The Sword of Light: The Complete Trilogy

by Aaron Hodges

  Looking around, Eric imagined it during the day, when people flocked here seeking guidance from the Sky priests. He needed guidance now more than ever, but he doubted it was the kind the priests could offer. And from what he’d seen of Jurrien, the God did not seem to share his sister’s approachable manner.

  Reaching the centre of the hall, Eric stopped and sucked in a breath. Pacing would get him nowhere. Exhaustion had frazzled his mind. Thoughts bounced around his head like a broken wagon wheel, lost and confused. He needed to concentrate, to focus on the larger problems at hand. He could do nothing to change the current situation, at least not until Gabriel woke.

  Letting out a long sigh, Eric sank to the ground and crossed his legs. Closing his eyes, he began to meditate. Alastair had taught him the technique as a way of controlling his emotions and learning self-control. Eric needed those skills now more than ever. His thoughts were chasing themselves around his mind in a self-destructive loop, always returning to the awful dread of the confrontation to come.

  He breathed in again, seeking the calm centre amidst the storm. Thoughts assailed him, but as each rose he fought to let them go, to set them aside, if only for a moment. Turmoil crashed against him and exhaustion rolled through him like the ocean tide. He needed sleep, desperately. He had to break this cycle of anxiety.

  Eric sank deeper, thoughts drifting back over the last few days. The confrontation with Jurrien loomed, but he pushed it aside. Still, he felt a pang of curiosity from the thought, from something Jurrien had done. As he left, the Storm God had leapt from the deck of the ship, where the wind caught him and propelled him into the air.

  Jurrien had flown.

  Eric possessed the same magic as the God, and while he did not have the power to create, he could manipulate the winds as Jurrien had done. Could he also fly?

  He smiled then, another memory leaping to mind. In Chole, Caelin had thrown him from a second story window and in his fear Eric’s magic had summoned the wind to catch him. For a few seconds, he’d hovered several feet above the ground.

  Sinking into his magic, Eric released his tethers to the physical realm and sent his spirit soaring. Reaching out, he sent feelers up into the clouds, seeking the great gusts which formed where land met ocean. Working his magic, he wound threads of power around the howling gales.

  Grimacing, he syphoned his power into the threads, and drew them down, gathering the winds together as they came. The gusts fought him, pushing against the bonds holding them. Energy surged through his mind as he poured more magic into the fray, binding the air pockets tighter. With the city so close, he could not afford to allow such powerful gales to escape his grasp. The last thing he wanted was to start tearing the roofs off buildings.

  Back in his body, he shivered as the first pocket of wind reached him. The gale whipped around his seated form, tearing at his clothes and hair, carrying the icy chill of the air currents high above the city. Shivers ran down his spine, but he smiled, happy to have come this far.

  Turning inwards, he focused, pulling the wind in tighter and tighter knots. The gusts grew stronger, striking with a force that threatened to knock him flat. Clenching his fists, he pushed the pockets of air down to the paving. His feet grew numb as the icy wind wrapped about his legs, but now the rest of him remained warm.

  With a shock, he felt the pressure push him upwards, lifting him from the cool tiles. He opened his eyes and gasped as he saw a few feet now separated him from the ground.

  The magic slipped from his control, and the wind erupted outwards, whistling across the empty hall and upwards into the sky. He fell to the ground with an undignified thump.

  Eric grinned, worries forgotten. His heart thumped hard in this chest as he clapped his hands in excitement. This was something new, something useful. But he needed practice. Closing his eyes, he tried again.

  *************

  Lon glowed in the darkness, lit by the light of a thousand torches. The capital of Lonia spread out beneath him, the central hub of the farming nation. Rooftops glistened in the moonlight, each holding a family, a handful of souls asleep to the world. To the east the calm waters of the harbour lapped at the seawall, the nation’s ships rocking at anchor. The walls of the citadel rose to the south, towering over the city.

  Eric swallowed hard, staring down at the lights far below. The air jerked and he dropped several feet. Sweat dripped down his forehead, only to be whipped away by the swirling air. Goosebumps pricked his arms and a shiver ran through him. Within, his mind was in freefall, his vision spinning at the distance below him.

  His fear of heights had come crashing back.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, the word danced about his head.

  It had all been going fine. It had taken hours, but he had finally managed to keep himself aloft without losing control of the winds. He’d spent another hour floating around the great hall, then the temple grounds, lifting himself higher and higher as his confidence grew.

  He had not noticed the fear at first, had not recognised the familiar tingle as it crept into his mind. Even as he soared higher, Eric reassured himself, convinced the wind would catch him if he fell. After all, it was the fall he feared, rather than the height itself. Nevertheless, the terror had trickled into his consciousness, slowly eroding his control. His movements grew jerky and erratic, and his panic began in earnest.

  It was not until he tried to halt his ascent that he realised the magic had latched onto his fear, using it to take over. Now he rose faster than ever, as sudden judders threw him about each time the magic slipped. Terror rose in this throat, feeding strength to the winds. They twisted about him, converging from all around.

  Eric sucked in a breath, wrestling for control. Within, the magic stalked his mind, a wolf in the darkness. He drew back, fear robbing him of strength. He could not face the beast now, suspended hundreds of feet in open air. If he lost, things would become far worse. Alastair was no longer here to protect him. There would be no coming back if the magic took control again. To lose would be to unleash his magic on Lon.

  Wind swirled around him, gathering force and growing stronger. The cold sent shivers through Eric’s unprotected body, his thin clothing woefully inadequate. His teeth chattered as the wind sucked the last warmth from his skin. Eric wrapped his arms tight around his chest and looked down, stomach roiling from the height.

  He watched with horror as the wind swirled faster. He could feel the pressure building, a tornado forming high above the city, with Eric at its centre. If he did not act soon the destruction would be unimaginable.

  Summoning his courage, Eric reached again for his magic. At his touch the power surged, and the winds holding him ceased, sending Eric into free fall. He spun through the air, hurtling towards the city, and all thought of control vanished.

  When they caught him again, Eric could barely find the strength to breathe.

  The tornado howled, drawing in the surrounding clouds, dampening the air. Tears ran down Eric’s face. He could not let this happen, not again. He could feel the magic flooding from him, a free flow drawing in more and more of the Sky element. The air above the city darkened, the black tail of the tornado stretching down. Soon it would reach the city, and chaos would rein unchecked.

  He could not let that happen.

  With a scream he reached inside, wrenching at the magic within. The wolf rose before him, swamping his conscious, its deep blue glow shining with an angry rage. He felt no comfort from the magic now, no gentle pool of energy to draw on. The wolf towered over him, his magic come to life, fed by his fear.

  Eric drew on every ounce of courage remaining to him, determined to defeat the wild beast. The wolf growled and came closer. With every step it took, it grew. Its teeth glinted with the blue of his magic, jaws dripping bloody malice.

  He shrank back in despair. As he turned to flee, Alastair’s words from long ago raced through his mind. Master your fear. That is its only weapon against you. If you do not fear it, your magic cannot har
m you.

  Eric swallowed, turning back to face the beast. He remembered the fear he’d felt after the desert, the fear of his magic had threatened to overwhelm him. Knowing the risks, he had faced that fear and vanquished it. In doing so, he had returned the rains to Chole.

  Now he must do the same, or his wild magic would destroy the city below. He could not allow that to happen.

  He faced the beast, reaching out to grasp the glow rippling from its fur. Fear sent a tremor through his knees, but he squashed it down, baring his teeth at the beast before him. They stood facing one another, locked in a silent battle of wills.

  Then Eric blinked, and watched as the wolf started to shrink. It growled and took a step towards him, raising hairs on his neck, but he stood strong. He knew he had won. The winds still buffeted him, throwing him about the sky, but the fear no longer crippled him.

  Taking a firmer hold of his magic, he sent its tendrils out to bind the wolf. It screamed and leapt for him, but the magic grasped it tight, locking it in place. Eric smiled, and drew the beast back down within him, until it vanished into the glowing pool of light.

  The air still raged about him. He reached out again with his magic, confident now he could halt the whirling twister. Gritting his teeth, he tore apart the binds holding the winds together. The swirling ceased as air erupted outwards into empty sky.

  “You fool!” the air shook with the power in the voice, and then a dark body hurtled from the sky.

  Eric caught a glimpse of white hair and a face twisted with rage before Jurrien smashed into him. The breath whooshed from his lungs and he found himself suddenly in free fall, careering through the clouds towards the ground below.

  As he reached for his magic, a fist crashed into his face.

  “Don’t!” Jurrien snapped, his hands digging into Eric’s shirt.

  Their plummet towards the earth ceased with a violent jerk. The wind reformed around them, controlled now by Jurrien. He looked up at the God, his face lit by the light of the city below. Fear tingled down Eric’s spine as he saw the anger there.

  When they reached the ground Jurrien tossed Eric to the grass. Before he could recover, the Storm God grasped Eric by the collar and wrenched him to his feet. Jurrien pulled him close, leaving Eric no choice but to look into those icy blue eyes.

  “How could you be so reckless?” Jurrien hissed. “Did Alastair teach you nothing?”

  “I… I don’t know.” Eric stuttered. Tears came to his eyes. “All I know is Alastair is gone. He’s dead, and I… I’m lost,” he waved his hand at the sky. “The magic… it just took control.”

  A tremor of rage swept through Jurrien. He tossed Eric back to the ground. Thunder clapped as Eric rolled and came to his feet.

  “You are no Magicker. You do not even deserve the title of apprentice. If it was in my power, I would strip the magic from you here and now. I do not care what my sister thought of you. You are as likely to kill us all as save us!”

  Eric shivered with cold and fear. “I had control of it, there at the end.” His voice shook, but he stood his ground. “I may be a novice, but I will not let history repeat itself.”

  Jurrien turned his back, fingers raking his hair. “I cannot afford this… these distractions,” he spun. “Antonia is dead. I am the only one left to stand against Archon.”

  The breath caught in Eric’s throat. “No,” he choked. The tears came now, hot and fast. “How can that be possible?”

  “She was weakened by our battle with Archon. The demon took her by surprise. And it used the Soul Blade to do the foul deed, which means it now has her powers. It must be found, and quickly, before it collects any other magic.”

  “How could you not have told us?” rage grew from Eric’s sorrow. “Where have you been?”

  “I have been everywhere: alerting King Fraser and King Jonathan to the threat, the council of Lonia too. Mustering our armies, spreading the word. Archon is coming, and the Three Nations must stand together if we are to have any chance of stopping him,” he shook his head. “Even then, I do not believe it will be enough. Even with the Sword of Light, without Antonia we would lack the power to stop him,” he clenched his fists. Lightning crackled along his arm.

  “Where is the demon now?” Eric asked.

  “I have Magickers hunting it. They will signal me when it reappears, though they will not have the power to stop it. If it collects any more magic, it may be beyond even my powers. Last signs showed it heading north into Lonia, towards us.”

  “It is coming here?”

  Jurrien scowled. “How should I know what it will do next? Perhaps it is trying to return to the northern Wastelands. Perhaps it is hunting the last of the Sword wielders’. Or perhaps it is coming for me. I do not know. There is too much to consider.”

  “What can we do to help?”

  Jurrien laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. “Help? Help? You could start by leaving my city be,” he fell silent, and Eric thought he might finish with that. When Jurrien continued his tone was sombre. “Your priority must be getting Enala to the Sword. It lies in Kalgan, a long way from here. Archon’s agents will be looking for her now.”

  “The best path to take would be a ship up the river to Ardath. From there you will have to continue on foot through the Branei pass into Trola, and then down the coast to Kalgan. It will take weeks. I only hope we have the strength to hold Archon back that long.”

  “When can we leave?”

  Jurrien shook his head. “It will take a few days to organise. My priests will take care of it. I must leave, there is much to be done,” he turned and walked into the night.

  Eric opened his mouth to wish him farewell, but the God vanished before he could speak the words. Shaking his head, Eric sank to his knees. Exhaustion rose in his chest, sucking the strength from his limbs. His stomach twisted. He hung his head, taking a deep breath. He needed to return to the dormitory and sleep. Only then would he have the energy to take in everything Jurrien had said.

  Footsteps came from nearby. Eric looked up in time to see a figure emerge from the shadows. A familiar voice greeted him.

  “So, we meet again.”

  Four

  Gabriel woke in darkness, the last dredges of a nightmare clinging to him. Panic gripped his mind and sent him tumbling from the bed. Climbing to his feet, he stumbled across the unfamiliar room, fumbling for an exit as he struck a wall. He cursed as his elbow caught on a doorknob, and then slipped silently through the unlocked door.

  Outside he hurried down an empty corridor, trying doors until he found one leading outside. Slipping into the night, he started across the grass, the dew cold on his bare feet.

  Wind whipped at him and he heard a crash from overhead. Looking up, he froze, fear gripping his heart. The lights of the city lit the sky above, revealing black clouds spinning inexorably towards a whirling centre.

  Gabriel took an involuntary step backwards. He gaped, unable to comprehend the vision. Light flickered across the underbellies of the clouds, and it seemed he looked into a portal to hell itself. The wind on the ground picked up as the tail of the twister grew closer.

  Then another crash came, followed by the flicker of lightning, and the swirling ceased. The clouds drifted to a stop and the wind died away, returning the night to tranquil silence.

  Gabriel stared as two figures tumbled from the sky, plummeting towards the grounds on which he stood. As they approached they slowed, finally landing close to where Gabriel waited. They did not appear to have seen him.

  Taking a breath, Gabriel continued through the night, creeping towards where the two had landed. He shivered in the cool; even without the wind, winter was not far away, and the clothes he wore were thin, not made for the outdoors. A dull ache throbbed at the back of his skull and his knees shook, but he did not care.

  Gabriel could hardly believe he lived. He had been just minutes away from sinking beneath the waves when the ship appeared.

  It seemed someone, or something, was
still looking out for him.

  The faces of his rescuers had appeared only as blurs to his sunburnt eyes, but as he turned a corner and saw the two figures standing on the grass, he knew who they had been.

  Gabriel stared at the young man, the same one he’d hunted halfway across Plorsea. He could hardly believe it. There he was, the demon boy who had burned Oaksville to the ground, who had murdered Gabriel’s family and left him for dead.

  He felt the familiar anger well up within him, the hate that had driven him so far. He watched as the older man turned away, vanishing into the night. Taking a breath, Gabriel walked into the light.

  “So, we meet again.”

  The young man looked up, and Gabriel saw with surprise the lines of exhaustion stretching from his eyes. “Gabriel,” he paused. “You’re awake.”

  His words confirmed Gabriel’s suspicions. “So it was you who rescued me at sea,” he stared. “Why?”

  “Because we could not leave you there to die. That is not who I am.”

  “We? Who else is with you?”

  The young man smiled. “There are five of us, though you only know one – Enala.”

  Gabriel stared, the name echoing through his mind. Enala?

  He shook his head, anger catching light. “You have Enala? What have you done with her?” he took a step closer.

  The young man rolled his eyes and raised his hands in surrender. “We have done nothing with her. In fact, she saved our lives back in Dragon Country. And then we saved hers. We are protecting her against forces you cannot begin to understand.”

  “Oh really? And why should I believe a word you say, demon. Who are you? What do you want?”

  Eric scowled. “My name is Eric, and I am no demon. I am a Magicker – or at least I have been for the last few weeks,” he looked away, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “Before Oaksville, before Alastair, I did not know what I was – only that I was cursed.”