around his wrist.
“I found him!” a boy yelled.
Marc pulled frantically.
“Quick!” the boy cried. “He’s going to get away!”
The boy yanked hard, Marc pulled back. His skin burned with the friction.
Thinking quickly, Marc unzipped his hoodie and twisted out of it.
There was a crash as the other boy fell backwards.
“Hey!” he cried, the jacket hanging limp in his hand. “He’s over here!”
Marc cursed silently to himself at the loss of his jacket and delved deeper into the brush.
The rain turned into a downpour.
Lightning filled the distant sky, followed by claps of thunder.
He tried to pick up his pace but was almost entirely out of breath. He forced his legs into a trot, but that was all he could muster.
This was it.
He had eluded them for now, but was it really over?
It was getting dark and hard to see.
Two small floating lights appeared in the darkness ahead of him, low near the ground. He froze. The lights disappeared as quickly as they had come.
The sky crackled with lightning revealing nothing were the lights had been.
What was that just now? He thought.
Once more, the two lights, like little green circles appeared, closer this time.
Another flash of lightning in the sky illuminated Marc’s surroundings.
A cat, black as night, stood not too far from him, its eyes gleaming in the dark.
It meowed, and looked hard at him.
The cat turned, facing away from Marc, as if to leave, but instead looked back at Marc, and gestured with its paw for Marc to follow it.
What the—? Marc returned its gaze, puzzled.
He glanced behind him at the sound of his pursuers getting nearer.
The cat let out another meow and motioned again, this time more insistent, and bounded forward.
The strange cat, or Victor. Marc’s stomach growled, still throbbing with pain, and helped him make his choice.
I guess I’m going to follow this cat.
It was a difficult thing to do, with only a brief sparkle of two glowing eyes now and then to help identify the cat from the darkening surroundings. The cat hastened its pace, Marc did the same. Dodging smaller trees, he batted away branches and put up his arm to brush past thicker bushes.
He had never been to this part of the park. It was so thick, like it hadn’t been tended to for a long time.
He noticed the shouts of Victor and his gang had disappeared.
The rain continued to pour, the trees failing to stop it. A flash of lightning revealed the forest around him again. It teemed with fallen leaves and vegetation. The trees were thick and ancient. Mushrooms and moss grew on and around fallen logs.
This is no park. Marc thought.
The cat had stopped just ahead so Marc stopped as well.
He looked around, and fear began to creep in.
Where am I? He thought. I’m completely lost! How did I even get here?
The cat bounded over to him and rubbed against his leg. He looked down and grinned, the fear seeping away. He always liked cats.
He bent down and petted the feline on its head.
“Huh—?”
The cat’s fur was perfectly dry, despite the storm.
Meow.
Marc sto
pped and straightened himself. Odd. He thought.
The cat’s curiously dry state reminded him of how wet he had become in the storm, and he shivered, wiping water from his face.
The creature purred at him, looking up. The cat’s intense forest green eyes sparkled momentarily. It then turned and bounded toward a thick grouping of brush and vines. It stopped there and looked back to Marc. It turned away again and pawed furiously at the undergrowth.
He then noticed an orange-golden glow just on the other side of the natural green wall.
He stood there in the rain for a brief moment, then decided the cat was trying to tell him something.
He walked over to the wall and crouched down to where the cat was scratching the vines. The small animal sat on its two hind legs and flicked its tail, content that the boy had come over.
He reached over and attempted to pull the vines apart. They were thick and he struggled against them. He yanked and tore leaves away. As he worked at the wall of growth, the golden light began to peer through. He pulled more quickly, a hunger to know what lay beyond, fueling his already spent energy.
And then he was through.
He stepped into the opening he had made, his mouth slightly open in wonder at what lay within.
Light shone from the middle of the glade as well as from a smattering of faintly glowing stars in the night sky above.
A wall of towering thick vines and overgrowth created a circle around the glade. The only opening in that circle was the one he had created. The cat jumped through the hole after Marc. Inside the grove it was quiet and dry. Despite the rain behind him on the other side of his opening, there was no storm here.
In the center of the clearing was a small hill. The undergrowth and debris had been cleared away to reveal a large boulder protruding from the hill. A sword jutted from the rock, embedded almost to its hilt. The golden orange glow emanated from the sword. The light pulsed faintly, showing through even in the small cracks of the stone.
“Wha—” he began, “What is this place?”
Meow!
Marc looked down at the cat. It tilted its head upwards to return the gaze, its eyes glimmering from the nearby glow.
He couldn’t believe this was happening.
He thought he should feel more concerned about being completely lost in a dark overgrown forest with a cat that remained dry while it rained. But despite the unusual circumstances, he felt completely calm here.
The cat bounded up the hill to the boulder and stopped to look back at the young man. It glanced up at the sword, then at him, then back at the sword.
His intellect and senses were caught up in a battle of coinciding what he was taking in with what he knew as the law of natural things, for many things he was experiencing here did not fit in with his knowledge of reality.
Despite the uneasiness in his stomach, or was it the pain from earlier? He felt an impulse to climb the hill and pull the sword from the stone.
He took the fifteen or so paces up to the boulder and stopped just an arm’s length away from the sword, to inspect it more closely.
It looked old and worn. The hilt seemed to be made of gold, but was faded and tarnished. The blade that he could see poking out of the rock was tinged with red rust, chipped in several places along the two edges of the weapon. Black streaks that looked like ash smears further tarnished the dull metal. The hand guard was a simple straight piece of metal separating the grip from the blade. The guard and pommel were littered with little dents and dings. The only beauty the weapon held was in the magical, unearthly glow it radiated.
The cat meowed and raised a paw. In response, a glowing blue and white light appeared around the young man’s middle and then vanished with a wisp of smoke. A plain brown leather belt and a sheath suddenly adorned his waist.
“Whoa!” Marc looked down in surprise and took a step back.
The cat meowed reassuringly. It looked back at the sword, gesturing for Marc to take it.
He looked down at the belt and sheath around his waist. It looked odd and out of place with his street clothes which, were suddenly, curiously dry.
What in the world is going on?
He glanced behind him, staring at the hole in the thick overgrowth. It was still there, as if to say, even now, you can leave, and return the way you came.
He shook his head and returned his attention to the sword before him. He did not wish to go back to face Victor and his gang.
With only another moment of hesitation he took a deep breath and reached out. Something warm begin to stir inside his soul as his hand physically drew nearer to the weapon. The light from the sword began to pulse more brightly. He was just inches away, reaching slowly, apprehensively, unsure of what was to come. Finally he grasped the hilt of the sword and pulled to lift it out.
It came free with ease.
As the blade withdrew from the stone the light surged for a moment in the cracks and even into the hillside, before it snapped back into the metal.
An energy began to build within the sword in his hands. It pulsed sharply, growing and brightening. It creeped into Marc’s fingers, then up into his palms and into his arms. He gripped the hilt with all his might as the magic flowed into him. It was overwhelming.
He fell to his knees, barely keeping hold of the sword.
The cat backed away slowly, watching the unfolding scene intensely.
Marc could feel every bone in his body, every corner of his mind, every part of his very soul, being filled to bursting with this power. He did not comprehend what was going on. He lifted his head upwards, looking up into the infinite sky and yelled, not in pain, but because of the immensity of it all.
And then, as the stream of energy continued to flood into him, he saw a light forming high above him, even brighter than the sun. He squeezed his eyes closed as a self-defensive reflex. But the figure in the sky remained before him. He quickly realized that the figure was so bright he could still see it through his closed eyelids. He turned his head away so that he would not go blind.
A rush of deafening wind tore past his ears and an invisible force hit his torso like a freight train, throwing him to the ground and entering into his soul like a crashing, thundering wave of power, and energy, and life.
The world was subsequently sucked inward in a single instant as the form and the magic completed their transfer.
And then, everything went black.
Chapter Two
Recognition
The sun was finishing its descent on the horizon, darkness quickly approaching in its wake.
The impending shadows of the forest surrounding Soren made him feel uneasy.
He was tall and brawny, and not usually an easily frightened man. Whether it was the creaks and groans of the oncoming night, or of the increase about sightings of mysterious things lurking in the area, there was just something about the dark woods that troubled him. He clicked his tongue and shook the reigns to make the two beasts that were leading his wagon move a little bit faster. In turn the animals picked up their pace, making the wooden wheels of his wagon squeak in protest.
Good investments. He thought, as he recalled when he first bought the two balkars.
Balkars were generally large and bulky, with thick scaly hides. But these two had seemed tougher than most, which is why he had paid the extra coin for them. One had a turquoise colored hide which was dark on top and gradually faded into a fleshy pink underbelly. The other beast had a richer cobalt blue hide fading into a grayish pink underbelly. Not uncommon colors for the animals.
There were two long poles attached to the front and rear of the wagon with hooks on the end. Lanterns were attached to the hooks. They swayed back and forth in rhythm with the rotation of the wheels and soft thudding of the balkars’ hoofs against the ground.
He nodded, satisfied with the creatures’ pace.
For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, he turned his head and checked behind him to make sure everything was alright.
Besides him and the contents of the wagon, two older teenage boys rode with him. The one with black hair and fair skin was Zildjin. The other, who sat at the rear, had light bronze skin and brown hair, Sesuadra.
Good boys, He thought silently, Eleanor sure raised them right.
Only four cycles had passed since they had apprenticed under him. Sesuadra and Zildjin had been younger then, thirteen and fourteen respectively, but still eager to learn, and willing to work. Mornings working with him, afternoons with Eleanor, and evenings training with Topar, they were growing up quickly. But in these hard times that was only to be expected. Living a carefree life was a commodity only the rich could afford.
Soren was not a wealthy man, but he considered himself to be well enough off.
The three were dressed in roughly the same fashion of clothes. Well worn garments that had been made to last, and appeared just so.
Soren combed a hand through his dark brown, mid-length, hair. It was streaked with gray at the temples, revealing his age. He pushed the rest of it back away from his face with his other hand, pausing momentarily to stroke his beard. A plain one handed broadsword with a double ring guard was sheathed at his belt.
It is getting late, Soren thought to himself, probably best to stop and make camp soon.
He glanced at the quickly appearing stars in the dark sky, and the two large circles, Tinven and his sister Oata, among them. Oata will be bright this night, he thought, and Tinven will try and hide her for his jealousy. He looked up ahead for a small clearing in the trees that would be suitable to rest for the night.
“You keep looking back as if someone is following us,” Zildjin said. “Afraid of the Revenant hidden in the shadows?” He attempted to shake his own fear away by drawing attention to Soren’s apparent unease.
“I am only doing so to make sure you and Ses are not eating all my goods,” Soren replied in jest. “I know you love churta.”
Sesuadra turned at his name and grinned at the comment, but otherwise remained silent.
“Your goods?” Zildjin joked back, “Excuse me, but who were the two who loaded all this into the wagon? And I do not like churtas I like reytuls. Just keep your eyes on the road, we would not want to run into any trees now.”