Kindle us! Make us glow, cried the dark lumir crystals in the walls.
“Why does the magic bother you?” Ran laid his head on his shoulder, unperturbed by the crowd. Maybe he didn’t see it. Or more likely, he trusted Sarn to keep him safe.
“Because it’s not normal.”
The word ‘normal’ bludgeoned Sarn, staggering him. Normal was those people—brown eyed, dull, and mundane as the stones under their feet. Normal men didn’t have magic.
An image flared. In it, Ran tumbled down an endless spiral of stairs until a cloud of sparkling green power caught him and flew him back into his arms. Sarn hugged his son, and Ran squeezed back—alive and unhurt.
Another image replaced the stairs. In it, he plunged his arm into a swelling black heart and pulled out thirteen ghosts. Then the scene changed to a rocky spit in a lake—the island of the pink lumir. He stood, dyed rosy in its light, channeling a grumpy spirit Bear’s power to shield at least a hundred men, women, and children.
Do I want to be normal? The question swelled in volume until its echoes drowned out all other sounds.
“Normal is boring. I like you better magically gifted,” Shade quipped, and his friend’s dark eyes glittered above a gray veil. “Now use that magic to get us out of here. My arms are tiring of all this hanging about and I’m freezing my arse off.”
For a moment, Sarn was back there, dangling from a sheer rock wall unable to recall just why he and Shade were thousands of feet above a frozen canyon. Ice cut his fingers as he climbed, and a tiny hand tugged the back of his hood. Then he remembered, the Wild Hunt had kidnapped his infant son. Shade had accompanied him on the rescue mission.
He felt again the texture of that stone, its structural planes and just where to push with his magic to cause a section of the cliff to sheer off. He squatted on that windswept cliff, touching the point where it would cleave with his infant son strapped to his back. Shade squatted next to him and laid a gloved hand over his. Behind the veil, Shade was smiling.
“On three, bring the wall down and drown out the Hunt’s call. I know you can do it.”
“What if I kill us in the process?”
“You won’t. I trust you. Three … two… one …”
And he had pushed with all his magical might. Rocks fell, knocking the Wild Huntsmen from the wall. The thud of many, many stones drowned out all other sounds. The rockfall would only delay those supernatural bastards, but that’s all they needed to escape.
Shade squeezed his shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”
The memory receded, taking Shade away as surely as death had. A sharp ache stabbed Sarn in the heart. Then a second one made his head throb as the rocks around him resumed their begging.
Kindle us, light-bringer! Kindle us, screamed miles upon miles of darkened stones.
Sarn tried to tune them out, but there were so many calling for him. I can’t light them all. There’s too many.
The question repeated: do I want to be normal?
“Yes, you do,” a hazy Jerlo said, and Sarn nodded because ‘normal’ men didn’t hear voices. But the memory dimmed as pain erased the rest of it. Only Jerlo’s voice remained. “You will figure out what normal is and you will spend every minute of every day trying to be it,” said Jerlo’s voice in his head. “Those are my orders …”
My orders …
Obey. Obey. Obey!
Yes, Master.
No! shouted his magic as it shook the bars of a cage floored by promises and barred by orders.
“Be normal,” Jerlo ordered.
The commander of the Rangers appeared in the tunnel standing ten-feet tall instead of a hair over five. His eyes were black holes sucking everything into them.
But ‘normal’ couldn’t save my son. Sarn leaned against the wall as that truism hit home. The tunnel revolved around him as the spent lumir stones screamed. A fire started in his fingers and ran up his arm as he slid down the wall. He freed a hand from his son and stared at the marks. The symbols were crawling under his skin like fat black worms. They rolled over his cheek and dove into his left eye, and the world dimmed.
Normal men aren’t marked by the Adversary. They don’t experience blackouts or lose chunks of time, and no one’s erasing their memories. Or their son’s. Sarn scrubbed both hands over his face.
Ran’s lips moved, but no sound reached Sarn even though his son stood at his shoulder clutching a handful of his sleeve.
Magic had imperiled his son far more often than it had saved the sunny tyke. The Queen of All Trees tampered with his developing mind because of me. But I wouldn’t even know she was anything more than a myth if not for magic.
“Be free, embrace normalcy. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
Sarn nodded.
J.C. turned and extended his hand in entreaty. On his palm lay an invitation, and that ‘m-word’ hung between them like a silent accusation. J.C. wanted him to work magic in front of all those people.
But they’ll see. They’ll know. My magic will damn me and my son. Sarn backed away from the word, the request and a power everyone but him coveted. This was the point of no return, and it was a black shape winging toward him as the need to hide warred with the need to help.
J.C. regarded him, but his presence no longer quieted the Adversary’s voice or his offer of normalcy.
“Your magic defy, live free and satisfied. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
Do I want to be a powerful mage? Sarn looked at his son, who was still mouthing questions he couldn’t hear. Or do I want to be the father my son deserves? Because the two were mutually exclusive. One path led to constant danger and the other to a quiet life if he could suppress his gift, which might also be his curse.
“Defy your magic, live free. At my side, thy time is nigh.”
The conflict raged inside Sarn as a smiling creature landed next to J.C. and held out a clawed hand. On it rested an offer.
“Magic, you tried, but normalcy’s glorified. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh. Why this hue and cry? To your dark Father fly. Come, sinner, thy time is nigh.”
After all, why not defy the magic that so often imperiled him?
I’ll Have to Confiscate That
Where are you? The Adversary scanned the crowd throwing itself at the shield, reducing it to a glimmering remnant of the brilliant veil it was just an hour before. Soon the human moths charging it would break it down, then they’d throw themselves right into his trap. But there was still no doubly-gifted mage among the masses bearing his mark.
How did you defeat my taint? The Adversary circled the sea of blank-eyed men and women cramming into the tunnel to the Ægeldar. A few had minor gifts, but none rang with power in their blood.
Where are you, Sarn? My mark should have defeated the spells hiding you and compelled you to come to me. So why didn’t it?
The next rank of entranced fools walked into the shield, and it flickered revealing patches where the spell had eroded. They pushed against it until the shield recouped enough power from its dwindling source to shove them back. But a few made it though, and those lost souls milled around until he sent them into the fiery embrace of a far more dangerous shield. Outside the Ægeldar, the rest kept coming in waves, following the dictates of the voice in their heads—his voice. His command overrode all other thoughts, but not in this doubly-gifted mage’s mind.
Why is that? What could possibly mute my call? Perhaps one of the Divine Ones could, but they wouldn’t because the covenant granted mankind free will. So that left two possibilities. One, this doubly-gifted mage was descended from the Magic Kind, which was governed by different rules, or two, he was one of those blasted curse breakers.
Curse breakers were nature’s way of equalizing things. All those born of curses had one major flaw—they were predisposed to continue the curses they were born under, and a curse was a recurring sin. Going against that took constant vigilance because one slip flipped them from curse breaker to curse maker. A slow smile spread acr
oss the Adversary’s face as a new plan formed.
He flew through the stone arch framing the disintegrating shield. As a spirit, the Adversary had no physical body for the shield to stop, nor did it extend into the rock surrounding it. The Queen of All Trees hadn’t anticipated his continued interest in the place. So, he passed into the Ægeldar without issue and soared over a half-mile wide chasm.
Above, an illusion hid the delicate tracery of his trap. Below, a black mist boiled under the shield. All was as it should be, save for the distant chiming of those infernal bells. Once every hour, on the hour, they rang, and their chiming set his teeth on edge. Thank the devil, the builders of this inside-out fortress hadn’t installed any of those horrible tubes in the Ægeldar. So, the bells' song didn't echo through the pit.
“I see you, ‘Father of Lies,’ hiding from the bells.” said the beast in the pit, who was also called the Ægeldar, and his laughter reverberated.
“At least I’m mobile. You’re stuck in that pit with nothing but rocks for company.”
And this was a futile conversation, one the Adversary ended by drifting away and dividing his essence. He sent part of his shadow out searching again and called to the other bits of himself he’d cast about the so-called ‘Lower Quarters’ where this ‘Sarn’ supposedly dwelt. If, Ragnes was telling the truth. Where are you, boy?
A shiver in the dark forces drew his attention to his hand where a black cord appeared. Ah, so my mark is affecting you. Hand over hand, the Adversary reeled it in after he divided again, leaving part of himself behind so he’d know when the first shield was down. It shouldn’t be long now judging by the way it guttered. That curtain of light was ready to fall. It just needed a little push then he’d nip back here to set part two of his plan in motion. With luck, he’d have time to bag a powerful mageling in between. The Adversary smiled.
I feel the conflict within you, boy. And he fed it, widening the crack in the spells hiding this ‘Sarn.’ A mind divided cannot hope to stand against me.
Through the wall the Adversary flew, beating his massive wings as he followed where that line led.
Hold tight, boy, I’m coming for you, and I’ve got just what you need—a jolt of darkness and lies. Come to the dark side, my time is nigh!
“Get down!” Nulthir knocked Agalthar and Huwain down as that damned black thing flew overhead again. It’d flown more than a half-dozen circuits before he’d lost count. What could you possibly be looking for? Everyone's coming to you.
“What is that thing?”
As Agalthar popped up from behind the collapsed column to watch the creature fly away, a six-pointed star blazed on his chest then it faded. It was one of the many symbols Nulthir had seen flare up on the people he passed in this never-ending hellhole. Beside him, Huwain made the sign of the cross, and that symbol shined on his chest.
Out of the dozen Guards Nulthir had led down here, only six were left. All were marked by glowing religious symbols except him. Instead, the rune against tampering, both mental and spiritual, flickered over his base chakra. It was one of a dozen she’d marked him with at birth, making him wonder if his mother had somehow foreseen this.
Before he could get mired in his parental issues, and their plans for him, plans he had no interest in seeing come to fruition, he scanned the people shuffling past for his missing Guards. Nulthir held up his pendant. It was a mess of interlocking curves forming the old runic word for dawn, but its shimmering rune-light saved them from pitch darkness.
So far no one had commented on it. But once this crisis ended, he’d have to confiscate it because magical items were illegal. And I’m the captain of the Guards. Upholding the law is my job. Nulthir shook his head at the irony of his sudden appointment. Not too long ago, he was a third-shift prison Guard. Now, look at me. I’m still skulking around the bowels of this place.
“Is that Lurston?” Huwain pointed to a slender man with a gray streak running through his black hair.
“It might be.” Nulthir pushed to his feet, but Huwain and Agalthar shoved him down.
“We’ll get him. You stay here.”
The two Guards pushed into the slow-moving crowd, and it swallowed them. After a few minutes, they returned carrying a third man.
“We got ‘em. But we had to knock him out. Huwain tried crossing him, but it didn’t work.”
“Agalthar tried a few things too but—” Huwain shook his head.
They lifted Lurston over the three-foot-wide column and set him down just as he started thrashing.
“I must go. The Father calls.” Lurston’s eyes opened, but they showed only the whites of his eyes like all the others.
“You need to settle down. You can resolve your daddy issues after we get through this crisis.” Agalthar pushed Lurston down when he tried to rise.
“Cap’n, can you do anything?” Huwain gestured to the rune-light.
Can I? Nulthir shrugged then felt around for something to write with until he spotted a puddle. Let there be mud. And there was. It was grayish and grainy, but it would do the job. So, he copied the rune he hoped was keeping his mind clear of manipulation on Lurston’s forehead.
As he drew the last line, a shadow flew toward him. It was too small to be the creature that’d passed by before. He threw his arm up at the last moment and claws bit into his leather gauntlet. Those needle-thin claws retracted so the creature could walk up his arm using its fingers and opposable thumbs. Once Thing One settled on his shoulder, his prehensile tail threaded between Nulthir’s arm and his side, giving his odd-looking pet a third point of stability.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Thing One.
Needed to know you’re okay. Bad things in the air. Thing One fluffed out his fur.
He was a cross between an owl, a bat, a cat and whatever other animal had frolicked in that pool of stagnant magic. Nulthir had found Thing One when he was a small child. So small, the only name he could come up with for the creature was ‘Thing.’ But the name had stuck. Since Thing was adorable and harmless, his parents had allowed him to keep the fuzzy, owl-eyed creature, and they’d been together ever since.
When Thing found a mate, he became Thing One. She took the name ‘Thing Two' because the moniker had amused her. By the time their first brood came along, they’d learned enough Shayarin words to name their children themselves thus releasing Nulthir from that duty.
Though Thing One and his family were supposed to stay in his apartment, not fly around inside Mount Eredren. This wouldn't be the first time his psychic flatmate had disobeyed that order.
“Go home. I’ll be there eventually.”
No, I stay. I make sure the bad thing doesn’t get you. Thing One’s prehensile tail squeezed Nulthir's ribs imitating a one-armed hug.
“Fine, just don’t crush my ribs. I need them.”
Thing One relaxed his hold, but his head swiveled three-hundred and sixty degrees, taking it all in. He blinked iridescent owl eyes at the endless throng.
“Did it work?” Agalthar asked.
He politely avoided looking at Thing One though his friend knew about his odd menagerie. Likely so did most of the Guards since his pets had dropped in on him during working hours more than once since his elevation to captain.
Thank Fate, Thing One only speaks mind-to-mind.
Yes, this is a good way to speak, Thing One said because he read every unguarded thought, but his range was limited to line-of-sight.
“Well, shouldn’t he wake up now?”
Indeed, Lurston lay on the pile of broken stones staring at the ceiling. A stalactite dripped on him, and he finally blinked, restoring some sense to his eyes.
“I think it worked. Good going Captain.” Huwain clapped Nulthir on his back.
“We just need to find five more of our brothers-in-arms then we can get the hell out of here.” Agalthar shuddered.
Nulthir nodded. “It’s too bad we can’t liberate everyone at once rather than this piecemeal approach.”
N
ulthir massaged his cramping knees. He’d spent too long crouched here, but they had a good vantage, and some helpful Litherian in ages past had scrawled the rune for safety here. So, the shadowy man-things shepherding the crowd couldn’t attack them if they stayed on this spot.
There must be some rune powerful enough to free them all. Not prepared to give up, Nulthir scrolled through the runes in his mental library, but he had a limited store of power. Also, he needed a medium to draw the rune on and something to bind it to. So, casting it on the air, which would solve the problem, wouldn’t work. Damn. There had to be something else.
I should have borrowed more power from that mage-boy. If only I’d known a magical crisis was in the offing.
“Would holy water work?” Huwain looked sheepish as he withdrew a crystal vial from his inner pocket. It hung on a heavy chain. “It was blessed by a Bishop in—well, I guess where doesn’t matter as long as it was a sacred place.” He held the vial out to Nulthir who shook his head.
“It’s your God. You do it.”
“He’s right. It might not work if a nonbeliever tries it. Begging your pardon captain. I meant nothing by that. Just being honest is all.”
Nulthir waved away any offense, and Agalthar relaxed. “No offense taken. I agree with you.” He gestured for Huwain to give his idea a try.
“What happened? My head feels like it’s splitting open, and there’s this annoying voice saying— 'come, sinners, thy time is nigh.’” Lurston sat up and rubbed his head. Through his massaging hands, he glanced at his six fellow Guards. “What's a ‘sinner?’”
“Oh, so that’s what that dark murmur is saying. I’ve been wondering for hours.” Iraine doffed her helm and scratched her sweat-matted afro. Her black skin was festooned with religious symbols, some even sparkled. Knowing Iraine, that was by design.
Nulthir nodded to them. “Spiritual insurance?”
“Yeah, you can’t be too careful. Sins stain your soul, but God bleaches those stains. There’s no such thing as too much God. Besides, all religions boil down to the same three tenets. Following them all ensures my soul will be saved several times over.” Iraine smiled, and it was so infectious, despite their situation, Nulthir echoed it.
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