The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1

by Latoria, William D.

  That being said, I’ve also seen a darkness develop inside you. A darkness I’ve tried to cull over the past year, but have only seemed to succeed in strengthening. What you did to those people in Zerous was atrocious. In all my travels, in all my years, I’ve never seen magic used like that. It shouldn’t be possible. The enchantment on your staff is another enigma. You enchanted a material that was already enchanted. That’s not supposed to be possible. The way the enchantment seems to feed off your power is...evil?...wrong?...perverse?I don’t know which word most suits it, maybe all three? The proper word evades me, but know this...it’s not natural, and it’s not the way magic is supposed to work.

  Your remorselessness towards those you’ve killed, and the careless way you wield your unexplainable power, can only lead to your own destruction. I’ve tried to guide you away from this path, but to be honest, you’ve begun to scare the hells out of me. I can no longer be your Master. I have nothing else to teach you. Your power with magic far exceeds mine. Your ability with the staff has overshadowed mine. I had to use magic to keep up for over a year, and now that you’re using magic to enhance your skills as well, I have no hope of competing. You’ve outgrown me, my boy. It’s time for you to find your own way in the world. It’s time for you to live your life without me.

  My final request is to beg you to resist your darker nature. Please do not succumb to evil ways. You have too much potential inside you to make this world a better place. Don’t use that potential to destroy it. Improve your surroundings, start a family, defeat evil, learn, and succeed. Continue to make me proud, Tartum. I pray you won’t let me down.

  By the time you read this, I’ll be gone from Saroth. Do not worry about me. I know of many other towns and villages, where I can spend the rest of my days in peace. Do not try to find me. The world is big enough that I can disappear if I don’t wish to be found, so know this, Tartum. I don’t wish to be found.

  You need to make your own way. I have not left you completely stranded, however, inside the desk you’ll find enough coin and gems to pay for anything you could desire, within reason, for at least a few years. The room is paid for, for the next year, and Crenshaw has promised to be there for you if you need him or have any questions about Saroth.

  Please don’t hate me for doing this. I can’t interfere in your life anymore, and if you choose to continue on your path to self destruction, I can’t watch you destroy yourself. I can’t watch you self destruct. I can’t bury another son, Tartum. I don’t have the strength.

  You’re the only thing left on the planet I’m proud of. Thank you for the honor of being your Master. Thank you for granting me the honor of being your friend.

  Do great things with your life, Tartum.

  -Isidor

  Overcome with the rush of emotions Isidor’s letter brought to him, Tartum felt the room begin to spin. As it was whipping around him, getting faster and faster, he threw up.

  Tartum fell on his bed face down, he had passed out.

  CHAPTER 10

  When he came to, it was morning. The light from the sun lit the edges of the drapes that covered the window. He hoped, just for a moment, that the note was just part of an awful dream, but he found it right next to him in the bed. Some of the pages had been wrinkled from sleeping on them. He read Isidor’s letter three more times, just to be sure every word sank in. He wanted to be absolutely sure he hadn’t missed anything or that any detail eluded him.

  He couldn’t believe it. Isidor...or Kael...had been lying to him ever since they met. He wasn’t just a traveling magician, he wasn’t some well-to-do caster that had lived a happy-go-lucky lifestyle, like he had lead him to believe. He was a down-trodden wreck of a man, that wasn’t there for his family when they needed him most. He had used him in order to try and earn some sort of perverse forgiveness that even he knew he didn’t deserve! He was a con artist and a womanizer running from his past. Their relationship had been started by a ruse to make more money. Had anything he told him about his past been true?

  Tartum couldn’t help but ask himself, was this really such a bad thing?

  Isidor had taught him everything he knew about the world that he loved. He had gifted him with a spellbook and a staff that meant more to him than any other possessions he had ever owned. He had taken him in when his father died and took care of every want and need he had. He protected him when his weakness got him into situations that would have otherwise ended in certain death and raised him to be a powerful caster. If it wasn’t for Isidor, he never would have received his spell book or learned how to control the power inside him. Isidor had given him everything that he loved in life. How could he fault the man that had given more than he had taken? Try as he might, he couldn’t get angry at Isidor. He still couldn’t hate him.

  Isidor was still the same man he saw as a father, more so than his biological one. He still idolized the man, even knowing about his past. Although his last words to his family had been harsh and caused pain, they must have known he didn’t hate them. If there was an after life, they must have seen him fight the bandits and avenge their murders. It wasn’t Isidor’s fault that the bandits had invaded the village. He had no knowledge of their intentions. If he had been with his family that day, there was a very good chance he would have ended up in the pile of dead men, just like the rest of the villagers. He stopped them cold, before their reign of terror and cannibalism could reach another village and ruin more lives. That made him a hero in Tartum’s book. He took pride in the knowledge that he’d been trained by a real life hero.

  If only Isidor could forgive himself. Tartum sighed, he wished Isidor had waited to tell him, face-to-face, what his intentions were. Maybe it wouldn’t have gone well, but Tartum would have liked the chance to say goodbye to a man he loved, like a son loved a father. Inside, he knew Isidor did the right thing. He couldn’t fault him for his decision. Tartum wondered if he would have had the fortitude to leave a letter so revealing and full of pain if the situation had been reversed. He doubted it very much.

  Forgiving Isidor for abandoning him wasn’t as hard as he would have thought. He found the money and gems in the desk, like the letter said. There was easily enough in there for the rest of his life, if he led a humble one. He could buy a home and some land and become a farmer just like his real father was. Perhaps find a wife, make some children. Maybe even name his son Isidor, or Kael, or maybe even Anthor. The thought was a pleasent one. Never to be alone, never to want for anything. He had been content with farm life for the most part. There was alot of reward to be had from tilling the land and producing sustinence from dirt. He was just about to gather himself up and begin that life, when his eyes fell upon his staff and spellbook.

  His book was on the desk and his staff was leaning against it. He didn’t remember putting them there. Looking at them triggered something inside him. Something primal, something...hungry. He knew then, that the life he was planning on starting wouldn’t make him happy. It couldn’t! Men like him weren’t made for a mundane life. A caster’s life, by definition, wasn’t mundane. He was destined for greater things! Great challenges and adventures. He may have found contentment in being a farmer’s son, but he only found happiness when the magic was inside him. When he was casting a spell or enchanting a new object. When he unlocked a new spell or when he encountered a new scroll, it was like being reborn. His soul swelled with ecstasy, and the rush of excitement filled every fiber in his being. Holding his staff and book against his chest, Tartum cried. Not out of pain or sadness, but out of his explicit gratitude to a man he’d never see again. Isidor had given him a life that most men would only ever hear about in songs and legends. He was going to live those tales with magic as his companion.

  His tears stopped, and his fear of being alone vanished. He was content with this new development. Isidor was right. He was nineteen years old now. It was time for him to cut the umbilical cord and set out to make his place in the world. The thought pleased him greatly, but there was still
a sadness in him. Isidor had been a part of his life since he could remember. It would be hard to fill the gap in his soul the separation had left, but he was determined not to let Isidor down. Hadn’t his letter said as much? He would make his former master proud.

  Placing his staff back against the wall, he took a seat at the desk. Opening his spellbook, Tartum opened himself to the magic and began to concentrate on his book. He knew it was just a matter of time before he unlocked its next secret, and time was one of the many things Tartum was now rich in.

  ...

  Tartum spent the last few months studying his spellbook, practicing with his staff, and exploring the vastness of Saroth. He even occasionally ventured outside the walls of the city and explored the land surrounding it. The weeks he spent outside the walls were his favorite. It started off as just a day at first. Then it became a week and then two weeks, as he became more comfortable with the local area. He returned from one such outing, with enough rabbit meat and hides for Crenshaw to throw an impromtu party. It was a grand celebration and endeared him to the chubby man. He even refunded a portion of his rent, due to the influx of business that night. Things at the inn were good. Tartum had taken to Crenshaw, and on many nights they would sit up talking about any subject that suited their fancy. Crenshaw was quickly filling the hole Isidor had left.

  He had left The Crenshaw early this day, in order to pay Shu-Shu a visit. It had been a few weeks since he had seen her, and he missed her company. He had invited her on more than one occasion, to join Crenshaw and him at the inn for one of their all night discussions. He had hoped that by spending time with her outside her shop, she would eventually grow fond enough of him to maybe teach him a few magic spells, or maybe just give him a scroll or two. When he arrived at her shop, however, it was closed up tight, and the note on the door said it wouldn’t reopen for two days. “Research” was the only word of explanation offered by the note. Disappointed, Tartum turned around and made his way back towards the inn.

  He was just a few blocks from the inn, as he passed an alleyway. It was a typical alley, full of the trash and waste of the nearby inhabitants. Old papers, left overs from unfinished meals, urine, feces, and the degenerates of society. As he was passing this particular alley, however, the sound of a dog, quite literally screaming, caught his attention. Tartum had killed animals in his life, he was quite good at it. He was even a butcher’s apprentice for a very short time when he was younger. However, this wail of pain caused his soul to quiver. Something was wrong, very wrong, and his instincts screamed at him to investigate. As Tartum was becoming accustomed to following his feelings, he ventured into the alleyway to find out what was happening.

  It didn’t take long to find the source. On the ground, surrounded by five filth encrusted teenagers, was what appeared to be a large dog. The teens had surrounded the creature and had him backed into the corner of the alleyway. They were now taking turns stabbing it with what looked to be a broken dinner knife; probably the prized possession of this gutter gang. The dog looked to be in terrible shape. The back half of the animal had been badly burned, the remaining hair on its back legs was blackened and smoking. Its face was swollen from where it had been hit by something recently, and it was holding one of its front paws up off the ground as if it hurt to put weight on it. The poor dog was yelping and bleeding from a dozen stab wounds that the urchins had inflicted upon it. The look of terror and confusion in its eyes sent a sharp pain of despair shooting through Tartum’s soul. It collapsed just as he was noticed by the group.

  Their attention on Tartum, the dog stopped whining. It seemed to realize death was approaching and accepted its fate without further complaint. Judging by the animal’s condition, death would be a release. It laid on the ground looking at Tartum as if expecting him to finish him off and release him from his torment. It even tried to feebly wag its tail at him. Tartum’s heart broke at the sight, at the wrongness, of this situation. Anger began to bubble up inside of him, as he looked at the teenagers responsible, waiting for an explanation.

  The kids were young in body, but they had enough malice and contempt inside them to not even feign guilt or remorse. They squared off and faced Tartum; he could see in their eyes that the bloodlust inside of them from their kill had them ready to pounce on him. The way they looked at him, like he was nothing more than another dog and the fact that they had no care for what they had just been doing, disgusted him. The idea that these kids were capable of such a horrendous act was more than he could bear. No words would come to him, no amount of debate was going to solve this abberation. Tartum’s vision went red. He went into a fury; a fury that could only be sated with magic...and with revenge!

  The leader of the degenerates was saying something to him. He was pretty sure the filthy and very unattractive child was a girl, no older than fifteen or sixteen. She was talking to him like she was offering him something. Tartum couldn’t hear her over the roar of adrenaline rushing through him. Her smug look and air of superiority removed all reason from Tartum’s mind. He opened himself to the magic; it flowed into him like a tidal wave and erased all other thoughts from his mind. There was only the rage, the magic, and the need to punish.

  He reached into his pouch and removed the rose petals needed to cast his spell. He removed them slowly, deliberately saying the words of magic, syllable by syllable, to form the spell that would quell the rage burning inside him and bring the punishment to these urchins they so rightously deserved.

  “Moro-yet krat-tu-veyin doro-peth!” he hissed! As he spoke the words of power, he lifted his arm in front of him and infused the petals with his magic. He released them, and as they fluttered towards the ground, they burst into small orbs of white hot fire. No bigger than the rose petals that they had been born of, the balls were the embodiment of the white hot rage inside him. Pointing at the children, Tartum spoke the final word of the spell.

  “Torroth!” he said, with a voice as empty as his victim’s hearts.

  At the sounding of the word, a ball of light shot into each target Tartum focused on. The first ball shot out at the youngest boy. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen and had such a sneer on his face, a convict three times his age would be proud to own it. The ball took him full in the face and removed his sneer, as completely as it removed his face.

  The next boy was a little older. Maybe fourteen, he was a large boy and clearly the muscle of the group. The ball of white hot orb passed through his chest and obliterated his heart. The scent of burnt meat and sizzling fat filled the air. He hit the ground with a look of shock, frozen forever on his face.

  The next two tried to run and ended up slamming into each other. One folded himself into fetal position, and the other got on his knees and begged. Tartum didn’t care. He sent a ball of magical wrath into both of them, shuffling loose the mortal coils binding them to this world. It was too late to beg forgiveness. He had nothing but contempt left for these pigs.

  He saved the girl, the leader, for last. Tartum perceived, through his haze, that she alone had the time to fully appreciate what was about to happen to her. Her companions had fallen quickly, only half of them even having time to beg or grovel. Their deaths had been instant and efficient and as far as he could tell, painless. She wouldn’t have such a clean death; this one deserved to linger, like she allowed the dog to do.

  “TORROTH-BEI!” Tartum shouted, with more hatred than he had ever felt in his life. The ball flew out and hit the girl in the chest, not aimed for the heart, thanks to the addition of the final syllable, but for the lung. It blew clean through her body, evaporating flesh, blood, bone, and organ before dissipating back into the nether. Although her body was dying, the girl’s brain hadn’t caught up to the fact, and she fell to her knees, clutching the wound. Looking up at Tartum as he approached, she spoke, blood frothing from her mouth as her remaining lung filled with blood.

  “It was only...a mongrel...dog...” She said, in disbelief, stubbornly refusing to accept her fate.
>
  “No my dear,” Tartum said, much more calmly than he felt; “The only mongrel left in here, is you.” Swinging his staff at the dying girl, he caught her just above the temple, finishing her off and sending her corpse flying into the rubbish she desevered to die in.

  With the teenagers dead and the dog avenged, the haze of rage lifted, and Tartum was once again himself. It was a hollow victory over the children, he knew, but he felt no remorse. He was proud of himself for destroying the deviant bastards and knew he would do it again in a heart beat, if he ever found himself in this situation again. His victory was bittersweet, however, when he finally saw the condition of the dog upclose.

  It’s body was ruined, the burns he saw before were far worse than his initial assessment. There was no muscle left on its back legs, he could see charred bone and several lacerations on the back, where the children must have hamstrung him. It explained how they cornered the dog so easily. The upper body was no better, more than two dozen small stab wounds perforated the animal’s chest and upper legs, the poor thing wasn’t even bleeding anymore. Its neck was partially cut and the ears were missing, one eye was swollen shut, and the other eye was looking at him. Tartum couldn’t believe it! The animal wasn’t dead yet! It was suffering, but somehow it was still clinging on to its life!

  The anguish came back to Tartum, but this time it didn’t bring out hate...it brought with it sympathy! This poor animal was in more pain than any creature had a right to be, and yet when it looked up at him, it whimpered and weakly wagged its tail. It looked at Tartum like he was going to fix everything, make it all ok again. Even after all that this dog had suffered, it hadn’t lost its faith in man. The focus came back to Tartum, the pain at knowing children had done this for no reason. They weren’t killing for food or survival, they were torturing this animal for the sheer pleasure of it!