He had his artifact. Now, how to imbue it? He had received no instructions on imbuing artifacts. Like all other aspects of his magical education, this area lagged. Ling, or was it Teresa…He smiled inwardly thinking about them…One of them had said you needed to use your conscious will to intentionally imbue an artifact.
He closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind with the meditative techniques his mother and then Ohin had taught him. It took a while, the images of the day’s events fighting to displace his focus on his breath.
Many minutes later, with his mind stilled, he felt within himself for his subtle energy and as he grasped it, he filled his mind with thoughts of love and compassion, willing this mix of mind and energy to enter the candleholder. For nearly twenty minutes, he concentrated his mind on the energy within himself, focusing it and guiding it into the candleholder. Finally, he had to stop. He was dozing off. And to be honest, he wasn’t even sure if what he was doing was working. He tried to use his magic-sense to determine if the candleholder had acquired any imprints, but if they were present, he felt too exhausted to sense them. He blew out the candle and rolled over. He fell asleep within moments, dreaming nightmares of nightmares within the nightmare he was living.
He woke to a knock on the door.
Pishara entered the room carrying a silver tray with covered plates and a small oil lamp. She placed it on the table as Gabriel sat up. The smell of bacon wafted through the air and Gabriel’s stomach groaned. Darkness still clung to the windows.
“What time is it?” Gabriel asked, getting to his feet.
“Time for you to begin your day,” Pishara said. “Your tutors will be waiting for you in the training arena at sunrise. You will eat now. Dress quickly. I will return shortly.” Pishara bowed slightly and walked from the room, closing the door as she left. Gabriel splashed some water on his face from a basin on a table in the corner of the room. Drying his face, he sat down at the dining table and lifted the silver cover from the plate. Eggs, bacon, fresh sliced strawberries. Better than he had expected. He wolfed the food down and then changed into his now standard black clothes.
Pishara knocked and entered shortly after he had pulled his boots on. She said nothing, gesturing him to follow, so he did so in silence. She led him back down the stairs and through the corridors of the palace. Gabriel tried to guess which turn would be next, which led to arena. He found he was right less than half the time.
He noticed that palace servants and soldiers they passed all gave them a wide berth, stepping to the sides of the halls, servants stopping and bowing their heads, soldiers staring straight ahead, and the few mages they encountered looking at him with a mixture of distain and sometimes outright hatred. Gabriel assumed it was because he was Kumaradevi’s favorite pet now and that meant there would be fewer opportunities for any of them to become her pet. He would have gladly traded places with them. When Pishara delivered him to the training arena, he saw no evidence of the previous day’s execution. His six tutors waited for him in the sunken, sand-covered pit.
“You will need this,” Pishara said as she removed a dagger from her pocket and handed it to Gabriel. Gabriel held it in his hand. The sheath was fashioned of hardened leather and the handle of simple serrated wood for a better grip. He slid the blade out slightly, touching the blackened steel. He didn’t need to be told that it held numerous negative imprints. He could sense them even before he touched it.
“Thank you,” Gabriel said.
“I am told that it has slit the throats of over a hundred men, women, and children,” Pishara said, her voice betraying no emotion. He wondered how she really felt about Kumaradevi and her palace and her world, but he knew better than to ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, even if it was the truth.
“It will be your talisman today,” Pishara said. Gabriel wondered how much she knew about magic and why she was the one to hand him the dagger.
Pishara motioned for him to descend the stone steps that curved along the arena wall and to the floor below, but she did not follow him. As he walked down the steps, he noticed another mage standing along the top of the arena walls. His insignia identified him as a Time Mage. Gabriel probed the dagger and was surprised to find that it was not nearly as powerful as his pocket watch. Great, his first lesson and already he was being hobbled. As Gabriel stepped into the arena floor, Malik strode forward.
“You are the Empress’s new pet,” Malik said, “so we will train you like one.” Gabriel almost laughed at the mention of the word ‘pet,’ but he knew that would be the wrong way to start the day. No sense giving them the idea that the pet might be mocking them. “Do you know how to use that?” Malik said as he looked at the dagger in Gabriel’s hand.
“Yes,” Gabriel said, he hands tightening on the dagger instinctively.
“Good,” Malik said. “Then we begin.” Before Gabriel could blink Malik had disappeared and Gabriel felt a boot in his back trusting him forward to the ground. Wiping the sand from his face, he looked up to see Malik grinning. “Too slow. Maybe you are not awake yet. Maybe you need something to stimulate you.” Malik nodded to Malee, the Thai Fire Mage. A moment later, the ground around Gabriel exploded with bolts of lightning.
Gabriel leapt to his feet, reaching for the magic within and focusing it through the blade, the taste of its imprints on his mind like thick black oil over sweet, ripe fruit. He tried to jump through space to the top of the arena, to get a better view and assess the situation, and honestly, to get as far as possible from the Dark Mages. He flickered at the top of the arena wall and found himself back where he had been, standing in the sand. A space-time seal. If he hadn’t been so distracted he would have sensed it. The ground beneath his feet welled up and erupted, throwing him through the air. He landed on his shoulder and heard a popping noise as he dropped the dagger.
“You cannot jump out of the arena,” Malik said in a booming voice. Gabriel now knew why a Time Mage stood on the arena walls. “And you must never drop your talisman.” The talisman flew through the air and struck Gabriel in the stomach as he sat up. He groaned as the air rushed out of him. As he scrambled to his feet, he tried to wipe the tears of pain from his eyes without letting his tormentors see. He saw Heinz laughing as he stood up. For the first time he noticed Kumaradevi seated on her viewing throne on the balcony above. He turned his eyes away from her and focused on the six mages spread out around him. His arm hung uselessly from his shoulder, the pain making it nearly impossible to keep from crying out. However, he knew that would not be a useful thing to do.
“I think his shoulder is dislocated, Malawi,” Heinz said. “Maybe you should help him with that.”
“Certainly,” Malawi said, “Maybe you could assist me.” A pain that made the pain in his shoulder seem like a gentle caress suddenly racked Gabriel’s body. He felt his shoulder pop back into place, but the pain did not end. He felt his body go rigid, his breath becoming quick and short and then he did cry out. He screamed, the pain seeming to grow with the volume of his voice. Then he felt himself being lifted in the air and hung upside down.
“Enough,” Malik said, and Gabriel fell six feet to the ground. He managed to tuck himself into the fall and roll to avoid injury this time. “He doesn’t seem to know how to defend himself. Your previous instructors were very poor indeed.”
“Seventh True Mage, my ass,” Bob the fat American said.
Gabriel knew he needed to do something, anything, to fend them off for a little while. Pretending to struggle to his feet again, he reached for the magical power within and focused it through the dagger. A windstorm of sand erupted from the floor of the arena, a whirling tornado trapped in the circular stone walls. A bolt of lightning struck out for him, but he was no longer where he had been standing. He appeared behind Malawi and as he focused again, she flew through the air, smashing into Heinz. Another bolt of lightning struck near where he stood, but he already stood across the arena again, balls of fire erupting from his hands to join the vorte
x of sand spinning through the air. He felt Malik appear next to him, but he jumped again and again as Malik followed, swinging his fist at Gabriel’s head.
Gabriel focused the next time he jumped, and Malik flew into the wall of the arena. A lightning bolt from Jin’s hand burst toward him, and he caught it in his own hand, a blaze of light connecting them for a moment, then he flew backwards, falling in the sand. He jumped through space even as he fell, coming to stand behind Jin and focusing his Wind Magic to throw her through the air. Then his head split in two by the pain that suddenly tormented it, like a knife twisting deep into the frontal lobe of his brain.
“Pretty good, boy,” Bob the Soul Mage said, “but not good enough.” The wind storm collapsed, sand falling to the ground as the other mages got to their feet. Gabriel struggled against the pain in his head, but like the bolt of lightning that had been too strong for him, he couldn’t resist it, falling to his knees. The dagger he had been given simply wasn’t powerful enough. He noticed now that the bright spheres that each of the Dark Mages wore at their necks were not amulets. They all wore a concatenate crystal, each likely linked to one of Kumaradevi’s battlefields. They each had access to far more magical power than he could muster. As the pain ceased, he fell backward to sit on the ground.
“Better than I thought you could do,” Malik said, “but not well enough. On your feet. Let us see how you defend against simultaneous attack.”
The rest of the morning was more of the same. Gabriel being attacked by several vastly more knowledgeable mages with far more powerful talismans, trying to defend himself, or simply trying to evade their attacks. Lunch was a simple meal of meat, bread, and cheese served in a plaza above the training arena. Gabriel noticed that his meal looked considerably less appetizing that that of his tutors.
The afternoon was reserved for one-on-one instruction. He trained with Malik, who taught him how to slow his perception of time in battle. This mostly involved Malik entertaining himself by whacking Gabriel with a wooded staff while jumping from position to position around him. During the one-on-one sessions, Gabriel was forbidden from using any magic other than the one he was being taught. He was only allowed to use multiple magics when facing multiple opponents. Although he was tempted to violate this stricture, he refrained from doing so out of fear that the punishment for infraction might be worse than the training itself.
By dinner, he was more bruised and exhausted than he had ever been in his life. Most annoying, the dagger was taken from him each time he left the arena, so there was no chance for using his powers to heal himself, much less escape. Dinner that night was served in the main dining hall, where all evening meals were held. Although Gabriel sat at Kumaradevi’s side as usual, she did not speak to him. She carried on conversations with others at the table, but he was invisible to her. No one else spoke to him, either. He ate in silence, and was happy for it. He also noticed that the attendants served him the smallest, worst portions of everything at the table. Apparently, his performance in the arena dictated the quality and quantity of the food he might receive.
That night in his chamber, he rubbed his shoulder as he concentrated on imbuing the candleholder with positive imprints. He lasted only a few minutes before collapsing in the sheets, which were noticeably less soft. He dreamt of fighting shadow-clad warriors each with swords while he brandished a butter knife.
He woke to Pishara bringing him a bowl of cold porridge. He grimaced as he ate it, dressed, and followed her to the arena where the day unfolded very much like the day before. The day after that was similar, and the day after that and so on for week after week, the only variation being the quality of the food he earned and the artifact that he could use as a talisman. Some days it was the dagger, other days a sword, one day an axe, but they were never as powerfully imprinted as his pocket watch. If he performed well, his reward was an edible meal. If he did badly, he received some manner of indigestible gruel on his plate.
He took solace in the knowledge that after nearly six weeks, the imprints of the candleholder were nearly half as strong as the talismans he practiced with each day. He calculated that if he could manage to continue to imbue the candleholder for six months, it would be nearly powerful enough to use in an escape attempt. However, an escape looked less and less likely each day. As he had continued probing his chamber for possible flaws he could take advantage of, he had discovered that the walls, door, and windows were reinforced with magic. It would take a great deal of magical power to break out of his room. That meant attempting escape outside of his chamber and that would be very difficult as Pishara and his two guards followed him everywhere.
He lay in bed each night going over various options and possible plans. It helped buoy his spirits and keep his mind off the torments of the day. He made a strict rule with himself that he would never let the Dark Mages see him cry while he suffered at their hands. No matter what they did, he would not let them see a tear on his face.
However, alone at night in the darkness, he could not stop the tears from coming, could not hold them back. He felt helpless while in the arena, and he was just as helpless in the bed at night, but at least he could admit his fears for a few minutes. The strain of holding his fear at bay all through the day, day after day, felt like a balloon resting on the tip of a knife. Like he would burst and disintegrate at any moment. But the tears helped. They calmed him. And gave him enough clarity of mind to continue imbuing the candleholder.
The near impossibility of escape, and the steady daily abuse at the hands his instructors, left him in an almost constant state of depression. Pishara stayed with him one morning as he tried to force himself to eat the cold and hardened oatmeal she had brought him for breakfast. He had been knocked unconscious the day before, and this was his reward.
“You are no longer making progress,” Pishara said quietly. Gabriel raised his head as he smashed the tasteless oat paste into his mouth and swallowed. It was odd enough for her to have stayed, but even more unusual for her to speak of his training. She rarely said anything that was not an explanation or an order.
“I’m doing the best I can with the talismans they give me,” Gabriel said, his voice angry as he glared at her. How could she possibly understand what he faced every day in that infernal arena?
“You must try harder,” Pishara said, “or they will have no respect for you. And if they do not respect you…” She let the rest of the sentence fall away. He knew what the unspoken words implied. If he could not make them respect him, the abuse would only continue and likely worsen. He needed them to see him as the Seventh True Mage instead of an apprentice-pet to be bullied and beaten.
“They each have linked concatenate crystals,” Gabriel said, putting his spoon down forcefully. “If I had one of those, I could beat them.” It was true, he thought. If he had one of the crystals, he could best them. But he knew better than to ask Malik for one. And in a way, he was thankful not to have one. It unsettled him enough to touch the tainted imprints of the talismans Pishara gave him. He did not want to think about the wave of revulsion that would flood him if he linked his mind through a concatenate crystal to one of Kumaradevi’s battlefields.
“That is unfortunate for you,” Pishara said, almost sounding like she cared. “There are whispers that you are not what you have been said to be.”
“Hand me a talisman with grace imprints, and I’ll prove it,” Gabriel said, his voice as bitter as the taste in his mouth. Pishara said nothing in response. She smiled slightly and bowed her head toward the door, indicating for him to follow her to his lessons. Gabriel pushed the chair away from the table, stood, and followed her out the door.
It had taken him a few days to realize it at first, but Pishara never took him to the training arena the same way twice in a row. There were dozens of ways to navigate through the palace corridors from the tower to the arena, and she choose a different one each morning and each night. But after so many weeks, Gabriel was confident he knew where he was and how to get wh
ere he wanted to be in the palace if he needed to. He knew the way to the coliseum where he attended violent games with Kumaradevi twice a week and the paths to the temple where helpless villagers were sacrificed to the Empress, who Gabriel had discovered was worshiped like a god by the people of the Kumaradevi’s world. Naturally, she demanded sacrifices to bestow her grace.
He pushed away the thoughts of his mental map of the palace and his plans for escape as they came to the top of the arena stairs. As usual, Pishara handed him his talisman for the day. It was a sword again, but not one he had held before and he sensed something different about it at once. As she laid it in his hand, he knew immediately that this was a very unusual sword. It held imprints of both grace and malignancy. Pishara said nothing to him, only bowed her head, and walked away. As he walked down the stairs, Gabriel examined the sword. It had a leather-and-wood sheath and a leather-wrapped handle. Pulling it slightly from the scabbard, he examined the double-edged blade. As he stepped into the arena, he unsheathed the blade entirely, holding the sword up in the early morning sun, watching the light play along its polished surface. He knew what sword this was.
“The boy bares his steel today,” Heinz said with a laugh.
“He must mean to challenge us,” Malik said. “We have apparently been too easy on him.”
“Then we should show him the respect of honoring that challenge,” Jin said with a wicked laugh.
Gabriel looked up and for the first time in nearly two months of captivity and cruelty, he grinned. He reached into himself for his magical power and focused it into the sword, the sword once wielded by the man he had seen executed the first day of his confinement. The sword used to defend the innocent as well as to kill. The sword that was at once tainted and imbued.
The Wizard of Time (Book 1) Page 21
