by Joseph Lallo
Darius could say nothing around the lump in his throat. He embraced the priest fiercely, and Gideon responded in kind. He stepped back to receive Gideon’s blessing, bowed formerly, and left his friend standing alone.
When he entered the great hall where Lord Keverin waited, he found his brothers in a huddle talking amongst themselves, while the Lord sat upon his high backed chair as if in judgement. He knew how worried his friend was about the spell, but he couldn’t tell him the full truth—he dare not for fear he would forbid the casting of it. In an effort to forestall any such order, he crossed the hall to speak with his brothers.
Three of his friends wore the blue robes of powerful master mages; two wore the yellow of journeymen, and on the outskirts of the group Mathius watched in silence. He was the youngest at twenty, and wore the green robes of an initiate. Hasian mages all wore the black robes of true sorcerers as if entitled to them, but in reality, they did so only to hide their true ranks from outsiders. There was a very real advantage in such a practice, but not when living together as he did with his brothers. Any mage could easily gauge the strength of another, and the strongest man always led by tradition. The thought of bringing someone powerful enough to lead and save his friends pleased him. It was worth dying for.
“Renard,” Darius said as his brothers moved to encircle him. “When it’s done, you’ll lead until the newcomer learns what he needs to know. Tell him about the Hasians and Castle Black as soon as you can.”
Renard nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.” Darius turned to the other masters. “Eamonn, Helton, watch the sorcerers closely. I don’t know what they’ll do when they realise what I’ve done, but best you’re prepared.”
Both mages bowed in assent without speaking.
“Haliden, Wregan,” he said acknowledging the yellow robed journeymen. “Keep your eyes on the lord. He’ll be troubled by what I’ve done.”
Wregan nodded but Haliden spoke up. “Are you sure this is necessary?”
“You’ve seen the enemy. What do you think?”
“I think anyone can be killed—even so many sorcerers. We could strike the centre of their camp in the night. Or at least ward the wall.”
“I expect you’ll have to raise wards at some point. Defence is important but we can’t win without a good offence as well.”
Haliden looked sceptical, but he would learn in time. He was only a young man yet. Give him another ten years and he would be as paranoid as Keverin and he felt.
He had no task for an initiate, but Mathius needed something to feel needed. “Father Gideon will arrive shortly and he already tried to talk me out of casting the spell. I want you to keep watch and prevent him from interfering.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Mathius said with a small smile.
Darius smiled back. The boy wasn’t so easily fooled. Ah well, time was wasting. He was about to address Keverin when he saw Gideon slip into the room. The priest made his way to a quiet corner to watch and pray.
“My Lord, I’m ready to open the gate,” he announced without revealing the excitement he felt—or the fear.
Keverin hesitated, as if on the cusp of forbidding the casting, but after a moment he nodded his permission. “You have my leave.”
“I thank you, my lord,” he said with a deep and very respectful bow.
Turning to his brothers, he inclined his head to them again. They bowed in return and retired to the sides of the hall to watch.
Taking a deep breath, he centred his emotions and raised a ward to contain the forces about to be unleashed. A faintly glowing cylindrical wall appeared, which slowly increased in size centred upon him. He constructed the ward as strong as he could, but didn’t make it self-sustaining. It needed to be strong but also temporary. He fashioned it ten yards tall to seal against the floor and ceiling. Where it touched, little bursts of light sparked into life accompanied by a crackling sound as particles of dust flamed and were gone. A faint thrumming noise accompanied the growth of the ward, growing louder as he fed more magic into its matrix. The magical wall brightened and dimmed in time with the odd sound throwing shadows across the floor and over the tapestry covered walls.
Thrum—thruuum, Thrum—thruuum, the ward pulsed like a heartbeat.
He revelled in the sweetness of the magic flowing through him. Forcing himself to remember his task, he reached for more power, and yet more until he felt he would burst apart. He called upon his mage-sight and concentrated on what he had to do. Using the magic in a way not used for over a thousand years, he reached and revealed the barrier to his mind’s eye—the wall the God had made to separate his creations. What impudence he had even contemplating what the God had ordained to exist, what incredible arrogance to think he might breach it. The audacity of what he planned to do came crashing down upon him, and despair threatened to take him. No, he must not fail! Forcing such thoughts out of his mind, he shaped his determination into a spear of pure force. Backed by his will and all the magic he could draw, he thrust it at the wall.
Shock!
His probe was deflected contemptuously aside, and his head rang with the impact. He waited for the pain to diminish, and then forced himself draw more magic, taking him to the very edge of agony. He thrust and was deflected again. He wanted to scream in frustration. It was as if the barrier was made of fire. It hurt to touch as fire did, insubstantial yet still a solid barrier to his will. He had known it would come to this, yet he hesitated. A roaring filled him as if the largest waterfall in the world was trapped within his head. It was his magic raging at its confinement within him.
He flung open his link to his power before his fear overcame him. With no restraint on its flow, he was swept along completely at its mercy. He struggled against the current as it threatened to drown him in a river of magic. He had but one thought remaining. Hasians... Keverin, Keverin... Hasians. He grasped the thought and slowly, agonisingly, he dragged himself from the river until his world returned to the barrier and pain so excruciating it felt like a river of fire running through his veins. He thrust his probe at the barrier again, but this time he felt a tiny breach. Forcing himself to push until all that was left of him was his driving will...
The wall surrendered and he burst through.
Numbness replaced pain as his body lost its ability to feel. He was dying, but he’d expected nothing less, and didn’t care. He had a job to do. His mage-sight revealed that he was floating in the void with millions of pearl-like spheres—worlds rich in colour and life—in every direction he looked. They stretched forever into the vast unknowable distance. They were so beautiful.
He spun about, giddy with childish delight and awe. Worlds uncountable. If only he could go back and tell Keverin not to grieve for him. It was so wonderful here. Thoughts of Keverin caused him to rush headlong through the void until he was hovering over one of the pearls. He reached out to touch it, and the citadel’s great hall appeared to him. Keverin was beating his fists bloody on the ward. Renard and the others were trying to restrain him, but he was a big man. He was a handful.
He mustn’t do that.
He quickly used his magic to search nearby worlds for the one he came for.
There!
It was unmistakably the spark of a great one, a true sorcerer. He quickly threw out his will to snag the spark, and then hurled it at Keverin in one motion. The citadel faded from sight, and Darius began to fade with it.
It’s so beautiful here…
Welcome home, Darius. Come. Come meet thy God.
I’m coming…
* * *
3 ~ Dancer
Julia Morton danced across the mat in ballet shoes and leotard, but the performance wasn’t for a ballet. It was her routine for the women’s floor exercise in gymnastics.
“You’re too tense!” Jill called over the music. “The movements should flow one to another. You’re lurching around like some kind of zombie. What’s wrong? You were better than
this yesterday!”
The sweating dancer held her position with one leg extended behind her parallel to the mat, but hearing the criticism she faltered, and her balance fled. Wavering, she tried to regain her poise but it was no good. She had lost her concentration. She lowered her leg, and began kneading her thigh, trying to force the cramping muscle to relax.
She had six months left to prepare before joining the rest of her team, and she wasn’t ready. The games were no longer a far off and eagerly anticipated event. They loomed ahead of her like a rain cloud on the horizon—an ominous and inevitable climax to her life thus far.
What will I do after? Is there an after?
She’d been pushing herself to exhaustion each day, trying to regain what she’d lost, but it just wasn’t working. Her lack of progress wasn’t a lack of effort, but something seemed missing from her work. She felt as if she was going through the motions and not improving. Worry and anxiety over the floor exercise had long since replaced the excitement and anticipation she used to feel about the games.
The ballet moves she’d been practising were Jill’s attempt to instil some grace into her movements, but the task seemed impossible. She was at home on the asymmetric bars or balance beam. Even her vault was good, but the floor exercise was a nightmare of cramping muscles and shaky legs as she strained for the perfection she so desperately needed. Improvement in her other events came easily by comparison, but the floor routine left her gasping with nothing to show for the effort she expended.
I spent too much time on weights!
It was a familiar thought. She had wasted six years of training before she learned that strength, though necessary, wasn’t the only thing a gymnast needed. When first starting out she had wasted too much time on weight training, and now felt that she was too heavily muscled to perform intricate movements accurately. Jill disagreed, and believed that no training was ever completely wasted.
“Give me a minute and I’ll go again,” she gasped.
“No,” Jill said firmly, and turned the music off.
“But I need more practise! You said yourself I look like a zombie lurching around the mat.”
“I said no, Julia,” Jill said testily. “I’m the coach, I’m the boss, I say what goes. Remember? You agreed to follow my rules when we started this. Besides, you’re pushing too hard as it is. The way you’re kneading that thigh tells me it’s time to quit for the day.” She knelt and started vigorously massaging Julia’s thigh.
“But I need this,” she said feeling tears threaten. “You know why I need this! You’re always telling me about the Three D Method: Determination, Discipline, and Dynamics. Well, I’m determined to get this right.”
Jill replied without looking up. “You have more than enough determination and discipline. What you lack is common sense. If you continue to push it, you’ll lose everything through one type of injury or another.” She stopped the massage. “There. How’s it feel now?”
Julia flexed her legs ignoring the twinges as the muscles bunched. “It’s great. Better than great—it’s perfect. I can go another hour—honest!”
If I can just smooth out the transitions, I’ll be halfway there.
“And you’re not even listening to me, are you?” Jill was saying.
“What? I’m sorry I didn’t catch what you said.”
“Exactly! You’re not listening to me. Keep on as you are and you’ll be out with an injury.” Jill said heading for the door. “I’m going home for the night.”
“Oh come on! Just watch me for another twenty minutes,” she pleaded. “All right ten minutes!”
“I’ve said all I’m going to say on this. Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow, and don’t forget to lock up,” Jill said over her shoulder and disappeared out the door.
Damn!
Julia pulled a towel out of her bag. Her friend was right about her common sense, but it didn’t change how she felt. Gymnastics was her entire life now. Without it she had nothing. Mum and Dad...
Don’t think about it!
She tried not to, but it was no good.
Even as a child she’d enjoyed sport, and her mother encouraged that. She joined the local gym and took it seriously by working out in the evenings. She never did grow very tall, taking after her mum in that, but she made up for her five foot frame with muscle and attitude. She’d lost friends due to her obsession with gymnastics, but dropping out of college to work in the gym full time wasn’t bloodymindedness no matter what people said. Gymnastics was more important to her than anything now that her parents were gone. So what if the house was empty? She didn’t need anybody but Jill.
She didn’t need anything—really.
Some people found her strange or too out spoken, but if they couldn’t handle that, it was their loss. Even her father hadn’t understood why she wanted to be a gymnast. He used to say that she was becoming too mannish, and didn’t look like a girl her age should look. Her mother had understood what drove her though.
She buried her face in the towel. The tears came as they always did when she remembered them. They’d both wanted the best for her. Her mother had pushed her in a direction she already wanted to go, but her father had been more down to Earth. His vision of her success was a high paid job and marriage. Their deaths at the hands of a drunk driver was a strong reason to push herself. If she didn’t do it, who would?
Drying her tears, she looked around the empty gym at the familiar sights of beam and bars. She needed the distraction. Her eyes swept back to the beam. No. She didn’t feel like working on it. The asymmetric bars were her favourite of all her disciplines. She always felt as if she were flying when she was up there. Time seemed to slow giving her plenty of time for the next catch or twist. She was at her best while flying.
Just ten minutes won’t hurt.
She rummaged in her bag for her palm protectors. It was awkward to put them on without help, but she managed to do it finally, before walking over to the chalk. With an irritated sigh, she realised she was still wearing her ballet shoes. She untied and removed them, and then thoroughly chalked her hands before walking over to her start position.
Taking a deep breath, she sprinted and launched herself perfectly from the springboard. Time slowed as she flew easily over the lower bar to catch the higher. She moved into a handstand, held it for three seconds, and then allowed herself to fall into a full giant. Swinging around for the second time, she performed a back-straddle release to catch the lower bar.
She lost herself in the movement.
Pirouettes and hand changes blurred into giants and saltos. She held her position in a handstand on the higher bar, and then allowed herself to fall into two giants. At the perfect moment, she released to perform a double-back salto dismount. She sailed through the air twisting and turning, but then something went wrong. She lurched sideways in mid-air and lost the correct posture.
Oh crap, this is going to hurt!
Her dismount turned into a crashing sprawling fall.
* * *
4 ~ Sacrifice
Keverin watched the faintly glowing wall as it grew. It was tall enough to reach the ceiling, and a strange noise hummed in time with a faint increase in glow. This was truly magic, the kind ordinary people could see. The ward hesitated as it encountered a slight step in the ceiling. The brightness increased as if the ward were snagged, pressure built until it cleared the obstruction. The wall’s light dimmed and it stopped growing after forming a circular wall about twenty yards across with Darius at its centre.
Thruuum—thrum, Thruuum—thrum.
To one side of the hall his other mages stood in attentive silence. Not a murmur came from them, but Gideon’s prayers were clearly audible even though he spoke quietly. Darius stood unmoving within the ward staring at something only he could see. He looked peaceful enough.
“Forgive us I pray,” Gideon said. “We, your children, beg your understanding. Do not take this man. He strives for our salv
ation. Lend him your strength in his task and do not smite him for his temerity—”
He added his own prayers to those of the priest. “Please don’t take my friend.”
“—as we believe in you and life everlasting. He is a good man, a just man...” Gideon stumbled to halt.
Slowly the wizard began to glow.
“Please!” Gideon cried. “I beg you to strengthen your chosen! With his power, which is your power, he strives to protect us as you protect this Earth. Lend him your might—”
Keverin glanced at the other mages and found them concerned enough for it to show on their faces. He dismounted the dais and went to talk to them, but before he reached halfway, the most terrible screaming began.
“AEiiiiiiiiii!”
He ran to the ward and looked in. Darius was writhing in torment as if a demon were eating him alive. The glow was becoming intolerably bright as if a fire burned inside him.
Keverin wheeled upon the nearest blue robe. “Stop this right now! Do you hear me? Stop it now curse you!”
Renard gaped at him. “I cannot lord. It is... the ward... it’s stronger than... I’ve never seen such power unleashed!”
He spun back in torment and shielded his watering eyes against the light. “Darius! Give it up man! Do you hear me?”
“Lord, he has gone too far. He cannot hear you,” Renard said sadly.
The screaming went on, and on, and on. He tried to shut it out, but it felt like it was inside his head. He blocked his ears shaking his head violently from side to side.
No, NO, NOOOO!
He smashed a fist into the ward in frustration. The wall flashed in reaction and left his hand red and stinging. The pain was nothing to what Darius was going through. Before anyone could stop him, he punched at the wall again. Right fist, left fist, right fist, until his hands bled freely. Someone grabbed him from behind, and then another. Suddenly robed men were mobbing him from every side. Roaring he threw them off. Using both fists together as a club, he smashed them into the wall.