Magefall

by Stephen Aryan

  Danoph drifted around the village for the rest of the afternoon visiting all of his old haunts. In the woods not far from his mother’s cottage the remnants of his treehouse were slowly being reclaimed by nature. Overgrown with weeds and flowering shrubs it was now home to a nest of birds that were making better use of it than he had. Growing up he’d sometimes come here to dream about the future. He’d imagined himself travelling all over the world as a soldier in the Queen’s army. He’d wanted to be a hero whose brave deeds the bards sung about in taverns up and down the land.

  After the war he never again imagined himself as a soldier. He had no desire to carry a weapon or go to war. He’d seen more than enough bloodshed and torture to last a lifetime. The treehouse then became his refuge where he’d spend hours by himself. The camps had been crowded and filthy, full of noise and other people. Here it was so quiet and peaceful. He was occasionally lonely after that but never felt uncomfortable in his own company.

  By the time the afternoon had drained away Danoph realised why he’d hesitated coming home for so long. His early memories of glorious days full of wonder and imagination had been replaced with darker thoughts that lingered on what he’d endured during the war. The more time he spent exploring the streets and surrounding areas the more he realised why leaving had, in many ways, been a relief.

  The Red Tower had been a chance to start afresh. The emergence of his magic had been unexpected, but it had presented him with an opportunity to build a new life. All of which brought Danoph back to thoughts of his mother and why she had sent him away. Something must have triggered it and he needed to know what had happened.

  With sore feet and a slightly heavy heart he knocked on his mother’s front door. Danoph realised he didn’t even think about it as his home any more. It was her house. He had no home.

  His mother answered and gestured for him to sit on the porch in the rocking chair while she brought out another seat. Danoph knew it was strange that she’d not invited him into her home, but part of him had been expecting it. It also made him wonder if she was trying to hide something or someone she didn’t want him to see.

  They sat together in silence for a while, listening to the distant drone of insects and the rustling of the trees in the wind. After a time she found the courage to turn towards him and speak.

  “Ask your questions.”

  “Why did you send me away? Was it because of my visions?” he asked in a rush. The questions had been bottled up inside him for a long time. “Did I hurt someone?”

  “Around here people have been afraid of magic for a long time. They still are today. But yours was something different,” said his mother. “At first I thought they were just stories you’d made up. But the details were always so vivid.”

  “But they weren’t stories,” said Danoph.

  “No, and they weren’t just visions. They were glimpses of other places and other times. It was as if you’d been spying on people through their windows. Sometimes they were things in the past. Secrets from other families that I thought you’d overheard. Then you started telling me about things that hadn’t happened, that later came true. That’s when I knew you were different.”

  “Different?”

  His mother sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “You weren’t the first child born in our village with magic. Years ago there was a boy who could light fires without flint and tinder. Another could talk to dogs. He’d just stare and they obeyed him. They were both strange but, up to a point, people could understand their magic. Your visions were worrying, often predicting tragedies or crimes. Some I couldn’t prove were real because you talked about places in other countries. I tried to hide your visions but other people in the village started to notice. If I hadn’t sent you away I think you would’ve been lynched.”

  There was a hint of regret in her voice and hearing her reasons didn’t sting as much as he’d expected.

  Rather selfishly he’d not realised how difficult it must have been for her as well. To be the only woman in the village raising a child without a husband. Tragedies had been uncommon in their small community but when it happened widows were not shunned. Danoph had no memories of his father but he remembered the way other villagers stared at him and his mother. If she hadn’t been the herbalist, and an important figure in the community, she might have been driven out. Danoph wondered if she’d found someone in the years since he’d left.

  “Who was my father?” he asked.

  His mother shook her head, not yet ready to answer the question. He’d thought the reason for sending him away would’ve been the difficult question to answer. As a small boy he’d daydreamed that his father had been a hero killed in battle. Or a member of the royal family who loved his mother but had been forced to leave by his wicked father and marry someone else. Now he suspected the truth was a lot more sinister. Even so, he needed to know.

  “Did you know Talle and I were betrothed?” said his mother, breaking the tense silence.

  “No.”

  “We grew up together. Did everything together. None of the other girls even tried to catch his eye. He only wanted me.” She smiled wistfully but all too quickly it drained away. “We were married young and it lasted for three years. We visited the village Wise and several herbalists, but the answer was always the same. We couldn’t have children.”

  “They were wrong,” said Danoph.

  “The local priest agreed to our unbinding and later he married Jodine. Now he’s running a farm and they have four children.”

  “But they were all wrong,” he said again, staring at his mother. “You can have children.”

  She stubbornly shook her head. “No. It’s not what you think.”

  A cold prickle of fear ran across the back of his scalp. “Who was my father?”

  “No one.”

  “You didn’t know his name? Were you attacked?” he asked. It was far worse than he’d anticipated. Perhaps it would have been better not to know the truth.

  “You don’t understand. After Talle, I was alone. One day I wasn’t pregnant and the next I was. Everyone assumed it was a passing merchant, and I never said otherwise. It was a lot easier to accept than the truth.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. I still don’t, but I didn’t care. You were my miracle.”

  It was impossible. It was ridiculous. She was lying to cover up something. “Was he already married? I’m not going to cause any trouble. I just want a name.”

  His mother took him by the hand and stared straight into his eyes. “You have no father.”

  Danoph didn’t think she was lying and yet he had no other explanation. He didn’t notice the man approaching the cottage until his shadow fell over them both. Danoph and his mother looked up in surprise at the tall, grizzled Seve with a sword on his back. At first Danoph thought this was his father. The man his mother claimed didn’t exist until he saw the lack of recognition on her face.

  “Danoph, my name is Vargus. I know you have many questions and I can help.”

  “Who are you?”

  The old warrior smiled. “A friend.”

  The world shifted around him and Danoph found himself standing inside a huge banqueting hall. A massive wooden table ran down the centre of the room and arranged around it were dozens of chairs. Each looked identical and yet he instinctively knew they were unique. At the head of the table was a massive seat that dwarfed the others and without asking he knew who it belonged to and that its owner was still absent.

  Images and pieces of memory swam to the surface but he couldn’t focus on them. He’d never been to this place before and yet somehow he knew so much about it. Danoph should have felt scared to find himself in another place but for some reason he wasn’t alarmed. It felt safe and so familiar.

  Vargus stood beside one of the chairs towards the far end of the table. Danoph’s instincts told him it belonged to Vargus. The longer he stared at the warrior the more familiar he seemed, although he didn�
��t know why.

  “For all things there is a season,” said Vargus. “Over the years our star wanes, or the body breaks, and we pass into the Void. At other times we evolve, becoming something new in order to survive. Once, long ago, I had a different name and a different power. Now I am a Brother to all who carry a weapon into battle. Years ago my old mantle was reborn. And with it came the power to see the future and all of the possibilities it contains. To dream of tomorrow and see the choices that lay ahead for us all. To travel through the skein of time and know what’s to come. This is the Weaver.”

  Vargus approached Danoph and put a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome home, brother.”

  The story continues in book three of the Age of Dread.

  The story continues in …

  The Age of Dread: Book Three

  Keep reading for a sneak peek!

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many thanks to Juliet Mushens, my agent from CaskieMushens, for reading all the words. Thanks to Nathalie, for sorting out all the paperwork and making it all so easy for me.

  I’m very grateful to everyone at Orbit for all of their hard work on my behalf to beat this book into shape, in particular Jenni, Brit and Joanna. Thanks also to Nazia for all the work she does organising events for me and all Orbit authors. Special thanks to Gemma and Tom for our regular “Two Authors and Tom” lunches out.

  Finally, thanks to my family and friends for their continual support and enthusiasm.

  extras

  meet the author

  Photo Credit: Hannah Webster

  STEPHEN ARYAN was born in 1977 and was raised by the sea in northeast England. A keen podcaster, lapsed gamer and budding archer, when not extolling the virtues of Babylon 5, he can be found drinking real ale and reading comics.

  He lives in a village in West Midlands with his partner and two cats. You can find him at @SteveAryan or visit his website at www.stephen-aryan.com.

  if you enjoyed

  MAGEFALL

  look out for

  The Age of Dread: Book Three

  by

  Stephen Aryan

  Kai sneered at the line of beggars that began to trail after him as he walked through Herakion, the capital city of Zecorria.

  His sneer grew more intense as he passed the front doors of several large churches and temples dedicated to his older brethren. Huge stone buildings that spoke of permanence, giving mortals the illusion of comfort in their endless quest to confess their sins. But none were eternal, with perhaps the exception of the Maker, whom no one had seen in centuries and yet His faith endured. His followers were seemingly endless in number.

  Kai knew the others dreamed of having as many followers so that they too might extend their miserable and empty existence for another century or so. They were sheep. And like all cattle, one day, they would be ripe for slaughter.

  Somewhere deep inside he heard the faint whimpers and pleas of those being consumed and a wolfish smile spread across his face.

  The beggars saw only a handsome, richly dressed man, striding down the street with purpose. A few cried out, asking for a coin to buy a crust of bread, which he completely ignored. One man, with blue stains at the corners of his mouth and open sores on his arms, made Kai smile. With nothing but the clothes on his back, not even his health, the man chose to spend his money on venthe, numbing himself to the world. The marks on his face were a clear sign of his drug addiction. Kai flicked the man a small coin, helping him along towards his imminent and painful death.

  The mortals were even worse than his brethren. Greedy. Desperate to belong. Desperate to feel something to give their life meaning. They weren’t sheep. They were ants, swarming around, searching for food and shelter.

  Kai wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking and almost tripped over another beggar. The blind man pulled in his legs while raising a cracked bowl in one grubby hand. Ignoring the wretched creature Kai was about to move on when he felt a familiar but insistent pull.

  Part of him wanted to ignore it and keep walking, but as ever appearances had to be maintained. This wasn’t a summons he could ignore without attracting attention to himself. Closing his eyes the world around him faded away. There was a brief moment of disorientation and then he was standing in the familiar banqueting hall.

  At the far end of the table the huge chair of the Maker loomed over everyone in the room. Even in such a large space with a high vaulted ceiling, ribbed with beams like the innards of a vast beast, the chair drew everyone’s attention. At some point every person glanced at it, half expecting it to be occupied by His indomitable presence. Perhaps, one day, it would be. That was the one thought that scared Kai.

  As others began appearing out of thin air and the room began to fill up Kai noticed the pool of empty space around him as others kept their distance. He smiled at their fear and discomfort, while carefully studying a few of the new faces.

  Vargus and the others paid little attention to them, probably didn’t even know half of their names, which made sense. Even among their kind they were like moths. Here one day and gone the next. But some were stronger than others. Some flourished and grew. Some were lame, ready to be culled and others, on the cusp of greatness, were ready to be consumed. Licking his lips at the thought of feasting on the delicious treats that surrounded him, Kai moved towards his chair. The others moved out of the way without being asked.

  Halfway down the table someone was blocking his path and refused to move aside. Looking up Kai saw that it was Elwei. Unlike most of his brethren, the Lord of the First People was inscrutable. Even now, as Elwei stood in the room with everyone, part of his attention remained elsewhere focused on distant events. His face was turned away from Kai and as ever most of his features were in shadow, partially hidden by a headscarf. The faded tattoos on his black skin were so ancient that even Kai didn’t recognise the symbols. Powerful and mysterious were never a good combination. He skirted around the old Pilgrim, nodded politely to Summer and Winter, and then sat down.

  Towards the head of the table the old sailor, Nethun, took his seat. Everyone else took that as a cue to cut short their conversations and sit down. Normally quick to smile Nethun’s expression was as grim as those around him. The Blessed Mother seemed troubled and Vargus distracted, suggesting that both of them privy to what was about to be said. Kai maintained his air of ignorance, waiting to be told while working hard to keep the smile off his face.

  “As you’ve noticed, a few of our number are absent,” said Nethun, wasting no time on preamble. “But Akosh has not passed beyond the Veil. She has ignored several summonses and as we agreed, Vargus was tasked with finding out why.”

  “She has been dabbling in the affairs of mortals,” said Vargus, drawing gasps of surprise from several around the table. Kai shook his head in disappointment, biting his lip to crush the mirth rising up inside. “Recently she was sighted in Zecorria, in Herakion, the capital city. Aren’t you in the north at the moment?”

  It took Kai a few seconds to realise the question was directed at him. As all eyes at the table turned his way, some reluctant even to look at him, the half-smile slid off his face. Lying and deception were second nature to him, but sometimes the truth, or at least a version of it, was better. It was also easier to remember under scrutiny.

  “I am in Herakion at the moment. There was a huge disturbance last night,” offered Kai.

  Vargus continued to stare at him with an unreadable expression. Despite the aid Vargus had given him in the past Kai knew better than to trust his dear old friend. Vargus would try to snuff him out if he found out even a little of what he’d been doing over the last few years. Kai had promised to play by the rules. To be a good sheep, but he was fundamentally different from all of those around him at the table. They all knew it on some level. They felt it, deep down. It was why he unsettled them so much. In this place everyone wore a mask of flesh, but few had the bravery to look upon him as he truly was, stripped of all illusion. He belonged to another e
ra that everyone wanted to forget.

  “Akosh was partially responsible for what happened at the Red Tower,” Vargus said eventually, breaking the silence. “One of the mages who survived found out that she was to blame. I’m told it was this mage who attacked Akosh last night, seeking vengeance for her murdered family. Their battle collapsed one building and several people died. Akosh fled the area and has not been spotted since. You told me she wasn’t in the north when I asked.”

  Another arrow thrown his way. Vargus definitely had a boil that needed lancing and currently it seemed as if Kai was the pus-filled target. One of the reasons Akosh had remained hidden for so long was that he’d misdirected Vargus away from Zecorria and the capital city in particular. Her plans had been developing nicely, which he’d permitted to continue, but now that would have to change.

  “She wasn’t at the time. Perhaps she recently arrived in Zecorria,” he suggested but Vargus didn’t seem convinced. Kai couldn’t tell if his old friend was angry because he could hear the lies, or he suspected Kai was somehow involved with Akosh.

  “Vargus, where are you now?” asked Nethun.

  “Travelling through Shael. It’s going to take me a while to reach Herakion.”

  The old sailor didn’t look pleased. Perhaps wishing he’d given the task to someone else, but this kind of work was always left to Vargus. Apparently no one else could be trusted. “Fine. Get there as fast as you can. Akosh broke the one rule he passed down,” said Nethun. All eyes briefly turned to the empty chair at the head of the table. It amazed Kai that a piece of furniture could inspire so much fear and awe among his kind. The majority of those sat around the table had never even seen the Maker and yet they were absolutely terrified of him. “The Queen of Yerskania was recently attacked. My sources tell me it was in retaliation for something she did.”