The Oblivion Trials (The Astral Wanderer Book 3)

by D'Artagnan Rey

  “No hesitation at all,” Merri mused aloud as he jumped back. “You truly are more than a young magi in over your head, aren’t you?”

  “Is that the impression you had when you saw us?” Devol asked and brandished his blade defiantly. “It seems you read people as well as you lie.”

  His opponent chuckled. “I think my skill is better than most. It comes in handy when I have to examine a patient.”

  The boy glowered at him. “Patient? If you were truly a healer at one point in your life, why are you attacking me? And what have you done to my friends?”

  “Technically, whatever is happening to them, they did themselves,” Merry countered. “They were the ones who left, after all. And there is more than one way to heal, Devol.” He grinned as he spun the knife in his hand. “You can repair damage or destroy the disease. Both count as healing.”

  “And that’s all you see me as? Is that all you see anyone as?” he demanded and lunged into another attack. “A disease?”

  He thrust his blade forward and the man dodged to the right and prepared to slice into him with his knife. The young swordsman planted his feet and swung to drive the pommel of his sword into the side of his opponent’s head and knock the magi down with a startled gasp.

  Devol flipped his blade so it pointed down and prepared to skewer the liar but before his blade could make contact, Merri blinked away again and appeared several meters away, rubbing his head.

  “Not everyone, and before you get all high and mighty, I am indeed a healer.” He shook his head and held his knife up to reveal the blood on it. The boy checked his body and noticed a small cut on his right arm, probably inflicted mere seconds before he was able to hit him.

  While he might have not been a healer, sealing the tiny wound with mana was easy enough for him although he was now concerned about the poison the man had coated his blade with. It was little more than a scratch but for some toxins, that was more than enough.

  “I see a trace of worry in your eyes, boy,” Merri noted with a smirk as he held the blade to his lips. “Are you worried that I poisoned my blade? There is no need to fret. It wasn’t poison at all.” He twirled the blade. “It was merely alcohol to clean the blade and I’m sure you would much rather prefer to be cut by a clean blade than by a dirty one—a basic health tip for you.”

  It could be another lie, of course, but Devol felt no ill effects from the injury. Whatever his adversary planned, he would not let him accomplish it. Unfortunately, the older magi took away the option to stop him before the determination had taken root. He placed the flat end of his blade against his tongue and let the blood coat it before he swallowed it, leaving the boy shocked and revolted.

  “Yes, that’s usually the response from others,” the man admitted when he saw the horror on his face. “It’s not too pleasant for me either if it is any consolation. But fortunately for you, my young friend, you won’t have that memory for too much longer.” Merri used the knife to rip his tunic and reveal numerous scars on his body, all in elaborate patterns that went from the tops of his shoulders down over his chest to his waist and covered at least most of the upper half of his body. “Once I give you a demonstration of my life’s work, I’m afraid I will have to end yours.”

  Listen close… Wait, scratch that. Read thoroughly, Asla, and keep your anima up.

  Now didn’t seem the time for puns or corrections but that was typical of Jazai. She picked the tome up and backed slowly toward the exit. Her impatience demanded that he hurry and explain what was happening so she knew how to respond.

  I’m close to the middle of the factory and the enemy is somewhere directly above me. He can control this fog or at least use his malefic’s power to manipulate it somehow. Also, he is spreading some kind of disease. I don’t know if he devised it or if it’s simply what his malefic creates, but it weakens the control of mana and makes the body decay slowly over time. The closer you are to him, the faster it seems to work.

  If Jazai was directly under him, she didn’t want to imagine what might have happened to him. Asla was about to exit the building but she turned and looked down the halls, preparing to run inside to get to him. The letter continued to write, however, and made her hesitate.

  Do not worry about me right now. I may not have my book but I know you. Your concern is sweet and all but if we are both trapped, we’re in a deep amount of trouble. If I could teleport out I would have done so by now. It’s not an option as I have to focus all my remaining mana into my anima to stop myself from rotting away. I’ve already developed dark spots on my hand and leg.

  The wildkin checked her body quickly and drew up one of her sleeves. She gasped as she saw two small, gray spots on her left arm, but they weren’t too dark yet. Hopefully, that meant she had time. She released more mana to strengthen her anima while she tried not to pour too much out and expose herself.

  I’ve seen a couple of poor souls who are in the last stages of this disease and it’s not pretty. The one silver lining is that if we can destroy the malefic or at least stop the user, that will stop the spread of the disease. I’m not sure if that will reverse the effects, but one problem at a time.

  Asla bit her lip and finally jumped back and landed at the foot of the stairs in front of the entrance to the building. She looked up. The structure was about four stories tall and she guessed that the malefic-user was at the top. If they could spread this disease all over the town, they would need a higher vantage point.

  I know this is a lot to ask for you to face a malefic-user alone but I believe in you. If you can, bring them to me and I can help you finish them. Go now. See if you can reach Devol and let him know, just in case.

  She shut the tome and placed it on the stairs. Jazai could retrieve it as soon as he was free. She took her a-stone out and tried to reach Devol but could hear nothing. Worse, she felt slightly lightheaded during her attempt. She shook it off and put the stone away. If she was already falling under the effects of this odd disease, she needed to work fast.

  The wildkin extended her claws, leapt up, and used them to attach herself to the building and thrust herself higher toward the top floor. She crawled to a window and looked inside. The room was filled with fog—or perhaps not fog but rather some kind of gas. Perhaps that was how the malefic-user dispersed the disease through the area. He simply hid it within the fog.

  Asla drew a deep breath and tried to see if she could pull the window open, but to no avail. She peered in, located the latch, and cut a small hole in the glass with her claws. Working quickly, she undid the latch and pulled the window open. The gas billowed out as she snuck inside and closed the windows, although a little gas still escaped through the hole she had made in the window.

  Making barely a sound, she crept through the room. It appeared to be a large office, probably for the person in charge when it had been an active facility. She peered out the doorway into a larger general area and could barely make a figure out through the haze. He was seated and his hands hovered around a beehive-shaped object in front of him.

  As she inched closer, she could see that he appeared to be dressed in nothing but dark bandages with a cloth wrapped around his waist. The bandages covered him from head to foot and even obscured their ears—a small detail that should make this easy. She looked at the object he tended. It was also dark and shades of black, gray, and touches of violet swirled around its cone-shaped form. The smoke poured from the top and seemed to drift in whatever direction the user pointed to.

  “You know…” he said, his voice high-pitched and raspy. “You shouldn’t move around like that. You are disturbing the flow of my smoke.”

  Asla, realizing she had been detected, lunged quickly at the magi. She let her mana flare and she reached back with both claws and drove them forward as her cat-shaped shadow formed around her. The user turned quickly, held his malefic out, and launched a blast of the smoke to cover her entire body.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Devol looked at Merri’s scar
red body with shock and disgust. He noticed that some spots were darker or oddly colored compared to others as if highlighted with ink or treated by concoctions. Whatever the man had done to himself, he was clearly experimenting. The enemy magi made a bitter face as the blood he had taken from Devol worked down his throat.

  “It’s always the same taste like that of seaweed and stagnant tea,” he muttered and tossed his blade down as he stretched his arms.

  The swordsman lifted his blade again and took a step forward. His adversary was only a few yards away and while he was surprisingly wily for a man of his build, at this distance, he would at least injure the madman.

  Merri glanced at him with his easy smile, although in the current circumstances it was far more haunting than comforting. “I know it seems hypocritical, but I do apologize for all the lies I’ve told until now. I promise that you will have nothing but the truth from here on, starting with—”

  The young magi did not let him finish. He used Vis to strengthen his legs and exploded forward, raised Achroma above his head, and prepared to arc it down at his adversary with as much strength as he could muster. The healer raised his arms as if mocking him, but Devol’s muscles tightened and his grasp locked.

  Try as he might, he could not move his arms and instead of attacking the evil magi, he careened past him and sprawled on the dirt and gravel. His jacket and shirt were torn as he skidded along the rough surface for a good ten feet. Quickly, he pushed up, rubbed the dirt off his face with his sleeve, and paused when he felt a string on his chest, cheek, and brow. He looked at Merri, who regarded him thoughtfully.

  “Starting with the fact that my type of magic is not light.” He raised a hand and mana pooled into his fingertips. It went from a hazy green to a dark, smoky color that assumed a form between liquid and gas. “It is shadow, which is a little more practical for my study.”

  Devol tried to raise his hand but it felt like his body fought against him. Shadow and light, from what he was taught, were not the opposites most people believed them to be. Light was able to amplify magic and also block it out, while shadow absorbed elements and could replicate other magics and give them a dark bent. One could counter the other but it all depended on the power of the wielder and how they used it.

  He wondered if the heaviness and restricted movement he felt was the result of a curse or spell his opponent had used, but he had not seen him use either, at least not obviously. Neither he nor his friends had eaten or drank anything offered so it couldn’t have been poison.

  “Are you confused? You seem to be,” Merri commented and stretched his arms again. “Allow me to clarify some things for you, if I may.” The boy’s body went rigid again and his arms raised and stretched like his adversary’s. When the older magi faced his palms toward each other and clapped, Devol’s did the same. His hands still clutched Achroma and it dawned on him in one terrifying moment.

  “Shadow magic is both reviled and yet somehow pitied amongst most other types,” the healer mused, rolled his shoulders, and smiled when the boy’s followed suit. “It certainly has been used for evil in much of the history of our realm. There aren’t many stories of great heroes facing dark foes with dark magic, and yet most mock it for only being able to replicate or consume other magics and having no true appeal beyond being the magic of copycats.” He now smiled through clenched teeth and displayed a more crazed type of excitement. “I decided to lean into that and it has born me promising fruit.”

  “You’re controlling me,” the young swordsman gasped and his arms shook as he tried to fight it. “How? My anima should protect me from any spell you cast on me.”

  Merri nodded. “True, and I must commend you for your anima. It’s very powerful for someone your age. But I am not controlling your body through a simple spell or even your flesh, precisely. The sample of blood I took earlier, although minute, was more than enough for my shadow magic to latch onto—not only your blood but your magic—in order to mimic it. But that would normally not be enough for a feat like this.”

  He tiled his hands so the blade in Devol’s grasp turned on its side. “But that would be where my research”—he nodded at his scarred body—“came into play. You see, I came across some interesting artifacts in my travels, ones you may be familiar with. They are referred to as malefics, I believe?” The surprise on the boy’s face gave the shadow-user his answer. “That would be correct, it seems.”

  “Then this is the work of a malefic?” he demanded and continued to try to fight the hold over him with little success.

  His adversary shook his head disapprovingly. “No. I have no interest in obtaining one—unlike my partner, who has talked nonstop of their benefits despite the obvious toll it has taken on his body.” The words dripped with condescension as he rolled his eyes. “What use is heightened power taken or traded for rather than earned or acquired? The only use they had for me was to spark an idea—what if I could use the idea of them for myself? Find a way to enhance magic and mold to my purposes outside of traditional venues?

  “It’s not exactly a brand-new thought, but when I came across the malefics and heard the tales of how they came to be through dabbling by the Templars of old…” He smiled and the edges of Devol’s twitched jolt upward briefly before going slack as he gritted his teeth. “I found some old books—not exactly on the market and with poor handwriting too—but they fed those sparks until they began to become a flame in my mind. I tried various items and curios in my attempts to replicate them for myself, but to no avail.

  “Finally, I reasoned that I needed something I was more familiar with.” He placed one hand across his scarred chest and the boy did the same and he felt the sting of the wounds across his torso from the fall. “And as I said, not everything I said was a lie. I am indeed a healer and very familiar with the human body, my own especially so. It worked out well. These scars are, in fact, runes and wards that I have infused with various things—my own spells and concoctions—and I succeeded in a way, although this kind of marionetting wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for.”

  Devol shifted his left foot, this time not due to Merri’s movement but his own. Either he was finally breaking loose or the man’s control was weakening. Perhaps if he could keep him talking long enough, it would be enough to free himself entirely. “What were you hoping for?”

  The magi’s expression changed from one of devious glee to a glazed, almost melancholy one. “That magic I talked about before—the ability to heal with light and treat wounds and disease that seem fatal in our age? It does exist, child. I have seen it.” His hand returned to the other and Devol’s took hold of Achroma again. “But it is not of our realm. The healer who developed this miraculous magic is an angeli from Avadon and she…” He looked down and eyes widened slightly as he looked from the boy’s foot to his and he chuckled. “Well, damn. It appears that I have almost let myself be my downfall. It’s embarrassing but it has been so long since I’ve had such attentive company.”

  Merri lurched forward and although the boy fought against it, his throat soon pressed against Achroma’s edge. He struggled but he had no idea how to fight against something like this. When he tried to force himself back or away from the blade, it would merely make his body shudder but not move. He could make small movements with his feet and fingers now, but nothing sufficient to pry himself off his blade. With a mixture of rage and fear, he looked at the light of his majestic and understood what his enemy intended to do— kill the young magi with his own blade.

  “I would prefer another method,” the man commented with a sad sigh. “A warrior taking their own life is considered a great dishonor in many kingdoms, but needs must when—” He stopped for a moment and uttered a short laugh. “Well, never mind that. I take no pleasure in this, my boy, but if it is any consolation, your body will be returned to your loved ones at least in a better condition than your friends’.”

  With all other options exhausted, Devol began to pour his mana into Achroma. The blade illuminat
ed and he was able to fight against Merri’s control long enough to look at him with not fear but hatred in his eyes. He almost felt that he had let himself get caught and his caution against an unknown opponent made him hesitant to attempt a decisive blow, but with everything in him, he wished he could have that opportunity now.

  The crazed magi drew a heavy breath and tightened his hand to fists. “Farewell, Devol.” He drew his hands down and the boy unwillingly did the same to drag Achroma across his throat. The young swordsman waited for the pain and the splash of warm blood down his throat and the oncoming darkness of death.

  None of that came, however. His body seemed light and loose now as if Merri’s enchantment had never been. He wondered if it was because he was already dead. Achroma clattered to the dirt and his legs gave out beneath him. A light glowed below him and he frowned in confusion. He couldn’t see the source but it seemed to come from directly below his chin.

  Something warm splashed on his head and he reached up and felt something slick in his hair. He knew instinctively that it was blood and looked up. His expression matched the shock on Merri’s face as blood and light poured out of the older magi’s neck.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The malefic-user picked himself up off the floor. Some of the bandages around his arms and waist loosened as he cocked his head at Asla, who had now dived through the man’s blast of smoke, her anima able to protect her from its immediate effects.

  “Another one. I take it Merri was unable to deal with you.” He sighed and stretched his neck until it cracked twice. “Incompetent bastard. All he had to do was make you sit around for a while. How has he not managed to learn this after all the times he’s had the opportunity to do so?”

  Asla hissed and held her claws up, and the malefic-user noticed her gauntlets. “Well, that’s prettier than most exotics. And your anima is quite something but it would take more than that to still be standing after a blast from such a short distance.” He moved his hand to shift some of the bandages near his mouth and displayed a toothy grin. “A majestic user, then? And a cat wildkin by the looks of you. I haven’t seen one of you fall to my poison before. I wonder what the decay will look like?”