by M. P. Taylor
A bright blue light appeared along the gate. Theron let go of me and began striding forward, “Come along girl.”
“Yes master,” I took a step, it was surprisingly hard.
We walked up to the gate, the air got denser to the point were I found it nearly impossible to breath. Glowing sigils responded to our presence, the physical manifestations of the defenses. They were a specific type of ward, deadly enchantments meant to utterly destroy one who attempted to force the doorway. Being caught in this narrow hallway when it went off wouldn't be that far off from being hit by a nuke.
We were invited guest so I didn't worry about them...well, I tried to push them from mind anyway. One could only do so much not worrying about something that powerful. There was always a chance of human error – that a rune could be made incorrectly.
“Welcome to the Fortress of Solitude,” my mentor said with obvious sarcasm, “May your stay be brief.”
Needless to say, Theron hadn't been looking forward to this day. He saw coming to the Sanctuary as a sort of necessary evil.
We wizard are a distrustful and supremely arrogant lot. We have great power that puts us above our mortal friends and family but that power has its limits. We can't take on the greater spirits or elder supernatural communities by ourselves. Naturally a organization had been formed, one of paranoid folk who wanted to trick others into giving away the secrets of their craft in order to gain more power.
The Sanctuary was where all that power mongering happened.
Theron wasn't a politician. He believed in hard work, not backstabbing, to get ahead. Foolishly, I followed his example.
He pressed his hand on the door and said a single word that I didn't quite catch. The stone doorway cracked, dust falling from it, and came down to revel a sight that was equal parts impractical and impossible.
Sanctuary was massive.
It consisted of a singular shift that looked as though it might have been a naturally occurring cave. There was a jaggedness to the sides but human hands and magic had carved civilization into them. Polished marble stairways and support pillars that looked as though they belonged in the classical era. It was beautiful with the crowning jewel being heavenly statues that lurked over a vast, endless pit within the center. They seemed to possess a great deal of arcane power, so much so that I could sense them. No doubt they were some kind golem, just waiting for someone to step out of line.
Theron grunted, “Hmph, they cleaned the place up a bit.”
“Its wonderful.”
“Give it a few minutes,” he said while turned away from the nearest statue, one that had gained my attention, and began walking.
I followed at his heels, “This place is massive? How do you even know where to find anything?”
“Its big, but we only use a couple of floors. Whoever made this place must have thought that there would be more wizards one day. Didn't account for the plague, witch hunts and the war with the old world” my mentor pointed to ledge on the far side of the pit, “That's our destination.”
I followed his gesture to a large opening where a number of people moved about.
They were dressed in all manner from the mundane, to the horrific or simply absurd. None of them seemed to have a good sense of fashion with any being easily considered eccentric.
Looking beyond them I saw a massive opening along the wall and a faint light coming from within. I knew that my trial lurked within, that I'd been brought before those who wished to watch my demonstration and, by them, be considered either worthy or unworthy of membership into the order.
“That's where I'll do my rite? Are the archmages going to be there?” I tried to hide my excitement but it was an impossible task. My entire apprenticeship had been based around this day. I was also so looking forward to showing the new spell I'd mastered. It would be a worthy display.
“Aye, most of them will be. Always a few out and about but don't worry, there will be plenty for you impress,” I beamed at the notion, “The spell you're going to perform? Do you need any reagents? There's a storeroom on the way.”
“No, I brought everything I need for it. Some chalk, candles and a bit of luck,” I laughed off the nervousness I felt.
“A summoning? Hm, impressive or arrogant depending upon the result,” he stroked his beard in absent thought, “I trust you've tried it before?”
I nodded, “Of course, its nothing too impressive, a minor spirit of knowledge that I'm going to bind. Its something of an amat-”
“Ha! There's nothing amateurish about summoning. Trust me, if you pull it off the rest of the elders will be more than happy to grant your appointment. Most of them are already sold on the idea. I don't mean to give you false confidence but this is something of a formality,” he stopped, turned and placed a hand upon my shoulder, “You already have more power than wizards twice your age. I'm proud of you.”
It took all of my discipline not to hug the old man. He was a harsh teacher who believed in tough love and therefore his compliments had the force of a falling anvil. A faint touch of water came down my cheek. I nodded and brushed it aside. He laughed and we continued walking as though nothing had been said.
We made our way over to the entrance, into what looked almost like a market square. A woman waited there for us. She possessed a face I'd never forget.
It was stunning beautiful but also horribly scarred along the neck and lower chin. Rich molted flesh from burns tried to take away her elegance but failed to do so. Instead it added a regal aura of power that was reinforced by her blonde hair which was tinted with silver. Not even Theron, who was nearly four hundred, had began to grey. It was a sign of supreme age.
The burn wasn't her sole wound either. Her left arm was bound up in a sling that seemed to be built into her robe. Fingers, wrapped in cloth, laid limply.
“Elder Theron,” she said in an accent that must have been eastern European. They exchanged nods.
Her eyes then fell to me with frightening intensity, I felt as though I were once more walking through wards. A slight curve appear on her lips, it might have been a smile but the scar made it hard to tell, “This your apprentice?”
“Yep,” Theron said. He brought his staff up and used to the end of it to prod me forward, “Introduce yourself, pup.”
“As you command, my master,” I said in the overly formal nature which was expected by the elders. My form shifted into an elegant bow that I'd practiced nearly as much as my spell, it was the formal method of greeting from a female wizard, I hoped I did it right and didn't just embarrass myself and Theron, “Apprentice Catherine Vane, reporting for the rite of ascension.”
The bow was returned, “Elder Natasha, Third Blade of the Justicars and Guardian of the Sanctuary. I bid you welcome.”
I held my bow a moment longer. Theron hadn't told me that I was going to meet someone of such prestige.
Blades were the commanders of the elders – the executors of law and ancient soldiers who fought on the front lines since the founding. They were second in power only to the archmages of the inner circle who were closer to demi-gods than a wizard of my caliber. Being third blade meant that she was only a few deaths away from joining the leadership.
“Third?” a scoff came from Theron, “Who died?”
“Aston,” Natasha replied casually as though the apparent death of blade, a leader of the justicars, was a minor manner, “Killed by Lightbringers. Hm, must be going on three months now. Do you even read the messages we send?”
“I've got enough junk mail, thank you,” he tried to lighten the mood with a jest but the news had hit him hard. It was minor things, a light creasing of a muscle here, a hint of sweat there – the sort of signs only long time family could pick up on.
Natasha didn't notice, “Come, it isn't wise to keep the graybeards waiting.”
By the time we reached the inner cloister I was nearly out of breath. Natasha gave me a moment to collect myself outside of the elder's gathering place. Theron went ahead to
join the others in my judgment. I would stand or fall on my own skills.
Closing my eyes, I remembered all the incantations and the mental paths to power that each of them commanded. The last four weeks had been little more than me practicing the spell in isolation from everyone. Theron had even given me my own apartment and told me to make it my place – somewhere safe that I could study and do my research without fear of being disturbed. It had worked and a month later I had learned the spell.
I could do this.
Natasha's hand clasped my shoulder and motioned towards the entrance where the last few wizards were entering. Her message was clear. None but her and four other justicars, my escort, remained. They were waiting on me.
I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and spoke with confidence, “I'm ready.”
The Third Blade nodded and told me to follow a few feet behind. I obeyed and soon we had a formation. Two justicars came to walk by my side and two more behind me. I felt like I had my own little parade, and it would be a lie to say I wasn't a bit proud. Hell, I'd worked my ass off for my entire life just for this moment. All those endless hours of reading, practicing, and meditation would finally pay off.
Natasha strolled forward at a casual pace, stopping before a barrier of light that keep us sealed away from the elder's entrance. Her hand clasped an oaken staff firmly before she slammed the end of it into the ground. Sound echoed through Sanctuary, the light faded and I saw those who would judge me worthy or not.
There must have been hundreds of them. Elders who had mastered some aspect of a magical art and earned their title through the trials. Most were vastly more powerful than myself and there were just so many of them. I'd been expecting a handful of ancient men and women. A few dozen at most, but the cloister looked more like a stadium than a boardroom – albeit a stadium with a massive emerald crystal that illuminated the room.
My heart beat faster. I kept walking. We reached the center of the room.
It was marked by a a spiraling rune on the back of a great circular shape which was crossed by a single line. The witching symbol – it had once belong to a coven of noble witches. At some point the elders had taken it for themselves. Given the ancient nature of the Sanctuary and the relative newness of the elders, it occurred to me that perhaps the symbol originated from this place and that both groups had adopted it only after coming to call Sanctuary home.
I filed that thought away in the back of my mind and prepared for the task at hand.
The silence was broken by Natasha, “Apprentice Catherine Vane. Servant of her master, Elder Theron. She comes before you, wise elders, seeking ascension into your ranks. Though young, she has great power and three elders have given their words of support. A trial and demonstration shall be demanded and set forth. If any object, say so now!”
The silence took hold once more and I tried to ignore the thousands of eyes that were peering into me. Natasha nodded after a time, “Apprentice Vane. Give word of what task you will be performing.”
I stepped forward, bowed, and then spoke with a confident tone even though I felt anything but, “Thank you, Elder Natasha.”
“The spell in question is a summoning. I will seek to conjure and bind a spirit of knowledge to my will and inquire a question. The question itself is unimportant for this demonstration but it will serve as proof of binding as, I'm sure you all know, knowledge sprites keep all information close to their hearts.”
Faceless elders looked back at me with no sound, just silent judgment, “With permission, I shall begin.”
“Granted,” Natasha said. She snapped her fingers and my escorts moved away, giving me room to work should I need it. As it happened, I did.
Summoning spells always required a bit of space as one needed to engrave a proper circle of power. Circles serve much the same purpose as runes only larger and more powerful. One could, in theory, make any size magic circles and thus channel nearly godlike spells but there was a hitch. A slight error of any kind would break the circle. A crack on the ground, a bit of rain, or even just someone stepping through. Thus we were taught to only use circles of practical size.
Mine ended up having a nearly ten foot radius and, within the circle, I added a number of symbols and runes. These were to indicate the purpose of the circle. Much like names, symbols had meaning. Each one was a sort of notion, a thought that carried with it a deeper meaning. To a mortal it meant next to nothing but to beings of magic, and especially spirits, it was everything.
Within the very center of my circle was a smaller one, and within that was the final piece of information. A name. The name. Almushil.
With the circle completed there was only the incantation left. I moved just outside and placed my hand on the edge, “I compel thee seeker of ways, lord of change, I compel thee to share thine wisdom with this being. I compel thee in mine name, Catherine Vane! I compel thee Almushil! Surrender thine knowledge!”
Power surged through the air. There were voices, shouts from the crowd, but I was focused on my spell – unable to hear what was being said.
A summoning required the summoner to focus their will for a time, a way needed to be made for the spirit so that it might gain hold. Without my concentration it would fade before I'd be able to ask the question. Sweat began to pour from my brow as I channeled raw arcane energy into the circle. Moment after moment, I felt the power gaining hold. A few more seconds was all I needed.
Natasha's voice rang from the crowd of muttering, “Stop her!”
The command in her tone had been unmistakably hostile. So much so that I broke concentration and turned to look at her, confused.
Our eyes meet and in them I saw something that filled me with dread – pity.
I didn't understand. My spell should have worked just fine. I turned to look at the result of my work but found myself unable. Pain swelled through my entire body and a scream escaped my lips. A blast of electricity had just struck me in the chest and sent me skidding across the ground. Through the pain I opened my eyes and saw a justicar, his staff lowered and aimed at me.
I tried to ask why but another noise blocked out all others. A deafening roar of pure energy that was followed by a primal fear.
The justicar I'd been watching turned. A shadow lunged towards him and encircled him in a foggy haze. His body was split into fractions a moment latter. He seemed to be squeezed apart by the shadows, chucks of human flesh oozed from the shadows and onto the ground.
I could only wonder, through my subdued mind, what cruel beast could have killed the justicar? Where had it come from?
Oh no.
I remember those words in my mind more clearly than anything else. That sudden realization of what had just happened.
The shadow thickened into an inky mass that vaguely looked humanoid in shape. It was incredibly large, fifteen or so feet tall and its form constantly shifted from one moment to the next. There were no features to it. No mouth, no eyes, not even lines from muscles could be seen within that blackened storm. Some wizards tried to attack the creature but, as though it were the void itself, attacks were sucked up into its body.
“Demon!” a man yelled out from the crowd, “We must bind it!”
“Demon,” a voice appeared in the back of my mind. It was cold, seemingly without a trace of emotion, “A title given in ignorance from lesser species, incapable of grasping our existence. Bearers of souls, known that it was not she who summoned me but it was I who summoned you and your kind. Lost children wielding creation – bow before Almushil and be stripped of your ignorance.”
Chapter Ten
“Nix!” my power was drained but I had to do something. I needed to correct my mistake.
I didn't.
My paltry lance of ice shattered into a million pieces the moment it hit Almushil's body. It was joined by dozen, if not hundreds of others spells. A seemingly endless barrage of arcane power that came from the various elders in attendance. For a moment, there was a blinding light as the spells coalesced into
a barrage of raw energy. In the next moment it was gone. Almushil's impossible form having taken hold and dissipated it into a inky blackness that was its mass.
A chill ran down my spine as I felt something focusing on me, alien and cold, “Worthy effort from one so young, I was right when I selected you. Arrogant, powerful, but not yet tempered by wisdom. A perfect accomplice. Rest my concubine. Rest and watch, for you have done well.”
There was no time to give consideration to the demon's words. They terrified me and confirmed my thoughts, but I would deal with that after the demon was fought back.
I moved to attack once more but I feel over instead.
Something had tripped up my mind, making me unable to access basic motor skills and turning me into a helpless youth. I feel onto the ground with a thud. My eyes were focused on the creature, moving on their own and out of my control. I tried to close them, to avoid the slaughter that was to come, but was unable. Almushil had possessed my body, I knew that will full certainty, he wanted me to watch what my arrogance had unleashed on my fellow wizards.
Those who had stood around me, the justicars, they were the first to die. Their forms having been felled upon by a thousand tiny tendrils of darkness that seemed undeterred by wards, flesh or screams.
Only Natasha had managed to survive the initial onslaught. She raised her staff, a bright light came forward and formed a bubble about her. It was quickly bombarded by a blackened tide of inky mass. It wasn't pierced like the other but encircled. The light of her ward quickly disappeared in a sea of darkness making me wonder if she too was dead.
More and more of those dark tendrils came lashing out across the crowd of elders, impaling or consuming all that were struck.
With perfect clarity I saw one victim, a young man who must have only just done the same right that I'd attempted. He brought up a ward but it wasn't strong enough. The darkness pierced it and came to land on his arm. It spread outward from there, up his arm, to his torso, and then finally his head. The young man struggled to throw off the assault but failed. When he was fully consumed by the ink, it collapsed upon him and crushed him into a much smaller mass.