by Aaron Hodges
With the beasts vanquished, Alastair moved to Eric’s side. He raised a pale hand and placed it on his head. Warmth spread through his body. “You are safe now, Eric. Antonia has healed your wounds – life awaits you.”
“And you?”
Alastair’s smile faded. “My time is over, but yours is only just beginning. Enjoy it; fill it with love and family and friendship. Do not repeat my mistakes. I wish you well,” he began to fade away.
“Alastair, wait!” Eric cried out, desperate.
“Yes?”
“Thank you!”
Alastair smiled, and vanished.
Antonia walked from the gloom. She offered him a pale white hand. “Life beckons, Eric.”
******************
Eric sucked in a breath of sea air. His hands went to his chest and found the tear in his shirt, but the skin beneath was whole. He looked up. Around him was a dome of light, shutting off the outside world. Beside him sat Antonia, dried tears on her cheeks. She forced a smile.
“You saved me,” it was not a question. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t the only one there, Eric. I would have been too late.”
“Is he still here?”
She shook her head, voice breaking. “No, he’s gone now.”
Eric nodded. The dome faded, slowly revealing the world without. He could hardly bear the thought of returning to it without Alastair. “I’m going to miss him, Antonia.”
“We all will,” she whispered. She wore her fatigue like a cloak.
“You’re tired.”
Antonia sighed. “Archon is mustering an army. It is taking all our strength to keep his magic from the Three Nations. Soon the last of our protections will fail, and his demons will be free to wreak havoc on us.”
Eric shot up. “The demon!”
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “It has fled.”
“Why did it come here?”
“I believe Balistor had a way to inform his master about your plans. Archon attacked us, creating a distraction for his demon to sneak through and come for the girl.”
Eric looked away, his hand absently feeling where the blade had pierced him, remembering the icy chill of the blade. “What did it do to me?”
“It carried a Soul Blade, a creation of Archon’s. When it inflicts a wound to a Magicker, the victim’s magic is absorbed into the blade.”
Eric shivered. “That’s not all though, is it? I felt something from the blade… infect me.”
“Yes. Your magic is intertwined with your soul. The blade allowed the demon to borrow your power, but it cannot last without your soul. So the blade sends its magic into its victim. That dark magic harries the spirit, breaking down your will. Eventually, it engulfs everything you are, and the Soul Blade swallows the soul.”
Shuddering, Eric thought of the wolves hunting him through his mind. If it had not been for Alastair, they would have taken him, consumed him.
“Does this mean my magic will return?”
“Yes, it will replenish itself where the Soul Blade cannot. Its power will be gone by now. The demon will need a fresh victim,” she smiled. “And I have replenished your magic with my own strength.”
“Thank you,” he hesitated. “Was it truly Thomas?”
Antonia’s face twisted with pain. “His body, yes. Such an awful fate, but I will put an end to his suffering,” she stood.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere, yet,” she offered him a hand. “Come, I believe there are some people waiting to see you.”
Eric smiled and stood. A fire burned further down the beach, ringed by his companions. They stared into the golden flames, backs to the night. He could hear the faint whisper of their conversation. They moved towards them.
When they were just a few steps away, Inken turned her head. Her eyes widened, a grin splitting her face, then she was up, sprinting towards him. There was no avoiding her as she tackled him to the ground.
His breath whooshed from his lungs as they landed in a tangle. He coughed and then started to laugh. “Nice to see you too, Inken!”
She pinned him down and planted a kiss on his lips. There were tears in her eyes. Her breath was warm on his cheek. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, Eric, or I swear I’ll… I’ll…”
Eric pressed his mouth to hers, silencing the threats.
When they broke apart, Inken bowed her head to Antonia. “Thank you, Goddess.”
“It was my pleasure, and please, call me Antonia. Come, let’s return to the warmth of the fire.”
Inken nodded and pulled Eric to his feet. They re-joined the others.
Caelin rose and slapped him on the back. “Welcome back to the world of the living, my friend.”
“I’m glad you’re healed,” Michael offered.
Eric returned their greetings, noticing Enala still sat hunched by the fire. Her face was steel and her eyes did not seem to have registered him at all. He moved across to her and held out his hand.
“Hello, Enala. My name is Eric, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he introduced himself.
There was no response. Frowning, he turned to the others.
Antonia answered the unspoken question. “Enala has retreated from the world, from the pain. It will take more than magic to bring her back. But that is a worry for tomorrow.”
Silence fell. Despite his recovery, grief still hung over them. He looked at the miserable band, filled with a chilling anger. He forced it down.
Antonia stood. “I should leave now. The demon must be found and destroyed.”
“Wait! What do we do now?” Michael asked.
“You put your dead to rest. Use the boat, he always liked the idea of a burial at sea.”
Eric climbed to his feet. “Stay, Antonia. You knew Alastair better than anyone. Say your farewells with us. Besides, you’re exhausted.”
Antonia gave a sad smile. “I have already said my goodbyes, Eric. And the demon must be stopped – before it finds more power. But I will leave you each with a farewell gift.”
She raised a hand. Light seeped from her skin. It crept to Caelin first, his burns vanishing at its touch. The rings beneath his eyes faded away. Then the light spread, to Michael, and Inken, and finally Enala. Only the girl did not seem to notice her bruises healing.
They raised their hands in farewell. Antonia vanished into the forest.
******************
Alastair’s emerald eyes stared up at him. His skin was grey, devoid of life. Eric could not bear to look at him. His thoughts turned inwards, to remember the man Alastair had been. The man who had laughed with him, who had offered silent comfort against his despair. The man who had told him of his magic and protected him from its darkness. Most of all, he remembered the man who had been his friend.
The wisps of his grey hair and beard blew on the gentle ocean breeze. The wrinkles of his face had receded, restoring his lost youth. He looked to be at peace. Yet Eric’s heart was breaking.
Inken stood beside him, offering her silent comfort. The others ringed the black skiff in which they had placed Alastair’s body: Caelin, who had killed the traitor, and Michael, who had helped Eric save his mentor just a few days ago.
Eric’s eyes burned. He reached down and squeezed Alastair’s cold hand. His heart ached. It was hard to convince himself this was not still some horrible nightmare. Alastair was dead. During the short time they had known each other, the man had carried him through so much. He had bestowed on Eric the gift of knowledge, the ability to control his magic. Not once had he asked for anything in return.
He felt the debt all the same. Alastair had given his life in the fight against Archon. It was up to them to carry on that fight. He would not rest until the Three Nations were safe again.
For now though, it was time to say goodbye.
Eric stepped up to the black skiff. His eyes brimmed as he placed his hands on the hard wood. The tears spilt, running in torrents down his face. Inside he was breaking, but he had
a job to do, final words to say.
He looked down at his mentor. “Thank you, Alastair, for all you have given us. Farewell.”
His grief broke free and he began to sob. He started to push all the same, his friends stepping in to help. The skiff crunched on the sand and into the ocean. There the fierce currents took hold. There were no waves tonight, but the water lapped at the sides. It drifted out into the bay.
Inken nocked an arrow to her bow and lit it in the fire. Her hands shook, but they steadied as she drew back the bowstring. Firelight sparkled in her damp eyes. She loosed.
The arrow arced out across the waters, a tiny shooting star. It fell, striking Alastair’s final resting place. The wood and tinder they had stacked the boat with blazed into light. Flames reflected off water and heaven.
No one spoke. Eric felt an arm around his waist. He looked to Inken, saw his grief reflected in her eyes. They stood and watched, offering one last silent farewell to the great man.
“What now?” Inken whispered.
“We live.”
Epilogue
Antonia yawned, her eyelids beginning to droop. She shook her head, fighting the fatigue. She walked on with hands outstretched to brush against the vegetation as she passed. The trees leaned towards her, branches and vines reaching out like arms to embrace her. The thick tree trunks groaned. Their voices whispered in her head, told her their story, of the demon’s passage. It would not escape.
Her pace slowed as the chase stretched on. The day had taken its toll and all she wanted now was to rest. The call of sleep beckoned. The thought scared her; she had not needed to sleep in decades. She could not afford to now.
Antonia pressed deeper into the forest. Feeling her weakness, the trees offered their own strength. She took a drop, but with winter coming, she knew they had little to spare.
The demon had not stopped to recover from its battle. She had already covered miles and her prey still showed no sign of stopping. The forest was broken and battered from its passage. The trees whispered of the demon’s pain. The dragon had hurt it badly. That would make her task easier.
Her bare feet caught on a rock, sending her tumbling to the ground. Cursing, Antonia sat up. This method of travel was far too time consuming for her liking. If only I could rest! She closed her eyes, just for a moment, gathering her strength. Her spirit was weary, her limbs lethargic.
Her thoughts turned to her brother, Jurrien. She wondered how he was coping after their ordeal. He possessed a greater stamina than her own, though he had borne the brunt of Archon’s initial assault.
She let out a long breath, bracing herself to push on. Yet sleep still beckoned, so tempting, so needed. She relaxed again, wriggling sideways so her back was against a tree. She would rest for an hour and push on when she woke. The demon would not get far.
Her breathing slowed and her thoughts began to drift. She slept.
******************
The demon watched from the shadows. He wondered how long the Goddess had been sleeping. It had taken him most of the night to circle back and morning was fast approaching. He had to act quickly.
He slipped forward, smiling in anticipation. Archon’s plan had worked better than they could ever have imagined. The Goddess herself had come after him, and she was exhausted in both mind and magic. The battles of the last few days were too much, even for her. She should have rested before giving chase. The mistake would cost her dearly.
Silent as death, the demon slid between the trees. Antonia slept on. He pulled one of the Soul Blades from its sheath and drew closer.
The Goddess’s chest rose and fell in steady succession. Her magic had shrunk to a dim spark, fluttering with each breath. The Soul Blade would pierce both easily. Smiling, he raised the sword.
Antonia’s eyes flickered open. Her mouth opened in shock. The blade flashed down. It met a second’s resistance as the God magic rose to defend her, but the black magic sliced through like butter. The blade slid home.
Antonia screamed, stiffening against the cold steel. Her eyes widened, her fingers clawing at the Soul Blade, cutting on the sharp edges. Her legs thrashed, unable to reach him. Her body fought to heal itself, but with the sword in place the magic could not save her. Light flashed from her body, burning his eyes. Each flash quickly died, sucked into the dark depths of the Soul Blade.
The Goddess’ struggles began to weaken. Her hands were bloody from their fight with the sword, her dress turned red. She screamed again, as though the sound itself could move him. The demon drank her pain, savouring the taste, the sweet essence of her fear.
Slowly her magic began to fail. Powerful as she was, the God magic could not sustain her mortal body forever. Her struggles grew feeble, her fingers slipping from the blade. Her purple eyes stared into his, her chest heaving with tiny gasps. He could feel her magic raging against the sword’s power, fighting him with every inch of her will. He held on.
At last, her eyelids slid closed. A final breath hissed between her teeth and the Goddess of Plorsea gave herself over to death.
And her spirit went screaming into the Soul Blade.
HERE ENDS BOOK ONE
OF
THE SWORD OF LIGHT
TRILOGY
The Adventure Continues below in Firestorm
Book Two: Firestorm
Prologue
They appeared as the first glow of the morning sun touched the horizon. Great wings thumped the cool air, golden scales glittering in the dawns light; one, two, six, a dozen. Bursts of flame licked the treetops as the beasts circled, great eyes staring down at them. Wind whipped about the cove, catching in their golden wings.
Below, the surf roared and waves rushed up onto the black sands. The tang of salt stung the air as a fine mist of sea spray settled on their clothes. A breath of wind whistled through the trees behind them, carrying with it the bite of winter. Beyond the breakers the sea raged on hidden reefs. Dark cliffs stared down at them, casting the cove in shadow.
Eric sat on the cool sand watching the dragons, his chest tight with dread. He knew what they were here for, what they wanted. The body of Nerissa lay nearby; her golden scales dull with death. The dragon’s bravery had saved them all, her crimson flames driving off the demon. But Nerissa’s defiance had come at a price. Now her kin had come to claim their own.
He just prayed that was all they sought.
His companions sat around him, watching the display in grim silence. Inken sat beside him, her arm resting gently against his back. Reaching down he squeezed her hand, drawing strength from her presence. She glanced at him with her hazel eyes, scarlet hair shining even in the shade. Tears and burns marked her clothing, but beneath her skin was whole; healed by the Goddess Antonia.
On either side of them rested Michael and Caelin, the doctor and the soldier. Caelin sat with his legs folded, muscles rippling as he tensed, ready to spring. A short sword lay across his lap, his fingers lingering on the blade. The sword did not belong to him, but to Eric’s teacher, Alastair. Eric’s eyes slid out over the water, memories of the night before returning. His chest clenched tight, but he kept the tears from his eyes. Alastair was at peace now; the same could not be said for them.
Michael also sat with his legs crossed, but he held only a small pack stuffed with what remained of his medical supplies. Little good they had done Alastair. But they had at least kept Eric alive long enough to be healed by Antonia’s magic. Eric would never forget how the doctor’s strength and skill had helped bring him through the darkness. Michael stared up at the circling dragons, his short-cropped hair and beard betraying nothing of the ordeals of the last two days.
A roar came from overhead, returning Eric’s attention to the sky. A dragon dropped from formation and descended towards them. Swallowing his fears, Eric pulled himself to his feet. His companions followed suit, fingers hovering close to weapons. His hand lingered in Inken’s. She gave it a squeeze and flashed him a smile.
The ground shook as the beast thu
mped onto the beach. The wings beat a final time, sending a cloud of sand billowing out around it. Eric raised a hand against the onslaught and struggled to keep the dragon in sight. Air hissed as its mouth opened to reveal rows of glittering teeth. The stench of rotten fish billowed across the beach, followed by a wave of heat.
Who are you who trespasses here? The voice reverberated through Eric’s mind. The dragon towered over them, its bulk covering the black-sanded beach.
Eric’s knees trembled, but through his fear he remembered Caelin’s actions from the day before. Forcing his limbs to obey, Eric bowed to the dragon. There could be no mistakes here; one swipe of those giant claws could slice him in two.
Straightening, he looked the dragon in the eye. “Greetings, dragon. This is Inken, a bounty hunter from Chole. These are Caelin, sergeant of the Plorsean army, and the doctor Michael. My name is Eric. I am apprentice to the Magicker, Alastair,” he paused. “Or I was, until he was killed last night by a traitor. May I ask, what is your name, dragon?”
He did not mention the fifth member of their party – Enala, the girl they had come all this way to find. She still sat catatonic amongst the trees behind them, unresponsive to the world around her.
My name is Enduran, and you are not welcome here, the dragon’s nostrils widened as it sniffed the air. Its eyes scanned the beach until they settled on the body of Balistor, still lying where he had fallen. The blood of our sister is on your hands.
Caelin stepped forward. “No, Enduran. It is on the hands of that traitor. He was an agent of Archon – he tried to kill us all. I stopped him, though he had been my companion for many weeks. We are not your enemy.”
It was you who brought him here, brought him into our midst. His actions fall on your shoulders, a growl rumbled up from deep in Enduran’s chest. Eric braced himself, expecting flames to follow. But you speak the truth – it was your blade that slew him.
