by Jason Howard
Zac had grown up a slave in Ascadell, so he didn’t belong to any of the factions. He would be naked to robbery and murder, even being captured and sold back into slavery by his own people. Any slave in Ascadell who found freedom knew not to go home. The stories of those who had tried were chilling. Once someone left Raezellia, it was no longer home.
But here Zac was, approaching the Strait of Slaves, getting ready to sail across it. He shook his head in disbelief. He realized that the rest of the Nightblades were moving ahead without him. He didn’t care. Artem had stopped with him.
They sat atop their horses, alone, staring toward that single billowing sail. It looked like a small cloud that had somehow drifted down and was floating above the glittering, cerulean water.
If Zac hadn’t known it was the Strait of Slaves, he would have thought this place was beautiful. Zac could vaguely remember the last time he had been here. He’d been chained to dozens of other Raezellians, boys and young men. He remembered walking off the gangway and onto the dock, his chains dragging and thumping across the wood planking. It had been cold that day.
He could remember seeing his breath and feeling the tightness of his goosefleshed skin which was still wet from the spray of the sea. He’d carried the smell of ocean water and sickness off that slave ship, and it had mingled with the sharp scent of the snow-covered evergreens.
Many of the others had been sick from the cold journey. He could remember their pale, fevered faces, and how their chests heaved with their sharp coughs. Many that were sick were doomed to die before they were sold. Zac had been tired and hopeless. As he stared at it now, that feeling of hopelessness started to gnaw at him. He was receding into memory, forgetting where and who he was.
Artem put an hand on Zac’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. Artem’s quiet expression of support spoke more than any words could have. Zac nodded to him, shame coloring his cheeks as his eyes welled up. One tear broke free. He couldn’t explain why was silently crying. He didn’t bother to try and understand. He only let the feeling thunder through him until it passed. Artem looked away to avoid shaming him, but didn’t remove his comforting hand.
Zac realized how truly lucky he was to have a friend like Artem. He wanted to say something but his throat was tight and wouldn’t cooperate. Instead he kicked his horse’s rump and they started riding again.
***
After crossing the Strait of Slaves and heading deeper into Raezellia, they began wending through the mountains. The mountain passes they took often had breathtaking views of drops down sheer cliff faces. They could see snow-covered peaks that seemed to stretch on forever.
Ivor would stop sometimes, studying a map, and then they would ride until they found some nearly invisible pass. They went through valleys and forded icy rivers. Every night they made camp in the thin air high above the rest of the world.
Finally they came to a place where they had to leave the horses and climb. Ivor enchanted their hands with a spell that made them stick to the sheer rock. They ascended like bugs climbing up a wall. Althos used his claws like pitons, digging into cracks in the rock as well as using the sticky hands spell.
Zac didn’t like the strange feeling of sticking to rock. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the spell would end, and he would plummet to his death. As they ascended, a strange smell became apparent and the air thickened. It smelled like something was burning. Zac couldn’t place it. Then he realized that it was the kind of smell that came from the smoking chimney of a forge. The smell of burning, melting metal. It wasn’t exactly the same but that was the most similar thing Zac could compare it to.
Zac heard a humming noise. At first it had been subtle but as they ascended it was getting louder. It was low and unnatural. The texture of thunder but limned with energy. It was as if they were listening through a glass wall to the unending sound of a gong just after it had been struck and a tea kettle whistling. The sound was kind of maddening because sometimes it seemed deep and full-bodied and sometimes it was a screeching noise that clawed at their brain. Interrupting it was the fluctuating sound of the wind whipping past their ears.
“Our destination is almost upon us!” Ivor yelled, his voice amplified by magic so he could be heard. “What you hear is the song of the Gates of Evernear! Climb, brave Nightblades!”
A cold blast of wind hit Zac. It tore through his clothes and tried to rip him off the face of the mountain. Everyone held fast, but they all shook with the wind. The wind seemed to subside for a second. Zac relaxed. As they all started climbing again, the wind gusted, roaring in their ears. Someone screamed. Zac turned and saw one men holding to the stone with only one hand. He flapped like a flag, the wind ravaging him. With a scream of anguish he was ripped from the mountain. Zac saw that his palm was bloody because he’d left most of its skin on the mountain. He groped uselessly for stone but was carried by the violent gale, flipping and falling, his scream joining the surreal noises that descended from above.
None of the Nightblades moved for a somber space of time that couldn’t be measured. They were still and silent long after their man had disappeared below. They were so high that he had disappeared from view long before nearing the ground. They were all imagining the impact and the gore, which in some ways was even worse than seeing it. Zac felt ashamed that he couldn’t remember the man’s name. They had all been introduced to each other but it had been too many names to remember at once.
Ivor’s voice roused them from their shocked reaction to the callous death nature had wrought. He said, “Demino has given his life for Ascadell. He will revel in glory eternal in the highest of the heavens! Now, we must continue.”
Before starting this journey Zac had considered death. But in his mind glory had accompanied it. Now the stark reality of their journey, and their fiercest adversary, nature, was leering at him. Demino had died without warning, and despite being a soldier, he had screamed the whole way down like a scared child.
They continued their climb, more slowly and carefully now.
When they finally crested the wall of rock they came to an eerily flat plateau. In the center of the enormous expanse of flat rock was a stone archway. A Gate of Evernear. Carved into the stone at their feet were symbols in a language that Zac had never seen. Zac ran his boot along the carved markings, feeling the ridges. Though it was cold, the shiver that went through him had nothing to do with the temperature.
The Nightblades stood in the shadow of that huge arch, staring up at its towering height. It was twilight, and the purplish sky made the arch’s silhouette look sharp and surreal, like the Gods had cut its shape from the heavens and they were staring directly into a rift that exposed the shadow world beyond their own.
Ivor wheeled his horse, turning to face them.
“Nightblades,” Ivor said. “I am afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you during this journey.”
They all stood at attention as Ivor trotted his horse up and down their lines.
“What’s he talking about?” Mauler muttered under his breath. He glanced at Zac, who could only shrug.
Sothnal had just dismounted. Something about the man’s eyes chilled Zac.
“This man is not really named Sothnal. He is not my bodyguard. I have lied to you and disguised him for his own safety and to ensure that no word of how dire our situation really is spread throughout Ascadell. We are no longer in Ascadell, so I present you with the truth.”
Ivor stepped closer to Sothnal, then put both his hands on the man’s face. Ivor’s hands glowed red and Sothnal screamed in pain.
“What’s he doing? He’s gonna kill him!” Mauler said.
“Shut up,” Kell replied.
Then Ivor’s hands cooled, the red glow subsiding. When he removed them, the Nightblades gasped in shock and wonder.
Sothnal was no more.
King Lanthos stood before them. His face was dripping with sweat, and he swayed slightly, weak on his feet.
He stood tall, his eyes sweepin
g over them. “Men, you may be wondering why I am here. Obviously I have duties to attend to. Obviously you would expect me to stay in Castle Sal Zerone. But Ivor and I have decided that I must accompany you on this journey. We seek the cure to Soulbane. The entire Kingdom depends on us finding it. And so do I. I have been infected. The only reason I still stand before you is because Ivor has found a way, with ingenuity and intricate spellwork, to keep me from falling asleep. But my days are numbered. And the number is low.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Tributary Magic (multi-channeling)
When more than one conduit cooperates to increase the power of a spell, the results can be extraordinary. On the other hand, the outcome of Tributary Magic is sometimes unpredictable and dangerous.
Lanthos continued, “My health, despite Ivor’s best efforts to revitalize me, is rapidly declining. We must make haste for Xalemindor’s Cube before I finally succumb to the disease. If I become a bane, each and every one of you has orders to kill me. I would rather die than live as a bane. If I don’t make it through this journey, you must continue without me, with Ivor as your new leader. Upon returning to Ascadell, you must tell no one I was ever here. My brother has been disguised with magic to look like me and is sitting the throne. The country will go into a panic if they think I’m gone, especially if they know that even I, a king, was susceptible to Soulbane. Nightblades, do you understand?”
“Yes sir!” was their resounding response.
Ivor stepped forward. “It is time. Conduits to me.”
Cera and the other four conduits gathered on the right side of the gate. They stood shoulder to shoulder, but didn’t block the entrance to the gate. Ivor stood ahead of them, closer to the gate.
Ivor turned and said, “Nightblades, I already told you what you must do, but I will tell you once more because there can be no mistakes. Everyone get in three lines. I’ll tell you all when the first three should enter the gate. The three after them must wait until they have gone fully through, then you may go. And do not tarry, sprint as fast as you can and move through the gate at full speed. Does everyone understand?”
“Yes sir,” they replied.
Ivor turned his attention to the five conduits. “Remember, work together and channel energy through me. I will amplify it and direct it into the gate. I will tell you when we have given the gate enough magic,” Ivor said.
“Yes sir!” they replied.
As Ivor was speaking to the conduits, the rest of the Nightblades formed three lines.
“They can use our energy, right?” Zac asked Artem, remembering his lessons with Elias.
Artem said, “It’s possible, but it isn’t safe. They will already be creating links between each other to channel this spell. To add more people, especially those of us that have never been linked to a conduit before, would be dangerous.”
Zac nodded.
“Channel through me . . . NOW!” Ivor boomed.
The conduits took each other’s hands and closed their eyes. Moments later a crackling ball of white energy started to coalesce in the air in front of them. Zac watched with fascination. The energy was beautiful, and it made a sound like a high note sung. The sound deepened as the ball grew. Zac was mesmerized as the energy got brighter, prisming through the snowflakes falling around them. Reflections off the ice and snow made Zac squint.
Then the ball of energy, swollen now to the size of a carriage, elongated into a beam and shot into Ivor’s back, who screamed in pain. Zac flinched at Ivor’s agonized scream. Ivor’s skin started to glow, and he hunched over, still screaming. Was the spell failing?
Zac’s question was answered as Ivor stood tall and arched his back, looking up to the heavens. The beam, which was entering his back, exploded from his chest. Ivor became a sieve that amplified the beam’s power. The energy hit the top of the stone archway. The Gate of Evernear glowed like steel in the flame of a blacksmith’s forge.
The conduits began screaming with the pain of their exertions.
Zac could feel the heat billowing from the conduits. Gusts of power whipped through the air. He leaned forward and dug his heels into the ground as he was pushed back.
One of the conduits cried out and fell, the energy from his palms flickering out.
The channeling no longer sounded beautiful, it had become ferocious and deafening.
Zac knew that the man was now magesick. He hoped the man would live, although the outcome of magesickness was always uncertain.
The conduit staggered to them and joined one of the lines of waiting Nightblades. He could barely stand, so he sat to catch his breath and prepare to run through the gate.
“MORE!” Ivor screamed, his voice supernaturally loud and tinged with an inhuman metallic quality.
Another conduit fell. She crawled a couple paces from the others and vomited in the snow, then collapsed in her own vomit. One of the Nightblades threw her over his shoulder and returned to his place in the three lines, setting her down gently. He knelt over her, ready to carry her when it was time to run through the gate.
Another conduit fell. She got up after taking a few deep breaths. She walked back to the lines with the help of Mauler, who let her sling and arm around his shoulders.
There were only two conduits left, one of which was Cera.
“MORE!” Ivor yelled.
Another conduit fell. The fallen conduit, this one the older man, rose from the ground screaming obscenities. He turned, a faraway look on his face. “I’ll kill you all!” he screamed, splaying his palms. A fireball began to form in front of him.
Reyna rushed forward, then speared the man in the throat with stiff fingers. As he gasped and choked the fireball disappeared. He seemed about to fall backward but then rocked forwards and fell on her. They both toppled to the ground. She scissored her legs around his neck and one of his arms and squeezed, choking him out with her legs. When he was fully unconscious she released her grip and stood up.
Zac knew that she had done it for the conduit’s own good. His magesickness had caused him to go temporarily insane.
Kell jogged to Reyna to help her carry the old man. As he approached a sparking tendril of energy reaching from Ivor’s illuminated skin shocked Kell, who yelled out. Kell continued forward and took the old man’s legs while Reyna got held him under the armpits. They hustled outside the radius of Ivor’s crackling energy field, each getting shocked once more.
Cera was the last conduit standing.
“MORE!” Ivor yelled, his voice echoing against the mountains that rose up around them. His voice was ethereal, it was like the voice of a god was crashing down around them.
“I . . . can’t,” she yelled back, her words almost lost in shrieking of the spellwork. But she didn’t stop pouring herself into it. She was the last one. She couldn’t fail. She knew that. Zac knew she would take this to the death. She was already on the verge of destroying herself.
“She needs help,” Zac said, taking a step in her direction.
Artem put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“I have to help her!”
“You could ruin the spell, if you break their concentration—” Mauler yelled.
But Zac didn’t wait for him to finish. He broke free of Artem’s grasp.
When Zac neared Cera the heat shocked him. It was like leaning too close to an open flame.
“Take my energy!” Zac screamed over the roaring magic.
Cera looked at him but didn’t seem to know who he was. Perhaps she was going insane already, at this very moment. What if his energy only accelerated that process? What if she was a raving lunatic when the spell was over?
“It’s Zac! Let me help you!”
Recognition lit her eyes. She reached out and clamped a hand on Zac’s wrist. He gasped, then desperately exhaled. His lungs burned, and he fell to his knees.
He watched as his forearm glowed blue. He felt the energy leaving him, it made him cold. His muscles felt jittery and weak, as if he hadn’t eaten in
days.
Her facial expression turned apologetic, and her grip slackened a little.
‘Keep going,’ Zac implored, and somehow she heard his thought. There was a connection between their minds, a deep, intimate connection that scared and thrilled him at the same time.
Then the pain started. At first it was just an ache that fluctuated across his skin. Then it deepened. Zac swam in it, drowning in the molten excruciation. He started screaming.
‘I’m sorry,’ she thought, the words echoing in his mind.
His mind was disconnecting from his body. Memories flashed through him. Images from his childhood came in sporadic flashes, as if his mind was trying to preserve them as his sense of self disintegrated. He felt that she was watching these memories. There was a melding feeling, and he saw into her mind as well.
Cera was only a little girl, and she was sitting in her father’s lap. Her father had taken her hiking to a hilltop that was high above the city. It was quiet here, only the sounds of nature and the very distant thrum of the city could be heard. The sunset was a beautiful bloody orange that bathed the carpet of treetops and the urban mountain range of towers, bridges, and spires. Cera’s father ruffled her hair.
“Not my hair!” Cera replied indignantly, pushing his hand away and smoothing her hair.
“Take it easy, little tiger,” he said.
She punched him in the chest to no effect. He was invincible. She leaned onto him and looked out at the city again, over the treetops, through the song of twittering birds. Everything was perfect.
The memory started to fade. Zac’s pain was gone now, and numbness was replacing it. Death.
Before that coldness could creep into his slowing heart, there was a cracking noise, like a whip being snapped. The sound brought Zac crashing back to his own memories. Detren and the mines flashed across his mind. Faint recollections of his brief childhood in Raezellia.
Then reality came crashing in. He was laying on the snow, Cera still clasping his forearm.