Runic Revelation (The Runic Series Book 2)

by Clayton Wood

  “One minute!” he yelled.

  He rushed to the window by his bed, pulling it open. A slight breeze wafted in...not good enough. What he needed was a fan to blow the smoke out...but fans didn't exist here. He stared out of the window, then he had a sudden burst of inspiration. He wove some more magic, throwing it a few feet beyond his window, and a stream of water appeared there. Air was sucked toward the stream – a consequence of a gas being fused together to make a liquid – pulling the smoky air in the bedroom outside. Within moments, the entire room had been cleared. Kyle crossed his arms in front of him, rather pleased at his handiwork.

  Then he heard some shouting from down below, and stuck his head out of the window, looking down. Forty stories below, a group of men in black robes were looking upward at him, gesticulating furiously, their hair and fine clothing completely soaked. Kyle recoiled in horror, slamming the window shut and backpedaling quickly. Had the men seen his face? No, they couldn't have...his room was over eight hundred feet up...

  He heard more knocking at the door.

  Kyle spun around, running to answer the door. He felt something wet on his belly as he ran, and stopped right before the door, glancing down at himself. The entire front of his pajamas was soaked with urine! He turned to his bureau, on top of which a neatly folded stack of black clothing lay. Jenkins must have left the new set for him, bless the butler's heart! Kyle scrambled out of his clothes, throwing them in the tub with the burnt bedding. Then he changed rapidly, having just managed to pull on his pants when the blue light in the center of the door went dark, signaling that it had been unlocked from the outside. The door opened, a man's head peering in from behind it.

  “You okay in there?” the man asked. It was one of Kalibar's elite guards, powerful armored Battle-Weavers that acted as the personal bodyguards of the Empire's rulers – and by extension, Kyle. Kyle nodded sheepishly, hoping he didn't look as guilty as he felt. The guard frowned. “I smelled smoke coming from your room,” he added suspiciously.

  “Smoke, sir?” Kyle asked, trying his best to look innocent. The guard sniffed the air.

  “Guess not,” he muttered. Then he opened the door all the way. He was clad in black metal armor, but wore no helmet. Helmets had lost their appeal in Stridon of late. “Come with me,” he ordered. “Master Owens is expecting you.”

  Kyle nodded, walking out of his room and following the guard into the main living room of Kalibar's magnificent suite. The guard stopped suddenly, turning about and facing Kyle.

  “The Aegis,” he reminded. Kyle nearly slapped his own forehead; he'd forgotten to wear his protective chest-piece. He ran back into his room, grabbing it from his dresser and putting it on. The magical armor had been given to him by Kalibar as a gift during his coronation ceremony a few days ago; it was over two thousand years old, and extraordinarily powerful, able to protect Kyle from just about any attack. Kalibar had insisted that Kyle wear the armor every day, only taking it off before he went to bed. Kalibar's enemies would stop at nothing to defeat him, even if that meant attacking his new family. Kyle always felt safer with it on.

  That done, Kyle and his chaperone walked back into the main room of the suite. The Grand Weaver had two suites in the Great Tower; this one, which he had acquired after his first term as Grand Weaver six years ago, and an even larger suite one floor above. Kyle trailed behind the guard, exiting Kalibar's suite and taking the magical elevator – a riser, they called it – all the way down to the first floor. The two made their way down the long hallway from the riser to the main lobby, which was already bustling with students rushing to get to their classes. The crowd gave Kyle and his elite guard wide berth, parting before them. Kyle ignored the stares of the students; as the newly adopted son of the most powerful Weaver in the land, Kyle had become a bit of a celebrity. He'd enjoyed the attention for the first day or two, but now he wished people would just get over it already.

  He followed his guard through the lobby past the gawking students, stepping through massive double doors to go outside. The Great Tower was surrounded on all sides by a large campus, with dormitories and other buildings scattered across miles of verdant fields. The campus in turn was encircled by a huge circular fence three stories tall, a fence that created a massive domed gravity shield protecting the entire campus. It was called the Gate Shield, and it had protected the Tower for over two hundred years. Together, the Tower and the campus were known as the Secula Magna, the school of magic. The Great Tower was also the political center of the Empire, home to its highest-ranking government officials.

  Kyle and his guard stepped out into the morning sunlight, pushing past the steady stream of students pouring into the Tower. The Gate Shield shimmered hundreds of feet above their heads, barely visible against the cloudless blue sky beyond.

  Master Owens was the Weaver Kalibar had chosen to teach Kyle magic. Kyle had only learned three magic patterns during his harrowing imprisonment at the hands of the Dead Man – how to make light, fire, and water – and there were dozens more he needed to commit to memory before he could ever call himself a true Weaver. Master Owens had apparently been quite the Battle-Weaver in his day. The old man had been teaching Kyle in one of the courtyards just outside of the Tower for almost a week now. He was kind and patient, but not quite the teacher the Dead Man had proven to be. As manipulative and sadistic as the Dead Man had been, he'd also had the benefit of over a century and a half of experience, something Master Owens had no hope of ever obtaining.

  The guard escorted Kyle about a half-mile from the Tower, veering from one of the countless cobblestone pathways and striding across the lawn toward a short man clad in long black robes. Kyle immediately recognized him as Master Owens. Master Owens smiled as Kyle approached.

  “Good morning Kyle,” he greeted amiably, his brown eyes darting to the elite guardsman at Kyle's side. The guard bowed, then turned and left the way he'd come. Master Owens cleared his throat, returning his gaze to Kyle. “Had a bit of trouble getting up this morning?” he inquired. Kyle blushed.

  “Yes sir,” he replied. “Sorry sir,” he added sheepishly. Master Owens smiled. He must have been sixty or so, but he had a cherub face that hid his years, with short gray hair springing messily from his head. He was clean-shaven, and almost always smiling. It was, consequently, impossible to dislike the man.

  “Quite all right,” Master Owens replied good-naturedly. “Of course, I expect you to be as early tomorrow as you were late today,” he added. Kyle sighed, nodding obediently. That was Master Owens' way...if you made him wait, he'd make you wait. Despite his affable nature, the man was a strict disciplinarian.

  “Now,” Mr. Owens stated, “...do you remember yesterday's lesson?” Kyle nodded again. Master Owens had taught him two new patterns in the last few days: one that allowed him to manipulate gravity, the other creating a gooey, sticky substance out of thin air. Kyle wasn't quite sure what the substance was for, but he'd found the gravity pattern to be enormously useful. With it, he could easily create a sphere of gravitational energy in mid-air, one that would suck objects into itself until they floated in its center. Of course, he'd fallen into his own sphere the first time he'd woven it. Apparently everyone did; the gravity field sucked in quite a bit of air when first created, making a vacuum that was all too easy for the uninitiated to get pulled into. The other type of gravity field – the opposite of the pulling-in kind – was the reverse-gravity field. It pushed everything outward. Gravity fields could be created in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and had an enormous number of applications.

  Perhaps the most important use of gravity fields was also the predominant method of magical protection in the Empire: gravity shields. Constructed of two thin gravity spheres, the outer shell pushing outward, the inner one pushing inward to prevent air from being sucked out of the sphere, a gravity shield could deflect a sword, a crossbow bolt...just about anything thrown at it. Gravity shields were actually enormously complicated, and had taken Kyle quite a while to mast
er. Creating an impermeable sphere around yourself meant preventing any air from getting in or out...meaning you'd suffocate if you didn't find a way to let air in. This was accomplished by creating a semi-circular gravity shield, closed at the head but open at the feet. The lower part of the gravity shield couldn't touch the ground, otherwise it would push against it and make you levitate. That's why it had to be open at the bottom...which left the feet potentially vulnerable.

  “Create a gravity field in front of you,” Master Owens ordered, stepping backward. Kyle complied, grabbing a thread of magic within his mind and weaving it into the gravity pattern. The pattern was more complicated than the water or fire pattern had been, but Kyle had a knack for remembering patterns, and within a few seconds a gravity-sphere was floating in front of him.

  “Now, keep the gravity field there, and make some punk in the center of the field,” his teacher continued. Punk was the name of the tar-black, sticky substance Master Owens had taught him how to create out of thin air yesterday. Kyle complied, and soon a ball of the goop was floating in front of him, suspended in the center of his gravity sphere.

  “Now,” Master Owens instructed, walking to stand at Kyle's side. “Use the fire pattern to set the punk on fire within the gravity field.”

  Kyle nodded, concentrating harder. Making a gravity field – or any other magical construct – required him to both generate a knot of magical energy – the pattern – and to attach a continuous stream of magic to the pattern to keep it running. Without the magic stream, the pattern would work for a moment, then unravel. He'd already made one magic stream; making two at once still required a bit of concentration. But he did so, weaving the fire pattern, then throwing it out to the punk, attaching a magic stream to keep the flames burning.

  The punk burst into flames, forming a fiery ball in the center of the gravity field. Because the gravity of the field pulled inward quite strongly, the flames weren't very tall.

  “You don't need the magic stream for the fire pattern,” Master Owens noted. “Punk is quite flammable itself. It makes for a dangerous projectile weapon,” he added. “If thrown, it will stick to just about any surface, and it will burn until consumed.”

  Kyle nodded, stopping the magic stream to the fire pattern. Sure enough, the punk continued to burn slowly, hovering within the confines of the gravity field. He felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead; if he accidentally dropped the punk, it'd light the grass below on fire. How was he going to extinguish those flames?

  “Now, use the water pattern to snuff out the punk,” Master Owens instructed. Kyle nearly slapped himself in the forehead; of course! He threw out the water pattern, and a stream of water fell into the center of the sphere, covering the punk and dousing the flames. A small hunk of blackened punk, surrounded by a rippling sphere of water, hovered in mid-air in front of him. It reminded him suddenly of Earth...of home.

  “Very good,” Master Owens stated. “You may release the gravity pattern,” he added. Kyle did so, watching as the sphere of water fell to the grass with a plop. Then he hopped backward, realizing too late that he'd just soaked his feet. Master Owens laughed good-naturedly. “I provide the patterns,” he said with a wink. “Life teaches the rest.” Kyle blushed, shaking a few droplets off of his sodden shoes. He was always doing stuff like that; getting all the details right, then missing the practical stuff. Still, he couldn't help but be proud that he'd managed to complete the lesson the first time through.

  “Good morning, Master Owens,” a light, feminine voice said from behind Kyle. Kyle spun around, seeing a taller, slender girl standing behind him. She had long brown hair tied into a ponytail, with large, almond-shaped brown eyes, and was dressed in a simple black shirt and pants. Her skin was still a little pale from over a year spent underground. She looked quite fetching, as always.

  “Oh, good morning, Ariana,” Master Owens replied, turning to regard the girl. “You're quite late this morning.”

  “I was at a Council meeting,” Ariana explained. That, Kyle knew, was true; the Council was a group of twelve men who were second only to the Grand Weaver and Grand Runic in governing Stridon, and by extension, the Empire. The meeting had been about the Death Weaver base at Crescent Lake. Kalibar had already sent his Battle-Weavers there to destroy the base, but the Council wanted as much information about the Death Weavers – and the Dead Man – as they could get. Ariana had lived among the enemy for over a year, and was therefore the foremost expert on the issue.

  “Ah, of course,” Master Owens replied. “I had forgotten,” he added. “You're not one to be late.” He glanced at Kyle then, and Kyle blushed at the unspoken truth; he had a bad habit of showing up late, for a variety of reasons that always seemed out of his control. Ariana was, as always, much better at following directions.

  “What lesson are we learning today, Master Owens?” Ariana inquired.

  “Ah, yes,” the old Weaver replied. “Both of you, stand a bit apart...I don't want anyone getting hurt.” The two did so, standing a few feet from each other, facing Mr. Owens. “Now,” he continued, “...create a gravity field in front of you...”

  Master Owens lead them both through the series of patterns he'd showed Kyle earlier, and soon a levitating hunk of burning punk was floating in front of Kyle. Ariana, on the other hand, was still struggling to create the punk inside of her own gravity sphere. She was much better than him at thinking on her feet, especially during a crisis, but he when it came to memorizing patterns, he was the quicker study. They'd been taught the punk pattern yesterday, and Kyle had rapidly memorized it...much to Ariana's dismay. He paused for a moment, watching as Ariana continued to struggle, then dropped his gravity sphere, pretending to screw up his magic stream.

  “Oops,” he said, then did a double-take; the punk was still burning, and now it was setting the grass in front of him on fire! “Oh!” he exclaimed, stomping on the burning grass. The gooey punk stuck to the bottom of his shoe, and started burning that, too. He yelped, sliding his foot across the grass, trying to scrape the burning goo off. Mr. Owens just stood there, watching silently as Kyle finally extinguished the flames. When Kyle looked up, Ariana was staring at him, her expression unreadable. Kyle glanced down; there were a few scorch marks on the otherwise immaculate lawn. The blood drained from his face.

  “Kyle, why don't you take a break for today,” Master Owens said, patting Ariana on the shoulder. “I'll meet you back in the Tower lobby in a bit.” Kyle nodded, bowing at Master Owens, and giving Ariana a weak smile. She just stared back at him silently...which meant that she was mad.

  Kyle felt the blood rush back to his cheeks with a vengeance, and turned about, walking back to the main entrance of the Tower. Despite the warmth of the morning sun beating on his back, and the brilliant blue of the cloudless sky, his disposition was far from sunny. All he'd wanted to do was make sure Ariana wouldn't look bad in front of Master Owens. Why couldn't she understand that? She was hardly being appreciative...and after everything he'd done for her! After all, if it weren't for him, she'd still be stuck in the Dead Man's underground lair.

  Kyle sighed, kicking a pebble across the path. His dad had always maintained that he didn't understand women, despite having tricked one into marrying him. Kyle had apparently inherited that deficiency.

  It wasn't long before Kyle reached the massive double-doors of the Great Tower, which were perpetually open. Streams of people walked in and out of those doors on a near-constant basis. Many wore either all-white or all-black uniforms; Runic students wore white, Weavers black. There was a rather lively rivalry between the Runic and Weaver students. As in politics, each thought their art to be vastly and obviously superior to the other, and despite centuries of argument, neither side had become convinced of the others' worth. The younger Runics and Weavers poked fun of each other constantly. Kyle had found himself immune to these debates; having an emperor for a guardian – the most powerful Battle-Weaver in the Empire – might have had something to do with it.
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br />   Kyle strolled through the double-doors, nodding politely at people who greeted him as he passed. He walked to one of the many plush couches in the Tower lobby, his black boots clip-clopping on the polished granite floor, then plopped himself down on an empty seat, staring up idly at the ceiling. Crowds of people milled about upside-down a few stories up, held in place by powerful gravitational fields generated by runes embedded into the ceiling. Upside-down fountains spewed water downward, the water arcing back upward to land in upside-down pools. No matter how much time Kyle had spent staring up at that ceiling, he still marveled at the sight. Nothing on Earth rivaled it.

  Earth, he thought, picturing his mother's house perched on its hill, his mom waving to him as he ran up the driveway from the bus stop. It'd been weeks since he'd seen his mom and dad, and he missed them terribly. The homesickness had become almost unbearable of late. He'd spent the last few nights imagining his parents searching frantically for him, losing hope as the days and weeks passed. He'd pictured them standing over his casket at his funeral, weeping over their lost son. What he wouldn't give to be with them again...to hug his mom and dad, to tell them how much he loved them.

  Kyle sighed. To be honest, he'd expected to be sent back to Earth after defeating Xanos a week ago, but it hadn't happened. In fact, Ampir – the man who had almost certainly brought him to this world in the first place – hadn't paid Kyle a visit since Xanos's defeat.

  Ampir, the mystery man. A black-armored Runic who'd lived in Ancient times, who'd been so powerful that entire armies had surrendered at the sight of him showing up on the battlefield. A man who had somehow sent his memories to Kyle through Kyle's dreams, and had brought him to this strange land. And for what?