by Duncan Pile
If he hadn’t been drugged, then it had to be magic. It seemed so unlikely that the hermit had any kind of magical skill, but what else could it be? He probed inward with his senses, searching for any kind of spell-work. At first he didn’t detect anything, but then he narrowed his focus to search for a compulsion, and sure enough, there it was, like an iron band around his mind. Gaspi ran his senses up against it, testing its strength, and instantly recoiled. The spell holding him captive reeked of blood and dark power, a thing born of pain and suffering.
The sound of the hermit speaking to Fortunate penetrated his consciousness. In a distant corner of his mind, he registered that his friends had all been dragged inside the hut, which meant that time was running out! Urgently, Gaspi flicked a thread of power at the compulsion, stinging it to see how it would react. If the hermit was a magician, then he would sense what he was doing, but there was nothing else for it. The compulsion reacted defensively, tightening around Gaspi’s mind and forcing him back towards sleep. Gaspi’s eyelids were suddenly so heavy he couldn’t keep them open, sliding shut as he was sucked down towards oblivion. On the verge of unconsciousness, all he could see was a fading image of Taurnil lying helpless in the shack, awaiting the hermit’s mercies.
NO! he cried inwardly, and his eyelids flew open once more. Pushing back numbing waves of fatigue, Gaspi drew deeply from the well of his magic and attacked the compulsion. It didn’t stand a chance. It absorbed the influx of power for the briefest moment and then exploded, releasing Gaspi’s mind from its grip just as the hermit reached him. Gaspi tensed his muscles, preparing to spring to his feet.
“Take his legs,” the hermit said, and Gaspi froze, uncertain. He remembered something Jonn had once said; all it takes is a lucky slip of a dagger, and even the very best warrior can be killed. He could overwhelm the hermit with magic, but the man was standing right over him, and Gaspi was in a very vulnerable position. Besides, he didn’t know if Fortunate was an innocent party in all of this, and he didn’t want to catch them both up in the same blast. Gaspi decided to let them pick him up and wait until the hermit’s attention was elsewhere before making his move. His friends’ lives might depend on it.
Gaspi closed his eyes just as the hermit loomed over him. The next thing he felt was a rough pair of hands gripping his wrists so tightly it hurt, and a much smaller pair of hands grasping his ankles.
“Lift him up, boy,” the hermit growled. Two pairs of hands hauled on him, and Gaspi felt himself leave the ground. He swayed back and forth as they carried him, keeping his body deliberately limp, even though every nerve in his body was screaming at him to break away from his captors!
They passed through the open doorway and went into the hut. A hot stench washed over him, and he had to fight the urge to hold his breath. It was overpowering! What in the world was that smell? Whatever it was turned his stomach and stung his nostrils.
“Over there, in the gap,” the hermit said. Gaspi was carried a few more yards and dumped on the floor. He hit the dirt hard and let out an involuntary grunt. Realising what he’d done, he tensed up, ready to spring. If the hermit was onto him then time had run out and he had to act.
“What was that noise?” the hermit asked. Gaspi drew on his power, ready to strike.
“It was me,” Fortunate said. “I dropped him on my toe.”
“Well, be more bloody careful,” the hermit responded, “or once I’m done with them, I’ll use the stone on you as well.”
“Sorry Baas,” Fortunate replied.
“So you should be,” the hermit responded. “You’re fortunate I don’t kill you.”
“Yes Baas.”
Gaspi’s mind whirled. Fortunate hadn’t dropped him on his toe, and he hadn’t made a noise. Did the boy know he was awake? Was he covering for him?
The hermit walked away, and Gaspi opened his eyes a tiny crack, only to find Fortunate staring right back at him. The boy had skin even darker than Sabu’s. He was thin as a rake and dressed in rags. Fortunate mouthed something - a single word - but Gaspi couldn’t make it out. He shook his head ever so slightly, and opened his eyes a fraction wider. Fortunate mouthed the word again, and this time Gaspi was sure of what the boy was trying to say: Help.
Gaspi gave the smallest of nods to show he understood. Fortunate nodded in return before turning away and shuffling over to stand beside the hermit. The hermit had his back to Gaspi, so he opened his eyes fully and looked around. He was lying in the dirt alongside his friends; Sabu on his left and Baard on his right. The hermit was several paces down the line, bending down over someone, though Gaspi couldn’t see who it was. He nudged Sabu in the ribs to see if he was awake, but he didn’t get any response. He tried Baard, to the same effect. He faced the fact that he was probably the only one who’d broken the compulsion, and it was up to him to save all of their lives. He needed to pick his moment, and to strike as fast as he possibly could. He lifted his head a fraction to see what was going on. The hermit was leaning over Taurnil, peeling back the folds of his cloak.
“Chain mail,” the hermit muttered. “We’ll start with someone else.” The hermit stood up and shuffled down the line until he came to Voltan. “This one will do,” he said, pulling back his cloak to reveal a simple shirt. “This’ll cut right off,” he said, pulling the material taut. He reached towards his hip and drew a knife.
There was no more time to wait. Gaspi sprang to his feet, magical power surging around his fists.
“STOP!” he shouted, just as the hermit slid his knife through Voltan’s shirt, parting the cloth as if it was water. He stopped and looked up in surprise.
“What? How?” the hermit said, frozen in disbelief. He glanced to his left, and Gaspi followed his gaze to a table. A blackened stand stood in the centre of that table, and resting on that stand was a rock - or something like a rock - throbbing with unholy magic. It was roughly cut, jet black and covered in a lattice of pulsing red streaks. As soon as he looked at it, Gaspi felt the pressure return to his mind, trying to force him back into unconsciousness.
“That’s right,” the hermit hissed. “Sleep…”
Gaspi shook his head and resisted the compulsion. “Not a chance,” he said through gritted teeth, and lashed out at the hermit with a ball of force. The hermit’s eyes widened as it soared towards him, and then widened further as it took him in the chest and sent him smashing through the wall of the hut. Gaspi followed him out through the hole, spun out a web of power and pinned him to the ground. “You’ll keep,” he said, his eyes ablaze, and went back into the hut.
The moment he stepped back through the hole in the wall the rock’s glow intensified, bathing him in sullen red light as it unleashed a fresh assault on his mind. It wasn’t trying to make him sleep this time, however. It battered the walls of his mind, flooding him with hate; hatred for his unconscious companions, hatred for himself, and hatred of life itself. He wanted to pick up the hermit’s knife, lying abandoned on the floor. He saw himself wielding it, slicing deeply into the chest cavities of his companions and extracting their hearts. He saw himself placing the rock in the open wounds, bathing it in blood as it soaked up the power within. The images were overpowering, and for long, unbearable moments, Gaspi was consumed by alien hatred towards every living being in the hut.
He screamed in defiance and lashed out at the rock. He didn’t attack with force, or air, or any kind of strike he knew. He just drew deep from his very essence and attacked. A tumultuous river of glowing green power shot across the room and battered the rock. It resisted his assault, glowing intensely as Gaspi’s power surged against it. The glow grew brighter and brighter, and Gaspi felt himself growing faint, but he pushed on, drawing deeper still, committing everything he had. The rock’s glow intensified, morphing from red to white, and then, in a last blinding flare, it exploded.
Shards shot across the room, and the whole hut shook. Gaspi threw his arms up to protect his face, but he was much too slow. Sharp fragments of rock embedded themselve
s in his flesh and he fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding face. Loud crashing sounds came from all around him, and voices were raised in alarm.
Urgent hands pulled his fingers away from his face, and within moments cooling power washed across his torn flesh, drawing out the fragments of rock and healing his wounds. He opened his eyes to find Bret bending over him, looking into his eyes with grave concern. Gaspi’s vision began to blur, and he knew he was going to pass out.
“The boy’s innocent,” he said as blackness swamped his vision, and then there was nothing.
…
Gaspi faced the villagers of Aemon’s Reach, trying to persuade them that he was still the boy they had once known, but try as he might, they wouldn’t listen. Roused to superstitious anger by Jakko and his father, they came for him with burning brands, faces contorted with hatred and fear. Gaspi ran from them, unwilling to attack people he had known all his life, but they surrounded him in the village green, hemming him in from all sides. He spun around as they neared him, appealing to them with tears, but there wasn’t a friendly face among them. He dropped to his knees, covering his head with his hands and weeping bitter tears as the first blow landed…
…“You wouldn’t leave me here and go off to Pell without me would you?”Emmy asked, looking at him uncertainly.
“What do you mean?” he asked, confused. The quest to Pell had been planned for weeks, and everyone knew Emmy was going to be part of it. “Of course I wouldn’t.”
“You promise?”
“Of course I do!” he said. Where was this coming from? He’d never leave her behind.
“You wouldn’t lie to me would you Gaspi?” she asked, and suddenly he realised that he had lied to her, and was deeply ashamed. He had set out for Pell, leaving Emmy behind without even discussing it with her.
“I’m so sorry Emmy,” he said, but when he looked up she was gone…
…He was climbing a steep hillside with Heath, huffing and puffing in the hot afternoon sunlight. The druid trudged on ahead of him, tirelessly placing one foot in front of the other, but Gaspi was exhausted and he was starting to fall behind. Reaching out with the slightest touch of his power, he drew on the breeze, having it swirl around him and cool him down as he climbed.
Heath stopped and turned around, looking at him in disgust. “You think the wind is there for your comfort? Do you think you are the Lord of Creation?”
“Sorry Heath I forgot!” Gaspi said.
“Sorry’s not good enough!” Heath said. “You clearly learned nothing while you were with me!” The druid shook his head in dismay and turned around, walking on up the trail at a pace Gaspi couldn’t maintain.
“Heath!” Gaspi called, reaching out a hand and scrambling after the druid, but Heath was disappearing into the distance with every step…
…Gaspi stalked away from Everand’s room in a fury. Who did the arrogant toe-rag think he was, trying to steal his girlfriend? He strode through the Warren and transported down to the Atrium, storming out of the tower as people scattered out of his way. Seething with frustration, he lashed out at a nearby tree, splitting it right down the trunk. Gaspi stopped, mortified by what he’d done. Heath would be horrified! Gaspi looked away from the ruined trunk, glancing around to see if anyone had seen him do it, but there was no-one nearby. He looked back, but where the trunk should have been, Everand lay on the ground, his eyes open and staring blankly in death.
“No!” Gaspi cried, running over and falling to his knees at Everand’s side. Where was the tree? He hadn’t attacked Everand? Or had he? He reached out and took Everand’s hand, but it was cold and lifeless. Everand stared sightlessly at the sky, his unblinking eyes blank and accusing.
“NOOOO!” Gaspi cried again, but there was no-one there to comfort him…
…Gaspi floated in infinite blackness, his heart hammering in his chest. Where was he? Why wasn’t he falling? He felt like a flickering flame on the verge of being snuffed out! Sensing the presence of something immense, he opened his eyes as wide as he could, looking left and right, up and down. Below him, smoky reddish light flickered into being, illuminating the rocky floor of a cavern so enormous it was beyond his comprehension. A lake of fire glowered at its centre, its surface tumultuous and troubled! Great spears of molten rock leapt into the air, casting flickering shadows across the shattered shore. A figure crouched at the edge of the lake, brooding and hunched. It dangled a single finger in the lake, stirring slowly.
With a jolt, Gaspi realised he was moving, sinking towards the panorama below. Panicking, he tried to stop it, but to no avail. He didn’t know why he felt so frightened, but he knew as clearly as he’d ever known anything that he didn’t want to go there. More than anything else, he didn’t want to attract the attention of the crouching figure.
As Gaspi sunk the scale of the scene became clear to him. What has seemed immense was now massive beyond description. The cavern was a whole world, the lake was a sea, and the crouching figure was as large as a mountain! Its ponderous thoughts echoed around the cavern, bouncing off the rocks and blasting everything else from Gaspi’s mind. Each thought was long, resonating with a hundred different nuances
It dwelt on plans it had laboured to fulfil for eons. The death of every green and growing thing, the end of love, the decimation of human hope, a kingdom of emptiness and despair, populated by a million screaming citizens begging for an end that would never come. Its plans were near to fruition now. Its greatest servant had control of a Darkman, and even now was gathering an army. All across the world people offered sacrifices, feeding its hunger for power. On the Isle of Mists, the Skelkans offered themselves in ritual death, their worship swelling its reserves day by day. Before long it would be ready to break out of the prison forged for it long ago by its ancient enemy, and when it did, the world would be wreathed in flame and shadow.
Despite its many victories, there was one thing that troubled it - one of the Bloodstones had been broken. It had felt its power shatter, vanquished by a greater force – a force that was anathema to its very nature. The figure shuddered. The ground beneath its feet shook in response, and great towers of flame surged from the lake of fire, falling back into it with thunderous concussions that made Gaspi’s head hurt.
Gaspi willed himself to stop sinking. The figure below was much nearer now, its curved back filling his vision. He had to escape before it became aware of him. Even as he finished that thought, the figure below him tilted its head to one side as if listening, a movement so colossal Gaspi felt dizzy just looking at it. He felt its awareness surround him like a giant fist, capturing him entirely as it scoured his mind. The figure below started to rise, a mountain come to life. The curve of its back straightened and lifted as it rose to one knee. Gaspi’s heart was beating so hard he thought it was going to explode. He had to get out of there! Right now! He struggled and struggled, but there was nothing he could do. He screamed as the figure stood up and began to turn. Somehow he knew that if he saw its face, he would die.
And then he felt a presence at his side – something entirely different from the being below him. Turning his head, he found himself looking into two flawless green orbs, holding him with their all-seeing gaze. “Loreill!” he gasped. “Help me!” Loreill moved nearer, his diaphanous spirit-body fluctuating with waves of green light. The spirit drifted into his body, infusing him with strength. The shadowy figure’s mental grip fell away, and Gaspi felt the elemental speaking to him, urging him to wake up.
“What?” he asked, confused. Wake up? But that would mean he was…
…
Gaspi opened his eyes to find the same green orbs he’d been dreaming about looking back at him.
“Loreill!” he said, flooded with relief. The cavern, the shadowy figure, the lake of fire! It had felt so real – surely it had been more than a dream. Loreill comforted him, flooding him with healing power, urging him to let it go. There would be time to think of all that later. And then thoughts of the dream were pushed
aside by a much more urgent experience. The bond flowed with life as he and Loreill were re-joined. He gasped, letting the elemental’s presence wash through him, and lost himself in the joy of the bond.
Minutes later, when the bond was fully re-established, the flood of emotions slowed, leaving him with the life-affirming awareness of the spirit’s presence. Gaspi smiled contentedly. It felt amazing to be reunited with the elemental. It was like some part of him had been missing and now he was whole again. He could feel Loreill’s joy radiating back through the bond.
“When did you get here?” he asked, still struggling to believe his own senses. The elemental was hovering in front of him, so close that Gaspi couldn’t see anything else.
“Gaspi!” someone said from nearby, and Loreill moved aside to reveal Taurnil pacing towards him. “You’re awake!”
“Taurn,” Gaspi said, relieved to see another friendly face, and then the whole episode in the hermit’s hut came back to him in full force. Glancing around, he saw that they were still within the hermit’s clearing, in the middle of which lay the ruins of what had once been his shack. He was lying on his cloak, with another one spread out over him like a blanket. “How long have I been out?”
“About a day,” Taurnil responded.
“When did Loreill get here? What’s going on?” Gaspi asked in a rush.
“Hold on, hold on,” Taurnil said. He dropped to one knee and clasped him on the shoulder. “Can you sit up?”
“I dunno,” Gaspi responded, remembering how much of himself he’d given to destroying that dark stone. Drawing on your resources to that extent was dangerous and debilitating, and he might take a good while to recover. “Give me a hand.” Taurnil grasped his hand and pulled on it gently until Gaspi was sitting upright.