Delver Magic: Book 06 - Pure Choice

by Jeff Inlo

  "You will not get used to it," Rivira advised. "He is childish, as I said before. Do your best to ignore it."

  "Very well, then I will also ignore his impatience and I will take my time."

  "I have no intention of waiting," Gnafil sneered, and the infern turned his attention to the open lands in the distance and cast a spell of his own. A dark orange circle appeared at the palm of his gauntlet and he flung it into the deep blue, desert sky.

  The ring of amber rotated as it grew both wider and longer. It turned into a spinning tunnel of flame that swirled across a high dune. It was a towering twister of pure fire, feeding on the hot air. It roared like an angry beast filled with hate and fury.

  "Not bad," Rivira allowed. "Do you still control it?"

  In response, the infern directed the fire tunnel back and forth with swift hand movements. Gnafil forced the flaming twister to dance in various directions.

  "I wish to attempt to douse it," Rivira announced, but looked respectfully to the infern for approval before casting her own spell.

  When Gnafil nodded, Rivira's eyes flashed dark blue and her own azure ring of power leapt far above her head. She kept the circle in place, but allowed it to spin faster and faster. She used it to pull every drop of moisture from the air and ground as it grew in bulk. There was so little water in the immediate area, the magic pulled from great distances and far into the sky.

  Once she had obtained sufficient water, she molded the ring into a long liquid spear. Revealing deft control, she pointed the spear at the flaming twister and cast it with an arced projection.

  The long shaft of water flew high above the desert floor in an upward angle until it found a clear path into the center of the narrow twister. Its pointed tip dropped downward, and the spear plummeted at a much steeper angle.

  Gnafil attempted to maneuver the fire tunnel away, but the dark blue, liquid javelin adjusted its own path to compensate. Even as the infern commanded the flame twister to dodge and weave, the two massive elemental forces collided.

  Rivira's water spear exploded when it reached the center of the fiery tunnel. A great cloud of steam erupted from the top of the twister as if it had become a smoldering volcano. The blaze dimmed significantly, but it did not go out. The steam cloud dissipated into the sky with a slow, weakening hiss and the flames soon returned to their initial brilliance.

  Though the infern showed no delight over the apparent victory of his spell, Neltus was much less reserved.

  "Score one for torch boy."

  Rivira shook her head in disgust.

  "Did you expect differently? We are in the desert."

  "Still complaining, eh?" Neltus laughed, but quickly dismissed the sorceress and turned to Scheff. "Well, elfie. Times up. We're not going to wait around forever."

  Scheff had watched the other two spell casters intently. Their magical strength was awe-inspiring, but he understood he had access to the same levels of energy. His was the aura of violet storm and he decided to make his own claim to power.

  Focusing on the still burning twister of fire, Scheff decided to cast a tornado of his own, one that would match the size and strength of the column created by the infern. The elf's twister, however, would be born not of fire, but by the heart of a storm.

  With his first spell, Scheff could not ignore the influence of the dark energy deep inside of him. He could not tap into its strength, but it guided his connection to the magic all around him. It kept him completely focused on his inherent hue, allowed him to dig deeper into his own magical core to shape the violet power.

  A perfect ring of purple magic rotated about his wrists until he cast it out into the desert horizon just to the left of Gnafil's fire column. The violet color was much darker than it had ever been. It quickly expanded and elongated into a narrow but furious band that stretched from the desolate ground high into the blue heavens.

  Gale winds from the upper reaches of the sky swirled into the magical current of Scheff's violet energy. The cyclone spawned a growing storm cloud in the previously clear desert atmosphere just as the base of the long, spinning column stretched down to the high dunes. The violently circulating winds sent rock and sand in all directions.

  Even at a great distance, the spell casters could feel the harsh grains of sand batter their exposed skin, but Scheff ignored the distraction. The elf maintained control over his cyclone and he sent it directly toward the infern's column of fire.

  "What are you doing, elf?" Gnafil shouted with growing alarm.

  "Testing the strength of your fire against my winds," Scheff responded almost gleefully.

  The extent of his newfound energy surprised the elf, stoked his confidence and pressed him to test the limits of his power. He fed the cyclone with even more of his energy just as the high winds of his twister crashed into the flaming walls of Gnafil's tornado.

  The results surprised the elf. The gale force currents of the cyclone failed to snuff out the flaming twister as Scheff expected. Instead, it fed the flames as it merged into the center of the fiery column.

  "I can not control it!" Gnafil screeched. "Pull back!"

  "I have lost touch with mine," Scheff admitted. "I can not even see it."

  The flames engulfed the spinning winds and the twisting tower of fire doubled in width, then tripled and continued to grow.

  Before Neltus acted, he winked at Rivira.

  "Still think the desert was a mistake?" he asked with a grin.

  Not waiting for Rivira to admit she was wrong, which Neltus knew she would not, he cast his own spell. A ring of crimson magic flew from his finger tips and skipped across the ground toward the column of fire. It was not affected by the ripping winds or the roaring flames, and it took a position directly underneath the cyclone. The instant it was in place, it exploded with a dark red flash.

  Sand and rock poured into the center of the twister from every direction. It came in giant waves, each nearly as tall and as wide as the cyclone itself. At first, much of the dirt and debris was cast aside, but it kept pouring over the center of the column.

  After about a dozen waves, the flames began to dim and the spinning winds started to sputter. More and more stone and sand filled the twister, and the cyclone's movements became lethargic and labored. The violent tornado could not fight off the choking waves of debris, and eventually the heavy sands completely smothered the combination of fire and wind.

  As the dust slowly settled, the spell casters revealed various reactions. Scheff appeared visibly shaken, surprised at how much raw power was at his command, and just as surprised at how quickly it broke from his control. The infern appeared furious while the sorceress revealed an expression of annoyance. Neltus, however, seemed greatly amused by the entire debacle.

  "That was almost as much fun as when Gnafil set the sea surface on fire," Neltus laughed.

  Rivira shook her head and stepped up to the elf.

  "Let that be your first lesson, Scheff. You are indeed strong with the storm, but the pureness of your magic creates a greater concentration of energy for each spell. You may not be able to manipulate the dark magic Ansas planted within you, but it will feed you nonetheless. If you're not careful, even the simplest of spells can break from your control. A basic rain storm could turn into a hurricane, and not only rage against your target, but drain you of your energy and leave you defenseless against your own spell."

  "But the fire was Gnafil's spell," Scheff objected.

  "And it was fed by the wind of your cyclone. If you don't think you would have been responsible for roasting us all, then you have no idea of the consequences of your own spells... and that is a very dangerous consideration."

  Rivira said nothing more. She and the infern cast separate teleportation spells and exited the Lacobian Desert.

  "Ahh, don't let her get to you," Neltus advised. "She's always a bit high strung. I think it was a great start."

  Scheff wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a jesting insult, and so, he said nothing in
response.

  Neltus' mirth slowly died away. He looked at the huge pile of sand and stone created by the mix of spells and considered the combined power of magic they had displayed. It was a concern that plagued him when he realized that Ansas wished to purify new spell casters.

  Taking a quick look at Scheff, Neltus decided to take advantage of their moment alone and pressed for the elf's opinions on such subtle matters.

  "Let me ask you this, elfie, where do you think this is all headed?"

  "Headed?"

  "Yeah, headed. You're not deaf are you? No, 'course you're not, just a bit slow, or I'm sure you'd rather say 'careful.' Be that as it may, I admit you're a cautious one, and you must have thought long and hard about the sorcerer's offer. What made you take it?"

  "He offered me an opportunity to grow stronger on a new path," Scheff admitted. The elf then nodded over to the same mounds of sand and stone that marked the last position of his cyclone. "Evidently, he was correct."

  "Yeah, you've got more power than you had before, can't argue that, but that brings me back to my original question. Where is this all headed?"

  "You mean what direction will I take?"

  "I guess that's one way to put it, but I'm talking more about all of us together, not just what you're going to do next."

  Scheff considered the question in the context it was given. He thought about himself, Neltus, Rivira and Gnafil and how they all fit in with the opportunity Ansas described. He gave what he thought was the obvious answer.

  "We are all going to get stronger."

  Neltus shook his head.

  "No, elfie, think bigger, wider. The big picture. What is it?""

  "The big picture? I do not understand."

  "You haven't spent much time out of the forest, have you?"

  "Of course not. I am an elf."

  "Alright, let me put it to you this way; we didn't all get a piece of Ansas just because he wants to play around with magic. At least, I don't think so. I'm trying to figure out what he ultimately wants to do with us."

  The answer to that question seemed obvious, and it was a question that Scheff had already put before the sorcerer.

  "He wants us to expand our powers, to become something greater. He said so himself."

  "Come on, elfie, that doesn't add up. You're looking at this from our perspective, not his. Ansas isn't going to just give away a piece of himself so we can get stronger. Let's face it, he's not the warm and fuzzy compassionate type, hoping to make the land a better place for us spell casters."

  "You believe he has ulterior motives?"

  "Don't you?"

  "He is powerful enough that he would not have to hide his purpose from us."

  "Not if he needs us to go along willingly. Sure, he could threaten us and I'd probably go along. I'm not too proud to admit the guy scares me to death, but maybe that won't work for him. Maybe we have to accept all this willingly."

  Scheff considered the idea, and he had to confess it held merit. Still, Ansas seemed forthright about what he offered.

  "He spoke plainly to me. I do not believe he is of a character that would depend on deceit. If I did not oblige him, I honestly believe he would have accepted that decision and simply moved on to find someone else. He did so, more or less, with another elf that was at my side."

  "Really? What happened?"

  "She refused his offer, but he let her return to her camp, just as he said he would."

  "Interesting."

  "But not surprising," Scheff replied. "It made perfect sense. He offered an opportunity and she declined. He would not be bothered with trying to convince her to change her mind."

  Neltus appeared uncertain of the elf's conjecture. It seemed reasonable, but then returned to his primary concern.

  "Then that brings us back to the original question. What does he really want out of all of this? He offered me more power than I could imagine, and he's made good on that bargain. He told me he would utilize me to help others become pure, and it would be to my benefit. He wasn't kidding about that, either."

  "Then why do you question it?"

  "Because he's a little too hung up on this purity stuff. He keeps saying this is going to lead us to some kind of higher existence. That kind of unnerves me. What does that mean to me? Am I going to become some pure elemental force of the land? I don't even know what in blazes that might be."

  "And that is what concerns you?"

  "Yeah, and it should concern you, too. Because it might mean he expects you to turn into some large storm. No more elfie, just a big bag of wind, rain, and lightning. You want that?"

  Scheff did not answer.

  "And then there's Ansas himself. He casts pure black magic. That in itself is kind of disturbing. I think it's rarer than white magic. What does he expect to become? Death?"

  Neltus let out a heavy sigh. He wasn't worried about saying too much to the elf. He also wasn't concerned with Ansas finding out what he thought. Part of the sorcerer's magic was already inside of him, and Neltus honestly believed if Ansas wanted to know any of his deep secrets, there was nothing he could do to shield them from the sorcerer.

  In the end, Neltus realized he would gain no greater insight from Scheff.

  "Well, elfie, I can't complain too much about what's happened. Ansas has kept to his word and I intend to keep to mine. I'll continue showing up when he calls, but I'll also keep wondering what he really has in mind. I don't think he's ever going to tell us. I'm guessing he doesn't think we're entitled to hear it. Maybe we're not. It's just something to think about."

  Chapter 20

  Linda never rose to leave for work. She remained in bed gazing at the ceiling, staring at the emptiness above her that seemed to symbolize her condition. She tried to make sense of what was happening to her, tried to understand all of the emotions that had crashed down upon her, and then left her frozen and too tired to care.

  She couldn't.

  So many images had rushed through her mind, images she couldn't comprehend. They were like flashes of memories, rekindled occurrences brought out by a distinct smell or a familiar song. They were far from complete; just shreds of scenes, small pieces of a picture... a corner here, a torn edge there. While there was never sufficient detail to get a full understanding of the stray recollections, enough substance was imprinted in her mind to glean certain aspects for reference. To add to her dismay, the images never contained anything she could actually recall, nothing she could place within the realm of her own previous experiences.

  What was worse, many of the strange fragments contained a deep emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, desperation, worry, confusion; all of these sensations were contained in the shreds of mysterious messages, yet they were all foreign. It wasn't her fear, or her anger, or even her confusion. The emotions that somehow rushed into her consciousness weren't her own.

  She knew what it was like to be afraid and she certainly knew how to worry. She worried every time Ryson left to explore some dangerous part of Uton. Even when she tried to bury her anxiousness, she still understood it.

  It was by no means an unfamiliar sensation, but the torrent of unfamiliar thoughts sparked an emotional sensation that lacked any attachment. It was like she was concerned about something that meant nothing to her, as if she suddenly became anxious over the chip in a dinner plate owned by a neighbor. Obviously, she shouldn't care, but for some reason, such anxieties took a dominant place within the center of her being.

  It was the same with her anger. Most of what had flooded her consciousness wasn't hers. She was getting frustrated at what was happening to her, but that feeling was far overshadowed by the rage of another sort. Again, it wasn't her anger that had cast a shadow across her being, it was an external fury. The emotion was raw and clear, but whatever its source, it wasn't really her concern. Just as with her anxiousness, it was like she was mad about something totally inconsequential, as if being annoyed with a broken farm cart. What should she care about such things?

&nb
sp; Despite the irrelevance of the concerns, the fury that had washed over her burned with frightful force. The instant the mysterious thoughts cascaded through her mind, she trembled with fury. The rage had been so deep she wanted to scream as her muscles tensed and her vision blurred with red hot wrath.

  It was the same with the other emotions as well, but they didn't have quite the same degree of influence. The sadness crushed her spirit, and the anxiety closed in upon her, made her feel as if everything was rising up against her. The confusion jumbled her perspective and the dread had her glancing over her shoulder at every bump and shadow.

  The fear behind that dread and the terror that struck on its own was almost as powerful as the anger. It billowed over the other emotions and placed her in a state of pure panic. Combined with the anger, those two emotions had forced reality from her mind. Her fear and rage ballooned and she would have struck out against anyone who was near her.

  Thankfully, when the flood of strange thoughts had rushed through her consciousness in the past, she was alone. No one saw her eyes burn hot with fury and her face turn pale with terror. No one witnessed her removal from the reality around her.

  It had happened three times before. Foreign thoughts pushed their way into her mind and left her reeling, placed her in a fit of emotional upheaval, but in all three cases, the raw anguish eventually dissipated. With each instance, however, it seemed to take a little longer for the reaction to subside.

  Once the raw emotion faded, she was left with a distorted recollection of confused thoughts. She remembered the flood of images, but she couldn't piece them together in any coherent manner. It was a jumble, a mass of disconnected impulses.

  Even as she tried to coax the images and corresponding emotions into some rational order, the effort wore on her. The feelings she tried to grasp didn't invoke a matched response. As she reflected on the blurred considerations of sadness or fear, her own emotions dimmed. Pulling at the loose threads left her tired and growingly disinterested. Her emotions began to drift far into the background.