“You knocked him into it?” Asla asked, her voice still a little faint as she attempted to sit.
Devol looked at his hand. “It wasn’t my plan but he attempted to attack me and… Well, I hit him with enough power to push him into the pit and he fell into the rift as Wulfsun and Farah finished shutting it.”
“Trapped in the Abyss?” Jazai looked at the dome, which was now not even a fourth of the size it had been when they first arrived. “I would prefer a body, but there ain’t a chance he can make it out of that. Even if he had a marble or something to teleport to our realm, they don’t work in the Abyss. At least, that’s what Zier told me.”
“So, it’s over then?” Asla asked and her gaze settled on the dome. “We won?”
The swordsman gave her a wide and very tired grin as he stood. “Yeah, we did. We helped close the rift and we were able to…to…” He wavered and his sight grew blurry for a moment. He stumbled and Jazai began to stand to steady him. Devol held a hand out to stop him, then placed it on his face and wiped the sweat off. He felt dampness around his eyes and realized they stung. For some unaccountable reason, he was tearing up.
These were tears of happiness, right? They had accomplished their mission, everyone was all right—injured but alive—and yet… He looked at the bodies of the scholars, guards, and soldiers burned by Salvo on his way inside. The fire magi had said that he had killed hundreds during his life. He was not a good person and was as much a monster as any Devol had fought or slain up to this point, But as his tears began to flow more freely and created tracks down his face, he looked at his blood-soaked majestic.
Asla waved someone over as Jazai stood and walked closer to him. “Devol, what’s wrong?”
“I…I don’t…” he stammered and rubbed the tears from his face. “I don’t know. G-give me a minute.”
“Asla, Jazai, how are ye?” Wulfsun asked as he strode up to the group. “Good job holding off that bastard and making it out. Do you need—” Asla stopped him with a shake of her head and pointed at Devol.
The Templar needed no explanation. He merely nodded and moved to the boy, who tried to dry his tears. “Hey, lad, come with me for a moment,” he said and placed a hand gently on his back. The young swordsman nodded and slid Achroma into its scabbard as they wandered to the other side of the hill.
The silence hung between them as they walked. Devol looked over his shoulders at the small group of survivors. “Are they okay?”
Wulfsun noted the direction of his gaze and nodded. “Some have injuries and a couple of the scholars are still in shock. None of them were prepared for something that brutal.” He sighed and ran a hand through his wild mane of hair. “Unfortunately, that’s the world we live in, though. There are many bastards like fire magi out there.”
“Salvo,” he replied and focused on the dome, which was now about the size of a house. The area it had possessed remained withered. “He was one of the magi who attacked us during our mission in Rouxwoods.”
“I remember Vaust talking about him,” the Templar said quietly. “That mask of his…was that a malefic?”
“Yes.” Devol stopped beside a group of bushes. “It was…alive, I think. There was another presence in Salvo and he became more and more erratic as we fought.”
“I’ve not seen it before but I’ve heard about it—the demon mask.” Wulfsun folded his arms as he looked into the sky where dawn had begun to break. “You know, the first time I ever heard about it was when it was used in battle. A soldier and his squad were pinned down by a cult of some kind causing trouble in Britana. During a raid, the soldiers were able to snatch the mask, although they had no idea what it was.
“While they were under siege, a soldier put it on and he was able to wipe out the cultists in a matter of a couple of minutes and saved his team.” He sighed, closed his eye, and shook his head. “In the end, though, the mask continued to call to him even after he took it off. He stole it from the same military stronghold he had turned it in to only a week before. His body was found a few months later in a cave, scrawny and pale. Locals from the village near the cave said they heard odd screams at night, most likely from him. They never recovered the mask after that.”
“Do you think Salvo killed him for it?” Devol asked as images of the mask appeared in his mind.
“That is doubtful. Vaust said Salvo told him about how he got his wand by stealing it from his master. The last time anyone had seen the mask was more than a decade ago and he would have probably still been an apprentice at the time. My guess is whoever he worked for had it done or did it themselves.” He eyed the young magi with concern. “Did he say anything about that, boyo?”
“Working with someone?” the boy asked and tried to recall. “Besides Koli—the other thief from before— I can’t remember anyone else. But he kept saying he would see a ‘new world’ or something like that.”
“A new world eh?” Wulfsun stroked his beard, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve heard proclamations like that all too often in my time, and it is always some nutter yelling it.” He looked at the young man whose face was still forlorn and he sighed as he lowered his hand and knelt so that they were similar in height. Gently, he turned to young magi toward him. “Tell me…what are you feeling, lad?”
Devol looked at the abyss again. It was all but gone and the small gathering on the hill paused to watch as the last of the anomaly was absorbed into the portal before the rift disappeared.
“He’s gone for good now.” He drew his majestic and looked at the blood on the blade. Absently, he fumbled in one of his pouches to find a cloth to wipe it with but it must have fallen out during the fighting.
His companion deduced this, removed a soft gray cloth from his pouch, and handed it to the boy, who took it and attempted to clean the blade. “I shouldn’t be so bothered,” Devol muttered, his voice low and quiet. “He was a killer and proud of it. His boast was that he came here to kill me, my friends, you, Vaust…anyone—” He stopped wiping his weapon almost as soon as he had begun and lowered his head. “And yet I can’t…I can’t stop shaking now.”
Wulfsun studied the boy. Indeed, his hands shook although it was subtle. Years of swordplay had driven the need for self-control into him, but he could not stop this. The man placed a massive paw on top of his hands to steady them and Devol realized that for all the fire he had recently dealt with, he was cold.
“It is all right,” the Templar said and gave him a moment to breathe. “Those of us who have been in battle for so long take the innocence we once had for granted. I had hoped to prepare you myself for the actions you would have to take in this profession.”
“I should have been ready,” the swordsman interrupted and his voice cracked. “I was! I ran him through—he left me no choice!” He turned his blade and drove it into the earth. “I had planned to be a guard and read stories of knights and heroes who vanquished evil-doers with their might. I knew I would have to do so myself, no matter what path I chose.” He tightened his grasp on the hilt of his sword. “Why does this bother me? He was nothing more than evil. He was—”
“Human,” Wulfsun said quietly to end his tirade. “That’s the thing, Devol. Even with everything he was at the core, it can be easier to accept the death of a monster that has scales and claws than one with flesh and a visage like yours.” He stood and drew a deep breath. “I killed my first man—well, first three—when I was about a year or so older than you. It was during a scouting mission on some bandits that went tits-up. We weren’t even supposed to confront them and had been ordered to report them to local guards. But I guess I wasn’t built for stealth, even as a boy. In a way, I was lucky. Not only was I trained all my life to fight like my life depended on it, but I was so busy trying to fight within the chaos that it didn’t hit me until it was all over.”
Devol nodded and rubbed his eyes. “I feel the same way. It wasn’t until I saw him sink into that portal that I truly understood what I had done.”
The Templar folded his arms, h
is expression one of understanding. “In the end, I threw myself into my training and snuck some alcohol in from time to time, but I didn’t let it linger. I don’t recommend that, however. It led me to be…not myself for a while.” He straightened, took a few steps in front of the boy, and turned to him. “Devol, you must understand that neither I nor anyone in the order wants to force this life upon you. You have been a great help and will do incredible things no matter where you go. If you need to find another—”
“I will not.” As he looked at his mentor with determination in his eyes, Devol said, “I am—will be—a Templar. I know this will not be the last time I will have to strike down other magi like myself, but I will not let that stop me. I know I can do…I can help more here than anywhere else. I believe that.”
Wulfsun considered this a for a moment before he placed a large hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you feel that way, lad, but I know it hurts. Your first kill will always be something that shakes your foundation. But understand the fact that you can care about someone like him—an evil magi who wished to do you and your friends harm—and still choose to confront him and do what needed to be done. That is a strength that it takes most people years to come to terms with, if they ever do. I’m proud of you, boyo. You did well.”
Devol nodded and a few tears spilled as he smiled a little less shakily. “Thank you, sir.”
“Is everything all right?” Asla asked as she and Jazai joined them. “Farah is asking for you, Wulfsun.”
The Templar nodded. “She probably needs me for her report. I’m praying to the Astrals that she won’t make me talk to her boss again.” He sighed and scratched his chin. “I’ll go and deal with that and hopefully, we can find an inn and get some rest before we return to the order hall.” He took a few steps away but paused for a moment to turn to them and smile. “You all did well. Thanks for watching my back.”
“Of course,” Jazai responded with a weary but earnest grin. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to have to explain to Zier why you didn’t make it back. He’d find a way to blame me for it.”
Wulfsun laughed and continued his walk to Farah. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he quipped over his shoulder. “He’ll be too busy coming up with chores for you to pay it much mind.”
The diviner shrugged as watched the giant man. “He’s not wrong.” He shook his head and turned his attention to Devol. “All right, tell the truth this time. Are you all right?”
The swordsman shook his head, pulled Achroma out of the ground, and rested it over his shoulder. “Yes…yes, I am.” He looked at both of his friends gratefully. “Thank you for your help. I couldn’t have handled him on my own.”
“No kidding.” Jazai looked at his burn marks and sighed. “I gotta be all nice about this. I honestly intended to give you an earful about making me leave you behind.”
“You did?” Devol asked. “Jazai, that wasn’t because I thought you couldn’t handle it. Besides, you said yourself you were low on mana.”
“I know, that’s why I’m not all that pissed about it.” He sighed and placed a hand on Asla’s shoulder. “Honestly, we would have been done for if it wasn’t for Asla’s little trick back there.”
“Right,” he agreed when he recalled the form she had taken. “What was that, Asla? Some part of your majestic?”
The wildkin nodded. “It allows me to tap into my more animalistic side if I concentrate and increase the ability by overcharging my anima, and it almost allows me to shapeshift in a way.” She frowned slightly. “Although it has its drawbacks, as you saw. I wasn’t much good in the fight afterward.”
“Trust me. You did your part,” Jazai assured her.
Devol thought about that moment in the fight. “I couldn’t reach my majestic and I couldn’t call it to me. There was nothing I could do.” He smiled at her. “You saved us there, Asla.”
She turned away, a little bashful. “I’m glad I could—” Her eyes widened. “Look!”
The boys turned their gaze to the bushes, where dozens of small, six-petaled red flowers with crimson veins had begun to bloom. Jazai walked closer and touched one. “Are these…”
“Bloodflowers.” Asla nodded. “They are in bloom.”
Devol looked down and realized that more flowers blossomed around them, even through the scorched earth. “They bloom when one person has killed another,” he stated and turned to look at her “That was the story, right?”
She looked at the flowers, then slowly at him with concern in her eyes. “Yes, but that’s only folklore, Devol.”
The wind picked up and petals began to scatter. Jazai stepped away from the bushes. “Some of these are breaking apart.”
They all stood in silence as the petals filled the air. The sun was rising in the east and the dawn light glimmered on some of the ascending petals. “I hope it is more than folklore,” Devol replied and turned to them. “After all, Asla, you said you liked the bloodflowers because they reminded you that beauty could come from even dark moments, right?”
She stared at him for a moment, surprised that he recalled that. Jazai folded his arms and smirked. She looked at the petals and smiled. “That’s right. I do believe that.”
“And I want to believe that too,” Devol replied, shifted his sword, and replaced it in its scabbard. “From now on, it is something I will always remember so I can carry on.”
The Oblivion Trials
The story continues with The Oblivion Trials, coming June 13, 2021.
Pre-order now to have your copy delivered as soon as the book is published!
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
April 30, 2021
Thank you for not only reading this story but these notes as well.
So, I just got off a story call with an author, and we were discussing the difference between accurate and enjoyable.
(This is for a story that has not come out yet.)
We are in the second book of the series, about twenty-two chapters out of twenty-eight developed. The main protagonist and his two friends are having trouble because the “big guy” is acting pompous and makes all the decisions.
I realized while reading the latest chapters that I’m getting to the point where I’m, like, “You know what? Go ahead and be a @%@!#% and just die already.”
Not the right way to feel about the main character.
So, the author and I jumped on a call to hash it out. She made a good point. Her husband is ex-military, so she is very aware of how it might go with someone who mimics the main character in real life.
Unfortunately, actions that are plausible and highly likely to occur can be annoying to read about.
At least, if you don’t provide enough realization to the main character (read “annoying jerk”) to allow us to emphasize with their decisions. It took us about fifteen minutes to figure out how we could implement the reality of the main character’s actions while not making him a total a##hole at the same time.
The learning moment for me was a realization that what I was feeling was a discussion point related to the story from enjoyment and the publishing side, which is: If it isn’t enjoyable, we are unlikely to sell the next story in the series.
Many authors I’ve met over the years don’t stop to consider the enjoyment aspects of their stories. If a character is a jerk, or is one-dimensional, or kicks dogs (I don’t suggest this), most readers are going to close the book and grab the next one (not that author’s).
As a reader, if I wanted more reality, I could get that without getting lost in a book.
There are whole tropes where the main characters are jerks and sell very well. In romance, there is a trope called “jerk with a heart of gold.” The purpose of the story is the female lead will uncover and allow the heart of gold to shine forth. You can’t very well accomplish a great change if they aren’t a jerk to begin with.
The Empire of Man series by David Weber and John Ringo starts with a main character who is a spoiled prince. Mind you, there are reason
s he’s a jerk. It is justified.
But had I read book 01 first, I never would have gone far enough to enjoy his turnaround. It so happens I read book 02 in the series, where he was already a good guy. I went back to read book one, and it was a struggle to deal with his crass behavior even when I knew how it turned out.
I’m just one of those readers who can’t enjoy that type of scene.
We did solve the challenge with the story by weaving in a few more aspects of why he was acting the way he was. It allowed us to show a bit more of his humanity during jerk moments, and I believe it will carry the reader along to the natural conclusion where the relationships are all worked out.
Which is good. I like the character and really didn’t want to be good with him dying.
Just to be clear, this particular issue wasn’t a challenge with the co-author on this book.
I hope you have a fantastic week, or weekend, or holiday…or night if it’s time to sleep!
Ad Aeternitatem,
Michael Anderle
Books By D'Artagnan Rey
The Astral Wanderer
A New Light (Book One)
Bloodflowers Bloom (Book Two)
The Oblivion Trials (Coming soon)
Books By Michael Anderle
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Bloodflowers Bloom (The Astral Wanderer Book 2) Page 18