‘Your thoughts are not your own,’ he persisted. ‘You have not yet come into your own.’
‘But you—’
‘Could not save her!’ Magia blurted, watching her as she searched through the wreckage of her past.
Oran cast him a resentful look; it was clear to him, his antagonist had no desire to be found out.
L’Ordana lingered in silence, eyeing her rivals as they shrewdly tried to predict her actions. Oran regarded her; she looked lost and lonely in her pale-silver night garments. For a precious moment, he was taken back, to when they first met—after he had saved her.
I have to try, he realised, urging himself to make a final attempt to rouse her from her vexation; to break the curse or spell she was under; and to rid her body of the spirit placed inside her. There still could be time, he thought. It’s now or never!
But as he moved towards her, her body suddenly stiffened, as though frozen by a nameless source. She slowly lowered her head, then jolted back, her breathing erratic—launching her body into spasm. As she desperately fought for air, Oran rushed to her aid but was thrust back by the invisible barrier protecting her.
‘If she dies!’ he threatened, turning to face his rival, ‘I will find the means to destroy you!’
The smugness displayed on Magia’s face, now alerted Oran to something new and unsettling. The eerie silence returned, commanding his attention. The Warlock reluctantly turned his head. The woman—he had once known and loved—had been completely transformed into a figure, emanating total power and authority. It simply radiated from inside her, and he felt its overbearing influence.
‘At last!’ cried Magia. ‘She has come into her own!’ He approached her with a feeling of possession, sensing it was his right. ‘Magnifico!’ he exclaimed, clasping his hands together, pleased with himself.
‘Back!’ she commanded, in a domineering and threatening manner.
Oran’s eyes darted towards Magia. ‘I would do as she asks,’ he stated, with a sense of foreboding.
L’Ordana scrutinised their every move with grave intent, her determined eyes boring into them.
‘I created you!’ Magia reminded her. ‘Did I not teach you all that you—’
‘Enough!’ she snapped, now slowly pacing back and forth, as new thoughts churned in her reawakened mind. Her movements were like that of a lioness, contemplating her prey. The Warlocks regarded her, in anticipation of something happening; they could sense it—see it in the waking of her hostility.
She then paused, surveying them with her intense, arcane eyes, holding them in her gaze for several moments. And when the malevolent curl appeared on the side of her mouth, it gave them little warning.
As the flames burst forward, it spurred the Warlocks into action. With no time to spare, they desperately called on their defences, shrouding themselves in their invisible shields, diverting their eyes from the intense heat, as the flames obliterated everything inside the chamber. It was then they both realised: a moment wasted, would have meant their demise.
Now, cocooned beneath their protection, Oran and Magia were forced to re-unite momentarily, as L’Ordana continued to utter silent, conjuring words of destruction towards her challengers—unaware of their self-defence.
Oran, feeling the magnitude of her attack pressing down on him, dared to look up, as the feast of flames shot out above them. Even beneath their protection, he could feel the effect of their influence, and struggled to maintain his guard. Then, sparing a brief thought for his rival, he looked over at Magia; the dark Warlock was huddled next to him, covering his sensitive eyes, knowing the consequence, should he open them. In those moments, Oran recalled how they had once fought together as allies, protecting their world, their Realms against sinister forces—forces that proved an even greater threat to mortals. And now, here they were, locked briefly in time, trying to save themselves from the individual who had forced their paths to cross, again: the woman they both loved; the woman they were about to lose.
Time seemed to pause as the intense heat began to subside. She gaped at the destruction, caused by her own hand, sparing no thought for the memories she had obliterated. She approached the two figures, huddled like children—cowering from an unknown evil.
She stopped and looked down at them. They were oblivious to her movements. Tilting her head, she hesitated, contemplating her actions, before leaning over their crouched forms. Then, slowly extending her hand through their defence, she smiled.
‘Come to me.’
Chapter Nine
What seemed like minutes, passed in seconds for the Warlocks. They began to feel a gradual, cooling sensation as the weight of her attack lifted.
Oran quickly cast away his defence, ready to battle with the undesired enemy. But his eyes stung. He was reluctant to open them. As he listened to the empty silence, something brushed against his face. He flicked it away, then felt it again… and again. Compelled to satisfy his curiosity, he gradually opened his eyelids, blinking uncontrollably.
The vibrant bed-chamber—they had once shared—was now shrouded in a cloud of colourless gloom. As the last speckles of ash fell about him, like deathly snow, it blurred his vision. He rubbed his irritated eyes, trying to focus on his surroundings. Only then, did the true devastation begin to unfold. Horrified, he cast a hesitant, side-ward glance towards what had once been their bed. Lucia’s charred remains, her outline softened by the black dust, were now unrecognisable—the young woman whose only crime had been her beauty and innocence.
She did not deserve this, he told himself. Then, aware of the grim atmosphere still lingering in the chamber, he spun, drawing up his invisible guard, once more, quickly searching through the veil of settling dust, ready to fight.
‘Come forward!’ he growled, through gritted teeth.
All remained still.
Oran strained his eyes, expecting another assault. But there was nothing—only the chill of death that clung to the air. He then dropped his defence, with the stark realisation: L’Ordana was gone.
Dejected, he looked down, in disgust, at the figure still crouched beside him.
‘Look what your creation has done!’ he snapped.
Magia, dismissing his guard, rose, his eyes burning like fire. Too long had he existed below the streets of Triora in darkness, that light had become a distant memory—and constant threat to him.
‘Look at it!’ cried Oran.
Magia forced his eyes open; they were red with fury. The chamber lay silent as he surveyed the devastation.
‘Where is she?’ Oran demanded.
‘Scampers!’ Magia whispered, in awe of her disappearance.
‘She cannot have simply… vanished,’ said Oran. ‘For all the powers our kind possess, even we cannot… disappear. ’Tis impossible!’ Confused, Oran paced about the chamber, leaving footprints in the ash beneath his feet. ‘There is no secret door—no passageway to, or from this room.’
‘That you are aware of,’ said Magia, rubbing his eyes.
Detecting the hint of sarcasm in the dark Warlock’s reply, Oran advanced towards him, frustrated, brushing away the remnants of ash on his clothing.
‘What do you know?’ he pressed, noting Magia’s crimson eyes mocking him.
‘I did only what she asked of me,’ he began, raising his hands in a display of innocence. ‘She became obsessed with her “gift”, craving it… begging for more. How could I resist? She was desperate to learn the secrets of the “Stregonaria”.’
Oran’s mouth fell. ‘You taught her the dark arts?!’ he yelled. ‘Have you lost your mind?!’
‘Her appetite for knowledge was… insatiable!’ Magia stalled, sensing Oran’s suspicions, before teasing him further. ‘I could not refuse her, Oran. She became increasingly… persuasive.’
Oran raged inside. He ground his teeth, incensed at the idea of them together—Magia’s capable hands touching her—caressing her. He shook the image from his mind, refusing to give in to his adversary’s claims.
‘You took your eyes off her, Oran,’ said Magia. ‘And while they were diverted, she was secretly educating herself, elsewhere.’
Oran ignored his taunts; he had nothing to gain by their purpose, save for the disturbing element of truth behind them.
‘There still may be time,’ he thought out loud. ‘She could not have gone far.’
Magia sneered at him. ‘Is that your presumption, Oran of Urquille? That you… presume you can find her? How mortal of you.’
‘Aye, perhaps it is. But do not underestimate me. I’ll find her. And I know where to begin.’ He moved towards the blackened window. Nothing now remained of the thick, long lavish drapes that once concealed her privacy. ‘If I’m not mistaken, Kristene has returned to the place where you crawled from: beneath the foundations of these very streets.’
‘You are more the romantic fool than what I recall, from our earlier years, Oran. Your, Kristene, is long gone. L’Ordana now prevails, and will grow stronger with each passing day, should she accomplish her dreams.’
Oran turned to question him further, then stopped. He stared at the dark Warlock, then slowly narrowed his eyes; something was amiss. With a sense of urgency, he approached his rival.
Magia drew back as his antagonist reached for the collar of his shirt, searching for the precious item—the dark Warlock staggering, bemused by the abrupt, and bold move.
‘Where is it?’ Oran inquired, staring at Magia’s throat, failing to notice the two, small, circular scars at the base of his neck.
Confused by his meaning, Magia looked down.
‘Your amulet?’ Oran insisted. ‘Where is it? I saw it about your neck the moment I set eyes on you, this night.’
Magia’s stunned silence confirmed Oran’s inkling.
He shook his head. ‘It seems you have underestimated your creation’s powers. Does she know?’
‘No—niente!’ Magia snapped, in defence. ‘Nothing of its purpose.’
‘Then why would she take it?’ said Oran. ‘Or, perhaps… you talk in your sleep, Magia.’
‘I confess, I do not—’
‘You heard her speak!’ Oran reminded him. ‘You saw the look in those eyes. If what you say is true, we will not be able to stop her. The knowledge contained in our amulets can only be known to our kind. Need I remind you of the repercussions should she…’ He paused, quickly glancing at the devastation she had inflicted on them. ‘She is hell-bent on revenge for the ruin placed upon her, and for the loss of those she loved. If this is an indication of what is to come, and her powers have yet come to fruition’— he stopped dead, and stared into Magia’s attentive eyes— ‘then what hope do we have? What hope? She will destroy us all!’
Magia’s thoughts were drawn to the possibility of it all. There was truth in it yet he was torn between the magnificence of that which he had created—a Sorceress with enviable powers he could master, or the pleasure he would gain in destroying her. He hesitated. No! he told himself. The latter was out of the question.
‘She must be stopped,’ said Oran, pacing the chamber again. ‘There is no question of it!’
‘And where is your amulet…Warlock?’ Magia retorted.
Detesting the continuous sarcasm in his tone, Oran returned it with vehemence. ‘Unlike you, mine is hidden from the very prey that has taken yours. I, too, love her—but trust her?’ He shook his head. ‘Who is the “fool” now, Nera?’
Magia’s face hardened. She has made a mockery of me, he realised and, for once, was forced into silent agreement with his nemesis.
‘There is no way of knowing how long we have,’ Oran began. ‘It may be months… years!’ He pondered a moment, suddenly aware of the uncertainty of time. Regardless of it, he knew they could not be complacent. He would have to act quick. ‘It has been two years since the Great One’s passing. We have been fortunate, in that, the peace he brought to our world has remained so. But now I fear it is threatened by her aspirations—no thanks to you—and should the Elliyan discover what has happened here…’ His voice drifted, distracted by the mere notion of it.
‘Who is it you fear most, Oran?’ Magia’s sinister curiosity forced his attention. ‘L’Ordana? Or the Elliyan?’
‘I fear nothing, and no one.’
‘Oh, I have my misgivings; I sense it. You fear losing the privileged life you have known, since our Great Lord’s demise, and the inevitability of being summoned by the Elliyan once more; after all, you are still bound to your duty as a Warlock.’
‘And is that your presumption, Magia, or have you forgotten who you are?’
‘I have not!’ Magia snapped. ‘I am reminded of it every day. I feel its burden about my neck.’
‘A burden she has relieved you of… without your knowledge.’
‘She is welcome to it.’
Oran stared at him, sceptical of his statement.
‘What use is it to me?’ said Magia, lifting his shoulders. ‘After all, what interest do they have in a Warlock who had been tainted by darkness in his defeat of death… unlike you… my friend.’
Oran cringed at the unlikely reference to their association.
‘I had nothing to lose… whereas now… I have so much to gain.’
Oran grew suspicious of his contender’s meaning, sensing distrust. It was time to play pretence.
‘Does she—L’Ordana, know when?’ He was repelled by her new name and what it stood for; to speak it, confirmed her existence in his world, raising his concerns for the unsuspecting mortals they walked among.
‘No—that I am certain,’ came the blunt reply.
Oran doubted it. ‘Then I will ask you again. Where is she?’
‘Who can say?’ said Magia. ‘But there is one thing I do not doubt.’
Oran clenched his fists, waiting, as he tried to hide his vexation.
‘Her intention is to travel the Realms of our—this world, to…’ He paused, amused by the thoughts of her curiosity.
‘To?’
‘Shall we say… broaden her horizons?’
Aware of Magia’s reluctance to reveal L’Ordana’s intentions, Oran now read between the lines: his rival was, beyond doubt, protecting his own interests.
‘If she’s not found,’ said Oran, ‘she will search for the sinister side of each Realm. And when she finds it, she will master it—marking the end of our kind.’
‘Then you had better search for her,’ said Magia.
‘You can be sure of it,’ Oran replied, with determination. ‘And when I do…’
‘What shall you do, Warlock?’ asked Magia, sensing his uncertainty. ‘Destroy her?’ The dark Warlock threw back his head in laughter, then stopped abruptly. He then glanced towards the window, hearing the advancing footsteps of the angry towns-people, heading towards the great house.
Oran watched the smirk slowly creeping across his face.
‘Such a pity they are too late. Sciocchi! I would have liked to have seen their faces, had she stayed. She would have annihilated each and every one of them. Naive fools!’
Oran ran to the window, pushing Magia aside. Wiping the ash away, he could see their torch-lights dancing feverishly in the wind. His mind raced. Suddenly the sound of a young, terrified voice, stomping up the stairs, begged for his attention.
Petrio! He had forgotten about the boy, and Sofia.
‘They are coming! They are coming!’ The boy’s frightened voice grew stronger.
Oran looked back towards the bed. I can’t let him see her! he thought, realising he had to spare the boy from Lucia’s horrific death. He glanced at the door, hearing his eager steps grow nearer, anxious to find him; it was still ajar.
‘No, Petrio!’ he cried, rushing to stop him.
He was too late.
Out of breath, the boy stopped dead on its threshold, his chest heaving.
Oran’s heart sank as shock gripped the child’s innocent face. Petrio’s eyes slowly widened, his mouth gaping, as he tried to comprehend the horrendous sight before him
.
‘Don’t look, child!’ Oran pleaded, taking him in his arms. It was his duty to protect him. Petrio shook with fear as he stared at the bed. At first, he could not distinguish what remained of it, but then his instincts took over.
‘Lucia!’ he cried.
The boy’s scream was heard beyond the walls of the house. Oran knelt before him, diverting his gaze from the bed.
‘Petrio,’ he begged, shaking his small frame. ‘Listen to me, boy. This is not my doing. I swear it! There is an evil in this house. The man who stands behind me is responsible. He will pay for—’ He stopped, seeing the look of doubt in the child’s watering eyes.
‘What man?’ he whimpered.
He stared at Petrio. The boy was clearly grief-stricken. Doubting his words, the Warlock looked around, discovering they were the only two left in the desolate chamber.
Magia Nera had disappeared.
THE AREZZO MIRROR
Chapter Ten
Turning to face the child again, Oran was now met by the look of blame. He felt condemned, reading the accusations in his innocent eyes. Gripped by panic, Petrio struggled to break free from his hold.
‘Petrio, I would never harm you,’ he begged. ‘You must believe me.’ Never before, in his long life, had Oran pleaded his innocence. ‘Lucia died at the hands of…’ His voice trailed, unable to tell the child who had committed the hideous crime on the girl he had fondly called “sister”. ‘Please—please, I beg that you trust my word, Petrio. Lucia’s death shall be avenged. If I must travel to the ends of each Realm to find her killer, I shall do so.’
The boy looked at him, confused. ‘Realm?’
Oran had forgotten himself. How could he even begin to explain? The boy was too young to understand, and so, he chose to ignore it.
‘That’s why I must leave this place,’ he said, relaxing his hold on him.
Beyond the Darkness Page 8