by Aaron Hodges
The hairs stood up on Elton’s arms as he felt the bitter kiss of winter on the air. “You are a Magicker?”
“I am,” Lynda smiled. “I have a gift with the wind. Perhaps it will help in the fight to come.”
Elton stared at the priest, trying to guess her age. Beneath the blue robes her body looked frail, the skin of her hands thin and wrinkled. She must be well past sixty. But there was no denying the strength of resolve in the woman’s grey eyes. And he did not know if he could continue this fight alone, not against the men and women he had served beside for the better part of a decade.
She was right, he would need her help.
“You’re right,” he nodded and moved to the door. “Let’s go find our friends.”
*************
Give in, the demon’s voice hissed in the darkness.
A groan crackled up from Gabriel’s parched throat as he tried to block his ears to the whispers. But the voice came from all around him, reverberating through the deepest confines of his mind.
Give in, and I will free you from this place, it persisted, tempting, irresistible.
Gritting his teeth, he fought the call. Dried blood congealed beneath his fingertips from where he had dragged them down the stone walls, desperate for distraction. The pain cut through the haze, offering a brief respite from the lure of the demon’s call. But as the pain faded the voice would return, unceasing.
“No!” he screamed again, no longer caring what his companions thought. In truth, he hardly remembered their presence. There was only the darkness now, only death.
And the voice.
“No, no, no,” he sobbed.
He swung his fist and jumped when it connected with flesh. “Gabriel, stop,” Caelin’s voice echoed off the stone walls. Strong hands grabbed his wrists. “Stop this, get a hold of yourself!”
“Leave me!” Gabriel screamed, wrenching himself free, hardly aware it was Caelin who grabbed him and not the phantom stalking the darkness. “Just leave me alone,” he sobbed.
“Gabriel,” sadness tinged Caelin’s voice, but the word was followed by scuffling as the sergeant retreated further into the cell.
Gabriel slumped back against the wall, closing his eyes, trying to close his ears.
They do not understand, the voice came again. These mortals, they do not understand your greatness. Surrender, and I will free you from their presence.
Tears welled in Gabriel’s eyes. Why had it returned? Why would it not leave him be? Its presence radiated through the cell, its perverse evil sending chills down to his very soul. He reached inside for some defence, for some weapon with which to fight it, but there was nothing. Its thoughts crept through his mind, whispering dark secrets, washing away his sanity.
It’s too late, Gabriel. You will never be one of them. It is not your destiny. There is blood on your hands, innocent blood. Join me…
Gabriel bit his tongue to keep from crying out again. Guilt swept through him. The voice was right; he had made a terrible mistake. Katya had not been the traitor. The truth had been before them all along. Some foul impersonator sat on the throne in place of the king. Katya had been no more than a pawn.
And he had killed her. The blood of an innocent woman was on his hands.
Fool, fool, fool, the words rang in his head, digging deeper until only pity and hate remained. I swore, I swore to do good. And I failed.
It is only your nature, the demon’s voice twisted through his thoughts. You cannot deny what you are, the darkness in your heart. Surrender, and I will give you the world.
“Who are you?” Gabriel cried. “Leave me!”
“Gabriel, it is only us, your friends,” Inken spoke now, her voice soft but weak. “We are here, only us, only ever us. Whatever speaks to you, leave it be.”
“Inken?” Gabriel groaned. “What have I done? I killed her… She was innocent, and I killed her!”
“It was not your fault,” her voice was sad. “We all thought it was her. The way she acted, the spell that was cast over us. You could not have known.”
“Ay,” it was King Fraser who spoke now, his words thick with despair. “It is a treacherous creature, well-versed in deception. It spent weeks in our court, garbed in the body of one of my councillors. I suspected something was amiss, but it whispered in my ear, sending me after the wrong suspect. I did not realize my mistake until it was too late. The man it had impersonated was waiting in here for me. It killed him once it had me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gabriel replied. “Her blood is on my hands, mine alone. I deserve to be here.”
For a while there was silence.
Then the whispers of the demon returned.
Five
Enala rolled onto her back, sighing as her head sank into the soft pillow. The bed beneath her was more comfortable than anything she could remember, but sleep would not come. Closing her eyes, she tried to lose herself in the crackling of the fireplace, in the gentle snoring coming from the other bed. Struggling to relax, she allowed her thoughts to drift over the events of the past few days. The revelations rose one after another – though her mind kept returning to the one, inconceivable fact.
I have a brother.
The word still felt strange on her tongue, the notion beyond belief. A twist of pain swept through her as she remembered her parents and the fierce love they had given her. Even amidst the poverty-stricken streets of Chole, she had never wanted for much.
More than anything, she cherished the time they had spent together amongst the Gold dragon tribes to the east, the summers spent in the wilderness of Dragon Country.
She could only imagine the pain they must have felt to give up their child, to pass Eric into the arms of another family.
Where did you find the strength, Mum, Dad?
A tear ran down her cheek. She would never get to ask them. Eric would never get to meet the ones who had brought him into this world, who had given everything they had to protect him. He would never share in the joy her parents had given her.
Enala rolled in her blankets again, desperate for sleep but knowing now it would not come. Her restless mind ate away at the long hours, the passage of time marked by the dying light of the fireplace. Exhaustion clung to her mind, but her fear kept her awake.
“What if I have to use it, Mum, Dad?” she breathed to herself.
“Then you will pick it up and conquer it,” Eric’s voice came from across the room.
She turned to see him watching her, the firelight reflecting in his blue eyes. Eyes that matched her own.
“How long have you been awake?”
“I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep,” he glanced at the window, and Enala noticed a hint of light had appeared on the horizon. “Did you sleep?”
Enala shook her head. She sat up in the bed, staring down at the covers. “What if it happens again, Eric? What happens if I can’t come back this time?”
“It won’t,” Eric’s voice was strong. “Next time, you’ll be ready,” he shook his head then. “Anyway, it won’t come to that. Christopher will find a way to free them.”
Enala should have taken heart from Eric’s confidence, but the dread in her chest whispered a different song. In a flash of intuition, she knew the priest would not succeed. Even so, she smiled and nodded at her brother.
“Come on,” Eric said, pulling himself from the bed. “We’re awake; we may as well get ready. We’re meant to meet the council at dawn.”
With a groan, Enala followed Eric’s lead, rolling from the bed. She cursed her whirling mind for keeping her from sleep. She needed it desperately, and the soft bed was difficult to leave behind.
An hour later, they moved slowly up the red carpet of the throne room. Enala’s feet dragged as she walked, an entirely new sense of dread wrapping around her throat. She had betrayed the Trolan council’s trust when she fled with Jonathan, spitting on their hospitality. Now she had to face that same council, and beg for their aid.
Without the h
elp of the Trolan Magickers, Eric would never master the true power of the Sword.
Eric stood beside her, his lips pursed tight. He carried the Soul Blades wrapped in a bundle – neither of them had any desire to touch the cursed things – and the Sword of Light strapped to his back.
A raised stone ceiling stretched high overhead, carrying echoes of the councillor’s whispers across the hall. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows to their left. Enala attempted a smile as the warmth caught in her hair, her eyes drifting to the table at the end of the room. A dozen seats ringed the wooden slab, though only four were occupied. Enala guessed those who had marched north with the army usually filled the empty chairs. She felt another twist of guilt in her stomach but shook it off. Crossing the last strip of red carpet, they drew to a stop and stared at the collection of men and women facing them.
She recognised Christopher in his white robes immediately, and felt a surge of relief to see the smile on his face. The relief faded as her gaze swept across the others: another man and two women. Each wore neutral expressions, though the thin line of their lips suggested they were not impressed by their presence.
Biting her lip, Enala held her hands behind her back and gave a short bow of her head. Eric followed, and then there was nothing left to do but talk.
Enala opened her mouth to introduce herself, but broke off as one of the woman stood and walked around the table towards her. Her hair was grey and her face aged, but her eyes were sharp. They caught Enala’s gaze and held her. The words in Enala’s throat shrivelled and died as the woman drew to a stop in front of her.
“Welcome,” the older woman spoke in a soft voice. Even so, it carried to the furthest corners of the room. She raised an eyebrow. “Again.”
Enala winced, looking away from the iron in the woman’s eyes. Then a surge of anger gripped her and she looked up into the woman’s amber gaze.
“We have already apologised to Christopher, and the soldiers you sent. Must we bow and grovel for your forgiveness too?” her eyes flashed. “Or will you apologise for the actions of your king, for allowing such a man to wander your citadel unsupervised?”
To her surprise, the woman chuckled. Warmth spread to her face as she smiled. “I see my fellow councillor did not exaggerate when he spoke of you,” she gestured them towards the table. “Come, let us leave the past in the past. My name is Angela. Christopher you already know, and this is Heather and David. Please, join us.”
Enala hesitated as Eric moved past her, then nodded. Striding across to the table, she lowered herself into the chair beside Eric.
“These are dark days indeed,” Angela looked around the table, as though expecting someone to disagree. “With the Gods gone, the world is descending into chaos. In truth, I see little hope for our nation’s survival without divine intervention. It is a welcome sight to see the Sword of Light back in the hands of one who can wield it.”
Beside her Eric nodded, and Enala tried to relax. She managed a short smile. “We were lucky things turned out in the end,” she paused. “I am sorry that we ran. It was a costly mistake.”
Angela smiled. “As I said, it’s in the past.”
“So, are you all Magickers?” Enala decided to change the subject. “The king… he told me his people no longer respected him as a ruler when he lost his magic. Or was that another lie of his?”
“A half-truth, at best,” the woman named Heather answered. “Jonathan was the one who abdicated his duties and left the council with the burden of governance. Although myself and Christopher are Magickers, it is by no means a requirement.”
“No,” Angela added. “For myself, I am glad not to carry that burden. Most of our Magickers marched north with the army, along with half the council. We have been left rather short-staffed, as you may have noticed.”
“That was why the citadel was empty when we… left,” Eric’s cheeks reddened as he stumbled on the last word. “Is the guard… the one outside my room, is he okay?”
Christopher chuckled. “Ay, although a little embarrassed about letting someone half his size get the better of him.”
Eric smiled. “I had help, from a Magicker by the name of Laurel,” his smile faded. “She was a Light Magicker.”
Christopher’s eyes widened. “Laurel, you say?” when Eric nodded he turned to Heather. “Could it be the same Laurel?
“What?” Enala asked. “You knew her?”
“I believe so,” Christopher nodded. “I knew a Laurel once, when I was a senior apprentice to the Temple of Light. She vanished several years ago, not long before I graduated. We have always wondered what happened. How did you come to know her?”
An image of the feisty Baronian woman drifted through Enala’s thoughts, and the smile faded from her lips. Eric had told her of the woman’s sacrifice, that she had held the demon long enough for Eric to escape.
Making a decision, she interrupted Eric’s reply. “We would never have made it here alive without her,” she nodded at Eric. “And she sacrificed her life to save Eric from the foul demon Archon sent to hunt us.”
Eric’s eyes widened at her omission of Laurel’s unsavoury past, but said nothing.
Christopher’s eyes wrinkled in sadness. “A brave woman. Would that she had lived, we could have used her skills now. Despite lacking the Light’s more aggressive powers, she was rather adept in its subtleties,” he nodded at Eric. “You will need such skills if you are to wield the Sword against Archon.”
Enala shivered at the name. Even now she could not bring herself to think of the confrontation to come, though it seemed all but inevitable now. Without the Gods to aid them, there would be no spell to banish the dark Magicker from their lands. No, it would be up to the men and women of the Three Nations to confront Archon.
“Is there anyone left here who does wield the Light?” Eric asked.
Christopher chuckled. “Well, as you might have guessed from my robes, my magic comes from the Light. It allows me to manipulate fire.”
“I think I’ve got that one fairly well under control,” Eric grinned.
“Yes, I noticed,” Christopher sighed. “I do still remember most of the theory from my years as an apprentice. That may have to be enough.”
“What about you, Heather?” Enala jumped in, turning to the older woman.
Her face wrinkled as she smiled back. “I am just a simple healer, I am afraid. I was one of the ones who worked on you when you first arrived.”
Enala felt a sudden welling of tears. “Thank you,” she murmured, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes.
After a moment of silence, Eric spoke again. “At least you’ll be able to help with Enala’s magic too, Christopher.”
Enala’s brow knitted at the thought of her power. In truth, she wanted nothing more to do with the force within her – not after everything that had happened on the island.
But Christopher was already nodding. “Yes, a budding fire Magicker I can help.”
“What about the Soul Blade?” Enala cut in a little too sharply. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “Are you going to look at them, to see if you can free Jurrien and Antonia?”
The eyes of everyone at the table slid across to the bundle Eric had placed on the table in front of him.
“We will,” Heather answered. “If you allow it, Christopher and myself will take them and do what we can to inspect them. I suspect it will take stronger powers than our own to break such a curse though.”
Enala bit her lip, finding the kind eyes of the healer. “Do you think the same as Christopher? Do you think I will need to wield it?”
Heather stared back. “It may very well come to that, Enala.”
Shuddering, Enala turned away. “What if I’m not strong enough?”
“You will be,” Christopher spoke into the silence following her question. “I will make sure of it.”
“How?” Enala hissed, still unable to meet his eyes.
Christopher stood and walked around the table until he stoo
d beside Eric. Reaching down, he flicked the cover off the Soul Blades. Enala suppressed a shudder as the faint blue and green lights bathed their faces.
“It is my theory that these blades can only be used by anyone with magic strong enough to control them,” he looked across at Enala. “From what I saw on the island, I believe the magic of the Soul Blade overwhelmed you because you could not summon your own magic to protect yourself. From what Eric has told me, you have never consciously tapped into your power. Without that preparation, you never stood a chance against the God magic trapped in the Soul Blade.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“That before you even go near this sword again, I will train you to use your own magic.”
Enala bit her lower lip, her thoughts turning to the fire magic that had appeared within her such a short time ago. It terrified her still, though it was nothing compared to the force waiting in the Soul Blade. At least this power was a part of her, had aided her when she had been threatened. But could it truly protect her against the God magic?
Only time will tell.
Taking a breath, she met Christopher’s eyes. “When do we start?”
*************
“What do you think?” Eric sat up as Christopher walked into the snowy courtyard.
He stretched as Christopher approached, then rubbed his arms to fight off the chill. Even in the woollen clothing they’d given him, the Trolan winter was bitterly cold. He would rather have waited near the large fireplace in his room, but the old Magicker had asked to meet him here. Shivering, Eric wiped the sprinkles of snow from his shoulders.
“She is a fast learner,” Christopher replied. “But she’s not ready yet. It can take months before a Magicker is able to make the final leap with their powers.”
“We don’t have months. We don’t even have weeks.”
“I know,” Christopher raised his hands. “But I will not push her before she is ready. I can sense her fear; it holds her back. And who could blame her, after what happened…”
