The day continued on much like that for most of the afternoon. They would go around obstructions if they could, move those that they could not go around, and backtrack when absolutely necessary. Finally, coming to what seemed to be an avalanche of fallen trees, they decided to accept defeat for the day and make camp a little earlier than they would have liked. Kazen brought out the last of the rolls Pietro had given them and some salted meat.
“Oh, no.” Ilagon wagged his finger. “Not tonight. I have earned more than cold biscuits and dry meat tonight. There will be a hot meal if I have to hunt all night for it.” He pulled his bow from the side of Fier’s saddle.
“I’ll come with you.” Kazen headed to fetch his own bow.
“No, you stay here and get the fire started.”
Ilagon tossed his quiver over his shoulder and grabbed the flints out of Kazen’s bag. “You will not mind if I take these?” he said with a wink, and then dashed off in search of supper.
“Sure, take them!” Kazen called after him. “I hope you like your venison rare!”
Kazen was once again sitting in front of a pile of twigs and dried leaves, feeling quite ridiculous. He stared at the kindling for half an hour or so before giving up.
Twilight was settling in as he fell into the tall grass and watched the last rays of sun stream through the overhead trees. A mix of clouds and stars dotted the graying sky. It was not long before his eyes blurred with the desire to sleep.
Closing his eyes, for what seemed little more than a moment, he was immediately assaulted by a flood of terrible dreams. He was haunted by visions of shadowy hands reaching out from an unspeakable darkness. Finally startled awake, he was perplexed to find he was unable to move. He shook the sleepy haze from his head. Looking down at his body, he was horrified to find his entire self entwined in a web of gnarled vines and roots. With only his head and the tips of his toes sticking out, he wiggled like a cocooned insect. He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to wake himself from this real nightmare.
A sudden spray of dirt and gravel spattered him in the face as more vines exploded from the ground and coiled themselves around his body like living serpents. Chattering, bodiless whispers echoed in his ears. Puffs of steam rose from his nose and mouth as he yelped and squirmed in horror.
“Ilagon!” he cried with a painful wheeze as the enchanted roots tightened around his chest, forcing the air from his lungs.
From the corner of his eye he could see sinister shadows parading about him. Gleaming red eyes stared on from the secluded darkness, and raspy chortles seemed to be coming from every direction. Though the ghostly trill had no meaning to him, the malevolent whispers made his skin crawl. He recoiled as the touch of an icy finger grazed his forehead.
“Who is there?” he demanded, his voice quivering with terror.
“Whooo is theeerre?”
“Who is there?”
“Who is there?” the chilling voices whispered back, mocking and gurgling with glee.
Below him, the ground began to yield under his weight. The hard dirt was melting into a hideous, sticky sludge. Black mud bubbled and snapped around his head, the revolting stench making him gag. He let out a terrified howl as his legs were sucked beneath the surface. The incredible coldness of the vile ooze was unbearable. The pain seared through his legs like a million stabbing daggers and his body began to shudder uncontrollably.
Though he kicked and wriggled with all his might, Kazen was pulled down deeper still. Jerking and thrashing ferociously, he tried with no success to free an arm or a leg. Desperately, he scanned the camp for any means of escape, but his sword was strapped uselessly to his back and Ilagon was nowhere to be seen. Only the silent stars peered down at him, like a hundred thousand eyes, indifferent to his inevitable doom.
Tears flooded out of his eyes as the reek of thousands of years of putrefaction filled his nostrils. He struggled to stay conscious while the inexorable roots slowly crushed his torso. Panic filled his every thought and he began wheezing and whimpering uncontrollably. He coughed and sputtered while the icy mud lapped at his face. His heart pounding in his chest, he took one last breath of air before being completely consumed.
He squirmed feebly beneath the dreadful sludge, terrified and exhausted. His lungs burning and aching, he fought the urge to gasp for air. Blinding white spots twirled behind his tightly clenched eyelids and his head began to feel light. Fear became numbness, and he soon longed for a quick death.
In a final moment of lucid thought, however, he became filled with a sudden rage. The idea of dying in such a manner struck him as contemptible. With his last ounce of energy, he thrashed wildly about, determined not to die without a fight. A strange sensation, both painful and pleasing, began to swell within his chest, spreading through his body, permeating his skin and enveloping him in a warm, red glow. But the comfort and warmth was quick to pass as the sensation gathered within him, hardening in his chest like a stone. As the force grew and grew, smoldering and writhing within him, his body began to tremble. An intense flame raged in his chest, forcing him into a fit of convulsions. As his body heaved and his blood boiled, a primal scream escaped his parted lips, and the uncontainable fury of his fiery magic was finally unleashed.
A thunderous billow of fire exploded from Kazen’s body. Like a ripple in a still pond, the swell of magic and fire surged out in every direction, reducing the clawing vines to ash, and spewing the black mud into the air. Rock and trees shattered and burned as they were ripped from the terrain and strewn for hundreds of yards. Giant pines and unbendable oaks were batted down like twigs as the ruinous tide tore through the woodland, shredding everything in its path.
Tremors shook the land, and massive boulders, wrenched from their resting places, careened through the air and crashed back down to the ground with bone-crushing concussions. Ancient trees, stripped bare of bark and limb, were set ablaze by the blistering surge, their towering peaks burning like great beacons in the night. Flaming cinders churned round and round in a hellish torrent, while glowing bits of ember and ash gusted upward in a swirling, hypnotic dance. Then, with a crack like thunder and a flash of brilliant light, the roaring wave dissipated as suddenly as it began.
The maelstrom quieted, and in its place a heavy cloud of white smoke blanketed the shaken forest. Tiny bits of gravel showered the land, sounding like a passing spring drizzle. Beyond the filthy haze of ash and yellow moonlight, trees continued to smolder and crumble, and angry crows squawked in noisy protest. All around, the air was numb and still as if the land itself dared not take a breath. Shadows were melted away, and the malevolent glowing eyes vanished into the night.
In the center of the devastation, a vast crater, nearly half an acre wide from one side to the other, had been blasted out of the scorched, blackened land. There, in the bed of the crater, with eyes wide and unblinking, stood Kazen. Barely recognizable beneath the coating of black mud, he remained motionless, his arms outstretched. With an agonizing wheeze, he finally gasped for air. His body trembled beneath what was left of his shredded clothing. He swayed from side to side, teetering on buckling knees until finally his eyes blinked shut and he collapsed in a lifeless heap.
Kazen awoke with a throbbing headache. He used his hands to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun, whose intrusive rays pierced through clenched eyelids. Sitting up slowly, he gagged at the foul taste in the back of his throat.
“Good morning,” Ilagon called from a fast-flowing stream a few yards behind where Kazen sat. “I suppose good afternoon would be more precise.” He smiled and sat down beside Kazen.
Squinting through bleary eyes, Kazen was shocked to see a disheveled white mop of hair on top of Ilagon’s head. It was chopped short and uneven with blotches of black showing through the tousled white locks. Kazen tried to stifle a chuckle and flinched as the laugh caught his bruised ribs.
“Ow!” he cringed. “What happened to me?” Looking down at his bare chest and arms he saw that he was covered in
bruises and gashes. Every inch of his body ached and throbbed.
“I was hoping you could tell me.” Ilagon handed a tin cup of water to him. “You have been unconscious for three days.”
“Three days!” Kazen yelled, regretting it immediately as a sharp pain stabbed him in the chest. He wrapped his arms around his torso and lay back down.
“Do you remember anything?”
“No . . . Well, maybe . . . It’s all a bit foggy.” Kazen finally admitted. “I was attacked by something. Hands, reaching out from the ground, trying to crush me, drag me under the dirt.” He spat and took a long drink of water as the vile taste of the black mud touched his tongue.
“Hands, you say?” Ilagon puzzled for a moment, then patted Kazen reassuringly on the arm. “Well, you need not fear now. We are far from that place. The first two of the last three days you spent on my back while I carried you as far as my legs would bear it. By the way, you are considerably heavier than you look.” He grinned. “Can you remember anything else?”
Kazen shook his head. “It’s all very unclear. I can’t recall exactly what happened. I just remember thinking I was going to die.”
“Servants of shadow, no doubt. If they have strayed this far from the shelter of their enduring darkness, things are worse than I could have imagined.”
“Something else happened, though,” Kazen said, still trying to shake the haze from his mind. “It was my magic. I felt it within me. It was solid . . . real. Like I could reach into my chest and touch it.” He smiled with satisfaction. “I think I finally found my magic.”
“Found it, indeed!” Ilagon scoffed. “You destroyed a greater measure of forest than I care to guess, and by the looks of you, we are fortunate you did not extinguish yourself along with it. On top of that, you used enough magic to light a shining beacon down on us for every demon and foul beast to follow to our heels.”
Kazen bowed his head awkwardly and ran his hand over his mud-encrusted hair.
Ilagon sighed heavily and put a comforting arm around Kazen’s shoulder. “Well, all that matters now is that you are safe.” His face suddenly distorted and he backed slowly away from Kazen. “And that you smell horrible!”
Kazen clutched his chest as he laughed.
“Hobble over to that stream and give yourself a bath.” Ilagon smiled crookedly. He helped Kazen to his feet and watched him limp down to the water’s edge.
“Oy!” Ilagon shouted, picking up a small round stone.
Kazen turned and gasped as Ilagon hurled the small stone directly at his head. Instinctively, he flashed his hand in front of his face. The air around his hand rippled, like the horizon over a sweltering desert, and a fierce burst of flames surged from his open palm. The force was so great that the small stone was repelled backward past Ilagon’s head and directly through the trunk of the tree behind him. It continued on its path, blasting through the trunks of seven more trees, finally stopping with a loud crack as it struck rock somewhere in the distance.
“You have found your magic, for sure.” Ilagon peered through the hole in one of the trees. “Now we just need to teach you a little control.”
Chapter 6
It was another three days before Kazen was well enough to travel again. He was disheartened to learn that the horses had been missing since the night he was attacked. Ilagon assured him that he had seen tracks leading away from the camp, and that the horses had likely escaped. But Kazen was left with the sinking feeling that he had inadvertently killed them during his rage. Either way, the horses were gone, and with them most of the supplies. Aside from a few water skins, all they had left were their weapons and the clothes on their backs, which for Kazen, wasn’t saying very much. Ilagon had stitched Kazen’s tattered pants and shirt back together as best he could, using thread and patches from his own cloak to mend the larger tears well enough to keep Kazen decent, at the least. However, Kazen made no secret about how foolish he felt, roaming through the forest in little more than rags, with even his bare toes poking through holes on the top of his shoes.
The first day back on their journey was slow going. Kazen still lacked the strength to walk more than a few miles without resting, and despite the thick woods, Ilagon insisted they now stay far from the road. They clung to the narrow stream as long as they could until it jutted off sharply in a westerly direction. Filling their skins one last time, they reluctantly left the water’s edge and continued on their northern path.
Kazen brushed aside a frosted strand of hair from his eyes. He was still getting used to seeing his hair in its natural shade of white, and he had spent much of the morning glancing down at his reflection in the still bends of the shallow creek. It had only taken Ilagon an hour to mix up a concoction of ground bark and various sweet-scented flower petals, which, once moistened to a paste, did an exceptional job of removing both the artificial color from Kazen’s hair and the globs of sticky black mud that had bonded to his scalp like glue. There were a few persistent clumps of mud, which would not scrub clean, and the only solution was a hasty haircut by Ilagon’s hand with a sharp dagger. Though his hair still fell long enough to brush over his brow and the tops of his ears, it felt good not to have the itch of hair on the back of his neck. Ilagon assured him there was no need to try to conceal their conspicuous locks any longer. There were not many people this far north who would recognize a wizard if they saw one, and any unnatural predators would not be fooled by a cover of pounded roots and mashed berries.
As the day came to an end, they huddled down in a tangled bed of weeds and thistle. Ilagon built a large fire and insisted they take turns at watch from now on. Kazen grudgingly agreed and volunteered to take the first watch, supposing it would be easier to stay up late than it would be to get up early.
“I want you to keep this fire lit at all times. And you stay in the circle of light. Do not leave it for any reason. Do you understand me?”
“We are safe in the light, then?”
“Perhaps.” Ilagon shrugged with uncertainty. “From the lesser demons at least.”
Kazen was glad he had taken the first watch. As anxious as he felt, it was unlikely he would have gotten much sleep anyway. Moonlight played dauntingly off spiraling vines, which he eyed suspiciously. Every so often he thought he could see something large shifting silently in the shadows, and each time he would throw another branch on the fire. After a few hours, Ilagon woke up himself and relieved Kazen, who curled up close to the glowing fire. Fatigue eventually won over trepidation and he fell into an uneasy slumber.
Morning brought with it the welcome light of day, though getting only half the amount of sleep they had been would take some getting used to. Despite their weariness they wasted little time in starting off. A bush of red berries provided a filling, if not satisfying, breakfast, and a splash of water on their faces cleared the drowsiness from their heads.
Whistling contently, Kazen slashed at the passing vegetation with a thin stick as they made their way through the heavy brush.
“You seem to be feeling better,” Ilagon commented, walking beside Kazen.
“Yes, I think I’m finally beginning to feel like myself again.” He swatted hazardously at a fluttering moth that dodged his thrashes with little effort.
“Good, then we have important matters to discuss.”
Kazen groaned under his breath.
“Is there a problem?”
“No. It is just that everything we ever talk about is important, crucial, or world-shattering. I miss talking about frivolous matters.”
Ilagon smiled and picked up a walking stick of his own. “Such is life, I suppose. If our lives were free of worry and trials we would scarcely take notice of quiet, peaceful times. What value would they be to us then?”
“All right, then.” Kazen sighed. “I get your point. Let’s have it.”
“You have learned how to find your magic, now you must learn how to control it. Unfortunately, you found out the hard way that once released, your magic can be devas
tating, both to the environment and to yourself. Had things gotten any more out of control the other night, those powers may have ripped you apart, quite literally.
“Most wizards call their power from the world around them. Rock Tamers, Air Callers, Water Benders, we all use the elements that surround us. You are unique in that aspect. Your power comes from within. Somewhere within you is an inextinguishable flame from which you draw your magic. That is what you need to learn to control. You must learn to speak to the flame.”
“Speak to it?” Kazen asked doubtfully.
“Precisely. Every wizard, even the great Flame Weaver, must learn to speak to the elements. And, just like the magic, the power to do so is already within you. But to speak to the elements, you must first learn to listen to them.”
Kazen scratched his head, a troubled look crossing his face. “I suppose this is going to be another one of those lessons where I sit alone and ponder until I finally stumble upon the answer myself.”
“Ah, you are beginning to learn.” Ilagon smiled slyly. “It is time you realized that you are not a man standing in a forest with the wind blowing around you, but a man who stands among the forest and bends with the wind. You must learn to listen deeper than what you are used to. The rustling leaves, the crunch of soil beneath your feet, everything tells a story. Listen for the songs and the secrets the world is whispering to you.”
Kazen groaned again as he watched Ilagon walk ahead with a clever grin on his face. If he didn’t know any better, Kazen might think his uncle enjoyed seeing him completely befuddled. After all, he had not the slightest idea of how he was supposed to hear things any differently than he always had. He listened with great intent to the birds chirping and the squirrels scurrying in the treetops. Burly black-and-yellow bees zipped and buzzed over delicate blossoms, while larger, more discreet animals lumbered lazily behind shrubs and thickets. Still, hours passed, and everything sounded just as it always had. There were no songs or secrets.
The Flame Weaver Page 7