Pure of Heart (the New Age Saga Book 2)

by Timothy A. Ray

  Taking up Richter, he approached it with firmer strides and shoved the large claymore into place. An answering click vibrated across the floor and the world around him shook as the door lowered before him, revealing another blackened interior.

  He wasn’t sure that he was ready, but what choice did he have? He took a deep breath, took a step forward, and went to meet his next test.

  III

  He was standing in front of the palace back at Camelot and Merlin had just hissed at him that he needed to get to Clint and get the sword back. He turned and saw the red armored orc called War standing in his way, the red dragon at his back, and the black turning to breath fire on the approaching ranger.

  Justice was in his hand and his shield was fixed to his left arm. The giant orc was hit by a sudden burst of green fire and he watched as Melissa pushed forward to distract War so he could get by and pursue the fleeing traitor.

  Turning his head back to the battle raging behind him, he saw Willow chanting and felt his body suddenly fill with strength. To her right stood Jared, the young blind boy reaching out and using his magic to sear an orc’s brain with his powers. His staff whipped around and caught another one just below the chin. There was something about seeing the young boy again that triggered something in his heart, and he found that he could no longer give chase; despite what Merlin commanded.

  Turning to the orc, he watched as the warrior dodged Melissa’s green flames. He tightened his grip on his sword and began advancing upon the Horsemen of War. Dragonfire swept across the black dragon and griffins fell upon it immediately after, ripping the creature apart. The red took to the sky and in the distance, he could see Kylee chasing Clint towards the outer walls.

  Ignoring them, he let out a bellow of rage and leapt at the red armored giant.

  The axe whipped his way in answer to his challenge and he raised his shield to deflect the blow. It staggered him with the force of the strike, but he kept on advancing, his sword held ready. Justice sang within his grip and he swung it at the orc’s next attack, blade meeting steel, the sword cleanly slicing through it. The end of the axe split and part of the double headed weapon fell to the ground with a loud clank. The shaft swept down and struck his shoulder, and though it jarred his arm, he swung his sword again and cleaved the weapon in half.

  Weaponless, the orc threw down the broken piece of wood and advanced on his position.

  “What are you doing?” Melissa yelled at him, throwing another useless burst of green fire into the giant’s face. “You’re supposed to be going after Dragonslayer!”

  “Kylee can handle it,” he snapped, ignoring the witch’s attempt to get him to disengage. He knew that this was far more important; something dire was at stake.

  One of the orc’s massive hands grabbed his shield and yanked him forward, the other hand driving up and into his stomach. All the air went out of him and he was thrown sideways as his shield ripped free of his arm from the orc’s rage.

  “War told brother War see him dead. War think return your head, remind War keep promise,” the orc raged, leaping his way.

  He rose to his feet and dodged to the right, barely missing the orc’s charge and feeling his armored foot scrape against the creature’s leg as he just made it clear. Rolling the best he could, he got to his feet once more and faced the turning warrior.

  He didn’t wait.

  Green fire struck his opponent in the face, causing him to stagger slightly, and Tristan took the advantage given to him, willing his sword forward. Justice sang once more and with a leap, he jammed it straight through the orc’s armor and into his heart.

  Arms gripped him and thrust him away. He fell twenty feet to the rear, his body in sudden agony as he impacted the pavement below.

  War was hovering, his massive hands on the hilt of the sword in his chest, trying to pull it free. But whatever magic had been employed held it fast and he saw the look of astonishment on the warrior’s face. “No! My Queen, War failed!”

  There was a thud as the orc fell to his knees, then fell over backwards.

  Without hesitation, he forced himself up and walked over to the red armored corpse. Justice was still impaled in the creature’s chest and he yanked it free. Then he focused his mind, allowing images of his former tutor fill his heart as he silently sent a prayer to the sword within his grip. Twisting around in a circle, he let his heart’s desire fill him and he let go of the sword’s hilt.

  It streaked through the air towards the outer wall. Just as the red dragon began to rise, Justice streaked forward and impaled it through the heart. With a bellow of rage, dragonfire spew forth and the body twisted in mid-air. Clint, barely on the saddle and not yet strapped in, was thrown free of his mount and to the distant ground below.

  Red wings continued to flap, but they were weak, and with another agonizing roar, the red dropped out of sight. The earth shook from the creature’s impact.

  “What the hell are you doing? I said to go get a sword, not give them another!” Merlin snapped from behind him and he ignored it.

  He looked to Reyna, who was finishing off one of the last remaining orcs and watched as Jared stepped towards her, using his magic to incapacitate her last foe.

  “I had that,” Reyna snapped, cleaving the orc’s head from his body.

  Jared snickered, “I know, but I was bored.”

  The two smiled at each other and he felt instant grief for some unknown reason fill his heart. Willow came to his side and looked towards the outer wall. “Where’s Kylee?”

  “Believe me, no one is happier than your sister right now. My bet, she’s working her way to the front of the outer wall to finish Clint off. Come on, let’s go help her,” he whispered, and began trudging his way down the road after the ranger and the two swords that awaited them.

  Wyrddlin roared with victory overhead and his heart filled with joy.

  He had done it; he had killed War.

  III

  He was back in the cavern, his body pumping with adrenaline, his heart filled with hope. Had all of that actually happened? Was any of it real? There was no way that could just be a figment of his imagination! He had killed War and saved Jared. The twins had been reunited and Clint was dead! If he walked outside right now would he find the blind boy snickering at him? Was it possible?

  Agonizing pain filled his body and he screamed.

  He could feel the bones of his body begin to shift, his muscles to ripple. His brain was exploding as every nerve ending in his body flared to life.

  Falling to his knees in front of the rising door, he crashed to the ground on his left side, unable to stand, his vision trembling with terror. He could feel his limbs shifting, his muscles tightening, every fiber of his body was moving and he could not stand the agony of it all.

  “What the hell is happening?” he screamed and he noticed, in terror, that his voice had deepened in pitch.

  The armor he wore began to shimmer and slowly move outward. Whatever was affecting his body was changing the graphene armor as well. What was going on? Was he dying? Had he failed to pass his test? Was he supposed to chase Clint down instead of saving Jared from War? How could that be? Had he changed history and this was life’s way of balancing the scales?

  He remembered Merlin saying that you could not cheat death and how his father had paid his debt so he could live and be here at this exact moment. Had he saved Jared and now had to pay the price with his own life?

  Screaming, he rolled onto his back and stretched his limbs wide. He could feel his ribs shifting and his chest rising higher. Toes were straining in the growing metal boots and his biceps pounded his gloved hands harder against the stone floor. A tingling spread across his face and itched like mad, every hair on his head burning like it was on fire.

  He was about to pass out when it finally stopped.

  Forcing his body to roll over, he pounded his fist against the ground and winced at the thud, yet felt no pain with the strike. Opening his palm, he forced his way to
his feet and stood there unsteady, as he slowly began to test his legs. Vertigo hit him and he almost went down again. Throwing out an arm, he tried to steady himself against the dais, but it was lower than it had been and he almost toppled on top of it.

  Confused, he lifted his helm free and let the air soothe his aching skin. It felt stretched and still tingled with slight pain. Putting his helm down on the platform that still held two swords he noticed something that he must have missed before, there were two gems nestled into place on the dais’s surface, one brown and one red. How had he missed the red one after the first test? Had he been that out of it?

  He glanced at the two remaining slots but knew that he was in no shape to continue at the moment. His body was ravenous and if he didn’t eat, he was going to pass out. Stumbling over to where his pack lay, he reached out and it flew towards his face with the strength of his pull. His other hand swept towards it quickly and stopped it before it hit him in the chin. He set it on the dais next to Madera and Justice and pulled his gauntlets off. The fingers that slid into view looked larger than they’d ever been and he flexed his biceps, feeling the strength in his arm.

  What had the magic done to him?

  He longed for a mirror, but there was none to be had. He unfastened his pack slowly, worried he’d tear it open if he did anything else, and took a large package of jerky out of the pack. Kylee had taken the time to prepare a deer she had killed while they were on the plains after Kershaw, and he was suddenly happy that she had done so. Tearing into it, he felt the salt sting his raw lips, saliva dripping unencumbered off his chin.

  Reaching up to wipe it away, he encountered hair, and his eyes looked down with shock. He could just see the outline of a moustache just under his nose and his fingers were entangled in a very short beard growth. The tips of his fingers would not sit still as they probed his face, his mouth working as it greedily swallowed a large portion of the deer meat.

  As he ate more, he marveled at the stronger chin, the more pronounced cheek bones and brow, and felt stunned as his fingers ran through long hair flowing down from his brow to the back of his head. It fell in his face and he had to smoothly push it back behind his ears. He had never had facial hair before, nothing more than a few small hairs he’d occasionally have to shave away. Had the magic aged him? Was that it?

  How many years had he just lost?

  Though the meat was helping the gnawing hunger subside, he still had a problem controlling his body. His limbs responded with more strength and speed than he had ever known and his legs felt like making him run even though he clearly wanted to just stand there and catch his breath. The aches of the journey were gone and he felt fresh and renewed.

  Reaching for Justice, he noticed that the hilt felt smaller, the sword less massive than it had before. He held it with ease, whereas his muscles would usually ache after a few moments of wielding it. He swung it experimentally, still chewing the dried meat, and felt the swiftness of his muscles swing it like it was a wooden stick instead of a sword of steel.

  Did he even look like himself? Would Willow recognize him? Would she shun what the magic had done and long for a boy that was no more?

  He ached at the thought and stared at the other two doors with unease.

  Heart had strengthened his love for his fiancé, had stripped him of doubts and untoward thoughts towards others. Which he didn’t mind one bit; that is how it should be and he accepted that. This, however, the physical changing of his body into something alien and unknown? What right had the magic have to do that to him, to change who he was?

  What would the other two doors do to him if he went through them? What would happen if he simply walked away and never came back?

  He gritted his teeth. That was not an option. Not after everything they had gone through and experienced. He had to stay the course and keep going, regardless of the changes the magic made. He had to trust that when it was over, he’d still be himself, that Willow would still love him. That in the end, Excalibur would be his and he could move on with their quest.

  Holding Justice in a grip he’d never had before, he looked at the hilt of his father’s sword and recalled the old man’s face. He had given this to him as a sign of his support and love and now it was time to show whether he’d been deserving of them, or if it’d all been a waste of time.

  Stepping towards the door with wavy lines engraved on it, he nestled his father’s sword into place and took a step back. It clicked, then the door flew swiftly upward with no resistance. Almost as if the door had been made of nothing but air.

  Again, darkness awaited and with a deeper breath than he thought possible, he steeled himself for what would come next, then stepped into shadow once more.

  Chapter 18

  Mind & Soul

  I

  Standing in a small glen, he watched as a silver armored knight began to eat a rabbit he’d been roasting on a forked branch hovering over a fire. His helm was lying by his side, as fingers stripped a few pieces of flesh free and fed it into his familiar looking mouth. Something about the figure called to him and he felt that the two had known each other for a very long time.

  Blue eyes looked his way, and though the knight kept eating, he felt tension that hadn’t been evident before.

  Who are you?

  He took a step forward, the afternoon light slowly dying in the west, and the shade of the tree fading to his rear. Walking slowly towards the knight in the fading sunlight, he eyed the man suspiciously and cleared his throat. “No, who are you?”

  Oh, I know who I am. The question is, do you know who you are anymore? Do you even recognize the person you’ve become?

  Though the man’s lips didn’t move, he could hear the stinging question clearly within his mind, and he pursed his lips as he thought over the man’s question.

  “My name is—,” he began.

  It’s not about your name, it’s about who you are inside. Names are just a word used to define a person, not a reflection of the person they are. For instance, my name is Lancelot du’Lac, meaning of the Lake. That doesn’t mean that’s who I am, only what I am called. Now, who are you?

  He shook his head. “I don’t have time for riddles. A war is raging, people are dying, and I must succeed at my quest if we’re to have any chance of winning it.” His voice was stronger, gruffer, yet he could still hear his heart reflected in his words.

  There is always a war raging. Always something to fight. Let me tell you a secret. The world will not end no matter who wins, despite what you’ve been told. We might all die, civilizations may fall, but the world will go on regardless. Even if every piece of life was extinguished, the world will go on. What we do will not change that. We are but drops in the oceans of time to the world we inhabit, and we are nothing that’ll ever be noticed or remembered.

  Tell me, stranger, why are you on this quest? For what purpose? To save the world? As I just said, that is a pointless task, so what else drives you? Why are you really here?

  “Is stopping the Phoenix not enough? Is that not reason enough to keep fighting?” he asked, coming to sit by the man’s side. They were as two old friends, having a conversation in the oncoming twilight.

  The knight offered him a piece of rabbit meat and he found himself to still be hungry and took it with a nod of thanks.

  That is why Merlin is on this quest, not why you are. You hide behind his words and pray for them to be true, but that is not why you are here. Kylee is seeking vengeance for past wrongs. Reyna was with you because of her brother, but now continues on for her own soul and need for vengeance. Willow says she wants to save the world, but the only reason she’s with Merlin is to be with you. To follow you to the depths of hell if that’s what it takes, as long as the two of you are together.

  Kore fights for the freedom of his race. Melissa continues on because she fears retribution for her actions and hopes that by going with you she’ll save her own skin in the process. Trek was sent by the Fairy Queen to look after you
r unborn child. Even Bleak tags along because he knows that a great evil is coming and that sometimes, even the smallest of people can make a difference.

  But that doesn’t tell me why you are here. Why, second son of Constantine, Prince of Lancaster, Heir to the throne of Griedlok, are you going through these tests and trying to retrieve the sword from Lady Nimue? What drives you?

  He paused and looked at the sun setting in the distance. The words that sprang to mind were automatic, but had also been used by Merlin several times to justify what they were doing. What did he really want or need from any of this? What indeed, drove him?

  You’re not strong enough to see this through. Several times now, you have failed to act when your actions could have saved lives. You saw what happened when you stood your ground and faced War. You saved Jared and killed Clint in the process. Yet, that was just a glimpse of what might have been. What really happened is you fled from battle and didn’t even have the strength to catch the man you’d been sent to pursue. Jared died and Clint got away. Why? Because you’re not strong enough.

  I am.

  Let me take your place in this quest. I will see to it that Excalibur is retrieved and given to my King, Arthur, so that he might once again ride against the forces of evil and vanquish the Phoenix from this plane of existence forever.

  I will protect Willow and your child. Kylee will not die defending Kore, and the three of them will grow old together as they raise Hope in Griedlok, long after the Phoenix is nothing but a memory. No one will die because of your foolish indecision or inaction. I will be strong where you cannot. I’ll be the man that you only wish you could be.

  The man’s words were sincere, but there was something in his eyes that he appeared to be afraid to speak. Some unspoken need for redemption.