The Spirit Mage (The Blackwood Saga Book 2)

by Layton Green

  “Know anything—do I know anything about—” He doubled over in laughter, the folds of the cloak rippling. “Oh, you’re quite the wit. Inside that sword I’d fit.”

  “Thank you again,” Will said. “For saving us.”

  The dealer waved a hand. “Bah. It was the mantis, you see. I owed him a favor and paid the fee.” He stood. “And with that, I take my leave from thee. Perhaps we’ll meet again, tee hee.”

  He withdrew the deck again and started tossing cards above his head. The first two missed him and hit the floor. One turned into a beetle and scuttled away, while the other bounced high as if made of rubber, punching a hole through the roof and soaring into the night sky.

  The third one nicked the Dealer in the head, and when it touched him, he disappeared.

  Yasmina didn’t return until the next morning, bleary-eyed and sad. Will asked her where she had spent the night.

  “Talking to the mantis man. He’s the only one of his kind, and very lonely. He doesn’t know how he came to be. He sometimes has flashbacks of terrible experiments.”

  “Talking?” Caleb asked.

  Yasmina didn’t look at him when she responded, and her voice was cold. “Communicating. Unlike some, he’s very loyal, and will watch over us until we leave the forest.”

  Caleb looked away.

  “Does he know who that man was?” Will asked.

  “Someone who came to the forest recently and has strange powers. That’s all he knows.”

  They discussed the Dealer’s appearance, but no one had any idea who he was, other than perhaps a wizard who had lost his mind. They just knew he was unpredictable and dangerous in the extreme, despite having saved them.

  Each of them took a turn on guard duty for the rest of the night, but neither the two-headed monsters nor the man in the velvet cloak returned.

  “We should be off,” Tamás said, as soon as they gathered in the morning. “I’ve no wish to spend another night in this forest.”

  Everyone wholeheartedly agreed. They hustled out of the house, had a breakfast of berries and water from a nearby stream, and returned to the main path. As they walked, Will felt the familiar feeling of being watched, but this time the sensation was not an uncomfortable one, and he sensed the mantis man nearby, escorting them on the final leg of their journey.

  They pushed hard throughout the day, stopping only to forage for mushrooms and berries. While the light snack left Will craving a cheeseburger, or at least a couple of fresh trout, they decided not to take the time to hunt. They wanted to put the valley far behind them.

  The only oddity they saw on the second day was a group of squirrels with bat wings that flew into the trees and picked up nuts with their feet. The party cleared the forest by nightfall, and when they stood atop a knoll and took a final look at the dangerous woods, Will glimpsed the mantis man standing on a branch just inside the forest, watching them leave. Yasmina mouthed a sad goodbye.

  Tamás turned to point at the shadowy bulk of a mountain looming above them, the tip of its peak lost in the dim light. “Greybeard Mountain,” he said. “One of the ancestral homes of the Yith—the Simorgh Riders. Tomorrow my friends, Devla willing, we fly to Freetown.”

  -52-

  Gowan’s flight pattern was wobbly and slow. Val knew he was drained from the fight with the werebat. Producing fireballs from a tiny spark consumed a massive amount of energy, a fact Val had learned from trying it himself.

  The mageworks ended with a finale that lit the night sky like a million rainbows exploding from a cannon. Humid night air rushed through into Val’s face as he followed Gowan through a city marked by revelry. Crowds of people poured into the streets of the French Quarter and the Government District, though once they crossed into the more residential streets of Uptown, the hordes thinned.

  Val suddenly remembered that Gowan was the son of Professor Azara. If things turned sour, he didn’t want to be anywhere near the home of his powerful teacher. His plan needed an immediate tweak.

  “Gowan!” he called out, slipping off the Ring of Shadows and speeding up to fly alongside the pyromancer. “You forgot something.”

  “Val?” Gowan said in surprise, slowing his flight and turning.

  “I’ve been following you, trying to catch up.”

  Gowan’s eyes were suspicious. “I wasn’t flying that fast.”

  “I’m exhausted, too,” Val lied.

  “What is it that I forgot?”

  “My request to teach you spiritmancy. You’ve been avoiding me.”

  Gowan flew in silence for a moment. “And?” he said, arcing towards St. Charles.

  “I know how badly you want to be a spirit mage. I know you fear the Planewalk, and so do I. Let’s do it together. Tonight. Right now.”

  Gowan’s chuckle sounded half-mad. “You don’t understand, do you? I haven’t the power.”

  “Then take me there,” Val said. “Help me.”

  “What? Have you gone insane?”

  Again, Val was well aware of what Gowan didn’t say.

  He never denied knowing the location of the Planewalk.

  “I have to use the Pool of Souls,” Val said, deciding to tell the truth. He wanted to avoid a fight, and hoped Gowan would understand the gravity of his predicament. “Two people very dear are lost to me. I have to find them, and it’s the only way I know how.”

  He turned his head to give Val a disbelieving stare. “The Conclave will never let you use the Pool of Souls. Not even if you survive the Planewalk.”

  “I know,” Val said quietly, as they veered towards Napoleon, a wide avenue with mansions almost as grand as those on St. Charles.

  Any of those houses could be Gowan’s. Val had to hurry.

  “Do you actually think,” Gowan said, his lip curling, “that I would help you defy my mother? Increase my shame even further?”

  “Just tell me where the entrance to the Planewalk is, and no one will ever know. I give you my word.”

  “And I bid you goodnight. Don’t bring this up again in my presence.”

  “Gowan,” Val said, reaching for the wizard cuffs, “I’m not asking.”

  “Wha—”

  Val threw the wizard cuffs at him before he could finish his sentence. The magical bonds held the pyromancer’s wrists tight, though they did not affect his ability to fly or cast spells.

  “Take these off, you pagan!” Gowan commanded. “What are you doing?”

  “I know your magic is almost spent,” Val said. “I conserved mine during the fight.” He used Wind Push to propel Gowan towards the ground. The pyromancer tumbled through the air, managing to right himself at the last minute, but Val dove into him, tackling him on the cobblestones. Gowan scrambled away, huffing and jerking in vain on the cuffs, while Val stalked towards him.

  “I have to know where the Planewalk is,” Val said. “And I know that you know.”

  Gowan snarled, somehow lit his igniter stick with his hands bound, formed a Fire Sphere, and sent a ball of flame spinning through the air.

  But Val was ready. He put up his Wizard Shield as soon as he saw the spark, placing it halfway between them to dull the heat. The fireball hovered in midair, useless, unable to advance. Both of them strained with effort, Gowan trying to propel the missile forward, Val working to keep it at bay.

  Val was growing weaker by the second, but he knew Gowan was weaker still. The pyromancer looked clammy and drained in the light of the glow orbs above the street, but he clenched his teeth and said, “You shouldn’t play with fire against a pyromancer.”

  The fireball disappeared, Val heard a series of sharp cracks, and then bolts of golden fire were streaking at him from ten different directions, formed from the glow orbs Gowan had just shattered.

  Val had a strong Wizard Shield, but he didn’t yet know how to protect himself on all sides. Instead he had to deal with each bolt one by one. He whirled, putting up magical barriers as fast he could, but the last missile got through, striking him in the shou
lder.

  There was a sizzling flash of blue. Val reeled, expecting to burst into flame, but nothing happened. He looked down and saw the Amulet of Shielding glow blue and then crack underneath his shirt. It must have had one last charge.

  Val looked back at Gowan and produced a wicked smile, concealing his own relief.

  “How can that be?” Gowan gasped, taking a step back. “You’re not strong enough to absorb that.”

  “I don’t think you have any idea how strong I really am,” Val said, as he stalked towards Gowan. He put his hand out, and the igniter flew into it. Val threw it on the ground and crushed it with his foot.

  The pyromancer tried to fly away, but he was so weak he could barely get off the ground. Val used Wind Push to hold him in place against the wall. “No more games. Tell me where the Planewalk is.”

  Gowan raised his bound wrists. “Release me at once.”

  Val took a step forward. “I don’t want to do this. Last chance, Gowan.”

  “Are you mad? Perhaps you have a modicum more strength in reserve than I do,” Gowan panted, “but you’re not strong enough to force me.”

  Val took out one of the vials of spirit water, broke the seal, and drank the contents. The viscous white-blue liquid slid down his throat like mucus. As soon as he swallowed, he felt his energy pouring back in, filling up a well deep inside him, in the mysterious ether where the magic lived.

  “Spirit water,” Gowan breathed, both frightened and amazed.

  Val reached deep inside. In the chaos of the moment, the magic wouldn’t come at first, but he gritted his teeth and thought of his brothers, pouring every ounce of emotive power he had into tearing apart the void. When he felt the barrier rip, flooding him with sweet release, he shoved magical energy into the gap.

  Spirit fire swarmed on the fingertips of his left hand, black lightning sparking inches from the pyromancer.

  Gowan shrieked and pressed his head against the wall. Fear and jealousy vied for supremacy on his face. “How did you—by the Queen, you wouldn’t dare! My mother will impale you on the Sanctum!”

  “I’ll be dead or gone before your mother finds out. But you’ll never tell her anyway, will you? Your shame would be too great.” Val used his free hand to grip Gowan by the neck. “Where’s the Planewalk?”

  Gowan still refused to answer. Val brought the spirit fire right up to Gowan’s face. Val didn’t feel a thing, not even heat, as if the spirit fire were under his control yet a separate thing entirely. It was unnerving.

  His power was waning fast, however, and he had to convince Gowan before the spirit fire disappeared. Val himself wasn’t sure how far he was prepared to go. “Trust me,” he said, “when I say I will do anything to help my brothers.”

  Val reached forward, spirit fire swarming at his fingertips. Gowan hesitated a final time, looked into Val’s eyes, and rushed to get his words out. “The Observatory. The end of one of the hallways is an illusion. Step through and you’ll see a staircase. At the bottom is the entrance to the Planewalk.”

  “How do I get through? It has to be warded.”

  Gowan whipped his head back and forth, trying in vain to escape.

  “Tell me!” Val roared, thrusting his palms an inch from the pyromancer’s eyes.

  “You have to use spirit to open the door,” Gowan whispered. “That is the ward. No one but a spirit mage is strong or foolish enough to attempt the Planewalk.”

  “Stand up,” Val said. “You’re coming with me.”

  Gowan’s eyes popped. “No, I can’t, my mother—”

  “Stand up! If you’re telling the truth, I’ll let you go when we arrive.”

  Gowan lurched to his feet. “I swear by the Queen I’ve told you the truth. Please, if she finds me—”

  “Turn around.”

  “Please,” Gowan said, a sob escaping him as he complied. “Don’t.”

  Val extinguished the spirit fire, picked up a loose rock, and bashed Gowan in the temple at half-strength, dropping him to the ground. He had only wanted to ensure he wasn’t lying. After finding Gowan’s pulse, sure he would be fine, Val slumped to the ground in exhaustion.

  No time for that. He pushed to his feet with a shudder. Though he knew Gowan would be too proud to inform his mother of the incident—and probably expected Val to perish during the Planewalk, thus eliminating any evidence of his own role–Gowan might send an anonymous message. So Val had to keep going. Right now.

  Shaking with exhaustion, he somehow found enough strength to use Wind Push to lift himself into the air, and cut a direct path to the Observatory.

  -53-

  The scent of the sword grew stronger as the Spirit Liege drifted through the maze of stone. Strong residual memories told it that humanoids called delvers had built these tunnels beneath the mountains, and that he was in a place called the Darklands.

  It noted with interest that the Darklands were the closest thing it had experienced on Urfe to the solitude of pure spirit. Similar to the vast emptiness of the nether realms, it sensed old things—very old things—living in the nooks and crannies of the Darklands, deep beneath the surface.

  But it kept to the delver tunnels and avoided these entities, a few of which might even match or surpass its own powers.

  And these entities, in turn, had the good sense to avoid the Spirit Liege.

  Onwards it drifted, to the massive city of Fellengard and then down into the mines, draped in spirit, following the scent of the sword from an empty courtyard cell to a deeper region of the Darklands. The humans must have had help, it thought, escaping the grasp of the delvers and fleeing into the bowels of Urfe.

  Deeper still it went, past the limits of delver territory and into a chasm so enormous it made the Spirit Liege feel adrift in spirit. Here it would like to linger. A glow appeared below, like a distant star, but just as the lava city manifested, the trail of the sword reemerged, leading back into the tunnels.

  Finally the Spirit Liege emerged onto the surface, tracking the sword through a series of human settlements and then to a narrow valley wedged between a pair of mountain ranges. It entered a wood rife with strange magic, and found a stone house where the scent of the sword was very strong. It had just been there, the Spirit Liege realized. Days, if not hours.

  But there was something else. A spirit residue similar to its own, from a being belonging both to this world and to the world of spirit. Different from itself—not quite as pure, as if the formation or process or whatever had been done to them was interrupted—but the kinship was remarkable.

  The Spirit Liege had a brother. Out in the world.

  The missing sibling.

  Lord Alistair, it thought, would want to know.

  This other being was no longer present, and the Spirit Liege returned to the scent. It followed the sword out of the valley and to the base of a mountain that touched the clouds, confident it would have its prey by nightfall.

  -54-

  It took Will and the others most of a day to ascend the first half of the steep mountain trail. The crisp elevation chilled them to the bone and left them gasping for breath. Eager to reach the top, they pushed through the fatigue and hunger until they could make out the shadows of majestic, amber-colored avians circling the peak, their shrill cries piercing the sky.

  As they drew closer, Will stared in fascination at the powerful birds. Lithe and graceful like small dragons, though feathery instead of reptilian, the simorghs wheeling above his head and perched on the craggy summit possessed beautiful crimson wings and long tails that fluttered behind them as they flew. Four squat, taloned limbs helped them leap off the ground and could no doubt rend an enemy to shreds.

  Roughly three quarters of the way up the mountain, a quartet of sentries stepped out from behind a boulder with crossbows trained on the party. “Hail, travelers!” the woman in front said. She wore knee-high boots, baggy trousers made of a thick canvas material, and a furry white jacket with feathered shoulder pads that extended a foot on either s
ide.

  Tamás crossed his arms against his chest and bowed. “Hail, Riders of the Simorgh. We come with goodwill to the ancestral lands of the Yith, seeking assistance with a journey.”

  The four Riders looked impressed at Tamas’s gesture, and returned his bow in kind. After introductions were exchanged, two of the sentries led them to a collection of huts built into the mountain, hidden among the crags and outcroppings.

  One of the Yith, a tall man wearing a coat made of simorgh feathers, knew Tamás by sight and embraced him. The Rider’s name was Esseni, and he was the chieftain of Greybeard Mountain. On the ascent, Tamás had explained to Will that each Yith tribe claimed a particular mountain as its home.

  Inside Esseni’s thatched hut, a deal was negotiated with Tamás while the others waited outside, warmed by an herbal tea. They were fed hunks of spicy meat with bread, and Will began to feel himself again.

  After dinner, a pair of sentries accompanied the party to the summit, where three Riders waited to carry them through the night on the first leg of the journey to Freetown.

  Behind the elaborate saddle for the Yith Riders fastened around the shoulders of the simorghs, each bird had two extra saddles attached to its back with leather straps. Tamás and Yasmina saddled together, as did Marek and Dalen, and Will and Caleb. Over the last few days, Will had noticed Tamás looking at Yasmina with obvious interest.

  When everyone was secured, the simorghs sprang into the air, a sensation unlike anything Will had experienced. He could feel the power surging through the thick body, and felt sorry for any creature caught in the iron grip of its talons.

  As the avians circled higher, he noticed something odd: what looked like a human shadow drifting up the mountain, a few hundred feet below the Riders watching from the summit. Caleb distracted him, pointing out the last dreamy hues of sunset glazing the horizon, and when Will looked back to search for the shadow, it had disappeared.

  It must have been a trick of the light.