by Chloe Hodge
She would deal with him later. It was time to focus. Everyone was in their places, including a very inhuman looking Flynn perched at the centre of the gathering. Only one person wasn’t in attendance. Shara.
Minutes ticked by and the mages exchanged nervous glances. Without her, everyone was convinced their efforts would be doomed. And they were probably right. Ashalea tried not to fidget and was considering dragging her friend out by the hair when she appeared, jolting out of the building like a peacock on display.
Ashalea gawked. The mages gaped. Even the guards let slip some bewildered expressions. She was still skin and bones and her eyes sunken in, but the broken, worn down, self-conscious girl was gone, and out strode a clean, determined, confident young woman. Her hair was washed and combed, her uniform equipped, if a little ill-fitting now, and her boots and weaponry shone in the moonlight.
She clapped her hands together and looked around. “Sorry, I’m late. Shall we get started then?” She beamed, a little too much in Ashalea’s opinion, but it was enough to convince everyone present. Ashalea knew better. It was just a facade, a charade to convince not only the mages but also herself that everything was ok.
Wezlan nodded at Ashalea, and the mages clasped hands together, calling forth the Magicka from within. Shara stood next to Flynn, awkwardly waiting for her cue.
Ashalea saw the certainty cracking on Shara’s face and flashed her a fierce smile. “Remember what I told you. Once the Magicka begins, I want you to think of all the happy memories you have. Bring Flynn home. Make him remember what he’s missing and help him find the way.”
Shara squeezed her eyes shut, gulped once, and opened them again. Her hands trembled, but icy determination glowed in her eyes.
Ashalea nodded. “That’s my girl.” She looked to the wizard. “Wezlan?”
“Begin!” He bellowed.
The familiar thrum of Magicka whirred inside the bones of everyone present. The energy wriggled eagerly, zapping like an electrical current until it had passed through one person to the next, connecting them all and linking their power.
The rhythm was unmistakable. A lilting tune that quickened to a frenzy, the steady beat of a drum giving them balance until a crescendo of power plucked on quick strings. Shara whispered in Flynn’s ear, trying to reach him, trying to piece him back together.
Minutes passed, and the mages began to struggle, their breaths ragged and shallow. Where the elders lagged, the young picked up the slack, and ever constant were Wezlan, Denavar and Ashalea, the strength of Farah also surprisingly steady.
Shara begged and pleaded. She spoke softly of her love, of their father’s love, of the prayers of the people. Flynn just stared at her with hateful eyes, twisting and turning against his binds. His pupils were entirely black now. No window to the soul. No sign of life.
Tears streamed down her face in torrents. “Please, Flynn, please come back.”
She slumped against his body, temple pressed against his knee as she sobbed, and all the while the mages dropped one by one in exhaustion until just Wezlan, Denavar, Farah and Ashalea remained, their bodies trembling and breath panting out in wheezes.
“Do you remember when we were little, and we stole father’s horse? We wanted to explore the woods so badly, and we fluffed up our pillows and stuffed our beds so it would look like we were sleeping.” She laughed. “We ended up getting lost for two days. I was so scared we’d never find our way home, but you just took my hand, gave me your tunic and said, ‘home will always be by your side.’ I think it’s the most grown-up thing you’ve ever said to me. Also, the lamest.”
She laughed again, wiping tears away as they pooled on Flynn’s knee. “When father found us, he was so furious he said he’d lock us in the dungeons for a week. But he didn’t, he just held us tight for what felt like forever. I think that’s the most normal memory we’ve ever had as a family. That’s what we are, Flynn. Family. And we never give up, not ever,” she whispered.
She buried her face in his knee, eyes squeezed shut in earnest. What she didn’t see was the light flickering brighter, the Magicka glowing in a brilliance that burnt with the power of a thousand lightning strikes. It flashed in finality, blocking out the dark, blinding like a million stars all bound into one. And as quickly as it came, it was just as soon gone. The others dropped to their knees, beads of sweat dripping down their brows as they panted weakly on the ground. Silence ensued, and then, softly…
“I remember.”
Shara’s face lifted in shock. Her eyes squinted with wariness. “Flynn?” she questioned. She searched his face, a healthy olive sheen to his skin, the familiar brown eyes filled with warmth and sadness. She cupped a hand to her mouth in shock and hurled her arms around his neck, sobbing as she clung to her brother. Her real brother.
“It’s me, Shara.” He choked on his words. ‘I’m so sorry for everything. Even though I couldn’t fight the darkness, I could feel my body doing all those horrible things. I could feel the blades in my hand… the… the...”
“I forgive you.” The words pierced the stillness.
He looked at her with shock before breaking down entirely. Ashalea wobbled over, silently untied his bonds and retreated to the ground again. The siblings embraced each other fully, and the mages began to trickle back inside, aware of an intimate moment. The guards averted their eyes. Farah squeezed Wezlan’s shoulder before she went inside.
That left a wizard and two elves. Ashalea slipped her hand into Denavar’s and laid her head against his shoulder, giving Wezlan’s hand a squeeze with her free one.
“We did it,” she breathed.
“Enjoy it while it lasts.” A cold voice sliced through short lived satisfaction. Down floated the smoky tendrils of the darkness, bearing with it that rotten, sickly smell that made her want to gag. Red eyes assessed each face before finally resting on Wezlan.
“Ah, Wezlan Shadowbreaker, last of the Divine Six. Tell me, how are your friends these days?” The darkness sneered. “Oh, wait. I killed them all.”
“Get on with it. I’d sooner join them than listen to you prattle on,” Wezlan spat.
The darkness laughed, a grating horrible sound like steel sharpening steel. “Very well. I came to bring you a message. While it pains me to lose one of my best soldiers, the loss was worth the gain. You see, your efforts in restoring Flynn have been a window of opportunity for me. As one of my darklings, I could see and hear every little detail of your plans.” He clucked as if disappointed and glided down before Wezlan.
“I know what you’re up to little wizard. Did you really think I’d let you destroy all my portholes? Shame on you. Those plans just don’t work for me.”
“Get to the point.”
“Oh, but we were just getting reacquainted. You see, we’re going to play a little game. How many Guardians does it take to close a porthole?” The darkness hissed eagerly.
Wezlan’s eyes widened. “Leave them out of it. Let’s finish this here and now.”
“Mm but that would be too easy. You will see me again, Wezlan, and your little light trick won’t be enough to save her this time.”
He cackled as he looked pointedly at Ashalea, raising the hairs on her neck. He floated into the sky once again and regarded her thoughtfully with red eyes. Then he dissipated into the night.
Denavar whirled on Wezlan. “He means to move soon, but to do what?”
Shara broke away from Flynn, her face pure white. “Renlock Academy.”
All eyes turned to her, expressions of shock on everyone’s face.
“Renlock? What about it?” Ashalea asked.
“The woman, Vera. She let something slip before the darkness and…” She glanced at Flynn sadly, “well, before it all began,” she managed.
“Tell me, Shara, what does he plan to do?” Wezlan said grimly.
“He has a horde of creatures assembled in the other dimension. He plans to unleash them on Renlock Academy; to initiate war.”
For the first time,
Ashalea registered fear on Wezlan’s face. He glanced at each of them, suddenly looking frail and weak as all old men should.
“He means to wage war upon the mages. He means to destroy them in the place where it all began.”
Whispers in Shadow
“You’re sure about this? The blueprints remain unchanged since my disappearance?”
The man swathed in robes bowed low. “Yes. The building has had no renovations or extensions for many years. The area is all but forgotten.”
The darkness considered this new information. It seemed the odds had turned in his favour. He regarded the man from his throne of shadows and floated down before him. The man winced, averting his eyes. Funny, how people seemed to do that.
“Why would you sell out your people?”
“Because they treat me like dirt. They don’t respect me.”
The darkness leered at him and the man squeaked in fear. “Neither do I. Respect is earned, not commanded. It’s not hard to see why they’d treat you that way. Conniving gutter rat. At the first sign of danger you’ve fled.”
“Please my lord, I’ll do anything. I’ll even set the plan in motion for you.”
It was a tempting offer, and so easy. Almost too easy. The darkness didn’t like small victories or half measures. He enjoyed the moments of clarity, when the light in his victims’ eyes went out or when they realised resistance was futile.
He was a master of pain and sorrow, and he planned to unleash it on the world. On all worlds. Once he was strong enough to defeat the Guardians and overpower that damned portal, he’d have access to any dimension he chose, and with an army at his back, Everosia wouldn’t stand a chance. He rasped out a laugh.
The robed man began grovelling, pleading for his life, pawing at the smoky tendrils that his hands fell through. “Please, I thought you’d be happy.”
Happy? What an odd notion. He’d forgotten what that felt like. He could almost feel a familiar pang of the emotion from a time long ago. Visions of a fleeting smile, a laugh, a warm embrace. But they’d fizzle as soon as he landed on them. No, happiness was not required to meet his goals. Happiness was dead.
He realised the man was still waffling. Perhaps this weasel is more trouble than he’s worth. The darkness hissed and the incessant rambling stopped.
“You obviously didn’t come here out of the goodness of your twisted heart. What do you want in return?”
Greed shone in the man’s eyes. “My life. And gold. Enough to live comfortably for the rest of my days.”
Wicked claws glinted as a rotten arm waved dismissively in the air. “Take anything you want. There won’t be anyone left to spend it, and I have no use for such a trivial thing.”
The man bowed again. Clumsily. “I won’t fail you, my lord. I will be waiting when the time comes.”
“See you do, little man. My trade is misery, and I deal in death.”
The warning didn’t go unnoticed. The man gulped down the lump in his throat and scurried into the night.
Bloodred eyes surveyed the rocky area in annoyance. A trapdoor to an underground lair hung ajar and bodies littered the area. His base had been compromised while he was attending to his monstrous horde in the other dimension, and not for the first time his plans had been interrupted by the elf and her nuisance friends.
What’s more, the assassin had killed his spy, Vera. Not that he cared for her personally, but she had proved useful. Now he’d have to find new eyes and ears to do his dirty work, which would be frustrating given the location he planned to move operations to.
He floated downstairs and stopped before Vera’s body. Her eyes were still open; an expression of shock frozen on her face. She’d been the closest thing to a companion, and now she was gone. As he gazed at her limp body, he felt nothing. Which didn’t surprise him. Still, she had been a good servant. He would make them pay. The elf and her friends would submit to him, or they would suffer excruciating pain.
He took one last look around his quarters and ascended into the open air. The darkness gazed at the sky. He’d give them a blood moon, one that would wash away their hopes and dreams and bask them in unholy glow. A wicked grin revealed pointy teeth.
“They won’t suspect a thing.”
Preparations
Renlock Academy was a hive of bustling activity. After the darkness’ visit, Wezlan, Ashalea, Denavar, and the cohort of mages had returned in haste to make ready for attack. Suffice to say, no one was prepared. Despite Wezlan’s best efforts to restore order, most of the mages were either too young or too inexperienced to lead in his or Denavar’s stead. And Farah was just one person who had only recent taken to leadership herself. There were mature mages of course, but during the wake in which Wezlan left Renlock to watch over Ashalea, many had abandoned the Academy, having had no leader to turn to and no one to help hone their skills.
Ashalea looked around the circular chamber at the many faces representing the order and did indeed think it was dire. Of some hundreds of mages, stubble barely graced the faces of men, and the women were no better, many yet to reach maidenhood.
She peeked a glance at Denavar and from his expression, she knew he was thinking much the same thing. She exaggerated a sigh. “Welp, we’re done for, crushed, annihilated.”
He grinned at her. “Oh yeah, absolute extinction for sure.”
“Do you think they’ll make martyrs of us?”
“I expect no less than a fifty-foot statue in our honour.”
She giggled before her face grew grim, and she leaned in closer. “Seriously though, what are we going to do? We have no line of defence and our best mages are not battle honed.” She placed her chin on her hands. “We need muscle.”
“I have plenty of that,” Denavar flashed a grin.
She rolled her eyes. “Even with the Onyxonites coming, I don’t think we can hold the Academy. I don’t suppose King Tiderion would help?”
Denavar’s brows furrowed. “The King is bound by duty to protect the Academy. Agreements were made centuries ago to ensure peace and prosperity of all elves and other denizens within the Aquafarian Province. That includes Renlock,” he said pointedly.
Ashalea nodded. “I will have a word with Wezlan. If an emissary hasn’t been sent, it should be arranged immediately.”
“Care to head there yourself?”
Ashalea glanced at him drolly. “He’d just as sooner stab me than the darkness.”
Wezlan burst into the room, his robes in a flurry. He sat down and cleared his throat, immediately silencing all within the room. The mages looked at him expectantly.
“Many of you are wondering why this meeting was called, and I’m afraid it is under dire circumstances.”
A few scattered murmurs circulated.
“Last night our assembly at Shadowvale was confronted by the darkness. While one of our own was taken captive, she managed to glean some information.” He took a deep breath. “The darkness plans to attack Renlock.”
Panicked voices rose and a fat, obnoxious teen with lank brown hair and a cluster of pimples mewed loudly.
“Quiet!” Wezlan bellowed. Everyone sat down quickly. “We do not know when he plans to attack, which is why it’s crucial we stand together now and prepare our defences. I want two representatives from each Magicka faction to meet me in this chamber in one hour. Vote between yourselves. In the meantime, the rest of you prepare your equipment and get some rest. You will need it.”
They stared at him and he raised his eyes skyward. “Oh, for the love of… Be gone!” His beard threatened to fly right off his face.
“It’d make a good spear, don’t you think?” Denavar whispered.
Ashalea’s reply was lost in the cacophony. The chamber burst into a flurry all at once. Chairs scraped, knocked carelessly to the ground, and bodies spilled out everywhere as the mages ran to their respective factions.
Denavar glanced at Ashalea with a sly grin. “See you on the hour?”
She returned the favour and ha
stened from the room. The corridor was manic as mages sprinted backwards and forth, some with blades, spears and shields in their hands as they made way for the first floor.
Ashalea peaked her head in to one of the training rooms and spied a group of kids around twelve to fourteen attempting to armour themselves. Even younger children looked on curiously. She shook her head. It wasn’t fair or just that youths be involved in this fight. But what could they do otherwise? All mages had sworn to protect Renlock with their lives, and they needed every man and woman available. Better to be armed than vulnerable.
As she approached, they dipped their heads and quieted. Ashalea knelt and gently lifted the chin of a blonde-haired girl around six. She smiled shyly; her features akin to that of a porcelain doll.
“Are you afraid, little one?”
The girl nodded.
“Well, let me tell you a secret. So am I.” Ashalea smiled as she looked at all of them. “It’s ok to be scared. Fear reminds us that we’re alive. That we have plenty to fight for.”
“I’m not afraid,” a boy with curly brown hair and furious freckles piped up. “I’m ready for whatever is coming, and I’ll protect her.”
Ashalea laughed. “I have no doubt of that. You my friend, would scare the pants off anyone! Now, let’s get all your armour on, and then I want you to head downstairs to the infirmary and do what the healers tell you.”
“But I want to fight.”
“Tell you what, the children and healers are going to need protection as they carry out their work. Only the bravest will be able to guard them. Do you think you can manage that?”
The boy puffed out his chest proudly and gave her a firm nod.