A Wizard's Tears

by Gilbert, Craig

  Lorkayn sent his last vestige of power outward, through his contact with Vo’Loth, whom he still clung to, burning the Ice Lord with dark energies. In the same instant, his magick spent, he grabbed hold of the priestess and threw her forcibly at the pulsating portal before him.

  The portal bloated outward horribly, engulfing the priestess, who disappeared inside the thing, a scream issuing from her lips. An explosion rippled through the surface of the portal, and latched onto the ice magick from Keldoran’s staff, which had still been intricately linked to Vergail. Shooting along the blue magick back to the crystal staff, the backlash of white energy struck Keldoran, who, with a look of pure amazement and revulsion, vanished without a trace.

  Yvanna screamed.

  Vo’Loth, gasping as he felt his skin smouldering, looked up at Lorkayn. The sorcerer turned and leered at him, a cold, calculating vision of death personified. For several seconds their gazes locked, their minds balanced in combat, and then the sorcerer was gone, diving into the portal of his creation.

  An explosion ruptured the shimmering portal, and a hot white light seared through the crack in the thing, expanding and filling the chamber in its intense, painful brilliance. Corg covered Yvanna’s eyes and shut his own, praying to Untaba to survive. He could hear screams and torment of the other beings in the room, and then suddenly there was silence.

  Corg opened his eyes. All the lizard men in the room, save for one, the original one, had exploded into bits of flesh and bone, which scattered throughout the chamber. The remaining birdmen and mages, including Suralubus, who was struggling to rise from the sickening ground, blinked and stared at each other in bewilderment. The portal’s colours spun in mesmerising waves, a bright white light in the cold chamber. It appeared to be shaking, violently, and as they watched, it was gradually getting worse.

  Vo’Loth clambered to his feet, the pain of the land shooting through him in a cacophony of noise. He could feel the earth, so alive, screaming through him, as if it had a million tiny voices crying out in hurt. The portal was becoming unstable, as matter from another world had passed through its alien surface, and, as he had predicted, it would soon explode, certainly with enough force to take out the chamber and all of them with it.

  Gathering all his strength and power to him, Vo’Loth sent forth his ice magick: blue, coruscating lines of cold, weaving them to and fro before him, conjuring a ball of blue flame. He encompassed the shuddering portal with the flame, causing steam to rise from the contact. Slowly, but inexorably, the air around the portal started to freeze. It shook, almost in anguish at its coming destruction, one final time, before the air had iced over completely, blocking in the impending explosion as the portal tore itself apart. Vo’Loth watched as the portal belched for the last time, and all in the chamber heard its explosion. The resultant force shattered Vo’Loth’s ball of ice, sending glimmering icicles ripping across the chamber.

  Yet the Ice Lord’s barrier had contained the explosion, leaving only a small crater in the stone floor underneath where the portal had originally appeared. Vo’Loth detected the land’s torment at the chunk of earth gone forever, but also sensed the infection ebbing away. There was no longer anything alien on the surface of the world of Elrohen. The land would recover.

  So, it is done.

  The Ice Lord nodded to himself in satisfaction. All the prophecies had come true. Keldoran had been sent away, as predicted, to save Elrohen from destruction. Ever since his birth, everything had built up in his life to this moment, to him leaving the world on his spiritual journey. He was a protector of Elrohen, a land mage, not of the Ice Lord race, but something completely different, something only seen once in generations. Vo’Loth knew the land was saving itself. It knew when danger was near. It always created these land mages in time, to thwart whatever evil was coming its way. So it had been for millennia.

  Suralubus, injured badly, struggled to stand. He had awoken from unconsciousness, amazed to be alive, and then equally bewildered at what his eyes told him. He had many questions to ask, on this day. He looked over at the stoic Ice Lord, who turned and looked back, as if expecting the mage to speak. A mind entered his, the voice of Vo’Loth, calming and soothing in its mellifluous tones. From the look of the birdmen, and of Corg and Yvanna, it appeared everyone could hear the Ice Lord’s voice. “The prophecy is fulfilled. Keldoran has been chosen to end the threat to Elrohen from the alien sorcerer. He is a land mage, and all land mages have a quest, a purpose to their life. Keldoran had to enter the portal, and now I see his mission clearly. He has been sent by Elrohen to kill the sorcerer, so he will never again return. Then, when his quest has been satisfied, Keldoran will die, his purpose ended. It is the way of things. Keldoran has been honed, made to suffer, to endure, to make him the man he now is. He started this journey as a young boy, with youthful dreams of becoming a mage. He has transformed into a hardened warrior for the world. Everything, everyone here, everyone who has died and all who have bled have done so to get Keldoran to this point in time.

  The land thanks him. Even now, I sense its joy at the end of the sorcerer’s presence. Elrohen knows Keldoran will succeed, for it has foresight. We should all pray for him.

  One thing has disturbed me, however, and it has nothing to do with Keldoran. I speak of the priestess and her journey to the other side. This was a contingency I had not calculated upon. She has defended the sorcerer, and abandoned the faith of Untaba. She is an enigma, an outcast. I can only suspect that she has been sent to the other side for a reason, for life is fated, and all that comes to pass happens for a reason.

  I will say no more of the carnage that has happened on this day. It has been a black day, a harsh day, but also a day of great beauty, of the land protecting itself. My task here is complete, and I shall return to Isoch, with my brave birdmen, and will no longer be seen by human eyes.

  For the rest of you, now is the time to rebuild, to bury the dead with honour, and to survive. It is the way of Elrohen. It is the way of Untaba. Those of you who have lived through this do so for a reason, and that reason will become clear to you in time. It is a thought that you should take to heart. It will give you comfort in the dark, when all other hope is lost.

  The Slardinian that remains alive among us also does so for a reason. To challenge the land’s decision in this matter would be unwise. I put him into your care, Suralubus, high mage of Malana. Do not kill or torture him. Simply let him exist, and his time will come.

  We may yet see Keldoran, before his end, and indeed, the priestess, but these things are clouded to me. The land chooses to tell only what it needs to tell. I bid you all farewell.”

  Yvanna wept openly. She had heard every word the Ice Lord had said to them all, but only one thing stuck in her mind. Only one thing stunned her, troubled her, and gave her this grief.

  Keldoran was going to die. It was just a question of when.

  PART III: THE PLANES OF NOWHERE

  18. Journey to the planes Run, girl, run. Or the darkness will engulf you. Stride after stride, enlarging the distance between you and the enemy. Good! Keep running, girl. Fight the mounting panic and fear. Think of nothing else but the sound of your feet pounding fiercely against the ground, faster, faster, faster.

  A rumble alerts you, like the peal of thunder. Is it merely your imagination? No, there it is again, louder this time. What evil does this portend?

  Your heart beats faster, faster. It drums in your ears. Thump, thump. The fear pricks your throat, sending your nerves tingling in hopeless anxiety. You gasp for the air around you frantically. The air seems thick and stifling. Your lungs heave with the pressure.

  Yet you cannot stop, girl. Keep running. The darkness never tires; never yields to pain. Neither must you.

  A door appears in front of you. A door ablaze in a consuming mass of red and gold. The only way on. No! Do not stop, girl. The fire is light, safe. Feel its warmth. Succumb to it. Good! The darkness hisses in rage. It cannot reach you now.

 
Ignore the pain. The heat is warmth. Let it caress your soul. No, do not accept it as pain. It is mere illusion. Step through the door. Do not linger. To linger is to perish.

  Your flesh burns in the fire. It is excruciating. Yet you are through! You survive. Burnt, but alive. You lingered too long! You lingered too long! You are to blame for your wounds.

  A figure hobbles towards you. It is dressed in bandages and a cloak. Two evil eyes glint malevolently at you. You shriek, aghast at the terror before you. You have never seen evil so intense. Your senses explode, numb in fear and loathing.

  Run, girl, run. Or death will catch you in its fearsome claws.

  Yet, you do not move. Death laughs, cackling loudly. You are petrified. Why do you stay? Run. Keep running, girl. Never give up hoping.

  Death reaches you, torments you. You writhe and recoil under the touch. Fight, girl. Push away the cloak. Death shall not claim you.

  His eyes. You look into his eyes. You see your life, stretching away into the mists of cloud and vision. It is the beginning of the end. Run! You can still elude the forces of evil.

  His eyes. So dark. So penetrating. They suck you in, ripping your soul to shreds. There is hollow laughter.

  Girl, you die. Death has claimed you. Forever.

  You did not run. It is your fault. You did not aid yourself. It was like you wanted it to happen.

  Or, perhaps, you did not have a choice.

  Death gloats. He licks the blood off of his bandaged fingers. His laughter echoes wickedly through his domain. He is supreme.

  The world is set into darkness.

  A skull floats in the emptiness, leering its corrupted smile at you.

  There is an echo of eerie laughter.

  Images.

  An empty void of white nothingness. A gentle breeze on the face. A sensation of magick. Wisps of cloud, drifting noiselessly on an endless journey. Nowhere, yet somewhere. Pieces of rock and debris floating mysteriously in the air. Weightlessness.

  Total silence.

  Vergail’s mind spun, her eyes darting around her surroundings quickly and with fright. Had she dreamed the talons of death, or was she in his domain, looking out at a barren wasteland of cloud and rock? Was this a punishment, a torment, for her lack of faith, or for her love for a sorcerer?

  The word sunk into her mind and lodged itself there, a feeling of completeness. She loved the sorcerer with all her heart. Her body sung the tune of his spirit, and her emotions were undeniable. If she had died, then she had already lived her journey to the very essence of souls; to the immense feeling of rapture.

  She was lying down on a floating rock, moving noiselessly through the air. The sky, around and below her, was a deep azure. The oxygen she breathed was untainted, and filled her lungs with a purity she had not felt before. Vergail stood, and looked far and long around her.

  Gravity obviously held no meaning, here. The rock she stood on was vast, covering several square metres. She supposed its weight would be immense, and, if she was back on Elrohen, this rock would have crashed to the earth, not float like it weighed no more than an eagle’s feather. Even then, it did not appear to be dropping, but merely drifted along on the small wind currents she could feel on her face.

  Her immediate fright ebbed away, leaving her strangely calm. There did not seem any harm to being here. There was nothing, anywhere, as far as her eyes could see. She felt the small breezes surrounding her, pushing her rock along. It was comforting, almost. She was not stranded, but moving toward her destination, whatever that may be. She surmised she was on a journey, a great and beautiful journey, to the other side. The blue sky was beautiful, and she was not cold. Let the rock drift, she thought, and guide her to where she needed to be. She would dream of love.

  A flash in the sky broke her reverie, and she looked over to the event. A small, ball of white light had appeared in the sky, and grew as she watched. Narrowing her eyes slightly from the glare of the light, Vergail could make out a figure, spinning outwards from the ball into the blue sky, silhouetted black against the backdrop of white brilliance. Her heart soared in anticipation. It was her love, come to greet her!

  No, she was mistaken. It was not her lover, but a young man. He held a crystal staff in his hand, and, as she watched, he sped across the sky, becoming so fast that her eyes could not follow, until he became a white streak flying across the horizon. She watched him until he faded from view, disappearing into the vastness of the blue. As quick as it had come, the ball of white light blinked out of existence, and she was alone again with her rock. Who had that been? She had an odd thought that she ought to have known. The man looked familiar.

  Moments passed, and her memory began to return in earnest. Images and thoughts of the world she had come from passed through her mind. Why was she no longer in Elrohen? Vergail frowned, struggling to remember. She could only grasp certain images, the pieces of an incomplete jigsaw. Why had her memory faded thus? It must have had something to do with her transition to this place.

  She focused on the image of the man who had sped past her, as if he had been catapulted out of the white ball of light. If she could remember who he was, then perhaps she would remember more about herself. Perhaps she would remember the time of her death, for she must surely be dead to be here? Perhaps this was why she had seen the young man. Maybe he, too, had just died, and begun his own journey to the spiritual realm.

  Another pocket of light burst into being in front of her, scattering her thoughts. She waited, expectantly, for another figure to appear, and she was not disappointed. This time, she recognised the figure, and her heart beat faster. It was her love! It was her bonded.

  Lorkayn spun outward from the ball of light, but this time, rather than speed off like the other figure had done, he slowed down, his mouth chanting words, a spell. He was conscious! Vergail could not hear his words, but she could see him and her love for him poured out. With his face came more memories of their union, of their deep spiritual bond. Pieces of the jigsaw came to her then, and she remembered the portal, and the battle.

  The sorcerer floated over to Vergail and her rock, landing upon it with ease. His robes, what were left of them, blew in the soft currents of the place. He appeared wounded, and she could hear his wheezing breath, as if each inhalation was a curse to him. His face, however, shone with an inner delight. He had made the journey back to the planes of nowhere, of that he was certain. Now, he needed to find his way through and home to Mincalen, to finish what he had started.

  Vergail ran across the rock and enveloped the sorcerer in a bear-like hug. Her body melted against his, in excitement at the union again. She felt his body, and could hear his wheezing. He was hurt, but he had made it this far. Now they could begin their journey to the spiritual realm together, as one. Nothing could hurt him anymore. He was in a place where pain and time held no meaning.

  Lorkayn pushed the priestess away gently. Shocked that he would not join with her again, in a beautiful entwinement of souls, Vergail frowned. Her face asked the question, not the mouth. Why did he push her away, when all they had experienced was love?

  The sorcerer saw the look, but did not answer her initially. He turned away from her, and looked at his surroundings. He could feel his chest heave in pain. Each breath was ragged, and caused discomfort. The energies he had spent getting to this point were costly. He had hoped for an easier route back to the planes, an easier time in the world he had just come from. Yet that accursed blue skinned being had sapped all of his strength.

  “I have returned,” said Lorkayn to himself, in a voice soft and commanding. Vergail had not heard the sorcerer speak before, and his accent filled her with wonder.

  “What is this place?” asked the priestess, hoping he would answer her, tantalise her ears again with his song.

  Lorkayn turned back, eyeing the priestess up and down, much in the same way a hungry man would eye a piece of tender, succulent beef. “My beloved,” he whispered at last, in a voice that held no emotion, mer
ely calculating and dripping with cunning.

  Vergail smiled sweetly, and looked down at her own, tattered robes. The black fabric rustled in the breeze. Her clothes were burned, leaving little to the imagination. One of her breasts poked through a hole in the robe, and her arms were bare and free as her robe had disintegrated there. She was suddenly conscious of the way she looked. Oddly she felt no chill in the air around her.

  “Are we dead?” she pursued her questioning to the sorcerer. She did not say this out of worry, but mere curiosity.

  “No,” answered Lorkayn. “We have, merely…travelled. Are we alone? One other was caught up in the maelstrom of the portal. Have you seen him?”

  He must be talking about the man she had seen speeding across the heavens. “Yes,” she replied with delight, for the information must surely please him. “He looked lifeless, however. He was not moving himself, but he sped across the sky, and disappeared over yonder.” She gestured with her hand, showing him where she had seen the man disappear into the hazy blue of the sky.

  “If he lived, he will not live for long, here. Alone, on this plane of air, he will be food for the inhabitants that dwell here.”

  “There – are, creatures, here?” Vergail was startled, not by fear, but by the knowledge she was still alive, in a place where the laws that governed her world were meaningless.

  “Yes, and we must not linger. I will need to summon a guide, one who will show me the way to my own world, and back to the destiny that awaits me. But first, I will need you, my beloved. I am low on energies, and you will sustain me with your love.”

  Vergail smiled then, a mischievous, playful smile. She knew exactly what the sorcerer had in mind, and she did not mind at all. Casting aside her robe, she felt the strange breezes hit her whole body, intoxicating her, making her nipples stiffen. She simply waited for the sorcerer to walk over to her, and claim her.