Tarrin Kael Firestaff Collection Book 3 - Honor and Blood by Fel ©

by James Galloway (aka Fel)

  The pain taxed away what little he had left. He began to sag to the ground, sagging into a funeral pyre formed from himself, and the stark reality of a violent death, a death of the most unimaginable pain, rose up before him. He was too weary to care, the pain was too much to bear, even for him.

  This time, there was no escape. Since there could be no escape, then there could only be release.

  He stopped fighting. He opened himself completely to the Weave, opening himself in a way he had never done before, an opening without fear, without worry, without defense from the power. It was an opening of utter totality, exposing his very soul to the raging torrent of energy that sought to destroy him. In submission to the finality of his existence, he utterly surrendered to the might of the Weave, allowing it to do with him what it will. So long as it was done quickly. He didn't want to suffer anymore.

  The energy within, the energy without, it responded to that submission, responded instantly. It drove into him with renewed vigor, with such speed and force that his body was literally picked up from the rocky ground. In the blink of an eye, he was filled to the limit, reaching the maximum potential of his body. The pain was consumed by that sensation of fullness, a power carrying a sensation that defied rational explanation, neither pain nor sweetness, hot nor cold, fast nor slow, gentle nor harsh. It merely was, and in that instant, he understood that that moment of utter maximum, that he had reached the abyss.

  Yet he did not fall in.

  It was as if the power stopped. He felt it radiate into him, through him, it reached out and touched the Weave, and then it bonded it to him. The pain washed away, leaving behind nothing but a sensation of the power itself, and then that sense of power faded to the sense of the Weave. And then it was gone.

  There was no sensation at first, neither within nor without. Then he felt the Weave bend. He felt it warp, shift, pull towards him, and his sense of it suddenly became as clear as opening his eyes. He could feel the currents and surges within the strands, he could feel the pools and eddies and charges that existed within them. He could see inside the strands, inside the Weave, as if the totality of it were revealed to him. He could see things he had never seen before, sense things he could not before. He could feel Allia and Keritanima through the Weave, could feel the pulsing of their hearts through the Weave, felt that they, and all Sorcerers, were linked to the Weave in ways the modern katzh-dashi could not even comprehend. He could feel Jenna, knew exactly where she was, knew that she was pouting from some kind of punishment. He could feel all of them, every single one, both near and far, old and young, friend and foe, weak and powerful, those long in their power and those who had never actively touched it before. Their hearts, their souls, they were linked to the Weave, made up a part of the gentle rhythm of the beating of the Heart of the Goddess.

  And at the heart of it rested a pair of glowing, benevolent eyes, eyes that looked on him with love and gentle compassion. The eyes of the Goddess herself looked upon him, and within them he could only see a loving benediction. The eyes said everything without words. He had surrendered to the power, and in that surrender, rather than destroy him, it had caused him to transcend the concepts of Sorcery. He had crossed over into a new realm of magical communion. He had become one with the Weave itself, and it was tied to him more closely than any katzh-dashi could realize. He was the Weave, and the Weave was him.

  Through his mind's eye, he saw, felt the change in his amulet. The concave star in the center of the device shifted, flowed, as two delicate tendrils of black metal grew out from each side of the central star, grew out, bent, then reached out to touch the triangles that surrounded it. The eight lines merged with the six triangles, two each on the top and bottom triangles, one each on the four that formed the sides, and the central star took on the abstract image of a spider sitting within the center of its web of triangles, all held within a circle.

  Now, her voice echoed through his mind, through the Weave, through the entire world, now, my dear one, you are truly a Weavespinner.

  The power faded from him, and the eyes tumbled away from his inner eye as he lost contact with that sensation. His weariness and weakened condition had overcome him, and he went from basking in the eyes of the Goddess herself to the blackness of unconscious oblivion.

  Half a world away, in a large courtyard in the middle of a cavernous maze of carefully tended hedges, there stood a large fountain. The fountain was made of marble, and clear, pure water flowed within its base, the sound of its splashing a soothing sound to any who heard it. In the center of this fountain stood a statue of a nude female, the carving of it defining perfection itself. The face was a lovely one, gentle and kind, and any who stared upon it was calmed and felt peace.

  The eyes of the statue suddenly erupted with intense white light, and the features of the statue changed visibly, flowing from that gentle benediction to a sense of triumph, of victory. The statue suddenly became surrounded by nimbus of soft bluish light, the light of High Sorcery. And then it was gone, and the light within the eyes of the statue faded away, leaving nothing but the victorious expression upon the statue's lovely features.

  Within the huge central tower of the seven that made up the Tower of Sorcery, at its very core, flowed a magical feature known as the Heart of the Goddess. It was the largest Conduit in the world, the main artery through which the lifeblood of Sorcery flowed. It was the wellspring of the power of the katzh-dashi, a spring of energy from the Goddess herself.

  That pillar-thick Conduit of magical energy suddenly flickered into visibility, then flared with a soft bluish radiance. But only for a moment. It was enough for every Sorcerer on the grounds to stop in his or her tracks, to stop and clutch at his or her chest as the power of the Weave expanded, shifted, if only a little, a sense of alteration that no Sorcerer in proximity to the Heart could miss.

  It was enough for most of the citizens of Suld to stop what they were doing and look towards the Tower of Six Spires, the center of the city, where a pillar of soft light shimmered in the clear morning air, and then winked out. Most of them simply shrugged and went back about their daily business, for such magical apparitions weren't uncommon when the Tower was concerned.

  But others understood it for what it was. And they felt fear.

  To: Title EoF

  Chapter 9

  It was like the Gods had come down to earth to do war.

  Sarraya flew at full speed through a blasted wasteland, a scene of carnage the likes of which she had never seen before, nor cared to ever see again. Just the memory of it was enough to make her shiver. The air was hot, nearly lethally hot from the lava, and the smell of sulfur and brimstone was heavy with the dust and the noxious gases erupting from the ground itself. Rock spires were laying on the ground, some melting in widening lakes of liquid rock, sending smoke and flames from the impurities in the rock wafting into the noxious air. The few pillars that still stood were all moved, leaning, and showed the signs that they had been subjected to unimaginable forces. The heat was so intense that she had to use her Druidic magic to protect herself from it, else she would die quickly as she flew into the raging firestorm that ringed the central area where the main battle had ensued. She darted through the surreal landscape, trying to find Tarrin before the pooling lava swept over him and burned him to cinders, her concern for her friend overshadowed by the awe of what she had just witnessed.

  The power!

  She had never seen such a display! The two of them had gone after each other with High Sorcery, and the earth itself had paid in blood for their conflict! The wounds were deep, raw, bleeding. Even now the fissure Tarrin had opened in the ground still oozed lava, and she could sense that it would become a volcano. It would not heal itself, it would simply grow into a mountain. The land had shaken, rock spires had toppled, and both the Weave and the All had shuddered violently in their battle. The Weave had been twisted, bent, warped, it had even moved while they were fighting one another, as if the presence of both of them at
the same time, both using powerful magic, was nearly too much for the Weave to bear. It nearly tore, creating an effect similar to a miniature Breaking. The All had reacted to the raw power they sent at one another, and it had reacted to both of their magical spells that affected the land. Tarrin's little stunt with the fissure nearly sent the All spraying up out of the ground like the lava that still oozed forth, and that would have killed them all.

  But he was still alive. How? She could feel that he was still alive, but he had crossed the line. He was being Consumed! She first wanted to rush to him, but a Sorcerer of his power meant that being Consumed would be absolutely disastrous, so she fled from the area when she realized that he had passed the point of no return. She had been feeling it, feeling the Weave itself writhe as the power of it tried to destroy him...and then it just stopped. She was absolutely mystified by that. It just stopped. That was supposed to be impossible. When a Sorcerer started the chain reaction of being Consumed, it was irreversible and unstoppable. And yet when it happened to Tarrin, it just stopped.

  How?

  She finally spotted him, laying on a risen section of ground, risen over the pooling lava before it, and to her surprise, the other one was standing before him, looking down at him. The ground had heaved and shifted when he made the fissure, and it made the start of it rise up as the land before it displaced the land surrounding it in order to make enough room to open the fissure. At that close proximity, the ambient heat of the lava should have been cooking him, but he looked unharmed. His hair and fur had even grown back. The other one wasn't attacking him now, she simply looked down at him.

  A Selani with that kind of magical power? No. She had to be Sha'Kar. The Sha'Kar looked much like the Selani, and many in the circles of the forest folk speculated that the two were related. The Sha'Kar were long dead, but their affinity for Sorcery, and the agelessness it imparted to them, meant that it was entirely possible that at least one of them had survived. Because of that, she wasn't entirely surprised to see a Sha'Kar. This one was one of the Ancients, one of those Sha'Kar that had knowledge of the greatest of the secrets of Sorcery. But why had she attacked him in the first place? They were two unique beings. She should have been happy to see him! What provoked the assault, and the vicious battle that followed?

  She completely ignored the Sha'Kar, blazing a straight line right to Tarrin's side. He lay on the hard ground, the leather clothing she made for him blackened and brittle from the heat of whatever happened. It was even smoking a little bit. But his hair and fur had regrown, and he had no obvious injuries. She landed on top of his chest and put her hands on him, used her Druidic powers to assense his physical condition--

  --and she was taken aback.

  Something had changed inside him. It was subtle, but it was there. The power he'd used had had some kind of lasting effect on him, and she could sense that his connection to the Weave had changed in some unexplainable way. The Weave bent towards him now, just as it did towards the Sha'Kar. Outside of those things, he was perfectly fine. His body was exhausted, but after a long rest, he'd be just fine.

  She darted up and was in the Sha'Kar woman's face in a heartbeat. "Who are you, and how dare you attack him!" she demanded hotly in her piping voice, her face showing her outrage.

  The woman fixed the Faerie with a calm look, a look that shook the little Faerie's outrage-fueled indignation. She flitted back and away from the woman, getting a full taste of the sheer aura of intimidation the woman exuded. But Sarraya had spent much time around Triana, and the intimidating effect of the woman's presence didn't affect her for very long. She returned to a dangerously close distance from the woman's eyes quickly, and recovered her look of furious outrage.

  "I did not attack him," the Sha'Kar snorted in a rich voice. "I did what was necessary. I hold no grudge against him."

  "What kind of lame answer is that!" Sarraya flared, putting her hands on her hips. "I saw it with my own eyes!"

  "If I meant him harm, he would be dead," the woman said flatly. "The Goddess sent me to test him."

  "The--The Goddess? Tarrin's Goddess?"

  She nodded. "As you may have realized, we are brother and sister," she said, reaching under her burned shirt and producing an amulet of untarnished silver. Unlike most Sorcerer's amulets, hers was a little different. The little concave star in the center had little lines running to the triangles, and it almost looked like a little spider. "Mother was getting cross with him, so she sent me to provoke him into losing control."

  Sarraya's face turned a pale blue. "Why would she do such a thing!"

  "Because he could not grow any more unless he faced his power," she replied with marked casualness. "It is an ordeal that all Weavespinners must undertake if they are to realize their true potential. Only in the moment of destruction can a Weavespinner attain communion with the Goddess. If they succeed, they may progress and discover the secrets of the Weave. If they fail, they die. Mother was getting angry that he kept finding ways to avert fate, so she sent me to make sure of it. His time is growing short, and he has no more time to waste floundering about."

  "What would have happened if--" Sarraya said, but the look in the woman's eyes said it all. She swallowed. "He would have died?"

  "It would have pained me to cause the death of a brother, but it had to be done," she said with genuine compassion in her voice. "But now it is ended. And I must go."

  The woman turned and started walking away, the utter-black cloak absorbing the light, making her look like a two-dimensional figure against the hellish backdrop before her. "Hey, wait!" Sarraya shouted. "You nearly kill him, and now you leave him here?"

  "He has you," she called without looking back.

  "You think I can move him before he gets baked by this heat?"

  She actually laughed. "Think, you foolish sprite. Should he not already be dead?"

  Sarraya had no answer. If the heat was so intense that she had to protect herself with Druidic magic, then he should have been killed by it long before she reached them. And yet he was unharmed.

  "Wait!" Sarraya shouted, but the shadow of the woman was gone, and something inside her told her that she was no longer there, even if she chased after her.

  Sarraya bit her lip, fretting. What had just happened? Why did this figure from the past return to the present, return to attack Tarrin, but not to hurt him? What was this test the woman spoke about? How did Tarrin survive? It was madness! She looked down at him, and then she remembered the woman's words as her eyes locked on his amulet, an amulet that had changed.

  Only in the moment of destruction can a Weavespinner attain communion with the Goddess.

  It was a test! All this time, all those times he had nearly destroyed himself with Sorcery, they all were just precludes to this! If he was to ever find his true power, to find the answers that his Goddess told him to find, he would have to face the possibility of destruction by the very power he sought to master.

  It certainly looked like he found that mastery. He was still alive, for one, and his amulet now looked exactly like the Sha'Kar woman's amulet. It had that same strange spidery-like alteration to the central star.

  Of course. Sarraya chuckled. If they were called Weavespinners, what better symbol to represent them than a spider?

  "I'm getting too old for this," she sighed, using Druidic magic to pick his inert form off the blisteringly hot ground.

  Light.

  There was light all around him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it deep inside, feel the radiant warmth of it as it shined upon him. It flowed, this light, flowed and pulsed and shimmered from one place to another, moving in a vast cycle of uncountable paths that all eventually began and ended at the same place. It was a heady feeling to sense the light, mystical in its underlying intent, moving of its own without rational rules to define its existence. Beneath the flowing of the light was a strange sound, a sound he could not hear, yet he could. It was a steady, rhythmic thumping, a gentle pulse of lifeblood through this e
ther river, a river that began where it ended and existed within a neverending cycle of self-replenishment.

  It was a heartbeat.

  That heartbeat was the collective energies of thousands and thousands of beings, all beating in perfect unison, hearts that sustained this vast web of interlaced rivers of light. They did not know that they worked together. They did not know that their lifeblood was also the lifeblood of this grand network. From the wellspring this light flowed, flowed through the hearts of those who circulated it, flowed through the heart of the world, and then it returned to the wellspring from whence it had come. It was an endless cycle, like the tides, the currents, the winds, the seasons. It had a beginning and an end, but the end was naught but the beginning of the next cycle.

  He opened his eyes. He found himself adrift in a sea of vast black emptiness, except for the crisscrossing rivers of light that flowed around him, in all directions, extending into infinity to light the void, but never so numerous that the void was consumed by their presence. Those rivers nearest to him were warped, leaning towards him, yearning for him the way plants yearned towards the sun. The sight of it was beautiful, so beautiful that his heart felt like the most breathtaking sunrise would seem as dull grays on slate in comparison. His heart also sustained this vast web of light, but unlike others, he fully sensed what was happening, was aware of it.

  The Goddess gives the power, but it is the hearts of the Sorcerers that bring it from the wellspring and deliver it to the land, he thought in a moment of revelation. Without the Sorcerers, there would be no magic in the world.