Twist of the Heart

by James Val'Rose

  At that point, Vison went for a second strike, but this time towards my head and I had little choice but to duck underneath the swing.

  Shadan had also circled round, to stand between the enchanter and me. And now I had a serious problem, because not only were they under his control, but I could also feel him clutching at the wires of my own brain, distracting me with noises and sights that weren’t real.

  I felt the grip of paranoia bedding down inside, and then I saw both Vison and Shadan slowly approach.

  With every second I let slide past was a second where I became less in control of my own faculties. I was already beginning to see hallucinations of dark ones creeping into my periphery and evil, clandestine whispers swimming in my ears.

  I felt the enchanter pulling in more magic and here I was being cornered without a chance to retaliate – well, without a chance to retaliate that wouldn’t be fatal to my allies.

  With little else afforded to me I considered; I couldn’t attack the enchanter directly, but maybe I could attack him from a different angle. Once I turned my mind to it, the idea fell into place like it had been waiting all this time for me to think about it.

  Lifting Shadan’s sword up, I angled it down and then thundered it into the ground beneath my feet, into the glassy construct taking. It tore a little hole and, as I pulled it out, I saw it begin to heal over.

  It had only been a little hole but it took a lot of power and concentration to fix. I already knew that a hefty amount of the focus had been placed on the other magus, so everything I did to create a little bit of chaos was a good thing.

  And a little hole in the floor was the least of all my capacity to cause a bit of havoc.

  Summoning the power from my core and charging it with every degree of anger and hate I felt, I blasted it up and down and behind me, rupturing the already weak foundations of this planar construct.

  I didn’t speculate on the damage I was causing, but I know that shortly after I started, the imaginary visions and voices began to dwindle, and the spell of the enchanter had fallen by the wayside now that he was preoccupied with the maintenance of this place.

  In the meantime, I sent another shockwave out and down and I saw the cracks spread as I quaked the floor with ripples of power.

  Looking back to Shadan and Vison, I saw them still spellbound but they were no longer doing the bidding of the enchanter. They looked like zombies, their focus hovering on the abundance of nothing.

  I piled another blow into the floor and for a second I felt the cool air of the outside world filter in before being plugged up but in that moment, when I knew the enchanter was completely distracted, I fired a small missile towards him which singed his cloak and then caught fire. But he was so preoccupied he didn’t notice it, and so I charged forward, wedging Vison and Shadan out of the way.

  The sword moved with the swing of my arms, but before I reached him I levelled it out on the perfect horizon and kept it still, in line with his heart.

  With flames licking at his face he grew to awareness too late and I saw a smack of fear wash over him just before the sword lanced him.

  I didn’t need to flow any extra death into his body; the sword had punctured his heart and his death was very quick.

  I removed the sword and before the enchanter’s corpse had fallen, he had vanished. Then the construct fell and we were all in the woodland, separated by merely a few feet, with the bodies of three dead magi at our feet.

  ***

  I came to as the world speared into view, as though a broken mirror had crumbled and the reflection of what was unreal had been undone.

  Vison to my right, Slayne behind me … and then, before I even had time to think, I felt something grab my wrist and begin to pull me backwards. I instinctively looked and saw it was a vine that was enwrapping me and, before I had a chance to do anything, I felt another grapple one foot and then the other.

  I furiously tried cutting at it with the dagger, which was luckily in my free arm. However, the vine was too fresh and my dagger regretfully not as sharp as I’d have liked it to be – something I duly rebuked myself for. I still thought I’d have enough time to slice it before anything else happened, but I was out of luck and a final vine snapped around my free wrist.

  In that instant, I was yanked back, pulled tight to a tree with my arms held above my head. I couldn’t see Vison anywhere, but I could just about see Slayne, who was to my left and looked deep in action.

  A huge ruckus was coming from where he was. I had no idea what was going on, but I heard wood snapping, foliage ruffled and disturbed and other, unnatural sounds; sounds I could barely decipher, with words, fizzles, crackles and minor explosions. What I heard was the sound of two very powerful magi fighting with every ounce of energy they had left.

  “Shadan,” I heard Vison say.

  “Vison, where are you?” I asked.

  “Behind you. Lashed to this tree.”

  “Can you move?”

  There was a little pause until he finally said, “Not even a little. You?”

  “No.”

  Then there was silence between us again, and the tension returned.

  “I would be sad too,” Vison said, “if I had killed a girl and her mother.”

  “I know. I would be too.”

  “You?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I saw them through the crack in the door, the mother leaning over her daughter, stroking her forehead, brushing the hair from her clammy face. I don’t know, it reminded me of when I was little girl. I just couldn’t do it. I turned away and left the house and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

  The sound of battle rupturing the peaceful forest broke me for a moment.

  “I’ve never pretended to enjoy doing what I do. I don’t think about it and I detach myself from the people I’m told to kill. I cope, because I never have to see the faces of those who are affected by my actions.”

  “It’s a decision you made,” Vison said.

  “And yes, I’m here to kill you.”

  “Yes.”

  I took a breath in and as I exhaled I said:

  “And I know you’re here to kill me too…”

  “…Yes,” he added.

  “It was why they sent me on this wild goose chase, to eradicate me for failing. So they created this false job, sent me into the barrens to be silently murdered, so that I could be folded away into the wilderness without any trace, rather than be executed in the streets of the city, to avoid any unwanted publicity. Organisations like the one I work for don’t like the light. I should’ve known sooner. I’d heard of others who had been sent away on missions as sketchy as this one, never to return, and when I failed I became just a broken part of a big machine that needed removing. Then when I saw you take out that dagger, I just knew. I had this feeling. They would have told me if you’d been armed.”

  While I’d been dredging it up, the fighting had stopped, but the vines keeping Vison and me pinioned to the trees remained strong.

  Slayne slowly crept into view, which lifted my hopes for a second, but what would happen when the vines were cut? Would we kill each other now?

  I had expected him to use the sword, because in my magical ignorance there was no other way I would have been able to free us, but he simply put his hand on the tree and released the magic that was locking the vines in place.

  I dropped a few inches to the floor and landed on a cushion of soggy, dead leaves, courtesy of the cold season. Dagger sharply in hand, I rose and turned to Slayne and Vison, who were both looking anywhere and everywhere.

  Vison gazed at me and I returned his stare.

  “Well, this is where I’ll be leaving you both now,” Slayne mentioned, as a subtle gust of wind whistled through the trees.

  “Where will you go?” I asked.

  “I will go home, back to Alatacia, and hope that one day I will not be the last blade magus.”

  “Where have the scars on your chest gone?”

&n
bsp; “If I am to try and move on, I must leave behind the past. I trust you will do the same,” he said to me, with the gaze of a wise man.

  He embedded the sword in the ground and strolled off.

  Once he was gone, the wind felt ever stronger and we stared at each other, while what we were meant to do raged in silence.

  There was tension in the air. It was thick, even in this thin and icy atmosphere.

  Vison, still looking at me, made the smallest move of his hand that held the dagger, and I tightened the grip on mine, flexing the required muscles I’d need. And then he straightened his back, lifted the back of his jacket and sheathed the dagger.

  “You know they’ll be after us,” I said.

  “Then we’d better not stop.”

  There was tension in the air. It sizzled between us.

  Oh, there was tension in the air but, for the first time, I was enjoying it. And I smiled, and he smiled, and we settled into that tension and disappeared into the wilderness, until maybe that tension could become something else.

  The End

  An excerpt from

  Path of the Gods

  James Val’Rose

  Copyright © James Val’Rose

  The right of James Val’Rose to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978 184963 527 1

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2014)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LB

  Printed and bound in Great Britain

  The War of Unity

  Furious thunder rained down from the sky, as wave after wave of fire-tipped arrows ran veins of chaos through the weary defenders. Those quick enough to raise their shields in time may have been protected from the falling assault, but could not be spared the misery of watching their comrades fall from the endlessness, war’s irrevocable haze. Few were spared its persecution; as every second drudgingly elapsed into the next, it was made clearer that their paths to heroism were to be well-earned.

  The battle had raged for two full days, and by the morning of the third, the defenders were haemorrhaging life. But the fear that lingered inside wasn’t that of fatigue; it was what they were pitted against – strange beasts shrouded in darkness, coming at them through the dimensions of a different time and space. It was as though the light twisted and shied away from a demon beneath.

  And amidst this phantasm horde were legions of corporeal beings, whose pernicious manifestation, though not illusory, equally delivered the same unrest.

  No one even knew how the war had started. It was as mysterious and unexplained as the monsters they were fighting.

  This evil uprising, right on the cusp of the Barrens, outside the city of Gatelock, in the direction of the Burning Bluffs, was the first, last and final line of defence for all of Aramyth.

  Warriors from every walk of life, of every skill, age and race, gathered in unity for the saviour of their land. An epic congregation of men and women, both magi and not, and green-skins, both short and tall, found themselves in a desperate race to put aside their differences and stand together.

  The glimmering stars bowed out to a new wave of burning arrows, the sky turning to fire, bathing the disorientated faces beneath.

  As the fiery deluge began, horror played its sadistic game once more. But one face was not afflicted by the same dread, and was instead detached, devoid of all fear and reason.

  A young boy of twelve found himself crushed between two men, their shields raised, ready for the impending descent.

  Fortunately, the man to his left took a moment and looked down to see the boy’s exhaustion, grabbing his shielded arm and driving it firmly into the air.

  An indiscernible moment later, the arrows pounded down, so vigorously that the boy was thrust onto his back. The force of this, as well as the quick consecutive thuds on his shield, made his ears ring; and to add, the saturated, churned-up mud beneath began to soak through his smock and trousers – ice to the touch.

  The ringing ceased only to be replaced with the clatter of fighting.

  “Boy! Boy!” he heard someone say, but the faint was still passing. “Boy! Are you hurt?”

  He gave his head a shake and looked to the man at his left. He mustered a ‘what?’ in response – his head still rang – but the man replied before much more could be said.

  “We haven’t the time for introductions. Stay close to me, the charge is coming soon.”

  “The charge?” he managed.

  “We can’t go on for much longer like this. Most of us have been awake for over two days now, and with little respite. We need to make a final push now or there won’t be anyone left standing to fight. I’m amazed you’ve come this far.”

  With the sun’s ascent above the Burning Bluffs, the dawn’s fog was beginning to blanket down, bringing with it a lingering silence.

  Every gentle stir of movement flicked the mist up and off the ground, making it dance a little whirlwind.

  The silence was abruptly broken by a strong voice coming from a deeper part of the lines.

  “Stand ready!” it shouted. “Face the enemy! Ready to charge!”

  The boy could now feel the tension between all who were caught up in the vile mist. His earlier saviour placed a hand on his shoulder and leant in. “Stay close to me, remember.”

  “Yes,” the boy muttered.

  The voice from afar shouted the final command and each and every soul caught within the mist’s clasps broke free and began the final charge towards the enemy…

  Part I

  The Calling

  Aramyth was a land of simple beauty, where the nightly sky above always glistened with a sea of stars, illuminating the snowy Peaks of Paladain below, upon which the Ocean Melos could be heard washing new hopes into the hearts of dreamers.

  All seemed dormant.

  In Olakwin, between the city of Cearan and the western port city of Nardil, was the Edolan Valley. Nestled in the shadows at the base of the vale, lay a small hamlet by the name of Melfall.

  Although home to a scant handful of people, the Vale Inn was always full to the brim with travellers, merchants and adventurers, the road to Cearan bringing its harvest each day.

  Though night was upon Melfall and quiet resounded for the most part, a light shone brightly through a window…

  ***

  The newborn child lay nuzzled tightly in his mother’s arms, possessing only the knowledge that where he lay was his world, and that he was safe.

  With his head tenderly supported in the crook of her arm, Driana glanced at the two others in the room, her friend Melissa, who had been her main support through the pregnancy, and the local wise woman, yet all she was aware of was this tiny, pure, new soul – her son.

  The baby’s soft susurrus sequestered Driana’s attention – attention she was incapable of not lavishing. It drew her hard into the baby’s eyes, to a flicker of wisdom departed, and a clean slate left for the world around to leave its impression.

  But there was so much he had no idea of – could not have any idea of; so much he had to learn. She knew as much as anyone that the world could be an unforgiving teacher, being a learned scholar of its unfairness herself. She prayed that he learn of the bad, but discover the good, be entwined with it, let it suffuse his soul with hope…

  With the backs of
her fingers, she stroked his cheek, desperate to supply him with every nonstop ounce of love that she could. His youthful curiosity swished around the room, but her touch stilled his focus, just as his murmurs stilled hers. Locked together in hush, his eyes strikingly ablaze, she placed the first kiss to his forehead – an invisible mark to the creator’s realm saying that he was hers, but a promise to him that it was always and forever…

  She kissed his forehead, and then kissed the bridge of his nose. Her lips sat perfectly either side, almost like that place was designed for kissing.

  The two ladies excused themselves from the room, and Driana moved herself to the corner chair, so that she and her son could share their first sunrise together.

  Despite her tiredness, she walked with him through Melfall that morning. The day was as young as the child in her arms, which seemed as fitting a time as any to introduce him to the world: for both to meet.

  The sun had yet to work its heat into the chilly atmosphere, but the new light in her heart – in her arms – kept her warm. It was a revitalising gift bestowed upon her, and she cherished it. He was a love seconded by nothing. Before him, it was the medallion she treasured and was seen to be wearing always. But now, everything had changed, and residents of the hamlet, and even weary travellers, congratulated her into motherhood.

  Unfortunately though, an overwhelming sorrow marred the tapestry of her happiness, impishly unpicking the weaves of her delight.

  Only a few weeks after the child’s conception, the father, Jerome Davian, had disappeared, vanished without a trace, or a word. She remembered the deep suffering – still felt it – and the hole that it had left in her riven heart, and the scar that remained to remind her.

  Melissa had been with her then, supported her in her anguish. Yet, despite her encouragement to let him go – so that she could move on – she still stupidly prayed for his return, that no harm had befallen him. She clung to the idea that maybe it had been an urgent summons from the high king, for whom he was a soldier – or so he had told her.