A Wizard's Tears

by Gilbert, Craig

  She did not have to wait for long.

  Fall, brave and foolhardy soul, fall into my jaws. I wait for you with teeth and death.

  His eyes flared open, and the rushing wind singed his ears. He was plummeting, spiralling downward, towards a leering mouth. One that clamped its jaws tight, the sound of grating bone surging up to deafen him.

  There is no escape for you, boy. You fall, right into my trap. You were folly enough to travel to my domain, and now you will be crushed, and used as I see fit. I will own your soul. I will rip your body away, peel away the flesh and blood, and devour you. He could hear maniacal laughter, and his own mouth opened, mimicking the one below him, but instead of laughing, he issued a scream, one that he could not hear.

  Falling, falling into the mouth of death.

  Boy, come to me. Meet your doom. Come to me.

  Fall into the jaws of your defeat, and taste your blood on your senses.

  He fell, unable to slow himself. He fell, and the teeth opened up to greet him. His mind screamed as the teeth bit into him, and he could feel agony…

  Keldoran’s eyes opened in panic as the nightmare attacked his mind, and shook his very being. Instantly, realisation dawned on him that he was falling in a sea of blue sky. In anguish, expecting the ground to rush up and meet him, or millions of rows of death’s teeth to appear and rip him apart, he spun frantically over and over, a reaction to the fear. After moments of sheer shock and trauma, he realised he was not falling, but floating. His heart in his mouth, Keldoran looked all around, seeing nothing but blue sky. The light did not seem to come from any sun, but from somewhere on the horizon, something he could not make out.

  After several minutes, Keldoran forced himself to breathe more calmly, and to stop his heart from bursting. As he slowly calmed down, his eyes could make out tiny rocks, and then bigger rocks, as if he were adrift in the middle of a vast ocean, surrounded by small islands of stone. He clutched tightly onto the crystal staff, and with the touch of it penetrating his racing brain, it soothed him, reminding him who he was. Keldoran forced himself to relax.

  Clarity hit him. He must have gone through the portal. The very portal he was trying to destroy! Now he was somewhere…else, but certainly not on Elrohen. The thought excited him and frightened him at the same time. Another plane of existence, a place between worlds, this was where he was. He had read about such places; his mother had spoken of such places. Yet to be in such a place was awe-inspiring.

  He found he could move, not merely float, but, by using his staff and his legs, almost swim in the environment. He clawed his way through the air, slowly, over to one of the larger rocks that drifted in this place. With effort he managed to clamber atop it, and from here he stood, feeling his body as light as a feather.

  Vo’Loth had not prepared him for this eventuality. His journey had taken him further than just the fabled city of gold, back in Elrohen. He thought crazily what his mother would think of him now. Shaking his head, he tried to calm down once more, to focus his mind on more pressing matters: what was he to do now? He was a land mage, but this power had no purpose or force here. The land his power stemmed from had gone, for all he knew it was billions of miles away. How could he ever hope to return?

  Despair could have quite easily raked across his spirit, but he had already been there. He thought momentarily about Relb, and the deaths of those that had ended him at this place in time. They would not be for nothing. If it was fated for him to come here, then it was also fated for him to continue, and try and find a way through this.

  The priestess had to be here, too, his mind calculated. She had entered the portal first, and the resultant magick had engulfed him and sent him here also. He did not know if the sorcerer had succeeded in coming here, or whether he had been thwarted by the Ice Lord. It did not matter. He needed to find the priestess. It was the first step. Perhaps, here, she was free of the sorcerer’s magick. If that was the case, she would be able to help him, and he would be able to help her.

  A wind had picked up, while he had stood on the rock, and had started to push it along. He could stay on this stone platform if he so wished. It would eventually take him somewhere. Keldoran frowned. It was not fast. Perhaps the land magick within him, and within the staff, could make this piece of rock move more quickly.

  It was an idea, and he had little else to do. Planting his feet firmly on the rock, and placing his staff onto the surface of the boulder, he sent forth the ice magick from within him, using the staff as a conduit. It penetrated the rock he stood on, and he could feel heat emanating from under his feet, as his magick traversed through the sediment and geology of the stone. He willed the energy to build, to use that energy to push the boulder through the air.

  Slowly, the rock began to increase in pace. It was working, but already a small layer of sweat lined his brow. The immensity of this task was great, and the strain was already beginning to show. He could only do this for so long, before he would have to stop, and draw the energy back.

  Keldoran stopped, drawing the magick away from the stone and back into his staff. He felt the futility of his efforts. Even if he could persist in pushing the stone forward, he had no idea where he was heading. He needed some way of detecting the priestess, lest he travel blindly past her, or entirely in the wrong direction.

  Clouds built up underneath him and his rock. He looked down, watching in awe as the air swirled into mist of its own accord, gathering in the nutrients and energies in the sky. He watched as a storm came into creation, and lightning forked across the darkening cloud. A deafening sound of thunder penetrated his ears, jarring his whole body. He felt very humble and small indeed, beside the fury of the energies of this place.

  The storm below had made up his mind. He could not tarry. He could quite easily end up inside this storm, and be destroyed utterly by the elements. He must keep moving, no matter how much strain it would cost him. He had no way of knowing which way he was going, whether it was the right way or not. He had no way of finding the priestess, if she had made it at all. Yet he would look. It was all he could do.

  He must trust in the fates, again, it seemed, and for now, they had kept him alive. 19. A Demon Rises

  At first glance, the plane seemed empty, save for small

  pieces of debris and stone floating aimlessly by. Yet hidden underneath this facade was a rich eco-system, filled with its own creatures and wonders. Winds came and went, blowing in from all directions, created by an unknown source. Weird entities hovered in the air, small, scaly beasts with tentacles, guiding and moving on the breezes. The air itself was constantly alive, cloud formations appearing and disappearing almost at will, storms and violent lightning bursts shattering the quiet frequently and frighteningly.

  Keldoran watched all of this with awe and trepidation. To travel here was to travel into the unknown, and he knew not where he would end up, and the thought made him apprehensive. He was not cold, however, and wondered why. Surrounded by so much wind and air, floating in this azure sky of nothingness, he expected to be freezing. Yet he was warm as if he sat by a roaring fire.

  His face lined with sweat. He had been pushing the rock using his land magicks, and the effort was taking its toll upon him. He did not know how far he had travelled, if, indeed, distance was an element at all in this place. Yet he had been moving for some time, doing his best to steer his stone pedestal away from any violent storms.

  They were getting worse, and more frequent. He seemed to be moving into a harsh sky, where lightning and thunder erupted from all around, as far as he could see. His face furrowed in worry. Had he wasted all of his energy on going somewhere even more inhospitable than where he had started?

  Soon he could not see more than ten feet in front of him, as the cloud built up more and more, affecting his vision. Here, there was a constant rumbling of thunder. Keldoran slowed his magick, letting the rock he moved gradually lose momentum, before it floated and seemed almost to hover suspended in the air, although he kne
w it was moving slightly with the wind that was becoming ever fiercer.

  The rumbling of thunder grew in intensity, and suddenly the sound became unbearable. A crack burst into being, running across the length of his rock, and he noted with alarm the whole thing shook, as the vibrations of the loud thunder struck it with disharmony.

  He had to turn back. There had to be another way. To continue in this environment would be to die in vain. Keldoran still believed he had a purpose; a reason for surviving to this plane. He must not spit at fate and give up to the storm around. Focusing his magick once more, the strain heaving and torturing his body, he slowly started to turn the shuddering rock around, forcing it to move back whence he came.

  He prayed to himself that he had enough power left within him to keep up his journey. Lorkayn, his power nurtured and fed once more from the priestess, soared through the air, propelling himself off drifting rocks, using the momentum to move slowly but surely in the directions he chose. He knew, instinctively, where to travel, unlike Keldoran. He had been here before, and he had studied the plane of air then, knowing the breadth and depth of the place.

  It was a vast ocean of emptiness, but it had certain areas within it that teemed with life. He knew the signs to follow: the little zephyrs that hit his face, the small, tiny beasts he could see in the air. Where they moved, there was life. Where they journeyed, there was a food chain. Sooner or later, he would encounter what he sought: a demon of the plane, a creature top of the food chain, and one with supreme intelligence; one that would be able to guide him to Mincalen.

  He paused momentarily, looking back, waiting for the priestess to join him. She moved behind him, more slowly, more carefully, still getting used to the strange way of travel. She was weak too, her energies drained by him. He still had use of her yet, but Lorkayn acknowledged to himself he would be glad when he was rid of her. She had started off as bait for him, to mend his ways and push him onto the path of the righteous and good, but that had failed. He had merely used her and her power to get to this point. He laughed at the idiocy of the gods.

  Were they looking at him now? He hoped so. Let them see their nemesis! He might still look puny and insignificant to them now, but he knew better. Once he had controlled the power of Elanakin, the magician that thwarted him back on Mincalen, he would have enough magick to rival the gods themselves.

  Vergail caught up with the sorcerer, and smiled purely at him. Her innocence, ironic to her depraved lusting for him, shone out of her eyes. She trusted him completely. She was swallowed up by her love for him, and the union they had shared.

  Lorkayn led her through the plane, following the strange, tentacle creatures she saw pulsating in the air. At first she only saw a few of them, but, as they travelled further, she saw many. Initially they were the size of her hand, but they were growing as they headed deeper into this world. Now they were the size of her face, then the size of her chest, then the size of her whole body, then bigger. Each squid like creature she saw had its own membrane, a sliver of skin that covered all the moving parts beneath. This skin undulated and pulsed with all the colours of the rainbow, and the hypnotic effect was startling. So much colour, in a place where there was just air.

  Several of the creatures started to fight one another, as they travelled by, seemingly unnoticed. Two huge behemoths tore into each other, tentacles and skin flaying out in a macabre dance for food. Here, the predators were the ones that survived. Even in this strange, alien world, the basic rules of survival held firm.

  It was odd, thinking about survival. Something crept into her mind as she did so, something she was sure she should remember, but could not. She batted the thought away. Lorkayn was increasing the distance in front of her, and she must put all her will into keeping track of him. She did not want to lose herself here.

  She followed the sorcerer for many miles; at least, she felt it was many miles, until he came to what could only be described as the ground. Land, at last, stretched out beneath her, a barren mix of rocks and stone – but land. She immediately felt more at home. There was a land, and there was a sky. It was as it should be.

  Lorkayn landed onto the ground, floating down and touching it with his feet. He looked up and waited for her to catch him up, a gesture she took kindly. He appeared to her as the patient lover, gently waiting for her to join him. She had no doubt in her mind that they were bonded, now and forever.

  Her feet touched the surface of the land, to her relief. There was still no gravity, here. She found she could jump huge distances, vaulting off the land and flying through the air as if she were completely weightless. This way they covered a huge distance relatively quickly, following the ground beneath them as it stretched forth, a continent of rock and rubble.

  They came across a fissure in the rock, a chasm that stretched down as far they could see. It was at this point the flying tentacle creatures converged. Vergail looked on in astonishment at them. There were hundreds and hundreds of the beasts, attacking and jostling with each other, seemingly in an attempt to enter the fissure. She felt warm, here, and she could see steam rising out from the crack in the ground.

  “This must be where those creatures keep warm,” she said aloud. The sorcerer did not confirm nor deny her statement, but drifted closer to the fissure. She followed, wary suddenly of the beasts, which threatened to engulf the air around her in a mass of limbs and tentacles. They did not seem to be interested in either of them, however, but continued with their dance at the fissure’s edge.

  Lorkayn approached the edge of the fissure, and looked down, feeling the steam on his face. It was hot. He dare not enter the chasm, which spanned a good twenty metres or so across the rocky landscape, like a miniature canyon. Yet he knew that, here, down in the depths of the chasm, would be one of the guides he sought.

  He reached across and took Vergail’s hand, and pulled her close to him. She could hear his breathing, still ragged, still in pain, and her heart cried out to him. She had given him all she could. Her strength hung like a frayed rope, and yet she did not have any more power to offer him, to help his condition.

  The sorcerer smiled at her, a sight she would remember for all her days. It chilled her, when she thought it would reassure her. She could not describe the feeling she got from it. Lorkayn’s face seemed maniacal, like a lunatic. What did he plan? What thoughts were there, behind that dark and crazed face? The chill struck her heart, and froze it.

  Without warning, the sorcerer hurled her forcibly into the chasm.

  The chill in her heart shattered as hot steam smothered her body, stinging her eyes and skin. With a wail the priestess fell, deeper and deeper, into a wall of smoke. She had no time to wonder why Lorkayn had done such a deed, to his beloved, for the excruciating pain she felt from the heat destroyed all thought. Blindly, in a panic, knowing her life was forfeit, Vergail struggled to hold onto the side of the chasm, her fear giving her limbs and arms movement.

  Her hand connected to a jagged spike of rock, and she grabbed it earnestly, stopping her fall. The stone cut deeply into her hand, and she screamed from the pain. Her legs kicked wildly beneath her as her body slammed into the side of the rock. Wheezing, her breath knocked out of her, she clung desperately. The heat was unbearable.

  Her skin was burning. Tears evaporated from her eyes. If she stayed here, she would die. For a second she considered climbing back, but cast the thought aside. Even if she could hang onto the side of the rock, which was unlikely, it would take her too long, and the heat would claim her. Or, if she made it back to the top, who was to say that the sorcerer would not simply throw her back down? No, she could not climb. Her two other options were to hang here, suspended, and slowly die from the heat, or fall to her doom. The options were not good.

  Instinct took over. For a few moments she hung, holding onto the piece of rock, feeling the warm blood, her own, running down her wrist. She could feel the intense heat scorching her. She could sense the crack in her ribs from where she had slowed her fall a
nd smashed into the rock. She could hear her wheezing breath, no better than Lorkayn’s. Yet despite all this hurt, a strange numbness flowed over her, until she could no longer feel the pain. It its stead was something far worse: the emotion of being betrayed.

  From something so joyous, so wonderful, so impossibly perfect, came this. They had joined souls! How could he have done this? She knew that he had felt the same love for her, at that moment of their union. She knew! Her soul had mingled with his, and they had danced a rapture of intense delight. Everything, the body and the mind, had been stripped bare, laid open for both to see into each other. They had touched and tasted each other’s life force, and had revelled in its beauty.

  How could he have done this? How?

  Reality stabbed at her core. The real motives and reasons for Lorkayn’s union came to her, then, in this hot place. She had been so blind, so in love with this sorcerer, so discarding of her own views and faiths, that she had not seen the truth. She had been beguiled, enchanted, perhaps. She had certainly been tricked. Now she could see, clearly, that she had simply been used for power: power to leave Elrohen, and to travel here.

  The sorcerer had been utterly evil. He had, perhaps, not initially sought her out for her power – for she was still uncertain that the visions that she had had of him, and him of her, were of his own design. He had been as shocked as her to realise she had lived, and was not just a fashion of his own fantasies. Something else had planted those seeds in their minds, so they would come together. She was certain the aim of that someone had not come to fruition. The sorcerer had manipulated the game, moving the pieces that would ensure his return to this plane. He had bled her energies dry, sustaining himself for the remainder of his journey, and then had thrown her down here, to die, her use to him at an end.

  Well, let there be an end. Her time had come, and she would rather not think anymore. She uncoiled her fingers from around the rock. Vergail fell, succumbing to the steam and heat around her. She did not scream out loud. She would not give Lorkayn any further satisfaction. A large tentacle flew out of the darkness, unknown to the priestess, and caught her dextrously. She heard a bestial hiss of triumph, and felt warm moisture on her face, before her mind gave in to the pain and she fell unconscious. The creature that held her swam upward on the steam, its monstrous body holding onto the side of the chasm, propelling it up, up, and out of the fissure. In an explosion of shattering stone, the massive beast erupted from the ground, its scream a deafening blast of evil.