Joseph snapped back from the shock of betrayal and threw a punch at Markus. He caught it with his forearm, pivoting next to him and pushed Joseph’s momentum toward the cell. A quick elbow to the back of Joseph’s head dropped him to the floor. Markus kicked him in the head another time to keep him there. A part of him felt guilty at hurting a friend. Another part enjoyed it—something he never had wanted to do when they were the fiercest of competitors.
He grabbed a dagger from the first guard and hit him in the head with the hilt. Then, he threw him in the cell. He relieved Joseph of his guard uniform and put it on. He removed the uniform from the other guard and locked them both in the cell. Markus jogged to the foyer, forming a black sphere as he went. He touched it to a rope that reached to the top of the stairs. About an inch thick, it attached to a bell on the courtyard above. Ringing it brought with it an army of guards. The rope turned black and then turned to ash. Markus coughed from the stench. If Joseph and the other guard freed themselves of the bonds and his cell, it’d take them a little longer to sound the alarm, giving him more time. He retraced his steps to Death’s cell and opened it.
“We’re leaving.”
“Not yet,” Death said.
“We have no time, we need to go.”
“The guards. Where are they?” Death asked.
“In my cell. They are unconscious and locked inside.”
“We must kill them.”
Markus hesitated. “They can’t stop us. We don’t have time to go back.”
“I need to know I can trust you. I will after you murder them.”
Markus didn’t want to kill either of them, especially Joseph. This wasn’t part of the plan. He knew deep down that at some point he’d have to prove his loyalty to the Decayed and that meant hurting someone, fatally. He took off back the way he came. Death followed on his heels. They reached the foyer and turned back down the hallway to Markus’s former cell. I can’t let this happen. This would change him. He might never come back from it, but if he would take his vengeance on the Decayed, he’d have to be something evil, something harsh, something he’d never forgive himself for.
They reached his cell, and Death pulled a set of keys off the wall. He opened the cell.
“Kill them.”
Markus hesitated. He wasn’t prepared for this—not yet.
“Do it!” Death roared. He formed small black spheres in his hands. He threw them at Markus, taking him by surprise. They jolted him, activating his own magic. His hands held pure evil, ready to do damage. Markus fought the urge; beat back the anger.
“No. I won’t do it. I’m not ready.”
“So be it.” Death formed two more spheres and threw one each at the two defenseless guards. Spots of gray littered their hair and they appeared to have aged by several years. The dark wielder lifted Joseph’s head, raised his fist and punched it, dropping his head back to the floor. Death cackled, the liveliness in his face giving the loose, gray skin a small amount of color. Their chests continued to rise and fall. Markus sighed.
Markus watched in agony. He wanted to stop Death but a small part of him enjoyed the sadistic act. When Death looked at him, Markus noticed the slight smile forming on his own face and then let it fall into a frown. Power rushed through Markus. His veins bulged with Decayed magic. His muscles throbbed and he groaned from the pressure in his arms. Markus formed spheres the size of melons and threw them away from him. Death stepped in front, absorbing the magic like water on drought-stricken dirt.
***
43 years ago…
Thomas woke up as the sun rose on the horizon. Today, he’d be tested for magic. He dressed in his best tunic and tried to contain his excitement. After breakfast, he continued reading his father’s latest research on genealogy and its inability to predict the magic a person will inherit. Approximately, every half a dozen years, a scribe would proclaim that they’ve discovered the secret to unraveling the randomness of those given the ability to wield. His father stood firmly in the camp of those who believe it’s entirely coincidence and he would go to great lengths to refute any theory put forth. The research to propose a theory would contain dozens, sometimes hundreds of family trees that went back hundreds of years.
Thomas had thought his father took the easier position because he saved himself from developing a pattern that might work. After reading his seventeenth refutation, Thomas saw that in proving his point, he had to research every family line and compare that with exact scenarios that disproved the other scribes’ theory.
While filled with dense details, Thomas became absorbed in the work and found himself distracted from the day’s event. When his mother brought him stew for lunch, he looked out the window for the testers. He slumped back to his table. Kieran only had a handful who became of age since the last testing. Where were they?
Thomas finished his stew and went for a walk. He stayed close to home in case the wielders came but before he made it to the door, he heard his father beckon him.
He sat at his desk, scrolls scattered everywhere and a jar of quills rested near his right hand.
“Have a seat, Thomas.”
Thomas obliged. His father’s face looked strained, tension bunched his forehead into little rolling hills until it reached his eyebrows.
“They won’t test you, son. I’m sorry.”
Thomas leaned back, tilted his head down, and stared at the floor.
“I’m not a cripple,” Thomas stuttered. Tears began to form in his eyes. He brushed one eye with the back of his hand.
“I know, son. I’ve seen what you can do with a sword. You’re better than most grown men.”
“Then why won’t they let me?”
“They said it’s different with magic. Without all your fingers, you can’t reach the level of Master. Frankly, with the Kingdom at peace for as long as it has, they think they have enough already.”
Thomas looked up at his father. “They can’t stop me. If I have the ability, it’ll present itself in a few years. If I do, I’ll become the best wielder they’ve ever seen.”
His father smiled. A smile formed on Thomas’s face, so much it hurt.
“In the meantime, I hope you’ll accept my offer to apprentice under me. I’ll support you in whatever path you take, but know that I’ll take great pleasure in having more time with you.”
Thomas took the offer without hesitation. He found he was good at it and it’d allow him to see the world.
Day 6 — Night
Linette stood among the other newcomers. There looked to be about ten, including herself. They huddled together in front of Master Dulius, who hovered a few feet off the ground. His white robe looked flawless and reminded her of an angel. She appreciated his attempt to protect her from her father and felt relieved that things worked out the way they did. Had the Master kept her at the Order, then her constant fear of him would continue to loom over her. Now, she skipped and did cartwheels everywhere she went.
The crowd of young men and women watched Master Dulius with intensity. The excitement of learning magic was palatable.
“Welcome to the Order of the Ox. Here you learn to defy gravity itself and possess, in my not so humble opinion, the strongest and most versatile type of magic that exists.”
The Master’s athletic frame spoke of his peak fitness, especially of one so old. Linette doubted he had an ounce of fat on him. He was thin, but muscular—like Knilin.
“You will spend lots of time here at the Order learning the basics of our magic. As you progress, we will send you on missions with more experienced wielders to help further your abilities. But first, allow me to explain the progression of this Order. By passing the testing we gave you in your village, each of you has attained the first level of Eagle magic. You stopped an object from falling. You stand here before me because of natural forces that pull you to the ground. I float above you, because my powers allow me to subvert those forces.”
He released his magic. The white glow disappeared in a fla
sh and he dropped to the ground just as quickly.
“As you hone your skills, strengthen your body, and master control of your emotions, you’ll learn to move mountains. I fear that dark days are coming and many of you will face trials and tribulations sooner than you’re ready. So, all of you please take your lessons seriously. If you don’t, you may not live long enough to regret it. Thank you.”
He formed a sphere and flew back into the Order before anyone could ask questions. The Decayed aren’t done and he knows it. The news regarding the attack on the King reached here immediately given its proximity to the castle.
A young man stepped before them, formed a white sphere of magic and pressed it to himself. He floated off the ground, giving him a better view of the initiates. He kept his thick, dark brown hair combed formally. His pale green eyes grabbed Linette’s attention. He looked about as tall as Markus, before he floated up in the air.
“My name is Joshua. Today begins my fourth year at the Order of the Eagle. Soon, you’ll learn two things about this Order. First, our magic requires immense endurance. To train your body for that, you will run, run, and run some more. When you’re not running, you’ll practice your magic. When you’re not practicing, spend your time reflecting on our key emotion: confident hope or faith. Find something or someone to put your hope into. Many put their faith in the Creator because they see evidence of his existence, but not total proof. Find what works best for your magic, but I recommend you don’t place your faith in yourself or a boyfriend or girlfriend. Unfortunately, they or you will let you down.
“The second thing you’ll notice is that the hierarchy here is based on merit, not on tenure. I’ve been here for three years, but if you train hard enough and have the talent to progress faster than me, then I’ll answer to you in all matters related to this Order. If there is ever doubt about who claims a higher level of magic, then you may request the person to prove it. Any questions?”
“Can you tell us the different levels?” a petite girl with vibrant red hair asked.
“What’s your name?”
“Sonia.”
“You’ve all reached the first level through your testing. In that level, you stopped an object from falling to the ground. The second level is the ability to make yourself lighter and lift off the ground. The third—”
“But, how do we learn to attain each level?” Sonia interrupted.
“I can’t tell you that. It’s something you learn on your own. Through your training, you’ll discover it in time.”
“Why can’t you just tell us so we learn quicker? Master Dulius said that dark times are near.”
Joshua lowered himself to the ground. He stood two heads above Sonia. “As I mentioned earlier, this Order requires immense endurance. If you reach the destination without making the journey, then you’ve missed out on something vital to your training. Any other questions? No, okay, it’s time to run. We normally take the path—” He pointed toward Castle Claybury.
“—Excuse me, Joshua,” Linette stated.
“Your name?”
“Linette.”
“You gave us an Order. I’d like you to prove that you’re a higher level than me.”
The crowd of initiates chuckled and made hushed conversations with each other. Linette stood her ground before Joshua.
He smirked at her and tried to contain a laugh.
“Point taken, Linette.” Joshua formed two spheres and threw one against himself, floating himself in the air. He used the other sphere to pick up a boulder that must have weighed as much as the whole group of newcomers. He strained to lift it as he moved it over toward them. He dropped the large rock on purpose. It made a loud crash. Joshua then brought himself to levitate right above it. He formed two more spheres and pushed them to his torso. He landed softly on the large boulder. His neatly combed hair fell over his eyes. He brushed it back with his hands.
“I’m a level four. Do you want to prove that you’re a level five?”
“Of course not. I’m new here. Where are we running to?” She smiled and jogged in the direction he pointed to earlier.
CHAPTER FOUR
Day 7 — Very Early Morning
Still shocked by the assault on his friend and the other guard, Markus followed Death down the hallway to the dungeon foyer. The ashes of the rope lay scattered on the floor. While Markus collected himself, Death had changed into a guard uniform. He grabbed brown cloaks for him and Markus to wear.
“Put this on. When we leave the castle, we’ll tell the guards our shift ended and are heading home.”
The comment pulled Markus out of his rattled state. “Your face. It has dark lines. How will you get past the guards?”
Death laughed.
“Do you think you can carry me up these stairs? I’ll need the energy to fix my face.”
Markus looked up to where the stairs met the courtyard and back to Death. The Decayed looked to weigh around a hundred and thirty pounds. He had a tautness to his muscles, but had a wiry frame. “Yes, but I’ll be winded when we reach the top.”
Death paused for a moment. “Do you have something to conceal my face?” He took off the cloak and dropped it to the floor and gestured for Markus to do the same.
Markus shook his head.
“Carry me to the top. You can rest for two minutes while I do my part.”
Markus grabbed Death and threw him over his shoulder. He took the steps two at a time, moving with explosive speed. His muscles had the endurance for hammering and lifting heavy objects, but he, like most in the Order of the Lion, lacked aerobic endurance. His best chance in making it to the top lay with speed. He took deep breaths through his mouth and ignored the burn in his calves and thigh muscles. He welcomed the pain, except for a stitch in his side that forced him to take short breaths. He pushed himself, but his pace slowed as they approached the top.
“Stop here, before we push into the courtyard.”
Markus set Death on the steps and placed one knee on a step and his hands on another farther up the staircase. He huffed and puffed. He didn’t speak but observed Death as he formed a black sphere and waved it around his face, like he had gotten food all over it and tried to remove the residue with a towel. When he finished, Death looked much like a normal man. An ancient man, but normal. He also seemed out of breath. He took a few seconds to catch his breath and performed the routine again. This time he looked much, much younger. “Run to the gate like we are chasing someone,” Death said. He took off the rest of the way up the steps and Markus followed. As they ran to the inner gate, the guards noticed them and converged to stop them.
“What’s the fuss about?” a guard asked.
“We were on our patrol on the inner wall towards the west part of the castle and saw a thief amongst the merchants there. We saw the direction he headed and what he was wearing. Let us pass to make the arrest.”
The guard looked them over, assessing them. “I don’t recognize you, when did you start?”
Markus stood behind Death and watched as he formed a small dark sphere behind his back. Please, don’t.
“This past week, sir, we need to hurry if we want to stop this menace to the Kingdom.”
“Let them pass,” the other guard yelled. “It’s refreshing when new recruits want to go above and beyond.”
They both took off running. The outer gate guards also let them pass. They moved passed the mote and turned west to head in the direction the “thief” went. The field had rows and rows of tents and wagons. Everything was closed at this time of night but normally, hundreds of merchants filled this area, selling anything from food to clothes to trinkets. They veered north to reach the King’s Road and helped themselves to some horses. They reached a hundred feet down the road, when they heard yells about thieves stealing horses. Within minutes they heard the gallop of several horses and the whooshing of arrows flying by them.
“Stay low,” Death yelled as he leaned against his horse.
Markus managed a qui
ck glance behind them, finding five men on horseback with knocked bows aiming for them. He kicked his horse’s side and took off at full speed, arrows flying by and between them.
An arrow sliced against his right arm, tearing his shirt and wetting it with blood. In a quick angry reaction, he formed a sphere and threw it behind him without looking. He heard a crash and a quick glance showed him a pile-up of men and horses. One of the men stood and followed through with three quick arrows. Markus ducked, nearly receiving one in the neck. Death got two in the back and barely hung on to his horse. Markus came alongside him and pulled him onto his steed. He pushed the horse to top-speed and put as much distance between them and the soldiers as possible before stopping to check on Death.
He laid Death on the ground and received a splatter of blood to the face when Death coughed it up. Markus wiped it off.
“Tell me how to reach the Decayed. I will find my place with them.”
Death coughed more and seemed to laugh. “Thurus.”
“But didn’t they block the way? How are the Decayed still there?”
“Thurus.” It’s all he said. His eyes went still and the last of his air slowly exhaled.
Day 7 — Morning
Winthrop opened his eyes and found himself still stuck to the tree. Birds chirped and a pair of squirrels climbed up a nearby tree. The sun had burned off the dew. The ache in his arms from trying to escape remained, but had diminished enough for him to try again. Before he did, Winthrop reminded himself that he wasn’t his father. He belonged to the Order of the Ox—not the one that Aurora belonged to, but the one that resolved to be virtuous and serve the Creator honorably. Shannon had spoken from anger and hurt. Her hatred of him was misplaced. He took a deep breath and focused on his belief. A blue sphere formed, and he used it to remove the magic that locked him to the tree.
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