The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy

by Aaron Hodges

Eric grinned back. “I don’t think it works that way.”

  “Eric” a voice shouted from down the hill. “Come help set the tables. Just because you’re a man now doesn’t get you out of your chores!” he swore sometimes his mother’s voice could carry across mountains.

  “It begins,” Mathew mocked in an ominous voice.

  “At least I get presents,” Eric retorted as he started down the hill.

  Eric heard his mother’s voice again and began to run. The ground was muddy from rain, but his sturdy boots carried him easily along the slippery trail.

  Covered by uncut grass and scraggly trees, the hill led down to his parents’ house on the edge of town. Half a dozen other houses also neighboured the hill but his family’s was easily the smallest. Over its thatched roof and smoking chimney he could just make out the rest of the farming village. It spread across the rolling plains, around fifty houses in all. In the distance green mountains towered over the valley, hedging them in to the west.

  Puffing, he ran up to his back door and pulled it open. Leaning down, he was sure to scrape the mud from his shoes before entering. His mother’s fury would be something to behold if he trekked mud into the house again.

  “There’s the birthday boy – or should I say man!” His father greeted him with his booming laugh and welcoming grin.

  He moved across the room and scooped Eric up into a bear hug. His strong arms crushed the air from Eric’s lungs before releasing him.

  Eric looked up into his father’s dark amber eyes. They were edged by wrinkles, with grey hairs streaked through his jet-black hair. They reminded Eric his father was no longer a young man.

  His mother’s voice echoed from the corridor. “Sounds like it’s dinner time, we’d better not keep your mother waiting,” his father said, still grinning.

  “Better late than never I guess,” his mother greeted them as they entered the dining room.

  Her hazel eyes locked on Eric from across the room. Despite her grey hair, his mother had lost none of her strength or will. She wore a dark blue dress and a smile, despite her scolding tone.

  Eric bowed his head. “Sorry mum, I came as soon as I heard you!”

  His mother shook her head, laughing softly. “Oh don’t worry you; it’s your day after all. Come here!” She too drew him into a long hug.

  They sat down at the small table then. The sweet aroma of roast lamb filled the room. Its source, a haunch of lamb, sat centrepiece on the table surrounded by potatoes, broccoli, and an assortment of other vegetables. It was a feast unlike any Eric had seen in his youth.

  They spent the evening talking of his childhood and dreams for the future. The past and future intermingled freely, both bright and full of life. Finally his exhaustion overcame him. Yawning, he bid his parents good night and headed to his room.

  There, the darkness entered his dreams. He watched as an army of demons marched across the valley of his hometown. The villagers fled before them but were overrun, dying by the hundreds. His village burned, but the destruction did not stop there.

  The demons spread across the land, entire cities burning in the night. People ran screaming from their homes, clothes ablaze, human torches lighting up the darkness. Rivers turned red with blood and then overtopped their banks to drown the land. Through it all Eric could hear the soft cackling of laughter.

  With a scream of terror Eric wrenched himself from the dream, awakening in his house, his bed. But the dream had followed him. His room was burning. Flames clung to the walls and lightning leapt across the ceiling above, leaving scorched timber in its wake.

  Eric screamed again, throwing off his blankets and leaping from the bed. The lightning caught the covers and suddenly the wooden floor was alight as well. Eric fled the bedroom, heat swamping him. The house was already ablaze and smoke filled the corridor. He held his breath and sprinted for his parents’ bedroom.

  He yanked open the door and was met by a blast of heat that forced him back a step. His eyes burned but he pushed forward again until he could see what lay within. Through the heat and smoke he made out the burning bed and its occupants. Nothing living remained in that room.

  Eric stumbled backwards, tears boiling from his face. Shrieking in horror he turned and ran from the nightmare. His heart hammered in his chest as he ran through the falling rubble, the house collapsing around him.

  When he burst through the front door a crowd had already gathered outside. He staggered a few steps towards them, and then collapsed to his knees. His hands clawed at the ground, seeking something solid at which to cling. He swayed, felt the hot tears streaming down his face.

  The crowd surrounded him, staring. No one spoke, no one approached to help him. Their eyes were wide; their mouths open in shock and fear. Some sported burns and ash covered faces, as if they had tried and failed to enter the house.

  The whispers of the watchers began to race around their circle. Eric looked around at them, reaching out, unable to form words but silently begging for their help. The crowd drew back as one.

  It was then he noticed the lightning. It crawled along his skin, jumping between the raised hairs on his arms. Sparks leapt from his arm as he moved. Yet he felt nothing.

  Eric fell backwards, scrambling to brush the horrible stuff from him. Lightning burst from his arm and struck the ground. Thunder cracked and the crowd screamed. Eric looked up at them, terror in his eyes.

  “Help me,” somehow his burnt throat managed to croak the words. It felt as though he had inhaled the flames.

  The crowd stared back at him. No one spoke a word.

  Then he saw Mathew in the crowd and turned to him. “Help me, Mathew!”

  Mathew stared at him. His face was a mask of terror but still he took a step forward. He had always been brave, always been the one to leap from high cliffs into the river where Eric had been too scared. As he walked towards Eric the crowd shifted. The inferno lit the expressions on their faces – anger, fear, agony, sorrow.

  Eric reached out to his friend. “Help me, Matthew.”

  Mathew ignored his outstretched hand. Instead he drew his dagger. Eric had seen it many times. His own parents had given it to the boy last year, as a birthday gift. It was a good blade, although nothing expensive. Now it glowed red in the light of the flames.

  “Leave now, Eric, or I swear by Antonia I will plunge this blade through your heart.”

  Beside the campfire, in the forests near Oaksville, Eric found himself once again crying at his friend’s words, at the death of his parents. If only he had known.

  Finally, he slept.

  ******************

  Gabriel sat up. His head burned and his muscles ached. Yet somehow he felt rejuvenated, filled with a strange energy that throbbed just beneath his skin. Already the pain was fading. Closing his eyes he searched his body, looking for a change.

  Nothing, and yet something felt different.

  He looked around for the demon but the clearing was empty now, the trees silent. Standing, he walked across and pulled his sword from the soft earth.

  As he turned in the direction of the road, movement came from the bushes. He watched as a wolf walked from the forest. Eyes bright as a full moon locked on his. It bared its yellowed teeth, jet-black fur bristling. A growl rattled deep in its throat. It took a step towards him.

  Gabriel stepped back as the huge beast approached. He held his sword out, ready to strike, silently cursing the demon for his useless gift.

  Sudden laughter echoed in his mind and the wolf halted.

  Relax, Gabriel. I am here to track the two you seek.

  Eight

  They were a long way from Oaksville by the time the first rays of sunlight announced the start of a new day. As the light grew, Eric turned in his saddle to check the road behind them, searching for the first signs of pursuit. The trail remained empty, but in the distance smoke from the hidden city still stained the horizon.

  Alastair was confident the hunters would have returned to protect the
city, leaving them in the clear. Eric was not so sure. Gabriel was obsessed with revenge and if he had survived the battle, nothing would stop him from following them. Alastair had proven in Oaksville that, alone, the man was little threat, but they still needed to be wary.

  They rode hard down the well-kept road. Eric bounced along in the leather saddle for most of the morning, unable to find the rhythm of his horse’s trot. By lunchtime, his backside felt as though it had been beaten black and blue.

  Beneath the canopy of branches the air was still, but the wind whistled through the upper treetops. The higher branches swayed in the breeze and a rain of copper leaves drifted slowly in the air. The cool grip of autumn seemed to have arrived overnight.

  The two had barely spoken since they had risen in darkness. Eric’s mind was racing; terrified Alastair might have reconsidered his teaching. At last, he summoned his courage and turned to the old man. “Do you still want to teach me?”

  “Of course, why should I not?”

  “The reason of daylight?”

  Alastair laughed. “No, daylight will not change my mind. A cowardly man might leave you, but I have never been a coward. Besides, without training, you would remain a danger to all you encounter.”

  Eric smiled. “Then tell me about the Elements. I thought they sounded familiar, and this morning I realised where I had heard of them before. They are the same powers the Gods possess, right?

  “Exactly. Each of the three Gods is a master of one of the Elements. In fact, they are the embodiment of those forces. That is why, unlike us mortals, they have the power to create. It is also why, together, there is no force on earth capable of defeating them.”

  Noticing Briar beginning to pull ahead, Eric gave a short tug on his reins. The horse snorted before slowing. “And what exactly does each Element control?”

  “A good question,” Alastair scratched his chin. “Well, let me think. The Light is the simplest to explain, although it is the most powerful. The Light allows wielders to control raw energy, although usually only one particular type. For instance, a Magicker might be able to control fire, or light, or even another person’s magic. As I said last night, it gives me the ability to manipulate the forces of attraction between objects.”

  “Then there is the Earth, which controls nature – animals, plants, even the earth itself. Humans too, in rare cases. Healers also fall under the Earth Element.”

  “Finally, there is your Element. The Sky is a wild and unwieldy force, Eric. It is the most uncanny and tricky of the three Elements.”

  “I see,” Eric paused a moment to digest the new information. “Where does that leave dark magic?”

  “Dark magic is the opposite of all that magic comes from. As I said last night, magic is a part of the natural world. Dark magic is wholly unnatural. To wield it, one must ignore the Elements and give themselves to their magic. It takes someone whose thirst for power defies all reason to walk that path, for it will change you in ways you cannot imagine. Magic is a perilous force, and when given free will, it incites only ruin. Allow it free rein and you may become a puppet to the very force you would control.”

  Eric shivered in horror. The more he heard the more perilous magic seemed to become. Before, he had feared the unknown. Now that he knew its name, his terror was only growing.

  As morning progressed to afternoon the trees around them began to thin. Light streamed through the canopy above, the tree trunks on either side of the path shrinking to pale mimics of those near Oaksville. Dust rose from the road with each thump of their horses’ hooves and hung in a cloud behind them. A dry, stifling heat set in with the afternoon sun.

  “We are close to the edge of the Wasteland now. It rarely rains here. The trees that survive have deep roots to tap the groundwater deep below the surface,” Alastair explained.

  They pressed on. Eric wiped sweat from his brow, sweltering in the beating sun. The forest dwindled, turning to scraggly bushes and outcrops of rock. Sweat left his clothes sticking to his skin. The carcasses of ancient trees littered the forest around them.

  Eric could hardly believe the change he was witnessing. He had heard of the Wasteland during his two years on the road, but he had steered well clear of it.

  “Why are we heading towards the Wasteland?”

  “The hunters did not give us much choice of direction, but fortunately I had already planned to head for Chole.”

  “The Dying City? Why?”

  “There is someone there I must meet.”

  “Who?”

  “I cannot say, but there is little time to waste. We’ll have to travel through the Wasteland itself.”

  Eric’s chest constricted in fear. “I thought the road went around the outskirts of the desert.”

  “It does. But there is an old road that crosses the desert, it leads straight to Chole.”

  “That’s insane. If even half the tales I’ve heard are true…”

  “Relax,” Alastair shrugged his injured shoulder again. “Most of the tales are exaggerated. Plus, I heal quickly; my shoulder will be greatly improved by tomorrow. And of course, you are forgetting you now travel with a Magicker. I have crossed the Wasteland many times without incident.”

  Eric fell silent, only partly reassured. He realised something else was still weighing on his mind. “What about the city? What if I lose control of my magic again?”

  “We will work on that. I cannot make you a master overnight, but I can help you to at least gain some control over it by the time we arrive.”

  Eric fell silent. Alastair had not allayed his fears. So far he had learned nothing to help him control the horrific force inside of him. To enter another city seemed like madness, especially so soon after Oaksville.

  They reached the end of the treeline as the sun dipped towards the horizon, lighting the sky on fire. The trees either side of them gave way to cracked brown earth, as if sliced away by the axes of men. The Wasteland stretched into the distance, where three volcanic peaks rose from the skyline. The plain was devoid of life; only the petrified corpses of the old forest remained. Dust coated their lifeless trunks. The air smelt of baked earth and old rock, and the only sounds were the whistling of the wind and the snort of their horses.

  The road veered away to their left, but a thin gravel path continued into the arid land.

  Alastair spurred his horse onto the path. He turned back as Eric directed Briar to follow. “Keep your eyes open. We’re in a different world now; these are not safe lands. Tell me if you see anything. Dark things hide within these crevasses.”

  Eric nodded, an involuntary shiver running down his spine. It did not take much imagination to fear a place like this. Suddenly the hunters from Oaksville almost seemed preferable to whatever nightmares stalked here. He prayed Alastair knew what he was doing.

  He stared at the three volcanoes stabbing up into the red sky. The middle one, he knew, was Mount Chole; the others remained nameless. They had erupted from the earth a hundred years ago, at the apex of the war with Archon. The great Magickers of the time saved the city from the lava flows, but the mountains still stood not a mile from the city, And the magic had not stopped the shadow the three peaks cast across the land. The drought that followed had all but destroyed the once great city of Chole.

  Eric hoped his magic would not be the final nail in the city’s coffin.

  ******************

  Flames crackled in the darkness. Eric and Alastair sat huddled close to the fire, its warmth warding off the chill that had fallen over them with nightfall. Above, a tapestry of stars crowded the sky.

  Eric shifted uncomfortably on his log, body aching from the long day’s ride. They were a long way from Oaksville now. He felt almost relaxed. Almost. His neck tingled. He could feel the unseen eyes of unknown creatures peering at him from the darkness.

  Alastair was not doing much to allay his fears. He sat staring into the night, as if his eyes could pierce the veil of darkness surrounding them. The silence ate at Eric.
In his head, thoughts and worries vied for attention until he found himself jumping at every pop of the fire.

  “Do you think Gabriel could still be out there?” he asked, remembering the insanity in the man’s eyes. It was not something he wished to face again.

  “I do not know. It seems unlikely he could have survived the attack on the highway, but the man was driven. He has been pushed past the brink; there is not much that could bring him back now.”

  “I think he is still alive. I think it would take more than a few bandits to stop him. He terrifies me.”

  Alastair nodded. “With good reason. There is much to fear from someone with nothing to lose. But there is more to it than that, isn’t there?”

  Eric stared into the fire. “I can’t defend myself against him. Whatever he has become, my actions created him. To hurt him would be the greatest hypocrisy.”

  He fell silent, waiting for the old man’s reply. It was a long time coming. “There is nothing you can do to change the past. All you can do is your best to make a difference now, to balance the scale against what happened in that city.”

  Eric opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly Alastair was leaping to his feet. “Get up – now!”

  “What?”

  “Up, quickly, get your back to the fire. Now!” Alastair hissed.

  Eric rose, spinning to face the surrounding darkness. He clenched his fist around the knife in his belt. The flames had robbed him of his night vision, but his eyes were quickly adjusting. His ears seemed to be playing tricks on him. Stones scattered away to their left. Then crunching footsteps from the right, or was that his imagination? His eyes flicked back and forth, but there was nothing to see. The only living things in sight were the horses, tied to a dead tree a few feet from the fire.

  A roar erupted from the darkness, shattering the silence. Eric’s body shook with fear; he had not imagined that. His nose caught the scent of rotting meat. He gagged and held a hand over his nose.

  Alastair drew his sword and dropped into a crouch. Despite his wound, he looked strong and steady. The firelight flickered on his coat, catching the silver lines that threaded the fabric.