by Aaron Hodges
Cold and exhausted, there was little he could do but watch as the current carried him further out to sea.
How long he had drifted, Gabriel could not say. More than a day, for night had come at least once. But whether it was one or two or three, his memory could not recall. His mind was awash, his head throbbing. He ground his knuckles into his temples, willing the pain of the migraine away. His tongue rasped across his parched mouth, every sense screaming out for water.
Shivering, he held on.
His mind drifted and his grasp on the log loosened. Tears formed in his eyes, but he would not give in. This was not his time to die – not yet.
No, it is not, a chill voice sent fear through his soul. There are still things for you to do.
Gabriel cracked open his eyes, dread seeping into his heart.
A dark figure hovered over the water, staring down at him. Cold seeped from the ethereal body, a ghostly wind that spoke of death. Black spirits raced about the spectre, covering it in a cloak of death. It towered over his helpless body.
Gabriel closed his eyes. There was no mistaking it; this was the same entity which had come to him in the forests near Oaksville.
“What do you want, demon?” he croaked the words.
To help you, the spectre whispered, as I once did before.
“Go to hell, foul demon,” Gabriel spat. “I will die before I take your help again.”
And die you will, a chill ran down Gabriel’s spine as it’s voice echoed in his head. Soon you will slip beneath the dark waters.
“So be it,” Gabriel grated.
I can save you, Gabriel. You know I ask nothing in return.
Gabriel would have laughed if he’d had the strength. He knew now the demon lied, that its aid would cost his soul and more. He had sworn to Enala he would never allow himself be drawn in by evil again. If that meant his death…
You do not wish to die, honey laced the demon’s voice. Take my hand, Gabriel, and live.
Gabriel looked up and saw the demon’s outstretched hand. Purple veins lined the pale skin, and long white nails grew from its fingertips. He shuddered as it reached for him, his only lifeline in this grim ocean.
Temptation rose within Gabriel, temptation for the warm lure of life. If he took the offered hand, he would survive this nightmare. He could begin a new life, a better life. All he had to do was say yes.
He stared at the demon, watching the spirits roaming over its spectral form. A chill determination filled him, the temptation turning to dust. Death itself clothed this being; how could life come from such a creature?
Gabriel summoned the last of his strength. “No!” he shouted.
And the demon vanished.
A splash came from nearby. Gabriel looked up, his mind still reeling from the encounter. His vision blurred in and out of focus, but through the cloud he saw a ship surging towards him. Its prow cut through the waves and overhead men swung through the rigging like spiders. Its sails billowed out, filled by the ocean breeze.
Gabriel opened his mouth and tried to shout. The call came out as a croak, the wind catching it and whisking it away. He groaned and struggled to pull himself further out of the water. Raising one hand he began to wave, praying they would see him. In desperation, he called again.
The ship drew level with him. Gabriel gritted his teeth in frustration, despair rising to swamp the fickle hope.
“Man overboard!” the cry carried across the water.
Three
Eric paced across the empty hall. His footsteps echoed from the stone walls as he wove between marble pillars. The massive columns stretched high above him to where the ceiling should have been; but here there was no roof to protect against the elements. The stars glittered overhead, staring down into the silent hall.
Midnight approached, and Eric doubted anyone else would be visiting the Sky temple at this time of night. Reaching the far wall he spun on his heel and began his third lap. It had taken two days and a night to reach Lon, during which time he had barely slept an hour.
Gabriel remained unconscious, but Eric knew it could not last. Michael said he was exhausted, dehydrated from his time in the ocean. But soon he would wake, and Eric would have to face the man who had hunted him halfway across the Three Nations. There would be a reckoning.
Questions spun through Eric’s mind, each more difficult than the last. How had Gabriel survived the attack by the Baronian’s? How had he followed them across Plorsea, all the way to Dragon Country? And how had he found Enala, and rescued her from Chole?
Eric swung a fist at a column as he passed. He immediately regretted the reflex as pain shot up his arm.
Closing his eyes, Eric shrieked into the night. “Alastair, where are you? I need you!”
The wind caught Eric’s words and swept them into the night sky. He was alone now; Alastair was gone and there would be no bringing him back.
He had told the old man of his fear; that Gabriel was the one person he could not face. How could he, when Gabriel embodied the very crimes for which he sought redemption. How could Eric defend himself against a man from whom he had taken everything?
Eric’s magic had destroyed Oaksville, had robbed Gabriel of his life and his family. Now the man had returned from the grave to haunt him, to remind Eric there was nothing he could do to balance out the evil he’d brought to Oaksville.
Eric sank to his knees, guilt weighing on his soul. What could he say to the man? That it had been an accident? That every action he had taken since was to make up for the horror he had wrought?
It would not matter, could not. Eric had seen the hatred in his eyes when they’d last met; only revenge could quench that rage.
Inken had tried to reassure him on the ship, but there was nothing she or anyone else could say to make this right. When they arrived at the temple, he had held her tight, giving his silent thanks for her support. But he knew in his heart he would have to face this alone, that this was his battle to fight.
He excused himself after dinner and wandered out into the night. The ship had dropped them on the temple’s private wharf, ensuring Lon’s citizens did not notice their arrival. The sailors had been happy to see the backs of them, some even cheering as the company carried Gabriel ashore. The captain accompanied them for as long as it took to claim his payment.
Fortunately the Sky priests had been happy with the price Michael negotiated. Jurrien had apparently called on them before their arrival, and warned of their approach. A group of priests met them as they disembarked and led them to an empty dormitory usually reserved for apprentices.
The temple grounds consisted of the massive hall and a collection of smaller buildings and living quarters. After leaving the others, Eric had picked his way through the adjoining buildings until he reached the great hall.
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 crash
ed 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 against 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 recognise 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 conscious, slowly eroding his control. His movement 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.
Eric 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 harm 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 co
uld 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 racking his hair. “I cannot afford this… these distractions,” he spun. “Antonia is dead. I am the only one left to stand against Archon.”
