“Inside his robes,” Shayla answered. “Though I dare not retrieve it for you, Master Dwarf. Such a thing is not meant for me to wield, even in passing.”
“Aye, you are correct,” the dwarf said, searching Michael’s robes. At long last, he felt the hilt of the wand and pulled it forth. He examined it hard as he had days before. After careful examination of the wand, the gruff dwarf said, “The conduit is opened. The power from the ocean of magic beyond our world has opened into this wand and flooded this boy. Such a force he could never hope to wield with how young and inexperienced he is. But that is good news for me.”
He held the wand to his face. He closed his eyes and began to chant in the language of the dwarves. The air around them grew hot. The light from the candles started to dim, and a burst of light soared from the wand to hang over their heads. The rangers outside fell to their knees, awestruck and terrified at the display of magic in their midst. Tiberius and Shayla remained planted where they stood, their eyes darting between the light, the dwarf, and Michael.
The dwarf chanted louder and faster now, twirling the wand around as if conducting an invisible symphony until suddenly the light collapsed back into the tip of the wand. In an instant, he pressed the wand to Michael’s chest, and the light entered his body and illuminated him from the inside out. The jolt of power pushed Michael’s back off the cot where he lay, and with a great cough from his throat, he awoke. The candlelight regained its brightness, the air returned to the coolness it was before, and the two warriors rushed to their companion’s side, grasping his hands together.
“Michael? Michael, are you okay?” Shayla whispered.
“Speak my friend. Let us know you have returned to us,” Tiberius added, rubbing the young Mage’s head.
Michael strained to open his eyes, surveying his companion’s worried expressions. “Is the village safe?” he asked hoarsely. “Did we win?”
“Yes,” Tiberius answered with a smile, “The village is safe, my friend.”
Michael nodded in approval before turning on his side to face them and closing his eyes.
“He will need real rest now,” the Shaman said, returning the wand to Michael’s robes. “He will wake tomorrow refreshed and strengthened. And it is just as well. Now that he has experienced the full might of magic, his body will have adapted to it.”
Shayla jumped to her feet and embraced the Shaman, the speed of which shocked him motionless. “Thankee, Master Dwarf!” she exclaimed.
She finally broke her grasp and bowed to the Shaman. He looked confused for a moment before returning the bow and saying, “We shall speak in the morning. For now, I will return to my kin.”
He rushed past the rangers outside, each unable to form any kind of word or thought at what they had just witnessed. Tiberius stood and began to explain their brief but impactful encounter with the dwarves the days before and informed them that more were now in the village to help with the defense and rebuilding. The rangers stared dumbfounded at their commander’s words before quickly leaving the barracks to greet the remaining dwarves.
Tiberius returned to his friends. Shayla had now resumed her place at Michael’s side, one hand in his and the other slowly rubbing his head and face. Tiberius sat on the bed, looking at his young charge with relief. The thought of losing this boy who had bravely helped defend the people of Rogers was too much to bear. Especially after the many miles and many trials they had already faced together.
Tiberius touched Shayla’s armored shoulder and said, “Kazduhl’s blessing on you, Shayla Rider.”
She met his gaze and replied, “Blessing of The Winds and The Hunters, to you.”
A smile formed on his face. No one outside of his father and mother had passed the greetings of his gods to him. It was a welcomed, if not small, comfort to have after the past few days. They sat with Michael throughout the night, neither daring to leave his side till morning. The three companions were now reunited, and for a brief moment, all was right in the world around them.
Chapter 18
The Storm
Michael woke before his companions, a rare occurrence given the type of company he kept. He stared around the wooden room at first, trying to figure where he was. Small rays from the coming dawn were peeking through small round windows above him. The smell of pine trees wafted in through the small seams in the wood, and a faint smile cracked his face. For the first time, in a very long time, he felt at peace.
He sat up from the small bed and saw at the foot of his bed Tiberius, fast asleep with his head against the wall. On the floor, curled up like a house cat was Shayla, her armor still secured to her. For Michael, to see his companions alive and well after such a ferocious battle brought great joy to his heart.
He sat in the bed unmoving for a long time, stretching his mind back as far as he could to recall any bit of what had led him here. The last fleeting memories were beginning to slip away from him as if water through clenched fists, but what he could remember was vivid enough that he knew it to be real. Images of conjuring powerful magic from the Father’s wand onto a field beyond. The feeling of a deep voracious sleep overcoming him from the strain of his effort. The all-consuming blackness that had swept over him and pulled him down into deep dark slumber.
He rooted around in his robes until he found his wand. He examined it for a minute, unsure of what new thing he might glimpse in it. The ebony shaft retained its high gloss, and its ivory grip shone like the finest pearls in the market. He tried mimicking what Catherine had done before and put it up to his ears to listen. Just as quickly he removed it from his head and back into his robes, feeling altogether foolish for doing so.
If you have but the eyes to see and the ears to hear, Tiberius had said to him that day in the Citadel. Maybe I can’t see and hear things yet, but I will one day. I know it.
He shook his head in frustration and then tried to focus on every detail from the day before, willing these thoughts to remain in place and not slip away from his memory. But as he did so, a soft voice like pebbles falling in a quarry echoed in his ears. “Time to wake up, son.”
He spun his head around the room, hoping to find the source of the voice until he saw, silhouetted in the door frame, the small familiar sight of the dwarven Shaman. He stood firm and resolute as a stone statue against a clear sky. A slight yellow glow seemed to surround him and fill him, yet he remained wholly undistinguished and plain. Michael’s heart leapt, and not wanting to disturb his companions’ slumber, pushed the heavy fur blankets away and crept out of the wooden bed towards the door.
Before he could offer any greeting to the dwarf, the Shaman turned and proceeded out of the bedroom door. Michael followed, unsure of his surroundings, but set on accompanying the dwarf, nonetheless. When he reached the barracks’ entrance, the dwarf beckoned Michael to open the heavy wood and steel door that led to the village beyond. As the young Mage reached for the steel handle, the door flew open with such a force that pushed Michael back and onto the floor.
An overwhelming frigid air filled his lungs and the air around him, extinguishing all light in the room. Snow began pouring into the room, forcing him to grasp his arms for warmth. He struggled against the hard-blowing snow to his feet again. He looked out the door and could see a mighty swirling storm of snow and rain that appeared to throb, growing and shrinking in rapid succession. But just as quickly as the vortex of snow appeared, the dwarf’s shape materialized inside of it.
“Are you coming along, young Mage? Or do you wish to sleep more?” the dwarf asked, his voice calm and impassive.
Michael grew angry and frustrated at the dwarf’s cryptic words. “What is this devilry you have brought with you?”
“No devilry, young man, but a path. This is the way forward into enlightenment and understanding. Will you push onward into knowledge, or creep back into ignorance?” The dwarf smiled at the Mage’s confounded looks before turning and disappearing into the storm.
Michael was rooted to the floor, confu
sion, and terror, and anger taking hold of his spirit. Try as he might, he could not reason or understand the sight before him but instead resolved to follow the Shaman. Michael crept toward the door, abandoning all understanding and surrendering himself to the dwarf’s summons. He stood on the threshold, the fear within him reaching its zenith in his heart. But before he could turn away in fear and shame, the storm shot through the door and filled the whole room with churning snow and rain.
He shut his eyes in shock at the swiftness that the storm overtook him, but after a moment, he realized that he was altogether safe and unharmed. Instead, he found himself warm and comfortable inside the billowing blizzard that filled the whole of the ranger’s barracks. He unshielded his eyes and tried to look around the room but found it had vanished. In its place, he was surrounded on all sides by a raging storm.
Lightning lit up the swirling storm around him, cracking open the sky with the sound of a thousand canons. Sleet and hail fell like arrows in a battle, and the howling wind rolled all around. Beyond the storm, no sunlight or moonlight could be found, just a small dull light that appeared from nowhere but illuminated everything around him.
Terror filled every corner of his body. He reached out reflexively to grab hold of something to steady himself, but looking around, he found nothing at all with which to grasp. He spun in place, terrified of everything that was swirling around him. He looked and found no ground beneath his feet as if he was suspended inside the storm itself. Before a scream could escape his throat, he began to fall.
Through the raging storm, he tumbled straight and hard toward a great churning, violent grey ocean beneath him. No wind or rain whipped against him, nor did his robes unfurl at his descent. In the storm, he could see the vague shapes of fantastic beasts flying in and out of the midnight black clouds. Mighty bellows escaped their mouths and the sound of biting and chomping filled the noise around him. He looked down at the ocean beneath him. The water tossed and rolled this way and that until it began to spin in on itself, creating a swirling mass of black water in its place.
He passed into the swirling water and found himself underneath a blue ocean that churned as violently as the storm above. There he beheld massive creatures swimming to and fro, raging against the storm that flew all around them. Such was their size that it would take nearly a dozen or more of the empire's largest ships to fell them. His wonder at the mammoth-sized beasts was shaken as he realized he had yet to hit the bottom of the massive ocean. He looked below him and saw a thick black circle at the bottom of the vortex. As he gazed on it, he felt a hard pull straight towards the center of the still black mass. Beyond the blackness, faint lights like stars could be seen as he approached the brink.
All at once, he emerged from the storm and sea, through the hole, and found himself suspended inside a deep black void. The storm and oceans had passed away, and no sound could be heard. He turned all around him and saw stars dotted throughout in the distance. But not stars as he saw on the earth: cold, distant, and remote. These stars were vivid, bright with life, and shining as if the sun itself was multiplied and spread across the sky. He slowly studied them, realizing that the celestial bodies before him were arranged in the same clusters and constellations that he had long looked at his whole life.
The stars held his gaze for a brief moment before strange and beautiful words in a somber, elegant language he could not understand began to wash over him. His head jerked from side to side, searching for the source of the strange but sad voices. No matter where he looked, all he continued to see were stars in the sky.
One star to his left began to radiate a dazzling light, pulsing and throbbing as if it were a heart beating inside a chest. He marveled at it as the throbbing started to grow the small star to the size of a great sphere. Michael studied it intently, suddenly realizing it was not an inanimate sphere suspended in nothingness. The shapes of green and blue and red he recognized as the continents and countries and oceans of his world.
A vast storm was raging on the surface of the sphere. In a flash, the planet began to fold in on itself as the ocean had before. He could hear innumerable voices screaming and crying out in fear from within the imploding shape, and after a moment it was gone. In its place, suspended in the black void, was a massive wooden staff.
He examined it for a moment before realizing this staff was fashioned in the same manner as those carried by the most advanced Magi in the empire. Michael could feel untold power vibrating from the mighty staff and reached out to grasp it. But before his fingers could take hold, he was pulled back into the void with such force, the air was knocked from his body.
He crashed to a halt and now beheld dozens of spheres in front of him. Sixty or more similar orbs held his gaze, each a different color and with their own continents and oceans over their surface. Each with a massive storm breaking across them and screams of agony and death to follow. He began to cry at the overwhelming beauty and chaos that held his gaze.
Like before, each of the planets began to swirl as the one that resembled his own world. All at once, they were gone and replaced with gnarled wooden staves themselves. The power they emitted was terrifying and amazing. He felt a stir within him to have them all. He needed them and would kill anyone else who dared try and take them. Again, Michael reached out but could not touch them.
He willed himself to move forward yet found he could not. He tried and failed to push past the oppressive force that kept him in place. He stood on the brink of nothingness, terrified and confused, but consumed with a desire beyond measure. His mind strained to understand all he was seeing, his eyes were wet with tears, and he was forcing his body to move with more vigor than he had ever felt before.
In an instant, he was being pulled back through the black hole and into the swirling vortex of water. He was pulled high and fast through the ocean and into the storm he had passed before. The voices he had heard before returned now, louder and faster and in many different languages. But the words he heard began to morph into the common tongue spoken in the empire, and in the cacophony of noise, he finally understood what the people had been screaming.
Narzeth!
Magi!
White and Black!
Library!
Beaumont!
Life!
Death!
Save us!
Kill us!
His head pounded. His ears burned. The pressure from the force that propelled him pressed hard on his chest, threatening his power to stay conscious. He shut his eyes from the painful strain that was forced against him, and he clutched his ears, willing the voices to leave him. Before he could even begin to readjust his senses, he was hurled back through the barracks door and fell hard on the cold wooden floor.
The voices were gone now, and the only sound around him was the panting that escaped his lungs. His fears and avarice for the power of the staves were gone, replaced by complete confusion. His eyes darted all around, trying to take in this new sight before realizing where he was again.
He shot up at once, determined to find answers, but realized he was not rising from the floor; he was rising from the same wooden bed that he had been fast asleep in. The rush from which he rose forced his companions to burst awake. Tiberius grabbed him hard by his shoulders and examined him all over.
“It’s okay, Michael,” he said. “We are with you, and you are safe.”
Michael looked between him and Shayla, both carrying an expression he had never seen either of the proud and mighty warriors wear before. Fear. He didn’t speak at first, trying to steady his breathing and regain his composure.
“What is it, Michael?” Shayla asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” Michael admitted panting. “I’m not sure if what I saw was a dream or something more. I’m not even sure I’m awake right now.”
Tiberius continued to look him over but was stopped still at once. Slowly, he reached the Mages chin and tilted his head up and recoiled at the sight that now held his gaze. Before, Micha
el’s clear blue eyes could have pierced the dark of night. The same eyes he had seen so many days on the road had turned to a deep black with flecks of grey scattered about. Tiberius's eyes narrowed, his voice grew serious and grim.
“Michael, what happened? What did you see in your slumber?”
“If you wish to know what it is you saw, son, you had best come with me,” a familiar stone voice called out from the door.
The three companions shot their eyes to the door to find the Shaman standing in the frame just as he had when he first appeared to Michael. Tiberius leapt off the bed and walked down the dwarf who remained unmoved by his advances.
“What did you do to the boy?” he demanded.
“I did nothing to the Mage,” the Shaman answered. “I brought him back from a sleep that would have carried on until the end.”
Tiberius grew cold and angry at the dwarf’s indignation. “Do not lie to me, dwarf! Our friend has slept unmoving for nigh on two days, and when he awakened, he is frightened and confused, with malformed eyes!”
“What’s wrong with my eyes?” the Mage whispered to Shayla.
“That is no malformity, King’s Son!” the dwarf bellowed. “The boy felt the full power of magic unleashed on him well before he was ready for it. The magic that has long been held in check and dormant by an unseen enemy was released through him. He has seen magic in its most raw and untamed form. He has seen back to the beginning and forwards to the end, and he has returned changed.”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “You mean to say I saw the future? And the past?”
“No, my boy. You saw magic as it truly is. The violence and beauty of it. You saw magic at the beginning and end of all things, and now it is time for you to truly begin your training.”
“What do you mean ‘training’?” Shayla asked, rising and joining Tiberius at the door. “The boy has just awoken scared and shaking after two days of slumber, and you speak of training?”
The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1 Page 22