Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2)

by Aaron Hodges

  The demon raised a sword in mock salute. “You are a wily foe. At least you put up more of a fight than your sister.”

  Vines burst from the street, ensnaring the God’s legs. The demon leapt as they dragged Jurrien lower, the Soul Blade aimed for his chest. A spear of lightning materialised in Jurrien’s hand, sweeping down to block the blow. Swinging it further, he burned himself free and spun in the air. Roaring in defiance, he hurled the spear at the demon.

  Sparks erupted outwards as the spear struck home. The full power of the God’s rage hurled the demon backwards, sending it bouncing across the rubble. Thunder rumbled as another spear of energy appeared in Jurrien’s hand. As he hurled it the demon rolled, and the lightning scorched only bare earth.

  Jurrien dropped to the ground, wind swirling in his frost white hair.

  Inken turned ad stumbled back towards her companions, thunder ringing in her ears. Together they retreated from the fight, the flashes of lightning crashing around them, the fallout from the battle coming dangerously close to killing them all.

  Twenty feet further down the pockmarked road, they drew to a stop, hedged in by the last trees of the demon’s forest. Eric drew Inken into an embrace before they faced the others. Despite the Storm God’s efforts, the demon still seemed unstoppable. And its forest, decimated as it was, still surrounded them.

  “What do we do?” Caelin shouted over the shriek of the battle.

  “There’s nothing we can do for him. This is his fight,” Eric replied. “The lightning I control is nothing to that creature, only Jurrien seems to have the power to harm it.”

  “We have to get out of here,” Gabriel spoke up, casting a nervous glance at the two titans. “Just in case things don’t go our way.”

  “Can you burn another path?” Inken asked.

  Eric shook his head. “I’ve already tried. The vines are growing resistant, and regenerating themselves faster than I can cut my way through. The demon does not want us going anywhere.”

  Inken hesitated, an idea coming to her. It was dangerous, but it might be their only way out. “What if we fly?” she asked.

  Eric paled. “I’ve only tried that a couple of times since it went wrong in Lon. Jurrien warned me…”

  “I think Jurrien has other things on his mind right now,” Enala offered.

  Inken eyed the Storm God. The battle had closed to weapons now, Soul Blade against Jurrien’s spear of lightning. Jurrien looked hard pressed to hold the demon at bay, its dark blade coming closer and closer. Sweat dripped from his brow and Inken wondered how much energy the Storm God had already spent.

  Eric ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Okay, maybe. Let me see,” he closed his eyes, forehead creased in concentration.

  The forest began to sway in the rising air currents. Then the roar of the wind arrived, drowning out the clashing blades. It tore at Inken’s hair, flicking leaves and stones at their faces as a vortex gathered around them.

  A shiver ran down Inken’s neck as the pressure lifted her half a foot off the ground. Her arms windmilled, struggling to keep her upright, and her heart beat hard in her chest. But the wind pushed all around her, keeping her stable.

  But there she stayed, hovering only two feet from the earth. A minute passed, then another. Sweat beaded Eric’s forehead, until at last he released his breath and they dropped gently back to the ground. She looked at Eric, heart sinking.

  “There’s too many of us,” his voice was a whisper. “I can’t concentrate the wind enough to carry us all.”

  Inken closed her eyes, fighting back tears. She summoned the image of the temple courtyard, drawing strength from the few quiet moments they had stolen together. She knew what they had to do, but it took all her courage to speak the words. “Then you have to take her. You have to take Enala, and leave the rest of us behind. She’s all that matters now.”

  “No,” Inken did not miss the tremor in Eric’s voice. “I won’t leave you,” he shook his head, looking around the circle. “Any of you.”

  Inken reached out and grasped his shoulders. She kissed him, and drew back. “You have too, Eric. You have to get her as far from here as possible.”

  “We can’t just leave you here,” Enala interrupted. “We can’t abandon you!”

  “You can, and you will,” Caelin stepped in. “Inken’s right, your life must be our priority. If you die, we are as good as dead anyway,” he turned to Eric. “Do it, Eric.”

  Inken nodded. “You can do it, Eric. You must.”

  He looked into her eyes for a long moment. She saw the pain there, the uncertainty. But they both knew this was their only option. It had to be done. They could only pray Jurrien would emerge victorious.

  Finally, Eric closed his eyes, forehead scrunched with lines of worry. “Okay. Come on, Enala. Let’s see if this works.”

  Enala stepped up beside him and the wind gathered again. This time the currents did not buffer Inken or the others. They watched from without the whirling tempest as Enala’s hair whipped in the air, the red lock caught beneath her ear.

  Inken’s eyes fixed with Eric’s. His face grew grim and her own heart twisted with despair. She struggled to keep it from her face though, least Eric turn back. Instead she blew him a kiss.

  This time it did not take long for Eric’s magic to work. The two lifted from the ground, rising higher and higher into the air. Enala gripped Eric’s hand, holding them together as they drifted over the forest towards the river.

  Inken stretched up on her toes to watch them go. She raised a hand above her head in farewell, and saw Eric and Enala do the same. Then they were gone, vanishing over the distant rooftops, and all she felt was the pain of loss. Tears came unbidden to her eyes, but she fought them off. She took a great, shuddering breath, struggling for composure.

  Fists clenched, she turned to the others. “Now what?”

  *************

  Jurrien gritted his teeth and took a step back. Exhaustion crept through his soul and a dull ache throbbed in the muscles of his back. Blood ran down his arms and chest from a dozen small cuts. The kiss of the Soul Blade stung, sucking at his life force. Lightning crackled in his hand, the pain feeding his anger.

  Thomas stood across from him, the same sly smile on his face. It is not Thomas, he reminded himself. The man who had been Thomas was long gone. Sadly, the old king’s proficiency with the blade had not been lost with him. Jurrien would not win this battle of blades, but so far the demon had evaded each of his attacks.

  “Take all the time you need, Jurrien. The Soul Blade will wait,” again the soft cackle.

  Jurrien scowled back, reaching deep for the strength he needed. He heard the silent cries of his people from all around, the pleading of the townsfolk suffering the wrath of this monster’s magic.

  “Are you ready to die, demon?” he growled.

  Thomas swung the Soul Blade in a lazy ark and yawned. “I’ll admit, Jurrien, I do enjoy the contest. Not many have held their own against me. Of all Archon’s warriors, I am the greatest. His champion, as Alastair once was to me,” he shook his head. “I am disappointed the old Magicker did not meet his end at my hand. Alastair deserved better than a death to one so low as Balistor.”

  Jurrien closed his eyes, the demon’s words drowning in the sea of misery echoing from his people.

  I cannot let my sister’s magic be perverted like this, the thought spurred him on.

  He launched himself at Thomas, lightning arcing from his arms.

  Thomas threw himself to the side, and his magic burned a path deep into the cursed forest. The Soul Blade flashed out, striking for Jurrien’s throat. He raised his spear, thunder crashing as the blades met. Then Thomas’ foot rose to smash Jurrien in the chest, forcing him back. He brought his spear up to block the next blow, but still felt the lick of the cursed steel on his cheek.

  Cold spread from the wound and Jurrien sensed another trickle of power sucked from his soul. This could not go on; his magic bleeding away drop
by drop. He spun on his foot, summoning the wind to blast the demon. Thomas hurtled backwards through the air before a vine reached out to catch him.

  Magic surged as Jurrien spun the currents into a vortex, attempting to launch Thomas into the sky, away from the source of his power. If he could pin him in the sky, the demon could not avoid a killing blow.

  But more vines shot out and wrapped themselves about Thomas, pinning him to the earth. The ground beneath Jurrien split open once more, heat billowing up from the flames far below. He drew the wind back to himself and rose into the sky, feeling the whoosh of air as the crevice snapped shut below him

  “Nice try, old friend,” Thomas hissed.

  Jurrien threw a bolt of lightning in response. He was tired of talking to the creature wearing his friend’s body.

  Thomas vanished and Jurrien threw himself to the side, already familiar with the demon’s trick. The hiss of the Soul Blade as it sliced past raised hackles on his neck, but his hands were already moving to strike back. He heard a satisfying crackle as his spear found flesh.

  Twisting, he attacked again, but Thomas had already retreated out of range.

  “You will pay for that,” Thomas growled, anger twisting his face beyond all recognition. Even the voice had lost all resemblance to Thomas’. “I grow tired of this game, Jurrien. It is time it ended.”

  Jurrien shivered. The demon’s cloak billowed out, growing until it seemed darkness itself clothed the fiend. The earth shook and Jurrien quickly summoned the wind to lift him to safety.

  Before he could rise five feet a vine tore from the dirt to wrap itself about his wrist. He growled as thorns bit deep into his mortal flesh. Before he could swing the spear another snatched at him, and another and another, as a mass of cruel tendrils blackened out the sky. He struggled within the cruel thicket as the thorns tore through his defences.

  Concentrating, he drew lightning from the air, magic flooding from his body. His skin crackled with energy, burning away the vines. Relief swept through Jurrien as they fell away like spent tinder.

  Then fresh panic surged through him as he felt the piercing sting of their return. He opened his mouth to cry out, but a thorny tendril wrapped about his head, cutting off his scream.

  Jurrien struggled to control his dread. The familiar magic of his sister surged around him, usually so soothing but tainted now by darkness. His own power coursed within, battling with the dark forces, drawing energy from the air itself to burn at his earthly entrapments. Yet his body remained imprisoned, the godly strength of the vines threatening to tear him apart.

  But that was not how the demon wished for him to die.

  “Do you see now, Jurrien? Do you see how weak you really are; how much stronger your sister was? Gentle, sweet Antonia. Always the light-hearted one, the beacon of hope. But this power of hers, it can level cities. How she must suffer, locked away in the blade, knowing the death her power now brings.”

  The demon appeared through the thicket, the darkness around it merging with the forest Antonia’s magic had brought forth. The pale face looked up at him, blank eyes showing no hint of life.

  “But your power, your power will be welcome too.”

  Jurrien wanted to curse the creature, but the vines choked the response from him. He reached again for his power, to summon all his strength and strike him down. With shock he found only a tiny pool remaining. The rest had withered, trickling away with each drop of his blood, spent in the battle to free himself. There was maybe enough for one last attack, but he knew now it would be futile.

  “Relax, Jurrien, you must relax. It will not be so bad. You will have a blade all to yourself, see?” it held up a Soul Blade, the steel still black, empty. The demon grinned. “Now your sister, she fought it. The process did not go well for her.”

  Rage boiled up within Jurrien. He shrieked against the gag, teeth tearing at the vine. He tried to swing his arms, to kick out with his legs, anything to free himself. But his struggles were futile, the vines refusing to budge an inch. There was no escape this time, not for himself at least.

  Closing his eyes, Jurrien opened his spirit mind and soared into the sky, seeking the fellowship. Elation rose in his soul as he saw Enala and Eric had already fled. Following the scent of Eric’s magic, he found them racing across the farmlands to the south.

  Jurrien reached out with his mind to Eric. I am done, Eric. Do not turn back!

  His message sent, he turned back to the city. There he found the others still trapped by the forest, helpless before the demon’s magic. A shiver went through Jurrien’s soul. They had given everything for this quest. He must give them a chance at least to run. He had magic left for that, at least.

  Summoning the final reserves of his strength, Jurrien sent lightning rippling through the forest beside the company. Such an easy task, yet exhaustion swept through him as the last drop of his magic trickled away.

  As the energy burnt its way through the nightmarish trees, Jurrien plummeted back to his body.

  He gasped as pain exploded from his chest. A cool black tide swept into his body, seeking out his soul. In despair he reached for his magic, desperate to resist, but found only emptiness.

  No! he screamed in the confines of his mind.

  Then Jurrien slumped against the black blade piercing his heart.

  And the Storm God’s soul went screaming into the Soul Blade.

  Ten

  “What do we do now?” Enala shouted over the howling wind.

  “I don’t know,” Eric called back, fighting to keep the despair from his voice. Jurrien’s final words rang in his mind. “We were meant to head for Ardath, but I don’t think I can take us that far.”

  Eric could sense his pool of magic shrinking; keeping them airborne was sapping his strength at a shocking rate. But at least they were making good time. They had already travelled over a league upriver, although it was difficult to tell for sure in the darkness. The stars glittered overhead, but the half-moon failed to cast enough light to illuminate more than the dim reflection of water below. It was eerie, flying through the night, unable to see where they might end up. At least Eric could not tell how high they were; somehow that seemed to have kept his fear at bay.

  “It may have been a trick,” Enala suggested. He had told her of Jurrien’s message.

  Eric shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. If it was the demon, it would have told us to turn back. No, Jurrien is gone,” he closed his eyes, his heart twisting as he thought of Inken and the others. He should not have left them, should have found a way to save them all. But there was no turning back now. “We’re on our own now.”

  “They may have escaped, Eric,” there was strength in Enala’s voice, enough to almost give him hope.

  Tears spilt from Eric’s eyes. Angrily he wiped them away. “I don’t see how; if Jurrien could not even save himself.”

  How could you have left them? The question raced through his head, haunting him.

  Clenching his fists, Eric forced it to the back of his mind. He had to focus, think of what to do next. They had to assume the demon now had Jurrien’s magic. That meant it could wield the God powers of the Earth and Sky. No one could stand against such forces. Their only chance was to put as much distance between themselves and the demon as possible.

  “If it has Jurrien’s power, will it be able to fly now?” Enala asked.

  A chill swept through Eric. “Maybe. Let’s just pray it first has to learn how to use Sky magic. Maybe that’s why it hasn’t shown its face until now; it had to master Antonia’s powers first.”

  Enala nodded. “That makes sense. But when it does, it will head this way. It knows we have to go to Kalgan; the Sword is there. Do you think we can outrun it, once it learns to wield the Sky magic?”

  “No,” Eric’s power was still fading fast. The God magic would not have the same limitations. “In fact, I don’t think I can carry us much further.”

  “How long can you last?”

  “Ma
ybe another hour, no more than that,” Eric shrugged. “We won’t get as far as Ardath.”

  He caught the glimpse of water away to their right and altered course to follow the river. So long as they followed it, they would eventually arrive in the lake city of Ardath, capital of Plorsea. But if the demon knew their plans, it would be on their trail within hours. Even without mastery of the Sky, intuition told Eric it would catch them long before they reached the city.

  Eric coaxed a little more magic into the winds, driving them faster. Emotion swirled in his chest, fear and sorrow battling within. He closed his eyes, seeing again Michael’s face as he pushed Eric from the path of the blade. The short smile of farewell. He had sacrificed himself to save Eric, and who knew whether the others had followed him.

  I left them to die.

  Eric glanced up at a squeeze from Enala’s hand. “It was their choice, Eric. Whatever happens, we have to honour them, Michael and the others. We will make it to Kalgan, and turn the Sword against that demon and whatever other creatures Archon sends,” Enala drew a deep, shuddering breath. “We will not let their deaths be in vain.”

  Tears blurred Eric’s eyes again, but in the darkness he no longer cared. “Okay,” he whispered, the winds whipping the word away.

  “So do we go to Ardath?” Enala asked.

  Eric swallowed, thinking hard. “No,” he replied. “The demon must know we would head that way. If it can fly now, it would overtake us within hours.”

  “Then where? We have to get to Kalgan and the Sword, and Ardath guards the only passage through the mountains for leagues around. What other choice do we have?”

  Frowning, Eric searched for an answer. A chill iced his heart as the answer came to him. There was another way to Kalgan, one that did not pass through the mountains. Antonia had shown him the way, in the vision of Alastair and Thomas fighting during Archon’s war. There was a secret passage to Kalgan, one guarded by a creature which might prove more dangerous than the demon behind them.