The Reign of Magic (Pentamura Book 1)

by Awert, Wolf

  “Brolok, could you guide some Fire into my body for a moment?”

  Brolok looked surprised but he did as he was asked, resting his broad hand on Nill’s back. Nill felt his body heat up and could feel the Water extinguishing the Fire. He began to sweat. Tiriwi was moving slowly through the ever-shrinking Water barrier to the Wood.

  Nill inhaled deeply. The first layer was done. Hopefully it would not regenerate too quickly. He felt exhausted and realized that his body was all messed up. “Brolok, stop please. There’s no water left to boil.”

  Brolok flinched and took his hand from Nill’s back, looking towards Tiriwi. She sat there, breathing evenly, in front of the seal. She looked relaxed and calm, as though it were all just a game.

  “Nill, be careful; I can feel the Fire already,” she muttered.

  Nill took over where Tiriwi left it and felt the Fire surge through his body. It was quite different to Brolok’s gentle touch. It was an inferno of burning energy, shooting in and out of his body at incredible speed. Nill thanked his mentor silently, for what Ambrosimas had taught him came in useful now. Redirecting the energy cost him barely any power. It was, however, a lot harder to take the Fire magic from the seal. It warmed his hands and blazed up his arms, only calming down once it had reached his chest.

  Tiriwi sat next to him, observing. She was prepared to intervene if anything went out of control.

  The Fire was extinguished, but some of the remaining ash had fused with the Earth and strengthened the Earth shield. Tiriwi formed the flow of magic to a steady stream and Brolok absorbed the energy from the Earth. He lay flat on his back, simply redirecting everything to the ground. Nill retreated slowly. He was utterly exhausted, but silently he was celebrating. He was able to control energy flows, not just move and see them. Still, he was surprised at how quickly Brolok and Tiriwi had removed the Earth energy. Brolok stood up and put his hands over the seal. “And now for the final touch; allow me.” Tiriwi turned her attention towards the lock. Brolok slurped the Metal magic like a man dying of thirst, but he was not releasing any at all. He seemed intent on filling up with energy and Nill could not see why. Why was he not redirecting it?

  Finally Brolok lifted a hand from the seal, pointing towards the sky. Flicking his wrist he began to fling iron, throwing stars into the hallway that led to their main cave. Every throw was accompanied by a small flash. Brolok did not tire and seemed to enjoy his role. Nill seemed to be the only one who could barely stay upright any more, while Tiriwi, though calm and collected, seemed wide awake. Upon a more careful look, however, he saw that she was at the end of her strength as well. Her eyes had retreated back into her skull, her youthful face lost its freshness and a web of tiny creases had spread around her eyes.

  Nill turned his attention back to the seal. He saw a form emerging in the center of the energy bundle. First a solid round shape, followed by a hump, and another, then a long, rolled-up tail and a neck.

  Disquiet spread through him. It was not the excitement of finally having reached his goal; no, something far more ominous seemed to emanate from this small creature. As the last layer of Metal energy dissipated, a screaming panic leapt out at Nill. Blind, aimless, angry and afraid, constantly darting back and forth. Although the lizard had not moved a jot, Nill was under the impression that a wild animal was dashing all over the place, desperately attempting to call for help, but the scream was incomprehensible. Nill attempted to enter into the lizard’s mind but failed; it was too strange, too alien for him to understand. He then attempted a coaxing call, but the falundron was growing more and more hectic whilst all the while remaining unmoved.

  Tiriwi was making quiet noises like a mother talking to an infant. Nill tried to apply an aura of trust to reach the strange creature and to his surprise the panic ebbed away, although the fear remained.

  Shock waves of thought were crashing over Nill. These were no words; they were the instinctual fear of death. He was frightened by the force with which the feeling hit him.

  “In the name of all the gods, take the beast down from the lock. It’s trying desperately to renew the barriers and I don’t have much more strength to keep getting rid of the Metal,” Brolok snapped. Nill jumped; he had rather forgotten about the others.

  He reached for the lizard and heard Tiriwi’s warning cry too late. The moment he had grasped the animal it twisted and contorted, sinking two long teeth into his forearm. Nill howled with pain and the falundron pierced his hand with its sharp pointed tail. Cold poison was gushing through his veins, paralyzing his body. His hand found his amulet and cramped around it. He remembered what Brolok had said during Tiriwi’s trial. Poisons messed with the elemental magic inherent in their bodies. Unlike a fireball, they happened at more than one spot, instead affecting thousands and thousands of cells and fibers. But he could not feel any elemental magic right now; all he could feel was the effect of the poison that froze his entire system. What sort of poison could this be? he thought.

  He began to twitch and quiver. He was cold as ice, could not move and his muscles were cramping so badly that he was bound to fall over. After the cramp, calm settled in his body, but the cold remained.

  Tiriwi was stroking the lizard’s head gently, taking care not to touch the spiked ridges on its back. Gradually the falundron began to relax. Almost unnoticeably its round back stretched out, and hesitantly, almost unwillingly, it pulled its teeth out of the wound. While it kept bleeding, the cramps and twitching stopped. The cold emanated still from the tail embedded in his hand.

  Brolok held his hands over Nill’s heart, directing a light flow of warmth into his numb body. He could not feel, but his heart had begun to beat again. Despite this his mind was wide awake. He could not feel himself, but he could establish contact with the falundron.

  “You’ve got all my warmth, I can’t give you more. What do you need; how can I help you?”

  Words and sentences were wasted on the strange creature, and its fear was still tangible, but Nill had succeeded in building a connection to the ancient animal. He closed off all his thoughts, leaving the oldest and most primitive instincts in him to react to the falundron. They spoke through emotions, a language that every living being in the world had once shared. The lizard pulled its tail out of Nill’s hand. Another stream of blood spurted forth, the drops joining the puddle on the ground from the bite wound.

  Tiriwi had stopped trying to communicate with the falundron once she had noticed that Nill had successfully made contact, and was now removing the poison from Nill’s body as best she could. Nill was gaining color again, he was growing warmer, but the numbness was replaced by an almost unnatural fatigue. The last thing Tiriwi saw him think was, appropriately, “thoughts.” Then he fell asleep.

  Sleeping means letting go. The body returns to itself, leaving part of the here and now. The Small Death, as many peoples call it, was always a new beginning. Not so much for Nill. He lay on his back, his head lolling to the side. His hand was still clenched around the amulet, and the falundron lay on the back of his hand. The holes the animal had left were still bleeding. His eyes were wide open, living and feeling with the small lizard of the old world.

  Tiriwi looked at Brolok. “They’re still talking, even though Nill’s asleep. They’re talking so, so quietly that I can’t even hear them. My thought-speak can’t get through and I don’t think any of the wise women could do any better either. The falundron truly is from another era.”

  Brolok was considering the lizard’s scaly skin. “It looks like a warrior. The armor is bent and beaten, split by swings from axes and crushed under a mace’s blow. Its skin tells the stories of a thousand battles long since passed.”

  “That’s your imagination going wild,” Tiriwi said matter-of-factly. “His scales look like an illustrated book, but the big cats’ furs do too. Age makes discerning the pictures impossible. Those aren’t ax wounds; they’re normal wrinkles.”

  “Even those spots where nothing’s moving?” Brolok asked.


  “Maybe its armor is made up of single plates, and those aren’t creases but gaps in its armor!”

  “Inviting any foe to sink a weapon into them,” Brolok mocked.

  Nill groaned, his eyes opening a little more. His glazed look was gone.

  “It’s scared, but I don’t know what’s got it so frightened. It looks like it’s anticipating a huge catastrophe in the future and thinks it’s the only thing that can stop it.”

  “The change?” Tiriwi asked.

  “I don’t know, but it must have something to do with what’s behind the gateway.”

  “How did you manage to calm it down?” Brolok asked.

  “I don’t know that either. I think it was my amulet.”

  Tiriwi and Brolok exchanged looks. “Are you sure?”

  “Not at all,” Nill grinned weakly. “But didn’t you see? It moved a little and ended up just lying on my hand.”

  “What do you mean?” Brolok hastened to catch up.

  “Its head is lying on the amulet, right here, between my thumb and index finger.” Nill beamed, stroking the falundron. “Doesn’t it look beautiful? Look at its old skin! Like a landscape of mountains and valleys. Rivers have cut grooves into it, written by the stream of time.”

  “It’s an ancient warrior’s armor!” Brolok retorted.

  “No, it’s a picture that’s far beyond recognition,” Tiriwi opined.

  “I see the world,” Nill said. “And because nobody understands the world, nobody can read the signs on its skin.” He was in a good mood, if a little weak-kneed.

  “Very well,” Tiriwi said. “We now know how to open the gateway. Put your amulet into the path behind it where it’ll be safe and we’ll return to our caves. We need some rest.”

  “I want to get a quick glance of the path. If it really is the Walk of Weakness, then I won’t get far anyway; I’m too weak already.”

  With great effort Brolok managed to pull the door open. Sweat was dripping from his face and he had to hang onto the door to avoid falling over. Breaking the seal had cost him a lot of strength. Before them lay a dark hole; they could not make anything out.

  Nill raised his uninjured hand. A small green light appeared on his fingertips, and he stepped into the tunnel.

  “Wait, it’s too dangerous,” Tiriwi called after him. She wanted to follow, but her legs disobeyed her.

  It was just like the master archivist had described it: a long, dark corridor. Nill dragged his feet along the floor. He felt weak and his hand was throbbing numbly. He had not forgotten that this was the Walk of Weakness from which many high-ranking mages had not returned. He was more focused on his body and mind than his surroundings. After a few steps he looked back and called: “You can come. It seems safe.”

  Brolok, who had slid to the floor, did not get up. “I’ll come with you another time,” he answered.

  Tiriwi gave herself a shake and followed Nill for a few paces. She immediately felt dizzy. The blood was rushing from her head, her hands and feet grew cold and all the magic in her began to vanish. It was like being pulled at from all sides. It was most prominent beneath her feet, but the ceiling above her was sapping her aura as well.

  “Nill, come back! The path will steal all your remaining energy.”

  But Nill walked on.

  Tiriwi turned around and stumbled back outside, then sat down next to Brolok. “I have no idea what’s happening in there. The rocks around you extract all your power; first your magic, then your actual strength, until nothing but an empty shell remains. You’ll feel it the moment you set foot inside. I don’t understand why Nill can’t feel it; how is he still going? If he collapses you’ll have to get him out. Physical strength and speed are all that matters in there. I’m useless once I pass the door.”

  Nill dragged himself along, for he was already weak from the wounds inflicted by the falundron. With every step he expected to fall over and fail to get up, but the ground was flat and stable, as though any irregularity had been wiped out. He would have liked to feel the floor with his fingertips but reasoned that staying upright was safer.

  The ceiling, as far as he could tell by the meager light of his fingertips, was elegantly curved. If the corridor had been larger it might have looked like a cathedral. It was well crafted; beauty, harmony and strength lay in it. Walk of Weakness, as if, he thought.

  Nill stopped and looked around. He was so far along the path now that he could no longer see the door. Darkness surrounded him. He could feel the ground and sense the ceiling. The walls were emanating ominous patterns. He looked to either side. Rough openings were broken into the walls, similar to their sleeping caves. Looks like the hermits really did make all this, he thought. But this place must have been a lot harder to excavate. The rock was less forgiving down here, not as earthy and far harder. I must be close to the center of Knor-il-Ank.

  The crude finish of the holes was strangely at odds with the well-made floor and ceiling. Nill considered throwing a careful glance into one of them, but he decided against it. Although he did not feel uneasy down here, his body yearned for rest. A few more steps and I’m turning back, he thought.

  He walked a few more steps, and then a few more. The path ended here in a solid stretch of rock. Nill reached out and his finger-lights cast flickering shadows on the wall. It felt as cold as all the others.

  It makes no sense for the corridor to lead so far down into the mountain and then to just stop. It leads somewhere, but where? Nill turned around and extinguished his lights. He stood in absolute darkness now, his fingers dancing across the rock – and then he felt it. A break in the magical pattern, but he could not tell what it was. It was less than the walls of Ringwall, and different as well. Nill was disconcerted; the magic he could feel was not any of the elements. Water, Fire, Wood, Earth and Metal seemed to be present, he knew he was breathing traces of them, but this was something altogether different to what he had known up in Ringwall and on the surface. If the Archmages and the Magon had noticed, and he was certain that they at least knew about this secret magic, then it was no surprise that nobody ever ventured down here.

  But why can I move here, and the powerful Mages can’t? Nill wondered. Tiriwi had been unable to follow him as well.

  If Brolok were here he’d probably say there’s another door behind the wall. Maybe he’d suggest I smash it with a hammer. But he could find no door, and of course he had no hammer. He was not even entirely sure that it was a door. He had wandered through the entire corridor; he had found the end of the path and dismissed his lights. And there, in the complete darkness, his hand closed around his amulet, the Falundron on the back of his hand with its tail wrapped around his wrist, he realized what he had been missing.

  The stone had no aura.

  The colorful light surrounding everything that he had gotten so accustomed to during his time in Ringwall had vanished. Nill could not recognize anything familiar in the rock, only blackish-purple clouds with slightly lighter edges. Occasionally a musty yellow was visible, but these clouds were not an aura. They had nothing to do with magical fluctuation.

  I have to come back. I have to understand what is down here, or what isn’t.

  The exhaustion, tension and pain in Nill’s hand suddenly came crashing down onto him. He also felt the falundron, differently than before. It was a living, breathing creature with whom he shared a deep connection. Nill walked back along the path, his reignited finger-lights giving him enough vision to admire the floor and ceiling, and to curse the gaping holes in the wall. They seemed like horrid mistakes in an otherwise beautiful picture. They were like gaping maws; dead holes in the rock with dark walls. There were side-caves and passages. It must have been a city down here, or rather, a maze.

  Tiriwi and Brolok breathed a united sigh of relief when Nill returned unhurt.

  “The path has no effect on me, but I don’t know why,” Nill announced. The words had scarcely left his mouth when his knees buckled and he fell to the floor. He barely m
anaged to hold his hand aloft to save the falundron from injury.

  Brolok pulled him back onto his feet. “I can see that. You’re the pinnacle of strength for all to behold.”

  Nill grinned embarrassedly. He attempted to reply a few times but gave up. What could he have explained? He could hardly stand, but his magical capacities were unmoved; the others could see that themselves. He carefully lifted the falundron’s head from his amulet, took the amulet off and hid it behind the door. Brolok closed it and Nill put the lizard back on the lock.

  “Watch over it, my little friend. I’ll be back as soon as I know more.”

  The falundron did not move, sitting ardently atop the lock.

  Brolok looked pensive. “The seal is regenerating, but I don’t know if I can go through the breaking again. We’ll have to figure out a better way to open it next time.”

  Nill nodded. “Next time will be easier. The falundron will be on our side,” he replied.

  Back in the main cave Tiriwi rushed to take care of Nill’s wounds. “They’re just holes. We’ll close them together,” she said. She held her left palm over his injuries, her mind descending into the depths of the wound. Nill felt the wounds knocking as though they meant to remind him of something, but he did not know which door in his mind they were knocking on.

  After what felt like an eternity Tiriwi looked up. “I can’t heal them.”

  “They’ll heal by themselves,” Nill said confidently, more to put Tiriwi at ease than out of conviction. Tiriwi looked unconvinced.

  Nill could barely concentrate in his lessons during the following days. Since the White Mage’s death the noble students avoided him, although nobody could really remember what had happened. All memory of the unfortunate man had been wiped out with his dissolution. As far as the students knew, neither the wand-filling nor the short duel between the prince and Nill had ever happened. Sergor-Don could only remember that something had happened, but Nill was still alive, and wherever he went, part of the memory, incomplete and incomprehensible, hung in the air.